#it has been a labour of... fury. actually. but love too sure why not

[khaotunq]

you rescued me from reachin' for the bottom, and brought me back from being too far gone

[americxn]

Hi, I am absolutely living for your fics (run especially!!) I had an idea for a possible Kai fic if you have time. What if Kai keeps the reader separate from the cult and acts almost like pre-cult Kai with her. But one day (maybe after he thinks Winter is the mole) he loses his mind and goes to the reader for comfort?! Idk maybe it could be angsty or sweet or smutty just a rough idea ☺️

Unpredictable (Kai x Reader)

a/n: I’M BACK. sorry this took me such a long time to post, I couldn’t quite figure out how to write it but here it is! (i lowkey hate this i’m so sorry)

wordcount: 2k

Pulling up the handbrake of your car, you pushed open the door, ensuring to grab your phone and keys before stepping out into the cool night air. The illuminated windows of Kai’s kitchen lit up the driveway, showing you the path to the front door.  You breathed in the night air, excited to see your boy after a long day of work. Not bothering to knock, you pulled open the front door, pausing to take off your shoes before entering the main part of the house, humming softly to yourself. You paused when Kai voice rose to meet you, coming from the kitchen to your left. He was muttering angrily, his voice almost imperceptibly raised in pitch, a sure sign that he was stressed. “Kai?” You called, hurrying into the kitchen to see him bent over the kitchen counter, his hands covering his face whilst his phone rested on the surface before him. Beverly stood silently on the other side of the room, a chopping board covered in sliced vegetables occupying her. “Kai?” You repeated. This time he heard you as you stepped into the kitchen with a concerned frown. He snatched up his phone, his eyes widening slightly as he beheld you before putting his phone off speaker and raising it to his ear. “No, I don’t care. She should be here.” He gritted down the phone, walking over to you and bracing an arm around your waist. His body was tense against yours.

You peered up at him as he spat down the phone, his face glowing an angry red, his eyes wild. “Kai?” You whispered a third time, trying to get him to look at you. He glanced to you, pinching the bridge of his nose before pulling the phone away from his ear. “Hi, lamb. Give me a minute, okay? Go upstairs, I’ll join you in a few.”  Although his voice was calm, you could tell that it was forced, his lip curling in rage as he addressed you before giving you a light shrug towards the kitchen door. You turned slowly, glancing at Beverly who shook her head in warning, encouraging you silently to heed his direction. Turning away fully, your ensured that your hand brushed against Kai’s in a soft gesture of affection before vacating the room. You made it only halfway up the stairs before Kai’s roar of fury ripped through the house, swiftly followed by the distinct sound of something shattering. You were back down the stairs and into the kitchen within a matter a seconds, beholding Kai with wide eyes. He stood in the centre of the room, shouting furiously down the phone, spittle flying from his mouth and a thick, angry vein prominently running up the centre of his forehead. At his feet, the crystalline vase that had once housed a bunch of summery flowers on the centre of the kitchen island lay in shatters around his feet, the flowers limp and broken on the floor. His phone quickly joined the mess of shards on the floor, Kai not even bothering to hang up on the caller before chucking it to the hard floor, the screen instantly splintering into a spider web of deep cracks. “Kai.” You barked, Beverly quickly skirting around the mess on the floor and exiting the room. You couldn’t blame her, Kai never acted like this and you weren’t too sure how to deal with it either.  His head snapped up to you, his nostrils flared and eyes wide in savage anger, his laboured breathing audible even from across the room. “What the fuck is going on?” You questioned, carefully picking your way through the mess of shards of broken glass and taking his face in your hands. “Look at me.” You ordered calmly, watched as his pupils dilated slightly at the sight of your concerned face as it appeared before his. You allowed your thumbs to trace soft, loving patterns on his cheeks as you held him, his fingers clasping tightly onto your wrists as his eyes drifted shut under your touch.  You waited patiently for his breathing to even out slightly, his grip slowly loosening on your wrists notifying you that he was calmed by your presence. “Are you okay?” You whispered eventually, peering up at him under a concerned frown. He nodded tightly, his jaw clenching and working beneath your touch. “Come with me.” You encouraged gently, his eyes opening as you pulled your hands away from his face, taking his hands in yours instead. “Careful.” You murmured, helping him navigate through the scattered shards of brutally sharp glass, a product of his fury. He was completely silent as you led him away from the kitchen and up the stairs, your hands clutched tightly in his hold. Pushing the door open with a foot, you led him into his bedroom, perching him on the edge of the bed and shutting the door softly behind you. He kept his dark gaze trained on the floor as you turned to him, approaching him with slow caution, trying to gauge how he was feeling. “Do you wanna talk about it?” To your upmost dismay and complete shock, Kai’s face crumpled at your words, a rosy hue settling over his cheeks. In the three years that you and Kai had been together, you had never seen him cry.  You cursed under your breath, hurrying to where he sat and pulling his body to yours. His arms immediately snaked around your waist, his head burying into your stomach. His shoulders shook slightly at the force of his sobs, small, broken cries emanating from his hidden face. His heaving cries were interrupted by tiny hiccups and squeaks, his hot tears soaking into the thick material of your soft sweater. You rubbed slow circles in between his shoulder blades, unsure of how to comfort him aside from offering sweet reassurances. His arms clutched around you tighter, pulling your body even closer to him. Eventually, when his cries had quietened, his sobs less frequent, you knelt down before him, his head emerging from the fabric of your sweater as you did so. Your heart cracked in two at the sight of his swollen eyes, his cheeks blotchy and red, his eyes teary.  You ran the backs of your hands across his cheeks tenderly, collecting any stray tears from his hot skin before leaning in to press an adoring kiss to his swollen, salty lips. “Baby?” You asked, his eyes slowly rising to meet yours. He sniffled, but replied with a thick, “yeah?” “What’s the matter? I’ve seen you like this before.” With another sniffle, he looked down at the floor, his shoulder curving inwards with vulnerability. “It’s nothing.” You scoffed lightly, searching his eyes. “It’s most certainly not nothing, mister. You shattered Winter’s favourite vase, she won’t be very happy.” You were joking of course, just trying the lighten the mood. But his face hardened at the mention of her name, his eyes narrowing to puffy slits. “That bitch.” He spat, taking you by complete surprise once more as he stood up abruptly, stepping around you and heading for the door. “No, Kai. Wait.” You begged, catching his hand just as he reached the door. He spun on you, but you didn’t shrink away. “Tell me what’s happening. What’s going on with Winter?” His lip curled but you held your ground, staring right at him. “She betrayed me. And the rest of us. “Rest of who?” You didn’t even know why you bothered asking, you knew exactly what he was referring to. “The fucking cult.” He gritted out. Your heart sank at the mention of the cult; you didn’t associate with it. You pretended that it didn’t exist and Kai let you. It was just apart of your dynamic. “She’s been spying on me or some shit. A mole. She’s the one who has been planting those fucking bugs all over the house.” His eyes glinted with returning wildness. You released his hand, running your palms over your face. “Have you spoken to her?” Kai seemed to still at this, his eyes glazing over with cold fury. “No.” He spat, once again turning for the door. You grabbed ahold of his forearm, stopping him once more. “Don’t you think that it would be a good idea to actually talk to her about it before jumping to a conclusion? Who did you even hear that from?” Kai’s cheeks reddened once more with agitation at the truth of your words. His gaze once again dropped to the floor, Kai finding your feet suddenly very interesting. “Speed Wagon.” He mumbled. “Speed - Speed Wagon?” You repeated, incredulity evident in your tone. “Yes.” His answer was short, blunt. You sighed through your nose, watching as Kai’s eyes once again filled with tears. “No, look it’s okay.” You hurried, moving your grip from his arm to his hand, pulling him back over to the bed as his lower lip wobbled. “I’m sorry, I... I wouldn’t get it.” You excused, feeling guilty for being so submissive at his explanation. Even if you knew very little about it, you knew how much his cult meant to him. “No, it’s fine.” He mumbled, his face red as he swiped away the few tears that rolled down his puffy cheeks. “It’s not, you’re stressed out and I -” The rest of your words were snatched from you when Kai’s hand clasped suddenly onto your throat, pushing you back and pinning you the bed. You let out a surprised squeak, your eyes wide as Kai’s face appeared above yours, his hair hanging limply around his face. “I said, it’s fine.” He hissed, his eyes flashing as his hand pressed your throat even further into the mattress, constricting your air flow and leaving you gasping to suck down as much air as would fit around his hold. “Kai.” You rasped, frozen in place under his harsh stare, his palm warm and rough in its position on your neck. “Why can’t you understand?” He growled, pulling your upper body off the bed slightly before slamming you back down in emphasis, the springs hidden in the mattress creaking with the impact. You stared up at him, your eyes widened in a silent plea. His pupils dilated suddenly, his jaw relaxing as he hurriedly released you, sitting back on the bed beside you. Sitting up slowly, you stared at him, ignoring the slight ache in your throat when you swallowed. Kai exhaled through his nose slowly, his hand raising to push back the free strands of limp blue hair. “Sorry.” You whispered into the silence, watching him wearily.  He had scared you. His dark eyes flicked to yours, his gaze now tamed. Beholding the fear he had instilled in you, he shook his head. “Don’t you dare apologise. I’m sorry.”  “No, I shouldn’t have pushed-”  “Stop. I’m sorry. ” Your rambling was interrupted by perhaps the most genuine apology you had ever received from him, causing words to evade you completely.  Kai looked away, his hands itching to reach for you and pull you to him. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, walking with trailing steps to the door. You surveyed him carefully, watching the tension in the hand he placed on the handle of the door. “I understand if you want to leave. I need to go to my meeting.” And with that he left, his evident remorse still hanging thick in the air.  You stared after him as he shut the door with careful restraint, clearing your throat with a small wince and trying to unpack what the hell had just happened. His grasp on your throat still lingered as the ghost of a touch, the image of his wild eyes flashing down at you prominent in the forefront of your mind. And it broke your heart to allow the thought to manifest but you knew that the Kai you had just witnessed was the Kai walking down the stairs to the basement. It was all you do but hope that the Kai that emerged from his cult meeting wasn’t the same Kai that had just left the room as you lay back on the bed, running a single finger across the hollow of your throat and settling into the silence of the room. 

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler

[project-ohagi]

Keigo Takami ღ Hawks {Male Reader}

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Trigger Warnings: Anxiety/Depression, Panic Attack.

-----

"Keigo...?"

Where is he?!...Did he leave? For work? Oh god, oh god! No, no, no, no, no! Why did he go? Not again...he said he wouldn't leave! What if he doesn't come back? No - he has to...! He has to come back! He'll do it...he'll do it for me, right? He knows I can't...without him, I...

This was an ugly way for your long-dormant stress and trauma to manifest. It was spontaneous; it was untameable - at least alone. Months had ticked by since your last episode, and you were becoming complacent, thinking that safety had finally wrapped you in its embrace. Alas, that couldn't have been further from the reality. You struggled in vain to still your heart, to focus on something besides the sudden, splitting pain in your head, or the beads of sweat rolling down your forehead. You couldn't afford to break down...not in Keigo's absence! If you drowned in this flush of panic, there was no hope of escape, no hope of rescue. And when Keigo returned...what would he think? You were a burden he shouldn't feel compelled to carry. Maybe that's why he left silently. Or maybe your ruminations had just filtered out his words.

The 'why's and 'how's were of no actual consequence. But you needed him back. You craved those warm cuddles, to be enveloped within his wings, to be held...to be loved. Surely it was selfish of you to feel so neglected - he was your emotional support, but he also provided for you financially. His departure from the nest, especially given his profession, wasn't unexpected. And, yet...you were desperate for him to stay.

The terror, the panic...they were insurmountable without him.

When is he coming back? What if I called him? No...if he's at work, he'll just be annoyed, or he won't pick up. My hands are trembling...I-I can't...I can't...

Your laboured breathing soon caught up with the rest of your physical symptoms, filling the room...trapping you. It was hard, so hard to...You gripped your neck, squeezing your eyes shut and praying...just praying - for Keigo, for your fluffy, chicken overlord. No...humour wasn't working. You were marinating in this powerful despair, head spinning, body shaking.

How did this begin? When...? What kind of hero was forced into retirement so early? What kind of hero fled a scene traumatised, after apprehending a villain? What kind of hero relied on another, to such a disgusting extent? He was a god, he was perfect! So why...why had he settled for you, for a man who allowed demons to darken every inch of his life, from morning until night? What kind of lover was so demanding, so willing to tear him from the public eye, from people in need of a saviour?

This feeling...it was beyond horrible.

You were inconsiderate. You were childish. You were worthless. You didn't deserve the unconditional love that Keigo lathered on to you, or how he always cradled you with such care...how he clung to your side after a hectic day of patrols and villain attacks. But these thoughts soon faded, as you succumbed to hyperventilation. You were tangled up amidst the sheets, kicking them away with fury, as if to beg for air. You were slipping. You couldn't hold on. You wouldn't make it. This was the end. It was over. You were dying, screams forever confined to your throat. You couldn't call out, for help...for Keigo. Tears streamed down your face. Why did he always gaze upon it with such adoration? You cried too often, broke down too easily.

Why did he love you?

...Did he love you?

Before you could crescendo, nails drawing blood from your skin, your writhing body falling off the bed...a voice echoed your name. It sliced through the darkness, but the darkness reformed. It always did. It had to, or you would lose all sense of being. After receiving no response, Keigo strained his ears for any small noise - any indication of your presence. When he heard the desolation, the sobbing, the pain...he ran to you. His feathers separated you from the sheets, bringing you into the safety of his arms. He quickly removed his gloves, to play with your hair. Being so intimate, so small, as one...it always calmed you. Both of you. His wings encased your frame, as you leaned into his chest. His heart was beating erratically, but...so was yours.

A moment, devoid of words, passed before your breathing slowed. When it was coming out in shallow huffs, he spoke, in a tone glazed with honey. It was soft. It was special...

"I'm home now, pretty bird. We're both home. Just think of me, think of home."

You were sniffling, so Keigo passed a tissue. "You are my home."

I hope he heard that. Was I being too quiet? I'm such a disgrace. How was I ever a hero? I can't make people happy, like this. I never could...

Then why was Keigo smiling, looking so delighted? You had to take advantage of him being here, of your panic subsiding, to pose your questions. If you remained in the dark for eternity, you wouldn't ever find closure. You had to do this, more for Keigo than yourself.

"Why...why haven't you left me yet?"

Although there was nothing even remotely amusing about this situation, he still chuckled - you had once mentioned how the sound was heavenly to your tortured ears. "When I said I wanted to build a life together, I wasn't joking, babe."

"You have to be tired of me, though! You can't really want someone you have to support all the time!"

Challenge accepted. "Who says I can't? Whether it's financially or emotionally, you can always rely on me. I want you to. Makes me happy, y'know? Knowing I can provide for you, knowing I can put a smile on your face...that makes it all worth it."

"Am I not just a burden? Wouldn't you be better with someo-"

The taste of his lips set your heart alight.

He sighed when you parted. "(Y/n), look at me. Those thoughts are dangerous, so don't entertain them - not even for a second. Think of home, call me, snuggle up with me...but never have those thoughts. Never let them win. I'll be here for the rest of your life, whether you want me or not. My heart wouldn't let me leave.

"I am eternally yours. Now come on, I'll help you fight those pesky demons."

[Word Count: 1077]

[noncommited-writer]

I saw u wanted some small asks so how about Protective Mafia Boss!Tony and Then His Baby Boy Peter? But could Peter be a Ballerina? Maybe someone is bothering Peter?

Here you go!! I’ve never written anything like this before so imagine my surprise when I actually had a ton of fun with this! I hope you don’t mind, but I made Tony Italian. Enjoy!! (Also, I had an irresistible urge to make a moodboard for this)

A soft click. A silver gun glinting in the dark, pin drop silent theatre box; the only sound heard is the laboured panicked breathing and the loud beautiful music playing from the orchestra pit. A man is on his knees, sweating through his ratty clothes as he silently says his prayers, making eye contact with the blond brute brooding in the corner, flickering to meet the silver gun resting in the hand of his maker.

“Do you know what happens when you piss off a man more powerful than the city’s police force?” A drawl, each word punctuated with ease that makes the gravity of this situation even heavier. Terror etched into Abraham’s face, the man vehemently shakes his head, his mouth opening up to scream only to be muffled by a metal prosthetic hand and kept quiet by a gruff voice right next to his ear growling, “I suggest you keep your mouth shut, otherwise the police will find a bullet in your skull.”

His arms are still held captive by the cuffs that dig into his wrists. Abraham knew he shouldn’t have gotten involved with the mafia. Slowly, the hand goes away.

“You had to get all greedy, did you? Selling out information on where my warehouses are to the other gangs. Guess what? Those gangs don’t give a shit about you.” The man in the grey pinstripe suit finally leans in, resting his elbows onto his knees, his face out of the shadows and into the dim lighting of the theatre box. Abraham finds himself shaking when he makes deep eye contact with those cold brown orbs, those eyes that scream controlled fury and ruthlessness. “You didn’t think of getting protection from the one enemy you can’t get away from.”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Stark, I didn’t—”

“Ah, ah, ah. You don’t get to call me by my name anymore, traditore.” Harsh fingers grip at his chin, digging into his skin and jaw with brutal fervour. He winces but rasps out, “Yes, Iron Man. I didn’t—I didn’t think of the consequences but I swear to you, I can repay it all—”

“Swear? Swear? That’s what you said seven months ago when I took you in, ingrato.” The kingpin hisses in his face, brows furrowed in anger and Abraham can feel his nails cut through his skin, and he whimpers. “I think it’s long overdue for your punishment, don’t you?”

Abraham tries to pull back from his grip, only to freeze when the man just sighs and lifts his other hand, the one holding the gun. “I didn’t want it to be like this, Abraham. I would’ve let it go, you know?”

Something quiet like hope flickers in his chest, but Abraham just keeps his stare on the crime boss. “I was ready to let you run off, with that measly cash you earned from the that other gang and to your little home with your grandma.”

Abraham feels a freezing bucket of fear wash over him when the man mentions his grandmother. At his face, the crime lord only waves the gun around, “Don’t worry. I paid for her medication to last the next five years. I don’t mess with families, even if they’re traitors.”

Abraham finches at the word.

“I was okay with you getting away with it.” Abraham isn’t ready to breathe yet, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“What I wasn’t okay with…”

The hand grips his jaw tighter, and he pulls Abraham into his face, eyes daunting and predatory and blazing with the want for revenge. “Is that you let the man who hurt my baby go.”

Abraham decides then and there, he’s never felt so much fear in his life.

“Hey, Abe! I was wondering if you could take me out for waffles later!” Peter bounds over to his newbie guard, a saccharine grin on his face. Abraham chuckles, and shrugs his shoulders. “Only if the Cap and Boss are okay with it.”

Peter pouts, “You know Stevie would never let me out by myself. And Tony would kill me if he finds out that I ditched ballet rehearsal.”

Abraham snorts, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, as if you hate his ‘punishment’.”

The pink glowing on Peter’s cheeks confirms his statement. Abraham sighs, and decides that he’ll probably get chastised for disobeying Boss’ orders, but who can resist that pout and puppy eyes? Even the Captain can’t; not even the ruthless Winter Soldier whose heart seems to be black—that is until Peter is around with his beaming smiles and bright personality. Everyone on the team seem to have a soft spot for the Boss’ sweetheart.

They drive to a dingy diner that’s not too far from the office building, complete with neon signs and red booths. Peter is a boundless source of sunshine and energy when he hops over the convertible door to race to the diner first. Abraham just huffs a laugh and puts the car in park.

Just as he’s locked the door, he hears the cock of a gun behind him. “Hands up.”

Abraham freezes and slowly turns around, his hands in the air. He comes face to face with one the gang members he sold the warehouses out to. A scowl forms on his face, “What are you doing here?”

“You lied to us. You sold us out. We had a deal!” The nozzle of the pistol is pushed closer to his face and he steps backward, eyes flying wide. “Woah, what are you talking about? We did have a deal!”

“Yeah, but the last warehouse was empty and full of Iron Man’s goons.” Abraham stops, and he feels his stomach sinking. They found out.

“Abe?” Oh no…

Abraham turns to see Peter standing there, fear in his eyes as they shoot between him and the gangster. He swallows hard, “What’s going on?”

“Peter, get back inside.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Hey, this doesn’t involve you, kid. Go away or I’ll shoot you too.”

Abraham knows Peter never goes down without a fight, is courageous and a pain in the ass. So he shouldn’t have been so surprised when Peter rushes in front of him. He’s the one who was supposed to protect Peter, not the other way around.

Within seconds, he found himself on the floor, putting pressure on Peter’s gunshot wound on the side of his torso, yelling at him to stay awake. He wants to chase after that gangster, but he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he let Peter bleed out here.

Once the ambulance arrived, Abraham drove off, intending to never face Mr. Stark again because he knows and now, it’s his fault Peter is fatally wounded. He’d die if he stays in this city.

“Stop. Tony, please, stop.” A soft angelic voice says from the seat in the theatre box. Abraham looks over his shoulder to see Peter stand up from his seat, hidden in the shadows until this moment. He’s limping, wincing with every subtle movement. The blond brute, Steve, immediately strides over to him, placing a steady hand on his back. Peter gently nudges him away, though and mumbles he’s okay.

“Really, Tony, it’s okay. I wanted to protect him. I jumped in front of the bullet. Let him go,” Peter’s voice wavers, but his defiant stance is enough to signal to Tony that he’s serious. Tony’s eyes soften, but he grits his teeth when he looks back at Abraham.

“You’re the reason why my Petey isn’t performing out there on stage right now. Why he’s fucking upset that he can’t even dance the recital he’s worked so hard for. That’s on you,” Tony spits. Abraham only then notices that Peter’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, a frown on his lips and there comes the crushing guilt. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“No, you don’t get to talk to him,” Tony starts, pulling his chin back towards him.

“No, Tony. It’s okay.” Peter smiles faintly, his bright personality even shining through his red eyes. “It’s alright, Abe.”

Tony looks over to Peter, the sweet little angel who brightens everyone’s day with just a simple smile. He sighs, feeling the rage ebb away from a look, and he turns back to the terrified man in his hands. “I’m giving you one last chance. You have Peter to thank for that.”

“But sir—” Steve and Bucky start, both who are very protective over the ballerino and very, very furious over Abraham’s disloyal acts and incompetence in protecting Peter.

They go quiet when Tony raises his hand, gesturing to them. Abraham looks between Peter and Tony, the two pairs of brown eyes having two very distinct emotions in them. Peter’s warm brown eyes are almost relieved yet upset, but Tony’s eyes are cold, calculating and shrewd.

“You run away. You never come here. You never set foot in this city again, because if you do—” Tony leans in, his lips near Abraham’s ear, “—I will see to it you’ll never see the light of day ever again.”

When he pulls away, Abraham can only nod, his body trembling from the mixture of fear and relief. Tony lets go of him and waves a hand. Abraham doesn’t make a sound when Bucky manhandles him to stand on his feet, getting practically dragged out of the theatre box. He casts one last grateful look to Peter, who nods back at him before the door closes behind him and Bucky as they leave.

~~

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to let him go?” Steve asks. Tony just slips his gun into his coat, shrugging the jacket and brushing invisible dust off his shoulder. “He’s learned his lesson. And now that he knows we’re holding his grandmother over his head, he won’t step over the line.”

“But sir, what about Peter?”

“What about him?”

“Aren’t you mad that Abraham let him go?” Tony fixes his hair and purses his lips. “Of course, but I doubt Peter would like it if I splattered his brains all over this place. I take it you’re mad?”

Steve’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t hide the truth from his boss. “Yes. Peter didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire.”

“No, he didn’t. I’m lucky you’re on my team, Rogers. Especially when Peter has you looking after him.” Steve just chuckles, “Only doing the job, Boss.” Tony huffs a laugh, waving him away, and Steve goes outside to keep watch.

Once he’s out of the room, Tony walks over to the seats, seeing the love of his life leaning on the railing, eyes fixated on the performance down below. Tony can see the shimmer of tears in his eyes and he sighs, slipping an arm around his injured waist gingerly. When Peter winces, he puts his arm around Peter’s shoulder instead, unable to see his angel in pain.

“Baby, look at me.” Peter keeps his teary eyes on the stage. “Tesoro, c’mon.”

Peter takes his time, but he finally looks up at Tony with glistening brown doe orbs, his voice raspy as he whimpers. Tony can’t stop himself from placing his head on his chest, so Peter can hear the calm thumping of his steady heart, running his fingers through his soft hair, “I know, sweetheart. I know you wanted to perform.”

“I just wish I could heal faster. This was my one chance,” Peter whispers, his fingers digging possessively into Tony’s back. Tony presses his lips to the top of his head, “If you really wanted to, baby, I can get the theatre to show the ballet again. But only when you’re fully healed and ready to perform.”

Peter stops, and pulls way from Tony with an awed look on his face. A breath-taking smile comes upon his face, “Really?”

Tony brushes his thumb on Peter’s chin, watching as Peter’s eyes flicker down to his lips. “Yes, really. I’d move heaven and earth for you, tesoro.”

Peter swoons, his heart bursting with all the indescribable emotions for the man in front of him, and mumbles, “I love you, Tony. With all my heart and all that I am.”

It doesn’t take each of them much time to close the distance with a fiery kiss.

——

Traditore — Traitor

Ingrato — Ingrate

Tesoro — term of endearment (treasure/darling/honey)

[classified-bluerose]

put me back together part II || quentin beck x reader

a/n: so obviously this doesn’t exactly fit the plot as i realised halfway through that peter seems to have met quention prior to the water attack in venice. i don’t want to change it now so let’s pretend they met before the fight. also we gonna pretend peter’s trip was always taking them to prague bc i don’t wanna write in the trip at all tbh lol. again this is probably occ... mainly self-indulgent crap, really. hope u enjoy tho!!!

warnings: cursing, mentions of violence & death, endgame spoilers, and, ofc, spiderman ffh spoilers. manipulative bastard quentin, too. (isn’t that why we love him?)

(GIF is not mine)

—

chapter two: shattered glass

—

it’s almost as though quentin actually planned this - find the girl and take her to one of the most romantic cities in the world. show her all the sights, make her laugh, slowly take down her walls, brick by brick.

the more time he spends with you the harder it becomes to disentangle himself. feelings grow deeper under early morning walks and late night chats. you never ask about the other you, the one quentin supposedly married.

you never talk about tony stark or natasha romanoff, either; when fury mentions iron man you stiffen in the corner and quentin does not miss the way your jaw clenches tight. he wants to poke and prod at these wounds left unhealed, but there’s no time before the stage is set and the water monster erupts from the intricate canals of venice’s streets.

you’re not supposed to be there - you should have been tucked away at the base, safe and sound; but quentin sees you ushering a group of frightened tourists in the opposite direction of the threat. anger coils low in his chest as he watches your figure disappear around a corner - what if something had happened to you?

how could you be so careless with yourself?

he grit his teeth and finished off the ‘’elemental’’ - needing some time to cool off and clear his head.

—

you’re not at the debrief. quentin’s skin feels itchy as he wonders where you are. have you gone home? been sent out somewhere else?

maybe you’d simply walked out. but why... why would you leave quentin? or peter, for that matter? how much you care for the kid is obvious - surely you wouldn’t just go.

surely you - surely you hadn’t actually been injured. right? right? if you had someone would have found you by now. shield would know, wouldn’t they. isn’t that their jobs? isn’t that what they’re supposed to do?

the longer he goes without knowing the more the anger rises to the surface. he tries to pat it down lest he expose himself, cursing you for making him feel this way. his jaw twitches, fist flexing, fingers curling and uncurling and curling again - anything to get the nervous energy out of his system.

after what feels like forever the briefing ends, the plan to get to prague is settled. quentin tries to catch fury but the slippery fucker is out the door in the blink of an eye.

someone taps his shoulder. quentin turns sharply, - ‘’ what? ‘’ - then pulls his attitude in again when peter flinches back. he rubs his forehead and bares his teeth in a smile.

‘’ sorry, spiderman. rough day, ‘’ he makes his excuses and the naieve kid nods and smiles and accepts too easy.

‘’ it’s okay, mr- i mean, myst- i mean, quentin. um, i just - i noticed you were looking around a lot, during the meeting. if you’re looking for her, i can show you where she is? ‘’

god, this kid is painfully awkward at times, but damn if he isn’t useful. quentin nods once. spiderman nods, clearly happy to feel like he can help. ‘’ c’mon! ‘’

he darts out as quick as a bullet from a gun, and quentin has no choice but to follow the teenage hero out into the night.

—

there’s a mural of red and gold painted large as life on the side of a building. your silhouette against it is dark and miniscule. quentin stands a few feet back and watches you stare at it. only when your shoulders begin to shake does he approach.

your breaths are laboured, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. his earlier irriation fades away, though he fights to bring it back - you could have ruined it all by disobeying orders, showing up on the street mid-fight, you could have destroyed his plans in seconds -

somehow, it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

‘’ hey. are you okay? ‘’

you snap out of the daze and your gaze falls to your feet. you nod and force a smile that’s too dull to be authentic as you look back up. his expression becomes one of caring and empathy, your heart hurting for the man who lost it all.

‘’ m’fine. just ... ‘’ your eyes flicker once again to the painting before moving back to gaze over quentin’s shoulder. ‘’ i’m fine. ‘’

‘’ you wanna talk about it? ‘’

a humourless chuckle escapes your lips. more jagged glass than happiness. ‘’ no. ‘’

quentin pauses. knows that to push you too much too soon would ruin the carefully constructed plan he has perfected. he chances a comforting touch to your elbow, encouraged when you don’t move away.

‘’ wanna go for a walk? ‘’

he hits you with the lopsided grin that he knows has an effect; inside, your stomach swoops and fuses spark lights in your chest. on the outside your eyes soften and your lips curve up in a tiny, but genuine, smile.

quentin holds out his hand. you take it without hesistation.

—

so much about you intrigues him. it’s easy to forget about the truth behind his intentions. your skin, hotter than any normal human being. the knowledge that you have the ability to snap his neck without blinking an eye is... alluring. intoxicating. you were so broken when he met you first, only a week ago. already he feels as though he’s putting you back together. it earns him some pride.

light laughter and little, fragile smiles - moments as delicate as butterflies landing on his wrist. he yearns to touch, to pull, to hold. the plan takes priority, of course it does. but he’s worked so hard to get himself to this point. he deserves a little break with a pretty girl by his side.

‘’ so, one more elemental, ‘’ you begin, conversationally.

quentin nods. ‘’ one more. fire. the one that... the one that destroyed my world. ‘’

he swallows past an imaginary lump in his throat. he feels your eyes against the profile of his face.

‘’ well, now you know what you’re up against. not often we get a second chance. ‘’ the words are bitter, maybe unintentionally, but bitter all the same.

‘’ you did, ‘’ he points out, gently. ‘’ with thanos, right? ‘’

you huff a callous, cold laugh. ‘’ yeah. eventually won, i guess. supposedly. ‘’

there’s a darkness shadowing the curves of your face now, the kind that makes quentin’s heart rate pick up. ‘’ what do you mean? ‘’

you don’t answer for a long while. footsteps echo quietly around empty backstreets. it seems as though the city is deserted; inhabited only by the two of you, and the moon hanging low in the sky. still clad in his armour, quentin wishes to himself he’d had the foresight to change out of the clunky suit.

in the moment of distraction caused by the discomfort, he doesn’t notice that you’ve paused in front of him. he slams straight into you; neither of you stumbling as he hits the solid heat of your body.

you turn on your heel and offer a wry smile. ‘’ sorry, ‘’ you say, entirely insincere. he watches you lean back against the wall, the shadowed alleyway covering up most of your features. your eyes, though. they burn through the night and quentin is powerless to their draw.

he cocks his head to the side. ‘’ what did you mean? ‘’ he presses. ‘’ a minute ago. ‘’

‘’ it’s nothing. forget i said anything. ‘’

‘’ hey, come on. you can talk to me, you know, ‘’ he cajoles, inching closer.

you sigh; ‘’ you have enough on your plate, ‘’ she insists, but your resolve to stay silent is weakening. he can feel it.

‘’ you have listened to me talk about the tragedy of my own life since i got here, ‘’ he points out, lightly. ‘’ let me return the favour. ‘’

you consider the man of mystery in front of you: something about him you can’t quite put your finger on. maybe it’s the smile that always seems a little too sharp for comfort, or the eyes that can’t quite hide the gleam of potential insanity. something tells you, you shouldn’t trust him. something else tells you he’s the only one you should trust.

‘’ it doesn’t feel like we won, ‘’ you admit, finally. the weight falling from your chest as the words fall from your lips, secrets with sharp edges that have been cutting in to you for eight long months. ‘’ tony stark and natasha romanoff, they died. they died so the world could live, and - and that’s what, that was the point. save the world. whatever it takes, ‘’ she spits out the last three words with an incredible amount of venom. ‘’ and it’s stupid and it’s careless and i don’t even care. i want them back. i want them back so badly i would, god. i would burn this version of reality to the ground to bring ‘em back. ‘’

quentin ... did not expect this. yet somehow is unsurprised; and suddenly understands. this is what drew him in. this hidden darkness, this anger and rage buried in layers of sadness. in this moment you are more alive than he’s ever seen you; gone is the morose, flat emptiness, here is the fuel to the dynamite exploding, here is the fierce hurt and the damaged parts coming to the surface, it is magnificent, you are magnificent in your hot fury.

the breath catches in his throat as he realises; we’re the same, you and i. we both want revenge.

excitement sizzles in his veins and in that moment all he wants to do is wrap you in his arms and pull you into his embrace. he reigns himself in, patience, quentin, patience, and allows himself a single step closer.

‘’ i’m so sorry you had to go through that, ‘’ he whispers, voice a few steps lower than usual- steeped in desire he hopes can be read as sympathy. your bright eyes flicker over his face.

‘’ yeah, well. perks of bein’ a fuckin’ superhero or whatever. ‘’ she lifts her chin in the air defiantly. ‘’ but i guess you understand that. ‘’

‘’ i do, ‘’ he responds immediately, ‘’ i do. ‘’

because, okay. maybe he hadn’t actually watched his reality burn; maybe he hadn’t failed to save an imaginary family in an imaginary universe; but he had lost things, fallen deeper into black holes that chewed up his soul and spat it out again.

we’re the same, he wants to say, but again. holds himself back.

instead he smiles warmly - the sharpness still there, something you do not miss - and says, ‘’ at least we have each other. ‘’

your face lights up with mischief. ��’ we do? ‘’ you ask, with a cocky head tilt. quentin chuckles and plays up the embarassment. acting like someone caught flirting - which he almost-kind-of-maybe was.

a blush adorns his handsome face. ‘’ i mean - uh - if you want that. ‘’ he adopts an uncertain waver to his tone; though he’s already sure you’re falling as hard for him as he is for you.

you bite back a smile and try to dim the fire burning in your belly. it just feels so good - to actually feel something. something that isn’t empty or angry or sad. something good. this connection came too quick and is growing too intense too soon. it can only end in tears. but you make a choice, the only one you’ve ever made.

let yourself be consumed in the flames, and damn the consequences.

—

tags: @loki-doki-fever @tuliptx

[whiskynottea]

An interruption in the 1st law of thermodynamics.

Previously, Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34

AO3

@theministerskat, there is not much left to say at this point... Thank you!! ❤️

Also, cheers to @notameeksassenach for her tags 😉

Chapter 35. Expectations

Expectations. What a person believes will happen, under certain conditions. The product of probability and value.

The problem with this equation is that values change depending on the person.

Brian Fraser valued the continuation of his business, a stable life for his son to carry on his family name, an admirable career that would give Jamie the foundation for a happy life.

I valued Jamie’s happiness and proximity. I didn’t care what he chose to do, as long as it made him happy and we left Edinburgh together, going to uni and living the best years of our lives.

Jamie, however, valued the feeling of water enfolding his body in the pool, the thrill of a victory, the progress he made every day towards being the best.

Happiness is a common trait, linked to the variables of everyone’s expectations. But there is a different version of happiness in each person, anchored to its own universe.

Our expectations. Our family’s, our friends’ expectations… What we have, what we’d like to have, what we should have in the future. Who we should be.

Life is demanding. And love makes people demanding.

A battle of beliefs – adding weight to our decisions, to our plans, to our lives. Changing the equation’s balance.  

--

Jamie was angry, scared, stressed. I couldn’t imagine a worse combination. He closed himself off and I was sure that he hardly heard my little motivational speech as I was talking to him during the lunch break.

“Listen to me, you bloody Scot. Your father said that you’ll stop swimming if you don’t get better grades. IF.” At this point, I had grasped his hand, my fingers applying pressure against his, pushing my conviction into his skin.

“He doesna understand, Sassenach.” Jamie’s words were strained, leaving barely opened lips. “He thinks I’m fooling around wi’ the swimming when I’m not. Ye ken that.” His eyes bore into mine, daring me to contradict him. “Tis what makes me happy.” His face softened for a moment, before adding, “And you.”

“I know Jamie, but you can’t blame hi-”

“The hell I can’t!” I’d lost him again. He went from vulnerable and open to distant and cold in mere seconds.

“He wants the best for you, that’s why he pushes you,” I tried again, willing the relation between the two strong headed men to be mended. “He’s your father, Jamie, he loves you more than anyone.”

“My Ma would never have done this, make me choose.” His voice broke min-sentence and he fixed his eyes on an invisible mark on the floor.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I wouldn’t let him get caught in that loop of pain and anger. It was easy to blame his dad and idealize his mother. It was safe - no one could prove him wrong. Before I opened my mouth to speak again, Jamie’s ironic chuckle stopped me.

“He never really got it – my Da. It was my Ma who was driving me to the pool every day, who cheered me on, she embraced who I was and my love for swimming. My Da… his mind was always on the business.” Loss and hurt gave way to fury again, and his words came out harsh and hurried. “And now he sees swimming as a distraction, when the only distraction is school.”

At this, I stopped short. I blinked once, trying to comprehend what he’d said.

“What?” It was a single syllable, but it must have carried a load of emotion because Jamie’s face turned abruptly towards me. I tried to be calm, to stop my heaving chest, to keep my pounding heart safe in my chest before it broke in pieces. “Jamie, you can’t really mean that.” My words sounded almost normal – almost. “You need to study, you need the grades, the A levels…” My composure failed me then, the continuation of my sentence silent, grinding against my throat.

Us.

He didn’t want to go to Oxford anymore? If he didn’t care about school, about uni…

“Claire,” he said, voice husky again. “Please, not you too. Not you.”

I shook my head, willing the tears to stay hidden behind closed eyelids, my face straining in pain. I felt his strong arms around my shoulders pulling me tight to him and I swallowed hard, scared of what was to come. A secret buried deep inside him, coming to the surface. “I didna mean it, mo chridhe. Not that way.” I didn’t move or speak, and I felt him take a deep breath, his chest pushing against my own. “I’m sorry, Claire. I dinna want to fuck up with you too.”

I ran my hands over my face, took a step back and looked at him. “So what did you mean?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his messed locks. “I dinna want to stop swimming, is all I meant. I need to focus on training. If I win the Scottish National Champs I might even get to the national team - I checked the times they need, I’m really close. But this doesna mean I dinna want to fix my grades.”

I pushed myself to the side for a moment, tossed my expectations in the trash can and decided to focus on his - all the while feeling a knife going through my heart. But this wasn’t about me. It was about him. His life, his future. His happiness.

I took him by the hand and walked into an empty classroom. It was quiet, the dust suspended in the air, the numbers on the blackboard noting dates to be remembered, important, historical ones. Not like the dates I remembered: when he asked me for my number, when we kissed for the first time, when we went to the cinema on our first date, when I spent the night in his room at Lallybroch, when we made love. I didn’t want to add another date to my list - when Jamie realized that he didn’t want to come to Oxford. And yet, I would - if I had to.

Jamie sat on a desk and I settled between his thighs. His eyes were lost, desperate. “Do you remember when we went to the escape room?” I asked and he looked at me surprised, but nodded his head.

“Before we met the others, we talked about our A levels.” He nodded again. “You said you would take over your father’s business, but your dream was to travel, to write a book. Do you still want to do that?”

Jamie smiled, shaking his head. “Ye do remember everything, aye?” I shrugged in response and let him continue. “I still like studying English more than maths, that’s to be sure. But, nay, I dinna see myself doing that.”

“What do you see yourself doing then?”

“I want to keep swimming.”

“You and Dory from Nemo,” I said, losing my solemn expression for a moment, and kissed his nose.

A silent laugh left his throat and he took a deep breath, but didn’t speak.

“Do you want to go to uni?” I asked, my voice steady. My heart clenched, ready to take the blow.

“Of course I do, Claire!”

A loud beat, the blood resuming its flow through my body.

“To do what?” I asked, making him justify his response out loud. If he didn’t want to face his future, to prioritize his goals, someone had to do it for him.

“Business management.” He said it as if it was obvious, and yet the worst thing in the world.

“Jamie, do you want to take over the family business? I mean… Do you really want to do it?”

Jamie looked away for a long moment and swallowed hard before his eyes returned to mine. “I dinna ken. It’s not actually a choice, Sassenach.”

“Have you talked to your dad about it? Have you ever explained to him how you feel?”

Jamie let out a long breath before a sad smile settled on his lips. “I canna do that.”

“And why is that?” I pushed him.

“He has been planning it for years. It would break him, Sassenach. My Ma and he, they created everything, starting from nothing. It’s his dream to continue the Fraser business, so my parents’ labour wouldn’t be in vain. He wants to leave something behind - for us. A legacy that we’ll take even further. I canna deny him his dream.”

“His dream.” I emphasized.

“Still,” he said it simply and it was all I needed to understand what he meant. He couldn’t let down his father. Wouldn’t, not now. Not before having something more certain as an alternative.

“But you can see yourself running the business?”

“Aye, I can. Tis not that bad, Sassenach. In a way, we try to make people happy, give them pleasure wi’ our products. Maybe give them a smile some time during their day.”

I smiled, thinking of my smile every time I ate one of their shortbread cookies. ”But it’s not swimming.” I voiced the part of his thoughts he had kept silent.

“No, tis not.”

“But would you like to be a professional swimmer?” I asked him, already knowing the answer.

“Ye ken that I want to. But tis not easy.”

“So, since you still don’t know what the future holds for you, you’ll close no doors - just yet.”

“No, I won’t. That’s why I’m training as much as I can. That’s why I’ll go to uni. Wi’ you,” he said and pulled me closer for a kiss.

“You do realise,” I said with a frown when we broke our kiss, “That for this to happen, you have to study and pass our exams. Right?”

Jamie raised his eyebrows, as if the answer to my question was obvious. “Help me wi’ the maths?”

I looked at him and thought that I could easily finish this conversation with a positive answer and a kiss. But I couldn’t. The doubt crept up in me, slowly eating pieces of my happiness. My expectations. “Jamie, is Oxford still your dream as it is mine?” My voice was as light as I could make it sound, trying not to push him towards an answer, to have him make his own decision. “It’s fine if it’s not.”

That knife again, threatening my heart. But I wanted him to be sure of his choice. I didn’t want to force my dreams on him.

Jamie pulled me towards him again, holding me so tight that I could barely breathe. “I didna mean it Claire, about school. I said that out of anger, for my da. For swimming.” His eyebrows furrowed in the absence of my response and he ran his hand along my cheekbone, as if to wipe invisible tears. “Ye do believe me, right?”

“I do,” I whispered, leaning into his touch. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Ye’ll help me then?” His lips found my forehead, lingering there, pressing against my skin.

“I will,” I said and exhaled loudly. “We’re going to have you ready for those A levels.”

“Thank ye, Sassenach. Thank ye for bearing with me.”

“Well, I have ulterior motives, don’t I?” I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “I do want you at Oxford with me.”

Jamie chuckled and kissed me, his lips soft against mine. “I dinna ken what I’ve done to deserve ye, mo ghraidh, but I thank my luck every day for that gift.”

“Umhmm,” I smiled against his mouth, trapping his bottom lip between my teeth.

--

Jamie and I got organized. We put together a study plan, never breaking our schedule. Twice per week, I was taking my books and notes and rode to his place in a full teaching mode, determined to fill the gaps he’d created by totally disregarding any maths homework in months.

Ahead of the prospect of losing his swimming training and, consequently, all the meets his coach had planned for him, Jamie set on studying square roots and coefficients of quadratic equations, series and trigonometry. He wasn’t extremely happy for the task, and murmured things under his breath once too often, but he did it.

It wasn’t easy, but we had everything under control.

Not that we were always completely focused.

Not that Jamie hadn’t suggested that for every solved equation we would remove a piece of clothing.

Not that Ian had entered the room at that exact moment, turned red and suggested we’d inform him beforehand if we were actually studying or not. “That’s anatomy, by the way,” he’d said, chortling, as he closed the door, “Not maths.”

Not that Jamie wiggled his eyebrows at me, whispering, “When will we study A level Anatomy, my Sassenach?”

But, all in all, it was going well.

I usually stayed for dinner afterwards, the smell of Murtagh’s famous scrambled eggs or Ian’s spaghetti napolitana wafting into Jamie’s room, and making our stomachs growl. Lamb used to feign irritation with me for leaving him alone, but I could see the small smile on his face, no matter how much he was trying to hide it behind the paper he held.

The day Mr. McMahon asked to see Jamie after class, telling him that he could finally see in him the student he knew all the past years, we celebrated with fish and chips at Calton Hill.

Jamie relaxed and focused on his - now balanced - schedule. He got his confidence back, and was positive that he could win the Scottish National Open Championship and rock his A levels. More importantly, he stopped fighting with his dad over the phone, even though it was clear that Brian still wasn’t happy with Jamie’s training schedule. But at least he was now reassured that Jamie wouldn’t fail his A levels. He’d become the lad he was supposed to be, getting ready for the continuation of his education.

We had more than one reason to believe that Brian would let Jamie stay in Edinburgh over the Easter holidays. During our breaks from studying – when we weren’t extremely busy kissing or making out – we cuddled on his bed and whispered to each other, making plans for the two weeks we’d be all alone. We spoke our dreams softly in the quiet room, our voices floating around before taking shape; cherry blossoms over our heads as we’d walk through the city parks, the buzz of the people in the old town as we’d walk up the Royal Mile, the table we’d set to eat all alone, the nights we’d spend awake, making love. The days too – as Jamie pointed out. Jenny and Ian would go back home and Murtagh would be going to Paris with his mysterious woman. Not that Suzette was that mysterious, but we kept our mouths shut until he finally introduced her to us. She was living in the same apartment building, and it wasn’t that common for Murtagh to go grocery shopping - buying chia seeds for a neighbor.

With so many dreams ready to come true, Jamie asked his dad if he’d changed his mind a few days before the break. Everything was going according to the plan now, and he could stay back to continue studying and training.

Brian, however, answered with a definite “No.” He wanted Jamie to return to Lallybroch and work on the distillery. They would begin the fermentation of their new single malt and he wanted his son to be there. “To get to know things from the inside,” as he’d said.

Our dreams popped in the room, iridescent bubbles that held nothing but thin air.

Jamie looked at me with brooding eyes, unable to talk for a few minutes. “I canna believe he’s doing this to me. I dinna bloody care about his whisky!”

“Jamie,” I said, cupping his cheeks with my hands, bringing his forehead against mine. “It’s alright.”

It wasn’t alright, but I couldn’t make things worse by saying it aloud.

“Tis not alright. I’ve done everything he asked for!” His slumped shoulders sank a bit deeper and he brought his arms around me, pulling me into his embrace.

“You’ve done what you needed to do. For you, not for him. And he was negative from the beginning about you staying back, we should have expected that.”

But we hadn’t, because we fooled ourselves with cherry blossoms and endless kisses.

“It’s two weeks, Sassenach. What are we going to do for two whole weeks?”

I kissed the tip of his nose, his cheekbones, his lips. “We’ll text. We’ll video call.”

“We’ll count the days,” he said and I kissed his pout.

“Yes, that too.” I agreed, my hands leaving his cheeks to run through his silken hair.

His lopsided smile was the last thing I saw before he took my lips in his in a slow, long, burning kiss.

Two days later, I watched the train leaving from the central station and taking him away, his words reverberating in my head louder than any other sound around me.

“I miss you already, babe. So much.”

Chapter 36

[kevinthompsons]

Brought Her Back Alive | Discord

Summary: Kilgrave gets Daisy to the jet, and commands Phil to heal her

Trigger warnings: Blood, Kilgrave things, murder mentions, suicide mentions, violence

Written by: @agent-agent-coulson, @daisy-quaking-johnson and @kevinthompsons

COULSON: The command to guard the plane had been on Coulson and was all he could focus on as he waited, hearing gunshots from inside the Raft but, thankfully, no one came outside to find out how they'd gotten there. He craned his neck as he saw Kilgrave and Daisy exiting the building and was already trying to get out - the command to stay still on him - when Kilgrave ordered him to help.

His legs were moving already and he quickly got to Daisy and Kilgrave, pulling Daisy into his arms as Kilgrave's shook with the effort. He didn't have a moment to consider Kilgrave's physical weakness as he carried Daisy in his arms, stroking her hair and entering the plane. "Hey, hey, it's okay, you're here, I've got you." He whispered reassuringly. He didn't know what state she'd be in, if her fear of Kilgrave was affecting her. How the hell had she gotten so hurt? The noises she was making, the pain she was so obviously in, made his chest ache with sympathy and the desire to help. The wounds on her body looked like mostly bruises rather than bleeding, but that meant that damage could be internal - her wheezing and gasping breaths made him almost sure she had bruised ribs and probably would be black and blue all over.

"I'm going to need your help." Coulson called out to Kilgrave as he set Daisy down on a medical bed and went to retrieve a basic first aid kid. "How the hell did she get this injured? What did you do to her?" Coulson asked stroking Daisy's cheek before he went to clean up the blood and saw the shock collar. Angry, not understanding why it was even on her, he used his cybernetic hand and crushed the metal until he could take it off, checking her neck for more injuries.

KILGRAVE: Coulson came out of the jet, and he ran over to them. Kilgrave passed Daisy to him, relieved to let go of her, and staggered a little as Coulson took her weight. Coulson was hardly looking at him – his attention was focused completely on Daisy, and Kilgrave felt a stab of jealousy, seeing him stroke her hair and speak softly to her. As Coulson carried her into the jet, she murmured in pain, and Kilgrave felt that stab again, that sharp agony in his chest, for her, and he hated it. He followed them, and felt oddly, unsettlingly, out of control. Looking at Daisy lying on that bed, he could actually see the extent of what they’d done to her, the bruises on her face, the shiny blood on her lips, some sort of metal collar around her throat. And he curled his hands into fists at his sides. They hadn’t suffered enough, for what they had done to her. He’d been merciful.

At Coulson’s question, Kilgrave turned sharply. “I didn’t fucking do this to her!” he snapped. “You don’t honestly think I did this to her!” It was an automatic command, thoughtless, and he watched Coulson stroke her cheek gently, and felt again that possessiveness over her. Coulson was supposed to be fixing her, not bloody wasting time touching her like that. Luckily, it only lasted for a second, and Coulson started to clean the blood away from her skin, and pulled the metal collar off her neck. Kilgrave stood at the foot of the bed, staring at her.

“They did this,” he said, his voice quieter now, and he felt a familiar cool anger. Compared to the frantic rage, the uncontrollable fury, he’d felt before, this was welcoming. “The guards. But don’t worry. They paid for it.” He exhaled slowly, and walked around the bed, to Daisy’s side, opposite Coulson. His body was still aching from the effort of carrying her, his throat still raw from shouting orders at every person he’d passed, but he’d done it all for her. And, once she was healed, she would see that. He reached down and ran his hand over her hair, gently. “You’re safe now, Daisy,” he said, softly. “I rescued you. You’ll be okay.” He watched her for a few more seconds, and then looked back up at Coulson. “Come on,” he snapped, in a completely different, sharper, tone. “Get on with it!”

DAISY: She could hardly process it all, all the carnage, all the death. It was a silent horror movie, but she didn't need to be able to hear them to know how much agony they were in. If she were in a better state- if her mind could keep up with what she was seeing, she would've been horrified. She would've tried to do something, tried to stop him because this was her fault. She brought him here. She told him she loved him and then left him the next morning. She should've been in pain from knowing what damage she was causing, but she could only selfishly think about and feel the pain running through her own body.

Each step Kilgrave took hurt her, jostling her body, but she was glad for how much she wasn't aware of. She was glad for those seconds where everything was gone. Nothing existed, not even her. She would hopefully think she was finally dead, and then time would jump ahead to the pain yet again.

She didn't know how long it took to get outside. She didn't know that they were outside at first, but she  heard Kilgrave shouting something indiscernible. Then, she was being moved again. She felt the transfer of being in Kilgrave's arms into someone else's. She could only tell because it hurt more. She couldn't hear the words spoken to her, couldn't even hear her own cries of pain.

Then time passed again, and she still couldn't hear what was being said, but she heard enough. She heard the tone, the anger. That anger was so familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. She didn't know who it belonged to, but words tried to fill the tone, spoken from a face that wasn't there. They were all jumbled in her head. It has to carry weight. After everything we've been through, that carries weight! It didn't help her head concentrate on it enough. I will crush them! I'm gonna make somebody pay -- whoever the hell it is. It wasn't enough, but she felt like it was important. Something about that voice was important. She needed to know who it was, but she hurt too much to even open her eyes.

Eyes.

She felt his hand on his cheek, sucking in a breath at the pain of the bruises forming there, but the gentle touch reminded her.

Bye-bye, Angel Eyes.

He was someone who cared about her, not in the way Kilgrave did. It was more important than that, more real

His hands were on the collar, and she should've been happy that he was trying to get it off her, but all she could do was whimper. She tried to move, even though it hurt, and she winced and tensed as her hand moved from her side to his wrist, weakly holding onto him. She wanted him to stop, to let go, so he couldn't take off the collar. It might have electrocuted her almost constantly, but it at least kept her powers away. Now, she'd be more capable of hurting people. She didn't want to anymore, but she couldn't tell him not to. She couldn't speak even if her voice worked because Kilgrave had ordered her not to. Tears slipped out, knowing she was helpless to her fate of destruction as he ripped the collar off her neck.

COULSON: Coulson almost rolled his eyes when Kilgrave completely disregarded his question for help. Of course, he claimed to love Daisy but when he actually had to do a damn thing about it, he was unwilling. But Coulson was too busy to think about that as he checked her other injuries. "I need her to be able to speak and give feedback to us." He snapped at Kilgrave as he continued inspecting her.

The blood on her mouth and her rasping breath made him almost sure she had some internal bleeding. He pushed her shirt up so that it sat at the top of her stomach and inspected the black and blue marks, prodding and almost sure that she had broken ribs. Grabbing a nearby pillow, he put it in her arms so that it sat against her chest, recalling that when Mack had had bruised ribs holding soft objects had relieved some of the pain. It tore him up inside as he gingerly removed her hand from his wrist, pressing a kiss to her bloody fingertips before securing her arms to wrap tight around the pillow. "I'm right here, not going anywhere. Just need to make sure you are keeping safe." He said, even though he was sure she couldn't understand a word he said. Maybe he was just trying to reassure himself that he could help her and he wasn't going to lose her.

He took another pillow and put it under her head to prop it up and stop blood from pooling in her lungs, taking out gauze for her nose and cleaning up the area around her mouth. Next, he dug around for water and some of the bone healing pills that SHIELD kept on hand, but swore when they were out of the pain meds. "Damn it, Fitz." He muttered as he turned back to Kilgrave.

"I need you to help." He said again. "She's too weak. I need you to order her to swallow this medication so she can start healing."

KILGRAVE: Now he knew Coulson would fix her, Kilgrave allowed himself a much-earned second to marvel at his own feelings. He knew he loved Daisy – he’d known that for months – but this was something else. Just seeing her laying there as Coulson examined her, seeing the mottled bruises on her rib-cage and the blood on her lips, and hearing her laboured, rattling breaths, was making his chest ache. He felt sick, but not just from the disgusting sight of her injuries. This was sickness, pain, fury, for her. He stroked her hair gently, and felt a sense of amazement similar to the sensation he’d felt when he’d told her he loved her.

Coulson barked an order at him, and Kilgrave turned to him sharply. He wanted him to command Daisy to speak. He could see the logic in that, so Kilgrave leaned closer to her and spoke softly, wanting her to feel safe, to know he was there for her. “Daisy, darling,” he said. “You need to speak to me. Tell me how you’re feeling.” He completely ignored what Coulson was doing, and just kept his gaze on her. “It’s not difficult. You want to help us make you better.” God, he couldn’t stand it. Looking at her injuries, her blood, her pained expression, and feeling it. How did people bloody live like this? He just wanted it to stop.

Again, Coulson demanded his help, and Kilgrave gritted his teeth and tore his gaze away from Daisy. His Daisy. Kilgrave looked at Coulson hatefully. Every single worthless guard had died for the hand they’d had in her suffering. But he still held Phil Coulson personally responsible for this. If he didn’t need him alive to heal her, Coulson would be dying a very slow, very violent, and very just, death. And Kilgrave hid none of his disdain in his expression. He wanted Coulson to know he was living on borrowed time.

The silence hung, and then he addressed Daisy again, because he couldn’t stand to look at her so-called father any more. “Daisy, swallow these pills for me.” He held out his hand, still not looking at Coulson. “Give them to me,” he said in a blunt voice. When Coulson did, Kilgrave gently took Daisy’s arm and guided her into a half-sitting position. “Sit up,” he told her, softly. “You want to, come on.” And he supported her, gripped her forearm with one hand, and carefully held the pills in his other hand up to her mouth. “Open your mouth, Daisy,” he said, never looking away from her face as she obeyed and slowly parted her cracked and bloodied lips.

He tipped the pills into her mouth, letting them roll off his palm slowly. Careful not to let her choke, he murmured encouragingly, “Dry swallow now, Daisy. Good. That’s good.” He smiled a little, so she could hear it in his voice. “Okay, now you can lie down. There you go.” He held onto her arm as she obeyed, and lay back down on the bed. And, for a moment, he just looked at her fondly before turning to Coulson. “What was that?” he asked. “Tell me what you gave her.”

DAISY: She was still fading in and out of consciousness, still half aware and half lost in the back of her mind where there was only black emptiness and the sound of silence. Sometimes she heard words, voices pulling at her, trying to drag her back awake. I need her... someone was saying that. I need you. . .

I just need you to be my friend right now.

I need you to lead.

Daisy, darling, you need to speak to me. Tell me how you're feeling. She knew that one was Kilgrave's voice. It pulled at her in a way that the other voice didn't, forcing her to focus again, forcing her out of the safety of that silent room of shadows in her head. She had to do what he said. She always did. His soft tone didn't change the fact that he was making her do this, ripping her words out of her painfully. "I- I-" her breathing hitched at every word, sending shockwaves of pain throughout her. "want- let me. . . die. . . please. Let- let me die. . . .I don't want to- to hurt. Please." She let out a small whimper. At least now she wasn't being contained by that order and wasn't forced into silence. He said she wanted them to make her better, but better to her meant what she said. It meant what she'd said. It meant letting her die. That had to be better than this. "Please. Please."

His words were fading in and out of her head now. She heard her name and something about pills and giving, but she couldn't make sense of all the fragmented words. His hand was on her arm, forcing her to sit up, and she sucked in a breath, choking on the lack of air and abundance of blood in her throat. Her mouth was open just because she was having a hard time breathing, but then pills were being put into it. She didn't have the energy to stop it. Swallow. She tried to. It took so much effort, but she did. Lie down. Maybe she could rest now. Maybe they'd be nice and let her rest permanently. "Please," she muttered again. "Jus-just  let me die."

COULSON: Coulson almost rolled his eyes at Kilgrave for asking about the pills only after he'd given them to Daisy. Of course Phil wasn't going to hurt her, but Kilgrave hated him just about all the time and thought very little of him - when he could have easily given Daisy something to hurt her, this was when he didn't act like Coulson was a festering waste of flesh?

Kilgrave wasn't just an asshole - he was stupid.

"Bone regrowth pills." He explained, stroking her hair and giving her some water. "Daisy has taken them before so her body shouldn't have trouble breaking them down. They'll help with her ribs - not much else can be done about them past the pills and plenty of rest." He explained.

Coulson's heart broke in his chest and he felt as if he was falling, collapsing back into his memories as Daisy screamed at him. As she told him everything that was bad about her was born of him. She was saying the exact words he'd said. Please, let me die, please! She was begging for death, just like he had, and he felt a sick and twisted feeling in his stomach as he recalled those moments. She didn't even scream, as he had. She didn't even have the energy for that. He wanted to gather her into his arms and push his energy into hers - the opposite of what Jiaying had tried. Whereas Jiaying had tried to take the life of her daughter and take her energy, Coulson just wanted to give his to Daisy, to let her take everything she needed from him so she could stand again. Just like he had done with the first cure.

"I'm sorry. We can't do that." He said hollowly. It wasn't as if he was going to, and he knew Kilgrave wouldn't allow that even if he would try to. He turned to Kilgrave again. "There are icepacks in that fridge." He said, pointing towards a fridge in the lab. "She'll need them. And don't touch her cheese sticks." He added.

KILGRAVE: Kilgrave had heard people beg before. It was rare – usually they were silent – but sometimes, if they were able to talk, they begged for their lives, or for the lives of their families. He usually just told them to shut up, because it was bloody annoying, and, hearing Daisy gasp in pain, hearing her say she wanted to die, felt like that. It was pointless, and it tugged at his lungs the way her pain did now, and he hated it. He clenched his jaw and felt the fury at the guards who had done to this to her rush through him. I don’t want to hurt, she said. “Shhh, Daisy,” he murmured gently. “It won’t hurt for much longer. You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

Now he’d given her the pills, and she was lying down again, he could tear his attention away from her. Bone regrowth pills? Bloody hell. Coulson sidled up next to her and poured water into her mouth, and stroked her hair in an all too familiar way. Kilgrave stared at his hand on her hair. He hated Coulon’s condescending tone – he hated that he had any tone at all. They usually sounded flat, empty. He wanted that, from Phil Coulson. But there was an expression in Coulson’s eyes that Kilgrave couldn’t place, something he’d never seen before. And he didn’t like that Coulson was touching her. He wasn’t there to comfort her. He didn’t need to bloody comfort her.

“Stop touching her,” he snapped, protectively. “Let go of her.” Coulson was there to ease her pain and now, it seemed, he’d done everything he could. Which was sod-all. He hadn’t even given her the pills, Kilgrave had. And he was a shitty pilot. So much for being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Coulson was still looking down at Daisy, and he apologised to her. As if not letting her die was something he needed to be sorry for. What the hell was wrong with him? Kilgrave frowned. “Too bloody right we can’t do that,” he said. “She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t mean it.” He was sure of it. She was lost in the pain of what they’d done to her. Daisy didn’t want to die. She just wanted her suffering to stop. That was all.

Coulson pointed to the fridge, and Kilgrave looked at it. There was a pause. “So, go and get them,” he said pointedly, not moving from where he was standing by Daisy’s side. “You said she needs them. You’re supposed to be helping her, for God’s sake.” He wasn’t going to leave her side. Not for anything. If Coulson wanted ice packs, he could bloody get them himself. Kilgrave turned away from him, not bothering to watch the order being carried out.

He looked back at Daisy, and brushed some of her hair away from her face. “He was right, you know,” he said. “As much as I don’t want to admit it. I can’t let you die. But you didn’t mean it.” He felt that pain again, that pain for her, the pain at seeing blood on her beautiful face, and bruises on her skin. “You don’t want to die, Daisy. You want to live. You know you do.”

DAISY: Sorry, the other voice said, the softer voice, the safer voice, the voice that didn't want to make her curl in on herself but instead curl up against someone and wrap them both in a blanket, drinking hot chocolate and eating grilled cheese sandwiches. Only the word itself, separated from whatever else he might've said along with it, broke her heart and stole her hope of peace away from her. He wouldn't let her die, and neither would Kilgrave.

Her hearing seemed to be returning to her more now as time went on, though she doubted that it was because of the pills she was given or even how much faster she healed than normal people. It was probably because those sirens from within the raft were no longer pounding in her ears as loudly. It didn't help her breathe any easier, metaphorically or physically. She would've preferred that she couldn't hear, because at least then she wouldn't have to follow Kilgrave's orders.

He was right, you know. The order didn't cut out at all, and she did know. He was right. She didn't know what he was right about. She hadn't heard that much. She'd barely heard anything besides an apology.

She'd known what she said though. She'd believed it until he told her not to. You didn't mean it. It was like a crack in the foundation of her beliefs. You don't want to die, Daisy. Crack. You want to live. Crack. You know you do. CRACK. Just like that, part of her was gone. He was right. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live. It wasn't for him. She'd come here to get away from him, to get away from how he could seem to make her stay so dark and malicious for longer periods of time, but she didn't really want to die. She had just thought that was the best option to keep people safe from her. She didn't have to die for that. She needed to live through it to find a better option. She'd hurt Jessica if she died, but there were other ways. Other ways. She needed to stay alive to find them.

Her body resonated with that need to live. She vibrated rapidly, making a soft hum that sounded very similar to purring, and maybe the reasoning was similar. After all, many cats purr when they're in pain because the low frequency of purrs causes a series of related vibrations within their body that can heal bones and wounds, build muscle and repair tendons, ease breathing, and lessen pain and swelling. For Daisy, it worked similarly, though her reaction wasn't intentional. Her body just seemed to know what to do with the order to live.

COULSON: His hands jumped off of Daisy as if she'd burned him, Coulson pushing back so he was a good distance from Daisy even as he ached to hold her and console her. To reassure her she'd be good as new.

Coulson directed all of his anger and rage at Kilgrave. It was one thing to ignore how Daisy felt about him - to ignore Daisy's real desires, to think that the person who had taken control of her was anything like Daisy Louise Johnson, a hero. Kilgrave could live in his little fantasy world and believe that his little fantasy Daisy loved him, or whatever approximation of love he could ever feel.

But this wasn't purely Kilgrave grasping at what he thought was love and who he thought he loved. This was Kilgrave ignoring everything Daisy felt, and not giving her the choice to feel her pain. Not allowing her to accept that she hurt. He felt that his own pain, that whatever empathy he felt for Daisy, was far worse than whatever Daisy was going through right now as she bled inside out and her skin was patterned with the colors of the sky? Any ounce of Kilgrave's miserable life couldn't be half as worse as what Daisy was going through, or even what any member of his team -- his family -- had gone through. If Phil wasn't so disgusted, he'd be filled with pity. But Kilgrave wasn't even worthy of that.

Phil stood abruptly, going to the fridge in the lab and finding the ice packs, bringing several back with him as he watched Kilgrave forcing Daisy to heal. Forcing her to use her powers (and to only exhaust herself further) to heal herself. "Is this the first time you've ever felt empathy for another person? You must hate it." He sneered at Kilgrave as he put the ice packs down. "I have to touch her to put these on, since clearly you have no idea how to care for a person other than yourself."

KILGRAVE: Daisy’s body started to hum like a machine, and Kilgrave smiled to himself. “Well, that’s new,” he said to her. He stroked her cheek gently. “You really are full of surprises.” He thought he’d explored the extent of her powers when they were first together, but she’d revealed so much more to him when she had come back. And now, whatever she was doing to herself, was clearly another layer of her abilities. When she was awake, he would have to ask her about it.

He watched her rest, equally fascinated and loving, and tilted his head to the side. She really was more pretty than Jessica. Jessica had always been too bloody pale, even with makeup. She looked sick all the time. Even underneath the blood and bruises, Daisy was more attractive than her. Jessica had looked like utter shit after Coulson had beaten her up. But even the sight of Jessica like that hadn’t made his chest hurt the way Daisy’s pain did. Even now she was quiet, and lying still, he still felt it. He’d hoped it would go away when she wasn’t suffering, but it hadn’t. He still felt sick.

He didn’t realise Coulson had come back until the other man spoke, and he looked up sharply, his attention pulled from Daisy. There was something unfamiliar in Coulson’s tone – he sounded like Jessica. Like he was taking the piss. Kilgrave glared at him. “I don’t know how you bloody stand it,” he said. “It feels shit.” Coulson was obviously testing boundaries, seeing how much he could get away with. But his opinion didn’t matter. He was there to help Daisy. “Just get on with it,” he said, the order vague and careless. And he turned his attention back to her again. “Rest, Daisy. You’ll be alright now. You’ll be like you were.”

Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit him. It was so sudden and overwhelming that he almost staggered, but he stayed standing. He let go of Daisy and turned away from her, because he needed to sit down. Ever since he’d woken up to find her gone, he’d been moving, restless, terrified for her, desperate to save her. And now he’d rescued her from that place, she was finally with him again, it was catching up to him. He walked over to the wall and sat down, leaning his back against it and sighing. He didn’t tell Coulson to join him. He just closed his eyes and put his head against the wall. And he remembered the sight of her being beaten, being held against the wall and hit, and, when they had let her go, she’d collapsed in a heap. His Daisy.

“You wanted to leave her in that sodding place,” he murmured, not opening his eyes to address Coulson. “You wanted to leave her there, and they almost killed her. Your own daughter.” He opened his eyes then, and looked at the other man hatefully. “You must really fucking hate yourself, Coulson. I can’t even imagine. You and Jessica go on about being heroes, but if I hadn’t saved her, they would have beaten her to death.”

DAISY: Her breathing was starting to ease as the vibrations worked through her body. It took energy, but she had to stay alive, both for her own reasons and for Kilgrave's order. She didn't care about being full of surprises, even if what she was doing was a surprise even to herself. There were other things he still didn't know about her, like the fact that she could create a sound barrier, but she wasn't going to tell him that. It was still her advantage. She still had that at least.

Her eyes were still closed, but she was listening now. Everything about his tone was soft and caring. Just like it had been for the past week with her. It was so different compared to how he spoke to everyone, and it reminded her of Ward. She hadn't forgiven Ward, but even with him, she'd seen a potential for good. Kilgrave thought he was helping her at least. Daisy knew that, and she could almost bring herself to respect it if she didn't feel so trapped. She wanted to live, but she didn't want to need him for that.

Then, she heard his voice again, the other person who was with them, the other person who was actually caring about her, and it clicked. It was the person she actually needed, the one person who there was nothing without. She didn't know why he was here. Kilgrave certainly wasn't aware of just how important he was to her right now, and she could tell that he was jealous of him just trying to care for her as Kilgrave had ordered him to do. She hated that Kilgrave pulled him into this. He was using him again even though Daisy snapped at him before for ordering him. She wanted to snap at him again. She wanted him to be as far away from Kilgrave as possible, but she was still too weak to do anything about it.

Instead, she weakly moved her hand in the direction of his voice, trying to reach for him, but he wasn't near enough to her. Kilgrave had ordered him away from her. A tear slipped out as she croaked out one word to him, one word before Kilgrave spoke his next command, one word before she felt the heaviness of sleep, one word before she lost herself to who she really was.

"Dad?"

She wouldn't be herself when she awoke.

COULSON: Coulson grit his teeth, endeavoring to ignore Kilgrave's words both to Daisy and to him as he gently placed ice packs on her head, ribs, and a spot on her thigh, hoping they'd help. At best, they'd speed up her healing and alleviate some pain. If not, at least they could calm down the swelling from the bruises and other injuries.

He sat back on his heels, watching Daisy and glancing again at Kilgrave who spoke. "You think I knew this was happening to her?" He asked, gesturing at Daisy. Each injury made him furious, and he did understand Kilgrave for a moment, who had surely killed each and every guard doing this. Only, Kilgrave's actions would only effect a few guards. He'd make a difference with only a few people - if Coulson had known and handled it, they'd have been punished for their crimes and people would know that they couldn't abuse prisoners like this. Instead, those spaces would be free to be taken by another person willing to abuse them.

He swallowed at the sudden dryness in his throat. Yes. He hated himself. Coulson couldn't tell if that was a command or himself, but suddenly a deep feeling of worthlessness, of self hate and pity, filled him from head to toe. He wanted to throw himself off this very plane and if Daisy didn't need him he might have tried. This felt so different to any order - it felt like Phil wanted to tear himself inside out and he couldn't and he just wanted it to stop. Loathing filled him for himself - and for Kilgrave, for making him feel that way.

His attention was directed from his hatred and from his attention on Kilgrave to focus on Daisy as her hand moved. He clutched it immediately, trying to help her, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

Dad.

Phil's entire world lurched when Daisy called him that, thinking of what she'd said before, of that he wasn't her father. Everything become lighter and although the order to hate himself still weighed on his shoulders, he couldn't hate himself that much if Daisy didn't hate him. When she fell asleep, he stroked her palm with his thumb, sighing. "I might hate you. But I have to thank you for bringing her back alive." He said through gritted teeth. "But she'll never forgive you for it."

KILGRAVE: It was only now the immediate threat had passed, and Daisy was safe, that Kilgrave could let himself rest. He put his head back on the wall, and let the tension roll off his shoulders. He'd been so furious for her, so worried, so desperate to get her back. But she was here. He'd rescued her. Bloody hell, had he ever felt like that before? That righteously angry, that overwhelmingly furious? And it was all for Daisy. Because he loved her. He loved her. He looked at the table where she was lying, and felt it again -- that sharp pain. And he had no outlet for it except Coulson, the man who'd had a hand in putting her in that sodding place.

Even from where he was sitting, Kilgrave could see Coulson holding her hand, stroking her skin. And he hated it. He hated seeing Coulson touching her. She was his, for God's sake. He'd rescued her. He'd carried her there and saved her goddamn life, and Coulson thought he had any fucking right at all to touch her? He recalled, vaguely, the rants Daisy had given about S.H.I.E.L.D. and how they'd used her, and how much she hated them. What the hell was Phil Coulson if not the bloody embodiment of S.H.I.E.L.D.?

"I thought I told you," he snapped, "To let go of her!" But then Coulson spoke, even before the order was obeyed. I have to thank you. And he remembered the look in that woman's eyes, that woman he'd saved, with Jessica. She'd thanked him, and looked at it him with an expression he'd only seen on TV. Gratitude. Genuine awe and gratitude. The only other time something that had happened had been with Daisy herself, when he'd saved that receptionist, and Daisy had been sobbing and covered in blood, and she'd hugged him of her own volition. Kilgrave didn't know what to say. It was rare he was speechless -- he relied so heavily on his voice -- but, for a moment, he was just silent. Coulson had thanked him. For rescuing Daisy.

"Of course I brought her back alive," he said, trying to deflect from the odd gratitude. "I had to save her." It came out rougher than he'd thought, and he surprised himself. His voice caught in his throat, and he looked away from Coulson and readjusted his position, resting his elbows on his knees and trying to distract himself from the memory of seeing his Daisy being beaten to within an inch of her life, blood and bruises and the crack of every hit, and the way she'd fallen as soon as he'd told them to kill themselves.

Coulson said she would never forgive him, and Kilgrave's gaze turned sharply back to him. "Oh, shut up," he snapped. "Of course she will. She doesn't want to die. She was just in pain." His Daisy wouldn't be so bloody weak, so fucking suicidal. That was Jessica's territory. Apparently. He was quiet for a moment, and then, because he couldn't bear to have nothing to do except stew in that odd, empathetic, pain, he said, "Tell me, why did you let them take her? You knew where she was. But you let them imprison her like a fucking criminal." He looked at Coulson. "How the hell could you do that to your own daughter?"

COULSON: "You actually ordered me to help her and do what I must. According to me, I must comfort her since you're so horrible at it." He growled, holding onto Daisy as long as Kilgrave didn't order him to stop. He watched Kilgrave's face - had the man even done enough good in his life to be thanked? - and raised his eyebrows.

Had to save her. Oh, that was rich. When had what was normal and what was supposed to be done stopped Kilgrave from doing anything? There was a dead agent now and many dead guards because Kilgrave didn't give a damn about the lives of and loves of other people. He clenched his fist, glancing down at Daisy. He thought of how when she'd been in training to be an agent, she'd stressed about taking someone out. How it had been difficult for her, though she'd done it. The complete opposite of Kilgrave, who was so trigger happy and so completely oblivious to death that he killed without thought.

Coulson bowed his head. He was no stranger to suicidal tendencies, no stranger to Daisy begging for death. Being an agent meant that you didn't try to throw yourself off of a building or slit your wrists. That wasn't the way SHIELD did things - agents who threw themselves into a battle with little to no regard for themselves, those were the suicide risks. He knew because he had been scared Melinda would do the same thing, and relieved when she went into Administration and didn't do anything that would cause him to lose her for good. He knew because every day after Daisy disappeared he would comb through newspapers terrified he'd find a story about Quake, the legendary hero, having allowed herself to get killed through some misguided attempt to make up for the loss of Lincoln.

It had never been a fear for Coulson. Oh, he'd begged for death. But he feared everyone else choosing to leave him before he feared leaving himself.

"She wants to die. And you don't have to let her - but you have to accept that she feels that way. Loving someone means accepting them, flaws and all." He snapped. "She was in a lot of pain, physically. But she was in more emotional pain than you could ever grasp. The Daisy you thought you knew killed people and hurt the people she loved. She made people suffer. That is a different person to this one, and now she's back to herself and she hates herself. A narcissistic son of a bitch like you will never even hope to comprehend how she's feeling." Coulson said.

His hand clenched and unclenched, trying to find the right words to explain to Kilgrave how he'd felt. "I wanted to get her out of there. But you can't truly believe I knew what they were doing to her." He said, gesturing at Daisy's injuries. "But that kid you killed, the one you don't even know the name of? He was right. Daisy did try to turn herself in - only, she asked them to kill her. Luckily they didn't listen or she wouldn't be here with us now. Lucky for us, at least - not for her, since she's still forced to be your captive." Coulson shook his head, glancing down at Daisy's bruised and beaten face again and pulling in a deep breath. What was going to happen next? Where would Kilgrave take her?

And what would he do to her there?

[readyplayerhobi]

Part Of Your World | 06

; Merman!Jimin x OC

; Genre: Little Mermaid!AU /Angst

; Word Count: 9k

; Warnings: Depression, suicidal thoughts, panic attacks

; Synopsis: Jimin has always longed for the wide-open skies of the Above Sea. After saving the life of a beautiful woman, he seeks to find her and live in his dream world. But young mermen should be careful what they wish for.

Previous Chapter ; Final Chapter

-

Everything felt a little dull since the day Jimin had sobbed his heart out on the beach, head buried in the sea witch’s lap as it had felt like all his happiness drained out of him with each slow, salty tear that fell.

  His mental, emotional and physical exhaustion at the time had caused him to slip into unconsciousness. The gentle warmth of the sun and the soothing song of the ocean had combined together with the pacifying touch of the sea witch as she stroked his hair, making him unable to resist the temptation of Hypnos tugging him to sleep.

 He’d awoken alone though, the sand soft but bone chillingly cold beneath his body as the sea almost hissed as it had neared him with each push of the tide. His vision was poor as a human, and he’d been unable to see far ahead even with the sliver of pale moon that hung in the sky hauntingly.

 For a moment he’d watched it, admiring its beauty in the darkness of the night sky and how it dominated everything around it. But then sadness had sunk its sorrowful claws into his broken spirit and he’d frowned at how sad the quiet yet bright moon appeared.

 So close to the Earth, it sometimes seemed like he could just reach up and push it slightly, yet in reality it was so far away. On a clear night, it shone bright and bold against the eternal blackness with only the glimmering stars of constellations that the gods had placed in the heavens able to distract from its ethereal beauty.

 But as if the sky had glimpsed into Jimin’s soul that night and seen the darkness and emptiness inside, the moon had been overcast with black clouds that glowed silver where they touched the celestial body.

 Its pockmarked face had been mostly hidden from view, almost as if the gods were punishing it for being so beautiful. It had made Jimin’s heart ache, as although the sun was life giving to the humans, it was the moon that held the life of merfolk in its illuminated face.

 And just like the merfolk, it was too beautiful to be seen all the time, which was why it had to hide, only emerging proudly for a few days each month before slipping away again. If Jimin had a choice, he’d let the moon be bold and bright all the time as it was more than a match for the sun.

 Why should the moon be banished from view all the time when it offered a far more heart stopping sight than the sun. But that was where he’d made the wrong decision in his own recent past.

 While Jimin had been immorally selfish and only thought of himself when he’d made a decision that had catastrophic effects on so many, the moon was content to not be the centre of attention. It was happy to let others shine bright, whether that was the sun in the daytime or the stars at night.

 Jimin was not the calm and content moon, nor was he the bright and boastful sun. He wasn’t even the soft pinpricks of light from far off stars. He was the blackness of the night sky, sucking away any light or hope that may be offered. He was what people were afraid of, when lives were destroyed in silence without anyone witnessing a thing.

 He’d sat there that night, with his head low and dark, violent thoughts about himself filling his mind. So many times he’d had to force his muscles to stop as he had fought the desperate want to fling himself into the sea and accept the oblivion that the ocean offered.

 As the sky to the east had begun to lighten, turning from the darkest of black to an elegant purple before filtering through to pretty pinks and oranges, he had watched as the moon willingly vanished. It had felt like the last bits of his happiness and hope had vanished with it.

 Jimin had laboured himself up, his body never feeling heavier, and had walked along the cold sand to the familiar path. It had taken unbelievable restraint on the walk back to the castle to not throw himself over the edge. His mind had suddenly given the possibility, assessing coldly that such an action had a significantly high chance of death.

 Perhaps the ocean would forgive him for his self-centred decisions and claim his body back.

 He’d shaken his head at the thought however and forced himself to continue on to his room, reasoning that it didn’t matter anyway. Jimin had a time span on his life now, that was slowly ticking away and it would all be over soon anyway.

 Those living at the castle had been worried about him since that night, he could tell even though he did not involve himself in activities. The Princess visited his room frequently, but not for anything untoward as many might think. Instead she tried desperately to appeal to his natural childlike curiosity, bringing with her books or unusual items or even trying to entice him with a trip to the village.

 She had been sorely disappointed with each visit, he knew. Her smile had gotten continuously strained and frustrated with how he remained non-communicative. He had no doubt that she was used to the silence with him, but it had been a friendly and companionable silence, one filled with mischief and inside jokes.

  It was just hard for Jimin to find the will to leave his bed lately. He would open his eyes and a little voice inside him would sigh in sadness that he had woken. Hours could be wasted without realising as he stared at a wall, or the ceiling or at the sky through the window.

 Nothing the Princess showed him sparked any interest in him, instead he would look over whatever she brought with a dull eye before returning to his focus. It shamed him to know that his life depended on her falling in love with him and kissing him, and yet he couldn’t find anything in himself to care.

 It felt like his head was full of the goose feathers that lined the duvets in the castle, or the sea moss that lined the ocean floor. His thoughts were there somewhere, he could tell, but it just took far too much effort to reach them and so he gave up. Content to simply float along in the molasses of his mind, his body feeling like it wasn’t all that present sometimes.

 On occasion he would raise his arm up and detachedly watch as he moved it, swaying it in a non-existent breeze. A very tiny part of him, that he thoroughly ignored, found it fascinating that he could feel the movements, yet it had felt as though he was watching this through someone else’s eyes.

 The only thoughts he had found that he could latch onto were depressive and self-destructive. He’d half-heartedly eye the pages of a book as the Princess flicked through them and see a painting that would make Taehyung’s eyes widen in awe.

 A medical related item that was used on him to try and figure out what was wrong would have made Hoseok giddy with excitement at the prospect of learning something new that could help people. An old book that belched dust into the air whenever she turned a page would have Namjoon practically salivating to read it.

 It had been when the Princess had introduced her little brother however, returned from his studies at a school that apparently humans had to live at, which had broken his restraint with her. He’d been as patient as he could be, but it had been seeing that young boy’s innocent and curious face, the way he was so eager to please his older sister even if it meant following her to the strange silent man’s room that had snapped something deep within him.

 The young Prince had reminded him immediately of his youngest brother, the treasure of the family and immediately the words of the sea witch had returned to him. He had broken his little brother, far too young to have such a horrific burden on him.

 Almost immediately he’d been out of his bed, furious and angry as he had all but pushed them out of the room. If he’d had a voice, he would have screamed his fury, instead he simply had to wildly gesticulate, unwilling to lay hands on them. He’d had no idea that they weren’t angry at him as they’d spied the tears that had streaked down his face suddenly.

 It was only after they’d gone had he collapsed back into his bed with great, heaving sobs that shook his entire body. The silence in the room for once had made him happy, knowing that no one would be able to share in his grief and anger.

 He desperately wished that he could go back in time and say no, to stay in his room and be compliant despite how much it would have gone against his instincts. Jimin’s family would have been happy if he’d done that.

 He would be happy.

Jimin spent two weeks in this catatonic state, his mind floating endlessly through empty and blank fields while his body wasted away. Part of his mind was convinced that they would begin to force feed him soon as he had been simply subsisting on whatever soup they could encourage him to drink.

 The larger part of him simply didn’t care.

 He’d been staring out of the window, having actually gotten himself out of bed today only to drag himself over to the seat that allowed him to watch outside. It amused the small part of him that still cared when he did this, observing the fact that the world outside of his room was still going on despite the fact it felt like his life had frozen and then imploded.

 The door slammed open at that point, distracting him away from his idle thoughts as it hit the wall so hard the handle left a dent. Only weeks ago he would have jumped at the display of emotion, but right now he simply let out a sigh at the knowledge his alone time was interrupted.

 With a bright smile, the Princess rushed towards him, uncaring of the negative aura he was sure that he was reflecting right now. She grabbed hold of his arm, her grip tightening automatically and his eyes drifted down to the point of contact before travelling along her own arm to her eyes.

 Eyes that were normally full of exasperation and sadness when talking to him, but were now filled with excitement and happiness at something that she obviously felt the need to tell him. She then tugged on his arm hard, causing him to stumble in an effort to not fall over as she yanked him from his sitting position.

 “You have to come John, there’s someone who thinks they might know you!” She blurted out, gesturing to his maid to organise a bath for him. That got a reaction out of him as he raised his eyebrow at the Princess, wondering why in the seven seas she thought he gave a damn about someone.

 The newcomer was obviously some fraud who was trying to ingratiate themselves. There was no one on land who knew him. His stomach twisted bitterly as the thought fluttered through his head and almost immediately his limbs felt like lead, unwilling to follow instructions.

 He found that he didn’t have much choice though, as the Princess demanded he be made presentable to his maid, who bowed and nodded hurriedly. After she left, he went to slouch back into bed only to find himself being forcefully pushed into the bath and a bucketful of water dumped over his head.

 The water was warm and soapy, with bubbles that seemed like poor imitations of the magnificent sea foam the waves would throw up. Lifting his arm, he watched as the water slowly streaked down him before dripping back into the bath.

 Despite his maid who was currently assaulting his hair, he’d discovered that hair became what humans called ‘greasy’ or ‘oily’ when dry if it wasn’t washed frequently, his mind was drifting far away once again.

 If he closed his eyes, his maid’s hands in his hair became almost relaxing and the familiar feel of water lulled him into a false reality. A reality where he had a strong and powerful tail made of black and indigo, the scales shining in the light and blending perfectly in a spectacle of beauty that was created by a god and perfected by nature.

 Jimin lost track of himself in his thoughts, unaware of the blissful smile on his face that caused his maid to smile in turn, caught in his fantasy of swimming in the ocean once more. It was only when she ran the cleaning clothe along his leg that the sensation shattered his thoughts.

 Looking down at the two limbs that he’d sacrificed his life over, he swallowed thickly and was thankful when his maid began to pour water again over him to rid him of the soap, letting the warm water wash away the tears that fell in secret.

   After being dried and dressed like a child, which he noted was pretty fair as he had zero inclination to do anything after the bath other than curl into a ball wherever he fell, Jimin found himself in what was apparently calling the receiving room.

 Even though he himself was a prince, Jimin found the pretentious of humans overwhelming sometimes. Having an entire room just to receive a person had boggled his mind at first but now he just felt a faint sense of irritation at the over-inflated sense of self-importance of the rich that humanity had.

 The Princess had been waiting outside the door to his room after he’d been dressed and had practically forcibly dragged him here. He hadn’t been outside of his room since getting back from the beach that night and for some reason, felt a strange sense of panic at being in such an open space amongst people. All he wanted was to return to his room, so he figured if he just acted pliant then he’d be allowed back sooner rather than later.

 “Ah, here he is. This is the man I was telling you about, who washed up on the shore a few months ago. We don’t know his name so we’re just calling him John, he doesn’t seem to be opposed to it.” The King was speaking to whoever this newcomer was and Jimin had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

 It was hard to say that you dislike a name when you had zero methods of communication so that was more a little presumptuous of him. Still, he couldn’t find it within himself to give a damn, so he simply turned his head towards the newcomer who apparently may know him.

 And for the first time since he’d broken down, he felt real emotion that wasn’t a stifling sense of sadness and depression. While externally his eyes widened and his jaw dropped, internally it felt like a tiny piece of the hope that had withered and then shattered into a million pieces that day had suddenly re-ignited in his chest.

 “Prince Jimin? Your Highness! I’ve finally found you!” The sea witch stood there, in a dress that looked like those the humans used for travelling long distances with her hair bound in an intricate design around her head. She gave him the perfect impersonation of someone who had not seen him in a long time, her picturesque face shocked and relieved.

 For a moment he wasn’t sure what to do, as he’d never thought he’d see her again, never mind amongst the humans. Frowning slightly, he raised his hands and hesitantly signed for her.

 “What are you doing here? Why are you here?” Her eyes followed his hands, and he recognised that everyone else’s did as well with fascination. It was the first time the humans had ever seen him communicate with someone who could understand him and they were eager to see what he’d said.

 “Yes Your Highness, it has been a long time. We’ve been searching for you ever since we heard your ship went down. I’m sorry it took this long. I thank you Your Majesty for keeping him well all this time.” With a practiced smile, she bowed her head respectfully towards the King and Queen before giving him a look that shone with mischief.

 “Your name is Jimin? It’s such a pretty name, it suits you.” The Princess whispered softly, giving him a look of adoration that made his own stomach flip slightly. He eyed her for a moment before nodding slowly, his gaze returning to the sea witch.

 “He doesn’t speak, our doctor isn’t entirely sure why. Is this…is this something caused by the accident?” The Queen asked, concern in her voice. She was probably worried that whatever kingdom the sea witch had made up as his own would retaliate if he was found to be injured.

 The sea witch gave a demure smile before nodding, walking over to Jimin and laying a hand on his arm gently. He watched her the entire way, unsure what he should be feeling right now after weeks of feeling nothing at all, particularly given she had been witness to his lowest points.

 He was entirely unaware of the way the Princess watched that hand with eagle eyes that narrowed quickly as her mouth tightened at the touch that signified they knew each other well enough for Jimin to not even flinch at the contact.

 “Prince Jimin has never spoken, he was born this way. But he’s perfectly literate in our language and he’s proficient in sign language, unfortunately it’s not what you speak. I can’t even imagine how frustrating this must have been for you Your Highness.” This time her concerned face was portraying emotion that was real, and he knew that it was because of what he’d spoken before with his experiences of the humans.

 Frozen for a moment at the sudden turn of events, he simply watched her as she smiled and conversed with everyone in the room with practised ease. Anyone would think that she spent all of her time cavorting with human royalty regularly.

 The conversation moved to the dining room soon enough, and for the first time since being on human land Jimin was able to converse with people. Questions were constant about his kingdom, which no one had heard of in the room. The sea witch had gotten around this by claiming that the kingdom was far, far away, on the other side of Earth, which was rarely visited by these humans.

 She spun wild tales of their made up kingdom that incorporated aspects of Thalassa while making it far more amenable for humans to accept. Thankfully, the humans took their far off location as being acceptable excuses for why Jimin found so many things fascinating.

 It was when he was being queried about his family though that he suddenly became upset and agitated, his jaw clenching tightly while his breathing increased to the point the sea witch placed a calming hand on his back, stroking gently to soothe him.

 “Tell them to shut up, please.” He managed to sign out through hands that shook from both anger and panic. Nodding to him, she reached out with her free hand and caught both of his, calming them while she gave a small, regretful smile to their audience.

 “I’m sorry Your Majesty, as you might understand Prince Jimin is a little upset at the thought of his family. He hasn’t seen them in months and…well. I apologise.” Almost immediately she was being met with reassurances, the Queen looking horrified at the thought of upsetting their princely guest.

 The Princess, Jimin noted, looked distraught at the knowledge that Jimin was upset over his family. He watched her for a moment as she chewed on a carrot daintily; worry painted on her striking face, and was surprised to find that he had no interest in consoling her.

 Instead, he was perhaps even a little shocked to discover that when he looked at her, his stomach filled with an anger that was slow to burn yet bubbled ferociously the more he lingered on it. Jimin wasn’t stupid; he knew why he suddenly felt like this towards her. If it hadn’t been for that ship sinking, he would have never met her.

 And if he’d never met her, he would still be in the ocean with his brothers.

 Looking away, he turned his gaze onto the sea witch, finding that looking at her was soothing to his frayed emotions. Like those nights when he’d escaped his brothers and simply let the ocean currents carry him along as he watched the stars above him twinkle and shine.

 “Will you be returning to your kingdom soon then?” The King queried, his tone pleasant and amenable. Finding the sea witches hand under the table, he found himself linking his fingers with her as he squeezed her hand tightly, as if his sudden panic could be resolved by her touch alone.

 She never said a word or gave a gesture to point out what he’d done, simply squeezed back reassuringly before giving a sweet smile to the King. For a moment he was knocked out of his tumultuous thoughts to admire how she so easily wound people round her finger, even human royalty.

 “If it’s alright with Your Majesty, would we be able to stay perhaps a month longer? I’ve travelled far to find Prince Jimin and would like to experience everything that your castle could offer if possible? And it might be useful for Prince Jimin now that he can communicate properly?” The sea witch queried, her face endearing in its openness and he could see the King falling for it.

 “Of course, of course. Our castle is yours to explore and we extend our hospitality towards you.” Jimin would find it amusing if it wasn’t so sad, the knowledge that his ‘leaving’ would most likely be him evaporating into the very foam he’d been thinking of earlier in the bath.

 “Is that okay with you Prince Jimin?” She asked him, her eyes portraying far more than her question asked. He paused, considering her beautiful features before nodding his head. Jimin had thought that when the time came, he’d go out to the shore and simply vanish, but perhaps he wouldn’t be alone when his time came now.

  The depression that had hooked its rotten claws deep into Jimin’s soul had immediately returned after the dinner, and if anything deepened further at the thought that his end was close. He recognised that he’d been ignoring this as his mind had begun to panic and obsess over the fact that the Princess didn’t love him.

 But then there was another part of his mind arguing that maybe he should just go and let the ocean consume him. After all, he’d caused such pain and hurt to his family, he wasn’t entirely sure he felt that he deserved to be happy anymore. Either way, it was leaving him feeling drained, tired and confused.

 Unfortunately for him however, the sea witch seemed to refuse to allow him to drown in the dark well that was his thoughts. Every day for the last week, she had forced him out of his room and made him explore with her, whether it was to explain things that she didn’t understand or simply to discover something new with him.

 As much as he resented it, he did feel small; tiny sparks of his old curiosity come to life every now and again. They had gone to visit the village at her insistence, telling the Princess excitedly that he had practically waxed poetic about it and that she wanted to visit the place that had captured Jimin’s attention.

 He’d wanted to roll his eyes at that but had restrained himself, finding that part of him wanted to visit the village as well. Which was how he found himself standing at the outskirts of the village, the tall grass that led out to the ocean swaying around his hips while he stared out at the calm waves.

 The sea was quiet today, content as the sun blazed down on his shoulders. When the ocean was flat like today, the humans said it resembled olive oil with its sleek and smooth appearance. Having seen what olive oil was now; he surmised that they were perhaps correct.

 A gentle touch on his arm distracted him from his watch, and he looked to the side before having to drag his gaze down to see a small human girl next to him. Obviously a child, she gave him a sweet smile that filled her whole face before extending her hand out, offering him a flower that had obviously been picked from one of the weeds that grew along the edges of the buildings.

 Despite knowing this and not particularly feeling interested in communicating with people, he lowered himself to his knees so that he was eye level with not only her, but the grass. It felt like they were the only ones there. Taking hold of the daisy, he admired it for a moment before his lips spread into a sweet grin for her before handing it back to her and pointing at his ear.

 She paused for a moment, looking shy before she gently placed the tiny flower into his hair by his ear. Once done, he brought his hands up to his chin and turned his head, modelling it for her while he fluttered his eyelashes and raised his eyebrows.

 The little girl giggled at him, hands twisting in front of her as she wriggled, moving from foot to foot. He recognised this movement as when human children were being shy, usually around someone they liked. Biting his lip to stop himself from smiling further, he reached out and pressed his palms together in thanks to her.

 “You’re pretty Prince Jimin.” She blurted out before squealing and running back towards the buildings where he spied a group of young girls who all giggled together before running away. He watched them before shaking his head in amusement at their antics.

 “That was nice of you, I was expecting you to tell her to go away or something.” The sea witch spoke airily, hands clasped behind her back as she joined him amongst the grass. He glanced her out of the corner of his eye before shaking his head, sighing deeply.

 Moving so that she could see his hands clearly, he spoke clearly. “Children have done nothing to me and I would never want to ruin their curiosity or happiness. All it took was a smile from me and to accept her gift, but she’ll likely remember that forever. Besides I can’t speak, how would I tell her to go away?”

 Laughter that made him think of the deep ocean currents made him look at her face, a feeling of calm washing over him as he did so. She looked happy right now, her aura reminding him of bubbles as she stood amongst a field of softly swaying grass, a dress of white and blue that subtly spoke of the sea making her stand out like a goddess amongst mortals.

 “You have such a kind soul Jimin. It may be a little broken and bruised right now, but it is kind. Your village is wonderful, you were very much right in that there is happiness to be found here.” Turning, she looked over the squat buildings that spoke of poverty before eyeing the villagers who smiled despite their gauntness.

 He watched them too before looking back at her and finally asking the question that he’d wanted to ask all week. Something had held him back though, and he suspected it had simply been the relief of finally having someone with him who cared about him and he could talk to.

 “Why are you here?” His fast moving hands signed out before he could stop himself. Her eyes following the movements with ease and she was silent for a moment, perfectly white teeth chewing on her lip before she let out a gentle sigh.

 “I’m the reason you’re here Jimin. If it wasn’t for me agreeing, you’d be happy under the sea right now. I thought that you would be happy, this was your dream you know, and I could see it so strongly. But instead you’ve just been getting more and more unhappy and I think I realised this is my fault. I should have said no.” She finishes softly, a frown marring that perfect face that made him want to reach out and smooth it.

 Shaking his head, his hands behind to move fast, words coming out as fast as he can get them. “You’re wrong, it’s not your fault. It’s my fault. I was the selfish one. If you hadn’t said yes, I would have just found someone else to do it. I would have found someone who wasn’t as talented as you and could have made this all go very wrong. I am grateful to be here, experiencing things that no other merfolk has before, but I just want to go home so badly. I want to see my family but I’ve hurt them so much.”

 Choking slightly on the tears that fill his throat, his looks down before anyone can spot them falling down his face as sorrow strangles him.

“Oh Prince Jimin, I wish I could make everything better for you.” She whispers softly before tugging him down until they’re sitting, hidden from view from anyone who happens to be looking. Without a word, she wraps her around his shoulders and Jimin finds himself once more crying into her.

  Jimin has two weeks until the end when the sea witch visits his room. She sits on his bed in silence, watching him as he stares out at the world that will carry on without him, fully cognizant of the fact that he’s struggling despite the brave face he keeps putting on for her.

 He attends the dinners and puts on a smile that feels like it’s cracked and falling apart and he is convinced that his mask is slowly shattering. One day soon, everyone will look at him and realise that there is nothing left except an empty husk that once cared and loved.

 A husk that once wanted to fly to the stars and see what made them burn, travel to the highest mountains and see the world from the viewpoint of the gods. His curiosity had driven him his whole life and it was gone, vanished as if it had never existed in the first place.

 Jimin felt a ridiculous sense of betrayal at that. It was because of his curiosity that he was here, with legs on human land, and yet it had left him alone and bereft when he needed it so badly. He’d always imagined that he’d fight death to the end when he finally grew old and the ocean embraced him in a few centuries, unwilling to let his time come and stop him from exploring and learning.

 And here he was, so young but already given up and simply waiting. Death was a great white shark, swimming in circles around him but getting closer every day and he was the prey that had simply given up.

 The sea witches bell light voice interrupts his malignant negative thoughts, causing him to look over at her blankly. “Prince Jimin, I think we should go for a walk.”

 He’s about to refuse but she walks over and insistently grabs his hand. Any thought of resisting vanishes, not only because he knows that she would simply ignore him but also…her touch is the only thing that seems to make him feel anything these days.

 Outside his room, they’re met with the Princess who slams to a halt to avoid walking into them, her mouth opening in surprise. He misses the way her eyes track down their arms to where their hands are entwined comfortably and the way sadness spreads before turning neutral quickly.

 “Oh, Prince Jimin! I was just coming to see if you wanted to visit the village today?” Her tone is bright and chipper, fully expecting them to say yes as they always have. Before he could even give an answer however, the sea witch suddenly interrupts with a gracious smile that borders on apologetic.

 “I’m so sorry Your Highness but I have received some news from the kingdom and I need to inform Prince Jimin. Perhaps we can visit tomorrow if that is acceptable?” He looks at her in surprise, missing the frustration in the Princess’ eyes as she acquiesces graciously, leaving as quickly as she possibly can.

 “You have news?” His hands break away from her to sign urgently, his excitement dampened immediately when she shakes her head.

 “No I do not, I simply want to talk a walk with you alone this time.” His usual silence remains as she begins to lead him through the maze of the castle, into the courtyard and along the path that leads to a familiar beach. A feeling of relief fills him when he has no sudden need to throw himself from the cliff face, allowing him to simply enjoy the view of the ocean as much as he can.

 He suspects that she wants to talk to him about something, only she doesn’t seem to stop, instead carrying on down the beach and leading him further from the castle. Given that he has never ventured this far down the beach, he only has his vague recollections from when he scouted out the shoreline from the ocean to go by.

 After around half an hour of walking, the sandy beach soon turns rocky, with pools of water that are brimming full of fish and crabs dotting the wet and slimy area. She warns him to be careful, and he focuses firmly on his feet to ensure that he doesn’t fall and injure himself. He might have been walking around on legs for three and a half months but that didn’t mean he was entirely confident.

 It’s only when the air suddenly changes around him, almost as if the atmosphere had popped that he looks up and freezes. When they had walked along before, he had seen nothing but wet rock that eventually led to a cliff face further along the shore.

 But as he looks now, he sees six figures sat closely together on the rocks, all of whom must have been here for a while as they are completely dry, even their hair. He doesn’t move for a few moments out of fear that his hallucination will break and they’ll vanish, but then suddenly the one with an emerald tail that gleams in the sunlight turns and spies him, a huge grin spreading over his face.

 “Jiminie!” He calls out; arms spreading wide and suddenly the others are looking over too, varying looks of surprise and excitement on their own faces. Soon his name is being called loudly, all of them gesturing for him to come over.

 Standing there, he’s unaware of the tears that are starting to fall as his legs begin to shake from emotion. Dragging his gaze away from his brothers, he looks at the sea witch with so many questions and emotions on his face. Without him even lifting a hand, she gives him a gentle smile and points at them.

 “Go Jimin, it took a look of time, effort and magic to make this happen. This entire area is spelled for the next three hours, no human can see into it or hear it. No one will see them. Go, they had to be seriously convinced that it was safe to come here, don’t waste it.” He stumbles slightly as he moves towards her, arms locking around her neck briefly before he’s backing away, hands clumsily sign out his thanks.

 Turning, he starts to make his way to his brothers, falling over the damp rocks but uncaring of the cuts and grazes he gains as he starts to move faster. Without even realising, he’s running towards his brothers and by the time he reaches them, he flings himself into their arms as tears fall rapidly.

 Hoseok wraps his arms around Jimin tightly; kissing his little brothers hair repeatedly as he cries himself before everyone else soon joins him as they drag themselves over. Seokjin is cursing at him lightly but he can’t stop touching Jimin, running his hands over his face to check that he’s okay while Namjoon and Yoongi try to valiantly stop their own tears.

 Taehyung and Jungkook are more hesitant, sitting to the side and watching as great, fat droplets roll down their cheeks at seeing him. Pulling away from his older brothers, Jimin sees his twin and his eyes run along him, a silent sob leaving him as he sees how unhealthy he looks. His cheekbones are prominent while his golden tail is dull.

 Launching himself over, he finds that he doesn’t particularly care if Taehyung doesn’t want to touch him; Jimin finds that he needs to. In his mind he keeps apologising, and his mouth is moving too but no one can hear him. No one can hear anything from him. For a moment, Taehyung doesn’t move, before he finally breaks down and wraps his arms around Jimin’s neck firmly, wet tears dampening Jimin’s black hair.

 Minutes pass as Jimin just clings on securely, rocking back and forth as he smells the familiar and comforting scent of his twin. It’s the slight shift out of the corner of his eye that catches his attention though, causing him to pull away and look at the baby of the family.

 Jungkook’s face is wet with tears, and for a moment he wonders how they’re crying when merfolk can’t do that, but it’s gone with the way his younger brother shies away from his touch when he reaches out. He immediately remembers what the sea witch said, that Jungkook blames himself for Jimin’s death.

 Hands reaching out, he knee crawls over to his baby brother as he signs desperately. “It wasn’t your fault Jungkookie, it wasn’t your fault. It was my fault; I used you. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry little one, I’m so sorry. I missed you so much and it wasn’t your fault. I’m not dead, I’m here and I’m alive.”

 His hands are shaking so violently that half the words probably look garbled, but Jungkook’s eyes are glued to them. He looks up and there’s nothing for a moment, before suddenly his face crumples on itself and he’s letting out grating sobs that feel like they’re scraping away at Jimin’s insides.

 Immediately he’s hugging Jungkook, wrapping his arms so forcefully around him that he’s probably choking the boy as he runs his hands through the soft, dark brown hair, murmuring encouragements even though no one can hear. Jungkook latches on like an octopus, his body shaking so badly with his cries and emotions.

 They stay like that for a few minutes before Jimin feels a familiar hand on his back and he looks away into Taehyung’s eyes. It hollows out his stomach to see the sadness and hurt there, but still his twin smiles for him before enveloping them both in a tight hug.

 Lowering his head to Jungkook’s shoulder, Jimin cries silently as he realises that despite the tears, he’s never felt happier than right now. He’s missed them so much and he wishes desperately to go back in time and stop himself. Why did he give this up? Why did he give up his brothers?

 “Jimin, are you okay? The sea witch told us that you have no voice because of the spell you agreed to? It’s very strange not hearing you but you’re okay right? She told us you were okay.” Seokjin’s voice is strained with emotion, but Jimin can hear the worry and upset in it clear as day.

 Pulling away from Taehyung, he can’t help but give a little smile at how Jungkook refuses to let go, before he looks over at his eldest brother. The Crown Prince of Thalassa looks tired, and it makes Jimin look down in shame at how his selfish actions have impacted those he loves most.

 Reaching around Jungkook, he begins to sign slowly and carefully to ensure that his words are seen. “I’m okay. I’m okay I swear. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry to you all. I was so selfish and stupid, I didn’t think about you and how you would all feel. I’m so sorry.” His hands begin to tremble as he starts to cry again, emotion welling up inside him.

 Yoongi reaches over and clasps Jimin’s hands firmly, giving him a smile that wobbles slightly before he resolves himself. “Jimin, I won’t say it’s okay because it’s not. It really hurt us that you did this. But none of us would lie and say we didn’t see it coming. This is partially our fault too, we shouldn’t have locked you away.”

 “I’m sorry Jimin. I was such a bad brother; I should have seen that it would have made you do something like this. We punished you for just being yourself. Zeus how can I be king in the future if I handled your situation so badly?” Seokjin laments, his voice fraught with upset.

 Reaching over, Jimin clasps his elder brothers shoulder firmly and shakes his head, trying to get across that he doesn’t blame his elder brother. There had been a time when he’d blamed him yes, but he’d come to realise that it was not his fault.

 “It’s not your fault Seokjin. You did what anyone would have done when faced with potential danger; you were thinking not only about me but also about the kingdom like a good ruler would. You’re a wonderful brother, and a great Crown Prince and one day you’ll be a king to remember. I don’t blame you, you were just trying to protect me.” Seokjin lowers his head at that, trying to avoid anyone from seeing his own grief.

 There’s a moment of silence from everyone before suddenly Hoseok is poking at his legs with a grin. “These are so weird. Do they feel as strange as they look?”

 Jimin looks down at his legs, realising that he’d stopped thinking that way about them long ago. Shoulders moving in silent laughter, he shakes his head before stretching them out and wiggling them, amused by the grossed out reactions of his brothers.

 “No, not anymore. They’re useful but awkward too. It took me forever to learn how to walk, you would have all laughed at me.” He’s rueful as they all giggle, imagining him falling over constantly but a soft smile spreads as his heart swells with happiness at being with them.

 For a while they talk amiably about Jimin’s time on land, him regaling them with whatever story he thinks will make them laugh and smile. Each peel of laughter he hears feels a balm to his broken soul, not quite healing it but smoothing over the fractured pieces so that they don’t hurt as much.

 They particularly enjoy his tales that speak of whenever he embarrassed himself, especially the when he ate a lemon for the first time. The sea doesn’t have any food that was nearly as bitter as the yellow fruit, so he’d had to describe it using facial expressions, which had them all rolling with laughter.

 Jungkook was content the entire time to simply keep hugging Jimin, giggling at certain stories and he knew that it was because his younger brother simply wanted to console himself that Jimin was there. Taehyung took a little longer to come out of his shell, but he was soon sniggering at his twin’s escapades.

 Jimin made sure to tell Taehyung all about the wonderful paintings they had, trying his hardest to describe them and desperately wishing he’d known this would be happening so that he could have brought one along.

 It was wonderful to watch his twin’s haunted eyes light up with excitement and awe at just the mental image he was creating, so to see Taehyung see it in the flesh would have been magnificent. If they impressed Jimin, then Taehyung would have been truly awestruck.

 Hoseok was particularly interested in Doctor Jackson, querying Jimin about the human’s methods of medicine, just as Jimin had suspected he would be. The idea of a stethoscope had fascinated him in particular, leading to him sitting there with his finger tapping his chin as he considered if there was any way to replicate one Under The Sea.

 It was only when the sea witch made her way over, having sat far away and letting the brothers entertain themselves, that Jimin realised the time was almost up. Desperation suddenly clawed at his chest as panic set in, realising that he was going to have to let go of his brothers for the last time.

 The entire time they’d talked, he’d made no mention of his depressive thoughts or the clock that was slowly counting down on his life. His brothers had only just got him back; he had no wish to hurt them further. So instead he’d only told them happy things, telling them that the Princess was everything he’d thought that she would be and more.

 But now, now he just wanted to grab at them and hold them forever, never letting them go.

 “Your Highnesses, I’m afraid that we’re running out of time. You’ll need to say your goodbyes now.” She looked tired, the area under her eyes dark and her smile strained from the effort that the spell was obviously putting on her. He watched her for a moment with pleading eyes but she simply gave an apologetic shrug.

 His brothers watched the exchange quietly before they sighed, tails twitching at the thought of leaving him behind again. Jimin couldn’t breathe, he didn’t want them to go and he so desperately wanted to blurt out for them to stay but he’d been selfish once, he wouldn’t do that again.

 “She said that it’s unlikely we’ll get to see each other again, this kind of spell is hard and you’ll probably be getting married soon right? So you probably might be moving away from the ocean or something. Imagine that, Jimin with a wife and human babies, name them after us?” Namjoon teases, poking him in the side. Jimin gives him a strained smile, trying not to let on how much his words hurt but he nodded along anyway.

 “I hope everything is what you wanted it to be Jimin. I’m still sorry that we pushed you to this, but it sounds like you’re enjoying it at least. I guess we can lay claim to the first merman to ever live amongst the humans eh? I’ll miss you little brother.” Hoseok smiles gently, ruffling Jimin’s hair before giving him a tight hug.

 Yoongi simply hugs him tightly, far tighter than he ever expected from the normally quietest brother before he’s whispering good luck to him. Seokjin follows soon after, arms constricting around his shoulders before he puts on a brave face at the thought that he’ll never see his little brother again.

 “At least this time we know you’re alive and happy up here.” He says, before Taehyung is suddenly launching himself as best he can. Jimin clings on just at tightly, eyes that are sore and red from crying finding yet more salty tears to fall. He holds his twin so close, memorising the way he feels and smells and telling himself that Taehyung will be happy now.

 “I’ll miss you Jiminie, but live a good life okay? Become some scholar or something, the most famous humanity has ever seen. How ironic would that be huh? The best human scholar who was originally a merman.” Grinning, Taehyung hugs him once more, shaking them both backwards and forwards before letting go and dragging himself over to sea, slipping into the calm waves where the others wait.

 Jungkook is last, watching Jimin with wide eyes that are already filling. Jimin’s chest feels like it’s caving in, but he still gives his little brother a bright smile as he reaches over and chucks his chin lightly.

 “Keep learning Jungkookie okay? You’re so bright; you’ll do amazing at whatever you decide yeah? This wasn’t your fault, and I’m happy. Okay? I’m happy and I want you to be happy okay?” Jungkook gives a shy smile before his arms wrap around Jimin once more, squeezing before joining the others.

 Jimin stands next to the edge; looking at the people he loves most in the world and gives them a smile that is big and full of love. Lifting up his hands, he signs out how much he loves them and appreciates them before waving as they yell out their love in return before sinking beneath the waves.

 He watches their dark shapes speed under the surface until he can’t see any trace of them anymore, and then collapses onto his knees. Biting his lip, his lowers his head forward until it’s resting on the cool surface, sea spray cooling his skin as his tears begin to wet the rough rock.

 In silence he keens for the loss of his brothers, body shaking violently as he weeps out his sorrow and pain. It’s a small consolation that at least they will be happy now, knowing that he’s not dead.

 Leaning back, his eyes are closed as he screams, his throat straining with the effort even though nothing comes out. He screams and he screams, thankful that no one can hear his pain before he’s choking on the tears, rocking himself back and forth.

 Arms wrap around his shoulders from behind and the sea witch rocks with him, no noise between them as he grieves for the life he could have had and the brothers who love him so much they risked everything to visit him. He wants desperately to jump into the sea and follow them, but he knows he can’t.

 Jimin has no idea how long he cries for, but when he finally stops the sky has been painted red and orange, as if it can feel the ragged wounds of his spirit that have been flayed open. He stares dully at the sight, leaning back into the sea witches embrace as his chest quivers with each breath, his eyes raw from his tears and his body tired from the emotion.

 “That was very un-selfish of you Prince Jimin, to make out that you’re happy when you’re not.” She whispers softly and Jimin finds it in himself to chuff out a laugh, shoulders rising and causing her to let go.

 Moving around, she sits where she can see his hands and observes him with worry in her eyes. He has no idea what she sees, but he can’t find it within himself to care.

 “They risked their lives, and all merfolk, to come see me. They think I’m happy, that I’ll live a long, human life up here and because of that they’re happy for me. If I told them that I contemplate throwing myself off the cliff because I’m so desperately sad for home, they’ll never forgive themselves. Jungkook would never forgive himself.

 “I had to be happy; I had to be happy and looking forward to a life I won’t actually have for them. They thought I was dead but I’m not. Imagine finding out your brother is actually alive on land, only that he’s going to die in two weeks. It would have driven them to do dangerous things and I don’t want that. I just want them to be happy. If that means that they spend the next 50 years thinking I’m alive on land then so be it.” He didn’t think he could cry anymore, yet he feels tears tracking down his face.

 “That’s very brave of you Jimin.” Is all she says, though her voice is full of emotion.

 “Don’t tell them. Please. Just let them believe I’m alive. Make it up, I don’t care. Make up that I get married to someone and have kids, tell them that I had two sons and a daughter. Tell them,” His hands shake so violently that he has to pause and clench them before trying again. “Tell them that Jimin lived a long and happy life, and that he missed them every moment.”

 He looks over at her then and sees dainty teardrops falling down her perfect face. She looks away from him towards the ocean, silence between them before she licks her lips and nods.

 “Okay. Prince Jimin lived a long and happy life.” Reaching forward, she takes his hand in hers and twines their fingers together. There’s nothing else said as they both sit and face the sunset, the lie that had been decided on falling heavy between them both.

A/N: So...yeah this was just sad huh?

Please tell me what you thought, I’d love to hear any theories/thoughts as there’s only one chapter left!

[allyinthekeyofx]

Falling 1/1

REVIVAL - ‘Home Again’

I can pinpoint the exact moment I first realised I loved her. 

 She was shouting at me; drawing herself up to her full height, where even in those punishing 3” heels she used to wear, I was still head and shoulders above her.  In stature at least.  But at that moment I felt all of about two feet tall as she berated me for almost getting killed.  Again. For ditching her.  Again. 

 I had gone haring across the country on a tenuous lead that was no more substantial than a curl of smoke, drifting lazily upwards even as it evaporated in to the ether of my obsession.  Although for once, my brush with mortality had less to do with the case-that-wasn’t-a-case and everything to do with the fact I had decided that sleep could be negated in favour of driving back home so as to be back in the office bright and early Monday morning before she realised I’d even been gone. 

One less report she would have to deliver.

 And I’d so very nearly made it until a shadow suddenly appeared on the road in front of me, twin laser beams of green light coming out of the darkness as it suddenly froze in the road in front of me, caught in the glare of the metal monster which bore down upon it with frightening speed.

 I had a split second to make the choice – keep the car steady and hit the dog or veer off to the right and hit God knows what.

  I’ve always had a soft spot for dogs.  Even mangy street mutts such as this one.  Because even mangy street mutts had someone somewhere relying on them;  so for the sake of a possible Mrs mangy, I twisted the wheel sharply, felt the car pulling against me on the rain-slick road and.....and....yeah, the details part kind of eluded me from there on.  A slow motion journey in to nothingness as everything stopped aside from own body as I was thrown forwards in to the airbag which, given the fact I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, pretty much saved my life.  

I woke up two days later, battered and bruised to find that the concerned Scully who was seated at my bedside quickly morphed in to royally pissed Scully when she realised I was going to be ok.  That I hadn’t actually managed to ditch her permanently.  

A moderately bad concussion, another bump to further mar my less than perfect nose and a pretty spectacular whiplash were my rewards for trying to keep Mrs Mangy from becoming a canine widow.  Scully, despite at one time being the rather unwilling owner of a mangy mutt herself, did not share in my enthusiasm for canine-kind in general and had made her feelings clear.

Despite that, being as no one else wanted the job, she accompanied me home the next day to ensure I didn’t slip in to a coma whilst I slept. I could have saved her the trouble since I hardly slept anyway but back then she didn’t know that.  She still laboured under the delusion that, outside of work, I actually led something that resembled a normal life.

I think it was the first time she had ever been in my apartment for reasons other than either watching me pace like a caged animal as I waited for a call or a sign or some other damn thing to justify my reason for being or to drop me off at the end of another fun day in Mulderland.

Being here in a Mulder-sitting capacity was unchartered territory for both of us and the atmosphere was so highly charged I could practically see sparks flying off that red hair of hers.  Red hair equals temper.  Or at least in Scully it does.  On occasion, I’ve even seen her stamp her foot to get her point across.

No foot stamping that day though.  Just white hot anger as I engaged in a spot of Scully baiting. We’d been working together for a relatively short time – six months....maybe eight at a push and we were a long way from being the cohesive partnership we eventually became and, at that point she was still pretty much whole.  Nothing much had personally impacted her on this crusade of mine.  Aside from a fairly nasty brush with a swarm of blood-sucking prehistoric flying bugs that almost killed her on what should have been a nice trip to the forest, she was still the same Scully who had shook my hand with a firmness that belied her delicate stature as she enthusiastically proclaimed that she was ‘looking forward’ to working with me.

I’m not sure on what she based that assertion because aside from a moment in the spotlight where I had mentally danced with a serial killer inside his head – a dance that finally saw him fry in the electric chair after his avenues of avoidance had all been exhausted – there was nothing that would really warrant such a heady proclamation; in fact most people generally avoided being seen with me at all costs just in case the spooky was communicable.

I often wonder if, had she known how often I would leave her behind, whether she would have withdrawn her hand and turn tailed back out the door and right back to normality.  But of course she hadn’t known. How could she?  

So there she was, all 5 feet 3 inches of fire, ice and fury as she vented her anger at me and I was frankly amazed that my argumentative erstwhile partner seemed so intent on keeping me out of harm's way.

Before she arrived in my life, I had been In no way looking to find a Mrs Spooky to play perfect partners with in the X-Files office and initially I had only given her a couple of weeks before she decided I wasn’t for her and crept back to Quantico with her tail between those little legs of hers.

But she had stayed.  And like a bolt out of the blue it hit me.  Even as her face got redder and the frown lines deepened across her forehead as she attempted to at least get a justification out of me as to why I refused to allow her to be my partner in anything but name, I realised that, despite myself, I wanted her there with me and even more than that, I couldn’t imagine my life without her.

I wanted someone with me who cared enough to be pissed off that I had engaged in yet another round of solitaire, who cared enough to berate me for putting myself at risk, who ended her tirade as she has so often done since that night, not with anger, but with eyes downcast, to hide the shimmer and sheen of unshed tears. Tears of frustration that I had gone.  Tears of relief that I was there.  That my self destruct button had not yet been fully depressed.

“You could have died”

Slowly she had lifted her head and for the first time, I think I fell just a tiny bit in love with her.  This woman who had somehow found a way through my defensive barriers and had made me feel that maybe, just maybe, I was worth saving.

I hadn’t known what to say.  I had courted disaster so many times that to suddenly have to justify it, to make amends for it, momentarily floored me.

Because no one had really ever cared before.  I’d been hauled up in front of my superiors on numerous occasions, but only to justify the cost to the Bureau, never the cost to myself. In fact, I’d never even really thought about the personal cost, certainly there was no one who cared to question me on it.

Until that moment of clarity where angry Scully and concerned Scully suddenly merged into one. And I realised that for the first time in many years, I was no longer accountable just to myself.

Oh yes. I fell in love with her that night so many years ago.

And now, as I watch her from my vantage point in the hospital corridor, I feel like I have been transported back to that time in my apartment, when I first realised that maybe, just maybe, being with her was preferable to being without.  That no matter what came after, I was forever changed by her.  

She looks tired. She’s lost weight recently and the angles of her face are sharper, more defined. It reminds me of how she looked when the cancer was destroying her from within. The energy she used up just fighting to stay whole, to carry on working. 

 To stop me from falling.  

I didn’t realise it at the time.  The sacrifices she made, refusing stronger pain relief right up to the end to try to keep working beside me, hiding so much from me regarding her health that ironically she actually ditched me on a daily basis.  Not physically of course, but emotionally she detached herself from everyone who cared about her. I never questioned her on it.  If anyone understood her reasoning it was me.  And deep down, there was a small, selfish part of me that needed her there no matter what the cost to her health.  

I’ve always been ashamed of that.

And that’s why I’m here.  

For all the times I ditched her when she needed me.  For all the times I let her fight her battles alone.  For pushing her away and out of my life because I couldn’t let go of the fact that everything she went through was down to me.  My work, my crusade, my selfishness.  I’m not a fool.  I know I destroyed the only good thing I’ve ever found in my sorry excuse for a life.  I pushed and pushed and pushed and when that didn’t work I simply retreated from her. Locked in a prison of my own making as she tried so hard to find a way to reach me.  

Eventually she gave up.  Exiting my life in order to finally start living her own.  But, in typical Scully fashion, she had remained on the peripherals. Keeping half an eye on me in case I should fall too far, ensuring still, that I managed to stay upright even though she wasn’t physically with me anymore. 

And now it feels as though we have come full circle.  Back where we began.  Dancing around each other just like we did in the beginning. But now our dance is practiced, honed to perfection over the years as I realise that our music was never really silenced, merely muted enough for us to hear each other again.

I pull out my phone and hit the speed dial that will connect me to her and I see her start slightly as her phone springs to life.  There’s no sound though – in deference to her surroundings she has set it to silent, but the soft vibration has pulled her attention from her Mother.  I see her frown slightly as she looks at the display and for a second I am sure she will choose to ignore my call with an angry swipe across the screen.  I wouldn’t blame her.  It wouldn’t be the first time I have disturbed her at an inappropriate time.

But she connects the call, bringing up her free hand and pinching the bridge of her nose even as she briefly closes her eyes.  She has a headache. Even from this distance I can tell. A tension headache most likely.  Brought about from her long hours of vigil at her Mother’s bedside. But the sight of Scully with a headache still makes my pulse quicken in mild panic.  Some memories are impossible to erase.

Her voice is guarded. No doubt wondering why I am phoning her at 3:00am and not tucked up in bed where I should be.  I’d promised her earlier in the day that I would be sure to get some sleep. 

 I lied.  Just like I’ve lied to her so many times before.

“Yeah?”

I pause for a second, hoping I’m doing the right thing, intruding where really, I no longer have a right to intrude.

“I’m here”

A sharp intake of breath as she jerks her head up and her eyes lock with mine through the small window of glass that centres the ICU door. She didn’t expect me to come.  Not in the middle of the night.  Not in the middle of a case when our reinstatement on the X-Files is, to me at least, like a heady ride on a rollercoaster.  Maybe five years ago she would have expected it. But so much has changed since then.

I hover outside the door, unsure as to whether I should let her come to me or I should go to her.  But my indecision lasts only a few seconds before I softly step inside and cross the few feet that separate us. Her eyes have filmed over with unshed tears but she allows herself a tremulous smile.

“Hi”

I don’t answer.  I’m not sure anything coherent would get past the lump that has lodged itself firmly in the back of my throat. So instead I drop a hand on to the crown of her head, smoothing her hair back from her face as I let my hand follow the contours of her neck until it rests on her shoulder.  

And even as a single tear escapes its confines to track it’s way down her pale skin, she reaches up and entwines her small fingers around mine.  Holding on tightly.

 To stop herself from falling.

 End

[pinkcupofcherrytea]

[Fic] Bewitched [MikoMisa]

Title: Bewitched Summary: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica!AU. If possible, Yata would instead wish for more time. Character(s)/Relationship(s): Suoh Mikoto/Yata Misaki Rated: T Warning(s): Implied character death, time jumps. Author’s note: This is my contribution for the second day of K Project Rare Pair Week, with the prompt being Alternate Universe/Universe Alteration. 

i.

Yata’s board slammed hard against the concrete, its user already up in the air kicking down the colourful creatures in his way. The town was ridden with parasites, crawling around the streets in the form of green, monstrous birds or hysterically laughing foxes. They were slowing Yata down, and he’d been pissed from the start. Now he beat the familiars down with badly controlled fury, crushing them beneath the wheels of his skateboard; burning the birds feathers to ash before they disappeared in a huff of green smoke.

The closer he got to the centre of Shizume City, the more vicious creatures came after him.

Witches.

They saw the protruding flames, licking around his board and roaring in Yata’s clenched fists and scrambled closer, eager to consume.

As if he would let them.

“Beat it, Bitch-Witch!” Yata sent out a ball of fire towards the small, greyish green being standing in his way.

“I don’t have time for bugs like you!”

Mikoto-san.

His fire hit its’ target. Yata didn’t stop to pick up the Grief Seed the witch left behind, instead opting to hurry over the rooftops to reach his goal faster. Yata barely made contact with stone before he jumped to the next, buildings flashing beside him. It seemed like the whole city was spinning. And he was running against the stream.

“Dammit,” Yata swore when a new wave of desperate rage welled up, “dammit!”

This wasn’t supposed to happen!

ii.

The loud crunch when the alien-rabbit’s neck broke was wholly satisfying, yet it did not ease the pain at all. Yata still felt like falling to the ground, screaming and crying and hitting his fists on the concrete until the street was smeared with blood. But it wasn’t his own blood that needed to be spilt, and that fact alone kept him up. That, and the rigid back of Suoh Mikoto as he crushed the disgusting little liar against the brick wall.

Kusanagi stood in front of Anna, his body in the way of her seeing the white fur going red and the eyes of Kyubey losing its’ unnatural shine. Kusanagi didn’t waver, he watched it all, and the rest of Homura stood silent as Mikoto threw the thing as far as he could. They didn’t say anything, but their bodies shook with barely concealed rage, their eyes wet and jaws so clenched that it hurt.

“So it’s true, then?” Yata kept his eyes on Mikoto, even when Kamamoto started talking. “About… about the witches and-“

Totsuka-san.

Yata tore away from watching Mikoto’s shoulders – going up and down in sync with laboured breath – to look at Kusanagi and Anna. The panic and horror when seeing Anna’s pale hands clenching around Kusanagi’s dark jacket almost broke him, her red eyes wide, unblinking and staring right ahead.

She would end up like them too. They all would. They’d been tricked, played for fools. Cold still trickled in Yata’s veins from when the cool suspicion had turned into cold facts. Weeks ago, they hadn’t been made heroes.

They’d been made sacrifices.

iii.

Yata flew across the long bridge, leading right into the large school surrounded by dark trees whose shadows stretched ominously across the grass. When Yata raced past them they shrank away from the light. They disappeared completely closer to the large, white building. The school was empty; its students hiding in the City Hall, the stadium, or in their homes to escape the ongoing storm. Lucky for them. A light – an extraordinary fire – pressed up towards the dark sky. As if wanting the burn the stars themselves away.

If it was Mikoto-san, Yata was sure he actually could do it.

There.

A figure stood in front of the onslaught of fire, deathly still. One couldn’t see his features. Not like Yata needed to.

“Mikoto-san!” He cried and jumped of his board, started to run the last few metres stretching between them.

A wave of relief and happiness hit him as the man winced and turned around to watch Yata’s arrival.

iv.

“Colorless is predicted to reach this town in just a couple of days.”

Yata frowned. His baseball bat was heavy and comfortable in his hand as he looked at the visitors through narrowed eyes.

He deliberately avoided the blue-clad leader’s left side, where he stood. Without a doubt watching Yata and trying to tease him.

The leader pushed up his glasses and gave Mikoto a meaning look that he just answered with a shrug.

“So? Deal with it yourself if you want to.”

Kusanagi leaned against the wall smiling gently against the woman by Munakata Reisi’s side while listening closely. Totsuka stood next to him with his hands crossed, head tilted and a slightly worried smile on his otherwise freely optimistic lips.

“I’m quite sure we have the capacity to take care of it,” Munakata closed the file he was holding, “we merely decided to inform you should there be need for-“

“Assistance?” Kusanagi said.

“Preparations.” Munakata slides the file containing the information over the table, Mikoto doesn’t even glance at it. “And simple precaution.”

“As you might know, Colorless is known for conquering large areas. The city would be at risk should we let it roam free.” The woman’s voice was steady and cool as she gave the opposing side a condensing look.

Fushimi clicks his tongue. Yata has to rein himself in less he hits the smug bastard in his stupid face.

“Do whatever you want.” Mikoto seemed to finally have had enough and put out his cigarette on the table before throwing it carelessly to the floor. When he rose Yata, Kusanagi, and Totsuka followed behind. When he reached the door, Mikoto looked over his shoulder and smirked.

“If the witch reaches our turf I’ll burn it. Until then I leave it in your capable hands, Munakata.”

v.

“Mikoto-san!”

“…Yata.” Mikoto’s voice was raspy, as he’d been shouting. Or as if he was tired.

(Yata could feel it. A deep, heavy weight in his bones, it all flowing to rest in the Gem placed in his pocket by the collarbone. Pulling him down.

He ignored it. Had got used to ignoring it by now.)

Finally, finally reaching him, Yata allowed himself to stop. The beat of his heart soared. His skin was damp with sweat after rushing through the city in search of Mikoto, and now Yata’d finally got here. He had half a mind to call up Kusanagi, tell that they were both waiting at the school, that they were both okay. Yata didn’t, and perhaps that was the first telltale sign that something seemed wrong. Odd. Like a fire without smoke. Like a sky without stars.

vi.

The thought of people- no, those he loved, his mother or siblings or friends, wearing a Witch’s Kiss was enough to startle the ever burning sparks inside Yata’s chest. Instead, there were now the lurking danger – the surety – that his comrades would either end up dead because of a witch like Totsuka or dead by becoming one, like the boy from Blues’.

The fact was as crushing as it was agitating.

vii.

“Mikoto-san?”

Yata steps closer, reach out a hand to- lay it on Mikoto’s shoulder? Hold him? He wanted to have Mikoto close. The omnipresent urge to be as close as possible ever so strong.

But Mikoto took a step back and Yata froze, hand still hovering awkwardly in the air before he raised it to scratch his neck instead. Yata chuckled quietly and tried to smile, but Mikoto still didn’t say anything. His shoulders sagged and he looked at Yata with inexplicably empty eyes. A trickle of fear leapt down his spine. Yata quickly erased whatever worried frown that surely graced his face with a larger grin.

“The- the witch is gone, right? The others will be here soon, I sort of ran ahead but they-“ Yata choked on his own words as Mikoto closed his eyes, his features twisting a little as if annoyed. Or in pain.

“- they’ll be here soon…” His mouth felt dry, Mikoto just stood there, the still bristling flames behind him illuminating his face.

“Yata…”

Ah, he was looking at him now. Yata took a step closer. “Mikoto-“

“You need to leave.” Mikoto sounded too calm, behind the words there were hints of strength, of ongoing battle and already predicted loss. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Yata blinked. Confused. He stepped closer and Mikoto finally – finally – touched him: taking hold of Yata’s shoulder to make him stop. To not get any closer. Mikoto was breathing hard now. Yata could feel the heat of his palms through the jumper.

Hadn’t it been so strange, Yata would’ve acknowledged the smoke accompanying Mikoto’s breath. As it was, it seemed oddly fitting with the flashing background. Mikoto looked every inch a king. As always.

“Yata.” Mikoto said again, and Yata’s head spun. Still not completely over how his name sounded in Mikoto’s mouth. Despite all this time. “Yata.” Mikoto stroke his rough thumb over his jawbone and Yata unconsciously leaned against it.

“I’m not gonna leave!” Yata reached up to grabble at Mikoto’s arm. “Why is-? What’s going on, Mikoto-san?”

Yata couldn’t help the small traces of panic starting to show. Why hadn’t the fire subsided yet? Why didn’t Mikoto-

Yata looked away from Mikoto’s face, to his hand where he suddenly held up something, something small and familiar. The realisation felt like stone. Stone in his belly, stone in his lungs, cold and hard and ugly. Mikoto’s Soul Gem, usually so intense and shimmering, was pitch black.

viii.

“Something’s happened.” Kusanagi’s voice cut through the somber atmosphere in the bar, and Yata looked up from where he’d been resting his head between his arms.

Kusanagi lowered the hand holding his phone.

“One of the Blues’ Soul Gem broke.”

ix.

“The Grief Seed!” Yata bellowed, head twisting furiously around the yard, “where is Colorless’ Seed!?”

Yata hadn’t taken any of the Seeds harvested with him. Too busy and panicked with finding Mikoto to care.

Idiot.

Mikoto just shook his head, holding Yata still with a firm grip on his shoulders.

“It’s too late,” he said, and Yata watched his Soul Gem crack, the darkness inside of it twisting and turning like dark, mindless worms.

Yata felt sick.

“No!” He took a hold of Mikoto’s shirt, stretching it taut as he pulled himself close enough to feel Mikoto’s breath against his nose and mouth. “There is a way! There must be a way to fix this somehow!”

“I’m afraid there isn’t.”

Yata jumped, turning but not letting go of Mikoto to stare in desperation as Munakata walked closer. Hand on his sword.

Without noticing it Yata started to shake his head, glaring at the advancing man with a hostile expression.

“No.”

“Yata…”

“No!” He turned back to Mikoto, his fingers turning white with how hard he held the other man’s shirt. “No.” He said, quieter this time.

He knew what happened to the guy. The guy from Blues’. No details but he didn’t need those...!

In a sudden fit of motion, Mikoto pulled Yata close and tucked his head beneath his chin. Yata’s arms uselessly against his sides first, then he hugged Mikoto back hard, pressing as close as he could. Skin against skin, Yata finally noticed how hot Mikoto was. His skin felt almost scorching against his. Mikoto had always been warm, but not like this.

Another crack, this time Yata felt it against his back where the Gem lay in Mikoto’s fist, and he clenched his teeth less he started screaming out loud. For now his mind was howling enough, and Yata’s lips were pressed hard against the thin skin just over Mikoto’s collarbone.

“Mikoto.” Yata said anyway, sounding muffled.

“I’m sorry,” Mikoto held him completely still, his hand coming up to cup around Yata’s head as the other tightened around his waist, “tell Anna that I’m sorry.”

You should tell her yourself. His mind was in hysterics, yet Yata couldn’t move, could barely think outside the feel of Mikoto’s boiling skin under his lips, the feel of strong arms around him.

The thought of Mikoto disappearing.

“It’s not over yet.” Yata got out and heard a defeated sound coming from Munakata behind him.

But Mikoto shakes his head. He pushes Yata back far enough so that he can get a clear view on his face.

“The point of no return,” Mikoto said, smiling now, his eyes black coal and red embers at his lips, “I already passed that long ago.”

Mikoto leans down and press their lips together. 

Oh.

Hot, dry, holding no promises but an end in fire. Yata could forget about the pain burning against his lips should Mikoto keep kissing him, instead he was shoved back against Munakata, stumbling until he hit the other man’s chest.

“Take him away from here,” Mikoto said, and despite Yata’s thundering “NO” Munakata nodded.

“Fushimi-kun, take Yata Misaki as far away as you can.” Yata hadn’t even noticed, but Saruhiko quickly stepped closer, his eyes flickering from the fire, to Yata, to Mikoto, and to Yata again before settling on Munakata, a stern expression on his face.

“Understood.”

“You got a couple of minutes, at most.”

“Stop it! I’m not leaving!” Yata yelled as Munakata kept him from running back to Mikoto.

Without a word, Saruhiko pulled at his arm and Munakata let go. Yata tried to break free but Saruhiko’s thin arms were surprisingly durable, holding him back. The exhaustion from the sprint here, and everything that happened in the minutes between, made it hard to move. Yata was adamant to fight back anyway.

“Don’t be foolish!” Saruhiko hissed, but his voice lacked its’ usual bite, and with that he finally managed to throw Yata of his footing, and started to run in the direction of the gate. Away from the blazing inferno that only seemed to grow bigger and bigger.

Even through all the noise, the sound of Munakata drawing his sword was deafening.

“Mikoto-san!”

xi.

“Totsuka-san!” Yata cried out.

Just as the witch’s sharp teeth snapped down around Totsuka’s soft neck.

xi.

Kusanagi didn’t want him to go, Yata remembered as he was forcibly pulled away by Saruhiko. He threw Yata like a sack over his shoulder and started to run.

Did Kusanagi-san know?

They were over the bridge now, and with a practiced jump and a surge of blue power Saruhiko brought them both over to the roof of an abandoned building. For the first time Saruhiko looked back towards the school, just in time for the roaring stream of fire to explode. The school building disappeared immediately behind blazing light, for a moment it seemed like the night turned to day. Then the light sank back, dripping down from where it shot off high in the sky.

It looked like the stars were

falling.

Yata hadn’t stopped screaming since Mikoto’d let him go, now it was sharply cut of as there was no air in his lungs, no beat left in his heart. There was a fire, an explosion, then it was all quickly cut of, leaving nothing but silence and cold behind.

In the distance, Yata thought he could her Anna’s shrill scream echo in the coming dawn.

xii.

Dusk. The air started to turn chill as the streetlamps was turned on one by one. The main streets were emptying, but the alleys which Yata moved through were already deserted save from rats and one or two shady characters sneaking around. Yata moved quietly, and without missing a beat leaping up a rusty ladder screwed tight into the concrete wall. He climbed fast, reaching the roof in no time. The night was coming quickly. His Soul Gem seemed to gleam in the increasing darkness before Yata pocketed it.

He ran to the other side of the roof. Peering down, he saw the girl hiding behind a trash can. She was looking in the direction of one of the busier streets, eyes trailed on the food stands a little further down. She didn’t even notice him watching her.

With a snap of his fingers, a rod appeared. Yata took a hold of it firmly and made himself ready. The girl had gone tense, obviously noticing the sound with her sensitive ears. It was her, no doubt. Her dress was white, just about covering her thighs with lace and frills. No gloves, no shoes or hair ornaments, but a long, white tail trailed behind her, now completely stiff as she listened closely.

“Hey.” Yata said, because he was not about to do a surprise attack on a younger girl.

And even if she ran, he would follow.

She jumped and whipped her head to look at him. Her eyes wide, taking in all details while her stance immediately turned defensive. But Yata simply stared back, weighing the rod in his hand while leaning to rest on his knee, stopping just before tipping over the edge.

“Are you the Magical Girl that’s able to manipulate time?”

[omglr]

kids need to figure this shit out

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like socialism, and feminism.

You: hi

Stranger: hey

Stranger: so when are you implementing socialism

You: it's an ongoing process

You: how's yours coming along?

Stranger: i’m not a socialist

You: oh dang

Stranger: yea

You: gave up to quick i suppose

Stranger: too*

Stranger: i guess

You: well, maybe try to work with some friends on it?

You: it's hard to do it on your own

Stranger: i’m more of a fascist type

Stranger: i kill and best of socialists

You: oh so you don't have any friends

Stranger: i do. only people who agree with me

You: pretty edgy dude

Stranger: not edgy at all

Stranger: did you ever hear about that antifa member that got shot?

Stranger: at the recent rally?

You: how old are you?

Stranger: 19

You: yikes

Stranger: okay

Stranger: hey we can still be friends as long as you don’t do stupid shit

You: so you have like no real life experience then

Stranger: no drugs or anything like that

You: no problems with employment?

Stranger: for me?

Stranger: no

You: no kids to feed?

Stranger: nope

You: no rent to pay?

Stranger: i do pay rent

Stranger: i live on my own

You: any problems with the landlords?

Stranger: nope

Stranger: just gotta pay your bills on time

Stranger: and keep the noise down

Stranger: simple

You: is there rent control in your city?

Stranger: no

Stranger: i negotiate on my own

You: any chance your landlords gonna raise the rent, double the rent?

Stranger: nope

Stranger: we have an agreement

You: like a lease?

Stranger: no, we have a fixed price

Stranger: it stays there no matter what

You: and you negotiated that on your own?

Stranger: yes

You: cool

Stranger: it’s not particularly difficult

Stranger: you just have to be likable and easy to get along with

Stranger: and actually state what you want and come to an agreement

You: cool, sounds like anarcho-socialism

Stranger: nope

Stranger: sounds like you don’t know anything

You: sure sure

You: the landlords aren't your parents are they?

Stranger: no

Stranger: are you larping?

You: ha

You: no just trying to get a sense of your lack of hardships

Stranger: ah right

You: how you feel about global warming?

Stranger: it’s real

Stranger: i believe it’s called climate change

You: sure

You: do you believe the stuff about needing to take dramatic action in the next 12 years?

Stranger: i believe that if all we have is 12 years, we’re fucked anyway so i wouldn’t care

Stranger: i’m not willing to drastically change the lives of everybody in this country, when the rest of the world wouldn’t go along with it

Stranger: that’s the ironic part

You: so you'ld rather spend the next few years larping nazism?

Stranger: i’m not a nazi but okay

You: killing brown people?

Stranger: i’m a fascist libertarian, which may sound like a contradiction but i make it work

You: i am picturing that old dude from fury road

Stranger: okay

You: cool look i guess

Stranger: plus if you or anybody thinks that what’s being proposed can actually be done in 12 years, you’re crazy

Stranger: it’s not possible

Stranger: literally

Stranger: and as i said, no other country would go along with it so it wouldn’t actually matter

You: canada would

Stranger: china doesn’t give a fuck, india doesn’t give a fuck, etc...

Stranger: what makes you think that

You: NDP has a good shot at the next election

Stranger: we’ll see

Stranger: and either way it’s not that simple. winning an election doesn’t ensure you get what you want

You: if they were working with someone who didn't have a goldfish brain and actually wanted to do something good, they could work together

Stranger: once again, winning an election doesn’t ensure you get what you want

You: sure, that's were direct action helps

Stranger: plus you don’t seem to understand how impossible what is being proposed is

Stranger: i would be interested in hearing the way you think the green new deal would go about being implemented

Stranger: if you’ve given it that much though

Stranger: thought*

You: i think it will be hard, and sure not everything will get done in the 12 years, but it's probably worth trying

Stranger: what kind of attitude is that?

You: the not letting us all die kind?

Stranger: it’s plain ignorance

Stranger: listen to yourself

Stranger: no other countries would be willing to undergo the radical changes that are being proposed

Stranger: simply based off of that, we will not be able to make a significant dent in the timeline

Stranger: it’s full blown stupidity

Stranger: plus if you think people are going to hand over their buildings to the government, you’re crazy

Stranger: this is actually something that could start a legitimate civil war

You: isn't that what you want?

Stranger: no

Stranger: why would i want that

Stranger: i’m a libertarian fundamentally

You: cause you said you wanted to kill people

Stranger: i’m fascistic in the sense that i will not allow people to impose their beliefs on me

Stranger: i have no problem fighting back with violence

Stranger: mercilessly

You: ok, but what would you be fighting for?

You: do you have any real capital?

Stranger: that’s not relevant, i will fight in principle

You: you rent your apartment?

You: where do you work?

Stranger: why would i tell you where i work

You: like in the abstract

Stranger: people like you seem to think that others are okay with allowing the government to take more control over them

Stranger: the government is inherently an oppressive body

You: that's where the democratic socialism comes in dude, it's people running the company, not bosses

Stranger: right and how do you propose we get to that point

Stranger: is love to hear this

You: unionize probably

Stranger: i’d*

Stranger: and what about when businesses owners refuse to give up their life’s work

You: i mean if you work for the mob and your job is busting up unions, then yeah, you might not want to unionize

You: but yeah, even then i'd probably suggest starting a union

You: when the boss doesn't want to give up their lifes work exploiting labour from their workers the workers strike

Stranger: and what makes you think that the vast majority of workers agree with your perspective? if you go on strike, the businesses will simply use cheaper labor (ie. illegal immigrants)

Stranger: there are 700 million people and you think that any significant amount agree with your idea that private businesses owners don’t have a right to decide how they run their companies?

Stranger: it’s a joke of an idea to begin with

You: i realize i'm talking to a teenager in a country that has been actively anti union for half a century

Stranger: sure insult my age, why don’t you talk about the points and try to make a valid argument

You: i am saying, spend a few more years getting exploited

Stranger: also your idea of exploitation is a joke. most people don’t view it as exploitation

Stranger: not only that, there will always be someone to take your place

You: and instead of thinking, fuck, i wanna kill poor people so bad, think, hey why am i not getting paid the ammount my labour is worth

Stranger: i don’t inherently want to kill people

Stranger: you’re making a straw man

Stranger: and burning it so that you don’t have to argue with me

You: i mean, you said it early in the chat

Stranger: i actually didn’t, that was hyperbole to show my dislike for socialism

Stranger: but i understand how it could be misconstrued

Stranger: so that’s fair

You: ok, well what i was saying is that you are a teenager in a country that is super anti-union, that has been brainwashing people to act against their own interest for a very long time

Stranger: and hey here’s an idea, instead of continuously working at minimum wage jobs where it is easy to be replaced, work at a job that you can’t be easily replaced with. thus you can ask for a wage and use your leverage

You: so like yeah, its gonna be hard to change minds

You: ha ha, what?

Stranger: the problem is that you feel entitled. you’re not entitled to someone else’s money. it’s an agreement that you have to come to with someone else

Stranger: if you don’t like the fact that you don’t get a raise, stop working in a line of work where you can be easily replaced

You: dude, you got it upside down

Stranger: no i don’t. i’ve argued with people like you many a time

Stranger: you’re all the same

Stranger: despite what you think

Stranger: because you all think highly of yourselves

Stranger: if decide to start a business and risk my economic well being, you are not entitled to an equal share of said business simply because you are employed by me

Stranger: i took the risk

You: but probably not

Stranger: and just for the record, i do believe the minimum wage should be raised

You: like, most business owners come from inherited wealth

Stranger: anywhere between $10-$12

Stranger: that’s not relevant, that’s just you showing your jealousy

Stranger: and that’s not true either

You: i think it is relevant

You: the financial risk of business owners who have inherited wealth is very minimal

Stranger: what evidence do you have that “most” businesses owners come from inhereted wealth

You: scratch the most

Stranger: my father was raised in cuba

You: do you think the Walton's of walmart deserve their money at this point?

Stranger: he came over and started a business with $0 of inherited wealth

Stranger: you are not entitled to an equal part of that business

Stranger: in any way

You: do you think walmart workers don't deserve a living wage?

Stranger has disconnected.

[heavensentgohansrage]

Recap and Notes: Heracles!Stiles Ch. 18

find the chapter here

Myth and Historical Overview

Aphrodite isn't a part of Heracles’ legend at any point, either by actual appearance or by mentioning through an indirective effect she has left on his life. Unlike other unmentioned gods, which I refrain to include even when I really wanted for them to make an appearance- I had to use her in order to help with an important point in the plot.

Moreover, Heracles has never committed Hubris. While he is sometimes described as quite arrogant and supercilious, he has never sinned against the gods to receive a punishment for his attitude (although some would argue that he did so by attacking the Oracle, when she refused to give him something to redeem himself over the murder of Iphitus, which was caused by one of his sudden burst of rage).

Erinyes, better known by their Roman equivalents, the Furies (the latter was also, unfortunately, the one to be mentioned in the show by Matt, in 2x10) are the incarnate spirits of vengeance and retribution, who were in charge for giving a punishing fate for mortal sinners.

Ero, also more known by his Roman version, Cupid, was a minor god and an assistant of Aphrodite in matters that had to do with love (while she herself was in the head of other issues, such as beauty and pleasure). He was carrying a bow and flaming arrows with him, which lightened the flame of love in one’s heart- a fact which influenced the term ‘cupid’s bow’, which I had to use as it is since it wouldn’t be understood otherwise. 

A story which belonged to the 11th Labour (with the Apples of the Hesperides) and I didn’t include until now is that of Busiris, an Egyptian king (and a son of Posideon) who received the prophecy that the nine years of scarcity in his country will end if he sacrifices a foreigner to Zeus once a year. During his search for the Apples, Heracles visited Egypt at some point, where the Busiris tried to kidnap him for said sacrifice- but he managed to escape, and once he killed the king he continued in his journey. I didn’t use that story in the right point in the timeline of the legend since there was too much happening in the chapter of the 11th Labour, and adding this on top of that was too much- so I decided to indirectly include that in this chapter, where Stiles was about to be sacrificed instead of asking to be burned in fire, like Heracles originally did, and it was done so by someone who needed the help of Zeus in order to restore a flow (of magic, though, and not water lol). 

Ironically (aka another moment of me fangirling of a match between the show to the legend and my plan for the fic :P ) Jennifer’s original name, Julia, is either a Greek name or derived from Zeus’ Roman counterpart, Jupiter, and parallelly, some of her powers are related to the weather. You can read more about it here.

Deïaneira was Heracles’ second wife, who led him to a tragic event in the name of her love, which eventually would cause Heracles’ death: One day, when she and her husband went on a trip by a river- she asked a Centaur named Nessos to help her cross it. He compiled, only once they both crossed the river he grabbed her and ran away, trying to take her for himself. She screamed and yelled for help, and after a long journey her husband eventually caught up and took Nessos down- not before the latter told her about the possible usage of his blood, as a love poison. In a fear of her husband putting an eye on another damsel, Deïaneira took some of the Centaur's blood in a little bottle she carried and kept it with her ever since. Later, once they were back home, she sewed a new cloak for Heracles and dipped it in Nessos' blood. The moment he tried it on it, though, she discovered too late the trickster's lie, and what was believed to be a love poison turned out to be nothing but blood mixed with the Hydra’s venom from Heracles’ arrow. She tried to pull the cloak over, only it was too late- and killed herself.

Heracles, suffering in an unending pain by the venom, asked to be burned. It was then where Zeus approached him and asked him if he wanted to have his divine part slipt from his mortal part so he could join the Olympus and live there forever- to which Heracles agreed. Then, as his mortal part was burnt entirely- his other half was taken to the Olympus, where he became a god with the role of the protector of the Olympus, and married Zeus’ daughter (ugh), Hebe. Obviously, reading about it as I took a look at the full version legend for the first time, it was a hard decision to make regarding what it was going to convert to the FIC, because I definitely not started that project for it to end up as an MCD fic (killing the main character in an original story is one thing for me, but Stiles?! MY BABY?!??1111), no matter to what level of angst I brought the main characters to xD After a while of brainstorming, I decided that Zeus was going to use Stiles’ divinity anyway as a Daemone, but that the strength was going to stay with Stiles as it was an addition that has nothing to do with him being a son of a god, so Stiles still gets to continue his life with Heracles’ main feature, but without the given skills, which means he will have to work on redeveloping them, or at least to a level as high as he can, on his own.

In Greek tragedies, those who were about to die looked up and refer to never seeing the sun again- and so it is something I included in the fic as well as a thought of Stiles, even though it wasn’t a very outstanding moment.

King Midas is known for his ability to turn anything he touched into gold, but surprisingly, even though the idea indeed came out of greed, it wasn’t given out of punishment- but a gift, as Dionysus granted him one wish out of honest gratitude for taking care of his drunk, stray son.

The idea of the divinity making Stiles immune to the Hydra's venom may look a little bullshitty, but because in the legend it takes a while for Heracles until he finds someone to help him put an end to his misery- I made it so Stiles survived with the cloak from early in the morning until midday.

An affair between males (known as “eromenoi”) in the Ancient Greek culture was really something that made one seem manlier (which is why Heracles had many lovers beside the two influencing women in his life). I made sure to keep it as an the historical fact it is, with nothing to do with the mythology, as, at least in the Olympus in this fic’s universe- the Olympians see no need for sexual/romantic orientation, as basically everyone is Pansexual lol (but I still consider Stiles as Bi, as the differences between the genders are apparent to him, even if not significantly).

General Recap

The actual quote from the Notting Hills film (which I personally love as well, and one of the main reasons is indeed Hugh Grant :P But I made Stiles love it too mainly to be able to use this idea lol) is: “Men go to bed with Gilda, but wake up with me”, which was said by the real-life actress Rita Hayworth, in regard to one of her popular characters which she portrayed.

Deïaneira’s story inspired the presentation Meg in the Disney film, and perhaps what was supposed to be both of their deaths- although, according to her name and the fact Hercules had no other woman before her, as much as we know- she is supposed to be similar in her story to his first love, Megara.

Just to make it a bit clearer, as I didn’t really have a way to explain it in the fic: just like my headcanon for the show, there’s no such a thing as a love magic, and the only spell similar enough is one which makes a person think obsessively over something else, be it another person or any other random subject. Another thing I wanted to clarify is that, while the Nemeton is inside the borders of Beacon Hills’ preserve- the tree itself is neutral, which means it doesn’t belong to Beacom Hills even while inside its territory, and that’s why Jeniffer could perform her sacrifice there.

While it was not easy for me to let Stiles live, in contrast on the legend (although it would have been IMPOSSIBLE for me to kill him T-T) and more similar than I would have preferred to the film, it was clear to me that Derek had to enter the fire and get injured, but instead of explaining the reasons that are easy to figure anyway, I’ll let you to just go to the ask box and curse me to death, because I definitely deserve that (for the entire chapter/fic too, actually).

The idea of “Mischief” is based on what the Sheriff told about Stiles in 6a, even though I haven't watched any scene from that season apart of this one, as far as I remember xD

Fun Facts

This chapter and the previous one were supposed to be one chapter (that’s why, for a while, it was tagged with having only 18 chapters), but in retrospective, with all the drama in that one- I’m glad that it was too long and I had to split it xD

So this is where I supposed to say that the new presented god in that chapter, Aphrodite, is based on a character from One Punch Man like the other gods- but she’s actually not, lol. Unlike the others, I didn’t want to make her look ridiculous, but I hope I’ve made a good job with her anyway xD

THANK YOU AS ALWAYS FOR READING, AND IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS FEEL FREE TO ASK!

[celticnoise]

Way back in the sands of time, a Labour Party staffer named Jo Moore made the papers for doing her job.

Her job was doing spin control for the government, and in particular for the minister of state for transport, Stephen Byers, for whom she worked. Moore was good at her job. She was too good at it and she was focused on it way beyond the point where she stopped to consider the effects of it on the wider world.

There comes a point, sometimes, when someone’s natural inclination to put the job in front of everything else strips them of humanity. It’s a clear and ever present danger in any number of professions. Politics is just one of them.

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Moore’s moment in the sun came when, on 11 September 2001, even as the world was still watching the terrorist attack on America unfold, she emailed Byers personal office to suggest that the events made it “a good day to bury bad news.”

Of course, it leaked.

Something so breathtakingly cynical was never going to stay locked in the vaults.

She was forced into a humiliating apology, and was publicly excoriated for what she had done.

She deserved to be.

I thought, until this morning, that it would remain the worst example of exploiting the dead for profit or gain that I would ever hear of outside of one of the right wing organisations that routinely seeks to take advantage of terrorist attacks in this country.

And then I heard about The Daily Record, using a total non-story, months old, and shamelessly, and shamefully, appropriating the death of Liam Miller for tweets and clicks on their website.

Liam Miller’s death is shocking, and tragic.

A guy that young, with a family, it’s awful beyond what mere words can do justice to.

That he was a former player at our club seems secondary to the more important point; this is someone who’s life had barely started, someone taken away far too soon. He leaves three kids behind; it’s to them and to his wife and those who knew him and loved him that our sympathy is conveyed.

For Liam himself, there is the consolation of knowing that whatever pain he was enduring is over … scant consolation but it’s all any of us has got. I’m not going to do an article on Liam the player; this is more than football story. It’s a waste of life. It’s too shocking to limit its scope to one thing. I know others will do pieces on his time in football and I’m sure they will do justice to the player he very nearly was, and who we saw tantalising glimpses of for a short time at Celtic Park.

I’ve been bitter about how that time ended; today that seems hopelessly petty and shallow.

I hope I personally learn something from that.

There’s a lot of that going around today, a lot of introspection and a lot of regret.

Those are, I think, wholly appropriate emotions … and in contrast to them the paper, that rag, that disgraceful publication, looks even worse.

Whilst almost the whole of the country was pausing to pay tribute to Liam – players, coaches, Celtic fans, media pundits, even rival supporters, and much love to all of them – someone at The Daily Record, someone senior, was thinking about web traffic.

Someone was thinking about money, and how the moment could be turned into cash.

The word “disgusting” barely does justice to that.

It is so low as to reset the bar.

The outpouring of fury forced them into an apology.

An apology isn’t going to do.

Since this was about money, that’s the least this should cost them.

If I had my way, if most of our fans could, it would cost them a Hell of a lot more.

A six figure donation to a cancer charity and a more fulsome – and honest, and heartfelt – apology to the family will go some way towards putting this to bed.

But this ought to cost them a lot more than that.

This is the sort of incident that ought to make Celtic rethink its official policy of not banning journalists or titles. As I don’t believe The Record will ever actually make a six figure donation to charity by way of an apology, our club should impose than on them by making their continued access to press events conditional on it.

Where possible, it’s about time we ended any commercial relationships we have with them.

I understand why we don’t ban titles. Celtic believes the media should be able to scrutinise our club, we don’t play games with that. But this is beyond the pale, and an example should be made. That newspaper is not our friend. Today they have made it abundantly clear just how low they are willing to go for clicks and hits and cash. Their core audience is well known to all of us; it’s not for nothing that some of our fans once called it The Daily Rangers.

We know they will pander to that audience, even as far as attacking us. But exploiting the dead is a step way over the line, and that doesn’t impact on us as a football club but it reveals the title and those who run it for what they are, in a way that leaves no doubt.

And it is time they paid a price for it in a way that demonstrates our resolve to do something about them once and for all.

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Leggo the Ego

So, today is the day after Theresa May’s incredibly silly decision to call a general election, and her incredibly naive announcement that it is “business as usual”. Before I get into talking about this, I have two things to admit:

1. I am a full-blown, refugee-loving, allotment-having lefty and Corbyn fan (spoiler alert: I was delighted with how the election went, even though we lost). 2. I was incredibly upset and negative on election day. I felt certain that the Tories would gain another majority despite their terrible campaign and that thought hit me hard. There was a lot of despondency, I think I cried at least twice. I even threatened to not bother voting because I thought it couldn’t possibly make any difference (I still did vote fyi - even if it were just for the right to complain about the result).

So, after that, I also think it’s really important to say: I. Was. Wrong! I was so shocked and delighted to be wrong, but I absolutely was. Thanks to a surge in younger voters, not all UKIP voters heading over to the Tories and I’m sure many other things, Labour gained a huge number of seats (including Canterbury, which has been a safe Conservative seat since the 1800’s) and became the most winningest losers ever! I stayed up all night watching the results coming in (which was not good for my physical health, but fantastic for my mental health haha) and watched as time and time again, I was proved wrong for doubting the country and the strength of Jeremy Corbyn’s supporters.

It's so important to admit when your (*you’re) wrong - especially at times like these and, I guess, that’s what this post is about. Just like Mrs May’s announcement yesterday that everything should stay the same as it was before she called the election, a number of people over the past few years, both in the media and not, have upheld their blind denial that they may not be as unbiased or unprejudiced as they may like to believe. The very suggestion being automatically shut down with derision or anger and the conversation will end there.

A perfect example of this happened to me on the day of the election. The village in which I live has a Facebook group for the residents. If you thought that people in a village might be prone to nosiness and cliques, try adding a Facebook group to that and watch what happens. I always joke with my partner that so much is put online, I could be in the house with the curtains shut and still know what’s happening right outside my door. Of course, as with any public forum at a time like this, talk will usually turn to politics and will usually become heated.

In one particular discussion, I found myself weighing in. I try not to, but I was feeling grumpy and depressed that day and just really needed to argue my point with someone. The person who started the discussion was particularly difficult to talk with: the sort of person that throws around wild accusations and speculation with absolutely nothing backing them (at one point I even asked what their sources were and they responded “my sources are 100%, I can assure you”. Very comforting). I wasn’t the only one finding them frustrating and, after a comment they made about voting Tory because the school they worked at was filled with kids from different countries and having 27 different languages being spoken throughout, they were swiftly accused of being xenophobic by another resident. That was the end of the conversation. The person in question exploded at the accusation, deleted the post and decided the conversation was over.

This is something I see happening often, where an action could border on racism/sexism/homophobia etc etc and the suggestion causes fury. It’s so frustrating and it’s all ego. Is it really so much more important to not be called a racist than to pause and question whether your own actions are harmful? Would it really be so damaging to consider it even? I think no. Instead it halts, and sometimes reverses, progress.

During the EU referendum campaign last year, many people who were pro-leave were often questioned about whether the basis of this view was racism. Kind of understandably, it pissed off a lot of people. Although equally a lot of the response was that it was purely because of “all them immigrants”. After Britain voted to leave the EU, the number of hate crimes recorded rose by 41%.

I am not suggesting that everyone who voted to leave is racist or even that every one of those hate crimes were a direct result of the vote, but the majority of the people who voted (52%) aligned themselves with people and groups who are racist and therefore legitimised those views. However, so many people are clouded by defensiveness and reject any possibility that they may have a problem with race or sexuality that the message doesn’t go in. It’s too late, their ego is dented, their mind turns purely to anger or ridicule.

Today, Theresa May and her team are in talks with the DUP to try and get their help in creating a government. The DUP are anti-gay marriage, anti-abortion, have members who deny climate change and/or are creationists. They also, currently, hold quite a lot of power. It’s been mentioned a few times today in the media, and amongst some members of the Conservative Party, how concerning this is. It’s also been beaten down time and time again. The DUP of course wouldn’t try and affect our social policies and, of course, only hold ten seats so won’t be that powerful, don’t be so silly. However, those ten seats currently happen to be the only ten seats that Theresa May needs to hold power, and considering she called this election purely for more power, I wouldn’t put anything past her.

The point of this post is not for bashing her, though. It’s about starting to think about how to create a dialogue. We are so divided in Britain at the moment, we need to work out how we unify. How do we find some common ground with those that frustrate us and actually create some positive change? I don’t know the answer, but I do know that we all need to drop our egos sometimes to help things along. If someone questions if your actions could be problematic in any way, don’t automatically jump to defend yourself. Ask them why. Making a mistake doesn’t make you a worse person, being wrong doesn’t make you a worse person. It also isn’t a mark that is branded to your skin for the rest of your life. Being wrong is amazing. It’s an opportunity to learn and for growth, and it’s in that sticky, uncomfortable feeling of being wrong that the best progress can be made.