#i have so many new revelations that are just festering in my mind i need to be able to talk to someone but 😐😐😐😐😐

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

foolish spring winds, blow my way ; satoru gojo

summary; a snippet of the spring you share with a certain satoru gojo — who seems intent on making your high school life as difficult as possible.

word count; 5.4k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, enemies to friends (..but the ’enemy’ part is kinda one-sided), fluffy n sweet overall, satoru doesn’t know how to make friends + thinks lighthearted bullying constitutes as a bonding activity, he’s a little shit but he means well, switching povs, lots of gojo slander (but reader sees the light eventually), big shoujo vibes, they’re both tsunderes <33

a/n; i ended up scrapping the series i wrote this fic for originally, so i thought i’d rewrite it and repost it on its own!! teentoru is such a grumpy little kitten i need to squish his paws

satoru gojo is annoying.

it might seem blunt, but after many weeks of careful thinking, you’ve decided no description could possibly fit him better. 

when you first met him, on that first day of school, you had no idea what to think. no real expressions or tonal shifts to clue you in on who he was, how he felt — nothing but the slightest peek of a terrifying blue to set your nerves on edge. 

in hindsight, you’re almost certain it was intentional. he wanted to appear unreadable. purposefully hiding his personality and mannerisms, to gain the upper hand — observing you, dissecting you inside his mind, while revealing nothing about himself apart from his surname. 

it’s a kind of power; a safety measure.

… but evidently, holding back isn’t exactly gojo’s forte. the very next morning, he was already beginning to loosen up, after getting more accustomed to the new environment and classmates. showing you his true colours; just a little hint of cerulean, a single dip of paint on the blank canvas of his soul.

and with the revelation of his genuine personality — your unease around him festered even more.

where could you even begin to describe him? for one, he’s childish. and cocky. and loud. arrogant, selfish and flamboyant — just generally an asshole? you could go on and on. none of the traits are particularly flattering, and you know he couldn’t care less.

gojo is annoying, plain and simple. almost constantly up to something, eager to push someone’s buttons, to get attention. like a bratty toddler. uninterested in manners, or even common courtesy; he says what he feels, regardless of how other people take it. 

to put it simply, he has no regard for the people around him. his self-interest is limitless. 

as if that wasn’t annoying enough — you have no choice but to admit that he does have a certain presence to him. a kind of charisma, or what you think could become charisma, if he’d just get off that high horse already. he won’t, though. you know he won’t. he revels in it, in looking down on everything and everyone, annoyingly boisterous and irritatingly tall. freaky, long limbs. like a noodle and an alien had a baby.

but, more than anything — above all else — what frustrates you most is the fact that his unbridled confidence isn’t exactly unwarranted.

as much as it pains you to say it… gojo is maybe just a little bit incredible. a natural-born genius. he’s intelligent, and observant, and awfully pretty, with those baby blues eyes and those snowy locks of hair. and he has no issue getting what he wants. 

absolutely zero. 

there’s something admirable about it, in a twisted way. like he doesn’t even need to try. he’s good at anything, if he just gives it a single chance. you can only assume he’s never given much thought to the prospect of being a decent guy, because that’s the only thing he sucks at.

effortlessly perfect, in the most imperfect of ways. that’s probably how you’d describe him.

… annoying is still the most fitting word, though. or maybe obnoxious. he’s got this spoiled rich kid vibe that irks you, gets under your skin. you doubt he’s ever had to empathize with anyone, in his entire life. 

and, yes — maybe you’re being a little harsh to him. but why should you bother being jovial when he won’t return the favour?

gojo is annoying; and when you say that, you mean annoying to basically everyone. as a basis for existing. always teasing and taunting, looking down from that high horse of his. you’re no exception to this rule, of course. but you’re almost certain that he has it out for you specifically.

you know he looks down on you, from behind those tacky sunglasses. you’re sure of it.

compared to geto or shoko, you aren’t very self-assured — and you think he must have sensed it the moment he laid eyes on you. sensed that you’re a little meek, a bit of a doormat, easy to push around and get a rise out of. maybe he also noticed your apprehension towards him, your apparent unease. 

you’re easy prey, to put it simply.

evidently, he’s developed a fondness for getting under your skin. it started as soon as introductions were over, and it still hasn’t gotten better. he loves catching you off guard, throwing you an unneeded comment or two, just to see what reaction you’ll give him next. almost like he’s solving an equation — said equation being you, the limit of your patience. and you keep giving him what he wants; a scoff, a roll of your eyes, an earnest fuck right off. you can never seem to successfully ignore him. he’s just far, far too good at being insufferable.

… and, more than anything, he’s far too out of reach. even when you try to get along with him, it backfires. you don’t have a single thing in common. you don’t understand him at all. 

(and that suits you just fine.)

a heavy sigh slips from your parted lips, as you examine your blurry reflection in the surface of the mirror. fatigue clings to your skin like a layer of sweat, your mind muddled, stuffed with anxious thoughts and discomforting feelings.

you’re exhausted. completely and utterly spent, even though the day’s barely begun — running on three pitiful hours of sleep, all broken up and jumbled by nightmares that wouldn’t stop spooking you. not a single wink of proper rest. 

and it’s painfully obvious. in your face, your posture, the dark crescents beneath your eyes; in the way you can’t help but drag your legs as you walk, your hair disheveled, little sighs and grumbles slipping from your lips for every step you take. all you can do is sluggishly blink the exhaustion away.

you just feel so tired.

it could be worse, though. you don’t have any classes today, no real reason to get out of your comfy bed, leave the safety of your cozy little dorm room. but you need breakfast, right now, or else you’ll literally explode — so you still get up on shaky legs and try to mimic the appearance of someone… even moderately well-rested.

it doesn’t work, but that’s besides the point. 

so you make your way to the dormitory’s shared kitchen. walking idly — clumsily — enjoying the sight of fleeting, fluttering cherry blossoms through the windows you pass. little pink butterflies.

once you’ve crossed the threshold, you’re relieved to find the open space entirely devoid of people. no shoko, no geto, not even a mischievous gojo. running into the first two wouldn’t be the end of the world — but it still wouldn’t be ideal. you don’t want anyone seeing you like this, tired and meek, a little vulnerable.

(least of all gojo. you shiver at the bare thought.)

with laboured, groggy movements, you waltz around the kitchen, getting cups and plates and turning on the coffee machine. enjoying the soothing melody of the pan sizzling, singing along to the purring of espresso being made. it’s nice and pleasant to your sensitive ears, as you blink under the rays of sunlight shining in, throwing together a lazy breakfast. 

you waste no time in taking a seat by one of the tables once you’re finished. eager to soak in the peace and quiet, wolf down a sandwich and copious amounts of caffeine.

but, as always — the world seems to have it out for you specifically.

”oh? well, look who it is. and here i thought you had left too.”

you stiffen. ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but still enough that you physically feel the dread envelop every single cell of your body. the voice that echoes out across the open air is a chipper one, a familiar one. a voice you were desperately hoping not to hear today. 

all you can do is continue to sip from your cup of coffee, inwardly wincing, silently going through all five stages of grief simultaneously — before accepting your unfortunate predicament. 

(that’s just your luck, isn’t it?)

finally, you raise your weary head, knowing exactly what sight you’ll be met with once you do. 

and, lo and behold — there he is.

gojo looks the same as always. grinning brightly, a little woflish, wearing those ugly sunglasses and making his way across the room like he owns it. a trait you can’t help but admire, envy, hate and worship at the same time. he plops down next to you like it’s nothing, a little too close for comfort, unconcerned about your concept of personal space.

”whatcha up to?” he chirps, in that sugar sweet tone, layered over with a boyish kind of excitement. there’s a teasing tilt to it, too — the one that always accompanies his voice when he’s speaking to you.

under normal circumstances, you’d flip him off. maybe even just glare at him, silently, or raise a brow in challenge.

but you’re far, far too tired to. too anxious. too in need of sleep, in need of a peaceful breakfast that he oh so cruelly ripped from you. all you can muster is the energy to glance his way.

for just a second, your eyes meet. not like you can actually see them, from behind his glasses — but you know they’re there. menacing and uncanny, bright and excited. too much to handle, right now.

”… morning.”

as soon as the mutter has left your lips, you take a tentative bite of your sandwich. gaze trailing sluggishly back to your plate.

gojo blinks.

he immediately notes that your voice sounds meek. even more so than usual. he expected you to give him a scoff, or even just a timid huff — but no such luck. 

you’re just sitting there, quiet, curling into yourself.

after a moment’s consideration, gojo opts to look at you. to really look at you, study your face, the way those twitchy fingers move to curl around the ceramic handle of the cup you’re drinking out of. the way your eyes shift from place to place, unfocused, your eyelids flicking shut every couple seconds. slow.

he’s always been observant — but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re tired. 

gojo is silent, for no more than a mere moment; contemplating his next course of action. he’s never seen you like this, before. did something happen?

…

(— well, it doesn’t matter. not his problem.)

”you look like a zombie,” he grins, a little teasing, showing off the white of his teeth. even though you look out of it, he can’t help himself — despite his own intuition telling him to let you be. 

you’re just too fun to tease. suguru and shoko only ever raise their eyebrows at him, or stare him down like a misbehaving dog, but you always have a good reaction to give. something to entertain him when he’s bored, distract him when his mind is too full of noise. 

so he can’t help but tease you, a little. hoping it’ll soothe the restlessness inside his chest.

but for once, what gojo expects isn’t what he gets. 

what he expects is for you to glare at him. tell him to leave you alone, or even just sigh in exasperation — either one would be fine. it’s just mindless enjoyment, to him, a little fun to lighten up his day. 

especially now, when suguru is away on some day trip he wasn’t privy to. that traitor. shoko is nowhere to be seen, either, probably off smoking in some random alleyway. or hanging out with one of the kyoto losers.

… the whole dorm is so eerily quiet.

(gojo would never admit it, not in a thousand years… but maybe he’d feel just a little bit lonely without any of you around.)

for a while after waking up, he assumed he’d have to spend the whole day alone. no one to talk to, no one to look at. he was practically dying of boredom. but then he entered the kitchen — and saw his saving grace. his dear little irritable classmate. 

he was so relieved. content in the knowledge that he’d get to push your buttons to his heart’s desire, bask in your playful banter and cold, joking little looks until suguru finally comes home.

only this time — you don’t react at all. 

you don’t give him what he expects, don’t indulge his little antics, in the way he’s grown so accustomed to. you just keep eating your breakfast, and drinking your coffee, in total silence. 

gojo waits, just a couple moments more. hoping for a delayed reaction, a witty counter, a snarky comment. anything. 

but it never comes.

finally, he starts to sulk. slumping against the leather seat behind him, quieting down with a low huff. furrowing his brows, as his glossy, cherry-tasting lips curl down into a little pout.

honestly, he’s kind of annoyed. just what is your problem? what is with you, today? 

… it’s no fun if you’re not playing along. 

gojo can’t help but grumble, a little, under his breath. you’re usually so responsive, so easy to rile up. so what’s wrong? why are you just sitting there?

…

whatever. so what if you’re not talking to him? so what if you won’t even spare him a glance? gojo has better things to do, bigger fish to fry. he wasn’t even that excited, when he saw you. the thought of bantering with you didn’t lift his spirits, even in the slightest. 

not even a little bit.

…

but, really — would it take so much effort for you to just say something? to just respond to his friendly little quip? you can’t possibly be that tired. 

or, what — did you get insecure, or something? because he called you a zombie? no way. you’re not that sensitive… are you? or is that it? 

what a hassle.

you know he’s just messing with you. he knows you know. so why are you acting so…. 

(sad, gojo wants to think, but he buries the thought before it can reach his frontal cortex. he doesn’t want to empathize with you, not right now — doesn’t want to feel that discomforting pang in his chest.)

a strange sensation bubbles up in his chest. something frustrated, a little unnerved; at your lack of a reaction, the weak glint in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand why — and that frustrates him even more. 

why can’t you just bite back, like always?

(… it’s fun when you do.)

the silence lingers on, stretches out across the room, festers and grows as you gulp down your breakfast. all while gojo keeps on sulking, still sitting beside you, waiting for something to happen. he briefly considers getting up and leaving, or saying something annoying to hopefully spur you on —

but you stand up before he can convince himself to go through with either option.

having finished your breakfast, your legs carry you to the sink. finally, you can head back to your room. gojo’s being weirdly quiet, but you pay no mind to it; methodically washing your dishes in silence. 

you don’t bother saying goodbye to him, either. still sitting there, seemingly deep in thought, grumbling something under his breath. 

he watches as you leave, gaze trailing after you, until you’re completely out of sight. 

then he lays down, flat on his back, with a frustrated huff. trying desperately to brush away the memory of your dim eyes, the slight frown on your lips. the dark circles under your eyes, that he tried so hard not to notice because they made him feel so weirdly uncomfortable. the meek, meek look you gave him.

gojo sighs.

(he feels just a tiny, tiny bit bad.)

when you wake up from your slumber, you immediately note that your body feels lighter.

this time, no nightmares came to haunt you. having practically collapsed once your head hit the pillow, your body finally decided to give you some peace of mind, some well needed rest. thankfully.

with a groan, you lazily stretch out your limbs — enjoying the feeling of your veins waking up, gaze falling on the clock on your wall. you’ve only been asleep for about two hours, or so, but it’s more than enough to give you the little jolt of energy that you need.

what to do, what to do. you still have the whole day ahead of you. another nap wouldn’t hurt, but you don’t want to waste your precious free time just rotting in bed — maybe you could take a walk around the schoolyard instead? the cherry blossoms have started to unfurl, and the grounds of the school are just littered with them.

even just the mental image is enough to have you changing into some light and comfortable clothes, reaching a hand out to push your door open. excitement stirring in your veins.

as you do so, something is knocked over.

all you hear is a soft little thud, accompanied by the sensation of something colliding with the door. a low curiosity overtakes you — eagerly peeking around for a look at the mysterious something.

your gaze falls on something pink.

it’s tiny, awfully out of place, just laying unassumingly on the dusty floorboards. as you crouch down to get a better look, you recognize it instantly; a small carton of strawberry milk. a plastic straw plastered on its side, and an evil looking cow mascot staring at you from the front. one of the items sold in the schoolyard’s vending machines — your personal favorite. you drink it every time you need a tiny pick-me-up, the sweet taste always managing to soothe your spirits.

and it was sitting right outside your door.

you stare at it, silently, in deep contemplation. holding it in your hand as the gears turn inside your head. could someone have dropped it? no, that’s dumb — who’d drop it right outside your door and then not pick it up?

… did someone leave it for you, then? because they know you like it? that could be it, maybe, but who would —

…

your mind stills. 

(no way.)

when you think about it — that’s the only explanation that makes sense. shoko and geto aren’t there, and you barely know any of your senior students. yaga-sensei would never give you strawberry milk without a lecture on the dangers of cavities, either.

that just leaves one possible culprit.

but you can’t wrap your head around it. why would he do something like that? he doesn’t like you — you know that much. so it couldn’t possibly be him.

… then again, you have seen him drink it. both of you like it, contrary to your other classmates; shoko doesn’t like sweet things in general, and geto wouldn’t go for strawberry milk if he could choose something else. it might as well be the only thing you and gojo have in common — the one thing that binds you two together. 

a single carton of strawberry milk. 

it’s almost comical.

(if it’s really true — if he really did do it… then you wonder why. maybe he noticed that you were feeling under the weather, and figured it’d make you happy. 

you wonder if it’d be foolish of you, to believe that it’s true — if only because you kinda like the idea.)

your feet move on their own, before your mind has a chance to question the decision. 

where could he be? in the kitchen, still? in his dorm?

just as you begin to wonder, a flash of white dances in the corners of your vision. when you glance out the window, you see it; white, soft hair, like a fluffy cloud, in the midst of all the pink petals fluttering about. 

you stop.

then you start walking again. with more decision, this time. hurrying to the exit.

gojo is sitting right outside the dormitory, on a wooden bench, legs swinging idly as he gazes at the sky. his hair sways slightly with the breeze, soft strands moving and caressing his skin. pink petals dance all around him, gracefully descending down to the ground, together with a trail of bubbles. gojo is blowing them, haphazardly, following their movement with his keen eyes. they glimmer in the sunlight, reflecting all shades of the rainbow.

the sight is just a little bit breathtaking. 

the ground crunches beneath your feet, when you take a step forward — and gojo turns towards you. you stiffen like a deer in headlights, instantly regretting your decision. blinking nervously. you walked here almost entirely on impulse, but now that you’re face to face…

(it’s a little scary.)

… still, it’s far too late to back out now. you can’t do much except join him, so that’s exactly what you do — albeit a little hesitantly.

trying to ignore his continuous stare, burning into the side of your head, you plop down beside him. feeling the steady bench beneath you, breathing in the scent of sweet-smelling cherries and soap.

an uncomfortable silence lingers in the air around you both, as he waits for you to say something. 

it’s a little tough. mustering up the courage to say anything, even just to face him. the decisiveness you felt just a moment ago has faded, now only the ghost of a sensation — you’re too nervous to verbalize anything.

but eventually, after a deep breath or two, you force yourself to speak. hoping you won’t come to regret it.

”… hey, gojo?” 

it’s almost a whisper. soft and fragile, mumbled beneath your breath as you stare at the cherry trees in front of you. you know his eyes are on you, though. you can feel them, almost feel their weight in the palm of your hand. like marbles.

weakly, you raise up the carton of strawberry milk. glancing over at him, not quite managing a smile, but trying your best to look somewhat appreciative. 

”thanks.”

a confused blink. gojo looks down the strawberry milk, and then back up at you. eyelashes fluttering.

a moment passes. 

then he turns his head away, swiftly, his hair tousled by the movement — a couple pink petals stuck between the soft strands. you can’t see his face anymore.

”i have no idea what you’re talking about,” he huffs, with a voice you’ve never heard him speak through.

when you look a little closer — you think the tips of his ears may be just slightly red. it makes your lips curl up into a small smile, but you barely feel it.

(like this, he’s actually kind of cute.)

cherry blossoms flutter in the wind, dancing joyously, without a care in the world. a spring breeze ruffles gojo’s hair, as he sits beside you, having begun to blow his bubbles again. not saying a word, and looking straight ahead. but you can’t help but stare, as sneakily as you can muster.

you find yourself thinking that he looks right at home, among the petals. fleeting, hard to get a grasp on. so pretty, and so out of reach, despite being so close. 

if you wanted to, you could reach over and touch him. you could reach for his sunglasses, lift them off his face, and finally see those eyes he’s so intent on hiding. you could see him, see straight into his soul — and find out who he really is.

you won’t, though. some boundaries aren’t meant to be so callously crossed.

instead, you puncture the pink carton in your hand with the plastic straw, and take a tentative sip. the sweet taste soothes you, straight away, blooming on your tongue. you can’t help but sigh, softly, relaxing even further — it’s absolutely perfect, for this kind of weather. the sight before you, cherry petals and shining bubbles, a boy you don’t like, but definitely don’t hate. 

you both look up, following the bubbles with your eyes, as they float up into the sky; as they get smaller and smaller, farther and farther out of reach. neither of you say a word, but the silence is comforting. light. 

gojo is the first one to break it — in a voice so small you barely hear it.

”… you don’t look like a zombie.”

a second passes. you’re left blinking in confusion, trying to decipher the sudden statement. you can’t get a good read on his expression, with those eyes of his conveniently hidden; he must have regained his composure, then.

it takes a couple seconds for his words to sink in — but once they do, all pieces seem to fall into place. 

and you burst into laughter.

gojo blinks at you, caught off guard, his eyelashes flapping like a little dove scrambling to get off the ground — staring at you like you just grew a second head. that makes you laugh harder, a bout of giggles spilling past your lips — you just can’t help it. 

”did —” you wheeze, softly, thoroughly amused. trying and failing to bite back the laughter. ”did you think i was bothered by that, or something?”

gojo looks at you. a little stunned, for a moment. the sight only makes your smile bloom further, eyes crinkled as you meet his gaze. from the angle you’re viewing him through, leaning back against the bench, you catch a glimmer of his eyes. they’re awfully pretty — blue and bright, full of life. when you look closer, you can see tiny, tiny splotches of white. 

they look like the blue sky. 

you called them menacing, before, but now you aren’t so sure. they seem soft, in the sunlight, especially when seen like this — right after catching him off guard. it’s a rare moment, terribly precious. something to savour.

gojo doesn’t let it linger, though. 

after a moment of two, he scoffs — turning away yet again. a soft, soft pout on his lips.

”obviously not,” he huffs, sounding nothing but irritated, resting his jaw on the heel of his palm. ”but with how sensitive you are, i wouldn’t be surprised.”

usually, a comment like that would irk you. now it just makes you giggle, lightheartedly — the tips of his ears turning redder at the sound. 

(he really isn’t so bad, after all.)

for a while, you don’t say anything else. afraid of ruining the tender atmosphere. you feel closer to gojo than ever before — and you wonder if maybe this is the gojo that geto sees. childish, but well meaning. arrogant and cocky, but oddly innocent. selfish — but not really. you’re starting to think that you may have been slightly off, with that one.

the strawberry milk on your tongue tastes sweet. a little sweeter than usual, though you choose not to dwell on it.

”hey,” you break the silence, surprising even yourself. the words fall from your lips like soft little breaths, rolling off your tongue like marbles pouring out of a glass bottle. ”i don’t dislike you, you know?”

it’s an impulsive admission. saying it out loud doesn’t feel wrong, though. maybe a little humiliating, sure, but not wrong. not dishonest.

you suspect that gojo may be looking at you, out of the corner of his eye, but you aren’t sure. after all, you’re vehemently avoiding his gaze — a little embarrassed by your own sincerity. 

he doesn’t know how to respond. you’re being strangely unpredictable, today, and it makes him feel unsure of himself. your tone is soft, almost friendly. he only ever hears it when you’re talking to shoko or geto.

not learning his lesson, gojo opts to tease you again. as always. afraid to let the silence linger for too long. it’s a halfhearted attempt, though, more of a vaguely amused huff than anything. 

”what, got a crush on me or somethin’?”

this time, you don’t scoff, or roll your eyes, or give him an earnest fuck right off. you only chuckle, in a way that almost borders on fond. you’re not one to tease, contrary to the boy on your left, but your words are teasing even still. ”i have better taste than that.” 

gojo should be irked, should grumble and bite back, but you don’t give him the chance to. 

”i just… you know,” you taste the words on your tongue. ”i still think you’re annoying. and childish.” gojo huffs, and your lips curl up. ”but i really don’t dislike you.”

you take a sip of the strawberry milk, before continuing, hoping it’ll make the words easier to say. ”… and it’s not like i know you, anyway. so i’m sorry for making a bunch of assumptions.” 

a pause. for a split second, you quiet down, a little flustered. gnawing on your bottom lip.

”… that’s all i wanted to say,” you exhale, gaze glued to your lap. feeling a heat on your nape.

as always, you can’t tell what gojo’s thinking. out of the corner of your eye, you try to catch a glimpse of his face, but you have a nagging suspicion that it wouldn’t tell you anything anyway. his eyes are hidden by those sunglasses, after all, acting as a wall between him and the rest of the world. so you don’t know if the words reach him, if they mean anything at all. 

but you hope they do. even as you brush cherry petals and non-existent dust off your lap, and get up to leave.

gojo just sits there, for a second, deep in contemplation. 

he tries to bury a certain thought, before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex — before he has to accept that it exists. only this time, he doesn’t succeed. the words die before they reach his tongue, but he hears them, in his head. he hears them loud and clear.

and he flushes under the light of the sun.

(i don’t really dislike you, either.) 

what actually ends up leaving his throat is merely a scoff, so faint he doubts you even hear it. 

”whatever,” he mutters, hoping it’ll come across as cool and unbothered. it doesn’t.

one last smile reaches your face, before you head back inside. gojo stays behind, on the bench, lost in thought.

tossing the now-empty carton into a trash can, you try to calm yourself down. feeling oddly excited, as if you’ve reached something, the start of an eventual conclusion. something worth cherishing.

you still don’t understand satoru gojo. but you get the impression that you just grew a little bit closer to him. there are layers to him, more than what meets the eye, hidden behind those sunglasses of his. you can only imagine what the world might look like, from his perspective. what you look like, reflected in his eyes, a blur of colours and facial features, sparks and dots.

you wonder if the whole world looks like a painting, to him. 

you feel a little ashamed, for thinking you had him all figured out. a spoiled, self-centered rich kid, with no functional empathic abilities. it might be partially true, but you’ll have to reevaluate the statement. to see how well it holds up. you still don’t think his emotional intelligence is anything to gawk at, but you may have been underestimating it. it’s there, despite everything — in those eyes, in that single carton of strawberry milk.

you think there’s a certain maturity, there, in spite of his childishness. or perhaps the latter is no more than a product of the former, a way for damaged children to dress their wounds. the way he carries himself and the way he speaks both seem a bit forced. like he’s used to performing, used to moving in a way that demands attention. all eyes on him, at all times. 

you think that sounds just a little exhausting. 

even as you return to the safety of your dorm room, you still can’t help but wonder. there’s still so much you don’t know. despite the moment you shared, and the connection you think may be growing between you, he’s still so out of reach. almost lonely, in a way. you wonder what he looks like, when he’s alone, when there’s no one around to perform for. 

(what is an actor without their audience?)

and, despite everything, after all is said and done — you really, really don’t understand satoru gojo. not at all, not in the slightest. not one bit.

but you think you’d maybe like to.

[cuttingstone]

😐.

[blzzrdstryr]

Galatea

Yandere(?) Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount: 2410

CW: Panic attacks, hallucinations, slight dehumanization.

...and his creation was so beautiful: silent and non judgemental, pure and demure, it would endure any of his whims of love and passion.

Albedo looks calm as usual as he scoops the honey from the beehive, even though he doesn’t wear any protection; Bees are angrily buzzing nearby, but otherwise not attacking him. It would look strange to you if you didn’t know the answer: insects are not real. The alchemist created them, turning pure slabs of carbon, water and organic matter into tiny fuzzy bodies, as you watched the scene with wide eyes, one moment and a non-living becomes living. He commented on the whole process and while you tried your best to listen to him there were so many scientific terms and jargons in his speech that after some time you zoned out, preferring to observe the birth of insects instead.

There are bones and flesh and organs growing and fusing together. They writhe and convulse as blood starts to fill them. Whose body is it?

“Is this for examination too?”, you remember that Albedo was collecting honey several days ago, albeit in much lesser quantities, and when you asked what the alchemist was doing, he said it was for comparative analysis.

“Well, you could say that” alchemist looks at the full jar and closes the lid, “Previous analysis showed that this honey has the same compounds as the natural one in the same proportions and isn’t dangerous for consumption”. You nod, urging him to continue - even though Albedo isn’t the chattiest person, you noticed how talkative he becomes when you ask him for explanations.

“Smell and taste are usually dependent on the composition, but there is always a place for exceptions, so I decided to conduct another experiment, one that needs your help”

You raise eyebrows - alchemist, despite actually enjoying your company, usually didn’t disclose much of his work :“Is that so? How can I help?”

Small smile appears on his lips, subtle and controlled, “I want you to taste it”. He looks happy.

You have seen that smile long before. You can’t remember where.

You hate sweets, but there's something stopping you from declining. It's bone-deep and chilling, woven into every fiber of your flesh. You can’t get out the needed words, even if you wanted, with your lips somehow shutting tight at the mere thought. There's something stopping you from saying "no" to Albedo and you assume it's gratitude.

***

The honey turns out to be as sickly sweet as the one from the real bees. You frown, as you take another sip of tea, trying to wash down the saccharine taste from the tongue. Albedo sits in front of you and scribes something in his notebook, throwing occasional glances at you from time to time.

“It seems that we’ll need to keep this secret from Klee” you muse, no longer tasting the nectar on your tongue.

“Why so?” he asks, still writing - his handwriting is too small for you to see from this distance. You could stretch your neck to have a better glimpse, but it would be rude to do, so you refrain, curiosity still nipping at you.

“Well, you know what a big sweet tooth she is, and if she learns that your bees don’t sting...”

“But they do sting, just not me”.

“Why?”

“Bees were created with my will, so they just can’t. It’s against the nature of alchemical creation to oppose its creator”

You hum, processing the new information and guessing how far he would teach you that in your own alchemy lessons. You are far behind Sucrose or Timaeus in your studies, still stuck on basics, but Kreideprinz doesn't look displeased or bored with you. In contrast, mentoring you is something he really likes, judging by the rare smiles he allows himself to show. He proposed to teach you one day and you couldn't find it in yourself to turn him down.

You thought it was strange at first how the recluse seemed to favour you, but then as you familiarized yourself with a man you realized that he liked all things unseen and unheard before and your selective amnesia must be the one.

There are large gaps in your memory, but you can remember some small moments - peeking into a cave and plunging deeper into a forest out of curiosity, spending hours in the library, completely captivated by the book before you, feeling satisfied from finally solving an advanced math problem.

None of the memories include people.

It's an identity forming memories, Albedo theorized when you shared your concerns, experiences shape who we are, [First], and maybe that's why you retained them, they define you.

Were you as reclusive as him then?

A bit later you see what Albedo was drawing: a familiar bird and decapitated head. You are disturbed - how does he know my dreams?

***

Mondstadtians are weird, it’s the first time you leave Albedo’s lab and side, deciding to take a quick stroll around the city and look around. Some look at you with wide eyes, as if you just grew a second head before their eyes, some shamelessly whisper things to each other.

The knight that was assigned to look after you for the duration of the walk is no better than them. He also treats you like some sort of oddity, with all that persistent glances and hesitancy to interact with you.

What kind of person old you were to prompt such a reaction?

Walking along the streets of the city you can't remember any of it. Books that mentioned amnesia and other memory related issues stated that visiting once familiar places can help with overall recollection. Walking along the streets of the city you can't recollect any of it, memories slipping past your fingers like water.

You can’t remember the blue cloudless sky above, or the deep clear lake of the same shade or the gentlest breezes playing with your hair. You can’t recall the bright red roof tiles, or the giant windmills that dwarf other buildings, or the statue of the anemo archont overseeing the city. You can't think of once being among the other idle citizens, of praying and worshipping Barbatos, of participating in the windtrace or Ludi Harpastum. There’s emptiness where a familiarity should be, a dull ache rotting and festering at the back of your mind - I don’t belong here, I never did.

You don’t feel like a part of Mondstadt, not even a single part of you does. There’s an invisible yet unbreakable wall separating you from other people. You can smile and chat and be all polite and nice, yet there’s always a certain coldness and caution others treat you with. You want to be both accepted and left alone, feel loved yet be distant enough to avoid any emotional hurt.

Of course, there are people who managed to get close to you - Albedo and Klee, with the former one being your official caretaker and mentor and the latter being as bright as the Sun, you doubt there’s anyone that couldn’t fall under little girl’s charms, except acting Grandmaster Jean.

That must be why you act so warm towards them, why you decide to bare your soul and feelings towards them, no matter how scary it can be. That’s why you play with Klee, engaging her in less destructive entertainment than the fish blasting and that is why you never refuse Albedo in any of his requests, be it a quick walk on a sunny day or assistance in his experiments.

***

A familiar dream.

You see a giant owl, it's yellow eyes piercing right through you. It's a majestic creature, with snow white fluffy feathers and razor sharp talons. Bird looks at you with all knowing eyes, and then spreads its wings, soundlessly flying in your direction. You dodge it, still marvelling at its grace, as the bird continues its way to the giant head laying behind you.

You turn back still tracing the bird's flight, eyes then turning to the bodiless head. It has the face of an aged man with wise eyes, it's lips move silently chanting. There's something hypnotizing in the chant - listen to me and you will now, listen to me and I will tell you, listen to me and you will learn things that he doesn’t want you to know.

You take a step, hand outstretched to touch it. It burns your skin, and the world around you darkens, all sounds stop and soon enough darkness consumes the bodiless head too, leaving you all alone.

A memory comes.

You're absolutely naked and shivering with Albedo hovering above you. He says something but you can’t understand the words, liquid(?) in your eyes and ears. You hear Sucrose and Timaeus in the background too and how excited they sound.

You turn your head, catching the sight of slabs of pure carbon, bottles of water, pieces of lime and ammonia solution and the rest of organic and inorganic matter lying around you.

There are no thoughts and feelings - you are nothing but an empty vessel that needs to be filled.

"Timaeus, bring the blanket" It's Albedo's voice, “Sucrose, check.. [First]’s temperature. I will observe them”

“[First]?”

“It’s a fitting name”

The memory ends. You wake up.

***

You wake up to Albedo sitting near your bed. It's not a rare occurrence with him frequently checking up on your health, but the memories of previous dreams make you almost jump when you see his silhouette again.

"Uhm, hello?" you still sound husky from sleep.

"Apologies for coming here, I heard your whimpers and decided to check if everything was alright". His face looks as impassive as ever, but there's a concerned tone in his voice. He must be extremely worried then.

"I..” you start but then trail off, unsure what to say. Is the revelation that you dreamt even true? Aside from the strange coincidence and sense of isolation that loomed over you, becoming a bit unbearable with each day, you had nothing to prove your nonsensical conclusion: you are not real.

“I saw a dream, of me lying among the lime and carbon and water” Albedo gives you an intense stare, eyes and expression completely unreadable: “it wasn’t just a dream, was it?”

A moment passes and then another and you feel even more stupid with each second to just come to that conclusion, not to mention saying it outloud. And then the most unexpected thing happens: Albedo nods.

“Yes, yes it happened to you” he suddenly sounds tired, as if he admitted a dark, dark secret, that it arguably is. A shock goes through you, as you start to gasp for air - it’s one thing to speculate and guess, it’s completely different to hear a confirmation.

You can’t exactly remember what happens next - you think you broke down right there and then, as alchemist awkwardly tried to comfort you. He was explaining how and why he created you - he thought that your creation would give him answers he was looking for, solve his internal conflict, and then he started to wonder how different artificial life is from the natural one and that’s why he decided to give you memories.

It was hard at first, he says, to push back the existing ones back and replace them with new. Make you believe that you were born too. Memories were his favourite thing to do, he had a theory you see, that people are majorly products of their environment, and he wanted to prove that with you. That’s why he decided to mold you into a person with traits he usually finds valuable.

In the end you found yourself nursing a hot tea mug with a few drops of calming concoction dissolved in it. Albedo is lingering around in his own disquieted fashion, as you rethink your whole life - can it even be called a life anymore?

You glance at the alchemist fretting around you, frowning, and unsure what to do, the warmth and happiness you felt upon seeing him replaced by disappointment and confusion. Albedo isn't the one who you thought him to be, Archons, you're not the one who you thought yourself to be!

Suddenly the way all others interacted you became crystal clear - they treated you like oddity because you were one. You remember Klee and how she always seemed to love calling you her "bestest special friend". No way they don't know of your origin. No way they will ever treat you like a person.

There's an ache when you think about Klee also turning away from you; She is a sunshine personified right now, spreading her kindness and enthusiasm without even trying, but who knows what will happen once she grows up, will she have a problem with her peers because of you, or she'll adopt the general public's opinion of you? The thought is almost enough to send you into a crying fit again. You want to run far away.

"I want to travel" you finally say, there's no way you can integrate into society when everyone knows what you are and will always see it before who you are. You want to run away and start anew somewhere far, so the rumors will never reach that place and no one will look at you with that wide eyed stare again. You say what you think about this whole situation.

"Please, don't" he says and you of course stop, legs no longer listening to you, "I understand you are distressed right now, but running away isn't the solution"

"But I will never be able to truly connect with anyone, they know it, of my birth, right? The whole city knows about it, right?"

"I know that you want to feel loved, I… We are the same - before your creation I felt the same loneliness, I couldn't bond with anyone save for Klee, but interacting with you was far more pleasant than expected. Relationships are needlessly tiring and I never understood why people focused on them so much, yet now, looking at you I can understand them. I love you, [First], you are perfect".

You still again, now stunted by his words and sudden love confession. It's all so sudden and strange and confusing and you are too tired and too shocked to deal with this, so you decide to distance yourself. "I can't love you in return"

"But you will"

"Why do you think that?"

"It's against your nature to oppose me in anything"

Note: Galatea is an ivory statue created by Pygmalion, who later fell in love with it. The head in reader's dream is decapitated Mimir, a figure in Norse mythology who is known for his knowledge and wisdom. His decapitated head was reciting secret knowledge and giving counsel to Odin.

[ahtsumu]

目送 ; oikawa tooru

「alt. title: five times oikawa didn’t look back and the one time he did」

↳ pairing: oikawa tooru x f!reader

↳ synopsis: you spend a lifetime watching him go, sometimes with your stomach tied in knots, sometimes with tears in your eyes, but always with love.

↳ genre(s): angst, fluff, basically an emotional rollercoaster, non-linear storyline

↳ warning(s): profanity, depiction of a panic attack, suggestive themes

↳ length: 5.4k words

↳ a/n: hq fam how we doing after 402 ?? LOL anyway this is my birthday gift to oikawa tooru: my sun, moon, and stars, second to none, yadda yadda. the title is taken from a book with the same name, in case you were wondering. please pay attention to the roman numerals ahead of each section!! enjoy!

v.

“This is the last call for Japan Airlines flight 717 to Buenos Aires, now boarding at gate number twelve. This is the last call…”

Goodbyes are hard when you know they’re forever. Or at least a while.

The clamour of Haneda airport dims to a faint buzz as the two of you continue standing with touching shoulders–– facing the jetliner instead of each other–– in futile hopes of delaying the inevitable.

Oikawa knows that you’re holding in your tears by the light tremors running through your body. Permitting himself to steal a look at your side profile, he notices the familiar tensing of your jaw and hard-set look in your red-rimmed eyes.

Tch. You said you wouldn’t cry.

Impulsively, he unzips his backpack and pulls out a familiar turquoise banner. It feels like just yesterday the team handed him the silk fabric with everyone’s farewell gifts wrapped inside.

Out-of-sequence memories of the Spring High qualifiers flash through your mind. The orange-haired Karasuno player’s spike ricochets off Oikawa’s forearms. The numbers on both sides of the scoreboard slowly inch up like they’re taking turns. Oikawa’s white knuckles against the metal basin. Red eyes. Heaving chest. Something soft against your skin. Rule the Court.

And just like the last time, he gently drapes it over your shoulders, brushing his fingers against your neck as he does so. God, how he wants to kiss you.

“But it’s yours,” you protest weakly, making no move to give it back.

“It won’t be for a while.” His voice cracks when he speaks. But it will be mine again when I come back for it.

He wants to kiss you. One last time.

He wants your mouth against his like absolution to a sinner because he knows that what he’s done to you, what he’s doing to you right now, is comparable to desecration. But he remembers the look on your face that night he broke the news to you. How your megawatt grin caved into a wince when the length of his contract with Club Athletico San Juan finally registered in your mind.

You swallow your feelings of betrayal. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Five years is an awfully long time to be apart,” you say after a while.

Oikawa bites his lip. He doesn’t have the heart to say that five was just the starting number. If he does well there, he’ll probably stay longer. He’ll probably do well there. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Seconds drag into minutes. The cavity in his stomach festers as he waits for your response, but he has a feeling that he already knows your answer.

So instead, all he can do when your floodgates finally burst open is cup your face in his calloused palms and wipe away some of your tears before offering you his own watery smile.

Through your blurred vision, you watch as the boy in front of you steels his resolve and disappears from your life through the jet bridge, ignoring his heart as it begs for one last look over his shoulder.

Oikawa nods numbly when the old man sitting beside him asks if he’s leaving home for the first time. Home, he realises, isn’t anywhere with walls, isn’t an address, isn’t even a person. When someone says they want to go home, it’s not a space that they yearn for, but rather, a time.

He watches Japan grow smaller through the window and feels himself yearn for the time he still had your heart in his hands. It felt like he was holding the sun.

i.

You wouldn’t consider July 21st to be a special day. Nothing special happened earlier that morning when you woke up without your usual alarm. Nothing special happened when your friends texted you four simple words–– come to Azukihana beach!–– during breakfast. But (and this will come to you much, much later) something special happened when said friends left you to guard their things as they dashed to the supermarket for more snacks.

For now, it’s just July 21st, and you’re lying with your back against a towel on the first day of summer break, soaking in the sun, peacefully flipping through a book.

“DON’T FUCKING DO IT, YOU COLOSSAL PIECE OF SHIT!” The familiar voice tears through the beach. Was that Iwaizumi? You set the book down and sit up to check.

And suddenly, the yellow and blue volleyball that had been leisurely rolling your way halts perfectly before your toes. Behind it jogs a shirtless brunet you’ve definitely seen around school.

Oikawa Tooru stops right behind the runaway volleyball and peers at you through half-lidded eyes. “Sorry about that,” he says, flashing you a charming smile.

After casually picking up the ball with one hand, he flexes his abdominal muscles as he straightens back up. Chestnut irises attempt to discreetly sweep over your features but you catch his gaze in the act, quirking an unamused brow. You also catch the intrigued twitch of his lips that follow.

You’re not stupid. Despite having never met him, you know a lot about the Grand King (as many call him). He’s the constant subject of Iwaizumi’s ire and you’ve heard a lifetime’s complaints about him at joint-family luncheons.

But here’s what’s important: you know that he tears himself apart to be the player his team needs him to be, that he sometimes makes Iwaizumi wish he’d passed the Shiratorizawa entrance exam, and that he fiddles with hearts like origami and sets fire to those beautiful fragile trinkets right after.

And in the interest of self-defence (but against what the devil on your shoulder begs), you choose to not place your most prized possession on the table.

A simple “no worries” passes through your lips. You return to your book. A page turns.

Oikawa Tooru is dismissed.

Though your gaze is trained on the page, you can feel his presence at your feet for a few seconds longer. You wonder what his next move is. Much to your surprise, instead of trying to strike up another conversation, he simply lets out an airy hum and strolls back to the sand court where he came from without a second glance.

Iwaizumi wonders why Oikawa is smiling so victoriously after watching the whole ordeal, but your tan family friend has, unlike the calculating Grand King, failed to notice one important detail:

your book is upside down.

And, as if in a trance, your eyes have followed Oikawa all the way back to his sandy kingdom.

Once the sun has set, Iwaizumi checks his phone and notices a text he’d missed in the afternoon. It’s from Y/N. Unease digs itself in his chest when he realises it can’t possibly be for anything except…

hey what was that about?

This can’t be good. Thumbs rapidly typing a response, he races to quash any interest you may have budding in Oikawa. You… you’re good. Nice. Smart enough for UTokyo. A bit naive, but he’s been around your overbearing parents long enough to see it’s not entirely your fault. And even though you run in different circles at school, he feels obligated to protect you from monsters that hide beneath pretty surfaces. He’s known you since the two of you were in diapers.

just trash being what it is

Iwaizumi watches the three grey dots on your side appear, disappear, reappear, and disappear again. And that’s when he realises that he cannot help you. The villain in this arc of your story has already sunken his teeth in your tender, unsullied flesh.

trash?

He sighs.

oikawa

It isn’t a surprise to Iwaizumi when summer break ends and Oikawa’s chestnut eyes start hunting for someone in the cafeteria during lunch. He doesn’t raise a brow when he hears that the second-year captain has been sneaking into Class 7, sometimes with flowers in his hands, and strolling out with a dazed look on his face. He slaps his teammates out of shock when Oikawa mentions his troubles with pursuing some girl–– but not before slapping himself first. Because the Oikawa he knows is not a chaser.

“Her name’s Y/N,” the brunet says, suddenly realising that he has never introduced any of his temporary interests to the team. But it’s been well over two months and he’s starting to think he’s been friend-zoned. Or worse. “I think she hates me.” He laughs melodically, then cocks his head in contemplation. “Is it weird that I kinda like that?”

Iwaizumi hides a satisfied smile behind a sip of water. Oikawa’s revelation has cleared the unease your name brought to his chest. Just a little. Perhaps he’d misread you. You have a bite of your own.

iii.

It’s routine for Oikawa to slink into Class 7 with a dazzling grin during morning break, but he’ll sometimes show up with flowers instead just to remind you that his affections, along with his modus operandi–– haven’t changed since he first started visiting you in September.

The girls in your homeroom have grown used to seeing the six-foot-tall volleyball captain hovering around your desk like a butterfly. Most treat him as part of the scenery nowadays. To them, Oikawa Tooru is no longer the mysterious, out-of-reach deity the rest of the school still paints him to be.

So when he strolls into class on a chilly January afternoon with your name a tune on his lips, they leave him be. Recently, the ladies of Seijoh have focused their attentions on some fellow on the swim team, anyway. Oikawa doesn’t feel as upset as he thinks he should about his shrinking fan club, but when his gaze finds yours already steady, expectant, utterly adoring on him, he understands why.

“For the lady,” he says like he does every time. A cluster of yellow flowers wrapped in brown kraft paper plop onto your desk. He pulls a chair up to your side, purposely ignoring, again, how two certain grooves in the wooden floor keep growing deeper with his visits.

You remember the first time he started bringing you flowers.

A posy of pink flowers sits awkwardly on your desk, untouched.

“I tell you I’d rather take your serve to my face than attend the bunkasai with you and your response is to give me weeds?” you reply with your chin in the palm of your hands, amusement blossoming over your features.

“Stop being a tease, Y/N-chan, they’re flowers,” he huffs, crossing his arms on your desk. “And I know you want to take them. The florist even said I have immaculate taste.”

“Really? Then what do these mean?”

Oikawa falters.

“Hmm?”

“Pink camellias,” he finally says, carefully enunciating the flower's name, “means that you’re a fucking tease. And that you should come to the bunkasai with me.” You snort and tell him to quit volleyball and join comedy club, feeling a strange warmth in your chest when he laughs.

The two of you fall into the same rhythm as always, talking a little bit about this and that, throwing in witty remarks where they belong, never passing up the chance to make fun of each other’s little idiosyncrasies. He’s enraptured by the way you string words together to describe the story behind your class’s bunkasai performance and all the gears in your brain whirr when he explains the strategy he’s using against the team Seijoh’s playing later that day.

When the bell rings, he reluctantly drags his chair back to the desk he stole it from. Just before he slinks back out the door, though, you tell him with a stern gaze that the Ushiwaka from Shiratorizawa he just spent the break shit-talking doesn’t hold a candle to Seijoh’s Grand King.

It’s like you had just stepped under a new light. Oikawa pauses in front of the doorway, trying to decipher what it is that’s different about you. And suddenly, the roses in his cheeks are in full bloom. Delighted and puzzled at his own realisation, he turns around without a second glance your way and strides back to Class 5. Oh, man, he muses as he passes through the emptying corridor. Oh, man. Iwa-chan is going to love this.

Your phone buzzes later that evening.

seijoh v. shiratorizawa 1-2, the text reads, quickly followed by, GAH.

Your lips twitch, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. Tapping your fingers against your phone screen for a response that’ll cheer him up, you suddenly remember a phrase Oikawa said earlier that day. It drew a laugh from you when it came out his contorted face.  He was obviously still hung up over with the words of the opposing team’s ace. Hopefully, it makes him feel something else coming from you.

you should’ve come to shiratorizawa, you send, grinning.

His response is immediate.

l m f A O

what flowers would you like at your funeral?

And then you’re reminded of his petalled gift on your desk, now comfortably sitting in a glass vase at your bedside. Pink camellias, he said? Curious, you open your laptop and type in the name for its meaning.

Longing, you remember, watching your boyfriend chatter about something–– probably aliens–– animatedly. The yellow flowers on your desk, you realise, are ones you’ve never seen before.

“Oikawa, what’s the name of these?” you suddenly ask. He stops in the middle of his sentence (he was definitely talking about aliens, by the way), and grins smugly.

“Jonquils,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “spelt J-O-N-Q-U-I-L-S, means that your boyfriend’s going to colonise Mars one day. And if you’re lucky, you can be the first queen of Mars. How ‘bout that?”

It doesn’t mean what he says it does, by the way.

ii.

Splashes of pink and orange have already settled into the blue sky above when you step onto the rooftop of Seijoh’s humanities building. Despite the breeze that has swept through the air, the flame of curiosity in your stomach burns just enough for you to turn a cheek to the cold.

Come to the rooftop at 6 PM.

It’s 5:59. Impatient, you study the note in your hand again. Maybe you’ll be able to glean something from the laconic letter this time.

Much to your irritation, no one had seen the author of this note. They had expertly placed the unsigned card on your desk with a single rose and Hershey’s chocolate kiss on top during lunch. Elegantly scrawled, their seven words have had your brain running circles all day around their identity. Could it be…? No–– he seemed completely normal earlier today. Still, you can’t shake your suspicions. They borderline hope.

Who else…

You inhale the cool air deeply and lean back against the rooftop railing, eyes burning a hole into the metal entrance. The door swings open with a high-pitched groan. Your breath catches in your throat.

… if not him?

Time briefly stops when Oikawa Tooru steps through the entrance, still in his volleyball uniform, sweaty from practice, cheeks the same colour as the setting sun. There’s an unusually tentative look on his face, though it’s immediately wiped off and replaced with the realisation that this is real when he sees you slightly slack-jawed, blinking once, twice, three times before letting out a breath.

“You look surprised. Expecting someone else to confess today?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his uniformed chest. Despite how his features are contorted by his poorly hidden jealousy, you can’t help but feel a flood of blood rush through your veins, lighting every inch of your skin on fire.

Because whether he knows it or not, Oikawa, the Grand King of the Court, prettiest boy in all of Miyagi, has skipped the table and placed his heart straight into your hands.

“Of course not,” you retort. “I just didn’t think you’d… well, do something like this.” And I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Iwaizumi’s words still find their way into your mind sometimes. I didn’t want origami made from my heartstrings.

Oikawa’s demeanour changes and his eyes dart away from your face. Shoving his hands into his windbreaker’s pockets, he admits, “I’ve honestly never done something like this before.” A faint blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Really? You’ve never stepped foot in the fourteenth shrine of Sendai?” you tease, referring to how Seijoh students have claimed this very rooftop as one of the God of Love’s many temples. You both know he holds the school record for the number of visits to this rooftop. At this rate, he could be one of its caretakers.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replies with a scowl, though the awkward tension between you two dissipates. And it feels like the two of you are back at your desk in Class 7, snickering uncontrollably while throwing playful jabs at each other. Sensing the change in atmosphere, Oikawa finally steps forward to join you by the railing.

Humming softly, he rests his elbows on the metal bar, props his head up with his hands, and sets his gaze on the lowering sun.

It’d be unfair to say that you didn’t at least try to enjoy the moment of peace with the boy beside you. But there’s a burning question on your mind that you can’t put off asking any longer.

“Why me?” you finally blurt out. “You could have any girl in this school. What made you choose me?”

The brunet whips his head around, disbelief written all over his face. “You think I chose to chase after the most annoying girl in all of Miyagi?” He laughs. “Ridiculous. I’d never willingly put myself through that unnecessary angst.”

You scoff and cross your arms.

“I think that when you like someone, it’s harder to explain why,” he quickly adds. “‘Cause it’s not supposed to make sense. I bet that the inability to explain your feelings is a prerequisite for true feelings, actually. It’s logical to say that you’d date Person A because they’re smart, or Person B because they’re hot, or Person C because they’re rich. But I’m pretty sure that that’s not… that’s not falling for someone. When you fall for someone… you just do. No logic required. You weren’t an option I ultimately settled on, Y/N. One day I just woke up and thought, if not you, then no one else.”

A beat passes. A flurry of words floods through your brain, only to evaporate when the devil on your shoulder decides that words aren’t quite adequate for what you want Oikawa to hear.

So instead, your feet take you one step closer into his space. Impulsively, your fingers find their way to his nape and your eyes flutter shut and suddenly–– suddenly, your parted lips brush against Oikawa’s. Instantly, he deepens the kiss, soft lips surging against yours like a pulse under pressure. You barely register his arms snaking around your waist, tighter and tighter until the space between your bodies is completely closed off.

Breathless, you finally detach your lips from his. Oikawa, who still has you encircled in his arms, pouts at the loss of contact, though he sulky façade only lasts a second before it gives way to a grin that stretches from ear to ear. He looks magnificent. Cheeks red, lips flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide with excitement. You want to kiss him again.

“One more.” It’s as if he read your mind. “To celebrate that last one.”

When Oikawa finally detaches himself from your lips, it’s to respond to the buzzing in his pocket. Noticing your raised brows, he explains that it’s an alarm for practice. The Spring High Prelims are just around the corner and he doesn’t plan on graduating without never having taken his team to Nationals.

“That’s my cue,” he states with a warm–– read: not apologetic–– smile. He doesn’t grab your hand or look imploringly into your eyes in hopes that you understand, never mind that you just shared your first kiss, never mind that you just became his girlfriend.

If Oikawa’s looking for any sign of your objection, he won’t find any. Instead, you step out of his space with an acquiescent nod. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Play well,” you say softly.

But before he heads for the creaky rooftop door, he presses one last kiss to your lips. And then he turns around, whistling as he goes, leaving you beaming behind his back with the light of a thousand suns.

iv.

When Matsukawa hands you the turquoise “Rule the Court” banner after the team lunch with a shit-eating grin on his face, the only resistance you offer is a resigned sigh.

“I’ve been dating Oikawa since we were second years,” you say flatly.

“Sorry, Y/N-san, but it’s the team’s hazing ritual,” he replies, not appearing sorry at all. “And you’re the only one who hasn’t done it.” He jerks his head at the blonde girl standing a little farther from the group with Hanamaki. “Emiko-san did it at the last game.”

“Plus, it’s the Spring High qualifier semifinals!” Kindaichi adds. “It’s an even bigger deal for you to do it now, especially since you had to miss our games on the first two days for school.” The team murmurs in agreement.

You shudder at the thought of your impending distress. Sit in the front row of the cheer squad and raise the banner with a scream every time your boyfriend serves? Fleeing from the Sendai City Gymnasium back home in an expensive taxi suddenly becomes very appealing.

Seeing the expectant and hopeful looks on the rest of the team’s faces, however, you begrudgingly place the banner in your backpack, signalling your acceptance of the horrible, cringe-worthy tradition.

“Where is Oikawa-san?” Kindaichi asks, rotating his turnip-shaped head around rapidly. “He was just at the team lunch. Iwaizumi-san’s missing too…”

Kunimi shrugs, pulling out his copy of the team schedule. He starts herding the team towards one of the courts. “Our game against Karasuno starts about an hour, so we should start warm-ups in around fifteen minutes.”

Worry creeps up your spine. For the past few days, all Oikawa has talked about is this match against his bratty kouhai’s team. And in the past two weeks leading up to today, you haven’t been able to even catch a glimpse of his face outside of break or lunch. To suddenly go missing before warm-ups doesn’t seem like Oikawa. You’re about to ask the team if he’s ever done this before, but your phone starts ringing a familiar tune and the question is set aside.

“Iwai––”

“Third-floor bathroom by the orange pillar. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone. Emergency.” Through his harsh and abrupt tone, you pick up traces of fear.

“What––”

“It’s Oikawa.” The call is cut before you can ask any more questions. Heart suddenly racing, you tell the team that your mother just called with questions about your new smart blender and excuse yourself to “explain what the manufacturers mean by salsify”. No one sees you bolt towards the nearest set of staircases with Oikawa the only thought on your mind.

There are very few things in this world that scare you. Stray hairs in the bathroom, the dark, essays longer than three pages… but the terror that short-circuits your brain when you find your boyfriend in the bathroom–– knuckles white around the sink, chest heaving violently, frenzied pupils surrounded by broken blood vessels–– trumps any fear you’ve faced before.

Iwaizumi stands helplessly beside him.

“Is he having a panic attack?” you question, still unable to move your feet. You’ve never seen Oikawa like this before. He’s the Grand King who hums while he walks, who spams your phone’s camera roll with peace-signs and funny faces, who winks and flirts and teases without regard. But watching the long-deified setter crumble like a measly human before you, you realise that Oikawa is also the guy who tore his meniscus from overexertion, who trades sleep to study his opponents play, who works his body to the bone just to stay a hairline above a certain Karasuno setter.

“A scout for the Schweiden Adlers said that Kageyama will soon surpass Oikawa in skill.” Iwaizumi explains how they had overheard the conversation lowly in your ear. “I got us into this bathroom just before he completely lost it. 5-4-3-2-1 isn’t working. And he won’t listen to a word I say.” What’s 5-4-3-2-1? Well, if it isn’t working then don’t focus on that right now.

Your eyes dart to Oikawa’s quivering body again. “I don’t know how to pull someone out of a panic attack.”

“The goal is to ground him. So use physical touch, make him feel something with texture, and get him to talk,” he responds instantly. Mechanically. Like he’s all-too-familiar with this set of instructions. A heaviness grows in the pit of your stomach when you realise what that means for Oikawa. And yet, from that very dread sprouts strength.

Slowly, you tread over to Oikawa and place a hand on his arm. His muscles tense under your touch but when you murmur over and over that it’s “Y/N, your girlfriend, the most annoying girl in Miyagi”, his fingers loosen ever-so-slightly from the metal basin. He lets you lead him to the bench by the door. He lets you drape the Seijoh banner over his shoulders like it’s armour and wrap your arms around his waist. He lets you press your cheek to his sweat-drenched back.

Get him to talk.

“Remember that quote you showed me from that interview of yours? What was it again?” you question softly.

No response.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks,” you say into his ear.

Through the mirror, you see his eyes widen with recognition. In the brief moment of lucidity that washes over Oikawa’s glistening face, you repeat the original question again, followed by his own quote.

Again and again.

And Oikawa finally says back.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks.” Focus re-enters his gaze. He blinks as if just waking from a spell.

“That’s right,” you say as firmly as possible. “So don’t you dare break first, Tooru.”

An unreadable blend of emotions scrawls itself over his features. While Oikawa washes his face with cold water, you remember rumination and resolve but can’t decipher the rest, giving up anyway when Iwaizumi pushes open the bathroom door. When the light washes over Oikawa, his face shows no signs of the episode he just had. It’s just like how the sky moves on after a storm, how the sun beams to say, “I’m here now. The rain has gone.”

But sometimes it still rains in spite of the sun.

A sunshower. It sounds so beautiful. But it’s wonderfully sad.

The three of you wordlessly make your way to the court where the rest of Seijoh is likely getting ready to warm up. What are you supposed to say after that? What can you say?

Once the smell of air salonpas and sweat finally greets your nose, Oikawa slips the Seijoh banner off his back and hands it over to you. Guessing that’s your cue to leave, you tell him to play well like you always do before starting to head for the upper deck. Softly, Oikawa asks you to wait.

“Stay for warm-ups,” he adds. “Please.”

From your spot behind the Seijoh divider, you carefully watch for any signs of another breakdown. To your relief, he goes the entire half-hour without a single crack in his disposition, exchanging laidback grins with the team, bantering with Iwaizumi. At one point he even has the audacity to taunt the Karasuno setter Tobio-chan, as Oikawa often says with a sneer.

Sunshowers, Y/N. Sunshowers.

Just before the referees call for the teams to line up at their ends of the court, Oikawa jogs over to you, eyes folding into thin crescents when he smiles.

He pulls the Seijoh banner out from your hands and gingerly cloaks it around your shoulders. Oikawa presses a quick kiss to your lips and murmurs, “Thank you.” Something in face tells you that it’s supposed to mean more than gratitude. Before you can read more into it, he turns back around and jogs to the line where his team awaits. Oikawa grins ferally.

Knowing that your luminous eyes are fixed to his back like his own set of wings, the monster crows on the other side suddenly look more like humans.

vi.

Oikawa isn’t surprised that his text is still unopened. At twenty-seven years old, he’s had his fair share of dead-ends when it comes to love. But he hadn’t expected radio silence from you of all people.

After closing all the tabs of Team Japan’s latest matches, he powers off his laptop and checks his phone again to reread what he wrote to your old number one last time. Still nothing. It’s highly probable you’ve changed phone numbers at least once in the last nine years, but the disappointment’s still there after he powers his phone off for the night. Tomorrow’s a big day and he’s not the same victim of self-destruction he had been in high school.

Or so he thinks, realising that texting the last person he loved the night before the 2021 Olympics volleyball finals might have been slightly irresponsible on his part. A thought arises in his head, though he quickly quashes it. Asking Iwaizumi to pass the message along would be a little overboard, wouldn’t it? Oikawa chuckles, imagining he response he’d get from his best friend (and Team Japan’s team trainer, that traitor).

“Go the fuck to sleep or I’ll put you to sleep, you dumbass simp,” he hears in Iwaizumi’s gruff voice.

He convinces himself that you’ll be there like you’ve always been. After all, he’s spent a lifetime with your pair of watchful eyes on his back. Satisfied, he drifts into a dreamless sleep.

The volume in the Ariake Arena is astronomical. Blood pounds against his ears as he sets the ball in the air, a monstrous grin carving into his face when his teammate José spikes the set straight down the net, drawing a wave of oohs and aahs from spectators on both sides.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the flashy Team Argentina setter and finishes taping up Ushijima’s arm.

Oikawa turns haughtily towards the opposite team, gaze zeroing in on Team Japan’s raven-haired setter and the shrimpy ginger beside him. It’s been a while since he last saw them this close in person–– the chance encounter with Hinata in Brazil happened well over three years ago and he hadn’t had the time earlier in the tournament to say hello. Of course they’re the final boss in this arc, he muses, though the thought is void of vexation. Instead, begrudging pride blossoms in his chest. Truthfully, he had expected nothing less from his kouhai.

And he expects nothing less than finally tasting the ambrosia of victory against that monster–– no, an entire generation of monsters–– today. Monsters who happen to be the kids he grew up beside.

He wonders what you’d say at the sight of Japan’s greatest players all gathered on one court. On instinct, his eyes dive into the bleachers, searching for your face. Knowing he’s not likely to find you like this, he tsks, deciding to look for Iwaizumi instead. Maybe he knows where you are.

The referees signal for both teams to line up at their ends of the court. As he steps onto the white boundary line, he notices Iwaizumi’s gaze transfixed on someone in the upper deck on Team Argentina’s side. The neutral expression on his face morphs into shock, then recognition. And then he glances at Oikawa.

The latter’s brows furrow before everything clicks in place.

Who else…

All your memories together hit him at full force–– your face shimmering with tears in front of gate twelve in Haneda Airport, the feeling of your shallow breaths against his neck, the savvy lilt to your voice as you speak.

… if not her?

For the first time in his life, Oikawa Tooru looks behind his shoulder.

And there you are, leaning against the railing with the old Seijoh flag draped over your shoulders, a tender, splendid smile on your lips.

“Play well,” you mouth.

And Oikawa feels the sun rise back into his hands.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Hey! You know they prompt with the m!companions waking up after spending the night with some and don’t find them in the bed? Could you do that with F!!companions too? No pressure! /gen

Female!FO4 Companions react to Waking Up Alone After Spending the Night with Sole.

Sooooo, thank you so much for asking for this, cuz I had written about half of it, and then totally forgotten about it until I got this ask, so you are awesome!

This is the second installment to this post (M!FO4 Companions with this prompt) and there will be a part with FO3 and FONV companions as well... eventually 😅

I hope you all enjoy! (And I sincerely apologize in advance for the ridiculous length of this thing [Cait's in particular], I don't know what happens, I think I have a problem. But I super appreciate all of you who stick around to read it all, each and every one of you have my heart.)

Cait:

     A dull ache persisted in Cait's muscles when she stirred beneath the sheets, she scrunched her eyebrows together as her lids rose to reveal the still dark, still disheveled hotel room. What the hell happened last night? The question briefly flashed across her mind before she recalled it. Recalled everything. Cait groaned, stretching out over the mattress, fully prepared to reunite with her lover, to wake you up in the best of ways, to touch you and be with you the way she had been last night.

Fuck. Last night… How the hell had it taken the two of you so long to do that?

Damn trust issues. Can’t they just leave me alone? Look at the good that happens when ya just let me be.

Last night had been the first time you two had been together, the first time the two of you had been intimate, and open, and honest, and real. For the first time in… hell, as long as she could remember, Cait had been her authentic self. Untainted by the venom she had injected into her veins for so long, unaffected by the liquid crutch she frequently relied on to bar her from facing herself. Even her vast insecurities hadn’t been able to touch her amid the bliss of her night with you. Because you had been authentic too, you weren’t trying to impress her, or pressure her, you didn’t pass judgement on her level of experience, didn’t berate her for her roughness, for engaging in your intimate act the only way she knew how, the only way it had ever happened when someone else initiated it, as it had always been for her. She couldn’t understand it herself, the way you’d been so patient with her, had communicated with her through everything, focused on her comfort, and her pleasure… It was so foreign to her, so unfamiliar in comparison to every other person she had been with. The act she had engaged in so many times before almost felt… new.

“Alright, what do ya say, luv? You still sore, or d’ya want to give it another go?” She shifted abruptly, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she turned to your side of the bed, green eyes glittering with ill intent, before surprise washed over them. Crimson brows rose high over the wide emerald orbs and she felt her nostrils flare unwittingly at the sight of your distinct absence.

Instantly, she wished she hadn’t turned to try and look at you. Wished that she could’ve stayed facing away just a little longer, where she could safely revel in the bliss of your night together without any consequences. She could have gazed out over the ruined hotel room, could have blushed uncharacteristically as she relived last night’s… rearrangement of all the furniture in the room. Could have kept imagining you there beside her, just as sore and worn out, but just as ready to see where this would go next. Now though…

Cait at least had the courtesy to glance around the space surrounding her before making any quick judgements, but the room was a fucking small one, and it took all of a moment to see that she was truly alone in it. Not only that, but everything belonging to you was gone too.

Now this. This shit I remember. This is all too familiar.

Normally she would have been relieved to wake up alone. It always meant she could have some peace, that she could wake up on her own terms, without harassment or expectation, without prying hands roughly dragging her from her dreams and slamming her back down into her nightmarish reality. But with you… shit was different. Even more painful than waking up next to someone she feared and despised was waking up without you by her side. The truth was like a flaming brand being pressed mercilessly to her chest, making plain to herself and everyone around her that she was hurt. That you had hurt her. She never thought the day would come.

Cait had come to the realization last night that you might be the only person who’s put her before yourself, who’s done something kind for her, who’s helped her without expecting anything in return. She came to the realization that she trusted you. More than anyone else in her life, more than Tommy, more than her own damn parents; she thought you were the only person who would never hurt her. The fact that she had been wrong made her want to spit. To curse, and fight the darkness that began to claw its way back into her heart. The same darkness you had helped expel in that vault.

She shook her head vigorously. Red hair catching in her damp eyelashes as she ground her teeth together until they ached. She wanted to scream. But dammit, she wasn’t going to let anyone know that this shit bothered her. Wasn't going to let them pity her at the sight of the hot brand you'd left on her heart when she realized you were gone.

No, she wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t let anyone hear the sounds of anguish spilling from her lips. The walls of the hotel room were paper thin, as the two of you had discovered last night after some… complaints had been issued. But Vadim had been a good sport about it. Cait wished she could look back on the memory fondly, but the glow of her euphoria was tainted red and black. An infected wound festering deep in the pit of her stomach, the hollow of her chest, the recesses of her mind.

Cait tore the blankets from her body, the thin material sticking to her sweat-dampened skin as she clambered off the mattress and began to rage around the room, snatching bits of clothing from their places on the floor and furniture. She roughly jerked up her trousers and buttoned up her corset, the action proving to be difficult as her chest expanded with her ragged inhalations. Through her fury-fogged mind, she tried to come up with a plan. Where would she go now that she didn't have you? Surely you wouldn't return to her after this. You'd gotten what you wanted, apparently; and if she was honest, she'd rather never see your face again after you'd done this to her. Made her feel this way. Made her feel filthy, and angry, and foolish, and used. Cait released a verbal sound of disgust as she threw together the last of her things. Shouldering her pack, she prepared to leave the room. Sorry Yefim, I can't be in here another fucking second. You'll have to put the furniture back yourself.

Cait slammed the hotel room door behind her, brows set low, heart pounding audibly against her chest as she loitered in front of the door, thinking about where to go next. What to do next. She couldn’t return to the combat zone, what would Tommy think? What would he say? She didn’t much care, but she didn’t want to find out either. Without Sole, what the hell was there out there for her? A flash of her potential future crossed her consciousness and she briefly saw herself crammed into some seedy corner of a bar somewhere, offering her muscle in return for some meager bits of tin, which she’d more than likely use to buy herself yet another drink at the next dive she found herself in. A vicious cycle, free of ambition, free of fulfillment, free of enjoyment… and yet, that future was more than she had ever expected for herself just a few short months ago. Back then, she would’ve given her left arm for a chance at that life, because at least she would be free. But now… you had changed everything. Helped her get clean, helped her drag herself out of the chasm her parents had forced her to dig herself into from the moment she was old enough to hold a shovel. She had wanted more for her life since meeting you. Had expected more. By your side, she had had more. And now you’d torn that away from her too, and though she wanted with every raging fiber of her being to be able to prove to you, to everyone, that she didn’t need anyone’s help to achieve that sort of life, she knew that, with you gone, reverting back to her old ways was damn near inevitable. Her jaw clenched at the thought, and she bit back a growl at the pain spreading in her chest.

Fuck this. I need a drink.

She let her hand fall from the doorknob to the now empty hotel room and made her way to the liquor counter at the Dugout Inn. Her expression drove away any potential for conversation as she sat at her stool, knocking back her full glass of whiskey. Even Vadim had stayed quiet, his usual bawdy personality remained muted as he poured her another glass and set it on the counter in front of her.

Even the bittersweet taste of her own reckless self-enablement couldn't expel the burning poison that had settled in her gut since her discovery that you had left her alone. And although she didn't have a single fucking clue what she was going to do next, that didn't seem to be what bothered her, as the whiskey began to cloud her mind and her judgement. No, it wasn't what she was going to do, it was what you were going to do. Where would you go without her? Alright, fine, you'd had your way with her, used her for your pleasure and then ran, but where to? And why do I care so damn much? A small voice asked her in the back of her mind. She decided not to grace its inquiry with a conscious answer.

Instead, she rose from her stool, slammed down a handful of caps on the counter, and half expected Vadim to ask where the room payment was, but he just smiled as he slid his hand over the pile of tin and drew it closer to him, to stash it away behind the bar. It didn't matter that Cait had no idea where she was going, she just had to leave this place. The alcohol that was meant to distract her, to numb the throbbing ache in her chest, only seemed to enhance her pain as her over exaggerated emotions surrounding the night the two of you had shared came pouring to the front of her mind. She was pissed. But not at you anymore. Was it herself? Why would she be pissed at herself? It's not like it was her fault you decided to fucking leave… Or...

Cait shook her head vigorously, pausing at the exit into Diamond City as she tried to straighten her crooked thoughts. Was it something I did? Is that why you left? Was I… not good enough? Too good? Too rough? Too unemotional? God, she sounded so whiney and insecure. Felt so insecure, so vulnerable, so guilty, so filthy.

Still trapped in her troubling thoughts, Cait attempted to finally leave the inn, letting the door slam shut behind her as she set off brusquely towards the gate leading out to the Commonwealth. She hardly noticed the body trailing her, splitting off from the crowd in the city center, and following her at an aggressive pace akin to her own. When the hand grasped at her shoulder, she almost turned around swinging, prepared to knock the teeth out of whoever decided it was a decent idea to fucking touch her right now. But her fist stilled in its clenched position beside her body, as her forest eyes widened in surprise at the person standing in front of her.

You?

You…

You!

Instead of swinging her prepared fist directly into your face, she brought up both arms, shoving them forward harshly against your shoulders, forcing you a few feet backwards, likely bruising you in the process.

"Fuck off, Sole." Was all she could manage before she turned away, back towards the gate. What the hell was she supposed to make of this?! You were gone. But now you were here? It doesn't matter now, because you could never take back the way you made her feel when she woke up alone in that dingy fucking hotel room.

"Hey!" She heard you call from behind, but she pressed on, even as your footsteps echoed behind her.

"Cait, wait! Just hold on a second. Where are you going?" Even when words failed you, it seemed the stubbornness she admired so much prevailed, as you gruffly wrenched her to the side, pulling her into the alcove behind the Publick Occurrences building.

"I can explain."

Cait wrenched her arm from your grasp, attempting to turn away, her emerald eyes blazing as they refused to acknowledge you.

"Cait, please. I swear, I was coming right back. I wasn't going to just--" you tried to explain, but she silenced you with her searing look as her head lashed towards you once more.

"I thought I told you to fuck off. Ya can't justify this shite to me, Sole. I know what the hell you were playin’ at. You fucking used me, and if that's all ye kept me round for, then you can just leave me alone. Ye got what ye wanted, didn't ya?” Your mouth hung open as you waited to get a word in, but the redhead continued, a menacingly somber expression creasing the lines of her face, “At least the assholes that used me before did it because I was their slave. You actually had me thinkin' you cared about me.” She said quietly, her gaze falling to the floor as the weight of her realization fell upon her.

“Well, you can forget I was ever even here. I'm done." Her eyes snapped back to yours before she went to turn away from you once again.

You were rendered momentarily speechless by her accusations. You wondered how the hell she couldn't know how you felt about her, especially after last night. You thought you'd made it pretty damn clear.

You didn't speak, you needed to use action now, as she started towards the gate, you reached out your hand, grasping firmly at her upper arm and wrenching her towards you. Into you. And even as she tried to pull away, to tear herself from your firm grip, you pulled her in for a kiss. It was sloppy, your teeth clacked together painfully and your mind began to demand why you'd done it at all, but as you pulled away from it quickly, you knew why. As Cait recovered from the surprise contact, you finally managed to get a few words in.

"I do care about you." You told her, your forceful hold on her arm giving way to a more gentle, but still unyielding, touch. "I wasn't trying to leave you. I had to speak to Arturo about that mod I wanted to get for your shotgun, remember? He said we had to do it before he opened, but you were still asleep. I-- I didn't want to wake you. I was coming right back, Cait. I would never leave you, never use you like that. I'm not like them, I could never-- I just, God, do you really think I could do that to you?" Cait's eyes met your own, the emerald fires in their depths wavering to smoldering coals as she saw the hurt shining in your gaze. Your upturned brows, the concern etched into your features, your soft touch on her arm being pulled away slowly; Cait could see the pain in your every movement, the pain at her accusation, and the pain at realizing what little she thought of herself.

Even just a moment ago, her answer would have been different, but at the desperation in you eyes, your will for her to see the truth behind your words, she couldn't bring herself to say what her mind wanted her to. What, after so many years of abuse and horror and mistrust, it had defaulted to saying in the event that anyone could actually tell her they cared for her. Her mind wanted to deny your confession the same way it denied any kind words that were directed towards her, in order to protect her heart from another brutal beating, but this time, it was her heart that seemed to prevail.

"No." She said softly, "I guess I didn't think ye could do that to me. Can't ya see? That's what made it hurt so damn much. I never thought you'd do that shite to me. And then, when I woke up an you were gone, I just… It just didn’t make any fuckin’ sense." She brought a hand up to wipe at her face, maybe to hide the lower lip that began to tremble at her words. 

Don’t fucking cry. Don’t you even think about it, ya damn baby. Cait tore her hand away, looking to you for some kind of response as she tried to harden her expression once more.

“I’m so sorry, Cait." You told her, taking one of her hands in your own to punctuate everything you had to say, "It’ll never happen again. I swear. I never want to hurt you ever again.”

The brawler felt a lightness in her chest at your words, words that she had never heard anyone say to her before, as you promised something so alien to her ears that she almost thought she had heard you wrong. She felt her heartbeat pick up as her eyes met yours again, the fire all but subdued as the weight of what you’d said sunk in. You promised to never hurt me... She didn’t know what to say, but she had to say something.

“Yeah? Well, it had better not happen again.” You grinned at that, releasing a breath of amusement and relief as Cait's own half-smile played at her lips. “Alright lassie/lad, care fer a drink? I think I might need another after all this.” She pulled her hand from your grasp and encircled your shoulders with her arm as she started off towards the Dugout Inn once again.

“Another?” You asked, brows raised, and the woman beside you just chuckled.

Curie:

     Goose prickles peppered uncomfortably over Curie’s exposed skin as a chill ran through her body. Being cold was a sensation that she was still quite unused to; however, even from her limited experience, she had to say, she wasn’t a fan. Curie let out a soft whine as she shifted beneath the thin blanket that snaked around her body, reaching out one arm to slide over the mattress in search of you, and your warmth.

“Mon Dieu?” She ventured softly, eyes still half closed as she peered around the hills of fabric upon the mattress. Sitting up, Curie rubbed at her sleep-filled eyes, still groggy from her hours of rest. Yet another human tendency that I must become more accustomed to. Her hands dropped to her lap as she turned her head to either side, eyebrows creasing together in confusion at the realization that she was alone.

“Sole?” She called, her uncertainty making her voice higher than usual. Perhaps you have gone to relieve yourself, as humans often tend to do after sleeping... Curie stretched her arms upwards before gathering the covers around her, effectively cocooning herself atop your bed, and sat waiting for you to return. Her eyes moved slowly as she took in the room around her. She had hardly gotten a good look last night, and before this, she had never been here before. At least, had never been in your room, but from what she could see in the dim light, it was pretty similar to the others. Curie thought that she never would return to Vault 81, considering the amount of time she had spent here, she figured she had had her fill of the place, but when the radiation storm hit, and the vault was the closest shelter you could think of, she couldn’t argue with the logic of the two of you waiting out the storm here. And she was glad she hadn’t tried. If she had insisted on taking shelter elsewhere, who knows what would have happened? You could have developed radiation sickness, or encountered some form of hostilities, or been stuck wandering and searching for shelter elsewhere all night long! But you hadn’t, no, the two of you had instead done other things all night long.

Curie's spine tingled as she noticed her heart skip a beat in her chest, and she felt her eyes crinkle up as she grinned, clutching the bed sheets tightly in her hands at the thought of the night you two had shared. The way your soft, sweet lips had pressed to hers, giving way to a cacophony of glorious, and thrillingly unfamiliar sensations. She recalled a gentleness, a sort of calm before the storm; dipping her toe into a pool of water, before wading in up to her knees, only to delve straight into the swirling, tumbling sea without a second glance back to the shore.

She had wanted, more than anything, to experiment in such a way with you, but she had been so unsure with how to proceed. So, when you had pressed your lips to hers gently in the night, and whispered that you wanted to do with her what she had been dreaming of since she first laid her human eyes upon you, Curie could barely contain her enthusiasm. All she wanted now was to be close to you once more, to discuss all that she had learned last night. About herself, and about you; but not because she wished to document it. No, this was not for research purposes, as she had once thought it would be, for there was nothing clinical about what the two of you had done together. At least, not in Curie’s eyes. To her, it was much, much more than a science. It was a feeling. It was… more, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but something that made her stomach drop and her heart leap in her chest. Is it… could it be what they call… love?

It felt like hours that Curie was sitting there on the bed, awaiting your return. The time was comparable to the near 200 years she had spent alone on the other side of this very same vault. The synth found herself feeling conflicted about a number of things in this instance. She wasn't sure how she felt about Vault 81 anymore. She thought she couldn't stand the place before; however, last night she wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else in the world, but now, she couldn't wait to leave this place and go out to find you. She felt as though, if she stayed, she would be unable to leave once again, held here in this spot for another couple centuries; and maybe that wouldn't have been so bad if you were here with her, but… That was yet another item on her agenda of conflicting emotions to consider. Here Curie sat, completely alone, feeling as though she may be in love for the first and only time in her existence and you were just… gone. This was arguably the most important discovery she had ever made, and she wanted nothing more than for you to be here to help her make sense of this breakthrough of hers. Curie felt as though she had finally reached the level of inspiration required to achieve something great in the field of science, and it was all because of you. But she was still… confused? She couldn't imagine your reason for leaving, had she done something wrong? She had never done anything like this before, so it wouldn't be entirely surprising if she hadn't been particularly skilled in the acts of intimacy, but she certainly had felt good enough… had you not? Or perhaps this was customary for people to do after their first time being together in such a way? If that was the case, Curie would need an explanation as to why it had to be this way. Why you had to be gone when she felt she needed to be near you so urgently.

At that moment, Curie decided she needed to get out of this room, to look for you, yes, but also to prove to herself that she could, in fact, leave any time that she wished. To prove to herself that she wasn't going to be imprisoned here again. Curie sucked in a breath as she uncovered her bare body and exposed her skin to the chill of the recycled vault air. Quickly, she found her garments, some scattered on the floor, others wrapped in the mess of covers on the bed; and her theory regarding your disappearance was further confirmed as she found none of your own clothes in the places you had left them last night. She released a shaky breath, mumbling incoherently to herself as she often did in stressful situations, as she packed her bag in preparation to leave the vault. When she went to reach for the laser pistol that you had gifted her when she had become a synth, she noticed something that didn't quite add up. Your bag was still near the door… so perhaps, you hadn't left the vault after all? Curie's heart leaped in her chest, and in that next moment, she had dropped her travel bag, and was quickly moving towards the door that led out into the common area of the vault. As the doors slid to a close behind her, Curie's head whipped from side to side, aqua eyes passing over the monochrome hallways as she sought you out, searching for a 111 rather than an 81 among the sea of blue suits. Her eyes came to rest toward the elevator as she heard it grinding downwards, and she started towards it expectantly at the sound, before pausing abruptly when she heard her name being called from behind.

Her head swung back around to see you jogging towards her from the far end of the vault, a flush at your cheeks and a small smile decorating your sweet lips.

"And where are you running off to?” You said as you reached the synth, “You couldn't possibly leave me after--"

"Mon cheri! I was missing you this morning!" Curie's words echoed loudly off the steel walls surrounding the two of you as her excitement forced the words from her mouth at an unreasonable volume for your close proximity. Her relief at seeing you left her utterly unashamed at the blatant enthusiasm she had for your return. So much so, that she was even feeling bold enough to close the space between the two of you, her arms wrapping tightly around you as she buried her head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your comforting and familiar scent. You only just had time to return her embrace before she pulled away, her arms unraveling around your neck as she brought both hands up to caress your face. Her bright eyes seemed to glitter as they peered deeply into your own, her elated expression infectious as her thumbs stroked over your cheeks gently. Curie opened her mouth, as though she were about to speak, but when your gaze fell to rest upon her parted lips, she couldn't help but lean forward until she felt your mouth on her own. The kiss was sweet and soft, expelling Curie's chill as the contact warmed her from the inside out. As you pulled away slowly, still a little baffled by the sudden contact, you opened your eyes in time to notice her fluttering lashes and pink dusted cheekbones as a flustered grin spread onto her face.

"What timing you have, mon amour," she said, eyes still locked to yours, "I so urgently felt the need to speak to you, for I have just made zhe most brilliant discovery!"

Piper:

     Piper had never had a dream like that before. It had felt so real. It left her flustered and out of breath as she stirred groggily among the blankets in the loft of her Diamond City home. 

She could still feel the warmth of another's skin pressed against hers, taste the salt of sweat on her lips, feel the shuddering jolt of her pleasure shooting up her spine. It all felt so genuine, so memorable, it was as though… No. It couldn’t be… with you? 

As Piper dipped into her post-slumber conscious reality, she felt a distinct soreness in her body that nearly confirmed her sub-conscious assumption. But she had to know for sure. Piper imagined she would have to wrench open her eyes in order to verify her prediction, but as she took a deep breath in through her nose, and your familiar scent, accompanied by the distinct musty smell that happened to permeate the room after such activities occurred made itself known, she couldn’t have kept her eyes closed if she had tried. 

They flew open as an excited squeak escaped her, and she pulled the covers off from where they obstructed her needy hazel-green gaze. 

“Blue?” She tried, speaking quietly, but unable to keep the elation from her voice. “Pssst, hey, you awake yet?” Her hands gathered up the blankets beside her, drawing them away from where she assumed they were covering your sleeping form. But they just kept coming, she pulled and pulled, gathering more fabric between her fingers, spilling the material up over her own body until the mattress was revealed. The empty mattress. She cocked an eyebrow at the sight, a question she silently posed to the barren space where you were meant to be. Where her subconscious and conscious self both had practically guaranteed you would be. Now, the reporter was confused. 

Deciding that this was perhaps not the most ideal angle for exploration, she raised up into a sitting position, flattening her wild hair with one hand as the other kept the covers drawn up around her. 

“Blue?” She questioned a little louder. Maybe you’re downstairs… fixing breakfast? It wouldn’t surprise her. You had always been thoughtful in that way, always seeming to look out for everyone but yourself. Damn that was sexy. Piper couldn’t remember the last person she had felt this way about. Maybe there wasn’t one. No, there really was no one like her Blue; you were the closest friend she’d ever had, you trusted her, you always believed her, believed in her, you spoke to her like a person, like a friend, like someone you genuinely cared about; not like a nosy little reporter, or a pain in your ass, which is how pretty much everyone else in the world decided she was supposed to be talked to. The more she thought about it, the more it became clear to her. There wasn’t anyone like you. It was literally just you, and the fact that you and her had been together in such a way last night? Unbelievable. Incredible, dreamlike, fantastic, and perfect, yes, but completely unbelievable. Wasn’t she too overbearing? Too loud? Too stubborn, and fiery, and hot-headed? 

From the moment she met you, she thought you could only ever see her in a certain way, as the scrappy, over-emotional, noisy reporter who had gotten herself locked out of the damn gate to the damn place that she freaken lived in. You had helped her, sure, and that was amazing, but she thought you’d never want to see her again after the encounter. However, as it turns out, she had been wrong. Mercifully, she had been wrong. Piper had never imagined that you would take her up on her offer to interview you, but when Nat had pulled you through the door, a firm grip locked around your wrist as she dragged you forward, and you had smiled at her, and agreed enthusiastically to answer her questions, she couldn’t help but flash her own silly grin over at you, desperate to try and hold back the joyous little giggle that threatened to escape her lips. 

Even now, still seated upon the bed, Piper smiled to herself as she poured over her memories with you. Everything was so vivid when you were around. Black and white, white and black, the occasional grey and off-white, that was all the reporter ever seemed to see in her life, but with you… everything was vibrant. The world wasn’t quite so corrupt and unforgiving, the people around her weren’t so dismissive, so closed off, even when the weather seemed too cold to bear, the light in your eyes would warm her from the inside out, the sky was never a muted tone when she was with you, it was always a bright cacophony of warm and cool colors that melded together to form a perfect blue. And the brilliance, the dizzying, lucid radiance of the night the two of you had shared had put all other colors she could possibly imagine to shame. 

Her whole body suddenly felt so warm at the sentiment, and she couldn’t stand to be bundled in blankets any longer. She had been too busy wrapped up in her own memories to even register that you hadn’t responded to her calling for you, but she shrugged it off, assuming maybe that she simply hadn’t heard your response. Piper climbed out of bed, letting the covers fall unceremoniously onto the mattress as she quickly grabbed clean clothes from her dresser. She dressed rapidly, the voice in the back of her mind posing a question that her consciousness didn’t want to acknowledge. Instead, she thought about how funny it was that she felt so embarrassed about you potentially seeing her in the nude; since, surely, you had gotten quite the eyeful last night.

But it was dark then! She thought, nodding and chuckling to herself as she prepared to make her way downstairs. At the top, looking downward, Piper paused. Listening for any movement from below, she was almost tempted to call for you again. But something caused her to hesitate. It’s that voice again, the one that wanted to ask… No, I’m not going to think about that.

The reporter forced herself to take the first step, the wood creaking in protest below her feet as she descended to the first floor. The sound was almost like a warning to her, encouraging her to turn back the way she had come, cursing her for taking a step towards the potential disappointment that awaited her at the bottom of the stairs.

Piper tried to seem perky, but her enthusiasm was waning with every moment she spent away from you; and as she peered around the ground floor, she realized that that pesky little question she had tried to push away from her conscious self was finally answered. You were gone.

The woman’s heart sank. Her brain suddenly pelting her with question after question as to why you could have done this. When had you decided that she wasn’t what you wanted? Had she been so horrible that she completely reversed the feelings you told her you had for her? Had you never cared for her in the first place? Had you just lied to get her in bed with you? If that were the case, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to see you again. No, she was sure it would just end in a shouting match and her potentially trying to tear your pretty eyes from your useless skull. So, she… couldn’t do that, no, people thought she was crazy enough as is. But she is a reporter… and this, what you did to her, the way you made her feel, the way you used her body and toyed with her emotions, that was a crime. She had written about crimes countless times, she could do it again... But would that even be enough to make her feel less... Angry? Hurt? Idiotic?

Argh, she was so furious! With herself, with the situation, with you, but now she wasn’t sure if what she thought was your reason for leaving was even the truth, maybe she was imagining it. What if you were out there somewhere feeling hurt like she was? Or, feeling unheard or, or neglected? She didn’t know why you would be feeling that way, but there’s always two sides to a story, and she had to think that you would have had an at least halfway decent explanation for your actions. 

What about last night though? Didn’t you feel the same way she felt? She didn’t see how you could feel any differently.  

She could only wonder at all of her rhetorical questions that were begging to be answered, but just not by her. Maybe if she found you and requested an interview again… Hmmm.

Piper didn’t know if it would work, didn’t know if she could even find you, if you would agree to an interview at all, but it was a plan, at least; and for her to know the truth of the situation, it was definitely worth a try. 

The reporter thought up her questions as she gathered together her things, trying to come up with inquiries that didn’t seem too one-sided, or confrontational, or passive aggressive; but other thoughts kept interrupting her. At some point, she knew Nat would be home from her friend’s house, she should probably wash the sheets on her mattress, she hadn’t eaten anything yet, there was no food in the house, she still needed to proofread her next story, ugh! This was not what she needed today! You had always been so supportive of her, of the paper, of her taking care of Nat, of… just her in general, her as a person, as a reporter, as a friend, and traveling companion. You had been supportive last night, had let her be vulnerable, and confident in herself, and free of any judgement. You’d made her feel good about herself in a way she never had before. And yet, you fucking left. God, it made her crazy, because she just didn’t understand. It didn’t add up, all of the evidence, the important details at the front of her mind all pointed to a different sort of conclusion. One that ended with you in the dang bed next to her the morning after you had made her feel like she could write an epic poem detailing every blissful feeling you had elicited in her. And she didn’t even write poetry!

By the time her bag was packed, Piper’s stomach was growling, she was tired again, tired and hungry and angry and sad, and every negative base emotion a person could feel. But she forced herself up the couple of steps it took to get to the exit door, reaching out her hand for the doorknob, she prepared to go out and find you. To find you, and then question you. 

In the next instance, the door was pushing her back down the stairs gruffly as it opened directly into her.  

“Ow! Hey!” She said as she was thrown backwards by the impact. Piper gruffly reached up her hands, trying to adjust her hat back onto her head properly as the body in front of her moved through the door. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Piper! Are you alright?” 

Piper paused with her hands still over her head, and looked up quickly at the sound of your voice. At first, she thought it had been Nat who decided to beat her with her own door, but, as you stood in the doorway, an apologetic smile on your face, and a shopping bag in your hand, she couldn’t deny the fact that it really was you who had just barged into her. 

You didn’t leave. You weren’t gone. She thought giddily, impulsively throwing her arms around your shoulders in her relief. For just a moment, her questions and anger could wait.

“Aw, Piper, I wasn’t gone that long. But I missed you too.” you giggled at her, drawing your own encumbered arms around her to reciprocate to the best of your abilities, “And I’m glad you forgive me for the concussion I just gave you.” 

“Where were you?” Piper asked, almost aggressively as she pulled away, still standing close enough to keep you trapped between her and the door. 

“I just had to grab some supplies from the mark--”

“And you couldn’t wait until I woke up? Do you know the kind of state you had me in this morning?! Geeze, Blue, you really are clueless sometimes, huh?”

“No! I’m sorry I was gone, but I… Here, I brought home some breakfast. I wanted to surprise you.”

You held up the bag in your hand, showcasing the clear outline of soup containers and the distinct mark of Takahashi. 

“O--oh, well, that was… um, that was really nice of you, Blue. I…”

You just smiled at her and her apologetic expression, beginning your descent past Piper and down the couple of stairs towards the couch where the two of you could enjoy your breakfast.  

“It’s okay Piper. I’m sorry too.” You said looking back at her as you placed the bag down on the coffee table. And your companion just grinned.

[jonsa101]

Yes, There’s Only 14 Episodes in Season 3 But Sharpwin is On Track and Progressing How They’re Supposed To.

There has been so much talk about this season’s writing and the lack of Sharpwin scenes that I thought I would just address everything in this post.

First, the writing this season is NOT BAD! In my honest opinion I actually think this season has some of the best writing in the series. Compared to season two, the writing is head and shoulders above what we got last year. More than ever before we are diving into these characters stories, seeing friendships form, getting a better look into their home life and seeing secondary characters shine! This is a good thing! These were the things that were so desperately needed in season 2 but we didn’t see this play out. I’ve said this before in my infamous season 2 rant and I’ll say it again, a show can’t solely depend on a ship! It has to have great storytelling and good character development for all of it’s main characters. This is what New Amsterdam failed to do in season two and they’re now making it up for it in season 3. The only area I would say the storyline suffered was the Cassian, Helen and Max “love triangle.” There was definitely more intent with that plot before the pandemic. Cassian was not only supposed to be a catalyst for Jealous Max and Sharpwin but he was also supposed to come in and challenge the way Max did things. Cassian’s whole thing was self care first=great patient care which was the complete opposite of Max and the two of them were supposed to clash. Obviously this completely changed due to the pandemic. You can’t have a storyline about a doctor prioritizing himself first for “better patient care”in the midst of thousands of doctors globally throwing themselves on the frontlines and even loosing their lives to COVID-19. It would have been a terrible look to have that storyline so they clearly scrapped it! What we saw was probably them trying to salvage whatever was left from the original plot while they still had Daniel Dae Kim in the limited amount of episodes for season 3.

Apart from that, I think the writers are doing a fantastic job in terms of character development this season. Arguably I would say that Iggy probably has the best storyline so far and that’s incredible for his character. Tyler Labine is acting his ass off and Iggy’s scenes with Lauren, Vijay and Martin were top tier!!! We are finally getting a Max and Reynolds bromance that was teased in season one but literally know where to be found in season two! It’s great seeing them bond on screen and I hope we get more moments with these two. We’re also seeing Reynold’s “life plan” blow up in his face and we finally have some closure with Bloom. They kept us in limbo for so long! We didn’t know if him and Bloom were truly over but now we finally know. Also, it seems like he and Evie are officially done as well and he might have a new love interest on the horizon. For Lauren, she’s clearly seems to be having a coming out story which is something I didn’t see coming at all. I’m really curious how they’re going to play this out for her and can’t wait to see it unfold. Last but not least, for Max and Helen they are both going through massive character development phases which leads me to my second point.

I love a good Max and Helen scene as much as the next person. To me they’re the ultimate ship and I want to see them thrive and flourish but just because we don’t see Max and Helen interact doesn’t mean that the show isn’t properly developing or investing in their relationship!!!!!!!!The relationship between Max and Helen is so nuanced that their relationship doesn’t hang in the balance because they don’t have more witty, flirtatious, or emotional dialogue. Don’t get me wrong, I adore those moments. Those scenes between them make us the passionate sharwpin shippers we are. At the same time though, we have to truly take a look at why the state of their relationship is where its at now and why from a narrative perspective their current interactions make sense. In order to do this, we have to take a look at where Max and Helen left off last year.

At the end of season 2, Max made a move on Helen and almost kissed her in her office. After this moment occurred he never addressed it and at the time he was still dating Alice. There’s no doubt in my mind that this was the catalyst for why Helen started dating Cassian in the first place. She had practically laid her feelings out there and told Max he was the reason she gave up half of her department. After this revelation and the massive, intimate moment he initiated in her office, he didn’t even have the decency to address it. He swept it under the rug and wanted to keep the same relationship that he had with her like nothing ever happened. Even though Helen was aware about Alice, we now know from season 3 that Helen felt a type away that Max never “officially” told Helen that he was dating her. This is IMPORTANT!!! Max and Helen did not end on a high note in season 2. In fact, the very last scenes we see of season 2 is Helen blowing off Max to go on a date with Cassian and Max breaking off things with Alice. I know this wasn’t intentional due to the season being cut short but it definitely contributes to where they are now. 

Fast forward a year later, and not only do we still have a massive almost kissed elephant in the room between Max and Helen but also the trauma of being on the frontlines of a pandemic and going through the biggest social justice movement the world has seen. This is something I’ve said many times over but I’m not sure the fandom recognizes how much these events have permanently altered these characters and changed the dynamics of this show. COVID-19 changed everything. The Black Live Matter Movement for the first time grabbed the attention of the world and changed everything too! Max and Helen are in the process of trying to heal and rebuild their lives the best they can as individuals after such a tumultuous year. At the same time, they are acutely aware of the feelings they have for each other and the UST between them and are carrying the weight of that as well. Naturally guys, the combination of all this is going to change most dynamics in a relationship. Things are awkward and distant  because Max and Helen are awkward and distant!! They have a lot of shit that they’re going through as individuals and subconsciously as a “couple.” They are clearly not in a healthy place to be as vulnerable as they once were to each other. And how can they be when their feelings have literally been eating at them for over year?! It’s hard to ignore that and try to force yourself to go back to the way things were. Especially when their feelings have “technically”  been out in the open since the end of season 2. They both know what it is! They were steps away from unleashing years of built up sexual tension between them and they went on with their lives like it never even happened. Max walking in on her and Cassian kissing in HER OFFICE and subsequently having that convo with Helen was not for shits and giggles. It triggered the BEAST of his feelings that he had fought so hard to suppress. There is no doubt in my mind that when he saw them in her office kissing, he was having some serious dejavu to their almost kissing affair last year. He‘s in love with her and she’s in love with him but this what happens when you continuously try and run away from those feelings and let it fester instead of trying to deal with it head on. The dynamic  were seeing between them now is a result of their unresolved issues and it absolutely plays into Sharpwin’s story. It doesn’t take away from it. It makes sense for where they are NOW! 

If we look at season three holistically, you’ll realize that a momentum for something significant happening for Sharpwin has been set through the acting and writing. I got to give it to Ryan Eggold. He has that fire and desire, Mr. Darcy type level acting down to a tee so far. It is so satisfying seeing Max so overcome with his feelings that you can tangibly see it in his body language and hear it in his voice. We have seen Max taken aback by Helen before but we have NEVER seen him like this. I keep on saying it but this is different guys. Something has shifted and it seems like Max is on the verge of exploding. His feeling are burning hot right underneath the surface and it’s a beautiful thing to behold. Last night’s episode was ripe with this type of content and Ryan was in his acting bag! It wasn’t an overtly “Sharpwin” episode but the writing and the acting is so clever and methodical, it will have you thinking otherwise. At the beginning of season 3 Max told Helen that he wants to build something better for Luna and something better for her. Was last night not a beautiful reflection of that? One question asking Max if he has ever loved a black woman put him in the shoes of his patient’s husband and had Max advocating for his wife like he would advocate for Helen if it was her! If that’s not fucking romantic I don’t know what it is and if the alarm bells aren’t going off that there is something deeper at play here with a huge payoff around the corner I don’t know what to tell you! Another moment that sticks out to me like a sore thumb is when Helen was telling Cassian that her brother died. I wrote about this in a previous meta of mind but Helen at her most vulnerable telling Cassian that she feels like she’s running out of time is SO SIGNIFICANT guys!!! It’s not only tell us that she fears that she’s missing out on the windows of opportunities for the wants and needs in her life but it literally sets the pacing of how quickly Sharpwin is going to progress. It is the beautiful freudian slip that tells us exactly where things are headed for these two. To me this is equivalent to Max telling Helen “I love my doctor” and “what if I want you?” in season 1. This episode had no interaction between Max and Helen but it was a MASSIVE Sharpwin indicator through and through! These are just a couple of examples but even their respective journeys in parenting is so Sharpwin driven. So in all I’m not mad in the direction the show has taken to showcase their relationship this season because Sharpwin is deeply interwoven in the storyline this year even if it’s not overtly obvious through emotional dialogue/ interactions. 

Also, one thing you have to realize is this, season three is wrapping up a lot of loose ends from season 2 and when it comes to Max and Helen these two points will be/ have to be addressed in the next six episodes.

The Almost Kiss

Whether or Not They Want To Be Together

The showrunners know without a shadow of doubt that the resolution for these two points is owed! If Sharpwin is talking about their almost kiss, there is no way that they aren’t talking about what they mean to each other and what their future looks like together. Both solutions literally go hand in hand and I promise you they are not delaying the resolution for that till season 4. It’s not happening fam. We will see this play out within the next six episodes. So in hindsight, more Sharpwin interaction are on the horizon. 

When I was making predictions about this season I wasn’t aware that this season would only be 14 episodes. I’m sad that season 3 is so short but that still doesn’t change my mind for where I think the story is going. Call me crazy but I’m sticking to my guns. There is something about how Ryan is portraying Max that is signaling something huge. Also I just trust the context clues that i believe the show is giving. I trust it! Anyway y’all! If you have any sharpwin question just DM here or message me on Twitter! my username is @oyindaodewale. 

Love you guys! ❤️

[mandoalorian]

Can I request a soulmate au with anyone you see fit? I don’t mind I just love that sort of mushy stuff, CONGRATULATIONS ON TWO HUNDRED FOLLOWERS

Soulmates [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Authors Note: you may recognise a quote in here from Dawson's Creek— if you spot it, I love you. it's something that has always resonated with me a lot. This was so fun to write. If you followed me on twitter the chances are you'll know all about Lady Lord and she does make a brief cameo in here :) I've found a new passion and that is writing domestic dad! Maxwell. Anyways, thank you for the amazing request, I hope you enjoy!!!

Warnings: angst but it's funny I swear— light hearted fluff and just a little ~sexual tension~ but nothing explicit.

Rating: 15 (just to be safe!)

MASTERLIST | Submit your requests HERE

Summer 1993

Maxwell tucked his daughter into bed and switched on the nightlight. "What book would you like me to read to you tonight?" Maxwell asked, pushing the reading glasses that were perched on his nose into a more comfortable place. He kneeled down, his back aching slightly with age, and flicked through the many children's book your child had the privilege of owning.

"Daddy?" your daughter asked, shuffling around slightly under her pink silk bedding. She reached over and grabbed her favourite teddy bear, nursing it in her arms.

"Yes princess?" Maxwell replied, pausing momentarily from looking through his daughters books and turning to face the little girl. Her eyes were big and sparkling, and they reminded Maxwell of your own eyes.

"What's a soulmate?" her voice was sweet like honey, innocence dripping from her tongue as she blinked her pretty eyes with curiosity.

Maxwell pondered for a moment, hesitation filling his gut. Maybe this would be a better conversation for you to have with her; he thought. Maxwell was never really good at explaining such topics, or talking about feelings. But, this was his daughter— and she was as pure as could be. He wanted her to know. He wished that his parents had told him of the concept long before he found out about it.

Maxwell straightened himself up and shuffled closer to his daughter. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into his chest. She shuffled her head slightly trying to get comfortable, but in the process, her hair got caught in the little clip of his suspenders. Maxwell carefully removed her hair and brushed it out of her face. He had never prepared himself for this conversation; so he was just going to do what you always encouraged him to do. Speak from his heart.

"It's uh... Well, it's like a best friend but more. It's the one person in the world that knows you better than anyone else. It's someone who makes you a better person. Actually, they don't make you a better person, you do that yourself - because they inspire you. A soulmate is someone who you carry with you forever. It's the one person who knew you and accepted you and believed in you before anyone else did, or when no one else would. And no matter what happens, you will always love them. Nothing can ever change that."

"So… mommy is your soulmate?" your daughter asked her father. Maxwell nodded, a small blush creeping on his cheeks. "Who is my soulmate?"

"I don't know princess, that's something you'll learn for yourself one day." Maxwell said, planting a gentle kiss into his daughter’s forehead. "Why did you ask such a question?"

Your daughter's mouth twisted into a proud smile that could only be comparable to one of Maxwell Lord. "Today, at school, Augustus held my hand during recess. And my friend, Katherina, told me that little Gussy might be my soulmate."

Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows. "Who's Augustus?" he frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Augustus Emmeline the third!" Your daughter beamed.

"The third, huh?" Maxwell raised his eyebrow. "My little treasure, you tell daddy if he ever hurts you, okay?"

"Gussy would never hurt me." your daughter rolled her eyes, a small giggle escaping her lips.

Maxwell figured tonight wasn't the best time to explain the woes of heartbreak to his eight year old daughter, so he let her comment slide. He kissed her nose again and turned out her night light. "Get some sleep sweetheart, you have ballet and piano recitals tomorrow."

"Okay daddy, I love you." she shuffled to her side and clutched onto her teddy bear even harder, closing her eyes.

"I love you too." Maxwell smiled before leaving her bedroom.

You were in the kitchen, changing the cat litter, when your husband snuck up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your neck. He rocked his hips into yours, swaying side to side like he was dancing with no music. "What you doing?" Maxwell sing-song’ed in your ear. You laughed, tearing yourself out of his grip.

"Sorting out Lady's litter," you grimaced, nodding your head towards the long haired white cat who was sitting by the back door, innocently staring at you and Max. 

"Thought I could smell something." Maxwell pinched the bridge of your nose and you gave him a roll of your eyes.

"Did she go to sleep okay?" You asked Maxwell, setting the cats litter tray back in place. Lady Lord, your white kitty, mewled a 'thank you' before scurrying off into the living room.

"Yes," Maxwell nodded. "She did, however, ask a strange question," you looked at your husband, prompting a further explanation. "She asked me what a soulmate was."

"She did?" you raised an eyebrow in inquiry, washing your hands in the sink and drying them with a soft towel. "What did you tell her?"

"You know," Maxwell shrugged. "Just spoke from my heart. Like you always tell me too."

You smiled, approaching your husband and tugging on the straps of his suspenders. "Good."

"It reminded me of when we found out we were soulmates." Maxwell smirked and you let out a sigh. "Do you remember?"

"Oh my goodness Max, how could I forget?"

Winter 1984

"I refuse to believe that this monster is my soulmate." you growled, eyeing up Maxwell Lord up and down feeling nothing but disdain for the smarmy businessman.

"Well baby, you better believe it." Maxwell rolled his dark brown eyes, a devilish smirk sprawled across his lips.

It irked you- it angered you. Every little thing he done annoyed you; and now this revelation? You were beginning to believe he was playing a sick prank on you— and he had Diana and Steve in on it as well. You couldn't understand why they'd share Maxwell's malicious intentions against you (or so you presumed they were malicious… everything that man did was suspect), but you wouldn't put it past Maxwell to manipulate them.

"It's true," Diana sighed, shrugging her shoulders casually. "Eros told me himself."

"Eros." you deadpanned, placing your hands on your hips and knotting your eyebrows together in unamusement. In the corner of your eye, you spotted Maxwell's smirk grow as your annoyance festered inside of you.

"Or more commonly known as Cupid," Captain Steve Trevor beamed, innocently spewing out his unwanted explanation.  "Eros is the winged God of Love. He shoots two people with his arrow and they become soulmates. They find each other and they fall in love." You studied Classics at university; of course you knew who Eros was.

"I know who he is!" You spat furiously and Steve raised his hands in defense. You felt your cheeks burn up with anger as the concept of Maxwell Lord being your soulmate dwelled upon you. You turned back to Diana, in hope that there had been some sort of misunderstanding. "Eros’ father is Ares, the God of War. Can we really trust him?"

"His mother is Aphrodite," Diana replied non-chalantely, failing to understand your point. "Besides, Eros is neither Ares nor Aphrodite. We need not to compare the winged God of Love to his parents."

"So, Eros just came and visited you, and told you that myself and the CEO of freaking Black Gold Cooperative are soulmates? There's no way." Before Diana could reply, Maxwell cleared his throat. Your head snapped to face him. "I don't want to hear a peep out of you." You pointed your finger, digging it hard into his chest. He swatted your hand away and straightened his posture under your glare.

"Actually, I found out from this." he brought out a peculiar, amber gem from the pocket of his suit jacket. "Eros just confirmed it."

"You found out from a pretty rock?" You folded your arms across your chest.

"It's a dreamstone-," Maxwell began to explain but you cut him off.

"I don't care." you scoffed, grinding your teeth together in white rage. You turned back to Diana.

"Listen," Diana said, her voice as sweet as honey. She raised her hand and placed it gently on your shoulder, meaning nothing but comfort. "Eros told me that every soulmate shares the same soulmark. Do you… do you have any marks on your body that could be—"

You processed her words, thinking long and hard. "I do, I have a mark on the inside of my thigh." You shuffled around uncomfortable.

"Can I see it?" Maxwell beamed, his chocolate eyes sparkling.

"Not unless you want a fucking lawsuit." You snapped back at him and you watched as his charming but smug smirk fell from his face. He rolled his eyes and took a step back from you. "Diana, is there another way we can make sure that we are soulmates?"

"We could kiss and see what happens?" Maxwell suggested and you clenched your fingers into a fist. Would this man ever learn to shut up.

"It's true, you could kiss and see if you feel anything." Diana pointed out and you pinched the bridge of your nose in annoyance. Maxwell howled with laughter while Steve just stood there, as confused as ever.

You sighed, holding your face in your hands before turning back to Maxwell. "Show me your soulmark."

"Show me yours." Maxwell charmed and you wanted to scream.

"No."

"Yes."

"With all due respect," Steve cleared his throat. "You two argue like an old married couple." He raised an eyebrow and nudged Diana. "Are they always like that?"

"Yes." Diana smirked.

"No we are not!" You and Maxwell yelled in unison.

Your head snapped towards Maxwell and he couldn't help but smile at the angry scowl playing on your lips and the crinkle in between your eyebrows.

"Diana and I are going to head out and get some coffee, do you two want anything?"

You and Maxwell were too busy bickering to hear Steve's polite offer. Pointing your fingers at each other, both of you demonstrating your power struggle as your voices slowly became more raised. Steve and Diana exchanged a look before realising they best be on their merry way.

"My office, now." Maxwell growled in frustration, grabbing your wrist and tugging you into his extravagant office. Usually his micro-agression would have earned him a punch in the arm and string of insults from you, but despite his firm grip on you, his hand slipped down your wrist and his finger interlocked with yours.

You would've pulled away from him. Gritting your teeth together, you could think of a thousand curses to scream at the slimy CEO but instead you were left feeling slightly dazed. There was a spark when his fingers graced the back of your hand. Like genuine electricity. And it had lit a fire in the pit of your stomach. He sat you down on the loveseat by his desk and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Did you feel that?" he asked and you frowned.

"Feel what?" you grumbled.

"That… that spark." Maxwell's hand fell to his hip as he stared at you, perplexed.

Yes, you had, and there was no denying it. Instead, you opted to avoid eye contact. He had his way with people— his charming business strategy. His charisma could make the whole world fall for him. But not you. You wouldn't fall for him.

"So stubborn," Maxwell huffed, as if he was reading your mind. He slipped into the loveseat and sat next to you, his dark eyes gleaming. "You think I wanted this? Of course I didn't. I don't have time for relationships." You scoffed, about to interrupt him but he raised a finger and continued. "I'm too busy. I'm better alone anyway. But we have something special. I hate to admit it, but you can't keep running away from the truth."

He was right. Fuck, he was right and you hated it. All this time you had been shutting out the truth. It was like destiny had brought you two together. You were the complete opposite of Maxwell Lord, but maybe Eros was right for shooting his arrow into you both. Maybe he done it for good reason. Maybe you and Maxwell completed each other.

"You're disgusting," your voice was merely just a croak. You couldn't give up. You had to keep fighting. "You built the foundations of your business on lies. You're a fraudster, a scammer, and you should be in jail." Your own words made your heart shatter.

Maxwell looked away from you, his eyes glossy. Your words stung. "You can hate me all you want, but we were chosen for each other. I don't understand it. I don't think I'll ever understand it. But this happened for a reason."

"How can you be sure?" you whispered.

Maxwell cleared his throat. "The dreamstone… and Eros and… everything Diana has told me. I hate to believe it, but I trust her. She knows better than anyone else." Maxwell shrugged. "And I've felt it. And I know you have too."

"We are literally rivals." Your voice was but a mere whisper.

Maxwell took a step closer to your breaking any distance. You swore you could feel his warm breath tickle against your neck as his words sent shivers down your spine. "Kiss me."

You looked up at his once chocolate brown eyes, now practically ebony and completely lust blown. He gently raised his hand to cup your cheek and swiped his thumb across your jaw. What had happened to you? You were succumbing to him. Because you knew, deep down, it was true. But you remembered Diana's words. A kiss would confirm it.

"I hate you Maxwell Lord." you shook your head before standing on your tippee-toes, matching his height. You tilted your head, the curve of his nose brushing against yours as you pressed your lips against his.

There it was. That same spark. The kiss was hypnotising. At first, you tried to escape the fact you were kissing Maxwell Lord, but as he slung his arm around your waist and pulled your hips into his, you figured you could maybe embrace it. 

You found your hands tugging amongst his dark blonde locks of hair. You always imagined his hair to be greasy, layered in many unnecessary products to keep it perfectly styled throughout the day. But it was soft and well conditioned. As you pulled gently on it he bit on your lower lip and caused a sweet moan to escape your lips. That only spurred him on more, as he dropped his hand and cupped the roundness of your ass.

Both of your hands were settled on his broad shoulders, and he grumbled a little when you pulled on the lapels of his suit jacket, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. The little noise he made sent vibrations straight through your core and on instinct, you pressed your body further into him. 

Maxwell glided his tongue over the plumpless of your lower lip, begging for entry, which of course you granted. You had kissed many people before but it had never felt as intoxicating as this. You couldn't stop. He was your poison, and you were addicted.

But why him. Why would Eros match you with a man like Maxwell Lord? He was cunning… manipulative…an amazing kisser. You pulled your away from him, detaching your lips from his with a pop sound and looked up into his nervous eyes.

"Did you feel anything?" his voice was hoarse and rasp, as if the kiss had took everything out of him.

You couldn't lie anymore. You couldn't kid yourself. You took a deep breath.

"Maxwell, I've felt something for you since the moment I started working here. All my life I've hated you. Your father and your shitty business stole from my family. But when I scored the job at the museum, and when I saw your speech in the main hall, I felt something inexplicably unique. Something I've never felt before. Seeing you stand there and witnessing your charm with my own two eyes ignited something primal within me. I needed you— more than I've ever needed anything before, and I cursed myself for it. You didn't know me, but I knew you. I knew of all the hurt you caused me, and my family, and many other families around the world. I knew of your greed and ruthless nature. And I tried so hard to hate you so bad."

"Everybody thinks they know me, but they don't. Everyone thinks they have me all figured out from my infomercials… or they judge me based on my parents. Let me tell you, I'm not my parents." Maxwell assured you and you offered him a small comforting smile. "I'm sorry Black Gold Cooperative hurt your family. I know it might not seem like it, but I'd never want to hurt anyone."

And for some reason, you believed him. You saw the kindness in his eyes. You knew he was genuine. You had gathered up so much hate for him over the years. So much anguish. You never thought you'd ever be able to forgive him.

"Eros put us together for a reason." you whispered and Maxwell tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

"I think we can make this work." he told you, his voice quiet and of a deeply pleasant nature.

"Yeah, me too." you replied, your heart fluttering.

"So…. about that soulmark on the inside of your thigh."

"My lawyer is one of the best in the country Lord, don't try me." You winked before flicking your hair and leaving his office, the door slamming behind you.

This was going to be the start of something amazing.

Taglist for this specific AU: @heythere-mel @kiwi-the-first

Permanent taglist (let me know if you would like to be added!): @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic

[thewritingstar]

Beautiful Revelations

Pairing: Gruvia (I know its been a hot ass min)

Fandom: Fairy Tail 

tags: @shellielyzabeth @be-dazzled @nostalgicxslumber @unvalley @tigerfire54

Note: It has happened. I have written 200 fanfics and idk if I should be proud or slightly scared. (feel free to skip this omg why is it so long) 

I want to say thank you to everyone who has read, liked, reblogged or interacted with me in any way. I have always had a feeling that no matter what I write, I wouldn’t matter. But every comment and sweet note left made me realize that even if its just a smile or enough to make someone hit the like button, I made a small difference or added something to the fandom. Most of my fics are quick drabbles full of spelling mistakes, random thoughts and love for the characters. I know I don’t write very long stories or finish my wips (why are we surprised) but even though Im not someone people look to as a big author, each of you have made me feel special. There have been many times, this year especially that I had decided to give up writing. “Im not good enough and no one will even notice” Thats what I told myself if I decided to just back away. But every so often I would look and see that someone new or old had read my work. Every time someone reads something I wrote, I go back and read it too. I look at all the tags and see every comment and I stop and smile and remember how much joy it brought me when I first posted. 

When I first started writing, I thought that I wouldn’t have a place. Yet in a very short span of time, I was welcomed with open arms and people started to tune in regularly for my fics. I had been given many nicknames such as Gruvia goddess, angst queen, satan (yes I know the fic0 and well even Star. 

During my darkest moments, my mind lingered to my writing and to my internet friends. without hesitation I could message someone and feel better and be given the reassure I need. I can't even begin to say how much it means to me that people actually enjoy my writing and even me as a person. 

I thank each of you for giving me a joy that was considered a luxury at one point and allowing me to write whatever I wanted and you took it with love and made me happier than I have been in years. To all the people who made art or wrote me something, it means so much to me. 

Im not saying that this fic is my greatest but I think it has a special place because It shows the growth over time. 200 fics is a lot and whether or not they were all good, it doesn't matter because I did that and I can say that im proud. Im sorry for all that sappy shit but I wouldn't be where I am without you all. 

-Star <3 

ps: im not dying or stop writing fics im just happy lol 

---

  “There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a               heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.”

― Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever

---

It was the nights like these that she hated most. The cold would creep through the blankets and make her shiver as her eyelids hung heavy. She could be ready to rest, let the sweet dreams guide her but instead those dark intrusive thoughts toyed with her like a fly on a freshly woven web. They would sprout out of nowhere, tangled with thorns and hold her mind hostage as it injected its sickly venomized thoughts for the night.

She always wondered how she got this far. She was one of the highest members of Phantom Lord, her abilities had rarely been matched. If she desperately craved, she could walk down the hallways and strike fear into the other members, no one could touch her. Hierarchies became a custom here. Once you made it to the top after clawing your way with blood, sweat and probably more blood, you were a god. Yet she walked in and in the next few minutes she was at the table with the master, already receiving a promise that she was special, a delicate and useful ally for the guild.

Special. What a swollen lie that turned out to be.

Maybe that's why she never bothered to search for a light, something to cure the rain. For every life she had bruised or ended, she wanted to feel the pain that followed. She needed to know the consequence of her actions, to be held accountable for ruining another family or taking something from the innocent. Instead she was celebrated.

The days turned to months and she found herself years later not knowing what anything meant anymore. Life used to be black and white. She would walk the side of the kind and good and now she was treading through a swarm of a morally gray compound.

These restless nights, she loathed them but then again, suffering was something that came naturally to her. The only person to ever knock her down was herself.

She climbed out of bed, fuzzy slippers over her feet as she walked to the bathroom. Her headache had worsened and she stared into the mirror. She had looked at herself a thousand times but… have her eyes always been that blue? No, she was tired and her vision was fuzzy, she was fine. Cold water came to her hands as she turned on the facet and splashed her face. Everything was the same as it always was. Expect for today.

Her order was simple. Defeat whoever stood in her way and make sure the Phantom Lord got Lucy Heratfilia. Why did they want some mage? She didn’t know but she was never one to second guess her orders. To go against what she was told was a waste of time, she would have been dead by the end of the day if she did. She had once believed that they accepted her with open arms, that Phantom Lord truly cared about her well being. It was a lie. A bitter sweet lie she allowed to remain in her head.

Hundreds of opponents had come before her. She was accustomed to the way of a battle and had harnessed her skill at a young age. The pure power of the rain pushed her further. She had an unlimited amount of power around her, unlike others, they would run out of fuel. She began to crave that god-like power. Allow the storm to rage on, all she had was herself and the droplets that followed. She understood she was an outcast. Love was never an option, not for someone who brought gloom everywhere.

But this afternoon, fate was a funny thing. She walked onto that rooftop, winning was the only thing on her mind, but he was there. A man who didn’t back down, a man who saw her as an equal.

Her heart began to race. It was forgien and she wasn’t sure if she liked it. She had felt attraction before but this, this was different. Something as small as a single glance had already spun her mind into a muddled mess. It would have been better if she turned around, if he didn’t engage in the fight. Then maybe she wouldn’t be thinking of him like this.

Love at first sight. That wasn’t real. No one could possibly have that happen. What could drive someone's emotion so wild that they become attached to a person in such a short time? And yet it happened. He stood there waiting for the next move and she could only gaze at him with rose colored glasses.

An enemy. A traitor. That's what she would be if she dared to let him escape. She couldn’t hestatite, she never did and now she was frozen in her spot as ice magic danced around her. Peoples magic and abilities never intrigued her, but this, this was beyond anything she had seen.

The light reflecting off of the ice as her droplets froze before her eyes was breathtaking and she hardly noticed that she was losing the battle. She never thought rain could look, dare she say, beautiful? But in this state of its frozen glory, it was all she could think about. She envied those who never had to stay in the rain, a jealousy she didn’t want to admit had festered over the years and she gave up trying to despise the element. But before her was something much more than the state she was accustomed to. Ice. The solid purity of her own and she had wondered what it would be like to hold it in her hands.

She had water locked him, pulled out all of the stops and even with that, he stood again and again. He had screamed that the water was boiling, burning his skin but never before had the water gone above warm. It was usually ice cold on the tipping point of freezing but she could feel the warmth surrounding her.

It shocked her just the same. She had heard people talk about feeling the sun kiss their skin, the warmth spreading as they walked, this was the closest she had felt to that. This warm rush of water was beyond what she had known and yet even as it tinged her hands it felt good, it felt freeing, it felt right.

It burned in a way she had craved for so long. Something other than the fridgeness she had grown used too.

She stared at her reflection in her mirror, tears brimming her eyes. How could one person she just met bring her something she had never felt before? She shut the light out in the bathroom and walked back to her bed, passing her window, she stopped and turned.

Above in the sky was the moon. A soft white glow surrounded the orb that she had never seen before. It was breathtaking. A cosmic power the normal people of the world didn’t dare to worship now became a luxury. The sky was clear and she could see the stars, she could sense them all. How could she have lived her entire life never once seeing the moon and the sun? She had been cursed to live in the rain forever.

But he-he made it stop.

When he grabbed her arm, it was like time had stopped. As if everything she had ever known was washed away and all she could see was a bright light encasing him. She was content knowing her death was coming, there was hardly a reason for her to live. Perhaps she wasn't even living, just surviving day after gloomy day.

He pulled her to safety, her back against the roof as she panted heavily. Those clouds above her moved like a curtain for a show, parting just so that she could see the enchanting mystery she had always craved.  

She had never known a blue sky till then. The brightness was almost unbearable as she stared into a sky she had never known. So many emotions flooded her head but it was clear as those ice crystals that her heart was beating for him. She was his enemy, they made that clear from the start but he hadn’t hesitated to save her. He showed a mercy she had never come across.

Another tear fell as she sat on her bed.

“He saved Juvia.” She whispered to herself. A horrific thought came to her. Would she have saved him? She didn’t want to know the outcome because deep down she believed she was good. Beneath the surface of unremosle power, there was that scared little girl who never had anyone to care for her.

The amount of days she sat in that orphanage alone sewing her dolls and praying that the rain stopped one way or another, it was as if she couldn’t remember it. He had done the impossible. He showed her the sky she hadn’t seen. He had shown her kindness.

A thought came to mind as she stood and packed her things. No more would she be known as “the rain woman”. No more would gloom be her only trait. She was determined to find something much more appealing than those bowing by fear. She wanted love. She wanted that warmth of the water constantly and the feeling of the sun on her skin. She understood it now. There was a power strong than her, stronger than any wizard that surrounded the other guild.

She had vowed to be done with love. Promised herself that no man could hurt her again. She was trembling at the thought of being vulnerable once more. The only time she felt warmth was the scorching burn of a fiery rejection and words that burned like lava. It was too much for someone to handle. So she pushed it down, locked the key and threw it as far as she could. The temptation though. The idea of letting her guard down for someone, someone she barely knew? How she fantasized of that moment. She had once believed that someone of her past had done that, but they were all the same. Ashamed of the rain, the rain she caused, the pain she brought.

And after their fight when she collected herself and tried to run back towards her guild, he stopped her.

“For what it's worth I think you’re an incredible wizard. You may not want to believe that your guild is dark and bad but, Fairy Tail is always open.” He had said it with such sincerity that she wasn’t sure if it were true.

“Juvia thinks your magic is just as powerful.” She had said before he gave her a smile and turned away to go back to his other guild mates.

And here she stood, a suitcases packed in the night and a note left on the desk. This guild didn’t deserve any words. Not when they feasted on her ability. Harvested those negative emotions and almost made her fall into the deep end.

She knew what they would say. They would call her a coward. A traitor and a worthless wizard, at first it was enough to stop her. Make her stay and perhaps bring back the clouds. However what he said stuck in her mind.

“I would rather die fighting than let your guild have Lucy! She is one of us and we don’t leave anyone behind.”

Without hesitation he made it clear that every member of the guild was valued no matter how long they had been there, they were a family. If something like that would have happened, if she were threatened, her guild would let her die without a second thought.

Never again would she allow someone to have a hold over her. She spent too many years sheltered by pain and deviation to go on like that.

She grabbed her bag and closed her door.

--

Juvia stood in front of the door. The morning would be better to do this but it was beyond dark outside and she didn’t want her intrusive thoughts pulling her back to her old guild. Softly she knocked, maybe hoping that he wouldn’t hear it and force her back to the isolation of fear.

The open clicked open and her eyes widened slightly as a sleepy Gray leaned against the door frame, shirtless and rubbing his eyes.

“Juvia?” He blinked and watched as her cheek puffed out in red. He looked down to see that he was only in his underwear and let out a yelp as he grabbed a blanket off the chair. “What are you doing here?”

“Um Juvia thought.” She paused and looked towards the ground. “Actually Juvia apologies for disturbing you.” Her back was to him and she began to walk away.

“Wait!” His hand caught hers and he pulled slightly. A jolt of warmth spread through her, burning her like a thousand suns as well as the chill of ice from his own temperature. She looked back at him, eyes wide and lips parted. “Juvia, please just tell me.”

“Such kindness.” She whispered to herself. Her heart rate sped up just like it did earlier and she swallowed a breath. “Juvia was wondering…why did you save her?”

His hand dropped her as if he were shocked that she would dare question his action.

“I wasn’t going to let you die. Enemies or not, I don’t think you deserved that fate. I don’t believe that you are this evil person your guild made you out to be. To be honest when you fell, you look like you didn’t care what happened and I guess I saw myself in you.”

“You saved Juvia because you know what it's like?”

“To feel lost and hopeless I guess.” He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Sometimes it's hard thinking you deserve to live, that it would be better to harbor all the pain of your past. I don’t know everything about you but that look in your eyes. I couldn’t let you go knowing that there was a brighter future ahead.”

A tear dripped from her eye. Her smile was soft as hugged her arms to her body. “You knew Juvia would join the guild.”

“Well I wouldn’t say I knew, but I was hoping that you would. If you still want to, that is.”

“Juvia would be honored.” She bowed respectfully towards him.

Gray smiled and bowed back. His eyes faced the sky looking towards the moon. “Have you ever seen it?”

“Tonight would be the first. Juvia thinks the stars are remarkable.”

“Lucy knows alot about them, I think you two would be good friends.”

Juvia shook her head as regret twisted in her stomach. “Juvia accepts your kindness and compassion but she doesn’t know if the rest will. Juvia was her rival, she understands if everyone doesn’t see her as a friend.” She frowned slightly.

A laugh came from the ice mage's mouth. “That's the thing about Fairy Tail, no matter where you come from or what your past may have held, there's always going to be a friend waiting.”

Juvia nodded. “Thank you Gray. Juvia will talk to your guild master tomorrow.”

“Like I said before. You’re an incredible wizard, you’ll be just fine.” He winked.

“Have a nice night.”

“You too.”

She watched as he entered his house before turning around and walking towards her hotel. Her shoulders felt lighter and she held her head high for the first time. This was her step in the right direction, this was where her new life began.

Time had slowed and allowed her to pause. A beautiful revelation she never knew could exist came to mind as she just realized that she was in love.

---

She looked down at her leg in the mirror. The voices behind her had faded to the background as she became entranced with the mark of Fairy Tail.

“The blue suits you.” She turned to see Gray standing there with a smile as he was focused on her guild mark.

To say that she was grateful was an understatement. Her mask she wore like a crown had shattered. It unravels in his hands as the months went on and all that was left was the person she wanted to be. She could finally let go of her ghosts, her darkness and begin to forgive herself.  

---

“What do you think?” He asked her as the white sky fell with snow.

Gray had told her of a special spot he used to go to when the first snow came. Past the forest was a clearing of grassy hills that would soon become a winter wonderland. Laid out on one of the hills was a blanket and a few lanterns.

She held her hand out and felt the tiny snowflakes collect on her hand. He sat behind her, one arm snaked around her waist while the other hand rose above hers and created a small flurry of snowflakes.

“Breathtaking.” She gushed. This was the first time she had seen snow fall. Her eyes followed the ice magic as it formed a heart and blew into the sky joining the other flurries. She turned so she could meet his eyes and his normal content face was replaced with a smile.

He leaned forward until their noses touched briefly. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” He said and she only had a moment to process his words as his lips landed on hers and her eyes fluttered close.

Her hand went to his cheek as she leaned towards him, her energy matching his and all she could hear was the thumping of her heart. She would be embarrassed to say that she might have dreamt of this moment a little too much but it didn’t matter now. All she knew was that her beloved felt the same.

---

For once she was happy to hear a cry. That little whimper bubbling from the baby's mouth, her baby, she was in disbelief. Perfection was a rarity. No one was perfect, but the being with a tuft of dark blue hair and grey eyes would beg to differ. A child was never in her future. The thought came up randomly but the idea of raising a family wasn’t even a question.

During her missions in her old guild, she would walk past a family. She would see happy faces on everyone and would only be filled with envy and hatred. Disgusting was what it was. How could you love someone else when there was no love for you?

But times change. She would see others holding their child's hand and feel a warmth in her heart at how the children beamed up at their parents. She could sense the love all around them and would smile herself, hoping that it might become a reality for herself.

She would wake in the middle of the night, not from her demons but for her new reason to live. He would babble and tug at the locks of her hair and giggle when water magic danced before his young eyes.

---

It was nights like these that loved the most. The soft rays of moonlight casting shadows through her window as silk sheets wrapped around her bare form. She used to spend nights alone, only her pillow to catch her tears and now delicate fingers trail her backside as she listens to the thumping of his heart. His chest rises and falls as her own follows the rhythm. Her eyes flutter close as her tiredness grows untils it's interrupted by a cool press of lips under her ear.

A peaceful sigh leaves her lips as she tilts her head up to meet dark eyes gazing at her. Flushed cheeks was something she wore often and she lifted off of him to move further up and meet his lips with hers. He pulls her back to him, hating the emptiness between them and adores the way she shivers when his thumb traces her guild mark.

Their love was honest and raw. She had learned that nights like those in the past would haunt him as well. They would keep him up and plague his thoughts with images of death and destruction. But now, they lingered in the shadows, always there but something brighter and beautiful guarded them to peace and she focused on the way he breathed her name then the tears that dropped.

There was an overwhelming amount of happiness that she had gathered after all the years she spent in Fairy Tail. She found friendship and family bonds. Love in all forms that she cherished deeply. Her powers were seen as a gift to help others and lend a hand, not twisted into medled lies that she had spent so long untangling.

Her lips pulled from his slowly and their breaths settled between them. When she looked at Gray she found something more. She had freedom and rebirth. Forgiveness and lust wrapped into something more than love. Their bond was stronger than she could have ever dreamed and when he left kisses over her skin she wanted nothing more in life than to stay frozen in this moment.

He did the impossible. He opened a door, shined a light through her darkness and allowed her to accept the fact that she did deserve to live. She could cherish moments and keep them as her own without the threat of corruption. Her life was now her own to command and she did it with such grace and beauty that Gray couldn’t imagine her being any different. 

“I love you.” He promised and there was no doubt in her mind that he meant it.

“I love you too.” She responded.

The beautiful truth was that she was finally at peace and loved herself. 

---

I hope that you all enjoyed and thank you for being so lovely <3

[sweetestlamb]

All I Want for Christmas is You- Part 2

Summary: Mun-yeong realizes somethings about herself and gets an unforgettable Christmas. . 

Author's note: Thanks for all the love for part one, part two made my heart ache a lot while writing and there’s only one more part to come! Once you finish this part it will be pretty obvious what the next part will be LOL but thanks for joining me on this Christmas journey y’all. HAPPY READING. 

Trigger warning: mentions of child neglect, domestic abuse. Don’t read if those are triggering to you, do what’s best for you. 

It's her fault, she knows that entirely, she was the one to get her hopes up. When she came home and saw the suitcases on the ground, her heart beat skyrocketed thundering through her brittle ribcage babum babum it thumped as she dropped her backpack on the ground and ventured further into the lavish space. Fingers lightly caressed the matte black case as her eyes darted around looking for any signs of humanity.

Glasses.

On the pristine clear center table sat her father's reading glasses. The ones he would perch on the edge of his nose while he would look over his blueprints, nudging them up with a single digit when they slid down the bridge of his nose.

"Father?" The foreign word left her tongue, a word she hadn't uttered for months. She spun around desperately longing to catch even a glimpse of the elusive figure.

There was a distant sound of a door opening and then her father stood there in the hallway. Her lungs almost collapsed as she struggled to complete a simple bodily function she'd mastered since birth.

"Mun-yeong."

That was all he said. And it was the sweetest sound, suddenly flashbacks washed over her of running to meet her father by the door when he would arrive home. He would lift her up and spin her around, her gleeful squeals bouncing off the mansion walls. He would ask her about her day and tickle her little belly before she could answer.

Once upon a time they'd been happy. Too happy. She'd spent so much of her life laughing, maybe that was why the universe was balancing it out now. Before Gang-tae crashed into her world she had no reason to smile.

Flashes of her huddled under her blankets listening to the screams of her parents in the kitchen below, her mother's manic screech as she accused her father of cheating. Her father's adamant denials and then the metal crashes, her mother always became physical, bruises would litter her father's body. Then one day her mother was just gone. Without a single goodbye suddenly she was motherless. But she still clung to the idea of having her father, his love would be the balm on her wounds.

Then he moved them to the city, busy and bustling with life and movement and her eyes widened with wonder and she thought this would be their new beginning.

Her father took countless business trips, so much so that she never saw him, would glare at the other girls at the father daughter events. Remembered shoving a group of girls who called her an orphan, the rage singing through her blood.

Sang-in was hired soon after and she was a demon, she knew it and reveled in making his life a living life. She was demanding and bratty, crying and screaming in equal terms but he was persistent, disgustingly patient. He would smile at her antics fondly and never rise to her bait. Without her permission he was the first one that came to her mind when something good happened in her life.

When she'd written her first story, a morbid thing about consuming the things you loved, it had gone missing temporarily and then popped up in the visor of his car. When she demanded to know why he took her story his only response was, "It deserved to be shown off." She'd scoffed at the sentimental response twisting away to wipe at moisture that escaped.

So all in all it was her own fault for expecting something from someone who had given up on her a long time ago. Who she should have given up on too.

So she'd stood there silently with her father, deep wrinkles marring his skin.

Waiting.

"I didn't think you'd be home, I should have called first. I just came to get some important things, I have another business trip. Switzerland."

Important things. She took in the ties and pens in his hands, carefully folded clothes and sketches. Those were the objects he'd considered important here, she was discarded and left behind but those objects they were essential.

She wanted to scream, to hurl words at him like knives, slicing him up into shreds just like his words had done to her heart.

"Okay."

She collected her bag off the floor, walking past the stranger in the room without a second glance. It wasn't until she heard the front door close that she finally allowed the emotions simmering below the surface to erupt.

The decorations had been the final straw. It was salt on her festering wound.

She didn't expect Gang-tae to show up, thought that he too would forget about her existence. But instead he had tilted her world off axis, uttering words that her ears hadn't heard for years.

Love.

She didn't know what she felt for him exactly, she needed him that much she knew. She knew her jealousy and possessiveness wasn't healthy, knew that he wasn't hers, he wasn't an object or something she could own. But she wanted to. Wanted to lock him away and keep him to herself, there would be other Ju-Ri's- pestering ants- ready to steal him away and she wanted to smash them all to pieces. But did that translate to love, was she even capable of such a fragile emotion?

She falls asleep in his arms, rocked into a fitful sleep as he strokes her head whispering sweet nothings into her starved ears. She wakes up bewildered in her plush bed, thick blanket tightly tucked around her frame. When she ventures out into the living room after brushing her teeth and brushing her tangled hair, the sight of her boyfriend with an apron around his broad chest is enough to knock away some of the ice around her heart.

"What are you doing? You didn't go home?" Her voice is sleep laden and raspy even to her ears and she watches with feminine satisfaction as a chill runs down his body.

Twisting to meet her eyes, he locks eyes with her. The warmth in his deep orbs could rival that of the sun. It's almost painful to look at.

"Good morning. I didn't want to leave you. I called my mom last night, told her I was staying with Jae-su. How are you feeling?"

Like shit. Her eyes are sore and her throat is scratchy like she swallowed a bucket of sand.

He nods as if she spoke words, reading her face like an open book.

"Here." He hands her a cup of tea. "The soup will be ready soon and the rice is finished. Can you get us some plates and chopsticks?"

She absently listens to his requests, getting what they need on autopilot before sitting at the table and watching him move comfortably in her kitchen. After a minute of stirring and tasting he deigns the soup perfect and he brings the hot pot over to the table, before going back to scoop fluffy white rice into a deep round bowl.

The aroma perfumes the space with smells of spice and warmth, and she watches as he serves the food, handing it to her first.

"I hope you enjoy the meal."

She can't remember the last time someone made food for her, the closest thing she has is room service and one time Sang-in made a grilled cheese for her, too burnt around the edges and the cheese not all the way melted but she'd seen the treat on an American drama and demanded it.

"Thank you." She replies barely a whisper feeling vulnerable before him, he's seen her at her worst so many times but for some unfathomable reason he hasn't left. Unlike Sang-in he's not getting paid so she truly doesn't understand.

The first sip of soup is delicious, salty and thick with chunks of fish, potatoes and soft tofu. She hums at the flavor eagerly going back in for more, stuffing giant spoonful's of rice into her mouth until her cheeks puff out.

His airy chuckle breaks her single minded focus and she peers up at him inquisitively.

"What?"

"You're cute." He shrugs, looking her right in the eyes as if he isn't the same boy who blushes when she holds his hands.

"Cute? I'm not cute. And why are you so brave lately?" His confession replays in her mind, her traitorous heart thumping away frantically in recollection.

This time he does pause, putting down his spoon and looking at her over the  table with a serene little smile on his achingly handsome face.

"Love makes you brave."

She chokes on air, sputtering and coughing at his boldness again.

His laugh is loud and booming this time, rattling her bones and then he dives back into his soup with a happy chuckle.

"We're leaving after we eat. Wear something warm."

"Don't tell me what to do." She fires back. But she walks off to her room to change after slurping the last bits of the soup, ignoring his amused brows and knowing smile. Annoying.

He's changed too when she comes back out and she looks at him confused.

"I had Sang-tae meet me with a change of clothes earlier."

She wonders what time he woke up to do all these errands and why he's even going through all this trouble for her, she's not worth it.

But he looks gorgeous as ever in an emerald green turtleneck and dark wash jeans, his eyes are positively gleaming as he looks at her. She's swaddled in a cashmere cream sweater that hangs over her thick plaid skirt and tights. The way his eyes graze over her form makes her warm and she escapes before he can burn her up.

As she bends to tug on her winter boots she feels his presence behind her, he tugs her backwards into his hold. She immediately stiffens at the affection, unprepared for it.

"You look pretty."

Her heart flutters at the soft words whispered directly into her ears and she scoffs, leaning back further into his embrace.

"Why are you so mushy today?"

He hums instead of replying, suddenly spinning her around and she almost falls at the rapid move. He catches her with a strong grip on her waist.

"I really want to kiss you."

Her breath hitches as she gazes up at him, taking in his hungry stare and red lips. She reaches out to latch onto his sides, tugging him closer until their faces are inches apart.

"Do what you want."

He doesn't need to be told twice and almost instantly he's devouring her, licking at the remnants of soup on her tongue. She rises on her tiptoes to fully meet his passionate embrace, his love driving out all the cold that still stubbornly remained. His hands slide into her soft tresses as he bites at her plump bottom lip, sucking the sore flesh into his hungry mouth. A moan escapes her throat and she can feel how his fingers tighten on her scalp. When they break apart, he looks dazed running his tongue across his lips as if chasing her taste. It lights a fire in her belly.

"Okay now we can go."

"What the hell is this place?" She sneers looking around in contempt at the beaming families.

"A tree farm. I come here every year to pick out a tree with my family. I wanted to pick one with you."

She turns around walking away, skin crawling from being in such a place. He must have lost his mind. But he catches her hand in a large clasp and when she looks back vehemently, she meets his puppy dog eyes and pleading bottom lip.

"Please?"

She's not going to fall for that, he's not even that cute. No, she's definitely leaving and locking her door and telling security but to let anyone up.

"What about that one?" He inquires dragging her to another tree, identical to the one before it.

"They all look the same, I don't care. You pick." She whines for the hundredth time about ready to stomp and throw a tantrum like a child they'd walked past earlier.

He shakes his head and walks away again spewing some crap about finding the perfect tree for her. And then she spots a crooked tree in the corner, far away from the other trees. It's a decent size but it leans slightly to the right and the pines aren't as full as the other trees they've seen. It looks discarded and abandoned as a family walks past it, "Definitely not this one. Who would want an ugly tree like this? They all snigger. Something like sympathy swirls in her belly and she catches Gang-tae's eyes.

"I want that one."

He nods asking no questions, "It's perfect. I'll go get someone to pack it up for us."

It's not until they have the tree wrapped and tied that she remembers that they took a cab here.

"How are we going to carry this thing home?"

Gang-tae looks up from his phone with a smile before a car horn sounds behind them.

"With help." He points behind her and when she turns around she meets the grinning face of one Lee Sang-in, waving from the front seat. He hops out and immediately picks up the tree going back to strap it to the hood of the car.

Then he opens the car door for her with a bow, "Young mistress. It's good to see you."

She rolls her eyes at the title, he hasn't called her that since she was young and wanted to pretend she was a princess.

She hears Gang-tae thank him quietly before sliding into the car right after her, their thighs pressed closely together.

"Where to now? Sang-in asks adjusting his mirror

"Hom--"

"The mall." Gang-tae interrupts and she looks at him in surprise. "It's part of your experience, trust me?"

She doesn't respond but it scares her that her heart immediately says "yes", she does trust him.

When they reach the mall he grabs her hand again, pulling her out with a quick "See you later" directed at her driver, who nods in response driving off to find parking.

"Why are we here? I don't need anything."

He looks at her mysteriously before speaking, "You're going to buy gifts for the important people in your life."

Her father's voice echoes in her head and bile collects in her throat. He must notice the shift in her mood because he pulls her close.

"Shhhh. Not them. The important people in your life. The people who you love."

"Who....who I love?"

He drags her away from his hold and looks into her eyes softly brushing her cheeks.

"Yes. The people who make you happy. Only think about that."

Nodding she finally breaks from his embrace and steps into the mall, it's busy and crowded but Gang-tae uses his body as a shield and the shopping begins. By the time they leave the sun has began it's descend, vivid yellows and pinks painting the sky.

As if summoned the car pulls up by their feet, Sang-in hopping out to open her door once again.

This time when they both get in he doesn't ask them for directions and starts the familiar route back to her place. Head too heavy with ideas she stares aimlessly out the window, too overwhelmed to converse to Gang-tae.

When they reach her apartment she is unprepared for the sight that greets her.

On the sidewalk standing in the blistering cold are Sang-tae, Seung-jae, Jae-su, and Gang-tae's mother. They all begin to wildly wave when they see the car pull up.

"What?" She barely gets out before Gang-tae is tugging her from the car. Bounding over to the small group.

His mother is the first to speak, "Interesting how you slept at Jae-su's house but here you are at Mun-yeong's apartment." Her face is hard as ice while looking at her son but it melts to the warmest smile when she sees Mun-yeong. She ignores her son's breathless excuses and his older brother's mischievous sniggers at his little brother's discomfort.

"Oh Mun-yeong don't you look pretty? You must be cold, let's head up." The woman links their elbows and begins to tug her into the building. Seung-jae skips along with them happily linking arms from the other side and introducing herself to Gang-tae's mother.

Behind her she misses Sang-in trying to leave only for her boyfriend to block him, dragging him along with the group.

"So fancy." Gang-tae's mom whispers looking around, clutching at her threadbare sweater looking self-conscious and Mun-yeong tightens her hold.

"I like your house better." She says honestly, thinking about how much love is soaked in every surface of the small home. The smile she receives is better than all the riches in the world.

It's not until she reaches her front door that she remembers the mess she left behind, turning to Gang-tae with terrified eyes she looks for help.

He smiles at her, shaking his head and waving her in.

With trembling fingers she pushes the key into the hole and opens the door.

It looks at neat as ever, not a decoration in sight but all the broken glass and tinsel is gone. It looks reborn.

Breathing out a breathe she didn't release she was holding she steps inside, there aren't enough slippers for everyone- she's never had this many people over- and Sang-in rushes off to get extras from the front desk.

"Well, let's get started." Gang-tae's mom says, opening a large box she was clutching in her hand. Inside are the prettiest ornaments she's ever seen, homemade ones and lopsided ones that look like they were created by a child's hand.

As if reading her mind the woman lifts one bringing it closer to Mun-yeong before leaning in as if sharing a secret, "Gang-tae made this for me when he was six. He was so proud to show it off. Every year we put it on the tree, it deserves to be shown off."

The motherly pride bursting from her eyes steals Mun-yeong's voice and she remembers when someone said those very same words to her. Finding his eyes in the room, the urge to hug him washes over her but too frightened by her own emotions she hugs herself tightly instead.

"It's pretty."

And then it's a whirlwind of movement, Gang-tae's mother putting everyone to work- the men are setting the tree up in a corner by the window, while Seung-jae is on decorating duty leaving her on chopping duty in the kitchen.

"I'm not very good with a knife." She admits, embarrassed by her uselessness, it's clear that Gang-tae and Sang-tae were taught to be self-sufficient, both comfortable in the kitchen.

Instead of chastising her the woman takes the knife she was holding awkwardly in her hands.

"You need to hold it like this unless you'll chop those dainty little fingers off, I hear you're a writer so be extra careful. Just hold it like this and let the knife do the work." She models as she instructs Mun-yeong slicing the carrots into perfect rounds, before handing the utensil back to her.

"Try."

And so she does and they're nowhere near as perfect, not as even but they aren't too bad and pride sears under her skin.

"I did it."

"They look great. Keep going just like that." The praise makes her light-headed and she keeps chopping, wide smile spread across her lips.

"Hey Mun-yeong-ah, do you like this here?" Seung-jae calls from her spot on the couch, standing on it to put a sparkling string of snowflakes draping from the curtains.

She nods in reply. Too choked up to find her voice.

Her friend looks at her with warm knowing eyes before turning back to her decorations.

"We should let Mun-yeong put the star on top. Hey, Mun-yeong we're done over here, you wanna put the finishing touch?" Jae-su calls out to her, bits of tinsel lost in his hair as he waves her over to the almost completely decorated tree. The lights are twinkling, reflecting beautifully in the glass and she steps forward with her heart firmly lodged in her throat.

She stands in front of the tree, staring up at the empty spot for the star.

Gang-tae places it in her hand, his thumb gently swiping across her trembling skin.

"Here I'll help." Sang-in whispers, stepping behind her and lifting her off her feet so she can reach the top of the tree. Tears glisten in her eyes as she finally places the star on top.

"It's perfect." Her voice is too soft, she doubts anyone heard it.

But then they all explode in a small applause.

"It looks great Mun-yeongie! Nice job!" Sang-tae calls out, clapping the loudest before meandering off to try to steal food from the kitchen.

They all snigger at his pained "ow!" as he's thwarted once again by his watchful mother.

By the time they're sitting down to enjoy the feast her mind is going a mile a minute, listening to the rambunctious conversations around her as her world collides with Gang-tae's. She's never sat at this dining table before, opting to eat her meals in the safety of her room. But now she understands why others do this, eat together. It makes her fuller than the food she's shoveling into her mouth.

"One more minute." Sang-tae says loudly checking his watch.

When the clock strikes twelve, all is moving and she's passed from arm to arm until she's finally in familiar arms, Moon Gang-tae. He rocks her side to side as he tucks his head into her hair.

"Merry Christmas Mun-yeong, I love you."

She clings to him, emotions bubbling up as she fights back her tears. I love you. She thinks it loudly in her mind, this must be what love is. The way that she feels about him has to be love, it's too big to be anything else. She's certain.

"You don't need to say anything. Just know that I'm not going anywhere. That's love. It doesn't ever leave."

All these damn confessions. He'll be the death of her.

"Annoying."

He giggles before pulling away to hug his mom and Seung-jae fills his void, lifting her off her feet and she can't stop the cheerful laugh that explodes out of her.

She's happy.

They all clean up, pushing her on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate with large marshmallows. And then she realizes they're all going to leave, she's going to be alone again.

Cold icy dread fills her gut until the inevitable moment comes.

"We're all done. It's pretty late. We should start heading out." That's Gang-tae's mother as she packs away her things neatly and Mun-yeong wants to get down on her knees and beg them all to stay.

She's pulled into a warm embrace again.

"You make sure to come over often okay? We need to practice your chopping skills and fatten you up, you’re too skinny.” 

It's not a question but she still nods letting the woman hug her and Sang-tae ruffles her hair, punching at her chin and asking her to keep Gang-tae in line, she smirks in response nodding.

Seung-jae hugs her and promises to text when she gets home, skipping out the door to catch her taxi.

Gang-tae kisses her head and she presses her face into his neck, "Thank you."

He hugs her closely, breathing her in before twin coughs cause them to break apart.

He rubs his neck bashfully under the hard looks from his mother and Sang-in.

With a final bow, Gang-tae leaves with his family. But not before promising to come over tomorrow. Love never leaves, it always comes back.

Then it's just her and her driver.

"He's a good kid. Did you have fun today?"

She turns to look at him with wet eyes, tears finally falling after all the kindness she was shown today.

"Sang-in," she chokes out, "Why didn't you ever quit?"

He looks at her curiously before walking to sit on the couch, patting the cushion next to him in invitation. After a moment she sits down beside him melting into his arm around her shoulder.

"You were such a demon." He finally speaks and she turns to stare at him, his eyes are filled with fondness. "You were demanding and I was scared to come to work sometimes honestly, I did think about quitting once. Just once. But then I read that story you wrote, do you remember?"

She sniffles, "Yeah. The girl who ate everything."

He nods in agreement, "The girl in that story was so lonely that whenever she made a friend she would swallow them whole. Or they would run away. I knew that girl just needed someone to show her that you don't need to own everything you love. They can just live beside you, loving you too."

"I bought you a gift." She pulls away, brushing away her tears to collect the gift that Gang-tae helped her wrap in her room when everyone was busy.

She runs off to get the gift and brings it back to Sang-in, thrusting it at his chest. He looks at her with wide eyes before grabbing the shiny red square.

He opens it gently, peeling away the tape instead of ripping the paper, reverence in his very move.

He stares at the black box before prying it open.

Two buttery soft leather gloves stare back at him.

The gift feels stupid and too little in the wake of the words he just said to her and she's about to tell him that she'll get him something better and this isn't his real gift, she's never done this Christmas thing before she needs practice and--

"I love them."

He slips the driving gloves out of the box, sliding them over his calloused hands.

"Thank you Mun-yeong."

His reaction forces her to be honest with him, "I want you to be my driver for a long time. So you need to take care of your hands."

He nods softly, "Yes. I'll make sure that I do."

"I also got you this. If it's too weird you don't have to use it."

It had caught her eye at the mall, seeing it on others before but knowing she would never get to give it to anyone. But then Gang-tae had been there telling her to get it, she looked at him like he was insane but he insisted, "You know who you want to give it to. Stop hesitating, your heart knows best."

So she shoves another box at him, looking away in embarrassment, not emotionally ready to watch him open it.

He gasps when he does. A loud gasp that bursts out of his chest, he leans back into the couch as if sitting is too difficult.

"I.. Mun-yeong... I don't....thank you."

#1 dad.

Those are the words on the tie that hangs from his finger, the tie is silky smooth a deep hue of blue that has bits of silver when it catches the light.

In every sense of the word he's been like a father to her. More than her own father ever has.

"He's really rubbing off on you isn't he?"

She can't argue. Without his guidance she would have never done any of this, wouldn't have looked into her own heart to find these hidden dormant emotions. 

"I think I love him."

Sang-in stills before brushing her hair behind her ears, "Then I'm not the one you should be telling. Love should be expressed. “ 

“I will. I’m going to tell him.” 

Tomorrow can't come soon enough. She has to tell him how she feels.

I'm in love with Moon Gang-tae.

[owl-with-a-pen]

Hola querida! We need a story where brainy says something along the lines of “touch her and I’ll kill you” or “don’t you dare touch her..” we don’t see many instances of protective boyfriend brainy.

- I was trying to think of a scenario for this for a while, but 6x03 gave me an intriguing idea. Thanks for the prompt! x

Brainy had expected this task to be easy.

After all, compared to every other thought track currently running simultaneously through his mind, gathering a box of belongings from Lena’s old workplace hardly needed space for consideration.

Brainy understood why Lena didn’t want to face Luthor Corp again, certainly not to collect the meagre selection of knick-knacks that one of her old assistants had no doubt scooped into a piece of cardboard for her to carry out with her tail between her legs. It was a cruelty, plain and simple, and Brainy was beginning to learn how much such cruelties stung.

So, when Lena had mentioned with offhanded distaste what she needed to do that day, Brainy was more than happy to volunteer to go in her steed. It worked in his favour, after all. Alex had been pushing him to get out of the lab for some fresh air for nearly eighteen hours - now he could fulfil her request. 

With one thought track focused on reformatting Nia’s training simulation, and another remotely accessing the Phantom Zone data map for any new leads, Brainy found he had far too much of his mind left wide open - places where far more dangerous thoughts were now encouraged to grow more often than not.

Perhaps a distraction was exactly what he required.

The office should have been empty. That’s what Lena had said, that’s what Luthor Corp’s security feed had suggested. Brainy hadn’t considered any alternative outcomes, and so the moment he’d spied Lena’s belongings sat on the table by the sofa, he’d headed there immediately.

“Not even a week without her assets and I see my sister’s already wrangled someone into doing the heavy lifting for her.”

The sound of that voice sent every nerve in Brainy’s body on edge.

He’d been doing better. Over the last few days since his talk with Lena, he’d been doing better. Giving himself an emotional outlet, allowing them to flow from him instead of being boxed inside, turning to toxic waste in his gut. He’d even found it easier to switch his attention from the television when Lex’s face predictably appeared for one of his seemingly never-ending publicity stunts.

But, that was television. That was circuits and screens, separating them from one another.

Now, Lex was stood there in the room with him, Lena’s desk acting as their only partition.

Brainy could feel Lex’s eyes on him, shark-like and hungry, waiting for his response. And so, Brainy kept his jaw locked tight, focusing his line of sight on the box and nothing else. Of picture frames and other keepsakes.

A photo of Lena and Kara stared up at him, their smiles so pure and genuine it nearly stung.

The acid in Brainy’s lungs swelled.

Aggravatingly, his lack of response only made Lex that much more talkative.

“It was an impressive hack, by the way,” Lex continued casually. “I assumed you were the mastermind behind it. Reminds me why I wanted you on Team Lex to begin with.”

Brainy stiffened. “I was never on your team.”

He shouldn’t have spoken. Shouldn’t have given in. But suddenly, all that he had done to free himself of his emotional backlog hardly seemed enough. It surged from the very depths of his uninhibited mind, hissing and spitting like vitriolic acid.

Which only seemed to make Lex’s confidence grow.

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Lex asked. “Does it help you sleep at night?”

Brainy bared his teeth.

“Oh no,” Lex said, fake sympathy dripping from his voice. “Something tells me it’s not working.”

Brainy pursed his lips, instead reaching once more for the box. His arms trembled with wasted potential, but he ignored their protests. He had a task to do. Unexpected interruptions aside, Lena was counting on him to carry it out. And he would not fail.

“Maybe it isn’t for you at all then,” Lex wondered aloud. “Maybe you sell that story for your girlfriend’s benefit.”

An ugly flash of red tinted Brainy’s vision.

“Nia, isn’t it?” Lex asked innocently. “I hear she works for CatCo, quite the up-and-coming journalist. Although, CatCo is such a troublesome place of work, isn’t it? Always getting destroyed in the crosshairs of city-wide threats. Just how long can that place go without another casualty?”

Brainy could hear the barely disguised threat behind Lex’s words.

Fresh rage bubbled inside his chest, inching closer and closer towards his heart. The box blurred from his line of focus and, in the next instant, Brainy found that he was staring directly at Lex, his fingers clenched so tightly he felt the sharp prick of his own nails digging against his flesh.

“Touch her and I’ll kill you,” Brainy said, his voice so low he barely recognised it as his own. But it was his voice, and he realised all too soon that his threat was very real.

After all, he could do it. He knew exactly how to do it. Multiple ways, in fact, flashing through his mind with startling precision, each one more elaborate and gruesome than the last. Watching the light extinguish from Lex Luthor’s eyes… nothing would make him happier.

His ancestors would revel in it. They already were, louder than ever before, melding with the rage that was corroding his lungs with every breath he took.

Some quiet part of Brainy’s mind startled at such inclinations, such a desire to be one like the bloodline he had fought so hard to renounce.

But what was one whisper against a hoard of enticing cheers?

Lex only stared at him, with that smile that never quite reached his eyes, urging him to the very edge of his emotional barriers. “Empty threats, Brainiac-5.”

That was all it took.

Brainy didn’t remember clearing the room, only that when he was fully aware of himself again, he was stood in front of Lex, his right hand gripped firmly around his throat. Every implant inside of him was fired up, ready to snap his neck at the slightest provocation. 

When a gleeful laugh tumbled from Lex’s lips, the red staining Brainy’s vision only grew stronger. He growled out, slamming Lex’s body against the reinforced windows with enough force that they shuddered inside their fixtures.

All he needed to do was activate his implants to their highest capacity, activate his ring, and he could take Lex high into the sky. He could watch the oxygen drain from his lungs. Watch his eyes bulge and swell.

Or… or he could simply drop him. Drop him down into the city he nearly destroyed, allowing him to fall with such velocity that the only thing that might remain of him on the sidewalk would be a smear of blood and bone. Like he had never been a person at all.

He had never been a person at all.

Brainy bared his teeth, looking his enemy in the eyes.

Which was when he saw it.

There was no fear there. In fact, if anything, Lex only looked deeply satisfied with what he’d done. What emotions he’d brought to the surface.

Brainy’s eyes flickered back and forth uselessly over that expression, trying desperately to make sense of it. But it… it didn’t make sense. He was threatening Lex’s life and… and he didn’t care.

No. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He was enjoying this. This game. This…

The red film washed from Brainy’s eyes all at once.

He let go of Lex’s throat, stumbling back a pace, gripping uselessly at Lena’s old desk, squeezing it numbly.

Brainy’s chest heaved.

This wasn’t him. He’d spent months now hiding from his truest self, allowing the rage of everything Lex had put him through to fester into a corrosive bile inside his chest and stomach.

But, he was not a killer. He would not turn to the darkest version of himself. He had fought far too long and hard to prove that he was not his kin. That he would never follow the path of his clan.

Lena had let Lex go. And now… now Brainy knew he must do the same.

Lex had crumpled when Brainy had removed his hand, holding tight to his throat between dramatic gasps of air. Still, he was smiling, something crazed shining in that expression. Something... desperate.

Ah. Now, Brainy believed he understood. 

Lex needed this… this sick form of attention. Without his sister, without Supergirl, he had run out of enemies to aggravate.

Perhaps it had not been happenstance that this office had been inhabited when Brainy had arrived, after all.

“You aren’t worth my attention,” Brainy said through his teeth, trying to draw in from the emotionless façade he had pulled in the past. It was far more of a struggle than it had ever been before, but it was enough to keep his voice steady.  Brainy took a step forward, watching Lex quizzically, as though he were nothing but an animal inside a cage. “My friends,” Brainy continued levelly, “my loved ones, we protect each other, but who would protect you?”

Lex blinked, the smallest furrow creasing his brow, a murmur of confusion.

Brainy’s lips twitched. “If I were to kill you, who would even care if you were gone?” He smirked. “No one.”

Brainy turned away from him then, ignoring the angry red handprint that still painted Lex’s throat, ignoring his enemy’s attempts to goad him even as he headed out the door.

Instead, he took Lena’s box.

And he walked away.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Just some general angst

I mean, it’s kind of ‘fluffy’ angst because it has a happy ending and it isn’t CRESTWOOD, but still angst. 

Enjoy a concept of Fane’s vallaslin removal. (I’m writing a follow up with smut, so shhhh!) I told you there would be tears, @oxygenforthewicked! I supplied them, even if I was somewhat tearing up the whole time writing this! 

***

“Sit down, vhenan.”, Solas directed Fane gently, holding his face between his hands with a tenderness he had long thought was wasted on him. “Let me free you from these shackles you should never have known.” Two thumbs ghosted along the high points of his cheekbones before they flicked up to trace his vallaslin - his shackles.

Fane let his eyes flutter shut at the feather light touch, reveling in the feeling of safety and warmth it gave him. He became literal putty in this man’s hands - melting, molding, and melding until their souls felt as if they were intertwined like a beautifully tied knot. To anyone else, that may seem like slavery, like the very inked bonds upon his face, but it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. This was a promise, a devotion that ran so deep he no longer knew where one end began and another ended. 

This was a vow plated in gold so, so long ago. A vow that had been shattered, forgotten, and then reforged anew with emerald fire and blue water. It would never be sundered again. Never.

Fane took a deep breath, opening his eyes slowly to see a pair of stormy blue gazing at him patiently, lovingly. The gorgeous array of blue, grey, indigo, and hints of lavender were waiting for him, but not rushing him. They housed eternity, and a sky he had turned his back on for too long. They would never end, never go completely grey. Not as long as he breathed. Not as long as he endured.  

Fane paused in his thoughts as he stared ever deeper into Solas’s eyes, watching as quiet indigo sparked within steely blue. That spark made a similar spark within his chest ignite, slamming his prior, old thoughts into the ground. No, he didn’t just endure this world, or the ignorant people within it. He didn’t just observe how that ignorance did not paint everything without feeling this same spark in his soul, or fostered guilt when otherwise there had been none. He knew more now, he knew better now. 

He lived, and everything they had been through; the tears, the triumphant victories, the soul crushing anguish, the seemingly uncrossable rifts, and the madness of a world so desperately crying for help, proved he was alive and had a place in it.

A place, but a place without being bound and shackled with chains that had always threateningly rattled in the back of his mind even when he had not known the truth. 

“I’m ready.”, Fane said after a few moments, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. Their eyes connected without hesitation, without reservation, and he couldn’t help a tiny smile from forming despite his inner trepidation. “Take the vallaslin away. Free me from this nightmare I unknowingly walked into due to forgetfulness and my own ignorance.”, he pleaded with a desperation he hadn’t known was still lying dormant within him. 

Solas’s eyes softened further at his words, the grey within swirling with age old sorrow and guilt before they shut themselves slowly. He momentarily mourned the loss of those eternity bearing eyes. He had never realized just how much he had missed them until he had realized who they belonged to once again. 

They sat in silence amid the moonlit grass and the starry bathed canopy of trees that shielded them from the world outside of this forested refuge they had found after their flight from Skyhold, from the Inquisition. Fane’s eyes idly roamed the expanse as he waited for Solas, offering the elf resting against him the same amount of time that he had offered him. He watched the quiet bobbing of fireflies as they wove up and under each other in a seemingly ritualistic dance of their own. Their gently ebbing glow lightly bringing a golden sheen to the pale green grass every time they hovered along it. 

I wonder, will my eyes look the same when the ink is taken away? Fane found himself thinking as he watched the grass take on a more verdant hue. Once upon a time, the thought of seeing his eyes in their full glory terrified him, disgusted him to the point where he’d shatter glass without fear of slicing into his fist. But now, he yearned, painfully yearned, to see them ebb and flow like the fireflies did with so much whimsical abandon. 

Fane let his gaze travel away from the dancing dopplegangers of his eyes to look upwards. The moon was out in its full glory this starry eve, bathing the world in white ivory and pale yellow. It was such a beautiful contrast to the twinkling, but dark sky that was its home. He felt his eyes go hooded as another thought flickered into his mind without a preamble.

So white. Like new fallen snow. Will my face be as glowing as ivory? Will I be unscarred, and untouched as if I had just awoken once again? As if I still had my scales? Will I be able to see every freckle and birthmark that I couldn’t, or rather, wouldn’t before? 

These questions permeated his mind like the scent of steaming water - invigorating and freeing. How far he had come. To being repulsed with his own reflection, thinking it looked so much like a monster’s he now knew he had no connection to, to desiring to see it and to never look away.

To never look away. The thought made him smile a bit more as he watched a shooting star soar across the blue-black backdrop of the night sky. Yes, he would never look away again. Not for fear or indifference. He would keep his gaze skyward as the world reflected him in two forms. 

One form would be as itself - ever reaching and boundless. And the other form..

..would be his sky - flesh and bone with a spirit so bright that he couldn’t look away even if he tried.

Fane slowly drew his gaze away from the sky above, giving it a silent nod in acknowledgment before looking at his very own expanse of eternity, who had reopened their eyes to watch him with a tender smile and a wealth of adoration. He had to clear his throat a bit as embarrassment at being watched so closely had his ears heating up a bit. Okay, maybe he would look away sometimes, but not often.

“Something interesting?”, Fane grumbled with a tiny frown, shifting his gaze back and forth between Solas and the ground below. Damn, he was getting flustered so easily now that it was just the two of them. It was refreshing to be able to indulge without constant stares, but he was still getting used to vulnerability.

Solas let out a quiet chuckle before shifting closer to him. Fane felt himself stiffen a bit as their knees brushed together, his scars jumping in protest before he forced them to relax. No, now wasn’t the time for his body to ruin things. He had accepted the pain of his body, and he would live with it. 

Live. Such a freeing word. Yes, he would live. Live, live, and live. The word made him feel light like he could fly once again.

“I am merely curious as to your conversation with the sky.”, Solas said after a few moments, voice light and soft instead of guarded and measured. It would see he wasn’t the only one to have changed with their disbandment. It was...nice, even if Fane knew they both held guilt and dread of years to come in their hearts.

Fane let out a quiet scoff, turning his gaze back to give Solas a withering glare. “I wasn’t talking to the sky.”, he said. Okay, maybe he was a little bit, but the elf didn’t need to know that.

“Mm-hm. The illumination of gold told me otherwise.”

“Do you ever stop talking? Like seriously?”

“I believe you said you enjoyed our discussions.”, the Elvhen mage quipped back with amusement, eyes surprisingly bright for once.

Fane let out a tiny growl. “Only when you aren’t being full of yourself.”

“I thought I was only asking a question. You like curiosity, correct?”

“I swear to anything that’s fucking holy, Solas...”, he warned, leveling the man with a dangerous glare that he knew wouldn’t make the other shrivel up, but he did it anyway. Force of habit.

Solas only raised an eyebrow at him, one side of his face bathed in moonlight to where many of his already sharp features appeared sharper, while the other was shrouded in gentle shadows, making those same sharp features soften as if melding with the darkness. There was a tiny knowing smirk upon his lips, stormy eyes twinkling like the stars above with mirth and tenderness, but still a form of apprehension towards what they were about to do. 

Fane’s embarrassment and grumpiness trickled away at that hint of hesitation in deep blue. He let out a quiet sigh, calming himself of his agitation before reaching down to take a hold of Solas’s hands, which had been resting on his lap as if awaiting his command and consent. Immediately, the mage’s fingers entwined with his own, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze. He let out a tiny laugh before shaking his head at that. He should have known. Leave it to this fool to worry. All the taunting and all the teasing was just Solas’s way of trying to filter that emotion out. He was starting to think that’s all his sky could manage some days.

“I’ll be fine, Solas.”, Fane said, gently tugging on their joined hands to coax Solas closer. He would be lying if he didn’t feel a smidge of anxiety towards the removal, but that was only because of the fact that he may potentially get sick. Sensitivities didn’t just go away within a year when they had been festering for ten, but it was no matter. He wanted this, and he would have it.

Solas let out a quiet sigh of his own, easily coming closer to press their foreheads together again. “I know, but the last time such magic had been so close to your mind, you--”, he trailed off, softened features hardening with painful memories.

Fane shook his head firmly, even though they were connected. “Stop. I’ll be fine.”, he reaffirmed before unraveling one of their hands to place it upon the back of Solas’s neck. “I can endure any amount of discomfort.”

“That you can. However, that does not mean I like that you must, ma’isenatha.”, Solas told him, reaching up with his own freed hand to cup his cheek reverently. “I would prefer you knew no pain.”

He rolled his eyes a bit at that before sighing gently. “You know that’s a hazy dream, Solas. Pain is a part of life. It’s embedded in the path we tread, and the one before.”, he stated before leaning in closer, brushing their lips together to whisper against them. “But so is love, and I’ll endure anything, anything, if it means that that’s what’s waiting for us in the end.”

Solas chuckled, lips curling into a smile against his own. “Such optimism. Are you sure I am the one dreaming?”, he teased.

“Maybe.”, Fane said with a light shrug before giving the lips against his a light peck. “But dreams are nice, aren’t they?”

“They are, indeed.”

“Then let’s make one seemingly unreachable dream a reality. Let’s make the world a little less grey. Let me be free.”, he offered before continuing with more determination. “So, please, free me, Fen’harel. Let me be your dragon again. Not the..”, he trailed off, motioning to his own face. “...Not the ones who enslaved me in the first place.”, he finished, huffing a breath out through his nose as an ember of anger tried to break through. He wasn’t going to get angry during this. Not this time. He wouldn’t let his creeping insanity spoil this one happy moment. 

He pulled away slowly with those words, watching as Solas’s pupils widened and then narrowed from the change in light. He had to smile a bit at that. Eyes were windows indeed, and how he loved the ones shining back at him with equal emotions of wonder, adoration, and tempered grief.

He loved the sky, and all it offered.

Solas watched him closely, steely eyes boring holes into him before a tender, but slightly sorrowful smile graced his lips. Fane felt his own widen a bit more at that, the muscles straining slightly, but he willed them to obey. It was time, he knew. 

It was time for him to be freed from the leash that ensnared him.

“You will tell me if anything is beyond bearing, understand?”, Solas said with a stern expression, his softness and unguarded smile gone to harbor seriousness. “I know this is something you desire fiercely, vhenan, but I will not put you in jeopardy if I see agony in your eyes.”

Fane felt his own face fall and harden with seriousness as he nodded once. “I understand.”, he said, even as minor irritation made him want to growl. He knew Solas was just being caring, but he wanted this more than anything right now. He wanted to see himself without a mask hiding him.

“Very well.”, Solas said before reaching up gingerly to delicately cup his face, his hands cool despite the warmth of blood rushing through them. “Take a deep breath, but do not hold it.”, he instructed.

Fane let out a tiny snort. “I know how to breathe, you ass.”

He watched with a tiny spark of mirth as Solas gave him an exasperated glare. That only made him give the other a tiny shrug before a tiny smirk broke his serious mask.

“That’s what you get for being full of yourself.”, Fane said with the same smirk, trying to ease the tension that had settled in the air around them. As much as he knew this was a serious situation, it didn’t have to be. This was a moment, and he wanted it to be light.

My, how he’s changed, hm? Who would have seen this day? Not him.

“You are insufferable.”, Solas said flatly before shifting closer, face relaxing a tiny bit. 

“You love it. Don’t lie because I can see it.”

A deep chuckle had a shiver running down Fane’s back as Solas came closer, holding his face all the while. Ohh, he had forgotten the other could make that sound. A sound that reminded him of his kin. That was a dangerous sound. 

“And I can see you love me being an ‘ass’.”, the mage shot back, the area around them beginning to glow a calming blue. “Or is it more you love my ass? I seem to recall you stating something along those lines.”

Fane grimaced slightly despite their banter, the smell of mild ozone making his mouth water with the want to expel, but he swallowed around it. “Ngh.. Shut it.. mgh..”, he said between quiet grunts. 

“Breathe, Fane. Listen to me.”, Solas gently instructed, dropping their back and forth immediately upon signs of his discomfort. “Focus on my eyes, block out all your other senses. Use your abilities, if you must, and tell me what you see.”

Fane swallowed around some rising bile, his body beginning to tremble slightly and sweat lightly as more magic was gently brushed along his face like a thin sheet. Focus on...Solas’s eyes? He wanted him to...observe him right now? Why? As a distraction maybe? Well, if it would get him through this then he’d give it go.

“I...ngh..!”, he grunted out harshly before he could even try to do what was instructed of him, feeling how the ink upon his face pulled like a bandage was slowly being peeled away. “D..Damn..”, he cursed, reaching out blindly, as his vision was blurring with pained tears, to wrap his arms around Solas’s waist. 

Ugh, how this hurt! Solas had stated it wasn’t supposed to be painful, but maybe this was just his body’s doing. It was so sensitive to magic that it spurned even the most gentle spells? How typical!

“Shh, ma’isenatha. You are doing fine.”, Solas murmured to him soothingly, easily coming closer when he pulled with insistence. “Tell me to stop and I shall.”, he offered a way out, even as methodical hands continued to work their magical cleanse. 

Fane shook his head lightly, merely tightening his hold around the mage’s waist with a gasping breath. “I..It’s fine. I..I’m fine..”, he managed to get out before blinking away the tears threatening to spill from his eyes to meet Solas’s worried, but proud ones. That nearly had Fane wanting to cry openly. Such pride. For him. He couldn’t take it, but he wanted to!

“Are you--?”, Solas began to ask, but Fane cut him off with a deep growl.

“I want this. N..No matter the agony.”, he snarled out as another wave of nauseous had him nearly ripping his head away to puke onto the pure, moonlit ground. Yes, he wanted this! He wanted this! For the first time in his life, he would proudly soak in all this pain if it meant he could be free to live!

Through his own tears and slightly blackening vision, Fane swore, for just a moment, he could see a line of dampness reflected back at him from the sky watching him. He swore he saw rain clouds beginning to roll in hues of purple-grey and deep blue. He swore he could feel droplets kiss his cheeks as the sky closed him to meet him.  

He swore Solas was crying. 

At that, gold tinted his vision, obscuring it more with its gentle brightness before it ebbed away to signify his eyes had swapped colors from emerald to gold. He watched as Solas’s whole visage nearly crumbled with more pride and more grief built love, the hands upon his face trembling for a moment to where magic washed through his it with renewed vigor. Fane bit down on his cheek, willing his eyes to stay open despite how they wished to close from the sudden surge of hot pain that bit into it. There was no turning back, no matter what Solas saw! 

With a shaky, tense movement, Fane reached up to cup Solas’s face with his hands, brushing away a few errant tears that had miraculously escaped from the stormy clouds harboring them. A sensation of warmth and relief washed through his sweating body as his earlier observation was confirmed.

“You’re crying..”, Fane murmured, stroking the mage’s damp cheeks with clumsy movements. “You’re crying with so much love within blue. Adoration with indigo. Devotion within grey. Pride within lavender.”, he rattled off each emotion as his draconic nature burst forward, wishing to soak in and freely observe every last morsel given to him. “And they..ngh..all swirl together..to make eternity.”

Solas’s expression only twisted with a sorrowful, but yet, happy smile as the aura around them brightened another fraction. There were no words, no comments, no distracting banter. His sky was watching him, just as Fane watched it. He let out a slightly choked sound, taking a deep breath as he felt more of his skin tug and unwind. It was almost over. It had to be! Almost, almost, almost!

It was warm. It was cold. It was stinging. It was soothing. It was grey. It was blue. It was eternity. It was the end. The ritual was all of these things, all of them, and he could feel how his body tingled and shook with them rather than pain. 

Come on. Come on. Come on! Fane’s mind roared like the dragon within his soul as impatience began to rear its head. They were nearly there! Nearly! The tugging was becoming less in certain places, the sting left behind no more than a memory!

Suddenly, upon those thoughts, as Fane thought he was about to pass out from how much he was gasping and sweating, it was over. No contradictory sensations. No tang of ozone tickling his nostrils. There was stillness, and silence, apart from both he and Solas’s gasping. 

The blue aura dissipated, his vision clearing to allow delicate moonlight and glowing fireflies to grace it once more, and most of all, there was no more pain, no more sharpness. 

There was only light and freedom soaking into his soul much like how the sweat upon his brow was. 

“Ane vasreëm, ma’isenatha.”, Solas’s voice pushed through the euphoria and residual pain, eyes swimming with tears, but also genuine wonder as they flitted across his face as if never having seen it before. 

Fane blinked, his mind in a haze as magic continued to slip away from his face like water on a cliffside. He was...free? He was free… He was free! He was free!

“I’m..”, Fane began to say as unrestrained jubilation coursed through his body, but soon after, a sudden rush of dizziness had the world spinning before him. “I’m..”, he tried again, but couldn’t continue as he felt the world rush to meet him and black suddenly drowned out all the eternal colors that were widened in horror and deep concern.

“Vhenan!”

The desperate voice of Solas reached him, but he was unable to respond as his body met the ground behind him. However, he knew he would be okay. He just needed to nap. Just a small one. Nothing to fret over. He’d apologize when he woke up for making his sky panic. 

I’m free. I’m free. I’m free. Those words echoed with certainty and childlike joy, even if he could not see himself as black finally followed with true silence.

***

I’m not crying. Solas is crying! I make him cry because he needs to, so yeah! I’m not fucking crying! *sniffles*

[xaibaugrove]

An Analysis of Ellie

In honor of The Last Of Us Day, I’m finally gonna drag out this headcanon I’ve had in my drafts forever. If you choose to read this, good luck because it’s a long time. 

Of course, SPOILERS AHEAD. 

So, this all started with me thinking about how Ellie has suffered from survivor’s guilt ever since she discovered her immunity, when she was meant to die with her girlfriend/best friend Riley. 

In that moment, Ellie had already embraced death and wanted to share it with her loved one, but that was robbed from her. She continued to live while forced to watch who might have been the first person she ever loved turn from infection. Ellie had no explanation for why that gift of immunity had been given to her. She had that gift thrust upon her by forces outside of her control. Ellie had to contend with her new existence as someone immune to the infection that had torn apart Earth’s reality, trapped in a paradox as a young teenage girl in a post apocalyptic world, until Marlene relieved her of that pressure by giving her life meaning, by giving purpose to her immunity and bestowing an important identity upon her: the savior of the human race.

Before all that, Ellie had always been just a number. She was just an orphan kid in a sea of other faceless, nameless kids in a military boarding school, without a future or special kind of destiny in a bleak world without any real meaning. Suddenly, she was a savior for all humanity and tasked with the tremendous responsibility of staying alive. She had to contend with her life having more value than others, seeing people sacrificing themselves over and over again, for her, when she had lived as a nobody for all her life until that point when everything changed.

I can imagine that that was a lot for Ellie to deal with as a teenager, a key developmental time in her life when she is just learning who she is as a person. A lot of her identity was based on not having an identity. Being trained and destined to be a nameless soldier. So when that identity was called into question, when she was smacked in the face with immunity to a virus that killed her best friend and numerous people on the planet, she needed the absurdity of her existence to be reigned in by her new title of savior of the human race.

During her journey with Joel, while the player mostly experienced the story and struggle of Joel, Ellie was struggling with her own internal issues as the secondary character. She mainly dealt with the loss of her innocence but she also still carried within her a crippling survivor’s guilt. This is very apparent after the death of Tess. In that pivotal scene in Part 1, Tess made it abundantly clear that the only reason why she was sacrificing herself was because of Ellie’s immunity, to the point of physically grabbing Ellie by the arm and pointing to the point of infection, relegating Ellie to just her immunity. Of course it wasn’t Tess’s intention to do that, but one can only wonder how Ellie absorbed that moment, another moment that helped her in defining herself. Tess wasn’t risking her life to save Ellie the person. She sacrificed herself for the immunity, the potential cure Ellie carried within her. 

This assisted Ellie in defining herself by her immunity. Instead of thinking about herself and how she related to the world around her with all the contradictions of her childhood, and the relationships she formed with Joel and Sam, the people in that world, it was easier to just soldier through life with the sole goal of fulfilling her destiny. Saving the human race.

Then came the turning point in her life, when her identity was stripped from her by the very person she had come to trust and love the most.

In a way, Ellie had her autonomy taken from her by Joel and had to come to grips with that, the fact that Joel loved her and yet, hurt her deeply as a result of that love, without truly acknowledging it. In making this ultimate decision about her life for her, Joel triggered her survivor’s guilt and Ellie had no way of expressing it, 1. Because Joel lied to her about the situation and forced the conversation to be buried in that lie, and 2. Because even if she gathered the courage to confront him about the lie, she didn’t really have the cognitive ability at the time to express herself fully, to tell him exactly what was wrong with it. And maybe on some level, she didn’t really want to have the conversation and finally clarify the unspoken truth. If she did initiate the conversation, how could she be angry at him when his defense is that he did what he did out of love? What defense would an average teenager have against a parent making that statement in one of many common situations that could occur in normal settings?

Because of the decision that Joel made, he was able to be content with his surrogate daughter, living his best life in a way, while Ellie was devastated in the aftermath. And if he did notice her inner turmoil, he never addressed it. She was probably subtly carrying around that guilt with her for years. It might have even bothered her or made her hesitant to indulge in the many positive aspects of being alive: developing friendships, romantic relationships, normal childhood things. It wasn’t until Ellie was allowed to stew on it, contemplate everything and allow the guilt to fester within her that she was able to finally muster up the courage to have that difficult conversation with Joel.

In yet another pivotal scene, this time in Part 2, she gave him another chance to confess to what she suspected was a lie for multiple years when she was met with another trigger of her survivor’s guilt, during the reluctant excursion she embarked upon with Joel in search of strings for the guitar he made for her. In that scene, she questions him, counters his excuses and challenges him. Ellie gave Joel the chance to be honest with her. And his choice was to dig his heels in deeper, lying to her face once again. When watching Ellie’s expressions after Joel silenced her protests, so much can be seen in the way she looks at him for a moment.

She looks at him and thinks of how many things he has done to make her happy, out of love for her, and the immense contradiction she feels with those acts of love when compared to the greatest pain he inadvertently inflicted on her as well as the continuation of that pain through him perpetuating the lie. She gave him another chance and he betrayed her trust again. When Ellie looks away from Joel, her expression then reveals her innermost thoughts. Her eyes search the void between them to see that Joel will never admit to the lie and the only way for her to reinforce what she believes is the real truth is for her to seek out the answers herself. So she does.

When he did finally confess to everything, it broke her with not only how indifferent he was to it, but how he had destroyed any chance she could have of fulfilling her purpose. It possibly even reaffirmed the suspicions in the back of her mind that questioned his love for her due to how much he had hurt her without apologizing even once for it and how much he had taken from her in the process. The validity of all their past interactions were suddenly called into question as well, because although Joel did those things to make Ellie happy, every happy moment was always undercut by the tremendous amount of guilt she carried that outweighed the happier moments for her as her entire life was worthless to her, from the moment Joel removed her from that hospital.

After that revelation, her sense of self was thrown into limbo. Ellie severed her relationship with Joel and went back to Jackson with no idea of how to truly carry on with her life and live with herself after that. In order to appease herself in some way, she regained some type of control in navigating their relationship from that point on. Before, their relationship hinged entirely on how Joel wanted to interact with her, with him approaching her to progress their father-daughter relationship after he removed her agency by making choices for her. Post their argument at St. Mary’s, it’s important to note that Ellie assumed control and eliminated that progression entirely. A consolation prize, a reclamation of her agency in life. But it was never enough.

Regardless, things continued on like that for some time, but then something happened that shifted the trajectory of Joel and Ellie’s relationship. On a night when Ellie attended a party, she happened to find herself possibly feeling grateful for being alive when her longtime best friend expressed interest in her and made an advance toward her. 

After Joel intervened in a conflict between her and a dumbass bigot, she angrily went to confront him. She continued to exercise her control in their relationship by coming down hard on him. Her anger about everything was very apparent during their confrontation later that night and one can see that she still felt like her life was technically meaningless without her death for the sake of a cure for the salvation of the human race. During that scene she finally expresses exactly how she feels, what she hadn’t been able to articulate for years.

It’s important to note that before she says any of that, Joel disarms her. Joel asked her about the simplest of things, if Dina was her girlfriend. Then he placed an importance on her existence, by saying that Dina would be lucky to have her, which I believe Ellie thought about for a split second. She ruminated on her feelings, on how a potential romantic relationship with Dina made her feel happy to be alive, as it wouldn’t have been possible if she had died in the hospital. And this thought, that Joel could have been right to save her, that she could possibly agree with him, caused her survivor’s guilt to spiral and she lashed out at him with all the emotions she felt since he first agreed to smuggle her across the country years ago.

Then, in a turning point in their dynamic, Joel is finally forthright with her when he responds to her frustration by stating that he would do it all over again. As a result, for the first time ever, Ellie feels as though she can finally understand his motivations and the validity of his love for her. In his honesty, he tells her that her life does have value to him, even if she can’t see that herself. And although she will never forgive him for his transgression or fully understand it because she doesn’t see her own value as a person aside from the potential cure she carries within herself along with her immunity, she realizes that she can’t stop herself from wanting... From wanting to live, from wanting to experience the joys of life, wanting to just be human. Joel introduces a new purpose to her life, to simply exist without purpose and be herself and find value in her life as just a person living it. She can’t erase the past and change Joel’s choices that directly affected her in the end, but she can choose to try his suggestion. To live life, despite her guilt and despite how afraid she feels to do it. This late night moment of vulnerability between a father and daughter opens the door to them possibly repairing what was broken 4 years ago.

Her entire world is then shattered when Abby slams that door shut by killing Joel. Just when Ellie was setting down the path of finding the strength to move on and repair their relationship. Her survivor’s guilt was triggered and sent into overdrive by this event, because once she discovered that the people who killed Joel were ex-Fireflies, she came to the conclusion that Abby killed Joel in retaliation to him removing Ellie from the hospital and killing any hopes of a cure, along with all the Fireflies in the hospital. This essentially caused Ellie to believe that Joel was killed because of her in a roundabout way, as he would have still been alive if he hadn’t saved her, further enforcing her belief that her ultimate destiny in life was to die in that hospital. In Ellie’s mind, Joel died for a pointless reason, because she viewed herself as worthless.

Since she and Joel were the only ones who carried the secret of what really happened at St. Mary’s, there was no one else who could blame her or punish her for his death. Abby punished someone who didn’t deserve the blame and let Ellie go, leaving her to deal with the aftermath and that survivor’s guilt. In Ellie’s mind, it should have been her, but there was no way for her to have swapped herself in Joel’s place. So she punished herself in a different way. This sends her down her path of addiction to self-destruction.

Ellie had no way of punishing herself for her immunity for all those years, for surviving while others died for her. Abby provided an outlet for this desire. Ellie pursued Abby under the guise of getting justice for Joel but more can be ascertained from her constant push to find Abby, in her constantly doing things that go against her better nature, committing horrible acts and torturing people, debasing herself and pushing away those who love her or even putting them in danger while simultaneously traumatizing herself all at once. With every murder she committed, with every wound she sustained, she was punishing herself for being alive.

Each wound she suffered during that pursuit was like a high for her, an adrenaline rush. Each time she damaged her mental state even further with a new murder of one of Abby’s friends, she reinforced the belief that she deserved all of this for surviving. She deserved all the pain for being the cure, for being immune and benefiting from it while the world and everyone in it suffered. This is why Ellie can’t let go, even after her first encounter with Abby.

It was easy for Ellie to spiral in that self-destructive cycle. She punished herself for Joel’s death by pursuing Abby, which caused her closest friends to suffer because they were connected to her hunt for justice. Even when it all seemed to be over and Ellie tried to change. Tommy nearly died and wound up crippled and separated from his wife because of her and even JJ wound up without a father due to Jesse dying while helping her in her pursuit of Abby. This all contributed to her revisiting the same destructive path when Tommy accused her of not following through after all he had lost for her. Tommy started her self-punishment with that accusation. And once Ellie had the chance to think it all over, it was easy for her to return to the same bad habits. This is why she leaves and continues to pursue Abby, steeling herself against a near-fatal abdominal injury, doing whatever it takes to get to her, lying to herself this time, by telling herself all the while that it is in service of Joel. To repay his life that was taken from him. To even out the injustice.

Ellie realizes this lie when she is mere seconds away from exacting her revenge by drowning Abby in the ocean. Joel’s face flashes across her mind, of him during that night when he told her that her life had value. She realizes in that moment that killing Abby will not bring her peace, because the motivation behind the act is a lie. It will not give her life value or meaning, or purpose. Because her life already has value. Outside of a cure, outside of her immunity, outside of her saving humankind. Her life has value because of who she is, not what she can give to the world. And Ellie finally realizes that she must accept this to be whole. Killing Abby won’t help her do this...so she lets her go. She watches the boat leave as she sits in the ocean tides ebbing and flowing around her, thinking of how broken she is, how much she has lost and if she can bring herself back from the brink to find value in the meaningless existence she believed her life was for so long.

When she revisits the farm and contemplates all this while holding a guitar that she’ll never be able to play again, she recalls that memory, when Joel reminded her of her value. In that final scene, she realized that Joel was the first person in her life who didn’t see her for her immunity. Joel saw Ellie for who she was and saw value in her as a person. To such a degree that he was willing to risk all of humanity to keep her alive. She was then able to forgive him and know that he truly did love her for her, something no one else had ever done before him. And if he could love her for her, maybe she could learn to do the same.

[heraldofzaun]

This is a post I’ve been thinking about making for quite some time, especially due to looking at how my own personal depiction of Viktor differs from what seems to be the general fandom interpretation - especially after the LoR cards released and gave us a few canonical acolytes.

I won’t beat around the bush here: this is going to be about why I personally believe that associating the Glorious Evolution specifically with headcanons about Viktor or his acolytes being trans, or Viktor performing gender-affirming surgeries, or things in a similar vein is a poor decision, and why I don’t include this interpretation in my writings. This isn’t meant to discourage people from writing Viktor or his acolytes as trans, of course - my Viktor is agender, although he’s not aware of it, and it would be absurd to say that his followers have to be cis - but I think it’s important to look at the implications that come from writing Viktor as explicitly someone who helps people relieve and manage their dysphoria through his work with the GE.

Firstly, no matter how you spin it: Viktor’s idea of the Glorious Evolution has always been painted in a negative light. I’ve done my work to portray it as idealistically as possible, but at the end of the day his goals have always been about removing (at the very least, negative) emotions from himself, as well as mechanizing himself and others.

“Desiring both to revolutionize his field and to eliminate the jealous human emotions which festered inside him, he engineered parts to replace and improve his own body... He saw himself as the patron and pioneer of Valoran's future, a future in which man would renounce his flesh in favor of superior hextech augmentations.” (Original lore.)

“He saw human involvement in any part of a process as a grossly inefficient aberration - a view that put him at odds with a great many of his fellow students and professors, who saw the very things Viktor sought to remove as the source of human ingenuity and creativity.” (New lore.)

“Jayce reported the incident [of Viktor creating a device that allowed someone to “effectively control” another person]  to the college masters, and Viktor was censured for violating basic human dignity - though, in his eyes, his work would have saved many lives. He was expelled from the college, and retreated to his old laboratory in Zaun, disgusted by the narrow-minded perceptions of Piltover's inhabitants. Alone in the depths, Viktor sank into a deep depression, enduring a traumatic period of introspection for many weeks. He wrestled with the ethical dilemma he now faced, finding that, once again, human emotion and weakness had stood in his way. He had been trying to help, to enhance people beyond their natural capabilities to avoid error and save lives. Revelation came when he realized that he too had succumbed to such emotions, allowing his naive belief that good intentions could overcome ingrained prejudice to blind him to human failings. Viktor knew he could not expect others to follow where he did not go first, so, in secret, he operated on himself to remove those parts of his flesh and psyche that relied upon or were inhibited by emotion.” (New lore.)

This, when combined with how Viktor has also always been intended as a more villainous character - his visual design language, voice lines, and how he leans into the “evil Russian scientist” stereotype all confirm that - mean that from an out-of-universe standpoint, we’re meant to see his ideas as wrong and misguided. Multiple other champions have lines specifically about how he’s wrong - Ekko calls him “everything wrong with Zaun”, Camille (who is morally grey at best, and a cold-blooded killer at worst) calls his work “quaint”, implying that it doesn’t go far enough for her liking, and Heimerdinger makes the point that without humans, no one will be left to appreciate Viktor’s work. It doesn’t matter if Viktor has good intentions - the narrative tells us time and time again that his path leads to a very dark place, especially in new lore where he’s comfortable with violating free will for the sake of preventing death.

It seems obvious to me that a character who auto-amputates as a way to cope with overwhelming emotions, who decides that emotions themselves are a burden, who is repeatedly described as having an obsession with the Glorious Evolution regardless of lore, who is described as who you go to when you’re desperate in new lore... is clearly someone whose surgeries (at least of himself, where they are implied to be unnecessary - again, auto-amputation) and end goals are supposed to be read as a violation of human nature and dignity. Here we pivot to talking about trans issues in specific.

I’m of the firm belief that it’s not a good idea to associate gender-affirming surgeries, HRT, or any other thing used for transitioning with a character whose surgeries are supposed to be read as a violation of the human form. This plays directly into the anti-trans idea that transitioning is, well, a violation of the human form. It is not a good idea to write the man who cuts off his own limbs to poorly cope with his emotions as a patron of trans rights. It’s drawing a direct parallel between Viktor’s auto-amputations, which we are supposed to read as not only a very bad thing and the product of obsession, but arguably self-harm, with life-saving medical care.

(There’s also the issue that some people seem to assume that transhumanism is, in any way, inherently related to being trans - but that’s a whole other topic that I don’t feel very qualified to write on. I consider myself someone interested in transhumanist concepts, when applied appropriately (i.e. not ending up in eugenicist territory), but I am far from an expert on transhumanist thought. I think it’s enough to say that no, they’re not related. They’re just two things with the same prefix. Please don’t confuse the two.)

In my opinion, Viktor should not be seen as someone whose work is a direct benefit to trans individuals. (Again, not to say that Viktor can’t have followers who are trans. But please, please consider before making him the person that they go to for help with transitioning. The man doesn’t even have a medical degree, and his canonical work is described as being all about function over form. He’s not the surgeon you want.) I don’t think that Viktor’s gender identity, whatever it may be, should be associated with his obsession with the Glorious Evolution - or at the least, it shouldn’t be portrayed as a positive association. (In the sense of Viktor using the GE/his own surgeries as a positive affirmation of his gender... I’m struggling to precisely define this at the moment, apologies.) The GE is, textually, an unhealthy coping mechanism.

(There’s maybe something to be said for a Viktor who has disassociated himself so far from humanity that he no longer considers gender applicable to himself... but please, be careful if you write this. I’m speaking as someone who’s agender: I’m tired of my identity being used as shorthand for someone or something becoming or being nonhuman. I’m tired of people treating Blitzcrank being reskinned as a they/them pronoun user as something revolutionary, if they themselves don’t use those pronouns or aren’t nonbinary. I’m not going to pretend that I’m the arbiter of what people can and can’t write, but I’m tired of seeing myself - as an autistic and agender person - represented solely by unfeeling aliens and machines and whatever else, and being told that it’s good, actually, because any representation is good representation. I’d like for people to be more mindful in what they write and promote, but I think that this is becoming a tangent.)

I guess it comes time for me to defend my own depiction, then, since as I’ve mentioned above I do write Viktor as agender. I admit that I want to see aspects of myself in the characters that I like, but I also strive to be aware of the implications that these aspects may have. My Viktor’s gender identity has absolutely nothing to do with his idea of the Glorious Evolution - he has no dysphoria that he attempts to relieve through his surgeries, he does not see roboticization as a way to move past the gender binary... he doesn’t even realize that he’s not a cis man, because he hasn’t had the time or tools to introspect on that aspect of himself. (He’d be rather confused if you told him that people generally tend to feel as if they’re a certain gender - he’s just... himself.) I’ve written him in this way to try to make it clear that he has always felt this way about himself - that the GE has nothing to do with it - and that it has no influence on his actions as the Machine Herald.

There isn’t really a good way to wrap this up. Again, I am not saying that Viktor or his acolytes shouldn’t be written as trans, nor trying to stop people from writing that - only that their transness shouldn’t be directly associated with his idea of the Glorious Evolution. I think that we need to be mindful of what kinds of tropes that our depictions can fall into, and in this case a non-mindful depiction of Viktor as trans can seen as equating being trans to what’s easily read as self-harm/a violation of human nature. I doubt that anyone genuinely intends this association, but it can be made regardless, and so I prefer to keep the two concepts wholly separate in my depiction.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. I’m willing to answer any questions that arise from this.

[featherymalignancy]

Like a Lonely House, Part VII

JFC, I finally did it. PLEASE ENJOY! Also, if you need a refresher because it’s been a GD age since I updated, please check out the PARTS I-VI RECAP. Also please enjoy!

Like a Lonely House: A Nessian Story Of Betrayal and Redemption                                                

                        “so I wait for you like a lonely house

                       till you will see me again and live in me.

                              Till then my windows ache.”                                

                                           -Pablo Neruda

Warning: NSFW for language, mild violence, mentions of sexual assault, and smut. This story is not ACOFAS complaint, but it will borrow elements from the story. oh, also tons of angst. Synopsis: Fifty years after the Hybernian War, Prythian is finally at peace. For Cassian and Nesta, animosity has turned to something more amorous, and they stand on a precipice of something that scares and excites them both. However, it only takes one night of weakness on Cassian’s part to change everything, and with a young Illyrian prince gaining power in the North, Nesta agrees to an marriage alliance, both to protect her family and get her as far away from Cassian as possible. As things unravel between them, Cassian begins to suspect there is something more deliberate seeking to keep them apart, and he struggles to uncover the truth and win Nesta back before it’s too late.

If you’re new to the story, please click HERE for the masterlist.

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of sexual assault.  Please proceed with caution.

Part VII

The Macaran crowd roared its approval as Adan rose to his feet at the High Lords’ invitation, but Cassian couldn’t hear a single voice.

It was as if all the sound had been sucked from the world, leaving only a roaring silence in its wake.

Cassian had the sensation of falling, of drowning, of he didn’t even know what. All he did know was that he couldn’t think—couldn’t breathe—as he watched the prince turn to offer Nesta his hand. The smile she offered the spoiled little prick in return ran Cassian straight through, and he wondered if the female  from the Corona was somewhere in the crowd smiling too, reveling in all she’d done to steal this moment for her Şehzade.

Blood slicked Cassian’s teeth as he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. The muscles in his back screamed at the effort of keeping his wings pinned, his every instinct demanding he find the female—whoever she was—and simply shred her to ribbons, all the rest of this theatre be damned.

His body was so tense it had grown hard to breathe, but he called on the promise he’d made to Rhys to play his part and managed to settle, if only slightly. Gritting his teeth behind pursed lips, he willed the ire which bubbled under his skin to cool, trying to force it out of his scent. He needed to wait until he was alone, until he could speak to Rhys and Az...

He glanced at the latter to find his friend already watching him, hazel eyes glittering as the shadows slithered up to neck towards his ear as if they meant to tell him a secret. Cassian couldn’t speak to Azriel mind-to-mind the way he could with Rhys, but Az knew him well enough by now to read his body posture, even as Cassian fought to keep his face and scent neutral.

Casually as he could manage, he reached up to touch his collarbone with both hands before sweeping his fingers across his chest. To the uninitiated it would have seemed little more than a stretch, but Cassian knew Azriel would recognize the message coded in the gesture, one of many they’d invented to convey information when traditional communication was impossible.

We need to talk.

Azriel rolled his neck as if simply trying to relieve some stiffness in the muscles,  but Cassian knew it was meant as confirmation. It wasn’t enough to settle him, but it was enough to bolster his control as the gates of the Hewn City boomed open and the High Lords, the Macarans, and their respective retinues were all welcomed inside by a seductive string symphony typical of the Night Court.

The temptation to look at Nesta weighed Cassian’s every step, make his feet feel as if they were made of lead. However, he resisted, knowing that seeing her so near the prince would be enough to break the tenuous grip he had on his fury. It had melted from a burning in his blood to a frigid blade he could almost feel pressing against his palm.

Three moves, he told himself.

That would be all it would take to reach the prince and sever his spine. Three moves to rid himself of the threat, and two more to remove her from danger entirely. In less than a minute he could have them both in the sky, up and out of bow range in no more than thirty heartbeats.

He felt a warm hand slide into the crook of his arm as a soft, feminine scent twined around him.

“Peace, Love,” Mor breathed, linking her arm through his as she casually peeled them away from the prince and towards their own side of the grand dais. “We’re not yet unobserved.”

“I need—“ Cassian began, voice quaking with effort as his eyes remained on Nesta. He could feel her hovering near the edge of his consciousness, closer now than she’d been for months.

It was enough to drive him out of his mind.

His heart surged and sputtered in his chest, breaths becoming too shallow as his face began to grow numb from lack of oxygen.

“I can’t—“

“Cassian—”

Cassian brushed off Mor’s hand before she could protest, pealing away from the assembly and down the nearest corridor, not caring where it took him.He burst into the first door he found—which turned out to be a servants’ pantry—slamming it behind him before letting out a scream of undiluted rage.

All the time he’d spent searching, all the time he’d wasted not being at Nesta’s side, and now the female was here as a member of the Macaran court.

He screamed again, shattering the gritted mirror hanging on the wall with a fist.  

It was too much; it was all too much, and Cassian felt it tugging at his every seam, unstitching him one pulled thread at a time. He warred with the violation seeing the female had riled in his gut and the vengeance he felt stirring in his bones.

It was in the Illyrian blood to meet every transgression committed against you blow for blow. It keeps the soul unblemished, his mother had always told him; that which is left to languish will eventually begin to fester and rot.

He could feel that rot now, coursing like venom through his system as he struggled for control.

He’d been right, all this time. The Macarans were behind everything, and still they were here, dining at the High Lord’s table and—

Cassian screamed a third time, picking up a jug of wine and hurling it at the wall with all his might before crumpling to his knees, breaths sawing through him.

“Sorun nedir, arkadaşim?”

Cassian lifted his head at hearing the Dalyanian dialect of his childhood, so different from the Atalyan they’d always spoken in the war camps.

Azriel had appeared out the shadow in the corner of the room, eyes lambert in the dim light.

Cassian bent his head, still fighting savagely from composure. He knew that after all they’d been together he and Azriel were beyond being ashamed in front of one another, but still he felt a gelid wave of it wash over him as his friend knelt at his side.

“What’s wrong, brother?” Azriel repeated, this time in the common tongue.

Cassian let out a shuddering exhale, falling back onto his haunches as he ran hand along the plait in his hair.

“She’s here. The female from the Corona. I saw her in the crowd earlier.”

Azriel’s brows drew together as his hand on Cassian’s shoulder tightened. He clearly needed no clarification on who Cassian meant.

“Are—“

“Please don’t ask me if I’m sure,” Cassian croaked. “You know that I am.”

Azriel bowed his head for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I should have—it shouldn’t have gotten this far.”

Cassian’s throat felt too tight for words, so he only nodded, hauling himself to his feet and cuffing Azriel’s neck to pull him in close until they were brow-to-brow, an old gesture of respect among Illyrians he knew Az would understand.

“It’s not your fault, Az.”

Azriel’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing with a cold fury his expression would never betray.

“I failed you,” he said, pulling from Cassian’s grip and flexing and unflexing his knife hand. “You and Nesta both.”

Cassian shook his head, unable to bare Azriel’s self-recrimination on top of everything else.

“Then make it up to me. Help me find a way to get her away from the Macarans.”

Azriel nodded, seeming to gather his composure.

“Does Rhys know?” He asked.

“No, I—“ Cassian broke off, running a shaking hand over his lips. “I didn’t want to rouse suspicion.”

He didn’t need to add that he’d also been losing his composure and had to get away to avoid making a scene; one look around the ruined storeroom was proof enough of that.

Azriel nodded again, jaw working as he considered.

“I will send Nuala and Cerridwen to scout the Macarans’ rooms. It’s possible whoever is holding her leash wants to keep her out of sight.”

“The smarter move would be to keep her close,” Cassian pointed out. “I’m sure that’s why they took the risk in bringing her here.”

A muscle worked in Azriel’s jaw.

“Adan knew I would send spies to Macar to search for her while the territory was unmanned.”

“Then he’s not as stupid as he looks,” Cassian said through his teeth.

“If he was really clever he would have killed her,” Azriel pointed on, hand straying to Truth-teller as if he was imagining doing just that.

Cassian had thought the same. The fact that they hadn’t—

“We need to be on our guard; it could be they’ve spared her for a purpose.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed in the semi-dark as he ran a hand over Truth-Teller’s obsidian hilt.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Cassian nodded, feeling his own resolve growing as Az clapped him on the shoulder.

“I promise, brother,” Azriel said, voice cold steel. “Tonight you'll get your answers. Right now we need to get back; we’ve been gone too long already.”

Cassian nodded, scrubbing a hand across his face and straightening his leathers as Azriel disappeared out of the door. Picking up a pewter goblet from one of the shelves, Cassian filled it with a mouthful of wine before he too slipped from the room.

He forced a slight stagger into his stride as he re-entered the grand hall, draining the small measure from his goblet before dropping it with a slightly-drunk chuckle and grabbing another from a passing servant girl. A cluster of Summer Court guards who stood nearby cheered as he drained the new goblet, and he raised his empty cup in salute before taking a third and heading for his place at the head table.

Mor laughed at seeing him, though the merriment didn’t reach her eyes.

“Are you drunk, Lord Commander?” she said, patting his arm as he dropped into his seat before adding in a whisper, “Cas, are you alright?”

He flashed her the lazy, edged grin he knew everyone expected from him.

“It’s a party; we should all be drunk.”

He raised his glass to closest Illyrian dignitaries, who all laughed obligingly as he did. Ellaria—who sat to Mor’s left—seemed to understand the diversion for what it was and turned to engage the Macaran finance minister in small talk to give him and Mor a reprieve from prying ears. Cassian was so grateful that were Ellaria not Mor’s mate, he would have kissed her.

“What is it?” Mor said, flashing Ellaria a smile as well.

“She’s here,” Cassian breathed. “The female. I saw her in the crowd when the Macarans arrived.”

The only indication that Mor had heard was the pallor in her ordinarily-bronze skin. She glanced down at the table in a casual gesture before whispering, “Have you told—“

“Az already knows,” Cassian said into his goblet, still not looking at Mor directly. “He’s going to tell Rhys and Feyre.”

“What are you going to do?”

Cash took another drink of wine, this one not entirely for show.

“We need to find her first. Then—“ he blew out an unsteady breath. “I’m not sure.”

“My gut says she’s here,” Mor murmured, pretending to straighten the skewed collar of his leather doublet with the affectionate fuss of a nursemaid.

“Mine too,” Cassian admitted. “How many of these servants do you recognize? the smart thing to do would be to hide her in plain sight.”

Mor scanned the room over the rim of her gem-studded goblet.

“Not enough,” she murmured. “Especially with all the other courts here as well.”

“Black hair,” he said into his own drink, quiet enough he couldn’t be overheard. “Dark eyes.”

“That’s half the females in the territory, Cas.”

“You’ll know her when you see her.“

Mor nodded her assent before casually turning her attention back to Ellaria to keep the conversation from seeming suspiciously intense.

Maintaining the pretense of drunken content through dinner was almost unbearable, but Cassian managed to hold on until the plates were cleared and Rhys stood, a hush echoing over the crowd as his power swirled around him like a onyx-studded cape. He raised his glass, his smile resplendent even as his gaze remained shrewd.

“Tomorrow,” he began. “We will celebrate the union of two great houses with all the solemnity and pomp such an occasion is due. But tonight, let us simply drink and get to know one another! Every hospitality my house has to offer is open to you all, and I only command you honor the Night by indulging in all its pleasures. May we look back on this evening years from now and celebrate all the friendships forged, memories made, and perhaps even the younglings conceived.”

At this there was a titter of heated laughter, and Rhys raised his goblet.

“Please, begin!”

There was a ripple of shock and applause as all the banquet tables disappeared at once, the soft, honeyed music growing dark and drugging as a haunting waltz began. Rhys offered a hand to Feyre and they descended onto the floor and began moving across it with the ease of two people who’d memorized how the other moved.

Cassian watched as the dance drew more participants from other courts, the space Rhys had cleared quickly refilling with bodies as the wine continued to flow.

Cassian was afraid to look too and see Nesta spinning across the floor in Adan’s arms, though curiosity quickly got the better of him. He glanced to where Nesta had been sited at the center of the grand dais to find her deep in conversation with the prince, Adan’s smile as effortless as the arm which he’d strung behind Nesta’s chair as he listened to her speak.

Red fizzed at the edge of Cassian’s vision at seeing the female he so adored with someone else, especially one as unworthy as the spoiled, treacherous princeling. Though his expression was mild, Adan still looked at Nesta like a target and not the arrow Cassian knew her to be, and it was enough to drive him mad.

Needing to do something productive, Cassian peeled off the wall and started towards Mor. He needed a way to survey the room without seeming suspicious, and the easiest way to do that was to go to the place he was least likely to be observed. Mor obliged him as he slipped a hand around her waist, fingers skimming the soft skin of her bare back as he swung her around and onto the dance floor.  

She didn’t miss a beat. Using one hand to keep her voluminous plum skirts from underfoot, she strung the other around his shoulders, letting him guide her around the room as if the floor were made of glass.


“Anything?” She breathed.

He tried to keep his focus muted as he scanned the faces of the hundreds of servants scattered around the room, as terrified as he was eager to see that face—her face—again.

“Not yet.”

By the third time around the floor he knew they needed to take a break; too long in his arms and gossip would spread in a bleed pattern Cassian didn’t want staining Mor’s reputation so close to her mating ceremony.

Just as he was preparing to release Mor back to Ellaria, who stood patiently waiting, he saw something which caught his eye.

Amidst the beehive of activity, there was one servant who’d remained in the same place the entire time he and Mor had been dancing. He didn’t dare look at the female  head-on, but Cassian couldn’t help the way his fingers tightened on Mor’s waist as he swung her around again, using the diamond comb she wore as a mirror to get a better look.

Cassian couldn’t breathe.

The female stood with a jug of wine in her hand, but she made no move to refill any of the rapidly-drained goblets of the guests surrounding her, her back instead remaining glued to the wall.

“Where?” Mor said as he twisted her again in time to the music.

“Far wall,” he said, leaning in like they were sharing a private joke as he directed Mor to look where he’d indicated. “Standing behind the prince’s cousin.”

Mor’s face didn’t change from its beautific smile as she surveyed Lazar briefly, but disgust limned her eyes.

“We need to get Rhys and Azriel,” she said quietly as they spun a final time. “Meet me at the far refreshment table in two minutes.”

Cassian only forced a grin in reply, giving Mor a slightly drunken bow as he kissed her hand and headed for the table she’d indicated, looking for all the world like a drunken male in search of his next fix.

Indeed, when he arrived the long drought he took from the proffered goblet is was not merely for show. Cassian couldn’t be certain what would happen next, but he knew in his belly it would be painful. Perhaps it made him a coward, but he didn’t want to have to face it entirely sober.

Azriel appeared at his elbow several heartbeats later, and Cassian fought down an almost frantic anticipation as he turned to his friend.

“Where?” Azriel said in greeting, and Cassian indicated with his eyes as he took another heady sip.

“She hasn’t moved from that spot for ten minutes at least,” he explained, forcing his posture to remain languid.

“Lazar,” Azriel surmised, and Cassian nodded.

“We need to draw his attention elsewhere,” Cassian said. “Any ideas?”

“Not off the top of my head,” Azriel admitted. “I suppose I could—“

“I have one.”

Cassian’s heart squeezed almost painfully as he turned to find Elain standing behind him, her expression solemn but more gentle than he’d seen it in weeks.

“You would help me?” He asked.

Her brows knitted as she pressed forward to lightly cup his cheek. He couldn’t help the way his eyes fluttered closed at the touch. It wasn’t just Nesta’s company he’d missed these long weeks alone; it had been Feyre and Elain’s as well.

“Forgive me I didn’t do it sooner,” she said, eyes glassy. “Az told me the female from the tavern is here, traveling with the prince. I was wrong to doubt you, Cassian.”

“You were protecting Nesta,” he said, pulling her hand away to kiss her palm. “I will never fault you for that.”

Elain nodded, clearing her throat as she seemed to collect herself. She turned to her husband, the famed Archeron steel flashing in her eyes.

“When I give the signal, grab the girl and go. Feyre will be in position to take her place should anyone care to look.”

“What is the signal?” Azriel said, eyes scanning the dais to ensure that Adan was still suitably occupied.

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Elain replied. “Stay out of sight until then.”

With a final smile tossed in Cassian’s direction she swept off, her sage gown adorned with burgundy rosettes so at odds with the darkness surrounding her. Between her gown and her beauty, the crowd parted easily for her as she made her way across the room to where Céres—Tamlin’s wife—stood beside him lost and somewhat lonely.

Tamlin remained deep in conversation with Tarquin as Céres wistfully studied the couples dancing, her face brightening as Elain came to loop an arm through hers. Elain made the proper greetings to both Tamlin and Tarquin before gently steering Céres away to take a lap about the room. Cassian felt for the girl as he watched her chatting animatedly to Elain, clearly grateful for someone to speak to at last.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what part Elain needed her play. He could tell—even without looking at him—that Azriel was thinking the same, though Elain didn’t leave them wondering for long.

Cassian caught sight of a familiar figure in the crowd as he tracked their progress around the room, and he couldn’t fight a sardonic smile as he watched Elain press a hand to her rounded belly and winced, understanding now what she intended.

Céres paused in just the right spot as Elain doubled over slightly in pain, reaching for Céres’s arm to steady herself as she seemed to recover. A second later Cassian watched, his heart beating nearly out of his chest, as Elain pretended to stumble, sending an unsuspecting Céres sprawling backwards—

And straight into Lazar.

Surprised, he grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling to the floor, his attention fully diverted away from the female who remained glued to the spot when Cassian had first spotted her.

It was enough.

In an instant Azriel had disappeared from Cassian's side, reappearing as nothing more than a long shadow behind where the female stood, watching the exchange between Céres and Lazar with alarm. Cassian's heart thundered as her grabbed her by the wrist and they both vanished.

By now Tamlin was there, an abashed Céres scuttling behind him as he wrapped a protective arm around her and bared his teeth at the younger Illyrian.

"How dare you," Tamlin snarled.

Lazar put his hands up, bronze skin paling at the fangs Tamlin now had mere inches from his throat

"Please, High Lord, this is a misunderstanding!"

He looked somewhat helplessly to Rhys as he approached, hands tucked into the sable pants he wore under his floor-length velvet great coat.

"My Lord, please!" Lazar begged

Rhys clicked his tongue as he surveyed the scene with dispassion, crushed sapphire eyes glittering in the low light.

"Oh Lazar, you do like to make trouble, don't you?"

"I swear, My Lord, she fell into me!"

Tamlin snarled, the sound entirely ursine.

"You had your hands all over her!"

"Lazar, what's going on?"

Adan appeared at his cousin's side, subtly inserting himself between the Tamlin and the younger male. Cassian didn’t dare look to see where Nesta was.

"I'm afraid Lazar's found himself in a bit of trouble," Rhys purred, eyes glittering behind the mask of the cruel High Lord Cassian had seen him wear so many times before. "He seems rather good at that."

Cassian heard Rhys speaking in his mind, voice markedly less amused.

Azriel has her in the dungeon, last door on the left. Be discreet. Make sure you aren't seen, and don't be gone too long. I'll keep the Macarans distracted.

Cassian needed no prompting. Casting a final look to ensure the Illyrians were suitably occupied, he slipped into a shadow and out into the hall, trying to steel himself for what was coming next.

The trek down into the labyrinth of dungeons that coiled beneath the great hall felt like it lasted both an eternity and an instant, and Cassian felt himself—his sanity, his control—unspooling with every step he took.

Azriel had the female, and in mere minutes Cassian would finally know—

Cassian’s heart was in his throat as he pushed open the heavy wood door, making a deliberate show of closing it behind him before turning to face the room’s only two occupants. Azriel stood against the far wall with arms crossed, arctic fury glazing his eyes as he waited for Cassian to speak.

And in the center of the room, seated in a chair with hands and feet bound, was the female Cassian had spent the last three months turning the territory inside out to find.

She looked just as he’d remembered her: a curtain of blue-black hair, eyes dark as pitch and skin the bronze of the Northern climbs. The only thing that had changed was her expression. The morning after their—coupling, she’d first been content and then, seemingly, afraid, and Cassian often wondered what face she’d wear when he finally caught her. He’d expected smugness at what she’d managed to wrought for her Illyrian masters.

What he got instead was...devastation.

She wasn’t making a sound, but there were tears rolling down her cheeks, fresh ones welling in her eyes as she took in his thunderous expression.  Somehow, they made him angrier than if she’d been arrogant, and he bared his teeth.

“Save your tears. I won’t be ensorceled by your treachery a second time.”

“Please,” she began, her voice devoid of the sensual husk she’d used on him before. “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Pain lanced through him at those words, the same ones he’d pleaded to Nesta so many times since this nightmare had begun. He’d lost a great deal of conviction as time had worn on and Nesta had drifted further and further out of his reach, but here now was the truth—long sought—sobbing in his face.

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“What’s your name?”

The female’s brows pulled together as if she meant to resist him by remaining silent, but when she caught the flash of True-Teller’s blade from the corner of her eye, she relented.

“Rabia.”

“Who sent you to Velaris, Rabia? Who told you where I’d be that day?”

The female shook her head, tears falling to soak the unadorned servant’s livery she wore.

“Please, it’s not what you think.”

“Speak plainly,” Azriel commanded. “If you cannot use your tongue, we’ll have no further use for it beyond supper for the hounds.”

“Please!” Rabia said a third time,straining at her bonds. “I didn’t have a choice!”

“Why not?” Cassian pressed. “You’re not Macaran; you’re not even Illyrian. Why do this for them?”

“For my son!” she burst.

This stopped Cassian in his tracks, some of the anger bleeding out of him. Even without Mor’s gift, he could tell from the look in Rabia’s eyes that she was telling the truth.

“What would the Illyrians care for one high fae child?” Azriel said.

“He’s half-Illyrian,” Rabia said. “And his father threatened to have him sent to the camp at Kaletaş if I didn’t help. I would never have been allowed to see him! Please, try to understand.”

Cassian and Azriel traded a look over the female’s head. Kaletaş was the Northernmost camp, and one famous for its brutality even among people undaunted by harsh measures.

“Who is his father?” Azriel said, peeling off the wall the circle the female. “He must be well-connected if he has the power to influence the Kaletaşi camp-leaders.”

Rabia winced as if the question had dealt her a physical blow.

“He’ll kill me,” she said, voice growing hoarse from her tears. “If he found out it was me who’d told you. He’ll kill me, and send Safet to Kaletaş. Please, he’s only ten. I’m all he has.”

“If the Macarans succeed in starting a civil war, your boy won’t stand a chance whether you are there to protect him or not,” Azriel snarled quietly. “Tell us who his father—“

“It’s Lazar,” Cassian said, watching as the remaining color drained from the female’s face. “Isn’t it?”

Her sobs began anew, trapped in her throat as she fought to master herself. Cassian wasn’t surprised. It was just the sort of cruel and foolish thing Lazar would do, using the mother of his child to achieve his selfish ends.

“It was a mistake,” Rabia breathed. “A horrible mistake, but by the time I realized it was too late; I was already pregnant. I tried to flee, but someone told Lazar I was with child and he dragged me back. We have been beholden to him ever since.”

“Why did he send you to Velaris? What did he tell you?”

“Nothing!”

Cassian bared his teeth, temperature rising again as she sputtered, fighting her bonds.

“He didn’t tell me why he wanted me to go,” Rabia said. “He just gave me orders and sent me South.”

“And what were your orders?” Azriel prompted.

Color flooded Rabia's cheeks even as she withered under Cassian’s unceasing stare. It was the question he’d dreaded to ask, even as every part of him strained to hear the answer. Rabia shook her head, and Azriel’s hand went to Truth-teller in warning.

“Speak,” he snarled.

The female bit her lip.

“To seduce the General.”

Cassian felt his axis tilting. It was the answer he’d been waiting for, been hoping for since he first began putting the puzzle together weeks ago. Still, the confirmation was a knife in the ribs. He felt sick when he remembered the score marks on his wings the next morning, the realization that Lazar had likely instructed her where to touch him in order to scent-mark him enough to drive him mad with humiliation and grief.

“And Adan? Was he in on this as well?” Azriel said.

Rabid shook her head, brows synched.

“I don’t know.”

“Do not lie to me.”

“I don’t know!” Rabia repeated with more conviction. “I’ve never even met the prince. If he is complicit in Lazar’s scheming, I have no knowledge of it.”

It was exactly what Cassian hadn’t wanted to hear. They still had no evidence Adan was involved, nor any to prove he was innocent either. And if he was innocent, what would it mean for his betrothal to Nesta? The idea was enough  to make Cassian’s tomach roil, and he forced himself to focus on Rabia’s interrogation instead.

“I was sick for weeks after,” he said. “What did you give me?”

“I—“

The door boomed open as Nesta swept in, Mor on her heels. The latter eased the door shut and locked it behind them as Nesta’s blazing eyes took in the scene before her.

She looked every inch the commanding Şezhana in the resplendent ebony gown she wore, the conical gold combs in her hair resembling a corona of spikes. She stood completely motionless, the glimmer off the torchlight against the gems studding her bodice the only indication she was even still breathing.

Cassian’s heart became an exploding star in his chest, its force threatening to tear his soul from its mooring as he watched Nesta. He could see the exact moment Rabia’s scent hit her from the way her back when rigid, as if she could no longer feign indifference or miscomprehension. Finally, she turned her burning gaze on him. It was the first time she’d deigned to look at him full-on since this had all begun, and her beauty made his knees weak even now.

“What is this?” She said, hands forming into such tight fists that her knuckles had gone white.

“You know what this is,” he said.

He could hear her heart as it began to beat faster, her ribcage struggling to expand against the corset she wore. He longedto cut the damn thing off her so she could get a good breath, but he knew he had to stay where he was.

After a moment she looked at Azriel.

“Is it true?”

Azriel in turn faced Rabia, crossing arms across his chest.

“Tell her. Tell her what you told us.”

Rabia swallowed, voice thin when she finally spoke.

“I was sent to Velaris by Lazar to seduce the Lord Commander.”

“And if he couldn’t be swayed?” Azriel prompted.

The female bowed her head.

“I was given a tonic. I was told it would make him—pliant.”

“And was he?”

It was Mor, her voice hammered thin by a fury Cassian rarely saw from her.

Rabia looked around, eyes wide.

“Was he what?”

“Swayed. Were you successful in seducing him?”

Rabia’s throat worked, and that she settled for looking at Cassian and Azriel was a testament to the fear both Nesta and Mor managed to inspire.

“No,” she admitted. “I offered myself to him, but he—“

She broke off, trying to master herself.

“Speak,” Mor snarled.

Rabia swallowed a sob.

“He said he was flattered, but that he was in love with another female. That they were...” she made a sound that was half-sob, half-wretch. “That they were mates.”

Cassian felt dizzy. It was the first time any of them had formally acknowledged the word out loud, and it clanged through him with such violence that he felt for a moment he might be ill. He waited, breathless, for Nesta to deny the claim, but she didn’t, jaw set as Mor pressed, “So you drugged him, and had your way with him while he was too incapacitated to stop you, is that it?”

“No!” Rabia said. “I would never—“

“But you did!” Mor snarled, drawing a dagger from the folds of her gown and advancing on the still-bound Rabia with alarming speed. “Can you deny it? When he rejected your advance, you slipped something into his drink!”

Rabia sobbed.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen!”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Mor said, teeth bared. “After you rap—“

“Enough, Mor,” Cassian said, not able to hear the next word said aloud. “You’ve made your point.”

“I’m just getting started,” Mor snarled, but then Azriel was there, slitting the bonds on Rabia’s hands and pushing her into Mor’s arms.

“Take her to Rhys,” he said. “Tell him to alter her memory and let her go; we can’t afford to let Lazar know we suspect him yet.”

Mor’s lip curled in disgust, but she took Rabia’s arm without further comment, dragging her from the room.

Cassian hardly noticed. His full attention was on Nesta, who was staring at him almost as if she’d never seen him before.

“I will leave you to talk,” Azriel said with a glance between them.

Before Cassian could think to reply, Az was gone and he and Nesta were alone.

For a minute they merely stood looking at each other, the silence deafening. Finally he couldn’t bear it, and Cassian broke.

“Nesta,” he began, advancing a step. “I’m sorry.”

Her only reply was several steps in the opposite direction. After everything they’d endured—that she’d been forced to endure—he wasn’t sure why it surprised him; he’d been foolish to think of few words from Rabia would undo all the hurt that festered between them. Still, he knew he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to explain.

“Please, Nes,” he said. “I—“

“Why are you sorry?” Nesta interrupted, voice clipped and cold.

His brows drew together, her sharp tone a freshly-whetted blade he knew she would use to carve out his heart even now, even knowing the truth.

“Because I failed you.”

Her expression grew stormy, and he wondered where things had gone so wrong that even now she still hated him. However, after a moment he watched the thunderhead raging in her grey eyes swell and erupt, her face melting into something sorrowful and stark.

“No,” she said, and he realized the tightness in her voice wasn’t anger—it was tears. ”It’s I who has failed you.”

“No, Nes—“

She held up a hand to ward him off when he chanced another step in her direction, several tears skidding down her cheeks as her lip trembled with the effort of maintaining her composure.

“I should have listened to you,” she whispered. “Why didn’t I listen?”

Cassian’s heart strained to near-bursting.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Her brows synched as her anguish seemed to gain some ground on her composure. He knew that besides Elain and perhaps Feyre, he was the only one who’d ever seen Nesta Archeron so undone, and it was not a burden he took lightly.

“Of course it does,” she said, voice brittle but no less edged. “How can you stand to look at me knowing how I’ve wronged you?”

Cassian’s throat grew tight, everything he’d learned from Rabia coalescing with his missing Nesta to form a leaden knot in his stomach.

“Because I love you,” he said.

“I know,” she said, tears flowing freely now. “I know that now.”

Cassian’s eyes burned.

“Then please, won’t you let me hold you?”

Nesta let out a choked noise, eyes almost fearful as she looked up at him.

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Please Nesta, let me—”


Nesta shook her head, arms wrapped around herself like she was afraid she’d physically fall apart.

“If I let myself near you, I will never find the strength to do what I have to.”

The words were a knife to the gut.

“You can’t mean to go through with the betrothal.”

Nesta bit her lip.

“What choice do I have?”

“We have proof—“

She shook her head, seeming somewhat resigned now.

“It’s not enough, and we both know it. If we truly mean to expose Lazar’s treachery, we must have hard evidence of his crimes.”

“And Adan?”

She flinched a bit at thename, though her back remained straight as she said through her tears, “perhaps Adan is my penance, for what I’ve put you through.”

Cassian couldn’t fight the tear that slipped out at that, at the blade Nesta had turned inward upon the realization she’d been wrong.

“You haven’t put me through anything I wouldn’t have gladly endured for your sake,” he said. “Please, don’t do this.”

She shook her head, jaw set despite the tears shining in her eyes.

“Our problem remains the same, Cassian. Unless we can prove the Macarans have ill intent, we risk civil war. I can’t put my sisters through that, not again. I have to—-“

Nesta covered her hand with her hand and began to sob, and it was a sound so stark in its grief and Cassian felt it tremble through every cell in his body.

Damning the consequences he dropped his shield, his consciousness racing down the bridge towards hers as he surged for her, just in time to catch her as she sagged to the floor.

He gathered her into his arms as she unraveled, her face buried in his neck as her whole body shook with the force of her tears.

“Forgive me,” she sobbed. “Please, say that you forgive me.”

Cassian coaxed her head from his shoulder, brushing the loose hair from her face as he gazed into her eyes.

“There is nothing to forgive, minu südame süda. None of this is your fault.”

Nesta’s eyes fell closed as she rested her cheek against his palm, even as her long nails dug into his arm.

“I will kill her for what she’s done to you. I will spike her head to the gates of this foul city, and Lazar’s alongside it. You have my word.”

He brushed away a tear skidding down the apple of her cheek.

“I would rather have your promise that you will not go back to Macar. Please, Nes. I’ve only just gotten you back. Do not ask me to send you away.”

She pulled his hand away from her face.

“You would go, if our places were reversed.”

“Not if you asked me to stay.”

Her gaze was steady but unyielding as she studied him.

“I know what beats in your heart; you cannot lie to me.”

He felt the pressure building behind his eyes at the realization she was right. He fended off a choked exhale as she reached forward to press a hand to his heart, gentle in a way he rarely imagined Nesta being.

“I must go, and you must let me.”

“And if it turns out to be only Lazar? If Adan is innocent in all this?”

A muscle feathered in her jaw.

“I don’t know.”

“You would be honor-bound by the kilhamine to marry him. He would steal you away to Macar, and we would never—“

Nesta shook her head, fingers brushing his lips in a silent command.

“Our path has never been easy, but still it’s always found a way to lead us back to one another. For now that must be enough.”

“Nes...”

“Te cакам,” she breathed.

Had Cassian not already been on the ground, his knees would have given out to hear her say it. He’d all but given up hope that he ever would.

He pressed his forehead to hers.

“I can’t lose you.”

“No,” she said, eyes fluttering closed. “You cannot, because I am already yours.”

There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke, and despite everything Cassian had longed to say to Nesta all these weeks alone, in that moment he knew there was nothing he needed to say that she didn’t already know.

He would have assumed it was the bond, but he realized it was nothing so complicated as any of that; it was simply the ease of two people who’d known and loved one another long enough not to need to speak to be mutually understood.

Instead Cassian reveled in her light, elegant scent and the softness of her skin as he breezed his thumb across her cheekbone. When she didn’t pull away from his touch he leaned a fraction closer, lips brushing the remaining tears from her cheeks before gravitating towards her mouth and hovering.

“Nesta,” he breathed, free hand tangling in the mass of curls coming unspooled from the heavy gold pins.

At her name she seemed to snap from her trance, pressing her fingers to his lips as she shook her head.

“I can’t,” she said. “We can’t.”

Mastering herself she pulled away, wiping her eyes as she struggled to her feet amidst the obsidian sea of her gown.

“I have to go. Adan will be suspicious.”

Cassian would be surprised at her composure but for the fact that Nesta seemed to possess strength beyond what the Mother had given other, lesser creatures. Even now with her gown rumpled and her eyes slightly red-rimmed, she was a pillar of steel.

“Go,” he said. “I will wait before following.”

Nesta nodded, though her lips tightened as she studied him with increased scrutiny.

“Promise me you’ll do nothing rash until we can speak with the others and formulate a plan for dealing with Lazar.”

Despite everything he found himself smiling weakly. He’d missed hearing his Nesta giving orders. However, the mirth faded at seeing her grave expression and the spectre of fear still shading her bright eyes.

“You have my word,” he said.

She nodded again, and he bowed his head as she turned to slip through the door. Even knowing why she had to leave, he didn’t think he could bear to watch her physically go, especially knowing who she was going back to.

“Cassian?”

Surprised, Cassian glanced up to see her still standing in the arched doorway, the torchlight dancing off the gems in her gown making her appear as if she were tongued in dark flame. Her brows drew together as they studied one another for a moment in silence. Finally, she continued, voice soft but resolute.

“I’m sorry for what she did to you. I understand you may need time to process or to grieve, but when you’re ready to speak, I will be here to listen.”

Cassian’s throat was instantly, unbearably tight, and all he could manage was a croaked, “I love you.”

She didn’t repeat the sentiment, but Cassian could feel echoes of it drifting down the bond between them as she gave him a final look and disappeared.

Cassian didn’t know how long he remained there in the dark after that, knowing there were a million things that needed tending to without being able to make himself do a single one. All he could think about was Rabia admitting she’d slipped a tonic in his drink, and Nesta saying ‘I love you’. Pain and joy coalesced, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or sob in weighing what he’d both lost and gained that evening.

In the end he found himself too fragile to do either, and he pushed them down instead, rising to his feet as he transformed from a heartbroken male to the General of the Night Court legions.

If he had to be patient to get his hands on Lazar, so be it; the wait would make his death all the sweeter. And if he had to wait for Nesta—he sighed, expelling a shaky breath before steeling himself and exiting the dungeon cell. If he had to wait a thousand years for Nesta, he would do it. For now he could only do his part and pray it wouldn’t come to that.

xx

The morning after the welcome feast, Nesta found herself once again in her dressing room, though this time she wasn’t alone. She tried to ignore the faint echo of her pulse which buzzed in her ears, a symptom of stress she’d suffered from on and off since childhood. It had largely subsided the last fifty years, though it had begun to occur with more frequency since things had gone to pieces with Cassian. After what she’d learned the night before, it had been pounding non-stop, the ringing enough to nearly drive her mad.

It had been so loud and persistent when she’d first torn herself away from Cassian’s side and rejoined the feast that it had been difficult to hear anything being said as she fought to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

It had grown from a buzzing to a roar when she’d felt the slide of a warm, calloused hand at her elbow.

“There you are,” Adan had breathed in her ear, close enough that his lips nearly brushed the pointed tip. “I thought I’d lost you.”

It took a lifetime of unassailable self-restraint not to stiffen at the proprietary touch, especially as Adan continued, “come, dance with me.”

With that he’d slipped a hand around her waist, the other tucking behind his back as she brought her hand to his shoulder, the other going to keep her sea of skirts from underfoot. She wondered if he could hear her heart as they turned across the floor, other guests stepping out of their path as Adan maneuvered her with ease.

Adan had watched Nesta with curious scrutiny as they danced, but Nesta hadn’t been able to bring herself to smile at him as she perhaps should have. The female’s confession had still been ringing in her ears, fraying her sanity.

Cassian had been right; all this time he’d been telling her the truth, and she’d been too guarded and selfish to see the truth. And when she thought of what had been done to him in order to sow discord between them...

“Are you alright, prensesim?”

Nesta had forced herself to look at Adan, trying to mimic the guileless expression Elain used when she wished to feign sweet ignorance.

“Fine,” she’d said. “Only fatigued from the day’s festivities.”

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to escort you to your chambers, then.”

Nesta had glanced around for someone who might spare her from this fate, but finding no one she’d merely nodded. They ascended into the royal apartments in silence, and when they’d reached Nesta’s rooms she’d attempted a hasty kiss on the cheek as she bid Adan goodnight.

However, he’d gently caught at her hands, pressing her into the door as his soft lips found hers. Nesta had contemplated shoving him off considering everything she’d heard that evening.  After all, this was a male who���d possibly been responsible for abusing Cassian, and that was enough to make Nesta want to gut him like a fish.

However, it was just as possible he was innocent, and they would need his support in punishing Lazar and breaking the engagement given that it had been made under false pretenses. With no proof of the former, she’d let him kiss her, even as she searched for a way to end it. If he was innocent, she didn’t want to be accused of fallaciously leading him on.

She’d been relieved when he’d pulled back, though the feeling was short-lived as he whispered, “I know I promised I would not force you, but may I come to you tonight after the city sleeps? I feel I will go mad if I cannot—”

“Nesta.”

The stricture in Nesta’s throat had loosened at seeing Elain, her smile benign but her doe-brown eyes flashing with a fire Nesta had been sure only she could see.

“Forgive me, I am interrupting?”

Adan had flushed at that, stepping back from Nesta and giving Elain a courtier’s bow. He’d then turned back to Nesta a final time, eyes full of yearning as he said, “Until tomorrow then, my princess.”

With that he’d disappeared, and Elain had pressed into Nesta’s arms, grip fierce.

“Azriel told me what happened,” Elain had said, touching Nesta’s cheek. “Are you alright?”

“I feel a monster,” Nesta had admitted. “I was wrong to doubt him.”

“No one blames you,” Elain had assured her. “Least of all Cassian.”

“I don’t believe you would have treated Azriel in such a manner, were our places reversed.”

“Don’t torture yourself, please. The good news is that you know the truth now, and we have a chance to stop all this before Lazar succeeds in whatever it is he’s planning. The others are waiting to discuss strategy. Would you—”

“I can’t,” Nesta had interrupted. “It’s all too raw.”

Elain had only nodded.

“We’ll speak before the ceremony tomorrow. Try to rest, my love.”

Nesta had nodded, Elain squeezing her hand a final time before turning to go.

“Elain? Please, tell Cassian…”

When she’d trailed off, Elain smiled.

“He already knows,” Elain had said. “But I will.”

Nesta had no further energy after that, and she’d slipped inside her room, staying only long enough to change into a more comfortable shift and slippers before summoning Nuala and asking she wake the tailor.

There was something Nesta needed done.

Now, sitting in her dressing room in the moonstone palace surrounded by the rest of her court, she felt more composed, though admittedly no less anxious inside.

Cassian had yet to arrive, but Rhysand, the Shadowsinger, the Morrigan, and both of her sisters were discussing their next move.

“We ought to use the girl to expose Lazar’s lies and be done with the whole affair,” Mor snarled from where she lounged on a nearby chaise. “This has gone on long enough.”

Azriel gave a dismissive sound from where he stood near the window, monitoring for unfriendly eyes and ears on the balcony beyond.

“Lazar will dismiss Rabia as a liar, and it will be her word against his.”

“So we force the truth out of him,” Mor said. “Between Rhys’s gift and mine, it would be over fairly quickly.”

“I tested them last night,” Rhysand said. “The Macarans mental defenses are impressive. Tunneling through would take more time than we have.”

“Besides,” Feyre added. “How will it look if the High Lord is caught trying to break into the minds of his vassals? We’d be facing the exact war we’ve been trying so hard to avoid.”

“Where does that leave us, then?” Elain asked.

“In the same place,” Nesta said tightly. “I must go forward with the kilhamine. I will use the time I have in Illyria between now and the wedding to discover proof of Lazar’s betrayal and determine whether Adan is involved as well.”

“If you fail, you’ll have no choice but to go through with the marriage,” Feyre pointed out in a soft voice. “You will be bound to Adan for the rest of your life, whether he is guilty or not.”

Nesta stiffened at the idea, even as she forced her shoulders back.

“It’s a risk we have to take. Cassian agrees.”

“This will be agony for him,” Mor said, tone edged with frost. “For you the bond will be easier to ignore, but for him it will be a physical and emotional torment now that you’ve acknowledged the claim.”

“There is no claim. He’s not some beast ruled only by primal instinct. He knows why I’m doing this, and that it does not change what lies between us, bond or no,” Nesta clipped.

“Does he?” Mor challenged.

“Yes. And I do not remember inviting you into our affairs, now or ever.”

“This decision doesn’t affect just you—”

“Mor, enough,” Rhysand cut in. “Nesta is right; this decision is between her and Cassian, and it is also the best one available to us right now.”

At this he turned to Nesta.

“Az and I will work on Lieutenant Na’ahmah while you are away. She seems an honorable female, and she’s in the prince’s confidence. It is possible she may know some of his secrets. At the very least, she’ll know where his skeletons are buried; it could be useful in scaring up proof.”

Nesta nodded, not wanting to discuss this any further. She knew in her gut that she was making the right choice in forging ahead with the kilhamine, but it didn’t make the idea of binding herself to a male other than Cassian—even temporarily—any easier.

“I need to get dressed,” she said in dismissal. “We can speak more after the ceremony; I don’t leave for Illyria until nightfall.”

The males and Morrigan—still looking displeased—nodded their understanding and filed out, leaving only the Archeron sisters.

“I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now,” Feyre again. “But for what it’s worth, Nes, I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t be. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“Who among us hasn’t?” Elain said. “That you would acknowledge them at all is a testament to your character.”

Nesta’s throat tightened at this, and not wanting to delve further she instead asked, “Have you seen him yet today? How—” she swallowed, fighting to keep her voice even. “How is he?”

“He went on patrol early this morning,” Feyre said. “I think he needed something to distract him from—” Feyre broke off to squeeze Nesta’s hand. “He promised he’d return before the ceremony began. I’m sure this will be his first stop.”

Nesta merely nodded at this, grateful for Nuala and Cerridwen as they appeared, the latter bearing a garmented wrapped in soft linen.

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” Elain said, smiling.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Feyre added with a kiss to Nesta’s cheek. “We will send Cassian to you the minute he returns.”

With that her sisters disappeared as well, and Nesta half-collapsed into the small divan in front of her vanity, taking a deep breath. It all seemed so much more dire now that she was alone.

She hadn’t had the courage to ask her sisters to stay. Despite the fact she knew they loved her, it was difficult to let herself be vulnerable with them. She was the eldest, and yet she’d failed to protect them in so many ways whether they were growing up. The least she could do for them now was remain composed, at least when they were around.

“Are you ready to begin, My Lady?” Nuala said, a hand resting on Nesta’s shoulder.

Her touch was cool even through the silk of Nesta’s dressing gown, and she found it oddly reassuring.

She nodded, and the twins began on her hair. For the ceremony it would remain unbound in the Illyrian custom, save for a portion at the top. Nuala and Cerridwen brushed out the conker mass of Nesta’s hair before coaxing curls into the ends and teasing volume into a section at the crown.

When it was finished they helped her into her restrictive undergarments and tightened her corset before unwrapping the package which lay on the bed.

“Straight from the dressmaker, My Lady,” Cerridwen said, pulling the gown from it’s bed of linen. “And just as you instructed.”

Nesta exhaled a shaking breath, coming forward to brush the silken skirt. Originally the gown had been white and studded with diamonds. An unusual choice for a kilhamine gown, or so she’d been told, though in the end it acceptable for the occasion. However, after what Nesta had learned of Cassian the night before, she’d been desperate for some way to show him what he still meant to her.

So she’d gone to Rhysand’s famed tailor, waking the ancient female to ask her that the gown be dyed cardinal and that the diamonds be replaced with rubies. The gnarled faerie had grumbled at the inconvenience at first, but something in Nesta’s expression must have convinced her because eventually she’d agreed, informing Nesta it would be ready in the morning before all but slamming the door in her face. Nesta had listened to the soft purr of the female’s magic as she began coaxing color into the gems one by one before retreating to her own room again.

Cardinal was the color most closely related to glory in Illyria and as such it would make an obvious choice for a kilhamine gown. However, Nesta had been sure to explain the exact shade she’d wanted, and seeing it now, she was not disappointed.

It was somehow richer than an ordinary red, and the color perfectly matched the slumberous flame of Cassian’s siphons. It was an ode Nesta was positive would not go unnoticed by those who knew where to look.

Nesta accepted a hand from Nuala as she stepped into the gown, fitted through the low-cut bust before billowing out at the hips. She tried not to fidget as the twins trussed up the army of satin buttons which formed an orderly line down the back.

She could hardly breathe by the time Cerridwen ushered her to sit at the vanity again, easing an elaborate headdress out of a box and placing it atop Nesta’s head before beginning to secure it in place.

A coronet of blood-red roses formed the base, each in perfect bloom. On top of the roses sat a complicated gold crown of sorts, a ruby set into the center, and jutting above it all was a halo of iridescent blue-black macaw feathers which glimmered in the soft light.

It was magnificent beyond measure, offering a beautiful counterpoint to her gown and ruby painted lips. Mutely she accepted a pair of plain good earrings which hung to her bare shoulders from Nuala before meeting her own gaze in the mirror.

She looked no less fierce than she had the day before, but she could acknowledge that she looked less sad. The road ahead still reached farther than she cared to admit, but somehow it felt a little less dark now that she knew the truth: that she was not as weak nor as unlovable as she’d feared.

There was a knock at the door as Nesta rose to her feet, a glance out the window telling her the sun was nearly set. Her heart was in her throat as she reached for the knob, though it sank as she opened it to find Rhysand waiting for her.

He opened his mouth to speak and she merely held up a hand.

“Spare me; I’m not in the mood for your games, Rhysand.”

Rhysand gave a sardonic smile, though she could see something more sincere lurking below it.

“I was merely going to tell you that you look beautiful.”

“I always look beautiful,” she snapped, needing the vitriol to provide her some sense of normalcy.

Rhysand chuckled.

“You look particularly beautiful then.”

When she sniffed, he added, “That color suits you greatly.”

She turned to glare at him for the jibe only to find the mirth had evaporated from his face.

“When did you decide to change it?”

“Last night. After I heard—”

He nodded, offering her his arm as they began the long descent to the great hall of the Hewn City.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve been forced to endure, Nesta. I know this must be difficult for you.”

“It’s Cassian who deserves your sympathy, not me.”

“And he has it,” Rhysand said, tugging her arm to halt her as he gently touched her chin. “But you were also deceived, and made to suffer for it. I know you don’t care for being fussed over, but know that you are allowed to grieve as well.”

Nesta gently brushed his hand away.

“When did you become so tolerable?” She said, beginning to walk again.

Rhysand laughed.

“I knew I would wear you down eventually, Nesta Archeron.”

“Don’t push it,” she warned.

Still, something warm had kindled in her chest, helping to fight off the darkness as they moved farther and farther into the belly of the beast. Soon enough they could hear the primal heartbeat of the bone drums, and Nesta felt her own heart’s rhythm falling into step, hammering so hard she was afraid her ribs would be bruised. The gown and her nerves made it difficult to breathe as they halted outside the large wrought-iron gates, the twisting metal meant to represent the scale body of some serpentine beast.

“Azriel will escort you down the aisle,” Rhysand explained, drawing her from her reverie. “But we have time, would you like me to wait—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I wish to be alone for a moment.”

“Alone” wasn’t what she meant and they both knew it, but it was clear from his expression Rhysand had decided against making a comment about it.

“As you wish,” he said, nodding. “Azriel will let you know when it’s time.”

She nodded, warring with the urge to ask where Cassian was. Still, she bit her tongue. If he needed time to gain his composure, she owed it to him without complaint; it was the least she could do.

Instead she found herself pacing back in front of the gates as the drums continued, accompanied now by Night Court strings meant to celebrate the High Lord’s mixed heritage. She couldn’t have said how much time had passed before she heard the rustle of wings and turned to face the Shadowsinger.

Except it wasn’t Azriel. It was Cassian, dressed in the same ornamental armor as the previous day, the same silver hoops strung through his ears.

She watched his throat work as he struggled to speak, and she waited, breathless.

“Nesta,” he said finally.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” she admitted. “I would not have blamed you for wanting to stay away.”

“I could never stay away from you,” he said, though she noted he’d yet to come any closer. “Never.”

She nodded, glancing down at her velvet slippers.

“You changed your gown,” he said after a beat. “It’s lovely.”

“It’s for you,” she admitted.

Only with him had she ever felt safe enough to be so vulnerable, and it was a relief to know she still knew how after what they’d been through.

His syphons pulsed dully in response, as if the admission had awoken something in his very power. When he didn’t respond beyond that, Nesta forced herself a step forward.

“How are you?”

He exhaled a shaky breath.

“I would be better were this our kilhamine, and I were waiting for you at the end of that aisle instead of Adan.”

It was a thought she’d spent all day trying to avoid, and hearing him say it out loud made her heart ache.

“I may say the words to Adan, but my vows will be to you.”

Inside the hall the drums seemed to intensify, and Nesta felt the time between them slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

“I’m sorry I did not believe you when I had the chance. Perhaps if I had—” she could hear the tears in her own voice, even knowing she couldn’t let them escape.

Cassian only shook his head.

“I would forgive you anything,” he said. “And in this case there is nothing to forgive. I only ask now that you don’t give up on me.”

“I could never,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Even in my darkest rage I could not hate you the way I longed to.”

The drums changed again, growing more rhythmic. Nesta and Cassian seemed to realize at the same moment they’d run out of time, and in an instant he was there, crushing Nesta against the wall as he kissed her. She strung an arm around his neck to pull him closer and he lifted her nearly off her feet, his tongue brushing hers as he slid his leg between her thighs to keep her upright. Even that slight touch was enough to set her body on fire, and she moaned softly into his mouth.

“Nes,” he groaned, winging flaring slightly as she pressed closer, her breast flush against his chest. “Nesta.”

Her fingers dug into leathers as he moved to her neck, lips brushing the first spot on her body he’d ever touched. She forgot everything but him as he grazed her pulse point with his teeth. A primal fae part of her wanted him to sink them into her flesh in a claiming mark, even knowing such a thing would be damning giveaway—

“Cassian.”

The muscles in Cassian’s back stiffened at hearing Azriel’s voice, but after a breath he gently extricated himself from her embrace, easing her back to the floor and smoothing her rumpled gown.

“You’re needed in the great hall,” Azriel said. “People have begun to take note of your absence.”

Cassian nodded before turning back to Nesta, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

“Cassian, now,” Azriel prompted, and as Cassian made to leave, the Shadowsinger caught his arm. “And take more care the next time. Anyone could have seen you two just now.”

Cassian didn’t offer a retort, just gave Nesta a last lingering look before disappearing down the hall towards the ball door into the great hall.

She felt hollowed out in his absence, her legs wobbling like a fawn’s as she fought to keep herself composed after his touch had threatened to undo her.

She was grateful at least that Azriel didn’t seem inclined to comment, and after several steadying breaths she accepted his proffered arm. As with the day before, her gown was heavy and unwieldy, and her corset tight enough that every step was an effort.

She found her breaths growing shorter and shorter as the gates groaned open, and she began to fear she might faint if her corset wasn’t loosened.

However, after a moment she felt an invisible shield of air forming around her nose and mouth, allowing her to take in her own oxygen.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Azriel whispered from her side. “I know it’s difficult, but take deep breaths and try to relax.”

Nesta might have snapped back at him where she not under such duress, but instead she simply did as he instructed, taking in great lungfuls of the cool, cedar-tinted air and blowing it out of her mouth as the gates yawned open and they started up the aisle under the watchful eyes of several hundred guests. At first Nesta tried to focus her attention on Adan, but she quickly found it only had the panic rising in her chest. After struggling once again to regain control, she let her eyes settle on Cassian instead.

It was like a dagger to the heart seeing him there, standing up and to the left of where he should have been, at the middle of the dais waiting for her. However, it was a pain Nesta welcomed, because it at least served as a reminder that this was real and not some fever dream born of loneliness and despair.

Cassian’s expression remained impassive as she made her way to the dais, but when his lips moved almost imperceptibly she knew what he was saying.

Te cакам. I love you.

She didn’t dare acknowledge the sentiment with even a nod, reaching instead to smooth the cardinal silk of her gown. His eyes glittered at the gesture, and though it wasn’t enough to fill Nesta’s aching heart, for now she let it be enough.

She was close enough to the dais now that she let her gaze drift to Adan. He looked as beautiful as she’d even seen him, the livery collar of syphons draped across his broad chest glittering the same color as his dark eyes. She studied him—his posture and the pair of ornamental curved blades hanging at either hip—and wondered for the hundredth time if she could trust him. Perhaps he was innocent in all this, and she could trust him to break the engagement without scandal or conflict once proof of his cousin’s treachery was unveiled. Or perhaps he’d orchestrated the whole affair, and they would end up with a civil war before the decade was out. Nesta hated herself for her selfishness, but what she feared more than war was marrying Adan, whether he was guilty or not.

Her knees nearly buckled under the weight of Adan’s gaze as he watched her make her way up the aisle towards him, the silk of her gown hissing like a serpent as it dragged on the stone floor. He was smiling, his gaze still soft with reverence , but she could see the eagerness as well—the desire to possess that ran deep in the Illyrian male blood.

She would be his.

Perhaps not forever, if things went according to plan, but at least while they were bound by this betrothal, some part of her—of her freedom—would belong to Adan. The thought was enough to make her mouth water with impending bile as she made her way closer.

She could feel Rhysand eying her as she stepped onto the dais, Azriel melting from her side and taking his rightful place at the High Lord’s left. Unable to help herself, she glanced up at Rhysand .He was as resplendent as ever, having donned his crown of ravens’ wings whose glinting gems matched the sparkling in his mesmerizing blue eyes. There was a knowing in his gaze as he studied her, expression neutral but gaze keen.

I am different because I know what you’d be sacrificing,, he’d said to her in Illyria. I know what it is to cede your power, to bed and obey someone who you don’t love.

Is that what this was, a concession? It was hard to let herself believe so, especially if arrangement turned out to be temporary. Still, some part of her couldn’t deny what she stood to lose.

You’re mine, Adan had told her in the nightmare she’d once had about him. Unless proof of his complicity could be unearthed, he’d been right: she would be his, and it wouldn’t just be for a few months.

It would be for eternity.

Nesta’s pulse had begun to buzz in her ears again as she accepted Adan’s hand, so loud now that she couldn’t hear Rhysand’s words as he addressed the assembly and offered his blessing to the union.

She could do this, Nesta reminded herself as Rhysand wrapped the customary silk around her and Adan’s wrists.

For Feyre, and Elain, and the baby. For peace in the realm and a respite from war and death.

It was the same refrain she’d played for herself the previous day, though it had begun to wear thin as her courage waned at the silk being tightened to signify the bond of the kilhamine.

So she added a final name, one she hadn’t dared to include before, even as it had haunted her every thought.

For Cassian.

For the life they may yet share. Despite the pain the truth had brought, Nesta felt hope—long dormant—swelling in her chest. Cassian was hers and she is, and she would find the truth and set them both free.

Her gaze slid to Lazar over Adan’s shoulder, his smile overripe with self-satisfaction.

Forcing all her remaining steel into her expression, Nesta met his eyes.

You will not win, she vowed to herself. You may be winning now, but I will see you laid low before the end.

She felt an echo of what felt like agreement resonate through her with surprising warmth, and she knew it must have been the bond. She was not alone, she reminded herself as she focused on Adan again. No matter the road she had to travel going forward, no matter how narrow or how steep, Nesta was not alone.

And neither was she powerless.

She was the heir of the dreaded Cauldron and the mate of one of the most powerful Illyrians ever born, and she’d come at last to see justice done. And not Adan, nor Lazar, nor the Mother herself would be able to stop her.

She was Nesta Archeron, acolyte of Death, and she was about to be unleashed.

Next Time on Like a Lonely House…

Lieutenant Na’ahmah stiffened.

“You wish me  to betray my prince’s confidence, is that it?”

Rhys shifted in his seat, gaze steady.

“I wish to know where there is cancer in Illyria so that I may cut it out before it spreads. I am not accusing your prince of anything, merely asking the question.”

“You speak of Illyrians as if you are not one of us.”

Rhys shrugged.

“I am only half-Illyrian, and I have faced my fair share of prejudice for that fact. You will forgive me if I lack your ardent patriotism, admirable though it may be.”

A muscle feathered in the lieutenant’s jaw, but she otherwise remained silent.

“Have you something to add, Na’ahmah?’

She shifted on her feet, wings rustling.

“May I speak freely, My Lord?”

Rhys’s eyebrows rose.

“Of course. Always.”

Na’ahmah nodded, glancing down at her polished boots as if to compose herself before looking Rhys straight in the eyes.

“Also long as you consider Illyria to be brutal and backwards, it will be. And every time you treat us like savages, you support those who seek to uphold the old ways and silence those who would see things change. Adan is a bright light after centuries of darkness, and he would sooner destroy himself than see Illyria harmed.”

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If you’d like to be tagged, please comment below. As always, I look forward to hearing what you think! Love you all, and stay safe 💗 

POST SCRIPT: I don’t often include links to the clothing or character references I use because I think it undercuts my story-telling ability if I simply post links to the things I describe. HOWEVER, the reference for the headdress Nesta wears is SO divine you simply have to see it, so click the link to see this gorgeous kinaree headdress with macaw feathers  from a vendor called SerpentFeathers. You will not be disappointed.

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[captainkurosolaire]

Re: Vital

A bristling light cast of the purest form luminescence broke throughout the psyche after the dealing with the Tormentor had been resolved. Calling the Captain by name repeatedly to attain attention. His fist still sizzled from how much he had left his ‘Undeserving’ side as curb roadkill and disfigured the disgusting three-piece suit bastard that represented everything he opposed against; in himself. The scoundrels pocketed in his overcoat as he strolled inward. An eye refracting off that which was positively enchantingly… “Well, I b’ a Red-District Whore... “ Revelations came matching thumping in rhythmic audibility. A finding and discovery of oneself would be uncovered here. However, It’d be cut-short from rejoicing in this recreational discovery. As the Trip -- was about to end! -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now if anyone ever suggested you take psychedelics or anything that may influence your reasoning, never, ever. Do it alone or least be responsible. Unfortunately. The Captain on the other hand didn’t realize this being, his virginity speaking for drugs or ‘product goods’ he merely smugged, so while his visage almost had a fished-shroomed out expression and he was zonked. Many events had unfolded in reality! He had gotten himself hitched with a small rowboat named Delilah! The lipstick had seemingly been smeared throughout over, possibly from a making out. Roped and collared her and he found himself in the midst of the Shrouds lent against a tree. “...Ugh…” He’d say while constantly hearing the nagging or was that just common-tongue? He couldn’t be clear, his vision blurred. Boots slowly began focusing on viewed vision. “Get up.” “Get up.” Constantly a stern voice with authoritarian pitch rattled out of a caged chamber. The Captain in haze snarked back, ‘Five more minutes.” Attempting to rehash himself into a doze before a hot-fist would be felt against his cheek making him face-plant into soils. It finally made him react back with a propping, “Alrighte what’s th’--” He’d be in the presence of his recent advisory in The First or better known Captain Parabellum formerly recognized as yet a switch-knife being juggling between his fingertip’s imposingly.

“You know why I’ve come. It’s time for an end. Don’t you agree?” Tension began to stir while he was implored to begin his ascension up the bark as his bare-back shredding against. “Like mate, can’t you buy me dinner before you kill me? But if that’s what you want.” He’d say nonchalantly before his face settled from relaxed to his own intensity fired-up. Reaching for his scimitars but recognizing they were no longer in his possession… Wait, did he even get dressed before this whole shenanigans? His mind-circulating trying to place catch-up within that headspace. The Midlander intimidatingly now points his knife towards the direction. Was this to be just another mindless battle? How many of these did this pirate have to get himself into? He couldn’t have foreseen what came after his discovery, was that the discovery itself was beginning to unravel itself for the Captain. Almost like responsible aetherial energies that had come into Captain’s existence would begin shaping and molding themselves into materialization's. This was but the journey the chapter dubbed one. The tension felt as Captain loosened and accepted his fate. Well, he was bested. If he was worthy enough to be somehow tracked and scoured through all this stuff he couldn’t even remember or repeat. He wouldn’t oppose it. The former First loosely drew an ilm closer threatening and imposing as he paced. Before discarding more knives and tossing them towards the sides of the tree’s trunk diagonally in corners of the Seeker’s hue. He didn’t flinch there was resolve or sheer admittance towards a no-win situation. But a duel seemed to have been given in equalization. Given room to move. He noticed around them this meadow had become a battlefield or a one-sided one. As poachers remained arse high and stacked all unconscious all the Captain’s belongings scattered throughout the flowery meadows. What was the meaning of that? His thought surfaced internally. Interruption in harsh gravel voice, “Captain Kuro Solaire… You’re a dead man. At-least so is rumored. It doesn’t answer how you stand before me though... I understand why you tracked me down but to leave yourself exposed this vulnerable. It’s foolish. To spare me when you’ve reclaimed your vengeance? Your thoughts are unsettling.” For piracy, the Midlander spoke clean and fluent Eorzean despite being a sailor himself. A sign of diplomacy and strategic it was no-wonder this man became the Captain’s First. Tension surfaced throughout the atmosphere. It caused imaginative humidity in the Shrouds. As if they were scorching. This was the result of separated and broken strings that once connected. Unspoken messages of impossible love for their era. Hatred festered but yet… Love was it’s counter shadow. Weight of arrayed emotions that are felt is dictating how deeply in depth’s someone is carried to your heart. “I see my beating didn’t jog your memory, perhaps, I failed. Or maybe you need to search th’ truth.” Parabellum’s hand quivered afraid. “Aye. You spoke with want.” He glossed softly. “Want?” Captain questioned, “Try need.” The scoundrel gave a dispatch to his equipped arms into fearlessness a startle broke through. As an embrace clutched and wrapped tightly around the Midlanders. A hug that broke and transcended and sealed a past wound.

Acceptance quaked the foundations. This was no longer a pirate who steered blindly or without unspoken. In losing and attaining the strength and beauty of a world clutched in those dastardly palms. He had seen unlike ever before. To act under frightening convictions. …. Silence broke out. The Switchblade was still held by the handle as they came to the bareback of the Captain. Would the Betrayer or the snake take a bite of Lion’s head remaining in breathless revelations, The Seeker muffled everything and grinned goldenly as was taught as his chin cupped over the broad shoulder. The hurt, pain, screeching of the Midlander traveled throughout impulsive streams to end what harmed. Nothing hurt this man more than betraying someone who was held, dear. Who he defended for his dreams when the Captain couldn’t do it for himself. He could end the Seeker right here. But it’d go unheard. And why he tread would remain. This… Captain proved even in losing the parley to being cast out, exiled, to being scarred, he could stand against the test of time. He was a difference. One that if pride’s skin was shed. This may be the beginning path. On the owner of this heathen Midlander was a man of many reasons and weights but when he donned the mantle and became his own Captain he was only scavenging to stay afloat. Even unfortunately slowly resulting in a decline by becoming just another atypical slave trader. But who embraced him here, was the opposite. Even unfortunate was replaced for making his wealth. He was unrelenting and daunting, free, vast. Did he rumble, did he swallow to despair? Of course. Plunges were necessary to uncover troves. This was no longer a dreaming young man anymore. Whoever touched the Captain in their parting had forged this man into stone. That didn’t break to the Void. That didn’t flinch to the unparalleled Depths of Empires. That survived curses and being of Living Death. What was the Crimson vessel merely by the Founding Captain he transformed into a Phoenix that was remarked and recognized until it’s last rising death, however, in the ashes… Came this of holding. His grip was lost as his own weapons disengaged from his person. As he retorted in the brace. “Never again.” Was only uttered suspiciously. “If we do this again, you can’t be the person who loses. I won’t let you. I’d rather stab you in the front myself than see you give another monster, that victory. You can’t go on and act as the main character to a story, you can’t do this without your crew. If we embark… You have to become reliable.” Autumn fell between them.“...Aye. Never again. Shall I ever stray from course, and if I do, I’ll supply you the knife to do me, n’.” Here in this unmarked location. The Golden Crosses reunited. To be empowered to prevail, to truly understand harsh compassion. To overcome true tyrants, from juggernauts that were unbeatable that pirates were more warmongers, pirate’s that shaped existences, to one’s that crossed every murk seas, sand, sky, space, time. This joining had to take place. A bond that together could puncture the past of regrets, slip-ups. This was daylight. “...From now on I return to my following with my new lease and name. Judas Caesar.” As their brace ended, “Sounds edgy and ominous, mate. But It’s got a ring. I take it yer whole Betrayer Mates won’t be any form ov’ happy, eh?” A firm nod stiffened from the Lander, “Aye. They’ll not take kindly to the disappearance and me erasing myself. It’s but another enemy against us if ever found out. Which I believe leads us to think we should return to the cabin and prepare accordingly what sort of dangers and threats are out there. Which conflicts we can quell, avoid, or outright exterminated.” The Seeker smirked as the situation resolved, “Hmm, I concur. Don’t remove yer authoritative leading cap’ just yet…” As plans on a cog steered as the Miqo’te revealed somewhat an inkling he gambled and put everything at stake to this arising. Still playing with the wenches of close-calls. A more serious question caught the attention of Judas, “Uhm, You should change first though, Cap’n. As well, those bands of poachers nearly held all your belongings. I’d refrain from ever going on some sort of loose trip or whatever you were under as well, least if you do it, ensure someone is watching you. I take it you had yer reasoning's behind actually getting into ‘shipments’, I strongly know you’ve disagreed beforehand to those dire motions.” “Aye. I found everything possible I could ever need t’ uncover and resolve. Let’s chew th’ rag elsewhere.” Feeling completely fine and unnervingly comfortable in the get-up that was donned over him ever striking a pose. For these confrontations in briefness taught him, never again, never again... Would he ever have to halt from expression. This was it, the signed  /glimmer/  that could change the tides direction, despite, the grim current and challenges it foretold!

       (Previous)  — References  —   ♫ ‘Hold your Heart’ — (Next Page)

[ohlawsons]

i played the fool (you played the martyr)

summary: As with everything else between her and Theron, there’s always been a back-and-forth, a push-and-pull, a predictable wobble in their unsteady orbit around each other.  or; Nathema throws some things into question and throws others into sharp focus. Maybe this is a conversation that's long overdue. pairing: Rei/Theron word count: 4659 notes: back on my bullshit with 4k words of chaotic bisexuals

***

Countless things flash through Rei’s mind as Theron falls, but her foremost thought is that she’s glad he’ll be too focused on the pain — if he’s even still conscious — to pay attention to her, because she really doesn’t think he’ll appreciate the things she has planned for Vinn Atrius.

(She recognizes his voice, now, from that first transmission they’d caught back on Odessen, months ago when this had all begun. She’d crushed the holocomm as the message replayed, using the Force to reduce it to mangled metal and a shower of sparks. They were going to find him — the Zakuulan, not Theron; she hadn’t yet acknowledged out loud that Theron was no longer on Odessen — and she’d announced to the war room that she was going to end him in a variety of painful ways.

Lana had been the only one present who hadn’t flinched.)

It’s been nearly six months since Umbara, six months since she’d held back Lana and watched Theron and Zaara walk away. Six months of galaxy-wide broadcasts and half-hearted warnings that she would be bringing him back to Odessen — alive —  and six months of carefully nurtured rage and grief and confusion held tight in her chest, growing and festering until a moment like this, a moment where she has somewhere to focus all of this pain and uncertainty.

But she forces that from her mind, for now. T’sereen kneels beside Theron, and Rei knows the former Jedi will do everything in her power to keep him alive; even as Rei stalks towards Atrius, even as she rips the saber from his hands and reaches out to force him to his knees, she can sense as T’sereen begins healing Theron. It’s enough — just as it will need to be enough when she clinches her hands tight, grasping onto Atrius with the Force and gripping, pulling, tugging.

She wants to take her time. She’s Sith, after all, and she’s furious — hands shaking, eyes alight with a ocher burn, the darker edges of the Force wrenched and shaped through her will alone — and she’s spent so long planning this moment, waiting and wishing and wanting, debating the very best way to express all these months of equal parts bitterness and despair.

But Theron would protest, if he were in any shape to protest rather than out cold on the ground behind her, so instead Rei continues to pull, and with one last effort to expend all her pent up energy there’s release and the sundered halves of Atrius’ armor-clad body clatter to the ground.

She suspects Theron would still protest.

But it doesn’t matter. Lana and Zaara are already rushing past her to the console, but Rei almost can’t find it within herself to care; the grief she’s so studiously built up over the months is gone, and its sudden loss leaves her exhausted and swaying on her feet. She joins T’sereen, stands just behind her and watches as the Jedi works, cursing beneath her breath as her hands move over the wound on Theron’s chest.

“He’ll live,” is all she says at first, before standing without warning and hoisting Theron up with her, beginning to carry him back out of the ruins. “I need to get him back to the med bay on the ship. Go save the galaxy,” she adds, jerking her head towards the console.

Rei watches as they leave, eyes trailing them a moment longer than she knows is necessary; letting out a slow breath, she turns back to where Lana and Zaara are now focused on tearing the systems apart, and Rei lets electricity begin to spark and crackle along her fingertips.

 ***

 She doesn’t leave him alone once they’re back on the ship, maintaining a stubborn watch over him in the medbay even as Lana needles her about putting together an official statement for Odessen and T’sereen shoos her away, fussing over Theron with a combination of kolto and her own Force healing abilities. Andronikos joins her, too, letting Zaara take the helm so he can sit with Rei instead of sleeping.

“For what it’s worth,” he says after T’sereen leaves to get some sleep of her own, “this isn’t as bad as you were after Thanaton. That was…” he pauses, and there’s a ragged edge to the words even after all these years. “You looked a lot worse than this. And you still pulled through, even with those ghosts toying with you.”

Rei doesn’t bother turning from Theron. “The ghosts kept me alive,” she reminds Andronikos, aware her tone has slipped into something akin to a pout; she figures she’s entitled to a bit of pouting, really, given the way things have gone recently.

“Sort of.” Another pause. “We didn’t have a Jedi, either.”

The way he shrugs as he says it — as nonchalant as anything — is enough to pull a tired grin from Rei. She rests her head on his shoulder and stays there, content with just his presence, until he leaves to take the helm again and Lana’s back, asking about statements and the Alliance’s official stance on the incident; she’ll humor Lana, Rei decides, and makes an honest effort to type something up but she can’t focus, not really, not with Theron lying so still before her.

They arrive on Odessen long before Rei can muster up anything substantial, so she passes off the datapad to Lana and follows as Theron is taken to the base’s clinic to be looked over by Yvara and the other doctors. It takes more than one pointed threat to keep them from throwing Rei out of the clinic entirely; she gives them space, at least, and paces at the far end of the room while T’sereen relays details of the injury and the treatment she’d already given.

When Yvara finally gives the all-clear — “He’s stable, but he needs time. Do not let him leave this room when he wakes,” is all she says before leaving — Rei takes up the same post as in the ship; she pulls up a chair and settles in, scrolling aimlessly through a datapad despite her attention remaining fully on Theron.

She hasn’t worked out how to feel, not yet; she’d never fully accepted that Theron was even gone, to begin with — as she’d pointed out in the first broadcast after Umbara, everyone who has ever betrayed her is dead — and a hollow ache settles in her chest whenever she allows herself to consider any similar course of action for dealing with Theron.

It couldn’t be betrayal, then, as she’d told Lana for all those months, even as her remaining spymaster repeatedly showed that all evidence pointed to the contrary — until things had begun to unravel, and hints and messages and breadcrumbs began to reveal themselves.

(Lana had refused to see it, all the way up until Copero, and that’s when Rei realized just how hard Lana was taking the betrayal, as well. There was a bond between her and Theron and Zaara, one that went back to Manaan all those years ago, and Rei knew it wasn’t easy to have that bond broken by them both at once.

But then Raina came waltzing onto Odessen with decrypted messages from Zaara that used a code their team had only used when deep undercover, one that only Raina and Lokin could decrypt and, well, Raina was the only one left living. She knew her wife, Raina insisted with more fire and certainty than Odessen had seen since Umbara, and she knew the messages were deliberate. Zaara and Theron weren’t traitors, not really. Not in the truest since of the word.

But Rei thinks it’s that revelation that hurt Lana the most, learning that she had somehow lost the trust of her two closest friends.)

It doesn’t feel good, being right.

Hope and grief and anger have left a hollowed out pit in her stomach, it seems, from holding on to them so tightly for so long, but it doesn’t matter because it’s over. He’s back. He’s back, and yet something dark still roils within her mind, because once again this careful back-and-forth dance between them has a looming obstacle — like on Rishi, on Yavin, on Ziost — that she’d made the mistake of assuming was over once they’d reunited on Odessen.

It isn’t opposite sides of the war, this time, not really. She would tear down the galaxy for him, collapse the stars and ignite the planets; it’s her way, it’s in her nature, because all she’s ever known is to fight.

But Theron — he would save the galaxy for her, fight until his last breath to hold it together with his own bare hands, if need be; that’s his nature, isn’t it, to stand in the way of a blaster or a saber — or a god — because while he isn’t a Jedi he shares too many of their damnable values, Rei thinks, and hasn’t that always been the problem standing between them?

Maybe they could both learn to be a little less reckless, but that hasn’t ever been in either of their natures.

She watches the steady, shallow rise and fall of his chest, the raw bruising around his implant, the dark circles beneath his eyes; for a moment, equal parts rage and satisfaction bubble up within her at the memory of, quite literally, tearing apart the man responsible, but it’s quickly replaced by guilt that churns uncomfortably within her mind — because while this isn’t her fault, it easily could’ve been. As with everything else between her and Theron, there’s always been a back-and-forth, a push-and-pull, a predictable wobble in their unsteady orbit around each other.

They both act without thinking, they rush forward, spurred on by gut feeling and base emotion. She leave destruction in her wake, and he follows behind to clean up the mess and protect her from the fallout of her own actions. Maybe he would disagree — she knows he would disagree — but Rei can’t help but wonder if this would’ve still happened if she were a little more cautious, a little less brash, someone that Theron could’ve trusted this sort of delicate mission to.

But then, she thinks, quiet fondness causing her lips to curl into a soft grin, he was hardly delicate about the mission, either, given the way he leapt into the heart of the cult.

He’d never asked her to be anything but who she already was — and she could be so much, at times, she knew — and Rei doesn’t think she could ask Theron to change, either.

She knows what she signed up for.

 ***

 He stirs later that night, and Rei immediately has to reach over to keep him from trying to sit up; she suspects that he would’ve given up rather quickly even without her intervention, if the grimace of pain is anything to go by. She sets her datapad aside, one hand reaching for his before she withdraws; unease and uncertainly settles over her and she hesitates, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“Ow.” He doesn’t try sitting again, but does turn his head just enough to look in Rei’s direction.

“We’re going to have matching scars now,” she informs him, matter-of-fact, brow raising as she glances over him again; the twisted, gnarled scar tissue that crosses her own torso — a gift from her first fight with Thanaton — is a bit messier than Theron’s will be, she suspects, once it heals enough to be a scar. “Though I think yours will heal better.”

He starts to laugh, but the sound quickly gives way to a sharp intake of breath as his grimace returns. “Glad to hear it. Are we back on Odessen?”

“We are. Are you here to stay?” The question comes out more quickly than Rei had wanted, more callous and point-blank than she’d planned, but she doesn’t take it back; she’s been in the dark for too long, spent too many nights alone with nothing but her uncertainty for company. He owes her this one thing, she thinks, just one answered question to atone for six months of lies and reckless deception.

Theron looks away, just for a moment, a few seconds of silence before he reaches for her; it’s nothing but a hint of motion, just one hand creeping to the edge of the medical bed he’s on, but Rei understands and gingerly takes his hand in one of her own. “Yes,” he says, slowly, just as delicately as the way they cling to each other, “if you’ll have me. All I want is to come back to the Alliance. Here.” A beat of silence. “With you.”

He’s watching her with a careful, reserved gaze, as if he doesn’t expect her to say yes, and somehow that cuts Rei as deeply as when he’d left in the first place. She wonders if it’s the pain or the meds, or if he really believes that she cares so little for him that she would toss him aside.

As if she could.

“Yes, of course,” she says, swallowing back the way his doubt stings and making a show of rolling her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, if you’re not. And if you are—“ she pauses and leans forward, giving his hand the slightest squeeze, “—then take me with you next time.” He starts to argue but she shakes her head; they aren’t ready for this sort of conversation, not now, not when he’s still too weak to even sit up on his own. “Focus on healing, and we can have this fight later. But I want you to know, Theron, that I love you. So completely and deeply that I… I don’t even know how to make sense of it.” She pauses, places a second hand over his; her voice stays steady, but her chest burns with the intensity of the words, the staggering depth of the way she feels about it. About him. With a slow exhale, she forces a carefully measured grin. “Really, it’s cute that you think a little betrayal is enough to get rid of me.”

He says nothing, at first, but his cautious grip on Rei’s hand tightens and she wonders if she didn’t say the wrong thing, opting for a bit of levity to break up the heavy moment. But then he smiles — it’s slow, and hesitant, and almost bitter — and when he speaks his tone is tired. “The last thing I wanted was to push you away. If there had been some other way…” He lets out a slow breath, releases her hand. “I didn’t have a choice. For the Alliance, for you…”

The words trail off again and Rei can tell Theron’s fighting exhaustion — or the meds, or both — so she slides her hand back and stands, grabbing her discarded datapad and clutching it in a grip so tight she worries it’ll crack. “Rest,” she chides, taking a step back; if she doesn’t leave now, she doesn’t know that she’ll be able to leave his side at all. “I’ll get Yvara. And I’ll be waiting — after she clears you and you’re released. No sneaking out of here early.”

That, at least, earns her a tired smile, and she pauses in the doorway and watches as Theron’s eyes flutter shut; all the months of bitterness and uncertainty seem so trivial, now that he’s back, and something like resolve — like certainty — settles warm within her bones and she’s happy, she thinks, for the first time in what feels like years.

 ***

 She doesn’t avoid him, not necessarily, but the next several days pass in a flurry of frantic activity that leave little time for her to visit.

Rei, Lana, and Beywan work to put together an official statement, first in a quiet memo circulated through the Alliance, then to lengthy reports passed to their Imperial and Republic ambassadors; Arcann takes the liberty of smoothing things over with the rest of Zakuul, but when Rei tries to thank him he waves off the attention — something about knowing Theron and Zaara need people on their side.

Zaara, for her part, seems in a better mood than Rei has ever seen her, walking hand in hand with Raina throughout the base. Theron’s recovery has gone well, to the point where Rei knows Yvara has had to threaten — more than once — to cuff Theron to the bed if he continues to try and bargain his way out of the clinic. She wishes she could visit, more than the handful of times she’s dropped by since their return, but she’s hardly had time to even sleep with as busy as she’s been.

After working to convince the rest of the galaxy that Theron and Zaara had been working under Odessen’s orders — something made infinitely easier by the fact that Rei left them alive, in stark contrast to the long list of others who had betrayed her and faced swift retribution — there were the continued attempts from both Empress Acina and Chancellor Rans to sway the Alliance in their favor, as well as the increasingly worrisome rumors that renewed war looms on the horizon, all punctuated by the stream of reports highlighting the galaxy’s worsening resource shortage. Rei doesn’t mind politics, far from it, but even the verbal sparring with Acina and blunt threats towards Rans grow tiresome, these days.

She misses Theron’s official discharge from the clinic, and only learns about it after an impossibly long day spent in meetings and on calls and trying to wrap her mind around the logistics of working enough farmland to feed the entirety of the Alliance; on a different day, she might have stormed through the base to demand answers, to demand the reason that she wasn’t alerted as soon as he was released. But tonight, she’s not in the mood to fight with anyone, so instead she drags her tired feet through the base towards her quarters — their quarters — only to find them empty.

It doesn’t take her long to find him; it’s late enough that Odessen is growing quiet, and by now Rei knows Theron well enough to have a good idea of the handful of places he’ll sneak off to when he needs a moment to himself. She finds him at the back of the base, leaning against the railing of one of the walkways that leads down to the shallow valley where she and Zaara both tend to land their ships. It’s peaceful, down here, tucked away just out of sight of the hanger bay where the Gravestone used to sit.

Rei doesn’t bother to announce her presence. She stands beside him, hands clasped behind her back as she joins him in surveying the valley that sprawls out before them; Theron acknowledges her with a quick glance, but even just that is enough for Rei to see that his movements are still stiff. “Out early on good behavior?” she asks lightly, brow raising as she suppresses a grin.

“Something like that.” His white-knuckled grip on the railing loosens, but the rest of his posture remains rigid, tense. “Guess I just needed some time to get my thoughts together.”

There’s a comfortable silence, then — at least, it’s comfortable enough for Rei, but beside her Theron is still impossibly still; she reaches for one of his hands, steps closer until she’s pressed against his side, warm and solid and real. She isn’t very good at providing comfort, but she can be here, and that’s something. “How did this all even happen?” she asks after a moment, the words more curious than accusatory, eyes locked on their joined hands as her fingers intertwine with his. “How long before Iokath were you scheming?” She tilts her head up, brow raised and lips curled into a mischievous smirk.

“In my defense, things got a little out of hand.”

“Mhmm.”

“An old contact of mine got me some leads,” he says, finally beginning to relax beside her; Rei wonders if it’s her presence or the chance to finally speak freely about it all. “I didn’t expect anything to come of it, but next thing I knew I was staring at a way in with the Order.”

“The mysterious Iokath intel,” she guesses.

He nods. “I knew I could convince you to send a team to investigate, and had to hope the Empire and Republic would do the same.” He pauses, frowning, and when he speaks again he sounds a bit sheepish for the first time. “That’s… when Zaara found out. She’s still got friends in Sith Intelligence, and apparently I didn’t cover my tracks as well as I’d thought. But I wanted to make sure I had something substantial before I turned it over to the rest of the Alliance.” Another pause, this time to glance back out over the valley, and when he speaks again his voice is rough. “There was just too much going on to waste time and people on a dead end, but… guess I didn’t really help with the personnel issues.”

Rei shifts her weight, gives a noncommittal wave of her free hand. “There’s always personnel issues. I’ve been dealing with them since long before Odessen. What about the trap on Iokath?” She doesn’t think she really wants to know, but she needs to, doesn’t she? Maybe it doesn’t matter, but she’s tired of not knowing.

“Zaara’s idea.” The simple statement comes out on a rough sigh, slow but not quite hesitant. “Atrius’ plan — I didn’t know it was him, at the time — was for you to get caught in the crossfire. Zaara pointed out it might look… suspicious, if the Alliance came out so far ahead, and I had just enough time to…” He doesn’t say it, doesn’t admit that he was the one to rig the trap that knocked Rei out cold, but the words still hang between them, unsaid. “Atrius assumed you’d make a run for the weapon and try to secure it for the Alliance, but none of us expected you to get so creative about it. Or lucky.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone at that point?” Again, she’s careful to keep her voice even, not too sharp. Not too frustrated.

Theron’s frustration, however, is plain in his tone. “We didn’t even get to meet Atrius in person until after Iokath, which is when we realized that Gemini droid was in our systems. I couldn’t report it at that point. Not without tipping off the Order.” He pauses, jaw working, eyes focused on something off in the distance. “So we met with him, and he told us about the Adegan crystals and Umbara, and… there was no going back.”

She doesn’t ask for details about Umbara.

“So…” He lets out a long, slow breath, turning back to Rei. “Where do we go from here?”

She tilts her head, considers; it’s been a long day, and a longer evening, but she certainly feels as if she’s gotten the answers she’d needed. “To bed, I’d hope,” she decides, giving the slightest tug on their still-joined hands. “It’s been a very long day and I’m very tired of sleeping alone.”

“Just like that?” His brow furrows and his expression shifts to one that’s not quite suspicious.

Rei frowns, fighting back a yawn. “Would you rather we have a big fight about this?” she deadpans. “What you did was stupid and reckless, but you and I both know I’m the last person who should be criticizing rash decisions.” Exhaustion finally gets the better of her and she yawns before continuing, “I’m tired and I miss you, and I honestly do not care about anything else. I just want to move past it.”

“Just like that.” There’s fondness in his voice, now, and even as Rei tries to lead them back to their quarters, Theron pulls her back towards him into an embrace, but even as he wraps his arms around her he’s gentle, hesitant — and she can’t tell if it’s his injury or his guilt that makes him so cautious, even now. “I’m sorry. For all of this. I’ve missed you, too, and I love you, so much, and…” A catch of his breath, a quiet, shaky laugh. “And I really don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t let me back in.”

She doesn’t respond, not right away, simply content to be held. But then she pulls away, just enough to look up at Theron — at the way he stares at her like she’s the best damn thing to ever happen to him, which isn’t fair, not really, not with the way it makes her heart thrum erratic in her chest even after all this time — and the glib remark she’d had prepared falls unspoken from her lips. “You’re stuck with me,” she says instead, beaming up at him, because it feels right — him, and this moment, and Odessen, all of it.

She would tear the galaxy apart for him, and he would piece it back together for her. And maybe that’s enough, for now.