#I don’t think there’s anything else to indicate this wouldn’t be the case

[rivercule]

I assume Hank is acting the way he is because of a loophole in the cerebro backups honestly. Dark beast is still on 616 and he has been for the majority of Hanks life… they have wildly diverging values and personalities but on a base level they’re the same guy from diverging timelines…so cerebro reads two minds and smashes them together when Hank gets resurrected.

The worst qualities in Hank and the worst qualities in Dark Beast (just his whole thing) make an awful sandwich

[hotchfiles]

↪ QUIS UT DEUS? ─ chapter one.

AN IN NOMINE PATRIS, ET FILII, ET SPIRITUS SANCTI INSTALLMENT

pairing: hotch x fem!consultant!reader. summary: murders committed using catholic symbology gets emily to convince hotch it's time to ask for an expert. luckily for you, you're the expert. content warnings: canon typical violence. religious themes. spoilers to season 4. mature themes. word count: 1.5K

    In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti…

    “Amen.” If you weren’t paying attention and side eyeing him at that exact moment, you might’ve lost the way his lips moved following the ritual, no word actually leaving his mouth. 

    The black haired man didn’t look too comfortable, but didn’t look out of place either, he knew the cues, he spoke the words on automatic it seemed. It amused you to observe people’s behavior on holy grounds, that was part of the reason you asked to meet in silver spring.

    “Catholic, Mr. Hotchner?” Your question is met with a low scoff, the type only those with a bad bad history with the church gave you. “That much, huh?”

    “My parents were.” The answer is simple and you think it might stop at that, but he shakes his head and scoffs again. “I was an altar boy for years before I left for boarding school.” You nod. 

    “Ah. I've met some of you in my research.” Some of you. Church babies, altar boys. Spoon fed the bible from birth while watching everyone around sin. Sin becoming a term to reflect on what they hated. 

    “And you? Catholic?” 

    “Oh no. Never been.” You don’t explain much, aware Emily probably told him of your time in Rome, where the two of you met. “Your UnSub is though. Either devoted to Saint Michael or knows enough about his roles to look like one.” You note, being reminded of the pictures Emily sent you, big stab wounds, a small scale tipped to one side, the words Hebrews 9:22 written in blood. 

    Hotchner doesn’t reply, making a mental reminder of the new information, he looks around the place as you both leave the church and it hits him, Silver Spring’s St. Michael the Archangel parish, the church you chose as a meeting place. 

    He wouldn’t usually accept consultation for cases, especially from outsiders. And to be fair, the BAU doesn’t usually need any, Reid alone has more knowledge than anyone Hotch has ever met, and despite the humbleness he tends to show, Hotch himself can take care of the general book knowledge if Reid doesn’t step up to it. But he trusted Emily, and Emily spoke more highly of you than of anyone. Honestly, he was also trying to make amends after not having her back during the Matthew case they had not long before. 

    “She's in town giving lectures, it’s an asset we have easy access to, so why not use it?” Were her final and most convincing words before Hotch nodded in agreement, watching Emily make the call that led to the meeting. 

    He thinks now, as he’s driving both of you to Quantico, that maybe Emily should’ve been the one here, his attempts to strike conversation falling flat as you don’t even remember the last time you had to make small talk with someone, it felt awkward all of a sudden, as if you were on a date. 

    “I'm so sorry, I'm not too good with… People.” You blurt out after a long minute of silence, your neck suddenly warm from embarrassment. 

    Hotch side eyes you, brows lifted in confusion. You seemed much less confident in the car now than what you showed him of you minutes before back at the church. He figures you felt confident talking about your area of expertise and that he could relate to easily. “Did you notice anything else by the pictures Emily sent you?” 

    The switch of topic makes you sigh loudly in relief and you mentally thank him for brushing your silliness off. “He’s using different pieces of catholic dogma and putting it together, but most of the symbology eludes to Michael, the stabbing looks like a sword, the tipped scale indicates judgment, the verse he chose doesn’t cite Michael but talks about sins being forgiven by the shedding of blood… He’s the judge and executioner of his victims.” You try not to sound excited as you ramble on, it’s a terrible thing to witness, the pictures were grotesque and would’ve made you sick on a normal day, but the cherry picking of symbols the murderer seemed to make fascinated you. 

    “So you believe it’s a man?” 

    “Oh! I–I don’t know? I just assumed… Is that misogynistic?” You mumble the last part more to yourself, but it’s loud enough to make him chuckle and you look at him quickly to make sure it’s not mean spirited. 

    It’s definitely not. But it is amusing from a profiler perspective, he’s so used to defining serials’ genders by their crimes he hasn’t thought about misogyny being a factor to those assumptions in a long time. 

    “Brutality suggests male. But posing looks remorseful, theatrical…” His grip on the wheel tightens, two victims by now, feet crossed, arms wide open. 

    “If there were more allusions to the crucifixion, yeah, but I–” You take your phone out to look at the pictures once more, an attempt to seem less abstract in what you’re about to say. “No crown, no nails, this isn’t about Christ, it’s about punishment–I mean, I think.” You’re not usually self conscious about your knowledge but inferring characteristics and desires to someone by looking at a crime scene was not your specialty. 

    “To further point they were judged and executed…” Hotch nods, understanding where your line of thought is going and completing it immediately, not leaving you much time to doubt yourself. 

    “A very shameful execution.” 

    You both spend the short ride from Silver Springs to Quantico going over the symbology present, you tried to help here and there with the associations of what you saw to who could’ve done it, even though that was not what you were called in for. Strangely enough—for him at least, Hotch didn’t seem to mind your guesses, they were educated ones.

    And it was interesting to hear someone speak with such passion about religious aspects without any of the fundamentalism. It was definitely something he wasn’t used to.

    “Mi amore!” Are the first words you hear as you enter the famous bullpen from Emily’s texts, her arms surrounding you in a tight warm hug you haven’t felt in years—it hits you then how long has it been. You weren’t able to come and mourn Matthew with her, his parents weren’t fond of you either (Lord almighty, you didn’t even go to church with them!) and you were busy with your lectures.

    “Hey troublemaker, how’s it going?” Your question is muffled in the hug, your hands clasping together behind her back.

    The reunion doesn’t last long, curious eyes set on you two and a rather impatient Hotch leading the way to what you learned was the conference room.

    The briefing room. The round table. Emily told you about it when she first got into the BAU.

    You end up sitting between Emily and who you would bet was Spencer—there’s this sweet kid working with us, he’s super smart, annoyingly smart, but so sweet, he reminds of Matty when we were teens—the lanky boy was the only one with what seemed like naivety enough in his eyes to be the one Emily mentioned back then. 

    Aaron sat in front of you almost, serious, stern, very different from the few chuckles you got from him in the car. This was unit chief Hotchner, the subtle difference was fascinating.

    “Alright, as we know, DC is in trouble, second murder in three weeks.” blonde and gorgeous, you believed that was JJ, there had been no time for introductions, all you could do was try to remember the e-mails and few phone calls you shared with Emily the past years. “Richard Beckett, married, no kids, 27. He works for his father's car dealership.” 

    Pictures show up on the screen, showing the man when he was alive. It’s a punch to your gut, just minutes before you were fascinated by the way this real person was murdered. You’re glad you had a light breakfast by the way your stomach turns.

    “Monica Dawson, divorced, no kids, 53. She’s a counselor at a local school.” The woman continues speaking, with more pictures on the screen. And then pictures of their deaths, side by side. The fascination is completely extinguished then. “Both were stabbed countless times with a large blade. Left in abandoned warehouses posed in a cross position, a tipped scale on their side. Both naked. Both were heavily drugged.”

    “They didn’t have kids, is that a coincidence?” You hear Emily speak up and suddenly you can see all their brains working.

    “Could that be the linking between them? The victimology is all over the place.” Derek. Oh. You’ve heard of Derek. You’ve seen pictures of Derek. He needs no introduction. 

    “Reid, Morgan, go talk to the first victim’s widow. Rossi, JJ, Ms. Dawson’s ex-husband can give us insight on her life. Emily and us—” He gives you a look and you understand he means you, nodding in reply. “Will head to the DC police precinct.” The way Hotch gives orders is effortless, not only his job but his vocation. 

    Everyone listens and agrees quickly, moving and leaving the table, even Emily is fast on her feet, even though she won’t leave without you and him. You stay still, stiff, eyes glued to the screen.

    “Are you alright?” His voice is soft, laced with worry, genuine worry. You didn’t even notice he had stayed behind, but you nod again at Hotch, a question burning at the tip of your tongue.

    “Do you still believe in God, Mr. Hotchner?”

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass Ch 10 part 1

masterpost

“Tyranny!” Damian bellowed. His little face was red with fury.

Cass crossed her arms and nodded agreement. She was not accepting any more changes to her life at this time. Things were already happening, too much.

“Nevertheless,” said cruel Batdad. “The pediatric nutritionist will be here tomorrow.” He was trying very hard to seem composed and unaffected by their upset. But he was affected. So affected. And yet he persisted on traveling down the wrong path.

Cass hissed.

Their natural ally, Alfred, put his nose up a little as he cleared the dinner dishes. He sniffed as he left, unhappy-stiff. Cass did not know how he had been defeated. Food was his domain, not some interloper with a pathetic weepy Doctorate of nutritional sciences.

“He designs the meal plans for child Olympians,” Batdad coaxed. He wanted them to like him soooo much. “Standard advice is not necessarily very useful for extreme athletes. You might feel better afterwards. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Gentle, gentle, pleading.

No!!!

Damian stabbed his fork upright into his cinnamon roll and pointed an index finger at their tormentor. “I will not submit. I consume an adequately varied and nutritious diet. Whatever your true aims are, I will not be moved.”

Cass scarfed down her own dessert messily, scowling at Batdad the whole time as if to say: come and take it from me. Can you? You can’t.

Duke watched this with clever eyes darting between Batdad and his siblings. His body said: I don’t care. But I won’t pick Bruce publicly. What can I get? Can I make trouble? 

Hmm. Cass didn’t like that. She narrowed her eyes at him. He should philosophically agree with their cause. She was going to crawl under his bed and hiss, scary sounds to wake him up and go BOO. 

She made a mental note to do that before patrol tonight. If she could even fit it in, jeeze.

Ugh. So busy. Always so much to do.

The tension was high when they trooped to the cave for briefing, before Duke went to bed and everyone else took their pre-patrol nap. Cass lingered sullenly because she wanted to hear Duke’s report on the mechanic. Jacqueline’s apartment had been sneakily snuck through. The conclusion?

“There’s a lot of work clothes in the apartment, but no tools or anything like that. No references or books, aside from a couple of ones from the university library.” Duke fidgeted, micromovement. Not an interesting report. Not an enjoyable detour. “There’s no indication as to what she’s been working on. I took DNA samples off some dirty dishes and hair off the sofa. They’re filed for processing.”

Disappointing. The next step was unclear. Cass frowned. Should they try to observe again? Wait for Jacqueline to leave her lair and follow? Perhaps they should enter the apartment and lurk, ask questions. Tell her: We know your criminal associations. Stop it. Stop it, Jacqueline.

Damian stuck his lips out. He would say: This is not a pout, Cain.

It was a pout.

“I see.” Timbird took notes, fingers flying. Tap tap tap. “You’re passing the case back?”

“It’s all yours,” he said, nodding to Damian. Babybat nodded solemnly. My responsibility. He looked at her. Cass nodded: I have your bat-back. Let’s creep on Jacqueline, as a family.

Hmm. It was too quiet. Usually, there was Batdad commentary. She snuck a look at him even though she and Damian were ignoring him for his cruelties.

Batdad was pondering. He was paying enough attention, but his mind was on something else. Hmm. Cass prodded him. “Ah- Tim, did you upload your conclusions about the Amity Park case?”

Oh. Cass kept her body still, letting it say: I’m bored, I don’t care.

Timbird sighed and ruffled his hair. The gel made a little crackle sound. “It’s a massive government coverup,” he said. Unhappy. “I think a few residents fled, but it looks like it was a mass murder of the residents. The tank tracks came from a subdivision called the GIW, which is ridiculously over militarized.” He opened a file on one of the many Batcomputer screens. It showed a complex of buildings, taken from above. Superboy photography? “They’re doing weapons development, and it appears to be based on the designs of local scientists, also missing.”

“These scientists were affiliated with the GIW?” Batdad asked.

Tim shrugged. “Unclear.” His mouth twitched, unhappy. “There’s evidence of some collaboration, but it seemed a relatively normal exchange of information. Now, the GIW appears to have all their patented inventions and is replicating them.”

“So either these scientists are on staff or they have been removed,” Damibat scowled. A grumpy line formed between his eyebrows. So cute. 

“Removed?” Duke repeated, amused.

“From this mortal coil,” Damibat repeated. Impatient. Keep up, Thomas.  Haha. Cass sniggered and stuck her tongue out. Yeah. Keep up, Duke.

[miirohs]

get up [b.c]

pairing: Mob Boss!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader wc: 3.4k cw: reader is sick, chan is slightly toxic, reader gets grabbed, I can’t write hurt comfort 😻 an: pls pls pls once again i do not support any sort of criminal activities and anything in this fic is meant to be treated as a work of fiction !!! Inspired by nwjs get up !

You ran down the slope down the street, heels in hand as the train of your dress flew behind you.

The night air cut into your cheeks and arms, cold and wild as it whistled into your ears. It had slipped your mind to bring a coat, but your first priority was to get out. You were sick of the party and its suffocating air.

The whole evening was a blur of insincere conversations with the fakest smile you could muster, and the growing feeling of being trapped. He wouldn’t stop ignoring you, but the straw that broke the camel's back was when he snapped at you for talking to someone else in the middle of the dance floor, leading all the eyes in the room to you.

You had begged and begged Chan not to bring you in the first place, but he was relentless. You never did well in social events anyways.

However being on the streets alone might have been better than being forced to stand there for another minute.

Your head pounded as your footsteps echoed in your ears, a scraping noise that hurt your brain. The street was dimly lit by golden lights, and as you looked ahead you could see the glimmer lights of the valley. It was buzzing with energy, a stark contrast of the neighborhood you bumbled through.

It was quiet, and yet the sounds of the town still reached you.

The cold was not helping any bit, leaving you shaking as you huddled yourself closer. Your vision blurred slightly when you stopped, bones aching as you stared into the distance.

For a while you were sure you were being followed, but the clattering of something metal behind you confirmed everything. Slowly, you took off your heels, holding them before you took off.

You ran for a while, breath caught painfully in your throat as you tried to hack out the cold air. You came to a stop on a bridge, hands on your knees as you panted. There seemed to be no indication of them, and you finally relaxed, dropping the straps of your heels.

There were two resounding shots in your direction all the sudden, and you stumbled over your train, hitting your knee weirdly on the ground as you tried to run.

The aggressors finally caught up, pressing something to the back of your neck as they muttered to each other in voices you could barely recognize in your dazed state.

From your place on the ground, the lights seemed to blend together. Your body ached, and tears seemed to slip from your eyes as you faced the ground.

“Oh god she’s crying- Minho, what the fuck are we suppose to do?”

“I don’t know Changbin. I think we should let Chan take care of her-”

Minho was immediately cut off by the sound of a car rolling up. The doors opened up and they both went silent, the person holding the gun to the back of your head moving back as another pair of footsteps joined the scene.

“Why is she crying? I thought I told you to bring her back without a single scratch.”

“It’s not our fault she started running! She’s the one who should know better!”

“Watch your mouth Lee Minho. We may be friends but that’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.”

You stiffened, hanging your head as he got closer, feeling his presence directly behind you. You didn’t say anything as he lifted you up, placing you in the car before slamming the door shut to talk to Minho and Changbin, who gave the car a slight look of concern before turning back to Chan.

Minutes seemed to turn into hours as he talked, your shaking slowly ceasing. The sudden change in temperature seemed to make the headache worse, and you gripped your head, curling into a ball. Your knee also didn’t help your case.

Finally he entered the car, stern silence spiraling as the driver started on Chan's command.

He finally broke the silence, tone cold and clipped as he watched you squirm into the corner of your seat.

“Do you know how much trouble you caused me back there?”

He was staring at you with an accusatory look when you looked away, staring at your hands to avoid his face.

"I... I didn't mean to cause any trouble," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tsked, expression unreadable as city lights passed by in a blur.

His voice was measured when he finally spoke, his words punctuated as you sped down the lane. "You didn't mean to cause trouble? Yet here we are."

You curled back into a ball, wincing when your knee jerked a little from the sudden movement. When you didn’t reply, he wrenched you forward slightly, causing you to let out a whimper.

“I hope you know the consequences you caused for me. I had to put three very important deals on hold because you just had to run away. Now, I expect you to be on your best behavior when we get home, and you better not interrupt me unless it's important.” He hissed, a dangerous look in his eyes.

He let go of your arm and leaned back, staring out the window. You rubbed it, throat heavy as you tried to say something back, eventually settling into the uncomfortable silence.

When you arrived home, he immediately left the car, handing his coat to an attendant left behind to handle you. You watched him disappear into the depths of the house, a sense of isolation settling in.

You felt so incredibly shitty, and it wasn’t just the cold, but the guilt and embarrassment racking up in your stomach.

"Come, let's get you inside and warmed up," the attendant said softly, guiding you gently towards the entrance of the huge mansion. The house seemed to settle into a quiet rhythm, the noise of the world outside a distant echo as you settled down for the night, heart heavy.

Whatever it was you had only seemed to worsen over the next few days though, the soreness of your throat and muscles only getting worse. It was constantly cold and your knee seemed to be acting up despite the care you tried to give it.

You managed to keep the symptoms under wraps, but you were so tired, barely catching a wink of sleep as you wandered aimlessly in the halls.

To add injury to the insult, Chan seemed to be ignoring you, avoiding you at all times of day and barely allowing you to catch a glimpse of him. As you tried to approach him, he’d always direct you to the nearest member, walking away with the others and leaving the both of you in an awkward situation.

It was the fourth day, and you were already tired of it. Again, it went as you predicted, with Chan leaving after a curt nod to poor Jeongin, who seemed tired of being sacrificed to the tension between the both of you.

You stood in front of him, wrapping the blanket tightly around you as Jeongin watched you awkwardly.

“I don’t bite,” you joked, voice raspy from the acheness of your throat.

“I know… I know I'm… just worried? Are you okay?” You blinked for a moment, processing the question before nodding vigorously as you could.

“Yep, mhm, totally! I’m going to be okay, now do you mind walking me to my room?” You said, looking at him expectantly.

Relaxing slightly, he signaled towards the hall, holding a reluctant hand out. "Of course, let's go."

Slowly, you both made your way through the mansion's corridors, your steps slow and deliberate. You think you had a cold but it was taking far too long to recover from whatever it was you caught.

You stopped in front of your door, and Jeongin let go, a passive look on his face as you opened the door with a whooping cough. The dizziness has returned, so you’d try your best not to make a spectacle out of it.

“T-thanks Innie, i’ll be fine," you managed to say, your voice rough and strained due to the coughing fit. You gave him a weak smile, sincere despite the physical discomfort.

Jeongin returned the smile, though it was faint. "Make sure to rest well and take care of yourself," he advised softly.

You tried to reply back, but suddenly the lightheadedness that was impending hit you, causing you to collapse. The sensation was disorienting, the black ebbing into the corner of your eyes. You could hear Jeongin yelling and shaking you, but you were too tired, closing your eyes in hope your rest would be at least a little nicer now.

——————

It was warm. Soft too.

You nuzzled your head into a pillow next to your face, groaning slightly. Everything felt heavy, and you barely felt like moving from the cocoon of warmth. You rested there for a couple heartbeats, curling into the blankets.

It was useless though, as the light of the room coaxed you out of your drowsiness. You pushed yourself up, closing your eyes as you felt your knee. There was a thick bandage over it that you hadn’t remembered putting on, and it wrapped tightly so the pressure would alleviate the pain.

“You’re awake.” Your eyes snapped open again, looking wildly around the room. “Over here,” You turned your head to the doorway, Chan leaning against it, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. He had a bag in his hand, if you didn’t know any better you’d have thought he had been casually walking by when he decided to visit.

Suddenly, the thing that was bugging you hit you like a flash, and you took a good look around the room. “This isn't my room,” You whispered raspily, looking back down at the black sheets, “what am i doing here?”

“Jeongin saw you collapse, when I came in they told me you were dehydrated and sick. I told them to bring you here so that I could monitor you instead of forcing you to stay confined to your room,” Chan stated, putting down the things he’d brought in with him.

You fell silent as his revelation, picking at your nails as he shuffled around the room.

"I brought you some stuff to help with the cold," he said, voice rough. "You should try to eat something, even if it's just a little." You could have imagined you had heard a hint of remorse, but even if it was there, it was gone in a blink.

He sat down next to you, reaching over the blankets to pull you forward. You looked at his arm, covered in tattoos and faint scars. You could almost trace them from memory, having gone over them multiple times.

He immediately noticed you doing so, palm up and fingers spread, almost as if offering to let you trace his arm once again. You didn’t take him up on it though, only staring at him with a blank look on your face. Quickly, he drew back his hand, coughing into it to cover the awkwardness of the situation.

After a while, he broke the silence, tone slightly annoyed as he eyeballed you.

“So. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” You muttered, confused as you rolled your eyes at him.

“Tell me that you were-” He paused, running his hands through his curls with a certain frustration that seemed to roll off him. “That you were sick. You could have avoided this if you had just told me-”

“Who was the one that avoided me?” You said, glaring at him as he turned to you, face slowly contorting from the look of shock to audacity. His eyebrows furrowed as if your words had taken him by surprise. "What do you mean I avoided you? If you had told me-"

You cut him off, anger rising as he pranced around the topic. "You know exactly what I mean, Christopher. You've been avoiding me for days now. When was the last time you even said a small hi to me? You were being childish.”

He winced, obviously unpleased by the usage of his whole name.

“Look, we all mess up baby, and I'm sorry you can’t stop clinging to a mistake i made once-” You groaned, head once again pounding as you stared at his unapologetic face.

“You just don’t get it do you?”

“Excuse me?” Chan shot back, anger flaring up as he shot up out of his chair, smacking his hands on the bed.

“Leave me alone Chan, I don't want to hear it from you now! You never listen to me! Ever!” You snapped, breaking into a wild bout of coughs you’d been holding back. He rose up from his seat, nostrils flaring as he stomped over to the door.

“Fine, i’ll fucking leave you alone, maybe that’ll teach you to be nicer,” he spat, slamming the door shut, leaving you alone with the silence in the room.

It wasn't exactly how you could have envisioned the conversation going.

Eventually, the fatigue caught up with you, and you let your eyes close as you rested against the pillows. The pain in your knee that you thought had faded came back, intensifying with each passing moment and you weren’t sure you’d get a wink of rest after all that.

——————

It was roughly around the middle of the night when you woke up, head pounding. Your eyes blurred with tears, soft whimpers escaping your mouth.

You shivered under the blankets, disoriented and uncomfortable as you looked around the darkened room. The only light source was the opened curtains, the moon casting a shadow on the floor.

The door to the room opened, a soft golden light flooding in for a moment until it closed, footsteps echoing in your head. The lights beside you turned on, causing you to flinch as the light hurt your head even more.

A warm hand placed itself on your forehead, eventually moving to caress your cheek. Your body shivered involuntarily as another chill passed through you, making you feel even more sensitive to his touch.

“Looks like you have a fever, just when I thought you were getting better baby.”

You tried to turn away, but were quickly grabbed back by Chan, who came into your field of vision as he tried to check you.

“Uh uh, baby, don’t do that to me. Get up, I’m not here to fight you, just wanna care for my sick baby. How’re you gonna get better if you don’t let me in?”

You relaxed, leaning into the warmth of Chan’s hand, eyes squeezed shut tightly as you tried to keep it close to you. His thumb continued to caress your cheek gently, his touch soothing in its own way.

“It hurts,” you whined, throat constricting slightly with how dry it was. You couldn’t remember the last time you drank any water. He lifted your head gently, supporting it with his hand as he brought a glass of water to your lips.

"Here, take small sips," he instructed softly, his gaze fixed on your face as you drank. He adjusted the angle of the glass to make it easier for you, ensuring nothing spilled. After a few sips, he lowered the glass, his fingers brushing against your lips as he pulled it away. "Attagirl, that's better, isn’t it?"

You nodded, leaning against him as he sat down next to you. The slight movement of your knee from its resting place had pain jolting through your leg, causing a slight squeak to come out of your mouth.

Chan's brows furrowed as he noticed your discomfort, reaching out. "Easy there," he said softly, his hand moving to place the pillow next to him under your knee, caressing it lightly. "Don't strain yourself."

You watched him as he moved around, blocking out the sound of plastic rustling by focusing on him.

“Where were you?”

“I was just getting something done on base baby, there's no need to worry. Came here as soon as i was done,” he said, turning around to you with something in hand.

It was a couple tablets, along with another glass of water.

You reeled away slightly as he came closer, hand outstretched to offer you the medication.

Chan seemed to sense your hesitation, his expression softening, "I promise you, these are just pain relievers to help you feel better. They'll make the pain more manageable." Still you drew back, turning your head to the side.

“No. They taste weird. I can’t swallow.”

“C’mon baby, please. Do it for me at least.” Chan cooed, scooting closer till he was in your ear. “I don’t want to,” you coughed, clutching your mouth to avoid allowing your sickness to spread any further.

“Fine,” Chan muttered, turning around, “At least have a cough drop.”

As you turned around to respond, his mouth was on yours, kissing you roughly. You felt his warmth against your lips, a soothing sensation that momentarily made you forget your discomfort. For a moment you melted into it, before you felt something getting shoved into your mouth.

You didn’t even have a chance to spit it out, as Chan placed a hand over your mouth, rubbing your throat lightly to get you to swallow it. The bitter aftertaste seem to rest on your tongue, causing you to actually gag a little as Chan forced you to lie down once more. The gentle touches continued to your head, running fingers through your damp hair, untangling it as best he could with one hand.

“I promise you’ll get better baby. I know it tastes bad but you gotta trust me here, you can sleep once the medicine has taken effect and you’ll feel better.”

You nodded weakly, not having the energy to argue further. His concern was evident, even if his methods were a bit forceful. You closed your eyes, shivering slightly at the cloth he put on your forehead. As you lay there, the room seemed to spin slightly, and you held onto the blankets tightly.

The medication began to take effect, dulling the pain and making you feel drowsy. The room felt cocooned in silence, the soft rustling of the curtains and the occasional murmur of voices from outside the door creating muffled noises.

"Rest now," he whispered, almost a soft man lullaby in the darkness. You let yourself succumb to sleep in his arms, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling you under once again.

——————

The light disturbed your sleep once again, forcing you to lazily open your eyes, looking around on your side. Chan was asleep against the headboard of his bed, mouth open slightly as he snored.

You took the opportunity to trace his arm, running circles in his arms as curled into his warmth. Even in his sleep, Chan's awareness stirred, and his fingers curled around your hand, intercepting your exploration halfway up his arm.

“What are you doing baby?” His voice was a sleepy murmur, laced with a hint of amusement. He looked down at you with half-lidded eyes, his other hand moving to your forehead, now pleasantly cool to the touch.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly as you looked at him. "For taking care of me, even when I’ve caused you so much trouble."

In a moment he seemed to be wide awake, looking at you with such a fragile look you felt you might have cried a little.

“It was never your fault Y/n, I shouldn’t have let it get there,” he murmured, helping you sit up against him.

"I'm sorry," he continued, his gaze unwavering as he hunched down to your level, "for not being there when you needed me. I let my pride get in the way, and I hurt you in the process."

Tears started to fall even as you were unaware, staring at him as he brought you closer.

“You cry a lot, you know.” And he kissed you.

Your tears mingled with the kiss, a mixture of joy and relief, even as you tried to push him away.

“What? Do you not like my kisses anymore?”

You shook your head as you buried it into the crook of his neck, squeezing him tighter. “Mhh. I don’t wanna get you sick.”

He chuckled, pulling the blanket over both of you as you clung to him.

"You think a little cold would keep me away?" When you didn’t respond, he shook you, getting a little jump from you in response.

“Sorry. I’m just hungry.” You muttered, groaning into his neck. “I’ll order some soup, that sound okay?” Chan offered, rubbing your sides with extra precaution.

“So long as it’s the one I like. That’ll serve as an apology enough.” You yawned, curling up against him once more.

“I missed you Chan.”

“Missed you too baby.”

[nerdranttheories]

Watching Two Heroes again reminded me of something I haven’t really seen talked about a lot, but

All Might Keeping Secrets and Self-Isolating Led to His Downfall

Obviously, right? Everyone and their mother’s said this, and it’s clearly meant by the story. But I think David Shield is the best example of this, and I haven’t really seen the Two Heroes movie mentioned when having this conversation. This is my explanation of this movie being the epitome of this idea, and the time where I believe All Might learns from his mistake — even if it’s too late for him to change the course of his narrative.

The movie clearly indicates early on, by All Might himself, that David Shield, his “best friend” and sidekick from his college days has not been informed of One for All, and All Might intends to keep it that way. Deku, ever the audience lens character for the world of My Hero, questions it, to which All Might answers it’s to keep his friend safe.

This is shown to not be the case. In fact, by not telling his friend about One for All, David, someone who is good and concerned about his friend, turns to villainy out of desperation to save him. If All Might had simply told him about how his power works, and that he’s passed the torch on to Deku, then David wouldn’t have had as much need to worry. And this is something that All Might had several opportunities to reveal, even over the course of the movie itself. Most especially when David’s checking Toshinori’s vitals and his quirk levels. (Which, I have no idea how you would even trace something like that, but I digress.)

Then, to add salt to the wound, All for One targets David regardless of his knowledge of One for All. Just his connection to All Might as a former sidekick was enough to put him in the line of fire. All Might’s secret-keeping didn’t protect him from anything, and instead turned an already bad situation worse. In the end, presumably David Shield is put away in prison, because when we see Iron Might in the manga, only Melissa is pictured, not her father, and if David had been available I refuse to believe that he wouldn’t have had a hand in the suit’s creation. All Might’s time limit in his muscle form is also shortened once again.

Ultimately I believe this specific situation is what led to him eventually urging Deku to not make the same mistake he did, in not telling anyone about One for All.

Also, the specificity of Wolfram being drawn this way after being defeated, gaunt and steaming, paralleling someone else we all know and love, felt very intentional. I don’t have more to say about it at the moment, I just thought it was interesting and that I’d point it out.

[magicshopaholic]

Moving On (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: BTS performs in Amsterdam and Namjoon invites you to the afterparty.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Genre: Angst, smut

Word count: 8.2K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, angst, sex, nudity, making out, fingering, cumming, arguing,

A/N: Takes place a little over a month after Final Destination.

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2,  @margopinkerton, @faearchives,  @whoisbts, @purpleseoul7, @sumzysworld, @kflixnet (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)

Listen to: "where does the good go" by tegan and sara

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

Joon [13:45] Did you get the email from Big Hit?

Kaya [13:50] Yes

Joon [13:51] The number at the end is their London office. They’ve been briefed already and have additional security available for all European locations.

Kaya [13:54] Okay

There’s a break in the chat here. Kaya stares at the time stamp, trying to picture him scrambling to find something else to say.

Joon [14:15] The company managed to track down the account that uploaded the video. Account has been taken down and they’ve sued for invasion of privacy.

Kaya [14:20] Okay 

Joon [14:22] They’ve also offered to add damages to the suit, in case we want that. Do you?

Kaya [14:25] Not really

Joon [14:26] Okay then

Another break. Kaya scans the time stamps again, even though she’s memorised it by now. She remembers the three dots indicating him typing, seeing them appear and disappear over and over again. 

Joon [14:40] How are you?

Kaya [14:45] Fine

Joon [14:46] How‘s work?

Kaya [14:48] Fine

Joon [14:50] Kaya I’m trying

Kaya [14:51] Class starting, got to go

He hadn’t responded and she hadn’t expected him to. Four days post break-up hadn’t been nearly long enough for her to let go of her anger but now, four weeks in, it’s only been replaced with an equal amount of sadness and longing.

Every conversation has been exactly this terse and abrupt, the last one being a week ago. It had appeared when she’d been teaching an elective class and it had taken every ounce of her will to not check it until the class ended. As it turned out, she couldn’t even think of a decent response to it.

“How can he possibly think of asking me this?” Kaya mutters, earphones in as she walks home. It’s dusk, a gorgeous time of the day, but she holds no appreciation for it right now.

“Wouldn’t it be worse if he didn’t ask?” Dilara asks reasonably. She’s in her car by the sound of it, a low hum audible of whichever fancy car of hers she’s decided to take out today.

Kaya swallows, pondering this. It might be, but it doesn’t address the problem she’s too embarrassed to voice out loud: it should be harder for him to ask. The thought that he might not be taking this break-up as hard as she is kills something inside of her, as if she’d misunderstood everything in the last three years. 

Her strategy to save herself from hearing the truth had been to distance herself from everyone, including Yoongi, who had texted her out of the blue one day to ask her if she was okay (she hadn’t responded); Seokjin, who seemed to skirt the topic altogether and sounded as though he was speaking to someone very sick; and especially Dilara, who Kaya knew would be the only one with the capacity to ask insightful questions that she herself was too afraid to.

“It’s just… strange,” is all she can manage. “He hopped on a flight, shot a few emails, came over and broke up with me and then went right back to his schedule, all in one day. And now he's inviting me to a party?"

“After-party, so it won’t be, like… crazy,” Dilara clarifies. “And the concert before it.” 

“I’m definitely not going to his concert.”

“Of course not,” she agrees breezily. “I wouldn’t expect you to. But the party… I mean, it’s a good thing, isn’t it? He doesn’t want you to be strangers.”

Kaya slows down as she approaches the river. She’s taken the long route home today - anything to prolong the commute before another night in her tainted apartment with memories on every surface.

“I don’t know if I want to see him.” I don’t know if I can. “He wants to see me, though, apparently,” she states after a moment.

Dilara doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I mean -“ She begins before pausing, then trying again. “I’m sure it’s going to be torture for him to see you. But even that’s better than not seeing you.”

Kaya doesn’t even realise she’d been holding her breath; she exhales as slowly as possible so as to not make a sound, both at Dilara’s words as well as her answering the unasked question.

She doesn’t respond immediately, though. Now that they’re down this route of addressing concerns she’s been harbouring in her heart for weeks, Kaya feels the rest of them on the verge of tumbling out of her mouth.

"You've seen him a bit these last couple of months,” she ventures, lowering her voice and leaning backwards against the railing overlooking the river. “Does it seem like he misses me at all?"

Dilara hums, a little too knowingly for Kaya’s liking. “Of course, he does. He’s not the most expressive when it comes to his feelings but aside from Tae last year, I don't think I've met a more miserable person."

Kaya waits for the swell of happiness or relief at this news, but all it brings with it is a new wave of anger and frustration.

“Thanks.”

"Look, speaking from experience, it's not easy seeing your ex after a difficult break-up,” says Dilara, sighing. “But sometimes you don't realise just how much you needed to see them until you see them, even if it's just to gain some closure."

Closure. It sounds… final. Kaya can’t picture it, being virtual strangers eventually, just bits of each other’s past. Ex-boyfriend, girl of his dreams, the one that got away. She hates all those words because they just don’t apply, not really. They can’t.

She closes her eyes and presses the heel of her palms into them to intercept the wetness forming, not caring that Dilara is still on the other end of the line. She and Namjoon had stood right here, years ago, living in the bliss of a new couple in fresh love. He’d brought her a bunch of tiny yellow flowers from the park, part-cheesy and part-genuine, eyes twinkling and dimples soft.

Kaya squeezes her eyes shut at the memory, terrified at how the edges of it are already blurring. 

“I don’t think I’ll go,” she murmurs, opening her eyes to stare at the ground. “I can’t.” 

“Are you sure?” Dilara sounds slightly surprised.

“Yeah. Two days from now is… it’s too soon. I’ll either cry or yell or… I don’t know. It’s too hard.”

“Oh.” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Okay. If you’re sure. Let me know if you want to get together on Sunday,” she adds. “Brunch or something.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

—

The next day, Kaya is in the library again, grading papers and wishing she could go back to being a grad student who’s biggest problem was a pop quiz. She’s deliberately chosen a table at the back, away from where the students generally sit, which is why she looks up in surprise when someone comes to her table.

“H-hi, Kaya.” The student waves rests one hand on the back of an empty hair and waves hesitantly with the other.

“Um… hi.” Kaya tries not to frown too conspicuously, for she’s sure she knows this girl. 

Svetlana. Savannah. 

“Elena, right?”

“Yeah,” she answers with a nervous smile. “Um… are you busy?”

Kaya glances at the stacks of papers, books and laptop on the table. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Okay. Well… I just wanted to say hi.”

Kaya nods awkwardly and forces a small smile on her face. “Hi.”

Elena nods, tucking her hair behind her ears. She looks like she’s about to leave but at the last moment, sits down at the table. Kaya feels her smile fade for she really, really wants to be alone right now.

“How - how are things going?” She sounds nervous - extremely so. She seems to be fidgeting slightly and constantly touching her hair. 

“Great,” says Kaya shortly, going back to her paper and hoping she’ll take the hint. “You?”

“Not bad, overall. I guess. Classes are hard and mid-terms are coming up as well…” Elena trails off. “Any plans for the weekend?”

Trying not to sigh, Kaya shakes her head. “Not really. You?”

“Well… I’m going to a concert tomorrow,” she answers hurriedly, and it’s clear that she’s been waiting to divulge this information, oblivious to how Kaya’s heart stops. “It should be fun. Do - do you listen to BTS?”

An unexpected notification from this morning floats into her kind. BTS continues their Europe leg by arriving in Amsterdam, ready to kick off the summer in style!

“No,” she answers truthfully.

“Oh.” Elena is quiet for a moment. “They’re really… good.” 

There’s some awkward silence during which Kaya deliberately writes comments on the paper she’s grading, scratching the pen on the paper and wishing Elena would leave.

“It’ll be good to get out of campus. The people here are kind of intimidating. The parties are pretty wild, too,” she murmurs after a moment, sounding uncomfortable.

Kaya nods absently, uncharacteristically satisfied with the knowledge that she might be intimidating this unwanted guest. “Maybe you’re going to the wrong parties,” she offers.

Elena lets out a nervous laugh again. “Maybe. I never see you at them, though. There’s one, tonight, in the common room. Maybe you could come,” she suggests lightly. “Bring a friend or - or your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she answers flatly, not looking up.

“You - oh.” There’s a note of surprise in her voice. “Oh,” she repeats, this time seemingly to herself. “Are you sure?” she blurts out.

Kaya’s eyes snap up to glare at her. “Pretty sure.”

Elena’s eyes widen. “Oh, of - of course,” she stutters. “Sorry, that - that was a stupid question. Sorry.” She swallows and looks at her lap.

Kaya closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, immediately feeling guilty for snapping at an innocent bystander in this situation. “Elena, I… I really need to get these papers done,” she tells her, her voice one of forced calm. “So…”

The blonde finally seems to understand and awkwardly stands up. “Okay. Um, see you around,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear again. 

Kaya nods as she leaves, Namjoon’s invitation swimming in her mind tantalisingly. She can’t ignore it anymore, the fact that they’re in the same city, her city. If she’s not wrong, he’ll do the concert tomorrow night, the group will probably stay the night and depart by Sunday afternoon or evening and she will probably never see him again.

She attempts to continue grading the paper she was working on when Elena interrupted, but when she finds herself reading the same stupid sentence for the fourth time without retaining anything, she begins packing up, ready to head home.

—

Joon [18:42] Hope to see you there tonight

Kaya, with a loss as to how to respond to this, simply did not. She can’t imagine he would be texting her during his concert, but she also knows he has before, if the situation was urgent enough to demand it. 

She straightens the black dress against her hips and tilts her head at her reflection. It’s a simple dress, plain black, form-fitting and reaching below her knees, but it’s quite possibly the most gorgeous, sexiest dress she owns. 

If she and Namjoon were together, she would have worn it tonight with no hesitation because it would have driven him insane. After weeks of being apart, seeing her in this dress would have rendered him incapable of staying in work mode without dirty texts, flirty touches and eyes from across the room undressing her. Even now, with a bare face, her hair tied into a loose bun and no footwear, the dress is a game-changer.

She gives herself a few moments to imagine this paradise, one that might have come true tonight had she never told him about the break-in. Then, she silently unzips the dress and climbs out of the black fabric pooled around her feet. Tucking it back into her closet, she looks for something else.

Dilara [18:50] In case you change your mind, sharing the location here [Location]

Dilara’s text had come minutes after Namjoon’s, and Kaya has to imagine it was a genuine coincidence. Although she’d replied to neither, it was the second text that caused her to change her mind - that, and the lingering fear that if she didn’t go today, she didn’t know how either of them would be able to maneuver a situation to see each other again.

The concert should end in a little over an hour. Her phone pings again and she groans, for she doesn’t think she can take any more of their unsubtle attempts at convincing her to go tonight. It’s not Namjoon or Dilara, though, but Adam Fischer, her thirty-something thesis advisor, asking if she wants to discuss the coming week’s class schedule tonight.

Kaya shakes her head as she types out a reply (Sorry, I can’t tonight. Will set up a meeting for first thing Monday if that’s okay?), a little rueful. Namjoon heavily disliked Adam, despite having no concrete reason for doing so. He’d always suspected Adam of having feelings for her, even though Adam hadn’t said or done anything to make her think he might. Part of her wonders if she could somehow ditch the party for this meeting and still make sure that the news travelled to Namjoon through the grapevine (Dilara), and if that would still piss him off even now.

She immediately cringes at the pettiness of it, however, sending her reply to Adam and heading into the shower.

The party is at the rooftop restaurant of the hotel next to the concert venue, and presumably where BTS is staying while in Amsterdam. It isn’t as crowded as she was anticipating, although the music is fairly loud. It looks more like a fancy houseparty, and even a few seconds in, Kaya can spot a handful of vaguely famous people in attendance. She looks around for a familiar face, preferably Dilara or Yoongi or one of the younger boys, wishing she’d called ahead and trying not to think about the fact that in spite of not RSVP-ing, her name was on the guest list.

She takes another hesitant step in and audibly sighs when she spots Taehyung, who, for reasons best known to himself, has accessorised his outfit with an ascot. He seems to be in an animated conversation with Jungkook, while standing in between them and facing ahead, with loose curls tumbling down her shoulders and looking slightly bored, is…

“Kaya!”

Dilara’s mouth forms her name over the music as she brushes past her boyfriend and his friend and hurries towards Kaya, looking both happy and relieved to see her. “You look hot!” she exclaims when she reaches her.

“Oh -” Kaya looks down self-consciously; she’d settled for a straight strapless top and jeans, unable to justify dressing sexier without seeming like she was trying too hard for her ex-boyfriend. “Thanks. And you look…” She frowns slightly at Dilara’s mini-dress and go-go boots, with a slightly out-of-place gold ring hanging around her neck. “... like Daphne Blake.”

Dilara’s face visibly falls. “I look like a cartoon character?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, a very pretty cartoon character,” she adds quickly. “Especially with the headband. But… why?”

She rolls her eyes. “Taehyung picked it - but I’m sure it’s not because of Daphne Blake.” Spotting Kaya’s confused expression, she shrugs sheepishly. “We got into an argument yesterday about who has better taste, so we decided to go shopping at The Nine Streets and pick each other’s outfits for tonight.”

Kaya raises her eyebrows, something seemingly clicking into place. “So the ascot is your doing?”

“M-hm.” She nods in satisfaction before her eyes widen. “Oh, hey! An ascot - like Fred!” She lets out a low whistle at this realisation and laughs, while Kaya nods knowingly, feeling the urge to smile for the first time in what feels like weeks. “Not planned but zero regrets. I wonder if Tae knows that - oh.”

Kaya cuts her off mid-sentence with a hug, suddenly immensely grateful for Dilara. She can’t remember the last time she’d let anyone into her life this much with the exception of Namjoon; but just maybe, when she’d been happy with him and her guard had been lowered, Dilara had slipped in without warning as well.

She tightens her arms around Kaya and rubs her back. “It’s good to see you, too,” she says, sounding part-surprised and part-delighted. “It’s been a while but I promise that we will still - oh, hey.” The change in tone is abrupt. “Incoming.”

By the way her voice immediately lowers, Kaya is sure she knows what Dilara is referring to. Her heart beating a mile a minute, she pulls away from the hug and turns as casually as she can.

Her first thought is that he looks thinner - visibly so. Well, he’s on tour, says a voice in her head but Kaya suspects that’s not the only reason, for he’d been on tour when he’d broken up with her as well.

His hair is a silvery blond, looking almost metallic; dressed simply in a black T-shirt and  jeans, he runs a hand through his hair so it falls gracefully around his face as he approaches her, his face unreadable.

“Hi,” he says, and it sounds like all the breath has been let out of him with just one word. He swallows and straightens his shoulders, a small smile appearing on his face, the dimple faintly visible. “It’s good to see you, Kaya.”

Kaya nods, unable to speak and overcome with a sudden urge to cry. “You, too,” she murmurs, glancing at the floor and blinking rapidly before looking back up at him, a bit defiantly.

“I’m glad you decided to come.”

She nods again, her chest twisting at how normal he sounds. He’s standing far away from her as well, as though to make it clear in every way possible that they’re not together. 

“Hope you had a good concert,” she ventures, recalling the grad student who’d accosted her yesterday, practically beside herself at attending a BTS concert. “Backstage must have been hectic.”

A flicker of something appears in his eyes for a moment, possibly with memories of backstage. Wishes of luck, last minute hugs, sweaty and passionate kisses fueled by adrenaline. But it disappears instantly and Kaya wonders if she imagined it.

“It was,” he answers, nodding. He slides his hands into his pockets smoothly, leaning back on his heels and his smile widening a little. “But worth it as always. The crew did well.”

Kaya doesn’t even bother nodding this time; all of a sudden, she regrets coming here tonight. Dilara has left, she just realises, and Namjoon is acting like they’re acquaintances at best, making her feel stupid and yet immensely grateful that she didn’t wear the sexy black dress.

At that moment, his eyes flicker to something behind her. “I’m sorry, I just need to go and say hi to a couple of people. But enjoy your night. It’s an open bar,” he adds, smiling and nodding politely before brushing past her and walking away.

Kaya doesn’t move; she doesn’t think she can. Something heavy feels like it’s settled on her chest, the weight of confusion, disbelief and crushing disappointment threatening to suffocate her. She has no idea what she’d been expecting; maybe arguing, fighting, crying together again - but not him not caring. Not this.

Namjoon continues walking in the opposite direction for as long as he can keep Kaya in his peripheral vision, both guilty and relieved when she doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t think he can look her in the eye if she does, witness the pain and hurt in her face that close.

He catches Seokjin’s eye and hurries over to him. Seokjin raises his eyebrows and seems to guess what might have transpired, ushering him over to the other end of the circular bar and out of Kaya’s line of sight.

“How did it go?”

Namjoon rests his palms on the bar and shakes his head, no words coming to him at the moment and feeling like he could throw up. He can’t fathom how he did it, how he stood there before her and didn’t immediately pull her to him, or break down and ask her to forgive him for doing the only thing he knew to do.

“Drink this.” Seokjin slides a glass to him and Namjoon takes it without hesitation, taking a huge gulp and waiting for it to sting his sinuses. 

“This is water,” he states hoarsely, frowning at the glass.

“Cold water,” corrects Seokjin. “It’ll help clear your head.”

Namjoon takes another sip and places the glass down, dropping his head into his hands. “I can’t do this. How do I tell her I can’t do this? How do I ask her to -“ But he breaks off here, his mind swimming with the sight of her bare shoulders and exposed collarbones, imagining how they would feel if he held her.

“Okay.” Seokjin exhales through his nose and pauses. “Look, I have to ask. You’ve seen the state she is in. And you’re…” He struggles for a moment “...like this. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to ask her to get back -“

“No.” The answer is instant, although it’s partly a habit by now. As he does every time his mind tries to convince him otherwise, Namjoon forces the memory of her phone call to the forefront of his mind, the fear in her voice and  devastation on her face when he’d entered her apartment.

“But maybe this is -“

“No.” 

Seokjin is silent and Namjoon can tell that he doesn’t approve. Please don’t ask me again, hyung. He doesn’t know if he did the right thing by inviting her but he couldn’t imagine not doing it either, not being right here in her city, knowing she was so close that he could almost smell the coconut and vanilla in the air and still not see her in the flesh.

“If you’re sure,” says Seokjin at last. “If you are, then I guess you did well. Just… just be normal around her. Keep a normal distance, talk about normal things and…” He half-shrugs, sounding uncertain. “She’s smart. She’ll understand. If you’re sure you want to do this, then… she’ll get it.”

Normal. Namjoon knows what he means, but he wants to tell him that none of this is normal. Not touching her, not being honest with her, not being with her - none of it is normal. 

“She’s talking to Yoongi right now,” he adds, and Namjoon turns to see them near the stairs to the top floor. Kaya’s back is to him, her head lowered slightly and her thumbs hooked onto the back pockets of her jeans, the material hugging her hips and curving down her backside… He swallows and looks away.

“This is your chance,” says Seokjin. “Go and mingle. Let her see you moving on - even if you actually aren’t,” he clarifies quickly. “It won’t be pleasant but it might encourage her to do the same.”

Namjoon isn’t sure of the wisdom of this strategy but ever since the cause of his break-up had been revealed to the older members (and surely to Taehyung at least, by Dilara), he’d almost been relieved that he wouldn’t have to make every decision on his own.

He tries his best to navigate the party after that, making empty conversation with guests, using every bit of remaining energy and willpower to plaster a smile on his face. All the while, part of his attention is constantly on Kaya, registering her familiar figure alone at the bar as she nurses a beer, sometimes with Dilara. 

Be normal. Seokjin’s words start holding less and less meaning with every passing minute, especially when he spots Kaya having finished her drink and he’s struck with the sudden fear that she will leave the party. In an effort to be as normal as he can, Namjoon heads over to the bar where she’s scanning the life-size menu half-heartedly, arms folded across her chest.

“Like anything?” he asks humbly. Long Island Iced Tea or a Mai Tai - depends on the flavours. His heart jolts when she shoots him a doubtful look and doesn’t answer, almost as if she’s wary of talking to him. She leans over the bar and gives the bartender a smile that makes his heart drop, especially when he grins back.

“Komt de mai tai in mango?” she asks, half-pouting when he shakes his head. “Een biertje, alsjeblieft,” she says finally, taking her second beer and turning away from the bar.

Namjoon doesn’t remember ever feeling this distant from her. “I’m glad you came tonight,” he tries again, choosing to look at her even though she’s facing away.

Kaya nods, pursing her lips and looking ahead. “Yeah, you said that already.” But her voice trembles ever so slightly, or maybe he just knows her so well that he’s sure it’s not a case of her not wanting to look at him - she can’t look at him.

It’s all on him now. He started this; if there is any hope of them still staying in each other’s lives, it’s down to him to make it happen. 

“How’s your dissertation going?” he asks, hoping her work is a topic she might open up on.

She shrugs after a moment. “Off schedule,” she answers shortly. “A lot of variables hanging in the air.”

“Did you get into the research project you’d applied for?”

It’s momentary but it appears: the corner of her mouth tilts upwards. “Yeah,” she admits, finally looking at him, albeit hesitantly. “Guess I’ll have a lot more time to focus on it now,” she murmurs, the hint of a smile fading.

Namjoon’s heart sinks. She’s so angry with him; it’s palpable and not something he has ever been on the receiving end of. Her hand hangs by her side; his own itches to link his fingers with his, maybe tug her to him or lead her out of this stupid party where he can plead for her to just look at him.

“Well,” he says, then pauses. “I’m glad you could get the time off tonight. Must have been hard.”

“M-hm, not really.” She shakes her head. “Adam wanted to meet but I’ll probably catch up with him later,” she adds nonchalantly.

Namjoon nods, his hand tightening around his glass. He can’t tell if she’s trying to provoke him, for they do work closely; close enough that Adam’s intentions have always been a point of disagreement for them. He’d never been able to explain to her just how much he hated the way her advisor looked at her when she didn’t notice, how his hugs always lingered a moment too long or how he insisted on calling her late in the evenings to discuss work.

He’s distracted momentarily by Jungkook, who approaches them while bopping effortlessly to the music and stops in between them, turning to face in the same direction as Namjoon and Kaya. He’s definitely tipsy; the smile on his face is too big and he doesn’t seem to be reading the room at all.

“Dilara is a really good dancer, isn’t she?” he says loudly in English to no one in particular. Namjoon frowns and follows his gaze to see Dilara, Taehyung and Hoseok dancing, before turning back to look at Jungkook. On his other side, Kaya is also frowning at him, tilting her head curiously. Their eyes meet and she raises her eyebrows slightly.

Namjoon fights a smile as Kaya half-chuckles and looks away, his heart twisting with longing at how much he misses her. She looks so incredibly beautiful; his eyes sting when he realises that there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

“I’m gonna -“ He gestures vaguely and walks away in the opposite direction, desperate to be anywhere but around her before his resolve breaks.

The next half hour is a flurry of faces; Namjoon distracts himself with every single individual at the party, making small talk and exchanging unfunny jokes and hyper aware of Kaya occasionally glancing at him.

He knows, because he’s watching her, too, doing his best to make sure she doesn’t see him looking. He can’t even help it; it’s almost muscle memory at this point.

“Who are you looking at?” The woman he’s talking to asks him point-blank.

Namjoon flushes, realising he’d been staring at Kaya over her shoulder while she’d been speaking.

“No one,” he answers quickly. “Sorry.”

The twenty-something woman frowns curiously. “Are you sure? I’m not offended.”

“It’s… nothing.” He shakes his head and looks at the floor. 

“Ex-girlfriend?”

Ex. Not trusting himself to speak, Namjoon nods. 

“Hm.” She hums, somewhat sympathetically. “Bad break-up?”

“Pretty bad.”

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “It’s never easy to be around an ex if it hasn’t ended well.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, desperate to change the topic. “All part of the process, right?”

“Right,” she says encouragingly. “Plus, once you’re past this phase, the one where you constantly want to die, you can begin the drink and eat and hook up as much as you want stage with no judgement.”

He chuckles politely, the prospect sounding horrendous. “Thanks. Feels good to laugh for real.”

She smiles wider and, before he knows it, leans forward and presses a kiss against his lips.

It takes Namjoon a couple of seconds of pure shock before he jumps backwards. “Whoa. What -“ His heart races uncomfortably. “What was that?”

“Sorry,” she says slowly, looking a little confused. “I thought… you wanted to make your ex jealous. Isn’t that where you were going with this?”

“No,” he clarifies immediately. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t want to - no.” In the midst of his minor crisis, he notes how the woman looks almost mortified.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s fine,” he cuts her off, suddenly feeling horribly guilty. He looks up out of habit and sees, unmistakably, Kaya leaving the restaurant, her long dark hair and the shimmery dark blue of her top disappearing out the door.

—

The night has gotten chillier in the last couple of hours and the cool wind hits her bare shoulders the moment she steps out, but Kaya barely feels it. She’s not thinking right now; thinking is what’s got them here, thinking about everything and overthinking to the point of fleeing a restaurant.

“Kaya!” 

Her feet increase their pace automatically the same time her stomach flips, but he’s taller and faster and he reaches her before she can even reach the elevator.

“Kaya,” he repeats hurriedly, reaching and grabbing her elbow. “Wait, please. I’m sorry -”

“Why did you even invite me here?” she asks, cutting him off and turning around to face him. She’s so tired; she didn’t think break-ups could be this exhausting. “You’ve barely said anything to me. Was it to show me in person how you’re moving on? Because if that’s the case, then… message received.”

Namjoon shakes his head immediately; he looks exhausted as well, and Kaya is once again struck by how much thinner he is, overcome with a mixture of empathy and frustration at him. 

“That was not - I didn’t plan that,” he says, sighing. “I don’t even know who she is. She kissed me and it wasn’t… come on, does it look like I’m moving on?” he asks, raising his arms helplessly.

Kaya stares at him and then sighs, shaking her head. “Why did you invite me here?” she asks again, less defensive this time.

“Because I wanted to see you,” he says at once.

She stares at him. “Well, you’ve seen me,” she says, sniffing. “Can I go now?”

“Kaya…”

“What?”

Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, looking lost for words. “Please don’t -“ He breaks off abruptly before taking a step closer to her, his height both large and comforting. “I don’t want you to be sad. I’m sorry.”

Too late. “You’re not supposed to care how I feel. Not anymore.”

He lets out a humourless chuckle. “What?”

“We’re over.” She can hear the tremble in her voice as she crosses her arms across her chest again. “You said it yourself. You’re not supposed to care how I feel.”

“Really?” He narrows his eyes at her. “You think this break-up had anything to do with how I feel about you? You know as I do that it didn’t.” When she doesn’t answer, he sighs. “I did this because I care.”

“If you say so.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Are you deliberately trying to provoke me or something?”

“Provoke you into what?” she blurts out. “What - what is that you want, exactly? What do you want us to do? Just circle around in each other’s orbits for the rest of our lives, while still being - while still feeling the way we do?” she asks, avoiding her almost-slip of tongue. “We’re just supposed to stay not be together and still stay in each other’s lives? What - what do you want?”

Namjoon opens his mouth but falls silent; it’s clear he hasn’t thought that far ahead - or he can’t say it out loud. “I want…” He begins, before pausing and starting again. “I want… you to be happy,” he says eventually. “And safe.” 

She scoffs and he bristles. 

“I’m serious. I -” He breaks off when someone exits the restaurant, his gaze following them until they’re out of sight before he turns back to her. “This is hard for me, too, you know? Why is it so hard for you to believe I might want you to be happy?”

Kaya exhales but doesn’t answer, because it isn’t hard to believe, not even a little bit. It’s unfortunately the most believable thing he’s ever said to her which means she can’t even fight it.

“How?” she asks finally. “By moving on, like you were pretending to do?”

Namjoon bites his lip and his eyes glaze over, and she knows he’s picturing it. His eyes fall to the floor but he nods slowly anyway. “Yeah, I guess. As long as I don’t have to watch it,” he adds in a mutter.

It’s really over. Kaya feels her eyes well up. “Fine,” she answers quietly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find someone to move on with tonight.” She turns to leave but feels him stop her again. “What?” she snarls.

“Kaya, I -” The lift opens and a handful of people tumble out, holding merchandise and talking loudly. Namjoon’s eyes widen and he immediately grabs her arms and walks her back into a corner, just as the group turns into their corridor and towards the restaurant.

“What are you -”

But the second lift opens just then and they hear the sound of a second group of voices. Namjoon swears under his breath and pushes open a door behind her, walking her back further into the tiny dark room and letting the door swing shut behind him.

“What is wrong with -“

“It’s press,” he hisses, and she falls silent.

He peers out into the corridor through the small window in the door; there’s no light except for the bit through the window and from a skylight in the ceiling. Kaya can smell something vaguely citric that she decides is floor cleaner; they are in a janitor’s closet.

She and Namjoon are frozen in place, his hands still on her arms and hers on his torso to keep from losing her balance. It’s been a long time since they’ve been this close; it takes Kaya a few seconds to realise that the voices outside have disappeared, but he still hasn’t moved away.

Almost as if he’s subconsciously heard her, his thumbs stroke her arm once. The simple touch makes all the anger crumble away for a moment, especially now that it’s just them with the rest of the world shut outside. Kaya hesitates for a moment, then gently rests her forehead on his shoulder. Namjoon stiffens but a moment later, she feels his fingers tighten above her elbows, followed by him loosely enveloping her in his arms.

It seems cruel, almost, that the target of her anger and source of her comfort lie in the same person. It isn’t even a hug; it’s a moment of weakness at best, borne from his almost subconscious need to protect her. For the first time, Kaya wonders if she’s being unfair to him.

Resisting the temptation to wrap her arms around his waist, she steps away from him with difficulty, her back touching the wall. His arms fall from around her reluctantly, his expression resigned. It’s dark but she can see him more clearly than she has all night.

“This is a terrible idea,” she murmurs, echoing her words from a month ago. “The worst you’ve ever had.”

Namjoon exhales shakily but doesn’t argue. “I meant everything I said in that note,” he says, not even trying to hide the tremble in his voice anymore. “And I really do want you to be happy.”

The note. The one he’d kept on her bedside table when he’d left her apartment while she slept, the only thing of his that was left when she’d awoken, naked and alone. She’d only had the strength to read it once before she’d broken down and tucked it deep into her drawer, knowing the words would be etched in her memory.

“You know what will make me happy,” she whispers, looking at the ground. She feels him come closer to her, one hand hovering by her side as though unable to decide if she’d want her to touch him. 

He finally rests it lightly on her waist, moving it slightly upward as she looks up at him, her heart twisting at how he’s unable to meet her eyes. She places her hands on his face, thinking vaguely how much she misses seeing his dimple.

“Joon,” she whispers, waiting for him to nod once. “Look at me.”

Namjoon visibly swallows, gaze still fallen. “Kaya, I…”

“No,” she interrupts him. “Look at me.”

With what seems like an enormous effort, he meets her eyes. This is hard for me too, you know? 

She knows. Kaya strokes his cheekbones with her thumbs, her touch feather-light. “Kiss me,” she whispers. She touches her forehead to his and closes her eyes, hoping he’ll give in, for she can’t go further than this. 

His hand tightens around her waist, pressing her into the wall. Their lips brush momentarily and he shivers.

“Do it,” she urges, her voice barely audible now. “Kiss me.”

She feels his lips before she even registers him moving against her and she leans into it, feeling like she can breathe for the first time in weeks. Come back to me, she thinks desperately. Come back to where you belong.

It’s like he can hear her. Namjoon pulls away, one hand on the wall beside her face for support, the other holding her.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and it sends a jolt of anticipation through her heart. “I love you, Kaya,” he adds, voice full of emotion. Kaya nods, unable to speak, wishing he would meet her eyes. He moves his hands to her face and touches his forehead to hers again, swallowing.

Look at me.

But he doesn’t. “But you have no idea,” he continues, every word sounding like it's costing him effort, “how I felt when you called me that night. The things that went through my mind…” He sniffs, and Kaya’s heart sinks. “I can’t let that happen again baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

She can feel her face start to contort and she drops her hands from his shoulders, for she knows this part by heart. “Goodbye, Namjoon,” she mutters thickly, sliding out from between him and the wall. She pushes open the door and hurries out, leaving him behind.

—

When she hears the knock on her front door the next morning, Kaya is just about to step into the shower. She freezes and sighs, for she really, really needs this shower. She considers ignoring it but the knock sounds again and she groans, abandoning the activity of tying up her hair and letting it fall loose instead. 

Grabbing the old, threadbare robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, she pulls it around herself and shuffles to the front door. She peers through the peephole and her heart stops for a moment, but she steels herself and opens the door.

Namjoon stands before her, hands in his pockets and shoulders slightly hunched. “Hey. I just wanted to - oh, God,” he switches abruptly, his expression changing from vaguely apologetic to shocked, and he slips inside the apartment.

“What?” Kaya asks, taken off guard and stumbling backwards.

“You really opened the door wearing that?” he hisses, shutting the door behind him. “I could’ve been anyone!”

“I knew it was you,” she argues, tightening the belt around her waist and realising, for the first time, how short the robe is. But she isn’t about to admit that to him, especially not when he’s turned up unannounced and decided to begin his visit by berating her. She folds her arms across her chest. “What do you want, Namjoon?”

He hesitates, almost as though he’s just noticing how displeased she is. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking a bit ashamed. “I didn’t mean to… anyway,” he says quickly, wringing his hands and slipping them back in his pockets. “How are you?”

Kaya shrugs suspiciously. He looks remarkably different from where she’d left him last night, almost breaking down and apologising to her. Right now, he seems almost… calm. She can almost imagine that last night had been a slip-up of emotion, possibly due to tiredness and an open bar, whereas in the light of day, he’s back to being the responsible ex who’s fulfilling his obligations by checking up on her each day.

“I’m great.”

He nods after a moment, clearly not believing her. “Well, I came here because…” He sighs and a glimmer of last night’s emotion appears on his face. “I thought about what you said last night. And you were right.”

The jolt in her stomach is almost painful, but Kaya hangs on. If he was talking about what she thinks he is, he would be delivering it far more differently.

“We can’t keep doing this. I can’t expect you to keep doing this,” he adds. “Staying in this limbo, not knowing…” He bites his lip and lowers his gaze, removing his hands from his pockets. “You have every right to move on. I want you to - to be happy.”

Kaya licks her lips slowly. “This,” she says coldly, “could’ve been a text.”

“I didn’t want to leave things the way they were last night,” he tells her, his voice softer. “You’re, uh…” His voice breaks off for a moment. “You’re the love of my life. And we were together for a long time and I… I loved every moment of it. I just want to say goodbye the right way.”

Her throat hurts holding back the rush of emotion that threatens to overwhelm her. 

“Are you sure?” She can’t resist asking, in a whisper. When he nods and lowers his eyes, she feels the heavy, heavy anchor of acceptance settle in her stomach. 

Namjoon hesitantly reaches out with one hand but when she gives him a look, he nods and steps forward, and they meet in their last hug, three and a half years after their first last hug in her apartment.

Kaya hugs him tight, no longer caring about hiding how she feels. There isn’t enough time to try and memorise everything so she doesn’t even try; she just goes higher on her toes and presses her nose into his shoulder, revelling in his scent one last time.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to be doing much better. He’s holding her tight, so tight that it doesn’t seem like he’s ever intending on letting her go. His face is in her hair and his arms stroke her back in small movements, his go-to movement to comfort her since they met.

Just a few more seconds. The sensations increase now; the feel of his shoulders, his chest touching hers - and she’s suddenly conscious of the thin robe being the only thing separating her naked body from him.

At the same time, his hands move to her waist - out of habit, she knows, but she can’t help but be extremely aware of it. His hand stops just above the curve of her hips, quickly and abruptly. 

Her mouth feels dry, but her legs press together. Then, as though he can read her mind and the direction her thoughts are invariably leading in, against her hip, she can feel his body react.

She lets out a soft gasp and feels his body stiffen around her. This is goodbye, a voice reminds her, urging her brain to focus on the matter at hand. But it’s slipping - fading, almost, as a physical urge struggles for dominance. 

Her lips brush his neck as she pulls away - she has to pull away - but it doesn’t matter in the end because somewhere along the way his lips find hers and all thought disappears, replaced by touch, feel and hunger.

Namjoon sighs into her mouth like he’s breathing for the first time, pulling her close. Her robe starts to loosen and he tugs at the belt, groaning when his hands touch her bare skin.

“Fuck, are you really not wearing anything under this?” he murmurs, his voice so low and reverberating so deep inside her that she shivers.

The robe is off; it’s cool and sudden air, a moment where his hands fall from her waist and then their back but this time, it’s skin against skin. It’s lips and sighs and tight grips, the feel of denim, her fingers moving out of habit as they unbutton and unzip - and then there’s pride and relief when she feels his desire for her, still the same as ever, no matter his words.

There’s something solid against her back; somewhere, dimly, her mind registers that her dining table is rickety and has her laptop on it, and then she’s leaning forward and he’s behind her and his chest is against her back and he wants her just as much as he wants him.

“Are you -“

“I’m still on birth control,” she confirms tightly, the next moment feeling his fingers on her hips and then he’s inside her again, after so long. She could almost sob at how good it feels, how right, the lips on her shoulder and his scent and touch.

But it’s over too soon. She gasps and falls forward, her ears ringing and heart hurting at the same time as her heart races. He’s getting close, too; she tries to memorise it now, the exact moment, but then he pulls out. It’s sudden, the emptiness, but the next moment, she feels wetness on her back.

It takes around ten seconds, ten seconds when she’s frozen before she finally hears him sigh and take a step away. A moment later, she reaches across the table and pulls the tissue box towards her, reaching behind and wiping her back.

Kaya turns slightly to see him pulling on his T-shirt, jeans buttoned already. She picks up her robe and pulls it on hurriedly, suddenly not wanting to be naked for even another microsecond in front of him.

Something feels wrong. It’s not the first time he’s finished on her; he’s done it before, on explicit request and without, none of which ever made her feel… like this. Self-conscious. Bare.

Namjoon clears his throat. “I -“ He meets her eyes, still panting slightly. “I still want to… do this right,” he says, sounding almost formal. “Goodbye, Kaya.” 

He starts to take a step forward but pauses. “Maybe we shouldn’t hug,” he murmurs, offering her a small smile. Kaya watches as he hesitantly offers her a hand.

This is goodbye. Kaya can’t remember ever feeling this uncomfortable around him. The momentary loss of her sense of reason feels like it’s returned in full form, and she tightens the robe around her. She starts to reach for his hand but then stops.

“This is what you meant?” she asks quietly. “When you said you wanted to do it the right way? You wanted to see if you could squeeze in one last fuck before you closed this out like a business meeting?”

“What?” Namjoon’s eyes widen. “No! I didn’t - I didn’t want that to happen! I mean - you know that’s not what I meant,” he adds quickly. “I didn’t plan this. You and I both -“

“You planned our break-up and I had no idea,” she cuts him off, the shame and embarrassment creeping up her throat. “I really don’t know anymore.”

He scoffs, but his eyes flicker like he’s been stung. “Is that what you think of me? We were both here, Kaya. It wasn’t just me - you wanted this just as much as I -“

“I slept with Adam.” 

Namjoon freezes. He swallows and his eyes flicker again, rapidly this time. “You’re lying,” he whispers.

Kaya shrugs, holding his gaze with every last bit of willpower in her. “You were the one who told me to move on last night,” she reminds him, watching his expression crumble and doing nothing to stop it.

After what feels like several minutes, or maybe even hours, Namjoon nods slowly. Then, without another word, he turns around and opens the door, walking out of her life and shutting the door behind him.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

[bellysoupset]

Leo's Birthday

Soooo this fic actually takes place 4 fics in the future and I'll make sure to leave it in the correct order in the masterlist. But I wrote it first and I don't have the patience to wait to post!

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

“Hey, Wagner,” Dean poked his head inside of the empty conference room, where Leo was hunched over his papers, reading over a previous case similar to the one he was currently handling. 

It was only his third case, he couldn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah?” Leo didn’t bother looking up, so he startled when Dean suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, “Martin, what are you doi-”

“Mark your page,” Dean bossed, squeezing his shoulder, with a smile on his face, “I gotta show you something.”

Leo scoffed at the order, but his curiosity was piqued and he obeyed, marking his page and putting the files away inside his case. They walked out of the conference room together and then entered the elevator. 

“Where are we going…?” Leo frowned as Dean pressed the last digit. The top floor only had Mrs. Mitchell’s office and the rooftop…

“Wait and see,” Dean was bouncing on his feet and Leo squinted, suddenly very suspicious. Surely his co-worker wouldn’t be this happy over bad news, they were friends, so- 

The door opened and Leo nearly jumped out of his skin as a huge “SURPRISE!” followed.

He startled, his back hitting the inside of the elevator, then let out a chuckle at his own expense. His coworkers were all gathered around the door. Sandra, Chuck, Nicole from the reception, Mrs. Mitchell — his boss! —, others as well. 

Sandy was holding a box with a bento cake and two cupcakes inside of it. The icing was a deep, forest green, with golden flakes all over it. Their office’s colors. 

“You didn’t think you could hide your birthday from us, did you Wagner? We’re professional snoopers,” Dean messed up his hair, shoving Leo out of the elevator. There was a table on the rooftop and they had piled on little tea sandwiches, more green cupcakes and a champagne bottle.

Leo’s chest squeezed with happiness, “I wasn’t hiding anything, I - I love this, thank you,” he interrupted himself, as Sandra passed the box with the mini cake and cupcakes to Chuck’s hands and pulled him into a hug to congratulate him.

It was nearly the end of their day, so they spent an hour there celebrating. Leo devoured his cake. It was almost too much for one sitting, but he hadn’t had lunch, so that hit just the right spot. 

Still, as they wrapped up, he was feeling full enough he decided to skip on the two cupcakes and just bring them home for later. 

“Go home, Wagner,” Mrs. Mitchell patted his arm, “and next year we hope to know with more advance than Dean guessing because he was snooping during lunch,” she rolled her eyes, “so we can have a proper lunch in celebration.” 

“This was amazing, I don’t need anything else, ma’am,” Leo blushed and she wrinkled her nose at his line. 

“Don’t settle for less than you deserve, Wagner. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

She talked like their football coach, Leo thought with a smile, nodding and heading to the elevator. Maybe that was why he liked her so much.

Having two hours more than he had expected, Leo took his time driving home, stopping along the way to pick up flowers for their apartment and treats for JD.

Leo called Vince, but he didn’t pick up, indicating he was on the road. Jonah was surely still at the hospital. Leo took a long shower, then hit the dial to Luke, while putting the two remaining cupcakes in the fridge, taking a needless bite of one. He was bored and ready to start his birthday celebrations. 

“Hi kid,” Luke picked up on the second ring, “sorry, I’m in the middle of something. Is this anything urgent?”

“No,” Leo pouted, “we can talk at the restaurant, I was just bored and wanted to chat.”

“Sorry,” Lucas sounded busy, “I’m in the shelter-”

“The homeless shelter?” Leo raised his eyebrows, squishing the phone between his cheek and shoulder and falling down to his knees as he saw JD get out from under the couch, “what are you doing there?”

“I started working here yesterday,” Luke was breathless, “I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. See you in a couple hours, kid.” 

“See you,” Leo sighed, hanging up and then getting down on his stomach on the floor in order to grab his cat. JD let out an indignant meow at Leo snatching her, falling into a baby position as he cradled her, “hi baby. My cute, fluffy, prickly baby,” he said in a childish voice, feeling the judgment oozing out of his pet.

Jonah came home just as Leo was starting to get restless, moving around with nothing to do since he hadn’t planned to have free time.

“Hi!” Jon jumped as he saw Leo sprawled on the couch, already all dressed for the night, with JD getting her fur all over his fancy buttoned up shirt, since she was curled up on his stomach, “you’re home early, I was hoping- I was thinking you’d-”

Leo lifted up his head from the couch cushion, eyebrows raised at Jon’s uncharacteristic fumbling of words, “hoping I was gone?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Jonah scoffed, neatly tucking away his shoes and circling the couch in order to look at him, “don’t you look nice.”

“Thank you,” Leo grinned, lazily scratching JD’s head, “my boss gave me the last two hours of my day off, but uh… I had nothing to do, so I’ve been here, bothering JD.”

“She looks super bothered,” Jonah rolled his eyes, as their spotted cat was purring, rolled up on herself like a snake, on top of Leo, “well, I was planning on leaving this on top of the bed with a letter that said how much I love you and how incredibly successful and attentive and loving I think you are and how I wanna wake up next to you for the rest of my days, but since you’re here…” Jon sat at the edge of the couch, handing him a large silver wrapped box, “it’s nothing flashy, but you’re a lawyer, so I think I’m allowed-”

Leo raised a hand to shut him up, removing the lid of the box and then letting out a whistle, while JD got up to sniff at the wrapping paper, “this is stunning… You got my name engraved?”

“Stamped,” Jonah corrected, as Leo pulled out the dark leather case from the box, eyebrows raised at the marking that said Mr. Leo Wagner - Juris Doctorate, “I left some space there for the hyphenated Banks, if you make up your mind about it…” 

Leo’s cheeks hurt from smiling, “I love it. I’m gonna use it every damn day… And I’m considering the Banks, I promise,” he leaned in to grab Jon’s shirt, pulling him for a kiss, “I love it, thank you.”

“I love you,” Jon shrugged, thumb pushing slightly on Leo’s chin, “I’m gonna shower and we can go- Stop letting JD cuddle when you’re dressed up, bloody hell, Leo.”

“She’s cute!” Leo cried out as Jon got up from the couch and rushed out. He was still completely enchanted by his new case. There were fancy instructions of use and a bottle of leather conditioner in the box, as well as a life-long warranty that made him snort. 

As they made it to the restaurant, Leo’s stomach was starting to hurt from hunger. Even though he had had his mini cake in the office, three hours had passed and he was a big guy, just that wasn’t even remotely enough to sustain him. 

Bella, Luke and Wendy were already inside and Leo rushed to them. The couple had literally just gotten back from their honeymoon three days ago and they hadn’t had a chance to meet yet. 

“C’mere, blondie,” Bella pulled on the collar of his shirt, pulling him into a tight hug, “congratulations, Leo.” 

Leo melted into the hug, wrapping his arms around her and taking Bella’s feet off the ground, tipping his body back. 

They were already a bottle of wine in — not that much, considering there were five of them — when Vince entered the restaurant. 

“I’m so so sorry,” Vince cried out, stripping his biker jacket and throwing it to Luke, “there was a huge tree in the road and no one could get through –  it’s not important – Give me a hug!” Vin practically manhandled Leo out of his chair and the blonde let out a squeak at the ribs crushing hug, “happy birthday, kiddo.”

“I-Can’t. Breathe,” Leo gasped, making Vince chuckle and drop him. Leo dizzily staggered back, practically falling into his seat. 

Conversation went on easily after that. Leo retold that evening’s events, not hiding how proud and happy he was that his boss had joined in the celebration, and Wendy had a million tales to share about the fifty different things she was doing. Luke and Bella couldn’t shut up about the Maldives, still grossly all over each other despite spending nearly a month away with no one but each other’s company. 

Jonah brought up Angie’s proposition while they went through the second main dish – lobster — and Luke shrugged, “I think it’s a brilliant idea.”

“Of course you do, you don’t work,” Jonah wrinkled his nose, causing Luke to glare at him and Leo to snort, continuing to eat his food. 

“I’ll have you know I actually got a job,” Lucas shrugged, as if those weren’t big news and didn’t mean a lot, considering how much of his mental health deteriorating was tied to his career path or lack of one.

“What’s the job?!” Vince practically rattled him and Luke chuckled, pushing his hands away.

“I’m a charity fundraiser,” Lucas was almost beaming with how happy he was and Bella threw an arm around his shoulders, planting a big lipstick-red kiss on his cheek, “I’m not gonna take credit for this, it was actually a culmination of my therapist asking me to get a couple vocational therapy sessions, my beautiful wife telling me to stop sulking about being rich, and me finally using my head.”

“Whatever does that mean?” Leo asked, leaning back on his chair. His stomach was stuffed with food and there was still dessert to go. He fidgeted on his seat, wishing he could rub his belly or loosen up his belt, but it would be bad form in an upscale place such as this. 

“Well, I have the political connections thanks to my mom, I have the glamorous connections thanks to my dad, but I never wanted to do anything with those. They always felt like a burden,” Luke blushed, “but that was silly. There’s people who’d kill to be able to get things as easily as I can, so I realized I can use these connections for good-”

“By making rich people give away their money,” Vince chuckled, clicking his glass with Bella and the ginger nodded almost smugly. 

“It’s not just that,” Luke whined, but he didn’t seem offended, “you actually need to know laws, but lucky me, I’m a Poli Sci major… And I happen to be really good at leading teams and bossing people.”

“We already knew that, Captain,” Leo winked at Luke, leaning to his side and half resting against Jonah, as the conversation continued, Wendy was full of questions about Luke’s new position, even after him saying he was not in charge of anything, but working under a guy. She had that ambitious little sparkle in her eye that often found a twin in Jonah’s. 

Not this time, tonight Jon was too busy saving all of his heart eyes for Leo. He leaned in, pressing his nose to the blonde’s temple and smiling, “enjoying yourself?”

“Uh-hum,” Leo nodded, biting down a grimace as his stomach cramped. Maybe he had overdone it… He just needed a moment, Leo thought, breathing through it and glaring in disgust to his empty plate. He really shouldn’t have cleared the plate. 

Probably noticing his grimace, a waiter quickly came to retrieve all the plates, then hung around as they chatted about dessert. Leo felt a wave of revulsion at the thought of eating another bite. His tummy was packed and he could feel a lump in his throat. 

He coughed lightly against his fist and squeezed Jon’s knee, “order me a water? I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“Of course,” Jon nodded, still lazily studying the menu and letting out a chuckle as Wendy pulled her chair closer to him, impromptu giving him advice on what to pick.

Leo circled the table, when he passed by the guys, Vince darted out a hand in a teasing manner, giving his back a pat. 

It wouldn’t have mattered on any other day, but stuffed as he was, the little friendly pat — that was a bit rough, given Vince never seemed to have understood he was not the size of a kitten — caused a sick burp to come up.

It fizzled out in his throat, but brought with it the taste of his dinner, causing Leo to shudder. He burst into the men’s room and caught a glimpse of his face. 

The wine had done a decent job at masking his paleness, because despite the fact he had turned belly-fish white in the last couple of minutes, the alcohol still caused the top of his cheeks to be a starkling pink. 

He leaned over the sink, splashing his face with water and taking some soothing breaths. The hunched over position caused his stomach to slosh dangerously and Leo let out yet another little burp under his breath, glancing at the door nervously as he touched his belly. 

Deciding he didn’t want to risk getting walked on by one of his friends, Leo stumbled to the private stalls and locked the door. He sat on the toilet instead of leaning over it like his belly was begging him to, then spread his legs out and undid his belt.

The relief was instantaneous and Leo all but melted as the nausea eased up. He planted a hand on his stomach, tugging up his black button up, and scrunched up his face as he looked at his belly. His abs were a far cry from the morning, now his stomach was taut and stretched out, gurgling non stop. 

It wasn’t something they’d be able to hear over the chatting and the soft piano music in the restaurant, but in the empty bathroom he could hear it clearly. Leo groaned, planting the heel of his hand to his tummy and pressing in little circles.

The belly rub wasn’t quite successful and nowhere near as nice as Jonah’s were, but at least it managed to bring up yet another breathy burp- He lurched forward with a much bigger one, that nearly morphed into a retch. Leo slapped a hand over his mouth, shocked and breathing hard, trying to understand if his stomach was going to reject his dinner.

Instead, the near gag seemed to have calmed things down a bit. He carefully removed his hand from his lips, wiping the clammy sweat from his upper lip and breathing out. That was close.

Figuring he had been gone long enough, Leo begrudgingly got up, closing his belt once more and tucking his shirt in. He splashed his face with some more cold water and took a breath, forcing himself to get out of the bathroom.

The minute he walked out, a hand was planted over his eyes and everything went dark. Leo let out a startled squeak, which morphed into a hiccup and Jonah laughed at the noise, kissing his cheek.

“Relax,” he whispered in his ear, guiding Leo to walk forward, blindly, “happy birthday, baby.” 

He lowered his hand and Leo realized Jon had walked him back to their table. Now their friends were standing and there was a large cake in the middle of the table, with candles sticking out and already alight. 

Just the sight of it made his stomach churn, but Leo wasn’t lying when he smiled. The effort his friends had gone through to get him the perfect cake mattered much more than his bellyache and he shoved it to the back of his mind, grinning like crazy as they started to chorus in the happy birthday song.

Leo’s cheek turned a deep red as he noticed other strangers looking at their table, some even joining the singing. He turned his head, hiding it on Jonah’s shoulder and his fiance smiled, squeezing him closer as they finished up the song and Leo leaned to blow out the candles. 

He got pulled in yet another round of hugs and finally Leo fell back down on his seat, on the opposite side of the table. The brief truce he had earned from his tummy back in the bathroom was broken and he was hiccuping, causing Vince to giggle as he let out a little squeaky-toy noise. 

“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Vin chuckled, pushing a plate with a slice of cake his way and then passing Jonah another one, “dig in, kiddo, it’s your favorite. Chocolate on chocolate on chocolate.”

Sounded like hell, Leo thought with a small grimace, but then his stomach sank as he heard Vince’s next words, “my mom was appalled she shouldn’t put in any fruit.” 

“Your mom- Ma made my cake?” Leo asked, both moved and completely distraught as he realized there was no way he could avoid eating now.

“Sorry guys, there was a huge tree on the road,” Wendy mimicked her boyfriend’s excuse from before, forcing a deep voice, “he was late because it was a whole logistic nightmare to bring the cake from Doveport, but Ma insisted, you’re like… Her favorite.”

Luke scoffed, “which is very unfair, I’d just like to point it out,” he said in a teasing way, “I’m supposed to be the favorite.”

“Shut up, Luke,” Bella chuckled, shushing him with a little kiss and stealing a piece of his slice of cake, even though she had her own.

Leo eyed the cake with disgust, nodding and forcing a smile. His mouth watered at the thought of pushing any more sweetness in his tummy, but he ignored it, grabbing the fork. 

Jonah was scratching his back with one hand, continuing to eat and humming in agreement to the compliments about Ma’s cooking and the fact Leo was her favorite out of Vince’s friends. He was blissfully unaware of the turmoil his boyfriend was in and barely registered as Leo pushed half of his slice on his plate, giving up halfway through.

He couldn’t even swallow what was currently in his mouth. Leo tried gulping it down, but his throat was refusing to cooperate. He hiccuped again and this time he couldn’t help but groan, as liquid rocketed up his throat. 

“I’m gonna get the bill,” Jonah whispered, squeezing his nape and getting up, beating Luke to it. 

Leo groaned, barely trying to hide how shitty he was feeling. His friends were all getting up and then Vince circled the table, grinning, “are you drunk, kiddo? That was almost nothing compared to what I’ve seen you drink-”

“No-” he finally managed to gulp down the chocolate mess in his mouth and felt cold sweat break out on his back, his stomach immediately rejecting it, “ate- ate- HIC!- Fuck, too much…”

Vince chuckled, grabbing his arm, “Okay, let’s go outside for some air. C’mon-” 

He gently shoved Leo forward and they walked out of the restaurant, Leo continuing to hiccup. 

The cool air was nice, but Leo knew he was past the point where a breeze could help. He cupped his mouth, muffling yet another little burp and groaning as a hiccup shook him once more, causing his stomach to clench. 

“Shit- Vince,” Leo grabbed his friend’s arm, gulping down nervously and trying to communicate he was gonna puke-

“BOO!” Wendy jumped on him and Leo lost his weak hold on his stomach. He let out a choking noise and folded in half, puking all over the patch of sidewalk and Wendy’s pink and green heels. 

It was so violent that Leo felt dizzy. His eyes stung with humiliation and his nose with the acid that tickled it. He stayed bent down, unable to straighten up not only because he was so embarrassed, but because his belly felt far from settled.

He closed his eyes, letting out a whimper, and then felt a hand in the middle of his back, rubbing up and down. Too rough to be Jonah’s. 

“What the hell, Leo?” Wendy groaned, while Luke said, “Wen, chill out,” and helped him straighten up. He was the one who had stepped closer. Vince and Bella looked equally shocked, Bella was the one carrying the box with the rest of his cake and she was clutching it to her chest. 

“Sorry-” Leo groaned, feeling his whole face burn and his throat close up, now with tears, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine,” Wendy scoffed, as Vince grabbed her by her armpits and helped her slide out of her shoes without having to touch the chocolate vomit covering them, “god, this is gross…”

“Wendy,” Luke stressed, squeezing Leo’s shoulder, “what’s wrong, Leo?”

“Sorry,” he groaned again, sniffling pitifully, “I just- I just had so much to eat and then Wendy startled me and- Why did you startle me?!”

“Because you were hiccuping!” Wendy scoffed, with a disgusted frown on, using Bella’s shoulder to steady herself as she tiptoed away from the mess. Vince seemed to have gotten over the shock and only looked amused, snorting at his girlfriend’s answer, “I was trying to help!”

“Amazing,” Jonah said, half amused, half annoyed, jumping down the last steps and joining them outside, “Leo, are you okay?”

“I wanna die,” Leo groaned, but at least the nausea had calmed down a little. Not fully, he still felt stuffed and his stomach was still churning, but he no longer felt like he was going to throw up right at that minute… 

“You’re fine, Wendy will live,” Jonah rolled his eyes at Wendy’s little huff, but she did sigh and nod.

“Just because it’s your birthday I won’t yell at you,” she said, then in a much kinder voice, “at least do you feel better?”

“Not really,” Leo admitted, leaning on Jonah’s touch and wanting to crawl up somewhere dark and die. More people were leaving the restaurant and he wanted to hide away from their eyes, feeling like everyone knew… His stomach churned and he planted a hand on it, grimacing, “can we go home?”

Jon frowned, touching his face lightly, subtly checking for any heat, then nodded when he felt none, “yeah, of course. You guys can keep the cake, I don’t think anyone is going to eat it at home,” his voice had a slightly humorous tone and Leo blushed, but just the thought of the chocolate cake made his belly gurgle.

He groaned, “don’t even talk about it,” Leo wrapped an arm around his middle, squeezing his eyes shut as the queasiness started to come back. Luke thumped on his back in a sympathetic manner. 

“Feel better, kiddo,” he smiled, “and happy birthday.”

Leo whined as the rest of their friends did the same, side stepping the mess to tell him goodbye, Wendy being the last one. 

She squeezed his arm, “happy birthday, Leo,” her tone was teasing, “at least the hiccups stopped?”

“God, go away,” Leo groaned, muffling a burp in his hand and she grinned, kissing Jonah’s cheek. 

“You owe me a new pair of Jimmy Choo’s” Wendy warned him, waving and running to where Vince was waiting for her on his bike. 

Leo let out a sigh, falling against Jonah and groaning when his fiance let out a little chuckle at his expense. “What the fuck is a Jimmy Choo?” Leo asked, his voice muffled by Jon’s shirt, allowing the other man to pull him back to the car.

[wootensmith]

Teeth

(the version where she's angry with him. Is it long? yes. Should it be longer? probably also yes)

The anchor was a physical pulse against his skin, even miles from her. They’d been slogging through the desolate ruby wastes for days before he felt it wash over him. He had expressly avoided asking his companions about the former Inquisitor, though Varric had hinted that she had been kept informed of Solas’s movements in particular and the Veilguard’s generally. Solas had taken it as a warning. That she chose not to intervene. That she had at last abandoned him to his fate after a decade of chasing. He told himself it was for the best. He failed to convince himself more often than not, but he did not truly have the time or liberty to alter what was.

It had taken far too long to ready himself, to ready Rook and the others to face the Evanuris. If he had known what the Inquisitor was truly doing in order to buy them that time— well, he could hardly panic more than he already had. Once they had prepared, it was relatively simple to follow the thickening trails of Blighted creatures and land to their source. At least until the remaining life in the region was simply swallowed by it. Solas had no doubt that a sea of darkspawn lay ahead, but for now, at least, they were alone in the bleak and barren mountains. Except for that familiar pulse.

“Do you feel that?” he’d asked Varric, hours before they reached her. Varric paused to catch his breath, thought for a moment. “What? The red lyrium? Are you already hearing it?” he asked. “No, it’s something else. It feels like— the anchor.” Varric’s expression shifted, closed off immediately. “Don’t feel anything, Chuckles. Maybe it’s just nerves.” The others had noticed their pause and called back to them. He waved to indicate he and Solas were coming.

“Where is she, Varric?” he asked, already knowing he’d get no answer. Varric started walking again. “I don’t know,” he said, and nothing more. “What is she doing?” Solas persisted, dread creeping in as surely as the anchor’s pulse became more certain. “I imagine the same thing we are.” “I’m not going to harm her—” “More.” The word bristled. He wanted to protest. Varric expected a protest, was spoiling for an argument. But Solas knew better. “Yes,” he agreed quietly, “More. But if it is the anchor and I can persuade her to—” “I don’t know, and that’s the truth,” Varric admitted reluctantly. “She knows about us, but it’s not reciprocal. That was on purpose. Last I saw her, she said she was traveling to warn the other clans. To try and prepare them. Whatever you were doing was— changing things. You already know about Harding— there’ve been hundreds of others. Sera was a basket case when she accidentally lit a few of her arrows on fire. The Inquisitor helped her with controlling it. That’s what Sera says anyway. And they realized there’d be more like her. If she could convince the Keepers to begin training and to get ready for whatever consequences your ritual would bring if we failed to stop you— didn’t expect it all to go this wrong. That’s all I know.”

They trudged in silence for a while.  “If it makes you feel any better, Chuckles,” Varric said suddenly, “I really don’t feel anything. But I’m not shooting lightning bolts from my fingertips either, so maybe I wouldn’t.” He glanced up at Solas. “But if you want to know what I really think— I don’t think you feel it either. You just really miss her.” “I hope you are right,” said Solas, and left it at that, though the anchor’s pulse became stronger and steadier as they walked until he was certain he’d see her just over the next rise of broken boulders and crimson lyrium crystals.

It wasn’t until the bleeding horizon became subtly tinged with a green glow that Varric said, “I feel it now, Solas.” He said it quietly, as if it would alarm the others. As if he, himself, were alarmed. Still, Solas doubted himself. “Did you, before? During our journeys together? Could you feel the anchor? Perhaps it’s only a powerful spell and I mistake—” “It’s the anchor,” said Varric, his expression grim, “Unless there’s something else like it. Couldn’t ever feel it like you probably could but when she’d do that… thing, it felt like this. You know, when everything would slow down except us and it felt like a narrow sphere or bubble where the world just— stopped breathing. Felt like this.” Solas was quiet for another minute, climbing the slope behind Rook.

“Why would she come here?” Solas asked. “The only people we have seen were days ago and they were fleeing. There cannot be clans here.” “Maybe she stopped doing that. I mean, what’s the point in preparing them when the worst has already happened?” “You’ve truly heard nothing since the ritual? If hiding her activity from me were the purpose of your one way communication, surely my imprisonment would have alleviated the need for that.” “Shit, Chuckles, the end of the ritual would have made it pointless, regardless of how it turned out. No, she’s been quiet. I’ve been trying. She didn’t want to be found or— look: Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are gods aren’t they?” “They aren’t, as you well know,” snapped Solas. Varric held up his hands to calm him down. “I know that’s what you say, and for my part, I believe you. But the Dalish had generations of people teaching them that these are their creators. You don’t just forget that because someone you like tells you so.” Solas shook his head. “No, we discussed it, more than once. By the time all was said and done, she was convinced. And after what’s been done, I cannot think she’d still believe—” “I wasn’t talking about the Inquisitor believing you, Solas. I was talking about the Dalish believing her. Maybe she’s here because the clans are here. Maybe she’s still trying to convince them. Or maybe she has convinced them and they’re trying to do the same thing we are.”

Solas sighed. “I wished to give her a peaceful existence after the Inquisition. Not this.” Varric stopped to wipe his face and drank from his waterskin. “Yeah, well, once you start trying to save the world, I don’t think you ever stop,” he said, passing the skin to Solas, “I mean, look at us. I should be writing a novel or dodging the merchant’s guild. And she should be redecorating Skyhold or torturing nobles with Sera. And you should be… I don’t know, sleeping or something. But here we all are. Maybe.” He squinted at the green light leaking into the horizon. “I guess we’ll see. No idea how far away that light is, but I’d assume we get to it before nightfall.”

They heard her before she came into view, however. Solas could feel not only the thrum of the anchor by that point, but also the frisson of a powerful spell both familiar and exponentially larger than he remembered from her. The emerald of the anchor had long ago pushed back all the wine-red of the sky, banished the Blight’s dark signature and replaced it.  “—implore you not to do this—” her voice threaded in and out of the breeze, raw and exhausted and faint, but undeniably the Inquisitor.  Solas scrambled up the last ridge, the others struggling to keep up.

“We are kin, lethallen. What would it profit me to lead you astray?”  The stamp and clatter of hundreds of feet threaded through her words, slightly more distant but undeniable. Solas emerged at the top of the ridge. Just below on the edge of the plateau marched thousands of elves. An enormous green barrier straddled most of the plateau and the Inquisitor shone like a sun inside its center, her lone arm raised and shaking with the effort of maintaining the spell. A much smaller group stood inside the barrier but did not move. Those outside simply marched toward the sphere of her spell.

  “Shit,” muttered Varric as he reached Solas and stared down at her barrier.  “Sathan, listen. They are not what they seem,” she called. “She sounds— tired,” said Varric. Solas descended down onto the plateau. “Would you slaughter your own family to satisfy those who care nothing for you?”  Solas began pushing through the crowd to get closer, to see who stood with her, why they said nothing even as her voice began to give out. He had assumed it was clan Lavellan, content to stand bodily in the way of the others but not willing to fight. But as he drew closer, he heard her call her own Keeper. 

“Deshanna, you know that they are not gods. You know I do not lie. Turn back, please. Please, Hahren, do not let our brothers and sisters throw away their lives.” A small break in the groups of elves allowed Solas to dart through to the edge of her barrier. The power from her spell was almost painful, pouring even beyond the barrier, pushing, pushing the others backward, but not enough to contain them. He knew he could break through if he forced it, but he did not wish to risk harming her when the spell collapsed. He waited beyond the barrier and watched Deshanna, bent like a wind-blown pine hobble toward the Inquisitor. She, too, stayed beyond the barrier.

“I believe you, da’len,” she said slowly. “And I also know that it doesn’t matter that I do. Whether we worship them or not, they still have the strength to wipe us all away.  Pretenders they may be, but we cannot fight them. Come with us, do not stand against your people.” “You can fight them. We can fight them. Tell them, Abelas, tell them the Evanuris are not invulnerable.” Solas glanced at the others inside the barrier. Abelas and Mythal’s remaining sentinels were indeed among her forces. Hundreds of unmarked elves as well. Even Sera. He even recognized his own agents sprinkled in. It was as Varric had feared. She was trying desperately to stop the Dalish from joining Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. And failing, if the expressions of the others were any indication.

“I have told them, lethallan. As have we all. If they will not listen to you, who has already defeated a would-be god, why would they hear me?” Abelas’s face was twisted into a furious scowl at the Dalish closing in on them. “The whole world will fight against you, Keeper,” cried the Inquisitor. “And the Blight will take you. Stay with us, let us stand together. Let us protect the little ones at least. Do not do this, I beg you.” Her voice gave out at last, the end of her words little more than a rasping breeze. Deshanna sadly shook her head. “There is nowhere to stand, da’len. There is no protection for any of us. The others go because they believe their Creators have called them, no matter what you or I may say. And I go with them because I would not spend my last hours parted from those I love. It is the only choice we have left. God or man, Elgar’nan will find us, should we disobey. And he will sear us from the land. If we go to him, you are the only threat remaining to us. And your love will stop you from harming us. This, I know. There is still time, fanor, but you are lost to your grief. I hope you will find your way back to us again. I will ink your vallaslin on that day with my own hand. Dareth shiral, da’len.”

Deshanna hobbled around the edge of the barrier and the Inquisitor began to weep. “Don’t do that,” said Sera softly, hugging her shoulders. “Don’t, Buckles. We tried. Can’t help them if they won’t listen. And even you can’t scare ‘em more than those enormous elfy bastards do.” She can’t, but I can, Solas realized. He stretched and bristled, ignoring the horrified cries of Varric and Rook behind him. The Inquisitor’s barrier rapidly shrunk beneath him, his muzzle rising skyward. An intense growl rippled from him ricocheting in booming echoes from the ring of mountain that surrounded the plateau. The elves below shrieked and scattered. All except the tiny figures inside the Inquisitor’s emerald shield. They remained motionless.

Solas’s hackles spiked and sparked and he hunched forward, shielding the Inquisitor’s forces with his massive head. “Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain care nothing for scurrying rodents.” His words thundered and rattled the very stones. “But I delight in hunting ignorant rabbits,” he snarled. He took a few bounding steps forward, careful to avoid trampling anyone too slow to flee his path. “Fly!” he commanded, “And never return. For I have your scent. If you betray me, I shall stalk you to the end of the world. Not even a god will save you.”  He waited, chest heaving, jaws dripping, as the remaining elves retreated as quickly as they could. He expected some resistance, some foolhardy would-be hero to poke his foot, climb his tail, stand defiant before him, but after a few moments, none remained to challenge him. This is not an army, he reminded himself, those trained in combat are my own allies or went to the Evanuris long ago. These are just families driven by fear. Clans desperate to please those they’ve been taught gave them life and purpose. He let the wolf dwindle away. He felt suddenly too small. Smaller even than the elves who had dashed from his sight. And chilled to the bone. He turned, seeking his people and the Inquisitor. Her barrier was gone and with it, the light of the anchor, though he felt it still, drumming steadily against his skin like a second heart. 

One of his agents ran toward him. “Apologies, Ser,” she gasped as she reached him. “We— we lost contact and assumed… the former Inquisitor approached us soon after and persuaded some of us that— well, that our goals aligned, at least for the time. Until you would return, some chose to follow her. If we’d known you—” “How many does she have under her banner?” he interrupted, half brushing past the agent to return to the others. “I am uncertain. We work in cells. I thought— I thought it was something you had taught her. I have seen several hundred in our attempt to dissuade the Dalish from joining the Evanuris, but I have no doubt there are more. Those are only the cells she visited personally. They are positioned all along this ridge. If you need positions I can—” He clasped the agent’s shoulder. “That may be useful later. But you have done well,” he said. He headed for the Inquisitor before he could be further delayed. Several of his own people took rapid steps back as he approached and even Abelas and his sentinels gave way without comment. Solas regretted their apparent fear. Worse, the Inquisitor was visibly shaking as he reached her. He thought, for a moment, that she too, was terrified. Sera scowled when she caught sight of him and her hand clutched the pommel of a dagger. 

“You told me once that no real god need prove himself,” the Inquisitor said when she saw him. But she did not stop trembling. He hesitated, thinking he had miscalculated, that she quaked not from fear but rage. “I am no god and it looked as if they needed proof.” It won him a crooked smile and he clung to it. “Thank you for— the demonstration,” she said. “We have been trying for weeks to turn them back. I feared it would come to violence here at the last. Your display has bought us time at least.” “They will return,” said Abelas. “We will not be able to dissuade them with words and shadows next time, lethallan.” “I know. That is why this must end before they gather their courage again. We must press forward to the true battle.”  “Not until you’ve had a rest. Shake yourself to pieces before we get over the ridge, Buckles,” said Sera, letting go of her dagger’s hilt to grab the Inquisitor’s elbow to steady her.  “Just need a minute. And a lyrium potion,” said the Inquisitor. “Now is the time to press—” “Then let him do it. His mess anyway,” snapped Sera, glaring at Solas. “If he’s even on our side, that is.” “He is. For now,” said Rook. Varric hurried to introduce her to the Inquisitor. 

Solas took a step back, expecting to melt back into the others for the time being while the Inquisitor spoke to Rook. It would give him a chance to gather information from—  “Not as slick as you think, Droopy,” Sera hissed into his ear as she slipped behind him, hard metal touching just above his hip. “Do you truly think a dagger would stop me if I wished to escape?” “You think your growl’s going to stop me from trying? Faster on the draw than Varric, anyway. And he’s managed you just fine, looks like.” “I am where I wished most to be, Sera. And it seems we are all headed to where I am most needed. Save your dagger for Ghilan’nain and I will save my growls for Elgar’nan.” There was no time for more. The crowd around them was rapidly dispersing. The Inquisitor followed Abelas toward the ridge. Her steps were unsteady, faltering.

“Oh no, Buckles,” Sera said. “Where are you going?” “We need to gather the others. We need to buy the Veilguard some time.” She didn’t even turn to look back at them, staggering after Mythal’s sentinels who had already far outpaced her. “Then let me go, Vhenan,” he called after her. She stopped, even as Sera protested. “Oh no, Droopy. You aren’t leaving our sight. You’d make em all run or turn em to stone or summat.” “You’ve had my own agents among you all this time,” he said calmly. “I didn’t need to wait until now to betray you.” “Pfft. Already knew about them. They came to us. After you locked yourself in your own dungeon. Arse. Yeah, Varric told us about that. Told you, your growls don’t scare me. Buckles either.” He saw the Inquisitor’s shoulders rise in a sigh and then fall heavily again and she started trudging forward.  “If you will not let me go in your stead, then let your people. They will reach your other groups with more speed and you are exhausted. It’ll do no good to—” “And who’s fault is that, hmm? She wouldn’t have been holding up your snot-bubble anchor if you’d been—” “Sera—” called Varric. Solas rounded on her. “I was— am trying to aid you. None of this has gone as planned, but even so, I take responsibility for my part. If it makes you feel better to cast me again as the Great Adversary, then by all means—” “Enough!” cried the Inquisitor and she stopped, turned back to them. “If we do not stop the Evanuris and soon, then they will take everyone I’ve ever loved. I will die fighting my own people, regardless of the outcome. I cannot wait while you finish your squabbling. Either help me or leave me the few moments of peace that are left.”

Sera backed off immediately, surprising Solas. “Right. Sorry Buckles. Want you to rest is all. You shouldn’t be here. All of this is— wrong.”  “I know. I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into this.” “None of that. Just— just sit down, yeah? Before you fall apart at the bendy bits.”  “There’s no time. You know where we are bound. I am, indeed, already far too slow.” Sera glanced at Solas and then quickly away. “I’ll go, then. If somebody’s got to. Should be me, I know where they are and can direct the messengers. No reason for you to wear out the mountains going back and forth. But you don’t do this without me, right? And you rest. No matter what— anyone says. Promise.”  The Inquisitor nodded in obvious relief. “I promise, lethallan. I will take care. Varric will force me to in your stead.”

Sera nodded then leaned toward Solas and hissed in a low voice, “You breathe on her wrong and I’ll—” “Please, Sera,” the Inquisitor begged, her voice distressed enough that Varric hurried toward her. “I know, Buckles,” said Sera. “Don’t worry, we’ll all be right behind you.” Sera walked past her and squeezed her shoulder before breaking into a sprint. The Inquisitor turned to Solas. “And you. You scorn your title, your role as our ‘Great Adversary’ but that is exactly who we needed these past months. Years. Lifetimes. We needed someone to oppose the Evanuris. We needed Fen’harel. We begged— I begged you to help and all that met me was silence. You at least left me with some— particle of truth so I didn’t join my clan when they heard Elgar’nan’s call. What hope did any of the others have? There was no one to tell them he was a lie. That all of their prayers and offerings were— were dross. That everything he is promising them is only an illusion covering ruin.” She swiped at her eyes and her expression hardened into a bitter frown. “In all those long centuries of silence, from you, from them, there’ve been no answers. And now there’s only me. So put it aside, then, this title you hate. I will be the Great Adversary instead. I will fight them to save them from Elgar’nan. From the Blight. You can sleep again. Go. Return to your silence and your Fade and your true Elvehn.” 

“I’ve tried. I tried to bring them the truth,” he cried, crushed by the dismissal. He tried to ignore the way Varric flinched at his tone. “When? You’ve had millennia, Solas. You sealed them away and had thousands of years to expose the truth. None of the Evanuris were free to oppose you.” “It took more effort than you realize to keep them contained. Regaining my strength cost many centuries.” “You wander the Fade. You touch the dreams of others. You could have—” “Yes. Many, many dreams. Those who believed them on waking were called mad or fool, just as I was. You have seen the handful who believed me. They’re already with you. Who else should I have told? What else could I have done?” “And what is it you told that handful? The same tiny portion you told me? Something more? You think I just accepted the agents of Fen’harel without asking them what they knew of you? Or do you think I didn’t take your warning when last I saw you? That I just accept whoever wanders into my path? I’ve asked, Solas. I’ve struggled to find what I could for a decade. You’ve told none of us the whole truth. I don’t know if you’re so worried about betrayal that you can’t even warn us, or if you’re truly indifferent to our fates. If it were betrayal— haven’t we proven true yet? The Inquisition at least? You let Corypheus take your power, sear this thing into me and we didn’t betray you then. I didn’t go home as soon as Cassandra took the shackles off because I was needed. And neither did any of the others once the Breach was closed. And we didn’t try to seize that power or make deals with Corypheus or turn against you. None of us. And still you… it must be indifference. This time, with Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, it must be that you still do not think we’re real. Or that you have only contempt for us. I even asked you directly, last time that we met. After everything. I asked you how you intended to deal with the Evanuris and you assured me you had plans to thwart them. And here we are. This is worse than just allowing them to enslave us. To consume us. Because now we will slaughter each other in their names. And you couldn’t even spare a word in warning before loosing them upon us.”

Rook cleared her throat. “To be fair,” she said, though Varric vehemently shook his head in warning, “I had an accidental hand in thi—” “Ir abelas,” Solas interrupted, because in his heart he knew it did not matter that Rook’s mistake had resulted in his plans going awry. This was, indeed, his own doing. “This is not what I intended. Tel’nan em.” There was nothing else to say. No other plea he could make. “I wish I could, Vhenan,” the Inquisitor said. “If I hated you, this would hurt far less than it does.” That was all. Just that acknowledgment as if she were utterly defeated. And then she turned to Varric. “May I borrow your shoulder, falon?” she asked him.  “Always,” said Varric, wrapping an arm around her back to support her. “Just for a moment,” she said, walking them slowly back down the slope toward Solas. “I know you and Rook have your own strategy. I’ll let you go in a moment.” “Think we’ve got a ways to go before any strategies kick in, Herald,” said Varric. “And you know as long as I’ve got an arm free to fire I’d give you the other.” Varric caught Solas’s eye as they passed and seemed troubled, but Solas let them go. Followed in her wake as the rest of the Veilguard went ahead of her. His chest ached, but he had no answer for her. For himself.

She was quiet. Varric too. Though the others relaxed into their normal patterns, the three of them did not. Solas was aware that she was slowing as well, dragging herself along with the help of Varric but not recovering in any meaningful way. He tried not to overtake them, wanting there to be some semblance of rearguard, but it was inevitable. “We need to find a place to camp, Herald,” said Varric at last. “No. The people you saw were not the first. There are clans ahead of us. If we don’t intercept them—” “We cannot outstrip them at this pace, my love,” said Solas gently. She seemed to have forgotten he was there, startling slightly. She let Varric go, struggled to stand upright. “Then do not wait for me. You go on, you will make better time than I.” “No, now, you promised Sera,” said Varric. “So let’s find somewhere to camp. These clans that are ahead of us, they’re mortal too, right? They’ll find places to rest.” She started to protest.

“No single person can halt an army,” said Solas. “Ir abelas. I know it is the wrong thing to say, but I can think of nothing elegant just now. If we pushed forward to the end, what could you say when you arrived? What could you do that you did not try back on the plateau?” She hesitated. “That was not meant as a challenge,” he said and held out his hand to her. An offer. A hope. “I understand the urgency but this exhaustion and pain is unnecessary. I have made this mistake a thousand times over. Please, Vhenan, take the lesson I could never learn. Let your allies help you.” “But the clans who join the Evanuris in the meantime will die.” “No—” started Varric. “Vin. They will die,” interrupted Solas. It did no good to lie to her. “And if we continue rushing recklessly in to stop them, then all the clans who have not yet arrived will also die because we will not be there to save them either. All that will change this fate is the end of Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. You cannot face them like this. I cannot face them like this.”  Please, he willed her but kept it trapped behind his lips. He held his breath as she finally reached for his outstretched hand. Varric barely waited for her hand to close around Solas’s.

“I’ll find the others. Hopefully they’ve found a cave or someplace out of this… lyrium trash,” he said, kicking a small red crystal nearby. He jogged off before the Inquisitor could protest. Solas doubted she would have. Her hand still shook even hours after her barrier had collapsed, though he knew it now as exhaustion instead of terror or anger.  “Lean on me, emma lath,” he told her, “There is no one watching but me and we are both too tired of pretending at strength.” She did, letting him pull her along for a minute, her shoulder and hip pressed against his.  “Do you ever feel,” she asked suddenly, “that if you give in, if you sit for a moment, let the mask fall in the quiet when nobody is there, that when it is time to get up again, you will find your legs betray you?” He stopped their movement. Brushed the dust caked hair from her face and pressed a kiss into her temple. “Vin,” he said. She did not flinch or pull away and he slid his arm around her fully and half-carried her over the next ridge. 

“I did not keep back the truth because I did not care about your fate. I am ashamed that I cannot claim to never have had contempt for the Dalish. For- for you. But that feeling withered long ago. When I met you,” he said, pausing until they could catch sight of the others ahead.  “So betrayal then. Yet here I am, standing in your stead as best I can. All these years and you still thought I would turn on you. That does not soothe me—” “No,” he said, curling his hand a little tigher around her. “I do not believe you would betray me. I feared— I feared that I would betray myself. It would have been so easy to walk away from—” he waved toward the cluster of red lyrium crowning a small clump of boulders. “If I had told you all, I would have allowed myself to be persuaded to abandon my plans. I could not. I realize, in light of all that’s gone wrong, that it seems the wiser course but it is not so. Whatever you think of me, Vhenan, I cannot bear for you to doubt yourself.  You are beloved. If it were truly my choice alone— if this world were mine to give to you, to abandon for you, I would have done so ages ago. It is only now, when I no longer have the means to turn aside, that I can tell you.”

“I would not have asked for the world, Solas, only the truth.” “I know. And yet, if I had held more of the truth back, perhaps you would not be here now.” “I would be. I’d just be marching with my clan to Elgar’nan’s side. A few days from becoming a shriek.” Her voice broke and she sagged, releasing him to slide down onto the stony ground. He followed her, kneeling beside her.  “Ane vindhru. Lanaste. Alas, I cannot undo what has passed.” “Then what has this all been for?” she cried. “If that was not your aim, why are we here, emma lath?” The dry wind blew scarlet dust across the rocks. Varric was a small shadow beyond them and the rest of Rook’s party a cluster of shadow melting into the craggy outcrops farther up the mountain. Solas wished he had a decent answer. “I asked you once, what you would do if you found that the future you had created was worse than what came before. You said you would keep trying to fix it. I cannot undo what I have done, but if I can ameliorate the consequences— If I can make what is to come easier, kinder, less horrendous, then I am obligated to try.”

She raised her hand to his cheek, at last touching him, at last reaching to comfort him. “The mistake was not in trying, fanor. The mistake was insisting on doing it alone.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “I know. Forgive me, forgive me, Vhenan.” “Ir abelas,” she said, wiping tears from his cheek, “Forgiveness is not mine to give or withhold. I am just one person in all this.” “I know. I do not ask you to forgive me for the state of the world, but for the wrongs I have done you, my love. For— for the anchor. For the omissions. The silence.”

“The truth then, from here on, promise me.” “Vin.”  “We are going to our deaths, aren’t we?” she asked very quietly.  “It is likely.”  “But what we do— it can save the others? Our people? Our friends? All the innocents who remain?” He wanted to answer easily, to affirm everything she desperately wanted. But it was not the truth. “I hope that it will. I wish that I could promise it, but I cannot.” She let out a shaky breath between them, her thumb smoothing his cheek gently. “Whatever the outcome, we go together. Swear to it.” “Yes, this too.” She leaned back slightly, grasped his jaw and stared intently at him. “Then find your teeth, Dread Wolf. I cannot defeat them alone.”

He clasped her arm where it ended and the anchor flared and bathed them in a halo of green light. “It was never my teeth that were lacking. There are times—” He paused, took a shuddering breath. “There are times I feared all that remained of me was teeth and rage and cruelty. It was my heart that was lost. But I have found her again. If she can forgive my carelessness in misplacing her. If she will take me.” Her hand loosened around his chin and she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I leave forgiveness to the world, my love. But you, Solas, I take for myself, teeth and all,” she said.

[glitterrosesnzz]

unnecessary things

man this is SO LATE but i finished writing a b-day snz fic for W/anderer!!!

word count: 1k

“Hh-hH’Nxt!!” 

Aether froze mid-step, looking over his shoulder at where the Wanderer was standing behind him, avoiding eye contact. 

“...Was that a sneeze?” Aether asked, turning around fully to face him. The Wanderer tsked, tilting his hat down so that Aether couldn’t see his eyes. 

“You must be hearing things… maybe you should go get your ears checked.” He said, “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m nothing more than a puppet. I don’t do such unnecessary things.” 

“Oh, really?” Aether started walking towards the other, smirking a little when the Wanderer took an instinctive step back. “Then surely you wouldn’t mind if I tested a few things, would you?” 

“And just what gives you the impression that I’m going to let you do that?” 

“Because if you don’t, then I’ll know for sure that you were lying to me just now.” 

“...Tch. Whatever.” The Wanderer slowly moved to sit down on the ground. “Have your fun. You’ll soon see that this is pointless.” 

“We’ll see about that.” Aether kneeled down in front of him, rummaging around in his bag for something to make the other sneeze, but… hm. Now that he was thinking about it, what would make a puppet sneeze? The Wanderer was definitely capable of sneezing, Aether knew that what he had heard had not just been his mind playing tricks on him, but what had even set him off in the first place? Had it just been random? 

“We don’t have all day you know.” The Wanderer said, tapping his finger on his knee impatiently, seemingly bored already. “Hurry up and get this over with.” 

Huffing out a breath, Aether abandoned the useless contents of his bag, and decided to pick one of the longer pieces of grass surrounding the two of them. The Wanderer smirked. 

“Seriously? A plant? Need I remind you that I was almost a god, a strand of grass isn’t going to affect me.” 

“Oh, just shut up already.” A piece of grass wouldn’t have been Aether’s first pick either, but it was the best thing he had right now. Reaching out, he gently grabbed hold of the Wanderer’s chin, tilting the other’s head to have a slightly better angle. Surprisingly, the Wanderer didn’t protest this motion, instead remaining silent as Aether began to swish the piece of grass back and forth. 

After a few minutes or so of no reaction, Aether let out a slightly frustrated noise, briefly pulling the grass away in order to lightly flick the Wanderer’s nose. 

“You do realize that refusing to breathe implies that I was right, right?” Aether asked. The Wanderer blinked- seemingly surprised at having been caught, before glaring at him. Aether didn’t rise to it, instead waiting patiently, blade of grass at the ready. After a moment of prolonged eye contact, the Wanderer reluctantly let out a breath. 

It hitched soon after. 

Aether’s face lit up as the Wanderer’s glare darkened. 

“Don’t think that means anyth- hIH- h-hey!” The Wanderer’s expression started to twist into something else altogether as Aether immediately got right back to work, gently tilting the Wanderer’s head from side to side as he tried to find just the right angle. “W-wait- hiH… hEh…” 

Aether stuck his tongue out slightly as he focused, twisting the grass back and forth. He must have briefly hit some sort of spot, if the way the Wanderer’s hitching breaths had momentarily pitched up was any indication, it was just a matter of finding that spot again. The Wanderer’s hands slowly lifted up- 

“If you rub your nose or stop me, it means I win.” Aether deadpanned, and the Wanderer’s hands froze in place. From the way they were trembling slightly, it must be taking the Wanderer some effort to keep them from moving any further. Aether let out a small laugh. “Although, I’ve practically already won, considering you so obviously need to sneeze.” 

“HihH- N-no I don-hH- hiIH-” 

“Of course you do, listen to you!” Aether continued, “You can’t stop hitching like ‘heH’ and ‘hAH’-” 

“Hh’nNxti!!” The Wanderer abruptly forcibly pulled away to stifle a sneeze into his hands. Aether paused, briefly shocked, before coming to a realization as the Wanderer’s breath hitched again. 

“Wait, hold on-” 

“S-shut, hEH-, shutup- hiH-” 

“Did you sneeze just because I mimicked it?” Aether asked, watching in fascination as the Wanderer’s ears slowly turned a faint shade of red. “You did, didn’t you.” 

The Wanderer shook his head in the negative, unable to speak as his breath hitched desperately. 

“Hh- hEH’xNtiu!! Hh’Nxtii!!” He stifled two more sneezes into his hands. Aether let out a disapproving sound. 

“C’mon now, don’t stifle, it’s bad for you.” He said, reaching out and grabbing hold of the Wanderer’s wrists. The Wanderer startled, leaning back- 

Tilted off balance, the Wanderer went tumbling backwards, Aether being slightly dragged with him. Aether let out a small yelp, quickly reorienting himself, blinking to discover that the Wanderer’s hat had fallen off in the brief movement- 

And that he currently practically had the Wanderer pinned to the ground. 

…Hm. Well, actually… he could roll with this. 

“Get off of me.” The Wanderer managed to hiss out- seemingly practically biting his tongue before his breath could hitch again. 

“Nu-uh, I don’t think I will.” Aether smirked as the Wanderer choked back another hitching breath. “Don’t hold back on my account. Or, maybe, do you need me to teach you how to sneeze?” 

“D-don’t-” 

“You already have the ‘hiIH-’ and ‘hEH-’ part down, now you just need the-” 

“Hh- hiH’IsHKiu!!” 

“There you go!” Aether laughed despite the strong surge of anemo energy, leaning into his geo affinity to remain unaffected. “Now was that so hard-” 

“Hh’shKiu!! Hih- hEH’inKshii! F-fuck- hH’iKshiu!!” 

“Bless you!” Aether let go of the Wanderer’s wrists, getting off of him as the other sat up, breath still hitching. “Maybe this was a bit too much, huh?” 

“Hh’NxTtii!!” Attempting to stifle again did the Wanderer no favours as his next hitching breath reached a much more desperate pitch. “HhEH- hH’iSHiu!! Heh’ShKii!! H’eshii!! Hh- hIH- hhEH’inKShiu!!” 

Aether watched in silence as the Wanderer sniffled, rubbing his nose against his sleeve. 

“So…” He started, after a significant number of seconds had passed without another hitching breath from the other. “What was that about not needing to do ‘unnecessary things’, again?” 

The Wanderer paused in the middle of retrieving his hat to give him a glare. (With his hair mussed up from both the tumble and the sneezing fit though, Aether couldn’t help but imagine a hissing kitten.)

“...Shut up.” The Wanderer muttered, before pitching his voice louder. “If you’ve finished amusing yourself with childish games, we have stuff to do.” 

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Aether rolled his eyes, “Just know that I will be remembering this.” 

The Wanderer said nothing in response, walking past him, but Aether couldn’t help but smirk as he noticed the faint blush on the other’s face.

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Climb

Summary: You're a scientist, an engineer to be exact. Called to a meeting you had no real right to be at, Optimus Prime takes an exclusive interest in you, but you can't help but ask yourself at every turn, Why?

Rating: 18+ 🌹🩸🍆

Story Masterlist

Chapter 11

Theo had been working on the suit I would wear on the climb, it was brilliant, lightweight, but would carry everything I needed to take with me. Thermal on the inside for when I got too high up, along with a mask attached to the inside with access to oxygen, a parachute compact enough that I shouldn’t have struggled with the extra weight, and several secure compartments to keep any supplies I needed. The most important thing about it, was it was free from anything electronic.

     I couldn’t stop thinking about that night with Optimus though. Everything about it was beautiful. Learning about Spark-sharing, the endless possibilities for it to save lives and connect two Autobots for eternity; it was amazing. I wanted to know more, I wanted to learn everything I could about Optimus, I wanted to know what made him the way he was and what he wanted to do in the future.

     We had gone out every evening that week to watch the sun go down and get to know each other. I told him about my childhood, he told me about his, we discussed menial things, things that made me feel normal and without masses of pressure being put on my shoulders.

     It was the one thing putting a dampener on everything. I was behaving as if this was my last few days on earth. There was every possibility that it was, but I was trying to see past the ship arriving on Earth. I was trying to see the days afterwards, trying so hard to believe I might have been able to get back to my old life.

     ‘And I’ve made sure you’ve got some adrenaline shots in reserve.’ Theo suddenly said, placing the small silver case in front of me on the desk and breaking my thoughts. ‘I wouldn’t recommend taking any more than three and even that I think is pushing it, but you’ve got five to get you through the last leg.’

     ‘Thanks.’ I said, clearing my throat and pushing my glasses up my nose while I took some notes.

     Theo sighed and sat in front of me. ‘Look, you can pull out of this, you know.’ My head snapped up to look at him. ‘If you think you won’t make it, you can always walk away, there’s no shame in it.’

     ‘How can you say that?’ I almost hissed, surprising Theo. ‘Theo, you and I have gone over the specs for that ship a thousand times, even the Autobots won’t get through that shielding, by the time they’ve found a way, it’ll be too late. I have to make the climb, if I don’t, if I don’t even try… that’s the end.’

     Theo frowned a little. ‘And what about you? What happens to you afterwards?’

     ‘I don’t know.’

     ‘No? Because it feels like my friend is going up there with no intention of coming back.’ Theo snapped and left the lab.

     I hadn’t realised how tense we’d both gotten in such a short space of time, but in a way, we were both right. No one else was going to make it up there, but I wasn’t the only one who thought it was a one way trip.

     I could feel the eyes of not just the base, but everyone who knew about the mission, on me, constantly. Lennox tried to keep me focused on the wall and training. We kept it a little lighter in the remaining week, but my worry was that I had still yet to complete thirty thousand feet. I knew he was worried as well, and Epps struggled to hide his concern.

     I left my lab early the night before the ship was due to arrive in Earth’s atmosphere. I didn’t dare turn on any news or listen to any outside noise, I needed all the focus I could get before the morning.

     I could see almost all of the Autobots talking outside their hanger, Ironhide glanced over when Hound indicated I was standing across the base. He began making his way over and fear began to flood my limbs.

     He kneeled down in front of me, and I could see kindness in his features the same way I saw it in all the Autobots. He really was on our side.

     ‘Lennox has told us that you have not made the thirty thousand foot climb in training yet.’ He said. I looked down disappointed in myself more than anything. ‘I’m sure Optimus will tell you the same thing tomorrow, but while I’ve got the chance to say it myself: we’re all counting on you, and we all believe the Earth is in no safer hands than yours. We’ll do our part and we’ll buy you all the time you need, you just make that climb. Good luck. We’ll be waiting for you at the bottom.’

     I looked up at the weapons expert’s face. ‘Thank you.’ It was the best I could muster in the state I was in.

     Ironhide nodded and stood to head back to the hanger where almost every Autobot was watching me. My heart began racing nervously, I needed some space to breathe.

     The familiar sound of Optimus revved behind me, and it ignited something in the core of my being. I turned to see him opening the door for me to hop in. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. We had spent almost every night together on the hill side since our second date, we talked, he motivated me when I felt my fear getting the better of me, and he would make me come.

     Optimus had found all my weaknesses and exploited them gloriously at every turn. The strangeness of the situation hadn’t even seeped into my mind until that night. I was, in the simplest terms, in love with a truck. He was so much more than that, I could feel the life surging through him, he wasn’t scrap metal, he wasn’t a robot, he was a beautiful creature that had more human qualities than one would have expected.

     I had tried so hard not to fall for him, but he was rather charming when he wanted to be, he listened, he learned about me with a genuine curiosity, and he thought I was beautiful as well. What more could I have asked for?

     ‘I sense you are in need of something different on the eve of battle.’ Optimus said as we arrived at the same spot at the top of the hill.

     I sighed, getting out and listened to him transform into his full form, kneeling as he always did to speak to me.

     ‘What can I do for you?’ He asked and I felt like breaking there and then. Was he really asking me that? Was he really that kind?

     ‘Can you turn back time so that I never came here?’ I joked, but Optimus’s face dropped.

     ‘I would not want to.’ He said, sincerely. ‘If you never came here, we would never have met.’

     I let my gaze drop to the floor for a moment. ‘I know.’ I whispered. ‘I’m terrified.’

     ‘You would be foolish not to be. But the fact that you are willing to give everything to save your planet anyway, that is the mark of a true warrior.’

     I shook my head. ‘I’m not a warrior.’ I told him. His head tilted confused. ‘I’m an engineer. A scientist. My greatest strength will always be my mind, but even that has it’s limits. What if I can’t do this?’

     Optimus thought for a moment, looking out at the beautiful orange sun as it began to descend in the sky.

     ‘What is it to be human?’ He asked, making me frown.

     ‘Erm…’ I half laughed. ‘I don’t think I could sum it up in a few words. It’s about making mistakes, getting up when you get knocked down, it’s about connection with others, it’s about trying. I suppose those are the main points. Trying.’

     ‘I have learned much from you, Jane.’ He leaned closer. ‘But the most important thing I have come to understand about the human race: there is no limit to your potential. That is what I saw in you the day we met. I know you see the same thing in others around you and you believe it is worth fighting for. I will fight for your beliefs until my dying second, but only if you will fight along side me.’ Optimus placed his hand next to me, his blue eyes staring into my soul. ‘Will you fight with me tomorrow? Will you fight for the potential of the human race?’

     My body felt like it was about to take off. ‘Yes.’ I breathed. Yes, I would fight for humanity. Yes, I would fight for what I believed. Yes, I would fight for tomorrow.

     Optimus sat with me for the rest of the night until the sun disappeared behind the horizon. It would be a long trip the next day, but if I had Optimus Prime on my side, then I knew I could do it.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

[begebege28]

JUST MY 2 CENTS

It’s truly amazing how they think and created all those HCs about #that couple. Like if that’s what you want, by all means do so. But to treat it like it’s canon? NO WAY. The way buddies do the same yet we get policed over it??? The way they act like buck is this idiot character who was “saved” by tmmy the talking tree trunk. And how tmmy is this “big protector”. Literally every time i see these takes, i ask myself, are these scenes not airing on my tv?like when they say “he was considerate of bucks feelings" when we know that’s not the case. Otherwise why lead him on during the date? Tmmy was out the moment buck made the “cool chicks” comment. Like why be petty and make the “joke" "Guess you can never have enough closet space. Ain't that the truth, right, Evan?" LIKE YOURSELF were hiding who you were? And here you are almost outing him? Thats your protector? “This is my first date with a dude”. Really tmmy didn’t clock it.. what 30yr says dude?? To lead him on and not tell him until basically opening the car door and immediately after leaving the restaurant you order it? Giving no indication you were done? Or during the date itself? I wonder why we didn’t see the continuation of the date? Reminded me and buck and Natalia first dare. For them to say this man is "so confident” we are yet to see this? In what way is he confident? In his sexuality?Obviously not lol. Well, in his job? If that’s that makes him confident then…… Then they made BUCK apologize because he wasn’t ready to come out to his best friend… The way they sped run the relationship by inviting him to his sisters wedding? I’m Sorry but you JUST CAME OUT. Has it even been 48hrs? This is a fictional show to which they could have made tmmy be a part of the bachelor party or the search rescue. Now that i think of it, what did the bachelor party serve in connection with the rest of the episode? We know they cut 30minutes of the episodes… i wonder what they cut???? Literally they could have made the medal scene be sweet and warm but it’s “enjoy it while it lasts”. REALLY? do we remember how buck wanted to have a medal and what it meant to him? They could have made them at least act like a couple… you wouldn’t even be able to tell they were dating if you didn’t watch the previous episodes. The dinner scene? The “daddy joke”. Like. Do they even care about this relationship. For for the love of god, you are allow to dislike a queer couple and queer character. Stop shielding them. They are allowed the same criticism. It’s not homophobic to hate tmmy or hate the relationship.

Imagine calling Eddie a "straight man" who still has grief over wife… how long has it been? They go on to say "this is why Eddie has to perform on dates" and "he never had to be with anything with Shannon expect himself". "He never had to be anything with Shannon expect himself". Simply where was this? What flashbacks and scenes with Shannon did you watch where Eddie was himself? Was it when he enlisted Shannon without telling her the FIRST TIME? Or was it THE SECOND time. Or was it after Eddie was discharged from the hospital and we got to see their life before Shannon left? Better yet, do you even remember why Shannon left and how he TREATED her. Shannon’s words, i don’t need a PROVIDER. “Eddie now has to realize he is enough. For Chris, for himself and for others". Isn't this bucks coma dream? Him realizing he's enough. Coma buck said to Bobby "I matter here" and Bobby responding with "you haven't learned a damn thing"." They went on to say “The only person we don't see or hear in the coma is Eddie." They continued “it's because buck sees Eddie as a brother. And buck faced off Daniel and himself, Because Daniel is the brother he couldn't save. The brother he never had. Eddie is also the brother he never had yet has saved" the whole point of the dream, was about buck. It was never about anyone else but himself. The dream literally is that. A dream. A life with loving parents/family and one where Daniel lived. This is if buck never had the life he did hence never meeting the 118. That's why Eddie isn't there. It's literally explained. If buck never goes and becomes a firefighter, he never meets Eddie. Buck is the Eddie gets in touch with Carla. Remember the flashback in Eddie begins? His parents basically shaming Eddie and saying "who's gonna watch Christopher while you’re at work". If Eddie never meets buck, he never meets Carla. That's why he's in Texas in the dream. He lost his custody because buck wasn't there, and therefore Eddie never got the help. I can’t with this narrative that “buddie is never going to happen” because for 6 seasons it was “queer buck is never going to happen” and look where we are now. I’m sick and tired of this superiority complex. Like, you’re making bucks bi arc about Timmy instead of buck himself. Oliver admitted bi buck was shot down in s4. He had to wait another 3 seasons for bibuck to happen. Were the same people saying “bi buck will never happen” during those times, now saying buddie will never happen 🫢🫢🫢 if so; that’s fucking crazy and sad. You never cared about buddie and the family that we have been graced with on our screen. The 6 years of content. Let’s not forget, bi buck this season was an afterthought. It was gonna be a continuation of Buck and Natalia. And then when the actress couldn’t come back, it was gonna be Buck and Lucy. And then Tmmy and Eddie. And then FINALLY we got Buck and Tmmy.

[showtoonzfan]

Okay,guys. What do you think of fionapollos recent video?

Ganna be straight to the point, I didn’t like it. This is ganna be a long post so if y’all love reading, feel free to but I’m warning y’all now. Of course, what I’m going to say are my opinions only. This is coming from a person who actually follows Fionapollos, I love listening to her art commentary vids and I hope she keeps up the good work! But for this recent video specifically? I don’t think it was good. Not to say that Fionapollos didn’t handle this well for the most part, she’s always respectful and open minded and I’m glad for that, but the structure and overall execution of the video was poorly handled.

Outside of being an inspiring animator and a help to spread awareness of how incredible indie animation is, I have no respect for Vivziepop, but that doesn’t mean I want to be biased or one sided. There were only two sections of this video I agreed with, it’s in three segments. The first segment was about Erin Frost and the evidence they had provided, and like me and some have been saying, the evidence just wasn’t strong enough to indicate a really toxic environment, especially since what Erin had provided was screenshots of her being on good terms with Jane and Sam. I never really saw an issue with Jane deciding to move the assignment to someone else since Erin was struggling, because like Fionapollos said, people in this business just want to get stuff done and if someone can’t do it, they have to take measures where someone else can.

Now maybe this wasn’t mentioned because there isn’t really evidence to support it, (it’s just a statement) but we do know that according to Ashley Nicholas, Viv had talked behind Erin’s back, calling her too mentally unstable to work. I personally believe that there was a lot of gossip provided by Viv and/or Jane and Sam regarding Erin, they’ve all shown to be shady before so I just wouldn’t be surprised if this were true, however let’s move on. Other parts of the video I agree on were Fionapollos simply just being fair. She stated that the fake document is damaging to indie companies and studios, and how her audience has the right to feel the way they feel, but outside of that there wasn’t anything specific that I agreed on outside of the Erin stuff. Her closing thoughts were nice as usual, but I’ll move on to the actual issues I had with the video.

If I had to speak in general, I feel like Fionapollos just didn’t have enough evidence, cause this video is basically a rehash of what her last one was, where she didn’t have enough evidence back then, only this time in her personal opinion, Viv is just a flawed non-perfect person who makes mistakes and needs to stop being put up on a pedestal and idolized as someone who is perfect….something I drastically disagree with but I’ll get into more of that later. When I say that she doesn’t have enough evidence, what I mean is that the stuff that she looked at is only the FROSTING of the iceberg pointing to Viv being a narcissist who mistreats her employees. Like I said there’s only three sections, and the only section where she actually looks at evidence against Spindle is Erin’s section and the document, something that was obviously fake and I’ve already shared how I dislike it when people pay more attention to the fake/troll side of things rather than the real actual evidence. I was shocked/bothered to see that KenDraws’s document isn’t even mentioned here, since the topic of this vid is how Viv/Spindle treats her employees and that document could have been a MASSIVE factor in evidence pointing towards the mistreatment being legit in some areas. Instead, the majority of this vid is very empty and lacks something that you could make a case out of. Of course she was going to go with the “I just think Vivziepop is flawed”- route, because she doesn’t have the same knowledge of evidence and drama that Viv has been through, wether that be in the past few months or past 2 years. It’s just clear that she so far has only seen a few bits and pieces of evidence but not the mass amount pointing to Viv being a problematic childish person. And I get it, she’s not like others where she constantly follows every single move Viv makes or constantly checks her status online, but if you’re going to make a video like this, you should be more informed.

The middle part of the video is the worst. It’s dedicated to talking about the fake document and AnimationCallout, (which this section of the video doesn’t do much, it’s just panting Spindle in a victimizing light) and she also dismisses the transphobic allegations by saying it was included in the false document so it makes her question if that is true as well (despite the fact that the screenshot of Viv’s discord messages had been floating around awhile before the document). The biggest part that made me roll my eyes is where she mentions Viv’s old weird art, indicating that she assumes people spite her all because of old shit she did years and years ago, which if you know me is another thing I hate the people bring up regarding Viv’s controversies. Her old art is irrelevant. This entire middle section felt irrelevant because the topic is about Spindle mistreating their employees so I don’t know why she felt the need to bring that up as well as how fake documents affect animation studios but that’s just me.

There’s also things that weren’t mentioned that bother me. Like I said KenDraws document wasn’t mentioned, but there’s more. The most obvious is that Erin ain’t the only member who left Spindle. For a video about Spindlehorse mistreating their employees, there’s no mention of anyone else, or people who claimed to be mistreated. KenDraws, Ashley Nicholas, Salem Squidder, Nicolas Jordan, Jane Walker, the list goes on. This is evidence that there’s definitely more going than just “Viv is flawed”. You can only use that excuse so long, as more and more people who were close or her or worked on her stuff left.

I also feel like it’s a glaring issue that Spindlehorse/Viv never acknowledge their mistakes or even confront their controversies. Name one time Spindle came out and made an official statement on the allegations or drama. Zero. They always let the fire burn, hide behind the fanbase, and wait for the waters to cool before moving on and pretending nothing ever happened, only speaking up if someone dare call Viv problematic. They silence any ex member and never take accountability, and it’s something the public has yet to acknowledge, no one ever acknowledges this shit and I’m so tired of it. This is why I never agree with anyone who tries to paint them in a victimizing light filled with people who are “just trying to get by” when there’s no evidence that leaves me to believe that’s true, especially when they’re too cowardly to even confront something or make a fucking statement. Doesn’t help that they always ignore allegations against Viv or just shut the other side down by simply saying “she was nice to me end of story”. How are we supposed to believe that these people are genuine who don’t want to hurt anyone if they aren’t saying anything? How are we supposed to believe Viv is just an imperfect person if she NEVER acknowledges her faults and keeps making the same mistakes over and over again?

I truly believe that Fionapollos had good intentions, but I’m really tired of folks just dismissing Viv or the shady stuff that’s been going on at spindle with just “they’re imperfect stop putting them up on a pedestal”. Like I said there’s plenty of evidence pointing to the people at Spindle lacking self awareness and Viv being an abuser who blacklists people and talks behind other’s backs, so this vid just didn’t do any justice. She just doesn’t know the half of it. Sorry.

[frog-man-blog]

Spoiler for AvA Season 2

I got a theory I have to share rn

Also this post is long- just be prepared

If you don’t understand or if I’ve accidentally leaned off topic please let me know! (Also remember you don’t have to agree, this is just a theory)

So we know how in the end of the episode, where Orange and Chosen were captured, they have been imprisoned.

Orange was locked inside of a cell wall Chosen was locked inside of this giant white box.

But take a good look at the giant white box Chosen was put inside of



I’m pretty sure by now, everyone knows that this isn’t just a normal cell specifically made for Chosen so he can’t escape. And if you don’t know, well, those wires and weird contraption in the middle should give that away.

This is a machine meant to do some thing, but nobody knows what it’s meant to do. Some people have brought up the idea that Chosen could be tortured, however, I do not think that’s the case.

If they were to torture Chosen, that would mean they would want information out of him. The only information that Chosen could possibly have is anything about Dark or Alan. I do not believe they would torture him for the sake of their own entertainment or enjoyment.

Dark is a reasonable assumption as anything about his whereabouts are unknown, and nobody knows if he’s alive or if he’s dead. However, there were no wanted posters of Dark anywhere, and no indication that they were looking/going after him. 

Alan is the next reasonable assumption as to why Victim wanted to captured him, as people have been speculating that Victim wants revenge on Alan. However, if Victim had done his research considering all of their origin stories are on YouTube in canon (I could be wrong) wouldn’t he have known Alan had enslaved Chosen for five years? Thus knowing Chosen should have some sort of grudge against him?

Yes, there is a chance that showdown could have been on YouTube in canon, considering Chosen and Dark fought on YouTube’s website during showdown. However, with that logic, this episode would have been uploaded on YouTube in the canon universe. (Unless this really is just a reality tv show and they’re all actors but that’s for another time)

 Of course, Chosen could be questioned about something else entirely however, we have no way of knowing what. I do like the idea of Victim going after Alan for revenge, but that also might not be the case because if I’m right that they’re not looking for information out of Chosen, it wouldn’t make sense why they captured him specifically. Especially if they have access to the YouTube videos that are in canon and know that Orange and his friends are much closer to Alan. 

Yes, they could’ve very well captured Chosen to lure Orange and his friend out however, unless they planned to use Chosen for something else, capturing him in a machine meant to do something to him seems like they would be plotting something bigger.

Also the fact that they would’ve easily been able to capture the 5, or at least Orange makes it even more confusing why they targeted Chosen first and not raid Alan’s computer. (Unless you know… their computer is hard to find or not wanna make contact with Alan yet)

We do get this scene of one of the mercenary’s getting feedback from someone else as the other mercenary’s were about to attack Orange. Could it be that they had planned to capture him, but were going after Chosen first, and Orange so happen to be there? Or was that feedback meant for something else… we don’t know yet.

However that doesn’t mean Victim seeking revenge isn’t impossible. Just because he might not question/tortured Chosen about it, doesn’t mean Chosen won’t play a big part in it.

So let’s continue back on the path before. The reason why Chosen was captured and why specifically a machine that’s definitely more than just a special prison box.

With the torture being out of the way, we still have tons of options as to what it could be that they want from Chosen. And there is no way we could go through all of the endless possibilities. However, I would like to bring up 1 theory I found that could be plausible.

This is a machine meant to harness Chosen’s power, and use it to power up something or make them stronger. In no way do I think this is just a prison for Chosen, as there is even a control panel and tons of wires hooked up to this white box.

Obviously, this machine could do anything. But it would make sense that Victim would want Chosen’s power for his own, considering we don’t even know if Victim has powers. Perhaps he’s stealing them, or just using them for his own benefit. Again we don’t know. 

We currently do not know anything of Victim’s character and his motives. For all we know we could have everything wrong. All we know was that he was deleted, and technically died, but is now back. (although I think it should be obvious that when you delete something off the internet, it’s not gone, it’s still there)

Yet, I can’t help but feel excited about where the story is going. Really takes me back to when the first episode of season 1 aired. It was such a small community back then and we all freaked out about Chosen’s return. This was even back when Dark was mostly (Aka a part of the fandom on insta) characterized as a nice, and goofy bestie to Chosen (which isn’t entirely wrong per say) and it caught us off guard when it was revealed he was gonna be the main villain.

No joke- I was actually heart broken when he was revealed the big bad

But that’s about it

I don’t wanna make this post any longer

And my phone is lagging bad-

So if you read this far thank you for listening to this giant post 😭 and again you don’t have to agree, I just like sharing silly goofy theories.

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch07: The Real Monsters

Summary: The team works together to save Sam, but they incur a heavy cost... Referenced Episodes: mentioned S1 E6 "Skin," S1 E15 "The Benders" CW: Gore! Lore dump! Kidnapping. Word Count: 6150 Recommended Song: Crazy Train -- Ozzy Osbourne Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

“Why can’t I just pretend to be anything else?”

“I don’t have a state police ID for you, and they won’t just let some random civilian in on the investigation.”

"Dean, I don't think they're going to believe this."

"What? Why wouldn't they?"

"I don't exactly look like a police dog," I huffed, hardly believing that he had faith in this plan. "No one is going to believe that an off-duty cop and his 'wolf-dog' – who, by the way, is bigger than a Great Dane – are here to investigate the sudden disappearance of his cousin, who just so happens to be related to a known murderer that you look exactly like." I inhaled heavily, having said it all in one breath. Dean raised an eyebrow at this, a light smirk on his features.

"A little positivity wouldn’t hurt!" he exclaimed with a cheesy grin my way. He threw the car door open and stepped into the bright morning sunlight. I sputtered and he made his way around the Impala to the passenger's side door, opening it for me. With a small glare, I jumped out of the car and landed lightly on my paws. I straightened myself and shook out my fur to bask in the warm light.

"See? You're not that wolfish, this'll work like a charm!" I did my very best to glare up at Dean, the top of my head even with his chest. "Don't give me that look."

I huffed and turned away from him, making my way toward the police station. He followed, keeping up with my lanky strides.

"Maybe you should wag your tail for a better effect," he said. I snapped my furred head to his and pulled back pink gums to reveal deadly fangs. "I'll take that as a no." He said with a chuckle.

The waiting room of the police station was rather small, with only a few couches, a small coffee table, a TV showing the local weather, and a tall, fake plant standing in the corner. I surveyed the rooms, earning strange glances from the bustling officers and lawyers migrating up and down the hall.

Dean was sweet-talking the receptionist and she was soaking it up like a sponge, twirling a piece of ginger hair in her fingers. Finally, he flashed his stolen badge at her and her blue eyes widened.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she asked and moved away from her computer monitor to give him her full attention.

"No need to call me sir, sweetheart. I'm off duty, I just need to speak to one of your officers." He flashed her his winning smile. I nudged my head against his thigh, an indication to skip the flirting. He pushed my head away with his hand.

"Well, what are you here for Mr. Washington? I'm sure I can find someone willing to help you," she batted her eyelashes at him. I had enough of this and leaned up to place my head on the counter, standing nearly on the tips of my toes. She squeaked and I flattened my ears against my skull.

"Sorry miss, this is my police dog," he said, glaring at me. I kept my eyes trained on the receptionist. "She goes with me pretty much everywhere, even when I'm off duty." I huffed, my hot breath fanning her face. She scrunched her nose in distaste and turned back to Dean. "We're here about a missing person. I was having a few drinks with my cousin last night, and he's gone missing now."

"Oh, that's horrible," she said, puckering her lips at Dean and lowering her lashes. Before she could open her wide mouth again, I jumped, placing my two forepaws on the counter. She jumped and glared at me. "Bad dog. Shoo," she said, gesturing for me to hop down. I glared at her and she faced Dean once more, rather uneasy. "You're in luck, Mr. Washington. The Deputy who handles most of our missing person's cases is in today. Go straight down the hallway to your right, it's the third door on the left."

Dean thanked her and shot me a quick glare, to which I replied with a dramatic wag of my tail. He rolled his eyes and made his way down the hallway. We stopped at a door with the name 'Deputy Kathleen Hudak' printed on the front in gold letters. Dean and I looked at each other once more before he pushed the door open for me and I sauntered in.

The deputy looked rather shocked to see a legitimate wolf walk into her office, nearly spilling her coffee on herself. She looked visibly confused as Dean introduced himself.

"Uh… what can I do for you, Officer Washington?" Hudak asked.

"I'm working on a missing persons case. You see, my cousin and I were having a few drinks at the bar last night, the one down by the highway." She raised an eyebrow at Dean and he disregarded it, continuing with his mostly true story. "He left a few minutes before me, we were going to drive back together. He disappeared though, haven't seen him since."

Hudak pondered this for a moment before speaking. "How drunk was he?"

Dean chuckled. "Sammy? He could take two shots and pass out." He made a motion with his hand, much like an airplane crash. Kathleen looked unamused.

"I'm sure he's fine Mr. Washington, he'll probably wake up in a bush soon and give you a call. I don't think you need to worry." She moved to return to her computer screen, but I stopped her with a light growl. She frowned at me and then turned to Dean with a scowl on her face. "You know, I've never heard of the state police being allowed to have wolf-dogs as their K-9 companions."

"She is pretty special," he said, giving me an affectionate pat on the head. "Very well trained. I swear, sometimes I wonder if she thinks like a human." He flashed her a reassuring smile.

She paused once again before speaking. "Alright, Gregory," she started, using his ID's first name. "If we're going to find your cousin, we need to do it properly-" she reached for a piece of paper beside the copy machine behind her. "- So I'm going to have to ask you to fill out a missing persons report so we can make a case out of it."

"Officer," Dean interjected, his tone serious. Hudak turned back to face him. "This county seems to have a lot of missing cases. How many of those people actually come back?"

The two stared each other down and my eyes flitted back and forth between them. Finally, Hudak gave in. "What did you say your cousin's name was?" she asked, seating herself in front of her computer and pulling up a registry. Dean beamed at her.

"Sam Winchester."

She typed the name in as I moved to sit beside her. She spared me an uneasy glance before continuing. "So you're aware that his brother, Dean, was suspected of murder and died in St. Louis a few months ago?" At this, I rolled my eyes and tucked my head down, hiding my all too human gaze from the officer. I held my breath, waiting for the moment she pulled up Dean’s record out of curiosity and we were busted.

"Yeah, Dean. Kind of the black sheep of the family. Handsome though," his chuckle soon turned into one of discomfort as the officer and I looked unamused by him. "I think I'm seeing double," he said nervously. Kathleen and I turned to face each other, twin frowns on our faces.

She exhaled slowly, taking in the image of Sam's face on the screen. "I'll head to the County Works Department, see what I can dig up."

"I saw an old set of cameras outside the bar. Maybe one of those saw what grabbed my brother." Deputy Hudak still looked unconvinced. "Mind if I tag along, officer? I promise you won't even know I'm there." She glared suspiciously at Dean and then at me. I wagged my tail at her for good measure.

—

I had never ridden in the back of a sheriff's car before, and I have to say I never want to do it again. Hudak had left me in the car, windows rolled down a bit, while Dean waited for her outside. She came out not long after with a stack of paperwork in her hands. I pricked my ears, straining to listen to their conversation. All I gathered was that they had an idea as to the perpetrator's truck based on a new-looking license plate and the 'whining-growl' of an engine.

It was hot in there, even with the windows open, and dark. I wasn't fond of it. The only good thing about it was that there was room to stretch out in my furred form. Dean's car had little room to stretch out as a human, and he certainly wouldn't allow me to get fur all over his car.

I huffed and laid my head on my paws as they made their way back to the car. As soon as Dean sat down and shut the door behind him I was immediately upright and leaning my chin on the back of his seat. The Deputy's car rumbled as she started it and crept forward like some hulking beast. I dropped my head on the center console and stared out the front window. Dean’s fingertips wound into my fur and scratched my ears. I glared from the corner of my eye.

“She’s a good girl,” Kathleen said with a warm smile.

“Sure is,” Dean answered, giving me a few dramatic pats. I made a sound low in the back of my throat and pulled away from him. He was going to get an earful later.

"That string of traffic cams only goes 50 miles down the road," Kathleen began, as she turned onto the highway. "I lost the truck at the end of the cameras, so they've got to have taken a back road 50 miles or more down the road."

Dean grunted in response. "They've probably got a lot of private roads in this area huh?" Kathleen hummed in response and the car fell silent once more, with Dean trying to strike up the occasionally odd conversation and Kathleen shooting him down.

I eventually closed my eyes, listening to the roar of the car engine and enjoying the feeling of Dean's fingers running through my fur. My eyes snapped open upon hearing a loud beep from the monitor in front of the center console.

She turned the monitor towards her, reading what it had to say before locking her eyes back on the road. I sat up and shifted behind her to look at the screen. I whined softly.

Shit.

"So Gregory," she began. I paced on the seat nervously, thinking about my options. "I ran your badge number. Turns out, it was stolen not too long ago." I whined again and Dean looked helplessly between me and the cop. "Look. It even had a picture of you." She turned the monitor to face Dean, showing her a picture of a much larger black man.

Dean chuckled nervously, looking between her and the monitor as she slowly pulled over. "I lost some weight-" he started. "- And I got that Michael Jackson skin thing done-"

"OK," Kathleen interjected. "I'm going to need you to step out of the car."

Dean protested and they argued back and forth while I paced. I couldn't attack her, what if I accidentally bit her or maimed her? And if I did we'd be in even more trouble. What was I supposed to do, sit on her and hope she suffocated in my fur?

"Kathleen," he began, a tone mixed with danger and pleading. "Look into my eyes and tell me I'm not lying about this." I whined, having missed the majority of their argument in my own frantic state. Her eyes flitted between mine and his. Dean's were stern, full of confidence.

"You've given me no choice, I have to take you in," she said quietly.

"You can take me in after we find Sam. He's my responsibility. I have to at least make sure he's alright." Was he that stupid, willingly turning himself in? So blindly faithful?

The two stared each other down for the longest time, neither backing down. Finally, she dropped her gaze and muttered an 'OK'. "After we find Sam Winchester."

I whined loudly, dropping my head back onto the back of her seat. She chuckled and pointed a finger at me. "And you, I knew you weren't a police dog. You've got to be at least 87% wolf, there is no way they'd allow you to be part of the canine unit." I cast Dean a knowing look.

I had never hated a car ride more in my entire life. The tension in the air was almost palpable, I felt like I was choking on it. The only thing that kept me grounded in that swirling sea of emotions was searching out the scent of cherries amongst the scent of anger. I hoped to God that I would never have to be in a situation like that again, but with the Winchesters it was unlikely.

"Wait, wait, pull over here!" Dean suddenly exclaimed, pointing out the window to his right. I lifted my shaggy head and searched for what he was pointing at, seeing a not well-managed road. Kathleen pulled the car over as Dean had asked and hopped out of the car before it had even stopped. I moved to jump into the front seat and follow him, but Kathleen held an arm out, blocking me. She quietly told me to stay put and I growled in response. There wasn't much I could do to oppose her without giving myself away.

"This is the first turn-off I've seen so far," I heard Dean say through the car door. It was hard to hear, but not impossible. My nose was practically flattened against the glass as I watched the pair make their way down the worn road.

"You stay here, I'll check it out," she told Dean. He looked at her like she was crazy.

"No way," Dean answered.

"Hey!" she hissed, stopping and facing him. "You're a civilian, and a felon, I think. I'm not taking you with me."

Dean glanced down the road, obviously mulling over his options. I knew he wouldn't fight her unless he really had to, but nothing was going to get between him and Sam.

"You're not going without me," he answered, shaking his head at her. Hudak sighed in frustration, looking once more at the car. We locked eyes and I barked at her, scratching at the glass. It was so irritating, knowing I had the capabilities to be helpful, but just couldn't in this situation. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I knew we shouldn't have gone with this plan.

"Alright," Kathleen started again. "You promise you won't get involved? That you'll let me handle it?"

Dean nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I promise." I huffed, my breath steaming the glass. Even I wasn't convinced by that.

"Shake on it."

Oh God, don't do that-

It was too late, the handcuffs were already clasped onto his wrist. Dean swore as she dragged him to the Driver's side door and fastened him to the handle, locking the door behind her. "Kathleen!" he called after her. "I really think you're going to need my help."

"I'll manage," she retorted. I growled and scraped once more at the door as she walked away from the car. Dean peered through the window at me, tipping his head as a sign that I should get out. I felt my bones snap and rearrange as I shifted back in my seat, shaking out my hair and readjusting my own clothes.

I looked out the passenger side window, waiting for her to disappear out of sight before opening the door and quickly locking it behind me so as to stop its incessant beeping.

"She took the keys with her," Dean said hurriedly, struggling with the cuffs.

"I know, I saw." I marched around the car and towards the worn path.

"Where are you going!?" Dean called after me, panic in his voice.

"To find Sam!" I called back. "Someone has to make sure they don't get themselves killed, and you'll figure out some way to get out."

"What if she comes back and sees you're not in the car?"

"Stall!" I said as I ran forward and jumped into my furred form, running down the beaten path. I ran after her, by now she must be far ahead of me. I had to catch up, or else she would have no backup.

I skidded to a halt as a dirty old wooden house came into view, not unlike the one where I had met Marcus and Caeden. This house screamed 'hillbilly' like no other I had seen.

On the front porch stood Deputy Hudak, talking to a ragged-looking little girl, whose hair was matted and dirty. I could practically smell the scent of filth on her from here. She was very clearly human. I ducked behind a clump of trees and surveyed the yard, seeing multiple odd buildings, like makeshift barns. One stood out to me as the dim sunlight, hooded by clouds, reflected off heavy steel doors. It clicked that that must be where they were holding Sam.

I moved to take a step forward towards Sam's location, only to hear a loud crash from the front porch. Shocked, I realized another human had attacked Deputy Hudak, a heavy shovel in his hands and scowl on his inbred face.

He snarled something at the little girl and she went off around the house. Not even moments later, two more, who looked like brothers, walked around the house and headed down the road back towards Hudak's car, her keys in hand.

My mind was reeling at this point. I knew I had three options – save Hudak, find Sam, or return to Dean and help him before the hillbillies got there. None of the options were good ones, as doing one would only compromise the others.

I was thoroughly screwed.

I didn't have time to panic, but I couldn't help but watch in horror as the oldest hillbilly took Deputy Hudak, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carrying her to the barn where I presumed they were holding Sam. They couldn't kill her yet, I knew that – if a cop was able to find them, then they would have to ask her if there were more on the way.

I snapped my head to the left, down the road where the two brothers were sauntering towards Hudak's car, laughing as they went. If they found Dean there, they'd surely kill him, or worse, and he was in no position to find them.

Before I had realized it I had made up my mind and was racing through the marshy woods towards the Deputy's car. Kathleen would be alright for now – if my hunch was right, she would have Sam. But Dean needed help now.

I didn't even bother with trying to be quiet. I thundered through the woods, breaking twigs and crunching leaves under my heavy, padded feet. My ears were flattened against my skull and I stretched myself to my full length, each stride covering an incredible amount of distance. The burning in my muscles was one I had come to enjoy, but I didn't have time to revel in it now.

In no time at all the car was coming into view. I had passed the brothers, but that still only gave me a limited window of time. As soon as my paws hit the gravel pavement surrounding the car I leapt into the air. Using the hood of the car as a springboard I lept once more and shifted midair, landing on my two feet and skidding, nearly falling.

Dean looked utterly shocked to see me. He was splayed out against the side of the car, reaching for the little antennae on the end. My still golden eyes settled on it and I raced towards it, unscrewing it hastily and handing it to Dean.

"We need to get out of here," I told him harshly. "Now," I snarled as he still stood dumbfounded. He jumped into action, eyes still wide with shock. While he worked to discard any trace of us being there, removing my own paw prints and the imprint of Dean and Hudak's shoes in the mud.

Finally, the handcuffs dropped to the ground and I quickly picked them up. Before Dean could utter a single word I took his wrist in my hand and dragged him behind me into the woods. We ran, Dean confused but willing to comply, our feet softly hitting the ground, us being careful not to make too much noise. It was only when Dean heard the guffawing and laughter of the brothers that he realized.

He opened his mouth to say something, turning to me with wide eyes. His expression turned from one of worry to one of shock when I pressed a finger to my lips.

We didn't say a word as we traveled silently through the woods. It wasn't until the main house was in sight that I took off at a dead sprint, Dean hot on my heels. I skidded to a halt in front of the barn doors and Dean nearly barreled into me. I helped him right himself, our faces close together.

"They're in here," I whispered, tapping the metal. He gulped, searching my still golden eyes. I realized they hadn't returned to their normal color, due to the stress of the situation. I was struggling to keep my fur from bursting out.

I was terrified of what we would find behind that door. I was terrified of the people that had taken Sam and Kathleen. I was terrified because never in my life had I experienced something like this. Before meeting the Winchesters I had been in only a few fights, none of them major like Chikaltio's. I was not prepared for this new lifestyle of having to fight to survive in a world that now knew of my existence. I was not prepared to have people rely on me, to call me their leader or their friend.

I was so scared that I was going to lose two people that I had begun to call my friends, my family, and that there was nothing I could do about that. That's why my eyes stayed that molten gold color, and I think Dean understood that.

Before I knew what was happening Dean was pushing the heavy metal door open, revealing a dark, open room. It smelled of sweat and dirt, making my nose crinkle in disgust. Light filtered in and illuminated the large room, and in the dim lighting I could see two large, metal cages and figures concealed within them.

"Sam?" Dean whispered and stalked into the barn with me to his back. I turned away from the cages, watching the entrance to make sure no one was going to sneak up on us.

"Dean? Is that you?" I heard Sam's voice from behind me. I struggled to pinpoint his scent, thoroughly unable to. It was as if the sound was detached from his body like he wasn't really there. I couldn't sense him, feel him in the room and that alone made my hackles rise. The scent of blood and death and grime was far too overwhelming.

After many hushed whispers, Dean had successfully deduced the workings of the cages. "These are going to be a bitch," he muttered to no one in particular. Sam chuckles, a sound that brought a smile to my lips after the stress of the last twenty-four hours.

"So, what was it, Sammy? What managed to grab you?" Dean asked quietly, fiddling with the mechanism that locked the cages. maybe he could unlock it without the key.

Sam chuckled again, leaning against the bars of the cage. "Dean, they're just people."

Dean stopped his fiddling and turned to his brother with wide eyes. "And you let them get the jump on you?" he scoffed playfully and shook his head before turning to me. "I'm not going to be able to unlock it like this. I have to find the key. Stay here, see if you can get them out," he whispered to me, placing a rough hand on my shoulder. "And if any of those wackos get in here, I don't care what you have to do, keep them away from Sam and Hudak until I get back." His tone was low and filled to the brim with hatred for the monsters that had taken his brother.

I nodded, holding his steely gaze with an equally ferocious one. He nodded back to me and took a step towards the door. Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed his hand as it slid from my shoulder, halting him in his tracks. "Be careful," I whispered. "I don't want to have to come rescue your ass."

He smirked and turned once more towards the door, disappearing into the gloomy, mid-day light.

"You know Sam, maybe we should put your brother in one of these after this. He might get a little less annoying after being cooped up in here," I teased in an attempt to lighten the mood as I reached for the bars of his enclosure.

Sam barked out a laugh. "I doubt it. He'd get whiny real quick." My grin only widened.

"We're going to get you out of here soon," I said, turning my golden gaze onto Kathleen. "Both of you." I strode towards her makeshift prison and met her suspicious glare. "Hi, Kathleen."

She frowned at me. "Who the hell are you? Did you let him out of those cuffs?" I heard Sam snort behind me, struggling to hide his laughter.

"You handcuffed Dean?" Sam asked, his half-hearted smothering of his laughter failing miserably.

"Course I did. I had already guessed that he was a felon after I realized he wasn't who he said he was," she snapped back. "I just want to know who the hell you are and how you found us here. Did you follow us? Are you one of them?"

I scoffed. "Lady, I've been with you the whole time. You pet me multiple times. Do you really not recognize me?" I stood up and spread my arms wide, resisting the strong urge to say 'ta-da'. Her eyes widened as it dawned on her just what I was suggesting.

"No fucking way."

"Yeah, fucking way," I said, a characteristic wolfish grin rising on my features. I sat back on the floor across from her. "I'm really sorry you got caught up in this. This isn't our usual thing, typically it's ghosts and stuff."

Sam started uttering my name with a warning tone. I knew he didn't like it when humans were told about what goes bump in the night. I silenced him with a glare.

"She's going to learn soon enough, Sam. Besides, she’ll arrest us otherwise.” Sam fell silent, an unhappy glare on his face. I sighed and turned back to Kathleen who looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "I'm really sorry you had to find out like this – I'm sorry you had to find out at all. But monsters are real. Those inbred assholes out there aren't like me though. They're just pieces of shit.”

We sat and talked, the three of us, and it felt almost normal. I nearly forgot about the iron bars separating us and just did my best to explain things to Kathleen; the Winchester's lives, my life, and all the dark things that really were hiding under her bed as a little girl. I did regret having to tell her, but it was better this way. I knew I was going to bash some heads sooner or later and I'd rather her be prepared than die from shock. I flinched at every passing sound outside the bar, fear and anxiety rising amongst all three of us. What was taking so long?

A rustling from outside the dim barn caught my attention. "Shit," I whispered, realizing what it was. Footsteps. I lunged to the side, hiding amongst the shadows as the door to the barn flew open and in walked one of the inbred cannibals.

I resisted the urge to snarl, realizing that if he was here, Dean was most likely caught- or worse. The man pulled a set of keys from his pocket and went to the control panel without saying a word, a shotgun slung over his shoulder. He turned the key, pressed a button, and strode over to Sam's cage before the door had even unlatched.

Sam glanced in my direction, worry adorning his features. His intense gaze flitted around his cage before landing on a small object by his foot, which he promptly grabbed. I half stood, prepared to throw myself into the fray. In the blink of an eye the man's gun went off and Sam was launching himself at the hillbilly, a growl of absolute rage leaving his lips. The two tussled on the floor, Sam beating the living daylights out of him. Finally, he snatched the gun from the man and hit him in the side of the head with it.

"Lee!" I heard the older man distantly scream for his son, likely wondering what was taking him so long. He called out for his son a few more times before everything went silent. I stood from my place in the corner and made my way to Sam, avoiding the downed hillbilly.

"Sam, get Kathleen out of there. I'll keep watch." Sam nodded and I shifted, once more shaking out my fur. I heard a gasp from Kathleen as if she only now believed what I had told her.

I licked my lips, my tongue running over the harsh points of my fangs. It wasn't long before Sam got the cage door open, just in time for us to hear the pounding of feet outside. We scattered as silently as possible. I watched as Sam disappeared around a corner and Kathleen climbed a hayloft. I hid behind an old crate, scraping along on my furred belly to stay hidden.

The heavy door flew open and my ears pricked, golden eyes watching the deranged father and son duo sweep through the main room, shotguns held high. I pulled my gums back and silently snarled, following them through the rooms.

I heard shots go off and stalked towards the noise, fangs bared and ears flattened against my skull. I heard a scream, like a war cry and I lunged into the room to find Kathleen wrapped around the only remaining son, squeezing his throat until I thought his eyes would pop out of his skull. I ducked as he waved his gun wildly.

Kathleen went flying, landing roughly on her back. The man screamed, aiming his gun toward her. I snarled and slammed into him, pushing her away from him. The gun went off, blasting a hole in the wall behind Kathleen. She stood and I pushed off the man, using him as a springboard and landing at her feet, skidding in the hay.

"Hey!" I heard Sam shout, catching the man's attention. He swung his shotgun towards Sam, who ducked at the last moment and fired. The bullet made contact with the soft flesh of his father's shoulder.

Sam rushed forward while the man was stunned and delivered a hefty punch. The man dropped his gun and swung back with all his might. Sam fell, knocked over by the force of the punch.

No, no, no, not Sam. I lunged at the man, sinking my teeth into his dirt-covered arm and tearing at the muscle. He screamed, and the sound brought me satisfaction. My fangs sunk into his shoulder and he screamed louder this time. I ground my teeth into his shoulder, crushing the bone in my jaws. I could feel it crumble as blood gushed into my mouth. Anything to keep him off Sam, off my friend.

I could feel him battering my sides, his screams falling on deaf ears and his fists feeling like flies against my skin. I couldn't hear anything but his screams. I tasted something metallic on my tongue.

Oh.

I roared and tore at the man's other shoulder. My top fangs sunk deeply into the dip of his collar bone, hooking underneath it. I ripped and tore until the bone came loose, taking the muscle with it. My claws curled into his soft flesh, my forepaws digging into the soft tissues of his upper arms. I felt blood gush between my toes. As soon as I felt it, I tore. I practically devoured his screams.

I vaguely heard someone screaming from behind me somewhere in the other room. A gun went off, but I paid no mind. I thought I heard Sam calling out to someone, but my mind was elsewhere.

I sunk my teeth back into his chest, my teeth coming in contact with his ribs. I pulled, satisfied at the cracking I heard. My muzzle was drenched in blood, but I didn't care. I just wanted him gone.

I wasn't sure when I tore out his lungs, but I know I did. They lay in a bloody heap beside me, along with a string of his organs that I had rooted through. He wouldn't be alive much longer. Something told me I had to make the most of it.

It was then that my eyes settled on his heart, faintly beating, but still doing its best to keep him alive. My world tilted and suddenly I felt like I was falling.

I heard screams, screams I remembered well.

Why are you afraid? I didn't mean to…

What did I do wrong? Are you crying?

Why are you bleeding?

I breathed heavily, my eyes befalling his heart once more. I swallowed, trying to hold back the wave of saliva and the pangs of hunger that consumed me. I bared my fangs, my nose practically pressed to his weakly beating organ at this point.

My ears were ringing. I couldn't hear. I could barely see. But I could taste. I could smell.

Don't do it.

My ears pricked at the whisper. I snarled and bared my fangs once more, huffing, my own heart squeezing, and my sides convulsing in hunger.

I wanted to vomit. What was I doing? I shook my head, trying to shake away the feelings of red, the wrath and fear I felt. I was warring with myself, mixing two worlds together.

What are you doing?

I don't know. Am I hurting you?

No.

Are you sure? What about now?

That hurts... What are you doing? Stop! STOP IT HURTS!

STOP.

STOP.

STOP.

"Stop!" I heard a familiar scream from beside me. I snarled, my teeth fixed around the man's no longer beating heart. I turned my fiery gaze to my verbal assailant, only to lock my molten eyes on a pair of candy apple green ones.

Dean held my gaze, his own filled with fear. A look I had hoped I would never have directed towards me again. My eyes widened at the sudden realization of what I had done.

The red faded. I removed my teeth from that man's heart with a whine, blood slipping down my jaws. I stumbled backward, tripping over my own feet and drunk with blood lust. Dean reached towards me, and I snarled at his hand, the red returning at the edges of my vision.

Don't touch me. I don't want to hurt you too. I tried to scream, but it only came out as a piercing howl. My panicked eyes fell on what I had done. What had I done?

My fur rippled and my bones snapped, changing shape without my consent. My whine really did turn into a scream, a bloodcurdling scream full of anguish and fear. I didn't have the control over my forms that I once had. My clothes ripped as they appeared in patches across my skin, emerging from beneath my skin as my fur receded.

I sobbed, choking on blood and wrapping my own blood-stained arms around me. I felt numb. Afraid. I spat onto the straw-covered floor.

Suddenly, a pair of warm arms were wrapped around me, a jacket being draped around my shoulders. Once more, I couldn't see. My tears betrayed me, blurring everything around me.. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear.

But I could smell. Blood. Death. Fear.

Cherries. 

[everydayfrimmel]

July 19, 2024

"The L Word (Love and/or Leaking Roofs and/or Late-Night Television)" 1800 words, roommate au, part 13/?

Apparently, Himmel thinks a lot of things are romantic.

It’s the answer he gives when Frieren notices him staring out the window and smiling at the snow: I just think it’s romantic. And when she asks why he chose a certain song to play on repeat as he makes his dinner. And why he makes two portions of freezer-section salmon and tries to plate them nicely on a greens with a dollop of herb butter instead of offering her his usual instant noodles: sounded more romantic. It is his most common response these days when Frieren asks him why he did anything. 

And normally, she would find it naïve to romanticize everyday things so insistently, but he looks so happy doing it that even Frieren isn’t cold enough to begrudge him. 

And sometimes she likes the things he calls romantic a little, too. 

That night they go into the city, for one. And how, after sitting patiently through Frieren’s very logically sound analysis of why the movie they saw was unrealistic over pizza at a place with oil stains on the tablecloths and the best crust Frieren’s ever had, he bought a whole second pie for tomorrow. How he pulls over on a deserted country road on the way back home doesn’t say anything when she takes a slice from the box, still almost warm, to eat while lying on the roof of his car (it’s freezing, she barely minds). How he knows what all of the constellations are called and admits with the freest and most triumphant laugh she’s ever heard that he only learned because he’s been daydreaming about taking a girl stargazing since he saw it in a movie when he was fourteen. 

“What can I say,” he laughs, knocking his elbow gently into Frieren’s arm. “I’ve always been a romantic guy.” 

How he’s always putting his arms around her, and how he always asks. 

How much more warmth stays trapped under a blanket when he’s there, too. 

How excited he always looks when Frieren approaches him in the kitchen while he’s doing something else and bumps her forehead into his chest to indicate that he should redirect his hands’ attention to holding her instead. 

If she had to answer the question of whether or not Himmel’s feelings are mutual, she wouldn’t know quite what to say. But she knows that she likes those things, and that, although she forgot after she grew up enough for Flamme to start giving her a little more space, it feels good to be held. 

It’s warm, secure. It makes her feel as if Himmel really means the ridiculous things he says. Sometimes it makes warmth pool in her stomach in a way she can’t quite put a pin in. 

None of this meant anything to her back in high school or college, when everyone but Frieren seemed fixated on finding someone to love. And if it weren’t Himmel—if she didn’t already know who she was trusting so well, if she hadn’t seen all the cards he has to show—she might not care even now. But the last weeks of December melt into January, and January into February, and he takes to greeting her at breakfast with a quick kiss to her forehead, cupping her face to brush back her hair, and all of the data she’s compiled thus far is promising.

She doesn’t even dust off her beloved seasonal rant about how Valentine’s Day is nothing more than an excuse for the profit-hungry to exploit the passing infatuations of people who don’t know any better. It doesn’t seem as logical this year. 

(Maybe just because Himmel, who forgoes the typical human-sized teddy bear and eight dozen roses in favor of a case of instant noodles, a tiny Erlenmeyer flask of the fuchsia Frieren loves, and a stack of five of the strangest books he could find at the secondhand store, is one of those people who don’t know any better.

Or maybe just because the kitchen smells like fuchsia, and he swallows hard when she comes up for dinner with her hair twisted up off her neck and tells her he doesn’t understand how she’s missed that she’s stunning, and because this effectively kills any desire she ever might’ve had to be cynical.

He has that effect on people.) 

They have someone deliver them pasta, pretend it’s plated on china instead of in plastic, and Frieren calls Flamme that night even though she knows that Flamme will sus out the meaning of a call on Valentine’s Day in seconds and never let Frieren know a moment’s peace about it. 

“He gave me books,” she opens, just to get it out of the way, and to catch Flamme off-guard.

“Did he?”  

That’s it? Frieren is almost disappointed.

“And…and fuchsia,” she says. “In a little flask.”

“Aw.” 

“Why are you not being weirder about this? You’re usually weird about this.” 

“What, am I supposed to be surprised?” Flamme asks. “That Himmel was sweet on Valentine’s Day? You can’t expect me to be.” 

“But-“ 

“What I wanna know is what you gave him.” 

“N-nothing,” she stammers. 

“Oh, Frieren…” 

She feels her cheeks warm and looks down at the floor even with nobody’s eyes to avoid. “I…I couldn’t think of anything.”

Except that she could. And it’s in her desk now because she hadn’t been able to convince herself it wasn’t idiotic. 

“You’re definitely lying.” 

So that’s how you’re gonna be, huh.

“I didn’t-“ 

“Frieren,” Flamme asks gently, “did he not like it?”

“I…I couldn’t give it to him.” 

“Because it was…” 

“…Taiwanese cola gummies and contact lens fluid.” 

“Oh, Frieren, contact lens fluid?”

“I said it was dumb, okay?” Frieren hates how pinched her face feels, how close a lump might be to forming in her throat. “He just ran out of it, and-“ 

“It’s not a bad gift, sweet pea,” she says. “Not at all.” 

“But you just said-“ 

“It’s just so you, Frieren.” She laughs softly. “He’ll love it.” 

“But it’s-“ 

“Go hang up the phone and give it to him, okay?” 

“But I don’t-“ 

“That boy would walk off a cliff if you asked him to,” Flamme says. “And you think he’s not going to be out of his mind with excitement about your contact lens fluid?”

And she feels silly, like she’s playing a game she doesn’t know the rules to and breaking every single one, but Frieren halfheartedly packs the gift bag she bought when she was feeling braver with contact lens fluid and gummies and tissue paper and knocks on Himmel’s bedroom door. 

“I promise I’m not being cheap,” she says when he opens the door, holding the gift bag as far from her body as she can. “I just didn’t give it to you earlier because it’s a really dumb gift.” 

His whole face seems to lift, take on color, and his eyes widen a little, and his lips part, and every movement of his body is alert, and even for Frieren, it is impossible not to see it.

All he means by love is the joy of being acknowledged and cared-for by somebody he likes and admires and could never get to know well enough.

“Frieren,” he chokes, “you got me a gift?” 

She thrusts it into his hands, red-faced with embarrassment. “I already told you it’s a really dumb gift.”

He ignores this, tossing the wads of tissue paper she stuffed in only a few moments ago onto his bed, grabbing eagerly for the first thing inside (the gummies, good, he’s gone for the normal thing first). 

“You remembered?” he asks, as if nothing has ever made him happier in his life. 

“You weren’t exactly subtle about it.” 

The last time she ordered those, she only got to eat about four of them. It had been an obvious choice.

“Bro,” he says rapturously, falling back against his pillows with the gummies clutched to his chest. “I’m gonna eat this whole thing in, like, two hours.” 

Frieren frowns. “You’re going to make yourself sick.” 

“I don’t care, man, Frieren got me cola gummies.” He looks up at her, his face aglow—“Frieren got me cola gummies!”

Oh, how she hates that her whole entire body feels warm at that.

“Well,” she says, hoping to spare herself the embarrassment, “I’m glad you liked it, goodbye,” and then he reaches out to grab for her wrist and she stops. 

There is no aggression whatsoever in his face, only a naked adoration that makes Frieren feel like she’s shrunk to the size of an ant and crawled onto the deck of a microscope. 

“How did you know?”

He holds up the bottle of contact lens fluid, and Frieren can’t even bear to look at it. 

“I saw the empty bottle in the trash a few days ago,” she mumbles. “I couldn’t think of anything better.”

He doesn’t ask this time if he can pull her into his arms. She’s glad—she wouldn’t trust her voice to answer if it did.

And she wouldn’t want to refuse. Not when Himmel is, for once, forgetting to be delicate, allowing himself to hold on as tightly as he wants to, and when the pressure of his arms around her feels so wonderful.

“I don’t care if it’s too soon,” he murmurs, cradling her head to his shoulder (oh, it’s wonderful when he does that). “Or if it’s selfish, Frieren, I love you.”

She is not surprised. He expects surprise, but she has none to give. 

“The data trends that way.” 

“Data,” he laughs, pressing his lips to her hair. “Don’t ever change, Frieren. Don’t ever.” 

I could say the same to you, she wants to reply. But it’s a thought she’s never even considered, so she simply murmurs, “hm.”

“Not even a little.” 

“Mmkay,” she says.

Contact lens fluid, huh?

And she messages Flamme after he’s gone to bed, after she can hear him snoring down the hall—he loves me—like she has a secret, even though it’s not, and like it might be the most wonderful thing in the world, which it is. Her cheeks feel warm, not just from burrowing her head under the covers, and her hands shake a little, but not unpleasantly, and she thinks, so this is what it all means, and lies back against one of her pillows with the other hugged tightly to her chest, and smiles at nothing. 

Maybe all those people lining the pockets of the retail empires this time of year do know what they’re talking about. Just a little. 

Go to bed, Frieren, Flamme texts back. He’ll still be there in the morning. 

And she falls asleep with her phone face-down on her chest, smiling, because—yes. That is the wonderful thing about Himmel: that he will be.

[baubled]

prompt: Effie teaches Haymitch a new skill

[[I'm quite happy with this one, thank you for the prompt. I hope you enjoy it. No warnings again, just don't fall into the pit of emotion that's opening between them.]]

“I need your help, please, Haymitch.”

Effie watched him blink away whatever webbed thoughts had taken him away to his daydreams as she crossed the dining car to where Haymitch was sitting, slumped, in an arm chair. He’d been there for an hour or so, gazing out the window as the Districts rolled by. She’d crossed behind him half a dozen times or more, and he hadn’t looked up once. They were due to arrive at the Capitol with their tributes in under an hour, and through a series of misfortunes Effie had discovered that one of the buttons on her pink elbow length gloves had been lost. Normally it wouldn’t have caused her any trouble, but the things were fingerless - flowing lengths of ribbon and lace wound intricately around her fingers like so many rings. It would take an age to get them off and back on again, and only a minute or two to replace the button.

He didn’t say anything - at least not quickly enough to make her regret asking - so she perched on the edge of the chair nearest to his and leaned over to drop her pocket sewing kit into a hand he’d only flung out to catch it just in time. She checked the twin of the injured glove for placement, tugged the fabric gently so it was taut, and extended her upturned forearm to him. A perfectly manicured, opalescent pink nail found the place the last button had been and caressed the space lightly, “Just there will do perfectly, thank you.”

It was only then that she looked up at him and caught his expression. He looked possibly more confused than she’d ever seen him look, and that was truly saying something. For one thing she recognized now that the contemplation she had interrupted had been deep - he appeared to have just been roused from a particularly long nap only to immediately be asked to solve one of Beetee’s many puzzles. But he didn’t need to say anything. Context clues were a strength of hers, and she had borne witness to too many suits without buttons - too many jackets with little holes in them and dress shirts that she’d had to throw out entirely when he wasn’t looking - to not know what the hold up was.

She had a choice. She could ridicule him for his lack of knowledge, tut at him like a school teacher, or she could do something else.

Her eyes met his for just a moment, held his gaze long enough to communicate her understanding, and she collected the kit from his still upturned palm. “What do you think for our two this year,” she said softly, opening the little metal case and taking from within a glistening silver needle, a length of pink thread, and a pair of sewing scissors, “they’ll try to put them in mining gear again, I presume, but I think I can intervene this time.”

“I think it won’t matter what they’re wearing,” he was watching her measure the thread, cut it, tuck the scissors back into the case and set it aside. She threaded the needle herself, and then held it back out to him.

“You never think it matters, dear, but trust me it does. For many people in the Capitol it will be their first time seeing little Ely and Susan up in person and the impression needs to be striking.” Effie watched Haymitch take the needle, his forehead creasing as she once again offered him her arm and indicated where he ought to put the first stitch, but he was caught off guard, too. It was her fifth year, and the first time she’d referred to their tributes by name since the 56th - when her first shot at nailing her job was over in the first five minutes of the games. It’d been a slaughter, and since then she hadn’t been ready to get too close to those kids whose lives she trapped between her perfect, beautiful fingers.

“Don’t get too attached,” he warned her, with something akin to softness in his tone, and he took hold of the fabric with one hand, slipped the needle into it just beside her finger with the other.

“I just want them to have a chance,” Effie’s voice was breathy as she spoke in hushed tones, uncertain of where the children actually were inside of the train. They were both slight things. Too young. Too hungry. They would never win unless some miracle struck the other Victors down in one fell swoop. They would never win. Haymitch paused what he was doing - unsure of what the next step was and unsure of what was happening there between them. It had been years since Effie had opened up about anything. She’d mostly avoided being alone with him since he had so thoroughly wrecked her first day as Escort, drunk himself into oblivion on the train and gathered the skirts of her dress into his hands just to pull them apart once the kids were asleep. All the whiskey in the world hadn’t been enough to stop him from hearing her crying through the wall that night.

She had made that dress. Just like she’d made the one with all those hand painted petals back when they were eighteen. As he tore apart the new one he had remembered how careful she had been with the old. He had known that she would know he remembered. He’d wanted it to hurt.

Haymitch glanced back at the glove. Focused on not piercing her porcelain skin with the needle on accident, and watched her move her finger to where it ought to come back out through the fabric. They were both quiet for a moment, only the rock and sway of the train against the tracks serving as the soundtrack as Effie silently showed him where to place each needle point. She paused only to produce the button itself out of a pocket cleverly hidden near her hip. It was simple - silver and round, but he had such trouble trying to thread the needle through the first hole that Effie held it steady as he tried to do the second one. His hands shook. The woman took the button back into her palm and closed her hand over his for a long moment. She watched his face while he watched her hold him there. But he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“We can do this, Haymitch. Together.”

It wasn’t clear to him if she meant they could save their tributes, one another, or just sew on the damn button. It didn’t matter. She held the button steady again, between her thumb and pointer finger, and this time he managed it - though he still shook. “Just loop it through another few times, please?”

When he was done he retrieved the scissors from the little box again and trimmed the thread, but when Effie moved to pull her arm away he caught her by the wrist. Looked her in the eye and found that she had forgotten herself entirely. There was a certain sense of being unguarded that she could tell he didn’t want to let go of - though it would need to dissolve as soon as they stepped off of the train. Everyone would be watching them. Some more than others. His thumb traced a circle on her skin through the fabric, and there was so much she wanted to say. To admit to him. It was the first time she had ever come close to telling him the truth - why she’d stopped writing. Why she’d stopped calling. That it hadn’t been her choice, but it was the only way to keep him safe.

Instead, she said, “I should go make sure they’re prepared.”

Haymitch nodded, dropped his hold on her, and looked back out the window. It was only then that she noticed the full glass of bourbon sitting on the side table beside him. The melting ice clinked against the glass as the train tottered around another curve in the track. Effie blinked once, twice, and stood to go. His voice reached out to her, though, as she approached the doorway, and she turned to find him looking over his shoulder at her, “You forgot your stuff, Trinket.”

“You keep it, darling,” she murmured, watched the endearment sink into his skin and begin to smooth out the ridges she’d made of their love. “I’ll come find you when it’s time.”

Only the door closing softly between them kept him from seeing her press her back to the wall on the other side, to gather herself and her breath from the heap they wanted to fall to on the floor.