#every single being even REMOTELY divine i want to hear where they fall on a hierarchy and what they do and their history | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enigma-im · 4 years

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Sixth day of Christmas...

Trope: Sex Pollen (NSFW) Relationship: Alien x Human Word Count: 4,639

Living in a science station on a barely explored planet may sound like the start of a horror story. For me, it's a dream come true. To study life on a dwarf planet with a single colleague is the total isolation I crave. It's a real perk that my coworker is such a sweetheart. I've spent countless trips trying to keep my cool around cocky narcissistic scientists whose only goal is to make some profound breakthrough. My coworker this time isn't even remotely like that.

Aziraphale is a Silphurs, a cold-blooded species that has nearly a reptilian look to them. With their horn-like spikes that protrude from the back of their head and long smooth tails, most people quickly label them as lizards. Though they lack scales, to my surprise. When Aziraphel first began working beside me I was fascinated by his smooth dark leathery skin. I promptly weirded him out the first week as I appraised him like a prized pig. It was a habit I slowly grew out of.

Together we work in isolation upon dwarf planet Xena, studying the flora and fauna of this little island in space.

Today we are looking at a new flower that's been popping up around the lakes. It's a small pink crocus looking flower, fit with a thick stem. The wildlife has been swarming these little buds and it's stirred up quite the mystery for Aziraphel and I. with the coming of 'spring' the flowers have sprouted very quickly.

"So you say the mammals have been eating them," I ask, looking at the potted plant.

"Birds too. Though the insects have kept their distance," Aziraphel explains.

I hum in thought," the first plant we found that insects aren't fond of."

Aziraphale plucks a petal off the flower, taking it over to his station. I continue to exam the bud, looking at the roots through the container. All week we have been watching this plant in the wild, utterly fascinated by its attractive properties.

"Could it be the nectar? It may be a tasty treat for the animals," Aziraphel asks offhandedly. I shrug, stepping over the bin holding the plant. Leaning over I give the flower a sniff, admiring its sweet scent.

"Smells like the honey candies my mother use to give me," I say.

"really? I thought it smelled rather musky," he says over his shoulder," I can smell it from here."

I take another whiff, doubling down on my honey candy choice.

"Olfactory senses are a bit different between you and me, it seems," I joke," yours being about a hundred times better than mine."

He scoffs, picking off pieces of the petal," it's a miracle your people survived this long with clearly insufficient senses."

I snort, walking over towards him," bold coming from someone who can't hear when the microwave goes off." he throws a glare my way, his smile ruining its seriousness. I snicker, walking around to begin looking at the cells of this attractive plant.

Staring down in the microscope I take not of the plant cell, watching the cell wall break from the solution I added. The proteins break apart, spilling out the cytoplasm. The organelles follow, breaking at they come in contact with the solution. As I watch, a bead of sweat rolls into my eyes. I wipe my forehead with the sleeve of my coat, groaning at the heat.

"Hey, I know you're cold-blooded and all but I'm dying over here," I call out. I hear him swivel out of his chair and walk over to the thermostat.

"it's only 70 in here, I thought you agreed that was the optimal temperature," he passes me a teasing smile. I swipe at my head again, reaching back and pulling my hair up. Fanning myself with my hand I look to him.

"Well, I'm sweating up a storm over here," I answer.

"don't think you're getting sick, do you?" he walks over. He presses his palm to my head, I relish in the cold. "You're burning up," he reaches down to my cheeks," you're all red." I can't help but turn in his palm, stealing his cold for my own. He doesn't let go, pressing his palms flush to my skin.

"Only this one time will I admit that being cold-blooded has benefits," I press his hand against my forehead.

"fine by me, I get to steal your warmth," he smiles," but I can't stand here all day, I'll get you a cold rag."

I watch him walk away, uncomfortably warm immediately. He grabs and wets a rag, looking strangely appealing as he does. His clothes hug is slim frame well, his pants framing his legs nicely. As he catches me staring I turn away embarrassed. He walks over and places the cold rag on my head. The instant relief nearly makes me groan.

"thank you," I hold the rag for him.

"No problem. Do you want to go back to you're room," he asks, pressing his palm to my cheek again.

"no, no," I shake my head," I'm just a little warm, I think I'll make it." he hums, not really agreeing.

"if you say so, but if you feel worse I'm forcing you to go to your room," he scolds. I roll my eyes, swatting his hand away.

"Ok, mom," I joke," I promise I'll stop working if I get worse."

We get back to work, standing on different ends of the room. I put up my hair and keep the rag on the back of my neck. Sweat soaks through my shirt after a bit, dampening my hair. It's hard to focus on work, losing my breath once in a while. My heart feels like it's racing and I'm prone to dizzy spells when I walk too far. I try to power through.

I sit at my desk, dropping my head to the back of my chair. I try to use the rag to cool my face but it has begun to warm up. Frustrated I toss the useless towel to the table. My heart bangs against my chest and I can't seem to catch my breath. I feel wrong, dizzy, and incomplete. A dull ache begins in my lower stomach, migrating further south till I feel like I'm throbbing. I don't understand this new need, an empty feeling that's starting to make me panic.

Aziraphale walks over to check on me, already concerned as he spots me.

"Are you alright, you do- whooaa," he recoils from my desk, covering his nose. I watch him fidget by the door, looking lost between running and staying put. It's kind of cute.

"What's wrong," I lull my head to the side. He startles, snapping his eyes to me.

"Uh, it just smells rather musky in here," he answers, selecting his words carefully," I think you're sick."

I try to sit up, groaning as I do," yea, I don't feel too well. I should probably go lay down."

"g-great idea," he fidgets," do you, uh, need some help?" I try to wave him off, leaning forward out of the chair. As I stand I sway. I catch myself on the desk the same time Aziraphel grabs at my hips. His cold hands burn through my clothes like a block of ice. It's sharp and intoxicating. I groan, dropping forward against his chest. His body is freezing against my scorching skin, I can't help but run my hands over his neck, cuddling my cheek against him. I feel him gulp.

"Terri," he squeaks," w-what are you doing?" I can't pay attention, too focused on touching every visible bit of him. He is all I can think about, all I need. A small part of me is dying of embarrassment but the comfort is all I can think about.

"Cold," I purr under his jaw. My hands reach up under his shirt, touching his flat stomach. My insides throb as I feel him up, wanting more from him than just his cold skin.

"Terri," he yelps," t-this is- I can't-" he whimpers at the end. His hands grab at my shoulders, not really pushing or pulling. I continue, lifting his shirt to his chest. Pressing my forehead to his sternum I begin pressing soft kisses to his pecs. His leathery skin is so divine, soothing me like nothing else. I crave more, demand more.

Aziraphale is flustered at all the attention, bumbling like a fool as he tries to figure out what to do. He finally tugs me away, taking a step back with a deep breath.

"Terri, what is going on with you," he pants," this isn't like you."

I actively try to fight back the urge to jump him, focusing on staying put. Looking at him becomes too hard that I have to turn away.

"I-I don't know," I say between breaths," I'm so hot and bothered that I can't think straight."

"are you, uh," he hesitates," aroused?"

I snap to attention," excuse me?"

"Sorry," he jumps," it's just you smell…so good." his voice drops at the end, a rumbling purr. The sound shocks straight to my clit, nearly bringing me to my knees. I whimper, fisting the fabric of my pants.

"D-don't do that," I whine," you'll kill me if you do that."

"Sorry," he rubs at his face," let's just get you to your room and you can take a cold bath."

I weakly nod.

He helps me to my room, keeping a distance until I sway. Every time his hands touch me I'm nearly undone, falling into his arms and fighting back the urge to kiss him. It's a long walk to my room.

We make it to my room where we stand around awkwardly. He stays by the door but he doesn't look like he wants to leave. His fingers fidget with his shirt, picking at the ends. I'm hyper-focused on every move he makes, my muscles thrumming with energy.

"Well, I'll leave you to it and try to find out what's wrong," he shifts back and forth on each leg," yes, g-goodbye"

Seeing his back sends a wave of panic over me, forcing me into action. I jump for him, snatching him by the shirt and tugging him towards me. In a haze, I grab his face and force his mouth against mine. It's forceful and harsh, his teeth nick at my bottom lip. At this moment…it's intoxicating.

I pull back, looking at his wide-eyed face. He looks at me, scared and excited. I huff.

"Don't go," I beg. He nods," will you help me?" he nods again.

I tug him into the room, him closing the door behind himself. We stare at one another, the calm before the storm. Quickly I jump on him, wrapping my arms and legs around his body. I pull him into another kiss, grabbing at the spikes on the back of his head. His hands hold the back of my thighs, eagerly trying to kiss me back. It's clear he has no experience with this, just following my lead the best he can. Either way, it's making my lower stomach ache.

He fumbles his way to the bedroom, bumping into the bed with a grunt. I'm dropped onto my back, him crawling on over me. I tear at his clothes, petting at every newly revealed inch. He tries to get my shirt off but he's just getting in the way. Frustrated, I push him off and onto his back. I straddle his hips, throwing his shirt off in a rushed frenzy. He sits back and lets me work.

I crave to lick every bit of his chest, nibbling and sucking the cold leathery skin. My hips grind against him, feeling a hard protrusion poking at me. There's so much I want, I need, to do to him. I kiss up his body before slanting my lips against his. My tongue peaks between his lips, startling him. He timidly presses his against mine, groaning as I twirl mine with his.

I don't notice one of his hands sneaking between us. Only when he slides his fingers into my pants do I whimper in his mouth. He palms at my crotch, getting his bearings before he slides between my lips. The curious prod to my engorged clit makes my back arch. His gentle poke is nearly enough to break me apart. He slides the pad of his finger over me, I tear myself off his lips and bury my head against his neck.

"P-please," I huff and puff. He pets me, paying attention to my little nub with laser focus. I writhe and wiggle, whimpering and whining near his ear. My body feels on fire, ready to burst with minimal attention. A few more swipes and I'm crying out his name. I'm grinding hard into his hand, forcing his touch till I get my fill.

As my bucking slows Aziraphel tries to take his hand back. I flatten my body against him, trapping him with a growl.

"Do you feel better," he whispers, his trapped hand petting at my stomach.

" a-a little," I trace my nose under his jaw," it's still too hot." he hums in thought.

Before I know it I'm twisted on my back, Aziraphel between my legs. His eyes are focused, calculating, as he reaches for my pants and tugs them down my legs. Tossing the clothing aside he lays on his stomach between my legs, staring at my soaked cunt. I flush at his attention, aroused and nervous at the same time.

"What a-are you doing," my stomach twitches as the urge to buck towards him is strong. He grabs my hips, holding me still as he studies me.

"I have an idea," he mumbles. I whimper as I take in the whole sight, Aziraphel laying between my legs without his shirt. He tears his eyes from my pussy to me, softening slightly at my debauched face. His thumb pets at my hips as he gives me a sweet smile. I whine again.

Aziraphale looks back to my cunt, lowering his head and taking a tentative lick up my seam. My back arches as a moan tears up my throat. He takes another more confident lick, touching at my entrance and clit. I feel dizzy. More certain he presses his lips to mine and laps at my cunt. I wriggle and buck in his hold, clenching my eyes shut against the pleasure. It's hot and lava-like. His tongue is warmer than his body but cold to me. It's erotic and holy to my needy cunt.

I peek down at him, watching him eat me out. His thumb still pets at my hips, adding a small bit of appeal alongside his mouth. His eyes are closed, pleased hum vibrating into his tongue. He seems to enjoy this as much as me, his tail lazily swinging back and forth down the bed. Watching him is enough to push me over the edge, reaching down and grinding his head against my crotch. He groans with me, nearly purring as I shout out my pleasure.

He stops as I fall back into the bed, releasing his head in favor of fisting my hair. I take a moment to catch my breath, watching the lovely sight of him crawling back over me. He pets at my thigh, rubbing soothing circles against my skin.

"You feeling better," he asks. I shrug, getting distracted by the throbbing tent in his pants. The thing moves with every breath, begging me to grab him with a single-minded focus. I reach for his belt, trying to tug him forward. He swipes my hand away.

"No, we aren't doing that," he scolds," I got to let myself have some morals here. I'm already taking advantage of you." I pout, ready to try to persuade him. He distracts me with a finger between my legs, prodding at my entrance before sinking in. I grunt, damn near purring as he adds another.

The day is spent in utter bliss. He takes good care of me, not leaving me wanting for too long. He keeps his pace till I'm passed out in the sheets, feeling cooler than I did earlier. It seems all it took was some beautiful orgasms to soothe this beast.

I wake up the next morning alone, feeling sore but sated. I don't know if the fact that I'm alone should be good or bad. Heading off to the bathroom I try to convince myself that's it's for the best. I don't even know how I'll face him today, remembering how I jumped him like some uncontrollable whore.

The morning in the lab is…tense. He tiptoes around me and I can't help but do the same. The conversation is kept so single sentence answers. We both try to stay out of the other's way, even making up excuses to be on the opposite side of the room.

I sit in my little cubicle with my desk, trying hard not to look out to the lab and watch Aziraphel. It's a losing battle. I watch him walk by the crocus flower, pausing for a moment. He leans over the bin and takes a tentative sniff. He chuffs, scratching at his nose.

"Terri," he calls out," I think I figured something out."

A bit too eager I hop out of my chair and head over to him. My body thrums slightly the closer I get. Before I can stop next to him he grabs me by the shoulders and guides me away from the bin. I allow him, confused all the while.

"We should put the flower in a contained area," he suggests, meeting my eyes for the first time today. My thoughts come back to now, caught off guard by his suggestion. d "What," I ask. He flusters a bit, looking over to the flower then back at me.

"Well, you see," he stumbles, petting at the back of his neck," I think.. Perhaps the…" his shoulders sag. "The flower kind of smells like how you did yesterday and I'm almost convinced it's what made you sick," he finally spits out. I gawk at him, thinking back on yesterday's events. That morning I took a whiff of the flower, not thinking much of it, and shortly after started getting symptoms. It's a fair guess, perhaps even the correct answer.

"I think you might be right," I huff in amusement," it explains why the animals have been eating it. Spring is mating season."

"I feel rather silly now having to lock away a plant," he laughs," a rather potent aphrodisiac to mammals and birds. Makes sense why it didn't work for me." I chuckle along with him, it dying off back into an uncomfortable silence. It's clear he's uncomfortable with what happened yesterday. Hell, I am too. But there is no reason we can't be adults about this.

As we awkwardly shuffle in place, I speak up," hey, about last night. I'm sorry I came onto you like that, I put you in an uncomfortable position."

"No, no," he waves his hands," don't need to apologize, you couldn't help it. I know that wasn't really you and I won't hold that against you."

"yea," I fiddle with my hands," we can just pretend it didn't happen, and go on like before." he nods, looking to the floor in thought. With the situation settled I'm left a bit lost for what to do.

"yea," he still nods," I don't think I can do that." I startle at his words, a cold feeling sinking into my gut.

"W-what," I stutter. He looks up from the floor, seeming rather serious.

"I want to pretend that what happened didn't happen, more for my sake than yours. I'd like to be able to look at you and not see your face twisted up in pleasure as you cum on my tongue. It would be easier if I didn't, but at the same time…I really want to see that face again, " he takes a step forward," Terri, I liked what happened yesterday. I liked doing that thing with our mouths, I liked touching you and holding you. I hated how it came to be and I hated how you didn't have a choice, but I loved doing those things to you. I would give anything to do it all again, with actual consent and want from you instead of that drugged up lust. I want you, Terri, I really want you."

His confession feels like being punched in the gut. It's not what I could ever expect from him. We've worked together for nearly a year now and not once did he hint at wanting to be more than friends. We have a good relationship working together and I'd dare say I enjoyed his company. Now…now everything is different. I can't look at him as a coworker or even a friend. Even now all I can see when I look at him is his face buried between my legs, eyes closed and humming in bliss.

"I don't know," he takes a step back," a lot happened yesterday and you may honestly want to pretend it didn't happen. I can respect that and go on if it bothers you. I didn't want to agree if there was a chance to…never mind, I'm sorry." I watch him turn around to retreat, fidgeting and scolding himself. The sight plucks at my heart.

Taking a few rushes stepped forward I grab him and tug him around. I cup his cold cheek and drag him into a sweeter kiss than our first. He's still untrained and uncertain but he gives it his all as he wraps his arms around me. His attempt is cute, pulling a smile up to my cheeks till I have to part.

I pet at his cheek," it's called a kiss and I would love to do more of those with you."

His sharp teeth peak through his lips," a kiss. I'm a fan."

He tugs my against him again, twisting us and lifting me onto the table. I'm didn't expect to consummate our choice now but I'm not going to argue. He smirks up at me, fitting himself between my legs. Before he can go in for another kiss he glances off to his left. I follow his gaze to the flower.

"Nope," he picks me up off the table, taking me to another end of the lab," I'm not doing that again." I bark out a laugh, teasing the edges of his spikes as he sets me down on another table. He quickly pulls me back into another kiss.

Our rush is exciting, though less frantic than yesterday. He discards my shirt, not paying any mind to my breast as he pets down my stomach and licks at my shoulder. His fingers pluck at my pants buttons, tearing them down to my ankles as I frustratedly tug at his shirt.

With him distracted with my cunt I finally get to grab at his crotch. He throbs in my hand, his cock mysteriously wiggling. Curious, I pull him out of his pants. I'm excited but confused with what I see.

His bright red cock is writhing in my palm, the tip twirling around my fingers. It looks like it came from a slit, emerging from his body eagerly. I squeeze him, fascinated by the pre leaking out his pores. He shutters, slapping his hands on either side of me.

"Please," he whimpers," I couldn't relieve myself last night and I may go mad if you try to tease me now."

I snicker at him, tugging him gently forward and nudging him against me. Letting him go and wrapping my arms around his shoulders I leave him to lead. He takes a breath, reaching down and grabbing himself. We both watch as his tip pokes and prods till it finds my entrance. His cock makes me shiver as it begins to wiggle frantically inside me. He pushes on, seething as he bottoms out. He shutters, letting out a shaky breath as our hips touch.

"what blessed torture is this," he pants, almost wheezing. I bite back a snicker, petting at his head in support. He shutters again.

His hips begin to buck, moving in short little bursts before growing in length. The feel of his cock is blessed, something I've craved since yesterday. He begins to plow into me, a wet slap sounding from where we meet. My thighs feel sticky, the thought of it not being only my slick passes by. An odd little tingle starts deep inside me, growing the more he slams into me. I gasp, tugging him close as a sudden burst of pleasure shocks up my spine.

Aziraphale licks up my neck, rumbling with a growl as he clenches my hips. He ups his tempo, shocking my body to attention. I cry out into the lab, nearing my end with the sudden fire growing because of him. My stomach clenches, sitting at the blissful peak for almost too long. It almost hurts when I cum, clenching around his still pumping cock.

"Shit," he digs his nails into my hips. He bucks into my fluttering heat, milking me for all I'm worth till he barks out a cry. His face buries against my neck as he cums, fluids puddling on the table. He pumps a few times before stilling inside me, his cock pulsing with his release. I pet at his back and kissing him on the cheek. He shutters more, taking a bite of my neck. His hips buck some more, surprising me with his movement. He continues to pulse, more fluids showering my insides.

"Are you still cumming," I ask in awe. He doesn't answer. His teeth dig into my skin along with his nails.

I sit back and let him take his fill, a little glad when he finishes. He releases my neck, giving it a lick before leaning back. Our eyes meet and I can see the content in his smile. He looks happy, sated, and cute. I pet at his cheek.

"You didn't warn me about the mess," I joke. He scoffs, pulling out and watching his cum leak out of me.

"It didn't occur to me," he answers. Reaching forward he thumbs at our mixed fluids, grabbing a bit and bringing it to his mouth. Licking the drop off he hums. "delicious," he smirks. I push at his shoulder, chuckling as I hop off the counter. He helps, keeping me steady.

I look back at the counter, wincing at the cum dripping off the edge. "Little glad it's just the two of us here," I half-joke.

"I might be glad too," he wraps his arms around my waist," could work with fewer clothes now."

I shake my head, amused with his suggestion. There's no way I'll be doing that but it's a little flattering that he would want to see me naked again. I grab his spikes and tug him down for a kiss. He growls, tugging me closer, and palming my rear. His tongue laps at my lips, delving into my mouth with the smallest bit of acceptance.

"You wanna go again," he mumbles against my lips. I hum, petting up his chest.

"I think we should move the flower before we try anything else," I answer. He pouts, looking behind himself to glare at the cursed plant.

"Yea, probably have to deal with that," he grumbles.

"yea, I'm not allowed near it," I shrug. He twists back around, grinning down at me.

"I prefer you not drugged, thank you very much," he kisses my forehead," this is way better than yesterday anyway."

I hum with a big goofy grin on my face.

Yea, I liked this way better.

#12 days of christmas #12 tropes for christmas #sixth day #Enigma-IM #exophilia #monster boyfriend #alien boyfriend #pollen

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casualpaladin31 · 4 years

Text

Second Chance (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Requested: No

Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence and mild language.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Beginning(n): late 12c., "time when something begins;" c. 1200, "initial stage or first part," verbal noun from begin. Meaning "act of starting something" is from early 13c.

Beginning. From where I stand right now, the beginning seems so much more tame than what I know now. Spencer would usually tell me some sort of fact associated with the ‘beginning of the world’ if he were here right now. But he’s not. If only foresight were real. And I had it’s full power of never saying what I did. Never pushing him away. But I guess hindsight isn’t 20-20. And words can’t be taken back.

~~~

April 12. Seems like a regular day to anybody. But not to me. Not to Spencer. He and I have been in what feels like an endless storm of arguments since Christmas. He and I had always been each other’s rock. Our anchor with how stressful our jobs are. I was there for him when the cases got rough and he was my shoulder when a case got way too personal. We just fit. That is, if you didn’t count the small little quirks in our relationship. One of which being my tendency to be like Morgan and jump into situations without too much thinking.

I won’t lie; he absolutely hates it. Case in point:

“Spence, come on, I can walk on my own now. The swelling’s gone down.” I complained, groaning at my tall and lanky boyfriend who was currently forbidding me from standing up from bed. So, maybe I might have gotten my ankles fractured and twisted by an unsub when I had tackled him prematurely and he and I went tumbling into traffic. No biggie. Other than the fact that one of the BAU’s SUVs ran over my ankles. Hotch didn’t see me. I don’t blame him.

Spencer rolled his eyes as he pushed me back into bed as I tried for the fifth time that morning to get up to go to the damn kitchen and eat something. “The doctor said you need three weeks of bed rest. It hasn’t even been two yet.” Spencer reasoned, tucking me into the covers of our shared bed before I could protest.

“Spence, I’ll be fine going to the kitchen. It’s not that far away.” I tried again, sitting up from the bed and pulling covers off of my body. “I promise I’m fine.”

Spencer shook his head and gripped my hands, trying to lay me back down. “Actually there is plenty of space between here and the kitchen, Y/N. The inflammation and swelling process is to remove the damaged tissue from your fractures. Your ankles can’t heal until you let the swelling complete its course. This wouldn’t have happened if you had just waited for me.” Spencer sighed again, the end of his words having a bit of a jabbing tone that sparked a sharp ache in my chest.

“What?” I asked, with half a laugh and half disbelief. “Are you serious right now? After all the things you’ve done without orders? Don’t make me list them, Spencer.” I hissed, half pissed that Spencer would even bring this part up. Sure, Hotch had given me a few weeks off due to my injuries, and I had gotten a case of major cabin fever since that included bed rest from the doctor. But that seemed to be forgiven by everyone. I still got calls from Penelope every few days to check on me for the rest of the team. But I guess this was still an issue. Even after we already had this argument.

Spencer grunted as he stood up straight again, seemingly towering over me in all of his 6’1 glory. He may be making me mad right now, but he was still my tree. And I his squirrel. If that makes any sense.

“Don’t start this please, I don’t want to argue with you on this.” Spencer tries, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I gritted my teeth and scoffed. “Then why bring it up? Especially the way you did? Why, Spencer? Why? Cause I’m itching to know.” I instigate. Not the best move on my part. As Spencer’s eyes flickered with anger. It was clear he really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. But he should’ve thought about that.

“Y/N do you really have to do this? Can’t we have one day without an argument?” Spencer huffed, running a tired hand through his hair. I roll my eyes in anger and I plant my feet against the hardwood.

“You started this Spencer, not me. I just want to know what the hell you meant by what you said.” I retort, trying to reel back my anger. This argument wasn’t going anywhere. We hadn’t been communicating. It didn’t take a profiler to see that. And it seemed all that miscommunication was coming back to bite us in the ass.

“You want to know what I meant? I’m tired of you throwing yourself into danger like that. Morgan does it, yes, but that does not mean that you should follow in his footsteps, Y/N.” Spencer says in a half accusatory tone and half calm. How the hell does he stay so calm when we argue? Even when I know he’s angry?

“Oh, so Morgan does it better than me or something? If it’s so bad, Spencer, then go scold Morgan too why don’t you? Maybe you’ll actually get somewhere with him.” I jab at Spencer, instantly regretting my comment.

Spencer is grunting with anger as he tries to formulate a response. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Y/N! All these arguments? They never end well for either of us! If you hadn’t been so reckless maybe we wouldn’t have to be having this argument!” Spencer finally quips back at me. I widen my eyes and I furrow my eyebrows after a few moments. I open my mouth to respond before Spencer leaves the room, shutting the door a bit harshly as he does.

I scowl and scoff as I unwillingly roll back over into bed. I was so done with this constant arguing. What had happened to that spark we used to have? That perfect routine where everything just fit?

After a few minutes of sulking in my own anger I sigh. This was ridiculous wasn’t it? Sure. But I wasn’t ready to apologize yet. At least Spencer has another day or so before he’s gotta get back to the BAU. I can apologize to him before bed tonight. Can’t go to bed angry.

I couldn’t help but remember a poem that Spencer had read to me previously. It was on the tip of my tongue. I remember he had a collection of them that he liked to leave for me whenever he got home before me. Or if I left before him and I was expected to come home early. Especially when he had to work and I didn’t. It was just something we enjoyed. Well… used to anyway.

The poem was Love’s Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelly, I think. Yeah. That was it. I can only remember part of it though.

The fountains mingle with the river

And the rivers with the ocean,

The winds of heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;

All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

Why not I with thine?

What happened between us? What did we do to get this far away from our paradise that we had made together?

I sighed as I recalled the poem, shifting through my nightstand and finding the small notebook paper that he had left for me on my pillow months prior. Was this relationship even salvageable? Would we ever get back to this point of love between us? Or would this rift grow ever larger, and keep us apart?

I let out a tired exhale and began to slowly get up from my prison. I hissed as my ankles began to wobble from the sudden weight. I gripped the nightstand for dear-life before I found my balance, and I started to wander into the apartment I’d been kept from for the past week and a half.

I wobble my wounded and swollen feet into the living room, gripping onto everything that I could to get there safely and without a fall. Knowing Spencer’s state of mind it would probably feed into another argument. But though all odds were against me, I made it to the couch. I plopped down and picked up a forgotten book that laid next to me. La Divina Commedia. Why am I not surprised Spencer’s been reading that?

Before I could pick the book up and even attempt to read it in it’s natural text, I hear the plop of a ready back by the front door. I sigh. Of course there’s a case. A case while I’m down for the count. My fault, I guess.

I sigh and put the book down. “So you’re leaving?” I question, trying to sound at least remotely sincere.

Spencer doesn’t even acknowledge that I’d even spoken, too busy with his bag. At least he had the manners to respond. “Yes, I am. Three women were abducted in Oklahoma. It will probably take a few days.” He says, his usual tone of sorrow for having to leave absent from his voice. Almost like he was thankful for this break from me.

I bite my lip nervously and fight the urge to sigh yet again. “Well… Tell the team I said good luck.” I say as audibly as I can without giving away the hurt pounding in my chest.

Spencer at least nods before he grabs his now full bag and exits the apartment. Not even looking at me once.

Kidnapping case, huh?

~~~

Spencer’s POV

Spencer can’t help but notice the seething anger he was emitting as he walked into the bullpen to set his stuff down before the case briefing. Morgan and Prentiss both gave him looks as he set his bag down and tried to gather what he would need for the case at hand.

“Hey kid, something… going on at home? I can feel your anger from over there.” Morgan prompts, pulling Spencer into a half head lock with his arm. Spencer sighed and pulled away from Morgan’s attempt at communicating.

“It’s fine, Morgan. Really. Did you know that couples find themselves fighting about household issues about seven times each month? A survey of 2,000 Americans, commissioned by a furniture company, found couples wind up averaging about 72 spats each year over home improvement particulars.” Spencer starts to ramble, unable to hold back his concern for the topic. At least his attitude and overall tone wasn’t deteriorating from where it had been before he left.

Morgan nodded, suddenly understanding where the conversation was leading. “Ah, so you and Y/N having some trouble in paradise? She getting cabin fever yet?” Morgan teased, poking Spencer in the shoulder.

“I don’t believe there’s ever really paradise in a relationship. A study proposed by the company Eharmony suggested that although 64% of couples are happy in their relationships, that other 36% isn’t. But that number continuously changes. And relationships end everyday over small things.” Spencer rambled again, his hands being shoved into his pockets as Morgan began leading him into their meeting room.

Morgan shook his head. “Man you got it bad. Just try to make it up for her when you get home, alright? You don’t wanna go to bed angry, you know what I’m saying?” Morgan suggests. Spencer sighed and went silent as they pushed through the glass doors and took their seats at the round table to let JJ announce their newest case.

"We've got three missing women in Oklahoma city, all from low socioeconomic classes. Danielle Jones, Katie Hurtz, and Cassidy Weirton were all last seen by their boyfriends at a party they all attended yesterday. Their cars were found dumped into the nearby river with signs of chains digging into the paint. Almost as if they were pulled into the river." JJ explains, turning to face the team.

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. "Don't they all look a little like Y/N? You know, h/c, e/c, s/c?" She brings up, slightly catching Spencer’s attention. Spencer looks up and looks at the photos currently on the screen. Emily was right. They did all look like her.

Morgan nods in agreement. "Yeah, they kinda do. I'm kinda glad you ran over her ankle, Hotch. She might've had to deal with Mr. overprotective here if you didn't." He teased, gesturing his thumb to Spencer.

Spencer raises an eyebrow and looks at Morgan in a bit of shock. "I don't follow." He asks. Prentiss shook her head and gave Spencer a knowing look.

"Come on, Spencer. We all heard it from Y/N herself when Garcia called her. You're giving her cabin fever by keeping her in one room all day long." Emily points out, teasing him a bit along with Morgan.

"Why is this important? She needs approximately 3 weeks of bedrest as determined by her doctor. I'm just trying to make sure she heals right." Spencer expressed in annoyance. Although Prentiss was definitely right. Y/N had been showing him signs of just wanting to move from the bed to the couch so that she wasn't bored from her surroundings. But she still shouldn't be moved all that much. Especially since she didn't have any sort of cast or boot to help with the healing. Only a brace.

"She isn't coming with us on this case, so there isn't any reason I need to worry, is there?" Spencer reasoned, growing tired of the teasing.

Morgan raised his hands up from where they had been resting on the table. "I guess not. But kid, seriously. Take it from a man who knows: don't fight her on this." Morgan encourages.

Maybe he was right, Spencer thought.

~~~

Three days had passed since Spencer had gone on the new case. I was absolutely and completely, lonely. And it was almost suffocating.

Thankfully Spencer had left me an apartment full of food, so I needn't worry about having to cook or, god forbid, have to go grocery shopping in my condition.

But I was tired of the four bare walls of the main area of my and Spencer’s apartment. I could only bear them for so much longer before I completely combusted from boredom and fourth stage cabin fever. So… I went out to go get a few books. What? We had crutches from the hospital. And taxis exist. So I was fine.

Besides, I knew Spencer hadn't read books from this author yet. And I was partially hoping that he would take them as mostly an apology gift and the rest just a gift. I wanted to try and get back into the swing of our relationship. Try and just maybe get back into a somewhat normal routine. Even if I was incapacitated.

I clobbered around the bookstore, my more injured foot swinging as I used the lesser to get around. There were so many books I just didn't know which ones to get for Spencer and just how many I wanted to get for myself.

One I picked up reminded me of a case that had come across my desk. The case was actually in Quantico. An unsub was kidnapping women around the ages of 20 to 35 and the bodies were found dumped into the river, raped and mutilated. But there were only two victims at the moment, and the period between them was months, so it hadn't seemed like one to worry about. I heard the unsub left a letter to each of the families of the victims. Almost taunting them. Weird how you can make connections like that in real life compared to your second one.

But eventually I hobbled again over ro the counter and heaved about 5 books up into the clerk's view. The clerk looked me up and down and smirked.

"Rough day?" He asked, beginning to scan the books into the system. I groaned and chuckled slightly.

"More like rough life." I reply, heaving myself back onto the harsh arm rests of the crutches. The man nods in understanding.

"Very true. But hey, I'm sure you'll get off of those soon and get back to your normal routine." He says, telling me my cost.

I fumble through my wallet and pull out my credit card. I hand it to the clerk. The clerk then takes it and swipes it for me.

"Do you want to sign up for our rewards program? You get a book free with every purchase." The clerk prompted. I raised an eyebrow at the sudden offer. I'd never gotten this offer when I'd gone here before. Was it new?

"Not today, sorry." I begin, taking my credit card back from the clerk and beginning to put it back into my wallet.

"It's something new we're trying. Get more customers interested in reading and stuff. And… I kinda promised my boss I'd get at least one my next shift. I'd really appreciate it." The clerk prompts again. I sigh. Would it really be that bad? Spencer might appreciate it. Getting more books for only a quarter of the price? He'd like that. Hell, I'd enjoy that. Why not?

I shrug and I nod. "Alright, alright. You need my number and stuff?" I ask. The clerk nods.

"Uh huh. Just name, number and address." The clerk says, beginning to type into the computer at the counter.

"Y/N L/N, 555-555-5555, (insert random Quantico apartment address here)." I list, piling the books up and putting them into a bag the clerk handed me.

As the clerk finished up I smiled at him. "Have a good day sir." I say as I begin my hobble back towards the door.

"You too."

~~~

I wobble on the crutches as I clop back to Spencer and I's shared apartment. I sigh as I begin to fumble with my keys. My phone drops out of my pocket as I do.

I grumble and lean over to grab it. I turn it on out of curiosity. No new messages. Nothing. Not a single 'How are you?' text. Kinda pissed me off a bit.

But instead I sigh and just type a quick, and small text.

Y/N - Hey, can we talk when you get home? I wanna make it up to you. Please.

I sigh and shove it back into my pocket. I'll deal with it later, I think.

I finally unlock my door and shove it open. When I do though, I find a letter shoved under the door. Couldn't they have put it in the mailbox?

I pick it up and shut the door behind me. I hobbled over to the dining room table and put the bag of books down, along with the crutches as I began to investigate the letter.

I don't even get the chance to fully open the letter before I'm grabbed from behind and a cloth is shoved into my mouth. Chloroform.

I try instantly to cough and spit the rag out, but by the time I do, I've already begun to breathe the gas in, and my vision began to grow cloudy and spotty.

The only thing I hear as the lights begin to fade and my capture begins to drag me away is "Good… go to sleep now."

~~~

Spencer sighed as he sat on the plane in mid thought. They thankfully were able to capture the unsub and bring him to justice before he could kill any of the girls. But something had struck him as they had finished up the case. Y/N had texted him, wanting to talk. He'd tried to reach her that night by calling her cell, but it went straight to voicemail. He didn't think much of it. She was probably sleeping. As she should be.

But still. She was right. They both needed to resolve this. Nothing was going to improve if they didn't try.

"Hey kid, whatcha thinking?" Morgan asks, taking a seat next to Spencer as the plane got ready to land.

"I think I'm going to talk with her tonight. See if we can come to an understanding. A compromise maybe." He sighed, fumbling with his fingers.

Derek grinned. "Alright, Spencer, my man!" He exclaims, lightly hitting his shoulder. "Good. I'm proud of you, kid." He says, prompting Spencer to smile.

"Thank you Morgan. I just think we'll find a better normal is all." He agrees, unable to focus on the current case report he'd just written.

Prentiss wanders over and takes a seat next to Spencer as well. "I'm glad you've decided to tame the beast, Spencer." She teases.

Rossi's ears perk up at the conversation. "Are we talking about Y/N here? Cause she's untameable." He expresses, pulling a smile onto Spencer’s face.

She really was untameable, Spencer thought. Maybe that was a good thing.

~~~

Spencer stretched his arms as he walked to his apartment. After the long and hard case they had, he just wanted to hold you and pull you close. Those girls looking so similar to you had messed with his head.

Spencer exited the elevator, ready bag in hand as he turned to head down the hallway with his and Y/N's shared apartment. When he finally stopped, he noticed the door was ajar. Weird. Y/N always had a quirk about insisting he close the door behind him whenever he entered or exited a room. So why would she leave the door open?

Spencer cautiously entered the room and saw the lights all completely turned off. Maybe she was in bed, he thought.

He flicked on the lights and noticed a bag of books on the table, and a half opened envelope laying there as well next to forgotten crutches. Spencer rolled his eyes as he noticed the books were newly bought, guess Y/N couldn't stay in bed while he was gone.

That's when he noticed the letter again. He opened it up and began to read the complete horror that met his eyes.

Hello.

I'm glad we share an interest in books. I've always liked reading. Did you know that? I've also loved (h/c) haired girls. All my life. When your (e/c) eyes met mine, I knew you had to be mine. So, please don't fight this. All I want is for us to be together. Forever.

I promise I’m not like him. Your boyfriend. I won't leave you alone on weekends with fractured feet.

Just obey me, and you'll be happy. I promise.

Love, Z.H.E

Spencer felt tears building up in his eyes. This man, this--this Z.H.E had taken Y/N. Taken his girlfriend at her weakest. And he wasn't here to protect her.

Spencer thrust the letter onto the table and dropped to his knees. You were gone. Out of his reach. And there was no telling how long you'd been gone. How long you've been in this unsub's hands. So there was no way to know if you had any chance.

Spencer clutched at his shirt and tie as he began to quicken his breathing and his heart began to pound faster. He had to do something. Anything.

Then he felt his phone vibrate. That was it. He had proof. This wasn't Y/N's handwriting. They had a case. They just had to get permission.

Spencer shook his head. Fuck the permission. He was going to find Y/N and put the bastard who took her in prison. They didn't have much time, but he was going to find her. Dead or alive.

Spencer pulled his phone out and immediately began dialing Morgan’s number, tears still streaming down his cheek.

He was going to find you. He had to.

After a few rings, Morgan finally answered the phone. "Reid? Kid it's like 11 o'clock at night. What's wro-" Morgan groans.

Spencer immediately cut him off. "Morgan, Y/N's not here. Some-someone took her. Th-they left a-a note and u-uh… they signed it Z...Z.H.E." Spencer rambled and stuttered, his voice almost inaudible from his tears and his voice growing faster with his nerves.

Morgan’s response was to be expected. "Wait, what? You serious kid? Hold on, I'll call Hotch. Bring anything Y/N might've had with her the day she got taken with you back to the BAU. We'll meet you there." Derek ushered, the sound of a TV being shut off in the background.

Spencer tried to calm his breathing, but it only got faster and harder to control. "O-okay… got it." Was his only response as he hung up the phone and pulled out a pair of gloves from his pocket and began searching the apartment for any sort of sealing bag he could put the letter in for evidence. If the bastard wasn't wearing gloves, they needed to be able to find fingerprints. Not just his own.

Once he found something, he slid the envelope and the letter into the bag and sealed it shut. Once he had it, he grabbed the bag and the bag of books and began to carry them out the door.

~~~

I groaned as I lifted my head up from where it had hung for I didn't know how long. My neck ached from the change in position, and I heard a few painful pops as I moved it. I felt my head pounding. Seems like that head wound is finally giving me trouble.

I tugged at my arms, feeling rope dig back into my skin in retaliation. I gritted my teeth and began to try and use my fingers to attempt any sort of chance this asshole decided to leave the knot in close range of my hands. But alas, he didn't.

My legs were tied to the chair as well, almost tighter than my arms were. I sighed. It had been 4 days since this asshole had taken me. And it wasn't pretty. I had a large gash on my cheek, and bruises that scattered my torso and thighs. This guy wasn't subtle in his obsession with me. He needed to see me multiple times a day. And if I didn't do what he asked, he whipped me. And the guy got off from it.

I sighed, at least he decided to move me from the dangling chain prison he'd had me in the first three days. The first one he just needed to see all of me. I was just unlucky enough to wake up prematurely.

I'm glad I wasn't awake for most of it. It still hurts. Every time I close my eyes I try and focus on Spencer. His hazel eyes looking down at me with love in them, telling me it'll be okay.

But when I open my eyes again, I'm back in my own personal hell.

I sigh and look around, hoping the blood that was pooling above my eye didn't drip down into my eye where I couldn't see. I'd already viewed this whole room dozens of times. But it was something to do while this asshole lived upstairs with his wife and their young daughter. And they do nothing about it.

My eyes find the only window in this hell of a basement and I see that the light is brighter than usual. Must be noon. I can't tell. That can only mean he's going to be here soon. Gonna take another piece of me that I'll never get back.

"S-spencer…" I whimper quietly, squeezing my eyes shut as a tear builds up in my eye. If I hadn't gone out like he told me this wouldn't have happened. I'd still be in our apartment and I would've been there to welcome him home. Not here. Not with death looming over my head.

"Oh, poor baby. You seriously want him? When you have me? You've got all you could ever want and you never accept me. Why?" The most disgusting and smoke-induced sounding voice echoed into the basement.

I turn my head and glare at my capture, my right eye squinting as the blood from my forehead began to drip over it. I don't answer him, afraid he'll just beat me again for my answer. He'll beat me anyway.

He growled and pulled my face towards his, holding it harshly as he spat into my face. "Answer me, bitch! That's all you are!" He yelled, pushing the chair against a beam. I cough as my head collides with the wood.

I shake as my head slowly lifts to look at him again. "I… I don't want you… I w-want to g-go home…" I stutter. He wants an answer. But I don't want to play into his game. I feel disgusting.

He then launches a punch to my gut, causing me to cough up a spat of blood and begin to groan from my bruises. Add another bruise to the pile.

"WHY?! I am a better man! THE better man! You are mine! Accept it!" He spat, tossing the chair aside along with me. "It's like you don't even like me!" The man growled.

I groaned and began to shrink as much as I could into the chair. Why? Why me? He had a wife and a kid upstairs. A perfect normal life. Why couldn't he just settle?

The man shook his head and growled. "No. No we're gonna show this 'boyfriend' of yours just how good I am to you." He insists before he fishes through the clothes that he had torn off of me and pulled out my phone. I could only hope that Garcia could track its location fast enough.

~~~

Spencer gripped his hair tightly as everyone was scrambling to try and find some way, some connection to bring them close enough to be able to find Y/N. But they had nothing.

So far, they hadn't found any fingerprints on the letter that Spencer or Y/N hadn't left themselves. And the bag was obviously only carried by Y/N. So they were stuck until they could get another piece of information.

Morgan sighed as he watched Spencer go over the letter for what he knew was about the twelve hundredth time that night. He really didn't deserve this.

Morgan took a seat and tried to get Spencer’s attention by lightly grabbing his wrist. Spencer jumped from the sudden contact, sighing slightly.

"Nothing… After 5 hours of searching we have found nothing. All we have is a reminder of how terrible I was to her." Spencer sighed, his esteem having grown drastically low in the time that he had spent reading the letter over and over again.

Morgan sighed. "Kid, you were not terrible to her. Come on. She loves you, man. Seriously, I can see love. And she's got it for you." Morgan insists, nudging Spencer’s shoulder. Reid sighed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Still, the last thing I did with her was argue over her being reckless. That might be the last thing she ever hears from me." Spencer expressed, clutching harshly at his chest.

Derek sighed again and nudged Spencer once more. "Come on, kid. We'll find her. That won't be the last thing you say. The last words you ever say to her will be on your shared deathbed kid." Morgan teased. "Come on, the girl got you five books when she was supposed to be resting. If anything that tells me she loves you more than the pain she feels." Morgan chuckles, gesturing towards the bag of books on the evidence table.

Reid shrugs and looks down for a moment before it hits him. He stands up suddenly and starts shifting through the plastic bag for the receipt.

"Woah, kid. Did I say something to set you off or-?" Morgan asks suddenly, confused by Spencer’s sudden movement.

"The books! She-she would've taken the b-books out if she had been home l-long enough to put them away-" he rambled, searching and flipping through each of the books, desperately trying to find the receipt and to find some sort of indication as to when she was taken.

"Right, but Reid I don't-" Morgan starts again.

Spencer shook his head. "Just-!" He exclaims almost exasperatedly. Then he finds it. Deeply nestled into a copy of Edgar Allen Poe's greatest poems, was a receipt for four days ago at a bookstore a few miles away from their apartment.

"Found it." He whispers, smiling happily. Maybe he had a chance of finding Y/N after all.

Morgan widened his eyes. "Does it got a date on it, Reid?" He asked, getting up from his chair in a quick haste to know if they had a new clue.

Reid nodded, a few tears building in his eyes. "Four days ago. She's been with the unsub for...for four days…" Spencer sputtered, forcefully putting the small receipt down so he didn't crumple it more.

Morgan gave Spencer a sympathetic look and opened his mouth to speak.

"You're gonna wanna see this, Reid." Garcia came onto the screen, pulling Spencer’s attention to it.

"Hold on baby girl," Derek says before he rushes to the glass door that connected the council room to the rest of the bullpen. He opened the door and called in Hotch, JJ, and Rossi. Prentiss came in as she was coming down the hall.

"What is it Garcia?" Hotch asked as he came in, settling into the room and looking at the screen she currently showed her face on.

"Okay, but this is kind of… gore-y. You might not want to see this Reid-" she began, trying to warn Spencer of the video's contents.

Spencer shook his head. "Show the video." He insists. Garcia sighed, but clicked play.

On the screen showed a much less clothed Y/N and a hooded figure in the room. A single light bulb was hanging from the ceiling.

"Since princess here can't accept me, let me just show you what I've done to your precious girl." A distorted voice echoed through the video speakers.

Spencer’s eyes were wide as he was forced to watch the screen for more information on where his (nickname) was.

The hooded figure then pulled out a knife and advanced towards Y/N. Y/N herself bit back a quiver and a whimper. Spencer knew it by her bitten lip.

The figure then used the knife to cut a long gash along Y/N's left arm, before grabbing the right and cutting his initials into the soft skin that was there.

"You're mine, now. What boyfriend would want you now with another man's claim on you?" The figure growled at Y/N.

Y/N took in a shaky breath and looked into the camera. "I-I can take it. I-i p-promise. S-spencer," mouthing one word before the figure slapped her across the face for doing so.

"You bitch‐!" The figure growled. Spencer shut his eyes tightly and looked away from the screen. He could barely make out what she mouthed. Basement.

Hotch looked to Reid, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Did you catch it? The word she gave?" He asked calmly, understanding Reid's need to look away from what this man was doing to the love of his life.

Spencer shook in terror for a few speechless moments before he was finally able to lift his head back up.

"She… s-she said basement, Hotch. She's in a basement." He announces, keeping his eyes away from the screen.

"Meaning this guy could have a complete other life. And that nobody knows what he's doing downstairs." Morgan infers, Prentiss nodding towards him in agreement.

JJ speaks up next. "Sorry to burst the bubble here, but I think I found the case this unsub is connected to." She says, dropping a very thin case file onto the table.

"Two women, between the ages of 20 to 35 were taken from their homes in the mid afternoon. Yet no one saw or heard. At each of the scenes, a letter is found that is similar to the one we found at your apartment, Spence." JJ informs, sighing. "Each of the women were found two weeks after their capture dumped into the river and stripped of their belongings. With sighs of rape and mutilation." JJ says sorrowfully. Spencer’s fist tightens at his side, his eyes squeezing shut again.

He could've been there for you if he hadn't taken that case in the heat of his anger. He would've kept you from going out and attracting the attention of this unsub. But he was more focused on his anger.

"Reid, do you have anything new?" Hotch asks, jotting down a few notes to be able to refer to later. Spencer sighed and nodded.

"Y-yeah. I found the receipt from the bookstore she went to. Four days ago. It's called Zander's Stories." He says, looking up to face Hotch for a moment.

"Good. We'll head there and talk with the owner, see if we can find any employees with our profile. And if they have cameras we'll check to see who checked Y/N out." Hotch informed. The rest of the team nodded and began to get back to work.

Spencer stood up and stopped Hotch for a moment. "H-hotch, what is the profile? If you don't mind my asking." He asked shakily, his hand grasped at his sleeves nervously. He had been so focused on the letter and understanding the handwriting that he only had a portion.

Hotch sighed. "Reid. We're looking for a man most likely in his thirties or forties. Has a history of being flirtatious, almost creepily so with customers. Most likely has a wife, maybe a child as well. But never wears his wedding ring. Almost wanting to lure women closer to him. He probably talks mostly of himself and his own accomplishments than those of his coworkers. Takes every conversation as a chance to turn it about himself." He answered, giving Spencer a sympathetic look. They all wanted to find her. But they had to be careful.

Spencer nodded as he took the profile in, taking a mental note to think of any people he might know. Anyone who might've been watching them before now. But he found nothing.

"The handwriting seems to be gleeful almost in tone. A-almost as if he'd finally gotten what he wanted. Like a child sending a thank you letter to Santa for the presents they got for christmas." Spencer expressed, picking up the letter to point out the darkened graphite marks on the letter page.

"Interesting. He might've been watching her before. Have you and her been out before this? Perhaps gone to this bookstore before Christmas?" Hotch asked, gathering together the papers he had written on.

Spencer searched his mind for a moment, trying to reach as far back as his photographic memory would go to help him remember if he'd ever encountered a man that matched the profile.

"For Christmas she did get me a-a new poem book. A-and a book on philosophy. She might've visited the store then." Spencer informed, his hands gripping tightly and his knuckles turning white.

"That's it. He watches them for months in advance. He seems very organized. He kidnapped her without much fight. Even with her being injured she would've been able to fight him off if he simply grabbed her. He planned this." Hotch then grabbed his things and rushed out the door to join the others.

Spencer felt his body still as he tried to figure out what he could do. What he could say to help find another clue as to where you were. All he could think of was to try and come up with a geographical location from the different victims and the profile.

He just hoped they wouldn't be too late.

~~~

Again I opened my eyes exhaustedly. It seemed I'd been here ages. I didn't know the times between when I'd wake and when I'd pass out. But those times between when I'd wake and after I'd fallen asleep were the best. I got to see Spencer. In all his gentle and warm light.

"S-spencer… I'm scared…" I whispered, not hearing any echos of breath in the tiny basement this man was keeping me in other than my own.

I almost imagine him replying; Why? I'm here.

I choke back a tired sob. "I-i'm afraid… a-afraid I'll never s-see you again…" I whisper in a reply so hoarse and tiresome.

Again I can imagine his response, almost hear it. Don't give up. I'll see you soon, sweetheart.

I swallow a choked sob and close my eyes once more. My hope was almost gone. I'd been here so long. I knew it was at least 4 days. Maybe 5 at the most. I don't know how much I can handle his beatings. Or his possession.

I sniffle and clear my throat as I hear footsteps above me. He's coming again.

The door to the basement slams open and I jump from the sudden noise. His feet pound against the wooden stairs as he rushed down the stairs. I squeezed my eyes shut as he came into the light, unable to face him.

"You didn't tell me you were fuckin' FBI!" The man yelled, slapping me for good measure. I bite my lip and hold onto my whimper. I swallow harshly, not replying to his obvious question.

The man snarls, raising his hand to slap me once again before he stops himself. I almost let myself think that maybe by some miracle he'd grown some sort of conscience. That maybe he'd show me a little mercy. But of course, I was wrong.

The man pulls out his knife and cuts my bindings, pulling me off of the chair abruptly. He grips my wrists so tightly I was sure he'd break them if he squeezed any tighter.

He stayed silent as he dragged me across the floor, digging his nails into my wrists. He hoisted my body up like a ragdoll and enclosed my damaged and rope-burned wrists into chains, allowing me to hang there limp and tired.

"See this, this is what happens when you lie to me, bitch!" He yelled, picking up a long piece of wood he kept in the basement and thrusting it against my stomach. I sputter and cry out before I could even attempt to silence myself. I could feel my insides aching and throbbing. And the nailheads sticking out of the wood bruised my skin, almost breaking it from the force.

The man pulled the wood back and thrust it against my legs, making me whimper from the pain. The nails dug into my calves and my thighs, drawing blood from the wound. I was losing my resolve to fight and to push through the pain.

The man then brought it back to my torso, and thrusted it against me. I felt my ribs cracking and popping. Pain throbbed from my chest, and it grew stronger with each thrust I endured.

Again and again he beat me, the wood and nails digging into my skin and bruising it well. Moments later I found my eyes slowly falling closed as each thrust collided with my body.

Before my eyes could close completely I felt the wood thrust against my back, causing tremendous pain to my spine. If I had the ability I would have crumbled to the ground.

"You're gonna pay for this. You were supposed to be mine. You are not his. Mine, and mine alone!" The man growled, pointing a finger at me. I look away, only for him to force my face towards him.

"I think it's time you went to sleep, sweetheart~" he purred just as he thrusted the butt of his knife against my head, sending me back to my dreamscape.

~~~

Spencer found his phone once he heard it begin to ring. He'd been eyeing it since he'd finished the geographical map. He could only hope and pray that whoever called him would have some sort of good news. She had been missing for four days. Five now. And they weren't any closer to finding her.

JJ had gone on TV for a press conference. Try and bring the unsub out since most like to inject themselves into the investigation. Spencer had been against it. He'd seen time and time again what happened to the agents that unsubs found out what they were. Prentiss had gotten a beating for it while Reid had to stand back.

But this was the best course of action, according to Hotch. And Spencer had no choice but to agree with him for now.

When his phone began to ring, Spencer jumped in his seat and immediately answered, having seen it was Hotch.

"H-hotch, tell me you've got something." Spencer begs, not even trying to hide his worry anymore.

"Zander Harrison Edison. He's the owner of the bookstore. The employees all agreed to him fitting the profile. He has a wife and a daughter. And has been reported to flirt with a majority of the female customers." Hotch reads off. "I got Garcia working on an address now. But we need you down here. Just for when we have one." Hotch informs, his speech a little quicker than normal. He was probably hurrying out of the book store to get to the SUV.

Spencer let out an audible sigh of relief and his hand finally loosened it's tight and tense grip. "Yes, o-of course Hotch. I got a geographical pinpoint I can send her before I head out." Spencer offered as he began to gather his things in a haste to get to Y/N as quickly as possible.

"Reid, calm down. She's going to be alright. And sure. That'll help her get the address narrowed down for us. Just hurry, we don't have much time to lose." Hotch agreed with Spencer, the sound of a car beginning to start sounding in the background.

Spencer took a shallow breath and nodded. "R-right...r-right I just gotta… j-just gotta calm d-down…" he says with uncertainty. He hangs up the phone and immediately begins to head towards Garcia's office with the geographical pinpoint he had narrowed.

Spencer's feet couldn't carry him any faster than they did as he hurried towards the technical analyst's cave. Spencer hastily knocked and pounded on the wooden door much harder than he intended to, bringing an impatient Garcia from her office.

"In case you haven't heard, we're a little busy right now with a kidnapped-" Garcia began to scold before he noticed Spencer’s hurried and worried expression. "Oh, Reid. Sorry you don't...don't usually knock that hard. I'm finding the address as we speak-" she starts.

"I-i've got the geographical location, Garcia. It-" he sighed, messing with his tie nervously. "It'll help." He says, as his eyes wandered around anxiously.

Garcia nods and gestures for Spencer to go ahead. "Alright then, lay it on me my love." She prompts, turning her chair around and swerving into her desk.

Spencer nodded hesitantly and then began to detail the geographical pinpoint. "Try around the downtown Quantico area. Specifically the more suburban areas. This guy has a basement he's keeping her in." He lists off, pulling back his fingers from his fists as if counting each detail.

Garcia smiles slightly as she types. "Perfect, just imput the owner and/or the renter of the home and-" Garcia trails for a moment. "There, (Random Quantico suburban address here). Go get your Princess, Reid." Garcia insists, handing him a sticky note with the address.

Spencer took the note with no hesitation and spun on his heels towards the exit of the building. "Will do." He replies as his paces grow wider and he finds himself run-walking down the stairs instead of the elevator.

He was going to find you. You were going to be okay.

~~~

I was unlucky enough to wake up only an hour later. Thankfully, he was gone. And I was alone. I hung from the ceiling like a pig in a slaughterhouse. It certainly felt that way too.

My ankles were thankfully not chained. The cold metal digging into my wrists was enough.

I squeezed my eyes shut again, and tried to imagine Spencer once more. Maybe fall asleep again. Seeing him again seemed like a lost cause now. Maybe he'll find someone who doesn't jump into situations without thinking like Morgan. Maybe she'll bring him more happiness than I ever did. And maybe she'll get along with everybody better than I did. Maybe he'll want to marry her too-

Before I knew it tears were cascading down my cheeks. No. No, I couldn't give up yet. We've found people who've been missing for weeks. Though of course that's a rarity. But it still happens.

I'm still alive. As long as that's true, there's hope for me yet.

I heaved as air desperately tried to enter my lungs from this position. Everytime I tried to pull up enough to breathe, the harsh and rusted metal cuffs dug farther into my skin.

I hissed as the cuffs felt sharper around my wrists. I recalled the pictures of the other two victims. They too had deep abrasions on their wrists. Guess they got this treatment too.

I gripped the chains loosely, trying to give my wrists a break from the harsh edge of the cuffs. I dreaded his return. Knowing it was just going to be more torture. He'd gotten his taste of me. Now he just wanted to see me bleed.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps above me. I swallowed nervously, bracing myself for whatever he had planned for me next. But that's when I heard the thud of a door being kicked in. My heart skipped a beat as I heard it, hoping for the love of God it was who I thought it was.

Then the footsteps got quicker and they pounded against the floor above me. I heard a hurried turning of the knob to the door of the basement, before another thud was heard and a plethora of curses followed it.

My chest got painfully tighter with the hopefulness that I was saved. That maybe… maybe he'd come for me. But the pain was worth it.

The knob was turned hastily and the door opened. I still couldn't help but lose my breath for a moment. This could all be a misunderstanding. He could be coming down here to kill me.

But then I saw the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes turn the corner and break at the sight of me hanging from the ceiling.

"She's down here! I need a medic!" Spencer called back up the stairs. He then raced to my side, trying desperately to undo the cuffs.

"Y/N… Y-Y/N s-sweetheart…" he whispered, looking at me heartbroken. I swallowed hard and gestured towards the desk in the corner of the tiny basement.

"O-over th-there. T-the keys…" I whisper hoarsely. My voice must've died on me from all the screaming. Spencer nodded and quickly spun around and grabbed the keys from the cluttered desk of weapons the man used on me.

Spencer swallowed harshly as he took in the tools that lay against the wood of the desk. Many of them still had blood on them, previously used. It ached deep in his heart. He turned his head away from them and focused on her. On the only one who mattered right now.

Spencer brought the keys back towards me and quickly unlocked the cuffs. I fall into his arms and he wraps them around me tenderly. "Y/N...t-thank God…" he whispered. His large hand raised up and cradled my head. "I-i'm sorry… s-so..so sorry…" he whispered into my ear, crying as he held me.

I, although exhausted, found a smile pulling at my lips. "F-for what? F-finding me?" I teased, trying and failing to put my feet on the ground.

Spencer slightly chuckled and pulled me up farther into his arms. "N-no… not that…" he sighed, pulling me as close as his arms and my body would allow. "Don't put your feet down. Your ankles are still fractured sweetheart." He slightly teases back. I let out a small, tired laugh.

"S-spence…" I whisper. "P-please… did-" I begin to ask hesitantly. He nods. "He's been taken care of, Y/N. He's in our custody now. I promise." He says, gently caressing my cheek.

I lean into his touch and sigh in relief. Soon after, Morgan comes down into the basement and almost scares the shit out of me.

"Thank God…" Morgan sighed in relief upon seeing me. He then turned to Spencer. "Reid, help me carry her up to the paramedics." He insisted. Spencer nodded and began to hoist one of my arms over Morgan’s shoulder to help carry me. "I got you, baby girl. You're safe now." He assured me. I nodded weakly as my eyelids began to fall from exhaustion.

They carried me up the stairs and helped to lay me onto the stretcher that was brought into the house. The paramedics then brought me out to the ambulance. Spencer was by my side the entire time.

The paramedics hoisted me into the ambulance and began to work on me and my injuries. It was by around now that I began to really fall asleep. Finally able to sleep without the fear of waking up to a beating.

One of the paramedics looked to Spencer as he watched Y/N as they began to prepare to head to the ER. "You coming?" He asked. "We don't have long for her."

Reid looked to Hotch, hoping to be given leave enough to be with Y/N in the ambulance. Hotch nodded. "Go on, Reid. We'll take care of it from here." He assures.

Spencer smiled at Hotch without another word. He turned around again and entered the ambulance, sitting beside Y/N as the engine started up and they began to drive away.

Spencer leaned farther and closer towards Y/N, feelings of both relief and sorrow washing over him. He had her back. She was safe. She wasn't dead. She was very much alive.

~~~

Hours later Spencer sat in the waiting room for an update on Y/N. He had been separated from her immediately once they arrived, having no news of her afterwards. Anxiety was all he knew as he dreaded what the doctors were going to say about her injuries. Just how much pain Zavier had caused her. What he did to her.

JJ, Prentiss, and Morgan all flowed into the waiting room, smiling as they found Spencer bent over with his face deep in his hands.

"Hey Reid. So… any updates?" Morgan asks, trying to give his friend some space. Spencer rubbed his face tiredly and shook his head.

"Nothing. Not since we got here." He says with a hard sigh. Emily frowned and caressed his shoulder.

"She'll be alright. We'll get the evidence we need and she'll only have some scars. I'm sure." Emily assures, giving Spencer a gentle look.

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose but nodded. They were probably right. "Probably…" he says softly, looking around once more in hopes that the doctor would come through the door.

Each opening of the door into the actual ER got Spencer worked up. He kept thinking it was the doctor or a nurse calling him back to see her. To see Y/N. But alas, it was not. Time and time again, each and every turn of the knob wasn't for him.

JJ sighed. "I should've taken this case more seriously when it came across my desk, Reid. Especially when the girls looked like Y/N…" she apologizes, looking down at her feet in shame.

Spencer looked up and shook his head. "There was nothing you could've done that would have kept him away from her, JJ. Or prevented him seeing her. He'd already had his eye on her and-" Spencer took a deep breath. "My point being that it isn't your fault. Alright?" He promises, looking up at JJ from where he sat.

JJ sighed and crossed her arms, holding her sides uncomfortably. "I still don't like this. He literally kept her down there and his wife did nothing. This is reminding me of Janice and Cameron Hooker all over again." She groaned, looking towards the hospital entrance as Hotch and Rossi entered.

"How is she?" Hotch asks, standing next to JJ and next to where Morgan sat.

Morgan answered for Spencer in a matter of seconds. "No news yet. They still got her back in intensive care. They'll let us know when she's stable, I guess." He shrugged.

Spencer sighed again and ran another hand through his hair. Hotch noticed this and spoke up.

"How are you handling this, Reid? I can give you a few days off with her after she's out to get settled. If that'll be alright." Hotch suggested. Spencer felt unease begin to grow in his belly. He almost spoke up on it until Hotch finished his portion of the conversation. "Afterwards I plan to arrange for her to work at her desk and help Garcia. To put both of your minds at ease." Hotch assured. "We cannot have either of you constantly worrying about the other's well-being while on the job for the next few weeks."

Spencer’s uneasiness immediately faded and was replaced with a feeling of relief once more. He let a small smile find its way onto his face and nodded to Hotch's suggestion.

"Y-yeah… I think I'd like that." He says softly.

Not a moment later the door opens and a nurse begins calling for Reid. "Is there a Dr. Spencer Reid here?" The nurse calls.

Spencer rose to his feet in an instant, biting his lip anxiously. "T-that's me." He answered.

The nurse nodded. "Alright, well we just finished her surgery. She's got a few cracked ribs and one fractured one. She also has some minor damage to her spine. But other than that, just a medium concussion. She's asking for you, by the way." The nurse announces, smiling gently.

Spencer again couldn't help the smile that teased at his lips when he heard Y/N was asking for him. He followed the nurse back into the ER and towards the recovery room. His heart slightly pounded as he wandered closer and closer to Y/N.

Then, he saw her.

Laying in a hospital bed angled slightly up to support her spine, laid Y/N. She looked up at Spencer with tired eyes, smiling at him instantly.

"Spence…" she called. Spencer was glad to answer to it. He found himself placed at her side immediately, pulling her gently close so as to not damage what the doctors had fixed.

"Y/N… sweetheart…" he called in a soft whisper, kissing the nape of her neck gently. She hummed softly and held her arms limply around his neck.

"Spencer… I-I'm sorry… f-for the a-arguing. I j-just-" she began, pulling slightly away from him, although she could not find anything else she feared more.

Spencer shook his head and pulled her into a full kiss, cupping her bandaged and bruised cheeks. His thumbs gently wiped away her incoming tears and caressed her cheek lovingly. She pressed her lips against his moreso, relief flooding her senses.

She let herself collapse into his embrace and his kiss, ignoring the pain that came with moving too far forward. Spencer laid her back against the bed to prevent any more injury before he continued to kiss her gently. He'd wanted this for a week. And now he had it.

After a long moment, Y/N reluctantly pulled away from the long-overdo kiss. She let Spencer’s touch remain on her cheek as he continued to hold her. "Sweetheart, none of that matters to me anymore. You're alive. You're breathing. That's all I need right now." He says sweetly, kissing her forehead as tenderly and as gently as he could.

Y/N let out a soft giggle and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Dr. Reid." She teased. Spencer chuckled softly in return.

"I love you too, Y/N."

#spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #kidnapping

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tyrias-library · 5 years

Text

Travel/Home -Awakened Anon

The first thing she remembers from her waking is a song.

Later, sitting by The Pale Tree and watching the branches shine in the moonlight, she learns it in its entirety. It’s a simple song despite how long it is, all curled words and soft whispers carried in the wind. She sings it for the first time and her voice spirals upwards, notes joining the stars in the sky. —- Caithe is strong and fierce and kind, and she wants to be like that someday.

She wants to learn to wear her own skin with that same level of ease, to be able to weave her way through the trees and never look down. She wants to climb up up up, and burst through the foliage to watch the clouds float by, the breeze whistling in her ears. She wants to disappear into the shadows of the canopy so completely, until even the sun can’t see her there.

“It must be nice,” she says one day. It’s a lovely cloudless morning, and she hands her elder sister a fruit she’s picked from a nearby tree. Her movement jostles the branch they’ve been sitting on just slightly. “To have gone to so many different places, I mean.”

All she’s ever known is the forest, and she wonders what it’d be like to venture further. Caithe has been everywhere she hasn’t, and she watches the firstborn reach over to pluck the fruit from her hands. The branch doesn’t shake this time.

“It is.” Caithe answers as they take a bite out of the fruit. Not a single drop of juice trickles through her fingers. She looks at her own sticky red hands with something like embarrassment, pooling in her stomach and creeping up her neck. “I met a lot of people I would have never met otherwise, Valiant.”

“Is it boring? To stay home?” She wonders, sometimes. If Caithe resents her existence, resents having to stay home and train her for a Wyld Hunt that she had taken from them. “Don’t you miss being able to travel a lot- instead of being here?”

Caithe is silent, for a time.

“Not quite.” She finally says. Her eyes glow with a quiet emotion that they can’t quite parse. They watch as she dangles the core of her fruit between her fingers and drops it, plunging it into the vast expanse below. “It’s… refreshing.”

She understands it, she does- the warm all encompassing peace she feels in the safety of the forest, her heart beating in tune to a song she can hear whispering through the trees. She knows a quiet life isn’t in the cards for her though, the certainty echoing in her bones like a call. And yet-

“I get it.” She says, closing her eyes. She doesn’t think she has to wonder anymore. —- She takes Firstborn Trahearne aside, later, with her heart in her throat and knots in her chest, nervous tension leaking through her hands as she twists them. Caithe is just Caithe to her, but he’s a distant figure- She doesn’t know him.

But she has to ask. “How long were you in Orr?” How long since you’ve come home?

(In her mind, there’s green stretching out as far as the eye can see, and she feels it- the comfort of home wrapped up in the first few notes of a familiar song. She knows every tree in the forest and every step she needs to take, knows even the nightmare courtiers as intimately as she does herself.)

(She tries to imagine dust instead of green, and the feel of death creeping under her skin. She tries to imagine silence echoing in her ears, spending nights alone with nothing but darkness to keep her company, shadows growing longer by the light of a solitary fire. She shivers.)

She can read the answer in the way the Firstborn’s eyes shut, just for a moment.

“Long enough.” He says, and she isn’t cruel enough to push. —- Her Order takes her further and further away from home, and she finds herself falling in love with the bustle of Divinity’s Arch, the smell of salt by the sea. She learns to fight and learn and lie. She makes friend. She makes enemies. She grows to love this strange world she’d been thrust in and everyone in it, grows into her hunt and wears it across her shoulders like a warm coat.

She thinks sometimes that she left part of her heart behind in a forest though, still beating in tune to a song. —- She’s walking through a vision with Trahearne, and all she can think is This is your calling? This is your eternity?

Orr is just as dark and suffocating as she imagined, and she isn’t even really here- everything is a blur of shapes and muted color, but she tastes ashes and bile in her mouth at the unfamiliar Terrain, and more so how familiar her companion is with it. His every step is laden with purpose, and he navigates the uneven ground like he was born in it. Perhaps he was, in a way. Perhaps Orr is his home as much as The Grove and Caledon are hers.

(She cannot imagine it.)

Later, after she’s left the vision and pushed aside the urge to be sick, she looks at this Firstborn, who’s tried so much. Who’s devoted his everything to bringing life back to those barren wastes, and she-

She doesn’t know him, not well, not yet, but she thinks she might want to. If only just to give him a shoulder to lean on.

“You’ll make a great Marshall.” She tells him. It’s the truth. —- She returns to Caledon one more time, before she has to leave for Orr.

It doesn’t make it any easier. —- The flower tucked behind her ear had wilted the moment she’d set foot in Orr, the little reminder of home now dust. It hurts, a tiny ember of pain flaring in her chest.

How do you stand it, she wishes she could ask, but there are more pressing matters to attend to then the phantom touches of death crawling across her skin. —- There’s nothing remotely green in Orr, but she finds a secluded outcrop between Pact Camps where she can sit and watch the clouds float by, the breeze whistling in her ears.

If she closes her eyes, if she sings, if she lets her voice spiral upwards and her notes float in the air like stars, it almost feels like home. —- She learns to weave through Orr the same way she did home, and it’s- not quite home, will never be, but it’s a part of her now. She wonders if this is how Trahearne feels.

In the future she will stand beside her best friend and watch him complete her Wyld Hunt, and she will think second home- in the future she will take her friend’s arm and bring him to her outcrop to watch Orr begin to bloom.

Right now though, she sits in a crevice and counts her breaths, waiting, waiting, waiting. Outside, the risen moan. —- Zhaitan dies, and the first thing she does is go home.

The second thing she does is kiss someone.

She’s not in love, for all that she loves, and they both know it- but she lets him anyway when he asks, because she loves him still. His smile is bittersweet but genuine when he pulls back, eyes soft.

He doesn’t ask her again. —- Mordremoth’s call is a choir of horrific voices clamoring for her attention, scraping across each other like nails on a chalkboard. It makes it hard to focus over the cacophony in her head. It’s nothing like the song she sings in her sleep.

The jungle is different from the forests she so loves as well, violence and threats dripping from every root and vine. She eyes every tree warily from where she rides the winds, glider open on her back. More than once she falls off a cliff or finds herself surrounded by pocket raptors. More than once she finds herself clinging to life by the skin of her teeth.

It doesn’t matter what everyone thinks, or Mordremoth thinks- this jungle isn’t home, and the dragon isn’t home either. She watches and waits for the moment she can save her friends and reclaim what truly matters- she whistles soft notes in the night and watches the sylvari soldiers’ faces soften in their sleep. —- She’s never had an elder brother before, not really- Caithe is decidedly sister, Trahearne dear enough to her to forgo labels entirely, and Malyck more like her younger brother rather than an elder. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have an elder brother.

Canach teases her though, and ruffles her hair, and when the call grows strongest in her head, is always there to pull her back. That’s enough for her. She just needs to figure out if it’s enough for him.

She calls him brother one day and watches his face carefully for any signs of change, safe up in a tree where he can’t see her gaze. She watches his eyes widen, surprised, just a little- mouth open, before his expression smoothens out. He doesn’t acknowledge the title, but he also doesn’t admonish her.

She calls him Canach when she climbs back down. (She’ll only call him brother a handful of times for as long as she lives- this is the first.) —- Mordremoth dies, and the first thing she does is kill.

The second thing she does is realize what a thin line it is between love and being in love, and she’s slipped from one side to another, somewhere between warmth and laughter and secret smiles shared, but it’s too late- silence rings in her ears like bells. —- She returns to the pale tree and she feels dusty, she feels dead, her heart silent and still and cold in her chest.

Caithe is there, and when her sister calls her name softly she forgets all of it- the lies, the egg, the call. She walks into Caithe’s arms and rests her head on their shoulder, and she wonders how they could be so strong and fierce and kind. —- She stands over the pieces of a broken sword and mouths the first few notes of a song.

#awakened anon #gw2 fanfiction #week two #travel / home #sylvari #caithe #trahearne #canach #mid length fic #submission

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runawayjay · 5 years

Text

Silence and a Soup Ladle

Summary: After a day of traveling with dull, one-sided conversation, Zelda finally snaps at Link-and he finally speaks.

A/N: I was really intrigued by the journal entry where Zelda mentioned Link finally told her why he doesn't speak a lot, and we were robbed of this memory! In detail! Which is why fanfic exists, so please enjoy and comment what you think! Also, I haven't written fic in like two years, so hopefully this isn't as rusty as I feel. Happy reading!

Read on Ao3 here.

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It was a wonderful day for conversation, if one was so inclined. A deer would step on and snap a twig, an orange fox would squeak in response, a boar would snort as the fox ran past it into the thick of trees—and Zelda had started to slip obscene statements into her outward thought monologues just to goad Link into some sound other than a sneeze. Halfway into their trip from the castle to the Spring of Courage, and all she’d managed to get out of him was in response to a grassy handful of Hyrule Herb held too close to his nose. Instead of praying for her powers, Zelda was considering asking the goddess for a new appointed knight. Or better yet, none at all.

“…we’ll have to locate more Guardians, of course,” Zelda continued her monologue. She’d gone from thoughtful out loud to thoughtless out loud—such was the day—and she was bothered by her dwindling interest in trying to have a conversation at all. “Perhaps the Sheikah Slate could locate them. Or perhaps if I banged my head against it enough times I could develop the Slate’s powers through osmosis and never have to wonder about the wretched thing again.”

Behind her, Link stood in his stirrups to reach for an apple hanging high over their path. All she heard was the steady rhythm of his horse’s walk. That, and the rustle and snap of leaves and branches as the apple was sprung free.

“I suppose ancient Sheikah technology could be so advanced as to facilitate knowledge through osmosis,” Zelda sighed, bothered once more by the ever growing mystery of the Slate and all the other mechanical Sheikah remains.

Yes, it was a wonderful day for conversation, if one was so inclined. Except Zelda was the only one in the present company—besides the deer and the foxes and the boar and the birds and the trees and every living thing besides Link—who was even remotely interested in conversation, and that was also bothersome.

Except what really bothered her was that she’d made Link sneeze on accident. When she’d grabbed the handful of the herb and excitedly spun to narrate its health benefits, she hadn’t known he’d be standing so damn close behind her.

Zelda glanced over her shoulder, and so great was her sudden distraction that she thought herself quite fortunate that her mare already knew the way to the Spring of Courage. Link was now leaning sideways off his saddle, holding a stirrup as he reached to pluck a mushroom growing near the path without dismounting. His form was so intriguing, Zelda hadn’t had the thought left to spare to think that it was actually quite fortunate his mare knew the way to the Spring of Courage, instead, in addition to being well acquainted with Link’s saddle acrobatics.

He righted himself without a single grunt of effort, and pocketed his mushroom prize into the same sack the apple had disappeared into. He strung the sack from his saddle and patted his horse’s neck, whispering something in her ear that made her whiny and happily shake her ears.

Zelda righted herself before he could look forward at her. Of course he had words to spare for his horse, if not for her. It was terrible enough to feel his blue gaze at her back all day long, Zelda thought. If he wouldn’t stoop from his silent self-righteousness to converse with her, then she wouldn’t bother acknowledging him with eye-contact.

Not just then, anyway. She imagined she’d have to look at him eventually—such was the day—and when she did she would not think about how the blue of his Champion’s tunic was quite flattering to him. She certainly would also not think about how she’d seen his tunic fall up as he leaned for the mushroom. Nor would she think about the ragged, painful scar that’d been exposed crossing his hip towards his abdomen.

“Perhaps even the Divine Beasts could help us locate the Guardians,” Zelda returned to her monologue with renewed cheer, enough to startle both a nearby buck and herself. “Vah Medoh could provide an aerial search, if Revali agreed to assist our efforts with mastering more of the ancient technology.”

She was not surprised to hear only silence and hoof beats from behind her. She was hurt, however, and rather than let the quiet sting into the already festering wound her anxiety had created upon leaving for yet another pointless, fruitless, and divinely ignored journey to the Spring of Courage, she decided to be angry. If some of her frustrations found their way into her thoughtless monologue, well then that was for her escort—the precious Hero of Hyrule—to choose to respond or not.

By the end of the day, all she’d gotten was the single sneeze.

***

Rather than stay at a stable inn, they’d elected to camp on a hill overlooking Lake Hylia, protected by a small copse of trees and some boulders. Link had removed the tack from their horses and set them to graze nearby within whistling distance, and from his bags he produced a cooking pot. He arranged some wood and rocks for a firepit, then set the pot to heat up.

Zelda undid her bedroll and set to taking pictures of nearby flora with the Sheikah Slate, not bothering to stop from grinding her teeth at every silent, deft movement Link made. The removing of his bow and quiver. The setting of both within arms-reach, but out of the way of the flames creeping up the sides of the pot. The sharpening of a paring knife against the blunt-less Master Sword. The sheathing of the Master Sword, done with the swiftness that comes from having done something thousands of times. Everything Link did was so full of his own assuredness—and so damn precise and perfect—it made Zelda want to move her bedroll to the next hilltop so she didn’t have to see him until morning, such was the day.

Of course, if she acted on this impulse, he’d simply stomp out the small fire and carry their tack over to the next hilltop, too, and act like nothing was the matter with it even though everything was the matter with it. Zelda turned the Shiekah Slate toward the sunset as he set to cutting up the mushrooms he’d procured from their day’s ride, cooking them in the warmed up pot with rock salt and milk he’d likely brought from the castle and—and the Hyrule Herb she’d accidentally shoved in his face to make him sneeze, but without the grass.

Zelda lowered the Slate as she stared, watching him pick apart the bundle of herb and toss it into the pot, cross-legged and completely unbothered by how that was her herb or how she was staring at him for using her herb. Zelda huffed quietly and returned her attention to the Slate. Parts of the sky were now turning honey orange and blonde, which unfortunately she recognized as a color not too dissimilar from the color of Link’s hair. She turned the Slate toward a darker part of sky and pretended that whatever he was cooking did not smell as delicious as it did. Her pretending grew easier as she thought of the Spring of Courage they’d reach tomorrow. Her stomach turned at the thought of another failure amongst a lifetime of failures—something her escort knew nothing about.

He was so oblivious to the looming threat of her inevitable failure tomorrow that she heard him humming as he stirred the pot. She paused the Sheikah Slate on an Armoranth bloom, and listened to his quiet tune, obviously meant to be heard only by himself.

How dare he.

Horses and sneezes and hummings, but not a single word spoken to her all day! When Link approached her with a ladled bowl of cream of mushroom soup, Zelda was hard pressed to not smack it out of his hand and drench his lap with its hot contents.

But that was not becoming of a princess, and she knew she could not—no matter how hot her cheeks burned as his slight against her.

Instead of dumping soup onto him, Zelda simply said, “No thank you.” If there was any degree of malice that made it into her voice, her escort gave no notice to it.

Link continued to hold the bowl out to her, and the creamy mushroom smell continued to fill her senses. She was sick and starved at the same time, if that was even possible. She felt irritated that she couldn’t decide between the two and that there was a crease growing ever deeper on Link’s forehead, right between his eyebrows. Her father had them always, and when she was alive her mother had called it a worry-line. She’d smooth it out with her thumb, and it was one of the few memories Zelda had of her father smiling.

“I said no thank you,” Zelda snapped at him. He didn’t even blink. “I feel too sick to be hungry—not that that’s any feeling you’re familiar with. The child knight and Hero of Hyrule? The chosen wielder of the Sword that Seals the Darkness? You’ve never had to question your worthiness or whether the Goddess loves you enough to bless you with your natural gifts. It’s all just given to you, isn’t it? And you’ve never had to worry about it a day in your life, have you? I imagine anxiety is completely unfamiliar to you, so no thank you. I will not be having any of this soup you made with my Hyrule Herb, by the way. I’d rather fast in tribute to the Goddess.”

Link held the bowl for a moment longer, then set it down on the edge of her bedroll before following beside it. He crossed his legs and his knee accidentally pressed against hers, sharp and warm. He stared between her and the fire and cleared his throat. It was second-best to a sneeze, anyway. More direct then quiet humming.

“Oh no,” Zelda mocked. “Please don’t break your record of silence on my account. I was just starting a conversation with the echo of my own voice against these rocks, and I’d hate for you to interrupt.”

Despite the burn in her cheeks and in her chest being as hot as she thought they could possibly be, they burned even hotter when the corner of Link’s mouth turned a slight smile. It dropped quickly from his face—about as fast as it took for Zelda’s to open in preparation for another vicious monologue—but it stayed lit in his eyes, and for that she found him so unforgivable in so many ways. She forgot what she was going to say next.

“I like cooking because its simple,” Link said, and Zelda was shocked by the tenor of his voice. She thought the Calamity had struck while she’d been trying to remember her next words, and her and Link were ghosts who’d switched places. Zelda closed her mouth and Link smiled quickly at her again. This one was less genuine than before, and it didn’t stay in his eyes at all. He lifted his bowl from his lap and spooned a bite of mushroom.

“The consequences of messing it up aren’t so terrible,” he added, swallowing down another bite. He gestured to her bowl with his elbow, and she was so shocked she couldn’t stop from picking it up and spooning a small bite. It was better than the castle chef’s cream of mushroom soup on any day of the week.

She spooned another mouthful and found the flush in her face and chest fade as her insides warmed instead. The soup was reviving and comforting, just like the sharp press of his warm knee against hers.

“Is that why you’re so quiet?” Zelda said softly, because it wasn’t really a question. She let her bowl rest gently in her lap.

Link slowed in his enthusiastic eating and looked at her. The fire and the soup had warmed his cheeks pink. He nodded, but only once.

“You need to awaken your sealing powers to fight the Calamity, to save Hyrule, to fulfill a destiny appointed by the Goddess, because you’re the only one who can do it,” Link said. His voice sounded hoarse, both from disuse and from his whisper. “I need to fight the Calamity, save Hyrule, and protect you in fulfilling your destiny because you are the only one who can do it. If I mess up, the consequences are much worse than a plate of dubious looking food.”

Link paused and looked at the fire. She watched him swallow hard on nothing. He quickly turned another false smile her way and spooned a large mouthful of soup. “Somewhere along the way,” he said, his mouth still somewhat full, “it just became easier to stay quiet and focus on getting the recipe right. No one else needs to know how hard the cook can be, as long as it tastes perfect in the end.”

Zelda thought she’d never heard him say so many words at once, and something in her softened to know that she was the one he’d said them to. Something softened to learn that perhaps the perfectly blessed Hero of Hyrule was perhaps not so perfectly blessed after all.

“Well,” she cleared her throat and lifted her bowl for another mouthful of soup. “I’d say you’re quite good at it, regardless of how difficult it may be.”

Link stared at her, blinking in surprise.

“The cook,” she clarified, because she wasn’t going to admit that of all the knights she’d had protect her, he was the best—if not the most infuriating. Any apology for her behavior throughout the day was stuck like a frog in her throat, stinging her eyes with unshed tears. “The soup is actually quite good. It’s perfect, really.”

“Oh,” Link said, and then looked at his own nearly empty bowl. “Thank you. I was planning to make some baked apples for dessert. If you’re not too sick to eat, I mean.”

Zelda paused with a spoonful of soup in her mouth. She was surprised by the genuineness in Link’s words—that he’d listened to her unfair rant as something other than insulting to himself. The warmth from the soup sunk further into her, and Zelda bit her lip for the guilt it swam with. That is, until Link grinned sideways at her and nudged her shoulder with his elbow in a kidding gesture. Then, she wanted to yell at him again—or at least smack his ear with her spoon.

“Hey!” Link shouted as she tried the latter, shifting away to avoid her spoon smacking and consequently breaking the contact between their knees. It felt cold where he’d been, and Zelda regretted trying to hit him only a little bit. She noticed he protected his soup bowl and its few remaining contents, and she stopped trying to smack him.

“You really love food, don’t you?” She asked.

He shrugged and kept eating, answering her with his customary quiet.

“Well, I always knew you were a glutton,” she added, and he had feelings enough to look slightly hurt by her comment. “I had assumed it was because you burned so many calories during your intense trainings, that you needed to eat such copious amounts to meet the demands of your high metabolism and satiate your growing body’s needs for optimum physical fitness.”

Link swallowed slowly and nodded. “Well, yeah. You try swinging that sword around all day,” he nodded to the hilt over her shoulder, “you’d be hungry, too.”

“I didn’t think it was because you enjoyed it, is what I meant,” Zelda said, somewhat ashamed as she admitted it, but not unaware of how her and Link were finally having a conversation. Softly, she confessed, “I didn’t think you enjoyed anything, really.”

“I enjoy lots of things,” he said, speaking easily and as un-insulted as a person could be, ladling himself more soup. Zelda was grateful for it—for him—for the first time she could remember. It was strange feeling. He gestured the ladle towards her bowl, asking if she wanted more, and she politely shook her head. Despite everything, nerves really did have a hold of her appetite. “I like sand seal surfing, for one thing.”

Zelda laughed, but it came out of her nose more like a snort than anything. She covered her face with a hand and peeked at Link between her fingers. He looked at her, and the worry-line furrowed his brow again.

“I’m serious,” he said, and this time she laughed like a regular person would laugh. “Shield surfing in general. It’s fun.”

Zelda controlled her laughter enough to ask, “And what other things does the Hero of Hyrule enjoy?”

Link paused and looked at the fire. He lapsed into silence as he consumed the rest of his second bowl of mushroom soup, and Zelda started poking at hers with her spoon as her laughing fit left. She worried he’d returned to his quiet for good because she’d teased him. She didn’t anticipate being wrong.

“I enjoy listening to you talk,” he said suddenly. Her eyes snapped up, and she watched him reach for the soup ladle to dish himself a third bowl. As he reached, she thought again of him leaning out of his saddle, stretching for the mushrooms he’d use to make their meal, and of the exposed scar and how he’d gotten it. Of whether it hurt him still. “I like how you think out loud,” he added, stirring the soup first. “You do what I can’t—”

Link broke off at the sound of vicious, incessant squeaks—at the flapping of wings. Bowl forgotten on the ground, his eyes turned to the now darkened sky. Zelda followed his gaze, her breath trapped in her throat at the sudden interruption. She saw nothing except stars between the tree branches. The sound kept coming, and she looked harder and harder at the dark sky when—

Link lunged and smacked two keese out of the air with the soup ladle. They screeched as they fell, smacking against the nearby boulders and dissipating into smoke. All that was left was a few forgotten, taloned wings and a heartbeat thumping in Zelda’s ears.

“Keese,” Link said with a fair amount of disgust. “They’re the most annoying monsters I think I’ve ever met. At least Chuchu’s are somewhat cute with all their round slowness.”

He reached for the dropped keese wings and stored them into the same pouch she’d watched him put apples and mushrooms in throughout the day. Zelda found her voice, but she felt like gagging.

“You don’t cook with those, do you?” She asked, terrified at the soup she’d just eaten—no matter how delicious.

Link widened his eyes in horror. “Of course not. Talk about making dubious food.”

Zelda swallowed hard, a hand pressed to her throat, and Link sat beside her again. He inspected his soup ladle for damage, muttering about how he really didn’t want to purchase another one, when she asked, “What is it that you use them for? The keese wings, I mean. I’ve read they have potentially potent properties, but the text said nothing about what those properties may be.”

Link looked at her as he ran a heavy palm across the wooden ladle, sighing when the spoon splintered away from the handle. He discarded it behind him and stared longingly at the remains of his soup.

“Monster parts are good to make elixirs with,” he said. “You never know when you might need to make one, so it’s always good to have a stock and be prepared.”

Zelda stared in anticipation at Link’s tack—particularly at the sack containing the stock in question. Her anxiety had warmed away with the soup, and now her mind was preoccupied with something new.

“Do you think…” Zelda started, but she glanced hesitantly at him without finishing. After her wretched behavior towards him today—and all the days previous, she supposed—she wasn’t sure if it would be right to ask.

Link smiled again, the kind that took his face by surprise and remained in his blue eyes even after his lips had returned to their focused expression, and answered her question for her. He gestured towards the sack as though he didn’t care at all what was in it—besides maybe the apples.

Zelda lunged for the keese wing. She hardly noticed as Link reclined against her bedroll, one hand behind his head, listening to her thoughtful monologue and many wonders for the evening.

#hey y'all i made a thing for the first time in ages cause i finished botw and don't know what to do with myself #the legend of zelda #botw #zelink #zelink fanfic #pre-calamity ganon #journal entry elaboration #we were robbed of a memory of this so i gotta write it sorry #jenn writes #jenn speaks

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willardswritindump · 5 years

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Days turned to weeks, and most of the time all Odie would get from his battle buddy was quick, harsh glances and puffs of aggravation. The only time they shared conversation was in situations when they were required to. She was intent on following through with her words.

June 3rd, 2525

1800 hours

It was cold, wet and muddy. The Drill Sergeants saw the lovely weather and decided to take the recruits out for target practice. Up on a small ridge lay about a dozen or so Cadets, letting off short bursts from their ARs and BRs that mimicked the thunder in the background.

Sarah pulled the spent magazine from her BR55, replaced it, and set her iron sights down the firing lane. She fired three consecutive bursts, and nine holes appeared in the targets torso region 100 meters out. The Academy has some skilled students and soldiers, sure, but Sarah seems to have more experience than the rest of the idiots here. She fired two more bursts. Three rounds hit the torso, two the head.

The only one remotely close to Sarah’s skill was Oliver. While she sent well placed bursts into each of her targets at 100 meters he was carefully placing every single shot out of his BR55 into the chest and head of the target at 200 meters. Each one being fast but not so fast as to allow the recoil from the last shot to throw him off. The groupings, one for the heart, one for each lung and one right between the eyes of the target weren’t any larger than an inch in diameter. Just like his oldest brother Christian taught him.

“Well well well, looks like you two fucking psychos were made for each other!”

Their platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Declan Wrtezky said as he kicked each of the cadets in the boot as they continued to fire.

“You two are some of the best shots we’ve seen in a long while, if only you two actually fucking spoke to each other you’d maybe make a decent fucking team!”

"Yes Sir, thank you Drill Sergeant, Sir!"

Sarah kept firing down range, watching her ammo counter tick down with every successful burst.

12.

Click.

An empty magazine plops into the mud, ready to be replaced by a clean, fresh one.

“Sir, AXIOS, sir!”

Odie said before continuing to plink away at the target.

“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRING ON THE FIRING LINE!” A loud voice called out over the range.

"Great. Some dumbass probably shot themselves"

Were Sarah's first initial thoughts, which quickly narrowed down to two dumbass tards. "Fuckin Hoffman, probably."

She put her gun to safe, and stood to attention

Without even thinking Oliver dropped the mag and ejected the round from the chamber and placed the weapon on safe before joining Sarah at attention.

“LOOK AT THIS SHIT!” The Sergeant in charge of line said as he walked up and down it holding up a BR with a split and still smoking barrel.

“I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT! FUCKIN AMATEUR! THIS IS WHY YOU CLEAN YOUR FUCKING WEAPONS! NOW WE HAVE A CADET DOWN AND ANOTHER PIECE OF SHIT TO GET FIXED! THESE AINT YOUR GOD DAMN WEAPONS TO BREAK, GET YOUR FUCKING SHIT TOGETHER! Y’ALL AINT SOME SHIT FOR BRAINS GROUP OF INNIES, ACT LIKE YOU ARE UNSC OR I SWEAR I WILL HAVE SUPPLY OUT OF BOOTS BECAUSE I PUT THEM ALL UP YOUR ASSES!”

Sarah swallowed, and with that her pride

"Sir, respectfully, Innies can't shoot for spit. We can, Sir."

She had to say something about them. Test what some of the Sergeants and Cadets actually thought about the still hot topic. At least she can back her words with the proof behind them. Let's just hope speaking out of line is excused for both of their excellent marksmanship.

“WHO SAID THAT!? WHO THE FUCK JUST SAID THAT!” The Sergeant said before whipping and walking back in Oliver and Sarah’s direction “Well well if it ain’t miss charity case, just cause you think y’all shoot good does not give you an excuse TO MOUTH OFF AT ATTENTION FUCK FACE!”

With that Odie’s Hans shot up. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT DANIELS!?” The Sergeant snapped as he turned to him. “Sir with all due respect, she does have a point. She’s the best shot in the company, sir.”

All this chatter and lack of gunfire infuriated the Range Sgt, who looked like he was just about ready to shit his pants. The still smoking rifle not doing him any good, either. He had overheard Daniel's praise of Oliver's shots, and simply didn't believe it; There's no way in hell the shortest Cadet in the platoon was the best shot.

"YOU, YOU SHORT LITTLE SHIT? YOU LOOK LIKE YOU COULD BARELY HOLD MY GODDAMNED SIDEARM!"

Speaking of said sidearm had given the Sergeant an idea. Storming up to the recruit, he grabs his M6G, flips it, hands it to Sarah, and points to the 500m lane. He wasn't outright screaming now, but there was definitely rage, angst, and disbelief in his rough, dry voice

"Tell ya what, short-stack. You empty this entire magazine into the head of that target over there, and I just might let you and your Battle Buddy off the hook for my broken goddamn gun. Miss a single round, and I'll make sure this entire FUCKING platoon never forgets-"

Oh damn.

Odie's face remained neutral as his gut felt like it dropped. He knew Sarah was a good shot, but this would've been a tall order for even an experienced marksman, let alone a new cadet from the outer territories. "Aye Aye Sir." was all he said in response

Sarah gave a quick nod of responsibility, and took her NCO's sidearm

"Sir."

She made her way over to the 500m line, readied her position and steadied her aim. The safety flicks off her Magnum, simultaneously with the pit pats of light rain against its metallic bull-barreled hull. See, The Sergeant knew there was no goddamned way anybody was gonna make those shots, least not without any sort of Neural Implants for aim assist on the bigass pistol lacking iron sights. He thought Sarah wouldn't have any goddamn chance with a clunky, sightless M6 Magnum

BLAM

Fire spat from the hand cannon, and with it a spinning messenger of "Fuck this guy in particular." The targets head exploded like a damn watermelon. Sarah smirked, and the animatronic figure slammed to the ground, summoning another one just near it.

BLAM

He met the same fate as his comrade.

BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM-

Half of their piers nearly shat themselves at her unbelievable accuracy. It was borderline inhuman, targets would fall in perfect succession of each other.

It sure was a good thing the Range Sergeant wanted Oliver to succeed in her endeavors, which is why he immediately ordered her go prone and fire with her belly-up, insisting in a somewhat elevated tone:

"YOU WILL NOT ALWAYS HAVE THE PRIVELEGE OF CHOOSING WHERE YOU WISH TO FIRE FROM, CADETS. YOU WILL LEARN THIS NOW AND IT JUST MIGHT SAVE YOUR PATHETIC FUCKING LIVES."

She did as ordered, getting mud and shit in her hair and face. She steadied her right arm above her head, and held her forearm with her left. She could barely make out the dot on the other side of the lane. Closing in on her kill count, Sarah begins to pace her shots.

BLAM

BLAM.

All targets neutralized. She stood to her feet, flipped the M6 around, and handed the empty gun back to her superior.

"Sir... Done."

For once something made it through Daniel’s blank exterior, that thing being a smirk.

“Sir, I believe my point is proven, Sir.” He said in a completely neutral tone, he knew this entire act of rebellion was pushing it, sarcasm despite how much he wished to use, would most likely defeat all the hard work his battle buddy had put in.

"Jesus Mary Joseph..."

The Range Sgt looked over to Wrtezky, who returned a hidden face of pure and utter shock. He slowly grabbed the gun and stared at Sarah dead in the eyes. His words were calmer now than they'd ever heard

"That was the best fucking shooting I've seen in years."

"You two, Take your weapons to the armory, and then PROPERLY CLEAN THEM. No amount of divine intervention will save your ass if you don't clean my fucking rifles. Dismissed."

"Sir."

She picked up her empty BR55, gave Odie a quick glance, and began her way to the armory.

Sgt. Kozlov turned to the other Cadets, half of which were almost shivering.

"THE REST OF YOU SHIT-HEADS GET TO DO WHAT IT SEEMS THIS PLATOON WAS MADE TO DO. YOU FUCKERS GET SHITTER-DUTY FOR A MONTH!

Daniels followed quickly behind Oliver, silently celebrating his small victory in the safety of his head. Once the two were out of earshot Daniels piped up.

“Excellent work out there Cadet Oliver, looks like we got second platoon out of shitter duty.”

Oliver tapped on the side of his rifle which was kept a crisp low ready for the entirety of the walk back to the barracks

"Can it, kiss-ass. I don't need to hear the opinions of a bastard's son, and I don't need a brown nose to give me a gold star every god damn time I do what I do. Now please, shut the hell up."

Her tone seemed somewhat disgusted and agitated, and her face had a similar look. She flipped her almost muddy bangs to the side, and sighed.

"Whatever. C'mon, armory is east wing."

“No no listen here I have taken a lot of shit from you and just let it slide! If I hadn’t of said anything you would’ve just gotten yourself screwed even more!”

Something in Odie finally snapped, after weeks of staying quiet and taking whatever abuse Sarah would throw at him, he finally snapped.

“So what if my father is a piece of shit, hate to break it to you but. I AM NOT HIM!”

“You know what, fuck you bitch.”

Daniels said surprisingly calmly as something inside him finally broke, after all the abuse he suffered from Sarah in the weeks spent together. He calmly took the buttstock of his BR and slammed it hard into the back of Sarah’s head.

“How’s that for tough!”

"Ow, Vycher kotny piss da! -"

Or at least that's what Odie heard the stumbling girl say. Sarah held her head where the butt of the gun said hello for a brief moment, steadying herself. She shakes her head thrice or so, washing it off. Sarah then griped her rifle like a baseball bat and smashed it into the side of Odie's lower leg, sending him falling to the cold, hard ground. She raises the firearm above her head, as if to pummel the stock into his nose.

“Scheisse! Du Rotzlöffel Hurensohn!” Odie yelled as he reflexively kicked Sarah square in the groin and knocked her off balance, then using his other food to trip her. Through the pain in his leg he threw himself on top of Sarah and started to throw punches at her face. He didn’t want to knock her out, or incapacitate her like most people he caught, all he wanted to hurt her as much as possible.

Sarah was able to block a fair portion of the blows to her face, before tucking both of her flexible legs in between them and slipping a hidden blade from beneath her boot, giving Odie a pretty damn fairly painful but probably non-lethal gnash on his left abdomen as she kicked him away, before immediately jumping to her feet. She wiped a trail of blood coming from her nose, and spat out pink fuzz to the side.

"Sova i zmeya. You're outmatched."

“Ich bin der Adler!”

Odie’s anger and adrenaline outweighed the knife wound and all that was on his mind was making Sarah hurt. Odie charged and tackled her back down onto the stairs before grabbing the hand with the knife and continuing to pummel her face and kneeing her in the gut and groin. “Fuck you!”

She used her left hand to give Odie one hell of a deck on the chin, then immediately kicked him off again, sending him staggering back. She reached her arms behind her head, tucked in her legs, and then sprung both out, hopping to her feet. Whilst Odie was recovering, Sarah flipped the knife to it's blade, stuck her left hand in front of her, and was ready to throw. A stab from it's 6" blade could easily be fatal. Odie could almost feel his eyes dilating in "Oh shit." As her arm went back, a mysterious figure jumped from the shadows and tackled her to the ground, sending the knife flying to the grass. The figure shouted out in a voice Odie couldn't possibly forget.

"FUCKING CRAZY BITCH-!"

It was Hoffman, and behind him his battle buddy, some ginger chick named Christina Roads. Hoffman held his elbow at Sarah's neck, and had his right fist aimed and ready to pound in her face. He looked over to Daniels, who's entire left side was covered in blood. It looked worse than it was, for sure.

"Jesus Chris- You okay dude?! Goddamnit, Christie! Get him to the Infirmary, NOW!"

Hoffman gave Oliver one hell of a nasty look, and tightened his fist.

"Give me a reason to get more involved, I swe-"

"Hoff, she needs medical attention too. Hitting her will get us both knee deep in shit just as much as them. You don't know what happened"

The ginger's voice was almost raspy, kind of dry. Sarah smirked

"I know what happened! This crazy bitch stabbed Odie! Uuuuugh, fine! Get up! Pull another trick and I'll break your kneecaps."

Hoffman released Sarah, as she stood and wiped blood from her nose.

"Thanks, hot stuff."

"Shut up."

"C'mon, Infirmary's this way..."

As he was escorted to the infirmary Daniel’s consciousnesses faded in and out as he quietly babbled nonsense in German interspersed with the occasional

“I fuckin had her.”

As soon as he made it inside, he finally blacked out

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princessvicky01 · 6 years

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Silk Cushions

Part 7 of Happily Ever After - my self indulgent Annabel x Cullen epilogue, because they deserved one!

This part is SFW with lots of pregnancy fluff with Dad!Cullen to be just being adorable really. You can read it all on AO3 here or on tumblr Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 - hope you enjoy!

Cullen chuckles as his wife huffs and throws a blouse at him which he catches clumsily. That’s the third that no longer fits over the ever-growing bump of her belly and swell of her breasts. He’s not sure she’s ever looked more beautiful than she does right now, with the pink morning rays lighting her silhouette in dusty hues and highlighting every radiant curve. It's enough to make his groin stir to life. To think, he's gazing at his wife, carrying his baby - it's a gift that feels beyond divine. If someone had told him three years ago, that he would be here, right now, he would never have believed them.

His adoring gaze is broken by her heavy flop onto the edge of the bed, the contents of her trunk spread around her in a picture of chaos he's come to see for its natural beauty. Trying to make Annabel tidier had proven to be like trying to coax water uphill, so he'd quickly given up and come to accept the mess as a part of her. Proof she was close by, and now he finds it strangely comforting, even if he does have to clear a space before he can join her on the bed.

Resting her hand over her eyes, she shields out the light as she collapses onto her back, only to grumble, fishing under herself to pull a belt free. Despite the early hour and evident stress, she cracks him a little smirk with a raised brow. “Well, won't be needing that anytime soon.”

The little jest doesn't convince him that she's alright though, and sprawling on his side, he gently places a hand on her stomach. They should arrive at Mai’s in a few days, and even he must admit he feels a ball of nervous energy in the pit of his stomach about it. It's been so long... He pushes his own concerns to one side to focus on her instead, while he knows Annabel will fit in splendidly, she's already confessed several worries about the meeting. The latest of which was what she'll wear. Apparently, she didn't want to be too posh, and neither too common, although it now seems she would settle for anything that just fitted remotely comfortably.

“Stop fretting, my love.”

Annabel's eyebrows shot up incredulously. “I'm not fretting! You'd be annoyed too if you tried on your entire wardrobe and not a single thing fitted! I even struggled to put my socks on!” She raises her legs to wiggle her slightly wonky socks at him until he's smiling warmly once more. “Should’ve known I’d end up carrying some kind giant Rutherford baby. I mean look at me! It's ridiculous.”

With his calloused palm stroking over the soft rise of her belly he chuckles. She always managed to draw that sound out of him somehow, and he doesn't believe he's ever smiled so much outside her company. “I think you're beautiful just as you are,” leaning over he places a tender kiss against her belly, before dropping his head to rest his forehead against her. Against them. His little family.

“Yes, well you would, but I can hardly show up to meet your family in just my underwear. I don't want their lasting memory to be how I gave your grandma a heart attack.” There is a playfulness to her light scolding and his chuckle that follows. Contently resting against her, he soon feels delicate fingers toying with his hair as he continues to rub absent-mindedly at her stomach. When she twinges and grabs his hand, he all but shots upright with a jolt of panic.

"Now whose fretting?" She asks, taking his hand with one eyebrow cocked. "Here, can you feel?"

Cullen stares at her small hand pressed over his, still uncertain everything is alright. That is until he feels it, a small bump, a press, a jerk, even against his palm. His baby! Kicking! Wonderment renders him speechless, eyes glancing up at her's to see them full of warmth while his own are blown wide by the rush of excitement. It doesn't last long, and soon the babe settles down, but at that moment he could swear he already loved this child more than he knew was humanly possible. And that, in no small part, was down the woman who carried it. The fact that the babe would be the two of them, forever intertwined is entrancing and he knows represents a real chance for him to bring some good into the world. Perhaps he could not help all those he'd failed, could not go back and right wrongs, but he could raise this child to be a better person than him, and full of Annabel’s warmth it could light up the world. Or he could fail… but that is a thought reserved for only the bleakness of nights.

Cullen can't be sure how long he stays curled beside her, but its long enough that by the time he lifts his head she's deep asleep and the pink light has turned to bright sunshine. Kissing her belly once more he eases himself up. She won't thank him for waking her, and she did desperately need the rest, so instead, he slips from the room to make himself useful.

Waking confused and with an ache in her back, Annabel blinks her bleary eyes to try and clear them. The sun is well up now, and she groans as it blinds her. Stupid sun. A groggy corner of her mind tells her it means they're late setting off, again.

Perhaps Bryan had been right with his concern, this journey does feel like it's slowly killing her, never has exhaustion been at the forefront of her mind so often. After almost dangerously falling asleep in the saddle Cullen had insisted they stop for a few nights at an inn. Stubbornness told him that she was fine, although her eyes had said otherwise. Thankfully her husband knew her well. Sleeping in a real bed the past few nights had felt heaven sent, but they must continue unless she really did want to have her baby in the middle of nowhere.

Sitting up slowly with a groan she notes how the mess is gone, looking to her trunk she finds a small stack of garments neatly folded there. What's he been up to now? Holding her great swell of a belly, she pads over to investigate, finding a small note in Cullen's scratchy script.

‘Kindly donated by the innkeeper for saving the world. Love Cullen’

As always it's short, and she smiles faintly at the way he curls the ‘c’ of his name. She could be presented with a thousand versions of that name, but she’d know in an instant which had been done by his hand. It's much steadier than it used to be, but still unmistakable.

Placing the note to one side, she picks up the simple floral dress with thin stretchy leggings that no doubt would be far more comfortable than anything she currently owns. A kind gesture indeed. Then again, there had to be some perks to being Inquisitor and saving everyone.

She rubs the fabric between her fingers as worries begin to bubble up to the surface once more. Cullen had been right, she had been fretting, but with good reason. In all their discussion of his family, it had become clear they were large and close-knit, warm and welcoming, nothing at all like her own. With a sigh she sits back down to chew on her lip, she doesn’t usually worry about fitting in, as she never really had fitted anywhere, and she guesses that’s the reason she’s so concerned. She does somehow fit with Cullen… but if she doesn’t with his family? What then? What if she’s too brash, too loud, too exuberant? Or maybe just too noble?

For a long time, Bryan had been her own family, now to think she is about to be welcomed into the bosom of a much larger clan is a little intimidating. It’ll be nice though, she decides with a little-determined nod, being alone has never suited her, it leads to thinking like this, which is clearly to be avoided. Besides she'd been born a Trevelyan, and taught to be fearless in all things, so that is what she shall be.

Dressing is even more difficult thanks to the bump, but with much huffing and wriggling, she manages. Running her hand over the fabric, she smoothes it down, instinctively rubbing at her belly tenderly as she checks in the mirror. And for all her complaints, all her weariness and achiness, she wouldn't change a thing.

Slipping on her shoes is easier said than done but after some fiddling Annabel manages. Searching for her husband, she wanders the corridors then through the bar to be greeted by a fresh breeze let loose by wide-open doors. Several people appear to be hovering just outside, and she catches the deep baritone of Cullen’s voice although she can’t make out what he’s saying.

The sunlight is near blinding, but the weather is pleasantly mild, much to her relief, as she steps outside where the packed dirt path leads her eye to the grandest sight. A brilliant wooden carriage, adorned with sturdy but elaborately patterned iron decoration. As Scout Jim steps back, she catches sight of the freshly painted Inquisition symbol blazing proudly on the door. Her hand absentmindedly lifts to her mouth as she approaches, entranced by the way the structure dominated the road yet still looked so pretty.

She hears his boots crunch on the pebbles before she sees him, although her eyes can’t be dragged away from the carriage. “Cullen… how did you? It’s…” The truth is, it’s overwhelming. Maybe it's her hormones, or maybe its the lifting of the niggling worry about what the strain of the journey might be doing to the baby, either way, her eyes fill up. One of his hands steadies the swelling emotion before it can consume her and gives her arm a little squeeze to draw her focus to him.

“It’s what every growing family needs,” his smile is warm enough to light up the golden amber flecks in his eyes and the softness she finds there spills a tear down her cheek. “Although I was hoping for a slightly better reaction…”

Smile beaming she pulls him in as close possible so can nuzzle against his chest and wipe all the tears away on his mantle as she’s done a hundred times before. “Thank you, Cullen… I… I…”

“Shhh, I know,” his lips murmur the gentle words into her hair before she pulls back to reveal a glowing smile.

Like a child herself, she’s quick to hop inside, finding it cosy with plenty of cushions and blankets. With a giggle, she taps the space beside her, and his bulky frame soon climbs aboard.

“Not sure what the villagers will make of this turning up on their doorstep,” settling beside her, Cullen's forced to pick up a lilac cushion to make space. His family had moved back to Honnleath after the blight, and he’s certain the tiny settlement won’t have been graced with anything quite so grand before. “I should’ve known Josephine would only supply the best.”

Snatching the silk cushion, Annabel promptly rests it behind his head. “Of course! The Inquisitor and her Commander should arrive in style, don’t you think?”

Smirking he leans his head back against it. “Hmm… yes… although...it does feel awfully… Oreselian.” With that the pillow is whipped away so fast he bumps his head against wood. “Hey!”

“It’s an Ostwick design! My father had one when we were little… not sure what happened to it… But Josie has done her homework once again, bless that wonderful woman!”

“Hmm,” rubbing his head with a petulant frown Cullen sits up. “We'd best set off,” as he goes to move Annabel quickly grabs him by the collar.

“I don’t think so, I said the Inquisitor and her Commander were to arrive in style,” she gently places the fancy pillow in his lap with a little smile. “And before you argue, just know I’ll be ever so bored and lonely in here all by myself…” fluttering her eyelashes her fingernails toy with the frilly edge of the cushion perched precariously over his groin. Shifting she leans further into him, her thumb tracing down the edge of his jaw. “And I promise I’ll keep you entertained, Commander,” her voice drops with a deliberately inticing purr as she kisses him, hot but soft.

He hums into her lips, and she can feel a vibration run through him as their tongues slide sweetly over each other.

Suddenly sunlight floods their sultry moment. “Commander, sh-" Jim cuts off mid-sentence at the fierce glower both lovers cast him. “Sorry, Ser! I… You said too…” he shakes his head. “Never mind, Ser.” The door promptly closes once more.

Seems privacy is in as short a supply as ever. Likely only to be made worse by sharing a small cottage with Cullen’s extended family. Not that Annabel minded, in fact, she’s been looking forward to it from the moment the plans had been made. A chance to see where he's from and to meet the people who’d help shape him into the man she loved. Whether she fitted in well didn't really matter, what mattered was it was his family and a chance to him truly feel at home. With that in mind, she pulls back. He's right they really should get moving.

“Perhaps we can continue this later?” She offers a little naughty smirk his way as he sets about trying to leave once more.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” there is a richness to his baritone that betrays his arousal, but with a great deal of self-restraint, he merely pecks a kiss against her cheek. “In the meantime, however, I can think of a fellow who would love to keep you company.”

Annabel creases her brows as it takes a second for her mind to return from the gutter. When it does, she smiles and nods, and as Cullen climbs out, there's a sharp whistle. The carriage rocks and creaks in place as the great mabari bounds aboard. Tongue hanging out and stump wagging wildly, Prince leaps onto the cushions to sit upright, proud as punch beside her.

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Thank you for reading - hope you enjoyed it! Likes, reblogs and comments all help feed hungry writers <3

#happily ever after #cullen x annabel #my writing #cullen rutherford #silk cushions #cullen fanfic #sfw #fluff #she's about five to six months pregnant #annabel trevelyan #commander cullen #dad!cullen

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monochromaticinsignias · 6 years

Text

Kim Taehyung | Promises

Mild Violence !

Blood !

Medieval au / Old age

Prince!Taehyung

Words : 4.2k

Summary : They are inseparable, everyone knew that despite of how opposite it was. The prince swore to make the world a better place, even after he had been rushed out of the palace when he was a child. Having grown up with a girl who dedicated her life to protect and accompany him to the path of acquiring the throne, he found himself desperately pleading for the fulfillment of their promise.

Promises

Taehyung roamed the halls of the palace, his servants following him shortly behind. His eyes roamed about the place, the same empty feeling still settling itself inside his chest.

He had been imagining the same scene when he was no one but a poor child. To be able to live in the palace again, and here he is now, under the roof of his own kingdom—but with a false identity. Taehyung went under the name of his deceased brother after the latter found out that he is still alive and is hidden in the neighbouring kingdom’s village.

His wretched step mother was behind every cruel things, now a powerful empress, he had to be cautious or else his real identity will be revealed to everyone—and will surely be sentenced to death for taking the identity of the empress’ son. Even if he’s the rightful heir to the throne, no one will believe if the empress still sits at the throne.

Taehyung entered his quarters, dismissing his servants off in order to be alone for the rest of the day.

He swore to reclaim the throne and fulfill that promise he made, and avenge his dead family who was cruelly murdered secretly by the subordinates of his step mother who lusted for power over the country of Korea.

When his step brother found him in a village, he was more than happy to find out that he’s alive. And had even made arrangements for him to be properly sent to the palace, before he was brutally murdered by his own mother just to silence him down and avoid the rightful heir -Taehyung- to be known throughout the country.

Unknowingly, a tear slid down Taehyung’s eye as his shaking hand wrapped around a dagger with a [c] and green tassel attached at the hilt.

It would’ve been easy to plan everything and take over the throne if she’s here—the only friend he ever had. The only person who stuck by his side and helped him through, the only one who remained true to him to the end.

[Y/n].

An abandoned child of eight years dropped to the ground, his small frail body failing him due to overexertion. As he laid on the hellish earth surrounded by tall grass beneath the unforgiving sun, he wept to himself. His eyes already red from crying too much the nights before.

He had been running for days and nights, and he had just made out of the woods. His supposed guards already seeing their demise just by helping the young heir escape the wrath of his step mother.

He hiccups to himself, hands weakly clenching the grass near his fingers. Why did it have to end this way? He hasn’t even traveled the world yet..

A stray tear left his eye as he closed them, feeling his entire body shut down that exact moment. So much for being a filial child of the emperor—

“Ne, why’re you crying? The ground isn’t comfortable at all, isn’t it?” a chirpy laugh erupts from his side, and in spite of exhaustion, he managed to open his eyes. Just to see a young girl around his age crouched to his right, doe like eyes blinking in confusion and innocence.

Inwardly, even for a youngster like him, Taehyung knew she had yet to witness reality like he did. He had seen death reap innocent lives, and he had went through it himself.

When he didn’t reply -not like he doesn’t want to- because of his dry throat, the lass seemed to caught on.

“Papa!” she calls out, and in less than a second, a man in his thirty’s appeared. Looking concerned as ever as he approached his tiny body, hand immediately flying to grab his container secured at his belt. “Open up.” he states gently, and all the little Tae can do is obey. The father carefully guides him in drinking the cold water, and it felt as if a whole lot of energy just flowed into his system and things appear clearer than they were before.

“Good thing you made it, kid.” the man chuckles as he helps him sit up, and a single look on his face, he knew who he was.

“You’re His Highness, aren’t you? Prince Taehyung?”

The boy gasps sharply, bowing down instantly as soon as he hears his name fly out of the unknown man’s lips.

“Please spare my life! My family has been robbed of theirs, I could—”

The father laughs, hand resting on his shoulder as he thoroughly began to explain that he’s the secret bodyguard of the Royal Kim family and is there in order to keep him safe. Taehyung listened to every single word, and was all the more grateful to them. He became aware of the daughter, a girl with cropped [c] hair and bright [c] eyes. He never did really expect to grow close to her.

A sad smile crept to his lips as he recalled the very first meeting he’s had with the parent and child. They appeared like warriors the second he’s laid eyes on them, even [Y/n], who dressed like a lady that time.

He always had grown fond of her personality. Mischievous, blunt, and free spirited. Just like the child she was before. Always so care free, without a care in the world, she had once foolishly vowed to herself that she’ll make the world a better place to live in. And he had agreed to it, it always has been their first promise. He had regarded her as his best friend almost immediately, too.

They did everything together, and her father took great care of the two of them somewhere in a remote village relatively far away from his kingdom.

They live somewhere near the hills, where they raise and tend for livestock and lived their days like a small happy family. Picking fresh fruits when it’s in season, rolling about the grass and the flowers at spring, and cuddling together at the dead of winter. Taehyung felt like home. They were his home.

They grew up together in the same house, they shared the same bed without a care—hell they’ve even bathed together. They trust one another that much.

They were adolescents when Taehyung noticed a drastic change in his best friend, one day, she stopped all means of lady like manners and switched around. He was ‘sleeping’ one night when he overheard her father speaking to her strictly about Taehyung’s status as a prince, as someone who’s blood is divine and is meant to rule. He remained awake as he listened to how the father spoke of how he’s the only one left to keep him safe, and won’t be able to continue anymore for time is still passing. He’d grow old, and someone needs to aid the prince in reclaiming his rightful spot in the throne.

He kept close watch as [Y/n] began to take sessions with her father, sparring, fencing, and martial arts. All of which are supposed to aid her in protecting the hidden prince.

He watched in the sides as he was forced to sit and do nothing but be pampered. He observed as [Y/n]’s personality began to take a turn. Her carefree demeanor changed to those of a reserved one, she grew more alert, more aware of danger. And more aware of reality.

Taehyung was heavily against it back then, claiming that she needn’t do this for him, for his sake—but she stubbornly said that it was for their future. For their promise. That if he plans to take the throne and make the world a better place, she has to be someone of worth to him. Learning to fight and as his loyal bodyguard is enough, she had told him.

An emotional Taehyung had responded that he only wanted her by his side, and that alone is enough of her worth. She doesn’t need to resort to violence for him. But she didn’t listen, and there’s nothing he can do.

They still sleep at the same bed, but he knew their distance is growing apart. Their relationship, their friendship is diminishing. She became more dedicated to serving him until her last breath that she had forgotten how to view him like the best friend he was to her before.

It hurt, and it hurt bad.

It didn’t help when they grew even more into young adults, eighteen. Her father had fallen gravely ill, and she had blocked everyone out, including him.

It wasn’t long before her father passed on his duty to his daughter, and the latter locked herself in her father’s room for a week without eating. Taehyung was forced to lean on the door and shed tears as he begged for her to come out.

The time it happened, he won’t ever forget it. It’s the time everything went down to the right places, where everything began to bloom again.

Another day meant another food that’d go to waste, but he was having none of it. He’d continue to knock on her door, each day hoping that she’d come out of it.

Standing in front of it, he raises his fist, ready to knock—before someone beats him to it.

The door opened to his bidding, and came forth a deathly looking [Y/n]. In the spur of the moment, she stumbled forwards, whispering his name before collapsing. Shocked, Taehyung struggles to encase her in his hold as his balance went off, causing them to fall to the floorboards.

Wincing, he sits up straight, momentarily ignoring the pain his back for his best friend is of utmost importance as of the moment.

“Are you fine?” Taehyung mumbles, edging her closer to his warmth. [Y/n] only inched towards him more, hot tears already staining his shirt as she sobbed.

“I need you, Tae.” she whimpers to his chest, and something stirred within him. A light feeling of want and satisfaction as he felt her arms wrap around his larger frame. A feeling that he wanted to keep.

He gently caress her [c] locks in a way to pacify her down as he whispered comforting words of assurance into her ear.

“I don’t have anyone else—” she hiccups, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly as her tears lessened down. “—Promise not to leave me as well?” he didn’t even hesitate to nod back at her, tightening his grip as he whispered ‘yes’ again and again. “I promise, as long as you’ll stay by my side too?” a smile cracks across her face.

“Promise.”

He’s beyond words of anger, he’s livid. He’s depressed, he’s lonely.

Pursing his lips straight into a line, he stuffed the tassel angrily in the pockets of his garments in hopes of ridding his mind of the memory. But he can’t. It will remain freshly painful to the heart and back, serving as a simple reminder of the past tragedies that are bound to happen to those who surround and care for him.

He crossed his arms, eyes averting the items reminding him of her.

His heart ached and twisted with each and every trait he remembered, every smile, and every tear that came from her. He refused to show it to her, but he had taken immense liking that he decided to bottle up. He’s too late to even confess properly. Time never really was a friend of his, nor is fate. He’s bad luck to everyone, and he believed it right after he had foolishly lost her too.

Taehyung shook his head angrily as soon as he recalled how he lost her in his life.

Stupid, stupid fate.

In the dead of night, it happened. An ambush from the palace right after he had seen his brother got shot by an arrow, mistaken for Taehyung. His departure from the palace went by secretly since the empress wouldn’t like the remaining son to go out of it, but he did, and found his little brother residing in a far away house with a girl.

Amidst their happy reunion, when he is to return back to the palace, he was shot down. Much to Taehyung’s despair. He had just seen his blood relative, and he had died right after a few hours.

Both him and [Y/n] buried the body at the back of the house, and retreated for the night. Turns out that a spy was able to see it all unravel, and had reported to the empress in a flick.

Taehyung was sleeping, his arm secured around those of the girl’s before he heard screaming outside the house.

The female had already sprang up from her sleep, devoid of any source of drowsiness as she became alert of her surroundings.

“What is it?” she questions as Tae makes his way towards the window, only gasping as he quickly hid himself. Eyes wide and shaking with fear as his mind slowly processed over the sudden events occurring right outside their abode.

A mob. And it isn’t just a mob, it’s a whole mob of castle guards. Armed with various weapons of choice and armed to their fullest, much to their horror.

They had been found out.

You were quick to react, reaching for the bottom of the wardrobe to pull out a box in case of future emergencies similar to this one. A predicament you had figured out will come true in the near future.

A future wherein you and him will separate for good.

You take out the contents of the box; extra cloth, medicinal herbs, a cloak, and a dagger. You immediately handed them over to Taehyung after placing them in a bag, he can only stare at you in fear. He knew what you were up to the moment you took your sword that was against the wall near the door.

“No.” he states, but he was hurriedly dragged by the hand down to the first floor of the house.

“Open the door!” came a shout from the outside, freezing the both of you to a halt. “By the name of the empress, the runaway shall be taken to the palace under custody! If not, we’ll destroy this place completely!” Taehyung looked at you hopefully, but you were having none of it. “That’s a lie, she wanted you dead.” you push him through several hallways and into a secluded room he identified as storage.

He’s still left speechless as you scurried to the floor, quickly flinging the carpet away to reveal a trapdoor.

“If you continue down and run forward, you’ll emerge to the outskirts of the town in the kingdom. Wear the cloak I had given you, for it’s similar to your brother’s. Take his identity, no one would notice it’s you.” you carefully told him your plan, ignoring the sudden shattering of the windows somewhere in the house.

You see him tense up, so you held his hands, aware of the tears stinging in his eyes. “No..” he croaks out, lips trembling as his grip on your hand shook greatly in fear of forgetting your body warmth. “No, don’t do this.” he demands, but you had slipped your hand away from his -not like you want to- as you began to open the trapdoor in a hurry for you heard thundering footsteps around the house.

“You promised you’d stay by me!” his voice cracks, “We were supposed to stay and help one another! Why are you doing this!?” sobs came out of his lips. He felt her stop, but she continued a second later.

“[Y/n]!” he exclaims out as he was forced to descend the ladder, he’s struggling of course, but he can’t do anything. His entire body is shaking to fear, and his vision is entirely blurred due to his tears. The sound of the trapdoor locking brought him back to his senses as he looked up, seeing your tearing visage through the holes of the door. Biting his lips, he began punching upwards in hopes of breaking it apart. But to no avail.

“No, no, no.” he begins to cry, shaking his head as you dug your fingers through the holes, his own fingertips brushing against yours. Your tears fell to his cheeks as your heart pounded in your chest. “Please don’t.” he whimpers, his eyes shut as he helplessly sobbed behind the item separating him from hugging you.

“You are a prince, and I will forever be your guardian—it’s an honor and my duty to protect you ‘till my last breath.”

He wheezes.

He can’t lose you, he can’t!

“You need to l-live,” you whisper, but he only cried out in desperation, “Not with you! I can’t—I ca—” you cut him off.

“I’m sorry, Tae. Goodbye.” with that, you covered the trapdoor with the carpet, ignoring his continuous muffled pleas from beneath. “[Y-Y/N]!!” He screams in denial, to which you ignore. Inhaling, you grip the sword tightly in your hold before rushing out of the room. Facing the imperial guards with a cold look.

Taehyung fell to the floor in defeat, his ears perking up.

“Where is he?” he hears a man ask, and he hears you laugh, thus making his heart crumble to the fact that he won’t be able to hear it ever again.

“You’ll have to kill me first.”

The sound of swords clashing against one another overlapped the tension, and he couldn’t do anything but cover his ears. Trying to blocked them all away.

You’re a skilled fighter, very, but the disadvantage is there when you are against at least fifty armed men on your own.

He knew what will happen.

His tears worsened as he covered his mouth with his hand, stifling in his uncontrollable sobs that wrecked him entirely. He can hear your grunts of pain and he can feel your determination surging, but he knew it’s for naught.

Unable to take it anymore, Taehyung cries to himself as he wrapped the cloak around his body before running away.

Leaving his trampled heart on the ground.

He didn't even know he was crying after the memory diminished into a simple fear he wouldn't dare try to cross again.

That night, he had lost everything. His hopes on the world, his family, and his heart.

He remembered emerging into the castle walls, his tears dried but still whimpering as he acted about his past predicament. Of how he was held 'hostage' by his 'little brother' and is just lucky he managed to escape as the Imperial guards came across the house.

No one knew of his identity -but one man- as soon as he lived the life of his deceased brother.

Taehyung lurched forward, hands shamefully covering his tear stricken visage as he sobbed his heart out.

It's unfair.

He should've prevented you from training so he could whisk you away into the safety of his arms, he should've done something instead of running away and leaving you to your demise.

It was something he deeply regretted, but he can no longer take it back.

He wished to see you again, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to. He left you alone, where he promised to stay by your side, when he promised that he’ll always be there when you needed him. But he was cowardly, and ran.

He would’ve faced death as well if it meant seeing you, but he had already gone this far. You had sacrificed your life for the sake of his and his rights.

You are his guardian—his muse, his first love.

And he wished he should’ve said it beforehand.

Hiccuping, he wipes his tears away as knocks came upon the door of his quarters.

“Your Highness?”

It was Jimin, an adviser of his.

“You are summoned in the Great Hall by the Empress..”

He reluctantly trails off, but was surprised when Taehyung answered the door. Streaks of red down across his cheeks, indicating his crying fit inside his room.

Jimin frowns at him, he knows who he is, and his disguise. For he lived in the same village but separated when his family moved to the castle towns. He was the only one the prince can truly rely on in the palace.

Sensing his depression, Jimin continues,

“I could vouch that you’re sick—”

“No need..” Taehyung mumbles, passing him by slowly as he made his way towards the hall. Jimin, a hesitant mochi, following behind.

He wasn’t at all shocked when he found the Empress sitting impatiently on the throne, hands gripping the arm rests tightly as she hissed to the chief of the Imperial Guards who knelt in front of her.

“Mother.” he mutters, disgusted by how he sounded. Such a vile woman she is, murdering his family and torturing the innocents. One day, he’d take her down for sure.

The Empress nods at him as he sat down to a smaller throne to the left.

“Prince Yujung,” the woman states his brother’s name confidently. A smug look in her eyes, unaware of his stiffening form. “Someone has been asking to be your bodyguard recently..” she drawls out, and the chief nods his head.

“We had assessed the skills, and by far, sheer excellence has been demonstrated. Superior than the Imperials, your Highness.” he salutes. Taehyung fights the frown that tries to cover his lips, bodyguard? He wouldn’t dare have someone replace you. Dead or alive.

Before he can utter a reply, the Empress beats him to it.

“Show us.” she demands.

Defeated, Taehyung leans back on his own throne, silent. He watched as a person came walking in from the doors, clad in a black cloak, the person knelt down.

“Take it off.” the Empress commands strictly, and the unknown person does what was told. The latter pulled off their hood, and came along, [c] locks that are recognizable to Taehyung himself.

He found his heart racing, and his jaw dropping as he made eye contact.

The same person, the same girl, the same love. He can’t help but bite his lower lip in nervousness of the situation.

“A girl? You must be kidding me, are you not? Take her back!”

[Y/n] bows her head, still knelt on the ground as the chief tries to reason that she’ll be the perfect guard for the prince.

The Empress seems to have other plans, for her blood boiled, and her rage doubled.

“I said—”

“I allow her to be my guard.” Taehyung stands up, eyes still staring into yours as he fought the urge to cry and envelop you in a hug right then and there. He could feel the tears brimming in his eyes once more.

It’s you, it’s really you.

The Empress gawks at him in shock, “Yujung!” she hisses, not like he cares. Instead, he stares back at her in a pointed manner, almost as if threatening her to abide to his statement.

“What’s wrong? I don’t think there’s a problem with it, girl or not.” he sees your lips twitch upwards, unknown to both the chief and his mother, who huffs in irritation.

“Fine then, but one mistake and her head is off.”

You bowed down and thanked her properly, much to your distaste. How could you live knowing you were on your knees and thanking the murderer of your father?

“Understood. Thank you, your Highness.”

Taehyung wasted no time to step down from the platform, sending a nod towards his mother before stating that he’s to accompany her to her designated quarters in the palace. Jimin, who’s by his side all the time, supporting this idea. The Empress waves him off, clearly in a state of disgust by the mere thought of having a woman in high ranks in the palace rather than being a maid.

Once out of sight by any Imperial Guards and any viceroys serving Her Majesty, Taehyung led you to your room; which is quite near to his. Not like he minds.

Jimin nods at the two of them before closing the door, assuring that he’ll be keeping a watchful eye outside.

As quick as light, Taehyung’s hands are around yours, grasping them so tightly as his concealed tears finally broke captivity from his tearful eyes.

“It’s you..”

He smiles, his tears already doubling.

“It’s really you..”

Taehyung raises his hand and caresses the side of your face tenderly, acting as if you’re thin air. Afraid that you’ll disappear if he touches you any longer. He cups your face in his large hands, now sobbing with a smile larger than before.

You nod at him, the joy blossoming in your chest.

“I’ve come back, Tae.” he wasted no time to pull you towards his larger body, enveloping you in a tight hug and never planning on letting go as he placed his chin on your shoulder. His hand still stroking your hair as he sobbed in bliss.

“H-how—” you shush him silently, hugging him in return. “Don’t say a word, I’m here.” he pulls away a second later just to check if you’re real and certainly not a dream, and he knew it wasn’t the latter when you planted a chaste kiss on the side of his lips. Unable to speak a word due to surprise, he can only pull you back into a hug. Heavily embarrassed, but still very glad at the fact that you’re alive and by his side. His entire body trembling, and you’re doing your utmost best to comfort him.

Taehyung knew he’s right when he loved you, he still does. Maybe you were aware, maybe you weren’t, but that kiss is enough to make him scream inside.

“I have a promise to keep, don’t I?”

And a reason to love you more.

Masterlist

#bts #bts v #bts taehyung #kim taehyung #x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #kpop angst #comfort #romance #fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #non idol au #medieval au

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sleepymarmot · 6 years

Text

COUNTER/Weight liveblog, part 2

Episodes 23-40

Keith hasn't listened to the previous episode and Austin & Ali are cackling like “You got a big storm coming” lmao

…Look I understand the idea of making Tea an ally after the players and audience got to know her in the Kingdom game but the excuse is really thin

“A gift for his little brother” You guys are really bad at this gender neutrality thing huh

AuDy talking to Orth makes my head spin a bit now

Oh so Addax is the leader of the Angels? The person who has been watching the Chime from the shadows = the group that has been spying on them? Okay, I now feel dumb for not putting this together myself.

Wait I lost track again. Who were Jacq & Jill working for initially that gave them access to those immortality tanks? Iirc it was Odamas who had that technology and then gave Horizon access to it while imposing strict rules on them during the merge? So why does Jacqui get less fun assignments now if she was a part of the winning faction, not the losing one?

Oh cool, so Jamil wanted to hand over the virus to the Angels because they're both just from the Rapid Evening?

“A bard notices their enemy's heart isn't in the fight, so they stop fighting, fall in love” is such a specific thing. How the hell did it happen twice on the same show. Is this the new big gay trope now

Heeeey could you stop punching me in the stomach with intros

So, Jacqui was working for Horizon, which in turn was given this job by Petrichor? Still doesn't answer my question…

Do I have to mentally rewrite the entire holiday special so that in every scene on the Kingdom Come everyone is floating in zero gravity all the time?! I'm sorry but this makes no fucking sense!

The doppelganger thing started really creepy but now it just makes my head spin! Please stop it with the names, I'm too easily confused, especially with a show that has a record of passing characters back and forth between the GM and the players!

Re: that whole thing: aaaaAAAAA???

I don't understand what Austin and Jack are doing but it's pretty magical

God, the Aria/Jacqui scene is so… tender? Idk. Austin's gentle “PC's love interest” voice has murdered me again. I'm not sold on Jacqui by herself as a character but on the feelings between the two? Definitely. (Though I still wonder about Aria’s heroism vs Jacqui’s disregard for life. That’s a biiig value clash)

Okay, this was all very unsettling and I still understand so little

I really love that Sokrates' refusal to make that one nameless person take the fall, which seemed (at least to me) kinda stubborn and shortsighted, turned into a key moment, both because it demonstrates integrity, and now because that person becomes an actual NPC as an important asset in their faction

I love how the idea of moving Rigour to September comes up and everyone starts screaming and I do too! They sure love leaving horrifying surprises for the ground team to stumble upon lol

Is it too callous and unwise of me to react to Ibex overthrowing the Hands of Grace as “good riddance”?

Maryland's letter has strong Alyosha/Arrell vibes

I love the “reluctant alliance with an antagonist” trope and was hoping it'd happen with Ibex so I'm happy! Also in one of the early episodes Austin mentioned the Anders-Justice storyline and I'm glad to hear him finally deliver. (There was stuff about the pilot/Candidate->Divine influence with Order, but not about the other way around or fusion, like with Vengeance)

Okay thankfully things are clearer now (I'm reeeally glad I wasn't spoiled on this) but I still have so many questions. How were LD made in the first place? Why and how did they hide in/turn themselves into a simple robot? What are they – just software, like Righteousness, or is there some Divine hardware core inside the normal Automated Dynamics unit that nobody has noticed somehow, or is the hardware in a remote location they access through the mesh? Did Ibex know AuDy was LD the whole time – he didn't act very surprised? Why didn't Ibex rescue his brother, did he die really quickly? How will Mako be able to fog without Righteousness? Shouldn't AuDy be gamebreakingly powerful now? How and why do LD count as two Divines but have a single consciousness, are they like Garnet?

Lazer Ted feels like a fucking TAZ character lmao

The comic relief was welcome but at the same time I'm continuously like “What is AuDy thinking and feeling. Why are they acting like nothing happened. Where's the existential crisis. How do you realize you're a pair of ancient gods and just proceed with your life? Are they so impenetrable on purpose because they're a robot”. Like, it was chilling when they were suddenly chatting with Ibex like old friends, and now it's chilling that they're acting just in the early episodes.

I'm glad the robot incident made everyone realize it might be unwise to put the two charming extraverts in the same half of the party lol

Looks like they decided to permanently switch back to “he” for Cass… Probably for the best.

Jack keeps excitedly jumping at every opportunity for creepiness™. God, AuDy makes so much more sense as his character now after the Reveal

Is September just fucking Solaris now?

I think this is the first time I'm not excited to hear a faction game episode because I really didn't expect it at this point in the story. My reaction was “Wait what? Are you telling me everyone gets stuck on September waiting out that storm for a whole month?! I wanted to hear what that cliffhanger led to!” Idk, the September arc was generally kind of a let down after the intensity of the episodes leading up to it, and this further deflates the tension.

Speaking of tension and letdowns, I just have to complain… It's really disappointing when the show sets up really big dramatic hooks and then does practically nothing with them! I complained about Addax and Cass in the previous post and that point still stands. Case two: Mako and Righteousness/Voice. It's set up in a faction episode, and in the immediately following arc Mako indeed is in danger from something inside his own head, but it's a completely unrelated thing! At the end of the arc he finally finds out, but the threat immediately gets nullified with no consequences – no self-doubt or identity crisis, no diminished abilities in terms of game mechanics. Case three: Ibex himself. Out of the reasons the Kingdom game is what it is, the excuse for it happening in-universe was to give more details on Ibex, and at least half of it featured a collective effort to make him as central to the story and as threatening as possible. But as soon as that flashback ends, so, counterintuitively, does the role of Ibex as an active antagonist to the Chime -- the role which was literally just supposed to begin in earnest. So by this point I can barely recall why we were all so intimidated by this guy in the first place. I'm more like “This is a useful ally to have”. This is what I don't like about the world-ending threats like Rigor: all other interesting conflicts fade in their face.

Dang, I thought Isurus was a cooler name than Enhydra!

Sokrates, forced to shake Ibex's hand: *clenched fist meme*

Wait, I missed something, why is Rigor deep underground and has to dig itself out?

Okay, after the lore episode I'm also confused how Rigor ended up underground on Ionias after it was blown up 20000 years ago in a completely different place

I'm very distressed by the idea of Hieron as a future popular franchise!! No, it's supposed to be real when these people are talking about it!! Oh wait a fucking second, does this mean Jace's Panther was a deliberate reference in-universe?? Like you're fighting in a real serious terrible war and you model a giant war machine after, like, a thestral from the fucking Harry Potter and just call it “Thestral”??!

No, no, wait, do tell me who Cass and AuDy would cosplay!

Oh no, Rigour wants to talk to Voice(?), great

Hey Cass, your Hadrian is showing??

Speaking of Hadrian, I was caught off guard by description of Tower as a “hot young Hadrian”, for some reason Hadrian never struck me as a character who's supposed to be exceptionally attractive. But then again, I imagined him as very young until that letter to Hella, and then I imagined Cass as a young adult until I did the math, so I might just be bad at visualising Art's characters lol.

Austin is so generous and unsubtle about throwing hot gay NPCs right at the players. Too bad Mako doesn't sound as interested as Aria did.

I expected they'd find a room with one copy of everyone plugged into the mesh, that'd be even creepier. What's with the false memories though? This doesn't explain them.

So, how does this whole clone system work? How does time work? Why don't the real students like Tower or Maxine notice that there's a new guy who looks just like their friend, but doesn't know them – or, for that matter, why don't the other clones notice? Oh, maybe that's the purpose of the fake memory aura? So that Maritime-4 could continue right from where Maritime-3 left off?

When Cass saw Apokine's face I thought it meant that the humans had genetically engineered the Apostolosians and that's what “we made them look like us” meant, which would be two of my long-standing questions answering each other. And then it was just another giant mech.. :/

Wait, does Orth calling Cass “Apokine” mean that he pilots the mech now or that Sokrates died and Cass inherited his position?! I'm worried now…

I'm even more worried about Mako, because at first I of course reacted to the question about being in two places at once as “hah, Larry”, but it's probably the other thing, and on one hand that must mean that the rescue of clones was successful, but also that means that our Mako might be dead and the one in the intro is one of the clones… Considering that in the Winter post-mortem I caught Keith saying how emotional the C/w finale was for him before I started fast-forwarding in fear of spoilers, do I need to start mentally preparing to bury Mako already or what?

Speaking of spoilers… The farther I go, the less I understand the advice to skip Autumn. I thought that at least for C/w it wouldn't matter, given it's a whole different universe, but they keep referencing it, and then casually dropping major spoilers, and then referencing it again in a story-relevant way. (The Ordennan ships arrive on the screen as Rigor does, and the next episode is named “The Storm over September” and quotes Lem's poem in the description. That's really cool but I somehow feel vaguely irritated on behalf of my potential alternate self who skipped season 1.) I really hope they've grown more careful about this by now, because I'll probably not even begin Twilight Mirage by the time the next season starts, and I would really like to stay in the dark about the intense events they're all vague-tweeting about at the moment!

Why was AuDy alarmed by Voice's presence as “a” Divine accompanying Maxine? Shouldn't they be familiar with it already because of Mako? (And I don't want to even ask about the ontological difference/border between Righteousness and Voice. I'm tired and feel like a nitpicker. But just for the record, this still isn't clear.)

Well that's a sadder family reunion than I hoped for!

So AuDy does have a split personality to some degree?

Oh well. AuDy's got a fate worse than death: Liberty and Discovery, imprisoned indefinitely. Or devoured I guess, I didn't really get it. Great. Thanks. Fucking RIP I guess. Out of all ways I expected them to go, this wasn't one.

(By the way I still don't understand how the portal works. Where is this portal to? Why can't L&D fly out and take the slow way home, and why can't Rigor?)

There's still about ten minutes left in the episode and I don't understand how it isn't the finale. What's there to do for three more episodes now.

“With Rigor defeated so easily, so permanently, she thought” *Rigor screech*

Yeah, fuck Grace btw

Sounds like cultivating saplings is not a priority anymore for a certain someone… (Wait, btw, what happened to that patch/seed they left? Will it ever come back into play?)

“...Why they would put themselves into a body like yours? And I think, maybe, it's that they were curious about what it would be like for four years to feel like a long time” AAAAAA

Okay, things are better on September than it sounded initially, but still… Wtf's going to happen? Rigor repairs itself, takes over the survivors, takes off again? But what's the timeline on that? I genuinely have no idea wtf the finale is going to be about after this.

Oh, what happened to the clones btw? Did Larry manage to get them off the planet in time, despite the Minerva ships in orbit and, more importantly, Rigor? Or are they stuck on September, unable to continue reenacting the plot of Orphan Black?

From how it's been described in this episode, feels as if Liberty and Discovery are a candidate of AuDy… They didn't want a candidate but were curious to learn how it feels for the other side?

Paisley's dead-eyed, Tower's gone, and even Ibex, who is barely holding on himself, loses his ex… Everyone's love life takes a nosedive: the episode. At least Jacqui's okay… (And because of Jacqui, it was doubly sad and surprising to hear Aria still has feelings for Paisley…)

#friends at the table #blah blah blah

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silver9mm · 7 years

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I was tagged (months ago?) by my best bat-friend @exaggeratedspecificity to name 15 songs that I love, and I was really inspired by her emotional stories behind her choices so I thought I’d put a little effort into mine, too.

But the thing is, when I start thinking back to songs that mean something to me, like super personally...well, sometimes I just don’t want to remember things. I got really sick when I was 11 and now it’s systemic and chronic, and it turned me schizophrenic starting about age 16 and that lasted for another 15 years. Music, literally, kept me alive. It was my best friend, the one thing I could trust. It was how I found validation for the fucked up things I was seeing and the way I felt. It’s how I spoke to the outside world---anyone who knew me then got at least one mix-tape from me, sometimes dozens. I would take lyrics and write stories about my friends with them. I had to go home and get lyrics down on paper instead of going to parties. When I rode the train cross-country, I lugged my 300 disc CD book the whole way, clutched to my chest. I kind of want to be buried with my headphones in but I’m a little worried I’ll wake up from being dead when the battery runs out.

Anyway, in the last few years...basically since I discovered Supernatural, music has taken on a whole new meaning for me. Life in general has changed. It’s better. It’s more fun, more interesting. I’ve found a creative outlet, and especially concerning music, I’m not slathering my experiences, my insanity, my feelings of loss and isolation and paranoia and confusion all over it. I’ve learned how to step outside my little fear-bubble and enjoy music from a whole new angle. So I thought, instead of going through my 130 gigs of music and forcing myself to think about those songs that I love for personal reasons and thus scratching at emotional scars and scabs of my real life, I’d do something more fun for me and pick my 15 favourite songs that exemplify my 15 long Supernatural fics, because since I’ve been writing, my life has improved by leaps and bounds and there’s not a single traumatic memory attached to the experience.

That was really long-winded.

With You by Matt Simons: This is from the soundtrack to Sense Of Life, which is my first published fic. I’m so glad I wasn’t really ‘in the fandom’ when I wrote this, because I never would have had the guts to write it if I’d known how much most shippers don’t like OFC. I would have worried too much about Mary-Sue’ing or whatever whatever. What I wanted to write about was giving the boys something to love, and then taking it away from them, because if they aren’t hurting, what’s the point? So I gave Sam a separated-at-six-months twin sister, and Dean a sick angel, then I gave them reasons to all get naked in a room together, because little did I know, Plot Productive Porn™ would be my go-to writing device. Anyway, looming over the whole fiasco is John Winchester’s A+ parenting, which sets this story up in the first place, and I was so gleefully fulfilled when I randomly heard this song somewhere while writing the fic. I was like, yesperfect.

My job to control you, darling, though I barely know you, hoping you grow tired and start giving in. Spout of holy water pour it on my only daughter maybe there's a shot she'll begin again. So wrong

Lucky With Disease by Elbow: I think this would be Crowley’s favourite band. That said, this is one of my most favourite wincestiel songs and is perfect for Wash It Away---the first fic I wrote, and it shows. A few OOC things, but I just went with what I picked up from the light smattering of gifs that had crossed my dash---I hadn’t even seen a single episode of the show yet. My least favourite fic, but still...it’s not terrible, and I love the dynamic of hurt-angry!Dean and fixer!Sam and Cas falling somewhere in between, willing to do whatever it takes to help. I definitely stuck to the first two characterisations for the rest of my writing.

Fell like a crippled crow Spinning through and breaking branches I'm in a bad way Call my friends, they'll know what to do

Not as handsome as my brother But I've been lucky with disease

And yes, I'm a better friend Than I've ever been a lover And that's not saying much But I'm not saying much today

Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless: In some different timeline, all I’m doing is writing Megstiel. But Never The Same is all I’ve managed and it’s typical---crazy!Cas and caretaker!Meg, bees, honey. Okay, honey as lube and bees around quivering nethers, but that ‘oh what the fuck okay fine’ sentiment is there that I always loved so much about Meg.

I had everything Opportunities for eternity And I could belong to the night Then your eyes Your eyes I can see in your eyes Your eyes You make me wanna die I'll never be good enough You make me wanna die

Adolescence by Brown Bird: Rise Above It is my goriest fic to-date, and the sort of weird, sinister nature of this song seems perfect for it. Another wincestiel fic in the same vein of WIA but I think I got the characters down a little better. Dean can’t stand himself and thinks he hates Castiel for caring about him, and Cas, par for the course, makes things worse trying to make it better, but Sam knows just where to dig into the bloody mess to get it all right again.

So long adolescence of the frightened soul You're entering the ritual Lay down your every fear upon the altar child Prepare to play the man's role

Stay strong the sound of screaming's just the sacred rite Of death begetting new life

We are here but for the grace of everything divine It's the providence that we must find

If (don’t ever blame yourself) by Last Days of April: People who can write early-season wincest are my heroes, okay. Dean’s a different animal now, isn’t he? I’m not even remotely suggesting he’s better one way or the other, just that he’s harder for me to grasp in the first couple of seasons. Harder for me to find his voice, and I can’t even say I really ‘got it’ with The Dawn Breaks...because I don’t fucking remember writing this fic at all. I have no idea where it came from, but it’s dark and dirty and Sam is toeing the line of making himself into the same monster that hurt Dean in the first place, but in the end, he pulls it off.

If it is hard to bear I'll hold the weight If there are things you ain't I'll compensate But you should never blame yourself Put the blame on everybody else 'cause they don't see what I see If no one understands I'll understand

Lovers’ Eyes by Mumford and Sons: ngl, the entire soundtrack for Becoming Less Defined is my favourite song. I fucking nailed it with these songs: perfect combo, perfect order, perfect atmosphere, but this song in particular showcases my particular obsessive trope here. I’m so fucking proud of this ’verse, and I’m climbing the walls to get back to it and finish it. I can’t leave omega-tainted!Dean and Wall-crumbled!Sam and sweet, insane omega!Jensen in limbo. I mean, there’s actual Purgatory to get to, after all.

Were we too young, our heads too strong To bear the weight of these lovers’ eyes I feel numb beneath your tongue Beneath the curse of these lovers’ eyes But do not ask the price I pay I must live with my quiet rage Tame the ghosts in my head That run wild and wish me dead

Complicated Shadows by Elvis Costello: It’s hard to get Dean alone sometimes, but this song really conjures up that early-season hero that I was talking about before, and writing Turn In Early was supposed to be just a little jerk-off fic, some imaginative Deancest, but because I’m the worst, it’s all slathered in gentle pain.

Well you know your time has come and you're sorry for what you've done You should've never have been playing with a gun In those complicated shadows Well there's a line that you must toe And it'll soon be time to go But it's darker than you know in those complicated shadows

John’s Star by The National: A reminisce fic, Dean’s B.S., 2001 is a rare moment of self-reflection for Dean, but he’ll only go so far back. I love the idea of Stanford-era!Dean, sidelined, a captive audience, listening to music he probably would never on his own terms, and hearing lyrics that just fucking hit home. There’s nothing explicit about this fic, no overt wincest, but it’s there, especially with songs like this.

I don't ever want you to come home again I don't want to hear your call, your voice in my room I am divine, my arms are stronger than rivers And when you feel that way, you want to feel that way again Forever

Once ruined, baby you stay ruined

Evidence by Faith No More: The sleaze that undercurrents all of Mike Patton’s music is perfect for Dress Me Down, a jealous!Jensen J2/Genevieve blackmail fic, because you can just hear Jensen lying to himself through the music.

If you want to open the hole Just put your head down and go Step beside the piece of the circumstance You got to wash away the taste of evidence Wash it away Evidence, evidence, evidence Got to taste evidence I didn't feel a thing It didn't mean a thing Look in the eye and testify I didn't feel a thing Anything you say, you know you're guilty Hands above your head and you won't even feel me You won't feel me

Sedated by Hozier: I would normally pick Great Expectations by Elbow for this, but the dangerous, powerful carelessness of this song fits Something To Share just as well. Schizophrenic, self-destructive and self-harming!Sam and totally out of his depth!Dean make deals and promises to each other and I just really, really love this fic okay leave me alone I’m fine.

You and I nursing on a poison that never stung Our teeth and lungs are lined with the scum of it Somewhere for this, death and guns We are deaf, we are numb Free and young and we can feel none of it Something isn't right, babe I keep catching little words but the meaning's thin I'm somewhere outside my life, babe I keep scratching but somehow I can't get in So we're slaves to any semblance of touch Lord we should quit but we love it too much

Knock Me Out by Linda Perry: Back to my a/b/o ’verse with Between Two Minds, and we find poor Dean, omega-tainted and feeling like he can’t be loved, finally, finally starting to trust his little brother again.

You knocked me out You bit my lip You held me down and kept me sober Through all this time With no regret I guess that's just the way I liked it Maybe, when I'm free I'll realize all he really wanted To share all the peace Something I never wanted So wait, don't go Seems as though it's getting scary So please, don't you go

Feels Like by Buck 65: A song no one will listen to for a fic that no one reads. Dreamy, plinking piano for a fic that started out as a dream. My favourite artist with my favourite ending I’ve ever written. Give Buck and A Steep Fall a chance.

She found the lost boy, eyes that are crying closes Glad to be unhappy, boy gives her dying roses Ecstatic agony and nights of arousing glories Hungry hearts and hands that tell ten thousand stories Open wounds and the one word that filed under Her endless eyes have known hardship and wild wonder Kisses that cure and moments that cured the kiss Under a spell and maybe there's no words for this

I Drove All Night by Roy Orbison: The Mixtape Thing wasn’t supposed to be a fic, but I had to talk about why the songs were picked for the prompt ‘date night at the MoL Bunker’, and suddenly there was a sweet little wincest fic. Yeah, ‘sweet’. My fans were very surprised too.

What in this world Keeps us from falling apart No matter where I go I hear The beating of our one heart I think about you When the night is cold and dark No one can move me The way that you do Nothing erases this feeling between me and you

Tell Me by Moby ft. Cold Specks: An alternative ending to BLD, But Then Again is the best thing I’ve written so far. J2/wincest/abo and so fucking full of angst and longing and good goddamn is it dirty. I’m so proud of it and myself for pulling it off, and even if I lose two more friends over it (i’m not bitter i’m very bitter), it’s still wonderful in my mind.

Didn't have the heat I gave you memories Come deeper please I got nowhere to stay tonight Won't you make me stay? Keep your clear eyes on the prize And as I'm there Bring me to your knees

Baby Blue by Wolf Parade: Kill The Lights is the one unfinished fic on this list but I’m so close it counts. Fifty-nine songs to choose from. Five playlists. Over 100,000 words, and choosing one song to represent this brutal MCD fic is easy. Since it’s written from Sam’s POV, some of my favourite songs are the ones I imagine from Dean’s, and this is perfect.

You're like a fool on fire To the water so blue I will come undone And I will run to you Sometimes we are an open flower Sometimes we are an open wound Sometimes we are a kind of echo chamber, wherein You're all fire and brimstone And I'm all that, too Burning blue for you

LISTEN

tagging @zmediaoutlet @omgbubblesomg @theboringprincess @chiisana-sukima @hazeldomain @indigoneutrino @dreamsfromthebunker @bruisedmickey and anyone else who wants to do this (and if you’ve already done it, no worries ;)

#ao3 #silver9mm #this is really long #but i really love music #and fic writing #so

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mockmade · 7 years

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ONE: my blood is singing with your voice, i want to pour it out post-hotel california Abaddon & Cassiel

It’s the closest she’s felt to tears in a long, long while; Abaddon has lived many bitter and tragic eons -- both alone and with a little fleeting, fluttering thing of companionship. It’s a strange feeling, sitting up on the blank floor, her weeping shoulders staining the walls red, the back of her prison jumpsuit torn from where her wings ripped clear through the fabric, the open doorway seemingly miles away.

Gabriel’s just left, looking shaken -- Abaddon would feel smug if she weren’t so completely hollowed out.

Someone should’ve told her that revenge is empty as a pursuit, just a momentary satisfaction before you realize it didn’t solve anything. Her wings lie in front of her, limp and lank, the raven-black feathers losing their luster, soaking in that pool of blood.

She’s never felt so utterly humiliated, so debased and desperate; in a better state of mind, she’d cherish this strange sense of mortality, dissect it with weaponized curiosity and commit it to memory -- it’s everything she’s ever wanted, right? A taste of her vulnerability? The sense that she has something to lose?

She wants to sit in that room forever, but it’s lost its luster as well -- those clinical walls have failed to retain their magic; her blood stains the walls and fails to be absorbed into them, a breeze beckons from the doorway, so she gets up stiffly and forces a laugh every single step she takes.

There’s a faint echo of Lucifer’s voice as she walks toward the door; another of Samyaza’s beckon as she crosses the threshold of the door. She doesn’t look back, because she knows she will see her wings lying there, because the stiff pain of her shoulders isn’t quite enough to push her to tears, but the visual reminder will be. She doesn’t know how she gets into the lobby, but she seeks Kiara out immediately, Kiara who looks bored and unruffled and like a dainty piece of heaven amongst every other sad thing around them.

Abaddon wonders if there’s still a little bit of her coworker left in her, because she just brings her home with minimal teasing, leaves her apathetically to lick her own wounds.

She doesn’t know what possesses her to call Cassiel.

Actually, she does.

She wants to prove to herself some kind of hurt: she watched Lucifer turn his back on her, she endured the stripping of her divinity, she all but begged some ancient apocalyptic being to bring her home. The bruise is there and she wants to sink her fingers in and check how deep the bleeding goes, how much darker it can get, how many more relationships she can snap in as many minutes.

Is it minutes or days or weeks?

Timeless beings have no sense of time.

They meet her outside of White Lies, at the waning of the witching hours, right after her shift has ended.

Her resolve wavers when she comes face to face with them, moonlight glancing off the arch of their cheekbones, tracing over the long, clean lines of their neck and the careful neutrality of their demeanor -- it’s been a relationship she’s coveted through all the years, and she’s not sure she can let go of it, but the scabs beside her shoulder blades feel oppressive and propel her to it.

She smiles -- she’s so accustomed to the motion that it doesn’t even show she’s faking. She says something about Belial, about history, about them; she’s not actually sure what she says, but that seems to be the theme of this century.

Cassiel throws a punch because it was some true vitriol that she just managed; Cassiel throws a punch because they expect her to dodge -- they do it because it’s just another logical step in the dance that Abaddon keeps up.

She doesn’t dodge. She doesn’t have the physical ability to dodge it at the speed it comes for her with, now that she’s been stripped of her wings, and even if she did, she wouldn’t have.

She wants to feel every step of this separation, the prying pain of ripping Cassiel from herself.

The force of it causes her to stagger back, but she laughs.

She doesn’t attempt to hit back. She’s not here to try and hurt them.

The second punch is natural, instinctive, rhythmic -- they probably already had prepared it before the first even landed, and her teeth split the inside of her cheek. She spits the blood from her mouth -- it’s bitter and black and metallic and red; huh, so not all of her is completely infected and rotting just yet. It glints in the moonlight; it’s morbidly pretty.

She says something she doesn’t mean about the French Revolution, because that’s the crowning glory of their entire relationship -- whatever it is -- up until now. She says it because she craves the next punch like a high she’s forgotten about, like the smoke of opium dens in old London.

It blends with the fourth hit, because Cassiel is most beautiful in their own tempo, a vicious tango she’s not complying with -- they play their part, she refuses to step to it. She slams into the brick wall from the sheer force and stumbles until she falls and splits the healing wound on her back, burning like a brand on her skin.

She goads them on, because it’s what she was created for. She shoves them back when they come to investigate, snarling, nails glancing across their skin. She stands, swaying, goading. She goads them on until the blood shows on her back and she continues crooning her cruelties.

The scream she lets out at the next hit rips at the back of her throat, when she slides down the bricks and tears up the length of her wounds.

She’s done here, and she says as much; ignores whatever frustration and hurt and confusion and anger -- whatever it is -- is directed to her; her empathy is a little broken and fractured, sue her, and she limps away, back turned as she plans to struggle back to her apartment, equal parts gleeful and heartbroken. Only she forgets the red lines on her uniform that betray the loss of her divinity, and she forgets that they don’t ever miss a beat when it comes to her.

“What happened to your wings?”

It’s the first real thing she’s heard out of them.

“Don’t worry,” she says, coughing up and spitting the welling blood in her mouth. “It’s nothing, it’s a joke,” she says, dry, crackling laughter pulling at her throat.

She thinks she hears them murmur a profanity under their breath, but it’s covered up by the deep breath she takes to steady herself, before her legs give out and she falls.

She’s tired. She just wants to sleep; and as always, there’s a portion of her that craves Cassiel’s reaction and concern, so she rolls over and laughs a wisp of her good humor up to the stars and moon, pressing her shoulder into the gravel so she can surpass even her pain limit and pass out. She sees their face hovering over her own, blurring, the starlight acting as a halo for them in the absence of one in this mortal world.

It’s a good last image to end on, she figures, an image she can remember them by, bitterly and wistfully, she thinks.

Or so she thinks until she wakes, not in her apartment.

Adhesive shifts as she does, and she freezes -- her back is bandaged, she’s in a shirt that doesn’t belong to her, lying on a couch she doesn’t recognize.

Cassiel has to have been monitoring her very closely, because they hear her shift, hear her breathing change, and are looking down at her as she lies there, processing.

Maybe they expect a jibe at being in their apartment, maybe they expect a thanks, maybe they expect nothing at all.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” she cries angrily, instead, because she’s used to succeeding at everything she attempts, even if it’s self-destruction.

They frown, because it’s not customary to swear at your caretaker, but nothing about Abaddon is remotely customary, anyway.

She gets up: her ribs ache in protest, her back burns as it shifts against the soft bandages, but she gets up all the same.

She throws a weak punch. It barely even stirs Cassiel, and that makes her angrier. She keeps going, until she’s just pressed up against them and knocking, pounding, her fist insistently on their stolid frame, vaguely melancholic in their easy acceptance of it. She goes until her arm aches and her back aches and her lungs and heart and-

She cries, shoving off of them and going to curl up in their couch, shame burning high and hard in her cheeks for the first time in her life. She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes in a futile attempt to stem the tears, presses in hard, until the world flashes warped neon.

“Why are you still here?” Abaddon asks, more serious than she has been in a long time. “No one stays,” she states, devoid of any sort of embellishment and emotion, sounding wholly unlike herself. “So why are you? Why can’t you just leave? Let me end it on my own terms. Aren’t angels supposed to be about compassion? Can’t you just give me this one mercy?

“Aren’t angels supposed to be kind?” She cries. “Couldn’t you just let me push you away so I don’t get to thinking that you’ll stay? What do you think you’re achieving here? Do you think this is some kind of kindness? Because let me tell you, it’s not. If you’d just left after that fucking fight, I could comfort myself knowing that you left because I made it so you had no option not to. If you had just left, I would’ve known that it was because I wanted it -- but now- now, I have to face the fact that the next time you leave for real, it’ll be because you tire of me, or you don’t want me. It won’t be because of something I did, it’ll be because of me.

“Couldn’t you have let me have the peaceful end to us, instead of planting some sort of sick hope you’ll always stay for me so that you can rip it out later?

“I’m dying -- of sin, of despair, of rot, of voracitosis, of whatever you want to call it; couldn’t you let me die with one last shred of dignity to my name? Everyone’s taken everything else away from me already; my titles, my divinity, my bottomless pride. What do you want? What are you trying to do here?”

For all that she monologues, it doesn’t actually matter.

The damage is done.

She’s back to hoping that they’ll be the one to stay, like a broken, starved dog licking up at the first kind hand it’s seen.

She wonders if that’ll be what kills her instead of the infection in her blood, instead of the coming end of the world.

Well, she knows it will be, but she wonders if Cassiel has the capacity for that kind of cruelty, to strike her down after so many close calls over the eons, to exploit the one hope she allows herself to have. Maybe that makes her as vapid and shallow as others think her to be, letting hope creep into her heart, as if creatures of despair will ever know anything besides the dark. She’s known since she wormed an insidious brand of arrogance into the war torn corners of Samyaza’s mind, that he could challenge Lucifer, and betrayed him at the last moment, standing beside her father, breaking his confidence as the first fatal blow: she’s known she’ll be her own end, her own betrayal.

She just didn’t know that she’d use Cassiel to send herself back to from whence she came; to banish herself back into ether, back into cognition and thought, alive until the last thought of her faded from their mind -- guaranteed they would be the last to use her name, to remember her, perhaps bitterly, perhaps fondly.

Death would come for her twice: once as she expires of her own machinations and chaos, eventually, then once again as her memory is recalled for the last time, at Cassiel’s whim -- which are law to her, but nothing to them.

It’s cruel, but it’ll be true to how she lived, she supposes -- always at their mercy; she wonders if they know it too, watching her wretched misery at their feet.

#( ch: abaddon )#( drabble: cassiel )

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shewhowantsmouseears · 8 years

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Love Like Lava, 7

Notes: As always, big thanks to my wonderful editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted!

See the light where the sky meets the sea, it calls me~ Hahaha, yeah, I'm amused that I chose a story that's deeply connected to the sea while Moana is a smash hit. But just how connected is Minnie and the others to the sea? You'll just have to see how far I'll go ;)

I'd like to thank some extra people for this chapter - my pals known as Zumi, Greta, LoneWolfPrincess, and Tsa. These duck fanatics really encouraged me to make this feathery chapter.

Summary: Legend says that Hades kidnapped Persephone to be his bride. But now Minnie will learn the truth from the victim's own mouth - if she is a victim at all.

As much as Minnie wanted to devote every single second she had to learning about Mickey, she didn't want to neglect time with her dear friends. So on this crisp windy day as Daisy encouraged Minnie to follow her, holding her hand as they moved around thin trees and ignored wildlife. Of course, that didn't stop Minnie from speaking of Mickey, Mickey, Mickey - amazing Mickey, handsome Mickey, Mickey who loved his family and protected them with his words. Daisy could barely get a word in otherwise, but she found the puppy-love charming. Besides, Minnie was still new to many ways of the world, including the emotion she was supposedly in charge of. Maybe she'd calm down once she was used to it, so Daisy told herself.

When Daisy noticed Minnie pausing in her words, trying to exactly describe the adorable way Mickey's tongue stuck out when he worked on something that required delicate patience, she seized the chance to speak. “Today's going to be a special day for you and I.”

It did the trick and Minnie was instantly distracted, blinking rapidly to remind herself that, oh yeah, they were walking towards something instead of aimlessly wandering. “Huh? Why is that?”

“One way or another, you've become my friend, so you're going to have a privilege very few gods or goddesses know of.” Her beak tilted upwards, pride shown in boastful sunflowers trailing through her hair. “I know I can trust you not to tell anyone else, without my explicit permission.” She had a feeling that Minnie would try to get said permission to tell Mickey.

“What is it, what is it?” Minnie inched up closer to her friend, holding her entire arm in anticipation. “I won't tell a single soul, I promise!” A pause as Daisy awaited the expected. “Unless you'd say it's okay to tell Mickey. But I won't even tell him if you say no.”

“Good girl,” Daisy chuckled, a little embarrassed at how easily Minnie could push a smile onto Daisy's face. Daisy had distrusted others for so long that to have someone so casually take up a spot in her heart was confusing. She wanted to believe it was Minnie's sunny personality that won her over, but there was always that nagging worry far in the back of her mind – that perhaps Minnie was so beautiful, or that just by being the goddess of love, you had no choice except to love her. That worrisome thought was a smidgen louder today, in that only one other person knew of what she would show Minnie. “Watch your step, the shore is pretty steep here.”

“Shore?” Minnie slowed down their walk as their feet hit the sand. Daisy had said time and time again that coincidences didn't truly exist, and now Minnie was starting to believe it. Over and over Minnie found herself back at the sea – it was where she had emerged, where Goofy had lost his lady fair, where she learned of Mickey's existence and soon after discovered Mickey herself. Was there a deeper connection hiding in the waves? She almost didn't hear Daisy call after her – the demi-goddess of plants had let go of her hand to heartily run towards the water, and there was the special surprise.

Minnie was expecting something a bit more grand than a weathered old sailboat that sat halfway in the sand. There wasn't even a port for it to dock, and it lay wedged into the sand.Age hadn't been kind to this boat, with worn out sides and chipped white paint. The sails had been ripped and sewn back together more times than anyone could count, with different colors showing that the original cloth was long since gone. Yet Daisy raced toward it as if it was a beautiful treasure, running her hands along the bow as a noble woman would touch fine silk. “This is my most prized possession,” Daisy declared, turning around with her hands on her hips. “Mine and Donald's! And only you get to see it.”

“It's...got a lot of history.” It was the only compliment Minnie could conceive at the moment. If it was owned by divine beings, why was it in such shoddy shape? She knocked a tiny fist against the hull. “Which one of you made it?”

“Neither of us did,” Daisy said as she took Minnie by the shoulders and pushed her up the tiny ladder on the back. “This is a mortal-made ship. Donald bought it long ago under the guise of a mortal. He leaves it here for me so I can go sailing whenever I want. Now, sit there and wait!”

“Wait for what?” Minnie didn't get an answer as Daisy began to push and shove the boat – inch by inch, it began to retreat back into the water. Once it was submerged, Daisy jumped onto the ladder, and once she was inside her hands worked on pulleys and ropes to make the different parts of the boat move to her command. Minnie's skepticism vanished and was replaced by the awe of the boat's mechanisms and Daisy's mastery of the sails. The wind blew into the cloth, and the boat slowly began to move off into the distance, leaving a gradual wake behind. “We're moving!” Minnie squealed with delight, moving to dip her hands in the cold water as they continued to sail on.

The boat was very small, and probably wouldn't have been able to handle another two on its deck. It clearly wasn't meant for great voyages and heroic trips with adventure. It simply moved from one place to the next, but that was all the girls could ever want. Soon the sandy shore was but a glimpse on the horizon, and they were alone on the water, the wind in their hair. Daisy inhaled deeply, the salty scent of the sea finer than any fragrance. “The ocean is never the same each time you come to it,” she said, slowing down her furious activity now that the boat was capable of going ahead on its own. “And that's what we love about it. On Mount Olympus, things are never changing, and as gods, sometimes we don't change for centuries. But each time we wade into the water, there is something new to see. The fish will always move to a different place, and the sun will greet you in a different direction. Do you understand?”

Minnie did, or at last she thought she did. What she understood most of all was that Daisy deeply and truly loved her friend – this wasn't a rehearsed speech, but one made of passion, where she wanted Minnie involved her world. Minnie couldn't stop smiling, resisting the urge to hug her companion – she feared doing so would send them both into the water. “You know, I heard a man named Poseidon is in charge of the sea,” she brought up. “With the way you and Donald love it, maybe he should've been in charge instead.”

Daisy had her back to Minnie, but her shoulders lowered, and muscles began to clench up. “Yeah...if all was right and fair in the world, Donald would be the god of the ocean. That was all he wanted when they were playing for their roles.” Daisy knew Minnie would ask, and Minnie knew Daisy knew, so she didn't even bother asking and merely waited for the answer. “Centuries ago, Zeus, Poseidon, and Donald took down their tyrant of a father in order to free the world. Funny enough, he'd done the same to his father. I bet Zeus crosses his fingers every day hoping it won't be his turn next.” She shook her head to return to the subject at hand. “With him gone, there were three important roles to fill - ruler of the sea, ruler of the dead, and ruler of the gods. They didn't want to fight over it, so they left it to a game of dice.” A bitter chuckle. “To this day, I still believe they rigged it so Donald would have the one position the other two didn't want.”

Daisy began to turn around, and for once she seemed to be her true age, a worn down woman of decades long since past. “We all have our place in this world, but it shouldn't be decided for us. I worry about you a lot, Minnie. You had your titles thrust upon you, and you still don't even know where you came from, do you?”

Minnie slowly shook her head no. “The first memory I have is stepping out of that sea shell. There's nothing else.” By now she'd understood it made no sense, and that everyone came from somewhere. Yet she never bothered asking anyone upon Mount Olympus for answers, knowing that would be a fruitless endeavor.

“And you have those weeds-for-brains up on the mountain thinking you're everyone's girlfriend.” Daisy snorted, pacing up and down the ship's center. “You've been the biggest change they've had in years, and I fear for your future because of that.” She stopped, arms crossed, looking out on the still water. “I want to tell you a story, Minnie. You've probably already heard their version of it – how 'Hades' kidnapped me and now forces me to stay with him for half a year. I imagine to them it makes perfect sense. But that's not even remotely what happened.”

~*~

I guess the easiest place to begin this with would be about my mother, Demeter. She's the official goddess of plants, and you should see her work. Compared to her towering forests, I'm like a dandelion seed. She was one of the most beautiful and powerful goddesses on Mount Olympus, and all the men wanted a chance with her, Zeus included, and she let herself have some fun flings. But when she did fall in love, it was with a mortal man.

Now, it's not forbidden for gods and mortals to, well, enjoy each other's company. Zeus does it almost every day. But it's pretty much a bad idea to actually fall in love with one of them. Their life spans are incredibly small, especially compared to people like us who never age or die. Mother said she could handle it when he inevitably passed. Spoiler – she didn't. And it didn't help that he didn't even die of old age. A bunch of robbers broke into his place and killed him. Don't bother looking for tears on me, Minnie, I was still in the womb when this happened. I never knew the man.

Anyway, with him dead, Mother went nuts. First she blamed Donald, accusing him of taking away her husband on purpose because he was jealous of her happiness. Let me tell you right now, not only would Donald never kill anyone, he can't. He doesn't actually control death, he just keeps things organized in the Underworld. Every now and then he can try to bargain with the Sisters of Fate to keep someone alive longer, but it's always a risky gamble and never a guarantee. Not to mention Donald rarely visited the mountain in the first place. Not only does his work keep him busy, but they all treat him like a pariah. They assumed that because of his role, he must be gloomy and scary and depressing. They still assume that today.

Moving on. Out I came, and Mother went into full panic mode. She was afraid of losing me too, and never let me out of her sight. When I say never, Minnie, I mean never. For years I was forbidden to leave Mount Olympus, and I was like you for a while. I didn't know anything and no one bothered to tell me anything except what they thought was important. That's when I first learned about “Hades”, and all the stories about him. Like how he “laughed like a madman” when the dice rolled his way, and how he “stalks the souls of the living”, eager to have them die. I believed it all. Why wouldn't I, when no one would tell me different?

You know how dull Mount Olympus is. I was bored to tears, but I couldn't leave my mother's side. She decided what I ate, what I wore, even how I was supposed to sit on my throne. Then one day, she got this crazy notion that if I married one of the gods up there, I'd always be safe even when we wouldn't be together. I hated the idea, but my opinion meant squat. It was also a blessing in disguise, though, because while she was interviewing other gods to see who was worthy enough for my hand, it meant a chance to escape. So I headed right for the mortal plane, and just like you, I went wherever I felt like, learning everything I could.

Eventually I found that exact same shore you and I were just on. I saw this boat and thought it was absolute junk. I would have moved on, but that's when I saw a good looking guy – who I thought was a mortal - wrestling with the sailing rope, unable to undo a knot. Being the generous soul that I am, I offered to help him.

~*~

“HAHAHAHAHA! WHAT KIND OF MORON DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO UNDO A KNOT?!” Daisy “forgot” to mention that being under Demeter's demented eye left her a tad spoiled. So her snotty superior attitude had her howling in laughter at Donald's failed attempt, and doubly so when Donald was so startled he fell into the water.

If he wasn't flapping around in the water, Donald would have unwillingly poofed into his smoky form, but for now his temper wasn't as hot as it could have been. “Who're you calling a moron! I bet you don't know anything about sailing!”

“I'm pretty sure the first rule is not to go into the water!” Daisy cackled, holding her stomach due to how hard she was laughing.

“Why you doggone stubborn little...” Donald marched out of the water, squeezing what he could out of his robes. “I only have so much free time today, and I ain't gunna waste it listening to you giggling like a hyena! Sailing comes with all kinds of different knots! Why, I bet you don't even know what that is!” He indignantly pointed at what Daisy thought was just the boat itself.

“It's a boat, duh,” Daisy snorted as she tried to catch her breath.

“Name that part of the boat,” Donald demanded, still pointing, water dripping from his beak. For the record, it was the rudder.

“It's...the...boat part.” Oh, what did she care what some foolish mortal thought of her? She was born better than him anyway. “Whatever it is! It's a hideous thing anyway.”

“HEY! Nobody insults my baby and gets away with it!” “I JUST DID!”

“YOU THINK YOU'RE SO SMART?!” He was seconds away from poofing at this point, but a wicked idea saved him from unknowingly revealing himself. Donald was also under the impression that this was a mortal woman, and while he didn't care about the rules of superiority and inferiority, he did care when people of any race dared to abuse his pride and joy. He suddenly scooped Daisy up into his arms – ignoring her shrieks and kicks – and tossed her onto the boat. “There, let's see you sail!”

Daisy was on her feet in seconds, snapping Venus fly traps curling in her hair. Donald might've taken notice if he wasn't so pleased by her furious reply. “How dare you – do you have any idea who I am?!”

“Nope! Couldn't care less!” Donald grinned devilishly as he began to push the boat onto the water. “Go ahead, toots, try and make me pay for it – if you can get back here!”

“I – I will! And you'll be sorry!” Logically she could have teleported to his side and given him the walloping of a lifetime, but her dignity would be gone forever. How hard could sailing be? But now she was in the boat and actually looking at all the handles and pulleys and ropes, it was like staring into the jaws of a wild animal. She stuttered at a loss, aimlessly trying everything and getting nowhere fast. She wound up smacking herself with the boom, and getting tangled in the sails. “Get over here and help meee!” she whined, flailing her arms in a pathetic motion to free herself.

“Apologize to my baby and I'll help you!”

“I AM NOT APOLOGIZING TO YOUR CRUDDY UGLY BOAT!”

“THEN STAY THERE FOREVER, SEE IF I CARE!”

~*~

We didn't get off to a great start.

I got fed up and vanished back onto Mount Olympus, which was probably Donald's first clue that I wasn't mortal either. I told myself that being bored there was far better than dealing with a cranky, violent mortal. Mother hadn't noticed I was gone, though her candidates for marriage had narrowed down. As I stayed there, stewing over what had happened, I told myself that I could learn more about boats and prove myself better than that silly man with a weird voice. That was about the time I borrowed Mother's Viewing Mirror, and she never bothered to ask why I even wanted it. I had to admit, mortals could be really interesting. I told myself I was only looking to upset that man, and once I had accomplished my task, I'd never look again. But let's face it, compared to the same old parties up there, the eternally changing mortal plane was a book you could never put down.

The next time around I pushed my mother to distraction, asking her to make positively sure that Apollo was a worthy man for me. She was so delighted by me faking interest that she didn't even question it. So I headed back down to the same shore, but while the boat was there, he wasn't. Donald can't come up whenever he feels like it, he has to schedule time in advance. While I waited for him to make an appearance, I tried to test my newfound knowledge on his boat. But seeing someone else do it is worlds different than trying it for myself, and I wound up a mess all over again, tied up in ropes and sails without the boat ever leaving the sand. Even worse, he never showed up that day.

Day after day I waited for him, telling Mother about different gods that could be good protectors, even demi-gods from below or children Zeus had fathered. It was weeks before I finally saw him again, and I thought I was ready to show off my new skills.

~*~

“You didn't attach the tack to its shackle.”

“SHUT UP! I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!”

“Well, whenever you get done with that, you have to pull the outhaul-”

“I'LL GET TO IT WHEN I GET TO IT!”

“I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU!”

“WHO ASKED FOR YOUR HELP!?”

~*~

By then we were kinda sure each other was a god and goddess, otherwise we wouldn't have survived the bruising we gave one another. It made me feel a touch better knowing that I wasn't losing to a mortal, but it still stung all the same. I wanted him to know how great I was, to acknowledge me as his better. Each time I would return to Mount Olympus, I would get praised on how pretty I was, but it felt...hollow. Like I hadn't done anything worthy of their compliments except exist. They couldn't praise my powers, since they were obviously weaker than my mother's, so my looks were all I had. Yeah, you know how that feels, don't you, Minnie?

But I wasn't totally hopeless, and I did manage to get better.

~*~

“Watch your telltales. You're wasting energy like this, just let out the sail.”

“But if I do that, I'll have to let go, and you said to keep my hand steady!”

“I know what I said! Just – here, let me show you.”

“No! No! I can do it! I know I can do it.”

~*~

We wouldn't try to go anywhere in particular. Sometimes we'd just drift out onto the ocean and see the sun set. Other times we'd pass by mortal villages and watch fishermen take in their haul. Donald knew a lot of them by name, mostly because he knew their dead relatives, but I still didn't know “who” he was. It didn't really seem to matter. But in his head, he had his reasons not to tell me. If I'd known on day one that he was Hades, I would have run away screaming and never turned back. I told him easily enough that I was Persephone, that I was Daisy, that I was a useless daughter with no ambition save for a wedding ring.

~*~

After he heard that, Donald had taken her hand and turned the palm up. “It's a shame about the ambrosia,” he said, tsking. “Heals all of our wounds instantly, so you can't have the tough callouses the mortals have. They'd be proof enough that you've got more ambition than any of those lazy vagabonds up on the mountain.”

“Does that include all the bumps on my head I should've gotten every time the boom hit me? At that rate, I should've been the demi-goddess of concussions.” A tiny chuckle.

“C'mon, I mean it. There's nothing wrong with not having an exact goal right now.” The boat was smoothly passing between two cliffs, a creaky bridge far above them. The night was approaching and glitters of stars dotted the sky. The wind was dying down for now, and they felt safe enough to sit. “One man might think he'll grow up to be a farmer, and becomes a soldier instead. Even gods and goddess should have the opportunity to at least look for what they want.”

Opportunity – what a foreign word. Daisy had thought that because she had the blood of a goddess flowing through her, that this was enough to justify her existence. But now she wasn't sure of a lot of things. She wanted worth in a different form, she wanted equality, and so many other things she never even knew existed before meeting Donald. She was quiet for a while. “I don't want to be like my mother, deciding things for someone else and being afraid of things we can't control.”

“Then don't be like her. Be yourself. It's not as hard as you think it is. If nobody else likes you as yourself, it doesn't matter as long as you like yourself.”

She glanced up at that. “Do you like yourself?”

“You're darn right I do.” He grinned in that egotistical way she'd come to find entertaining. “I do my job and I do it well, and I'm the best sailor in the whole wide world. And if someone doesn't like me, then they're not worth my time. It takes effort to know people, and laziness just to guess and dislike without a chance. And you, little lady, are not lazy.”

“... Donald?”

“Yeah?”

“You're still holding my hand.”

So he was. “Uh.” So he was still was. “Uhhh.” Still holding it. “I was – just – um – I was going to – to help you practice rigging the preventer!” This involved nearly squishing Daisy's hand to the boom and tying yet another intricate knot. As the blushing ducks debated whether to speak of whatever happened between them, peeking at each other and then pretending they hadn't, Donald made a deep decision. How was she to like him if he didn't tell her who he was? “Daisy, I'm not sure how to put this.”

“Hm.” Daisy was no longer naive about the world, including the many interests of men, and she wasn't exactly objecting to the idea of being Donald's interest. With the knot completed, she rolled her shoulders, coyly fluttering her eyelashes. “I'm listening.” As she began to twirl hair around her finger, a red rose dropping petals tangled in her hands, she expected a confession of how jaw-droppingly gorgeous he found her and he needed her every night and day. She was still a bit spoiled.

But instead of satiating Daisy's fantastic ego, Donald rubbed his knuckles, avoiding her intense gaze. “What do you know about the god Hades?”

Daisy blinked slowly, the candle of lust promptly snuffed out. How disappointing. “That he's some creep who rules the Underworld and kills little children because their mother's cry is music to his ears?”

“Oh, come on.” Donald slapped an open hand to his face, pulling it down hard.

“So what?” Daisy was about to drop her sleeve in an attempt for Donald to focus on something far more gratifying. “What does that monster have to do with you and me right now? It's got nothing to - ” But for all of Daisy's faults, and there were a great number of them, stupidity wasn't among them. Her hand froze as she understood exactly why he asked, and why he now looked so crestfallen, his entire body sagging. In that moment Daisy recalled every horrifying story she'd ever been told about Hades, most of them by her devastated mother. A beast, a merciless creature, a demon who relished in pain and suffering.

But a demon who relished in pain and suffering wouldn't have held her hand so tenderly.

“I don't – I don't care,” she blurted out, rising to her feet so fast that the boat began to wobble.

“Daisy, be careful!” “I don't care!” she shouted louder this time, hands rolled into fists, her eyes feeling hot. “I don't care what they say about you on Mount Olympus, because – because it can't be true, none of it's true! I know who you are, they don't!”

Color flooded Donald's white cheeks, but he tried to hold off her compassion, his hands out and ready to steady her if she tipped over. “It's more than that, Daisy! Once your mother and everyone finds out I've been spending time with you, they'll treat you like dirt too!”

“I don't care!”

“They'll say bad things about you too, and they'll trample all over you!”

“I don't care!”

“Daisy, you don't understand, they-”

“I SAID I DON'T CARE, YOU MORON, ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!”

“I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU OUT, YOU OBNOXIOUS BRAT!”

~*~

And that was the first time we made out. It was totally worth falling off of the boat. Anyway, it was obvious to me that once Donald took up ruling the Underworld, his family abandoned him. Despite all he'd done to help overthrow his father, they treated Donald like he was unworthy just because of a pair of dice. Yet despite all that, he was kind and caring and he helped me. How could you not fall in love with someone who wouldn't let centuries of hate and gossip destroy his good heart?

But I was spending so much time with Donald that I had long since stopped paying attention to what was happening on Mount Olympus. If you'll remember, I said that Mother was trying to get me hitched and I had pretended to be interested. I thought maybe she'd be so picky and fearful that she'd never settle on whoever would be my husband, and boy was I wrong. Not too long after Donald and I told each other how we felt, Mother dropped the bombshell – she approved of Apollo, and we were to be married.

Gladstone, right? I don't have to tell you that guy's annoying with a big fat UGH. Of course I said no, and I followed it up with that I didn't want to marry anyone. Mother said that it was for my own good, and that I couldn't possibly know what I wanted, that she knew me better than I knew myself. This from a woman who didn't realize her daughter was gone for weeks! It turned into a screaming match the likes of Mount Olympus had never heard before. The complaints poured in, and all the other gods and goddesses couldn't understand “what the big deal was”. Why not just marry Apollo and sit prettily by his side for the rest of eternity? No one was my ally, and surrounded by all sides by people who didn't care what I said to say, I knew I'd be forced into marriage. No amount of begging, pleading, or crying would get them to change their minds. So I did the only thing I could think of – I ran back to the mortal plane.

With all those eyes looking for me, I knew it wouldn't be long before I was found and forcibly dragged back. I ran to the only place I knew I could be comforted – Donald's shore, and mercifully there he was. I told him what was happening, and as far as I knew this was going to be goodbye. I'm amazed he understood a word I was saying through all of my sobbing. There was nowhere on the mortal plane I could hide that Mother wouldn't be able to find me, now that she was actually trying. I didn't want to let go of Donald, and he didn't want to let go of me. I guess that's what gave him the idea, though he told me after that it was a spur of the moment deal.

When I opened my eyes, the two of us were in the Underworld.

Is it dank and dreary? Kind of, yeah. It's an endless cavern lit by candles that never go out, and a green river flows through it, carrying floating islands filled with the dead. But they're actually really cheerful down there, reunited with their friends and family, getting to be whatever age they please at that moment. They share stories of their lives, and await those they miss most. But back to me. Donald instantly began apologizing, saying this was the only place he could think of to buy me some time while I thought of what to do. You have to give him credit – it was exactly the one place no one thought to look.

I was shocked at first, but compared to what was about to happen to me up above? This was paradise. Maybe if I stayed down here long enough, Mother would cancel the marriage and I could return to the surface and sail with Donald. Until then, I didn't mind staying there. It's really quite cozy once you get used to the place. He's got this adorable three-headed dog who is the sweetest thing, just expect three times the slobber when he licks you. The Sisters of Fate aren't exactly pleasant company, but they do know how to weave a good story. The dead were always delighted to have more company, and I got to see Donald at the role that “destiny” supposedly gave him.

And he does a dang good job. He makes sure no spirits escape, even if he has to grab them himself and yank them down. He helps the lost lovers find one another, and has even conducted a few marriages where everyone is invited. When little children who come there far too early have to wait for their parents, he plays with them and keeps them from crying. He told me he'd like little ones of his own someday – he has no confidence about himself as a father, but maybe as an uncle, with a gang of nephews to call his own.

I missed the sunshine and the sea, but I was allowed to talk to whoever I wanted and actually got full conversations back. I could go wherever I wanted on the river Styx, teach Cerberus new tricks, examine the strings that the Sisters would tangle, but I was given one rule – I couldn't eat or drink anything while I was there. I found that out after Donald slapped a pomegranate out of my hand. Turns out the food and drink keeps the spirits there, and if they left they'd just dissolve into nothing. No one knew what would happen if any god ate one, Donald had never dared, and I wasn't in a hurry to find out.

Whenever new souls found their way into the Underworld, I was with Donald, wanting to see how he reacted to new families finding one another. He's not a huge romantic, but he knew when I needed his arms, and I could erase his stress with just one kiss. We were happy, and curse whoever says otherwise! There were days I thought I would be content never to return to the surface so long as I had my Donald. But the longer I stayed there, the sooner we noticed that a lot more souls were coming in than usual. When I say a lot, I mean dozens at a time, then more, then hundreds. At first we thought some giant war was spreading across Greece, but the souls told us that they'd starved to death. The less I go into detail the better.

Did I mention my Mother was nuts? This was nuts into overdrive. When she searched every inch of the world and found no trace of me, she got so upset she didn't do her job – she didn't command the plants to grow. In case you didn't know, mortals really need plants in order to live. No grass, no trees, no vegetables or fruits, nothing was growing and what remained was dying. Animals starved, and it followed that mortals starved too. Zeus tried to demand Demeter to restore things, but she refused, and because he has the spine of a jellyfish, he couldn't think of anything else to do except demand things in a slightly louder voice. It's not like he could kill her. With the ambrosia that flows in Mount Olympus, all of our wounds heal instantly.

When Donald and I realized what was going on, we knew I had to return to Mother's side before everything on the mortal plane died. I cried and ranted and pulled out my hair at how unfair it all was, how everything was suffering just because I didn't want to obey her ridiculous orders. But Donald, sweet Donald, he said he wouldn't force me to go. He left it up to me. Which, in a way, was almost worse. So I asked to have some time to say goodbye to everyone before I went back.

I also did something extra, but didn't tell Donald. He'd definitely have stopped me if he found out beforehand.

~*~

Donald had gone to Olympus first to try and explain things, but the moment he said that Daisy was in the Underworld, he was blamed by every single soul. Demeter screamed that Donald had kidnapped her daughter just to see her suffer even more, and everyone agreed that this was “obviously” what had happened. When Donald ultimately lost his temper and screamed right back, it only made the gods and goddesses more sure that he was a dangerous man who would steal everyone's children for his own desires.

When Daisy joined the group, a hand on her stomach, there was silence for five extremely long seconds. Given how the men and women were surrounding Donald, she could tell right away that things had gone from bad to worse. She tried to reach for Donald's hand, but was clasped into a tight embrace by Demeter.

“Oh, my precious Persephone!” Her fingers dug into her daughter, as if her limbs would protect her from Donald. “It's all right now! I won't ever let that awful man get near you again!”

“Awful? He's awful?” Daisy grabbed a fistful of her mother's hair, yanking her down so they were on eye level. “You let thousands die – you made them die! If you think I'm going to let you badmouth him after that murder tantrum you just threw, you've lost your mind!” Demeter tried to reason that they were merely mortals, but Daisy wasn't done, pushing her aside to snap and growl at the other immortals. “And all of you just let her do this! You all think you're so much better than mortals, but you...” Her rant was postposed as a sharp pain stabbed her stomach, and she hunch over, clenching her teeth. “You...All of you...What's the point of being so powerful, if all you do is just party and...”

“Daisy?” While Donald hadn't spent a lot of time in the presence of other gods and goddesses, even he knew that such sudden pain wasn't normal. He tried to reach for her, but Demeter violently slapped him away, screeching at him that this was his fault.

“Shut up, mother!” Daisy managed to hiss out while bent over, sweat dripping down her feathers. “He does the most important job in the whole wide world, and you all treat him like garbage! You...augh...” She held herself, her vision beginning to blur, yet she refused to stop speaking, needing her opinion heard even if it went ignored. “You...You don't even try to find the truth...You're just happy with whatever is easiest for you! I won't be like you! I won't stay here and...and turn into some empty-headed pawn! I won't let you control my future! I won't let you control me! I...Only I...get to...decide that...”

Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed onto the floor, her breath sharpening. Donald yelled her name in horror, and he knelt down to scoop her up into his arms, begging her to know what happened. Demeter burst into terrified sobs, while the other gods and goddesses didn't dare move – what if whatever Daisy “caught” touched them? As tears began to roll down Donald's cheeks, he only now saw the fruit that spilled out of Daisy's robe – a pomegranate with a fresh bite mark. “What?! This is...” He snatched it up, squeezing it in hot anger and grief. “I told you! I told you not to eat anything! Why did you...You stupid, stupid brat!”

Daisy curled up in his embrace, smiling despite the agony her insides were writhing through. “Because...I finally...found a way...to like myself...” A hard gulp of air. “Some people fight...with swords and shields...this is...how I wanted...to fight...”

But now that the source of the sickness had been revealed, all was not lost. Hera wordlessly stood up from her throne, plucking one of the flowers that grew between the throne of her and her husband. It was possible she didn't know if this would work, and equally possible that she didn't mind if Daisy died right then and there. No one dared to ask Hera how her mind worked or what her motivations were that day. She knelt down, tilting the flower toward's Daisy's open mouth, and the ambrosia poured in.

Daisy's body bucked, thrashing in quiet torment, and hundreds of vines sprouted from her body, popping off flowers of all shapes and colors that died instantaneously. The process repeated again and again, until finally the vines slipped away, and Daisy was breathing normally, the fever gone from her face. A voice dared to speak up – Gladstone's. “Is...Is she going to be all right?”

“I-I don't know,” Donald confessed, helping his beloved sit up in his arms. “The seeds of the Underworld can't be digested and they will never go away. This might work for now, but...she might have to go back to the Underworld for a bit to recover.”

“I won't let you steal her again!” Demeter found her voice and her anger again, towering over Donald as she shook with fury. “She is a bride to be, not yours to take!”

“Yeaaaah. About that.” There came Gladstone again, raising his hand upward. “I've never had bad luck happen to me before, so I'm not entirely sure if this is it, but...I'd really rather not marry anyone who's been in the Underworld. She's been around dead people. Kinda gross. No offense, Persephone dear.”

“None taken,” Daisy replied groggily.

Demeter's face fell, and with her momentum stolen, she faced the other men, trying to gain their support. “Well, she...She'd still be an excellent bride! Any one of you can have her, I trust you!”

“No thanks,” said Mortimer.

“No way,” said Pete.

“It pains me to say this, but I must pass,” said Zeus, fully aware that Hera was glaring daggers at him. It followed that every male god on the mountain, including the visiting demi-gods and all other types of creatures and beasts visiting their favorite deity, politely declined marrying used goods.

With each rejection, Demeter's body appeared to shrink a little more, and she had no weaponry left except to lash out at Donald. “You! This is your fault! You planned this!”

“First off, lady, I am not that clever,” Donald growled as he wiped the tears from his face. “Second off, as much as you'd like to believe otherwise, I don't put people in harm's way to get what I want. Unlike some people. Now I am going to take her back to the Underworld so she can rest! And if you actually care about your daughter, or about anyone other than yourself, you won't cause another apocalypse!” With one last huff, he stood on his feet, cradling Daisy close to his chest. “Anything else you want to say to 'em before we head back?”

Daisy didn't have the words, but felt a long, wet raspberry would suffice.

~*~

So it turned out that I have to stay in the Underworld for a few months every year, or I'll get super sick all over again. And when that happens, Mother throws another tantrum, but at least it's shorter this time around, and since then, the mortals kind of see it coming and know what to do. That's what you can always count on mortals to do – adapt to change. They're really amazing that way. I've also made a vow to never return to Mount Olympus. It's got nothing I want up there.

Being a goddess is a bizarre thing, Minnie. Sometimes I think the mortals don't really need us at all. They'll always find ways to move on and survive on their own. They'll make bigger ships than this, faster ones, and they'll have this entire world in their hands. Maybe one day there will come a time when they forget all about us...and that might be for the best. We shouldn't be allowed to decide their future or shape it in any way. The same goes for you and me.

You are unique, Minnie, in so many ways. We don't know where you came from, what you can do, or how the future will turn out. But don't you ever let anyone but you decide it. Not even Mickey. Whether you find your place in the world or you never do, it doesn't matter as long as you are happy with yourself. As long as you like yourself, no one has the right to tell you where to go and what to do. And if they try? You fight it in whatever way you can. I'll be by your side all the way.

~*~

“And you can stop hugging me now.” Daisy thought that sappy speech was embarrassing enough on its own, but of course Minnie had to make it worse by holding Daisy tightly from behind and almost tipping her over. “For goodness sake. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not dying anymore.”

“I know,” Minnie sniffled, deeply moved by the story told and the meanings behind it. “But I love you so much, my dear Daisy. I truly do. You're my best friend in the whole wide world.” She had not once believed that Donald had ever kidnapped Daisy, even long before she met the man for herself. The fact that they still perpetuated that lie angered her in a place deep within her soul, doubly so that they would never accept it even if Minnie said otherwise. It also told her that if anyone on the mountain ever found out what she was doing with Mickey, they'd twist and turn it into something disgusting and horrible to suit their own needs. They couldn't be trusted.

“Okay, but I can't steer the boat with you hugging me like this, and I have to return the boat to shore before Donald gets mad.” She reached to try and untangle Minnie's fingers from her stomach. “And I'll have to ask Donald for permission before you show the boat to Mickey.”

Minnie blinked, surprised, which allowed Daisy to safely push her off. “How did you know that's what I wanted to do next?”

“Because you're obsessed with that little weirdo, that's how.” A knowing flick to Minnie's black nose. “If my story didn't tip you off, that mouse must've never been to Mount Olympus, because he'd have drunk the ambrosia and never had his leg shaped that way. But whenever a god has a child, they're fully allowed to bring that kid to the mountain and have a drink of it. So whoever popped that kid out hasn't told a soul about him, and might not want anyone to know he exists.”

Minnie was about to ask why anyone wouldn't want to know about marvelous Mickey, but a thought changed her mind. “What if he came out of nowhere, just like me?” It would be another sign of how they were meant to be, so Minnie saw it.

“I'd normally say that's impossible, but with you, I suppose anything is now.” Daisy shrugged before heading to the bow of the ship. “A mystery falling in love with a mystery. It's very fitting.” With a roll of her shoulders, she set to steer the ship around. “Now, watch me do it. I'll teach you everything I know so you can sail away with Mickey into the sunset.”

“You can count on me, I'll have it all memorized!” Mickey matters aside, she was always eager to learn something new and Daisy was glad to teach. As they pulled ropes and measures sails, Daisy quietly hoped Donald would give them permission to show the boat to Mickey. As much as she loathed her mother's suffocating hold, there was pity to be had for Mickey, who had nothing and no one save for forgetful fish women. She hoped Minnie was right and that Mickey really did come from “nowhere”, so it meant he wasn't abandoned and forcefully forgotten.

Yet she recalled Donald's look when she first told him of Mickey, of his leg and his cave – a look of despair, of heartache and regret. She hadn't been able to needle the story out of him yet, but there definitely was a story there in the waiting. When would he speak of Mickey, and did she really want to hear it? What other disasters had those on Mount Olympus created?

Daisy's fingers found themselves on Minnie's shoulder, clenching her close in a protective hold. They would not cause Minnie pain, not if Daisy had anything to say about it. She would protect her friend.

But as they sailed around the cold waters, with Minnie's mind burning in a hundred new directions, Daisy had no idea that the one Minnie might need protection from was herself.

#disney #fanfic #love like lava #minnie mouse #daisy duck #donald duck #gladstone gander

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theseventhhex · 5 years

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Operators Interview

Operators

Photo by Brit Kubat

Operators is a Montreal based project created by Daniel Boeckner, (Wolf Parade, Handsome Furs, Divine Fits), Devojka, and Sam Brown (Divine Fits, New Bomb Turks) in 2014. The band released an EP in 2014, and released their first LP in 2016. Operators supported these releases with a series of international tours across North America, and Europe. Their latest release, ‘Radiant Dawn’ consists of nine tracks that meld raw analog hardware with Boeckner's distinct voice to create an immersive cinematic sound. Interspersed between the tracks are instrumental intertitles that amplify the album’s 1970s sci-fi dystopian feel. ‘Radiant Dawn’ maintains a completely fresh energy for a band very much in top form… We talk to Dan Boeckner about working in an isolated setting, the VHS era and HBO’s Chernobyl …

TSH: How would you sum up your creative partnership with Devojka in the lead-up to ‘Radiant Dawn’?

Dan: Once the ‘Blue Wave’ touring cycle ended and I had time off from Wolf Parade, I started putting together some basic ideas for what I thought would turn into ‘Radiant Dawn’ tracks. We had this sort of unspoken understanding that we weren’t going to limit ourselves to the same gear that we used to write ‘Blue Wave’, so I’d set up a few limited combinations of synths and drum machines and just started carving out patterns and chord progressions I liked. I had a lot of false starts. It wasn’t really until Dev and I began working on things together in our studio that the aesthetic of ‘Radiant Dawn’ revealed itself. We did a few days of free form jamming direct to 2 track cassette with Andrew Woods (who ended up mixing the album) processing the entire mix through a table of guitar pedals. When we were listening to the playback, it pretty much set the tone for the sonic aesthetic of the album. Dev and I got to work on building a kind of psycho-geography for the songs to live in. I got obsessed with the idea of a kind of Irradiated Pastoralism. These banal landscapes made completely unrecognisable by an “event”. Maybe a visitation, nuclear fallout, the effects of extreme climate change. Not post-apocalyptic but post-post-apocalyptic. Everything has grown back, the sun is shining, but the landscape and objects have been changed. The foliage has changed. Everything is unrecognisable. Dev and I worked really quickly after that. I felt like once we built the world, it was easy to fit the songs into it.

TSH: As you guys fleshed out new material, what was the level of focus in the studio like?

Dan: We’re pretty intensely focussed when we’re writing. One of the great things about having Dev as a writing partner is that we’re both completely comfortable and happy to play 4 bar bass sequence for hours and just reach a kind of trance state, adding and subtracting melodies and trying out different vocal lines. It’s really my favourite part of the process because it feels pure and totally removed from the world of the “intellectual”. Usually we’d record voice memos and then go over them, pick out the exciting moments and work those moments into a structure.

TSH: You’ve touched on this album pushing you forward into a new chapter of writing. Can you tell us more about auditioning your lyrics…

Dan: I’ve never really done it before, so it was a bit nerve wracking. I wanted the lyrics on this album to function like a bridge between the different narrators and protagonists in the different songs. To reinforce the narrative and show that they all lived in the same world that we’d built. Once I got over my initial uncomfortableness about sitting in a room and reading/singing lyrics to Dev, it was a blast. We got to dig into the songs and try a bunch of different things out. I filled an entire notebook with lyrics for this album and used probably 10% of them.

TSH: Also, what were the benefits in working in a really isolated setting?

Dan: Our studio is down the street from our house, on a semi bustling street…but the studio itself feels like a space station. Walking in the door for me is like walking through an airlock. There’s the outside world where linear time exists, people are getting drunk at the bar below, cars driving by, occasionally I look out the window and see someone I know…inside the studio, time stops, everything is calm, it’s a blank space where you just work and build something. I like being able to access both of those things. To spend a whole day isolated and working and then shut the door and go back to normal city life.

TSH: Was ‘Days’ identified early on as the album opener?

Dan: When I finished the first, extremely rough pass of ‘Days’ and played it for Dev, we both knew that it should be the first song on the album. The protagonist wakes up in the woods mumbling the lines of the chorus and the whole song rushes forward to a collapse where the drum machine and pads just start falling apart. The album ends in the woods with the protagonist of ‘Low Life’ watching his small town become unstuck in space/time and there’s a similar disintegration of the track. There’s a kind of loop there. I also really liked the idea of the first melodic thing you hear on the album being just Buchla bass and smeared out vocals.

TSH: Moreover, what sort of motivations do you draw on to pen a track like ‘Faithless’?

Dan: ‘Faithless’ is about the hallucinatory nature of reality (online and offline) under late period capitalism. The same grotesquely funny reality bending force field that happened in the USSR during the last years of its existence. When I wrote it, I was thinking about the absurd effects of 80s GOSPLAN (a factory that makes 10s of thousands of platform shoes that no one wants, based on calculations made by state bureaucrats) and the existential horror of watching verified fast food chain twitter accounts “interact” with each other about depression and how they’re pretty much the same thing. The failure of an ideology, political system and ecumenic ideal creating this gradual psychedelic effect on our daily lives. Accepting that. Not really knowing or caring if anything is true because…our last individual agency in this collapsing system is being able to believe something ridiculous like the earth is flat or that vaccines are a government conspiracy. Losing faith in pretty much everything. I wanted to write a song about that ending up being a liberating force for change.

TSH: How key is it for Operators to continuously have a strong visual element?

Dan: It’s become really important to the way we want to present the band. When we started, it was more of a stark, Fugazi style minimalism where we wouldn’t think about lighting onstage or a constant aesthetic, but with this record Dev and I are so invested in the world we built for ‘Radiant Dawn’, we felt like it was important to invite people into it with short films, projections onstage… to give people an immersive experience.

TSH: Speaking of visual elements, when you think of the VHS era, what sort of nostalgia and memories come to mind for you?

Dan: When I think of the VHS era I think of one thing: McQuinns Video. I grew up in a very remote rural community in Canada. We had one video rental store and it was in the basement of this guy Dick McQuinns house. You’d go in his front door, walk down a hallway and open another door. You’d walk down a flight of stairs and be greeted by a massive poster for the movie Maniac, which is an oil painting of the titular Maniac holding the severed head of a woman and a giant bowie knife. His stock was probably 50% “regular” films and 50% insane horror movies. I loved going there and wandering through the stacks of VHS tapes, looking at the covers. My brother and I would rent a bunch of horror movies and spend summer afternoons with the blinds closed mainlining Lucio Fulci and John Carpenter. I think it broke my brain in the best possible way.

TSH: Is the notion of being adaptable one that you’ve had to master being an artist over the years?

Dan: I’m not sure if I’ve mastered it, but it’s a really important skill to cultivate. One thing I do know is that in 2019, no one who works on the business side of music has any fucking idea what’s happening. All the models that “worked” 5-10 years ago are obsolete and irrelevant. That coupled with the fact there seems to be this weird, Lovecraftian shadow of the “good old days” still guiding a lot of the decisions that get made about how to direct an artist’s career means that WE as artists need to trust our instincts and experiences on the road/in the business more and more. If you’re a working musician and you’re paying attention, you’re going to know what works and what doesn’t more than any of the management class people around you. Being fluid and adaptable to this new paradigm is the way to stay happy and working.

TSH: You’ve touched on how ‘shooting stuff around on the internet can be really damaging’. Do you feel that today’s technology is information overload and that real communication is crumbling?

Dan: I don’t feel like communication and engagements are suffering but I do feel like the networked nature of these systems and the way they’re a perfect vector for political brain poisoning has been incredibly damaging to social and political life, even here in Canada.

TSH: Having some German in you, do you have any strong attachments to German ways of life?

Dan: Haha! Not at all. I do love krautrock though! And, now that I think about it… currywurst.

TSH: What do you and Devojka bond and laugh over most whilst on tour?

Dan: Late night forced karaoke in the van, whatever weird regional American gas station items we come across, terrible hours long comedy riffs (usually based on a single word) that are just the product of the collective insanity of being in a van for 6-10 hours day.

TSH: Does your dog Archie still sleep on your suitcase when you need to access it?

Dan: Yes. Every single time we leave on tour. Always my suitcase. Probably because it’s bigger and more comfortable than Devs. We used to bring him out on the road with us and it was great… he’s an incredible equaliser. Say you’ve got a surly promoter or stage tech…it’s incredibly hard to be a complete asshole when there’s a little, friendly dog wandering around and charming everyone.

TSH: What impressed you most about HBO’s Chernobyl? And what else have you been watching lately?

Dan: I loved Chernobyl. I’m a huge fan of Jarred Harris. It’s jarring to watch something produced in the West in 2019 that’s not just ultra-reactionary and critical of Russia in general, even though the story itself is an indictment of late period Soviet bureaucracy. I liked how the director acknowledged how much of the series was lifted from Svetlana Alexeivichs incredible book, as well. I’d recommend that anyone who enjoyed Chernobyl go out and buy her latest work Secondhand Time - one of the best things I’ve ever read. Some other things I’ve watched lately: Neon Genesis Evangelion (still great), The Wailing (amazing Korean horror film), The Dark (the German Lost but good), Stranger in a Strange Land (1987 Nick Cave in Berlin doc), Marketa Lazarova (Czech new wave and the most black metal film ever made) and Ian Nairn - Nairn Across Britain. The whole series is up on YouTube and I think I learned more about UK social geography from it than anything I’ve ever read. A lot of the locations seem bleak (it’s always raining and grey) or run down (it was filmed between 71-78) but the way he imbues these places with magic and history makes you feel like you’re listening to Alan Moore talk about sacred geometry. It’s a deeply odd and very British documentary series. There’s an entire episode about Wolverhampton that’s completely gripping, if that’s any indication of how charming this guy is.

TSH: Devojka has previously made drinks for her neighbourhood – do you get treated to some cocktail specials on tour?

Dan: Without a mobile full bar, it’s hard to get the same quality of drinks out BUT, we did a pretty big booze buy on the last tour and had a box full of some top shelf liquor that just came with us into every backstage.

TSH: Finally, what’s pleased you most about the band’s progression to date?

Dan: The fact that we got to the point where we could make a record like ‘Radiant Dawn’. I’m not discounting our other stuff but to me ‘Radiant Dawn’ was one of those “signpost albums” you get to make once every 5 years or so. A record where you push through into another phase of your creative life and discover some new tools, new approaches, new language for making music and everything becomes challenging and exciting. For me, that’s really only happened twice before in the last 15 years and I’m glad we kept pushing at our song writing process. Evolving as a live band has been really rewarding too. To be so linked and tuned into each other on stage you can be in the middle of a set and just throwing new things, flourishes, new parts back and forth at each other and playing off them. Those moments are the closest I get to pure, mindless joy.

Operators - “I Feel Emotion”

Radiant Dawn

#Interview #Operators #dan boeckner #devojka

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willardswritindump · 5 years

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June 3rd, 2525

1800 hours

Sarah pulled the spent magazine from her BR55, replaced it, and set her iron sights down the firing lane. She fired three consecutive bursts, and nine holes appeared in the target’s torso region 100 meters out. The Academy has some skilled students and soldiers, sure, but Sarah seems to have more experience than the rest of the idiots here. She fired two more bursts. Three rounds hit the torso, two the head.

The only one remotely close to Sarah’s skill was Oliver. While she sent well placed bursts into each of her targets at 100 meters, he was carefully placing every single shot out of his BR55 into the chest and head of the target at 200 meters. Each one being fast but not so fast as to allow the recoil from the last shot to throw him off. The groupings, one for the heart, one for each lung and one right between the eyes of the target weren’t any larger than an inch in diameter. Just like his oldest brother Christian taught him.

“Well well well, looks like you two fucking psychos were made for each other!”

Their platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Declan Wrtezky said as he kicked each of the cadets in the boot as they continued to fire.

“You two are some of the best shots we’ve seen in a long while, if only you two actually fucking spoke to each other you’d maybe make a decent fucking team!”

"Yes Sir, thank you Drill Sergeant, Sir!"

Sarah kept firing down range, watching her ammo counter tick down with every successful burst.

12.

Click.

An empty magazine plops into the mud, ready to be replaced by a clean, fresh one.

“Sir, AXIOS, sir!”

Odie said before continuing to plink away at the target.

“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRING ON THE FIRING LINE!” A loud voice called out over the range.

"Great. Some dumbass probably shot themselves"

Were Sarah's first initial thoughts, which quickly narrowed down to two dumbass tards. "Fuckin Hoffman, probably."

She put her gun to safe, and stood to attention

Without even thinking Oliver dropped the mag and ejected the round from the chamber and placed the weapon on safe before joining Sarah at attention.

“LOOK AT THIS SHIT!” The Sergeant in charge of line said as he walked up and down it, holding up a BR with a split and still smoking barrel.