#a tiny inkling of trust? PERHAPS. }

[tinietaehyun]

The Case of A Lover’s Epiphany [3]

[THE CASE SERIES - PART 3]

[Detective!Taehyun x Assistant!reader] ft. Beomgyu

Pairing: Detective!Taehyun x Assistant!Reader ft. Beomgyu

Genre(s): Mystery, romance, angst, thriller, crime, Lovers to Enemies!

Contains: Profanity, fluff/romance (?), manipulative language/behaviour, gaslighting, mentions of violence/blood,

Summary: You couldn’t look at him the same. Everything made too much sense. He was right, this seemed to be more than a coincidence. The man you knew was a mere facade. It appears you had gotten trapped in this twisted game of his.

From being oblivious and blissfully ignorant, you were now going to get to the bottom of this. Even if it meant the cruelest heartbreak you’d ever experienced.

Link to the: THE CASE SERIES MASTERLIST

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“It was a clear cut murder. I’ve analysed all possible points. It’s obvious is it not?” His voice rings out emptily in your ears.

You murmur to yourself, “Yeah, he’s right.”

Who were you to judge an expert’s call? He had far more experience than you. After all, apart from being the ace detective, he was your boyfriend. You had to trust him. Even though your gut’s intuition was telling you otherwise.

There were just some things that recently irked you.

Perhaps it was the way, he aggressively yelled at you the day the case file landed on his table but the next day he seemed relatively composed.

You merely brushed it off as his character. You always knew Taehyun to not let his emotions get a grip of him (especially during a case). However, it made you awfully uneasy knowing just how quickly he shoved his emotions aside over his best friend and long time partner’s death.

When he yelled at you that day, you went back home and bawled your eyes out. You knew the murder must have upset him. You always knew he was touchy about the subject of Yeonjun. You never knew why he suddenly left the city and why he left you that ominous message when you work shadowed him. All you felt was guilt for not taking his message seriously at the time.

Another thing that irked you was the way Taehyun simply moved on as if nothing happened. The way he treated it as if it were any other case. Yeah sure, maybe he was just too good at his job and keeping his composure.

God, what had gotten into you? Why were you so anxious around Taehyun?

Since that verbal tussle you had with him that day. He came to visit you and apologise about his behaviour which had you melting back into his arms. Since then, you two have been inseparable.

The detective firm had been relatively quiet with no new cases being handed in. Often there were times where there were too many cases to keep on top of otherwise there were quiet periods like this where there was few to no cases being dropped off in your office at all.

“What’s your pretty head thinking about? You have that look in your eyes like the gears are turning in that brain of yours.”

Taehyun’s smooth voice cuts in through your whirring thoughts. How did he know? He was ever so observant.

You smile at him adoringly, “You’re so observant. It gets me every time.” He walks around your desk and leans against it beside your chair where you were sitting.

It was a shame for your heart that he looked even more handsome than usual today sporting a slightly unbuttoned white shirt and ever so slightly messy hair.

He murmurs slyly, “Comes with the job description, sweetheart.” Oh fuck him, and his way with words. Your heart races at his teasing tone. Recently he had started becoming more affectionate with you and you absolutely loved it.

Yet there was this tiny little inkling of a feeling inside you that…maybe. Maybe he was hiding something. After all, he didn’t let you have any jurisdiction over Yeonjun case, claiming he wanted to personally oversee it, since it meant a lot to him.

His thumb brushes softly over your cheek. Then again maybe you were just overthinking it. The way he looked at you now had your mind melting into a puddle. Kang Taehyun had you wrapped around his finger.

“I was thinking, today’s a little slow. Why don’t we close up early and go on a little impromptu date? The other staff have left anyway.” Taehyun hums continuing to caress your cheek delicately. You lean into his touch responding, “I’d like that a lot, detective.” You smirk peering up at him.

“Ah, ah, calling me detective again are we? What have I said about that?” You cooe, “Something tells me you like it, Taehyun. Admit it.” He hums with an alluring smirk leaning forward as his lips inch near yours, “I’ll admit it the day that pigs start flying.”

Okay, so never. You roll your eyes playfully shoving him back, “You’re insufferable sometimes. You and your ego.” He hums pleased, “You love it.”You did, you really did. You couldn’t believe you were really in a happy relationship with the ace detective. You were the Watson to his Sherlock.

It seemed almost too good to be true.

“Where you taking me then, Taehyun?” You smile taking his hand into yours as you get up. He ponders for a moment, “How about the park, you know the Central Seoul Park, the cherry blossoms have recently blossomed? They just finished holding the blossom festival. It should be beautiful there.”

You were overjoyed! You loved seeing the cherry blossoms every year. Now this year you’d go with Taehyun. How romantic! Taehyun was so sweet when he wanted to be.

“I’ll lock up, why don’t you get the car out of the parking? I need to pack up my laptop and files anyway.” You tenderly smile at him.

His eyes flicker for a moment as he peers around the room and then he smiles again, “…alright. Be quick, don’t keep me waiting, sweetheart. Don’t worry about my desk, I’ll clean it tomorrow.” You nod as he begins walking out with his car keys swinging around his index finger.

You walk around picking up your scattered papers and putting it back into your required files and putting away your laptop into your bag. One by one you turn off the lights and close the curtains.

All of a sudden, a gust of wind enters into your office through the main window blowing onto your desk and Taehyun’s desk. You sigh irritated seeing the flimsy papers scattered around Taehyun’s desk. You promptly slam the window shut.

Then you start picking up the pieces of paper muttering all sorts of colourful vocabulary to yourself.

Your eyes are instinctively drawn to the scattered post-it notes on the floor with his elegant handwriting upon them. You smile picking them up (of course you can’t help but skim across a few of the words!)

‘Seongsu-ru Rd; check.’

‘Busan- Yeonje-Gu. 24/05’

‘Code- 05667-R 35’

What on earth did this all mean? This seemed like a bunch of code and nonsense at first glance. ‘Seongsu-ru Road’ that sounded familiar to you…Wait! That was the road that Yeonjun’s body had been found.

Additionally, it was a notorious street in which a lot of murders occurred (often carried out by the mafia) is what you knew from your fair share of cases.

The case was closed around two months ago, why does Taehyun still have notes about this? Is he leading his own private investigation without your knowledge and the knowledge of the police either? ‘Busan; Yeonje-Gu.’ You had no idea why such a random location was written alongside a code.

You peer at your watch, god you couldn’t keep Taehyun waiting. You also knew he would not be fond of the idea of you snooping around his notes and desk. You place everything back on the table haphazardly and rush out of the office after locking everything up.

“What took you so long?” He had a strained expression on his face. You smile getting into the passenger seat in the car. “Oh the wind knocked over some sheets of paper from our desks. So I quickly tried to pick them up. Sorry about your desk, I kinda just shoved a pile of messy paper on your table.”

Taehyun remains tensely silent for a moment before laughing tentatively, “Oh… that’s okay. It was messy anyway. You didn’t read anything did you?”

Why was that his first thought? There was nothing to hide was there? You debate whether to be honest or not. You peer at him in the eyes noticing a nervous twinkle in his irises. You find yourself shaking your head with a soft smile, “No, no. I just picked up everything and put it on your table. I was trying to not keep you waiting.”

After your answer it felt as though the air had lifted and you see him come back to life. He laughs placing his hands on the steering wheel. “Oh, I’m glad. You know on one of the notepads I had written some ideas on what to get you for your birthday. So I was worried if you had seen them.” You hesitantly laugh, “Oh, got you.” Maybe you were just overly paranoid. Taehyun peers at you lovingly, “Shall we get going?” You nod with an uneasy heart. Ignore it, it’s fine.

You finally reach the ethereal park covered with cherry blossoms. The place looked magical; something you considered straight out of a fantasy novel or even like one of those webtoons you’d read when you had time off. The petals dance in the wind as they flutter down from the branches above.

“This never gets old.” You sigh in awe and admiration. Taehyun links his fingers in between yours and peers at you with glistening eyes, “You love them that much, hm?” You nod excitedly which makes him chuckle. He looked the most beautiful when he broke away from that cold detective facade that he showed the public.

“Do you like cherry blossoms, Taehyun?” You ask as you walk hand in hand on the path littered by the petals. Many other couples surrounded you two, walking in the way you did. It was a popular romantic spot after all.

Taehyun ponders to himself for awhile, “They’re lovely. However I do think they’re a bit overrated. There’s even more beautiful flowers in the world.”You raise your brows, “Seriously? More beautiful than all this?” You exaggeratedly wave your other arm showcasing the pathway of majestically blossoming trees. “Mhm, I’ve seen a flower more radiant than all these combined.” He confidently utters.

“Now what would that be?” You question genuinely becoming curious. Surely this wasn’t about to be some corny pick up line was it? “You. You’re the most radiant of all flowers.” He says in the most deadpan voice. His tone makes you burst out into laughter. He looked ever so serious when he said it.

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious. However cliché it may seem, I am in fact very serious.” Taehyun deadpans making you lean into his shoulder as you laugh. “You’re so cute when you try to flirt.”

“Try to? I think I’ve succeeded.” He scoffs. You cooe, “It’s better when you naturally do it, but I suppose I should have seen this one coming.” Taehyun rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah.”

You spot a cart selling cherry blossom themed desserts and point over there gaining his attention. He smirks playfully, “You’re like a child sometimes. What? You want some desserts? Those are probably very overpriced.”

“Overpriced and delicious,” you grin. He shakes his head chuckling, “Fine, fine. Wait here on this bench, i’ll be back. There’s quite the long queue.” You nod contently sitting down.

You felt happy. Your date with Taehyun was off to a good start despite your own rocky mental battle. You couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend than Taehyun. He was perfect in almost all regards. You really struck gold.

You peer over as someone sits across from you on the bench, listening to music on their headphones. His brown hair reaching to the base of his neck. His side profile was sharp. The man sported a grey oversized jumper and loose trousers. He seemed to be about your age, perhaps a year older at most.

You flinch as he sharply looks at you in the eye. The stranger had an intense expression. An expression of anger, fear, grief. Yet he looked handsome, you’d have mistaken him for a celebrity almost. You feel your heart pang in anxiety. Something was wrong with the way he glares at you. The grip on his phone tightens.

This is weird…perhaps you should get up and stand in the queue with Taehyun. The stranger laughs to himself alarming you. Oh god, what weirdo had you gotten stuck with?

“Must be nice to be so oblivious to everything, huh. Or do you know what he’s done and are still with him?” The stranger asks with a cold tone. You stammer, “E-Excuse me?” He sighs, “Let me start again. You’re Detective Kang’s girlfriend, yes?”You find yourself nodding uneasily. “I thought so. I’d been trailing you both since you I saw you enter the park together. I knew I recognised you and him.”

Well fuck. “Uh, why?” You question nervously. The stranger murmurs, “I know this must seem weird to you. Scary even. But this is my only chance. I need to avenge my friend no matter what. I need to get justice for him. To do that I need your help.”

“W-what? Your friend?” You yelp. He shushes you and coldly murmurs, “Choi Yeonjun.” You let out a gasp putting a hand over your chest in shock. No way. No fucking way.

“Who are you? You better not be joking around!” You scowl. The stranger grimaces, “I’m not. I’ll introduce myself, I’m Beomgyu. I was Yeonjun’s close acquaintance for sometime in Busan.”

Busan? There it is again. The post-it note. “Yeonje-Gu?” You find yourself instinctually saying. Fuck; can’t you keep your mouth shut?

Beomgyu appears shocked for a second, “…wait yes, how did you know? How did you know that?” You shakily reply, “I…I read it somewhere.”

He sighs, “If you have any empathy, and want to do the right thing, to serve true justice. Then please help me. Detective Kang is responsible for everything.”

The world was spinning right now.

“I don’t have much time before he comes back. Please tell me you’d at least be willing to hear me out. Please. I thought I’d never find you!” You feel pity at the way his voice cracks and his eyes glaze over. He seemed genuine in his emotions. It wasn’t just some stupid ploy. Even the detail of the place matched.

“I’ll consider it.” He hands you a pen shakily and murmurs, “Hurry, here’s my number. Contact me soon. We can talk somewhere more privately without…him.” He hurriedly tells you his number and promptly walks off. You saw a flicker of gratitude in his eyes.

Yes, it was awfully suspicious. You had to be cautious, you couldn’t just downright believe everything he said. After all, your boyfriend was the so called suspect here. Your heart ached incredibly; you couldn’t bring yourself to believe Beomgyu. Taehyun was a genuine detective.

Right?

You’d meet with this Beomgyu guy, once. That’s it. There was plenty of enemies against Taehyun, he’s probably just some jealous guy wanting to pit your boyfriend down..Or were you just excusing yourself?

“Here you go, love.” He hands you the pink and white cake slice. You smile up at him trying to hide your shaken appearance. You had to be careful; Taehyun was extremely observant. He could read you like a book often times.

“Who was the guy you were talking to?” Fuck. That was more direct than you expected. You guess, that’s Taehyun for you. Always straight to the point. That’s what you actually first liked about him.

You feel fear encompass your heart. Should you be honest? Your mind flashes back to the desperation on that stranger’s face. He told you no matter what to not tell Taehyun as he walked off.

You decide to lie. This was your second lie today. First the post-it notes. Secondly, this. What was wrong with you? Guilt hits you like a truck. Nevertheless, you persevere and chuckle lightly, “What, jealous?”

Taehyun scoffs biting into his cake, “Of what? I’m clearly superior.” You roll your eyes, “How humble, Mr. Detective.” He grins, “So who was he? He wasn’t a creep right otherwise I have to go after him?”

He really wasn’t going to let it go was he?

You shake your head as you munch on the cake carelessly, blissfully even. “He’s a guy I knew from university. I think around 3rd year we spent a lot of time together.” Taehyun looks at you unsurely, “Really?…”

You nod, “He’s also a forensics major like me you know? His name’s…Jaehyun.”

You never knew you had such a flawless talent for lying on the spot like this. But hey, there’s a first time for everything. This was an extremely risky game however. Taehyun hums, “Oh? Fair enough, I just wanted to make sure you were safe, you know? I don’t want to seem possessive or anything.”

You shake your head grasping his forearm and lean against his shoulder. You hum nonchalantly, “I know Taehyun. I trust you.”

You believe the correct words were:

I want to trust you.

Taehyun relaxes in your grasp and leans his head atop yours. “I’m glad to hear that. I trust you too, y/n. More than anyone.” You heart flutters. It sounds so sincere.

Going behind his back seemed like a bad idea. However you just wanted to settle your conscience. That’s all. You weren’t a bad partner. No…this was just to protect Taehyun’s image.

—•••—

You peer down at the time on your phone. Perhaps meeting with a stranger was not the smartest move. Though you were relieved he was extremely cooperative with you. You had called him the same evening of your date that occurred two days ago to arrange a secret meeting.

You had been clear with Beomgyu that you were not willing to meet up with him in any weird place and you were only going to meet with him once, and in a very public space.

Luckily, he easily agreed to meet with you in an inconspicuous café on the other side of the city. After all, Taehyun in no way could know about this. Still, the guilt was eating you up horrendously.

“You’re here.” A deep voice startles you. You peer up seeing Beomgyu more smartly dressed than when you last saw him. “Of course I’m here.” You quirk back at him.

He snarks to himself shaking his head, “I don’t know, I was kinda scared you’d rat me out to your beloved boyfriend.” You did not like that tone at all. “Yeah, well I still can, so be nice,” you sharply quip. Beomgyu scoffs peering at the menu, “The meal’s on me. What would you like to order? We got to make this meeting look casual you know?”

You sigh and nod in agreement as you proceed to both order some coffee and a slice of cake.

“Hit me with it then. What have you got?” You sarcastically hum. Beomgyu smirks, “Awfully confident I don’t have dirt on him, aren’t you?”“He’s genuine. I don’t need to be afraid.” You mutter.

Beomgyu releases an almost partial laugh of annoyance. Maybe you were being inconsiderate but perhaps that’s because you were very afraid of what truth Beomgyu was going to throw onto you.

“Here.” He reaches into his brown leather satchel and slides across several pieces of paper nonchalantly. You begin to peer through the sheets one by one.

‘Seongsu-Ru’ ‘Achasan-Ro-9gil’ ‘Seongsui-Ro-20gil’ - These were all known roads where many murder victims would commonly end up. These were given the nicknames of “Death Street” or “Reaper���s Alley.”

Often a place where dead bodies would be found by police either due to some killer or most commonly a gift left by the mafia.

Your eyes scan further down. ‘Purchases: 3 locations- gloves, disposable.’ Alongside this were attached receipts and records. Beomgyu slides a pen drive with a snark, “To prove this, this drive contains CCTV footage of your beloved boyfriend going to collect disposable gloves and changing his suits frequently at the surrounding laundromat and glove shop that he frequents. If you see page 4, there’s reports of him buying silencers and various types of bullets rather frequently.”

You tremble, “No, no this has to be some weird coincidence.” “Oh come on, detective y/n. You should be better than this.” He hums pulling out another sheet; it was a map with an awful lot of scribbling. It seemed like a photocopy. “This map is a scan of the original showcasing the correlation of the location of the bodies and places Taehyun had been within the vicinity in the dates leading up to the murder of the victims.”

You snap, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”Beomgyu slams his fist on the table and tries to calm himself as the surrounding patrons of the cafe peer on uneasy. He grits out, “How much fucking more do you want?”

“How did you get all this?” You hiss out. Beomgyu looks away with a bitter smile, “I didn’t do the hard work. I merely compiled them and kept them safe. It was Yeonjun. This is part of Yeonjun’s work.”

You go silent. Yeonjun’s words ring emptily in your head. “Why haven’t you gone to the police if this is all so good proof then?,” you stammer trying to keep your composure. This couldn’t be real.

You felt so, so utterly guilty for not listening to Yeonjun at the time.

“Yeah, maybe I would if he didn’t have fucking connections to the mafia or maybe kill anyone who suspects him off in an instance.” Beomgyu whispers harshly. His glare pierces you like a knife.

“I thought you were smarter than this. Then again maybe love does make you blind. For fucking once, think outside your perfect little bubble and objectively look at your boyfriend from now on.”

You quiver as you begin, “When I work shadowed Yeonjun…” You tell Beomgyu shakily about Yeonjun’s eery message. You half expect Beomgyu to scream at you for hiding such information like Taehyun did. However he remains calm.

“I know y/n. He told me. He told me if anything ever happens to him to go to you. That’s precisely why I’m here. You’re the only one who he’s closest to. You have the most access to new evidence.”Your heart instantaneously sinks like a boulder thrown into a lake.

“I’m sorry…r-really I’m; I don’t know what to think.” You splutter pathetically as tears well up in your eyes. Beomgyu softens his glare ever so slightly and sighs, “Okay this may be a little too much for you all at once. How about this, you take this with you. Look back on it deeply. Then call me. We’ll talk. I want you to trust me. I’m willing to work to gain your trust if it means you’ll help me.”

You sniffle, “Why? Why do you want to do this?” Beomgyu closes his satchel and takes the last sip of his drink, “Yeonjun said: ‘what better way to witness the downfall of the two faced detective and bring him to justice than through the hands of his beloved assistant.’”

Your hands go cold. “Call me if you want to genuinely serve justice and do your job right. Please, don’t turn a blind eye. I’m leaving these copies believing you will not hand these over to Taehyun.” You hear an almost desperate tone in his voice making your heart ache.

You suddenly blurt: “How do you know Yeonjun? Who do you work for?” You had assumed they were close friends. Beomgyu seemed to know everything. He smiles sadly, “I’ll tell you everything another time. If you’re willing to work with me that is. All you need to know is we met in Busan.”

Of course. You sigh, “Okay. Fine.” “Goodbye y/n,” he murmurs standing up. You nod curtly too numbed to respond and simply watch as he walks off nonchalantly.

You needed to analyse the sheets he gave you and made sure none of it was faked or forged. You had to be absolutely sure. You also had to get to the bottom of this. You wanted to know what Kang Taehyun was hiding.

——•••••——

The sheets tremble in your hand as tears run down your face. There was no way this evidence could have been forged.

You always heard of how flawless Yeonjun’s ability to compile and gather evidence was. However…seeing it firsthand like this was a whole other feeling.

It was cohesive, thorough and well backed. However, you knew it was still not enough for the court. You knew however much evidence Beomgyu was planning to get now, it was futile. Taehyun was a talker. He was a good talker, someone who knows how to handle himself very well. The police and court officials adore their prized ace detective.

You adored him. Your heart aches painfully. Wiping away a tear, you inhale shakily. You wanted to prove so badly that Taehyun had nothing to do with this. You wanted to simply go back when your mind wasn’t so clouded and filled with doubts.

Your soul almost escapes your body as your ringtone blares out. You sigh peering at the screen; your heart palpitates obnoxiously loud. Taehyun.

You slide to answer and shakily murmur: “Hello…” Taehyun playfully hums into the phone, “You still up? It’s rather late no?” You let out a breezy chuckle, “Yeah, I know. I’m…just not sleepy. I don’t really know why.”

Taehyun murmurs thoughtfully, “It might just be one of those days. How was visiting your friend? How is she?”

Oh yeah, you had once again lied to him in order to meet up with Beomgyu. God, these lies were piling up. You didn’t want this to backfire. You force a giggle out, “She was fine, but I seriously forgot how extroverted she can be.“

Taehyun doesn’t respond for a moment making your heart pang with nervousness. He hums, “You sound off, your voice sounds strained?” You immediately perk up, “Really? I just think, I’m exhausted Taehyun. She dragged me around the entire city today in order to catch up.” “Hm…well I’m glad you had fun.”

“How was your day Taehyun?” You tentatively inquire. Taehyun remains silent again for a moment before responding, “I was following up on a new special case.”

Your brows shoot up, “You got a case?! When?” It’s been so quiet you were shocked to hear that a new one dropped in! He laughs breathlessly, “Got you excited, hm?”

“It’s been so long since we worked toge-“ you begin and he cuts you off. “I’m sorry love, but this case is within my jurisdiction alone. I’ve been tasked with following the culprit and collecting evidence. The police wish to create a warrant using substantial evidence.”

“Surely… is there not a single way I can help?” You whimper, “I feel like you’re not taking on any cases with me anymore, Taehyun since…” you shut up. Don’t let your emotions get ahead of you.

Taehyun murmurs, “I’ve already told you, it’s not me who decides who gets jurisdiction. I’ve got more experience the field, it’s only natural they’d choose me for high profile cases.”

Was he the cause of this case too?

No. God no. What were you thinking?

You sigh, “I feel useless.” Taehyun hums, “No, no don’t think like that sweetheart. You have me. You’ll always have me, and I’ll never think that way. You know I always love to work on a case with you.” You remain quiet before saying, “…yeah..”

You hum, “taehyun? For my birthday can we go to Busan?” You hear Taehyun shift over the phone and let out a sigh. “Busan? For what, a trip of sorts?”

“Yes. Please Taehyun…” you whine. “Busan is not that interesting you know, there’s better places to go to spend your birthday. Plus, you realise how far that is? We still have work to go to the next day?”

You mumble, “Right…” He hums, “How about somewhere in Gyeonggi-do? I heard there’s a beautiful botanic park there?” You sigh, “Sure, Taehyun.”

“You never brought up Busan before? So why now” He suddenly asks making you feel anxious. “I was scrolling through insta, and saw some pics that’s all.”

He hums, “Mhm, I see. Anyway, I don’t want to keep you up any longer. It’s really late. Goodnight love. Sleep soon.” “Sleep well, Taehyun.” You murmur ending the call.

You now realise this was the first time he had called you first in a while. You often called him up first to hear his voice. He did it only when he needed something and at the beginning of your relationship. Though, you thought that’s because was often always working. Maybe that’s not the case anymore.

Also, was extremely avoidant of Busan. This confirmed your suspicions. You scroll seeing your recent calls. Beomgyu’s name appears. You tap it.

“Hello?”

“I want to meet again.” You deadpan.

“I thought you said only once,” there’s a cocky but playful tone in his voice. He continues, “You know to confirm your suspicions and all?”

“Do you want my help or not?” You snap.

“What convinced you now?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. You roll your eyes and scoff, “I’m not completely convinced. I just want to get to know more details from you personally.”

“Tell me then detective, have I struck a nerve? Does your boyfriend not have you wrapped around his finger anymore? Can you not look at your boyfriend the same way? Have the rose tinted glasses finally come off those ignorant eyes of yours?” He murmurs.

You grit out, “Mind your words.” Beomgyu hums, “When do you want to meet?”

“Day after tomorrow, 6pm. At the central Seoul park gates. I have questions that need immediate answers.”

“You sound awfully determined for someone who wants to defend their partner?” He sarcastically comments.

You murmur (even unsure yourself), “No…I just… curiosity is getting the better of me.” You didn’t want to believe Taehyun was playing around with you like a mere clueless toy.

“If that’s the case, I believe your curiosity will lead us to work together for a while, detective.” He hums pleasantly.

This brown haired brat knew this would happen. That’s why he sounds way more cocky. He gave you certified evidence that your poor justice filled heart couldn’t turn a blind eye to. You knew this could lead to the biggest heartbreak you’ve ever experienced.

“We’ll see about that.” You quip.

“Oh I bet we will, detective,” he snarks back.

———>>>>>———

The vain detective’s gloved fingers gracefully brush over the pistol. His father’s pistol; his fingers caress the revolver. It was his father’s favourite. However, not effective for a silent shot.

His sharp eyes peer at the picture of you and him on his lockscreen as it lights up with a new notification to alert him to update his phone.

Oddly his heart warms upon seeing your face. You clung to him. You always put him first. It was very endearing; though he thought sometimes your affection could be a bit overwhelming at times. Maybe he just wasn’t used to it.

Although, he was content to just to make sure he had you melting into his arms in whatever way he could. Through his ever so slight tender touches and sweet nothings that escaped his tainted lips.

You were beginning to grow on him little by little. You’d defend him with all your little heart if you could. That’s what he loved about you. He had never saw someone who looked at him with such admiration and love. It was odd to him.

His eyes gaze down at the pistol in his hands, he just hoped you’d never be the one in front of his gun one day. Just like is previous assistant.

It may just ever so slightly hurt him. Not that he’d ever want to admit it, of course. He’s far too selfish for that.

______________

[part 4 coming soon!] :)

[fandomn00blr]

“a rough, but sparkling thing” for merrill and Isabela?

Ahhhhh! Thank you!!! It's been too long since I've written any merribela, and this prompt is so nice for them! Mostly, because I think Merrill would be really into rocks and stuff. Lol. IDK...anyway, Fenris snuck in here, too!

"What…is it?" Isabela asks, suspiciously eyeing the large boulder sitting in the middle of Merrill’s tiny apartment that she’s been summoned to see.

"It's a geode!” Merrill exclaims.

“Hmm…” Isabela tilts her head. "Looks like a rock."

"Yes! Isn't it exciting?"

"Er…"

"I found it in the mines with Hawke and Fenris and they helped me bring it home so I could show you!”

"You were in the mines with Fenris? And he agreed to drag this ro – er, geode…all the way home for you?"

"And you. He agreed with me when I said that you would love it."

"Oh he did, did he?"

Merrill nods enthusiastically, but Isabela can't help but feel as though Fenris has done this out of spite. Hawke, bless her, can't be blamed for doing whatever Merrill asks of her, but Fenris…well, he did seem a bit put out when she told him he didn't need her 'tutoring' sessions anymore and that he seemed ready to go out into the world and fuck whomever he really fancied (namely, Anders before the two of them ended up murdering each other instead). Perhaps the giant rock placed in the middle of Merrill's apartment was meant as a 'fuck you for perceiving me’ sort of thing. Though it’d be a bit cruel, even for him, to involve Merrill in it.

“I have a spell that ought to do it…” Merrill mutters, like she’s rummaging through a catalog of the blasted things. It never ceases to amaze her how much the little elf can cram into that adorable brain of hers. “...ready?”

Isabela nods, bracing herself, as Merrill raises her staff and makes the cutest little concentration face, which Isabela has come to learn usually precedes a particularly terrifying demonstration of her power. She clenches her jaw as she feels all the energy around them being channeled…somewhere else. There's a flash of light and a sickening crack. Then a boom outside somewhere high overhead and Isabela tries to breathe and relax all the muscles in her body before Merrill can get any inkling of how on edge her magic sometimes makes her feel. She doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. She trusts Merrill. She knows she would never do anything to harm her on purpose, but…

Merrill kicks at the giant rock, and then waits expectantly, but nothing happens. She balls her fists up together and hits it with an inelegant grunt that makes Isabela’s stomach flutter for some reason (probably still just the aftershocks of the magic). When nothing happens again, she turns back to Isabela with a sort of panicked look and asks, “A little help, please?”

So Isabela kicks at the rock, too. Maybe this is the point. Some exercise in futility?

Merrill’s panic turns to laughter, then. "Perhaps if you used your dagger?"

"I’m good, but I don't think I can stab a rock, Kitten."

"Nooo…” She giggles. “I mean…to help pry it apart?"

Isabela looks more closely at the thing and finally notices the delicate crack running right through the middle of it.

"Ohhhh! Like a clam shell?"

Merrill nods excitedly. "Yes!"

"Ok…let’s see, then…" Isabela pulls out the sturdier of her two daggers and slides the tip of it into the crack. She has to brace herself against the wall in order to get enough leverage to pry the two halves of the boulder apart without bending her blade, but when they finally separate, Merrill gasps and Isabela has to blink a few times to adjust to the dazzling thing she's just revealed inside this big stupid rock.

It turns out to be mostly hollow, and lined with beautiful deep purple crystals that catch the warm light from the low, flickering candles and reflect it off every facet, twinkling in every direction and filling Merrill’s apartment with a gorgeous, otherworldly, velvety glow.

"Oh fuck you, Fenris!" she laughs. Because he’s not there to see her feeling suddenly so ‘perceived.’

"Don't be mad at him!” Merrill exclaims. “We’ve been having tea, and we…well I…I know you two are close, but he told me you aren't really like that…and so, I was thinking…”

"Oh, Kitten! Is this — this gorgeous sparkling rock…thingie…”

"I believe it’s an amethyst geode. I wasn’t certain until we opened it up, but…”

"Yes, that — are you trying to seduce me with it? Because it's working!"

"I just thought you'd like it." Merrill shrugs.

"I do. Thank you…I love it!"

“Oh, good!” She is practically vibrating now with relief. "I realize now that the message might come across a bit muddled…but it reminded me of you because, well, you've been through a lot. Like this geode…" She pats the rocky surface of the half closest to her with affection, and Isabela thinks she might also like to be cracked open and patted affectionately like that, too. Some other time, perhaps…

"Rough and boring on the outside, eh?" She chooses more deflective innuendo instead. Not that any of her usual defenses seem to work on Merrill, anyway.

"Oh no! Not at all…I think you're quite interesting and beautiful on the outside, too!" Merrill blushes. "I mean, you are very strong! And I like that about you…" Merrill’s eyes glance over Isabela’s arms and she feels that fluttering sensation in her guts again. Nope. Probably not just the magic. Seriously…fuck you, Fenris!

“...is my point. I think?” Merrill blinks up at her.

"I was kidding, sweet thing…I really do love it."

"And I really like when you let me see your sparkly insides, too!" Merrill blushes even harder, the bright pink flush creeping all the way down her neck now. "Oh, creators…” she groans. “That came out all wrong!"

"Not at all..." Isabela gathers Merrill up in her arms and squeezes her in tight against her.

"Well, and so…that's all, really,” she says directly into Isabela’s chest.

“That’s all, hm?”

“Yeah. Unless…” Merrill pulls away a little to look up at her, smiling. There’s a surprising hint of mischief in her face now.

“Unless what?”

“Were you being serious about the seduction thing?”

[manifestation-miracle-review09]

Manifestation Miracle Review - Does It Really Work, Legit or a Scam?

Manifestation Miracle Review: How Manifestation Miracle Changed My Life

This article may contain affiliate links.  Perhaps one of the biggest frustrations people have with the law of attraction is knowing whether or not it’s working. Deep down, I know that there is a problem with this, since the law of attraction depends on belief. You have to believe that the law of attraction works and that it will work for you. Otherwise, you will get no results. A lot of people say, “I’ll believe it when I see it”, but with the law of attraction, you’ll see it when you believe it. Keep in mind that this deep-seated belief can take some time to develop. Pay attention to any resistance you feel about the law of attraction.

When someone mentions this powerful law, do you confidently accept it as a natural law, such as gravity? Or do you doubt it, even a little bit? Trust me when I tell you that it honestly doesn’t matter if you believe in the law of attraction or not. It doesn’t affect me or the people who use it one bit. It’s as absurd as saying that you don’t believe in gravity. Gravity will continue to work whether you believe in it or not. People will continue to manifest their deepest desires and improve their lives, whether you believe in it or not. However, I am completely sympathetic with people who want at least a tiny little inkling - SOMETHING - to let them know that it’s working for them.

It’s extremely difficult to explain this belief process to someone who doesn’t believe in the first place. Napoleon Hill said it’s like trying to explain color to a blind man. I keep going back to the gravity analogy - it’s easy for you to accept gravity because you see the effects of gravity all the time. Yet, you don’t see the actual gravity itself.

The same is true with the law of attraction. You see the effects of this great law, but you don’t see the law itself. What are the effects? A married couple that has been together for decades - they were attracted to one another. A successful person living a joyous life - he or she attracted those material possessions and experiences. The effects are all around you. If you can’t see them, again, it’s like explaining color to a blind man. Here is the biggest sign that the law of attraction is working...

You feel a stronger sense of confidence. When you feel a stronger sense of confidence that you’re moving towards your goals (or that your goals are moving towards you) it’s because you have increased belief. If you sit down in a quiet space and think about your hopes and dreams, what do you feel? Do you feel fear, anxiety, and doubt? Or do you feel happy, with a sense of contentment? The world’s best “attractors” think about their goals in the sense that they’ve already been accomplished. For example, if someone wishes to manifest a new car, he may think about that car as if it’s already been created. It’s out there in the world somewhere, and all it has to do is come to him. If you feel doubt that you can’t just think about your desires and have them come to you, think of it this way: if you don’t have confidence that you’ll accomplish your goals, you won’t take the necessary actions to accomplish .  

Who Am I And Why Should You Listen To Me?

I’m a marketing consultant who works specifically within the financial services industry.   I spend all day long helping financial advisors and insurance agents grow their businesses.   Every so often the topic of manifestation will come up. After all, after love and health, most people want to manifest wealth and success. Because I’m the guy who helps them develop and implement business strategies, it makes sense that they ask me about manifesting wealth.

  Some people laugh when I mention the law of attraction. Those people almost always have a harder time attaining success.   In my experience, the people who tend to have the most success, in the shortest amount of time, are people who at least accept the idea that it’s possible to manifest your deepest desires.   Think about it…   A few hundred years ago you would’ve been burned at the stake if you told people that we would eventually have things like computers, the internet, cell phones, or airplanes.   So don’t dismiss the idea just because you don’t understand it. In fact, you don’t even really have to understand all the intricacies – you just have to understand that it WORKS.   Anyway, I used to recommend certain visualization exercises and affirmations to my private consulting clients. I would also recommend a plethora of books, ranging from Wallace Wattles to the more obscure Florence Scovel Shinn.   While these recommendations definitely worked, financial advisors complained that the books were old and hard to read.   I agreed with them. Not much has been written that explains manifestation in an easy-to-understand, modern way.   Then I found Manifestation Miracle, written by Heather Matthews.

What Is Manifestation Miracle?

I sincerely believe that I was “attracted” to Heather Matthews’ website.   I don’t remember exactly how I found out about Manifestation Miracle, but I am so glad I did.    I remember taking a look at the website and being intensely curious.   I thought, “Will this really work?”   I nervously pulled the trigger and bought it.   I was BLOWN AWAY.   Heather doesn’t just tell you what to do – she actually provides a valid explanation and the psychology behind every method she teaches. This helped me understand WHY I was doing certain things, which in turn solidified my belief system. It became a compound effect.   While the topics themselves aren’t necessarily new, the way they’re explained definitely is.   For example, Heather talks about visualization in great detail. If you’re familiar with the law of attraction, you’ve probably already read some stuff about visualization and know that it works.

  But most people really struggle with visualization and can’t seem to get it to work for them – at least not all of the time. I was one of those people.   Here’s where Manifestation Miracle is better: it goes into depth on how to implement visualization in real-life scenarios. Not just in vague or abstract situations.   Plus, she gives you EXACT instructions on how to work the law of attraction in your favor. And since the law of attraction is a universal law, anyone (no matter your age, sex, religion, etc.) can learn to harness the power of this law.   I read the 159-page book first, and then listened to the accompanying audio version. I’ve found that it’s best to read the book first, as you can really absorb the concepts. Then, the mp3 will just be a refresher for you.   At the end of each session of Manifestation Miracle, there are exercises for you to do, which ask you to make a small change in your day. Do not neglect these exercises! If you don’t do them, you won’t experience the full results. Maybe not the first time you go through the program, but definitely at some point.   The book is broken down into five different parts. The first part discusses what manifestation actually means and gets to work on helping you find out what you really want out of life. Even though you might think you know what you want, you could be surprised (like I was!).   The next part will help you get in sync with your own personal destiny, going into detail on how to find who you really are and how to get rid of obstacles that may be holding you back. This is a critical part of manifesting your deepest desires – you truly have to be yourself!   The third part of the book discusses how you can feel the desire for whatever you want most out of life. Napoleon Hill called this the “burning desire”. Abraham Hicks also put a large emphasis on feeling. But Manifestation Miracle explains how so many people feel foolish when practicing these techniques. Or perhaps they don’t have a 100% belief that manifestation works. When they feel foolish or don’t believe, they fail to manifest their desires.   That part of the book will help you get in the right mindset. I know I had trouble with this when I was reading Ask and It Is Given by Abraham Hicks. I couldn’t quite get to the point of feeling euphoria or 100% belief when visualizing what I wanted. Manifestation Miracle allowed me to finally lock in on the right mindset.  

Why Is This Important?

Is Manifestation Miracle a Scam?

 This is a question that I see get asked online all the time about Manifestation Miracle. Allow me to put your fears to rest. This program is not a scam at all. It is one of the best things I’ve ever encountered when it comes to the law of attraction and manifesting.   But if you’re the type of person who thinks, after reading the book one time, you’ll magically find thousands of dollars on your doorstep, think again. I think that any program or book that promises something like that is a scam. Can it happen? Maybe – perhaps I’m just not at that level of enlightenment yet, but it seems pretty doubtful.   However, if you’re the type of person who truly seeks knowledge and reads Manifestation Miracle knowing that it’s a self-improvement course, you’ll find it easier to reach your goals. Don’t treat it as a magic elixir that will solve all your problems. Actually study the material, do the work, and let it work for you.   To put it simply: if you study the material, you will see the signs of how the law of attraction is working for you. ​

Is There a Money-Back Guarantee?

Like I said, I was pretty hesitant about buying Manifestation Miracle for myself, but I saw that there was a 60-day money-back guarantee. So if you try it out and find that it isn’t working for you, you can get your money back. So if you really think about it, you have nothing to lose.   It’s reasonably priced at $47, which is a very small price to pay for the positive change the principles can enact on your life. If you get it and aren’t 100% satisfied, just contact support@manfiestationmiracle.com within 60 days for a full refund.

Bottom Line

I have spent years studying the law of attraction and manifestation. In my opinion, Manifestation Miracle is the best overall guide to the law of attraction and how to use it to its full potential.   In other words, if I could only recommend ONE law of attraction resource to someone, it would be Manifestation Miracle.   I want to leave with you this idea: don’t you think it’s at least possible that you’ve attracted the idea of Manifestation Miracle into your life? If you believe that to be so,  ​learn more: https://manifestationmagicalexanderwilson.com/ManifestationMiracle

[huntershowl]

hcppiier replied to your photo: please… someone please take hellhound into a...

shuni: is a HUGE fan of sweets shuni: princess i know what we’re gonna do today

❝ ...if this doesn’t involve blood, trickster, i’ll be pissed. ❞ 

[painless-innit-colourful]

Invisible

Potions of invisibility grant the user the ability to disappear, functionally: the concealment of one’s self through magic, distilled into a draught easy to swallow. For better and worse, Tommy’s familiar with the taste.

It tastes sour, primarily. 

Looking at the ingredient list, no wonder. Nether wart and fermented spider eye. Gross. There are some things a golden carrot just can't balance out. 

It's such a disgusting taste he doesn't notice the shimmering feeling, instead focusing his attention on scraping a thin layer of translucent brown sugar-mushroom-spider ick off his tongue. Not until: 

"Tommy?" "Y- Bleh- Yeah?" "Oh!" Tubbo waves his arms in a wild arc, smile growing, before his hand collides with Tommy's arm, and he picks up Tommy's wrist. "It worked!" "What do you- Ohhh..." 

If he blurs his vision, Tubbo's fingers circle around nothing. If he looks properly, he can just about see the edges of his wrist, the lines of his shirt sleeve. "Dude, how does that work?" "Which bit?" "Clothes. My clothes didn't drink it too." "Dude, I dunno... My turn!" 

They learn to spot the tiny signs of an invisible person. They learn to disguise them. Tommy tries to tackle Tubbo and misses completely, and both of them fall about laughing. 

Call that a drug van success story. 

--- 

He sprints past it, hoping they aren’t following, panic filling his bloodstream. He chugs the potion as he runs, drops spilling down his front, staining his navy coat with off-white shadows as he shimmers and disappears into thin air. 

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

He stumbles into the shallow waters of the lake, wading - disturbing the water, too many signs, you're gonna be seen - towards Tubbo's tunnel. He takes three steps and slips under the surface, landing on his hands and knees on the tunnel floor, waiting, waiting- Where are they? 

There's the sound of an arrow seeking its mark and hitting true, and for a split second Tommy sees an arm with deft fingers and a dark blue sleeve fall over the side of the entrance, and then the body is gone and shit shit shit- 

Tommy sticks his head back out- Who was that? Wilbur? Tubbo? He feels the shimmering feeling again - "a quick escape", where are the others - and slowly drops back to the tunnel floor. 

Make a decision, what if they find you, Little Laddy One Life? He walks away, opting to live to fight another day, hoping that his friends will join him soon. 

--- 

Funnily though, while clothes disappear with the potion, armour doesn't. He doesn't know why; he's not smart enough to. And right now, as he yanks the shoulder straps of his chestplate tight, he doesn't really care. 

"Stop!" They don't stop, voices mostly drowned out by the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Dream, his face also hidden, but by his signature mask as opposed to the magic of an invisibility potion, holds his hand towards Tubbo and tells him "I need the disc." Tommy crests the wreckage of the Community House, no longer attempting to stay hidden as the water thunders down around his ankles, pulling him towards the platform in the centre. It's a bizarre version of the Pit. It’s an arena. It's a stage. 

"No!" He screams, as Tubbo takes half a step back towards the ender chest. Heads snap to his position, looking at the empty suit of armour that's just appeared beside and above them. Tubbo stutters something in quiet disbelief, and between that and the sudden attention, Tommy falters. If he took off his armour now, could he get out of there? Or would the same fate that once befell Wilbur catch him? The blame for this building is on him, after all. 

He jumps in, landing on his feet between Dream and the cabinet of L'Manberg. He is caught in the crossfire of their questions: "Tommy?" "Is that Tommy?" 

He shouts, and he screams, and he revolves like a merry-go-round, trying to keep his eyes on everyone, not trusting that his armour'll be enough to protect him from the sheer amount of enemies about. So many people hate him, he realises, it's 30 v 2. Technoblade would like those odds. Technoblade, who's standing beside him, not invisible because he went to get milk. He likes the protection; he thinks. 

They don't listen. Tubbo keeps insisting he betrayed them all by teaming with Techno, that he betrayed L'Manberg, but they don't understand, he didn't have a choice, "You don't know what he did to me in exile." Tubbo has the disc in his hands, and without having an inkling of where Dream's eyes are, he watches him consider simply snatching it from Tubbo's hands. 

"You're not gonna give him the disc." Tubbo looks at him like it's a dare, and why can't he see? Tommy's practically crying with the effort and exertion of watching his best friend betray him in slow motion, of being this close to his abuser, of being blamed for something he didn't do, of being beaten down every time he gets on his damn feet. 

"I don’t need to prove myself to you. This wasn’t me. Trust me. Jesus— for once in your life, Tubbo, trust me." Tubbo's eyes are cold, his mind made up. What happened to us against the world?  "I did trust you. Once. The first time all of this happened. And I won’t make the same mistake twice." 

There's a little moment where time stops, and everyone draws nearer like a crowd at the coliseum, and Tommy feels his invisibility ripple slightly, warning him it's about to wear off. Who the fuck cares. 

Tubbo takes a step towards Dream, and Tommy lunges to put himself between them. "Don't you dare." Tubbo's hand goes to his axe. "You betrayed me, Tubbo, you- Did you just-" Both of their eyes are on Tubbo’s weapon, when he puts the disc away, staring Tommy down plainly with his one hand returning to the axe at his waist, and the other taking out his shield. "I didn't betray you." His voice is level, all business. Okay then, Mr President.

"You betrayed everything that you'd built with presidents prior." Tommy's anger, and hurt, and frustration, and pain finally boils over, so much so that it's visible in the way he shakes as he brings out his axe. "You know what?" He bites into a golden apple, feeling its effects drown out the rushing water and the shimmering sensation of his invis. "You've got your axe up." Technoblade’s tone is surprised but light as he tells Tommy to make this decision wisely, but he’s already gone, his safety and conscience be damned. He throws himself at Tubbo, brandishing his axe as the pigman taught him, like he once practised with the brown-haired boy he’s swinging at, thinking You say I betrayed you? I'll show you a traitor. 

Poetically, perhaps, it's less like a fight, and more like a dance. They are a whirlwind - a hurricane - clashing and blocking and pushing and shoving across the otherwise empty floor. Somewhere in the gushing water, Technoblade's bloodlust has seized him, and he's gone for the L'Manbergians and the festival-goers and the unrelated parties that came when they saw the destruction, and he's scattering them this way and that, but who cares about that? 

They are not equally matched. Tommy shakes too much: there is too much of him vulnerable here, not just his mortality, something that neither invisibility nor armour can keep from being scratched and damaged. He's losing. He's quite badly losing, despite Tubbo's inferior armour and weapons and allies, and he leaps into the nearest watery wall, letting the Respiration helmet Techno made for him protect him as the water drags him under and away from his attacker. His best friend. He bites into another golden apple, his pleas swallowed by the torrent. He still hears Tubbo's shout though, permeating the water and being relayed through his communicator from wherever Techno is. 

"Where are you?" 

He pops back up, shaking and soaking wet and sees a familiar sight: an old friend, a brother - once - staring him down with death in his eyes from behind brown hair. He was wrong, oh so wrong, all those weeks ago: at once he is Schlatt, alone at the end of his days, and there's Wilbur, old pals who'll be the death of each other. No. 

No. 

"I didn’t betray you, you teamed up with the very person that destroyed us the first time!" He feels his invis shimmer one more time, and the timing is immaculate, really. Cinematic, one might say. 

"I went for the discs— Tubbo, the discs— The discs were worth more than you ever were!" "No... Wh- Th-" The world stands still, and it feels so good, it's so good to finally say it, to watch Tubbo's face fall, his shield slipping from his hand, listen to the reactions around their little arena, watch as Tubbo shuts his mouth and yanks on the strap of his chestplate and lets it drop to the floor, leaving him defenceless and open to attack and wait- no- wait- 

Mutely, Tommy’s gaze drifts skyward, and it should feel good because they know now, they know how he feels, but it's not, it's not good because that- that wasn't true. That wasn't right. 

And he looks back at Tubbo, and finally, finally, his invis runs out, and he hopes it shows on his face, that he knows he's fucked up because Tubbo looks destroyed, and a shiver goes through him because he no longer looks angry he just- He just looks sad. 

He takes off his helmet, breathing heavily from the ache and exertion, heart burning in regret. 

‘The discs were worth more than you ever were.’

How do you fix that? For one crazy moment, he considers the invis again. Turning translucent and running, back to Techno- back to Technoblade who'd congratulate him on 'moving on' and tell Phil like he was proud and probably write that line on the fucking wall, how could he be such a monumental ass- 

"Tubbo?" Their eyes meet. Tubbo says nothing. 

"Give him the disc." 

He looks bewildered, "You want me to give Dream the disc?" He says, the tiniest sliver of something they used to have peeking through, the bearest hint of kindness, and bless him, it's more than Tommy deserves. It makes him want to go invisible again. 

He smiles softly, and it can't reach his eyes, but he pours every ounce of good left in him into it and desperately hopes it's enough.

"Yeah." And because he's fucked up, because he knows they can never go back from this: "I'm sorry Tubbo." 

--- 

He's done it again, he keeps fucking up. Sam's hand is holding him down by the shoulder, firm fingers digging into him, keeping him from reaching Ghostbur. 

He tried so hard. His throat is sore from not coughing. His muscles hurt from the pure tension and adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, from his stubborn heart to the ends of his fingers and toes. He thought he'd gotten caught when he drank the potion in the waivers room, and his heart had been beating so loud that he'd thought Sam could hear it. 

Yet, they made it. But it doesn't matter, because he pulled out the axe too early, and now he's busted, and Sam's gonna kill him or Wilbur's going to come back or both, and it's all his fault. 

Every time he tries. Every time he tries to fix things, or do what's right, or have something for himself, it's taken away, destroyed and he's kicked to the ground. Every time. 

It's enough to make anyone want to be invisible.

[beewolfwrites]

An Iron Box - The Answer

@cheshiya @tenseoyong @szallejhscorner @something-more-original-please @ofsunsetsandpoetries @nek0dzuken @allozaur @hiqhkey @serenzippity

That rooftop scene is growing closer, and so is my excitement :D

I’ve noticed a few new readers, and I just wanted to add a heads up that you can find the Tumblr post links and the AO3 links to each of the three fics at the top of my Tumblr, if that helps at all! 

Here’s the AO3 link to this chapter too.  

I hope you like it! <3

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

‘Chishiya, I’d hate to be your enemy.’ 

When Arisu had spoken those words right as he punched in the code, he’d already made his fatal mistake.

You are all my enemies, in a way.   

I stood back, watching as Arisu’s bloodied and unconscious body was slung over a militant’s shoulder and carried out of the royal suite. Usagi went next, kicking and screaming her boyfriend’s name. Just as she was dragged out the door, her eyes locked on me, and I could see the sheer betrayal there, the hatred burning and seething under her skin. 

I simply smiled. 

It wasn’t personal. It’s just how this world works.

Sometimes you have to sacrifice a pawn to reach the king. 

The rest of us meandered out into the hall where the two traitors were being hauled towards their fate. I felt a hand clamp firmly on my shoulder, and fought the urge to move away when I saw Aguni standing beside me.

‘You did good, Chishiya. I never did trust those two.’ 

You should rethink where you put your trust. 

‘Don’t mention it,’ I said. ‘It’s the least I could do.’ 

There was a furious cry down the hall as Usagi bit someone’s hand, followed by a slap, and then silence. I already had an inkling about what would happen to the two of them. Knowing Niragi, he would have some fun with Usagi before disposing of her. Perhaps I should’ve felt guilty. Some people certainly would. But there was a small, satisfied part of me that was glad it was her instead of... 

‘That reminds me,’ Aguni said. ‘How did you know about them?’ 

‘Ah… that.’ I took the walkie talkie out of my pocket and flashed it to him. ‘They tried to get me to join them. I went along with it to find out the details, and you know the rest.’ 

Aguni’s brows furrowed at the sight of the device, but he didn’t ask to inspect or keep it. That’s when I knew I had him wrapped around my finger. 

‘I understand. If you see any other suspicious behaviour, let me know.’ 

‘Of course.’ 

I nodded politely as he disappeared down the hall and submerged himself in his room.

Now that those two were taken care of, the militants would be distracted for a little while. That left us a generous amount of time until dark, although the real plan wouldn’t take long to execute, especially now I knew where the actual safe was.  

Aguni may have been observant, but not nearly as observant as I was. Knowing that he had come so close to having the cards snatched from right under his nose, it would’ve unsettled anyone. And in such an unstable situation, it was only human nature to seek stability by making sure that your precious items are untouched. 

I guess I was wrong about the blank sheet. 

There was a room on the top floor that I knew wasn’t currently being used. In such close proximity to the royal suite, it was the perfect hideout where I could talk into the walkie talkie without worrying about eavesdroppers. 

Slipping inside, I pulled it from my pocket once again to tune it to a radio frequency I had told Kuina about earlier. Knowing her, she would have tuned (name’s) to the same one right after Arisu’s capture. 

I lifted the walkie talkie to my mouth. ‘Kuina?’ 

There was a drawn out moment of static, then Kuina’s voice crackled through. ‘I’m here. (Name) still needs a minute though.’ 

I figured as much. Once she realised what was happening, it was inevitable that she would react badly. Having Kuina there to keep her away from Arisu and Usagi had been for the best. And now she knew that I had unwillingly involved her in a plan like this, her opinion of me had probably sunk lower than before. 

Is this also for the best? 

I sat down on the unused bed, deciding that yes, it was. She would only be a distraction. If it came down to it, I needed to survive. And once we left the Beach, if she despised me so much that she chose to go down a separate path, it couldn’t be better. 

But still… 

‘Chishiya.’ Kuina’s voice interrupted the quiet. ‘I hope you feel guilty for this. I seriously hope a small part of you realises how screwed up this was.’ 

I smiled at her lack of understanding. I realised perfectly well, but for the sake of surviving in a world like this, you couldn’t allow yourself to slip to the bottom of the food chain.

‘You’ve changed your tune,’ I replied. ‘Are you backing out all of a sudden?’ 

‘Of course not. I can’t afford to, and neither can (name).’ She paused, then tentatively asked, ‘Did you know? About her… and you, you know.’ 

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ 

‘Did you know she had feel—’ Kuina’s voice stopped, then she hushed, ‘She’s coming out now. We’ll be upstairs soon.’ 

The communication cut off, and all I could do was wait until they were in position. Wait, and mull over Kuina’s unfinished question. Obviously, they had been talking about me, but I almost didn’t want to know what they had said. 

I waited fifteen minutes, and there was still no sign from either of them. If they carried on at this speed, we would run out of time. Growing restless, I held up the walkie talkie. 

‘You two, how are things on your side?’

There was no response, but they would have to reply eventually. What I didn’t expect was her voice to come through. 

‘You’re all good to go from where I’m standing.’ Her voice was still dripping with unspoken anger and betrayal, and it was surprising she was even willing to talk to me. 

So you’re not as childish as you act. Who would’ve thought. 

‘Aguni’s still in his room,’ Kuina followed up with a sigh. ‘We’re getting bored now.’ 

‘Then should we get going with the plan?’ I suggested. The reply I got was scathing. 

‘We’ve already gotten going. It’s you who needs to hurry up.’ 

That attitude, it was almost laughable. How commanding (name) had become in an instant, as if she weren’t tagging along on someone else’s plan.

‘Patience,’ I reminded her, and turning down the volume on the walkie talkie, I cracked open the door. 

In the hall, there wasn’t a soul in sight. It couldn’t have been more perfect. The royal suite was unguarded, and I easily slipped by unnoticed. Inside, the room was bathed in darkness, and it became apparent Aguni hadn’t yet bothered to move his belongings in. There were still traces of the incident earlier. The carpet by the open wardrobe was spotted with blood. Arisu’s blood. 

I turned the volume on the walkie talkie back up. ‘I don’t know if Arisu is stupid or intelligent. Hatter was paranoid. He wouldn’t have hidden the cards in a normal safe.’

‘Where’s the real one then?’ Kuina asked. 

I turned to the deer painting on the wall. It didn’t particularly stand out as anything special, just a deer’s face and antlers against a blue toned background. And yet earlier that day, despite all the commotion and Arisu’s screams of pain, it had captured Aguni’s focus. 

‘When Arisu was caught,’ I said, slowly approaching the painting, ‘Aguni wasn’t paying attention. He was looking towards a certain picture on the wall. It turns out the paper wasn’t empty after all. It contained a drawing instead.’ 

Briefly placing the walkie talkie on a side table, I lifted the painting from the wall, uncovering the hidden treasure that I had been hoping for. The plaster had been carved up, forming a hole large enough to jam a small safe inside. And sure enough, there it was. A hotel safe, much like the one Arisu had tried, was embedded deep into the wall. 

Her voice, sounded through the static. ‘So, you had no idea where it was until then?’ 

I picked up the walkie talkie again. ‘Exactly. What happened to Arisu was necessary if we were going to find the real safe. Speaking of which, I’ve found it.’ 

Now it was the moment of truth. The final test to see if my code was correct. I punched the numbers in one by one. 8022. Each one held its own magnitude, and I half-expected an alarm to ring out. 

Except it didn’t. The safe display read ‘OPEN’. 

‘You used him just for that?’ was Kuina’s tired response. 

Really, after all this time, did she not realise that this was the price one had to pay? This world had a certain dynamic. In order to survive, you couldn’t allow yourself to get caught up in guilt or shame. 

‘In order to gain something, you have to lose something,’ I said. ‘He’s just a sacrifice. Things like this happen a lot, don’t they?’

'No, they don’t. Not at all. I really don’t want to be your enemy.’

I smiled, remembering the betrayal in Arisu’s expression. ‘I get that a lot.’ 

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

The deck was like a weight, swinging in my pocket. A surefire sense of power and danger, all hidden within a stack of cards. There was no way of knowing whether collecting them granted any passage back to the old world. But there was also nothing to prove that they didn’t. 

Either way, I’m certain something will happen once the deck is completed. 

These cards couldn’t be for nothing. 

After replacing the painting, I told Kuina and (name) to meet me near the patio exit at the east of the hotel. I could’ve caught up with them on my way down from the top floor, but I wanted to make a small diversion. 

I’d never felt any attachment to my room, and even now as I took one last look, there was nothing in particular keeping me here. 

Well, maybe just one thing. 

Pulling open the second drawer down on the desk, I felt around at the back for the tiny box. It was only small, and the ring inside even smaller. It sat open in the palm of my hand, the silver fashioned into a small sun with a glistening green centre. 

Somehow, its weight was even heavier than the cards. 

Is there any point?

I could’ve easily slipped it into my pocket, but it was practically useless. Even if I gave it to her, she would instantly reject it. 

I placed the box back in the draw. It would stay a secret for the next person moving into this room. As I shut the drawer, I suddenly remembered another, darker secret hidden inside the one below. I opened it up, seeing the little souvenir I’d taken from my first game. 

The pistol glistened inside, metallic and dangerous. Now that would certainly keep Niragi at bay. But again, was it worth it? It didn’t hold many bullets, and it wouldn’t stand a chance against a rifle. Once we were out of here, I could probably find something a little bigger, perhaps in Tokyo’s empty Yakuza hotspots. 

I left it there along with the ring. Even walking away felt like tugging at a string that kept pulling me back towards that tiny box. I would have to rip that string apart. 

Making my way down through the hotel, I strolled outside, dipping into the smaller paths where the patio was peaceful. The only sounds were the faded music drowned out by wind, and the soft trill of crickets. Two silhouettes came into view, one basking in the glow beneath a lamppost, the other hidden against the wall in its shadow. 

‘I guess we won’t be needing these anymore.’ I pulled off the wristband I had gotten so used to wearing. Just as I reached the brick archway at the edge of the grounds, Kuina spoke.

‘Don’t you feel sorry?’ 

I paused. ‘Sorry?’ 

‘About what happened to Arisu,’ (name) said. ‘I feel really sorry for him. We both do.’

Kuina hummed in agreement. ‘Don’t you?’

I turned, glancing from Kuina’s frown to the figure behind her. No matter how hard she tried to hide in her friend’s shadow, I could always find her, especially when her eyes looked so full of anger and hurt. Standing there, both bracing themselves against the cold, the two of them echoed off one another in perfect harmony. 

‘I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.’ 

I knew what line came next. She didn’t have to sing, so long as she was still breathing. Perhaps I could make her understand. 

‘Is there anything we wouldn’t do in order to survive?’ 

Clearly, there was. Their eyes widened, as if the truth of this world hadn’t fully hit them yet. As if all my efforts had been for nothing in their eyes. 

Fine. Very well. 

I smiled, no longer caring to hide the bitterness. ‘If you both feel so worried, then maybe you should go and help him.’ 

And of course, neither of them budged. They knew they couldn’t. They were both so happy to come with me if it meant escaping the Beach, yet they still felt the right to criticise my methods. I turned back towards the arch and took the first step forward into freedom, only to hear that tiny, oh-so-familiar sound. 

A buzzing. 

‘It can’t be,’ I muttered. 

This was always a possibility. But why here? Why now? Why, when I was so close to winning? Any other time, and I wouldn’t have minded. This, however, was simply annoying. 

I was so deep in thought, I barely registered the footsteps behind me… the familiar form sliding past me… walking closer towards the arch. 

‘Stop.’

My hand moved on its own, grabbing her wrist and tugging her back just in time. For one small second I felt the heat of her skin, right before it was yanked out of my grip. 

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ She touched her wrist as if it had been burned, unaware that it had been the other way around. 

I couldn’t answer. The cold had settled back in, the emptiness. It only confirmed that nagging suspicion I already knew. The reason I couldn’t rip the string apart. She was the answer.

Kuina appeared at my side, waiting for an explanation. Her presence reminded me that there was something far, far more pressing at stake. Suddenly remembering the wristband I was holding, I tossed it into the arch. 

A glowing red laser shot through the centre and it clattered to the ground. 

The timing was almost ironic, too perfect to be true. Almost like the gamemasters had been watching us all along, just as they had with that little stunt they pulled in the Eight of Hearts. As frustrating as this was, I had to admire their creativity. 

I sighed, turning around to see a wall of lasers appear along the parameters of the hotel.

Touche. 

[sebbybooks]

Never Mine

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

Part One

"With my dog as my witness, to whoever was riding my ass if they didn't back off my bumper I was going to stop in the middle of the road and rip their windshield wipers completely off!"

That type of anger coiled around me like a snake, because there was nothing that bugged me more than someone driving bumper to bumper. The long and exasperated breath I just released helped ease the tension out of my body temporarily. Just in time for reason to settle in. Though in reality it wasn't like I was actually going to jump out of my car and confront this road demon. Who clearly needed to take a course on etiquettes of the road. What I did know was that whoever was behind the wheel of the car had headlights that were so blinding I am sure extraterrestrials in space could spot them.

Trying to find the calm in the situation I focused on the road ahead of me. What little road I could see for that matter. Which wasn't exactly much. I had checked the forecast earlier in the day with the report of it showing that there was to be only clear and blue skies. By the amount of downpour before me you would think there was a tear in the sky if that was how rain fell. I just needed to hang tight for a few more miles until I reached my exit to stop for the night.

I had been driving for nine consecutive hours and it wasn't until the third hour I realized I was not cut out for long distance driving. The plane ticket I turned down from my father was starting to look like a missed opportunity. I opted out for Cooper's sake. I just rescued the little guy a few short weeks ago and I didn't have the heart to leave him alone so soon.

Despite having only six more hours of this painful drive I needed out of my car. A hot shower and a bed was calling my name like a siren's call was to a dazed sailor at sea. I was fervidly drawn to it. Granted, I wasn't exactly going the speed limit in my own defense. Simply because I chose to be a cautious driver not a careless one unlike the dip shit behind me. Cooper and I were going to get to Sonoma, California in one piece if I had anything to do with it! I had no intention to speed in the rain even if it annoyed the person behind me. After all I was driving down a one lane road there was literally nothing else I could do but drive forward.

Taking a glance up at my trusty Garmin my gps projected that at this rate I wouldn't make it to my hotel for another hour and a half. Ahead of me the sky was starting to look like a terrifying shade of gray and to top it off the dismal weather was becoming more and more hard to drive in. I could barely see the paint on the pavement. My defrosters seemed to have given up on me as I began to notice that my rearview mirror fogged up as though it was twilight hour.

I needed to pull over to try to wait out the heavy rainfall. The only problem was that I did not know where I was nor could I see where the road even had an end. The cheap gas station coffee was starting to wear off and the pep talks could no longer motivate me. The words of encouragement quickly transitioned into self deprecating quips of "I can not fucking do this!"

I was too far from home to turn back now and hearing a lecture from my dad despite being well beyond the ages of even receiving one, certainly would not stop him from scolding at my absence. I am more than certain that fiancée number three would not mind if I missed their prenuptial celebration. Especially if arriving on time meant I would be showing up dismembered. It was official I was going to die in this storm.

All of sudden like I called upon a bad omen my tiny Kia Forte jerked forward. I thought I accidentally stomped on the gas pedal too hard without realizing it. When it happened again I knew exactly what it was. Clearly the driver had mistaken this for a game of bumper cars. I laid the palm of my hand on the center of my steering wheel and relentlessly pressed my horn. Not sure what that was going to necessarily ward off , but I had to try something in the efforts that they would leave me alone.

Cooper's head shot up from his bed in the backseat. He looked just as displeased and annoyed as I felt. Why wouldn't they slow down? Is the question I could not figure out. I don't know if it was all the Stephen King that I read, but my paranoia was increasing as I started to settle on the possibility that they were now following me.

Maybe I was tired?

Maybe my imagination truly was getting the best of me?

Or maybe whoever that person was also suddenly decided to take the same random exit as I was taking.

I didn't think. I veered my car off to the right and got on the first breakaway from this seemingly endless road. I had no idea where I was headed at this point and neither did my Garmin. It made multiple attempts to reroute itself, but even that could not locate where I was. I took an unexpected detour by driving off into the middle of nowhere with a now stalker in my midsts.

Adrenaline now filling up my bloodstream. I gave my steering wheel the death grip and drove as fast as the tire tracks of my car would guide me. On a midsize billboard to my left I saw a logo for a gas station and a non franchised bed & breakfast saying it was right up the road. I was taking a chance by trusting that the establishment was clean and safe. I just needed to go where a crowd of people would be. The battery on my phone was likely dead and yes this was now becoming the opening sequence for a King novel. I'd laugh if my heart wasn't fluttering as fast a hummingbird's wing.

I managed to make out lights ahead as I neared the petrol station first. However, it just about looked abandoned. The dim white lights flickered around the desolate parking lot. I saw only two freight trucks parked side by side and I immediately thought

. . .hell no.

I kept driving forward in the hopes that the bed and breakfast sign wasn't last updated in the early nineties. I nearly combusted from relief when I finally saw it. Several cars and mini vans lined up with people inside of them probably doing the same thing that I was. I didn't plan on staying the night I just planned on staying long enough to hide out from the rain and from the trouble that still followed my trails.

Luckily there were free parking spaces close to the entrance. It was still hard to make out what the place truly looked like. From my view in the car the rain made it look like it was a melting oil painting. In a swift motion I put my car in park, turned my ignition off, reached in the back to grab Cooper and grabbed ahold of my purse in the other arm. I bolted out of my car for the door.

It felt as though I was running through a hurricane. I was completely drenched. I could barely keep my eyes from closing as I ran up the slippery steps in my worn Toms praying that I wouldn't eat concrete. There was an awning over the door that offered relief from the storm's cruel embrace . Looking down at the fuzzy brown welcome mat I noticed a quote was scribbled out on it.

"some beautiful paths

can't be discovered without getting lost."

As I reached for the doorknob I couldn't help but notice the intricate design. I'm aware of how wrong the timing was to fawn over something so utterly mundane. I just could not conceal the fact that I was a sucker for antiques roadshow and architectural designing. Growing up with a dad that built and reconstructed vintage furniture one might pick up on the interest. It was a white privacy doorknob with hand painted roses, with a Victorian long plated silver keyhole. The sound of distant car door slamming snapped me out of my daze. I turned my head in the direction of the sound low and behold it was that same car. Crazy thing is I didn't see anyone by it.

Instinct guided me forward considering my brain was scrambling with worry. I ushered myself inside and it was as though I fell into a pink wonderland. From the pink carpet to the multicolored pink pinstripe wallpaper. Hot pink roses seemed to have been the main theme for the lobby. There were various black and silver picture frames with photos of pink roses hanging on every wall. On every surface my eyes could catch, red and pink plastic roses sat in circular olive green vases. It was certainly....something. I thought I was doing the most logical thing by coming inside, but it quickly dawned on me that I saw no one around.

"Hello?" I cautiously called out.

I paced myself as I walked up to the front desk, simultaneously looking around for any potential red flags. My right arm was going numb, my little guy was tiny but felt like I was lugging around a sack of potatoes. I wandered away from the desk to poke my head around the place. There was a entry way that led to a dinning area with a handful of seats adorned with of course pink table settings. I was standing next to a spiral staircase to what I assumed led to the rooms. There was only one door that held a sign for a bathroom. Perhaps there was a power outlet I could use long enough to charge my phone to call my dad.

The same door I walked in swung open and droplets of rain was blown in by the wind. A shiver rolled down my spine, sending a myriad of sparks that shot through my body. Turning around a strange sensation filled the pits of my stomach. It felt like butterflies and moths had taken up space there. Excitement and fear. I just stood completely mute like I had never seen a man before. Well to my defense I hadn't seen ones that look like him in my town. Without even seeing my reflection I had an inkling as to the state of my appearance. I was utterly perplexed by how he pulled off the kissed by an ocean look. To embarrass myself further of course my dog chose that moment to shake water off of his fur on to me.

"Really Coop?" I tried to hide my disgust, but he got it around the corner of my mouth! The good looking stranger offered a half smile that probably pitied my overall state.

"Is the black Kia parked out yours?" Even his voiced oozed sex appeal. He angled his frame so he could face me. There was about an arm length of distance between us. His eyes practically bore into my face I suppose waiting for me to say something. Must have been the buzzcut, the facial scuff, or the fact that some creep was still parked outside waiting to do who knows what. But my thoughts were not where they should have been.

I blinked and straightened up my posture. "Yeah why?" I finally answered.

It was a causal question, yet it felt completely random like there was something else to it.Neither of us spoke for a few seconds.The silence was so thick it would take a hacksaw to cut through.

"Well I'll be damned! I didn't think I would get to see you until after you got back from your trip in California." A woman most likely in her late sixties came rushing down the stairs for him. She draped her arms around his body clearly taking him by surprise. Her cotton candy colored pink bouffant made up for most of her height. Sebastian returned her embrace. Although it looked extremely awkward considering he stared at me the whole time and I stood there watching.

"Moe's old truck didn't give you too much trouble did it?" She asked.

"No it still got some life left in it." Sebastian's jaw went slack and he looked from her to me once more. Only this time he was looking at me with a cold glare. Realization suddenly crashed into me like a wild horse.

[legolasoftherings]

Chance Meeting

Thorin x female hobbit!reader 

Warnings: some very very minor language

Word Count: 3487

A/N: My first Thorin fic!! This takes place approximately 5 years after the events of The Hobbit. We’re just gonna pretend the entire Durin family is doing absolutely fine for fluff purposes. Enjoy, loves <3

You were a guest at Bilbo's house, a distant cousin just stopping by for a few days to visit. Bilbo and you had always been close friends, nothing more. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, a group of dwarfs had also thought to come visit an old friend. 

In the middle of the night on a rather quiet evening, there was a loud beating on the door. You heard the creak of the floorboards and the squeak of the front door opening. 

“My friends!” you heard Bilbo call with a joyous laugh, “You’re a little late for teatime, you know, and I thought I told you not to knock!” This brought a chorus of laughter much larger than you expected, and you shot up out of bed. 

You stepped out of your room in the first cloak you could find. Still rubbing your eyes, the bright candlelight made you squint, but as your eyes adjusted, you were met with a surprise. Bilbo was almost completely hidden in a giant group hug that, frankly, looked dangerous due to the many weapons. Dwarfs? You pulled your cloak closer around you, hiding your figure. 

Stepping into the full glare of the light, the action made the floor creak slightly. Bilbo turned towards the noise and called, “Y/N! These are the dwarfs of Thorin’s company! Everyone, this is Y/N, a cousin of mine in town for a visit.” 

“Bilbo, these are the dwarfs you adventured with?” 13 dwarfs wave and smile, and you nodded back, “How… charming.” 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, lass. Balin, at your service,” one said, stepping forward. You smiled at him and nodded your head as a few more dwarves echoed his sentiment. Dwalin, Dori, Ori, Nori, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur all introduced themselves, bowing their heads with many calls of ‘at your service.’ Then, Fili and Kili, and finally, the obvious leader, whom you knew as Thorin, the King Under the Mountain from Bilbo’s stories stepped out of the crowd. 

He had caught your eye from the moment you walked in, and seeing him up close was even better. The candlelight danced over his beaded braids and reflected in his eyes. He was tall for a dwarf, so he stood a full head and shoulders taller than you. You hated to admit it, but he was attractive as all get-out. 

“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service,” he said, bowing. Bilbo raised an eyebrow at that, but you had no idea why.  

“Y/N Y/L/N, at yours, your majesty,” you replied, trying to keep your cool as your face began to flush. 

“Please, call me Thorin,” he said with a small smile, earning another slightly surprised reaction from Bilbo and an ever-so-slight murmur from the dwarfs in his company. 

There was something in his eyes that you could not place, but you could tell that something was different about this dwarf. He studied your face for a moment as it continued to feel warmer and warmer. 

“Bilbo, should I see about drinks?” you asked Bilbo, trying to tear your eyes away from Thorin’s. 

“Sure, Y/N, that would be lovely.”  

Rushing out of the entryway a little too fast to Bilbo’s pantry, you took a deep breath. Busying yourself with ale and mugs, you tried to ignore the frantic beating of your heart. You leaned against the counter and cracked your knuckles, a rather unfortunate habit that you had picked up to steady your nerves. Thoughts racing a mile a minute, you completely forgot about the ales.

“Need any help?” 

You jumped at the sudden voices, and almost knocked the drinks over. Fili and Kili stood at the door, grinning widely. 

“A little warning would have been nice, assholes. D’you mind taking these out?” you heard yourself snap, any sense of decorum out the window. Fili raised an eyebrow, but stepped forward and took a few mugs while Kili winked cheekily at your flustered state. Damn it, you thought, balling up your fingers into fists inside your sleeves. The all-too-familiar telltale heat rose to your cheeks, and you cringed inside at your lack of control. Looking around frantically, your eyes fell upon a batch of cookies that you had baked earlier, and made the executive decision to stress-eat. 

“Y/N, come join us!” you heard Bilbo call from the dining room, forcing you to come to terms with reality. Unable to refuse, you stepped out of the pantry, ale and a cookie in hand. You did your best to avoid the eyes of the dwarfs, and took a chair in the corner behind Bilbo. The conversation was merry and full of laughter, and you were perfectly content to observe. You almost didn’t even notice Thorin’s heated glances your way, but eventually, they were all you could focus on. 

You returned to cracking your knuckles absentmindedly, which Bilbo didn’t fail to notice.

Leaning back, he muttered into your ear, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” your response came almost reflexively.

“Y/N-”

“Please, Bilbo. I’m fine,” you snapped, cutting him off. Raising your mug to your lips, you drained the remaining ale inside it, unaware that Thorin was following you and the conversation closely. You stood up to refill your mug, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stand as well. 

“Let me get that for you, Y/N,” he said, holding out his hand.

“I’ve got it, thanks though,” you replied instinctively, but once you realized what you said, you mentally facepalmed.

“I was getting up to get more for myself anyways. Please let me help you.”

“Alright, fine.”

Bilbo looked at you nervously, knowing Thorin’s typical temper. Fili and Kili shared a knowing glance with Balin, who smiled softly when Thorin’s back was turned. 

Thorin returned with the ales and another cookie for you, which you accepted with a nervous but grateful smile. He mirrored your smile warmly, and stood still for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to do. You were the first one to move, edging back towards your seat. 

“Thank you, Thorin.” 

“My pleasure.”

Thorin returned to the conversation seamlessly, but you could barely follow any of it. What are you doing, you thought, you can’t like the king, he’s totally out of your league! But, your conscience continued, what if he liked you back? In your heart of hearts, you knew that he had his duties to attend to, and would forget you existed in a few days. Even though you knew this, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny inkling of hope. 

The lively talk between the dwarves continued for hours, and eventually moved to the fireplace. Somehow, you ended up next to Thorin, perhaps a cruel twist of fate in your eyes. You both were facing away from each other, in conversation with different individuals. Thankfully, the two of you were on the outside of the group, so no one was really paying attention to your flushed cheeks and nervous movements. After a while, a hush fell over the party, and conversations were held in whispers. 

Silence reigned for a few moments, and then Thorin began to sing an ancient melody. His voice sounded like red wine to your ears, smooth, deep, and intoxicating. The other dwarfs added harmonies, but you could only focus on the king of Erebor. He seemed lost in the world of the music, unaware of anything else. However, the moment you looked away from him, you could feel his eyes on you, boring holes through your defenses. 

Your eyes returned to him, and locked with his blue ones, immobilizing you. He continued to sing, but somehow, the song took on a new meaning. You could tell he was singing directly to you, no matter what the lyrics were saying. Your cheeks felt warm, and your fingers traced patterns in your lap nervously. Biting your lip, you turned away and tried to focus on the music.  

The firelight lulled you into a deep relaxation and the voices washed over you like a wave. Your eyelids felt heavy, and it occurred to you that you had barely slept a wink. Trying to stay awake was a losing battle, and you couldn’t hide your fatigue for much longer. Stirring slightly and rubbing your eyes, you drew Thorin’s attention to your tired state. 

The other dwarfs continued to sing as he leaned over to you and opened the side of his outer cloak. Beckoning to you, he whispered, “Come here, Y/N.”

Once you realized what he was suggesting, your eyes widened. You shook your head quickly and replied, “No, I really couldn’t. I’m fine, honestly.”

“Please, I insist,” he said, eyes full of sincerity. With that, he gently took your hand and drew you closer to his side. Watching your movements closely, he wanted to make sure you were comfortable, so he asked, “Do you trust me?”

You nodded shyly, and Thorin took that as a sign. He wrapped one side of his cloak around your body, and pulled you all the way to him. Wrapping an arm around you protectively, he smiled softly as you adjusted to your comfort level. 

As Bilbo looked around the room at his old friends, he almost gasped aloud in shock at what he saw at the back of the room. You were leaning against Thorin, wrapped in his cloak no less, and he seemed to be okay, possibly more than okay, with it. 

Your eyes were beginning to close, and you cuddled closer into Thorin’s sturdy side. He sensed your shifting and moved his arm into an even more protective position, making you smile slightly. Barely daring to breathe, he stayed completely still until he was sure you had fallen asleep. 

The other dwarfs were beginning to notice Thorin’s predicament and whispered amongst themselves. Their king was not one for physical contact, much less any kind of intimacy, so this was a surprising turn of events. Fili and Kili in particular watched with interest their uncle’s sudden change in mannerisms. 

Once Thorin finally noticed the others watching him, he slowly raised the arm not holding you and made a throat-slitting motion, glaring daggers at the company. The others got the hint and quickly began to talk quietly amongst themselves mindlessly, avoiding Thorin’s gaze. 

You stirred in his arms and sat up slightly, remembering where you were. Pulling away with a confused and slightly embarrassed frown, you said, “I really do appreciate your kindness, but I must go to bed. Goodnight, Thorin.” 

With that, you left the room as quickly as you could. Many eyes followed you out, but you didn’t look back. Once you got back to your room, you shut the door and leaned your back against it. What have I done? Exhaling slowly, you thought over the events of the night as you crawled back into bed. 

Your eyes had barely shut when you heard a knock at the door. Oh no. Sliding out of bed once again, you dragged your feet toward the door, guessing who was behind it. You opened the door with a slight sigh, that the person beyond the door didn’t fail to notice.

“What is it, your highness?” 

“Please, just call me Thorin,” the answer came, slightly stung.

“Just say what you want to say,” you replied, crossing your arms, “I happen to be quite exhausted.”  

“If I overstepped my boundaries, please tell me,” Thorin said, but you avoided his gaze, “Y/N, please look at me.” 

You met his eyes timidly, to find them filled with warmth and concern. His hands reached for yours and you let him take your small ones in his. Moving his fingers over the tops of your knuckles soothingly, Thorin’s eyes searched your face for some kind of assurance, but found only fear and heartache. 

“What troubles you?” he asked softly, “You can tell me.”

“It’s nothing, really. Please don’t bother with me.”

“This isn’t any trouble, I promise,” he replied, slowly pulling you closer. You didn’t fight it, so he moved his hands to your arms; when you still showed no resistance, he wrapped his arms around you. Hesitantly, you leaned against his chest and took a deep breath, inhaling his scent of heady pipeweed smoke and fresh pine.    

“I’m afraid, Thorin,” you admitted quietly, “I don’t know what I’m feeling, and it scares me.” 

He pulled away and looked down at you in wonder. Smiling softly, he asked, “Am I safe to assume you feel the way I do?”

“It depends on what you feel, Thorin,” you replied with a small smile. 

“Tell me, Y/N, are you familiar with the concept of Ones?” he asked in a hushed tone, a little nervously.

“I would be a fool not to be,” your answer came, small and shy but sweet.

“So you can guess what I’m about to say, then.”

You looked up at him with wide eyes, and gasped, “Thorin!”

“I knew it the moment I saw you, Y/N. Can you not say the same?” 

“I can, and that’s what terrifies me. This is just a chance meeting, and you and I will have to go our separate ways.”

“We don’t have to,” he replied softly, reaching up to run his fingers through your tangled (H/C) curls gently. You leaned subconsciously into his strong hand and closed your eyes briefly. When you opened them, you could see only adoration on his face. You wanted him so badly, but there was simply no way.

“How, Thorin?” you whispered, voice cracking, “You’re a king, I’m just a simple hobbit girl, destined for a life in farming. It will never work.”   

“Your standing doesn’t matter to me.”

“It may not matter to you, but what about your court, your company? They won’t approve of me no matter how hard you and I try, that I know.” 

“Would you at least give this a chance, please?” Thorin asked, sighing.

You were quiet for a moment, perhaps too long. He studied your face, memorizing every detail in the silence, not wanting to forget any part. 

“I… I really don’t know what to do,” you finally said, playing with your fingers.

“Y/N, we’ll do it together. I’m not giving up on this, no matter how hopeless this may seem. I truly believe you’re my One, and I will stop at nothing to make you happy.” The sincerity on his face was something you trusted wholeheartedly, so in that instant, you made a decision.

“Thorin, I’m yours.” 

Thorin’s face lit up like the sun, and he picked you up and spun you around. When he set you on the ground again, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down towards you. He rested his forehead against yours briefly before your lips met his soft ones. You fit perfectly in his arms, and everything felt as if it was falling into place. His beard tickled your skin pleasantly, and you laughed softly. 

“What’s so funny?” he asked sweetly, blue eyes sparkling with joy.

“Nothing, your majesty.”  

Just then, you heard footsteps behind you. Whirling around, you met a smirking Fili with a somewhat shocked Kili in tow. Behind them came Bilbo, mug of tea still in his hand and wide open mouth. You realized that Thorin’s arms were still around you and froze, unsure of how to react to the uninvited guests.  

“Yes?” you finally asked, breaking the uneasy silence. 

“Uh… we just thought we’d come check on Thorin…” Fili answered, avoiding Thorin’s eyes.

“Well, he seems to be doing just fine. Fantastic, even!” Kili quipped, earning an elbow in the side from his brother and a glare from Thorin. 

“Y/N,” Bilbo said, “Are you feeling alright? You look quite feverish.” 

This statement caused Fili and Kili to erupt with laughter, clutching their stomachs and eventually, each other’s shoulders for support. The laughter brought more dwarfs, and eventually, the entire company was standing in the hall, staring at you and Thorin, who by this time had separated. He moved to stand in front of you, and addressed the dwarfs. 

“I’m sure it’s quite obvious at this point, but Y/N and I,” he paused, and took a deep breath, “are courting.” 

This news was met with a frantically shocked murmur, and many of the older dwarfs looked slightly uneasy. You squeezed Thorin’s hand reassuringly, and he gave you a small smile.

“Well, I hope I’m speaking for all of us when I say that I’m so happy for you both,” Bilbo said, breaking through the noise and raising his teacup in your direction. 

“Thank you, Bilbo,” you replied, smiling gratefully at your cousin. Thorin’s grip tightened slightly, and you turned your eyes back to the dwarfs. Kili and Fili looked elated, and you took solace in their happiness. At least I have their approval, you thought, but what about all the rest? 

At that moment, Balin stepped forward, clearing his throat. 

“Well, lass, if you’re good enough for our king, you’re good enough for me,” he said, nodding his head. A sound of general assent issued from the group of dwarfs, and the entire company nodded and smiled at you. 

“Thank you all,” Thorin finally said, relieved. 

“I guess we should probably leave you two alone,” Bilbo said a little awkwardly, taking a sip of his tea, which was probably cold at this point.          

“Yeah, we’d like to go back to what we were doing, thanks,” you retorted cheekily. This brought a chorus of laughter that practically shook the hobbit hole, and the dwarfs continued to laugh as they filed back to the fireplace, leaving you and Thorin alone in the hall. 

“May I braid your hair, Y/N?” he asked, a little nervously. 

“Oh, um, sure!” you replied, somewhat confused, “Is this a courting custom?” 

“Yes,” he said, starting to separate a section of your curls, “It is a time-honored tradition. Most of my company wear braids like this, either for courting or marriage, as you may have seen.” You were silent for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his fingers tugging lightly on your hair. As he reached the end of the braid, he reached back and pulled a clasp from one of the many braids in his hair. You examined it for a moment, admiring the carvings and subtleties in the metal. 

“What do the runes say, Thorin?” 

“These ones represent the clan of Durin,” he replied proudly,“Usually, I’d make you one specifically for courting, but I wasn’t expecting to meet someone like you on this journey. I wasn’t the most prepared, but this can be used in its stead.” 

“You made this? It’s beautiful!”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, laughing at your shocked expression. You watched his smiling face in slight reverence, admiring the way his eyes grew soft and tender as he grinned at you.   

“May I braid yours?” you asked in a sudden burst of inspiration. 

He nodded and stooped down slightly, giving you easier access to his thick tresses. You quickly made a small braid behind his ear, securing it with a leather cord you kept on your wrist for such occasions as this. Stepping back, you surveyed your work with a critical eye. 

“There’s something missing,” you said aloud. Thorin looked at you quizzically, clearly not seeing the problem. Your eyes wandered the hall and fell on a bouquet of daisies you had picked earlier that day, and you exclaimed, “That’s it!” 

Pulling a daisy out of the vase, you tucked it into the braid just behind his ear. You grinned at him as he realized what you did and chuckled. 

“You look adorable, Thorin,” you said with a giggle, giving him a kiss on the cheek. 

“In all my years of living, I have never once been called adorable.”

“I can tell you now, I’ll call you adorable every day if you’ll allow it.” 

“Every day?”

“Every day.” 

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise,” you laughed. At that moment, a large yawn escaped you before you could stop it, making Thorin chuckle softly. 

Surrounding you in his arms again, he kissed the tip of your nose gently, “Sweet dreams, my dear Y/N.”

“I’ll be dreaming of you, your highness,” you replied, twirling his wavy hair between your fingertips. He smirked and pressed his lips to yours one final time. Opening your door, you said, “Goodnight, Thorin.” 

Thorin nodded and replied, “Goodnight, Y/N.”  

As you wrapped yourself in your blankets once again, your thoughts drifted to the handsome dwarven king who had stolen your heart in a matter of hours. Little did you know, the king was thinking the same thing right outside your door, fingering the daisy in his hair with a wide smile on his face. At that moment, he realized that he’d never be the same, not since the most beautiful hobbit girl happened into his life.

[dalishkadan]

wip wednesdays

woohoo, so let's go! i was tagged by @dumbassentity, @a11sha11fade, and @noire-pandora, and i'll tag @thedashingcaptainweird, @warpedlegacy, and @varric-tethras-editor! as always, don't feel obligated, and if you see this and weren't tagged and want to participate, consider yourself officially tagged!

here we have some of the next chapter of penance, during which anders mulls over what to do with the asthmatic woman at the crossroads.

Once they’d finally set up camp that evening, it seemed Cassandra had little inclination to move any further. The cult in the hills was perhaps an hour or two away, depending on how the vague descriptions of its location would pan out specifically, but it seemed the Seeker’d had enough of the Hinterlands for the day. As she sat by the fire, cleaning and sharpening her blade, she remarked, “There is little we can do tonight, navigating in the dark will be hard enough. And not knowing what we may be walking into …” she shook her head, “… the risk is too great and we are all too tired. We can tend to it first thing in the morning.”

And with that crisp declaration, it seemed she considered the matter settled, but Anders didn’t. He’d helped ease the poor woman’s symptoms, but he felt uneasy at the prospect of that holding through the night. If only he’d had the proper herbs on him, he could have mixed her a tonic himself, but the Hinterlands didn’t have what he needed. Or, rather, what he knew he could use. Sighing heavily, he leaned against his staff, peering into the darkness as he mused over his dilemma. Not that he’d ever been fantastic at following orders - a fact that had both delighted the Hero of Ferelden and been bemoaned by his Templar keepers in the Circle - but he particularly chafed under this. Though he was this supposed Herald of Andraste, he still felt leashed in a sense, restricted and limited in how he wanted to move and what he wanted to do. But isn’t that how it’s always been? Justice rang in his ear, Following when you should lead. You say you hate it but it’s all you know. Now is your chance to prove otherwise.

“And what would you have me do?” Anders mumbled aloud, staff twisting in his grip as he tightened his grasp.

“Have you do what, exactly?” another voice asked, and he nearly jumped as he turned and saw Solas approaching.

Clearing his throat, he deflected. “Nothing, just …” shaking his head, he added, “it doesn’t matter.”

The Elven mage hummed but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he only said, “Not all spirits are wise. Ones like Justice, especially, can be blinded.” Anders fixed him with a steady stare, daring him to say anything further, to define exactly what he said. He’d never before encountered anyone who could simply tell his situation, but it seemed that Solas wasn’t interested in pursuing that line of conversation either. He asked instead, “You are a healer? You seem quite experienced.”

Nodding, Anders confirmed, “I was one for years in Kirkwall. Learned a bit here and there just growing up in the Circle, but formally I was taught by Warden-Commander Surana.”

“The Hero of Ferelden?”

“You know him?”

“We are not acquainted, no. Regrettable. From what I’ve heard …”

“I wouldn’t listen to at least half of the stories you hear thrown around,” Anders interrupted, remembering well how Lothiriel scowled to hear others talk of him as if he were some Maker-sent prophet - much like he was these days - when in reality he was simply a man. And an Elf and a mage, even, at that, something that Lothiriel himself had pointed out would be used to scorn him before he saved Thedas. What was that he said? “Had I not personally dispatched the Archdemon, they would have hurled me back into the confines of the Circle whilst sneering about my ears. Instead they laud me. Hypocritical sacks of dung.” He chuckled to himself remembering his friend’s seething words, the comfort of his memory a balm, something he wished for once more. He’d always been so reserved and quiet in the Circle, seeing him outside of it was a sight to behold. Freedom had done much good for Lothiriel, and it was something that Anders had wanted for all of them.

Solas smirked, a tiny slight of a thing. “Trust, I do not.”

He snorted. “Oh, your dreaming, then?” Solas didn’t answer, but the way he was quiet, Anders well knew his answer. “What’s it like, watching him?” he asked, his voice soft in wonder.

“Different than what you may think.” He paused, head tilted ever so slightly as if deep in thought before he went on, “I see the heroism, the desperation, the inklings of despair. I’ve watched as he escaped from the Wilds, as he ventured into the Deep Roads, as he both fought and brokered peace alike. From his harrowing in the Circle to the final march on Denerim, his growth in that time was extraordinary. Some of his decisions were a bit … unconventional … but he did well, and for that he should be commended.”

Anders nodded, understanding. The way Solas spoke of him, there was a note of awe in his voice, and yet he didn’t say anything of the like, as if he somehow knew that Lothiriel would hate that. Instead, nothing but quiet passed between them for several long minutes, broken up only by the sound of the wind through the grass and the gentle footsteps of the scouts and perimeter guards. He thought perhaps he should try to retire for the night, but even before he made a move to do so, he knew he wouldn’t be able to. He wouldn’t be able to simply leave the woman for the night, to wait until morning and hope that he could make it to her son and then back to her before it was too late. In his gut, as a healer, he knew this task couldn’t wait.

Whether it was simply chance or if Solas somehow knew, the Elf noted, “I know a bit of healing magic, myself. I find that it connects you in ways to a patient that others will never experience. It … gives you certain insights.” He paused for a moment before he added, “Insights that must be listened to, followed to its natural conclusion.”

He eyed him curiously as his fellow mage moved to walk away. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

But Solas only turned and gave him a slight smile before slipping into his designated tent.

Sighing, he shook his head. It was impossible to get a read on that mage, but then again, it was difficult to do much as the song danced in his periphery, grating on his nerves so that he had to consciously unclench his teeth. Looking between the tent he’d been given for the night and the darkness around him, he took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, knowing well what he was going to do.

After all, if he was the Herald of Andraste, he was going to bloody well act like it.

[theboywantscoffee]

The Handler is really a fascinating character to me as is her dynamic with Five and how alike they are. Get ready because I’m gonna go on a tangent about them.

I think it goes without saying that in many ways The Handler and Five are very similar people. They’re both pragmatic, goal orientated, cold, and quite simply, both willing to do absolutely anything needed to achieve what they want despite the repercussions others might face at their expense. They both lack a significant level of humanity, something that clearly is a requirement  to be able to do the work they do/did at the Commission. They are constantly at a battle of wits  and attempting to one up the other, both proving to be a formidable foil to the other consistently throughout the show. 

Where things start to contrast between the two is how they grew to be the people they are now. With Five, well, we know why he is the way he is. Five isn’t simply just a product of his childhood. Yes, he still retains a good level of characteristics from his youth into adulthood (arrogant, brash, sees himself as better than everyone else) but Five ultimately was sculpted into the man he is today due to his time subjected to the apocalypse and then shortly after, the Commission. 

The apocalypse did a number on Five. It isolated him for over four decades. It tore layer after layer of humanity away from him until he was left so distanced from other people that segueing into becoming an assassin was like second nature. It forced him to become entirely dependent on himself for survival in every aspect of the word. Physically, of course, he had to take care of all his basic survival needs; food, water, shelter, first aid, etc. Mentally and emotionally? He created a whole ‘nother person in the form of a mannequin to help him retain any semblance of either of those things. It damaged Five so deeply that afterwards he was left almost entirely incapable of empathy (key word, almost), unable to ask others for help/acknowledge he needs help, and able to see assassination as a reasonable means to justify an end. 

Five was left broken by the apocalypse. He is a product of it. And after going through that traumatic ordeal, he was offered a way out but only through accepting employment at the organization that sat by and allowed his suffering to go on for decades. (I’d love to go into the body modifications/DNA manipulation but that isn’t canon compliant for the show anyway (yet) so I won’t). He was transformed into the perfect killing machine. He took the lives of anyone and everyone who stood out of line by the Commission’s standards. Many who I’m sure weren’t actually bad people (ex, Lila’s parents), but because they were deemed irregularities in the timeline (or they were someone who The Handler could benefit from their death, ex Lila’s parents), they had to go. One doesn’t complete a task like that regularly without lacking a level of morality or connection to fellow humankind. 

But The Handler? We don’t really know her back story at all, so perhaps this is going out on a limb here, but I can at the very least say that she did not go through what Five did. There is really no one in the series whose backstory can equate to Five’s. And while I am not entirely excusing Five for being a shitty person sometimes, he and The Handler are very different in the fact that while he was sculpted into one, I think The Handler was just born an awful, monstrous human being. Actually worse than Five. And you know why?

The Handler isn’t even capable of love or empathy or putting anyone else before herself. We don’t see this at all, not even once. The Handler does things strictly for the benefit of herself and no one else. Even when her own self proclaimed daughter asks her if she ever loved her, The Handler doesn’t answer and then proceeds to murder her. Que sera, sera. (Whatever will be, will be). No remorse. No regret. Nothing.

Five, for all of his faults and flaws and uh, murder, still remains more connected to humanity than The Handler. Despite everything he has experienced, everything he has lost, he still has an inkling of heart that’s still beating for others left in him. Because Five still does love and care for people - his entire life purpose is to keep those people, his family, safe and alive, even at the expense of his own happiness and life. Five puts his family before himself every episode, every damn step of the way. He survives 40+ years alone and then works as an assassin for an unspoken measurement of time, all to save his family. 

The Handler throws up the front of being a people person and charming. And she does it really damn well. But in reality she is not morally gray. She doesn’t do some good things and some awful things. She is just all around horrible. She employs Five, again, to work for the organization that tore so much away from him. She dangles the idea of a new body before him, gives him a suit with the claim, “clothing make the man, Five,” as if he isn’t something to be taken seriously in his current physical state, as if he still isn’t the man who survived a lifetime in the end of the world and becoming an assassin. She claims that Five owes her because she ‘saved him from a lifetime of being alone’, which in actuality she watched and allowed him to suffer exactly just that. (I have another meta on here about that scene in particular, which you can read HERE). She tricks Five into murdering the board so she can assume power, all under the guise of claiming to help him get his family back to 2019, only to then use him as a scapegoat in their assassination. She literally kills him (almost) and all of his siblings. She writes the kill order on Lila’s parents, lets Five kill them, and then kidnaps Lila all for her own benefit. She continuously lies to her, ultimately betrays her, and kills her too. She sees zero wrongness in kidnapping a disabled boy from his mother so she can transform him into her weapon just like she did Lila. There isn’t a single instance in the entirety of the show where The Handler shows even an ounce of regret, only shock and anger when things don’t go her way. She is power hungry, merciless, and quite possibly even deranged with how unemotive she is towards other human beings.

And one more thing I want to touch on with The Handler that is a bit of a controversial topic in the show - her handsey-ness with Five. Her unnecessary touching and closeness. I am a firm non believer of the idea many have that her and Five used to be involved romantically or physically in any way. I think it’s quite a reach to imagine Five trusting her whatsoever at any point during their time knowing one another. Five is observant as hell and smart - I just can’t see him ever having an ounce of trust in her, especially with again, how she blatantly admits to him when they first meet that the Commission has been watching him for some time. So no, I don’t think her creepy touches with him have anything to do with a former fling (even if Kate or Aidan play into it that way or claim they might have in the past - sorry, headcanon not accepted lol). 

I view her behavior as demeaning. I see it as her being condescending towards him, like, “Oh, see how you betrayed me and now look at how you fucked up. Small and weak and nothing to be taken seriously.” She treats him like the tiny child he has physically become and she does it to make him feel inferior and like he has no control of the situation he is in or his life. It’s a slap in the face, a reminder of what he has done to himself because he left the Commission, and she does it because she knows how much it bothers him to be perceived that way. Everything she does and says around Five, she does to make him feel small. 

All in all, I really do love The Handler. Do I love that she played a larger role in season 2 than Carmichael? Absolutely not. I don’t love what her character did for the writing or the plot of the show and how it backburnered a lot of things. I think they missed out greatly on a character who was already a fascinating antagonist to Five (Carmichael). However, Kate Walsh is an absolute delight to watch on screen. Her and Aidan have great chemistry and play off one another very well and their scenes are certainly some of my most favorite to watch. I think The Handler is an amazing villain and keeping her as a female as opposed to a male Jon Hamm esque actor as they originally were intending to do was a great idea IMO. I love a female bad ass, even if she is a villain. I’m sad we won’t see more of her purely because she is so fun to watch (and her wardrobe is utter goals) but I’m definitely ready to move on to the next set of antagonists for our favorite dysfunctional family.

[phantompearlsalt]

Sour Cherry, Chapter 10

My sincerest apologies for the delay on this one folks! As you know, things have been a bit challenging but we’re chugging along and I can finally give you the hurt/comfort & more soft!Kuvira we’ve been craving. Thank you to the anon who requested this — it was so interesting to write a first, major fight between Reader and Kuvira. Like always, feel free to check it out on AO3 as well. Thank you for your continued support everyone — I promise I’ll get to your replies / more asks tomorrow 💖

This time something is different. You ponder the word fractured: the act or process of breaking or the state of being broken. Devastated: emotionally shattered or distraught. Empty: lacking reality, substance, meaning, or value. The words dance across your thoughts in an almost insulting manner. None of them mean anything right now.

None of them are enough.

You watch the brilliant orange hues of dusk bleed into your room and recall how lovely they appeared when they bathed the otherwise sterile furnishings of the quarters you normally share with Kuvira.

This time, however, when the rays filter through your window and fill the chamber with vivid golden light, you cannot detect any change in your demeanor. The refreshing glow does little to alleviate the harrowing emptiness that consumes your chest. Over the course of the week, you have grown relatively numb to it but when you pay close attention, it becomes harder to breathe.

Right now, you find yourself choking on each minute inhalation.

You haven’t slept alone in months, not since Kuvira formally converted her room into your shared quarters soon after making your relationship public knowledge. Your fingertips have memorized the smoothness of her naked back, the delicate arch of her lips that part when she sleeps, the ridges of her spine, her collarbones, her elbows. Your lips know exactly when to kiss her bare shoulder just as she starts to stir awake because even when she feels the warmth of your body near hers, she likes to know you are still there.

For the past six days, you have fallen asleep to the excruciating silence of isolation. When you awaken, it is to the pitiful sight of poorly stationed furniture against cold grey walls.

You have returned to your old room because for the first time since meeting her, the thought of being near Kuvira in any capacity hurts more than it brings joy.

It would be foolish to say you never expected to argue with Kuvira. It’s inevitable. Though you know her mind like the back of your hand, there have already been numerous occasions when your personalities clashed and the resulting tension produced a short period of mutual silence.

Nevertheless, the pattern is generally the same: you both express your anger, you seethe for a day or two, you acknowledge it, and you move forward. Sometimes it doesn’t feel that simple but at the end of the day it usually is. You haven’t argued over anything major so there is no reason to believe you would fall out of this sequence.

As you move away from the window and tuck your feet into the frigid bedsheets of your tiny mattress, alone in your bedroom for the sixth night in a row, you struggle to suppress the ache that throbs inside your ribcage.

---

“Kuvira, we are losing traction in the southeast,” Commander Guan declares. Knowing better than to raise his voice before her, the statement is delivered with little emotion but there is a distinct quality of distress to it.

“If we do not exercise a greater degree of force, we will lose what tenuous control we have and we’ll be back at square one. You have the resources to escalate and now is not the time to second guess any more,” he continues.

You record your notes wordlessly, gazing across the room at the other commanders and sergeants. Across the table, Commander Zhen nods along to each of Guan’s words. Bolin is pursing his lips but slowly nods every other second. To Kuvira’s right, Baatar watches Guan intently with his fingers steepled at his chin before nodding in assent.

“Commander Guan is right, Kuvira,” he responds. “Governor Hongshen was a major boost to our reunification efforts but his influence can only go so far. We need to act soon in the south before we start regressing and losing the trust of the world leaders.”

Kuvira’s face carries that same characteristic aloofness but as the conversation unfolds, her expression gradually grows troubled. Commander Zhen jumps in soon after Baatar and though Kuvira angles her body to face the woman more directly, you notice her gaze shift towards you.

You look back and hope you convey the sense of concern brewing in your gut but she looks away before you are convinced it works.

---

The next morning you prepare for the day slowly, dragging out the time it takes to complete your morning routine and slip into your uniform. You look over at your bedside clock wearily, knowing that everyone is probably still wrapping up breakfast before heading to the morning assembly. You have managed to avoid the meetings for the past few days but it’s no longer feasible.

You take advantage of the remaining minutes to obscure any lingering evidence of your restless night. Looking into your tabletop mirror, you let your finger drag over the somber dark circles that frame your eyes. A humorless laugh erupts from your mouth as you knock the mirror down where it eventually collapses to the ground. By some miracle it doesn’t shatter but there’s a ferocious hunger that wishes it had.

You are very nearly tempted to crush the glass beneath your boot but you are halted by the realization that it’s time to walk over to the meeting chamber. The relief is only temporary when you are met with the understanding that you must face Kuvira in person again.

The walk to the hall is brief and you happen to find Varrick and Zhu Li along the way. As one would anticipate, Varrick shouts your name and launches into some mindless chatter about his latest developments on a weapon he’s building for Kuvira. Zhu Li remains impassive, only nodding when needed, and though you would normally find the conversation bothersome you are somewhat grateful to have other people to enter the room with. It helps to assuage the encroaching anxiety squirming into every part of you.

When you arrive, Kuvira is already there with Baatar. The sight of them together when you have been apart from her for so long instantly incites a white-hot fury that envelops your thoughts and extinguishes whatever distress you felt seconds ago. But it doesn’t last long.

Upon hearing Varrick’s voice, Kuvira looks up from her conversation to welcome him and Zhu Li. She pointedly avoids looking in your direction. While you are fully cognizant of how worn out you must appear, you are stunned to see Kuvira still looks completely unaffected by the week’s events. The ire you felt moments ago is quickly superseded with crushing disappointment.

Perhaps it’s best she doesn’t look at you as you dread the thought of her seeing you so openly debilitated.

The meeting transpires uneventfully. You are only addressed by the other commanders and Kuvira doesn’t look at you once, even on the few occasions when you speak. No one seems to catch onto the cold air between you both or if they do, they are very good at disregarding it.

When Kuvira adjourns the assembly, you are quick to gather your belongings. Being so close but unable to really look at her produces an anguish that is nearly physical but you still find yourself pausing. You look up from your papers, gazing to the head of the table where Kuvira silently observes the map of the present Earth Kingdom.

A profound need to approach her and satisfy your craving to be seen and touched by your lover overwhelms you. As far as you’re aware, you are still technically together but with the way things are going, you can’t help but question how long that will last.

You inhale quickly and deeply, sliding your foot across the floor just enough to put you an inch closer to her. Within the blink of an eye, Kuvira turns on her heel and joins Commanders Guan and Zhen as they make their way towards the hallway, leaving you alone in the room. As she leaves, you only catch a blurry glimpse of her profile before her footsteps eventually retreat into the distance.

Your eyes can’t move away from the area where she stood moments ago, and though your mind tells you to leave, to ignore the way your palm suddenly twinges with the absence of Kuvira’s touch, a hot stream of moisture cascades down your cheek instead.

---

Evening falls with a palpable feeling of tension. Though you follow your routines as usual, and even press Kuvira tight against your chest before you yield to the temptation of sleep, there is an uncomfortable feeling that heightens with each passing minute.

“You’ve been pretty quiet since this morning,” you note, dancing your fingers through Kuvira’s hair in that manner she’s grown quite fond of. It calms her down when she’s distressed and you have an inkling she could use that comfort right now. Tonight she stays still, her hard breathing the only indication that she’s still awake.

“I know it’s not my place to say but...I think it would be best to take some time to think about Guan’s proposal,” you continue. That instantly provokes a reaction from Kuvira, who carefully pulls away from your hand and stares at you coldly. “Why is that? You’re aware of what’s on the line if we respond ineffectively, right?” she counters.

You sigh and push yourself onto your elbows. “Of course I know, Kuvira,” you remind her. “I’m not doubting the potential consequences but I’m also not going to ignore the potential fallout if we respond too violently.” To this Kuvira’s eyes narrow and an air of displeasure flashes across her face but she makes no move to respond.

You sit in awkward silence for another five seconds before she pulls the bedsheets over her shoulders and turns away from you. Your heart seems to dip into your stomach and you restrain an exhausted sigh. Carefully pushing away the hair along the back of her neck, you lean forward to press a single kiss to the top of her spine before falling into the pillows and staring up at the ceiling.

---

When you bring your meal to your room, you wonder if anyone has bothered looking for you. You imagine Bolin and Commander Zhen have noticed your absence since they’re the only two people you’re closest to outside of Kuvira. Given that precedent, you realize they know better than to personally seek you out when you have displayed a desire to be alone but you can’t ignore the sting of feeling cast aside.

You set the food on a wobbly metal chair where it will inevitably be forgotten, instead gravitating towards your old wooden bureau and pulling open the empty drawers. The night you decided to spend time away from your shared quarters, you also decided you would leave most of your belongings behind. In the moment, you convinced yourself you wanted nothing in your space that would remind you of Kuvira.

But deep down in the most secluded crevices of your heart you know it’s your way of holding onto anything that could possibly connect you to her. You cannot realistically envision your life without Kuvira anymore and keeping your belongings in the room anchors you to the stubborn hope that you will still have a future after this. Even as it becomes less and less believable.

Despite this, there is one thing you could not bear to leave behind and you nestle it between your palms. It’s a small metal box that Kuvira constructed for you where you keep every letter she has composed in your name. Every scrap of paper and every elegant piece of parchment lays folded beneath the meticulously decorated metal cover and you pull out one of the letters she wrote you in the earlier days of your relationship.

Kuvira struggles to convey her emotions verbally and has thus opted to express them in written form. Your fingers skim over the words and you are met with the most ardent desire to vanish into the neat lines of ink and wrap yourself in the enchanting verses of Kuvira’s professions.

For a moment, you let yourself believe that wherever she is right now, this fond memory of not-so-long-ago is still fresh in Kuvira’s mind as well.

---

“Who are you to tell me what is best for my empire?” Kuvira demands. Her brow is knitted together in rage as she desperately grips the edge of your vanity. You wonder what she might have unleashed were it not for its grounding force.

You dig your fingers into your palms, wincing at the way your nails dig into the flesh, and sigh. The exasperation is getting to you and you’re afraid you will lose control over your words. You have never reached this point with her before. “I never said I knew better than you, Kuvira!” you bark back. “I just need you to understand that proceeding the way you plan will not end well for anybody.”

Kuvira sneers and her eyes darken further. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion on the matter. Your role is to obey my orders, regardless of the nature of our non-working relationship,” she hisses.

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and you’re starting to lose coordination of your limbs. “I don’t care if you didn’t ask for it. You know we can’t move forward like this. We’ve all heard the talk circulating about how you approach these negotiations. The Avatar may be gone for now but do you seriously want to jeopardize what we’ve worked so hard to build?”

“I won’t stand here and have you assume credit for an endeavor that has largely been my undertaking. You’ve carried out your role acceptably but don’t forget that you are my subordinate and I will continue to treat you as such. And I suggest you keep your unwanted judgements to yourself,” she counters.

“Don’t you understand? I just want what’s best for you,” you shout.

“I don’t need your help!” Kuvira bellows. “I’m not some defenseless child in need of your pity or your protection. Frankly, I could go about my work without you getting in the way.”

A thick silence swallows the room and you’re fairly certain your heart skips a beat. After the words have fallen from Kuvira’s mouth, you stare at her but can’t seem to make sense of the vision before you. It feels like you’re floating and sinking at the same time, as if some tremendous cosmic force were crushing your limbs but taking away the feeling before you can process it.

“Very well,” you respond quietly. “If that’s what you want...I won’t get in your way anymore.” You don’t wait to hear Kuvira’s response and walk to the wardrobe, hastily pulling out random articles of clothing and your small metal storage box before exiting without another word.

As you leave the room, clicking the door shut so as to deflect any unwanted attention, you are overcome with the desire to turn back. But what could you possibly do? There are no words that come to you, no magical reconciliation that seems realistic in the span of sixty seconds.

So instead, you walk towards your old room, grateful for its location far away from the others but devastated that you have to return at all.

---

The rest of the day is a slow and painful battle. Everything and everyone glides before you in a disorienting jumble of images, sounds, and colors. You make it a point to avoid being near Kuvira and successfully manage to do so.

Bolin and Zhen approach you near dinner, inviting you to evening tea, which you politely decline. Later on you realize it was probably their attempt at offering some solace, though they are unaware of the circumstances that have created your somber mood. Though the realization should bring you gratitude, you find yourself feeling nothing.

You decide to slide into bed early, hoping that it will be sufficient enough to fool your brain into falling asleep after many nights of tossing and turning. Naturally, the sensation of the fabric against your skin feels unreal and discomforting. Nothing feels very real anymore.

Your eyes zero in on the dwindling flame of your bedside candle, tracing the soft edges of the fire as it melts into the dark purple base of the wick. This tiny ember seems to be the last thing tethering you to reality.

That is until there’s a muted rap at your door that barely makes you shift in bed. Your muscles tense up but you still consider ignoring it altogether. Regardless of who it may be, you aren’t confident you have the ability to interact with anybody right now...much less the person you want to see the most.

Your internal debate is interrupted by another, less assertive tap that instantly confirms who awaits on the other side. Despite the loss of feeling in your body, your legs twist off the side of the bed of their own accord. Your feet shuffle until you reach the door and you imagine the floor beneath them is icy cold but all you feel is the curious sleekness of the material as if you were dreaming.

When you reach the metal barrier that separates you from Kuvira, you are unable to lift the arm that would slide it open and bring her the closest to you that you’ve been in days. Days that have stretched on like weeks, maybe even years. You think back to last Monday, where everything seemed perfect and you felt fully at peace, and you cannot believe you are that same person. You wonder if you still are.

A soft clicking sound lures you back to the present and you realize the door is being slid open by the unmistakable use of metalbending. It shifts slowly, unsurely. When it’s about halfway open, you immediately notice the distinguishing shape of Kuvira’s shoulder plates. The sight causes your breath to snag in your throat and you step back.

She pauses her movement but doesn’t dare look past the door to see you. “If you want me to leave, tell me and I will,” she murmurs. You shake your head and shut your eyes. “No,” you respond brokenly. “Don’t leave.”

You turn away and walk over to the window, hoping Kuvira will still walk in. There is a moment of silence in which you assume she has decided to leave but the door slides closed and you hear two, four steps and then quiet.

Your heart pounds so hard against your chest you swear you can feel it graze against the bone, or perhaps you have convinced yourself that it will shatter your sternum and collapse onto the ground simply by having Kuvira so close to you again. There is a thunderous ringing in your ears that travels to your head, where it feels like your skull has been submerged underwater and your breathing is nearly nonexistent.

Time moves dreadfully slowly and you aren’t sure how much of it has passed when Kuvira finally disrupts the stillness. When she speaks, you realize you haven’t seen her face since she arrived.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admits. Her voice is strained with some level of anxiety that is unfamiliar to you. It strikes something deep in your core that makes you turn around and finally face her.

If you had looked at any other part of Kuvira first, you might have assumed she was still totally unmoved by the rift that had developed over the past few days. Her uniform is all crisp lines and vibrant shades of green. Her hair is pinned behind her neck with each strand carefully tucked into place. She is the spitting image of Earth Empire decorum.

Instead, you look at her face and see that she looks utterly defeated. It’s the only way to describe the grim shadows beneath her eyes and the sunken skin stretched over her cheekbones. Her lips are pressed into a tight line and you wonder what words are hiding beneath them.

“Kuvira…” Her name comes out sounding like a lamentation. It fits oddly in your mouth, as if it were unfamiliar and your tongue was still figuring out how to curl around the syllables. Nothing else comes out — your thoughts are nonexistent. A blank canvas and that roaring buzz that will not cease.

“You’re leaving me,” she states. The words barely process before you feel your face contort into a painful combination of disbelief and hurt. “What?” you whisper. It’s such a pathetically simple response to something that has evoked such an unbearable sensation but you can’t translate anything into words. You can only feel everything and everything hurts.

“It’s the only logical conclusion I could arrive at,” she continues. Her voice remains relatively still but when she continues speaking you notice her words emerge with increasing speed and forcefulness. “When you left our...my quarters, it was sufficient indication that you wanted nothing more to do with me.”

“Kuvira.”

“I should hope this won’t interfere with the progression of the Empire’s reunification, otherwise I will gladly—”

“Kuvira!”

Her eyes meet yours again, startled, and they shimmer with brimming tears that reflect the waning candlelight. Whereas she had been staring into some point far beyond the present moment just seconds ago, she now watches you with an expression that is so completely demoralized it shatters whatever reservations you had been trying to cling onto.

“I’m not leaving you,” you respond. A blank expression brushes over her features momentarily before it is replaced with incredulity. “What?” she breaths.

“I can’t leave you. Never. I could never leave you, Kuvira,” you sob, no longer attempting to quell the turmoil of emotions threatening to overflow. “I just need to know that you didn’t mean what you said. Please. That’s all I need right now.”

It’s at that point where Kuvira crumples to the ground, her legs folding beneath her body like old parchment paper, and she stares at it in disbelief. “You...you aren’t leaving me?”

You plunge to the ground with her and ignore the searing flare of pain that shoots up your legs when your knees crash against it. Your fingers twitch with the aching desire to hold Kuvira in your arms and feel the solidity of her body but you don’t make a single move to touch her. You need to know that she wants it, that she’s okay with it.

Which is why when she looks up at you, with that enticingly beautiful and often deceptively stoic face, and she touches her fingertips to the back of your hands, you take them both and bring them to your face. You hold onto them tightly, worrying that if you let go Kuvira might disappear and she’ll truly be gone forever.

“Kuvira, I love you more than you could ever possibly comprehend. I don’t understand it myself most of the time,” you say.

“But after what I said,” she continues. “You should want to leave. No one would stay after something like that. You shouldn’t want to stay with me. You should want to leave.”

“I won’t not leave you unless you want me to. The day you decide you’ve had enough of this, you say the word and I’ll respect your wishes. But this won’t drive me away. I’m not everyone else, Kuvira. I’m not leaving you behind. Not now, not ever,” you reassure her.

Any lingering hint of impassivity she’s struggled to hold onto totally shatters by the time you finish speaking. Her eyes slide shut and heavy streams of tears slide along her face. She is so silent, one might not even realize she was crying from any other angle. But from this vantage point, you see the tremors quaking through her body.

You feel the slightest tug of Kuvira pulling you forward and it’s all the invitation you need to gather her into your arms, wrapping your hands over her head and pressing it against your chest. Whatever words materialize stay trapped as thoughts so you pray that this alone is enough for now, that Kuvira can at least feel this promise you vow to never break.

The moment your bodies touch again, after too many hours of reaching for shadows and clinging onto empty bedsheets, the quivering in Kuvira’s body intensifies for a few seconds before slowly fading into stillness. She tucks her face into the crook of your neck and you feel the uneven pattern of her breath against your skin.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” she sighs. The words are so faint they are barely audible but in the quiet of the room, it would be impossible to disregard them. “I can’t do this by myself. I need you here with me and I always have. I’m sorry...I’m sorry for hurting you the way I did.”

Your breath, which had been caught in your throat, hurtles from your mouth with the weight of your relief after fearing the worst possible outcome. Though you had never once considered the possibility of ending your relationship over this, you realize you were never prepared for the reality that Kuvira would think you wanted to.

But it all makes sense. Time and time again, life had dealt Kuvira with the worst possible manifestations of human nature. The outright negligence of her parents, the ostracization she felt from her new family, and the ultimate betrayal from Suyin had thoroughly convinced her that no one could genuinely see her as worth waiting for, as worth the patience she needed.

Even after this many months together, experiencing the worst in each other and confronting life’s greatest trials, she still feared your abandonment as well. The truth weighs on you painfully and you find yourself clinging harder to her body, hoping she can sense the true depth of your love for her as you wait for the words to finally flow.

“I’m sorry too,” you murmur into her hair. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I never, ever want you to think I’m going to leave you and much less in that way. I promise you, Kuvira, I am staying with you through the end of this and far beyond that too.”

She nods once and slides her arms up your back until her nails are clawing into your nightshirt. You fall back on your heels, never once breaking your embrace.

You know she will find another way to secure the southern region and ensure the world leaders continue entrusting this endeavor in her hands. But for now, you stay still together like this, swathing yourselves in each other’s heat and the consolation of knowing there is still a future after all.

[babylooneytoonz]

Trip Mines & Broken Hearts [TS]

Part-7

To read all the chapters, click here.

The truck clammered on; the muted roar of traffic moving towards London City. Your body swayed left and right, crashing against Tommy's sturdy shoulder once in a while. The back of the truck was silent, like a solemn funeral. No one spoke; not even John or Arthur or Johnny Dogs or Michael and Curly.

Your face was white and pale— kissed by death; your hair a mess. John was seated in front of you, his eyes fixed on you, studying you. There was a hint of sympathy in his eyes because he remembered you and you remembered him from France.

"Hey, look at me."

You lifted your neck, fixing it on the cold, blue eyes of the man next to you as the truck tumbled on, "I will get her back. Do you trust me? I will get our daughter back. Yeah?"

You wanted to look at the man dead in his eye and tell him you didn't trust him, because he had never done anything to make you trust him, but for some reason, you didn't know why — you trusted him. Tommy Shelby was many things and there were many things he never could be, like being there for you. But he was a good father to her, and you had seen it.

"Them, Thomas," your voice was just a whisper, but he'd heard it, nonetheless, a soft smile drawling over his plump lips.

Your eyes fluttered shut, Tommy's fingers inkling with yours for a brief second as he squeezed your palm and nodded, "Yeah, them."

The rest of the truck ride was silent, atleast as no one was talking. You kept your head resting against the metallic surface, your eyes unblinking for the most part of it, except you didn't realize when you had dozed off. It was only when the truck came to a halt, rather abruptly, causing your head to hit against the surface hard, made you throw open your eyes and look around.

The back of the truck was empty, it was only you and Tommy in the back.

"Where are we?"

"South of London, another forty minutes if we keep moving."

You looked through the other side for a bit, squinting your head to your left, a festering frown on your face.

"Then why have we stopped?"

"The lads wanted to take a piss."

You didn't reply then, you sat back, your head resting against the metal surface, your chest slowly drawing in air as you breathed.

"I'm scared Tommy, I—" You began, but only to bite down on your tongue when you felt tears bubbling up in your eyes, "Who is this Riley Shaw Tom? Why did he take them? They are only but children. Innocent fucking children."

"Y/N."

When you didn't reply, Tommy suddenly turned you to face him, his hands on your cheeks, cupping them, "Look at me."

You obeyed. You wanted comfort, you wanted him to say that everything will be alright. Right now, all that mattered was your girl, and he was the father of that girl.

"When I find them, I swear, I promise, I would fucking gut their throats. We'll get the children back."

His hands fell from your face, but you didn't notice, you were too busy thinking of the last time Sophie had laughed when you had tickled her before you put her to bed two nights back.

Tommy felt you tense slightly, and he saw the way your body reacted to his touch; you broke underneath his gaze. Never had he thought, that when he would see you again, he would feel anything for you other than hatred, but here he was, sitting right next to you, watching the mother of his child on the verge of breaking down.

Unknowingly, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and just as unknowingly, you leaned into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

Soon, the boys were all back and the truck was moving again. You could feel them looking at you now, but you didn't care. You were still resting against Thomas's shoulder and he still had his arm wrapped around you, providing you a comfortable warmth.

Just when you let the silence engulf you again you heard Tommy whisper against your ear again.

"I had a daughter all this while and I had no fucking clue. Why didn't you tell me?"

You propped yourself in a sitting position again, your fingers toying with the hem of your pleated skirt, your eyes darting around for a bit. When you realized that neither of the lads were looking at you or were perhaps deliberately keeping their eyes away, you craned your neck towards him and parted your lips tears now threatening to spill out of your eyes. Finally, you swallowed the bile in your throat, and spoke.

"You left Thomas. You left me when I needed you. You left me to do this alone, and yet, you ask me why I didn't tell you."

The lighting of a match hit your ears as Tommy's lit cigarette flew to his lips. He took a drag of it, his hand mechanically moving back down. He wasn't looking at you directly, it was as though he was looking right past you. You had hoped to see guilt in this man's eyes. But what you saw wasn't guilt. You saw anger flash through his eyes, his fingers clenching into a fist. He brought the cigarette back to his lips, smoke coiling around him as he inhaled it, "that night at the fucking camp, I saw you with that man. Would you look me in the eye and tell me it wasn't you, ey?"

When you didn't reply, and blinked rapidly, trying to listen to him, he spoke again, much harsher than what he had been all through the ride.

"What did you expect? Did you expect me to run back to you when you were in some other lad's arms?"

It was hurt first.

An expression of pure horror that you gave him, and without even thinking, your face contorted and you let out a broken whimper.

It was then transformed into confusion.

And then, it hit you. It was like a strong wave of the sea. The only man who's arms you had ever been in were your brothers and of course, Thomas Shelby.

You froze; you didn't move, you didn't blink, the only sign that you were alive was the way your chest moved as you breathed. "There was no one." You nodded towards him, trying to speak, but your lower lip trembled, "It was you, and it was Johnny, my brother. I don't even want to justify myself to you Tommy, you should have trusted me." You forced yourself to look away, and then it was quiet again.

Watching you pull your gaze away, listening to your words, it all made a tightness grip his chest. He realized how silly he had been, how stupid.

His hands flew to his hair, and he swiped his palm over his face that was feeling uncontrollably warm. He felt like he was about to explode. It was him, all along. He was the fucking cause of it all. He, and his fucking stupid jealousy.

And now, the guilt hit even worse.

He was the cause of your suffering— back in France; now here. Had he not forced himself into your life, atleast your daughter would have been spared. He suddenly fell forward, bending slightly, his face buried in his hands. He let the tears finally escape his heavy eyelids; he had wanted to cry, ever since Charlie was taken but he had held himself somehow. He had forced himself to keep his head held high, and act strong so he could get him back, but now, he finally let himself cry.

-

As you walked through the dusty halls, straining your eyes to find a source of light, you couldn't help but think back at how easily things had happened, far to easily for it to normal.

Something wasn't right.

It was never this easy. It had never been easy for you. Then why was this so easy today?

It had all started with Tommy who had left you in the truck with Curly; but you had broken his nose with your fist, because there was no way otherwise he would have let you out.

No regret.

No, you weren't going to stay in the damn truck when the rest of the boys were in there, trying to find your child.

Almost twenty minutes of wandering aimlessly through the sewers, you had luck on your side. Maybe, the boys hadn't thought of checking the sewers, but since you had, you had found one of the babies. You had found Charlie Shelby alone in a corner in a metal container, crying at the top of his lungs.

Again, it was too simple. There was no one there to watch over him. Which was strange.

You had gotten him back; handed him back to Curly, and made your way back in. You had to find Tommy.

And you had found him, finally.

"Tommy."

Your words sliced through the air like daggers thrown at the man. He was kneeling down, trying to cut into the iron binds that held your daughter in place. Your unconscious daughter.

It all happened in slow motion. You felt your legs give up and you fell to your knees, reaching for her while Tommy clawed and screamed, his eyes bellowing with rage and tears, trying to free her. The girl's body was blue, bluer than the what her eyes were. She was cold; her body burning like the touch of ice.

"She.. she's not b-breathing. She's not breathing." You kept saying it; again, and again. And again. The words kept flowing out, but your tears didn't. Watching her tiny, frail, lifeless form right there in front of you; this was a nightmare.

Wake up.

Wake the fuck up.

I want this fucking nightmare to end.

Tommy was screaming now. You could hear him scream, trying to hit the iron chain with a rock. Again, and again.

He was broken, like a bird with a broken wing.

He threw up twice in front of you, hunching over, wretching his insides out, until he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and got to work again.

"She's gone." You whispered; your voice barely there.

Grief sneaked up to you like your long lost foe, wrapping you in its wings. Numbness pounded your brain, salty tears finally flowing freely from your eyes when the reality clicked in. She was gone.

"Tommy." You said, firmer than before. You raised your hand, smacking his shoulder hard, your palm cracking against it, making him stop trying to break that chain, "she's gone, Thomas."

"Go call Arthur, ask him to get that fucking shovel from the car, this fucking chain won't move." He stammered.

"Tommy."

"Why won't you go and get Arthur—"

You grabbed his hand, holding it tight, bringing it to your face, letting your tears drop.

"She is dead, look at her. Look at her Tommy, our baby. She's fucking dead."

And then you shoved him away with force you didn't know you possessed. It was like you were a new person. You screamed, you cried, loud enough to wake a whole city, you pulled your own hair and beat your own chest.

Uncontrollable sobs wracked your body and you curled up, pulling your legs to your chest, wrapping and locking your arms around them, swaying back and forth as you cried. Your world had collapsed; and everything that you lived for was finally gone, the people you loved, the girl you had vowed to protect and keep safe from the dangers of the world when she took her first breath, gone.

You failed her.

You felt someone grab you and pull you to his chest. You closed your eyes, sniffling as you choked and hiccuped, letting your head rest against his chest. Tommy held you, tight, his own head lowered, as the two of you mourned the loss of your baby.

[joonsdiary]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝒕𝒂𝒆𝒉𝒚𝒖𝒏𝒈

a regency au that absolutely nobody asked for. (please pray for my countless untouched wips that will never see the light of day.) rated e for extreme fluff with a slight hint of humour, because what else is new around here. blame this kim taehyung for the existence of this drabble. 1,870 words. enjoy!

     “Another correspondence,” your sister whispered in the dead of night, candlelight gently flickering against the bronze of her skin. You laid still against the silk of your sleeping clothes, underneath the warmth of your cotton quilts, unsurprised by her quiet outburst into your shared room. Her eyes met yours and at that moment you wished nothing more than to be buried six feet well below the ground, sleeping amongst the worms and maggots and ants alike—

“Would you like me to read it for you this time?”

—and be rid of this world once and for all. What joy that would bring you. It’s quite the dramatic disposition, as your mother would often point about yourself, but an understandable one, nevertheless. Because it had the faintest of truth in it: You’d rather die than face the embarrassment of possible rejection.

The floorboards creaked as she moved to place the chamberstick on the bedside before making room for herself beside you, tucking her legs neatly beneath her. You have an inkling as to who he might be, but your heart assured you that it wasn’t the person you’ve been desperately waiting for—the one whose disapproval would possibly shred your heart pieces. In hindsight, you should have known better than to place your trust in a man. No matter how handsome they might present themselves, they’re all the same.

“Is it Sir Jeon again?”

Jeon Jungkook was an esteemed young bachelor, no less. The grandson of a wealthy colonel, who owns a large estate in the next town over. But his reputation precedes him as a ladies’ man through and through, having asked the hands of several women in marriage, only to break the arrangement before nightfall. He’s been the same tireless charade for the past summer months, and you happen to be the unfortunate target that has caught his unwarranted attention.

Yes, he might bear more money that you will be able to comprehend, but you refused to allow yourself to be the next name stricken in his long list of women.

“What if it is?” she gave you a playful grin and a soft push on the shoulder. “Will you finally say yes?”

“I’m not vapid, sister. My answer hasn’t changed in the twenty-four hours since he last sent his letter.”

“Rumour has it that he hasn’t pursued anyone for this long.”

“So that’s what this is then, a challenge to him,” you rose from your position, pulling the covers tight against your body. “Then he’ll tire of this charade before the parchment’s ink runs dry.”

“Will you not at least entertain his company?”

“Was the dance he persuasively requested from me at the ball not enough amusement for him?” you said, exasperated.

“You have to admit, he can be quite the dancer,” she marvelled, eyes mooning in obvious adoration.

“He stepped on my foot twice,” you said wryly.

“To which he apologized for, both in person and in the last three letters he sent.”

“You can read the letter if you so desire,” the softness of the bed welcomed you back into its warmth as you made space for her. “I’m tired and I wish to sleep.”

“Tired from what, playing the pianoforte all day?” she mocked, sighing when you don’t reply with your usual banter. You rolled to your side, facing away from her, unsure if she heard your quip: What else am I to do with my time? It’s not like I can take the horse and ride it to where he is.

The sound of paper rustling echoed against the silence of the room as the bed moved, and you could only picture her holding the letter against what little luminance the candle provided. She didn’t say anything for a while and you concluded that the contents remained the same as Sir Jeon’s previous ones: The tactless You are the lucky maiden bestowed the chance to meet me once more along with your beauty outshines even the moon herself. He’s not quite Shakespeare, but reading what he wrote allowed you an insight into the inner workings of his mind and how he managed to rope in so many women in such a short period of time. Flowery words carefully crafted by The Hedonist himself; only a fool would cave in to such whims and a fool you were not.

She suddenly gasped, and you turned just in time to see her hand as it slowly went and covered her lips in apparent astonishment.

“What is it? Has he asked me to wed him?” you mused, half in jest. Her eyes moved back and forth, scanning each and every letter meticulously. “Well?”

“I feel as though I’m being intrusive by reading something that’s not meant for me,” she turned to the next page and glanced it over quickly before pushing the papers into your hands.

“That hasn’t stopped you before,” you sighed and slid up the headboard. The expression she wore made you somewhat fearful—just what nonsense had Jeon Jungkook written this time around?

You prepared yourself for the worst as you took a deep breath.

           Dearest Flower—

The introduction already had you rolling your eyes to the ends of the earth. You continued, nonetheless, but not before noting the difference in handwriting.

          I hope this letter finds you in good health. I am aware that I promised to write to you immediately after our encounter, which is still engraved deeply in my mind, never to be forgotten. That evening, you held countless stars in your eyes that twinkled at every quiet giggle — I am still stunned that I was able to pull a burst of enchanting laughter from your lips, as I am told by my confidants that humour is not my forte. Were you being too generous, perhaps, inflating a weak man’s ego like you had done mine? I can only imagine that you permit no one else to see the beauty hidden beneath your smile but me, selfish as that may sound. 

“Did he really pen this, Sir Jeon?” you wondered audibly. Your sister begged for you to read the rest aloud, and you relented. “There isn’t a dreamless night that goes by where I do not see your face the moment I lay and close my eyes. You’ve bewitched me, Dearest Flower.”

You paused to glance at your sister, who merely motioned for you to continue reading the letter. She wore an almost-teasing grin as the apples of her cheek rose to meet the corner of her eyes.

“You must know that I am writing this against the unspoken will that binds me in the hands of my cousin. I know you are aware, as most people in the town are presumably, that he has been charmed by your unwavering wit, as have I. When he made it known to me — his longing for you — I knew I had to step back and hand him the reins. For how could I possibly compete with him?”

Your heart galloped against your chest at the sudden realization, and with bleary eyes, you read the next words with a different perspective than you had previously.

“Therefore I want you to know that I write this without the knowledge of your affection; only with the cautious optimism that you do not share the same feelings as he has for you. I am once again reduced to nothing else but greed with soaring hopes that you have cast away the letters he has written you. If by chance I am mistaken and have disillusioned myself with such thoughts, I shall suffer in endless affliction with the knowledge that I should have reached out sooner and without fear.”

With heat slowly rising to your cheeks, you turned the page over to the next and continued.

“If there is still but a tiny amount of chance for me, then I can only assume you’ll read this letter in its entirety. But please know that I will assume no ill will if you choose not to entertain my company. I have been fortunate enough to receive your hand in what will be your final dance that evening, so the least I could wish for is a lasting impression.”

Gone was your wistful feeling of dreaded rejection, replaced by pure, unadulterated bliss. You cleared your throat, and with bated breath, you proceeded.

“However, if your desire is the same as mine, then I would like for us to meet with no one else’s company but yours and mine. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire you, and there is not a single waking moment where I do not yearn to get another glimpse of your captivating eyes. Perhaps much longer than fate allowed us to the last time.

“I will be waiting in the garden by the old church just before the day breaks. If your heart truly doesn’t belong to Jungkook, or anybody else by then, come indulge in my endeavour. For I bear no intention other than to shamelessly claim your heart as mine for keeps.

“With love and devotion, Kim Taehyung.”

Your sister squealed in delight, much to your chagrin, possibly waking the entire household. Your horrors were confirmed when you heard the padded footsteps of your mother along the hallway, prompting you to shove the letter underneath your pillow. By the time you placed your hand in her mouth at an attempt to silence her, she’d already knocked at your door before it promptly opened.

Hair dishevelled and unkempt, she asked, clearly displeased, “What in god’s name are you both up to this late at night, disturbing everyone’s sleep?”

“We thought we—uh—saw a rat. She just got a little spooked, is all.”

Your mother narrowed her eyes at you, then your sister, who nodded belatedly in agreement.

“From countless years of witnessing your shenanigans, do you think I’m easily fooled?”

The tension in your mother’s brow eased as she chuckled, shaking her head. You released your sister from your clutches as your mother approached. She bent over to dispel the lights from the room, and you welcomed darkness as you blinked it into familiarity.

“Stop wasting candlesticks and turn in for bed now.”

You willingly followed her instructions and quickly felt underneath the pillow for the presence of two parchments. Renewed with a sense of promise tomorrow will bring, you closed your eyes as the door clicked shut.

At the faded echoes of your mother’s foot carrying her away to your room, your sister whispered, “Will you meet with him?”

For once, your heart and mind are in synchrony, humming the tune of an acquainted melody.

A short pause before a confident, “Yes,” escaped your lips.

You vowed not to be persuaded by the fragrant sentiments a gentleman presents because all too often they stay like that: Mere words, unaccompanied by actions. But from the moment he plucked you out of the sea of women that vied for his attention, you knew you’d willingly sway in any direction he guided you — as long as it’s within his arms.

If a fool was what became of you from this correspondence alone, then you’ll wilfully submit to becoming town’s jester.

[paulinedorchester]

Mosley, Leonard. Backs to the Wall: London Under Fire, 1939-1954. London: George Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1971; reprint, as Backs to the Wall: The Heroic Story of the People of London During World War II, New York: Random House, 1971.

Each generation gets the history that it needs — or wants, or demands. That’s what kept going through my head as I read Backs to the Wall, which appeared three years after France’s youth explicitly rejected both Charles de Gaulle, the self-appointed leader of the Free French during World War II, and the political ideology that he represented, and amidst ongoing unrest over the Vietnam War. (It’s also worth mentioning that it was published in the same year as Norman Longmate’s How We Lived Then: A History of Everyday Life During the Second World War and two years after Angus Calder’s The People’s War.) This book gives up a World War II narrative in which Churchill was an improvement on Chamberlain only in that he wasn’t an appeaser, de Gaulle was worse than both of them put together, the Allied leaders all cordially loathed each other, half the British public wanted to sue for peace, and there was across-the-board mutual dislike between London civilians and American troops (and British dismay at the way African-American troops were treated by their white counterparts was far from universal). Do I exaggerate? Only slightly. Backs to the Wall is a sort of distant, city-specific pre-echo of Juliet Gardner’s sour 2004 book Wartime: Britain, 1939-45.

As with Wartime, however, this book does have the virtue of introducing us to a number of very interesting people. I became interested in reading it because it brought Vere Hodgson’s wartime diary to public attention. Mosley quotes or paraphrases Hodgson’s writing from the beginning of the war through its end, and also seems to have interviewed her extensively. His primary villain, meanwhile, is not Chamberlain but Chamberlain’s chief acolyte, Henry “Chips” Channon, from whose diary he quotes widely (and who turns out to have been born and raised in the United States, to my surprise). We hear a great deal from the chemist and novelist C.P. Snow and follow the misadventures of two civilians, Jenny Martin and Polly Wright, whose consistency in both bad luck and bad choices meant that neither of them was able to stay out of serious trouble for any length of time.

There are many glimpses of the London home front through the eyes of two boys, both eight when the war began: John Hardiman, of Canning Town and later of Aldgate, who was evacuated in 1939 but soon returned to London, and Donald Ketley of Chadwell Heath, who was never evacuated at all. Donald, who thoroughly enjoyed himself during the war, had an experience that speaks to our own recent reality:

Another good thing: quite early in the Blitz, his school had been totally destroyed by a bomb. Since Donald was shy, a poor student and unpopular with his teacher, he was overjoyed when he heard the place was gone. Thereafter he went each day to his teacher’s home to pick up lessons, which he brought back the next day for marking. In the following months he changed from a poor student to an excellent one, and although he was aware that his teacher rather resented it, he didn’t care. 

Mosley also introduces us to Archibald McIndoe, the real-life counterpart of Patrick Jamieson, Bill Patterson’s character in the Foyle’s War episode ‘Enemy Fire.’ Art seems to have imitated life pretty accurately in that instance: he and his burn hospital in East Grinstead were apparently exactly like what was depicted, the only difference being that the hospital was set up in an existing hospital building, not in a requisitioned stately home.

Backs to the Wall seems to have been one of the earliest books to make substantial use of Mass-Observation writings. Most M-O diaries are anonymous, but there are two named diarists here who stand out. John James Donald was a committed pacifist whose air of lofty detachment as he observes the reactions of those around him to air-raids and other wartime event and prepares for his tribunal — which, in the end, he decides not to attend — quickly grows irritating. More interesting is Rosemary Black, a 28-year-old widow, in no small part because she differs markedly from what I had thought of as the archetypical M-O writer. Here’s her self-description on M-O documents: “Upper-middle-class; mother of two children (girls aged 3 and 2); of independent means.” Mosley continues:

She lived in a trim three-story house in a quiet street of the fashionable part of Maida Vale, a short taxi ride from the center of the West End, whose restaurants and theatres she knew well. She was chic and attractive, and lacked very few of the niceties of life: there was Irene, a Hungarian refugee, to look after the children; Helen, a Scottish maid, to look after herself and the house; and a daily cleaning woman to do the major chores.

Black took her children out of London at the beginning of the war but quickly brought them back, and when bombs began falling she kept them in place — air raids might be disruptive for them, but apparently relocation had been worse. She was very much aware that she was riding out the war in a position of privilege, and she often expressed guilt feelings; but this tended to fade away before her irritation at the dominance of “the muddling amateur or the soulless bureaucrat” in the war effort. Offering her services, even as a volunteer, proved very frustrating. “She was young, strong and willing; she typed, spoke languages, was an expert driver and had taken a course in first aid,” Mosley tells us, “but finding a job even as a chauffeur was proving difficult” in September 1940. (She actually wasn’t all that strong physically: as we learn, she suffered from rheumatism which grew worse during the war years and probably affected her outlook.)

Black was greeted with “apathy and indifference” by both A.R.P. and the Women’s Voluntary Service. Early in 1941 she was finally able to get a place handing out tea, sandwiches, cake, and so on to rescue and clean-up workers at bomb sites from a Y.M.C.A. mobile canteen. She was a bit intimidated by the women with whom she found herself working:

Their class is right up to the county family level. Nearly everyone is tall above the average and remarkably hefty, even definitely large, not necessarily fat but broad and brawny. Perhaps this is something to do with the survival of the fittest.

And the work did bring her some satisfaction, even if it was of the type that lent itself to being recorded with tongue placed firmly in cheek:

We had a pleasant and uneventful day’s work serving City fire sites, the General Post Office, demolition workers and Home Guard Stations, etc. We were complimented at least half a dozen times on the quality of our tea ... I think the provision of saccharine for the tea urns to compensate for the mean sugar allowance is my most successful piece of war work. What did you do in the Great War, Mummy? Sneaked pills into the tea urns, darling.

For all her good humor and astute observations, Mrs. Black was far from immune to tiny-mindedness. After an evening out in 1943 she wrote:

I had to wait some time for the others in the cinema foyer, and I was much struck, as often before, by the almost complete absence of English people these days, from the capital of England. Almost every person who came in was either a foreigner, a roaring Jew, or both. The Cumberland [Hotel] has always been a complete New Jerusalem, but this evening it really struck me as no worse than anywhere else! It is really dismaying to see that this should be the result of this war in defence of our country.

Indeed, Mosley cites the results of a multi-year Mass-Observation study that showed a marked increase in anti-Jewish views London’s general population over the course of the war. Since it’s just one study, and since I haven’t seen that study mentioned anywhere else, I am reluctant to trust blindly in its accuracy; and there’s also this:

The small flat which George [Hardiman] had procured for [his family] ... in Aldgate was cleaner and airier than the old house in Canning Town [which had been bombed], and the little Jewish children with whom John now went to school seemed to be cleaner than the ones in Elm Road; at any rate, he no longer came home with nits in his hair.

On the other hand, Mosley himself gives us only a fragmentary view of London’s wartime Jewish population: everyone seems to be either a terrified refugee or an impoverished East Ender. We hear nothing about the substantial middle- and upper-middle class population — mostly of German descent and in some cases German birth — that had already taken shape in Northwest London; and while we are briefly introduced to Sir David Waley, a Treasury official, in connection with the case of an interned Jewish refugee, we aren’t told that Waley himself was Jewish, a member of “the cousinhood.” On yet a third hand, Mosley also quotes other M-O surveys from the same period that indicate largely hostile attitudes to most foreigners in London, with Poles at the bottom of the ladder and the small Dutch contingent on top. (Incidentally, the book’s extremely patchy index identifies Vere Hodgson as a Mass-Observation diarist, which she wasn’t.)

Backs to the Wall closes with a very brief, remarkably non-partisan account of the 1945 general election and its immediate aftermath. “Neither side had any inkling of the way the minds of the British voters were turning,” he writes.

When [Churchill’s] friends suggested that he was a victim of base ingratitude, he shook his head. He would not have such a charge leveled against his beloved countrymen. Ingratitude? "Oh, no," he said quietly, "I wouldn’t call it that. They have had a very hard time."

The book is worth reading for the primary materials that it includes, but it probably tells us as much about the era in which it was written as about the period that it covers.  

[letterboxd]

Under the Stars.

On the UK release of Harry Macqueen’s tender Supernova, the writer-director talks to Ella Kemp about timeless love stories, his favorite screen lovers and working with best buds Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci.

Love is patient and love is kind in Supernova, Harry Macqueen’s tender story of marriage, memory and maps. It’s an autumnal study of a mature, rock-solid love and the unfair illness that threatens to undo it. We’ve seen stories about gay lovers that end in tragedy before, but this one is different: a sense of security and trust infuses the final holiday of husbands Sam and Tusker, as they come to terms with Tusker’s recent diagnosis of early-onset dementia.

Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci play the couple—a pairing written in the stars, since the actors have been best friends for twenty years—who are traveling England in an RV, visiting places and people they have loved. Sam is a pianist, Tusker a star-gazing novelist. Together, they mine emotions that manifest in everyday care rather than grand, theatrical gestures. Julien describes Supernova as “a marvel of tiny moments that feel so real they register like bullet wounds,” while Lola feels the destabilizing power of these lovers. “I love love,” she writes, “but love is painful, beautiful, heart wrenching, frightening and forever.”

Supernova is the second feature from Macqueen as a writer and director after 2015’s Hinterland, in which he starred opposite Lori Campbell in a contemporary, rural tale of a companionship that spans decades. A London-trained actor, he made his debut in the under-seen Richard Linklater film, Me and Orson Welles. On Supernova, however, Macqueen remains firmly behind the camera.

The filmmaker opened up about the stars in the sky, the ones on our screens, intimacy, pride and more for his Life in Film questionnaire.

Harry Macqueen on location with Colin Firth for ‘Supernova’.

What do you think the connection is between stars—the celestial kind—and lovers? Harry Macqueen: Historically, we’ve always found the cosmos to be both perplexing and inspiring. I suppose there’s a kind of infinite beauty in space that is definitely related to love, and especially for a character like Tusker, who is contemplating his mortality. He’s looking up at the stars and thinking about what they mean, and what he means in that context, and it seemed like something that would be a natural thing to do if you were in that situation.

In terms of the other kind of stars—your incredible actors Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci—how did you find the right people to bring Sam and Tusker’s love to life? I think that what they do in the film is very surprising, in a way that’s beautiful and delicate. But it was also one of the easiest casting processes of any film, ever. Stanley was the first person we sent the script to and he read it very quickly and responded to it in the way that you hope that people will. We were really interested in one of the characters being not British—we felt there was something potentially quite stuffy about having two Brits bumbling around the countryside, so another culture would add a bit of a different energy to it.

Stanley loved the script and we got on really well. I really wanted, hopefully, to get two actors who knew each other and had a shared history for these intimate roles. And he said, “I don’t know whether you know, but my best mate is Colin, and I could get the script to him.” I obviously said yes and he said, “Okay, well, I already have, and he loves it and he wants to meet you.” So it was all a bit of a dream!

Let’s talk about the inception of the script. Supernova is obviously a story about love, but it’s about illness and death and mortality and all of these things, which feels significant in terms of it being a gay love story. A lot of queer love stories in cinema are tragic, but also are often very specifically reckless and youthful, and don’t really linger on this later chapter in life. How early did you know, then, that this film would be about two men? If you’re talking about early-onset dementia, you’re naturally talking about people in their fifties or sixties, so I knew that I was always going to tell a story about romantic love of some kind in that part of your life. I had done a lot of research around that, and I realized I had never worked with a same-sex couple. All the couples and families that I’d worked with, the central relationship had been a heterosexual one. So my initial reaction was to write that story, but then I countered that really quickly and wanted to challenge why that was my initial inkling.

I just thought, I’m writing about really universal themes—love and death and life and trust and companionship—and it seems to me that no one sexual orientation or gender has a monopoly on those things.

And you’re right, LGBTQ+ cinema over the years, quite often for very, very important and understandable reasons, has been about that period of flux, transitioning or coming out, the moment of becoming your true self at a certain time of life, when you’re usually quite young. And that is quite fraught, frantic and a bit grimy sometimes. So I was aware that there was a gap in cinema to present a love story about two people of the same sex who were in this stage of life. That romantic, mature love we don’t talk about very often.

The film also aspires to be the type of story in this type of community that I hope that I live in, even if perhaps I don’t—to tell a story in which the sexuality of the characters isn’t mentioned. It’s just accepted, embraced and loved. The sexuality of the characters doesn’t impact the story or inform anything, it’s just their lived experience in the world. I’m really proud that we did that, because I genuinely think, in its own tiny way, it’s a revelation.

Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci navigate love and illness in the Lake District.

This film, materially and aesthetically, is beautiful. The landscapes, the actors, Sam and Tusker’s knitwear. How did you navigate the balance between creating this very cozy world that also understands heartbreak and decay as potent things? What I want to try and do in films generally is wrap an audience up in an intimate world between two people, and hopefully allow the audience to fall in love with those people. That shared history they have meant that all of these things felt quite organic. They’ve got some money, but they’re in a camper van, they’re not loaded. They’re reasonably creatively successful, but they’re not famous, necessarily. They’re just two guys trying to live under quite extreme conditions.

The intimacy in the film is really, really important to me. What degree of romantic intimacy these characters have, how you film that, and how you plonk an audience in there. Because you don’t want to make a dirge—the film is life-affirming because they love each other so much, and because of that, it’s also devastating.

So that informs every choice you make stylistically. It’s quiet, and it’s patient, and it felt like exactly the right way to tell this story, to not intrude on this beautiful relationship, to not impose anything on it, to be very simple, really—which, as I’m sure you know, it’s not simple!

I know that kind of filmmaking is not to everyone’s taste, that avoidance of melodrama, that lightness of touch. I find it beautiful, but others probably don’t.

Gordon Warnecke and Daniel Day-Lewis in ‘My Beautiful Laundrette’ (1985).

Now, a few Life in Film questions. Who are your favorite gay lovers on-screen? Carol and Therese in Carol, Russell and Glen in Weekend, Marianne and Héloïse in Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Johnny and Omar in My Beautiful Laundrette.

What is your favorite timeless love story? This is so difficult! Maybe Alice in the Cities, Wendy and Lucy or the Before... trilogy.

What is the best film about pride, the definition of which is very much open to interpretation? Jiro Dreams of Sushi—a brilliant film about having pride in your craft.

What should we watch after Supernova? I tend to be a bit controversial and say the couple from Amour by Michael Haneke. Or maybe Life of Brian, or a Studio Ghibli film—but definitely not Grave of the Fireflies.

What was the film that made you want to be a filmmaker? I’m not certain there is a specific one, but there are films you encounter all the time that make you want to be a filmmaker all over again. The two films that made me think it might actually be possible were Old Joy and Katalin Varga—they inspired me before I had any budget or experience. But it could also be any Yasujirō Ozu film, or Taste of Cherry by Abbas Kiarostami. All very inspiring in their own way.

Related content

Queer Love and Desire: a list by the Criterion Channel

The Pride of Sundance: 400 LGBTQ+ films to watch this June, curated by the Sundance Film Festival

101 Must-See Movies for Lesbians: Jenni Olson’s list (including Carol)

Follow Ella on Letterboxd

‘Supernova’ is in UK theaters now, and available to stream on Hulu, or rent/buy from other VOD services in the US.

[teacup-crow]

Next Friday

*this is a repost because Tumblr broke on me earlier!  I was ill for two days and could only really lie in bed and wrote this. Set after S5M15, based more around M17, warnings for requisite Season 5 sadness, effects of hunger and Australian levels of swearing.

Summary: Nadia, Owen and Veronica plan next week’s movie night.

Owen is an idiot, Veronica has always thought. But lately, he’s their idiot. Popping up in the lab asking her opinions on irrigation techniques - not her area, of course, but the science behind some of it is fascinating. Appearing during Friday movie nights with Nadia, which had always been their thing, but still respecting that. Appreciating whatever they chose. Never pushing things too far. He’s really good at cooking, too, eking out the most flavour possible from their smaller and smaller ration packs - and always making sure they eat before he does. Maybe there isn’t too much going on upstairs, but he’s nice. He doesn’t judge her, or set her off, or sit too close, or try and make eye contact like Ian does. 

“Only liars don’t look people in the eye, Veronica,” Ian had hissed earlier that afternoon. He’d asked some inane question about Sigrid’s taste in wine, and she’d tried to brush him off but he was having none of it. “I know you’re the Minister’s precious little poppet, but I don’t trust you. Nobody likes creepy children who hover around where they’re not wanted. You and your nasty, sneaky girl guide friends… although they don’t really like you either, do they? Not really one for friends your own age, are you?”

She’d stared right ahead, still avoiding his face. “I need to get on with my work, Ian. Haven’t you got things to be doing for Sigrid too?”

He got a tad frostier. “Watch your tone. It’s the Minister to you. And she isn’t here right now, sweetheart, is she?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Say one more thing to me in that tone of voice, Miss McShell, one more thing, and you won’t see your Nadia for a very, very long time.”

The beaker in Veronica’s hand cracked around the base as she squeezed it. What tone? She’d tried to be polite. She could feel his stinking breath on her neck, knew his flat grey eyes would be right there if she looked at them, full of blazing jealousy and spite. And he wouldn’t, couldn’t follow through on that threat, could he? She was here of her own volition.

“Hey, Ronnie! And - oh, hello, I- Commander. We were just going to lunch?” Owen hurried into the lab, his voice bright and giving nothing away, but Veronica noticed from years of analysing it that his posture was stiff for a trained Runner. Beaten, perhaps, or anxious? Ian sneered a little at the sight of him, but backed off, probably appeased by the honorific, and she let Runner Six take her by the hand and pull her away. He’d sat her between himself and Runner Thirteen, and tried to get them engaged in a silly story about the time a koala attempted to steal his mum’s van. She’d ended up explaining to them the high rates of chlamydia among koalas, getting a bit confused when Cameo and Owen found the facts so funny. And the day passed safely - at least until he made a run for it.

The sweat is pouring off Owen’s face now as she attempts to dig the bullet out of his leg, swearing profusely even for an Australian. “Jesus FUCK!”

“I’ve not done this before! I'm trying my best.”

“Fucking Ian, the mangy bastard cu-”

Nadia clamps her hands over Veronica’s ears as if she’s never heard the word before. “Please, just keep it down before someone tips him off!”

Ian hadn’t seen the need to let a ‘traitorous, stupid boy’ use ‘limited medical resources’. Owen is supposed to be back on punishment detail, 5am sharp, or face the consequences. The only thing keeping him from the box is the fact that Cameo is already occupying it. So here they are in the lab, after hours, with a sixteen year old girl trying to stop him bleeding out with very little time, experience or painkillers. 

“Ya know, I’ve been through a fair amount of utter bollocking bollocks this apocalypse but really-“

“Runner Six, will you shut it!” And then, closer to his ear, out of Veronica’s earshot: “Did it work?”

He gives the slightest of nods. She smiles, broad and genuine, though her face is thin. They’re all getting a little more haggard, day by day. Veronica glances at the two of them, lovingly gazing at each other, and resolves that she’ll find some clever way to bring their lack of food up to the Minister. Sigrid is a smart woman; if she had any inkling that her top scientist keeps finding hair on her pillow each morning, that her fingernails are brittle, that three people collapsed in the fields last week, that for the first time since meeting Nadia she can count each and every rib, she’d surely do something to curb Ian’s ridiculous power trip.

She yanks at the bullet. Owen screams blue murder. Nadia shoves a balled up tea towel into his mouth, and deadpans: “So much for movie night.”

“I wasn’t really looking forward to The Green Mile,” Veronica admits. “I don’t know what you have against Planet Earth.”

“The fact that I have seen the same episode of the same documentary a thousand times in the last three years may play a part, Ronnie.”

“...only thirty-three.”

“What?”

“I pick the movie every other week. Because of many changes in circumstance, we’ve only had a hundred and nine movie nights. I pick Planet Earth approximately sixty percent of the time. We’ve seen it thirty-three times in the last two and a half years.”

Nadia sighs, and removes the cloth from Owen’s mouth. “You holding up?”

“I’m sorry for ruining your plans, ladies. Next time I try to escape from budget bloody Percy Wetmore, I promise not to do it on a Friday,” Owen pants, but the pain seems to be receding. “Ya know, if I had a nickel for every time I got shot in this calf, I’d have two nickels.”

“Which isn’t a lot, but insane that it happened twice, right?” Nadia responds with a short laugh. 

“Did you both spend all your time watching children’s shows pre-apocalypse?”

“Hey, I was a kid pre-apocalypse! She has no excuse.”

“Um, ATC work was stressful and I make no excuses for how I enjoyed my free time.”

“But if you’re twenty-four now, you were eighteen on Z-day, Owen,” Veronica points out.

“Eighteen year olds are still kids, Ronnie.” His voice is suddenly quite tired. He squeezes Nadia’s hand as Veronica pulls the first stitch, hissing between his teeth a little.

She juts out her chin. “I’m younger than that and I’m not a child.”

Neither of them dispute that, though she still cuts a tiny figure in a too-large lab coat, sleeves rolled up three times to make it fit.

“How do you know it’s from a children’s show, anyway, Miss-never-watched-Disney-Channel?”

“...I don’t have to answer that if I’m not comfortable.”

Nadia shoots her an expressing your boundaries thumbs-up. She feels the worry in her chest loosen a little. Everything will be fine. She’ll get Owen’s leg stitched, and today’s drama will force Sigrid’s hand. The Minister will come to Abel and fix things, and she can get back to working on the cure, and Owen and Nadia will be safe and look after each other.

“I’m going to head back to my bunk, I think,” Nadia says, a tinge of fear in her voice as she glances through the darkening window. “Better not to be missed too long, and I should check on Cameo. She… she distracted Ian from you for a bit. It didn’t look pretty.”

“We’ll be all right, Naddi, you go on,” Owen squeezes her hand one last time, and lies back on the lab table. Veronica nods, absorbed in her task. They hear her wheels clatter down the ramp and fade across the square, quiet as footsteps.

“So, you like Planet Earth a lot?”

“I used to watch it with Dad.”

“Oh. Makes sense. My mum’s a big Tom Hanks fan. I’ve probably seen every movie he’s been in… well, about thirty-three times as well.”

“You know there’s a video of Castaway in the rec room, right?”

“I brought it back, actually. Years ago, now. But I don’t know if I can watch it, yeah? I’m scared it might make me think about her too much.”

“Owen,” Veronica finishes the stitches, and starts to clean up some of the blood. She’s watched Kefilwe do this dozens of times. Antiseptic. Dabbing rather than smearing. Keep the patient’s mind off the sting. “Do you remember what your mum looks like?”

The silence that follows makes her wonder if this is a faux pas. He eventually responds: “No, not quite.”

“No, me neither. I have a photo, but I can’t picture them as actual living people. Memories are really interesting that way, actually. We’re not as visual as-“

“Ronnie. Can we talk about something else?”

“Okay.” She racks her brains for small talk. “Do you… like it here at Abel?”

“What, now?” He snorts. “With that pinstripe suit cu-”

Veronica clamps her hands over her own ears, knowing Nadia wouldn’t want her to hear it. He smiles, and raises his hands in apology.

“No, not now. Before.”

“It was all right. Home. Safe. You knew Janine was looking out for ya. There was always enough food to go round.”

“But did you feel like you fit in?” she presses.

“...can’t say I did.”

“Me neither,” she says, a little relieved.

“Runners are quite a superstitious bunch. And I’m unlucky.”

Her brow scrunches in confusion. “Bad luck isn’t a very scientific reason to dislike someone.”

“Can you tell that to getting tied to train tracks, set on fire and repeatedly shot at?”

“Actually, Dad was working on a statistical model of danger to Runners in his spare time. I found it a while ago, me and Nadia were repurposing it to make missions safer. When I include Five in the sample, you actually fall under the average for number of dangerous situations encountered.”

“Uh, I think Five is an outlier.”

“You’re probably right.” She wraps the wound in bandages, and tucks them in. “Done!”

“I owe you one, Ronnie.”

“Just… stay safe. Both of you. I haven’t got time to worry about you two as well as curing the zombie plague.”

“You’re only a… you shouldn’t be worried about us at all, squirt.”

She shrugs. “It’s not my fault you do worrying things. If he puts you in a cell and you can’t change the dressings frequently just do your best to keep it clean.”

“Will do!” He swings off the table, avoiding putting weight on his leg as much as possible. “Whatever he does, I’ll try to make next Friday, all right?”

She nods. Next Friday, she’ll pick out Castaway, and they’ll watch it together, and maybe movie night can be Owen’s thing too.