#your fate was decided long ago. this was inevitable

[orphicmeliora]

Evermore

PAIRING: Zayne x Non-MC!Reader

SUMMARY: You have spent your life inside hospital walls, your world stitched together with IV lines, late-night alarms, and the quiet acceptance that some things cannot be fixed. You've been passed from one doctor to another, another test, another trial — all chasing a miracle that never came. Somewhere along the way, you stopped waiting for tomorrow.

But life, in its quiet cruelty and unexpected grace, gives you something you never thought to ask for — a glimpse of another world. A different kind of heartbeat, steady and sure, weaving its way into your fragile one. Moments you never believed you could have: laughter, longing, dreams too big for a hospital bed.

You don't know how long it will last. You don't even know if you dare hope for more.

But when the night is quiet and the snow falls just right, you let yourself believe — for one stolen breath — that maybe your story isn't meant to end here.

Maybe, somehow, you are just beginning.

WORD COUNT: 9.5k

You're dying.

For as long as you can remember, you've known more of hospitals than your own house. It's gotten to a point where when you think of home, it's not a cozy living room or the scent of your mother's cooking that surfaces — it's the sterile, cold corridors of Akso Hospital. The beeping machines. The too-white sheets. The antiseptic sting in the air. That's home.

You've been passed from hospital to hospital like a worn file folder, a case study waiting for a miracle. Doctors, researchers, specialists — all curious, all clinical. Some of them smiled too brightly when they poked at you; others barely met your eyes as they dictated notes into recorders. No matter their faces, it was always the same: a child with a heart too fragile for the world she lived in. Congenital heart disease, they'd say, like it was a sentence you had to carry. Words like hypoplastic, cardiomyopathy, degeneration slipped off their tongues without a second thought.

Research papers had been written about you. Trials run, theories floated, hands reaching inside your chest like gods trying to rewrite fate. But there was no saving you. Not really. Only delaying the inevitable.

At some point, death stopped being a frightening monster lurking at the end of the hallway. It became a quiet fact. A gentle inevitability. Like winter following fall. Like the last leaf leaving the branch. Sometimes you even think of it fondly — a release from the endless pricks of needles and the sting of failed hope.

You don't cry about it anymore. You stopped doing that years ago.

Just you, and the slow ticking of monitors, and the muted conversations outside your door.

But there are still things that ache. Things that death doesn't erase.

Like the school uniforms you never wore.

The scraped knees you never had from playground games.

The friendships you only knew from books and half-forgotten fairy tales read to you by bored nurses.

You grew up surrounded by adults: brisk nurses with kind smiles, tired doctors with far-off eyes, other patients far older than you. No childhood secrets whispered under blankets at sleepovers. No first crushes shared during recess.

Today is supposed to be your sixteenth birthday. A milestone for most kids — laughter, cake, maybe even a little rebellion. You asked for so little. Just a single scoop of ice cream. Something sweet, something that would make you forget, just for a second, that you're broken inside.

Maybe your body decided it was too much joy. Maybe it was just bad timing. Whatever it was, the chest pain started fast and sharp, a blooming fire that stole your breath and sent the world spinning. They rushed you to the ICU, alarms blaring, voices cutting through the fog of your consciousness.

Doctor Li was there, of course. He's always there. A steady presence when everyone else felt like passing shadows. You caught glimpses of his furrowed brow, the tightness in his voice as he barked orders you were too far gone to understand. He was fighting for you. He always did.

The world blurred. Faded. You remember thinking — distantly — how strange it was to die with the taste of vanilla on your tongue.

You don't die that night. Not yet.

But something inside you, small and bright and hopeful, dims just a little more.

The next few days bleed together in a haze of machines and murmured reassurances. You drift in and out of shallow sleep, tethered to the world by the soft beeping of your heart monitor and the cool, practiced touch of the nurses adjusting your IVs. Doctor Li checks on you more than usual — lingering longer at your bedside, as if afraid that if he looks away, you might simply vanish.

You hear snatches of conversation sometimes. Fragments that weren't meant for your ears.

It’s strange how even in survival, you feel like a guest overstaying her welcome.

"She stabilized, but barely."

"Should we consider moving her back to the general ward?"

"Give her time. Let her rest."

On the third day, you notice a figure lingering near the doorway. Not a nurse — they’re always in motion, efficient and brisk. Not Doctor Li, either — this figure carries a stiffness to his stance, a sharpness that cuts into the sterile quiet.

You glance over, disinterested. A boy, maybe a few years older than you, dressed in street clothes that look out of place in the hospital’s sanitized world. Dark hair that falls messily into his eyes, a scowl permanently etched across his face like it was born there. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, like he doesn't want to be here.

You recognize the look immediately — resentment barely contained behind a mask of detachment.

You turn your head away. You couldn't care less.

Let him glare. Let him hate. You’re used to people looking at you like that — like you’re an inconvenience, a burden. You’ve spent your whole life apologizing for existing, even when your lips stayed silent.

He says nothing to you, and you say nothing to him.

Good. Silence is easier. Cleaner.

Later, you hear the nurses whispering about him.

You don't understand why any of it matters. To you, he’s just another shadow passing through your world. Another person whose life will keep moving forward, even when yours stands still.

"Doctor Li’s son. Came straight from his graduation. Poor kid."

"Must be hard, sharing your father with the hospital."

"He'll understand someday. Sacrifices have to be made."

You close your eyes and let the steady rhythm of the heart monitor lull you back into sleep.

Tomorrow will come. Or it won’t.

It hardly makes a difference.

Tomorrow comes. And then the day after that.

Somehow, despite everything, you keep breathing.

You're moved out of the ICU eventually, back into the quieter, less urgent wing of Akso Hospital that has become more familiar than any childhood bedroom you never had. The walls here are softer shades of green, the windows wide and bright — an illusion of freedom you stopped believing in a long time ago.

Your days fall into a familiar rhythm: early morning blood draws, midday vitals checks, whispered conversations with nurses who treat you like a little sister they can't protect. You read when you can, mostly battered romance novels left behind by old patients, and sometimes you simply lie there, counting the cracks in the ceiling tiles like they hold some secret map to a life you’ll never live.

And Zayne —he starts appearing again.

At first, it’s just glimpses. A flash of dark hair down the corridor, the low murmur of his voice when he trails after Doctor Li during rounds. He doesn’t look at you. Not directly. He keeps his gaze clipped to charts and clipboards, face tight with the kind of focus you recognize all too well: the kind born from trying to control what can’t be fixed.

You wonder — briefly — why he keeps coming back.

Most people your age would run from a place like this. Wouldn't they? Chase the world outside with hungry hands, desperate to live, to feel something more than fluorescent lights and beeping machines.

But Zayne stays.

He stands at his father's side, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his lab coat, frowning at words too complicated for you to care about. He listens when Doctor Li explains your charts, your declining numbers, the latest tests they want to run. Sometimes he asks questions, voice low and rough around the edges.

You don't bother trying to hear the answers.

You’ve long stopped hoping anyone had any real ones to give.

The way his shoulders stiffen when Doctor Li mentions your heart’s deterioration. The quick, darting glances he thinks you don’t catch when you wince from another IV insertion. The rare moments his mouth tightens in something almost like frustration, or helplessness.

Still...

You notice things.

You pretend you don't see.

You pretend it doesn't matter.

And you — you have always been leaving.

Because it doesn't.

You have learned, through years of slow dying, that getting attached only makes the leaving harder.

It happens on an afternoon like any other.

The kind where the sun slices through the window just enough to make you ache for the world outside — a world you’ve only seen in pictures and half-forgotten dreams.

You’re sitting up in bed, a book resting on your lap, though you haven’t turned a page in what feels like hours. Your IV pole hums faintly beside you, the only real reminder that you’re still tethered here.

You glance up without thinking — and there he is. 

You hear footsteps before you see him.

Not Doctor Li’s sure, even strides.

Softer. Slower. Hesitant.

Zayne. 

Hovering awkwardly just inside your room, clutching a thick textbook to his chest like a shield. He's not wearing his usual scowl today. Instead, his face is carved into something tighter, more uncertain, as if he isn't quite sure whether he should even be standing here.

You raise an eyebrow, silently daring him to speak.

He clears his throat. It sounds painful.

"I—" he starts, then immediately cuts himself off, glancing away. His hand tightens around the book's spine.

You blink at him, unimpressed.

If he’s here to offer hollow pity or awkward small talk, he can save it. You’ve heard it all before — the forced conversations, the clumsy sympathy from visitors who can't even look you in the eye for long.

You drop your gaze back to your book, pretending he isn't there. Silence stretches thick and heavy between you.

For a moment, you think he’s going to retreat, like so many others have.

But he doesn't.

You freeze, your thumb hovering over the corner of the worn page.

Instead, after a beat of hesitation, you hear him mumble — so quiet you almost miss it —

"…That book’s terrible."

Slowly, you glance up again. He’s staring at the battered cover, expression wrinkling in disdain.

"I mean," he says, awkward and stiff, like every word is being dragged out of him by force, "the plot makes no sense. The heroine falls in love with a guy who literally tried to kill her in the first chapter."

You blink once. Twice.

"Yeah," you say, voice hoarse from disuse, "but it's not like I've got a lot of options."

And then, unexpectedly, a small huff of air escapes you — not quite a laugh, but close.

You hadn't realized how long it had been since someone your age spoke to you like that. Not like you were breakable. Not like you were already halfway gone.

He shifts his weight, looking vaguely guilty now. Like he hadn't meant to insult your sad little world.

You watch him for a moment longer, studying the way he fidgets — a boy trying very hard not to look like he cares, even though it’s written in every line of his posture.

Without thinking, you extend the book toward him, offering it out like a peace treaty.

"Got any recommendations, then?"

He stares at you, startled. Like he wasn’t expecting you to talk back. Like he wasn't expecting you to choose to talk to him.

Slowly, almost warily, he steps forward. Takes the book from your hand, fingers brushing yours for the briefest second—warm and real and alive.

Something small shifts in the air between you.

Barely there.

But you feel it all the same.

But right now—for the first time in a long, long while—you don’t feel quite so alone.

Maybe tomorrow he'll disappear again.

Maybe you’ll still die before you ever really know him.

The next day, you don’t expect him to come back.

People make gestures sometimes — quick, impulsive things born of guilt or pity. You’ve learned not to get your hopes up. You've learned not to expect anyone to stay.

But late in the afternoon, as the sun dips low and the room fills with that golden, aching kind of light, you hear familiar footsteps outside your door. Slower, more deliberate this time. No shuffling nurses, no hurried doctors.

You glance up from your spot on the bed just as Zayne leans into the doorway, one hand shoved deep into the pocket of his jacket, the other holding something behind his back like a guilty secret.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you, frowning faintly, like he’s annoyed to find you still there. (Or maybe annoyed with himself.)

You raise an eyebrow, a silent question.

He scowls a little deeper — a defense mechanism, you think — and mutters, "You said you didn’t have good options."

Before you can reply, he pulls his hand from behind his back and tosses a book onto your bed.

It lands with a soft thud against the sheets, the cover facing up.

You blink at it, surprised. It’s thick, heavier than the flimsy paperbacks you usually get stuck with, and worn around the edges like it's been read a dozen times. A fantasy novel, from the looks of it — something with sprawling kingdoms and sword fights and impossible magic.

You run your fingers lightly over the embossed title, almost afraid it might disappear.

"I had it lying around," he says quickly, too quickly. "Figured you could use something... less stupid."

You look up at him again, and this time you catch it — the faint pink dusting the tips of his ears, the way he can't quite meet your gaze.

You almost smile. Almost.

Instead, you trace the cover one more time, letting the weight of the book settle into your lap like something precious.

"...Thanks," you say, quiet but sincere.

Zayne shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Like he doesn’t care. But he lingers a moment longer than necessary, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Finally, he jerks his head toward the book. "Page ninety-seven is the best part," he says gruffly. "Don't skip to it, though. You have to earn it."

And with that, he turns and stalks off down the hallway, disappearing before you can say anything else.

You watch him go, your chest feeling strangely full, like someone had opened a window inside you after years of stale, closed-off air.

You pick up the book, flipping it open carefully. On the inside cover, in faded ink, there’s a name scribbled messily: Zayne Li.

You smile — small, private, and fleeting.

—

Maybe you were wrong.

Maybe not everyone leaves.

You tell yourself it’s just a book.

And every single one of them — every single page — is littered with traces of him.

One book turns into two. Then three.

Each one arrives without ceremony — sometimes left on your bedside table when you’re asleep, sometimes handed over with an awkward grunt and averted eyes. Always worn. Always loved.

Little notes crammed into the margins. Sharp, neat handwriting in black ink. Observations. Sarcastic comments. Underlined passages with a single word beside them — you. Sometimes a whole phrase: this reminds me of you or you'd probably argue about this part.

It’s like Zayne is sitting beside you as you read, muttering in your ear.

The strange thing is — the words, the quiet thoughts he left scattered across the pages — they make you feel something. Something unfamiliar and terrifying. A buzzing under your skin, a pressure behind your ribs, too wild and heavy to name.

You devour the books hungrily.

You savor every messy annotation like it’s oxygen.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. You're just imagining things.

Until the night it isn’t.

You’re halfway through another novel — a sweeping, painful story about a dying girl and a boy who loved her too much — when it happens.

Your heart flutters.

You freeze, book slipping from your hands onto the bed.

Not in the way it usually does — the panicked, stuttering rhythm that sends alarms shrieking and nurses running.

This flutter is different.

Soft. Gentle. Terrifying.

For a second, you can't breathe — not from weakness, but from something that feels suspiciously like hope, like longing.

Within seconds, your room explodes into motion — nurses flooding in, monitors flashing to life, Doctor Li himself arriving in a whirl of urgency.

You panic.

You hit the pager beside your bed, repeatedly.

They swarm you with equipment, prick your fingers, measure your heart rhythms. Voices rise and fall in a symphony of concern.

In the middle of it all, you sit there, dazed and mortified.

Because you realize — slowly, stupidly—you’re not dying.

When the chaos finally ebbs, when the monitors hum their steady, forgiving rhythm again, Doctor Li kneels beside your bed and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder.

Not yet.

Not from this.

"You’re alright," he says, voice warm and steady. "It was just... an excitement response. A little arrhythmia. Nothing dangerous."

You nod, face burning.

You don't tell him it wasn't excitement about life. It was about his son.

It was the first time in your memory that your heart had jumped not from fear, but from feeling something more.

It was a start.

Time moves strangely after that.

You learn him.

Weeks blend into months.

Zayne visits more now — under the pretense of study sessions with his father, but you both know better. He still brings you books, still pretends it's nothing, but sometimes he stays to see which parts make you smile. You argue with him over characters. He rolls his eyes when you get too emotional. You learn the patterns of his dry humor, the sharp warmth hidden under his guarded exterior.

And, quietly, dangerously, you start to want more.

One afternoon, you find yourselves alone. Doctor Li is caught up in surgery. The nurses are busy elsewhere. The hospital is unusually quiet.

Zayne sits slouched in the chair beside your bed, tapping a pen against his knee. You’re thumbing through the latest book he loaned you — a nonfiction this time, something about stars and deep space, endless distances that make your small, fragile life feel even smaller.

For a while, you exist in comfortable silence.

Then, without looking at you, Zayne says, "You know you’re sick. Really sick."

It's not a question. It's a fact, laid bare between you.

You close the book slowly, pressing your palm flat against the cover to keep your hands from shaking.

"I know," you say, voice barely a whisper.

Zayne leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.

"I want to fix it," he says roughly. "I’m studying to fix it."

You stare at him, heart twisting.

"You can't," you say, almost gently. "Nobody can."

His jaw tightens. His fingers curl into fists against his thighs.

"I have to," he mutters. "Otherwise... what's the point?"

The words hang there between you — raw, desperate, infuriatingly beautiful.

You swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes.

"You don't have to waste your life on me," you say. "You have your own future. Your own world."

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at you — really looks at you.

And in his dark, tired eyes, you see it.

"I'm not wasting it," he says.

The stubbornness.

The grief.

The terrible, trembling hope.

He says it like an oath. Like a prayer.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe — just a little — that maybe, just maybe, you're not fighting alone anymore.

You glance up from your book, startled to see Zayne standing by your bedside, a mischievous glint in his otherwise serious eyes.

A rustle of cloth. The scrape of a chair being quietly pushed back.

He holds out his hand to you — palm up, steady.

"Come on," he says, voice low and urgent. "Before someone notices."

You stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

"I’m not exactly mobile, in case you forgot," you say dryly, gesturing weakly at your IV stand and the tangle of wires monitoring your heart.

Zayne’s mouth tugs into the smallest, briefest smirk.

"I planned for that," he says.

He lifts a second IV pole from behind him — wheels it forward like a grand conspirator revealing his secret weapon. It’s empty except for a few dummy wires and a hastily knotted hospital gown draped over it like camouflage.

You blink.

He actually planned this.

"You're insane," you whisper.

"Maybe," he says. "But so are you for trusting me."

His fingers curl around yours, warm and sure, and for the first time in a long while, you feel something electric under your skin — something alive.

You don’t trust easily.

You never have.

But tonight — with the sterile hum of the hospital around you, and the fierce, reckless light in Zayne’s eyes — you find yourself reaching for his hand anyway.

Carefully, painstakingly, he helps you out of bed, maneuvering your real IV to look as inconspicuous as possible. You clutch his arm for balance, and he doesn't flinch or pull away. He just stands there, solid and steady, like he was built to hold you up.

Together, you slip out of your room and into the dimly lit hallway.

The hospital at night is a different world — softer, quieter, suspended in time. The usual sharp edges of sterile life blur into something almost magical.

Zayne leads you through the labyrinth of corridors, past empty nurses' stations and closed doors, moving like a ghost through his second home.

Eventually, he pushes open a heavy door, and you find yourself on the hospital’s rooftop.

You don't ask where you're going.

You trust him.

The cool night air hits you like a blessing. Linkon city sprawls out below you, lights blinking like a thousand tiny stars scattered across the dark.

Above you, the real stars stretch in endless constellations, faint but stubborn, refusing to be erased by the city's glow.

You stand there, breathing in the night, the IV pole at your side forgotten for a moment.

Zayne leans against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"This," he says, tilting his chin toward the sky, "is the closest I could get to taking you out of here."

You stare up at the heavens, feeling something bloom painfully in your chest.

"You’re not supposed to do this," you whisper, but there’s no anger in your voice. Only wonder.

Zayne shrugs. "Sue me."

You laugh — a small, broken sound — and he turns his head slightly, like he wants to hear it again but is too proud to ask.

Finally, you glance over at him.

For a long time, you just stand there.

Two kids on a rooftop.

One dying, one refusing to let her go quietly.

"Thank you," you say simply.

His mouth twitches — the barest ghost of a smile.

"You’re welcome," he mutters.

Then, after a beat:

"You’re not allowed to die yet, by the way."

You blink at him, startled.

"That’s an order," he adds, looking away as if embarrassed. "Doctor’s orders."

Not if there’s still more of him.

You bite back the emotion swelling in your throat, smiling instead.

Because you realize, deep down, you don’t want to die yet.

Not if there’s still more of this.

After that first night, the rooftop becomes your place.

Whenever the nights are quiet and the staff is distracted, he appears in your doorway with a raised eyebrow and a silent question.

You and Zayne never talk about it.

You never plan it.

It just happens — an unspoken ritual.

You always nod.

And then you're off again — sneaking past monitors, wheels squeaking faintly, IV pole rattling slightly as you creep through the halls like co-conspirators against fate.

The rooftop feels almost sacred now.

Up there, the air smells less like bleach and more like possibility.

Up there, you aren’t just a patient strapped to machines — you’re alive.

You learn more about him — the way he hates instant coffee but drinks it anyway. His ridiculous sweet tooth. The way he grips the railing a little too tightly sometimes, like he’s afraid of losing control. How his smiles are rare but real, and he saves most of them for you.

Sometimes you talk.

Sometimes you sit in silence.

He listens. Really listens.

And he learns about you — the real you, the one buried under layers of hospital gowns and medical files.

He learns you love thunderstorms. That you used to dream of becoming an astronaut before you got too sick to dream at all. That you’re terrified, not of dying, but of being forgotten.

And something inside you, long frozen, starts to thaw.

You start pushing yourself during physical therapy. You sit up longer. You fight to stay awake through bad days just so you can catch a glimpse of him passing by.

You get stronger.

Not in the way that matters medically — your charts still fluctuate, your heart still falters sometimes — but your spirit grows stubborn. Fierce. Hungry.

And even if you don’t say it out loud, you know he wants it too.

You want more time.

You want more nights under the stars.

You want more him.

But the clock is always ticking.

Some nights, the pain comes back — sharp and sudden, clenching around your ribs like an iron hand. Some nights, the monitors scream and the nurses race in, and Zayne isn't allowed to visit until you're stabilized again.

On those nights, you stare at the ceiling and try not to think about how fleeting all of this is.

And then one night, when you’re both on the rooftop again, he blurts it out.

You wonder if he knows.

If he feels it too — the way the future presses down on you both like a heavy, inevitable sky.

"You’re getting worse," he says, voice low and tight.

You don't argue. You don't pretend.

Instead, you lean against the railing, the cold metal digging into your palms, and whisper, "I know."

You expect him to retreat. To shut down the way most people do when confronted with the ugly truth of you.

But Zayne just steps closer.

"You’re still fighting," he says roughly. "Even when it’s pointless. Even when you’re scared."

You laugh — bitter, broken.

"There's no winning this," you say. "No miracle cure. You know that, don't you?"

Then, very quietly:

He says nothing for a long time.

Just stands there, breathing hard, like he’s holding back something too big for words.

"I’m still going to try."

You turn your head, meeting his gaze fully for the first time in what feels like forever.

There’s no pity there. No empty promises.

And for the first time, you allow yourself to lean just a little closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Only determination.

Only him.

He stiffens — startled — but then, slowly, carefully, he shifts so you fit against him better.

The IV line tugs against your arm. Your heart monitor blips faintly in the background.

But here, in this small, stolen moment, you aren't a diagnosis. You aren't a prognosis.

You're just a girl.

And he's just a boy trying to save you.

The night it happens, you’re both too tired to pretend you're fine anymore.

The rooftop air is thick and heavy, the heat of the day still clinging stubbornly to the concrete. You sit cross-legged on a worn blanket Zayne smuggled from the staff lounge, your IV pole parked dutifully beside you, your heart monitor muted to a low, steady pulse.

Zayne lounges beside you, long legs stretched out, arms folded behind his head as he stares up at the stars.

Neither of you say much.

The sky stretches overhead in an endless velvet sweep, pinpricked with faint light. Somewhere far below, Linkon city hums and breathes without you.

Words feel too heavy tonight.

Besides, you don’t need them.

You turn your head slightly, watching him.

His face looks softer in the dark — the stern lines of his mouth eased, the tension usually buried in his shoulders melted away. You can see the faint smudges of exhaustion under his eyes, the little crease between his brows he probably doesn't even realize he has.

You realize — with a strange, aching clarity — that you want to remember this. You want to burn this version of him into your memory so you can carry it with you, no matter what happens.

Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute.

The monitors hum quietly beside you, a gentle lullaby.

Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, your body leans sideways — just a little, just enough — and without thinking, without planning, you drift closer until your head finds his shoulder.

Zayne goes rigid at first — like someone just pulled a fire alarm inside his chest — but after a long, tense second, he shifts carefully, allowing you to settle against him.

You half-expect him to tease you. To make some snide remark.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he stays perfectly still, perfectly steady, like he’s afraid even breathing too loudly might wake you.

You don't remember falling asleep.

But you remember the feeling —safe, warm, suspended in something fragile and golden —as you sink into dreams for the first time in months without fear clawing at your throat.

You wake up hours later to the faintest touch — Zayne carefully adjusting your IV line, his fingers clumsy with sleep, his eyes still heavy-lidded.

He blinks down at you, caught between guilt and something deeper, something raw.

"Sorry," he mutters, voice rough. "Didn't mean to—"

You cut him off by curling a little closer, burying your face in the crook of his arm.

Later, when you’re both back inside, tangled in warmth and silence, the question slips out before you can stop it.

And for once, he doesn't argue.

He just lets you stay.

You’re still curled under your hospital blankets, the faint beep of your monitor filling the room like a heartbeat. Zayne sits in the chair beside your bed, scribbling distractedly in his med school notebook, but you know he’s only half-focused at best.

"Zayne," you say quietly.

He hums in response, not looking up.

"If you could have anything," you whisper, "anything at all… what would you wish for?"

He freezes, pen hovering midair.

The silence stretches so long you wonder if he’s going to answer at all.

Looks at you.

Then, slowly, he sets the pen down.

Leans forward, elbows braced on his knees.

His eyes are tired and beautiful, reflecting every terrible truth you both carry.

You open your mouth — to ask with who, to demand more clarity — but he beats you to it.

"I’d wish," he says slowly, like dragging the words out of his chest hurts,

"for more time."

"With you," he says, voice breaking just slightly on the last word.

Your heart stumbles painfully in your chest — not from illness, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of him, of this.

You can’t breathe.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he’s there, wiping a thumb under your eye, the touch so painfully gentle it almost undoes you completely.

He just stays.

He doesn’t ask for anything more.

He doesn’t try to kiss you, or make promises he can’t keep.

Because he knows. You both know.

This love—whatever it is, whatever it’s becoming—isn’t about grand declarations or fairy-tale endings.

It’s about now.

It’s about this fragile, fleeting moment where you are still here, still breathing, still together.

And for tonight, that’s enough.

The days that follow feel… different.

It’s subtle at first — a lighter step in your walk, a softer smile tucked at the corners of your mouth — but it’s there.

Hope.

Tiny, fragile, impossible hope.

And it’s all because of him.

You don’t dare speak it aloud — not when your body is still betraying you at every turn, not when your doctors still whisper in careful, practiced voices outside your room — but it grows inside you anyway.

A stubborn little flame.

Because of the way Zayne looks at you now — not like a patient he’s sworn to protect, not like a lost cause — but like a person.

A girl with dreams worth fighting for.

One night, when the hospital halls are unusually quiet and the rooftop is bathed in a silver wash of moonlight, you find yourself blurting it out.

Your secret list.

The things you thought you had buried.

"I want to see snow," you whisper, breath misting faintly in the cold. "I want to dance without an IV pole dragging beside me." A soft, broken laugh slips from your mouth. "I want to eat an entire cake without someone telling me it’s too much sugar."

You glance at him, embarrassed, cheeks hot. "And I want someone to kiss me like it’s the end of the world."

But Zayne just listens — really listens — every word sinking into him like gospel.

You expect him to laugh.

Or worse, to pity you.

And when you fall silent, when you turn your face away to hide the burning in your chest, he steps closer.

You blink up at him, stunned.

"So we’ll do it," he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

"We’ll do all of it."

"Zayne—"

"I mean it," he cuts in, voice fierce and steady. "Whatever time we have — we use it. Every second. No regrets."

You want to believe him.

God, you want it so badly your heart physically aches with it.

Still—still—

But you’ve been burned by hope before.

You know how cruel the world can be to people like you.

The way he looks at you now, fierce and soft all at once —the way he says we —you think maybe, just maybe, it’s worth believing again.

"Okay," you whisper, a little breathless, a little terrified.

He smiles then — not the small, careful smirks you’re used to, but a real, breathtaking smile that lights up his whole face.

"Good," he says, offering his hand to you like it’s a promise.

You slip your fingers into his, and the night folds around you, carrying your fragile hopes into the stars.

Later, back in your bed, curled up under warm blankets and still clutching the memory of his hand in yours, you allow yourself to dream.

Tiny dreams.

Stupid, beautiful dreams.

You fall asleep smiling.

You imagine catching snowflakes on your tongue with him.

You imagine dancing barefoot in a field, laughing until your lungs ache for the right reasons.

You imagine frosting on your nose, stolen kisses, clumsy hands trying to twirl you around.

You imagine living — even if it’s just for a little while — like you were never sick at all.

The night it happens, it’s unbearably hot — heavy, clinging summer air that sticks to your skin and makes the hospital walls feel even more suffocating.

You’re dozing restlessly in your bed when he appears at your door.

Zayne.

"Come with me," he says, without preamble.

His hair is a little messy, his white coat half-buttoned and wrinkled like he’s been moving fast — a little frantic, a little reckless.

He’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed from the sprint through the halls.

You blink blearily at him, confused.

Before you can protest, he’s wheeling you out of the room, fast and determined.

He doesn’t explain. He just strides forward, unhooks your IV pole from the wall, checks the portable monitor strapped to your wrist, and mutters,

"You’re stable. Good enough."

You always have.

Your heart kicks wildly in your chest — a mix of fear and excitement and confusion — but you don’t ask questions.

You trust him.

—

He leads you to the rooftop.

It’s empty, quiet — the city sprawled out below you like a glittering sea.

The sky overhead is a deep, endless blue-black, scattered with stars.

And then —

Zayne closes his eyes.

Takes a slow, steady breath.

And the world shifts.

It starts slowly — a faint chill curling into the warm summer air, the barest shimmer of cold gathering around him.

Then, with a soft, almost imperceptible hum, it begins to fall.

Snow.

Tiny crystalline flakes drift from the sky, swirling in delicate, shimmering patterns.

You gasp — a real, sharp, alive sound — and reach out instinctively.

A flake lands on your fingertip, melting instantly against your warm skin.

"You said you wanted to see snow," Zayne murmurs, voice low and a little shy. "Real snow’s impossible right now, but…"

He trails off, lifting a hand helplessly, as if embarrassed.

As if this miracle he’s created isn’t enough.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

You can't speak. You can't even think.

You just stand there, under the impossible snowfall, heart thundering in your chest like it might break free entirely.

He watches you — watches the wonder bloom across your face — and his own expression softens, the usual tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

And then—

As if the night wasn’t already enough—

He pulls something out from behind a nearby bench.

A small, messy cake.

"I made it," he says gruffly, ears turning pink. "Don’t laugh."

Lopsided.

Clearly homemade.

Icing smeared unevenly across the top.

You laugh anyway — a bright, broken sound — and it feels good, like sunlight bursting through storm clouds.

He steps closer, offering you a plastic fork.

You scoop a big, absurdly sugary bite and shove it into your mouth without hesitation, icing smearing at the corner of your lips.

Zayne chuckles under his breath — a rare, breathtaking sound — and reaches out with a thumb to wipe the frosting away.

The touch lingers longer than necessary.

The world slows down.

Your heart is pounding so hard now it’s probably setting off alarms somewhere inside the hospital.

And you realize — you don't want this moment to end.

You don’t want to forget any of it.

But you don't care.

Because then—he sets the cake aside.

Takes your hand in his.

The snow still falls around you, shimmering under the rooftop lights.

He doesn’t say a word.

He just pulls you into a slow, clumsy dance — his hand on your waist, your IV line dragging along but forgotten, your feet stumbling awkwardly in hospital socks — and you laugh again, breathless and giddy and so impossibly alive.

You sway together, turning in small circles, the city spinning lazily beyond the rooftop’s edge.

You think maybe your heart is breaking and mending all at once.

You think maybe you’re falling in love.

And when the song of the night winds down to a hush, when you’re standing chest-to-chest and he’s looking down at you with that unbearably soft expression —

You rise up on your toes.

Just a little.

Just enough.

And you kiss him.

Soft.

Gentle.

Trembling with all the things you’re too scared to say.

It isn’t perfect — your noses bump, you’re both a little off balance — but it doesn’t matter.

Because it’s real.

Because it’s yours.

Because it’s every wish you never dared to make coming true at once.

You pull back a fraction, resting your forehead against his, breathing in the cold he summoned just for you.

Neither of you speaks.

You don't have to.

Everything you feel is written in the way his thumb strokes over your wrist, in the way your fingers curl desperately into the fabric of his shirt.

You are here.

You are together.

For however long you have left.

And for now, for tonight, that's enough.

The plan takes a week to set in motion.

Doctor Li is cautious, of course — his worry etched in the lines around his tired eyes — but in the end, he agrees.

Maybe because he sees the way you light up now, the way your charts have stabilized just a little, like your heart has found something worth fighting for.

Or maybe because he remembers — painfully — what life is supposed to feel like outside sterile hospital walls.

Clearance is granted. Nurses fuss and fret, loading your bag with medications and emergency supplies, setting strict curfews and contingencies.

But you don’t care about any of that.

Because when Zayne wheels you out the front doors into the bright, wild world, it feels like stepping into another life entirely.

The city is buzzing, golden sunlight pouring like honey over everything.

And the park — oh god, the park! It's huge and sprawling and alive, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the sound of children laughing.

Zayne’s hand never leaves yours as he leads you through winding paths, under archways draped in climbing roses, past glittering fountains that catch the light like tiny rainbows.

At one point he finds an empty patch of grass, drops a threadbare blanket he must have stolen from the hospital laundry, and you sit side by side under a tree, dappled sunlight dancing across your skin.

You’re breathless with wonder.

Breathless and alive.

For a long time, you just exist.

Breathing.

Laughing.

Watching the clouds drift by like lazy ships.

And then — quietly, almost shyly — Zayne starts talking about the future.

"Our own place," he says, tracing patterns in the air. "A tiny apartment, the kind where you can hear the neighbors arguing through the walls. We'd have to get a cat. Or a dog. Or both."

You laugh, heart aching sweetly.

He grins, warmed by your smile, and keeps going, voice steady and dreaming.

"I'd cook. You'd probably hate it. You’d tease me until I ordered takeout."

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you like a blessing.

"And someday…" His voice falters, softens. "If you wanted — we could travel. Anywhere. Everywhere. Mountains, oceans. I’d show you real snow."

You open your eyes, finding him already watching you.

There’s a look in his gaze that’s almost unbearable in its tenderness.

"You’ll see everything," he murmurs, like a vow. "I’ll make sure of it."

You smile.

You don't say what you’re thinking — that you’d be happy seeing anything at all, so long as he’s standing beside you.

You just tuck the dream away, precious and impossible, into the quiet spaces of your heart.

You spend the afternoon like that.

Eating terrible ice cream from a street vendor.

Dancing barefoot in the grass even when your knees wobble and Zayne has to catch you, laughing into your hair.

Taking blurry, ridiculous photos with his phone — him pulling faces, you struggling to keep a straight one.

You are tired beyond words when you return to the hospital — every muscle aching, your chest tight with strain — but you are happy.

So unbearably, blissfully happy.

For the first time in your life, you feel like you belonged to the world.

Like maybe you could carve a little piece of it for yourself after all.

But happiness, you learn, is a fragile thing.

Easily shattered.

Easily lost.

It starts slowly.

Nothing you haven’t dealt with before.

A missed heartbeat here.

A dizzy spell there.

Nothing serious.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

But soon it’s undeniable.

You don’t want to worry Zayne.

You don’t want to darken the light he’s given you.

You can’t catch your breath after simple movements.

Your fingers tremble when you try to hold a fork.

Your chest burns with a constant, gnawing ache that no amount of oxygen seems to soothe.

Zayne notices, of course.

He’s not stupid.

And he’s terrified.

The night you collapse in your room — monitors screaming, nurses rushing in a panic — Zayne shoves through the crowd like a force of nature, wild-eyed and desperate.

He’s the one who grabs your hand as they work frantically around you. He’s the one who keeps whispering your name, again and again, like he can anchor you here just by speaking it.

"Don’t," he chokes out, voice cracking for the first time since you’ve known him. "Don’t you dare give up. Not now."

You’re so tired.

God, you’re so tired.

Your vision flickers, the world tilting dangerously, but you find his face — blurry, beautiful — and focus on him with everything you have left.

"I’m so close," he says, begging now. "I’m almost there. Just a little longer — I swear — I’ll find a way —"

You smile.

Small. Broken.

You feel your heart weaken again — a tangible, physical slip inside your ribcage — but you hold his gaze.

You don’t have the strength for promises you can’t keep.

But you can give him this:

"I’ll try," you whisper.

It’s the truth.

It’s everything you can offer.

And it’s enough to make his fingers tighten around yours like he can hold you here by sheer force of will.

Like maybe love alone could be enough to save you.

It’s snowing again.

But not like before.

Not like rooftop snow under hospital lights, summoned from Evol and desperation.

This snow is real — thick, heavy flakes falling from a grey sky, the kind you can lose yourself in.

You’re standing in the middle of a wide, open field. Everything around you is blanketed in pure white.

And he’s there.

Zayne.

Not in a lab coat. Not with tired eyes and trembling hands. But whole.

Bright.

Smiling that rare, breathtaking smile he saves only for you.

"You made it," he says, voice warm as he reaches for you.

You laugh — really laugh — the sound echoing across the empty field like a song.

Your body moves easily, no wires tethering you, no weight dragging at your limbs.

You run to him.

You run.

He catches you effortlessly, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off your feet in a dizzying, laughing spin.

"You kept your promise," you murmur against his shoulder.

"I told you," he says simply, "I'd show you everything."

You don’t want to let go.

You don’t ever want to let go.

And so you don’t.

You stay like that — pressed against him, his heartbeat steady and sure under your palm — as the snow falls heavier, swirling around you like a blessing.

You close your eyes.

You dream bigger.

You see it all — the tiny apartment, the noisy neighbors, the stupid cat knocking over potted plants.

Burnt pancakes in the morning.

Train tickets to everywhere.

Laughing on crowded streets in cities you can't even pronounce.

Wedding rings slipped onto shaking fingers.

A life.

A real, messy, miraculous life.

With him.

Always, with him.

And for one shining, impossible moment—you believe.

You believe you’ll live long enough to see it.

You believe you already have.

The world is harsh when it drags you back.

Cold.

Bright.

Noisy.

You blink against the glare of fluorescent lights, the steady beeping of machines surrounding you.

The familiar, sterile scent of antiseptic stings your nose.

ICU.

Again.

You shift slightly — everything aches — and feel the tug of new wires and IVs threaded into your skin.

And then —

Warmth.

A hand.

Wrapped around yours.

You turn your head with effort.

And find him there.

Zayne.

Slumped in a chair too small for him, still in his hospital scrubs, dark circles bruising his eyes.

Sleeping.

But even in sleep, he doesn’t let go of you.

His hand is firm, steady, fingers laced with yours like a lifeline.

You watch him — your heart aching with something too big, too fierce to name.

You don’t move.

You don’t dare wake him.

And that’s enough.

Because for now — for this fragile, precious moment — you are still here.

He is still here.

—

You don’t know how long you just lie there, feeling his hand wrapped tightly around yours, listening to the steady blip of your own heartbeat on the monitors.

Eventually, he stirs.

You’re so tired.

But you're also… at peace.

A soft, broken noise leaves him — like even sleep can’t protect him from whatever war he’s fighting inside.

And when his eyes blink open, dazed and bloodshot, they land on you immediately.

As if he's terrified you'll vanish if he blinks again.

For a moment, he just stares.

As if he doesn't quite believe you’re real.

"Hey," you rasp, your voice barely more than a whisper.

His face crumples.

He surges forward, pressing his forehead against your joined hands, squeezing so hard it almost hurts.

You manage a smile — small, but real.

"You're awake," he breathes, voice wrecked with relief and exhaustion.

"God — you're awake."

"I wasn’t gonna miss your dramatic collapse," you joke, because you have to. Because the alternative — the raw fear in his eyes — is too much to bear.

It works, a little.

A huff of helpless laughter shudders out of him.

"You scared the hell out of me," he mutters against your knuckles, his breath shaking.

"You scare me all the time," you tease, lighter now, though your chest aches with every word. "But I’m still here."

He lifts his head, looking at you like you're something sacred.

"You have to stay," he says fiercely. "You have to — just a little longer —please —I'm so close —I swear—"

Your heart twists.

You wish you could bottle it up and drink it, let it heal you from the inside out.

He’s been saying that for so long.

So many promises.

So much hope.

You reach up, fingers brushing his jaw, feeling the stubble that wasn't there yesterday.

"I know," you whisper. "I know you're trying. I’m trying, too."

Your hand falls back to the bed, too heavy to hold up.

His hand follows immediately, cradling it again like he can shield you from the whole world.

"I can’t lose you," he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

His thumb strokes over your knuckles, desperate and tender all at once.

"You won't," you whisper.

It’s a lie, and you both know it.

But it’s a kind lie.

The kind you tell someone when love outweighs truth.

His eyes glisten, wet and angry and afraid.

"You’re going to live," he says, like it’s a fact.

Like he can will it into existence.

You smile again — soft and sad and full of all the things you don't have the strength to say.

"I'll make sure of it," he vows, fierce and breaking.

"I’ll tear the world apart if I have to."

Even now, when your body feels like it’s slipping further away from you with every beat.

You believe him.

You always believe him.

Even now, when you know some promises are too big for this world.

You squeeze his hand weakly.

"I love you," you whisper before you can stop yourself.

It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud.

The first and — you know — maybe the last.

He lets out a broken, shuddering sound, and leans forward until his forehead rests against yours.

"I love you more," he whispers back, trembling.

"I love you enough to move heaven and earth if that's what it takes."

You close your eyes.

You let yourself believe it.

Just for a little while longer.

Just until the morning comes.

The days bleed together in a haze of too-bright mornings and too-quiet nights.

Sometimes you’re strong enough to sit up, to laugh a little when he brings you sweets hidden in his bag, the ones the nurses pretend not to see.

Sometimes you can’t even lift your head.

But he never leaves.

Zayne is there through all of it — a constant, stubborn presence.

He drags a battered medical textbook everywhere he goes, flipping through it with growing desperation between moments spent at your side.

You catch him muttering to himself sometimes — notes, formulas, theories — a language only he and the universe seem to understand.

His eyes never lose that fierce, determined light. Not even when the others — the nurses, the doctors, even his father — start looking at you with that pitying softness usually reserved for lost causes.

Zayne refuses.

Refuses to believe you are anything less than a miracle still waiting to happen.

And for a while, you let him.

You let yourself believe it too.

You dream together — quietly, in snatches of exhausted conversation.

Little things.

You fall asleep with his hand in yours, and for a moment, you almost think you’ll wake up to that future.

Trips you’ll take.

Places you’ll see.

A life waiting just beyond the next sunrise.

Almost.

It happens in the middle of the night.

At first, it's nothing.

A shiver.

A slight breathlessness.

You're used to it. You think you’ll ride it out like all the others.

But then the pain hits.

A blinding, seizing agony in your chest that knocks the air from your lungs.

You’re distantly aware of Zayne shouting — your name over and over—his voice cracking in a way you’ve never heard before.

Monitors shriek.

Nurses rush in.

The world explodes into chaos.

You try to find him — try to reach out — but your limbs are so heavy, your vision swimming.

You catch one glimpse — just one — of him being dragged back by hospital staff, his face twisted in a raw, desperate kind of terror that tears something deep inside you.

But you can’t speak.

You want to tell him it’s okay.

You want to tell him you’re not afraid.

You can’t even breathe.

And as the darkness rushes up to meet you —you think, faintly —

I’m sorry.

He’s still holding your hand.

Hours later, long after the machines have fallen silent.

Long after the nurses have cried quietly behind the curtains.

Long after his father stood at the door, silent and broken, and then walked away because he couldn't bear to watch his son shatter.

Zayne is still there.

Head bowed, shoulders shaking.

Your hand cradled in both of his like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

"Come on," he whispers, voice hoarse and raw. "Come on — you promised. You said you’d try —"

He presses your hand to his mouth, breathing you in like maybe he can still find some piece of you, some lingering spark that he can fan back to life.

"You can't leave yet," he says, broken. "I’m not ready — I’m not—"

The words dissolve into a rough, gasping sob.

It’s not fair.

You were supposed to have more time.

You were supposed to see the world, to laugh and dance and live.

You were supposed to have a lifetime — not just borrowed days.

Zayne buries his face against your cold fingers.

He doesn’t care who sees.

Doesn’t care if it’s undignified or messy or hopeless.

You loved him.

And he loved you.

Enough to move mountains.

Enough to break himself into pieces trying to save you.

Enough to hold onto you, even now — even when the world is cruel enough to have taken you away.

"I’m sorry," he chokes out against your skin. "I’m so sorry — I wasn’t enough —"

It isn't true. You would have told him that if you could. You would have told him he was always enough.

But all that's left is silence.

Zayne stays there, long after the world outside your hospital room forgets.

Long after the snow he once summoned for you has melted away.

Long after the rest of the universe moves on.

Just like you.

He stays.

Because love doesn’t vanish with the heart that carried it. It lingers—stubborn and beautiful and devastating —like the first snowfall on a summer night.

The rooftop hasn’t changed much.

Zayne stands there now, a tall figure in a dark coat, hands tucked into his pockets against the cold.

The same cracked tiles underfoot.

The same rusted railings.

The same battered bench, where once — a lifetime ago — two dreamers sat and imagined a future they could almost touch.

It’s snowing.

Soft, heavy flakes drifting down from a sky the color of mourning doves.

The night he watched you dance in the middle of summer, your laughter lighting up the world more than any stars ever could.

Exactly the way it did that night.

The night he made it snow for you.

His throat tightens.

He tilts his head back, lets the snow kiss his skin.

Lets the memories wash over him — sharp and tender all at once.

The wind whistles softly around him, as if in agreement.

"You'd hate this," he murmurs to the empty air, a wry smile ghosting across his face.

"You always said snow was pretty, but cold was overrated."

He closes his eyes.

He can almost see you — spinning in the falling snow, hands outstretched, that shy, luminous smile you only ever showed him.

Almost.

Zayne shifts, pulling something from his coat pocket — a small, delicate bouquet.

Not flowers.

Paper cranes.

Hand-folded, each one painstakingly creased.

A thousand wishes, a thousand promises.

He sets them carefully on the bench.

A silent offering to the girl who once taught him what it meant to dream — even if dreams don’t always come true.

"I did it," he says quietly, voice rough.

"I kept my promise."

He swallows hard, staring out into the snowy city lights.

"I couldn’t save you," he admits, the old grief still a raw, tender thing inside him. "But I saved others."

Hundreds of them.

Patients who would have died, now living because of the research, the surgeries, the relentless fire you lit inside him.

Because of you.

Always because of you.

Zayne breathes in deep, the cold burning his lungs, grounding him.

"I hope... wherever you are," he says, soft and sure, "you're proud."

The snow falls heavier now, blurring the edges of the world.

Zayne stands there a little longer, letting the silence wrap around him like a memory, like a prayer.

Finally, he turns to leave.

But before he goes, he glances back one last time —and for just a heartbeat —he thinks he sees you.

He doesn't blink.

Standing there in the snow, smiling.

Weightless. Free.

He just smiles back, tears blurring the world into stars.

"Happy anniversary, angel," he says.

And then he walks away, carrying you with him — in every beat of his heart.

Always.

[bluehoodiewoozi]

Cherry-flavoured

girl dad & husband (in that specific order)!Choi Seungcheol x wife!Reader

Genre: fluff, sickfic

Word Count: 1,400

Warnings: the flu; Seungcheol is down bad for his two girls; reader despises cherry-flavoured medicine

[Domestic AU] When both of his girls fall sick at the same time, Seungcheol is more than happy to take care of them both - no matter how difficult they are.

The kettle had barely finished when Seungcheol heard your voice calling out, “Can I get my tea yet?”

“You don’t even like tea that much,” he scoffed under his breath, careful not to be heard, before responding louder, “Just a moment, honey!”

He waited for a response and it soon came. A sniffling sound. A sneeze. But even then your pout was practically audible in your reply: “I don’t like honey.”

He sighed. The hot steam of the water was making his nose runny even now, a whole three days after his recovery from the flu. Still he carried on, adding spoonfuls of honey into two cups of tea. With the utmost care, he picked out the best looking cookies from the box (one Mingyu had so kindly brought over after hearing of your family’s predicament) and added them to the tray, right beside a small box of flu medicine.

To the sound of sniffles, coughing and whines of suffering, he steadily picked up the tray and began his journey upstairs. The ticklish feel of the cat scurrying past his ankles almost threw him off his balance. Just as he regained it, another fluffy creature practically flew past him – Kkuma stopped on the top step to look back at him, judging him for his slowness – but soon he reached the top of the stairs with a sigh of relief. 

The relief was temporary though because the moment he reached the 2nd floor, he was bombarded with complaints.

“What’s taking you so long, dad?” sounded from the bedroom to the right. It was followed by shuffling, a soft greeting for the cat, and more whining. “You promised to fix my TV!”

He took a moment to wonder when his little girl had started calling him ‘dad’. It sounded so formal and affectionless compared to the nicknames she’d given him in the past. 

But it was clear where his journey would take him next. Cautiously, he made his way to Minah’s bedroom. The door got stuck before he could fit himself through. He resisted the urge to forcefully rest his head against the doorframe. 

“Minah, princess, I told you I’d fix your TV after you clean your room,” he pointed out as he tried to shove the door further open without much success. It was harder to do this with no free hands and even he wasn’t bold enough to try to balance the tray with only one hand. “Where do you even walk?”

“I climb the walls like spiderman.”

His brows furrowed: that sounded an awful lot like talking back! Seungcheol wasn’t entirely sure whether she was just loopy from the fever or if it was time to stop letting the members babysit his daughter.

“Well, what’s daddy supposed to do?” he asked once he finally managed to break into the room. The tray remained mostly dry and he considered that a win. “I can’t climb the walls.”

There was a glint of mischief in his daughter’s eyes. “I’ll clean the room if you fix my TV.”

That was it, Seungcheol decided. He was done having children. If a few days ago he had wondered how to bring up the idea of having a second child with you, the desire now swiftly left as he realised his fate: endless circular arguments that would somehow always end with him folding around his little girl’s finger. 

He placed a cup of steaming tea and half the cookies on her bedside table. When she inevitably reached to take one (for she was only a girl; one with a sweet tooth), he let out a warning noise and handed her a spoonful of cough syrup. “Medicine first, candy second.”

His eight-year-old daughter offered him a look that called him dumb in five languages. The white cat in her lap seemed to match her sentiment. “Cookies aren’t candy, dad.”

“They’re chocolate-chip,” he retorted, already feeling his eyes widening with annoyance, “and chocolate is candy.”

“No, chocolate is chocolate,” she corrected him with a giggle that was soon interrupted by a coughing fit. 

Seungcheol felt himself soften at the sight. His free hand reaching out to brush her hair out of her face as she blew her nose, he patiently waited with the spoon still in his hand. Once she looked at him again, eyes red-rimmed and filled with exhaustion, he offered her a gentle smile. “Your medicine, princess?”

Her hand reached upwards towards the spoon. She hesitated. “Do I have to?”

“Do you want to get better?” he countered, raising a brow.

She groaned and looked up to her ceiling covered in plastic glow-in-the-dark stars. Clearly he hadn’t realised how difficult of a question that was to answer. “But then I’ll have to go back to school.”

“Don’t you want to see your friends?”

Once again he was on the receiving end of that look she had perfected – the one that called him old and dumb and boring. “I chat with them all the time.”

It was time to bring out the big guns – the one thing (a person, really) he hated to speak of but always seemed to get her to do what was needed. He squeezed his eyes shut as he braced himself to say the words: “If you get better, you can see Yongho again.”

The spoon was out of his grasp and in Minah’s mouth before he could open his eyes again. Defeated, he sighed and handed her a cookie in return for the newly empty spoon.

“Will you fix my TV now?” she then had the audacity to ask. 

And Seungcheol couldn’t even say no. 

He nodded and left the room with the tray in his hands, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll get mom her medicine first and then I’ll fix your TV.”

She cheered and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Seungcheol?” he then heard your voice call. “How long does it take to make tea?”

He entered the room with a chuckle. “There’s only one of me, you know? And someone has to take care of the little one as well.”

“The little one,” you snorted at the nickname. “Honey, she’s eight. She has a boyfriend. You need to come up with a new nickname soon.”

“God, don’t even remind me about the boyfriend,” he groaned as he placed the tray down. “It should be illegal to date before the age of 30.”

Amused, you raised an eyebrow. 

“For her anyway,” he added with a pout. “And she’ll always be my little one.”

“Even when Yongho asks her to prom?” you teased, sitting up just as he made himself comfortable sitting on the bed. “Even on her wedding day?”

He stared at you. Then his eyes narrowed. “You’re just saying things to annoy me, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one that took your sweet time making my tea.” You reached for the cup. “My throat is so scratchy. I hate being sick.”

Golden opportunity. “If you don’t want to be sick, you should take some medicine.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the venomous glare you sent his way. 

“I think I would rather just succumb to the flu,” you told him and he was sure you meant it. 

But he had vowed to stay with you through sickness and health, and then he had sworn to your mother that he wouldn’t let you be sick when he could help it – really, he had a duty to fulfill here. “You’re setting a bad example for Minah, you know?”

“She’s not even in the same room–”

“MINAH, YOUR MOM’S NOT TAKING HER MEDICINE!” he bellowed right then and there, confident that he would receive a response that would force you to accept your fate. 

Seconds later, a loud – slightly wheezing – yell sounded from the other bedroom, “MOM, YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

You grimaced under his self-satisfied stare. “Fine, but it better not be the cherry-flavoured one.”

He put extra effort into hiding the label from you as he poured a spoonful of the syrup and handed it to you. ���Drink up.”

You did as told. Then glared at him with viciousness he rarely had the pleasure of seeing. “You just had to get the cherry-flavoured syrup, didn’t you? Traitor.”

“I love you too!” He offered an apologetic smile in return, placed a soft kiss to your cheek, and made a swift exit. 

Suddenly fixing Minah’s TV didn’t sound so tedious after all.

Note: I wrote this when my bestie @haoboutyou was sick and then she proceeded to begged me "150 times" to share this with y'all, so here we are, I guess. I hope this brought a bit of joy into someone's day! <3

[rainydayathogwarts]

Heir to the Dark Lord's Empire - mattheo riddle x lestrange!reader

summary: when you freak out and try to leave your first death eater meeting you've been forced to attend by your mother, Narcissa and Mattheo are quick to protect you, but in two wildly different ways... wc: 0.8k+ pt.2 to not okay

The Malfoy Manor had been stripped of all of the homeyness Narcissa Malfoy had spent years trying to build. The great hall of the manor was filled to the brim with death eaters, and you found yourself dragged into its mess with Draco and Mattheo.

Narcissa had a protective arm wrapped around her son’s torso, a challenge for Voldemort to try anything with him. She had already made Lucius promise to keep Draco out of any death eater business for as long as possible.

But she couldn’t do the same for you, because Narcissa Malfoy was not your mother.

No, Bellatrix Lestrange was, and she wanted you to become a death eater as quick as possible. But she couldn’t put you first, because unfortunately, in the death eater hierarchy, Mattheo Riddle came first.

The boy stood like a statue next to you, but despite the signature stoic stare on his face, you knew he didn’t want to be a part of this. But unlike you, Mattheo had accepted his fate long ago. He had stopped looking for ways to escape the chaotic life of a death eater.

Standing in the very back of the room, behind rows of death eaters, you felt Mattheo’s hand wrap around yours for a brief moment before letting you go, both your parents present with a sixth sense for fear.

You jumped as your mother suddenly gripped both your arms, whispering wickedly “It’s almost time.” Shivers were sent down your spine at her tone, and suddenly looking up, you met your aunt’s eyes from across the room. Narcissa looked as though she feared for your life.

You did too.

“I have to go.” You found yourself muttering, and Mattheo worriedly turned to look at you from one side, your mother’s head snapping towards you from the other. Her fingers tightly wrapped around your wrist, and you jerked away from her, attracting several masked faces to turn to look at you.

As your wrist slipped away from your mother’s grip, she immediately extracted her wand from her pocket, but before she could throw a single spell at you, quickly stumbling away from her, her wand flew out of her hands and clattered onto the wall.

Bellatrix’s eyes filled with fury, but just as she took angry steps towards you, a figure appeared in front of you with a loud, apparating pop. “Narcissa, move out of my way.” She threatened quietly, and from above your godmother’s shoulder you found a pair of worried brown eyes staring at you.

“No.” You weren’t only surprised at Narcissa’s steady and decided tone, but at the fact that she had stood up for you in front of Voldemort and his most loyal death eaters.

“You’re not her mother!” Your mother screeched, but Narcissa, ever calm, replied with “I may not be her mother, but I am more her mother than you’ll ever be.”

As Bellatrix opened her mouth, inevitably to attempt a wandless hex aimed at her own sister, a voice cut her off.

“That’s enough!” Mattheo’s deep, assertive grumble silenced the hall, and his father leaned back into his throne like chair, a proud smile on his face as he waited to see what his son had to say.

The heir to the Dark Lord’s empire.

“Petty arguments will not be accepted in the Dark Lord’s presence. Settle down. I’ll take y/n for a breath of fresh air; prepare her for what is awaiting her.”

Voldemort nodded approvingly, shooting your mother a glare. A snappy comment was sitting on the tip of Bellatrix’s tongue. Was Voldemort really going to let a boy speak to his most loyal follower that way? Yes, she realised, watching as his eyes followed his son out of the room.

One of Mattheo’s hands hovered over the small of your back as he walked you out of Malfoy Manor onto the grounds, where a cool breeze greeted you. “I’m sorry.” You muttered, tears gathering in your eyes in embarrassment. Mattheo’s face softened, and a gentle smile made its way onto his features. “Don’t apologise for anything. I know it’s scary.”

You let out a shaky breath, hesitantly reaching to hold Mattheo’s hand. The boy laced his fingers into yours, watching you carefully.

“They’re gonna give me the mark.” You addressed, finally coming to terms with it. There was no more running from it. Mattheo’s gaze dropped down momentarily to glance at his own dark mark, now covered by the sleeve of the suit of his blazer. The one his father had given him on his first night back home for the summer. The death eaters had celebrated wildly, but Mattheo wasn't phased. He only wanted to spend the night in your arms.

In that moment, watching the fearful look in your eyes, Mattheo decided that he would become loyal to his father, taking over the empire if he had to, just so he could protect you. Keep you as safe of a distance from missions as you could possibly be.

‘It’s to protect her.’ Mattheo would tell his father, ‘I don’t want them to hurt her’. And his father’s chest would swell with pride, knowing his son was aware of the dangers the order could bring them. The dangers Dumbledore could bring.

He didn’t care that Mattheo loved you, he didn’t care that Bellatrix wanted to make you a soldier. He cared that his empire was in safe hands, and therefore, you would be too.

[ksascriptt]

Suck It And See - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Aaron Hotchner x Wife!BauProfiler!Reader

Read part 2 !

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, mentions of mutilation (just the fact that it had happened at some point), lots of crying, not so great writing :( Haley isn’t murdered in this but she has fully left Hotch and Jacks life for reasons I haven’t decided yet — I don’t want Aaron to quite have that ptsd from losing a second lover.

Summary: You and Aaron have been married for five years, and you both hold jobs at the Behavioural Analysis Unit as Criminal Profilers — how is he supposed to react when you are the target that is doomed to die ?

Notes: The original plan was a LOT different than how this is gonna turn out, so consider this as like some background info for the later chapters. Enjoy ! 🫶

Word Count: like 1100 or something close to that

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦

Three Weeks Ago, 29 January.

Yesterday and the day before, with an abundance of phone calls, meetings, messages, and tears, you were delivered the unfortunate news that you had fourteen days left to live — two weeks. It didn’t seem real, but you were quick to realize just how real it was.

The deal you hadn’t quite agreed to was that you were to free two highly dangerous and hostile prisoners (which, you couldn’t even do, it was beyond your jurisdiction) or you would be killed in two weeks time. Several agents had tried to find the group that planned this, attempted to stop them even, and they were all murdered. Brutally, really, their bodies mutilated in ways you hoped yours wouldn’t be.

So, you had no choice but to accept the fact that death would hold you in its clutches when life could not. Your friends and family didn’t take this well, they all rioted and tried to make it better but somehow, the group was untraceable — the BAU team, the best of the best, couldn’t save you. Aaron was your husband, you’d been married for five years and together for seven, and he couldn’t save you either. This information destroyed him, tore his chest open and gripped his heart like a vice. How does one accept the inevitable death of their lover?

He felt helpless when he realized he couldn’t help you, felt unsure and afraid for the first time in a long time — but he was determined to change your fate. Aaron was always a focused man, his attention rarely strayed from his priorities and he was so put together. It was odd to see him now, on the floor in front of the couch, ankles crossed and elbows resting on them. His hands were running through his dark hair, messy and unruly with stress and his fingers trembling as he occasionally clenched them. Your husband wasn’t the type to sit on the ground and damn-near panic, like he was doing now, face red and the remnants of tears stuck to his beautiful face.

The lights were off and it was dark outside, the only visible glow being emitted from a lamp in the other room, casting an orange-grey shadow on the room and the man it contained. The day had already been long, many tears had been shared and shed throughout the past two days, and you were not exempt from that. In fact, you were nearly drowning in the sheer amount of sadness and fear that coursed through your blood, as though it had entered your lungs in the time it took you to realize this was happening. But you couldn’t help but set your eyes upon Aaron, his casual clothing of a crewneck and jeans, and just how different he appeared now. Everything he stood for felt like it had been crushed in just a few days. You were such a prominent part of his life now, he adored and loved you more than anyone could ever understand, how could he cope with knowing he would lose you when he spent so much time trying to never let you go?

Leaning against the wide, open-formatted archway in the living room, you couldn’t bring yourself to rip your teary eyes away from the nearly crumpled form of your husband. This wasn’t right, you knew that — but you couldn’t let this tear everyone apart from the inside.

“ Aaron, honey? “

You asked softly, sniffling a little as you tried to keep your head level.

“Come here, I think maybe we should go to bed; it’s… been a long day,” you decided, keeping your volume low even as you moved to walk over to him. His head raised, eyes red and a little bloodshot as he took in the sight of you. A short time passed until he was able to stand to his full form, exhausted from work – or, rather, exhausted from trying to find anything that could save you. The taller man merely hummed in response, frowning for a second before wrapping his trembling arms around you, as though he’d never let you go. He didn’t think he should have had to let you go. It was unfair, cruel, irrational.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦

You had managed to coax Aaron to bed, and he barely let you go, not even just to change. He hated the sudden attention to detail he had, how he was forced to commit everything about you to memory for you were running on a clock until you were torn away from him. From the world. How would Jack take this? And even worse, how could you tell him that it was inevitable? Nobody understood. It hurt, you almost felt like you had been given up on so fast, as if the FBI had decided they couldn’t even try to save you, as though you weren’t worth the trouble. Maybe you were bitter out of fear, maybe you thought it was unjust.

Your mind wandered everywhere as you lay in his arms, the cold air drifting in from the open window a harsh reality in the safety of Aaron’s hold. “I don’t understand,” he finally spoke, the first words since a mild outburst he’d had this afternoon, emotions at a high at the office. “You don’t understand?” You repeated back to him, confirming. “No,” he began, “I don’t. It’s.. untraceable, I don’t know why I can’t stop this. It’s my job to stop this, sweetheart.” Aaron was shirtless, wearing only flannel pajama pants, legs entangled with your own. You wore a shirt of his, something older; from college, probably. “I.. there’s been four agents dead because of me. There’s more risking their lives. I’ll get everything arranged,” you explained with a slowly breaking voice. Tears welled in your eyes at every blooming thought. You were thirty, barely a real adult but you weren’t lucky enough to live until your next birthday. The lottery of life was not yours to be rewarded. “I love you, Aaron.”

“I love you more, honey.”

Nobody could count just how many times those words had been uttered already, for fear every time would be the last. The feeling that eventually, you would say it once and never say it again. But the clock was ticking everyday, and you couldn’t change that, no matter how much you yearned for just a little more time. With a mind racing a mile a minute, tried to zero in on his heartbeat, not on the tears slowly slipping from your eyes and onto Aaron’s chest.

[poppadom0912]

Hii! 🙋🏻‍♀️

I saw that you are accepting requests, can I request an imagine with Jay Halstead where he and the reader (a surgeon) don't get along very well and, as fate would have it, they both live in the same building. One night the reader discovers that there is a camera hidden in the lampshade that she got from a strange guy, so the guy threatens her and Jay protects her. 😅❤️

Sorry for my English.

Warnings: Stalking/pedo men, brief hospitals, small injuries, and swearing.

A/N: Now that my series is done, I can finally get to completing and putting out all these requests. I wrote this in school. And do not apologise for your English, it was perfect.

Life is stressful right now so I lowkey got carried away writing this because it's somehow nearly 3k words but please do enjoy this!!

You weren’t too sure when it all actually started but it was too late to reverse time now.

Growing up, there was no way to avoid the Halstead brothers because all the way throughout your childhood up until the age of eighteen, you all went to school together and outside, your mothers were near inseparable. You could never catch a break.

What made matters even more confusing was that you didn’t mind Will, on fact, the two of you were quite good friends. You tolerated Will and with both your combined loves for medicine, an inevitable friendship bloomed but even with this, you and Jay just could not get along.

The only time you ever found solace was when the two of you finally parted ways after high school. You remained in Chicago to become a doctor and later surgeon while Jay, he spontaneously decided to enrol to become an army ranger. Your shock could not be hidden.

With both brothers out your life, days were so much more simple. From time to time, you wouldn’t say it aloud but you missed Wil’s company but Jay, his absence almost made it as though he never existed in the first place. And yes, maybe that was a bit cruel but the genuine hatred you had at the mere thought of him or the sight of his face, it made you want to hurl.

And the rest was history. Even with the more recent parts being a bit more pleasant yet depressive, your pure hatred for him didn’t seem to wane.

*****

Fast forward a few years and this is how it all is: your father remained ever so absent, both mothers passed away several years ago, Pat died last year, you and Will worked together and you and Jay weren’t exactly civil.

Living in the same building, on the exact same floor and literal doors apart could only do so much damage.

Today had been a very, very long day. You had just been on shift for a double that had run over because of the complicated surgery that almost went sideways last minute. You were practically dead on your feet. You loved trauma surgery as much as the next trauma surgeon but you could go without blood and scalpels for the next few hours because sleep was calling your name like a siren song.

Upon Connor’s insistence, he drove you home because he expressed his fear of you sleeping on the train and never getting off.

Finally in your apartment building, you dragged your feet to your door, your keys almost missing the hole due to your sudden misalignment. Your mind was nearing haziness but with one final push, you were inside and collapsed on your bed.

Sleep was instant. It was expected but you also weren’t surprised when you knocked out and woke up randomly at two in the morning. You felt semi-rejuvenated but you could definitely sleep for longer.

Drowsily, you stripped out of your clothes, chucking them towards the basket before walking into the bathroom. Doing what you needed to do, you returned and searched for comfortable pyjamas that were good enough for this heat.

Standing half naked in your own bedroom in the apartment that you rented alone was a completely normal thing to do. Never in your life did you need to be paranoid or extra careful. You were in the comfort of your own home, so why was there the need to be riddled with anxiety.

Well, apparently you should’ve because as you pulled you cotton shorts on, rummaging through your draw for an oversized shirt, you caught a miniscule red dot. You were so tired you contemplated if it was a hallucination but a few minutes later, remaining in the same position, the nano dot was still there.

Diverting your attention to the suspicious dot, you threw on a random shirt but somehow, during the milliseconds your head spent under the shirt before it reappeared, the red dot disappeared.

Now you were on edge. Sleep didn’t come as easy this time.

In the morning, everything looked the same. Going around, you tried to look for anything that could’ve been tampered with but alas, everything was in tip top condition. Maybe you really were so out of that that you were delusional, it all really could’ve been a hallucination.

You had a few more hours before you needed to go back to work and considering the state of your empty fridge, grocery shopping seemed like a promising idea.

Your sweetening mood however quickly turned sour at the familiar sight of a certain detective standing down the hallway, walking in the same direction as you towards the buildings only elevator.

Sighing in disappointment, you readjusted the tote bag on your shoulders and walked ahead anyway. There was no way you were letting this man ruin your mood.

Being stuck in the elevator though, it did ruin your mood a little.

For once in your entire life though, Jay didn’t rile you up. He didn’t say anything nor did he even attempt to roll his eyes when he saw you. It was weird, he barely even acknowledged you.

And you hated to admit it, but you didn’t like it. As much as you despised the man, Jay acting as if you were a ghost was something that irked you. But obviously, you were never going to tell him that, it’d only boost his already enormous ego.

*****

“You look like a rat.”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

You took it all back. Everything you said two days ago, you were taking it all back. Jay could rot and burn in hell and you still wouldn’t care.

Over the course of twelve hours, something must’ve changed because Jay’s renewed vigour was back and it was here to stay. You didn’t relish his silence long enough because the second he opened his mouth, your headache returned.

Next time, you were dragging Will and forcing him to escort you up to your apartment door because at least then he’d save you, he’d make this all much more bearable.

The sudden change in weather suited your mood, the rain mimicking your emotions that Jay was only half responsible for. The other half was a result of your newly achieved paranoia and anxiety that made itself known whenever you came home.

No matter where you searched or how many hours you slept, the red dot came and then disappeared again. It was annoying and it came to the point that you tried avoiding you bedroom especially as much as possible. To not be comfortable and safe in your own home wasn’t right.

Rolling your eyes, you fished your keys out of your bag and ignored whatever Jay was saying. You’d known him for so long that blocking out his voice had become second nature, it was something you did subconsciously.

You wished his apartment was before yours, that way at least you could have some peace but life worked in funny ways.

Stopping in front of your door, you were just about to unlock it when your body froze.

“What’s wrong?”

The sudden change in your mood caught him off guard, your frozen body worrying him slightly. He might’ve shared your feelings of hostility but you were his older brothers best friend, which had to count for something.

Following your line of sight, Jay’s eyes hardened at the unlocked door, a slither of light leaking out from inside as the door sat ajar. You definitely locked it this morning, there was no doubt about it.

Maybe you had the right to be paranoid. Perhaps you should’ve acted on it sooner.

Not wasting another second, Jay pushed you behind him and drew his gun. With his shoe, he gently nudged the door open and began surveying the apartment bit by bit with practised precision.

You hadn’t seen the man in action for a while now, it was weird to see him so proper and serious.

With nothing out of place and all valuable belongings safe and sound, Jay deduced that for now, things should be fine but if need be, if anything was out of the ordinary, he was the first person you called.

And for the first time ever in over thirty years, you made Jay a promise.

*****

You kept to your promise. This was a matter you weren’t going to mess around with, even if it was with Jay.

You had just come out of the shower, hair dripping wet, shorts and an oversized shirt on because despite the rain it was still humid and the summer heat wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Stepping into the dark room, you started patting your hair dry with a towel and walked towards the lamp so there was at least some lighting. A dimly lit room made you feel less paranoid.

It was upon turning the lamp on though did your anxiety peak. This new height it reached making it hard for you to breathe all of a sudden.

Without even thinking of the consequences, Jay’s number was the first thing you found on your phone, his contact name pressed within seconds of your discovery.

Heart pounding out of your chest, you forced yourself to move at the sound of the door. This fear was almost paralysing, you didn’t even know what to make of all of it.

“What happened?” Jay’s concern was immediate. All you did was call him and he came over without question. Your call alone told him enough.

You stared at him wide eyed, words lodged at the back of your throat but they wouldn’t go any further than that. Remaining wordless, you simply grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards your room and he followed obediently.

Your bedroom was now back to pitch black; you turned the lamp off straight away because the pyjamas you wore left little for imagination. That trail of thought made you want to be sick.

Jay stood beside you; your hand still wrapped around his wrist tightly while your other still held the wet hair towel that you probably should put away. He surveyed the dark room, taking it all in and trying to poke out anything out of the ordinary.

It was only when you tugged on his wrist, his head turning down to you before following your line of sight and pointed finger towards your innocent looking lamp that idly sat on your bedside table.

But it turned out to be not so innocent after all. Jay immediately saw the red dot no matter its small size, he saw it straight away and alarm bells went off.

Gently prying your fingers off his wrist, Jay holstered his gun and strode towards the lamp, tilting the lamp shade as he fiddled with something underneath. It didn’t take long before he stood up to his full height with a small black square in his palm.

This all-escalated way too fast for your liking.

*****

Jay refused to let you see anything from what he told you was a camera; he wouldn’t let you see it even for a price but he did briefly talk about what he saw in very little detail. What he told you was more than enough to make you want to bleach your body in a bath and move out of state to a place no one would know you.

Jay also wasn’t one hundred percent confident in letting you return back to your apartment alone. That’s how you found yourself wrapped in a blanket sitting cross-legged on his sofa, hiding yourself and your body from the world. Even with your shirt and shorts on, you felt liked dying at the thought of a man staring you down with intentions all but pure.

Gosh, you wanted to be sick.

Slowly sipping some water from a cup Jay silently handed you, you tried relaxing, rotating your shoulders to try release any of the tension but you failed. Fidgeting with anything was the only way you were able to not focus on the conversation Jay was having on the phone in the next room over. He was probably most likely talking to someone else from Intelligence.

The rest of the night, well more very early morning really, Jay explained the plan about how Intelligence were going to go about this but it would all happen in the morning at an actual suitable time.

With much bickering, Jay forced you into his bed as he took the sofa. It was weird that this was the most civil and even most nicest interaction the two of you ever had in either of your lifetimes. You wouldn’t tell him this unless under a life-or-death situation, but you kind’ve liked it. When Jay wasn’t being such a bastard, he was actually kind of decent.

Goodness, thinking about him was not something you would’ve ever thought of doing before yet here you were, thinking about your childhood nemesis at work.

The morning was relatively fine sprinkled with bits of awkwardness. Jay forcefully drove you to work when you insisted on going in today despite his attempts of getting you to stay home. If you tried and told Ms Goodwin the truth, she was very likely to give you the day off. Your stubbornness didn’t wane though.

You shift was normal, going from boring and mundane to fast paced just how you liked it. Nothing changed and it was relieving to be surrounded by familiarity and some sort of routine, it was a big distraction from the mess waiting for you at home. You tried keeping yourself occupied at every moment because any second you got alone with your deprecating thoughts, you were for sure going to spiral to a dark place.

And you’d been doing a great job at keeping busy till a certain detective walked in through the ED doors.

From the corner of your eyes, nothing about him looked off but when you squinted and walked towards him, you could make out a bloody gash poking out from his ripped jacket sleeve.

Now, Jay being hurt at work was nothing new. In fact, it was to be expected and you’d never been too bothered by it unlike Will was whenever his injured brother walked in so casually like it was another normal Wednesday.

However, you knew what he was doing at work today and your concerns peaked to such a height that Will had no reason to be worried anymore; you took it all from him.

“What happened?” You tried to remain somewhat calm, schooling your face as you dragged his non-injured arm towards an empty treatment room. Internally, you were glad Will was in surgery otherwise he’d be smirking and laughing like a manic at the sight he was seeing, a sight he’d never even envision in his dreams.

“We found the guy.” Jay ignored your question, begrudgingly sitting down on the bed, rolling his eyes when you wouldn’t let him get up. “We arrested him. Platt’s booking him as we speak.”

And just like that, all the weights pushing you down under the ground dissipated and you were beyond relieved.

You hands faltered as they went to grab some gauze, your eyes looking up to see whether or not he was lying but the soft smile spread across his lips, you didn’t need to question his credibility.

Without thinking, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and interlocked around his neck. Instinctively, you squeezed him a little, eyes shut as you relished in the good news. For a while, the world around you didn’t exist before it all came rushing back.

Suddenly, you abruptly pulled back, eyes wide in shock as your actions sunk in. Pressing your lips together tightly, you avoided eye contact and went back to preparing the gauze and butterfly strips, maybe even some wipes to see the real extent of the damage your stalker inflicted onto Jay.

Jay huffed in amusement and you could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head. All of a sudden, you felt the need to smother his god forsaken handsome face-

What the fuck? There was no way you just thought that.

“He looks worse than me, don’t worry.” Jay started again, a smug smirk on his face as he spoke, his eyes not moving from your face. “He was being a bit of a dick so I roughed him up a little. This little nick is nothing.”

And for once, you didn’t doubt the truth behind his words. You fondly rolled your eyes before going to clean his bicep that was no longer covered by his jacket.

“My saviour.” You smiled placatingly, making brief eye contact before breaking it. “What would I have done without you.”

And for once again, there was no sarcasm dripping from your words. Behind them lay mostly the truth and maybe a hint of your typically sarcasm but without his help, who knows what would’ve happened.

“All in a days work.” Jay’s face didn’t change, his expression not moving a single bit. For a reason beyond your medical and surgical knowledge, you blushed, cheeks randomly feeling flushed.

Maybe now with childhood rivalry forgotten and shoved aside, things between the two of you could get better.

[truuskn]

finished rewatching wfc, here's a bunch of my random thoughts about elita (part 1)

more than anything in the world elita feared that one day if optimus will continue his journey in this way she would have to bury him. well, fate had decided to play a trick on her. she died first. she had to be buried first. prime's spark had to endure the unbearable pain of knowing what does it feel like when you and your soulmate are separated forever. she, in a way, successfully escaped from her greatest nightmare (although... actually elita believed the arc crew had died... so... she died with the thought that optimus was already dead! wow! double angst! thanks, just the way i like it)

she switches so quickly, almost immediately cuts off her phrase and changes the topic of conversation. they talked about it thousand times - she realized a long time ago that she will never be able to get through to him... the only thing she can do is just accept the inevitable and pray for primus' favour

op: what are you trying to say, elita?

elita: GO CHECK YOUR STUPID HEAD!!!

op: i can't! our show doesn't have the rights to rung. he's the only psychologist in the tf universe

elita: FUCK

ohhh, i'm going to blow up from these parallels. peak oplita. eh, if only the show was well written

i love how at the same time optimus is elita's main hope and her main grief. he greatly inspires her and greatly disappoints her at the same time. she longs to follow him, but she also longs for him to open his eyes and choose a different path. she hates how blindly he goes after what he thinks is right, disregarding her worries and disagreements, but she admires how even in the darkest of times he doesn't abandon his cause, his desperate desire to save everyone and foolish faith in a better outcome. she wants to be with him, but chooses to leave him... wow. wow

as someone who's main favs are elita and prowl, i was immensely pleased with the 2,5 scenes these two had together, haha

optimus: *says anything*

these two: *look at him with fear in their eyes, waiting for another ridiculous stupid ass thing he'll about to say this time*

optimus: *does anything*

these two: *LOUD, TIRED SIGH*

the one who is most trustworthy and most needed by the current prime inherits alpha trion protocols.... and it's bumblebee?? NOT elita-one?? really??? if this magical shit didn't know in advance that she's going to die soon then i don't understand how and why it turned out to be so. is... is elita-one not enough... for op...

i'm truly amazed at how elita didn't give up after all the horrible things that happened to them. in this show everything goes wrong. always. everything goes fucked up, destinies fall apart overnight, nothing ever works, it gets worse and worse day by day. but elita still keeps going. no matter what. and unlike optimus she puts aside self-doubt and self-pity. her goal comes first. autobots. fighting. no time for anything else. even if she wants to cry and scream and forget it all - no, never. not her. i just... oh, i wish this show had a better script, this elita was so good, but, nope, nope, no time for a really interesting story, let's better watch op whine about allspark for 20 times per episode

1s6e/2s6e <33 🥰💖🌚💐🌟

[agathaandbrienneslesbian]

Hearts of Justice

Miranda Hilmarson x Secretary!Reader

Hello everyone and happy new year to you all <3 I am back with a new mini-fic.

Decided to make a lil illustration for the fic :3

Reminder that I have a Taglist now so make sure to use it <3

Also big thanks to @weemssapphicfor beta reading this piece <3

Disclaimer: English is not my first language!

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Kissies, Love confessions

A/N: Y/N is a secretary at the police station where Miranda works. But what happens when y/n has to console Miranda after a rather rough breakup?

Words: 2'100+

AO3 Link

Taglist

-----

You have been working at the station for about two years now. 

When you first started, Miranda Hilmarson had been the only friendly face there. The two of you immediately became best friends, spending your breaks and sometimes even free time together. 

Technically, you weren’t a Constable, like Miranda. No, you worked as the station's secretary. You supposed this might have been the reason why they didn’t necessarily welcome you. 

Of course, you have been the topic of many bets and pranks, especially from your male coworkers. You never understood the allure of such childish things but… when you were with Miranda, childish things seemed to just make sense. Listening to her gush about her favourite show or how passionate she was about her work, despite being picked on herself, was the highlight of your day. You supposed that’s why the two of you got along so well. Miranda and you shared the same struggles. Even though the both of you didn’t necessarily have a good connection to your coworkers, you still made it through the day with the help of each other. 

A few months ago, you noticed how your affection towards the blonde Constable has changed. It has… intensified. And, of course, it had to happen right when that stupid Adrian dumped her. You never understood what she saw in him… he was a liar, a cheat, didn’t treat her right. It made your blood boil. Seeing her be so hopeful when you knew all he would do was make her cry, break her… it made you so unbelievably angry. And when the inevitable happened, and he dropped her, you were there. You caught her in your arms, cradled her gently and whispered apologies and soft affirmations as she sobbed in your arms on the couch of your flat. 

“He didn’t deserve you”, “I am so sorry he did this to you”, “You deserve better, Mir”, “I will not leave your side. I promise”, “Never again will I let anyone hurt you like this”

It took you a good hour to have her relax in your arms. Still, you didn’t move. This is when it hit you. This exact, stupid moment was when it hit you. How much you actually admired her. How much you cared for her… how much you loved her. It hit you like a brick, square in the face, and your heart sank. You were in love with her. You couldn’t tell her… never… you were her best friend after all, and you certainly didn’t want her to think you used her in her most vulnerable state, so… you stayed quiet. 

For days

For weeks 

For months

Half a year has passed since that fateful night, and it simply got more and more difficult to hold back your emotions, your feelings, your affections. So, you started distancing yourself. Small things at first like your lunch break, the hours you worked. 

In the end, you only saw her at the station, walking in and out. You have completely detached yourself from her and it… hurt. But you couldn’t tell her… could you? She wouldn’t understand… 

It took all your strength to deny her once more when she asked you, with a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, if you wanted to join her for a beer after work. You hated the defeated look on her face as you declined, coming up with yet another excuse. But this time… something was... different. 

You could swear you saw tears. Miranda was… truly upset. This wasn’t your intention, this wasn’t what you wanted… before you could stop her or say something else, tell her you changed your mind, she walked off. Strong and long legs taking her down the halls and out the door. With a defeated sigh and tears burning in your eyes, you leaned back. That’s it… you’ve done it… Miranda probably hated you now.

“I would go after her if I were you…”

A strong voice spoke from behind, and you jumped, not expecting to be ambushed like that. You quickly turned in your chair to see the small detective standing behind you. A frown laid itself on your face as you looked at her questioningly.

“I- what?”

“Oh, you heard me.”

You looked at the brunette, then turned your face to the exit. Maybe… with a quick move, you stood, making your way out. Robin was right. You couldn’t let this be. You wouldn’t be the reason why Miranda cried. Never. You promised her. 

Panting heavily, you finally caught up with the blonde who sat on a bench outside, frantically smoking a cigarette and wiping tears away. The sight broke your heart.

“Mir…”

You said softly, watching as she jumped and her eyes widened. She turned her head away and quickly wiped away her tears.

“Yeah… yeah?”

You took a deep breath and sat down next to her, just looking at her, unsure about what to do. You took a deep breath and pulled her into a hug. She quickly wrapped her arms around you, hiding her face in your neck. You could physically feel her relax in your arms, and it made your heart constrict.

“I’m sorry… I would love to go have a beer with you tonight.”

You spoke softly, running your fingers through her hair. Gods, you missed being this close to her. 

“Really…?”

The blonde asked quietly. With a deep breath and a nod, you pulled her even closer.

“Yes, really.”

You whispered and let go of her. Miranda let go reluctantly and smiled at you, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Wanna… meet at my place?” she asked softly and you nodded. Taking her hands and squeezing them gently. Miranda’s cigarette now on the floor, forgotten by the two of you. Her smile brightened a bit and she nodded.

“Then I’ll have some beers cold and ready when you arrive.”

“That sounds wonderful!”

—

The rest of the day had been strangely uneventful, besides the growing worry and fear of what tonight might bring for you. You almost lost your cool this afternoon, wanting to press sweet kisses to her head and face. But you held yourself back. Miranda wasn’t interested in you like that… 

After work, you quickly rushed home, took a shower and changed into something a bit less formal and more comfortable. You styled your hair and added just a smidge of makeup. Not too much. With one final look in the mirror, you quickly made your way over to Miranda’s place. Standing in front of the door, your nerves started getting the better of you. You can’t do this… this is gonna be too much for you. Before you could decide if you wanted to leave or not, the door in front of you opened. 

“Ah, I thought I had heard something!”

Miranda smiled down at you and stepped aside for you to enter. With a shy smile, you stepped into her flat. It had been weeks since you’d last been here. It smelled like her and you felt slightly dizzy. After taking off your shoes and sitting down on her couch, Miranda quickly followed with two beers, handing you one. 

“I’m glad you’re here. I started to miss your presence.” she said softly and blushed, quickly taking a swig from her beer. You did the same, trying to suppress your blush. She missed you… 

“You’ve been very busy lately… what had you so occupied? Maybe a special someone?”  She asked softly, wiggling with her eyebrows but the way she asked the question… something seemed off.

“Wha- no! Well… not really… not like you think… I’m not…”

A bright blush crept onto your face, and you quickly took another big sip of your beer. Gods, you wouldn’t survive this. Miranda watched you closely, a sad frown on her face.

“Then… why were you avoiding me..?”

The pain you felt in your heart almost made you double over. This is never what you wanted. You never wanted to hurt her. With a sigh, you set the beer down and started fiddling with your fingers.

“It’s not… easy..”

“Tell me! Please! Have… have I done something wrong?”

“No…”

“Have… have I hurt you? Have I been a bad friend? Y/n please! I must know. What have I done to you? Have I said something that upset you or-“

“NO! No… Miranda… no, you could never…”

You sighed. You couldn’t tell her… 

Looking up you saw her face, pain, fear, worry, sadness. You- you just had yelled at her…

“Oh gods, Miranda, I am so sorry I… I didn’t-“

“No it’s.. It’s okay…”

She spoke softly and set her beer down. She was about to get off the couch, but you grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. You had to tell her. You couldn’t see her so upset any more, it was too painful. The blonde’s icy blues looked at you, confusion written on her face as she waited for you to proceed.

“Miranda I- the reason why I was so distant… I don’t know how to tell you.”

You took a deep breath. Miranda had moved your grip, holding your hand now. Her thumb softly rubbing over your knuckles, trying to help you feel calm. It just made you even more nervous. She cared so much. 

“The reason why I was so distant was… I am in love with you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for an answer but when none came you pulled your hand from her grip and covered your face.

“I- I have realised that I felt this way the day that asshole broke up with you… it hit me like a brick and… I didn’t want to tell you. You were so broken… you needed a friend not… that. I-I couldn’t be around you any more because it was just eating me up from the inside every time we spent time together. I had to distance myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable… I didn’t want to- to take advantage of you I- I care too much… Miranda, I love you…”

Silence. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes but if you had looked up you would have seen Miranda's face. A bright blush had covered her face, ears and chest, eyes wide, staring at you with hope, with longing, with unspoken emotions. You loved her. She could be loved, someone, you really loved her. 

“I-I’m sorry… I’ll see myself out, please just forget-“

“No…”

You turned to look at her, taking in her features. She was… smiling. Not in a ‘making fun of you’ type of way, no, a genuine smile. Miranda moved closer, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you close, running her fingers through your hair as she pulled you against her body. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around the strong blonde, falling into her embrace, her scent, her soft breaths against your shoulder, falling into her. 

“Y-you’re not mad? Uncomfortable? Disgusted?”

Miranda pulled away to cup your face, wiping a tear from your cheek as she looked into your eyes.

“I could never. I love you too much.”

She whispered, smiling softly down at you. Your eyes widened. She… loved you?

“Miranda I-“

“Can I kiss you?”

You looked into her eyes, her icy blue orbs reflecting nothing but love, care and hope. You nodded, cupping her cheeks and gently tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Please!”

She leaned in, you felt her warm breath on your skin and then her soft, warm lips against yours. It was a perfect fit. Like the last piece in a puzzle. She completed you and in that moment all of your worries flew out the window. Miranda was gentle and careful. Her lips moved against yours with soft movements, and she made sure to hold you as if you were about to fall apart. She held you, she protected you. 

After a minute or two, she pulled away and smiled softly at you, pressing a gentle peck to your forehead. You smiled and closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of her soft, warm lips against your forehead. You belonged here. In her arms, in her embrace. 

“After that night… I started realising how much you actually mean to me. Of course, it took a while for me to realise that what I felt for you was more than friendship. When you started distancing yourself, I was afraid… I thought you noticed. That I- somehow had shown too much, said too much… scared you off…” Miranda admitted and stroked your cheek gently. Keeping eye contact with you. You pressed a quick peck to her lips and the palm of her hand.

“You could never. I love you, Miranda.”

The blonde Constable smiled and pulled you into another embrace, leaning back against the couch and having you snuggle into her arms. Where you belonged.

“I wouldn’t want to be loved by anyone but you.”

-----

Taglist: @erinyaya @phexyce @aemilia19 @weemssapphic @gela123 @winterfireblond @Xxmecverxx @unicorniusfallapatorious @gwenistheloml @yourgaeyisshowing

As always, Likes, Comments and Reblogs are welcome <3

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, reader gets a bit hurt in this chapter but only briefly.

notes: y'all we are officially 50k words in omg what a milestone. we are almost there--they are going to meet soon... but technically.... well you'll see. there are THREE special cameos in this chapter

A WARM WELCOME

“Now is not the time, doctor.”

Pantalone didn’t even raise his head to look at Dottore as he scribbled away at whatever parchment he was writing on. Dottore pressed his lips together, eyes cold beneath his mask as he watched Pantalone, unmoving. The windows of his office creaked against the winds outside, fireplace crackling to keep the room warm but other than that, silence rang loudly between the two of them.

Finally, when Dottore made no move to leave, Pantalone looked up. “What is it? I have a week to prepare for the induction of the Eleventh. I don’t have time for petty complaints.”

Dottore should be insulted, he could feel his irritation rising at the man’s comment but he forced himself to push it away. He had more important things to deal with, notably, his soulmate and as much as he hated to admit it, Pantalone’s resources were necessary if he wanted to find her before someone else did… before she got herself and by extension, him, hurt.

“You offered me resources a few years ago,” Dottore finally said, watching Pantalone carefully for a reaction. “I would like them now.”

The Regrator was a sharp man. Dottore did not have to go into detail for purple eyes to flicker down to his thumb, where the red thread connected him to his soulmate. He watched as Pantalone’s brows furrowed, as he tried to figure out why the sudden change after years of Dottore denying her very existence to him. 

“You have terrible timing, doctor,” Pantalone murmured, pushing the parchments aside as he leaned back in his seat to look up at Dottore. “My resources have been all but expended between the upcoming event and trying to track down that menace to the east who has been slaughtering our underlings.

Dottore’s lips twisted. “It is not my timing that is terrible,” he said coolly, Pantalone raised his eyebrows and Dottore exhaled. “It’s hers. I believe she is here. In Snezhnaya.”

Pantalone exhaled, turning his head to the side to look out the window. “That’s not good,” he murmured. 

“I know that,” Dottore said shortly.

“Why not send one of your segments?” Pantalone asked after a moment, pen tapping against the wood of his desk in an unsteady manner that had Dottore’s eye twitching in annoyance.

“They’re busy,” Dottore answered tensely. 

A lie. Both Epsilon and Rho were back in Snezhnaya City with nothing to do until Dottore decided what research he wanted them to continue on after finishing a round of successful experiments in Archon residue down in southern Liyue. Dottore just didn’t want to send them after her. 

Epsilon was Epsilon. He could not trust that the segment wouldn’t do something foolish driven by the emotions that the rest of them did not have or were not capable of understanding. He was the one that Dottore worried about the most ever since the thread appeared, fearing that he would do something that would irreparably strengthen the bond… like forcing Dottore to meet her because he thought it would be best for them.

And Rho had been the one most vocal about at least letting the kids meet her and if the kids met her, he knew it would inevitably lead to Dottore meeting her and that was the last thing he wanted. 

He had a feeling that Pantalone could read right through the excuse if the unimpressed look on his face had anything to say about it but Dottore did not waver, raising his chin and staring down at where the man was sitting. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources to look for her right now,” Pantalone finally said, shaking his head and scooching his chair back to ruffle through one of the drawers of his desk. “If you can send one of your segments to take out the threat in the east, I might be able to conjure some up and have them keep an eye out but right now my hands are tied.”

“Fine,” Dottore said sharply. “Give me the information you’ve gathered. I’ll send a segment to track him down and kill him.”

Pantalone raised his eyebrows again, this time not even bothering to ask the question that Dottore knew was dancing through his mind: I thought your segments were busy, he could hear the mocking words just through the man’s expression. 

Instead, Pantalone just slid a thick folder across the desk to give to Dottore. He snatched it and tucked it under his arm, intent on passing it off to Rho before he returned to his labs, waiting for Pantalone to confirm that he would look for her.

“We don’t want him dead. We want him captured,” Pantalone warned. “Pierro wants information from him… then I’ll convince him to pass him off to you. Another test subject, you’re welcome.”

Dottore only smiled thinly. “And the girl?” he pressed.

“I’ll do what I can,” Pantalone said. “What do you know about where she is? Western or Eastern Snezhnaya? The border? I need to be able to narrow down the search, I can’t send men all across Snezhnaya with the upcoming event. I need them in the city to prepare for the arrivals of the aristocrats.” 

“I know that she is in Snezhnaya,” Dottore told him. Maybe he would know more if he would swallow his pride and reach out to her, but that simply was not an option. 

Pantalone stared at him, irritation thinly veiled behind his purple eyes. “You do not like making things easy, do you?” the corners of Pantalone’s eyes crinkled in annoyance at Dottore’s words before he finally sighed, shaking his head. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally repeated, “but with nothing to go on, I can make no promises that I’ll find her before someone else does… so, for all of our sakes, I suggest you try to narrow that down.”

It was cold. 

You knew that was something you should have expected and you thought you prepared adequately for it but now, you thought that no amount of preparation could have made you ready to face this. As soon as you had crossed over into Snezhnaya, the temperature had plummeted, the sheer cold was beyond anything you had ever felt before--cold enough to crack the stones of the buildings in the small villages littered throughout the countryside, cold enough to freeze you from the inside out.

Traveling during the night simply wasn’t feasible, as soon as the sun crossed the horizon, the already bone-chilling temperatures plunged further. You had been lucky the first night when you were traveling down the main road deeper into the northlands--you had bumped into an older man traveling back to his home from the one of the villages, he had ushered you back to his place and he and his wife had looked after you, warning you that you wouldn’t live through the night without shelter in Snezhnaya.

Since then, it’d been a game of survival. The deeper you got into Snezhnaya, the more winding and confusing the roads became, the harder it became to track down villages to find inns to stay at and the more nervous it made you about finding shelter for the night. You thought that Snezhnaya was a trap laid out for foreigners, only those who were born and raised there knew how to navigate the lands without meeting an untimely end. 

The tundra of the east appeared endless, a daunting venture you dared not make, and the forests of the west were dark and maze-like with dangerous creatures prowling about and the threat of getting lost and not making it to an inn before night fell was high… but the forest was the only way through to the mountain range south of the Snezhnayan capital city. If you wanted to get to the heart of the Fatui, you would have to trek through the forest and pray you stumbled upon one of the villages before the sunset. 

You exhaled, leaning back in your seat at the bar of the inn you were staying at as you swirled your empty glass between your fingers. You had reached the end of the main road, the only way further into Snezhnaya was through the forest now but the thought of entering it made you anxious. A part of you thought you might be better off heading back home. 

“Another?” the bartender questioned as he walked by you but you only shook your head, thanking him quietly as you remained lost in your own thoughts. 

You couldn’t turn back. Not now, not yet. You had promised yourself and your father that you wouldn’t return home until you had ample evidence to bring this to court… unless you died trying to get it.

Your grandfather didn’t want you going north. He thought that no amount of evidence would be worth you risking your life for but you disagreed. You didn’t think there was any world in which you’d be able to live with yourself knowing you didn’t even try. 

From the corner of your eye, you noticed that he was looking at you again--the man sitting at a table in the corner of the room. You couldn’t see his face, there was a hood masking it from view but you could feel his eyes on you, he’d been watching you for nearly thirty minutes now. A part of you wanted to confront him, grab your stuff and head over to his table and demand to know why he kept staring at you but… the more logical part of you knew you shouldn’t. You didn’t know why he was staring at you and all of the worst possibilities were running through your head:

Does he know what you’re here for?

Is he Fatui?

Is he planning on attacking you?

Your vision vibrated from where it was hidden beneath your cloak, warning you to prepare for a battle but you were not the battle type. You had never learned how to wield your vision in a combat manner and you didn’t know if he had a vision or not, you only knew that he had a large claymore set down on the seat next to him and all you had was a small blade that couldn’t even be called a sword. You had only learned to use your vision in the way your father and grandfather taught you when you were younger and it was not something you enjoyed doing to people. 

Finally, you forced yourself to stand up. Your gaze caught the window on the far end of the room as you rose to your feet--it was dark already, night had fallen and the hazard of the cold had become even more real. 

With a sharp inhale, you turned on your heel to make your way over to the table the man was sitting at. You watched as his head turned to follow you as you approached him and you watched as his body tensed, gloved fingers gripping the edge of the table tight as you slid onto the bench across from him.

“Is there a reason you keep staring at me?” you finally asked. You leaned back against the wall that the bench was placed against, feigning ease, but your legs were tense, ready to move at the first sign of an attack.

“You’re not from here,” the man said after a moment of silence, you caught a glimpse of red beneath the hood he wore. His accent was foreign--unlike the Snezhnayan dialect you’d become used to throughout your travels. 

“Neither are you,” you retorted. He shifted back in his seat, the lighting of the inn revealing equally red hair hanging in his eyes, cold and empty with something dark thinly veiled behind them that made your skin crawl--eyes that had witnessed massacre, eyes that promised vengeance. Vengeance for what? You didn’t know. You weren’t sure you wanted to know, you knew it would lead to nothing good. 

You suddenly felt as if you had made a mistake. 

“There aren’t many foreigners this deep in Snezhnaya,” he noted cooly. “Just merchants… are you a merchant?”

Somehow, you felt as if ‘yes’ was the wrong answer. 

He was accusing you of something, you could feel it in your bones but you didn’t know what he was accusing you of. Being a spy? Was he Fatui? 

“I’m not a merchant,” you said, taking in a small puff of air when you caught the blood smeared across the man’s chin and neck as the hanging lights in the middle of the tavern swayed a bit. His lips pressed together subtly at your words and your vision was becoming even more erratic--danger, danger, danger, it warned you.

Somehow, you knew now that ‘no’ had been the wrong answer too. 

“It’s hard traveling through Snezhnaya without knowing what paths to take, you can get lost easily… all of the paths on the old maps have been snowed out,” he responded. “How’d you make do?” 

“An older couple living off the main road pointed me in the right direction,” you told him. “How about you? Are you a merchant?”

You knew he wasn’t. No merchant traveled with blood staining their faces and a weapon the size of the average person. He had no goods that he had arrived with, he’d shown up at the inn a little after you had with only his sword in tow and his eyes were unfriendly and glacial, unlike the faux charisma that painted the expressions of merchants as they tried to get you to buy their products.

The man stared at you for a moment and then he said, “No,” with no further explanation.

The Fatui usually traveled in groups or as pairs. He had a foreign accent. He wore no mask or sigil that affiliated him with the organization as they usually did. Who the hell was he?

And then you remembered the hushed whispers of the elderly couple you had stayed with--warning you that the Fatui had become more active in their area because of a belligerent wreaking havoc throughout central Snezhnaya who had been spotted at a nearby inn. They told you to take care because they didn’t think that the Fatui would take kindly to any outsider in the area so long as the hostile remained terrorizing their strongholds but…

Was this…?

You watched him carefully, trying to figure it out without having to ask. You were several miles from where you had been staying with them now and it had been two and a half days. Traveling through Snezhnaya was slow and arduous, the wind fought you with every step and half of the time you were dragging yourself through snow that reached your knees. 

If this was him, then maybe… 

You didn’t even have a chance to finish the thought, head snapping to the side as the door to the inn slammed open and cold air rushed through the tavern at the entrance, blowing out half of the candles keeping the room lit up. Your stomach churned uncomfortably and from the corner of your eye, you watched as the man you were sitting with reached for his weapon. 

Who the hell was traveling in the dead of night?

Your throat felt tight as you watched another hooded figure step into the inn. You couldn’t make out his features in the dim lighting, you couldn’t even tell if he was armed or not but there was an odd vial that glowed blue even in the dark hanging from his right ear.

The bartender had paused in making a drink for one of the other patrons of the tavern, a wary look visible on his face that you caught as the chandelier swung dangerously beneath a harsh wind. You let out a shaky breath, the cold from outside was already creeping beneath your cloak and freezing your skin. You wondered why no one was shouting at him to close the damn door like they did to other people who arrived until the bartender finally spoke up, voice shaky: 

“Lord Harbinger,” he breathed out. “How can I-”

The man’s head turned in your direction--no, you realized, not your direction, his--and that was the only warning you got before the world around you exploded. 

The entire right side of his body felt like it was on fire. Dottore let out a spew of curses as his hand spasm and he dropped the vial he had been studying right to the ground, watching as the glass shattered and the silvery liquid splattered all over the floor, dissolving the tiles and eating through the ground.

Dottore exhaled, briefly shutting his eyes before looking down at the mess on the floor. His lips twisted in annoyance as he realized he was going to have to restart what he had been testing but the annoyance very quickly faded, instead shifting into confusion as the pain persisted. His gaze drew over to his arm--nothing was wrong with it on the surface level but it was a blinding type of pain that had him gritting his teeth, like a jagged blade was tearing through his bicep.

It was…

He hadn’t felt anything from her in nearly two weeks. No anxiety, no fear, no anger or sadness and certainly not any pain. He stared down at his arm, where the pain was coming from, and not for the first time since the accursed thread showed up, Dottore had no idea what to do. He thought that he should reach out to her, figure out what was going on and get a general idea of where she was so he could send one of his segments to find her. The pain was more than anything he had ever experienced through her and he wasn’t sure if it was just because she had a low pain tolerance and he was feeling what she was, or if it was because the pain was actually that bad. 

Neither boded well for her. 

But if he reached out to her, if she was fighting someone, it could distract her. 

Dottore’s teeth grit together. He didn’t know what would happen to him or the segments if she died. He didn’t know how it would affect them. Logically, he thought it shouldn’t affect them at all. They hadn’t met her yet and if the bond worked anything like how they believed it did, it shouldn’t take effect until after they met, which wasn’t going to happen… but after two weeks of silence, Dottore was unsure. Every day that passed, an odd, unfamiliar feeling expanded through his chest. He didn’t know how to describe it besides overwhelming and unwelcome but he knew it was because of her silence and the lack of communication through the bond. It caused an emptiness that made him question everything they had learned about the bond. 

And if mere silence could cause that, he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk knowing what her death would cause.

Are you okay? 

He asked it before he could decide against it, taking a seat back down at the lab table he had been working at as he waited for a response. Each second felt like an eternity, he could hear the silver liquid still eating through the ground below, sizzling and cracking as the floor dissolved wherever it touched the substance. 

He wondered if she would just ignore him like he did to her for years on end.

But then, his forearm stung--a familiar feeling that he hadn’t experienced in two weeks now. He hated how that empty feeling he hadn’t been able to get rid of since he had pushed her away immediately disappeared. It made him feel weak… as if he had no control over his own emotions like a puppet on a string being commanded by a stranger. He glanced down at his arm, red eyes flying over the words that had appeared.

Does it feel like I’m okay?

At once, he rolled his eyes, regretting reaching out to her. He rose to his feet again, pacing across the room to get the tools he needed to clean the mess of his mistake but before he even got halfway there, the pain tripled and a creeping fear began to spread through his chest. He grimaced as he leaned on a nearby counter, trying to regain control over himself but he found that he couldn’t--her fear and pain was simply too intense.

What happened? 

He slid down against the counter he was leaning on until he was sat on the floor. He watched the silvery liquid from the corner of his eye, watching as it ate through the ground closer and closer to him as he waited for a response from her. He despised how he couldn’t compartmentalize her feelings. He had learned how to separate them from his and the other segments but he had never figured out how to store them away and convert them into something that was easier for him to process. 

Attacked. 

Dottore felt cold. His gaze drew over to the window on the opposite wall of his lab--it was dark out, the sun had long set and the wind was harsh. He wondered if the coldness was a result of the damning realization that she was in trouble or if it was because she was outside. Either way, Dottore needed to act--if she was still being attacked, he had to get one of the segments there and if she was stuck in the cold running after being attacked, she would die to nature.

Dottore tried to push away the rising anger--the fury that never failed to appear whenever he was put into an impossible situation because of this bond, whenever he felt like the gods were looking down at him and laughing as he played right into their sick games. 

Who attacked you? Where are you?

He shot out questions to her at a rapid speed, the pain was getting worse on his end. He could feel a light-headedness and a fuzzy feeling beginning to seep through his body and mind. She had to be losing blood and too much of it. If she passed out, that would be the end. She’d be killed by the attacker or she’d be killed by the cold, there was no other fate that awaited her. 

Don’t know. An inn at -------

Dottore stared at the indecipherable words branded onto his forearm--he wasn’t sure if they were scribbles or an ancient language that he just couldn’t understand, another way for the gods to laugh at him by dangling the answer wants right in front of his face but making it so that he couldn’t understand it. 

What do you mean you don’t know? Figure it out.

Dottore wondered if she could sense his irritation at her response. He didn’t really care if she could, maybe it would make her think harder. 

Fatui, finally scrawled itself on his forearm and Dottore thought he might want to throw something because he had called it the moment that he had realized she might be coming north, he knew that between her being a foreigner and their subordinates being anxious over the masked hostile running through their camps that something would happen. They called him Lord Harbinger. 

Dottore stared at the words trying to piece together what was going on. Lord Harbinger? Pulcinella and Pantalone were rarely, if ever, sent on missions that would end in combat. As far as he was aware, Brighella was at Zapolyarny Palace working with Pierro on something. Capitano was traveling north from Natlan for the initiation of the new Harbinger in a few days, he’d be on a boat traveling the western sea. Scaramouche? It could-

He had a blue earring, it was bright.

A blue earring, he was acutely aware of the one hanging from his own ear, mind racing as he tried to remember where each of the segments were. Lambda and Theta were in Sumeru. Zeta was in Mondstadt. Delta and Iota were on the Fontaine border. Gamma, Epsilon and Kappa were all hanging around his labs. 

Rho, it dawned on Dottore suddenly. He had sent the segment south to track down the belligerent because their subordinates had proved incapable. He had mentioned that he was closing in on the man. Had she gotten caught in the crossfire? Was she traveling with him? 

No, that wasn’t possible. All reports had claimed that the hostile was traveling alone.

Rho, Dottore spit out, reopening the connection with the segment, intent on having him find the girl and drag her back across the border into Fontaine. Where are you?

Not now, Rho responded, voice cold and angry. It took a lot to anger Rho, he had tight control over his temper unlike the Theta and Delta segments. Dottore could feel something stinging his cheek, a cut--he wondered if the hostile had actually managed to land a blow on him, no matter how small. It would explain why he was so angry. 

Get back to where you came from. Now.

Now? Rho demanded, livid. I’m on him. 

She was there. At the inn. The reaction was instantaneous as Rho’s resolve wavered. If she dies because of you, you won’t even get the relief of deactivation.

Dottore rose to his feet again once he was certain that Rho had turned back, pacing across the length of his lab, careful to step over the melted ground where the substance had fallen. 

Once he found her, this would all be over. He’d have Rho bring her back to Fontaine whether she liked it or not, and once he knew where she lived, he’d make sure to send one of the other segments to keep an eye on her so something like this would never happen again.

Finally, he would have some semblance of control over the bond for the first time since it appeared. He’d no longer be hanging onto her whims, he’d no longer have to stress about her getting herself hurt or killed and how it would affect him, he’d no longer be bound to this mess and he’d never have to worry about accidentally running into her because the segment would keep her confined to the city and he would stay far from it.

He’d send the Zeta segment. He couldn’t send Theta because he didn’t trust him not to do something rash. He couldn’t send Delta, Rho or Epsilon because the younger segments were attached to them at the hip and they would press to meet her. Lambda was an option if he could ensure that the segment wouldn’t try to ‘handle her’ as he threatened to already. 

Relief began to inch its way through him—too soon.

He had jinxed himself.

She’s not here, he heard Rho tell him. I don’t know-

Dottore closed the connection, biting back vile curses as he pressed his fingers to the bridge of the nose and tried to think. 

Where could she have gone? It had only been a few minutes. She was hurt. She couldn’t have gotten far. 

Where are you? He finally decided to ask her and he waited, and waited, and waited for a response but was only met with the empty silence he had become accustomed to the past two weeks. 

“Where am I?” 

Your eyes followed the cloaked figure carefully, trying to keep your breath steady as the pain coursing through your arm gradually subsided. Your gaze flickered to the side, watching as the red, bubbling skin of your right arm began to smooth and clear beneath whatever substance that had been smeared over the burns. 

“What is this stuff?”

You had a lot of experience with using elemental energy to heal wounds. Fontaine City had some of the best medics throughout Teyvat--Wriothesley’s family’s special trait could call upon hydro energy to heal even the most fatal and grievous of wounds. He had never been able to wield it the way his family wanted him to but his grandfather was the best of the best, he had helped you when you had broken your arm and leg ten years ago after falling down the steps of the clocktower when exploring with Wrio.

This was not elemental energy. It was odd and cool, like gelatin, but it worked as fast as any medic--in no time, the pain was gone and the burns had vanished, leaving the skin of your arm unblemished again.

“Old magics,” the person responded. Their voice was low, androgynous. You couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman.

“Why did you help me?” you asked. “Who are you?”

You didn’t know where you were now--it was a dark room, a stone building with a fireplace on the opposite wall. The last you remembered, you had been in the snow. You had started to lose consciousness, the cold and the pain too much for your body to bear. You could barely even remember what had happened: you could picture the hooded man who you had been sitting with brandishing his claymore and the man that they had called Lord Harbinger meeting him blade for blade, pale fire coating his weapon and eating away at the wood of the inn, burning through your cloak down to the skin. You could hear the screams of the other patrons of the inn as they got caught in the crossfire of the battle between the two men. 

And then you were here, in this room… with this person. 

“Who are you?” you demanded, more insistently this time when you didn’t get a response.

Finally, a reaction from them. The flames flickered across their face as they turned to face you and finally, you got a glimpse beneath the hood… but it was not a human face that stared back at you. It was a mask, dark with a spade-like pattern around the eyes, a smile painted onto the plastic. 

“No one,” they replied, “just a trouper.”

What? You thought to yourself, confused. Your nose wrinkled and your brows furrowed as you mulled over the word. A trouper? Like the entertainers at the Grand Theater? 

“Why did you help me?” you tried again, raising your chin to meet the two voids in the eyeholes of the mask. They hadn’t tried to bind you or restrict your movement, they hadn’t even taken your weapon--just a bit of concentration and you could put yourself in control of the situation. 

They tilted their head to the side, you couldn’t see their eyes or expression but you knew they were smiling, “Is that how you treat someone who saved you?”

You hadn’t even moved, you stared at them, unmoving, forcing your body to relax. How had they known what you were thinking? You weren’t a person that was easy to read--if you were, you would’ve been put on trial for treason a long time ago. 

“Why did you save me?” you asked slowly, not letting them get out of answering the question. 

“Because I want to help you.” 

Yet again, they evaded the question. Your lips twisted in frustration, “Why?”

“Because I think we can help each other.”

There it was, you recognized, taking in a sharp breath. They wanted something from you. The air around you suddenly felt cold, as if the fire across the room had been snuffed out even though it was still burning bright. They were eerily still, almost like a statue as they watched you, waiting for a reaction. 

“Why do you think that?” you asked carefully.

“Do you really think you can infiltrate the Fatui on your own?”

You were on your feet in an instant, reaching for the blade sheathed at your side but your eyes widened when you realized it wasn’t there. You only had half of a second to react before you found yourself backed up against the wall, a forearm pressed to your throat and the tip of your own blade pressed to your side, threatening to puncture the skin.

It had just been on you. How did they get it?

“Well?”

Well what? You wanted to scream, mind panicked and racing as you tried to force yourself to calm down and think but it was hard to concentrate with your air being half-restricted and a blade pressed to your ribcage. 

They wanted you to answer their question, you realized, about infiltrating the Fatui.

“Yes,” you said but you weren’t even sure you believed it yourself. You kept telling yourself that you would figure out a plan once you got to the city and had a scope of the area and more information available to you but you had a feeling that nothing would change even once there. Zapolyarny Palace would be impenetrable. 

“How?” they murmured, not letting up on you. You wanted to turn your face away, unnerved by the proximity of the mask, but you thought that would show you as weak and you couldn’t afford to show weakness, not right now. “Do you plan to storm the palace? Face the Harbingers and demand retribution for your father? Do you think you will fly under the radar of the Knave’s webs of spiders? That you can simply walk past the automatons of the Marionette prowling the streets of the capital city? You will find yourself a victim of the Doctor’s twisted experiments or the Friar’s sick games before you even hope to find the evidence you seek.” 

You couldn’t mask your expression, not after hearing that. You stared at them, lips parting as if to speak but no words left them. You felt like a fish out of water--for the first time in a long time, you were fumbling for words, your tongue felt twisted and heavy.

How were you going to do it? The question laid atop you like a crown of thorns, tearing through your skin and scarring your face. You didn’t know. You didn’t know how you were going to do it. You used not being in the city as an excuse, convinced yourself that it was the only reason you haven’t thought up a plan yet but the truth was branded right on your face as you stared at the masked person: you simply didn’t know.

“I can help you,” they whispered, leaning in impossibly closer. “I can give you your in, the chance you need to find the proof.”

“How do you know all of this?” you finally asked and you hated how your voice cracked over your words but you were scared because if this person knew all of this then it could spell your end, just like that. All they had to do was send word to the Fatui and you’d have hell bearing down on your doors.

And if they knew about this…

“I know a lot,” they said cryptically. “Would you like me to help you?”

… did they know about your soulmate?

You let out another shaky breath, staring ahead. You didn’t know what to do. If you didn’t accept their help, would they sell you out to the Fatui? Or would they laugh and watch as you fumbled your way through Snezhnayan courts and fail to acquire what you had traveled all this way for? You could feel the pain ricocheting through your head, you could barely even think straight, much less come up with an answer. 

If you did accept, you finally forced your head back on track, what did they want in return? That was what you needed to know.

“What would you want in return?”

“We don’t know yet,” they said quietly but their tone was not hesitant--if anything, it was amused. Finally, they released you, taking a step back to watch you. The eyes staring down at you were empty, like looking into an abyss.

A dangerous, dangerous gamble. It gave them too much power.

“No, I want to know what you want in return.”

We. You suddenly recognized how they referred to themself--we, not I, they were not working alone. You felt all the more suffocated at the realization. 

“Then I guess we have no deal,” they said with a sigh, making a move to leave the room the two of you were in. Your heart leapt to your throat. “I cannot tell you what we do not know. Take the deal as is or fail, you will not succeed without help. You have no way of getting into Zapolyarny Palace. It is impenetrable.”

You should take that as a challenge, tell them fuck off and make them watch as you succeeded. Your blood boiled at the condescending tone and it took all of your willpower to not snap at them. 

This was not the time for pride. You had to abandon all vices and virtues if you were to get the evidence to condemn your stepfather, if you were to bring justice to your father… and if this person were to offer you the chance you desperately needed… then maybe it was worth whatever price they wanted you to pay in the long run. 

Committing injustices in the name of justice, the thought rang through your head loud. Wrio would love the irony. 

“You can get me into Zapolyarny?” you finally questioned, hiding the way your hands were shaking behind you as you sealed your fate. 

They hummed in agreement, “You will be on your own once you’re in there. Take care not to anger the wrong people… or draw too much attention to yourself.”

You could do that, you told yourself. Once you got in, you needed to find a place. Weasel your way in as an attendant so you could search for the evidence you needed. 

“Okay,” you finally agreed. The air suddenly felt heavy and oppressive, you thought that if you looked up, you would see the blade of a guillotine dropping on your neck. “Okay, we have a deal.”

You didn’t have to see their face to know that they were smiling, the voids staring down at you glimmered cruelly, you swore you saw red deep within the eyeholes of the mask.

“Welcome to the game, spadille.”

rbs appreciated!!

[ladylovesloki]

To Hel and Back

The Fated Apple Universe

Chapter Two: The Jump

Warnings: Mature Content ((ONLY 18+)) I am not going to get specific on warnings because I don't want to spoil certain things so enter at your own risk. Nothing too dark I promise, mostly smut and language.

A/N: Thanks for reading, enjoy💚

The Fated Apple Universe Masterlist

To Hel and Back: Chapter One: The Vacuum

The Norns reside at the foot of Yggdrasil, the world tree, where they tend to its roots and shape the fate of all beings. If Mina was going to change her dads fate, it was going to be through the ones that wrote it themselves.

Mina runs back to her rooms and quickly changes into her training outfit. She braids her long black hair and then quickly grabs her favorite daggers. The ones her dad gifted her on her last birthday. He had been so proud of her. The look in his eyes every time he saw her advance in her dagger skills made her feel like she could do anything.

Like she could conquer the world.

Mina shoves her feelings aside and gently places her precious daggers in her pack. She grabs the book she took from her dad’s library and throws that in her pack as well. She already had a pretty good idea of how to get to the Norns but she needed the book for enchantments and directions to navigate through their realm.

Mina whips her pack over her shoulder and turns to walk out her door when an unexpected visitor is standing at your door.

“Going somewhere Princess?”

“Goddess Idunn”, she kneels down in a deep curtsy. “No. I was just..”, Mina stops,  noticing Idunn’s line of sight. She’s looking at the pack resting on her shoulder…the clothes she is wearing… “Oh this? This is just…I was just…”

“Your father’s gift as the God of Lies clearly did not pass on to you young one.”, Idunn smiles knowingly at the young girl. 

Knowing when she’s caught, Mina decides to come clean, she was going to find out anyway…

She let her backpack fall to the ground and then plopped down on your bed waiting for the inevitable lecture.

“I know how to get him back..”

“You know what you have read in your fathers books but if he was alive he would tell you this is a fools errand”, Idunn moves from the door to stand in front of you.

“But it’s not though, look..”, Mina drops down to the pack she dropped on to the floor and takes out the book. She stands back up and places the book down on her desk, opening it up to the page she had marked earlier.

“I have to understand. I have to try.”

Idunn walks over to Mina slowly, “understand what? What must you try?”, she asks softly. Patiently.

Mina looks over to Idunn with wide, hopeful eyes, “understand why they let this happen? Why would they let him get taken away from us like that. Maybe they’ll realize this was just one big mistake and they’ll make it right. They’ll bring him back to us..”

“The Norn’s have never changed their decision once it has been made.”

“But..”

“There are no exceptions Princess..”

Mina’s eyes fill with tears of frustration, “you don’t know that.”

Idunn looks at her sadly, “But I do Princess.”

“How?!”

“I have spent centuries communing with the Norn’s, following their guidance, instilling their teachings. I am their messenger, and at times…deliverer of their will. What they wish to be will be because they willed it to be so child.”, Idunn says with the same patient tone.

Mina’s eyes close, she opens them to her dad’s book, her only piece of hope she has left. “I don’t understand..”

“I had the same conversation with your mother and father when they discovered they were each others chosen. They struggled with the path that was already written for them. But I will say to you what I said to them all of those years ago..”, Idunn places her hand on Mina’s cheek and turns her face from the book to her own. “What the Norn’s will to be will be.”

Mina felt a wave a sadness, then anger and then…determination.

“No.”

Mina slams the book closed, throws her pack over shoulder and storms out the door, book in hand.

Idunn takes a deep breath, “the apple does not fall far indeed.”

——————————————————————————————————

Meanwhile, in Loki’s viewing room.

Frigga has her arm wrapped around you comfortingly as you both look down at the love of your life.

“He should’ve been home. He was supposed to be home.”

Frigga’s thumb rubs comfortingly on your shoulder, her other hand is on Loki’s, her other thumb making the same comforting motion on his hand. 

“I don’t know what to do Frigga. What do I do without him now?”

“You live. He would want you to live.”

You continue to look at Loki’s face and run your fingers through his hair, memorizing every touch. You hope you’ll remember the green of his eyes. The sound of his voice. His laugh. You’d even take his anger right now. 

Footsteps behind you breaks your concentration from your husbands face, when you turn around you see Idunn walking towards you and your mother in law.

“Forgive my intrusion.”

“There is nothing to forgive Goddess, we are comforted by your presence. Thank you for your swift arrival”, you and Frigga curtsy.

“None of that please. You are both grieving.”, she finally reaches you both and holds out her hands for both of you to grab.

Overcome by your emotions, you throw your arms around Idunn, who in turn holds you tightly. You can’t help the tears that keep pouring out of your eyes, “thank you for being here.”

Without letting you go she whispers to you, “of course. I shall always be here for my fated ones.” She pulls away from your embrace and looks over to Loki. She takes in his appearance and then looks back to you. “I just had a visit with Mina, she is struggling. I was trying to explain the nature of the Norns’ decisions but much like you and your fated, she did not take my explanations well. I’m afraid she stormed off, I know not where.”

You nod, “I’ll go find her, I think I know where she’s going.”

You give Frigga’s hand a tight squeeze and excuse yourself, as hard as it is to leave Loki’s side, you had to take care of your daughter. It’s what he would want.

As soon as you walk out the door and close it gently behind you, you see Thor sitting down on the bench next to the door you just closed. His head was down, his eyes looking at his hands in defeat.

You place your hand on his shoulder and he looks up at your miserably, “sister…I am so…”

You shake your head and take a seat next to him, “hush. I don’t blame you Thor.”

He looks at you with a look of frustration in his eyes, “how can you not?! I am responsible for this. It was my reckless decisions that took your fated one from you. Your husband..my nieces father..my mothers son….”

“Your brother..”, you interrupt his rambling. “You lost your brother Thor…”

“I will never forgive myself for this.”, he whispers and faces the ground again in, bowing his head in shame.

Knowing that your words weren’t going to change anything about what Thor was feeling right now, you decide to try and distract him. “I need your help.”

Thor looks back to you in surprise, his eyes are still wet and swollen from tears but you can see the spark of the protector you have come to know and love as a brother, “anything.”

“I need help with Mina. Idunn said she just spoke with her and she’s not doing very well. She stormed off on her when she was trying to talk to her.”

“You are sure you want my help with this? I do not believe she would want to be around the person who is responsible for the death of her father.”

“She loves you Thor and she’s going to need all of us.”

Thor nods, “you are right. Do you know where she might have run off to?”

You smile and pat Thor’s knee, “I think so. Come on.” 

You both stand and Thor follows you to where you believe your daughter ran off to.

——————————————————————————————————

“Frigga.”, Idunn calls out the queens name gently to try and get her attention from the dead prince. 

Frigga turns and looks at Idunn with a look of agony and pain. Everything that she has been carrying from the loss of her son just hours ago finally getting too heavy and it all came crashing down on her. A big sob falls out of her mouth as she throws her arms around her baby boy.

Her head lays on his chest, her hand still clutching his, a silent prayer to the Norn’s to allow him to squeeze back just so she could know that he is still there even if he’s not. Idunn lets the Queen of Asgard cry. She doubts she has allowed herself even a moment of grieving, the woman always trying to be a constant pillar of strength for her family and her people.

But everyone has their breaking point.

After a few moments of letting a mother grieve for her son, Idunn places a comforting hand on Frigga’s back.

Frigga’s sobs finally cease and she rises from her leaning position over Loki’s body. She wipes her tears away with a handkerchief that was given to her by one of her ladies not too long ago. The piece of fabric now damp from the tears she has been silently wiping away throughout the day.

“Forgive me.”, Frigga’s voice comes out broken and shaking.

“Frigga. You do not apologize.”, she takes the broken queen into her arms for a hug similar to the one she was given by you. 

Frigga breaks the hug quickly, she herself needs answers about how this could have happened. She did not want to admit it or ask in front of you. She wanted to avoid bringing you false hope but she too did not understand. “Idunn, I must confess..I am confused by all of this. Fated ones…they should have eternity…they did not even have a century together..not even two decades Idunn…”

Idunn looks down at Loki’s face not sure if she should divulge to Frigga what is going through her head at the moment but…”I must confess as well Frigga…I too am confused about the Norn’s decision..”

“Can we not ask them? They still commune with you yes?”, Frigga asks fighting through her shock. All of the years she known Idunn, she has never once seen her question a decision the Norn’s had made. 

Never.

Idunn nods but then steels herself for what she is about to confess to Frigga, “yes but…they have not answered me in…quite some time.”

Once again, Frigga looks to Idunn in surprise.

Idunn nods, “it is not uncommon for them not to answer me for a few weeks at most but I have not been able to commune with the Norn’s for…almost a full solstice.”

Frigga’s brow shoots up in surprise.

——————————————————————————————————

The end of the world.

That’s what the end of the Bifrost looked like to Mina.

She’s heard the stories about how her dad fell from this very bridge. How everyone thought that he was dead until he showed up on Earth one day Hel bent of taking over the world. After a few years of prison, Frigga finally convinced Odin to let him out to give him a chance to redeem himself and to Loki’s credit, he did.

A lot of it had to do with meeting you but thats here nor there…

That’s where you and Thor find her. Her legs dangling at the end of the world. Heimdall is close by watching her carefully.

“Has she said anything to you?”, you ask Heimdall.

He shakes his head, “only that she wanted a moment here.”

You look at your girl sitting there and then move to take a seat next to her, your feet dangling off the edge as well. You’re confused by the way she’s dressed and her very full backpack on her back but you don’t give it another thought when you see her face.

She’s just staring blankly into the abyss. It’s a face that Thor recognizes. The face Loki had the moment before he let go from the his hold on Gungnir. He also decides to take a seat next to his brothers little family. Mina is sat in between them.

You take your hand and tuck a hair that has fallen out of place behind her ear, “watcha doin out here baby?”

Mina doesn’t respond at first, “I feel closer to him here.”

You nod, “I get that. I heard you saw Idunn…”

Mina nods but still does not look at you.

“Mina..baby…you’re scaring me.”

Mina looks at you with a blank stare, “do you believe he’s gone. Really?”

You are slightly taken aback by her question, “Mina…your dad is gone…”

Mina nods and then turns her head to look over at Thor, “what about you? Do you truly believe he’s gone?”

Thor looks at his niece and then back to you. He takes in your sad face imploring him to just work with you and say the right things but Thor cannot find it within him to lie to his niece. 

“A part of me believes that your father will never actually be gone. He always seems to find a way to come back to us. No matter what.”

Mina nods and then looks back to the abyss in front of her. She takes a deep breath and then stands, “ok..I’m ready.”

You smile and give her hand a squeeze. You stand and take two steps towards the direction of the palace but Mina’s hand falls out of yours, she doesn’t take a step forward with you and Thor.

“Mina?”

“I’m sorry mom. I need to know.”

And then she jumps.

——————————————————————————————————

“What do you mean you haven’t heard from them since last solstice?”

Idunn nods, “I have tried to reach them, I have prayed every day, I have gone to the Forest and have given many offerings but they still remain silent.”

Frigga looks to Loki, “I have a terrible feeling about all of this.”

“I do as well.”

“Allmother!!”, Heimdall bursts through the door. 

“Frigga and Idunn jump from the sudden intrusion, “Heimdall?! What has happened?”

“Heimdall takes a deep breath, getting himself ready to tell his Queen what he just saw.”

————————— moments before——————————

You didn’t even think. You just jumped. 

You watched your baby girl just jump off of the rainbow bridge and you didn’t even think twice before you followed behind her. 

“No!”, Thor looks back to Heimdall who is standing next to him, the same look of shock on his face. “Go to my mother. Tell her what just happened. I’m going after them.”

“Thor. You cannot.”

“Do you see them?!”

Heimdall looks out to where you and Mina jumped off. “I cannot.”

“Then we don’t know what has befallen them…Mina said before she jumped that she had to know. What did she mean?”

“I know not.”

Thor looks out into the abyss then back to Heimdall, “tell my mother I am sorry but I have to try. I swore to my brother I would protect his girls. I will not fail him in this.” Thor steps away from Heimdall, then takes a running leap off of the bridge. 

Colors are whipping around you and it’s so incredibly loud, like you’re inside of a wind tunnel. You feel like you're falling forever until you’re not. You hit the ground with a hard thud, landing on your back, knocking the wind out of you. 

“Fuck…”, you roll over to your side, your body protesting. The smell of fresh grass strong.

“Mom!!”, you hear Mina.

You look over and see Mina running towards you, when she gets to your side she falls to her knees, “why did you follow me?!”

“Why did I follow you?! Are you kidding me?! What were you thinking?!”

“I came to see the Norns…”

Your eyes widen in shock, you struggle to sit up and when you finally do you almost fall over before Mina places her arms on your shoulders to steady you, “the Norns? I don’t understand?”

Mina throws her pack over her shoulder and throws the book down, opening it to the page she needed to show you. “I have to know why mom and the only way to do that is to ask them.”

You look at Mina sadly, “honey, I learned a long time ago that if the Norns want something to happen, it will happen.”

“I get that mom but why? Don’t you want to know why you and dad have the shortest union in all fated couples history?!”

You can’t describe the emotion that shoots through you. 

Need maybe? 

The need to confront the people that decided to take Loki away from you and Mina because that feeling is definitely getting stronger and stronger. But before you could answer Mina there was a loud boom next to the both of you. You throw yourself over Mina to cover her from the flying debris. 

“Odin’s Beard!!!!!”

Mina’s head snaps over, “Uncle Thor!!”

After he adjusts to his surroundings, Thor’s head whips towards you and Mina, “Gods. What were you both thinking?!!”

“You want to explain to your uncle why we jumped off of the rainbow bridge into nothingness?”, you gesture from Mina to Thor after you all stand up.

Mina looks to Thor, “I came to talk to the Norns….”

Thor looks to her in shock, “for what purpose? You come all of this way, risking not only your life but your mothers as well, to ask them your questions only for the end result to be the same. Mina. Your father is gone.”

“You don’t know that!”

Thor takes a deep breath, trying not to get too upset with his niece. “Mina, what everyone has been saying to you is true. There is no changing what has come to pass..”

A tear falls down Mina’s cheek but she wipes it away as she bends down to pick up her discarded book and backpack. She throws her pack over her shoulder and hold out the open book to Thor. “He would do it for any of us.”

Thor gave her a look that made you believe he was going to continue arguing but in a flash his face changed to one of sad acceptance. He looks over to you and then back to Mina, nodding his head, “how exactly do we get to them?”

Mina gives her uncle a sweet smile and nods her head to the direction they needed to go, “this way.”

“Where are we exactly?”, you ask as you lift your skirt to begin your trek to the mystery location.

Mina notices your clothing situation and stops a moment to wave her hands in front of you, her magic was not a green like her fathers or a yellowish gold like Frigga’s..

No.

It was the color blue.

Her momma’s favorite color.

You smile at the sensation of your daughters magic, the little hint of Loki’s woven into it making a tear fall down your face. When you open your eyes you look down at yourself and see your daughter has changed your outfit into your usual training outfit. She also called Loki’s blades, they were strapped comfortably around your waist. Protecting you even from afar.

You give your daughter a grateful smile and then pull her into a tight hug, “thank you baby.”

Mina’s eyes close as she squeezes you back, “you’re welcome.”

You break away from each other and rejoin Thor, who is staring at you both fondly. You all say nothing else as you move forward into the deep forest ahead of you.

——————————————————————————————————

“What do you mean they jumped?!”

Heimdall stands at the bottom of the platform in front of Idunn and Frigga, “Princess Mina asked if she could sit at the bridge for a moment for some peace. I felt no ill intention from her so I allowed it without feeling it necessary to alert Princess Y/N. After some time Princess Y/N and Prince Thor arrived in search of her, they joined her for a few moments, spoke a few words. They began to move away from the bridge, I assumed to return here but then Mina…”, Heimdall clears his throat from the sudden emotion that ripped through his heart. 

“Forgive me. Princess Mina said a final apology to her mother and said that she needed to know…and then she jumped. Princess Y/N jumped after her before Prince Thor and I could react.”

Frigga looks to Heimdall in horror as Idunn places her arm around the shaking queens shoulders, “and Thor?”

“I tried to convince him not to follow but he would not listen. He jumped after them.”

“And you cannot see them I assume?”, Idunn asks as she rubs Frigga’s shoulder comfortingly.

Heimdall shakes his head and looks down to the ground, “I cannot. I am sorry My Queen.”

Frigga takes a moment and composes herself, “I have to believe that they are alright. I have to have faith that they will return to us safely. I will have to buy them some time, Odin will want to begin Loki’s funeral in the coming days.”

Frigga looks to the healers standing respectfully on the other side of the room, “ladies, would fetch Eir for me please?”

Both healers curtsy and leave to do as instructed. Not a moment later, Eir has arrives via portal.

“Frigga?..”

“Eir, Y/N, Mina and Thor have gone off Asgard. I am not sure when they will be returning. We will need to prepare Loki’s body for the wait..”

Eir nods, “yes My Queen. Do we know when they are returning?”

Frigga, “I’m afraid not..”

Eir nods and then turns to instruct her healers on how they will move forward with the care of Loki’s body as they await his families return.

Frigga looks to Heimdall, “thank you for coming to tell me.”

Heimdall nods, “Of course My Queen. I shall be in the observatory, if I see anything I shall inform you immediately.”

“Thank you, I will speak with Odin.”

Heimdall nodded and left the room

“I am so sorry Frigga.”

“Where could  they have possibly gone?”

Idunn looks to her broken friend, “I think I have an idea..I just pray that I am wrong..”

To be continued…

Tag List: Let me know if you would like to be added ���

@eleniblue @wolfsmom1 @talesofadragon @skittslackoffilter @setangel

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter iii.

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her, she’s only looking for a distraction from the relentless attention of the night. Instead, she finds Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden. But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

A/N - So I know it’s been over a month but life just got in the way. I just finished moving not too long ago and me and my family are still trying to get settled in. I’ve rewrote this chapter twice and I hope that this version of it is satisfactory. I’m also posting this on mobile cuz I can’t log into my Tumblr from my laptop and my desktop hasn’t been set up yet, so praying the structuring is halfway decent.

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter.

Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 2.8k

Jungkook

The bar owner whimpered, but I could barely hear him over the pounding in my skull. My knuckles ached, split open and raw, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. My breath became sharp and uneven, my chest rising and falling with the force of my rage.

The man slumped over, slowly sinking further onto the concrete floor. He sat wide-eyed and gasping for air, his face bloodied, making it unclear where it was coming from at this point. I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright, forcing him to meet my eyes.

“You wanna try that again?” I snarled, voice low and cold. Beneath it, though, rage boiled beneath my skin—rage that had nothing to do with the man in front of him.

The owner coughed up a mix of blood and saliva. "I-I told you, I don’t know what happened to your father. The police officer—"

My fist made contact with his face once more, sending him back onto the concrete with a loud groan. “I don’t give a fuck about the old man, where is the money, Ilhoon?”

Ilhoon began crying while pleading and begging for the pain and humiliation to stop. He rolled onto his stomach, the blood from his mouth began to pool underneath him. The bastard mewled, arms shaking as he tried to pick himself off the floor. He wished to speak further without the degradation, but I could barely look at him without disgust.

With my patience already razor-thin, my mood more foul than the stale stench of sweat and fear clinging to the air, I kicked him in the gut. His face slammed back onto the floor.

"Where is it?" I scowled, my voice sharp and laced with something dark. Something barely restrained.

The owner moaned, clutching his ribs where I had just driven my foot. “I-I don’t have it,” he stammered, his voice shaking.

I laughed, humorless. “Yeah? That’s funny ‘cause I saw plenty of cash running through your registers last week.” I grabbed the man by his collar again. “Don’t lie to me.”

The other guys continued to watch cautiously, lingering in the background, guarding the door and waiting. Taehyung and Jimin wouldn’t question my actions as of yet, not after the mood I’d been in all morning. They knew I had been looking for something—someone—to take it out on.

“You know the arrangement,” I whispered in a low growl. “You pay, or you deal with me.”

This was how the Montagues operated. They weren’t a charity, no matter how much the people in this neighborhood liked to pretend they were. Yeah, they protected the businesses and kept the Kims from sinking their claws in, from bleeding them dry—but loyalty had a price—a steep one. And when someone fell behind, they made an example of them.

The Montagues were not merciful, not under my leadership.

“No wonder your father is always in here…” The older man chuckled.

It wasn’t clear whether Ilhoon had grown bold and defiant or had already developed brain damage from the injuries. Maybe a sudden sense of grandeur could combat the indignity he has already faced.

“...he gets piss drunk to fill the void that used to hols the pride he had for his son.”

The room grew cold, and I could feel the jaws drop from the other two in the room. I felt my anger surge, sharp and suffocating. My fingers tighten around the bar owner's collar, my other hand pulling back, curled into a tight fist—

Then everything blurred.

My first punch was controlled, and so was the second. But by the third, fourth, fifth—I don’t even know how many—my body was moving by itself, my mind slipping into something dark and senseless. I wasn’t thinking anymore, just pounding and beating and striking, taking all my rage out on this unfortunate older man.

But I did know one thing for sure while I feverishly attacked the man: I was trying to beat something out of this man that had nothing to do with his debt or the business or even the low-blow remark he made about my father.

A firm grip latched onto my wrist mid-punch, yanking me backward. "Enough!"

I jerked my body, straightening my posture with ragged breath and hazy vision. Taehyung stood in front of me now, positioning himself between me and the bar owner, eyes sharp with warning.

I watched the beaten man slump forward, groaning in pain, his face barely recognizable beneath the open wounds and bruising. I looked down at my own hands, bloodied and trembling. I flex my fingers, trying to stop them from shaking.

The room began to feel too small, too loud, despite only the grunting cutting through the silence. The stench of blood and sweat clung to the air, thick and suffocating.

I had to get out of there fast.

Quickly, my feet carried me out of the storage room of the Poisoned Chalice, struggling to hold up my heavy and exhausted self. They didn’t stop until I had made my way out the back door and into the alleyway.

The glare of the sun was harsh on my eyes, needing time to adjust to the light after the dark of the bar. I leaned my depleted body against the wall of the building and enjoying the way the cool stones feel on my head.

It was then that I noticed my breathing started to pick up, like I had just run a marathon. I tried to steady it, but I just couldn’t. My heart raced out of my chest; my pulse was in my ears, like a thunderous roar.

My hand held onto my chest, and I thought I could stop it. I wished there was a way to reach right inside and calm my heart and stop my lungs from gasping for air.

When that didn’t work, I grabbed my face tightly, trying to mimic someone else telling me to hold it together. I closed my eyes and prayed the world would die, that I would die. But it didn’t work. Nothing worked.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jimin demanded, both him and Taehyung following me out the door, with a voice full of concern. “You usually know when to quit.”

It was like my pridefulness took over, overruling my body’s panic attack to save face. As much as I desperately wanted to be left alone and get away, I needed to stay because being in their presence was the only thing that could stop me from hurting.

I exhale sharply, sliding my hands down my face. It was only after that action I realized my hands still covered in Ilhoon’s blood. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Taehyung scoffed, pushing his way past Jimin.

Even though I was technically his boss, Taehyung had just about as much power over the group as I did. We were always close growing up and did everything together so it only made sense to run the montagues together as well. In a sense, I was the CEO and he was the COO. He takes care of the day-to-day operations and manages the team, while as a leader, I’m the final decision-maker.

I’m also the strategic planner and overall face of the group, defining us to the community we swore to protect.

And that was why my fuming cousin was in my face right now, scolding me about representation and accountability. I don’t even know what he’s saying because my thoughts are so loud I can’t hear him.

I should’ve been thinking about my father, about the attack last night that landed him in the hospital, about what the bar owner said before he got pummeled. But all I could think about was her, and the way she had looked at me before she walked away—like I was nothing. Like we were nothing.

And I know this to be the reason I lost control in there. I needed to feel like I was something, even if it meant to break a couple of bones to do it.

It ultimately was Jimin’s voice that pulled me out of my thoughts. “What happened?” His voice was lower and calmer than the other. The difference between the two men was respect; Jimin had more of it due to being my assistant and bookkeeper. “This isn’t normal.”

I found myself swallowing hard, jaw clenched tightly.

Even though I’ve been thinking about Jihyo all morning, a vision from the night before with her hit me like a flash bang.

✦✦✦

A sultry red glow bathed the short hallway leading away from the club. Behind the roped-off doorway, there were a few alcoves on both sides, small nooks with only a curtain for added privacy. I approached my favorite room, the usual spot for our rendezvous. The neon lights bled across the velvet walls and a few mirror panels, reflecting the low shimmer of the small chandelier overhead.

Along all three walls stretched a black leather couch, sleek and inviting, but I had no interest in sitting just yet. Alcohol, sweat, and the cheap perfume of the last dancer filled the air. The stuffiness didn’t pair well with the distant thrum of bass from the main floor.

The lounge owner may have built this room for leisure and indulgence, but I couldn’t keep still.

I paced around the little area I had behind this curtain, running my hands through my hair while my pulse drummed faster than the music outside. Impatience whirrs in my veins, and excitement spreads to my fingertips. Wishing for my love to make her way to reunite with me.

There was something electric about the wait every time I found myself here. The anticipation made it impossible to stand still. Every second felt stretched too thin, like the room itself was holding its breath along with me.

And when my Jihyo finally arrives, I can feel time stop around us.

The room suddenly became nothing but a shadow surrounding the two of us. An oppressive dim, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The soft light that barely touched her skin made it look as if she was a vision, an impossible dream that my mind had conjured up just for me. Heavy was the ambiance with the weight of her presence. The world on the other side of this curtain ceased to exist.

There was nothing but this moment. Nothing but her.

“Jungkook…” She spoke up, taking a step closer. “I’ve been expecting you…”

Her voice was like a spell, a melody spun from silk and shadow. It dripped with something sweet, something dangerous—like honey laced with venom. It had a cadence that was so rousing it lured you, making it impossible to move away.

I found my eyes tracing the outline of her body, admiring the way the light made her glow like something celestial. I couldn’t wait any longer; I wanted to touch and hold her. Pull her close and never let go.

And in my despairing hunger, I pounced on her, closing the miles of distance between us. I could hear the subtle rustle of her breath, steady and warm, but it felt as if it reached deep inside me, shaking me awake in ways I wasn’t ready for. I couldn’t think of anything but my desperate need for her.

Her scent was an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla; it was all-consuming. It was like a drug that took complete control over every part of me. It clung to my skin, filled my lungs, and settled into my bones like I could never escape it, even if I wanted to.

And I didn't want to. Not for a second.

Unable to resist the urge any longer, my hands moved to the back of her head as my lips crashed into hers. Jihyo responds with the lowest of moans, her hands gripping my shoulders roughly. I took that as the go-ahead to deepen the kiss. Her lips were soft as I moved against them with immense passion and intensity, not wanting to waste a second of opportunity.

“Jungkook, please…” She softly groaned, her lips lightly brushed mine until I hungrily captured them once more.

My hands couldn’t resist wandering her body, fingertips tracing down her back and towards her waist. I left a trail of kisses down her neck and her collarbone. Jihyo's skin was soft everywhere I touched, and she smelled so deliciously sweet that I couldn't help but use my tongue to tease her skin.

She moaned my name tenderly; the compliment made me want to be even bolder.

Jihyo’s fingers raked my back, inducing a wave of desire, and I pulled her closer to my body. My hips buck into her of their own volition; my hard-on was practically begging to break free. A deep groan escaped my lips as I grind forward, my palms traveling lower, grabbing handfuls of her cheeks.

Every part of her felt like it belonged to me—no, like I belonged to her. My entire existence seemed insignificant without her in it, as if she were the center of my universe, the very air I breathed. I am hers.

“Jungkook!”

My eyes fly open when Jihyo stops me and pushes me down onto the couch. The corner of my mouth turns up into a smirk, and I can feel my eyes gleam as I look up at her.

“Ahh, I see,” I hummed, taking off my cashmere suit jacket and quickly unbuttoning my white dress shirt. “My baby wants to be in control today?”

“Please stop. I’m not your baby…”

The moment the words left her mouth, my heart tore into thousands of pieces. Jihyo stood over me, arms folded tight across her chest in an attempt to shield herself. She seemed to shrink into herself and was trying to disappear into the dim light. Her eyes refused to meet my confused gaze. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer and more hesitant.

“I can’t keep doing this, Jungkook…I-I’m seeing someone…”

“Who?” My voice boomed in comparison to hers. “Give me a name. I’ll burn down the whole city for you.”

“Listen, I LOVED the time we’ve spent together. Like you were really great…” She paused to take a deep breath and collect her thoughts. “But I can’t be with someone so…you.”

I watched her, aching to be closer to me as her eyes traced my exposed chest. It was easy to tell that she was afraid of what might happen if I reached up and touched her. And I wanted to so very much. I wanted to pull her down on me and reclaim her. I was starving with want for her—starving for her touch, for her everything.

For her to be mine again.

Without her, I was nothing. And that terrified me immensely.

“I-I don’t understand,” I nervously chuckled. “I gave you all of me, you are my everything. I love you Jihyo, please baby don’t do this.”

“The way you are so lovestruck was so endearing in the beginning, but now its starting to suffocate me. I need to be with someone more normal.”

✦✦✦

“Forget it,” I muttered, but the memories were sinking their claws into me. I tried to fight back against them dragging me down. “Jimin, go back in there and tell Mister Choi we’ll be back in two days to collect. If he breathes a word of what happened to anyone, I’ll be back alone to finish the job.”

Jimin quickly nodded and hurried back into the bar. I turned back to Taehyung and motioned towards the car parked a several feet away. We started to make our way towards it, when he spoke up to my dismay. I was hoping he wouldn’t speak another word of my outburst.

“I know you don’t give a rats ass about your dad, even if he was on the brink of death…So what did whore do to get you so rialed up?”

I choose not to answer, not to give into his taunting. He never liked the fact that I was seeing Jihyo, thought she was too distracting and not worth my time. He always thought she was using me, and I know he would have a field day filled with “I told you so's” if he knew she broke up with me and left me for a better man.

So I just don’t plan on ever telling him until I can heal my heart enough to handle his gloating.

“Whatever,” He gave up rather quickly trying to get a reaction out of me and grew serious. “Sam told me this Namjoon has been planning a gala for tomorrow night and can get us in. It would be the perfect opportunity to-”

“Lets do it.” I interrupted.

I don’t care what we’re doing, but I needed to get back into work, making up for the last few months I’ve been slacking. I needed to go back to the way I was before I met Jihyo and got my heartbroken.

I needed to go back to being normal.

[danwhobrowses]

Critical Role C3 Ep 118 - Initial Thoughts

Well guys I maaaade it

It's 8am (well 9 now) and frosty in England and I had like, 1 hour light snoozing, I'm currently basking in the delusional energy being sleep deprived sustains until the inevitable crash but for now, an episode happened!

First of 2025, first I could watch in full thanks to PTO and willpower, shivering with nerves all day so let's cover the thoughts I remember at least (was staying as still as possible to avoid making noise for the others sleeping, so couldn't do the clickety clacks - and as you can tell by my use of 'clickety clacks' that my verbage may be as loopy as a rollercoaster at times)

Spoilers for the episode

Adorable abnormally named animals that looked more like a pupper and a gerbil, Bandit was true to his name

Oh geez more fucking monologuing, even Sam had the cup thing for it XD

Remember that fanart of Laudna, Orym and Ashton kicking Liliana after verbally dressing her down? Well that but this time with Ludinus, loved the pressing

Got some mini Ludie backstory and it was 'my family died as collateral in the Calamity', it's so hilariously basic at this point he deserved every bit of Ashton's 'get the fuck over it'

Part of me also couldn't help but think of Istho, the reluctant to die Paladin of the Lawbearer imprisoned at the Bloody Bridge literally a year ago, they had the same mantra

Would've been cooler to get a bit more Lawbearer sauce before in this campaign but fairs enough

Fearne just wants to give everyone cupcakes and candy and treats being the vessel of the God Eater like winning the lottery and I love her for it

It's not lost on me as an Ashton fan that Ludie never asked them what they wanted. There's a gist yes of controlling your own fate but still, got a lil' under your skin didn't they?

Chet no, don't try to open the cascade of sigils!

HA! Poofed out of his second monologue

Braius don't call him, you're gonna call him aren't you?

FUCKING LYING WHORE CHEATER BITCH Azzy, how's the family?

Brennan is untouchable but Matt's Fucking Lying Whore Cheater Bitch Azzy M still gives me the feeling of 'you know all the right things to say but I can still hear your manipulation'

Family, Braius, is right here! I get he's been around longer but first it's 'chase away and I'll remain' now it's 'don't let it out', mixed messages

I probably would've laughed to death if Ludie got distracted by the toy, though I do wish it was an Intuit Charge

RAVENOUS VOID OFF THE FUCKING BAT?? I was literally looking at that spell a few days ago

The aoe and save was so fucking high too, and I could've sworn Ashton can't be moved in Titan form, and resists all but Force Damage

Oh shit the neck! The neck comes back around!

God the cast rolled so badly for so long, and he kept saving and using his resistance

Not the neck ladies, the body, da body!

PATE I LOVE YOU

Pate noooo!

IRAAAAAAA I LOVE YOU!

MISTERRRRRR! I LOVE YOU!!

ASHTOOOOOOOON I LOVE YOU! That is my motherfucking barbarian tank killing the concentration

OH MY FUCKING DAYS POWER WORD STUN IMOGEN I FUCKING LOVE YOU!

I was counting the damage, once you knew it was below 150 all it needed was the math

Bless Ashley for wanting to go big but couldn't because of aoe

It had to be Orym, IT HAD TO BE ORYM, how's that for resolve?

Ira laughing in Ludie's face was cathartic too

'I don't want to hurt anyone, or kill anyone' - SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE ASHTON HATERS IN THE BACK!

We were so fucking close though, so close to the 'we can't absorb it but it can't stay here' point, we could've had an option C like sending it to a Demiplane

Surprised me how much Laudna pushed for pro-Predathos, given Imogen's reluctance, and Orym just unable to argue it because it's been argued to death

Oh god is he not dead? Fuckery duck, Laudna you have that ghost tracking thing right?

'What did you do to me, I used to be fun' - you still are you just have mushrooms planned with Fearne for after

Imogen you talked a lot about being free to decide your fate and now you're literally walking towards what 'fate' planned out for you

We are LITERALLY approaching what Ludinus wants to do

Child's voice is a nope, like an absolute nope

Like a 'Guys did we not learn from the Dominox?' nope

Because GUYS DID WE NOT LEARN FROM THE DOMINOX??

Orym insight checked a God Eater, got a whisper, stepped between it and the Ruidusborns, and that was not a red flag??

The collective 'ohhhh' though

Like, I get hearing it out, trying to see if we've simply been misinformed, but the proof is kinda in the pudding and it is dessert time

It knocked Chet into a wall for opposing, that's a nope

Hey Matt don't you think the Primordials partly responsible for this cage would have some resonance with it since we're getting clips of Tengar and Orym's Wildmother vision for all to see?

Imogen and Fearne NO

Predathos the nice hot faun lady told you to wait

Fearne YES but IMOGEN NO!

Fearne Yes! ...right? Answer the question cliffhanger! RIGHT?

I mean she heard her, that's something, are we gonna have to give Imogen her first death in the campaign? Can that staff factor in at all?

Definitely peeved that Imogen went and pulled a Frodo right at the last moment, but like the One Ring in Mount Doom she is being lulled by Predathos muddying her instincts, so I can kinda see why she thought it the kindest option, also le drama I suppose, Laura Bailey had to put her own third wedding one-shot in jeopardy

I have to be at work next week and there's a likelihood that the worst ending happens and Ludinus didn't get his ancient elf ass handed to him permanently ;_; so the stage is different, the health and spell slots are lower, but the fear is the same and I can't stay up for it

Contrary to others though I do still want a happy ending, the Hells aren't bad or evil for what they were attempting; the intentions was still good it was just not right. Someone else would've come, if not Ludinus then someone else with the same plan, but this is why we should've discussed alternatives earlier, this is why a united goal is important and why the Arch Heart fucking up the plan with his visit rubbed me the wrong way

At least now the Hells are gonna be on the same page with Predathos, it's about saving your people - so, save your people

[euphoricfilter]

Devil That I Know: The Prologue

Pairing: Demon! Jungkook x Human! F. Reader

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Angst || Demon au || Non-Idol au || Yandere au || Reincarnation || Strangers to Lovers

Summary: It's a shame how refuge will become your downfall.

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags/ warnings: mentioned death/ murder, sacrifice, sexy demon jungkook who has 4 arms, jimin is just mean (for now), the start of the yandere and just taehyung being a cutie

Notes: she’s back! and better than ever, new and improved, my baby <3 even if you’ve read the old version of dtik, i recommend reading again!! there has been a few added elements + way better writing!

devil that i know masterlist || my other stuff

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[a little death]

[1859]

Death seemed to have found solace in your shadow. Slithering around your ankles and chewing up any unfortunate living being you came across; acting as a parasite, touch of your fingers sticky poison. The rawest form of hatred radiating off your skin into the world, a curse. 

A simple wish for the price of a life, and maybe this was the universe’s sick joke, that you’ll live to suffer while the rest of the world carries the burden of a small selfish wish.

Maybe death has found home in your sorrows, wretched sadness, anguish, ugly ugly emotions cradling you like a mother would her child. Truly pitiful comfort where anger is useless.

It must have been almost a year ago your misfortune had truly started, foolishly leaving a life you never wanted. Though you suppose you never really had a choice, this day was inevitable when you were the odd one out, a leech, a pitiful child– not that that mattered at all to the man who was the starting point of your resentment. 

A wish for a life that was solely your own. A wish you never thought had been too big of an ask, leaving fragile hope in the hands of fate, praying that the world would take pity on your wilted soul. 

Now, freedom was a day’s journey away. Coastline so close yet so far away, a new life, one you’d been dreaming of since young, slipping through your fingers like dry sand– every step forward, the sea pulling away until you’re chasing after sodden dreams, leaving you stranded at the shore. 

Life looked like a damp cell in a run-down village, barely holding on; dependent on trade, though only one other village thrives in this area, hours away– over the mountain. Trips far and few with the horses they have, produce barely worth a piece of gold. 

The true situation of the village should have become apparent at their panic of unexpected visitors. Accusations spat your way, your own life flashing before your eyes, only for your friend to bear the brunt of their temper. No one of them had thought to hear you out, their words like venom, because in their eyes you’d come to spy on their village, a lie that would ruin you. 

You weren’t like them; and so you’d become an easy target. 

Secrets locked behind closed doors, lies fed to those clueless of what really happened when the sun falls over the horizon and the world is shrouded in darkness. 

Corruption was everywhere, the world so unfair, where fickle human emotions consume those greedy enough to sell their souls for power, for something more, anything to get out of their awful little lives. 

If you told a lie long enough, if you yourself believed in it, then surely it must be true. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d never expected your first encounter with death, you suppose no one really does. And in your months of solitude, locked up against your will, you’ve learnt you can’t change the past. No matter how many tears wet the dry ground, how much you scream, how much you pray to anyone listening, the past will forever be how it is and you can’t change that. 

Regret is an awful emotion, a million ‘what ifs’ consuming your mind. What if you and your friend had chosen the village over the mountain? What if you had never decided to leave? What if you had traveled alone?

If things had been different, minute details that could have changed the whole course of your life, then maybe your friend would still be alive. Maybe you’d have found the coast, hair windswept as you stand on the deck of the boat, life that of a bird; free. 

You could never see much out of the small window of your cell, rare that the sun would dare poke its head in to say hello, never there to kiss your cheeks red, or warm frozen toes.

The nights had started to get colder, the few seconds you got to see the outside world through the open door is enough for you to know the leaves had begun falling off the trees. Dusty path blanketed with reds and oranges, footsteps harder to hear on the few days you’re fed– never more than what’s left over from the village men. 

The second time death had chosen to lurk was when a crisis had become of the village. Their crops rotting, black mold greedy in the way it had chewed through their livestock. Animals sent from the gods, lay dead on the ground, useless when their harvest season was right around the corner. 

“An evil spirit has cursed the lands” 

You’d wondered how you’d escaped the clutches of death a second time. But your purpose had become apparent when you’d heard whispers of the demon that lived in the mountains. A ruler of this very land.

Rumors carried by the wind had told you that he’d become restless, that the townspeople needed a sacrifice to sate his growing rage. They couldn’t go a season without crops, and none of the men dared push their wives forward as the gift. 

And so you, had been the sacrifice. The true purpose of them keeping you locked up and alive, was to act as their gift for the one that lived in the mountains.

Human fear is often the scariest, compassion absolutely destroyed, empathy non-existent. 

That’s why you don’t find yourself begging when you’re woken up one morning, cold water a shock to the system. Adrenaline useless as it pumps through your veins. It doesn’t take long for you to grasp the reason one of the village boys had come to see you so early, the sun barely having woken herself. 

You cough, wiping your wet face with the backs of your hand. Eyebrows creased into a frown as your eyes flit over to the entrance of your cell. 

“Get up” 

He mustn't be much older than you, pretty lips turned down into a prominent frown that you have to will yourself not to scoff at. Because really if anyone should frown as though the world were against them, it should be you. 

You don’t move, a dangerous game you’d been playing since you’d first arrived in the village. Because if you acted as though you didn’t understand them, language not your own, then you’d keep a little bit of your freedom. Ignorance covered as misunderstandings; actions out of spite, simply accidents. 

The boy tuts, door to the cell creaking, almost yanked off it hinges as he strides towards you. He’s rough as he grabs onto your arms, pulling you up from the sorry excuse of a bed. You pull your arms from his grip, skin prickly with pure hatred. 

“Change into these” he shoves a pile of clothes into your arms, tattered underwear falling to the floor.

If you had any shame, maybe you’d be a little embarrassed as he turns around, arms crossed over his chest. Though it seemed that any lick of shame that dared plague your mind, was consumed by anger as you yank your clothes off—Wringing your wet hair out, rolling the bottoms of the pants up. 

You flinch at the sound of another voice, “Jimin, are you almost done?”

The village boy turns around, eyes raking over your body, “Almost” he calls back. 

You eye the open door as Jimin steps out of your cell, “Don’t even think about it” 

It’s uncomfortable how tight he ties the ropes, hands bound behind your back where one mean tug from Jimin could send you tumbling face first into the floor. 

And it’s infinitely more uncomfortable how the whole village seems to gather, the chief parading you down the split path of people like a prize as Jimin watches your back.

A gift sent from the heavens to save their village, to save their people. Ironic when months ago everyone had been cursing your existence, asking why they should keep you locked up, why you hadn’t died beside your friend. 

It takes almost a day to hike up the mountain on foot, they may have thought of you as their sacrificial savior, that didn’t mean they were willing to waste their resources on you. 

Sweat tickles the back of your neck, hair clinging to your skin uncomfortably. You’re tired. Moments away from your legs giving way, willing to let the sun melt your skin and bones until you become one with the earth. Summer sun still clinging onto the sky before the seasons truly change.

The world takes pity on you as you stumble over your own feet, almost headbutting Jimin’s back as he stops. Your heart is in your throat as reality sets in, the rumors of a demon true. It didn’t look like anyone lived here; picket fence damp, old in a way that bugs had chewed through the wood.

Your eyes settle on the sign that hangs from a tree branch– “Jeon”. 

Jimin grabs the thick rope of the bell, muscles in his arms flexing as he announces your arrival. 

The shred of hope that you held in your heart shatters when you hear the crunch of footsteps. Silhouette of a man wandering through the archway of trees behind the fence.

You think he looks more like an angel than a demon, hair a fluffy mess, almost cute in the way he almost trips over his sandals. He catches himself before he can fall, stopping in front of Jimin on the other side of the gate. 

He places a hand over his heart, taking his time in catching his breath– and you can see Jimin’s patience wearing thin, heel of his boot tapping against the grass. Face etched into a permanent scowl that you can only assume is your doing.

You wet your lips at the sound of the boy’s voice, deeper than you’d expected, “Hello, how may I help you?” 

Your eyes fixate on the mole sat at the tip of his nose. 

“Are you the demon that resides here?” Jimin tugs you forward, heavy hand falling on the back of your neck. 

“Oh–” the man’s eyes widen, running a hand through his hair, “No, he’s inside” 

You peek over his shoulder, path veiled by trees, dark abyss waiting beyond the rotted gate. A world that looked so far from your own, a little secret hidden between the trees.

Jimin hums, “Here” he pats your back, “A delivery from the village” 

You dig your heels further into the ground as Jimin’s fingertips trail over your back, silent warning to do whatever you’re told. Maybe a cruel little goodbye, because the both of you knew that you might not ever make it out of there alive.

He waves at you as he starts his descent down the mountain, sadistic little smile of his face.  

Now would be a good time to run, though you wouldn’t know where to go. You suppose anything would be better than this. Maybe if you begged nicely the demon would kill you painlessly; maybe listening to your cries of mercy. Granting you an easy death so you could finally rest. 

The demon’s friend slips through the fence, “Do you understand me? Are you okay?” 

You nod. So many words hanging on the tip of your tongue, though you don’t seem to know what to say first. 

“I’m Taehyung” he tells you, smile fragile as he moves to take a look at your bound wrists. “May I?” he asks, and you turn to give him better access to your back. 

“What’s your name?” 

You swallow, wetting your dry throat, “Y/n” 

“Jungkook is really nice, I’m sure he’ll let you stay for a while” 

It’s weird how even as the ropes make a dull thump against the damp ground, you don’t feel any more free than you had when you’d been bound. 

Opening the gate, Taehyung motions for you to step inside, letting you follow him down the path and into the open area. Your eyes wander over the courtyard, freshly fallen leaves the color of a sunset scattered across the grass. Stood through the archway of trees stands the heart of the house. 

Without knocking, Taehyung pulls the door open. Intricately crafted table sat in the middle of the room.

He sits at the table like royalty, posture that of a king– clothes that of a nobleman. He looked younger than Taehyung, book held by one hand ever so elegantly, really he could be mistaken for a royal if it weren’t for the inky black snake that peeks out of the sleeve of his shirt. 

You try not to linger on his extra pair of arms. Breath catching in your throat when they fold over his stomach. Entirely unhuman, something you’d never seen before.

His eyes flicker over your face, turning to Taehyung with his eyebrow raised. You flinch as he shuts his book, full attention now on you and his friend. 

“Who’s this?” 

You feel the embarrassment lick up your spine as he takes in the way you’re dressed, warm blush surely flushing your cheeks pink. Both of your lives so dramatically different. 

Taehyung clears his throat when you don’t say anything, “This is Y/n” 

“Does she understand us?” Jungkook asks, curious eyes meeting your own. Taehyung turns to you, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. 

“I do” and Jungkook hums, a little taken aback with how formal you’d come off. 

“Why are you here?” there’s no malice in his voice, simple curiosity. Something you hadn’t been expecting. And you wish he had just shouted, unexpected understanding strange when you had prepared for the worst. 

Taehyung grabs a pillow from under the table, fingertips barely grazing your back as he helps you sit opposite Jungkook. 

“I’ll make us some tea” Taehyung smiles. A whisper for him to stay stuck on the tip of your tongue as he wanders further into the back room leaving you alone with Jungkook. 

Your eyes stay trained in your lap, picking at your nails, fiddling with the hem of your shirt; really anything to keep you from having to look into Jungkook’s eyes. 

“I asked a question” he reminds you, “why are you here?” 

“I’m a sacrifice. A gift from the people in the village of the east” 

“A gift?” he urges, utterly enraptured by the mind of humans. 

“Their land had been cursed, or so they say” you meet his eyes, “this is an offering for you to save the land, to sate your anger. That’s all I know, no one ever spoke much around the cell they kept me in” 

“Cell?” his eyebrows raise, curious.

You hum, “It is nothing but rumors, but they say the king wanted people like myself dead, the chief had told his people I’d come to spy on them. That my life would be of use, so they let me live” 

“Is that so?” Jungkook falls back, holding himself up by his arms, “Taehyung hadn’t told me such rumors were going around” 

You open your mouth, a question that’s been playing on your mind since a child put to an abrupt stop when Taehyung wanders back into the room. Teacup and delicate little porcelain plates balanced on a wooden tray. 

“Thank you” your voice is barely above a whisper as your fingers delicatly take hold of the cup. 

“So–” Taehyung starts, taking a seat beside you, “are you staying with us?”

Your hand flies to your mouth, a lame attempt in covering a cough as your eyes meet Jungkook’s. 

“Please? I could always use the extra help” Taehyung continues, arm slung over your shoulder, “What do you think?” 

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, head tilting in question. It’s strange how far you can get lost in someone’s eyes, how for some it’s ever so easy to nitpick seemingly insignificant changes in expression. Maybe it had been a self-defense mechanism, a means to survive, but you’d always felt you’d been good at knowing how people felt, knowing where to build a wall, draw a line, anything.

Jungkook was a strange being, how what lies beneath his gaze is unattable no matter how long you search.

Jungkook’s eyes gave no indication as to how he felt about you. Expression eerily neutral that even if you were to ask him how he felt, his tone would be of no help. Someone so in control of their body and mind, someone above that of natural human nature; and you suppose thats only fair considering he weren’t a mortal like you or Taehyung. 

“You guys do whatever you want” Jungkook picks up his book, touch gentle as he flips back to the page he’d left. 

You turn to Taehyung, “If it’s okay, then I don’t mind staying” because living a life secluded from the world, protected by the rotting gate at the end of the path, was a safer way to live than travelling alone with no place to call home.

And as long as Jungkook held no resentment towards you, letting you live a life of peace, even if only for a fleeting moment—then maybe you’d hold onto that last selfish little sliver of hope. 

Taehyung takes ahold of your hands, the prettiest smile gracing his face, “You must be exhausted. How about a bath? You’ll have to wear some of my clothes until I can make you some–” 

“Tae” Jungkook laughs, “Slow down, you’ll overwhelm her” 

Taehyung’s fingers intertwine with your own, tugging you to stand.

You turn back to Jungkook before Taehyung can drag you out of the room, “Thank you” you call out to him.

He waves you off, thumb running over his bottom lip, “It’s nothing” and really it wasn't, he already housed one human, what was one more? Not when like Taehyung, you’d been betrayed by your own kind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Have you heard of any rumors circulating the village?” Jungkook asks his friend, Taehyung running a hand through his hair. Having left you to wash up and change before he would show you your new bedroom.

“Rumours?” Taehyung’s head tilts a little.

Jungkook hums, “About the king” 

“None” he shakes his head, “Only whispers about bandits raiding the outskirts of the capital” 

“Nothing about any spies?” 

Taehyung’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, back straightening slightly as he gazes down at Jungkook. “Is this about Y/n?” 

Jungkook sighs, “Something’s happening in the east, don’t go there from now on” 

Taehyung nods, “I’ll keep an eye on her, just in case” 

“I doubt there’s a need. The two of you are quite similar” Jungkook hums, “Just make sure she’s comfortable, that’s all I ask” 

“And you?” 

Jungkook pushes himself to stand, “Nothing much will change around here” 

Taehyung’s role in Jungkook’s life hadn’t been a coincidence. And as much as it felt like Jungkook was the one helping Taehyung, demons were a little more selfish than that. Sure, Jungkook gave Tae a second chance at life, but that was only because he wanted something from him. It all worked out in the end, Jungkook made his first friend and Taehyung lived comfortable. 

You, however, Jungkook hadn’t seeked you out. You were handed to him by the graces of hell, destiny walking you up this mountain. Adorably strong-willed, though perhaps too trusting of the very being that could bring you to your downfall.

Jungkook was anything but a saviour, everything he ever did was only to with his own wellbeing in mind. But you, you were the one thing that he hadn’t planned. An anomaly thrusted in his face, how could he turn away his gift from the world?

Your desire for freedom was endearing, the human will to live something Jungkook found utterly intriguing when all the world seemed to do was fuck you over. Naïve hope disguised by a hard exterior, pitiful in the way the world had rejected your mere existence. Something Jungkook was more willing to use, arms curling around your fragile existence.

Because as much as you thought of him as your refuge, he knew that he would become your downfall.

[devieuls]

ˋ Let me Love you༄ ✵

Neteyam Sully x Na'vi Fem Reader < SERIES >

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Dom Neteyam x Fem Na'vi Reader.

SMUT: Dirty Talk; Fangs; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; slut shaming; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoorsex; jealousy BDSM.

ANGST: mention of suicide, toxic relationship, words inherent in death, sexual assault, self-harm, derealization, suffering, Requited / Unrequited love, prejudices, bullying and insults. and FLUFF. There will be flashbacks in this series

Aged characters: Neteyam 22 y.o / You 19 y.o.

Synopsis: In the darkest point of your life, swallowed by the abyss, you decide to put an end to your sufferings, seeking relief in the extreme act. Your life was an intricate dance between life and death, and when life decided to take leave and leave death alone in you, you got lost. And as if he had been sent by Eywa himself, a mysterious Na'vi, saves you from hitting bottom, sacrificing himself so you don’t give up. Becoming the light that shone in your darkness. He is the sun that faces your night, and you are the Moon, eternally distant from him.

He grabbed your hand and dragged you away, taking you to his village, a place of healing and hope where he will try to make you love life again, showing you the light you had long lost. Starting a journey of healing, to fight against your demons that tormented you relentlessly, to finally find happiness where you would never have bothered to find it.

Two fates crossed under the tacit protection of the Great Mother, to show that even two opposites can create something perfectly chaotic.

And what happens when night and day dance together, to the rhythm of the stars and waves of balance, eternal opposites that are inevitably attracted?

This is the story of how death falls in love with life; how the sun one day decided to save the moon and how darkness is not so dark if light can penetrate. But also a story of suffering and torment, where not everything is roses and flowers.

CHAPTER WARNING: Mention suicide and attempted suicide.

Lenght : 4k

NA'VI WORDS: Yawne: Beloved; Tanhì: Bioluminescent freckles; Tspangoe: I invented this, it means "Suicidal". It comes from "Tspang": Kill and "Oe": I/Me. I couldn’t find a word that came close, so I made it up.

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

⇠ Previous chapter ✵ Next Chapter ⇢

· · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · ·

Chapter I: The Fall

In the heart of the dense forest, wrapped in a blanket of skeletal trees seemed to dangle for you as silent witnesses of a long time ago. The icy wind hissed among the thick branches, bringing with it a suffocated lament, as if nature itself was crying an irreparable loss. It was a place of tormented beauty, a refuge for your restless soul, where nature itself seemed to express its pain in silence. In the melancholy yet fascinating atmosphere, the waterfall stood as a symbol of battered hope, offering a fleeting comfort to spirits like you in search of consolation. It was in this desolation of yours that the waterfall was heard. Not a joyful or luxuriant sound, but a sore groan hovering in the air. The incessant flow of water was a constant sound that pervaded the atmosphere, offering a grim melody among its tumultuous waves, as if it carried with it the weight of your hidden pains. Its waters rushed from the cliff with an unstoppable force, forming a veil of water that dispersed in a light fog. The reflections of the suns sprinkled silvery sparks in the air, creating an ephemeral rainbow between the shimmering silver drops.

As the dying rays of the suns seeped through the fronds of the trees, tinging the landscape with a purple light, you sat on the edge of the majestic waterfall, your feet dangling above the cliff. An aura of sadness was reflected in your gaze, an invisible weight that seemed to have borne too much for your young age.

The rustle of the branches danced among the trees, accompanied by an orchestra of voices hidden among the trees. The howls of the waking nocturnal animals, the chirping of the birds mingling with the croaking of the crows and screeching of the Ikrans who dared peer into the oncoming darkness. The rustle of the leaves, moved by an invisible wind, creates a constant background that amplifies the mysterious aura. The scents of the forest mixed in the air, with the smell of moss, damp earth and wildless flowers.

You sat in silence, with your eyes fixed between the abyss below and the eclipse that colored your face with warm shades, with your heart broken and your soul in pieces. The weight of pain and despair was felt in every fiber of your being, as the pounding sound of water flowing downwards amplified the preparatory atmosphere that had been created around you by you. You were able to welcome the beauty of the majestic trees that stood on the horizon, small flowers dancing free in the wind that seemed to evoke happy and serene memories, creating a poignant contrast with your suffering.

You squinted as you took a deep breath. Hands flickering as you began to undress each piece of jewelry that represented your status and your belonging, removing piece by piece, gently laying them on the ground. You caressed them as you remember they surfaced in your mind with pain, remembering your story and the events you had experienced to get every single cherished jewel that now lay on the ground. You separated with pain, not wanting to dirty the precious memories and the sacredness of each bead with your gesture. It was as if I wanted to get rid of everything that made you, "you", looking for a way to atone for the pain.

While contemplating the last lights of the day, you quietly hum your songcord, creating a sad lament, before separating it forever, tying it to a thread of faded era that would be the final 'bead'.

"Oh Great Mother, forgive me… but my battle is over… I can’t stand this anymore" praying that the Great Mother would forgive you and welcome you into her warm arms.

Loneliness. You felt alone in that forest, as the cold, wet wind collided with your warm skin, as if Eywa was saying to you, "You are heard, child. Step back forward, because your life is not complete". When you felt pretty confident about the blessing that the Great Mother was telling you, a rustle behind you made your ears stand up but you didn’t turn, anyone or whatever it was you didn’t care, because it could never hurt you more than you were about to.Neteyam walked through the forest as he returned to his village with some venison he had just finished hunting, only to be distracted by a lament from where he knew the waterfall was. The sound of flowing water guides him in the right direction and suddenly he sees your lonely figure on the edge of the precipice. A sense of anguish pervaded him when he realized your tragic intentions, noting the jewels placed on the ground.

He carefully removed the bow and arrows from his back, laying them on the ground with the venison and then slowly approaching, but with determination to do everything possible to save you. He sat next to you, looking at the horizon, respecting the personal space you needed but conveying a sense of closeness. Your eyes met his figure, not understanding why a stranger would sit beside you at a time like this. He opened his mouth suddenly, taking a long breath.

"See those two birds right there" The boy’s words were soft and reassuring, trying to break the wall you were building to separate yourself from the world before performing the act we express. "hmhm" you mumbled in response, watching the birds dancing one last time in the purple sky. "Eywa takes care of them every day… If the Great Mother takes care of them, imagine how she takes care of us who are more fragile" you lowered your gaze to the river below, reflecting the words that the mysterious Na'vi was giving you. "The Great Mother knows your needs, look for her now…" he whispered, reassuring you as his words mingled with the melody of the falling water, turning his face towards yours.

"Maybe it’s because it’s what I want." You hissed and then looked him in the eye. Your face was tired, just like your eyes, sad, dull and devoid of spirit, bringing with them a deep sense of total abandonment. The eyes of someone who has gone through immeasurable pain and who has lost all hope of finding a way out of suffering. The irises, once full of life and lively, are now devoid of any spark of emotion. They are an abyss in which all joy and happiness is drowned. There is no more light shining through them, only a dark and impenetrable desolation. Heavy, drooping eyelids tell the story of a tired, exhausted soul. They seemed ready to give in under the unbearable weight. There is no life, there is no light, only deep apathy. One can see the total lack of interest in everything around them, as if I had become a stranger to the world.

Your gaze aroused a sense of compassion in Neteyam. It almost seemed like a call to extend his hand to offer you support, because behind that desolation, there was still a soul struggling feebly to keep going.

"It’s not what you want, it’s what you think you want. I don’t know you, but I know you mean something to someone, and I know that someone would suffer for it. Do it for them… live for them, please." His eyes were light, hope, life. His kind and comforting words that for a second you thought he was even the Great Mother herself. Slowly, patiently and gently, Neteyam tried to open a breach in the armor you were wearing, hoping to make you desist.

"Why live for someone if I don’t even want to live for myself? Just…Go away." You answered with bitterness while you carried again the look under you, contemplating the abyss and the peace that you would have tried. You just didn’t want to feel this way anymore, to be free. "I have no one. I mean nothing to anyone. Whether I disappear or not no one will cry for me. You don’t know who I am, so I won’t be a burden to you… Please-" your voice broke at that moment, as two tears cut your face. "Just let me do this…"

Neteyam looked at you, silently swallowing, realizing your pain, doing it as he watched you fall apart in front of him. He had never seen a Na'vi attempt suicide, and the lost look in your eyes frightened him. &lt;; Nobody?… She has no one > this was what rang in his mind as he searched for the right words.

"You have Eywa… The Great Mother loves all her children and I know she doesn’t want to take you right now… You are not alone and she will not allow you to be alone, if so." He reached out his hand towards you. " Take my hand, please" his voice died in his throat, his hopeful gaze waiting for you to change your mind.

Your vulnerability was exposed, for the defenses you built were shaken by his words. Maybe for the first time in a long time, you felt comforted, even for a moment. Your heart was lighter in a moment of suspension. You still felt a thin veil of fear to do that act, but relief and warmth, anger to be alone. You decided to leave the precipice, not only physically, but also mentally and emotionally, while a faint flame of hope began to burn in you. Too bad it wasn’t the right flame.

You looked at his outstretched hand, making your amber eyes so different for the last time. Its full of life and yours turned off, the sun and the moon looking at each other, life and death meeting. You pulled up with your nose as one last tear tore through your face for the last time. One last breath and swallowed. "I can’t… I can’t be saved" The bitterness in your voice destabilized Neteyam, only to leave him wide-eyed when you dropped to the side, following the waterfall water.

"No!" He screamed as his arms instinctively extended towards you, desperately trying to grab your freefalling body, but all he could touch was the void. The air passed through his fingers and hands, as if it were an insurmountable force that prevented him from reaching you.

At that moment, he felt a feeling of helplessness and frustration that crept into his soul, leaving a sense of guilt and remorse. Every muscle in his body screams for failing to save your life. As you disappeared from his sight, Neteyam was overwhelmed by an emotional storm. Everything around him seemed to slow down. The sounds faded and the reality turned away, as if he were in a nightmare from which he could not wake up. His body trembles in front of the immensity of the situation. Managing to react to a delayed burst.

You had found peace by falling, a harmony that you had not felt for a long time, as if you had discovered the secret to facing that darkness that had reached its climax in you. The scars of the battle opened slightly, turning into signs of courage. The cold air and drops of water gently caressed your exhausted body, bringing with it the pungent smell of freedom. Your eyes, which had wept far too many tears, were now closed and full of serenity, knowing that you would escape from that hell.

Gravity pulled you down with the same unstoppable force with which water fell from the waterfall. But there was no fear in your heart, only the realization that the fall was an inevitable conclusion of everything you had experienced, the point that would make you start over. You felt at peace, finally free to leave everything behind you tormented. In the fall, your face relaxed and a smile crossed your face. Not a smile of unbridled joy, but rather a kind of resignation and contentment. It was as if you knew that even in the darkness of the fall, your spirit could finally shine. The water wrapped you in a warm embrace, giving you that sense of comfort before the impact, washing away your melancholy, leaving you free from the weight, happy.

Neteyam didn’t hesitate an extra second to follow you, taking the right precautions before the launch so that he wouldn’t faint from impact, jumping as he quickly spotted where your body might end up once in the water.

Your unarmed body descended below the surface without too much hesitation, blocking you down because of the strong currents. You were unconscious right after the impact, but in your mind you were just waiting to be taken away by the Great Mother’s hand, leaving your body aching.

Neteyam immediately after the impact with the water sought you with panic in the eyes, swimming with open eyes to look for your body, hoping to find you in time before the current took you away and marked your end. After a few minutes he found you and had to fight against the violent currents and your body heavier because of the water to lift you and carry you up, while the seconds passed and his lungs screamed to breathe, trying to stay lucid for you. He managed to drag you out of the water with difficulty, gently laying you on the shore, while he watered the air he needed, begging the Great Mother not to take you, while he placed you back on the grass, by slightly tilting your head back and lifting your chin to open the airways. His hands began to tremble when he placed them in the center of your chest, just above the breastbone, comprehending the chest with the rhythm that his father had taught him to do. He alternated compressions with mouth-to-mouth ventilation. "Oh Great Mother, no... please… please, Great Mother" he whispered as he proceeded with the cpr, pulling a breath of relief when you started spitting water spasmodically, grateful that at least your body was reacting to stay alive.

"Stay with me, please. Stay with me, stay with me…" he said desperately as he called his Ikran. When the banshee arrived, he took the shawl that he used when riding and it was cold, covering your shaky and wet body, not thinking that he too would get cold because of the speed with which he would ride to take you to his village as soon as possible. He held you in his arms, making you lay your face on his chest as he held you from his waist with one arm, leaving promptly. Your tanhì were barely visible, and this made him worry to say the least, he did not know you but he wanted to save you, he had to do it. He felt he had to save your life, give you a second chance to try to be happy and at peace, for fighting your demons.

When he arrived at the village, he rushed into the marui of Tsahìk, easily making his way among the na'vi of the clan. When he found his grandmother, he looked at her pleadingly and panicked, leaving you lying on the carpet that Tsahìk used as a bed for patients.

"What happened to this girl?" she asked as she inspected your body, trying to figure out where to start treating you. Neteyam looked at her swallowing as he breathed fast and passed his hands between the braids.

"She… she fell. She drank a lot of water, ther because… s-she. she fainted, she fell from the waterfall…and I-" He tried to explain as he went off the deep end and Mo'at nodded, then invited him out while she undressed you for more room to work.

Neteyam shivered because of the still wet body and the wind hitting his blue skin, while he was still in shock about what he had seen, not expecting you to really jump. He began to walk nervously out of the healing hut, worried about you and your health, while his nerves drove him around in despair.

After about an hour Mo'at came out of the marui, wrapping his nephew in a warm blanket, worried that he too would get sick.

"She’s gonna be okay, right? She’s okay? She-" asked anxiously as his palms wrapped around his grandmother’s elbows, praying that you were well and that she had managed to save you. Mo'at’s eyes lowered slightly and then sighed, realizing Neteyam’s concern, though not understanding why he was so worried about a stranger.

"She… will survive" she replied, not giving a clear answer, though that 'will survive' gave Neteyam enormous relief, thanking Eywa for allowing him to save you. "but she can’t wake up yet. She’s lost a lot of blood inside of her, and she hit her head, pressure knocked her unconscious on impact. She’s lucky she didn’t break bones or ruin her organs…" She continued and then noticed a slight tension in Neteyam, always remaining happy that you were well despite that problem.

"You said she’ll be fine, so she’ll be fine" he said, convincing himself more than his grandmother, who looked at him sighing.

"I feel that her spirit does not want to stay here… she is… tspangoe?" Mo'at’s voice became darker as she asked, waiting for the reply of her nephew who soon arrived when he let her go and looked away.

"She is a Na'vi. Like you and me. Nothing else" He said seriously, growling slightly as he avoided answering the question, as if he was annoyed that his grandmother had just labeled you that way. He squeezed into the blanket and left, leaving his grandmother alone after thanking her for helping you.

The days began to flow while you gave no sign of waking up. Neteyam would stay in the tent for hours, visiting you at least twice a day, making sure you were properly washed and fed, feeding you himself when Mo'at gave it to him. He allowed himself several times to observe your face, noticing how your tanhì were almost extinguished and your feeble breaths, your body still had small wounds and bruises caused by the water and the rough stones you had met underwater. He hoped to see your eyes, even though he knew you would curse the fact that he saved you, but he knew that a tiny little part of you, well hidden, wished to be saved.

"A girl so young that she tries to take her own life… that’s a shame," Mo'at said as she entered her marui, making room behind his nephew to take some herbs to grind and use on your body. Neteyam sighed heavily and then looked at his grandmother.

"Grandmother, I beg you, stop it. You don’t even know her reasons." he said, looking at what she was grinding in the bowl made of smooth rock.

In the Na'vi culture, suicide was considered one of the greatest sins and completely harmful to one’s spiritual journey, as for them life is a precious gift of Eywa, and only she had the right to determine when to end. The Great Mother was a benevolent deity, who loved her children unconditionally, longing for their good and loving them so much that they reincarnated their pure soul cyclically. Take your own life was considered an insult to this blessing, ruining the purity of your soul, risking not being able to return to a new life. So your gesture led you to be looked down on by the spiritual leader of the Omatikaya clan, not understanding why a Na'vi should take her own life and disrespect life in this way.

"The tspangoe" began her, only to be interrupted by Neteyam "Don’t call her like that." She cleared her voice and then started talking again. "she cannot have 'reasons' to do such a thing. The Great Mother has given us life, who are we to throw it away like garbage?" her tone was bittersweet while she was grinding herbs with some natural liquids, not looking at her nephew.

"Nine eclipses have passed by now, and she sleeps. If she doesn’t want to wake up, she can just let go. She’s tried that before, hasn’t she? So why not just leave? In this way, perhaps, my partner will return to give attention to me and not to an Tspangoe" The sour voice of a woman made her way as she made her entrance, watching Neteyam and Mo'at.

"Tsu'län, please don’t start." Neteyam replied harshly as he sighed, looking at the Tsakarem of the clan.

"Nine eclipses, ma yawne. Nine eclipses that spend more time with this Tspangoe and not with your future mate. It is not normal, it is not healthy for our relationship or for the image we will give to the clan." She hissed, only to make Neteyam growl and look into her eyes with annoyance.

"Ma Tsu'län, you should be happy that your partner is a man who worries, as much as I don’t even like him being with her." Mo'at spoke, then sighed, feeling the tension between her nephew and his promise.

"Not an eclipse more. Any woman would be angry about this, especially if her partner is the future Olo'eyktan and prefers to be with a Tspangoe. It’s humiliating." Shee snorted at him, being ignored by Neteyam who was too respectful of the opposite sex to respond to her as he wished.

He looked at your face, noticing how your Tanhì were slowly coming to life, smiling spontaneously as Tsu'län’s voice went deaf before disappearing.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Notes II:

Theoretically I should have started "Starboy" series because it’s more summer and """soft""", but I’ve been thinking for days about scenarios for this series and so I decided to bring this first.

I know that this is quite a demanding series but I would like to talk about these delicate but necessary yhemes. I don’t know how many chapters it will have, but I know it’s potentially going to be my trojan horse, because I’m inspired.

I swear it won’t just be Angst, there will also be a good part of Smut and Fluff, and I will forward them in a way that in my mind is spectacular. I hope you enjoyed reading <3

-Mel

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　

TAG LIST : @riatesullironalite @shadowmoonlight0604

[chloe-caulfield94]

The theme of suicide in Life is Strange S1

Suicide is a prominent theme in Season 1. And its depiction doesn’t end with Kate’s ordeal in Episode 2. I’d argue it’s just the first salvo and this theme continues to be explored in later episodes as well. After Episode 2, Max encounters another character going through a suicide crisis. That character of course is Chloe.

In Episode 4, when Max is in the alternate timeline, Chloe, who is paralyzed from the neck down and terminally ill asks to be put out of her misery. Max has the option to do so, by overdosing Chloe with painkillers, or refuse to do that and promise Chloe never to leave her again instead.

What Chloe asks for is assisted suicide. She doesn’t want to live anymore, but since she is unable to take her own life, she asks Max to perform the deed.

But that’s not the last time Max has to deal with someone experiencing a suicide crisis. Because Chloe experiences such a crisis twice.

What Chloe asks for in Episode 5 at the cliff is once again assisted suicide. She loses the will to go on. She gives up on herself. But once again she is unable to take her own life. In Episode 4 she couldn’t take the deadly dose of painkillers on her own, because of her paralysis. And in Episode 5 killing her would require using a magical photograph as the murder weapon, which only Max is able to do. So Chloe is once again reduced to begging Max to kill her, as she is unable to do it herself.

Look at the incredible similarities between the two scenes I mentioned. Both Max’s and Chloe’s dialogue is eerily similar in both instances. Some phrases are repeated almost verbatim. First Chloe makes the shocking ask. Then Max reacts with disbelief and says she would never be able to do such a thing. But then Chloe keeps arguing in favour of her own death. She says that her demise is inevitable and close at hand, so it might as well be Max who kills her. And in the end it’s up to the player to decide if Max’s resolve remains strong, or if she is now able to do something that the mere mention of shocked her moments ago.

Alt Chloe: “I want this time with you to be my last memory”.

Chloe: “All those moments between us were real!”

Alt Chloe: “All you have to do, is crank up the IV to 11”.

Chloe: “All that would take is for me to …”

Max (E4): “I can’t kill you!”

Max (E5): “I can’t make this choice!”

Alt Chloe: “I know I’m just putting off the inevitable”.

Chloe: “I think I should accept my fate”.

Max (E4): “I had another friend, who wanted to end it all and I did everything I could to try and save her life. How can I be responsible for ending yours?”

Max (E5): “Don’t say that! I won’t trade you!”

Max (E5): “Fuck that! No, no way! You are my number one priority now! You are all that matters to me!”

Alt Chloe: “Don’t forget about me”.

Chloe: “Don’t you forget about me!”

Alt Chloe: “I love you, Max”.

Chloe: “I’ll always love you!”

Chloe’s motivation is essentially the same in both cases. It’s a mixture of hopelessness and guilt. Hopelessness manifesting as a belief that her life could not be made better in any way. And guilt that her continued existence was supposedly hurting others, but her death would benefit them.

In Episode 4, her hopelessness stems from the conviction that whatever time she has left to live, she’ll be forced to spend it alone. That Max wouldn’t want to spend any more time with her. If Max refuses to overdose her, Chloe says “You’re just bailing on me, like everyone else”.

Max: “I’m going to help you. But not like that. You have to believe me, Chloe!”

Alt Chloe: “Why, Max? You’re just bailing on me, like everybody else”.

Max: “I am never leaving you again”.

Chloe is so used to being neglected that she instinctively assumes that Max popped back into her life just for a minute. She doesn’t even consider the possibility that Max could stay with her, give her company and comfort in the days still left. We don’t know how long Chloe had left to live in the alternate timeline. Maybe a few years? Maybe a few months? But however long or short period of time that would be, I feel it would be wrong to say that there couldn’t be any moments of joy, happiness and friendship in it. Especially if her best friend decided to spend those days with her. Chloe, in her hopelessness, couldn’t even dream of such a possibility. Of such a positive turn in her life. She thought only loneliness and despair awaited her in her final days. So why not speed things up?

And Chloe’s guilt stemmed from the emotional and financial hardship her parents had to endure due to her illness. Even though her parents loved her and wanted to fight for their daughter every step of the way, Chloe mistakenly thought they would be better off with her dead.

Alt Chloe: “My parents suffer along”.

Hopelessness and guilt fuelled Chloe’s suicide crisis in Episode 5 too. Guilt that the Storm looming over the town was inexplicably caused by Max saving her life. Guilt that pushed her to believe that she didn’t deserve to live if the cost of her survival was the town’s destruction and her best friend having to live with such a heavy burden for the rest of her days.

Chloe: “There’s so many more people in Arcadia Bay who should live. Way more than me!”

Max: “Don’t say that!”

And hopelessness, once again manifesting in the belief that Max would never want to be a part of Chloe’s life, not after all the hardships she had to endure to save her.

Chloe: “Nobody, especially you should have to go through that”.

Chloe: “I don’t blame you for wanting me out of your life”.

She assumed that she was about to be abandoned, again, for a final time, to die alone and afraid. The girl who was left behind so many times didn’t dare to dream that this time someone would choose to stay. To wait out the storm with her.

Notice that Kate was driven to a suicide attempt by a very similar combination of hopelessness and guilt. Kate thought she would forever remain branded as a drunken embarrassment, her supposed crime endlessly echoing in the hateful void of the Internet.

Kate: “I’m already on the Internet forever. No wonder they call it a web. Nothing can ever get out. Like my video”.

And she thought her sinful existence was causing grief to her dear father, who would be better off with her dead, the stain on his honour removed.

Kate: “Dad does care. Even though I hurt him”.

In both instances, should Max decide to end Chloe’s life, her last desperate plea is not to forget about her.

Chloe saw no way for her life to improve. If she couldn’t have a life filled with joy and friendship, she at least wished to become someone’s happy memory. But memories are never good enough. In time, they fade. Or worse yet, they sour.

“That impossible anger strangling the grief, until the memory of your loved ones is just poison in your veins. And one day, you catch yourself wishing the person you loved had never existed, so you’d be spared your pain”.

Max would have responded to Chloe’s dying wish with “never”. But can you honestly imagine Max nurturing the memory of the erased friendship that never was for the next seventy years of her life? The memory of a friendship discarded, nipped in the bud in the service of something supposedly greater? Max would hate herself for lacking the courage to stand by her “number one priority”. And in time, she would hate Chloe for making her feel that way.

Would Joyce find the strength to nurture the memory of Chloe? The woman who was so unable to deal with the death of her husband that she had to hide away all his photographs would now be able to keep the memory of her murdered daughter? Chloe’s pictures would join those of William in the closet. Reunited at last.

Chloe: “Wherever I end up after this, in whatever reality, all those moments between us were real!”

“Wherever I end up after this, in whatever reality” is actually nowhere. It’s the dark tunnel of a pistol barrel, suddenly illuminated by a flash of burning light. And then blood pooling on the white floor tiles, like in a slaughterhouse.

With Kate’s suicide attempt, the situation is clear. Max tries to help her the best she can. There’s no option to let her jump. Whether Max succeeds or fails in talking Kate down from the roof is a separate matter, but she always does her best to save Kate’s life. Because that’s what should be done when encountering a person experiencing a suicide crisis. Because Kate’s hopelessness and guilt were not valid reasons for her to kill herself. Because her life could’ve been improved and she had no reason to feel guilty.

With Chloe’s request in the alternate timeline it’s not as clear cut. I believe her life could’ve been improved if Max decided to accompany Chloe in her last days. And Chloe had no reason to feel guilty, because it was William’s and Joyce’s decision if they wanted to share the burden that was so unfairly thrusted upon their daughter. And they decided to share it. Ultimately, the decision to honour Chloe’s request or to refuse to do so largely rests on the way the player sees her condition. We are not given any specifics, so we are forced to speculate. The way I saw it, while Chloe’s condition in the alternate timeline was terminal, she most likely had a few years left to live. A few months at the very least. Her condition caused her a lot of physical discomfort, with recurring migraines, but she didn’t seem to be in constant pain that needed to be stopped. Playing Episode 4, I couldn’t escape the feeling that Chloe’s pain was more emotional than physical in nature. How happy she was to have spent one day with her best friend. Wasn’t her feeling of hopelessness, which made her wish for death, a product of being abandoned, at least in part? Wouldn’t she be more willing to stay for whatever time she had left if she had someone to share that time with?

But I acknowledge that we could also speculate about Chloe’s condition in the alternate timeline in a much less optimistic manner. If a person’s illness reduces their life experience to constant pain, precluding them from enjoying anything positive, even the love of their family and friends, then ending their misery seems to be the right thing to do. If we assume that was the case with Chloe in the alternate timeline, then a convincing argument might be made in favour of honouring her request.

But that ambiguity is absent when Chloe presents Max with the choice to kill her on Friday at the cliff. Chloe’s life is no longer in danger. She is safe. And if her best friend chooses to stay in her life, it could change for the better. She could gain a second chance at life. And Season 2 established that this is exactly what happens if you choose to save Chloe’s life.

I find it incredibly difficult to perceive Chloe’s self-flagellating “I don't deserve to live” speech in Episode 5 as anything other than suicidal ideation. I think her offer to be sacrificed was mostly a result of her depression and feelings of low self-esteem and hopelessness. Once she saw that her death could prevent the Storm and save Max from her guilt, it pushed her over the edge.

It would be deeply wrong for Max to take Chloe up on her offer. It would be no different than letting Kate jump, just because she wanted to when she was on the roof.

In Season 1 Chloe is depressed and I mean in the medical sense. Max can find prescription antidepressants in Chloe’s bathroom. Sweet innocent Max, not knowing what Fluoxetine is, comments the find with “Chloe is taking medicine? I hope she’s okay”, as if those were vitamins, but it’s actually a potent antidepressant.

Chloe most likely had suicidal thoughts prior to meeting Rachel. I don't know how else you can explain her standing in front of speeding trains. And she said Rachel had “saved” her, which implies she would've done something very bad hadn’t it been for her friendship with Rachel. The thoughts came back after Rachel’s disappearance. In Chloe’s hideout at the junkyard, Max can find a scribbled note which says “I want to die”. Max wonders aloud who wrote this, but at that point, Chloe has been the only one using the hideout for months. And the handwriting matches the graffiti on the walls of Chloe’s room and in her truck, as well as her “Chloe was here” signature in the junkyard.

Chloe tragically lost her father. Her mother moved on way too quickly, hiding her late husband’s photographs and refusing to acknowledge Chloe’s grief. Her only friend left and cut contact. She was bullied at school for being a “scholarship kid” from a poor family.

Max (Farewell): “What do you mean she wouldn’t leave you alone?”

Chloe (Farewell): “She was making fun of my clothes and calling me a scholarship kid”.

Rachel promised her a life together but then decided to skip town with someone else. Her stepfather made her feel worthless.

David: “For your own good, you should stay away from Chloe. She’s a loser and she’ll only drag you down”.

Can you even imagine hearing from your own parent that you’re a loser and that others should stay away from you, because you would only drag them down?

Frank hooked her up on drugs when she was sixteen if not younger. When she couldn’t pay her debt he exploited her as an accomplice to his crimes and then started threatening to cut her.

Frank: “You want me to cut you, bitch?”

Max: “Holy shit balls! Frank is scary. I should’ve let Chloe take that money!”

Nathan slipped her date rape drugs and attempted to assault her, which she barely avoided. And then, in the span of four days, she was almost killed multiple times and she found Rachel’s decayed corpse. I don’t think it’s far-fetched to argue that when a teenager who experienced all that says they want to be “sacrificed”, they should be provided with immediate care, because they are most likely in the midst of a suicide crisis. Someone who went through all that cannot make a fully informed, conscious decision to be “sacrificed”.

If Max fought tooth and nail to save Kate, who was driven to suicide by all the bad things that happened to her, wouldn’t she do the same for Chloe?

There’s no context in which letting a depressed teenager kill themselves is not an act of disgusting evil. This is something a comic book villain wouldn’t do, because that would be going too far.

Shouldn’t a game with such a strong theme of hopelessness and desperation leading to suicide end with the main character preventing suicide, not assisting in one? And given the theme of finding one’s confidence and learning to move on, wouldn’t it be much more fitting if the game ended with the main character restoring hope for a better tomorrow to someone who lost it, showing them the past has no power over them? Instead of crushing the last remains of their hope and pushing them back into the quagmire of the past, to their death?

[simp-ly-writes]

To New Adventures with Old Friends

Can be read as a standalone: What is Left by the Lakeside (pt.4)

Pairing: God!Gale Dekarios x Sorcerer!Reader & Tara

Summary: While Gale awaits your decision to ascend or not, you need space in order to make a clear decision on your future so yet another adventure awaits you with some familiar faces alongside a new one waiting to join the story.

Warnings: mentions of sadness and regret, teasing.

A/N: the story that just keeps on giving, thank you so much to the anonymous reader who gave me the idea for this and the next chapter!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

What is Left by the Lakeside Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) (pt.6) you are here

“I am going to need more than a few moments in deciding these life changing decisions, Gale Dekarios. And I am going to need that space in order to make a clear decision, you will know when I summon you for my answer, not a minute sooner or later- that I can promise,” you tell the God of Ambition, speaking over him while squeezing his hand- trying to convey your sincerity. 

Gale looks at you closely, his eyes glowing softly as he takes in your words. The room becomes that bit dimmer as he closes his eyes, taking a breath in and out deeply before he responds, “I understand, my love....” his voice trails off, words becoming stuck in his throat as he drops your hands and stands up.

“...The time I can comprehend, the space I cannot-”

“Then you should have thought of that before leaving me here on this “mortal plane” you speak of,” you retort back before quickly walking yourself out of the room and giving the guard a small smile on your way out. They bow to you- watching you scurry down the hall in search of your belonging with a locating spell. 

Gale stands still where you left him in the study. He observes the spot where you sat closely, a part of him still imagining that you are there with him- overjoyed to join him but alas that projection is not the truth as he ushers over the guard with a flick of his wrist once more before returning back to his realm. 

--

You rip the purple gown from yourself, throwing it back in the chest with a cry as you stand there still- looking at yourself in the long mirror that stands beside the wardrobe. Your hands shake as you cup your face, your appearance, as horror strikes over you- of what you almost became. I need to leave, I need to go far away from here soon, you think to yourself before sending a bird before the shadows of the nightfall. 

You later join back with Mrs. Dekarios who claims that you make her sound bedridden with such titles, “Morena will do more than fine, for you are family,” she says with a broken smile as you both sit with a plate of dinner. Guilt begins to eat you alive, you feel horrible about leaving her so soon yet your heart can't bear anymore reminders of Gale and this house appears to be full of them. 

As you begin to tale all that happened in the study moments ago, Morena places a hand over her mouth, shielding a gasp before grasping your hand in hers tightly, “Please do save me some grace by saying that you will not be accepting such an offer- even if it is for my son, I do not have the heart to let go of yet another child of this family” she strains. 

Tara joins in on the sentiment, quipping, “There are greater evils than your own mortality, dear. It is a gift to live and a curse to exist- do not tempt fate into prolonging the inevitable for it will not serve you well.” 

You take their words to heart, giving a solid not in return as you sigh heavily. The weight of the world has appeared on your shoulders once more yet this time all you had to save was yourself. Who knew that this would be the hardest of them all, you think to yourself before topping off a glass and picking at the dinner set before you. 

Morena picks conversation back up, making commentary on all the new flowers she is growing in the greenhouse as you offer to give her some of the seeds to plants you had found from throughout your travels. She eagerly accepts your offer, asking the details of each species' environment and background as you both happily chat amongst yourselves. 

Yawns eventually fall upon your tired bodies as you hug your goodnights, Tara has made herself comfortable on Morena’s duvet cover as you softly close the door behind and enter your own guest space. The room is exactly as you left it besides the set of flowers that sit atop your bedside table. Observing them more closely- you find them to be your favorites but are confused as to how they were obtained. They are still not to bloom for many more months, you question to yourself while giving them a small sniff, smiling and producing a vase from your supplies before settling yourself in for the night. 

--

As birds begin to chirp outside your window, you stretch and pat the spot beside you. Your face falling in recognition of this habit for Gale's presence was no longer with you. Not wanting to sour such a bright morning you hoist yourself out of bed and begin to pack your belongings for the long journey ahead. You needed to make your way to the closest waypoint in order to meet up with some familiar faces. 

You have breakfast and the morning paper served to your room as Morena and Tara join you in your bed. You all chat happily with one another as they both pry for who you are travelling with and to what direction you are headed. To the best of your ability, you keep your lips sealed and promise to fly notes back on your adventures. Tara threatens you to uphold that promise as Morena scolds the tressym, she simply rolls her eyes in response before picking up another bite of fish. 

Bags packed and your boots fashioned to your feet, the green robe you wear matches the flowers blooming on the trees that you observe through the windows of the foyer. Morena stands from atop the stairs, Tara in her embrace as she waves you off. The door-greeter from earlier stands tall, awaiting your presence with a purple tint to their eyes. 

You observe them closely, offering your hand as they hesitantly shake it goodbye yet you grip it tight, pulling them in closer so that your mouth is right beside their ear as you observe the tip of it become pink from your warm breath. Whispering harshly you convey the utmost seriousness in your tone, “I expect to be the only present here when I am gone and for you to be alert for when I return. Is that clear?”

They only nod in reply as you let them go and motion for your luggage to follow you outside the house and down the path once more. The waypoint by the watersedge awaited you as did Halsin, taking what he quoted, “a prolonged vacation” once more from the grove. And along that way you both would be picking up Astarion later in the night. 

--

Your body lurched, still not being used to the waypoints pull on your form as you ended up a mile away from Emerald Grove. Smiling to yourself at all the memories you obtained from this area where your adventure started all those moons ago, you continued your journey to the Grove only to be met by a pair of large arms scooping you up and cheering excitedly in your ear. 

“It is good to see you, my old friend!” Halsin cheered as a few other druids called out their celebrations of your presence. 

“It is always good to see you as well, Halsin, the grove looks to be in better shape than ever!”

“Yes, much work has been done that deserves an award I think not? Let us continue our adventures together, right where they left off.”

“That is the plan I suppose,” you humble back while patting the tops of children's heads that had run up to you, excited to be in their saviours presence once more. 

Halsin looked at this image sweetly, a large smile growing over his face that soon fell when he looked closer into your eyes. He was expecting great news of your return as the letter he received answered yet all he felt now was growing concern.

You mouthed, later, to the bear-druid before the kids grabbed your hands and ushered you to play with them. Using your magic, you conjured up a sheet of ice as you skated with the children. Their laughter and smiles filled your senses with pride as you joined in their joyous expressions. 

Halsin watched from afar, the healer deeply concerned by this facade that you held yet he would wait for you to open up. It appears a long conversation is ahead of us, he thought to himself before addressing his successor and packing his belongings for the road ahead. 

--

As the children got called for their meals you and Halsin left the grove silently. The sun still held high in the sky as you ventured up the mountain path and towards the waypoint you agreed to meet Astarion by sunset. 

You could see Halsin struggling with himself to keep quiet about asking about your condition, always the healer, you thought to yourself before starting the conversation to ease the increasing wrinkles that framed the man's face. 

“Please rest assured I am plenty more than fine-” you begin to say before Halsin holds up a hand, stopping both of your walking and turns to face you. 

“I can observe that clearly with the plain eye yet nature speaks to me when I say that you are rotting away about something internally, tell me- where is the root of your worries, dearest friend?” 

His gaze holds you accountable as your image breaks, your shoulders slump forwards as his arms pat your back reassuringly. 

“You have always been the truest seer I have met, Halsin and an even better friend at that,” you sigh out, “you see- I have fallen for a man that has left this plane and I am left here in his wake. Here with my memories, here with my many emotions that I cannot help but feel conflicted on where to venture forth. I have the option to stick with a fragment of what is left or to be left remembering all that happened and all that could have been. It is torture to be found in the place between decicions, especially when those decisions stem from the heart.”

“You are wise for your journey thus far- you have always been, Y/N. I am happy to be of company, yet there is little I am willing to offer in swaying your opinion. It is of your body, mind and soul to discover the answers you speak of and I am here for as long as you need me to be- so that you can find those answers yourself,” Halsin replies, pulling away to squeeze your shoulder in reassurance before dropping his arm and continuing up the path.

You stand there still, contemplating his words before jogging up to match his strides. The sun has begun to set and you can feel the runes pulsing in the wind, beckoning you towards another friend here for your support. 

--

“My, I was beginning to worry you had forgotten about me like that Gale has done with you!”

“Astarion!” Halsin shouts out, his body stepping in front of you in an effort to shield you from the vampire's words. You whole-heartedly laugh out from behind the druid before trying to shove the man aside as you give Astarion a wave hello. 

“There are no hard feelings to be held, Halsin. I can take a joke or two in this state better than most,” you retort before signaling Astarion to come closer as you fling open your bag. 

“I have been studying your condition thoroughly and have shed some new light on it so to speak. Please take this, it is only a temporary solution- yet it could save you some skin,” you say as you hand over an enchanted ring. It glows in the beckoning moonlight as Astarion looks at it carefully. 

“I do not think it to be my style, but it will have to do for now,” he replies before slipping the ring on one of his fingers with a small smile, “Thank you for the help today and always, Y/N” he replies with heart as you return the smile. 

 “Are we good to go forward?” you ask the group while readying your bag across your back once more. “We are golden,” Halsin simply replies as your team makes its way southwards in search of a new and dangerous artifact that had mysteriously made its way to market once more as the newspaper clipping in your hand noted. 

--

Travelling through the night, and sleeping through the late morning, your team made great pace towards the village where the artifacts location was last known. Searching the perimeter of the area you all looked high and lows for clues as to its possible whereabouts and asked the locals who replied with utmost terror that you were trying to find the damned thing.  

“What good is it asking for help when all they do is look up at you- scared to the high heavens of your presence and scamper back to their homes” Aatarion comments boldly into the crowd that you navigate through. 

“Speaking from experience,” Halsin questions lightly, a slight teasing tone in his voice as Astarion tenses and shoulders fall after a quick breath in and out. 

“I just think that there is something odd stirring in the air. Heavens I should be the most of their concerns yet it appears that our sorcerer friend here is what drives the information away, why is that?” Astarion turns to question you, a perplexed expression coats his ivory skin. 

“That I do not know the answer to among many other things, I think that this is our sign to camp for the day and restart later in the next,” you rally the group to their nods of agreement as you all head out into the woods in search of a clearing for your belongings. 

--

The next night your camp is awoken to the sounds of hurried footsteps rushing around camp. Waking confused you ready a witch-bolt before rushing outside of your tent in your nightwear. A scratch can be heard as the figure cowers before you, jumping behind a rock with their hands outstretched- pleading, “I bring you no harm I swear- you are the great saviors are you not? And I am the legendary bard Alonzo! I have journeyed long and far to meet your crew- to sing others your stories in praise! If you would put down that magic in your palm and allow me to accompany you?” 

You look past the shaken bard to see two sets of eyes glowing behind, one red the other yellow as you signal for the boys to come peacefully from behind the treeline. As they join you back at camp you wave out the spell in your hand while offering your other hand to raise the man up. He stands impressively tall before you, a thankful smile coating his feature as he dips down to kiss the back of your hand. You notice as his long red hair shines in the moonlight, his high ruffled collar almost comical in shape and the pointed ears that he bares. His trousers hold minimal stains or blemishes as does his skin that has been painted in a pink hue from your prolonged staring. 

You giggle awkwardly in reply and remove your hand from their embrace before motioning everyone to sit on the louds surrounding the firepit as you call fire a spell to light the area. Alonzo claps impressively at your simple magic as he begins to scramble words in his journal. You watch his hurried writing strikes across the muddied pages as a violin sits idly beside him on the log. His shoes appear polished in the moonlight as he clicks the two together while beginning to humm a tune before peering up at you and smiling brightly as their eyes fall over your appearance slowly backtracking to their notetaking once more. 

“Do make sure to capture my looks in this tale of yours,” Astarion assures while observing the new ring you gave him. Halsin sits back watching the scene unfold, curious as to the outcome of it all while you can’t help but laugh to the melody of the violin that echoes across the forest and into the night. 

╰┈➤ A/N: and another part bites the dust, this is defiantly a longer series than I expected it to be and expect to have more coming its way!

What is Left by the Lakeside Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) (pt.6) you are here

[kasarawolf]

"I know I can't save everyone...but I sure as Hell can try."

Kota is not your conventional, run of the mill "Hero."

Self destructive and a rule breaker by nature, Kota sees his body as a "tool," and will often put himself in harm's way to ensure the safety of those around him. Unable to turn a blind eye to those who are fated to die in Main Timeline events while out on Patrol, Kota will break the Laws of Time and intervene by saving these ghosts of the past, even if it only does "delay the inevitable," in the long run. He can't in good conscious, continue his job as the appointed "Hero of Conton," and ignore these past tragedies, especially when he has all this power to do something about it. It eats away at him.

But no matter how many people he saves, no matter how many times he goes back in Time and no matter what he does to atone for past transgressions, it never seems enough as the void in his heart grows day by every passing day.

He is no Hero. These are only the acts of a selfish man, filling a role.

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

My brain never works when it comes to writing these ;_; My entry for the Star Universe pageant over on twitter ^_^

The last two lines are what Kota thinks of himself. He really hates being called a Hero and wholeheartedly believes he's not saving these people, just out of the "goodness of his heart." He just wants the voices to stop.

This would have been uploaded days ago, if the dumb lines for the main colored Kota didn't get all jacked up B) But it is done and fixed!

Decided to use this entry to show off some of my story :D Kota is an Anti Hero and his choices are a little...questionable in my fic :)