#[ you have fuelled my insanity and now you suffer. that’s all there is to it ]

[aequitaes]

I have cried not once, not twice,,,,, about seven times tonight actually.

God Bless @iniziare for bringing my Kaeya vision to life.

Yep, his own theme, his own home and if my first meta isn’t going feral about the symbolism and representation of the background (which Shh I can’t say it’s a surprise) then I don’t even want it.

Stay tuned !! ❄️

[viennacherries]

QUOTH THE RAVEN - CHAPTER 3

Rolan/Tav | NSFW | 5,210 words

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

after more than a month and probably 6 rewrites it's finally here! sorry for the wait but i hope it was worth it <3

~

As you drift into consciousness, you slowly become aware that you and Rolan have moved in the night. You fell asleep side by side, with a polite distance between the two of you. Now? Now, you’re pressed so close together that a sheet of parchment wouldn't slide between you, his chest pressed up against your back in a way that has your body rocking with every breath he takes as the air rushes past your ear. One of his arms is crossed over your waist, the comforting weight of it radiating warmth. The other is tucked beneath your neck, with his wrist bent at an angle in front of your face to hook his fingertips and yours together in a loose hold. His tail is wound around your ankle, and you feel the pointed tip of it brushing against your other leg as it moves with his breathing.

Your face flushes as the full force of your situation hits you. These tender moments cause you to unravel an embarrassing amount, especially considering you nearly rode him in the middle of the cursed wilderness just about a day ago. It just feels different when you’re not fuelled by mortal peril and trying not to freeze to death, you suppose.

You shift slightly, and he lets out a sigh in his sleep and tightens his hold on you. The heat in your cheeks is searing and all you can do is bury your face into Rolan’s arm beneath you and try to stifle your laughter.

How the hells did your life become this? Traipsing through cursed lands, fighting cults and various undead creatures, with a tadpole in your brain and a tiefling as a personal heater?

You have to give Rolan some credit, though. You’ve never felt more rested. The aches and pains in your body have dulled almost completely, and you’re reasonably sure if you check all that will be left of the wound on your side is a scar. It’s impressive work for a low-level healing spell, and you’re reasonably sure that's the best sleep you’ve had in months. You’re not sure how much of that is the healing, and how much is Rolan’s presence, but regardless you owe him thanks.

“What are you chuckling about?”

His voice is husky and rough with sleep, and the timbre of it causes a fuzzy feeling to race through your stomach.

“Nothing, really.”

He tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you closer to him, and you feel his nose tracing the shell of your ear.

“Very convincing, however for some reason I don’t seem to believe you.” His words come out lower and richer than usual, and you shiver involuntarily.

“I was just thinking about how insane my life has become these last few months.” You pause. “And about how warm you are.”

He laughs at that, a soft rasped snicker that has his breath tickling the hairline above your ear. “I told you before, tieflings run hot. It's a blessing and a curse at times, though admittedly more of a blessing when one finds themselves in a region shrouded in a supernatural chill.”

You nod gently, humming in agreement thoughtfully, and a silence stretches between you both for a while before he speaks again.

“Are you… Is this… Okay?”

You snort at that, “is it okay that I’m wrapped up warm in the arms of a dashing gentleman? I suppose I can deal with it.”

He chuckles again, and tucks his face down into your neck. You can hear the embarrassment lacing his words as he speaks them into your skin, “Gods, is this what I get for trying to be polite?”

You laugh and lift your hand that's resting underneath you against the mattress, interlocking your fingers with his where they rest against your hip. “I’m comfortable as long as you are.”

“I suppose I’m amenable to the situation.” His tone gives the impression he’s a man suffering, but you can feel his soft smile against your neck. You squeeze his hand tighter.

“Thank you.”

You feel his brow furrow in confusion where it’s pressed against you.

“For what?”

“For yesterday. Looking after me.”

“Oh right. Well,” you feel him shrug, “it’s about time I did something for you, isn’t it? Other than giving you a migraine, that is.”

You bark out a laugh at that, “either way, thank you. I feel amazing. You’ve healed things I didn't even know were hurting.”

“What can I say?” He smirks against your neck. “I’m nothing if not thorough.”

You’re sure he knows exactly what he’s doing, but it sends a bolt of heat through you regardless.

“Do you mind if I turn over?”

He answers by loosening his hold on you, pulling back enough that you can roll onto your other side and face him.

Gods. He really is beautiful. You wonder idly if he actually realises it. The strong, sharp line of his jaw, the freckles mottling his red complexion, and the vibrant yellow of his eyes that reminds you of sunflowers and honey. His gaze darts across your face, and you’re desperate to know what he sees when he looks at you. Desperate to know if his heart rate picks up the way yours does when the pair of you are this close.

It's him that breaks the silence. “You’re feeling better, then?”

You nod, “much, thank you. I appreciate it.”

He rolls his eyes, “I meant it, Tav, it was the least I could do. I’ve been rotten to you, and you saved us.”

“You don't owe me anything, you know.”

He shakes his head resolutely, “on the contrary, I owe you absolutely everything.” He brings his hand up to your face and runs his thumb gently along the apple of your cheek. His eyes are locked with yours, and when he speaks there's a slight shake to his voice. “You saved me, then my family. Gods, you-” he cuts himself off with a scoff, “I owe you more than I could ever possibly repay you in one lifetime.”

“You don’t have to repay me. I like helping the people I care about.”

An emotion you can't place flashes in his eyes, and they flick between both of yours as he analyses you.

“You care about me?”

You feel yourself flush. “Obviously.”

A disbelieving smile spreads across his face, his eyes lighting up with joy. “Well, now I owe you even more than before, because I’m quite sure I’m the happiest man this side of the Realms.”

You can't help but laugh, “well, if you’re dead set on showing me your gratitude, I’m sure we could come to an arrangement.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and he smirks.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

He laughs, and then he’s leaning in and you’re kissing. It's the same slow dance as before, a gentle caress of lips and tongues that has heat pooling in your gut. When you bring your hands up to rest against his chest you can feel his heartbeat hammering through it, and it fills you with need. Knowing you have that effect on him, that you make him as nervous and excited as he makes you? It’s almost too much to bear.

You suck his bottom lip into your mouth and the noise that he makes is an obscene moan from low in his stomach. His hand drops from your face to your hip, pulling you against him, and you feel the weight of his hard length push up against your thigh. It has you clenching your legs together with need and kissing him deeper, trying to pry more noises from him. When you roll your hips forward you're rewarded for your efforts with a whine from his throat, his grip on your hip tightening.

Untying the laces at the top of his shirt is simple, loosening them enough to expose some of his chest to you, and you pull back to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted slightly as he tries to catch his breath, and his eyes are dark now. They're nearly all black with how dilated his pupils are, eclipsing the yellow of his iris.The exposed skin of his chest is dusted with freckles just like his cheeks, and you trail your eyes along the sternal ridges beneath them. He smiles sheepishly.

“Another joy of my infernal heritage.” The words come out dry, slightly bitter, and you can practically see the self-deprecating thoughts swimming behind his eyes.

“You’re beautiful, Rolan.”

He laughs humourlessly, rolling his eyes and leaning back in to kiss you, but you put a finger to his lips and push him away gently. His brow furrows in confusion.

“I mean it. You’re beautiful.”

He looks up at you, his gaze analytical and calculating as ever, eyes wide as he stares at you in barely contained disbelief. You shake your head and laugh incredulously.

It’s easy enough, with his attention focused on deciphering your words, to push him into his back and straddle his hips. The sudden movement punches a gasp from him, and his hands grab onto your hips as if searching for purchase. You lean forward and press your lips to his forehead. When you speak, you do so right there against his skull, as if it’ll help his brain absorb your words and commit them to memory.

“You’re beautiful. You were beautiful when I met you in the Grove-”, you move to kiss his temple, “-you were beautiful when I found you in those shadows-”, your lips hover over his, your hair creating a curtain around the pair of you, shielding you from the rest of the world. “-and you’re especially beautiful now.”

When you meet his lips in a heated, full kiss, the noise that leaves him is closer to a sob than anything else. His grip on your hips tightens as he fumbles to pull you closer, and you feel your own heartbeat pound in your chest. When you separate for air, words spill from him in desperate waves, like a river breaching it’s bank after a flood.

“Gods, Tav, you- you’re so- how do you always- Hells.” He makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, before burying his face in your neck and kissing gently along the length of it between words. “I haven't- I don’t deserve it. I don't deserve to have you like this. I want you so desperately it hurts but- Gods you’re so- you’re perfect and I’m just-”

You grind your hips down on his, his erection pushing deliciously against you between the layers of clothes, silencing his rambling as he tosses his head back with a groan and screws his eyes shut.

“Well I’m here. And I want you.” You grind your hips down on his again, a long drag that has his breath stuttering. “So what are you going to do about it?”

His eyes snap open to meet yours, and you watch in real time as his gaze hardens. He grips your hips tightly and in one twisting movement he’s switched your positions, your head against the pillow as he towers over you. The gasp that leaves you has a smug grin tugging its way onto his lips, and he leans down slowly to whisper against your mouth.

“I’m going to make sure you never want anyone else again.”

His tone is lower than usual, and it shudders through you as he captures your lips in a bruising kiss that has you gasping and writhing beneath him. When he grinds his hips down you arch your back, desperate for whatever friction you can gain. It has him smirking and sighing into the kiss. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking gently on it, the points of his canines pinching the skin, and a whine wrenches its way up from the pit of your stomach. He breathes it in, swallows it, sucks harder as if your noises are the oxygen he needs to breathe.

His fingertips trace along the hem of your shirt, his knuckles just barely grazing your stomach, and even that light contact of his skin against yours has your pulse racing. He breaks the kiss and his eyes meet yours. There’s a silent question in them, which you’re sure he already knows the answer to, but he asks anyway.

“May I?”

You don’t trust your voice, so instead you just nod, and he slowly starts to peel the fabric upwards. His pace is torturously unhurried, to the point that by the time your naked torso is exposed to him you’re practically vibrating with anticipation. He notices, because of course he does, and the self-satisfied smirk that crawls onto his face shows you just how much he’s enjoying it.

He raises one hand to cup your breast and palms it gently. The air in the room is cold, but his touch is warm as always, and the contrast has you sucking in a breath.

“Look at you.” His tone is reverent. “You’re divine, Tav, you know that? All power and glory and incredible beauty, and yet you’re here in bed with me. I should think I’m dreaming.”

His words have your heart squeezing. Of course he’s a romantic.

“I won't be in bed with you much longer if you don’t start touching me properly.”

He barks out a laugh. “Oh yes, I forgot to mention impatient, didn’t I?” He leans forward, ghosting his lips against yours. “So eager. So greedy.”

He punctuates his sentence with a brisk tweak of your nipple, and a moan punches its way out of you as your spine arches into his touch. It spins him into action, and suddenly his fingers are incessant in their movements, caressing and rubbing and twisting the sensitive buds on your chest with both of his hands until the skin is puckered and tense beneath his touch. His lips find their way to your neck, sucking and teasing with light scrapes of his canines.

Every touch shoots through you, and if it wasn't for the fact that his mouth and hands are incredibly occupied, you’d think he’s casting a spell on you. It’s a different kind of magic; a different energy enveloping you than that of the cloak of the weave. It’s warm and fuzzy and it smells like sandalwood, it creeps into your pores with every caress of his skin against yours, and not for the first time around him you feel yourself slipping over a line you know you won't be able to cross back over. His lips slide down the column of your throat, inching towards your collarbone, and it feels like he’s working his way directly to your heart. Like he’s going to stroke and kiss and caress his way right into the deepest part of your aorta and make a home in the middle of it.

You know it that moment that you’ll let him.

When his tongue laps over your nipple you keen and buck your hips, but he anticipates the movement and pins your hip down with a hand before you can get any kind of friction against him. It wrenches another noise from you and he makes an approving sound around his mouthful of your sensitive skin, grinding himself down against your thigh in a way that's maddening. He replaces his mouth with his hand and lifts himself up, staring down at you with so much emotion in his eyes it almost hurts to meet his gaze.

“Hells, Tav…” His voice is strained, breathless, and the sound of it sends more heat flooding through you. “Gods above, you’re perfect. Writhing and shaking for me already. I’ll make you feel so good, darling. Let me, please? Please?”

You can’t help a breathless laugh, which turns into a stuttered moan as he scratches his nails gently over your nipple. “You already are.”

He shakes his head, leaning down to brush his lips over yours. “I want to do more. I need to. I need to make you cum around my hands and against my mouth and-” He cuts himself with a stumbling breath, brushing the side of his nose up against your own. “Can I have you, Tav? Please? Can I have all of you?”

You bring your hands up to his cheeks, pull him back just enough so you can look in his eyes. His gaze is hungry and desperate, a silent plea to match his verbal one. The words slip from you easily.

“You have me, Rolan. I’m yours.”

His breath hitches, his eyes darting between yours.

“Say it again.”

Your heart hammers against your chest.

“I’m yours, Rolan.”

The force of his kiss knocks the breath out of you, and it’s all tongue and passion as he pulls gasping breaths from you, sliding his hands down over your sides. His lips slip away, nipping and kissing their way over your jaw, your neck, your chest, your stomach. With every breath he makes more promises into your skin, promises to make you feel good, thanks you for the privilege, and you feel drunk on it. As he descends down your body, he strips you of your bottoms, and they disappear somewhere over his shoulder that neither of you particularly care to pay attention to.

He spreads your legs gently, peeling them apart with a reverence you’re sure he usually reserves for his most precious tomes. He spreads you wide, open before him, and his eyes trace you like words on a page he’s trying to memorise. Bared wide to his gaze, you feel suddenly nervous, but then he’s trailing a finger along your slit so softly it’s barely there and you stop thinking.

“I’d like to taste you, if that's okay?”

You nod eagerly, and a mischievous look flickers across his face.

“Strange, I’m certain I remember you speaking the common tongue before. I’m quite sure I can’t touch you further without your verbal assent-”

“Gods, please.”

As much as he seems to enjoy teasing you, he evidently isn't interested in wasting any more time. He lowers his mouth down to your core and, with a tentative touch, presses his mouth against your clit.

Rolan gives head like he practices his spellcraft. He’s methodical and purposeful in every movement, learning how to wrench unintelligible streams of babbled praise and gasping breaths from you. When he flattens his tongue and drags it hard against your clit your whole body spasms with the lightning hot pleasure, and he grips onto your hips and does it again and again until all coherent thoughts have melted out of your ears and into the puddle he’s making of you on the mattress. You gasp and choke on your own tongue as he uses his to take you apart.

Your climax crashes through you before you can warn him, but he doesn't falter. He laps at you hungrily, stroking you through every shudder of your orgasm as if he’s spent months in the desert and you’re the only spring for miles. All the air has left your chest and you gasp greedily as his movements bring you to the edge of overstimulation.

When he lifts his head, his lips and chin glisten with your slick. His eyes are blown wide in arousal, his hair tousled and messy, his shirt unlaced to the centre of his sternum and pulled in awkward angles to expose flashes of his skin. He brings a hand up and wipes the back of it across his chin, looks down at the mess it leaves with an expression somewhere between pride and fervour, like he craves more even as your legs quake with the force of the orgasm he pulled from you.

“Rolan.” Your voice is breathless and desperate even to your own ears, but you muster as much strength into it as you can. “Fuck me.”

A shiver runs its way down his spine, and he pulls his shirt up and off of his torso in one fluid movement before moving straight to the laces at his breeches.

“It would be my pleasure.”

He covers your body with his carefully, skin pressing against skin as you spread your legs wider to accommodate him. His breath is staccatoed, betraying his anticipation, and when you hook a leg up and around his hip he gasps.

His eyes look into yours, so soft and tender that your heart flutters. He brings a hand up to your cheek, traces the skin below your eye reverently, follows it around and trails his fingers into your hair. His nails scrape against your scalp, gentle and loving as he holds you as if you’re precious.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

He swallows hard. “That I’m important to you. That you're mine. Did you mean that?”

His eyes are so hopeful, but you can see the uncertainty there; like he’s expecting you to take it back. You bring a hand up to his face and he leans into the touch greedily.

Another night, you’ll show him just how much he means to you. Another night, you’ll take him apart until he forgets he ever had to ask. For now, you pray your word is enough.

“I meant it. Every word.”

His breath stutters again, and he leans down to press his forehead against yours.

“Then I’m yours. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

The head of his cock catches on your entrance and you both gasp in tandem. When he presses into your heat he does it so slowly, so gently, and every inch of his length is lined with ridges that drag along your walls maddeningly. The stretch of him burns in a way that’s almost too painful, and yet you still need more. He makes shallow, testing thrusts to help ease the rest of his shaft into you, and the friction as his ridges catch against you steals your breath as your skull swims with pleasure.

When he’s fully seated inside you, the heavy weight of his balls pressing against your ass and his tail wrapped tight around your calf, he pauses his movements. The sound of both of your panting breaths fills the otherwise silent, still air of the room. His hand in your hair is still gentle, but his other hand has an iron grip on your hip, his nails pinching the flesh there.

He buries his face in your neck and takes deep, steadying breaths. You feel your forehead crease with concern.

“Rolan? Are you okay?”

His words come through gritted teeth. “Yes. It’s just- I’m just-” He takes a deep breath. “You’re so tight. I just need a second.”

You smirk, though he can't see it.

“Does it feel good?”

He scoffs breathlessly, lifting his head to look at you with a withering look. “You’re joking, right? Yes, Tav, you feel fucking incredib-”

You cut him off with a tight clench of your walls around him and his words dissolve into a gasping and choked moan. His hips slam into you of their own violation and you gasp as you feel the head of his cock hit your cervix.

When he meets your eyes again, the tenderness is gone from his gaze.

“You.” His hands find your hips, clenching tight, and he rocks all the way out of you before slamming his hips back into you. The pleasure shoots through you and you grasp onto him anywhere you can for stability; his hip, his shoulder, his forearm. “You are a fucking minx.”

He repeats the movement, pulling out and slamming into you, and you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t even begin to try and reply to him as more words spill from his lips.

“Fuck - you drive me absolutely insane, you know that? Ever since I- ever since- since you stuck your nose in at the Grove. Hells. You occupy all of my fucking thoughts, Tav. You terrify me and you put me in my place and I love it- fuck, you feel so good.”

His words flow through you, sinking into your muscles and swimming through your blood vessels like they’re cells that keep you going, and you know in this moment there’s no going back to a life before this. Before loving him.

“Please don’t stop, Rolan, holy hells please don’t- fuck!”

He slides his arms underneath you, hooking his hands over your shoulders and pulling you down onto his cock even harder. You’re so full of him and every ridge on his body is rubbing against yours, and he’s pressing his face into your neck and placing open mouthed kisses there as he fights for breath against his own thrusts. He’s whispering into your throat but you can’t make out the words over the sound of rushing blood in your ears, the wet slapping of his skin against yours, the harmony of both of your breathless moans. His skin is hot under your hands, his muscles tensing and rippling below them as he uses his whole body to pull you together as deep as he can. He nips at your lobe, and you gasp and tense up, and you feel his dick twitch inside of you as he groans against the shell of your ear.

“Tav, I’m close, I don't-” there’s an edge of panic to his voice.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I want it. Please don’t stop.”

He bites into the meat of your shoulder to stifle the noise he makes at your words, a loud whimper that has goosebumps rising along your skin, and untangles one of his arms from you, snakes it between your bodies and presses it hard against your clit. With a choked gasp, your second orgasm of the evening wrenches through your whole body, sending spasms and shivers throughout your core as you tense around his shaft.

Rolan splutters a gasping moan at the feeling of you clenching around his length, and his hips falter in their rhythm. His movement is frantic, snapping and twitching and desperate as he chases his own release. With an abrupt shout, and another bite down onto your shoulder, you feel him spill himself inside of you, his cock twitching with every rope of spend as it paints your walls.

You don’t know how long you both lay there, his dick slowly softening inside you as you gasp for air, but eventually he lets out an uncomfortable groan and rolls to the side. The mixture of his seed and your own slick spills out of you as he does, and the puddle that it creates below you pulls you back to reality.

“Rolan, can you…?”

You glance sidelong at him where he lays on his back beside you, his chest heaving with laboured breaths. He opens just the eye closest to you, looks sideways at you through it, and with a wave of his hand and a muttered incantation you feel the sticky warmth evaporate, leaving only the tingling feeling of the weave in its wake. He casts another spell, and the ache in your hips from the angle he held you at dissipates. You sigh in relief.

A silence falls over the two of you. It’s such a stark contrast to moments that came before that you can't help feeling slightly awkward, exposed in a way that makes you shift uncomfortably.

“Rolan, I-”

“That was-”

You turn your head to look at him, and he does the same. Your eyes meet, and there’s a long pause before you both burst into laughter.

It breaks whatever discomfort had been lingering. Rolan turns to face you, an elbow propping up his head so he can look at you properly.

It’s him that speaks again first.

“That was incredible. You-” he shakes his head, chuckles to himself. “You’re incredible.”

He brings a hand out to rest on your stomach, and you interlock your fingers with his.

“So are you. I can’t believe you hide all of this beneath those robes.” You cast an approving gaze across his body to illustrate your point. He laughs, a full, proper laugh where he tips his head back. You continue, between your own chuckles, “and you- you did- how did you do that? Any of that! Who taught you that?! I need to write them a letter. Maybe send them a bouquet.”

His laugh morphs into a guffaw and he drops back onto the pillow, his hand leaving yours to cover the rising blush on his face. “No one taught me anything, Tav. I was quite worried I’d be awful, if you must know.”

Your laugh dies in your throat. You blink at him, mouth agape. When you still haven't replied some moments later, he spreads his fingers and peeks at you through them.

“What?”

“You’re a virgin?”

He snorts, “was a virgin, I believe. Unless my performance was so poor that it doesn't count.”

At your lack of response, he snorts again, nudging a finger beneath your chin to shut your jaw.

“Careful, dear, you’ll catch flies.”

You shake your head, incredulous, “you’re lying. That wasn’t your first time. I don't believe you. No one knows how to do that the first time.”

He flushes, averts his gaze. “... I’m an academic. I studied the matter.”

A snort wrenches out of you, “you ‘studied the matter’? That’s an incredibly polite way of saying you read porn.”

He goes redder if that’s possible, but he shrugs as though unaffected.

You laugh and plonk your head down on his chest, and he brings his arm up and around to hold you against him. It feels safe. You stay like that for what feels like forever until he speaks again.

“... You truly meant it? Everything you said?”

His voice is quiet, as though he’s scared to ask.

You sit up, staring him straight in the eyes, and he continues.

“I have to check, before-” he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath. “I have to know because I won't survive this if you don’t. I have to know.”

He looks so vulnerable like this, chest exposed, hair loose and spread on the pillows beneath him. There's a tenderness in his eyes that tells you everything he doesn't say. You think your own are probably saying it back. You almost say it aloud, but you stop yourself.

Not yet.

You glance down at his chest, tracing the ridges along his ribs, and say everything else instead. “I meant it. I’m yours, if you want me. I can’t promise for how long, everything we’re doing is so-” you cut yourself off. It doesn’t need to be said. He knows how dangerous things are for you. He knows, and he’s here anyway. “But I’m yours. If you want me to be.”

His eyes look slightly damp when you finally find the courage to meet them, soft and open and full of that thing that neither of you will say.

“I want nothing more.”

[jemmo]

first impression: oooohh i like these tag rambles

impression now: have I made Jess cry over patpran yet today?

(alt impression now: “by my pen, i write for thee—“)

😂😂😂 i love thisss. all beautiful friendships begin with mutual tag ramble adoration and end up at mutual suffering at each other’s hands. and im glad to know we will never move past just screaming our love for bad buddy at each other like the unhinged dumbasses we are

im also beginning to think you were put on this earth just to make me suffer with all your insanely good ideas and headcanons and AUs. like you make all my fic dreams come true and it makes me lose my mind in the best way, so as long as you can still type, I’ll gladly be your long suffering writing muse fuelling all the fic endeavours ☺️

(just so you know my first impression of you was “omg this person is unhinged and a genius and so talented and completely on my wavelength, and with each passing day and every new fic and every message this just becomes more and more true ily 🥰🥰)

[peraltasames]

if devotion is a river then i’m floating away

anonymous: If you’re still taking prompts: Jake/Amy period comfort fic (cause I girl is suffering with these cramps)

in which i project my (and evidently this anon’s and prob everyone’s) desires to have my own jake peralta take care of me while i’m on my period into a fic! 💕 title from ‘love you for a long time’ by maggie rogers ✨

read on ao3

The worst part is Amy was really excited for date night.

(Admittedly, that’s the second-worst part. The worst part is definitely the awful pain in her abdomen that hasn’t relented even after a long, hot bath and a Midol.)

Still, she was really looking forward to whatever romantic activities Jake planned for the evening (or completely unromantic, she would honestly take hot dogs from the cart near his place and making out on his old, musty couch). She hasn’t seen him - properly seen him, outside of work - all week due to an insane caseload for both of them.

Incidentally, spending an entire week without your boyfriend sucks a lot more than it normally would when you just spent six months without him.

The last thing she wants is to cancel their plans, but she can’t even bring herself to get dressed, let alone go to dinner or a movie. Begrudgingly, she sends him a quick text before going to scrounge herself dinner from whatever’s in the fridge.

Sorry babe, I think I have to take a rain check on tonight. Bad cramps. I’ll call you tomorrow xo

After a very underwhelming dinner of a few saltine crackers and half a banana, Amy makes her way to the couch and turns on a home renovation show, hoping it will distract her from the perfect night she was supposed to be having with Jake.

Just before the big reveal of the couple’s newly-renovated San Fransisco townhouse, a sharp knock on her door forces her to drag herself off the couch. Expecting an Amazon delivery person or a neighbour asking her to collect their mail or something along those lines of banality, Amy sighs and swings open the door.

She’s not expecting Jake, wearing the suit that she only gets to see on fancy date nights, precariously balancing several paper bags in his arms.

“Jake, what are you doing here?” she exclaims, taking one of the bags from him before he drops it.

“Bringing supplies, duh,” Jake replies, striding past her to dump the rest of the stuff on the table. “From the drugstore - Midol, Advil, tampons. Chocolate and tea from the grocery store. And-” He gestures to the bag she’s holding. “That one’s dinner.”

She opens the bag and the unmistakable scent of pierogis floods her senses. Oh, he’s scoring major boyfriend points for this one.

“Jake, this is so sweet, I-” Her eyes flit down to his suit again and then widen immediately with concern. “Crap, did you not get my text before you left to pick me up? I really thought I would’ve caught you in time.”

“Oh, I left early to pick these up before our date.” Jake grins, pulling a bouquet of roses from the remaining mystery bag, walking them over to her. In a terrible attempt at a posh British accent, he adds, “For you, my dear.”

Some combination of Jake’s warm gaze and soft smile and this big romantic gesture makes Amy’s eyes begin to well with tears beyond her control.

Jake carefully places the flowers back down on the table, his brows knitting together as he rubs her upper arms gently. “What’s wrong, Ames?”

“Nothing, I just-“ She shakes her head. “You’re here and I missed you so much and I feel like we’ve barely seen each other since you got back and I just - it’s probably just hormones.”

She wipes her eyes and attempts to laugh it off, but Jake looks at her with complete sincerity and reaches upward to gently cup her face in his hands. She melts into his touch, so warm and familiar even after all this time apart.

“I missed you too.”

He leans in to kiss her and she meets him halfway, slowly rising up to her tiptoes so she has better access. She gradually, reluctantly pulls away, pecking his lips quickly before lowering herself and looping her arms around his neck.

“You know, you really didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” he assures her, rubbing her forearm. “I wasn’t just going to let you sit at home feeling crappy by yourself.”

Amy smiles, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “You’re the sweetest.”

“It was also cause I wanted to see you, though, so it’s like fifty-percent for selfish reasons.”

She rolls her eyes and leans in to kiss him again, but a sharp pain in her lower abdomen makes her recoil and grab her stomach.

“You okay?” Jake asks quickly, his hands moving to steady her. She nods, leaning into him for support. “Why don’t you get settled in on the couch with those pierogis and I’ll go get changed into couch-appropriate clothes?”

Amy smiles and lets him lead her to the couch, placing the takeout bag and a couple of plates in front of her before disappearing to her bedroom for a moment. She manages to devour half of her portion of food in the time it takes for him to change and return, wearing sweats and a t-shirt from the designated Jake drawer in her dresser. It’s yet another reminder of the silliness of their disagreement over whose apartment to move into - sure, she loves her place and it’s indisputably better than his, but she would take that tiny, unsafe, dirty apartment if it meant coming home to this every night.

She shifts over on the couch to make room for him to join her and he plops down next to her, forking over a few of his pierogis from the container onto her plate when he notices she’s nearly finished.

“Sorry this isn’t the romantic evening you had planned,” Amy says once they’re done eating, placing her empty plate on the coffee table and leaning into his side.

“Nah, this is like, the most romantic night ever,” Jake mumbles against her hair, and she can’t detect even a hint of sarcasm. “I wish you didn’t feel gross, though. Is there anything I can do?”

Amy thinks for a moment. “You could grab my heating pad from the hallway closet? It’s on the top shelf.”

“On it.”

Jake springs to his feet and returns with the soft grey heating pad, which she can see he’s already turned on to warm up for her. Amy immediately slaps it on her stomach, appreciating the instant relief.

“Anything else, m’lady?”

Already laying down and curling up into the most comfortable position possible right now, Amy nods and pats the space behind her. “You can spoon me while we watch that documentary I was talking about on the history of American spelling bees.”

Jake complies without missing a beat (their usual bets and competitions to decide who gets to pick the movie are put on hold whenever one of them isn’t feeling well) and slides into the space behind her on the couch, immediately wrapping his arms around her.

As soon as she selects the title on Netflix she shifts further into his embrace. As much as she has science to thank for the invention of Midol, she’s always doubly grateful for her boyfriend around this time of the month. Without fail, from the very early stages of their relationship, he’s always been there to give her a back rub or stop at the store to buy her tampons or comfort her during one of her hormone-fuelled breakdowns.

It’s incredibly unfair, she thinks, that she had to endure six months of these emotional breakdowns - made exponentially worse by his absence - without him there to hold her and kiss her hair and tell her it would be okay. There’s a lot of injustice in the world, though, and at least the universe seems to be trying to make amends by granting her perfect moments like these, where all the pain fades away and all she can focus on is his arms wrapped around her.

She can feel him rubbing her back gently with one hand while the other pulls her hair out of the way to lay a kiss on her shoulder, and involuntary goosebumps cover her skin.

“Thank you for coming over,” she whispers, already beginning to feel drowsy from the medication and the relaxation Jake’s presence brings, despite the riveting documentary they’re watching. “I missed this. Missed you.”

She’s yet to find the limit to the number of times she can tell him that since he’s come home. If it’s anywhere near the amount of times she thought about how badly she longed to hear his voice or feel his touch again while he was gone, she figures she must still have thousands of ‘I missed you’s waiting to be said.

“You saw me yesterday, clingy much?” Jake teases, one of his signature attempts to lighten the mood, but his hand still reaches for hers and tightly interlocks their fingers.

“Not what I meant,” Amy quips.

“I know, babe.” He lays another feather-light kiss to her shoulder. “Me too.”

She continues to revel in the feeling of his warm breath against the back of her neck and his gentle kneading of her lower back, the intimate attention and overall feeling of safety slowly coaxing her to sleep.

Perhaps he can sense that she’s fighting to stay awake, to spend as many waking hours with him as possible, because he whispers “sleep, Ames” against the shell of her ear.

“I love you,” she murmurs, pulling his arm tighter around her before giving in to the lure of sleep.

Jake carefully grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over both of them, burying his face in her hair once he’s situated.

“I love you.”

[deadstrangeblog]

The Sad Case of The Lipstick Killer

North Kenmore Avenue is a much sought-after residential area in the city of Chicago, with a children’s park surrounding the apartments and transport links within walking distance. It lies around the corner from a prestigious Catholic school and the uptown setting is popular with young families and elderly residents alike, it’s safe atmosphere and cheap living costs appealing to people from all walks of life. North Kenmore wasn’t always as safe though. In 1945, in Apartment 4108, a woman was brutally murdered there.

It was June 5th when 44-year-old Josephine Ross was found slain on her apartment floor. Police were greeted by a messy scene– Pools of blood surrounded Josephine and the smashed up apartment indicated there had been a struggle. She had been stabbed multiple times and a dress had been wrapped around her head. Usually, when a killer covers the face of a victim, it suggests that they feel a great deal of remorse about the crime they have committed and that death is almost always the end result of an impulsive sex crime. However, this seemed different. No evidence of sexual assault was present and death had definitely been the result of a frenzied attack. Police found a clump of dark hair in Josephine’s hand, as if she had been in a violent struggle with somebody. Naturally, police turned to her ex-boyfriends and ex-husbands, all of whom had an alibi. Although the neighbourhood was frightened at the prospect of a murderer living close by, the police assured people there was nothing to worry about and that Ms. Ross had been killed by a startled burglar. Her murder didn’t make the front page, and she was sadly written off by investigators.

Six months later, and we are in December. Our killer strikes again but, this time, police begin to take notice. On the 10th of the month, divorcee Frances Brown was found dead in her apartment. She had been stabbed and shot, the bread knife used in her murder still lodged in her throat when a cleaning lady discovered the body. The grim message shown above, written in unusual handwriting, was scrawled on the apartment wall in red lipstick (earning the killer his moniker) but apart from that, little evidence was found. Compared to the first murder, police did have a bit more to go on: a bloody fingerprint and a possible eyewitness. John Derick, the concierge for the lobby, said he saw a nervous man and heard “possible gunshots” at around 4 a.m. Given the lack of surveillance technology during the 40s, it was impossible to confirm John’s account.

The last known murder of the deluded “Lipstick Killer” was a truly shocking crime against an innocent little girl. Six-year-old Suzanne Degnan (below) was snatched from her bedroom in Edgewater, Chicago, on January of 1946. Her bedroom window had been left open and a wooden ladder was still propped up against it. At the time, police had no reason to believe her abduction was connected to the Lipstick killer, as kidnapping little girls didn’t fit his modus operandi. A ransom note left at the scene read “GeI $20,000 Reddy & wAITe foR WoRd. do NoT NoTify FBI oR Police. Bills IN 5’s & 10’s. BuRN This FoR heR SAfTY.” That night, a man persistently telephoned the Degnan residence demanding the ransom, only to hang up as details were being exchanged. Those phone calls would later turn out to be a cruel joke performed by two high-school students, Vince Costello and Theodore Campbell. Sick with anguish, her family could only hope that the police could find Suzanne before it was too late. Sadly, their worst fears were confirmed. Acting on an anonymous tip, detectives travelled to a sewer just a block away from the Degnan residence and found Suzanne’s decapitated head. Where was the rest of her body? Investigators were now faced with the grim prospect that somebody had dismembered a little girl, and they were unfortunately right. They found her torso in storm drain, and both her legs had been discarded in separate catch basins. Her tiny arms were found a month later in another sewer. Blood, presumed to be Suzanne’s, was found in the drains of laundry tubs in the basement laundry room of a nearby apartment building. This crime was truly grisly, and without advanced forensic technology, it was hard to bring the killer to justice.

In a desperate bid to catch the murderer, police questioned hundreds of suspects and gave polygraph examinations to about 170 of them. In several press releases, they claimed to have captured the killer terrorising the city of Chicago, but they were always mistaken. All suspects were eventually released.

In June, 17-year-old criminal William Heirens (below) was burgling an apartment when he was confronted by the janitor and fled. Police were called, and Heirens was subdued by an off-duty police officer who dropped several flowerpots onto his head to render him unconscious. From the day of his arrest on June 26, 1946, things travelled on a downward spiral for Heirens and this once lucky burglar had run all out of luck. For some reason, police believed that Heirens was the Lipstick Killer and decided to question him. For six consecutive days, he was interrogated by police officers. He was denied food, water, and the right to an attorney, and two psychiatrists even gave him Sodium Pentothal (a potent barbiturate) without his consent. Most shocking of all, the 17-year-old was given a spinal tap without any anaesthesia. For days later, he was in incredible pain and couldn’t perform a polygraph test because his adrenaline-fuelled heart was beating too fast. Eventually, he cracked. He confessed to police that he had committed these crimes under an alter-ego named “George.” He explained to psychologists that he always took the rap for the crimes of “George” including theft, murder, and everything in between. The Chicago police department were suspicious of this defence, and accused Heirens of lying in the hopes of getting an insanity defence in court. Apart from his confession, police had nothing to go on. No evidence linked Heirens to the murders, and this polite University of Chicago student seemed incapable of such heinous crimes. It seemed like a bizarre arrest, but for the general public, it was good enough.

As suggested by his defence attorneys, Heirens confessed to all crimes. On his court date on August 7, 1946, Heirens took full responsibility for the three murders. The prosecution had him reenact the abduction and murder of Suzanne Degnan in court multiple times, all of which he did inconsistently. On the night of September 4th, Heirens attempted suicide in his cell and had timed it to coincide during a shift change of the prison guards. He was discovered hanging and was revived successfully by prison guards. He said later that sheer despair drove him to attempt suicide; “Everyone believed I was guilty…If I weren’t alive, I felt I could avoid being adjudged guilty by the law and thereby gain some victory. But I wasn’t successful even at that. …Before I walked into the courtroom my counsel told me to just enter a plea of guilty and keep my mouth shut afterward. I didn’t even have a trial..”

The next morning, the prosecution and defence were making their closing statements. The judge, Chief Justice Harold G. Ward, formally sentenced Heirens to three life terms. Somehow, he had been lucky enough to avoid the electric chair. As Heirens waited to be transferred to Stateville Prison from the Cook County Jail, Sheriff Michael Mulcahy asked Heirens if Suzanne Degnan suffered when she was killed. Heirens simply replied: “I can’t tell you if she suffered, Sheriff Mulcahy. I didn’t kill her. Tell Mr. Degnan to please look after his other daughter, because whoever killed Suzanne is still out there.”

Likely innocent, William Heirens still spent the rest of his life imprisoned. In 2002, a petition for his release was filed but eventually denied. In his older years, he suffered from diabetes and was confined to a wheelchair with limited eyesight. He died of natural causes on March 5th, 2012, due to complications with his illness.

In 1994, Dolores Kennedy formed a team of forensic experts to look into the murders and they found several inconsistencies, most notable was that Heirens’ confessions didn’t fully match the evidence. Heirens claimed that he was forced to confess by the police, and this is also supported by other evidence. They also concluded that the handwriting of the lipstick message and that of the ransom note were not the same and that neither matched that of Heirens. They also looked into the police force working on the case: Before Heirens was arrested, police had taken particular interest in a janitor called Hector Verburgh. 65-year-old Hector was from Belgium, and struggled to write fluently in English. With this in mind, isn’t it odd that police still arrested him and accused him of the murders? How could a man with no knowledge of English writing, scribble such an eloquently written note on his supposed victim’s wall? It didn’t stop there. Like Heirens, Verburgh was subjected to extreme torture. For two days, police interrogated him and beat him so badly that he sustained a dislocated shoulder. After his terrifying ordeal, he successfully sued the Chicago Police Department for $15,000.

“Oh, they hanged me up, they blindfolded me … I can’t put up my arms, they are sore. They had handcuffs on me for hours and hours. They threw me in the cell and blindfolded me. They handcuffed my hands behind my back and pulled me up on bars until my toes touched the floor. I no eat, I go to the hospital. Oh, I am so sick. Any more and I would have confessed to anything.”

With such atrocious behaviour from the police department, it’s safe to say that the man convicted of these crimes was not the real killer, merely a scapegoat for shoddy police work. The true identity of the Lipstick Killer is yet to be discovered, and, sadly, it seems that those who were murdered were not the only victims in this disturbing case.

[puddygeeks]

Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 52: Dᴏᴘᴘᴇʟɢᴀɴɢᴇʀ

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for.

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Fifty-Two

After following Indra in tense silence for a while, we slowed to a halt and she instructed us to tie our horses nearby a remarkable set of ruins. It was difficult not to be distracted by the looming shapes of the structure and I was aware of how little we knew of Earth compared to the grounders who had built their home here for generations. Despite the nerves building in my stomach, I continued to walk alongside Octavia into the unknown and tried not to allow myself to be distracted by the theories whizzing around in my mind. Indra silently lit a fire and we waited expectantly until she took a seat and I glanced over at Octavia with confusion.

“Who is this woman, Indra?” She enquired as she stepped closer to her mentor with curiosity filling her face and Indra glanced up at her with an unimpressed expression.

“She is a warrior and a friend. She is also your best chance at getting what you want. That is all you need to know.” She responded with a firm tone and Octavia shifted awkwardly on the spot at the firm response. Indra sighed and considered us both for a few moments, before she seemed to decide that she could trust us with some further details. “She was a village leader, like me, until her people were massacred and only she remained. Since then, she has lived alone and accepts tasks from the Commander when she is called upon to serve. As I recommended her for this role, I deliver the assignments and so she will come when I signal.” She elaborated in a bored tone and I felt myself growing tense as I processed this information.

“What makes you think she will help us?” Octavia probed and I felt nervous on her behalf as she continued to press at Indra. I noticed that despite what she had taught me, she mostly ignored the rule to not ask questions and wondered if their time together had allowed them to develop a strong enough relationship for Indra to view her as an equal.

“She does not consider herself part of any clan and cares not for our politics. She serves the Commander for her own reasons, but she has no investment in our distrust of Skaikru. You may be able to use her disinterest in our war to your advantage.” She explained in a tone that conveyed her annoyance at Octavia’s continued questioning, before she turned to inspect me with an assessing eye again. “Your friend resembles her only child. She died in the massacre. I believe this is no coincidence.” She added and I blanched at the information. I shot a panicked glance at Octavia, who seemed equally stunned at this idea, but before I could get any words out we were startled by a sharp voice.

“Who have you brought to me, Indra?” A woman stood at the edge of the ruins, just out of the firelight where it was impossible to discern more than a silhouette and Indra rushed to her feet to greet her. I remained rooted to the spot as I worked to calm the frazzled nerves that her arrival had caused and strained in an attempt to identify any of her features.

“These are allies, Octavia and Indigo Kom Skaikru.” She explained in an even tone and the woman turned toward us with an expression that was unclear in the dark. Though I couldn’t see her face, I could sense her disbelief and began to feel uncomfortable with this plan.

“You would bring Skaikru to this place?” She asked in a cold voice that displayed her suspicion and Indra clenched her jaw defensively. Although she had earlier stated that she considered this woman a friend, they seemed strangely stiff and I began to wonder if this was ordinary grounder behaviour. Until now, I had always imagined that they were warmer in their own relationships, outside of the impending threat of war but it seemed that formality was more deeply ingrained in their culture that I had first believed.

“Octavia trained as my second and has earned my trust. She would not betray it.” Indra stated firmly and I could sense that Octavia was pleased to hear this. “This girl seeks to be taught our ways. I cannot teach her in Polis whilst the Commander still battles to defend the ceasefire. I present her to you for judgement.” She revealed with a flourish before stepping back to allow the woman to assess me.

The stranger strolled slowly toward the campfire and as the light revealed her features, I felt myself take a sharp intake of breath. I recognised her immediately, but had long since forgotten about her existence due to all of the insanity that had occurred since. I recalled my brief guard duty in the woods, where I was ambushed by a grounder who spared my life for no discernible reason and all at once, I understood her choice as I replayed Indra’s words in my mind. She didn’t spare me out of mercy, but simply because I reminded her of her deceased daughter and the haunted expression that she wore as she stared into my eyes only confirmed my suspicions. She glanced over at Indra suspiciously, who nodded in acknowledgement, then back to me as she struggled to regain her composure. She had long copper hair that was almost entirely neatly plaited and a stern face that was as pale as my own. I shared her difficulty, as I stared into her blue eyes that reminded me of my mothers and couldn’t help a pang of familiarity myself.

“I am Arlo Kom Trishanakru. You wish to learn our ways, child?” Her voice was gravelly and full of authority as she stepped closer, and I nodded silently in return. “Your people are soft and weak. You will need to prove that you are worthy of my time. Do that and you will have the chance to regret your request. We do not hold hands. You will keep up or be left behind.” She divulged threateningly and I nodded, despite an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty that gripped my stomach. “Come with me. Indra, we will see how promising your offering is.” She stated as she began to stride away and I was relieved when Octavia and Indra followed together, instead of immediately leaving me alone with her.

Arlo led us further into the ruins in silence and I was amazed by the beauty of the structure. I wondered what this place had been before the world was destroyed, as we stepped through wide archways and into winding tunnels. Octavia and Indra fell further behind us as the space grew tighter and I found myself becoming nervous as I continued to navigate through. Arlo paused for a moment at an open archway and indicated for me to enter first. I took a deep breath and stepped through without question as I had been trained to do. As I emerged into a large, circular space, I heard the sound of a gate slamming and turned to find that I had been locked inside. Octavia hurried over to pull on it, but it didn’t budge and I scanned my surroundings with a feeling of dread.

There were high vantage points, but no other exits and it was clear that I would not be able to escape unless Arlo chose to free me. Octavia pounded against the gate with desperation, despite Indra’s barking orders not to interfere. A gradual movement on the other side of the space drew my attention, as a man chained to the wall struggled to his feet and my heart skipped a beat at the size of him. There was a jangling sound as keys fell from above in a crash at his feet and I faced upward to find Arlo leaning over from an alcove.

“This man slaughtered an entire village. He would have suffered death at the hands of those who call for justice, but there are no survivors to claim that right. Prove to me that you are capable of killing him and I will train you.” She announced from above as the man eagerly snatched for the keys and I stepped back in terror. “You, ripa. If you kill her, I will consider burning your body.” She added to spur him on and I felt my stomach lurch. She threw a dagger down in front of him whilst I frantically reached for mine and my hand brushed over the pistol that was hidden beside it.

I knew that this could improve my chances of survival, but that if I used it in this fight it would not earn my place with Arlo. I would have to depend on grounder tactics if I were to impress her and I gulped nervously as my opponent finished removing his restraints. When he straightened up it was clear that he was enormous, with wide shoulders and a ridiculous amount of muscle. He strode toward me with a menacing attitude and I could hear my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

I held my ground as he closed in on me and as he reached out to slash the knife in a wide motion, I jumped backward to dodge it. Seizing the opportunity to abuse the momentum of him falling forward, I brought my leg up to land a powerful kick in his stomach. He wheezed heavily whilst I bounced lightly on my feet to space myself from him. He hurtled around heavily and I only just crouched in time to avoid a sharp blow that skimmed over my head. Unfortunately, I wasn’t as quick on the next strike and his fist slammed into my face with an earth shattering impact. The shock caused me to stumble and he landed a quick succession of punches that threw me to the ground. I rolled out of the way, causing him to hit the solid floor on his next attempt and managed to drag myself back to my feet, despite feeling like my head could explode at any moment.

All of the training that I’d been through could never have prepared me for fighting to the death with someone this size and I felt myself slipping into panicked habits. I sloppily dodged around him for a while as I wracked my brain for ideas, until a powerful jab caught me in the ribs and I lost my edge. The grounder seized me by the neck and lifted me from the ground with a pressure that made my windpipe feel as if it were about to split in two. I kicked my legs in desperation as I squirmed in his grip and could hear myself screaming in my own mind.

In a moment of clarity, I plunged the dagger into the inner elbow of the arm that he was holding me with and his jerk reaction caused me to plummet back to my feet. Without missing a beat, I struck at his knees, prompting him to fall forward onto them. A desperate burst of energy allowed me to charge forward to kick him under the chin with all of the force that I could muster and he splayed flat on his back. My hands scrambled across the ground for the dagger and I brutally thrusted it into his chest. Hot, sticky blood sprayed up into my face as my hands shook wildly and I remained frozen in place as I stared down into his stunned face. My lungs burned from the panic and several parts of my body throbbed in a way that I knew wouldn’t heal anytime soon.

The gate that had trapped me in here finally swung open and Octavia rushed inside to help me to my feet as I groaned. Indra followed and seemed to view me with a new interest as I wobbled weakly on the spot. I could tell that she was surprised by this experience and couldn’t deny a slight pride in this, hidden deep beneath the whirlwind of emotions that currently wreaked havoc on my mind. Eventually Arlo entered the room with a controlled expression and I panted as I awaited her judgement.

“Well fought and you still live. This is not what I expected.” She commented as she crossed her arms at me and I scoffed at this confirmation that she had believed I would die here. “Very well, I will teach you. We camp here tonight. You’ll begin your training in the morning.” She declared, before sweeping out of the room and leaving me unsure whether I should celebrate or flee during the night. 

***

By morning, my entire body screamed in protest at every attempted movement and sleeping on the ground certainly hadn’t helped with stiffness. I acknowledged that I would probably have to get used to many uncomfortable aspects of living with Arlo and the comfort of Bellamy’s bed felt as if it were a lifetime away. I woke to discover a pile of clothes on the ground beside me and reluctantly slid off my jacket. Before I could get any further, Octavia strolled into the room and smiled warmly at me.

“Ah, I see you got your new uniform then.” She commented as she indicated to the clothing and I shrugged in response. I hadn’t thought as far ahead as this and although I was willing to adapt to as much of the grounder lifestyle as was necessary, I still felt a pang of sadness at the idea of shedding my usual clothing. 

“Yeah, I was wondering about that.” I confessed as she wandered over to take a seat beside me and she shrugged to indicate that she had not expected this either.

“Arlo says you’re too indiscreet in Skaikru clothes. Apparently you need to be able to blend in wherever you’re going.” She explained and I tilted my head thoughtfully. Although this made sense in theory, I had to admit that this earned my curiosity and my mind wandered over what challenges Arlo might have in store for me. It seemed that my training could become more involved than either of us would ever have imagined. “That also means your hair. I’ve got a bit of time before we head out, I could braid it for you? I can guarantee that I'll be gentler than letting her do it.” She suggested and I nodded at her gratefully. She slid into position behind me and made her best effort to get her hands through my hair that had already begun to dread in places. It was remarkably therapeutic for her to neatly organise it into sections and her presence helped me to gradually relax.

“It’s not too late to go back, you know.” She muttered in an attempted subtle manner and I tensed at her voice. “I know that this wasn’t the plan. You left camp to train with Indra and instead you’ve ended up with Arlo, who is…” She trailed off thoughtfully and I could tell that she was struggling to decide what she wanted to say. I wasn’t even sure how I could describe the differences between what I had expected and where I had ended up, but instead decided to lighten the mood with humour.

“The kind of grounder you could imagine eating their young?” I suggested and she snorted in laughter from behind. It was pleasant to enjoy such a simple moment alone with her, even if it was only fleeting and I noticed a pang of nostalgia in my chest. If nothing else, I was glad that my interest in this way of life had allowed me to re-establish my bond with Octavia and that my new knowledge gave me an insight into the person that she had become in our time apart.

“Exactly. Are you going to be okay with her?” She asked with concern in her voice and I sighed before answering. I appreciated our mutual protectiveness, but most of all I was pleased that we had both learned to trust the other to make the correct decision and to respect their wishes. As I reflected on how much things had changed between us since we arrived, an additional surge of determination rose from my chest to continue growing stronger to be able to meet threats at her side.

“I asked for this Tavi, literally killed for it. Now I’m going to make sure that I learn everything I can. I’ll learn to handle Arlo.” I assured her and she hummed thoughtfully behind me. “Just do me a favour and don’t mention the whole fight to the death thing to Bellamy. I won’t visit home until I heal up a bit. I think he’ll freak if he sees me with black eyes again.” I added with a slight snicker and Octavia shuffled around to view me as she finished up.

“I’ll keep it between us, don’t worry. Your hair is all done.” She chimed and as I moved to stand, I hissed in pain. My hand shot to my waist and I struggled to straighten up. “You look terrible.” She added with her brows furrowed tightly and I scoffed as I shook my head at her.

“Charming, thanks babe.” I teased as I forced a smile to hide my difficulty. I started to undress to change into my new outfit and Octavia cursed under her breath as I slid my vest off. She moved closer and brushed her fingers across my waist with a horrified expression.

“Fuck Indie, I think that ogre broke your ribs.” She gasped and I glanced to where she touched to find a large purple bruised area that covered almost an entire side of my waist. I hadn’t paid much attention until now and even I was shocked by the appearance of it. “You need to get this looked at.” She ordered as she met my eyes and I stepped backward to shake her off.

“It’s not that bad. I can’t immediately bail when I’ve only just earned my place.” I argued despite my inner horror and she stared at me in obvious disbelief. “I promise I will get Abby to take a look when I next come to camp, okay?” I offered, as I began to step into the clothing that I’d been provided and tried to ensure that I didn’t show any indication of concern. There was a heavily ripped pair of black jeans and a pair of knee high, lace up boots which I put on first. I was confused by what seemed to be an absence of a top, but Octavia revealed what I thought to be a long piece of fabric was actually a complicated, wrap around shirt which she assisted me into. There was a bodice that fastened at the front and had long, torn strips hanging from the side that allowed me to hide my radio and gun out of sight. Lastly were some arm warmers which had no real function that I could think of, but I put them on to appease my teacher. When I’d finished I turned to face Octavia, who examined me with pride.

“Look at you, you certainly look the part.” She crooned and I shrugged in return. It was interesting to discover how excited she was by this and her enthusiasm gave me a fresh buzz of appreciation for the journey I was about to undertake.

“All I’m missing now is my scary war paint.” I commented in a teasing manner and she shook her head at me.

“They only wear that when they’re going to battle, not all the time. It’s kinda in the name, doofus.” She snorted as she punched me playfully in the arm. I finished arming myself and hid my radio and gun, then followed Octavia outside to meet our mentors.

Indra and Arlo were standing close together as we emerged from the building and spoke in low voices. I noticed Indra passed her a small piece of paper that Arlo neatly tucked away and they touched arms in a grounder gesture of respect. As we neared, Arlo turned to face me with an appraising look and I was sure that I caught a hint of sentimentality in her expression as her eyes roamed my new appearance. For a moment, I wondered if she had even dressed me in a similar manner to her daughter, but the thought was uncomfortable and so I pushed it from my mind.

“Come child, we have much to do.” She ordered as she turned to stride away without another word and I strained to keep my focus in the moment. I glanced at Octavia to find her peeking between us nervously and without warning, she pulled me into a tight embrace.

“Don’t let her kill you.” She whispered with her mouth close to my ear and I smiled fondly over her shoulder. I basked in her comfort for a few moments, allowing her strength to bleed into me and committing the feeling to memory as I worried that I wouldn’t know when I might see her next. As we broke apart, my attention drifted over to Indra, who nodded subtly over at me in approval and my brows raised in surprise.

It took some considerable strength to tear myself away from the security of my best friend and to follow the strangely cold woman who now guided my fate. We collected our horses in silence and I climbed on to find that Arlo had tied hers nearby, out of sight of the meeting spot too. She led me for hours without a single word and I quickly began to miss the chatty rides through the woods with Octavia. I realised that my reality would be quite different now to anything that I’d previously known and steeled myself for the unexpected.

***

The clang of daggers filled the air as I recoiled from another attack and struggled to maintain my balance. Arlo continued to batter me with a barrage of beatings and over the past few days I’d come to understand that my training until now had been merely child’s play. She swept her leg out to take my footing and I slammed into the ground with a groan.

“Get knocked down, get back up.” Arlo threatened as she paced around my crumpled form and I had lost count of how many times I’d heard this statement. I had never known exhaustion as I felt in this moment and I couldn’t catch my breath. The practice had been utterly relentless since we arrived in her camp and I had the gut instinct that she was testing both my stamina and resolve. I tried to sit up but I couldn’t control a single muscle as my entire body cried out in agony. “Do you surrender, sky girl?” She leered from above me and I stared up at her with heavy pants of breath.

“I yield.” I groaned as I dropped my training daggers and stared lazily up at the sky. She had woken me during the night, kept me awake until late, stalked me to attack whenever I let down my guard and now I had nothing left to give. I bitterly awaited a punishment as I laid in the dirt and wondered which bruise I would receive for surrender. Instead, she simply smiled and dropped to a sitting position beside me.

“You are strong for a sky person; determined and stubborn.” She commented evenly and I thought I might die of shock from the compliment. “But you fight with anger and hatred. This fire fuels you, but it burns you also. You cannot control it. You fear it.” She clarified as she studied me with a wisdom that was clear to see. I fidgeted on the ground in an effort to raise myself into a sitting position and she pushed me flat onto my back again with little effort. “This is your weakness. It will get you killed. You must learn to control it.” She ordered in a stern tone and I sighed deeply.

“That is why I’m here. I need inner strength too.” I admitted under my breath and she smirked.

“That cannot be given, you have it or you do not.” She stated coldly as she got to her feet. “You must decide if you wish to be a warrior, or a coward.” She added, dusting herself off and placing her sword back in it’s sheath. “You have today to rest, tomorrow we hunt.” She stated, before striding away without a backwards glance and leaving me swiftly in the dirt.

Once alone in my tent I cleaned myself up, examining the black and blue of my skin that almost seemed to be my natural colour now. I removed the unnecessary items of clothing so that I could relax and my radio dropped to the ground. Wrapping myself tightly in a blanket, I gripped the radio close to me and as the light around the tent faded, I knew that Bellamy would likely be heading back to his quarters by now.

“Xena to Hells Bells.” I spoke quietly into the radio with a sly smile and waited eagerly for his voice. It had been gruelling since my arrival here and I had to admit that I could do with some comfort. A few moments of silence passed and I could imagine Bellamy rushing to find somewhere quiet to respond. I felt my eyes slipping closed from sheer exhaustion when a crackle finally alerted me to his presence.

“Hey Trouble.” The warmth in his words filled my chest, even through the tinny speaker and I felt a smile spread across my lips. “How's life with the Amazons?” He teased and I quietly giggled to myself.

“It’s exhausting on a level I never could have imagined.” I confessed in a meek voice and could sense his concern in his delayed response. Although I wouldn’t lie to him, I was also aware that I needed to be careful how much detail I shared and struggled to consider my words before I shared them.

“Are you alright?” He probed with a thinly veiled worry and I sighed deeply as I analysed my answer for anything that might send him into a protective frenzy.

“I’m getting used to it. How are you? Things okay in camp?” I enquired with a feeling of concern in my gut as the faces of the loved ones that I usually focused on flashed through my mind. The responsibility bared down on me and I tried to push it away before I could find myself crushed under the guilt of leaving them in their time of need. I reminded myself that I was here to become stronger so that I could protect all of us and asserted that I had to focus on myself.

“I’m alright, nothing much has changed here. I’m better now that I know you’re safe.” He mumbled and I hummed thoughtfully. I knew that he would be finding this change difficult, as his nature always urged him to keep his loved ones close and under his protection and I was proud of him for how well he was dealing with this. It was an important lesson for us both and although my heart cried out for him, I steeled myself against the loneliness that threatened to swallow me.

“We’re gonna be moving on tomorrow, so I don’t know when I’ll next be able to check in.” I relayed as I broke into a yawn mid sentence and he sighed.

“You sound like you could use some rest. I hope she’s giving you a chance to sleep?” He interrogated in a voice that I recognised well as defensive and I hummed in response sleepily. “It’s good to hear your voice Indie. Get some sleep and stay in touch.” He remarked and I could already feel my eyelids becoming heavy following the relief of speaking with him.

“I will. Take care of yourself. I’ll come back soon.” I mumbled before switching off the radio with a pang in my chest and settled down for a night of well earned sleep.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 53

WARNINGS: Some smut

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @ocfairygodmother​

The minute she opens her eyes it’s there. The enormous weight of the situation and the bitter realization that it isn’t just some horrible nightmare. An overwhelming sense of melancholy that not even the usual comforts can break through. Not the sound or the smell of the ocean or the cool, refreshing breeze that flutters the curtains, or even the brilliant sunrise; hues of gold and orange that paint the sky and reflect off the water. It’s normally enough -sights, sounds, smell- to alleviate even the worst of moods; five minutes outside breathing in the salty air and listening to the sound of the waves doing wonders for the mind, body, and soul.

Even in her sleep she finds no rest or reprieve from the enormity of it all. Plagued by vivid and torturous nightmares; all of the worst possible case scenarios mixing together. The fear of the unknown and the total loss of control is both staggering and all consuming. Taking up every waking moment of the day despite trying to keep it together for the sake of her children. They’re the one bright spot; their innocent and their pure unadulterated faith and trust in both of their parents. Truly believing that their upcoming trip to India is nothing more just that. A chance to see where Ovi was born and spent the first fourteen years of his life.  They somehow remain oblivious to all the tension, stress, and worry that inhabit their parents and control their every decision and thoughts. They’re happy and carefree and if suffering in silence guarantees they’ll stay that way, it's a small price to pay.

The tears are never far away. She feels them now; the incessant prick of them hot and bitter. It’s been a struggle to keep them at bay. The smallest of things bringing them on; the most innocent of comments or lightest of jokes somehow cutting straight to the bone and shattering an already aching heart. Many times in the past four days she’s had to run away and hide. Locking herself in the kitchen pantry or the laundry room or one of the bathrooms; sitting on the floor and crying. Overwhelmed by the situation at hand and the multitude of emotions wrapped up in it. Mentally exhausted trying to hold it together for the sake of her family while everything around her is falling apart.

For now she manages to fight back. Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, Pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes and waiting for the tightening her chest and the uneasiness in her stomach to settle before turning her head to watch Tyler as he sleeps. His body and mind finally letting him rest; allowing him to doze off shortly before three thirty in the morning. Satisfied and spent after a passionate round of love making; slow and attention yet intense in its own way. Those long, soft kisses that curl your toes and take your breath away. Hands and mouths wandering and exploring before finally giving in to those pangs of want and need; fuelled by lust, fear, and desperation. Leaving their bodies heaving for breath and slicked with sweat. No words spoken as his hand combed through her hair and toyed with those long, dark tresses; her  head resting on his chest and her fingers tracing the tattoos and scars that adorn his torso.  

Afterwards, she’d been the one that had struggled to fall asleep. Normally his mere presence in bed beside her would do the trick. Being able to smell him and hear him breathe and the sound of sheets rustling as he moves. But even wrapped up in those strong, powerful arms hadn’t been enough. Nor had the presence of his lips against the back of her neck, each exhale warm and fluttering her hair.

He looks much younger when he sleeps; when that tortured and fractured mine stops torturing him and finally lets him rest.  On his stomach with his forearm under his pillow and his head turned towards her, his features softer and more relaxed. No furrows in the brow or lines at the corners of his eyes. No clenched jaw or or tightly pursed lips or tense shoulders. And while he’d   vehemently argue and protest her use of the word, he IS beautiful. Everything that is both stunning AND masculine about him; rough skin and ink and scars mixing together with impossibly long, dark eyelashes and smooth, pink lips. And he’s made even more attractive by the beauty she knows exists inside of him. Who he is when they’re alone or he’s with his children; this strong, powerful man that still somehow manages to be so loving and gentle. Who is fiercely loyal and unwaveringly faithful and ferociously protective. Who isn’t afraid to admit -to anyone who will listen- the depth of his love for his wife and his kids and who,   despite years of betrayal and a childhood wrought with abuse, trusts her with everything he is and everything he has.   He carries an enormous heart on his sleeve yet very rarely allows himself to be vulnerable and never fully realizes just how loved he actually is. Constantly questioning why she stays; harboring guilt and regret for things he’s said or done when times have been their toughest and never believing that he’s worthy of a good life. It’s all of those things that make him who he is. All the flaws and imperfections that in fact, make him so perfect.

The tears threaten once again and she rolls away; onto her side to face the wall to wall sliding glass doors. Attempting to concentrate on something...anything...other than the sense of impending doom and misery. She’s never been THIS affected by any of the jobs he’s taken since his first official return to the game. It’s been five and a half years since she was pregnant with the twins and he’d decided -without even discussing it with her- to get back into things. There’s always worry and fear connecting with that line of work; you never know if when they talk out the door if they’re going to walk back in. But this fear and concern is on a whole new level. All consuming and mind numbing. Thoughts so dark and so bleak that she’s ashamed for even harbouring them. As if merely thinking them, let alone saying them, will actually cause them to happen.

She both feels and hears him move behind him. The small groan he gives when he moves onto his side and the shifting and dipping of the mattress under his weight. The soft rustle of bare skin against crisp sheets as he slides closer to her, followed by  one of those thick, muscular arms being draped over her hip; beard rough against her skin, lips placing soft kisses along her shoulders.  His fingertips pushing hair away from the back of her neck; the callus on his ‘trigger finger’ scraping against her flesh. And her eyes close and her head falls forward; a long, soft sigh escaping her lips when his mouth finds the nape of her neck.  He knows every spot; every little magical area that when kissed or licked or sucked -or even bitten- drives her absolutely insane. Even in Dhaka when there’d  been no telling what -if anything-would transpire between them, he’d taken his time and explored every inch of her in a way no man had ever done before.  

His arms now slides under hers; palm briefly sitting at her waist before slipping up the front of her t-shirt and then cupping one of her breasts. Her sigh much louder and longer when he gently squeezes and then brushes his thumb across the nipple.

“Baby.” she breathes, scraping her fingernails along his forearm.

“Hmm?”

“The kids are going to be up soon.” It’s a half-hearted argument. Not even a proper protest. Not when her nipples are hardening under her touch and her insides pulsate and quiver at the sensation of his mouth against the back of her neck.

“Yeah? And?”

“You really want them running in here and seeing...you know…”

“We’ll hear them coming.”

She opens her mouth to debate but all that comes out is a pleasured whimper when he takes one nipple between his thumb and forefinger and tugs and pinches at it, Teeth nipping at the sensitive spot just below her ear.   The gentler he is, the more it turns her on; a far cry from the usual roughness and aggression that she prefers. That warm and ache building between her legs and growing stronger with each feathery brush of his lips against her shoulder and the feel of his breath against her skin; callused palm impossibly delicate as it fondles one breasts, then the other.  When she feels the scrape of his beard against her ear followed by the tip of his tongue tracing over every inner and outer edge, she can’t stop the groan that escapes her mouth or the way her ass presses back against his already straining erection; shivering against him when his fingertips slowly trail down her body. Beginning at the top of her sternum and ending at the waistband of her sleep shorts; quickly untying the bow that keeps them tight against her body and sliding his hand down the front of them.   And when his palm finds her already hot and wet, a low groan of approval rumbles deep within his chest.

“Tyler…” she breathes, when two of his fingers push through the moist folks and press against her clit. Eyes closing and her head falling back against his shoulder when his teeth nibble a path along the side of her throat, lightly biting down when he pushes his fingers inside of her.  Working them as he would his cock; slow, deep thrusts that have her rubbing her ass against him, his thumb rubbing at her clit.

“Fuck my fingers,” he orders, voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck them.”

She beards down on them; taking them as deep as she possibly can. Biting down on her bottom lip in an effort to rein in the noises that threaten to escape her mouth. His lips and his teeth continuing the slow torture on her shoulders and the side of her neck as she moves against those thick digits buried inside of her. His free hand squeezes into the limited space between their bodies; reaching into his sweats to free his cock. And she feels the press of it against her cloth covered ass; the way he rocks his hips into her and groans at the friction against his aching cock. His breath quickening with every movement he makes, thumb continuing to rub her clit.

“Jerk me off.”

He speaks through gritted teeth, then releases the grip on his erection and grabs her hand, pulling her arm back towards him. A long, drawn out “Fuck” tumbling from his mouth when those soft, mumble fingers curl around his shaft. Sweat gathering at his temples and along his hairline as her hand works him; alternating between slow, firm tugs and rapid jerks as she continues to fuck his fingers. Eyes closed and brow resting against the back of her head; listening to all of her choked moans and whimpers and the way she breaches his names over and over again. Taking the lobe of her ear between his teeth and biting down just as she comes; loving the way her entire body seizes up and he feels the warm, slick moisture that bathes his fingers and his palms. His own release not far behind; a long, low growl in her ear as spurts of cum dampen the fabric of her shorts and the strip exposed skin between them and her shirt, and the sheets underneath. Still shuddering and panting when he presses a kiss to her shoulder and removes his fingers from inside of her. A palm coming to rest on her stomach, pulling her tightly against him.

****

“It’s going to be a long day,” Esme sighs, as she sits at the table on the back patio; Addie against her chest as she feeds. It’s seven thirty in the morning and the other four kids are still asleep; even Millie who rarely misses a Saturday morning with her father.

Tyler nods in agreement as he steps out of the house, setting a mug of coffee down at the stop across from her, then standing behind her chair and placing a cup of tea where she can easily reach it.

It’s little moments like that that make her love him even more. Those small things he does without ever having to be asked. It started with Millie; always bringing her something to eat and drink while the baby fed, or even draping a blanket or one of his sweaters around her shoulders so she wouldn’t get cold and would be more comfortable. Sometimes even brushing her hair or rubbing her feet. Things you wouldn’t expect from someone like him.

“You going to be okay?” she asks. “With all those people here? I know you don’t like strangers all up in your personal space. Or in your happy place.”

His hands are on her shoulders as he leans down to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll deal.”

“If you have to take a break, no one will fault you for that. If you get too overwhelmed or panicky..”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures her, then runs a hand over Addie’s hair; cradling the back of her head in his palm, thumb brushing against her forehead.

Esme tilts her head back and smiles up at him, noticing the tears in his eyes and the pain that registers on his face. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she.”

“Like her mom,” he says, and gives a small smile before placing a kiss on her temple.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she comments, watching him as he heads to the other side of the table. Admiring every tattoo and scar, every hard muscle and the bit of extra weight that has gathered just above his hips. And the very present ‘happy trail’ that begins just below his navel and disappears into a pair of low slung jeans. He’s heavier now; almost a forty pound difference since Dhaka. The lines of his waist and hips no longer as prominent, but every inch of him still so sexy.

“What’s that?”

“Keep your pants on. I don’t know how you wear your pants and your shorts like that. I don’t know how you don’t lose them.”

“Luck,” he grins, and takes a seat across from her.

“Must be,” she says, and places both feet in his lap. One of his hands moving below the table to lightly massage them, starting with each toe. “I can’t believe Millie’s six. Where did the last six years go?”

“I dunno. It’s hard to believe. Doesn’t seem that long ago that we found out about her. That you were telling me you were pregnant with her.”

“You handled it a lot better than I thought you would. I thought for sure you were going to flip your shit. What a thing to happen when you’re already going through so much crap. Not exactly what you needed added to your plate, huh?”

“If you ask me, that was the only good thing that come out of that whole fucking mess. Other than waking up for a coma and seeing you. I thought I was imagining it. Or maybe dreaming or hallucinating. Those were some pretty hard core drugs they had me on. It was a relief when I found it was real. That YOU were real.”

“I didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up. I knew how scared you’d be. How confused.  I didn’t want you to go through that by yourself.”

 She also hadn’t wanted him to die alone.  All of the doctors and nurses had prepared her for that; convincing her that, despite their best efforts and all her hopes and prayers, his death would be the ONLY outcome.

 “I was worried how you’d react,” she continues. “When you were more lucid. I thought maybe you’d be freaked out that I stuck around. That you’d think I was some kind of weirdo stalker or something.”

“Nah. I was happy. Pretty good ending to a shitty fucking experience. Beautiful woman holding your hand and kissing you and crying over you. I definitely wasn’t complaining.”

“It was still a lot to go through. And then to find you you’re having a baby on top of it? Most guys would have freaked out and cut ties. Their booty call or fuck buddy...or whatever the hell I was...telling them they're pregnant?”

“You were more than those things,” Tyler says. “Even then. And I’m not most guys.”

“No,” Esme smiles. “You’re not.”

“I still can’t believe you actually thought I’d let you walk away. That I’d be okay with you fucking off back to the states with my kid.”

“I can’t believe you had the balls to ask if it was yours,” she counters.

“Yeah, that was not one of my better moments. I’m surprised you didn’t punch me in the face. Or the throat.”

“I understood where you were coming from. What did we really know about each other? Other than  we both had shitty exes and a lot of baggage? And no Tyler; favourite sex positions do NOT count as knowing someone. Regardless of what you think.”

“I told you about Austin,” he reminds her. “I didn’t shy away from telling you about him.”

“But we didn’t really know each other. You can’t really know someone after only five days. And you probably thought that if I fucked you that easily, I was more than likely fucking other guys too.”

“That is not what I thought. At all.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I can only imagine the impression I made; jumping into bed with you THAT easily. Wasn’t exactly a slow burn, was it.”

He grins. “No. It definitely wasn’t. But I didn’t think it was a bunch of guys. A guy. I had a time believing you were single. Someone that looks like you? Fucks like you? It was hard to believe someone hadn’t scooped you up.”

“Oh someone did. He just turned out to be a massive prick. But there was no one else. Just you.”

“I shouldn’t have asked if it was mine. That was a dick move.”

“It was a reasonable question. And other than that, you took it well. I was more freaked out than you were.”

“Was it really that much of a surprise? I think we should have seen that coming.”

“Yeah, the absence of protection should have been our first clue that something was going to go wrong.”

“Was it really that wrong though? She’s pretty much the best thing that came out of Dhaka. I’d take another bullet to the neck if it meant she’d be here.”

“I remember when the nurse gave her to you. In the delivery room. When she said ‘here you go, daddy’ and put Millie in your arms.”

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “And I cried.”

“And you cried,” Emse confirms with a smile. “And I remember thinking how beautiful it was. How beautiful YOU were. How you looked at her with so much and so much awe. Like  you couldn’t believe that she was real. That she was here.”

“I never thought I’d get that change again. To be a dad. Almost seemed too good to be true. That someone like me would be given someone like her.”

“She was so beautiful,” Esme recalls. “She IS beautiful. Remember how much hair she had? No wonder I’d had heartburn so bad when I was pregnant; all that hair. She looked so much like you even then. All the nurses said so. EVERYONE said so. They still do. There’s no way you could ever deny here, that’s for sure.

“I remember thinking how tiny she was. And then Addie came alone. Now THAT’S tiny.”

“She is a wee one,” Esme agrees, and smiles down at the baby that feeds contently at her breast. “Daddy’s little peanut.”

Tyler smiles at that.

“You realize that you have eighteen years of calling her that ahead of you, right?”

“Eighteen years? I’m going to still call her that when she has her own kids. She’s always going to be tiny. Like her mom. She’ll always be my little peanut.”

“I think you already have daddy wrapped around your little finger,” she addresses the baby. “You and your big sister. He doesn’t stand a chance against the two of you.  He’ll wear that tiara one day. You two will get your way.”

He smirks.

“You’ll break one of these days, “ Esme tells him. “You won’t be able to fight it when it’s the two of them ganging up on you. When Addie is Millie’s age and she’s got you totally doting on her. And don’t even try and deny it. You are going to spoil her rotten.”

He gives a small smile. “I hope I get that chance. That I get to see her when she’s Millie’s age.”

“You will,” she assures him, hoping she sounds more confident than she feels. “Five years from you, you and I will wake up and we’ll sit out here. Just like this. And we’ll talk about all of this. About how scared we were. How we got through it. How you took care of things. Same way we sometimes sit here and talk about Dhaka; how we never thought we’d get through that. We’ll get through Mumbai, too.”

“I hope so, babe.”

“You’re too stubborn to die, remember? And I won’t let you anyway. I’m not letting you get away that easy. You’ve got at least another fifty years with me. We’ve got children to watch get married and have their own kids. Grandchildren to spoil. I can’t do all that by myself. It wouldn’t be much fun without you. It’s going to be okay. WE’RE going to be okay.”

“Yeah, we will,” he agrees, and gives her foot a tight squeeze. The lump of emotion in his throat and the tears in his eyes betraying him. Giving away his true feelings. His worst fears.

****

It’s been easier to deal with than he’d expected. Thirty five and six year olds and their respective parents -mostly mothers- all descending on his ‘happy place’. Being outside has helped. Laughter and shrieks and conversations float on the breeze as opposed to being trapped between four walls; the accompanying volume not as loud or as grating.  Thankful to be the one placed on ‘kid duty’; able to focus solely on supervising his own five while not having to be the parent that  socializes. That isn’t his comfort zone. Not a fan of mindless, useless chit chat; unable to form even the smallest and most innocent of connections with just anyone. Too many years  living in self imposed solitude; most of his days spent in a haze brought on by booze and pain meds, or passed out entirely. When he hadn’t succumbed to those vices, he was working; travelling to all corners of the world to tend whatever Nik brought to him. His past makes it hard to make friends; he doesn’t have the energy to carry on an elaborate life about what he does -or did- for a living, nor does he trust anyone enough to be fully honest about it. So he sticks to himself. Choosing who he wants to be surrounded by. There’s very few people he trusts and he prefers it that way. Content with the security and the comfort that being in his own home  with his family provides him with.

There’s been very few anxious moments. What normally would trigger an ‘episode’ have actually been stabilizers. Being able to concentrate on simple tasks at hand, with all the noise and activity in the background,  has effectively lessened the stress and the worry. He hasn’t been dwelling on his next day's departure; on how he’s going to keep it together when hugging and kissing his kids goodbye.  Wanting them to hang on to the belief that India is nothing more than just a family trip. They’re too young to know the truth; he wants them to stay as pure and innocent for as long as they possibly can. And he hasn’t been hyperfixating on the mission itself. Not zoning out or easily distracted by thoughts of the job; of hotel blueprints and prison aerial shots or the list of names permanently etched in his mind.

It lingers. The details he’s still trying to piece together on how to carry things out. The fear that he’ll never see his family again. The worry that whatever he does won’t be enough and Mahajan’s people will get to his wife and kids. But it’s now as powerful and as suffocating as it was before.

“I think you have some competition.”

He glances up from the task at hand -grilling hamburgers and hot dogs for the hordes of children and their guardians- as Andy approaches. It had been a relief when he and Zeke had shown up. He genuinely likes the guy. He’s easy to talk to; laid back, friendly, non judgmental. Used to being the one that’s constantly looked down upon.  Other than Koen and Rata, he’s never really had friends that haven’t been mercs. It’s always just been easier to surround himself with people who understood the life and lived it themselves.

Andy -quite the sight in neon orange shorts and a tropical themed shirt- tips his bottle of beer in the direction of the pool, where Esme sits in one of the lounge chairs with Zeke in her lap. A brilliant smile on her face as he gently plays with her hair and her necklace and can’t resist touching her face or hugging her or kissing her cheeks. If anyone was MADE to be a mother, it’s her. While slightly high strung and possessing fragile patience, her knack of nurturing and loving is second to none. So gentle and so compassionate that it makes it hard to comprehend what she used to do for a living. Unlike her time on the job, everything she does now -especially with her kids and others- is tender and genuine and always done with the best of intentions.

“Can’t say I blame him,” Tyler grins, and sips his own beer. “He’s got good taste. I’d sit in her lap and play with her hair and kiss and hug her too if she’d let me.”

Andy laughs at that. “She’s good with him. His own mother isn’t that...what’s the word...accepting. She loves her son, don’t get me wrong. But it’s been hard on her. Dealing with this life. Even all these years later. She’s a good woman, but not a gentle woman, If that makes sense.

Tyler nods. He hears the pain in the man’s voice; sees it on his face. Not for his son; there’s nothing but pride and love and adoration written all over his face when he’s with Zeke. But it’s hard to accept when someone you love doesn’t come close to living up to your expectations of them. He’s one of the lucky ones. Esme’s not perfect. Neither is he. Not by a long shot. But she’s perfect for him. And their kids.

“How long HAVE you two been together?” Andy asks. “If I’m being too personal or nosy…”

“You’re fine. Six and a half years. Married. Together for almost seven.”

“Short engagement, huh?”

“Wasn’t much of one. I said ‘marry me’ and she said ‘okay’ and that was it. Month later, that’s exactly what we did. We didn’t know each other that long. We met under some pretty crazy circumstances. I guess I knew if she could stick around through all of that and still look at me the way she did, she’d be able to last fifty or so years. Smartest things I’ve ever did; holding onto her.”

It would have been so easy to get her to leave. To shut her out and treat her horrible so she’d make the decision to abandon him and go back to the States. To forget about him. And the guy that existed before her...the one that just existed just minutes before he spotted her on his front porch...would have done just that. He would have fought back against forming any sort of connection outside of sex and would have refused to feel anything other than carnal want and need. But somewhere between her showing at the shack and putting her fingers in his neck to keep him alive, everything changed. The guy would have hurt her -as a way of protecting her from his bullshit- ceased to exist.

“And you met through work?” Andy inquires.

Tyler nods. “We were contracted to the same job. To work together. Ended up in Bangladesh mixed up in some wild shit.” Normally it would make him anxious to even mention Dhaka; especially to someone outside of the game. But it’s easy to talk to Andy. His instincts telling him that he’s trustworthy; the last person to look down on him for his choice of profession.

“You know,” Andy begins slowly, carefully. “There’s a rumour going around.”

“About?”

“You. What you used to do for a living. What you do now.”

Tyler smirks. “There is, is there? What’s the rumour?”

“You know how all the other parents are. How carry they are; how judgy. All holier than thou.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty huge assholes that’s for sure.”

“So I’m not saying I believe it. I’m the type that goes straight to the source. I like you; you’re a good guy. You got a decent head on your shoulders and you’re raising good kids. Damn good kids. And you seem like you’re pretty honest and straightforward about things. You don’t like bullshit and you don’t give out bullshit of your own.”

“I have no time or tolerance for it. So what’s the rumour?”

“That you’re a hit man.”

Tyler laughs, bottle pressed against his lips.

“Is that a maybe or a yes or a no…”

“I’m not a hit man, mate,” he says, and takes a swallow of beer.

“It sounded ridiculous to me. But sometimes the most ridiculous of stories are the real ones. And what with the size of you and all the scars and..,.”

“I’m a mercenary.”  It just rolls off the tongue so easily,  It’s not something he tells other people. Truth is often stranger than fiction, and his truth is hard to swallow and understand. Most don’t get it; the danger, the unpredictability, the things he does for money. But it’s who he is. What he’s good at. Damn good at. And he watches Andy’s reaction; that blank yet shocked look, mouth slightly agape. The way his eyes eventually widen and he gives a long, slow nod.

“You’re not joking, are you.”

Tyler shakes his head. “Been doing it a long time now. It’s who I am.”

“PART of who you are,” Andy corrects.

Tyler grins. “You sound like my wife.”

“You’re more than what you do for a living. I mean, you have all this...” he nods at the house, then the pool, then towards the beach. “...you have a wife and kids. So you’re not just your job.”

“You don't seem too put off by it. Hearing that I kill people for money.”

“I’m sure that’s not ALL you do. I mean, you kill people to help other people, yeah?”

“Most of the time. They’re usually people making life difficult for others. Hurting them. I’ve taken out more than a few child traffickers, big name molesters, that sort of thing.  Not one person I’ve killed hasn’t deserved it.”

“So basically you’re taking out the trash.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“And your wife? She does that too? You said you met working together. Does that mean…”

“No. She’s not a merc. She used to work alongside guys like me. Used to get us information we need. After that, her job was done. She didn’t get her hands dirty. Not in the same way I do. And she hasn’t done it in a long time. She gave it up when we found out Millie was on the way. Once we got married and started having a family, that was it for her. She wanted to just be a wife and a mother.”

“And the money? It’s good?”

Depends who hires me. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s fucking amazing. Every so often you get someone that totally screws you and doesn’t pay you what you agreed on. Or not at all.”

“Well that’s some bullshit,” Andy declares.

Tyler nods in agreement.

“How’d you ever get involved in something like that?”

“Buddy of mine from the military got mixed up in it. Hooked me up after I left the SASR. It’s all I’ve ever known; guns, combat, that sort of shit. Seemed like a perfect fit. I left it behind a couple times; for different reasons. But I always go back.”

“How do you balance it? That kind of job with this kind of life? A wife and kids and two dogs and all of that?”

“Two different lives, two different guys. Or at least that’s how I try to do it.”

“But don’t you worry? Every time you leave? I mean, it’s dangerous, yeah? Don’t you worry about never coming back’? About leaving your wife and kids behind?”

“Every time I walk out the door mate. Every single goddamn time. But my track record for walking back in is a hundred percent so far and I’m determined to keep it that way.”

“Look at you,” Esme comments as she steps up onto the patio. “Being friends and shit. I hope he’s being at least civil to you, Andy.” she rubs him on the back. “Tyler’s not used to socializing. He’s a bit of a hermit.”

“He’s been on his best behaviour,” Andy assures her. “I saw you getting all loved up on.”

“I was. He’s just so…” she sighs. “...sweet and so perfect and gives the best hugs. If I could keep him, I would.”

“I don’t think he’d argue. He seems quite smitten.”

“Well I am too. He’s beautiful and precious. And he -and you- are welcome here any time. My brother wants to know if it’s okay to take him down to the water. Millie and the twins are down there with Ovi and they want to play with Zeke. Kyle’s a fireman, so he’d be in good hands.”

“I’ll go and get his trunks and his life jacket. He won’t like being down by the water and not going in it.” Andy claps Tyler on the shoulder. “You need to tell me some stories. I’m sure you’ve got some pretty good ones.”

“I’ve got a few,” he confirms.

“I’m looking forward to hearing them.” Andy presses a kiss to Esme’s cheek, then heads for the stairs.

“He’s such a sweet man,” she says, as she watches him go. “How can people be so bitchy to him and Zeke when they’re both so amazing?”

“People are dicks,” Tyler reasons, and then back against the wall next to the barbecue. “I was getting jealous,” he chides. “Seeing you get all that attention.”

“Don’t worry, baby. You’re still my favorite hug and kiss. You always will be.” She stands in front of him, hands on his sides. Standing on her tiptoes when he leans down to press a kiss to her lips. “You having fun playing with your meat?”

He smirks, hands resting on her hips. “It’s much more fun when you play with it.”

“Like this morning, you mean.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“That was kind of fun.”

“Kind of?”

“Okay, it was A LOT of fun,” she declares, and then giggles when his hands slide down onto her ass, pulling her tightly against him as he kisses her once more. Longer this time; the soft yet delicious movement of closed mouth upon closed mouth. “You’re going to make all the thirsty moms jealous,” she says. “Notice how many of them stuck around? I highly doubt it’s just to watch their kids.”

“Some of them are watching right now, actually.”

“Let them. They’re just upset it’s not their asses you have your hands on. And speaking of jealous, thirsty people…”

“I don’t think I like where this is going…”

“Nik’s here. She came with Yaz and Siobhan. Who, by the way, has the most adorable baby bump I’ve ever seen. It actually makes me miss all of mine. Except for maybe Declan. That kid was huge even when he was just a bump.”

“You looked beautiful every time.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re the one responsible for those baby bumps. You used to have the goofiest grin on your face when people would touch all the bumps. Like you were just so damn proud of your handiwork.”

“I was proud. Especially with the twins. Two in one shot? I’m a fucking legend. And why would I care? That Nik’s here?”

“Because Nik and you aren’t exactly on the best terms and I really don’t want you two going at each other at our daughter’s birthday party.”

“I’d never do that to Millie. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean Nik won’t. If she engages with you, can you try and stay calm? I know it’s not easy and she really tries her hardest to get your skin, but you’d not let her…”

“I won’t,” he presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll behave.”

“Good. Thank you. I am kinda worried about how it’s going to go when she sees Kyle and Allison together. That’s not going to go over well, is it.”

“Probably not.”

“Maybe I’ll try and cut things off at the pass. Keep Nik and Kyle away from each other.  She’s not above causing a big old thing in front of everyone. And that’s the last thing I want. Especially at Millie’s party. You’re doing okay?” Her hands rub his sides. “You’re hanging in there?”

“Is that really why you came up here? To check on me?”

“Maybe…”

Tyler grins and pecks her lips. “I’m fine. Everything’s good.”

“I’m proud of you. I know it’s not easy for you; having all these people here and getting out of your comfort zone. It’s progress for you. Very good progress. And it’s especially not easy when we have to pretend to be happy and act like nothing’s wrong and…”

He silences her with a kiss; hands leaving her ass in favour of cradling her face. And she’s grinning when he eventually pulls away, eyes sparkling up at him.

“Was that for my benefit or…?”

“A little,” he says. “But some of it was for the moms that are watching us so I’d give them something to watch.”

“You could always turn around and show them your butt,” she teases, her hands moving down to tightly squeeze his ass. “You could bounce a quarter off that thing, you know.”

“Only you’re allowed to do that.”

“It better stay that way. For just my enjoyment.”

“Always will.” he assures her, and pecks her lips.

“I’m going to go and prevent Nik and Kyle from killing each other. You stay here and keep playing with your meat,”

“Will you play with it later?”

She’s grinning over her shoulder as she walks away. “Maybe.”

****

“It definitely went better than I expected it to,” Esme comments hours later, as they lay on their backs, side by side,  on a blanket stretched across a swath of sand. All five children fast asleep inside; worn out from an exciting day spent in the sun. Millie over the moon that her party had gone well and she’d been able to show off her new puppy to all of her jealous friends. It had been a success; her happiness and the pure joy that radiated from her making all the planning, hard work, and intensive clean up, all worth it.

“What DID you expect?” Tyler asks.

“Thirty five and six year olds? I expected it to be utter freaking chaos. But it wasn’t THAT bad. And Millie was so happy. Did you see her face? She couldn’t stop smiling the whole time. She’s so full of light and love and she just so...I don’t know...so…”

“Beautiful?”

“Yeah. She’s that too. She’s just so passionate. She feels so much. And so deep. She’s so much like you in that respect.”

He frowns as he turns his head to look at her. “How you figure?”

“You have so much love inside of you. So many emotions. You just don’t show them and she lets them all out. And we let her. We don’t expect her to bottle it all up and hide it away. We just let her be who she is. We don’t fault her for being...well...being her.”

“Why would we? She’s six. She’s just a little kid.”

“A little kid with big emotions. She’s basically the kid you could have been if you were allowed to be like that.”

He nods in agreement.

“Not that you turned out bad or anything,” she rolls onto her stomach, forearms over each other, chin resting them as she looks at him. “You turned out pretty damn good actually. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you do have your moments where you drive me batshit insane.”

Tyler grins. “I do, do I?”

“Mm...hmm. Like when you hold everything in because you think it’s some way of protecting me, when in fact, it’s just annoying the shit out of me.”

“Everything I do is to protect you. You know that.”

“Sometimes I don’t need protecting. Sometimes what I need is you to stop worrying about me so much and actually let me in. You’d think after almost seven years…”

“It’s not that easy. I wish it was. And I don’t mean to be that way.”

“I know it’s hard for you. Letting that part of yourself go. But it’s only hurting you, Tyler. And sometimes it even hurts us. And I know that’s the last thing you want.”

“It is,” he agrees. “It definitely is.”

“I’ll break you yet,” she declares, and reaches out to lay a hand on the side of his face, turning it towards her. “You okay?”

“Not really. No.” he admits.

“Do you want to talk about it or…”

He moves onto his side, fingers pushing hair behind her ear before running his hand over her shoulder and down her back; coming to rest just above her ass. “I don’t want tomorrow to be the last time I ever see you or my kids.”

“It won’t be.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know you. Because I know how hard you fight. How resilient you are. How damn stubborn,” she presses a kiss to his lips. “Because you survived Dhaka. You survived coding TWICE at the hospital. You’re strong. The strongest person I’ve ever known.”

“I don’t feel so strong right about now.”

“But you ARE. You always have been. And I’m not just talking about physical strength, either. You do battle with your mind every day. And you win. Now THAT’S strength.”

“You think way too highly of me.”

“Well I love you. Very much.  You’re my favorite person in the entire world. You always have been. You’re tough and you’re smart and you’re insanely good looking and sexy and you’ve helped me make five beautiful children. We’ve had a good life so far.”

“Yeah,” Tyler smiles. “We have.”

“And we’ve got more life together ahead of us. This isn’t how this is going to the end. Mumbai. It’s not going to be how WE  end.”

“I hope you’re right,”

“I am. Besides, the world can’t get rid of you that easily, Tyler Rake. A lot of people have tried to get rid of you, but none of them managed to do it. Your track record for survival is one hundred percent. Maybe you’re like a cat. You have nine lives. Which means you’ve probably got...I don’t know...seven left?”

“Seven? That’s being generous. I was thinking four.”

“Well I’m not counting things that could have killed you before we met. So your number might be more accurate. But that means you still have five left and that’s pretty good.”

“This job will probably cost me three of them.”

“So that still leaves two. Which means this job won’t be the one that kills you. After this, things will be easier. You won’t have to go out there as much. You can stay home more. Spend time with your kids. Watch them grow up. It will be nice, don’t you think? Being able to see that? See them grow up? See what kinds of adults they’ll turn into it? What kind of lives they’ll have?”

“Can we concentrate on getting to double digits first? Them being adults is a long way away.”

“Millie as preteen! Oh god. She’s already a drama queen. She’s going to be unbearable; I just know it. And she’s going to be tall and lanky and beautiful and all the boys are going to be after her. I am not ready for that. Her and boys.”

“That’s my worst fear,” Tyler declares. “Her and boys.”

“I know. You don’t like thinking about your little girl like that. She’s always going to love you the most, though. There’s never going to be another guy in the world she loves more than you. She’s like me in that way. There’s no other boy I love that much, either.”

Smiling, he lays a hand on the back of her head and kisses her. “For the record, you’re my favorite human being, too. You have been for the last seven years.”

“Even in Dhaka?”

“Even then. As soon as you stepped on my porch, that was it. I knew I was done.  Second you looked at me, I knew I was in for a whole world of trouble. All five feet, hundred and ten pounds of trouble.”

“I knew as soon as I saw those eyes I was fucked,” she says. “I was just hoping it would be in a good way,”

He grins. “You WERE fucked in a good way. In a very good way.”

“I was,” she giggles. “I still am. You make my life very interesting. To say the least. You’re frustrating and you’re exhausting and some days I want to strangle you. But I love you ALL the days. That never changes.”

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

“And you WILL get through this. I know you will. You’ll do whatever it takes to get through it. Because that’s who you are. You don’t give in  and you don’t give up.. You don’t break. And Mahajan is going to find all that out real quick and he’s going to regret ever crossing you.  Promise me you’ll make him pay. That you’ll make them ALL pay.”

“I promise you,” he says, then presses a kiss to her forehead and wraps both arms around her. Pulling her tightly against him; eyes closed and his chin resting on the top of her head. Wishing he could hold her like that forever.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Who Killed Markiplier - What if Damien Went to War?

A note before we start. Both William and Damien would around 19/20 years old toward the end of WW1. There are some minor differences in how I write them here compared to how they would normally be. Damien is still caring and loyal, but he is shy. It’s only in university that he properly gained his voice and confidence, so he grows timid a little easier. Because of this, he’ll be a little more passive than what might be expected if it was closer to their normal ages. As for William, while he is still eccentric, he’s far more grounded during the war. With all the responsibilities on his shoulders, he has enough to keep himself busy and focused. His odd nature is channelled more into keeping morale boosted. 

Word Count: 2,410

TW: War, guns, violence, major injury, death.

--

William had to read the letter three times to be sure he wasn’t going insane.

It was dated from a month ago, written in Damien’s neat handwriting, and had the shortest message his friend had ever sent:

I’m coming out there.

Damien.

Out of context, it sounded rather ominous. Had William gotten in so much trouble that he had to be chased after and scolded by a young man his own age? But take the date it was sent into account - April 23rd, 1917.  William was in the French trenches. And soon, so would Damien.

-

The men in the Colonel’s squad couldn’t understand the source of his frustration. Despite the wall of the trench being made from solidified mud and wooden beams, he had still managed to punch the earth so hard that his fist left a dent. There was one thing that William had made Mark and Damien promise - no matter what, don’t follow him to war. Don’t get involved. Mark was far cockier than William was. He would try and play the hero, do something reckless and get himself killed. But Damien was nothing like that. The political student was too soft for his own good. Everyone knew that the world was cruel. It was nothing like how plays and stories made it out to be. However, war was something else entirely. It was ruthless, unforgiving, and thrived in suffering. Once you enlisted, you lost all sense of identity. You became nothing more than a pawn in a larger game you had no control over, and you had to hope you’d make it out alive.

When meeting with other high-ranked officials, he pulled strings. He pleaded and bartered to make sure Damien was in his regiment, under his command. It would be one way to ensure he wasn’t driven insane with worry. It also meant that Damien wasn’t alone. Even if William was busy attending to other matters, his right hand man Jean would be there to keep an eye on him. The group of men under his command were a friendly bunch too. They’d be able to help him adjust to the awful setting they were in.

--

When Damien did arrive, terrified was an understatement. His eyes were wide as he took everything in. The grime, the muck, the injuries, the stench of blood, the sound of gunfire far in the distance. It truly was as his instructor had warned the new recruits. Anxiety was hitting him hard, but there was no way he could back down. He had to do something beyond hiding in a university and hoping for good news.

“Damien.”

Of course, he didn’t expect good news upon arrival either. The second-in-command had taken the other men elsewhere, leaving the two old friends alone. William was tired and worn out (and seemed to be growing a moustache), but Damien would swear that he had never once been so intimidated by him. William’s arms were crossed, and his head held high to glare at the slightly younger man.

“Were you not the one who once told me of the importance of trust?” William paused for a response, but none was given. “Were you not the one who always insisted that he would never break a promise?” That, at least, got a nod from Damien. “Then what in God’s name are you doing here?! I thought I made it clear in every fucking letter I sent home that you should stay where you were! Why bring yourself to death like this?!”

“I…. I had to. Men were being called in for extra support, and -”

“I don’t care! You weren’t supposed to come! This isn’t a place for someone like you, Damien!” The sudden shout made Damien flinch, but William didn’t care. “Look around us! Every man here is in danger! You could get shot, knocked back into something, have a shell dig into your skin. You could go to hospital and get an infection or catch some sickness they don’t have the medication for! Any man here could die at any moment. I could die tomorrow, and then what will you do, Damien? What will you do when you watch someone die for the first time?”

Silence.

Had Damien ever seen William this furious before? While he was also angry, an argument would only make matters worse. After several long moments, holding his tongue proved to be the better option as William marched forward and pulled him into a tight hug.

“God, I’m sorry. Just… Promise me you’ll go home as soon as you can.” Damien didn’t answer at first, but he nodded into the other’s uniform.

--

Six months was a long time in the trenches. Once William had calmed down after his initial outburst, Damien recognised the teenager that had been one of his dearest friends. But of course, they were barely twenty years old, but William had to put that aside. He was a Colonel, one of the youngest around. He was holding a position normally given to a man twice his age. During the long, boring days, he could see the pressures William was under. William spent a large portion of his time making sure all the weapons were in working order with enough ammo, that the trenches were stable, that they all knew how their weapons worked, what exactly needed to be done when the ‘go over the top’ order was given. Damien and the others were given chances to practice hand-to-hand combat, basic first aid - “put pressure on the wound and don’t let go!” - and what to do if someone was discovered to be missing.

No wonder William wrote letters. There was little else to distract yourself with.

But somehow, William managed. He would regale stories of his younger days and encourage others to do the same. In fact, Damien would swear that this was fuelled by his own arrival. Weeks bled together, and he got to know most of the other men better. As a whole, they were a friendly, supportive group who had dreams and ambitions beyond the trenches. Some kept to themselves, while others disappeared after catching an illness from all the time spent outdoors, or were injured in combat.

As for those who were killed…. He mourned them. How could he ignore the impact it made on him? No one deserved to die in such an awful place. The longer he spent there, the more certain of it he was. Sometimes, he was convinced William thought little of him for getting emotional over the loss of human life. But he knew William well, and was sure that the Colonel would mourn quietly and alone. He had to keep morale boosted, even if it meant hiding his grief. The war would continue on.

“I need to finish my studies when I get home,” he explained to William one night. The pair sat aside from the rest of the men, as they would in times when they just needed the company of the other. “This all started because of politics. If I could somehow get there, I want to make sure this never happens again. I don’t want anyone else suffering like this.”

“You would have the support of a million men and women who have seen it for themselves,” William agreed with a nod. His moustache was looking better, but Damien was still getting used to the sight of it. He couldn’t imagine how unkempt he must look in comparison. “I’ll make sure of it myself, damn it. You won’t start that movement alone.” His right hand firmly grasped Damien’s shoulder with a smile. “You’ll be the finest politician out there, Dames.”

-

January 20th, 1918.

The call had gone in that morning for an ‘up and over’. It had been bloody, but no ground had been lost. The other soldiers had pulled back to check their own injured, and William’s men were doing the same. One or two had received gunshot wounds, but they were injuries that could be treated quickly in a nearby emergency medical setting. 

Damien had lingered behind to make sure everyone was able to return to the trenches safely.  They were all tired, but all could walk. 

“MEN! HURRY UP! THIS ISN’T A WALK IN THE PARK. GET DOWN HERE!”

Himself and another man found energy out of nowhere to frantically race back to the trench as bullets zipped past them. Never had such a dismal place looked like sanctuary. Both men made it to the trench, and the first climbed down. With Damien there, all would be accounted for, thankfully.

A cry of agony ripped through the silence as Damien fell straight into the trench. A bullet had gone clean through his left thigh. Not only that, he had taken the impact of the fall on that leg. Even without the bullet wound, it was badly broken.

“GET A STRETCHER, NOW!”

William’s booming voice was filled with desperation as he knelt down beside his friend. He took one of Damien’s hands.

“Come on now, Damien. Stay with me. Squeeze my hand. I’m right here.” The tightened grip was nothing painful for William, but it was a good sign that the other could respond immediately. “Peter and Eddie have gone to get one of the stretchers. There’s a medical centre about a mile from here. They’re going to take good care of you there. You’re going to be alright.”

“Will, please… Don’t leave me. I don’t want to go alone.” Damien’s voice strained with the intensity of the pain. It was a struggle to keep awake.

“I’ll be there, Dames. I’ll make sure I’m there with you. I said I’d protect you, didn’t I?” He had, he remembered. Damien had smiled and said that he was honoured that such a brave soldier would be like a knight in shining armour for him. But that was before the war. Before Damien joined him here. Before that blasted attack. Before -

“Dames? Dames! Please! Wake up! Stay with me!”

“Colonel, move back!” 

To William’s horror, the men had managed to get some of the medical assistants over as well. He saw the look they shared. He tried to scramble to his feet, but Jean held him back.

“He’s not dead! He can’t be dead! He’s fine!”

--

--

--

Ten months.

Ten months with no news on Damien.

After a lot of badgering, he was told that the injured party was transferred to a hospital in England. That was never a good sign. He wrote letter after letter pleading Mark or Celine to tell him what happened, even if that meant telling him the worst.

In January, he was upset, but optimistic. He confided in Jean that Damien had to be alive, that William would somehow know if Damien was dead. The pair pulled together and set about keeping spirits up.

By March 4th, 1918, he had lost Jean too.

For two full weeks, William was inconsolable. It was as though all the pain of war had finally broken him and left his chest hollow and numb. But on the fifteenth day, he was behaving like the man he was before - loud, optimistic, hard-working. All his grief and sorrow had been bottled up and buried as deep as possible. Never did he want to consider how he was letting the men who were still alive down. He would make sure they would all survive and go home.

And that was exactly what he did. Through some miracle, not a single man under his command died between March and November 1918. He had to do it. Damien would have wanted him to protect them.

-

The trip back to America was long and lonely. Part of him almost didn’t want to return, but he had nowhere else to go. Every mile felt much longer. Every day felt like another month. But eventually, land could be seen. A boat bringing soldiers home was docking on the east coast, which only meant that a painfully long journey alone faced him. Why was California so far away?

But as he stepped off the boat, two figures were standing in the crowd waiting for him. He had to restrain himself from charging over, but both Celine and Mark were pulled into a tight hug the moment he was close enough to reach them.

“It’s so good to see you both…” Jokes and casual banter would come later. He had to overcome this important moment first. Neither Celine nor Mark pulled away until William did so first, and both were surprised to see him crying.

“I’m so sorry… I tried. I tried as hard as I could. I couldn’t save him…” A man of his position shouldn’t be blubbering like a baby, but the tears flowed without any intent on stopping.

“We have a hotel booked near here, but we want you to get checked up first. God knows what sickness you have under all that uniform. And it’s being sponsored by the city, so it won’t cost a dime.” Mark meant well, but neither expected such a strong refusal to go to a hospital.

“William, please. Just for ten minutes, and then we can go out for dinner. We’ll be with you the whole time.” The couple had to reassure William three times before they could get him to budge, but they kept their word. The entire time they stayed with him, keeping him company and trying to distract him from whatever troubles were eating at him.

The check-up went well, and William was prescribed with some simple medicine and tasks to help rebuild his immune system, and the three began to make their way back through the hospital. The Colonel had noticed the way Celine took in their surroundings, but put it down to making sure they wouldn’t get lost amongst the swarms of people. She took his hand and took a sharp right into a room.

It was a one-bed ward. The room was in need of painting and new quilt covers, but it was peaceful. Even so, alarm bells began to ring the moment he noticed the empty bed.

“You two said we were going for dinner! You promised we would only be ten minutes! I am not letting either of you leave me here like some forgotten creature! I-”

“Colonel…?” 

William quickly spun at the voice. A figure stood at the bathroom door.

He was on crutches to support his missing leg, and looked unwell, but it was Damien.

He was alive.

[megalony]

Let me love you- Part 11

This is the last part of my slow-burn Roger Taylor series, I have loved writing this series and I might just write one or two epilogue parts or follow-ons. I hope you have all enjoyed reading this series.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @rogahs-drowse

Summary: (Y/n), Brian’s younger sister, finds herself falling for Roger but he has a thing going on with someone he used to date. There is something off about his relationship with his ex and (Y/n) realises it is affecting Roger.

Warning: Mentions of drug use and past abuse.

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

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A certain level of surprise rose in Roger when his eyes locked onto those ruler-straight strands of blonde hair and piercing aqua blue eyes that now looked cold and fierce as opposed to warm and inviting.

Something inside him told him that she wouldn't turn up even though she had agreed to this meeting. Roger wouldn't have blamed Jo if she didn't turn up because this was a public place with eyes watching them. She couldn't hurt him here and her only manipulation could be through words. Roger had to meet her in a small cafe because he didn't dare go to her apartment in case he found himself trapped. Likewise, inviting her to his apartment didn't feel like a very safe tactic either.

He wanted to be somewhere that they could sit and talk in private but somewhere that he still had that security of other people being around and within eyesight in case something happened or went wrong.

Roger had everything sorted out in his head, he had thought about nothing else since being in the hospital. He knew that his relationship and any contact with Jo could not continue but he needed to have closure before he shut her out of his life for good.

No matter what Jo had done to Roger, she was still someone he thought he could rely on. She was still someone he had dated and had once loved, Roger was never going to accept what she had done to him but he was never going to be able to forget her or move on if he didn't know exactly what had happened and why. He needed this conversation more than he had ever wanted or needed anything else in his life.

"I thought you'd outgrown me?" Jo's words were cunning and slightly cruel as she used Roger's own words against him.

There was no expression or even any emotions on her face as she slowly sat down in front of him at the small table he had chosen at the back of the cafe. So they were out the way of the windows or the counter to give them more privacy to talk. She folded her arms on the table as her head ticked to the side, impatiently waiting for him to say something.

He didn't know if she was waiting for him to apologise for what he had said and accused her of the other day. Roger didn't know if she thought he was going to ask her if they could go back to how they were or that he still wanted to be friends. He wasn't even sure if she knew that he knew everything that she had done.

"I was wrong." Something in Roger seemed to snap when he watched her eyes widen in surprise as she looked like she wanted to smile but was refraining from doing so. "Outgrown was the wrong word, that implied that I needed you. I don't need you and I don't want you in my life." Outgrown implied that in the beginning, Roger had needed Jo when he didn't. He wanted her, but he never needed her. She made him need her, she made him rely on her and she manipulated him in order to do that so he would never want to leave her.

"Then why am I here?"

"Because I have to know if I'm right about what you've done." Roger knew he was grasping at straws with this conversation. Jo was never one for confrontation and if she felt like Roger was backing her into a corner she would either do the same to him or she would leave. She wasn't likely to admit what she did but Roger had to know.

He had his suspicions and he knew some of the things she had done but he was never going to be able to settle until he knew the truth. Roger was never going to fully move on from this or be able to move on with (Y/n) or anyone else if he still had worries and suspicions tying him back to Jo and to what he had gone through. Roger had a right to know what she had done to him and she should have the decency to tell him. He wasn't about to go and tell the police or record her confession, he just wanted to know for his own peace of mind.

A swarm of pain surged through him when Jo silently pushed herself to her feet, clearly about to leave him. When he saw the corner of her lips curving ever so slightly in the hint of a smile, Roger tightly grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. Almost causing her to fall onto the table but he didn't care, she couldn't walk away from him.

"You owe me this." He snapped the words in a harsh but whispered tone of voice so he didn't attract any unwanted attention. Roger knew that this would look like he was in the wrong and Jo could twist any situation to her advantage.

"I owe you?" She almost snorted as she laughed at his feeble attempt to get her to stay.

Letting go of her wrist, Roger pushed himself to his own feet and forced his palms down onto the table he was now leaning over. His face was close to her own which allowed her to see the anger and the fury building up behind his eyes.

"You've put me through Hell and back Jolene. I'm not going to go to the police and report you for what you've done to me so you should be grateful for that. You owe me for letting you walk free when all I'm asking is for the truth so God help me you will sit down and you will tell me the fucking truth!" Roger hissed the words in a snide tone as he bowed his head after he'd finished, trying to regain back his lost breath as he felt like screaming in anger.

Roger could go to the police, he could have her investigated for abuse and assault but he wasn't. He didn't want the fuss and the chaos of going through that even though part of him did want Jo to suffer. So he knew she had to be grateful for that and she owed him a lot for letting her walk free with no repercussions for what she had done to him.

A sigh of utter relief left Roger's lips when Jo said nothing but sat back down in her seat again. Her eyes burning with anger and what he thought was embarrassment as his own were fuelled by anger.

He sat back down, suddenly feeling drained but he was relieved it had worked. Roger was never stern or demanding with Jo, he was always submissive and always bowed down to her. She had never seen him put his foot down with her before which was something that was used to his advantage now in getting her to stay.

"When I took my insulin the other day, did you purposely swap out coffee cups around?" Roger asked the question calmly when he realised Jo wasn't simply going to open up and reveal all that she had done. She didn't know what Roger knew, she had no idea if he knew everything or simply knew very little or if he only had suspicions. She wasn't going to land herself in the dirt if she didn't have to.

"Why are you asking me this?" Her voice was low as she almost seemed like a scolded child that didn't know what they had done wrong. Or a child that was trying to change the subject and deflect what they had done.

Roger didn't need her to try and distract him or push away the subject and ignore the question. He wanted answers and then he would leave, he wasn't here for a confession he knew she wouldn't give and he wasn't here for her relatively stupid questions. Why would he ask her this other than to get the truth out of her? Why would Roger not want to know what had happened to him and all that she had done?

"I've known you for six years, Jolene and now I realise I don't know the girl sitting in front of me at all. I have to know the truth so I don't go insane so please, just answer the damn questions. This is for my peace of mind, not to get a confession for the police. Did you mean to give me an overdose of sugar?"

He wasn't secretly recording their conversation and he wasn't going to go to the police unless she threatened him or did something worse. So she could at least have the decency to answer his questions without quarrel and then they could both go their separate ways.

Jo didn't speak, she simply nodded her head before bowing her head down to face the table so she didn't have to deal with Roger's glare. But he wanted to grasp her chin and force her to look at him. He wanted her to see the look of pure hatred and pain in his eyes, he wanted Jo to see what she had done to him and how she had made him feel. She knew that doing that to him could have put him into a diabetic coma if he didn't get his levels back to normal or if no one had gotten to him in time. She had potentially risked his life because he told her he didn't want to know her anymore.

"I know it was you who burned me with those cigarettes, and I know that you gave me date rape drugs to make me blackout. Was that to hurt me or just to gain some kind of control over me?"

Roger wasn't stupid, he knew that Jo had given him those burns and he had never taken any other drugs so it had to be her giving him the date rape drugs found in his system at the hospital. But he could only thing that she did that just to hurt him or simply because she wanted to have that sense of control over him. Possibly because if he thought he was blacking out he would go to her for help or because he would take those drugs and be under her influence because he thought she was helping him.

"You let me look after you when you took them... you never wanted to leave me behind when you thought I was taking care of you or looking out for you."

It took the longest minute of Roger's life for Jo to finally give him an answer and he knew by the look on her face that she wasn't lying to him. He thought being around Jo when he went out drinking or took drugs would be safe because she would help him and make sure he was okay. He never thought she would be the danger. By her lack of response about the burns Roger simply had to guess that she did that because she had the control and the power to hurt him with the knowledge that in the morning he wouldn't remember it.

"Two weeks after we broke up, I started to get ill. You advised me to go to the doctor and you went with me when I did. I know I'm not diabetic, so did you tamper with my test results?"

As soon as the doctor told Roger yesterday that all the tests showed he wasn't diabetic, he had broken down in tears.

Jo had told Roger he should get checked out and she had been there with him when he did and when he did the urine sample for the tests. She also went with him to the hospital for a blood test. Either the doctors were very incompetent or Jo had added glucose to his urine sample and given him insulin so his blood test would show he had too much in his system.

Roger never thought that Jo would go to such a length, but it made sense. He started to feel sick and experience dizzy spells and feeling shakey not long after they broke up and it made him get closer to Jo because she had helped him. She then started helping him when he had been 'diagnosed' with diabetes so it made him rely on her and be closer to her when before they both knew he was about to start a new chapter of his life where Jo wasn't in it as much.

Jo had a look of horror on her face as her mouth opened but for a while, no words escaped. It was now clear to Roger that she thought she was getting away with making him think he was diabetic. Her face gave him all the answers he needed.

She saw that Roger was about to leave her and so she did something about it to make him stay.

"You were going to leave me-"

"So you decided to risk my life? Jolene, I've been dumped plenty of times before, but I never decided to put my ex at harm just to get closer to them. You may have just made me diabetic by doing that." Roger felt like his chest was expanding too much yet he couldn't seem to take in enough air at the same time.

Jo had caused him to take insulin when previously he didn't need it, she made his body rely on the insulin it was getting rather than producing it. His pancreas could have gone into failure or stopped working efficiently. Roger was now having to take medication for the next three months to see if his pancreas was going to cope without the insulin supplements.

If his pancreas couldn't cope now that it had already had four months of not working properly, then Roger may have to go back on insulin or have glucose supplements. Jo might have now made Roger diabetic by making him rely on the insulin he didn't need.

"I'm not going to tell anyone what you've done, but in return I want you completely out of my life. I don't want to see you again."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How do you feel?" (Y/n) smiled as Roger sat down next to her on the sofa in the back room of the studio that currently no one else was in at the moment. She hadn't seen Roger since he was discharged from the hospital three days ago and she had noticed he seemed rather agitated or even unsettled about something.

But today he was smiling at her and there was a bit more colour to his cheeks as he seemed very relaxed and possibly even content for the first time in a while.

"Much better."

Roger didn't feel completely better or invigorated or even uplifted, but he did feel free for the first time since being with Jo. He felt like now he was finally getting the chance to do what he wanted to do and to spread his own wings and be himself.

He knew that it was going to take time, Roger wasn't going to be able to look at his chest without thinking of Jo and seeing the scars she had left him with so he would never truly be able to get over her or what she had done. Roger also knew that if it turned out that he did now have diabetes because of what she had lied about, then he was going to always have that reminder of her and it was going to unsettle him. But for the time being, he was okay with trying to move on rather than forget.

He was moving on from taking his insulin and simply taking tablets to try and balance his sugar levels and keep his pancreas in working order. He wasn't thinking about what he was going to tell the boys when they realised he wasn't taking insulin now or what he would say if it turns out he wasn't diabetic after what Jo had put him through. Roger just knew they would help him through this and they would be fine with whenever he decided to talk.

"(Y/n)... I lied to you."

Roger didn't dare look up at her and see her expression change from that beautiful smile. He simply reached over and took her hand in his own, moving so he was a little bit closer to her so that their sides were touching. He felt relieved when (Y/n) didn't pull away from him, she simply tightened her hand around his own.

She had no idea what he was talking about but it was clear he was going to explain soon and she tried to think that by the way he didn't sound guilty or too worried that he hadn't lied about something major or something that he had done wrong to her.

"You asked me if someone was abusing me, and I said no. I should have said yes, but I didn't want to burden you or admit it."

(Y/n) bit down on her lower lip to try and stop the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes. Roger had seemed so sincere and so sure when he told her no one was hurting him. He was either a very convincing liar in that respect or he truly believed that no one was hurting him and that he was in no danger. Whatever the reasons were, Roger must have some intention of telling her about this now or in the future or he wouldn't have brought this up at all.

Roger finally turned his head to look at (Y/n) when she wrapped her free hand around his arm and propped her chin upon his shoulder. Trying her best to smile because he was opening up to her like she had wanted him to do from the beginning.

"I'm ready to talk about everything and be honest with you now because I really want to be with you... I, I just... if we do this, I think we're gonna have to take it slow- if you still want to be with me?" Roger's voice was timid as he realised (Y/n) might not want to be with him or put up with the baggage he was going to bring to this relationship. He would never want to be a burden and he realised he had messed her around a bit lately.

But he wasn't going to do that anymore, he was going to try his best to make this work of she still wanted it to and he was going to open up and tell her everything.

"Of course I want to be with you. I only ever want you to let me love you." (Y/n) moved her hand so she could cup his face before she slowly and tentatively pressed her lips to his own in a sweet kiss. She didn't care if Roger wanted to take things as slow as a snail's pace, as long as she could be with him and he wanted to be with her, she would do things any way he wanted.

Roger wasn't going to throw this away and he didn't want to ask (Y/n) if they could wait a while before dating because he knew time didn't always heal wounds and it could simply push them apart. Besides, Roger didn't need time away from (Y/n), he just needed things to progress a little slower than normal so he could heal and process everything.

"How about I take you on that date I promised you, tonight?"

(Y/n) only ever wanted Roger to let her love him.

[jingles--18]

Matt Casey Imagine #2

“Jack ass” you thought to yourself. Everyone was pissing you off today. Earlier you had an argument with your boyfriend Matt. You guys had been at Molly’s the previous night when you had decided to let off some steam. You had been going through a lot lately and unfortunately you’d never dealt with it properly. Until, you were three tequilas down alongside Stella. Although you weren’t a working member of the 51 fam, you had become very close with Stella and Sylvie.

Working as a vet had its downsides. Lately, your work has been filled with abuse cases and due to a puppy farm. You had reported it to your brother who worked in Intelligence. But his words were “there’s more important cases.” Three months of heavy cases had effected you emotionally and mentally. Growing up with two strong brothers you followed in their footsteps of not really talking about your emotions. When Matt came to pick you up from work he found you crouching in one of the kennels comforting a poorly dog. He saw you wipe your tears away and when he asked if you were okay you said your usual, “I’m fine”. He knew this wasn’t the case, but didn’t want to push you.

When you guys had gone into Molly’s he sat beside Kelly and you joined Stella and Sylvie who were already merry. At 11 Matt had suggested that you both head home but you weren’t having it, you still hadn’t drowned your sorrows. It escalated and Sylvie and Stella ended up convincing you to go home. The next morning was awkward to say the least with Matt. You ended up storming out still in a mood. The hangover only fuelled your pissed off mood. As you wandered around the city your mind took you to how horrible work had been and how you weren’t getting any help to stop what was going on. Then it dawned on you. Your work has a suspected address from where all the animals were coming from. So you nipped in and got the address. It was completely irrational but the state you were in, it made sense. If the police weren’t going to do anything, you were. So you headed up after picking your car up from your work, you took some medical supplies and crates. No one suspected anything as you often volunteered at the local dog shelter. But when they found out what happened next, they wished they had stopped you.

Five hours later you were stuck in Chicago Med with a broken arm and a head injury. You begged for your brother Will to not mention anything to Matt or Jay. But of course, Jay heard it over the radio. The door opened forcefully thanks to the pissed off Jay that barged through it.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” He shouted standing at the end of your bed.

Before you could even reply he shouted again, “How did you even think it would be okay to march up to an unknown farm on your own to try and rescue some dogs?”

“Well I got the address right, and there’s more than a puppy farm going on there Jay.” You spat back.

“And that’s my job to investigate (y/n)! Not yours! You could have got killed!” You heard his voice break at this point but it still didn’t make you regret your decision.

“If you had taken me seriously when I first told you then I wouldn’t have taken it into my own hands! Do you how many dogs I’ve had to put the sleep this week alone Jay? They’re being abused and taken advantage of for some money! Never mind the dog fighting and drugs that I saw up there! I did what I had to do. It’s gotten your attention now.” You shouted, getting emotional now.

He huffed as he sat down on the chair beside you, “You’re unbelievable. You know that? Anything could have happened to you. Matt was going insane when I phoned him. He should be here any-“

“Just as if my day couldn’t get any worse, I find out that my girlfriend goes on a one woman rampage to rescue stray dogs. Fights two men, knocks one out with a bit of wood and ends up being thrown down the stairs breaking her arm.” Matt stormed in and exploded, half angry, half relived that you were okay.

“It’s good to see you too,” you muttered back.

“Look, okay, I was maybe a bit irrational. But, I couldn’t take it. Knowing that there were these poor animals suffering and not one single person was going to do anything about it. I snapped! I had to stop this. I couldn’t put down one more of the poor dogs that animal control picked up and tell them that everything was going to be okay when it wasn’t. They all died! You are always telling me to stick up for the little people, but this time they were in dog form. I’m sorry if you didn’t like the way that I done it but it was the only way that I could think of.” By this point you didn’t know if you were angry, upset, tired or high from the medication. Both Jay and Matt looked at you realising just what you had been holding on too, instantly wanting to comfort you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously (y/n). I really am. But I’m just so glad that you’re okay.” Jay gave you a hug before leaving you guys too it.

Without a single word, Matt jumped up on the bed beside you, pulling you in for a hug and kissing you on the head.

“Please know that you can come to me about anything baby. Instead of holding it all in and trying to fight the world without back up. I would have sorted something out and helped. We fight the world together, that’s what I’m hear for.” You nodded whilst letting out the rest of your tears before snuggling into the warmth of your boyfriend.

He lay there, stroking your hair until you fell asleep thinking about how he loved your passion for animals and life in general. There in that moment, he knew that you were the only one for him. His little fighter.

[leagueofidiots]

People keep referencing the one chapter of you're NNWM, what happened??

Shigadabi, but my subconcious was shipping Spinnerdabi on main in retrospect/ Magnetmagic briefly

Song fic for Billie Eillish's Listen Before I Go

Last two chapters, needs a little context, but all the important stuff is explained

I'll also include the chapter after because I'd feel bad if I didn't

WARNING!! I'M VERY SERIOUS!! THERE IS A SUICIDE ATTEMPT HERE!! I EVEN TRIGGERED MYSELF WHILE WRITING THIS, AND THAT IS VERY RARE!! BE SMARTER THAN ME, AND MAKE SURE YOU'RE NOT SITTING ALONE IN A DARK HOUSE AFTER SKIPPING TWO MEALS!! HUG A PILLOW!! GET SOME WATER!! BE CAREFUL!! 💜

•Take me to the rooftop•

Tomura's asleep next to me, face still turned up to the stars. We've been up here for about two hours, but he finally fell asleep.

The promised celebration was nice. We had it as soon as I was well enough to be close to normal as I could, which only took about a week. They learned how to make a few things from what Hawks gave us before the battle, which I ended up eating some of to make them happy.

They did end up having to take me to Ujiko. My burns spread, now uneven again. He says he'll bring my aesthetic back next time I go in to get my staples fixed. I agreed. There will be no next time, after all.

•I wanna see the world when I stop breathing, turning blue•

After Tomura brought me up here, we simply talked. No unnecessary emotional dumps. No tears. No drama. Just simple things.

And now he lies next to me, a bandage he tied around his pinkie allowing him to grasp my hand in his own. It's nice, I'll admit. Breathing in the cool air as I sense his every small movement.

The stars are beautiful tonight. We snuffed the flame of our lantern, though that was nice too, just to see them better. The city lights make it so there aren't many, but it's still a good night for the sky.

•Tell me love is endless, don't be so pretentious•

Careful not to wake him, I carefully pry my hand from my boyfriend's. I'll do what I need to do, but I'd rather him not be awake for this. It's my time, no matter what.

I'm ready for the end, and apparently whoever it is that decides my fate agrees. All I can hope for is that Tomura doesn't blame himself when they find me dead on the sidewalk tomorrow.

What will they do? At least I'm not their leader, but I do still have an influence on the league. Even as useless as I am now, surely they'll still react.

Standing at the edge. It's coming. The end of it all. I'll never have to think about any of it ever again. The brutal training my father put me through. My mother going insane. Burning. Ujiko's experiments. The streets practically eating me alive. Giran's guidance into crime. Killing my father only a week ago.

•Leave me like you do•

The news has been all over the case. Endeavor and Hawks found dead. Witnesses say it was Dabi that killed them. Both burnt to a crisp, Hawks with half-grown-in wings.

Dabi's body hasn't been found, not even a trace. They think he might have burned too, that the black and purple flames seen from outside the wall of blue may have consumed him entirely, taking even his ashes with him.

•If you need me, wanna see me•

And they're right. Dabi's dead. Lost in the flames. Dabi carried rage and purpose, and all he stood for was taken with my piercings and my skin.

Touya died with his innocence, along with his weakness. And now Dabi has followed with all of his anger. Everything that fuelled him, that kept him going, is gone now. So now I am nameless.

•Better hurry 'cause I'm leaving soon•

I wonder what they'll do when I'm really dead. Will the news care? Or will it just pass by like anything else?

They certainly care about the rest of the Todorokis. The thoughts of my mother and siblings make more sense to me than my own at this point.

Rei Todoroki. Wife of Enji Todoroki. Recently released from the mental asylum. Deep in grief. She's planning the funeral for a month from the day of his death. Their deaths. She's set up a shrine for her late husband next to the front door, though reports say it's more for his identity as a hero than the shrine for her son.

•Sorry can't save me now•

Fuyumi Todoroki. The daughter of Enji Todoroki. She says she can't grasp that her brother is dead. She says she feels it in her soul that he isn't. That it's freeing, her father's death.

•Sorry I don't know how•

Natsuo Todoroki. The son of Enji Todoroki. He's avoided all reporters. Hasn't left his room since getting the news. His family says that he and Touya Todoroki used to be close, and Natsuo was elated to hear he wasn't dead. All that is gone now. That his only consolation is that his family is safe from the pro hero.

•Sorry there's no way out•

Shoto Todoroki. Son of Enji Todoroki. He's been busy with school, so not a lot of reporters have been able to talk to him, but his grades are suffering. UA is considering making him take a year off to focus on his mental health.

•But down•

The family as a whole is in general agreement. It's a tragedy to them. Both deaths. And while Endeavor may have had a negative influence on them in life, and they feel safer with him gone, they still mourn his death.

And while it's a painful blow that Touya has died again as Dabi, it is also a good thing. He had turned villain after all. It's for the best.

Well, I guess they'll really get what they wanted. Touya, Dabi, and whoever I am now are about to be long gone.

•Down•

What were my last moments with each of them? I want to think of each of them before I go. I at least owe each of them a thought.

•Taste me, these salty tears on my cheeks•

Start easy. Eri and Butt. They were together on the couch, weren't they? Yeah.

Eri was tired. Once it hit around nine, she lay down on the couch, calling up the dog to curl up next to each other. There was almost a smile on her face as she drifted off, and Compress carried her in.

•That's what a year-long headache does to you•

Hawks. He had done things, after all. And it was my fault he was gone. Even if he was a traitor, he still did the best that a pro hero could do. It's not him I'm mad at. Was mad at.

His last moment was spent trying to get Endeavor to stop. For legal reasons, surely not because he cared at all. And then my father just had to burn him up, like everyone else in his way.

•I'm not okay, I feel so scattered•

Compress. Where had he been?

His date with Magne had been postponed once I ended up injured. He'd said I was more important. Like I had any importance. After he'd taken Eri to her room, he'd gone to bed, saying he wanted to rest for the date.

I wonder if they'll move it again when they find me? I hope not.

•Don't say I'm all that matters•

Kurogiri. Tomura was right, he really is good.

His last action towards me was pretty simple. Before he went to bed, he gave me a pack of beers that we'd ended up taking to the roof. Told me not to drink too much.

I probably should have respected that wish more. I'm on my fifth can. I don't regret it though.

•Leave me, déjà vu•

Spinner.

His last action hadn't been anything much. Just said good night. Still, before that he'd told me off to the side how proud he was of how much of their food I'd eaten.

•If you need me, wanna see me•

Magne. Bless her, I wish I'd said goodbye to them.

Tonight she was having problems with her stomach, so she spent her evening in her room. The last I saw of her was her smile as we did each others' eye liner.

She was very helpful during my healing process. Brought me the closest to normal out of anyone.

•You better hurry, I'm leaving soon•

Toga. What will Toga think of me when she sees? Will she hate me?

Toga spent most of her time singing karaoke with Jin. My final memory of her is the sound of her cheery voice as she spun around, nearly forcing her hairbrush down her throat as a makeshift microphone.

What was the song? I wasn't listening. I wish I had been so I could hum it to myself now.

•Sorry can't save me now•

Jin. I'm a terrible person.

After most people had gone to bed, he'd pulled me aside. Asked if I was okay. That it was okay if I wasn't. And you know what I did?

I lied.

And he'd smiled. Like I'd said something amazing. And he spent the next five minutes saying how happy he was that I was happy.

He'll definitely hate me when he finds me.

•Sorry I don't know how•

And Tomura.

Tomura.

Before he'd slept, he'd looked me straight in the eye, my hand closed gently in his, and he'd said he loved me. That he needed me.

I'm so selfish.

His red eyes shone beautifully as he'd said it, filling me with butterflies. They'd died as soon as he broke eye contact, but it was the first thing I'd felt since the attack.

I'd told him that I needed him too.

•Sorry there's no way out•

I'm glad I saw them all. That I can recall what our final words were. Their last smiles at me. That I can picture them all in my mind. It'll help me when it's time.

There's no way I'd be strong enough without it. Even now, a foot away from the ledge, I'm scared. The end.

•But down•

The end has always been a comfort. Something to look forward to. Whenever my head got dark, and I couldn't see a way out, I just reminded myself that there was an end that drew closer with every second.

•Down•

And here it is. Waiting for me a short drop and a few seconds away. Since getting up has already felt like an eternity, but the six steps from where I started aren't that far compared to the path of life I've been lost on for so long.

•Call my friends and tell them that I love them•

The league helped me find it. Find life. They showed me where I was, and they've led me to this point. I'll have to thank them when we all end up dead and I see them again. If I see them again.

•And I'll miss them•

Even before Shigaraki bribed us with those dumb gifts to stay in the bar and treat it like a home, I considered them a safe place. Safer anyway.

•But I'm not sorry•

And they kept me on the path I needed to be on. Kept me alive. For the most part, kept my additional burns to a minimum.

The streets never did that. They left me to defend those younger than me, even if only by a few years, at the cost of my life if need be.

•Call my friends and tell them that I love them•

If not for the league, if not for seeing that newscast when I did, Endeavor would still be alive and active as a hero. Life would still be a spiral with no clear end in sight.

•And I'll miss them•

I step onto the edge of the roof, looking down at the end. Like in storybooks. The villain dies, and they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

•Sorry•

I drape one leg over, closing my eyes. I'm ready for it. My ending. I lean forward.

And just as my eyes snap open and a feeling of paralyzing panic fills me with regret, it happens.

A hand, one finger bandaged, reaches out and grabs my wrist, leaving me dangling by a foot and an arm off the roof of the bar.

Shigaraki's arms feel strong. So strong compared to me. After he caught me, he didn't waste a second getting me down from the roof. I can't say I wanted to stay up there.

My whole life led up to that moment. Everything I went through was just to end it all. And then I didn't want to. Right at the last second. Is that weakness?

Shigaraki's heavy breathing of panic and sobs managed to wake somebody up, and eventually they've all filed out to the scene of the two of us sitting on the floor, Tomura holding onto me tightly, my sight fixed firmly into the distance.

"Shiggy, what's wrong?" asks Magne, rubbing her eyes. 

He doesn't answer, still clutching onto me, and I can't find it in myself to answer. "Be careful of Dabi's burns," warns Kurogiri.

I can't feel them. Even if I could, I don't think I'd care. He's anchoring me, and right now I desperately need that hold on reality. Still, he loosens his death grip.

"Did something happen?" asks Spinner, his hair cascading around his face.

"Well obviously something happened. No, they look peachy!" Jin plops down in front of us. "Dabi, did you…?"

I finally snap my gaze to him, staring at his masked face. "I'm sorry, Bubaigawara, I just---" 

His arms wrap around me too, pressing my face into his shoulder. "You don't have to be sorry," he says in a broken voice. I wait for his contradiction, but it doesn't come.

I hear Compress kneel behind us, pressing his hand on Shigaraki's shoulder. "He's okay, Tomura. We'll look out for him."

My boyfriend's body shakes, his available fingernails digging into my chest through the front of my shirt. "Dabi, please don't, please, you said you loved me, please don't leave me," says his quiet voice.

I feel awful. I hurt him for nothing. And Jin. And I can feel in the air that the rest of the league is slowly figuring it out too. It didn't even come to anything but hurt.

"Dabi, I swear, you need to stop being so blind," says Toga, sitting behind Twice. "You know that we love you, right?"

"I know," I whisper. "I know. I'm sorry."

Kurogiri sits to the side of me Tomura doesn't take up. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. You just wanted the easy way out of your suffering. There's nothing so terrible about wanting it to stop. I just hope you'll learn someday that we can help you end it in a way that will let you keep going after that."

I nod, reaching up one of my hands to place over Tomura's. Geez, I'm crying. Again.

"And even if it's selfish of us," says Magne, sitting herself next to Shigaraki. "You're good to have around. And not just for your quirk, either, so don't start that nonsense again."

Tomura grabs my straying hand. "Don't you ever pull that crap again."

I squeeze his hand. "I won't. I swear. Thank you for catching me." And I mean it. There's something in me now that I think I've been stuffing down.

I love these people. And while it does scare me because of all that's happened with those I've loved and trusted before, I don't think it'll end like that this time. I love them. And I want to keep going, even if for a while it's only because I have them, that's okay.

I love them enough that I want to keep living. To keep trying. Past all the pain.

"I wish you'd told us before now," says Spinner, tying his hair back to keep it out of his eyes. "Maybe we could have helped before it got to this."

"No, I knew," says Twice, face still pressed into my shirt, dampening it with his hot tears. "I knew, and all I did was give him a little slap on the wrist. You people are just blind!"

"No," I say, bringing my other hand to his back. "It's not any of your faults. If anything, you guys already helped a lot. Please don't blame yourselves for this."

Magne ruffles my hair gently. "It's nobody's fault. Sometimes things are just like that. What's important is that you're still here with us, and nobody got hurt."

"Did you want to talk about it?" asks Kurogiri.

I shake my head. "Nothing new. I just had it set in my mind as the only option. It got to be too much a while ago, and that's what I decided, so then once Endeavor was dead...I just sort of went on auto-pilot."

Toga smiles at me faintly. "Well, don't worry about it. Just a week ago I killed a guy on a whim; we all do weird stuff sometimes. That was a bad example, huh?"

Shigaraki grunts. "It kind of was. I'm in a weird mood though, so I'll allow it."

The next hour is spent in silence as Tomura cries the rest of his feelings out and we simply sit in the bar. It's not the same, but it's good. I feel lighter.

The next day brings awkwardness and hangovers, but it really doesn't matter. We're all just sort of happy to be around each other. Grateful.

Magne and Compress do end up going on that date, and they end up having a lot of fun apparently. Whatever Sako did must have been very impressive, with the amount of blushing Kenji was doing when they came back.

Tomura and I go on an official date too, a few days later. It's very nice. I really do love him.

And now, it doesn't really matter what we're doing as a group, or where or next mission will take us, because regardless of whatever it is, we're doing it together. And really, that's all I've ever wanted in a family.

[foxwatchesanime]

How I stopped caring about comments: A rambly post by me

This is rambly so hold onto your seats, I apologies. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about comment/review culture in the last few months, particularly after returning to a brand new fandom as a writer and regular content creator. Maybe this is something I’ve been thinking about for a while, maybe not, but I wanted to share my thoughts on the way I perceive comments, how it’s changed for me since I’ve been in fandom and I’d love to hear from other people what their opinion is and how they relate to comments on their work.

I’ve been creating content in fandom spaces for about eleven years now. I started out on YouTube when I joined my first fandom, Merlin, and I made my first fanvideos in 2009. In December of 2009, I published my first fanfiction, plus one sequel which remains unfinished as well as a few other smaller projects. In October of 2010, I published my first podfic and would go on to publish two more. My focus in fandom had always been YouTube, where I regularly created fanvideos. My schedule was never consistent, as with most vidders back in the day, but I’d be comfortable in saying I posted regularly discounting three unintentional hiatuses, one in 2013 following the Merlin finale, one in 2015 probably due to a lack of inspiration and one in 2017 after what I was sure was going to be my permanent comeback to YouTube, only for my hard drive to break and delete all my footage yeeeeeey. 

I’ve now made an actual, official return to my original platform, this time creating videos for my new passion and fandom: anime. Since February of 2020 I’ve also been regularly publishing fic and have no desire to stop doing so. I’m thoroughly invested in new fandom spaces again and am engaging with its fans and the content. 

But the one thing I have seen change drastically in my approach to things is commenting, following and general engagement. 

Let’s take a step back. 

When I first started posting content, comments were not something I even had in my consciousness. I think I knew YouTube comments existed, but I didn’t really pay attention to it. I didn’t even know what subscribers were until I started hearing other people talk about them and then I suddenly felt like it’s something I should be keeping an eye on myself. 

In a centuries old vlog of mine that is now private on my channel, I noticed that when I hit 100 subscribers, I made a video thanking everyone because I was so excited that with more subscribers, I was going to “make more friends.” Oh dear xD 

But the truth is, I have been consistently and chronically bad at keeping up with or caring about the analytics of my various platforms. It wasn’t till writing this post today that I went to check my FF.net account to see how many comments my first two Merlin fics ever got. I still couldn’t tell you my exact number of YouTube or Ao3 subscribers, how many hits or kudos my fic have and I don’t think I’ve ever checked my bookmarks for notes, or whatever you’re able to leave on there. 

Commenting culture on YouTube, for all my joking earlier, was primarily about connection, at least back then. Most of the old guard have moved on and those who have remained are now vidding in other fandoms. The social aspect of YouTube in my opinion has changed dramatically since I was at my peak output on there, but I remember how interactive the comments sections used to be. They literally were, where you made friends.  

A couple of years ago, me and a friend of mine started a Merlin podcast called Merlisten. We created it for fun and without many expectations of what might come out of it. And it was this that changed my relationship with commenting for good. 

Doing Merlisten felt, for the first time in a long time, like pure creativity and passion without anyone’s permission. We always encouraged people to leave feedback as one does, but I don’t think either of us expected to get much, if any. Even considering the incredible support we’ve received with feedback coming in almost every single episode now, there is still a clear and overwhelming gap between the amount of comments given to an episode of Merlisten, to one of my old fanvids or fics. It’s even more interesting when one considers how much more effort and time went into creating Merlisten compared to say, editing or writing, at least for me personally. The amount of man hours spent on creating one 2.5 hour episode from pre-production to final posting often outweighs any other video or chapter I’ve created. Not always, but often. 

What struck me as interesting, however, was that even though comments weren’t always consistent and I always love and continue to love reading them, it’s not what was fuelling me to work hard on this project. I was doing it because I adored it and I knew it was something I was proud to put into the world. 

And that literally changed everything.

I think for a long time, I was always trying to cater my art to what might get the most attention or please the widest demographic of people. It’s how you think when you’re young and you don’t know any better. But for the first time, I was creating something on my own terms that I had no idea if anyone would even listen to and the actual creative process of making said art was ten times more rewarding than any single comment I could ever read. Which really, what I realised, is what art is supposed to be. I can safely say that if Merlisten didn’t get a single comment from here on in, I would still want to see it to its conclusion for one very simple reason: Because I had something to share. 

This brings me to my recent return to writing fic in fandom and it’s not a decision I’ve regretted for a second. More than anything, I’ve realised how personal art can really be, especially when it’s in writing. I’ve found it revealing and cathartic and fascinating in a way that I didn’t ever imagine.

But more importantly, I’ve realised that the real beauty for me in engaging in art is the ability to get an emotional response from it or to relate to it. And that goes for both other people’s work and my own. I can feel just as invested in my own work as someone else’s and that’s not because I think my work is amazing, it’s because I know it’s come from something that was living in me. When I put something out there that I made with my own two hands, that feeling now trumps any sort of feedback I could possibly get and that’s the endorphin I live off. 

Don’t mistake this for me not liking comments, that’s obviously not true. My brain gets the same dopamine hit as anyone’s when I get a notification for something or other, but I’ve realised that I have a very specific relationship with comments that I definitely didn’t have before, if my requests for review on FF.net is anything to go by.

Now, what I find exciting and thrilling is the thought that, if writing this fic got this sort of emotional response out of me, the writer, I wonder if there are other people out there who think the same way I do? Who have a similar way of experiencing joy or suffering or humour or who like the same things as me? That, is an insanely invigorating feeling. And then when someone chooses to take time out of their day to tell you that what came from your head is the same sort of way they feel about life? That’s not a comment, that’s not feedback, that’s a connection you have with another person. And that’s where I start to get excited. And it’s taken me this fucking long to realise it. 

Honestly, I was really worried upon returning to writing and vidding this year that my experience working in digital marketing, where everything is about numbers and social media is all about engagement and nothing else, that I would be overwhelmed and not be able to switch off the part of my brain that’s been trained to think like that. I’m so relieved that that’s not the case. 

As previously mentioned, I suck at giving a shit about analytics and looking at my own stats. I couldn’t give a flying fuck. But I did just go and check my YouTube videos since returning back to vidding. Not a single one of them has views over 200 at this point. Most have less than 100. My most viewed video on YouTube has 57,000 views. And the thing is, there might have been a time when I looked at that and thought, well, this means I suck. This means I can’t make art. This means there’s no point to it.

But no, that's not true.

The point is not how many people see it, how many people like it, how many people comment on it. The point is that I made it. I’m going to continue making YouTube videos despite the fact that the algorithm will destroy any chances they have at getting engagement or views. Even if not one single person comments on them. Because when I’ve finally rendered a new video, or finished proof reading a new chapter, I feel so fucking happy that everything else is just window dressing to me now. 

Because not only is online engagement and following such a stab in the dark these days anyway with algorithms changing and trends moving constantly, but this is the real truth about comments, following and feedback:

The truth is, I don’t need a stranger on the internet to praise me so that I can feel good about my art. The day that I start doing that, I’ve already lost. I used to think that way on a regular basis. Guess what, it didn’t make me produce better art. It didn’t make my life better. Because being validated by others never does. It doesn’t matter how many keysmashes I might get or how many sonnets or kind words, because If I don’t like what I create, there isn’t a single human being on the planet who will make me like it, no matter what they say or how they say it. For others, this might not be the case. But this is my reality. 

I know this, because I recently speed-wrote and published a fic for a fanweek. I wrote 13k in about 8hrs. So far, it’s received nothing but positive words. But it doesn’t matter. After I published it, I had a crisis about how it wasn’t good enough, that there should have been an extra arc, that it ended too quickly, that there wasn’t a climax. Even as the comments came in, it didn’t change my mind. Because other people’s comments will never really lead to fulfilment. 

I want you all to know that I get emotional over every single comment that is sent to me. Every personal story, ever keysmash and heartfelt thoughtful message that took the time to analyse my work. Connecting with you guys has been one of the biggest joys of entering this fandom. But it’s not going to be what fuels me to create and to carry on doing the best work I can. All I can do is treat it as the wonderful privilege that it is, and not any part of the reason I do it.  

In conclusion:

Finally, at age 27 and in the midst of enjoying fandom after a very long period of being either meh about it or lurking, I finally feel content with the fact that I want to create in order to put things out into the world that I worked hard on, that I’m passionate about and that hopefully, in whatever way it might be, it might have touched someone who feels the same things too. It makes me feel accomplished, it makes me feel like I might be contributing something small to the world and it makes me feel like maybe one other person was made happy by it. And even if they never tell me that and if no one else ever comments on what I create, or even if they comment on it in spaces that I never see; private servers, chats between friends or blogs that I don’t follow, that’s also fine. Because there’s always at least one person who is going to feel happy that she made something. And that’s me. 

The short version: I never used to care about comments, then I did, and now I no longer do. 

Sorry for the ramble, but I wanted this here for myself to look back upon in case my opinion ever changes on this or I ever start to lose my way again and feel overwhelmed. I’d love to hear your guys’ experiences with this sort of thing and whether you’ve ever felt bogged down by the need for feedback.

[fandom-queenliness]

The Breaking Part 2: Chloe

This is Part 4 of my Burning series, you can read the rest of it here. 

So originally I was just intending to have Nino, Kagami and Chloe’s confrontation in one part but then they started getting too long and... yeah. I’ll be doing Kagami’s bit next and then Nino’s, and then it’s Felix/Satisfied!

Anyway, enjoy!

The Breaking: part 2

Chloe arrived at Marinette’s house first, jumping out of the limo before her chauffeur had even finished parking. Worry was clogging up her throat and making it hard to breathe, destroying everything else.

“Wait for me,” she snapped to the driver, not even looking at him before she was running for the house. In seconds she was at the front door, poised to knock when she heard her name being called. She turned to see Kagami, Alya, and Nino each stepping out of their cars.

Some part of Chloe was glad to see the fire in their eyes. Adrien would hurt, she was sure of it. They would make sure of it. No words were necessary, all it took was one glance between them and they knew they were in this together.

“I haven’t knocked yet,” she told them. Kagami nodded to her, hands curled into fists, expression stony.

Alya ignored them and hurried up the stairs, panic written across her face. “Marinette!” She pounded on the door frantically. “Marinette let us in!”

“Alya, your key,” reminded Nino. His eyes were red and puffy. Chloe knew her eyes were similar. They loved Adrien the most, they felt the most betrayed. She touched his arm and he looked to her brokenly.

“We’ll make him pay,” she told him fiercely.

His face hardened. “You’re damn right we will.”

Alya pulled out her key just as the door opened. They all froze, staring at Marinette, standing before them in her pyjamas, her blue eyes flooded with tears.

Her face pale, expression lost, and heartbroken, and angry, and desperate all at once. It was like a knife right to Chloe’s gut.

“He lied,” she whispered, her only greeting.

The four of them just stared at her in fear, suddenly unsure what to say. What could they say after all, that they understood? Even Chloe’s hurt was nothing compared to Marinette’s.

“We know,” Kagami replied softly, eyes pained. “We do not stand with him.”

Marinette nodded. Suddenly she spasmed and clutched at her chest, sobs racking her body, tearing her voice apart. Heartbreak is what flashed through Chloe’s mind before the anxiety set in.

Alya darted forward, catching Marinette in her arms and hugging her closely. “We’re here girl,” she murmured, “we’re here.”

Marinette clutched at her best friend, sobbing into her shoulder. “He lied, he lied to me Alya. He promised he would love me, he promised he would never do anything to hurt this family, and he… and he—he—” she broke down again, such heart-wrenching sobs that Nino looked away, his own eyes welling up.

“Marinette,” Kagami asked quietly, “where are Emma and Hugo?” Chloe startled. She had forgotten them. Were they scared, worried for their mother? God knew Chloe was.

“They’re in my room,” Marinette whispered brokenly. “We were sleeping in, they slept with me last night. We were talking about having a picnic when Adrien came home. Th—the news came on and they didn’t understand why I was crying.” Her breath hitched. “They kept asking me questions, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t look at them. All I could see was Adrien holding that woman, lying to me.” She took a deep breath. “I told them to wait on my bed until my parents came to pick them up. I called them…”

Chloe pressed a hand to her mouth and looked away from her friend’s lost expression, so blank yet devastated at the same time. Her kids didn’t even understand. Hugo was only just learning to talk, and his family was falling apart.

Nino touched Mari’s arm. “I’m going to get them, okay Mari?”

She just stared at him with wide blue eyes from over Alya’s shoulder. “I can’t explain what he did to them Nino,” she whispered. “How can I tell them that their father is a liar and a bastard?”

“You don’t,” Kagami said, voice firm. “You let him break their faith in him. He should be the one to see their trust drain away when he tells them he hurt you.”

Marinette nodded and straightened, but her face was still pale and tearstained. “My parents will be here in five minutes. Nino…” she trailed off and new tears spilled from her eyes. “Thank you.”

Chloe knew there was more behind that thank you. More than thanks for getting her kids. It was: Thank you for standing by me, thank you for being here when I know you still love Adrien.

Marinette met Chloe gaze and reach out a hand. Chloe took it, tearing up too. They would deal with this, they had each other.

“I’m going to…” Marinette stared at the stairs. “I’ll get them. I need to see my children.”

Nino took her hand gently. “They’ll be okay, Nette.”

She just shook her head. “I don’t know if any of us will be okay.”

She walked up the stairs alone, the four friends watched them go.

Once they were out of sight Kagami turned and stalked for the door. “I am going to kill that filthy—”

“Wait.” Alya held a hand up. A hateful glimmer appeared in her eye. “We all want to hurt Adrien, right?”

Kagami, Nino and Chloe looked to each other, then to Alya and nodded.

The other woman smiled cruelly. “Well, let’s not rush into this. He lied to Marinette for sixteen months, why not make his suffering last a while?”

Chloe hesitated. The offer was tempting, but could she stand to hurt her friend in the way Alya was planning?

Marinette’s tearful face flashed before her eyes and she knew the answer was yes.

“What do you have in mind?” Kagami asked.

“We hit him where he hurts,” Alya told them. “Make sure that everyone he holds dear drives home every mistake he has made. Tell him every fault he has. Tell him just how much we hate him now. I think Chloe would be great to start us off.”

“Me?” To hurt Adrien was one thing, to start of the crusade was another.

“Think about it, his oldest friend being the first to come and show him just how badly he fucked up.” Alya’s eyes flashed. “Then Kagami to cut off any hope for forgiveness with a little bit of violence thrown in, followed by Nino to finish off his friendships. I’ll have my turn next, and I’ll make sure Felix will be there to hit him just before Marinette. Poetic, isn’t it?”

“Are you sure Alya?” Nino’s voice hitched just a bit.

Kagami flashed a glare at him. “Nothing will ever be enough punishment for what he has done to her. You saw her, she’s heartbroken.”

Nino hesitated then nodded slowly. “Okay,” he whispered.

Alya touched his arm briefly before locking eyes with Chloe. “You’re up first. Are you sure you can do this?”

Chloe looked down at her hands, clutched in front of her. On one wrist she wore the handmade bracelet Marinette had given her as a birthday present, the other was bare.

She looked to Alya and tilted her chin up. “Yes.”

“You three go to the Gabriel building, I’m going to stay here with Marinette.” Alya’s eyes froze over. “Make him hurt.”

Chloe felt her old self – her cruel self – slip up from the bottom of her heart, from that hidden chamber she had locked it up in. But instead of being fuelled by hate and insecurity her cruelty had Marinette’s tears to avenge. Her lips curled into a smile.

“With pleasure.”

Adrien stared down at his phone and winced from all the calls and texts he was getting. In the wake of his confession, it had been blowing up.

     Alix: You’re a dead man Agreste

     Mylene: How could you hurt Marinette like this!?

     Rose: I want to believe the best in people, but I don’t think I can forgive this.

     Nathaniel: What were you thinking?! You had Marinette and you do this? Fuck you Agreste.

     Kim: You’re going to regret the day you were born

More messages and calls showed up and he turned his phone off with a sigh. They would understand, eventually. They all would. He knew it.

“Mr. Agreste.” The voice of his assistant through the intercom was sharp and cold. He knew it was because of his confession. Not everyone could see that it was necessary.

“Yes?” he asked tiredly. What now?

“Miss Bourgeois is here to see you.”

“Oh thank god.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. Chloe would back him up. She knew the perils of fame. She would be there for him. “Send her up.”

Within moments of speaking with Adrien’s assistant, Chloe was in his office, keeping her expression carefully blank. Anger tugged at her attention, begging to be let out. She kept tight hold of it. First, she wanted to see Adrien.

He took one look at her and beamed. “Chloe!” He didn’t even pause before he hugged her. It threw her off, she was always the one to hug him.

He’s trying to win me over, she realised. Loathing built up in her heart.

Adrien babbled to her, holding her arms ignorant of her glare. “Chloe! Oh thank you, you won’t believe what people are saying. It’s insane. Everyone from Lychee are calling over the interview—even Sabrina! But you understand, don’t you?” He smiled at her expectantly

Her lips thinned into a smile she hadn’t worn since a teenager, the smile she wore when she was about to ruin some kid’s life.

“Oh Adrien,” she cooed. “How sweet, you think I’m here to support you. Because of what? Some friendship that I practically had to beg you for?” She cackled and moved out of arms. He let them drop in shock.

“Chloe?” he asked nervously.

“An affair, jeez, and I thought I was cruel. But then again, you always had a knack for hurting people and thinking it was alright.” She had slipped into another person entirely, someone that revelled in the stunned and hurt look on Adrien’s face, or was that just her anger over Marinette’s pain?

She walked over to his desk, eyeing the photos littering it. “You were always so good at fooling people into thinking you were good, much better than me, but you failed this time Adrien. You fucked up on a giant scale, and now you expect me to forgive you?” She looked over her shoulder and fixed him with a fake smile. “I can forgive a lot of things, but an affair?” She leaned against the desk and crossed her arms. “No one is going to side with you, Adrien. Least of all me. You cheated on Marinette, you hurt her. You ruined your marriage.”

Adrien was getting over his shock quickly, a defensive expression taking over his face. “She’ll forgive me,” he snapped. “She’ll see how sorry I am.”

Rage boiled in her blood and she grinned to cover it. “That’s cute. You think this is like all those other fights you two have? Where you push just right and convince her you were right, and she was wrong for even getting mad? Don’t be ridiculous!” Her laughter rang through the office like bells, loud and echoing. “This is an affair. Grounds for divorce. People don’t just forgive those Adrikins.” He flinched at the nickname and she relished in it. “Oh, you can peddle all types of stories to the press, but anyone who knows you won’t believe a damn thing you say. You lied to them all for sixteen months.”

“I—I had to!” Adrien argued.

“Of course you did, you always have a reason,” Chloe said bitterly. “‘I had to Chloe, trust me’,” she mimicked. “Well no more, Adrien. I’m not listening to you anymore. You will never have my trust again.”

Adrien’s eyes widened and he stepped back. “Chloe, I…”

She rolled her eyes at his hesitation and continued. “Marinette has my trust, she has my love, my friendship, my support. And you no longer will.” She stared at him with conflict in her heart. She loved him, but she could not forgive him. Nor could she let him go unpunished.

“Marinette is my friend, and for you to think I would side with you over her is ridiculous. To think anyone will is stupidity I didn’t think you were capable of. But I guess I was wrong.” Chloe spread her arms and smirked. “Look around, is anyone here to defend you? They all love Marinette, and you are just her husband. Her husband who hurt her.” She stood and sashayed over to him, leaning in close. “I’m your oldest friend, and even I won’t stand with you. What makes you think anyone else will?”

“There are others,” he hissed, turning his head to her, eyes narrowed. She smiled to see the boy she knew had lived deep under his sunshine façade. His cruel, defensive, angry side. They both had one, she had just worn her openly, and grown out of it.

“I have other friends,” he told her with a vindictive smile. “I don’t need you. I never needed you, Chloe, you had always needed me.”

“Oh really?” She leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, “Does it look like I need you now?”

Anger flashed through his eyes and he snapped his eyes away from her.

Chloe moved back and walked over to his desk again. She picked up a picture of Marinette, her hands shaking with hate. How dare he have a picture of her when all he had done was hurt her.

“I love Marinette. She has always been a better friend than you,” she murmured. Adrien stiffened behind her. “I’m not the only one who thinks so. People get tired of your bullshit after a while. I know I did. And this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.” Her fingers turned white from gripping the photo. “Just wait and see who comes to your aid. I wouldn’t have much hope if I was you. After all,” she drawled, meeting his furious green eyes. “You fucked up pretty badly.”

She set the photo back where it was and walked to the door. Adrien whipped around and glared at her.

“Go ahead!” He shouted. “Go run off to Sabrina. Go think you’re the righteous warrior defending Marinette. You’re not, you’re just being cruel like you were in College. Marinette will forgive me.” His words were smug, sure and certain. Chloe grinned to think of the shock he was going to get.

“You’re not my only friend, Chloe,” Adrien told her. “I have others. They are true friends and they will understand.”

She turned around, meeting his gaze tiredly. He may have been her oldest friend, but this was long past due. “I love you Adrien, but I will not by your defender any longer, and I don’t know if I can be your friend either.”

His eyes flew open in surprise. “Wh—what?” He spluttered for a moment, stunned, before pausing. He studied her for a moment before snorting. “Yeah, right. I’ll see you later Chloe.” He waved her away.

She stared him down. “I’m not kidding Adrien. I stand with Marinette. We all do. You no longer have a place with us.”

His amusement drained away. Adrien crossed his arms and glared icily. “Get out.”

She didn’t move. “You know, once I may have forgiven you for cheating,” she told him, fingering her friendship bracelet. “Maybe I would have forgiven it all, stayed with you. Defended you from everyone, sacrificed all my friendships for you. But I know better now.” With a quiet exhale, she let her anger loose, let it fill her up like oxygen and burn into her blood.

Adrien uncrossed his arms and stepped towards her. “Chloe stop being ridiculous—”

In one quick move, she grabbed his wrist and squeezed it, causing his knees to buckle. “Marinette taught me I deserve better than your friendship,” she hissed to him. “And I’m going to make sure she knows she deserves better than your love. Marinette is the kindest, sweetest, strongest person I have ever met, and she doesn’t need you.” She squeezed tighter, forcing Adrien to his knees. She ignored his gasps of pain, focussing on the tears Marinette had shed.

“I love her more than you at this point in time and I didn’t think that was possible once, but here we are. I will choose her over you without a second thought. I will always love you, you will always be in my heart, but that does not mean I will defend you anymore.”

Adrien grunted and tried to pull his wrist away, but she just squeezed tighter. “Chloe…pl—please—”

She ignored him. “I am putting aside all our history, I am standing with Marinette, and soon you will have no one to stand beside you.”

She let go of his wrist and walked out the door, feeling freer than she had in years. She looked down at her friend and felt satisfaction, relief, and only a little bit of regret.

“I hope you’re satisfied Adrien,” she told him as he clutched his wrist on the ground. “Because you just lost your wife, your friends, and your life.”

He looked up at her with contempt. “Others will stand with me.”

“But I will not,” she replied, and walked out the door.

You will not believe how hard it was to write this. Anyway, onto Kagami!

[ah-maa-zing]

The Longbow Hunters (Arrow 7.02)

I’d like to start off this review by stating the freaking obvious: I love Felicity Smoak. 

I mean, I’ve always loved her, even when the writing has failed her, and even when I haven’t loved her choices or her actions. But when she’s written with the kind of agency she deserves, the determination, the drive and the steely-eyed focus as she has been in ‘The Longbow Hunters’, well, nothing could be better. 

Two episodes in, and I’m really enjoying Beth and her team’s style. The show is as dark as ever, but there’s an intensity - particularly in the prison scenes - that feels like the characters’ actions have real stakes that won’t randomly disappear into the ether because “reasons”. Many (most?) of the complaints about 6B were that characters were contorted, pretzel-like, into unrecognisable caricatures of themselves - previously decent characters turning into assholes overnight. And yes, while in some cases it may feel like a bit of a stretch to develop a speedy redemption, I can certainly appreciate the new writing team’s attempts to course correct as quickly as humanly possible. 

One of the things that appears to be gone for good is “Team Arrow”, in whatever iteration it has taken over the years. Which makes sense, given that the Arrow part of the equation is off the grid for now. Still, it’s somewhat unsettling as a viewer (especially seeing it from Felicity’s perspective) to come into a new status quo where there are new rules and restrictions, and where Felicity no longer has free rein over information and intelligence gathering, which has typically been her domain. Even if she weren’t already desperate for personal reasons, I’d expect her to be feeling pretty unempowered by the whole set-up. 

Curtis doesn’t seem to be having that same problem, and if I can just get on my soap box for a second (I really hope I don’t spend the entire season complaining about him) - what exactly is his role on the show anymore? There are already, in my view, far too many ‘regular’ characters at the moment and it does at times feel a little crowded. But of all of these characters, for me Curtis is the one that seems to have no unique utility at all. There are better vigilantes than him, and there are better hackers than him. So far all I see as his purpose is continuously whinging about how hard his life is (when he’s the one who’s suffered the least), and for other characters to crack “grab your balls” jokes (which, while funny, aren’t exactly essential). Like I say, I hope I don’t keep repeating myself on this point as the season goes on, so if Curtis could just take a job in a neighbouring city or disappear into a hole or whatever, that’d be grand (sadly I think the opposite is probably going to be the case). 

Anyway...I really enjoyed the conflict between Felicity and Diggle, which feels both warranted but also really sad. I said last week that all the characters barring Oliver, Felicity and William have found a way to move forward with their lives over the last five months, and none more so than John, who has a new sense of order and purpose within ARGUS. Setting aside that brief insanity of last season, this has always been his MO -- finding a place for himself within an established structure, be that the Army or Team Arrow or ARGUS, and do his job really, really well. 

All that to say that I do understand where he’s coming from on the Diaz front. He’s got the ARGUS Deputy Director on his back, which again is a realistic situation (a black ops organisation as regimented as ARGUS would never allow the Director’s husband to run amok with its resources), and he feels the need to maintain order and colour within the lines, if you will, so that he and his family don’t face the blowback. I get it. 

That said, I’m still incredibly disappointed in him, which I think is partly the point and is definitely a great source of angst. His explanation to Felicity about not wanting to sacrifice his family makes sense, but at the same time, Felicity and Oliver are (or were) also his family, and her point about the last six years actually meaning something to her is such a gut-wrenching moment. I think this is the point that Felicity realises she’s all alone in this. It’s not that John doesn’t love Oliver or that the others won’t help (though “whatever you need” seems to have its limitations), but the way she sees it - Oliver just doesn’t matter as much to them as to her. So he went to prison to sacrifice himself for them - so what? None of them are willing to go the extra mile to save him like he would them. As for John, when he was in prison, and Lyla went to Oliver for help in breaking him out, he didn’t even hesitate. Against all odds he went in and broke his brother out, and while that might not be possible in this case, Felicity must still feel the sting at the lack of reciprocity from John. 

Which is why I enjoyed her being at odds with John on this, even if they came to an understanding by the end of it, and which is also why I loved her move at the end of the episode. Going to Samanda Watson, not to break Oliver out but to fulfil the terms of his imprisonment, is such a baller move, and I am really looking forward to them working together. 

I’m excited about Felicity’s arc in the upcoming episodes, especially while Oliver’s in prison and she’s essentially on her own. If the trajectory continues the way it has been, I think we’re in for a ride. 

Speaking of prison, Oliver is finding his footing a little bit now, though how long that lasts remains to be seen. This storyline continues to excite me because it is so unlike anything we’ve seen before and the possibilities are endless. Oliver ‘found another way’ this time (I’m glad he didn’t kill Yorke. I know he’s an asshole but I kind of liked him), but will he be able to do so again? At a certain point, the net will tighten and there won’t be any more loopholes to find. And that’ll be an interesting place for Oliver to be. 

I still think Stan the Fan is a Diaz plant; he’s too shifty by half. But I am temporarily enjoying the dynamic between him and Oliver, esp. because it gives Oliver a chance to roll his eyes and be the straight man to someone else’s banter - a role that Oliver has always excelled at. I loved that he fashioned a makeshift slingshot from a broken pencil (of course he did), and it reminded me of him making a bow and arrows out of curtain rods in ‘Corto Maltese’. Oh Oliver, you are such a McGyver. 

Like Felicity, Oliver’s entire focus now is getting Diaz off the board in order to protect his family. The fact that they are on parallel paths towards the same goal frames their individual storylines incredibly well, and makes anything else in between almost superfluous. 

I don’t know quite what to make of the Dinah Double Act™, and I’m not sure I entirely buy both of their seemingly easy acceptance of each other. Why Dinah feels the need to protect Laurel from Diaz is beyond me - surely they would be using her as bait if anything? - especially since, from what I can tell, Diaz doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to hunt her down. Still, I can buy that Laurel feels something towards Quentin and his death at Diaz’s hands, and I can live with that fuelling her motivation to live the way Quentin would want her to. I also think that this episode allows all of the women who appear in it to maintain their own agency and motivations, however complex (or unearned), and that can only be a good thing. It’s no surprise, given this episode was written and directed by women, but it does feel a long time coming. 

I do think that the fight against Silencer was pretty effective - man, that is an interesting power. In fact, all of the Longbow Hunters seem to be pretty formidable in their own right. Kodiak, the guy with the shield, broke John’s assault rifle IN. HALF. Goddamn, it’s about time we had some menacing villains. The Longbow Hunters present a significant threat to no-longer-Team-Arrow, and it doesn’t pass me by that the only way Silencer was defeated was by Laurel and Dinah sonic-crying her together. Methinks no-longer-Team-Arrow may need to re-form again in some way soon enough. 

I’m sure I’ve only scratched the surface here on many of these plot points, but there is so much going on (in a way that it all seems to hold together) that it’s fascinating to see how it will all come together. Especially given the apparently bleak future our characters have in store for them. 

To which -- Future William. I find it hard to believe that Oliver and Felicity would just abandon William, unless “leave” is a euphemism for something more sinister, which it appears might be the case. Otherwise, why would Felicity install a tracker in the hozen (called it!) and set the coordinates to Lian Yu? Furthermore, did she set those coordinates in 2018 when she gave him the hozen the first time? Did she want him to go to Lian Yu in some interim time before the 20 years? What on earth did she expect him to find there? And why was Oliver’s bow buried in a box? Who buried it? What did that note say? Why did Roy burn it up? Why are they heading back to Star City? Why did Roy and Thea break up (or what happened that he ran to Lian Yu to forget about it?)? SO. MANY. QUESTIONS. Isn’t that exciting? So many things we have yet to learn, so many mysteries, big and small. I’ve missed this. 

I continue to enjoy Future William and Old Man Roy’s dynamic; William is such a passive-aggressive asshole and it’s hilarious. I find it interesting also that he states he doesn’t even know how to use a bow and arrow, but he is a tech genius. Guess we know which parent he takes after. One question I have is whether the future we are seeing is ‘fixed’ or immutable, or whether whatever has happened in the interim 20 years can be undone or redone in a way. I still wonder whether William is the “new Green Arrow”, back to correct whatever went wrong in the intervening years that caused Oliver and Felicity to disappear from his life. The framing shot of him holding the bow hints towards that, but given that he claims he doesn’t know how to use it suggests that either he’s trained by Roy in upcoming episodes, or the wielder of the bow is someone else. Intrigue. Also intriguing is the question of when in time William is abandoned by his parents; if we expect to see young William in the present-day timeline (as I hope we will), then when exactly is it that their paths diverge? Time will tell. 

“My wife taught me a thing or two” - HIS. WIFE. TAUGHT. HIM. A. THING. OR. TWO. Ask me when the day will come when I stop reacting like a crazy person to every mention of Felicity as his wife and Oliver as her husband. Answer: NEVER. THAT DAY WILL NEVER COME. Bless.

“What’s an Overwatch?” made me laugh. Especially since Oliver doesn’t bother answering. 

“My wife and son were attacked. I’d do anything to protect them.” - a) I love the intensity of the way he says that, and b) isn’t it great that he then uses Yorke’s love for his wife and son against him? 

Speaking of, Oliver stabbing himself and pinning it on Yorke is THE most Oliver thing he’s ever done. LMAO. I definitely laughed at him overplaying the “you stabbed me! HE STABBED ME!!!” dramatic writhing. Even Brick looked amused. 

“There’s only one Green Arrow, and he’s in prison” - you tell ‘em, Felicity. 

The dialogue feels a lot tighter this season, and as I’ve mentioned before, characters’ motivations make much more sense. Long may it all continue. 

Okay, but I really do enjoy snarky Laurel. I’d rather that than a fully redeemed member of Team Arrow. I think she plays better as a (semi-)villain.

I miss Felicity’s pink hair. Sob. 

Diaz’s flamethrower gun was cool, but John giving him a well-deserved beatdown was cooler. 

All this ARGUS focus makes me miss Lyla. Bring her back, show. 

Felicity needs some actual friends like, right now. GIVE HER SOME FRIENDS WHO ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT HER MORE THAN THEY CARE ABOUT THEIR STUPID JOBS. 

Nice thrown in mention about William being gay. 

Also, does Old Man Roy just wear his Arsenal suit all day and night? Doesn’t that get...itchy? And smelly? And uncomfortable? And unnecessary? Oh Roy! 

Felicity is waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more forgiving than I would have been. I’d have told everyone to fuck off and firebombed the place as I walked out (not so much on that last part, but ya know). 

I’m glad the show knows that Quentin wasn’t really Laurel’s father, even if they can’t seem to make that distinction in interviews. 

Honestly, Beth is just about the best thing that could have happened to this show right now. Imagine this team two years ago?!

Felicity and Oliver are each other’s ride or die, and I cannot wait for their reunion. 

[prettywordsyouleft]

Becoming Human - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“Welcome to KBoys Cyborg Call Centre, you’re speaking with Yerin, how may I help you today?”

The caller let out an exasperated sigh and I knew already what pathways I needed to head down on the computer, preparing for how it would be described to me. Every day working in this company came with surprises, but it was all for the same undertone. Most would call for simple things, like how did they turn their Taeyong into friend mode after charging him or trying to un-train their Jackson from rapping loudly in the middle of the night. Most callers had innocent issues, and they were normally easy enough for me to solve.

It was clients like this though that I anticipated the most.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Can you explain your situation?” I glanced at the screen in front of me, noting the caller was from Busan and had purchased her Jungkook model three months previous. From the readings on his current status, he was in lover mode, and I pursed my lips together, waiting for how she would respond.

“He, he stopped working.”

“How so?”

An awkward cough came from the caller and I tried hard to keep a straight face. “His er, thing, his part. It’s not working.”

“I’m sorry, but you will need to be more specific so I can guide you. What thing or part has stopped working?”

“Aish this is so frustrating. His male part, okay!”

I composed myself, a little disappointed by her wording. She had been less creative than others in the past, admittedly. “Ah, the male appendage has stopped responding. Have you tried pressing the button at the back of his neck for ten seconds to reset him?”

“No, am I meant to do things like that? He was working completely fine, well, almost too fine, and then just stopped midway. I am very frustrated, so I called you immediately! How am I meant to know to press the damn button?!”

I could tell her embarrassment had led for her anger to rise in response and so I tried not to respond how I initially wanted to. Instead, I smiled at my computer monitor, as if it would resettle my own thoughts. “Customer, on page two hundred and thirty-nine there is exact troubleshooting advice for this situation. Could you please hold down the button for me for ten seconds?”

“I was meant to read that novel?! Fine, I’m pressing it!”

After counting to ten, I waited for her to comment back, noticing no call status change on the computer my end. Nothing was said at first and I waited a couple of seconds more. “Customer?”

The line remained silent and then I heard it. A squeal sounded into my headpiece and then was followed by a groan. “Yah! How could you do that to me Kook-ah! You left Noona waiting in a bad predicament!”

Eyes widening, I listened only a couple of moments longer to the male response and then ripped off my headset, my breath hitched in my throat.

“Yerin-unni?” I was nudged from the cubicle beside me roughly and blinked. “Are you okay? You didn’t end your call in the proper protocol.”

“There was nothing in the training book that would prepare me for that.”

The petite girl beside me frowned, leaning closer as if it would help her understand. “What?”

“Instead of responding, the client went back to her previous happenings,” I said slowly, hoping it would give me some kind of solace. Instead I kept hearing the same words over and over, shuddering a moment later. “Honestly!”

Sohyun finally came to the realisation and gasped. “She went back to having intercourse?!”

I nodded, getting up weakly from my desk.

  I had been working for Kboys Cyborg for the past two years. It was a company that specialised in creating artificial intelligence within the form of the most popular Korean idol male groups and distributing their bots worldwide. As someone who didn’t quite understand the concept of worshipping the ground of a bunch of idols so much that you needed to have your own version in a robot form, I had to admit the job had some insane perks that made my moral compass less important. The pay and job security were more than decent, and higher than any job my psychology degree could conjure up currently. Despite the capitalism on fans, the science and revolution behind the faces was highly intriguing to me. It was 2018 and robots were becoming more and more advanced, with Kboys being one of the most successful in their AI systems. All cyborgs were programmed with set characteristics that matched their real-life counterparts, with the ability to be trained by their owners to suit their needs. Most fans who purchased one would enjoy the boyfriend aspect of the bot, with the perks of having help with cleaning, cooking, and using their SMART controls, they could easily access knowledge from all areas of the internet. The most perfect boyfriend was sent right to their door, and through trade-ins, if they changed biases or a new group came out and captured their attention, they could send it back and have it go through a face-up calibration to match their new interest, all whilst withholding their vital data chip with the stored memories of their previous settings and training. Owners of a Kboy could do so much with their robots, except real responsive human interaction and emotions.

However, there was the lover mode aspect that always made me feel uneasy. It did provide a bit of amusement at times as clients tried to explain the awkward situation of their cyborg losing function of their male parts suddenly, usually from overuse. Knowing that these fans were able to truly sexualise the idol counterpart through their robot generally sent me to the edge though. It wasn’t something I could ever imagine being comfortable with, knowing there was a real-life version out there whilst there was up to 100 counterparts made somewhere around the world in action with a fan. I wondered about the psychological impact and disinterested behaviour this could create in them towards actual people. My psychology background was a blessing and curse in this role, wanting to help these people find their way towards real-life connections and out of their homes. Most seemed to be people who suffered some kind of social phobia or anxiety and it saddened me that I was in no position to help them, if anything, my role was only fuelling them on to continue their fantasies with their lifesize doll.

“Yerin, where are you going?” Sohyun called out as I walked away from my desk, in desperate need of a break from this crazy environment. It wasn’t every day that I became shocked in my position, in fact, I had become so used to the way the clients spoke, that my previous naivety to some aspects of relationships had been fully overridden. But this client had managed to shake my composure enough to have me considering a resignation.

Had she been that pent up from being stopped in her lovemaking with her Jungkook robot, that the fact she had rung a human to help with her troubleshooting was completely forgotten as soon as her fake lover had risen again? Had she blurred all lines of real and make-believe? As I reached the staff kitchen and pulled out a bottle of water from the refrigerator, I gripped the bench to steady myself.

“This wasn’t what artificial intelligence should be used for, right?”

“It depends on what you’re referring to,” a voice answered and I looked around the room, finding him sitting in the corner. I frowned, noticing no badge on his plain clothing, moving slowly towards him so I could see if I recognised him. I stopped, dropping the bottle of water out of my hand.

He moved fast enough to catch it before it spilled everywhere, his eyes marvelling at his hand now holding the bottle, wondering how he had been able to capture it so perfectly. His dark eyes then connected with mine, an indescribable expression crossing his all too perfect complexion. “What must AI do to be considered right?”

I didn’t answer, I couldn’t, Instead, I stared at him with intense disbelief, wondering just how on earth one of the cyborgs had left the lab and was now standing in front of me, looking more relaxed than I had ever seen one appear before.

______________________

A/N: Well, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter!! 

Next chapters: 2 | 

[Masterlist] 

[neo-somaliana]

Tawheed is the only reason why I'm alive today, January 1st 2019. Diving deep into tawheed in 2012 was the true Furqaan (criterion, litmus test) I had always been longing for, and suffering immensely in its absence. I had lost absolute trust in life, in what my reality even was, in what people presented. Everything seemed to be hollow or an illusion and it fuelled my death wish as intensely as the life wish I have today. Had I not received that groundbreaking enlightenment I would not have stopped at 6 times. I would have kept going until I succeeded in leaving this earth. I was living in the worst mental torture imaginable because I was open to so much gaslighting and crazy making that I would even doubt that I was truly suffering. I mean, the goalposts kept being moved by external factors and how I felt about things had absolutely no merit. If anything it'd attract vicious backlash both within myself and outside.

I was swarmed by demonic entities who festered on all the energy I couldn't claim because I was petrified. I couldn't trust my perception, I couldn't trust my intuition, I couldn't trust any plans I'd make - in fact, any plans I'd make would be like opening my eyes in Bird Box - I'd be shown absolutely horrific timelines and vivid possibilities of what would happen to me if I tried and that's what would trigger my suicidal urge. And that's why I spent years secluded, at home. Because I was in real danger if I moved and I can't tell you how horrifying and unnerving it is to have such a threat to your life that you can't point out. There was no hallucinating where my fears were projected on anyone else that I could say I was threatened by. I would wish to lose my mind because the only thing worse than insanity is being stuck in a nightmare where you're lucid and aware.

It was a sleep paralysis, only it was in real life. That's exactly how it was. My intelligence was used against me because I would see through the tiniest of incongruence or irrationality. I couldn't read self-help books without feeling worse because I saw through every adage. It's like I had a running commentary in my mind that dispelled or pointed out every single claim and advice.

And that's what was so miraculous about my study of Tawheed. I sorta stumbled across it once I started learning some Arabic (I'd buy Arabic books with my lunch money and go over the books every now and then to see how much more I could understand than the last time I checked. I was absolutely giddy to be able to access Islaam deeper) and before I knew it everything clicked. Everything made so much sense. My mind was engrossed and took to it like a parched survivor in the desert finding cold drinking water. And that was the beginning. That was me starting to emerge from the rubble of chaos and destruction.

That year I had intense encounters with demons and ETs ( Muslim ETs actually, who helped me immensely). It was a wild year. Like. I still can't believe what went down. Egypt is forever carved in my heart for that. I'll return one day in shaa Allaah (hopefully I can retrieve the 50 kilo of books I had to leave behind :/)