#have a date in this dark cave where nobody can find you and also lets have sex please please please please please im so in love with you i

[dirt-str1der]

Ive said it a million times omegaverse power dynamics are worthless uninspired and boring— HOLY CRAP hes standing on a branch like a real bird ...

[alpacaparkaseok]

The Pact - Shocker

Pairing/Genre: OT7 BTS x reader (not poly), idol!BTS, best friend BTS

Word Count: 8.1k

Premise: The truth about the pact the boys have about you has been revealed. What happens when you agree to go on a single date with each of them?

Warnings: angst, lots of feelings, but a lot of those are fluffy, happy feelings lol

a/n: there’s not much left so say except for thank you. I hope you enjoy, I tried my best!

Shocker (finale)

series masterlist

“Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.” -George Orwell ‘1984’

Sunday, 3:12 am – immediately following the events of date #7

           The fact that the lights are still on isn’t surprising in the least. It’s been like this after every date. Yoongi is no exception, apparently.

           He pauses outside the door, resting his hand gently against the doorknob. It’s nearly silent, but he can hear familiar voices speaking in hushed tones on the other side of the door. He stares at the dark door, unable to shake the memory of your tear-stained cheeks and swollen ankle from his mind. You had sounded so worried, so afraid of what comes next.

           You’d mumbled out his name when you made it to your bed, the exhaustion on your face momentarily replaced with a look he could only interpret as blind fear. And the way you’d looked at him, wide eyed with a quivering lip…he doesn’t think you noticed, but he nearly caved. He almost laid down beside you and taken you into his arms, deeming the time on the beach not enough.

           With you, it was never enough. Slivers of time and longing looks you never noticed; it would never be enough.

           If the botched date wasn’t evidence enough, it was then, when you gazed up at him and mumbled out his name, Yoongi knew.

           Tonight…it wasn’t enough.

           So he just leaned forward and watched how your eyes fluttered shut as he pecked your nose.

           “I know.”

          Jungkook straightens up from where he was slumped on the couch beside Jin the second the door opens and Yoongi walks in. The scattered conversation that they had all been using as a distraction fades out as each boy focuses in on the newcomer.

           Hobi is practically invisible beneath the huge sweatshirt he wears, his face barely visible as he speaks. “How was it?”

           For some reason or another, there’s always been a postdate analysis of sorts. It’s usually just like this: all of the boys gathered up in the living room in various states of consciousness. Jimin was the only one to slide by without an impromptu meeting after his date, partially because he was too exhausted to see straight and also because everyone knew he’d tell them all the details at breakfast the next morning. He did, and Taehyung actually managed to break a bowl when he lost it over the story of how you and Jimin got kicked out of the basilica.

           Namjoon, on the other hand, had been pretty grim when he realized that Jimin had been teasing you endlessly about your little kiss.

           Now, Yoongi shuffles inside and plops down unceremoniously beside Namjoon, who looks a little worried at the silence. Dropping his heads in his hands, Yoongi rubs at his face before leaning back against the couch.

           “It was fine, if you don’t count the twisted ankle.”

           “What?” Jimin sputter out, suddenly wide awake. “She got hurt?”

           “What happened?” Hobi follows up, leaning forward until he’s nearly slipping off of the couch. “Is she alright?”

           Yoongi is quick to explain your little accident, omitting your tears from the storytelling. He doesn’t want to embarrass you or make the others feel bad. The others listen with rapt attention, Jungkook’s mouth in a little ‘o’ all throughout.

           Jin remains silent on the couch, as he usually does during these little meetings. He’ll occasionally comment on something or voice a question, but he tends to remain fairly quiet. Drinking in the information, eyes clear despite the late hour.

           It’s unnerving.

           “So…it’s not a bad injury?” Namjoon asks, crossing his arms.

           “No, she’s fine,” Yoongi reassures. “Just tired. She went straight to bed after I dropped her off.”

           Taehyung grins knowingly. “Adorable.”

           Everyone is silent as everyone turns to their thoughts, the same thing on everyone’s mind. It’s Hobi again that breaks the silence, stretching and yawning as he gets to his feet.

           “Well, that’s that. It’s over. Gentlemen,” he eyes everyone around the room, shuffling toward the hallway where the warmth of his bed calls to him. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

           “Wait!” Jungkook also hops to his feet, much more alert than the older boy. “What happens now?”

           There are a few non-committal answers from around the room, but two people remain silent. Meeting eyes from across the space, Jin and Yoongi share a silent agreement.

           Jin clears his throat, and it’s only then that the boys realize that it’s been hours since he last spoke. With a soft smile he utters, “We let her choose. Whatever she wants, if she wants to go back to normal or decides to date someone.” His eyes return to Yoongi, and suddenly the memory of two years prior is laid out before them. “Then…we let her go.”

           “I’m just saying, if he didn’t want you to find it, he would’ve hidden it in his underwear drawer. Sock drawer is a stupid way to go.”

           You sip at the horchata Gina brought over for you, huffing out a laugh. “You’re so weird.”

           Gina shrugs. “Just saying. So what did you get up to yesterday?”

           Yesterday. You had woken up with red eyes and puffy cheeks from all the crying you had done the night before. Slightly embarrassed but more feeling miserable for yourself, you had crawled to the shower and tried to get your thoughts straight.

           When you emerged, you had a couple of texts to welcome you. They were from Jimin and Taehyung, welcoming you back to the groupchat. There were plenty of happy emojis and balloons taking up the messages, enough to make you crack a smile. You shot back a thank you text, letting out a sigh of relief.

           It was good to be back.

           When Namjoon texted and tentatively asked about the state of your ankle and if you were open to them popping over, you took nearly an hour to decide. Nervous about seeing all of them, cautious because you had no idea what would happen if you were in the same room.

           Who would you radiate toward, without even realizing?

           It was then, when that question popped up, that you realized that you had known the answer all along.

           It was startling, how the answer had been there all along. So simple, yet so unattainable.  

           “The boys wanted to check in on me,” you sigh, glaring down at your ankle. It’s still sore, but much better today. Although it’s safe to say you won’t be flying kites anytime soon.

           “But…?”

           “The thought of all seven of them in my little apartment at the same time was overwhelming,” you admit. “I needed a minute. To think. And I know I’ve had weeks to think about it, but yesterday was the first time I felt like I could see the full picture…if that makes sense.”

           Gina nods thoughtfully, reaching over to refill your glass of horchata. The sun is steadily making its way to the horizon, another day wrapping up. “It does. You’ve been going out with someone different each week, you’re probably suffering from information overload after all of those dates and the confession on the pact…how are you not exhausted?”

           “I was yesterday. I was torn – Gina, I want to go back to normal so bad. Just the way it was.”

           “Ignorance is bliss.”

           You set your glass down, pushing back from the table and crossing your arms. “Wouldn’t that be better?” You muse. “That way, nobody gets hurt.”

           Gina tilts her head to one side, eyes flashing. A smirk forms on her face. “You wouldn’t be saying this if you hadn’t already decided on someone.” She leans forward in her seat, staring into your soul. “Who?”

           You school your features into a neutral position. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

           “No, no. You don’t get to shut me out. You have feelings for someone, don’t you!” Gina points an accusing finger at you, letting out a startled laugh. “You totally do! What went on in your head, yesterday? Or maybe you’ve loved them for a while, and this is what it took to realize it-”

           “I can’t do it, Gina.” Your eyes are wide as you plead more with yourself than her. “I can’t do that to the others.”

           “And what, you plan to just let him go?”

           Dropping your head into your hands, you squeeze your eyes shut. “Do I have another choice?”

           The scrape of the chair against the floor alerts you to Gina rising from her seat, and you expect her to leave. She has every right to, you’re frustrated with yourself as well. However, a second later she’s rubbing your back, urging you to look up. Once you do, she offers you a small smile.

           “You always have a choice.”

           Gina stays for a couple more hours, offering her support as you blubber on about how worried you are. While your heart is urging you to throw caution to the wind and go after what you’ve wanted for longer than you ever realized before, your mind does a great job of conjuring up different reactions from the others.

           All of them are depressing. Every time you close your eyes you’re met with the crestfallen expressions of your best friends. Scenarios play out in your head, where you’re blissfully happy for a few seconds before everything comes tumbling down.

           “You’ve gotta get out of your head,” Gina chides as she eases off the couch. “You’re miserable.”

           You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just…I can’t do anything. I can’t. That’s horrible of me.”

           “They’re grown boys; they knew what they were getting themselves into with this. Just…tell me something before I head out.”

           “…ok.”

           Gina pauses before the door, hands on her hips. “Why him? Because from where I’m sitting, they all love you.”

           The question takes you by surprise, but the answer is rolling off your tongue in an instant. “I want to be loved, yes. But more than that…I want to be understood.” You stare at a framed photo on the wall, solemn. “He understands me.”

           You don’t hear when Gina leaves, the thoughts in your head too loud. Instead you stay seated on the couch, chewing on your lip. Wondering.

           Remembering.

           All the times he’d been there – he was always there for you, how could you never notice? – never drawing attention to himself. Just there. Just in case you needed him.

           What’s stopping you?

           A knock on the door stops your train of thought, and you hobble up to your feet. Swinging the door open you say, “Did you forget something?”

           Jin stands on your porch, clutching a garment bag to his chest. His ears are bright red, set aflame by the setting sun. He’s wearing his glasses, which he pushes up on his nose. “I…no?”

           “Oh!” You step back, wincing a little from your ankle. “I thought you were Gina! I…hey.”

           “Hey.” Shuffling on his feet, Jin looks down at the bag he’s holding, seeming to remember why he was here in the first place. “Oh, here. I know it’s a little late, but I got your dress dry cleaned and…well, yeah. Here you go.”

           His hands tremble a bit, but you don’t comment as you take the bag from him. “Thank you. Your sweater is actually hanging up in my room…why don’t you come in while I grab it?”

           “Can I?” Jin looks down at your doorstep, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to intrude…”

           “Just come in!” You call over your shoulder, already heading down the hallway. “This will only take a second. Besides, it’s cold outside.”

           The door clicks shut, Jin stepping inside and shoving his hands in his pockets. You rush inside your room, throwing your dress on a hanger in the closet and scanning your clothes for Jin’s blue sweater. When you find it – grinning at the whale on the front – you pause. Holding it in your hands, you take a deep breath.

           “Hey,” Jin’s voice rings out down the hallway. You catch a slight tremble in his tone, which is mirrored by your shaking hands. “I a-actually wanted to talk to you for a second. If that’s ok…?”

           Clearing your voice of the emotion that’s riding you, you respond. “Just come down here.”

           A second later Jin is tentatively peeking inside your room, giving you a nervous smile. His eyes then land on your dresser, widening a bit.

           “So you did steal my copy!”

           Gasping, you toss Jin’s sweater at him and lunge for the dresser. There’s the pact, out in the open for anyone to see. “I- I was gonna give it back-”

           “I can’t believe you’d steal from me.”

           “It was for a good cause!”

           Jin rolls his eyes, laughing as he snatches the pact from you and holds it up in the air. “Nuh-uh, I’m taking this home with me. You’ve had it for long enough.” He makes a point of folding it up and sticking it in his back pocket, staring down at you with an amused expression.

           Suddenly you’re transported to his living room, dancing in his arms. Staring up at him like he put the stars in the sky while he looks at you like you’re the forbidden fruit.

           Is that why he’s here, now? To finally give in to the temptation?

           From the way the smile slides off his lips, you can tell that he’s remembering the same moment. His mouth opens a bit, looking as though he’s about to speak. After a moment, it shuts. Then he slowly reaches out, arms encircling you as he studies your expression. Waiting for any moment of discomfort.

           The second Jin pulls you into his embrace and you rest your head against his chest, his shoulders deflate and he lets out a long sigh.

           It’s not a sigh of relief.

           “Do you remember the first time we hung out together? Jimin wanted to bring you to the Spring Day set, and it was freezing. We were all complaining about our toes falling off and yelling at Namjoon for writing about such a cold song.”

           You chuckle, nodding. Jin’s voice rumbles through his chest as he continues. “I thought that it was so embarrassing, too. We were complaining like kids in front of Jimin’s pretty friend. I figured that you’d never want to hang out with us again. I’ll never forget how angry Jimin was with us after, saying that we were probably making you uncomfortable. Obviously, we all said that it was stupid of him to bring you to a freezing music video set for our first meeting.”

           Jin tightens his grip, laying his cheek atop your head and swaying gently back and forth. You’re not sure if he even realizes that he does it, but you don’t ask. Not as he’s walking down memory lane. It feels like it’s been centuries since you first met.

           “You know what I remember the most about you from that day?”

           You hum, nuzzling in a little closer. Hanging on for just a moment longer.

           “You never complained. Like, at all.” Jin cups your chin, making you look up at him. He smiles softly, but his eyes are sad. “I thought it was a superpower or something, seriously. You just smiled and joked around with Jungkook and Tae. If you were cold or uncomfortable or even weirded out by us, you didn’t say anything.”

           You roll your eyes, latching your hands behind Jin’s back. “I was definitely weirded out, but I didn’t want Jimin to feel bad. He was so excited for me to meet you guys.”

           Jin chuckles, the sound momentarily warming you up. “But the point is, you didn’t complain. You’ve always been like that. Even now, being dragged on seven dates and having to deal with us figuring out our own feelings, you never once complained. You never backed away.”

           The sadness that lingers in Jin’s eyes has you tightening your hold, wondering how to get rid of that sorrow. Your train of thought is interrupted when Jin brushes back a strand of hair, softly tucking it behind your ear.

           “You are beautiful and a wonder. You will always be important to me, no matter where life takes us. You will always be that person that I’ll drop everything for, ok?” Jin takes another long, adoring look at you before reaching behind him and gathering your hands in his. He slowly pulls away from you, staring down at where he holds your hands. “I might be an idiot at times, but I can tell when I’m in the way.”

           As he takes a step back, you watch as he drops your hands. “Jin, wait,” you reach out, grasping his arm as he moves to turn away. “Jin- Seokjin, what’s going on-”

           “You and Yoongi have that in common, did you know that?” Jin offers you a close-lipped smile, placing his hand on yours where you cling to his jacket. His thumb swipes over your knuckles once – twice – before he’s stepping back yet again. “Neither of you are complainers. I mean sure, there’s the funny complaints that everyone makes. But he has a penchant for suffering silently. I’d say he’s a bit of a masochist, but that’d be a lie. He just cares.”

           Jin has made it to your doorway now, where he pauses and leans against the doorframe. He crosses his arms, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, a faraway look in his eyes. “I think he doesn’t know what to do with it, all those feelings. He just cares so much, about everyone. For you.”

           “Jin,” you gasp out, “what are you doing?”

           One corner of his lips pull up in a smirk. “Me?” He shifts his weight to his other leg. “Letting go.”

           “What are you even talking about?”

           “Don’t get me wrong, I intend to complain. You’ll get an official complaint in the mail soon enough, just give it three to five business days to get here. But I realized something a little while ago: complainers always find some new to complain about. And while that sucks, it also means that they move on. They find something new, no matter how long it takes.”

           He keeps looking at you with that sad smile, and it’s ripping the ground out from under you. You want to scream, throw something, or perhaps dissolve into tears. But nothing happens. You just keep breathing.

           In.

           Then out.

           And Jin keeps speaking. He’s rambling now, something he does when he’s nervous. His brows are still furrowed, and you wonder if he’s making this up as he goes. If the only thing he knew what that he had to find a way in, only to find a way out.

           “As twisted as my logic sounds, I think it gives me hope. Eventually, I’ll be ok. Probably be complaining about the weather or maybe even a girl in no time. Just give me some time, and I’ll bounce back.”

           “Jin,” you croak out. “…you don’t complain, not about these things. Why are you doing this? S-stop doing this.”

           “But it’s like I said: Yoongi doesn’t complain. Jagiya, I know him. Better than you do.” Jin closes his eyes, pinching them shut before opening them again. “He’ll never get over you. I mean it. And if my logic holds true…that means that you’ll never move past him, either.”

           Folding his sweater over his arm, Jin steps back into the hallway. You step forward, your stomach churning.

           “Seokjin!”

           He hesitates for a single heartbeat, almost looking like he’ll turn back around and declare it all some twisted joke. Like he’ll pull you back into his arms and admit that he’s been inside his memories for the past two weeks, replaying “La Vie en Rose” as he lies awake at night.

           But he doesn’t. He refuses to look at you as he marches down the hallway. As he walks, he continues to speak.

           “I was angry that night, when you called him instead of me. When you accidentally deleted your essay. He left, and I was stuck at home, pining after you like some teenage boy. I think even then, I knew that it wouldn’t be me in the end. But I’d die trying.” He laughs, joking but it doesn’t come off very funny.

           It’s when he’s reached the door and goes to pull it open that you call out to him again, sounding like you’re on the verge of tears. “But it was you, wasn’t it?” You run a hand through your hair. “You wrote the note, o-on the back of the pact.”

           With his hand on the doorknob, Jin glances back at you over his shoulder. Now you understand why he couldn’t stand to look at you a moment earlier. Those are tears glistening in his eyes.

           He looks at you for a long moment, eyes so clear and bare that you can see the very moment he lays down his weapons and admits defeat. “Would it change anything?”

           He’s already twisting the doorknob, but just before he opens the door, he hesitates. Waiting for an answer, you realize. Some small part of him still pulses with hope, even after all he’s said.

           You can’t give that hope.

           “There’s a difference, you know,” Jin mumbles, eyes dropping. “Just because I loved you first doesn’t mean I can love you the best. I think sometimes the world forgets that.”

           And then he’s gone.

           In.

           Out.

           Perhaps the most shocking development has been the fact that you’re still breathing. When Jin leaves your apartment, the sky doesn’t fall. Your heart, while aching, doesn’t shatter into a million little pieces. The quiet hum of your dishwasher continues on, oblivious to all that’s transpired.

           A few tears slip down your cheeks, which you quickly wipe away. When your dishwasher buzzes, you drift over to it as though in a daze. Wiping your hands on your dishtowel, you move to open the dishwasher.

           But it’s that dishtowel with stitched stars that Yoongi gifted you forever ago. Stars.

           You are the stars I’ve been reaching for ever since that night.

           Snatching the towel from where it hands off your oven, you fumble for your phone. Dishes long forgotten, you bring the phone up to your ear and nervously tap your foot. “C’mon, c’mon…”

           “Jagiya?”

           “Hobi!”

           “Hey, what’s up? How’s your ankle?”

           You chew on your lip, struggling to regain composure. “I- yeah. The ankle’s fine. Look, I need to cash in my question now.”

           Hobi chuckles on the other side of the phone. “That’s what I was afraid of. Wanna come over to the studio?”

           “Be there soon.”

           It’s dark outside, countless stars winking down at you as you hurry inside the Hybe building. You throw a glare up at them, wondering if they were in on it the entire time. If the stars have always been aware that Min Yoongi had no interest in them, much preferring your company to the twinkling lights in the heavens.

It’s your first time in here, the boys having recently moved into the new building. As such, you’re instantly disoriented. At a loss for where to go, you call Hobi.

“Hey, where…?”

“Turn around!”

You whirl around to see the elevator doors sliding open, Hobi hopping out. “Hey, you made it!” He instantly pulls you in for a hug, which you gratefully receive. “Everything ok, jagi?”

It’s then that you realize how you must look. Tear-stained cheeks and tired eyes don’t make for the best combination. “Oh…yeah. I’m alright.”

Hobi doesn’t believe you at all, but he doesn’t push it. Not here, out in the open lobby. Instead he pulls you into the elevator, punching one of the buttons. “Long day?”

You laugh quietly, leaning up against the wall of the elevator. “A little, yeah. What about you? What are you up to?”

“Oh, we’re recording a new Japanese OST. Wanna listen to it once we get up there?”

“Is that even a question?”

It feels unbelievably good to be here with Hobi, falling into an easy conversation despite the nervousness coursing through your veins. Once you reach the eighth floor, Hobi leads you down the hallway toward a closed door.

“What’s that?” He asks, pointing to where you still hold the dishtowel in your hands.

You blink, not even realizing that you brought it in with you. “Oh…um…part of my question, I think?”

Hobi chuckles, pausing outside of the door. “I was wondering when you were gonna use that question.”

At the end of your date with Hobi two months ago, he’d allowed you two questions about whatever you wanted to know. You only asked one, wanting to keep the other for a future time. You never thought it would lead to this.

“Ok, let’s head inside.”

Your eyes widen, but Hobi doesn’t notice as he pushes the door open and strides inside. The sight that greets you makes you want to sink through the floor.

Namjoon and Jungkook sit in front of the recording equipment, while Taehyung and Jimin lounge on the couches at the back of the room. Yoongi is busy on the other side of the glass, eyes closed as he raps into the mic. His dark hair is straight, kissing his brows while he clenches his fists at his sides,

You’re frozen in place as suddenly you’re surrounded by his voice. It’s lilting, more like singing than rapping. The words coming from his mouth stop your heart.

“Don't have to be right, just wanted you to stay the way you are, kindhearted, always smiling, but-”

“Hey!” Taehyung jumps up from his seat, alerting everyone to your presence. “You’re here!”

Jungkook swivels around in his chair, wide eyes crinkling as he grins. Namjoon quietly greets you, cheeks pink as he struggles to focus on the task at hand.

It’s Jimin that notices how lost you look. “Everything alright?” He ambles over to you, bending his knees a bit to look at you. He grabs your shoulder, eyes scanning your face. “Jagiya? Want to sit down?”

But you’re still clinging to Hobi, one hand wrapped up in the fabric of his jacket. “I…actually, Hobi, weren’t you gonna show me your new studio?”

You look back at Hobi, aware that everyone in the room is now staring at him as well with confused looks. You give Hobi a pleading look, but not before you see someone on the other side of the glass.

Yoongi stands before the microphone, frowning as he looks at you. As you lock eyes, he tilts his head to one side and mouths a single word.

Jin?

“I…uh, yeah. Yeah, let’s go look at it first and then come right back, right?” Hobi says, the confusion clear in his voice. Thankfully, he doesn’t question you and instead steps back through the door. “Be right back, guys.”

Just before you walk away, you turn back to try to communicate to Yoongi that you’re here for him, not Jin. But he’s gone, the side door to the studio still swinging from where he walked out.

           Your head is still spinning by the time Hobi heads into his own studio, hardly pausing to admire it before he’s whipping around to face you. The second he closes the door, he’s crossing his arms and giving you a worried look.

           “What was that all about?” He asks. “What’s going on?”

           “Hobi,” you croak out. “Hobi, I need help. I need answers.”

           Plopping down on his cushiony swivel chair, you squint at him. You can feel a headache coming on.

           “I can’t give you the answers if you don’t ask the questions, jagi,” Hobi chides, pulling up another chair to sit in front of you. His gaze catches on your wrist. “You still wear the bracelet I made you?”

           You pause, glancing down at the bracelet. “Of course. Everyday.”

           Hobi smiles softly to himself before leaning back and letting out a long sigh. “Ok. Tell me what’s going on.” He eyes the star-spangled dishtowel still in your hands. “I assume this is about Yoongi?”

           “I…how did you know?”

           He nods to the towel, chuckling softly. “He came to me asking if I knew how to embroider. I didn’t, but I got him a little embroidery kit to practice with on tour. It cracked me up when he ended up buying plain white dishtowels and would spend his time backstage embroidering little stars on them. I didn’t know he was planning on giving them to you at the time…do you guys have some sort of inside jokes with stars or something?”

           You stare at Hobi like he’s just grown a second head. “He what?”

           “What?” Hobi blinks. “Did you not know that he stitched them?”

           Of course not. When Yoongi had gifted you the dishtowels, you’d thought it was sweet, if a bit odd. You even remember joking with him about it, saying that he’d paid off the neighborhood grandma to do it for him.

           “No! I never knew that! Why would I…why would he…”

           “So…you don’t have an inside joke about stars?”

           You sigh, throwing a hand over your eyes. “How could I be so blind?” Slumping down in the chair you ask miserably, “I mean, it makes sense, I guess…he’s done so many things-”

           At this, Hobi stops you. “Like what?”

           There is a long, long list of things that Yoongi did for you that he never told the boys.

           “Or there’s that time he passed up on his Laker’s tickets because I had that end-of-year project due, and I was worried that nobody would show up to my presentation.”

           You remember that with a jolt. You had to give a twenty minute presentation on the effects of addiction, something that hardly seemed like a riveting topic. The general public was invited to the lecture hall, but despite your valiant efforts handing out fliers and sending e-vites, you were convinced that it was going to be a flop.

           It was. There were about seventeen people scattered about the hall that typically seated three hundred. Your hands were shaking and you thought you might burst into tears on stage because you felt like an utter failure, but then movement caught your eyes.

           Sneaking in and taking a seat on the very back row, sat Yoongi. His bucket hat was pulled low across his eyes and a couple of body guards tried (and failed) to looked inconspicuous as they took seats near him. When you stuttered, he help up a thumbs up and quietly encouraged you to go on.

           Jin’s words from earlier come back to you. I think he doesn’t know what to do with it, all those feelings. He just cares so much, about everyone. For you.

           By this point, you’re exhausted with all of the things Yoongi has done over the years. How blind you’ve been to his unadulterated kindness. Hobi senses it, seeing your shoulders droop. He falls silent, allowing you to sort out your thoughts before you speak.

           “Does he still want me?”

           Looking up at Hobi, you allow yourself to feel the question at you repeat it. “How could he still want me? After how blind I’ve been to my own feelings?”

           Hobi smiles softly, leaning forward to take your hand in his. He gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Jagi…I don’t think Yoongi completely understood his own feelings most of the time.”

           “But he’s done so much-”

           “That he has. But when you love someone, you don’t do those kinds of things for gain. He didn’t do those things to make you fall in love with him.” Hobi laughs to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “He did it because you’re the right person. And when you’re with the right person, it’s simple. Does he still want you? Simple.” He shrugs. “Yes.”

           Yoongi is gone, Jungkook tells you when the boys eventually come knocking at Hobi’s studio. They sit in a semi-circle, pondering all that they’ve learned. Hobi had quickly explained the situation to them, and despite your worry, nothing happened.

           Nobody yelled, nobody banished you from their life.

           Instead, Jimin had laughed. Laughed.

           “Pay up, loser,” he’d commanded as he elbowed Taehyung. Taehyung whined and said that he’d Venmo him in a second.

           “Wait, you made a bet?” You shriek. “About who I’d go for?!”

           The boys all laugh nervously, Namjoon slowly edging toward the door. You snap your fingers at him, glaring. “You don’t get to leave, Kim. Were you a part of this?”

           “I…yeah…”

           “But Yoongi’s gone,” Jungkook repeats. “Aren’t you gonna tell him?”

           You sigh. “How am I supposed to tell him? Just march up to him and throw myself at him?”

           Namjoon shrugs. “I mean, that’d work for me.”

           “Yeah,” Jungkook chuckles darkly. “Just go for that.”

           Hobi rolls his eyes, leaning forward in his seat. “Just do whatever you feel comfortable with, jagiya. But do it soon. You’ll psych yourself out if you wait much longer.”

           It feels like you’ve time-traveled back to middle school, gossiping around the lunch table about your crush. Somehow, that’s comforting. While there’s a bit of awkwardness in the air, you can’t help but feel like you’re back.

           “Oh,” Taehyung snaps his fingers, mouth open in a little ‘o’, “but whatever you do, make sure there’s cookies. Or some sort of dessert.”

           “What?”

           “You know, to celebrate if he accepts your confession, or to make you feel better if he rejects you.”

           Gasping, you jump up to your feet. You point an accusing finger at Hobi. “But you said that he’d still want me!”

           “He does! Taehyung, take that back right now.”

           Tae stands up, his grin softening as he steps forward. That’s when you see how much they’ve been hiding behind their playful demeanors. For you. To help you.

           Wrapping you up in a hug, Taehyung squeezes you tight. “It’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.” And then, quieter so no one else can hear, “We’ll be fine.”

           You’ve never considered yourself to be a nervous baker, but here you are. Sliding another cookie sheet into the oven while two batches are cooling on your kitchen table.

           By the time you made it home last night, you could hardly keep your eyes open. While sleep did come to you relatively quickly, you were wide awake the second the sun crested the horizon. Wide awake, and a nervous wreck.

           Is this how the boys felt when they came to take you out? If so, they deserve a medal of bravery. You’re still within the comfort of your own home, but you can hardly breathe properly.

           Perhaps that has something to do with the fact that Yoongi just sent you a text that he’s on his way. Bouncing on your feet, you run your hands under the cold water in an effort to rid yourself of clammy palms. Drying your hands on the infamous dishtowel, you smile softly.

           Everything is going to be ok.

           Yoongi doesn’t get there for a long time. It’s long enough that you’re worried, and you pick up your phone to call him. A second later, you hear another phone ringing just outside your door. Hardly believing it, you rush toward the front door only to pause.

           “Here we go.”

           Swinging the door open, you come face to face with a guilty looking Yoongi. He’s halfway back down the stairs, but freezes in his steps as he hears the door open.

           “Yoongi?” You’re absolutely bewildered. “Where are you going?”

           Letting out a breathy laugh, Yoongi slowly begins trekking back up the stairs. “Oh…um…I thought I left something in the car.”

           “That’s a lie, isn’t it?”

           “What, are we not lying to each other today?”

           Smiling softly, you shake your head and open the door a little wider. “No. Not today, I’m afraid.”

           Something akin to fear flashes in Yoongi’s eyes at your words, but a second later he’s back to normal. “Smells great. Are you baking cookies?”

           “I’ve baked about a thousand, yeah. Can’t stop. It’s a condition.” You ramble as you turn and head into the kitchen, hoping that he’s following. The sound of his footsteps confirms that he is. “Want some?”

           When he doesn’t answer, you turn around to see what’s going on.

           Yoongi stands beside your table, fists clenched in the sleeves of his cardigan. He’s practically staring holes into the sweet treats, brows furrowed as he takes a deep breath. When he exhales, it’s shaky.

           “I’m fine, you know,” he grinds out, not looking at you. “You didn’t need to bake me cookies. I’m not…I’m not mad.”

           “Mad? What?”

           “Isn’t this why you brought me over? To let me down easy?” His voice is quiet, yet every word is like a bullet. “That’s why you were at the studio last night, wasn’t it? You were talking to the others about Jin.”

           Your heart stops.

           Is that why he disappeared last night? He thought that you’d made your decision, and it wasn’t him?

           “Yoongi, that’s not-”

           He’s already stepping back, refusing to look at you. His eyes are trained on the floor as he stumbles back toward the entryway, looking like he’s doing his best not to full out sprint. “I’m fine, jagiya. I know you’re worried sick about us, but don’t worry. I already told you not to worry, don’t you remember? I shouldn’t have said all of those stupid things on the beach…is that why you brought me over? You felt like I needed some sort of special treatment?”

           You take off after him, unable to believe what you’re hearing. “Yoongi, listen to me. This is for you. It’s all for you.”

           But he doesn’t hear you, he’s busy fumbling with his shoes that he slipped off beside the door. His hands are shaking, but he still refuses to look at you. “I’m so sorry for worrying you,” he says earnestly. His black hair is falling in his eyes, but it doesn’t shield his pink cheeks from your eyes. “I…wow, this is humiliating, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come-“

           “I invited you-”

           “-but I didn’t want to worry you even more, so I came over – why can’t I get these shoes on?!” He collapses to his knees, dropping his head into his hands as he finally gives up on his shoes. “Even that was a stupid mistake,” he whispers, never one to raise his voice. “I bought these for our date but then I realized that they would be stupid to wear to the beach.” He laughs at himself, no humor in the sound.

           You take a look at the dark shoes, which appear to be made of leather. They lace up, but it’s obvious that they’re not broken in yet. Crouching down beside Yoongi, who keeps his face hidden in his hands, you struggle to find words.

           “They look nice,” you mumble, voice raw. Have you been screaming? Or perhaps it’s the emotional exhaustion, finally setting in. “Very pretty.”

           “I wanted to wear them for you. Just once.” Taking a deep breath, Yoongi sits back and brings his knees up to his chest. He back presses against the back of your couch.

           And you’re here. Sitting beside him in the entryway to your small apartment. So far away from where you thought you’d be.

           As Yoongi glares at his shoes, you notice just how bloodshot his eyes are. Like he hasn’t slept in days.

           “Isn’t it odd?” He muses, tired eyes dragging over to meet yours. You’re unable to breathe as he stares at you without the barriers he usually puts up for himself. For the first time you can ever remember, Yoongi looks at you and lets you see everything. Perhaps he’s too tired to mask the longing anymore.

           Your voice comes out as nothing more than a whisper. “What’s odd?”

           He inhales sharply before breathing out slowly. “After everything, I’m still trying to impress you.”

           The small confession strikes you like a bolt of lightning, and you screw your eyes shut. Once the feeling passes and you’ve composed yourself, you open your eyes again to find Yoongi’s again on his shoes. He nibbles on his bottom lip as he reaches out and eases his shoe from your hands. Then, he slips it on his foot.

           As he begins to tie the laces, you open your mouth to say all of the things you should have a long time ago.

           “I see you everywhere I go.” Your eyes are trained on his deft fingers as he pauses for a moment before continuing to lace up his shoe. “For a long time, I didn’t know what to do about it. I just brushed it off as a side effect of our friendship. In my mind, it was better to ignore it than to face it, because then what? I could never have you.”

           His hands are trembling again as he finishes his right shoe and reaches for the left.

           “You’ve always been so good. There whenever I needed you, there just in the off-chance I called. On stand-by, like my own personal assistant.” You chuckle, perhaps a little insane by this point. “And I convinced myself that whatever that was between us, it was enough. It was just gonna be me and my seven best friends for the rest of my life. But then…things started to change. You guys challenged me to view you as something more.”

           He’s nearly finished tying his shoe now, your time is nearly out. But he fumbles, unable to quite finish.

           “That night you guys came up with the dating idea, I knew I was walking into a trap. I wasn’t worried about anyone crossing any boundaries, I was worried about me making the biggest mistake of my life. Sitting there I think I was starting to realize I had feelings for you, and I was one slip-up away from hurting everyone else.”  Now he stops breathing. But his fingers are still slowly working at the laces. “I cared for you then, but I loved you when you showed up at my door seven dates later.”

           He’s just managed to finish tying his shoe when you stop speaking. He doesn’t speak, only staring down at those laces with wide eyes as he processes what you just said. You take his silence in stride, still talking. Still confessing.

           “I didn’t know how to tell you that I was torn between the what-if’s and the what-is. That I was drowning in the possibilities everyone was offering me, but that when I was with you I was finally able to see the world for what it is. But you just said, ‘I know’ and I thought that you did. I figured you knew, because you’re you, how could you not know what I was thinking? You always do.”

           Yoongi stops nibbling on his lip long enough to voice a question, his voice hoarse. “The world for what it is…what is it?”

           You take courage in his curiosity, deeming this a good development. “It’s only tolerable because you’re in it.”

           He falls silent again, deep in his thoughts.

           “Yoongi,” you call softly, heart hammering against you ribs. “Could you look at me for a second?”

           He does, eyes wide with confusion.

           Those eyes, the ones you see everywhere you go. Crinkled up in laughter, joking with you over something stupid. Proudly watching you from the back row as you present to a small crowd. Filled with adventure as you sneak your hand into his pocket at the haunted house, inviting you to dive inside.

           It was those eyes that you saw looking back at you that night with Jungkook, out of breath and lost as suddenly it wasn’t Jungkook kissing you, but Yoongi. That forbidden dream become real as you squeezed your eyes shut and allowed yourself to pretend for a moment longer before pulling away.

           It’s now, looking into Yoongi’s dark eyes that hold so much promise, that you find it easier than ever to say what you should have said that night when he showed up to help you with your essay. Looking frazzled but ready to swim the entire ocean if it would help you. Instead, you had just given him a lingering hug before excusing yourself to go to your room and sleep.

           Sleep hadn’t found you that night, because you had been awake and asking your ceiling why a man like Min Yoongi would do anything for you.

           “Yoongi,” you whisper. “I love you.”

           He doesn’t move, but just blinks. Once. Twice. You see the doubt swirling in his eyes, so when you reach out to pull at his shoelace, you repeat it.

           “I love you.”

           One shoe at a time, you untie the laces. You undo the pain you’ve caused him, break down the barriers he put up.

           “I love you.”

           You continue to repeat the words, focusing on his shoes and not daring to look up at him just yet. Not until you get his shoes off, because then you feel like he can’t run away.

           So you undo the knots and repeat those words with a shaking voice. “I love you, Yoongs.” When you go to slip the shoes from his feet, he helps you, kicking them off and reaching forward to place his hand under your chin and make you look at him.

           Yoongi is crying when you look at him, the tears falling silently. A part of you wonders if he even realizes that he’s crying.

           “You…” he swallows, those eyes so wide. “…love me?”

           It’s simple.

           “Yes.”

           Yoongi furrows his brows again, trying to understand everything that’s happening. “But…Jin.”

           There will be time to explain everything. For now, you answer the question Jin asked you yesterday, standing before this very door. “The pact, the note. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change how I feel. He came over yesterday to ‘let go’, he said.”

           Something like recognition flashes across Yoongi’s face at those two words, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he nods slowly, trying to follow what you’re saying. “And you feel…”

           “I feel very in love with you, yes.”

           What happens next is burned into your memory for the rest of your life.

           Yoongi sits up, reaching across to you in a flash, pulling you until you’re falling forward. He lets out a shaky breath, pulling you into his lap just like he did on the beach. And as he holds you, he laughs. He’s still laughing as he plants a soft kiss to your forehead. He’s grinning as he presses his lips to your cheeks.

           Tears are still falling down his cheeks as he brushes his lips against your own. Hesitantly, as though worried you might pull away and tell him it was all a joke.

You return the kiss fervently, speaking in a language only you two can understand. He pulls away, staring down at you as though surprised to find that you’re really here and not just a figment of his imagination.

“I love you,” he whispers. And then he’s kissing you in earnest.

Breathlessly, desperately, and with a touch of insanity that only comes after spending two nights wide awake and heartbroken. As he holds you tight and kisses you harder, you know that he’s healing himself with each touch.

           One kiss, one shattered fragment of his heart sliding back into place.

           Your hands wrap around his neck and wind into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as he gasps and whispers those three words again. “I love you.”

           When the smell of burnt cookies pulls you apart several minutes later, Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist and sticks to you like glue. He rests his chin on your shoulder, planting a few lazy kisses along your jaw that sets your skin aflame. “Mm, I love you,” he mumbles between kisses.

           Placing the burnt cooking atop the stove, you chuckle. “I know.”

           “Agh,” Yoongi groans, burying his head in your shoulder. “I thought you meant something different, ok?”

           “I know.”

           “Yah! I was trying to be understanding of your feelings I thought you had for Jin!”

           Reaching to turn off the oven, you grin. “I’m never letting you live that down.”

           As Yoongi feigns annoyance while shoveling cookies into his mouth, you marvel at all it took to get to this point. Yoongi notices your attention, puffy cheeks turning pink. But he doesn’t shy away, instead he silently offers you a cookie.

           “So…” he begins, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve been thinking.”

           “Dangerous.”

           “Well, I know how much you like bad boys.”

           “Mm, true.”

           Yoongi laughs along with you before continuing. His eyes sparkle like the night sky, drawing you in. “Are you free this Saturday?”

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thank you all for reading! I’ll be back with an inside look at the pact as well as answering any questions you may have. Feel free to send your questions in! 

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[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter eleven: after you've gone

word count: ~12.6k

rating: m

warnings: canon-typical religious blasphemy, though it's in full-force here with joseph so i wanted it to be noted in the warnings. there are mentions of self-harm, both past and implied presently, and they're not treated very lightly. elliot is having a hard time.

notes: there's a lot of moving parts in this so i apologize in advance if it feels a bit slow, but everything felt really important to include and i wanted to make sure nothing got left out. thank you so much to my beta @starcrier who literally proofed this beast with all of the love in the world.

i won't ramble on too much, but i did want to say that the reception for the last two chapters really made my whole heart just explode and i wanted to thank you all! what an incredible experience it is getting to write these two gigantic idiots. <3

“I saw her. Our mor.”

Helmi cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, scribbling absently on the side of the file she’d continued nosing through once she’d gotten back to the bunker. Like this, she felt far from Kajsa—farther than she had in the longest time. Maybe since they had welcomed her into the Family.

“Did you?” She stretched back against the truck’s seat, feet kicked up on the dash as she scanned the page, going over her own notes. Starvation, classical condition. On animals and people? In the back seat of the truck, Peaches rumbled her discontent at lack of attention; Helmi reached back and scratched her ears until the rumble turned into what she recognized as a more contented purr.

“Yes. She is doing well. Her color is just as Ase said, you know. Perfectly balanced. Poor John—I can see his suffering.”

Helmi hmm’d, the thoughtfulness matching the patient rumble Peaches had rewarded her affection with.

“Is Deputy Pratt behaving?”

“I should hope so. He has no reason to have any loyalty to the Seeds, outside of fear.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Helmi was sure, in the very marrow of her bones, that Kajsa was smiling.

“And what did you give him, Helmi? To make him loyal?”

She considered. “A more impressive fear.” And then: “Also, I said I wouldn’t kill him.”

“That is just a more impressive fear bundled up pretty, my heart.”

“Mm,” Helmi replied in agreement. Whatever the case, she thought that Pratt had more to gain from fucking the Seeds over than he did by fucking them over—and that’s why Kajsa entrusted this sort of thing to her and didn’t do it herself, after all. If it had been Kajsa here, eyeing Pratt like a piece of lunchmeat, she’d have him drugged to the gills and barely aware of what was going on. Not being of use.

It’s why we make a perfect pair, something inside of her said, joy shared, joy doubled.

“Don’t rest on your laurels.”

Sorrow shared, sorrow halved.

Helmi sighed. “I’m not.”

“Keep putting pressure. I want them squirming, hjärtat.”

“I will.” She paused, sitting up in the truck and glancing out at the remaining members of the Family. Those that hadn’t given themselves a swift, clean death. After Kian’s face was crushed in, Kajsa had gathered them all and said, It’s going to be harder, from here. If you feel you cannot do it, if you think that you do not have the strength to answer our calling, then it is your time. We love you.

It had been the time for many. Morale had been—and still was—low. Ase’s death first, gut-wrenching and tragic, and then Kian’s; worse than the last. Worse, because while he had been grieving, while he had been suffering, he had still been their second-in-command. Meant to be infallible, even more so than Ase. He had been meant to carry them into their next life, after It was appeased. Contented. After It had turned the world to winter.

Now, more than ever, with only a handful of them left to huddle around their fires and sleep in the backs of cars, and kiss and laugh and hug each other in the inky black night, they felt like a ship adrift at sea.

Kajsa’s voice hummed in her ear, plastic and metal vibrating where it lay trapped between her head and shoulder. Helmi’s gaze swept away from the remaining Family members and turned her gaze back to the file. The Seeds were deeply rooted in this place—the tendrils of a tree that might be dead at the trunk but stayed for many decades after, if it wasn’t ripped out at the base.

“Did you hear me, Helmi?”

“No,” she replied truthfully. “I was distracted.”

“I am coming back,” Kajsa reiterated patiently.

“The others will be happy.”

“And what about you? Will you be happy?”

Helmi paused. She closed the file, dropped it back onto the dashboard and cranked the seat back so that she could stretch a little, her eyes tracing the tinny, ancient ceiling of the truck she’d lifted from Eden’s Gate. She exhaled, once, and then held her breath; closed her eyes, felt the ache of it between her ribs.

“I sense before me a lost lamb.”

“Not lost,” Helmi replied, her lungs tight. “Just—thinking.”

“Must I divine the dark cloud over your soul myself?”

She allowed her body to take air back in. “I wonder,” she murmured, “if it will be enough to appease the Father.”

“Do you wonder,” Kajsa hummed, “or do you worry?”

A moment of silence stretched. And then, the rich, melodic timbre of the Hierophant’s voice came through again, idle and pulled snug against her ear, like Kajsa was really right there again to say the words against her skin: “What will you do, if Staci Pratt defects despite your Machiavellian threats of harm so great he should never consider to incur it?”

“I don’t know,” Helmi replied uneasily. “It would depend on if he brought mor and the interloper, or if he just—”

“The answer, hjärtat, is that you do not know, because it has not been revealed to you yet.” Despite the interruption, Kajsa’s voice was pleasant and serene. Ever since Ase’s death, she’d been more tempered—like she was playing a role, filling a void. Helmi almost missed her cruelty. Like it was a creature comfort. “There is no use in wondering, because we will never know before it is our time to. We want for much. Whether or not we are given it remains to be seen. Our Father is a most...”

Her voice trailed off. Helmi tried to think of what words Kajsa might use; stringent, perhaps, ambitious, or even enigmatic—

“Wretched god,” Kajsa finished, a grin in her voice. “It does so love to watch us toil, does It not?”

“Yes,” she answered after a moment, because wretched resonated somewhere in her soul, somewhere in the marrow of her bones, reminding her why this had felt like home ever in the first place. Wretched, to watch them suffer, to give them so little information and let them suffer wreck after wreck.

In front of her, the dark of the forest swelled, breathed, reminded her: failure was not an option. Theirs was not a benevolent, forgiving God, the kind who would forgive sin if one only asked—the Father was wrathful, was vengeful, and would make them suffer their insolence and their ineptitude.

“I should get going. I imagine our mor will not be far behind, thanks to your ingenuity, and I want to be in Hope County to welcome her.”

“I am,” Helmi blurted out after a second of hesitation, “happy, that you’re coming back.”

There was a pause on the other end; and then, a soft breath, where Helmi thought maybe Kajsa was smiling again.

“Ingenting under solen är beständigt, my heart.”

The call clicked. Only empty air and static, then, buzzing faintly in the ear, the words dead in her mouth before she’d had the chance to say them back.

Nothing under the sun is lasting.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot was going to be sick. Nevermind the morning-after-dread of realizing she had caved in on her most basest animal desires—What, the man who’s perhaps lied to you the most tells you he’s never thought you’re crazy, and you let him fuck you? Come on, Elliot,—but listening to Pratt ramble nervously into the phone about how he didn’t realize everyone was gone, nobody stopped to look for him, nobody tried to call, he thought she had left too and she had, where was she? Was she okay?

“I’m fine,” she managed out. Guilt ripped through her sternum, burning hot and shameful. I’m fine, Pratt, don’t worry about me. Got well and truly railed last night, it’s fine. Oh, also, I’m going to have a baby. And I’m married. Don’t worry, you found out about the same time as me, just off a few weeks. “I’m at my mom’s.”

“In Georgia?”

“Yeah.” Elliot swallowed thickly. “Are you okay? You sound like shit.”

Pratt laughed uneasily on the other end of the line. “I’m with, uh—I’m with them.” He paused. “The Seeds. And their—the lawyer lady.”

“That doesn’t tell me if you’re okay,” she reiterated, more firmly.

He laughed again. “I’m on the phone with you, aren’t I?”

Frustrating. They might all be looming around him, waiting to hear what she was going to say. It was a trap, of course. Jacob or Joseph had done enough digging around in her past to find out they’d gone to school together, had gone to school dances, had basically dated—and they knew she’d evacuated the entirety of the Resistance otherwise. They were clearly laying a trap to get her to come back. But for what?

“Hey, um—” Staci cleared his throat. “Ell, there’s—a lot of bad stuff going on. There’s these people, and they’re—they’re just killing people, left and right, gutting them and sticking them up and—Jesus, they fucking split Miss Mabel open like a fish, and I’m—”

Oh, there it was; the sickness, the violent urge to throw up. The Family was supposed to be dead. They had been killing themselves off in pairs after Kian’s death, weren’t they? Elliot blinked rapidly, trying to calm the furious beating of her heart, the way it slammed against her rib cage and demanded penance.

Calloused fingers swept her hair to the side and squeezed at the juncture between her neck and shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. She closed her eyes tight, willing herself to accept it for what it was—John, comforting her, because even now he knew her well enough to see she was spiraling.

I can’t, is what she needed to say. I can’t come back, Staci, I can’t, not me and not my baby, my hands are already covered in blood I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—

“—I’m so fucking scared, Ell.” Pratt’s voice wobbled on the other end, hitting straight at the fresh welt of guilt in her chest, ripping and tearing at it.

I can’t—

“I don’t want to be alone—”

I’m sorry I can’t I’m sorry—

“—I’m sorry—”

“I’ll come,” she blurted out, her voice hoarse, the burn behind her eyes and in her nose a threat of oncoming tears. She couldn’t stand it—couldn’t bear to hear him like this, when this whole time he was supposed to have been safe. She’d let him down, and while she had a responsibility to herself, the responsibility to the others had always come first.

And, better still, was the tiny, tiny fragment of hope that the dark-haired woman with a mouth like broken glass would be left behind, too. The dog with the man’s face and the strands of her hair glinting between Its bloody teeth would stay here, in Weyfield. It would wait for her, but perhaps there would be some peace there, too.

It waits for you, It waits for us all, It will have you. As It gives, so too does It take.

“Tell them I’m coming back.” Elliot bit the words out through her teeth. “And tell them if I come back and you’re hurt, or dead, or—if there’s anything wrong with you, I’m going to fucking kill them. Okay?”

“No need,” came Jacob’s voice over the phone. “You’re on speaker, Deputy Honeysett. We’re well acquainted with your particular brand of mania.”

“Great,” she snapped, feeling a vicious flush spread through her cheeks despite the fact that she didn’t feel bad at all for what she’d said. “You thought I was fucking manic before? I had nothing to lose, then. Imagine how much worse I’ll make your life now—”

John’s hand squeezed again. This time, she shot him a venomous look over her shoulder and shrugged him off. Elliot knotted her fingers in Boomer’s fur and prompted again, “Is that clear?”

The eldest Seed sounded like he was smiling when he said, “Crystal, Deputy.”

“Good.” She paused. “And don’t fucking call me that. I’m not a deputy, anymore.”

“Sure thing, hellcat.”

“Pratt—”

Jacob’s voice came again: “Have a safe trip.”

The phone call beeped once, twice, three times, and then ended. The hard knot of dread in the pit of her stomach did not lessen; she hit the redial button, and it went straight to voicemail. Again, and again, and again, her hands shaking as she thought wait, I didn’t get to say goodbye, I didn’t get to promise I’d be there, I’m coming Pratt, I’m coming please don’t be worried, before she shoved the phone into John’s grip.

“Call him back,” she demanded, “make him pick up the phone—”

“Elliot,” he began, “if he turned the phone off, I can’t—”

“Fuck you!” she snapped, coming to a stand and raking her fingers through her hair. “You fucking knew they had Pratt, didn’t you? You knew that he was still trapped there and he didn’t get out, and you fucking left him there, so that you could pull me back if it didn’t go the way you wanted—”

John stood too, setting the phone on the bedside table and lifting his hands. The gesture was meant to calm and soothe, see my hands? Here they are, no threat here, but all it did was make her angrier, stoke a fire inside of her that had apparently lain dormant since she’d left Hope County.

Elliot smacked his hands down. “Don’t treat me like some fucking animal, John.”

“I’m not,” he defended quickly, dropping his hands all the way back to his sides when Boomer barked twice, sharp and accusatory, hackles lifting. “I didn’t know Pratt was still there. I thought the Resistance had got him out, and I didn’t bother asking.”

“You should have bothered—”

“I’m just as displeased as you are,” John interjected dryly, the dark coloring of his tone implying that he was—but for perhaps a different reason. It struck her that he might, in fact, be so displeased because he was aware of their history, on some level. It did feel a little gratifying to know that he was squirming for such an insignificant reason.

“You fuckhead,” she spit. “You put a fucking baby in me and you still have the insecurity of a middle school boy.”

“We both know,” he replied tartly, “that our baby is not in any way binding you to me, Elliot. And is it so shocking, considering that the thing that I want most in the world is for you to come home, and you fight me at every turn—”

“Hope County isn’t my home anymore—”

“—but Staci Pratt calls you and cries a little into the phone, and you’re jumping at the bit to go back?”

“Fuck. Off,” Elliot bit out between her teeth, face flushing. “Pratt is my friend, which is more than I can say for you.”

“Right,” John agreed, “because you let the person you hate fuck you.”

Her mouth clamped shut, biting and swallowing back a wad of venom she thought might make her sick if she let it out. There was too much of it, the things that she wanted to say—fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou, I fucking hate you, you make me sick, if anything is wrong with Pratt I’ll kill your brothers and then I’ll fucking kill you too—but she didn’t say any of it.

Instead, she said, “Get out. I’m getting changed and we’re leaving.”

John sighed, passing a hand over his face for a moment like maybe he regretted what he’d said. “We can’t.”

She felt her voice spike, near incredulous hysteria: “Pardon?”

“Old Father Time of the Job Ineptitude mentioned he had Federal agents showing up out of nowhere,” he snapped. The words had her stomach twisting; her first thought was a tiny spike of happiness at the idea of Cameron Burke, and then it was quickly doused by the sharp reminder that she’d stolen his gun and ran with it. Because he thought she was crazy. Because he was going to put her behind bars.

John continued, “He seemed to be implying it was somehow related to me showing up, and by proxy you, and if we up and leave—”

“It’ll make it look more suspicious,” she finished, feeling a little numb. “Okay, so—what? How long do we have to wait?”

He scratched his cheek, his eyes flickering absently over the duvet on the bed, like he was trying to map it out in his own head. No doubt, he was trying to operate on multiple timelines—the timeline of Not Raising Suspicion, and whatever timeline Joseph had given him.

Some things really did never change.

“After your mother’s Christmas party,” he ventured finally. “It’s not quite Christmas—could look enough like we’re sticking around for enough holiday cheer to be passable before leaving again. Pritchard’s clearly not unfamiliar with your mother’s...”

His voice trailed off. He looked to her as though asking for permission to say something critical; when Elliot remained stonefaced and immovable, he finished, “...temperament.”

“Nice save.”

“Well,” he replied, humble as ever. “Anyway, that probably wouldn’t rouse suspicion. If it is Burke, and your house isn’t getting stormed right now, I have to think he’s here on unofficial business. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they just come and bust the door down and grab you?”

Elliot hoped that was the case. She hoped this meant that Burke was just trying to find her, and was not hunting her down at the behest of the government. If there was one thing that Joseph had been right about amidst all his doomsday-saying and whatnot, it was that according to the news, there was a big chance the government had bigger things on their hands. Bigger concerns than a tiny town in Montana and its cult inhabitants.

“Get out,” she said again. “So I can change.”

“You—” John sucked in a little breath, stopping himself from what was inevitably going to be stirring another argument; he lifted his hands again, this time in surrender. “Alright, Ell. I said you’d get anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“Chop-chop.”

“I’m going. Mind if I pull some clothes on before I walk out into the house owned by your mother, where she has almost assuredly been sipping her vodka martini since four AM?”

She felt her eyes narrow. “Fine.”

Turning, she crossed the bedroom into the master bath and shut the door behind her, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes until fine webbing scattered across the dark of her eyelids. This was the last thing she needed—and it felt, surely, traitorous and awful to think it, to think, this is the last thing I need, Pratt needing rescuing, when the only reason she’d felt comfortable leaving Hope County in the first place was because she thought the only people who were left were cultists.

Elliot dropped her hands from her eyes, blinking a few times until her vision cleared. In the mirror—much as it had been since coming back from Hope County—stood a girl that she thought looked like a stranger. Blushed cheeks and kiss-reddened lips, her neck littered with love marks, the healthy glow blooming up from beneath the WRATH scar on her chest, exposed by her loosely cinched robe.

That’s not me, she thought, pulling absently on a strand of red hair and swallowing thickly. I’m not that girl.

Her face was softer than before, more lively color rising up around her eyes and cheeks and mouth. More of her freckles had come out. There was a tiny, tiny—almost imperceptible—slope to her tummy, now, too.

Not me, came the thought again, more distressed this time, her brows pulling together at the center of her forehead. That’s not me. I’m not that girl. Who are you, pretty girl? Not me.

The woman and her dark hair—dark dark dark, like an oil slick, looming in the corner of her mind. Her mouth red as pomegranate and stretched like broken glass.

I hear stress is bad for the baby.

A knock came at the door. Elliot blinked, feeling unwell and unsure of how long she’d been standing there, her hand having dropped to cup the slope of her stomach experimentally. Women did that, right? When they were pregnant? Did it make them feel closer to the baby? Did it make them feel more protected?

Did she feel safer?

“Ell,” John said, nudging the door open, “your mother is...”

Pulling away from the door, she cinched the robe tight and busied herself at the sink, turning the water on. As he stepped into the bathroom, she could see John was now fully-dressed, freshly-showered. She’d been standing in front of the mirror trying to recognize the person staring back at her long enough for him to do that, it seemed.

“That was a quick shower,” she said briskly, splashing her face and rubbing absently at her cheek. She could feel John’s eyes on her through the mirror, even though she refused to meet them.

“I’ve always preferred it that way,” he replied casually. And then: “Get distracted?”

Yes, she thought, but didn’t say, because then the things he’d said last night that had made her feel sane and normal wouldn’t mean anything anymore. John would have said I don’t think you’re crazy and he’d have to take it back, because if she told him there was a stranger standing in her mirror, he would think she was crazy.

“It’s weird,” is what Elliot offered after a moment, trying to find a way to be honest and redirect, “to see a baby bump. Even if it’s small.” She cleared her throat and fished her toothbrush out of the holder. Continuing briskly, she added, “And the scar. I spent a lot of time avoiding it.”

John’s expression had done that funny thing that she supposed was softening at her words. He stepped forward; the ghost of his fingers trailing her ribs over the robe made her skin prickle with goosebumps.

“I’m not done being mad at you,” she warned him, eyes flickering to meet his gaze through the mirror.

“I know,” he replied, tone agreeable. “I just—”

The brunette paused then, waiting for her to stop him before he smoothed the warmth of his palm over her hip, across the expanse of her abdomen. It was painfully intimate in a way that didn’t imply sex—intimate, in the way that she felt seen, that she could see the relief coloring the edges of his expression.

John pressed his mouth to the back of her shoulder. “Just missed you,” he murmured after a moment. “Getting to touch you. Even just like this. Especially just like this—”

Something panged sharp and unforgiving in her chest. “Well, don’t get used to it,” she replied tightly, brushing his hand away from the baby bump after letting it linger for a moment. “And I don’t remember inviting you in.”

“Your mother was asking after you,” John said, by way of explanation, looking pleased from their little moment. Fucker. “She wanted to know if you’d be drinking coffee this morning. I think her exact words were, ‘Mr. Seed, would you ask my daughter if she’s going to take the risk of drinking coffee this morning? I know she shouldn’t be, with her condition—’”

“Ugh.”

“‘—but since we’re going to be picking out her dress for the Christmas party today, I could make an exception—’”

“Fuck me,” she muttered, wetting her toothbrush and putting the toothpaste on it. “Ask her if she can make it extra strong.”

“I’m actually enjoying being out of your mother’s ire for a minute.”

Elliot rolled her eyes. “No coffee for me.”

“Got it.” John headed for the bathroom door, and then paused again, turning to look at her. “Ell,” he began, “I really didn’t know—you know, about Pratt.”

That pesky little flutter of something agonizingly sweet—softness—in her chest flared again.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” is what she said, before she turned the toothbrush on and started scrubbing her teeth. That seemed enough of an answer for John, for once, because he left and closed the door quietly behind him after deliberating.

The minutes, and hours, and days—well, day or two—until they got back to Hope County were going to be something close to agony. She could only hope they had taken her seriously when she told them that she’d better come back to a Pratt in one piece.

I don’t want to be alone. Pratt’s voice echoed hauntingly in her head. She thought she could remember the sound of voices in the background—a woman’s, at least. Faith? Or John’s friend, Isolde? Surely Jacob and Joseph were there listening to him call her, too. She’d been so fucking stupid to let them get to her.

No, not stupid. Not stupid to want Pratt to feel safe, and like someone was coming back for him.

I’m sorry, she thought tiredly, as though the words could somehow get to him. I’m sorry, that it’s me you have to wait for.

I’m sorry that I won’t be the person you remembered.

I’m sorry.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You did so well, Staci.”

Faith’s voice jarred him out of the weird pause in time he’d been marinating in. It had been just a few seconds, maybe—Jacob and Joseph were talking in low voices, the dark-haired woman standing at the point of their little triangle with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed—that his brain had shut off, the distress in Elliot’s voice echoing eerily in his head. She’d sounded so upset. He wouldn’t have called, wouldn’t have started to ask her to come back, if he’d known how much she didn’t want to.

But that wasn’t true, either. He would have called, because Helmi had said, Either the Seeds are going to drag her back by her hair kicking and screaming, and eventually kill her, or she comes back and we keep her safe.

‘Safe’ had been the keyword there. He didn’t know how much he could take the woman at her word, but considering everything—well, it was better than trying to take the Seeds at their word.

Faith’s hand touched the back of his, startling him into a tiny jump. He cleared his throat. “Um—I wasn’t...Acting.”

“Still,” she replied sweetly, “I know it must have been hard.”

She was so polished—skin all dusted silver and moonlike, flushed with a little high color in her cheeks, her blonde hair tumbling around her face loosely. In the chapel, the air was tepid at best, and frigid at worst, keeping a little pink in everyone’s faces.

It was strange to look at her now. Her hands were soft; her skin unblemished. Just hours ago, he’d been sitting in the car, noticing the same kinds of details about Helmi—about how human she looked, hand slung over a steering wheel, her cracked phone plugged into the truck’s stereo and her chipped nail polish and the scars and bruises littering her knuckles. The way she’d shot him a toothy, wolfish grin as she cranked the volume up and said, What, Staci Pratt, you don’t like Blue Öyster Cult either?

In comparison, Faith didn’t feel human at all. She felt like a dream.

“Can—” Pratt came to a stand, rubbing his palms on the tops of his thighs. “Can I go? Lay down, or something?”

Three pairs of eyes snapped to him. The dark-haired woman, who Jacob kept referring to as Sol, completely ignored his question and looked at the redhead to say, “Has someone checked him for head trauma?”

“I’m not—concussed!” Pratt snapped, his voice wobbling. “I’m just tired.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked like maybe he wanted to say something, and then reconsidered, saying, “Dr. Hale will take a look at you and then sure, Peaches, you can rest.”

It took every ounce of his self-control to not tell Jacob to stop calling him that. He had to remember that as far as they were concerned, he hadn’t been taken in by the “other side”, he’d been sitting scared and meek like a good boy at the compound.

Pratt’s eyes darted, catching sight of the woman that Jacob gestured to with a free hand. Right. The Fall’s End vet. She’d been here for what—a little over a year? He couldn’t tell if she was being held captive by Eden’s Gate or if she was there by her own volition, though the few times he’d run into her before she’d seemed like a pretty even-keel person. Didn’t she have like, two degrees or something? What was she doing here?

He made his way to the back of the church, meeting the curly-haired blonde halfway. Definitely looked too clean to be a cultist. “You’re not a people doctor, right?” he asked uneasily, watching as her head cocked to the side and her mouth quirked in a bit of amusement.

“No, Mr. Pratt, I am not a people doctor.” She fell into step beside him, opening the chapel door for him. “But I do have first aid training, which I think is about as good as you’re going to get around these parts.”

“I didn’t get a concussion.”

“That’s good. When was the last time you ate?”

His mouth twisted in a frown, trailing after through the snow as the cold began to sink into his bones. She seemed awfully confident moving around the compound, if she wasn’t part of the cult. But if she was, what was she doing here? How did—?

Pain bloomed behind his eyes, a fresh headache sinking into his nerves. Too much. It was too much confusion, about Elliot (pregnant? And John Seed was with her?) and about the Family and about all of these—these people that he didn’t really recognize hanging around the Seeds. And the compound was so quiet. Where was everyone? Had the Family really taken that many of Eden’s Gate out?

“Mr. Pratt?”

The woman opened a door into a bunkhouse that glowed with golden light from within and radiated heat. Two long-haired shepherds lay on the floor at the foot of the bed, lifting long faces and peering at him with dark eyes. He stepped inside and cleared his throat.

“Uh, a day, maybe,” he replied after a minute. Taking a seat when she gestured for him to, he shifted uncomfortably as she set a first aid kid on the cushion beside him and pulled one of the wooden chairs up in front of him.

“And slept?” She blew a curl out of her face and opened the kit, fishing around to find some alcohol wipes and Neosporin. He guessed he was a bit worse for wear than he’d thought, initially; not that he’d been taking great care of himself, even when it had just been him and Dani. She’d encouraged him to stay high, not stay better.

Fuck, I’m such an idiot.

He let out a little hiss when she pressed one of the alcohol wipes to a cut on his cheek.

“The same,” he replied, reaching up and brushing her hand away. “What—what are you doing here, doctor?”

“Arden is fine.” She sat back, regarding him curiously. “I’m cleaning that cut, Mr. Pratt. It looks agitated.”

“No, I—” Pratt let out a little breath. “I mean here. In the compound.”

Arden stared at him for a moment, like she didn’t understand why he was asking her that question. She lifted her hand and arched a brow inquisitively; when he nodded shortly, she leaned forward again, balancing her free hand on his shoulder and using the other to gently dab at the cut.

“I’ve spent the last month or so holed up in my house,” she explained to him. “Me, and the dogs, I mean.”

A little smile ghosted over her lips, and despite himself, Pratt felt a wry smile tugging at his own. It was difficult not to feel relaxed, when Arden moved with so much surety. In the glow of the radiators ticking away and the warm yellow light, especially.

“Mostly reading. They had assigned one of the boys to me—Santiago. I think he’s John’s man. He doesn’t strike me as one of Joseph or Faith’s.”

Pratt made a little noise of agreement, because he knew exactly what she was talking about. She dropped the alcohol wipes to the side and reached over for the Neosporin, dabbing some onto her finger and then reaching back up to resume her work.

“Sorry,” he said after a moment. “That you got—stuck, I mean. Here.”

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize, Mr. Pratt.”

“I feel partially responsible,” he admitted, feeling some of the tension flee his shoulders. “You know, being law enforcement and all—”

“Hold still, please.”

“Sorry,” he said again. “I guess what I mean is—sometimes it feels like a real failing on our part. All of those people, I...”

He paused, and Arden leaned back, giving him a pat on the knee. “That’s alright, Mr. Pratt,” and her voice bloomed with comfort. “Where was I?”

“Up at your house, with the dogs and maybe one of John’s men.”

“Right. I wasn’t allowed to leave, you know, on account of the—” She gestured with an elegant hand. “Cult running amok.”

He nodded. “Cult number two.”

Arden smiled, and continued, “And then just a few days ago, after one of them started killing those folks in Fall’s End, Jacob came up to get me.”

The way she said it made him feel, a little uneasily, that maybe he was misreading it. Jacob came up to get me did not sound like Jacob came to pick me up because I’m his prisoner.

And then she said, “He was worried, you know. Only having a radio up there. I know how to use a gun, but I’d prefer not to, if I don’t have to, and—”

“Sorry,” he blurted out, “but are you—”

She blinked light eyes at him, almost owlishly, like she didn’t understand the question. “Am I...?”

“With? Them?” Pratt gestured towards where the chapel lay, beyond the bunkhouse walls. “The—Eden’s Gate?”

“Oh!” Arden laughed, almost sheepishly; he felt a nervous little laugh bubbling out of him too, almost hoping for the relief of her assuring him that she was, in fact, not in league with the Darwinian psycho that had spent the last few months mindfucking every resident he could get his hands on.

She came to a stand and pulled a bottle of ibuprofen and a granola bar out of the kit, dropping them in his hand.

“Eat the bar before you take the ibuprofen,” she told him, “or it’ll—well, I’m sure you know. Upset stomach, and all that. Do you want to take a shower?”

Pratt’s fingers curled around the ibuprofen bottle. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m sorry,” Arden replied, not sounding very sorry at all, “I guess I just thought it a bit silly. Who else would I be “with”?”

His stomach somersaulted, sinking viciously. Suddenly, the granola bar—which had certainly been sitting in the kit for who knew how long—looked even less appetizing than before. While his vision swam for a second, the woman carried on conversationally, as though she had not just revealed herself to—

Well, to be in league with the Darwinian psycho that had spent the last few months mindfucking every resident he could get his hands on.

“But—they think the world is ending,” Pratt blurted out, lifting his eyes to look at her finally. “And—doctor, all the people they killed, and—”

“Don’t strain yourself, Mr. Pratt. You’ve been under quite a bit of duress as of late, I think, and it would be best to try and keep those stress levels down.” She moved to the small pantry beside the bathroom, shuffling around and producing a few towels, leaning into the bathroom to set them on the counter. “Though, you do bring up a funny point—have you been listening to the news? I suppose you haven’t. I remember listening to the news before all of this business went down and thinking that the world had ended a long time ago. We were just a bit behind, all the way out here. Do you want to take a shower?”

Blinking furiously, Pratt searched his brain for the answer; he muddled through the disappointment raking down his spine, the delicate little hope that had been fostered at the prospect of finding someone who was kind and not under the Seeds’ thumb being crushed beneath the weight of the reality of his situation.

“Yes please,” he managed out, his voice hoarse.

“Alright. Eat that bar first, so you don’t pass out in the hot water. And Mr. Pratt?”

“Y—” He had clumsily ripped open the granola bar and shoved half into his mouth, the fear of being seen as disobedient when Jacob Seed was within radius flickering like a wildfire through his body. He swallowed thickly, the dry food feeling like it was sticking to the inside of his mouth. “Um, yes?”

Her expression colored sympathetic, Arden reached down and fished a water bottle out of the case, dropping it in his hand.

“The honorific isn’t necessary,” she told him. “Remember, Arden is just fine.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbled. “I mean—Arden.”

She smiled, this time with teeth. “Good. You holler if you need me.”

I won’t, he thought, even though she was probably preferable to anyone else coming to his rescue.

Maybe he really would rather be dead.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Scarlet insisted that John stay at the house while they went to the boutique. It was all a big show of his mother-in-law attempting, he thought, to be polite, though she failed miserably at it; and as much as John wanted to argue that it would probably be best if he came along—considering their late-night visitor—he could tell when a battle was a lost one, and when it wasn’t.

“Do you think you can do that, Mr. Seed?” she asked, pulling the objectively ostentatious fur coat around her shoulders and buttoning it. “Remain in my home for a few hours, without causing me any problems?”

He said, “I think I can certainly give it a shot,” to which the blonde rolled her eyes.

“Please do more than that.”

“Rest assured, I am fully capable of behaving myself, Mrs. Honeysett.”

He couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Every second he spent in her presence, being reminded of how little she liked him given how much she didn’t know about him—or care to get to know about him, anyway—he thought, I cannot fucking wait to get back to Hope County and the resurgence of the Family. I cannot wait until that is my only fucking problem. Anyone else and she would have been thoroughly cleansed; clearly, Wrath ran in the family. Just the thought of it made his fingers itch.

Elliot had looked tired already, standing at the door and letting her mother go first. As soon as Scarlet was out the door, carefully picking her way down the front steps, John’s hand went to Ell’s hip; her lashes fluttered at the contact, but she didn’t jerk away; only tensed, considering the act of balking and pulling away from him but not yet committing. So there had been progress.

Her free hand came to his shoulder, resting there uncertainly. “Please don’t do anything to my mother’s house.”

“As much as I would love to, I will refrain from my wretched impulses. I am a man of God, after all.” He grimaced. “Do you think she’ll like me more if things are immaculate?”

“Ha-ha. She certainly will not.” She paused, letting out a little breath. “Okay. Back in an hour.”

He felt a smile tug at his mouth. “Ambitious.” His hand drifted to the small of her back, and he said, “Ell, before you go—”

“John, I don’t—”

Elliot turned to look at him at the same time that he stepped forward, closing what little distance there was and rapidly; she blinked, and her eyes flickered to his mouth instinctively, like she was expecting it—like she’d gotten used to the affection when he closed in on her like that. The gesture sent a little thrill through his stomach.

Mine.

“Don’t let her stress you out,” John murmured, keeping his voice low between just the two of them. “You’ll look good in whatever you pick.”

She turned her face away, cheeks going pink. “What’s this, huh? Still trying to make up for being a complete fuckhead this morning?”

He grinned. “You really have gotten brattier.”

“Goodbye, John,” she said, and then he leaned in and kissed her; the connection made every part of him sigh, collectively, as though he’d just been waiting for it.

Waiting for her.

Yes yes yes, it all said when she didn’t pull away, his fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater at the small of her back as her hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest, yes, mine all mine.

Elliot did pull back after a moment, putting a bit of space between them—though it seemed more to catch her breath than anything else. She only pulled back enough for their eyes to meet; John’s gaze darted downward, watching pearly teeth as they tugged at her lower lip, worrying it there for a moment.

“To answer your question,” he continued as casually as he could, “that’s not how I intend on making that up to you.”

“So you agree?” Elliot asked. Her voice came out evenly, despite the color blooming underneath the freckles on her cheeks. “You were being a complete fuckhead this morning?”

“I did so miss our banter.”

“Bunny,” Scarlet called impatiently from the driveway, “the boutique is going to get crowded if we don’t get there when it opens.”

“I’m coming!” Her gaze darted back to him. “The best way to make it up to me would be to say the words out loud,” Elliot informed him as she inched toward the door. “So that baby can hear them, too. At least you’ll have been more honest around our child than with me, if we’re keeping a running tally, and we should—”

He tugged her back from the doorway again, lighter, more playful as he went in to kiss her a second time; but she pulled back, just out of his reach, hand planted firmly on his chest.

Elliot said, “I told you not to get used to it.”

“I’m not,” he answered lightly, “just taking what I can get.”

“Elliot.”

“Coming!” Elliot cinched her coat up more snug, closer to her throat and where the scar lay expertly over her sternum, and snagged the keys off of the counter to the beat-up Honda Civic John had lifted from Eden’s Gate. Right. He couldn’t wait to hear Scarlet’s input on that car ride.

The redhead made it down two steps before she paused, turning and looking at John and going, “Um, bye,” in a tone that was more sheepish than he anticipated; it was almost shy, and it caught him so off-guard that he didn’t even get the chance to muster a response before she was making her way across the snowy driveway.

“Drive safe,” John called, once he’d gathered his senses a bit more. Elliot glanced at him over her shoulder and then ducked into the car, closing the door and beginning to pull her way down the drive. He waited until they’d turned onto the freshly plowed road before he turned back into the house and closed the front door behind him.

Boomer had seated himself in front of the window, letting out a little whine as his tail swept along the floor.

“C’mon, furry sentinel,” he sighed, not risking putting his hand within biting reach. “Just you and me today.”

The Heeler whined again, apparently thoroughly displeased at this news, and stayed rooted at the window to watch for his girl to come home.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he hit the redial button on the number they’d gotten a call from that morning and waited as the phone rang, pacing around the polished living room. It rang enough times as he idly adjusted glasses on a bar cart that he thought for certain no one would pick up—and then the phone clicked, and a warm voice came through.

“Hi, John.”

He blinked in surprise. “Hello, Faith. How’d you get this phone?”

“Isolde passed it to me when she saw your call. She wanted me to tell you that she’s too busy to talk to you.”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like everything’s operating as normal, then.”

“I suppose.” Faith paused. “Are you coming home soon?”

“I am.”

“With Elliot?”

“Yes, she—” John cleared his throat and made an effort to sound as unbothered as possible. “She’s very concerned about Deputy Pratt’s well-being.”

“We’re taking good care of him. Will you tell her that? Better than he’d be getting out there, anyway,” and she said the word out there with such a surprising amount of venom that John realized he’d nearly forgotten about the Family’s reappearance. Well, there couldn’t be that many of them left, could there?

And then Faith said, “A lot of us are dead, John.”

His hand went to the mantle for a little support as he leaned against it. There was a bit of a bite to Faith’s voice—almost accusatory. A lot of us are dead, she said, as he stood in the plush home of his mother-in-law while they went dress shopping for a Christmas party. It occurred to him that none of his siblings—nor Isolde—were aware of what they’d been dealing with the last couple of days; they must have felt like he was getting off easy.

“The Father says we only have a little while longer,” she continued, “and that if we can’t fix this in time, we won’t wait for you. He’s been alone, a lot. Talking to God. Praying for more time, for you.”

The words made his stomach wrench, a little. He would have felt worse if he didn’t know already that there was an exit plan in place, one that Elliot was already on board for. “We’re only here for another day, and then we’re leaving” John replied. “The sheriff mentioned some—Federal agents. I don’t want to rouse suspicion and bring them down on us again.”

“Do you think it’s Burke?”

“Maybe.” He pressed his forehead against the stone mantle. “Probably. No one’s come storming in yet.”

“I hope it’s him. I hope he follows you all the way back here.” And then, darker: “He has a lot to apologize for.”

John made a low noise of agreement. It felt good to have a conversation with someone who seemed to be on the same side as him, for once—no bickering with Scarlet, no bickering with Elliot, and no bickering with Isolde. As of late, it seemed he was only capable of incurring arguments; though that did seem to be changing quickly with his wife.

“We’re having a service soon. Did you want me to tell Joseph anything?”

“Ah, no, that’s alright. I just wanted to let you know we had a plan.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No,” John said again, more quickly and with a bout of unease sprinting up his spine. “No, that’s alright. I’ll let you go. We’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Alright.” Faith’s voice lightened when she added, “Tell Elliot I said hello.”

Bad idea, he thought, but said, “Of course,” and hit the end call button. It wasn’t until his entire body relaxed that he realized he’d been fully tensed, waiting for some kind of verbal blow—and though there had been a few, he felt...

Fine.

I feel fine.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Joseph was praying for more time for them. They’d make it back without a hitch. And then, when the world ended, and took the remainder of the Family with them—

Well, that would be all the better.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“My children.”

The heaters rattled, clicking in the lukewarm air in a steady, mechanical heartbeat. Candles lit throughout the chapel drenched the members of Eden’s Gate in a strange, golden glow, and as Joseph’s voice carried all the way to the back where Staci sat between Jacob and Arden. He could see in the front row sat Faith and the dark-haired woman—who he’d come to understand was Isolde Khan, John’s old business partner—and there was a moment where Joseph’s eyes fixed on her before they lifted back to the congregation.

“God has truly been testing us,” the man continued, pacing away from the altar the front, hands folded behind him. “As you know, I have spent a lot of time in silence and solitude so that I might be the most open to receiving from Him. For the longest time, I thought—had we done something wrong? Had I led us astray? Were we being punished?”

An uneasy murmur rippled throughout the crowd. In the front, Pratt could see Isolde writing something down in a notebook; he wished he was closer, so he could see what it was—what was so interesting that she was taking notes now, of all times? What could she possibly be doing?

Preparing for the worst-case scenario, he thought idly, shifting in his seat. Jacob’s eyes cut over to him and he cleared his throat. The shower had done nothing to ease his nerves.

“But I’ll tell you—devout, and loyal, we have not been left to the wayside.” Joseph stopped, pressing a hand onto a woman’s shoulder, squeezing. “I have heard His voice. I have received His word. We are not only followers of God’s word—we are His soldiers.”

The noise that passed through the congregation this time was brighter, agreements—it must have felt good. Not just passive sheep, to be shepherded; soldiers. Capable of violence. And they were.

“We are His warriors.”

The woman Joseph’s hand was on was getting teary-eyed, and when he departed from her to sidle his way down the aisle, she all but collapsed in on herself, folding in half to bury her face in her hands. Another attestation of acknowledgment rippled around him, louder.

“This world is a wretched, vile machine, taking in and spitting out sin, flooding our garden with locusts,” the Prophet continued, his voice lifting in volume. “We are, my children, the only people who have the great fortune of seeing this—of knowing what no one else in the world seems capable of understanding. God has told me—”

Sick, Pratt thought dizzily, I’m going to be sick.

“—that a life of bliss awaits us, if we can only...”

Joseph paused, as though he needed to look for the words, as though he hadn’t been reciting this all day in preparation for the sermon; Pratt knew that he must, the assured cadence of his voice coming so firmly that there was no way it wasn’t rehearsed.

“...look past the dread, and the fear,” he continued earnestly, allowing his hand to be taken by another member, “because fear is the language of the Devil—if we can look past it, and dedicate ourselves fully to His cause, there is only happiness and serenity waiting for us on the other side of this.”

“How do we do it, Father?” a man to the other side of Jacob cried out, his voice a panicked fever-pitch. “How do we show Him we’re devoted?”

Joseph’s head turned. His gaze landed on Pratt, lingering before lifting to the congregant. “We’ve got to stop the machine.”

Optimism flooded the crowd. An easy solution. Stop the machine, like it was nothing. Like they weren’t dealing with a group of people who killed as easily as they did.

“Throw your bodies upon the gears, upon the wheels, upon all the apparatus,” Joseph intoned dutifully, pacing back toward the front. “Whatever it takes to bring the machine to a grinding halt. We can no longer passively take part in the End—we are warriors of God, and our divine right is not instinctively endowed. It is earned. And we will show that we have earned it by exterminating these interlopers invading our garden.”

Pratt’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Eden’s Gate members came to a stand around him; loomed in his vision; eclipsed what little murky light reached him. Cheers and applause rolling around in his head. He thought for sure he’d heard this all somewhere, before—

Oh, yes. And you've got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you're free, the machine will be prevented from working at all! The irony of Joseph lifting lines from an activist’s speech was not lost on him.

A heavy hand gripped the collar of his shirt, hauling him to his feet. “Stand up,” Jacob muttered. “Good posture’s important.”

He steadied himself on the pew ahead of him. Amidst the chatter of the congregation, eventually quieted down by Joseph’s patience at the front of the chapel, he could hear renewed excitement. More life had been breathed into the peggies than he’d seen in a long time—well, considering that he’d only been here roughly a day, and the whole place felt like a ghost town even now, that was saying something.

“Please,” Joseph called lightly, “join me in prayer.”

Heads bowed. Pratt let his chin drop to his chest, but his eyes didn’t close; his gaze darted to his right, where Arden stood, hands clasped politely in front of her. Her head did not bow for prayer.

He was only vaguely aware of the words coming out of Joseph’s mouth, redirecting his eyes back to the floorboards beneath his worn shoes. Lord, we pray that you might show us guidance and wisdom in these uncertain times; show us how to be most like you, for only you are perfect...

Elliot was going to come back to this. She was going to come back to this, and he was going to have to figure out how to get her out of here without any of the Seeds noticing. Helmi had said, meet me out back, by the river, in three nights, but he couldn’t keep track. Had it been one night? Two? Less than one?

“I am your Father,” Joseph was saying. “You are my Children. Together, and only together, will we march through the Gates of Eden.”

A rousing amen echoed around him. They milled about, chatting excitedly—perhaps delighted to have a focus for their ire, for their agitation. The members of Eden’s Gate looked worse than Pratt remembered. Dirtier. Thinner. More exhausted. He thought that it must be nice to have a purpose—

Fuck me, not that shit again.

He filed out of the row behind Arden, and with Jacob behind him, following her to the front where Isolde and Joseph stood. They were speaking in low tones, bundled close together; she tapped her ten against the front of her notepad in what looked like an agitated tick, but he couldn’t hear what it was she was saying. By the time they were close that he might have heard, Joseph lifted his head from where he’d bent a little to speak closely and looked at him, smiling.

“It was nice to see your face in the crowd this day, Deputy Pratt,” he said, his voice warm. “Did you enjoy the sermon?”

Pratt opened his mouth, and then closed it. He didn’t want to play this game.

“Go on, Peaches,” Jacob prompted, clapping his shoulder.

The nickname sparked something angry inside of him, like dragging a match against the sandpaper side of the box. If there’s anything wrong with you, I’m going to kill them, Elliot had said.

Pratt turned his gaze to Joseph. “I thought the Mario Savio part was a bit much.”

A surprised, abrupt laugh barked out of Jacob. Joseph’s expression remained flat and serene. In fact, the only person who seemed to have any negative opinion about his words was Isolde, narrowing her eyes as she turned to look at him fully.

“We’re not exactly looking to hit notes with the intellectuals in the crowd, Deputy Pratt,” she informed him coolly. “They don’t care who said it first. They care who said it better.”

“Y—” Pratt swallowed. “Okay, well—”

“‘Okay, well’ shut the fuck up,” she snapped. “Or I’ll have Jacob take you out back and put you down like Old Yeller.”

“You can’t,” he protested quickly, “Elliot said—”

“Do you think I care in the least what some woman five states away said?” Isolde cut over him quickly, the elegant, soft roll of her accent a strange and unsettling juxtaposition to her words. “I’m getting this ship in fit fucking order, and that means I don’t need you inspiring dissent. Anyone with an opinion that is less than glowing, radiant, gorgeous—they get taken care of, whatever that means. Got it?”

Pratt closed his mouth tightly, until the pressure was beginning to build between his molars. I just have to make it until Elliot gets here, and then—and then I’ll—then I can get—

He took in a little breath. “Yes.”

“Peachy.” Isolde flashed a smile that was all-too-saccharine, and then turned to Joseph. “Let’s sit.”

“Of course.”

They departed to a pew just to the left of them. Jacob was grinning at him, wolfish.

“Thought about telling you she wrote it,” he said, “but that was much more entertaining.”

“You look pale, Staci,” added Arden, her voice light as it redirected from Jacob’s apparent joy at his suffering. “Maybe you should go lay down. I don’t want you straining any of those injuries.”

Okay, he thought, and maybe the words came out of him but he couldn’t tell; he couldn’t tell anymore, but he did want to go lay down. Lay down, and close his eyes, and sleep until Elliot got back.

He’d never been happier at the prospect of seeing an ex-girlfriend.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When they arrived at the boutique, Sylvia was standing outside, bouncing on the balls of her feet in what Elliot could only assume was an attempt to get warm. It was difficult, to focus on something as inane and arbitrary as dress shopping when she knew that Pratt was back in Hope County, dealing with God-knew-what the Seeds were throwing at him.

Well, the Seeds. And more. The Family, who were supposed to be dead, and—

I hear stress is bad for the baby. A familiar accent, wasn’t it?

“Well, are you just gonna sit in there all day or what?” her mother asked, having stepped out of the passenger side.

“Did you invite Sylvia?”

Scarlet sighed. “I thought it might be nice, for you.”

It was an unexpectedly sincere gesture on her mother’s part. She swallowed a thick emotion down, clearing her throat and managing out, “It—is, mama, thank you,” before she got out of the car and took the keys with her, heading towards the front doors of the main street store.

“Howdy, Freckles!” Sylvia greeted her warmly, throwing her arms around her in a tight hug. “Been a few. Wyatt’s still got your Jeep, he’s been runnin’ it a few minutes a day to make sure the battery doesn’t go bad.” She smiled brightly, turning to Elliot’s mother. “Mrs. Honeysett, you look mighty lovely.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Sylvia tugged the door to the boutique open, ushering them inside so that she could trail in after. The inside of the store was toasty warm, making Elliot regret having worn a scarf, but it was too late now—the coat and scarf combination were doing the work to keep her scar covered.

“I just love this place,” Scarlet sighed, shrugging out of her coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. “What do you think, Elliot? Maybe something blue. I’d put you in green, but with that red hair, you’d look like a Christmas ornament. Blue’s a nice winter color—very fashionable.”

“Sure, mama,” Elliot replied, brushing her fingers along the silk of one of the dresses. The last time she’d been in anything that blue and nice had been back in Hope County. At her “baptism”. The same one Burke had been dragged to, the same one that John had held her under for just a little too long for, maybe distracted by the Marshal’s arrival back then.

“Psst.” The sound of Via’s voice caught her attention, pulling her from the waking memory. The blonde had pulled what appeared to be the most atrocious Christmas gown that could have been looked at off of the rack, holding it up and lifting her eyebrows as Scarlet chatted enthusiastically with the store’s saleswoman.

“Stop it,” Elliot said, fighting back a smile. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, dead serious, Freckles.”

“It has mistletoe on it, Via.”

“How else am I supposed to fetch a husband, if not by readily-accessible entrapment?”

Well, she thought a little dryly, that is how John got a wife.

It was odd, to think of the moment with anything less than hostility—to have come to a point where there were things more pressing than a marriage that, in the end, might not matter anyway. John had said that he knew the baby didn’t mean she’d take him back; had acknowledged there was no guarantee. For once, he’d shown up in her life with every intention laid bare for her to see.

Maybe not every intention. But she’d root them all out, eventually, and pretend like it hadn’t become something of a game, to catch John in a lie and watch him squirm.

She let the boutique’s owner show her around, clearly making quite a show for her mother, and politely turned down any suggestions for a deep v or off-the-shoulder type of garment. Sylvia had picked out a few; most blue, some blush, a few red, and then loaded some into Elliot’s arms.

“Try ‘em on!” she chirped. “Yes, even the green ones. Maybe your mama doesn’t want an Elliot Christmas ornament, but I do.”

Elliot heaved a sigh, though it was only half-sincere—anything delivered with Sylvia’s bright, cheery smile, she was hard-pressed to feel anything less than good about. Maybe that was dangerous, to be so comfortable with someone.

Or maybe, she thought, closing the dressing room door behind her, that’s just how having friends are. You remember what that was like.

She did. As she undressed and zipped the back of one of the red dresses Sylvia had selected—thoughtfully aware of the fact that she’d want most of her chest covered—she regarded herself in the mirror. There was that stranger again, flushed cheeks and bright eyes staring back at her. A familiar nose shape, a familiar slope of her cheekbones—but the rest of her. Where had she gone?

With one hand she pushed the door open, the other one lifting the back train of the dress as little as she walked out. A grimace had planted itself on her face, even despite Sylvia’s elaborate applause at her appearance.

“Oh, bunny, you look darling,” her mother sighed, having turned to take a look. “What’s the matter? You don’t like it?”

“Not big on the sparkles,” she admitted.

“I like them. You’ve always looked good in red, though. That fair complexion of your father’s.”

Sylvia grinned. “Try on a green one. I wanna imagine how you’ll look on my tree!”

Elliot stuck her tongue out at the blonde, turning around and scurrying back into the changing room. There were a few more dresses—even a green one—that were in the running, but eventually, she’d settled on a floor-length piece, dark blue velvet and halter-topped to get the most sternum coverage. When she’d redressed and rejoined the group outside, her mother was beaming as she gossiped with the boutique owner.

“Elliot’s quite modest,” her mother said conversationally, “and she’s already married, you know.”

“Thank you, mother,” Elliot sighed, a little smile fighting its way onto her face.

“Whatever are you still wearing your coat for? Your face is all red.”

“I’m—” She paused, swallowing. “Still cold.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Cold? It’s eighty degrees in here. And your face is all red.”

Sylvia had glanced up from across the store, neck-deep in dresses of a warmer shade. Elliot could feel the eyes on her—her friend, her mother, the boutique owner—and she cleared her throat and tugged absently at the tag on the dress.

“It’s fine,” she said after a minute.

“Well, at least take your scarf off.”

“I think it’s a lovely scarf,” the owner tried, a little helplessly.

“Mother, it’s—I’m fine—”

But her mother moved too quickly for her to realize what was happening; her mother’s hand unwound the scarf with expert ease, and then froze, her eyes fixed on what Elliot thought assuredly was the little of her WRATH scar, revealed.

Her stomach rolled. Heat flooded her body, worse than before—it was the kind of sticky-wet heat that came with the threat of throwing up, the kind that crept up the spine and gripped by the nape of the neck. Elliot felt her lashes flutter; she dropped the dress abruptly and yanked the scarf out of her mother’s hands to wind it securely around her neck again. The boutique owner had quickly turned to the clothing rack, as though something very emergent had occurred on the inanimate objects.

Stupid. She was so stupid. She should have just worn a sweater. She shouldn’t have looked at her scar that morning and thought, maybe it is something to love, she shouldn’t have ever risked the chance that her mother would see it, stupidstupidstupid—

“My God,” Scarlet said tightly, the tone of her voice washing Elliot with shame. “What did you do?”

I’m sorry, she wanted to say, automatically. Mama, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m not good anymore, I’m not—

“Phew, I sure am dressed-out,” Sylvia announced, having come over. “I’ll have to go home and weigh my options. Ell, you wanna head outside for some air?”

“I think that’s best,” her mother replied curtly, before Elliot could even think to formulate a sentence. “I’ll finish up in here.”

She thought about trying to say something—trying to explain, maybe, what it was that had happened. But how could she? Her mother had suffered through the years she’d inflicted pain on herself, after daddy and after Mason, and she had told her mother she was better, now. Healed. Good. What could she say, to make it alright?

Because there was no world where she could say, I didn’t want it, and mean it.

Via’s hand fit snugly in hers, tugging her lightly out through the front door of the boutique onto the street. It wasn’t until she took in a lungful of cold, dry air that she realized she’d been holding her breath; her lungs ached, her head swimming, and she was gripping Via’s hand too tightly.

“Hey,” Sylvia said softly, “s’okay.”

It’s not, she thought miserably, it’s not okay, I’m not okay, I want to go—

Where? Where could she go?

I want—

Nowhere? Anywhere?

—to go—

“Home,” she managed out unsteadily, “I should go home—”

Sylvia gave her hand a squeeze. “You want I should give your mama a ride back to the house?”

“Yes.” She swallowed, sniffing. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, Freckles. Sure. You just—maybe you just take a little drive for yourself, collect your thoughts.” Via paused, and then leaned a little to catch Elliot’s eyes; though her vision blurred from the threat of tears, the blonde still smiled a little. “You gonna be okay all by yourself?”

It was a strange question to ask, but Elliot knew what she meant. Are you safe? Alone?

“Yeah,” Ell replied in a thick, watery mumble. “I am.”

“Okay. Can you give me a call when you get home?”

She nodded weakly. Via pulled her into a hug, tight and gentle all at once, enough to make the dam break; just for a little, just for a minute, the tears streaked down her cheeks and caught up in the fabric of the scarf where it wadded against her jaw.

My God, what did you do?

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, pulling back and sucking in a sharp little breath. “Um, I’m really—s-sorry—”

But Via shook her head firmly and brushed some of the hair back from Elliot’s face, wet from her tears. “Don’t apologize. Go get a little breather.”

She fished the keys out of Elliot’s pocket for her, putting them in her hand and hesitating.

“Promise you’ll call,” she reiterated.

Elliot nodded. “I—I promise.”

“Okay. No take-backs.”

“No take-backs.”

Via gave her another hug before ushering her towards the car. As she climbed in and turned the key, her hands shaking, she thought about the way her mother had looked at the scar—with disgust. Horror. Shame. Via hadn’t looked at her like that, when she’d seen it. She’d seemed embarrassed, at having put Elliot in such a position; but not like that. She hadn’t looked horrified.

John didn’t look at it like that. He’d spent a lot of time last night, tracing the shape of the scar with his eyes, with his mouth, reverent and adoring. Makes you hungry, doesn’t it?

At least leaving would be that much easier.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They came back separately.

When John heard the front door open, he’d been starting a pot of coffee in the kitchen. He poked his head around the archway to look out in the foyer, only to find Scarlet standing there, furiously unbuttoning her coat and dropping her gloves into the drawer. Two dress bags hung on the coat rack.

“Ell outside?” he asked casually, coming around.

“Certainly not,” Scarlet replied tartly. “She’s—”

And then the woman let out a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment—for the first time, Scarlet Honeysett looked to be composing herself, which he thought she was nearly incapable of losing sight of. It seemed even the impenetrable armor of the Honeysett matriarch had its own weaknesses after all.

His tiny little thrill at the sight of Scarlet looking troubled was short-lived, however, because she said, “My daughter walked into the boutique sporting this—wretched scar—”

Oh, he thought, suddenly.

“—never been so humiliated in my whole life—”

Oh, no, because he knew exactly what she was talking about and Elliot would be—

“—have no doubt, Mr. Seed,” Scarlet bit out viciously, “that scar is new and you have certainly not influenced her away from such activities.”

He needed to find Elliot. She would be distraught; why hadn’t she come home with her mother? And why wasn’t Scarlet more pressed concerning her daughter’s well-being?

“And where is she?” John asked, ignoring the stinging anger bubbling in his chest. Wretched scar, she’d said. Like it wasn’t beautiful. Like it wasn’t gorgeous. Like he hadn’t spent a whole night looking at it, running his hands and mouth over it, knowing that Elliot had looked at him and wanted it and trusted him and if there was something more devoted, it was carrying someone’s child. “Elliot? Where is she?”

“Taking a moment to regain her senses,” the blonde replied sharply. “She has vowed to be home soon. Mr. Seed—”

He had gone to reach for his coat, pausing at her words and looking at her expectantly.

Scarlet twisted the gloves in her hands for a moment, her brows pulling together.

“I just think,” she finally said, “that as her husband, you are responsible for her as much as I am. You have to be taking care of her when I’m not around.”

“I do,” he replied.

“Evidence says contrary,” Scarlet snapped. “She has come back to me with more—damage—”

The sound of a car pulling up outside snapped John’s attention elsewhere. He knew that if he stayed much longer in the conversation, they would be leaving sooner than what they had planned, if only because Scarlet wouldn’t tolerate him in the house for the things that he wanted to say to her. Damage, he wanted to say, that is only as bad as it is because it’s compounding on your incessant need to brush aside her problems like they’re nothing, like she didn’t need help then.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, pulling his coat on and opening the door. The rush of cold air bit at his face and hands; Boomer came rushing out around his legs, springing down the steps and hurrying to the driver’s side of the Honda. John was only vaguely aware of the door closing behind him—and it didn’t matter, anyway.

She didn’t open the door when Boomer got there, scrabbling at it for her eagerly. She kept her hands on the top of the steering wheel and pressed her forehead into it, the engine ticking as it cooled. When John got there, he reached for the door handle to tug it open. Elliot hit the lock button.

“Ell,” John said, “open the door.”

She lifted her head tiredly from the steering wheel. Where her hand sat over the lock button, her fingers trembled a little, and her face was flushed—not with health, but with the sickly red of feverish, panicked crying.

“Baby,” he tried again, a little more urgently, putting his hand on the glass of the window, “Boomer wants to see you.”

Elliot’s eyes were fixed on his jacket. “Would you—” She stopped, her voice muffled by the glass, and then she took a deep breath and said, “Would you even be here if I wasn’t pregnant?”

“What?” John blinked at her.

“If I didn’t have the baby,” she tried again, her voice thick and watery with unshed tears, that pouty lower lip trembling, “would you have even come for me?”

He stared at her. It had never occurred to him, that there might be a world in her head where he didn’t come for her, where he didn’t find her, where he didn’t try and bring her back.

“Of course I would,” John said, drawing her eyes to him. “I love you, Elliot.” And then, more urgently: “I love you, with or without the baby.”

She looked away from him, then, staring out the other side of the window, fingers curling uselessly against the steering wheel even as the keys lay in the passenger seat—like she wanted to run. Like she wanted to floor it, and go somewhere, anywhere.

“Open the door, Ell.” He swallowed thickly. “Won’t you?”

The door lock clicked. He tugged at the handle and it opened with ease, Boomer instantly shoving his face into Elliot’s side and whining, tail wagging so furiously his whole body moved with it. John pushed the door open the rest of the way and reached for her, and her hand caught his wrist and pulled, and she buried her face into his chest and trembled like a leaf in a breeze.

“I’m so tired,” she moaned miserably into his chest, hiccupping with grief, “I want to go home.”

John wrapped his arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head and keeping her tugged close.

“I know,” he said. “We’ll go. We will, I promise, Ell, okay?”

“Please—” The redhead pulled back to look at him. “I can’t—you can’t—lie to me, anymore—”

“I know,” John said again, a little helplessly, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. She was clutching him so tightly he was sure her nails would leave marks on his skin, even through the fabric of his clothes.

“I won’t.”

[princesskokichi]

Kiibo, Makoto, Hajime, and Shuichi who think they can hide their crush but their ahoge betrays them.

AAAAAAAAAA this is so cute!!! Hope you enjoy!! I’m sorry it took so long. - mod maki

KIIBO: Well... this was different.

Perhaps the professor made a mistake in his code, a glitch or a small error.

Either way, he had NO idea why he felt the way he did when you were around.

At first, he was lost. He felt like he couldn’t move in his own body when he was with you, but as time went on, he gained control back and felt like he could mask these feelings around you.

Or so he thought.

Because there was one thing that everyone could see that he couldn’t. The small piece of metal atop his head. The cursed piece that would curl up into a heart when he saw you.

And you thought it was the cutest thing.

You knew you liked Kiibo for about a week now, but you knew he liked you for a much longer amount of time. You simply thought it was just a little crush he would move on from, and you two would just stay friends. But as you thought about that, you thought of Kiibo’s adorable, curious personality. His captivating robot eyes. His calming laugh. 

You liked him too.

Well, you got lucky, cause you knew he liked you back. So, you went into a confession right away.

He was sitting in the library, focused on a book, when you walked up to him. He looked up and saw you, his eyes instantly lit up, and his ahoge curled.

“Hey S/O! How’s your day been today?” he chirped.

“Pretty good! I have something important to ask you though.” 

He marked his page and shut the book, “Oh, what is it? Is everything okay?” he questioned, a nervous expression on his face.

“Well, I couldn’t help overhear Rantaro talking to Kokichi earlier, and he said that a little fair is opening up tonight. I wanna go, but I don’t wanna thrid wheel on their date, do you wanna go on our own date?”

Kiibo.jpeg has stopped working! Please return in 15 minutes.

You didn’t know that his pale face could turn that red, but he responded after a bit.

“A-ah sure! That sounds like fun! A date! Wow!” He stuttered out.

“See you at around fiveish?” 

“Sure! See you then S/O!”

He brought you a flower when you met up, and if you thought he was red before, that’s in second place now.

You two casually walked around the fair, playing a few games, winning some prizes, riding some rides. You won him one of those big bears, he was so happy.

Then you spotted the Ferris Wheel, and literally nearly took his arm off grabbing it and running over.

You two got on and starting going ‘round. The wheel slowly started to stop and, oh my god, it stopped with you at the top!

You admired the beautiful view of the city around you, not knowing Kiibo was admiring you. 

“S/O!” he called

You look at him and saw his face beet red a third time.

“I love you.” he said, immediately hiding behind his bear.

With a smile, you took his hand and said, “I know.”

He was shocked. Not knowing what to do he simply started apologizing.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, please I don’t want this to ruin our friendship! You’re an amazing person, I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable! I don’t know what I was thinking!” He yelped.

You needed to calm him down ASAP. “Kiibo. Kiibo! KIIBO.” you shouted. That last one got him quiet.

“You didn’t let me finish Kiibs! I love you too!”

Once again, he was shocked.

“Yo-you do??!” he exclaimed. “How’d you know I liked you?”

“Your little ahoge! It curls into a little heart when I’m around.”

His hands went to his hair and felt the small heart shape.

“O-oh... I din’t even notice. I thought I was doing a good job hiding it too...”

You laughed. “Well, you don’t have to hide it anymore Kiibs.”

Blushing from the nickname, he finally did what he wanted to do for the past 2 months.

He kissed you.

MAKOTO:

Honestly, out of the three of them, he’d probably be the worst at hiding it.

Because he’s always with you! He loves spending time with you. Hi hair just... betrays him. Nobody knows why it happens, but they all know it only happens around you.

You actually didn’t figure it out yourself, Celeste caved in and told you.

“s/o... there is something I just HAVE to tell you.” She said after lunch one day.

“Oh? What’s up Celeste?”

“I apologize if I ruin the surprise for you, I already have to deal with Mondo and Kiyotaka, but Makoto has taken a certain liking to you.” she said.

You weren’t expecting that. “Huh?? How do you know?”

“Whenever you’re around, that little piece of hair curls up into a little heart. It’s quite adorable actually.”

The more you thought back on it, the more it made sense. Makoto was always smiling so sweetly and blushing profusely whenever you hung out. But you never really thought that he’d like you back. Time to have a talk with him. You texted him to meet him later.

You waited at the designated spot anxiously. What if Celeste was wrong? What if Makoto was just a little shy or something? You quickly knocked that thought out of your head. Celeste’s whole career was based off of reading people’s facial expressions, she can’t be wrong. But isn’t she also called the Queen of Liars? Oh dear...

Makoto arrived shortly afterwards. 

“Hey s/o! Sorry I’m late! What’s up?” He said, pointing two finger guns at you.

You couldn’t help but notice the curly heart on top of his head.

“Hey, Celeste told me something, and I wanted to know if it was true or not.”

His face contorted into one of worry. “What’s up?”

“Do you like me?”

It’s almost like you pressed the stutter button.

“Wh-wh-what? No! Th-that’s just crazy I mean wh- h- uhh no way! You’re just my friend!” He sputtered out.

“I like you, Makoto.”

Aaaaaand the off button.

“Really?” He whispered.

“Really. Now do you like me back?” You said with a foreign amount of confidence.

“...Maybe.” He said, twiddling with his thumbs.

You smiled at him. “Then how about we make this hangout our first date?”

Smiling just a bright, he said “That would be awesome, s/o.”

HAJIME:

Gundham and Sonia were going on vacation, and they needed you and your roommate Hajime to watch after the Devas.

“We shall leave for only two nights, but the Dark Devas of Destruction need the highest amount of care to maintain their Earthly form...” Gundham spoke.

“So... in other words, feed them every once and a while?” Hajime asked.

He then got quite the reprimanding from Gundham, at least until Sonia dragged him away, leaving the two of you as the caretakers of the mighty Devas.

“So the sheet they made said that we should feed them once a day, in the evenings, and keep a livestream of classical music playing for them at all times.” You read out.

“What?”

“Hamsters just like classical music I guess, don’t be a hater bro.” You joke, punching his shoulder playfully.

“Hey!” he says, turning away, but you already saw his blush. The little piece of hair on his head curled into a small heart.

“Aww Hajime!! Your ahoge is in the shape of a heart right now! Don’t move, let me get a picture of it!” You shout

“Hey, no!” He protested, straightening it out.

“Come ooooon! You looked so cute!” 

“Sh-shut up! I’m going to get the food.” He said with a huff, then left.You decided to set up the livestream. Who knew hamsters liked Mozart?

It was later in the day, and you were still thinking about how cute Hajime looked with his hair curled in a heart. That probably wouldn’t happen again though, you wished you got a picture. You knew Hajime could be a little defensive at times, but you hoped you didn’t hurt his feelings. You always kinda had a crush on him, but you knew you never stood a chance compared to his other friends Nagito and Chiaki. It was only a matter of time before he started dating one of them. Great, now you were sad. Time to go to the kitchen for a quick snack. That’s when you heard talking. It was coming from the living room where the hamsters were. You slowly made your way over there to see Hajime standing by the cage.

“I know you can’t understand me or anything, but it just feels nice to tell someone. I feel like I do a good job hiding it but...” he said. Was he talking to the hamsters? What is he hiding so well?

“Hajime?” 

God, you nearly killed the poor guy.

“SHIT- s/o don’t scare me like that.” He shouted.

“Were you talking to the hamsters?”

“No!” he said a little too stubbornly. You noticed his hair curled back into a heart.

“Hajime, what are you hiding? I’m kinda worried about you...”

“I’m not hiding anything! You can go back upstairs. I was just telling the hamsters a little story.” He said. The atmosphere was so tense. You needed to lighten the mood up a little.

“...The little heart’s back!” You said softly.

“Enough about the heart!” he yelled, straightening it out again. Yikes, that didn’t help at all.

“I...I’m sorry s/o I just...” he waved his hand up, “I don’t know. Goodnight.”

And with that he was gone. You wish you hadn’t come down for a snack.

Then you heard a squeak. Then another, and another. The Devas were standing and waving their small paws. You bent down to see them better.

“What’s all this about, you goobers?” You asked in a sing-song voice.

The Devas then made themselves into an arrow shape pointing towards the hallway.

“Huh?” you asked. More squeaking ensued. “Hallway?” No not that. Maga-Z took a stick chew toy and laid it horizontally, then two hamsters got on each side to make a H shape.

“Hajime?” Cheerful squeaks now. The hamsters then moved into a fluffy heart shape.

“Love?” More happy squeaks. Never would you have thought that you’d be trying to communicate with hamsters one day. They then all got up and furiously waved their paws at you.

“Me?” A choir of squeaks. Your mind spun as you put the pieces together.

Hajime loved you.

Is that what he was talking to the Devas about? And the thing he was so good at hiding? Was that why his hair curled up? You thanked the Devas with some treats and headed to Hajime’s room to talk.

You knocked softly on the door and waited for the “Come in.” and opened the door to find Hajime sitting on his bed.

“Hey...” you said after a beat of silence.

“Hey.” he responded. “Look, I’m really really sorry for shouting down there. It was out of line and you were just being playful. I just-”  His hair curled up into that perfect heart. “I just really like you, and I don’t know how to act around people I have a crush on.”

So the hamsters were being truthful after all. “I know Hajime.”

“Huh? How? Did you over hear me talking to the hamsters? Oh god that sounded so stupid.” He said, putting his head in his hands.

You laughed at his pain. “The hamsters actually told me, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Really?!” He exclaimed. “That does actually make me feel better.” He got serious again, “So... do you like me back?” he asked nervously.

“I always thought I was out of you league, Hajime. I’ve liked you for a while now.”

He looked at you with big eyes, “Are you serious?”

You giggled, “Yes! And I was very happy when some hamsters told me you did too.”

Both of you sat happily there for a while, until you piped up with a question.

“Can I take that picture of your hair now?”

“Only if I’m kissing you in it.”

SHUICHI:

You were minding your own business when you felt a tiny tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you came face to face with your best friend, Kokichi Ouma.

“Good morning s/o chan!!” he chirped

“Morning Kokichi.”

He frowned. “Hey, at least show some sort of excitement at the sight of me!”

“Why? I hate you.” You responded, smirking.

“Wh-wh... WAAAA!!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HATE ME!!! I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEEEEEEEND!” he cried, crocodile tears running down his face.

You chuckled to yourself. You knew it was a joke and that his feelings weren’t actually hurt, but this is what comedy was to you two.

“If I buy you a little treat, would our friendship be salvaged?” You ask.

The crying ceased, “Well... maybe...” He said with a sly smile. “When we got out for lunch today, I have something I need to tell you.” He then skipped, yes, literally skipped away. 

“Hey! Just tell me now!!” You shout to no avail, for he shows no signs of stopping, the bastard man.

At twelve, you met him at a local pizza place to chat. You were eager to hear what he had to tell you.

“Soooo... Kokichi...”

“s/o chaaaaaan...” he said

“Tell me!! I’ve been dying to know since this morning!!”

“Ah, the daily drama. I thought you were better than to dive into gossip...”

“I can leave right now and you pay.” You said, crossing your arms in a “I got you.” kinda way.

“Sheesh! Fine I’ll tell you................but are you sure you can believe a liar like me?”

“Kokichi if you don’t tell me I’ll... send Rantaro that video of you falling down the stairs!”

He gasped. “You would NEVER.”

“Oh but I would! At least, if you don’t tell me.”

“Fine! Shuichi has a crush on you.”

Well that was not what you were expecting. At all. You got serious.

“Kokichi if this is a joke, it’s not a funny one.” you said.

“I’m being serious! Do you think I would lie about something like this?” He said just as seriously.

He was right. Kokichi was the only person you trusted with the secret that you liked Shuichi. Although Kokichi loved pranking you, you knew he wouldn’t break your heart as a joke.

“How’d you know?” You ask.

“Oh it’s SO cute, listen to this.” He said “His ahoge curls up into a heart whenever you’re around! I noticed it watching you guys.” 

“Wait... you watch us?” you exclaim.

“Well I gotta make sure my bestie has the best!” He says.

“Whatever. So if I tell him I like him...”

“He’ll say he likes you back!”

Looks like you gotta talk to him about this

After lunch, you got a text from Shuichi

dumb bitch named shu: Hey s/o!! Are you free at 3:30 today?

You: yeah, sumthin up??

dumb bitch named shu: I wanted to go to that new froyo place with you!! I heard they have blackberry froyo!! You know that’s my favorite!!!

You smiled to yourself, he’s so adorable. And then would be the perfect time to confess.

You: sounds dope!!!! see ya then dude.

You quickly texted Kokichi

you: BITCH GUESS WHAT

stupid grape lookin ass mfer: WHAT

You: SHUICHI JUST ASKED ME OUT

stupid grape lookin ass mfer: BRO

You: IKR

stupid grape lookin ass mfer: this is the perfect time!!! i’ll be there with rantaro! what time?

You: wait what?? why rantaro?

stupid grape lookin ass mfer: well he’s like shuichi’s best friend and i’m sure he’d be curious to shuichi’s well being! just like me for you!

You: I thought kaito was shuichi’s best friend... is this just an excuse to ask rantaro out?

stupid grape lookin ass mfer:....

You: 3:30, don’t be weird.

stupid grape lookin ass mfer: good luck s/o chan!!!!!!

It was 3:28. You were nervously standing outside of the froyo place when Shuichi gently tapped your shoulder.

“Hey s/o! Sorry if I kept you waiting for too long...” he said. You noticed that his ahoge was curled curled up.

“You didn’t, don’t worry! Let’s go in before the blackberry is all gone!”

As you sat with your cookies n’ creme and Shuichi with his blackberry, you looked around and spotted Kokichi and Rantaro. You would’ve waved, but Kokichi was too busy oogling over Rantaro. So much for looking out.

“Uhh... s/o?” Shuichi timidly asked. “There’s something I wanted to tell you...”

Here it is...

“I really like you...” 

So Kokichi was telling the truth. You sat there in silence for a few beats, still somewhat in shock. Shuichi tensed up.

“I-I-I um, knew that I liked you for a while, I just...” he trailed off. Then he started talking. Talking and talking but you didn’t hear a word. You were transfixed on his ahoge. The small heart, how had you not noticed it before? Were you too busy staring at Shuichi’s face? His deep eyes with impeccable eyeliner? His pale skin? His soft lips? He truly was beautiful.

“S/o?” He said, snapping you out of your mind. “Will you go out with me?”

You smiled back at him, “I thought you’d never ask, Shu!”

“What? ReallY? He said, a huge smile appearing on his face.

“Yeah! I knew you liked me, dummy! I was waiting for you to ask me!” You lied, deciding not to tell him Kokichi told on him.

“I- that’s-okay! When can we go on our next date?” He said.

“How about this Saturday at noon? We can go for coffee and pastries!”

“That sounds awesome s/o.”

[where-dreamers-go]

“Part 6/Finale - Treasure” Riley Poole x Reader

(A/N: Requested. Ready to go into the treasure room? What treasures lie within? And what treasure will you discover after you make it out?

Thank you so much for the support and love for this series! I love these characters so much. I think I might love Riley Poole more now than I did at the start of writing this series, if that’s possible.

I hope you enjoy this final part!!!

Also, thank you @ivorydragoness44 for proofreading!

Warnings: That pesky sprained ankle. Mentions of all the dangers that our lovable characters went through.

Check out: Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five

Word Count: 6,465 words)

“The all-seeing eye.” Ben whispered as he ran a hand over one of the carved-in walls. “‘Through the all-seeing eye.’” The lit torch in his hand illuminated the old art on the wall. A single eye. He brush away at thick layers of dirt and dust.

“That means…” Riley said his thoughts out loud, “by the time lan figures it out and comes back here, we’ll still be trapped, and he’ll shoot us then. Either way, we’re gonna die.”

You gave a light squeeze to Riley’s hand.

Ben looked to all of you with a soft, confident gaze, “Nobody’s gonna die.”

There was a pause.

“There’s another way out.”

Riley all but rushed forward, not letting you go and urged you to move as he asked, “Where?”

“Through the treasure room.”

A push of Ben’s thumb onto the dusty surface and the set-in wall with the all-seeing eye roared to life. Air and rocks moving.

Ben and Riley shared joyous smiles.

Reaching over, Ben handed you the torch to hold before turning back to the wall. Ben started to slide it to the left.

“I got it,” Riley whispered, taking the torch from you and giving a quick glance down at your probably still swollen ankle.

“Here.” Patrick handed Abigail the torch. He went immediately to help his son. In only a few moments, they had gotten the wall to really start moving. Dust and dirt falling from a dark new opening as it revealed itself.

“Riley.” Ben nodded and he was given the torch back. He crossed over the short half wall.

Patrick went next after Abigail gave him back the torch he had been using. Then she went before you as you pulled your hand from Riley’s and bounded over the small obstacle.

It was another enclosed room, larger and no less dusty. Various items were scattered across the floor either broken or covered in cobwebs. Anything left was either a decorative pillar or had held something at a point in time.

On your left sat a trunk long ago opened and emptied.

Abigail let out a short and heavy sigh.

Whatever joy you had when the wall opened had faded.

It was basically an empty room. No treasure. No history from other civilizations. Just dust.

It’s empty.

You looked up to see Ben’s back. The torch out to the side as his shoulders slouched.

Oh, Ben, you thought sadly. All this work.

“Looks like someone got here first.” Riley whispered.

“I’m sorry, Ben.” Abigail said.

“It’s gone.” Ben looked around to the other side of the room before facing away from you all again.

“Listen, Ben…” Patrick said as he slowly walked forward.

“It may have even been gone before Charles Carroll told the story to Thomas Gates.” Ben muttered.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I know. ‘Cause you were right.”

“No, I wasn’t right.” Patrick stated firmly.

You watched on in silence and surprise.

“This room is real, Ben. And that means the treasure is real.” Patrick stood before Ben. “We’re in the company of some of the most brilliant minds in history, because you found what they left behind for us to find and understood the meaning of it. You did it, Ben. For all of us. Your grandfather, and all of us. And I’ve never been so happy to be proven wrong.”

Your eyes started prickling with emotion. It had been a long while since Patrick and Ben had just talked. No arguments. Just honesty and positivity.

If only the disappointment in the air wasn’t so thick.

You hoisted yourself up to sit on a stone surface. Relief rushed to your feet and tender ankle. Riley soon joined you on your right.

“I just…” Ben walked over to lean against a surface. “Really thought I was gonna find the treasure.”

“Okay.” Patrick said, standing tall. “Then we just keep looking for it.”

You smiled.

Abigail took a step or so closer and said, “I’m in.”

“I’ve got time.” You pipped up.

“Okay.” Ben breathed out, looking between all of you.

“Not to be Johnny Rain Cloud here,” Riley spoke up, “but that’s not gonna happen. Because as far as I can see, we’re still trapped down here.”

“Yeah.” Abigail’s eyebrows drew together.

That didn’t settle right with you. It wasn’t fair. It didn’t fit. You couldn’t quite grasp it.

That doesn’t really add up. It’s old enough, you thought as you considered you were at a dead-end.

“Now, Ben, where is this other way out?” Riley asked.

“Well, that’s it.” Ben stood straighter as his voice held his growing confidence. “It doesn’t make any sense, because the first thing the builders would have done after getting down here was cut a secondary shaft back out for air…”

“Right.” Patrick was already back to the right side of the room.

“...and in case of cave-ins.” Ben started to move, heading straight for a decorative wall with Abigail at his heels.

You watched your best friend tentatively. There was no doubt that he could find something. Anything. From what you could see from a distance away, Ben was eyeing and touching discs on a wall. One in particular.

“Could it really be that simple?” Ben muttered and reached into a pocket where he had stashed away the pipe.

You leaned closer to catch his words, practically about to support yourself on Riley’s left thigh just to see what was happening.

“‘The secret lies with Charlotte.’” Ben placed the small decorative ship piece into the section of the wall.

No one else spoke as Ben slotted in the second piece of the pipe and started to rotate the disc counterclockwise. Sounds of stone and mechanisms filling the room softly.

click

Ben then pushed the circular piece in.

WOOSH

Air rushed into the room as a wall started to move at the far side of the room. The fire on the torches becoming a small hazard for a few moments.

Wait. What? It’s…Charlotte was the key more than once? …brilliant.

Riley stood from the stone, eyes fixated to the opposite wall.

You were careful when hoping off of the stone. Your ankle only complaining a little. Not that it could damper your rising spirits.

Everyone was quietly in awe.

Wasting no time, Patrick walked swiftly to the new opening.

With a bright smile and a bounding step, Riley went straight towards the room’s exit.

From the new opening, you stepped through to the right. On either side, walls were decorated with art, their color still visible.

It was like a lucid dream.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stopped beside your friends at the opening. Both your mind and eyes were trying to process and believe what was laid out in the open area. From what you could see from the torches’ light, the room had treasure across every suitably open surface. Glancing around the room, there were statues from Egyptian times, cobweb covered trunks, various sized statues from different cultures, vases, candle holders, trinkets, and world history. You were literally surrounded by history.

Ben finally joined the four of you. Silent. Taking it all in.

Abigail moved first. Her steps taking her farther into the room.

Blinking your senses back, you took gentle steps onward to one of the tables.

Patrick started towards the left.

Riley tentatively started forward.

It was all so much like a dream. Beautiful and everything you could hope to be surprised with after the journey that had to be made to get there.

How long had the treasure all sat there without an eye to look at it nor a hand to touch it? How long since fresh air had circulated through its halls and secret rooms?

Your hands remained at your sides. Treasure and history was right in front of you, however your awe was still overwhelming. Your feet took you to another table, slowly. Still absorbing that you were there.

“Scrolls from the library at Alexandria. Could this be possible?” Abigail whispered from somewhere behind scrolls stacked on shelves.

But…they were burned…destroyed in two different occasions, you thought in wonder. What else was saved? Hidden.

Peeking up, you were just able to see Patrick off at a section where there were suits of armor.

Now, that’s something sleek-looking. What metal alloys are they exactly made from? We need to date this—

Your gaze was caught to something on a table. “No way,” your voice was hushed as your eyes couldn’t pick one place to focus on first. “This doesn’t look entirely Egyptian. How many cultures made similar designs?” You made your way through the various and incredible pieces of history. Afraid to actually touch anything, you settled for looking incredibly close. It was easy to totally ignore the slight ache in your ankle because it was not the time for that.

“It’s a big...bluish-green man, with a strange-looking goatee. I’m guessing that’s significant.” Riley said from somewhere behind you.

He’s so freakin’ cute.

Grinning, you looked to see where Ben had gone to investigate. You hadn’t heard a sound from him. He was at the top of a set of stairs. He sifted his hand through something before lowering the torch.

Fire ignited and roared down between stairs, sectioned into three routes, and sectioned off again and again. Busts, statues, flags, literature, and more were made visible as fire illuminated the rest of the room. A huge room. Years of world history underneath everyone’s noses.

Ben slowly walked over to a railing and you all joined him. Patrick to Ben’s left and Abigail to his right. Dusty pillars with paint chips stood tall at sections of the railing, one of which stood between Abigail and Riley. Your spot was all of the open space beside Riley with a view of possibly thousands of pieces of history.

“Yes!” Patrick cheered, throwing an arm around his son.

You smiled to Abigail as you all but bounced on your feet.

“This is amazing.” You said.

The room extended yards out. Almost every inch of space had to be covered or stacked with some part of history.

“Riley, are you crying?” Abigail asked.

You looked over at your friend. Indeed, his eyes shined with tears.

“Look.” Riley swallowed. “Stairs.” His gaze was fixated to the very far side of the large room, if you could call it simply a room, there were wooden steps leading up to an exit.

Thank goodness, you thought. But I will risk my ankle being slightly more swollen if I can have a little look around before leaving for fresh air. I can take it.

Glancing back to Riley, you wrapped an arm behind Riley’s shoulders and he was quick to tuck himself into your hug.

“We’re getting out of here alive.” You said the first words that had barely went through your mental filter.

He wiped his hands over his eyes, “Yeah.”

“And with extra knowledge.”

Abigail gave you smile.

Hearing Riley sniffle, you added, “Let it out, Riley. Let it out.”

Zigzagging your way through stacks of knowledge and towering statues, the five of you reached the stairs in the fair back. A large statue stood beside it, practically on its way to reach the ceiling. How that statue in particular had gotten down there, you could only have a few educated guesses.

The group of you had carefully gone up the stairs before being greeted by more dust and dirt. Those cobwebs had to be older than all of you.

Traveling through more carved out halls, Ben lead the way with a torch in hand.

“Hey, does anyone still have their cell phone?” Ben asked.

“Hold up,” you spoke up as you reached into your pocket.

“Mine’s dead.” Riley said flatly.

After holding the power button on your phone and the small screen flashed on, you saw just one colorful light spot.

“Geez.” You blinked a few times. Once your phone had turned on, the tiny battery bar was extremely low. “Uh. Maybe you could spare one call?”

“Great. I need to make a call to Agent Sadusky.” Ben explained.

“Alright, here—Really?” You grumbled.

Your cell phone’s screen turned black.

“There goes that idea.” Riley added.

“Eh,” you pocketed your phone.

You only heard Patrick chuckle behind you, though you were certain it wasn’t because of the cell phones. Thrilled by finding treasure perhaps?

“Looks like this is our exit.” Ben announced as he stopped at a dead end where you all would have to crawl again. “Hold this?” He handed Abigail the torch.

The four of you crouched down to watch as Ben kicked and kicked. An exit crumbled open.

Ben coughed as he knelt through the opening to the church.

“Hi. Do you have a cell phone I could borrow?” Ben asked, his head peering out.

. . .

Back inside the church, above ground, the real world trickled back into your thoughts. Breathing felt easier, if only a fraction.

Ben had called the FBI. He had asked to speak with someone called Sadusky and told them you were all at Trinity Church with the Declaration of Independence.

After he had gotten off of the phone, Ben reassured you all not to worry and that he would handle it. What ever might happen, it was his doing.

The five of you were accompanied by quiet FBI agents at the back doors and in a row of seating.

An air of uncertainty hung around the group of you.

Who you assumed to be the agent Sadusky walked down the aisle with a hand in his pocket. Ben sat at the small set of steps at the alter waiting.

You silently made your way into one of the back rows, eyes on Ben. Riley, Abigail, and Patrick filed in after you as eyes were on Ben handing the Declaration to the man. Your futures on the line.

Clenched fingers rested on your knees. Your heart rate raising once again.

Would they take Ben back with them? You thought sadly. Would they take us too?

The two men stood in front of one another. Without a word or moment of hesitation, Ben handed over the Declaration of Independence in its cylinder.

“Just like that?” Agent Sadusky asked.

“Just like that.” Ben answered.

“You do know you just handed me your biggest bargaining chip?” He lifted up the cylinder for emphasis.

“The Declaration of Independence is not a bargaining chip. Not to me.”

“Have a seat.”

You swallowed, trying to hide your nerves. To steel them because none of you knew how it would turn out. Were you all in deep trouble still? It was all so complicated.

“So what’s your offer?” Agent Sadusky asked, sitting on the steps beside Ben.

“Oh…How about a bribe? Say...ten billion dollars?” Ben said nonchalantly.

“I take it you found the treasure?” He sounded a hint impressed.

“It’s about five stories beneath your shoes.” Ben gestured.

“Hm. You know, the Templars and the Freemasons believed that the treasure was too great for any one man to have, not even a king. That’s why they went to such lengths to keep it hidden.”

“That’s right.” Ben was looking at the man, really looking. Learning about the agent through each word spoken. “The Founding Fathers believed the same thing about government. I figure their solution will work for the treasure too.”

“Give it to the people.”

“Divide it amongst the Smithsonian, the Louvre, the Cairo museum…There’s thousands of years of world history down there. And it belongs to the world, and everybody in it.” Ben stated in a mixture of awe and passion.

“You really don’t understand the concept of a bargaining chip.” The agent teased lightheartedly.

You smiled, absentmindedly rubbing under your eye. Beside you, Riley had lowered his head with a pleasant grin on his face.

“Okay, here’s what I want.” Ben said more firmly. “Doctor Chase gets off completely clean, not even a little Post-it on her service record.”

“Okay.”

“I want the credit for the find to go to the entire Gates family, with the assistance of Mr. Riley Poole and (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N).”

Whoa.

“And what about you?” Agent Sadusky asked.

“I’d really love not to go to prison. I can’t even begin to describe how much I would love not to go to prison.” Ben’s gaze had set elsewhere, far away.

“Someone’s got to go to prison, Ben.”

Well how about the guy who locked us in The Charlotte and left us for dead! You thought, still incredibly bitter and for a good reason.

“Well, if you’ve got a helicopter, I think I can help with that.” Ben smiled.

Did Ben say what I think he said? Oh, please. Please.

. . .

Safety and ease had never felt as good as it did then. You and Riley were sitting in your apartment. Quiet and ears still trained for any unknown sound.

You had been promised that it was alright to go. It was better to be safe than sorry and freaking out later.

The both of you had been cautious as you had ventured farther into the place. Eyes darting to each corner and checking each room. To say that you two had been through a lot would be over simplifying.

You about leaped out of your skin when your phone rang. Pulse up, you hurried over to where your phone and Riley’s were charging by the wall. Holding up the phone you read the caller ID: Ben

“Hello?” You answered after flipping your phone open.

“Hey. You two alright?” Ben asked over the phone.

“Yeah. Still jumpy though. My apartment’s fine. Nothing moved. You?”

Riley had rushed up beside you, ear leveled to your phone.

“They got Ian.” Ben’s words sent a wave of relief through you.

“Thank you,” Riley sighed.

“They got Powell and the others too.” Ben added.

“Hey, let us know when you’re back.” Riley spoke into the phone as you held it between you.

“I will. It’ll probably be pretty late though.”

“Doesn’t matter. Just call one of us at least.” You said.

“I will. It’s late, you two should sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you and Riley said in unison.

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

You ended the phone call.

“It’s over,” Riley said. The disbelief still waving over him.

“Yeah. It’s kind of weird.”

He rose an eyebrow.

“It’s almost like it didn’t happen.” You clarified.

“But it did. And I’m going to have a hard time forgetting any of it.”

You put your phone back down and headed back to the couch. Reaching over to the table, you grabbed the ice pack and set it back onto your ankle once you were settled. You took over most of the couch, Riley had to make sure not to accidentally bump your foot as he sat on the far cushion.

Had you missed your couch? Considering the amount of running around and sleeping in a car, yes.

Sighing, you stretched out on the couch a little more.

“Does it still bother you?” Riley asked.

“Hmm?”

“Your ankle.”

“A little, not much. I just want it healed up.” You said before letting out a yawn.

Riley nodded. His eyes focusing elsewhere.

“They didn’t…Ian didn’t hurt you when they took you, did he?” Riley asked, eyes meeting yours.

“They didn’t try anything.” You reassured him. “I’ve known them for a handful of years, so…I figured out how to get what I needed and make them uncomfortable. Just enough.”

He scrunched up his face, “How? I mean…wait, when we got to the church you were wearing different clothes.”

“You’d be surprised how logical, persuasive, and slightly annoying I can be.”

“You being logical isn’t a surprise,” Riley chuckled. He scooted further into the comforts of the couch. “Especially if it gets you out of something.”

You smiled.

Stretched out on the couch, safe in your apartment with everything in its place, you closed your eyes. Your friends were alright and free to go about their lives, especially after Ben telling the FBI where Ian would be. Soon Ben would be able to relax as well. Ben knew that Riley was with you, both of you mildly paranoid after everything that had happened since finding The Charlotte. Hence why you had about leaped six feet into the air when your phone rang earlier.

You were finally able to relax knowing that Ben was on his way home.

No radio was on. No television set to disrupt the silence. An empty pizza box was still sitting on the counter in the kitchen from hours earlier. You had elected to throw it out later. The two of you had basically inhaled the pizza no sooner it had arrived. It was the best pizza you had eaten in a long while.

The apartment was quiet in the late hours of the day and held only familiarity. It was a wonder that neither you nor Riley had fallen asleep yet.

Maybe I had one slice too many, you thought.

Still being slightly full from pizza was a dilemma you were willing to put up with. Also being glad that all danger had passed, none of you were going to prison, you were alive, and the treasure was beyond what you imagined.

Everything turned out fine.

You rolled your foot, testing for soreness. Icing your ankle was one of the best things that had happened to you in at least a week.

“It’s been about twenty minutes,” Riley murmured. “I think you can take the ice off again.”

You made a small noise in your throat, but made no effort to move.

What was another two minutes? Or five?

Ben had yet to call. You and Riley were both close to dozing off on the couch.

Quiet and unmoving. Calm and security.

Your breathing evened out, becoming deeper.

The last thing you remembered before going to sleep was Riley unfolding a throw blanket and a comforting warmth enveloping you.

. . .

Three months later.                   

The last three months had been vastly different and almost dreamlike. Firstly, your ankle was fine after a few days. Secondly, the names Gates, Poole, and (Y/L/N) were populating the historical society. Then as time went, you no longer lived in an apartment complex with paper thin walls, you had money investing, you lived where you could actually hang shelves on the walls, you were more involved in the historical community, and you were even happier than you could ever recall.

On a similar spectrum, Ben and Abigail had finally chosen a home together. Their relationship had become quite serious over the past couple of months.

Walking along the grass, the couple led you and Riley out in the yard as a last look around before you and Riley were to leave. Greens all around you, from the grass to the trees. Fallen leaves scattered across the lawn. Between leaving their house tour and strolling through the yard, Riley had received a call.

“Yeah. You got it, chief. Thank you. Bye.” Riley said before pocketing his phone.

You looked over expectantly.

“They want us in Cairo next week for the opening of the exhibit. They’re sending a private jet.” Riley said.

“That’s fun.” Abigail smiled.

“Yeah, big whoop.” Riley pulled at his jacket and turned to Ben. “We could have had a whole fleet of private jets. Ten percent, Ben. They offered you ten percent and you turned it down.” He was clearly slightly bitter and upset about the arrangement still.

“Riley, we’ve been over this. It was too much. I couldn’t accept it.” Ben said softly.

Riley leaned closer, showcasing his right index finger.

“I still have this splinter that’s been festering for three months from an old piece of wood.”

“Okay,” Ben stopped and the rest of you did as well. “I’ll tell you what. Next time we find a treasure that redefines history for all mankind, you make the call on the finder’s fee.” Both Ben and Abigail smiled.

“That’s not as funny.” Riley looked between the pair. “What do you care? You got the girl.” Riley turned his head to Abigail.

His tone deflated you. You kept your sights on the couple.

“It’s true.” She said happily.

“It’s true.” Ben wrapped an arm around Abigail and pulled her in for a kiss.

You smiled and shuffled a foot.

Once they parted from their display of affection, they grinned at their friend.

“Rub it in.” Riley started walking the short distance to his red sports car. “Enjoy your spoils…”

Ben sent you a friendly wink and a head nod towards Riley, who was stepping up to his car.

You gave a wary expression to which Abigail gestured with her hands for you to get moving.

My life, you thought and looked to the sky briefly.

Riley hopped into his car and continued his miniature rant, “While I sit on one percent. One stinkin’ percent. Half of one percent, actually.”

You climbed into the passenger’s seat and buckled up.

“One percent. Unbelievable.” He muttered beside you.

“I’m sorry for your suffering, Riley.” Ben said as he leaned on the car.

“For the record,” Riley looked over, “Ben, I like the house.”

Riley put on his sunglasses.

“You know,” Ben stood straight and his hands started gesturing happily, “I chose this estate because in 1812 Charles Carroll met…”

“Yeah, someone that did something in history and had fun. Great. Wonderful.” Riley said sarcastically as he started the car.

You grinned over at Ben and Abigail, “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Could have had a bigger house.” Riley started driving off.

So dramatic, you thought as you waved to both Abigail and Ben.

As Riley turned along the graveled driveway, he ran over green grass. The gears of the car crunching.

“Riley.”

“I got it. I got it.”

Adjusting back onto the driveway, Riley gassed it. The engine roaring perfectly.

An easy smile pulled on your lips.

He totally loves this car.

In the car, on the road back to your house, you switched to another radio station. The volume relatively low even with the wind rushing passed.

There was something on your mind that you knew you had to ask. A few things actually. It was one that was starting to nag you, but only because you didn’t ask earlier.

You looked over to Riley and placed a gentle hand on his jacket sleeve.

“Is that suede?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice. It looks good.” You returned your hand to your lap.

“Thank you.”

The car continued down the long stretch of road, trees seeming to blur on the far sides.

“You know,” you started, “Your finger is fine.”

“Wha—.”

“I gave you Neosporin and then the next day I even used Vicks. I checked it with a magnifying glass. You’re fine.” You laughed.

“It’s festering!” Riley complained before a grin appeared on his face as he kept his eyes on the road.

The little stinker! You thought as you laughed again. It felt good. The laughing and spending time with Riley. It felt natural.

You thought back to the past three months where there had literally been an entire phone call that Ben dedicated to telling you all the reasons why you should ask Riley on a date or flat out confess or show your feelings.

“We have been shot at, escaped an exploding ship, chased, threatened, and forced into unfavorable conditions. You can tell Riley how you feel about him.” Ben reasoned over the phone.

“I can’t do th—.”

“Yes, you can. You care about him, don’t you?”

“Yes. He’s my friend, I wouldn’t want—.”

“Then you can tell him. I know you can. Take the chance, (Y/N). It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

“If anything bad or negative happens I’m gonna blame you or just complain. Every phone call.”

“Fine. Just tell Riley how you feel.”

Could you though? That was the question.

Would it be worth it? If it doesn’t turn out…right, you thought. What if I’m literally just a friend to him? Nothing more or added? Yeah, Ben would be giving me a hard look right now for thinking that, wouldn’t he?

What would Riley do if he knew what you were thinking? You weren’t sure.

Without a doubt you knew that Riley was good and helpful. One of the most genuinely friendly people you had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Riley was fun and willing to lend a hand when asked. He had helped you with your computer more than once. Just little things. It might not have been much of a hassle for him, but you really appreciated him. You had movie nights together when Riley wasn’t interested in one of Ian’s poker game nights. Riley always brought over a different snack and favored not having to share with a large group. He never hounded you with questions when you’d show him the basics on how to package art in order to ship it. There was a day when Riley let you hang out in his van when someone you met at a networking event wanted to pick you up for lunch. Then looking for the treasure and what that entailed. You weren’t sure what you wouldn’t do for that man.

Riley had even helped you move in to your new place. He still brought up about your easel that pinched his fingers and fell on his foot. It was never entirely a serious comment, always followed by a small smile from him. Which incidentally was brought up on the ride to Abigail and Ben’s house.

If you were actually going to tell Riley how you felt about him then you dearly hoped all those times that felt like you two were flirting were actual flirting moments. It had definitely felt like it at those times or afterwards when you thought about it. Sometimes you were too in the moment to tell.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?” You glanced over to see Riley looking at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Okay,” he returned his sights to the road.

You’re fairly certain Riley wasn’t convinced.

. . .

Soon your home came into view and Riley pulled the car up to the front. Parking the car, Riley turned to you reflexively.

“Would you like to come inside for a bit?” You asked as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“Yeah. Sure. Could use the not-chosen-specifically-for-historical-reasons scenery.”

You barked a laugh and both of you jumped out of the car. Honestly, you didn’t think he ever used the doors. It made you feel like a tv action hero anyway.

Unlocking the door, you walked inside before stepping aside to let Riley in before closing the door.

“You want something to drink?” You asked as you took off your shoes.

“Yeah. Whatever you have is fine.”

With a smile you headed towards the kitchen, setting your keys and such on a side table. It was good to be home. A place that was actually your own. No worries about neighbors upstairs or downstairs. Added that you could hang whatever you wanted on the walls. Historical art and artifacts included.

Reaching the kitchen, you stood at the sink after you grabbed two drinking glasses.

The sound of feet padding across the floor alerted you to Riley walking in.

“So…how’s that friend of yours?” Riley tone had a slight weight to it. “The one who got you into the Gala?”

“Oh,” you laughed lightly and handed Riley a glass of water. “They’re fine. Nothing really new to report. Although, I think they even told their mom what happened—the treasure. Well…I mean, I didn’t tell them everything. Obviously.”

“Are you going to invite them to go to Cairo?” He leaned on the counter.

“No.”

His eyebrows rose for a split second.

“I hadn’t even thought about it.” You cringed and added, “I wouldn’t be obligated to do that right? We’re friends, but I don’t want to invite them to everything.”

“N-no. You could, uh, you could bring them back a souvenir instead.” Riley suggested.

“That sounds like the safer way to go.”

As quiet settled, you drank some water.

I’m sure my friend will expect something else to happen if I invite them. You thought. All considering last time and I know they were questioned.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy being with your other friend, it was just that they weren’t the type of person you would feel comfortable with on a trip. They were someone you only really saw in professional or business type settings and not going to the movies with. You liked them, but you did not want to worry about giving them a certain amount of attention while in Cairo. There were things you wanted to experience freely. No awkward conversations. Added that you didn’t want to say everything you did while protecting the Declaration of Independence. There were certain things you only wanted to do with your close best friends.

“Do you think we’ll be able to go on some tours while we’re there?” You asked abruptly.

“If we arrange for some, sure. But you know if you mention it to Ben, we’ll be signed up for every tour.”

“No harm in that.”

“As long as we don’t go into any more tombs.”

“Oh, no, no, no. We don’t know what sort of technology-magic was used back then. I’m not getting cursed. Thank you.”

Riley smiled over the rim of the glass.

“Hey, you watched The Mummy.” You gestured with your glass.

“We watched The Mummy last year on one of our movie nights.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He smirked before saying, “You were researching Egyptian history for a month. You kept telling Ben that there could be some Egyptian history in the treasure because of their ships.”

“And?” You looked at him expectantly.

“And…I saw the treasure too.”

“Um-hm.”

Shaking his head, he smiled while looking into the glass of water.

You sort of just watched him.

Admiring, not being creepy. You peered away to the counter.

A sudden thought struck you: Now with the treasure found, how often would you see your friends?

Ben and Abigail had their privacy and work. Riley started mentioning how he wanted to write something. Sure, friends needed to be on their own paths, I know that. But…can I have more? Am I allowed more?

You could practically see Ben’s face raising an eyebrow.

Oh, crap. Your stomach twitched into knots. This is it, isn’t it?

Raising the rim of the glass to your lips, you practically drank the rest of the water. Stalling was something you weren’t against. But how long could you do it for?

“Okay,” you said quietly. Eyes trained on the counter for a bit longer even as you felt Riley’s eyes on you. You set the drinking glass down.

I can do this. You got this. Just blurt it out. If anything, I can go hide in a room or call Ben later.

“I’m just gonna lay everything out there,” you took a couple of breathes. Then you made eye contact with Riley’s blue eyes. “I think we have something. I’m pretty sure…yeah?” Your arms hung loosely at your sides. You were unsure, hopeful, and scared.

The silence that followed frightened you and disheartened you to no end.

“Yeah.” Riley said softly.

“Yeah? Oh. Good—I mean, okay.” Weight lifted from you shoulders, but you practically sank to the countertop. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, a wide smile gracing his features. “You like me.”

“Yeah.” You heavily emphasized the word.

Those deep blue eyes stared back at you like there were sparklers somewhere within them. He hardly moved.

Is this seriously happening? Am I breathing? He looks so happy.

Your heart could have melted right there at the sight of him.

Glass of water on the counter and quite frankly forgotten, Riley continued looking at you. Questions and comments no doubt flying through his mind every second before he could voice them.

“What…what do we do now?” You asked, grinning. Watching him curiously, attentively, you found Riley to be contemplating. You waited.

A crease formed between his brows if only for a few moments. In a couple of steps he had walked up to you. Blue eyes focused intently on your face, each little movement of yours. His hand reached up and rested on your cheek causing your heart to jolt into a faster pace.

Your thoughts seemed to blank. Only visuals and emotions being read thoroughly. You leaned into his touch as your eyes slowly flickered to his lips.

Before you could check his expression, Riley kissed you. Soft yet firm. There was a hand resting on your side and his other lightly on your cheek. Other than that you had no clue what was happening aside from Riley’s lips on yours.

All too soon he pulled out of the kiss with an extra sparkle in his eyes. You both stood there smiling at one another.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Riley breathed out. His thumb caressed your skin. “Huh. Guess I should have believed Ben.”

“Glad I finally did.”

A small crease reappeared between his brows.

“Wait, how long had he been telling you to say something?” Riley asked.

You looked away in thought before answering, “Maybe a few months. Maybe longer. By this point it’s probably been a year. He’s been telling you too?” You let out a laugh.

Unbelievable.

“A year?” Riley looked to you then around the kitchen searching for more words.

Suppressing a grin, you pulled him in by his suede jacket for another kiss. Your hands immediately seeking for the nape of his neck where his brown hair always looked the softest. You weren’t disappointed. It felt silkier than his jacket.

“A year?” Riley asked again when you parted.

“I’ve liked you for more than a year though.”

His eyes widened a fraction.

Fingers playing in his hair, you smiled.

“I just thought…I thought since you were nice to everyone that you just saw me as a friend.” He stated.

“I still see you as a friend. I just happen to really like you.”

“But I can ask you out now?”

“Do you want me to ask you out instead?” You smiled widely.

“No.” He said quickly. “It’s fine. You could, but I can do it. You can too. We can do it—date. Good Lord.” Riley dropped his forehead on your shoulder for a few moments.

You pecked a kiss to his ear. “Pick the time and place,” you encouraged. “When’s our first date?”

After a moment, he picked his head up with a twinkle in his eyes and asked, “Why not now?”

~~~~~

~~~~~

(That concludes Part Six - Treasure and the series. I hope you enjoyed it! Hey, I actually wrote an insert reader that went through a whole movie! WOO! I think I have a bigger crush on Riley Poole now… That’s fine. I really, truly want to thank you again for your comments and love for this series. Also thank you for letting me know that you wanted Riley and the Reader to be together by the end. I was second guessing myself a lot about that decision and I’m glad I asked.

MUCH LOVE!

Lastly . . . I think through writing this I made myself bitter about what happened to Ben and Riley on The Charlotte. Can you tell by what the Reader had been thinking? I mean they were locked in the cargo hold! Anyway. I love you! Let’s hope for a fantastic third movie!

If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @imacuteprincess @gingerlaserbeam @cubedtriangle @sledgy14 @thecaptainsgingersnap @awkwardspontaneity

[coureirsix]

supernatural season 16 episode 4 - “lifeline” |  ao3 link

it's roughly 11 PM on january 23rd when dean gets a call from eileen. he'd been out of the bunker with jack and cas for nearly three days; they'd taken jack to an amusement park. something about never seeing one before which reminded dean the last time he'd ever been to one, he was three years old and didn't remember a thing. which was fine, except that jack had wanted to go to six flags. he'd said something about finding old commercials with a dancing old man and the closest one was in kentucky. naturally, this wasn't an issue with dean. he'd driven farther for less, but on the way back he'd begun to realize that as he got older, the drives took more out of him. 

they'd gotten back earlier that afternoon and had spent most of the day lounging around until the exhaustion got the better of them at around nine. well, except jack. who could have just driven back to kentucky if he wanted to. cas made sure he didn't want to. so, it's saturday night, cas is breathing deeply beside him, completely asleep, jack is probably watching TV in the dean-cave, and dean has been drifting in and out of sleep for the past 20 minutes when his phone buzzes to the tune of the Call Me Maybe song. it's the tone he'd set up for eileen because, well, she never calls. so, when she does call, it's usually an emergency flare that's followed up with an explanatory text.

dean's eyes shoot awake and he watches the call miss as he waits a second for eileen's message to come in. 

dean, sam broke the tub. he can't get the hot water to stop running. SOS. please, my hair is disgustingly humid. his too. 

and dean laughs. it was an emergency, but the kind that didn't have him spiraling into a depression. that was... almost nice, he thinks. they have normal people problems now. he leans over to where cas is asleep beside him and cas' trained as well as dean is. he stirs awake with the movement and opens his eyes in a half-awake gesture.

“sam’s in trouble,” dean says with a smile. cas’ eyes shoot open, but dean’s demeanour doesn’t change, instead he follows up with, “he.. broke his bathtub somehow.”

cas squints. dean laughs some more and gets himself out of bed. he’s gotta find the little duffel bag that they’d dedicated to tools that didn’t include weapons of mass destruction. it shouldn’t be too hard to find. the last time they’d used it was when sam actually broke a door off its hinges. 

“i’m going back to sleep,” cas says, turning over as dean redresses. and dean laughs again. cas was grumpy when he was exhausted. it was endearing. 

it doesn’t take him too long to get ready to leave the bunker. he finds the duffel bag underneath the bathroom sink and before he knows it, he’s pulling out of the bunker’s vicinity in the impala and headed toward sam and eileen’s place. the issue with them is they live roughly 45 minutes away. he texts eileen back, letting her know he’s on his way. 

and dean thinks, as he drives over. that it’s his birthday tomorrow. well- he checks his phone, it’s basically his birthday. sunday january 24th, 2021. he didn’t think he’d live this long. he was the answer to the universe now, technically. 42. he looks down at his hands on the wheel. they’re worn. they’re the hands of a tired man who fought multiple apocalypses, multiple archangels, god himself. and won.

he takes a deep breath and thinks about sam. he loves his little brother more than he can ever explain. it’s unhealthy, probably, how much he’d done to save sam from everything. death, despair, sam himself that time he lost his soul. dean was there and willing to bleed for whatever sam needed. and he knew sam would always do the same. it was comforting. and even moreso now that they’d decided to take some time to really asses what was best for either of them. sam let himself want his apple pie life again. and it was the happiest day of dean’s life to see his little brother decorating the house he’d leased with eileen.

dean doesn’t hunt fulltime anymore. he’ll do an odd ghost job here and there, but mostly he mans the phones. he’s now FBI Supervisor Agent Harkness, police chief Richard Grayson, at cas’ request Texas Ranger Dean Swift, and at jack’s request Marlo Bridgers.it’s a living, he thinks. he still helps out other hunters and he passes off the bigger jobs to the younger people that’ve unfortunately ended up in the hunting life. 

mostly, though, he and cas have been making up for lost time. they go out on dates. dates, like embarrassing 15 year olds. he’s taken cas to the movies, they’ve gone for walks at the mall. dean held cas’ hand under a tree and it was the most incredible thing in the world. 

it’s embarrassing, it’s enough to make himself blush at the memory of it, but it’s also nice in that same breath. it brings him a sense of peace like he’s never fully properly known. because it’s about trust. and not trust in cas, not trust in himself, hell, the trust has nothing to do with either of them. it has to do with the fact that dean has finally let himself trust that things are going to be okay. that no matter what happens, he’s going to be okay.

and that’s what he thinks about when he’s sitting across from cas at the baskin robbins. that they’re safe. that things are okay. because they are, dean’s earned that much through his own tears and blood.

the sound of wind hitting the impala as he drives down the highway closer to sam and eileen is the melody to the memories of his life as it has been since they got rid of chuck and jack put god’s power back into the universe.

he pulls into the driveway of sam’s cookie cutter house. he’s in the middle of the driveway but dean doesn’t care and he knows neither sam nor eileen would care either. besides, the impala outshines the two normal cars they drive. he grabs the duffel bag and heads for the door, waiting for a second before the door clicks and he sees eileen in a crack in the door. he smiles at her.

“dean!” she says, visibly excited. dean keeps his smile on his face and waves, unsure why she’d be so excited that he’s here at practically midnight to fix her bathtub. she reaches out to grab his wrist and pull him into the house. she leads him through dark down the little hall that dean knows leads into the bathroom. dean notices there is no humidity in the house.

“eileen? is everything-” dean starts to ask when the lights flick on, blinding dean for a second before it clicks that it’s a party. it’s a party at midnight for him. 

he sees jody, donna, alex, claire and kaia. sam and bobby among several other hunters dean had come to know. it’s a full house, yet dean notices the lack of jack and cas. there’s a stack of presents in a corner behind the kitchen, a cake with a single candle on the table. claire is approaching him with a party hat in her hands and an evil look on her face. dean glances over at eileen, who’s beaming at him. she knows what she did. led zeppelin comes through a little speaker in the corner, not too loud, but loud enough that its ambiance music now. 

dean lets himself get wrapped in a hug from claire and then lets her put the hat on him before sam approaches him.

“this your idea?” dean asks. sam grins, but shakes his head.

“no, actually. i wanted to do it tomorrow morning. show up at the bunker with everyone, but, i know someone with worse intentions than me who said that tricking you into coming here at the moment of your birthday would be something you couldn’t see coming,” sam opens his arms and dean lets himself fall in. he hugs his little brother back and the emotions from earlier come back. he and sam were alive. dean’s greatest achievement in life was keeping sam alive and now here he was, reaping the benefits.

he goes through similar motions with everyone. jody gives him a hug and then leans up to kiss him on the temple. donna squeezes him so hard he swears his insides are flattened. 

after a few moments of getting caught up with everyone, sam sits him down at the table where the cake is. dean rubs his hands, ready to light the candle in it when sam makes this “uh-uh” sound. dean looks up at him in confusion when eileen brings over a pie with those large novelty number candles set into it. 42 sure was a year. 

dean sits there in the obligatory hot seat as everyone gathers around and sings him happy birthday. it’s awkward, it makes him blush and tears well up in his eyes, although nobody can really see it through the dimmed lights. and he looks around and his smile saddens a bit. he should have told cas to come with him. did sam not think to text jack?

he goes through the motions and cuts the first slice of the pie for himself and passes off the pastry to sam and eileen who take care of passing out the rest of it and the cake that’d been there. dean looks around, hoping cas and jack had been right behind him as sam brings him over a whiskey. it goes down ridiculously smooth. sam mentions he ran one last credit card scam for $3,000 whiskey for this. dean laughs and asks for another.

the night winds down fairly quickly, given it’s nearly three in the morning by the time everyone’s settled down into a less partying mood. dean ends up sitting outside with sam in some lawn chairs from walmart in sam’s cookie cutter back yard. eileen’s gone to bed and most everyone has gone home by then.

“you ever think we’d live this long?” sam asks.

“nope,” dean says without hesitation, “sammy, you died when you were twenty two. i died at twenty seven? twenty eight? god, i don’t even remember.”

“and those were just the first times,” sam says with an incredulous laugh.

“shit,” dean laughs with him, “yeah.”

“and we got out,” sam says. there’s a satisfaction in his voice that makes every single time dean died or did anything stupid for sam worth it. it’s a tone that dean knows means sam is happy. and that’s it, that was dean’s goal.

“we did,” dean agrees, taking another sip of the whiskey, “we beat hell, we beat heaven, we beat purgatory, we beat god.”

“kicked god’s ass,” sam affirms, “we get to choose what we want to do now. we write our own destiny now.”

dean reaches over and outstretches his glass. sam meets him halfway and they toast to that. dean watches sam pull his phone out and send off a quick text message. probably eileen telling him to go to bed.

they sit in silence for a while. and sam’s phone vibrates. dean watches him check it and not respond. trouble in paradise? he doubts it, but he doesn’t really know every single thing about sam anymore.

“i know you’re gonna tell me to shut up, but i do have to say, dean. thank you,” sam looks over at him.

“for?” dean asks.

“for everything, man,” sam has this look on his face like he’s going to cry, “you raised me. you were always there for me. im thirty eight, nearly sixteen years overdue if you hadn’t sold your soul to save me. i’m who i am because of you, and i like to think i’m in pretty good shape. and you, dean. i’m so proud of you. you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met. and i love you, and i’m happy that it was you that i got to have be my big brother.”

dean actually cries, but he turns around so that sam can’t see it. he composes himself in a second and turns back. he doesn’t have it in him to fight sam on the emotional distress this is causing him. instead he says, “thanks, sam. i’m glad i got to be your big brother, too.”

sam’s phone buzzes again. he checks it again and this time does respond. he sighs and looks over at dean again, “i gotta go. eileen says the bed is too cold.”

dean huffs a laugh and nods, “go fix that.”

sam nods and gets up. dean hears the door that leads back into the house slide open and then slide shut. and dean is left with himself at the end of it all. he sighs. he’s happy, he thinks.

and then he hears an unmistakable flutter. 

“dean!” he hears jack yell. it’s louder given it’s three in the morning and most people in this neighbourhood are asleep.

“i’m so sorry,” jack says, rushing up to dean’s side, “we were planning to be there for the cake but it wasn’t ready and we kept trying to fix things-”

“fix what?” dean asks, curiously. he’s not mad.

“the-” jack stops short, looking behind dean. and dean realizes the missing piece of his birthday puzzle has to be behind him.

and he is. the angel castiel is standing behind dean on the cement part of the patio a few feet back, wearing one of dean’s old band tshirts under his trench coat. and there’s a book in his hands. 

“happy birthday, dean,” cas says, a little smile on his face.

dean gets up. his foot nearly kicks the whiskey glass he set down with the speed he gets up at. and he doesn’t waste any time in grabbing the sides of cas’ face and pressing the most heartfelt, loving, tender kiss dean has ever given anyone in his life. there’s a warmth that always seems to be radiating from cas and dean wants to stick to it like a leech.

when he pulls back, cas keeps the little smile on his face and hands dean the book. it’s a photo album, he realizes, once he takes it and opens it. there’s- there’s baby pictures of him there. things that were surely lost in the fire in lawrence. as he flips through the album, he finds pictures of him and sam growing up. things nobody had ever photographed before, he’s pretty sure. at one point he finds a picture of him at age twelve, lying on roof of the impala.

“cas,” dean asks, in completely disbelief, “where did you get these?”

“i did!” jack says coming from behind dean in an awkward hug from behind, “i can still tap into the power of god if i want to. it wasn’t hard to pop into different points of your life and just take a picture.”

dean turns back and pulls jack forward to pull him into a better hug as he laughs. that’s somehow the craziest thing he’s ever heard. 

“happy birthday, dad,” jack says. and he tenses against dean.

“did you just call me dad?” dean asks.

“no,” jack lies. 

“right,” dean says, a grin on his face that he looks up and notices that cas shares.

“well, it’s kinda creepy that you existed for a second at different points in my life, but i love it, jack. a walk down memory lane, shit and all. i love it, thank you, son” and he leans down to press a kiss against the top of jack’s head.

“this what kept you?” dean asks cas as jack lets go and says he’s heading inside.

cas nods and he says with a little shrug, “it seemed like a kind gesture. i sort of gave him points to land on. that way he didn’t land in the middle of a hunt or something. i’m sorry, dean.”

dean shakes his head and goes to set the book down on the chair he’d been sitting in and he walks back over to cas. where cas is standing, there’s a cement step between the cement patio area and the grass that dean and sam had been sitting in. it makes it so cas is a few inches taller than dean. 

dean finds himself turning around so that cas can come around him, head coming to rest on dean’s shoulder and his arms coming around dean’s middle.

“thought you were supposed to be sleeping,” dean says with a mocking tone.

“and miss your forty-second birthday?” cas asks, turning to press a kiss to the side of dean’s face. they look up at the sky and dean wonders how exactly he got there. there’s a feeling in his chest that he doesn’t understand, but he knows what it is. it’s peace, it’s happiness. 

“i have a speech prepared for you,” cas says softly. his hands tap at dean’s stomach and dean brings up his own hands to cover them.

“right, right. something about how my eyes glitter like the moon?” dean asks, his tone is still jokey.

“something like that,” cas says, “and moreso how you’ve been the world’s lifeline and how i’m so happy you’re finally thinking of yourself.”

dean’s heart sinks a little as cas continues.

“you know sam loves you, you know your friends love you. you know that i love you with the wrath of heaven behind me. and somehow that doesn’t compare to the happiness i feel now that i know that you finally love you.”

dean’s face goes completely red. the warmth is different from the warmth of the next kiss that cas places against his cheek again. 

“thank you,” he chokes out, voice breaking because he’s started crying again, “i... i don’t have heaven. but i love you with the power of a guy who fought god.”

cas laughs, “and won,” he adds.

dean’s blush comes down a little and he leans back just a little, so he can turn and meet cas full on in another kiss before turning back to look out at the normal neighbourhood sam’s found himself in. 

“do you think we could do something like this? cookie cutter house. you me and the kid?” dean asks.

“if you think you’re prepared to let the bunker go, i don’t see why not,” cas responds. 

the thought of turning the bunker’s lights out for good makes dean feel a certain kind of way. still, though. now it’s a thought that’s popped into his head. who knows. 

for now, he’s content to stand there with his angel, looking out at the other backyards, at the stars while their respective kids sleep in the house. 

[emwritesfootball]

Bir öpücük [One kiss] | Berke Özer and Zeki Çelik

Word Count: 2,931

Warnings: Cheating, Oral Sex (male and female giving/receiving), Age Gap (4-5 Years), Third Person POV

Summary: When She and Berke get in a fight, Zeki is there to comfort Her...

A/N: I asked and nobody answered so you're getting it anyway xx This is my entry for @footballffbarbiex's latest writing challenge for the Forbidden Love category and I wrote this last night because I got inspired. Biiig thank you to @meteora-fc and @sammisze for the proofreading and extra suggestions. Enjoy y'all <3

- - -

“Where have you been?” She sounds like a petulant child - or worse, a concerned parent - and regrets the words the moment they leave her mouth.

Berke shoots her a look, rolling his eyes as he starts to undress. “Out. What business is it of yours?”

“I’m your girlfriend.” Her voice is shrill to her ears and she hates it. “You didn’t think to invite me out?”

“Just wanted a guys night. Is that so wrong?”

“Not at all! I just wish you’d communicate better sometimes.”

“I’m twenty-one - what do you expect?” He mocks, throwing what she usually uses as a teasing excuse when he fucks up in her face.

They haven’t been together long - a little under three months - but things were serious enough for him to bring her with him to Turkey from Belgium with his latest call-up to the U-19 side of the national team. They’d met through mutual friends, and the attraction was immediate. She had been hesitant, though, with their age gap, but Berke had assured her that four years wasn’t that big of an age gap, and their relationship had started from there.

She soon learned that dating a younger man - especially one of Berke’s status - wasn’t all she’d thought it would be. Berke’s rising fame as a skilled keeper, the media likening him to now-manager Şenol Güneş back in his career when he was one of the “Trabzonpor Efsanesi”, quickly took a toll on their relationship. A simple Google search had told her just how prestigious of a title that was, and part of her was surprised that he wanted to date her when he could be out playing the field.

Then, there were the red flags. He preferred to DM her on Instagram or just send her a simple wordless Snapchat; if she wanted to call him or FaceTime, they’d have to plan it so far in advance that Berke would ultimately forget about it. Whenever he was with her, he always seemed to be glued to his phone. She wasn’t completely immune to distractions either, and she’d played on her phone a few times too, but something about when he did it unnerved her.

She mostly brushed it all off, hoping it would all die down once the season was over and the two of them could go on holiday together and get to know each other on a different level. In a way, she’d been looking at this trip to Turkey as a practice holiday, but now she fears they’re about to be over before they even really had a chance to begin.

“I don’t expect much, Berke,” she says, searching for her words. “Hell, I don’t even care where you went tonight - I just would have preferred to know if you were gonna be out late so I could’ve gone to bed hours ago.”

“So I forgot to text you? So what?! I wasn’t aware I was dating my mother.” The way he says the word has her reeling. They haven’t shared too many intimate, deep stories, but she knows that Berke is well-aware of the fact that she hates being compared to anyone’s mother and that she’s insecure enough about their age gap as it is.

“Well, I wasn’t aware I was dating a child, so I guess we’re even,” she sneers, barely concealing her tears as she exits the hotel room she and Berke are sharing and makes a beeline for the hotel bar.

She takes a seat at the bar, relaxing a bit when her quick scan of the patrons tells her that nobody else she’d know is there. Her Turkish isn’t great - Berke had promised to translate - but ‘shots’ and ‘another’ seem to be universal, and after downing a few shots, she switches to a double Scotch on the rocks. As she drinks, she replays the last few hours in her mind. She knows she let her insecurities get the better of her and she regrets it; she also wants to apologize but it’s late and she figures Berke either left the room or is asleep and she doesn’t really feel like going back up to the room and finding out which one it is.

“You okay?” Zeki Çelik’s voice brings her out of her thoughts.

“Huh?” She turns to face him, confused.

“You let out a sigh… I assume something is wrong?”

“Oh.” She laughs awkwardly, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t realize I’d done that.” She gives him a small smile, gesturing to the empty barstool beside her. “You can sit if you want.”

Zeki returns her smile, taking the seat she offers. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She drains her Scotch, signaling to the bartender who appears. Zeki puts in for two club sodas, and even though she throws him a glare, she doesn’t correct him as she starts, “Not really. Berke and I had a fight.”

“Oh.” Zeki nods sagely and she can tell he wants to ask more but he doesn’t.

The two of them sit in silence for a few long moments before she finally caves. “It was a long time coming, I think. We didn’t break up, obviously, but we definitely said things that were both on our minds.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Zeki says, taking a sip of his club soda when it arrives.

“It’s okay,” you reply, waving off the sentiment with your hand. You’re tipsy now and you want to talk about it. “He compared me to his mother and I called him a child.” You let out a derisive laugh, shaking your head. “It was ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“This is exactly what I worried was going to happen when the two of us started dating but Berke swore our age difference wasn’t a big deal to him…”

She trails off and Zeki finds himself studying her intently. “You’re older?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, nodding. “Almost five years, actually. I’m 25.”

“Wow - I just assumed you were younger.”

She giggles, shaking her head. “No. I think I just need to learn from this. I just need a smaller age gap - or just stick to older guys.”

“You just need to find a younger guy who appreciates you,” Zeki says softly, making her pause. The way he’s looking at her isn’t like anything she’s ever seen on Berke’s face, and against her better judgment, her heart starts to beat a little faster. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear and her breath hitches.

“Zeki-”

“I know,” he replies, looking away. “We can’t. You’re with Berke.” He runs a hand over his face and down his beard - an action she doesn’t miss - sighing. “I would never do that to a teammate and a friend - no matter how into their girlfriend I was.”

“Wh-what?” She’s stunned, blinking rapidly as she tries to process his words.

“It wasn’t intentional, don’t worry,” Zeki backtracks, chuckling nervously. “I just thought you were beautiful when I first saw you. I didn’t know then that you were Berke’s girl, but in that moment, I fell for you.” He pauses, draining his club soda. “Anyway, I’ll leave you alone now, but I sincerely hope you and Berke work it out.”

He gets up to leave and she puts a hand on his forearm, looking up at him. “Stay. Please? You can tell me I’m beautiful some more if you’d like,” she jokes, relieved when he laughs and sits back down.

Something tells her they’ve both crossed a line, but it feels good to just sit and talk with an attractive man who thinks she’s beautiful, not giving Berke a second thought as she laughs with Zeki.

When she yawns and Zeki follows seconds later, they both know it’s time to turn in; they’ve drunk their fill of club sodas and her mini-hangover from the shots and Scotch is getting the better of her. Zeki wraps an arm around her shoulder, steadying her as she stands, and she can’t help leaning into his touch, sighing contentedly. He’s not as tall as Berke, but she doesn’t miss how good it feels to have him rest his chin on top of her head as they wait for the lift back to their respective floors.

Their ride is quiet yet comfortable, but she gets confused when the lift stops on his floor first but Zeki makes no move to get off. “I’ll walk you to your door,” he says nonchalantly, and she hates the way her heartbeat picks up at the basic chivalry he’s just displayed.

“Thank you,” she whispers, looking up at him. She’s still tucked into his side and the knowledge that she’s going to be leaving his warmth in a matter of minutes has her feeling a sense of loss she didn’t know she was capable of feeling.

The lift door opens on her floor, and suddenly she doesn’t want to get off. Zeki waits patiently, watching her attentively as the doors close and she moves to press the number for his floor again. “The problem is,” she starts as the lift begins to descend again, “is that I don’t want to go to my room right now.”

Zeki swallows hard at the innuendo, his grip around her waist tightening almost imperceptibly. “Balım, if I let you come to my room, we won’t be sleeping.” Honey.

The doors open again and she walks out with Zeki, weighing her options. She knows that she shouldn’t, but Zeki feels so good and she doesn’t want to go back to her room with an angry Berke. “One kiss,” she says when they stop in front of Zeki’s hotel room. She’s almost certain this kiss will erase her attraction to him and she can go back to the bar and drown her sorrows before she actually goes to bed.

“One kiss,” Zeki murmurs, stepping closer so she’s pinned between him and the wall. His eyes are dark with lust and she swallows hard as she looks up at him, her tongue peeking out to wet her bottom lip, making Zeki moan.

Slowly, as if in a dream, she places a hand on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat underneath her palm. Her other hand winds around the back of his neck, her fingers threading in his hair. Zeki’s hands are on her waist, his touch burning through her clothes and searing her skin.

The moment his lips touch hers, she’s gone. Zeki kisses her like he’s kissed her a thousand times, with just the right amount of pressure and neediness that leaves her wanting more. When he breaks the kiss, they’re both breathing heavily, but she needs more. Her eyes search his and without another word, she stands on her tiptoes and drags him back down for another kiss.

She doesn’t know how he kisses her while fumbling for his key card, but Zeki never breaks the kiss even as he opens the door and leads her inside his hotel room. He turns on a light and she uses the opportunity to take off her shirt, giving him a wicked grin when he does a double take at her in her bra. “Fuck!” He curses in Turkish, taking her back in his arms as his hands slide up her back to unclasp the bra. “Çok güzelsin,” he murmurs before kissing her again. You’re so beautiful.

Her bra falls to the floor and Zeki is quick to palm her breasts, pressing kisses to the tops of each of them before taking each of her nipples in his mouth. She cries out, arching her back as her fingers find his hair. His scruff scrapes across her sensitive skin and she knows she’s probably going to have beard burn in the morning but she doesn’t care.

Zeki leads her over to the bed, watching as she falls backward and reaches for him, pulling him down on top of her with ease. It’s her turn to undress him, her moans of approval sounding as she runs her hands down his muscled torso. He can’t think straight when she reaches for the button on his jeans and he’s quickly pulling them off his body so he can do the same to her.

“Zeki!” She whimpers when he hooks his fingers in the waistband of her panties and tugs them down, the cool air hitting her pussy as he spreads her legs and kneels between them.

“Be good for me, Balım, and I’ll make sure you get to cum,” he murmurs, kissing his way up her inner thighs. The sensation of his beard brushing over the skin of her inner thighs goes straight to her clit and she knows she’s already dripping wet for him.

She loses it when he finally puts his mouth on her pussy. He looks up at her from between her legs as he sucks her clit and she almost cums from that alone. Zeki continues to speak Turkish to her as he eats her out, loving the way she comes undone from his words alone. He can feel his cock throbbing and he knows he won’t last long inside her, but he focuses on giving her a mindblowing first orgasm.

When Zeki commands her to cum for him, her body’s response is immediate. Her inner walls clench around the two fingers he inserted inside her, her fingers fisting the bedsheets as she writhes under his touch. He kisses her hard, drawing out her orgasm by curling his fingers inside her, and she can taste herself on his lips.

“My turn,” she says wickedly, dropping to her knees to play with his cock. He’s already leaking precum and she wraps a hand around his shaft, giving him a few pumps before she puts her mouth on him.

Zeki lets loose a string of Turkish when she takes him as far down her throat as she can, gagging on his length. His fingers find her hair and he tugs, pulling her mouth off his dick before he can cum. “I’ll cum down your throat later,” he growls, his heavily-accented English sending a thrill down her spine. “Right now, I need to be inside you.”

She doesn’t protest when he bends her over the bed, taking her from behind. He fucks her roughly, pulling her hair to make her arch her back so he can hit her pussy from an angle that makes her eyes roll back. “Zeki, please!” She begs, her face pressed into the mattress.

His deft fingers find her clit and it isn’t long after that she’s cumming around his cock, milking his orgasm. She can feel his cum coat the inside of her pussy and she knows he’ll be dripping out of her when he pulls out, a thought that turns her on.

The moment Zeki pulls out of her, he goes to get cleaned up. He brings her a warm washcloth and proceeds to carefully clean her up, making sure to run the rough fabric over her clit a few times so he can watch her pussy spasm around nothing. “Such a good girl for me,” he praises, trailing kisses down her back.

“It wasn’t hard,” she counters, giving him a cheesy grin as he settles in bed and motions for her to join him. She falls asleep in his arms, sated and content.

It isn’t until the morning when she wakes up and fully realizes the ramifications of what she’s done.

***

Waking up in Zeki’s arms feels like a dream, and she’s almost sure she’s dreaming until he shifts and stretches, giving her a small smile. “Günaydın,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. Good morning. “How did you sleep?”

She doesn’t answer him, instead moving to throw back the covers and find her clothes. “Shit!” She curses, running a hand through her hair. “I’m a mess; I should shower before I get back, right? God, fuck, Berke’s gonna know something’s up.”

“Look at me, Balım,” Zeki says soothingly, getting up from the bed and coming to rest his hands on her shoulders.”It’s gonna be okay - we’ll figure this out.”

“I can’t believe I cheated on him,” she whispers, covering her mouth with her hand as she tries to keep tears at bay. “I...I was mad at him - I never thought I’d do something this awful.”

“I know, I know you didn’t mean it,” he says, pulling her into his arms against his better judgment. The regret in her voice makes him feel hollow, but he doesn’t dare put his own feelings on her in this moment. After all, it isn’t fair for him to have slept with his teammate’s girlfriend, regardless of how he’s felt about her this last week. “Don’t worry. This was just a one-time thing and I promise I won’t tell him unless you decide to.”

“You won’t?” The relief on her face as she looks up at him makes him want to die, but Zeki nods.

“I won’t. Now, let’s figure out what to do. Why don’t you shower here and then we’ll figure out what to do next, okay?”

***

Zeki watches, heartbroken, as she goes back to Berke like nothing happened. Logically, he knew that the two of them wouldn’t have lasted even if she’d dumped Berke for him, but it still hurts. He knows this is for the best, that lying to Berke was the only way to keep the team together (or, at least, that’s what he’s telling himself), but he can’t help wishing he was the one on her arm instead.

[just-a-happening]

Kelly from Psych | T.H

Summary: Sometimes destiny looks like walking in on someone in the bathroom at a party you didn’t want to be at and he wasn't invited to.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1,815

Author’s Note: hello! again! everyone was so nice in my last fic that I decided to give it another go. am I a one-hit-wonder? you decide! also, I’ve decided that all my fics exist within the same universe, so it’s just like one long story if that makes any sense anyways this is how you met!

          You picked nervously at the label of your beer bottle, searching the faces in the crowd for your roommate. It’d been an hour since she disappeared and what had started as a drink to pass the time had quickly escalated to two Stella’s and a slight buzz.

In her defense, you should have known better. You’d been reluctant to agree to be her plus one at an old classmate’s going away party—“You remember Kelly! From Psych!”—but after negotiating a quick but long-enough-to-be-polite appearance followed by ice cream at your favorite parlor in the East Village, you’d caved.

You lost her within the first half-hour after she spotted an old flame in the crowd, making empty promises about how she wouldn’t be long.

          “I don’t want him thinking I’m not over him!” she argued, already backing away towards where he was standing with a few friends you recognized from the three dorm-room parties you’d been forced to attend.

          “But you aren’t over him,” you’d countered, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I am,” she said and you didn’t know who she as trying to convince more: her, or you. “Just relax, okay? I’ll be right back.”

That was an hour and a half ago.

You downed the rest of your drink, smiling sheepishly and gesturing at your now empty bottle as you excused yourself from the small gathering of people that had assembled around you. Not that it really mattered, everyone was so engrossed in the conversation—to which you’d contributed so little—that no one so much as glanced your way as you slipped away.

The crowd had thickened into a dense throng of people. A quiet, intimate, friendly get-together you could handle. A full-blown college rager full of people you hardly knew and barely remembered? Less so. As you weaved through the throng of people you felt anxiety creep into your chest making it uncomfortably tight.

No amount of ice cream was worth this. 

You made it to the kitchenette, which was an oversight on your part. It was impossibly full of at least a dozen people grabbing at chips and beer, emptying the scarce selection by the case. You scanned the room over guests’ heads for a few seconds before zeroing in on the perfect escape.

You traded in your empty bottle of beer for a new one and all but sprinted across the small two-bedroom apartment, ducking into the bathroom by the coat closet and shutting the door behind you quickly, not stopping to check whether there was a line. 

The sound of music and small talk dulled, falling away until it was basically white noise and you felt relief wash over you. You closed your eyes and turned to press your back against the door, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

For a brief second, everything was better.

But then you heard someone cleared their throat and you felt your blood turn to ice in your veins—you’d been so preoccupied about finding an escape you’d never stopped to consider that there was someone already inside.

Your eyes flew open and you came face to face with the unfortunate stranger whose privacy you’d completely invaded, your gaze meeting a strangely familiar one.

You felt your mouth fall open.

He gave a little wave, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern. You thought you must look as overwhelmed as I felt. 

          “Uh, hi.” 

Unfortunately, your mouth worked faster than your brain and instead of the string of apologies he probably deserved, you said: “I swear I’m not a fan.”

He blinked, the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. “Pardon?”

Shit. You swallowed hard and tried again. “I just–I didn’t want you to think that I, like, followed you into the bathroom like some kind of creep or something because I didn’t.”

He raised an eyebrow.

          “I mean I am a fan,” you backtracked helplessly. “Of your work, I mean. I’m more of an Iron Man girl myself, but you’re great, too. I just–I’m not one of those fans–not that there’s anything wrong with those kinds of fans! Except, maybe there is? Because nobody should be following anybody into the bathroom regardless of whether or not they’re Spider-Man, y’know? Which you obviously are.”

          “Obviously,” he agreed and you chose to overlook the fact that he was very clearly making fun of you. 

You don’t know what you expected, but this wasn’t it. His demeanor was surprisingly calm, all things considered. You wondered if maybe this wasn’t the first time this had happened to him, which seemed like a terrible thing to get used to. 

There was a beat of awkward silence where he watched you, openly amused, as you felt around behind you for the doorknob. After what felt like a small eternity, your hands closed around it and you smiled sheepishly.

          “Anyways, I’m just gonna go and find a different hiding place, preferably one where I don’t make a total ass of myself, and uh leave you to it–” you tried to pry the door open but he cut you off before you could manage to slip out.

          “Wait, who are you hiding from?” he asked.

Your fingers fell away from the handle. “Um, everyone?”

He nodded, gesturing lightly around the room before saying, “Well then, if that’s the case you might as well stay. That way we can hide from everyone together. Strength in numbers and all that.”  

You tried not to smile. “Why are you hiding from everyone?”

He pointed loosely to the party that was raging on outside with a half-empty beer bottle you hadn’t realized he'd been holding. “Oh you know, just doing my best to avoid crazy fangirls who follow me into bathrooms and stuff,” he teased. “They seem always find me, though.”

You flushed. “I never said anything about being crazy.”

He feigned innocence, one hand moving over his heart like some kind of celebrity boy scout. “What makes you think I was talking about you?”

Before you could fire back a response, someone knocked on the door and without missing a beat, the two of you replied, “Occupied!”

When you were sure the coast was clear, you gave him a pointed look. 

          “You know, they’re going to think we’re hooking up in here now.”

He laughed, “I’m sorry to have to break it to you, love, but according to the tabloids I’m actually already having a secret love affair with my co-star.”

You gasped playfully. “Which one?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “All of them, I think.”

It was your turn to laugh. “Scandalous.”

You slid down the door to sit on the tile floor, grateful you’d gone with jeans instead of the leather number your roommate had tried to corral you into. For the first time since making your dramatic entrance you realized that for someone trying to stay under the radar, he wasn’t dressed very inconspicuously in a pair of dark pants and a printed button-up.

Then again, maybe that was the perfect camouflage.

          “I’m Tom,” he said, holding his arm out to you across the too-small space.

You took his hand. “Would it be shitty of me to say ‘I know?’”

          “As long as your fine with being impolite.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s very nice to meet you, Tom.”

          “Much better.”

You hugged your knees closer to your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible. It was evident this wasn’t a bathroom meant to be shared by two people at the same time, the ends of your shoes brushing his with every small movement despite sitting on opposite ends. 

You should have felt cramped and uncomfortable, but instead, you felt strangely at ease.

Which is how you found yourself falling into easy conversation. He was in town for business, just a few weeks of press before heading back home for the holidays. You told him about how you’d negotiated Christmas but sacrificed New Years at work. He told you most of the time he sacrificed both. You did your best to keep from asking about Hollywood and he was surprisingly good-natured about it when you inevitably failed. He asked you about college and the party and your roommate who still wasn’t answering your texts.

          “So tell me,” you started and he leaned forward. At some point during the conversation, he’d slid down from the bathtub’s edge to the floor, his knees now slotted in between yours. You tried to keep the intimacy of it all from distracting you. “How did you end up here? I didn’t peg you as a party crasher.”

He almost looked offended. “I’ll have you know I was invited,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes skeptically. “Really?”

          “Not exactly,” he conceded. “But my mate Harrison has been kind of seeing one of the girls who lives here–or I guess lived here.”

Your eyebrows shot up into your hairline. “Your friend is dating Kelly from Psych?”

His lips twitched. “Well, I know her as Kelly from Tinder.”

          “Huh,” you said, in a voice right above a whisper. “Small world.”

          “Isn’t it?” he said, his stare latched to yours. “Out of all the girls in New York, Haz swiped right on Kelly and out of all bathrooms in this flat, we both chose this exact one.”

You felt a twinge in your chest but you pushed it down. “Not to take away from this otherwise great moment, but I do think this might be the only bathroom in this apartment.”

He scoffed. “Semantics, love.”

          “Are you saying that us being friends is some kind of destiny?” you countered, narrowing your eyes at him lightly.

The word ‘friends’ hung between you so tangibly you felt like you could pluck it out of the air. You don’t know why you said it, it had just slipped out, but now that it had, there was no taking it back. What else were you supposed to say? This wasn’t exactly a conventional situation.

Besides, it was pretty bold of you to assume that sitting in a bathroom for an hour with someone even constituted a friendship, much less anything more. But something told you it wasn’t supposed to end here and friends felt like a good place to start.

          “I guess I am.”

You straightened up and squared your shoulders, holding your now-empty beer bottle out to him, almost as a challenge.

          “Friends?”

He touched his equally empty bottle to yours, eyes bright. “Friends.”

For a moment you both just stared at each other, the air loaded with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. When you couldn’t stand it anymore, you peaked at your phone screen to check the time.

          “So friend,” you said and he grinned. “Want to get out of here? I know a great ice cream place.”

He pretended to ponder it. “You know friend, I think I might.”

And you did. 

It wasn’t until much later, long after saying good-bye at your subway stop after turning down his offer of paying for a car—“My subway card works just fine thank you very much.” “Right, but does it have leather interiors and seat warmers?”—and after making loose plans to meet again tomorrow for lunch that you finally heard from your roommate. 

It was well past midnight but dessert had put you behind on work and you had spreadsheets to finalize before bed, which is why noticed when your phone lit up with two messages from an unknown number.

Remember no chains tomorrow. You promised the real New York experience!

This is Tom btw

Before you could answer another message came in, this time from your roommate.

did you really leave kelly’s party with tom fucking holland ????

You bit back a smile. 

[werezmastarbucks]

coming back was a mistake!

the reader bonds with kai over their shared dislike of mystic falls

previous part

word count: 3912

music: tomorrow never came by lana del rey

warnings: delena wedding

Kai leaned over Caroline, almost touching her ear with his nose. Nobody had any idea how a mortal witch boy was still capable on sneaking on vampires, but there they were. Caroline nearly hopped out of her pants when he started talking,

“So, what’s the deal with the pretty one?”

“God dammit! What is wrong with you?!”

Kai put on his patient face and waited until Caroline snapped out of her manic episode. He could never understand why it’s so hard to get over their indignation every time he was around, and just answer his questions.

“Is she, like, insane?”

The blonde vampire narrowed her eyes almost vengefully.

“Who?!”

“The pretty one, Y/N”.

“What do you want with her?” Caroline snapped.

“Are you okay? Have you hit your head today?”

“I don’t have time for this”, Forbes brushed him away with her hand. She was dreaming about leaving this house as soon as possible. “Stay away from her”.

If she was a bit nicer, Kai would tell her it was too late, and that he was almost as good as the second base.

He wandered around the mansion until he found Elena. And approached her with the same question. This one had a slightly longer fuse. Where Caroline raged and started spitting atrocities, Elena would usually get worried out of her little mind about everyone.

“What’s the deal with Y/N?”

There we go. The nervous glint in her dark eyes. Oooh, how does Kai know about her? Oh my god, what has he done this time? Etc.

“Why?”

“Saw her talk to herself”.

Elena sniffed angrily.

“Where?”

Kai was honestly getting tired of them all.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just curious“.

“That’s none of your business, Kai”.

“She’s also super secretive about why she only comes back once a year. Maybe I’m reading too deep into it, but I find it cryptic”, he smirked. Elena sighed.

“You just sound like you’re very bored. Find another source of entertainment”.

“I don’t want to. I like this one”.

Elena looked carefully at the witch. She already knew that look, although it hasn’t been too long for her studying Malachai. But this look said everything. He made his mind up. She shifted uncomfortably.

“Leave her alone. Please?”

Kai looked down on the brunette, frowning with a grin.

“I’m not gonna hurt her. You think I’m some kind of creep?”

He couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Elena rolled her eyes.

Damon entered the living room.

“You ready, Bastinda?” he asked, looking extremely bored. Kai nodded, playing along as if he was even mildly entertained by his neverending nickname spitting fountain or irony. Everybody had to pretend they find Damon witty, otherwise he’d get upset. That was one of the things that apalled Kai the most, why everyone was so worried about the fragile nature of this big idiot boy.

Just before they started the spell, he sensed his sister, as Damon’s head snapped towards the door. The vampire ears detected her angry footsteps, too. Too bad the vampires underestimate the famous Parker rage.

You only realized your phone was left at the Grill when the morning came.

Cursing, worried and hungover, you drove there, a bit blinded by the sunlight. August did not have mercy on anyone.

It was bad enough your head was spinning. While Jerry the bartender who was still alive went to the DJ booth to ask around about your loss, you sat at the counter, sucking on water with lemon, and looked around. Everything appeared completely normal. You wondered if people remembered what had happened to them last night. Whether anybody got hurt. You were so dizzy on the new weird feeling of closeness, you were borderline indifferent. You even asked yourself if Kai the witch boy did something to you to knock you a little but out. Being here, you can expect anything.

The kissing part was good though, and overall, he was good. It felt good.

Jerry returned, shrugging.

“He says some guy came and picked it up this morning”.

“Crap”, you groaned. “Which guy? Tall and dark?”

Jerry smirked like an asshole.

“Everybody here is tall and dark, but yeah”.

You couldn’t have come up with a better description of this wretched place.

Where to look for him now? The Salvatores seem to know him. Can as well begin from there. You lowered your head (carefully) and put it on the wheel. Not again. All the roads in Mystic Falls lead to the Salvatore boarding house, don’t they. You can’t go one year without any adventures. Every August, you say to yourself you’d be extra careful, not talk to anyone, not engage in anything, just sit at your house, and maybe you’ll be spared. It never works. Last year there was this werewolf invasion. The year before that, an insane witch coven that was in the middle of waging vampire genocide when you arrived. The year before that, someone slit the last Miss Mystic Falls’ throat in the park right in the middle of a juggler’s performance at the fair. This shit, every year. This town is cursed, there was no doubt about it. Now, you break your own rule, and go on a date with this witch guy, and he’s a fucking awesome storyteller, and witty as hell, and you feel something except regret and exhaustion for the first time in years, something like excitement. Like you’re waking up. And now you’re hungover, and he has your phone, and you have no idea where he is.

You started the engine and drove slowly, without a hurry, thinking, if I run out of gas before I get there, I might as well not reach them at all.

The front lawn of Damon and Stefan’s house was as green as ever, the sun blasting its deadly rays down on one slender crabtree standing aside like a shy teenager at the high school party. The big dark windows even looked friendly in the light of the day.

Leaving the car, you observed the house. It never changed throughout the years. The sound of closing the car door hurt you a little bit, but you already left your sunglasses inside.

Then you saw Elena in the window on the second floor.

She did not behave like usual. She was a vampire, and vampires don’t get scared anymore. Elena was banging her fists on the window like she was unable to break it, and yelling something you couldn’t hear. Suddenly, a loud thump came from the inside of the house, as if an elephant bumped into a wall at full speed.

The only reason Elena would be beating on the window like that was if she was locked in with magic.

Frowning, you kinda realized Kai must be inside. What has he done this time? You caught yourself thinking about him as if you’ve known him for years now. The little shittery in his eyes said it all pretty well.

Honestly, you just needed your phone.

You entered the house, pushing the unlocked door, and stood in the hallway to listen. You could now hear Elena screaming on the second floor. She was trapped like a cat in a cabinet, and rushing from wall to wall trying to get out.

Someone else was apparently throwing furniture at the walls in silent fury. That must be one of the Salvatores.

You stepped on carefully, and tried to get into the living room, when there was stumbling, and, like in an 80s slasher, Kai Parker limped out into the corridor, holding his side. His white shirt was stained with blood dripping through his fingers. The wound was very deep because the blood wouldn’t stop. However, his face had a completely normal lively color, which confused the hell out of you.

“Hey!” he called, with effort. He even waved at you with his bloodied palm.

“How are you after last night?”

You stepped to him, putting your hands on the wound, and he let go of it, placing his arms onto your shoulders. Your knees caved in a little under his weight.

“What the hell happened? Have you attacked them?”

“Me?” Kai exclaimed, “no, that’s my sister. She came, locked the vampires up there, and stabbed me, and then escaped like the little coward she is. Olivia, that is, not Joe”.

“I thought you only had one sister left”.

“Nah, I hadn’t told you the whole story”.

You both looked inside the living room where the things were just... they were just misplaced chaotically like, as the siblings fought, they were throwing armchairs around. You led Kai towards a couch and sat him there, pressing his hands into the stab wound, and stepped away towards the kitchen to look for something.

“You can heal yourself, right? You have magic now?”

“I can’t heal myself, I can only siphon life force out of someone to cater the cut. If you’re willing to sacrifice your life, I’m all down for it...” he mumbled. Walking around the turned up coffee table, you stopped, and sighed, as the old, old feeling filled you up yet again. Exhaustion, yes, that was it, the eternal Tired of doing the same thing again and again, going through this unnatural circle.

“Hey, I’m bleeding out here, babe, you wanna... uh...” Kai looked down at his wound, curious, because he, too, knew now something’s wrong. It looked like it didn’t hurt him anymore.

While you were standing over his body, laid on the floor, like a bird. His childlike lean, smooth face dead calm with his eyes open, white shirt all soaked in his bright red blood. Migraine was drilling into your temples with force. You looked back at him sitting on the couch.

“Shit”.

Kai looked back at you. He was a clever boy. Way quicker than the rest of them here. They were all wide eyes and miriads of extra questions, pacing around the room when trapped into the corner. Parker seemingly understood everything right away.

“I’m already dead, aren’t I?” he asked.

You remembered what he said last night. And it actually made your heart shrink a tiny bit.

Your hands were now clean, the ghostly blood having vanished, as all life left him. Now he was clean, too, no holes in his shirt, and he sat up straight. You knew he was slowly losing feeling in his hands and skin, too, and you hurried back to touch him before he completely forgets.

You fell down next to him heavily and took his arm, and he looked at his own fingers interlocked with yours.

“I’m dead again?” he repeated, with a little bit more irritation.

“Yeah”.

“And how do you see me? Does everyone in this town has a thing?”

You shrugged.

“I see dead people. It’s in the water, I guess. You know how they tell to never drink from creeks and stuff...”

Kai looked a little flustered. He would probably take it much worse if he was alone now.

“So, you were talking to ghosts last night?”

You pulled on his hand.

“You were stalking me?”

“Yeah, I was. I thought you were a mental patient”.

Kai threw his head back and looked in the tall window. His dark eyes turned grey as the light touched them. He looked beautiful when he was that calm.

“Damn it. What now? I have never died permanently before”.

You said,

“I don’t know. If I don’t let go of you, you will stay here forever”.

He eyed you, pondering.

“Who lives in your house?”

“My dad and grandmother”.

“And who’s on the football field?”

You shuddered on the inside. You wanted to smack him on the nose, but knew better than to assault people who have just passed and were fragile already.

“Kai, why were you even there? Were you, like...”

“It was my field. I came there every evening to watch the huskie...”

“Her name is Mist”.

“Edgy. Okay. I was coming there every evening to watch Mist, and then you just showed up and started running. Not my fault”.

“But I didn’t see you”.

“You’re averting again. Come on, Y/N”, he shook your hand lightly and squeezed it. He wasn’t noticing it, but his fingers were losing sensitivity and he kept squeezing your hand to feel the warmth. Soon, everything would go hard and cold to him. Even the sunlight.

“I’m dead. Tell me. My last wish”.

It was hard like swallowing rocks. Your own mind was so good at avoiding this that you came up with thousands of questions instantly. You wanted to ask why his sister killed him. Why she didn’t touch the vampires. How did she even outpowered him. Kai was drilling you with his grey crystal glance, and you finally managed to look him in the eye.

Out of all people, you were sorry he was the one to die. He didn’t seem like a very good fella, but it’s not always goodness that you like in people. He seemed bigger than Mystic Falls, greater than the local drama. This town wasn’t supposed to devour him like that. You didn’t know what his death meant to their odds at getting Bonnie back. What if he was the only one who could reach her?

“When I was fifteen, Damon’s ex came into town and started waging chaos”.

“I’m not surprised”.

“Uh-huh. She was going around, turning people, and manipulating them and generally just turning our lives into hell”.

“Oh, she sounds fun. Was her name Katherine Pierce by any chance?”

“If you know her, I’m going to send you to hell right now”.

Kai’s brows went up.

“You can do that?”

“I mean, when I let a ghost go, they go wherever they’re supposed to. You’re definitely going to hell”, you shrugged.

“Oh, yeah. Okay”.

Kai looked like he was a little bit hurt.

“She used compulsion on me, just to entertain herself, and during a PE lesson I stabbed a girl I went to school with. On the second lap, as we ran the mile. I got pissed at running, I hated it. I was so tired all the time, and she told me to act out when I get irritated at school. The worst thing, to this day, I don’t know if the stabbing was a part of her compulsion, or mine”.

You thought about her, standing there at this very moment, on the same spot where you left her every year.

Day and night, in her yellow tank top and sports bra, cycling black shorts and uncool old Nike trainers, her long brown hair in a messy ponytail, and one earring in her right ear. You knew every part of her face because she stared at you all the time.

Kai was quiet for some time, as if trying to read into you.

“That’s it?” he said suddenly. You were taken aback.

“You stabbed a chick because a vampire compelled you, and now you return every year and cry there? What are you punishing yourself for?”

You shook your head in disbelief.

“Look...”

“Why don’t you just send her the hell off? You can do it, right? What are you bitching about?”

“Hey!”

You let go of his hand, and he stared at it, looking a bit lost, like all the people who died. Despite of his shattering insensitivity, he still made you feel for him. People were all the same when they died. They all looked like children who are just figuring out they were lost at a huge foreign train station.

“Look, all I’m saying...” he was still looking at his own hand, “don’t stress about what you don’t have to stress about”.

“I killed her, Kai”.

“Yeah, and today my own sister killed me”, he reasoned. He looked so seriously betrayed as if he was not aware of the irony. “People die. Sometimes they die horribly, in their bloom, you know, when they’re about to do something great”.

He crossed his arms on his chest with a grudge.

“I thought you had some kind of tragedy there, or at least were insane”.

“I get why Damon dislikes you”, you muttered. Kai puffed.

“You’re very hard to love”.

“Yeah, I’ve been told”.

You looked at each other. Fresh day somehow brought memories of last night, and you thought about it simultaneously.

“But you liked our date though, right?”

You nodded.

“I would even go on a second one if you... stayed alive”.

“Let me go down there, and I’ll think of something. Or you can join me”, he eyed you up and down, “I hear it’s pretty hot in here”.

You could see he nearly gave you a wink. Even if you kissed him now, he wouldn’t feel it on his face. God dammit.

“You want advice?”

“No”.

“Go away and never come back here”.

You were holding on a thin thread supported by the connection. You were sorry to see him go as you let him slide away. As you opened your eyes, he was gone from the couch, and from the room, and there was only his body left.

The spell wore out eventually, and Elena, together with Damon, ran downstairs, already aware of what happened. They must have heard you talk to the invisible spirit.

“Awesome”, Damon snarled through his teeth, kicking Parker’s body, “amazing. Little shit”.

He was puffing, walking around the room, nearly banging on the walls. Elena was standing in the middle of the room, devastated.

Everybody was hurt in a certain way by the death of the guy hated here the most. Turned out, everyone needed him after all. Whether to get Bonnie out, or to finally merge, or just to know him a little better. Deaths were pointless, you knew that better than all.

You went to the football field, in the afternoon for the first time, to see her.

She was cemented there just like you wanted her, mortified she’d follow you around. Kai was sharp and rude, but on point. You were punishing yourself. It’s not like Maddie made you drive through the country every year just to see her.

She was waiting for you, looking with glass eyes like she was for the last seven years.

The sun was still high up, almost no shadows on the spacious court.

It was like it all made zero sense now. You didn’t know what made Kai Parker the chief advisor on your mental stability, but suddenly you saw everything completely clear. Maybe it was hangover. You had no need to keep all the ghosts around you. You were in charge of them, not the other way around. You bumped into them, you could tell them to go, or just leave them there if you didn’t care. Many years away almost made you think you didn’t care.

“Go”, you said to Maddie. And she was gone. No more laps around the field.

You went home and said the same to your father and your granny. And just like that, the house was empty again.

“I know you decided not to ever come back again”, she chanted, “but... I mean... I will understand if you refuse to come, but everybody would love to see you, and it will definitely mean a lot”.

Unfortunately for your morale, you were already standing over a sports bag.

You sighed into the phone.

“Okay, I’m gonna say it once, because I love you, and will never say it again...”

Elena held her breath.

“I don’t think... I don’t think Mystic Falls is the worst place on Earth...”

“Wow”, Elena hammered, “hold on, can I put you on the speaker? They gotta hear this”.

“No”.

“So, you will come?”

“Only because it’s your wedding. And only for the wedding. Then I’m going back”.

“You’ve heard the town has sold the house, right? You’ll have to stay with us. Y/N, it’s going to be awesome. We’ll have girls’ nights... oh my god, Caroline will tell you everything about...”

You rolled your eyes so deep you took a peep at your own brain. There was nothing in there. Absolutely nothing, apparently.

...here we go, the freaking sign, the Livingstones house, the bridge... all the same. It’s like a cursed room where the winds are on the loop. With its own aesthetic, of course. The blood-red clock tower produces long, hollow sound as its hands move. People going batshit crazy here. Everything is one long deja vu. The only thing that stood out was somebody missing. Somebody who was admittedly too cool for this place, and was scarily good at slow dancing. Somebody who would never be fit to help, and who still did. That person.

Elena and Damon’s wedding was everything one could imagine. Flower arch, check. Bridesmaids matching cream dresses, check. Soft elevator music, check. Caroline hair being out of this world, check. Damon smiling like one million dollars, check. Stefan suffering quietly in the corner, check. Jeremy getting drunk and knocking over a table, check. Dancing to the same ten indie songs, check. Bonnie was back, which was good. They did find a way after all.

You were comfortably unimpressed, because it was home. It was entertaining enough. Catching up, listening to all the crazy shit that happened during these two years you were absent.

Apparently, Klaus has been harassing Caroline with his undying love, and she wasn’t having it, although it was clearly a perfect vampire scenario. Some demonic weird crap brushed over the city when Damon was brifely involved with gathering souls for hell. Could’ve been a job for you, he winked at you like the rascal he was. You should’ve seen the whole madhouse unraveling when we opened the gates, and all these sinners started rushing out in all directions, he complained. It took him weeks to get them all back, and he still wasn’t sure he caught everybody. It’s not like they did a head count, right?

You stopped drinking.

“You mean the souls escaped from hell?” you asked, surprised that they weren’t more concerned about it. And also, what a generic topic to discuss at his wedding. Charming.

“No, the people. Physical entities. They kinda just... pfft. Hopped out. Those who were, you know, quicker”.

The burning question made it hard to swallow champagne. How did they not mention the obvious?

“And... who did you shove back?”

“Hm, just a bunch of losers. I mean, they’re people, or creatures, for that matter. Not all of them are human. I’m sure some weirdos are still out there.. So you be careful. Elena said you wouldn’t stay long, huh? How about the Harvest Festival though?”

“I don’t know. Harvest Festival is lame, Damon”.

“Yeah, it is”, Damon agreed, searching for his beautiful wife with his eyes. One second ago she was somewhere among the people, and now she was gone. “But the after party...”

“Ah, that. Sure”.

“Nobody’s bothering you anymore, are they? You can stay for a little while”.

You swayed your head without expression.

“Where the hell is she?”

Music changed, and nobody really noticed, except for you. You don’t notice if you don’t listen. You never got your old phone back, by the way. You had no idea where the dead boy put it, and whether it was him at all who took it from the Grill.

But now Lana was on speakers, and you suddenly remembered.

“You better go look for her, Damon”, you warned him, looking around.

The vampire felt the change in your mood.

“What is it?”

You gulped down your glass of champagne and smiled wide, for real.

“Second date”.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

We’re the Bad Guys: Part 8

We’re the Bad Guys: Masterlist

Poe Dameron x Reader (eventually), First Order!Reader

Summary: From the day you were born, you were taught the rebels and their New Republic were the bad guys. But, after you crash land on a remote moon with only the Resistance’s poster boy for company, things begin the change.

Based off of this drabble and headcanon

A/N: Poe is back baby!  This is also the most action I’ve written with basically no dialogue breaks in a while, so please bare with me.  Prose were never my strong suit.  And please remember COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS, I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!!!

Word Count: 3.0K

        Poe Dameron wasn’t worried about you.  He wasn’t.  Wherever you were in the galaxy, he was sure you were doing just fine.  You were too stubborn to do anything else.  

        All the same he found his mind wandering to you more often than he liked to admit. 

        You hadn’t fully left his mind since crash landing on that forest moon.  He had tried more than once to find you using a combination of stolen flight plans, Tie-patrols, and even old Imperial military records.  And for his efforts, all he could find were lists of meaningless identification numbers and dead ends. 

          It made sense.  After the Empire fell, many high ranking officers decided to cut their losses and flee rather than fight, erasing all personal data they could from the archives on their way out.  From what you had told him, he assumed your parents must have been fairly high up the chain of command given their clear devotion to the former Empire and the pressure they put on you to see their vision come to reality.  

        A sharp pain came to his stomach every time he thought about it.  You didn’t deserve that.  Nobody deserved that.  The only relief he could find was to remind himself of your message. 

        Maz Kanata had brought it to Leia herself, presenting the data card you had given her with confidence and a knowing smile. 

        “Commander Dameron can confirm it’s legitimacy,” Maz had assured.  “It’s from his Pilot after all.” 

        In the moment, Poe had been taken aback to have you referred to as “his Pilot”, but over time, he had grown to like it. Every mission he had gone on over the last three months had been a success because of you after all.

        With your intel and the collaboration of other spies in the field, he and the rest of Black Squadron had to come out on top with barely a single scratch between them.

        It should have been cause for celebration.  It was a cause for celebration. But every time a toast was made to the success of The Resistance, he had to wonder why you weren’t there with them. 

          Maz hadn’t given him much, just an assurance that you were doing what you thought was best, whatever that meant. 

        He was sure you weren’t still with The First Order.  That bridge was clearly burned.  But you still hadn’t come. 

        Poe wasn’t worried.  He really wasn’t.  He just knew he’d feel a lot better if he had some idea of where you were; or even where to look. 

        A small string of whistles and beeps interrupted his thoughts. 

        Poe blinked, turning his attention to the small translation screen of his X-Wing.

        “Yeah BB-8, I’m fine,” Poe said, still a little distracted. “Just thinking.”

        BB-8 gave a long beep. 

        “I am focused,” he assured.  “And don’t worry, Pilot hasn’t let us down yet.” 

        BB-8 whistled, unconvinced. 

        “You don’t have to know someone’s name to trust them,” Poe countered, though admittedly a little embarrassed. The fact he didn’t know your name did gnaw on him at times. On the other hand, he felt he knew you well enough through your actions. 

        He knew you could have killed him on that moon, but hadn’t. He knew you had risked everything to bring the Resistance the information they were now using against The First Order. He knew Maz wouldn’t have brought information to Leia if she wasn’t completely sure of your intentions. And he remembered the regret in your voice when you said you didn’t have a choice in who you were. It wasn’t much to go on, but it spoke of a person who wanted to change, and that was more than anyone could ask for. 

        “Look, I trust them,” Poe said.  “That’s just going to have to be good enough for now.” 

        BB-8 gave a low whistle and nothing else.  

        Another beep came, this time from the control panel, prompting Poe to ease the ship out of hyperspace. 

        The streaks of starlines cleared to reveal a solitary ocean planet covered from north to south with varying shades of grey storm clouds. 

        Poe didn’t know the name of the planet and likely never would. The Unknown Region was named that for a reason after all, but it didn’t matter.  What mattered was the tiny First Order base located on one of the many small patches of land scattered across the surface. 

        The plan was simple enough.  While your information had proven invaluable to The Resistance, the clearance codes you provided were reaching their expiration date.  Luckily, you had also provided them with the location of a lightly guarded out post with all the codes they would need for the next few months at least.  

        It would be a simple snatch and grab, just him and BB-8.  So long as the ship wasn’t spotted on the approach, everything would work out just fine. 

        Poe put both hands on the controls and guided the ship down into the swirling storm.  

        It didn’t take him long to realize exactly why the base was so lightly guarded.  While the storm provided easy cover, it also proved to be a better obstacle than a squadron of trigger happy Tie-Fighter pilots.  

       “Better hang on to something,” Poe warned.

        The ship shook violently in the wind as bolts of lightning flashed through the cockpit window.  

        Poe could feel the electricity in the air, and evidently so did his controls.  Dials and lights flashed across the board.  Another jolt rocked the ship. Warning beeps and sirens echoed in his ears, but he ignored all of them.  

        He lowered the ship even closer to the grey waves until they all but broke against the underside of the ship. 

        BB-8 let out a long beep of panic. 

        “We need to keep low,” Poe said.  “We go any higher, they’ll read us on their sensors.” 

        A great rumble roared in his ears, whether it was from the sea, the sky, or just the heavy rainfall pelting the cockpit window, he couldn’t be sure.  

        Another warning beep came from the controls. 

        Poe looked down and felt a grin spread across his face. “Land, dead ahead.  We’re nearly there buddy.” 

        He pushed the engines harder, sending a spray of sea foam in his wake. 

        In the distance, he could start to make out the reflective black of smoothed stone shooting out of the water in deadly sharp angles.  

        “BB-8 scan for a place to land, any sort of cavern should do the trick.” 

        The droid whistled in reply. 

        Poe kept his eyes on the sky.  There hadn’t been any ships leaving or entering the atmosphere as far as he could see, but there was no telling what those dark clouds could be hiding. 

        Soon enough BB-8 gave another whistle and the coordinantes to a small cave just big enough to fit an X-Wing appeared on his computer. 

        As they came closer, Poe began to spot the lights of the military base, just where you had described it.  It wasn’t a great fortress.  No doubt The First Order assumed the planet’s natural defenses would be enough.  But he could make out the outline of blaster cannons along the outer walls.  

        He pushed the engines just a little harder and drifted just a little lower, relying on the dark background of the ocean and blinding rain to cover his approach. 

        The lights were becoming brighter.  The white of Stormtrooper armor could now be seen clearly amongst the slabs of onyx stone. 

        “Hold on!”

         At the last minute, he turned the X-Wing into a sharp one-eighty, sending a spray of water up and over the engines. 

          From the parapets above, it appeared as if a large wave had just struck against the rocks. 

          He sped into the cavern, barely having enough time to slam the breaks before hitting the back wall.  For a moment the X-Wing hovered as he and BB-8 took a moment to breath. 

        “Not bad, right?” Poe quipped. 

        BB-8 let out a dizzying whirl in response. 

        Poe chuckled as the ship floated to the ground. 

        “Alright, keep the engines running,” he said, as he climbed his way out of the ship. “I’ll be back in no time.”

        BB-8 let out a string of concerned beeps. 

        “Hey, have some faith buddy.  It’s me.” 

        The droid gave a doubtful low whistle, causing Poe to frown. 

        “Look, I’ll call you if I need a pick up.  Just be ready.”

        BB-8 beeped an affirmative, watching as Poe slipped a poncho over his head and walked out of the cave. 

        The rain hit harder and colder than anything Poe had experience in a long while.  After barely ten seconds he was drenched from head to foot.  Even with the added protection of the poncho, he could feel the water streaming down his spine and seeping into his shirt. 

        Making his way up the cliff face, he was silently grateful he thought to use a spike rather than BB-8 to retrieve the data.  He couldn’t imagine how he would have been able to carry the droid without constantly slipping on the smooth stone or even getting a basic grip.  He could barely do it on his own.  

        He was about to pull himself up over another break in the cliff face, when the all too familiar sound of Tie-Fighter engines cut through the rumble of the storm.  Poe pressed himself hard against the wall. There was nothing else he could do.  If the patrol spotted him, he was dead.  Holding his breath, he tooked skyward. 

        Three Tie-Fighters flew past, each hugging close to the waves just as he had done on the approach.  It was then he realized just how lucky he was.  If he had landed even a few minutes later, they would have spotted him.  

        He then frowned.  You hadn’t mentioned a Tie patrol in your report.  Was there someone else on the base and this was their escort?  Or did you leave it out on purpose. 

        Poe shook the thought away.  No.  You hadn’t misled them yet.  You wouldn't mislead them now.

        The patrol passed by without pause and Poe continued his way up the cliff. 

        Eventually, he made it to the top finding cover just outside the perimeter of the base. 

        He let out a breath of relief.  There were hardly any guards posted outside the base, just like you said.  

        Carefully he crept along, making sure to keep low until he reached the door. With one quick spike and a little luck he was inside before the guards passed by again. 

        The corridor in front of him was brightly lit, cold and the same shade of black as the stone outside. 

        He started to make his way down, only to stop at the sound of his own squishing boots.  Turning around, he could see the wet trail of rain following behind him.  There were similar trails around the entrance, but most if not all were heading toward the corridor on the left.

        He had a decision to make.  Either continue the way he was going and hope he worked fast enough for his water trail not to be spotted, or follow the water trail toward what was most likely the barricades, grab some dry clothes and then complete the mission.  

        He stood a moment, only for his decision to be made for him.  Coming from the side corridor were a pair of newly dried Stormtroopers.  Turning on his heel, he all but ran down the corridor, deciding he’d have better luck with the possibility of Stormtroopers than the ones right in front of him. 

        He mumbled the directions to himself as he navigated through the maze of identical sterile hallways. 

        “Right, two down then a left, right again, straight ahead, one more left and then third door on right.” 

        He stopped in the middle of the hall, directly between two doors. 

        “Or was it the left,” he mumbled.  He closed his eyes, picturing the map of the base in his mind.  If he was facing south, but wait, which way was south? 

        The clamor of armor interrupted his thoughts.  Time to make another decision. 

        He turned to the door on the right.  Another spike, and he was in. 

        Upon entering, he saw he had chosen right.  One empty room with an unattended computer module.  His luck really was paying off. 

        In two strides he was behind the computer and already placing the spike in the unit.  This one took a little longer to crack, but the spike did its work.  Another ten seconds, and he was in.  Pulling an empty data card from his pocket, he placed it in the proper slot.  Another twenty seconds and he could get out of here. 

        A knock came at the door. 

        “Who’s in there?” a modulated voice called. 

        Poe snapped his mouth shut, not daring to breath.  Maybe if he just pretended no one was there…

        “Identify yourself,” the voice snapped.  “We know you’re in there.”

        He breathed out a curse.  Of course, they followed the water trail. 

        “Just changing,” he said, wincing at his own unconvincing lie.  “Be out in a minute.” 

        The troopers didn’t respond, but the sudden burst of blaster fire at the door’s controls was enough to answer enough. 

        Poe pulled his blaster from his belt and spun his head to the data card.  Just a few more seconds…

        The door of the room hissed open revealing two Stormtroopers with their blasters at the ready. 

        Poe didn’t give them time to fire. Four shots and the two troopers were down. 

        The computer gave a small ping and Poe yanked the data card out of it’s slot. 

        Rushing to the door, Poe peaked out to see if his luck was about to run out.  

        It was a solid split down the middle.  There were no troopers in sight, but the distinct sound of armor in a hurry could be heard coming down the corridor.  

        Poe made a break for it, going back the way he came.  

        Breath hard, he stopped at the first intersection.  He had made a left here so that meant, he had to make a right...right?  He turned his head desperately from side to side only to stop when he spotted a stream of water running along the floor.  He almost laughed.  Follow the puddles. 

        Making a quick right, he ran along the empty halls following his own trail of wet floor back to the exit.  He was almost there.  Just one more turn. 

        He slid, almost falling over as he made a last hard bank toward the exit.  Just a few most feet and he was gone. 

        It was right then and there his luck ran out.  

        Four freshly dried Stormtroopers emerged from the barricades, all of their blasters trained on him. 

        “Freeze!” one of them shouted.

        Poe did, but only for a moment.  Quickly spinning his heel he made to go back the way he came only to come face to face with four more Stormtroopers. 

        “Hold it right there,” another one of the troopers said.  “Drop your weapon.”

        He didn’t fight them.  Silently, he lay his blaster on the ground and  placed his hands behind his head. 

        The one who shouted the order approached him, holding his head high with the confidence of a bully surrounded by his cronies. 

        Without a word, he slammed his blaster into Poe’s gut, making him double over in pain. 

        It was official then. He was fresh out of luck.

        A pair of troopers dragged him along and unceremoniously slung him into one of the holding cells.

        This really wasn’t going according to plan.  They had taken his blaster, his comm, and more importantly the data card.  It wouldn’t take them long to realize what was on it.  Protocol would demand they change the codes again and all information he gathered would be rendered useless. 

        Poe battered the thought away.  He couldn’t focus on that.  He needed to find a way out of the cell and find a way to contact BB-8. 

        The click and hiss of the cell door opening interrupted his thoughts.  To his surprise, he wasn’t met with the sour face of the base commander, but rather the masked black face of a Tie-Fighter pilot.  

        “Room service?” he quipped.  “I gotta say, it’s about time you got here.  I could really use a towel.”

        “This is the one who you found sneaking around the base?” the Tie-Pilot asked.

        “Yes, Commander,” one of the Stormtrooper guards said. “We’re running ID now.”

        “There’s no need,” they dismissed. “I know exactly who he is. This is Poe Dameron, ex-captain of the Republic Navy and current commander of The Resistance’s Black Squadron.”

        Poe gritted his teeth.  This really wasn’t his day. 

        “Leave us,” they continued.  “And make sure to turn off the security cameras.”

        “Sir?”

        “This pilot has vital information pertaining to the Resistance, including where their base is.  I’d like some time alone to help loosen his tongue.” 

         They then took a step forward, examining him closely through the black of the mask.  “And besides, pilot to pilot, I’d like to know where and how he landed his damn ship.”

        The troopers nodded in understanding. With a few presses of a button, Poe saw the red lights of the cameras turn off as the door slid shut.

        “At last, we’re alone,” he said, sardonically. “Should I dim the lights?”

        “That won’t be necessary, Commander.”

        “Lights on then, kinky.”

        The commander stiffened slightly.

        Poe braced himself.  If they swung with their right, he could block it, take them by surprise and make a grab for their blaster. It might take a few tries, but all he needed was an opening.  The problem was, the commander wasn’t hitting him.

        Instead, they made a motion that could only be described as an eye roll without the eyes. 

        “Are you always this much of an idiot, or am I just lucky?”

        Poe frowned.  “Excuse me?”

        “What, you don’t recognize me?” they said, in an almost teasing tone. “I’m hurt.”

        Poe’s frown deepened.  That voice, he had heard it somewhere before. 

        The Commander gave a small sigh and without another word, removed their helmet. 

        Poe felt his jaw drop. 

        “Pilot?”

[thebibliomancer]

Tides of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 20

Tides of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because dang the All-Maudra died. Gotta see what happens next.

Last times on book: Amri and co are on a quest to unite all the Gelfling clans against the Skeksis. They’ve managed with the Sifa by convincing Maudra Ethri to look at some cool flames. They’ve managed with the Dousan by restoring a cool, giant tree. But now they’ve received word that that the All-Maudra has died.

Chapter 20

Team Naia travels to Ha’rar... no, that can’t be right.

Amri felt like he must have misheard. Erimon passed the parchment to Kylan, who read it again. Amri didn’t need to read it. He didn’t want to. It wouldn’t explain how or why or who had done it. Just that it had happened. He reached up to see if Tavra was still on his shoulder. She was where she’d been since they’d leaped into the lake, but she said nothing.

Oof. I hadn’t thought of that but poor Tavra.

Her mom died and she never got a chance to go ‘yo i’m alive but a spider but and also you can’t stop me from dating Onica now because we can’t have lesbian babies like this.’

Amri wonders if the All-Maudra was killed by the Skeksis because she vowed to resist the Skeksis but that sets Kylan off. Also, Kylan shows he’s upset by crossing his arms and twisting his ears back. Like a cat?

But Kylan points out that All-Maudra Mayrin said she was lighting the fire of resistance but nothing happened like what happened with the Sifa and the Dousan where actual rainbow flames burned the story of uniting the Gelfling into something nearby.

“You think she didn’t light the fire after all?” Naia asked.

“Maybe she thought she had,” Onica said solemnly. “Maybe she died trying.”

They had no proof except the feeling in their hearts. Amri didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t deny it either: The Vapra fire had never been lit.

But if the fires HADN’T been lit for the Vapra and the All-Maudra was no longer leading them with some lip service about resisting. Then it means there was only one path for Team Naia to take in the seven chapters still left in this book.

They were going to Ha’rar after all.

MY GOD.

I never thought this day would come.

I mean, something is going to sidetrack them, right??

Because the side characters are making sure that nothing gets in their way.

Erimon lends them his Crystal Skimmer Tappa because she’s the fastest in his xeric and even asks Periss to drive it.

Ha, I knew Periss was joining the party.

Erimon has to stay and help organize the resistance with the other sandmasters once they arrive since Maudra Seethi is on her way to Ha’rar.

WHERE I CAN’T BELIEVE THE TEAM IS ACTUALLY GOING. Its been nearly three books of not going to Ha’rar! J.M. Lee, you’re blowing my mind!

“Now that the storm has broken, the xerics will continue to arrive. I will tell them the song of what has happened here. And when the time comes, we will heed the signal of the flames. We will join the fight against the Skeksis.”

“We still don’t know what that signal will be,” Naia said.

Erimon bowed. “We can never fully predict what form a sign will take. We only know it when we see it, or hear it, or sense it some other way. But I have faith in Thra, and in you. I will se to it the Dousan do not forsake the gifts we have been given. Not as we have in the past, nor ever again.”

You’ve really learned a thing, Erimon.

Erimon says that he thinks Periss can get them to Ha’rar in a day and so and apparently without a storm and without all the supplies, Tappa nyooms.

On the Skimmer trip, the team continues to discuss the All-Maudra’s death. Tavra finally pipes up to suggest that Mayrin failed to light the fires of resistance because the Skeksis found her out. But that there’s no point in speculating.

Because she’s finally getting what she’s wanted all along, to go to Ha’rar but in the way she’d least want it.

Be careful what you wish for?

“We must go to Ha’rar and reach someone who can tell us what happened. No more Far-Dreams or riddles from Thra. I want answers.”

“How are you taking this?” Amri asked. Tried to keep it soft, to let her know he was asking her feelings and not her political opinion. She was hesitant in answering.

“I am worried for my sisters. I am worried for my people.”

Amri tells her that Seladon will take care of Brea to reassure her and if Seladon’s arc is similar to the show then, -laughs in irony-.

Tavra was quiet a long time, unmoving. She curled one leg in.

“I don’t know that she will,” she said. “that is my greatest fear. My mother put her duties first and her daughters second. It was difficult to find ways to earn her love. Because of our station. But we tried. For me, that meant becoming a soldier. For Brea, becoming a scholar. For Seladon, it meant becoming All-Maudra one day... but the pressure was often too much. She is not ready, and I fear the Skeksis know that.”

“You should be All-Maudra,” Naia said suddenly.

Hah. Naia doesn’t even know Seladon and she’s like ‘wow she probably sucks and you’d be better.’ Poor Seladon.

The idea brought a strange fantasy to life. Tavra, in her Gelfing body. Sword in hand, drapedi n the silver cloaks with the living crown on her brow. She had traveled farther than any of them, knew more of the state of the world. Knew the Skeksis all by name, knew how the All-Maudra was expected to behave. Had the respect of her clan as a Vapra princess, but knew firsthand the hardships that had befallen the Gelfling who were so unlucky to find themselves in the Skeksis’ crushing grasp.

If there was ever a leader the Gelfling could look to, Amri realized, it was Tavra. Tavra, who was locked in the body of a spider, whose voice could barely be heard even by those who knew enough to listen.

“That is impossible,” Tavra said. She slipped below the rail and disappeared into Kylan’s traveling pack.

Relatable.

As evening falls they get closer to the snowlands and Periss tells them he’ll have to leave them at the frost line because Tappa is a DESERT CREATURE.

Nooooo Periss, you’re supposed to be the sixth ranger! You can’t leave your new best pals!

He also calls Naia Amri’s girlfriend and he does do the “she’s not my girlfriend” thing but less vehement and more embarrassed.

“Have you dreamfasted together?”

Amri’s ears went flat at the forward question. Of course he’d dreamfasted with Naia, but only to share memories that they’d needed to share, so the truth of the Skeksis and the message they carried would not be forgotten. But there were other memories, ones more secret and intimate. Private hopes and fears. Memories he had all to himself, beautiful things he’d seen when he’d been alone. Dreams he’d had, and nightmares.

Amri had always hoped one day to find someone to share those memories with. Someone he trusted enough and who trusted him to truly dreamfast. To share everything. It had never occurred to him that someone might be Naia. Until now, and only thanks to a wily Dousan thief. Periss grinned ear to ear, as if making Amri blush from embarrassment was his new favorite game.

“No. Not that way,” he mumbled.

“Do you want to?” Periss asked.

“I want to change the subject.”

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

Excuse me I need to take a moment.

a moment

You’re adorable, Amri.

Also, based on this, Jen and Kira basically got engaged the first time they met. Just went full info dump on each other. ‘HEY I GUESS THATS ME AS A BABY’ because they never learned to not overshare in dreamfasting and because nobody ever taught Jen about sex.

Also also, this fits well with what we learn in the first book about how its a sign of maturity for Gelfchildren to learn how to not broadcast their entire lifestory the instant someone touches them.

I continue to love the nuances we get about dreamfasting.

After sleeping and starting another day of travel, Amri spends some time practicing sword because he’s changed his tune on that.

Amri practiced his sword stances, parries and thrusts. Imagined striking down Skeksis after Skeksis as he charged into a citadel swarming with darkened beasts. It felt heroic in his mind, that part -- the charge, the thought that he could single-handedly defeat the monsters that might have taken the shining city -- but in the end, even in his fantasies, when they finally reached the throne, the All-Maudra was already dead.

Aw.

Although the first part of this wild fantasy sounds like Amri should have been scenario writing for the Age of Resistance trpg.

But its more about his understanding that even if he becomes a cool, heroic swashbuckling figure with like two whole days of sword practice under his belt and even if they win, that victory will always carry with it the tragedies the Skeksis inflicted on the way. Mira, Mayrin, other Gelfing whose names don’t start with M’s.

They reach the frost line and dangit Periss actually leaves! Just because you’re the sixth ranger you think you can come and go to save the budget??

Although, in a nice bit of growth, he gives the team all the jewelry he stole from the Sifa. Nice, they can give Tae her stuff back if they see her.

Going the rest of the way on foot, Team Naia actually reaches Ha’rar. I’m frankly shocked.

Like the crystals in a broken geode, the city of Ha’rar glittered in the protective shell of the mountains, covered in snow and glowing with moon- and starlight. At the far edge of the city, a majestic building stood with its back to the wide Silver Sea. It looked like an icicle, or one of the many crystal stalagmites in Domrak and the Caves of Grot. Every elaborately sculpted feature refracted the light of the moons and the Waystar, sending night rainbows across the city.

It was beautiful, but eerily silent and ominously dark.

Hmmmm.

None of the lanterns are lit and none of the people are out and about on the streets. Spooky.

Tavra tells them that they absolutely must not be caught by the Skeksis. And then with her hometown knowledge guides them along back paths and side roads.

They have to duck out of view at one point when two Skeksis come down the street.

Skeksis. Two of them, passing by on the street just in front of them. One wore broad-shouldered, black-scaled armor, covering his spiny back like the carapace of an armalig. Gray hair -- or was it fur? grew across his blunt forehead and cheeks, casting a hazy shadow upon his scowling lips and piercing yellow eyes. The other stood straighter in his crimson and black robes, armored and adorned in shining gold chains. He seemed taller yet, thanks to the fleshy spike that protruded from the top of his head like a horn.

“skekUng and skekZok,” Tavra whispered. “The General and the Ritual Master.”

I wonder if skekVar exists in this continuity.

skekUng is the General so Var doesn’t have a lot to be doing.

Also, FLESHY SPIKE? ZOK ARE YOU OKAY?

-google image-

He does have a gold hat thing but in one of the comics he just has a tall head spike so I DUNNO. I’m a little alarmed of him now.

Anyway, skekUng being here is bad because they all remember skekLi gloating that skekUng was making something bad.

Being possessed of ‘only the most relevant conversational snippets’ senses, skekUng complains “This is a waste of time. I say we kill the princess as we killed her mother and let the Vapra bow directly to us. As they should.”

Which confirms that the Skeksis killed the All-Maudra.

AND THEN before they can process that, Amri is grabbed by a hooded Gelfling.

“He’s possessed by a spider,” hissed a female voice, familiar in Amri’s ear. “On his shoulder -- quick, grab it and crush it!”

Onica stops the hooded Gelfling, who turns out to be Tae. Hi Tae!

Tae isn’t convinced because apparently the body-jacking spiders are a known and concerning concern at this point.

Amri tells Tavra that its time to reveal herself to Tae.

Tavra let out a tired sigh.

“Tae, it’s me. Katavra.”

Love that tired sigh. Spiders can’t even sigh. That’s just how tired Tavra is.

Tae wants to know HOW and possibly several repeated incredulous WHATs but Amri points out that its not a great idea to get into that in the middle of a sneaking mission. So Tae leads them off somewhere they can talk.

Geez only six chapters left. And we’ve got Ha’rar, a dead All-Maudra, Tae’s back. Periss took off... dangit did Periss take off because of a party limit? Tae is now the sixth party member?

[sirsharp-a]

I Thought you Knew Better Than That. ❜

Summary:  Paths change constantly in the depths of the forest.  Some change directions, others vanish entirely.  The trail used for the Heart’s Day Hike is a cursed piece of land...  excluding for the month of February.

Warnings:  N/A, it’s just fluffy wholesome goodness.  It’s also not very long!

    "Not scared, are you?"

    The light whap of her hand against his chest was met with a chuckle.  He knew as well as she did that there was nothing for them to fear.  They had grown together in this forest.  No matter how cosy they became in Huron, No-Man’s would always be their first home.

    "Why, do I look it?"   Her gait was playful, steps carrying her so lightly that it looked as if she was dancing on air.  The butterfly ornaments on her otherwise modest sun-dress caught the rays of light that filtered through the trees, their sapphire-shaded wings glimmering like jewels.   "I'm sure not bothered by the myths surrounding this place."

    "You don't believe in curses?"   He asked, his hand smothering hers as they meandered down the path.   "I thought you knew better than that."

    "Oh, I believe in curses,"   Grace retorted.  For a moment, her gaze looked accusatory.  He revelled in her judgement.  Her ire filled him with the same burning passion that her praise did.   "But you're the biggest one I know.  You kinda cancel it out."

    "Ouch."   It was punctuated by a laugh that wasn't very hurt at all.   "You hit hard for a woman that holds my hand with such insistence."

    If she was being honest, her head was still reeling somewhat at the idea of him asking her to do anything with him on this day.  She'd wholeheartedly expected him to go on with life as usual;  greet her in the morning with a warm cup of tea and a smile, but ultimately go on without missing a beat.  To know that he wanted to put effort into this stupid holiday made it feel a little less stupid.

    She had learned fairly quickly that Edgar was a filthy romantic when he'd woken her with breakfast and flowers.  She'd caught glimpses of it during dates prior to them getting together, but it had always been in the back of her mind that it was as likely for theatrics as it was to portray himself as loving and worthy of her body.  It had been a game, a chess match full of wit and charm, and only when he’d wormed his way into her heart had it blossomed into more.  Now that they were in a relationship, having been intimate hundreds of times and still finding his interest solely on her, she was absolutely certain that it had nothing to do with grandiosity.  He truly did just like to spoil those that he came to love.

    "It's an old tale,"   she said, ducking beneath a paper heart decoration that a huro had draped over a low-hanging branch.  The trees were littered with them, the walkway clearly marked with lanterns attached to ropes.  It was clear that the festival had taken some time to prepare.  "Is it even true?"

    Edgar thought about it for a moment.  He thought about it hard.  He considered the improbability of a path being cursed at any other time except the month of 'love’.  Then he recalled that the No-Man's was full of improbability--  of paths that disappeared at different times of the year, of weather so unpredictable and crass that it made the land all but uninhabitable, that God himself dwelled in the belly of the undergrowth--  and he felt fitfully humbled.

    "I don't know,"   he replied, smiling an enigmatic sort of smile.   "But there is one thing I've learned in this life, and that is to never piss off the Universe*, nor the occult."

    They both knew that he wasn't referring strictly to witchcraft or Huron's particular brand of 'Satanism';  that the occult was more an entity than it was a concept, writhing and dark yet inviting nonetheless, like a bottomless cave that one felt an inexplicable urge to dive headfirst into.  Its incomprehensible depth was precisely what enticed wanderers into giving chase--  into running into worlds not meant to house them.  Dark caverns;  empty holes in the ground;  bodies wedged in damp, sad walls of dirt and death.

    The sound of soft music being played on lutes was carried by the wind, the nostalgic smell of freshly baked cookies and cakes floating gently alongside them.  Edgar really couldn’t place this holiday.  It felt strange, shrouded in a mystique that seldom others did.  He’d say that the only one that confused him half as much was the signature Hallowed Eve celebrations.  Why are we messing with the dead, exactly?

    The trail would end soon.  The path would meld into nothingness by the end of the month--  not that anybody but he, Grace and Murr knew that.  Nobody knew about the strange properties that formed this land for they were  ( rightfully )  afraid of it.  They knew not of how many animals hadn’t been seen for they dwelled in the bowels of the dark, or of the monsters that roamed the paths like people did the streets.  Its quiet existence was somewhat symbolic to the lye.  It reminded him a lot of where he came from, and of the life he was now trying to lead in spite of it.

    Being nameless doesn’t suit me.  I was born to be somebody.

    “This was nice,”   Grace keened softly, curling close enough to snuggle into his arm as they walked.  Neither of them were much for public displays, but being relatively alone on a walk through the woods that had birthed them felt intimate enough a place to engage in something innocent.   “I didn’t think you’d bother.”

    “Why wouldn’t I?”   he asked, his long coat picked up by the wind.  The smell of pastries was getting closer.  Freshly baked bread called his name.   “You’re my mate now.  We should put time aside for each other like this.”

    “Mm, such a gentleman,”   she cooed, only half serious.  She knew better than to press him on the topic.  Not to be confused with coy, Edgar was one for privacy;  he didn’t much care for his personal affairs being splashed on a proverbial front page, even if said page had been made by her.  This side of him was for her perusal, and her perusal only.   “You can make good on that by buying me something sweet!”

     He made a strangled sort of sound, a terse scoff mixed with a laugh.   “Grace!”

    A boisterous laugh left the woman as she let go of his arm in favour of dashing ahead, towards whatever smelled so good.  From the golden stretch of hair to the blue of her dress, she glowed in his vision, the emerald glint of the forest dimming in comparison.  Foolishly in love  -  and more than a little bit awestruck  -  the Alpha sped up, following her towards the stalls at the end of the trail.

[fic-for-fic-sake]

Trying Hard To Be Good

Pairs: Bucky x reader

A/N: I’m a sucker for soft Bucky and I’ve also seen people requesting the reader having a panic attack or something and Bucky comforting them. Slight mention of violence but that’s all. 

Bubbly. If he could use one word to describe you that’s what it would be. Off the field you were bubbly. Always laughing and joking, making light hearted conversation with everyone you met. You seemed so innocent that all Bucky wanted to do was to protect you. That is, until he saw you on the field. He had never seen anything like it. How fierce you were, with seemingly superhuman strength as you ripped through enemy after enemy. A snarl was curled on your lips, a stark contrast to the genuine smile you would flash anytime someone made you laugh. You took out 20 enemies by yourself, Bucky had never seen anything like it before, it was incredible. 

You were caked in blood and grime and hardly seemed bothered by it. Once the mission was finished and you all made your way back to the quin jet you were flashing that genuine smile once more. It seemed more intense, your glistening teeth peeking out from the dirt and muck on your face. You were rustling through your gear bag, fingers digging through this and that until you found what you wanted. You produced several little packages from the bag and tossed one to each of your teammates. 

“What’s this?” Natasha asked, looking at the contents and raising an eyebrow. 

“Just a little care kit I made for you guys. You’re always asking if you can steal my face wipes or borrow my mouthwash after missions so I figured I’d make you your own.” You said with a little shrug as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

A chorus of ‘thank you’s’ erupted from everyone on the jet. Bucky felt his cheeks warm a little as he accepted his care kit, grateful to have something to clean himself off with until they got back to the compound. 

He studied you wistfully as you tied up your hair and wiped the blood and muck from your face and arms. He saw you joke with Nat and Sam and felt a soft pang of jealousy. He wished he could talk to you that easily, but every time he tried he got a little tongue tied. He wanted to get close to you, so close, but he knew he shouldn’t. He knew he was too damaged and all he would do was hurt you, and how could he? You were so innocent and pure and didn’t deserve to be screwed over by someone as messed up as him. So this is what he did, watched you from afar and never got too close. Fearing he would lose himself and say something he shouldn’t. 

Getting off of the jet, Bucky couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between you and Nat. 

“So you gonna go out again with him tonight?” Nat asked, voice low, so nobody would hear. But Bucky could hear, his enhanced hearing made sure of that. 

“I think so.” You said, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks and you lips parting into a smile that made Bucky’s knees weak. “He seemed really nice and like he wanted to get to know me better.” 

“Want me to help you get ready?” Natasha questioned, eyebrows wiggling, suggesting something Bucky didn’t like. He really wished his ears weren’t working right now. 

“Yeah! That would be great!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms around the redhead in an appreciative gesture. If anybody else tried that with her, Nat would kill them. But you weren’t anybody, you were you. You had the whole team, including Bucky, wrapped around your finger. 

Bucky was training, he had to. He had to do something to take his mind off of you on a date with some schmuck. Someone who probably had you flashing that adorable smile of yours, who garnered all of your attention. Lucky bastard and he probably didn’t even know it. Bucky was doing push ups, the only sound in the gym was his panting and the blood pumping in his own ears. Which is why he heard the sound of a slamming door. Of running feet,of soft whimpering sobs. He went to investigate, wondering who could be crying. He came into the living room, the darkness surrounding him as the sounds of sobbing got louder. But there was another sensation too, Bucky smelled you. Smelled the familiar floral scent of your shampoo and perfume Natasha insisted you wear before you went on your date, Japanese Cherry Blossom, your favorite. 

You were crying? But why? In all the time Bucky had known you he couldn’t recall a single time he had heard, let alone seen you shed a single tear. The only tears he could think of were the ones you got in the outer corner of your eyes from laughing so hard. Silently, he made his way around to study you in the soft city light that was caressing your face. Your hair was messed up, your eyes red and swollen from crying, dark traces of melted mascara ran down your cheeks and your lipstick had been smudged. You sat there, arms wrapped around your body, rocking yourself. An attempt to calm you down, but you didn’t need to do it alone. 

Without a second thought Bucky came over to you and wrapped his strong arms around you, making soft shushing sounds into your hair. He let you bury your head into his chest and held you close as continuous sobs wracked your body. 

“Shh, it’s okay it’s okay.” Bucky cajoled, leaving light kisses on your hair. “I’m here, what happened?’ He questioned gently. Not wanting to pry but letting you know he was here for you. 

“H-he stood me u-up.” You choked out, taking deep gulps of air into your lungs. Bucky’s heart wrenched inside his chest, hearing you like this wrecked him. 

“Who did sweetheart?” He murmured, smoothing your hair back down, holding you fast. 

“Conner. W-we were supposed to have dinner tonight and he stood me up.” You said, lifting your head to gaze into Bucky’s ocean blue eyes. They sparkled in the moonlight, imploring into your own. Why was he here? Why was he holding you like a lover? Why didn’t you want him to stop? 

“Did he say why?” Bucky asked, bringing his hands down to cup yours. He gently stroked your knuckles with his thumb, sending a slight shiver through your body. 

You looked away from Bucky, suddenly ashamed. You removed your hands from his, wringing them out. “He said he didn’t want to see me anymore. That I’m damaged goods.” You stated harshly, remembering Conner's voice ringing through the phone, ripping you apart. 

“What? That’s crazy.” Bucky said, a smile creeping on his lips, “Doll you’re the sweetest person I know. You couldn’t hurt a fly.” 

You breathed in a shaky breath through your teeth, let Bucky’s comment linger between you two more a moment. This was it, the moment you would shatter the illusion for him. You didn’t want to see his face when you did, couldn’t bear the downcast look he would probably give you. 

“You know that’s not true.” You said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I wasn’t made to be kind or sweet.” 

“Made?” Bucky questioned, his arms on your shoulder, he needed to see you. 

Reluctantly you turned so you were face to face with Bucky. His eyes were now studying you, unsure of what truth you might reveal to him. 

“When I was a child, I was taken from my home in Iran, away from my family, and moved to Afghanistan by a group called the Ten Rings.” You said with a certain detachment in your voice. 

“Why does that name sound familiar?” Bucky pondered, trying to search his mind for where he had heard the name before. 

“It’s the same group that took Tony Stark. He was imprisoned in that cave and he found me there too, imprisoned and full of serums. Toxins. The Ring said they would make me strong, make me a fighter, a weapon used for destruction and chaos. When Tony escaped, he came for me too. He took me home and raised me as his own, I was 12.” You finished, still hearing the ringing of explosions echoing the hall as Tony’s blasters pounded through concrete to find you. You could remember the sound of the chopper as Rhody picked the two of you up. Tony’s home being something that belonged in a movie. He took care of you, raised you, loved you. 

“But you’re not chaos, you could never be.” Bucky insists, taking your hands in his again, he needed you to realize that you weren’t the damaged one here. 

“Bucky, do you have any idea what it’s like to wage a war in your head everyday? My instinct is chaos, but I control it, keep it in check. Tony and Bruce help me, give me pills and routines, and dampening patches.” You say as you lift the hem of your shirt to show a large square like bandage covering some of your torso. “The only time I ever give in to my instinct is on the battlefield.” 

Bucky thought back to all those battles, superhuman strength, the look in your eyes, grimace on your face. You enjoyed it, enjoyed the battle. But he thought back to your words, about raging a war in your own head. 

“Of course I know what it’s like.” Bucky whispered as he brushed a stray piece of hair away from your eyes, “I fight myself every day. HYDRA programmed and reprogrammed me so much that every single day is a constant struggle. A fight between good and evil.” 

Your shoulders slumped in understanding and relief. Finally, you had someone you could talk to about this that really understood your burden. 

“I just get so tired, so exhausted from it.” You sighed, melting into his arms. 

“I know doll, I know.” Bucky said, stroking your back lightly. 

“How do you do it?” Your muffled voice rang out against Bucky’s chest. You could hear the flutter of his heart, picking up pace against your temple. 

“One day at a time.” Bucky answers honestly. 

“Do you think, maybe, we could help each other? So it’s not too hard?” You questioned, tear stained eyes exploring his own, looking for some type of reassurance. His eyes crinkled at the corners as a loose smile danced across his face. 

“Of course we can sweetheart, of course.” He replied, pulling you into his chest once more and placing gentle kisses against your hair. It was in that moment that Bucky Barnes realized he would do anything for you, and when he knew he had deeply, truly, fallen for you.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Can you explain some of the terms in the history of fandom purges post? For example, what is a pro-shipper blog??? I’m really scared to be deleted! I’ve bren here for years!

Of course, I’m happy to explain! This is a very brief summary, if there’s anything you need to know more about, I’m happy to do my best. Fanlore is also a good site to look up some more stuff!

This is looooooong so under a cut! This is the post in question, for those of you wondering. Let’s go through it from top to bottom. I’ll skip the ones with links because you can follow those links to get more information.

Several times in the ‘90s as you can see on the timeline, authors and creators (and big studios like Paramount and LucasFilm) went after fansites, threatening them with Cease and Desist (C&D) letters and shutting them down. This was fairly common practice, and it wasn’t until fansites like Fiction Alley got big enough, and had actual lawyers on their side, that fandom was able to fight back. Ao3 keeps lawyers on staff for this very reason, because fandom falls under “fair use” and is legal.

Anne Rice is mentioned several times on that post and that’s because she is notorious for going after people who do fanwork. She is extremely controlling about how her characters are perceived by others, including going after anyone who writes a bad review about her books, and people writing their own interpretations of her characters just gets her goat like nothing else, apparently. And she has the money and lawyers to take down quite a lot of people. Thanks to our darling Ao3, we can write as much damn Interview with a Vampire fic as we desire, but you can understand why most fan archivists and fanwriters didn’t want to touch that possible lawsuit with a ten foot pole.

And, if you’re wondering what AOL, an email system, has to do with fansites? Well, another way to share fic, even before fansites, was through email chains. YES, YOU HEARD THAT RIGHT, READ AND LEARN, MY TINY CHILI BABIES. You had to sign up for an email newsletter to get fic! And oh, the fandom wars that could go on in this email chains… there’s a pretty infamous X Files one but that’s another post for another time. Anyway. X Files was one of the original “fandoms that ate fandom” (FTAF), a fandom so big that everyone was into it no matter what their original fandom was (Star Trek and Supernatural are two other examples of FTAF). AOL had a way of… how do I explain this… basically AOL was “hosting” a lot of the early prototypes of fansites, a version of the early email chains. So when The Powers That Be (TPTB) expressed their distaste for X Files fanfiction, AOL purged their X Files sites.

In the early 2000s, FanFiction.Net (FFN) was considered a safe haven. FFN was one of the first really big multifandom sites. Before that, if you wanted to read, say, Star Trek fic, you had to find a Star Trek fansite. If you then wanted to read X Files fic, you had to find an X Files fansite. And so on. Fan archives were often limited, and you might have to go to three different fansites to get all the fic out there, or even to get different kinds of fan material: a fic archive, a fan forum with news on the show/film/book, and a fanart archive.

Welcome to the dark days, my children.

Note: There are still some amazing fansites out there, filled with archived fic, fanart, and even some “virtual seasons” for television shows. If you or anyone you know is in charge of one of those archives, I beg of you to consider working with Ao3′s Open Doors project so that the fanwork on those sites can be preserved for future generations even after the original archivists pass on, lose funds, or lose interest.

Anyway, FFN was a huge relief for everyone because they no longer had to do all the work to archive our fic. Trust me, running an archive or even just uploading your fic back in the day could be exhausting. God forbid you get even one damn bit of your formatting wrong when you uploaded or it would all turn into a mess. And now, you could get your fic all in one place on one site! You didn’t have to sign up for all these different archives! You could have a single pseudonym and a single account for all your fic! The angels sang!

So when FFN got rid of fic without warning, it felt like a real betrayal. First, FFN banned porn, or anything they deemed to earn an NC-17 rating. Which is, as I’m sure you can immediately recognize, a sticky subject since people’s opinions are subjective about that. What does/does not qualify as porn? When is a fic too sexually graphic, what is and isn’t appropriate, etc?

Then FFN banned RPF, which stands for “Real Person Fiction.” If you write about Viggo Mortensen and Sean Bean banging each other, congratulations, you’ve written RPF (RPF was a big part of the Lord of the Rings fandom when the movies came out, fun fact, aren’t you all glad I went down this rabbit hole of research so you don’t have to). If you write about meeting Chris Evans in the airport and the two of you going on a date in the food court, yes, that is RPF.

The other FFN bans mentioned are script format, CYOA, Readerfic, 2nd person, and Songfic. Script format is where people would write things in, well, a script form. I don’t remember exactly why that was banned, I think it was a combination of fear of copyright infringement and just the formatting was so damn annoying to do. CYOA is short for “choose your own adventure” and was banned because it just got too unwieldy for people. This is creeping into gatekeeping territory on what is “legitimate” fic or not. “Choose your own adventure fic is annoying so we’re going to ban it!” is part of a slippery path on what is appropriate or not. “Readerfic” is written in 2nd person POV like so:

You open the front door and are immediately met with the smell of death. You’ve never been around dead people before, so you have no reason to know what the smell is–but somehow, some long-forgotten instinct tells you. You know exactly what this is.

Readerfic is where the reader, you, interacts with characters in a TV show. Take that little snippet I just wrote, for example. If that bit is a part of a larger fic where you’re a Loser and you’re friends with the kids from IT and help them defeat Pennywise, that’s an example of Readerfic. 2nd person is just any fic that uses the “you” as the POV instead of “her” (3rd person) or “I” (first person). This is one of my old-as-dirt Castle fanfics so excuse the quality but here is an example of 2nd POV fic. As you can see, Readerfic is 2nd person, but not all 2nd person is Readerfic.

Songfic is where a fic would use song lyrics throughout, sometimes to the point of annoyance, in telling the story. Basically it was where people would use a song that reminded them of their OTP and write a vignette based around that song. FFN banned it because again, fear of copyright C&D from songwriters and studios.

This was all in the early 2000s, as the timeline in that post shows, but it wasn’t the last time FFN banned things. In 2012 we all got yet another scare when FFN, without warning, purged a fuckton of fics in a porn crackdown. See, we all figured out preeeeetty quickly that nobody was moderating fics to see if we were following the “nothing NC-17 rated” rule, so people kept posting smut, myself included. FFN’s crackdown was sudden and we lost a ton of fic that way. It was after this ban that Ao3, which had been created c. 2009, really started to gain steam as people moved en mass over there.

Also, as the timeline shows, FFN used to have fandom forums. That was where people could discuss things. The forums had been pretty dead, what with LiveJournal and Tumblr, BUT, they contained a fuckton of valuable fandom discussion and meta. FFN purged them, and years of important fandom history was once again lost (along with juicy fandom gossip/wank/scandal… shut up we all have our guilty pleasures).

So that’s all the FFN stuff.

Gryffindor Tower, Sakura Lemon Archive, and some other examples on that list are not about fandom purges so much as they are about what happens when we have an archive run by just one person or a handful of people. That person dies, or is unable to foot the bill for the server, or the people in charge get into a personal argument. Whatever the reason, suddenly, that archive is gone. And so is all of that fic, and all of that history. Wiped away with a keystroke.

Strikethrough and Boldthrough on LiveJournal were similar to the FFN purges. You can read the whole story here, but basically a group of radicals claiming people in fandom were writing child pornography got LJ to purge a bunch of forums and pages, including a rape survivor forum and people who had only written 18+ consensual slash fic. Yeah, no shock that it’s always the slash fic (slash means m/m fic, femslash is w/w) that gets attacked no matter how G rated it is. Once again, everyone woke up to their journals, their forums, their fanwork, their years of history, gone.

Can you see the pattern here? A corporation like Marvel (another entry on this list) will go after fansites, and because Marvel has so much money and so many lawyers, the site caves and does what Marvel asks. Or a bunch of annoying people speak up, usually about smut/porn, and the corporation (LiveJournal, Tumblr, DeviantArt, etc) will get rid of blogs, fanart, fanfic, etc without warning.

This is why fandom cannot trust corporations. Corporations are out there to protect themselves legally by any means necessary and to make profit by any means necessary. Fandom inevitably clashes with that. So, inevitably, the corporation is going to turn against us.

In China, as you saw on the list, it’s especially bad because it’s not just corporations, it’s the government itself. And the government can, has, and will jail people who make fanwork that goes against what the government feels is “good/moral,” like slash fic.

*this section here edited 10/22/19 to update information*

The most recent are the Tumblr purges. Ah, the Tumblr purges. “Pro-shipping” blogs are blogs that are, as the poster of the list themselves explained in a reblog of this post, anti-anti blogs. Anti-blogs and antis are people who are against shipping. Pro-shipping blogs are blogs that are very aggressively “ship whatever you want” and “antis go away.” You’d know if you had a pro-shipping blog. So unless you have one of those, you’re good. I don’t really know the details about this one since that’s not really my discourse wheelhouse so you might want to ask around to get more information.

*okay we’re all updated now, back to the rest of the post*

And of course most of us know about the NSFW ban. Tumblr has a major problem with porn bots. Instead of staffing more people (Tumblr employs FAR too few people to handle the kind of upkeep this site needs) and having actual humans search through and find the porn blogs to delete them (which would be exceedingly easy, trust me, these porn blogs are not hard to find), they just let it keep being a problem. Eventually this led to Tumblr’s phone app being banned from the app store for inappropriate content.

Again, instead of dealing with this maturely and getting rid of the porn blogs, Verizon decided that all NSFW content was banned, and set about deleting all blogs they deemed NSFW. There is now an algorithm that determines if a post you made is NSFW, and it’s flagged and hidden, and you have to petition to get an actual human to look at it and decide if it’s NSFW or not. This algorithm, as I’m sure you can imagine, is absolute SHIT at finding actual NSFW material and will flag the most random BS.

Again, this is an example of a corporation purging and destroying our material. LGBT+ blogs discussing safe sex practices/giving sex advice, sex workers/cam girls who could safely use this site to make a living, rape discussion/survivor blogs, fanwork, people’s fun porn sideblogs, all of it once again destroyed.

Fun.

In just March/April of this year, in fact, several people’s blogs were deleted with no warning and for no reason. My dear friend @qqueenofhades lost her blog for weeks, and she and I and other friends had to petition tumblr daily to get it back (I sent so many emails that one tumblr tech got snarky with me). My darling @koortega suffered the same issue before getting her blog back. Alas, our dear @mearcatsreturns wasn’t so lucky–her original blog, and her years of work on it, were lost forever. Tumblr still hasn’t (to my knowledge) properly explained what happened, although it is telling that a lot of these blogs were queer-friendly, fandom-heavy content generators.

As the list said, this is why we need Ao3 and we need a solution for other kinds of fanwork like videos and fanart. This is why we can’t trust corporations to have our best interests at heart. This is why, despite all of us continuing to use tumblr, we need to find another solution for our fan blogging needs because they will screw us over again and again (until I become rich and famous and can buy this hellsite and run it properly dammit that is my lifelong dream don’t judge me).

I don’t think you’re in danger of getting deleted without warning, nonny. The company that now owns Tumblr seems to have a pretty good track record of running sites, and at least warning people before deleting shit. But that doesn’t mean it can’t happen again. I live in a state of… don’t be paranoid, but be ready, if that makes sense? Think of it like having an earthquake/tornado/hurricane first aid kit in your home. You aren’t constantly thinking about how you might need that kit for a natural disaster, but when that natural disaster hits, you have that kit ready.

Some people have backed up their blogs (I’m not sure how but you can google it or ask around). Others put their fic onto Ao3 (I backed up all my FFN fic onto Ao3 in 2016 for this very reason even though my FFN fic is, for the most part, utter crap). But we don’t have a long-term solution, which is what concerns people and is why that person made that list–to remind us of what we’ve lost and that we’re still in danger of it happening again.

I wish I had a better solution for you, nonny. I wouldn’t live in fear, if I were you? But I would ask around, and see if there’s a way to back up your blog. Because hurricanes do blow in.

[brownbrainrot]

Why Kristen Stewart should be Batwoman and in the 2021 Batman movie:

1. Her and Robert are bffs. And best friends love doing Batman stuff together.

2. In jokes that would be nothing but making fun of twilight.

3. She is gay. Kathy Kane is gay. People didn’t like the show, make them like the movie.

4. Nobody would expect two Batmen in one movie, people are sick of Batman reboots. The best way to make people excited is to not only have one Batman, but two batmen.

5. Wouldn’t it be funny to introduce a woman for Bruce to fall for, make a triangle between her and Catwoman. Then at the last second, have her date Batwoman!!

6. It’s 2021 when the movie goes out, having a gay female Batman with the normal Batman can bridge the gap of Bat fans.

7. There can be a scene where Bruce finally lets Kathy help and she sees a spare batsuit and paints parts of it red and then Bruce is all like “that’ll never catch on”.

8. Again, two Batmen for the price of one.

9. Batman hasn’t had a sidekick since Batman and Robin. The Dark Night Rises was lit but it ripped us off from a Robin. We need Batman to be back with a dynamic duo.

10. Seriously make Kathy like super gay and super rebellious. She is sent to Wayne Manor because she’s a party girl with a list of mistresses and she’s the black sheep of the Wayne family that Bruce has to handle. She literally couldn’t care about anything except that she’s a superhero fan girl and is obsessed with Batman. She finds the bat cave and bada bing Batwoman.

11. Does this remind you of the LEGO Batman movie? GOOD! People loved that.

12. Bruce is an orphan. That’s Batman’s whole deal. It would be interesting for a character to associated with having no family fight crime with a family member. It would also be good for any little orphans in the audience that have relatives to feel more normal and that they can be Batman.