#i watched all the life series (at the time) in reverse order and then moved on to hc 8

[mumblesplash]

season 9 has been amazing but i’m kinda excited to be around for the beginning of a hermitcraft season, they were well into the empires crossover arc when i started watching double life (which was pretty much my introduction to mcyt in general) so this is gonna be my first time actually being around for the early game

[astroboots]

RED FLAGS ║ PART 10

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You and Steven try to get used to your new life together without Marc. Or alternatively: Marc is playing (the not ridiculous and totally mature version of) Hide and Seek.

Content: mild angst, implied mentions of child abuse (blink and miss it), reminiscing about fish death, otherwise quite tame for me.

Word Count: 10,000 words

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

You

Steven and I were at a bookstore today and I saw a very grumpy pug that reminded me of you. 

Steven wants a dog now. If you don’t want that you need to come back because I’m not gonna stop him.

Weeks have passed since Steven’s prodigal return.

It’s almost been a return to how things were before, with Steven picking you up from work, occasional romantic dinners out, and evenings cuddled up in bed reading together or watching documentaries on the sofa. 

It’s almost perfect. 

It ought to be perfect. 

The only thing missing from your previous routine is waking up to the quiet noise of clutter in the kitchen and the smell of breakfast filling the room, to Marc.

Your intuition had been correct: Marc is avoiding you. Despite the fact that you’ve practically moved into Steven’s flat, you’ve not seen him once.

According to Steven, Marc still fronts in the middle of the night sometimes, but to do what, you don’t know. It’s one more thing Steven “can’t tell you right now” because it’s Marc’s business. And as frustrating as that is, you don’t push—at least, not with Steven. 

Instead, you’ve focused your energy on attempting to lure Marc out. Texting him at random times of the day. Cluttering up the space, leaving yours and Steven’s clothes in random spaces, putting the dishes away in the wrong order—things you know will drive him mad.

You’ve even tried staying up all night in hopes of catching Marc in the act, but the only thing you caught was sleep deprivation. It’s left you exhausted and cranky in the morning, mistake-prone at work and ready to bite everyone’s head off. 

Recognizing the futility of continuing to bash your head against the wall of Marc’s stubbornness, you’ve reluctantly settled into the new status quo while you consider what to do. 

Tonight you and Steven are staying in. The rain is pouring down outside, making London wet and miserable, but you’re safely ensconced in the warmth of Steven’s flat, propped up in bed while he sits nearby in his worn leather armchair, reading glasses perched adorably on his nose as he peruses a thick tome. 

But for once, his studies don’t seem to be capable of holding his attention, and you keep glancing up to find him staring off into space, brow furrowed, the book abandoned in his lap. 

The first time you followed his gaze to the fish tank, you’d felt a stab of worry that you’d find Gus II floating belly-up in the water, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary that you can see. 

The orange goldfish is swimming across the length of the tank, happily oblivious to his predecessor’s fate and the fact that he’s being observed.  The journey continues until his little fishy head bumps up against the glass panel, and he turns around, repeating the process in reverse, only to do the same thing on the other side. 

It’s hardly a riveting sight, but Steven seems entirely engrossed. He looks a million miles away, lost in his thoughts. 

“Do you think,” he says eventually, “that goldfish ever get lonely?”

“Oh, um…” You blink at him, a bit startled by the soft question, though you’re not sure why. It’s hardly the first time Steven has expressed concern about the wellbeing of an animal—he’s a vegan after all—and you’ve seen him beside himself while watching a killer whale hunt down baby seals on an arctic beach on Animal Planet. 

This feels different somehow.

“I’m not sure actually,” you hedge, wracking your brain for a proper answer, “I know guinea pigs get lonely and are meant to be kept in pairs, but I don’t really know if the same is true of fish.” 

Steven nods solemnly, and turns back to the fishtank, eyes wide and melancholy, an unhappy slump to his shoulders. 

Watching him watch Gus II’s lonely, pointless vigil back and forth, you wonder if it’s Marc that Steven’s thinking about now. 

If he feels lonely, having effectively lost his newly revealed other half again so soon after discovering the truth. 

If he misses Marc the way you–

You shake the thought away, taking a deep breath before you hold up your phone to catch his attention.

“Shall I google it?”

Steven immediately brightens up. Quickly marking his place in the book, he sets it aside and makes his way over to join you on the bed so you can google it together.

‘Do goldfish get lonely?��

Unfortunately, no matter how many pages of results you scroll though, there doesn’t seem to be any strong consensus. 

Several websites are adamant that goldfish do not feel loneliness and can live a long and happy and fulfilling life alone. But there seem to be just as many saying the opposite. An article from the Telegraph strongly admonishes its readers that goldfish should be kept in pairs at least when in captivity.

Eventually, your hour-long Google bender finally ends with you two reaching the unsatisfactory conclusion of: ‘nobody knows for sure.’

You put away your phone on the nightstand and glance at Steven. He’s staring up at the fishtank again, wringing his hands in a way that makes your chest tighten. Somehow he seems even more unsettled than before.

“You know,” you point out hopefully, “nothing we found says that having a companion would make a goldfish unhappy as long as they have enough space. And your tank is certainly large enough for two.”

When Steven doesn’t reply, you prod gently, “Would you maybe like to get Gus the Second a friend?”

At that, the tension Steven is holding finally seems to thaw, his shoulders relaxing as he turns to you.

“That’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” he says, face alight with a small, soft smile.

You

FYI we did not get robbed yesterday. Steven tried to make dinner. He’s going to try again tonight. I know you hate messes so you might want to come back to stop him. 

For two men who share half of their lives with each other, there’s a distinct lack of physical evidence of Marc in Steven’s flat.

Of the hundreds of books crammed into every nook and cranny of the wooden shelves sprawled across the flat, not a single one belongs to him. The messy closet filled only with Steven’s garish patterns and oversized items. In fact, Steven's personality and interests are writ large within this space—in the half-scribbled notes left on the desk, the postcards tacked on all random surfaces, the organised chaos that seems to reign. It’s obvious that this is Steven’s home.

But is it Marc’s?  

You’ve yet to identify a single item in the entire flat that belongs to him. No proof of address. Nothing.

Now that you no longer wake up to him standing in the kitchen most mornings, pottering around in that quiet calm way of his, it’s almost like he never existed in the first place. 

You hate it.

You look down at the handful of mismatched flatware you’ve just put back in the drawer then back up at Steven where he stands at the sink next to you, elbow deep in lukewarm dishwater.

Even the dishes are Steven’s.

“Does Marc have another flat?” you ask, unsettled by the idea that Marc might have another home that you know nothing about.

“Don’t think so,” Steven says, glancing up from the plate he’s scrubbing, “Why?”

“He doesn’t seem to have any belongings here. I was wondering if he kept his things somewhere else.”

“He’s got a storage unit. I’ve been there once. Marc had a sad little cot setup there. Not much in the way of belongings there either. I don’t think he owns much,” he says, rinsing the plate clean.

You stare down at the tea towel, twisting it in your hands, and your stomach twists with it.

A storage unit. 

With a cot. 

That’s even worse, isn't it? To think that Marc might not have a home anywhere at all.

And now he’s retreating farther than ever. Ceding the daytime hours, and even most nights to Steven. Keeping nothing for himself. Your lives wiped clean of traces of Marc, the same way the flat has been. 

You feel sick at the thought.

Steven doesn’t say anything more, and you don’t either. The two of you work in silence, as he washes the dishes and hands them off to you to dry and then put away in the cupboards—a bowl, another plate, a sharp knife, and then a large plain ceramic mug.

Marc’s mug.

As Steven hands it to you, you have a flash of Marc taking it from your hands, full to the brim of the coffee you made for him. The memory of his quiet “thanks” makes your heart hurt.

Christ, get it together. You’re getting soppy over a bloody tea cup, for God’s sake.

It doesn’t even really qualify as Marc’s, despite being the only one amongst Steven’s collection of mugs without a quirky motif. Marc never claimed ownership of it in any way. 

Shaking your head, you walk to the cabinet and tuck the mug back up into its usual spot. As you lower your arm, the old coffee maker in the corner of the counter catches your eye, gleaming in the light of the kitchen. 

It looks... remarkably clean, which, for anything in Steven's flat, is an oddity in itself. You haven’t made coffee in weeks—not since before Marc disappeared—but the glass practically shines. Reaching out, you swipe a fingertip against the top surface and frown as it comes away dust-free. 

“Steven, have you been using the coffee maker lately?” 

“Hmm?” He turns around, arms sudsed with dishwater up to his elbow. “No, not for years. Had to stop drinking coffee ‘cause it made me jittery—or, well, worse than I am already. Why do you ask?”

“The coffee maker’s clean. There's no dust on it at all.” 

Steven hums in reply, looking like he's deep in thought. 

“That’s probably Marc’s doing. He drinks coffee sometimes when he’s up running around in the middle of the night, I think.” 

You nod in response, your finger lingering over the button panel. 

Does this old coffee maker qualify as something of Marc’s? Perhaps there is one thing that belongs to him in the flat after all.

It’s pretty banged up. The paint is chipped, and the control panel scratched up to the point that the labels are mostly worn away. It hadn’t mattered before, as all you’d needed to know was to push the first button—the ‘ON’ button, you suppose, though the lettering has long since worn away—to start the coffee brewing, but now you stare at the thing, trying to decipher the rest of the labels. 

“What does this button do?” you ask, pointing to the second button. It reads 'lay b ew' which makes no bloody sense. 

Steven turns off the running tap, putting down the wet plate in his hand, and comes to stand behind you where he can peek over your shoulder at the button you’ve indicated. 

“That must be the delay timer button so you can set the coffee pot at night for the morning.”

You peer into the open cupboard. Instead of the mug you’ve just put away and the drab cupboard, all you can see is Marc is sitting by the counter. The faint morning sun streaming down his wide shoulders as he tips the mug to his lips and takes a sip. An echo of warmth tingles against your fingertip at the faded scene playing out in your memory. 

You lean up until you’re on your toes and take the mug, cradling it in your hands. “Do you think perhaps I could set it to make the coffee for Marc? I used to make him coffee in the mornings when we had breakfast together.”

Steven smiles at you, soft crinkles forming around his eyes. “Of course, love. I think Marc would like that a lot.” 

Buoyed by his encouragement, you grab the coffee from the top shelf, reciting the water-to-coffee ratio in your head—one scoop of coffee for each ounce of water. 

Reaching for the spoon you start scooping it out, smiling a little to yourself as you imagine Marc discovering the coffee you’ve made just for him. 

“Love, love!” Steven half-shouts, “What are you doing?”

You stop mid-scoop, look from Steven’s face, down at the mound of ground coffee in the filter, and then back up at him. Steven looks horrified, eyes wide with a mix of surprise and genuine concern. 

“Making... coffee...?” you answer hesitantly, “Is this not right? I’ve always done it like this. This is how Marc drinks it.”

“I'm pretty sure no one in their right mind drinks coffee like that,” Steven says, eyes still wide, though amusement is creeping into his voice now.

You stop and frown. 

You look back down at the packet of coffee beans as you think of Marc's fingers wrapped around the handle of the mug as he took it from you. The way he’d give you a small almost-smile, looking right at home as he finished the coffee you made him down to the last drop. 

“Oh.” 

You

I’ve made you some coffee using the delay brew setting. It should be ready when you get up.

Steven has informed me that my coffee is in fact not drinkable. If he's right, you might need to come back and teach me how to make coffee properly. 

It becomes another part of your nightly routine: prepping the coffee maker and setting out Marc's mug. You still sometimes have trouble remembering the proper (according to Steven!) water to coffee ratio, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Regardless of how much or little ground coffee you add, in the morning, without fail, you find the coffee maker empty, mug and carafe both propped up in the dishrack to dry.

You're standing at the counter one Saturday morning, tucking them both back into their proper places, when you get a text from your old mate Sam.

Sam

hey fam! guess what!

You

?

Sam

guess!!!

You

Guess… what?

Sam

🤨 nvm

You

Sorry, what?

Sam

really making me work for it huh

remember my mate karim?

You

No?

Sam

🐠🐠🐠 guy?

You

Oh yeah! ofc.

Sam

he just got in a one-finned goldfish like your bf was asking for. he still want it?

Steven gives you a curious tilt of his head as he reads out part of the conversation out loud when you show him the exchange. “Fish, fish, fish... guy?” 

“Yeah. He has a bunch of tanks in his cellar. It’s how we got,”—you gesture vaguely at the tank containing Gus II—“this one.”

“Oh, right. You did say.” 

His expression turns from confusion to a bright expression, like someone’s turned on a cartoon lightbulb behind his eyes. 

“I was just thinking that I did want to get Gus a friend after all,” he says smiling enthusiastically. “Right proper bit of good timing, that is!” 

Steven tilts his head to the other side, as his eyes flit across the screen like he’s rereading it, then his eyes narrow in confusion. “What does he mean by your boyfriend asking for a one-finned goldfish?”

You eye the fish as it circles the water gracefully, both fins on full display, and recall Marc's constipated expression as he had stood by the tank glaring at those very two fins. 

“Marc made a big fuss about wanting to find one identical to Gus,” you tell him, as you watch Gus II knock his head up against the glass again, “down to the single fin, and I guess my friend remembered.”

From across you, Steven's gaze is fixed on the tank with a slight frown on this face. He's observing the golden fish with a vacant look in his eyes like he's watching it but not seeing it.

“You all right, Steven?”

“Yeah, I'm just...” His eyes flicker across the length of the tank, then he turns back to face you, “What I don't understand is why Marc didn’t just leave Gus’ little fishy corpse floating in the tank.” 

He turns back around to face you, as he continues, “It certainly would’ve been easier. And a dead fish is more believable than one regrowing a fin, isn’t it? Pets die all the time. I might not have realised anything was off at all if he'd done that.”

It's the very same thing you’d told Marc the night he had come to you for help. 

You can still remember the way he had looked standing at your door, asking for your help, hair in an uncharacteristic disarray of curls. How besides himself he was with worry for Steven’s sake.   

“Marc didn't want you to be upset,” you say. 

Steven looks up at your words, eyes widening with surprise. 

“He knew how much Gus meant to you, and wanted to protect you from being hurt,” you continue, “That mattered to him more than anything else, I think.”

There’s a brief silence as Steven processes your words, then after a moment he lets out a quiet huff of laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. 

“It’s hard to imagine Marc behaving like a parent trying to get a replacement hamster from the shop,” Steven says, giving you a wry smile, “But that’s him, isn’t it?  Wanting to protect the people that matter to him at all costs. Even from things we don’t really need protecting from.”

Neither of you say anything for a few moments after that, as the sound of the Blue Planet rerun on the telly fills the silence left behind. You vaguely register Attenborough’s soothing narration in the background, but don’t take anything in when Steven eventually asks, “When do you think you’ll go meet your friend?” 

“He said he was free pretty much all day today, I was thinking of heading off soon, before traffic gets too bad in the afternoon.” 

Steven gets to his feet and walks over to his desk, picking up his jacket that's been slung over the back of the chair and threading his arms into the sleeves. Watching him, you half expect him to make the same assessment his grouchy alter did: Men who keep fishes in their cellar are dangerous serial killers. 

Instead, Steven flashes you a sweet and benign smile. 

“All right if I come along with you? I can keep you company, yeah? I know how much you hate the DLR,” he says, glancing at you for approval, and you give a quick nod.

“Besides,” he adds, eyes bright with enthusiastic wonder, like a kid who's heading off on a school trip, “I'm quite curious about the cellar aquarium. Sounds like quite the sight, and I’d like to see it with my own eyes."

You break into a smile of your own. Two men that couldn’t be further apart, and yet even with diametrically opposed reasoning, the end result is still somehow the same. 

------

It's just before noon when you reach the DLR station with Steven in tow. Thankfully the crowd is nowhere near as bad as the last time you made this trip. 

Still, when you enter the train, most seats are already taken. The only unoccupied spot is splattered with something unpleasant-looking, so you and Steven head down the carriage in the opposite direction. You’re lucky enough to score yourself a safety rail to hold onto just as the DLR starts its bumpy journey. 

As always, the train undulates like a boa constrictor that’s managed to get into the liquor cabinet. But this time you manage to keep your footing as the carriage lurches forward by gripping the railing for dear-fucking-life. 

Steven isn't quite as lucky. 

You barely catch the panicked “bugger” as he starts to lose his balance, about to tip over like a helpless tortoise, and you reach out without thinking, grabbing one of his flailing hands so he doesn’t fall.

“Are you all right there, Steven?” you ask, straining to hold your position as he uses you for leverage to steady himself, and then wrapping your arm around his waist once he regains his equilibrium. 

“Yeah…” he mumbles, blinking at you for a moment, a flush tinting his cheeks, “Yeah, I’m aces. Thanks for the rescue.” 

He smiles down at you, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart flimmer erratically, and wraps his hand around the same railing you’re holding onto, fingers warm where they overlap yours. 

“You’re welcome, but let’s stay like this until we get there just in case.” you say, wrapping your arm more firmly around him and snuggling into his chest. You can’t see his face but you can feel his head nod in approval.

Steven’s free hand comes up to settle over your back between your shoulders, holding you tight to him, the two of you steadying each other as the train keeps swaying forward. Even though his palm is resting over your coat, you swear you can feel his warmth through three layers of clothing.

You press your nose to the fabric of his jacket, inhaling the scent of him.  He smells like his soap, the clean linens of your shared bed, and beneath that, a hint of coffee. The last one familiar these days, lingering like smoke after an extinguished fire, and it always makes you think of Marc. Irrefutable proof that he still exists in the world, even if he only ventures out into it after you fall asleep.

It’s a bumpy ride, but eventually the train slows to a stop at ‘Canning Town’ station. Just like last time, you find yourself thinking that it's almost a shame your journey on the DLR wasn't longer. 

Unlike last time, a bright clear sun is shining down on you when you step out of the train, mitigating some of the November chill.

Steven’s hand curls over yours, tucking both into his pocket, and you’re glad for the added warmth as the two of you walk down the Docks, along the mismatch of newly built high-rise flats and small brick row-houses. 

As you reach the familiar council estate, you spot Sam and his friends waving towards you from across the street, and Steven waves back, like they're old friends already. He’s already taking a step forward to cross at the traffic light, when you suddenly remember that despite the familiarity this will be the first time Sam and Karim meet Steven. 

“Wait,” you hiss, flinging a hand out to grip his forearm, “They think you're Marc,” you warn, and Steven nods slowly with understanding on his face. 

“Right,” he says, flashing you a cheeky grin, “So, emotionally constipated, perpetually frowning, and just generally a complete prat? Got it.”

His fingers come to his forehead, slicking back his hair with a touch of dramatic flair. Then he furrows his brows theatrically, lips pulling downwards into an exaggerated imitation of Marc’s frown, and you have to hide your grin as you turn to walk.

Crossing the street, Steven is visibly holding himself back. He’s pulling himself upright, as he juts his chin up in a brusque greeting, while schooling his features and tampering down the smile that you know is twitching at his lips. It’s a very commendable effort on his part. 

But the moment you make it inside the house, and Steven catches sight of the hall lined with aquariums, his mock-frown falls away and his eyes widen with wonder. That uncharacteristic straight line of his lips, rounds with an audible, “wow” that slips out of him. Then he's all toothy smiles and excitement as he points to a particular colourful fish that glitters behind the glass of one of the numerous fish tanks. 

You watch as he waves at the fish, and then turns around to Karim to ask a half-dozen more animated questions that the man answers with gusto. 

Steven spends the whole time listening attentively as Karim gives a guided tour of his fish cellar, nodding along with undivided attentiveness as his eyes track the colourful fishes that are being introduced to him one by one.

The stark difference between Steven's and Marc’s behaviour doesn't go unnoticed. 

“Your boyfriend’s like a completely different person today,” Sam remarks. “He's so… ” 

He pauses mid-sentence, and hums consideringly as he observes Steven with an amused smile. 

“I get it now, what you said last time—a big softie.”

Down the row of tanks, Steven is pointing excitedly at a puffy looking fish. It must be a rare one, judging from how elated he is. Despite the fact that Steven is absolutely blowing your cover, you can't help but smile fondly at his obvious excitement and joy. 

“Yeah. Yeah, he really is,” you answer, as you feel a prickling warmth spread across your chest. 

“So tell me,” Sam says as he grips his jaw in his hand, scratching his beard like a ponderous professor, “Which one is the real him?”

You freeze at the question, not sure how you can even begin to answer that. 

Glancing over at Steven, you still see him wide-eyed and smiling, hovering over the very same goldfish tank that Marc was gruffly standing by as he was inspecting it studiously with a set frown for a replacement fish. 

You give Sam the only answer that rings true to you:

 “They both are.”

-----

Surely, you must be stuck in some kind of 80’s Sci-fi movie, because you seem to be trapped in a closed loop of deja-vus. 

You're standing in the middle of Steven's flat, once again with a plastic bag in hand as you scoop (what is this time, a one-finned) goldfish into the large fish tank. 

It lands with a distinct plop into the water, and then swims down with a pirouette around Gus II. 

Steven is standing next to you by the tank, so close you’re shoulder to shoulder, huddled together, hunched over the glass, close enough for your noses to leave fog on the surface as you observe the two fishes dance around each other to become acquainted. 

It all feels so similar that, when you feel his shoulder brush up against yours and that familiar pleasant tingle climbs up your back, you have to remind yourself that this time the person standing next to you is Steven, not Marc. 

Turning your head, you look over at Steven who's watching the fishes intently. When he notices you staring, he slowly turns to you and smiles, eyes crinkling softly, and the joy of it lights up your chest. 

You

We visited Sam and Karim again. 

Say hi to Gus III. He’s the one with one fin. 

Steven got very excited after seeing the fish cellar and is thinking of getting a second tank. 

If you don't come back, I'll let him. 

It's six pm and you’re in a hurry to get out of the office. Steven had texted earlier, asking if you wanted to try the new sushi place that opened up down the block tonight, and you are starving.

Exiting the elevator, you look around for Steven, surprised when you don’t immediately spot him. He almost always comes to pick you up now, even when you don’t have dinner plans. Perhaps he’s running late?

Susan must notice your confusion, because she catches your eye and waves you over.

“Over there, pet,” she says, pointing towards the front of the building, “Said he had to talk to someone.”

You follow her finger to see your wayward boyfriend standing with his back to you in the far corner of the reception area, phone held to his ear. The early dark outside has turned the wall of glass at the front of the building into an imperfect mirror, and you smile watching Steven gesture animatedly with his free hand as he talks to whoever’s on the other end.

“Cheers, Susan.” You give her a wave, heading off to let him know you’re done. Perhaps you can walk as he talks?

As you get closer, you can hear that there’s a plaintive tone to Steven’s murmuring, like he’s trying to plead his case to someone. You slow your approach, wondering who he’s talking to, but not wanting to interrupt in case it’s important.

“That’s not gonna happen,” he snaps suddenly, back going rigid, and you freeze in your tracks, because it’s not Steven’s voice, but a clipped, impatient American accent that you haven’t heard in forever. “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re both better off without me.”

His eyes in the mirror are narrowed and impatient. A scowl pressed between the firm line of his mouth as he glares at his own reflection.

“Marc,” you gasp his name without thought. Marc is here.

He jerks around at the sound of your voice, and for a split second, you catch sight of Marc’s eyes, wide and pained under furrowed brows, then they widen even further, brow smoothing out as he blinks several times in quick succession, looking apologetic and a little bit shellshocked. Even before he opens his mouth to speak, a part of you already knows. 

“Sorry, love,” Steven says in his thick South Londoner accent, and your heart sinks to your stomach. “Marc left, it's just me now.” 

He turns back to the window, and you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to tamp down the surge of disappointment and the ridiculous urge to burst into tears.

Watching Steven narrow his eyes at his reflection, you recalled what he’d said about mirrors. He hadn’t been on the phone at all, had he? Neither had Marc. They’d been communicating through the reflective surface of the glass. Talking to each other for the first time in months, and you had to go and ruin it by opening your big mouth and interrupting.

You wonder if Marc is still there in the glass, watching, but judging from the frustrated expression on Steven’s face you doubt it. He shakes his head in resignation before turning back to you, reaching over and gently tucks a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry, love. I don’t think he’s going to come back,” he says, giving you an obviously-forced smile, “Shall we go get dinner?” 

“No, I... um...” You shake your head, forcing a smile that likely doesn’t look any more authentic than his, any excitement over trying a new place drowned out by the heavy weight of disappointment and regret that sits in your stomach like a stone, “I’m not all that hungry just now. Can we just go home?”

“Of course, love. Anything you want.”

If only that were true.

You

Steven made dinner tonight. You might have burn marks on your left hand. You better come back quick before he burns down the flat.

It’s another Saturday evening and you’re prepping the coffee maker to 'delay brew' another batch of coffee for Marc. You pause, bag of ground coffee in hand, before scooping it out. 

“So it’s one scoop per serving, right Steven?” you call out, just to double check, but there’s no answer, “Steven…?”

Turning, you find him bent over in front of the fish tank. In the reflection of the glass pane, you catch Steven’s distracted expression, but it takes you a few seconds to register that even though he’s staring at the tank, his eyes aren't really tracking the Gus twins. 

For a heartstopping moment you think maybe Marc is talking to him again, but then you take in the way his eyes linger on the upper corner of the glass and the postcards taped there. Postcards that are nominally from his mum, though you both know better now.

“Steven,” you call again, setting down the coffee and the measuring spoon, “Everything all right?” 

Steven startles, bolting upright like he’s snapping out of a trance. 

“Huh!? Oh. Yeah, yes. Sorry.” He gives you a sheepish smile as you come to join him in front of the tank. “Just looking at these.” 

Reaching out, he traces a finger over the edges of the postcard taped back-out to the glass surface.

“It’s a bit surreal, reading this again now that I know Marc sent it, not mum.”

There’s something bittersweet in his smile, and the way his eyes shade into mournfulness makes you want to pull him into a hug and never let go.  

“Paris is lovely,” he reads out from the card. “Wish I could take you! You’d love the museums here. Love you so much, Mum.”

Then he stops, and your heart breaks a little bit as he stares down at the handwritten message. 

You’re sad for Steven that words of love he had believed to be from his mum weren’t from her at all. You’re sad for Marc that he had to keep up this pretence, lonely and isolated in the far-off corners of the world, carrying the weight of the truth for both of them.

With a sigh, Steven straightens up, reaches over to carefully unpin a  postcard from the wooden edge of the bookcase next to the tank and reads that one too. 

“In Cairo. The pyramids reminded me of the amazing work you do at the museum. So proud of you!” 

He shakes his head in amusement, chuckling lightly as he reaches over to show it to you. 

“He even put a heart on it at the end,” he says, and you can’t help but smile at the image of Marc bent over some table, painstakingly signing off the card with a cartoon heart.

You watch as Steven carefully fits the pin back through the existing hole in the card and repins it to the wood before moving on to the one just below it. 

“Happy birthday from New York. Wish I could be with you to celebrate with a birthday cake. You deserve the best day! Love, mum.”

That one gets a sigh, a sad smile and a small shake of his head before Steven repins it with the same meticulous care. 

One by one, Steven gently detaches the postcards adorning the wooden shelves, over, under and on the sides of the tank, and reads each one aloud before returning it carefully to its place. 

There must be at least fifty of them filling the space in his flat, from one remote destination after another.

Each message is filled with love and care. Words of encouragement, spelling out how proud she is of him. How much she wants for him to be happy. How she's always there for him. That she's just a phone call away. That he's never alone. 

Then Steven goes quiet, head dipped, as he stares blankly at the postcard of Austria in his hand. 

“The notes were always so loving and supportive, they always made me feel like I was a little bit less alone, you know?” he finally says, breaking the silence, and the corners of his mouth pulls into a sad smile again.

“I think... I think it must’ve been what Marc wanted to hear from our mum growing up but never got to. He must've wanted to make sure that someone got to hear these things from her… even if it was all just a lie.”

Shifting your feet, you simply nod at him, not knowing what else to say. Their mum is a bit of an enigma to you. Before today, you’ve only ever heard of her from Steven’s perspective as a loving and attentive mum. 

But there’s no doubt, as you’re watching him now, seeing the pain etched into his face as he thinks of his mother, that the rosy image he’d painted previously is far from the full picture.

You recall that morning in the kitchen when you had first brought up the postcards to Marc. The way that Marc had hunched into himself, his usual confident stance crumbling before your eyes at the mere mention of their mother. The way he seemed to be trying to make himself invisible and wincing as if expecting a blow.

You know enough now about DID and the medical consensus on what causes it.

Steven doesn’t need to tell you much more than that, you can read between the lines well enough.

“Are you going to keep them, do you think?” you ask instead. 

His head pops up, eyes wide as he blinks up at you in surprise, clutching the postcard tightly to his chest as though you might try to take it from him.

"Yeah,” he says, voice rasping quietly, then nods firmly and repeats it with more certainty the second time, “Yeah, ‘course I am. Of course. They may not have been from my mum, but they're from someone who cares about me.” 

He pins the card back into place with reverent care, then lets his hands fall to his sides. 

“Just wish that Marc could’ve had that for himself too, you know?”

You move forward until you’re close enough to Steven that you can slide a hand down his arm, your fingers brushing up against his wrist, and he takes a half-step closer, until his shoulder is pressing against yours.

“It’s a bit silly, you know? There was no need to go out of his way like this. I would have been none the wiser,” Steven says, smiling even as there’s a glossy sheen behind his eyes.

You know exactly what Steven means, and he’s right. It is silly. It’s also kind and unexpected and unnecessary and entirely Marc. 

The easy option would have been to just leave a dead fish in the tank. It would have been even easier to not send handwritten postcards to him at all. In fact, the easiest option of all for Marc was to dump everything on Steven from the very beginning. It would have saved him a lot of headaches. 

There was never any need for Marc to take all of this upon himself, carrying every burden come their way in order to spare Steven any hardships. No need for him to shoulder the entire weight of their world by himself. He didn't have to struggle alone, surrounded by millions of strangers in every corner of the world. And yet, you can’t imagine him doing otherwise.

This is quintessentially Marc, and as infuriating as it can be, you can’t fault him for it. 

“Marc has his own ideas about protecting the people in his life,” you say, as you lace your fingers with Steven's, squeezing him tightly under your palm, “Even if it’s at the expense of his own well being.” 

The two of you stand there in silence, interrupted only by the quiet bubbling noise coming from the tank. Surrounded by postcards written by a man who's not here, but whose presence can be felt in every nook and cranny of your life together. 

Marc isn’t here, yet reminders of him are constant and inescapable. His absence is like an aching tooth that you can’t seem to keep from prodding with your tongue, a missing stair that you can’t stop tripping over.

He's everywhere you look. 

Every cluttered pile of books that Steven leaves behind him when you stay in on a Saturday night, every messy detail makes you think of how Marc would want to rip out his hair, itching to clean if he saw the mess. 

You're reminded of Marc on every crowded tube you take on your morning commute. Haunted by the phantom weight of his protective hand on the small of your back, the comforting pressure of Marc's arms wrapped around you to keep you steady. 

Every morning when you walk into your office and catch a faint whiff of coffee from your cubicle, that fissure in your chest cracks open each time as you’re transported to the memory of waking up to the sight of Marc sitting next to you, drinking the coffee you make him with a stoic face. 

Then there is the biggest reminder of all: the face of the man you love. 

It's etched in the dark brown of Steven’s eyes as he smiles up at you and calls you 'love'. In the sharp line of his nose as he presses the blunt tip to your cheekbone to kiss you good morning. 

Perhaps you ought to be able to ignore it and pretend that this is fine. 

After all, you love Steven, and it'd be easy enough to pretend that you and Steven have reached your happily ever after. That this—your life together, just him and you, the way you’ve been since he’s returned—is your new normal, and that all of it is fine. 

...But it's not fine. 

You miss Marc. 

You miss waking up to him lingering in the kitchen as he tidies up. Miss his half-smiles and wry jokes. Miss the comfort of his presence just by him being near you. 

Somewhere along the line, in those quiet mornings together, Marc carved out a space for himself inside you. With him gone, it’s left a gaping wound in the middle of your torso, and you are haemorrhaging out without him.

Marc is important to Steven. He’s important to you too, you can admit that now. And you need to admit it to Steven as well. 

You squeeze down firmly on Steven's hand, closing your eyes shut for a brief second as you take a deep breath to prepare yourself. 

"Steven,” you start, “we... um... we need to talk.” 

You cringe the moment the words leave your mouth, wishing you could take them back and try again. The last conversation you started this way didn’t start or end well and sent Steven into a tailspin. 

Two seconds in, and you’re already messing this up. That has got to be some kind of a record. 

To your surprise, Steven doesn't panic. Instead his expression softens, and he smiles indulgently at you. 

"Yes, I think that's a good idea, love. There's a bit of an elephant in the room, isn’t there? A Marc-shaped elephant, yeah?” 

His blunt cheekiness cuts through any lingering hesitance in you, and you nod.

“I miss him,” you admit, before trailing off, “I…”  

You don't know how to say this. 

There are no words in the dictionary that can adequately convey what you’re feeling. How you can love Steven so much, be so deliriously happy to be with him, but still feel like there are sharp jagged pieces cutting large holes into you because Marc isn't there. 

“I know,” Steven says, filling the silence for you, “You care about him quite a bit, don’t you?”

You search his eyes for a moment, trying to get a sense of his emotional reaction to guide you. 

There’s nothing but kindness and understanding  in his gaze. Those warm brown eyes that seem to see right through you and accept you just as you are, and it helps to steady you.

“It’s all right, love,” he continues softly and gives your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze like he’s trying to emphasise to you that it truly is. “I care about Marc a great deal as well. The big grump grows on you, doesn’t he?”  

And that’s just Steven, isn’t it? Never shying away from a tough truth. 

You're so grateful to him for it.

You want to tell him how thankful you are to him for seeing you—for knowing you, even when you don't entirely know yourself. How safe you feel with him, even with this. How it’s his support that’s given you the courage to finally admit the truth to yourself... and to him as well.

“I think I...” 

You look down at your intertwined hands, his thumb petting the back of your knuckles. 

“I think I love him,” you finally say. 

It’s terrifying to admit out loud, but it’s a relief too.

You draw your eyes up to meet Steven’s, half-expecting to see hurt or pain blossoming, but there’s none.  You squeeze his palm gently in gratitude before you cup your hand over his soft cheek. 

“And I still love you as well. So much.”

“I thought that might be the case, love,” Steven says, and slides one hand into the pockets of his trousers, as he looks at you earnestly, “and that leaves you with a bit of a predicament, yeah?”

You nod. The fingers of your free hand are itching to fiddle with your wrist watch, so you curl them into a tight fist by your side. 

“I would never choose Marc over you, but I just– I–” you cut yourself off, shaking your head hopelessly because you’re not quite sure what you even want to suggest here. 

You’re so fucking nervous, nervous that you might be fucking up everything between you and Steven with this wishy-washy confession of yours. But before you spiral, Steven comes to your rescue.  

“So, I’m thinking, right,” Steven begins, “And– And stop me if this isn’t what you want, but what if–” 

He pauses, holding up both his hands in an invitation for you to interrupt at any time. 

“Look, nothing about our situation is normal. In fact, it’s rather abnormal, isn’t it?—and I reckon that means it has to be an inordinate solution.” 

Steven looks at you expectantly, but you have no idea what he’s trying to suggest, and it must show on your face because he continues, “So what if we all… um… well. You don’t have to choose, I guess is what I’m saying.”

Your mouth works, opening and closing as you struggle to get out any words in reply, and Steven presses on.

“Marc’s spent more than half his life shielding me from all the bad stuff that's come our way, trying to handle it all on his own. He doesn't believe that he deserves the good stuff. That he deserves love. But he does. Maybe more than anyone. So I think you should tell him how you feel, and we’ll see if we can't figure something out, all three of us.”

“You– You mean…”  you flounder, trying to find a delicate way to make sure he’s saying what you think he’s saying. But there is no such thing in these surreal circumstances. “You’re talking about my having a relationship with Marc as well as one with you? About… sharing me? …With him?”

He gives you a small awkward smile, as he shoves his fidgeting hands back down in his pockets like he’s suddenly grown self-conscious about how distracting they are. “Only if you’re okay with that, of course.”

“And you’re okay with that? You won't be jealous?”

“Jealous? …of Marc?” he begins incredulously, eyes popping wide open as if that option had never even occurred to him. Then he stops and really seems to ponder the question. 

“You know, I'm not. Maybe I should be, but… How can I be? After all, I’m a part of him, aren’t I? And he's part of me. The fact that you love him… Well, in some odd way it makes me feel like you... you just love all of me.”

Time seems to slow around you as you process what Steven’s just told you, because that’s it. That’s just what it is. 

You try to swallow down the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat, but you can’t. His words shift something inside you, the tangled knot of guilt and confusion and conflicted loyalties that have lived inside you for so long unravels, leaving behind a clearer understanding of your own complicated feelings for both Marc and Steven.

You love Steven.

You love Marc.

You love both of them and all of them, and it doesn’t have to compete with each other. 

Once again you just marvel at Steven. At his way of cutting through your confusion, situational complexities, and convoluted emotions to put into words the truth you’ve struggled to understand, even as you’ve lived through it and felt it with every inch of you.  All of it summarised in that simple sentiment.  

“I do. I really do, Steven. You and Marc. All of you.” You breathe out, the tension going out of you until your spine softens, fully relaxes for the first time in a long time. 

Steven is still smiling at you, his smile spreading wider and more assured the longer he looks at you, and it makes the tentative love and joy welling up in your chest overflow until you can barely stand upright. 

“You’re really all right with this?” you ask one last time, and you notice that your voice is a little bit shaky because you feel like you are vibrating out of your skin. 

“I wouldn’t have suggested it, if it wasn’t something I wanted, love,” Steven says, his voice dropping to a low, intimate timbre as he wraps his arm around the small of your back pressing you tight to him.  “But only if it’s something you want too.” 

“Yes, it... It is. Very much so,” you confirm, and you can’t hold back your ever-growing smile. 

“Well then,” Steven says, pressing a small kiss to the side of your head, “I guess all that's left now is to tell Marc and convince him to come back home.” 

You

Ratatouille is on channel 4 today and 

...And what? 

You pause to sprinkle fish food into the Gus twins’ tank, as you stare blankly at the drafted message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Today is the first time you’ve woken up without Steven in bed with you since his return. It means Marc has gone off somewhere again. 

You chew on your inner cheek as you reread the half-finished message. It's a daily habit you have developed in Marc's absence. You text him throughout the day to share about frivolous ongoings in your life, the way you used to when you’d be sitting across him at breakfast. 

There’s never any response. The only proof you have that he hasn't changed his number or blocked yours is the two little ticks that eventually appear, indicating that he's read the messages.

Dragging your finger down the screen, you scroll up through the message log, embarrassed at the number of unanswered messages you’ve left.

He really is planning to ignore you and stay gone forever, isn't he?

Your thumb drags over to the delete button instead, painstakingly erasing your message. 

Deep down, you've always known these texts were just an excuse for you to hang onto the last tether you felt you had tying you to Marc, and you're sick of nattering on inanely, making cheeky jokes to camouflage what you really wanted to tell him.

It’s time to say what you mean. What you’ve always meant. The truth hidden between every line of every message you’ve sent him. 

You

I miss you

Please come back

You hit send before you can overthink it, then stare at the screen, blood rushing to your head as your heart starts to palpitate in your chest. A million thoughts race in your head, as you start to imagine Marc on the other end reading this. Will he be annoyed? Angry? Will he finally block your number so he doesn’t have to receive your spam messages at all hours of the day? 

You glance at the ottoman in front of you, about to set down the phone to keep it away from yourself, when from the corner of your eye you see that grey tick transforms into blue. 

Marc's read it. He’s read it.

Your heart drums painfully sharp tucked beneath your ribs. Your fingers grip the cold body of your phone. 

Marc's there. On the other side of the screen right now. A phone call away. 

That’s what Steven said wasn’t it? That all you two needed to do now, was to tell Marc how you feel and convince him to come home. 

That is, assuming he even wants to come home.  Maybe he just doesn’t feel the same about you. 

Still, your fingers slide open your contacts, scrolling down until you reach Marc's name and press call. 

It rings out, loud and oppressive. Louder still when you press it against your ear. 

Once.

You should’ve had a glass of wine before you did this.

Twice. 

He probably won't answer. Why would he? You shouldn't have even bothered. If he wanted to speak to you, he wouldn’t have been avoiding you in the first place. 

Three times. 

The monotonous ringing continues, and your heart seems to sink in your chest, dropping, heavy with disappointment into the pit of your stomach. He's not going to pick up.

Four. 

This is desperate and sad. You’re chasing after a man who keeps running from you. You're just going to leave yourself miserable. 

Five. 

This is so stupid. You should just hang up. 

Six–click. 

You jolt upright on the sofa. Every hair on the nape of your neck electrified. Legs tense and straining as you sit entirely still like you've encountered a deer in the forest and you're too afraid to move a muscle in case you might spook it away. 

Did the line disconnect? Or did he–

You yank the phone away from your ear to stare at the screen. It's blank and black save for Marc's name and a timer, numbers counting up to indicate the duration of the call. 

Marc picked up. Marc actually...

Your mouth is dry as you raise the phone to your ear again.

“He-hello? Marc?” 

There's no answer.  

“Marc? Are you there?” 

Still nothing. The other end of the line is dead quiet. Maybe it’s a bad connection.

“Can you hear me?” you try again. 

Maybe no one is there. Maybe Marc bumped it with his elbow. Maybe you’re just talking to yourself like a crazy woman. 

“Marc, I–” 

You lower the phone and check the screen again. The call is still going, but the silence on the line reveals nothing. You have no way of knowing if Marc is listening or not.

But if he is... 

If he is, this might be your best chance—perhaps your only chance—to speak to him. Compared to that, what does it matter if you feel a little bit silly? 

“So uhm... I-I don't know if you had a chance to read my message—the latest one, I mean. I know I've been sending you a lot of them. But if you're there? If you can hear me, Marc, I just– I mean it, you know? I miss you. Steven misses you too. We both do.”

It's still quiet.

Even if Marc is there on the other end of the line, it's quite obvious by now that he has no intention of answering you. Stubborn as he is, you know that no matter what you say, he's not going to acknowledge that he's there. 

If he’s even there.

You press on. 

“I don't know why you think you need to stay away, or why Steven and I wouldn't want you here. Because, yes, you're grumpy and your default setting is a resting bitch face, and yes, you can be a right arse sometimes, but…” You find yourself smiling, imagining the way his eyebrow would rise if you were saying this to his face.

“You've always taken care of Steven and... and of me too”. 

Your throat constricts with a thick lump that you try, but can’t seem to, swallow away. You think of all the small but many, many things Marc has done for you since he entered your life. The way he’s learned to prepare your tea just the way you like it. The way he always pulls your quilts to your shoulders while you’re asleep so you don’t freeze in the middle of the night. 

“I don't know if I've ever thanked you before. I guess I just– uhm. I want to thank you, you know? Thank you for cooking me breakfast every morning and for putting out my clothes for me so I didn’t have to search for them.” 

You think of the way he had held you while you were crying like a child on his living room floor. How firmly he’d cradled you in his arms, and how he didn’t let go, even when you got snot all over his shirt. 

“Thank you for comforting me when I was crying after everything with Steven.” There’s a stinging sensation behind your eyes, and you wipe at them with the back of your hand, trying to ignore that it comes away wet, as you continue to speak. 

“And for letting me stay over that night. I know you’re not usually a touchy-feely person, and it... It meant a lot to me.” 

You swear you can feel the phantom weight of his comforting hand on the small of your back, and you close your eyes as you imagine that he’s next to you. 

You think of all the ways he’s pushed himself for you. Hugging you when you were crying, cooking you breakfast when you were hungry, befriending you because you asked him to for Steven’s sake—how every step forward in your relationship has been because he was trying to meet someone else's needs: Steven’s. Yours. 

And now he’s removing himself from the picture, thinking he’s fulfilling another need. 

“I know I said I wanted a simple, normal life with Steven, but I didn't– That didn't mean I wanted you gone, Marc,” you continue, as you tug at your overlong sleeve and wipe at your wet cheeks. 

“You said you were going to fix everything, that we were better off without you, but how can anything be 'fixed' when I miss you so bloody much!? How can things be better without you here when I'm–” Your voice breaks, and you swallow around the thickness in your throat, trying to sniffle down the clump that won’t go away. 

“God, I hope you're listening, and I'm not just pouring my heart out to your back pocket.” 

You let out a wet laugh at the idea, and then inhale deeply, doing your best to steady your voice. 

“I'm– I’m in love with you, Marc.”

You're not sure if it's just your over-active imagination inventing things out of pure wish fulfilment, but you think perhaps you hear a quick intake of breath on the other end. 

“Steven knows. I still love him too, of course, but I told him how I feel about you, and he's okay with it. And if– well, if you ever wanted there to be something more between us, he'd be okay with that too. We don't have to be together that way if you don't want to, of course, but I just…” 

Your throat feels tight again, threatening to close up, and you have to stop for a moment, suck in a soggy breath and try to get yourself under control before you can continue. 

“I love you, Marc,” you say again, barely breathing for several seconds as you strain your ears, hoping to hear something, anything from the other line. But this time there's not even a hint of sound.

You desperately want to know what he’s thinking. Feeling. Is he shocked? Angry? Puzzled? What does he look like on the other end of the line? 

Are his brows furrowed into that pinched expression his face makes when he’s emotionally overwhelmed? If he were here, would he be looking at you with that same pained expression that night he put you in a taxi home? Or would he lean in and–

You don’t know. 

And you’d give up the whole world to know what Marc is feeling in this moment. Give anything to have him back here with you so you could see it for yourself. 

"Do you hear me, you stubborn, infuriating man?” you’re practically yelling now. “I love you! So there's not going to be any happily ever after for me unless you come back. You don’t have to love me the same way. It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be. But I need you here. Please. I miss you. Steven misses you. Please just come back.”

You close your eyes again, holding your breath. Hoping against hope that he’ll answer you or give you some sign that he’s heard you at the very least. But there’s nothing. 

And you have nothing more left to say to try to convince him. 

“Goodnight, Marc.”

Then you end the call. 

~ Continue ~

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

[eastwindmlk]

In the cards

So,I originally wrote this for the Bittersweet challenge for @jilytoberfest where, and I got to turn an angsty quote into a sweet one. “You have given me so much pain.” has inspired this cracktacular piece of fiction. It did get yoinked at some point, but I will reupload for your consideration this @jilymicrofics (807 words) Enjoy!

Game night was always a big thing with the Potters. It was the one night a week when no one was allowed to make other plans. They took turns picking and bringing games, ordered food and poured generously from whatever alcohol was being served that night. It was cosy. Something to look forward to during the week. This was one of those weeks that James really looked forward to a night of friendly competition and hours of conversation.

Depending on whose turn it was to pick the game, the night turned out differently. James favoured co-op games, working together to get to the goal. Sirius, on the other hand, liked trivia games, things that he knew he would excel at. Peter preferred the silly sort of game, something active and guaranteed to give you the giggles. Remus always seemed to find amazing niche games with complicated plots and mysteries. Rich in storytelling and creative solutions.

And then there was Lily. Lily had a way of finding the most competitive, aggravating, friendship-ending games. Which had all started with Monopoly, a game that was now banned from the table. As a direct result of a gruelling, no-prisoners game that lasted seven hours before they collectively gave up. Which launched a series of game nights that only a masochist would enjoy. So clearly, all of them had the time of their life.

Other games brought by the redhead and subsequently banned were: Sorry, Settlers of Catan, Scrabble and for unrelated reasons charades. Which they mutually agreed was better kept for when they were forced to stay family-friendly. It did not always go wrong though. There had been a few fine games and one that everyone seemed to enjoy a lot more, despite multiple squabbles and disagreements. Risk, which was added to the permanent rotation.

Tonight was Lily’s turn and everyone was equal parts excited and apprehensive. Hoping she would finally fail in her streak of finding the worst games. So, when James got him and saw the pack of cards sitting on the table in the living room. He was relieved. Cards were usually fine. They had several card games they rotated. But this was Lily they were talking about.

For a moment James inspected the package, it looked innocent enough. Pretty straightforward too. But this was Lily. He was sure that there was some chaos involved, but he really could not see too much pain in a card game called UNO. Little did he know just how wrong he would be.

The first few rounds were rather tame. While the rules were simple, everyone seemed to hold back a little. Testing the waters. Not wanting to get into too much trouble until after dinner. Much to Remus’s dismay, Chinese food arrived. Halting the round for everyone to eat their fill and crack open another bottle of wine.

What happened next was the most unfortunate set of circumstances James could have ever imagined. He was riding high with only two cards left in his hand, the colour in his favour and he even had a mythical plus four cards ready to mess with Remus on his right. But right before the round could get to him Sirius threw down a skip card, moving his turn to Remus instead. Which was disappointing, but he could do another round.

Or not. Luck seemed to be smiling down on him when Remus reversed the turn order. That is where it all went wrong for him. Emboldened by his stroke of luck, he threw down the plus four proudly announcing: “Uno!” He smirked along the table when he caught the glint in Lily’s eye. And as if in slow motion he watched Sirius place a plus two on the board. Watching Lily doubt what card she should be putting down, made him nervous. For good reason too. Watching her place down another plus four.

Peter added a plus two, deciding on the colour red. His lucky colour. Which did not let him down when Remus was merciful, playing a reverse card. Seemingly saving him from his fate. The rollercoaster continues with Lily putting on a third plus four. It was now all up to Sirius, who paused just long enough for James to remark: “You have given me so much pain already. Just do it.”

Deflating when his friend placed down another plus two. Making the total cards he was drawing sixteen. Enough cards to force them to reshuffle the pile just so he could draw more. Muttering, much to everyone’s entertainment. “Lils picked this game alright.” Feeling hands on his shoulders from all sides. Consoling what would be a devastating loss on his part. Something only mildly mediated by Lily saying “Don’t worry love, I will make it up to you when everyone leaves.” Her wink made him feel only a little better.

[cerastes]

I’VE DONE IT

Mr. Sandman TD, final boss of Punch Out, TKO’d in Round 1. There’s a lot going on under the hood on this one:

At the start of every round or after either fighter gets up from a knockdown, Sandman opens with a series of Wink Uppercuts: He will wink with one eye and then send a lightning fast uppercut in the direction of the wink. You have to dodge to the other side to not get hit... Or, you can use the opportunity to earn Stars: There is a very tight frame of time (you’ll see it a number of times in the video) after he finishes winking but before he starts launching the punch where, if you punch him on the side of the face with which he winked, you’ll counter the uppercut entirely and earn a star. Punch too late, you eat an uppercut for 1/3rd of your health. Punch a bit too soon (while he’s winking), you punch him, but no Star. Punch too soon, he blocks and launches the uppercut immediately after (you can still dodge this). Keep this in mind. After that, he uses combos of 4 to 6 attacks which are a mix of instant and delayed moves: Left overhand, delayed right overhand (”Stand still!”), right straight, delayed left straight (”Night-night!”). After he’s done with the set, he goes into a Peek-a-Boo stance (used by the likes of real life boxing legends like Cus D’Amato and Mike Tyson, the latter of which Sandman references in part) and prepares to use his signature Dreamland Express, three lightning fast uppercuts (”Dreamland...”). However, you can use a jab before he goes into Peek-a-Boo to prompt a counter hook, which in turn you can dodge to land more hits on him; The counter he uses depends on which hand you use to prompt his counter! If you use your left hand, he’ll use an instant hook, easier to dodge, if you use your right hand, he’ll use a delayed hook. Every three times this counter is prompted, he reverses the hand rule.

Additionally, attacking Mr. Sandman pays reference to how he had to be hit in the NES Punch-out: You must hit his face in order to initiate a stun, as his body defense is perfect. After you stun him, his head defense becomes perfect, so you must work his body. So, open with jab, follow with hooks. Normal hits let you land 1 jab + 3 hooks, delayed hits let you land 1 jab + 4 hooks, and Dreamland Express lets you land a whooping 1 jab + 6 hooks. Additionally, after you finish the stun, you can use an additional jab immediately to hit him in the face for some extra damage, so the combo to punish a delayed hit, for example, becomes 1 jab + 4 hooks + 1 jab. The only exception to all of these are the Wink Uppercuts: You only get to hit him once in the face if you dodge them.

After knocking him down twice in one round, Mr. Sandman will enter Enrage (indicated by a little cutscene of him snarling): He’ll throw an absolutely ludicrous 14 (!) Wink Uppercuts faster than usual. Wink Uppercuts that you counter count towards that total. After all 14 uppercuts, Sandman will exhaust himself, letting you pummel him freely and giving you free Stars every three punches so you can finish him off in spectacular fashion.

All of this is condensed into around 2 minutes of execution and a lot of training to get it done in one round, bwahaha. I hope the video is fun to watch, this was VERY fun to learn.

[sillyrabbit81]

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Eleven

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Eleven Summary: Lori asks Marshall for some assistance.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3.6k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Eleven Warnings: masturbation (female), drug use, angst, fluff

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

Sorry its a little late, its Thursday for me, but I think its still Wednesday for most of you!

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors. (Probably a lot in this chapter, I apologise)

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Ten Part Twelve

Lori

I sat on the ground next to Mike’s bike, watching the oil leak slowly into the drip pan and I felt safe for the first time since seeing Jake that morning. I could still feel Mike’s kiss on my lips and his soft, hesitant caress of my cheek.

We sat for another few minutes, until Mike cleared his throat, “Got to change the filter.”

I hummed and felt his lips on the top of my head. A heady rush of warmth coiled its way through my body and I bit my lip. Shit, it was easy with Mike, so comfortable, I felt like I’ve known him for years. 

I moved out of his way, leaning against a bench to watch him work. I’m not going to lie and say that it wasn’t also so I could get a better look at him. That boy was damn easy on the eyes as well as cute and mischievous. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, nor the tantalising slither of the tattoo that peaked above the neckline of his shirt.

I was still perving on Mike when Marshall came in to take me to my room. He led me across the yard to the main building, insisting on carrying my bag and helmet for me. The clubhouse itself was much larger than you’d think it needed to be for just five guys. It was at least as big as my brothers, but much more understated. The halls could have been corridors in a simple office building, they were so bland and non-descript. The common room was clean and homey though which made me both happy and sadly nostalgic.

Marshall stopped at a door that looked no different to the six or seven doors that lined the hallway. He opened the door and silently gestured for me to go in.

The room was large but basic and furnished the same way a motel would be with a queen bed, a small dining table with two chairs, a tv on the wall and a sofa with a coffee table. Marshall pointed out a small bathroom, and closet, although I had next to no clothes to wear, and I pointed that out.

“Give Walker a list in the morning and he will see that you get what you need,” Marshall said.

“I can’t choose the stuff myself?”

Marshall crossed his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow he sighed, “I can ask him if he will let you use a computer to order things yourself.”

“I’m not going to be able to leave the Clubhouse at all, am I?”

“No sweetheart,” Walter said, his tone indicating that while there was no room for argument, he was empathetic to my situation.

While I wasn’t entirely happy, I couldn’t exactly argue with the logic of staying hidden, especially after seeing Jake. 

“Well, in the meantime, do you have a laundry room I can use?” I asked. 

Marshall nodded and I grabbed my bag and followed him down the hall, past a large kitchen and pantry to a room with two large machines and dryers.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Marshall said leaning his shoulder into the door frame. 

I nodded but he didn’t go, instead cocked his head as he stared at me and continued speaking.

“Sy’s room is to the left of yours and my room is opposite his door. If you need anything during the night, you can come to me.”

I looked into his eyes and saw the desire in them that he was trying to hide beneath his gruff exterior. The vast dark blue of his iris seemed to draw me in so deep and I found it hard to concentrate. I turned away, before I got lost. Jesus, Sy’s barely gone, Mike just kissed me and now Marshall…

I forced my attention to my bag and opened it. I gasped in shock at the faded black Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt on top of the clothes. I checked the bag quickly, thinking I must have gotten Sy’s by mistake. I dug through the clothes and was confused when the rest of the bag was full of my stuff.

A sob threatened to hurtle up my throat, but I suppressed it as I ran my fingers over the soft cotton shirt. Had Sy left it for me? Had he given me the shirt I had worn in bed with him last night? When had he done that? Why had he done that? It was such a simple gesture, and yet, it meant more to me than I ever thought it would.

Marshall was in front of me, taking hold of the bag as I pulled the shirt out.

“Don’t let Noah fool you,” Marshall said softly. “He can be a sentimental bastard when he wants to be.”

“Noah?” I asked.

Marshall chuckled. “Syverson. His name is Noah.”

Noah. Noah Syverson. A good name. I liked it. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me,” Marshall grinned. It made me smile back, he so rarely smiles.

“What’s your name?” I asked, gripping the shirt tight to my chest.

“Walter.”

My jaw went a little slack. It wasn’t a name I would have associated with him, thinking it would be something cooler, like Evan or Ryan. Marshall’s mouth was tight, as if unsure what I would think of his name, almost like he expected me to hate it.

“Walter Marshall,” I said, letting myself get used to the name. Walter took a small step closer, and I asked, “You ever go by Wally or…?”

Walter scowled, and I laughed but the sob I was suppressing fell out as well. I tried to hold it back, sucking in deep gulps of air but I couldn’t stop. He had me in his arms, rubbing big circles on my back as I burrowed my face into his chest. I felt ridiculous, crying again, this time over a freaking t-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered into Walter’s shirt. “I don’t know why I keep crying.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

“I don’t want to cry about it.” 

I tried to shake off, to ignore all the reasons I had to cry. I wanted to be hard, to be strong, to be my mother’s daughter and handle this life and all the bullshit that went with it. But I wasn’t. I can’t handle it. I just want to go home and be with normal people again. The problem was I don’t know any; even Jake isn’t who I thought he was.

Everything just felt like it was too much, too heavy, too much of a burden. I wanted to be free, even for a few moments, I needed to breathe. Walter lifted my chin to look at him. His look was almost pitiful.

“It’s late,” Walter said. “Leave this for tomorrow and get a good night’s rest, okay?”

As if his words were a trigger, I felt a weariness crash over me. I had one pair of clean underwear left and Sy’s t-shirt, I supposed the washing could wait until the morning. I nodded.

“Good girl.” Walter lowered my head and his lips pressed softly against my forehead. He slung my bag over his shoulder and with an arm wrapped around my waist he guided me back to my room.

I leaned my head on Walter’s shoulder, his warmth was comforting. His fingers were light, but every so often he would tug me tighter as we walked. He must have shortened his stride, because each step he took was as small as mine, and I wondered if he was impatient with my short, tired gait.

When we got to my room, he didn’t let me go, he dropped my bag on the bed and brought his other arm around me.

“Do you need anything before I go?” Walter asked.

I shook my head.

“Remember where my room is?”

“Across the hall, opposite Sy’s.”

He hummed and stepped away. “Make sure you come get me if you need anything, anything at all, okay sweetheart?”

I nodded and he closed my door. I looked around my bare room, it was so impersonal, worse than a hotel room; at least in a hotel they have art on the walls, something to look at. Even the bedspread was an uninteresting beige.

I stripped off and showered, the water once again became my personal masseuse, warming my aching bones and muscles. I put on Sy’s shirt and my last clean pair of panties and slid into bed. I felt cold, and lonely, and although dead tired, my mind was a whirl. I replayed in my head over and over the events that led me to this night. My parents murder, my brothers drug use, being at the clubhouse again, and Jake. I wracked my brain, trying to understand how he could possibly fit into the mess.

Though I yawned, I just wasn’t able to shut my thoughts off. My hand slid between my legs, and I tried to hold onto thoughts of Sy. Memories of his body pressed against mine, of his lips on my skin, the hardness of his muscles, the softness of his touch. My breathing grew hard as my fingers started to slide over me, my sticky arousal coming fast. I thought of Sy’s words, his filthy mutterings and as I climbed closer to my peak, I remembered another voice low in my ear.

Good girl, Walter’s voice echoed in my head. I couldn’t stop the thought of both of their hands on me, each man kissing, exploring, seeking and giving me pleasure. Then there were more hands, Mike’s eager tongue on my neck, Geralt’s long silvery locks tickling my thighs and Walker’s cruel lips wrapped around my nipple. My orgasm hit me hard, crashing over me with the force of a tsunami, and I covered my mouth to muffle my shout.

Like it sometimes does, as the warmth of my climax left me, I felt shame. What kind of person is attracted to five men? What kind of person wants to be taken by five men at once? It’s not normal. Sure, group sex was a thing, a lot of people fantasise about that, but that’s not what this was. I wanted them all, I wanted each of them both alone and together. They were all so different, but I found myself attracted to them equally.

Sleep was even more elusive now. I kept thinking about the things Sy had said to me about the Brothers; that they all cared about me like he did, and he knew I felt the same way about them. Why was he telling me that? What did it mean? Why was he giving me tacit approval to be with them? What kind of man wanted to share me with other men? And not just in a random threesome, but with the men he was closest to. Did I mean nothing to him? I didn’t believe that. Especially not after he left me his shirt, like he wanted me to remember him while he wasn’t there.

After maybe another hour of trying to sleep, I was starting to get desperate. I thought about the joint I had in my bedside table at home, and I cursed myself for not picking it up and slipping it into my bag. I hadn’t because I didn’t know how these guys felt about drugs. Sy, for all his tattoos and rough exterior, didn’t strike me as a pothead. I was 99% sure Mike would indulge, at least occasionally, but I couldn’t go to his room. Not after that kiss. I thought maybe Walter and Geralt might be my best options. August looked like he’d never touched a drug in his life, probably didn’t even drink very often, he seemed to like being in control too much.

I tossed and turned a little longer before I got out of bed and went to Walter’s room, and I knocked on his door. This was a bad idea. He’s probably asleep. I had no phone, no watch, no real way of knowing what the time was.

I couldn’t hear anything from inside. He was probably asleep. I turned to walk away when the door finally opened. Walter was in a pair of low hanging grey sweats, leaving very little to the imagination. 

My eyes moved over his body taking in the small gages in his ears, the three red roses on his neck, the colourful Japanese style koi fish on his hairy, veiny forearms that went into a full sleeve ending in a half circle at his shoulders in the traditional style. His broad chest with well-defined pecs and the unmistakable bulge of his heavy cock hidden beneath his grey sweats. His body was a little softer than Sy, his belly was flat but had none of the definition of Sy’s. He looked like he had the perfect body to snuggle with, like he would be so warm.

My cheeks burned, my body hummed with nervous tension, and I could barely breathe as my eyes met his. Walter’s eyes were red rimmed and darkened on the delicate skin below. I immediately felt bad that I had interrupted his sleep.

This was a really bad idea.

“Sweetheart? You okay?” Walter asked.

“I uh…”

Walters' lips pulled into a tight line. “Come in,” he said a little impatiently.

I regretted this so much.

I walked into his room and looked around. His room was almost as bare as mine. There were barely any personal items anywhere except for a bookshelf and a record player. A few records were scattered on a desk, Oasis, Franz Ferdinand, The Beatles, David Bowie. I guess you could take the man out of Britain, but you couldn’t take the British out of the man.

“Can’t sleep?” Walter asked, letting out a tired groan as he laid on his bed. I shook my head. “It’s a common problem around here.”

“What do you do?” I asked.

“Listen to ambient sounds or music, sometimes that helps. Other times, I read.”

I looked at his bookshelf. It was almost a carbon copy of my own. Crime novels by Michael Connelly, James Patterson, P.D. James, and others filled his shelf.

“You can take one if you like.”

I chuckled. “Unfortunately, I’ve read most of these.”

“Do you read a lot?”

“I do, now that I’m not studying anymore.” My eyes were caught by a small photo of a much younger looking Walter sans beard in a police uniform. Jesus, he almost looked like Mike; just as handsome, but none of the mischievous glint in his eye that Mike had. It seems Walter had always been a serious guy. I picked it up. “You were a cop?”

Walter raised both his eyebrows, smirked, and tilted his head in what could look like agreement. 

“A detective. Up north.”

I was floored. “How does one go from a cop to a Biker?”

“A long story, for another night,” Walter said with a hint of a smile.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You do that,” Walter chuckled, then he yawned.

I should go. I should ask him for what I want and leave. Let the poor guy get some sleep. I opened my mouth to speak, but my eyes went back to the cop photo and it made me pause. What if he still had some prejudices against drugs from those days? I glanced back at Walter, he definitely didn’t look like any cop I’ve ever seen.

“Was there something you wanted?” Walter prompted.

Get this over with.

“Do you have any pot?” I asked in a rush. Walter raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, it’s not like coke or anything.”

“It’s not that. I didn’t realise you smoked.”

“I don’t,” I said. “Not really… I just want to sleep, and I can’t.”

Marshall considered me for a long time. His eyes slowly moved down my body and I was suddenly aware of how I was dressed. Sy’s shirt was big on me, but still barely covered my ass, and I wondered if he could see my panties. I bit my lip and resisted the overwhelming urge to pull on the hem of the shirt down.

Sighing, he stood up. “Wait here,” he said.

I nodded. As soon as he left, I pulled the shirt down only to realise it then made my nipples very noticeable. I felt like such a tease. What the fuck was Marshall thinking of me right now, coming into his room in the middle of the night, barely dressed and asking for drugs? I was no better than the stupid women who threw themselves at my brother.

I thought about leaving, but that would make me look like a dumbass as well. So, I waited nervously for Marshall to come back, staring at the walls and hating myself. He came back in a few minutes with a spliff in his hand.

“Mike,” he said by way of explanation.

Marshall got back on the bed, sat cross legged with his back against the headboard. He pulled out a lighter and an ashtray from his bedside and jerked his head, motioning for me to sit with him.

“I was just going to take it back to my room,” I said.

“I thought we could share it,” Marshall said, putting the joint between his lips. 

He patted the bed next to him and with a sigh of resignation, I climbed onto the bed next to him, mirroring his position.

He lit the joint and took a deep breath before passing it to me and he released his held breath slowly. I took a hit, letting the smoke fill my lungs until they almost burned, and held it in for a few moments, passing the rollie back to Marshall before slowly letting it out.

After a few back and forth’s I started to feel my muscles relax and although my mind felt sluggish, the negative thoughts melted away.

“Good?” Marshall asked.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Just what I needed.”

Marshall chuckled.

“You laughing at me?”

“No sweetheart. Never,” he was grinning, but it was probably from the pot more than anything about me.

My head felt heavy, and I leaned it on Marshall’s shoulder.

“Hang on,” he said, passing me the ashtray.

Marshall got off the bed and walked around to his record player. He flicked through his vinyl’s with purpose until he found the one he was looking for. When the music started, I smiled and soon the unmistakable voice of Thom Yorke filled the room. He turned the lights off, leaving just the soft light of his bedside lamp. He got back on the bed and laid on his back, his head on the pillows.

Taking the ashtray out of my hands he motioned for me to join him. Feeling tired, I followed his lead sliding down the bed until my head was level with his. He laid the ashtray on his chest and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I put my head on his shoulder and passed him what remained of the spliff.

“Good.”

“I like your music,” I said.

“You like this old stuff?” he asked after taking a hit. He looked like he wasn’t sure if he believed me, raising his eyebrow and smirking.

“I like most stuff. New, old, rock, metal, indie. As long as it’s good.”

“Country?”

“Does Johnny Cash count?” I laughed.

“Yeah, of course he does.”

“Then yes.”

Marshall took another hit, inspected the roach and frowning he stubbed it out and put the ashtray on his bedside. I rolled on my side to look at Marshall better, laying my hand on the middle of his chest and lifting my leg onto him. He gave me a strange look but didn’t say anything.

It seemed as though the pot had done its job. My eyelids were heavy, and I didn’t feel so nervous or wrong for being here with Marshall. It felt natural, easy, and comforting. He kept looking at me, and I stared back, taking in his features.

God, he was attractive, his features stern, even when he smiled, and that unruly mop on the top of his head… I’d bet it was really soft.

“Can I touch your hair?” I asked.

Yeah the pot definitely worked. Inhibitions, gone.

“Can I touch yours?”

I grinned and reached up, letting my hand sink into his curls. He closed his eyes and I felt his hand stroke the top of my head.

“That’s nice,” I said softly.

Marshall hummed.

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

He cracked an eye and looked at me. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he rolled over and put a hand to my cheek. His eyes were heavy, pupils slightly dilated and a little redder than before. He seemed so tired.

“I’d like that,” he whispered.

He reached down and pulled the covers up over us and turned off his lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He left the music going, I’m not sure if it was to help us sleep or if he couldn’t be bothered to get up. I didn’t mind either way, Radiohead was an easy band to sleep to.

I closed my eyes and Marshall pressed the pad of his thumb between my brows and made slow circular movements. My eyes widened as I felt the touch of the man I could sense but couldn't see. My breathing became steady, I felt like liquid as the sensation of his gentle touch further eased my already quiet mind and after a time, I drifted to sleep.

[jxtina-86]

Bound To You

You always know exactly what I want, even if I don't know it myself. Seth/Siobhan  See here for the rest of the series/order to read.

Warning: Language/Smut incl. Bondage

Rating: MA

The apartment door closes behind me and I lean against it with a sigh. Home.

My purse slides down my arm and I catch the handle at the last second, slinging my keys inside before I dump it on the floor. My blazer is next as I move away from the door towards the bedroom, stripping as I go, desperate to get in the shower and clean off the travel stink that clings to me. By the time I reach the bathroom, I'm down to my bra and panties, my fingers tugging at my hairband. Minutes later, my eyes closed as the water beats down on my face, soaking my hair. 

The only thing missing is Seth. I could really do with his arms curling around me right now, his chin on my shoulder as he whispers in my ear. His days off are few and far between at the moment. And when we get them, we strangle the life out of them, clinging to each other as the hours race past and I'm struggling to keep it together as I watch him pack his bag for another stretch on the road. It doesn't matter how long we've been together, it never gets any easier.

I sometimes wonder what I would do without friends like Lex and Becca. Even though we're displaced all over the country, there's something comforting in knowing that I'm not alone. All three of us know what it's like to devote time and effort to a man that's hardly ever in the same city, let alone the same apartment as us. We know what it's like to sustain a relationship using any means possible, whether that's phone calls, texts or just our imaginations. I never realised how much I'd need that support network – I thought I was as independent as they come, but even the most independent of us need a little help along the way.

I watched Lex do this for a long time before Seth and I gave it a go. Her resilience is admirable and I constantly questioned if I had the same determination to see this through. I couldn't imagine getting into a relationship with someone I would hardly see.

Somehow Seth changed my mind. And I don't regret it for one second. Even when the going gets tough, something pushes me to fight for what we have. I've realised why Lex was so hell bent on making it work with Roman. Because I want the same thing to happen with Seth. Life without him just isn't an option anymore. The thought makes my heart pound nervously, my throat tightening as I imagine what that would be like. 

I blink away the stream of water, pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind. But it won't stop them from creeping up on me again. I'm still scared. Scared that I'm going to fuck this up again. I came so close before and even though it was months ago, it still hangs over me, constantly taunting me. It's an ever present reminder of not only how much of a bitch I can be, but how forgiving Seth is. If the roles were reversed, I wonder if I could forgive as easily as he did. I was astounded by the way he brushed the whole incident aside. He never once let it come back to bite me in the ass, though I'm sure I gave him enough reason to at the time.

But I guess that's what love is. Knowing when to forgive and forget. And to be fair, the whole incident has made us stronger, made us more determined to make this work. Without it, maybe we wouldn't be here today. Maybe I wouldn't be in the process of moving the last boxes from my apartment. Maybe I wouldn't be spending my weekends unpacking and fitting my own possessions amongst his. 

I took the plunge and gave notice on my old apartment two weeks ago. Just like he'd done all those months ago, Seth managed to convince me that this worth a shot, despite of my fears. I don't know if I will ever rid myself of those fears, but with him, anything seems possible. But now, I have no safety net. Now I'm clinging to him, grasping at the promises he made to me in that hotel room and praying that I don't fall. Or at least, I don't fall without him.

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I pause as my fingers brush against my lips. I can't help the small smile that graces my face as I pull back my hands and stare at one finger in particular. The feeling of his lips pressed against the base still remains with me. The sincerity in his eyes and voice sent a shiver down my spine and even the memory still causes my skin to tingle today. His words hung in the air as I struggled to think what to say in response. His fingers slid between mine, tugging my arm up and over his shoulder as he moved closer, his forehead resting against mine as he repeated his words.

“One day.”

Despite the path of our conversation, I never once thought it would end in him promising me that. Scrap that – it's more like, in spite of our conversation, he still promised me that. After all, I had essentially told him that I didn't know if I wanted marriage or children. Yet there he as, still offering me that if I wanted it.

And I meant what I said. I wasn't saying no. I just needed time to think it through.

I'm barely getting my head around Lex and Roman's news. Whilst I'm beyond pleased for them both, there is a tiny tremor of uncertainty. I barely see Lex as it is. Add a baby into the mix and that leaves very little time for other things and Roman has to come first. I get that. I really do. But I don't want to lose my friend.

I feel sick with selfishness, frowning at myself for even thinking these thoughts. But that's what happens. I've seen it before with colleagues – a baby comes into their lives and those without cease to exist in their world. Things they once had in common are irrelevant and the conversation dries up. It can happen so easily, even for those friends who live in the same city. Lex and I barely scrape enough time for a text or phone call and we only seem to see each other when our paths cross at shows.

Yet when I see her, I forget that it's been weeks or months. We slip back into the same old routine, the familiar back and forth. Only last time, when I was back to sort out my apartment and she was visiting her mom, there was a visible bump on display, her hand caressing it tenderly as she joked and laughed. She glowed too. It was the same old Lex, just with an extra kick. It gave me hope that nothing will change.

Although maybe it will, but in a good way. Maybe it'll make me realise that I want that with Seth too. It astounded me that he thought about our future. Call me naïve but I didn't think guys thought that way. Rightly or wrongly, I thought that if anyone would be starting to have those thoughts, it would be me. But no, we swap roles and I'm the one who freaks out at the mention of getting serious.

We haven't spoken about it since. It was like we both made a conscious effort to not let things get too serious the next day. He snuck in a workout before I woke up and then we didn't leave the hotel room until absolutely necessary. I barely made it to the airport in time for my flight back to Iowa. It felt good to just have a day of nothing. Well, nothing mixed into never-ending kisses and slow, teasing touches that escalated more than once.

I feel like we need more of that. More of the slow. More of the gentle. Everything is always so rushed and heated. We're too frantic for our own good, racing to push each other to climax so we can start over again and again until there is no more time left. I love when we leave the apartment. It reminds me what it was like at the beginning, when everything was still fresh and new, that part of a relationship where you're always discovering something new about the other person. I like sitting in bars with him, watching him out of the corner my eye and wondering how I ended up so fucking lucky. I like the way his hand will always find mine without even looking, how his fingers will always brush against my thigh at least once under the table if we're at dinner. I love how when I get up to go to the bathroom or go to the bar for more drinks, I can feel his eyes watching me go. I love how on the way back to the car, he'll always try to steal kisses from me, pressing me up against the car itself, too eager for his own good.

I shut off the shower, a warm glow spreading through me as I remember that tomorrow I will have all of that in real life, not just in my head. And due to his recent hectic schedule, I'm fortunate enough to get him for longer than usual – extra vacation days a reward for his hard work and my patience. He suggested going away, escaping for a few days but I'd rather just be here. I like waking up in our bed together, I like wandering around the apartment and hearing his voice and seeing his bare back as he brews coffee and then sneaks his arms around me for a morning kiss. And sure, we can do that anywhere, but it always feels more luxurious here than elsewhere. Because whilst for some, that would be a regular, everyday occurrence, for me it isn't. And I savour the moments that we get to be normal.

My phone rings as I exit the bathroom and I have to run back to the lounge to extract it from my purse. I can't help the wide grin as I see his name flash up on the screen.

“Hey,” I answer, breathlessly.

“Sounds like I caught you at a bad time,” he chuckles.

“Is your mind always in the gutter, Rollins?”

“Don't act like you don't love it,” he shoots back as I head back to the bedroom.

“Fine, you got me,” I laugh. “Hate to spoil your fun, but you rang just as I got out of the shower.”

“That ain't spoiling my fun, sweetheart,” he drawls with another chuckle. “Quite the opposite in fact.”

I sit on the bed, lying back on the soft sheets as I chew my lip for a second, toying with whether to provoke or tease him. “Showering is only fun when you're with me.”

“Damn straight.” He pauses and I distinctly hear him lick his lips. My thighs instantly tighten, a cool shiver floating down my spine as he takes a shallow breath. “I just can't keep my hands to myself when you're all naked and wet.”

“I really hope you're alone right now.”

There's another pause. “I can be.”

“Seth!”

“What?” I can almost hear the cocky grin spreading across his face. “I'm messing with you.”

“So, you rang me. What's up?”

“Just checking in. So, are you really naked and wet?”

“Seth...”

“See, I got this image of you in my head now and I can't seem to shift it.”

“Se–”

“And you answering the phone all breathless and saying my name over and over again... Well, that ain't helping either, sweetheart,” he continues, his voice gaining an all too familiar rasp. The sound that creeps into his tone when he's crawling over me or scooping me back into his lap from behind. “Fuck, I've missed you.”

“Missed you too,” I whisper. “I was thinking of you earlier.”

“Yeah?”

“In the shower,” I admit. All thoughts of why he was originally calling have gone. I don't know if this was his intention or a happy coincidence but that voice of his is fucking with my mind and body.

“Go on,” he prompts.

“Like you say, it's more fun when you're with me.”

“How so?”

I close my eyes and think back to the last time he joined me in there. I swallow thickly as I realise it was probably one of the last times we saw each other before this stretch apart. The morning that he left in fact. We both had early starts that day, both heading to the airport but on flights to opposite sides of the country. He'd reached past me for the shower gel and I had pulled his arm around me before I could stop myself.

“Siobhan,” he prompts softly and I wonder if he's realised why I've gone quiet.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yes,” I say, the single word forced from my mouth before my real emotions can betray me.

He chuckles quietly. “You tasted so damn sweet that morning.”

My stomach flips.

“You think I haven't been replaying that morning over and over again?” he continues. “Fuck, sweetheart, it's what's been keeping me going for the last few weeks. The thought of coming home, crawling over you... Down you... Eating you...”

I bite back the moan that's threatening to break loose, only to let out a wanton whimper instead as I remember twisting in his arms, pulling his mouth to mine. My fingers tangled in his wet hair as he backed me up against the shower wall, his hands skimming over my sides to squeeze my hips, my ass. His dick was already hard against my stomach as I curled one leg around his thigh and brazenly humped, silently willing him to fuck me hard and fast.

But he took his sweet time. A cocky grin gracing his face as he pulled back and pushed my arms above my head, holding them in place with one hand as his other slipped between my legs. He made a big show of licking his fingers clean, his eyes closing as he moaned at the taste.

My mind is starting to fuzz, Seth's voice distant as I remember his mouth on my breasts, my stomach, my thigh. His hand gripping my leg as he pushed it over his shoulder, his breath hot against my clit. Every lick, suck, nip was slow and controlled. It was torture, my grip on his head tightening with every teasing stroke he made with his tongue.

“... Not this time though...” Seth's voice cuts into my thoughts.

“Not this time?” I question hesitantly, not willing to give away the fact that I've been day-dreaming about that morning rather than listen to him tell me what his plans are for us tomorrow.

This time there's a slight edge to his chuckle, an edge that makes my thighs clamp together as heat starts to pool in my stomach. “This time I'm not giving up so easily.”

“Giving up?” I frown at the ceiling.

“I'm not gonna stop, sweetheart. Not matter how much you want me to.”

“I...”

“I'm gonna pin those fucking legs to the bed and eat you out until you scream yourself hoarse.”

Fuck.

“Pin down those hands of yours too,” he adds, the sly grin that's blatantly gracing his face obvious in his tone. “No way are you gonna be able to stop me, sweetheart.”

“Seth...” I manage to exhale, squirming on the bed, desperately trying to keep my nerve as the thought of my thighs on his shoulders clouds my mind, his hands gripping mine as his hair tickles my skin whilst his tongue slowly laps at my entrance.

“That sound good?” He whispers breathlessly and I wonder what he's doing. The thought of him fisting his dick as he talks to me causes that previously held back moan to finally break free. He laughs darkly in response. “I take that as a yes, sweetheart.”

My tongue darts across my dry lips as I stammer out my agreement.

“We ain't leaving that bed for a long time,” he whispers, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone than before. But not for long. A deep chuckle rumbles through the phone. “Well, at least I'm gonna make damn sure you can't.”

My mind, which has until this point been working at breakneck speed, suddenly screeches to a halt. “What do you mean?”

“That would be telling, sweetheart. You really want me to spoil the surprise?”

I pout at the ceiling, my stubbornness fighting to the surface. “You don't play fair, Rollins.”

“There was a time where you didn't play fair either.”

I frown for a second, before realisation dawns on me. “I gave you what you wanted in the end. And don't deny that you didn't enjoy every second of the build up.”

“I told you I'd get my revenge one day,” he reminds me. “And you know revenge is best served cold.”

“Ice cold in your case,” I shoot back. “That happened almost a year ago.”

“And I've never forgotten it. You sliding all over me, your fucking ass bouncing in my face... On my dick...” He lets out a soft groan at the memory and I'm right there with him.

He makes me feel like a fucking goddess at the best of the times, but that was probably the one time I felt like one even before he saw me. I remember standing in the bathroom, staring at my reflection, watching my hand shaking as I took a long sip of wine. I remember wondering why the hell was I doing this, why couldn't I just think of a regular anniversary gift rather than doing something so stupid. And then I took the plunge, opened the door and my nerves vanished with one look from Seth. The entire time he was shifting in his chair, his hands scraping along his thighs, swallowing thickly as I taunted him with my movements. Heat radiated from his skin as I touched him and his kiss was searing at the end, his words rough, his touch determined as he showed me exactly what effect I had on him.

“And I've never forgotten that I was due some payback for that as well.”

“Well, you've had enough time to think about it,” I tease with a grin. “This better be worth the wait.”

“Trust me, it will.”

There's a brief pause. Down the line, there's a loud knock at a door, a muffled voice calling through, followed by a muttered 'shit' from Seth.

“I gotta go,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Some people have impeccable timing.”

“Go,” I tell him. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

I can practically hear the grin that spreads across his face. “Can't wait, sweetheart.”

“I love you,” I whisper as I hear him stand, a chair scraping across the floor.

“Love you too, sweet dreams.”

Silence. I stare at the phone in my hand, his singular image replaced by one of the two of us taken down in Tampa whilst stopping over at Lex and Roman's. I'm perched on Seth's lap as we sit in the backyard, my face scrunched up with laughter, my nose pressed against his cheek as he pulls a face at the camera. He has one hand around my waist, his fingers disappearing under the hem of my shirt, the other casually caressing my bare leg. I shiver at the thought of his calloused fingers dragging across my skin tomorrow.

I close my eyes and I'm right there in the hallway, pinned against the wall in a never-ending kiss, his hands pushing under my shirt as I claw at his arms, his hair, his neck, anchoring him to me in anyway possible. I bite my lip in anticipation.

Sweet dreams indeed.

**

The sheets and blankets hug me close as I twist beneath them, my eyes remaining forcibly shut as I fight the urge to wake up. I snuggle deeper into the bed, my head burying between the pillows as I breathe in deeply and catch a faint whiff of Seth's aftershave. A small smile tugs at my lips, my mind starting to slip back into slumber. My leg automatically shifts as I'm pulled into a world where he's already lying beside me and said leg is curling over his, waiting for his hand to brush against my knee and rock me slowly onto my side where he can claim my mouth in a lazy, breathless kiss.

A soft click disturbs my dream and I frown into the pillow as the image of Seth disappears and is replaced by the harsh reality that I'm waking up alone. I curse early rising neighbours as I open one eye and cast a bleary look towards the curtains which are slowly turning lighter from the rising sun.

A rustle beyond the bedroom door makes me freeze. I hold my breath as the rustling sounds moves closer, the door creaking quietly. My heart is pounding, my brain fighting with my nerves as I somersault from one thought to another as I sense someone behind me, next to the bed, staring down at me as I hide beneath the sheets.

Cool air slides across my neck as the sheets are slowly tugged from my grasp. A familiar scent invades my senses and my fear immediately subsides.

“Seth! What the fuck?!” I twist furiously to face him, but I only catch a glimpse of his arm, tanned and muscular, before his large hand slides over my eyes. “What the–”

His chuckles sends a shiver down my spine. “Good morning to you too.”

My hand scrambles against his, tugging at his fingers, but he refuses to let them slip from my face. “What's with the creeping?” I scowl into the darkness.

“I wasn't creeping. I didn't realise you were awake.” His warm breath tickles my cheek. “I was planning to wake you up in a very different way...”

His lips brush against mine, slow and purposeful. The hand still remains over my eyes, shielding my view as I feel the sheets being pushed away, the cool air hitting my bare breasts. I try to help him, desperate to feel him, all of him, pressed against me. But my assistance is refused, my hands knocked softly back onto the mattress.

I feel him shift above me, his jean-clad thigh brushing against my side, the roughness making me twitch, my body involuntarily twisting away. But rather than a sighed frown, my response makes him snicker and his fingers rub soothingly against my temple as he continues to block my vision with his palm.

“What did I tell you last night?” His voice has that same rasp from our late night conversation and my body reacts in the same way it did then, my thighs pressing together as he continues to drag the sheets down my legs, my nipples tightening slightly and not from the cool air alone. “Sweetheart...”

I swallow hard, trying to remember, but it's so damn hard with his other hand trailing from my ankle to my knee. “You're... You're not going to stop...”

“That's right,” he praises. “And what else?”

Something cool brushes across my stomach. The tip of it teases around my bellybutton and I gasp as it dips inside, my hips pressing into the mattress as I try and fail to squirm out of reach.

“What else?” Seth prompts.

It's silk – the softness gives it away as a large strip of the material flutters across my ribcage, heading north for a second before casually changing direction and curling under my breasts and back down to my stomach.

“I... I won't be able to stop you,” I stammer as the silk trails over my hip, my thigh, between my legs... A quiet curse leaves my lips. There's a pause and then the silk repeats its path. Again. And again.

“Anything else?” He murmurs as the silk drags back up my stomach, between my breasts, tickling my throat.

“You...” I start, but the rest of my sentence is lost in surprise as his hand slips from my eyes. I catch a brief sight of him as I blink in the light, only managing to note that he's shirtless and the top button of his jeans is undone, the dark trail of hair winking at me before my sight is cut off for good.

He leans over me, cupping my head as he ties the scarf, his touch gentle as he lowers me back onto the pillows.

“You okay?” he murmurs in my ear, fingers pushing my hair away from my neck.

“Yes,” I breathe back.

“Not too tight?” he questions as he traces my cheeks with his fingertips. I shake my head, my own hands coming up to adjust the scarf ever so slightly before he engulfs them in his larger ones.

A soft whimper escapes me as he presses his lips to my fingertips, his thumbs running over my palms and across my wrists as he does.

“So what else did I tell you?” he prompts once again.

“Pin my legs to the bed.”

“And?”

“My... my hands,” I groan as his lips brush against my wrists.

“Right.” My hands are pushed back, his grip firm as he pushes them above my head, unfurling my fingers and then wrapping them around the vertical slats of the headboard. “Stay there.”

I feel him move from the bed, feet padding across the bedroom. A drawer sliding open and closed. There's a pause and then the sound of a zipper being undone and I fail to hold back the soft whine. A quiet laugh drifts through the air and I scowl in response.

The foot of the bed dips and my legs naturally shift wider to accommodate him. A hand presses just above my knee, widening them still. The other hand... Fuck.

The cold metal makes me jump. My hands grip the headboard tighter and I hiss loudly as he slides the handcuffs up my leg. The chain clinks together as he adjusts his hold and lets the two cuffs drift over my hip. He straddles my thighs, his bare legs tight against mine, restricting my movements as lays the cuffs on my stomach for a second. His finger circles the restraints, tickling my skin at the same time before I feel his arms rest either side of my head and the warmth from his chest as he hovers above me.

“We can stop anytime,” he reassures as he nuzzles my neck. “Just tell me, okay?”

I nod. “I'm okay.”

His lips pucker into a smile against my skin as he reaches between us and tugs the handcuffs further up my body. The chain clips my nipple and my back arches, another hiss slipping from my lips as I hear one cuff click open. My wrist is captured a second later, the long chain winding through the headboard as he reaches for my other hand and snaps the second cuff into place.

“Much better,” he says and I can almost picture the smirk on his face, his head titled to one side as he surveys me, bound and blinded and completely at his mercy. My fingers feel along the chain, noting its slack and how, as my wrists slide inside the cuffs, I could probably pull my hands free if I wanted. I wonder if its a deliberate move on his part or a happy coincidence in his choice of restraints.

The tips of his fingers stroke my wrists, slowly working their way down my extended arms. They pause half way down, barely-there circles around the inside of my elbows which makes me shiver yet crave more of his gentle touch. I wonder how long the slow will last. Judging by his promises yesterday, I'm in for the long haul. But I have no place I'd rather be than right here, waiting for his next move as his fingers dance down the remaining length of my arms to my shoulders.

A small whimper slips from me as his lips make contact with my neck. He lingers on the edges of spots that he knows drive me wild. No matter how much I twist and turn my head, he refuses to give in, nudging me back to my original position where he can torture me easily.

“Seth...” I groan as the tip of his tongue traces along my collarbone, avoiding the sensitive skin just above it that he usually loves to suck and bite.

“All in good time,” he murmurs in response. “I'll get you there, I promise.”

His words, no matter how well intended, do little to satisfy my cravings. I let go of a frustrated whine, frowning as he pulls back completely.

“Patience,” he reminds me, a hand coming to cup my chin and I can feel his warm breath on my lips as he finally closes the gap between us and his mouth claims my own. He tastes of coffee and chocolate, presumably from his early morning breakfast and I desperately wish there was enough give in the chain so that I could at least run my fingers through his hair as he teases my mouth. His lips slip from mine and he starts to press open-mouthed kisses to my neck.

I hold my breath in anticipation as he makes his way around to the sweet spot just below my right ear. Once again, he pauses, latching onto the less sensitive skin for a second before...

“Yes,” I hiss, a grin tugging at my lips as he suckles, his lips tight. My back arches, my breasts hitting his bare chest as my fingers curl around the chain once again for leverage. “Please, don't stop.”

He sucks harder, his teeth scraping much to my delight as I curse happily at the never-ending sensation, praying that he won't stop until he leaves a mark. I've got no meetings for at least a week, enough time for marks of our adventures this weekend to fade without trace. But he's soon pulling back, a finger tracing the spot and I know there must at least be a faint bruise.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles, his lips brushing across the spot once again before he slides down to my collar bone, nipping at the taut skin.

Fingers edge their way under my breast, running along my ribcage, making me flinch as they hit the ticklish spots that are fully exposed thanks to my position. Back and forth they move, inching higher every so often and then back down, until my breathing is ragged from anticipation and pleas consistently fill the air.

“Seth... Please... I can't... I can't stand... You... Teasing...”

“Don't say things you don't mean,” he responds, his mouth still at my collarbone and I can feel his lips slide up into a small grin. His legs, which until now have been pushing mine further apart, move so that he is straddling my right leg and his thigh slowly pushing against my panty-clad core. “Aw, sweetheart... Seems like you're enjoying this more than you think...”

I feel my cheeks redden as my arousal is completely exposed to him. He's right though. Despite the teasing, the touches that don't quite reach where I want, he still manages to make my skin tingle and my insides clench in expectation.

His lips flutter across my heated cheeks. “Nothing to be ashamed about,” he reassures. “I've always loved how you know what you want. I love how you grab my hand and place it where you want. It's fucking sexy, Siobhan... But you know, sometimes you need to explore a little... You might find that there's something else you like. But you gotta let me show you for once. Let me show you that I know exactly what you want.” His hand gradually engulfs my breast, squeezing softly before pulling back, his fingers pulling at the flesh, until only the tips of his fingers cling to my nipple and he tugs gently before releasing.

I'm gasping for air, straining against the cuffs as my back arches, desperately trying to find his hand once again.

“See?” he whispers as I wantonly grind against his thigh. I can feel him against my hip, his boxers doing little to hide his own arousal. If only I could touch him right now. I want to feel him in my hand, I want to pump my fist around him slowly and see his eyes close as he groans.

“Again,” I beg, moaning loudly as he obliges me with another drawn out grope of my breast. This time his fingers pinch a little harder, making me yelp and then mewl as his tongue carves a path from my neck down between my breasts.

His warm breath makes me shiver as it ghosts over my hard nipple and I grind fervently down on his thigh again as I hear him lick his lips. The tip of his tongue makes never-ending circles, slowly closing in on its prize and I hold my breath as his mouth closes over my nipple, only releasing it with a sigh as he tugs softly.

“Fuck...”

His other hand is teasing my previously neglected breast, his fingers mimicking the pattern of his tongue and mouth. My head feels like its about to explode from sensory overload as he hums around my breast, sending ripples of pleasure through my body. His teeth scrape against the hard tip as he pulls back for a second and I gasp loudly, the handcuffs rattling against the headboard as I strain to push my breast back into his mouth. But all I can feel is cool air hitting the wet tip as he shifts above me and his focus turns to my other breast.

“Just how I like 'em,” he grunts as he finishes teasing with me with his sinful mouth. “Hard... Wet...” He pinches each nipple for emphasis, making me cry out, both my legs wrapping around his thick thigh as I try and push myself closer to the edge.

But he's having none of that. A strong hand grips my left leg and pushes it back onto the bed. “No fucking way,” he murmurs. “You're not gonna get off that easily, sweetheart. I'm gonna take my time, remember? There ain't gonna be any shortcuts, understand?”

A finger curls under my chin, his lips brushing against mine. “Understood?” he repeats and I nod with a whimper. “Good girl.”

I've never felt so vulnerable. I've never felt so charged. It's a weird combination and I'm struggling to understand how it makes me feel. There are many times where he's pinned me to the bed and teased me until I'm on the verge of crying, but this feels different. His words, his actions, whilst they still carry a tenderness that I recognise, there's a hint of something else. It makes me feel dizzy.  I have a sudden urge to be praised again, a desperation to show him good I can really be. It's like he's tapping into something I never knew existed within me. It's as if he knows already that his behaviour is having a deeper effect on me than I could even begin to fathom.

Fuck, I love him. I love how he can read me, how he can play with me and push me to places I never thought imaginable, but that I end up craving more of. He has me on the edge already and I can't even begin to imagine where else this is heading. I'm almost at breaking point, my breathing ragged and heavy as his hands fist my breasts again, harder this time, his fingers unforgiving as they pinch and twist, yanking breathless moan after moan from my throat.

His mouth is warm and wet as he sucks on one nipple again and then the other, his fingers spreading the wetness he leaves across my chest before they climb up my neck and slip into my own mouth. I suck fervently, listening to him groan as I scrape my teeth along his fingertips. I inwardly grin at how so small an action can have an effect on him and I'm reminded that this is a two-way street – that despite my predicament, I still have a power over him too.

Hands brush against my sides, fingers curling under my arched back as he bites at my breast. They slip inside the waistband of my panties, causing my hips to buck up as well, my weight balanced between my shoulders and feet. But I smirk as I feel him rub against my hip, a soft curse floating through the air as he grips my ass harder and grinds his length against me.

“I need you,” I tell him. “I need you inside me.”

“Patience,” he groans, but I can tell his resolve is starting to slip, those deliciously sinful hips of his bucking against me as he fights to maintain control over his body. I twist my head in attempt to loosen the blindfold, desperate to see his face, to watch him struggle with his own urges. Watching him come undone is fascinating. I love when I'm on top, staring down at his beautiful face as he bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut as I clench my pussy around his dick and ride him hard and slow. I like to bat his hands away as he clamours to hold me down on him so he can thrust up into me instead and reach his climax his own way. Sometimes I let him, but most of the time, I giggle at his frustration, knowing full well it's worth it in the end to see him fist the pillow instead as he jerks beneath me, feeling him pulse inside me as he lets out a long moan, my name punctuating the air.

But not today. Today it's my turn to give myself over to him and let him control what happens to me from here on in. He eases away from my leg, pushing it and the other wider as he settles between them and my breath catches in my throat as his mouth moves away from my breast and his beard starts to tickle my stomach.

He's as slow as ever, open-mouthed kisses pressed to my heated skin as he sinks south, fingers tugging me panties along with him. His tongue swirls around my bellybutton, his hands quick to press me firmly into the mattress as I try to squirm. I'm forced to surrender to the torture, a soft cry tearing from my mouth and my head threatens to burst from the overwhelming frustration.

Sheets rustle as he rises, my legs sliding over his as he pulls me down the bed, the chain tightening, the cuffs digging into my wrists.

“Fuck, you're perfect.”

Tears prick my blinded eyes as I struggle not to break. His hand is running up and down my thigh, a tender stroke that matches the tone of his voice.

“I mean, I always knew I was a lucky fucker to have you in my life, but Christ, Siobhan... You are perfection.” His hand squeezes my hip. “I wish you could see what you look like right now.”

My throat is dry as words escape me before I can stop them. “Take a photo then.”

Seth's hand freezes on my hip. “Are... Are you serious?”

Am I? I don't know. All I can think about is how I want his hand to keep squeezing, how I want him to keep talking. How I want him to describe to me what I look like right now, but better yet, I want to hear the click of a photo being taken when there is nothing I can do to stop it. I want to see, in all its technicolour glory, exactly how I look blindfolded, handcuffed and completely exposed to him.

“Yes,” I gasp. “Please, Seth. I wanna see.”

His hand leaves me and the bed moves beneath me as he steps away. I can hear him scrambling on the floor and then his weight dips the bed again. His hand makes me jump as he cups my face, his thumb brushing against my lip.

“I love you,” I hear him say, but my response catches in my throat. “It's okay,” he breathes against my cheek. “Tell me afterwards.”

He moves back, his hand squeezing my hip again as he presses my legs further apart with his thighs.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The phone bounces on the floor and I feel his hand curl around my ankle, tugging my leg up so he can rest it on his shoulder. His lips brush against my calf and I whine in frustration as he presses his still confined dick against my aching pussy. He rubs steadily, deliberately, hissing at the wetness that is obviously soaking the material between us.

“You're dripping, sweetheart... Just how I like it. I'm gonna clean you up good and proper,” he groans. “And then make you wet all over again... And again... And again...” He thrusts against me a little harder with every word, his grip on my ankle tightening as my leg threatens to slip from his shoulder.

His tongue blazes a path from my ankle to my knee, his hand slipping to grip my thigh instead, bending my leg back towards me and I can feel his length press against my entrance.

“I'm gonna fuck you hard and slow,” he tells me with authority. “Until you scream for me. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” I hiss as his lips reach the back of my thigh.

“Good girl,” he mumbles against my skin and I have to bite my lip hard to stop myself from... From what, I don't know, but the pain in my lip, the softness of his lips and the grit in his voice is becoming too much to bear. My hips buck against him, my frustration obvious.

Too obvious.

A hand cracks against my ass, squeezing hard. “What did I tell you before?”

Fuck. I can't cope with that bass in his voice. It's too much. I can feel my own juices slipping between my ass cheeks as his hand squeezes again and my head is spinning and I can't find the word I need right now.

“Tell me,” he commands, his fingers digging into my ass roughly.

“Patience,” I manage to squeak.

His fingers sooth my aching flesh, his mouth soft once again on my thigh as he eases my leg wider, pressing it down onto the bed. He shifts above me and I jump as I feel his breath on my stomach once again, his tongue trailing a path south. His beard brushes against my lower abdomen and I fight the urge to raise my hips.

His nose settles against the small triangle of hair, his mouth so close to where I need it the most, warm breath tickling me insane as he inhales deeply.

“You smell divine,” he murmurs, the words vibrating through me as I whimper and whine and mewl  in order to let him know how fucking torturous this is.

His hands grip my inner thighs, slowly pushing them wider. My feet scramble on the bed sheets until I give in and let him manoeuvre my legs any which way he wants. My feet leave the bed as he eases my legs up, still bent at the knee, all the while his breath is still hot on my clit, his nose still nuzzling against me and I know that the second his lips touch me, I'm going to lose my fucking mind.

Something cool hits my entrance and I realise with a lurch of my body that he's spat on my pussy. I can feel it sliding over my exposed lips and then I cry out as his tongue slowly starts to lap. A muffled moan makes my back arch and I groan as his forearm slides over my hips and presses me back onto the bed. His hand twists over my pubic bone, his fingers tracing the edges of my entrance as he pulls back the skin and licks from the bottom up, stopping short of my clit.

“Seth!”

He chuckles and I can picture the cocky grin on his face as his fingers spread me wide and he repeats his motion again and again, his tongue eating up my juices just as he promised. I'm a mess already, my body completely restrained now, my sensitive core at his mercy as he swipes that devilish tongue up and down, still avoiding my clit. He pulls back for a second and I can hear him lick his lips, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.

“Delicious,” he mumbles, fingers replacing his tongue as he catches his breath. One finger dips inside me, twisting slightly before retreating.

And then I can smell my scent, his finger brushing against my open mouth, slipping inside and I can taste myself. I suck his finger clean, much to his delightful groan and I whine softly when it falls from my lips and trails back down my body.

Two fingers push inside me now and he lazily thrusts them back and forth as his arm moves from my waist to push against the back of my legs, pressing them back further and further until I'm almost bent in half.

Hot breath just where I need it the most and I find myself holding my own breath as I silently pray for that mouth to cover my clit. I need it. I want it. I...

“FUCK!”

My voice is a strangled shout as Seth's lips finally close around me and tug slowly. He releases me a second latter and I'm panting, begging him for more, cursing him as he chuckles and refuses me. His fingers slip from me, the sound of my wetness filling the room as his mouth covers my entrance instead and his fingers find their way up to my mouth once again.

He kisses me as I suck them dry, his tongue pushing inside me, my resulting moan muffled by his digits. His forearm flexes against the back of my legs as he pushes his tongue deeper inside me, humming as he does and making me twitch and jerk against my restraints.

I'm so fucking close already. I've never cum this quick in all the time we've been together. He might be working me over slowly, but I'm unravelling at breakneck speed and I know the second his lips find their way back to my clit I'm going to–

My mouth twists away from his fingers, a howl ripping through me as he sucks hard on my clit, the sensitive flesh pulsing in his grasp as my whole body starts to spasm. I can feel tears breaking free, my lungs working painfully fast to gasp for as much air as possible as I writhe in his grasp, my body shutting down with every second that passes and that mouth of his still works my clit with no sign of stopping.

My body goes rigid, my mind blacking out and then nothing.

A cool hand strokes my cheek. A soft, warm tongue laps between my legs, which are now resting on his shoulders. Fingers dance across my stomach and up to my breasts, teasing my nipples as I let out a groggy moan.

“Sweetheart...” Seth mumbles, his lips moving to my inner thigh. “You okay?”

“Seth,” my voice cracks.

“What? Tell me.” His voice has lost that earlier grit, as if he knows exactly what I need right now.

“Please,” I whimper and I feel him smile against my skin. He presses another kiss to my burning flesh, another slow, long lick of my pussy before he shifts.

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything.”

His boxers are long gone it seems and I can now feel him, all of him pressed firmly against my thigh. He's rock hard and my tongue automatically slips out to lick my lips, a gesture that earns a rumbling groan from Seth.

“You want this dick, huh?” The rasp, the grit is back hard and strong.

I nod.

“Where, Siobhan, tell me where?”

“My mouth.”

The silence is palpable.

“Shit...” he exhales.

“Please...” I'm fucking begging. My mind is screaming, my body still trembling from aftershocks of what he's just done to me, but I need him. I want to taste him. I want to feel as much of him as I can.

The bed moves beneath me, his legs brushing against mine as he climbs over me, beside me. His scent drifts over me and my mouth starts to water. His hand tentatively cups my cheek, slipping to the back of my head, easing me up from my pillows.

The tip of his dick slips against my lips and my tongue darts out to tease his slit before he can jerk away.

“Fuck,” I hear him groan as I lean my head further forward and wrap my lips around the tip completely.

I hum in satisfaction as he slides further into my mouth and I let my saliva coat as much of him as possible before pulling back. I know what gets to him – he loves watching me suck hard on the tip, loves it even more if I trail my tongue from his balls to tip, goes fucking crazy if I take him all the way into my mouth in one go. But it's hard for me to do that when I'm bound and blinded.

“Help me out,” I murmur, hoping he gets the hint.

His grip on my head tightens as he angles my mouth just right and I shiver as I feel him guide himself into my mouth, my tongue pressing against the underside as he pushes more and more, making me groan as he hits the back of my throat.

“Holy fuck, Siobhan... Jesus... Oh fuck,” he grunts loudly as I start to bob on his dick, relishing in the way he feels in my mouth, how his fingers are digging into my scalp, how even though I've been at his mercy for the majority of this morning that I'm still able to bring him to his knees as well.

His hips buck forward and my throat tightens around him as I struggle to push back against his hand.

“Oh shit,” he gasps as I squeal around him and he's pulling back fast, his grip loosening as I gasp for breath. “Fuck, fuck, Siobhan. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Shit!”

I can feel his hands on mine, fingers fumbling.

“Seth... Stop.”

“I am, I am. I didn't mean to do that. I really didn't. I'm sorry.”

“Seth,” I repeat, my voice calm. “Leave them.”

His fingers still. “Are... Are you sure?”

I smile into the darkness. “Of course.”

“I don't deserve you,” he mumbles and my heart threatens to crack.

“Come here, please...” I feel him settle beside me, his fingers stroking my cheek. “Kiss me, Seth.”

He's slow and gentle, silently begging me to forgive him. But I already have. I kiss him back, my teeth nipping at his bottom lip, encouraging him, pushing him to give me what I want.

“Now fuck me,” I breathe as he pulls back for a second. “Hard and slow, remember?”

His forehead presses against mine. “You're too good for me,” he whispers.

“Hard and slow,” I repeat. “Make me scream.”

I want him to take back the control. I want to push him back to when his voice was deep and raspy and he called me a 'good girl' and made me cry with want and need and pure deprivation.

“I'm all yours,” I whisper.

“All mine,” he growls and I grin in satisfaction as he moves beside me, in front of me, his hands sliding up my legs as he pushes them into the air and holds them wide, his fingers digging into my ankles.

His dick slides against my pussy as he rocks back and forth, the tip rubbing over my clit, making me hiss and curse.

“That's right,” he groans. “Slick my dick up, sweetheart. C'mon, move those hips for me.”

I do as he commands, rocking against him as his dick thrusts back and forth faster and faster.

I yelp as he pushes inside me, the intrusion a blissful surprise as I take him all in, my walls clinging to him as he breathes heavily above me.

“Damn,” I hear him mutter, his hands squeezing my ankles as he twitches inside me and I groan out of desperation to feel him move. “You're so... fucking tight... And so goddamn wet, sweetheart. Fuck...”

His hips rock against me, his dick pushing deeper inside me. He slowly moves them in a circle and I cry out as he brushes against my G-spot.

“Shi-it... Seth...”

“That's right, sweetheart. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

He rocks back and then thrusts forward with renewed strength, making my breasts jerk violently, my fingers tightening around the metal chain for leverage as I try to steel myself against his thrusts.

“You're... It's so fucking deep,” I choke out as he thrusts into me again and again. “Harder... Please...”

He grunts as he gives me what I want, pushing my legs further out, spreading me wide before him as he pounds my pussy and makes me choke on my words, my moans, my inevitable screams.

“You're so wet,” he tells me again. “My dick is covered in you, Siobhan. And you're dripping everywhere. Jesus...”

He lets go of one ankle, my leg dropping to the bed as his fingers once again brush over my lips.

“Suck.”

I wet them enthusiastically, moaning as they slip from my mouth and then hissing as I feel the tips of his fingers slide over my clit.

“Aww, shit... Seth...”

“Cum for me,” he grunts. “Now. Do it. Cum. For. Me.”

He rubs furiously, his other hand slipping from my ankle as well, reaching forward to grab my breast, squeezing it hard. My leg is caught between his arm and body, bending backwards as he leans forward over me, his fingers still working my clit over and over as I feel my orgasm hurtling towards me.

“Now,” he growls against my mouth, my scent still fresh on his breath.

He swallows my scream, his tongue plundering my mouth as I shudder and shake and rut against him, his fingers relentless as I spill over his dick and he slides in and out of me with renewed gusto. I'm broken beneath him, but he doesn't stop. Just like he promised.

“Again,” he mumbles against my lips. “I wanna feel that pussy tighten again. I wanna feel you cum on my dick again.”

“I... Fuck, Seth...”

I can feel a small after-tremor start to build inside me, my clit too sensitive for more, but I can't move away and he's not stopping and I'm crying out, pleading, begging, torn between wanting more and wanting it to end.

My orgasm washes over me once again, his fingers easing off, only tickling as I gasp for breath and curse him and his dick and his fingers. He chuckles into my mouth as he kisses me tenderly.

“Good girl,” he tells me again, his hand releasing my breast and coming up to cup my cheek and I have to bite my lip to stop myself moaning. Once again I wonder if he realises the effect those words are having on me this morning. And just like that... “You like it when I call you that.”

I nod, my cheeks burning.

Another chuckle. “Roll over.”

I whimper as his dick slides out of me and he slowly eases me onto my stomach, the chain scraping together as it twists and my arms are pulled tight. But he's quick to make me for comfortable, moving me higher up the bed, moving pillows to under my head and twisting me so that I can rest my head on one side.

He straddles one leg, his knee nudging the other wider. His hands fist my ass, squeezing with alternate hard and soft kneads. A palm shifts to my lower back, pressing down gently so that my hips rise up and I can feel his dick sliding between my ass cheeks. I raise my hips a little higher, desperate for him to be inside me once again.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans as I rock back wantonly and his dick slips inside me with ease. “That's it, sweetheart, fuck my dick like a good girl...”

I moan in response, his words sending endless shivers down my spine. His fingers dig into my hips as he pulls me back and forth on his length. My arms are starting to ache, my wrists sore from the metal cuffs that despite their looseness are digging in thanks to this position, but I don't care. All I care about is how good he feels inside me, how his fingers are digging into my ass and willing me to rock back faster and faster, how his panting is driving me insane and how desperately I want to cum again.

His hand smacks my ass and I rear up, crying out as the restraints scrape against the headboard. He smacks me again, groaning as my pussy clenches around his dick. A hand slides up my spine, followed by his lips as he flattens his body against mine. The same hand curls in my hair, twisting thick strands around his wrist as he tugs my head up from the pillow, his mouth on my neck, my jawline, my cheek, my lips.

“Again?” he mumbles.

“Please,” I croak as his hand presses between me and the mattresses, his fingers starting to work me over once again, unrelenting as always.

His chest sticks to my back, slick with sweat. His fist is tight in my hair as he pulls my head back further, his mouth latching onto my neck, refusing to let go as his hips continue to snap back and forth against my own. I want to push back on him, but I can't move, my body completely his as he pushes me closer and closer to the edge.

His teeth scrape my throat, his fingers relentless on my clit and I cry out loudly, my skin on fire, my mind fighting to stay focused, but unable to decide on what to focus on thanks to the havoc that he continues to wreak on my entire body.

“Fuck, Siobhan,” he groans in my ear, his tongue curling around the sensitive shell. “Cum with me. Please... I wanna feel you grip me as I cum inside you.”

“I'm close,” I promise. And I am, my body slowly starting to shut down as all focus turns to between my legs, his dick still pounding my pussy, his fingers still rubbing my clit.

The first wave washes over me with a groan... The second crashes against me, sending me flying, screaming as he holds me close, his mouth seeking out mine, warm and comforting as his hips snap against me one last time and he freezes, his dick pulsing as he empties inside me with a grunt.

My mouth slips from his with a gasp. My lungs are on fire as I struggle to breathe, his weight too heavy, my arms screaming in pain as I try to shift beneath him.

“Seth–” I start to choke out, but he's already moving, scrambling above me, his hands on mine, the cuffs clicking open. I breathe deeply, my lungs still burning, my body aching as he rolls me onto my side, soothing fingers brushing along my cheeks, behind my head, the scarf loosening and slipping free.

Warm, brown eyes greet me and I blink back tears that threaten to fall again. I've missed him so much and even though I've felt him and tasted him and heard him, seeing him before me is something else.

“Hey,” he whispers, his hands running down my arms and pulling my hands up to his face where he slowly inspects my wrists. “Are you okay?”

I nod, watching as he kisses the red pinch marks that adorn my wrists. His eyes flicker up to mine once again.

“Hey,” he breathes again, fingers reaching out to brush against my cheeks. “Fuck, Siobhan... I... I didn't mean to push you like that.”

“You didn't,” I swallow thickly, my vision blurring. “That was fucking insane, Seth. In a good way, I promise.”

But it doesn't stop him from pulling me closer, as he fumbles with sheets and blankets and tugs them around us, over our heads so we're engulfed by warmth.

“You're incredible,” he whispers. “I was ready to stop at anytime. I would have stopped before we'd even started if you wanted me to.”

“I know. But I didn't want you to stop,” I smile shyly and then giggle. “How long have you been hiding those handcuffs?”

He grins. “A while... I was waiting for the right moment.”

“How long?” I push with a pinch to his bicep.

“A few months,” he admits. “I remembered you told me once that you wouldn't mind being tied up and teased. Figured it was the perfect way to get you back for teasing me on our anniversary.”

“And last night?”

“I wanted to make sure you were still open to the idea.” He pushes back my hair from my face. “But I still wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me well and truly surprised.”

“In more ways than one?” His eyes glint and I lower my gaze.

“Perhaps,” I admit, thinking back to the way he commanded me, how turned on I was by his choice of words. A shiver runs down my spine as I remember the click of the camera, how much I want to see that photo so that we can relive this over and over again. And I wonder...

A finger slips under my chin, nudging my gaze up. “You know that's okay, right?”

“I know.”

“You just tell me,” he smiles reassuringly. “You want this again, you just tell me.”

“I know.” And then my emotions take over, all the pent up wants and desires of seeing him in front of me and not having to imagine any more. For now at least. My voice cracks. “I just want you, Seth.”

I watch as his face visibly softens. “You got me, Siobhan. Always.”

His fingers lace between mine and I watch as he pulls my hand up to his lips.

And I'm right back in the hotel room, watching him hold my gaze as he kisses my ring finger again and again. And I'm wondering why I was so hesitant. Because why the hell would I not want to live the rest of my life with a man who cares for me, who craves me, who wants to make me happy more than anything else in the world? Why would I give that up on a maybe?

And I want to give him everything I have as well. I want to be the person he calls when he has good news or bad. I want to be the person that he turns to in times of happiness and sadness. I want to be the constant in a life that is full of ups and downs. I just want to be his. And I want him to be mine.

All I want is for him to know that I am as serious about us as he is. I want him to know that moving in with him is just the beginning. I want him to know that sure, it might take some time, but I do want everything and more with him. I want to share a million other moments just like this. I want to explore my limits, my desires, my entire life with him by my side, pushing me to try new things, whether that's in bed or out of it. 

All I want is to give him a sign, no matter how big or small, that I'm here for the long haul.

Because...

One day.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too,” he tells me, rocking me slowly onto my back, his mouth covering mine.

Always.

“Mine,” he mumbles against my mouth.

“Yours,” I breathe back.

One day.

My hand curls around the back of his head and I tug him up, staring into his eyes as he hovers above me.

“I...” I stammer, pausing as the rational side of my brain starts to scream. But I strive forward, ignoring the doubts and the worries that always seem to surround me. “I want it all, Seth.”

He stares at me, his eyes shining, his mouth curling upwards. “Siobhan...”

“I want it all,” I repeat, my voice steady and firm.

His eyes lower to his hand in mine. “I wasn't pushing.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure?”

Am I?

But I already know the answer. And so does he.

Fin x

[spymasterspriest]

Chapter 2

The Spymaster & The Priest A Gwynriel role reversal fanfiction

Masterlist, or read the entire series on AO3

The spymaster doesn't return for some time and life within the Tower resumes, as it ever does, in strictly regimented routine. Azriel wakes before dawn, dresses, sings at morning services, and then goes about his daily assignments as ordered by the High Priest. There were manuscripts to copy, illustrations to be gold-leafed in the margins, tonics and brews to potion. He takes turns teaching the younger ones, eats his evening meal, attends evening services, and finally climbs into his bed before waking and doing it all over again.

It's comfortable. It's safe. He understands his place here, enjoys the control of his time, finds it pleasing to watch a book take shape beneath his ugly, scarred hands, coaxing blank vellum and dry pigment into something better than its parts. Yet, Azriel tries to put the yearning thoughts out of mind, but his eyes still find their way to the windows and the world that lies beyond it. Probably just busy city life, he reminds himself. Lots of people staring with fear and disgust in their eyes.

That was typical of what occurred whenever he left the Tower. The world outside could be brutal, unforgiving, and cold. Besides, most of the priests here came from war ruined temples across the Night Court territories, proof to some that the world could be too much to bear at times.

Lingering after morning service, Azriel lights a candle at the prayer wall. His plea is the same he sends every morning, voice deep and hushed as he asked the Mother to protect those who meant most to him.

Treat her with the kindness and love you have for all your children, he prayed. Keep her safe and in your heart. Please, Mother, take care of her in my absence.

"Still?" A brother priest hissed from the archway. He looked as if he wanted to place his fists upon his hips and continue his scolding, but the baskets in each hand prevented the gesture.

"Every chance I get," Azriel replied, unstartled by the sudden presence. Standing, he crosses the room with quick, quiet steps and offers to take one of the baskets.

"When was the last time you saw her?" the priest asks. "What if-"

"I know the risks," Azriel says quietly, not making eye contact.

They walk in silence, out of the chapel and into the vestibule that leads to the gardens. He sets his basket down upon the earth and busies himself with pulling on the leather gloves that had been tucked inside.

"Aren't you worried about the High Priest?" Azriel's brother continues in hushed tones. "I don't blame you, but working outside our orders is not going to be received well. At least do a better job of hiding your efforts."

"I've spoken openly about my work outside the library. If the High Priest takes issue its unbeknownst to me." Azriel lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. "She's my mother. It's the least I can do from a distance."

"I know," the other priest answers quietly, sadly. "That's why I pray for you, too."

Azriel didn't know how to respond to that. They gardened in companionable silence. The morning sun beat its hot rays upon their backs. Despite the heat, the weather was nice and Azriel let his mind wander as he picked herbs for the kitchen.

He loved the smell of rosemary, bright and clean, fresh as a new day. Rolling the leaves between his fingers, he brought his gloved hand to his nose and inhaled. Azriel's gaze catches the other priests and he smiles in good humor and understanding.

"We are not out here to smell the flowers," he says with a half grin and Azriel can't help but grin back.

Moving to the next section of plants, Azriel speeds through the rest of his work. By the time he's finished he has three neat piles; one of weeds for burning, another for herbs to bring to the kitchen, and the last a pile of thinned seedlings for composting. The priest accompanying him is now on the far side of the garden, whistling a cheery tune and raising his face to catch the sun.

"Oh, thank the Mother," a voice in common, from the garden door behind him, and Azriel parses too late that his shadows had, once again, failed to warn him of the oncoming fae that was not one of his brothers. A shadow falls over him as the unmistakable feminine tone continues. "Do you happen to know where the High Priest is?"

Azriel looks up from the tufts of basil. Up and up, and then more for good measure. She's silhouetted against the sun. He doesn't need to see her face as he could recognize the long lines of her body anywhere. Swearing silently in his head, Azriel is sure he hears his shadows laughter. A tiny part of his logical brain scolds them, pointing out that its not like they get many visitors from outside the library. It wasn't surprising it was her.

Azriel froze in complete panic. He'd never spoken to her before.

"I don't want to go traipsing about like I own the place, as the High Priest likes to accuse," she says, her soprano voice adopting a tone that was a hilariously accurate impression of the priest. "He's never where he says to find him if he's not in his office, and in spite of what he might think I am actually polite enough to not go barging through the place. Am I supposed to just wait in the foyer until he blesses me with his presence? I'd starve to death before that happened." Her head tilts and he continues to stare up at her. The shadows that normally tuck themselves into his robes when exposed to this much sunlight were out in full force, dancing atop his shoulders as if to greet her. "I'm so sorry! I'm making your neck strain I'm sure."

She drops smoothly into a crouch, which brings her eye level. Startled by her sudden movements, Azriel jolts backward, upsetting his basket of herbs in the process. His hearts pounds as he looks into the face of the spymaster.

Shadow no longer obstructs her features. The delicate nose and high cheekbones looked carved from alabaster marble. She's frowning a bit, not unkindly, and her hands are palm up, lying atop her knees. The sleeveless Illyrian leathers lay her arms bare, a scattering of freckles run from her shoulders down to her fingers.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," she says, voice hushed. The blue-green of her eyes remind him of the shallow sea; warm and calm. Something restless settles in Azriel. His shadows undulate like gently rolling waves. "I mean no harm. I'm really just trying to find the High Priest. It's been a long morning and no one will talk to me. I'd like to be done here as soon as I can. It doesn't excuse me from taking up your time or startling you." She keeps her overly large eyes, a gift from her nymph heritage, on him. Slowly, she leans forward and reaches for the basket. He watches as she replaces the herbs that had fallen out.

How was it possible to look so innocently cherub and have the reputation of the Night Court's most infamous torturer?

Azriel watches her helplessly. Her slender, calloused hands cupped the herbs with such gentleness as she cleans up his mess. He prays silently to the Mother for guidance. He's acutely aware of how close they are, close enough to see the scars on her knuckles. There are more freckles upon her face, scattered like constellations across her cheeks and nose.

She's breathtaking. Gorgeous. He wants very much to memorize her face in this moment, in this light, while that gnawing hunger behind his ribs roars in frustration, startling even his shadows.

"There," she says in a sing song kind of way, setting the last sprig of thyme on top of the others. She pushes the basket towards him, which he accepts without hestitation. At the moment in which they are both holding the basket handle, she grins, bright and clear. She's utterly radiant. "Oh! I know you," she says with delight, releasing the basket. "I saw in the library. You were in Sangravah."

His face heats, matching the tomatoes that grew on the souther side of the garden. Yes, so she did remember him. He pulled the basket close, their eyes catching. Her smile falters, her own bloody memories threatening to bubble to the surface. Azriel averted his gaze before her expression grew darker.

"Sorry," she says, clearing her throat. He manages to make eyes contact again with heroic will. Her smile is long gone, replaced with a frown and Azriel hates that the memory of him has brought that look to her face. "I feel I've messed this up. I've startled you, spoken poorly of your High Priest, and now made things awkward between us." She heaves a sigh. "I won't keep you from your work. I - aplogies, here I am rambling again," she resigns, cocking her head to one side. The sun glints off her hair, transforming the locks to molten flame. "Will you accept my apology?"

In the face of such direct questioning, Azriel knew he had to give her some form of an answer. So, he nods.

Coward, his shadows tease.

She takes notice of them perched along his shoulders and gives them a small smile. The gesture hits Azriel in the chest like a sledgehammer. He's a shadowsinger, a creature feared and mistrusted. Magic so dark and forbidden that his own family had given him away. Yet here she was, greeting them as friends, completely unafraid.

From what feels like a long way away, Azriel plucks a dandelion from his pile of weeds. The soft white flower threatening to spill itself into the breeze. Holding it out for her, Azriel stops breathing in anticipation.

"For me?" she asks, surprise filling her gaze and eyebrows climbing high. Azriel nods again. Her answering smile is looser, more intimate. "Thank you," she says.

The spymaster takes the flower from him, brushing his gloved fingers with her own. He stares, transfixed, as she lifts it to her lips before blowing gently. Her mouth puckers, lips slightly parted. The flower explodes into a flurry of white. Her eyes close momentarily, eyelashes fluttering. Azriel feels her breath across his cheek, a sensual little breath. It slides over his skin like a caress.

Azriel swears internally. This was a terrible idea, giving her the flower. He's never going to be able to remove this moment from his mind. Her eyes open, watery depths finding his, and smiles again.

"I won't keep you any longer," she tells him, getting to her feet. "I need to go find the High Priest." She heaves a pleased sigh and the sound makes his stomach tighten and dick hard. He watches as she turns and heads back into the Tower.

Days later, Azriel carefully crosses the t he'd scripted and sets down his quill. Stretching his arms above him, wings arching back, his spine audibly pops. The book is complete, or at least his portion of it is, which gives him the spare time to rub the soreness from his shoulders. His shadows stretch and yawn as if waking from a cat nap.

He considers signaling an Elder that he's ready for a new assignment when the door to the library opens. It's her. He doesn't have time to move his eyes away, breath catching.

A red blush warms her cheeks. She turns to shut the doors behind her, keeping out the noise from the Tower beyond. The High Priest stands from the desk he occupied and bustles toward her.

"We had an appointment," he rushes to explain, voice trailing as he gets further away. The spymaster gestures and says something too low to hear.

Not talking about the weather, Azriel surmises. His shadows drape across his wings so they can better observe her, lazing about. The High Priest ushers her back out of the library. As they exit, her face turns, eyes scanning the desks until her pretty gaze finds him. Azriel freezes. She grins with genuine delight at seeing him and it hits him like a fist to the stomach.

She's happy to see you, his shadows murmur, undulating in their delight.

Is she?

She was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. Azriel remembers to breathe. His hands shaking a little as he picks up the finished manuscript. Getting to his feet, he walks to an overly large desk near the front. The elder priest looks up from a stack of papers and smiles at Azriel's approach. He hands the work over to be checked for egregious mistakes. The door to the library reopens, a young priest pokes their head inside.

"The High Priest wants to see you immediatly," he says, eyeing Azriel before looking to the Elder. "He's to be released from his duties."

"For how long?" the elder asks, knocking his glasses up his nose.

"The foreseeable future," the priest answers.

Azriel blinked and turned to look at the elder. The old fae looked as confused as Azriel felt and shrugged at him helplessly.

"You had better go, brother. The High Priest doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Azriel nods and hurries to return to his desk. He grabs his threadbare cloak before rushing back toward the door. As he passed the elder priests desk, Azriel feels a light touch upon his arm.

"Your work is excellent as always, Azriel," the elder librarian tells him, nodding to the manuscript with a gentle smile. "You will be missed."

Swallowing nervously, Azriel frowned, yet still managed to nod at the priest. He turns to rush out of the library, chasing after the priest who'd come to retrieve him.

"What does the High Priest want?" He asked, suppressing any pleading tone from his voice, fear knotting his insides. "Have I done something wrong?"

The priest shakes his head, lips a hard thin line. "Doesn't seem terribly angry, so I don't think you're-" he lowers his voice and continues, "in trouble, but he won't tell me anything. Just as me to get you."

Rounding the corner, they come to a halt before a pair of ornate, carved, wooden doors. Azriel watches the other priest make a face.

You're a mess, Azriel's shadows whisper up his neck.

Glancing down at his wrinkled robes, Azriel frantically brushes bits of vellum and sawdust from his legs.

"I can't help it," he whispered harshly, low enough that the priest wouldn't hear. "Do I have ink on my face?"

Not much, they confess.

Azriel curses and rubs vigorously at his face. The priest glances at him from the corner of his eye, quickly darting his gaze back away. Reaching forward, he knocks on the door.

"Excuse me, High Priest, I've brought Priest Azriel," he called, eyeballing Azriel nervously one more time. He glances at Azriel's hands, again, snatching his gaze away.

I wish they wouldn't call me that, Azriel flinches at the title. He'd never taken the rights to become priest. After failing to save his brothers, and her, in Sangravah - he hadn't felt worthy.

"Excellent, send him in."

Azriel ducks through the doorways, heart kicking up a beat. Inside, he straightens, pulling his shoulders and wings back. The door shuts behind him.

"I'm here as requested," he says, voice flat and cold.

"Azriel," the High Priest says in a suspiciously conversational tone. "Please, come take a seat. There is business that needs to be discussed."

Azriel steps further into the room.

She's here. His shadows roll up and down his back. Sprawled across the chair in front of the fireplace, one leg thrown casually over the arm. She's less than a rooms length away and his shadows hadn't warned him. Or had they?

There was no fire in the hearth, despite the warmth of the room. Azriel's cheeks burned. She smiles at him. The part of his mind still capable of thought notices how her eyebrow twists just so when her mouth turns up. With some effort, he walks to the only other vacant chair and sits down.

"Azriel, while I'm aware of your history with our guest," the High Priest gestures at her, his statement hanging awkwardly and heavy in the air. She couldn't possibly enjoy being reminded of that day.

Azriel nods.

"They call me the Spymaster of The Night Court," she introduces herself pleasantly. Her voice, strong and sure, the gentle undercurrent threatening to pull him under. It washed over him like cool, calming waves. "It's nice to be formally introduced, Azriel, shadowsinger."

There is a slight emphasis on his title and Azriel's wings pull up defensively. Her gaze misses nothing, lingering at the deadly talons atop them, before returning to rest on his shadows.

"The court is in need of our help, specifically your expertise." The High Priest continued, pouring himself tea as he explained. "The High Lord and I-"

"I need help tracking down some old manuscripts," the spymaster adds. The High Priest presses his lips together, adjusting the lines of his robes, not pleased by her interruption. Azriel can feel her eyes upon him.

"Our High Lord," the priest continues with a clearing of his throat, "is in need of several books that have been stolen or misplaced. The spymaster has tracked down leads to their whereabouts but she desires to have them authenticated against forgeries. You will help identify them once found."

Azriel nods. It makes sense why she would come to the Tower, why she would need help. The problem was he wasn't the best suited or most qualified for the job. Priest Amari, and at least half a dozen others, could spot ancient vellum from smell alone.

"To get directly to the point," the High Priest concludes, "the spymaster has acquisitioned your employment. You will accompany her moving forward and in manor she sees fit."

"Sir-"

"At the High Lord's request," the elder states.

"Well," Azriel drawled after some time, "there is no arguing with that."

"Isn't that the truth of it," the spymaster responds cheerfully, a smirk dancing across her lips.

"Your work for the Court will begin now. You'll be leaving with the spymaster today." The High Priest takes a long sip of tea, outwardly calm. "You may wait out front," he says to her.

She nods and stands, movements graceful, fluid. Inclining her head at the High Priest, she moves toward the doors.

"Until I see you again, shadowsinger," she says in way of farewell, leaving the room with casual swagger.

[thefinalboss387]

For a very long time, I LOVED Eobard Thawne in The CW’s Flash TV series. I mean, I still love him, but... hoo boy his characterization has been shaky over the show’s 8 seasons. Excuse me for a minute while I rant about the downfall of one of my favorite characters ever under the cut. Watch out for spoilers.

In season 1, he was arguably at his peak. He was the big bad of the season, hiding in plain sight as the mentor helping and growing not only the Flash, but his entire team. Despite being a good guy 95% of his screentime, his whole character was shrouded in mystery... why is he pretending to be in a wheelchair? Why is this nice mentor killing people when the Flash isn’t looking? Why do so many people have murderous grudges against him? How many secrets is this guy holding onto? Why does he seem so unhealthily obsessed with the Flash? What is it he’s after? Who exactly is Harrison Wells?

And as we got the answers to those questions... they didn’t disappoint! Thawne was a complex, compelling character. He traveled back in time and got stuck in the present, and in order to return to his own time, he had to be the one to give his greatest enemy the Flash his powers and get him fast enough for the task. In the process, he actually grew to love and respect his enemy, despite holding onto so much hatred and contempt for his future self. It created a fascinating dynamic between Flash and Reverse-Flash. Both sides loved each other as friends, as mentor/student, as teammates, but they also hated each other, and all the conflict and hesitation that came with holding those two extremes for one another.

And that dynamic didn’t even just stop with Barry/Flash... He had an almost-familial relationship with Cisco and Caitlin, with Joe... he was one of the team, even though he was secretly plotting to destroy the people he was growing to love.

After season 1, though... it feels like a lot of the complexities and nuance of the character just kind of... fizzled out.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, there are still some noticeable glimpses of it. In season 2, he left a video will where he gave all of his belongings, the laboratory, etc to Barry, and even confessed to his mother’s murder to get his father out of prison. When a different world’s Harrison Wells comes around, it takes Barry a minute to come to terms with someone wearing his greatest enemy’s face, and he needs to let go and forgive Thawne before he can move on.

In season 5, Thawne ends up being the big plot-twist villain of the season, secretly pulling the strings behind Nora, Barry’s time-traveling future daughter. Similarly, he was using her to achieve his own ends, but grew to actually love her and care about her. He still didn’t feel as complex as he used to... but there was something there, and it was appreciated.

Beyond that, though... Thawne kind of just became a typical, mustache-twirling hate machine. He kept coming back, time and time again, looking to destroy the Flash’s life. All of the conflicted emotion and love is gone - not just from Thawne’s side, but all of the heroes see him just as a villain they need to stop.

In Legends of Tomorrow, Thawne becomes the main antagonist of season 2, and creates an entirely new reality that is shaped in his image -- and none of the Flash team is present in it. The Legends are all in subservient minion-type roles to him, Thawne is even at STAR Labs again, but the Flash is dead and his team is nowhere to be found. After all the love he had for Barry, Cisco, Caitlin, etc., you mean to tell me they have no place in his “perfect” world?? He mentions his work with Team Flash in passing at one point, so this version of Thawne did experience that, but has none of the emotion attached to it anymore. My personal headcanon is that he still kept them all onboard as doting lab assistants or something, because I refuse to believe he wouldn’t want them back in his life after openly saying how much he cared for them all only a few seasons ago.

There is a storyline where a version of Thawne stops being a supervillain and settles down. But it also comes with amnesia and pretty much becoming a whole other character, so that was kind of disappointing. We’ve seen firsthand that Thawne has good qualities and is capable of love and friendship... but apparently he needs amnesia to really embrace it at all... with brand new characters we’ve never seen before.

By the time season 8 comes around, Thawne becomes an avatar of the negative forces and essentially loses all of his humanity and becomes a big beast of a final boss for the Flash to take down. Which, for a big final battle to settle the score once and for all, is kind of cool, but it’s disappointing that the road leading to this final confrontation was so generic. Thawne had lost his humanity a long time ago, and was just an obstacle to take down now.

I want the Thawne that actually loved Barry and his team, who still battled them and tortured them, but had to stop and wince in hesitation and conflict before doing so. The Thawne who complimented how smart Cisco was and called him a son before killing him. The Thawne who constantly told Barry he loved him and tried to emotionally manipulate him out of fighting. The Thawne that Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin looked up to and saw as a mentor and an idol, despite the evil he’d done.

Sorry for the rant. Eobard Thawne, the show version of him, was - and is - one of my favorite characters of all time. But I feel like, as the show went on, they moved away from the fascinating new take they created and moved closer to the generic, spiteful villain of the comics. And that is truly a shame. It wasn’t how much he hated the Flash, or how many times he kept coming back, that made him a great character. It was the history he had with the heroes, the relationships, the conflict. How he came off as so caring and kind, and lifted them up while secretly stabbing them all in the back. I realize that there is only so much they could’ve done with that dynamic once the facade was lifted, but... the show hardly even tried to capitalize on that past and add depth to their conflict moving forward. It was just.... hatred. On both sides.

The show started right out the gate with Flash’s biggest enemy. And while his initial arc was great, I feel the show overall suffered for it. Of COURSE the Reverse-Flash was going to end up coming back again and again - anyone who has read a Flash comic knows that that’s his thing. But, in season 1, his story was already fully completed and satisfying. It felt like his return in future seasons (with the possible exception of season 5′s Nora arc) was just checking off a checklist of necessary things to do, not so much doing any actual service to his character or storyline.

[courfeyracs-swordcane]

for rico: 1, 2, 5, 7, 14

1. What is your character's biggest fear, and how does it affect their actions and relationships?

HOOOO. she is simultaneously terrified of being close to people (mortifying ordeal of being known is a kind of power she doesn’t want anyone to have over her) and also because then she’s got weaknesses that can be used against her (girl who is determined to never watch anyone she cares about die ever again and has resolved to accomplish this by not caring about anybody anymore.)(top ten methods that Don’t Work and also then she fucks it up anyway but that’s kind of a long story)

There are other Big Fears but I’ve been typing forever (did these in reverse order) so I will come back if any of them stand out in my brain as an “oh god how could I forget that one”

2. What is something your character is deeply passionate about, and how does it drive their goals and motivations?

Okay I don’t know if it counts but besides the obvious. Going all in on the Decepticon cause (twice!), most of her goals and motivations are driven by her need to Move Forward? She pushed really hard on the idea of defecting once she’d heard some of the arguments— less for the idea of Leaving the Decepticon army and not even a little for the idea of joining the Autobots but for the sake of Seeing What Else Is Out There! Her and the whole unit (not Dyker. That’s a different problem) had spent their entire lives so far in one (1) building and/or ship (I don’t know that we ever decided where this was set?), they were built for the war effort and they work for the war effort and she believes in what they’re fighting for wholeheartedly but also it seems like a good idea to get some Contexts so she can have that identity and also know what it means!

And then from then on she goes BACK to the Decepticon army to climb her way up the ranks (well. She goes back bc she’s lonely and that’s where the only family she has left is, which ends the Worst Possible Way It Could Have for Her Specifically, and THEN she dives into climbing her way up the ranks) and she gets like. A normal amount and then fucks it all up reaching for too much (thinks she’s high enough up to get away with trying to assassinate the guy that killed Reefer. She Is Not.) and goes all the way back down to the bottom and also beat half to death about it. But she is not discouraged! (Yes she is.)(She got a lot of issues from that whole shebang.)

And then the war she was literally built for ends. And she’s on the wrong side. And megatron renounces the decepticons and tells them to all go their separate ways. And she has literally nothing to do with her life anymore. SO. she decides that She Is Going To Restart The War And Finish What He Started RIGHT this time. This also. Does not end well for her. I forgot what the question was I think I’ve strayed pretty far from actually answering it but here’s a plot summary

5. Does your character have any hidden talents or abilities that only a few people know about?

She was a medic for a while!!! Token guy in the original unit who knows how to do first aid and then when they all defected and Reefer (her platonic/familial Other Half) died and she dropped Hadron (her younger brother who she never really got along with and whom she is blaming all of this on because it was technically his idea in the first place and the other option is blaming herself) off with the Autobots she fucked off to go find some like. do transformers have Doctors Without Borders. Something like that.

7. How does your character handle failure or setbacks? Are they resilient or easily discouraged?

OH BOY HOWDY. she’s basically a series of failures in the shape of a girl (in the shape of a backhoe) and she takes them all Really Really Badly but also she hasn’t died yet, so 🤷‍♂️ (her main coping mechanism is throwing herself headfirst into whatever new questionable decision she’s making so she doesn’t have to look at her complete and utter lack of self-worth)(this goes. About as well as you might imagine.)

14. What is your character's preferred method of self-expression? Do they have any artistic talents or creative outlets?

God that would go a long way towards fixing her, wouldn’t it. No she does not but Roughhouse HAS 100% made the squad do Paint Nights on multiple occasions. She’s not good at it and it haunts and vexes her.

[lampmanliveblogs]

Petrification Reversal

This is a very interesting question worthy of a longer post.

(Note to any newcomers reading this: I'm currently watching The Owl House and is not caught up to season three yet. The last episode I've seen is Them's the Breaks, Kid. No spoilers please!)

So first and foremost, I don’t know that there even is such a thing as a way to reverse petrification. But the fact that you even asked this question makes me think that there might be a way… or you wish there was a way to reverse petrification. Which has got me a bit worried.

Although… I could see a happy ending of the series where Belos is defeated and they revive all the people he had petrified. But let’s focus on my theories on the glyphs and combos for the moment.

Here are the first ideas that popped into my head.

Figure number 1 is the original petrification combo. Let’s talk about it for a sec. It consists of three ice glyphs and two plant glyphs. The plant glyphs are probably there due to their association with earth; the triangle with the horizontal line is the alchemical (and Engelsfors trilogy) symbol for earth. So it makes some sense for them to be there, but at the same time, plants are alive, and the entire point of this combo is to make people not be that. That’s where the three ice glyphs come in. There are specifically three to overpower* the two plant glyphs.

(*kinda like how the water fountain combo has three ice to one fire to produce liquid water and not steam)

Ice as an element is associated with winter, which in turn is associated with death or life ceasing. Most plants lose their leaves, a lot of animals hide or move when it gets cold and you can’t grow anything in the frozen ground. Ice is also cold and hard, two common descriptives of rocks. If you want to got a step further, you could draw some connection between how (igneous) rocks are formed from liquid magma cooling into a solid, just as ice is liquid water cooling into a solid.

The point is, ice is symbolically connected to death or draining life as well as some connections one can make to rocks or stone. So adding them to the petrification combo makes sense. The question now is, how do we reverse it?

The very first thought I had was to simply swap the elements as seen in figure number 2. Change plant to ice and vice verse. But this is… kinda stupid. I feel like if you tried that it would just make some frozen grass or something.

So the next idea I had was to switch the elements in the circle to their opposites. Switch ice for fire and plant for light. And while I think it’s a slightly better idea, I still wasn’t happy with it. I put away the sketches I had made and started thinking a bit more about the elements.

Fire is kinda tricky. It is by its nature destructive and difficult to control. In some stories, fire can can represent life. It is much like a living being in that it needs to consume in order to continue existing. I brought up before that the petrification combo had a lot of ice on it, so it makes some sense to me to include some fire to counteract that freezing effect. Although I feel like fire is part of the solution, maybe we don’t need three of them. 

As for light… it’s light. Electromagnetic radiation within a certain range of wavelengths that our dumb human eyes can detect. If we impose the common trope of magic elements coming in pairs that are opposite of each other, then fire and ice are opposites for obvious reasons. but how exactly are light and plant opposites? I recall once talking a little about this and my thinking goes something like this: The plant glyphs represents physical life, the body of a living thing that springs from the earth. Light represents something more ethereal, incorporeal, maybe even heavenly. So the light glyph could (among other things) perhaps represent the soul. If so, then I’d want to include a light glyph in my reversal combo.

I would also like to include at least one plant glyph. Plants are alive and we’re trying to restore life. So in my unpetrification combo, I want fire to reverse the freezing effects of the ice glyphs in the original, plant to restore the physical body and light to resuscitate the soul. No ice glyph, I feel like that has too many ties to death.

As I was thinking about all of this, one more rather obvious thought crossed my mind and I set out to create another combo that I think might just do the trick…

As you can see, I made use of two fire, two plant and one light glyphs. You will also notice that I flipped it upside down. Rather obvious in hindsight. If you want to reverse a spell, then you have to reverse it. Let’s go over it.

The light glyph in the middle represents the return of the soul. The two fire glyphs on the right and left side of the middle are in the same place as two of the ice glyphs in the petrification combo, so they represent undoing or melting the freezing effect of the ice glyphs in the original. Then we have the two plant glyphs which represent the physical aspects of life, the return or regrowth of the victim’s physical body.

So yeah. That’s my theory on a petrification reversal combo.

[musicgoon]

Book Review: Matthew: Evangelical Biblical Theology Commentary (EBTC), by Charles L. Quarles

Charles L. Quarles’ commentary on Matthew is the latest in the Evangelical Biblical Theology Commentary (EBTC) series from Lexham Press. At over 800 pages, this is one of the longer commentaries in the series, and it is packed full of insight and illumination. 

Christological Titles

My favorite part of this series is the section on biblical-theological themes. Quarles begins with Christological titles and the Son of Man. He brought great understanding to Christ’s human appearance, but also his divine revelation as coming with the clouds of heaven. I was most moved to learn of how Christ’s title of Immanuel serves as an inclusio for the book, beginning and ending with the fact that Jesus is God with us.

I appreciated Quarles’ attention to detail throughout the book. He is comprehensive, seeking to help the reader grasp the entirety of the book. He spends a considerable amount of time explaining the genealogy of Jesus, showing how his coming is the pinnacle of Old Testament history. Furthermore, by including four gentile women in his genealogy, he confirms that “Jesus is the son of Abraham, the promised seed in whom all nations will be blessed, even Canaanites, Moabites, and Hittites.” This theme is echoed throughout the Gospel, and how it must be spread to all nations.

True, Everlasting, and Eternal Rest

I was most happy to read in Matthew 11, and how Christ’s invitation to rest comes before the discussion of two Sabbath controversies in Matthew 12. I felt the weight that the Pharisees placed on people, and I saw that Jesus is truly the Lord of the Sabbath in that he provides true, everlasting, and eternal rest for our souls.

Parables are prominent in Matthew, and Quarles’ does an excellent job of addressing them thoroughly. He makes note of representations and symbolisms, bringing in knowledge of Old Testament imagery. 

Traditions and Customs

Quarles also has command of traditions and customs in Jesus’ time. When the disciples were questioning who would be greatest in the kingdom of Heaven, most rabbis taught that adults had nothing to learn from children. “Jesus reversed the normal order by turning adults into pupils and little children into teachers. Jesus’ s disciples needed to look to them to learn the lesson of humility.” I was challenged to have child-like faith, wonder, and dependence in my own spiritual life. I was also struck by God’s great love for his children. We need our Heavenly Father more than anything and he is more than happy to help us.

Quarles’ exegesis on The Olivet Discourse is extensive. While there seems to be a delay in Christ’s return, we should still see it as imminent. The proper response is to care for our fellow-servant and actively invest in the kingdom of God.

Get a Closer Look at Jesus

Interestingly, Quarles focuses on the three women who came to watch Christ’s crucifixion: Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of Jesus, and Salome — the mother of the sons of Zebedee. Christ’s care, love, and honor towards women is an example we still need today.

This book is an outstanding entry in the Evangelical Biblical Theology Commentary series. There is treasure to be found in every section. Get a closer look at Jesus, feel his presence, and be inspired to spread the Good News.

I received a media copy of Matthew and this is my honest review. Find more of my book reviews and follow Dive In, Dig Deep on Instagram - my account dedicated to Bibles and books to see the beauty of the Bible and the role of reading in the Christian life. To read all of my book reviews and to receive all of the free eBooks I find on the web, subscribe to my free newsletter.

[miekasa]

any spare levi headcanons tonight????? 😁😁😁😁

Sure, why not, he is the love of my life after all. These are pretty random, and fit in some sort of generalized modern boyfriend au. Hopelessly domestic, as that is the nature of nearly everything I write for Levi, anyway. Also still terribly obsessed with the idea of him with a motorcycle, so there’s that.

He owns at least six black blazers. They’re nearly identical; slight differences in texture and cut, one with lapels, one that’s boldly all leather that you swear you’ve never seen him wear. They’re kind of his go-to staple, other than a sweater.

That being said, he doesn’t exclusively wear all black. His closet leans towards more neutrals, sure, but he’s not allergic to color. You might not catch him wearing neon orange on the average day, but he’s not averse to a nice shade of green, any shade of purple that suits his mood, even a softer pink.

He has towels and rags he sets aside especially for you when he comes over. He always washes them and put them back in place when you leave so that they’re ready to go for next time.

Claims to not have any attachment to the shows/dramas you watch, but he’s totally backseat watching. Halfway into every single series, he starts sitting down when you turn it on, and scoffs at dumb decisions the characters make.

He splurged on one of those frame TVs that look like a painting when they’re idle. It was a good investment in his opinion.

He doesn’t hate Starbucks drinks—there’s worse things out there in terms of quality of tea. What he despises about the establishment is the way they call out names for you to pick up your order. He’s learned that mobile order ahead is the way to go.

Has slippers for around the house, so consequently, you have slippers for walking around his house. He keeps both pairs (and a few extra for friends and guests) tucked neatly beside the door for easy access; yours always go next to his.

Does not understand the purpose of a robe. Buy him one tho and he will suddenly find an excuse to wear it: making breakfast, lounging around watching TV, doing some light cleaning and dusting. It’s comfy, alright, he can admit that much.

The little puppy you got him that he swore he was not going to warm up to now gets the royal treatment. The best doggie goods and treats, top rated shampoos, cutest drying towels, even a miniature couch he constructed just for the pup. They’re best friends, there’s no breaking that bond now.

Speaking of the puppy, affectionately named Captain, Levi can be found walking him every day shortly after work. They have a few different routes, but they always pass by the local vendors/market, who enthusiastically anticipate their appearance every day. Some of the older ladies running stands have even taken to bringing a few treats with them for Captain—after bundling up some goods for Levi, too, of course.

Captain also has a special doggy backpack Levi uses for when he’s on his motorcycle. If you follow anybody on TikTok in his area, you’re bound to see at least one video of the pup while Levi’s out riding. He’s become viral on social media without even knowing it.

(When you show him a video someone posted of him and Captain with well over 100k likes, and a million views, he only rolled his eyes. But remembers that particularly day; remembers the folks had a kid who politely asked to pet the dog, so he let him. He also maybe asks you to send the link to him).

On the subject of the motorcycle, there was a good few weeks he wouldn’t let you on it. Always found an excuse, a smart reply that was punctuated with gentle push on your forehead and calling you too clumsy for it. Later, you found out it’s because he’d ordered you a helmet; didn’t want to risk you riding without one.

He always keeps it in the storage compartment should he make a stop to pick you up while he’s riding; and he usually wears at least two layers to have a spare to wrap you in before you get on.

When he cooks, he always makes sure there’s enough for leftovers and/or to give you some later. He also bakes frequently, and at least once a week, he stops by with some kind of treat for you—“Trying out a new recipe, let me know if you think it’s missing anything.”

On the subject of food, he won’t police what you eat to annoying extent; he knows that not everybody has the time or will to make pasta from scratch like he does. But, he will smack your wrist if you consider ordering fast food when you’re over at this place. Give him 30 minutes and a single pan, he’ll make something much better than whatever you can find on Uber Eats.

Really, though, he doesn’t mean to obnoxious about the homemade food thing, it’s more habit for him. Growing up, he had to learn to be resourceful, so buying fast-food isn’t ever at the forefront of his mind. Cooking for you also turns out to be something somewhat intimate that he enjoys, so just let him.

Once bought an Apple Watch because he liked the look of them, it wasn’t insanely expensive like other high end watches, and it could connect to his other devices, so why not? A week later he returned it, the ping of his notifications were in one too many places for his liking.

You tried to convince him to keep it—“At least for when you’re jogging! It can track your activity and calories!”—but he clicks his teeth. He’ll survive without keeping track of them.

He learned the hard way that jogging with Captain is no good. His legs are too tiny and Levi ended up carrying the puppy the entire time. Captain is more of a walk dog… or ride on the back of his bike dog.

If you changed anything in his phone settings—like the ringtone for you contact, or the sound his keyboard makes—he wouldn’t go back in and try to figure out how to reset it. Unless it was something obnoxious, like adding an autocorrect shortcut to say something lewd.

He doesn’t really listen to music when he’s just walking. When he’s on a run, that’s fine, but he somewhat prefers to just… hear the environment around him when he’s on a stroll or a break from work. The only reason he’d have headphones on in public is to take a phone call, but even then, he’d prefer to wait until he’s somewhere more private.

He likes having you over at his apartment and has contemplated asking you to move in. He doesn’t want to rush anything, though, so he’s content with your sleepovers for now. (Though he really cannot fathom that you call them “sleepovers” like you’re 14. Please).

He speaks to his mother at least once a week, and she always asks about you. Levi tells her that you’re fine, gives her small updates about you, but Kuchel really just wants to know when the wedding is. He pretends to be busy whenever she starts asking and conveniently ends the call.

Occasionally, he’ll stop by and take you out for lunch. Depends on how much time he has during the day for himself, but he always enjoys sharing a meal with you.

Whenever you’re out with your friends drinking, Levi will pick you up. Even if you already told him that you’d Uber home; as soon as you text him that you’re going to leave soon, he’s already on his way.

He makes pretty good cocktails himself. Teases you for running his alcohol supply dry when the truth is he has more of your favorites in his cabinet than his own. He secretly likes the way you flirt with him when you’re tipsy.

You don’t always cuddle on top of each other when you sleep together. You can just lay by each other and that’s enough; but sometimes, you catch Levi turning towards you in his sleep, reaching for your hand. His body seems to search for yours subconsciously, and you swear there’s a hint of a smile on his sleeping face when you put your hand within reach.

Do not try to pay for dinner when you’re out with him. He’ll pull the “I’m going to use the restroom” move and pay the bill behind your back if he needs to. Open your own doors, maybe; pull out your own chairs, sure if you want; but not this.

He flosses very diligently every night. Mostly because he fucking hates the dentist, so if he takes the extra steps and is extra careful with his teeth, he doesn’t have to go as often, right?—Wrong, it’s the one time the roles are reversed, and you and Hange have to wrestle him into the doctor’s office.

On the flip side, if there are any doctors you routinely avoid and/or forget to schedule check ups for, fear not, because Levi will do it for you. He’ll drive you there, too—the only caveat being, that he usually doesn’t tell you where you’re going until you’re almost there. You think he’s doing the mysterious man surprise date thing and then boom, he’s pulling up to the ophthalmologist. Good luck.

He’s purchased a physical, paper copy of the news on every one of your anniversaries, birthdays, and other special occasions. He keeps them all neatly tucked away in a drawer. Sometimes, he looks back on them—sees what was happening in the world around you on that day. Maybe someday he’ll cut them up and bind them together in a book for you.

He doesn’t like having headphones in when you’re home with him, and preferred if you didn’t either—unless it was for work or school. He welcomes you to use his speakers and play your music aloud; he likes listening to what you listen to. If you look closely, you can catch him humming along or tapping his foot when he really likes a song.

Saves pictures you send him in an album in his camera roll. Occasionally can be found scrolling through them—particularly if you’ve been away on a trip, or he hasn’t gotten the chance to see you because of conflicting schedules.

He takes relatively short showers and doesn’t have a strong preference for the water temperature, so he lets you shower first. Unless you want him to join you, of course.

It’s not hard to tell when Levi wants you. He becomes noticeably more touchy, even if that margin isn’t too wide by anyone else’s standards; and he rarely tries to hide it. It only happens in the privacy of your apartments; but he’ll come on to you—leaning a bit further into conversations, a hand on your knee, a kind of cloudy look in his eyes.

Sometimes he forgoes the attempts at being subtle, just kisses you out the blue, carefully backs you up against the wall, puts his hands on your hips. He can be awfully direct when given the opportunity.

[immortalwanderers]

On this day one year ago, Word of Honor first aired to Chinese audiences.  It was a series which came as a surprise to many, and one which didn’t take long until people were excitedly sharing their newest find with both their friends and others upon the internet, encouraging them to join and watch along. The early days themselves were a fun filled adventure. Many fans hurried to catch the new subtitle releases as they dropped onto sites like YouTube, while Youku’s release schedule changed to air the series quicker as attention grew. International fans went as far as to follow translated tutorials in order to make Youku accounts so they could continue watching via Youku’s own streaming service. And just as the fandom family were saddened into believing they would have to say farewell to these characters and the world which they had quickly fallen in love with, they were soon pleasantly surprised to learn that the majority of the cast would be returning for a sold out two-day concert event. While the airing season alone had been an excitable time to be a fan, that love only continued to grow long after the show aired, continuing to attract new fans through word of mouth and community rewatch events. Even now, it is apparent to see that the little show that stepped into our lives with a very limited budget and everything stacked against it quickly became something beloved to many, and it is both from the passions of the original cast and team as well as the fandom which followed that made it so.

Over the past year the fan community has created many kinds of works and been involved in a number of incredible projects, including two lovingly put together zines ( @shlzine and @wohzine), as well as last years Big Bang event (@shlbigbang) and the future Reverse Bang event ( @shanheling-reversebigbang). Many have also shared their own individual works with the community, expressing their love through many mediums including that of art, writing, graphic making and videos.

However, the community has suffered great grief and hardship as well as the highest of highs throughout the past year, yet the continued strength of fans has also shown their great resilience in what has since become a wait for justice. With touching projects created to show Zhang Zhehan and his family support after the events which transpired back in August, the community has proven just how much it is capable of showing love and compassion, not just to the cast they admire but also to the other friends around them whilst moving through this difficult time. One of the most recent projects includes the Zhang Zhehan Chinese New Year event, which invited international fans to leave their messages of blessings and well wishes for both Zhang Zhehan and his family.

In honor of Word of Honor’s anniversary, Immortal Wanderers would like to say thank you. Thank you to all the fans camped out upon this mountain beside us, who continue to keep this fandom alive through the love and joy of creation. We see you, we appreciate you, and we love you ⛰️ 💖

As a small way to say thank you and to pay the love back, a few of us here would like to share some of favourite works over the past year, as well as saying a little something about why these works in particular pulled at our heartstrings.

Recommendations from @wanderingfandoms

Song of Divination → written by bluemorningsoup 

Summary:

The letter floated down to the Yellow Springs on the back of a dark river, safe in the glowing belly of a fish-painted lantern. It read, Try to eat, and ended, I miss you always. —What happened to Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu in Jing Beiyuan’s first life.

Readers Comments:

“Love,” Wen Kexing finally replied, chuckling. “Isn’t it a funny story?” 

- A story of love, told through poems, told through seasons. It's haunting and isn't that what wenzhou is? haunted souls who found each other.

The Price of Iridescent Wings → written by enkiduu and Leaves_and_Smithereens

Summary:

Wen Kexing throws Zhou Zishu into the past in an attempt to save him.

Zishu realizes time travel has consequences, and it is harder than expected to save Kexing from himself.

Readers Comments:

One of the earliest multichapter woh/shl fics. It's dear to my heart because when the fandom was just starting and blossoming, this fic felt like a gift. But aside from that it's a version of wenzhou at their peak and darkest and the struggle to let each other live. It now has an ongoing sequel that's also worth reading :)

Familiar Lives → written by manic_intent

Summary:

The chamber in Diyu smelled pleasantly of sandalwood and tea, wreathed with ever-burning lanterns in pale shades of gold. Standing beside a brazier, an ageless woman with long black hair brewed tea in a large black kettle, occasionally adding in pinches of ingredients from the array of dried herbs floating in jade dishes beside her. She was dressed simply in white and black, unadorned with jewellery. But for the immense aura of stillness about her, the woman would not appear to be the Goddess that she was—the ruler of the 10th Court of the Underworld.

“Lady Meng Po.”

The woman didn’t glance up from her work. “Hu Jia. What is it?”

“It’s happened again,” Hu Jia said, his tone heavy with grievance. “White-haired, at the Stone of Three Lives, refusing to drink your Tea of Forgetfulness—”

Readers Comments:

Manic_intent's fics always give me a sense of wonder and it's so hard to choose one but this....this one... What's not to love about gremlin wenzhou even as they reach the underworld? That nod to all the versions of the endings wenzhou got is like Priest writing extras to her beloved novels. Now that I think about it, this feels like an extra chapter to shl. A new but familiar beginning to a story so loved. 

sick with love to the point of falling → written by SpringxSakura

Summary:

Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu are learning how to lean on each other in times of peace, and how, sometimes, the medicine to heal is not a thing, but a person.

"The words spilled out of Wen Kexing, seeking somewhere to find a home. “When I was younger, I used to think autumn was sad, but my...my mama told me that the leaves only fall because they are tired and that once they rest, the leaves will be back again. They are only not feeling well and need to sleep for a little while, and though they love being there to shield the tree from the sun and rain, every single being needs to take a break. To lay down their weary bodies on the ground for a season. Silly, isn’t it?”

A lone leaf had fallen over them, coming to rest in Zhou Zishu’s hazelnut hair. It was a vivid red amongst the dark brown and called to Wen Kexing. He plucked it out, twirling it in his fingers, and waited for the mockery. For someone to tell him that his mother had been too nice and he too gullible, but it never came."

Readers Comments:

Autumn, rain, a head on a shoulder's beloved and wounds both seen and unseen. Told from Wen Kexing's perspective, we see Zhou Zishu, and it is beautiful, that I too wanted to say "Just a little more". This fic paints a simple but one of the most beautiful scene of wenzhou ever written.

Dandelions → created by rosenana708

Viewers Comments: 

One of the earliest fanvids on youtube. There's a reason it has 200k+ views. The song choice is perfect that ever since I watched this video, I would always think of wenzhou when I hear "Dandelions". The editing is superb, from the coloring to the scenes picked. I come back to this video everytime I want to be reminded of wenzhou's early dynamic, the flirting, Ah Xu's exasperation, and two people bruised and bloodied, weighed down by their pasts. It's a reminder that even when woh/shl's early eps might seem light, it is in fact the saddest episodes if the whole show.

Recommendations from @carmine-sunlight 

Endless Summer / 常夏 → written by stormoverdose

Summary:

Truth be told, he doesn’t want to tell anyone about Wen Kexing. On a superficial level, there’s something thrilling in the secrecy of it all, the idea of being intimate with each other only in front of each other. What they share, physical or emotional, completely preserved away from the world.

On a deeper level that Zhou Zishu is reluctant to confront, Wen Kexing scares him.

***

Or, Zhou Zishu meets Wen Kexing on a hot summer's day in a musty neighbourhood library and never truly recovers, ever.

Readers Comments:

I've read this fic (and its companion piece) so many times, I love it with all my heart. It doesn't matter that I know everything that happens at this point, it always breaks my heart and mends it again in the most wonderful way. This story makes you feel everything so deeply, from mundane sensations to the character's most intense feelings. Even though it's somber at various points, this story never fails to cheer me up when I'm sad, maybe because it's so easy to relate to its themes and it provides a hopeful resolution to all of them.

Rest Stop → written by Vorvayne

Summary:

You meet a man in a bar and go home with him. He's.......strange.

Or: one person Wen Kexing fucked before he met Zhou Zishu who'd say the whole thing was hot, but SO weird.

Readers Comments:

One of the best outsider pov's I've read, and such an interesting look into WKX's character in all his weird glory, in a modern au no less. The pov character's voice was so distinct and has you intrigued from the start. I can't describe the feeling you get going from the first to the second half of the fic, but each time I reread it, it feels just as amazing as the ones before.

A Curse Upon the Stars → written by quaint_marauder

Summary:

One is the Chief of Ghosts, while other is the Keeper of the List of Unfaithful.

They say only death and stench of blood permeates in the valley of ghosts. Humanity was a merely a weakness, just a weapon against you in the hands of an enemy.

So what of love? Can a ghost hope for a chance at love? And would the love of cursed souls rain destruction or could it maybe be their salvation?

Additional: 

At the time of this post first being shared, this fic is currently still in progress.

Readers Comments:

This story has it all, from amazing worldbuilding to mystery, comedy, horror, and everything in between. Wenzhou are placed in a setting that's familiar but at the same time so different, and it's amazing to see how that affects the progression of their relationship, which btw is delightful!!!! As shown by the tags, it deals with many heavy subjects (also, the author is always careful to expand on the content warnings each chapter), so keep that in mind going in. But yeah, this fic has me at the edge of my seat with each new chapter!

trembling on the branch, unfurl your petals and grow → written by minnabird

Summary:

Ye Baiyi didn't wake Wen Kexing; Zhang Chengling lied to protect him and held the secret of Zhou Zishu's death in his heart; and life at Four Seasons Manor went on. Until, that is, Bi Xingming comes running up the road from the town and tells Zhang Chengling there's something he has to see.

“I brought him as fast as I could,” Bi Xingming said to the man. “I still don’t know why you had to be so secretive, shifu—”

Shifu.

Zhang Chengling’s heart fell like a stone, and he crashed to his knees beside the man, reaching up as if to sweep the hat off and stopping just short. The man lifted his hand, impatiently shaking his sleeve back in a gesture so familiar he was sure even before he recognized the hand, even before the hand tilted back the hat to reveal his master’s gentle smile.

Additional:

At the time of this post first being shared, this fic is currently still in progress.

Readers Comments: 

It haunts me that I almost missed this fic because it's brought me such genuine joy! It shows a version of the future that I'd never considered before despite how naturally it comes to be, and it's so detailed and fleshed out that I was immersed in its world right away. You get emotionally invested in all the characters, even those with less 'screen time', and you end each chapter feeling hopeful and a bit melancholic. Reading it has been such a wonderful experience.

Big Cats are still Cats → written by Andreri25

Summary:

Zhou Zishu picked up a kitty from the trash. She did it because it was a pathetic little thing that was going to die, and Zhou Zishu wanted to be a better person.

Ok so maybe she was a little drunk at the time.

And mayyyyybe…. that wasn’t a kitten.

The vet bills are going to be off the roof. Zhou Zishu wouldn’t mind as much if the local exotic animals specialist wasn’t such a harassing menace.

Or

The one where Zhou Zishu accidentally acquires a wild animal. And a baby clouded leopard, too.

Readers Comments: 

I wanted to add at least one fem!wenzhou au, and this one ticks so many of my boxes! Meet-cute!! Animals!!! WKX as an exotic animal vet!!!! And ZZS's pov is as funny and endearing as ever! This fic is funny and sweet and will make your day instantly better.

Recommendations from @theyilinglaozus

Ladyhawke AU → written and drawn by @rhymesswith

Readers / Viewers Comments:

I’m very much a child who grew up surrounded by 80′s fantasy movies - Legend, The NeverEnding Story, Labyrinth, Willow - it doesn’t matter if they’re cheesy by today’s standards, they hold a special place in my heart to this day. So imagine my absolute delight when wenzhou!Ladyhawke au hit my dashboard for the first time. Every piece added to this universe causes me to break out in a huge smile. The art is beautiful, and the written pieces which have been included to this series are just so engaging and brilliant. I love whenever the newest piece appears on my dashboard, as it’s always guaranteed to be fantastic.

Stardust AU → drawn by @sadfishkid

Viewers Comments:

​Tasha’s art style is always incredible, but I lost my mind when they dropped their two-part wenzhou!Stardust AU! Another favourite story/movie, and I love everything about what this chooses to be. Wen Kexing as his obnoxiously strange self but ✨ shiny ✨ is absolutely perfect, and I love how done Zhou Zishu is. Tasha has a way of making her artwork so expressive in how the characters show their emotions, and it’s just so lovely. 

I will carry you → created by solariene

Viewers Comments:

This video entered my life and played with my emotions. It is a beautifully put together journey through Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing’s relationship, and just how much they mean to one another. The song choice is absolutely perfect for them and the editing fits on point with the lyrics. I’ve often come back to revisit this video, since it’s one of my absolute favourites from this fandom. 

in this lifetime and the next →  written by PhantomWriter

Summary:

Zhou Zishu was no better during waking hours, sparing what he could in reminiscing about what he actually recalled from his random dreams of a faceless little girl. She was dressed in hues of blue, sometimes pink with a touch of red. Effortlessly, he filled out the blanks among her vagueness: dark eyes in the shape of almonds, a button nose, pinchable cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips; altogether, they would crinkle adorably when her face lit up with a beam or when she stuck out her tongue in impertinence.

Albeit on a young girl’s image, those were exactly two of Wen Kexing’s trademark expressions.

Or, the times Zhou Zishu gets to witness how Wen Kexing handles children and catches extra feelings. ™

Readers Comments:

I absolutely adore this fic. It feels like a warm blanket on difficult days, never failing to pick up my mood. The whole family is present, and seeing Wen Kexing around babies is absolutely darling. No wonder why Zhou Zishu decides he wants to have a family with the man, I’d be weak to such sweetness too! The images created with the words in this story are so beautiful, painting vividly warm scenes that feel like they could be put to canvas.

In Death’s Bed →  written by jaemyun

Summary:

Word has spread in recent years of a temple on Mount Qingya that houses the god themselves.

If one goes to pray to the White Death, they may just get a miracle for their efforts; as long as they are careful not to offend, of course, lest they be carried out as a corpse.

The Prince wishes to ask this god quite the favor; help in seizing the throne. How fortunate that all he asks in return is Zhou Zishu.

Additional:

At the time of this post first being shared, this fic is currently still in progress.

Readers Comments:

The concept of this fic is one that is so interesting to me, every time it updates I’m excited to see what the next chapter will have in store. The interest Wen Kexing has in Zhou Zishu is so delightful, especially as his motives are truly a mystery to the entire cast of characters - well; except maybe Gu Xiang and himself. I don’t really know what direction this story is heading in, but somehow, that just makes it all the more engaging. 

Recommendations from @minnarr

The winds of the heavens shift suddenly → written by UnrememberedSkies

Summary:

After a prophetic dream shows him the bloody battle over his disciple's legacy, Ye Baiyi makes the decision to repay his debt to the Zhen couple by rescuing their fifteen year old son from the Ghost Valley. Fate is unpredictable, he discovers, but Wen Kexing is even more so.

Readers Comments:

YBY has a vision of years in the future (the show's events). He decides to rescue a young WKX and GX about it. Such an incredibly tender journey as YBY figures out how to care for GX and WKX and begins to care about them more than he ever planned to. I love the dynamic between WKX and YBY, it takes very fun notes from canon, but there's a surprisingly sweet affinity that springs up between YBY and GX that lowkey steals the show sometimes, and the way he, WKX, GX, and ZZS all settle into a whole in the end is so good. Sometimes you come down off your mountain and you just feel everything despite yourself.

Siji Mountain Rest Stop for the Weary Traveller → written by sundermount

Summary:

“The souvenirs are decently priced, but the food is not.”

One employee, two uncles, a colleague and the (nonexistent) business of tourism.

Readers Comments: 

This like, a highly slice of life thing seeing immortal Wenzhou as they are in vaguely modern times through the eyes of someone hired to help out in the rest stop they run on their mountain. With possible flavors of reincarnation, who's to say. It's just...quite lovely, and lets you live in the sensory details and in some OCs' lives while still giving Wenzhou's eternal wedded bliss and relationships built with new people.

this harbored deluge for you and i // 像我和你需要下一场雨  → written by gardencitymovements

Summary:

Three months. He’ll stay three months. Just long enough for that shrimpy Zhang Chengling to wean into this new world, and then he’ll leave. Just three months he’ll allow himself that brassy, beautiful line cook, who barked the most flirtatious insult at Zhou Zishu as he charged down the cracked asphalt with a towering pallet jack of wholesale soy sauce boxes; his voice magnetic like an army general’s, clear above the rumbling gallop of his condiment fleet.

-

chaperoning a new orphan across the Pacific runs into complications.

Readers Comments:

This author writes SO much lyrical, slow modern AU that doesn't shy away from canon's sharp edges and it's all very good but this is the quintessential one of their fics for me. Zhou Zishu arrives in California to escort Chengling and babysit him for a while; meets cook Wen Kexing and his collection of found family, gets attached to Chengling, and decides to stay instead. Excellent ensemble cast that comes with the romance, delicious-sounding food, slowly falling into a life you want instead of just drifting alone.

dear heaven → written by foreverstudent

Summary:

In a darker world where the Combined Six Cultivation Method fails and the snowy mountains become the burial mounds for his shifu and shishu, Chengling trains his martial arts under Ye Baiyi to be able to do only one thing: go back in time and save his found family.

Readers Comments:

I love time travel fic and I especially love time travel fic where a member of the younger generation goes back to help the older one. Here, Chengling trains with Ye Baiyi after a bad-ending AU until he can, like, use Combined Six to travel back and save Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing and ends up in his younger body. So there's some excellent bittersweet seeing people you love again, some "hmm, my disciple doesn't seem quite right," and fix-it for a thing the author broke in the first place along with things canon broke, which is always fun. Also: I really enjoy seeing their version of adult, fully-trained and powerful Chengling.

you’re the trouble that i always find → written by sundiscus

Summary:

“Do you know him?” Jin Wang asks.

The ringing in Zhou Zishu's ears gets louder. “No, Wangye,” he says.

At Zhou Zishu’s voice, the prisoner freezes.

Or: Jin Wang tries another way to get Zhou Zishu back.

Readers Comments:

This is tagged "falling in love with your soulmate all over again in the middle of a nightmare" and that is so accurate. Instead of what actually happened when he captured Zhou Zishu, Jin Wang decides to try to bring Zhou Zishu back to him by essentially like...drugging him into visions where he can confront and kill Wen Kexing. Except, that's not always what happens, and it definitely doesn't work. There's elements of time loop, and dream sharing, and a thousand ways things can go right and wrong, and Jin Wang being unable to break the loyalty and love Zhou Zishu feels towards Wen Kexing even when Zhou Zishu doesn't quite remember or understand. It's twisty and painful in a fun way and honestly a very Wenzhou getting-together story.

Recommendations from @korre

to ensnare a mama → written by silk_suture

Summary:

Zhou Zishu, suddenly aware that he’s staring, catches himself because what is he doing creeping at a random dad but also! Is he married? He must be! There are two kids! But where is the mom? the...other dad? Why does he care?

He picks up his goods and walks to the parking lot only to see them again. They're 3 cars away! Zhou Zishu discreetly looks over and the little girl is already staring at him. He tries to smile sheepishly and the little girl’s mouth, in her cute purple overalls, goes “o” and suddenly grabs her baba's shoulders and points at Zhou Zishu.

"Mama!"

They all freeze.

In which: The world didn't give her a mother? No problem! Independent toddler Ah-Xiang assigns one anyway.

Readers Comments:

This fic is such a happy read! It's funny and fluffy and in between that we also get ZZS's insecurity to if WKX actually wants him. The premise itself is hilarious and I smiled while thinking back on this fic several days later.

Spring Festival: A Time for New Beginnings → written by LuckyDragon

Summary:

It’s during the Spring Festival that Xingming picks the wrong pocket. He’s fifteen, and he thinks he knows a good mark from a bad one. He spots the old man in the crowded market — he’s big but slow, walking with a careful gait that suggests a hidden limp. However, when Xingming liberates the man’s purse and ducks into an alleyway, the man is already there waiting for him.

Readers Comments:

This fic hit me right in the feelings. It explores the lives of Han Ying and the rest of Tian Chuang through the eyes of Bi Xingming. It is beautifully written and I love how the author really fleshed out Bi Xingming, he is perceptive and funny as a POV. The fic is full of melancholy and it made me ugly cry. I love it.

to be seen is the penalty → written by northofallmusic (tofsla)

Summary:

Han Ying, recovering from his wounds after escaping to Siji Manor, finds himself struggling with his feelings for Zhou Zishu and with his understanding of his place in the world.

Readers Comments:

This is a fic where Han Ying lives and gets to be a part of Siji manor. It's so well written and full of angst (hello Han Ying's unrequited feelings), but also of hope. Han Ying's feelings punced me in the gut as he tries to navigate his place in Siji manor and around WenZhou, when he has detailed insight to the abuse ZZS suffered in the past. The fic is very raw, yet tender at the same time. Which is a super effective combination for making it stay in your thoughts.

... And a few special mentions:

These are either works created by our lovely friends at Immortal Wanderers, or fond favourites that many of us have spoken of enjoying:

Wenzhou ‘first kiss’ art → drawn by @raymuratadraws

Word of Honor memes and articles → created by @antique-forvalaka

‘Bad Dreams’: Wen Kexing fanvideo → created by @scorpionkings

‘Touch’ series → written by @theyilinglaozus

trembling on the branch, unfurl your petals and grow → written by @minnarr

Wenzhou and tropes → created by @wanderingfandoms

Lessons Learnt → written by sunromance

Modern AU sex worker!Wen Kexing/ dying!Zhou Zishu thread fic → written by gahyeonfleur

Yi Guo lives!  → drawn by slothxian

Sanguine → written by jaemyun

Wenzhou fanart → drawn by @sadfishkid

Thank you so much to all the talented creators in this fandom!  Happy anniversary to all, and here’s to many more years of enjoyment upon the mountain!​

[miraculouscontent]

*rubs hands together*

The first thing to talk about with this episode is the pacing, and I think this might contribute to why people think it’s the best/least bad of Season 4 (personally, I’d rather watch “Furious Fu” but that’s just me; also, this isn’t the only contributing factor as to why I think people might feel this way, but I’ll get there later).

The episode has a very serious pacing issue, particularly with its more intense scenes. There’s only one minute of time dedicated to Ladybug landing on her bed, de-transforming, and her snapping at her friends plus them leaving. More time was spent on Chat Noir and Ladybug in the movie theater and Ladybug storming out.

I particularly remember watching the episode and getting eighteen minutes in, at which point I had the realization of, “It feels like nothing’s happened?”

This episode is supposed to be a big gut punch, but the season has been going by at the speed of sound, like they’re trying desperately to play all their cards at once (Lukanette break-up, Adrimi break-up, then Alya is told Marinette’s secret identity). Instead of letting things build and play out for a while in the interest of suspense, the show just throws whatever will get a big reaction out of the fandom (whether positive or negative) and it doesn’t care how shoddily put together everything is. The first two episodes feel like hastily put together drafts, and while this one is technically more put together, it still feels like a draft.

Let’s just start with Chat Noir, who feels completely out of place in the episode. Not only does he imply that he intentionally calls Ladybug “Bugaboo” (which she has told him to stop doing) in order to get a reaction out of her, but when Ladybug insists that she doesn’t want to talk, he tricks her into thinking that he has a good location to do so (and my heart breaks a little at how readily she trusts him) only to then take her to a romantic movie, then shush her when she calls him out for it because she “said she didn’t want to talk.”

Gee, and people wonder why she didn’t tell him her secret (even outside of “Chat Blanc” existing)?

And... look, I know it’s a joke, but I do not find it funny. The “joke” is basically that Chat Noir is taking advantage of the situation to flirt with Ladybug, and though I find it at least mildly cathartic that Ladybug is unaffected by all the people staring at them while Chat Noir is embarrassed, this episode is coming right after the one where Kagami broke up with Adrien, and here Chat Noir is getting his flirt game on. I already talked about all my problems with “Lies” so I won’t do it again, but I’ll just say that it’s not a mystery why Ladybug doesn’t want to talk to him and would rather avoid her problems.

(Not to mention that Ladybug knows that Chat Noir likes her, so talking about her romantic problems with him is awkward to say the least and would come off as insensitive.)

Honestly, at this point I feel like they must be building to something with Chat, like Ladybug finally going off of him with no mercy and that forces him to give up/fall out of love for her because reverse love square, but if that’s what they intend to go for, then that means Marinette is going to fall for this guy who’s repeatedly disrespected her feelings for multiple seasons, almost abandoned her and let Paris drown because she wouldn’t tell him a secret that wasn’t hers to tell, and just generally all the other things he did????

Ugh, I don’t wanna think about it. Let’s just move on.

Talking about Ladybug and her rant next, it basically summarizes the whole show in a nutshell, but simultaneously casts a shadow of sorts over “Truth” for people who maybe missed the episode entirely (which is also sort of the show in a nutshell). I mean, Ladybug confirming to the audience that she was genuinely in love and happy with Luka (you can’t watch how depressed she was over the break-up and not think that) was great, but Ladybug’s dialog implies that Luka “hated secrets” and that’s why they broke up, when Luka was more just... hurt that she couldn’t be honest with him, and he didn’t actively hate secrets. Marinette broke up with him because she felt like she had to; because she had to keep ditching and lie to him.

In addition, what she says also hints to the audience that they’ve both held and kissed each other, which not only indicates cowardice on the part of the staff (”yeah this happened but--um--off-screen; we’d still like credit tho plz”), but may perhaps go back to the theory I had about how Adrimi and Lukanette were supposed to last longer in Season 4 but their arcs got cut (based on the Adrimi kiss having supposed to have gone off). This could mean that Ladybug’s statement was originally accurate to canon but the scenes got cut and the scriptwriters just awkwardly left it in, which is made more awkward by the cinema scene in “Truth” that felt like Luka and Marinette were kissing for the first time (again, alluding to the whole, “this entire season has been a draft” thing).

Also, if you think about what that actually means - that Luka and Marinette did have successful dates and kisses but they were off-screen - then all it adds up to is that showing Marinette happy and comfortable was something that the series didn’t deem as “interesting/fun enough” to show, because Marinette being happy isn’t something they want to see; only watching her be miserable, which is exactly what Ladybug says, along with how everything was “almost too simple, too easy,” because Marinette isn’t allowed to have nice things without being jammed through the wringer first.

And... sure, let’s say that Chat Noir thought the movie was genuinely a good idea; let’s assume that it could be a joke, him wanting to flirt, and him believing that it’d make her feel better somehow.

If that’s the case, then where’s the apology when it fails miserably? Ladybug goes from her semi-anxious state at the start of the episode (a little scatterbrained but ultimately just looking for a distraction), to outright enraged by the movie, and then to this upon leaving the cinema.

She just got her heart broken from being forced to break up with a boy she genuinely wanted to be with and there’s not a single, “Okay, maybe coming here was a bad idea, I’m sorry,” (which could’ve been seen as another joke with the audience like “lol no duh Chat Noir” so there’s no excuse not to have it) or, “My bad, that was insensitive of me. I really thought this would’ve helped but I wasn’t thinking about what you would’ve wanted.”

No. The only people Chat apologizes to are the other people at the theater because he’s embarrassed by Ladybug’s reactions, yet he himself feels no remorse for taking her there and has the gall to go on now about how he’s “there for her if she wants to talk.”

Again, it’s no wonder Ladybug doesn’t want to open up to him.

And I’m sorry, I just don’t buy that Marinette suddenly has all this free time. It’s one thing for her to have a little more time now that she’s broken up with her boyfriend (likely avoiding spending time with him altogether now), but “Truth” went out of its way to talk about all of the emergencies she had to deal with and how she doesn’t have any spare time. which is causing her to become forgetful and lose track of certain events (patrols with Chat, dates with Luka, etcetera), yet Marinette spends most of “Gang of Secrets” simply sulking on her bed. It’s so jarring to go from “Truth” where she was doing “too much” (which I called them out on for not describing what the “too much” she was doing was) and now “Gang of Secrets” where she’s not doing anything.

It’s almost like they invented that plot point to break Lukanette up and it served no purpose outside of it.

Furthermore, the scenes of her finally talking to Tikki and then deciding to live as Ladybug does nothing outside of making the plot more predictable, the latter because of the “Alya almost sees Ladybug” moment (an obvious indicator that Marinette is losing control and is struggling to maintain her secret identity due to her emotionally breaking down) and the former because of Tikki herself and what she doesn’t say.

Because, really, think about what actually goes on in the scene. Marinette (eyes rimmed red and filled with unshed tears, as she is for a good chunk of the episode) is venting to Tikki about - yes - her love life, but also that she has to lie to everyone in order to keep her identity a secret. The fact that Tikki focuses solely on the note of Marinette’s love life and not say a word about the identity/lying issue or even consider telling Marinette, “hey, this is clearly too much for you, you should tell someone, I think the benefits outweigh the risks right now,” really proves that the episode tried to avoid the topic altogether to try and make the ending more shocking (which ironically made it more predictable).

So yeah, not only does Tikki’s dialog with Marinette provide nothing except for a line about how she can’t help Marinette with love issues due to kwami not falling in love (alright, I guess aros can’t give good love advice then or have any input whatsoever), but Marinette’s line about lying to everyone being why she can’t pursue Adrien nor Luka is repeated in the very last scene of the episode. The only reason that scene and the scene after exist is because the writers needed Marinette to be emotionally devastated enough to leave for her balcony as Ladybug for the almost-reveal to Alya and so Rose would get close enough to the dollhouse to have an almost-reveal with the Miracle Box, making the scene feel further contrived because the emotional punch of Marinette wanting to live as Ladybug lasts for barely any time at all.

And it could’ve served a purpose, like if Ladybug had genuinely left and Alya finds her goggles and towel, recognizing them from a news story about how Ladybug had gone to the swimming pool after losing her temper at the cinema, which could’ve led to Shadow Moth making the girls believe that Ladybug was no longer heroic and had kidnapped Marinette, or... heck, Ladybug coming back inside would’ve been so much less jarring if she came back because she heard the girls’ voices talking about the dollhouse and had to hurry (but of course, then they’d have to point out the ridiculousness of Ladybug not hearing Alya calling her and the girls not hearing Ladybug literally shouting for Shadow Moth to come fight her, even though the kwami heard the girls calling for Marinette from the balcony).

But instead, the entire scene feels off and unnatural, forcing every part of it in order to get to where Marinette has to snap at the girls to make them leave.

(Oh, by the way, just a little detail to add to the annoyance: they bothered putting Tom and Sabine in the episode when the girls are leaving, clearly saddened by something that happened, and neither parent even bothers to go and check on Marinette to see if she’s upset or just to see what might’ve happened. They’re such a “blink-and-you’ll-miss it” moment in the episode and it’s not like I’m surprised because they’ve done this multiple times by now but really?)

As for the girls themselves... oof, where do I even begin?

Alright, first off is the annoyance that they assume Marinette’s problems relate only to lovesickness. Marinette has been an anxiety-prone mess throughout the entire series, and suddenly now the girls care about Marinette’s love problems on an emotional level rather than “we’ll meddle sometimes unless we don’t feel like it and be wholly inconsistent on how much we push for it.”? It’s not that I don’t see how they came to the conclusion (hearing that Luka and Marinette broke up and now seeing Marinette is depressed, it checks out), but considering they bothered noting that Marinette hadn’t told them anything, one would think they’d come to the conclusion of, “okay, we haven’t talked to her, we have no idea of what’s going on, maybe we don’t know her as well as we thought then and shouldn’t make guesses.”

Secondly is the “eternal friendship bracelet,” which comes off as a copy of the “Secrets” game from “Syren” extremely manipulative. Mylene goes on to explain that one is supposed to give a secret to the pearl “mentally,” yet when the girls actually show up to see Marinette, they expect to be told the secret directly. I’ve already talked at length about peer pressure and the mental stress Marinette goes through when they mock her and/or meddle for her, but this idea of, “well we all used this friendship bracelet after we mutually agreed to it so now it’s your turn because we said so!” just comes off really bad. I know the episode is going for this idea that their hearts are in the right place, but they’re really not. It feels like they’re the ones in denial and are trying to compensate by forcing Marinette to prove that they’re friends, unable to handle the idea that they might not be as close to her as they thought.

Thirdly, the show acts as if the girl squad are her only friends when we know that’s not true because we’ve seen episodes like “Befana” (the guys in the class), “Reverser” (Marc), “Ikari Gozen” (Kagami), and “Silencer” (Ivan) that all established Marinette having more friends than just them, but for the sake of “drama” and the depressing line of, “at least I don’t have any more friends to lie to,” the episode just pretends like Marinette’s friends are limited to Luka (who she had to break up with) and the girl squad (who she forced to leave and refuse the friendship of).

Fourthly is the actual set-up and the sheer grossness of it all. The girls call Marinette and leave a message about how they much they love her and how she can talk to them “where and when” she wants, and then - immediately afterwards - decide that they’re going to go straight to Marinette’s house completely unannounced, go into her room completely unannounced (not even knocking, by the way), and when Marinette begs them to leave, Alya basically tells her that she’s overreacting. When Marinette demands that they leave, Alya refuses and makes demands right back that they won’t leave until she tells them what’s wrong.

So much for “where and when” she wanted, right? It’s already one thing for the girls to invade Marinette’s privacy and demand/guilt-trip answers out of her, but it’s another thing to give the illusion of respecting her feelings and personal space only to actively plan to go back on it. I can’t tell if it’s a bad draft that they didn’t catch in quality check (you know, the quality check that they definitely don’t have) or just an intentional way to make them seem more sympathetic so Marinette looks worse for driving them out, but either way, it’s awful and I hate it. I would’ve rather had them be all in on invading Marinette’s privacy and learn a lesson in the end than outright contradict themselves.

There are also little nitpicks I could make (like Juleka’s constant mumbling despite Luka’s crush on Marinette playing a role in the episode, Horrificator getting sidelined due to being mute, and the girls’ akumatization ultimately being for spectacle and nothing else, serving no purpose to the plot and being furthered by the fact that Timebreaker goes after Marinette despite it being a bad idea and Reflekta’s power clearly not lining up with any sort of plan), but the real issue issue here comes down to the fact that these are Marinette’s so-called “friends” and the episode refuses to address their actual issues.

Alix, who is known for making rude comments at Marinette (”Gigantitan,” “Chat Blanc,” “Miraculous New York”) and then gives mixed messages by going along with meddling anyway.

Mylene, who is the closest thing to a background character in the girl squad but nevertheless finds her way into being definite voice against Marinette in “Chameleon.”

Juleka, who blamed Marinette for things she didn’t do in “Reflekdoll” and got huffy with her until Marinette apologized for said things.

Rose, who outright screamed at Marinette in “Chat Blanc” over a freaking stuffed animal, which pressured Marinette enough that she snuck into Adrien’s room to deliver her gift which nearly led to the end of the world.

And, of course, Alya; freaking Alya. I don’t even have to go into every single thing she’s ever done because I have a history of giving her absolutely no mercy.

...But let’s go through some anyway because I want to.

“Copycat” - Alya gives Marinette a script and tells her to memorize it, then immediately pushes the “call” button when Marinette hesitates after Marinette had just told Alya that she’s awful at improv.

“Darkblade” - Alya takes a jab at Marinette when Marinette says that she’s too busy to be class representative, implying that Alya thinks that Marinette does absolutely nothing with her time.

“Gamer” - Alya is busy recording the gaming competition when she and Marinette were supposed to be researching for a term paper. Alya then scolds Marinette for wanting to use the competition to get close to Adrien only to do a 180 and put up a fight about it when Marinette decides to quit.

“Animan” and how “The Puppeteer 2″ follows up on it - oh, I’m not going to touch that particular point right now, but keep those in the back of your mind, because I am going to absolutely go off later

“Simon Says” - Similarly to Marinette’s parents, Alya gives zero damns about whatever might be going on in Marinette’s life that's causing her to miss classes.

"Despair Bear” - Alya laughs at Marinette being forced to kiss Chloe’s cheek and then outright compares Marinette to Chloe after knocking Chloe multiple times during the episode (sure, just compare your “best friend” to her multi-year bully, how "hilarious” of you).

“Gigantitan” - Alya has no qualms about mocking Marinette’s over her failures, even if it embarrasses her and she’s been through enough already.

“Frozer” - Alya tries to find ways for Marinette to prevent herself from third-wheeling for Adrien, but when Marinette tries to show character growth by wanting to go, Alya gets into a shouting match with the other girls over how Marinette has “liked Adrien forever and isn’t going to give up now”.

“Catalyst” - Alya claims that Marinette is only salty over Lila out of jealousy when “Frozer” exists and literally is the prime evidence of Adrien liking another girl and Marinette telling Alya outright and very genuinely that she’s not jealous.

“Chameleon” - Alya doesn’t care about her best friend sitting in the back by herself while Alya herself get to sit next to her boyfriend and everyone else in general gets to sit where they want (Alya even acting confused at the mere suggestion that she’d tried to engineer things to let Marinette sit next to Adrien), then not only believes Lila over Marinette but contradicts herself twice (asking Marinette for proof when she has none herself, then claiming that she wouldn’t let her best friend sit by herself).

“Christmaster” - Alya leaves Marinette to babysit so she and Nino can go out on a date.

“Desperada” - Alya suddenly is for Lukanette for literally one episode and doesn’t know how/doesn’t even try to cover for Marinette’s Adrien blindness despite mocking her for multiple seasons over it.

“Reflekdoll” - Alya invites Adrien to something that’s crucial for Marinette to focus on after Marinette has already told her not to and continues meddling to the point where it gets Juleka akumatized (she also doesn’t get punished for it and the blame gets thrown onto Marinette).

“The Puppeteer 2″ - Alya pushes her luck with Nathalie to try and get Marinette to come with her, Nino, Adrien, and Manon to the museum, then traps Marinette in a room with Adrien to force her to spent alone time with him, even abandoning and forgetting about the child that she offered to watch for Marinette so she and her boyfriend can go off alone.

“Miraculous New York” - Alya is told directly by Marinette that she needs help seeing Adrien as a friend, which leads Alya to do the exact opposite throughout the entire special, at one point shouting at Marinette and pressuring her to chase after a car, in the rain, while there’s a supervillain rampaging through Paris, and all of this right after the scheme that Alya had set up caused both Marinette and Adrien to go missing.

And just saying, as Marinette’s supposed “best friend,” Alya sure doesn’t know how to handle her. It was acceptable back in “The Bubbler” when she asked Marinette about signing the gift too late and the same goes for “Dark Cupid,” but by the time we get to late Season 2/3 and Alya refuses to learn Marinette’s weak spots (unless it’s to mock her) and adjust accordingly (like if she’d already made sure the gift was signed in “Chat Blanc,” which would’ve prevented Adrien seeing Ladybug at all due to the time difference), it starts getting infuriating.

A best friend is supposed to cover for their friend’s weaknesses. Alya doesn’t do that; she meddles and often drives Marinette’s anxiety even further up a wall with absolutely no consideration for Marinette’s feelings (”Dark Cupid,” “The Puppeteer 2,” “Reflekdoll,” “Miraculous New York”).

And here, she and the other girls are rewarded for it. Luka actively resisted his akumatization whereas the girls gave in immediately, yet Marinette still opens up to them in the end, likely because they had pressured her and made her feel bad for the secrets she was keeping while Luka was willing to actually wait for her to be ready to talk to him. I can’t put into words how frustrating it is watching these girls trample all over Marinette’s feelings, not have their worst actions called out, and then jump cut post-deakumatization to Marinette telling them exactly what they wanted to know about her love life.

You know what this entire episode is really missing, outside of a coherent plot, properly-paced development, and a basic understanding of rewarding a character for things they’ve held firmly to?

It’s missing the apology. Chat Noir apologizes to a bunch of moviegoers and Rose apologizes for the broken dollhouse, but no one apologizes to Marinette for how they treated her, especially not the “friends” who got rewarded in the end.

“Sorry, we shouldn’t have told you that we’d respect your feelings and then showed up unannounced to make you talk about them.”

“We’re sorry we came into your room and invaded your privacy. You were right to be mad at us.”

“Oh my gosh, Marinette, we got akumatized and we’re so sorry for literally all five of us going after you and probably scaring the living daylights out of you.”

And as if that wasn’t enough, guess what else this is missing? It’s kind of important and brought up directly in the episode, yet the episode simultaneously goes out of its way not to bring it up again.

It’s the reason why Marinette didn’t tell the girls about her relationship with Luka. It’s not there - it’s missing - and the girls never try to pursue the subject. They talk about how Marinette didn’t tell them but don’t think for a second that maybe it’s them who have failed as friends. Instead, they don’t guess anything about why Marinette wouldn’t tell them (which is already strange considering how much they already assume about her) and jump straight to, “well clearly we just need to push for her to talk to us.”

Gonna just go out on a limb here and say that maybe - just maybe - Marinette didn’t tell them because they are habitually pushy in everything they do.

Because they would’ve teased her relentlessly about, “ohhhh you’ve got eyes for Luka? what about Aaaaaadrien~? aren’t you sooo tooorn between both of these cute guys?”

Because they would’ve meddled to force her and Luka together and gotten on her case when/if she ever had to bail on him.

Because their intrusion on her feelings for Adrien had caused her nothing but problems and she just wanted to be with Luka in peace without them forcing their way into things.

Because--hey, wild thought--maybe they’re not really friends???

But the episode completely avoids it, because that would’ve meant addressing it; it would’ve meant acknowledging that they messed up, which - fun fact - they actually don’t do in the episode.

They invaded Marinette’s privacy, insisted that she tell them how she feels (not about them of course because that would imply that they felt like they screwed up), and in the end it’s Marinette who gives them exactly what they asked of her, and the closest thing we get to acknowledging anything is Alix telling her/joking with her that they’ll help her confess to whoever she likes as soon as she tells them she’s ready.

That’s not an apology. That’s not an acknowledgment of wrongdoing. Even when the five of them are about to get akumatized, it’s not a circle of them saying, “here’s how I screwed up, I could’ve done better but I didn’t and I lost Marinette because of it.”

No. It’s just them talking about how sad the situation is. Mylene has the closest thing to remorse in saying, “I hoped it would work,” but where does it go? A grand total of nowhere, especially because Marinette still takes the bracelet in the end instead of the girls mutually deciding, “okay, maybe the bracelet was a bad idea; how about we all agree on making something together instead, no requirements attached?”

And then the episode has the gall to act as if Alya has gone through character growth when all they did was put Alya through the same thing that Chloe did. I’ll explain that last bit momentarily, but first let’s talk about the whole “growth” thing.

Because there’s no apology or acknowledgement of wrongdoing, all Alya does when she’s finally alone with Marinette is do a 180 from where she was at the start of the episode, going from, “friends have to tell each other everything,” to, “hey, if you don’t want to tell me, then that’s your right.”

The crucial part that’s supposed to go in the middle is missing. Instead of acknowledging her failures, Alya just cuts straight to “””being a better friend,”““ but storytelling doesn’t work that way.

It literally would have taken zero effort to fit an acknowledgement into that scene. “You don’t have to tell me everything, I get that now. All my meddling’s done is hurt you and I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t trust me.”

In a world where Marinette has to apologize for everything, has to learn lessons and suffer because the narrative says so, I will not accept anything less from other characters who are trying to develop and improve. That’s not fair to Marinette, nor has it ever been.

Instead of properly developing Alya, the show does whatever it can to get its audience to root for her as Marinette’s “best friend” (ugh) without having to put in the effort of admitting that Alya hasn’t been Marinette’s “best” friend.

Remember when I brought up Chloe? Yeah, “Malediktator” did a similar thing, showing Chloe doing something awful, then being sad (while not actually acknowledging the thing she did wrong), and in the end she was rewarded with a miraculous prematurely.

One show of character from Chloe and Marinette gave her a miraculous. One show of character from Alya and Marinette told her that she was Ladybug.

(Also, for the record, I think Chloe is far worse than Alya character-wise and I’m not comparing their characters; this is just the simplest comparison I can draw here from a narrative standpoint.)

“Miraculer” is another apt comparison, perhaps even more so. Chloe got Hawk Moth in her head after an akuma landed in her photo of her and Ladybug, but Chloe resisted and fought back, ultimately forcing the akuma out of her and freeing herself from Hawk Moth’s control.

But it wasn’t to develop her character; no, it was to convince the audience of Chloe and Sabrina’s friendship so they’d feel something during Sabrina’s happy flashbacks, then lay the foundation of tricking viewers into believing that Chloe might not go to Hawk Moth’s side.

At the end of the day, it was doing something that’s “never been done before” in order for the character to earn brownie points for something that the writers can just have them do because willpower is an easy thing to just write in. “Gang of Secrets” does the exact same thing when Lady Wifi breaks free from Shadow Moth, with Ladybug even hammering it home by talking about how no one’s ever done it before.

And the pacing is - again - awful. Not only is Ladybug banking on this working when she herself says that it’s never been done, but the conversation between her and Lady Wifi where Ladybug tries to convince her doesn’t even take a minute.

It also has nothing to do with Marinette herself; Ladybug relies on Alya’s adoration/friendship with her as Ladybug (you know, after Alya took a photo of LadyNoir kissing and posted it online without Ladybug’s consent, betrayed her by putting information on the LadyBlog that Hawk Moth was able to take advantage of, and is the only hero outside of Chloe to resist returning a miraculous) in order to break from Hawk Moth’s control, because talking about Marinette with Lady Wifi didn’t even work.

(Ladybug also uses her yoyo as a portal to the Miracle Box when this has never been pre-established to be a thing despite Ladybug acting as if she knew it was; further proof that this episode was rushed.)

And of course talking about Marinette didn’t work, because that would’ve meant convincing Alya that her reason for getting akumatized was “wrong” and the episode didn’t want to do that. It didn’t want someone else actually learning something and feeling bad; surely, this is just Alya being manipulated by Shadow Moth and having the power to break free because Ladybug “needs Rena Rouge” and not because Lady Wifi and her friends are chasing after their supposed best friend and that’s--you know--wrong???

Rena Rouge’s reappearance is also yet another thing the episode refuses to address because it avoids the topic of “but my identity--”. At least “Heart Hunter” had the tact to have Kagami question why Ladybug was giving her the dragon again, but “Gang of Secrets” treads as lightly as possible on any discussion of identities outside of Marinette saying that she can’t, as if it were Marinette who made the choice of concealing her identity and not the basic idea of heroing that has been stressed over and over for the whole show.

Even Plagg of all kwami stated back in “Origins” that no one is supposed to know about secret identities, a rule that continues becoming flaky and muddled with each passing season, almost like they kept attempting to retcon and make the audience dulled to the idea so that the reveal in “Gang of Secrets” would be more acceptable.

But now, with the way they did it and how they don’t even have Tikki comment on the matter, it once again has it look like they’re making it - say it with me, everyone - Marinette’s fault.

Alya says that Marinette has a choice in telling her secret, Marinette insists that she doesn’t and goes on and on about how it’ll change everything, and then just... tells Alya her secret in the end.

And remember all the way back in Season 2? “Sapotis”?

Alya: What were you saying about her secret identity?

Marinette: Ladybug needs it to protect her family and friends. Otherwise the villains could use them to get to her.

Alya: Well, if I knew who Ladybug really was, I'd keep it a secret. I would even help her! Like say, if you were Ladybug, I'd cover for you — when you needed to transform in school, go fight the "baddies", you know?

Marinette: Oh yeah? Well, if I was Ladybug I wouldn't even tell you, to protect you from the "baddies", you know?

Alya: You serious? If I was Ladybug, I'd totally tell you! Because I tell my best friend everything.

And now here we are in “Gang of Secrets,” as if the narrative is saying, “See, Marinette? Alya was right all along, you were just being ridiculous and making yourself suffer for no reason!”

Yet Marinette had a right to keep her secrets. When Alya and Nino learned each other’s identities, Alya took a hit for Nino in “Catalyst” and both of them fell to Scarlet Moth’s akumas. Chloe was a mess and a half because of Hawk Moth knowing her identity. Fu had told Marinette that her miraculous would get taken if she and Chat Noir learned each other’s identities.

The only ones who received no consequences due to someone knowing their identity were Pegase (who Chat Noir and Markov knew), Ryuko (who Chat Noir, Ikari Gozen, and Hawk Moth knew), and Viperion (who Adrien knew). “Chat Blanc” also exists where Marinette got the impression that people discovering her identity would be a disaster, and even all the way back in “Lady Wifi” insisted that not telling anyone her identity was “listening to her head and not her heart,” and the narrative has relentlessly humiliated her for going with her heart, so yeah, probably for the best.

I hate that the episode avoids talking about anything identity-related outside of what comes out of Marinette’s mouth to make it appear like it was her choice all along. I hate that they had Tikki fixate on Marinette’s love problems instead of having her actually support Marinette and admit that Marinette should tell someone before she has a mental breakdown. I hate that the episode inserts Rena Rouge into the plot as if to brush all identity issues away so as to make Marinette’s identity reveal seem less jarring.

Now, of course I’m glad Marinette told someone. Of course I want her to get love and support from someone. Of course I think the benefits outweigh the risks, or I wouldn’t have written multiple fix-its where her identity gets revealed in some way or someone already knows.

But I didn’t want it to be Alya, because I knew how they’d do it. I knew they’d do it wrong and I knew that they wouldn’t have the courage to address Alya’s issues properly.

Those familiar with my blog will know that I’d been taking negative predictions for future seasons for a while and adding them to cards whenever they were proven right. Does anyone remember the Season 4 predictions that were proven correct for “Gang of Secrets,” specifically these ones?

- “Alya will suddenly be portrayed as a good/worthy friend to Marinette in/if there's an episode where Marinette tells her that she's Ladybug”

- “Alya resisting Shadow Moth/fighting back against him will be used to excuse telling Alya Marinette's secret identity“

- “Alya will know that Marinette is Ladybug first because "BFFs" despite being one of the worst candidates for it“

- “The secret that broke Lukanette up will be resolved in episode 3 when Marinette tells Alya“

Each and every one of those were mine, because I knew that whether Season 4 had a proper chronological order or not, the writers would not have the guts to develop Alya first and then have Marinette tell her in a future episode after Alya has properly earned it.

I knew that they wouldn’t take time to develop Alya. I knew that they would have Alya resist Shadow Moth to make Alya look “worthy” of the secret. I knew that Alya would swoop in during the last minute and a half of an episode, insisting that Marinette “didn’t have to tell her anything” when Alya had been pushy and insistent for the entire rest of the episode and the whole series in general, and would ultimately be rewarded with the big secret simply because she’s “the best friend” and that’s it.

The Alya at the end of the episode isn’t the Alya I’ve known for the entire rest of the series before this, or at the very least they turned her into an Alya I don’t recognize.

Alya claims during the ending scene that she knows that Marinette is hiding something beyond her love problems because she - as a reporter and “her best friend” - can sense such things, and all I’m left wondering is

w h e r e ?

Where and when has Alya been suspicious or worried about Marinette keeping a secret from her? What, back in “The Pharoah” where she didn’t immediately disregard Marinette for the role of Ladybug, or “Simon Says” where she vaguely teased Marinette about having a double life, both Season 1 episodes?

Where was Alya in “Truth” saying that she didn’t know Marinette’s secret but knew that she was keeping one? Where was Alya anywhere in Season 3 being concerned that Marinette hasn’t told her something? Where was this “supposedly very observant” Alya when Marinette needed her to out Lila because Lila got her expelled--oh wait, Alya “observed” that Lila did nothing and Marinette was just jealous.

What, is it only now that Alya suddenly “knows” that Marinette is hiding something else? Now, after Alya has already not known that Marinette was literally dating someone, even when Alya had multiples pictures of Marinette and said someone giving each other heart eyes and saw Marinette leaving school with said someone riding on the same bike together, you know, like normal, typical, average friends would?

Where’s the line where Alya acknowledges the problem? Where’s Alya sitting down with Marinette and admitting, “hey, I’m sorry I haven’t noticed this stuff, but I promise I’ll do better starting right now, and that’s how I know now that you’re hiding something else, and I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that it’s been hurting you”?

I can’t tell you where it is, but I can say that it’s certainly not in this episode. 60% of the episode features the Alya we knew from the rest of the series and then switches her out the second she’s de-akumatized for another Alya who hasn’t done anything that the old one has because she pretends like it didn’t happen.

You know how I know? Because of this absolute gut punch of a line that showed that the series wanted to handwave everything away.

“I know how to keep a secret.”

...Really? Does she now? Well, I hope everyone remembered my point about “Animan” and “The Puppeteer 2,” because I’m bringing it right back.

Considering that “Truth” has been burned into all of our memories, we all definitely remember when Truth shoots Alya and questions her on Marinette’s secret, to which Alya states that Marinette’s secret is, “She’s in love with Adrien Agreste.” Now, at the time of Season 4′s airing, this is very much not a secret, as most characters already knew about Marinette’s crush, to the point where it’d been broadcast on television during Season 2.

But do you know when it was actually a secret? Back in Season 1, specifically in the episode “Animan” where Alya told Nino.

And not only did she tell Nino, but she lied to Marinette by claiming that she didn’t, acting as if Nino knew that Marinette had a crush but didn’t know who she was crushing on, which is then directly proven false as Nino accidentally implies that he does know who it is. This is also after Alya had gotten on Marinette’s case for trying to set her up with Nino, and then she had the gall to say that she wouldn’t spill Marinette’s secret because she, and I quote, “doesn't go around making decisions for other people,“ a statement that is directly contradicted by this little thing known as everything Alya has ever said and done in the entire series.

And while Marinette meddling in Alya’s love life actually ended up working out for Alya, Alya meddling in Marinette’s by telling Nino who Marinette is crushing on comes back to bite Marinette - not Alya (because of course) - in the infamous episode of “The Puppeteer 2,” where Marinette realizes that Alya really did tell Nino that she was crushing on Adrien.

Marinette: You told me you wouldn't tell Nino!

Alya: I haven't told him. Right, Nino? I didn't tell you anything. (elbows him)

Nino: She didn't tell me. And besides, I told her I wouldn't tell.

Then, when she’s called out on it, Alya lies again, and shamelessly so.

Marinette: Why did you tell Nino everything? You promised you wouldn't!

Alya: I didn't, I swear! Besides, even if I had told him everything, he would still be clueless. Ugh, who cares anyway? I've set everything up with Nino, who doesn't know a thing, so you can finally pour your heart out to Adrien, girl!

And now, here we are one season later - and not even half of a season if you go by production code order - and Alya claims that she knows how to keep a secret.

No. No, she does not. In fact, she does even worse because she won’t even admit when she’s spilled said secret. I absolutely refuse to accept that Alya is “worthy” or “deserving” of learning that Marinette is Ladybug when she couldn’t even keep a basic secret like who her friend was crushing on.

And no, it didn’t matter that Nino was her boyfriend, or that maybe she thought it would work out because Nino was friends with Adrien. By that logic, Alya would tell Adrien that Marinette is Ladybug if she heard that Ladybug is who Adrien was crushing on and we all know how that would’ve gone.

Marinette has a right to tell her secret to whoever she wants and I’m glad that a burden has been lifted from her, but that doesn’t mean I have to be happy that it’s Alya. That doesn’t mean I have to be happy that, after so many moments of Alya disrespecting Marinette’s feelings, she is the one who gets to hear the big secret that the fandom has been waiting for someone to find out about since the very start of the series.

Luka said it best in “Truth” that the truth is meant to be shared, not taken by force, but Marinette was forced to tell Alya by the narrative because Alya is her supposed “best friend.” It pushed Marinette to her breaking point, forced her to break up with the guy who has respected her agency and feelings since the day they met, and gave her a version of her “best friend” with the same name and face but with none of the responsibility from previous events so that said version was there at the right time and the right place to hear what had to be heard.

And in the end, I end up feeling nothing. Marinette doesn’t even have a “Marinette” reaction to saying it as one would expect; for her to blurt it out and then immediately start panicking until Alya hugs her to calm her down. Instead, Marinette just says it and stares silently at Alya - after blabbing this huge, very big deal of a secret - until Alya goes in for a hug (the “happy/hopeful” ending of which is why I feel like this episode also gets less flak, as the previous two ended off rather depressing/upsetting).

It’s off. Everything is off. The pacing, the delivery, and the logic that the episode uses. The emotion in Marinette’s voice when she’s rambling about how hard it is to keep her secret is so powerful, but then the ending hits and she just says it, breaking the momentum they had going. They pulled the card of Alya walking away too soon when they could’ve saved it, having Marinette go quiet and letting Alya take a few steps away in order to let the moment build before Marinette finally blurts out the secret she’s been painfully holding in.

But they didn’t, and I’m so many levels of dissatisfied. I wasn’t against the idea of Alya learning Marinette’s secret at some point (though honestly, Alix would’ve been a better pick considering that Bunnyx will know eventually anyway, and I say that not even liking Alix!), but not now; not when Alya had so much to work towards.

And now what? What happens now? Now Alya will turn against Lila, not because she learned to have faith and believe in Marinette, but because Marinette is Ladybug, which disproves Lila’s ultimate lie that got Alya’s attention in the first place? Now Alya will be supportive and less teasing/mocking whenever Marinette will be late, not because she understands that Marinette isn’t perfect and has so many other things on her mind, but because she’s Ladybug and has “hero stuff” to take care of? Now Alya will be careful about what she puts on the LadyBlog, not because she respected Ladybug and what Ladybug would want, but because Ladybug is now her best friend and that changes everything?

Because now, Alya has a free pass to all of that, the show making her spontaneously “developed” now so they won’t have to develop her later, and disappointing doesn’t even begin to describe it.

[ichayalovesyou]

TOS Crew-Phobias

Been thinking about And The Children Shall Lead and how the kids play on everyone’s inner Beast, and trying to decipher what fears each crew member may have based on what the children made them do and see.

The asterisk means it’s either an approximation because their fear is too specific, or if they had this fear they’ve since developed means of coping

James Kirk: Autophobia

Autophobia: Fear of being alone

I feel like this one’s pretty obvious. People tend to make the argument that the Enterprise (the ship itself) is Kirk’s overpowering true love, but I don’t think that’s it. It’s more the friends and the life that he’s made within The Enterprise that he’s terrified of losing. Some of the places we see Jim at his most upset and afraid in the series are when he feels he’s been abandoned or is forcibly (and seemingly permanently) separated from the crew. How visibly upset he is on the empty Enterprise in This Side of Paradise and The Mark of Gideon, lashing out at Spock when the crew reluctantly relieves him of duty in The Deadly Years, and his deep resentment toward Deela when she kidnaps him in Wink of An Eye. This is also further reinforced by his actions in Star Trek: The Motion Picture & The Search for Spock. He’s also one of the two characters (the other being Sulu) where his fear counts as an actual phobia and not a hypothetical phobia, ingrained personality trait, or symptom of Neurodivergence.

S’chn T’gai Spock: *OCD (fear of losing control)

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: Obsessive thoughts that lead to repetitive actions.

If anything what we might perceive as OCD-like (or at least Neurodivergent) behavior may be typical of the Vulcan condition. I don’t think Spock has OCD, or at least I don’t know enough about it to say for sure, but what came up whenever I looked up “fear of hurting others/losing control” it came up without fail. While we don’t actually get to see whatever is making Spock’s hand tremble, momentarily defy orders and act as though everything is fine. I think we can surmise that his Beast convinced him that following the order would somehow hurt Jim or that he would be possessed/controlled to do so. Operation: Annihilate, Amok Time, Plato’s Stepchildren and essentially Spock’s whole character arc prove this to be true.

Bones: *Hyper-Empathy/Thanatophobia

Thanatophobia: Fear of death, dying, watching others die and/or others watching you die

There is a headcanon that Dr. McCoy is autistic with the hyper-empathy symptom, meaning he has a really hard time watching others suffer. This may have been the reason he became a doctor in the first place, or became worse/was triggered by his father’s death. While not technically a phobia and we don’t see Bones face his Beast in ATCSL. Evidence from other episodes supports this, Miri, Metamorphosis, Plato’s Stepchildren, The Empath, and For The World is Hollow & I Have Touched The Sky all heavily support this.

Scotty-Astrophobia

Astrophobia: Fear of getting lost or dying in space

Seems like kind of a ridiculous fear for someone who builds, maintains, and lives starships to have right? Maybe, but if that is something he’s deeply afraid of, it would make his surpassing ability to make certain the ship doesn’t explode despite impossible odds make plenty of sense. I don’t think it’s space itself that freaks Scotty out, it’s the idea of being stuck out there and/or suffering the cold and grizzly death that is getting sucked out into space does. So he does everything in his power to ensure that never happens. Out of all the supporting characters, the events of the episode that sparked this post aside, Scotty seems to have the best handle on his fear, the most condemning evidence that he’s got Astrophobia occurs later in season 3. He freezes up in the Jeffrey’s Tube during delicate work in That Which Survives. As well as telling his love interest that being bone deep afraid that you’re going to die in the cold vacuum of space is a perfectly normal thing to constantly think about in Lights of Zetar. Still, he is uncommonly steely-eyed and level headed whenever he has the con, even in the face of his fear. I used to theorize that maybe he was afraid of failure/imperfection, but Scotty’s Jerry-Rigs and Duct-tape way of doing things doesn’t lend itself to that idea. What stuck out to me was his comment “we’ll all be lost, forever lost!” in And The Children Shall Lead that made me think Astrophobia would be a good fit.

Nyota Uhura-Nosophobia

Nosophobia: Fear of contracting deadly disease

Uhura’s fear seems to be dying a slow and painful death by disease, one where she is irrevocably physically/mentally altered by her suffering. There’s evidence for this when she sees the appeal of immortality in I, Mudd, and that she’s scared she’ll end up like Chekov in The Tholian Web. Nosophobia is not hypochondria (convincing yourself that you have a disease/compulsively self-diagnosing) or germaphobia (extreme fear of germs and sickness). Nosophobia is more long term, an irrational fear of things like cancer and Alzheimer’s and other such conditions as well as potentially deadly viruses. It seems to me that if Uhura were to die she’d rather it be quick and painless rather than endure that sort of battle.

Hikaru Sulu-Cleithrophobia

Cleithrophobia: Fear of being trapped

Again, someone I thought maybe was afraid of failure (afraid of failing by destroying the ship with the swords in ATCSL) before I picked up on a very interesting pattern I noticed from The Corbomite Maneuver. Sulu gets really fatalistic and/or agitated when it seems like he’s trapped with no way out. He hyper fixates on the countdown when their trapped and condemned to destruction by Balok in The Corbomite Maneuver, he makes dark jokes while trapped and freezing to death on the planet from The Enemy Within. He seizes up instead of fleeing or fighting the Law Givers in Return if The Archons, and even panics a little when they’re trapped by the giant hand in Who Mourns For Adonais (and usually Sulu is insanely chill under pressure). Cleithrophobia gets confused with Claustrophobia often, but Celthrophobia has much more emphasis on the trapped and no way out elements than just enclosed spaces. So him being terrified by being unable to move because it’s surrounded by swords actually makes a lot of sense! Honestly, I find it uniquely fitting that a flyboy with an enthusiasm for growing things would be agitated by places that do not allow growth or flight.

Pavel Chekov-Proditophobia (in reverse)

Proditophobia: Fear of betrayal

Proditophobia is the fear of being betrayed, but there is more evidence to suggest that Pavel is waaaaay more terrified of betraying or being disloyal rather than being the victim of that action. There’s certainly evidence for it in both The Trouble with Tribbles and Day of The Dove, where he is driven to act out violently on the behalf of those he feels deep loyalty towards, in his head, allowing someone else’s reputation to be trashed counts as disloyalty. And The Children Shall Lead also shows us, at least at this point in Chekov’s character development, he feels more loyalty to Starfleet than the Enterprise crew (something that certainly changes/evolves by the time the movies roll around). The case might even have been that he was all bark and no bite and really wasn’t actually going to kill his Captain or mentor, he was just hoping they’d believe him so that they’d go peacefully and he wouldn’t have to worry about betraying Starfleet at all. I used to think maybe he feared punishment or retribution, but he’d never break any rules if that were the case, and if I know anything about this feral gremlin of an Ensign, he’ll do that in a split second if someone questions his loyalty.

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part IV)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter Summary: Talk doesn´t seem to be like a good attack plan and now reader has to run for their life and avoid being caught by the Jaegerists.

Words Count: 6.1k

Silence reigned in the room. Only our breaths could be heard, some agitated, others calm, as well as footsteps fading at the end of the corridor. I could feel my heart pounding hard on my chest, inwardly wishing that no one could hear it. From the distance that each one was, I doubted it was physically possible; But let's face it, in a world full of humans turned into Titans, whose possessors can regenerate their body parts, listening to the beat of a heart shouldn’t be a difficult task.

"I wanted to speak with you"

Eren's lifeless eyes weren't focused on anyone in particular, I could notice his face even darker than it had been in recent days and a look much duller. My hand on the table was very close to his, threatened with blood staining from the crimson pool that was forming on the beautiful white tablecloth.

On my left side, the little girl was shaking up and down, not looking at anyone or anything at all. She also had her hands on the table, as did everyone. I directed my gaze towards the other companions at the table, the three were reversed in a conversation that I had no intention of being part of. The only thing that interested me was to give a little security to this poor girl.

I made a little movement with my elbow and shoulder toward her, trying to get her attention, but it didn't make her turn around. I tried again, this time launching a breathless and very low 'hey', taking advantage of the voices at medium volume to lighten mine. That did work. The girl had turned her eyes to me, she was still extremely scared and it showed in her eyes and all over her face. I was very sorry to see her like this.

I gave her a slight smile, curling the tip of my lip upward, and nodded. Her gaze locked with mine for a few seconds and I could see how she was calming down, even a little, but it was there. It was a stressful situation for everyone, I didn't even want to imagine what she must feel, and if my possibilities were within bringing her some calm, I would. I made a little "s'ok" with my lips without speaking, not even whispering.

"Are you paying attention?" My gaze turned to the source of the problem again. Eren had his eyes fixed hard on my face. I thought I might have gone unnoticed, but I was wrong.

I adjusted my posture on the chair, now staring forward, but with my eyes fixed on those intense but haggard gray-green eyes. I took my gaze away from his for a second to see the girl next to me, who was again trembling with fear, and I reached my hand towards hers, returning my gaze to it’s previous position. Eren  clenched his fist at this movement and furrowed his brow even more, sending me a silent and mental warning. I ignored his threat and grabbed the girl's hand, at no point taking my eyes off his and accentuating my head up high.

"Keep your hands on the table Mikasa"

His gaze now turned to his childhood friends, standing myself alone at the side of the table, failing incredibly to calm a twelve-year-old girl. And as if there was nothing that could make the situation worse and make the moment much more stressful, they had to touch on sensitive issues, issues that were like putting a finger on the sore.

"Armin, you keep going to see Annie, do you really do it of your own free will?" Was it really necessary? There was nothing, or so it seemed, that could give any indication that Annie was about to wake up, and the fact that Armin wanted to go see her didn’t seem bad at all, or at least that’s what I thought; Indeed, it clearly showed Armin's sentimental attraction to her.

Yes, Annie was an important key to the investigation of the titans, but that was four years ago, now we were just sitting back in the chair and hoping that, by some miracle, the glass that surrounded Annie and left her in a reverie state will unfreeze. That Armin came to see her didn’t change anything in the plans of the militancy, much less the legion.

"Since you inherited the memories, a part of you is now Berthold"

Ah, that’s where the shots came from. It was difficult to understand the powers and responsibilities that came with being a titan shifter. We weren’t only talking about the short life that the owners unfortunately had to endure, but also the memories of their predecessors, memories that could haunt their current owner.

Likewise, blaming Armin for Berthold's memories wasn't going to fix things. Armin was still Armin, the sweet and calm boy, willing to fight if necessary, but always opting for the least violent solution, the most civilized one. He tried it on Annie and he tried it on Berthold, failing both times.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to blame Armin for having the memories of one of our enemies in his mind, memories that I never wish to obtain or see. As far as I knew, Grisha's memories, while they had been an impact towards the general knowledge of the world, hadn’t shaped Eren ... had they?

Nor was it fair to see how the same boy who had so supported his childhood friend in the years as a recruit, was internally unbalanced by the stubbornness of that friend. See how fear invaded his gaze and he was petrified to such putrid revelations.

"Eren ..." I tried to stop him, God, I swear I tried to stop him.

I tried to use the word my comrades wanted to use so badly, the words Armin wanted to use, but they weren't enough. In a thousandth of seconds, horrific ideas flashed through my mind, wishing none of them would come true. If the conversation went this way, it could end not just a friendship of years, but the sanity of all of us. I wasn't important in this trio, I was an add-on, and I couldn't allow Eren to continue destroying relationships and people wherever he stepped.

But I wasn't quick enough to stop him with words. When he finished defenestrating Armin, he turned his attention to Mikasa. Of all the people, the one who I was most afraid was her, the person who would collapse the most if he detached himself from her half-brother.

"You too Mikasa"

My eyes went wide as I heard the truths of the Ackerman clan. Created and genetically engineered to protect and follow orders, without conscience, without free will. Mikasa was devastated and I could see in her eyes how images of her childhood passed through her mind, images and memories that now seemed like a lie, a sham.

"In short ... a clan created to protect others who have no conscience of their own"

"Eren, stop" Armin was just as scared as I was, praying to any God who had been watching us that so much evil stop at once, that those words would stop coming out of that damn viperine tongue. Eren was vomiting word after word, without measuring the consequences, without measuring the damage it could cause to Mikasa's mind.

"In other words, slaves"

The situation was getting out of hand. Nothing we could say or do right now was going to help. The conversation that Armin wanted with all his might to take place was going overboard. If the others could be present with us, they would see clearly like me how the faith in his friend was dissipating with the seconds in the blond's gaze.

"At last I understand why I hated to see a slave who carried out all orders without question"

His eyes were filled with hatred, resentment, anger, contempt, and a thousand other degenerative feelings. His intention was very clear the moment he entered the room: to hurt; and he was succeeding.

He’d done me a lot of damage in the last year, such damage that it reached the darkest and inner corridors of my mind and it was impossible for me to move forward on a gray and dubious course, and now he was willing to continue doing more damage, this time to his closest friends, those people that I never thought, that never crossed my mind, he could destroy internally. He was annihilating their willpower and their desire to fight, and he’s doing so by colossal steps.

"Eren that's enough!" Armin and I shouted in unison. We didn’t necessary have to say a word or look at each other to know that the next words were going to be disastrous.

"Mikasa, I have always hated you"

That was the breaking point. Mikasa's eyes filled with tears and they didn't last for a second on her lids, they were already being spilled onto her cheeks. She was completely devastated and I couldn't blame her. The person who had given her a home after the brutal murder of her parents, the person to whom she was so devoted and would give her life, was turning his back on her, as well as killing sentimentally.

"You damn bastard!"

Armin jumped on the table with the intention of reaching the dark-haired man, but he didn’t get very far, being pulled from the chest to the hard wood of the furniture by Mikasa herself. And that only made the situation worse and agreed with Eren. It was as if fate was laughing at us for trying to pull the strings of our paths, strings that handled us like puppets and over which we had no control.

Mikasa let go of Armin's hand when she realized the act she just did, horrified with herself, and he now had the opportunity to pounce on Eren, throwing a punch in the middle of his face and throwing him to the floor. With that, the table flew backwards and in a reflex action, I also threw myself back, letting the chair fall to one side and avoiding any blow that the table could give me.

Unconsciously I lunged towards the girl next to me, preventing at all times that the table hit her or that some of the two men who were fighting each other to ended up bumping into her. I pushed her away from any crossing point and hid her behind my back, using my body as a shield against any impact that could shoot towards our position. Mikasa had also run to the left side of the wine cabinet, contemplating the scene before hers with complete sadness.

Eren's fist slammed into Armin's face, throwing him straight into the cabinet, knocking a few wines against his back and knocking a couple of ceramic plates to the floor. My instincts screamed I needed to help Armin, even knowing that he could regenerate in a matter of seconds, that the cuts and bruises weren't going to last long, but that wasn't why I wanted to help him.

It wasn’t the pain and physical blows that worried me, but the psychological anger and damage that this was entailing.

"Jaeger-san!"

Two followers slammed into the room, pointing their rifles directly at Armin and Mikasa's heads. They were unaware of my presence, paying more attention to the boy beaten from head to toe and the girl crying like a river.

I took a step forward and reaffirmed my theory, my presence wasn’t being recognized. I took another step, and another, and another, until I was right next to the fallen table and turned around, making sure the girl was still where I left her, that she was safe and sound. I gestured with my finger to my lips for her to be quiet and to stay still and turned to the scene in front of me. Eren kept beating poor Armin, who was unable to defend himself properly. He was right, in a hand-to-hand fight, Armin would be the worst off, even myself, but that didn't mean I couldn't manage to come out victorious.

Next to me, the chair Eren was sitting at a few seconds ago was still in the same place where he felt. With great care and tranquility, I bent down to grasp the back legs of it, without taking my eyes off Eren or the pseudo-guards who still had with their rifles at a shooting position, raised it to the height of my head and then smashed it against the two armed men in the stomach area. I hurriedly kicked each of them to the face, preventing them from having a chance to get up quickly, just as I slung the rifles from their shoulders with the same leg and pushed them away under a window. Without wasting time, I turned around to find Eren realizing the events that were happening next to him, and I wedged a blow in the middle of his face, in the same way Armin had done.

The blow hadn't been quite strong since he didn't fall to the ground, but it was enough to throw him off balance and make him leave Armin alone. The blonde fell to the floor, exhausted and sore from the multiple punchs to the face he had suffered, and I continued to give a new blow to the stomach height to the brunette in front of me. One of his knees fell to the ground, giving me the opportunity to grab his arm and twist him from behind, immobilizing him. I put my other arm over his armpit, preventing him from moving his arms and his upper body.

“That’s enought you fucking bastard. Mikasa..."

My face was on the crook of Eren's neck, preventing me from seeing clearly ahead, but my partial gaze sought out those tear-filled gray eyes to signal her to help me. My voice was already a signal for help even if I wasn't yelling. I could see how those eyes were full of conflicts, a battle was being fought inside her mind and she seemed to not be able to reason what she saw.

"MIKASA!"

This time I did yell, asking with all my will Mikasa could come to her senses, that she could help me with the lost cause Eren was now. I wasn’t going to be able to control him for much longer, I didn’t have the necessary strength and that was why I was trying to reach her. But the fear in my eyes was reflected when I saw that she wasn’t moving, that she was simply watching with tears in her eyes, eyes that would surely be cloudy and couldn’t see clearly. My fear was reflected when I saw that no one was going to be able to help me.

Eren hit his head against mine, right on the septum of my nose. My head jerked back involuntarily and my arms lost support on his. He grabbed my left hand, holding it high, much higher than my head, uncovering my stomach and his knee hitting it’s pit, not just once, but twice. His leg hit my knee, yanking it back and knocking me off what little balance I had left.

His grip on my hand released and I fell hard on my knees and hands onto the wooden floor. My stomach was spasming and I regurgitated bile, struggling to take in some air that I was deprived of in a matter of milliseconds. I coughed all I could until my stomach settled back, but I was unable to get back to my feet. I felt two pairs of hands grab my arms and I stood up abruptly, grabbing my hair even and looking up as the turquoise eyes set at my point of view.

"Why do you always have to be in the middle? Why can you never stay quiet in a corner without sticking your nose in someone else's butt? " Without my noticing, his fist slammed into my nose, hitting the septum back and most likely breaking it. My head cocked to the side and I could see drops of blood falling to the ground and a stream spreading from under my nostrils to my chin. "It was frustrating to see how in all the missions you were there, being a useless without importance"

Useless? I was the one who treated his wounds in training, tying his head when he hit the stone floor in his practice with the movement equipment. I was the one who put cold water on his ankle when he bent it while running through the lush forest on a rainy day. I was the one who pushed him to the side when he was going to hit a stone face down for not looking where he was going. I was one of those who saved him when he was captured by Reiner and Berthold. I was the one who pulled him out of the middle of an onslaught of titans when he first activated the coordinate, even with a wounded and bleeding shoulder.

I was the one who slapped him to make him stop crying inside the cave when Rod Reiss was transforming, claiming this wasn’t the time for his tantrums and that if he wanted to make a change in this whole twisted story, he better put down the crocodile tears for when he was in the quiet of his bed.

It was me who warned him of dozens of Marleyan soldiers when he shed from his titan back at Libero.

“And yet you continued to stick to me like a lap dog to the leg of it’s owner. Yet another slave. Makes me gag just looking at your face"

I turned my face to him, fixing my eyes on his, conveying all the hatred and contempt he was making me feel. I felt my heart shrink at such crude words, but my duel had started several weeks ago and they didn’t achieve the same effect as with Mikasa. What he did was get me to give him a contemptuous half smile and laugh in his face. His eyes darkened when he saw my reaction. Whether he expected it or not was no longer important to me. He gave a slight nod to the men behind me and I noticed how my arms were gathered around my back and tightened so that I couldn't move. One of them walked away from me and went straight towards Mikasa and Armin, pointing his rifle at their heads.

"Take them, the brat who killed Sasha too"

I wasn’t going to allow it.

My two comrades were pushed into the corridor outside while I glared at them waiting for my turn to go out with the man behind me. The girl was completely scared and she had walked to the door of her own will, perhaps avoiding being further hurt. The moment Eren was about to leave, I slapped my head against the man's face repeatedly until his grip weakened and I was able to move freely again. I turned to him, kneeing him in the face and stomach. When I managed to reduce him to the ground, making him roll into a ball and couldn't move without causing him pain when he breathed, I wanted to turn towards the door with the sole intention of getting the poor girl out of the conflict. My hand was halfway searching for her when Eren grabbed it and yanked me back violently, slamming me against the table.

I lost my balance for a second and as an involuntary act I grabbed the tablecloth, but that didn’t do much, making me fall to the floor in the same way. Eren lunged at me, his body falling completely on top of mine and pinning me to the ground. His legs were positioned at each place of my torso and his fist hit my face not once, not twice, but three times, noticing how the cheek bone began to burn. I lifted my knee to the side of his ribs, my nails finding the skin of his face, and pushed him toward the table, hitting his back against the hard wood and tangling with the tablecloth.

I got up to run, but his leg hit my ankle causing me to fall on my face and hands. When I wanted to turn around again I felt his weight against mine, his legs now better placed on my knees and both hands holding my neck. He squeezed, I felt like the air was beginning to thin, my vision was turning white and I could feel my face redden. I tried to hit him in the face, but I wasn't strong enough to make him stop. I reached the same hand towards my side visualizing one of the chairs thrown by the fight with Armin but Eren was faster and his knee was now pressing against my inner arm.

I was running out of air and at any moment I was going to lose consciousness. In a desperate attempt I turned my eyes around me as best I could and found a bottle of wine broken in half lying a few inches from us, though too far away for me to just reach out. My fingers couldn't even touch the surface of the glass and on my last attempt before I fainted, I pushed myself towards the bottle, grabbed it by the spout, and pulled it towards Eren's face, driving the broken surface onto his cheek and eye. 

Eren grunted in pain and released his hands from my neck, giving me a chance to push him back with both legs and barely get up to run. With cloudy vision and an incredible urge to cough thanks to the pressure on my cervicals and thyroids, I could not make out the whereabouts of the Marleyan girl and ran out the door to the corridor. As I passed the threshold slamming the door wide, rifle bullets were aimed at me, miraculously failing to hit my body. I shrunk my body as much as I could without stopping my feet and looked towards the end of the corridor, finding the second man who was with Armin and Mikasa shooting at me from behind them.

I was about to fall to the ground when Mikasa slammed her shoulder against his, causing him to stagger backward and she struggled to get the rifle out of his hands. In those few seconds of advantage, Armin stepped between the line of fire and me in case any bullets were fired and yelled from his position.

"Go!" I don’t know if it was due to lack of air that I couldn’t react at all quickly and when seeing my indecision to run to where the two of them were or go through the back window, Armin again shouted angrier and more determined "Just go!"

Behind me was a window with broken glass, I assumed due to the bullet holes of the rifle, with a simple blow with my elbow I could break a large part of the glass and jump to the side of the street, but not before giving one last look at Armin and Mikasa, who were still battling the man and Eren coming out of the room half healed and with smoke coming from his wounds.

I fell onto the cobbled street and started running towards the main avenue. My legs were on fire and my lungs were about to collapse, every step I took was a stronger pain in my throat. I wanted to stop and cough to regain normality in my breathing, but I heard behind me the footsteps of people running and yelling to stop me. They were chasing me and if I kept on foot I wasn't going to get very far. I put my fingers to my mouth and whistled as best I could, calling out to Phillip from afar. I had left my horse right at the front door of the restaurant, on the other side of the avenue, so I ran in that direction in order to find him early.

The so-called Jaegerists kept firing behind me, a bullet struck my leg and hit the stone on the ground and ricocheted to the left side against a house. Multiple bullets continued to brush my body, some passing very close to my face and others aimed directly at my legs. In the distance I could see Phillip riding towards me, getting closer and closer. When he came to my side, without stopping, I grabbed his leash and jumped on his back, leaving half my body hanging from lack of strength. I grabbed his neck and motioned for him to turn around and head straight for the avenue.

Phillip was always a fast horse, I thanked the universe for entrusting me to this horse from the first recon mission. He was always there for me, a loyal, strong and very audacious horse, banking me on every expedition and whatever madness crossed my mind to save my companions or myself. I always thanked him for his swiftness and now more than ever I was thanking him in a shaking voice as he continued galloping through the crowd, heading toward the wall’s gate.

Having left the Jaegerists at a considerable distance, I positioned myself correctly on his back, grabbing onto the leash and leaning forward to stroke his head for his great work. I gave myself the freedom to cough and clear my throat of any discomfort, but multiple blows and a firm rumbling behind us made me realize that nothing was over yet, as they were still chasing me, now with their own horses. There weren't many, maybe five or six people and a coach from what I could make out from the hollow of my shoulder, but they were armed and that was what made them dangerous.

I told Phillip to keep riding, to go even faster, to get to the gate as soon as possible. With the riding, the saddle hit my legs and crotch, annoying and hurting me at the same time, but I had to hold it and keep going; we had to get to the gate and fast, very fast. We were a few blocks away when I saw the gate in the distance, wide open and with their respective guards on either side of the threshold.

"Close the door!" I screamed as loudly as I could, feeling my vocal cords tear in the attempt and made my throat hurt even more. The guards turned their heads towards my figure, but none deigned to do what I asked them, they just stared at me stupidly.

"CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR!" I coughed as I let out such a scream hoping it was clear enough in the message. Seeing me continue to gallop towards the gate and now hearing the bullets being fired, the guards ran towards the internal mechanism and began to close it, giving me enough time to pass through it without being crushed.

The gate ended up closing when Phillip had already traveled about ten meters outside the wall, leaving the Jaegerists on the other side.

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I dipped my head into the clear water of the river. The cold of the current massaged my battered muscles and cleaned the still bleeding wounds. It was already the third time that I’d put my head in the water and I could notice how little by little the pain was dissipating, but knew that the next day I would have a remotely swollen face and a septum to treat.

We had gotten quite far from the wall, maybe forty minutes or an hour galloping, and we had stayed by the river so as not to get lost. Phillip took the time to drink plenty of water and eat some of the dry grass that surrounded the river; I owed my partner a big one and if it was necessary to spend the little savings I had on a better chair and care for him, I would give it all… but when things were calmer and we could go home.

I lay on my back on the grass into a star-shaped possition and gazed up at the clear sky except for a few fluffy clouds. If it din’t for the recurring events in the last month, I would have taken the liberty of enjoying this beautiful day and the days before that surely there were, but I was too blind and busy to notice them.

The grass felt soft except for a few small stones scattered unevenly and the small field insects that landed on my arms and face and then flew off. It was relaxing, too relaxing. The heat of the sun's rays hit my skin and gave me a comforting sensation that soaked down to my bones, generating a pleasant interior warmth and tingling; I wanted to sleep, I wanted to rest, my body was forcing me to take a break, and this place, this moment, seemed like the perfect one. I closed my eyes, wishing sleep and tranquility would come as quickly as possible, but a vibration in the floor and Phillip's screaming snapped me out of my trance.

I raised my head, surveying my surroundings, the vibrations getting stronger as if they were getting closer. I looked at Phillip and followed his line of sight, far over the horizon, there was a litter of horses galloping over the stone paths that had been built a couple of years ago between each wall. Green overcoats could be distinguished over the horizon of the clear blue sky.

"Fuck, I was hoping to be calm for a couple more hours, come on Phillip"

I got on the back of my horse for the third time that day and directed it to the opposite side of where the other horses were riding. Being in the middle of an open field, there weren’t many houses where to take refuge, even though they had built a lot of houses between both walls. A little in the distance was a lush forest of tall trees, but not as tall as those of the Forest of Giant Trees, that enormous nature of fifty and eighty meters.

We stopped right at the entrance, hoping we had distanced ourselves from the litter of horses, but when I got off Phillip to rest my legs, I saw the path we had come from, and in the distance the same horses that he had seen on the stone path were approaching. There was no longer any doubt that they were the Jaegerists.

I turned my head towards the forest, from what I could see from the entrance the trees weren’t at a considerable distance from each other and the small dirt roads were too narrow. I didn’t know this forest at all and the mere fact of entering without knowing the terrain through the narrow corridors didn’t give me much confidence. But going around it wasn’t a good option either and I would end up being visualized in a matter of seconds. We were in a dead end, in a maze, and I had to play the few cards I had cleverly. I unbuttoned the coat which was already very badly placed on my shoulders and tied it on the strap.

"Phillip I need you to keep running, go as fast as you can and as far as your legs can reach" I pulled the saddle off his back, dropping it to the ground and tried to hide it inside a nearby bush with my foot. I brought his head closer to mine, resting my forehead on his muzzle and stroking his side one last time before saying goodbye.

"Go!" I smacked him on the back and Phillip ran down the narrow forest paths. As for me, I tried to dispel the footprints the horse had left behind before sending me to run down another path and go as far as I could into the heart of the forest.

I ran, ran and ran, my legs were on the edge, branches and thorns were digging into my skin making it burn every time other scratches were created in the same place. At this fact, I was resigned to the fact my clothes were bleeding and torn, as well as the matted hair and bruises on my body. My foot made contact with a tree root and I fell between the others, right in a hole, hitting my head and shoulder in the fall. I scraped my arm too, and my shirt was now full of dirt and dry leaves; surely my hair was the same. I heard heavy footsteps near me and I rolled into a ball in the hole, hiding behind the tree and seeking its protection.

"Find them, we can't let them escape"

Six people broke up and each one ran in a different direction in search of me. For an instant, my heart skipped a beat and my breath hitched when I saw one of them pass by the side of the tree where I was. At no point did he turn towards my location so I was able to breathe again. Minutes passed until I stopped hearing nearby footsteps, I got up leaning against the bark and kept walking inward, finding myself up a steep hill down.

I let gravity guide me and my feet unconsciously ran downward, avoiding rocks and bushes along the way. As I reached the low surface of the hill I tripped over my feet, losing my balance and colliding with a small tree that was right in the middle of where I was walking. As I stood up and turned it around, I came face to face with a Jaegerist, hooded, rifle in hand.

"Hey! You- "

My reflexes acted on instinct, my leg went straight to his ribs, hitting him squarely in the side of his stomach. I grabbed the rifle with both hands and hit it with the butt on both sides of the face and discarded it to the side when blood began to come out of his mouth. My hand went straight to his head, slamming it against the tree over and over again without stopping until his body fell unconscious on the grass. The interaction lasted no more than fifteen seconds, but it felt like I was about to explode. So many blows received and produced were leaving collateral effects on my body; at any moment I would pass out.

During the three years of training I have gotten used to physical confrontation and body training that lasted more than five hours, not to mention the months we spent annihilating each Titan within the walls. Those missions that lasted all day, if not more, were nothing compared to what my body was going through right now.

I sat next to the body, trying to catch my breath and rest my eyes. I rested my head on the tree and when I opened my eyes I saw a black figure in the middle of a grove a few meters away. He didn’t carry a rifle and seemed to have no intention of running to any specific place, he simply deigned to look around him, at the ground and towards the treetops. I froze to see Eren staring down at the body.

I shrank as much as I could to the left, hiding in the middle of the bushes, body to the ground, without taking my eyes off that figure that was now heading towards the unconscious body of one of his followers. I crawled back until I found a tree wide enough to hide.

"I know you are here"

It was the only thing I heard him say. My blood ran cold and a cold sweat began to form on my forehead. I was scared, very scared, I wasn’t going to deny it, but this wasn’t the time to sit and watch how they corner me little by little until they capture me. If this was the moment, I was going to give everything to get out of here. I stood up resolutely, taking a deep breath, and showed my face to my perpetrator.

"Do you want to pick up where we left off?"

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