#i saw that and nothing but kind words for a good pal

[thoughts-reasons]

branching out

[happy74827]

Love Me Like A Sailor

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: It’s rare that dreams can turn into reality, but it isn’t impossible.

WC: 5537 (trust the process friends 🙏)

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends + Lovers, Wade POV, Mentions of the Past {TW: Self-Deprecation, Wade having insecurities, Not Proof Read}

Where are all the fics of this man? I can barely find some for him and it’s making me go crazy. Like, your honor, I love him. Gimme more.

Anyway, I figured I would write a Wade fic that’s around the same premise as my Wolverine one (since SO MANY OF YOU ate it up), so if anyone actually finds this… you’re welcome 🫶✨

『••✎••』

He was always in love with you. Always.

Wade Wilson had never been the smartest tool in the shed, the prettiest girl in the room, or even the tallest guy. In fact, he was a little bit of the opposite. He had a face only a mother could love, he was always cracking jokes at the wrong time, and his voice was too loud and too obnoxious for his own good. And while all of these traits might be endearing when it came from a handsome man with a voice as smooth as silk, the same qualities were irritating at best when it came to Wade.

He knew that. He wasn't blind. He knew he was annoying and ugly and too loud. However, there was one thing he was certain of: Wade Wilson was in love with his best friend.

Wade Wilson was not in love with just any best friend. He was in love with the only person who had been there since the beginning, the only one who had stuck with him through everything he had been through.

He was in love with you.

And you were in love with him, or so he hoped. He couldn’t tell because you were the most gorgeous, sweet, caring, thoughtful, and wonderful person on this planet, and he was none of those things.

He could barely bring himself to think of the words that could be on the tip of your tongue whenever he was around. He didn't deserve you. He was damaged.

But sometimes, he couldn’t help but hope—hope that you would return his feelings, hope that maybe you felt the same way, hope that you could be more than just best friends.

Every time the thought crossed his mind, his heart would pound in his chest. He was always so close to telling you, to confessing, but then he would stop himself. It was a constant back-and-forth.

One night, after a particularly long night of kicking names and taking asses, Wade decided to visit his gal pal, and by visit, he meant to break into your house and steal your food.

So, like Krampus, if Krampus had a thing for chimichangas instead of children, Wade climbed through your bedroom window as it had been left unlocked. You had told him a thousand times to use the front door, but Wade couldn’t do that. If he did that, he would feel too normal. And as much as Wade enjoyed breaking and entering, he would be damned if he made it boring for himself.

He only wished he could stick the landing.

In his defense, he had only fallen off the window ledge by an inch or two. However, the thud that his body made when he landed on the hardwood floor of your bedroom was louder than he had anticipated, and it sounded like an explosion.

A big one, too, like someone who had a little too much Taco Bell and took a nice walk through Barnes & Noble. Oh, yes, he knows exactly what you book nerds do when you’re approaching that infamous bathroom sign.

But, regardless of his loud entrance, he jumped back up to his feet and brushed the dust off his suit before making his way to the kitchen.

The smell of vanilla wafted through the air as Wade entered the kitchen and saw nothing but cleanliness and order. He opened the cupboards and frowned at the lack of food.

This was a problem.

A major problem.

There was nothing he could eat. No tacos. No chimichangas. No candy. Not even a damn Dorito.

What kind of animal would do this?

Wade had never been so offended. He was going to have to talk to you about this. You couldn’t have a guest over and not have snacks.

He decided to call you. Maybe you could talk some sense into yourself.

You answered after the second ring.

You didn't seem surprised at all to hear his voice on the other end of the line. Wade was used to your nonchalance when it came to him and his shenanigans. He loved it.

You always kept him on his toes, and the fact that you had become desensitized to his crazy was both amusing and infuriating.

And it really worked out to his benefit tonight.

Because when he started complaining about the lack of food in your apartment, instead of telling him to get his ass back to his place and stop breaking into yours, you told him to sit tight.

That you would be right over.

And that's how Wade found himself waiting for you on your couch, his leg bouncing with anticipation as he waited for you to get here.

His heart was pounding against his rib cage as his fingers drummed a nervous beat against his thighs. He so wanted to marry you the moment you walked through the door.

He would make sure that was the first thing out of his mouth.

And when you handed him his bag of Checkers, he couldn't stop himself from blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

"Wanna get married?"

He fully meant it, too—the whole shi-bang.

Till death do us part.

Till the cows come home.

Till the last dance.

And every single second after.

You played it off as one of his usual antics. One of the jokes that Wade always cracked whenever he was hungry or when you surprised him.

Of course, why would you think he was being serious? His life was a full-blown comedy, a slapstick routine that would have even the biggest comedian crying with laughter.

Wade knew that. But, for once, he wished his life became less of a joke and more of a fairy tale.

A happily ever after. If they even exist.

It seemed life always had an extra curveball for him. A twist. Something unexpected. Something that made him feel even less human.

He could never catch a break even if the closest thing he could imagine to heaven was standing in front of him.

So, with a heavy sigh, Wade took the bag of Checkers and plopped himself onto the couch, hoping to enjoy the sweet taste of victory in the form of sugar and carbs.

And then you did something that made him fall in love with you even more.

You sat next to him.

Wade didn't even try to hide the wide grin that spread across his lips as he watched you sit beside him, a smile of your own on your pretty face.

You were beautiful. So, so beautiful.

Wade had always known that. He could tell the moment he first met you. He could also see the panic, the fear, and the terror in your eyes when you saw him.

And he was hot then, too—supermodel level.

Fun fact: the reason why you two met was that Wade might have gotten the names mixed up on his gold card and had ended up at a very fancy restaurant, and, well, his idea of the target was the one serving him.

You.

It was a bit awkward.

But, after you realized he wasn’t going to murder you and that he had no idea how much a glass of water cost or how his steak was literally the size of the entire restaurant, you started talking.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

It was love at first sight. In his mind, at least. He couldn’t imagine life without you.

Wade was in deep.

And the way you were looking at him right now, a glimmer of happiness in your eyes, a soft smile of contentment on your face, and your body turned towards him, well, it made him melt.

Wade had always been a sucker for romantic movies and romance novels, and the way you looked right now was straight out of a Nicholas Sparks movie.

He wanted to kiss you.

No.

He needed to kiss you. To feel your lips against his. Your hands in his. The warmth of your body. Your heartbeat.Everything.

He needed it all.

Call him a horny bastard, but you looked absolutely beautiful sitting there, eating one of his favorite fries from the bag.

Wade had always loved the little things. He loved watching you eat. He loved seeing you play with your hair. He loved it when you babbled to yourself. And, right now, you were doing the cutest thing ever.

You were holding the bag out to him, a fry halfway to your mouth, your eyes wide, and a bright smile on your face. You looked so happy.

Wade was happy, too.

"Want some?"

Nuggets. He didn’t even know Checkers had nuggets.

He hadn’t seen these bad boys since high school. And even then, they were the cheap knockoff, frozen food nuggets.

These were the good shit.

"Oh, baby, I'd take you and all your chicken nuggets to prom," Wade said as he reached forward and plucked a chicken nugget out of the bag.

He popped it into his mouth and let out a satisfied hum.

You giggled and shook your head as you pulled the bag back towards yourself and set it on your lap.

"You're a dork, Wade."

"The dorkiest."

"That's true."

You took a sip from your soda and leaned back, letting out a content sigh as you did so.

"Thanks for coming over," Wade said as he grabbed his burger and began eating.

"Well, I do live here," you replied, your eyes darting toward the bag of nuggets. "I can't really go anywhere else."

Maybe you can’t, but he can go inside your—

"I was actually thinking we could spend the night together," you continued, oblivious to the naughty thoughts running through his mind. "We haven't done that in a while."

Wade nearly choked on his burger.

He swallowed quickly and let out a small cough before grabbing his soda and downing the entire thing. For once, the liquid soothed his parched throat.

"I mean, uh, yeah, sure, totally. It'll be just like the old days. You, me, Netflix, and chilling."

He couldn't help it, okay? Flirting was just one of the many things that Wade Wilson did naturally.

Just like his regular occurrence of having 207 bones in his body.

It wasn't his fault that his words came out suggestive. He fully meant it—every word.

Every single flirtatious word that tumbled out of his mouth. Every joke that came out as a compliment. Every compliment was more of a sexual innuendo than anything.

It was who he was.

It was the only way he knew how to talk to people. Especially the person with whom he was in love.

He couldn't just go up to you and tell you that you were the most amazing person he had ever met, or that your smile was so beautiful that it made his heart skip a beat, or that he loved the way you looked at him when you were happy, or the way your voice would turn into a squeal when you laughed, or the way you would blush when he flirted with you.

He couldn't say all those things because they were cheesy and cliche, and you would think he was lying.

So, he made jokes. He made innuendos. He made you blush and giggle and roll your eyes.

Because that was the best way to get through to you.

That was the only way.

Or, at least, that's what he had thought.

Now, the truth was a bit different. The truth was that Wade was scared. Scared that you wouldn't feel the same way. Scared that he would ruin everything. Scared that you would leave.

So, he flirted. And joked. And tried to act like everything was normal. Like he was still in his younger, good-looking, more handsome days. Like if he made himself delusional enough to believe he was still attractive, he could convince himself that he would always have a chance.

Because he wasn't, he was old, ugly, and damaged. And no one, not even someone as beautiful and kind and wonderful as you, would want someone who had gone through the things he had.

Who had done the things he had.

You didn’t show any signs of disgust or resentment when he showed up on your doorstep for the first time after his incident or even the next time. Or the times after that.

But Wade couldn’t help but feel like it would eventually happen, and you would eventually get tired of him that you would realize how damaged he was. How broken he was.

That he wasn’t worthy.

"Remember that party?" Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. You had a fond smile on your face as you looked up at the ceiling. "When you snuck into my room and convinced me to sneak out and have fun with you?"

Yes, yes, he did. He remembered it far better than you. And he knew that, even though you hadn’t said it, he knew that this was a memory he treasured more because… ironically, it was the only time you had ever done something rebellious.

You had been so shy and timid and afraid to stand up for yourself. You had always been afraid of going against the grain, of doing what other people told you to do.

Wade had always wondered why. He had always wondered what was holding you back. So, when he was able to drag you out of your shell and make you experience a night, you would never forget, well, he was a happy man.

It was also the night he realized things that he had never been aware of before. Physically things.

There was a moment he remembered vividly. The two of you were about seconds away from getting a picture taken by some drunk dude with a Polaroid camera. Wade, being the good friend he was, had wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close.

In that moment, he happened to glance at you when the flash went off and, well, it was a picture perfect moment.

We’re talking slow-mo, people becoming blurred background characters, a spotlight shining down on you two, his heart pounding in his chest, and butterflies flying around in his stomach.

The only thing missing was a sappy love song playing in the background.

He had always assumed that the sudden fluttering feeling in his stomach and the way his heart was pounding was due to the fact that he hated his picture being taken.

Or that he had accidentally eaten the wrong thing at the buffet.

But, as he stared at you, he started noticing every single detail. How pretty your eyes became with the extra glint of the flash. How your smile was as bright as a baby’s bare ass. How you were so oblivious to everything else except for him.

How the world suddenly became a blur, and all he could focus on was you.

How the music faded away. How he forgot how to breathe. How his heart felt like it was about to explode.

It was at that moment Wade realized, for the first time, what love was.

Wade had never been the one for grand gestures. He didn't know how to express his emotions in ways other than jokes or sarcasm. So, when it came to romance, he always preferred to keep things simple.

Like now, break-ins and food were his version of a romantic dinner.

However, when it came to the actual feelings part, the emotional part, and the vulnerable part, Wade had a hard time with that.

This was why, when you turned your attention towards him, he couldn't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth.

"Why haven’t we ever dated?"

You blinked.

You stared at him for a moment, your expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, you responded, "You’re really affected by getting Checkers, aren't you?"

Wade could see the amusement in your eyes and he could hear the faint traces of humor in your tone, but, somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that you were avoiding the question.

He couldn’t tell if it was because you didn't want to answer him or if it was because you didn't know what to say.

And, for a brief moment, Wade hesitated to push you. He didn't want to make things uncomfortable. He didn't want to put you on the spot. He didn't want to scare you away.

But, then again, if there was anything Wade Wilson was good at, it was pushing people to their absolute limit.

So, he pushed.

"Skip the foreplay," he said, his voice firm and steady but not unkind. "Seriously, why have we never dated?"

Wade kept his eyes on yours, his expression serious, his body tense. He waited for you to speak, his heart pounding in his chest and his stomach churning.

You were silent for a long moment, staring at him with wide, confused eyes.

"Because we're best friends," you answered finally, your tone matter-of-fact, almost as if you were stating a fact. "And, I… I just never thought about it.

Wade felt his heart sink. He knew that you weren’t lying. He could see it in the way your lips curled downwards, the way your eyebrows furrowed, and the way your shoulders slumped forward.

You were telling the truth.

It was a truth Wade didn’t want to hear.

He opened his mouth, prepared to apologize, to change the subject, to say something to make you laugh.

But, before he could utter a single word, you spoke again.

"Besides, it's not like you've ever been interested."

There was a hint of bitterness in your voice, a tinge of hurt in your tone.

It was a subtle reminder that Wade had a track record of being a player. A serial flirt who was never serious. A guy who flirted with every girl, who was constantly on the lookout for the next big thing.

He was the type of guy who would rather have fun than get attached. Or, at least, that's what everyone assumed.

At the tone of your voice, Wade immediately perked up, his eyes widening in surprise and his heart pounding.

The guttural laugh that escaped his lips caught you by surprise.

You flinched slightly and stared at him, your mouth agape, your eyes wide, and your expression bewildered.

"Sorry," Wade apologized quickly, his voice quiet and strained. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "But, goddamn, that’s… oh, man. You do not know how wrong you are."

"Oh, don’t even, Winston Wilson, this is not the time for your jokes," you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Oh, middle names, huh? Are we there already? Because I have to say, I didn't think you were the type of girl who'd use a guy's full name to show her disappointment, but I have to admit, it's kind of hot."

Wade smirked at the annoyed look that crossed your face, but it soon faded as he realized that you didn't find the comment amusing.

Instead, you seemed to grow even more frustrated.

"Wade," you started, your voice soft and low, your tone filled with frustration and sadness, "I don’t want to get into it right now, okay? Can we please just eat our food and watch a movie or something?"

You turned away from him, focusing your attention on the bag of Checkers.

He couldn’t let you avoid this.

"Look, I'm not trying to be a jerk," he began, his voice soft and gentle, "I'm just… did you seriously never think I would want to be with you?"

You paused and turned to look at him, a confused expression on your face.

"Of course not; why would I?"

The genuine shock in your voice and the innocent look on your face nearly broke his heart.

He thought he was being the most obvious motherfucker on the planet, but apparently, you had been as blind as a bat.

"I've been flirting with you for years," he reminded you. "I've been complimenting you, and asking you to hang out, and giving you gifts, and—"

"That's just what you do, Wade," you interrupted, shaking your head. "That's what you do to all girls. You flirt with them. You ask them out. You do the whole charming and funny routine. I’m sure if you knew their addresses, you would break in too."

Okay, ouch.

You weren't exactly wrong, but still, that kind of stung.

"That's not what I'm talking about," he insisted, his voice growing louder, his tone firm.

"What are you talking about, then?"

"I'm talking about you, okay? You’re like the Goldie Hawn to my Kurt Russell. Or, if I'm being completely honest, you're like chimichangas and tacos, and not just because they're both delicious, but because, let's face it, I'm addicted to you."

Your expression remained neutral, your eyes still boring into his.

"You're my best friend," he continued, his voice growing softer, his tone gentler, "and, yeah, maybe I used to flirt with other girls a lot, but I don't care about them. I don't even really know them. And, besides, none of them would be able to look me in the eyes right now, the way you are."

"Don’t start with that," you mumbled, averting your gaze and looking down at the floor.

"Start with what?"

"Being self-deprecating."

"It's not self-deprecating," he said, his tone growing defensive. His whole confession was momentarily forgotten. "It's true. I am a walking nightmare, and not just because I look like Freddy Krueger and Leatherface had a baby, but also because I've killed more people than I've seen naked."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I haven't seen you naked," you retorted, a playful smirk forming on your lips.

"Hey, don't tease me. I'm already emotionally vulnerable enough."

You snorted, but your grin was soft and warm.

"Okay, sorry," you said, your tone apologetic, your expression serious, "but, seriously, though, you’re not a nightmare. Not to me. I mean, sure, you look like a melted wax figurine, and your personality is like a mix between a hyperactive 10-year-old and a 70-year-old alcoholic, but, you know, I don't mind."

"Oh, you're too kind."

"My point is, it doesn't bother me, Wade," you assured him. "And it never will."

"Even if it does," he said, his voice quiet, his tone low, "it won't change the way I feel about you."

Your expression softened, the playfulness fading from your eyes. You looked about ready to let out some tears, but Wade had a feeling that they weren’t because you were sad.

"Did you really think that all this time?" you asked, the softness in your tone making his chest tighten. "You wanted to date me?"

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Yeah," he answered, his tone casual, "you’re hot, toots. Even hotter than me in my prime."

You rolled your eyes, a faint smile on your face. "I don’t know, Wade. The suit does you justice."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Is that your way of telling me that my ass looks good in this thing?"

"Oh, Wade, I don't need to tell you that," you replied, smirking. "You know how amazing your ass is."

You’re right. Captain America had nothing on him.

He let out a deep breath, his eyes fixed on yours. He was silent for a long moment, just taking in your appearance.

You didn’t change much from that day at the party. Maybe your facial features matured a little, and maybe your body grew a little more, but besides that, you looked the same.

The only difference was the look you gave him. The softness of your eyes. The affection in your expression. The gentleness of your smile.

It was the same look he constantly gave you when he thought you weren’t looking.

It was the look of someone who cared deeply for you. Someone who cherished you. Who wanted to make you happy. Who wanted to be by your side forever.

Someone who loved you.

"Do you ever wonder what would've happened if we kissed that night?"

He didn’t expect you to know exactly what he was talking about. Random question and all that. But, you surprised him once again.

"Why didn’t you?"

The question caught him off guard.

He was used to the playful banter, the light teasing, the random flirting. He wasn’t used to you being so forward. So blunt.

He was the blunt one. You were stealing his thunder.

"I was a cowardly bitch."

His honesty surprised both of you. He didn’t even plan on saying that. It was just the first thing that popped into his head.

It was true, though.

"Are you still a cowardly bitch?"

"I think so," he said slowly, "I think the main difference is, now I'm a cowardly bitch that knows what he wants."

He saw the way your cheeks reddened, the way you avoided his gaze, and the way you shifted your weight from side to side.

Wade Wilson may not be good at emotions, but he knew what those signs meant.

He was making you nervous.

He couldn’t help the small grin that spread across his face. He liked that. He liked that he made you nervous. That he made you blush. That he could make you flustered.

And, most of all, he liked that he was able to make you feel that way.

He couldn’t remember the last time a woman was that shy and timid around him. Most of the girls he met were bold, confident, and loud… just like him.

He preferred your type, though. Sometimes, he even needs a break from his own obnoxiousness.

"So," he started, his tone casual, his posture relaxed, "you chill with the idea of ruining a perfectly good friendship and getting in a relationship with me? A crazy, scarred, murderous man who doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut?"

He watched you take a deep breath, your eyes focused on his, a faint smile on your face.

"I'll consider it," you responded, your tone playful, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "but you have to answer one question first."

"Oh, a quiz? Can we have a prize for the winner?"

You chuckled.

"What's the question?"

You smiled.

"When you said that you've killed more people than you've seen naked, was that true?"

"Yes." He answered without hesitation. Something told him that lying was not an option here.

"And, when you said that the suit does me justice," he started, his tone casual, his eyes bright, and his smile mischievous, "was that your way of telling me that you want to see me naked?"

"You wish, Wilson."

"You're right. I do."

He didn't mean to sound so sincere, but, damn, the words just slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Wade watched as you smiled and turned your attention toward the bag of Checkers momentarily, and, for a split second, Wade worried that he had taken things too far. That he had scared you away.

He shouldn't have been worried.

Because, when you moved the bag to the table and stood up, his eyes immediately focused on the way your lips were twisted into a smirk and the way your eyes were locked on his.

You didn’t say a word. You didn’t need to. He was already nodding along for whatever plan was formulating in that pretty little head of yours.

And, when you straddled him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in close and leaning in close, it was like he was back at that party.

It was the same feeling.

The nervousness. The anticipation. The excitement. The anxiety. The giddiness. The rush.

Everything was the same, except this time, it was actually happening. And, he was sober.

As you pulled him in, he leaned forward and closed the distance between you, kissing you slowly, his eyes closed, his hands on your hips, and his lips pressed against yours. The mask that had been halfway covering his face was now tossed aside by him to indulge in the kiss fully.

It was better than he could have ever imagined.

You were better than he could have ever imagined.

But then, his insecurities kicked in, and the reality of the situation hit him. In his mind, he had imagined this moment with his younger, healthier self. The buffed-out arms, the clear skin, the perfect jawline. He still had that scruff of a beard in his mind, and the outlines of his eyebrows did not melt completely.

But, when he felt your lips against his, and the softness of your touch, the warmth of your body, the taste of your tongue, he was reminded that you didn’t picture him as he once was.

You were seeing him as he was now. Hairless, deformed, scarred, a hot mess, and a complete disaster. And you were still kissing him. You were still touching him. You were still here.

It was better than anything his imagination could conjure up.

Because, for once, reality was better than fantasy. For once, he realized that maybe his face wasn’t a face only a mother could love and that maybe his looks weren't a dealbreaker for a certain somebody.

You broke the kiss and pulled away, staring at him, your face inches away from his. He stared at you, his eyes meeting yours.

He was searching, trying to read you, trying to figure out what was going through your mind. See if you had those second thoughts. If you regret this.

All he found, though, was that pretty little smile of yours. The one that made his heart skip a beat. The one that made him smile back.

"Well," you started, your eyes sparkling with mischief, "if it's any consolation, Wade, I think our friendship was pretty fucked the minute I decided to give you my number."

He raised an eyebrow, a grin forming on his lips.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm," you nodded, biting your lip and leaning in close. Your hand reached up and cupped his cheek, stroking the skin softly. He shuddered. "I should've known the minute I decided to become friends with a guy who would willingly call himself Deadpool that it was a done deal."

He smirked, his fingers dancing across the small of your back.

"I'll try not to feel too offended by that."

"Trust me, you shouldn't," you murmured, your hand sliding down from his face to his shoulder, resting there. "It's not a bad thing, really. I mean, it's pretty awesome to have a friend who can take a bullet for you."

He smiled.

"Damn right, baby girl."

Your hand slid down from his shoulder, slowly moving down his arm, until you were grabbing his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

"But, Wade," you continued, squeezing his hand lightly, your eyes focused on his, a frown on your face, "you have to promise me something."

"Anything," he replied instantly.

You hesitated.

"Promise me," you started, your voice firm, your expression serious, "you’ll start to see yourself as I do."

Wade blinked, surprised.

That was not what he was expecting.

"You have a crush on my scars?"

He couldn't resist. He had to crack a joke. He was nervous. When wasn’t he cracking a joke?

He was also confused, but, hey, the joke was funnier.

"No," you replied, rolling your eyes, a faint smile on your face, "but I see past the scars."

"And, the crazy?"

"That too."

"And, the murderous tendencies?"

"Yes, Wade, everything," you answered, grinning, your eyes bright. "I see all of it, and it’s about damn time you do too."

"Yeah," he breathed out, "well, it's not as easy as you make it seem."

"Nothing is, Wilson."

You stared at him, the softness in your eyes, the gentleness in your smile, the affection in your voice.

He couldn't believe it.

But he couldn’t help the grin that appeared on his face, the warmth that filled his chest, or the butterflies in his stomach.

"I'll try."

For one of the rarest times in his life, Wade’s tone was completely sincere. Not a hint of humor or sarcasm. Just pure honesty.

And, judging by the way your face lit up and the way you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in close, hugging him tightly, you appreciated his sincerity.

You rested your chin on his shoulder, your eyes closing.

"Good," you whispered. "That's all I ask."

His arms wrapped around you and held you close, his fingers running through your hair, his nose buried in your neck. He took in your scent, letting it fill his nostrils, his senses.

And, for once, everything was quiet. Everything was calm. Everything was perfect.

He didn't feel the need to crack a joke. To make a comment. To ruin the moment. He didn't want to. He just wanted to sit there and hold you, listening to the sound of your heartbeat.

He was content.

And he was happy.

Happy that you were with him.

And, most of all, he was grateful that he broke into your apartment and made himself comfortable on your couch.

[skellseerwriting]

What is Love? (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)

Love Clueless!Morgie x GN!Reader Part 1/2

Thank you anon for the wonderful ask! I never would have come up with this on my own. I was worried it was getting too long, so I’m splitting it into two parts (currently working on it!)

Word Count: 1,446

Warnings: Morgie worries others don’t like him, Morgie doesn’t know what love is, Morgan Le Fay is mentioned as being cruel, Morgie didn’t grow up being loved :(

Summary: Morgie doesn’t know what love is. Seeing you being loved by your friends leads him to ask you to teach him what love is.

What is Love?

This was a question that had recently began to plague Morgie Le Fay’s mind. People talked about loving other people; they loved their family, friends, partner, and even famous people who didn’t know they existed. But what did that even mean? Was the love they felt for their friend the same as their parent?

It was clear to him that those who felt love towards others felt a special sort of care to them, but what did that mean for Morgie? He didn’t really care about his mom. She was barely crueler than some of the other nasty people he had to deal with growing up; Was Morgie supposed to love her because she was his mom? Part of him felt that he should have, but the other part thought of nothing but apathy (but perhaps those two things could coexist? Is it possible to love someone and not like them?).

And then there were his friends. It wasn’t uncommon to hear the “good” kids throw around “love you” to their pals. When he tried using it, all of them (especially uliana) looked at him like he’d presented a dish of rotting food. Hook was the only one to give a rather forced laugh and clap him on the back with a “Don’t tell me those happy idiots are starting to rub off on you.” It was never brought up as Morgie never did it again, crushed. After that, though, he couldn’t help but question his feelings towards them.

Don’t be mistaken, Morgie does care for his friends, maybe even loves them. However, he’s come to recognize that unlike himself, the others were uncomfortable with the kind of care and affection they all lacked growing up. And this, in turn, made it impossibly more difficult to understand what love was, and how people felt it towards others. None of it made sense to him. He felt lost as the brainrot began to consume his mind over the course of a couple weeks.

He started to stare and obsess over the way he saw other friends behave. So often there were hugs exchanged, gifts given (friendship bracelets and charms were a common one, he noted), and sometimes even kisses on the cheek.

Why couldn’t he have that? Did his friends just not like him enough? But Hades and Mali were dating, and they never did stuff like that, and their relationship was really healthy!

It wasn’t until he saw you interacting with you friends that he did a double take on all he had observed. Everybody you ran into seemed to treat you like a close friend. Whether you were holding a door open or approaching someone to compliment some random little thing, everyone would smile when they saw you.

But you didn’t give anything to them. You didn’t hug any of them or otherwise engage in physical contact. If everyone else did that then why didn’t you? How come you had so many friends?

Maybe, he thought, just maybe, you knew something he didn’t; the secret to love. If it was some hidden knowledge you could share, perhaps he could learn how to make others love him. He could even get his friends to love him. All he needed to do was understand what love was.

He just wanted to feel loved.

“What?” You had a baffled expression, like he spoke some unknown language.

 “Will you teach me what love is?” He asked again in the exact same tone, thinking you couldn’t hear him over the school bell and clamor of hallway foot traffic.

Expression still the same, you looked left and right as if looking to see who might be listening.

“Why do you want to know? I thought villains hated love.”

Morgie scratched the back of his head, slightly sheepish.

“Yeah that mostly rings true. People like my mom and friends don’t seem to like the concept.” He went still for a second, pondering his next words slowly. “But… because of that, I don’t really understand it. Like, someone can like their partner, but if they go and show love to someone else it’s wrong. But it’s somehow not the same as friends, which people can have as many as they’d like- and I just don’t get it.”

Your eyes widened as you took all his words in. He really didn’t know what love was? Better yet, he -a villain- wanted to know what it was. Did the world turn upside down?

Regardless of your experience-based opinions, you found his sincerity endearing. Why wouldn’t you help him out? The worst that could happen is some mistreatment from the VK’s- and you were already used to that.

That was not the worst that could happen, you realized, as you sat at the foot of your bed.

After entering your dorm when school hours were over, Morgie had taken to staring at your room in abstract wonder. His fingers glided ever-so-gently over little knickknacks and bobbles you had collected over the years as gifts. Occasionally he would pick one up like it was a baby bird, carefully turning it over and setting it back down once he was done looking at it. Then he came across a picture frame of you and your family. You couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.

This was worse, you thought again. This was worse, because here, like this, he was just a boy. A normal kid like you and not one who tormented others. When you looked at his soft countenance, you felt your heart flutter at this seemingly innocent boy who didn’t know what love was.

Snapping out it, you pull his attention away from the photo by calling him over. He sat next to you right at the edge of your mattress. Then, he looked at you expectantly.

“What?” You asked.

“Well… are we going to start?”

Oh, right!

“Yes!” You began, smile returning. “Yes of course, the- uh- reason why you’re… here.” This was already going bad. Maybe you should just cut your losses.

“Well, to start, what do you know about love?” Better see what he knows first and go from there. He seemed to think for a moment.

“I know that when people love someone… they care for them deeply. But I don’t quite understand the differences between the different kinds of love. They all seem the same to me.” The longer he went on the more unsure he seemed. Then, he whispered “That’s not… bad, is it?”

Pushing your pity aside, you quickly respond with an “of course not. It’s not your fault. I could get why it’d be confusing to someone who doesn’t really feel love from others. That can also include people who don’t feel certain types of love themself. You seem like a really sweet and caring person, so I’m sure it won’t be to hard to help you understand.” You tried to not mentally slap yourself at calling him “sweet” but if his reaction was anything to go by, everything you said was motivational and cheered him up.

“Okay.” He grinned, then added. “Another thing I don’t get is why some people love others who don’t treat them the same. Like, I’ve seen so many friends just giving each other things and being all gushy and stuff. But they treat you the same despite you not doing all that gushy stuff. So why do they like you?” After he finished, he realized his last remark sounded incredibly rude. Luckily, you didn’t take it that way, and -despite how confusing his question- you seemed to know exactly what to say.

“That’s because of my love language.” you smiled.

“What’s that?”

Shaking your head gently, you held up five fingers. “Love. Language. The ways someone shows love, and the ways they prefer to receive it. There’s-” you start counting down on your fingers, looking up at the ceiling. “Gift-giving, quality time, acts of service, physical touch, and…” you racked your brain. “Words of affirmation.”

He looked at you incredulously.

“What do those mean?”

You smiled at him again as you pondered these last few minutes. You were unsure at first if you even wanted to do this, but now you were certain. At first you were afraid, but that disappeared the moment he entered your dorm.

Morgie was kind; you could see it. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t also mean. People are allowed to be complicated. But as you think about everything that you have in mind to help him learn what love was, one thing was for sure:

You were going to fall in love with him.

And you were looking forward to it.

“I’ll show you.”

Part 2

[neteyamslovrr]

KXANI - pt5

summary: you have never fit in with the scientists, but on the night jake was lost in the forest so were you. staying with the people was your one true dream, yet when you are anything but welcome and jake get's to experience the people. you find yourself seeking comfort in tsu'tey

contents: 3.2k words (yas), fem!avatar reader, so much angst, a bit of swearing, tsu'tey being sad like so sad

authors note: hardcore angst soz gal pals, i promise i am sorry

all parts - next part

┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐

The day had finally come. Where Jake becomes one of the people and you are truly outcasted to be alone. No one to understand your loneliness as an outsider in the clan. No one to understand the struggles of being so useless, even if Jake had no interest in helping you anyway. No. Because he was now one of them.

One of the people you had only dreamed and yearned to be part of. One of the people you had begged fate to bring you to only for fate to let you watch your dream as if you were trapped behind a window.

A month ago, you hoped that maybe the pain of watching Jake take your dream away would be eased by having the one man who had the kindness to try and understand you be there to say, 'you are next'.

But now, he pushed you away and treated knowing you as a disgusting smudge of shit that has plagued his life. No longing gaze, prayer, or attempt of communication could ever heal the rift in between you and Tsu'tey. All that was left was going back to your ways of hiding away from the people and trying to grasp a sense of belonging off the scraps that were thrown towards you.

The absence of Tsu’tey in your daily life was a pain you had never felt before. It was a constant dull ache, that scratched at your insides as your heart craved for the comfort of his presence. Even if it was just to call you a demon, to tell you that you were a bad fisher or for him to grunt at your discomfort. It meant something. It all fucking meant something. You just wanted your little trips back. Your daily walks through the forest were he would complain about your likeness as a sky-demon but use his most gentle language, so you knew he cared. You thought he fucking cared.

So, as you stared and watch Jake emerge with his symbolic white paint adorning his blue body, you teared up. But it wasn’t the tears that Grace was shedding. No. These were jealous tears, angry tears. You wanted to close your eyes and there you would be, in the middle of the woven arms of the Omaticaya. But…that was just a hope. You had done nothing to earn that right. You were useless to the Omaticaya, keeping you around like a pet. Just like Tsu’tey had said. You were a parasite.

Soon the long night of celebrations erupted. The people cheering and smiling as the globe orbited. The exotic sounds of singing and majestic displays of dancing were invigorating. You watched as Grace danced along with the many children that she had taught, you could see her heart physically melt every time as she saw a smile on the children’s face. Or there was Jake who was stuffing his face full of a large assortment of meats and fruits specifically gathered to celebrate him. He was surrounded by Neytiri and Tsu’tey, smiling, talking to him animatedly. Except for Tsu’tey. He sat there solemnly, a frown permanently etched into his face. He exuded sadness, his posture hunched, and eyes focused on a random spot in the sky as he disconnected from the conversation in front of him.

Truthfully, he was just as distraught as you were, yet he felt so shameful for his feelings. Unlike you who had accepted your feelings and knew it was too good to be true if he ever reciprocated them. Tsu’tey was left feeling as if he didn’t know himself. He was meant to be Olo’eyktan, mated to Neytiri, protector of the people. Yet, here he was craving for the affections of a sky-person, a demon that he wanted nothing more than to leave him and his people alone. But he knows if you were ever to leave he might crumble into a shell of a person and never recover.

He remember the feeling of your warm grasp around him as you flew together. He remembers the warm feeling in his heart as he felt you relax against him. He remembers the overflowing sense of peace that engulfed him when you were around, the way you reminded him of an atokirina, so pure, so kind. He just wanted you. But as he sat with Jake and with the energy of his people surrounding him he knew that it was too good to be true. That loving you is a mistake. That letting his guard down and letting you in only resulted in hurt, and that no matter how strong his desire for you is. He would never be able to hold you like he wanted to. To love you like he wanted to.

So as he looked around, breaking out of his dissociative state he saw you sat in a corner by yourself. You had isolated yourself from the party chewing on one of the outlandish fruits that were spread across platters of food. He saw the way your chest was sunken and your gaze focused on the ground below you. He noticed the way you barely ate the fruit you were holding, that it was just sitting in your hand.

Tsu’tey felt his heart grow heavy as he saw you sniffle. As he noticed that you were alone.  No one, not even Grace trying to make conversation with you. Was he all you had? He plagued himself with this question. Was he saving himself from the condemnation of loving an alien just to leave the one he so desperately covets for to be tortured with loneliness.

“Jake, why is she sitting alone? Invite her over.” Neytiri’s voice broke Tsu’tey out of his deprecating thoughts as the entirety of the group was now was staring over at you. Not so discreetly.

“No, I don’t think she should come over…she’s um.” Jake just desperately didn’t want you near him. To him he thought you told Tsu’tey to threaten him. Today was his day, he didn’t need your sad sap self to ruin the mood. Even though the man next to him was already doing that.

Tsu’tey felt his blood pressure rise, the disrespect dribbling out of Jake’s mouth so effortlessly, that he didn’t have to do anything but give you a harsh stare that made Tsu’tey want to hammer his head in. “She’s what?” He hissed at the new warrior, venom dripping off his tongue earning a harsh glare from Neytiri.

“Nothing…” Jake turned around to usher you towards the group. Looking up to see them all stare at you expectantly made you want to hurl. The whirlwind of emotions you were already experiencing definitely wasn’t going to be eased by a conversation with two men who hated you.

The walk over to the group was painstakingly awkward as they all hesitantly waited for you to get close enough to start making conversation. You heart was pounding as you realised how harshly Tsu’tey was gazing at you, that he tried so little to cover his distaste of your presence. You didn’t want to be near him, nor did you want to be near Jake. But who were you to refuse an offer from the higher ups in the clan. You’d be an idiot to decline.

It was instinctual, that Tsu’tey scooted over on the log that he was sat on to make room for you. The action puzzled the both of you. Tsu’tey was ashamed of his behaviour, that he should not still be so accepting of your company but how could he not move over when all he wanted was to feel your warm body up against his.

It puzzled you, as he made space for you to sit with a permanent expression of disgust etched onto his face. You sat down next to him, arms brushing slightly. You heard a faint gasp leave Tsu’tey’s mouth leaving you humiliated as he scooted further away from you to avoid touching you again. You wanted to recoil in on yourself, the feeling of anxiety bubbling in your gut as you felt all of their eyes tear you apart. 

“So, what have you been doing lately?” Neytiri turned to you with a glint of interest sparkling in her eyes as she propped her chin up with her hands. You could see the disinterest run off Jake’s face as you inhaled to start talking.

“Um, not much. I just kind of go to the forest and just look at the plants.”

Tsu’tey could feel his body growing stiffer. He couldn’t stand being so close to you. He felt as if he was on fire with desire. That he wanted to go onto his knees and beg for forgiveness as you continued to talk, the sadness in your tone driving him insane.

“I thought you went there with Tsu’tey.” Jake knew about you and Tsu’tey’s recent estrangement. He heard you weep about it to Grace. So as he said it with a sad tone and slight smirk on his face, you felt as if you wanted to slit his throat and watch him bleed out.

Tsu’tey audibly growled at Jake. He knew what he was doing, he saw the way Jake’s lip twitched in amusement as he saw you awkwardly shrink in your seat.

“No, Tsu’tey is busy.”

“Trust me Y/N, Tsu’tey does a lot of nothing.” Neytiri giggled in a friendly tone, earning harsh glares from both of the men.

“I do not! At least I am not scurrying away with this skxwang every day.” Tsu’tey snapped back at Neytiri. It wasn’t an actual argument. It was like seeing two child best friends brawl in their usual way.

“Scurrying is my duty.”

“Yeah and you love it.” Jake chuckled earning a light push from Neytiri.

The friendly bickering truly made you feel out of place. Watching them all bicker and tease each other. It simply made you long to escape your loneliness. It made you wonder if coming to this planet was even worth it.

But as you turned to see the beautiful man beside you as he glimmered in the starlight, his white freckles sparkling like diamonds. That even if he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings or even know they exist. Meeting Tsu’tey would be a good enough excuse to live lifetimes of this feeling if you could experience his comforting presence once again.

“Me and Jake are going to take a walk.” Neytiri smiled at Jake, earning a scowl from Tsu’tey. Tsu’tey wasn’t stupid, he knew they loved each other. Maybe a couple months ago he would have been livid about this, but now he understood. That no one can be forced into loving another, but they can be true to their duties.

“A walk? Then I’ll go and leave you all then.” Brushing off your legs you hurried to get up before Jake smirked down at you as Neytiri started to walk off.

“No don’t leave, Tsu’tey would get lonely. Wouldn’t you brother?” Tsu’tey hissed at him, making the feeing of dread feel as if it was engulfing you whole. Did he really not want to be alone with you so bad he was threatening Jake?

“Jake stop being a skxwang, c’mon!” Neytiri groaned impatiently waiting for Jake to follow her. Jake gave a chuckle as he got up, not forgetting to leave you with a wicked smirk that showed you that this was his revenge for being threatened.

As Jake and Neytiri left the feeling of impending doom was growing larger as it engulfed both you and Tsu’tey. You couldn’t bare to look at him, scared he would banish you from being in his sights ever again.

But that’s not what Tsu’tey was thinking. He was frozen, he couldn’t deal with your presence, it felt as if your scent was suffocating him. More worried about the fact that he would get addicted to it, never be able to go without. He should be leaving, getting up in a hurry but he couldn’t get himself to. Not while you were enticing him with nothing but your aura.

“I- I should probably go then.” He heard the way your voice cracked, a way to show that you were fighting off a wave of tears. Tsu’tey’s head spun towards you in a split-second, the want was so obvious in his eyes, it kicked the breath out of your lungs.

He didn’t want you to go. He needed you here. He felt himself deteriorating seeing the pain he caused for you. He wanted to engulf you in an embrace and run his hands through your hair, but he should never. He has roles, duties, you can’t take that away from him.

“No.”

“What? You want me to stay?” Tsu’tey was shouting at himself in the back of his mind. Of course, he wanted you to stay. He craved nothing more than that.

“Where will you go? You can’t go into the forest at night.” Sucking a deep breath in you tried to compose yourself in front of him. The more he talked to you, the more you heard his deep voice it made you want to burst into tears.

“I will probably go and sit by myself. Won’t bother you with my parasitic presence.” He winced at the word. A word he’s said to hurt you before and a word that you now spat back at him with malice dripping off of your tone.

“Your not a parasite baby-demon.” He couldn’t help but let the nickname slip, and as it rolled off his tongue and he saw the way your face contorted into a pained expression he truly felt as if he was sinking into the floor below him.

“Don’t call me that.” Your lip was beginning to quiver. Why was he so hot and cold with you. Was he toying with your heart as a game, revelling in seeing you desperately love him. Seeing the way his eyes bleed with forgiveness, it was all just a tug on your heart. “I’m going.”

“No.” He grabbed onto your wrist. His nimble fingers feeling as if they were scorching into your skin. Why was he toying with you? With your heart?

“STOP IT.” Turning to face him you screeched at him, voice cracking, tears beginning to fall as your entire body shook trying to stop sobs racking through you. Tsu’tey didn’t let go of your hand, he only held onto it tighter. He didn’t expect you to shrill at him, but seeing you so upset, so distraught, it was destroying him. Just like he was destroying you. “Just stop it Tsu’tey! One day we fly together on an ikran and share our burdens only for you to say that being kind to me was a mistake! That I am nothing to you! Then you go back to toying with my heart! That I’m your baby demon again! You’re cruel Tsu’tey. Stop fucking with my feelings.”

Tsu’tey was taken back. You said so many things that threw him for a loop. He wasn’t toying with you, he didn’t want to see you hurt, all he wanted was to fulfill his duty. He never wanted to cause you this much pain. He never wanted to see you beg him for kindness.

But what shocked him most was that you asked him to stop messing with your feelings. Feelings of love? The same ones that he so passionately has for you. The same feelings that made him feel as if he didn’t know who he was. You had those too? You loved him too?

“Feelings?” It was a meek whisper. Something he rarely does, the softness in his voice being something no one ever witnessed. You rolled your eyes at him, scoffing at his confusion.

“Yes feelings. I understand that I am a demon, an alien to you. But I have fucking feelings.” You were close to hysterics now, the utter shame and embarrassment that was consuming you was suffocating. How did he have such little consideration for you in this moment.

“I know- I know you have feelings. Feelings towards me?” His eyes were wide with hope. He just needed a confession, not that he would do much with it. He couldn’t, but he had to know. He had to know if your heart ached the same way when you two were separated. If you went to sleep thinking of him and dreamt of him as you slept just as he did for you. He had to know that he wasn’t alone in his feelings, that he wasn’t crazy for falling in love with a demon, because his baby demon loved him too.

“Are you joking?” He shook his head rapidly, eyes blown wide, ever hopeful for an answer. An answer that would tell him he isn’t the only one witlessly in love. “You are the only person on this planet that has shown an ounce of kindness towards me. Do you blaming me for loving you?”

The confession kicked the air out of Tsu’tey making him feel as if he was choking on his own feelings. So many thoughts were running through his head. Did he push away the woman he loved? Did he pain the woman that loved him? How was he so cruel to your feelings?

But in the back of his mind, he knew it was useless. He can’t be in love with a demon. No matter how much that demon loves him and how much he feels empty without you by his side.  

“I don’t blame you. But I think you should go now.” It was like he had slapped you in the face. You had spilled your heart out to him, cried and screamed and this was all he could do? But Tsu’tey couldn’t do anything else, and you knew that. He was promised, it wasn’t as if you expected him to fall to his knees and confess his love.

No, you knew he would never do that. Not while he breathed. But all of your heart yearned for him, you wanted to be back on his ikran as his baby demon. So as you scoffed in his face and wiped your tears away. You walked away with a shattered heart due to Tsu’tey. The man you adored and the man you loved. It was pitiful to think that you could have a chance with him, wasn’t it?

Watching you walk away defeated he felt himself crumble. He was meant to be a strong man, but he felt like a lost child without you around. How did he continue to fuck up constantly. Why was he not deserving of a lover that loved him? Why was he to be mated to someone else when all he craved was you and your heart. It was all too late now, he can’t have you and you can’t have him. He’ll gaze at you and wonder if he made the right decision, knowing he regretted it the second it came out of his mouth. But this was his sacrifice for his people, and you weren’t one of the people.

└────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┘

tags: @koolaidmanscaresme @suntizme @forestcottage @avatarlover21 @mechformers @jennielune @dilfs-bitch @simplefools @merla123 @awkward-halfhug @atwow69 @scarlettisconfusedd @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @elegantkidfansoull @tarrynightss @randxmthxughts @ronalsgirl @gardenofvows @zitarcis @i-thirsty-boii @lin0leum @lovekeehoo @notyurdad @supercoolusernamesblog @cupidddd-d @im-in-a-pansexual-panikanik @saltedcoffeescotch @jakesullysslutttt @valentineheartzz @eywas-heir @perilous-pasta @fanboyluvr @asd3ku @atsukiswrld @moonpie3000 @coffeeaddictednymph @anangelwhodidntfall @snips-501 @dangerouslittlefairy @chaos-in-person @rebeccao03 @adaydreamaway08 @jellybeanstacey0519 @graykageyama @aracelikara @live-laugh-neteyam @sam-chwan @netherklutz @pajerita19 @ducks118 @glacticrose @kadu-5607 @rainbowsocks @star-dusst @cries-maria @mollygetssherlockcoffee

reblogs and replies i will give u 1billion roses mhm yup

[theteasetreads]

Here is a list of stuff I love/recommend from writers I think are neat. Please be sure to check out their blogs and their other stuff too! I will be updating this list the more I find stuff I love.

*this list is arranged in alphabetical order

❤️‍🔥 = smut (18+) 💝 = fluff 💔 = angst 👀 = suggestive/implied smut

❧ @collecting-stories ↳ I am not sure if this writer is currently writing for Daryl at the moment, but I ADORE their Daryl content! Be sure to check them out, and maybe you'll find that they write for some other characters you like, too!

❧ @devnmon ↳ Rye is one of my pals, and they just so happen to write some of the best Daryl Dixon fanfiction ever. Like, ever. They write some of the sweetest, sauciest, sexiest smut I've ever read, and their writing style is just amazing. I am so bad at describing this kind of stuff, but trust me when I say that they are essential reading if you like Daryl Dixon x Reader!

❧ @haruhey ↳ So much has been said about Haru, but I truly cannot express how amazing their work is. Not only do they write the most mind-blowing, earth-shattering smut on this planet, but they also put so much care and detail and love into their writing. I love how they put tons of effort into creating a real relationship between Daryl and the reader character. It's truly spectacular. Please check their stuff out if you haven't already.

❧ @normanplusdaryl ↳ Ari is just starting on her writing journey, and boy is she already turning out to be another ICONIC addition to the Daryl Dixon x Reader family. I love the way she writes Daryl, how he's true to his character and does/says things I actually think he would do/say. That is a really hard thing to do! Plus, she writes angst super well, and, once again, that is not an easy feat.

❧ @starlessea ↳ This writer's work pretty much introduced me to the world of Daryl Dixon x Reader. In fact, her series, Here Comes the Sun, is what inspired me to write my own series, and my own fanfiction in general.

❧ @weretheones ↳ Madi is not only one of the sweetest, kindest, smartest, funniest, coolest, most talented people you will ever meet, she is also a stellar writer who truly understands the complexities of Daryl's character and basically everything about him. She is truly the gem of Daryl Dixon x Reader. She is an icon, a star, a revolutionary. She rocks my world. Oh, and she is one of the best angst writers. Ever. I don't even particularly like angst, but Madi? She does it so well that it's not even angst, it's just pure art.

❧ Back to Black by normanplusdaryl | 💔 ↳ Summary: Daryl comes home after many years to face the consequences of his actions. ↳ Word Count: 2.5k

❧ Doctor's Orders by weretheones | 💔 ↳ Summary: When a sprained ankle takes you off run duty, the new girl goes in your place. Which would’ve been fine– if she didn’t have that brilliant wit, gorgeous smile, and effortless skill. But she did. And it was only a matter of time before Daryl noticed too. (Season 4) ↳ Word Count: 7k

❧ Gone For Good | Part 1 & 2 by weretheones | 💔💝 ↳ Summary: It was easy to lose hope when everyone around you started dropping like flies. When the flu hit, Daryl saw your optimism drain alongside your health, but it wasn’t until the brutal attack of the Governor that he lost his.  ↳ Word Count: 9k (total)

❧ Hide Away With Me by haruhey | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: Dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. ↳ Word Count: 3.6k

❧ In Vino Veritas by haruhey | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: After a particularly rough run, Daryl wants nothing more than to shut himself away from everyone with you. However, he’d agreed days prior to be your ‘date’ to one of Alexandria’s welcoming parties thinking you needed someone to share the pain of new people with. Guilt gnaws at him the whole night and he gets wasted to numb the feeling, resulting in you having to carry him home. The alcohol in his system and the way that dress hugs you makes him particularly… talkative, and as the Romans say, in wine there is truth. ↳ Word Count: 30k

❧ Late To the Party by devnmon | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: Daryl has a knife kink. ↳ Word Count: 7.1k

❧ No Rush by weretheones | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: Daryl took his time with you. ↳ Word Count: 950

❧ You Deserve the World by devnmon | 💝💔👀 ↳ Summary: Daryl’s been insecure about his age starting to show, and is worried he’ll lose you. You show him every way he won’t. ↳ Word Count: 3.4k

❧ You, You, You by normanplusdaryl | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: After a long night, Daryl comes home and you decide he needs a little break. ↳ Word Count: 1.2k

❧ All You Got by weretheones | 💝💔 ↳ Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4) 

❧ Georgia by collectingstories | 💝 ↳ Summary: King County, Georgia. In a small town like that, where everyone knows everyone, people can get pigeon-holed into personalities that aren’t their own. Daryl Dixon was a troublemaker, a good-for-nothing, redneck kid who would grow up to be just like his dad. Drinking too much, smoking too much, and cheating his way through life. But Daryl isn’t any of the things people say he is and you’re willing to shoulder the burden of their judgement when you find yourself falling for him.

❧ Here Comes the Sun by starlessea | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you’re not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn’t like your singing, or that you can’t use a gun for shit - and don’t get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he’s found a best friend for life, and that he doesn’t actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Updated: 3/13/2023

[snapeaddict]

Snapetober Day 3 - Path

Inspired by @sneverussape's headcanons

"You go down that way, ya walk for 20 minutes and then there's the factory right to your left. My pals' boys usually wait for us there. We come out at 5. I can show you the machines."

The tall man turned his gaze to the child by his side, waiting for an answer. As usual, the boy was lost in a world of his own; fucking nothing could be done to make him swap out of it for good. He shook his shoulder brutally.

"Oi, kid! You listening to me?"

Fearful black eyes met his, the very same as Eileen's.

"Yes, da'", Severus replied in a small voice, the kind his father found vaguely enraging for no justifiable reason.

Did he have to sound so girlish, so weak? Why couldn't he be like the other boys? He was already a laughing stock as it was. Too much brain like his mum, but unwilling to put his hands in the dirt, unlike her.

Sure, the kid did well in school. But he also came home all bruised. One look at him and you knew he was the one to beat up – he looked just like these poor lads on the battlefield, barely 18, crying for their mums in the midst of bombs everywhere.

Not one of them had made it.

The other boys, they came to try their hand at the machines, they went to the pub with their fathers, or to boxing matches. Severus read. He hated sports and never said a word at Church. He didn’t want to put his tongue in the glass of liquor like the other kids. If he came home dirty, it was only because he had been on the hunt for some animal by the river, or piking bloody weeds he stoked up by the side of the house. Might as well have come home with flower bouquets.

Tobias knew nothing about books, or animals, or plants.

Severus had nothing to say, to him at least. And Eileen, he could tell, secretly liked it. That he was different. Tobias hated her for that. She enabled him. When she looked at the boy, there was pride. Where did it come from? Why did she come alive all of a sudden?

He couldn’t make her happy, but Severus could, that was what.

In front of him and the boy, the path divided itself in two. The right side led deeper into Cokeworth, it was all black and dirty because the guys from the mine used it to come home – Tobias had been fired only six months ago. Disorderly conduct, they had said. More like they needed to cut their expenses. He didn’t like the dark and the loud noises anyway.

The left side of the path wasn’t used much. It crossed the river to the nicer part of town, there were mulberries and wildflowers growing over it. It crossed the bridge and led straight to a nice playground for the nice kids up there. Their parents would rather they play elsewhere, Tobias had heard. Nasty kids attending the only school in town was already an issue: no need for their spick and span offspring to mingle with them after school hours.

“You go home now”, he told his son abruptly. “I need to get to work. You can come by at 5 if you want.”

-

The bell rang at last. The guys put down their stuff and went outside to stretch. Their boys had been waiting there for some time already, playing football.

Tobias looked around, but saw no Severus. He had cleaned his machine thoroughly to show him. He watched as John’s kid sat on his father’s knees, dirty nails clinging to his father’s shirt. Severus never got near him like that. But that was good, wasn’t it? A boy like this didn’t need more coddling. Good spankings made for strong boys.

It looked nice, though.

He needed a drink.

-

He stumbled home and asked Eileen where the boy was.

“He’s not here”, she told him. “He left a bit before 5.”

He cursed under his breath and cracked another beer open.

-

He watched, leaning unsteadily against a tree, as Severus sat down in the grass behind a bush, at a safe distance from the playground. There were two girls there, a blond one and a redhead. The boy was looking at them with a sort of fascination that infuriated him.

Let him play with girls and lick the boots of the better off, Tobias thought confusedly. He'll learn soon enough that this won't make the world any kinder to him.

He turned on his heel, and never again cleaned his working surface at the factory.

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 5 Meakashi pt. 22

Skipping ahead a bit, we rejoin Keiichi and Shion in the torture shack. Or as the manga refers to it: the Saiguden. Which I can only presume means ritual storehouse, but that's fan translations for you isn't it? All according to keikaku and so on. Shion takes Keiichi through the torture basement where at some point between last time she was here and now she decided to dispose of the bodies of Kimiyoshi and Satoko. Which seems an odd choice if her aim is to convince Keiichi that Mion is a vile killer, but hey, the bodies weren't there in chapter two, so they have to go this time around too. Shion is giving him the guided tour when gadzooks! It's Mion in the cell! Shion gives him the ol' stun gun treatment and drags him to the rack to begin his painful torment. In between reading this part of the VN and typing this I watched this scene play out in the 2006 anime. In the anime rather than stun gun him, Shion just clonks him over the head with a big rock. Which is funnier, but it's another weird deviation from the visual novel I don't quite understand.

Actually, let's a brief digression here. In the visual novel itself it describes Satoko as lying on a cross shaped table, which I took to mean just one of those X shaped torture racks you occasionally see in media featuring medieval torture devices, or a Saw film maybe. What I didn't expect from both the manga and anime is Satoko is just crucified.

Just for fun there's a million dollar Shion smile. Odd changes between the mediums but there it is. You'll just have to take my word for it about the anime though.

Also I don't know if I mentioned it in an earlier part but Shion has come to terms with the fact that she's now nothing but a demon because she failed to keep her promise to Satoshi. Also she's just plain vexed by the fact that Keiichi is a willfully blind fool for refusing to see his best friend for the vile murderer she's trying to portray her as.

Shion, pal, I really think you should have Kasai try to get you a refund for this stun gun. It seems to be pretty useless against everyone lately. Maybe you used up all the juice when you accidentally killed Oryou with it, but that thing doesn't seem to be any use whatsoever these days.

Anyway the whole business about how the demon awoke because Keiichi was an insensitive clod gets brought up, and demon demon demon demon demon demon demon demon demon.

YES!! YOU FUCKING PUTZ! YOU HAVE TRIED TO TRANSFER THE BLAME TO EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER YOU HAVE COME ACROSS IN THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER! THE ONLY PERSON YOU NEVER ONCE TRIED TO ASSIGN BLAME TO IS YOURSELF! YOU EVEN WENT SO FAR AS TO SAY SATOSHI HIMSELF WAS TO BLAME FOR SOME OF THE HARDSHIPS THAT BEFELL HIM EARLIER IN THE CHAPTER!

This character is exhausting.

Anyway Shion decides to not kill Keiichi. Because... and zaps him with the stun gun, so two seconds later she does it again and again and eventually just beans him with a giant novelty hammer that actually puts him out of action for longer than it takes to scratch your nose. She locks the door and goes back to the cells where Mion is. Where she decides to free her and takes her to the top of the corpse well.

Mion seems to realize there's no chance she's actually going to walk out of this alive so she tries to talk to Shion about her motive. Also to just completely crush her motive like a bug really.

It's kind of surprising just how easily Shion accepts what Mion says at face value. Perhaps she's simply taking it as the words of someone who knows they're dead regardless, but it's surprising how she just grabs on to the idea that Mion and Oryou aren't lying about the disappearance of Satoshi. But it does raise a good question, if Oryou really isn't behind the disappearances then who is?

But alas such questions will have to go unanswered. Shion's a demon Kaz, and as such kills Mion by zapping Mion in the head while she's on the ladder leading down the well. I like how for a split second it looks like Mion might have got through to her murderous sister only to crush that faint hope and have Shion kill it along with her sister.

Not quite the end of the chapter as yet, but we finally got a "please solve this mystery for me, Maria Usihormiya" that we didn't get from chapter two. I have to admit to feeling a certain amount of irritation when it came to this section of this chapter. I don't know if that came across at all, I can be pretty inscrutable at times. I don't know if it was just residual annoyance I felt from this section of Watanagashi come back to poison this section for me, or if my tolerance for the characters' bullshit just hit its limit. I wish to circle back to the very start of the chapter for a moment.

And this might be one of the dumbest questions I can ask, but Shion isn't the perpetrator they mean here right? I can only assume that this is referring to the one who is behind the Oyashiro curse killings, Hinamizawa, the whole damned affair. Because if it means Shion, her motives aren't too terribly complex to figure out. I just disagree with them and think they're not particularly great.

[itsscromp]

How about Rocket being wholesome besties with a kid reader! Maybe they were also an experiment? I'd also find it an adorable dynamic if the reader isn't too smart academic wise, so they constantly ask for help with stuff like that

Rocket raccoon x Wrench platonic

Anon.... anon... you have no idea how much I wanted to do this as well, I even had this planned as well before this was requested so FLARK YES I'm doing it !! *Happy noises* For this story, I'm going to go with an experiment reader who is a wolf and goes by the name of wrench *Courtesy of my friend's oc who will be credited as well and i got his permission* also I know you ask for points where the character is not as smart as rocket so he asks for help, I’ll make a part 2 to make up for it Word count:1.1k

Pain... Unbelievable pain, it was something you could never describe how painful it is. The needles. the knives... everything. Giving you the codename 90P13, tattooing it onto your chest. After it was over they tossed you into a cage. Not even being gentle with you. Looking around your surroundings it was scary...

Looking across your cage you saw a figure come to you. This made you even more scared.

"It's okay" She spoke to you softly "Your here with us now"

She seemed nice... But you were still scared.

"Hey, it's a new guy" Another creature spoke up, It had wheels attached to its sides and massive teeth. "What kind of thing are you ?? you got some sort of glowy eyes

"Eyes, face, mouth" Another creature who shared your cage curiously walked to you, it had six legs and a metal mouth. "Does it words ??"

"It's ok friend, Don't let them scare you" The nice creature spoke again.

One last creature came up to you. like the nice creature it was standing on it's two legs. It also looked like it had a mask on its face. "Are you ok pal ??" It spoke softly to you.

You continued to shudder, feeling overwhelmed by everything that had happened. You open your mouth and you shakenly say.

"H...H...Hurts..."

You were talking about your head, they did a lot of bad stuff which made it hurt really really bad.

The mask creature came up to you, dabbing his tongue on a cloth and ever so gently dabbed the blood away from your temple.

"It's ok, Your gonna be okay."

This tenderness was something you haven't felt in a while since it all began. Over time the 5 of you formed a close bond with each other, But you were the closest to the masked creature, You always played games with him, laughed with him and snuggled with each other when sleeping to be safe.

"It really is good to have friends"

One night after the masked creature came back from spending the day with the sire. He was telling everyone about how he saw the sky from outside.

"Is sky ??" The 6 legged creature asked about the ceiling being the sky.

"No, that's not sky. That's a ceiling. But sire's making a new world for all of us, and when we get there. There will be sky and it will be beautiful and forever.

"Wow" You all said, just already imagining seeing the sky. With your friends too. It would be very exciting.

"I have been thinking." The big teeth creature spoke up.

"'Bout what ??" The masked creature asked.

"Oh, Nothing in particular. But I thought, since you guys are my closest friends, and my only friends, You might be interested in knowing that I have been thinking."

"That's cool" You smiled. Looking up at the ceiling imagining the sky.

"I've been thinking too" The nice creature spoke. "About something more singular. When Sire moves us to the new world, we're gonna need names. I mean, 89Q12... It's not really a name. So I would like my name to be... Lylla."

"Lylla" All of you said agreeing to the name.

"That's a pretty name Lylla" The masked creature turned to her, smiling.

"Thank you" She smiled back.

"I think my name shall be teefs, because, although we all do have them, Mine are definitely the most prominent" The big teethed creature smiled.

Lylla and the masked creature giggled, agreeing with the name.

"Lylla"

"Teefs"

"Me be called floor, Because me is lying on floor." The 6 legged creature said.

"You're lying on a floor, so your name is floor ??" Lylla smiled

Everyone laughed, agreeing with the names before it was only you and the masked creature.

"I think... My name... shall be... wrench !!" You said confidently.

"Wrench" The masked creature said enthusiatically

"Because wrench's are tough and I'm tough"

"What about you friend ??" Lylla turned to the masked creature

"Someday, I'm gonna make great machines that fly, And me and my friends are gonna go flyin' together into the forever and beautiful sky. Lylla, and teefs, and floor, and wrench, and me... Rocket"

"Rocket" they all said softly.

"It really is good to have friends"

But it went to a huge downfall after. Rocket found out that Sire was never going to bring them outside. They were just mere tests, to create the perfect person. In the morning he plans to kill all of them, With quick thinking he starts to make a keycard and gets everyone out. But the High Evolutionary knew this would happen and killed all his friends. Angry and heartbroken, he lunged at him and scratched the scut out of his face, disfiguring him. He then managed to escape counter-earth, but at what cost.

Many years later.

Rocket was sitting on the steps of the Guardians base on Knowhere, they had recently just bought it off the collector and made it their permanent base. As Rocket was peacefully sitting there, listening to the Zune. He noticed a rather large figure not far off staring at him briefly. He noticed this person had. been here for almost a week and it started to creep him out. So with that he headed to the figure.

"Look pal I don't know where you are but quit staring at me before i blast ya into the next..."

He then noticed something vaguely familiar. Those eyes... he's seen them somewhere before.

"Have we met before ??"

The hooded figure then gently lifted the hood off his head, revealing it made rocket's eyes go wide. Growing teary eyed.

"Wrench ??"

"It's been a while rocket.."

"Oh my flark wrench !!!" Rocket lunged at him and hugged his neck tightly, his best friend was alive. He was alive !!!

"How.. how did you ??"

"Yeah... I've got a lot of explaining to do, can I get you a drink ??"

Upon the time they sit at the bar, Wrench explains that he faked his death during the whole shootout and escaped shortly after. Having to survive on his own, he changed a lot physically and mentally.

"And then once I heard about the heroes of xandar, I saw you on the holo tv."

Wrench took another sip of his drink and sighed dejectedly.

"I'm really sorry buddy, I didn't mean to cause you this much hurt on you. I wanted to find you as soon as I was out. But I was so scared that he would find me..."

Rocket took another sip of his drank and gently rubbed his forearm.

"I... I understand why, But I'm slightly mad... and... aah just a bunch of mushy stuff I can't try and explain."

Wrench chuckled.

"Can... I make up all that lost time ??"

He waited patiently for an answer until Rocket twitched a smile. Wrench knew he had a lot of time to make up for Rocket. But for Rocket, he was just glad that he had his best friend back. His bested friend in all of the galaxy.

Taglist: @callofdudes @raccoonfallsharder @mybelovedraccoon

[sitp-recs]

When I saw that Anti-romance/Heartbreak was the 2nd most voted option for a V Day rec list I couldn’t resist! I’m surprised that I came up with so many titles, as I don’t usually read unhappy endings. Or maybe - as I came to realize - I do read them, as long as they’re short enough to make me recover nice and quick 😂 I’ve got to be in a mood to dive into these but oh boy, do they hurt good. Darkness and heartbreak done right can be fascinating and cathartic in a very special way, and what better date to indulge than today?

Disclaimer: there’s no MCD or force majeure at work here. I specifically wanted fics that showcase heartbreak as the result of human action - flawed characters, bad choices, cruelty, messed up romance. Some are on the darker side, some are just angsty af, some include toxic relationships and fidelity issues. Please mind the tags and enjoy! Major thanks to @writcraft who brainstormed ideas with me and was especially invested in this theme, and to my dear pal @tackytigerfic who didn’t even think twice before selecting this option on the poll. This is for you both! <3

Scent Memory by bryoneybrynn (M, 755 words)

Draco's been away for five years but it wasn't long enough.

Nothing to Declare Here. by hephaestiions (T, 1.1k)

He shatters. You watch.

The love you no longer seek by @teacup-tai (M, 1.3k)

Harry’s smile is small and painful. His head lolls to the side to watch Draco with such deep emotion, such a turmoil, such confusion. “Come here,” Harry whispers, voice deep, palm turning up, hand reaching towards his husband.

Draco/Rest by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 1.6k)

Harry’s estranged husband has never really been estranged to him.

Never Fall Apart by @writcraft (M, 2k)

The idea of having an open relationship seems like a good idea until they stop being open with one another.

Ties and Knots by @iero0 (G, 2k)

I’m not prepared for the way it makes me feel when I watch you across the room, or for the tenderness of your touch. I’m even less prepared to see you touch her the same way.

The Language of Power by Lokifan (E, 2.3k)

Harry loves talking in Parseltongue to Draco during sex: his response is just delicious.

cruel blade by @wheezykat (E, 2.5k)

Drowning in his grief after the murder of his husband, Draco will do anything to bring him back. But this is not Harry. This is something else entirely.

Buttercup by @tackytigerfic (E, 2.8k)

Scorpius shoulders his way through the crowd, making for the bar just behind Harry. He's waiting for something—anything—but it's still a delicious shock to feel Harry's fingers against the skin of his wrist, dipping maddeningly slow under the cuff of his robe.

Through His Teeth by @dictacontrion (M, 3k)

"C’mon then, Potter. Don’t tell me there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted to do to this body.”

Cigarettes Will Kill You by Femme (E, 4k)

He lights a cigarette across the pub, his hand cupped to his mouth as the tip sparks to life in a faint orange flare, and my breath catches.

Call Me Friend, But Keep Me Closer by @tackytigerfic (M, 4k)

"Neville Longbottom had always loved plants, but he loved Harry Potter more." Neville's got a good thing going with Harry... or so he thinks.

Magpie by @corvuscrowned (E, 4k)

Potter doesn't steal because he needs anything, Draco quickly learns. He doesn't do it because it makes him feel anything. It isn't about power, and it isn't about control. Potter just does it because he can.

Table Ten by @lower-east-side (E, 4k)

Harry loves working on Thursday nights.

The Quiver of a Heartstring by @tackytigerfic (E, 4k)

Draco Malfoy has been away for eight months and seventeen days, but now he's back, and Harry has never stopped wanting him.

Not That Kind of Lovers by alpha_exodus (M, 5.6k)

The only thing Draco knows is that at the end of this, one of them will be dead.

Dirge Without Music by @writcraft (E, 6k)

Albus is happy because everything seems to be coming together. He is captain of the Quidditch team and his father is getting married again – then one night the bottom falls out of his world.

fermata by onewhodiedyoung (M, 6.5k)

Or, Draco, after and before he forgot Harry, after and after he lost his mother.

Better Left Dead by @wellhalesbells (T, 6.6k)

A love story and a half.

Bitter. Sweet. Alive. by @gracerene (E, 6.7k)

Tomorrow, everything is going to change, but they still have tonight.

Epitaphs in Autographs by @vukovich (E, 7k)

A series of works surrounding death, imperfect relationships, flawed coping, and humanity.

Blame Is Shaped Like A Circle by @sleepstxtic-drarry and @gnarf (T, 7k)

Harry and Draco take you through the story of their life together.

The Way It Is by amalin (M, 7k)

‘Give it time,’ Hermione advised. Harry was draped atop the Potions book he was supposed to be reading, the instructions for Stinging Solution an ironically cool comfort against his cheek, her fingers carding gently through his hair. ‘It was just—you’ll feel better, in time.’

The Turquoise Cottage by deja_lu (M, 7.6k)

Draco Malfoy lives in a cottage. It's a very nice cottage. Every morning, she makes herself tea. The kettle is broken, so she boils the water in a pot. Then Harry Potter turns up.

hear me (with your whole body) by @teacup-tai (E, 9k)

It was a sexy idea, exploring other bodies with Draco, engaging in sex with other people to spice things up. Something inside of him was excited about the prospect, but the nagging fear, the feeling of abandonment that follows each image that pops in his head is throwing him off.

Saltwater Stain by @the-starryknight (M, 9k)

Seven days stuck on a boat investigating a rogue ghost wouldn't be so bad if Harry didn't want Draco so much. Draco has his rules and Harry's content to follow them, but the air feels different away from the shore.

The Disappearing Act by @corvuscrowned (M, 11k)

The only thing Potter is good at is disappearing from Draco's life. But Draco can't just stand by and watch the man destroy himself.

Closure is a state of mind by @quicksilvermaid (E, 12k)

After Harry's husband Charlie is killed, his Mind Healer recommends a Polyjuice therapy company, so Harry can see 'Charlie' again and find closure over his death.

The Eighth Tale by lettered (E, 12k)

Draco Malfoy tries to fix the past, but instead mucks it up some more. For Harry, it all becomes quite clear.

any day now by @oknowkiss (E, 17k)

Draco supposes he should be grateful. The rehabilitation centres were the Minister’s idea, or that’s what the Prophet said anyway.

I Love You by Curlee_Cue (M, 18k)

Harry knows what love is. It’s something that grows. Something that adapts. Something that sometimes needs a little help along the way. (or the one in which Harry loses his mind).

Collapse Amongst the Dying Stars by @writcraft (M, 26k)

After the final battle nothing is quite as Harry expected. Death Eaters remain unaccounted for, Malfoy is in prison and there is something rotten in Azkaban.

The Good Guys by Frayach (E, 26k)

When Draco Malfoy is captured red-handed trying to sell an illegal potion to a clerk at Borgin & Burkes, he is handed over to the Department of Essential and Necessary Truth’s newest interrogator.

Dreaming Darkly by @quicksilvermaid (E, 40k)

It's five years after the war, and Harry is not okay. He hates his job. He hates Robards. He hates Ron's promotions and Hermione's concern.

Absolution by sunnyeclipses (E, 63k)

At the mercy of his failing marriage, Harry only meant to use the potion once — to get Draco to listen. It’s not his fault that it works so well and that Draco’s just so easy to control.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s11e4 baby (w. robbie thompson)

i've seen a number of gifs from this episode and i've built it up in my mind as an episode i should enjoy which makes me nervous to watch it :S

enjoying the variety of shots being in baby's pov and the guitar man by bread, nice choice (night after night who treats you right)

very fic-ish slice of life domestic vibes. both jared and jensen seem to be leaning into their accents more than usual, i often wonder about that. what decides when they do it, if it's a choice (i can only imagine it is). anyway, it's very... homey. relaxed

very normal

ack making me cry with all these smiles and sweetness. robbie, this is the fanservice i needed (and deserved). goddamn what a breath of fresh air it's like concentrated version of old times with just the two of them, but being relaxed and happy for a minute as the cherry on top.

DEAN Piper? That's awesome. Heather. One-night wonders, man. Shoot, we're lucky we still get that at all. SAM Really? You don't... ever want something more? DEAN I'm sorry, have you met us? We're batting a whopping zero in domestic life, man. Goose eggs. SAM You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But... something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life? DEAN Have you not heard a single word Bob's been singing about? You're tired. I can tell. You're exhausted. Well, I'm still wired, so I'm gonna pull over, get some gas. You hop in the back, get some Z's 'cause, buddy, you earned 'em. Proud of ya! Piper. Mmm. Man, she smelled good, too.

yes, sam, you're right. dean should consider settling down with a hunter—oh wait. wonder what that "have you not heard a single word bob's been singing about" means though. i'm not that familiar with his catalogue of work :p

was someday soon in this show before or am i getting weepy over it because it was used in a fic? signs point to a fic

He loves his damned old rodeo As much as he loves me Someday soon, going with him Someday soon

--

JOHN You okay, pal? You look a little spooked. It's nice to be back behind the wheel. Looks like Dean's taken good care of this old beast. Seems like he's taken good care of you, too.

literally sobbing what even is happening. wish fulfillment that dean could get the parental approval and validation that he did a good job with sam, and acknowledging how much he did raising him.

and this has nothing to do with my own dead father issues and desperate desire for approval, no way.

that i'm not pissy that it's john saying it should say how much this kicked me in the gut

JOHN What you said about relationships, wanting something more... I never wanted this for you boys. This life. Not really. SAM We turned out okay. JOHN You did, didn't you? But that was on you boys. You did that, not me. SAM Well, you played your part. JOHN I did my best, anyway, for what it was worth. SAM This isn't real. JOHN I never could fool you, could I?

so is this lucifer? show brought him up making a fuss in the cage with the darkness busting out, and the whole i never could fool you thing. like he showed up as jess (??) in a dream did sam figure it out? no, he didn't know. hmmm. surely not god though :p

SAM I prayed when I was in that church, and I saw... something. And now, here you are, whoever you are, whatever you are. What the hell is this? JOHN Dream. Vision. Call it what you want. The message is still the same. The Darkness is coming... and only you boys can stop it.

again, i rag on the musical score a lot but the foley and overall sound design minus the score tends to really be noticeably good. and i really like what they did with the sound and the filming in this scene. where there's kind of a low wavering thrumming hum and their voices sound more close up. and i really liked that they didn't do any noise hits when he flashes back briefly to the torture vision, it was just a little extra very low soft bass thumping with the flashes. all that combined with these super tight close shots of their faces kind of adds to the slightly uneasy/unreality feeling. very nice

DEAN Welcome to the Winchester Motel. We don't have cable, but we do have room service. You were singing in your sleep, that song mom loved that dad used to always play for us. I think I've actually still got the tape.

great, another song i can have an additional layer of weepiness over, confirmed mom favorite.

SAM I think I've been having visions, too, lately. I mean, it's just images. I mean, more of a feeling, really. But I just had one right now, and Dad was in it. But it wasn't dad like the Dad that I grew up with. It was Dad when he was our age. And I guess it wasn't even really Dad. It was someone pretending to be Dad and -- DEAN Okay, what makes you say that? SAM For starters, he told me everything I wanted to hear.

you and me both, friend

dean really going in on the accent in this conversation in the car. i'm not one to anthropomorphize cars (i love cars and my car) but they're definitely getting to me with that whole.. baby has bore witness to so many conversations and fights and... like the hannibal quote

from s2e13 mizumono HANNIBAL You sit in that chair, as you have so many times before. It holds among its molecules the vibrations of all our conversations ever held in its presence.

also my own personal wish granted that sam would own up to something he was hiding, the visions are a start

SAM He said, "God helps those who help themselves." I mean, maybe these visions are coming from God. DEAN Whoa. Pump the brakes.

brief terror that lucifer is getting those prayers and will lead our sam the (at times) believer astray because he thinks it's god

the wins keep coming, sam telling dean about being infected. thank you, robbie, good sir. to keep things reasonable dean blows off the visions because he's mad or whatever

DEAN Come on, man. That quote? "God helps those who help themselves"? God didn't say that. That's not even in the Bible. That's an old proverb that dates way back to Aesop. I read.

it's so hit or miss on whether dean is well read or it's a joke that he doesn't know about stuff. consistency! 🥴 he read the odyssey, didn't know who calliope is, etc. i know i've talked about this before but can't find it.

DEAN I have that dream every couple of months. Kind of comforting, actually.

and dean's dream about john and having a normal life? i haven't felt this many feelings since probably s5. and all the little domestic canon tidbits they're feeding us, just wow

DEAN I know what you're trying to do here. You're trying to find some -- some greater meaning to it all. Right? Some fate to what went down. But I'm telling you, Sam. The Darkness? It's on us. And no one's gonna help us, certainly not God, so we'll have to figure this thing out, like we always do. But until then we hunt.

don't love how he's blowing him off (though i mean, not terribly unexpected), do appreciate that sam reiterated that he doesn't think it was just a dream

even in the fake recreated car interior sam looks so uncomfortably cramped. and as ever consider there's an actual roof over their heads to contend with when contemplating them full on fucking back there in fic :p

the deputy i looked up because he's a redhead and looks kinda like sheriff stilinksi from teen wolf, it's the guy that was in a different ep of spn (7x04) that i looked up because he's pale and freckly. and he was in altered carbon.

it's so interesting how natural the episode is flowing even with the rather large limitation of having everything take place in the car, and not feel gimmicky. even this little interlude with the girls on the joyride is lifted by an excellent song choice, and the scene seems to be referencing the video, and they're doing an actual car stunt that we get to see from the inside

what a banger, damn and that video is amazing. only m.i.a. song i knew was paper planes via slumdog millionaire

okay well having an emotional breakdown every 5 minutes apparently has made this such that i can't wrap this up tonight. tbc

all right i was a little higher than anticipated yesterday so we'll see if the ✨Feelings ✨are the same with nothing in my system

was thinking last night that dean would likely notice his car being dusty as shit after doing donuts in a dirt lot :P but i'm glad she got to have her fun consequence-free, and Baby too

silly

so pleased with himself. this is all very cute honestly. it could have gone over the top slapstick having to keep dealing with this were-pire that won't die, but there was some restraint. the muffled growling and snarling from the cooler is just the right kind of goofy for me (not having music i think helps)

MRS. MARKHAM Your family. You do anything for them, don't you? DEAN Absolutely. Yeah, but not if it costs too much. [ Chuckles ] MRS. MARKHAM No. You do everything for them. Everything else is meaningless.

little on the nose but i'll take it :p that extended fight scene inside the car with her was a lot but

DONELLY It's like I said, I need help, every strong hand I can find. And I need an army to fight the Darkness. Oh, it's comin', for all of us. There's nothing hunters or any human can do about it.

is there some sort of monster memo going out about the darkness? we all need to band together against the darkness!

i give my car kisses like that too LOL

awkward

<3

DEAN We'll get Cas to fix you up. SAM Only if he fixes you up, too. DEAN Okay, mom. Let's go home. SAM You know what? We are home.

thank you, robbie.

There was no score for this episode. All music was diegetic: either coming from an outside source or the Impala's cassette deck. The scenes used in the episode for the Impala's cassette deck were used from 5.22 Swan Song.

i'm not gonna say that this episode was way better for not having a score, wait. no. i am gonna say it. thank you, for that choice

During the filming of the episode, during the scenes where the Deputy Donelly attacks Dean, Jensen found the remains of the Impala that was smashed up at the end of 1.22 Devil's Trap.

i can't remember an episode i wholeheartedly enjoyed as much as this one in a long damned time. i needed that. along with some somewhat cathartic sobbing :p skin cleared, crops watered, etc

[aarghhaaaarrrghhh]

A Summer in a Pioneer's Neckerchief/Лето в пионерском галстуке - Chapter Twelve

Master post here

Chapter Twelve. From Lyrical to Physical

Yurka was reminded of the counsellors’ constant ‘Children should not hang around and have fun by themselves!’ Wasn’t that the way of it! It was so true that when he saw all the kids running into the hall, he almost growled at them. But there was nothing to be done, he had to work with the actors.

Volodya tried to put on an air as though nothing particularly important almost happened between them a couple of minutes before, while Yurka looked for any opportunity to stay with him, even for a minute, and for the whole rehearsal, he felt tightly wound. He went nervously to-and-fro between the rows of seats, because he simply could not sit in one spot, now and then shooting furtive glances in Volodya’s direction and catching looks in kind. The eternally severe creative director had lost his severity and seemed a little bit absent-minded.

When the rehearsal was in full swing, the steps by the entrance creaked and another two people came into the hall. The first to notice them was Olezhka – he was looking ahead dramatically as he read out a pretentious monologue when he stopped short in the middle of a word.

“Ahem…” Pal Sanych greeted them.

“Heya, Pavel Aleksandrovich,” replied the children without putting aside their work.

“Oh.” Olga Leonidovna came in behind the director. She scribbled something down on her notepad, mouthing, “Fix the stairs,” and only then greeted everybody with her whole chest: “Hello, kids!”

They all greeted her in unison. The camp leader headed towards Volodya, and Yurka joined up with him without a moment’s delay as well.

“I’ve come to see how things are moving along here. The day after tomorrow is Lastochka’s birthday, the play needs to be completely ready.”

Volodya paused to think.

“I don’t even know,” he replied in the tone of an excuse. “We’re trying but there’s a lot of material, and not a lot of time. That, and the scenery still–”

“Hrm!” Pal Sanych expressed his indignation.

“Volodya!” interrupted Olga Leonidovna. “I’m not asking whether it will be ready, I need for everything to already be done! Alright, show us what you have, and we’ll see.”

The run-through began. Olga Leonidovna gauged the actors with a cold stare, silently made notes in her notebook and now and then rolled her eyes. As he observed her reactions, Yurka realised to his chagrin that their work was not very good. He had attended every rehearsal and followed how the play was coming together. It seemed like the little kids had learnt all their lines, Masha was playing slowly, but confidently – but not touching the Lullaby, as it happened – and the PUK girls were not slacking, but all the same, it was still too crude. Some scenes were run through from the top a couple of times. And the sets! Though there were not many planned for the play, some of them had to be painted from scratch, and they were still only in the planning stage!

Of course, Olga Leonidovna and Pal Sanych remained unsatisfied. Yurka had known both of them for whole six seasons by that point, and, no matter how he tried, he could not remember a time that they had been satisfied with something. But the scariest thing was something else: Olga Leonidovna was unsatisfied with Portovna.

“Nastyona, you do know the story of your heroine, right?”

“Hrm… What’s the point of the question, Olga Leonidovna?” interfered the director. “She can’t not know her.”

The children nodded in agreement – the answer to that question was obvious, everyone knew the story of all the hero-pioneers by heart.

“Of course,” Nastya herself insisted, “my class is even named after her.”

“Then you must remember that before the war, Zina was a normal Soviet girl. But you’re playing her like a knight from a fairy tale, when she was a real person, she still has living relatives. Zina was not born a hero, she became one, and your task is to show that development, not to announce from the outset, ‘I’m a hero, full-stop, I don’t cry and I don’t get scared.’”

“Olga Leonidovna, shall we take another look through the script?” Volodya rushed in, seeing that poor Nastya was already trembling. “Point out the lines that you don’t like and I’ll rewrite them with Konev.”

“Everything’s alright with the script, it’s that Nastya isn’t playing it right.”

Nastya went pale, and tears instantly began to brim in her eyes. Having noticed this, Olga Leonidovna changed her ire to sweetness.

“Nastyona, don’t get upset, it’ll all turn out fine, just imagine yourself in these situations. Let’s put it like this: you’re Zina, you’re just a little bit older than you are now, you’re fifteen. You’re nice and happy, you love to learn, but, like all children, more than anything else, you love to play and have fun. Together with your friends, you come up with whatever interesting things to do: starting up a poster campaign, or setting up a dancing club, since you really do dance very well, or putting on puppet shows for the little ones–”

Yurka jumped in suddenly, giving the aggrieved Nastya a gentlemanly clap on the shoulder – she shuddered – and confirmed:

“Nastya is just like that in real life.”

Nastya forced a smile, while Olga Leonidovna seemed to neither see nor hear, as she continued to drive her line of reasoning:

“Your home is in Leningrad, your friends, your family and school are all there, while you came to Obol together with your sister Galya to visit your grandmother over the holidays.”

“And then the war broke out!” covered in plasters like a telephone pole is covered in notices, Sashka jumped up onto the stage and began chirruping and waving his hands. “Open fire! Tch-tchuk ratatatat–”

“Shamov, is that, in your opinion, funny?” The directress placed her hands on her hips.

“N-no, no,” Sashka lowered his eyes and retreated slowly.

“To make light of not just the Soviet people’s, but the world’s greatest suffering!”

“Sasha wasn’t trying to make light of it!” Volodya stood up for him. “Olga Leonidovna, in peacetime, all this feels very far away, it feels like it doesn’t affect us. But it should be–”

Suddenly, the director got involved as well:

“Hrm… But the people back then didn’t know that there was going to be a war either? They also would not have believed you if you told them that a war would break out tomorrow. Children were holidaying in their villages, or… hrm… like we are now, in pioneer camps.”

“Exactly!” echoed Olga Leonidovna. “And as an aside on this topic, the first target to be destroyed by the fascist air force was not a train station or a factory. It was a pioneer camp!”

Yurka could not sit on the sidelines any longer. He absolutely disliked everything: the conversation was idiotic, the children being offended, and it was boring.

“And why would they bomb a camp?” he interrupted as he looked at Olga Leonidovna as though challenging her. “It’s a waste of ordnance, after all. Better off going after airports, transport hubs–”

“The camp was in the town of Palanga, which in those days was on the very border of the USSR and Germany.[1] The fascists attacked in the dead of night on the twenty-second.[2] They conducted a targeted attack on the camp, and all of this was captured on film. Read Sluckis,[3] Konev, if this interests you. But we’re getting off-topic. So, Zina and her sister are at their village in Obolsky district.[4] The war breaks out. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. Their village is immediately occupied by German soldiers. And here she is, that is, you, Nastya, just like you are now, cheerful and kind, and now all you see around you is blood and death. Within a year, you enter the ranks of the Young Avengers – a troop of children of the local inhabitants. You learn to shoot and to throw grenades–”

What a dried-up sabre fish,[5] Yurka cursed himself once the directress’s verbal flood had dried up, while she herself shook her head sullenly and tried to get him to read his lines.

Having listened to him, she declared:

“No, Konev, you’re not playing it right, either.”

“O-o-oh?” Yurka drew out, mistrustingly. Fortunately for him, Olga Leonidovna did not pick up on his scepticism.

“Yes, it’s coming out too human; he’s supposed to be a monster, not a person! All Germans are monsters!”

“O-o-oh?” Yurka drew out again, this time surprised in earnest. But he quickly came back to his senses and submitted to her. “Alright, what should I do?”

“I don’t know, make some kind of gross face.”

“Will this do?” Yurka grinned widely, with self-satisfaction.

The troupe started to giggle. The directress blinked dumbly and suddenly also burst into laughter.

“No, not like that.”

And she did not smile any more after that. With pursed lips and stony face, she listened to all the rest and, frowning so much that her forehead could be used as a washboard, pronounced her verdict:

“No, this is nowhere near good enough! This certainly can’t be shown in public… Volodya, I expected a lot more from you!”

“Hrmm, yes…” agreed the director.

At first, Volodya blinked dumbly in confusion, then frowned, and then gritted his teeth so hard that the muscles of his jaw were visible in his cheeks. He was very hurt by her words. They simply could not help but hurt him, since Volodya, so proud of his reputation, was now receiving a blow to it, a small one, but a blow nonetheless. It was not from Pal Sanych and it was without rough language, but it was still in public.

“But Olga Leonidovna, the script really is very complicated, and it’s a serious topic,” he tried to justify himself.

“I know, Volodya! But I was counted on you and thought that you would cope with it.”

“I am coping with it! We’re all coping, we just need more actors! The boys don’t come to us at all, even though we keep urging them to, I talked to you about this yesterday and the day before.”

The directress gave this some thought. She nodded.

“Then let’s postpone the premiere! We’ll put on the play on the very last day, before the farewell bonfire.”

“But that goes against the initial plans – we do want it on the day of the camp’s opening, we picked out an old script and looked for music on purpose for it.” Volodya cast such a guilty and pleading look at Yurka that he felt like he had been doused in boiling water.

“Either we put it on on the final day, or we don’t put it on,” declared Leonidovna.

“Alright,” capitulated Volodya. There was nothing to be done. “But what about the boys? Help us out with the recruitment, Olga Leonidovna. The whole troupe has begged, but still they won’t come. We just need some extras, they wouldn’t have any lines.”

“I’ll help you,” nodded Chekhon as she wrote something in her notebook. “But in that case, it should be even better than I’m expecting.”

The directress nodded again and went back to writing something to herself in her notebook. While giving out another couple of directions, she caught a glimpse of the clock and cried out, “It’s almost dinnertime!” and finally left.

Yurka also knew the time – almost an hour remained before the end of the rehearsal, but the actors, thrown off by the criticism, did not know at all where to go or what to do. The troupe aimlessly wandered around the theatre until Volodya gathered all the boys and girls around himself with a full-chested roar of “Everyone, over here!”.

Yurka thought that the creative director would begin by frenziedly driving them around the stage, pushing them to all go the whole nine yards, but he merely said:

“So, guys, everyone listen up. Olga Leonidovna is completely unsatisfied with our work so far. However! Fortunately, she has decided to postpone the premiere until the last day of camp.”

A murmur passed round the troupe. The kids had been counting on the performance being on the camp’s birthday in particular, since the parents of some of them had to make a journey to come see. Looking at their faces growing sad and hearing the pitiful sniffling of their noses, Yurka felt a lot of sympathy for the actors. Volodya, judging by his look of guilt and his downcast gaze, was also hurt. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

“It’th my fault,” squealed Olezhka, “it’th becauthe of my lithp���”

“It’s all of our faults!” Yurka interrupted him. “And nothing too bad has happened. Really, guys, let them postpone it. Especially since we don’t have a choice – it’s not like we can cancel the whole show, after all!”

Whilst Yurka was speaking, Volodya was also gathering his thoughts:

“Let’s think positively. We’ve now got more time, plus they’re getting us more actors to be extras. And the main thing, a great honour has been thrust upon us: to perform at the closure of the camp season!" he smiled, and Olezhka sniffled once again before his face began to brighten. “They have to pay attention to us now! That means that they will help us out, and the play will turn out far better and more interesting than it is now. Guys, I’m expecting you to put in your maximum effort!”

In order to cheer the little ones up, Yurka added in a frightening tone:

“And if you don’t, and it all falls apart, then for the rest of your life, every night the vengeful spirit of the director who committed suicide will come after you to frighten you and stop you from sleeping…”

“What’s this nonsense all about?” Polya was exasperated/

“Who ith thith thpiwit, Yuwa?” Olezhka perked up. “Tell uth!”

Yurka took some time to think.

“Alright, I’ll tell you. But not today, and not even tomorrow… I’ll tell it to you, if you all practise hard for the next three days and then put on a great showing for us! Agreed?”

“Agreed!” cried the younger children in unision, while the PUK girls simultaneously snorted and rolled their eyes.

Yurka caught Volodya’s gaze in passing – he nodded slightly and mouthed “thank you”. Then the butterflies in Yurka’s stomach finally took him over. He stole glances now and then at the clock hanging on the wall – the minute hand seemed to be taunting him; it crept along so slowly that at times, it seemed to Yurka to just be standing in place. And oh, how he wanted for the rehearsal to be done already! For all those people to leave the hall, so that he could… Yurka did not know what exactly he wanted to do, but he felt a burning need to stay together with Volodya.

Yet again, the steps by the entrance squeaked and a tense silence hung in the air in the hall. Yurka turned around to see who was coming. And he saw Ira on the threshold.

She jerked her hands up in a pacifying gesture:

“Continue, please, I’m not here to distract you, I just…” Her voice suddenly became severe and an undisguised rage could be heard in it: “Come here, leave them!”

Yurka instinctively hung his head between his shoulders – he knew that a tone like that from Ira meant nothing good. While he hastily marched up towards the hall’s exit, he wondered how he had messed up. this time And he came up with a lot of answers: he abandoned his duty in the canteen, he ran away from the camp, he went wandering who-knows-where for five hours, if not more… It was unlikely that his disappearance went unnoticed, after all. But, of course, Yurka had been hoping up to then that it would be so… Even though in his head, he understood that that was not possible and that now he was going to get a first-class hiding.

But, to his uttermost surprise, Ira Petrovna looked more concerned than angry, and merely inquired agitatedly:

“How long were you planning to be gone, Yur? We were so worried?”

“Don’t go worrying about me…”

Compared to everything that had happened since his return to the camp, his flight seemed insignificant and unimportant to Yurka – not at all what it was now worth worrying about. But, so it would seem, he was the only who thought so.

“You know, Yura, I don’t have the strength to shout at you anymore…”

Ira sighed, somewhat too sadly, and it made Yurka somewhat uneasy. It would be better if she did shout…

“Where did you disappear off to today? Just like that, you desert your duty in the canteen and disappear! How long were you gone for? Half a day! Why didn’t you warn us? How can you just take off and run away like that? Did you even give a little thought to anyone else? Volodya was white as a sheet when he came to me to say that you’d gone missing!”

Yurka swallowed nervously. And to think, he really had not given any thought to what would be happening back in Lastochka while he was roaming the woods, searching for the bus stop and trying to sort himself out. He had not given any thought either to how Volodya had been feeling, since, when Yurka returned, he did not shout or get angry, he practically did not say a word about his sudden disappearance, and instead, threw him off with some completely different words and actions…

Ira continued:

“You only think about yourself, while other people suffer because of you! I’ve never seen Volodya like that – he practically lost his mind, you know! He was rushing back and forth around the camp, looking absolutely everywhere: he went climbing all round the building site, even down to the river! The gym instructor on duty yapped at him a hundred times about how he hadn’t seen you, and still he combed through the whole beach, he took a boat and rowed somewhere! He’s always calm and balanced, and here it was like he’d been possessed – and it’s all your fault, Konev! Yura! Yura, are you listening to me at all?”

Yurka was listening. Ira was asking him a lot of questions, but he could not keep up with thinking of answers for them, and he was not even sure that he was meant to answer. Ira was not so much having a go at him as trying to appeal to his conscience – and it was working very well for her. Before that moment, Yurka had not realised in earnest what he had wrought by running away from the camp. Back then, urged on solely by the desire to get as far away as possible from Volodya, he was thinking only about himself and his own hurt, and simply forgot about the rest. It all seemed insignificant, unimportant then, the main thing was just his own pain. Now however, from just one thought about how Volodya must have felt when he realised that he was not in the camp, the hair on the nape of Yurka’s neck began to stand on end. Volodya searched for him! He went down to the river – did he try to get to the willow? Most likely, he would not have been able to get there by land – there was no path there, after all, that and he would have had to find a ford… Did he row to it on the boat? And during all this, Volodya had not gone straight to the directress to disclose anything. And Ira had not gone, either! And such a negligent attitude to their jobs, losing a pioneer would mean immediate dismissal, if not a court case!

What had he, Yurka, almost brought to pass?

“Why didn’t you make Olga Leonidovna aware?” he asked quietly, his head downcast in guilt.

“Any longer and we would have! I was getting ready to go to the administration but say thank you to Olezhka for immediately telling us that you were here, in the hall. Well, and also, of course, Volodya was worried about you and asked me not to say anything to anyone at first. If they found out, me and him would get a dressing-down, and you’d be out of the camp. And then again,” she stopped short for a few seconds, “you did keep my secret…”

Yurka nodded and quietly said:

“Forgive men, Ir…”

“What am I meant to do with your “forgive me”, Yur? You can see that I’m not even angry. But I really want you to fully understand the seriousness of your actions! Yura, you’re a grown-up in age by now, yet you behave like a child! Grow up, already!”

Her words grated upon Yurka. Here she was now saying he acted like a child! And an hour earlier, Volodya had told him the very same thing, word for word!

“Answer for what you’ve done! Remember that they have consequences for more than just you!”

“Alright, Ir, I’ll try,” said Yurka guiltily. He said it in insincerity, more to make Ira leave him alone and stop giving him a lecture already.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, gave it a rub and continued, more tenderly still:

“I understand that it’s not at all easy for you after what happened…”

All of Yurka’s insides went cold. What was she on about?

“It’s all very unpleasant and hurtful, but, Yura, Volodya isn’t to blame, either, there’s no other way he can–”

“W-what?” stammered Yurka.

“I know everything, he told me, I understand.”

He told? How is that even possible? How could Volodya go and share something like that with Ira?

“W-what are you talking about?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“About Masha, obviously. About how Volodya gave her your competition piece. I know how much music means to you, and I understand that it has caused you a lot of suffering. But Yura, that’s not a reason to do such stupid things! Much less does it give you the right to get other people tangled up in these problems!”

Yurka exhaled: Ira thought that Yurka was mad about music and Masha, she did not know the real reason!

“Forgive me, Ir. Truly, forgive me.” Now he was speaking honestly, and somehow more easily. “I really didn’t think about the consequences, I– I’m an idiot!”

She took her hand from his shoulder.

“You’re not an idiot at all, Yur. You just need to grow up a bit.”

Yurka nodded again, not knowing how he could answer. Sometimes he did not understand Ira at all. So often, she supported him and deflected the blame from him, was tender with him, despite the fact that at times, his behaviour was far from ideal…

“Ir…” He decided to ask what had been on his mind for a long time.

She had already turned away, on her way to leave, but she looked back inquisitively at him over her shoulder.

“Why is your relationship with Zhenya a secret? What’s going on there, exactly?”

Ira forced a smile:

“Don’t you know? I thought the whole camp was up to date.”

“No, I’ve not been hearing any gossip.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you. You’d find out anyway. Zhenya is married. No, he’s planning to get a divorce, but when that will be… Don’t tell anyone, alright? I don’t want any rumours. It’s fine if they find out about him, but about me – that I’m wrecking someone else’s family… It’s not an unusual situation, but it could paint me in a very bad light. We’re at camp, there’s kids here, we’re all promoting family values, and what kind of example would I be giving them?”

Yurka was taken aback by such honesty, but he decided to let the information digest later on.

Ira sighed and brought the conversation to a close by saying:

“Alright, go back to your rehearsal, though by now the signal for dinner will be soon. Promise me that you’ll pull yourself together.”

“Fine.”

As she left, she added:

“And apologise to Volodya.”

Yurka returned to the theatre hall with the firm intention to pull Volodya out of the rehearsal and speak with him right then. Above all, to apologise genuinely. However, having seen how the creative director was bearing about the stage, fussing around, script in hand, having heard his voice, quivering with tension and exhaustion, Yurka realised that now was not the time. He recollected the words that Ira had said a couple of minutes before and decided to act like an adult.

The signal horn announcing dinner caught the troupe unawares. Headed by Volodya, the actors rushed about to find their troops and line up for the canteen. They agreed that after dinner, anyone whose performance was found lacking by Olga Leonidovna would come back to the theatre and continue to rehearse.

While they were leaving the theatre, Yurka tapped Volodya on the side and smiled – he wanted to somehow indicate his presence and his interest. Volodya also smiled, but in a very abashed and forced way.

That smile pushed Yurka over into complete confusion. Volodya had almost kissed him, and now he was twitchy and nervous, going pale, then red, then back again. Why? What if he had not really wanted to? What if he did it out of pity? But do people kiss out of pity? Well, they almost kissed... He needed to chew all this over, digest it, figure things out.

Halfway to the canteen, Yurka realised that he had absolutely no appetite, even though he had not eaten since all the way back at breakfast. Because of that smile, everything had become even more tangled. So many questions, thoughts, guesses and doubts all roiled around Yurka’s head that he felt awfully tired. And the last thing that he wanted in that moment was to hang around in the canteen amidst the rumbling crowds, to see Volodya a little way off again, not daring to approach him and just asking himself new questions.

After getting a quick bite to eat, Yurka returned to the empty theatre. At first, he wanted to sit at the piano again and try playing something, but he saw a forgotten notebook on a spectator’s seat in the first row. He immediately recognised the crumpled, outlined cover – it was Volodya’s working notebook. Could he have forgotten it in the rush to get ready for dinner?

Yurka picked the notebook up and started to flick through it without any particular interest. He found a lot of pencil notes in the margins. They were primarily technical: ‘Ulya is overdoing it’, ‘check forest set’, ‘grandmother’s costume?’ and so on. For some reason, Yurka was very curious to look over these notes, even though he already knew a lot of it – Volodya voiced the same concerns during rehearsals. Having read the script almost the whole way through to the end, Yurka reached the scene with the German and noticed a caption above it, just one word: ‘Yurchka’. His heart missed a beat, and his breath was momentarily taken away. Volodya had written his name when he decided to give him this role, but the way he had written it! Had he meant to write ‘Yurochka’, but missed a letter in his haste? Would Volodya really refer to him so affectionately? He had never called him like that aloud before!

While the rest of the camp was having dinner, Yurka was reading and learning his lines. There were not many of them – only a few lines, but they were difficult. The Gestapo officer Krauz was a repulsive, negative personality, and that kind of evil did not at all add up for Yurka with the tender pencil caption above his lines.

But Yurka wanted to give Volodya a nice surprise, and he began to rehearse. He walked around the stage, reading his lines to the empty hall, imagining that there he was: sitting behind a desk, Zina in front of him, and he was leading an interrogation… To Yurka, it seemed like he was not even doing too badly. But then the step squeaked, and the actors returned to the hall.

The gathered company was by no means small: Yurka himself, the PUK girls in full force, Nastya and Sanya. Joining the losers was Olezhka, even though his performance was wholly satisfactory. Masha had also really wanted to come, but Ira Petrovna had dragged her off to her troop to rehearse the first troop’s dance number for the camp’s birthday’s celebration concert. Masha chomped at the bit, but she had to go, while Yurka was gladden by the fact that that evening would go by without her dreary plink-plonking.

While the little ones prepared for a pass at the scenes with the fascists, Yura and PUK girls and Volodya sat in the audience on neighbouring chairs. The PUK girls were silent, but still getting in his way; in front of them, he was obliged to pretend as though nothing of any particular significance had happened or would happen, even though for more than an hour by that point, sirens had been blaring and trains honking inside him, everything was all smoky and something was growling, “Grab Volodya and run!”

“Olga Leonidovna was right about something,” declared the potential kidnapping victim meditatively. “The partisans there found themselves under constant suspicion. In Obol, there were two thousand German soldiers, a column of torturers. Death by torture was guaranteed for the partisans if they got caught… and we’re performing it like the heroes don’t feel fear at all!”

“She should get professional theatre actors, not pioneers!” Yurka was exasperated. “‘The moral of the play is in showing how anybody could become a hero’,” he repeated the directress’s words. “You know what? We modern people would not be able to do battle, much less to win, like those kids who fought in the war. But she’s asking us to act it out.”

“Oi, don’t get scared, Konev, you’ll jinx it. We can all do it,” Ksyusha made a face, dejected.

“I did say that we should do something modern,” declared Ulyana in protest, and quietly began to sing in a pleasant voice, “‘You’ll wake me at dawn[6]…’”

Polina stared ambivalently at the floor.

Volodya did not pay the slightest attention to the protest; he glanced at Yurka and shrugged.

“We might. It’s a war – they’d kill you either way, so you could either surrender or avenge those who they’d already killed. Right, that’s a load of hot air. Let’s get to work.”

A tense atmosphere reigned in the hall. Volodya, who already always became a regular demanding creative director within those walls, had now become totally merciless: he paid no attention to a single thing around, and dove completely into the rehearsal. He lost his temper, started shouting, abusing the actors, harrying the little ones, even though they had been quiet as the grave that day.

Yurka was quite frankly bored. The scene with Krauz was still a long way off; it was not guaranteed that Volodya was planning to run through it that day at all. And what did he have to occupy himself with? Stew about in anticipation of the rehearsal finishing and hope that Volodya would be in the mood to chat with him? No way, Yurka was bored with all this waiting and hoping – the last three hours had seemed an eternity to him. He had had enough of waiting for Volodya to decide everything for him. He had already taken a huge step forward towards Yurka, and now it was his turn to take everything into his own hands.

In the middle of the rehearsal, a commotion broke out with Ulyana, when they began to run through the scene with the Young Avengers yet again and Ulyana was overacting yet again: she was reading her lines with an irritating enthusiasm and enunciation.

Yurka observed Volodya’s reaction – the way he gnashed his teeth, the way he ordered them to play through the scene again from the top time again and again, the way he made Ulyana speak more calmly and with emotion… And each time, Ulyana repeated the exact same mistakes!

On the tenth time, Volodya did not hold back. He climbed up onto the stage right in the middle of one of her short monologues and cut Ulyana off mid-sentence with a shout:

“Can you not hear how terribly you’re acting? Do you understand that you’re an avenger? You’re a partisan, Ulya! Why do you speak your lines like you’re in the high chair at a preschool matinée?”

Volodya had, of course, gone too far. Yurka frowned – right then, while everyone was under collective pressure, after Olga Leonidovna’s criticisms, it was too much. Unsurprisingly, Ulyana fell apart: without trying to restrain herself or hide her tears, her nose flared, and she loudly burst out sobbing. However, Yurka still did not pity her, since how else was there to explain it to her if she did not understand by the tenth time? Meanwhile, Volodya immediately regretted his behaviour and went to console Ulyana. He put his arm around her shoulder, and she did not let the opportunity to immediately bury herself in his shoulder pass by, getting the arm of his shirt all dirty with tears, snot and mascara.

“Ulyana, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I said something stupid. There, there, that’s enough.”

Ulyana too a breath and pressed herself into him even harder.

Yurka was gripped by jealousy and spite – another girl just like Masha, mewling just so that Volodya would come fawning over her. And it was working! Conscientious, mister-nice-guy Volodya was there right on cue with the apologies, humiliating himself in front of her! Aren’t you a pitiful one! Yurka was inwardly indignant. You dance with Masha out of pity, I bet you only wanted to kiss me out of pity!

He stomped angrily to the corner of the hall and took a seat in the furthest chair, hiding himself in the shadow of the curtain, and, scowling, stared at the bust of Lenin that was gathering dust in the corner. As he remembered how a couple of days prior Volodya had made him drag that heavy old bust from the stage like some kind of cargo worker, Yurka snorted and frowned even harder. He took a furtive look around from side to side and confirmed that nobody was paying any attention to his vacillations, besides Vladimir Ilyich, who was giving him a dismal look with his gypsum eyes.

“What are you looking at?” asked Yurka quietly. Nobody was listening to him – Ulyana’s hysterical sobs and Volodya’s guilty mumblings were still ringing out from the stage.

Lenin, of course, did not say anything to him in reply.

Yurka stood up and approached the bust – they were about the same height.

“Nobody needs me,” complained Yurka and reached his hand out to Lenin’s forehead. He passed over his rough gypsum bald path and sighed heavily. "We’re similar, yeah? You’re also standing in the corner and gathering dust, useless to anyone… Alas, you’re the only one who understands me, Vladimir Ilyich.” Yurka took the bust in both hands and holding it out in front of him, kissed Lenin on the forehead. “Thank you for hearing me out, I feel so much lighter–”

“Yura!” hissed Volodya from behind him. “What are you up to?!” Judging by his tone, he was furious.

Yurka turned to face the creative director. And it was true, he was mad, and not as a joke – lightning flashed in his eyes. Oh, so he calms Ulyana down, fauns all over her, while he shouts at me?

“What? I’m rehearsing!” and he began to read off the page into Lenin’s ear: “Sweet Fraulein, in the barrel of this thing,” he made a finger pistol and prodded Lenin in the temple with it, “is but one single little snub-nosed cartridge. It is fully capable of putting an end to all our unnecessary discussion and put a full stop on your life. Think about it, dear Fraulein, about the final point of a human life!”

“Yura, what kind of anti-Soviet prank is this?!”

Yurka turned back around and looked confusedly at him. He was angry that Volodya was pointedly ignoring him. On the stage, Ulyana was howling, while her girls and the little kids all comforted her in unison.

Volodya came up to him and said right in his ear:

“You do know how that looks, right? You’re insulting the memory of the leader of the revolution.”

“Oh, if only there was something to insult!” scowled Yurka.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“To hell with this revolution! To hell with Leonidovna and her partisans and fascists! She and Sanych are just trying to whitewash the former and make the other look bad–”

“What? Are you trying to say that they’re not giving fascism a shake? Have you gone crazy? Or what, you’ve gotten so far into the role, that fascism isn’t evil anymore?”

“Maybe it’s the other way around, that communism isn’t good? And what? Volod, don’t you ever wonder why they tell us so little about fascist Germany? It’s always about the same stuff: the war, the destruction, the concentration camps, but what was the social and political structure like? Why don’t we ever hear anything about them? Could it be because back then, the USSR was exactly the same, except instead of Jews in the camps, it was dissidents, and instead of Aryans, Party members? They even had their own version of the pioneers. It follows that what we’re putting on here is all wrong, if only because it presents all Germans as scum.”

“What are you getting at?” frowned Volodya.

Yurka did not know himself. Like a little kid, he was once again chatting absolute nonsense, just to take pleasure in the fact that someone was paying attention to him. Yurka did not like it, he was disgusted with himself, but he could not help himself. He could not let Volodya go back to Ulyana again.

“I’m getting at the fact that Germans are people, just like us, and not scum.”

“Oh, and how would you know whether they’re scum or not! Because you have an uncle that lives there? So what? They’re alright now, but back then, the whole nation became murderers!”

“Not all,” exclaimed Yurka.

“Well, obviously not all! But Yura… Ugh, no, you don’t fit in with the system at all! It’s possible and even necessary to be free, but not here! And if you can’t reform, learn to lie. The way you’re speaking, you can’t even think that!”

“I’ve heard that before somewhere,” snarled Yurka. “But I mean something else, Volodya. Our honourable communist Leonidovna is demanding patriotism from us just for the sake of ticks. Our girls halfway to joining Komsomol nod along but look around; they all spit on these heroes! Those girls are only here for you.”

“Aren’t you?” Volodya’s eyes shone and he turned away to leave.

Yurka was in fact only there thanks to him, but he was perhaps the only ashamed to admit it. He was not ashamed of his lack of patriotism, but because of Volodya, since he was the only one there who cared about all that. Volodya was doing the play, not for points, not to get anyone’s attention, he just wanted to show people, to bring the feats of the hero-pioneers to them. He alone was sincere, and probably felt very isolated.

“No! I do care,” firmly declared Yurka.

Be it as it may, he decided to fix his mistakes later, while right then, Yurka simply could not let Volodya have the last word. No less could he allowed the girls from ‘Vladimir Davydov’s harem’ continue to manipulate Volodya. But Yurka already knew what he would have to do in order to protect Volodya from harassment – keep him fenced off. Physically. Those girls should not even sit next to his, Yurka’s Volodya!

“And Ulyana,” he said, “I’ll calm down in one fell swoop. Take notes, student.”

He overtook Volodya and plopped down into his empty seat next to Ulyana. She hiccupped and instantly stopped crying. The girls began to grumble. Volodya looked at Yurka and hemmed, shaking his head.

***

Time dragged on and on, as though it were a miserable thirty hours rather than thirty minutes. The second hand of the clock seemed to be playing a joke on Yurka – it crept by slowly, halting on each division for so long that it seemed that for each step, another five could be counted.

Finally, Volodya loudly clapped, stood up and said:

“That’s all for today, guys.” But Yurka noticed that according to the clock, it was only ten to nine, and finishing early was not at all in character for the creative director, much less when every minute was important. “Go get some rest. Polya, Ulya and Ksyusha, your task for the three of you is to practise the Avengers’ dialogue a few more times. Especially you, Ulya. Let the girls help you get up to snuff. You’re not all that bad anymore, but you’re still overacting. Right, and you, Sanya – you’re playing a dead fascist, remember that and stop snoring when you lay down! You’re dead, not sleeping! Understood?”

Everyone he had addressed nodded.

“Let’s split.”

The children ran around; the girls, whispering amongst themselves, were also parading regally towards the exit – the last to get down from the stage was Ksyusha. In that moment, Yurka was at the other end of the hall and saw how she approached Volodya, but he did not hear what she asked him. Volodya shook his head in the negative.

Once Ksyusha left, Yurka demanded an answer from Volodya with jealous notes in his voice:

“What did she want?”

“She invited me to the disco.”

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing,” Volodya shrugged light-heartedly. “We still have a heap of work to do here. Come with me, by the way; I want to discuss the set decoration with you.”

  He climbed onto the stage and called for Yurka to follow him. The latter raised his eyebrows: What, he seriously wants to discuss decorations right now? But he dragged himself up all the same.

“Look,” Volodya indicated the left corner. “Right here we’ll have the props for the headquarters: a writing table, chairs, propaganda posters here, you know, a headquarters. And over here,” he went over to the right edge of the stage, “we won’t open the curtain all the way and it’ll be our street location. Here we’ll have a hollow log – the hiding place. True, we’ll have to come up with a way of hiding the weapons so that they’re not visible; the log we’ve got isn’t hollow like theirs was, it’s ordinary.”

Yurka was half-listening to him. He would have liked to go into details, but he did not manage to focus on anything other than the fact that he and Volodya were at long last left alone in the empty hall.

“Ah, well in principle at least, we could place it right up against the curtain and stick the weapons under it…” Volodya disappeared behind the curtain, gave it a tug and dust immediately fell from it. “Gah! Damn, we’ll also have to beat these out before–”

Yurka could not hold back any longer. He bounded up close to Volodya and pushed him up against the wall. Yurka took the edge of the curtain and wrapped them up in the dusty cloth, hiding himself and Volodya from the empty hall.

“What are you doing?” Volodya asked, part confused and part surprised.

“Continuing on from where we were interrupted.” Yurka wanted to hug him, but he looked into his discouraging eyes and grew timid. Meanwhile, Volodya shook his head:

“I won’t, not here. What if someone came in–”

“They wouldn’t be able to see us!”

“Oh… yeah,” whispered Volodya and he laid his hands on his shoulders.

Yurka screwed his eyes up tight and made for his lips. He made contact with them and just stood there, his breath held and his eyes closed, worrying that the same thing would happen now as happened back at then at the shed, that Volodya would push him away. But he did not push him away. Yurka felt hands on his forearms and was about to stubbornly refuse to let himself be moved away, but Volodya squeezed his fingers and brought him closer to himself. And these innocent few brushes of lips against lips aroused such a storm of feelings inside Yurka that he felt both the gentle, romantic Viennese Waltz and the soaring, grandiose Ride of the Valkyries begin to play in his soul at the same time. Yurka was thrown dizzyingly somewhere right up into the sky, almost like he had a couple of hours before, because of the music. But until right then, he had never guessed that he did not need music in order to take flight. That the sky began at the about one-hundred-and-seventy centimetres off the ground where Volodya’s lips were. Further, he understood that from then on, everything would be different, everything in him would change, and around him as well: the nights would become bright and the winters, warm.

Suddenly Volodya braced, his back straightened like the string of an instrument, and he looked away, though he pressed Yurka even more tightly to himself, squeezing him to the point of pain. Yurka did not manage to figure anything out about what was wrong before he suddenly went deaf – Volodya sneezed so loudly that his ears began to ring. Then he sneezed again, and again. As they worked themselves free from the dusty curtain, they both laughed: Yurka, throwing his head back, Volodya, bent double, now from sneezing, then from laughing.

They were giggling like fools as they returned to the fifth troop, and Yurka was hiccupping on top of that.

The little children were not acting up that evening and did not even ask for a horror story – Volodya had probably driven them too hard. And for the first time, Yurka was not the least bit happy that they were falling asleep so quickly, since that meant that it was time for him to leave.

Their leave-taking was somewhat awkward. They were silent and Volodya did not let go of Yurka’s hands for a long time, as though he were waiting for something. But Yurka was unable to act – he wanted to ask a question that had been tormenting him all that evening, but he could not bring himself to do so.

But when Volodya let go of his hand and softly pronounced “Bye!”, he was left no choice. Yurka began to panic – he did not have the strength to wait until the next day:

“No, not bye! I want to speak with you, to ask you something.”

“About what?”

“I don’t understand. You said you have a girl you like and that–”

“Did I say that?” Yurka stared at him blankly. Volodya smiled. “I didn’t say a girl, I said a person.”

“But… who is it, then?”

“It’s an old story with a very boring end. Forget about her,” requested Volodya. And he suddenly hugged him, but just as quickly let him go. “Then I’ll forget about your ‘girl from your block.’”

“Something like that’s difficult to forget,” mumbled Yurka.

“Tell me about it,” laughed Volodya joylessly. He squeezed his hands again and said with regret, “Yurka, we can’t drag this out any longer or Irina will see you’re missing. That and it’s already past time to sleep, to be honest. The main thing now is to survive ‘til tomorrow, right?”

“No. I’ll come to you today,” interrupted Yurka. “At night, when everyone’s asleep. At twelve, or maybe a little later.”

“No. It’s not worth putting ourselves at risk, much less after what happened today.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m warning you. I’ll be coming. I’ll knock on your window.

“Don’t…”

“Even if you’re not going to wait for me, I’ll come anyway.”

“Well… alright. After what’s happened today, it’ll take me a long time to get to sleep. Just be careful not to get caught.”

It was no effort to wait until the children fell asleep, but there was a long time waiting for lights out for the grown-ups. The exhaustion that had been building up for the whole day fell upon Yurka with its whole weight as soon as he laid down in his bed. Several times, he was drawn into a sweet and syrupy sleep, but each time, Yurka made an incredible effort to force himself to wake up – he wanted too much to see Volodya again.

Once silence came over the camp, along with darkness – some of the lamps were turned out – Yurka knew that it was time; he got up, dressed and left.

 It was his first time seeing the camp so empty and quiet. Yurka’s mind, made feverish by lack of sleep and the stresses of the past day, imagined that the enemies of the Soviet Union had gone and dropped an atomic bomb somewhere not far off and now everything had died. He heard neither the hooting of owls, nor the whines of the dogs from Goretovka; only the crickets gave themselves away, with their terrifyingly loud chirps. Yurka had heard that certain insects could survive a nuclear war, cockroaches for instance.

Neither lights nor shadows were to be seen in the dorm windows. The fifth troop’s dorm, just as dark and quiet, finally stood before him.

Yurka found the necessary window in a moment; he climbed up on the step at the bottom and knocked. Several seconds later, a pale face in glasses appeared out of the darkness. Yurka pointed behind himself, to the bushes, and mouthed that he would wait for him there.

Volodya came out towards him, all in black, a couple of minutes later, but even that short wait seemed like an eternity to Yurka. He threw himself at him head on and grabbed him by the hands, but Volodya recoiled:

“What are you doing, they’ll see us! Not here.”

“Alright,” grumbled Yurka, unsatisfied, and, after giving his wrist a squeeze, flung himself through the bushes towards the sports grounds.

“Just what kind of Pandora’s box have I opened?” wheezed Volodya, running behind him.

After running around the tennis and basketball courts, they left towards the swimming pool, beyond which there was only thick forest. It was frightening there, in the nighttime darkness. The water lapping in the swimming pool looked black and the moonlight cast shadows of the tall trees upon it. On the far side of the pool, where the diving boards were, statues of hero-pioneers stood with their backs to the woods. Two pale gypsum silhouettes – a girl in a bathing costume with an oar and a boy preparing to dive – shone white against the background of the gloomy forest, like phantoms. But Yurka was not bothered about the frightening views; he just noted and committed all of it to memory out of the corner of his eye, subconsciously. He drew Volodya further on, circling around the pool and hiding behind the statue pedestal.

He stepped towards Volodya, desirous of embracing him, but Volodya pushed him back:

“Hang on, we’re visible. Let’s sit down.”

He knelt down, right on the grass by the pedestal and drew Yurka down with him. Yurka obeyed and knelt, but was bitterly hurt:

“If you push me away just one more time, I’m going to disappear from your life forever! I’ll… I’ll run away for real!”

 “Fine,” nodded Volodya; in the darkness, it was difficult to make out the emotion on his face. “Forgive me. You’ve got to understand why I’m so… I won’t do it anymore. Does that mean you meant to run away during the day? Where were you?”

“Over there,” Yurka waved in the direction of the road. “I went to the bus stop.”

Volodya inhaled deeply and exhaled protractedly, as though trying to bring himself under control and calm himself down.

“Five hours? Yura, I almost went crazy looking for you!” he launched into a whispered tirade. “I ran around the camp like a madman. I looked in every room in the new build, every one! And there’s forty of them! And you weren’t anywhere to be found. And I was afraid to ask about you; what if they figured you were up to no damn good again and went to report to Leonidovna – rumours spread quickly after all. And as soon as she found out, that’s it, you’re kicked out of the camp. And that’s if I found you – what if I didn’t?!” Volodya was now trying to shout at him. In a whisper.

“Oh, give me a break! What could have happened to me? It’s not my first time here, I know eve–”

“Who knows what? What didn’t cross my mind?”

“Like what?  That I went off to drown myself?” Yurka laughed.

“Do you think that’s funny? Don’t you want to try putting yourself in my position? I can arrange that in a jiffy. Shall we try it right now?” Volodya was visibly barely restraining himself from shouting with his full voice: he was breathing heavily, and Yurka could feel his hands, maybe even his whole body, shaking.

“Alright, alright, calm down. I’m here, nothing happened, it’s all fine.”

“I thought that when I saw you, I’d strangle you!”

“There’s no need to get so wound up. It’s just me. No, I understand, you bear responsibility for me–”

“Damn my responsibility! You’re a living person and my… friend. After what happened yesterday–”

“Then strangle me already if that’s what you want! Just stop psyching out–”

Yurka broke off mid-sentence in confusion – Volodya had suddenly hugged him.

“I’m not anymore. I stopped as soon as I saw you playing.”

He broke off the embrace and Yurka almost groaned in disappointment – he wanted more, he wanted to hug forever, to never let Volodya out of his embrace. Yurka crawled closer on his knees and squeezed his trembling hands.

“If you’d heard how I was playing rather than just looking, then you’d have wanted to strangle me all over again.”

“Don’t say stupid stuff. You played very well,” said Volodya. He ran his fingers over his palms, tenderly and very slowly, as though trying to feel Yurka’s warmth with every cell of his skin and whispered. “Yurka, take care of your hands. They really are like crystal.” He raised them to his face, inclined his head and gently kissed them.

Yurka was terribly confused. A wave of heat came over his face; he felt the blush pour down over him from the very top of his head. His cheeks burned and his fingers trembled, then turned to stone, unable to be straightened. That finally made him feel shy. He needed to reply somehow, if only so that Volodya did not think to continue to embarrass him even more. Yurka feverishly searched for something to say, but blurted out the first thing that came to mind. It turned out to also be the stupidest:

“So do you! Uh, that is, I also really like your hands. So soft, like a… like they’re… Like you use hand cream.”

“I don’t,” hemmed Volodya. He had finally relaxed, it seemed. “I don’t do anything particular with them.”

His closeness was making everything swim before Yurka’s eyes. He wanted terribly to kiss him, but he was too embarrassed to ask or put his foot down. Fidgeting on the spot, he carefully shifted closer to him, stealthily, while babbling something, completely unsure of what to say.

“Nothing at all?”

The main thing was to not be silent, to distract Volodya with conversation, no matter what it was about, and in the meantime, get closer to him bit by bit.

“No…” Volodya drew out uncertainly. “Well, except sometimes I wash them under very hot water.”

Yurka could have sworn he made out Volodya raising his eyebrows in the darkness. He was now very close, just a couple of centimetres away, though he was still not in any hurry to kiss Yurka. Like he was waiting for something. Perhaps it was worth asking directly what for?

But in his impatience, Yurka whispered something else:

“Very, very hot?” and crept another little bit closer.

Volodya was kneeling on the same spot in the same pose, stroking his hand, looking at Yurka, his eyes sparkling.

“Almost boiling,” he smiled. “What about it?”

“Maybe that’s what I need too?” Volodya was by that point too close. Yurka’s breathing stopped.

“No, that would hurt you,” he said seriously, and then suddenly began to laugh. “Yura, what on earth are we talking about?”

“I don’t know…” he sighed forcefully and having overcome his embarrassment, pressed his lips to Volodya’s.

Gasping from worry and delight, he was afraid that Volodya would push him away again, but that did not happen. The kiss was innocent and very long. But even if it had lasted for eternity, it would not have been enough for Yurka.  But he could not even dream about anything else, while Volodya, evidently, could.

He reached out and touched a lock of Yurka’s fringe hanging on his forehead and said:

“I’ve dreamed about doing this for a long time.”

He brushed the lock aside and gently stroked his ear and temple. It tickled but was so pleasant that Yurka shook his head and rubbed his temple against Volodya’s fingers. Turns out he was like a cat.

Volodya laughed tenderly.

In response he once again took his hands in his own. He silently led his nose over Yurka’s cheek. Yurka was bursting from the inside from the pleasure and tenderness, which in this act were more than in all the kisses they had shared.

They stayed there, hidden behind the monument, kneeling afore each other and holding each other’s hands until the sky turned from black to dark, inky blue. Volodya jumped at every rustle, even though it could be heard clearly that it was pinecones falling in the woods, or the wind blowing or shutters slamming somewhere far, far away, rather than people walking by. But no matter how unsafe or afraid he might have felt, he was certainly wanted to stay there just as strongly as did Yurka.

Afterwards, Yurka could not sleep for a long time – the complete crazy happiness of his thoughts was making his heart beat a tap dance. You try and fall asleep then, when your insides are rumbling, and your inner voice refuses to shut up, and neither is it whispering nor mumbling, but fully shrieking with joy. His hands would reach out to open the window, while his feet would rush to the counsellor’s dorm, and he would want to wrap all his limbs around Volodya and never let go. No, he better steal him first, drag him off to a dark corner and entwine him there. But really it was all the same where the embracing happened, even in the middle of the plaza, so long as no-one got in the way! Yurka had not decided under which conditions he would have liked to turn into ivy when he fell into a dream, just as tangled and confused in content.

***

Yurka blinked a few times and glanced from side to side. The rain had begun again, and the wind had picked up a bit, blowing cold droplets in his face. The cracked asphalt of the track led on further – to the sports grounds where they used to do morning warm-ups. Nothing there looked much better than the rest of the camp, except that on the podium where the gym instructors would stand as they demonstrated the exercises, there was a large, surprisingly well-preserved banner. It was sheltered from the wind and rain by a long overhang, so that the illustrated sportsmen crossing the finish line with the caption All World Records Must Be Ours could still be made out on the faded cloth.

On the other side of the sports area, there used to be the open-air, twenty-five metre swimming pool. They used to have races there often, and Yura remembered the shrill whistles, the splashing and the voice of the counsellors in charge like it was yesterday. But in reality, all that remained of the pool was a big, deep pit, collapsing in on the far side. The little tiles were crumbling off the sides and the rainwater was accumulating in the bottom, where it was already turning green and swampy. Only the raised platform for diving with its half-effaced lane numbers remained to indicate to a random passerby that this was once a swimming pool.

And there, the darkened, broken statues of the hero-pioneers, covered in a thin green film, still stood on their pedestal. The forest behind them had thinned out significantly; Yura heard the roar of excavators and the howl of chainsaws coming from behind the trees. As he passed a little way into the depths of the thicket, he saw large clearings in the once-thick, coniferous forest – deforestation was in full swing, and a construction sight could be seen far away. Even further off were the triangular rooves of houses that had already been built.

Yura sighed and returned to the statues of the pioneers. He went up close to the pedestal and came to a stop on the very spot where, on that evening twenty years earlier, he and Volodya had sat for the whole night, holding each other’s hands, unable to leave one another. Yura laughed – his legs and back had hurt so badly afterwards – but his smile faded just as quickly; very soon, this place would disappear from the face of the earth. Yura’s childhood, his happiest memories were being inexorably eradicated, not just by time, but by progress as well. Of course, nobody needed an abandoned pioneer camp anymore, it was just taking up space. Yura imagined The New stepping on Lastochka with the feet of a giant. Soon, nothing would be left there. Nothing of what was once so dear to him.He stood at the statue’s foundation and looked at the ground. They had sat there. Volodya had held his hand, hugged him and promised that he would not push him away anymore. Yura smiled to himself; the memories made his chest grow warm. How naïve he had been back then. A stupid little boy, completely unaware of the seriousness of what was happening. Back then, everything was one continuous emotion for Yurka – the rapture of first love, the joy that it was not unrequited, the sweetness of it being reciprocated… Maybe it was good that Yurka was an absolute child back then, since it was thanks to that innocent and childlike outlook on things that he did not punish himself like Volodya did. He did not hate himself or cause himself harm, but the most importantly, he did not make the terrible mistake that would be made by the then-counsellor Volodya a few years after his work at Lastochka.

[1] Palanga is now a popular seaside resort city in modern-day Lithuania.

[2] Of July, 1941.

[3] Mykolas Sluckis, a Jewish Lithuanian writer and Holocaust survivor.

[4] Obol is a real place in northern Belarus, but as far as I can find, it has never been a raion (district) unto itself. I only include this footnote because it was in looking the place up (to decide if I should call it Obol district, or Obolsky district) that I saw it has a museum about youth resistance during the war and that’s how I found out that Zina Portnovna and the Young Avengers were real. I don’t know, I had just been assuming up to this point that they were fictional characters based on the real underground youth resistance groups.

[5] In Russian, Čexon’, also Olga Leonidovna’s surname.

[6] A line from the song Ja Tebya Nikogda ne Zabudu (I will never forget you) from the musical Juno i Avos’

[xxanaduwrites]

DOWNFALL | a.b.

main hub of all important thangs

chapter 6

got your hands at the back of my soul and the more that i show you the more i'm afraid that you're gonna wake up and realize i'm not the one — paranoid, lauv

——

Butthead's snazzy shirt stared at me for an entire week.

After the superhero moves I pulled a few days ago with my sidekick — or maybe I was the sidekick and he was the main hero, considering how he was saving me the entire time — I got back to work an exhausted wreck.

Levi — wanting to throw Dax in the back dumper, as he so beautifully put it — needed a good gossip fix to make up for the pain he endured the entire time I was gone. Like a whole reporter on the scope, he barreled every question he could think of, while continuously going on about how fucking tiny the world was. How it was crazy the universe just threw us back together like that — that it was a sign.

Superstitious Jeans.

He also flipped the fuck out when he realized I was wearing Austin's shirt. Of course, his mind quickly went in the gutter, assuming we fucked around to which I immediatly denied. Even when I tried explaining the whole coffee shabackle, his smirk and knowing eyes that really knew absolutely nothing — didn't buy a word I said.

It was like I was talking to an entire brick wall.

"You can say whatever you want." He told me. "But I saw the way that hunk so smoothly caught my keys and then caught you. Y'all were staring at each other for a solid minute."

I wanted to throw myself on the floor, roll over, and dissolve into the floorboards.

Seeing where Levi's perspective on the matter lied, I was grateful Austin had texted me first when I was in the lot. Saved me the trouble of ever bringing it up to Jeans and giving that boy ideas. With my luck, Levi — being the wingman he loved to be — would totally take my phone when I wasn't looking, pretend to be me, and flirt his head off with Austin.

Would be better off if he didn't know I had his number.

That night, I locked up, went home, and peeled off his shirt. I still had no fucking clue what kind of cologne he laced his clothes with, but my god that shit smelled good. The most devastating part was tossing it in the wash.

A part of me wished I never did so while another was happy I could finally breathe proper air that wasn't drugged up in his scent.

Now, it just sat there, perfectly pressed and hung up on the doorknob of my closet. Like some sort of blaring billboard, it flashed its lights at me every single time I walked in my room. The worst was when I sat on my bed. I couldn't focus on my book, my laptop, or even the television — which were my favorite down time activities — with that thing just sitting there, staring straight into my soul.

I felt like I was going mad.

Being that today was Sunday, the bookstore was closed and I was off from work — meaning I had nothing to do. Syd always went to the gym or surfing on the weekends. It alternated depending on her mood, the weather, and if she had a competition coming up. Something I was glad she did without me, considering me and any form of physical activity in an athletic-esce form did not go together at all. Let alone get along.

Definitely not all chummy.

My noodle arms could never keep up.

Apparently she decided on the gym today, bringing Brock along for the ride — which hinted that she'd be gone for longer than usual. That meant, I was home alone, but not really alone — chilling with my not-so-good pal, Austin's shirt.

I needed out.

Bad.

I came to this conclusion when I found myself reading over a particular page ten times over, not grasping a single word of my book. And I was sitting in the living room — for fucks sake! Nowhere near Butthead's shirt. It was then that I figured I really needed to get out of the house — even though I really didn't want to.

As if this wasn't already bad enough, this man not only weaseled his way into my two favorite places, but also managed to infiltrate his presence into my bedroom where my bed — who was my main squeeze and boyfriend — lived — without ever stepping foot inside! Now, I guessed it was the whole fucking apartment.

Fan-fucking-tastic!

Getting kicked out of all my homes. Now where would I live?

With a huff, I grabbed my keys and tossed my book in my bag before heading out for the day. Where? I didn't know. But I was sure it would be one of the two places I usually went to. The bookstore was obviously a no for today. So that left me with Sunshine Spot.

I could only hope for the best.

Popping in my earbuds, I began my descent down the familiar stairs and out the door of my complex. When I stepped outside I almost went blind from how sunny it was. I immediately fished for my sunglasses, placing them on the bridge of my nose.

Sometimes I wondered if I was a vampire from how sensitive I always got. Or maybe it was just my introverted side making up more excuses to not leave the house. Either way, I definitely pulled off the 'fuck off, leave me alone' look with my earbuds in and my shades on. Not having to listen or look anyone in the eye sounded perfect to me.

And it was.

Until I got to my destination.

But to be fair, it was completely my own fault.

My dumbass was actually looking at her cellular device, trying to change the song I was listening to — but of course being the old piece of shit it was, the thing decided to lag on me right as I was walking through the door. Robotically, I messed around with every app and button known to man trying to fix it, but it just kept playing this one song that reminded me way too much of my awkward teenage years.

Somehow I managed to get to my favorite booth in the joint without even looking up. Sliding into the seat backwards, my back hit the wall and my knees shot up to my chest like a fetus — sideways in the booth.

I couldn't sit like a whole grown human — at all.

When I went to turn and slam the side of my phone on the table to wake it up, I almost died right on the spot when I realized someone was sitting across from me in my peripheral vision. Shutting my eyes for a moment, I tried to brace myself for what I would come face to face with —whoever was on the other side. Trying to figure out some sort of lame excuse that wouldn't make me look like a complete weirdo for sliding right into a booth that was already rightfully claimed.

Taking a breath and finally opening my eyes, I shut them just as fast when I captured the image of the person in front of me. Either I was losing my mind, or it was in fact him who was sitting in the same damn booth as me.

Saying him, I meant Austin with all of his butt related names.

You've got to be shitting me right now.

Why was this always happening to me?

Was he fucking following me or something?

Did his shirt manifest his presence right in front of me? —saying, 'Ha! Jokes on you! You can't escape me no matter how hard ya try!'

Reopening my eyes, I ripped my headphones out of my ears and absolutely lost it. "You!" I pointed at him as if I was blaming him for something — which I mentally was.

"Me?" he questioned and apprehensively confirmed, bracing a hand against his solid chest that was clad in a simple white t-shirt— clearly not understanding where I was going with this.

My mouth decided to work on its own accord and not cooperate with my brain. "What the hell are you doing here?" I grilled him immediately.

For a moment, he just stared at me blankly, seeming equally as confused but also slightly amused with the way his lips curled up. "Nice to see you too," he mused. Biting his lip, he looked down at the table. "Um." I followed his gaze, noting a small black moleskine journal that was sandwiched between his hands. One was inside the book, serving as a bookmark for whatever page I assumed he was writing on while the other was braced on top with a pen firmly tucked in between his fingers. It looked like I had totally interrupted his journaling— or journalism, if you will. "I should be asking you the same thing." He said, tilting his head as he studied me.

"Right," I sighed, readying myself for my long awaited explanation. "I didn't realize someone else was sitting here. Sorry —I'll just go."

I was in the process of awkwardly maneuvering myself out of the booth — finally rearranging my legs to be in a normal seating position when his husky voice spoke up. "No," he stopped me. "I mean, you can stay if you want. I'm not waiting on anyone anyways. Unless you're waiting on someone yourself."

"I'm not. Thanks, but —I don't want to disturb you, if you're working," I declined his offer, already feeling like a total intruder. Even though he unknowingly intruded on my favorite spot to sit when it came to avoiding people and having my own personal space to breathe.

"It's fine," he reiterated, not giving up for some reason unknown to me. "I was just finishing up anyways." To prove his point, he opened his journal back up, tucking his pen inside before closing it.

Looking around, I quickly assessed the available tables, only to come up short with a place to sit. The lunch hour was already hopping, meaning the joint was in fact packed and there was nowhere to sit that wouldn't have me up in somebody else's grill — listening in on their conversations. If I had to hear one more lady discuss the latest hot gossip about her neighbor's affair like a true Soap Opera while I was trying to read my book — I was gonna lose it.

"Sure," I gave in, unslinging my tote from my shoulder and shoving my phone and headphones inside.

It wouldn't kill me to sit with him for a little bit.

Right?

"So..." he began, starting some sort of conversation. "Did you end up at that nightclub?"

Well that was one way to get my attention.

"I'm sorry?" I questioned, totally not catching on to what he was going on about. Suddenly feeling extremely nervous, I braced my hands together on the table, hoping he wouldn't notice that I was shaking as I messed around with the rings on my fingers."What nightclub?"

He cupped his hand over his chin, displaying his ring cladded fingers that bounced against the light from the lamp hanging above us. Today he wore a few different silver bands that I found myself staring at. "The one your friend behind the counter said he was turning your bookstore into." He explained shyly.

"Oh!" He remembered that? "No." I shook my head, laughing lightly at the memory. "He didn't — thankfully."

"Good," he said. " It would've been a shame if he'd done it. I'd never get a chance to go back there and scan the collection if a dance floor and bar replaced all the shelves."

Picturing Levi running an entire nightclub that had a Saturday Night Fever Vibe with a John Trovolta-esce dance floor that lit up and changed colors, simultaneously made me want to laugh and cry. Laugh because I knew Marlon would absolutely be beside himself, and cry because I would lose it if Levi fucked up my displays and let people destroy the vintage portion of the collection where our rare books could be found. If I could take in all those babies I would.

Trying my hardest not to make a smart ass comment, I agreed with him."That would be devastating."

Which then left me to immediately overthink it.

Devastating in the sense of the bookstore being destroyed or devastating that he'd never get to see it?

Oh god.

What if he thought I was flirting with him — thinking I'd be saddened not to see him again?

"Maybe I could just shove all the books in a back closet and hide in there while he parties," I tried to save myself. "Problem solved."

"As long as it's against a wall, so you could live up to your name," he replied, reminding me of the 'Wall Girl' title he gave me.

"Very funny," I threw out sarcastically, rolling my eyes as a busboy placed two glasses on the table — filling them up from a pitcher of water. "And I'd have to lock up my toothpick umbrellas in a safe. Wouldn't want you ruining my pretty drinks."

"Oh?" He perked up with that one, intrigue flooding in his curious blue eyes. "So I'm invited to this theoretical nightclub?"

Oh. My. God.

"Um." My cheeks heated at the implication, making it impossible for me to conjure up some sort of response. He had me cornered. "I-I wouldn't be surprised if Levi invited you." Volly saved. His brows confirmed to me that he wasn't sure who I was talking about. "Levi is my co-worker. The dude behind the desk," I confirmed to which he nodded in understanding once it all clicked.

"Hi. Welcome to Sunshine Spot. I'm Sherry, and I'll be your server today." My favorite lady came over to take our order, whisking us out of our conversation. Flicking through her order pad, she didn't realize I was sitting right in front of her. "What can I get —" She immediately trailed off once she caught my eye, surprise washing over her features. "My girl! I should've known you'd be sitting here. My intuition must've served me right and felt your presence."

"Hey Sher," I greeted her back, my nerves subsiding as my gratitude rose the moment she appeared. It must've totally gone over her head that I was right here since I normally always sat alone.

She smiled back at me, before she glanced over at Austin, giving him a hard stare. "Who are you?" She asked him, her whole demeanor changing as she took him in.

"Austin," he introduced himself, a picture perfect smile gracing his face — totally disregarding Sher's judging stare in an attempt to butter her the fuck up. "It's nice to finally meet you in person."

She looked even more taken aback, baffled that he could say such a thing to her — completely forgetting they talked the other day.

Good.

Humble him.

"Sher." I got her attention. "You spoke to him the other day on the phone." She still looked lost, so I elaborated. "You thought I was being kidnapped while I was ordering coffees for Syd's meeting."

"Oh!" She clapped her hands, piecing it together. "That was you?" He nodded. "Good. Now I can keep my eye on you. If you even try anything with my girl here I will not hesitate to —"

"Alrighty then!" I cut her off, reaching for a menu and shoving it across the table for Austin to look at. "Shall we order?"

"Mhm," Austin mumbled as he flipped a page, searching it over.

God, this was fucking awkward.

Don't get me wrong, I loved Sher's spirit to death, but this was not the time for threats especially when there was nothing between me and Austin. We weren't even close enough to be considered friends.

"The usual for you, dear?" Sher asked, making it blatantly obvious of my regular appearances here.

"Yep," I confirmed, popping the p in exaggeration while passing the menu back to her.

Taking it from me, she turned to Austin with absolutely no cheer presence. "And for you?" She was already flexing her hand for the menu like she couldn't be bothered.

"Um. Just a coffee," He said simply. "Black. No milk or sugar, please."

"God." She put the hand with the pen over her heart dramatically. "Is that it?

We both nodded.

"Interesting." She paused for a moment. "Do you kids ever eat or just feed off of coffee like it's a drug?" She inquired, but didn't wait for us to respond. "I'm sending over fries and gravy for you two so I know you're not starving yourselves, and I can sleep peacefully tonight." She decided, jotting that last order down before walking away with no argument.

"I take it that you just ordered a coffee too? Nothing else?" he weighed, clearly reading between the lines.

"Just the drug," I firmly stated. "Certified junkie."

A stupid toothy grin threw up all over his face at my words, his eyes crinkling as they tightened in hysterics. I couldn't help but join him as he laughed his ass off right in front of me. It was the first time I ever saw him completely lose it like that, and it was such a fascinating sight to see. Especially since he always tended to hide it in front me.

Swiping a hand over his face to compose himself, he unknowingly pushed a curl out of the expanse of his hair.

"Makes the two of us," he said once he could get the words out without cracking up again.

I couldn't help but stare at the blonde lock casually lingering against his forehead like Danny Zuko. I supposed it really was a Grease kind of day. "Hm," I teased. "I'm the top junkie. Let's see if you fit the qualifications for certification."

Somehow, I managed to cough up the confidence to look him in the eye as he said, "Wow. Big words for the bookstore girl." He held his hands up in defense. "I see how it is."

Bookstore girl.

"What?" I inquired, absolutely flushed. "Scared you're gonna lose to the reigning champ?"

Thankfully a server came over with our drinks, and his gaze was trained on our coffees right in front of us. "Nope. I'm ready for the challenge." He licked his lips as he anticipated the taste of the coffee on his tongue, preparing himself for our little game.

Oh fuck.

"Of course you ordered black coffee," I spat out, not thinking before I spoke — far too focused on his perfectly sculpted cherry lips.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He leaned over the table, sizing me up.

"I don't know," I sighed, messing around with the straw stabbed into the lid on my drink. . "Reminds me of my basic ex-bosses at the publisher company. Boring bitter drinks, boring bitter men," I recalled, the memories of fucking up drink orders at my internship permanently etched into my head.

"So you think I'm boring and bitter?" He scoffed, clearly offended.

Shit.

Fuck.

"No!" I almost yelled, my heart racing out of my chest as I tried to think of a good way to maneuver out of the grave I just dug myself in. "I mean — not that you are boring or bitter. Well, I — I get milk and creamer in my drink, but that doesn't make me cool or peachy. Just the opposite. Trust me, I'm known to be very boring and bland. It's my middle —"

"Rianne!" He called, a smile etching onto his face as he cut me off. "I'm only joking with you." It was then that I felt his thumb dig into the side of my hand where my thumb and pointer finger met as if he was trying to bring me back to reality.

Oh.

Hello?

The realization dawned over me that in the middle of my excitement, I must have reached across the table and trapped his hand under my own out of reflex to console him in some fashion.

My fingers immediately tensed at the contact.

"Right," I gulped. A wave of electricity shooting from my fingertips all the way up to my arms jolted me awake, and I pulled back sheepishly.

Wrapping my hands around my drink, I tried to cool my hand down that felt awfully hot. I took a sip, tasting straight up sugar and creamer with the perfect amount of bitterness as a means to distract myself from the obvious.

I watched as he did just the same, using his other hand — that was never locked in my hold — to pick up his drink and take a sip. My eyes traveled to his other hand that was still braced on the table — still and unmoving. I thought I imagined it when his hand flexed for just a moment before he pulled it away.

"Hm," he hummed in satisfaction, averting my attention back to his face. "Pretty good," he complimented the coffee before taking another sip.

"The best," I hyped it up, almost halfway done with my own cup.

"I now understand why you come here so much," he commented in between sips before going back to our previous conversation. "So you used to work for a publishing company?"

"Interned," I clarified. "Not my finest moment, but hey — guess it just wasn't for me."

"Do you like the bookstore?"

He wanted to know if I liked working at the bookstore.

He wanted to know something about me.

"Yeah, I love it," I answered quickly, before I could over-think it any longer. Taking one last big sip, I almost slammed my cup on the table. "Done!"

"No fair," Austin whined, completely stunned. "They filled yours with a shit load of ice."

"Are you accusing me of cheating, Mr. Butt-ler?" I exaggerated the butt part again, absolutely cheesing my head off as I fucked around with him.

Not actually fucked.

Just joking.

Busted his balls a little.

Welp, that didn't sound any better. Anyways —

"Not that again." He blew out a breath, his gaze training upward as he tried to remove the curl off his forehead in frustration.

My hand suddenly tingled at my side, itching to reach out and touch him — to move the curl from his forehead. I momentarily wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked from here.

Jesus.

Focus, Rianne.

Maybe Sher was right. Maybe coffee was a drug. Maybe one of those peeps at Syd's office infected me or doused their addictive stimulants into my beverage.

Shoving my hand under my leg, I settled. "It's not my fault you nurse it like a baby."

"Maybe we should've ordered espresso shots," he suggested, ignoring my comment right as another server placed a plate of fries and gravy on the table for us. "Could be a hit for Levi's party though."

"Don't give me ideas now," I warned him, pointing a gravy covered fry in his direction accusingly to which he just smirked at me before munching on his own stick of potato — if you will.

A strange silence washed over us as we indulged in the plate, my mind suddenly feeling cloudy and heavy with every intrusive thought imaginable. For some reason, I couldn't comprehend the fact that I was here with him, in my favorite booth, sipping coffee and munching on fries — looking like this was a normal usual thing.

Something we did all the time.

Together.

The thought lingered with me for longer than I liked, burrowing itself deep into my insecurities and worries.

Warning me to flee.

Warning me not to get attached.

"Good, you're both eating." Sher was suddenly there, leaning an arm against the top of Austin's side of the booth observing us. "Everything good, my girl?" She asked me, going back to ignoring him once she was satisfied that he was being fed.

"Great," I forced out — my smile feeling robotic as I attempted to stretch it across my face.

Everything was fine, and now it just wasn't.

She sent a strange look my way, suspicion written all over her face as her eyes scanned back and forth between us. Sherry knew me well – well enough to know when something was up with me. Well enough to pick up my social cues in a heartbeat.

Before she could even let out a single word, my hand ventured into my tote bag searching for my wallet. "I probably should go." I told Austin, placing some cash on the table to contribute to my share.

"Wait – Take it back," he urged, pushing the cash back in my direction and then whipped out his credit card, trying to hand it over to Sher.

Not again.

Rolling my eyes, I picked up my cash and shook it in front of Sher. "Who are you gonna side with on this one? The dude you just met or your girl?" I questioned her, narrowing my eyes as a test.

Shaking her head, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Neither of you." She surprised us both. "On me. I'm not gonna wait and watch you two argue it out. I've got orders to take and shit to do." She raised her manicured hands up in surrender. "Goodbye."

And then she just disappeared – leaving us sitting there confused.

In a quick attempt to stop him from even thinking about paying for me, I left some cash on the table as a tip for Sher since she didn't leave us a receipt before decking out of there. I ball parked what I thought the price would be and hoped and prayed she just took it. If not, someone else would. Either way it would go to a place I appreciated.

Looking back, I watched him leave his own wad of cash – which was definitely too much money at this point for two coffees and some fries – before trailing behind me – his steps urgent. On the way out, I thought I lost him, but heard the bell above the door ring the moment I stopped at the corner looking both ways to cross.

Damn it.

Long legs stopped right next to me as I went to click the button for the crosswalk. "You're walking?" he asked, surprising me when he dropped the 'I'm paying-no-I'm paying' game.

Guessed it was settled — more than settled.

I sure as shit thought he was gonna say something along the lines of — "Just let me pay, Rianne," or "You'll get me back next time, Rianne" — just to get his way. Or maybe I was just thinking that because a part of my subconscious selfishly wanted to hear him say my name again. Wanted him to see me again. I already knew another part was already shutting that thought down — canning it in the trash bin of my brain.

You're gone.

Deleted.

"Yeah." I replied, squinting up at his tall frame against — what would soon be — a setting sun.

His golden locks shone in the light, complimenting the rays and his eyes looked even lighter — like a light blue sky reflecting off the ocean. Seeing him standing up gave me the opportunity to notice that he had on a pair of jeans and scruffed up brown boots — that looked like they'd seen better days — and now a black leather jacket.

"It's getting late," he muttered. "And the streets are gonna be packed with people and traffic now that rush hour is rolling around." Leaning against the post he finally ripped off the bandage. "Let me drive you home."

"Oh, so you do drive?" I teased, being a complete and total smartass.

"I was away for a while," he explained, pulling out a key from his pocket to drive his point further. Ha— drive? Car? Alright. Tough Crowd. Awful joke. "And I left it here, so it had to go into the shop for a check up when I came back. That's why I couldn't drive myself."

"Is it good? You sure it isn't gonna break down on us during the journey back home?" I asked suspiciously.

"I was in your friend La— Le— sorry, what is his name again?" His hand shot up to his head, his fingers massaging into his temples as if it was physically paining him to figure out what he was trying to say.

I knew not telling him would give me the upper hand, but watching him struggle started to pain me as well. "Levi."

"Levi. Right." He brushed his hand across his face just as he did in the diner. I wondered if it was a habit induced by stress. "I sat in his — no offense — pretty old car, and I let you drive me." He pointed out.

"True." I mean I couldn't deny the evident point he made. Levi's car was way passed the drinking age and probably even surpassed me by a few years — probably flirty and thirty. "No offense taken but, you didn't have much of a choice now, did you? And I wouldn't be driving this time, would I?"

"Well." He kicked off the pole, standing up straight. "No, but —"

I advanced towards him, so close I ruined the little line I mentally drew between us, my finger poking his chest.

"Exactly!" I stressed.

I won.

Two out of three.

Take that—Toothpick Umbrella Thief!

"Scared of losing control?" He quipped, biting on that ridiculous lip for the a millionth time today — seeming completely unphased by my close proximity and more amused by my evident aggravation.

"How do I know you're a safe driver?" I avoided his question, whispering like it was some sort of confidential secret. As if we weren't standing on a busy street in Los Angeles, but in a library with a librarian shushing us across the way.

"You'll just have to find out for yourself," he breathed, his face towering over mine — so close I could feel his breath fanning across my skin.

Too close.

I shouldn't have done that.

I pulled away.

"Thanks, but I walk all the time," I attempted to deny another one of his offers, staring up at the stupid light stuck on green — waiting for the damn thing to turn. "I'll be fine." I assured him, sending him a tight lipped smile as I pressed the button again, but with a bit more umpt this time.

He sent a funny look my way, before lifting up his sleeve and sniffing his arm. "Do I smell or something to you?" He asked in all seriousness, his nose scrunching up as he tried to figure it out. "Is that why you want to get away from me so bad? Cause if so, you can just tell me straight up." He joked.

If he meant smell good — yes, in fact he smelled so good, I found it really hard to concentrate. Which meant I needed to get as far away from him as possible.

But, I knew what he meant.

And he sure as shit did not smell bad at all.

"No." I let out a short laugh. "I already intruded on your booth, your work, and your late lunch. You should be sick of me at this point."

"I'm not sick of you," he said just as fast, proving to me that he was truly trying to say whatever would please me to get me right where he wanted me. "In fact. If I remember correctly, you have a shirt of mine that I have to get back from you. So it's a win-win — I drive you home, you give me the shirt." He stuck out his hand, initiating to shake on it. "Deal?

Fucking stubborn.

Taking a long hard breath, I let the steam shoot right out of my ears as I reached out and shook his hand. My body immediately caved once his warm hand engulfed my small one— our rings clanking together. My mind screamed at me to pull away, but —

"Deal."

Electric.

If it meant giving him his shirt back so I could finally live at peace in my own home — so be it.

——

it's the way i was cheesing like a total idiot while writing this chapter —smiling at typed words on a screen. anyways, hope you enjoyed <3 —xanadu

[ssahotstuff]

Aaron Hotchner Playlist Collection 💕

How Do I Live? By Trisha Yearwood Found here

Word count: 14.8k

Warnings: the beginning is dark but happy ending! Mentions of the BAU working a case where there is torture, beating, bruising, dehydration, food, reader is being held captive. Mention of hospitals and medication, anxiety, PTSD and a slight panic attack, mentions of self conscious reader//tread lightly here folks! Smut—but not for a while, slow burn. Oral(f&m receiving) fingering, penetration, unprotected sex—if I missed anything, let me know

Side note: I use this emoji ✨✨✨ when I switch point of view!

Another side note: dreams and flashbacks are italicized

The darkness spread out around you like a blanket, nothing was visible at all, no matter how hard you tried to get your eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Time had slowed or stopped completely, you weren't sure which. You thought surely you were dead, in purgatory awaiting your afterlife, but your heart was still beating, in fact, it hadn't stopped drumming in your chest since you were thrown into whatever kept you captive—you weren't sure.

The hunger had turned into pain long ago, and no matter how hard you tried to break free of your bindings, you couldn't. You hadn't meant to get separated from Hotch, it just kind of happened. One second you were right behind him and the next you'd been knocked out cold. When you came to, you found yourself trapped in what felt like a room—there was a wooden floor from what you could feel. Maybe a barn.

Your mouth was bound and gagged, dry and parched as you struggled and cried for help. You saw a small window just above you, maybe a foot wide, and it was so dark outside that there were no stars, no moon. You were in Ray Donald's secondary location, no doubt, and you knew that thanks to the profile. It did you no good now, but your team had it, and they'd use it to their advantage until you were found.

You dozed off and when you woke again, the light was shining through your small window of hope. Things had been quiet wherever you were, you assumed Ray had left you to die until a hatch opened from above, and he came down, all 6 feet of his burly self, raggedy beard and beady eyes.

"It's time for your punishment."

You barely had time to register the pain as he kicked you at full force, knocking all of the wind from you. Another blow landed to your legs, and then his fist connected with your jaw, making your eyes water until your vision went blurry. When he was finished with you, he simply climbed out of the hatch and left you alone to writhe in pain on the floor.

You prayed they found you soon, and feared what would happen if they didn't.

The day quickly turned into frigid night, but it was eerily silent. You were grateful— you'd heard his truck start up and leave hours ago, so you hoped he was gone. You knew your body well enough to know nothing was broken—you were just in some of the most intense pain you'd ever felt, in and out of consciousness.

He came back and delivered another series of kicks and punches before sundown, your body battered and bruised—you were strong though. He'd have a hard time breaking you, if that was what he was trying to do.

I can take it. If it'll get me back to my team, I can take it.

All you could think about was things you should've said before, things you'd regret not saying if you never saw your team again. You wanted Penelope and Spencer to know they were your best friends, no matter what. Morgan was the best big brother, despite there being no relation, he treated you as you were with no questions asked. Rossi was like the father you never had, always taking his time to give you pep talks when you were feeling down. JJ was your confidant, the person you could always go to no matter what.

And then there was Hotch.

You had liked him since you very first day, and he knew it. He kept his distance at first, but once he let you in, the two of you were like best pals. He always made sure if you needed something, it was yours, and you always helped lighten his load as much as possible at work, with reports and working as hard as you could to prove yourself, still being new. Hotch always said you belonged on the team, that there was nothing for you to prove, but you pushed yourself anyway, wanting to make sure they knew you could be trusted.

Hotch trusted you anyway—he'd often pair you up with him for everything, and you quickly came to the realization that you were his partner and he had enough faith in you to have his back everywhere, and that was special to you. It was the man you cared about most putting his life in your hands, and you'd always protect him, which is partly why you were trapped. You'd been so busy making sure Aaron was okay ahead of you that you didn't register the commotion behind you.

Your eyes darted to the window, and you thought you were in for another beating when you saw lights, frantically darting in every direction. You stayed stark still, hoping it would make you invisible to his turmoil. It wasn't until you recognized the voice that invaded your thoughts so many nights before that you realized they'd found you, and they were here to help.

"Y/n? Everyone spread out, search top to bottom," you made as much noise as you could, flailing around until your feet found something—what felt like a table leg, and you began to kick furiously, knocking it against the cellar wall.

"Everyone quiet!" Hotch boomed, and from the sound of his voice, he was right above you. You didn't stop kicking, and things began to clatter to the floor one by one. As if it were a miracle, the hatch in the floor opened up and you saw a bright light shining down into the hole in the ground.

"Y/n? God, please, let her be okay," you kept kicking until he'd made it down the ladder and saw you lying on the ground. He worked to free your mouth of the gag and the rope around your wrists, and as soon as you were free, you were wrapping your arms around his neck. He hugged you back but you winced at the contact, forgetting your body was in a delicate state.

"Tell me where he hurt you," Hotch was examining your arms and what he could see of the rest of you. You could feel the dried blood on your face and you wondered what the rest of you must look like if you felt so badly.

"I'm okay. Just a little banged up," you told him, to which he shook his head, adjusting his light so he could see more of you.

"You don't have to be okay right now. Just tell me where it hurts," you could barely make out the mist in his eye as he pleaded with you for the truth, and with a gut wrenching sob you were telling him that the pain was everywhere—it wouldn't go away. You were beginning to feel trapped in what was your prison, trying to stand up. Hotch helped you to your feet but you looked at the ladder with intimidation because you weren't sure how you'd climb it in your current state.

"I'll go up first, you can hold onto my arms and I'll help pull you up," he climbed up the ladder and left you to panic in the dark. It took a minute for him to make it all the way up, but he'd disappeared from you while you waited at the bottom.

"Hotch? Please don't leave me down here in the dark," you began to climb with all the strength you could muster until you saw his hands reaching for you in the dark.

"I've got you," he whispered as you made it through the hatch, his arms wrapping around you and lifting the rest of the way. You sat up long enough to collapse onto your back, and you could finally see the stars twinkling around, dotted against the darkest sky you'd ever seen.

"Stay awake, mama. The ambulance is almost here," Derek told you; you could hear the whirring sirens in the distance but all you could focus on was Hotch, his soothing voice telling you that everything would be okay, that you were safe, even if you felt like you weren't.

"I'm so tired," you heard yourself tell him; watching with blurry vision as he shook his head.

"Come on, let me see those pretty eyes of yours. Stay awake just a little bit longer," Hotch urged, giving you the motivation you needed to hold out your hand for him so he could help you upright.

"I'm dizzy," the ground and everyone on it was spinning, making you nauseous as you closed your eyes and waited for it to pass. Hotch's hand was on your back, reassuring you that everything was going to be okay now that you'd been found.

"I was afraid—God, I was terrified I might not see you again," you could hear his voice laced thick with emotion, the fear that he might've found you in different circumstances. Your head was dangling between your legs as you peered your at him through tear coated lashes, trying to make him feel a little better.

"You won't get rid of me that easily," you choked, a sob caught in your throat. You were relieved, starving. But mostly you were glad to see Hotch looking back at you, even if he was sadder than you'd ever seen him before.

"I'm so sorry I didn't hear him. I was so sure you were right behind me," he started, but you shook your head and reached for his free hand. He let you take it, his hand swallowed yours up for the first time and you could see how rapidly his chest began to move.

"Don't. This isn't your fault, Hotch. It could've happened to either of us. I'm fine," the words felt like bile in your throat as you lied to him, but he knew better. You were far from being okay—your skin was crawling, your stomach was rumbling but so queasy that you felt like you may never eat again. Ray had told you things about yourself that he shouldn't have known—cut you down in ways you'd never utter to anyone. You knew you'd have to explain in detail what happened to you more than once, but there were parts you'd already vowed to omit to save yourself the heartache.

Hotch had the profile. He knew Ray got into people's heads; he used your insecurities against you, and he knew them all somehow, in just a matter of hours.

"We caught him shortly after he left this morning. He gave us the secondary location—he dared us to try to find you. He didn't think we would. I know—I know what he did," you used all the force you had to stand up so you could stumble away from him for a second, your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. Ray had already told him, and now you'd have to find a way to look Hotch and the rest of your team in the eye everyday because of it.

"Hey, shhh. It's okay, you're okay," he pulled you upright into a hug and after a minute he led you to an ambulance. He disappeared for a second but he promised he'd be right back, so you let the EMT look you over, her eyes full of sorrow as she did so.

"You're body is over half bruised—there could be internal bleeding. You need a hospital, and fluids. You're dehydrated," she explained softly, her hand covering yours for just a second in a comforting gesture as she helped you to lean back.

"Don't you worry, honey. You're going to be just fine. You're one tough little lady, that's for sure," she hooked you up to monitor you and gave you something for the pain, something that had your eyes drooping in seconds, and then the panic set in because they were closing the doors and Hotch was nowhere to be seen.

"No, we can't leave yet. Hotch!" You felt like you were screaming but the words barely came out; the EMT leaned closer so she could hear you, but you heard the door shut instead, and you succumbed to slumber soon after.

✨✨✨

I followed the ambulance as closely as possible until it took a special entrance I didn't have clearance for. I found my way to the parking garage instead, the rest of my team headed home for the night since we'd gotten a break in the case and had apprehended the unsub. I planned to stay as long as the hospital would allow me to, and if they made me leave, I'd just come back in the morning.

Seeing her body laid out on a stretcher was something I never could've prepared myself for. I gave them a few minutes to get her through triage and into a room, but a doctor was quick to come and find me, asking for me by name.

"Are you Aaron Hotchner?" I stood and nodded, and he instructed me to follow him down the hall.

"She's been asking for you since she was in the ambulance. She's had enough morphine to knock out a horse—I don't know how she's still awake, but I'd say it has something to do with what she's been through."

We stopped just outside of her door and I could see her through the curtains, propped up in her bed with a cup of water in front of her. Her hands shook as she lifted it to drink, in fact her whole body was buzzing with energy and I could feel it through the glass. Her nerves were completely shot, and she was on edge, and probably confused.

"How long can I stay? I know visiting hours are probably over," he shook his head and handed me her chart to look over while he talked.

"You can stay through the night, but only you. She'll be able to leave in the morning. There were no signs of sexual assault, but that's not to say she still isn't in rough shape mentally. I know she's FBI, but she's been through hell in the last 48 hours. She needs some time."

I'd be personally taking her out of the field for as long as I could, no questions asked. I knew she was tough, but she needed time to heal properly.

"Has she eaten?"

He shook his head, sighing heavily.

"She may not be hungry yet. She'll eat. She'll make a full recovery physically. It's her emotional state I'm worried about."

After he warned me to keep her calm and not to try to get her to talk until she was ready, he let me step into the room.

"Where'd you go?"

I took long strides until I was seated at her feet on the bed, my hands in my lap.

"I got separated from the ambulance but I followed you here. I'm sorry, I had to tell the team— I was right behind you the whole way."

She nodded, shivering lightly. I went to the cabinet and found another blanket for her, wrapping it around her shoulders as I moved a bit closer.

"I just got worried is all," she said softly, her hand on my knee as she looked up at me. I'd never seen her so vulnerable, so defeated. I knew she was trying to be brave for my sake, but I wanted her to tell me the truth about how she was feeling, and she never would.

"I'm here now, and I'm staying tonight. Your doctor said I can take you home in the morning."

She yawned, her eyes rimmed red with exhaustion, bloodshot from the medicine. I had no clue how she was still awake and functioning.

"Promise you'll stay?" She scooted over and patted the empty space in her bed for me to fit into, lifting her head so I could put my arm around her. She cozied into my shoulder, a shaky sigh escaping her mouth before she reached for my free hand and took it, lacing her fingers through mine.

"I promise I'm not going anywhere. Get some sleep, Y/n. I won't let anything happen to you."

I knew she was probably still scared, even with Ray behind bars. She'd be paranoid, lost in her head at some point for the rest of her life—being watched and studied so it could be used against you was something that was hard to recover from. I knew from personal experience.

"Thank you, Hotch. I'm glad you're here."

She was asleep on my arm in no time, finally giving in and letting sleep take over. She'd fought it for so long that once she finally got comfortable, she slept like a rock, barely moving all night. I tried to doze off but I couldn't—not with her so close after days of her absence. I could only look at her face, her tiny hand in mine and wonder how anyone could hurt something so precious—so perfect. I felt myself leaning forward to place a kiss on her forehead before I could stop myself, and I swore a smile graced her lips for a second, even while she slept.

The weight of her disappearance had been heavy on my team, but especially me. She was my partner, but she was also so much more than that, and I'd never gotten around to telling her. I'd never met anyone as headstrong and determined to make a difference as her. She was ambitious and almost unnaturally gorgeous—I knew she didn't think so, but to me, there was no one quite like her. She'd joined us at 25 and a year and a half later, I'd grown so attached to her that I couldn't see straight if she wasn't around.

She didn't stir until morning when they brought her breakfast. She hadn't moved all night until the nurse came into the room, and her eyes were wide open and she was sitting up on high alert.

"Just me! How're you feeling today? Good enough to eat something I hope," she nodded politely and stayed quiet, her grip on my hand tightening at the sight of a stranger. I could feel her shaking against me, so I sat up and made sure I didn't let go of her hand.

"You're okay," I assured her, and she offered me a small smile in return as she picked at her food. The nurse checked her blood pressure, which was still a bit on the high side, so she gave her some medicine to calm her down some, just in case.

"We'll send you home with some of these in case you start feeling anxious or you can feel your BP rising. Usually it's accompanied by feeling flushed, lightheaded, rapid heartbeat. You know your body best, so you may not even need them once you get home," she explained. She managed to eat half a piece of toast and drink her coffee, but she still seemed terrified—I knew she would for a while.

As soon as the nurse left, she was in tears, unable to speak she was crying so hard. I tried my best to calm her down so the nurse didn't come back in. I wrapped my arms around her and allowed her to let it all out, as long as she needed. I rubbed her back, kept her close as long as she'd let me. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I wanted her to know I was there for her regardless.

"Just a little bit longer and we'll get you out of here," I whispered against her hair, hoping maybe her spirits would lift some when we were no longer in the hospital. She sniffled and nodded, gripping my shirt fiercely as she tried to calm down.

"I'm just—I don't know these people, Hotch. What if they want to hurt me too? What if it never ends?"

I felt helpless as she cried on my chest; I stayed quiet and brushed her hair back, kissing her forehead once more before I could will my body not to; she froze for a second before burying herself deeper into me, her face pressed against my chest. She had to be careful of her IV or else she would've been in my lap, she was halfway there already.

"I—I was thinking maybe you could come to my house for a little while, so you aren't all by yourself." She pulled back long enough to look up at me. She let me brush away a stray tear before she nodded, not quite ready to let me go yet.

"Please don't leave me alone," she begged, and I swore to her that I wouldn't, never again.

I sent the team a mass text to let them know she was okay, and then I got ahold of JJ and Dave separately to let them know I'd be preoccupied for the next couple of days, and unless it was absolutely necessary, I wouldn't be leaving her. Dave assured me to take all the time I needed, and so did JJ, who'd been worried nonstop since she went missing.

By the time her doctor gave her the go ahead to leave, she was anxious but happy to be going. I'd brought her go bag with me so she had a fresh change of clothes, so I stepped in the hall long enough for her to get dressed and we were on our way to her apartment to grab some of her stuff. I'd never been inside, but the bright, spacious loft apartment reminded me of something out of a movie. The entire space was open, stairs in the middle of the floor to lead to her loft bedroom. She stood at the bottom of the steps and looked back at me, defeated.

"It doesn't even feel like home here anymore," she said sadly before she retreated upstairs to grab her things. I looked around, plaques and diplomas lined the walls—photos of the team, the two of us always side by side in every candid. She was the star of every photo to me, always smiling the brightest or laughing the loudest. I feared it would be a long time before I saw either of those things again, and it made me wish I would've cherished her more then, so she didn't hurt as badly now. If I'd only told her how significant she was, maybe her low would be less detrimental for her.

She returned shortly after with everything she needed; she didn't even put up a fuss when I grabbed her bag to carry for her. She locked the door and didn't look back a single time.

"Do you feel up for some real food?"

She bit her lip, nodding, but she was hesitant, glancing in her visor mirror.

"As long as I don't have to go in anywhere. I don't want anyone seeing me like this."

I could only see her arms, but they were covered in deep purple handprints, and I could make out the clear imprint of a boot on her forearm. Her face was free of any bruises, she just had a small cut on her cheek. I could only imagine what the rest of her body looked like—over 50% of her body had been bruised. It was a miracle that she could walk, given the beating she'd taken. If I knew anything at all about her, she probably enraged him, challenged his manliness and it made her a target of his fury—but she took every bit of it, and I knew she didn't show him any fear. She wouldn't— she was too bold, too brave. I knew she probably took every bit of it and tried to ask for more, just to piss him off.

"I'll do anything you need me to do, okay? Starting with getting you some real food, and a cup of coffee. I was thinking Starbucks," her eyebrows shot I'll curiously before she looked at me, a smirk teasing her lips.

"You hate Starbucks."

I shrugged, because it wasn't about me. It was about making her as happy as I possibly could.

"But you love it, and that's all that matters."

We got food and coffee and her mood lifted slightly; she even became a bit talkative on the way back to my place. I let her carry the food inside while I took care of her bag, since it was heavier. She let me lead her to the table and we ate mostly in silence—she hadn't realized how hungry she was until she actually sat down to eat.

I already had her next order of business lined up; I let her finish eating while I filled the tub in my room. I sat her bag in the bathroom and when I joined her again, I reached for her hand. She followed me all the way down the hall, until we'd made it to the bathroom.

"You're freezing. Let's get you warmed up some," I had a robe from some hotel we'd stayed in before that I left for her, so she had everything she needed to try to relax a little.

"Thank you, Hotch. I really appreciate you," she gave me a hug, her arms secured around my middle. She was so much smaller than me, it made her look fragile, breakable. She was delicate in all of the most attractive ways.

"You don't have to thank me. I—you should call me Aaron," I said finally, delivering one last kiss to the top of her head before I left her alone. Once I had the door shut, my mind was reeling—surely she knew I felt something more for her; she wasn't just a member of my team. She was someone I could see myself with, my partner full time and not just in the field. I let her soak off her worries, but I wasn't far away, just in case she needed me. I was in the living room, making the couch cozier, piling it with pillows and blankets so we could spend the rest of the day in front of the tv, doing nothing. She deserved a break, a few weeks to recover.

I knew she probably wouldn't feel like doing much, so I found some movies she might like and went ahead and put one in, so we could watch it together. I didn't want to pressure her to do anything, but a lazy day sounded exactly like what we both needed after the events of the last few days.

She looked brand new when she came out of the bedroom in her pink pajama bottoms and her t-shirt. She'd braided her hair back and she looked excited to join me on the couch. She took a seat in the middle and let me cover the two of us up, our combined heat under the blanket enough to have her sighing contentedly.

"I feel so much better. I'm still a little sore, but not as bad as before."

Her wrists were still red and irritated from the rope that kept her bound, but some of her bruises were already beginning to fade into greens and yellows—in a few days, they'd be gone completely, and hopefully she'd feel a little better about herself. I knew she was struggling with her image by the way she avoided the mirrors in my home, and how she got anxious if anyone looked at her too long. He'd shattered her self esteem while he had her trapped, and I saw it as my duty to fix it, or at least help her out as much as I could.

"You smell so good, like coconuts and the beach," she giggled lightly, her eyes crinkling up, and my heart melted at the sound. She had the best laugh; it was contagious, and I loved hearing it.

"That makes sense, I think it's called 'Tropical Sunset' or something like that. I've used it for years," I knew the smell better than my own cologne, I could pick her out of a crowd just by the smell of her hair alone.

"I've always liked it," I wondered if she knew I'd paid attention to the little things like that, the way she smelled, what kind of chapstick she preferred. I knew as much about her as I could given that I'd never had the opportunity to actually ask her, but I'd noticed plenty just from being around her everyday.

"I like your cologne too. If I had to guess, I'd bet it's Tom Ford."

I felt my eyes go wide before a let out a chuckle of my own at how well she knew me too.

"You'd be right."

I pressed play on the movie and we settled in, skipping the previews to get straight to the good stuff. After a few minutes, I silently slid my arm around her shoulder, and she leaned in closer, resting her head against me. It felt normal, cuddling with her in my home, somewhere she'd never been but she belonged more than anyone else who'd ever been inside.

"You picked a good movie. This is one of my favorites," she told me, her eyes glued to the tv. I tried not to let my gaze linger on her, but I couldn't help it. She looked so sweet on my arm, her legs tucked in at my side.

"Are you comfortable?" I hoped she was—I didn't want her to move. I was having such a great time getting to be close to her that I hoped JJ didn't call with a case for a week—maybe longer.

"Very. You're so warm," another giggle as she moved a tiny bit closer. I took the liberty of grabbing her legs as carefully as possible as putting them over my lap so she could spread out, watching the relief spread over her face as she melted into me.

"You can sleep if you want, I'll be here when you get up." She shook her head, but her eyes told a different story, she could barely keep them open.

"I'm not tired," she fibbed, her eyelids already beginning to flutter shut as she found her calm laying in my lap. Her free hand reached up, playing with the hair at the back of my neck as she tried and failed to watch the movie.

"You're safe here, you know. I won't leave your side again, not if I can help it," I promised her, and her eyes met mine briefly before she readjusted to lay against one of the pillows. She was stretched out over my lap, her legs on top of mine.

"You swear?" Her sleepy voice was adorable, sweet and inviting as she yawned wide.

I took her hand, trapping it in my own as she drifted off to sleep.

"I swear."

✨✨✨

"Something's not right," she was going over the victimology of the last 6 kills individually, just to see if there was anything we missed.

"What do you mean?" If there was a missing link, she'd find it. She always did. She had a knack for picking up on things we may have missed, which is why Morgan had given her the nickname 'Fresh Eyes'—she was perceptive in a way none of us could really explain, but we were grateful to have her on our side.

"If you saw these 6 victims lined up, what would stick out to you?"

She had a point, and she was trying to get us to see it, all of the victims lined up on a white board.

"They're all dark headed," Spencer pointed out, but she shook her head, ready to explain what we'd been missing.

"Out of all 6 victims, 5 were women with successful careers and no husband. Why change his victimology with Ray Donald? Unemployed, deceased spouse, not to mention he's male and the only survivor? It wasn't a crime of opportunity—Ray lives in the middle of the woods. So why him, after targeting one very specific kind of woman?"

The room went quiet as we all thought about our first interaction with Ray—he'd been jumpy, and Y/n thought he was hiding something from the beginning.

"Y/l/n and I will head to Ray's to question him a second time, see if there are any holes in his story. Morgan, have Garcia find everything she can on him while we're gone. Reid, someone like Ray would need a secondary location to be able to torture in private. Start working on a geographical profile that might tell us where that would be," we were on our way within minutes, Ray's house was only a ten minute drive.

"We should've realized it as soon as we talked to him. His story didn't add up," I was already beating myself up over missing the signs; they'd been right in front of me.

"We were focused on the age grouping of the victims, Hotch. We all missed it," she shot back, trying to help me feel a little better about the situation. She'd caught it though—the newest and youngest member of the team, always shining bright.

"I'll take the back, you cover the front," I told her, watching her sneak up to the front door as I crept around back. His dilapidated house could barely pass for a home—the roof was caving in on one side, and a few windows were broken out. I cleared the back and came back up towards the front, but Y/n was nowhere to be seen—in fact the house was silent, not even her creeping footsteps to tell me where she was.

"It's clear, sound off, Y/n," I called, only to be met with eerie quiet. I ran back outside, searching the perimeter once more, coming up empty. My phone was out immediately.

"Garcia, can you track Y/l/n's phone? I've lost her," I continued to to search the house and the surrounding property until the rest of my team could make it to the scene, and then we all searched for her with no luck. Her phone had been turned off, it's last known signal not too far from the house, but it did us no good unless her phone was on.

"We'll find her, Hotch. We'll work the profile and she'll be okay," Spencer reassured me, but I shook him off and told him to keep looking.

We searched the entire expanse of the property with no sign of her, heading back to the local PD to regroup so we could figure out where he was taking his victims. We followed three dead end leads with no hope until Ray was spotted outside of a local grocery store the day after, and we were able to bring him in for questioning. I feared the worst as he sat in the interrogation room, his hands clasped together on the table. He seemed calm, annoyed to be there, but the profile had told us his confidence would falter when confronted with a man just as intimidating.

"I'm going to save us both a lot of trouble. You tell me where my agent is, and we'll cut a deal, but unless I know she's alive, you can have fun in state prison."

He leaned forward, cracking his knuckles and popping his neck loudly before he spoke.

"Oh, she's alive. I can guarantee she wishes she wasn't, though. She's a fun one—feisty. I'm glad I chose her instead of you," he chided, trying to get under my skin.

"You enjoy hurting women that remind you of your mother, Ray. She looks nothing like her—why would you take her?"

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair to size me up.

"What do you know about her? I know she's your subordinate, and you've read her file, but do you really know what she's been through?"

I knew enough that I didn't ask any questions when she didn't feel comfortable interviewing certain men, and I knew that with the exception of our team, most men made her jumpy and intimidated.

"Why would you think you know more than I do?"

He grinned wide, his gnarly teeth curling into a menacing smile.

"Oh, I watched her just as long as the others, Agent Hotchner. I needed to know she'd been hurt too—all of the women I punished had been hurt by someone that should've loved them."

She never spoke about her family and I feared I might soon learn why.

"Where is she, Ray? All I need is a location," I wasn't getting anywhere with him, he was giving me information I didn't want, trying to hurt me with her.

"Oh, I'm going to tell you, don't worry. Tell me, how long have you known her? Long enough to know her confidence is a facade? The poor girl can hardly look in the mirror she despises herself so much, but I'll bet she comes to work with a smile painted on everyday, doesn't she?"

I unclenched my fists and tried to tune him out until he gave me something useful, but he was only interested in toying with my emotions—he knew she was my soft spot. He could see straight through me when it came to her.

"I had to gag her because she wouldn't quit mouthing off. She's sassy, that one. I'm surprised she follows your orders—she doesn't listen well."

"We're done here, Ray. Have fun in state prison."

"Wait!"

I turned around halfway to the door, hoping he'd at least give me a clue to where she was.

"There's a farm on Farley Road, at least 100 acres. You better find her before the rats do."

"We've already deployed SWAT to Farley Farm—the car is ready," JJ told me as I flew out of the interrogation room and headed for the SUV. I turned my lights on and raced in her direction, Morgan in the passengers seat telling me we'd find her and she'd be okay, and not to worry. I had to take Ray on his word that she was still alive, but he had no reason to lie.

"God, I can't even imagine what she's probably—"

"Morgan. That's enough."

The sun was beginning to set as we pulled into the farm. SWAT had already cleared the house, so we set to work on the grounds, spreading out near the house first. I'd just taken off south when I stepped on something hard covered by hay—after kicking up the hay I realized it was a hole in the ground, literally. There was a wide latch door and a ladder going down, and I could hear movement as I got closer to the bottom.

I nearly lost it when I saw her. She looked like she'd put up a hell of a fight, and thankfully she'd came out on top. I didn't want to think about what would've happened if I hadn't found her.

"You're okay. I've got you now."

✨✨✨

When I woke up, she was still at my side, sleeping peacefully. We'd both managed to get a nap in—it was nearly dusk outside, the sky blue and purple against the horizon. I watched her sleep peacefully against me; she didn't stir for another couple of minutes, stretching and wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"Slept so good," she purred, and it made me not want to get up; she was comfortable on me, and I loved every second of it.

"Me too. You can sleep in my bed tonight if you want," I hoped I wasn't being too forward, but she gave me a sleepy smile before nodding her head.

"As long as you'll share it with me," she decided, and I couldn't say no to her—I didn't want to.

"We can find something for dinner and go watch something in my bed."

She followed me to the kitchen, on my heels as we decided on frozen pizza and breadsticks. I put the pizza in the oven and took her to get situated in my bed.

"You can pick whichever side you want," I told her, and she instinctively crawled to the inside, leaning against the headboard while I handed her the remote. I finished up dinner and put everything on a plate for us, making sure to grab the two of us a bottle of water. She'd already picked a movie, and was watching happily from her side of the bed.

"Smells so good," she marveled, and I'm sure after days without food that her mouth was watering at the sight of it. She took a breadstick, and I was immediately relieved that she wasn't struggling to eat. I worried it was more than the hospital food keeping her from having a meal.

"What are we watching?" I sat down beside her and we started to eat dinner like her in my bed was a regular occurrence.

"Something with aliens," I was immediately interested, and so was she. We had talked plenty enough to know we had things in common; she preferred to stay in, and so did I. We were always the first ones to leave any social gathering, usually sneaking off at about the same time. We'd never leave right away if it was perfectly timed; we'd stand at her car and talk until we were both ready to head home for the night.

The movie took a spooky turn, so after we finished dinner, I turned out the lights. I leaned back and she was next to me in an instant, curling in at my side as the movie played. Her fingertips were on my palm, tracing patterns into my skin as she watched with wide eyes. What we didn't realize was, the main character was being kidnapped, and when she realized what was going on, she put her face into my shoulder and I could feel her cheeks, hot and wet with tears.

"Aaron, I don't want to watch this anymore," she squealed, but I was already changing the channel. A cooking show took its place, and without missing a beat I pulled her into my lap, letting her straddle me with her head buried in the crook of my neck.

"I've got you, sweetheart. You're okay." I would've held her all night if she would've let me. I never would've let her go because I knew how badly she needed me. I feared for the day I'd have to return to the BAU and leave her alone—I'd already planned to let her stay at my place while I was gone if she didn't want to go home.

"I just want it to stop. I can't get it out of my head," she cried, and I squeezed her a little tighter, letting my lips press against her head.

"I know. I wish I could take it from you—I would do anything to be able to take this pain away from you. I'm so sorry, you didn't deserve this, and it's not your fault. I know at some point, work will take me away from you, but I'm here for you through all of this, okay? You're not alone," she let out a shaky breath that she probably didn't even know she'd been holding as she wiped her eyes. She looked up at me, her lip slightly pouty in the most adorable way.

"I'm so glad I have you. I really mean that. I couldn't do this without you, Aaron."

She laid back against me until her breathing steadied and I found out she'd fallen asleep on my chest. I was not about to wake her up, so I carefully slid down until my back was against the mattress and I kept her pressed against me all night long.

✨✨✨

You woke the next morning on top of Aaron, much to your surprise. You'd forgotten about falling asleep on his chest, but you'd assumed he'd move you at some point if he got uncomfortable. He was sleeping in total serenity before you woke him up trying to move to his side. His eyes fluttered open and his grip on your thighs tightened as if to keep you in place.

"Please don't move, been sleeping so good with you on top of me," he cooed, making you lay back down, happy he was content.

"I just thought you'd be ready for me to move," you could hear his heart beating through his shirt, drumming against his chest as you ran your fingers along his sides, still covered by his t-shirt.

"Quite the opposite. I'd keep you like this if I could," you felt the butterflies invade your stomach at his words, because since you'd been at his house, you noticed more about the way he cared for you. He'd went out of his way to kiss your forehead more than once, which made your brain feel fuzzy every time. You hoped that once your body had healed, you could give a piece of yourself to him, if he wanted. You'd been patiently waiting for months—you could wait a while longer.

"I'm awfully cozy," you agreed, knowing there was no place you'd rather be than right on top of him. You felt his hands move to your back, placed gently at the small of it.

"I need to go to the grocery store today and I was hoping you could go with me."

You felt yourself make a face even though he couldn't see you, but he sensed your indecision.

"I look pretty bad, Aaron. My arms—"

"You can wear one of my sweatshirts."

You hesitantly agreed, climbing off of him so you could get dressed. He showed you to the spare bathroom so both of you could shower, and you felt a lot better after you'd finished. As promised, he'd left one of his quarter zips on the couch for you to put on when you were finished.

Your panic didn't set in until you were in the store, and even then you kept your cool, following close enough to Aaron that you were nearly inseparable. He understood your current predicament and offered you his hand while he held his basket with the other. You laced your fingers through his even though you could tell he wasn't used to being so openly affectionate, you appreciated him coming through for you regardless.

You felt a fraction better as you got back to the car, helping him load everything in before you climbed in the passengers seat. You were off to his house in no time, the ride mostly quiet. Once you reached his house and got everything carried in, he found you both a snack, leading you to the couch.

"How much more uninterrupted time with you am I going to be lucky enough to get?" You knew he'd go back to work soon and things would return to normal for everyone but you—you'd be out of work and all alone.

"I'm not going back until Monday." It gave you almost an entire week with him, and you wondered how you got so lucky.

"Mhm. And how long until you'll let me come back to work?"

He thought for a moment before looking you over, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. It was sexier than it should've been, making you come a little closer to him.

"I'd like to see you out of the field for at least a month."

You nodded back at him, knowing it would do no good to argue with him. He could've made it longer—you could manage a month of loneliness. You dreaded the day you'd have to return to your apartment and face it's confining walls alone, more importantly, without Aaron. You didn't know how you'd make it another day without him, honestly. He was your rock, your solitude, and he didn't even realize he was the only thing keeping you from crumbling at any given moment.

"You're okay with that? If you need any more time, we can make that happen too," he wasn't sure how you were feeling, but he made sure you knew he'd accommodate you however he needed to.

"That's fine. It'll probably be good for me."

He opened his arms, so you climbed into his lap, your back against the couch arm's cushion. You were tucked into the corner of the couch, but he seemed satisfied with your current position, letting your legs drape over him, his arm around you.

"I was thinking if you don't want to go home next week, maybe you can stay here. That way when I come back from a case, you're already waiting on me. Would that be okay? I know you don't want to go home, and I don't blame you. So if you feel safe here, we'll get you a key tomorrow."

You were stunned to say the least at his offer, not even sure what to say.

"You're sure?"

He nodded, lacing his fingers through yours before he spoke again.

"You're my best friend. You should've had a key to my house a long time ago. You're always at home here."

You hugged him, your arms around his neck and your cheek smushed against his. You practically predicted his lips on your cheek, inhaling sharply when he didn't stop, he kissed the corner of your mouth next before his deep, dark eyes were peering back into yours, waiting on the green light. You didn't answer, instead your lips met his, tender and loving as he finally gave in and kissed you like he'd never kissed anyone before. You were in awe at how his lips felt against your own, like he'd been made just for you. You felt the smile on his face as he pulled back to look at you, his hand cupping your cheek.

"I'd really like to kiss you all the time." You couldn't help but to smile back at him, because you'd been waiting so long to experience what it would be like to have him like this, and it was finally coming true.

"I'm yours whenever you'll have me," you promised him, his nose lightly brushing against yours before he kissed you again, his hand on the back of your neck so he could pull you in closer. Now that you had him you didn't want to stop, but you didn't want the first time he saw you naked to be right now either. You needed to wait—for yourself, and your image.

He knew he could only kiss you for now, but he didn't mind—he wanted to kiss you all the time anyway.

"I'm going to make us dinner, come with me?" You nodded but he didn't let you go, he carried you to the kitchen and sat you on the counter so you could keep him company while he worked. The house began to fill with the tasty aroma of dinner as he buzzed around the kitchen. You enjoyed everything about it, watching him cook, tasting things he wanted you to try as he was cooking. You had no trouble adjusting to being around him, but he'd been right—he was your best friend too, and now he was something much more.

"I was thinking when you feel up to it, we could go out for dinner, on a date," he said from across the table, his legs brushing yours beneath the tablecloth.

"I've waited a long time to go on a date with you," you admitted, watching him beam back at you.

"I'll take you out any time you want. Maybe this weekend?"

You took a bite of pasta and nodded; this weekend sounded like the perfect time. You still had plenty of time to prepare yourself mentally, because you hadn't expected him to become a staple in your life in more ways than one so quickly.

"That sounds perfect."

✨✨✨

Unfortunately, Aaron was called back to the field a couple of days early, and it was a situation where his presence was absolutely needed. He woke you in the middle of the night to tell you he had no choice, that he had to go, so he kissed you and left, promising to be back in time for your date. The first morning you woke up without him, you felt the swift pang of loneliness as soon as you reached for his side of the bed. You rolled over and laid on his pillow instead, his scent left behind on it, wrapping you up just as he would. You quickly fell back asleep and didn't wake again until there was a knock at his door. You were petrified to answer it, because no one knew you were there except for Aaron, and you couldn't imagine him telling anyone else where you were.

You waited until the knocking had ceased before you got brave enough to peep through the windows and see who it was. A delivery van was pulling away from the curb, so you opened the door carefully and found a gorgeous vase of flowers sitting on the porch, your favorite color. You were even more terrified until you picked them up and read the card attached, your heart thumping in your chest for an entirely new reason.

I just wanted you to know even though I'm not there, you haven't left my mind. I'll be home soon.

Inside of the small envelope was a key, no doubt to his house. You knew it took a lot of work to pull something like this off, and something told you that Penelope Garcia was helping him from her office at Quantico while he was out of town. You knew he was in New York, so he wasn't too far away, but even then, you didn't know when he'd have the time to do something so sweet if he was focused entirely on his work.

Your first order of business was to go get your car—it was still at your apartment, and you didn't want to be stuck with no vehicle, so you locked his house up and tried to calm your nerves in the back of a taxi. The driver was polite enough, but you were in no mood to have a conversation with him. You tipped and thanked him before getting into your car, feeling a little bit better once you were behind the wheel.

You were going to spend the day out of the house, in hopes that it would be good for your mental health. The sun was shining, and the weather was only a little chilly; your light jacket was perfect to combat the cold. Your bruises were beginning to fade completely, the only one being stubborn was a boot print across your abdomen. It was beginning to disappear but it was haunting you for fear that it might stay forever.

Your plan was to shop until you felt a little bit better about everything that was going on. You hadn't expected to run into Penelope right after you'd gotten coffee inside of the Starbucks in the mall, but she was already hugging you, gently and carefully, unlike her usual bear hugs.

"God, you look radiant. A few days out of the field and you look like you could be on the runway," she beamed, and you felt yourself roll your eyes playfully as the two of you walked around, sipping coffee and catching up.

"Oh, please. I look like fresh hell, Pen. But I'm doing okay. Trying to come out of this funk," you'd been afraid of your own shadow, creeping around every corner in fear of what you might find. You spent the first night away from Aaron on the couch, your sidearm on the table while you tried to sleep. You were used to sleeping with it nearby—on really bad nights, it wasn't uncommon to be within arms reach, usually on your bedside table.

"You're allowed to be funky right now. You've been through so much. Listen, I don't want to pry, but the boss man had me send you flowers and a key to his house this morning," she wiggled her eyebrows for any details you might be willing to share with her, and so you decided to let it all out because you knew you could trust her, and she already suspected something.

"He's been great, really. I'm staying at his house. I think the key was so I'd drag myself off of the couch. I know he's worried. We uh—we kissed," you blushed, and she squealed in delight, a bright smile on her face.

"God, I LOVE! You two were made for each other. He was so sweet asking me to do it this morning, it was like, 6 am. He wanted you to wake up to flowers!" She gushed, and your stomach did a flip as you entered one of your favorite stores.

"He's taking me on a date this weekend," she stopped in her tracks, fanning her face with her hands.

"We have to find you something to wear! Oh my god, I'm so glad I ran into you!" Penelope spent the better half of her day helping you choose a dress and shoes, your Unit Chief the topic of conversation the entire day. You'd just stopped for lunch when her phone rang and she raised her eyebrows, showing you the caller ID.

"Hi sir, what can I do for you?"

She listened intently, a smile creeping onto her face.

"Actually I don't even have to do that, she's right here eating lunch."

You knew she'd fill you in on all the details when she got off the phone, so you sat and ate, knowing you were what he'd called about. It made your heart skip a beat that he was having Penelope to check on you, make sure you were okay without him.

"I'll tell her! Call if you need anything," she hung up the phone, her hands under her chin.

"Someone's got it bad for you."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as Penelope told you he was just checking in to see if she'd heard from you, and to make sure you had a nice time out of the house. They were hoping to have the case wrapped up by tonight and fly out first thing in the morning.

"He's going to take a couple days off. I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you, but he asked me to file the request for him this morning."

You weren't surprised considering the time he'd wanted with you had gotten cut short. If he requested it, there was no way they'd pull him back, not unless they had to. He never took personal days, but that was all changing quickly.

"He's like a dream. I don't really know if I deserve him or not," you admitted, and Penelope shook her head, sipping her drink.

"Don't you dare think that. You're perfect for each other, and he cares so much about you. You should let him make you happy."

You wandered the mall a bit longer, but you left to go to the grocery store, picking up a few things for when Aaron was back in town. You hoped it would be tomorrow like planned, but you knew the way the BAU operated, and it could often be unpredictable.

When you were back in the comfort of his home, you showered and got dressed for the night, spreading out across the couch. Usually you would've been in his bed, but you weren't tired yet. In fact, every hair on your body stood straight up in anxiety. You hadn't figured out why yet, but you were trying to ignore it—until your palms got clammy and you felt like you might pass out. You felt your face and it was hot to the touch, so you took one of the pills that the hospital sent you home with and laid back, hoping it would help soon.

By the time you found yourself calm, your phone was ringing. It was the first time Aaron had actually called you since he left.

"How're you feeling?" He offered no greeting, he immediately expressed his concern which told you how badly he missed you.

"I'm a lot better now. Thank you for the flowers," you wondered if he heard the smile in your voice, because you certainly felt your heart swell simply at the mention of them.

"Anything for you. I'm actually heading home, we finished things up quicker than anticipated. I'm hoping you'll still be on my couch by the time I get there," he purred, his voice much more seductive than he'd intended it to be.

"I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be," you'd been more than openly flirting with him since the two of you had started to get to know each other on a more serious level, and he loved every second of it; he was happy that you were just as interested in him.

"I'll grab dinner and you can find us something to watch," he acted like the two of you already lived together and it was just another Thursday coming home to you.

"It's a date," you chirped before you said your goodbyes and anticipated his return.

✨✨✨

I couldn't get home fast enough.

Pulling into the driveway knowing she was already there made me giddy, and now she had a key and could come and go as she pleased. I wouldn't have minded her spending every night in my bed, but I knew eventually she'd go back home and we'd have to start seeing each other when we had free time—but for now I had a week to spend with her, approved and finalized hours prior.

She met me at the door, wrapping me in a hug before I could even get the key in the door.

"Missed you," it was quiet but she'd said it, and I'd missed her more than she'd ever know; I hated having to leave her.

"I'm here now. I brought your favorite," I held up my bag for her to see and I filled her in on the case while we ate; I didn't give her many details and she understood why, listening intently anyway. She told me about her day out with Penelope and how she was trying to get to where she felt normal again. I didn't know how long it would take, but I'd stay by her side for any amount of time.

She was wearing a tank top with thin straps, most of her bruises faded significantly. Most of them had disappeared completely after the first couple of days, and I knew she was happy about that. I could tell by what she was wearing that she was starting to feel a little better about herself and I was thankful. I'd always be around to help boost her self esteem, but I wanted her to feel good in her own skin too.

"I'm excited to take you out, but I love nights like this with you," she didn't hide her smile as she sat down her to go box and looked at my lap, silently asking permission to climb into it. I moved anything that could be an obstacle out of her way and she was straddling me, her arms hooked around my neck.

"No one else I'd rather spend my nights with," she whispered, delivering a feather light kiss to my neck. I felt the goosebumps appear almost instantly, which only made her do it again. I shivered as her lips met my skin a second time, directly on the throbbing vein in my neck. My hands met the small of her back, her tank top ridden up slightly, exposing just enough skin to drive me mad.

"You want to know a secret?" She stopped long enough to look at me, nodding her head curiously.

"I've wished you were here everyday since I met you," I confessed, her eyes lingering on my lips as I spoke.

"That makes two of us. Surely you knew before now how I felt about you," I brought my hand to her face, and she leaned into my touch, a soft smile on her face.

"I had a pretty good idea, but I needed to be sure."

My lips met hers expectantly, the two of us so lost in each other that nothing else mattered except for her tongue in my mouth and my hands on her waist.

"Are you sure now?" She asked in a breathless whisper against my mouth, to which I nodded profusely; I didn't want to stop—I wanted to read her like a book, spread her open and take my time learning everything about her.

"Absolutely certain," I moaned into her mouth, her fingers dexterously working at the buttons of my shirt before she helped me shrug it off completely. Her fingertips slipped beneath the hem of my shirt and blazed hot against my skin, so I tossed my shirt aside. Her mouth peppered kisses across my chest and collarbone, leaving me writhing beneath her, wondering what her mouth would feel like everywhere else.

"So sexy," she said, her nails leaving streaks on my skin, marking me as hers—I was eager to belong to her, no one else even crossed my mind.

"You're perfect, everything about you," I loved all of her quirky traits and qualities, the little idiosyncrasies that made her special to me. I was convinced that no one would ever know me like she did, and I didn't want them to. She was the only person I'd considered letting in for a long time; I wouldn't want anyone else as long as she promised to stay.

She was swiftly working on my belt and the button to my pants, shoving them down to my ankles as she gave me the sweetest smile, toying with the waistband of my boxers. We were treading uncharted territory but I had already planned to give her every ounce of control—I wanted everything to be at her pace, so she didn't get uncomfortable.

"I want to touch you," her chin rested on my knee as she peered up at me, lips turned upwards the slightest, her cheeks pink. Her pupils were nearly blown out already and I hadn't even touched her yet. She was on her knees in front of me and I was too stunned to speak, I could only nod as she slid my boxers down and took my dick in her hands, stiff and throbbing for her. I hadn't realized how badly I wanted her until I came home to her and it was as if right here was where she always belonged. She was already more comfortable in my home than I'd ever allowed anyone to get, and I was ecstatic about it. I wanted her to feel safe, feel like as long as she was with me or at my home, nothing bad could happen to her.

Within seconds she'd plopped my dick in her mouth and I watched with wide eyes as she bobbed and gagged on me, saliva coating me and allowing me to slide easily into her mouth. My hips had a mind of their own as I guided my cock into the warmth of her throat, tears pricking her eyes as she nodded for more.

"Feels so good, been wanting this forever," I choked, her smile unmistakable even with my cock in her throat. It only made her take more of me, until she had nearly every inch of me stuffed in her mouth, her hand wrapped around the rest of my length. Her wrist worked in fluid motion with her mouth to send me spiraling—I felt myself finish deep in her throat with a groan, my hand rooted in her hair as she swallowed every last drop. She let my dick fall from her mouth, so I pulled up my boxers and pulled her into my lap before kissing her hard on the mouth.

"You make me so happy," I never wanted her to go—I hoped this would mean our time off would be spent together, and she'd be away from me as little as possible.

"That's all I ever wanted to do," she breathed, and I knew it was the truth. She'd always gone out of her way for me, and I tried to do the same for her. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of us that we always take care of each other, and now that was solidified by something stronger than being partners. We shared a special connection, one that I hadn't felt in such a long time that it was almost hard to catch myself once I knew I was falling. As soon as I knew she'd have me too, there was nothing to be worried about anymore. I knew without a shadow of a doubt where I stood with her, and it was more comforting than anything I'd ever felt.

"Hold on, I'm going to move you to the bed," I kicked out of my pants and carried her down the hall, laying her gently in the middle of the bed. She looked heavenly laid out in front of me, all I could do was scramble between her legs, admiring everything about her, from the way her pajamas fit on her hips to the curve of her breasts through the thin fabric of her tank top. It only took me a second to be hovering over top of her, my lips hungry against hers. As if she sensed my indecisiveness, she leaned up long enough to take off her tank top, letting me kiss her neck and chest, my hands reaching for her bra clasp. She helped me to get it unfastened before it hit the floor, my tongue swirling around her nipples. Her sweet little moans were like music to my ears as she wiggled against the mattress, desperate for my mouth in more than one place.

"Can I take these off?" I already had my fingers looped in the band of her pants, she just needed to tell me yes.

"Please," she pleaded, and in seconds I was dragging them down her hips, licking my lips at the sight of her nearly naked in my bed.

"You're exquisite. Thank you for trusting me like this. I won't make you regret it," truth be told, I'd do anything she asked for the rest of my life. I could easily picture my future with her, mapped out as clear as the moon in the sky.

"I know you won't," she was confident in her answer as I toyed with her through her panties, her brows pulling together instantly as soon as my fingers made contact with her clothed center. I'd been aching to touch her for so long that it almost felt surreal to finally be able to; I studied all of her curves, the swell of her breast, all the way to her legs. I drug her panties down her legs as slowly as I could manage, trying not to get ahead of myself when all I wanted to do was crash headfirst into her, give her everything I'd been holding back for the last year and a half.

✨✨✨

You were sure nothing on Earth could compare to the feeling of Aaron's lips wrapped around your clit like his life depended on giving you as many orgasms as you could handle. He was merciless; his tongue flicking your soaked bundle of nerves, your legs propped up on his shoulders so he could spread you open completely. You knew just by how he treated you that he'd be a selfless lover, and you'd been correct—he had no plans of stopping any time soon. His head rested on your upper thigh as he worked tirelessly to bring you more pleasure than you ever thought possible.

Now that you had him, you couldn't imagine sharing him ever again. You wanted to be the only one that experienced him at his most sensual; you had a hunch that he felt the same way, given that he'd completely surrendered to you, willing to do anything you asked him.

"Could never get tired of tasting you," he panted, his nose brushing your clit as he buried his face in your pussy, moaning into you without abandon. You weren't about to stop him, not when he looked more serene than ever, making your legs shake uncontrollably as your orgasm rattled through you. Your hands were rooted in his hair but only to ground yourself—he didn't need a guide, he knew exactly where you needed his mouth, his lips pressed gently to your clit, kissing it delicately.

"Feels so good," you managed to choke out, and he nodded in agreement, because he was enjoying it just as much as you were.

"Mhm. Feels like heaven every time you cum on my tongue," he'd long since abandoned his filter, filthier than you ever knew he could be. It was the sexiest thing you'd ever heard, his deep, nearly gravelly voice brought you more pleasure than you'd expected; you'd be soaked at the sound of him speaking alone.

You were hooked—simple as that.

No other man would ever be able to satisfy you the way that he was, and you knew it for a fact. No one else would take their time in learning your body like he did, experimenting until he discovered how you needed to be touched, and then doing everything in his power to make it incredible for you. It left your heart pounding and your brain reeling—you hoped he was here to stay, because you had no brakes now that you'd gotten started.

"You're perfect, Aaron," it was the only sentence you could form, and judging by the look on his face, he was happy to hear it. His lips curved into a stellar smile before he reattached his lips to your clit and sucked furiously, making your vision go blurry as your head hit the pillow.

"I was just thinking that exact same thing about you, sweetheart," he crawled up your body, leaving wet, sticky kisses as he traveled toward your mouth. His tongue felt divine against your flushed skin, goosebumps appearing shortly after. He met your mouth with haste, his tongue swirling around in your mouth deliciously as he used his knee to part your legs further.

"Please, Aaron," you could barely contain your excitement as he pressed into you at a snails pace, shivering as he sank further into you. You held your breath as he filled you, exhaling once he'd bottomed out completely and began to pump in and out of you, his hands on your body like you were the most precious piece of artwork he'd ever seen and he just needed to touch you or he might burst. You felt his desire for you over every inch of your body, radiating throughout the room as he looked into your eyes.

"I swear I'll never want anyone else. You just feel so good, baby," the term of endearment rolled so easily off of his tongue that you just knew he'd been dying to use it with you, it came too naturally to him. You captured his lips with yours, cupping his face as he made love to you for the first time. That was the only way you could describe it—it was tender and gentle and exactly what you needed from him, and he knew it.

"I'm all yours," you promised him, feeling the smile on his lips that appeared right after. You could feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach as his hips met yours at an agonizingly slow pace—it was sensual and steady, making you lose control quicker than you could register, your body going limp beneath his.

"That's it, sweetheart. I've got you, let it all go."

You'd never had a first time quite like this one; you were comfortable despite the fact that he'd never seen you naked, but you knew he adored you. It gave you a strange sense of familiarity, easing all of your nerves before they ever had time to surface. He was the most patient, loving man you'd had the privilege of meeting, and you were thankful that you had him in your life.

You'd never seen so much passion exuded from one man, but you weren't surprised. You knew deep down, past his stoic, stern exterior that his soft spot was you; you gave him a reason to show his sweet, sensitive side, and you were the only one lucky enough to experience it.

"I can't wait to give you all of me," he muttered against your lips, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his lip pulled between his teeth. You pressed sweet kisses to his neck, wrapping your arms around his broad frame to keep him close to you. You drug your nails across his back, feeling the muscles of his shoulder blades clench up at your touch. He filled you seconds later, finishing deep inside of you as his mouth crashed against yours in desperation. He stayed still, his forehead pressed to yours as the two of you tried to catch your breath.

"I'm obsessed with you," he broke the silence, making you smile from ear to ear as he gazed down at you. Your nose brushed his lightly before he kissed you, his hand brushing your hair away from your face so he could see all of you.

"I really hope you keep me around," you shot him a wink, a chuckle falling from his parted lips.

"I hope you understand that I'll want you, forever. It's always been you. I'd never even think about giving anyone else the time of day."

As if to show you he was serious, you felt his cock throb inside of you; he'd never moved, still buried deep between your thighs. You let out a barely audible whimper that had him stiff and needy in an instant.

"I really like the idea of forever with you," you'd barely had time to get the words out and he was sitting up on his knees, carefully placing your legs on his shoulders. You were folded up beneath him, able to watch him slip in and out of you, his thick cock pulsing with each slow stroke into your soaked center. He kissed your calf, his hands massaging your thighs, the rough, callused pads of his fingers kneading your sensitive flesh. It was a blissful combination, his hands on your body as he made himself at home inside of you. He sped things up a bit, hitting your g-spot at the perfect angle to have your back arching off the mattress.

"Such a good girl," his fingers met your chin, tilting your face upward to look at him before he found your hand and laced his fingers through yours. His gaze was penetrating and intimate as he brought you close to the edge once more, your eye struggling to stay open as you moaned his name. He loved every sound you made, a string of profanity falling from his lips, his eyes trained on his cock slipping out of you. You could tell he was getting close, drilling into you rapidly, the slamming of his hips into yours bouncing off the walls and echoing throughout his empty house. He came with a shudder, his eyes nearly rolling back, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.

"I hope you never get tired of me," you moved your legs so you could pull him forward, your lips on his. You could hear the insecurities in his voice although you were certain he was trying his best not to let it show. You brought your hand to his cheek, kissing him with all of the force you had, a moan escaping his lips as he held onto you for dear life. You'd never wanted anyone so badly, had such a strong connection and deep desire to belong to him.

"Never. You are everything I've ever wanted, Aaron. I'll never let you go. I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me this week. It means more to me than you'll ever know," you'd been going through so much mental turmoil, but Aaron made it all so much better. Just being around him calmed your darkest fears, knowing you were safe and he'd protect you from anything.

"You don't have to thank me. I want to take care of you every way that I can. Truthfully, I'll be sad to see you go. I'm already so used to having you around, and I love every second that you're here."

He slid out of you, finding a towel to clean you up before he joined you in the bed, pulling the covers over your naked bodies. You didn't bother getting dressed; you were cozy.

"Being alone is really hard for me right now. I missed you so much when you were gone," the days had felt like an eternity away from him, the seconds passing by slower than usual. You'd been so happy to have him back that you counted the hours until he'd returned.

"You have a key now, you can come and go as you please. You never have to be alone anymore, not if I'm around."

You cooked dinner together, eating at the table instead of his bed made things a bit more romantic than usual, with the two of you seated across from each other, your legs touching beneath the table. It was sweet, the two of you talking long after you’d finished your meal. You helped him with the dishes, which he tried to protest, but you did it anyway, the two of you stood at the sink like a married couple cleaning before you settled down for the night.

You fell asleep like a rock with him by your side, thinking you’d doze into peaceful slumber; you couldn’t have been more wrong.

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in the back of a rickety pick up truck, bouncing against the cool metal of the floor. Wherever you were was cold—wet. You could smell the mist, invading your nostrils, making you get choked up. You began to panic when you realized you were gagged, unable to scream, or cry properly. You struggled to breathe, trying desperately to break free from whatever held you captive.

Your thoughts automatically flitted to Hotch, who’d been with you mere hours prior. You hoped he was okay, wherever he was. You tried to move around, but with your hands and feet tied, it was nearly impossible. You were stuck.

As if by a miracle, you could hear Derek’s voice from above, shouting your name. They were walking right over top of whatever you were in. You tried to move again, this time knocking something off of a nearby table. Movement ceased above you before their footsteps disappeared completely. You listened to them look for hours before they finally gave up their search, leaving you stranded. You heard the crunch of every individual tire as they drove away, the tears hot on your face as you accepted your fate.

“Shhh, you’re alright. I’ve got you,” you woke up with your limbs flailing, your cheeks wet. You were in Aaron’s arms, secured by his strong grip. You buried your face in his shirt as you tried to shake the nightmare from your mind. Aaron held you close, kissing your head, a soothing hand on your back.

“I was so scared,” you choked, and he nodded in understanding, cradling your head so he could bring you closer.

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I wish I could tell you that it gets easier, but the important thing to remember is that I’m always here for you, no matter what. I won’t let anything else hurt you,” he kissed your cheek, his thumb brushing a stray tear away before it could drop onto your shirt.

You wrapped your arms around him, wanting to stay smushed into his chest for a little while longer, as long as he’d let you. He had an idea, bringing you to mount his lap, your head laying against his chest, just like that very first night. You fell asleep on top of him, no longer worried about what horrors might manifest once you closed your eyes—as long as you were with him, your worries seemed a million miles away.

✨✨✨

I admired the way she could stay put all night long without moving, because I woke up to her hair tickling my neck; I was just happy to have her to wake up to. I let her sleep, brushing her hair back so I could look at her face. Her mouth open the tiniest sliver, every muscle in her face relaxed, her breathing steady. She’d been restless that night, talking and thrashing in her sleep, but once she finally settled down some, she slept soundly. My hands were on the small of her back, beneath her shirt, her skin warm against my palms. My thumbs barely brushed her sides but it was enough to have her giggling sleepily, nuzzling into my neck as her eyes fluttered open.

“Tickles,” she muttered against me, her lips grazing my neck. I didn’t try to hide the shiver that came immediately after, which lead to her doing it again. I knew she could feel my dick growing stiff under her waist, pressed snug against her center. In perfect timing, she rolled her hips against me, our underwear the only barrier between us.

“Can I ride you?” Her voice was the softest thing I’d ever heard, hushed and still slightly raspy from sleep. I gave her an enthusiastic nod as she tugged off her underwear and slid mine down enough to free me from my boxers before she took my cock in her hand and lined herself up with me, peering down at me as she sank onto my length. It was the first time she’d ever taken charge and done the work, so I sat back and watched in awe as she used me, expertly working my length until we were both a sweaty, panting mess. It was lazy and fulfilling, the light barely creeping in through the curtains and the neighborhood still quiet on the rest of the block.

Her hips rolled against me in the most incredible way, my dick deep inside of her as she leaned forward and bounced on my dick, making me grip her thighs for support. She came undone, whimpering my name as she rode out her high, but I wasn’t far behind her; her mouth met mine and I filled her, holding her hips in place so she could take every drop. I loved being able to give myself to her, that she’d allow me to have her body in such a sacred way.

“I could never get tired of this,” I told her as she slipped off of me, my first instinct to get up and clean her off so she didn’t have to move just yet.

“Does this mean I’m your girlfriend?” We hadn’t explicitly had a conversation about it, but I figured it would come up sooner rather than later. She felt like so much more than my girlfriend; she felt like the woman I’d be growing and sharing a life with, and there was no label for that.

“You’re so much more than just my girlfriend—you’re my person. You’re my better half.”

She climbed out of bed so she could come give me a hug, her arms tight around me. She was the most special part of my life, and now that I had her I’d do anything to keep her. I didn’t want to know a life without her ever again.

“You’re the better half,” she shot back teasingly, and I was thrilled to see her getting back to her usual, playful self. I rolled my eyes at her, touching my lips to her forehead.

“Still feel up for going out with me tonight? I want to take you to dinner,” she nodded into my chest, peppering it with kisses.

“I’d go anywhere with you,” she assured me, pulling me back into the bed so we could waste the rest of the day wrapped up in each other.

Taglist: @wheelsupkels @periodtcevans

[stranger-rants]

Hey 👋

I've seen some recent anti posts where they're like "Dacre did SUCH a good job making us hate Billy" which is... just so wrong lmao.

They act like Dacre didn't put his heart, body, and mind into making Billy a sympathetic character (in contrast to the Duffers wanting another Henry Bowers).

Also... saying Billy is like Bowers is laughable tbh.

Henry targeted each and every kid in the losers club. He didn't have a sister that his father made him watch, like Billy did.

If anything, Bowers is closer to Jason Carver than any other character.

Well, Troy from s1 (and his pal, I think his name was James), too.

But I guess they were forgotten as well *sigh*

I saw someone say that Billy saying "it'll all be over soon" felt r*pish. He was possessed, and that same person also said that he'd told this to Max.

Seems to be a common theme in which some antis haven't actually watched the show.

Some die hard Steve fans who are antis, have even told me they either haven't watched s1, or they just straight up ignore s1 Steve.

As a survivor myself, I really wish antis would stop throwing around words like r*pe and abuse.

When they mention abuse, all they ever mention is Billy being the abuser. They don't talk about Neil, they don't talk about Lonnie, and they don't talk about Brenner (or Vecna).

Another thing I've noticed is that outside of our corner, the only other time this fandom mentions abuse is really just to further prove that a certain ship is canon.

Hey 👋🏻

It is funny, because Dacre has been very vocal about Billy having “flaws” but not being inherently bad or evil. He advocates so hard for imperfect victims, which is what I love about him. Billy would be nothing without Dacre, and I wish more actors had the guts to fight for better writing lol. The Duffers keep making shallow references to Stephen King’s work, and it makes me really wonder if they understood any of the major themes in his books. Granted, King was doing a lot of drugs when he wrote IT, but the story is still solidly inspired by real homophobic and racist violence in a small town as well as the general disregard for children and their safety. Stranger Things is based on conspiracy theories and government experimentation on people. Why they act like these two medias are comparable or need the same kinds of antagonists is just weird to me.

Henry Bowers was abused, too. Like, his father was a racist cop who antagonized Mike’s family for years and he was also violent towards his own son. Obviously, that had an impact on Henry who developed antisocial behavior. On the very surface, that seems similar to Billy. However, there is a big difference between them in terms of agency and the degree of harm. Billy’s violence was mostly reactive. There was a clear trigger (usually his dad). Henry sought out his victims to antagonize and he was very much addicted to the violence. IT was able to weaponize Henry because Henry wanted that power. He ended up killing his father without remorse. In order for the Mindflayer to weaponize Billy, it had to take over his mind and his body completely leaving Billy with little to no agency. Billy was consumed by guilt over what the Mindflayer made him do. His personality and reaction to trauma is nothing like Henry Bowers.

Henry is representative of the fear and hate prevalent in his small town, which is similar to Jason’s role last season in that regard. Their respective roles expose the prejudices of their communities. Billy’s role didn’t really do that. I don’t think the Duffers really thought about his purpose beyond being a “human antagonist” and a source of conflict for Max and Lucas (which…why was this necessary if they were never going to address it again?). There are obviously bigger bads whose entire shtick is Remorseless Abuser, and I’ve said before that this show *could* be about systematic abuse and fighting against it (including government/institutional abuse) but the Duffers hate survivors too much to explore that with any authenticity. So, we end up having to do that for them. This show and its fandom at large really are so shallow. All spectacle and trauma as decoration without critical thought.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Trick or Treat!

Thank you for the Ask, @avoidingcertaindoom!

This is from my victorian fantasy WIP, Enchanted Illusions!

(Context: In this scene, Harriet Sharppe, the main character, confronts Liam Arloway, a snobby noble who had been working with the villains, and who had attempted to kill her cousin, Vincent, days before. Luckily, she counts on a little help from the story's resident dark mage, Augustus Grimmure to even the odds)

Liam circled around her, a faux-friendly demeanor to him as he attempted to convince her that his words were reasonable. At this point, Harriet had resigned herself to waiting until he was done rambling - though she was getting far more worried with every step this wannabe noble took toward her. His condescending tone and practiced smile had a way of getting on her nerves, Harriet knew Liam was counting on it.

"Listen, Harriet" Liam had started "Augustus Grimmure is a dangerous opportunist, known for stabbing people in the back once he gets what he wants. His kind doesn't listen to reason, especially when it comes to the Dark Arts. You can't trust him, if you come with me, we can pretend none of this ever happened."

He reached out a gloved hand towards her, expectantly. This offer came with a hidden demand - that she and Vincent would be quiet about what they had discovered. That she would let the Hemlock Society continue their crooked work without facing the consequences for what they'd done. Not a chance.

Harriet pushed his hand away.

"It is funny that you of all people would say this, Liam" She took a step closer of her own this time, squaring up to him. "So far, he has given me far more reasons to trust him than you ever have. Augustus may be many things, but he is not a fool. And he is not a traitor. We have a mutual understanding, and as long as one of us is winning, so is the other - he won't betray a good investment, and I won't lose the only clue I have. I know him. I don't know you."

She continued, tapping his tie with a finger, emphasizing her comment. Liam scoffed, but before he could continue, Harriet pulled a letter from her pocket. A letter addressed to him, from his superiors at the Hemlock Society - detailing how he was to kill her cousin, Vincent. She'd read it all.

"All I know about you is that I saw you, not Augustus, talking to Sir Garissen's spy after the assembly. Curiously enough, that's the same night an attempt on Vincent's life took place. The same night my friends found this letter." Harriet sidestepped him, walking out of the corner he'd backed her into moments prior, holding the accusing letter for the fraud to see.

"Tell me, 'Liam', if you have nothing to do with the events that took place, why is it you looked so surprised when my cousin showed up - alive and well - to the masquerade the next day? Because you're the one who would've murdered him the night before and now, your credibility was on the line. So you came after me."

There was a knowing moment of silence, as Harriet stood her ground, glaring, waiting for the befuddled Liam to pick up the courage to answer.

"... Fair point," Liam said with a fatalistic sigh, pulling out his rapier and pointing the blade at her. He looked almost apologetic - if it wasn't for the crooked smile on his lips. "Look, I really wanted to do this the easy way, Harriet. Tsk, tsk. It's a pity such a beauty as you went about poking her nose where she doesn't belong. You should've taken my offer."

With that, he moved to strike, a manic glint to his eye, as the blade lifted high. And stopped, just before he could do so. Behind him, an arm was hooked around his chest, keeping him in place.

"No. You're the one who should've stayed in our lane, pup" A new voice whispered into Liam's ear, a dangerous smile on sharp lips as a pocket knife pressed itself against the gentleman's exposed neck. Liam froze. "Drop the sword."

The bejeweled rapier fell to the ground with a clatter.

"Oh, Augustus, old pal! We - we were just talking about y-you!" Liam scrambled to come up with an excuse, going silent as Augustus pressed the knife harder against his untarnished skin, drawing a line of blood. The noble's confident facade crashed and burned, as his eyes searched around desperately for a out, voice shrill, as Liam attemped to sound casual.

"Quiet," Augustus told Liam, nails digging where he held the man's shoulder. He looked up, ignoring the noble and turning towards Harriet."What do you say, darling?" Augustus asked, voice soft, almost playful, no longer the venomous whisper he'd directed at the cowardly nobleman before him. "Should I dispose of him? Pretty please - this scoundrel is a waste of good fortune."

Liam went pale, torn between struggling and freezing in place - it was clear he was regretting his previous treasonous intent, now that the tables had turned. As if, only moments before, Liam's intentions hadn't been even more murderous - he would have killed her without a second thought, despite all his advances to court her at the royal ball. And he would have killed Vincent even more thoughtlessly.

Even so, Harriet shook her head, arms still crossed over her chest, ignoring Liam's presence for the moment.

"No, dear. But thank you. I think there's no need for that specific solution just yet." She answered, "Do you still have that contact in the constabulary?"

Augustus nodded, curious, still holding Liam in place with a vice grip. "Yes, I do. Whatever do you mean?"

Harriet pondered her options for a moment, before speaking up, placing the letter at a nearby table behind her. Liam dared not try to move, though his eyes glared murderously at her. If this man was not arrested, he would surely follow them, to finish the job. She suppressed a shiver, mentally reminding herself to get someone to replace the mansion's locks soon.

"We'll leave an anonymous lead, on their doorstep then. As for him -" She continued, eager to get out of this warehouse as soon as possible. "I'm sure he'll be fine waiting for the police to arrive. The gossipmongers will love to learn the truth about what their beloved nobility is up to, once this fraud is exposed."

[lyricalchrysanthemum]

The Truth Only I Know

(Read on AO3)

Lucas is a smart kid, everyone can see it even by only knowing him for an hour. He would have to be smarter than most other kids his age to be Professor Rowan’s aide after all, even with the connection his father has to him. But his vast wealth of knowledge is astounding for a kid only thirteen, pouring over his pokedex and feverishly taking notes while following the Professor like a lost puppy. Lucas was proud of his knowledge of Pokemon, able to recite small fun facts about Pokemon every now and then to those two strange kids.

Lucas couldn’t quite wrap his head around Barry and Dawn, honestly. Barry was a loudmouth, running every which way and bumping heads with those who had the misfortune of being in his path. Dawn was the opposite, a gloomy, low-energy girl with no apparent interests outside of collecting interesting rocks she finds on her path. And while he thought they were strange, he admired them. They weren’t smart like him, but they were powerful, talented trainers. This was evident in the first battle he saw from them, fighting off those Starly as though they knew what they were doing. And they had this chemistry together, a kind that seemed unshakable, one that made him almost feel intrusive when they came together as a trio.

Sure Barry likes to grab him by the hand and run, leading him to whatever catches his eyes, and Dawn likes to sit him down and care for his injuries even when he insists it’s just a scratch, but he can’t ever be a part of them as a group. The way they can just talk about anything. The way they are always on the same page. The way they know everything and anything about each other. It’s the childhood aspect, a part of their life he’ll never be in.

He likes Barry and Dawn, he wants to be their friend, but he can’t be with the two the way they already are, he decides.

It starts feeling lonely though, not being a part of what they have. They’re one of the few constants he has on his journey, not including Professor Rowan and his Pokemon pals, after all. So despite how happy it made him feel, having Barry dragging him around and Dawn following close behind with a rare smile, he began to drown himself in knowledge, avoiding them. He’d spend so much time in ruins and libraries, reading and learning until it hurt his brain.

But then an older man told him he knew nothing, that his definition of knowledge was a sham, and everything that defined him shattered.

It shouldn’t have meant anything, he was a stranger after all! But the way he said it, the way his eyes pierced through Lucas’s soul, and his final words to him being, “Anyone could know what you do, your definition and wealth of knowledge is a disappointment to this world we live in.” It shook him to his core, and then he just… walked away. It made his blood cold, and it would ring incessantly in his head.

Dawn and Barry finding him in the ruins with such a shooken up expression obviously concerned them, the girl grabbing his hand and the boy asking who he has to fight for his sake. Yet he could only reassure them that he was okay, feeling bad for making them worry in the first place. It made him feel warm.

They’re good friends.

But that incident made him question things, question his thoughts, question if what he did best was even that impressive. Did he even have a single inkling of worth in this world? And then he’s told he’s the definition of it by the Champion, THE person said to have the most spiritual connection to this world.

It didn’t make sense. It hurt his head even more. Now he’s having migraines every day, every second. How could Uxie even be fond of him?

And in his first encounter with Uxie, he asks, “Why did you choose me?” “What must I know?” “What should I seek?” But it does not answer. Instead it just flies away, not giving him even a minute to try and chase after it. And every other encounter, it just leaves him with more questions, more headaches.

It almost felt insulting when, in trying to protect Uxie from Team Galactic, he tripped and broke his glasses. Overhearing Saturn laugh and calling him and Uxie a fool for thinking they could protect the knowledge of this world. And then Barry goes with him and he can only stare as he sees the teary, yet confident eyes of the blonde, and hears Dawn scream and yell for him not to go.

In his search for things only he could know, he forgot he was supposed to protect this world. He then questions if it was even smart for Uxie to rest this role on him when he’s so young. Shouldn’t he have been laughing? Playing? Not searching for the keys to this world? Not searching for why humanity exists? Trying to fill his Pokedex with Professor Rowan?

What happened to him?

He moves his hand to reach for the thermos hooked onto Dawn’s bag, clipping it off while she sobs. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he pushes the still warm hot chocolate into her hands. She looks shocked at first, before Lucas pulls her into the first hug he gave anyone that wasn’t his family.

And they cry together.

Lucas is shocked this gave them both comfort.

Everything after was… a mess. And coming awake from the distortion world left him feeling empty more than anything, outside of the burning mark ever ingrained in his body in the form of the adamant orb on the back of his leg.

He still didn’t know anything. The man who left him with these questions was gone and probably won’t ever return. The lake trio didn’t leave them with anything. All that he has left is the aforementioned adamant orb that burns whenever anything touches it, and the ever present memories of begging to gods that won’t answer their plea to bring back their friend who was killed by childhood innocence and selfish adults.

He wonders if Giratina was feeling generous then, or annoyed maybe, seeing their teary eyes and praying hands. Or maybe it wanted to show up it’s creator, after seeing the empty, horrified look of its favorite after it denied life to its child.

He would toss and turn in his bed for months, sitting in libraries, studying the caves and temples, and not a single answer came to him. But when he sees Dawn with such a listless look after a childhood lost, and Barry with a body ever so cold, he wonders if things could’ve been different if he was simply smarter.

So he steps up to the one other possible person who would know. An archaeologist, a champion, and most importantly, Arceus’s chosen.

The two meet in a library, Lucas approaching first while Cynthia was reading a book on astronomy. She didn’t seem bothered by him approaching.

With her curiosity, he asks, “Mrs. Cynthia, am I worth being Uxie’s chosen one? I’m Professor Rowan’s aide, and I’m one of the smartest kids my age, but- if I was Uxie’s favorite… wouldn’t I- wouldn’t I know things no one else would?” The tears start coming out, and he can’t stop sniffling “Like- I should be a wealth of knowledge, but I don’t know anything except for pokemon trivia. Even after we went to the distortion world I feel like I know less than what I do now. So what should I know? What is the only thing I know?”

Cynthia stares at him and his crying face, before she stands up from her chair and closes her book. She then kneels in front of the boy, and gently holds both of Lucas’s hands in hers. Her hands are so warm, and they wrap around his own fully. He almost feels like they’re being held gently by a mother.

“Arceus blessed us with the gift of the earth, creating not just us, but our water, land, and skies. However, in order to help maintain this earth, it entrusted certain Pokemon with concepts and domains. The Lake Trio are no different. When Azelf, Mespirit, and Uxie flew, they each gave us a gift. You’re a smart boy, do you remember what those gifts are?”

Lucas, through his sniffling and tears, mumbles, “Willpower, emotion, and knowledge.”

Cynthia nods, “Mhm, but you want to know why they’re so important?”

Lucas thinks for a second, of course they’re important. But he just never really thought about why he had those three things. So he shakes his head.

She lets go of his right hand, pointing at the hand she just let go of, “Mespirit gifted us the feeling we exist…” She then points at his heart, “...Azelf gifted us the will to exist…” and then she points at his head, where his brain is, “...and Uxie gifted us the knowledge we exist.”

“These are the three keys to not just humanity’s, but the entire world’s existence. Even the grass we stand on has these three things.” Cynthia says with a gentle smile, letting her hand travel to Lucas’s teary eyes to remove his glasses with that same gentleness, wiping his falling tears with a hand. “Not everyone can know the keys to this world, not everyone can know every single detail, and not everyone can know the things you do. We don’t have to know nor understand everything. Simply knowing that we live, and understanding the people and things around you live just like you do, is enough.”

She gives Lucas’s smaller hand a gentle squeeze. “I may not be Uxie’s chosen one like you are, but I think it wants the entire world, but most of all you, to understand that. And I think you, out of everyone, deep down, already know that.”

Lucas sniffles more, before dissolving into full on bawls. He lets the gentle hand of Cynthia comfort him as he cries.

"You still have ways to grow up Lucas, and even if you don't think you fit being Uxie's chosen, I know you'll grow into into a person worthy of the title it in your own eyes."

A third voice enters the conversation, one he's grown to adore and find comfort in, "Barry and I already think you do."

He turns around to see Dawn standing with her hands behind her back, giving him that rare smile that makes him feel so warm.

“Wanna go visit Barry with me…? You can ask him for yourself.” she asks, before turning away. “It’s not the same when it’s just us two,” she mumbles. She offers Lucas a hand, the one with the lustrous orb ingrained in the back. Cynthia lets go of his hand and moves both of them to her lap. And then Lucas takes hold of Dawn’s, letting her lead the way.

He notes Dawn doesn’t flinch in pain when he grabs it. Just as the grass grazing the adamant orb in the back of his leg doesn’t hurt anymore.

And when he sees Barry in his room lighten up when he sees the other two, despite the scar in his head and the griseous orb in his neck, and Lucas starts laughing with the other two, the everso smart child of knowledge decides.

He may not know everything, but he does know one truth only he could know: he knows that being with the other two is where he belongs.