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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

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road less travelled - m. tkachuk

I was throwing together a list of ideas yesterday, and this one stuck out to me for some reason. So I started writing, thankfully had a pretty free weekend, and finished today! It was a fun piece to right, I hope you all enjoy it! As always, I read all my tags, so reblogs are a writer’s best friend! You’re also more than welcome to come into my inbox and yell at me if that’s more your speed.

word count: 4.5k+

March 18 (thurs)

Elsie couldn’t believe she had gotten herself in this situation again. Every time she woke up in his bed she swore it was the last time, but one drunken mistake turned into another, which turned into a threepeat, and now she wasn’t so sure it had been a mistake in the first place. There was just something about Matthew Tkachuk, something so intoxicating that she was able to ignore the every fiber of her being that was screaming at her to stop this, stop things before it turned sour. Stop it before her brother found out.

It had been easy enough to keep things from Johnny when they first started hooking up; they’d meet at a crowded bar, somewhere where the cover of anonymity was all but guaranteed, or a late-night text, a few words by the other communicating everything they needed to know. He was lonely. And Elsie Gaudreau was the only one who could help. It had been easy enough to keep things from Johnny at the start, but then they started texting before 11 PM, and then they decided they were exclusive, and then, Matty decided that it was about time that they put a label on it. And suddenly it wasn’t so easy to keep their secret anymore.

The team knew that he was seeing someone, but much to everyone’s surprise, he had said precious little about their relationship. He called her Leigh in the locker room, or out with the boys — her grandmother’s middle name, one he felt toed the line as well as possible between complete fabrication and some semblance of the truth — and they knew the couple had been together for a few months, that she made him laugh, and that he was more into her than they had seen him act with anyone in recent memory. She didn’t come to events because she was shy, Matthew said, and he didn’t want to subject her to the kind of spotlight he knew she might be scrutinized under the moment they went public. He wasn’t lying when he said she’d been to games — Elsie usually made it to a few a month, usually on Johnny’s invitation — but left out the part where she wore the number 13 in the stands instead of 19, or where she caught a ride home with her brother after media availability instead of her boyfriend, the man she’d been sleeping with for the past five months.

“Leaving already?” Matty mumbled, slinging one arm over her waist as Elsie tried to sit up.

She twisted over, kissing him softly. His stubble tickled her cheek. “Got class, remember?” Of course he remembered. Class was the whole reason she was in Alberta; most of it, at least. She had done her undergrad in astrophysics at Wellesley in Massachusetts, and when the time had come for her to decide where to do her graduate studies, Johnny had been all too quick to offer up Calgary. “It’s a great program!” he had said. And it was, but Elsie also had her doubts that her brother knew much about astronomy beyond the ability to find the Great Dipper on a clear day. They had always been close, even when he went to go play in Dubuque when she was 13, but their time together had naturally been more than a little limited ever since he turned pro. So when the opportunity arose for them to be in the same city full-time for the first time in a decade, he was jumping at the prospect of being able to look after his younger sister again. And, especially after he offered to pay her tuition, she wasn’t about to say no. International fees didn’t come cheap.

Matty groaned, pawing at her hand as she got up from the bed, throwing the covers back over him. “Do you have to go?” he whined.

Elsie rolled her eyes. “It’s an 8 AM, and it’s,” she glanced at her watch, “already 7. I’d love to stay in bed with you, babe, but I’ve still got to eat and get dressed and grab all my stuff. Plus, it’s at least fifteen minutes to drive and find a place to park, so I’ve got to build that in too.”

“I still think it’s dumb that they make you pay to park at your own school. You’re already paying tuition, plus you TA that one course, so it’s not like you’re doing nothing for them,” he said.

“It’s dumb,” she agreed.

Matthew clicked his tongue. “It’s highway robbery, is what it is, Els.”

She laughed, bending over the bed to run a hand through his curls. She loved those curls. “Be that as it may, Matty dear, I’ve still got to get there on time. Experimental space physics waits for no man.”

He pouted. “Fine.”

Elsie shot him a sympathetic look. “I’ll try to swing by after my classes let out, how does that sound?”

“Can’t. Johnny and some of the guys are going to be over after morning skate, we’re going out to lunch then they’re coming back here. I’ll call you if they don’t stay too late?” he proposed, looking over at her.

She gave a tight smile. “Works for me.”

---

Matthew couldn’t believe he had managed to keep things from Johnny for as long as he had. As pretty much anyone could tell you, he was the world’s worst secret-keeper off the ice, and even more so when it came to his friends. And every time Johnny would lean over to him in the locker room, showing him a picture Elsie had posted on Instagram, or recount a story from the intro astronomy class she TA’d, he had to bite his lip and pretend like he hadn’t been the one to take the picture, or he hadn’t been the first to hear about the kid who didn’t believe you couldn’t see the Southern Cross from Alberta. As much as Matthew hated it, he knew that part of what made his relationship with Elsie so exhilarating was the illicit nature of the whole thing. Something about sneaking around with your best friend’s little sister made everything that much more exciting.

The first time they hooked up hadn’t been a mistake, but it hadn’t been planned in any possible sense of the word. Elsie had moved to Calgary in August, a few weeks before everyone had stated trickling back into Alberta for training camp. Matthew was pretty sure it was mostly Johnny not wanting her to only be surrounded by “space nerds” — his words, not Matty’s, because while he had endless admiration for his sister’s dedication and academic skill, he understood approximateky 0.2% of what she was studying — all day, so by late September or so, she had established herself as a core member of the Flames’ “going-out” group. Which led to one particular night at a bar in October, with Johnny having already headed home thanks to an early breakfast with his fiancée and most of the rest of the group leaving around midnight. And it was a Friday, so Elsie had let herself have a few more drinks than usual; the team didn’t have practice until noon, so Matthew let himself shrug off any worry of a hangover. And Matty and Elsie already knew each other, so they got to talking, then they got to drinking, then they got to kissing. And then Elsie cancelled her Uber to get into Matthew’s, and before she knew it they were stumbling through his doorway, her fingers tangled in his curls and her legs wrapped around his waist as he walked her back to his bedroom.

There were a few people who knew the truth, and only a few people. Matthew had Brady and his mom. His logic being, as soon as Brady knew he was even vaguely interested in someone, he never took no for an answer and would have annoyed her name out of him regardless of whether or not he was being particularly forthcoming with any personal information. His mom because if he needed any advice, if he needed someone to turn to that wasn’t the incredibly vague commentary he gave the boys in the locker room, he wanted to have someone there who wouldn’t judge him and would have his best interests at heart. Okay, scratch that. Chantal definitely judged him, lifting her eyebrows over FaceTime as he called to break the news. She knew Elsie from the one trip with Johnny she’d made out to St. Louis and the times the Tkachuks had travelled up to Canada to visit the boys, and as much as she told Matthew that keeping it a secret was just about the worst thing he could do to his friend, she couldn’t say she was exactly surprised he had fallen for Elsie.

Elsie had Ines, her best friend from college. It was easier with her, much more straightforward with a lot fewer of the conflicts of interest she felt she got with talking with anyone in the “hockey world.” Ines knew hockey, she obviously had met Johnny and some of the other boys before. Wellesley was only a twenty-five minute drive away from the Boston city center, so the one time a year the Bruins played Calgary at home she’d go with Elsie. But Ines was compassionate, objective, and one of the smartest people Elsie had ever met in her life. She didn’t have any stake in the matter that wasn’t named Elsie Gaudreau, and she wasn’t about to mince her words because she was afraid of what Matty — or Johnny for that matter — would think. So there were people who knew, but the list was very short and, at least for the time being, they wanted to keep it that way.

For anyone on the outside looking in, who didn’t know them as well, they might have said that it was a long time coming. “It” being Matthew and Elsie’s relationship. And, if she was being honest, Elsie might have agreed. She knew Matty since he joined the team; he and her brother were thick as thieves from the beginning, and he’d visited them on the East Coast pretty much every summer since his rookie year. Visited Johnny. Not her. Johnny had made it crystal-clear from the beginning that under no circumstances was their relationship ever allowed to proceed beyond friendly.

And it didn’t. For four years, almost, it didn’t. Sure, Elsie may have carried a torch for him from the moment they were introduced, but she was far too concerned about Matty’s physical and mental well-being to pursue anything. Even if, once or twice, she could have sworn that he felt something too. But then she moved to Calgary for grad school, and Johnny started bringing her out with the boys, and she finally got to see him in his element, really in his element. She got to see Alternate Captain Matthew Tkachuk, the one who’d go to the ends of the earth for his team, who would score goals and drop gloves and do whatever needed to be done whenever it needed to be done. And it didn’t hurt that Matty looked hot as fuck whenever he got into fights, his curls flying as he stuffed his helmet under an arm, skating over to the penalty box. It only hurt that she had let herself fall for him.

March 22 (mon)

Johnny was over at Matthew’s apartment; he had come over under a pretense of going over some tape from their last road trip, but it had quickly devolved into a very heated game of Super Smash Bros before the pair took a break for dinner. “Dude, your laundry’s in the way,” Johnny said as he made his way to the bathroom, Matthew staring at the half-cooked pot of pasta on his stove.

“It’s clean, you can just dump it in my room,” he called down the hall. He didn’t hear the tell-tale click of the bathroom door, so he looked down the hallway, only to be greeted by a site he hoped he’d never have to see.

A conspiratorial grin on his face, Johnny held a black, lacy pair of panties between two fingers. His sister’s panties. The half-second it took for Matthew to reach, jumping forward and grabbing them out of his hands, unfortunately wasn’t enough. He held them behind his back, almost as if he was hoping that if Johnny couldn’t see them, they weren’t really there.

“Leigh’s?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

Matthew rubbed his temples with the hand that wasn’t holding the panties. “Yeah. Just...Pretend you never saw those, okay?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Who would I tell? The boys? They wouldn’t care. You? You already know. Elsie?” Matthew froze. “She’d just slap me and get mad at invading your privacy.”

“And you are,” Matthew mumbles, stuffing the panties into his back pocket.

Johnny’s brow furrowed; he leaned up against the doorframe. “Seriously, though, Chucky. What’s going on with you and this girl? You know everyone respects your decision to keep things quiet and private, but I’m your best friend on the team.” The look on his face betrayed the hurt he felt inside. “I would have thought you’d say something, to me at least.”

Matthew let out a deep breath. How was he going to talk his way out of this one? “I know, and I feel bad that it seems like I’ve been keeping things from you.” But he was keeping things. Very important things. “I think with Leigh and I, we just want to take things slow, make sure what we have is real. And I think it is,” he said, hazarding a glance at his friend. “I don’t know if it’s love, yet, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about a girl before. But we both agree that we need to know before we open it up to the opinions of the rest of the world, before she gets shoved into the public eye. And she understands what that’s like better than most, but it’s still not fair.”

Johnny’s ears perked. “Better than most?” Matthew froze. “What is she, like an Instagram model or something?”

He smirked, pushing him with one hand. “No, she’s not.”

Johnny realized quickly that he wasn’t going to be getting any more information out of Matthew anytime soon, so much to his chagrin, he dropped it. Johnny left Matthew’s apartment that night with a weird taste in his mouth, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. And he didn’t like that.

April 3 (sat)

Everyone was at Gio’s house, one of his quarterly team barbecues that had quickly become one of Matthew’s favorite things as soon as he joined the team. By “everyone,” that meant the players and their families, kids, partners, parents if they were in town. Johnny hadn’t invited Elsie — he assumed she’d be getting ready for finals, which was true, but Matthew knew she could have spared an afternoon — and Matthew couldn’t think of a way to invite her himself without arousing suspicion, so she was back in her downtown apartment while the boys were busy grilling up an inhuman amount of meat for dinner.

After everyone ate and the dishwasher had been loaded, someone decided to light the fire pit, and the conversation turned to relationships. For once, Matty didn’t tune out.“It’s the little things, you know?” Gio said, tipping back his beer. “When I see Lauren in my jersey at the games, or when she’s fallen asleep on the couch waiting for us to get back from a road trip. Makes you realize that what really matters isn’t so much how many goals you score or how big a contract you have. It boils down to the quality of people in your life, and we’ve got some good ones.”

“It’s the same thing with Leigh and I,” Matthew said. His words caused everyone to listen. There were precious few times Matthew willingly volunteered information about his relationship, and as much as his teammates genuinely did respect their penchant for privacy, that didn’t mean they wanted any fewer details. “Sometimes when she stays over and doesn’t have anywhere to be the next day, I’ll walk out to the kitchen and she’ll just be dancing around the stove, making pancakes and singing along to a Fleetwood Mac song. Usually takes her a minute or two to notice me.”

The guys laughed, and Matty took a long pull of his beer. He wasn’t really risking anything by saying that. Plenty of people liked Fleetwood Mac. “And she’s got this little scar behind her right ear, got it from falling out of a tree as a kid. She always tries to cover it up, but I like it better when she lets it show.” Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Matty’s frustration about not being able to say anything about the woman he was falling in love with finally coming to a head, that made him say something he maybe shouldn’t have.

He realized, as he hesitantly met Johnny’s eyes, and could see the gears in his head turning, that he definitely shouldn’t have said anything. Johnny was looking in between his beer and Matthew, then Matthew and his beer, then his hands and Matthew’s, which were tapping nervously on the arm of his deck chair. And then he started to put things together. The orange blossom soap at Matthew’s apartment — Elsie’s favorite scents were citrus. Fleetwood Mac was one of her favorite bands. Their maternal grandma’s middle name was Leigh. And the scar. He remembered the day she got it, falling off an oak tree in their backyard in New Jersey, running into the house to get their mom and then in the car to the emergency room with a six-year-old Elsie who needed four stitches from the accident. And with an extremely uncomfortable feeling, he realized that that more likely than not, that meant the pair of panties he had picked up that one afternoon in Matthew’s apartment had been hers. He wanted to throw up.

Matthew was sweating as Johnny finally looked him in the eyes, realizing that the secret he and Elsie had tried so hard to keep for so long wasn’t going to be a secret much longer. “Matthew,” he began, his voice dangerously low. Matthew winced. He couldn’t remember the last time Johnny had called him by his first name. “Her name’s not Leigh, is it.” He said it like a statement, because, well, it was. He knew the answer, he just needed to hear it from someone other than himself, that the one thing he had asked of his best friend had apparently proven too much.

Matthew shook his head slowly. “No.” Everyone else’s eyes flitted between the pair, Markstrom and Gio and Andersson and everyone else very clearly confused.

“Something going on here?” Gio asked carefully.

“Tell them what her name is, Matthew.” Matthew squeezed his eyes shut. If he didn’t see everyone’s reactions, everyone’s disappointed faces, maybe they wouldn’t happen.

“Elsie.”

“Elsie what?” he prompted.

“Elsie Gaudreau,” Matthew finished. You could have heard a pin drop, the backyard was so silent.

“Dude, you’re dating his sister?” Noah asked.

Matthew nodded, one hand still tightly gripping his bottle.

“How long?” Johnny asked, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Just under six months,” Matthew admitted.

He sucked a breath in. “You’ve been dating my sister for six fucking months and nobody ever thought to maybe, I don’t know, tell me?”

“It didn’t start as dating, we were just—”

Johnny cut him off. “I can see where that’s going, and I don’t want to fucking hear it, Matthew. This was the one thing I asked you to not do. You’re a fucking All-Star NHL player, Matt. You could have any girl you wanted, you could wheel half of Calgary and I wouldn’t care as long as everyone was into it. But my little sister? The one person I told you years ago was off-limits? You had to fall for Elsie?”

“I—” Matthew stammered as he set his drink down. “I didn’t expect anything to happen. Neither of us did. But then it did, and I fell for her, and for some ungodly reason she’s decided to stay with me, and I don’t know, Johnny,” he finished weakly. “I felt terrible about keeping it from you, and for what it’s worth, Elsie does too. I feel awful about how you found out, you deserved better than this. But I won’t apologize for my feelings.”

Johnny scoffed, standing up and grabbing his keys. “She deserves better.”

April 4 (sun)

The first thing Matthew did the next day was go over to Elsie’s house. He had already called her the night before to tell her what happened; even if he didn’t, she had the numbers of half the guys on the team and more than one had texted her to check in after seeing how Johnny left things. When he opened the door, Elsie wasn’t doing well, to put it mildly. She was sitting on her couch, wrapped up in a blanket with a barely-touched mug of tea on the coffee table in front of her. She gave him a weak smile as he walked over. “Hey.”

He bent down, kissing the top of her head. “Hey, Els. How are you doing?”

“Not great.” At least she didn’t try to hide, not like it would have been any use with Matthew. He could read her almost as well as her own parents could. “I tried to call him last night and this morning, sent a few texts, just trying to explain. Asking to talk. But he hasn’t responded to anything, I called my mom and she said she hasn’t heard anything either.”

Matthew sat on the couch beside her. “He hasn’t talked to Gio either.”

She rested her head on his shoulder; his fingers carded through the soft hair at the base of her neck. “I feel like it’s my fault,” Elsie said despondently. Coming in between her brother and one of his best friends was the last thing she would have wanted, and she was starting to feel like everything was falling apart because of her. “It never would have happened if I wasn’t there,” she mumbled into Matty’s shoulder.

Matthew immediately shook his head. “No, no, don’t say things like that, babe. It’s not your fault, don’t put all the blame on you. Everyone dropped the ball on this one, and you shouldn’t have to take responsibility for how your brother decided to react.”

They were jolted out of their relative peace by a frantic knocking on the door. Elsie furrowed her brow. “I’m not expecting anyone?” she questioned as she threw the blanket off of her lap, She opened the door to see Johnny, staring bashfully down at his hands, an apologetic look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Elsie raised her eyebrows. “You should be.” After a moment, she stood aside to let him in the door.

He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding Matthew’s eyes. “I talked to Mom, she kind of chewed me out about the whole thing. Not talking to you when you called or texted, the way I kind of blew up at you yesterday,” he nodded at Matthew, “but mostly the leaving. Neither of you deserved that. You deserved to have a chance to sit down, explain yourselves, and have an adult conversation.” A flash of regret shot through his eyes, which steeled again as soon as he saw Matthew’s arms around Elsie, who had returned to the couch. “But that doesn’t mean I like it. I’m still pissed that you went behind my back, and that you two decided to do the one thing I asked you not to do, and how you blindsided me—”

“You’re not my dad, Johnny. You don’t get to decide how I live my life,” Elsie said sharply.

He screwed his eyes shut. “I know, but I love you and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, and—”

“No more ‘ands.’ I know you don’t like it, Johnny. You’ve made that much very clear,” Elsie said in frustration. “Pretty much everyone knows that if you could make a list of guys you wanted to date your little sister, Matthew Tkachuk would be in last place. But just think,” she paused, looking up at her brother. “Think about all the things you said to look for in a guy when I started getting old enough to date. Divorce who Matty is from your feelings about us being together. You always gave me three things. Someone who cares about me. Someone who respects me. And someone who’s honest.” Johnny nodded, his hands in his pockets. “Matty is all of that and more, Johnny. He treats me better than anyone I’ve ever been with, and I love him. And that’s what you’ve always wanted for me. Nothing more and nothing less.”

Johnny leaned up against the bookshelf. “I guess you’re right.”

Elsie cracked a tiny grin. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He groaned in response. “Don’t make me say it again, I’m not going to.” She shrugged. He looked between her and Matthew, sighing. “I overreacted, and I’m sorry about that. If you love him,” Elsie smiled, “and he cares about you,” Matthew frantically nodded, “then there’s really nothing more I could ask for. I think it just hurt that you two felt like you couldn’t come to me as soon as things progressed, as soon as you got together.”

“We were afraid you’d react like you did,” Elsie said, reaching over to grab Matty’s hand. “We never wanted to hurt you, and I might only be speaking for myself, but I think I was worried you’d try to come between us, or say something about the relationship, or…” She trailed off. “I don’t know. Sure, you shouldn’t have reacted that way, but you’re not the only one to blame. We shouldn’t have kept things from you, or from Mom and Dad for that matter.”

Johnny laughed. “Honestly? I’m pretty sure Mom called it from the beginning.” Elsie frowned. “What do you mean?” “You know when Matty came over to Jersey in the summer when you guys were about 20, and we all took that vacation on the beach?” She nodded. “There was one time when she saw you together, running into the ocean together. You were laughing as hard as I’ve ever seen you, Matthew was splashing water back at you, and you kept trying to tackle him into the waves. Mom, Dad, and I were back up on the beach. She just looked at you two, looked at me, and smiled.”

Matthew rubbed his thumb over the back of Elsie’s hand. “You think she knew?” he asked curiously.

Johnny nodded. “I think she knew even before you guys figured it out for yourselves.”

“How could she tell?” Elsie asked.

Johnny gave a soft smile, looking over towards the couple. “You’ve never been a good liar, Elsie. And you can’t hide love.”

#hockey imagines #hockey smut #hockey writing #hockey imagine #hockey #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl smut #nhl writing #nhl #Matthew Tkachuk #matthew tkachuk writing #rat king

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duskandstarlight · 4 years

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Embers & Light (Chapter 25)

Notes: Hi lovely readers,Thank you for everybody who commented on last weeks chapter and for those of you who fed back to say you would keep on reading E&L after ACOSF. It's great to know I can continue at my own pace, especially as work is about to pick up for me so it would be hard to write more than I have been already.

Let me know what you think of this chapter :) And as usual, apologies for my typos!

Chapter Twenty-Five Nesta

Nesta barely heard the sound of the door opening and shutting as Feyre left. Neither did she truly register the murmur of voices or the sensation of power vacuuming into nothing as Rhys and Feyre winnowed back to Velaris.

Feyre’s words had cracked her open again, and all Nesta wanted was to sleep so she didn’t have to think about her sister or the errors of her own past. Of the forgiveness her sister had granted her which she did not think she deserved. How her sister had offered a slate wiped clean, something that Nesta had secretly hungered for so long she couldn’t even pinpoint when it had started.

It was a chance to begin again, if Nesta wanted it. Or the chance to draw a line under everything and leave entirely.

A choice, either way.

Everything Feyre had said had been true. Nesta had felt her sister’s honesty in her stomach laced with her sister’s scent — pear and lilac. But was Nesta ready to forgive her sister? Seeing her sister curled up in the armchair — stationary rather than moving, the world still — made everything hurt. But when they had been in the midst of action, when together they had fought side-by side, a team rather than two opposing forces, Nesta had felt whole.

Another wave of tiredness washed over Nesta. She was too drained to contemplate it further, so she allowed the exhaustion to tug her down, down, down with both of its strong hands. She allowed her body to mould into the mattress, surrendering to the comforting weight of the midnight blue duvet and the woollen blankets.

Nesta dipped in and out of a sleep infused with pine and musk. Her pointed ears picked up the sounds of someone moving about the house, the bedroom door as it opened. She felt large hands on her forehead. The dip of the mattress. Heard the rustle of wings.

At one point, she had cracked open an eye to see a tent of red umber. Felt the ghosting warmth of a body and soft, even breathing before she slipped back under.

She had nightmares and vivid dreams. At first it was lifeless eyes, cracked wings, screams and blood. But then she saw her mother at the breakfast table, pouring herself a cup of tea. Her father returning from a long absence, his hair smelling of sea salt as he picked Nesta up in a hug. Nesta saw a younger Feyre, her face full of innocence and youth as Nesta read to her, a book of fairytales lying across her skirts. And Elain, brushing Nesta’s hair in front of a cracked mirror, the strands a dull, brittle brown in the weak firelight…

When she woke the next morning, Nesta was still tired but the pain in her abdomen had been dialled back, gnawing quietly rather than roaring.

Cassian was not there.

Wincing, Nesta eased herself into a sitting position just as Mas bustled into the room with Roksana in tow, the latter carrying some dusky blue snowdrops in her chubby hands.

Setting down the tray she had been carrying on the bed, Mas moved to open the curtains. Beyond the deep-set window was a stretch of luminescent white snow and a sliver of startling blue sky, the colour you usually saw in paintings rather than in real life. The Illyrian sky still took Nesta’s breath away, the colours brushed across its canvas so vibrant that Nesta knew that anywhere else would seem dull in comparison.

Roksana started to clamber onto the bed, her small wings stretching as they prepared to launch her into flight, but Mas caught her before her feet could leave the ground. “No you don’t, little youngling,” Mas tutted, placing Roksana firmly back on her feet. “Tuck those wings back in and show Lady Nesta what you have brought her.”

Shyly, Roksana stuck out her hand to show Nesta the flowers and said in Illyrian, “Ecce.”

Nesta did not allow her eyes to widen as Roksana spoke, but she allowed a her lips to tug upwards. She had picked up enough Illyrian to understand the youngling: Here.

“Thank you,” Nesta told the little girl sincerely as she took them from her clenched fist. “Pulchra.”

Nesta darted a look at Mas to check she had said the word ‘beautiful’ correctly and Mas nodded as she kissed Roksana on the cheek and tickled her belly.

“What do you say, sinta?” she asked the youngling.

But that seemed to be the limit of Roksana’s conversation. A shy blush stained her tan cheeks and she stubbornly shook her head, her tangled hair moving.

Mas shot Nesta an apologetic smile but Nesta shrugged it off with a small smile of her own. One word had been enough to make the whole of Illyria that little bit brighter. She longed to give the girl a hug, but she had yet to test the range of her movement given yesterday’s injuries.

“How are you feeling?” Mas asked, bending to kiss Nesta’s cheek before she rubbed it away with her thumb. Nesta wished she wouldn’t. Wished she could let the mark of love sink deep into her skin.

“A little sore,” Nesta conceded as Mas handed her a steaming mug of Frawyley’s tea. Then she admitted, “I’m desperate for a bath.”

Whilst Nesta had woken with no blood on her, she still felt the grime coating her skin like a thick oil. She longed to scrub off the residue of blood and screams, the images of limbs and dead bodies. Durkhanai’s green unseeing eyes floated across Nesta’s vision, and she closed her eyes tightly in a bid to shut out the image.

Sweet, kind Durkhanai. A female, who like so many others, had deserve more than her harsh, miserable life. A female who had decided to fight but had been cut down before she’d been properly able to wield a blade.

Nesta swallowed and Mas cupped Nesta’s face in her hands. “We will remember them all,” Mas said quietly. “Today we will burn their bodies on the pyre and let their souls go. Then they will be free.”

When Nesta opened her eyes, Mas was staring at Nesta with a determination Nesta had not seen on her before.

Mas sat down on the mattress and took Nesta’s hands. She stared at them for a long moment.

“I think I am done, Lady Nesta.”

Nesta froze, scared somehow, at the words. Her heart thumped. “What do you mean?”

Mas’s hands squeezed Nesta’s fingers, and then she looked directly at Nesta. “What I mean, is that I am done,” Mas repeated quietly, but there was a fervent way in which she spoke. Her dark hazel irises burnt with a deliberate intent that Nesta had felt raging in her own on many occasions. A steely resolution. “I am done being ruled by males. I am done being inferior. I have been given a new life and I do not intend to waste it.”

Mas smiled tightly at her and then kissed Nesta’s cheek again. It was a loving gesture and Nesta’s heart swelled. This time she did not rub it away. “General Cassian said someone might have been behind the attacks. That us widows might have been targeted somehow.” The housekeeper huffed angrily. “As if we deserve more suffering than we have already endured, most at the hands of males. Well, I will not stand for it any longer, and neither will the fellow females in my camp.” Mas let go of Nesta’s hands and straightened up, as if that was the end of the conversation — black and white. Obvious. “I will run you a bath.”

She handed Nesta a spoon loaded with liquid. “Take this for the pain and drink the tea for your magic whilst I get it ready,” she told Nesta, “General Cassian told me to let you know that your sister will be arriving soon. There is a consul for the lords. He asked if you’d like to attend.”

Swallowing her medicine, Nesta gingerly eased herself out of bed and wrapped her fingers around her mug. She had been in too much pain the day before to be eased into different clothing and her leathers creaked and cracked as she moved. Nesta winced at the dull throb that twisted through her side. It was nothing like the pain that knocked the breath from her lungs yesterday, but it was enough to be uncomfortable.

Mas shot Nesta an admonishing look as Nesta stiffly followed the housekeeper to the bathroom, but she did not reach out to help her. Nesta appreciated it; she was fed up of being mollycoddled. Only Roksana came to Nesta’s side, her arms wrapping around Nesta’s right leg.

“Hi sinta,” Nesta said, running a palm over Roksana’s messy hair. Hi darling. Mas’s favourite phrase, but one Nesta had adopted for herself when she spoke to Roksana. “Once I’ve had a bath, shall I do your hair?”

Roksana nodded, slipping her hand into Nesta’s.

“How are you?” Nesta asked the housekeeper once she was fully submerged into the deliciously hot water. Mas had slipped in the same oils Cassian had used when he’d drawn her a bath all that time ago, and already Nesta could feel all of her muscles relax. Roksana was sitting on the carpet, drawing patterns into the thick plush of the bath mat with a stubby finger, her little wings trailing on the floor.

“I am fine,” Mas replied, lathering up Nesta’s hair. Normally Nesta would have refused to let anyone bathe her, but it hurt to lift her arms. For the first time that morning, it made Nesta glad that Cassian had not been there when she woke. Had not had to bathe her himself. The thought of Cassian having to bathe her — his hands in her hair — sent a shiver through her, goosebumps littering her skin.

“You’re cold?” Mas asked, raising an eyebrow as goosebumps littered Nesta’s skin.

“No,” Nesta replied, sinking a little lower into the steaming heat of the bath. “I don’t know if I would be fine if I had experienced what you had.”

I wasn’t fine, Nesta thought. I wasn’t fine for a very long time. It’s ok for you not to be fine, too. But she didn’t say that. Couldn’t, even now.

Mas eyed Nesta for a moment, before she continued to rub shampoo into the ends of Nesta’s hair.

“When the life bled out of me, it was not the pain or the injustice that plagued me, but the regret that I had not fought,” Mas admitted quietly. “And when you gifted me with a new chance, I realised that I had a choice; I could let my experiences consume me, or I could use them to fuel something else.”

“So I am not fine,” Mas continued, “but I will let that feeling motivate me into doing something good. I will try to do my bit.”

Nesta craned her neck to look up at the housekeeper. She had dipped a jug into the water ready to wash the suds from Nesta’s hair.

“What are you going to do?” Nesta asked, after Mas had gently poured the water over her head. Suds ran down the length of Nesta’s hair and Mas submerged the jug into the water again.

“You’ll see,” Mas said, her expression tight but promising as she carefully poured more water over Nesta’s head.

And that was that — conversation over. Nesta did not press the housekeeper. Mas had not pushed her when Nesta had first come to Illyria, when she had been a tangle of hollowed out grief and anger. Mas had not raised an eyebrow as Nesta was tapered off the alcohol, her clothes stained with vomit and her body relentlessly shaking. Mas had not forced her to eat when her cheeks were sunken and her figure skeletal. She was like Cassian in that way. Choice after choice after choice. An endless presence. Silent support.

So, Nesta would do the same. Because that’s what you did for those you loved.

Nesta was braiding Roksana’s hair when Feyre arrived. To her surprise, her sister did not winnow directly into the living room but to the front door. When she knocked, Roksana jumped. Nesta dropped her hands to the youngling’s shoulders in reassurance.

When Mas opened the door, Feyre smiled tentatively. “I don’t think we were properly introduced,” her sister said to the housekeeper as she stepped inside in a waft of pear and lilac. “I’m Feyre.”

Blushing, Mas kept her eyes downcast as she bobbed into a curtsey. “I know who you are, High Lady.”

“Feyre,” her sister insisted. “Please. How are you today?”

“I’m well,” Mas said, a blush staining her tan cheeks.

Nesta bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop in place of rolling her eyes. She was sitting in her usual spot at the corner of the U-shaped couch with Roksana sitting on the floor between her legs. When Feyre approached them, Roksana began to scrabble, her small wings flaring as if she were ready to take flight.

Nesta managed to run a hand over the little girl’s head without losing hold of the end of the plait she had been finishing. “You’re ok, Roksana,” Nesta assured the youngling. “This is Feyre, my sister.”

Roksana’s wary eyes followed Feyre as she walked to the hearth and held her hands out to the flames, but she settled back into her previous position so Nesta could finish weave the last few twists to her hair.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked tentatively, her softened expression moving from Roksana to Nesta’s midriff, before finally settling on her face. No doubt taking in the colour in her sister’s cheeks that was absent the day before.

“Sore,” Nesta said, because it was the truth. Then she turned her attention back to Roksana. “Now,” she said to the youngling, “what colour ribbon are we going to choose today?”

Roksana pointed silently to a ribbon the colour of pine.

“And what letter does the word ‘green’ start with?” Nesta urged.

Roksana twisted to look up at Nesta. For a moment, she thought Roksana would refuse to speak, but then she mumbled, “Guh.”

“Very good,” Nesta praised with a nod. “Perhaps we can ask Feyre to pass the ribbon.”

Eyes sparkling, Feyre picked up a red ribbon from the collection littering the pine coffee table and asked Roksana, “This one?”

Roksana shook her head.

“Silly Feyre,” Nesta chided. She tickled her finger across Roksana’s chubby cheek as if she were erasing the little girl’s somber expression. To Nesta’s relief, the beginning of a smile promised to bloom across the youngling’s face at the touch. Nesta was thankful to Feyre for playing. Roksana’s eyes weren’t as haunted as they had been yesterday and Nesta was determined to keep it that way. “She doesn’t know the difference between green and red, does she, Roksana?”

No giggle but that small, secret smile widened slightly as Feyre passed Nesta the right ribbon.

“You look lovely,” Nesta told Roksana, her heart twisting as the little girl glowed. “Why don’t you go and show Mas your new hair?”

Feyre smiled as Roksana scampered off, her wings bobbing behind her. Then she turned back to Nesta and produced a letter from the folds of her cloak.

“From Elain,” Feyre said, handing the envelope to Nesta. “She sends her well wishes. She wanted to see you today, but there’s a consul meeting with the lords. Will you attend with me?”

“Yes, I’ll come,” Nesta replied, easing her body off the couch in a movement that she knew to be stiff.

Feyre eyed her as Nesta eased her headband over her head with a wince. She had opted for leathers again today, and although it had been a trial for both Mas and Nesta to get her into her them, Nesta was thankful for it. She was wearing her favourite pair, the material stretched from hours of fighting so that it moulded her body like a second skin. She fastened a midnight blue cloak around her body, the edging lined with soft, dappled fur, and tried not to notice how similar she looked to her sister.

Feyre was also wearing leathers, the close-fitting material complimenting her long limbs and the elegant shape of her body. Around her neck, she had fastened the black leather clasps of a thick silver cloak lined with white fur.

Her hair was the only difference to Nesta. Whereas Mas had braided Nesta’s hair into a bun held in place by a woven plait that ran from the right of her hairline, Feyre’s golden strands were weaved into a tight braid that ran from her crown to the very ends.

Even so, there was no mistaking that they were sister’s.

Thankful that she hadn’t tried to thread her arms through her coat, Nesta reached stiffly for the door handle.

“I can winnow us, if you like,” Feyre said carefully, before Nesta had the chance to bear the house to the elements. No doubt her sister had clocked her grimace.

The old Nesta — the girl angry beyond measure — would have turned her sister down, merely because conceding that someone had dissected how she was feeling made her feel too vulnerable. But Nesta needed to change. Wanted to… to a point.

So, she nodded shortly. “I don’t think I can walk that far.”

Then Nesta turned to Mas, who had emerged by the alcove to see them off. Roksana peeked from behind Mas’s legs, a ring of chocolate around her mouth.

“I’ll come and meet you at the camp later,” Nesta told the housekeeper. “Shall I bring anything? Blankets and warm clothes?”

But Mas only shook her head. “We have plenty. Emerie — the shopkeeper — bought armfuls of blankets and clothes for the widows last night. Durkhanai used-“

“I know,” Nesta interrupted, not able to hear about Durkhanai when the wound was so fresh.

Mas did not scold Nesta for the interruption. She only smiled sadly and waved the two of them off, before disappearing back into the kitchen with Roksana at her heels.

“Roksana is an orphan?” Feyre asked Nesta, glancing sideways at her sister after they had winnowed into the midst of the camp.

Ahead of them, beyond the pointed tents, Nesta could see the outlines of the sparring plateaus. Shadowy, winged figures moved within them, the clang of steel and grunts carrying on the wind.

Letting go of her sister’s hand, Nesta settled her headband over her ears so it was snug. Despite her determination to dull any unwanted noise, she had a feeling that today was going to try her ability to succumb to battle fatigue.

“Yes,” Nesta replied shortly. But then there was a beat of a pause in which Nesta realised that Feyre was right; communication was an issue for them. So, she elaborated, “Mas fostered Roksana when she was first brought to the widows camp. When Cassian found out, he employed Roksana alongside Mas to keep her out of harsher work.”

Nesta had seen the little girls who were set to work in the kitchens, or worse, the laundry rooms. The latter was the harshest of the camp jobs, and the younglings were often required to stamp and wring cloth for long durations of time until their feet and fingers blistered from the friction. It was always easy to tell apart the orphans from the other girls. Their faces were more gaunt, their clothing ragged, their eyes hollow. They looked exhausted and Nesta had always left feeling so outraged she wanted to set the laundry houses alight.

Feyre looked at Nesta sharply. “But Roksana can’t be more than five.”

Nesta’s lips tightened until they turned white. “No,” was all she said.

Surprise wound through Nesta as Feyre took her hand. “Will you show me the camp when you are better?” Feyre asked. “I would like to get a better sense of how things are run here. Children should not be working—”

“There are many injustices here, not just to the younglings,” Nesta clipped, because she could not stand by and allow her sister to think that was the only twisted cultural tradition in the camps.

But then, slowly, she nodded in agreement. If Feyre could make change happen in the camps, then Nesta wasn’t going to let their difficult past get in the way of that. “I will show you,” she conceded. “Mas can help, too. She is like a mother figure to many of the females.”

Silence fell again, but this time it was not uncomfortable. They continued to walk through the snow towards the large tent Nesta knew was reserved for war counsel. It was huge, the canvas at least three times the size of the other tents.

“Do you think the rebellion has weight?” Feyre asked her sister. “Do you think the Illyrian’s have a reason to want a different leader?”

It was a plea for honesty and it was not in Nesta’s nature to lie. So, she said, “I think the Illyrians are a proud race who are ingrained in tradition, but they desperately need help in how they restructure the injustices in their communities. They need to do it without losing the elements of their culture which make them who they are.”

Then Nesta changed the subject, because she could not sense him. Had not sensed him since she’d woken that morning, and it was starting to unnerve her, even though logically, she knew he must be in the tent with the other lords. “Where is Cassian?”

Usually, Nesta would not ask outright, but the more things shifted between them the less she cared. There was a part of her that needed to see him. Did he not feel the same? She supposed she had driven him away one time to many. Was that not what he had said yesterday?

If I remember correctly, it was always you trying to rid yourself of me.

Sometimes, Nesta thought the both of them were traversing down a path that was tangled in miscommunication and mistranslated actions.

It was true that Nesta had told Cassian to leave her alone after the war, but had he not chosen someone else well before that? And despite his dying promise to her, Cassian had left the battlefield with Mor rather than her. That had spoken volumes for Nesta. It was not how the love story was supposed to play out in her head. It told her they were nothing but a tie strung between them, rather than being motivated by true feeling.

Even now, the thought made Nesta angry… Yet, the way Cassian looked at her sometimes, his eyes tender and his touch reverent… It was almost enough to convince her that there was something deeper.

They may be magnets but if that attraction was severed, would there by anything left or would they both part ways without a glance over their shoulders?

“Cassian has been with Rhys all morning,” Feyre told Nesta. “Azriel brought news this morning and Rhys disappeared from Velaris in the early hours.”

Nesta did not want to imagine her sister’s mate curled and sleepy around Feyre, dragging himself unwillingly out of bed. Did not want to hear about her sister existing in a home that had been made without her. A home built specifically for every member of their inner circle but her.

And Nesta had wanted to be left alone initially, but then to see how it played out… to see her erased as her sisters started anew and Nesta was forced to attend…

Well, it turned out that Nesta had not wanted that at all.

“What was Azriel’s news?” Nesta asked.

“I’m not sure,” Feyre admitted. “Rhys left whilst I was asleep.”

“Didn’t he speak to you mind-to-mind?” Nesta asked with a frown. Her sister and her mate were always doing that with one another, especially in the company of others. If Nesta were the sort, it would have made her increasingly paranoid. Instead, it just made her irritable.

Feyre nodded. “He only asked me to come to Illyria and see if you would join us in the war-tent at midday. He said there was an update.” She glanced sideways at Nesta. “It’s harder to speak to one another when the distance is great,” she elaborated. “It’s like we’re speaking under water. The sound is muffled, so he made it brief.”

Together they stepped up to the huge war tent. Feyre had fallen silent, as if Nesta had reminded her of her own abilities and she were conversing with her mate.

Nesta stared at the tent whilst Feyre’s eyes remained glazed. Stared at the black banner that flew from the top of the canvas, bearing a mountain with three silver stars above the monolith - Ramiel.

“Rhys says we are to go right in,” Feyre said finally. “They haven’t started yet.”

Inside, Nesta heard the rumble of low voices. It was not a comforting sound; rough and weathered, rather than Cassian’s gentle rumble that felt like a caress.

“Are you ready?” Feyre asked.

Nesta snorted. “What for?”

“The lords.”

A harsher snort. “I don’t care about them.”

Straightening her posture, Nesta drew up tall and formidable. Even though she knew every male in there would rival her in height, she would not allow herself to be intimidated. And she shouldn't be, not with the double-edged serpent which writhed inside her veins — her welcome friend.

Nesta allowed that power to seep from her fingers, testing it out, winding the mist until it was a string of fire around her wrists; a coiled, formidable whip.

Feyre’s lips twitched as if she were pleased to see her sister’s magic. She held up her own tattooed hand, showcasing the fire that she darted between her outstretched fingers.

Her smile was feline. “Let’s go.”

The tent was surprisingly warm once Nesta had pushed through the heavy flaps. Roaring open steel fire pits crackled fiercely, lighting the canvas and the simple yet comfortable interior ochre.

In the centre of the tent was a large pine table with studded detail, and rather than strewn with maps, it was surrounded by low-backed chairs. In them were the local lords.

Nesta recognised some of the lords cruel faces as she strode inside, her long legs carrying her despite the bark of pain that bit at her side. A quick glance around the table told her that there were no spare chairs, but she kept walking anyway, as if she were nothing but certain in a tent full of testosterone and muscle.

“Good,” a smooth voice drawled — Rhys. “We’re all here.”

He was sat at the head of the table closest to the back of the tent, bedecked in his usual black rather than leathers. A modest crown was inlaid into his unruffled blue-black hair with such subtlety it seemed as if it were a part of him. It was twin to Feyre’s, the stone the colour of the midnight sky and the same as the jewel set into the ring on her sister’s finger — her mating ring.

It was a purposeful move to wear their crowns. Neither of them had done that the last time they had visited Illyria together. The day that Nesta had first met Devlon. When he had called her a witch. The thought amused her now. Her power jumped too, as if it was also entertained by the memory.

The mist wreathing around Nesta’s wrists thickened, gleaming silver.

When Nesta found Cassian, she stopped searching. He was decked out in full scaled leathers and his hair hung wild around him.

With the flickering flames bathing him in a warm glow, he looked indisputably rugged and fierce, but his eyes were on her wrists. Letting her walls fall away Nesta speared for him, just as Azriel had taught her. The method was easy, as if her magic was already seeking him out.

When Cassian’s hazel eyes darted to look at her face, a barely detectable light danced in them. And when her stomach filled with mirth and pride, she knew he was privy to her invisible move.

“What are they doing here?”

All amusement in Cassian’s eyes winked out, his irises turning dark as he snapped his head to the lord who had sneered.

The lord — like all of the most powerful Illyrian warriors — was tall, his entire body corded with unyielding, fierce muscle. Black ink peeked out of the armour at his neck and his hair was close-cropped to his scalp, which was flecked with white scars. His eyes were depthless and such a dark brown in some lights they appeared obsidian, his irises practically blending with his pupils.

They were fixated on Nesta.

Nesta allowed the lord to glare at her. She stared right back, her expression blank but her eyes burned.

He looked unmistakably like his son, Ragar.

“Your High Lady and her sister will be joining today’s counsel, given their involvement in yesterday’s events,” Rhys said calmly, but nobody could mistake the sudden chill of starlight eternal which filled the tent.

A growl of disagreement from the lord. Grumbled murmurs from the other males also ran around the tent.

“A witch has no place on this counsel,” the lord replied bitingly.

Nesta did not let herself rise to the comment. She did not let her power leap to assert authority. Did not need to, even as Cassian’s snarl whipped around them with such ferocity that the fires sputtered.

And then, to everyone’s surprise — before Rhys or Cassian could even open their mouths — Devlon said coldly, “I believe the witch has earned her place on this counsel more than you have, Albar. She is the reason we don’t have more deaths and casualties.”

When Devlon got to his feet, his scaled armour clinked at the movement. Broad wings flared to balance him as he pulled out his chair. And rather than offer it to his High Lady, he gestured for Nesta to sit with a jerk of his chin.

Silence fell but Nesta only drew up taller. Did not allow herself to wince as she seated herself at the table. She felt Cassian’s concern anyway. Slammed up her ice to block him out. She didn’t need the distraction of his emotions right now, not when she wanted to remain collected.

Not when she was trying to block out the sounds of the roaring fires from the open pits.

Rhys waved a hand and two more chairs appeared around the table for Devlon and Feyre. The war lord sat in the chair beside Nesta, just as Cassian settled himself in a chair one place down to allow Feyre to sit next to her mate.

Another flick of the hand silenced the fires. Some of the lords frowned in confusion.

Rhys did not rest his violet eyes on Nesta. She was relieved.

“Since when have we allowed a witch to live amongst us,” Albar sneered, clearly not finished. “We are Illyrian’s. We do not accept outsiders, even if this bastard has a preference for one.”

The way in which Cassian leant forward over the table was slow, but every single lord turned to look at him as he braced his hands on the wood. His seven siphons gleamed threateningly and his face… it was brimming with thunderous calm.

Cassian opened his mouth to speak, his hazel eyes flashing, his wings rustling, but Nesta stopped him before words left his mouth.

She did not need someone to fight her battles. And Cassian did know that, but she also knew that Cassian could not help himself in his need to defend her. She was not angry at him for it. Did not judge. She would do the same. If anyone dared to speak ill of him she would burn them until they were nothing but cinders.

The knowledge was terrifying and soothing at the same time. An irrevocable conflict.

Nesta’s chin rose, determined and unintimidated. “I am not a witch and I belong to no-one but myself.”

Ten pairs of dark eyes snapped back to her, but Nesta acted as if she were entirely unfazed.

“You’re unnatural,” Albar said, his voice cold.

Nesta expected the words to spear home, but they merely bounced off her leathers as if they were made of nothing but a ball of yarn.

“Then I suggest you don’t get on my bad side,” Nesta clipped, holding up her fingers to showcase the mist that was moving with more intent, like a serpent waiting to strike with venomous, pointed teeth.

Albar bristled. But then, with a sneer he sat back, his horrible, dark eyes fixated on her hands. Nesta rested them on the table, kept her power burning slowly. A visible reminder that she would not yield.

“Now we are all here,” Rhys said, “we can begin.”

His violet eyes scanned the table as he spoke, even as he remained sat back in his chair, a powerful king relaxed amongst his subjects. He recapped over yesterday’s events, called in Feyre and Nesta to comment when it came to the start of the attack.

“Devlon,” Rhys said when they had finished recalling the ambush. “Report on the gaps in the patrol.”

A tense silence followed, but the war-lord did not snarl. He only said in his deep, rough voice, “Three of Windhaven’s warriors are missing. Their absence is the reason we were not alerted to the kerits sooner. They were supposed to be patrolling that side of the pass.”

All of the lords sat up straighter.

“Who?” One of them barked. He had a nose that had been so broken, it lay flat and twisted on his face. Nesta had heard Cassian call him Laggar.

“Druis, Alaksandar and Hakkir,” Devlon replied. “Good soldiers. Excellent flyers. Expected to perform in the Rite this year.”

Another of the lords grunted. Nesta recognised him. He was often at Devlon’s side in the sparring ring. His name was Saker. “All bastards.”

“Should we be surprised,” Albar drawled, “that bastards are the reason we have thirteen dead Illyrian’s lying on the pyres today?” He paused as his eyes tracked their way across the table to Devlon. “You have always been soft on the bastards in this camp, Devlon. Look where places of responsibility have gotten us when bastards should not have been elevated above the ranking of foot soldier-“

Nesta could not help but cut a glance at Cassian. His jaw was clenched, but he remained silent. She melted her ice a little, reached for him, felt his anger simmering in her stomach. She contemplated sending an emotion back to him, to let him know that she was not standing for these arrogant males either. That she sympathised, but Cassian was already leaning forward.

The gesture made Albar pause.

“Perhaps you should not be surprised,” Cassian replied quietly, “that bastards may have finally become fed up with those who have cast them out and left this camp all together.”

Cassian’s voice was deathly calm. He did not move from where he was sitting, but the flickering flames of the pit fires emphasised his dark eyebrows and his angular jaw.

It made him appear as sharp and dangerous as freshly forged steel.

And to Nesta’s surprise, not one of the lords opened their mouths. They only cast their eyes downwards, to the siphons gleaming with promise on Cassian’s scaled armour.

“For all we know, the males could be dead,” Devlon answered, his chair creaking as he sat back in his chair. “Lord Slat and I already have males scouting the areas for signs of the males.”

“They are warriors with no honour,” Laggar sneered. “We—“

But Rhys cut Laggar off. “It has not yet been determined why the warriors weren't in the skies. We will not cast judgement until they are found. I believe that is what we call a fair trial, Laggar,” Rhysand said smoothly.

A snort from a number of the camp lords. Only Devlon and Slat did not grunt with derision.

In fact, the latter male tilted his head at Rhys, his round, beady eyes boring into his High Lord as if he were trying to read him. The male was shorter than the others, his hair cropped close to his head, his body leaner but still packed with muscle. His figure was not unlike Lorrian’s — built for the skies — and on the inside of his right wrist, he wore a tattoo; a glowing siphon encased by huge, mighty wings. A symbol that marked him as part of the aerial unit. On the backs of his hands, his four siphons gleamed emerald.

More powerful than the other lords, who wore a maximum of three siphons on the backs of their hands. As powerful as Devlon.

When Slat spoke, his voice was thick, “If you are searching for the males, you are searching for bodies. If they are strong flyers, they will be long gone by now. The skies will have left no trace of them.”

“Even Illyrian’s can’t fly forever,” Feyre said. “They have to rest at some point. It’s been snowing. It will be hard for three warriors to hide their tracks.”

“Not if it’s been snowing,” Albar countered, his voice thick with derision. As if Feyre was stupid.

Nesta bit back a snarl, but she allowed her fingers to spark silver and her whip to glow. A warning. Nobody spoke to her sister like that, unless it was Nesta herself.

But Feyre did not back down. “Especially if it has been snowing. They will have left tracks that can be spotted easily enough from the skies. It hasn’t snowed since yesterday afternoon.”

“What I think we really need to discuss is why warriors would go missing just before a kerit attack,” Slat announced.

“As General Cassian has already insinuated, we are considering it a possibility that the attacks might have been manufactured,” Rhys admitted, arranging his hands so his fingers were steepled in front of his body, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. He, too, was seated in a low-backed chair, having chosen to wear wings today rather than arrive without. It was a deliberate move. It showed the Illyrians what their High Lord had in common with his subjects rather than how he was different.

Nesta would give her sister’s mate that. He was not stupid. For the most part, he thought things through.

A low murmur ran through the lords.

“Kerits have never attacked our camps before,” Cassian elaborated, when Rhys did not say anything further. Nesta wondered if it was because he was giving Cassian the ability to assert authority. “It is strange that it has happened across three separate camps in a matter of weeks.”

“I’ll be damned if Lord Beron isn’t behind it,” Albar spat, his fist coming down on the pine table so hard the table shook. “Forktail has never had any qualms about organising raids on Windhaven in the past—”

“If Forktail has had no qualms about acting on past feuds,” Nesta said coldly, unsurprised by the lack of intelligence of the males, “then they would not have beasts attack the camps. They would do it themselves.”

A flicker of pride wound through her, despite her walls, but Nesta did not glance Cassian’s way.

“Lady Nesta is right,” Rhys said, before any of the lords could open their mouths to speak. “We cannot assume that this is an attack from another camp. We are considering external forces might be at work. With that in mind, Devlon will be organising fiercer patrols around the camp and it is time for us to erect tougher boundaries around the perimeter.”

Rhys continued, “Myself, my mate and others will be putting protective shields in place for each of the camps. We will not lose any more unnecessary lives when there’s a simple solution to stopping the kerits from attacking again. Your General will work with those on patrols. My spymaster will be present in the camp over the next few weeks questioning warriors.”

“We do not need your fancy shields,” Devlon snapped. “We are Illyrians. We are born to protect. We do not need your magic-“

“Females died because your protection failed,” Nesta interjected with a snarl, her head snapping to look Devlon straight in the eye. Her voice was brimming — shaking — with fervour.

She felt her emotional shields falter, her anger too sharp and ruthless to be stifled. Nesta thought of Durkhanai’s lifeless eyes and the cook’s broken body. Of Mas’s trailing guts as she lay in a pool of blood, Roksana’s hands inside of the housekeeper as she tried to stop the bleeding. “They did not know how to defend themselves yet they did not hesitate to protect your young.” Mist was running rings around her limbs, her whip glowed bright but did not burn — not unless she willed it.

Nesta leant forward. So her face was so close to the war-lord’s that her breath touched his cheek. Devlon did not flinch. Did not move. His dark eyes stared right back at her, as she said, “You will allow your High Lord to erect protective shields around this camp.”

Slowly, dangerously, Nesta sat back in her chair, never breaking eye contact with the war-lord.

And then, to Nesta’s surprise, Devlon gave a sharp nod as he pushed back his chair. The legs scraped on the low wooden platform despite the rugs atop it. “Put the shields in place,” he told Rhys coldly. “We’re done here.”

And then he left the tent, the other lords trailing behind him.

Cassian found Nesta the moment she left the tent. Rhys and Feyre had disappeared to put the protective barriers in place, winnowing from inside the tent as the lords started to leave.

Nesta had not wanted to remain in the war-tent. Sitting straight for so long had the dull pain in her stomach elevating to an insistent throb, so she had risen stiffly with the other lords and left in search of fresh air.

“How are you feeling?”

Cassian’s voice was a low, welcome rumble in her ear — the only male voice that day that hadn’t made her power itch to escape. Nesta turned into that warmth that always seemed to radiate from him, to find him looking down at her with eyes that swam gold.

“Fine,” she replied. “Sore,” she added, when his expression didn’t change but his wings rustled.

For a moment, Nesta remembered the sleepy memory of a curled wing and even breathing close to her. Had he slept beside her? She wasn’t sure if it had been a dream or real. It had felt real, but she had taken a lot of sedatives and her subconscious had conjured images from both dreams and nightmares.

Cassian’s dark features tightened into a slight frown. For a moment, she thought he was going to suggest she go home and rest, but he only nodded shortly.

“You didn’t tell them about the carrion,” Nesta said.

Cassian threw an invisible bubble around them as they walked. “No,” he replied. “Any information like that could strengthen feuds between the camps. Illyrian’s are hot-headed at the best of times, we don't want to add kindle to the fire before we know who is responsible for leading the kerits to the camps.”

Nesta nodded to indicate she had heard him.

“If the missing warriors have sought allegiance elsewhere, I can’t say I blame them,” Cassian admitted quietly. He was staring away from her, his features twisted. “If I had not had Rhys and an allegiance with his court, I might have been bought when I was younger. I was outcast from such a young age… Those males cannot be blamed for hoping they might belong elsewhere.”

Nesta’s insides squeezed at the concession. She curled her fingers around Cassian’s arm of scaled armour, forcing him to stop and look at her. “Nobody should be outcast,” she told him. “It is not wrong for you to admit what might have been, or to understand another’s point of view. That is not a weakness, it is a strength.”

Cassian looked down to where she clutched at him before he met her gaze. Nesta did not back away, made her expression as earnest as possible.

“They are burning the pyres in a moment,” Cassian told Nesta, casting his gaze to the front-left side of the mountain pass. “Would you like to come?

Nesta swallowed. She thought of the cook… of sweet, beautiful Durkhanai who had not deserved the fate the damned Cauldron had dealt her. “Yes,” she said.

Cassian gestured with his arm to indicate that they should continue to walk to the main path that cut through the camp. “Devlon’s changed his attitude towards you.”

Nesta snorted softly, but then she admitted, “I don’t know why.”

“I do,” Cassian replied, but he didn’t expand further.

Nesta took a moment to study his face. Shadows ringed beneath his eyes, his tan skin a shade paler than usual. “Did you sleep?”

If he were surprised by the question, Cassian did not let it show. Nor did he indicate that she had thrown him with the sudden change of subject. “For a bit,” he replied.

“You needn’t have tended to me, I would have been fine,” Nesta told him, knowing somehow that his exhaustion was partly her fault.

But Cassian shook his head. “You had me worried,” he admitted eventually. “The sedative gave you nightmares but you were in such a deep sleep I couldn’t reach you.”

Nesta fought the red that wanted to flush across her face. She hoped that she had not been speaking in her sleep. Did not like anyone seeing her that vulnerable, not even Cassian.

“You settled after a while,” Cassian added, after another pause that had stretched out for a beat too long. And then to her dismay, a stain appeared on both of his cheeks.

She watched him drag his gaze away from her to stare resolutely at the ground beneath his feet.

Oh. Not a dream then. Cassian had slept beside her. Had arced his wing over her.

Nesta remembered how safe she had felt when she’d woken to a dome of umber. How the gentle, even breathing had lulled her straight back under. How she had fallen into dreams rather than nightmares.

“Thank you,” Nesta said quietly, the words barely audible, but Cassian dipped his chin to indicate that he had heard her.

Then she stopped, a sudden realisation hitting her. “Do I need to change? I - What do I wear to a funeral in Illyria?”

But Cassian’s eyes only softened as they took in what she was wearing. “You’re fine,” he replied, his head tilting slightly to consider her. “Warriors wear armour to funerals.”

The widows would be given a warriors funeral, Cassian had informed Nesta as he walked her to the front-left of the mountain pass. He led her on a route that she had not taken before, but which Cassian seemed to know with his eyes closed, his feet anticipating rock and uneven ground before it rose up to meet their feet.

Usually the burning of widows did not draw an audience or demand a ceremony; they were seen as a stain on society, a blemish of which Illyrians were glad to rid themselves. Yet… the act of the widows. The way in which they had sacrificed their lives for the younglings… Devlon had not protested when Rhys had ordered they were given an honourable send off. He had only grunted to show he agreed before he stalked off to make the necessary arrangements.

Sentiments were changing in the Windhaven camp, Cassian told Nesta with detectable hope. It was a positive sign, even if the events leading up to it had been unimaginable.

After a long while of walking along the rocky wall of the mountain pass, a clearing petered out to their left. It was full of too-small ramshackle tents and fae-made fire-pits fashioned by scooped out earth and a circle of craggy stones around the perimeter which no doubt acted as makeshift shields from the battering winds that Illyria was known for.

Somehow Nesta knew what it was without Cassian saying a word, even though the camp was deserted.

“Is this where you lived?” Nesta asked.

Cassian did not stop. “Yes.”

He shrugged, even though Nesta could tell by the tightness of his shoulders that the memory was painful for him. Because of the trauma or the reminder of what he thought to be his own unworthiness, Nesta wasn’t sure.

“This is where Rhys found me and dragged me from my tent,” Cassian expanded, pointing to a spot by a cluster of bare-looking pine trees. “The mud is frozen at the moment because of the snow, but when it rained, the forest floor would become waterlogged. The pine trees provided us bastards with the best shelter against the elements.” Nesta surveyed the thin, red trunk and the pine needles above that couldn’t do much to protect the run-down looking tents below it.

“Anyway,” Cassian continued with a shake of his head, as if he were ridding himself of an unwanted memory. “Rhys took me to the house he and his mother were living in. She was livid, but she told me to get in the tub to bathe or I could go back out in the cold. She never let me leave, after that. Rhys’s mother was full of soft-fire, but she had grown up low-born and knew what it was to suffer, so she gave me clean clothes and a bed to sleep in. I never left, after that.”

Cassian’s darkened expression had caved to make way for something smoother. Yet, it was laced with a sadness.

“She sounds lovely,” Nesta said, not knowing quite what to say. For once, she did not avert her gaze from him. Instead, their eyes locked and something started to turn inside of her. Not her power. But as if a different key were turning in another lock, opening rather than closing.

“She was,” Cassian corrected, and then he looked away, the key jamming in place. “The bastards tents are near the pyres. Whenever there was a funeral, if the wind was blowing in the wrong direction, I’d crawl out of my tent to find the ground covered in ash.”

Horror twisted through Nesta. At the thought of little boys with nobody to love them having to crawl through the ash of flesh and bone. “That’s horrible.”

But Cassian only shrugged and gave her that crooked smile of his, the one he wore when he spoke about the injustices inflicted upon his race by his race. “Yes,” he agreed. He tilted his head in the direction of the trees that ran along the mountain wall. “It’s not much farther.”

Nesta allowed him to lead her across the forest floor through the snow and pine needles. Eventually, the trees cleared and a wide ledge jutted out from the mountain pass, suspending them in midair.

Crowds and crowds of Illyrians had already gathered. No, Nesta corrected, crowds and crowds of females. And it was not just widows and female orphans. Nesta recognised the the faces of females who worked in the laundrette, in the kitchens, as seamstress’s…

Nesta spied Emerie too, standing a little away from the crowds by the mountain wall. Her unusually blank expression was twisted with grief, her tan cheeks stained with dried tears, her eyes red. Durkhanai had worked in her shop… Emerie probably knew the orphan better than anyone else.

At the bottom of the huge pyre, Nesta spotted Rhys and Feyre. Devlon was nearby speaking to Slat. The other lords were nowhere to be seen. Nesta was not surprised, but she couldn’t help the fury that heated her blood at the knowledge that they did not deem the widows worthy of a send off. It clouded her mind, until the fear she had not yet admitted to herself was pushed far, far back: that the sound of the fire would trigger her trauma.

Cassian seemed to know what she was thinking, because his eyes flicked briefly to her headband, as if he were tempted to make sure it was properly secured over her ears. But eventually, he merely jutted his chin towards the bottom of the pyre and led them through the crowds to where Rhys and Feyre stood.

Not long after they had arrived, Nesta spied Mas weaving her way through the Fae with little Roksana in tow. The youngling was clinging to the housekeeper’s hand with an apprehensive look on her face, as if she had witnessed a funeral before and it brought back dark memories. She was hanging back slightly from Mas, her footsteps heavy, her little wings drooping…

Mas did not smile as she approached, but she did not look down. Did not become subservient. Her back was straight, her short, choppy hair ruffled by the breeze. Her eyes were determined in a way that Nesta had never witnessed before

“Masak,” Cassian greeted, his voice low in Nesta’s ear before he bent down to kiss the housekeeper on both cheeks.

Nesta did not fail to hear the murmur that went around the crowd, as the General of the Night Court’s armies greeted a low-born widow not with civility, but clear affection.

“High Lord,” Masak said to Rhys after Cassian pulled back, dipping into a low curtsey. Nesta suspected the two had met many times before. That it was that familiarity that allowed Mas to bury the gender role dictated by her culture. “Thank you for sending off the females this way.”

Rhysand dipped his chin, and to Nesta’s surprise, a dark shadow passed over his features. “Of course, it’s the least we can do. I am sorry we could not prevent their deaths.”

Mas nodded shortly. Nesta watched her wings rustle, as if she were nervous, and then she said, “I would like to speak to the crowds. To the females, before you light the pyre.”

Beside Nesta, Cassian stilled. His chest was almost pressed against her right arm, and he was closer — much closer — than he usually was. Nesta assumed it was him being over-protective. She knew she had terrified him when she had collapsed yesterday. Had felt his unleashed panic, the sensation so fierce that it had practically consumed her. Had been so overcome with it that he had not even bothered to contain it within his shields.

Even so, Nesta knew he had dialled back the territorial side of him that had wanted to snarl at everyone and everything. Knew that he had made the conscious effort to reign it back because he thought she would not like it.

Yet… to know someone felt that strongly about her that they were on edge enough to fight off any threat that might compromise her safety… It was an unusual feeling, to have someone care about Nesta that way.

She didn’t find that she hated it. Perhaps because she knew she would have done the same thing for Cassian. Would not have hesitated to burn the entire camp if it meant he would be safe and well.

If they ever had to go, they would go together rather than apart. It was an unconscious choice, but a choice all the same.

Rhysand’s expression flickered with surprise for a fraction of a second, but then he bowed his head and held out a hand to the crowd. “It would be my honour.”

With a flick of his hand, magic shot from his palms and a bubble slid into place with a gentle glow of violet.

The crowd quieted.

Mas turned to Nesta, passed her Roksana’s sticky hand. Gently, Mas cupped her palms to Nesta’s cheeks, stared deeply into her eyes, as if she were able to see directly into Nesta’s soul and loved every part of it, fire and steel and all. She kissed each of Nesta’s cheeks in turn, just as she had done to Cassian, before she turned and stepped out in front of the expectant crowd.

A surprised murmur ran through the sea of bodies, but the females stood up taller, eager to listen…

“My fellow widows,” Mas started, and a quiet hush immediately fell over the crowds. Rhys had clearly done something with his magic to ensure Mas’s voice rang loud and clear, so even those at the back could hear her. “And my fellow females,” Mas corrected as her eyes ran over faces upon faces, not just from the widows camp but from Windhaven in general. “Today we remember the females who gave their lives for our safety. For the females who offered themselves for the pyre so we could walk free.”

Pausing, Mas took a deep breath. For the briefest of seconds, her dark eyes settled onto Nesta, but then she continued to speak. “Yesterday I was blessed with a new life, and with it, a fresh perspective — a chance to start again. Yesterday, the widows camp was attacked by kerits. Us widows, and the female orphans who live with us, were targeted first because we were banished up a mountain for no other crime than that our husbands or parents had passed. Our isolated camp was subject to the harshest of weather conditions and the most treacherous of paths, not to mention the least safe location in the camp should we be open to attack. Without our High Lady and Lady Nesta arriving early on the scene to fight off the beasts, many of us would not have made it to safety and our death toll would be far greater. It is thanks to them,” Mas said fiercely, looking to Nesta and Feyre in turn, “that so many of us are alive and breathing.”

Mas stopped speaking to survey the crowds, her hazel eyes falling on face after face after face.

No-one spoke.

When Nesta glanced at the sea of fae, she saw that each and every female was fixated on Masak, their expressions stricken with grief and… something else.

“I have been a mother to many of you,” Mas continued, holding out her hands to encompass those that had gathered. “I have taken you under my wing and put clothes on your back. I have never wanted anything in return. But today I do. I ask you to wake before dawn tomorrow and meet me in the sparring ring with a General who cares if we live or die and a High Fae who slew beast after beast to protect us. Two Fae, who like us, know what it is to suffer and who have emerged triumphant despite it.”

Mas was eyeing the crowd with a determination that Nesta had never seen. In the grey light, her eyes danced with a strength Nesta had not witnessed before.

For once, the housekeeper stood tall, the ancient lines of wisdom on her face powerful and indisputably fierce.

“And,” Mas continued. She had fallen into a rhythm now, her voice enchanting — addictive. “I ask that when you travel to others camps, you tell the females of what happened here yesterday. Of how we have suffered but emerged strong. Of how together, we will learn how to defend ourselves, to ensure we are not mutilated or beaten down, or cast out. Of how we will honour those who died by no longer allowing ourselves to be disposable or be told that we are not worthy, because we are. And the next time males or beasts try to knock us down, we will fight and we will win.”

The crowd roared with sudden chatter; the females who had once been silent beyond measure, sparked into conversation, as if life had been breathed into their bodies for the first time. But when Rhysand — their High Lord — walked towards the housekeeper and handed her an unlit torch, they fell silent again with a wave of hush.

For a moment, Mas merely stared at Rhysand. Then she looked down at the torch he had placed into her hand.

Nesta didn’t know what fuelled her to do it. It was as if her fingers moved independently of her body, the digits flicking with an expertise she did not know she had. Silver flames crackled across the clearing in a contained whip of heat. It struck the torch’s cloth with a precision even Nesta was surprised by — that she knew, if she and Cassian had been in training, he would have praised her for.

The torch roared to life in Mas’s hand. Silver flames licked into the fresh, untamed air of Illyria, but then, somehow, Nesta willed them to be silent and they obeyed. As if her power had rolled over at her will, subservient. As if finally, Nesta had understood that her magic was not separate from her, but part of who she was, and as such, bent to her will.

Mas’s widened eyes connected with Nesta’s, but Nesta only nodded, her chin dipping in encouragement. Her heart was bursting, full to the brim with love and pride for a female who was brave beyond measure, despite the atrocities life had dealt her.

The sensation melted through the icy cage Nesta held fierce around her emotions as if it were made of nothing but air, hitting her square in the chest, but Nesta did not try to stop it. Instead, she allowed herself to truly feel. Let her barriers fall away so she could be overcome with it. Throwing her magic out over the crowds like a fishermen casting a net out at sea, Nesta allowed it all to hit her. And as the awe, grief and determination of the inspired females in the crowds wound its way into her gut, Nesta realised that her gift was not just a curse. That it could be beautiful.

Biting back a sob, Nesta stood tall, gathering Roksana so the little girl was hugging tight to her legs. Cassian’s hand came to grip Nesta’s upper arm, but when she craned her neck to look up at him, he was not looking at her but at Mas. His grip remained tight as together, they watched their foster mother — the mother to so many vulnerable Illyrians — lower the torch to the pyre.

Nobody spoke as the flames took hold, even as the pyres blazed with silent silver. Instead, they all stood and watched the dancing flames submerge the cloth bound figures.

Cassian did not drop his hand. Did not loosen his grip, as if he were too caught up in the moment to catch himself.

His dream, for so long, finally coming to fruition. The dream he had held since he had learned of his mother’s fate. Another female who had been discarded and deemed unworthy, even as she had brought life to the world.

Nesta knew all that without him having to speak. Unthinkingly, Nesta brought the hand that was not pressing Roksana close upwards, so that she could slide her icy fingers against his warm ones.

And she squeezed, just once, before she let them drop.

At dawn the next morning Cassian, Nesta, Devlon, Lorrian, and a few of the camps best instructors watched Mas walk to the sparring ring. Behind her was a stream of females both young and old.

They were not just from the widows camp. Nesta spied Emerie and the female who worked in the apothecary. The females who worked as seamstresses, in the kitchens… No camp-matrons, but Nesta hadn’t expected that. They were too deeply entrenched and favoured to sacrifice the positions they have no doubt battled for in their own way.

“They’re determined,” Lorrian murmured to Cassian. He clapped his friend briefly on the back, as if he too knew what this meant to him. “It’s a good sign.”

Cassian only nodded to indicate he had heard, his features tightening. Nesta knew it was because he felt too much. Because he didn’t know how to arrange his expression. Because he had never dreamt that his vision for the females of Illyria might come true.

Nesta could feel all his emotions churning around in her stomach. Had let herself feel them. After the funeral, Nesta had not stacked her ice walls back to form an icy cage around her heart. Instead, she had stacked them into a wall heigh enough to block out lower level emotions. Any emotion that surged would still reach her, but Nesta had found the new height allowed her to filter out the lower-level intensities.

“You will demonstrate?” Cassian asked Nesta.

He turned his head to face her. Concern was etched upon his face and his eyes darted to her stomach, which was clad in her favourite leather’s.

Nesta’s injury had faded away with another night's sleep, and she had woken that morning feeling refreshed and new, as if she had not suffered major internal bleeding at all.

“If you like,” Nesta agreed, even though she had been going to offer anyway. Was not in a million years intending to watch on the sidelines.

“Please,” Cassian said.

Nesta blinked. In all the time that she had known him, Cassian rarely said please. When he had, it was usually when he was begging her.

Please talk to me. Please don't shut me out. Please eat, Nesta.

But this was different. It was not Cassian simply asking her to help him, but telling her what she wanted more than anything. What she had always wanted.

You are useful. You are needed.

So she just nodded, unable to find the words to respond verbally.

The males soon set to work, splitting the females into three groups dependent on age. Then Cassian started to teach. He explained that they would start with self-defence, talked through each move, demonstrating each one with Nesta. When he finished talking through the counter-assaults, he had the groups split up into the three separate training rings to begin their practice.

Today, the females would focus on learning to strike down their opponents with a forearm to the neck, followed by a hard strike to the stomach with an elbow. When they had mastered that, Cassian had informed Nesta during their walk to the sparring rings, they would move on to harder moves.

Cassian had taken his time explaining to the females why each move was important. Why every Illyrian who trained in the rings mastered the self-defensive moves first. Whilst Cassian spoke, Nesta had scanned the females faces; many of their expressions were grim, as if they had suffered from attacks before.

Nesta tried not to wonder how many females had been raped or beaten. It hurt too much, so she concentrated instead on the look of determination on their faces. It blended in with the apprehension, but not one of them walked away.

Afterwards, when the females had finished for the day, Lorrian came over to join Cassian and Nesta where they stood just inside the entrance of the main training ring. The Colonel had been training the eldest females with Slat, a lord who Lorrian appeared to have a terse but amicable relationship with. Nesta supposed that being part of Windhaven’s aerial unit, Slat respected Lorrian’s expertise in the skies. Just the night prior, Cassian had informed Nesta over dinner that Slat had fought in the most recent war against Hybern, but that he had escaped the fate of the Cauldron’s blast because of an injury to his left wing, which had forced him to remain in the war-camp.

“How many females have had their wings cut?” Cassian asked Lorrian as the Colonel stomped through the mud. The weather was still bitterly cold, but the trampling of feet had meant that icy ground had given way to thick mud just at the opening to the ring. Cassian’s expression was grim — expectant of bad news — but there had been a rare light in his eyes that morning which he did not usually allow the Illyrians to see. It was as if someone has swept a hand over his face and lightened the sense of foreboding and worry he harboured when it came to his people.

Lorrian grimaced. “Too many. A lot of the younger females can fly, but I’d imagine they lacked the training as youngling’s, so it will be slow work if we want them in the skies.”

“But not impossible?” Nesta asked, before she could help herself.

“Not impossible,” Lorrian assured Nesta. His eyes fell to Roksana. The youngling had come over to shyly clutch at Nesta’s legs.

The Colonel’s features softened, but then Devlon was stalking over to where they stood, and Lorrian straightened.

As always, the lord’s face was serious, but there was no trace of a sneer across his face. “They are all green and weak,” he told Cassian coldly, his tone matter-of-fact rather than outrightly cruel. “The trainers have been given orders to turn up five days a week.”

Cassian dipped his chin once to show he was satisfied. “Colonel Lorrian will attend every Wednesday,” Cassian replied. “Alongside Slat, he will get those able up into the skies and organise drills so the females can strengthen their wings.”

Cassian and Devlon continued to converse in short, terse sentences. Nesta wondered how difficult it was for Devlon to allow the females to train, when his upbringing told him otherwise. Nesta knew he had only been begrudgingly teaching the few female students when she first came to Windhaven because of Cassian and Rhys’s insistence. That if Cassian was not there, the lord would have let the sessions slip. But… with such a big turnout it seemed that even Devlon could not deny the females the right of learning how to fight. Had not complained to Cassian, apart from to grumble briefly about pulling extra trainers from the male rings to compensate for the amount of new recruits.

Nesta’s attention was pulled away from Cassian and Devlon as Roksana began to tug urgently at Nesta’s leg. The youngling’s wings were flapping with such agitation that Nesta was worried, but when she bent down she realised that Roksana’s face was alight with excitement.

Roksana’s hands slipped around Nesta’s neck, pulling her head down by the loose tendrils of hair that had slipped free of the plait that Nesta had braided down her back when she had woken.

Nesta was so astounded by the fact that Roksana wanted to whisper in her ear, that she didn’t make out what the youngling was saying until she had repeated it for the third time. “Manticore.”

Nodding encouragingly, Nesta looked over to where Caerleon was lying in the mud as if it were a throne. His beautiful, sandy head was raised regally, and he was surveying the scenery with a look that was all-seeing.

“That’s right,” Nesta told Roksana, her lips twitching upwards. “M is for Manticore. His name is Caerleon. Would you like to say hello?”

But that seemed to be too much for Roksana and she scampered off, her wings flapping every few strides as she went to join some of the other young orphans just outside the training ring. Mas was conversing with some of the widows a few feet away and Roksana was no doubt waiting for her foster mother to take her back to the camp.

“That little one has small wings.”

Nesta’s head snapped Lorrian who was nodding in the direction of Roksana. His expression was thoughtful.

“Is that bad?” Nesta asked with alarm.

Lorrian shrugged. “She might have a late growth spurt, but it wouldn’t hurt her to start strengthening them as soon as possible. If youngling’s don’t learn to use their wings, it slows down the growth rate.” When Nesta continued to look concerned, he elaborated, “As a lot of older widows have clipped wings, it is not unusual for orphan younglings to grow up without witnessing their guardian’s fly. It means that many of the female younglings have wings that are underdeveloped.”

“I can tell Roksana wants to fly,” Nesta told Lorrian. “She is always scooting over the ground.”

Lorrian jerked his chin at Roksana with a small smile, and Nesta saw the orphan skate over the mud to meet Mas. “I’ve noticed. Will she let me examine her?”

Nesta frowned. Roksana did not like males. Cassian was the only male Roksana did not shy away from. He had even held her the other day, and that morning, Nesta had felt a fist clench over her heart when Roksana had hovered over to Cassian when he had bent down to say hello.

Nesta knew how it had affected Cassian. Had felt joy flare inside of him as he fell into soft Illyrian which Nesta could not follow. Had seen the way his eyes lit up as Roksana had quietly said thank you as he complimented her hair.

“We can try,” Nesta told Lorrian. “You’ll have to bend down to her level. She’s wary of males.”

Lorrian just nodded to indicate he understood. “She will need to stretch her wings for me.”

When Nesta called to Roksana, the little girl spent no time coming over to her, but she still clutched at Nesta’s legs and stared up at Lorrian with an apprehension which hurt Nesta to look at.

Smoothing a hand over Roksana’s braided hair, Nesta said, “This is my friend Lorrian, Roksana. He wants to take a look at your wings. Would that be ok?”

Silence fell as Roksana’s hands tightened on Nesta’s leathers. When Lorrian knelt down to eye-level, she darted behind Nesta’s legs, only her face peeking around the tops of Nesta’s knees.

But Lorrian did not let her movement faze him. He smiled kindly, wiping all traces of Colonel from his face. It made his features less harsh, revealing the male that Nesta had come to know since first day in The Steppes when she and Cassian had been attacked by kerits.

“Hello, stella,” Lorrian said. “Can you stretch your wings out for me?”

He puffed his chest out with mock importance and pulled his wings wide, straining the tendons. After a little hesitation, Roksana followed suit.

“What beautiful wings,” Lorrian said conversationally. “I’m just going to touch them quickly. Would that be all right, Roksana?”

“Roksana?” Nesta prompted gently, running her hand over Roksana’s head when the little girl remained mute. The youngling was still clutching at Nesta’s legs, but she dipped her chin just once in agreement, the action so wary Nesta’s heart ached.

“Atta youngling,” Lorrian said with another gentle smile.

Quickly, he examined Roksana’s wings, running his hands brusquely over the tendons and bone. He asked the orphan to open and close her claws, to curve and straighten her wings, for her to hover above the ground.

For the latter, Roksana wobbled as if she were unable to balance herself.

When Lorrian nodded to indicate that he was finished, Roksana half-scampered, half-skimmed the ground as she went to join Mas.

Nesta and Lorrian watched her go.

“She’s got excellent control considering her wings are under-developed,” Lorrian told Nesta. “I’ll speak to Cassian about ensuring all of the orphan younglings aren’t being missed out when it comes to flying lessons. I can oversee them myself during my weekly trip.”

“She’s a quiet little thing,” Lorrian added after a moment. “Do you know what happened to her parents?”

“No,” Nesta said. “She’s only just started to say the odd word. The grief rendered her mute.”

Lorrian’s expression tightened. “It’s a good job Frawley isn’t here,” Lorrian said finally, but he didn’t offer anything else, even though the following silence was pregnant. In the end, he added, “If you want to help Roksana strengthen her joints, you could hold her hands whilst she practices flapping her wings a few feet off the ground.”

Nesta nodded. She would do that. Would do anything to make sure Roksana tasted the skies. Nesta knew Roksana hungered for it. The same way that she did, herself.

Roksana deserved that freedom. All of the females did.

“You have Caerleon today,” Nesta observed.

When Lorrian had arrived at the training rings, the manticore had been padding silently by his side. It had only taken Caer moments to spot Cassian. Nesta had noticed the beast’s ears prick forward, but rather than bounding over to the General, he had remained close by Lorrian, his spiked tail flicking leisurely from side to side as his hips swayed. And the Illyrians… they had stepped backwards, their eyes wary as they took in Caer’s huge body and impressive wings. To them, he was a deadly predator under Lorrian’s control. It certainly made a statement. It told them that Lorrian was not to be messed with.

It hadn’t stopped Caer from pushing his head into Nesta’s hand when he had passed her, or butting his head lightly into Cassian’s midriff. The action had been enough to tell any watchful eyes that Caer held an allegiance with them — that they were his to protect.

“Yes,” Lorrian replied. “Frawley insists that Caer likes to stretch his wings, but I think she likes to know that having a manticore reminds the Illyrians that they would be wrong to challenge my authority.”

Nesta’s lips twitched upwards. “And does it work?”

Lorrian snorted. “It certainly makes them cautious.” He turned to Nesta, then. “Cassian says you chose the bow.”

“Yes.”

To Nesta’s surprise a pleased expression wound itself across Lorrian’s face. “Would you like another instructor?”

Nesta blinked at the Colonel. “You want to teach me how to use the bow?”

Lorrian crossed his arms firmly across his chest, as if to demonstrate that he was immovable on the subject. “Of course. I’ve been told you’re formidable in the sparring ring. I’d be honoured to teach you how to fight with my weapon of choice.”

Nesta studied Lorrian’s expression, tilting her head to try and decipher whether he was being serious or not. In the end, she dropped her emotional shield and felt around until she found that air of heat laced with sandalwood - Lorrian. And she felt… no humour. No mocking. Only honestly.

Feeling guilty for having doubted him, Nesta stacked up her wall again.

“I would like that,” she conceded.

A smile broke across Lorrian’s face. It wasn’t the true, unfettered smile she had been privy to in his home, but it was unguarded and genuine enough. “Frawley wants you to come and visit. Perhaps I could oversee some of your training whilst you are with us? Otherwise, I can give you a lesson when I’m here to oversee the aerial legions. It would only be once a week, so I’ll have to trust you in the hands of that brute for the rest of it.” Winking, he jerked his head to Cassian who was striding towards them through the mud.

“You don’t have to visit,” Lorrian added, seeing Nesta’s taken aback expression, “but we would love to have you.”

Nesta thought of the warm cottage, a place that brought only a sense of comfort despite the way she had first ended up there. And… Nesta liked Frawley as much as she liked Lorrian. The witch was brusque and direct, but clearly kind-of-heart. Someone who predominantly chose to heal rather than injure.

Perhaps Nesta could use the opportunity to take up Frawley’s offer of mastering her healing magic. It was the first strand of her power that Nesta truly liked. It felt like it was a manifestation of the most secret part of her, a chamber which barely anyone knew about or understood. That she did not thirst for her ability to bring about death, but to give life to those who deserved it.

The thought sent a thrum of power through her veins, silver turning over to give way for white light.

“No,” Nesta assured Lorrian, who was still looking at her with reserved expectation. “I would like to come.”

“Come where?” Cassian asked as he drew up beside them, so close that his chest was inches from Nesta’s side.

“I’m going to visit Frawley and Lorrian next week.”

Mock-wounded, Cassian threw a hand to his heart as he said to Lorrian, “And you didn’t ask me? One of your oldest friends?”His eyes were sparkling when Nesta craned her neck to look up at him. He winked at her and magic spiked in her veins.

Grunting, Lorrian replied wryly, “I don’t know why you’re pretending that you won’t hound us for a visit. Pick up Nesta and come for dinner. We’ll see you the following week for Solstice, anyway.”

At that, Lorrian turned to the manticore who was still lying in the mud, his large almond eyes blinking in the pastel sunlight. “Caer,” Lorrian called, as he started to spread his own wings wide. The manticore stood, stretching slowly with a wide yawn which showcased his long, sharp teeth and his leathery wings. As Caerleon trotted over to Lorrian, his ears perked forwards and his tail shot up so it was engaged and upright, the deadly bristles at the tuft soft rather than pointed.

“I’ll take you back to the cottage with me when I visit next week then,” Lorrian told Nesta. He looked to Cassian, “Start Nesta on the basics before then.”

And then, with a wide stretch of his large wings, he shot into the air.

Mas found Nesta shortly after Lorrian had left. She and Roksana were the only females left in the sparring grounds. In the distance, Nesta could see the last of the retreating figures of the widows as they made their way back to their new camp, which was set up at the back of the mountain pass, not far from the sparring rings. The new camp was full of green pine trees and forest floor rather than treacherous, ominous rock and battering winds.

“Come,” Mas urged to Nesta, taking her by the hand. “Not you,” she told Cassian firmly, but he had only grinned in that unbridled way of his, before he shot into the skies in search of breakfast.

Together, Nesta and Mas walked up the mountain to the old widows camp with Roksana in tow. Nesta watched the youngling skim across the patches of deep snow. The path was a blanket of white, but despite the bite in Nesta’s feet, she did not complain. Nor did she moan about the dull ache in her side. Instead, she walked hand-in-hand with the housekeeper, allowing Mas to lead her up the zig zag path until they reached the even ground.

The destruction and death in the camp had been covered by the snow, but Nesta could still feel it: the sorrow, pain and terror seeping into her skin, lining her stomach in a way that was so intense that her power surged. Yet, Nesta did not try to push the sensation away as Mas led her with purpose to the Eastern side of the camp. They passed the makeshift canteen, the shell of tents scattered with snow and the rusted fire drums, until they reached the far point where Mas had lain on the ground as the life bled out of her.

The mountain wall loomed up into the dusky sky to their left, running until the ground round at the tip, leaving only a sheer, terrifying drop to the right.

When Mas stopped, so did Nesta. Roksana was a little way off, approaching the edge, and Mas scolded her to come back before she fell off the precipice.

Roksana skimmed over the stone, her little wings flapping at a rate that was faster than normal, as if she had to work extra hard to stay aloft. She collided with Mas’s legs, but the housekeeper only tutted in a way that held no bite, before bending to press a kiss to the little girl’s head and ordering her to stand back.

Nesta did not say anything. Not even as Mas clasped her dry, weathered hands in Nesta’s and peered into her face.

“Diyosa,” Mas said quietly, her voice brimming with feeling — love and anticipation — as she led Nesta slowly to the edge, carefully stepping backwards. “I wanted you to see it first. I wanted you to witness the freedom you have granted me.”

Despite the tears lining her eyes, a toothy grin spread across the housekeeper’s face.

Nesta watched Mas stretch her wings out wide, the movement slow and purposeful, as if she were flexing unused muscles.

And then she stepped backwards off the cliff.

For a second, Nesta was consumed with a terror that gripped fiercely at her throat, but then the boom of wings sounded around the mountain pass and Mas soared up on the wind, her beautiful wings beating hard as she caught an upward draft to climb above them.

Beside her, Roksana let out a cry. Her little hands clapped together and from her mouth… a laugh. Not one of Roksana’s small, secret smiles, but a delighted laugh that was so joyous it rang around the mountain wall.

And it was that, coupled by the whoop of delight from the housekeeper, that made Nesta laugh, too.

Nesta could not remember the first time she had truly laughed. As if it were a forbidden sound, her hands flew up to clap over her mouth, but then Roksana was hovering high enough in the air to pull them away, tearing off that mask that desperately wanted to cling on out of years and years of habit.

And Nesta allowed the youngling to do it. Clasped her fingers around Roksana’s as for the first time that Nesta could remember — through the tears of happiness that poured down her face — Nesta felt joy.

So Nesta laughed. She laughed for the female flying above her who had got her freedom back. For the little youngling who was holding onto Nesta’s hands as she hovered in the air, her wings flapping in desperation to join Masak… to taste freedom, too. And Nesta laughed for herself. For having finally done something right. For giving life rather than death. For bringing happiness rather than sorrow.

Then Mas was diving, her form flawless as she swooped down to take Roksana’s hands in hers, taking the youngling up, up, up into the Illyrian sky brushed with pastel hues.

That was when it happened. Nesta’s laugh fell into an untethered smile… a smile which had been imprisoned for so long. And as she did that, Nesta allowed her magic to reach out again… to sense the emotions that seeped up from the ground from years and years of suffering. But Nesta did not let them surge through her veins to charge her power. Instead, she gave something back. Nesta added a new layer upon the rocky ground that was tainted with death and pain. A comforting blanket of her own joy and happiness. A layer that symbolised that there was hope. That there was a way out of the inky black and the biting cold.

And the camp, which had been full of anguish and pain and unimaginable suffering, suddenly burst with light so pure that it was dazzling. The promise of healing shone from Nesta’s palms, and she stared down at her upturned hands in awe. At the light which travelled upwards to bathe the two females dancing in the air, as they laughed and laughed and laughed.

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable

#acotar #acosf #nessianfic #nessian #cassian #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #acotar fanfiction

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serendipityseulgi · 4 years

Text

8 Ways of Love.

– kim hongjoong

according to the ancient greeks, there are eight different types of love. here is:

･*:༅｡ the one known as mania, the obsessive love.

aka, the kind of love that can lead you to obsession, jealousy, and madness and can be toxic if not kept under control.

TW // sexual harassment.

* italic text indicates flashback.

8 ways of love series; part ii

A not-so-healthy love story in which you reach your breaking point in your relationship, giving Hongjoong an ultimatum – to fix his toxic tendencies or to let you walk out on him forever.

love catalyst: survival.

There are times where you often underestimate how much Hongjoong truly loves you.

You don’t always fully grasp the extent he will go to make sure that everyone knows your his, and his only. The limits he will push to prove just how much you matter in his life, and the boundaries he will cross to ensure that no one would ever, ever take you away from him.

How he absolutely cannot live without you, and you can’t live without him.

Because he just loves you so much that the feeling almost consumes him, and it drives him crazy. He knows how much of an impact you have on him. How you could do absolutely nothing and he would still kiss the ground you walk on. How he worships every single part of you and will go to the absolute ends of the earth just to keep you forever. How he simply could not care about a single thing in this world except for you.

And for most people, they strive for that kind of love. The kind that consumes you so much that you would do absolutely anything and everything for your partner.

But the way Hongjoong loves you is intense, and it’s obsessive. It’s exhausting it absolutely drains all the energy out of you. To have to love and care for one another more than yourselves. That no matter what kind of shit you put each other through, you’re always going to be together.

It’s overbearing and overwhelming in all the wrong ways.

You hate how much Hongjoong loves you. Because he treats you like shit. Makes you feel like shit. Acts like you aren’t shit.

Not without him at least.

It’s unhealthy, to put it simply.

Neither one of you are that delusional, though.

You’re both painfully aware how borderline toxic your relationship is. Hongjoong’s manipulative in certain ways and he uses that to his advantage. He won’t admit it but he loves how codependent you are on him. He knows that he can fuck up a million times and you’re always gonna be there to pick up the pieces and love him again and again. He makes promises he can never keep and gives you false hope just to make sure you stay in his arms, even if it’s only for one more day. He hears you say that you hate him more than you love him, but it doesn’t matter because he knows how you feel deep down. You’re always going to love him.

He defends his behaviour, constantly telling you he only acts that way because he loves you and wants to protect you. And you know he’s not a terrible person. Aside from his possessive nature and his intense anger problem, he’s actually one of the best people you know. It’s contradictory in every sense.

It was just the way he loves you that brings out the worst in him.

You know there’s no good that could possibly come from being together anymore. You both know that by now.

But the truth is, neither one of you will ever walk away.

12:41 AM

It’s past midnight when you walk in your apartment, your heart heavy and filled with despair. Your feet hurt from standing in those wretched heels for hours, your mascara is dripping down your tear-stained face, and your head is pounding from the events that transpired only a few hours prior.

You have no words.

All you want to do is curl up in your bed and sleep away your worries. You want to ignore everything that’s happened even for just a few hours and deal with the damage in the morning, but you know he won’t let you.

He never does.

When you hear the door slam behind you, you feel a sense of deja vu.

You’ve been in this exact situation more times than you could count and you’re starting to think there’s actually no hope left in your boyfriend.

At this point in time you don’t even know if this relationship is worth salvaging anymore, and the very thought almost has you in tears.

You’re feeling a million things right now but above all, you’re just pissed beyond belief and you want to cry and wallow away in your tears. You feel every negative emotion surging through your body right now and it makes you all the more exhausted.

Hongjoong stands behind you, equally as pissed, and you refuse to acknowledge him because you know it’s all his fault.

It’s always his fucking fault.

“Y/n, look at me.” he commands, but you don’t listen.

Your back is still turned to him, eyes fixated on the marble pattern on your kitchen island as you try to suppress your anger. Your eyes start to water again and your body begins to shake.

He waits for you to face him.

But you don’t.

Because you don’t even want to talk to him right now, let alone look him in the face. You swear you’ll punch him if you do, so you save himself the trouble and start walking towards the direction of your bedroom.

Hongjoong is fast though, and he’s quick to grab onto your arm to pull you in front of him.

“Can you say something?” he asks, a little too aggressively for your liking, and you just stare at him. The glare in your eyes never falters and for a few seconds you two are just staring each other down with you still refusing to speak.

You take the opportunity to yank your arm out of his grip and he lets out a frustrated groan.

“I’m tired.” you say with a blank stare, prepared to walk away again.

“So you’re not even gonna talk at me?!” he asks with that aggression still evident in his tone.

You breathe in a heavy sigh before whipping around to face your boyfriend, your eyes narrowing immediately when you make contact with him. “What do you want me to say, Hongjoong?” you ask with frustrated tears running down your face. “What the fuck do you want me to say when you keep doing this over and over again?!”

“All you ever do is walk away when you’re pissed at me and you go off the next morning talking shit to your friends. So if you have something to say, say it to my fucking face.” he spits at you with menace and your eyes darken.

“Well what the fuck is the difference of me going to my friends and going to you?! It’s not like you ever fucking listen to me anyways! I’m sick of having to repeat myself day after day! The amount of times this has happened and the amount of times I tell you the same exact thing! When I keep asking you to change and you never do! We have this exact conversation all the time, what is the use of me talking anymore?! Nothing ever changes so why the fuck should I bother wasting all my time and energy fighting with you about the same shit that’s gonna piss you off next week?!” you shout before turning around once again.

Hongjoong doesn’t say anything back to that, because deep down he knows you’re right. He knows that you’re a broken record at this point, he knows that anything you say now would just be reused arguments he’s heard in the past, he knows that he’s not going to listen to you. So he doesn’t retaliate.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to walk away?” he counters.

You take in a deep breathe. “Why don’t you tell me exactly it is that you want to hear? That I’m just going to accept the fact that you never fucking listen to me? That you somehow find it acceptable to be punching random guys in the face for looking at me? That we fight about the same shit every week? Or how you can’t seem to control your anger? How you have absolutely no regard for how you make me feel? How you think acting so possessive over me is something to be proud of?! How we’ve been together for three fucking years and the more days I spend with you the more I realize I’d rather be dead than be with you!”

Hongjoong’s face falls for a second at your words but you soon come to regret it when he’s pushing you against your counter. He’s seething inside, you can sense it. You know your words cut deep but Hongjoong won’t admit it. His ego is too big for that.

“You’re one to fucking talk.” he grits his teeth. “You act like such a fucking bitch all the time and yet I’m still willing to bend over backwards just to keep your ass happy. You overlook all the shit I do for you because you’re selfish. You think I don’t listen to you? When have you ever listened to me?! You’re so fucking ungrateful when all I’ve ever done was love you!”

You scoff. “This is what you call loving me?!” you gesture to your current position. “Hongjoong do you even realize what we’re doing right now?! Do you even acknowledge how messed up you are?! When you go around knocking guys’ teeth out for doing so much as looking at me, for picking fights with your own friends when they’re being friendly towards me, when you fucking call me names and blame me for the fact that you can’t bear the thought of another male giving me an ounce of their attention, do you think that’s fucking normal?! You’re just fucking insane!”

“You think I do that shit because I like it?” Hongjoong hissed. “No, I fucking do it because I know how guys think y/n! They’d take advantage of you if they got the chance! Use you like you’re a fucking toy to them or something! You can’t trust these people all the time! I fucking act that way to protect you!”

“Yeah is that it?” you sneer. “Or is it because you’re just so fragile and insecure inside you’re too afraid that one of these days someone might actually take me away from you and I’ll fucking leave. You think you can control them and control me by threatening them, assaulting them? You go off and snap at people who piss you off because you think you have some sort of claim over me! So are you sure you do it to protect me? Because I don’t think so. I think you do it 'cause you know you can’t function without me. Because deep down you know you’re just a little bitch without me. You’re nothing without me.” you spit at him.

“Fuck you.” Hongjoong shoves you harder into the counter, a sharp pain shooting up your spine. His arms are gripping tightly onto your own and you don’t think he realizes he’s hurting you because he’s too focused on your words and how badly they’re affecting him.

“You have a big fucking mouth sometimes you know that? You like to talk like you’re so big and purposely rile me up, huh? Who the fuck do you think you are catching an attitude with me? Watch your mouth and how you talk to me or-”

“Or what? What are you gonna do, Joong?” you challenge, shoving him away from you. “You gonna break up with me? Kick me out again? Call me a fucking slut and send me on my way?” you mock. “Or are you gonna hit me this time? Huh? Because I get you so fucking angry. Why don’t you try it? Instead of punching holes in the wall why don’t you try doing it to my face instead? I bet you want to. I bet you really want to fucking hit me. So do it. Hit me!” you push him back. “Fucking hit me!” you scream as you repeatedly hit him in the chest and Hongjoong snaps, grabbing onto your wrists tightly.

“You’re a fucking crazy bitch.” he seethes. “I may be a piece of shit but I’m not fucking abusive. I would never hit you no matter how mad you make me. So fuck you for ever thinking I’d put my hands on you. Fuck you.” he pushes you off of him.

He storms off into your bedroom, slamming the door like he always does. You stand there in the middle of your living room shaking your head. This is nothing new. It’s nothing you aren’t already used to.

You sit on the couch, burying your face in your knees as you cry. You cry with a heavy heart because you don’t know what else to do.

All you’re left with is your own thoughts, thinking about all the times you should’ve walked away.

Because God knows it should’ve happened a long time ago.

You remember the first incident like it was yesterday.

2 years, 6 months, 7 days ago.

You remember it was only six months into being with him when he had assaulted your ex in front of your eyes.

There was no remorse, no regard, nothing for the human life in front of him. Just pure rage that that good-for-nothing scumbag tried to touch you. His prized possession. The love of his life. The only thing that ever mattered to him.

Seeing your ex-boyfriend touching you like you were still his fuelled a fire inside Hongjoong like never before and he absolutely lost it.

“S-stop Chris, seriously get off me,” you stutter trying to push the male off of you.

You don’t remember how you got yourself into this situation through your drunken state.

All you know is one second you’re dancing with Irene and the next you’re pressed up against a brick wall by your ex-boyfriend.

He’s pressing you into the wall so hard it makes your body hurt and you can feel his boner rubbing against your thigh. You want to scream but when you try no sound comes out. You’re crying and your throat closes up because you can’t breath with him pinning you so tightly.

“Y/n, baby relax.” he whispers and you smell the stench of alcohol lingering on his breath. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ve never hurt you, right?” you feel like you can’t breathe. “I just wanna talk, that’s it...” his voice is gentle but it doesn’t provide you any comfort whatsoever.

“Y-you don’t have to pin me against the wall if you wanna t-talk, Chris.” you breathe out. “G-get off of me.”

“I just missed you,” he says gripping you tightly. “You missed me too right?”

“Fuck off!” you try to scream, but his heavy weight on you is restricting you from moving a muscle. “M-my boyfriend is gonna find me and he’s-”

“He’s what?” Chris snickers. “You’re dating that pussy bitch Hongjoong, right? Yeah, as if he’s gonna come to your rescue when everyone knows he’s a fucking bitch boy. You know better than to go for nice guys, right y/n?” he chuckles.

“Y-you’re drunk, Chris. Let me go.” you try to shove him back but he’s much bigger than you. You stand absolutely no chance.

“Where is your little boyfriend anyways, huh? ‘Cause I’ve been watching you since the moment you got here and all I saw was you with Irene and Seulgi. Does your boyfriend even know you’re slutting it up at a bar without him?” Chris taunts you and you cry even harder. “I wonder what he would do if he saw me and you together right now. Probably nothing right? He’s too nice for his own good. Wouldn’t touch a fucking fly.”

“Please just-”

“Relax, y/n. I know you miss me. Miss what we had. You don’t always have to play hard to get,” he whispers in your ear, pushing your dress up your thighs. “Just enjoy it and-”

“Y/n?” you hear a voice call behind you, and you recognize it almost immediately.

“Joong?” you call through your hazy vision and you take the opportunity to push the man off of you. “J-joong, I wasn’t doing what you think, he pinned me, I-i tried to get him off but he wouldn’t, fuck, it’s not what it looks like-” you can’t formulate a coherent sentence because you know exactly what it looked like and you’re afraid he won’t believe you.

“Y/n get behind me right now.” he states calmly, and you don’t hesitate. You run up behind your boyfriend as Chris stands in front of him with a cold stare.

Your heart is still beating hard against your chest and you study Hongjoong’s expression to see what his next move would be because frankly, you don’t know.

“Can I kindly ask what the fuck were you doing to MY girlfriend?” Hongjoong asks, voice still calm and collected it almost scares you.

“Hey man, no need to get upset, we were just chatting.” Chris raises his hands in defence.

Hongjoong laughs, but there’s not a hint of amusement in his tone. “Chatting, huh?” he mocks. “About what?”

“Look, with all due respect, I know she’s your girl now and everything but you have to understand me and y/n have a lot of history. Just rehashing some old shit-”

“No you weren’t.” Hongjoong interrupts.

“Excuse me?” Chris raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry but you’re being pretty fucking hostile right now, don’t you think? Like, what exactly are you trying to accomplish, you’re not very intimidating.” Chris laughs.

Your eyes are moving back and forth between the two males and you don’t exactly know what’s going to happen next. You’ve never been in this kind of situation before, let alone predict how Hongjoong would retaliate. You’ve never seen him angry before.

“You wanna know what it looked like to me?” he asks rhetorically, slowly walking towards your ex. “You were forcing her against her will to talk to you.” he states, still calm. “You were touching her. You were groping her.” Hongjoong begins backing him into the wall. “You were sexually harassing her. After she begged you to stop.” he states. “You lifted up her dress, and then what?” Hongjoong’s cornered him into the wall. “You were gonna fucking rape her. Right?”

“Woah, woah, hey, I was not gonna fucking rape her-” Chris defends.

“No?” Hongjoong raises his eyebrow. “Are you saying you weren’t trying to fuck my girlfriend?”

Chris scoffs. “That isn’t rape-”

“But she told you to stop, didn’t she?” Hongjoong folds his arms across his chest and your eyes are bulging out of your head as you witness this new side o him. “And if I wasn’t here right now... what exactly would you have done?”

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend? She seemed to be enjoying it, right?” he turns to look at you. “Admit it, y/n. Tell your bitch of a boyfriend that you’re better off with me. Hey, do you know how fucking easy it is to get with your girlfriend? Ask me, I have experience.” Chris chuckles. “What do you think would’ve happened if you weren’t here right now? Y/n probably would’ve let me fuck the shit out of her because that’s how easy she is. Probably would’ve fucked her better than you ever have-”

Hongjoong lets out a chuckle before finally snapping. You see his fist raise up in one swift motion, and he punches him. Hongjoong punches the shit out of your ex and you let out a shocked gasp. Your hands fly over your mouth, covering your face in surprise.

“Hongjoong!” you try to stop your boyfriend but he doesn’t listen.

“Keep talking, I fucking dare you.” Hongjoong spits. He’s still punching him and it doesn’t seem like he plans on stopping anytime soon. “Your mouth is fucking shit, you know that? You’re a fucking scumbag.”

He punches him again.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit talking about girls this way.” Another punch.

“You would go as far to fucking rape her if you didn’t get what you want?” Hongjoong’s fist collides with his face again. “That’s the kind of guy you are?”

You hear another punch.

“Then you deserve to fucking die here.”

He’s hovering over your ex’s body, continuously delivering blows to his head. He doesn’t stop even when you start to see blood. It’s everywhere, coming out of his eyes, his mouth, it’s covering his entire face and it scares you.

“Hongjoong stop!” you call.

“S-stop” Chris chokes out, trying to use whatever strength he had left to stop your boyfriend from continuing his assault.

“Joong stop, you’re going to kill him!” you scream.

“Maybe I should.” Hongjoong chuckles menacingly. “He deserves it, don’t you think?” he glances at you and your eyes widen.

You shake your head. “Please.” your voice is quiet. “Just leave him.” and finally your boyfriend relents.

He spares another glance to the bloodied man on the floor who’s coughing profusely to catch his breathe, and he leans over him.

“If you ever fucking touch y/n again, I will fucking kill you.” Hongjoong growled. “I will hunt you down and fucking kill you, and I’m gonna make it slow and painful. If you do so much as breathe the same air next to her, I can promise you, I will come after you. So don’t ever think about coming near her again, you understand?” Chris doesn’t say anything and it pisses Hongjoong off.

Hongjoong grabs onto his collar, lifting him up till their faces are almost touching. “Do. You. Understand?”

“Y-you’re fucking crazy.” Chris manages to say through his coughing fit.

“Yeah I may be,” Hongjoong chuckles. “But I’m not a fucking rapist like you. I don’t force girls to do things they don’t want to. I don’t try and take away what’s already taken. Y/n’s fucking mine, you’ll never go near her again.”

Your eyes are wide with horror and you see your boyfriend’s fist covered in Chris’ blood. Your eyes scan your ex’s body laying limp on the ground, spitting out the remnants of blood out of his mouth. Hongjoong stands up looking over him, and you’re frozen with shock.

“I was fucking wrong, y/n. You should fucking leave. You don’t want to be with a guy like this, he’s a fucking psychopath-” Hongjoong kicks the words right out of his mouth and you jump back with a gasp.

“Lay here and rot.”

Hongjoong grabs onto your hand, dragging you away, and even if you want to pull your hand away, you don’t. You’re too scared to.

You’re left in a state of shock witnessing your sweet boyfriend nearly kill the man you once loved. Granted, it was probably well deserved given that he was harassing you and was about to do far worse had Hongjoong not shown up. But you don’t think it should’ve been to such an extent.

You don’t talk for the entirety of the car ride, but you do spare small glances at your boyfriend who’s eyes were directed onto the road.

Hongjoong can sense your intense stare and he sighs, turning briefly at a stoplight to face you.

“I only did that because he was gonna hurt you.” he sighs. “You know that right?”

You nod slowly. “Y-yeah.”

“Don’t be scared, baby.” he says gently, reaching over to grab your hand as you flinch slightly.

The light turns green. He averts his gaze back onto the road, but he rubs the back of your hand in an attempt to comfort you.

Your heart is racing and you know you shouldn’t fear him.

But you can’t help it.

Seeing him like that was a first, and you didn’t like it.

“Y-you didn’t have to hurt him that bad.” you whisper.

“You’re not defending him are you?” he glances at you.

“I-i’m not, Joong.” you’re quick to say.

“So why does it sound like you are?” he badgers.

“You almost killed him.” you swallow the lump in your throat.

“He was touching you, I saw him. He was going to-”

“But he didn’t.” you interrupt before he can finish his sentence. “You stopped him before he could do anything. And I’m thankful that you did but... that should’ve been it. We should’ve walked away, but you just ... you kept going.”

“He was hurting you, y/n, I couldn’t let that slide.” he tries to defend.

“But you weren’t you back there, Joong. I’ve never seen you so... violent. I didn’t like it.”

“I’m sorry baby. I couldn’t help it. I was just protecting you.”

His words repeat over and over in your head, but you can’t ignore the sinking feeling in your gut. He almost killed him. He threatened to kill him. You’ve seen possessive before, but not to this degree.

No, what happened back there wasn’t normal.

You don’t talk anymore after that, instead counting down the minutes till you were safe and sound in the comfort of your home.

When you do get home you run off into the shower immediately, wanting to wash away how disgusting and dirty you felt after what you witnessed.

You shoot Irene a text to tell her you made it home okay and she lets you know she’s gone home with Seulgi and is glad you’re safe.

You spend a long time in the shower, trying to ease your racing mind and your thumping heart. You know Hongjoong’s waiting for you in bed, he can’t sleep properly without you in his arms. But you dread the moment you have to get out and face the reality of what happened. So you choose to stay in there until the heat runs out.

You hate to admit that you don’t want to be near him right now, but you can’t help it when your mind keeps flashing back to seeing your boyfriend’s eyes fill with rage. How he went from being so calm to snapping in an instant. How he mostly like broke your ex’s nose and most likely gave him a concussion, and left him there without a single ounce of guilt.

You don’t say anything when you enter your bedroom, and Hongjoong notices your distant behaviour.

“Y/n, can you come here please?” he asks gently and you lock eyes with him.

You don’t know what else to do except comply, and the minute you’re sat next to him, he pulls you into his arms.

“I’m sorry if I scared you earlier.” he apologizes, and you snuggle deeper into his arms.

“It’s okay, it just.. caught me by surprise that’s all.” your throat burns as you suppress your tears.

“You know why I did it though. I would never let anyone hurt you.” he states and you nod. “I just hate the thought of someone else touching you. Especially him.”

“I know.”

“I had to get rid of him someway, right?” he asks, it’s a rhetoric question so you stay silent. “This way he won’t ever come near you again.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” your voice is quiet and your vision starts to blur from holding in your tears.

“I love you, y/n.” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your head.

“I love you too.” you choke out.

“You’re all mine right?”

You nod again, this time letting the tears fall down your face.

“All yours.”

You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to give him the power of being able to control you. But you tell him what he wants to hear because you don’t know what he would do if you didn’t.

“Promise me you won’t ever leave me.” he begs his arms tightening around your body. “I don’t know what I would do if you ever did.”

Your heart is beating rapidly in your chest that it hurts and your mind is panicking with so many thoughts. You’re scared, but you also know you still love him.

And you want to give him the benefit of the doubt that this incident was just a one time slip up, so you forgive him, and you commit to his promise.

“I promise.” you gulp. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Little did you know how true that statement would be.

Hongjoong falls asleep next to you, with your head on his chest, and the sound of his heartbeat rings in your ears. You look up at his sleeping state and your eyes start to water once more.

You think about how he was a good boyfriend, one that made you happy and did everything he could to ensure you stayed that way. He was sweet, he was kind, he was everything you wanted.

You look at Hongjoong and think about how he made you smile and laugh like no other person ever had, how made you feel safe in his arms, how he kissed away your tears when you were sad, and how he treated like you an absolute goddess, never making you think otherwise. He was there to provide you comfort and pleasure, and he was good at everything he did.

Up until that point he was perfect.

A little too perfect that you knew there had to have been something wrong with him.

And now you knew.

You tried to rationalize his flaws with all the redeeming qualities he had.

He was good to you.

He absolutely doted you.

He loved you.

So why was it right now, looking at him at this very moment, you wanted to throw up in disgust at the mere sight of him.

2:07 AM

You think about that first incident as you sit curled up on your couch, and you’re left wondering why you continued to stay after that. That should’ve been your first sign to get the fuck out and leave.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

And right now, you’re looking at yourself with disgust.

Seeing as how things haven’t gotten any better.

No improvement, no changes.

Nothing.

So why the fuck are you still here? you ask yourself.

But you know it’s because you love him. That you’ve never loved anyone the way you loved Hongjoong. You knew from the moment you met him you knew you wanted him to be your forever.

But this wasn’t what you meant.

This wasn’t what you signed up for when you gave your entire being to this very man.

You’re smart enough to know you’re only going to keep getting hurt. But your love for him remained so strong and completely outweighed the bad. You know you’ll never be able to bring yourself out the door and leave him behind.

You’re stuck with him. Forever.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of your bedroom door opening, and you watch as Hongjoong passes the kitchen into the living room where you’re sat. You don’t know how much time has passed until you look over to the clock and see that it’s been well over an hour and you have yet to move a muscle.

Hongjoong walks over to you as he sits down beside you.

“Are you done having your bitch fit?” he chided and your eyes narrow at him.

“That’s how you’re really going to start this conversation right now?” you scoff.

“What, you think I was gonna come here and beg for your forgiveness? I didn’t peg you for an idiot, y/n.” Hongjoong rolls his eyes at you.

“You’re unbelievable sometimes, you know that? It’s like you want to keep fighting with me!” you shout, getting up from your spot to stand in front of him. “You make me feel like I don’t have a right to be pissed at you and then you come back an hour later and talk to me this way?”

“I came down here to tell you to get the fuck up to bed. Like aren’t you fucking tired of doing this every time? Let’s just fucking be done with this shit and go to sleep and-”

“And what? Deal with it in the morning? Or fuck me until I eventually forgive you? Because that’s always what happens right? You know exactly how to make things better, right? But it’s always temporary! We’re always just gonna keep coming back to this over and over again! Nothing’s changed in the last three years!”

“You’re constantly throwing around the fact that I don’t listen to you, that I don’t fucking change, but what about you? What have you done for me to compromise?!” he retorts.

“Compromise on what?! All I’ve been asking you to do was to control your behaviour! Stop acting so possessive and violent over me because you should know by now, I’m not going anywhere! But you keep doing this, you keep lashing out on other people who don’t always deserve you, you put me in a position where I have to fix your mess, while you live a guilt free life! You’re just driving me away at this point! You continue to lie to me, saying you’re going to change and fix your behaviour but you never do! Why can’t you just do this one simple thing for me?!” you badgered with annoyance.

“Because you’re mine!” he screams at you.

You look at him with a glare, and you shake your head.

“But that’s the thing Hongjoong, I’m not! I’m nobody’s! I belong to fucking nobody but myself. You don’t fucking own me Joong. I’m with you because I love you. I stay with you because I love you. I can acknowledge that you might be bad for me but I choose to put that shit aside because I fucking love you! You make me fucking miserable and yet I stay with you when I know I fucking shouldn’t! That’s how much control you have over me!” you return.

“And everything I’ve done for you is because you have control over me! Why don’t you understand that?!” he asks, getting up in your face.

“This is fucking toxic, this isn’t good for us!” you pull at your hair in frustration.

“It’s not like you’re going anywhere anyways! If you think this relationship is too much for you, why do you continue defending me and putting up with it?!” he argues.

“Because I’m still trying to make this work!” you cry. “I’m still trying because I still love you! But I can’t keep seeing past all these problems we have! I’m done overlooking all the shit you put me through. I’m reaching my last fucking straw, Joong! I’m reaching my fucking breaking point!” you scream in frustration. “So let me make one thing clear, the minute I decide I’m done, that’s it. I will fucking leave you if you push me to it, and you’re gonna let me because you don’t own me.” you say. “I’m giving you one last chance to prove to me that you’re gonna fix up and change your attitude. I want you to prove me wrong, prove that you aren’t gonna screw up again. Because the minute you fuck up, Im gone.” you threaten.

“You’re just fucking saying that.” he scoffs. “You always fucking say that and then you come back to me!”

Your mouth falls open in disbelief. “You know what, fine. Watch me leave then.” you stomp upstairs and Hongjoong follows suit.

You close the door behind you with force but Hongjoong opens it before you can shut it fully and he watches you messily grab random articles of clothing, pushing past him to retrieve every item you can take.

You’ve always made empty threats, you’ve never actually left him before and he knows you won’t. You’ve never been able to.

But when he sees you grabbing a duffle bag and filling it with clothes it actually starts to scare him.

“Cut the fucking act, y/n. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove-“

You stop forcefully throwing hangers around and throwing your clothes around so carelessly to look at him. “You think I won’t leave you? I told you to fucking watch me.” you state continuing your haphazard packing.

Hongjoong lets out a frustrated sigh and grabs onto your arms to stop you. “Stop it.”

“Fuck you, let go of me.” you spit.

“I told you to fucking stop.” he says through gritted teeth.

“I swear to god if you don’t fucking let go of my arm-”

He doesn’t let you finish. Instead he pins you to the bed, hovering over you. “You’re not fucking leaving, stop being so fucking dramatic and just go to fucking bed! It’s fucking late, you need to chill out!” he scolds but you don’t listen.

“What, so now you want to stop me?” you glare at him. “You could just kick me out again! You’ve done it before right? So why won’t you let me fucking leave this time on my own!”

“You always feel the need to bring that shit up, get the fuck over it! I’m not letting you leave-”

“WHY NOT?!”

“Because you’re acting fucking crazy and you’re out of control right now! Just fucking relax for once-”

You punch at his chest but his grip is too strong and you let out a frustrated groan. “GET THE FUCK OFF!” you screech at him but he doesn’t relent.

“Y/n, stop-”

“I FUCKING HATE YOU!” you scream. “I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU!”

“YOU CAN HATE ME ALL YOU WANT BUT YOU’RE NOT LEAVING ME!” he screams back at you.

You manage to free your grip from his wrists and you do the one thing you’ve never done before. You slap him.

It shocks the both of you and your mouth fall slightly open in surprise. He doesn’t say anything at first and you can tell he wasn’t expecting it either.

But then his eyes darken and they glare into your wide ones and he pulls on your wrist, teeth clenching. “Don’t ever fucking hit me again.”

You open your mouth to speak but no words come out.

“You’re not going anywhere.” he states. “I’m gonna go into the living room and you’re gonna stay in here and calm the fuck down. Then we’ll talk.” he says. “and if you still want to leave after that, fine. I won’t stop you this time. But you need to fucking relax and clear your fucking head. You’re fucking insane.”

And he leaves you alone once again.

You think about the one time you actually did leave.

But it wasn’t a choice you made on your own.

1 years, 9 months, 23 days ago.

You were used to his possessiveness by now. You knew his love for you was borderline obsessive, and you hated the fact that you still loved him too. You still chose to ignore all the red flags, overlooking every toxic trait he had.

You continued to put up with it and you excused his behaviour because... well it wasn’t like he controlled you completely.

He never forced you to tell him things you didn’t want, never controlled the things you did, never gave you shit for the things you wore, never made you feel like you needed to rely on him for everything.

He still gave you your freedom.

He just didn’t hold himself back from how other people acted around you.

It was at his birthday party, you recall.

And it was the first time you were meeting the majority of Hongjoong’s friends. You wanted to make an effort to mingle with them to show your boyfriend you cared about the people in his life.

Sure you knew of his closest ones, the other seven boys he allowed you to be near. They were the only ones that Hongjoong felt comfortable with you being around.

But this time you were surrounded by new faces, and it wasn’t like Hongjoong warned you of any of them so you took it upon yourself to befriend a few of them. You figured if he let him into the comfort of your own home, they had to have been good people.

You saw no harm in it, and at first he didn’t see the harm either.

Until he noticed the lingering stare in Sehun’s eyes, and the way his fingertips would ghost over the skin of your shoulder, and how his knee would brush against yours every so often.

Anger started to bubble up in his chest at the sight of you laughing at something Sehun said, and the jealousy ran rampant in his veins.

He tried to control his feelings at first, brushing it off as Sehun’s overly flirtatious nature.

But it was when he saw his friend place his hand over your bare thigh that Hongjoong finally lost it.

Before you could even take Sehun’s hand off of you and tell him to back off, Hongjoong’s grabbing onto him in an instant, throwing him away from you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Hongjoong seethes as Sehun’s eyes widen.

The guests eyes avert to the scene in front of them and you look over at Seonghwa and San pleading for help.

“Woah, calm down, Joong.” Sehun says with a light chuckle. “I was just telling your girlfriend about-”

“Yeah, exactly, MY girlfriend.” Hongjoong interrupted. “So why is that you feel the need to touch her like she’s fucking single? You don’t think I’ve been watching you eye fuck her this whole night? Don’t you know how to back off?” he pushes at his friend’s chest.

“Dude, relax, it’s not that serious.” Sehun rolls his eyes. “You know me man, I would never do anything to disrespect you, or your girl.”

“That’s not what it fucking looked like you prick-”

“Okaaay, Joong, how ‘bout we go somewhere else, hm?” Seonghwa calls, placing his arm around your boyfriend’s shoulder as he and San guide him into one of your guest rooms.

You follow suit with Wooyoung and Yunho behind you as you leave the confused party guests to themselves.

“Are you okay?” Yunho asks and you nod your head.

But inside, you’re heart seizes with fear, because you know exactly where this conversation is gonna go.

When you enter the room, it feels tense right away, and Hongjoong eyes you with a cold stare. “Do you have anything to say for yourself right now?” he calls over San’s shoulder.

You shake your head. “W-what did I do?” you ask genuinely.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Hongjoong scoffs.

“Joong, stop.” Seonghwa sighs, placing a hand on his chest.

“You know what your problem is, you fucking act like such an innocent little bitch when in reality you’re the biggest slut i know.” he spits at you suddenly, and it has everyone’s eyes widening at his bold statement.

“Pipe down, hyung. Don’t call her that.” Yunho shakes his head disapprovingly.

“What was I doing wrong?! Talking to him?!” you scoff.

“For letting him touch you like that! He was fucking flirting with you and you didn’t do shit about it-”

“Oh my god, you didn’t even give me the chance!” you say, throwing your hands in the air. “If you just waited one more fucking second I would’ve told him to take his hands off me and-”

“Bullshit.” he laughs. “You wanna go whore around? Fine. But don’t fucking lie to my face and pretend that you didn’t do shit.” he pushes past Seonghwa to get in your face. “Go back out there with him if that’s what you want.” as he shoves you back.

“Woah hey, Joong, don’t do that.” Seonghwa intervenes when he sees his best friend push you a bit too hard.

“How are you gonna blame me and say it’s my fault? All we were doing was talking!-“ you try to defend, tears threatening to spill.

“Talking my fucking ass,” your boyfriend scoffs at you. “You’re just a fucking attention whore. What, I’m suddenly not enough for you? So you go around prancing like the little slut you are because you need validation from other guys?!”

You feel embarrassed at your current situation, feeling the heavy stares of Hongjoong’s best friends on you. Fighting with him in private was one thing. It was shitty and made you feel terrible, but you could handle it.

But being in the same room, hearing your boyfriend call you names while his friends watch from the side has you recoiling in pure humiliation.

“Hongjoong that’s enough! Fuck, what is wrong with you man?” Seonghwa pushes his friend back.

“Why don’t you ask her? Why are you guys acting like i’m the fucking villain?!” Hongjoong sneers. “You think she’s the fucking victim here? Look at her. Acting all innocent and crying like a fucking bitch. What are you so upset about?” he glares at you and you stand still in your spot, not knowing what to say.

“Joong, I’m sorry but I don’t think what I was doing was wrong!” you say. “You wanted me to get to know your friends and that’s exactly what I was doing! You can’t get mad at me for doing what you wanted!”

“You let him fucking feel you up, you let him touch you when you know I don’t like that shit. You’re making all these excuses to justify the fact that you can’t be satisfied with one man giving you all his attention?! How are you gonna say you didn’t do anything wrong when you let that happen?! When you know it would upset me, on my fucking birthday no less? Fuck you y/n! Your mouth is fucking shit, all you know how to do is lie!”

“You know what, fuck you too Joong. I put up with so much of your shit, I forgive you every time you get pissed over another guy being around me. I clean up your fucking mess time and time again and this is how you treat me?! Are you just going to get mad every time a man does so much as breathe next to me?! You’re going to blame me for shit I didn’t even do-“ he interrupts you, refusing to hear your side.

“Yeah I fucking blame you!”

“God can you fucking relax and think about what you’re saying right now?! You’re literally causing a scene at your own fucking birthday party-”

“Yeah and what?!” he screams at you. “You don’t think everyone at this fucking party should know how much of a fucking slut you are?!”

You gape at him and so does Seonghwa and San whose holding their best friend back.

“Woah, hyung that’s not fucking cool.” San says. “I know you’re pissed off and drunk as fuck right now but do not treat your girlfriend that way.”

Hongjoong chuckles, “Why? She thinks she can do whatever the fuck she wants anyways. Why the fuck can’t I call her out on her shit?”

“Because she didn’t do anything!” Wooyoung shouts, coming next to you protectively. “You need to fucking relax. Yunho, help me get everyone out of their house. They need to deal with this shit with less people here.”

Yunho nods his head, leaving the room with Wooyoung to usher all the party guests out.

“Joong, don’t be unreasonable right now. Be mad at Sehun all you want, but don’t accuse y/n of being at fault when she didn’t do anything. She’s your fucking girlfriend for god sakes, don’t treat her this way-” Seonghwa begins to defend you but Hongjoong stops him.

“You know what, take your fucking shit, get the fuck out of my house, and don’t fucking come back!” he grabs your purse and throws it in your direction and it nearly hits you in the face.

“Hyung!” San shouts as he holds his elder back.

“Are you actually kicking me out right now?” you ask in shock.

“You’re damn right I am.” he states. “Go fucking slut it up on the streets for all I give a shit! Since you want male attention so bad, see how long you last out there!” Hongjoong taunts you.

“D-don’t fucking do this, Joong.” you plead. “I know you’re pissed at me but don’t make me leave, I have nowhere else to go.”

“Ask me if I give a shit.” he rolls his eyes. “You want to act like an ungrateful bitch then get the fuck out of my place. I literally fucking give you everything, I love you like no else fucking will. You don’t fucking appreciate me then Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

You don’t move for a second, but Hongjoong pushes past his friends, gripping onto your arm as he drags you out of the room.

The guests are long gone by now, and you don’t admit that you’re thankful that no one else has to witness this right now.

“Joong, let go of her!” Seonghwa calls after him, as him and San follow you both out the door.

Yunho and Wooyoung are in the kitchen when they see their friend dragging you outside and they’re quick to try and resolve the situation, but there’s nothing they can do at this point that’ll calm Hongjoong down.

“You don’t want to fucking leave? I’ll make you leave! Don’t ever try and come back here, I mean it!” he pushes you forcefully out the door and slams the door in your face and his friends stare with their mouths open in pure horror.

“Are you crazy?! What is wrong with you?!” Yunho gapes.

“She wants to act like a whore then let her. When everything I do is for her, it’s not enough! She wants to find comfort in other men then she can fucking do that.” Hongjoong simply shrugs. “Let her learn her lesson. See how long she can survive without me.”

The four boys don’t say anything, instead choosing to leave and find you to ensure your safety. They don’t recognize this man in front of them, and they never thought they’d witness him act this way.

They hate him right now, and they think you deserve to hate him too.

They find out downstairs in the lobby, crying on the bench hysterically. It’s 2 in the morning and they know how tired you must be, so Seonghwa kindly offers you to stay at their place for the time being.

“Y/n, don’t worry about Hongjoong right now.” Seonghwa sits next to you.

“I have nowhere to go-”

“You’re going to come stay with us.” he states. “We have a spare room, you can stay there for as long as you need. You don’t have to worry about him right now, he’s being a fucking dick. Drunk or not he shouldn’t be treating you this way.”

“He’s gonna get mad if I go with you-”

“Let him get mad then.” San interjects. “It’s better than you sleeping on the streets by yourself. You’re better off with us.”

You don’t hesitate after that and you agree, thanking them profusely for their generosity. They sit with you until the Uber comes, asking you every few minutes if you’re doing okay. You realize that not even your own boyfriend has shown this much compassion towards you in a long time.

“Does he always do this to you?” Wooyoung asks and you shake your head.

“No, no..” you say. “He just, he gets jealous easily. Doesn’t like when other guys are around me. He’s kind of possessive and he just, acts out I guess.”

“I didn’t know he was like that.” Seonghwa sighs. “He doesn’t ... hit you does he?”

“No! Never, no.” you’re quick to say. “He just needs to control his anger better...”

The Uber pulls up in front of your building before any more words can be exchanged, and the boys guide you over to the car.

When you get inside, you rest your head on the window and cry again. Silently this time, but the boys know. They can only imagine how you’re feeling at this very moment, and they feel terrible inside.

You look over to Yunho who’s sitting beside you and he stares back at you.

“Do you think he hates me?” you ask quietly.

“No, y/n. He could never hate you.” he sighs. “He loves you so much.” he tries to reassure.

“So why does he treat me like this?” you return, and Yunho’s heart breaks for you.

He doesn’t know what to say because he doesn’t even know the answer to that himself.

He shakes his head with another heavy sigh, reaching over to comfort you. “I don’t know, y/n.” he admits truthfully. “All I know is that I’m sorry he did this to you.”

Everyone else in the car can hear your conversation, but out of respect for you they pretend to ignore it.

But in their heads, they’re all thinking the same thing as Yunho.

They’re sorry he did this to you too.

4:12 AM

A few hours pass and you’re calmer now.

Your head still hurts and your heart feels heavy but you’re less angry. So you figured that counted for something.

You’ve sat with yourself for the last two hours, weighing your options.

You could still leave.

But just like the first time you left by force, you still have nowhere else to go.

You could go back to Seonghwa’s place, but it took a long time for him and all the other boys to forgive Hongjoong, you didn’t want to burden them and drag them through this mess all over again.

You somehow managed to convince them you and Hongjoong were doing better, and you didn’t want to have to put them in another uncomfortable position where they would have to pick sides.

You figure here is better than nowhere, even with the endless cycle of this torment.

Half of you wants to leave, to forget about this whole nightmare and leave this life behind. To not look back and leave your boyfriend for good. To find someone else who could probably treat you better than this.

But the other half knows you depend on Hongjoong too much for your happiness. It’s the optimistic part in you that keeps reminding you that despite all these reoccurring fights, he still makes you happy, in some ways.

You’re conflicted to say the least, and you don’t know what you truly want to do.

Because if you leave you’ll come back, and if you stay, you’ll just subject yourself to this miserable life over and over again.

You don’t see any winning options.

Hongjoong’s soft knock interrupts your thoughts and he comes in shortly after. “Are you good now?” he asks softly and you nod.

You scoot across the bed to make room for him and he takes it as a sign to lay next to you. You two don’t say anything for a long while. Just staring into the plain white walls of your bedroom. You can hear each other breathing heavily, words lingering on the tips of your tongues, yet, none of you say anything.

The silence lasts for what feels like an eternity before he finally decides to speak first.

“So are you going to leave?” Hongjoong asks, turning to face you.

You shrug. “I want to.”

“So why don’t you?” he asks, but this time, there’s not a hint of malice in his tone. For once, it’s just curiosity.

You finally lock eyes with him and your face softens. “Because I fucking love you.” your eyes water, and Hongjoong pulls you into his arms. “I don’t know why I can’t leave you Joong. I fucking hate you and love you at the same time. You literally make me feel like shit. You do nothing good for me. You ruined my life.” you cry into his chest and he hugs you tighter.

“I know baby.” he murmurs, and it shouldn’t comfort you. But it does.

“I should leave.”

“You should.” he agrees.

“There’s only so much I can handle. I can’t stay with you if you aren’t willing to change, even a little bit. This is getting too much and I keep giving you all these chances when I should’ve walked away a long time ago.” you exclaim.

“I know.” is all he can say.

“I want to leave you, but at the same time I can’t stand the thought of not being with you.” you sigh.

You hate yourself right now because you sound so fucking stupid.

You could never explain why you continue to stay with him, because you don’t even know the answer to that yourself. All you know is that you’re a fucking idiot.

“I know I don’t deserve you, but I need you here with me, y/n.” he sighs. “I don’t ever want to know what it’s like to not have you anymore. I love you, you know I do. That’s why I do this, it’s just because I love you.”

You’ve heard it all before.

You shouldn’t believe him.

You shouldn’t even let him convince you of anything.

He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness for the millionth time.

“If you forgive me this time, it’s the last time I’ll put you through this ever again.”

“Don’t lie to me, Joong.” you shake your head.

“I’m not.”

“I want to believe you so bad.” you sigh.

“So believe me.” he turns to you. “Trust me now like you’ve trusted me all the other times before. I swear to you that I’ll put more of an effort this time.”

You sigh, looking up at the ceiling, refusing to meet his eyes.

You think about the time you forgave him for kicking you out.

1 year, 8 months, 23 days ago.

One month later, Hongjoong’s begging for you back, asking for your forgiveness as you sit at Seonghwa’s dining table, void of any emotion.

You’ve lived 30 days without any communication with Hongjoong, and you hate to say that it was the worst thirty days of your life.

Even after tossing you out like you were nothing, you still missed him beyond belief, and your heart craved him every night he wasn’t right beside you.

You know at this point, you were just as fucked in the head as he was.

For continuing to love a man who proved time and time again that he wasn’t good for you, and he never would be.

“What makes you think you deserve to talk to her after you pulled that shit last month?” Seonghwa raises his eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest as he eyes his best friend.

“I-I was drunk, Hwa.” Hongjoong excuses and his friend scoffs.

“You’re pathetic.” Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “You can’t just come back and expect her to be okay with what you did to her. And why now? You should’ve done it the night after you tossed her out but instead you choose to wait a whole fucking month?”

“I wanted to clear my head. I wanted to think about what I did wrong and make sure I made it up to her the right way.” Hongjoong defends himself. “Can you just let me in so I can see my fucking girlfriend? Since when were you so protective over her?”

“Since you treated her like fucking garbage!” Seonghwa retaliates. “I shouldn’t even let you do this, but you’re my best friend and you need to do what’s right. But if I ever catch you treating y/n that badly again, I will make sure you never see her again.”

Hongjoong nods his head, but inside he’s rolling his eyes at his elder. He hates that Seonghwa cares about you all of a sudden, but he won’t be unreasonable this time. He’ll admit his faults. Right now the only thing he cares about is getting you back.

Seonghwa finally lets him in and he takes you to the dining area where you’re seated reading a book. You don’t notice the presence of the two boys right away until Seonghwa clears his throat and you look up.

“Y/n, Hongjoong wanted to talk to you.” Seonghwa states, leaving the two of you alone.

You just stare at him at first, not knowing exactly what to say or do. You don’t know if he’s going to lash out at you, or forgive you for pissing him off the night of his birthday.

He approaches you gently, leaning down next to you as he places a small bouquet of roses on the table.

“I know this isn’t enough of an apology for what I did, but, I didn’t mean what I said that night.” he says gently.

You look at the roses in front of you and sigh. “You really hurt me you know that?”

“I know.” he bows his head down in shame.

“I get it, Joong. I can deal with your possessiveness, I can deal with your anger problems, but calling me names? Kicking me out? I let so much shit slide but when you go off and blame me for things that I didn’t even do...” you say quietly.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, baby.” Hongjoong sighs. “Everything I said that night was out of anger towards Sehun. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, but it just killed me to see him all over you like that. You know that I love you too much and sometimes that makes me act out.”

“You can’t keep doing this when someone makes you mad.” you say. “You should know by now I’m all yours. I told you that so long ago. You don’t have to worry about me leaving because I won’t. But you can’t do this ever again, Joong. Please.” you plead.

“I won’t. I promise, I won’t do this again. But please forgive me, because I can’t live without you. I miss you so much. And I still love you. No matter what I said, that doesn’t change the fact that I love you and I always will.”

Your heart softens hearing his words and your eyes begin to tear up. Hongjoong looks at you endearingly and you suddenly remember the face of the man you fell in love with so long ago.

You go against your better judgement and forgive him.

Like you always do.

“I love you too.” you say.

“So you forgive me?” he asks, placing his hand on your thigh comfortingly.

You sigh.

You take his bouquet of roses as a silent sign of forgiveness and you scoot over to let him sit next to you.

Hongjoong pulls you into his arms, hating the prideful feeling inside of him, knowing very well things were going exactly how he expected. He knew this was going to happen. He knew you were going to forgive him and take him back.

Because you always take him back.

4:30 AM

“Y/n, I love you, you know that right?” he says.

“I know.” you swallow your tears.

You do know he does.

But it never really feels like it.

“But.. if you claim to love me why can’t you change? Or at least try to? You keep hurting me and then you say it’s because you love me but, you don’t exactly show me that. I don’t understand how you can keep putting me in this position and say you do out of love.” you ask.

“I can’t explain what makes me act this way. But I go crazy when it comes to you, and it’s because of how strongly I feel for you. I don’t know why I treat you like shit. I don’t know why I do the things I do.” he admits.

“Sometimes I feel like you don’t love me at all. You just look at me as something that belongs to you.” you say.

He hates that you’re partially right.

“That’s not true.” he lies.

He does love you. He loves you more than anything else in this world, that much is clear.

But you’re right about you belonging to him.

Deep down he thinks you’re stupid for thinking you don’t belong to him.

You are is his. You always will be his.

But he doesn’t try to prove you wrong. He keeps his mouth shut.

It’s silent again, and your heads are both swirling with a million different thoughts, and you want to say a million different things to each other.

But you feel like there’s nothing left to say.

Because everything that could be said, already has been.

The cycle will just continue. It’s never going to stop.

And there’s no one else to blame except for the poor decisions you both make.

You let yourselves get to this point.

“You need to let me leave, Joong. I can’t keep doing this.” your lips quiver and your voice breaks.

“No y/n-”

You stop him. “No, listen to me first.” you say.

“I told you. I’m tired of doing this again and again. You need to promise me right now you’re going to do something to change yourself because I meant it when I said I will leave if you keep driving me away. Because if you can’t promise me this one thing, and actually mean it, you have to let me walk away. If you claim to care about me, and if you really do love me, you’ll either do this for me or you’re going to let me be happy without you. So please, Joong. I’m begging you. Please. Please just do this for me or just let me fucking go.” you cry, and he pulls you into his chest as you sob.

He doesn’t know what to tell you.

Because if he promises he’ll change, he’d only be lying.

But if he doesn’t, he has to force himself to let you go.

And he could never do that.

“I’m not letting you go.” he states, and you know that’s his way of avoiding your promise.

“We aren’t good for each other. We shouldn’t be together.” you bury your face in his chest, and his hold on you tightens again.

Hongjoong’s throat starts to burn. “I know.” he whispers. “But we also can’t be without each other.”

He feels your tears soak through his shirt.

“You’ll change this time, won’t you?” you look at him with pleading eyes.

He doesn’t want to, but he nods anyways.

He just doesn’t offer any sort of reassurance.

You want him to say sorry, Hongjoong can feel it. He knows all you’ve ever wanted was to hear him apologize and mean it.

But he never does. Because he isn’t sorry.

He isn’t sorry for scaring away those guys who threatened to take him away from you. He isn’t sorry for calling you those names. He isn’t sorry for making you feel like you can’t get anyone better than him. He isn’t sorry for knowing how much you truly depend on him and need him.

He’s not sorry, and he never will be.

So instead he chooses to say ‘i promise.’ like he’s done again and again. He repeats those same words to you and he feels you relax in his arms.

He knows you’re not stupid enough to believe him, but you’re too optimistic for your own good. Always choosing to believe he can change. Always seeing the good that’s left in him and your broken relationship. And for the record, he does try, but his love for you is just so obsessive and consuming it drives him mad. He just can’t bear the thought of someone else taking you away from him. He can’t control the way he acts and he knows its unhealthy.

But he lies to you because he knows it’ll keep you with him.

“I promise I’ll change.” he whispers in your ear.

And you want to believe him so badly. But you know it’s just an empty promise. Because you know the next chance he gets, he will put you through all this again. And Hongjoong won’t admit it but he knows you’re always going to forgive him. No matter how many times you threaten to leave and actually try to, you’re going to end up back in his arms every night, loving him like you’ve never loved anyone else before.

So for right now, you just pretend. You pretend he means what he says and you pretend that things are going to get better.

You want to believe that he’ll change.

But deep down inside, you know he never will.

LA FIN.

309 notes · View notes

katblu42 · 3 years

Text

I have tossed up whether or not to post this, but I've decided to just go ahead and see how it lands. It is very personal to me, and I'm posting it because today is 2 years since I had to say goodbye.

This is basically a rambling vent that came out after the most traumatic period of my life so far. I needed to write it all down, chronicle it and get it out of my head, and the original destination for it was (my other) fandom.

It is more detailed than the story I posted earlier in the week, but it requires all the same warnings for some pretty unpleasant stuff. Please take heed before continuing.

Warnings for Death Illness Hospital Cancer (Medical) Drugs Medical Procedures CPR

Deep breath Late in 2018 my husband, S, began complaining of a sore throat. He's the kind of male who won't go to the doctor unless he is literally dying. He finally went to his GP in January and was told there was an issue that needed more investigating. He was supposed to go back to the GP in 2 weeks, but we were on holidays then, so he ended up not going back until mid March. GP sent him to a specialist, but the earliest appointment was early April. Consultation, camera down the throat and $400 later the specialist says Cancer - two of them, one in the mouth, one in the throat. Next appointment is the biopsy. By now S has lost almost 20kg because he struggles to eat (and because apparently Cancer can do that to a person anyway). Now there are appointments at the local hospital with the Radiation Therapy Dr, the specialist in Chemotherapy and a dental team (who wanted to take all his back teeth out at first, but changed their minds when they saw where the mouth cancer was, and how hard it was for S to open his mouth wide). During all this I'm still juggling work commitments as we are building up to one of our busiest periods, which covers pretty much the entire month of May. I'm sharing appointment chauffeuring duties with his Dad. It is decided that due to S's weight loss and difficulty eating it is advisable to put a feeding tube (that they call a peg) in his stomach. This is basically a precaution in case he can no longer swallow anything at some point during early treatment. Surgery after Chemotherapy begins will be difficult to recover from. As it turns out the peg is never actually used for feeding S. The first cycle of Chemotherapy begins on Wednesday 8th May. The plan was to do at least 2, probably 3 cycles of Chemo and then begin combination Radiotherapy/Chemo. At first things seem to be going okay. Three medications are administered as part of the Chemo - 2 are done on the Wednesday at the Cancer Clinic, and the third he has to carry around with him for 5 days, returning on Sunday to have the rig removed once that one is done. The peg starts leaking during these 5 days. He is given advice over the phone not to worry about the leak - but I wonder about that advice. I can't be with S all day - work is busy, and he's a grown up who can ask for help if he needs it. Only he's the kind of male who will not make a fuss if he's feeling "not okay". By Tuesday (14th May) S is not feeling much like "eating" - which consists of swallowing soft stuff like milkshakes, jelly (jello), custard and the like - and I basically have to force him to go for a walk around the block with me, just to keep him from lying on the couch all day. (Tuesday is my regular day off). He seems okay, in the "so-so" sense rather than the "fine" sense. He's not particularly nauseous, just a bit Blah. Wednesday - while I'm at work - S stays home all day, which is unusual for him. He is a social butterfly who can't resist going across the road to the Bowling Club just to sit with his mates for a bit. The peg is still leaking, and he feels tired and a bit yuck. By now I have asked him a few times if I should be calling the hospital for advice and he says no - doesn't want to make a fuss. I don't stress too much because he has an appointment at the hospital on Thursday - it's with a Social Worker, but I know that he will be at the hospital, where they will ask him how he's feeling, and if they think he needs something they will take care of him. Thursday comes and he doesn't want to get out of bed. I go to work, telling him to make sure he gets to his appointment, even if he doesn't feel like going. His Dad calls me at lunch time and tells me S didn't go to the appointment. He got in the car, they got down the road, then S told his Dad to just take him home. His Dad tells me S doesn't look good, he thinks S should be in hospital and I wonder why he didn't take S straight there if he was that worried. I get home just after 5pm and S is in bed feeling miserable. I don't get much of a good look at him - the room is dark - but he talks

to me. He's not feeling nauseous, not throwing up, but also not eating or moving much. Over the next few hours he's up and down to the toilet at least once an hour. I ask if he has diarrhoea, because if he does I should take him to hospital. He says no, "not much is coming out". It's after 10pm, Thursday 16th May, when he calls out to me from the bathroom. Something about the way he calls out makes me get straight up to see what's wrong - normally I yell back "what's wrong?" or "just a minute", but this time I think I had an instinct that said something was wrong. I find him sitting on the toilet, slumped forward with his head between his knees. He can talk to me at this point, but I have to help him sit up - he really can't move - and his skin is quite yellow (which alarms me). By the time I have him sitting upright he's not talking to me any more, his eyes are only half open and not blinking and he can't squeeze my hand. I run and get my phone and call an ambulance. Now his breathing is laboured, and as the emergency call taker is asking me to "say now every time he takes a breath" his gasps are getting further apart. I have to get him clumsily onto the floor of our tiny, narrow bathroom and give him chest compressions. 2 ambulances are on their way. Minutes later I have 4 ambulance crew members working on my husband in our tiny bathroom, and I have no idea what is going on. By midnight S is in emergency at the local hospital, and I'm in a private waiting room, alone. I call my Mum - I've already called his Dad on my way to the hospital in my car (they didn't take me in the ambulance). It's about 12:30 when a doctor comes to talk to me. Infection. Kidneys and liver struggling. Blood pressure through the floor. No white blood cells. This is by no means good. By the time I get to see him in Emergency I have my Mum and his Dad with me. S is basically in an induced coma and about to be moved up to ICU. It's about 1:30am. Once he's moved to ICU we wait in another waiting room for more news. A surgical consultant comes and sees us - I think it's nearly 3am - she says surgery is not an option. The infection is in his digestive system. There is no clear area to surgically remove, and his system is so weak it would not take well to surgery anyway. S's Dad leaves soon after that. This is hard for him. It was only 3 years ago that he was here in this very ward with his wife. This is where she passed away after an infection she just could not fight. He tells me "don't let them put him down" - I guess because he had to make that decision for his wife/S's Mum. I think it's after 6:30am when I decide to go to the intercom and buzz the nurses station to find out what's going on. They let us in to see him. All they can tell us is that they are throwing every kind of medical support they can at him in the hope they can help him fight off the infection - blood products, meds to raise the blood pressure, antibiotics. He's been ventilated through a tube in his mouth since the ambulance. They have to run a heating vent to raise his body temperature. They let me into the room, but I see no point in holding his hand or anything - he is unconscious, he won't know I'm there. We go home. I had about 3 hours sleep. By the time I could crawl into bed it was about 8am. By 11am people are starting to text me asking what's going on, checking if I'm okay. I had managed to text my boss about needing to call an ambulance while I was in the emergency waiting room. He's now replied to say I don't need to be at work today, but in the back of my mind is the fact that I have a show to work on, starting on Sunday - we are so busy that there will be no one else who can replace me on this show. (And we had a Federal Election on Saturday as well, so I was going to have to fit voting in around visiting S). At some point on this day a doctor calls me to get permission to administer a drug to S. This drug is not approved for use in Australia, but it is approved in the US. As a result they will have to ship it in from interstate, because there is not much

stock in the country, and I have to sign my permission for them to use it. It is a reversal drug for the 5 day chemo medication. It works best if administered soon after the chemo treatment - we are already past the ideal timeframe, but it is our best shot at helping S. S is unconscious and fighting for the next couple of days, and I'm half dreading that call that says things have taken a turn for the worse, come now! Instead, I see him for a short period each day, but he doesn't know I'm there. And I keep doing the work I have to do - at least this show is close to home for me, and close to the hospital. He is being supported by the blood pressure medication (Noradrenaline) which they are slowly able to reduce in dose, his temperature is stabilising, and the chemo reversal drug has had some positive effect. His white cell count is coming up - probably with the help of the blood products he's been given. By Tuesday 21st May S is awake and aware, and they have been able to remove the ventilator tube. The Physio is concerned about how weak he is - movement in his arms and legs is limited. He is breathing on his own, but it's hard work because his muscles are weak. His lips and mouth have been bleeding a bit around where the tube was. Still, we are seeing slow, small improvements and hoping for the best. On Friday they have to re-insert the breathing tube - he is too weak to maintain his breathing without assistance. This is a set-back, and comes with a warning that the breathing tube can't stay in his mouth/throat for too long, because it can cause all kinds of complications, especially in his compromised state. They tell me that without marked improvement soon they may have to perform a tracheotomy and insert the ventilator there. By this stage they have moved from nasogastric feeding to Parenteral nutrition (intravenously). The peg is still leaking. I'm now getting into a rhythm visiting S when I can for as long as I can around my work hours, and answering enquiries about his health and well wishes from family and friends on both my phone and his. I no longer have rehearsals every night, and the weekend's performances go pretty well. I know he's still critical, but he's stable and despite the set back S seems to be on a path of slight improvement again. The next set-back comes in the form of a flare up of the infection. The gut is still very inflamed - particularly the bowel. More blood products, more antibiotics, Noradrenaline dosage increased again. There is a mention that he probably has a slow internal bleed somewhere. Clotting is a problem - the bleeding in his lips and mouth is evidence of this too. Before I go to my Friday show I have to sign the permission for them to perform the tracheotomy - they've decided it needs to be done, and an emergency surgical team will do it but it could be a day or two before the operation actually goes ahead. Through this entire week S has been awake and aware, communicating with me as best he can around the breathing tube and the bleeding lips, which are scabby and sore. He is still very much alive mentally, still able to laugh at our corny jokes and request the music be turned up! Being in ICU he's not allowed flowers of gifts or anything, but they did allow me to take in a little blue tooth speaker so he could have the radio on all day. I see him as early as visiting hours allow on Saturday 1st June - his 42nd birthday. I have 2 shows on this day, and won't be able to see him again until Sunday. I leave the hospital soon after his Dad and brother arrive for a visit, around 11:30. Around 12:30, while I'm running sound checks for the matinee show, I get a phone call asking me for permission to do the tracheotomy. At first this confuses me - they have permission already. Apparently they are now doing it in ICU, not in the emergency theatre or wherever. He was more drowsy on the Sunday, after the tracheotomy, but still essentially in the same condition - stable. I cried off sick for work on Monday and spent a bit more time with him - I knew I had to be at work on

Tuesday for a morning staff meeting. The hospital social worker called me before I went to visit S, wanting to arrange a "family meeting" for this week some time. At first we settled on Friday morning, but later they asked me if we could arrange a time earlier in the week. After re-arranging my work schedule we agreed on 3pm Tuesday, even though S's Dad would not be able to be there anymore. Then I arrived for my Monday visit with S. We had the radio on - S likes to have music playing, even when he's falling asleep - and the announcers were talking about the State of Origin (a Rugby League series of 3 matches between rival state teams, New South Wales and Queensland). I told him I'd make sure we put the radio on the right station on Wednesday night so he could listen. Suddenly the most important thing in the world for him was finding a way to be able watch the game! I told him I'd find a way. Tuesday comes and I get through my staff meeting and a few other things on my now half day before running back to the hospital for this family meeting. It turns out this is just me, S, his ICU team, his oncology team and the social working re-capping what S has been through so far, and then scaring me (and more so S) by saying out loud the words "Palliative care". Essentially they are telling us we are out of further options. He is being given everything possible to assist recovery - the blood pressure meds are now at a low dose, but they still have to support his blood pressure, he is still on a ventilator to assist his breathing, the infection is still not improving, but it has not got worse, they have run out of different antibiotics to throw at the infection, it still seems the bleed is present, the scabs on his lips are still apt to bleed more than they should if they are disturbed. If his organs start to fail there will be nothing they can do - surgery will more than likely not be an option, and one failure will lead to another until his heart, then brain will go and that will be it. So, if we start to see organ failure palliative care becomes the only option. This is the point at which I am in disbelief. He can't be that bad. He is still totally alive mentally. How can we be discussing "making him comfortable until he dies"? And S is even more disbelieving and scared than me at those words. Yes S has looked better, yes he has spent over 2 and a half weeks in ICU, yes he has a lot more hard fighting to do if he's ever going to beat this, but his brain is fine, he is completely aware of where he is and what's going on around him - just a bit inclined to tire quickly. I stay with him longer than I intend to that night because he starts to complain of stomach pain. It gets worse. Really bad. They give him morphine. He says it doesn't help. His breaths start hitching, like something is stabbing him or something. He finally gives me the description "like hiccoughs, but sore". I can see how swollen his stomach is - fluid retention. And he is also complaining that he wants to lie on his side. We have to wait ages for the right number of people to be available to turn him on his side, to a more comfortable position. But his stomach is still giving him intense pain and whatever spasms are causing the breath hitches and grimaces. I have to leave him like that - in pain, but with the nurse on duty doing whatever he can to ease the discomfort, administering Morphine whenever possible - visiting hours are over and I'm asked to leave. On my way to work on Wednesday morning (5th June) I get a call from the head doctor in S's ICU team. He wants to know what time I can be there today - S has had major abdominal pain since last night (I know, I was there!), and they are investigating the cause, but it looks like the kidneys are failing. He tells me he will update me via text when he knows more, I tell him I will get there as soon as I can after work. I get no texts all day. I get to the hospital around 4:45pm - armed with the all important iPad mini for him to watch the State of Origin game on (yes, that is still a priority for S! God

love him!!). I'm told S has been taken for a scan and I need to come back in about an hour. So, when I return and he's back from the scan, I get the iPad hooked in to the Wifi and open the app he needs. Then I have to have the conference with the doctor. His kidneys have failed. Fluid is building up in his stomach. They want my permission to put a drain directly in his belly to ease the pressure. I give it. I have to wait outside while they get this done. There is a brief discussion about surgery - but that would literally be futile. Again we have the conversation about palliative care. This is the beginning of the end. His body is shutting down. S can't fathom this. He says the words that still break my heart, pointing to his head to indicate his mind he mouths "I'm still alive". He has so much to say, but we can't understand him through the scabs on his lips and his inability to make any real sounds. We try to get him to write things down, but his hands are really too weak. The doctor has asked if he wants to have the pain medication increased so he can slip away peacefully. The sentence he writes is "I just want to see how I go" - he wants so badly to keep fighting. He doesn't want to die. Once the doctor is sure he is comfortable for now he leaves us to watch the game - no S has not forgotten the game! He does not administer the pain medication, but he gives the authorisation for its use once S requests it. And although I had not planned to stay and watch the game (which starts around the time visiting hours end), I do. They let me stay. He nods off a bit during the second half, but I know how much seeing it means to him, so I rouse him for the good bits, and make sure he sees the end - a good result for him, a come-from-behind win for his team. I say my goodnight and leave S to get some sleep. I have told my boss how dire things are, and he has told me I have leave starting now for as long as I need. I get a call around 9:30 on Thursday morning asking me what time I will be getting to the hospital. Apparently S has been asking for me. I had a couple of things to do before I could get there, so I arrive just after 11:30am. S is not as awake and aware as he was last night. They have started giving him the pain medication (Fentanyl) the doctor was talking about, and it has affected S's ability to focus, and therefore communicate. He has apparently been asking what's going on - last night he knew the story, now he's unclear. I wish they had held off on administering the drug. I would have liked to speak to my clear headed husband today. His kidneys have failed, the liver is failing. We are out of options. His Dad and brother are in and out today - we are kind of rotating our breaks until early afternoon. A Palliative Care consultant, and the social worker and the nurse looking after S want to have a meeting with me, and it takes me longer than it should to realise that this meeting is for me to give the final word on the beginning of the end. They are focusing on making sure I am okay with what's about to happen. Making sure I know that I have the final say, and once I give the go ahead they will stop all meds that aren't making him comfortable - the Fentanyl dose will increase, but the feeding, the antibiotics and finally the Noradrenaline will be stopped. It will then be a matter of minutes or hours before he is gone. I know they are trying to be helpful, but having them ask if I'm okay, having them tell me how strong I have been for him and how much of an advocate for him I have been is only making my heart break more. That afternoon, his brother, sister-in-law and their 4 kids, my brother and sister-in-law and 2 of their kids all come in to say their farewells. The Fentanyl dose has already been increased, so S knows they are there, but he is so drowsy it's hard for him to open his eyes. His sister-in-law wants to stay with me. She doesn't seem to understand I need to be alone with S for this. But, at last she gives me space. I'm the one who has to give the green light. It's really hard to do, but I know we

are out of options. As soon as they stop the blood pressure medication (Noradrenaline), S opens his eyes and looks at me. He is as focused as I have seen him all day, his grip on my hand is desperately strong, and I explain to him one final time what is happening, tell him I love him, tell him I'm sorry things turned out this way, sorry for all the things we had planned that we won't get to do together, and tell him it's time to stop fighting and just let go. I try to tell him not to worry about anything or anyone, that it's okay to go. I hope he understands. It must be about 40 minutes before he is unconscious. They stop the ventilator. I turn off the radio - he can't hear it anymore, and he and I have different taste in music! I know he can't feel it anymore, but I won't let go of his hand until he's gone. He holds on for over an hour without the ventilator. Then there are no more breaths. I know he's gone. His hand is already much cooler than it was an hour or so ago. I am a widow. It has happened so fast. It feels strange, but I don't think the full weight has hit me yet. I am bursting into tears at random moments. I am thinking of stupid things like "what am I going to do with all these Fruit Loops - he eats those, not me!", instead of dwelling on the hard things like having a funeral to arrange, and dealing with all the people who keep wanting to do things for me, or stay with me.

That was two years ago now. In excess of 300 people came to his funeral service - a testament to how many friends he made, how many lives he brightened just that little bit with his generous spirit and ever-present smile. Of course, I still miss him. I still have my teary moments. I still struggle with guilt. But I remember his smile, his laugh, the way he would sing along to the music and make up his own words (often to make the song about us), his spontaneous dancing and all the love!

#grief/mourning #death tw #cancer tw #hospital #illness tw #medical procedure #medical drugs #tw cpr

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nekojitachan · 4 years

Text

OK, so it took a while, but I got something written (I should say something completed). Let’s hope this continues.

That something is the next part of the raven!Andrew soulmate story. There’s a bit of a time jump here. But hopefully you’ll catch on to what’s happening.

Here’s a link to the first part.

*******

Andrew pulled the Maserati Quattroporte Ribelle into the only gas station at the exit; they were two hours from Abby Winfield’s house, timed to get there around 7am. That meant they’d drove through the night after leaving West Virginia, creeping out of the Nest past midnight like a pair of thieves – or escapees. However, Ichirou had granted them their (limited) freedom at last, even bestowed upon them the car which rumbled to a stop at the gas pump of some no-name town.

Nathaniel slumped lower in the passenger seat and tugged the hood of his black long-sleeved t-shirt further over his face while Andrew grabbed his wallet, despite the fact that they were the only one at the gas station/mini-mart. “Do you want anything?” Andrew asked his soulmate before he stepped out of the car.

“Uhm, something to drink?”

“One super-size atomic sludge freeze slushie, coming right up, sweetpea.”

The left corner of Andrew’s mouth twitched upward as Nathaniel called him an asshole and more, the insults cut off when the car door slammed shut; that was the most reaction he’d gotten out of his boyfriend since they’d left Edgar Allan. He couldn’t blame him, really, not when one had considered everything that had happened in the last couple weeks.

They’d succeeded in taking down Riko; the mentally unstable prick had finally snapped during the pregame session when the Ravens and Foxes were supposed to face off at the division championship. Considering that his little ‘tantrum’ had led to several players on both teams being injured, it was decided that the final game would be cancelled and the championship awarded to the team with the most points accumulated during the season, which of course were the Ravens. A lot of people weren’t happy about that since they’d looked forward to the face-off between the Foxes (Kevin Day) and the Ravens (Riko), but there was little that could be done in the end.

Especially when Tetsuji announced that he was stepping down due to ‘guilt’ from failing his nephew. Oh, there was a bit of an outcry about what was going on at the Nest to make Riko ‘snap’ like that, but it was mostly overridden by the news of ‘the Master’ retiring and the search for a new coach (as if Ichirou didn’t have one lined up already).

Mostly.

All that mattered was that Riko was shuffled off to some psychiatric center (never to return, not that Andrew would put money down on the prick lasting out the rest of the year), and that Tetsuji was gone, too (he’d give him maybe another year, just so it didn’t look too suspicious, both of them dying close together). Since Ichirou had taken over after his father had passed away in the spring, he’d made it clear that he intended to rid himself of the side branch for once and all; he broke no exploitable weaknesses.

Andrew had been more than willing to exorcise those weaknesses if it meant buying Nathaniel’s freedom.

(Or at least as much freedom as he could manage at the moment.)

With their ‘king’ and ‘master’ gone, some of the Ravens had flown far, far away from their Nest. A couple had been… strongly urged to leave (kicked out). A few had complained about the stress of the program and not wanting to end up like Riko, and been let out of their contracts (a good example of PR). And then there had been Jean, Nathaniel and Andrew.

Jean took the opportunity during one of the many ‘what are your thoughts on Riko’ interviews to announce that Jeremy Knox was his soulmate, so it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone that he accepted an offer to transfer to SCU. Since Aaron blew up all of his (pathetic) social media channels with how he’d found his own soulmate at last and that she was a PSU cheerleader, and Nathaniel always defended Kevin after he transferred to the Foxes, it didn’t shock too many people when Nathaniel and Andrew allowed PSU to release a press release a few days later (finally) that they were leaving Edgar Allan to join their former teammate in South Carolina.

It’s what Andrew had strived for all these months, yet… yet here he was at 5am in a random minimart, shoving energy and granola bars, bottles of green tea, cans of energy drinks, and whatever decent chocolate snacks he could find into the basket hung from his left arm, to be paid for (along with a tank of premium gasoline) by a fancy black credit card courtesy of one Ichirou Moriyama. Dressed in a black hoodie, his stare hostile as he dared the half-asleep attendant to say something as the teenager rung him up, he was half-tempted to demand a pack of cigarettes before he left to return to the car.

Nathaniel would be upset if he resumed the habit, so he didn’t do anything.

(Nathaniel was already stressed out enough with all the changes.)

Andrew grabbed the credit card and bag of goods then left the store to return to the car, and noticed that Nathaniel had locked it during his absence. His soulmate gave him an anxious smile as he fell into the driver’s seat (hmm, very comfortable) and handed over the bag before he returned the card to his wallet then fastened his seatbelt.

“Really? Most of this stuff is junk,” Nathaniel complained as he grabbed a green tea and granola bar for himself.

“Guess I don’t have to share,” Andrew said as he fetched an energy drink and chocolate bar for himself; he felt something settle inside of himself when Nathaniel smiled at the joke.

“You’re gonna have to put up with Kevin soon enough,” his soulmate warned as he unwrapped the granola bar.

“And who do you think is gonna win?”

Nathaniel’s smile softened as he reached over to tug back Andrew’s hood. “Try not to beat him down too much.” Then his smile faded into a guilty expression. “You okay driving the last bit? We can stop somewhere.”

Andrew held up the energy drink. “This will see me through.” He popped it open and took a sip. “Once we get settled in, we’ll work on your driving lessons.”

“Yeah.” Nathaniel nibbled on the granola bar for a moment. “I… this is… I don’t….”

Andrew reached out to slide his hand into the voluminous black hood, to cup the back of his boyfriend’s nape. “We’ve got time now,” he assured Nathaniel. “No one’s going to drag you back to the Nest,” or Baltimore, “and you’ll figure this stuff out.”

Andrew would make sure he did, that Nathaniel got a chance to learn all the things he’d been deprived of, between being locked up in the mansion (death house) in Baltimore then caged in the Nest.

It was quiet while he returned to the interstate (save for the purr of the Maserati’s engine), then Nathaniel let out a loud sigh. “I just… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

No, he hadn’t, and despite that fact, he’d agreed to follow Andrew out of the Nest, to leave behind Jean (his pillar of support for years) to face the unknown. Maybe someone wouldn’t consider it such a big deal, switching campuses and teams, but Nathaniel’s life had been strictly controlled by Nathan and Tetsuji, had been restricted to school and his ‘house’ (the mansion in Baltimore, then the Nest). He’d never once gone anyplace without it being approved first, had never roamed freely, had never been free.

Andrew might have been abused and passed around, but he had been able (mostly) to go wherever he wanted (except while in juvie). Hell, some foster parents hadn’t given a damn where he went, as long as they could collect a check while he was their ‘responsibility’. So Nathaniel out in the big wide world was a shock to the redhead, one that Andrew was trying his best to cushion.

(He was there for his soulmate, someone to ground him, and even after all this time was amazed how Nathaniel’s anxiety settled at his mere presence.)

The last two hours passed mostly in silence, with Nathaniel reaching for Andrew’s right hand after he finished the granola bar and two green teas. Andrew threaded their fingers together while he followed the GPS to Winfield’s house, pleased to grant his soulmate that bit of comfort, especially as the interstate gave way to city roads and then to neighborhood streets.

“It’ll be okay,” he assured Nathaniel. “Kevin said we could trust her.” If not, then Kevin would be eating his own pickled liver.

“I know.” Nathaniel shivered as he glanced at the ranch-style houses that lined the road they drove along. “It’s just… this is so new to me.”

Andrew was quiet a moment before he stroked his thumb along his soulmate’s left hand. “If she’s not an addict of some sort, she’ll be new to me, too.” He refused to think about Cass just then.

Nathaniel gave him a horrified before he shook his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t, okay? Now’s not the time for our ‘who had it worse’ game.”

“Which I won,” Andrew insisted, even though that wasn’t quite true; it was basically a tie on different fronts.

“Whatever,” Nathaniel snorted, yet the tension left his body and he gave Andrew’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ll just go on about sleeping on the floor all the time so you can hog the bed, I bet.”

“Sleeping on the dirty floor, which is why I get to hog the blankets,” Andrew stated in a bland manner.

“As if you’re not gonna hog all the blankets anyway.”

Andrew hummed in a noncommittal manner (yes, he was going to hog all the blankets, thank you) as he pulled into Abby Winfield’s driveway; it was a nondescript split-level ranch, similar to the others on the street, with several Foxes’ flags planted in the marigold and daisy flowerbed.

For a moment, he debated his decision to have him and Nathaniel play for the Foxes, before he decided that it would be even more painful to join the Trojans.

(Dammit.)

He turned off the Maserati’s engine then reached for his cell phone so he could text Winfield that they’d arrived while Nathaniel stared at the house while nibbling on his full bottom lip (not a distraction at all). To his mild surprise, it only took a minute after his message had been sent before the front door of the house opened to reveal a woman in her early thirties, dressed in a light blue robe, her shoulder-length blonde hair tousled and a gentle smile on her face as she motioned for them to come inside.

“Uhm, she looks nice,” Nathaniel said in a quiet voice as he fiddled with his seat belt. From the doubtful tone to his voice, it was clear how well he knew that ‘looks nice’ didn’t mean that the person was nice.

“Stay behind me,” Andrew ordered; his boyfriend gave him a cool look for a moment before he nodded once.

Nathaniel may be the Butcher’s son, may be a Hatford, but they’d worked out over the past year or so (with a bit of trial and error) that Andrew faced the dangers first. Nathaniel was the one who knew Ichirou’s deepest secrets, who the Moriyama heir (and now lord) favored the most, so Andrew took the hits (and took them well, if at all), because if Nathaniel was hurt… well, it wasn’t good for either of them, if that happened.

Andrew protected Nathaniel, because Nathaniel was the one Ichirou needed the most. Nathaniel wasn’t happy about that, but Andrew didn’t know everything that his soulmate did, nor could he step in to Nathaniel’s spot if something happened to the polyglot idiot.

(He didn’t mind taking the blows when he knew his boyfriend was upset with each one that landed, when Nathaniel would gladly take them in his place. Nathaniel – Nat – never took him for granted. Never.)

(Nat was the only one who never did.)

They left the car and approached the small porch, Andrew in front, while Winfield’s smile brightened the closer they got. “You’re a bit early! I’d just put on a pot of coffee when I got your text.”

“No traffic,” Andrew said as he followed the woman into the house; Kevin swore that she was trustworthy, that they’d be fine staying with the team’s nurse until the dorms opened up in June. He wasn’t pleased to live with a stranger for several weeks, but it would attract less attention than if they rented a hotel room.

“I hope it wasn’t too bad of a drive,” Winfield said as she led them to a kitchen painted a bright yellow with yellow and white checkered curtains on the window and a table with six chairs; the aroma of brewing coffee filled the air, and a carton of eggs was set out on the counter. “Coffee will be ready soon, and I’ll make breakfast in a minute. Sit down, I’ll be right back,” she excused herself as she left the room, her left hand clutched on the front of her robe.

Considering that they’d been in a car for the last few hours, Andrew and Nathaniel remained standing; Nathaniel shuffled around the kitchen as he checked out the unfamiliar space, his movements jittery with anxiety. Andrew left him alone for a minute, then grabbed the hood of his shirt as he walked past to reel in him. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured in German as his soulmate slumped against him.

Nathaniel nibbled on his bottom lip while he nodded. “It’s just… this is all so… so weird.” He shivered a little before he rested his chin on Andrew’s left shoulder.

While Nathaniel was ecstatic to be rid of Riko and Tetsuji, he’d spent almost half his life in the Nest, and the other half had lived in constant fear while in the Butcher’s house. He was used to following rules (his small rebellions aside), to contained (twisted, stressful, dangerous) environments, to an existence that was anything but ordinary. He knew several languages, he knew how to take apart and put together a gun while blindfolded (and to shoot it), he knew dozens of ways to kill a person and how to maneuver through a good bit of the crime syndicates in North America (knew enough to bring down a good bit of the crime syndicates in North America), but he gazed in confusion at several appliances in Winfield’s kitchen, couldn’t drive and was floundering without Jean’s presence (even though he had told his partner to go join his soulmate).

Adjusting to the ‘real’ world was going to be quite the adventure for Nathaniel Wesninski.

(Andrew found it ironic as hell that he was the ‘well-adjusted’ one in that regard out of the two of them.)

Andrew had taken to massaging the small of his boyfriend’s back, which had prompted an appreciative murmur, right before Winfield returned to the kitchen, her cellphone in hand and dressed in pink sweatpants and a white t-shirt. “I’ve never heard David so cheerful this early on a Saturday morning, he-oh!” She smiled yet again to see them so close together, the expression tender; Nathaniel only pulled away a little so he could watch her movements. “He said he’ll be here with Kevin soon, so I guess I better make a lot to eat!”

“Uhm, thank you,” Nathaniel said in a quiet voice. “And thank you for letting us stay here.”

“It’s nothing, I have Foxes in and out of here all the time!” Winfield motioned around with an egg in her right hand before she cracked it into a large bowl. “Let me get this started then I’ll show you your room and you can bring your stuff in.” She gave them a wink while she continued to crack the eggs. “Kevin said you’ll be sharing a room, right? That means Aaron won’t be sleeping on a couch when he arrives.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed as he gave Nathaniel’s right hip a quick squeeze then let go so he could pour himself a cup of coffee; there were mugs set out by the coffee machine, along with a small pint of cream and a bowl of sugar. He held up the pot before pouring a second cup, which he did after Nathaniel nodded.

He’d just prepared his drink to his satisfaction (with Nathaniel wrinkling his nose over the amount of sugar and cream dumped into the mug) when Winfield stepped away from the stove. “Okay, now for a quick tour.”

They’d already seen the living and dining room from the kitchen, so she took them down the long hallway to their bedroom for the next several weeks, pointing out the linen closet and bathroom along the way. The room had a queen-sized bed, a nightstand and a small dresser that would easily hold all of their belongings during their stay, decorated in pale cream and blues. Nathaniel blinked a couple times after entering the room, probably never having witnessed something so… ‘homey’ in his life, while Andrew could put up with the lace curtains and flowers on the bedspread since the space was clean and not painted black.

Winfield next showed them the lower level as they went to the car for their belongings, which housed the washer and dryer, along with a den with a television and gaming console (which would make Aaron happy when he returned from visiting Nicky in Germany), and a treadmill (which would make Nathaniel happy) along with some other exercise equipment. While she returned to the kitchen to resume making their breakfast, Andrew and Nathaniel fetched the few bags they’d brought with them from Edgar Allan.

Most of the belongings were Andrew’s, were what he’d taken to the university back when he’d been a freshman and what he’d collected over the last two years (mostly books). Nathaniel owned very little in the way of personal items, and they’d both agreed to leave behind as much as they could that was tied to the Ravens and Edgar Allan, so he didn’t have anything other than a few changes of clothes, a suit gifted to him from Ichirou (necessary for when he was called on for ‘business’), things he required for school and those rare personal items.

Shopping was at the top of their agenda.

It didn’t take them long to unpack; they returned to the kitchen to refill their coffee mugs and help Winfield (well, Nathaniel offered) set the table. Shortly after that was done, the front door of the house opened and a loud voice called out. “Abby! Get your sutures ready, there’s a mouth I need you to sew shut!”

“But it would be so much better if we-“

“For the last time, we’re not completely revamping the practice schedule! Another word out of you and not only will I sew your lips shut, but I’ll take away your keys to the court!”

Nathaniel shuffled closer to Andrew as David Wymack, coach of the PSU Foxes, stomped into the kitchen, a large box of what appeared to be donuts held in his left hand; he was dressed in dark blue sweatpants and a faded orange and white t-shirt with the team’s logo on front. Right behind him was Kevin, dressed in his usual black jeans and a black t-shirt, who smiled when he caught sight of the two of them then rushed over to give Nathaniel a hug.

“You look good, both of you do,” he told Andrew’s soulmate, who allowed the embrace for a couple seconds, while in the background Winfield chided Wymack about the whole ‘sew mouth shut’ thing. “Glad to be here?” Once he let go of Nathaniel, he gave Andrew a polite nod in greeting.

“It’s much better than the Nest,” Nathaniel hedged, which really wasn’t much of an answer since juvie had been better than the Nest, in Andrew’s opinion. Still, Kevin didn’t seem to pick up on it, especially since his father decided to join the conversation right then.

“I have never seen this one,” he gave Kevin’s dark hair an affectionate tousle, “so wide awake this early when practice isn’t involved. I thought I’d have to drag him out of bed, but all it took was hearing that the two of you were here and he got up right away.”

Kevin frowned as he attempted to restore order to his hair then gave a gentle shove to his father’s side. “We’ve been waiting for them to join the team for how many months now,” he complained; Andrew ignored the father-son bonding (or whatever it was) so he could investigate the box of donuts, with Nathaniel right behind him despite the fact that he disliked sweets. Wymack noticed Nathaniel’s ‘clinginess’, especially when redhead didn’t grab a donut for himself.

Then again, Nathaniel had been cagey around the man whenever they’d met (when the Ravens had played against the Foxes or at the district banquets), under the premises of Nathaniel talking to Kevin (supposedly to come back to Edgar Allan). He’d made sure to stay out of Wymack’s reach the entire time they’d given an update about how things were going with Riko, wary of any adult male who reminded him of Nathan Wesninski.

“The board will be happy to know you’re finally here, considering the fits they threw over me holding open two spots on the team so late.” Wymack slowly backed away and leaned against the counter, his tattooed arms folded across his broad chest. “Though they feel it’s worth the aggravation in the end, considering we signed two more Ravens.”

“Ex-Ravens,” Nathaniel murmured as he gave Andrew a queasy glance for the large bearclaw he picked from the box for his second donut, the cream-filled one already devoured.

Wymack huffed in approval while Kevin glared at Andrew (and was blithely ignored). “Yes, exactly. You two are officially Foxes now, your gear’s in your lockers and your numbers locked in.” He gave them an amused look while Kevin appeared smug. “You’re lucky your numbers were available, though part of that is nobody wanting to touch #3 and Renee being willing to change her number for her last season.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes while he swallowed a bite of pastry. “Why did she do that?” Players tended to be attached to their numbers for some reason, not that he gave a damn about his own, even if it was tattooed on his left cheek.

Wymack glanced at Kevin before he spoke. “Because she’s not planning on joining to the pros once she graduates; she enjoys playing Exy, but she accepted the scholarship so she could get a college degree and she believes what we’re doing here with the Foxes. She feels that you’re more invested in the sport than she is, so she’s fine with changing on her number.”

Didn’t that sound like everything he knew about one Renee Walker (at least officially)? Andrew didn’t give a damn about Exy, it was just something that had allowed him to get out of a bunch of boring therapy sessions, to keep an eye on Aaron, to give Aaron a chance of a university degree, to allow him near his soulmate, to protect said soulmate….

It gave him Nathaniel.

So what if he ended up playing it for the next decade or so? Nathaniel would be by his side (except for the year where he went to the pros and Nathaniel remained behind for his last year in university) while he ‘suffered’ through it all; it didn’t matter what number he wore on his uniform or what team he played for as long as his soulmate was there beside him.

“It’s just a number,” he muttered before he tossed another piece of pastry into his mouth.

“You know it’s more than that,” Kevin argued as he rubbed the ‘2’ on his left cheek. “There might not be a Perfect Court anymore, but we’re still considered among the best players in Exy. There are… certain expectations for us.” Judging from the way he glanced at Nathaniel then back at Andrew and Wymack’s expression hardened while he talked, he didn’t mean their fans.

Kevin might not know where all the bodies were buried or had played a major part in taking down the side branch, but he still answered to Ichirou in the end.

“We’re well aware of what’s expected of us,” Nathaniel said as he stared Kevin down.

It was quiet in the kitchen after that, until Winfield cleared her throat a couple minutes later. “Breakfast is ready so why doesn’t everyone sit down?” She gave them a nervous smile as she motioned to the table; once they shuffled toward the chairs, she brought over a large pan filled with scrambled eggs, cheese and hashbrowns, followed by a plate of sausage.

Nathaniel eyed the meal with trepidation, but at least helped himself to the egg mix, probably thinking with longing of his usual oatmeal and fruit, while Andrew would have been fine with the donuts. He noticed that Winfield and Wymack bore the same soulmate marks on their forearms (what looked to be a daisy-like flower and tower), which might explain why Katelyn Day had kept Kevin a secret from the man. Winfield told them that they could help themselves to whatever was in the kitchen or make their own meals, and that she was willing to cook around any dietary requirements.

“Ah, we don’t want to bother you,” Nathaniel said as he picked at his food (at least until Andrew gave a light kick to his right ankle). “We don’t eat anything too complicated, just….”

“I’m familiar with Kevin’s diet,” she told them as she gave their friend an affectionate look. “And he told me that you like fruit. “We’ll work something out that’ll fit in with what you’re used to but won’t be as strict.”

“Or flavorless.” When Nathaniel gave Andrew a narrow look for the complaint, he rolled his eyes. “Try to tell me that you weren’t bored with steamed fish and rice.”

The left corner of Nathaniel’s mouth quirked upward as he flicked aside another piece of hashbrown from his eggs. “I think all that chocolate you eat ruined your tastebuds.”

And who was it that gave him said chocolate, often smuggled into the Nest? Andrew huffed as he scooped up the potatoes to eat himself.

“So, your uniforms and gear’s ready, it arrived the other day,” Kevin said as he pushed his empty plate aside. “We can start practicing tomorrow, I’ve some ideas that-“

“No.”

Kevin gaped at Andrew for that flat denial, while Wymack held his mug between his hands and leaned back in his chair, Winfield got up to clear the empty plates from the table and Nathaniel stilled. “What do you mean, ‘no’? You came here early to-“

“We came here to get out of the Nest, since it’s crawling with reporters and we’re no longer Ravens,” Andrew reminded Kevin and Wymack. “And to give us,” more Nathaniel, “time to adjust. Which means Exy’s going to wait a bit.”

“But-“ Kevin, the Exy addict that he was, turned to Nathaniel, the other Exy junkie at the table. “Don’t you want to get back out on court as soon as possible?”

Nathaniel let out a slow breath and scooted his chair away from the table until he could bring his right knee up and hug his bent leg against his chest; he looked so small and uncertain while hunched over like that, looked so helpless, but Andrew knew that it placed his hands near the knife holstered around his right ankle. “You forget that Jean and I had next to nothing that wasn’t given to us by the Moriyamas,” he reminded Kevin. “Andrew and I need to go shopping tomorrow.”

“You can-“

Wymack cut off his son with a stern look before he nodded at Andrew and his soulmate. “The court’s not going anywhere, get settled in first. I can give you the team’s p-card if you’re low on funds.”

“Did you see the car outside?” Kevin muttered, appearing upset over having his Exy playtime denied, only to wince when Winfield get a slight smack to the back of his head before she rejoined them at the table. “Ow!”

“We’re fine,” Nathaniel answered while Andrew shook his head; while he wasn’t a big fan of accepting handouts from anyone, especially a Moriyama, he figured that Nathaniel was owed for all the work he’d done over the years so Ichirou could pay for a few new wardrobes (at the least).

“Right, how many times have I-“

“Dad, the car!”

“Leave them be, David, I’m sure they’ll ask for help if they need it.”

Wymack scoffed at that remark but dropped the subject after giving Andrew and Nathaniel a dubious look; the rest of the meal passed in relative silence. Before Wymack and Kevin left, Wymack handed over a set of keys to them, which apparently would let them into the Palmetto Court (so would the lock picks in their possession, but there were some things their new coach didn’t need to know). “Call me when you’re ready to practice so I can show you around and give you the code to get in.”

“It’s going to be great to be on the same team again,” Kevin said in passing. “I’ve got all these ideas for us.”

“Don’t scare them away, you moron,” his father chided as he shoved Kevin toward the front door. “It’s not too late for them to run for the hills.”

Kevin mumbled something about it being all right, his voice cut off by the door closing behind him.

Nathaniel stared after the two men, a slight smile on his face, only to twitch when Winfield stood up from the table. “It’s so nice to see Kevin excited again. He’s been a bit depressed about the championship game, but you coming here has cheered him up.”

“Oh.” Nathaniel shared a look with Andrew; they knew that Kevin, for some strange reason, had been upset over the whole ‘Riko locked up’ thing (what had he thought would happen to the psychotic prick?), but they let Winfield think whatever she wanted about the matter. “Uhm, we can help,” he offered when she started to clear off the table.

“No, it’s all right, why don’t you two go rest or something?” she told them. “You look tired. I’m going to let the dishes soak then run some errands.”

Andrew didn’t need to be told twice (not that he wanted to do chores in the first place); he grabbed his soulmate’s left hand and pulled him away from the table before Nathaniel got them stuck washing the dishes or something equally lame.

The bedroom door had a lock on it, but it was the basic type found in most houses and could easily be broken with a bit of effort; Andrew resolved to get a better one while they were out shopping tomorrow. For the time being, he piled their bags in front of the door, so at least they’d have some warning if anyone tried to enter the room while they slept.

Nathaniel sat on the bed and watched him ‘barricade’ the door, a slight smile on his face. “Suspecting Kevin to burst in here to drag us off to court?”

“Would you even put up a fight if he did?”

“Hmm, maybe not if it’s after our nap.” Nathaniel tilted his head back as Andrew approached the bed, his smile growing as Andrew combed his fingers through his soulmate’s unruly hair.

“Why do I put up with a junkie like you?” Andrew murmured as he rubbed his thumbs along Nathaniel’s elegant cheekbones.

“Because I’m your sweetpea,” Nathaniel reminded him, amusement and affection bright in his pale blue eyes.

Andrew made a gagging sound as he pushed his soulmate down onto the bed. “The lack of sleep has made you delirious. Take off your clothes.”

“That doesn’t sound like we’ll be sleeping then.” Nathaniel laughed for the first time since Jean had left for California, the sound short but teasing, when Andrew threw his own shirt at the idiot’s face.

“I’m about to smother you with a pillow,” he threatened as he shoved down his jeans (and refused to be unaffected by the sight of Nathaniel shimmying out of his own pair, those long legs bared and pert ass- not now).

“I thought we were supposed to talk about new kinks beforehand.”

Andrew sighed as he slid between the sheets (baby blue, but soft so he’d bear with them). “Nat… shut up and sleep.” His boyfriend got like this sometimes when he was stressed, would be one flippant comment after the other in a show of false bravado. Nathaniel’s wry smile faltered for a moment, then he curled up close to Andrew while giving him an almost pleading look.

Clicking his tongue over the idiot’s concern, Andrew pulled Nathaniel against him. “I’m going to gut Kevin if he does break in here,” he said while he removed his armbands (to tuck beneath the pillow), once his soulmate was settled against his left side.

“Hmm, okay. He should know better, though, after I threw a knife at him the one time.”

Huh, Andrew hadn’t heard that story yet. He made a mental note to ask about it after they woke up, then pushed all thoughts out of his mind (everything they had to do, Ichirou, Kevin, the Foxes, checking up on Jean…) so he could fall asleep, Nathaniel’s breath and slow even against his shoulder.

*******

Yeah, I just couldn’t see writing yet again the whole ‘we’re gonna take down Riko’ storyline, so I skipped it. Now to show Andrew and Nathaniel joining the Foxes (and obviously, the impact that has on them, especially Nathaniel). Aaron will be joining shortly, and Jean will show up long-distance-wise for now (can’t pull him away from Jeremy now that he’s finally with his soulmate).

Oh, and Kevin obviously has a really good relationship with Wymack here. Confessing the truth earlier helped a lot in that regard (something Jean and Nathaniel got on Kevin to do).

I guess I gotta come up with a title for this? *sighs*

#aftg #raven!andrew #raven!neil #well #sorta #soulmate au #andreil soulmates #neil josten #andrew minyard #neil as nathaniel #kevin day #david wymack #abby winfield #andrew is very very very protective here #seriously #poor neil is a bit overwhelmed #like how do you live when you're not completely surrounded by psychopaths?#drew that person is smiling at me i think they're plotting to poison our food i'll stab em you create a diversion #andrew just wants his chocolate chip pancakes without a side of blood

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almostkoo · 4 years

Text

Blue Moon Rising | Min Yoongi

pairings: yoongi x oc

summary: the past week oc’s roommate, yoongi had been acting strange, being short with them and disappearing quickly when one day oc decides to follow yoongi out to the woods to see what’s going on and discovers a big secret

word count: 1.5k

warnings: language, unedited 🤡

author’s note: sixth spooktober story ! one more and we’re all done !! as always i hope you guys enjoy !!

link to my main masterlist :)

Min Yoongi was odd.

He was a lot of things. Sweet, thoughtful and caring. But odd was definitely up there in the defining traits of him as a person.

You’d coined Yoongi as an odd individual since you had met him about a year ago. He’d place an ad looking for a roommate after his previous one had moved out. He was relatively easy to live with. He did all the cleaning per his request. But was oftentimes never at the apartment. You’d see him there on Tuesdays and Saturdays and that was it. You had only seen him on Tuesdays only but that changed a month into your residence. He’d caught you sitting up on the couch late one night binging some old show that got placed on Netflix, he quietly joined you and it just picked up and the next weekend you found yourself again with Yoongi on the couch and it just continued like that for a while. Until he randomly stopped. Then you caught him on Tuesday sitting at the kitchen counter drinking black coffee when he quietly said:

“I’ll catch you this Saturday.”

So you now currently danced your way around the kitchen, preparing snacks for your Netflix binge. SNSD and SHINee blasted from your portable speaker. Wiggling around the kitchen as you popped popcorn and arranging the various bowls of snacks and candies.

You wiped sweat from off your brow, dancing in a Cinnamoroll onesie was a workout. You brought the bowls into the living room placing them on the coffee table. You sat back on the couch picking up the remote to flip through Netflix waiting for Yoongi to join you.

You sat back toggling the options between Unsolved Mysteries and The Haunting of Bly Manor. The door to Yoongi’s bedroom opened up and he came out in a Kumamon onesie. His black hair was slick down to his head and he looked like he wasn’t feeling well.

“Hey Yoongi if you want we don’t have to binge Netflix today we can just wait until next weekend if you want.” you offered. Yoongi shook his head as he leaned back slowly into the couch, wincing in pain.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired. I’ve skipped out enough with you, it's no problem.” he said, leaning his head back into the cushions.

“Are you sure?” you asked him.

“Yeah it’s fine. What did you pick?”

You hummed. “I’m thinking either Unsolved Mysteries or The Haunting of Bly Manor. But Unsolved Mysteries is longer so I’m not sure if I want to watch that.”

“Just watch The Haunting of Bly Manor. I don’t really like true crime shows that much anyways.” he said, you flipped to the option and clicked play. Looking out the corner of your eyes to check out Yoongi who had his arms tucked into his sides holding onto himself.

About three episodes in and the clock swiftly nearing midnight. You felt yourself getting sleepy but unable to fall asleep. Anytime you felt your eyes start getting heavy with sleep and ready to close Yoongi would start shifting around on the couch in an attempt to get comfortable. How many times could he do that within 15 minutes you had no clue but was slowly getting irritated with his restlessness. You leaned forward grabbing the red bull you had placed on the coffee table, cracking it open and taking a sip.

Before you could finish it you heard soft snores leaving Yoongi’s mouth. Head tilted back, the hood of his onesie covering his eyes. You laid back pulling out your phone to scroll through it, hardly paying attention to the au pair on the tv and the ghosts haunting the manor.

Another three episodes in and you found yourself nodding off again, phone weighing your hand down as you kept falling asleep and waking.

You jumped awake when you felt Yoongi jump up off the couch muttering a “Shit, I gotta leave.” and then dashing out the door not even putting on shoes, slamming the door behind him. The artwork you had framed on the walls rattling in his wake. Yoongi left before you could even get out a word of protest. Scratching your head in confusion. You found yourself trotting over to the door sliding your feet into your sneakers and following behind him.

You ran down the steps to the apartment. Yoongi was nowhere in sight in the apartment. You made it outside, the cold October air made you regret not snatching your jacket off the hook when you left. Your head whipped around until you spotted a black figure with hooded bear ears that you recognized as Yoongi running off into the trees on the side of your apartment. You sighed, you were probably about to run off into the forest to your death. You started running off following behind him.

One thing you didn’t know was that Yoongi was a very fast runner. You found your lungs burning and begging you to stop running when Yoongi came to a stop a few feet away from you, he fell to his knees breathing heavily.

“It’s nice … to know .. that running.. kicked your ass too.” you huffed out in between breaths.

Yoongi’s heavy breaths turned into groans. “Y/n you can’t be here right now. You gotta go.”

“First of all you shouldn’t even be out here you’re gonna get sick. It’s fucking cold out here.” you persisted.

“You shouldn’t be here right now” Yoongi turned around looking at you, his sharp, feline like eyes usually brown glowed a bright gold, taking your breath away. “you gotta leave before something bad happens.”

You couldn’t find the words. But you were confused and definitely binged enough supernatural teen dramas as a youth to grasp what was going on right now. “Uh Yoongi..” you trailed off.

“You gotta leave. I can’t control myself right now. I might hurt you.” Yoongi said, as you caught a glimpse of his elongated canines against his bottom lip, creating a small lisp when he spoke.

“I uh-“ you found yourself stuck, unable to move as Yoongi hunched back over, groaning in pain. “Yoongi, are you alright?” you dumbly asked, finally feeling yourself able to move foot backed behind you ready to run if necessary.

“You need to leave now!” Yoongi yelled, the snapping of bones filling the air. Your feet took off, setting you off balance as you took off stumbling before catching your balance taking you off to your apartment.

You made it back to your apartment. Slamming the door and locking it behind you. Hoping your neighbors didn’t make a noise disturbance complaint against you. You sat down at the counter throwing back the hood of your onesie. Taking deep slow breaths attempting to calm yourself down. What the fuck did you just see? That couldn’t be right. No that was the Red Bull you had that fucked you up. Yeah? That sounds about right. That’s what it had to be. No way that Yoongi was a werewolf. You laughed out loud to yourself. That had to be it. It was your fourth Red Bull after all. You’d only drunken two in a day before. Four obviously had to be testing your limits and making you hallucinate weird shit. Yeah. You thought to yourself, laying your head against the counter, drifting off to sleep contempt with the story you told yourself.

You woke up to a soft knocking at the door. Your eyes blinked open as you got up going to the door. Looking through the peephole was Yoongi, you opened the door quietly letting him in. His Kumamon onesie was tattered and ripped in some spots, his hair was all over his head making him look more disheveled than he already was . He sat at the kitchen counter and you went around to join him sitting on the other side. You sat there for a few moments waiting for the silence to break.

You cleared your throat. “So uh, last night was weird.” Yoongi coughed, eyes darting around the room.

“I’m not human.” he sighed.

“You know I was really hoping last night was a Red Bull fever dream.” you ran your hands down your face.

“I tried hiding it from you for as long as I could. It’s been.. hard? Controlling this side of me. Everything is still so new and I tried staying away but everyone needs human contact.” he whispered, the last part. Your shoulders dropped, as you felt yourself grow sad for him.

“When did this happen?” you asked.

“My old roommate bit me. Then skipped town and left. I have no one to teach me how to go through all of this. I’m just dealing with it the best way I can.” Yoongi held his head in his hands a frown painting his features.

“Well I know I don’t know anything about this at all” you said, reaching across the counter to grab his hands. “we can get through this rough patch together. We’re friends, I got your back.” you said, softly. Yoongi looked up, a subtle smile on his face.

“It gets ugly at times.” he said.

“I imagine it would. That’s okay though. But this can’t repeat itself. I don’t like being scared out of my mind. I almost dirtied up my favorite onesie.” You and Yoongi laughed.

“Things will get better from now on. Since I have your help.” he smiled.

“Yes they will. Let’s keep being optimistic.”

#bts imagines #bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #suga x y/n #bts suga #bts fic recs #yoongi fic recs #bts x reader #bts x you #fic:blue moon rising #spooktober 2020 #writer:almostkoo

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spinelwritings · 5 years

Note

Hi ! I wanted to say that you are amazing and I wanted to ask if you could do a yandere spinel x reader?

Well, this was fun! I’ve never written a yandere character before, so I hope I did a good job.

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

When you first met Spinel, you thought she was just the sweetest thing.

You had met her at a BBQ the small town of Beach City was throwing. You had only just moved there and, despite preferring to stay away from parties, ended up deciding that it was the best place to meet your new neighbors.

You could see the crowd gathered on the beach from a distance, your anxiety climbing the closer you got. Your shoulders tensed and you shoved your shaking hands into your jacket pockets. You stopped, taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. You could do this. You just needed to jump in.

“Hey!”

You jumped out of your skin at the sudden voice behind you and whipped around. The girl jumped at your sudden movement, taking a step back and looking very nervous. You relaxed slightly when you saw it was just a girl, offering an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, you scared me a bit.”

The girl smiled at you and you had to admit, she was kinda cute with her big pink eyes and pigtails and upside-down heart gemstone in the middle of her chest. She must be one of those Gems you’ve heard about.

“Whatcha’ doin’ all the way over here? The party’s over there!”

She pointed at the crowded beach, arm stretching farther then what was probably necessary. It sounded like a rubber balloon and the thought made you giggle.

“Yeah, I’m just prepping myself a bit is all. I’ll go over there when I’m ready.”

She stared at you for a moment, head tilted slightly as she thought something over. Then she smiled again.

“Okay, can I stand with you then? I … don’t really want to jump into the crowd just yet.”

You shrugged, but that seemed to be enough for the pink gem. You passed a few minutes in comfortable silence before you let out a long sigh.

“I hate crowds.”

The gem next to you hummed.

“Me too.” She paused a moment, then smiled up at you again. “Why don’t we just help each other. We go in together and if anyone of us wants to get out, the other will help give an excuse or something.”

You snickered.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s jump in.”

She nodded, linking her arm with yours and almost dragging you to the beach.

As it turns out, the people of Beach City are really nice! Everyone greeted the two of you with smiles and kind words. You found yourself actually enjoying yourself quite a lot. And the whole time you wandered through the crowd, eating, playing games, and talking with those around you, the little pink gem followed close behind, her laughter and smile never far.

Towards the end of the night, an odd group decided to introduce themselves to you. They called themselves the Crystal Gems. They were all just as friendly as everyone else and they seemed to know the pink gem that was clinging to your arm. They called her Spinel and they all acted a bit … off around her like they were walking on eggshells or something. It irritated you, but you tried not to show it.

At one point, Steven asked you to help him get some drinks for everybody. Spinel tried to help, too, but Steven insisted that it was fine, two people was enough. She frowned.

“We’ll be right back!” She watched you as you left. You could feel her eyes on your back, even through the crowd of people.

“So, you and Spinel seemed to be getting along,” Steven said, a bit chipper than was natural.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I just, umm…” Steven paused, then continued in a hushed tone. “Just be careful with her, okay? She’s still trying to get better after a lot of trauma and I don’t know how stable she is, you know?”

You grabbed some drinks, not looking at the teenager.

“Thanks for the warning, I think I can handle it.”

Steven looked doubtful.

“I don’t know, she can be … a handful.”

You walked away, waving and giving an unconvincing thank you. Spinel smiled wide and bright when you showed back up with the drinks and handed them out, Steven following behind you. For just a moment, you saw an odd expression cross the gem’s face, but it flashed by far too fast for you to interpret what it meant.

As the night came to an end, you said your goodbyes and tried to walk away, but you found Spinel clinging to your arm once more, looking up at you with her big pink eyes.

“Will I get to see you again?”

You smiled at her and shrugged.

“Probably. It is a pretty small town.”

That seemed to be enough for her. She let you go with a hesitant smile and you went home.

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

You saw Spinel a lot after that. It seemed that, wherever you went in town, the gem was somewhere nearby. At first, you decided it was just a series of pleasant coincidences. She was just going for a walk on the beach like you, or she was just playing in the arcade. And you did enjoy her company. She made you laugh and she had the prettiest smile. You didn’t mind spending time with her when she did happen to show up, even if it was so often.

The first time she started making you nervous was when you were grocery shopping. She seemed to pop out of nowhere and made you jump. She just giggled, hanging off of your cart playfully. You forced a smile on your face and tried to have a decent conversation but something felt off about the whole situation. Hadn’t you heard that gems didn’t need to eat? Why would she be in a grocery store? But then, she could just be getting snacks for someone else or maybe just picking up some small things like batteries that the store also had.

But then she left the store with you, not a thing in her hands.

You tried avoiding her more after that. Your mind told you that there was no reason for it, that Spinel hadn’t done anything wrong. It’s not like she attempted to hurt you in any way. But your gut told you something was off and you didn’t want her around, at least not at much.

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

You decided that it would be safe to spend some time outside if it was the dead of the night. So, you snuck out well past midnight and went for a walk on the beach.

It was quiet, almost unnervingly so. You had spent nearly a week indoors by yourself, the silence wasn’t something you were lacking. Luckily, as you got closer to the beach you could hear the crash of the waves and that was enough, at least for now.

The only light came from the lighthouse, constantly spinning in the distance, but the moon was full and bright and that was enough to light your way. It was nice.

You decided to settle by one of the stray boulder’s, leaning against its rough surface and closing your eyes with a sigh. For one solitary moment, you were content and happy.

Unfortunately, that moment didn’t last long.

You heard the faint crunching of footsteps on the sand and your brows furrowed. The footsteps only got louder. It took a moment for your mind to process what it meant, but when it did your heart sank. A moment later you heard a familiar voice.

“Where’ve ya been, Doll?”

You tried not to flinch at the sweet tone, turning to her with a forced smile. Sure enough, there was Spinel, a sickly sweet smile on her face.

“Oh, hi, uh… I’ve just … been… sick! Yeah, I haven’t been feeling well, so I stayed home.”

Spinel was by your side in an instant, sitting in the sand with a soft thud.

“Are you feeling better now?” She asked, face far too close to yours. You leaned away, smile faltering slightly.

“Yeah, I’m a bit better.”

“Good.”

She wrapped her arms around you, over and over, smiling as she trapped you in her grip. It was suffocating.

“I really missed ya, Doll. Let’s not spend so much time apart again, okay?”

“Uhhh….”

But she didn’t wait for a response from you before jumping to her feet, all energy. It made you feel exhausted.

“Let’s go do something fun! We can go swimming, play a game, what’re ya in the mood for.”

“Actually, I need to sleep. You know, do human stuff.”

You forced a laugh, pretending you didn’t see how Spinel stiffened, smile forcing itself on her face, her eyes seeming to darken slightly.

“I guess that’s okay. I’ll just see ya in the morning then, right?”

You didn’t answer, just got up and all but fled the beach.

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

You were starting to get really scared of the small pink gem. Now she was showing up in your apartment, always greeting you with a smile and cheery “Heya!” She must have followed you that night you ran home from the beach. You tried constantly to shake her off, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer and the last thing you wanted was to get her mad. You knew how strong gems are, even the smallest ones, and if you got into a fight she could so easily kill you.

So you planned on leaving Beach City.

You had a friend from out of town, Charly, that was willing to help and your parents said you could stay at their place. All you had to do was find some way to leave Spinel without her getting suspicious of anything.

Unfortunately, your options were very limited. She didn’t sleep, get tired, or hungry. She had no reason to leave your side. The only time you really could get away was when you went to the bathroom or showered. It had a small window that could open and your apartment was on the first floor, you just had to force yourself to fit.

You tried not to eat. You told yourself it was only for a little while, just a week or two until you could fit through the tiny spot.

You told Charly everything and he waited in town, ready to come collect you when it was time. Now, you just had to wait.

Your moment came a little over a week later. You had managed to lose a lot of weight and, earlier in the day, you had managed to fit yourself through the small window. You told Charly to pick you up that night, making sure he knew to park on the end of the street so Spinel would not see him.

When you went to take your shower that night, you snuck in your backpack with you, already packed and ready to go. You had no plans to come back for anything else in that apartment. You could hear Spinel wandering around as you dropped your stuff by the window. You turned on the shower. It usually took you some time to shower, so you should half almost half an hour to leave and get as far away as possible.

You quietly put the backpack on your back and went to open the window, escape so close.

The window wouldn’t open.

Panic clawed up your throat and you wanted to throw up. You went to grab your phone, but it wasn’t in the pocket where you put it. You went back to the window, desperately trying to pry it open, tears starting to well up in your eyes. Your mind refused to work, panic frying whatever working circuits you had left.

You had no idea how much time had passed when you heard a knock on the bathroom door, that sickeningly sweet voice echoing in your head.

“You okay in there, Doll?”

You didn’t answer, sliding down the wall as the situation settled in your mind. The knocking was jarring, like nails being driven in your head.

“Come out, pudding!~ We’ve gotta talk!~”

You put your arms over your ears, trying to block out the voice and knocking.

The bathroom door opened with the sound of splintering wood, the lock clattering to the floor, and you froze. Spinel smiled at you, cold and menacing, bright magenta eyes glaring down at you, spirling with insanity.

Her hands were soaked in blood and in one of them, she clutched your phone.

#spinel x reader #yandere!spinel #yandere!au #yandere!spinel x reader #spinel x male!reader #spinel x fem!reader #spinel x gender neutral reader #TW blood #TW stalking #TW stalking behavior #angst #dark #spinelwritings

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chilly-me-softly · 4 years

Note

Can you write a jadon imagine where he’s a big partygoer and you aren’t and one night you guys get in a fight bc u didn’t want to go out and he comes back pissed and argues with you and you leave him and you can decide the rest!

Jadon has always been much more energetic than you, dragging you to do things you would never have done on your own. His ideal night was to party with you or just go for a drink, the important thing was to be surrounded by noise and people. Your typical evening was much calmer than his, including something as quiet as dinner on the couch watching a few episodes of a show.

You were different but somehow you worked, nothing more true than the saying 'opposites attract'. Sometimes you were satisfied and had a quiet evening, sometimes you kept your discomfort to yourself and went out with him. You even had fun at the end of the evening, you weren't one of those who weighed up the fact of not wanting to do something and being forced; but it wasn't really your field, that's it.

But it happened sometimes that you didn't have the strength to pretend everything was going well and that you were having fun and then the problems started earlier. When Jadon begged you to go, you said no, you ignored him for some time while he asked you again and again and then he went away slamming the door.

And that's exactly what happened that night, as expected. Your phone had been forgotten all night, no phone calls, no messages, and you went to bed around midnight knowing Jadon wouldn't be back very soon.

You wake up hearing mumbling and the bed rocking dangerously, it takes you a while to regain all your senses.

"Jadon, what are you doing?" you're still sleepy muttering to the boy who's changing for the night. A quick glance at the alarm clock reads just after 3:00.

"Sorry I woke you up, did I make too much noise for you?" he asks sarcastically and you don't want to listen to him when he's probably had a few drinks so you roll your eyes giving your back to him and put the blanket over your shoulders.

"Do you have any idea how I felt tonight alone, while my girlfriend was here doing her own damn thing?" but he doesn't seem to want to end the evening there.

"I've been with you three times this week already, Jadon"

"Oh sorry, I didn't know you had a limit" he makes fun of you and annoys you.

"Really, Jadon? You're being such an idiot right now. Stop it before I leave"

"I'm the idiot?" he asks incredulous y, pointing at himself.

"Yes, and you know why? Because I at least make an effort to please you and it's true, I don't come sometimes but when was the last time you stayed at home with me?" you ask and you see clearly the flash in his eyes.

"Sleep alone tonight, since you seem to like it so much lately" you murmur before you grab a hoodie and put it on when you leave the house.

He chases after you, "(Y/N)!" he calls you a couple of times before he can grab you by the arm.

"Please (Y/N) it's past three in the morning, come back in the house" he begs you and the idea of walking around at that time doesn't really appeal to you at all.

But you sleep in the guest room, in that foreign bed you've never used, and the next morning you're out of that house before Jadon even wakes up - even though you doubted he'd wake up at a decent time. You go to work and then go to your mom's house, visit her and agree to stay for dinner at her place making up that Jadon wouldn't be home anyway, not wanting to talk about it or anything. And when you come home that night, after hours of not setting foot in those walls, he's in bed exactly where you left him. For a moment you wonder if he got up that morning, then you see the note you left him wrinkled and on the floor and then you have no doubt.

"I'm sorry" his voice comes loud and clear to your ears, his eyes are open now and they look at you.

"Are you okay now?"

"I've experienced your ideal day, I have to say it wasn't bad at all" you try to hold back the smile that pops up on your face while you change quickly and go brush your teeth before you sit in bed.

"You did it just for the hangover"

"Maybe, but I can do it normally" you slip under the covers and let him hold you.

"We're a disaster"

"A beautiful disaster" he comments, making you roll your eyes at him while he grinds.

"And you know I always come back to you in the end but can you not make me feel guilty every time? That's not nice"

"I know and I'm sorry, I really am. I was really scared when I saw you leave"

"I acted without thinking"

"There were two of us then"

"Jad, can we not make a big deal out of this every time?"

"With me involved? I don't know" you laugh ending that hellish day in each other's arms and you're almost sure you'll soon find yourself having the same discussion again but for now you take what you have.

#thank you anon #jadon sancho #jadon sancho blurb

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moro-nokimi · 4 years

Text

Chapter 6: January 6, 2011

Summary: All hell breaks loose.

AN: HERE WE GO LESBIANS THIS IS THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER. Okay, excitement aside, when Light screams and collapses, google search “Light Yagami confession italian” - first result on youtube is the one you want. Would also recommend google searching “Struts somebody new” after the January 22 pagebreak, but it isn’t mandatory. I just like to torture my readers. TWs: death of a loved one, suicide, burning. Ask to tag.

ffn.online

“How’s it going, Gevanni?” Rester asked.

“I haven’t been able to confirm the presence of a Shinigami for the past week. And Mikami’s still on his regular routine.”

“I think it’s safe now,” Near said.

“Huh?”

(Poor guy looked wiped the fuck out, no wonder he was a bit slow in the brain area.)

“I want you to get your hands on the notebook again when you go to the gym tomorrow. And this time, take photographs of all the pages.”

“Photographs?” Rester repeated.

“Yes. I want to see for myself how the names are actually written. Most of Kira’s killings occur after midnight, but I want to find out if that’s because of Mikami’s clockwork life, or if he’s controlling the time of death. And if there are any rules to the way he writes the names down, if he has any habits… What does this notebook look like? Its appearance, front cover, back cover. I want to see all the small details with my own eyes.”

“All right.”

January 7 “So, what do you think, Near?” Rester asked.

“Gevanni has done well.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Rester sounded exasperated, and Naomi couldn’t hold in a snicker.

“Relax, Rester. This will all go more or less smoothly,” Naomi said.

“You sound convinced.”

Because if I die I see Raye again. And if I don’t, I get revenge. Either way, I’ll be at peace and I can move on.

“The handwriting on this matches Mikami’s handwriting on the investigation records he wrote as a prosecutor. This is definitely written by Mikami," Near said.

“Right.”

“Apart from Demegawa and the man on the train, everyone else’s name is written in after midnight. And only their names have been written down. A page per day. He stops killing people when the page is full. Yes, looks like I can put my plan into action.

“Commander Rester, get me Gevanni. … The photographs are very clear. We should be able to do it, then,” Near said.

“Right…?”

“But I was expecting the killer notebook to be much stranger, with some kind of magical power radiating from it. But it really is an ordinary notebook, just like Mello said.”

“Like he’d have a reason to lie when he came to HQ for an exchange?” Naomi pointed out.

“Still, you never know.”

“Either way, it still looks like a regular college notebook.”

“I can see that,” Naomi said.

“Anyways, the important thing is that your name isn’t written down in this, Gevanni,” Near said.

“Uh huh.”

“The notebook at the Japanese task force headquarters is under Mr Aizawa’s surveillance. So long as this notebook isn’t possessed by a Shinigami, I think it’s safe to say that you’re not being controlled by another Kira.”

“I told you that I’m fine. Do I look like I’m being controlled? If I was, I wouldn’t have been able to take those photographs in the first place,” Gevanni replied, distinctly peeved. Ah, I remember the days I’d be annoyed at a superior for supposed micromanagement.

“Just to be safe, please go down to the hospital to receive a complete physical exam to see if you’ve developed any illness.”

“Okay…”

“If you’re still alive 23 days after the first time you touched the notebook—on January 23rd—it means there was no Shinigami possessing the notebook when you touched it, and Mikami doesn’t know about you. And if there is no Shinigami, then there should be no problem with you tailing him, so after January 23rd, at the first possible opportunity, we’re going to settle this fight once and for all.

“Until then, we’ll concentrate on Light Yagami, Kiyomi Takada, and Teru Mikami—as we’ve been doing so far. But there’s one last thing we must do—every one of us, but especially you, Gevanni… I’m going to have to ask you to do something.”

⁂

Naomi exhaled and laid on her back. It was quickly approaching five in the morning, and she hadn’t slept since she woke up at six the previous day. Nausea was starting to set in. Whether it was from the sleep deprivation or the fact that she could only stomach liquid, only time would tell.

She stood and walked to the kitchen for what felt like the fifth time that day. Rester had went to sleep roughly an hour ago, and Gevanni had came in about 45 minutes ago. Stupidly enough, she was thinking about when Lidner would next come in.

Stupid.

Her and Lidner hadn’t seen much of each other since that spat and the fact that Lidner had the luck to come into that bodyguard job, but she managed to luck out—in its loosest form of use—and meet with Lidner.

“Listen, I really do want to say that I’m sorry for… bringing up your fiance like that,” Lidner said, cringing as she paused. “I definitely crossed a line and I’m sorry.”

Part of Naomi had wanted to say that she should fucking well be; there are plenty of things that are off limits and bringing up dead people close to you is one of them. Before she knew it, she was nodding. “I definitely shouldn’t have snapped at you as quickly as I did—even in having my grief prodded at like that.”

Lidner nodded. “It’s all right, I don’t blame you. Truce?”

They shook hands.

She was grateful to not have that to worry about, to say the least. The last thing she needed was to be perpetually kicking herself for spilling her guts to Lidner like that and reacting the way she did.

January 22 “It went well. I did everything you said.”

“Okay.” Vertebrae cracked in Near’s neck as he rotated it to get a closer look at his action figure. “Now, I want you to keep your eyes on Mikami as you’ve been doing, until the 24th. If you don’t notice anything different about Mikami by then, we’ll go head to head against L right away.”

Lidner walked in at midnight.

“Oh. You’re still here,” she said.

Naomi nodded. “Fortunately or not. I can’t sleep for the life of me.”

“Yeah, I feel you. Gevanni’s whiny ass is constantly talking about how screwed up his sleep schedule is, but I can’t say as I blame the man. Near gave me the rundown as to what was going on. Sounds exciting.” Lidner wiggled her toes as she stepped out of her heels. Naomi didn’t envy her.

“Agreed.” And here was the part that stuck in Naomi’s throat even as she rehearsed what she’d say. “Um, listen… if all doesn’t go well when we meet with L, I do want to say that I—”

Emotionally, it felt like Naomi had been hit in the chest with a sack of bricks. She didn’t feel it physically, thankfully, because that was always a sign that a panic attack was coming—and no one wanted to have a panic attack in front of a woman they were even remotely into.

She exhaled. “I’m going about this badly. I’m sorry if I’m wasting your time.”

“It’s all right. I think I’m overdue for having my time wasted by someone that’s not Kiyomi Takada.”

Naomi nodded, too wired to laugh however briefly. “I’m trying to say that I have f—” She winced. “I have fff—I like you a lot. A lot, a lot.”

“I would hope so. Having two coworkers at each others throats isn’t conducive to an environment like this one.” Lidner cleared her throat. “Lampshading aside, I…”

“I mean it’s fine if you don’t reciprocate I was just—” Naomi really regretted this now. Regret plus feeling like you’re replacing your dead fiance isn’t exactly conducive to coherency of a confession of romantic feelings of your coworker to said coworker.

“Hey! It’s all good. Truth be told, I like you that much too.”

Naomi exhaled. One thing out of her way. “But the thing is… I mean, I don’t want to presume or anything—”

“I don’t think you’d be presuming anything.” Lidner ran her tongue along her lower teeth. “If you’re talking about getting into a romantic relationship, I can say as I’m not ready for it.”

“Oh—Jesus, that’s a relief—I mean, I’m not either.” Naomi hit herself upside the head. “This is coming out badly.”

“It’s all good, I get what you’re trying to say. In the future, perhaps, but…”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s not a good idea. And working for Near in the middle of the most controversial case in the world is a full time job.”

“Agreed.”

In an unexpected reaction, Lidner leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Naomi’s cheek. She retreated down the hall. Naomi didn’t realize she was repressing tears until her entire head and neck began to ache.

January 25 “I think this plan’s going to work,” Rester said.

“Gevanni here.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve checked the notebook. It’s been one page per day, as always, for the past three days. Those who’ve been killed match with the names in the notebook as well. And there’s nothing different about Mikami.”

“I see…”

“Everything’s set,” Rester said.

“Yes.”

Near called L two and some change hours later. “L.”

“What is it, Near?” L asked.

“I want to meet you.”

“Uh huh…”

“There’s something I must show you that pertains to the Kira case.”

So is that how he’s phrasing things? But I suppose that’s better sounding than “I’m about to show your entire team who you are and completely destroy you and your reputation with them.”

“But if you think I’m Kira, right? Then you shouldn’t want to show your face to me.”

“Well, I can’t really show you anything unless I show my face. Showing my face will reveal something, of course, and then will bring the case to a close.”

“Very well. I want you to realize that you’re wrong.”

You have a lot of nerve to say that, don’t you? You know, that arrogance will be what brings you down.

And I can’t wait to watch it happen.

“There are several rules I must ask you to follow in order for us to meet.”

“Go ahead. You’re the one who suspects me of being Kira, so I’m sure you want to state which conditions we meet under. We don’t have any.”

“First of all, investigators from both sides are to be there. In other words, everyone who is looking for Kira will be there when we meet each other.”

“Why all of our investigators?”

“If you and I are to meet face to face, there ought to be witnesses. And even if I succeed in proving that you’re Kira, you could always take the extreme of strangling me.” Near’s brow furrowed as he added, “We’ve all been risking our lives to find Kira. if I prove Kira’s identity there, then everyone has the right—no, the responsibility—to attend. And by having everyone there, I want to make sure that any information about this meeting or my face doesn’t go public.” Near took a breath. “Everyone on this case will see what happens at this meeting—and after they see the outcome and the reality of the whole story, we’ll cooperate and decide what to do next.”

“Okay, I’m fine with that.”

Near moved his hand closer to the Misa figurine he made, hands splayed almost like an OK sign. “As I said before, there are five of us, including me. That’s everyone in the SPK. I’ll have Mr Mogi, who I’m keeping in my custody, accompany me there. I’ll release Amane before that—” and to demonstrate, he flicked the figurine, “and be sure not to tell her where we’ll be meeting.” The figurine rolled. “You can meet me after you make sure she’s actually been released. How does that sound?”

“Very well.”

Near began to stand. “Mr Aizawa will be able to tell you if the five people you see, plus Mr Mogi, are the real members of the SPK.”

“To me, it doesn’t really matter if the person who appears there is Near or not. You’ve just been stressing that point because you believe that I’m Kira, and that I won’t appear unless I know that you’re really going to come—right?”

Near paused, considering his actions.

What sort of attempted checkmate is this? You know this, the task force knows this, the rest of us know this. And the task force is—I assume—not largely full of idiots. And I’d think you’d have learned your lesson after the whole Lind L Tailor incident almost a decade ago.

“We’ve had many conversations like this in the past. Even if I don’t know your face, I’m sure I can figure out if it’s the real you once I talk to you in person. But I’ll make sure to have Aizawa tell me to double check.”

“I agree with that…”

I think, if I took a scalpel and some other tools to his skull, I’d find the gears turning in his head, Naomi thought.

“We have five investigators including me and Mogi. You’ll have to trust me on that. We’re a small group of people chasing Kira in a world like this, so I’d like to quickly settle this problem and cooperate with you and your team.”

“Very well…” Near settled into a position almost similar to her unprivate detective acquaintance in LA. “As for the place we’re going to meet, I’m thinking of one where the people inside can’t be seen from the outside.”

“You suspect me of being Kira, so it’s the natural thing to do.”

“I want it to be a place that can’t be seen even with telescopic lenses and whatnot, so I’d rather it had four walls and a roof.”

“Do you have some place in mind?"

“Daikoku Wharf. There’s an abandoned warehouse on the southeast side, called the yellow box. If that’s fine with you, I’ve taken the liberty of buying it. There’s nothing around it, and the place is empty as well. I’m sending you an image.”

Near smirked. “It’s not locked, so you can go and see it for yourself whenever you want to. And if you don’t like it, I can look for another place.” He smiled toothily. “And each of us can check for hidden cameras when we enter the building.”

“Do you have any other requirements to make sure that your face isn’t known to anyone outside of that warehouse?"

“Yes. I’d like to prohibit any communication equipment when you enter. That’s to ensure that nothing that goes on on the inside gets leaked. And to be sure that no one takes a photograph of me on their phone.”

Naomi held in laughter. What a nice callback to the incident with the girl on the train.

“No communication equipment. Okay.”

“I’d also like someone apart from L to bring the notebook from your headquarters.”

“Why do you need it?"

Near reached for a clay replica of the notebook. “Simple. If every one of you leaves the headquarters, no one will be left to guard the notebook. I promise you that I won’t try to take it from you. And I’ll refrain from touching it. If Mr Aizawa claims that the notebook you brought is the one from headquarters, I’ll believe it. But, again, please make sure that someone other than L is carrying it. Understood?”

“Very well, Near. But I can’t overlook the chances of you conspiring with someone on my side to steal the notebook. I won’t carry the notebook, but I’ll choose who carries it. Is that okay?”

“Yes. The only thing that’s left to settle is the date and time of our meeting.” Near got onto all fours.

“Of course…”

“How about three days from now, on the 28th at one PM?”

“Any time’s fine with us.”

“Remember, three days from now at three o’clock.”

“Yes.”

January 26 “Near, Mello kidnapped Takada,” Lidner relayed.

Near paused. “Lidner, have you been leaking information about our investigation to Mello?”

Lidner paused. “Yes… But I haven’t told him about Mikami.”

“If that’s the case, we should still be okay. But if Mello finds out about Mikami from Takada and seeks him out, this will all be a waste. I want you to find Takada—no. I want you to stop Mello at all costs.”

“But—”

Near’s tone brokered no argument: “Do it.”

“All right.”

Near called L.

A task force member said, “It’s Near. Maybe it’s his usual ‘I took the liberty of confining her’ routine.”

“L, I’m not the one who kidnapped Takada.”

“I see. Then that means… Mello.”

“Yes. I’ll be honest with you. The individual I have guarding Takada has told me so.”

“Near, don’t you have means of contacting him?”

“It’s no use. I can try to contact Mello, but he’ll never respond to me. He must plan on capturing Kira himself, using Takada as bait.” Near pouted and twirled around the microphone. “I didn’t want him interfering for the next three days, and I really do mean that.”

“Very well. I trust your words and I believe that you’re not collaborating with Mello.”

“I’m going to track them down with everything I’ve got.”

“I’ll do the same.”

⁂

“So, please keep your eyes on Mikami as long as possible, making sure to arrive at Daikoku Wharf by one PM on the 28th.” Everyone in the room minus Lidner gave acknowledgement.

The screen beeped. “It’s Lidner,” Rester said.

“Get her on the screen please.”

“Near.”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. I never thought that Mello would…”

“It’s okay.” Near moved down to eye level with his figurines. “Everything will be fine so long as Light Yagami goes through with our meeting as planned.”

He called L.

“L.”

“Yes?”

“Granted, we’ve had some distractions. But I want to confirm our meeting is staying where it was.”

“Of course.”

“As for our conditions—they’ll remain in place. Right?”

You’re practically daring him to say no, aren’t you, Naomi thought.

“Yes. I didn’t set any of the conditions anyways.”

“Then I’ll see you on the 28th.”

He hung up.

“Gevanni?”

“Yes?”

Near wiggled his L figurine on his finger. Naomi wanted to crawl out of her skin. “Will you make it?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Commander Rester, Lidner, Gevanni, Maki… Let’s put our best into this.”

Naomi nodded.

Relief and anxiety curled up in her chest and made their homes.

January 28 “I’m heading down with Mr Mogi and Amane in my car,” Lidner reported.

“Mikami went to work at the usual time. Nothing out of the ordinary," Gevanni reported.

“Start heading over there,” Near instructed.

“Will do.”

Near called the task force.

“Good morning, everyone.” He brought a knee up to his chest and rested his temple on it. “For starters, I’ve released Amane. You can call her if you’d like to check for yourself.”

“Near, please get Mogi on the line for me. In order for us to bring the notebook, we need a PIN number that only Mogi knows.”

“I’ll get him right away.” Near patched Mogi through to the rest of the task force.

"Near, I have the notebook right here. I’ll take it along with me,” Aizawa says.

“Are you sure about Mr Aizawa handing the notebook?” Near asked.

“I’ve decided that Aizawa would be the best choice.”

If Naomi could’ve, she would’ve glared at L. This was just plain irritating. The second his face got rubbed in the fact that the SPK was right all along, she could die happy.

“Thank you. See you at the warehouse, then.”

Naomi threw up a wave as Aizawa entered the warehouse. The plastic L mask still made her skin crawl.

And then the task force entered.

She could’ve sworn that she saw just a hint of recognition on Light Yagami’s face.

Hm.

“Those are definitely the SPK. Near’s the one with the mask.”

“Yes,” Mogi said. “I was with Near even before he put the mask on. It sure is him.”

“Whether the real Near is here or not is of no interest to me,” Yagami said.

Naomi clenched her jaw, biting back a retort of something like “you clearly haven’t learned your lesson from the Lind L Tailor incident.”

“Wait a minute,” a task force member said, “I don’t care who he accuses of being Kira. But that mask proves he’s only trying to protect only himself.”

“It would be kind of redundant to hide our faces, seeing as how all but one of us have been sighted by Takada before,” Naomi muttered.

“Matsuda, Near thinks I’m Kira. It can’t be helped,” Yagami said.

“He was talking so much about seeing you face to face. It’s not fair!”

Naomi was beginning to get a headache.

It was about to get worse.

“I’m telling you,” Yagami said, and that alone made Naomi want to claw at him and beat him to a pulp, “Near has his own ideas about what’s going on here, so it’s not going to help if we complain about it. Let’s get on with this.”

Near smirked thinly and touched the mask. “This mask is just insurance.”

He was in for it, no matter if he was taken into their custody.

“Insurance?” Matsuda repeated.

“I’m confident that both Kira and the person being ordered to do the killings—X Kira—don’t know my face. But there’s a possibility that everyone else’s face is known to these individuals in question.” He knocked down the figurines of the SPK. “Of course, this is all assuming that L is Kira. So, since the time and place for our meeting was decided upon three days ago, there’s a chance that everyone else’s name, excluding mine, may already be written down in the notebook to be killed.

“If that were to happen, only Kira and I would be left, and all Kira would have to do is write my name in the notebook that Mr Aizawa has with him right now. Though it’s my hypothesis that the Kira here doesn’t have the ability to kill just from looking at our faces.

“So, please give me an hour—no, 30 minutes—to be sure that no one else here is already marked to die by the notebook.”

“You’re waiting to see if we die?” Matsuda asked.

“That’s okay,” Yagami said. “We’ll let Near do as he likes. If not, we won’t be able to clear things up.” He turned to Near. “I believe that you’re the actual Near, and I care little about the face behind the mask. What I’d like to see is what you were going to show me pertaining to the Kira case.”

Near twirled a strand of hair. “That can only be revealed to you after I take my mask off.”

“You can’t show the evidence to us unless you take the mask off, but you’re not going to take it off? Aren’t you contradicting yourself?” Matsuda demanded.

“He means he’s going to take it off once he makes sure that everyone else remains alive,” Yagami clarified. Near confirmed as much.

You sure seem agitated, seeing as how you can’t keep Near’s stipulations straight, Naomi thought.

“It’s been more than 30 minutes—and nothing’s happened.”

“Of course,” Yagami said. “That’s because Kira isn’t here.”

Near took off the rubber band. “Very well. It seems you’re all safe. I’ll go ahead and take off the mask.”

He smirked immediately.

“Okay, so now that you’ve taken the mask off, what are you going to show us?”

“Don’t rush him,” a task force member chided.

“I’m sorry,” Near said, “but you’re going to have to wait again.”

“Again?! What are we waiting for?”

“Excuse me, do you think this is a massive waste of time or something?” Naomi asked. “If you want to prove that your leader isn’t Kira so badly, shut up and wait.”

She didn’t typically have such a short fuse or snap at people so easily. But she was face to face with the one who killed her fiance; and as much as she’d like to get this out of the way and take him into custody already, the fact that he’d have his face rubbed in the SPK’s being right would feel a little bit better than if they took him into custody without much of an explanation. And it’d help out if they could make the task force see reason.

“Oh, I’m sorry—”

Key word being if.

“Enough,” Yagami said.

“We’re waiting for the one who’ll solve everything to arrive,” Near said. He exhaled. “I assure you that this person will come. So we must wait. This building is completely sealed. The only way to look inside is to open that door right there. Therefore, this person will come through that door, or try to peek through it.”

“Who’s going to come…? This meeting was kept a secret from everyone except those who are here right now.”

“That’s right. So the person coming is X-Kira, Kira’s most loyal follower, who learned about our location from none other than Kira himself.” He paused. “Mr Aizawa. You kept an eye on L even after Takada died, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then X-Kira will come. Kira used Takada to contact X-Kira.

“The night we decided when and where to meet, L met Takada, and Takada relayed the information to X-Kira. I am completely sure of this. But Mello’s kidnapping of Takada was a surprise to L and I. With Takada dead, L could no longer contact X-Kira and was unable to call his plan off.” He knocked down the Takada figurine. Near tilted his head. “Actually, it would’ve been meaningless for him to call everything off. The thought wouldn’t have crossed his mind because he didn’t want to interfere with his plan or mind.”

And Matsuda and his co-worker immediately launched into contrarianism:

“Why do you assume L is Kira?”

“Yeah, if a third party is really going to show up here, isn’t it more likely that you’re the one behind it all?”

Ah, this is familiar. I almost feel like I’m 27 again and watching the NPA and L squabble. Maybe without all the signs of aging. Thank God for retinol and sunscreen.

“No, because the person we’re waiting for is the person currently in charge of carrying out Kira’s judgements. So, obviously, this person is coming under Kira’s orders.”

“Hey, wait a minute. If this person is the one doing the killings, you also mean they’re bringing the notebook too?”

“Yes, this person will bring the notebook for sure. And then, after looking at my face, will write down my name.” Near mimed this scenario with the figurines of X-Kira/Mikami and himself.

“So you’re going to prove that this person is Kira’s henchman by being killed?!”

“No, rather by having him try to kill me. There was a similar stunt that was pulled when L was investigating the Yotsuba Group.”

“Wait a minute,” Aizawa said.

“Yes?”

“If X-Kira is going to kill you, then they’d need to kill everyone here, since we all know about the notebook.”

“That’s right. It would be the perfect victory for Kira, not to mention the sole reason Kira agreed to this meeting in the first place.”

“I… I don’t get it,” Matsuda said. “What are you meaning? The third party is going to bring the notebook here to kill us?”

“And you’re asking us to stand here and watch?” Ide asked.

“That’s right,” Near said calmly.

“That’s ridiculous! Then you’ll be playing into Kira’s hands. We’re going to lose no matter what we do.”

“No. We’ll win. If you all do as I say, we’ll win without a doubt. So, if X-Kira enters through that door, I want you all to let him in. And if that door opens, however slightly, I want you all to pretend not to notice.”

Aizawa wrestled with himself. “You’re making it sound like you’re Kira. You’re the one who proposed the idea that we meet here, and now you’re asking for us to let our names be written down in the notebook. It’s only natural for us to think that. But… I’ll do as you say.”

“I’m with Aizawa,” Mogi said. Matsuda muttered dissent.

“He’s already here,” Near said. Naomi's headache was getting considerably worse.

Yeah, that’s one way to make them listen, she thought.

They stood in silence for roughly a half minute.

“I can’t just watch!” Matsuda snapped, bringing a revolver out of his jacket’s inner pocket.

“Don’t move!” Rester snapped, lining Matsuda up with his sights. Gevanni followed suit.

“Are you kidding me?” Matsuda exclaimed.

Naomi whistled. “Sorry, Near. First of all, don’t point your guns unless you intend to fire, Rester and Gevanni." (To this, Gevanni glowered and lowered his after Rester did.) "Second of all, what did Near say? Pretend that nothing is happening.”

“You expect me just to sit there while our names are being written?”

“I’m sorry, I thought I said ‘pretend nothing is happening’!” She put her hands on her hips and glared.

“Enough!” Near said. “I said that you won’t die. Please be still. Everyone relax, please.” He took a breath. “Even if our names are being written down, we won’t die. Kira’s identity will finally be revealed.”

“How can you be so sure?” Aizawa asked.

Near held up the miniature notebook he made. “I’ve tampered with the notebook. We managed to get it into our possession and replaced the pages. The person behind the door—the one in charge of the actual killing—has been filling up one page every day, so I just calculated which page would correspond with today’s date, and replaced all the subsequent pages.”

“Replaced?”

“You actually got a hold of it?”

“The person writing the names down outside will eventually look inside to see if we’ve all died. At which point we’ll seize him, and the individual whose name isn’t written down in the notebook will inevitably be Kira.”

Aizawa agreed, while his coworker was borderline speechless.

“To the one outside,” Yagami said, “did you write the names down in the notebook?”

“I did,” X-Kira answered, almost reverent.

“That’s strange,” Near said, half to his thighs. “Why would he reply in earnest, yes I did when you asked him if he wrote the names down?”

“Who knows?” Yagami replied. “Maybe he’s honest, or is confident for some reason. It may be that he knows your plan.”

Naomi barely resisted rolling her eyes.

“Teru Mikami, why don’t you come in here?” Near ventured.

There was a pause.

“Teru Mikami, right?” Yagami said, looking smugger by the second. “Stop hiding and come inside.”

Still no Mikami.

“Teru Mikami, I know that you’re in charge of carrying out Kira’s killings right now. You’ve already written the names down, so there’s nothing to be afraid of. Please come in. Or did Kira order you not to?”

“Your wish is my command, God,” Mikami said, his expression almost malicious in his devotion.

Naomi almost recoiled in horror.

“How many seconds has it been since you wrote the first name down?” Yagami asked.

“35… 36… 37… 38… 39…”

“I win, Near,” Yagami said.

That sure is one way to dig your own grave, Naomi thought.

“40!”

Still, Naomi clenched her fists and waited for the pain Raye must’ve felt in his chest.

“We… We’re not dead! It’s been a minute and we’re not dead!”

“I’ve been telling you that no one would die,” Near said.

Naomi traded a glance with Lidner. Even the SPK didn’t have a hundred percent faith in this plan.

“Why? Why won’t they die?!” Mikami said. “G-God—I did everything you told me!”

Near signalled Rester and Gevanni to take Mikami into custody.

“The notebook, Gevanni,” Near said. He held up the notebook once Gevanni brought it over. “See for yourselves.”

The task force took in every word.

“The first five names are unmistakably the real names of the SPK members. And the only one missing from this list is Light Yagami. The first nail in the casket was Mikami calling you God, and the other was that he said he did as you told him to.” He brought the notebook down. “This proves it.”

“This is a trap! Near set this whole thing up to frame me! It’s impossible that no one’s dead after their names have been written in the notebook!” Yagami screamed.

Near tilted his head to the side. “But I told you no one would die because I replaced the pages.”

“That’s—this is a setup. I don’t know this guy!”

Mikami wailed and sagged.

Aizawa approached Yagami and put a hand on his shoulder. “Light, it’s too late. Near wins. Just a second ago, you declared that you won. That’s as good a confession as any.”

Matsuda repeated Yagami’s given name and sank to his knees. “Why…?”

Mogi broke ranks and brought out his handcuffs. Yagami ran, slipping and faceplanting, then leaned against the warehouse wall.

“This is it,” Near said. “You lose. You claimed your victory a second ago. And to tell you the truth, you might have won and I’d have lost if it weren’t for one thing. You had Mikami use the fake notebook and had him carry it around in front of us so we’d believe it was the real thing. You even went so far as to suspect that I would replace the pages of the fake notebook, so that I wouldn’t die even if my name was written in it. Things turned out exactly as you expected, and we replaced the pages in the fake notebook.

“That was the plan I had in mind as well. I replaced the pages of the notebook that happened to be a fake, and you had Mikami bring the real notebook out for the first time to kill all of us. And that was your plan. But when I said that I replaced the pages in the notebook, I meant the real one as well. Meaning that I tampered with both the fake and real notebooks. I replaced only a part of the fake notebook, and I replaced the pages of the real notebook completely.” To demonstrate, he pulled the replica notebook from the Mikami figurine, revealing a FAKE label across the back.

Near brought out the real notebook from under his shirt. “This is the real notebook. Gevanni did it overnight. Whether he was able to replace all of it or not was the key to this plan. He did replace a part of the fake notebook with ease, but it was quite difficult to make a forged copy of the real one. Gevanni promised me, however, that it could be done.

“He used the same pen Mikami used, copied Mikami’s handwriting to perfection, and even made a perfect copy of the cover in addition to the interior pages. And since I’d touched the notebook beforehand, I could see the Shinigami from the moment you entered this warehouse. Nice to meet you, Mr Shinigami. I’m Near.”

Hair stood up on the back of Naomi’s neck.

“Ryuk… until today, I always believed that Shinigami had skulls for faces and carried sickles. … I looked through this notebook and found some pages that were clipped out. Can it be that people die even if you write names on pages that have been cut out? … Even pieces are effective… I’m sure there must have been many uses for that. I can’t even begin to think of how many people were killed and deceived because of that.”

“I almost died with that method. My fiance, the busjacker,” Naomi said. “Others, I assume.”

Yagami’s face lit with recognition.

“Raye Penber…”

She nodded, throwing a thin and outright malicious smile to him. “The one and only.”

“That’s one hell of an indictment,” Rester said. (He wasn’t the only one surprised; Gevanni was gaping and Lidner’s eyes were wide.)

“That anecdote just proves something that the previous L knew. Light Yagami, you are Kira.”

Yagami stood in silence, calculating.

“You’re wrong,” Near said, holding his Mello figurine. “I owe this to Mello. I’m sure you understand what I mean by that.” He flipped the notebook’s pages. “Look at the page I just turned to. This is the fake notebook we created, but it’s exactly the same as the real one. The first line of the page on the left…”

Kiyomi Takada. Suicide; burns to death by setting fire to everything around her, including what she wrote. January 26th, 2:33 PM.

Yagami and Mikami stared at each other. “If Takada was in a situation like that, then it’s my job to…,” Mikami said.

“That’s right. When Mello kidnapped Takada, Mikami took out the real notebook—the one he had hidden in a safe deposit box at the bank… and wrote Takada’s name down.”

“After Takada’s kidnapping was announced on the news, Mikami broke from his schedule. October 25th was a Sunday, so he went on the 26th. But all other previous months he’d went to the bank on the 25th. Mikami rarely breaks from his habits, so it immediately stood out to me. I entered the bank and saw Mikami go into the safe deposit room. This was the first time I’d seen him concerned if someone was following him,” Gevanni explained.

“Mikami lives a completely fixed life, but suddenly broke from his routine as Takada was kidnapped. I wonder how much can be explained away, if at all. Going to the bank for two days in a row… I’ll be honest, I only thought about the possibility of the notebook being a fake after Gevanni told me of this. Though, come to think of it, we should’ve suspected that when he took a picture of a man harassing a woman on a train before supposedly writing his name down, and when he talked to himself about the Shinigami not appearing to him. The fact that we found out so quickly about Mikami actually worked against us.

“But until then, we were completely tricked by you, Takada, and Mikami, and had replaced the pages in the fake book. So we’d have lost if I hadn’t found out. When Mello kidnapped Takada, you were no longer able to get into contact with Mikami. But Mikami still made his move for you, to perfection in his role as Kira’s stand-in. His overt adoration, sense of responsibility and attention to detail, and his intelligence worked against him at this time.

“It wasn’t difficult for us to sneak into the safe deposit room to crack it. It was an old fashioned safe at a local bank. And since you allowed us to look through Mikami’s bag when he was at the gym, we already had made copies of all his keys and cards.”

“It was easy. Once I got inside, there was a notebook with Takada’s name written in it,” Gevanni added.

“And an idiot would figure out everything from there.” Near added, “This is very interesting. In the fake notebook, the one we replaced the pages of first, one page was filled in with names every day, but the real one jumps from November 25th to January 26th, when Takada’s name was written down. So that means you, Light Yagami, had Mikami walk around with a fake notebook starting two months in advance to trick us.

“Before January 26th, the time of death wasn’t specified, same as in the fake notebook. But after Takada’s name was written in it, all the judgements for January 26th were set to the early hours of the 27th, and the judgements for the 27th were set for the early hours of the 28th.

“In the fake notebook that Mikami made, Takada’s name is probably written down exactly like this, but the rest of the page is only names and no written down conditions for their death. So that means that when Mikami wrote Takada’s name in the real notebook on the 26th, he also wrote the names of those people who were to be ‘brought to justice’ on the 26th and 27th.

“Mikami could’ve killed the people using the scraps from the notebook, but if he wrote on them in his house, assuming we’d have installed a camera, we might have found out about the fake notebook and the fact that you can kill people with just a scrap of it.

“In order to make Mikami’s notebook look real, you probably cut the pages out and handed them to Takada and had her actually do all the killings. All Mikami had to do was send a list of people to be killed via cell phone or computer and delete the data.

“For the deaths on the 26th and 27th, you might have had him send a list of people to Takada after she was kidnapped, but just in case, Mikami wrote those names down too when he wrote Takada’s name. As for the 28th, today’s killings would be at your leisure, since it would’ve been after you killed us.

“So, though it’s nothing I would’ve taken notice of under normal circumstances, if you look closely, there aren’t any killings of new criminals on the 26th or 27th. And that’s because Mikami wasn’t allowed to take out the notebook until today. And according to your plan, that shouldn’t have happened no matter what.

“And thought I don’t know who was first, this means that you killed Takada too. Since the scraps of the notebook can be used to kill people, it’s hard to believe you wouldn’t have had one on you. Because you killed her too, the announcement of Takada’s death was reported on the news quickly, and since Mikami also knew of her death, you wouldn’t have assumed that Mikami made a move on his own.” Near dropped the notebook. “Too bad. When Mello kidnapped Takada, Mikami wrote her name down in the real notebook too.”

Mikami and Yagami stared at each other again.

“For both you and me…,” Near began, “having Mikami write down our names on the page on the right was the plan. We had to do that. If not, we wouldn’t have been able to capture Mikami, get the notebook from him, or take a look at the notebook. Whether the page on the left was filled with names or not, it had to be the page on the right. And you tried to kill us by having us replace the pages of a fake notebook and having Mikami bring the real one here, but we went a step beyond you by having Mikami bring a fake version of the notebook. It’s a lot harder to find out that the notebook has been switched if you replace the whole notebook rather than just a part of it.

“Of course, this is in large part due to Rester and Gevanni’s efforts in duplicating the notebook in a day. But the biggest thanks goes to the one who created this situation. Mello.”

Lidner suddenly looked very sad. She looked askance. “Mello may have known about it. I told Mello that Near was talking about bringing an end to this case with his own hands. But now that I think of it, he…” She stopped, frowning. “After a long silence, he just said then I guess I’m going to have to do it, and hung up.”

She sighed. “At first, I thought he only meant that he was going to bring an end to the case before Near. But if Mello hadn’t made his move, then we would’ve…”

You’re telling me I owe my life to a corpse? Naomi thought.

“The fact that we replaced the pages in the notebook, and that notebook happened to be a face, I find it hard to believe that Mello thought that far ahead. But, I’m sure that he was always trying to get ahead of me. And that’s not all—even if he didn’t surpass me…” Near wet his lip. “Even if he didn’t…”

Rester traded looks with Gevanni, who traded looks with Naomi, who traded looks with Lidner, who traded looks with Rester.

“Mello always said that he was going to be number one, and that he was going to be better than me and L. But I always knew I would never be able to surpass L. It could be that I lack attention span and he lacked impulse control. And even thought we couldn’t surpass the one we admired on our own—together, we can stand with L. Together we can surpass L. And now, we’re facing Kira, whom L could find no proof against, the very Kira who L was defeated by, and facing him with solid evidence before his own eyes.”

Near let that sink in.

He kept the puppets up.

“Let’s try to see you talk your way out of this one.”

Yagami screamed, high pitched. All the klaxons in Naomi’s brain fired, telling her to get the hell out of there, because something was deeply wrong.

Yagami began to shake.

And he began to laugh.

Against all her primal instincts, Naomi stayed.

He cackled for a good half minute.

Every muscle in Naomi’s body tensed. Every hair stood on end.

“That’s right,” he said, staggering to stand, “I am Kira.”

#so if u listened to that italian dub was that terrifying or what #apparently the VA did it in one take at *18 years old*#that's fucking cool #tws in post #my writing

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