#envy is being held hostage in the past

[othercrossee]

It would be funnier if envy actually got sent to the past after they fought raihan, imagine

[thebiggerbear]

"You're safe now. I'm here." - Russell Shaw Prompt Response Part 1

Summary: You've been taken hostage and Russell is part of the unit sent in to retrieve you.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

A/N: This is a prompt from @sydnee-kom-spacekru that I had to turn into a two-parter because it got way too long for just one posting. I've been working on this since May 19th when I decided to add Russell to the multi-character prompt response project I'm currently working on.

For this story, I chose Colombia as the country featured in here because I remember when we were growing up, we would ask our parents why we couldn't visit our cousins from there, and we were told it was too dangerous. As we grew older, we obviously found out why. That's the only reason I chose it for that part of the story. Obviously, I'm not making any statements, political or otherwise, about Colombia or any past/present situation happening there.

A little bit of a disclaimer: I do not work in the medical field so I apologize for any inconsistencies, exaggerations, or complete fallacies. I did my best to research but ultimately, I'm not trained in that industry. I also am not in the military, political, or governmental fields. I also am not the CEO of a major corporation. I utilized those parts of the story strictly for fictional purposes. So I apologize in advance again if I get anything incorrect for those fields.

All unbeta'd.

Part 2 (coming very soon)

WARNINGS: graphic violence; attempted sexual assault; trauma; graphic blood/injury; gun violence/gunfire; mentions of dead bodies; death; mentions of execution; kidnapping/hostage situation; PTSD; angst

Word Count: 11k+

“You’re safe now, I’m here.”

Soldier Boy version ✨ SDV Leah version

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You slowly glanced around the room you were being held in. You winced when the pain in your head started up again from the movement. You knew you had some cuts on your face, your lip, and one near your hairline. One of the people who had taken you and your co-workers hostage had shouted at you in Spanish and worked you over a little. You understood most of what he had screamed but you had no answers for him. 

You and your team had come down to visit the Bogota office upon the insistence of your father. The company his grandfather had started decades prior had expanded to become one of the top corporations in the United States, eventually branching out internationally. Growing up, you hadn’t wanted for anything. As you got older and entered high school, your father made it clear to you, being his only child, that he wanted you to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business one day. It wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of but it had been made known from the outset that whatever you might want would never matter in the scheme of things. Not when it came to the importance of legacy and carrying on the family name and the company’s brand, all while working closely with the Board. So, you had pursued your business degree in college at an Ivy League school, even going so far as to achieve your MBA and make your father proud.

You were quickly welcomed into the company and you put your nose to the grindstone, worked hard, and began to climb the corporate ladder. A lot of people knew that had to do with your last name but they also saw you working the same long hours as them, working just as much, and sacrificing any semblance of a personal life you could have had. You didn’t even have plants in your lavish city apartment because you were practically never there to water them. Weekends were a concept that ceased to exist the moment you left the university. If your co-workers worked 60-hour work weeks, you worked 80. If they worked through holidays like Memorial Day and July 4th, you worked those days, too, in addition to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. So you earned some respect, some envy, and some resentment — a healthy mix of it all as you raced to the top at your father’s constant prodding. 

Only a year ago, you’d moved to Manhattan to run the New York office, a promotion that had your father beaming with pride. It was a bit of a transition, as any transition would be, but ultimately, you got to know your team, your department heads, and you’d settled in as best you could. You never truly relaxed into your role but you let your employees know up front that you were there to make things easier, not more difficult. You were interested in flooding the figurative harbor so everyone’s boats would rise, not just yours or the Board’s. Your father had not appreciated that little introductory speech you had made but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it. You had meant every word and you set out every single day to not only prove yourself but to also make that vision come true. 

Which was partially what had brought you to the Bogota office. While you were responsible for New York, your father had made the valid point that you should travel to the international offices of Bogota, London, and Beijing. You should show your face and introduce yourself in person, not just on Zoom. You had been hesitant, not because you didn’t want to visit the sites and meet the crews, but because you still didn’t feel confident that you could afford to be away from your home office for that long (it would be about a two and a half week trip). Not because you didn’t trust your team to run things without you but because you had several projects in the works that required your constant participation, feedback, approval, and sometimes guidance. It felt strange to put it all at risk by choosing the most inopportune moment for you to go shake hands on the international stage and take tours of the other facilities. You didn’t want to leave your team in a lurch at a dire time such as this one. You had tried to explain all of this to your father when he grew irritated at your resistance.

“Stop with the excuses. You’re going and that’s final,” he had snapped at you before leaving your office. And that had been that. 

The next morning, you and a few selected co-workers (handpicked by your father) were on a flight to Bogota, the first stop on your international tour. Thankfully, Colombia was only one hour behind New York so you’d be able to check in with your office as soon as you landed. 

Things were going well with your visit, right up until the moment you and your team were leaving the building to head back to the hotel for a late lunch when you were ambushed. A black hood had been thrown over your head, you’d felt pain as something hit you from the side, and the next thing you knew, you woke up in a vehicle that you could feel and hear but not see. You had no idea what happened until you were instructed in Spanish to shut up, stay quiet and not struggle, and you wouldn’t get hurt. You knew you were in trouble when you came to but now you knew without a doubt as you listened to the conversation between the men surrounding you, you had been taken hostage.

You had no idea where they had brought you but you’d been there for what felt like a month though you couldn’t be sure. You had been held in the same room, only able to use the bathroom which they escorted you to. You were in some compound and any time you’d tried to sneak a peek out of an open window during your bathroom treks, you either got yelled at and hit or you could only make out a thick cover of trees. You and your group had been terrified every single day of your captivity that they would kill you all, or worse. You had three men in your group and four women including you. One of the kidnappers had already tried to take advantage of that fact and had thrown Meredith from Finance onto the floor, unbuckling his pants. You had begged in Spanish for her to be left alone while Pat and Suzanne had cried and screamed. Tim, Jerry, and Rob had all been taken to the bathroom beforehand (something that hadn’t happened before, they usually took the guys one at a time) so it had been just you four in the room. When the man didn’t show any signs of stopping and Meredith tearfully begged him from the floor to let her be, something switched off in your brain and you flew at him. You attempted to hit him anywhere you could but he knocked you down flat in seconds. He backhanded you a couple of times, making the women in the background scream louder, and he then decided you were going to be the one he was going to assault instead. He ripped your shirt and you tried to fight him off but he was too strong. Thankfully, another kidnapper heard all of the commotion and came running, rushing into the room and stopping the man, yelling at him that none of you were to be touched, that was part of the deal. Your would-be assailant yelled back at the man who had saved you and then got to his feet, spitting on you, as he stormed out of the room, followed by your unintentional savior. 

You attempted to cover yourself with the shreds of your shirt but it was useless. You now only had a bra and little bits of cloth left from how violently he had torn the fabric. You were shaking but somehow you were able to crawl your way over to Meredith to check on her. Sobbing, she held onto you and before you knew it, Pat and Suzanne had rushed over, throwing their arms around you both, still crying themselves but also trying to speak reassurances to you both. Your body shook in their embrace as it finally hit you how close you had come to being assaulted. If that other man hadn’t interrupted when he did… You shuddered at the thought. It wasn’t long after that when Tim, Jerry, and Rob were returned to the room, their hoods removed, and one glance in your direction let them know immediately what had happened. Rob had actually removed his shirt and offered it to you, apologizing for the smell. You appreciated his selfless gesture but you were thankful when Tim instead offered up the windbreaker pullover he had been wearing the day you had been taken. You took the latter, thanking them both for their generosity and thoughtfulness. Tim at least still had his t-shirt.

Then, a couple of days later, you had been dragged from the room, thrust into a chair, and tied up. The questioning began, about the money from your company among other things, and you were worked over when they didn’t get the answers they wanted. You hadn’t noticed a man holding a smartphone while sitting in the corner, taking in every second of the torture you endured, until your interrogation ended. You had been afraid but seeing that phone…you were absolutely terrified. Were they going to kill you on video, sending it off to media outlets to share globally for your father to see? Or would they use social media?

They didn’t end up killing you, though. Instead, they brought you to a room with a single bed that you had never seen before. You did not like the fact that you had been separated from your group. You began to hyperventilate at the realization that they were isolating you for a purpose, thinking you would be attacked again, especially when you heard a loud gunshot reverberate from outside followed by yelling that you couldn’t quite make out. But instead of anyone coming to hurt you, they sent in a doctor to tend to your wounds. Once he had, you curled up into a ball and hugged your knees to your chest, waiting for the worst to happen, intent on fighting tooth and nail when the time came. But a few days later or however long it had been, they brought you back into the interrogation room again. 

You expected the blows this time though they still hurt horribly. They began to cut you on your arms, near your neck, your shoulders, your torso…they never cut your face, though. While you were grateful for that small mercy, they still beat the hell out of you, the worst they ever had. While your face may have been spared the cutting, it was not spared the hits. You had even taken a couple of hard blows to the head that left you reeling. You didn’t even remember if you had screamed, cried, or begged for them to stop. Instead, you remembered some random saying in some movie you had seen stating that pain was the way you knew you were still alive. You held onto that as they continued to inflict as much damage as they could without actually killing you or making it impossible for you to speak. They had even unzipped Tim’s pullover at the beginning of the torture, leaving you in your bra, and besides the cuts they had also landed punches to your already severely bruised stomach and sides. They had even stomped on your bare feet, making you cry out as some of your toes broke from the force. They had even taken a bat to your right knee. That time you screamed the loudest you ever had in your life, sobbing so hard you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop. The pain was immense, something you hadn’t felt before, and tears poured down your face, mixing with the blood dripping from a busted lip and most likely broken nose. When they stopped to take a break, it didn’t surprise you in the least that the same man with the phone from last time was there in the same corner. It did surprise you, though, that they didn’t leave. While you figured they were just ramping up to go for a second round, something told you that you may not come out alive from this particular interrogation. You could only hope the others you had been brought here with somehow did. A small part of you wondered if the reason they were going harder on you this time, possibly about to kill you on video, is because your company didn’t pay the sum demanded in the last one. You knew your father must have done everything he could to secure your release, even if the Board for some reason hadn’t. You hadn’t prayed since you were a girl, right before your mother died, but you sent a silent one up anyway to anyone who might be listening that your father would never see this footage. It would destroy him if he did. You didn’t expect much, though. Your mom had still passed away from a terminal illness, so you were pretty sure your father wouldn’t be spared seeing your last moments like this.

But instead of starting back up again as you anticipated, the men ended up stepping outside of the room though they left the phone behind, on some sort of stand, still pointing in your direction. 

So now here you were, your body exhausted yet radiating nothing but pain. You slowly swung your head around in a daze, blinking against the bright light they had turned on before leaving. You waited for them to come back, to finally do their worst and possibly end your life. You were terrified but you also knew how badly injured you were, that there was nothing you could do. Even if you could somehow get loose, how would you manage to escape? Even if you got outside, this compound was heavily patrolled by armed guards. And even if by some miracle you could get past them without being seen or an alarm being sounded when your absence was discovered, you had no idea where you were. You were in the jungle for Christ’s sake, from the brief glimpses you’d managed to catch on your bathroom runs. You had no idea where to go from here. Still, though, you heard that small voice inside your head, telling you to fight, not to give in or give up. You had to work hard, be the best, and prove yourself. Go, go, go. The voice sounded strangely like your father’s. 

As you waited for your captors to come back, you glanced around the room to see if there was anything that could help you. You attempted to move your arms but gasped in pain when you did. You didn’t even try anything with your right leg. You knew your kneecap was broken; it had to be. You chanced moving your left leg, though, but it didn’t budge. You were stuck to this chair.

Suddenly, you heard the last thing you expected. Gunfire. 

Not that gunfire was all that unusual around here. You had heard some happen during your captivity but it was short and never answered. You and your co-workers had no idea what went on in the rest of the compound but after hearing those rounds being fired every so often, you didn’t really want to know.

But these were extended rapid bursts of gunfire and someone was definitely shooting back. Not to mention all of the furious yelling you could hear down the hall. You idly wondered if one of your people got free and they were making a break for it. If it was, you hoped they got free and were able to go for help. 

You knew you should be scared as the gunshots got closer to you, when you heard more yells and some thuds right outside your door, but you simply resigned yourself to your fate. Especially when one of the kidnappers burst into the room and held a gun to your head, yelling in Spanish at an unseen person to stay back or he would kill you. Your body began to shake uncontrollably once more, thinking this was it. You knew it; you were going to die. 

Two men swept into the room, dressed in tactical-looking gear and donning black face masks with holes only for eyes and mouths, assault rifles pointed in your captor’s direction. The man on your right told him to let you go in Spanish or he would be dead before he could squeeze a round off. 

The man on your left briefly glanced at you, his gaze an assessing one, before focusing back onto his target. Your captor screamed at them and pushed the gun into your temple, making you shake harder and take shallow breaths. 

“You got him?” The man on the left asked, surprising you when you heard him speak English. He sounded…American. 

“I got him,” the man on the right answered. Another American.

The kidnapper must have understood them because he gripped your head and pulled it back, pushing his gun now into the side of your face, making you scream out in pain. You heard a gunshot and suddenly the barrel against your cheek was gone as was the pressure around your head. A loud thud sounded as your captor’s body fell to the ground behind you and you moved your head to a position that didn’t hurt so much.

The two men were suddenly there, the one on the left laying a hand on your shoulder. “Please…don’t hurt me,” you begged in a raspy whisper. You followed it up with the same plea in Spanish, still not sure who you were exactly dealing with as your head swam.

“Hey,” the left soldier spoke softly. “Look at me.”

You did the best you could. It shocked you to see green eyes staring back at you with something that looked like kindness. Kindness…you hadn’t seen that in what felt like forever. Considering you’d only seen hatred and disgust from everyone around you since this whole ordeal started, this was something new and you held onto it with all of your might. 

“We’re here to get you out. Just hold on.” He pulled out a switchblade and you immediately gasped and began to shake again. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just cutting the ropes,” he explained gently as he did it. “See?” You carefully moved your head to gaze down, seeing that he was indeed doing as he said. 

Once you were free, you began to slide off of the chair, unable to sit up right due to your head still swimming. The movement caused you to cry out in pain from your injured knee being jostled when he caught you and lifted your arm around his shoulders to gently help you back into your original seated position. Your body still shaking, your brain told you that he was telling you the truth and he had just proved it, but you were still terrified and unsure of what to believe — no matter how kind his eyes were. “Shh, you’re safe now. I’m here and I’m going to get you out. I’m guessing they did a number on your legs?” He frowned down at your bloody feet. 

“My knee,” you quietly sobbed, the pain still radiating throughout your right leg. “They—they broke it.”

“Shit,” he muttered, studying the leg you had glanced at. 

In the background, you noticed the other man grab the smartphone and slip it into his pocket before heading back over in your direction. “What are we doing, man? Grab her and let’s go. Clock’s ticking.”

The man crouched in front of you looked up at the other one. “She can’t walk.” He inclined his head in the direction of your knee. “We’re going to have to carry her out.”

“Fucking hell,” the other one hissed. “Maybe we can get in touch with the chopper and get an evac.”

The man in front of you shook his head. “No, this is supposed to be a quick in and out. We have to get to the extraction point. They’re not coming for us.” So maybe these two were soldiers? They sounded like they might be military. Had your father somehow managed to get the government to send the US military in to rescue you?

“But, there’s no way we can—”

“No time for this, man. We’ve got to move now before reinforcements arrive.” Your rescuer turned back to you. “Alright, listen, I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell. I’m going to try my best to take it easy on you but we have to get you out of here now.”

You shook your head, causing tears to roll down your face. You wouldn’t admit it but you were as scared of the pain as you were to go out into the chaos you still heard happening outside of the room you were in. 

He laid his hand on your shoulder again and locked gazes with you. “We have to do this. I told you before. I’m here to get you out and that means I’m not leaving without you.” He very gently rubbed at your shoulder in reassurance. “So, just try to relax and I’ll—” He carefully tried to slip his free hand underneath your legs and gingerly lift them but the movement caused you to scream in pain. 

“Okay, okay,” your soldier soothed and backed off.

The other soldier was shaking his head. “We are so fucked.”

“Hey, we’re not.” Your guy turned to give him a sharp look. “Just give me a second with her.”

The other one let out an aggravated sigh and impatiently pointed to his watch before holding his rifle up and leaving the room. 

Your soldier glanced back at you. “Okay. Time for some real talk. We’ve got about seventeen minutes to get to the extraction point which is out of this place and up the hill on the north side. Which would be, not exactly a cakewalk because it would still be tough, but if you were able to use your legs and we were running, we’d probably make it there in the next fifteen despite any resistance we might encounter. But, this is—”

“Going to slow you down,” you choked out. “I’m not going to make it.” More tears rolled down your cheeks, stinging when they came into contact with your injuries. If you had to be left behind, you knew you would die. No question about it.

“Hey,” he spoke softer than he had a moment ago. “I told you I’m not leaving here without you and I meant it. So don’t go thinking anything like that.” His eyes narrowed slightly as your head became too heavy to try to hold up. His hand was suddenly behind your neck, helping you, as he visually inspected one of the wounds at your hairline. “Dammit,” you heard him mutter. “Okay, I’m getting you out of here.”

He bent down to scoop you up but you grabbed onto his uniform, gripping a bit of the fabric in your fingers though it hurt to do so. He turned to look at you and you shook your head, whimpering. “Please,” you begged. 

He reached up with a gloved hand and gently wiped under your eyes with his thumb. “I’m sorry but I have to. If I don’t…” He didn’t finish that sentence but he didn’t need to; the concern you saw in his green gaze said more than enough, and confirmed what he had already told you. “I know the pain is going to be a bitch and a half, but you’ve got to push through as best you can. I’ll carry you and get you to that chopper, I promise, but I need you to hold on. If you have to cry, scream, hell, even bite down on me, you do whatever you’ve got to do. But we’re doing this and we’re doing it now. You ready?”

“N-No.” Your voice wobbled a little bit but you heard him. You were going to try your best but you were still scared of the impending pain. “I’ll try.”

“Atta girl.” He gently positioned you as close to him as possible, zipping up the pullover that your captors had left open, and then carefully placed his free arm under your legs again. You got ready for the pain and whimpered again when he got ready to lift you. “I promise, after this, we’ll get that knee looked at, and that head injury, as soon as we get you someplace safe. Hey, look at me.” You struggled to meet his eyes but when you did, you saw the kindness from earlier staring back at you. “You’ve got this. You’ve made it this far and you’re going to make it all the way. I’m going to make sure you do.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, afraid to speak any louder when the threat of the impending pain. Almost as if you spoke a half a decibel higher, you might make it hurt worse than it already was going to. It didn’t make sense but you weren’t exactly thinking straight right then. 

You held onto the outer edge of his vest, wincing at the flare up of pain in your hand, as ready as you could possibly be in that moment. 

He gave you another second, a brief respite from what was to come, and then a nod. “Alright, here we go.”

The man slowly lifted you and it hurt, sure, but what really hurt was when gravity did its work when he carefully got to his feet. You couldn’t help but cry out. You immediately stuck your thumb knuckle into your mouth and bit down, hoping this would all be over very soon.

The other soldier appeared in the doorway, having heard your cries. Your soldier took a few steps towards him, forcing you to bite harder into your skin and more tears to roll down your cheeks. “Let’s get moving. Call the bird and let them know we’re on our way.” The man nodded and turned, speaking to someone to let them know you were about to leave the compound and would need backup on the way. 

When he turned around and gave you both a nod, your soldier held you a little closer to him. “You take point and lead us out. We’re good.” He then turned a reassuring smile on you. “Aren’t we?”

You wanted to answer him but you couldn’t. He hadn’t even started really moving yet and already the pain was agonizing. Instead, you carefully laid your head on his shoulder, feeling pure exhaustion wash over you that left an even foggier trace behind in your mind.

“Let’s do this.” Your soldier looked back towards the door and began to follow his fellow soldier out of the room. You gasped from the pain, bit into your flesh harder, and ignored the tears spilling onto your face. You weren’t going to be able to hold back the pained cries for long. You had no idea how you weren’t screaming at this point.

As you all turned down a hallway, you couldn’t help but think of the others and that provided a momentary distraction. “What about—my people?” You asked through gritted teeth.   

“Already extracted,” he whispered. “Now it’s your turn, Y/N.”

You were still fighting your way through a misty fog of pain and sluggishness but that caught your attention. You released your thumb and stuttered out, “You know my name.”

“Of course I know your name. We came here for you.” He shot you a wink and then proceeded to carefully make his way down the stairs after the way forward was cleared. 

You idly wondered about that as you held onto him, noting several dead bodies in your peripherals but refusing to look straight at them. You could hear him huffing and puffing next to you and you felt badly that he had to carry you because you were unable to walk. A couple of times, he had to stop and hunker down with you while the other soldier engaged the remaining kidnappers you came across. The third time, it was a struggle for you but you whispered, ��Slowing you down. Not —gonna make it.”

“Shhh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got you,” he murmured back. And sure enough, once it was clear again, you were on the move. Before long, you had met up with more soldiers (the backup that must have been called for) and one of them offered to take you. You involuntarily tightened your grip on your rescuer’s vest and he shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m good.” 

Eventually, you made your way out onto the terrain and you could no longer hold back your pained cries. “Almost there,” he promised. After what felt like prolonged agony, you finally reached an area where a helicopter was indeed waiting. The sight of it made something that felt like relief loosen inside your chest. You were really going to make it out of here alive. Your soldier went to hand you off to another inside when your fingers tightened reflexively around him again. “It’s just for a second to let me get in,” he reassured you. 

You nodded, hoping it wouldn’t hurt as bad as that run had, and let him go. Once you were all boarded onto the helicopter, you were moved around again until you were back in your soldier’s embrace, holding tightly onto him as the aircraft lifted into the air and headed away from the compound where more gunfire erupted. 

You tried to ask him something but he couldn’t hear you so he ducked his head near yours. “Where are my people?” You asked as loudly as you could, taking every little bit of strength you had left. You were still under the fog, but you still noticed your co-workers weren’t in the helicopter with you. 

He turned and placed his lips near your ear. “They’re in another chopper!” You had all made it safely out. Thank God.

You nodded and laid your head against his shoulder, completely spent and feeling the throbbing of pain in your body intensify, making you acutely aware of all the rest of your injuries. The pain radiated from your knee outwardly and now you could feel it in your torso, your arms, your head… Your eyes began to close of their own accord when he shook your shoulder a little. “I’m sure all you want to do right now is sleep but I need you to stay awake. At least until the docs get a good look at you!”

You blinked dazedly up at him. “I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, not even sure he heard you. The tide of pain was washing you under.

He then did the last thing you expected. He lifted his mask and you finally saw the man underneath, the owner of those green eyes that you had been holding onto during this entire ordeal. 

“Man, what the hell are you doing?” You heard yelled nearby, but your soldier kept his eyes on yours.

“I need you to stay awake, Y/N! You think you can do that for me?”

You took in his features, your fingers carefully lifting up to touch the thick beard he sported, noting the dirt and grime smears all over his face, but his eyes were what captivated you. Now without the mask in the way, you were free to get lost in those green orbs as deeply as you dared. Too bad you couldn’t seem to stay conscious. 

He shook you again. “Y/N! Hey! Stay awake!”

“Sorry,” you slurred before everything went black.

The next time you jerked into consciousness, screaming out in pain, the helicopter had just landed and your soldier, once again wearing his face mask, was yelling instructions to the men around him. You couldn’t hear exactly what they were, the pain was that intense. You were lifted out into another soldier’s arms and looking past him, you saw a second helicopter not that far away. You watched as your co-workers were ushered off of it alongside other masked soldiers but something didn’t seem right. You weren’t sure what it was but something was off to you.

You were placed into someone else’s arms and you saw the eyes of your rescuer once again, softening when he saw that you were crying.

“Something’s—wrong.” 

“Stay with me this time, Y/N,” he urged as he hurried you away from the helicopter. “Help is just a few feet away! Only a little bit more to go.”

You tried to stay with him, you really did, but the tide of pain started to blanket you once again. Alongside it, the feeling of something’s wrong surged throughout your body before the darkness overtook you once more. 

The next time you came to, you were on a gurney and bright lights were shining down on you. Doctors and nurses surrounded you, talking quickly in Spanish and calling out a few instructions. Your body began to involuntarily tremble again. Had your rescue been a dream? Had your kidnappers brought you to another part of the compound where they had an assembled medical team waiting to somehow keep you alive after they had unleashed such brutality on you? Or were you just dead?

You felt a warm hand in yours, a thumb stroking the top of yours reassuringly. You gingerly turned your head to find your soldier, still wearing his mask, standing right there, smiling down at you. “There you are. You had me worried for a second.”

Before you could ask him if he was real, if any of it was, a nurse started yelling at him, trying to get him to leave. He replied in perfect Spanish, telling her in a very resolved tone that he wasn’t leaving until he knew you were going to be okay. She let out a frustrated huff and shot him a glare before turning away to speak to the doctors. They insisted he had to go and once again, without your permission, you tightened your grip on him, not wanting him to go anywhere.

“No,” you rasped out. “Please let him stay. Please.” He was the only thing anchoring you in this moment. You got the distinct feeling that if you lost him, you’d be lost entirely, never to resurface. He was safety for you, an end to the horrific ordeal you had been through, and you didn’t want him to leave you.

A doctor leaned over you, speaking kindly in English. “It’s okay,” he spoke with a heavy accent. “We are going to make you better but he can’t be in here.”

You shook your head and grabbed at your soldier’s forearm with your free hand though it hurt like hell. 

“Doc, can you give us a second?”

The doctor gave him a look but did as he asked, moving back over to his team. 

The man next to you pulled a chair from out of nowhere and positioned it next to you. He took a seat and only when he had did you release him, wincing as you dropped your right hand next to you. 

He smiled reassuringly down at you. “You’re going to be okay. They’re going to fix you right up. You’ve been through a lot but you’re going to be alright.”

You knew what he was doing; he was calming you down and saying goodbye. For some reason, that made you tear up. Even though you didn’t know this man, he had been your harbor of safety in a chaotic whirlwind, a beacon of hope to cling to in a truly terrifying situation you had found yourself in. When a tear rolled down your cheek, he wiped it away with his thumb. “Will you be here when I wake up?” You choked out.

“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

That set loose more tears and he made sure to catch every single one. In the meantime, the nurse came over and injected something into your IV. When you started feeling drowsy a minute or so later, it wasn’t hard to guess what was happening. “Will I ever see you again?” You frantically intertwined your fingers with his as you struggled to stay awake.

He leaned closer, smiling in the same reassurance his green eyes were trying to convey. “I’ll find you,” he murmured, gently squeezing your hand. That made even more tears fall. It surprised you when he moved in to whisper to you, “Get some rest, sweetheart. You’ve more than earned it.”

You wanted to stay awake; you fought it, not wanting to lose sight of those green eyes fixated on you, knowing they would be gone once you closed yours. But you lost that battle as a sea of sleepiness dragged you down with it. You held onto his words as your eyes finally shut from the weight of the drug and you could no longer see him or feel his hand in yours. “I’ll find you” reverberated through your mind as you sank deeper and deeper into oblivion, falling at a rapid rate from deep green into solid black, until you were completely engulfed by it and you were gone.

You briefly closed your eyes as you felt a cool breeze gently make its way past you. You watched as two orange leaves pirouetted in the air, spinning round and round, until they landed several feet away. Silent ripples danced along the water’s surface in front of you and you could hear the sounds of people milling about near you, talking, surrounded by a symphony of nature sounds mixed in with the faroff noises of city life. You couldn’t help but smile when you heard small children giggling as they played on the grass nearby with their parents watching over them. You watched as a small group of teenage girls walked past you, laughing as they reminisced over something that had happened the past weekend. You saw an old man on another bench further down the path, an open book in his hands. 

These were the small peaceful moments that you had come to appreciate since you rejoined society a couple of months ago. These were the ones you held onto when the memories of the terror and pain all became a bit too much, that reminded you that you were back home, safe. 

You watched as two moms in workout gear jogged by with their strollers. A man and woman coming from the opposite direction made their way around the two women and continued their trek, drinking from to-go cups and dressed in business casual attire. Sure enough, you could hear them discussing work-related topics as they passed you by. You smiled sadly as you watched them get further and further from your sight. 

That had been you not that long ago, where you didn’t have a care in the world other than pushing out new product lines and being in charge of one of the main offices of the family business. The pressure had been near soul-crushing most of the time but you had adapted for the most part and rolled with it. You worked hard, you worked long hours, and you were alright with that. You took the stress of hectic deadlines and constantly putting out fires and you rolled with the punches. It became part of your make-up and it could only help fuel you even faster towards your goal — your father’s goal. Now, after what you’d been through, your outlook on it all had changed. What had felt like life and death matters in the corporate world before no longer felt as dire as it used to. You’d been in a literal life and death situation and lived to tell the tale; whatever came your way business wise you knew you could more than handle. There was something about being tortured and having a gun held to your head, convinced you were about to die, that just put things into perspective for you.

And though you survived, you didn’t actually get to tell your tale. The minute you were reunited with your father, while he had been grateful you were alive and kissed your forehead, it was made clear to you that you and the co-workers who had been in captivity with you were to sign NDA’s. That had completely floored you. That was the Board’s main concern? That the public might find out that some of its employees had been kidnapped, terrorized, and tortured? How were they going to explain your month long absence from the job, from your lives? You knew Meredith had a fiance, Pat was a grandmother, Rob had just gotten married weeks before this happened, and Tim had a wife and kids waiting back at home for him. Suzanne was dating someone in HR and you could have sworn you heard Jerry mention at some point that he had a dog to get back to, hoping his neighbor had either checked in on it or at least notified someone to do so. How in the world did the Board plan to explain away any of it?

Your father had let out an aggravated sigh as you fired question after question at him. Who had taken you? What had they wanted besides money? Why hadn’t the Board met their demands? Why had it taken them so long to get the government involved?

“They weren’t involved.”

Your eyes had widened in shock. “What? How?”

Your father had taken your hand in between his and stared into your eyes with meaning. “I’m only going to mention this once and then we’re never going to speak of it again. We hired someone to send in a team to get you out of there.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Hired someone? As in mercenaries?”

“Private contractors for security. They handle this type of situation quite frequently but they keep it all very hush hush. So that is why the Board is insisting on NDA’s for all of you. It’s not only to protect the brand but also to protect all of you.”

“Protect this organization they hired, you mean.”

Your father nodded, not looking troubled by your accusation in the least.

“I don’t understand, Dad. You have contacts in Defense. Why wouldn’t you call them?”

“We did. They recommended these people and said they were our best option. If we hired them, they could get in quickly and get you out. If we didn’t and chose to go through more official channels, it might prolong the process and that might be time that you didn’t have.”

You could see the wisdom in that advice he’d been given. They had been right; had they gotten there even just an hour later than they did, you might not be alive right now. “But a month, Dad? Why did they wait so long?”

Your father tightened his grip on your hand and you knew you weren’t going to like what he had to say next. “At first, we didn’t know who had taken you. When they made contact…the Board wanted to try negotiating with them first.”

You huffed out a breath in disbelief. Those sons of bitches…

“I pushed for them to do something more drastic but they fought me every step of the way. It wasn’t until they received that first video message that they finally agreed that I should make the call.” 

So your father had fought for you, but to a point. That fact rolled around in your brain for a moment. Had your roles been reversed, you would have told the Board to go screw themselves and immediately contacted whoever could rescue your father as soon as possible. No amount of money, litigation threats, or risk to the business would have stopped you. You, his only child, his only surviving family member, had been in mortal danger, and he hadn’t done everything he could to secure your safe return home as soon as possible? It was hard to wrap your mind around that. Then his last words finally registered. “Wait, what video message?”

His blue eyes softened with sympathy then and you could swear you could see a little bit of pain beginning to cloud them. “Where you were tortured.”

You should have known. Why else would your kidnappers have filmed it? Truthfully, you had known it back when they were hurting you. You shouldn’t be surprised, but you also didn’t want to talk about it. “You mean the pictures weren’t enough to convince them?” Before that first night, your kidnappers had forced you and your co-workers to look up at them as they snapped photos of you on their phones. You knew then that they were either using it as a scare tactic for your father and the Board or they were providing proof of life. Either way, it hadn’t mattered in the end since obviously the kidnappers had kicked it up a notch after that. 

A haunted look fleeted across your father’s tired face. While you may still be struggling with the idea that he hadn’t done everything you would have done in his place, you knew this had taken a toll on him. He had been genuinely concerned for you and the relief you’d seen on his expression when he saw you for the first time since you’d been separated was palpable. “When they saw the video, they could no longer pretend that this was something they could simply deal their way out of.”

Your brows drew together as you studied him. You were sure it had been hard for them to see what had happened to you, to hear your cries, your screams, your pained whimpers. You knew it must have been even more difficult for your father to see. But somehow you got the distinct impression that’s not what he was referring to. “Dad.” He glanced up at you and sure enough, you could tell he was keeping something from you. “Tell me.”

He grasped your hand tightly once more. This was definitely not going to be good. “It was bad enough to see what they did to you…but the end of the video was what convinced them.” At your knitted brow, he elaborated, “They pulled Tim out of the room they were keeping you all in, brought him somewhere, and then killed him.”

Your eyes widened and your heart stopped. What?

“And they said if they didn’t get what they wanted in three days, you were next.” 

Your heart started up again and began to pound in your chest. You felt like you were falling with no end in sight. Tim was…dead? Your breathing sped up into short pants and you could hear beeping from a machine you were connected to but it sounded so far away.

You had blocked out some of that experience, your brain subconsciously trying to protect you perhaps, you weren’t sure. And whatever memories stayed, each time they started to flash in your mind, you would close your eyes and grab hold of your safe harbor in those turbulent waves of trauma that tried to overtake you. You would think of green and while the images didn’t exactly disappear, it kept them at a safe distance. Well, while you were awake at least. The nightmares you experienced were something else entirely.

But this…nothing could protect you from this. You suddenly remembered being locked in that bedroom, hearing the yelling, the gunshot—oh God, the gunshot. You had heard the moment they— Your father urged you to calm down, rubbing your hand comfortingly, but you couldn’t hear him or even when a nurse rushed into the room to ask what was going on. Because at that precise moment, a memory came back to you, ripping your tight grip on your green harbor and tossing you back into the dark ocean of trauma and pain to drown in. 

It had been right before you’d passed out the second time. While your soldier had gotten out of the helicopter, you had glanced over to see the other helicopter that your people were disembarking from. At the time, you had been so out of it due to the pain and disorientation you had been feeling that you didn’t realize the number of people you should have been seeing was one short. You didn’t even seem to process the black bag two soldiers removed from the aircraft and carried off the tarmac together. You just knew something was wrong, something you had tried to tell your soldier before you passed out again. But now you knew exactly what you had seen.

Tim. Tim had been with you since you started in the New York office; he preceded you actually. Even though your father had chosen him to accompany you and the others, all you could remember was the nice man who had smiled and said hello as he walked into the office; the man who was quiet and reserved but also a hard worker; who had offered you his jacket to cover up with; the man who had begged the kidnappers for the photos of his kids from his wallet that they had taken and then denied him; the man who talked about his family and proudly told you all about his children. His daughter, Riley, was eight and she had recently taken up soccer. Before you’d left for Bogota, she had told him that her coach wanted her to try the goalie position but she was scared; she didn’t want balls flying at her head. You couldn’t blame her on that one and had said as much. You remembered all too well the sports you had been made to join growing up and it had never really been your thing, but it made your father happy so you did it each time he urged you to sign up or try out. Tim’s son, David, was nearly six and he had just graduated kindergarten. And the baby, Olivia, could be quite the handful since she was a very rambunctious toddler who never seemed to run out of energy, but his wife, Angela, lived up to her name and couldn’t be happier with their current family setup. And now… Now, he would never get to see any of them ever again.

The pained wail that met your ears caught you off guard until you realized it was coming from you. Tim was a good man and he had managed to make a life outside of work. He had something you had never let yourself dream about having since it would inevitably get in the way of your successful climbing of the corporate ladder. Now, he would never get to see his kids grow up, go to any more of Riley’s soccer games to encourage her, go on any more date nights with his wife — none of it. You had the horrible thought for a moment that it should have been you in that bag instead. It nearly had been you.

Your father held onto you as you wept, as the nurse rubbed your back from the opposite side of the bed, crooning soft reassurances to you and urging you to try to calm down. But nothing could reassure you; you were here and Tim was not. A cold hard fact that you could do nothing to change. Even worse, you had missed his funeral since you were stuck in the hospital you had been transferred to once you were flown from the one you had briefly ended up in down in Colombia. You hadn’t even known about his death until this moment, your suddenly resurfaced traumatic memories aside. 

Since that day, the memory of that single gunshot had tormented you. Had Tim known it was coming? Did he think about Angela and the kids right then? Had he prayed they would be okay without him? How terrified must he have been? You knew how scared you were in that bedroom, how fearful you had been during your second round of torture, sensing that this wasn’t going to end with the doctor treating you as it had the last time (which had now been confirmed that your instinct had been spot on). You could only imagine how he must have felt in that final moment.

The nightmares proceeded to get even worse and you were afraid to be left alone in your hospital room. Though your father and the medical staff had assured you that you were safe, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t, no matter how irrational you knew you were being. Eventually, your assistant Luna started working remotely from your room to keep you company and your father had hired two full-time bodyguards to watch over you: Owen during the day and Simon at night. When the nightmares became practically unbearable, that rotation switched. For some reason, you felt safer with Owen there. Perhaps it had to do with his look, specifically his salt and pepper beard…you briefly remembered the feeling of a beard underneath your bloody fingertips though you couldn’t place the face it belonged to. You had a feeling it was connected to the green you remembered, that you clung to in the tumultuous sea of mayhem that was the night you were marked to die — the green that you associated with your rescuer. Why you couldn’t recall his face, you had no idea, but you chalked it up to your brain once again trying to make sense of the chaos that reigned inside your head. 

Green continued to symbolize safety and reassurance for you. So much so that when Luna brought a bag of clothes for you to change into for your beginning rehab sessions, you immediately picked out an olive green hoodie she had selected from your closet and set it aside. You took to holding it close as you slept, letting the scent of home attached to it wash over you as you closed your eyes. When you would wake from your nightmares, sometimes gasping for air that wouldn’t come, sometimes crying, or sometimes screaming, you would see the hoodie next to you and grab it, holding it close until you could either breathe again or calm back down. It became a source of comfort for you and long remained that even after you were discharged. 

Your doctor had recommended therapy in addition to the outpatient rehab you would be continuing but truth be told, you weren’t in a rush to relive anything or even unearth something that might somehow be worse than what you already remembered. Your father had also dismissed the idea of therapy, saying that focusing on regaining your ability to walk without the assistance of crutches would help, as well as getting back to concentrating on work. You didn’t agree, you knew better, but you also allowed his view to become your excuse, solidifying your refusal to deal with the trauma you had suffered. After all, you were still here, still breathing — as long as you kept reminding yourself of that, you would be fine. 

So you did as your father insisted: you focused on your physical therapy and you slowly found your way back to working full-time. You had graduated from crutches to a cane. Your doctor said your knee was healing nicely and right on schedule, which made you glad that you had listened to him and not your father’s initial suggestion of a knee replacement. You still felt a twinge of discomfort and a whispery echo of pain when walking so you relied more heavily on the cane than your doctor or physical therapist might have liked. You may not have remembered everything from your ordeal, but the pain of the initial impact of the bat and afterwards as you were carried to a waiting helicopter to take you to safety was still a very recent and clear memory for you. You doubted you would ever forget it as long as you lived. 

Eventually, you returned to your office and you accepted the well wishes all around. You had no idea what they had been told about your obvious injury or what had caused it but thankfully, no one questioned you. You had been in brief touch with Meredith and the others in the days after your initial surgery back in Colombia but not since then. You had been so focused on your recovery and processing the news of Tim’s death that, truthfully, you hadn’t thought of much else. Even though Luna had been working from your hospital room for a time and she kept you apprised on all developments as well as anything that required your attention, you knew your father had instructed her to keep it all to a strictly need-to-know basis until you were finally ready to fully take up the mantle again. And because you were already dealing with more than enough, you allowed it and didn’t push for more than she told you. So the guilt consumed you when you were informed that Suzanne had resigned and Pat had taken an early retirement to be able to spend more time with her kids and grandkids. Rob had taken a position at another company, though Jerry and Meredith were still there. However, Meredith worked remotely most days, something she had worked out with your father while you had been out. You wondered if it might have been a result of Meredith initially refusing to sign the NDA, a sort of compromise to get her to agree to keeping your ordeal under wraps. You made a mental note to reach out to all of them so you could at least check in to see how they were doing. Jerry was in Research; you’d stop by there later.

As tough as all of that had been to learn and stepping back into the swing of things proved to be a little more complicated than you thought it would be, the most difficult moment had been when you went up to Design. Seeing Tim’s office not being Tim’s anymore had left you reeling. Your father moved fast and had hired his replacement within days. From a professional perspective, you more than understood; the business still had to run after all and Design was one of your most crucial departments. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things. The nightmares were particularly brutal that night. You kept hearing the gunshot, kept seeing one of the kidnappers with their cell phone look over at you afterwards and give you the most terrifying smile. Even the hoodie hadn’t helped. When you looked at it, you didn’t see green anymore but red. A very bold and wet shade of dark red. You tossed it away from you and screamed, bursting into sobs as you rocked yourself back and forth in a soothing motion. 

You had immediately called out sick the next morning and spent the rest of the day in bed, alternating between crying and staring blankly at the TV on the wall. Later on, when you could think clearly again, you gave yourself a stern talking to. You were here, alive, and you had hundreds of people looking to you to lead them. You refused to dishonor Tim’s memory by hiding away in your apartment for the rest of your life, no matter how appealing the option might feel. You could hear your father’s voice in your head again, pushing you, telling you to get back up and go to work, to be the best you could be.

And sure enough, you heard his voice for real the next day when he walked into your office. “What is he doing here?”

You glanced up and looked over where he was pointing to see Owen sitting in one of the chairs off to the side, watching you both. You pressed your lips together and shut the portfolio in front of you. “His name’s Owen, Dad. You know that. And he’s here because I asked him to be.”

Your father looked quite displeased with that. “I dismissed him and the other one last week. We talked about this.”

You let out a quiet sigh and sat back in your chair. “I know but—”

“It’s not a good look and it certainly isn’t good for morale. The cane you still insist on unnecessarily using is bad enough. Do you think people around here aren’t asking themselves or each other why you have this man sitting in your office, watching your every move?” 

You leaned forward and lowered your voice. “Dad, I get that. I do, but I need—”

“Is this why you called out sick yesterday?” You briefly dropped your gaze to your desk. You didn’t really want to talk about that or how despondent you’d been in your bed for hours until your alarm went off, jolting you into grabbing your phone and making the call. Your father’s eyes softened though his tone didn’t. “Honey, what you need is to dismiss him, permanently, and get back to your life, to your work. Don’t forget, you’re at the helm of this ship and everyone’s looking to you to navigate it seamlessly through the waters.”

Your jaw clenched and for the first time in your life, you were about to draw a line in the sand between what he was telling you to do and what you knew you needed to do. “I’m aware of that and I can’t steer the ship unless I feel safe. Owen here,” you nodded in the man’s direction. “Makes me feel safe. With him present, I can focus and get the job done. So, Owen is staying until I say otherwise.”

Your father’s own jaw tightened. “I’m not paying for more—”

“You’re not. I am. And believe it or not, while I’m doing what’s right for me, I’m also doing what’s right for this office, to ensure our complete success. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some reports from Research to review.” You slipped your eyeglasses back on and reopened the portfolio in front of you, scanning the contents.

You glanced up when your father stepped closer to your desk, his voice lower than before though his now angry gaze burned into you. You should have known by dismissing him in that manner after standing your ground, what it would do. “I’m going to strongly suggest that you finish up with Research and take your lunch out of the office. Perhaps outside. It’s a beautiful day and a dose of fresh air might just be what you need.” He gave you a curt nod and then swiftly left the room. Once he was gone, your shoulders deflated and you slumped back into your chair. You knew your father loved you and he only wanted the best for you, for you to succeed, but sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if it ever came down to the choice of you or the business, who would he choose? He already chose. You blinked the rapidly forming tears in your eyes away at the thought that had popped into your head out of nowhere and carefully got to your feet, reaching for your cane. 

“Owen,” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him immediately stand at attention. “I think we’re going to take my father’s advice. He’s right. It is a beautiful day and I would like to take full advantage of it.” He moved towards you, watching as you moved to the corner and slipped on your light coat. “I’d prefer to be anywhere that isn’t here,” you mumbled, grabbing your handbag. 

You carefully made your way across your office with Owen following right behind you, ready to assist if need be while also keeping an eye out. You called out to your assistant as you passed her by, “Luna, I’m going out for lunch today. Please hold all calls until I return.”

“Of course, Ms. Y/L/N. If Research calls while you’re out, is there anything you would like me to tell them?”

You thought it over for a moment before turning towards the elevators. “Tell them I’m still working on it. Thank you.” And for the first time since you’d started in this company, you left without getting the job done. The thought didn’t sit well with you, you had always been conditioned to complete all of the tasks set out before you, no matter how late you might have to stay to complete them. But at the same time, it oddly made you smile a little.

So here you were, in Central Park on a gorgeous fall day, having taken your father’s advice to heart. You took every single one of your lunches outdoors now unless it was raining or too cold to sit outside for long. You always marveled at the fact that you had lived in New York City for close to two years and you had never once taken the time to stop and notice what surrounded you on a daily basis. You had never taken in the present moment, never taken an opportunity just to be, to sit quietly and listen. The bench you were on by the lake had quickly become one of your favorite spots. You could relax and indulge in the art of people watching, take in all of the sounds, sights, and smells around you. Truth be told, it was the best part of your day. 

Owen stood sentry not too far from you, giving you enough space but also ready to intervene at any moment should he be needed. Despite sitting in a park in the middle of one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country, you felt beyond safe. Owen would never let anything happen to you and being in public, around people living their everyday lives…you felt the safest you had in a long time. A feeling you ended up trying to replicate by looking up Central Park ambience videos on YouTube and playing them while you fell asleep though it didn’t always manage to keep the nightmares away. But you expected that; trauma could be a real stubborn pain in the ass.

But right now, sitting here like this, you were okay. That is, until someone decided to sit down on the opposite side of the bench you were on. All of the times you had sat in this spot, you had been left alone, free to claim this bench as your own for the hour or so you’d spend here. Now, someone appeared not to have gotten the unofficial memo. Out of your peripherals, you saw Owen quickly approaching, most likely intending to tell the stranger to move to another bench, when the person glanced back at him, holding a hand up.

“Relax, man. I appreciate you looking out but I’m not here to hurt her, alright? I’m just here to talk.” The second you heard the voice, your gaze snapped over to the man across from you. You immediately recognized it; it was one you’d heard in your nightmares over and over, telling you to stay with him as you desperately clung to his hand until the kidnappers snatched you away. Was it even possible or were you just imagining this man had spoken to Owen with that voice?

When the man turned back to look at you, you recognized the green eyes immediately and a small lump began to form in your throat. Sure enough, he had a beard, one that looked startlingly familiar when you warily prodded at the memory, trying to recall it. A flash of his face, dirtier than it appeared now, popped into your mind. As if it had been patiently waiting all of this time for you to simply reach out and grab a hold of it. Tears began to burn in the corner of your eyes; it was him.

“It’s you,” you choked out in a whisper without really meaning to. 

The smile you faintly remembered graced his face. “It’s me,” he confirmed.

You stared at him, truly dumbfounded. “How?”  

“I told you I’d find you.” 

You nearly started crying when the familiar words floated up from your subconscious, the phrase you had somehow forgotten in the midst of everything. But you remembered it now, as clearly and vividly as the man sitting before you who had said it. You had been about to pass out in the makeshift surgical room, crying and holding onto him tightly, afraid to let him go. “Will I ever see you again?” “I’ll find you.” 

“I made you a promise and I intended on keeping it.” His green eyes softened slightly, much as they had all of those months ago as he caught every single tear that rolled down your cheeks as you succumbed to the drug beginning to course through your system. “I’ll find you.”

And find you he did.

A little preview of the next installment:

Still sensing your discomfort, Russell immediately lifted up and peeled his shirt off, revealing his bare skin to you for the first time. Immediately, you noticed a small bandage wrapped around his left arm.  “What happened?” You gasped, sitting up and gingerly running your fingers below the bandage line.  He shrugged and looked down at it. “Got shot on a job.” Your jaw dropped and when he glanced back up at you, he must have seen the worry that was consuming you because he immediately chuckled and affectionately cupped your chin. “I’m okay. Besides, that’s not what I wanted to show you.” He took your hand in his and moved it to his other shoulder, guiding your fingertips over skin that was jagged, puckered slightly, and silver-looking. “Shot.” He then moved your hands down his side until it reached a decent sized line that was anything but smooth. “Stabbed.” Your hands moved again to right above his abdomen. “Cut.” They moved once more and ended up on his clavicle. “Cut from an attempted stab.” You winced as he mentioned each injury he had received; they had all been the result of violent means. He moved your hands up to the upper tip of his right ear. “Bullet graze.” There was no scar there to speak of but you could see the tiniest bit of difference between his ears in that area when you looked closely.  He finally brought your hand to rest over his heart, holding it there. “Sofia.” Your brows furrowed in confusion and he smirked over at you. “Cute little waitress in Costa Rica. Gave me one hell of a weekend and then left me high and dry for some young British guy who showed up at the beach and hadn’t yet run out of money.” You scoffed and yanked your hand from underneath his, making him laugh, as you crossed your arms. He moved closer to you, cupping your cheeks and staring into your eyes. “I’m kidding about that last part. The rest, I’m not. I’ve got plenty more on my back and even a few on my legs. A couple more on my arms. We all have scars. They’re just reminders of battles we’ve fought and survived. Don’t be ashamed of yours.” A tear escaped and rolled down your cheek but his thumb caught it. He pressed his forehead against yours and murmured, “You’re beautiful.”    When he looked at you like this, spoke softly to you like this, you genuinely believed him.

A/N: Coming very soon. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for Part 2.

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Thoughts on Chapter 123

I thought last chapter was intense but this chapter ;-;

Nicco and everyone looks awesome on the front cover :D

I find it both interesting yet believable that Mikado had always been afraid of Lily. The latter does have a friendly demeanour and seems to genuinely care about his Subclass, the Aliceins and Misono but can also be scheming and sinister in his own way which is a little scary when you think about it because it’s not something you would expect from someone like him. I love how he changed to his Inner Demon’s appearance before back to his own though when Mikuni started talking xD

I’m assuming there’s some significance to Mikado’s pendant for Mikuni to take it, though we’re still no closer to finding out what Mikuni is after. It can be inferred, but it’s just figuring out what’s going through his head 😅

Jeje thinking about Mikuni and Kiriko ;-; I’ve seen how he apparently refers to Mikuni as “the beautiful son of a beautiful woman” and it’s so nice but sweet in a melancholic way. I think it implies that Jeje may have been fond of her and sticks with Mikuni not only out of guilt but because of their similarities and for Kiriko’s sake as well. Imagine how it must have been like for Jeje seeing someone he saw as “too pure to be vicious” descend into madness because of what Mikado did and how it broke her. It’s…kinda sad.

In the same sense, Mikuni is the opposite of his mother but I think that despite what he’s currently doing, in Jeje’s eyes, he does believe it is the right thing to do and he probably knows what Mikuni’s intentions are (perhaps showing kindness in the form of making himself the villain).

I also love how regardless of anything, Jeje still refuses to attack Misono (again, probably because of Mikuni and his own guilt), shooting around him to force him out of range.

I’m guessing that it was maybe Mikuni’s blood that he had? My sister had a theory that maybe Jeje and Mikuni weren’t fully contracted but instead had constant temporary contracts until this point, though I think this shows that maybe they do have a full contract after all.

Envy pair and their puppet/creator theme for their abilities :o I really love it 😅😂 Also Jeje’s being a more dangerous version of Mikuni’s “My Fair Lady” in the sense that it seems indiscriminate :o The people in the snake hood though xD

Sorry, the way Cappuccino and the other mafia member reached out at Nicco :’)

Sigurd! :D Knew he wasn’t dead, but it was still great seeing him.

Of course Nicco shot his hand to pull it off 😅 He had it so rough with Envy pair and the past few chapters though; first threatened and had “My Fair Lady” cast on him by Mikuni, had his Family held hostage, the whole thing with Ildio, shot by Jeje and now caught in Jeje’s ability qwq The guy needs a break :’)

Huh?? He’s hollow?? I saw the spoilers but to think that it was literal •_•

Knowing Tanaka-sensei, it ends on a “happy” note but I’m ready for next chapter to absolutely destroy us (if it doesn’t transition back to Mahiru, Kuro, Gear and Youtarou, but even if it does it probably would still be something)

Even so, really looking forward to next chapter to finding out more, the story really is something xD

More thoughts about Jeje coming soon 😅😂

[spyridonya]

B, J, and Y for Kadi/Dae/Lann

Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o?

Kadira admires Daeran's endurance and remarkable stoicism that he's hidden under sarcasm and cruelty, and from such a young age. While I headcanon Daeran to be in his middle teens, no older than 15, he could easily be young as 12 when he lost everything within the span of hours and kept his sanity despite being held hostage for ten years. That admiration is what made Kadira want to save Daeran, and made her receptive to courting him. Lann's dedication is something she admires, through all the twists and turns that occur in he trying to understand dedication and what he truly wants in life. His dedication to honesty at the cost of grace can be awkward, but he goes through with it regardless what happens to him and sometimes to others. When Lann begins to adapt to his dedication, realizing for what it is, and how he reshapes it is what Kadee admires the most.

Daeran's first admiration for Kadira was her sheer tenacity to be useful in those days in Kenabras. Stubborn but compassionate, Kadira refused to sleep or take more than a moment of rest as the navigated through a near alien city, determined to find information that would protect the refugees at Defender's Heart and find a way to return to the Garrison. He also admired her sense of humor, laughing through the darkness and understanding sometimes, that's all you can do. If she never laughed, he would have never found her intriguing. He likes Lann's honesty and his own sense of order and justice that can be peeled away at the edges to a man who understands humor and pragmatism. Lann is fearless was something that Daeran never quite understood until their time in the Abyss where Lann was chasing after the sins of his past. Lann losing that fearlessness into true courage is something that Daeran will always, always admire.

Lann admires so much about Kadira that he almost placed her a pedestal of divinity rather than the moral woman she was. Her bravery was something he saw so much in her actions from the moment she set eyes on him to the moment she faced down Areelu. Her unfailing kindness baffled him, that struck him as naive and almost foolish until he knew the full truth about her childhood - that being kind was as much her revenge against demons and their attempt to corrupt her in Areelu's lab as something genuine and true. Daeran was someone that took Lann a long time to appreciate before he could begin to admire. What struck Lann as the weeks went by was the loyalty he displayed to Kadira and for old Mendev, and it shocked him weeks later how much of that loyalty was directed to him despite their rivalry over Kadira and their own budding romance. He admires Daeran's wisdom as their relationship deepens to a level that he encourages Daeran in the aftermath of the Crusade.

(I'm going to answer the second question on another ask! I promise to tag you.)

Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily?

I think of the three, Lann becomes the most accustomed to jealousy and doesn't react as harshly as Daeran and surprisingly Kadee. There's quiet acceptance early on in the relationship that Daeran was 'first' and so much of this came from his time with Wenduag and finding her assorted lovers. He never gets so jealous of a person but the interactions between people, though it's more closer to envy.

Daeran believed for a very long time that he did not get jealous. He kept people at arms length and shrugged when they stayed that way. Getting a taste of geuine affection and the threat of losing it forever was like a shock to his system. Looking back at it, the threesome was a strange reaction to that jealousy that shouldn't have lead to something so remarkable between two people, but it did.

Kadira never knew if she got jealous or not until it happened, and happened quickly. She became terribly jealous of Lann and Daeran's far more public relationship, though she was able to hide it with her need in wanting to please and never rock the boat.

(Again, second part will be answered in another ask!)

Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Seeing how it is right now, I don't think Kadira and Daeran ever do become separated from each other in the relationship as it becomes more long term. Daeran is very shaken up about his life after the Other, and by the time he regains his footing, he finds himself becoming crowned King of Mendev. Kadira is very much his pillar support from the start and if he has to be honest, losing her would be devastating - that's why he hated the nature of her powers. Upon death they would be separated because of the difference of their morality.

Though, it doesn't become all that easy for Daeran when Lann goes on his sea voyage without them for a year. However, Daeran keeps so busy that year with politics and becoming a father, he manages to cope through Lann being gone. He writes letters to Lann every day, knowing he won't get those letters until his return, but it helps to think about his fiance each day. Kadee also picked up on the letter writing, though she really wanted to send messages via magic each day. Knowing how jealous Daeran would get, she kept herself from using the messages save for two occasions - that she made it through labor and on Lann's birthday.

In canon, it strongly suggests that Lann is out at sea for a long time and if romanced, the commander is with him. This doesn't hold true and Lann is only gone for little over a year and makes plans to return once Daeran and Kadira's biological child is born. He misses them too much and he wants to meet the child that is just as much his emotionally as it is Daeran and Kadee's. He's also under the impression that if he doesn't live much longer, he wants to be close... but due to the events during the Crusade, Lann ages no more than any other half elf would.

[seralyra]

Now that I’m playing around more with the idea of Allay Grian and Vex Scar and Cub I wonder if Vex are just corrupted Allays or a species all its own.

Both concepts are pretty cool. But I’ll ramble about the first one a little. We know Allays are being held hostage by Pillagers. In Woodland Mansions even in very large groups. So what if they are being prepared to undergo a sort of ritual or long process that will turn them into obedient, bloodthirsty Vex? And what if Cub and Scar managed to escape eventually, working hard to get a semblance of control back.

How would they see Grian, then? Pure, sweet, full Allay Grian, who was maybe lucky enough to be rescued by the Hermits before being turned? I bet at least Cub would resent Grian for being a walking/flying reminder of what they lost. He was the one who fought the hardest to get them out. And he saw first hand how much the changes damaged Scar.

Grian got off light. Sure he’s a bit traumatized, but what he went through was nothing compared to what they had to endure. It’s envy. And fear. Because Grian was what they once were. Showed off all that the Vex so clearly lacked...

Scar is conflicted. On one hand, it hurts to be confronted with his past. But he’s very proud of how far Cub and him have come. How much of their freedom they got back. And sure they lost their radiance, but not their kindness. And Scar is very set on showing Grian that he has nothing to fear from them. And well, on the other hand... Grian is pretty. And cute. And tiny. And there is some kind of protective instinct going off inside him that makes him want to bundle the trembling thing up in blankets and squirrel him away for safekeeping.

Huh, I only meant to write that very first sentence. I might actually do something with this au after finishing my first Hermitcraft story.

[pluviophile-imagines]

Shiggy hand 🕴🕴

I gotchu anon

You think, maybe, that you’re being a little heavy-handed (pun absolutely not intended, but hilarious nonetheless).

Really, it’s the oldest trick in the book. You used to scoff and roll your eyes at the girls who would do it with their crushes in high school—oh, if they could see you now, a secret villain trying to make a pass at your infamous boss.

To be fair, Shigaraki’s hands are quite nice, large and slightly veiny but in a nice way, with long fingers that aren’t quite spindly or skeletal but just thick enough. They’re deadly, though; if his touch were less lethal you’d have done this weeks ago. Instead, it’s taken days of planning with Magne and Toga to get a solid plan in the works. But you’re certain it’ll be worth it—it’s an investment, a present you’re hoping both you and he will be thankful for in the future.

Magne informs you as you walk into the bar tonight that the package you ordered had arrived, and that Toga had already delivered it to Shigaraki. He’s not out in the main area with the others, but he’ll make his entrance now that you’ve arrived. You’re pretty sure past the first week of joining up he’d never missed a single day you’d visited (and to be fair, that could be written off as simply being a good leader, considering your appearances are a lot more rare than those of your other associates save perhaps for Dabi, but you like to think he wants to be around you).

Sure enough, not even three minutes after you make yourself comfortable at a small table in the corner away from where everyone else is sitting, Shigaraki stalks into the bar with a small package held in one hand, pinky up like always; you’ve always found that cute.

“What’s that?” You try to act coy as he comes to find a chair across the table you’re seated at. You’re pretty sure he knows you’re behind this; he’s not a fool, and Toga’s not the quietest of your colleagues (though none of them are exactly quiet right now as they greet their leader quite loudly and he solidly ignores them in favor of, well, you).

“Toga gave it to me.” He’s willing to play along at least, and you’re fairly certain that’s a good sign. Occasionally when you set him up like this he’ll be a bit more amused. If anything, he looks more nervous; he’s not wearing Father, but he’s keeping his head low, letting his hair drape over and provide some cover for his crimson eyes.

Five fingers brush against the shipping envelope, quick and efficient, no need for a knife. A single sealed package is left on the table in the dusty remains. He picks it up, two fingers raised this time, and inspects it.

“She said they were anti-fouling gloves.”

“Artists use them.” You lean forward, resting your chin in the palm of your hand and looking up at your boss through your eyelashes. “They reduce smudging for traditional mediums, friction with tablets…”

They’re black, made of nylon, covering his pinky and ring finger and velcroing around the wrist. Costing less than $10, you’d actually gotten three pairs, because you’re pretty sure there’ll be a bit of a learning curve getting them on.

“You seem to know an awful lot about a present Toga got me.”

He definitely knows you’re behind this, then, but still no clear indication of if he’s put two-and-two together as to why, or even if he’s more excited or nervous for what you have planned.

Instead of getting yourself worked up thinking about that, you reach forward and gently take the packaged gloves from his hands, busying yourself with opening them.

“I think they’ll suit you.” It’s a bit of a struggle; kind of embarrassing, but you play it off by ignoring it as you take out your pocket knife and cut the package entirely, leaving you with a pair of identical black swaths of fabric. “There we go.”

You don’t allow yourself to hesitate or give him a chance to take them from your hand. Dropping on, you reach forward to take hold of his left wrist, pulling it towards you so that you hold his hand over the table right between the pair of you.

Shigaraki’s hands are weapons, this you know; you’ve seen him in action plenty of times between sparring and watching the news. You’ve never quite had the chance to touch them like this—actually, now that you think of it, you don’t know if you’ve ever really touched them at all. He’s not the most tactile person; even when you’ve sparred with him he hasn’t bothered to help you up.

This was a mistake. You shouldn’t have thought you could get away with it.

But when you pause halfway to pulling the glove over his fingers, he doesn’t let you retreat. His free hand comes up, three fingers holding you hostage so you can’t set down the glove.

Your breath hitches. You glance up to see him staring at you, face no longer hidden behind that blue hair and eyes locked on yours, and the intense look in those irises makes your heart beat a little faster. You can’t quite place what emotion he’s trying to get across, something like anxiety or anticipation or excitement. He doesn’t say anything, but the message is loud and clear: don’t stop. Keep going.

So you do.

You pull the glove all the way onto his wrist and velcro it closed. His gaze moves to it now, and you watch as he slowly moves to plant four fingers onto the top of the table, then solidly presses his thumb down. Nothing happens. There’s a little hint of a smile that quirks his mouth as his eyes dart back up to you, then immediately to where your own hands lay laced together on the table before you.

That’s enough of an invitation, you decide. You lift your right hand just as Shigaraki removes his left from the table—you’re pretty sure he’s caught on—and raise it so that it hovers, almost touching.

Then you press your palm to his, fingers bowed back so they still don’t touch. He’s warmer than you expected; you’re not sure why you expected his hands to be cold, but somehow you did, and it’s a pleasant surprise that they’re not.

His eyes never leave where your hands touch, anchored there, but you’re captivated by his face. You watch his Adam’s apple bob with a swallow and decide to go further.

One by one, you press your fingertips to his (or rather, as much as you can, because his are long and on a notable few yours don’t quite reach), pinky and then ring, followed by middle and pointer, and then thumb. Still gauging his reaction, you let your fingers rest fully, hand entirely pressed flush to his.

You hear him sigh; a quiet sound, one you’re pretty sure you weren’t meant to hear but cherish nonetheless. He’s stark still, stiff and unmoving, and you’re floored by how much you like this simple touch.

Is it intimate? You can’t really tell. It’s strange; you’re pretty sure those high school girls who flirt this way aren’t this stunned by it, but to be fair none of them are doing it to an S-class villain whose hand could kill them with a simple slip-up. Your heart is beating fast; you wonder, fleetingly, stupidly, if he can hear it. Now that your fingertips are also pressed against his, his warmth is more obvious, sending gooseflesh rising up your arms.

It’s dumb, you think, insecurity sinking into you. Shigaraki probably thinks you’re a fucking airhead. But the words come automatically; you’re possessed by the spirit of those little high school girls you used to envy as a first year and they spill out as if drilled into your mind.

“Wow. Your hands are so big compared to mine…”

Behind you, all the way at the other side of the bar, Dabi lets out an emphatic groan. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You whip around towards him, shooting him a glare and flipping him the bird to get a lazy eye roll in response. Ordinarily you’d get at least a little huff of laughter from Shigaraki for that, but he stays uncharacteristically silent, which pulls your attention solidly away from Dabi and back to the man you really want to be talking to because damn if that didn’t make you all the more insecure.

You’re not sure if you’ve given Shigaraki or yourself too much credit, but this was clearly a bad idea. Either you’re too awkward to pull this off or he’s too awkward to pick up your signals. Maybe it’s a mixture of both. Either way, you can feel your face burning.

You move to pull away, removing your palm just barely, but Shigaraki’s hand stops you. It follows, as if desperate to keep you there, and in the same motion his fingers shift.

He moves them to the right just slightly, aligning with the gaps between yours, and then tentatively threads both of your fingers together, resting the pads of his on the back of your hand.

Your gaze shoots up from your now linked hands to his face. His Adam’s apple bobs again. He might not have Father to cover him, but he’s tipped his head further downward so that curtain of pale blue hair shields his whole face from you—you can’t tell if he’s still staring at your joined hands or if he’s moved on, but you’re decently certain he’s still looking at you.

“I can’t wear them often or I’ll get out of practice going without them, and I can’t risk that,” he says softly, almost reverently; you get the feeling he might be talking about you. His head tilts up slightly and you decide, quite suddenly, that you’re very glad he’s been covering his face. He’s giving you a look that takes your breath away. The way his red eyes are wide and blown and soft like a villain’s should never be is not something you think you want anyone else to see. It’s yours; you want to keep it all to yourself.

He gives a little squeeze and you swallow thickly as his mouth quirks up, just barely. “But maybe I’ll keep them on just a bit longer.”

[knifefather]

Hello guys! Uploading this chapter of Tutor Me for yall on tumblr! Only one more chapter to go before the story is complete. It’s been so fun to write this and I hope you enjoy this emotional train wreck of a chapter! Don’t worry though, I plan to finish Reader and Diego’s story with a bang, if you know what I mean! Anyway, I bring to you, chapter 5~

➼ Title: Tutor Me, Chapter 5 ➼ Pairing(s): Diego Brando/Reader, Johnny Joestar/Reader, Johnny Joestar/Gyro Zeppeli ➼ Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure ➼ Word Count: 4.3k ➼ Rating: Explicit, 18+ ➼ Contains: Chubby AFAB!Reader, college AU, angst, alcoholism, parental abuse, hurt and comfort. Grab your tissues!

ミ★ View this on ao3! ★彡

ミ★ Ko-Fi | Commissions Info ★彡

Preview

“This wasn’t supposed to happen...” he proclaimed, his tone growing more grave the more that he talked.

I wasn’t supposed to fall for you, he thought to himself, a crease settling into his brow. You were supposed to be a quick fuck. An experiment. That was all. But now look at where we are...

A soft look passed over his eyes before his expression contorted back to agitation. He angrily wiped the tears from his face and a bit of snot from his nose. When he moved his hand away, his expression was more determined than ever.

“Now get out of my way.”

Diego clasped the buckle on his helmet, straightening his posture and squaring his shoulders, before walking away from you yet again.

You stood behind him, mouth open, unable to even begin to form words. The dirt of the track whipped around you as a breeze passed through the stadium. The dust swirled around Diego as if it parted for him and only him, leading him towards victory.

The brightly lit stadium was packed to the brim with jockeys, paparazzi, and audience members when you arrived. You drew in a deep breath to calm your nerves, causing the thick, hot air to catch in your lungs. The atmosphere was almost oppressive as you made your way towards the admission line. Johnny, Gyro, and Hot Pants were already down on the track, having practiced for several hours before the actual tournament began. You were excited to see your friends but anxious about seeing Diego. Being around him tonight was a certainty that you had to deal with. Your throat grew dry at the realization, and you fleetingly thought about hitting the concession stand after you said hi to your friends.

You waited in line with the other attendees for God knows how long before the worker behind the counter took your ticket, allowing you entry. Quickly, you zipped past the stands and pushed through the crowds, heading down to the track before one of the staff members could stop you. As you made your way across the dirt, Johnny and the crew noticed you approaching and waved you closer. Your face broke out in a large smile as you neared them.

They all looked amazing: Hot Pants was dressed in her signature pink riding outfit and Johnny in his starry blue one. He looked cuter than you wanted to admit, and you adverted your eyes before you could be caught staring. Gyro looked more or less the same, but something about him seemed a bit more put together than usual. He gave you a distrustful look as you approached.

“Y/n! I’m so glad you made it!” Johnny said happily, wheeling over to you. His bright blue lips were tugged in a warm smile that made you forget about your anxiety for a moment.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world,” you replied.

In the distance, you could see the flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras aimed at the racers. There was a group of them nearby, snapping photos of a rider that was posing with their star racehorse. You knew it was a matter of time before the hoard would come to pester Johnny and the rest of the gang with photos and questions. You were correct in your assumptions: After a few moments of chatting amongst yourselves, the paparazzi interrupted your conversation with the crew by tapping Johnny on the shoulder and pushing a camera into his face. The interviewer flashed a too-white smile before looking into a camera that was held by another paparazzi. “And here we have racer number 7, Johnny Joestar! Johnny, tell us a little bit about your horse and hopes for the race,” they finished, whipping the microphone in his direction. His blue eyes went wide for a moment before clearing his throat. “Well…” He answered as swiftly as he could before he was hit with another barrage of questions.

As Johnny was being interviewed, several cameras snapped at Hot Pants, her outfit being praised by the rest of the team. She knew how to pose, too, and struck a different one every few seconds. Meanwhile, you had been more or less been pushed to the side and out of the cameras’ view. You looked at the scene, not envying your friends at all. Strangely enough, you noticed Gyro was standing off to the side as well, a pleased smile on his face. Unsure of how he would respond, you edged closer to him in hopes of making conversation, especially after the strange look he gave you earlier.

“What are you smiling about?” you asked innocuously, raising your voice a bit over the busy sounds of the stadium.

Gyro met your gaze, his expression shifting through a few different emotions before replying to you. “They don’t really like me,” he said.

You cocked a brow. “Why not? You’re a pretty good jockey.”

Gyro’s line of sight shifted from you to a paparazzi that was approaching him, presumably one that was new to the job. “Are you Gyro Zeppeli? Could you tell us a bit about yourself and your horse?” the young man asked, giving him the same treatment as Johnny. His cameraman pointed the filming instrument at Gyro’s face, getting way too close.

“Actually, my name is Inigo Montoya.” Gyro grinned, his gold teeth glinting in the bright lights.

“Oh,” the young paparazzi sputtered. He checked the roster in his pocket again, shaking his head before turning his attention back to him. “Sorry. Inigo. Where are you from? Why are you confident your horse will win the race?” the young man tried again.

“I hail from a land far, far away in the south. Super cold. You’ve probably never heard of it,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I came to Britain to win the championship with my horse, Ligma,” he answered, deepening his voice to sound more important than he was.

“Ligma?” the young man asked, his brow furrowing.

“You know, Ligma. Like--”

Just then, one of the more experienced paparazzi intervened, grabbing the microphone away from Gyro before he could crack his dirty joke. The other paparazzi harshly whispered to the younger one, and they exchanged glances before giving Gyro a distasteful look and walking away. All the while, Gyro was barely containing his laughter, his stomach and chest trembling with the effort. Once they were finally out of earshot, Gyro wouldn't contain himself and erupted into laughter.

You were taken aback by the scene, but you also found it hard to contain your giggles. You waited until the pair had fully adverted their attention from you and Gyro before speaking. “So, was that why they don’t like you?” you asked, still giggling.

“Yep. I always give them bullshit answers. They don’t really care about where you’re from or who you are, you know,” Gyro explained, his tone becoming more somber. “They just want a good show. To be entertained. That’s it.”

The smile had fallen from your face at his explanation. His green eyes scanned over your face before flickering away, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Is that why you’re here? Do you care, or do you want to be entertained?” he asked, still looking away from you.

You were surprised at the boldness of his question. “Of course, I care. I want to see you guys do well--”

“Even Johnny?”

You furrowed your brow at this. His eyes met yours, his gaze accusatory as he looked you over. “What does that mean? Are you implying that I don’t care about him?” you shot back, your tone growing more defensive with every word. Gyro had always been aloof around you, but never like this. You wracked your brain trying to figure out the reason.

Gyro ignored your response. “You should get back to the stands. The race is gonna start soon, and the coaches aren’t going to be happy that you’re down here.” He fixed his hat while he spoke, the brim coming down to cast a shadow over his face.

Then it hit you as if the thought were a speeding train. Gyro... liked Johnny.

The cogs in your head were whirring a mile a minute, piecing together all of the times that he was unusually protective of Johnny. You thought back to the soft way that he looked at Johnny during riding practice, or the way Gyro ignored you after Johnny had flirted with you. You were going to argue the point, but he was right. The staff members that had initially spied you were now giving you harsh glances, some pointing now. At this point, the paparazzi had released Hot Pants and Johnny from being their hostages and were retreating to other parts of the stadium. You wished all of them good luck before making your way towards the stands, leaving them behind. Gyro’s words still rang in your ears, making your already complicated emotions about the event even more complicated.

You were still quite a bit away from the stands, but you could see Diego entering the stadium as clear as day. The swarm of paparazzi that obscured your view was a good indicator. From the looks of it, he was just arriving. It’s just like him to be fashionably late, you thought to yourself, making a sour face. Cameras began to flash again and interviewers animatedly asked him questions, trying to fit everything in before the tournament began.

“I’m going to come in first place. Just watch me,” you heard him boldly claim, quite loudly at that. This seemed to please the crowd of interviewers, because the volume of their voices increased as they wrapped up the interview. With only minutes before the jockeys had to take their places, the paparazzi finally dispersed. You were much closer now, able to see Diego clearly. His turquoise outfit was as pristine as ever, every detail carefully planned out. The letters on his equestrian helmet shined when he turned his head.

Before he was able to notice you approaching, a short, fat man hobbled out from the stands and down to the track. Diego’s big, showy smile disappeared and was replaced with a solemn look once he laid eyes on him. He froze in his spot. The man was clearly drunk, his hair unkempt and his clothes disheveled. The look of surprise on Diego’s face graduated to boiling anger, his mouth contorting into a sneer. You couldn’t quite hear what was being said, but you knew how his face looked when he was saying something aggressive. The old man responded with twice as much venom, yelling and shaking his fist at the rider. Diego shrunk under his words, but hatred still twisted his face.

Now, you were curious. You stopped just out of earshot from the scene, only close enough to hear the exchange of words.

“God damn it, I’m your father, Diego! A son does what his father tells him to!” the man slurred. Diego cringed, the alcohol on his father’s breath almost too much for him to handle.

“You’re no father of mine. Fuck off, Dario,” he spat.

This pissed off the old man, because he began to howl in rage at his son. “You’re a fucking disgrace, Diego! You’ve always been a disappointment to me and the rest of the family...It’s a damn shame that you don’t give every pound to help your dying mother in the hospital. A real damn shame,” the man--Dario--rambled, parts of his sentence nearly unintelligible from the slurring.

Though, Diego understood every word. The jockey snapped, his fist shooting out and curling into the man’s shirt. He shook the old man, his lips pulled back in a snarl, teeth bared like an animal. “Don’t you FUCKING dare say that! I send everything I have to support her, and you spend it on BOOZE! If there’s anyone here who is a disgrace, it’s you!” Diego shouted, pushing the man away before the violence could escalate any further.

Your mouth was gaping at the scene, unable to believe that the foul-mouthed drunkard was Diego’s father. He was the complete opposite of his son physically, bearing little to no resemblance to him. You couldn’t imagine his dull grey hair being the same shade as Diego’s blond locks. Though, they both had the same burning look of passion behind their eyes. Nonetheless, you continued to listen in.

“It’s no surprise that I smell booze on your breath. Like always,” Diego growled, his voice much calmer now. His blazing anger had turned cold, his words mechanical in quality.

“You’re a horrible child. A worthless waste of space. Win that money and bring it home to me, or you’ll never see your mum again. You hear me?” Dario said, waving a finger in the jockey’s face. Diego bit his lower lip, looking at the ground defeatedly before nodding his head yes. All of the fight left him, his frame deflating significantly. He understood the implications of his father’s words: The little money that Dario did use to help his mother would stop altogether. And then, she would be gone.

“Good. And after this is over, be useful and bring me a pint,” the old man said, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand before hobbling back off towards the stands.

You were completely at a loss. You blinked slowly, unable to believe the horrible sight that you witnessed. Diego was still staring at the ground, the fist that was once in his father’s shirt now clenched at his side. He was still biting his lip, hard, a small trickle of blood flowing down his chin. You felt horrible that he was clearly being abused by his father, but you were on a mission: You had to get to the bottom of why he was mistreating you, why he had ghosted you and threw you to the side like nothing. You had a sneaking suspicion that the treatment from his father was a part of the reason, but you had to know for sure. You decided to be the bigger person and put your thoughts of confrontation on pause. It could wait until after the race.

You approached him uneasily, taking light steps on the dirt like if you stepped too hard, he’d be disturbed. As you approached him, his eyes slowly rose from the ground and met your form. You were wearing a crop top and high-waisted shorts, along with matching shoes. You were beautiful, glowing, so much more confident than the first time he saw you. You proudly allowed your belly to show with your shirt, and the shorts showed off your legs and hugged the curves of your hips perfectly. It was faint, but a bit of makeup dusted your cheeks and kissed your lashes. You were the same, but different somehow. Something had changed in you along the way. If Diego weren’t devastated, he would be enamored by you. Part of him was, despite his pain.

When your gazes locked, you saw a look that you had never seen on Diego before. His eyes were those of a completely broken, desperate person. You had heard enough to know his secrets, and the both of you knew this while you stared silently at each other.

You flub, not sure what to say for a moment. “I… I had no idea,” you said, your voice small and full of hurt.

“I know.” Diego’s jaw was clenched. He didn’t want you to see him like this, so vulnerable and weak. His first instinct was to hide, to get away from you. Your empathetic gaze made feelings rise in him that he didn’t want to be feeling.

“I’m sorry that you have to deal with that…” you said, feeling stuck. “Is that the reason why you wanted to stay away? What your dad said about your mom?” you asked softly, as if you were comforting a child.

The gentle, caring look in your eyes only frustrated Diego further. He looked away, blinking hard and trying to restrain his emotion. He already made the mistake of arguing with Dario in public, which the paparazzi more than certainly saw him do. He wasn’t going to get emotional and have another scene with you, not when he had a race to win and a mother to save. Diego opted for silence, not giving a response and just looking away.

You sighed sadly before taking a step toward him, your hand outstretched. “Please. I need to know. You don’t have to tell me now, but I want to talk about this,” you tried, setting your hand on his shoulder. He promptly shrugged you off with an exasperated noise.

“I don’t want them to see,” Diego said, already turning on his heel and walking away from you. Your feet were moving before you had time to think about it, making you follow him across the dirt.

“That’s fine. But at least tell me after the race,” you implored, your tone growing more desperate. You swallowed, hard, and tried to get yourself together.

He was quiet again, worrying his lip between his teeth as he struggled to hold back all of the things he wanted to say. Diego tried to keep his eye on the ball, focusing on an image of him holding a 10,000 pound sterling check in his hand. Except, the image grew fuzzy in his mind’s eye, and he saw you instead. Your smile. Your eyes. You, choking on cigarette smoke. You, in the back of his car, blushing and looking at him like the most important person in the world.

You sped up, jogging next to his side. He walked faster, leaving you in the dust.

“Why? Why do you keep walking away from me? Every time? You always deflect and you never want to talk about anything. It’s not healthy, Diego,” you said, your voice breaking. “I’ll leave you alone forever if that’s what you want. If you want to talk about this later, just tell me. Communicate with me, please.”

This got Diego’s attention, and he stopped in his tracks.

“Diego, what’s going on? What are we?” you tried one more time before giving up for good. You were well aware that you were crossing the line, but you needed something. Your hand went to his arm, your thumb gently caressing him.

You didn’t expect the furious expression on his face when he whipped around to look at you. Surprised, you took a step back from him, watching his hands curl around nothing at his sides.

“I don’t know!” Diego yelled, ripping his sleeve from your grasp. His eyes were smoldering with anger and fear in their basest forms. He sniffled a bit at the end of his sentence.

You stopped in your tracks, frozen by disbelief. Tears were now freely flowing down Diego’s cheeks, hot and wet and dripping onto the dirt below his feet. “You saw Dario. What an absolutely disgusting, no-good, drunk fucking swine he is,” he said through gritted teeth. “What’s what I deal with. That’s what my mother deals with. He doesn’t love her, doesn’t care if she dies young. That’s why I have to win this race. I have to have that money in my pocket; failure isn’t an option. I don’t know what we are. This wasn’t supposed to happen...” he proclaimed, his tone growing more grave the more that he talked.

I wasn’t supposed to fall for you, he thought to himself, a crease settling into his brow. You were supposed to be a quick fuck. An experiment. That was all. But now look at where we are...

A soft look passed over his eyes before his expression contorted back to agitation. He angrily wiped the tears from his face and a bit of snot from his nose. When he moved his hand away, his expression was more determined than ever.

“Now get out of my way.”

Diego clasped the buckle on his helmet, straightening his posture and squaring his shoulders, before walking away from you yet again.

You stood behind him, mouth open, unable to even begin to form words. The dirt of the track whipped around you as a breeze passed through the stadium. The dust swirled around Diego as if it parted for him and only him, leading him towards victory.

Where you thought you would feel disappointment, you felt numb. You didn’t know what exactly to feel. You turned around and walked towards the stands, the scene below catching the attention of a few audience members. They looked at you curiously as you made your way towards your seat, but you paid no mind to them. Something in your gut told you that this wasn’t over. And, despite everything, you knew who you would be cheering for once the tournament began.

★・・・・・・★

The thundering of hooves on the dirt and the roar of the crowd reverberated in your ears. You watched as the riders were approaching the last lap, many of them bracing themselves for one last push of speed. Many of the jockeys who started in first place had sunk to the back, and others who had restrained themselves were rising to the occasion. Such was the case for your friends and Diego.

Gyro was currently sitting in 5th place, Hot Pants in 4th, Johnny in 2nd, and, surprisingly, Diego in 6th. You nervously watched as Diego bided his time in the back. A shadow was cast over his face from his helmet, and you and the onlookers alike struggled to read his expression. The announcer was going crazy with play-by-plays, calling out so quickly that the words lost their meaning to you. You wanted your friends to win, but you couldn’t help but cheer for Diego on the inside.

Johnny’s horse was speeding ahead of the contender in first place, the red-headed woman yelling a profanity at him and shooting him a dirty look. She maneuvered her horse to the side, trying to throw him off balance, but Johnny was quick. He swerved, avoiding the collision, and zipped past her into first place.

“Johnny Joestar has taken the lead! Can he keep this up? Do we have the winner?!” the announcer boomed, riling up the crowd. They all clapped and shouted, the sounds making your head buzz. The smell of alcohol was also heavy in the air and it didn’t help the knot that settled in your stomach. You hoped that Dario wasn't sitting nearby.

What are you doing, Diego? You thought to yourself, making a “tsk” sound under your breath.

Hot Pants surprised you next, overtaking the 3rd place racer and claiming their place. There were only a few meters left, and you began to sweat as the end of the race approached.

Suddenly, you heard a gasp from the audience. You flicked your eyes over to the back riders and saw what the audience had seen. Diego was jetting past the other racers, taking 5th, 4th, and 3rd like nothing. You found yourself scooting to the edge of your seat, your hands gripping the edge of the stands hard enough to make your palms white.

Diego was steady for a moment, riding next to Hot Pants, almost as if he was taunting her. Down on the track, he flashed her a cocky grin before snatching 2nd place away from her. Now, he was right behind Johnny, the two riders only a few feet away from each other. The announcer was hollering his head off, but silence settled over your ears. You watched them, side by side, sweat flying off of the both of them.

Johnny looked to his side, his brow furrowed, his upper lip curled in concentration. Diego’s eyes flashed as they locked gazes, a thousand words being exchanged from one intense look. Johnny pressed on, encouraging Slow Dancer to give everything that she had. Diego’s own horse still had a bit left in her, and, with an expert maneuver from her rider, Diego cut perfectly in front of Johnny, making Slow Dancer falter.

You gasped, you hands gripping the metal edge of the stands even harder. For a split second, Johnny’s horse lost her balance, stumbling, but he pulled hard on her reigns and recentered her. By then, it was too late, and Diego was several paces ahead of him, the finish line within his reach. Your heart raced as you watched him, you jumped to your feet and leaned in as close as you could, unable to look away.

“AND THERE HE GOES!” the announcer howled, the entire stadium screaming at the top of their lungs. The moment that Silver Bullet crossed the finish line happened almost in slow-motion. You could see the exact moment that her hoof touched the dirt right over the line, how the beast’s muscles ripped under her hide as she carried them both to victory. Diego was almost standing, braced so forwardly that he almost flew off the horse when they passed the finish line. You could feel the breeze ruffling your hair as he jetted past you.

And just like that, it was all over. Johnny wasn’t far behind him, and neither were Hot Pants and Gyro. Your heart was beating at a million miles a minute, and you couldn’t help but break into a huge smile and join the crowd in their cheering. You cheered until your throat grew hoarse and scratchy, until you couldn’t produce sound any longer.

Diego’s face was broken out in a toothy smile as his horse slowed. “We have our winner! Give it up for Diego Brando!” Everyone did accordingly, many whooping and hollerings taking place. Cheers still sounded off for the rest of the participants, and even though they were dejected, many were still happy to have made it in the top ten. Diego did a victory lap around the stadium, cameras going off like crazy and admirers reaching over the barrier for a chance to be close to the celebrity. He waved, a grin still dancing on his lips while he rode the high of being the winner. You could see from your seat the rise and fall of his chest as he drew in ragged breaths, trying to calm himself down from the excitement.

Slowly, you sat down, your hands stilling from the abundance of clapping. Even as you sat, you were still beaming uncontrollably. You couldn’t help but feel proud of him, to be happy for him at this moment, even though you knew that the happiness was only temporary.

[bigfrozenfan-fanfics]

Chapter 14 - Changes

Links: Chapter overview, Character list, Map, Glossar Rating: M over all Publishing cycle: each Friday at 6:00 pm CEST dst/UTC +2:00 on (link) Remarks: all my chapters contain carefully selected music tracks. It’s your own decision if you want to use them or not while reading. The purpose is to musically support the respective mood of the plot. If you can please use a browser for reading (not the Tumblr app) due to the text formatting and music.

Yelana caught the two boys from behind as they were telling jokes and laughing out loud instead of watching the herd. She cleared her throat audibly and the heads of both of them drove around scared. They both looked at her serious face and went white as a sheet.

Yelana's gaze wandered back and forth between them, then shrugged and said in a friendly voice, “You've got nothing to worry about, boys.” Their posture then relaxed a little. Then she pondered for a moment, swayed her head in her typical manner and finally looked at them a little arrogantly. “I need a reindeer, preferably saddled and harnessed, if possible please. I'm not that young anymore.”

The surprise reaction of the two of them was priceless for Yelana's taste, but didn't let on and grinned inside herself instead. The boys stood there frozen as if rooted to the ground and could not believe their ears.

“Come on, you two, I haven't got all day!” She made a wagging gesture and frowned apparently in annoyance.

The boys started moving and less than five minutes later a saddled reindeer was standing in front of her.

She took a closer look at the animal and the saddle and nodded contentedly at the end. Then she pushed her rod under the straps of the saddle and mounted. “Take good care of all of you,” she said to the boys standing there waiting and gave them a motherly look. Then she sighed and rode off without looking back another second.

“What did she mean by that? And why is she riding away anyway?” one of them asked.

“I haven't the faintest idea. I didn't even know she could ride,” replied the other.

Both gazed after her completely perplexed.

~~~

The wagon rumbled along and nobody spoke a word. Even Olaf remained silent and looked at the passing landscape with a transfigured look. Everyone was lost deep in their thoughts except Elsa, who had fallen asleep next to her.

How could she sleep so calmly; Anna thought, and pondered the upsetting events as she absent-mindedly watched the sunset. On any other day she would enjoy it, but today it seemed to her as if it announced a night of mischief.

What would this Kolgrimr do with the Northuldra once he realized that they were already long gone and he could no longer carry out whatever plans he had in mind. She feared for the people there and if Honeymaren was right in her suspicion, they could not defend themselves against his magical powers. They would all be helplessly at his mercy.

Slowly but constantly anger rose in her. Couldn't anything go right for once in her life? Did something terrible always have to happen to them and ended up being involved? She looked over to her sister and envied her. Elsa's face seemed completely relaxed, she even smiled slightly. Was she dreaming of Honeymaren? What was between them? Of course she would not mind if a romantic relationship developed between the two of them. She knew that Arendelle was quite open-minded about relationships of this kind, there was even a married female couple, Ada and Tuva Diaz with two adopted children. What was most important to her was Elsa's well-being and she wanted nothing more than the happiness for her sister.

And now someone thought he had the right to get revenge for something they were both not to blame for. Anna cursed and at the same moment, frightened by her behaviour, held her hand over her mouth. The next moment, she looked into Kristoff's eyes, who had turned around to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

“You curse? About what?” he asked curiously.

“Oh nothing, it's not that important,” she replied quickly, waving off and feeling the situation as embarrassing. Kristoff now raised his other eyebrow, too. Apparently he didn't quite believe her assertion.

“You know you can tell me anything, honey. Just say it out loud. If I don't know what it's about, I can't help you.”

Anna sat down and nodded her head a little bashfully at last. “Yes, dear, I know, and cursing isn't usually my style either. I was just thinking about this Kolgrimr and why it is always us who are in the middle of the action and risking our lives. What do you think about this whole thing? You have been quiet all the way back and don't seem particularly frightened to me.”

Kristoff shrugged his shoulders. “We made it out of the woods in time, if all this is true, and we'll be home soon.” Then he remembered the conversation with Ryder when he warned him and he said, “I'm not worried about myself, Anna, but if there's anyone I really care about, it's you, honey. If anything happens to you, that would be the end for me, I  love you.”

Anna smiled, stood up briefly and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Kristoff, my love. I love you too.”

They looked at each other in love for a while, and Anna actually forgot her worries about it. Eventually, he nodded with a smile and turned around again. She herself leaned back and closed her eyes. Maybe she could get some sleep after all; she thought.

~~~

They had not yet completed a third of the way home when Kristoff saw a covered wagon approaching in front of him at some distance. He turned around and pointed it out to the others.

“Wake up, folks! Look who's coming.”

Anna and Elsa startled up, then stretched their heads and looked ahead while Olaf climbed forward beside Kristoff. “Mattias is here!” he exclaimed excitedly and pointed forward.

“They were pretty fast, though,” Anna murmured and rubbed her stiff neck because she had dozed off in an uncomfortable position.

“You haven't told me much about him,” Elsa replied without looking at her. “Except that he rode back specially to get help for me.”

Anna looked at her smiling. “The General is one of the most loyal people I know, and a fine fellow too. You'll like him.”

Elsa nodded, “I'm already very curious about him.”

A few minutes later the two vehicles, standing now directly opposite each other, stopped. The two drivers sitting on the coach box looked quite surprised. Mattias rode past them and jumped briskly out of the saddle when he was next to Anna.

“Your Majesty!” he shouted joyfully and bowed to Anna, who was now standing up at the back of the wagon. “You guys are already on your way back so soon, then I presume your sister's doing well again?” He peered past Anna to have a look at Elsa. Elsa bent over, looked past Anna and waved at the General with her arm half raised. “Hello, General Mattias.” She smiled at him and mustered his appearance with quick glances without seeming immediately curious.

Trygve and Kristina rose as soon as they saw their queen, smiled and bowed to her while reciting the usual greeting. Anna nodded to them in a friendly manner, but suddenly her worries came back to her mind and her face darkened.

“I am very happy that you are feeling better, Elsa,” said Mattias and returned her smile. Then he looked up at Anna again and his smile faded when he noticed her concern in her face. “Queen Anna, are you alright? Has something happened?”

She nodded, sat down again to be largely at his eye level and said, “Unfortunately, yes, General. We were informed by Honeymaren of a serious threat and had to flee in haste. Someone is trying to kill us.”

Mattias tore open his eyes and gasped, “What? Who? Please tell me everything!” Anna explained in short words what she knew, and his face successively expressed his moods, from amazement to serious concern to clear anger.

“The Council must be informed immediately, and the garrison put on high alert. This can't be true!” He clenched his fists and turned to the covered wagon. “Turn the cart around immediately. We must return as quickly as possible. We are in imminent danger.”

Trygve's and Kristina's jaws dropped and they stared first at him and then at each other in disbelief. Kristina finally nodded and jumped off the trestle. The trail wasn't too wide here so she took the horse by the harness and pulled it slowly around to realign the cart. Then she got back on and waited for Mattias to would ride ahead of them to set the pace. She looked at Trygve with concern and he put a hand on her arm reassuring her.

“Your Majesty, if you agree, we will refrain from equipping Elsa with the camouflage clothes we brought with us, because of the hurry. We yet could also do that shortly before Arendelle.”

Anna nodded and looked briefly behind her. “I think you are right about this, Mattias. We are still near the Northuldra area, so we should hurry.” She gave her sister a quick sideways glance and squeezed her hand before looking at Mattias again. “But we are not yet returning to Arendelle. We have to make a little detour first.”

Mattias raised his eyebrows questioningly. “A detour? Where to?”

Anna bent over to him, looked at him with big eyes and replied quietly, “To the trolls, Mattias, to the trolls.”

The general's jaw dropped and he couldn't say anything more. The day had started so beautifully, and from one moment to the next, everything turned into a nightmare. Trolls ... this can't be true; he thought, and shook his head in disbelief.

~~~

He could have taken her to Gyda. Instead, he chose his hiding place by the river. He preferred not to take any risks and Honeymaren as a hostage was very valuable, even in two ways; he thought, when he recalled the scene on the beach with her and that Arendelle bitch. He grinned as he nudged the young woman in front of him to make her hurry up.

“Faster! Don't dally like that.”

She took a quick look over her shoulder, both angry and anxious. Her hands were tied behind her back and she almost tripped forward when her attention was briefly diverted. But she caught herself in time.

“Don't try any tricks,” he said in a low but threatening voice. She nodded, but didn't say a word. That's good; Kolgrimr thought, as long as she was afraid it was easier to keep her at bay. Less work and more time to make new plans.

He couldn't get that boy out of his head, that brave little guy and brother of his captive. How could it be that he had not sensed the slightest thing, not even when he had actively and intensely tried; he thought. It was almost as if a ghost apparition had stood before him. He gritted his teeth and clenched a fist. That was not good by any means. Not at all. Even with this strong-willed half breed from Arendelle, he was able to get to her spirit with a bit effort. But with him? There was absolutely nothing. Nothing at all. And that worried him immensely.

~~~

At nightfall they reached a small, well hidden kota. Light fog was in the air and a soft splash told Honeymaren that they had to be near a river. She also knew roughly in which direction they had gone, although she herself had never been in this part of the forest. Then she suddenly became aware of exactly where they were and she drew in the air sharply. The home of the earth giants!

She looked around briefly to Kolgrimr and he just nodded wordlessly in the direction of the kota. She walked to the entrance and stopped in front of it. He reached past her, pulled the flap open and pushed her in roughly, so that she fell to the bare ground inside. Then the flap closed again and she was sitting in the dark. She heard him tie the loop of the flap to the outside of the hut, then it was quiet.

She tried to spot something inside the kota, but all she saw was a pale shimmer in the opening above her. She tugged at her shackles but Kolgrimr had been very meticulous and she could not loosen them. If only she had her knife now, which she always carried hanging by her side; she thought. But he had taken it from her, of course.

She struggled herself up into a sitting position, crawled around and systematically searched the floor, hoping to find something useful. But there was nothing, not even a fur, that usually came with every good kota equipment. All right; she thought, let's try the walls. She stood up and moved along the wall with her shoulder as long until she felt like she had reached the starting point again. With her head she had also cautiously checked the wall in addition. But there was no hook and certainly not anything hanging to it to discover. She sighed unnerved and stayed stood leaning against the sloping wall for a while.

What was he up to? What would he do with her? Would he use brute force? Most likely, the way she judged him. She wasn't usually the frightened type, but she felt her eyes get wet and soon after that tears started to flow again. She sobbed softly and finally sank back to the floor. There was no escape for her, it seemed. She decided not to exchange a single word with him. She would remain mute. Even if he should slap her, he wouldn't get anything out of her.

The minutes passed in the silence of the darkness and the minutes became hours. It already had to be in the middle of the night when the rain started. At first she could only hear the soft sound the drops made as they dripped down onto the kota from the branches of the tree above. But it didn't take long and the sporadic dripping turned into a steady hissing as the sky finally opened its sluices completely.

The monotonous noise sounded very calming and soon it made her very tired. So she curled up on the uncomfortable, hard floor and fell gratefully asleep shortly afterwards.

~~~

---

I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment if you liked the story, I would be pleased to read your opinions, even criticisms. If you want to be tagged as soon I publish the next chapter please let me know, except you are already tagged :-)

Tagging: @karma26 @whether-near-to-me-or-far @annaofthenorthernlights @igotelsapregnanthelp @the-fifth-spirit-elsa​

[prose-for-hire]

Love, Hate, Love: Part three

Part One // Part Two

Pairing: Spike x fem!vamp!reader

Request: Spike and the reader disliked each other until they recall their shared past. They finally acknowledge it and their feelings begin to spill - but is it too late? This is the final part !!

Originally requested by: @therapieliteratur​

Warning: Alcohol consumption. Implied sex. Very dodgy/amateur-ish inserted poetry lol

A/N: I don’t have anything for Valentine’s this year, so this will have to do !! Happy Valentine’s Day loves 💖🖤

The evening swept around him, the wind hissing mocking taunts as he ran from the broken promise of your love.

As William sobbed, he stumbled into the field that harboured that oak tree. Once a solace, now a marker of his loss. A gravestone to your love.

His heart was shattered and he made a decision, one that would mean you would never see him again.

In that moment, you were facing your own battle. You still lived with your parents. They did not permit you to leave that afternoon. You panicked, explaining yourself and the reason you were so desperate to go. Which just made it worse.

“Father, please!” You screamed, tears streaming hot and salted, “Please understand, William is a good man. Of a good family”

“Other arrangements have been made, child” He warned, not explaining what these were. You weren’t expected to know or comprehend.

“I love him!” You shouted. The house stopped still. Nobody moved. You were supposed to be seen, not heard. Respect your mother and father’s will. Your mother cried and begged, trying to still you from leaving.

But you managed it, running all the way to the chapel, pleading solace with the vicar. Only to find that your lovers heart was shattered and broken on the floor.

It sounded like broken glass under your feet as your tear-stained wedding gown clung to you.

You had returned from the school a week ago and fitfully rested since. You had offered your hand to help Spike up. He hadn’t taken it, but he hesitated before he told you to go away. The bite in his voice had gone. Neither of you wished to use such harsh tones anymore.

You were back in your home again. Another monotonous fight finished. They all seemed the same. You sighed, shaking your bra to remove the dust from your cleavage.

It was a few days since you last shared your dreams and suddenly you began to crumble under the weight of your tears. Crying almost as much as you had that night as that memory kept flashing behind your eyes. It still felt so fresh. How he hadn’t been there. How you had been too late.

Your legs gave out from under you. Somehow, you were on your knees. Sobbing on the tile of your kitchen floor.

You didn’t realise, but he was out there. Watching. He had followed you home and seen that you lived in a house. A real one. He had scoffed at this and that you had paid over the odds for necro-tempered glass so that you could sit in some kind of sunlight without burning in your own home. He knew this, because he had found an invoice when he had been rooting in your trash.

He was smoking when he saw the kitchen light turn on. You were visible until you dropped to the floor. Eyes leaking with such emotion.

It physically hurt him to see you that way as he moved closer to the window. Tears started to prickle behind his eyes, a lump forming at the back of his throat. He wished to wrap his arms around you. Be allowed in your house, to offer comfort. For you to want his comfort.

He had always hated to see you cry.

In the following weeks, as Spike healed, your hearts began to break over and over. You avoided facing each other, it was too painful even to be in the same room.

Spike stayed outside your house more frequently and you found yourself napping a lot more than usual, just in case you caught the moment he would be sleeping too.

You longed for him in sleep just as he pined for you in reality. You began to want each other in all manner of consciousness. Defying the pain. The hatred you had once been so convinced of. All you wanted was the other and it infuriated you. Whilst somehow simultaneously being a solace.

You were a comfort blanket that the other held close. Wrapped around your hearts for protection. Soft like Sunday morning sheets dipped in the sun’s rays. The warmth of summer days meeting the whispering of cool winter nights.

The care you had weaved in and out of your hearts left a thread. A thread that entwined with theirs and tugged towards the other. The feeling was the last thing you could cling to.

But the pain, the loss. It was creeping up on you both. It always was. Becoming harder and harder to bear. The dreams and memories becoming more and more tainted. The worse, most painful parts taking up most of the dreams.

Despite all of this, you both settled in to sleep much earlier than you ever had before. You still wanted to touch the other, feel the other’s mind. Emotions through the dream. The truth of your love. The promise that it had been real for both of you. Even if it were for mere seconds.

You looked out of the window again, sighing, staring out into the night. Not realising Spike was staring back. You were too in your own head.

You saw it now, where you hadn’t been able to before. His softer side. The lover’s heart that was still firmly planted on his sleeve. How had you missed the attention he had given to Drusilla? How had you ignored the way he spoke about her. Protected her.

Why do you now envy her? Him? For the love story you were never allowed.

You remembered so much now. You both defied convention. You always had. Now you were starting to notice all of the similarities he had to that young man you agreed to marry. You craved him. His touch. His mind.

Through the next few days, the dreams became more frequent again. More scenes from the past. More feelings. Multiple times in the night. Both of you guiltily looking forward to them. The first part, anyway. It was worth the heartache, the hollow loss at the end. To be able to touch each other again, even briefly. Just like it had been.

You had both began to write again, feverish emotions and memories spinning. You had rediscovered your love for poetry as well as that guilty affection you held for the other.

You arrived in the school library one late afternoon. Spike had seen you crying that first time a while ago now and had been watching your house more often than he would like to admit. Your heart ached with every waking moment and you felt yourself walking through life as some kind of emotion-exhausted zombie might.

“Nice of you to join” Xander murmured with a smile. You had been late. You got caught up by the vampire that often tried to make you pay him to pass by ‘his’ turf in the underground tunnel system.

Oh, right, now the vampire that used to make you pay to pass him in the tunnels.

“Yeah, sorry. What’s the sitch?” You asked, a well-practiced smile now stitched on your face for them. You weren’t really expecting much of an update as you started to shake some dust out of your hair.

“It’s Spike. We can’t just let him walk anymore. I’m goin’ out tonight and putting an end to his reign of stupid”

“N-no” You said, unsure why your mouth had moved of your own accord. You had stopped what you were doing and now just staring vaguely at the middle of the room.

“What?”

“Y/n, you know as well as we do, if not more so, what may happen should we allow Spike to continue his ill-thought out tyranny at will”

“He’s not exactly enemy number one is all I meant” You shrugged slowly, still staring unblinkingly as more memories flashed behind your eyes. He was so human in your mind, you couldn’t let that go. Even despite everything you knew about him. The goodness, no matter how limited it appeared, was starting to shine through.

“How can you even begin to defend-”

“Isn’t there a major mayor-related-massacre threatening at any moment? Shouldn’t we care more about immediate threat than some vampire who would sell his remaining brain cell for some box-bleach?”

“Spike’s dangerous though, Y/n. With the threatening and the, uh, hostage-taking-of-me” Willow said softly. It made you feel so guilty. It tore you in half, her words. You berated yourself. For clinging to that rare happiness you felt in those dreams you shared at the expense of real lives.

Your feelings all ran at each other at once. A fated fight. To the death. Neither side was winning or losing, but the battle waged on fiercely.

“Okay. But let me do it” Your eyes almost pleading with them and after some consideration, they agreed. It was you and him, to the very end.

You waited for him at the bar. Simultaneously wishing him to arrive and hoping that he never did.

He arrived, walking towards you, the dim glow of the bar making his prominent cheekbones cast a shadow against his cheeks. Your eyes were transfixed on him, he moved in slow motion. Adjusting the shoulder of his leather duster as he walked.

As he came towards the bar, your eyes flashed between seeing him in reality stalking up to the bar and William walking, smiling towards you. The pictures cutting and splicing themselves together until it was one man.

Nostalgia sticking to your mind like glue, running into your eyes. Blurring the two. He was the same man. Your mind was becoming more and more sure of this.

Which was why this was going to be so hard.

Neither of you pretended the other wasn’t there today, you gestured for him to sit next to you on the spare seat. He stared for a moment, an eyebrow quirked in confusion before he just shrugged and threw himself down beside you.

“Lookie here, if it isn’t the runaway bride” He said, his voice bit deeper than he had expected. He remembered, then. You hadn’t been sure.

“Will- uh, Spike. I didn’t run” You corrected him, without elaboration.

“Yeah, well, suppose it’s not running if you didn’t bother to turn up in the first place”

“That is way not fair! I was totally-” He raised his eyebrows at your phrasing and tensed his jaw at your lie. You cut yourself off, trying to rephrase.

You explained. Exactly what had happened and how you had stayed there all night and through the next day despite the biting cold and rain. Your wedding gown soaked through, but you wouldn’t move.

You explained that you had hoped he would know you had run into trouble. That you would be there when you could.

And Spike believed you. Even when you were younger, he could always tell when you had been lying. This was probably the most honest you had been with him since you had met again.

Spike’s eyes were threatening to spill over again and he hid it by looking downwards, he was about to say something. Reply to your recount of that day, apologise for leaving so quickly, when you were interrupted.

“He bothering you, Y/n?” The bartender asked, gesturing with his head at Spike. Every time he saw you and Spike together there was a fight and you looked more miserable than usual.

“No, uh, we’re on a date. This is, like, my happy face” You assured him with a blank expression that made him laugh, “I’ll have my usual and whatever William usually drinks.”

The bartender looked at Spike, trying to hide his obvious laughter at his real name. No wonder he had chosen Spike. Spike glared, first at you and then at the bar tender. Who surrendered and moved away to make your drinks.

You did shoot Spike an apologetic look. It had slipped out again.

When you received your round you drank in silence for a while. Your thoughts marinating in your brains. Sitting beside each other, sharing a drink – it was alien. But neither of you could help enjoying it.

He knew now that he still loved you. It hurt and he was confused with himself for it, but he couldn’t deny it. Not any longer. You had been all he ever wanted and even now he just wanted to hold you against him the way he had fantasised about in his human years.

He found himself wanting to understand you. Wanting to be allowed beneath your scarred surface. He wished to comfort you when you cried. He wished to relearn the patterns of your mind. He knew your sweet poetry wasn’t lost, just like it wasn’t in his own mind.

You knew you would have never been able to do it. As soon as he walked in, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The stake in your sleeve was splintering uncomfortably and you let it. Your penance for what you were about to say.

“I came here to kill you” You admitted, “Slayer wants you dead”

“And you and your soul’s okay with that one? Pretty little off switch your morality got, isn’t it?” He laughed humourlessly swigging from his drink, “My life’s not worth anything when there’s nothin’ in it for you and yours”

“You could run” You let the suggestion hang in the air.

“And the Slayer would let that happen? Me toddlin’ off until the next time our paths cross and then it’s dust in the wind. For the both of us” He accused. Telling you what you had always known. Your fates were entwined. You had lived and loved together. Been sired at similar times, managed to grasp onto your unlives despite the constant threat. Your soul ached for him, his missing but still showing even if it was just in your own eyes.

You took it in turns to buy the other their drink of choice. It really was like the date you had never been on. You sat in silence, each considering what had been said. Until it had gotten too much for you.

You couldn’t hide, nor run anymore. The shift was too great. Tectonic.

He caught your eye, as you watched him closely. Were you going to say this?

“I look at you and I see that oak tree, those freckles. That smile you used to give me that was ours. Like a secret that only we knew” You spoke, voice wavering and glass crunching under your hand as you held your cup too tight, “I hear the poetry, feel the breeze on my face. I can even feel the bodice that used to dig into me as we sat on the grass…” Your voice caught as his face started to soften at your confession, “I know this is selfish and… wrong. But y-you’re him. The only love ever allowed in my heart. The only one that ever will be. You’ve not changed in the way you think you have, my love” You finished, your accent switching in and out from the one you used to have and the one you used now.

He was reeling from your words. He had never, in all the time he had known you while you were undead, seen you be so honest. So vulnerable. You spoke from the heart, the way you had always used to.

Her love. Your love. He replayed those words over and over. Unable to hate or cast out any affection anymore. It was you.

You usually hid behind your guilt. Thick insulation, stopping you from moving forwards. Kept you constantly recounting past sins. It held your tongue, bound your actions to those that Angel helped construct. Acting only in a way that would allow for you to atone. No happiness, no light.

But now you were bearing yourself to him. Daring to be vulnerable - to hope that he felt it too. Despite it all. Despite who he had been to you in recent memory. The hatred, the dislike felt more distant a memory than the love your shared now.

“Cognate souls sing in early morning. My heart, begotten” The words spilled from his mouth, tears running down his cheeks now.

“There lies she, a woman. The type one may tie a knot in” You whispered, almost choking on the words and how happy they had made you. How he had asked you to be his. To marry.

You locked eyes. Both still shining. Before he closed his eyes for an extended period of time. Savouring those words. That moment.

You were holding back more tears. These feelings long since hidden, but never lost. Your dead hearts began to flutter.

You leaned in and his lips caught yours. Lips moving slowly to begin with but even the slightest movement of your lips spurred him to kiss deeper. You responded desperately, hands reaching for him.

Needing this. Needing him. You wished to make up for being so late. In this kiss.

You could taste salt and… him. The way he tasted hadn’t changed. His lips were almost warm against yours. His tongue entering your mouth hot and urgent. You kissed as if the threat of being torn from the other was imminent.

Your hands slid up his back, gripping the material of his shirt. Wishing you could take it from him right here. Press your naked skin against his. His hand slid up the curve of your neck. The other grasping at the strands of your hair.

You fumbled, pulling each other desperately closer. Bar stools fallen in your wake. You were lost in the kiss, both of you were. Moving on instinct, lips hungry and desperate to recreate the feelings you had all that time ago.

You somehow had entered his crypt. His bed was covered, completely littered with papers. Scrawled with such feeling. Some aged, that had been guiltily kept and some on fresh lined paper. He shoved them from the bed haphazardly. You missed his slight embarrassment as you attached your lips to his neck instead. Tugging on his waistband, desperate and pleading.

You needed this. You had ached for his touch for too long. This was so much more real than the dream. So badly you wanted him. Quick and now.

Your lips pressed against any skin hungrily and you were working desperately to remove all of his clothes as fast as you could.

But he stilled your hands.

Guiding your head back so you would face him. Your pupils dilated and dazed already by your desire for him. For this act that had been held in reverence. The meeting of your bodies in the way you had been told to save for your true love in your youth.

That time had passed but there was something about it being him. About it being you. You had always wanted to feel his naked flesh against your own.

“Wait, Sweet- let me?” he mumbled against your lips, kissing softly now. Like he used to. You almost wept. His mouth grazed yours, not as cautious as he once was. He had learned since, but the way his lips caressed yours. The feeling, that heart, it was still there. His lips insisted that he was still promised to you.

He wanted nothing more than to take you, rough with desire and throbbing with passion. But there was something he had to do. Something William would never forgive him for if he didn’t take this opportunity. Something he would never forgive himself for.

You nod, you were his. You always had been. You couldn’t turn back now despite him allowing you to think on it for that brief moment.

He took you, laid you back on his bed. His guiding grip strong but surprisingly tender. His hands ran down your body in a silent adoration.

He took his time to remove items of your clothing that were left. The fabric felt binding until his hand rested there. With his touch, a sigh of relief. You both felt yourselves releasing a long-held breath. One you had held inside for centuries.

Your eyes shone. It was emotional for the both of you. To have so much right here in front of them. To have everything you had truly ever dreamed.

In this moment, you felt his love in every stroke. Every murmur, every gentle encouragement. Movement. He enjoyed the way you touched his body with such reverence. Adored every sigh of pleasure.

He was firm in his love, in his touch. Your hands sliding up his back, weaving and clasping at his short, bleached hair. You moved so easily with him. Your bodies in perfect harmony. As if they were truly made for each other.

He kissed every part of you. His lips discovering places he had only ever dared dream about before. Sometimes he pressed his lips a little teasingly but others because he wanted to worship your form. He couldn’t rush this. His lips skimming every curve of your body. William was already writing sonnets in his mind. Pressing them into your skin.

He had wanted to do this since the day he had discovered what love making was. To meet your flesh with his. To consummate his adoration. To prove his devotion to your body, not just the mind he already adored. He had wanted to have you this way. To show you how true this feeling was.

His rhythm peaked and slowed. His touch sensual and yet wholly sensitive to you. Kisses littering your skin. He couldn’t believe you were here. That you were in his bed. He had longed, ached. Imagined exploring the beauty encapsulated in your form. His mind was intoxicated with you. Your touch, even your scent.

His eyes never leaving yours. Your eyes shone, threatening to spill again. You caught his lips when he kissed a trail along your collarbone towards your lips. You whispered such loving assurances against his pale skin. Into his ear as he ran a hand along your thigh. You cradled his body to you, wrapping yourself around him. Ensuring he was ever closer.

You hoped that he knew you were right there with him. That you were his, like you had been all those years ago.

You laced your fingers with his. Locking like your eyes. Every part of you had to be connected. You craved each other and it was only satisfied when you were together completely. In mind and body.

No mere dream.

He woke up the next evening, expecting you to be gone. He screwed his eyes up, not willing himself to look less the desperate pang of disappointment swallow him whole.

But when he dared to open his eyes you were there. On your side facing away from him. Sleeping. You had never slept so well, not since you had got your soul back.

You looked so peaceful when you slept. Much more so than when you were awake. He rolled over to press himself against your body. His hand tracing the curvature of your body. He had been deprived of your touch for so long.

He didn’t want this moment to end. This is what he had been missing all these years. It was you. It had only ever been you.

He cautiously ran a hand along your bare skin and enjoyed as you sighed softly through sleep. Your shoulders were exposed and he pressed his lips to your skin. Slow, gentle kisses. Pressed with such meaning. It was as soft as he remembered, despite the years. The fights.

He closed his eyes at the contact, hearing your contentment. You moved back slowly, needy for his body to further embrace yours.

This was all he had ever dreamed of. All he had written about. This was a century in the making.

Your eyes began to open, in your sleepy state you turned to him. You smiled.

William.

The smile lit up the room, better than the sun he remembered whenever you were around. You leaned in, settling a sleepy kiss against his lips.

Written poetry was scattered around the bed you shared for the day. Surrounding you both. Spike’s passion rekindled as yours was. For love and for poetry.

It was in that state between sleep and wake where reality hadn’t quite caught up. Your guilt hadn’t hit you. Your duty, anxieties. None of it was more important than the scene before you.

Everything just felt right. All you knew was this early evening adoration. You felt comfortable. Safe.

The world had stopped on its axis in this moment. The first shoots of love re-growing from your hearts.

[justa-mysticmess]

mc’s attempted forced engagement

submitted by @manacharlotte​

hello!! thank you for your lovely request, and sincere apologies it took so long for it to be posted :) i think i might be getting back into the swing of things now though ^^;;

sorry it’s so long btw! some of it also became repetitive but, i did my best ^^;;  hope you like it!! enjoy! xoxo

.

jaehee

it had been easy for mc to open up to jaehee, likely because their relationship had been based off of strong friendship and respect

also because jaehee was such a quiet person and a great listener

in fact, mc felt they had opened up to the other too soon

however, when they were kidnapped by one of their father’s loyal and unfortunately talented henchmen, jaehee was glad that mc had confided in her about their forced engagement beforehand because otherwise, jaehee wouldn’t have a clue as to where to start looking for mc

she wasn’t surprised that she didn’t even need to convince the other members of the rfa, but what did surprise her was jumin’s investment in finding mc

it made her feel warm that her ex-boss cared about her and her s/o this much despite them having rejected his offers to work for him

with jumin joinining in the search for mc and his many resources which he wasn’t shy to use, they were able to not only track mc’s whereabouts (they were kept locked up in their father’s mansion in a rural setting), but due to 707′s unparalleled research and hacking abilities, they were able to get a lot of info on mc’s father, his business dealings, and family background

707 also went so far as to research all about mc’s fiance and any flaws or shady areas in his family business or background

they all showed up to mc’s father’s mansion, and jumin ensured they did so in style

jaehee was surprised that even v took time out of his busy schedule to join them, and both him and jumin posed as her guardians of sort

with an impressive entourage that included a rising idol, a modern-day prince, a celebrated photographer, and well settled youths, jaehee knew they made heads turn, and she knew she was the envy and desire of many a high-society people

that wasn’t what she was interested in, and she knew neither was mc. however, to sway mc’s father, this was all very important

they were received well enough- rich people had traditions and protocols to stick to after all, if for nothing else then for appearance sake

they weren’t allowed to see mc, and jaehee was seething on the inside, but she kept a calm and professional facade

they were invited to have traditional style tea with mc’s parents, and jumin smartly led the conversation towards business

jaehee, having had more than sufficient experience working with jumin, and then running her own cafe with mc, easily joined the conversation and she could tell how impressed the old man was, although he didn’t outright say anything

mc’s mother on the other hand, looked fondly at jaehee and commented about how smart and experienced jaehee is especially for being so knowledgably at such a young age. jaehee tried not to let it get to her head, but she knew her face was warm

they stayed a week, only seeing mc at dinner time where everyone was to come dressed formally, and mc took every chance to sit next to jaehee and talk to their friends. it warmed jaehee’s heart and also pulled at her heart strings to see that mc had become so lonely in the few days apart that they tried to drag out dinner as much as they could, because as soon as their plate was empty, they were chaperoned back to their room. like a prisoner

it was v and 707 who revealed not only the failing business of mc’s fiance’s family business, but also their overall bad decisions which had led their company to be in debt now. money was the only reason they wanted their son to marry mc

mc’s father was horrified and at first blamed them for trying to ruin his business deal, but v calmly reiterated that even if the wedding happened, only the fiance’s family would benefit from their business and would soon run mc’s father’s business into the ground too

it was 707 who decided to open up about his research into the family business and told mc’s father that his business was struggling too and he needed to be careful with his deals

the engagement was broken off that very day by mc’s father, and they were allowed to at least roam the mansion freely, however, the job wasn’t done

they still ad to convince mc’s father to accept jaehee’s proposal, which they had yet to put forth. mc’s mother overheard some part of their discussion, and she was down for it. she told them a weakness even jumin hadn’t considered yet

just remind him his business, family, and mc would be looked down upon and questions would be raised about the sudden end of the engagement. and remind him that to show their was no weakness on his part, mc needs ot be married off or at least engaged again as soon as possible, she had told them with a knowing smile

they were grateful for the advice and knew what to do after!

touching all his pressure points at the next dinner, where he looked haggard already about the sudden end of a deal which would have sunk his business, jumin put forth jaehee as a candidate for mc to be engaged to

they were expecting for it to take at least a couple days for him to give them a response, so everybody was pleasantly surprised when mc’s father agreed to the proposal by the end of dinner!

jumin

the moment he returned to the penthouse and the staff were in a disarray, his first thought was that elizabeth 3rd had escaped again

he did feel frantic, but not so much as he once would have, assured that his cat wouldn’t have gone too far or for too long

but the moment the butler informed him that mc had left to go get some groceries hours ago and never returned, he heard sirens go off in his hed

he first called 707 to start immediately tracking mc, and secondly called v

he was secure enough in their relationship that he knew what happened to v and rika wasn’t what was happening to him and mc, but he needed his friend’s support

someone had taken mc, and he would find them and make the fools suffer by throwing them in jail

707 had mc’s location within an hour, and the three left immediately

only once on the way did jumin remember to inform jaehee and put her in charge till he returned, feeling some pity for the poor woman because she would be worried too despite being too professional to say anything outright

they tracked mc to a warehouse on their father’s land where mc was being held hostage, according to 707′s deductions probably because they attempted escape again

saying that jumin was livid at the information was an understatement

jumin didn’t waste time in having the warehouse surrounded by his security team and within half an hour, mc’s father came with a team of his own

seeing who it was, mc’s father’s temper immediately calmed down and he became almost jovial with jumin, who remained icy because of the man’s treatment of mc

it was v who turned on his charm, and handled the situation so it wouldn’t get worse

mc’s father invited them for tea to his favourite teahouse, and jumin joined very reluctantly, only after leaving 707 at the warehouse to ensure mc was safe and wel-looked after till he could come back

once at their destination, jumin wasted no time in getting to the point

“break off mc’s engagement with whomever you’ve arranged it. mc and i want to get married, and i want it possible without any... inconveniences,” he said it with a straight face and a controlled tone, trying very hard not to erupt at mc’s father. after all, he would be his father-in-law one day, and mc probably wouldn’t appreciate him disrespecting their father

v just calmly handled the situation as mc’s father spluttered at the sudden declaration and demand

they didn’t have to worry, though- it was clear that out of any bachelor’s mc’s father had been interested in, jumin was on a whole different level and class

jumin, v, and 707 went back home a couple days later, and they took a newly engagement-free mc with them, soon to be engaged to jumin in an extravagant celebration 

saeran

it almost doesn’t come as a surprise when mc vanishes on him- after all, how can good things last for him?

however, he’s been working on getting better, thanks to mc, 707, and even rfa, although he still holds an uncalled for grudge against them

fighting the internal negative-talk playing in his head, saeran immediately contacts 707 about the situation and his suspicion that mc might be in danger, right before putting his own hacking skills to use

it’s just something to fall back on at this point and comforts him to know that saeyoung will be looking out for mc too in case his own emotions get the better of him

he finds the general area mc is being held in, but  leaves 707 to hack mc’s exact location in favor of hacking their mobile and calling them

their phone has been altered and cut off to prevent calls, but saeran is grateful that the idiots left the device with mc so he is still able to hack past those blockers

707 drives them in one of his racecars, going for speed and stealth, while saeran continues to track the signals and try to call mc

mc’s voice on the other end is a bit confused, and also very hoarse. they must have been crying or screaming

he quickly asks mc if they’re okay and who the hell dared to kidnap them.

mc speaks in a hushed tone but he can hear the relief and excitement in their voice as they tell him that in was their father’s men who kidnapped them in order to force them into an arranged marriage

mc also tells him that the place is well guarded from the outside but that they are locked away alone in some sort of dark room as punishment for breaking off the engagement and not agreeing to marry

saeran’s heart breaks but more than that he is pissed. he wants to make mc’s father and fiance’s family suffer, but mc quickly tells him to not hurt their family or parents

“just get me out and away from here... i never want to come back here but i don’t want anyone harmed either”

it makes him smile to hear that mc didn’t even think twice about asking him to come pick them up from wherever they were, saeyoung seems to have heard it and also looks proud

“don’t worry mc! we’ll get you outta there in no time! you just stay put and ready!, he calls out in a loud and carefree tone, but saeran can see the tightness around his eyes from here. good, he thinks. saeyoung is also angry on behalf of mc

they reach just as the sun sets but wait till midnight, when the guards change shifts all over, to break mc out

having been given the exact of the change, and the general locations of guard placement, and the general layout of their family vacation home (because that is where mc figured out they were being held when saeran told them the general area of their location), both brothers break mc out within 15 minutes, and they are on their way out and away before someone even figures out mc is missing

out of a sudden bout of boldness and a mix of adrenaline, saeran proposes to mc on the drive back tot he city in their get-away car, and mc blushes and splutters and agrees even as saeyoung throws his head back and cackles, proud that his twin finally made this decision

saeyoung/707

it honestly took saeyoung a lot later to even notice mc was missing

it wasn’t that he didn’t pay attention to mc or didn’t care, but mc also generally kept to themselves, especially while he was busy doing his regular work

when he finally got done with his work for the day, the first thing saeyoung noticed was the absolute silence

he checked his texts and saw the last thing mc had texted him was a cat video from last night

saeyoung decided to call mc and see where they were at and if they want to have a midnight snack for dinner

when the call wouldn’t connect, he immediately knew something was wrong and started hacking into their device in order to reach out and track, but before that remembered to shoot off a text in the rfa group chat to see if mc was hanging out with one of the members

when the call connected, he was already anxious because tracking the device showed mc was far away at this point

mc’s voice was hesitant and confused on the other end, but saeyoung still sighed in relief because he knew they were unharmed so far

what he wasn’t prepared for was the knowledge that it was mc’s own family’s bodyguards who had tracked and kidnapped them in order to take mc back and continue on with their forced engagement

hearing this, he froze up for a moment- on the one hand, he couldn’t give mc much and if they were married off to this rich fiance, mc would have an easy life and be taken care of

on the other hand, he knew he loved and cherished mc and fully understood that mc loved him back

before he could think about what to do in this situation- to be selfish or ensure mc’s future, mc’s voice broke him out of his stupor: “saeyoung, come get me right away. i can’t do this... especially now that i’ve found you”

they didn’t sound defeated or frightened, instead, he was proud and happy to hear the note of determination in mc’s voice

thanks to mc’s words, his choice was already made for him

he took v to mc’s family home the veyr next day, both of them arriving in style- v having pulled all the stops for the first time to impress someone with his appearance and wealth

it warmed saeyoung’s heart to know that v did it for him!

with an impressive and reliable person like v posing as his guardian, and saeyoung managing to charm mc’s parents thoroughly with his humor, wit, and success at a young age, it was relatively easier than they’d expected to sway mc’s parents and get their blessing for saeyoung to marry mc 

v/jihyun 

the whole fiasco with rika and her past role in v’s life meant that mc found an opening to tell v early on in their relationship about the forced engagement they had run away from

v had been nothing but understanding and supportive, even reassuring mc that if it came down to it, or even if mc just wanted to speak to their family, he would arrange it for them and accompany them

mc was thankful for the gesture but hadn’t wanted to reach out to their family yet, still feeling betrayed by their parents for trying to push them into that relationship

so, he immediately noticed when mc went missing, especially because they had a habit of updating him about their whereabouts when mc and v were  away from each other

immediately employed 707′s help to contact mc as their mobile was being blocked

v, jumin, and 707 were already on the way to where the tracker was showing mc’s current location when 707 managed to connect the call to mc

despite being worried sick, v talked to mc calmly and ensured they were unharmed and in good health 

asked mc if they could stall their parents and the engagement till v got there before mc could tell him what had happened

could feel mc’s instant relief that he understood their position and was on his way to them

when they reached mc’s family manison, they were given vip treatment because of jumin’s status, v’s fame, and seven’s apparent wealth

still, they weren’t able to see mc’s parents till dinner that night, but v did not waste any time

despite mc not being allowed to join them all for dinner, which v assumed was as punishment for running away and not agreeing to the arrangement, v managed to remain civil and pitch his proposal

he straight up confessed to being mc’s lover and wanting to get their parents blessings for marrying mc

their parents were a bit surprised, but didn’t hesitate for long to agree

the four of them left mc’s family mansion a week later, along with the rest of the rfa members, after having just celebrated v’s and mc’s engagement

yoosung

yoosung returned home late, as usual, since he had internship at jumin’s office right after classes

mc was a busy person too but they would always be home when yoosung returned from his internship

he immediately felt something was wrong when he saw all the lights were out and everything seemed untouched

becausse even if mc went out, they would come home from work in order to freshen up before leaving with friends or going out on their own

but there was no sign of them having returned at all

not wanting to panic for no reason, yoosung checked his messages to first see if mc had sent any text telling him they would be coming home late or something

sure enough, there were no texts 

BUT there had been a miscall around 3 hours ago!

now a bit worried, yoosung immediately tried calling them back but the call would’t connect

finally panicking, he did thoughtlessly called his boss in a frantic worry

jumin was less than impressed at having been called at this time of night but he understood yoosung’s situation somewhat. he calmly told yoosung to ask seven to track mc’s phone- if the device was with them, it could still be traced even if it was shut off

yoosung thanked him before calling seven

seven had mc’s location under 10 minutes, but when he told yoosung of the area, he felt a bit shocked and scared

he remembered that was mc’s hometown! if mc was there, then something horrible must have happened to theri family, or there must have been some other emergency!

jumin reluctantly allowed yoosung to take jaehee, because he understood this was a delicate situation and did care for mc as a member of the rfa and a friend. hearing of the situation, zen came along for protection and offering any help

when they reached the location, thanks to seven guiding them through call, they were shocked to see that mc came from considerable wealth

they were allowed inside after they introduced themselves as mc’s friends and they were invited into a fancy sitting area and served tea

jaehee commented that the house seemed pretty tranquil so it probably wasn’t an emergency reason that mc had come here, but that it was odd that they hadn’t come to see them yet

almost as if on cue, mc rushed in just then, breathless and looking a bit wild

yoosung froze up seeing them in such a state, but zen was on his feet immediately and steadied mc

upon seeing the three of them, mc calmed down a bit and took a moment to collect themself

it was jaehee who took mc’s hands and held them between hers till mc stopped shaking

“i thought i’d never see you guys again”

it broke yoosung’s heart to hear mc say that, their voice hoarse as if they’d been screaming or crying

then it hit him. “you mean you didn’t come here on your own mc?!”

mc flinched and jaehee told him to lower his volume just as zen grabbed his shoulder in support and warning

mc composed themself and shook their head. after looking about to make sure nobody else was there, they leaned forward and whispered that their family had basically kidnapped them to continue the engagement they had run away from

zen offered to break them out of there, but yoosung was looking livid

before mc could reply, yoosung spoke up instead, “hey, zen? hold that offer”

he got up and headed for the sitting room’s entrance, when jaehee asked him where he was going

“to talk to mc’s parents. if they reject my proposal, we’ll break mc out”

zen laughed, feeling immense pride at yoosung taking such a stance, and jaehee was pleasantly surprised

mc watched yoosung walk out, feeling proud and a bit bad because they knew that the four of them would have to make a run for it after all. but it warmed their heart to see yoosung ready to confront their parents for mc’s sake

zen/hyun

zen and mc had taken the rare opportunity for privacy to spend time together

they went out for a pleasant stroll on a pleasantly chilly evening 

they’d actually been about to go home after a lovely night out and were nearing zen’s bike when it happened

they were surrounded and mc dragged away from him

despite being outnumbered, zen got a few hits in, and received the end of a punch, but that didn’t stop him

he was on his bike and chased them to the outskirts of the city, but hsi bike soon ran out of gas and the van drove off with mc trapped inside

he felt frustrated and heartbroken wanted to scream as he picked up mc’s cracked cell phone from the ground

but before anything, he called seven

he couldn’t get used to technology easily and so he normally didn’t like it too much, but he was grateful for seven being on their team especially now

since zen was used to memorizing lines for his roles, he had actually managed to memorize the number plate of the car even in the relative darkness

he gave all that information, trusting that seven would find them, and moved the the side of the road in hopes of an empty taxi

seven told him it was bets to come back, regroup and then leave, but zen wasn’t having it

so, he was pleasantly surprised when seven drove up to him in less than half an hour, with yoosung in tow

“you’re so troublesome you know that?” he said, but zen could tell he didn’t mean it

yoosing was just frantic for mc’s safety and informed zen than jumin was sending a security team to go with them

ever since mc had come into his life, zen had managed to mostly smooth things out with jumin, because mc was also friends with jumin. although he sometimes still thought the man was a jerk.

it wasnice to know that he cared for mc too and sent security

seven moved to the backseat of his car and told zen that he would drive, “since i’ll be tracking those kidnapper’s van” he explained

sure enough, the promised security guards arrived in a black minivan just as zen got into the driver’s seat

they reached the mansion mc was being held hostage at just as the sun started to rise. it was massive, but zen was occupied with thoughts of how he’d mess up the face of whoever plotted this right after he had mc safe and sound with him

seven let out a low whistle before dropping another bomb on them- “this is actually the place mc grew up in!”

zen blanched just as yoonsung exclaimed “but what kind of kidnappers bring you to your house?!”

knowing mc wasn’t really on good terms with their family for some time, zen didn’t feel completely relaxed yet, “let’s find out”

the three of them emerged, immediately flanked by jumin’s security team

they were immediately approached by a stern looking man dressed in a black suit, asking who they were and what was their business there

seven reacted with his usual lack of tact (which surprisingly always worked) and claimed that they should be ecstatic that a famous star was visiting them

although zen appreciated what seven was doing, he didn’t have patience right now. he needed to make sure mc was alright. but before he could demand anything, he felt a sharp pain in his leg and looked down to see yoosung pinching his thigh without even looking at him

by then, the man looked the three of them up and down, his gaze lingering on zen, before taking in the security detail

he let them through, noticing that they were probably important people, and a butler opened the mansion doors before they could even knock, welcoming them inside

they were given vip treatment, and allowed to keep a guard each with them

they were allowed to freshen up before being taken to meet the head of the household, who they knew now would be mc’s father

the man immediately recognized zen, and was further impressed by their obvious wealth and status considering the cars they had arrived in and the security they had brought with them 

after chatting with them for a bit, during which zen barely held himself back from demanding mc’s whereabouts, the father asked them, “i am confused as to what business fine, accomplished young men like you came here for” 

not being able to wait any longer, zen spoke before seven or yoosung could, “we’re here to get mc”. when mc’s father simply raised a brow, zen continued, “i’m going to marry mc. and i was quite upset when they were kidnapped on our date”

“hm? i did hear the man with mc put up quite a fight”

zen could feel poor yoosung sweating bullets by the now since the turn of the conversation, but he could also feel seven’s resolve from next to him.

“where are you holding mc? they better be unharmed.”

the man scoffed, “i would never harm my child. or let them harm themself,” he added with a look aimed at zen

instead of responding to the jab, zen grit his teeth “i will never let you take away mc’s choice. i won’t let you do this to them”

if the words had any effect on the man, they couldn’t tell, 

but the moment he was about to press a button, seven caught him. “if you do that, i will leak all your business weaknesses to your rivals,” he said brightly

zen almost laughed at the man’s face changing colours

before the situation could escalate further, he decided to take a slightly different route- after all, he wanted to be a partner mc could be proud of and make sure he didn’t burn any bridges with mc’s family

“listen. you’re mc’s father. i don’t want to cause you any harm. and if your information gets leaked, it will be hell for you. i actually want to do this peacefully. when mc was first taken, i feared the worst! i was ready to do anything. that still hasn’t changed. i’m not leaving without seeing mc. and if they want to go home with me, i’ll do everything to make that happen”

in the end, zen didn’t know if it was because he was impressed by zen’s earnestness and devotion to mc, or because he believed mc would listen to him, but mc’s father did allow the three of them to meet them

mc hugged him so fiercely that for a moment he forgot everything else. but then he was reminded that mc had missed him and longed for him just as much as he had missed them

after checking for their physical wellness and making sure they hadn’t been crying too much, he asked mc if they wanted to go home

he honestly thought mc’s father would throw a fit or start some drama, but the man actually allowed them to go, even if he looked reluctant

it was a week later, when zen and mc were curled up on their couch back at home, that mc got a text from their father saying that he would like to take care of the expenses for their engagement and that he hoped they had better times ahead

[dcmoniism-a]

“Since the first time I saw you, I have belonged to you completely. I still do. If you want me.” (Hayley to Elijah if that’s okay, @multistoty )

@multistoty

since the first time she said. the first time had been quite some time ago, when he learnt she'd been carrying niklaus' child and was being held hostage by the witches. elijah remembered that day too well, and how he, in some way, envied niklaus' for being able to have his own children, something he could never have. it had been clear from that day that niklaus and hayley were not together despite the circumstances, and elijah's interest in her slowly began to develop as she moved into the mikaelson manor.

elijah would argue he was the one to introduce her to the family, the one that showed her their story and the one that tried to protect her the most - at least up until her marriage to jackson, when they somewhat drifted away and then when she became a hybrid and voluntarily pushed him away. now, here she was seemingly ready to push past all of it by giving him some sort of confession. stepping close to her, the mikaelson brother tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and leans in, his forehead resting against hers. "... hayley." at last she'd come around, and he was relieved that was so. "if you'll have me." she knew she'd had him since the very first moment, and nothing had changed since.

[thunder-jolt]

A Sugar-Coated yet Dark Royalty: Tābo Kamifubuki's Backstory.

Before Tābo Kamifubuki was a child of royalty,

- - - - -

He was once a popular video game character in an arcade, racing game in the 80s, he was beloved by everyone in his time, earning him a spotlight, that is until another racing game, aptly named “RoadBlasters” took center stage, stealing his spotlight and his crowd in the process,

His heart fell into depression, then fell into jealousy, then into rage…

He abandoned and neglected his game, leaving everything of his past behind him, and tried to hijack “RoadBlasters”,

The confusion from RoadBlasters’ crowd is honestly priceless but that’s not the main focus of this story,

As told through someone who watched everything go around and arise…

But as he does this; the game glitches erratically and spontaneously, which ended up putting both his game and “RoadBlasters” out of order,

He was never seen again, ever in the arcade, and is presumed dead in the process…

But not for long…

- - - - -

The Racer’s Envious, Depressing Rage drives on of A New Start…

As life passes on, he continues to envy those who have more attention than him, watching them and their happy lives, his rage for the other video game characters being outrageously high…

“I’ll get them, I’ll show them how I’ll make a flawless entrance! THOSE IMBECILES WILL NEVER!”

When he hears news of the arcade about to be linked to the internet; a devious thought entered his mind: He could use the internet for his own benefit, so with a cloak hiding his true identity; he breached into the area where no video game character is allowed or should enter,

He teleports into this world and searches for a clue to show that he’s the boss, when he asked somebody about anything that’s popular lately; he is informed of the realm “Twisted Wonderland”,

He heads to the building where the C.E.O named ‘Yesss’ resides, sneaking into the building; he held the C.E.O hostage until he can get into that realm, if the C.E.O refuses; its game over for both her and her right-hand pal ‘Maybe’,

Once she finally gives him the information about Twisted Wonderland; he can finally make worth of himself,

But how can he enter the world of Twisted Wonderland without anyone knowing he’s an intruder?

Well, my friend, he decided to make himself a disguise, forming himself into a boy of 15, with caramel-orange hair with a swirly white streak, chocolate brown eyes, and an outfit fit for a prince, thus not needing the cloak to hide his identity, once his disguise is ready; he reprograms Twisted Wonderland so that they can let him join and make them love him, he lets go of the C.E.O and her lackey, waving a devious and smug goodbye,

And transports into the personified world of Disney villains:

Twisted Wonderland…

[mercysought]

She hated that place. But not in the same way that she hated home.

Her home was all that she had known for a very long time, the glimpses of the outside world only visible through small and short visits to the city. Unrecognisable, dressed in men’s clothing with her hair kept in the same style as her brother’s would if he let it grow. 

Her home was beautiful, comfortable, exactly all that she could want. Carefully curated books from her mother and father, only sensible ones for a Lady’s mind (despite her mother’s complaints). Tutors that could keep boredom away. Physicians that would try to keep her nightmares subdued. Her mother keeping her within the home, with fear hanging like a heavy curtain over a large window: the fear that one day those same physicians would take her baby away.

This place? This place taunted her.

She had traded her skirts for a pair of trousers much like what she had in the past. Her heavy coat having been discarded once they had reached warmer climates. Still, she wore a corset above the looser and lighter blouse. A lighter coat hid most of her small frame. 

Émilie stared at the lively beach, feeling the weight of the sword that rested horizontally on her lap. The weight of the barrel of a small firearm swaddled against the palm of her hand. Thin fingers drew circles over the metal as she watched people go. Short dirty nails scratch it absently as the warm breeze brushes aside light blonde hair. 

   “You should not have come. Do you understand how dangerous these people are, Émilie?! What could have happened to you?!” 

She didn’t know what she had expected. A hug, perhaps. A flash of a smile and surprise when she turned around to see Abel walk into this small tavern on the island of Nassau. Shock had certainly crossed her brother’s face, a rare sight, but that had not remained for long. Instead she still felt the burning on her upper arm as he had grabbed her towards a more isolated corner, room, of the house. 

Abel did not know how to scream, or shout, to anyone. Émilie had learnt this first when they were still children and she had cut his knee with his own training weapon. Nor was he the type to scold. She had not expected the strength with which he had grabbed her arm. She had not expected the scolding. Émilie’s bright eyes still hold his confusion, the same deepening frown when they come to a stop.

Everything is loud in this place and Abel had always been small, softer. Even now in the middle of this, standing so close where she could see how much longer his hair had grown and how the sun had burnt his eyebrows. He is still soft. So soft she can barely hear him regardless of how much she focused in, how much she tried. His hand dives into the light brown hair, pulling it back as his back turns to her. She can see the bright freckles around his neck, the same ones that had dashed across his cheeks. The same ones that splash hers.

   “You stopped sending letters!” her voice shakes, her hand still wrapped around her arm. She had heard stories from the pirates that had taken her here of this place: the single piece of the free world. A free world. This place that had taken her brother hostage. These people that lived a life according to their own rules. How Émiliie both loathed and envied them. Half the thoughts pulling at her to come closer and the other disgusted at the violence that was offered so freely “I knew something was wrong, and I knew you were still alive! I had to help! I had to come!” 

His brother turns to face her and in her face he finds a challenge: if it was the other way around; deny it. Deny that you wouldn’t have done the same way. A bait. Émilie watches him, mirroring much of his stance. Straightened shoulders, tense jaw. In a place filled to the brim with expert fishermen and large sharks, it seemed Abel had only set himself deeper into his ways: and so her bait remains untouched.

   “You are going to wait for me to find you safe passage back to France.” he says simply and matter of fact.

Abel starts walking, walking past her and with his hand pushing aside the curtains that make out for a poor divider. Her mind does not run so much as it sprints, swirling around. She could feel it. This place. It is a poor excuse and yet it does nothing but embolden her in the volume with which her words come out, in the loud French that starts to fill the space over the cups.

   “What?!“ Émilie’s shock could only be compared to the anger that erupts from her mouth, to the speed with which she turns and grabs his arm, preventing him from leaving. Her hair, loose into long and pale strips, so unlike what she would have worn at any other time, sways over her coat. Grey eyes find his “I’m NOT leaving without you! I’m not going back to our parents to tell them that you became a pirate and chose to stay to pay an imaginary debt instead of returning!“

   “Because our parents know that you’re here?” he shoots back, softly. And how that only made her angrier. Not that he knew that she had found a way of leaving their home and that they were likely more concerned over her than him. The fact that Abel never raised his voice. It drove her mad “I cannot leave. Not yet.”

His hand covers hers over his arm, as they do they release of the curtain. His fingers curl around hers and start to pull away. Her nails dig deeper.

   “Why?! Because of your STUPID sense of HONOUR?” his brows shoot up. And there is hurt lingering in grey eyes that stare back at hers and she cannot stop herself from feeling glad. Glad that he seems to be showing something, anything. That her words seem to have finally reached him “They are PIRATES, Abel!” she points out, out towards the tavern. Her eyes do not leave her brother’s “Thieves, murderers! That they didn’t kill you outright is a miracle! You would lay down your life for them because you think they spared you, when they would not think twice before leaving you to ROT after you stop being useful!”

He holds his breath and she feels like she just ran across the whole beach full sprint. Her teeth sink into her lower lip and her free hand falls beside her body. Small hand closing into a fist. The silence holds, hangs in the air while Abel holds his sister’s hand that had found purchase on his arm.

   “Émilie.” 

— Don’t start.  — Don’t ask this of me. — I know you don’t mean it. But this changes nothing.

Any one of those options could have been what followed and yet nothing did. Only his stare and the silence. The gentle hold of his hand. Émilie lip quivers and her hold tightens around his arm “I can’t protect you and you don — ”

   “Then you better be ready to tie me up and drag me to the boat back to France.” she hears herself say, pulling her hand from his arm. It jolts down to the side of her body. Her jaw could snap. Between gritted teeth she warns: “I’m not leaving.” 

Émilie brushes past her older brother, dodging the hold on her arm. Her hand pulls the curtain aside, her boots heavy against the old wood floor and she walks past the row of murdering thieves out into the bright sun of Nassau. Not sure where to, it didn’t matter.

She still didn’t know where she was. Not too far from the tavern. Close enough to the sea that she could see the same ship that had brought her in but no familiar face. 

   “I heard the fight.” 

With a jump, her hold on the pistol tightens but it does not move it towards the source of the voice. She did not recognise the man that had walked into the small shack that she had found herself in, hidden away from the sun and the searing heat. He was speaking English, and while her knowledge of the language had certainly improved in the few months that she had travelled to reach Nassau, it was not good. Still, she understood one word at least: fight. 

The hold loosens as she watches him approach. Both hands raised briefly and he sits next to her against some crates. Émilie’s weight shifts, moving only slightly further from where he was.

   “You’re Abel’s…?” her eyes remain on the beach, on the men picking up crates and the way they brought them to the shade of rickety constructs such as this one. She breathes in slowly, her eyes lower to her hands before they once again move to the beach. He didn’t pose a danger, not yet at least. But could she even trust her gut feeling in this island? 

Émilie glances in the man’s direction. She recognised him, or at least his features were somewhat familiar. One of the men that Abel had arrived with. With a deep breath she looks again at the beach, considering his question. Abel’s name sounded wrong when spoken in that accent. 

Still, if it was a question and her brother’s name was mentioned she was almost certain she knew what he was asking, seeking confirmation of “Sister.”

   “Sister…”

He repeats, nodding, looking out to the same spot that Émilie was once again staring at the men and the many ships docked by the beach. While the noise from them was loud, the man sitting beside her grew louder. Not him, not himself per se, but an anxiety that grew louder every second that he spent there. The warm breeze brushed against them both as the silence continued, growing heavier by the second until a soft breeze came and seemed to brush it away. His anxiety, however, grew louder.

How she wished he would just leave her alone.

Émilie looks to the other for another moment. An empty paper. Something about an empty paper, about the safety of his crew. Captain Flint. Her breathing grows heavier and when she feels his eyes turn to her she quickly looks to the sea, turning her face completely from him. She had heard of him. Heard some. Enough.

   “I don’t know how to speak English well. And you won’t understand me speaking French.” she turns to face him once again, speaking in French because it was easier. Easier and because she wanted him to be gone, to understand that she didn’t want him there. Her sentence comes to a close with an exasperated sight and her lips held into a thin line.

The pure confused expression on his face would have been endearing if she hadn’t been in such a sour mood. Instead he simply looks at her for a solid second, much like her also likely attempting to pierce together what she had just said.

The crates creak under his weight as he gets up. Only now that she can have a good look at him does she realise how tall he was. He nods once again, her attention turns to the beach when she thinks he starts to turn to leave. And yet, he remains, standing, his hand pointing towards the weapons at her lap.

   “Do you know how to use those?” her eyes immediately follow where he pointed, down to the pistol and sword.

The sword she had brought from home. It was hers. The same way that Abel had been given one when he was younger. And this one? This one was old, old and small but what she had considered serviceable. Easy to hold and to use, if she needed. The pistol had been given to her from the Captain of the ship that had taken her there.

   You’re good at sniffing out trouble, and that’s good, but that can lead to a lot of shit being thrown your way so...

Good at sniffing (the same as smelling he had come to realise, but what a dog would do) out trouble. Good at understanding when the mood of the ship was turning dour, when it was turning dangerous. 

She brings them closer to her. Her cheeks and ears burn with each second that passed in the silence after his question was asked. Light grey eyes lift to look at his eyes, finally. He didn’t seem to speak as if to show off how defenceless she was, a threat. There was concern, plain and simple.

Small and thin hands hold the weapons tighter as the frown on her face grows deeper. No. She didn’t know how to use it.

   “What’s your name?” 

   “Émilie.”

[prettytragcdies]

🏁

Send “🏁” and I will write a headcanon, profile, drabble, sample interaction, rp starter, etc. for a new character/OC I’m interested in roleplaying! Help the mun decide if this muse is right for them, or just help them flex their writing muscles a bit!

Katherine Elise Mackenzie was born to Karen and Mack Mackenzie on August 31st, 1985. Growing up in Knots Landing, California ( a suburb of Los Angeles ), she had a pretty normal and happy childhood. Well, minus having to have her appendix taken out when she was seven and her mother being held hostage by someone during the days when she hosted her own talk show. Basically, her parents' marriage was the envy of everyone else on the cul de sac, as they were the one stable couple. A lot of the time, she'll go by her nickname: Katie. It started with her parents and just kind of stuck. She's not really all that much of a fan of Kat, Kath, Kit-Kat, etc., though.

Personality wise, Katherine is incredibly sweet and down to earth. She's always there to lend a helping hand when needed, and when it comes to friendships, she's the ride or die type. She can be a bit of a goody two shoes at times, and she doesn't necessarily handle things well when they're out of her control. She's also a stubborn as hell social butterfly and a definite Pollyanna. With both of her parents originally hailing from the east coast, she's easily a fan of Broadway, and the family has spent many a road trip singing showtunes rather than listening to the radio. Once upon a time, Katherine thought she wanted to take gymnastics, but it quickly became obvious she was mainly interested in the floor routines, so she switched to dance instead. Karen always got her ready for recitals, and she was always the classroom mom at school, too.

Katherine's best friend is Betsy Ewing ( think Karen and Valene 2.0 ), and she once had a crush on Betsy's twin brother, Bobby. It was pretty easy to find them at each other's houses, given that their families were neighbors, Gary's ranch ( Westfork lol he didn't even try to be creative when naming it ) riding the horses, or the beach. That best friendship was tested when Katherine was fifteen and almost completely cut Betsy out of her life in favor of a new group of friends, though. Needless to say, they were the wrong crowd, and it led to Katherine experimenting with drugs a couple of times. If it wasn't for a much needed heart to heart with her cousin who once dealt with substance abuse issues herself and a reminder of her own mother's former dependency issues, things could have been a lot worse.

Everything came to a head when a bag of pills was found in her school locker, and that was when she officially hit rock bottom. They might not have been hers, but it didn't mean she was off the hook. During her mandatory suspension from school, Katherine began her internship at her father's private law practice. She apparently needed a refresher course on how the rules worked and what the consequences were when you broke them. What started out as a punishment had eventually turned into something fun, and for awhile the then teenager thought she might actually follow in her father's footsteps career wise.

Yet another curve ball came when Katherine was seventeen. She was abducted for a short time by a slightly older classmate who had developed a sick obsession with her when she was a freshman. Seven is just not her lucky number, apparently. On a much more positive note, Katherine was a model student, as well as captain of her high school drill team during the fall and tennis team during the spring. The latter got her awarded a scholarship to USC where she ultimately decided to study medicine.

Katherine is now a well respected pediatric nurse practitioner and very much loved by her patients and their families. She enjoys cooking and baking during her spare time, and she’s actually pretty good at it. The most ironic part of her career choice, though, is the fact that she's unable to have any children of her own. It took awhile, but she's made peace with it, and maybe one day she'll consider a few of her other options. As if that wasn’t enough, she also just recently lost her father this past autumn. Needless to say, she no longer handles heart attack patients very well at work. As for which hospital she practices at, it's completely up to who I'm writing with. Her home is in California, but it's very easy to say she matched at Chicago MED, Grey Sloan Memorial, etc.

Also, bonus points if Wilson Bethel or Scott Porter is used for Bobby. Well, or even another guy from Katherine's past that's now a lawyer and maybe still kept in touch with Mack for awhile. Also, lol if Bobby and Katherine ever did actually get married, because that would make her related to Scarlett by marriage, and it's also just amusing because of how DALLAS Bobby and Katherine turned out. Speaking of Scarlett, Katherine is basically the polar opposite of my dysfunctional southern belle. This is why Katherine needs to accompany the twins to Texas and experience the Ewings for herself, because all she has right now is stories from when J.R., Bobby, Kristin, Christopher, etc. visited.

To make a long story short, Katherine Elise Mackenzie is a Knots Landing based original character, but since the fandom barely exists around here, you can all consider her a fandomless original character. Well, either that or a DALLAS original character, since her show was a spinoff of it. But yeah, please feel free to throw things at her, especially if your muse is also based in California. I've never seen the 911 shows, but I really want to interact with those people, so give me all the inspiration to watch. Kthnx. That's all.

[lightningcritter]

Up Ladybug, got a goal, we’ll be fine some day, together

Hello @tbriddle! Thank you so much for your understanding, patience and kindness these past few months. It really meant a lot. This fic detailing two drabbles on the relationship of our favorite ladybug and cat is dedicated to you as a secret santa gift, I hope you enjoy it!

Also big thanks to @secret-pv-presents! It was a pleasure writing for such an amazing event and thank you so much for your kindness and patience. I hope you enjoy the read!

The title is a lyric from the original Ladybug PV.

Bridgette & Felix

“ALLEGRAAaaaAAA!!” Was all the warning the blonde got before being bombarded by Bridgette, who insisted on putting all of her weight in her hugs. Allegra laughs, stumbling a little under the sudden weight, but she is not one to be deterred as she hefts the smaller Asian girl onto her back. Without a delay in her steps, she continues walking.

“Noooooooooooooooo” Bridgette whines, wriggling to get off. “Okay, okay, we get it! You’re tall! Now let me down!!”

“Oh nonono. I don’t think so.” Allegra only laughs, blowing some of her bangs out of her face. “Careful, don’t want to fall in the fountain again.” 

“That was only once!” She exclaims, but ceases struggling. Not without puppy eyes, the best that Paris has ever seen. “Oh fine.” Her friend rolls her eyes, releasing Bridgette who cheers.

“By the way, have you heard?”

“Hm?” Bridgette hums. She has a pretty good idea what Allegra is going to tell her, but plays along. 

“Another man went missing.” Allegra exclaims as they round the corner, walking up a street. The absence of sun from the tall business building shadowing this street seemed to suck away the warmth from the sun. Bridgette finds herself gently rubbing her arms, feeling the goosebumps under her fingers.

“The fourth one in just two days! His name is Henry Bisset. But get this, people say that they saw another of those magicky pillars near where he was last seen. They think that maybe he made a deal with the devil.”

“Is it confirmed that the magick pillar and missing man are linked or is it just speculation?” Bridgette says, tugging on her backpack straps as she hops onto the stone staircase. She squints at the light that shines past some chimneys as they walk up. 

“Because he could be a victim of The Mime or that weird pigeon guy.” Bullsh*t. Bridgette, or rather Ladybug, knows that the pillar of magic only appeared when the man in white corrupted a person. She saw it happen in front of her eyes as the man in white transformed a distraught father into his most dangerous subordinate, the Mime. That incident, the outstretched fingers of the man who whispered ‘help me’ before being overtaken by the pillar of light, is one she will never forget. “Like a hostage situation or something.”

“Like he might be linked to Ladybug and Chat Noir?” Allegra inquires. In that thoughtful tone of hers like she might do some investigating or something, which is dangerous especially since she is the very competent heir of the Golden Musician magic- Bridgette quickly backtracks as she scoffs, waving a hand as she hops up onto the last step to the top of the staircase. “NAH. No way! If he did, I’m sure Ladybug and Chat Noir would have done more than just snooping around and then calling it a night!”

Allegra glances to her friend, a little bemused by her strong reaction. “Yes. You may be right… Why do you thi-” She was cut off as Bridgette suddenly jumped with a happy squeal which can only meant that she found something delicious to eat, an extremely good fabric on sale… or she spotted Felix. Allegra follows her line of sight and just shakes her head with a smile. Definitely the last option.

“Oh my sTARS, Allegra! Isn’t he just so elegant?! How does he do it, this early in the morning!?” Allegra tried to look at Felix through Bridgette’s very literal heart eyes, but just couldn’t. He seems tired and grouchy as usual, almost a bit skittish. He is holding a sizable coffee cup alongside his usual book- a new one this time judging by the red cover- and is sporting eye bags that could easily rival Bridgette’s after a creative-driven night of frenzy designing. His hair and clothes were immaculate as usual. 

Right now, he was just cupping his coffee cup in his sweater-covered hands, glaring at the lack of a Java jacket like it was the source of his problems. “His sweater paws are so cute!” Ah, Bridgette has already noticed, now just cupping her face and now waving her hand in the air at Felix as she skipped over. Allegra in tow, sisters in arms, of course. “FELIX!!! GOOD MORNING!!” 

He jumps at the sudden sound, the cup almost sliding out of his hand before Bridgette catches it, poking it back into his hands. “Bridgette, can you not yell this early in the morning? It hurts my head. I think my ears are ringing.” Allegra wonders how out of it he is that his Bridgette sensor didn’t go off. His Bridgette sense was more accurate than ever these days and Allegra has not missed his quiet, warm looks directed at her before Bridgette eventually finds him.

“You sure it’s just the volume and not the capital letters?” Bridgette teases back, her face lit up with a smile. Felix merely rolls his eyes with the poorly concealed fondness that came from the soft spot he has for Bridgette, just taking a sip in response. He greets Allegra with a polite nod which she returns with a friendly wave. 

It was a peaceful walk to the school from that point, as Allen joined when they passed by his usual morning bakery stop, and the peace quickly turned into back-and-forth banter when Claude joined, popping out from some trees like the tall gremlin he is.

Bridgette couldn’t help her wide smile and the skip in her step, happy and feeling at peace with her friends. She laughs cheerily at a musical pun Allen directed towards Melodie, who smacked him in the arm with her flute case. 

Felix, engrossed in the verbal cat fight with Claude as he is, shared the same sentiment. Even while quickly finishing the coffee with the amount of angry sips taken from it.

This didn’t escape Bridgette’s notice but classes started before she could say anything. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any morning classes together.

“You drank that coffee so fast I was worried that you were going to crash before lunch.” Bridgette comments from behind, skipping until she was walking right beside him as they maneuvered through the hallway. Although their school boasted wider hallways than her old school, so it wasn’t a big deal. Felix envies her seemingly boundless energy. “You’d be surprised how long a single cup of coffee can sustain a person.”

“With six shots of espresso in it? I should never have had any doubt.” She giggles. Felix lets out a breath of laughter. 

“Do you want to get lunch together, Felix?” Bridgette suddenly blurts out followed by an uncharacteristic shyness as she nervously plays with the end of one of her twintails. Felix notices how pink the girl’s cheeks had become and was unsurprised to feel his own heart rate picking up a notch. Bridgette glances up at him, delightedly smiling a bit at the tint of pink on his cheeks. 

“Of course.” He responds almost immediately. He held his thermos of tea tighter in his hands, staring down determinedly at the curling bit of steam, the heat drawing out of the pink color in his cheeks. To think there was a time where Felix would sneak around the lycee in a mission to avoid Bridgette.

“I was thinking of a quaint Italian deli found the other day tucked over where you can see the Eiffel Tower. I remember you saying that you really like sandwiches.” He didn’t mention that he only knew about it because Chat Noir had slipped on an unlucky loose brick and crashed into the outdoor sitting area when battling with the Mime yesterday night. Er, this morning. At 3am.

“Yes!!” Bridgette cheers, both fists pumping in the air. “I love sandwiches!” 

Ladybug & Chat Noir

There’s some kind of irony to describe this situation. Some cruel irony that only the Fate that encouraged him to put on the Black Cat ring could… inspire. Were Felix in any other situation, he could spit out bitter poetry that could properly express any and all of his emotions with a dramatic flair. Bridgette knows, having been the willing but unfortunate audience to Fellix’s hissy fits on missions and school assignments alike. 

The cathedral around them was falling fast, pieces of rubble and broken purple stained glass reflecting the fading red and green light as their transformations whittled away to Bridgette and Felix. Like some kind of macabre imitation of the red and green Christmas lights that still lit up the rest of Paris.

Bridgette looked up and found Felix’s face a breath away from hers, his green eyes shining as they met her own brown eyes. This time there was no magicked haziness that hurt their eyes and their brains. They saw each other as plain as day, even as their surroundings grew dark again.

“I knew it.” Bridgette whispered through cracked lips, a soft wheeze. Her heart pounded as she drew a long, slow breath to calm her heart. It didn’t do much, her head still spun with a dizziness that wasn’t just from blood loss as she gently pushed herself up. 

“I… didn’t.” He replied, almost instantly, his soft tone relaxing Bridgette’s nerves a little. A tremor went through his normally still soul, leaving his face frozen in shock and his hands trembling as he rifled through past memories. This revelation suddenly filled in all the holes and answered all the questions he had about Bridgette’s timely appearances and Ladybug’s mannerisms; their faces are the exact same! He almost wants to smack himself for not making connections sooner.

He realizes that he has been staring at her for too long. And realizes that she was also staring at him, her gaze flitting about his face as if she was making the same connections that he was. 

His other hand still holding her shoulders to him gently rose to her face, brushing loose strands from her face. “There.” He says, tilting his head until his forehead rested to hers, unwilling to be far from the person he thought he just lost. 

“I did have my suspicions.” He finally admitted in the silence. He saw her blink, her lips curving in a familiar smug grin.

“Before I tricked you to think they were wrong.” His face finally changes to that familiar grumpy cat look. She couldn’t help her laugh, although its usual boisterous volume was quieted by her fractured ribs. 

Felix didn’t move though and just held her gaze as if seeing her again for the first time when they met under the big new moon on that rickety rooftop with tall winding chimneys. The trust and relief in his eyes caught her breath, soothing what doubt churned in her chest.

“Let’s talk about this later.” She says with a smile, bringing up her hand to her ear. “Tikki, spots on.” Her earrings hummed, flashing pink light again as Tikki whirled out of the earrings happily laughing as she flew in fast circles above their heads, leaving behind glowing red dust as it settled over the two, bringing them off the ground buoyantly. Felix watched with wide eyes, speechless, as Bridgette floating higher. The pink dust hovered in the air for only a moment, moving like little shooting stars before it coalesced over her mundane clothes. When the light faded, there stood Ladybug. Felix smiled. The red mask brought out her determined, impossible blue eyes, her suit highlighting the stance of utmost confidence.

He realizes he was staring as he sheepishly ran his hand through his hair. “What?”

“Nothing.” She laughs in such a genuine and whole way like she always does. It felt right and he returned her laughter with a soft smile. He extends his hand, gently squeezing hers and gently pulls her back to the ground. He looks over what’s left of the cathedral foyer, the shattered glass and rubble made it a precarious journey starting with the pieces of colorful ceiling that trapped them. A piece of cake for them, though. 

Ladybug reaches up, her hand brushing his as the curious spherical red-and-black disc transforming itself into a hefty pickaxe in her other hand. “Maybe I should take a look, we probably wouldn’t want to touch an unlucky spot.”

He takes her gloved hand and places a soft kiss on her palm, grinning at her flustered face. “Or perhaps, my Lady, your advantage is that you’re short.” He can’t help laughing as Ladybug lets out an indignant squawk, scuffing her fist against his arm.

“Plagg.” The ring pulses three times, releasing an eerie glow of deep purple, black and green in waves, as Plagg whirled out of the ring cackling. “It was about time, Felix, do YOU know how tORtuROus it was??” 

“The only time anything isn’t torturous for you is when you’re gorging yourself on cheese.” He responds dryly, to which Plagg only hovers upside, stretching not unlike a cat as his permanent grin only widens.

“Or napping.”

“Hello Ladybug.” Plagg waves a lazy paw. She looks up from where she was prying apart wooden panels, where moonlight was leaking through. “Hey~” She winks.

And before Plagg could open his big mouth, Felix thrust his arm forward, the ring facing Plagg. “Claws out.” He grins. Plagg pouts, kitten eyes shining before spiraling in the ring. Flashes of purple-black light explodes outward as he closes his hand into a fist. Felix closes his eyes, feeling his breath rush out of him as the light solidifies into encompassing bubbles that merge with his dark clothes, melting into the familiar stealth armor he preferred.

Ladybug watched his transformation with a fond smile and held a hand out when his eyes opened again, sweeping it dramatically to the opened doors. He took her invitation as they both jumped out of the chasm made by his Cataclysm, the two of them bouncing up amongst rubble and jutting stone until all that was in their view was the open Parisian city they loved. 

Ladybug had gotten there first. Her fists clenched by her side, narrowed eyes taking in the challenge to war. Chat Noir walked up to where she stood on the sloped roof, resting a foot on the apex, his hands resting almost leisurely on his sides. 

The first thing they saw was the Papillon miraculous’s symbol imprinted on the sky, flaring the telltale miraculous light. Impossibly white, murky with bright colors. 

The moonlight that had peaked through the doors was gone, instead, rolling clouds pulsing with magic were quickly moving across the Parisian sky. Sparks of fire and pillars of Papillon miraculous magic lit up the red city, casting light on the blimps that blared the purple Papillon miraculous symbol. Neither Ladybug nor Chat Noir have seen so many pillars of magic activated.

Charged wind blew around eerily, the sounds of shouting, crying and sirens filling the air. “This is a declaration of war.” Noir notes. Suddenly a sharp wind picked up while hot air blasted up from her feet. Neither Ladybug nor Chat Noir moved as their hair and ribbons danced and flipped in the gale. As one, they looked down over the edge of the roof.

And before their very eyes, a giant blimp rises from a pit in the cobblestone streets, its giant butterfly symbol looming over them as it lifts off into the sky floating forward toward the Eiffel Tower like a shark in the water.

Ladybug only turns her head to him, a determined smile on her face. He looks over to her, his eyes thoughtful and calculating. Her phone was already out in her hand, the call activated in the group chat. “We won’t hesitate either.”

[wammys-house-a]

Page CXXI  ⎯  Secrets

Awoke 5:49  ⎯  Late again.

  Another promise to myself broken

 The room is faded in dawn's bleaching white radiance.

  Spring's heat raises from the folds of my sheets, the collar of my shirt, sweat trickles down my spine as I breath slow, shallow. 

   Luminated dust meets my slumber-drunk vision, floating on my breath, flickering like earth bound stars, like sparkling embers from dragon maws, burning through my dreams.

 ⎯  The illusion is still on my fingertips...

   But slipping away like sand though a glass, 

  In my dreams,

   our home was lit by an unseen power. 

   The walls unmarred by the feeds of electric lines, without outlets, the lamps glowed on golden perches like pygmy suns. I had not believed B, when he said it was the result of a tsuki-mono, a curse passed down through  b l o o d l i n e s...

   But when he held one of the glowing orbs in his hands and I looked into the ivory light, I saw there was nothing there to keep it alive... 

At the heart of this structure, the source of it’s power.

      ⎯   Beneath the house, a secret .

  Ecclesiastical fenestrations cast prismic light into the scaffold ribs like captive rainbows but could not penetrate the underbelly, where stone walls wept ⎯ windowless, their long alleys, narrowed like spires until they converged to a single door  . . .

           Behind it,    truth.  

  B led me down, down into the quiet core where the tear drop lanterns grew dim and died in the night held hostage in our home’s roots. We groped along the walls together, blind but emboldened by the other’s company until he found   it  and pushed open the door.

   Within ⎯  a curtain of light bleed inexplicably from the basement ceiling, like daylight piercing a forest canopy. 

  Resting beneath it’s glimmering veil was a long, polished  b o x  perched on spiraling iron legs that penetrated the concrete floor like the roots of Methuselah. 

    ⎯    Richly veined, it’s scarlet mahogany surface was like that of the floorboards in the halls above, making the  c o f f i n  both familiar and as disquietingly foreign as friend that one has not seen in many years.

    As I drew up to it’s side, my perspective shifted as though I was sinking imperceptibly into the ground, until my line of sight was even with the base of the smooth varnished lip. 

I was suddenly small... Like a child.

    I pressed my weight onto my toes and reaching out blindly, my fingers meeting the chilly facade of the closed lid.

   Dust or static created a strange, phantom-velvet texture, overlaying the polished surface beneath my touch. 

Then, I glided them down,   d o w n

  until my fingers met an indentation . . .

      ⎯  The edges sharp as engraved stone.

  Foreboding grew as I followed the carved line, it enlarging, 

  e l o n g a t i n g , 

            the size of it traced beneath my fingers,  a trail that for an instant I thought might stretch all the way to the foot to crease down it’s throat  ⎯       

           But then ...  I felt it curve ,    slope .

    It was an answer waiting.

         What   l e t t e r   was cut  into the wood⎯ ?

   Startling awake, I opened by eyes to the shimmering sunlight that had penetrated my dreams ... 

 My body, hot and aching with words left unsaid,

       ⎯  " ... I don't want to know . . . "

   ⎯   11:13

   Can I even call what he is doing to me betrayal?

  The desperate hammering of my heart is the same ear filling thump, coming hard against the door as I hid behind it’s brass lock ⎯  Backup’s heel; the buckling, booming rattle of his rage in the background of my agonizing desire to  

just.  

       be.   

                   a l o n e  . . .

                I suppose, I may finally have it. 

This is my fault.    

   In my desperation to delay the end of this game we've spent half our lives playing, I lost sight of my principles. Perhaps, my escalating insincerity and his giftedness, made this ultimately inevitable.

Experience has left me few doubts of his semi-clairvoyance but only now am I considering what his precision implies...

  That there is a fated nature to it all. 

  That I never had a chance.

 It took two ego-bruising weeks, driving my exhaustion bone-deep, before I began to consider that the passion that had sustained me for nearly two decades was fading. My spirit had withered with the effort to reach it more depleting. I began to wonder, if I simply wasn’t good enough to solve this one. 

    Just as despair took hold of me, B's index finger came uninvited over my shoulder and pressed into the screen ⎯ creating a rippling prismatic bulls-eye over one photograph in a sea of over one-hundred-twenty.

 The answer.   The next fatality.

 He handed it to me, without having asked.

 ⎯  Cooperation is forbidden;  it complicates the variables and the validity of the existing hierarchy, it obscures where our loyalties truly lie... 

     I knew it and took it anyway.

      Because I am not who I should be.

   They wouldn’t be questioning him now, if I had not created a trail in retrospect, justifing my  intuition . 

    A thread of truth could be enough to hang me.

   Facing the possibility of losing all that anchors me, I am  on the precipice of a terrible epiphany — choking on the question;  ⎯  " Where does the person I’m trying to be end, and who I am begin ? "  

    I once believed that who I was could be distilled down to it’s essence, that if the parts that did not matter could be cut away;

    the fingers that brace me,

    the feet that carry me,

     the sight that leads me --

   What was left would be  me  ,  a tiny piece of the universe that had becoming miraculously and unmercifully aware of itself...   And, that I could never truly lose myself.

    I am beginning to doubt that.

   And with a fascinated horror, I am beginning to realize that I simply don't know how to be anything other than what I have been trying to be for the last seven years... I don't think I would know who I was if everything but my life was taken from me.

`

   Staring down the barrel of a derelict future, the prospect of my life coming to an abrupt end is disconcertingly comforting...

    Actually,     in the darkness of a loss of this depth,   the alleys that pave the way to massacres are unnervingly clear ...

   and I don't know if who I am beneath Alternative is above  k i l l i n g    y o u    a l l  ...

      That prospect is no longer unthinkable.

    I once asked a senior pathologist if the difficulty of dismembering a body was a limiting factor for suspects, to which they warned me to be careful of assumptions because   almost  anyone  is capable of  almost  anything — given enough time and determination.

    It is particularly poient in this moment as I contemplate how long it would take me to pick all your locks and strangle you in your sheets ...

  Slip thallium into the soup, listen to you all miserably puking out your corroding insides as metallic venom slithers into your brains before they can get it  o u t.

     Trace the opulent halls with ignition fluid following up to your doors with you barricaded inside ... praying for smoke to coat your lungs, to smother you from the inside.

       Watch B crawl out to see the carnage.

      see it dawn on him that this is no accident,

      see a genuine response  — unadulterated by his intellect or prevarication — just raw, bleeding instinct from this animal I've called my friend, becoming at once so mortal and so equal to me, that we can end this era of our lives together in violently, intimate truth ...

   Maybe you would understand, if everything you were was on the brink of utter erasure. You might find that you aren’t who you thought you were either.

  The truth is, I am afraid that if I cannot have it, I can't find it within me to recognize that I owe it to my species, to civilization itself, to let B take it from me.

     Not in this way.

      I don't know how I thought this would ultimately end,   If B would wrench victory from me or if I would wait on a tragedy to eliminate my part in all of this...

  But not betrayal, not when it's my fault.

   I think I was resigned to carry forward indefinitely,   — losing pieces of who I thought I was to the current I've been fighting against,  believing that if I only kept going, and never stopped, I might outrun regret and what could have been.

  Maybe I believed I would rekindle faith again — in myself, in this path, in leaving a better world for the next  A .

  Maybe a world one step closer to not needing an L at all.

 If nothing had stopped me, one day there would have been nothing left but Alternative.  He is not a mask one can take off when it becomes inconvenient, he is a skin you sew yourself into slowly, until his integrity is what's keeping you intact..  A has become a deathbed I realized too late I was making.

        But,  it isn't that I never thought of leaving.

   I could walk away...

   Wandering like a ghost, unhindered by past or societal taxonomy, exempt from the yokes placed on young men to make them whatever is most useful; armed with bibles or guns or shovels to do what needs to be done.

  But, my freedom is overshadowed by the total absence of certainty, my purpose swallowed up by a life concentrated on survival. — Adrift, I know there will be no rescue when any there was lies six feet under and rotting.

        I have no one.       I am no one.

  I know many resent their safety nets while accept cliff sides nesting sleepless vipers. I don't envy them, despite being in freefall myself.     —  At least, I don't have to go home to fight more battles than those I am already losing... 

   That is why I don't resent Wammy's House.

 This path spared me what will haunt so many others — I've no memories captured in the immoral chirons of media posts or infinite digital clouds.

 The voices and faces that once comforted me have been slowly pulled ever-deeper into my conciousness, my mind quietly eating itself alive,   —  

the way nature intended

   I never had the opportunity to agonize over unwashed sheets, holding the last trace of their scent, because there was nothing left for me to hold onto.

  My loss left no footprints for me to follow.

  All I have is the implicit memory of sunlit lilies draped over searing black coffins and the lingering hope that it would mean something ... someday.

 Maybe that's why this is so hard to give up.

   I don't want it all to amount to nothing.

     I have become nothing but    t h i s  , now.

        I am nothing without   t h i s . 

        If he takes everything from me,

         I will leave L nothing to salvage.

I don't want my motives misconstrued.

   What I will  do  with the Backup does not make him collateral damage in my private catastrophe.

                   He is   not   a martyr.

 I am not inspired by a hatred of B for his opportunism,

   It is not that he doesn't deserve victory, it is that, if he turns on me now, he has proven he has no honor.

  An L without honor is a monster of limitless evil.

  I am recovering my friend's body

   and incidentally sparing you an incomparable tyranny.

  I cannot speculate on how Wammy's has shaped B's psyche, but he has always had a recusant character  ... and he knows I can keep a secret.

⎯  "Why did you do it?..."    He sucks his teeth at the question as though there's room for doubt, as though he could delude me too.   ⎯  "You didn't have a good time at the party, Alt’ ?"  I watched him begin idly digging into his coat, the collar billowing around his face, his complexion is a sickly pale against it’s dark grey tweed   ⎯   "You've gone too far this time. "  He knew it, but I wanted nothing to be ambiguous about where I stood.     ⎯   “You're not taking this seriously. Someone could have been killed. You could have been, I could have been- What is wrong with you? ”   He pulled something from his slacks and only when he struck it against his heel did I recognize it was a match. He shook his head at my indictment but gave no indication of noticing that I had taken a step back.    ⎯   “No, you wouldn’t.”   His face turns, dark lashes casting sleepy shadows over the clinquant daylight caught in his eyes.     I'm struck by how young he looks    For a fleeting instant, I'm acutely aware that the teenager I'm standing next to is the same boy that played hide and seek with me in the meadow, long before we cared where this path was leading us.   And, I am scared that if he turns a meager smile on me, I might forget all the heart ache he's caused. I might remember ... what it felt like to meet my wild-eyed friend at the fenceline and escape what brought us here, immerse ourselves in a world far away from the homesickness and disappointed adults and the fear of what would come apart next. When our hands would meet on the sun-warmed bars, metal and skin becoming homogenized heat that bound rather than separated us in a way that felt timeless to my seven year old senses, when it never crossed my mind that one day our fingers would grow too big to fit between the gaps...     Standing together on the grassy nole, the breeze combs tender fingers through my hair and I sigh quietly as we watched the dining hall being assessed for damages, the smoldering aftermath of what should have been a re-birthday now the scene of a bottle rocket's explosion.     The blossoming, radiant morning rang with shrill alarms and the sharp scent of flash powder like heaven at war.    B lit a cigarette and perched it on his lip,   allowing the silence that fell between us tell me everything I needed to know.   Outrage swelled within me like a rising tide.  He didn't think I deserved an explanation, I'm just another pawn caught up in whatever game he's playing,

     ⎯   "Why are you-?...           Are you trying to tick me off ? !" He inhaled.      soft, unruffled. 

      Uncaring.   Not even meeting my eyes.   ⎯  "You are .... your most endearing when you're angry, you know that?"  His words carried on the smoke exiting his lungs, mirroring that pouring out of our home's windows between crashing booms.        — "Direct and honest. ... For once. The right girl will appreciate that about you, you should stop wasting time and find her."   He smiled around the smoldering stick in that way he does when he knows he's made a clever move and wants to say without saying ‘what now?’   I could viscerally feel my flushed rage. He's the only person I know that can belittle me with such a thorny effect, making me feel petulant and ridiculous for expecting anything from him, like he owes me.  ⎯  "You'll put yourself into an early gave with those, B."   I wanted it to be true.    I want to spite him.

Maybe I want him to die right now.   If one of the agents mistook us for intruders and shot him here in the blood-velvet reeds, then my company would be all he had. Then, maybe, he would appreciate that I’m here and what that really means, in spite of it all.    Instead, B pulls the cigarette from his lips and flicks it against his fingers, letting ash fall like loose petals to the breeze.    Careless.    —  "Ironic you would say that ..."   Cryptic.  It's as though he wants to rile me up. He should know by now where he is provocative, I am unrelenting — because I have to be, because I have to survive him.   In my periphery, I take notice of the unfamiliar security moving in our direction and feel a twinge of fear that I should be more careful of what I wish for.  But I don't move, there's nowhere to go and I admit there is an unexpected ounce of relief in the approaching danger. Though I'm not certain where it's from...  — "There are so many... did they bring them here for us? Do you think it has to do with the bioterror case?"  ⎯  " I considered that."    He said with another flick of his cigarette.  —  " But, there's not enough unrest.         No lock down, no interrogations, no medical testing, no travel bans. We’re going head-long into this, it's inevitable. It's a matter of when, not if, but we aren’t there yet... I warned him— about K, about X, about Y— but he won't listen.      I did it, so when this is all over, he'll know I was right and he was wrong."    "He's unreachable..."

—  "He is. But, he would notice I breached security and slipped into his case files and left him a puzzle to follow. If he pieced it together, he knows someone's predicted who won't make it out of this alive."   More than the fire and the guards, I am astonished by his lack of concern for self-preservation.    "Christ— He might think you're part of it!"  — "Maybe. Maybe that's why they are here, because as far as I can see I've either failed or he was never here to begin with."   Bewilderment is followed by a surge of understanding that spreads over me like ice water,     "You did this to flush L out..."         ⎯ " P r o r s u s. "    Exactly.

This is what it feels like to wait for the end of the world  Only for it not to happen...         —    B said nothing.     Battling a remarkably bloodless gratitude, I stumble to find something to say — anything in my lightheaded shock that's replaced the black-buzzing distress... but nothing comes.    He begins to walk away, just as  thank you  begins to form unsteadily in my throat, but there emerges the smallest prick of dissatisfaction at this outcome that leaves me feeling too ashamed of being ungrateful to speak above a whisper .        ... it's a macabre disappointment.     I realize I have been holding onto a poisonous hope that B would show his true colours, that I would be exempt from our abiding alliance, I would have enough reason to take control, —  that my end would be a turning point, that I could choose to burn it all down and not be fated to disappear quietly...      Now, I've returned to the same indecision that will most likely lead to exactly that.       But...  I cannot ponder further how I may outmeuver fate, why he chose to continue a more difficult path with me as an obstacle, nor confront the calamitous fear lurking within me —   I cannot risk the possibility that this will ever be seen.   I cannot justify condemning us both,       though that was my original intention.    In the end,    I didn't want my last chapter written by speculators.  I didn't want the flaws in their design to go unaddressed, the way they must remain while I'm alive to suffer the consequences of failed propriety.        I wanted them to know why.   Now, no one can know these things ...       I'm afraid that no one ever will,         that by the time the real end arrives,           I will not recognize it's here... 

   Of all the secrets I've kept, I think those that I know will die with me terrify me the most.