#it makes me sad. and needlessly offended

[ducktracy]

i hate how my particular investment in LT/these characters/history in general will have me sounding like some sort of "retvrn" bozo. or, maybe i just hate that saying "i wish things were more sincere again and that sometimes things that were older were in fact better" has been................... idek how to finish this thought Guys i'm getting overly emotional about LT kiddie records from the '50s. i'm getting emotional about how merchandising for these characters has sucked for the last 45+ years. i do not mean to sound like some sort of obnoxious "old stuff had SOUL to it new stuff is BAD we must RETURN" bozo. but guys. look at this

the appeal.. the whimsy

WHERE DID WE GO WRONG!!!!!!!!!

i legitimately get upset if i think about this for too long. what are we doing man

[nine-forgave]

The Marauders had found it odd, but they'd gotten over it pretty quick, quicker than Peter had expected them to. Lily, overhearing their confusion in class, had asked Remus to be partners, and that was that.

Peter thought it might be weird, to be apart from his friends in class, but it wasn't really. They just didn't talk as much during one class, and Peter watched them thrive in their little eco system from over the heads of their other classmates. It was humbling, and he tried to quell the stab of jealousy in his gut.

“I'm starting to think you all can't be apart for more than an afternoon,” Gilderoy said, startling Peter out of his staring reverie.

Embarrassed, he needlessly sorted his papers in front of him. “We do just fine, thanks Gilderoy.”

“Then why do you look close to tears?”

Peter frowned. “Fuck off.” His lab partner just grinned.

“You know, if you're so offended, maybe you'd want to take it to the test?”

“Let's just get started on the-”

“A lot of people would kill for an afternoon with me, you know."

Peter paused. “Is this you asking me to… hang out?”

Gilderoy laughed. “Merlin, Pettigrew, nothing so officious,” but he tugged at the short tufts at the back of his head. Nervous. “I'm busy all the time with people, but this afternoon I'm saying I have some time I could free up if you wanted to join me on a… a quest of sorts.”

“A quest?” Peter narrowed his eyes, that horrible insecure feeling scorching his insides and cheeks again. “You're not having me on, are you?”

Suddenly he looked at him. “No,” he said, startled but assuring. “No, I wouldn’t. I'm not cruel like-”

“Oh don't try that. They didn't start it, he did, everyone knows it. And don't act like you aren't glad to see him get taken down a peg too, he does it on purpose, you know? The sad puppy act.”

“Cruel like some of the others, I meant. Not your lot. My lot. I will admit, my fans can be a bit much sometimes, and lay rudeness where roads of kindness could be paved."

Peter had no idea what he was referring to, but “You call them your fans?”

Gilderoy had a herd of cronies that tended to follow him around and call him their friend. Peter had always noted that the more devoted they were, the lesser their status in larger social scales. He’s always thought they were sbbit dumb, for falling for his talking himself up, something so obviously rooted in insecurity.

Gilderoy shrugged. “I don't fool myself, despite what you might think. Friends are supposed to be equals. They,” he directed his gaze to a girl two seats in front of them, intermittently looking back at Gilderoy and smiling too wide when she saw he was looking back and gave her a mild smile, “are not exactly worthy confidants.”

“You want me to be your confidant?”

“I am on a quest, currently, and I obviously don't need help, but there's nothing wrong with an extra set of eyes.”

“So you need help.”

Gilderoy stared at him, then sighed and smiled. “You could choose to put it like that, yes.”

“And why should I? What's in it for me?”

Gilderoy seemed truly baffled at this. “Well, I would be there. So.”

“Right,” Peter deadpanned, about to turn back to their actual school work.

“And!” He leaned in conspiratorially, spinning a look around the room and accidentally catching the girl's gaze again, smiling perfunctorily. “Pettigrew,” he said, looking in Peter's eyes as if letting him in on something huge. “I’m letting you in on something huge. You have to understand, the way people remember you as the forgotten marauder now?” Peter winced. Gilderoy shook his head. “No more. You'd be the hero who helped the great Gilderoy Lockhart make the Philosopher's stone.”

“You're doing what?”

gilderat fic part 1/?

“Pettigrew!”

Gilderoy caught up in seconds, that Chaser stamina. Peter had also paused his walking. confused as to what Gilderoy Lockhart of all people needed from him. “That presentation, wow!” He said out of breath, “I'd compare it to mine if I hadn't included the research of other scientists, but still, very compelling.”

“Cheers.”

“Welcome! Yeah. So, you have Potions next, right?”

“As do you,” Peter sighed, the pieces clicking together.

Gilderoy had forgotten his homework and in his perspective. he'd only been aware enough of the marauders to think to ask them, peter being the safest bet to get s good result out if, seeing as sirius and james both wouldn't have done anything for class (they hadn't) and remus would have politely told him to sod off. Anyone else, in Gilderoys eyes, were merely extras.

“I’d like to offer you the opportunity to be partners? With me?”

That, he hadn't expected. He raised his eyebrows and put his book away in his satchel, the reading for Apparitions the hour after next. “Yes. sure.”

“Grand! See you, then,” and he was off, walking stately in the opposite direction as the classroom.

“Gilderoy!” Peter called after him. “Class is in five, right!”

“The golden haired boy turned, not pausing his saunter, said "Got to keep them on their toes, Pettigrew!" and turned to wink at Peter. For the first time, and from a distance no less, Peter notices how much his eyes resembled a watercolor lake. Simply so much shimmer and blue. He blew out a breath, “Wanker,” and headed to class.

[jimilter]

I wish you'd be more humble with your responses 😭😭😭. I know the hate anon has no right to say those things but you're no better. You couldn't handle it gracefully or with class. Sorry Ash I am unfollowing. I am just uncomfortable with braggarts. But I wish you good luck w that anon hope they won't trouble you anymore

ahh. this is sad.

telling me "you're no better" is not exactly a kind, but i see your point. anon, you can never really be classy with people that needlessly send you negative stuff, you know? their intention is not to tell you they don't like you but to insult and incense you. to hurt you. so the only way you can retort is try to hurt them back. and do you know what bothers bullies the most? your confidence. i'm sorry for offending you with my words, i tried to aim them at the anon that sent that shit and no one else. but anyways. i'm not generally a braggart, anon, lmao. you'd know it if you interacted with me. but when someone is talking out of their ass, i have to tell them where to stuff it.

it's okay if you wish to unfollow, i respect your decision. i hope you can find other (better) writers to read! this is what i wish that dumbass would've done, smh. but anyways. thank you for hoping they won't trouble me anymore! you make me believe you can civilly dislike something without being an asshole about it. have a good one, hun! ❤

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Lord of the Rings Character Thoughts - Gimli

Taking a closer look at Gimli’s characterization and character arc between Rivendell and Lothlórien, what stands out is how strongly it is defined by defensiveness. Gimli’s aware that elves - certainly the wood-elves, who live nearest to Erebor - mistrust dwarves. He is completely unwilling for his people to be seen as less trustworthy, moral, admirable, or knowledgeable than elves are. This comes up in all his arguements with elves, but there are signs of it even before his early exchanges of Legolas. Gimli, notably, is the one who debates with Elrond over oaths when the Company are setting off, whereas many people would be shy of openly arguing with an elven-lord who’s specifically renowned for his knowledge and wisdom.

Their first disagreement between Gimli and Legolas starts up when Gandalf mentions that in Eregion there was friendship between dwarves and elves.

“It was not the fault of the Dwarves that the friendship waned,” said Gimli.

“I have not heard it was the fault of the Elves,” said Legolas.

“I have heard both,” said Gandalf, “and I will not give judgement now. But I beg you two, Legolas and Gimli, at least to be friends and to help me. I need you both.”

(I find this first exchange quite ridiculous - as does Gandalf, clearly. They’re arguing about why their people aren’t friends! If you both recognize that’s an undesirable state of affairs, then just be friends! Which is basically what Gandalf says.)

The second exchange, outside Lothlórien, is similar in its dynamic, when Legolas is telling the story of Nimrodel:

“[The song of Nimrodel] is long and sad, for it tells how sorrow came upon Lothlórien, Lórien of the Blossom, when the Dwarves awakened evil in the mountains.”

“But the Dwarves did not make the evil,” said Gimli.

“I said not so; yet evil came,” answered Legolas sadly.

Both of these interactions are characterized by Gimli’s defensiveness - any time there’s something like even an implicit criticism of dwarven actions, he jumps in. This defensiveness shows up much more strongly in Lothlórien, when the elves insist he be blindfolded: “I will go forward free, or I will go back and seek my own land, where I am known to be true of word, though I perish alone in the wilderness.”

(Legolas, for his part, seems to be actively endeavouring to avoid an argument in both cases. In the first exchange, he says “I have not heard it was the fault of the Elves,” presenting it as a description of his own limited knowledge rather than a statement of fact. In the second one, he avoids arguing and switches to a neutral, non-dwarf-related statement when Gimli objects. I also noticed that it’s Legolas who drags Gimli away from Balin’s tomb in Moria, after the battle. He seems to be trying to heed Gandalf’s urging that the two of them be friends. This makes me think that Legolas does not have any personal animus against dwarves, or dislike of Gimli; what he does have are unthinking biases from growing up in a culture that’s hostile to them, and that’s what comes out under stress during the argument over blindfolds in Lothlórien. I do love the way Aragorn calls him on his racial generalizations, btw.)

Gimli’s defensiveness is the reason why Galadriel’s words are so transformative to both his attitude and to his friendship with Legolas. In the throne room of Caras Galadhon, Gimli is for the first time in a situation that is too overwhelming and intimidating for him to stand up for dwarves, even when he is offended:

“Alas!” said Celeborn. “We have long feared under Caradhras a terror slept. But had I known that the Dwarves had stirred up this evil in Moria again, I would have forbidden you to pass the nirthern borders, you and all that went with you. And if it were possible, one would say that Gandalf fell from wisdom into folly, going needlessly into the net of Moria.”

“He would be rash indeed that said that thing,” said Galadriel gravely. “Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. Those that followed him knew not his mind and cannot report his full purpose. But however it may be with the guide, the followers are blameness. Do not repent of ypur welcome to the Dwarf. If our folk had been exiled long and far from Lothlórien, who of the Galadhrim, even Celeborn the Wise, would pass nigh and would not wish to look upon their ancient home, though it had become an abode of dragons?

“Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla, and fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dûm in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stone.” She looked upon Gimli, who sat glowering and sad, and she smiled. And the Dwarf, hearing the names given in his own ancient tongue, looked up and met her eyes; and it seemed to him that he looked suddenly into the heart of an enemy and saw there love and understanding. Wonder came i to his face, and then he smiled in answer.

He rose clumsily and bowed in dwarf-fashion, saying: “Yet more fair is the living land of Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel is above all the jewels that lie beneath the earth!”

There are several things that stand out here. First, Gimli does not respond to Celeborn’s remark about the dwarves stirring up evil - the first time he hasn’t responded to a comment of that sort about dwarves. Both the surroundings and the company are overwhelming, and on top of that, Gandalf is dead as a result of the balrog being awakened and he may feel unable - emotionally or factual - to dispute Celeborn’s casting of blame for that on the dwarves of Moria. He’s “glowering and sad”, but he can’t manage to muster a defense.

Galadriel’s words are important because they offer both empathy and respect: she expresses that elves would do the same as dwarves in the same circumstances, countering the idea that the dwarves and somehow uniquely wrongheaded in wanting to return to Moria, and she recognizes the beauty and worth of Khazad-dûm and its surroundings (and implicitly, of the dwarven language). She’s defending Gimli at the very moment when he’s run out of words to do so himself.

And it’s that recognition and defense from Galadriel - that dwarves are both morally and culturally the equals of elves - that frees Gimli from his defensiveness and open him up to also appreciate and praise the beauty of Lothlórien. And Lothlórien is the point where he and Legolas first become friends, because he’s now in a frame of mind where he no longer needs the same kind of knee-jerk defensiveness, because he’s recieved recognition and respect and validation. (It may also be a similar turning point for Legolas, in terms of modelling that respect and admiration for dwarven creations and culture is not a fundamentally un-Elvish sentiment, which is the kind of idea one could easily internalize growing up in Mirkwood.)

This is very important to me, because often Gimli’s regard for Galadriel is placed in terms of admiration for her beauty, but it’s not physical beauty that makes him admire her, it’s her love and recognition and respect for his culture and people, and her empathy for them. (I’ve got another post to work on about the use/meaning of beauty in Tolkien’s works.)

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: the forest is your only escape from the everyday troubles with your family until you find danger lurking behind the trees. or rather, danger finds you. your fateful encounter with the vampire ravn leaves you wishing for a different life. you strike an unexpected deal with the stranger that will soon turn into something more…

pairing: vampire!ravn x reader

genre: vampire!au, angst, humour, romance, smut

warnings: blood mentions, betrayal, panic attack, secrets, sensual (?) biting, ravn could eat this girl raw and she’d probably thank him (but he’s being a gentleman, as usual), kink discussion, self-doubts, fears, lots of kissing, y/n recites poetry again, swearing (like twice), fingering, blowjob, possessiveness

word count: 2.4k

author’s note: i just wanted to give yall something nice before all hell breaks loose. enjoy

part one 🌙 part two 🌙 part three 🌙 part four 🌙 part five 🌙 part six 🌙 part seven 🌙 part eight 🌙 part ten🌙 part eleven 🌙part twelve 🌙 epilogue

The minute you opened the door to Ravn’s castle, your current home, you ran into his arms and started crying inconsolably.

“Y/N, what happened?” he asked you and stroked your back in an attempt to comfort you.

“You were right,” you choked out. “Leedo was that wolf…that werewolf who followed me.”

“Did he confirm it?” Ravn felt the need to know.

“Not really,” you admitted. “But when I mentioned that night, he said ‘so that’s what you did to escape’. He said it in such a way that I just knew it was him. You should have seen his face,” you explained and you shuddered at the thought.

“So you don’t have any material proof?”

You shook your head weakly.

“But I should have trusted you,” you insisted. “I was such an idiot.”

“Does he suspect you know he’s a werewolf?” your boyfriend completely ignored your momentary self-bullying because he was more concerned about your life being intact.

“I don’t think so,” you murmured anxiously. But he knew you had a boyfriend. And that you lived close to the forest. How could you tell Ravn that you’d accidentally let it slip? Your heart was beating so rapidly you feared it would come out of your chest any second. You were completely terrified. Not of being killed, no, that didn’t scare you in the slightest. Your biggest fear was disappointing Ravn. Letting him down would be worse than death itself, you thought.

“What are you not telling me?” Ravn whispered coldly.

“H-how did you know?” you asked, suddenly feeling so feeble and pathetic.

“I can hear your blood pumping faster in your veins. It’s a bit distracting, to be honest,” Ravn chuckled and caressed your neck teasingly.

“Are you hungry?” you didn’t want to neglect his needs.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” your boyfriend scolded you. “What are you keeping from me?”

You looked away from him guiltily and made a poor attempt at escaping his soft touch, but he held you down as swiftly as you’d tried to flee.

“Y/N…how am I supposed to know what I did wrong if you’re not talking to me?”

Oh, no. He thought he was the one at fault. How could you break his heart like this? You somehow gathered the courage to face him again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Ravn,” you reassured him. “It is me who fucked up. I…told Leedo that I have a boyfriend and that we live close to the forest.”

Ravn swallowed nervously but didn’t interrupt you, instead choosing to let you finish.

“I didn’t tell him your name or that you’re a vampire,” you immediately defended yourself, without waiting to be attacked, trying to make it sound as if your mistake wasn’t that fatal. “And it’s not like I was bragging about you, it just slipped unintentionally, I swear!”

Ravn grabbed your arms. For a brief moment, you thought he would just get it over with. Nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“Y/N, breathe,” he was trying to calm you down. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“But the ground rules…”

“Are for your safety rather than mine,” Ravn informed you. “I’ve lived hundreds of years. Even a whole pack of werewolves cannot scare me,” he smirked confidently and you had to confess, you found that very attractive of him.

“There has to be something that scares you. Everyone has fears,” you pointed out reasonably.

“The only thing that terrifies me is losing you,” your boyfriend ran a hand across your cheek.

“So, turn me,” you immediately offered a solution to his one fear. “If you make me like you, you will never have to lose me.”

Ravn pulled away from you.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said and added, jokingly. “And besides, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t like to spend eternity with me. It can grow very boring.”

“Don’t you trust me?” you teased him. “I would stay with you forever if given the chance.”

Ravn smiled softly.

“Well, it’s not up to you, is it?”

You huffed in annoyance but decided it wasn’t in your favour to act like a brat. You didn’t deserve anything. Not after what you had done…

“So…you’re not mad at me?” you inquired, testing the waters.

“Would you still be breathing if I were really mad at you?” Ravn joked in a gentle manner.

“Can’t argue with that one,” you sighed. “But seriously. I’m genuinely sorry for letting it slip that you live close to the forest. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to you.”

“We,” he corrected you.

“Huh?”

“We live close to the forest. You shouldn’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. But can you? You need to work harder on your self-preservation instincts.”

“But I don’t need to. You can take care of me, instead,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, perfectly playing the damsel in distress role.

Ravn proved you wrong. With one brisk movement, he twirled you around and tightened his hold on you, his teeth dangerously close to your neck.

“You shouldn’t count on a cold-blooded animal like me to take care of you,” he hissed next to you. You would have trembled if you weren’t so embarrassingly turned on by his words. You simply closed your eyes, anticipating his fangs to pierce your neck. You were left with a shocking sensation of unfulfillment and disappointment when this didn’t happen.

“You’re such easy prey, it’s no fun,” Ravn complained and let go of you.

You gave him a sad and dissatisfied look.

“Do you want me to run around the castle like an idiot?”

“I’d rather you didn’t let me get away with using you for blood.”

You furrowed you brows in confusion.

“But…that was the initial arrangement?” you reminded him. “You let me stay, I let you drink from me.”

“I know that,” Ravn spat out, getting frustrated for some reason. “But the arrangement didn’t mention anything about a change in dynamics. We didn’t expect there’d be feelings involved.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You’re my girlfriend. It isn’t right of me that I’m also using you as a food source.”

“But I like it,” you enunciated slowly.

“Why?” Ravn seemed sincerely dumbfounded by your admission.

“Why do you like drinking my blood?” you challenged him. “I just do, I don’t have a particular reason for it.”

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes sarcastically.

“I like drinking your blood, because I’m a vampire, love. Or did you forget that?”

You chuckled idiotically.

“Semantics. Whatever the cause, why can’t we just both enjoy ourselves? And each other…”

Ravn shrugged.

“Since you’re making it so hard for me to resist you,” he groaned and dug his teeth into your neck without much warning. You didn’t need it, though. By now, you had grown accustomed to his primal instincts and the way he shifted so abruptly from calm and peaceful to lethal and animalistic. It was refreshing that even when he continuously surprised you, there was still a large part of him that just felt so…familiar. Like home.

A couple of minutes later, Ravn stopped feeding from you, leaving a sort of emptiness inside you. The sensation of giving him your blood felt so strangely intoxicating that sometimes you found yourself wishing it could last forever. However, you knew that wasn’t very sensible, because then, you’d bleed out to death. And you were certain neither you nor Ravn would enjoy that very much.

He pressed a piece of cloth against your neck to stop the bleeding and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. You looked up at him, completely awestruck by his cold beauty.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured apologetically, somewhat ashamed of his actions.

“What for? It’s only natural,” you responded quietly.

“Damnit, Y/N, there is nothing natural about my existence.”

“Stop,” you said, determined to change his mind.

Ravn simply blinked at you in confusion.

“Stop acting like I’m supposed to view you as some sort of monster, because you’re not,” you explained, getting aggravated by the way he disregarded himself. “There is no one else I’d rather be with than you. You’ve given me more than you could possibly imagine. You need to stop being so hard on yourself, okay? I wish every minute with you could last eternity, Ravn. So, please, stop saying such morbid things about your existence. If anything, I am grateful for it.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes filled with tears and for a short while he allowed himself to be vulnerable, let them fall down his cheeks like tiny raindrops. You didn’t know vampires could cry. And yet, why not? They were human once…Instead of saying anything, Ravn pulled you into a hug, kissing the top of your head in such a gentle way that made you feel so protected, so special. Then, he lifted you up and carried you to the bedroom. Your arms were wrapped around his neck and you hid your face in his chest, feeling ever so small. When he laid you down, you could swear you were minutes away from melting into a puddle. His lips met yours halfway, eager to be closer, to get as much from one another as you possibly could.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured into your mouth and caressed your cheek gently.

“And you’re so cold,” you reminded him needlessly.

Ravn shrank away from your touch, his gaze pained; he was obviously offended by you pointing out how his freezing skin affected you.

“No, no, don’t take it the wrong way,” you were quick to reassure his anxiety. “I like that about you. Opposites attract, remember?”

Ravn seemed quite upset by your words. You had intended to ease his mind, but instead…you kept saying the wrong things.

“Would you not like me if I were human? If I were…warm?”

You shook your head.

“I would like you even if you were a volcano, as long as you’re still you. I mean…your personality,” you insisted.

“Really?” Ravn was surprised by the closest thing you’d come to a confession. “You’d stay?”

You nodded adamantly.

“Of course I would! But…there’s no way of finding out, right?” as far as you were aware vampirism was incurable.

“Right,” he confirmed curtly. “Now, where were we?”

You smirked and traced a line across his cheek with the help of your finger.

“Somewhere very, very nice,” you whispered. “My love is like to ice and I to fire.”

“You know your Spenser, my sweet love,” Ravn praised you and attacked your neck. Not with his fangs but with soft kisses. This was it, then? You were going to die from embarrassment.

“I do quite enjoy him, I admit,” you mumbled absent-mindedly.

“Oh? Tell me, darling, who do you enjoy more? Him…” Ravn pulled away from your neck, which caused you to whimper helplessly at the sudden emptiness you felt. “Or me,” and with that he returned his attention to you, sneaking a hand between your thighs. You were begging and moaning uncontrollably at this point, but because you were an incorrigible brat, you couldn’t help but tease him:

“I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it, maybe even do some research.”

“Research, huh?” Ravn chuckled and curled his long fingers inside of you. “Allow me to provide you with a primary source. To make your research more…hm…satisfying.”

“F-fuck,” you feebly let out the most corrupt sounds imaginable.

“That’s not very academic of you, love,” your boyfriend laughed into your neck, sending sudden vibrations to your body that further augmented your pleasure.

“I’m s-sorry,” you stammered.

“Sorry?” Ravn mocked you playfully. “Look at yourself, darling. You’re not sorry at all.”

You sneaked a peak at your already trembling legs and his beautiful arm discovering the secret realms between them. You cringed at your display of weakness, but the vampire immediately noticed your expression and made you feel comfortable again.

“Relax, love. Can you do that for me? Can you let yourself go, hm?”

You affirmed, eager to prove that you could do that, you could do anything he asked of you. Seconds later, you reached your high, coming all over his fingers, as he held you down with his lips still on your neck. You had seen galaxies in photographs but they were nothing like the galaxies you saw in front of your eyes in that brief moment, which slipped away as quickly as it had arrived.

“You…you’re trying to kill me,” you giggled.

“Au contraire, my darling, I would like you to lead a long, happy existence in my arms. If you allow me to take care of you, that is.”

“What, you expected me to say ‘no’ to that?” you continued laughing, eternally amused by the way he expressed himself.

“It pleases me immensely that you keep saying ‘yes’.”

You smiled smugly, an idea suddenly forming in your head.

“Now it’s my turn to make you say ‘yes’,” you told him and escaped his grasp swiftly, pushed him down onto the bed and began unbuckling his belt.

“You don’t h-have to…” Ravn spoke softly.

“Shut up. I want to,” you insisted and made your way downwards, planning on kissing every inch of him. Once you’d reached your final destination, you looked up at him, as if asking for permission to continue.

“What’s wrong?” Ravn asked you, visibly concerned.

“N-nothing, I’m just making sure you want me to…”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he blinked at you in surprise.

You didn’t press him for further information and gingerly licked the tip of his cock.

“S-shit,” Ravn groaned and held onto your hair tightly. You were shocked to find out his action thrilled you. You glanced up to see his eyes half-shut. You wrapped your lips around his length and did your best to bring him as much pleasure as he’d given you. He whimpered beneath your touch, which would have caused you to smirk if your mouth wasn’t so full. You moved your head up and down, aiming at fastening your pace and it wasn’t long before he warned you that he was close and that you might want to pull away. However, you had quite different intentions and stayed put, swallowing every last drop of him.

“You look like a vision,” Ravn told you.

You blushed and giggled simultaneously because you very much doubted the validity of his statement.

“I’m literally a mess right now,” you pointed out.

“But you’re mine,” Ravn responded, the hint of possessiveness making you feel more desired and needed than ever. “You’re my beautiful mess.”

To be continued…

[reversemoon255]

Gundam Build Divers Re:Rise

So, if you’ve been here a while, you’ll know I’m a big fan of the Build Series. I even like Try, which has actually offended people. No joke. And Re:Rise is no exception, having the best story and characters in the lineup, not to mention some of the more innovative Gunpla. It’s pretty obvious it’s the most beloved of the Build Series by the general public as well as hard-core Gundam fans, and I feel that’s because it leaned more heavily into the Gundam side of things than the Build side, for both its ups and downs.

The Good: The story is very strong, and is able to get away with things that hampered GBF slightly and GBD a lot. It presents it mystical elements forefront and prominently.

In almost every collectibles based series, there is almost always some form of mystical element (a trend made prominent by Yu-Gi-Oh!), and both GBF and GBD lean into this to different degrees. (Actually, one of the reasons I like GBFT is because it’s the only series like this I’ve ever seen that doesn’t have a mystical element.) GBF’s was pretty subtle, being presented early on and only really being used as a motivator for the Chairman and a sad goodbye. GBD leans into it a little harder with Sarah being the main focus of the entire final arc.

GBDR is able to get around this by having the entire focus of the show be about the mystical element, so there’s no conflict between the grounded story and the abnormal additions. Also, it was just, like, really good? And I think part of that is the naivety of the characters. I was able to pick up almost immediately that everything was real, but I read a lot of the YouTube comments after each episode, and a lot of people were convinced it was just a story mission at first, with more and more people catching on as the series progressed. (For me what sealed the deal was Maiya being able to describe Kazami’s character. A supposed NPC being able to nail the personality of a player.) Since they thought it was a game, the stakes seemed low even though we as the audience knew otherwise. And when everything came to light, not only did the stakes immediately skyrocket, but they did so believably. And wanting to help people is always a good motivation.

The animation was very good. It dove at a few points, as is not uncommon, but the overall quality stayed high. There was almost no stock footage apart from the Core Changes. And the number of cameos throughout this season, especially in the last three episodes, were staggering, but were just balanced enough to not overshadow the main cast.

Except for Kyoya’s Cardass Finisher. Like, ok, reference, but it was, like, three minutes long.

All the characters were very good, and I feel part of that was both establishing a detailed past for everyone to help with their motivation and character growth as people, rather than fighters, and not having the main character be the newbie. Reiji, Sekai, and Riku were all new players and had to have plenty of things explained to them, whereas here all of BUILD DiVERS were either experienced fighters or builders, and Freddie, the non-combatant would only require an occasional explanation while he, in turn, explained his world to the players (a very important give-and-take). I also liked how they didn’t need to spell out every detail of Par and Kazami’s pasts. Par never has to explain how he became disabled to the rest of the team, and Kazami never vocalizes about the death of his dad. Sometimes that’s the better way to handle things.

And finally, the Gunpla are FANTASTIC! Look, I know I complain, but there’s a reason I’ve bought 12 Core Gundams, and will probably buy more. Each design in this series is so lovingly crafted. There’s a good balance of series, motif, and gimmick. And Re:Rising Gundam is such a cherry on all of it. Like, I pointed out all those oddities in my Wodom Pod review, but never did I even consider it was part of a combination. And it so encapsulates the themes of coming together this series oozes. I love it.

The Bad: But, of course, nothing is perfect. While I do enjoy the story, what sets the Build Series apart from other Gundams is its levity and light-heartedness, and that’s something that was lacking from this season. It’s not absent. The Space-Crossing Festival, for instance, was a great example of this, but those moments were few and far between. I think Jed dying was the moment I realized I’d have to look at this as a Gundam series and not a Build one. Being afraid for the show’s characters isn’t something I’ve had to worry about with Build. Even when Sarah’s life was on the line at the end of GBD, I knew everything was going to turn out alright. Here, though? Up until the training mission I was worried someone was going to sacrifice themselves. And it’s good that didn’t happen, but that one moment put me on edge for the entire rest of the series.

And it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it’s something I expect from 00 or Thunderbolt. Not Build.

Already mentioned the animation had its dips. I think I watched the entire show in 720p. Would have preferred 1080. Moving on.

While I don’t have any real issues with the main cast of characters, I do have a few issues with Eve. I’m not the biggest fan of how she retcons a lot of the events of the first season, having this apparent noble sacrifice that completely doesn’t affect the story of GBD at all. And while I don’t mind May being constructed from some of Eve’s data, I wish it was built up at least a bit? I can think of some moments in retrospect where I can suss out that maybe that’s what they were going for, but it still felt very sudden. That could have been handled better.

And while I love this season’s Gunpla, there are simultaneously a lot and not a lot compared to other seasons. Like there’s a lot of releases, but a ton of them are remolds. Twelve Cores, remember? Almost every suit got a remold. The Justice Knight and Infinite Justice, all the Eldoran and non-Eldoran counterpart units, the Valkylander and Ex are the same mold, and all the Core Armors. That’s probably because they used a lot of suits that are more original and are just homages rather than straight remolds, like the Build Strike or 00 Diver, but it’s definitely noticeable.

Where do we go from here: We have an official announcement of a Divers Battlogue, just like with Fighters, and we may get OVAs like the previous seasons did, too, eventually, but I’m talking about beyond that.

After Fighters Battlogue ended, Fighters did, too. We moved on to Build Divers, and from what I can tell it’s been successful, especially this season. My worry is that with the announcement of a Battlogue, we’re also announcing the end of Divers.

Now, I don’t think Build is going away, because it has its own fanbase, and it’s just good from a marketing perspective. Take some old kits, make a few new parts for them, and resell them. What I’m worried is we’re heading to a new subtitle and a new continuity, which would be our FIFTH (Builders, Fighters, Divers, and GBGW). It made sense to end Fighters because they created a seven year time skip to explain how we got to the point of using original Gunpla, they didn’t go over well, and from a writing perspective it put them in a corner. Divers was a good reboot, returning to modified kits, and giving us a protagonist who actually pilots a Gunpla he built himself (three season in). Divers also has a very large mythos at this point, with AIs, and multiple confirmed species of aliens. If you jumped ahead just one more year, you could write a great story where it’s just exploring this inter-species cultural hub that is GBN. That’s what I’d like to see, anyway. If you skipped ahead just a little farther, you could have Asha, Towana, or Hulun return as our Yuma or Par for that season to connect it to the past one. There’s a lot of potential still there. Like, even the ending suggests they might have some more ideas for Eldora yet (whether that will be tackled in a new season, the Battlogue, or an OVA, I don’t know).

You could also return to Build Fighters. Make it take place in that seven-year gap, which would allow you to have Gunpla more on the level of what we saw in GBD (more advanced than GBF, but not at original yet). Or show us the pro circuit at the same time as GBFT and how insane that’s become. (What we see in GBFT is just the Japan’s U-19, and they apparently can’t hold a candle to actual pro players. Can you imagine what Worlds would be like O_O)

There’s just so many new stories they could tell with what already exists. I don’t want them to reboot the series again needlessly.

Also, we’re running out of headliner Gundams. The only obvious choices I don’t think we’ve touched yet are Barbatos, Unicorn, Victory, and Zeta.

As for my hopes for the Battlogue, I’d like to see Maiya and Kazami go on a date, because that would be adorable. I’d like to see Freddie pilot his first Gunpla, because that would be adorable. And I’d like to see the gang teach the village kids how to build Gunpla, because that would be adorable. What can I say? This series got kinda dark; I’d like some cute to balance it out.

Overall, this series was great. Favorite of the Build Series, even if it is a little more Gundam than Build. There’s a lot of potential still left in this universe, so I hope they’ll continue to explore it, rather than reboot the series again.

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 13

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

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This story is also on AO3

THE NEXT MORNING

PINKERTON HQ, BLACKWATER

Gazing out a nearby window, Agent Fordham casually watched the streets of Blackwater as men and women paced around all over the place, traveling from one end of the city to another.

Business carried on as usual in the small town, and despite the damage Dutch’s men caused to the bank during the robbery, everything else seemed to functioning just fine.

The only thing that was missing from the bustling sight... was Arthur Morgan himself.

It had only been a couple of days since Agent Ross proposed his deal to that man, but they had yet to see any sign of the outlaw ever since then. The other Pinkertons patrolling The Great Plains reported no visuals of Mr. Morgan in the area, and his son was apparently nowhere to be found either.

Fordham liked to believe that they were still considering the decision and would show up at their headquarters eventually, but the pessimistic side of him knew better.

Arthur had no reason to trust the Pinkertons. Milton didn’t exactly make the best impression on Dutch all those years ago, so Fordham supposed it only made sense that Arthur would put as much distance between himself and Blackwater as possible... but he had hoped that the man would give Isaac a chance by turning himself in.

That boy was hardly a man yet, and he had already been thrown into the unforgiving world of outlaws. If there was any way to avoid killing him needlessly, Fordham was willing to take it.

Unfortunately, he doubted Ross felt the same.

“You think Mr. Morgan will accept our deal?” Fordham asked Edgar, glancing away from the window.

Ross leaned back in his desk’s chair and stuck a pipe between his lips, speaking through clenched teeth while he held the object in place.

“Unlikely,” he replied, bringing a flame to the pipe’s tip. “That man’s about as stubborn as Dutch van der Linde himself. Trust me, I’ve known him for many years now. It was pointless to attempt a deal with him. We should’ve arrested him and his son when we had the chance.”

Fordham hesitated, trying to remain as professional as possible. “But... don’t you think it’s worth a try? Saving his son, I mean. If Arthur accepts our deal, Isaac will perhaps have a chance to live like civilized folk. And carry on with his future.”

Edgar blew out a puff of smoke, exhaling deeply as he extinguished the match with a quick wave.

“Our focus is to protect law-abiding citizens, Archer.” He said in a bored tone. “When it comes to criminals or savages, we do not concern ourselves with their personal lives or well-being. All that matters is bringing them to justice. Of course, how we handle the situation depends on how they behave, but ultimately -- their future is not our concern. Their end is.”

Archer was reluctant to agree. “I understand, but in the end, criminals are still humans. Not all of them break the law for the same reason. In some cases, it’s greed. In others, power. But in Isaac’s case, it’s survival. You’ve read the files. He was forced into this life with no way out. Wouldn’t you say that someone at his age deserves to make a real life for himself?”

Still, Edgar’s mind remained unswayed. “It is not my place to decide, Archer. Nor is it yours. I’m only going along with your deal for now because I want to help you. But in the end, the final decision resides with the judge. If Arthur and Isaac put themselves in a position where they must be killed, then the only thing we need to worry about is pulling the trigger fast enough. Though, of course, obtaining them alive would be ideal.”

Fordham turned back to the window, trying to conceal the begrudging expression on his face.

“...I understand, sir.”

“Good.” Edgar said simply, standing up from the chair. “Then I trust that the next time we see Arthur or his son, you will not hesitate to bring them in?”

Archer shook his head staunchly. “No, sir. Of course not.”

The other agent nodded in approval. “Good. We have far too many issues to worry about already when it comes to the savages of this country. The last thing we need is complications within civilization itself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Agent Fordham...”

Ross grabbed his coat and headed for the office’s door, leaving Archer to his own devices.

“...I’ve got something to attend to.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

THE GENERAL STORE, VALENTINE

Handing money over to the shopkeeper, Arthur stuffed some of the new provisions he’d just purchased into his satchel and began making his way for the shop’s exit, throwing a quick wave behind him before he took his leave.

“Thanks, mister.”

The shopkeeper gave him a polite nod. “Y’have a good day now, sir.”

Pushing the door open, Arthur stepped back outside into the muddy streets of Valentine as a chain of horses and wagons lazily rolled past him, their drivers still in the process of waking up.

It was chilly this morning, or at least chillier than the one before, and thanks to the bleak clouds veiling the sky, the sun was barely able to break through.

Arthur didn’t much like being this close to civilization, but he figured it’d be a good idea to grab some more food and winter clothing before heading up to Ambarino.

He sure hadn’t forgotten how cold it was in that region, and part of him wished they would never have to return there, but if there was any place in this country that would prevent the Pinkertons from tracking them, Arthur was willing to bet it’d be in the mountains.

The only thing that really worried him now, was Dutch. That man may not have been strong enough to survive the snow, but he was definitely crazy enough to try.

And that alone was enough to frighten Arthur.

“Hey, mister!” A voice suddenly called out, leading the man to glance to his side. “Over here!”

Standing next to the building, Arthur spotted an elderly man occupying the alleyway between the general goods store and the saloon, and it looked like his eyes were pinned on him at the moment. His hair was frazzled, his face was covered in dirt, and his ragged shirt almost resembled an old Union uniform.

As for his sleeves, one of them had been folded in half due to the amputated limb, and...

Wait a second.

Arthur narrowed his eyes in recognition.

“...Mickey? Is that you?”

The older man’s eyes twinkled upon hearing his name. “So you do remember me! Oh, I certainly remember you, mister. Your name’s Arthur, isn’t it? Like the king.”

Arthur nodded. “Yep.”

Mickey smiled warmly. “Oh, well... it’s good to see you again, friend. You was always kind to me. I remember. Everyone else in this town ignored me -- and they still do -- but you was always willing to lend an ear. I never forgot you.” He paused for a moment. “Hey, mister. I spoke with your son, y’know.”

That caught the outlaw’s attention. “You met Isaac?”

“Yeah,” the veteran replied. “I thought he was you. He looks just like you did, all them years ago. Though, he’s a bit angrier, I think. Not as nice as you was.”

Arthur sighed apologetically. “...Sorry ‘bout that. The boy’s been... goin’ through some things lately.”

Surprisingly, Mickey didn’t seem offended. “Oh no, it’s fine, mister. Your son might be angry, but I’ve seen that type of anger before. In the war, men would always get angry when they was hurt. They would end up hurting others. I think Isaac’s the same. He looks... sad. Just like you.”

The outlaw didn’t entirely know what to make of that. “Does he.”

“Yeah. I asked him why, but he didn’t say much. Just told me that you was dying.”

Arthur shook his head. “I already told him, I ain’t--” a short cough interrupted him. “--I ain’t... dying.”

Mickey gazed at him with concern. “You sure, buddy? Your boy’s right. You don’t look so good.”

The other man cleared his throat. “Well... I dunno. But I ain’t dead yet, and that’s all that matters.”

“But you will die.”

Arthur shrugged despondently. “Everyone dies.”

“Sure,” Mickey agreed, “but it still hurts. No one likes losing things. Things that they love. And your son, well... he don’t wanna lose you. Especially since he already lost his ma.”

Arthur cocked a brow at him. “You know about her?”

“The boy only told me a bit, but he said she died when he was real little. He couldn’t save her. And now, you’re dying, too. And he can’t save you either.”

The outlaw let out a breath. “But why take his anger out on me? Or you? It ain’t like I asked for this.”

“I don’t know.” Micky answered truthfully. “But I think you should talk with your son. I always feel better when I talk to people. Maybe you will, too.”

Arthur thought about it for a moment, eventually agreeing with the man.

“Yeah... I think he and I need to have a few words.”

The veteran seemed pleased with that. “Well, I wish you luck.” 

“D’you know where he is?”

Mickey pointed to the saloon. “Yeah, I saw him head behind the saloon. He’s havin’ a drink there, I think.”

Arthur followed the man’s gaze. “What, at this hour?” He let out a sigh. “I guess I’ll go find him.”

The veteran said one last thing to Arthur, stopping the outlaw in his tracks just before he could leave.

“Hey, mister! Could you spare a dollar?”

Arthur nodded, reaching into his satchel. “Sure.” 

Mickey gave him an appreciative look. “Thanks, friend. You take care of yourself now. We need more folks like you around here.”

The outlaw laughed at that, waving goodbye. “Oh, I ain’t too sure about that.”

Strolling away from the homeless veteran, Arthur wandered down the narrow alleyway and to the back of the saloon, right next to where the barber’s door was. 

Sure enough, he found Isaac sitting on a barrel with a beer bottle in his hand, and it looked like Aldo was standing quietly beside him.

The young man didn’t look so good at the moment. His head was lowered in sorrow, and his shoulders slouched in discouragement. His eyes seemed to be glued on the ground in front of him, and if he noticed Arthur’s presence, he didn’t acknowledge it.

Something was definitely wrong. Arthur just wished the man would tell him what.

“Isaac?” He called out, walking up to him. “Whatcha doin’ out here?”

The boy remained seated, not even bothering to shift his gaze. “Just wanted to get away from everyone.”

Arthur glanced through the saloon’s windows, raising a brow at the incredible lack of customers.

“...There’s three people in there, Isaac. Bartender and barber included.”

Isaac sighed in annoyance. “Look, I just needed to be alone, okay?”

The outlaw chuckled softly, though not in a mocking manner. He stepped next to the young man and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in a casual fashion.

“Listen, son... I spoke to Mickey.”

Isaac lifted his head in confusion. “...Who?”

“The homeless Union vet.” He explained.

“Oh, is that his name? Yeah, I spoke with him, too.”

“So I’ve been told.” Arthur fell silent for a second, taking on a more serious tone. “...He says you think I’m dying.”

Isaac took a swig of his drink. “I ain’t a child no more, Dad. I don’t think you’re dying. I know you are. That much is obvious.”

Arthur felt another series of coughs tickling his throat, but did his best to hold it back for now.

“Well, even if that’s true, I ain’t dead yet, Isaac. I’m still here. So let’s save the eulogies for when I’m actually gone.”

“...You say that like it’s so easy.”

Isaac finished the rest of his beer and set the bottle down with some force, clearly upset.

“Don’t you get it? Apart from mom, you’re the only person I’ve had in my life that I could actually trust. After she died, everyone else I met always wanted to kill me, or use me in some way. Even Shay. He never raised me for my sake. He only did it so he’d have another gun to order around. I guess...” he trailed off for a second, his voice becoming much softer, “...I guess I just got used to being alone. It was the only choice I had. There was no one else I could depend on.”

He turned to look at Arthur. “Now that I’ve met you though, I can do it again. And... it feels good, y’know. To be able to trust someone. To have someone that... you love.”

Isaac returned to his irritated nature, hopping off the barrel. “But now you’re sick. And dying. And I’m gonna be left alone. Again.”

The boy began to walk off, causing Arthur to pace after him.

“I understand that, Isaac, but it ain’t like I chose this. You think I wanted to get sick?”

Isaac rested a hand on Aldo’s saddle, letting out a deep sigh. 

“No. I... I don’t. I know you didn’t. I’m just...” he took a breath, struggling to get the right words out, “...I wish things was different, alright? I wish I could help you. I wish... you were okay.”

Arthur put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, trying to reassure the boy.

“I know, kiddo. I do, too. But the truth is... we can’t always control life. Sometimes, life kicks us in the ass and expects us to cope whether we’re ready for it or not. And we can’t control it when that happens. But what we can control, is how we deal with it.”

Arthur stepped closer to Isaac, looking him in the eye. “Listen, it’s clear to both of us that I ain’t got much time left in this world. Whether that means I have three months or three years, I don’t know. But I ain’t gonna be around forever. Unlike what happened with Eliza though, we’re prepared this time. We have the luxury of knowin’ what to expect. So we can kick and scream at the world for being unfair, or we can make use of the time we have left together.”

He paused, glancing down at the ground. “This is the only chance we’ll get to make things right, Isaac. Let’s not waste it.”

Taking in everything Arthur just said, Isaac responded with nothing but a profound silence and gazed blankly at the distant horizon, his eyes carrying a heavy sense of exhaustion within them.

It was difficult for Arthur, watching his son go through this. No parent alive wanted to tell their own child that they were dying, but Arthur learned long ago that it was impossible to live a bad life and expect good things to happen. 

He wished he could be there to see Isaac grow into an old man or start a family of his own, but this was the reality they had to deal with.

Arthur’s sins were finally catching up to him, and Isaac was going to pay the price.

“...Hey, Dad.” The young man said, getting his father’s attention.

Arthur threw him a curious look. “Yeah?”

Isaac’s brow furrowed in guilt. “I’m... sorry for what I said yesterday. I know I was pretty harsh.”

The older man wasn’t too bothered by it. If anything, part of him felt bad for snapping at the kid after he expressed his frustration.

“Harsh? Yes. Wrong? Well, not entirely.”

Isaac looked down in shame. “No, I was wrong. You may not’ve been there much when I was a kid, but I know you wanted to be. The truth is... I didn’t mean a goddamn word of what I said. I don’t wanna be anything like Micah. Or Dutch. Or Shay. I wanna be like you.”

Arthur shook his head in disagreement. 

“No, Isaac. You don’t. When this is all over... you’re gonna be your own man. A better man.”

The boy seemed lost. “But how am I gonna do that?”

Arthur smirked warmly. “Well, that’s the beauty of it. It’s entirely up to you.”

Leaving Isaac to his thoughts, the older man patted him on the shoulder and beckoned the kid to follow him into the street, eager to get a head start on their journey to Ambarino.

Despite being somewhat conflicted about their future, Arthur suspected the young man felt slightly better now. He still carried that same gloomy look in his eye as before, but his demeanor didn’t appear as solemn anymore.

He seemed... different. Hopeful. A little sad perhaps, but unwilling to give up. 

There was a newfound sense of determination in his step, and even though Arthur could clearly see that Isaac was still hurting over his father’s illness, he knew that the young man would pull through. 

He was strong. Much stronger than he realized. Arthur just wished Isaac would put that strength to good use.

He seemed to have a habit of getting lost in the past. Everything he did revolved around his desire for revenge, and Arthur could only hope that once his time came, Isaac wouldn’t live the rest of his life trying to avenge his death.

There was so much more in the world that he could experience. So much for him to do. 

Arthur’s only wish now, was that he’d be able to make Isaac see that.

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW HOURS LATER

THE VAN DER LINDE CAMP

“...Goddamn. You are one, ugly bastard.” Bill murmured, observing the fresh wounds on Micah’s face. The man had just woken up from his beating and was currently sitting under a makeshift tent, attempting to get a better look at his injuries.

“Well, I wouldn’t be if you’d have gotten to me sooner. Where the hell was you when Joe and I was doin’ all the work?”

Bill defended himself. “Hey, I was keepin’ a lookout! Just like you fellas told me to. Don’t act like I wasn’t doin’ my job.”

Micah chuckled sarcastically, glowering at the other man. “Well, you wasn’t. Couldn’t even see Arthur ridin’ towards us at full speed. You only came runnin’ after Joe was shot. I dunno if you’re aware of this, Marion, but the whole point of a goddamn lookout is to make sure that doesn’t happen!”

Bill lurched forward out of anger. “Hey, don’t call me that!”

The one-eyed man didn’t back down. “Oh, sorry. Would you prefer ‘moron?’ It’d be more fitting, anyhow.”

Bill pointed a finger at Micah, only to end up clenching it into a fist as he grumbled to himself in frustration.

“You... you don’t...” he waved a dismissive hand, walking away from the man. “Y’know what, forget it. Dutch can look after your goddamn wounds himself.”

Micah laughed, taunting Bill as he stormed off in the opposite direction. “Yeah, sure. Drink yourself into a stupor, why don’t you? Leave the real work to the big boys. Heheh.”

The other man shook his head in anger. “You’re a fool, Micah! A goddamn fool!”

Watching Bill retreat to the opposite end of the camp, Micah relaxed into his bedroll again and chortled lowly to himself, amused at Williamson’s annoyance.

 He didn’t know how on Earth that man was still alive, considering how easily he got riled up. Most folks with a temper like that got shot at one point or another, and yet, Bill was still here. Keeping Dutch company even after Arthur, John, and Hosea were all gone.

Who would’ve thought?

Dragging himself over to the small, circular mirror by his tent, Micah slipped off the final bandage around his head and unveiled the nasty gash underneath, revealing a permanently closed eye.

Thanks to the laceration Isaac gave him the previous day, his top eyelid had been sealed shut, and a diagonal scar now carved its way through his brow.

Micah’s vision had been cut in half, and yet, the man only found himself feeling twice as eager to put Morgan’s brat into the ground.

Who the hell did that little boy think he was? Attacking their gang and killing off their members, and then trying to run away from it? No one just... attacked the Van der Linde gang and lived. 

Micah had half a mind to give Isaac the same treatment Arthur gave him down at the river. That kid stole their money, ruined their supplies, and caused their gang to shrink to just three men. Two of which were utter fools.

The only problem he had now was actually finding the boy. Lord only knew how far he and Arthur had traveled by this point, and judging by the lack of updates from Dutch, Micah assumed their almighty leader wasn’t having any more luck with tracking Arthur down himself.

He’d have to think of an alternate method. A quicker method. 

But most importantly, he’d need help.

“Micah!” Dutch called from behind, his reflection growing in the mirror as he approached the small tent. “You’re awake.”

“Hey, boss.” Micah greeted, turning to face Dutch. The other man paused upon seeing his new scar.

“...Arthur surely did a number on your eye, didn’t he?”

“It was Isaac who did it,” he corrected. “That boy’s young and stupid, but he knows how to use a knife.”

Dutch sighed worriedly. “Oh, he knows how to do much more than that, I’m afraid.” A strong cough escaped him, causing him to spit on the grass before wiping his mouth. “I spoke with Bill. He says Arthur killed Joe.”

“Yeah. His body flowed downstream.”

“Well, we don’t have the time to retrieve him. Let alone bury him. Right now, the three of us need to focus on findin’ Arthur, and puttin’ him down for good. Problem is, he ain’t alone.”

Micah held up a thoughtful finger, standing up from his bedroll. “Well, y’know, Dutch, before Bill tried to play mother hen with me earlier... I was thinking. We all know Arthur’s big and bad, but no matter how strong that man is, he’s bound to have a weakness. A soft spot where we can hit him real hard, and hurt him real good.”

Dutch had a feeling he already knew what that weakness was. “Go on.”

Micah continued with his explanation, slowly pacing back and forth in front of his tent. “The boy, Dutch. You’ve seen how much he means to Arthur. Hell, he was willin’ to bail on you for the kid. That’s gotta mean something.”

The other man placed a foot on a nearby stump, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, what? You sayin’ we should kill Isaac first?”

“No, Dutch. Don’t you see?” Micah strolled up to the man, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t need to kill Arthur at all. The only thing we gotta do is put a good ol’ fashioned bullet through Isaac’s skull, and the rest will handle itself. You’ll have your revenge, and we’ll have one less problem to worry about.”

Unsurprisingly, Dutch didn’t seem to fully approve of the plan.

“I don’t know, Micah. I...” his voice tugged with heartache, “...I hate Arthur... for what he did to me. And I want nothin’ more than to make him pay for it. But the pain of losing a child...” Dutch gazed downward, “there ain’t nothing that can compare to it. Even a traitorous bastard like Arthur doesn’t deserve that.”

Still, Micah persisted. “Why? What does Isaac mean to you for you to spare him?”

Dutch brushed his hand off. “It ain’t about Isaac. It’s about Arthur. You know the history between us. How much we’ve been through. How long we’ve known each other.”

Micah raised his hands in a diplomatic manner. “Of course, Dutch. Of course. But... let me put it this way.” He leaned closer to the older man. “...Arthur’s your son. I mean, he may as well be. You raised him ever since he was a boy. You taught him to read, you taught him to shoot. You’re his father, Dutch. And yet, despite all that effort to keep him safe, and to keep him alive... he still left you when you needed him most. He left you alone.”

Dutch listened intently, causing Micah to reel in the line now that he had him hooked.

“So, I says we go find Isaac, kill him, and leave Arthur alone. He’ll share the same pain you felt, and he’ll know what it means to turn on our gang. Just like you wanted.”

The man let out a sharp sigh. “That ain’t happening.”

“Well, at least consider it. It ain’t just about the sentiment, after all, Dutch. There’s also the, uh... strategic aspect of it, if you will. So long as Isaac lives, we’re gonna have a helluva time tryin’ to reach Arthur. That boy’s a menace, and he’s nearly as rage-driven as you. He’s got to go.”

Dutch rubbed his chin in thought, appalled by the idea of taking Arthur’s child away from him, but admittedly conceding Micah’s point.

“I will... think about what you’ve said.”

Micah appeared pleased with that. “Thank you, Dutch. That’s all I ask.” He began to stroll away from him. “Trust me, boss... this is all for the good of the gang.”

[thebiasrekkers]

Amaryllis: The Past || JHS

For the @bangtanscenery​ - April Showers Bring May Flowers Project in celebration of the Spring Season!

Plot: The year is 1170 AD in the kingdom of Goryeo. Nestled in a quiet corner of their world, two people are drawn together and love blossoms in their hearts. However, as tensions begin to rise between their nations, they are unwillingly pulled into the conflict. Their determination to overcome all odds becomes the nail needed for Fate to hammer into their coffins.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: historical!au | period!au | soulmate!au | angst | romance | drama | tragedy

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Female OC (Bayaraa Ehri)

Warnings: Mild language, extreme angst, major character deaths

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 13.4K

AN: Guys, when I tell you that I wasn't ready for this to be as big of a monster as I thought it would be, I was not prepared. At all. Period. This is the first Period/Historical!AU I've written in a while and definitely a first for BTS. I've always been a sucker for reincarnation stories and so laying the groundwork for this made me really happy. This is a tragic love story, but I promise that it will be better in the second part I plan on releasing next month! Enjoy and remember that you are loved!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Goryeo Kingdom 1170 AD

The noise of the marketplace seemed to erupt in mixed sounds of pleasantries and laughter. There was a constant tone flitting in and out; the sound of laughter and of so many market vendors talking at once. They were all trying to get people to look at their wares, to purchase them and make new deals. Hoseok smiled as he strolled through the streets, dodging oncoming children squealing in delight as they ran past the adults. The silk fabric of his robs clung to his figure, his lute bouncing lightly across his back and his satchel hung from his side.

To others, he appeared as nothing more than a traveling minstrel. But the truth of the matter was that he came from an upstanding noble family that was directly connected to the royal bloodline in the Goryeo Kingdom. He didn't like to make a fuss about it and neither did his brothers. Their father was blessed to have seven sons and Hoseok was the third-born son, granting him a little bit more freedom than his two older brothers. He had less responsibilities.

Hence why he was strolling around in the general public in his incognito garbs, masquerading as a traveling performing artist and poet.

"Sir," called a vendor, attempting to garner Hoseok's attention, "you look like a man who believes in good fortune!"

Hoseok paused, craning his neck to look at the man who had a variety of items spread out over his table. Nothing seemed to stick out and he wondered what any of his items had to do with good fortune. Just as he was about to ask, the man reached behind the table and lifted up a small, lacquered box from underneath. The design was exquisite, boasting a unique hand-craftsmanship with the various floral patterns cut from Mother of Pearl shells. Hoseok raised his brows, curious to see what could be inside of such a lovely chest.

When the man opened the box, he revealed a flower forged in metal. It sat on a cushion of black satin, but the flower itself almost seemed to gleam in the afternoon sunlight. It's stem was long, the leaves taking on a soft shine as it curled around the base of the flower. At the top, the petals were long and spindly, resembling a spider lily.

No. It was a spider lily.

Some artisan actually forged a spider lily.

Hoseok's lips parted as he reached his hand toward the flower. "It's beautiful," he whispered. But just before his fingers could brush against the metallic leaves, the vendor quickly closed the lid of the box, causing a frown to form on Hoseok's face. "How much?"

The market vendor was unable to hide his amusement as he waggled a finger at him. "Now now, My Lord, I must insist that you listen to the good fortune that comes with purchasing this flower. The artist who made this said the explanation is a must to anyone who wishes to have this flower in their possession."

Sighing, Hoseok brushed some of his bangs out of his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. "Very well. Go ahead."

The vendor smiled, clapped his hands together rapidly, and then slowly opened the box to reveal the flower. "Do you know the legend behind the Spider Lily, My Lord?"

Smothering down his own amusement, Hoseok shook his head. Of course he knew the legend of the Spider Lily. It was a tale forged in sorrow about two lovers who neglected their duties to watch over the petals and leaves. The Gods punished them and they promised to find one another again in the Underworld. However, they were unable to do so, hence they could not be reunited in the next life when they were reincarnated.

"I find it hard to believe that you don't," teased the vendor, which caused Hoseok to cant his head slightly, "but let's just say that this flower isn't an ordinary spider lily. The one who forged this flower said that the tragedy still exists inside, just as the legend dictates. But unlike Manju and Saka, the one who holds this flower will be able to reunite with their loved one in the next life. Guaranteed."

Hoseok couldn't help the scoff that escaped his lips. "How can the artisan possibly guarantee something like that? Was it the Jade Emperor who forged this flower? Is he an ethereal being who is going to be able to follow my spirit into the Underworld and ensure that I do not drink from the Spring of Forgetfulness so that I can, in fact, remember the face of the one I love in my next life?"

The vendor appeared perturbed by the onslaught of questions being thrown at him. But he seemed to collect himself well enough to puff his chest out and cleared his throat loudly. "W-Well, I'm just relaying the words to you as the artisan wished. If you do not want to purchase this rare item, then I will simply put it away."

As the man moved to close the box, Hoseok reached out to place his hand over the vendor's. He hesitated and Hoseok smiled warmly at him. "I apologize. I did not mean to offend, Good Sir. I'm a skeptic by nature, I'm afraid, and I let my lips run away before I could catch them." Again, the vendor cleared his throat, but he seemed less offended than earlier. "Regardless of the artisan's intent, this flower truly is beautiful. The story behind the spider lily is a sad one, but looking at this, I can tell they created this from love."

He could practically feel the vendor beaming at him. "Would you like to purchase it, My Lord?"

Hoseok smiled, reaching into his coin purse, and pulled out three gold coins. "Will this be enough?"

The vendor gasped. "T-That's more than the artisan asked for!"

Grinning, he pulled out another coin to add to the three. "Then I insist that you give him two and you keep the other two for your troubles."

Taking the coins from him, the vendor wasted no time wrapping the lacquered box up in a silk cloth. The vendor hurriedly handed the wrapped item to Hoseok, beaming wildly at the amazing exchange he’d just made. Hoseok wasn’t sure why he seemed so happy since he didn’t regret handing off the gold.

He only hoped that the vendor was honest and didn’t keep all four coins for himself.

“Lad-I mean, L-Lord Ehri!” A young attendant ran with her skirts hiked up as far as she could manage as she tore through the busy market streets. “My Lord, please wait!”

Erhi evaded her attendant, doing her best to smother her feminine sounding laugh as she hurried through the crowd. She was dressed in her incognito outfit, a young male warrior specifically. It was mostly so she could maneuver without any people questioning her reason for being there as a foreigner. Her father, a noble and wealthy merchant from the Mongols, was currently on a business venture in Goryeo. While her older sisters were obediently at his side, learning the proper etiquette for business, Erhi was left to her own devices.

For better or worse, she was allowed to roam the city streets of the kingdom so long as her attendant was with her and she stayed out of trouble. Erhi agreed to her father’s demands, but only to his face. She was positive that her parents knew of her outlandish behavior that strayed far from the proper lady fashion, but because she was the youngest, she was able to get away with it to a degree.

Her father was a businessman, after all. If she wanted to do something, there had to be a give and take deal. She was allowed to learn swordsmanship as long as she studied sewing. She could ride a horse if she practiced dancing. And she could train with the merchant troupe’s regiment if she could brew a proper pot of tea and serve it just as eloquently.

In that aspect, Erhi liked to think she was better off than her sisters. But mostly because they, themselves, had no interest in the things men liked to do. Especially since both were already promised to suitors. Erhi was too gruff to appeal to any male in her father’s circles and she preferred it that way.

Hence the reason she was running through the streets of a foreign city like a child.

She did her best to dodge the innocent bystanders on the street, twirling on her heels to avoid colliding into them needlessly. However, she hadn’t anticipated a group of children squealing through the crowd simultaneously. Ehri jumped suddenly, fully clearing the children as they stopped to stare off at the tails of her robes fluttering behind her. Focused on their awestruck faces, she failed to pay attention to what was ahead of her.

And what was in front of her was an unsuspecting young man carrying something wrapped in silk in his arms. She only managed to catch a glimpse of his surprised face and the lute strapped to his back before their bodies collided against one another; hard. There was a distinct crunch sound that seemed to reverberate throughout her entire body as the wind was knocked from her lungs. Coughing out the dirt that managed to spray up from the ground and into her nose, she heard the man groaning from underneath her. 

Gasping, Erhi quickly scrambled off the man and saw his face screwed up in pain. She immediately reached out for him, her hands grasping at his shoulders to help him sit up. “I’m so sorry,” she said, dusting off his silk robes, “I should have been paying attention, Naeuri.”

The young man grunted, coughing as he attempted to straighten the front of his robe. “It's fine. No harm done.” He extended his arms and shook the sleeves of his garbs back and forth while smiling. “See?”

Erhi flushed, embarrassed she’d lost her sense of awareness for even a moment and caused an innocent bystander to be caught up in her mess. She got to her feet, helping him up to where he continued to pat off the dirt from his clothes. Just as she was about to ask if he was alright, the true shame in her actions began to set in. Because there, at their feet, was what remained of his lute. Even the silken cloth wrapped around his parcel came loose, tilting sadly to showcase that whatever was inside was damaged as well. 

Suddenly, her attendant burst through the crowd looking haggard and annoyed. When she finally flattened her skirts down, she met Erhi’s gaze and stopped short before her rant could even start. Erhi quickly shook her head back and forth, silently urging her to pretend that she didn’t know her. Her attendant sighed, approaching the both of them as though she were a curious civilian wanting to make sure the two of them were alright.

“You’re both not hurt, are you, My Lords?” 

Erhi inwardly sighed with relief, gesturing to the young man at her side. “I’m fine.” She turned to look at the stranger. “I believe I’ve damaged your belongings. Please allow me to make amends by paying you for what the items were worth.”

The man smiled, shaking his head as he waved his hands back and forth. “Oh no, that’s not necessary. Truly.” He peered at Ehri closely, causing her to flush slightly. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

She bowed, her hair falling to curtain her face. “Yes, thank you.”

Erhi watched the man pick up his broken lute and ruined parcel. But he seemed unaffected by it. This made the guilt fall heavier on her heart and just as she was about to insist that she be allowed to make amends, he stepped toward her. They were just inches away from each other, causing her to gasp slightly while taking a step backward. 

“Shall we have a cup of tea to commemorate this occasion?”

Blinking rapidly at him, the young man smiled almost mischievously at Ehri. Then he leaned forward, his lips just barely brushing up against the shell of her ear.

“I would offer to share a drink, but inviting a woman to indulge in alcohol in the middle of the day  would seem a bit presumptuous and rude, yes?”

If Ehri was flushing a soft pink earlier, she was a full blown shade of scarlet at that exact moment. Craning her neck to look at him, she felt her lips parting in both shock and outrage as he continued to preen at her. When had he been able to see through her disguise? How could he have discovered the truth in such a short amount of time.

The snap of a fan brought her out of her internal reverie and she hopped back a full two feet from him as he slowly moved the fan back and forth across his body. He wasn’t being smug about it. She could tell that he was genuinely amused. And this, alone, piqued her curiosity.

Frowning, she huffed before giving an overly dramatic flourish of her arm as she stepped to the side. “After you, Naeuri,” she said through clenched teeth, “I insist.”

The playful twinkle never left his eyes and he merely strolled past her, snapping the fan closed as he pointed toward the direction straight ahead. “Come. We have much to discuss.”

Ehri caught her attendant’s eye and they both sighed in defeat, their legs feeling much heavier than they had just a few minutes ago.

This was problematic.

“I see,” Hoseok said in mid-sip, “so you’re from Mongolia.” He nodded, watching the two women seated across from him shifting uncomfortably in front of him. “That’s very interesting!”

The woman frowned as she sipped her tea while her attendant nervously cradled the porcelain between her fingers. Hoseok did his best to keep from bursting into small fits of laughter, but it was a very trying task. Especially since the woman who collided into him seemed hellbent on trying to find every opportunity to escape from his sight. 

Like he’d let that happen.

“I must admit, you caught me by surprise.” He smiled as her brows furrowed. “To think a young woman could tear through the streets in such a fashion. Normally it’s young boys with that sort of amount of energy.”

The woman huffed, folding her arms across her chest in defiance. “Why is that so surprising? I heard the women of Goryeo have just as much freedom as the men do.”

He nodded, lifting the cup of tea to his face. “Yes, they do. Which is why they don’t have to disguise themselves as men as you have.” She scoffed, her eyes shifting to meet his own as they widened slightly. “Do Mongolian women not have such free reign?”

“That’s not--!”

Hoseok leaned forward, intrigued and unable to hide his own curiosity. He knew he probably looked like a starry-eyed little boy, but he couldn’t hold back his fascination. As a member of the royal household’s branch family, Hoseok had little chances to interact with other foreigners unless he snuck away from home in the same way this young woman did. In a sense, they were both having similar experiences but for very different reasons.

“I heard that Mongolian children are able to ride horses before they even learn how to walk! Is that true?” She just stared at him, blinking every so often, and he leaned back quickly as while shaking his head back and forth. “Oh my, I’ve been so rude! Please forgive me. I never even introduced myself.” Hoseok bowed his head slightly. “My name is Hoseok. And you?”

There was a small measure of silence that stretched between them before she lifted her own teacup to her lips. 

“Ehri.”

“Ah,” he said, leaning back a bit, “Ehri-ssi.”

Hoseok watched her sip from her cup. He took note of how delicate her hands appeared. As she set it down, he focused back on her face. Their eyes stayed trained on each other before Ehri shifted her gaze to his belongings that were beside him on the bench. 

“I was serious about repaying you for your things, Hoseok Naeuri.”

He laughed. “That’s not necessary. My lute has seen better days, of course, but I was already planning on buying a new one.”

She lofted a single brow. “And your other item?”

“Not to worry. Only the box was ruined, but not completely. The item inside is perfectly fine.”

He visibly saw her shoulders relax, as well as her attendant’s. 

“How did you know?”

Hoseok was about to indulge in one of the sweet rice cakes when he stopped, his hand hovering over the plate. “Hm? Know what?”

"That I wasn’t a man.”

Her tone was so flat that it caused him to sputter a chuckle unintentionally.

He picked up one of the soft rice cakes while shrugging one shoulder. “Well, it wasn’t hard considering you fell on top of me chest first.” Hoseok watched her nose crinkle up and he bit his lip, smothering a grin from breaking out over his features. “And the fact that your attendant is a woman and a terrible actress.”

Ehri’s attendant groaned in defeat while she, in turn, merely huffed her annoyance. Hoseok was amused with how expressive she was. It was charming in a way. Not many women, even in Goryeo, openly wore their feelings on their sleeves as she did. Even though she was traveling incognito with her attendant, she had no problem expressing her emotions freely. 

He found himself drawn to her level of freedom.

“How long will your family be in Goryeo?” he asked, biting into the rice cake and savoring the sweet red bean jam inside.

She picked up a rice cake, offering it to her attendant first. “Until my father’s business deals are finished.”

“Does it usually take a long time?”

“No, not usually,” Ehri said as she began pouring herself more tea, “but because it’s Goryeo, he tends to make time to stay and enjoy the scenery. I’m sure we will be here a month or so, at the very least.”

“I see.” Hoseok slapped his hands on the table and leaned forward, causing the two women to jump suddenly. “Then we should see each other again!”

“W-What?” Erhi balked, leaning backward as he continued to press his body almost completely across the table. “What do you mean?”

“It's not often you get to come to Goryeo, yes?” Hoseok watched her nod slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Then allow me to show you all the great things this country has to offer! In exchange, you have to share all the wonderful stories of your homeland.”

She seemed skeptical. “Just stories?”

Hoseok nodded excitedly. “Yes, until I am able to travel to Mongolia myself and then you’ll have to take care of me while I’m there.” He extended his hand out to her. “Do we have a deal?”

Ehri appeared to be considering his offer. There was nothing for her to lose. She only had things to gain and he, too, would obtain something as well.

Maybe he would be able to have a friend who didn’t care about his connection to the royal family.

Sighing, she reached across the table to clasp her hand in his. Ehri smiled and Hoseok felt his heart skip a full beat in his chest. “Deal.”

The days bled into weeks. Before Ehri even realized it, nearly a month had passed. With each passing day, Hoseok was true to his word. They agreed to meet near the edge of the capital city where the rolling hills, forests, and meadows were located. Her attendant rode beside them and they let their horses graze in the fields. 

Hoseok shared wondrous stories of Goryeo’s history, art, and architecture. Being a Mongol, all Ehri knew were wide open plains, valleys, mountains, rivers and deserts. There were very few forests in her homeland and the flowers were even fewer, so these stories fascinated her. Hoseok had an attendant, just as Ehri, but he rarely accompanied him as often as hers did. If he were part of some aristocratic family, she couldn’t imagine him being able to wander about without an escort at all times.

But maybe she was reading too much into it.

In time, she truly got to know the man named Hoseok. Neither of them revealed their family names, which was probably for the best. There was no guarantee that they would see each other after her family returned home to Mongolia. But the few things she did discover were like small treasures she kept to herself.

His favorite colors were silver, white and cobalt. From what she was able to glean, it had something to do with being able to gain a sense of individualism among his other brothers in their household. He rarely wore his hair down, preferring to have it pulled up in a high ponytail, though he could do nothing with the fringe that often fell across his forehead.

Hoseok had a seemingly bottomless sweet tooth; his preference for rice cakes filled with some kind of sweet jam. He loved foreign goods and would always take time to see any traveling street performances during festival times. Poetry and philosophy were his preferred subjects, but he did excel in mathematics and history. 

Her attendant started to doze off as she sat under the shade of a nearby dogwood tree. The white petals fluttered through the air from the soft breeze that flew through the field. A quiet melody emanated from Hoseok’s lute as he strummed his fingers over the strings. Ehri was nestled in a bed of flowers, her legs curled up to her chest as she listened to the music. She couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips while watching him. His eyes were closed and every so often, some of his dark hair would fly over the bridge of his nose as he played.

To Ehri, he was unnecessarily handsome.

“Are you tired, Agassi?”

Blinking rapidly, Ehri lifted her head up from her knees. When she did, she saw that Hoseok was extremely close to her. Her lips parted and she leaned back quickly, gasping a little as he blinked curiously at her. 

“W-What?” she stammered out, feeling the heat rushing up her neck and spreading over her cheeks. “What’s the matter?”

He was crouched down on the ground, his elbows resting on his knees. But he didn’t move any closer to her, to which she was secretly grateful. “I was asking if you were tired.”

“Oh,” Ehri murmured, brushing some of her hair out of her face, “I’m fine.”

She leaned her head back as he stood up and dusted off the backs of his robes. Once finished, he reached a hand out to her. Not wanting to appear frail, Ehri gathered herself up and also knocked some grass and leaves off her clothes. Hoseok smiled as he gestured for her to follow him. Glancing to where her attendant was now fully asleep with the horses nearby, she shook her head and followed behind Hoseok as they moved deeper into the forest. 

When they entered a nearby clearing, Ehri paused while Hoseok continued to walk ahead of her. The vision that was in front of her caused her to pull a slow intake of breath. The field was littered with spindly, vibrant red flowers that seemed to stretch for as far as the eye could see. There was a sense of melancholy that nearly overwhelmed Ehri as she stared at the flowers, but she couldn’t understand why she felt that way.

“Have you ever heard of the legend of the Spider Lily?”

Hoseok’s words cut through her reverie and she lifted her gaze to meet his own. He was standing in the middle of the flowers, imploring for her to come closer. Ehri took slow, measured steps toward him, unable to take her eyes away from the flowers as she approached. When she was within arms’ reach of him, her attention was ripped from the red field as she felt Hoseok’s hands gripping onto her wrists. With a jerk of his arms, she was pulled forward and nearly bumped into his body, to which she was stopped short; his hands now gripping her shoulders.

“N-Naeuri?” 

“The Spider Lily legend,” he repeated slowly, tilting his chin down to look at her, “have you heard of it?”

Ehri wasn’t sure what to say so all she did was shake her head. Even though Hoseok smiled, there was an intensity in his eyes that pulled at her curiosity. So focused on his face, she failed to realize that his hands moved from her shoulders and down to her hips. Again, she chose to wear her incognito robes, which meant that every touch was that much closer to her body than it would have been had she decided to don her proper feminine attire. 

Straining her ears, Ehri waited for him to continue and hoped she could hear him over the heavy thud of her own heartbeat. 

After looking down at her for what felt like an uncomfortable amount of time, Hoseok craned his neck to look at their surroundings. Ehri did the same. 

“There was once a pair of fae, Manju and Saka, who were given the responsibility of guarding the leaves and petals of the Spider Lily. If the petals blossomed to their fullest, the leaves would die. If the leaves flourished, the petals would wilt. For a time, they were diligent in their duties.” Something flickered in Hoseok’s eyes, but she couldn’t quite tell since she could only see part of his profile. “The affection they had for one another continued to grow, until they could no longer deny their feelings for each other. They decided to meet, forsaking their duties, and both the petals and leaves began to die. The Gods punished the lovers by placing a curse on them, stating that the flowers and leaves will never be able to meet again.”

Ehri lowered her gaze to the red blossoms, wanting to reach out and caress the petals but knowing that the leaves deserved attention as well. Upon closer inspection, she could see the leaves were so far below the flowers, melding with the grass at their feet and almost disappearing. The stem was long, keeping the petals and leaves as far apart from each other as was possible for the flower.

“To make matters worse, the curse extends beyond death.”

She turned to face Hoseok who was now looking back at her. “What do you mean?”

He furrowed his brows slightly. “The two of them promised they would reunite in the Underworld so when they were reborn, they would be able to find each other again. But they were never able to meet and, as such, they were unable to be together upon reincarnation.”

Something painful throbbed inside of Ehri’s chest, causing her to curl her hand into a fist against the fabric of her robes. “That’s...that’s so sad.”

“It is.” When Ehri met Hoseok’s gaze, she could see a hint of a smile on his face. “Well, if you believe in the concept of rebirth.”

“I do.” She sighed, moving her upper body away from him a bit. “I don’t believe that the gods are so cruel to give us a short amount of time to live only to allow us to experience one life. The souls of our ancestors live within us.”

For a moment, all Ehri could do was stare up at Hoseok with what she hoped was a look of absolute determination. He didn’t give anything away. Not a single thing.

Which was what made the kiss he pulled her into all the more surprising. Her hands immediately moved to press against his chest, intent on pushing him away; at least at first. But the warmth of his hands as he clasped at the nape of her neck and how hard his heart seemed to be beating against his chest, made her own initial anxieties melt away. He was nothing but a complete gentleman all that time, and in truth, it tugged at the softer side of her normally wild nature. The more Ehri got to know him, a being so full of buried melancholy, the more drawn to him she felt.

When had it happened? When did she feel her heart starting to gravitate toward him?

When had he?

Delicate nips pulled at her lips, causing Ehri to release a soft sigh from her lungs. It was like Hoseok was attempting to pull her soul straight from her and, if it were possible, she would have given it over willingly. Her body shifted a little more against him and she wasn’t sure how much more of his affections she could handle. 

It became more apparent when tears unknowingly leaked from her eyes.

Hoseok’s lips left her own and a part of Ehri mourned for his absence. She didn’t realize the moment she’d pressed herself fully against him, but it made it that much harder to breathe. Or was it because he’d successfully pulled all the air from her lungs, leaving her breathless and yearning for more?

“Do you have to go?” The strain in his voice was clear, needling into her heart as he began drying her tears from her face. “I don’t want you to go.”

Ehri bit her lower lip, unable to break his gaze. “I have to,” she whispered, “my family…”

Suddenly, Hoseok pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around her as he cradled the back of her head in a passionate embrace. Clouds slowly rolled in, covering the sun and momentarily shrouding them in desaturated light. Ehri felt his body trembling against her, which made her heart thud harder against her chest to the point that it hurt to breathe. 

“Promise you’ll write to me,” he said into her temple.

Reaching up, she curled her fingers into fists along his back, nodding her head emphatically. “I will.”

Hoseok held her tighter, causing her to sob slightly. “Promise you won’t forget me.”

Again, she nodded, unable to keep the tears from spilling. “I won’t.”

Slowly, he pulled back and captured her lips again. Ehri could feel her heart sing with the emotion that pushed from each of them. He held her like she was the greatest treasure he’d discovered. But they both knew that they would have to part. It would only be for a little while. Their worlds weren’t so far apart. They could see each other again.

That was their hope.

That was their dream.

“Hoseok-ah! What are you doing?”

He ignored the question tinged with outrage as he continued to pack his belongings. He took care to make sure one parcel, in particular, was stowed away where it could not be damaged. He didn’t need much. Whatever he did need, he could simply purchase along the way. 

His attendant stood quietly in the corner of his room, his own gear packed and slung across his shoulder. Hoseok knew he wouldn’t speak up. It wasn’t his place. He’d already been given his commands to accompany him and that was that.

“I asked you what you are doing, dammit!” He felt his brother, Yoongi, grip onto his shoulder and forcefully spin him around. “Where do you think you’re going?!”

“Mongolia.” He roughly shrugged Yoongi’s hand from him. “Could you please leave? I’m trying to finish packing.”

Yoongi jerked him around and slapped him across the face. The sting of the blow inflamed instantly and he didn’t even bother with covering his cheek with his palm to soothe the ache. Red veins spidered out toward Yoongi’s irises. That’s how Hoseok knew that his brother was angry with him for being so selfish. It was rare for him to be this selfish, but that meant it was more important for him to leave now more than ever. 

“Do you want to get yourself killed, huh?” Yoongi heaved an aggravated sound as he roughly tugged at some of his hair. “Our countries are about to go to war soon!”

“You think I don’t know that, Hyung-nim?! I do!” Hoseok’s vision shook as he tried to tether his anger. He knew he was failing. “I know that, which is why I have to go! Let me go, Hyung-nim!”

His brother’s face went red, then faded to a splotchy sort of peach color. Hoseok knew he’d successfully defused Yoongi’s anger, but it was far from over. If their parents found out, or even the rest of his brothers, Hoseok could guarantee that there would be no escape for him. He would be placed  under house arrest faster than his mind could even begin to process. 

Even so, he had to go. 

He had to find her. He needed to see her again.

The door to his room slid open slowly, revealing his oldest brother, Seokjin, on the other side. Dressed in his crimson and silver robes, he stepped across the threshold and slid the door quietly behind him. His hands were hidden inside the sleeves of his robe, but then he revealed a scroll from within. He held it out to Hoseok as Yoongi approached their older brother.

“Hyung-nim,” Yoongi said while eyeing the scroll, “what is the meaning of this?”

“It’s an official edict from His Majesty on our father’s behalf. Father has taken ill and will not be able to conduct his business trip.” Seokjin craned his neck to look at Hoseok. “This will allow you safe passage across the border.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened. “S-Seokjin Hyung-nim…”

A tender smile graced Seokjin’s full lips. “Father is aware of why you are so adamant on leaving. As are we all.” He lobbed the scroll to his younger brother. Hoseok’s hands trembled as he held the silk scroll in his hands. “We only ask that you return safely.”

Yoongi groaned as he tugged his hair harshly. Grumbling something under his breath, he strode past his brother and slid open the door. “I’ll get the others.”

By others, he meant the rest of their brothers.

“Why?” Hoseok’s eyes lingered on the parchment. “Why is Father allowing this?”

“Contrary to what we all may think, Father understands what it means to be in love.” Seokjin closed the distance between them, placing a hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. “He cares for our happiness more than anyone. Mother also agrees.”

Sucking in air through his teeth, Hoseok shut his eyes in a vain attempt to keep from shedding tears. Months had passed since Ehri left to return home, and the tensions between Goryeo and Mongolia seemed to escalate. There was talk of war in the coming months, if not sooner. While Ehri and Hoseok wrote to each other diligently in that time, it was clear that there was nothing they would be able to do once the conflict officially broke out. There was a good chance that this war would separate them permanently.

He wanted to see her before then. No, he had to.

“If you can convince her to come back with you, then you will be married immediately upon your return.” 

He quickly lifted his face to meet Seokjin’s. “W-What?”

His brother’s gentle smile remained. “Mother and Father have both agreed to this.”

Unable to contain his elation, Hoseok threw himself into Seokjin’s arms. He took comfort in his older brother’s embrace. He felt Seokjin laugh as he patted Hoseok on the head like they were still children and he’d skinned his hands on the stone ground. 

“Be safe, Little Brother.”

Ehri quickly began gathering what few things she could. Mostly practical things, but there were some odds and ends that she collected that would be needed to procure money for her travels. There was no barring her parents from her quarters, but she could at least keep her sisters out of the way as she hurried along. Her attendant was at her wit’s end keeping watch to make sure that no one attempted to stop Ehri from what she was doing. 

Pain exploded across Ehri’s chest and she immediately collapsed to her knees, clutching at her chest as another coughing fit burst forth. She did her best to smother the noise, but it was useless. Her attendant was at her side instantly, handing her a cup of water to drink. She could barely get a few sips in before watery mist sprayed from her mouth due to another coughing outburst. Ehri’s breathing was unsteady, but she tried to pull as much air into her lungs as she could in an attempt to suppress the cough.

“My Lady,” called her attendant as she slowly rubbed circles along her back, “please, you must rest. The physician said so himself.”

Angry tears leaked from her eyes and she swiped them from her face quickly. “There’s no time,” she muttered, “we must leave tonight.”

“Please, My Lady, this is madness.” Her attendant was all but begging, but Ehri was stubborn. “There is no need for such haste. Did Lord Hoseok not say that he would be arriving tomorrow morning? Why must we leave in the middle of the night?”

“Don’t be so foolish!” Ehri snapped, glaring at her faithful attendant. “Do you still not understand the gravity of the situation?”

But she couldn’t expect her to. It was outside of her attendant’s control and her duties. No. This was Ehri’s fight. She had to do it. Because her parents were determined to keep her from the man she so desperately longed for. She’d missed him for him for days - no, for months. And it felt like years mounting between them the longer they were apart. Hoseok said he was coming for her and she had to believe him. She did believe him.

The animosity between their nations be damned. What did that have to do with any of their feelings for each other? Her family told her that Hoseok was the enemy because he was from a soon-to-be enemy nation. But she could never see him as the enemy. Ehri never would. While some would have accused her of lacking filial piety, she also believed that she was living up to the expectations from which she was raised. Give and take. That was how the merchant world operated. There was no such thing as a free meal.

If Fate was going to shorten her time on this earth, then she had every right to obtain happiness to make up for it.

Her attendant sighed heavily, pulling out a thick fur throw and settling it on top of Ehri’s shoulders. A few more coughs escaped, but she appreciated the warmth. The colder season was beginning to settle in and it would only be a matter of time before it was fully upon them.

“Does Lord Hoseok know of your condition, My Lady?”

Ehri shook her head fiercely. “No.” She pointed at her attendant. “And I forbid you from revealing it to him as well.” Ehri sighed, placing a hand to her chest. “It will only cause him to worry.”

Gathering herself up, Ehri reached out for her satchel but her attendant beat her to it. “You’ll have a difficult time carrying that and maintaining your breath. Let me carry this for you, My Lady.” She watched her attendant flash a warm smile to her. “Until we are able to get on the horses at least.”

Ehri gave her a devious smirk. “Very well.”

Hoseok awoke to the first frost of the season already collecting on the grass around the tent. It didn’t take him long to bathe and get dressed, foregoing a proper breakfast. Instead, he nibbled on some cured meat and bread, washing it down with water. His caravan dismantled their camp within minutes and they resumed their journey, having crossed into Mongol territory through the checkpoint yesterday evening. His father’s edict had, in fact, made things easier. But he was worried when the messenger pigeon he’d sent ahead for Ehri had not yet returned.

Did something happen?

No, he thought while shaking his head, I can’t think like that. I’m sure she still has the bird with her. Hoseok felt his chest swelling with the large intake of air he pulled, unable to shake the smile from his face. I will be seeing her soon.

The caravan moved at an even pace. He was so excited to see his beloved. He could still remember what her face looked like when she smiled; like the darkest nights could never hope to douse her radiance. It seemed a little unfair, truth be told, that she could be so captivating. But Hoseok considered himself blessed to know that he could love someone like her; that she loved him in return.

As his horse trotted along, Hoseok reached into his bag and pulled out the refurbished lacquered box. His hand smoothed over the mother of pearl decorations and he lifted the clasp up to open the box. Inside was the beautifully forged spider lily he purchased at what felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn’t known it then, but this was going to be his wedding present to Ehri. But he didn’t want to wait until the wedding. He wanted to be able to give it to her as soon as he saw her. 

A cold wind suddenly blew through the troupe, causing his skin to pepper out in goosebumps. He replaced the box back into his bag, securing the knot on the silken scarf to keep it from falling out. The rest of the group murmured their sentiments in that it was, in fact, cold. Hoseok quickly instructed everyone to put on warmer clothes so that they didn’t get sick. They all complied without hesitation. 

“Naeuri!”

Hoseok turned in the direction where the voice came from. Confusion melted to joy as he saw Ehri urging her horse forward with thunderous gallops, her faithful attendant barely able to keep up. Pulling at the reigns, Hoseok broke away from the caravan and pushed his own mount into a speedy gallop so that he could meet her halfway. As she came into view, Hoseok noticed her cheeks were a bit flushed and he could see the cloudy puffs of air coming from both her and her horse. His smile fell a fraction as he saw her clutching at her chest. 

Was something wrong?

Closer and closer they reached each other, until he saw Ehri standing up from her saddle. Her attendant screamed as both she and Hoseok watched Ehri jump from her horse and into the air. Leaning back, he stared open-mouthed as she flew toward him. A rough grunt was all he could manage as she landed in his arms and his horse protested in annoyance at the sudden added weight. Both of them toppled off the steed in a flurry of legs and arms. Hoseok maneuvered his body so that he was the one to hit the ground first. Again, the wind was knocked from his lungs as Ehri fell on top of him.

For a moment, all they could do was laugh painfully together.

“You know,” Ehri breathed as she sat up to look down at him, her face flushed and full with a smile, “we should really and truly stop meeting like this, don’t you agree?”

He beamed up at her. “Yes, I most certainly do.”

Again, they laughed. Hoseok’s heart was so full he thought it would burst. But the happiness was doused the moment Ehri began coughing. It was a harsh sound, as though she were struggling to breathe. It was cold out and maybe she’d gotten a little too excited. His hand moved up to touch her forehead and he gasped at her burning temperature. 

“Agassi!” he cried out, moving so that he was now sitting up and cradling her to his chest. “What happened? You have a terrible fever!”

Her attendant was at her side, looking flustered and on the verge of tears. “My Lady refuses to listen, that’s what.”

Quickly, she retrieved a folded up piece of paper from her garments and held it to Ehri’s lips. From what Hoseok could gather from the smell, it was some sort of medicine. The powder slid into Ehri’s mouth and she watched her cover her mouth to prevent from coughing it out on impulse. Her attendant pulled out a small canteen and held it to her lips, washing the powder down with water.

Hoseok turned his attention to Ehri’s attendant. “What is going on? I demand an answer!”

Ehri slapped her attendant the moment she opened her mouth to speak. The blow shocked the girl more than it hurt. This must have been the first time she’d ever been struck by Ehri in the entire time they’d been together. It was evident in both of their expressions. The attendant bit her lower lip as tears brimmed her eyes, but she eventually averted her gaze and remained quiet at their sides. 

“Ehri Agassi,” he murmured as she shifted her eyes to look up at him, “why did you--?”

“It’s just a minor affliction,” she said, her voice weak from coughing, “it will pass in time.”

His brows furrowed, but he nodded. Hoseok stood up, hefting Ehri into his arms. Her attendant followed suit as some members of his caravan collected their horses. There was a carriage in their group, to which he was now thankful for. His brothers, Namjoon and Jimin, insisted that he take it with him, regardless of how many times he explained to them that Ehri was a seasoned rider. He could remember the playful expressions on their faces as they explained that she was his bride-to-be and their future in-law. There was no sense in her not to indulge in comfort with this bitter weather coming in.

Hoseok settled her into the carriage, immediately wrapping her up with thick blankets and furs. If it was just a fever, then all she would need to do was sweat it out. She would be back to her old self in no time. Hell, before they returned to Goryeo. 

He was sure of it.

Hours seemed like days. Days moved like weeks.

Ehri felt herself falling in and out of consciousness so many times due to her fever. There were moments where she felt the world blurring around her. Other times, it appeared so clear, sharp and bright; so much so that she had to often squint to see. She hated being cramped in the carriage, but Ehri knew her body well enough to not push for wanting to ride like everyone else did. If she tried, she was almost certain that her condition would worsen.

It would be another week before they reached Goryeo.

I just have to hold on until then, she thought, the last dregs of sleep lifting from her eyes, just a little longer.

Part of Ehri felt terrible for keeping such a big secret from Hoseok. But revealing the truth would only hurt him. He would find a way to blame himself and she didn’t want that. It was simply the tiles that Life felt fit to deal to her. Before leaving her home, Ehri prayed to her ancestors and burned a small offering to the gods. She didn’t ask for much. Only a little more time than what was allotted to her.

She wouldn’t be greedy.

Two days later, she felt a little better. Ehri slid open the small window of the carriage so she could peer out at the world around them. The rolling hills and valleys of her home almost seemed to be bidding her farewell as the leaves browned and fell from the smattering of trees that existed. The hazy clouds sat along the mountain peaks, promising the onset of snow to come. The grass along the plains, once lush and green, were now beige. She would not see them return to their true green hues.

She took her medicine obediently and when they made camp, she apologized to her attendant for striking her. Her friend cried while holding her hands as Ehri lay in bed, too weak to laugh at how terrible her attendant’s face looked from all the crying she’d subjected herself to. After a refreshing bath and warm meal, she felt a little bit better. Hoseok periodically checked on her and was a gentleman in giving her her space. When she had the energy, he took her by the hand and led her throughout the camp to introduce her to the others. They were friends and loyal servants to Hoseok and his family. 

Ehri received warm greetings and welcomes, filling her heart with happiness she couldn’t begin to describe. These weren’t her people. They were Goryeons and lived a life far apart from her own. She should have been seen as the enemy in their eyes. They had every right to hate her for the potential cause of their country’s upheaval from her own people. But there was nothing of the sort in their eyes or their mannerisms toward her. 

Their vibrant laughter, rich stories, and warm smiles were a comfort to her. As she sat curled up by the campfire with the others, they all were entranced with Hoseok’s lute playing. He eased their worries for what would happen to their nation through his songs of encouragement, rekindling what hope may have burned out inside of each of them. As they often said, it was always darkest before dawn.

This, too, would pass.

The warmth of the fire, the lute’s melody, and her own fever lulled her to sleep. When she came to, she was back in her tent and wrapped in a number of blankets. A cold, damp cloth was pressed to her forehead. Ehri blinked a few times to clear the blurriness from her vision and she saw Hoseok keeping vigil at her side. Their eyes met and the worry creases on his brows started to disappear. He tried to smile, but she knew he was having a hard time.

“I’m sorry, Hoseok Naeuri,” she murmured as she watched him preparing her medicine, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He shook his head. “No, you need to rest. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Especially with it getting colder.” Hoseok used a clean, dry cloth to wipe at the sweat around her cheeks and neck. 

Ehri tried to suppress a cough, but failed to keep a few of them from coming out. “How long until we reach Goryeo.”

“We’ll dismantle camp tomorrow and ride out at first light. If we keep a steady pace, we’ll arrive in a few days.” Removing the cloth from her forehead, he dipped it into a brass basin and wrung the water out. “And then we can get a proper physician to look at you.”

She pouted. “I’m fine,” she insisted, “I don’t get sick often so this is just how my body is reacting to it.”

“Even so, I want to be sure.” Hoseok placed the cloth back on her forehead. “Besides, in Goryeo we’ll have better access to medicine than the peddlers we’ve encountered on the journey.” He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to her cheek. “Now sleep.”

Nodding, she sighed and was about to close her eyes when she noticed a box on the table. Ehri blinked, rubbed at her eyes, and then looked again to make sure she wasn’t seeing anything. There wasn’t such a decorative box on her table when she’d left the tent earlier. Hoseok seemed to gauge that she was looking elsewhere, following her line of sight. He gave a gentle laugh.

“Oh, that?” He stood from the small stool situated at her bedside and retrieved the box from the table. After he sat back down, he opened it and showed her the metallic spider lily inside. “Do you like it?”

Her lips parted, but she lacked the proper words to describe its beauty. Instead, she nodded.

“I’m glad.” He closed the box. “It was supposed to be your wedding present, but I figured this would help lift your spirits some.”

Ehri sighed a little, her brows furrowing. “But didn’t you say that the legend of the Spider Lily is a sad story?” She pouted again. “Why would you give me such a thing as a wedding present?”

Hoseok seemed to take amusement in her childish questioning and reached out to pet her head. “I bought this from an artisan who claimed that this flower is different from the actual spider lily.”

She was curious. “Different how?”

Again, Hoseok opened the box to show her the lovely flower. “He said that anyone who possesses this flower is guaranteed to be reunited with their love in the next life. It will not come to pass like in the tale of Manju and Saka.”

“How can he guarantee that?”

“I asked the same thing,” Hoseok said while laughing. He closed the box. “But we will just have to see when we are reborn again, hm?” He stroked her cheek with his fingers. “I want to love you again in our next life, Ehri-ah.”

The informal way of speaking to her caused her cheeks to flush. There was so much love in his words that she couldn’t help but feel the urge to cry. She didn’t know just how much time she had left to love this man, and it was even more cruel to keep that knowledge from him. But she wanted to prevent him from suffering needlessly. There was no sense in imparting such pain to him and so she would keep it bottled up inside of herself for as long as she could.

Until life saw it fit to escort her to the Underworld.

Ehri’s condition worsened as the days bled on. 

Hoseok did his best to keep himself calm, but there was a horrifying truth that he couldn’t shake from his mind, even though he desperately wanted to. He spied her attendant leaving Ehri’s tent on the night before they would arrive in Goryeo all but bawling her eyes out. He made sure to keep himself hidden and while there was a part of him that wanted to force her to tell him what was going on, he also wanted to respect Ehri’s wishes. 

Maybe he was thinking too much. Once they arrived in Goryeo, he would seek his father’s help in obtaining the best physicians to see to her care. They had skilled doctors in their country who were advancing their medical studies day after day.

Surely someone would have the remedy to heal Ehri’s ailment.

Hoseok wanted to ride in the carriage with Ehri until they were in Goryeo, but she insisted that she be alone. She didn’t want to bother him with all of her coughing and wheezing which, in turn, would only make him worry further. She wasn’t wrong, but the notion didn’t make him happy. Her attendant rode with her in the carriage, making sure she was hydrated and taking her medicine in a timely fashion.

After they crossed the border and cleared the checkpoint, Hoseok informed the others that he would ride ahead to his family’s estate. He needed to make sure everything was prepared for Ehri’s arrival and that doctors were already there to administer to her medically.

He practically burst through the main gate of his family’s estate, sliding off his horse and running for the main house. Slinging the door open roughly, he thundered through the halls - having not bothered to take off his shoes. 

“Father! Mother!” he yelled, opening every door he could see to determine the whereabouts of his family. 

Laughter was heard out in the garden and he ran through one of the side entrances to get there as quickly as possible. When he arrived at the gardens, looking quite haggard, his brothers stopped their archery competition as their parents peered up at him from their chairs. His youngest brother, Jungkook, dropped his bow and quiver, immediately racing to his side.

“Hyung-nim, what’s the matter?” he asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

His other younger brothers, Jimin and Taehyung, were also making their way toward him. 

“You look like the Grim Reapers have been chasing you,” teased Taehyung as he peered over Hoseok’s shoulders, “in that much of a rush to introduce us to your bride-to-be?”

Hoseok ignored his little brother, his eyes meeting both of his older brother’s and his twin, Namjoon. They instantly could ascertain the desperation in his eyes. 

“What is it, Hoseok-ah?” their father asked, rising from his chair and crossing over to him. “Is everything alright?”

Reaching out with his hands, he clung shamelessly onto the sleeves of his father’s robes. “Father, please! Call a doctor, the best doctor we can afford and get our hands on!” His father frowned and Hoseok wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep himself together. “It’s Ehri! She’s sick and needs a physician immediately!”

Nodding, his father pointed to one of the servants to go fetch a physician from town immediately. After the servant left, Hoseok’s legs gave way beneath him and he collapsed to the ground. His mother and brothers were all at his side, lifting him back up onto his feet and ushering him to his room. He hadn’t realized how tired he was and while the adrenaline continued to pump through him, they urged him to close his eyes for just a little bit, all of them promising to wake him up the moment the caravan returned.

The fatigue and stress of the journey mixed together with Hoseok’s anxiety over Ehri. As he fell into his bed, he couldn’t fight against the urge of sleep overtaking him. Within seconds, the world faded out around him.

Hoseok’s family was delightful.

Even as she was placed in her own quarters and fussed over by doctors, they treated her like she was already a member of the family. Jungkook painted wonderful pictures of flowers and landscapes that he promised to have properly framed into a folding screen for her room. Taehyung told fascinating stories of adventurers going off to slay dragons. Jimin brewed some of the best tea she’d ever tasted in her life. The younger brothers all listened with rapt attention to the folk legends of her own homeland, particularly of warriors who fought valiantly against the gods to protect their people and ensure their power of choice and freewill was not taken from them.

Namjoon was quiet, often reading philosophical texts and poems from his and Hoseok’s collections. They were twin brothers and while they looked nothing alike, she could tell they both had similarly soft and intellectual natures. He was a bit more clumsy than Hoseok, as well as the rest of his brothers, but he more than made up for it with his charm and wit.

Yoongi, the second older brother, always seemed to sport a dour expression. At first, she believed that he didn’t like her for reasons she couldn’t quite understand. He clearly had no issue with her being a Mongol, but there was something barbarous in his words every time he spoke with her. It wasn’t until a few days after her arrival that it became clear that that was simply how he showed his affection to others. If he was worried, he fussed. If he was happy, he called someone foolish for being kind. If Hoseok wasn’t attending to her needs, Yoongi was always there to change out the damp cloths and wipe the sweat from her skin.

Seokjin was charming and kind, always gentle and sneaking in delicious sweets and snacks for her when she felt a little better. He kept a stern vigil on physicians who were overseeing her care in Hoseok’s absence. Truth be told, it was often Seokjin who chased her beloved Hoseok away since seeing her in that state only frayed his nerves even more.

Especially when the truth of her illness was finally revealed.

Many doctors examined her. They all came to the same conclusion. 

It was a disease of the lungs, one that they could not cure. While the physicians in her own country told her the same thing, part of Ehri hoped that Goryeo would have the answer where Mongolia did not. There was always the chance and it was that chance that Ehri clung on to so desperately. 

But like she expected, there was nothing they could do.

The only thing that could be done for her was to make her as comfortable as possible until the very end. Hoseok was a mess, raging at the doctors and threatening to have them killed for their laziness. But they were doing the best they could. Ehri could see that and so she knew Hoseok could see that as well. There was nothing that could be done. Only a miracle could pull Ehri out of this infestation attacking her lungs and she wasn’t a big believer of such things.

When she was well enough to move around, Ehri and Hoseok were married. It was a modest affair in his family home. Her only regret was that her own family couldn’t be part of the festivities. After a night of celebration, Ehri and Hoseok turned in for the night and slept. It was all she could manage since she lacked the strength in her body to give up her innocence, her first night, to her husband. But Hoseok was understanding and kind, merely holding her close to his body as she attempted to fight off a night of fitful, fever-induced dreams.

Like their nations’ leaders predicted, war began to spread throughout Goryeo and Mongolia. The conflict bled across borders and into each country, both nations hoping that the other would give up their stance on their respective worlds and surrender. Neither country would surrender to the other and the commoners, the people, were caught in the crossfire. Her family wrote to her, imploring her to come home but she couldn’t bring herself to even reassure them that she was fine. What energy she had, she spent it writing and it wasn’t to her family.

She was a person of Goryeo now.

Ehri felt it harder to maintain her energy with each passing day. When she finally started coughing up blood was when she knew her time in the world was drawing to a close. Her attendant was present at the time, spying the blood stain on her lips and the silk handkerchief. Ehri made her swear not to tell anyone, making sure her friend cleaned her face of the tears before going to fetch her tonic. 

Winter was not kind to Ehri’s lungs and she wasn’t allowed to see the snow falling outside. This saddened her far more than she expected since the snow reminded her of home. But Ehri also knew that the minute she inhaled the cold, it would spread like needles into her lungs. Regardless of the inevitable, she still had to take care of herself.

As she diligently took her medicine and rested, Ehri could smell the air changing from inside the estate. Spring would soon be upon them. She would be able to see the flowers blooming again. The pollen would, no doubt, be terrible for her lungs. But she didn’t care. She was denied her snow, the least she could do was indulge in the rebirth of the land.

Ehri exited her room as quietly as possible, leaving her attendant asleep at the table while she was sewing. She would get an earful later, but it would be worth it to see the lovely dogwood and cherry trees in full bloom in the courtyard. She wrapped an extra layer of clothing around her body to keep the cold at bay, stumbling out onto the back verandah.

Her lips parted in awe at the blossoms swaying back and forth on their branches. The delicate pink and white petals flew and danced in the air as they broke free from their constraints. The sky was a pastel blue and there were no clouds to be seen. The sight caused tears to form in Ehri’s eyes and she quickly covered her mouth to keep from sobbing out loud.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered to herself. 

“Pu-in,” called Hoseok, startling her. She noted the serious look on his face and immediately lowered her head in shame. She’d been caught in the act. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’ve slept enough.” Reaching out to grasp his arm, she looped her own through his. “I wanted to enjoy the day with you, Seobang-nim.” 

Ehri giggled and she noted the slight tint of pink on Hoseok’s cheeks. They’d been officially husband and wife for several months and he still seemed so shy about it. Which was fine with her. It made it so much easier to tease him.

Clearing his throat loudly, he turned his face away from her to hide his shyness. “Yes, well...you should have had your attendant come fetch me then.”

She leaned in closer, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “It’s more fun this way.”

Hoseok sighed in defeat, carefully ushering her down the steps from the verandah and into the courtyard. Ehri knew he could never stay upset with her for very long. While she tried not to have her way all the time, she was still stubborn about certain things. Refusing to be bed-ridden was one of those instances, regardless of how tired her body felt and how much it protested against her.

They crossed the courtyard, making their way toward the large dogwood tree. From there, he fanned out the tail end of his robe so that Ehri could sit on it and not get her clothes dirty. She laughed gently, feeling another flush rush up her neck and spread over her cheeks. Truly, she was the luckiest woman alive to have such a caring husband who loved and spoiled her. 

Settling herself comfortably, Ehri laid her head on Hoseok’s shoulder. He shifted a little, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her close. Gasping, she couldn’t help the shy smile that flitted over her face. When she took a breath, she could smell his scent that was so unique to him; like the forest after a rainstorm. It mixed in with all the different fragrances of Spring that seemed to dance around them. Taking her hand in his, he laced his fingers through hers and they sat quietly together as a soft breeze tickled along Ehri’s skin.

“Seobang-nim?”

Hoseok hummed. “Yes, what is it, Pu-in?”

She smiled, closing her eyes. “Thank you.”

She felt him shift and she knew, even without looking at him, that Hoseok was looking at her. “For what?”

“Everything.” Ehri gripped his fingers a little tighter around his. “Thank you for everything.”

Hoseok moved, causing Ehri to lift her head up so she had to look at him. While one hand held hers, his other rested along her neck. “Pu-in…”

“I love you,” she whispered to him, leaning forward to press her lips against his.

Nothing else needed to be said. All of the beautiful moments she’d come to cherish weren’t meaningless. They were precious memories she would carry with her into the afterlife. She would never let them go. And when she was reborn, Ehri simply had one wish and she hoped that the gods would be kind enough to grant it. 

If I’m reborn, please let me love this man again. Let me love him longer in my next life. Please…

And in the darkness, Ehri felt the world fall to a raw tilt. It was like the earth opened up beneath her and began swallowing her whole. Her body felt heavy, weighted down by gravity. But she smiled against Hoseok’s lips. It was dark but she could still see his face, clear as if she were looking at him. She memorized all of his features in that moment, clinging onto them and engraving them into her heart. No, her soul.

Soon, her heartbeat stilled. All that was left was silence.

Hoseok watched as the flames devoured the elegant pine box Ehri was placed in. The funeral pyre was adorned with various flowers that his mother and sister-in-laws arranged themselves. Ehri’s family was allowed to cross the border so they could be present for her funeral services. Voices cried out as the fire grew in volume, the smoke billowing up to stain the skies in a black fog. Resting on top of the box was the metallic spider lily he’d given Ehri as a wedding present. He wasn’t sure if it was through the waves of heat or his own tears, but the flower almost seemed to take on an ethereal glow. 

No, his eyes were surely playing tricks on him.

Spring had barely begun. It was a time of rebirth and renewal. It was supposed to be a time of healing. 

Instead, something precious had been taken from him. Hoseok wasn’t sure how to even begin processing that.

He remained alone in the yard long after Ehri’s pyre extinguished itself. Her ashes were gathered in a ceramic urn and a memorial tablet was carved from the branch of the cherry trees she loved so much. It was stained and polished, inked and then placed in a small cabinet that was designated just for her. Hoseok burned a stick of incense for her every morning and every night. When he wasn’t attending to his duties around the home or tutoring other young students, he was at the temple to offer up prayers and bows almost a thousand times.

He returned home with swollen legs and sore arms every night.

For a time, he begged his family to leave Ehri’s room alone. In time, he would come to move on from her untimely demise. But until then, he wanted to be able to take comfort in her presence even in her absence. When he did enter her chambers, he could see the unfinished needlepoint of the crane by her easel. There were times when she dabbled in watercolors, thanks to Jungkook’s teaching, and she was getting better and better as days went on. 

Before her illness took a turn for the worse.

The room had her smell, albeit a bit faint, but it was still there. Hoseok took what little comfort he could from it. His hand traced over the small vanity where she attempted to apply makeup. Hoseok smiled sadly at the container of rouge that was barely touched because Ehri wasn’t healthy enough to apply the makeup on herself. His fingers curled into the small handle of the vanity’s drawer, pulling it out slowly. Inside was her hairbrush, embossed with vines made of silver and a few pearls. It was a gift from his mother at the behest that she be allowed to attend to Ehri’s hair from time to time. Of course, his beloved wife relented to the request gladly.

Just as he was about to close the drawer, he noticed a folded piece of paper under the hairbrush. Curious, he removed the paper and unfolded it. The handwriting was clearly Ehri’s and this brought a touch of comfort to him. However, as he read the words, Hoseok couldn’t stop his hands from trembling as tears seeped from his eyes.

My Dearest Hoseok,

I pray that you never find this letter. I am merely writing it for my own peace of mind. I am leaving it in a place I hope you never find and that I will have the courage to destroy it before you stumble upon it. But there is a good chance that I will not be well enough to do so. In fact, the fevers that wrack my body will most likely make me forget that I’ve even done this in the first place. But that’s alright.

I know that my time in this world grows short and it pains me to see you agonizing over my condition. I don’t want you to dwell on the past. This was something out of our control and there is nothing we could have done to prevent this. I am so fortunate to have been able to spend these last moments by your side.

Your family, your people, are my family and my people. You looked upon me not as a Mongol, an enemy, but as someone to be loved and cherished. Someone to be brought into the fold and welcomed with open arms. I do not know what the state of the world will be when you come to find this, but I hope things have calmed down. I hope that peace has returned to our people.

Mongolia. I have missed it. I have missed the snowy peaks and the fresh white powder of the landscape. I have always wanted to show you this place. The place where I was “born” - when I was a wild girl indulging in wild adventures long ago. I wish I could have shown you the country before everything fell to turmoil; before this illness threatened to claim me and drag me into the Underworld. I had so many stories I wished to share with you of my homeland.

Though, in truth, I can hardly remember it now. It’s been so long and the fevers make it difficult to focus.

I do not know if you will ever come to Mongolia on your own. But if you do, I hope the stories and traditions will bring you comfort in my absence. When you miss me. I will miss you terribly when I’m gone.

I want you to please know and understand that being with you, loving you, was the greatest gift I could ever receive in this life. Though our time was short, it was filled with wonderful things that I’m sure not many people get to experience. It was a full and lasting love; one that I am so happy to have received from you.

With this, I say farewell to you. I hope you will never read this. I pray you will never see this. But if you do, that is okay. I have made my peace with it and with the life that I was given, short as it was.

My only regret is that I was unable to express my love for you to the fullest degree that I could. I am sorry I could not show you my heart in the way that I wished. I am sorry that I could not love you more. Forgive me for being unable to tell you, Hoseok, how much you mean to me.

I will cherish the memories we have created. I will hold them close to me as I return to the Underworld. Please be well. Please be happy.

Most of all ... please forget me.

I don’t want you to be in pain after I’m gone. Because I believe in the legend of the Spider Lily. I believe in the legend that was forged in that flower you gave me. I believe that we will see each other again.

And I promise you, in our next life, I will love you even more than I did in this one.

Farewell, my Dearest Hoseok. My greatest love.

Until we meet again.

~ Bayaraa Ehri

It was the last thing Ehri left for him; a final parting gift. Clutching the letter to his chest, he heaved silent sobs as his tears fell to the floor. He crashed to his knees, hugging his body as he bent over and continued to wail in silence, his shoulders trembling with the heaviness of his cries. Everything hurt, especially breathing. And when he could no longer keep himself together, he passed out on the floor - clinging to his wife’s letter tightly to his chest.

The rain fell in heavy waves outside. Hoseok sat out on the back verandah, his head resting along the wooden pillar of his home. Spring rain gave birth to new life. Crops would be rejuvenated and grain could be harvested. Animals were being born to give the next generation a chance at survival. Festivals would be on the horizon once the rain stopped. There was always a rainbow on the other side when the sun returned.

He could take no comfort in any of it.

Not a day went by that Hoseok didn’t read the letter his wife left behind. It was the last thing he could hold on to of hers. The last chance at clinging to the memory that was her; the free-spirited woman he came to know and love with every fiber of his being. Could the Fates have been more cruel to have allowed him to stumble across her parting words? Why hadn’t she burned it up or destroyed it herself? What even possessed her to write such a thing, to leave a lasting dagger in his chest?

“You’re so mean, Pu-in.” A sad smile crossed his face as he listened to the rain beat down around him. “I thought you loved me. How could you do something so mean?”

Hoseok rarely ate and hardly slept. When he did, he was unable to keep food down. When he slept, it was full of nightmares of him losing Ehri over and over again; unable to prevent her from being swept away by darkness. He often woke up screaming, covered in sweat, and his brothers were at his side in their own attempts to comfort him. His parents tried to get him to take the medicine the physicians left, but everything tasted like ash in his mouth.

He could barely get three spoonfuls in before promptly vomiting it back up.

It didn’t take long for him to get sick. His grief was an ailment all by itself and his refusal to nourish himself only expedited his illness. While he felt guilty for the anguish he was causing his family, Hoseok couldn’t find a way to heal his broken heart. 

He cried himself to sleep. It was the only way he could.

As the days shifted to weeks, Hoseok’s entire physical appearance changed. Because of his lack of eating and sleeping, he appeared gaunt and sickly. He lost weight and looked like he had one foot in the grave already. What energy he did muster, it was to read Ehri’s last letter.

She told him to be happy. She told him to live. 

Worst of all? She told him to forget her.

How could she be so heartless? Didn’t she understand how much he loved her? How much her existence meant to him? Asking Hoseok to erase her from his mind, his heart, was just too much for him to handle.

Did she say that so they would be guaranteed a chance to meet again in the next life?

If so, then he didn’t want to continue living in this world without her. Wouldn’t it have been better to leave so they could meet quickly? What was time when one was no longer alive to determine its existence? To be able to ascertain the creeping ebb and flow of the passing seasons?

Rolling over onto his side, he clutched the letter in his hands as his tears soaked into his silk pillow. “No,” he whispered, his voice barely recognizable, “I don’t want to be here to see it alone. I don’t want to see it march on without you here with me.”

He shut his eyes, curling his body into a ball as tightly as he could. The rain fell softly outside and he could hear it from his window. It was nature’s last attempt at calming the raging storm in Hoseok’s heart. His final farewell to a world that he no longer wished to be part of.

The world cried with him.

And in that last moment, Hoseok felt what remained of his spirit slowly lifting away. His vision blurred until there was nothing but a pinprick of light. Seconds later, it, too, disappeared. The guilt and regret that weighed on his heart smothered it out, leaving him alone.

The spring rain fell harder in response to Hoseok’s departure, leaving only his shell behind. The two lovers were now gone, their spirits returning to the ether. They were separated now, thanks to a cruel twist of Fate. But the spider lilies would not forget their sorrow. They would remember; their tears forever soaked into their petals and leaves. A promise to be reunited forged in iron and melted in fire once more.

The Heavens would mourn their passing for now.

Until they were able to meet again.

AN: So for those of you curious, I figured I would give you a little breakdown on honorifics used in Classical/Period Korea. Naeuri - A term used for men who were not peasants, servants, or slaves. Agassi - A term used for unmarried women who were not peasants, servants, or slaves. Hyung-nim - A term used by younger brothers in reference to their older brothers. Pu-in - A term used by men when speaking to their wives. Seobang-nim - A term used by women when speaking to their husbands.

[lynne-monstr]

Writers Month Day 23: Poison (tka, yuhuang)

king’s avatar shadowhunters au requested by @thorndykechristopher

summary: yu wenzhou is a warlock with a very slow spell casting speed due to a childhood injury. huang shaotian is the shadowhunter assigned as his bodyguard. Their first mission together is an unmitigated disaster but it all works out in the end.

ao3 link

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With a loud, foreboding clang, the door slams shut and every window in the warehouse seals up. By the time Yu Wenzhou is able to coax his stubborn magic to his hands, it’s too late.

He’s trapped. They’re trapped.

He turns to glare at his latest Shadowhunter bodyguard, poised between Yu Wenzhou and the door with his blade raised. “I hope you’re happy now.”

Not for the first time, he laments the day Huang Shaotian roared into his life like a typhoon, loud and obnoxious and with no respect for Yu Wenzhou’s quiet life. He’s an accomplished fighter, that’s plain to see, but Yu Wenzhou has had doubts about his overall competence from the beginning. This mess of a trap has only confirmed what he suspected.

“Me?” Huang Shaotian points at his own chest with the hand not holding his mundane sword, as if Yu Wenzhou could be speaking to anyone else.

“I told you not to bring anything with adamas to this place. The warlock who owns this place hates Shadowhunters. All her worst traps are sprung by adamas.” Yu Wenzhou regrets not physically searching his new bodyguard before allowing him along on their first outing together.

He should have known better to think a Shadowhunter would listen to a warlock. It always took them a few months in his employ to learn basic respect. This one in particular seems more interested in listening to his own voice than following orders.

“Wait, wait, wait. That’s not what you said, Yu Wenz—excuse me, High Warlock Yu. If you’d said that, I would have done it. I know how to listen, I’m a great listener. You said not to bring my seraph blade or my stele and look,” he twirls in place, showing off his empty thigh and back holsters. And incidentally, a very nicely shaped backside. “I only brought the sword you gave me. See, do you see? You might be very smart, but you’re also very wrong.”

The unexpected compliment throws him but he brushes it aside. “You must have missed something because look around, the trap is sprung. We’re trapped here.”

“I didn’t miss a blade. I did what you said,” Huang Shaotian insists. After a beat, he presses his lips together in thought and pulls out a necklace from beneath his black tactical gear. “My necklace had adamas in it. Maybe next time tell me why you want me to do something, instead of treating me like an idiot and leaving me in the dark. Do you treat all your bodyguards like this?”

Yu Wenzhou searches his memories and feels a flush of embarrassment. The Shadowhunter is right. He’d specified seraph blade and stele in his preparatory instructions, not adamas. Huang Shaotian followed him to the letter. Unfortunately, he’d been chattering non-stop during their preparations, something about why everyone called him the Sword Saint. Yu Wenzhou had tried to tune it out as he went over his part of the plan but he had reluctantly learned that the ridiculous nickname was one Huang Shaotian gave himself. If Yu Wenzhou hadn’t been so irritated at nearly being late, he might have been charmed.

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Yu Wenzhou says. He pauses and adds, “My apologies, Huang Shaotian, it won’t happen again,”

It’s not just lip service. Yu Wenzhou is far from perfect but he doesn’t make the same mistake more than once. And as it turns out, Huang Shaotian is sharper than he appears at first glance.

“Apologies later. I don’t plan on dying here so let’s concentrate on not dying.” The words are barely out of his mouth before he sheaths his sword and stalks off to prowl the edges of the room, searching for weaknesses.

The warehouse is large, an old storage facility gone to seed. The weak overhead lights flicker as they open the boxes and search for anything they can use to escape. Most wards this strong are anchored by a physical object but Yu Wenzhou doubts the object is within the bounds of the wards. A powerful enough warlock could keep the object with them and the warlock who set them up was more than powerful enough.

For the sake of thoroughness, Yu Wenzhou, examines each of the sigils on the doors and windows with exploratory tendrils of magic. It confirms what he already knows. The spells used to seal the room were perfectly cast. The only curiosity is the strange variation in part of the magic. Some kind of clause for breaking it, though the terms for fulfilling it are vague.

Something about The Kiss to End Life. Talk about needlessly dramatic.

The occasional banging and tapping comes from where Huang Shaotian is probing the physical defenses of the room, chattering to himself while he works. His voice echoes off the metal walls and for a brief moment, Yu Wenzhou is struck by the horrifying thought that Huang Shaotian has managed to replicate himself into multiple copies, all of them speaking rapid-fire nonsense. Thankfully, it’s nothing but a flight of fancy and perhaps a sign that Yu Wenzhou is stretching himself too thin lately.

From the frustrated look on Huang Shaotian’s face, there won’t be any forcing their way out.

Eventually, they both give up on the main room and branch out. The only object of note is a table in the center of the largest of the secondary rooms. It probably functioned as an office when the warehouse was in use. On the shabby, dusty desk is a single vial of liquid.

Huang Shaotian brings the vial to his nose and sniffs. And curses.

“What is it?” Yu Wenzhou asked.

“Poison. Really bad poison, ugly poison. Nasty stuff.” Huang Shaotian frowns. “You ever heard of Death’s Kiss?”

Yu Wenzhou takes a step backwards before he can help himself. “Yes.”

“I figured as much. It’s deadly to warlocks.” It’s hard to say whether the amusement in his voice is a threat or merely the type of dark humor common to a race of people whose life expectancy doesn’t often exceed twenty-five. “It isn’t much better for Shadowhunters,” he adds with a laugh, and that settles that question.

The quirk about the wards tugs at his mind. The line about the kiss to end life isn’t difficult to decode. If one of them drinks the poison, the wards will come down.

Yu Wenzhou is suddenly grateful he held back that particular bit of knowledge from Huang Shaotian. He has no intention of sacrificing his bodyguard to save his own life but he can’t say for certain whether that courtesy extends both ways.

He’s still pondering the implications when Huang Shaotian picks up a folded piece that had been placed under the vial. “Looks, there’s a note.” He wrinkles his nose when a plume of dust rises up into his face. “Ugh I hate old creepy buildings almost as much as this old, stupid language.”

Yu Wenzhou peers over his shoulder and is surprised when he can’t read the writing. He’s been around for a millennia, there aren’t many languages that are a mystery to him. This one isn’t unknown to him, but in this case, his knowledge doesn’t help. “That’s a Shadowhunter language.”

Huang Shaotian nods. The crease between his brows deepens as he reads. “Oh wow, this warlock really doesn’t like you,” he says. “Is she your ex or something?”

“Or something.” Yu Wenzhou would prefer not to dwell on their history. “I might have embarrassed her when she made a bid for High Warlock of Guangzhou about fifty years ago and failed miserably.”

“I’m no expert on women but I think she still has a grudge. You should send her flowers or something. Or jewelry, that’s what they do in the dramas I—I mean, my friend—the dramas my friend watches.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, the note says that if I force this poison down your throat, the wards will drop and I can walk out of here alive.”

Yu Wenzhou goes from trying not to laugh at his bodyguard’s antics to springing backwards, his magic rushing to his hands.

Any spell powerful enough to fight off a Nephilim will take time to cast. Time he doesn’t have. Ironically, this is exactly what he needs a bodyguard for.

The sad part is that he understands why Huang Shaotian would betray him. From day one, he made it clear this assignment was a punishment from his superiors, and that he’d much rather be killing demons than playing babysitter to some stuffy warlock with slow magic, and how could a warlock even have slow magic anyway? The fact is, he has no real reason to be loyal.

Killed by his own bodyguard. Life has always enjoyed laughing at Yu Wenzhou.

Except Huang Shaotian doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t attack, he doesn’t even draw his sword. His eyes dart between Yu Wenzhou’s faintly glowing hands and his defensive stance. “What are you doing?” His nose wrinkles in a way that could almost be called cute except that he’s a trained killer by birth. “Wait, wait, wait, you don’t think—do you think I’m going to kill you?”

“You wouldn’t be the first who’s turned on me.” It’s both an answer and a warning.

Surprise fades into alertness, like Huang Shaotian is suddenly considering the need to defend himself against Yu Wenzhou. “Did you get your own note? Are you trying to kill me? Most people say it takes at least a week for the talking to make them want to do murder. This is a new record.”

Against all odds, Huang Shaotian laughs, warm and amused, the same way he does when he’s talking to himself and breaking Yu Wenzhou’s concentration. The edge of an angry black rune flashes against his collarbone in the flickering light. Who knows, maybe to a Shadowhunter, a fight to the death is amusing. They’ve always been a strange breed. Yu Wenzhou considers being offended but decides he has bigger things to worry about.

Luckily, the unexpected diversion works to his favor. He’s nearly halfway through his silent casting. Halfway towards being able to defend himself. Each passing second feels like a year but he’s slowly closing the gap.

Between them, the vial of poison sits innocuously on the table.

Something settles in Huang Shaotian’s gaze, though whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is too soon to tell. Yu Wenzhou braces himself for the worst. His magic may not be ready to use yet, but he trained extensively in mundane martial arts for exactly this type of situation. It’s not enough to defeat an armed Shadowhunters but it doesn’t need to be. It only needs to be enough to keep him alive until his spell is ready.

“You’re a powerful warlock, right? That’s what everyone says. The High Warlock of Guangzhou is scary strong, it’s too bad his magic is so slow.” When Yu Wenzhou doesn’t answer, Huang Shaotian makes a hurry up gesture. “Well, are you good at magic or not?”

“I am. What does that have to do with anything?”

Huang Shaotian’s eyes are bright, like he’s found the flaw in the neatly laid trap they’re in and is excited for the opportunity to burst it wide open. “If the wards came down, could you get us out of here? Both of us?”

Yu Wenzhou looks at him strangely, not sure where this is going. Because the wards can’t come down. The only option is the poison. Whatever Huang Shaotian is seeing is beyond Yu Wenzhou and that makes him uncomfortable.

He answers anyway. Huang Shaotian has earned his honesty, at the very least. “Yes.”

“Okay.” And with that, Huang Shaotian grabs the vial of poison and drinks the entire thing in one large swallow. “Don’t leave me behind, okay,” he mumbles, before staggering to his knees with a crunching sound that makes Yu Wenzhou wince.

He stares in shock. A tiny part of his brain is impressed; it’s been centuries since anyone managed to truly shock him.

The wards trapping them fall. There’s no outward physical difference but Yu Wenzhou can feel it humming against his skin, a pressure value suddenly released.

“Yu Wenzhou,” Huang Shaotian’s voice is barely more than a rasp, the poison already ravaging his body. “A little faster if you don’t mind.” Huang Shaotian sways forward, and it’s enough to break Yu Wenzhou out of his stupor.

He rushes forward and catches him before he can crash face first into the concrete floor. “Huang Shaotian, what did you do?”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart. I saved us. I did my job, now it’s your turn.” His forehead is drenched in sweat, his normally sharp eyes glazed. There's a faint smile lingering on his lips.

If he was a warlock he’d already be dead. As it was, he doesn’t have much time left.

Yu Wenzhou turns his concentration inwards, letting his eyes fall shut. The incantation to his previous spell is still unfinished and it’s only minor work to take the building power and twist it into a new form. The magic quivers beneath his skin, eager to be used but still too wild to be controlled. He takes a breath and calmly, quietly, coaxes it to do his bidding.

It’s harder than it should be. There’s an unexpected, persistent thread of worry and fear clouding his mind. His eyes keep glancing down to where Huang Shaotian is slumped against his chest. He’s shaking now, tremors swelling into convulsions as the poison spreads. He looks nothing like the fierce, loud Shadowhunter who told Yu Wenzhou off for keeping mission-critical knowledge from him.

He nearly sobs in relief when his magic finally flares to life in his hands. Mustering this much power for two different spells in quick succession has left him exhausted, but there isn’t time for fatigue and so he ignores it. He wraps his arms around Huang Shaotian’s back, pushing as much magic as he dares into him. It’s not an antidote and it won’t save him but it will hopefully keep him alive until Yu Wenzhou can fix this.

By the time he waves his arms in the familiar gesture of a portal, Huang Shaotian is unconscious. Even in sleep, his face is creased, like he’s still in pain.

Yu Wenzhou gathers him into his arms and takes them home.

.

Huang Shaotian has never been hit by a mundane car but if he was, he imagines it would feel like this. And by that he means really crappy. He aches so deep down even his bones hurt, and his head feels slow and fuzzy.

That’s alright, though. Pain means he’s alive.

The last thing he remembers is drinking poison like an idiot—and hasn’t Su Mucheng told him a million times that the biggest threat to his own safety is himself—and then nothing but agony. There’s a vague impression of strong arms and being carried and he really hopes he hallucinated that part because it’s not quite the impression he wanted to make on his first mission of his new assignment with stupidly good looking High Warlock Yu Wenzhou. His hot but stodgy boss aside, he has bigger problems. Like figuring out what happened.

Opening his eyes is a struggle, but it’s one that he wins. Of course he wins, he always wins.

The room around him is thankfully dim, but even the small amount of light makes him wince. Through the haze of his slow brain, recognition filters in. He knows this place. A rush of relief sweeps over him. He’d been pretty sure Yu Wenzhou had saved them but it’s nice to get confirmation he’s not in enemy hands. Tense muscles relax and he lets himself sink into the comfort of the very soft mattress under him.

A soft mattress. This isn’t his room at the institute (not that his room there has an uncomfortable bed, but it’s the firmer kind of mattress he prefers). This here is his room in Yu Wenzhou’s home. He tries not to spend too much time here if he can help it, but he needs to learn Yu Wenzhou’s habits well enough to fight alongside him, well enough to protect him, and that’s easier to do if they’re living under the same roof.

He blinks the haze from his eyes, taking in the weapons rack in the corner, the books on art and history and weapons lining the bookshelf, arranged by color because he likes the horrified expression on peoples’ faces when they realize.

The opposite wall is a bright, cheery blue when the lights are on, but right now it looks like a dark shadow in the poor lighting. He likes the way it stands out against the soft gray of the rest of the room’s walls. The room is decorated with photographs of far off places he’s never seen, and the occasional mounted sword. The night table next to the bed is clean except for the knife he sleeps with and a photograph of him and his friends.

He wonders if they know he nearly died. He can’t hear Su Mucheng chewing anyone out so he thinks maybe they don’t. He suddenly feels very alone in this empty room.

And then the dark lump of blankets at the foot of the bed shifts and he realizes it’s not a lump of blankets at all, but High Warlock Yu Wenzhou, sprawled forward in a chair and sleeping with his head on against Huang Shaotian’s bed.

That can’t be good for his back is, strangely, the first thing that crosses his mind.

He must still be woozy, because Yu Wenzhou pulls himself up with excruciating slowness. A popping sound echoes through the room as he twists towards one side and then the other. Once he’s straightened his glasses, he looks straight at Huang Shaotian and says, “As a matter of fact it’s not, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with magic.”

What the hell is Yu Wenzhou doing sleeping by his bedside, holding vigil like they’re friends or something? Like he’s worried. They barely tolerate each other. Surely Yu Wenzhou has better things to do with his time (and his back) than keep watch over someone who’s basically his employee.

And perhaps more urgently, “Please don’t tell me you’re a mind-reader, too. Have you been listening to my thoughts? You should ignore the ones from 3pm yesterday. And also the ones right before bed and in the shower, I take no responsibility for those, I’m still a young guy, you know. Not all of us are old and boring because we’ve been around for a thousand years.”

Yu Wenzhou laughs, he actually laughs. Huang Shaotian’s been here for nearly a month and he’s never heard him laugh before. It’s a nice laugh. A warm laugh. “No mind reading, Huang Shaotian. You spoke out loud.”

“Oh. You can just forget all that, let’s pretend it never happened.”

“Okay,” Yu Wenzhou says.

It’s annoying to try and see in the dark and so Huang Shaotian leans over and taps the fancy alarm clock he bought himself that also doubles as a light. He bites back a hiss when his body protests the movement. And yeah, he can take a hint; no more moving until he feels a little less like he nearly died. Which he did—nearly die, that is—so that’s probably a good plan on his part.

When his eyes adjust, he blinks just to make sure he isn’t seeing things.

At the foot of the bed, Yu Wenzhou looks the most rumpled Huang Shaotian has ever seen him. His glasses are askew on his face and his clothes from last night’s failed appointment are dirty and wrinkled. Even his hair is astray, sticking up on the side of his face that was laying against the bed.

He looks unkept. And worried.

And that, well…Huang Shaotian’s not sure what to do about that. He can handle an angry Yu Wenzhou and a powerful Yu Wenzhou and even a condescending Yu Wenzhou, but a concerned Yu Wenzhou is new territory for them.

Huang Shaotian deals with it the same way he deals with everything. He runs his mouth. Sue him, it’s a tried and true strategy and he’ll fight anyone who says that his words aren’t as powerful as his seraph blade. Patting the side of his own hair, he says, “Um, High Warlock Yu, your hair is…um, you might want to take a look at that. You can’t expect anyone to take you seriously looking like an escapee from an evil hair salon”

Yu Wenzhou lets out a small huff and smiles. “You saved my life, Huang Shaotian, you can use my name.”

Oh fuck, is this going to weird now? Huang Shaotian has just gotten used to the way things are. He talks and his hot boss glares. It’s a good routine and sure, it’s annoying that the guy clearly thinks Huang Shaotian is an idiot, but he;s used to being underestimated at first glance. “Alright. Yeah, I guess I did save your life, Yu Wenzhou. Don’t go getting weird on me, now. I just did my job.” He pauses and tries again “Your hair really is a mess, did you know?”

Yu Wenzhou tilts his head, the hint of a smile spreading on his lips. He doesn’t fix the half of hair that looks like a hedgehog stuck its snout in an electrical socket, and it’s very distracting. “I find it difficult to tell when you’re being sincere and when you’re backtalking. Do you do that on purpose?”

This isn’t the conversation Huang Shaotian expects to be having at—he looks over at his cool alarm clock that can simulate the sunrise and notes the time—nearly four o’clock in the morning. He laughs, a little uncomfortable. “I think you’ve got it wrong, High War—I mean, Yu Wenzhou. I’m an open book, I say exactly what’s on my mind. Anyone will tell you the same.”

“You have a lot of people fooled.”

He’s right, but Huang Shaotian is in too much pain to lower his guard enough to admit it. He grew up in an entire Institute filled with attractive people, it takes more than a nice smile to get him to crack. “What do you want me to say?”

Thankfully, Yu Wenzhou doesn’t press him. He merely nods and asks “How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank poison.”

Yu Wenzhou laughs. “You’ll make a full recovery. I had the antidote in my potions stores and we got it to you in time. The residual aches should fade in a day. Let me know if they don’t, or if they get to be too much.”

“You’re not going to dock my pay for using up your pricey potions, are you?”

“I don’t pay you. I pay your Institute.” Yu Wenzhou presses his lips together, eyes scanning over Huang Shaotian as if physically checking him over. His voice is soft when he asks, “Why did you do it? You could have been killed. What were you thinking?”

It’s the same question Huang Shaotian has asked himself more than once. Like a coward, he takes the easy way out. “I was thinking it’s my job to keep you alive. I was thinking it was our only way out. And I was right. Don’t try to tell me I’m not because I am.”

“It was my mistake that got us trapped. It was my responsibility to fix it.”

And fuck, if Yu Wenzhou goes on like this, Huang Shaotian might actually start to be attracted to his personality as much as his stupidly good-looking face. “Yeah, it was. But you seem like the kind of guy who learns his lesson pretty quick. So don’t do it again and we’ll call it even.”

Yu Wenzhou frowns, and inwardly, Huang Shaotian groans. He’s too tired for wherever this conversation is going. “You still should have waited for me. You know my magic is slow. What if I wasn’t ready in time and you died?” By the time he’s finished, Yu Wenzhou looks angry. Angry like he was when he thought Huang Shaotian didn’t follow his directions, which is…more than a little strange. It’s not like he wouldn’t get a new bodyguard if Huang Shaotian kicked it.

“As if you’d care. You’ve hated me since I got here.”

“Do you really think that little of me? Do you think because I’m a warlock I don’t value the lives of the people around me?”

And shit, shit shit, he’s going to cause a diplomatic incident after his first assignment to the High Warlock. Only he could manage that while barely able to move. Ye Xiu is going to have him cleaning stinky ichor off blades for the rest of his life if he doesn’t fix this. “That’s not what I meant, High Warlock Yu.”

He struggles to sit up and a lance of fire races through his chest. Gasping, he falls back against the pillows, his vision going dark at the edges.

“Don’t move, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

When his vision clears, Yu Wenzhou is standing at the side of his bed, a hand hovering over Huang Shaotian’s chest.

His bare chest, Huang Shaotian realizes, when he looks down to see his runes on stark display. No point being embarrassed about that now. Besides, it’s not like he has much body modesty left. Showering in the Institute barracks saw to that a long time ago. It’s just that there’s something about Yu Wenzhou’s refined demeanor that makes him feel so much more exposed than he ever has standing bare-ass naked in the same room with a dozen other Shadowhunters.

No point worrying about that now. Yu Wenzhou has seen what he’s seen and it’s a small price to pay for not being dead. He puts on a smile, the one he knows for a fact irritates people. “I already hurt myself, remember.”

“How could I forget.” And that strange, fond tone is back. Huang Shaotian isn’t sure what it means but he kind of likes it. Or maybe it’s the residual effects of the poison rotting his brain.

Yu Wenzhou withdraws his hand back to his side, but not before Huang Shaotian notices the tremor in his fingers. “High Warlock Yu, are you—”

“I told you, no titles.” His voice has a worrying rasp to it that wasn’t there while he was seated.

Huang Shaotian has seen enough. He pats the empty strip of bed beside him. “Stop being a stubborn bastard and sit down before you fall down, Yu Wenzhou.”

“I’m fine. It’s been a long night, that’s all.” This close, the tight lines around Yu Wenzhou’s mouth are obvious. As are the tremors which have reached his shoulders, He looks like he’s one deep breath away from collapse.

The sight of him sleeping slumped over Huang Shaotian’s bed replays itself in his memory and he wonders whether part of the reason he stayed was because he was too drained of magic and strength to leave. He suddenly gets the feeling it took much more power to keep him from kicking the bucket than Yu Wenzhou has let slip.

Luckily, he’s spent enough time in the medical wing of the Institute to know how to get his way with stubborn Shadowhunters. He’s betting it works on warlocks, too. “If you fall down, I’m not scraping your sorry ass up off the floor, you got that? Or do you want me to injure myself worse after you spent all this time and magic on me?”

It works like a charm. With a faint nod, Yu Wenzhou sits. The bed dips with his weight. Immediately, some of the color comes back to his face.

Huang Shaotian thinks about all the teachers who lectured him about how Downworlders are different, are inferior. He looks at Yu Wenzhou who, despite his own exhaustion, rushed to his side when Huang Shaotian was in pain, and thinks those old lessons might be more than a little bullshit. If he’s learned anything in the last ten minutes, it’s that he’d drink poison for Yu Wenzhou again.

He thinks that might be a bit much to say right now. “You can stay here the night, I don’t mind,” is what he says instead. “Wouldn’t be the first time I shared a sickbed.”

Yu Wenzhou gives him a tired smile but doesn’t commit either way.

They sit like that, nearly close enough to touch, until he hears Yu Wenzhou’s breathing calm down into something approaching normal. “Hey, about what you said before. About how I should have waited for you to be ready before downing a poison shooter like a fraternity stud in a dive bar?”

Yu Wenzhou nods. “I don’t recall phrasing it like that, but yes.”

“You’re wrong. I didn’t need to wait. I’ve been watching you for weeks. You started casting the moment I read that note because you thought I was going to kill you. Wrong, wrong, wrong, you were so wrong all night, Yu Wenzhou. And by the way, but I won’t be offended this time that you thought I’m that type of person but if you do it again I’ll be very sad. But what I mean is that I drank the poison when I did because I knew you were almost ready with your magic.”

Yu Wenzhou’s breath hitches and he can practically see him wondering if Huang Shaotian purposefully read the note aloud to facilitate his plan.

“I didn’t plan it like that,” he answers the unasked question. “But once you went on the defensive, I saw the opportunity and I took it.”

“You’re very good at that.” Yu Wenzhou says. In the next breath, he lists to one side, barely catching himself from tumbling head first into the night table.

Huang Shaotian’s hand is already reaching out to steady him, but his help isn’t needed and he lets it drop back to his side. He keeps a closer eye on Yu Wenzhou, just in case.. “I’m not just good, I’m the best.”

Yu Wenzhou’s normally sharp gaze is dulled but his words are as sharp as usual. “Your first week here, you said you noticed holes in the protections on my home.”

“I did but you didn’t want to hear them. You said, ‘Huang Shaotian, you’re here to guard me not to poke holes in wards.’”

Yu Wenzhou nods his head. “I’d like to take you up on your offer.” He scoots forward so that he can lie down. It’s strangely intimate but Huang Shaotian doesn’t feel uncomfortable. “If I were to ask you what you noticed? Would you tell me?”

Huang Shaotian can feel his own exhaustion dragging him under, but still he answers. “Will you listen this time?”

“Yes,”

“Good. Okay yeah, we’ll do that,” Huang Shaotian mumbles, and lets himself lapse into tired silence. Beside him, Yu Wenzhou’s watches over him until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

He doesn’t realize at the time that Yu Wenzhou isn’t just answering that specific question. He’s making a promise.

Over the next several days, once they’re both recovered, Yu Wenzhou listens to his assessment of the ward placements. It’s only the beginning.

Because he doesn’t just listen to him when they’re working, he does it all the time.

Yu Wenzhou listens to him chatter about his seraph blades while he cleans them. He listens when Huang Shaotian complains about how bitter Yu Wenzhou’s coffee is on mornings when he’s so groggy he drinks from the wrong mug. He listens to him sing while he does the dishes, even when Yu Wenzhou argues it could be done faster with magic. He listens to him yell at the television when they’re watching trashy dramas.

He listens to everything. And he never stops.

[kissjane]

I actually think its fun that you fuck around with us and our boys. And that you only reblog petitespaceling's snippets and she yours. It's like you two are each other's biggest support nothing wrong with that!!! I've yet to read her work but clearly, you hold it in high regards so it must be absolutely fantastic.

Also, you are right, it doesn't matter if other content creator's reblog your work and give it love, it doesn't mean you have to needlessly reblog, comment, or leave a note on their's just for coutesy sake! That's stupid. It should be a matter of you wanting to for the sake of wanting to because it is fantastic. You're not on here for meaningless notess and thats great! Other people are and I guess there is a whole bunch on self esteem issues and want of their fav blogs to recognize them but that's not your problem. You aren't put here to cater to that!

Just keep doing you!

Hi precious!

Can't deny I love fucking around. I should only be so lucky to do that with our boys. 😋

I don't *just* share @petitspaceling's work... but yeah, she teases me with awesome ideas so I get excited. There's other people I reblog, but it seems I have gotten a bit lazy recently. I like to think though that the people whose work I admire know that. I mean I do try to tell them, so. Or write a fic for them as a thank you. That's probably nicer than just liking some posts, no? And even if it's not I hope it will at least make more people happy. I don't know.

I doubt I'm such a big fish that people want recognition from me. But if that's the case - hey, come over, and *talk to me*. Let's be friends. Your art is probably better than mine, or it will be when you've been at it for as long as I have (I've been writing since I was five. Chances are I've had more practice than a lot of people here. And I suck at visual art so even if you just slap a filter over a screenshot you're better than me already.).

Self esteem is important. I promise you it gets easier to like yourself and what you do. We all have skills and talents and creative outlets. And if you wanna sell more books than Rowling one day, I'll cheer you on with everything I have. But you don't have to be the best at something you love. I read this analogy one day where somebody said they loved playing tennis after work. Nobody told them they should think about going pro. Nobody told them they should put videos of them playing tennis online and compete to get more views than other people playing tennis. Nobody told them they weren't a real tennis player if they did never play Wimbledon. So why are we turning our hobbies into competition? Why do we feel sad if another fic gets more comments than ours? Why do we devour advice on how to get our work published? It's a hobby! We do it for fun! And *of course* it is nice when people tell you they love what you made. Hell, I got sad the other day because I thought I hadn't received any kudos on ao3 all day. But in the end, I had fun writing my fics. If nobody likes them, I will still have had fun writing them. Win for me.

I do like to think of me as mostly nice. I'm not *trying* to be mean or excluding people or whatever. So if I offend you or hurt you inadvertently, *please* let me know. Otherwise, yeah, I think I'll just do me.

TL;DR: Thanks for your pep talk, precious. Sorry this turned into yet another rant.

[spn-safeandsound]

03. Hero Gets the Girl

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 1x03; Dead in the Water

Word Count: 8,106

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence and gore

Author’s Note: More like ‘Dean in the Water’, am I right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Make sure to reblog and like!

Masterlist in Profile Description!

Julia's nose practically touched the pages of her bible as she bent over it, reading a passage from First Corinthians. She only picked at the fries on her plate as she silently read her mother's favorite verse over and over. The page was almost worn, as it had been for years, and the verse was highlighted in blue so it stuck out. She had it memorized—it was only four words, after all—but something about seeing the words on the page calmed her down.

Do everything in love.

It was such a simple verse but her mom recited every day—sometimes more than a few times a day, depending on the situation. Naomi loved helping people until the day she died, running the philanthropy department of Petersen Sports Co. until she could no longer keep up. She was as saint like as you could get without actually being a saint but she never preached needlessly at you and she didn't push her beliefs on anyone.

She was Naomi...and Julia missed her so much.

November thirtieth was always hard on Julia, no matter what. Usually she barricaded herself in her room and watched her mom's favorite movie—which, ironically, was Dirty Dancing—and ate chocolate chip cookies but she didn't have the time or proper setting to do that. She was on the road with the Winchester brothers so that was doing a little bit to help her feel better.

Sam sat at her left and watched her carefully, looking at the melancholy expression on her face. "Did you call Beth yet?"

"She called me," she informed him, smiling softly at the thought of her oldest sister. "and she let me talk to Lizzie. She's such a talker these days."

Sam chuckled. "Well, she is Beth's kid."

"Yeah, that's true," Julia agreed; Dean may have thought that she talked too much but she didn't compare to Bethany. Her oldest sister's voice was probably the most recognizable sound to her because of her endless talking. "I called Abby."

"What's she up to?"

"A hunt down in Texas. She said something about a spirit. Levi's in meetings all day but we're gonna talk tonight."

"And your dad?"

Julia sighed heavily, looking down at her bible as her eyes started to sting. "Haven't heard from him."

Sam frowned in sympathy, watching as she practically curled into herself. She went back to reading her bible, her index finger trailing softly over the highlighted verse.

It was then that Dean walked over to them, a pile of newspapers in his hands so he could start looking for their next case. He sat in the stool on Julia's right side and stole a fry from her plate.

"You okay, shortcake?"

"Dean..." Sam gave him a warning look.

Sam knew how depressed Julia got on the last day of November. She didn't need his brother bothering her when the loss of her mom was still so fresh. Still, if anyone could understand her pain, it would be Dean. He was old enough to remember their mother and her death, so they had kindred experiences.

Dean immediately understood the look Sam gave him. He grimaced and softly patted Julia on the shoulder and Sam swore he saw his thumb rub soothing circles into the fabric of her shirt but he could just be imaging things. Either way, that was the closest he had seen Dean comfort a girl in his life.

Julia gave him a soft smile and pushed her plate of fries toward him. Sam watched in slight awe as Dean accepted the fries with a large smile; Julia never shared her fries with anyone. Sam couldn't count the amount of times his hand had been slapped away from her plate because he was trying to steal one—they were her ultimate favorite food.

Dean went to work on looking through the obituaries in the newspapers he collected, circling deaths that seemed suspicious. Sam pulled out his phone and started checking his emails, helplessly hoping that maybe his dad would have sent him one. Julia turned to Revelations and started studying for her New Testament final that she would be taking online.

"Can I get you anything else?" a pretty blonde waitress walked over to them, dropping a flirty smile at Dean.

Dean looked up, pen resting against his lips, and grinned.

Sam cleared his throat. "Just the check, please."

"Okay," the waitress sent Sam a smile and then turned to walk to the register on the other side of the bar.

Dean groaned in displeasure and glared at Sam over Julia's head. "You know, Sam, we are allowed to have fun once in a while," he gestured toward the waitress, who was dressed for tips. "That is fun."

Sam gave Dean an unimpressed look, making the older brother sigh.

"Here, take a look at this," he slid the newspaper he was looking down the bar to him. "I think I got one. Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week, Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities dragged the water, nothing."

"Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year," Dean continued. "None of the bodies were found, either."

Julia frowned and pulled the paper over to her, quickly reading through the obituary. "She was the swim team captain at her school?"

"Yep," Dean confirmed. "None of the other bodies were found, either. They had a funeral two days ago."

Sam looked over at him, his eyebrows raised. "A funeral?"

"Yeah, it's weird, they buried an empty coffin," Dean shrugged. "For, uh, closure of whatever."

Julia was all for whatever helped people cope with their grief but she didn't really understand why the family just didn't have a memorial for the poor girl. Then again, it certainly wasn't her business.

"Closure," Sam scoffed sourly. "What closure? People don't just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for them."

Dean turned in his stool to face Sam, sensing his displeasure. Truthfully, he'd picked on up the fact that Sam was irritated they weren't actively trying to find Dad for a few days now. "Something you want to say to me?"

Dean was an upfront guy; he didn't like passive aggressive bullshit.

Sam inhaled deeply. "The trail for Dad—it's getting colder every day."

"Exactly," Dean pointed out. "So, what are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know. Something. Anything."

"You know what, I'm sick of your attitude," Dean's eyes narrowed in irritation as his voice lowered in anger. "You don't think I wanna find Dad as much as you do?"

"Yeah, I know you do, it's just—"

"I'm the one who's been with him every day for the past four years while you've been off to college going to pep rallies," Dean cut Sam off coldly. "We will find Dad but until then, we're gonna kill everything bad between here and there, okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes heavily, making Dean bristle. Sensing that their argument was going to stumble out of control—like they sometimes did with brothers who both had the famous Winchester temper—Julia spoke up.

"Please stop, all right?" she looked between them, her eyes wide and sad; Dean and Sam almost immediately melted—her puppy-eyed look was almost lethal compared to Sam's. "Please."

"All right," Sam sighed, giving in. "Lake Manitoc. How far?"

Dean grinned at him and grabbed the check when the waitress delivered it, a phone number at the bottom.

-

They reached Lake Manitoc within a couple of hours, having already been in Minnesota for a small spirit case that had Julia torching her first corpse. They decided to head to the victim's family first before they went to the police station to question the sheriff about the recent drownings and missing bodies.

The Carlton residence was a basic cabin, right on Lake Manitoc. It was a cute little home with dark green shutters that made Julia smile sadly. The house looked well loved and she felt horrible that the family was going through this kind of grief.

Grief from a family member dying was one thing. When that person died of something that couldn't easily be explained? That was worse—much, much worse.

Dean knocked on the front door of the cabin; a man around his age opened the door, giving them a questioning look.

"Will Carlton?" Dean asked him; the man nodded. "I'm Agent Ford, this is Agent Hamill and junior Agent Fisher. We're with the US Wildlife Service."

Behind his back, Julia gave him an unimpressed look. Did he think he was being slick using the most notable stars of the popular Star Wars franchise? And he had to quit with this junior agent and intern stuff—she wasn't that much younger than him and Sam and she wasn't a kid by any means.

"More questions?" Will sighed.

Julia gave him a sad smile. "Sorry, but it's for our investigation."

Will nodded and walked out onto the porch. He led them closer to the lake, his eyes on the closest dock. There was an older man sitting on it, looking out at the lake with depressed eyes.

"First off, we'd like to give you our condolences," Sam said softly as came to a stop. "We've heard great things about Sophie."

Will gave him a half-hearted smile that spoke volumes with just how sad he was. Julia's heart ached with sympathy.

Sam and Dean started asking him questions, hoping to get a better insight on the circumstances surrounding Sophie's death. They were careful not to offend the man while also trying to get as much information as they could.

"She was about a hundred yards out," Will nodded at the lake, answering Sam's question about where he last saw Sophie. "That's where she was dragged down."

"And you're sure she didn't just drown?" Dean prodded.

"Yeah," Will scoffed and smiled fondly. "She was a varsity swimmer. She practically grew up in that lake. She was as safe out there as she was in her own bathtub."

"So, no splashing? No signs of distress?"

"No, that's what I'm telling you."

"Did you see any shadows in the water?" Sam followed up. "Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?"

"No," Will shook his head. "Again, she was really far out there."

"You ever see any strange tracks by the shoreline?" Dean spoke up.

"No, never. Why?" Will stiffened, looking paranoid. "Why, what do you think is out there?"

"We'll let you know as soon as we do," Julia assured him kindly. "Thanks for your time, Mr. Carlton."

"What about your father?" Sam asked Will as Julia and Dean started back toward the Impala; they paused to listen to Will's answer. "Can we talk to him?"

Will looked over to the dock; his dad was in the same position, looking down at the dark water below him. "Look, if you don't mind, I mean," he said hesitantly. "he didn't see anything and he's kind of been through a lot."

Sam nodded and gave him a small smile. "We understand. Thanks again."

Julia, Dean, and Sam got into the Impala and drove off. As they headed to the police station to ask the sheriff for more details about the case, it was almost too quiet. It unnerved Julia because usually Dean had some of his music playing and although she wasn't the biggest fan of mullet rock—as Sam put it—she preferred it to silence.

"Why isn't there any snow?" she spoke up, looking out her window. "Shouldn't there be snow?"

She had lived in Chicago all of her life up until she left for college in California and there was usually some snow that fell around this time of year. And Chicago was much more south than Lake Manitoc. Bethany had told her just that morning that they had a few inches of snow already at home.

"Global warming's a bitch," Dean answered.

Julia laughed lightly in agreement before picking up the local newspaper she bought when they got to town. She had been interested in the front headline, which was giving the town's residence more details about the nearby dam that was falling apart. When they arrived at the police station, she had read the whole article and discovered that the government had decided not fund any repairs.

"Now, I'm sorry, but why does the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?" the sheriff, who introduced himself as Jake, asked them as he led them to his office.

"You sure it's accidental?" Sam raised his eyebrows at him. "Will Carlton saw something grab his sister."

"Like what? Here, sit please," Jake gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk; Dean let Julia and Sam sit in them. "There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake. There's nothing even big enough to pull down a person unless it was the Loch Ness Monster."

"Yeah," Dean chuckled awkwardly. "Right."

"Will Carlton was traumatized and sometimes the mind plays tricks," Jake went on as he sat in his own seat. "Sill, we dragged that lake. We even ran a sonar sweep, just to be sure, and there was nothing down there."

"That's weird, though," Dean commented. "I mean, that's the third missing body this year."

"I know," Jake agreed sadly and a little defensively. "These are my people from my town. These are people I care about."

"I know."

"Anyway," Jake sighed and leaned back in his chair. "All this won't be a problem much longer."

Dean gave him a curious look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the dam, of course."

"It's falling apart," Julia spoke up, knowing that their aliases probably should have known about something that would so drastically affect the town's wildlife; Sam and Dean gave her questioning looks while Jake nodded solemnly.

"And the Feds won't give us the grant to repair it, so they've opened the spillway," Jake added; Dean and Sam were impressed with Julia's sudden knowledge of the town that saved their asses. "In another six months, there won't be much of a lake. There won't be much of a town, either."

Dean gave the sheriff a weak smile and went to speak but wasn't able to. An attractive woman around his age had knocked on the door, getting the man's attention.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?" the woman asked sheepishly. "I can come back later."

Jake stood up; Julia and Sam followed his lead. "This is my daughter."

Dean grinned at her. "Pleasure to meet you," he shook her hand. "I'm Dean."

"Andrea Barr," the woman introduced herself. "Hi."

"Hi."

"They're from the Wildlife Service," Jake informed Andrea pointedly. "About the lake."

Andrea's face visibly fell. "Oh."

A little boy with a bored and depressed expression on his face walked into the room after her. Julia gave him a small smile; she loved kids and had always wanted to be a mother but, unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards for her.

"Oh, hey there," Dean spotted the boy too. "What's your name?"

The boy seemed very shy; he hurried away from them to go sit at a table outside of the office. Andrea gave them an apologetic look and followed after him, taking out crayons and some paper to give him.

"His name is Lucas," Jake informed them, watching his grandson with a sad smile.

Julia perked up at the name. She felt like it was a sign from her guardian angel that she happened to be working a case on the anniversary of her mom's death that involved a boy with her father's name. He hadn't contacted her at all today, so she felt like the angels were assuring her that she'd be okay.

"Is he okay?" Sam asked, watching the little boy take the crayons from his mother and start to draw on the construction paper in front of him.

"My grandson's been through a lot. We all have," Jake sighed as he walked toward his office door. "Well, if there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know."

"Thank you for your help," Julia smiled at the sheriff gratefully as they left his office.

"You know," Dean turned back to Jake and Andrea halfway out of the station, though he was speaking mostly to Andrea. "now that you mentioned it, could you point us in the direction of a reasonably priced motel?"

"Lakefront Motel," Andrea informed him. "Go around the corner. It's about two blocks up."

"Two—" Dean scratched his head, acting confused. "Would you mind showing us?"

Andrea chuckled, amused. "You want me to walk you two blocks?"

Dean smiled sheepishly. "Not if it's any trouble."

"I'm headed that way anyway," Andrea turned to her dad. "I'll be back to pick up Lucas at three," she kissed her son's head and promised, "We'll go to the park, okay, sweetie?"

"Thanks again," Sam told Jake before he and Julia followed Dean and Andrea out of the station.

As they walked through the bustling town square, Julia squinted around. It was pretty much December and it wasn't cold and there was no sign of winter weather. Andrea was wearing a t-shirt and skirt for crying out loud and no one that they passed was wearing any sort of coat. The only sign that it had been fall was the bare trees and dead leaves blowing around in the slight breeze.

"So," Dean cleared his throat to get Andrea's attention. "cute kid."

"Thanks," Andrea smiled before leading them across a street.

"Kids are the best, huh?" he laughed.

Andrea gave him a clearly amused look but didn't answer as they walked closer to the motel. They stopped on the sidewalk in front of the building and Andrea turned to Dean with a smirk.

"There it is," she gestured to the motel. "Like I said, two blocks."

Julia laughed lightly, amused at the woman's spunk. She liked that she wasn't falling at Dean's feet like most women would. She was smart and knew that he was trying to get on her good side. "Thanks."

Andrea grinned at her before looking back at Dean. "Must be hard with your sense of direction," she commented, her tone sarcastic. "never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line."

Julia gaped at her, a laugh escaping her throat before she could stop it. Andrea left with a satisfied smirk on her face, calling back to them, "Enjoy your stay!"

Dean was at a loss for words but he did manage to send Julia an annoyed look. Julia controlled her laughter but she was beaming at him, her cheeks red with mirth and her dimple out.

Sam grinned at Dean, just as amused as Julia. "Kids are the best?" he repeated Dean's earlier line. "You don't even like kids."

"I love kids!" Dean defended himself.

"Name three children that you even know," Sam dared him.

"Lizzie," Dean said immediately, naming Julia's five-year-old niece.

"Okay, that's one," Julia commented. "How about two more?"

Dean pressed his lips together and pulled his hands out of his pockets to count on his fingers. He took too long to say another name, since he didn't know any other children, and Sam got bored. He started toward the motel's front off with Julia on his trail.

"I'm thinking!" Dean called after them, scratching his head.

-

Since Julia was paying for this motel stay—she, Sam, and Dean agreed that she would pay for every-other motel they had to stop at—she splurged for an extra room like usual. When the Winchester were paying, she had to share the bed with Sam but she enjoyed a room to herself, especially since Sam was a giant and took up eighty-five percent of the bed. The only thing was that the rooms had to be connected; Dean was adamant about that, especially since she was in training and he was worried if something would happen.

Dean's concern was sweet but sometimes Julia liked her privacy. Especially since she spent all of her time with two grown men.

She laid on the bed in her room on her stomach, her feet swaying in the air above her as she typed the class discussion that was due that night for her Archaic Latin class. The connecting door to Sam and Dean's room was open and she could hear Sam typing away but other than that, it was pretty quiet other than her quiet humming that helped her concentrate on her work.

She looked up from her laptop as Dean entered her room.

"You saved our asses back there at the station, you know."

She gave him a confused look, having already forgotten what he was talking about. "What do you mean?"

"What you said about the dam," he reminded her. "If you hadn't of said something, I'm pretty sure our cover would have been blown."

"Oh," Julia smiled like she did whenever she received praise and looked back at her screen. "It was just luck. I saw an article about it on the newspaper I picked up at the gas station when we got to town."

"Well, either way," Dean shrugged. "You did good," he sat down at the end of the bed, just behind her computer. "Whatcha doing?"

"Class discussion," her eyes were back on him, unable to focus now.

"Class?"

Julia nodded at the confused look on his face. "It's the last week before finals."

"What class?"

"Classes," she elaborated, sharing her class schedule. "New Testament, Archaic Latin, Aramaic, Islam, and French."

Dean gave her an impressed look. "You're doing all of that online?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed. "I had an internship at Stanford so I was able to do my classes online."

"What about next semester?"

"Already registered and they're all online again," she assured him.

"And then you graduate?"

Julia nodded proudly; she had worked so hard on her education all her life, even skipping a few grades so they she could attend college with Sam. "Double major in religion and linguistics."

"That's great, I'm really proud of you, Julia," Dean said with an impressed smile; Julia beamed at him. "Don't tell Sam but I kinda wished I went to college, too."

Julia gave him a surprised look. She had never heard Dean say anything about his want for higher education, especially since he dropped out of high school. "Really?" she asked. "What would you major in?"

"Mechanical engineering, I think," Dean answered her. "I like making things and working with my hands."

"You're great at that," Julia agreed, knowing that he would had been great at his job if he had gone down that road. "Remember when you built that barbie house for me?"

Dean grinned at the memory, his cheeks slightly flushing. "That's not quite the same, Junior."

"I know that, I'm just saying," Julia rolled her eyes playfully. "You're a genius with that kind of stuff."

Dean smiled, secretly pleased with what she was saying. Sam was the smart brother and he had always been but Dean had some tricks up his sleeve, too. It was nice to have someone acknowledge that side of him. Over the years he had picked up skills and making things was one of his favorites. He had made an EMF device out of a Walkman once, which he was particularly proud of and still used.

"Guys!" Sam called from the other room, breaking Julia and Dean out of their little world. "Come here, I found more information."

Dean got up and walked back into his room, Julia rolling out of bed to follow him. Sam was at the table, his laptop in front of him. He had been on the thing for an hour or so, so she wasn't surprised to see that he had discovered something.

"So, there's the three drowning victims this year," Sam stated, bringing up the information he complied.

"Any before that?" Dean asked quickly.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Six more spread out over the past thirty-five years. Those bodies were never recovered, either. If there's something out there, it's picking up its pace."

"Maybe it's picking up the pace because the lake's being drained," Julia spoke up thoughtfully.

"Might be," Sam agreed.

"So, we got a lake monster on a binge, huh," Dean said dryly, going over to sit on his bed.

Sam shook his head in disagreement. "This whole lake monster theory bugs me," he declared. He explained when Julia gave him a questioning look, "Loch Ness, Lake Champlain, there are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts. But here? Almost nothing."

"So, whatever's out there, no one's living to talk about it," Julia assumed.

Dean hummed in agreement and walked back over to the table, hovering over Sam to read over his shoulder. "Barr," he muttered, reading the latest drowning victim before Sophie Carlton. "Christopher Barr. Where have I heard that name before?"

"Christopher Barr, the victim in May," Sam took a closer look at the article, scrolling further down the page. There was a picture of Lucas in the middle of the writing, bundled up in a large towel with soaked hair. "Oh, Christopher Barr was Andrea's husband and Lucas' father. Apparently he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating platform when Chris drowned; it was two hours before the kid got rescued."

Julia sighed sadly. "Poor little guy."

"Maybe we have an eyewitness after all," Sam scratched his head.

"No wonder that kid was so freaked out," Dean said quietly, getting Julia and Sam's attention. "Watching one of your parents die isn't something you just get over."

The knowing, faraway look in Dean's eyes made Julia's heart ache. Dean never talked about his mom or if he saw what actually happened to her. Julia assumed that he did, by his comment. It was hard for her to witness her mom die when she was a teenager and her mom died of something human. She couldn't imagine when Dean went through at four years old, watching his mom die because of a supernatural creature.

He was too young. No kid should have to go through something that traumatic.

-

Knowing that Andrea was picking up Lucas from her dad around three, Julia, Sam, and Dean headed to the park around the same time. They wanted to see if they could get anything out of Lucas without traumatizing him further and Dean had volunteered to talk to the kid while Sam and Julia spoke with his mom.

The three of them walked through the park, spotting Andrea sitting at a bench just outside of the play area. She was watching Lucas, who didn't seem like he wanted to join in on the rambunctious activities by the jungle gym. He was perfectly content to sit at a bench and color.

"Can we join you?" Julia asked Andrea as they approached the bench she was sitting on.

Andrea looked up, smiling slightly when she saw them there. "I'm here with my son."

"Oh, mind if I say hi?" Dean wondered, walking away toward Lucas before Andrea could agree to his request. Andrea didn't seem all that bothered by it, turning to Julia as she sat next to her.

"You should tell your friend that this whole Jerry Maguire thing is not gonna work on me," she said, amused, as they all watched Dean greet Lucas.

"I don't think that's what this is about," Sam spoke up, watching Dean thoughtfully.

"We heard about your husband," Julia said apologetically; Andrea frowned sadly. "Dean went through something similar as Lucas when he was a kid."

"Really?" Andrea looked relieved that he wasn't just talking to her son to get in her good graces.

Sam nodded. "Our mom," he explained. "I don't remember much but Dean—well, from what I heard, he didn't speak for a long while afterwards."

"I know the feeling," Andrea sighed sadly, glancing back at Lucas and Dean. "Lucas hasn't said a word, not even to me. Not since his dad's accident."

"I'm sorry," Julia grabbed her hand and squeezed comfortingly as Dean started walking back over. "What are the doctors saying?"

"That's it's some kind of post-traumatic stress."

"That can't be easy," Sam said sympathetically; Dean coming to stand next to him. "for either of you."

"We moved in with my dad," Andrea smiled slightly. "He helps out a lot. It's just...when I think about what Lucas went though, what he saw..."

"Kids are strong," Dean said when she trailed off. "You'd be surprised what they can deal with."

"You know, he used to have such life," Andrea smiled back at Lucas as he left his bench; Julia grinned, thinking of her niece who was as crazy as little girls get. "He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth. Now, he just sits there, drawing those pictures and playing with those army men. I just wish—" she abruptly changed the subject as Lucas came up to them. "Hey, sweetie."

Lucas' eyes were on the ground but he held out a picture he drew for Dean. The picture was of a cabin and it was pretty good for kid his age.

"Thanks," Dean looked at with a smile. "Thanks, Lucas."

Lucas just slouched off, going back to his bench to color.

-

-

The next morning, Dean and Julia were eating the breakfast he had picked up when Sam walked back into the room. He slammed the door shut behind him and took a seat next to Dean on his bed.

"So, I think it's safe to say we can rule out Nessie," he said dryly.

Dean gave him a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"I just drove past the Carlton house," Sam informed them. "There was an ambulance there. Will Carlton is dead."

Julia stiffened, horrified. "Did he drown?"

"Yep, in the sink."

"What the fuck?" Dean took the last bite of his breakfast sandwich. "So, you were right, this isn't a creature. We're dealing with something else."

"What could it be?" Julia wondered.

"I don't know," Dean shrugged. "Water wraith, maybe? Some kind of demon? I mean, something that controls water...water that comes from the same source."

"The lake," she stated; it seemed like her assumption the day before was correct. Whatever this thing was, it wanted to get its agenda done before the lake was completely drained.

"You were right, J," Sam commented. "It explains why it's upping the body count. It's running out of time."

"And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone, almost anywhere," Dean added, standing up and crumpling his wrapper. "This is gonna happen again soon."

"And we do know one thing for sure," Sam sighed. "This has got something to do with Bill Carlton."

"It took both of his kids," Julia hummed.

"And I've been asking around," Sam added. "Lucas' dad, Chris? He was Bill Carlton's godson."

Dean sighed and pulled on his boots. "Well, let's go pay Mr. Carlton a visit."

-

Julia stayed in the car while Dean and Sam questioned Mr. Carlton, and talked to her brother, Levi, since they hadn't gotten to talk the day before. It was a nice conversation but a little awkward since they weren't the closest of siblings.

Levi and Abby were kind of loners growing up and now that Levi was an adult, he was quiet unless he was pitching meetings to the company or selling big item products. Still, Julia loved him and she was glad they got in touch. He was a little worried about her on the road and was more than a little skeptical about Dean and Sam training her as opposed to Abby or their dad but he liked the brothers so it didn't come from a bad place.

After Sam and Dean talked to Mr. Carlton—tried to talk, anyway, since the poor man didn't feel like talking—they discovered that the drawing Lucas gave Dean at the park was actually the cabin the Carltons lived. They went to Andrea's house next so Dean could talk to him and he was presented with another drawing, this time of a yellow two-story house near a church with a little stick-figure boy and a red bike.

"Andrea said the kid never drew like that till his dad died," Dean informed Julia and Sam as they rode around town, searching for the yellow house in the drawing.

Honestly, this case was hitting close to home for all of them—but mostly for Dean and Julia. For Dean, he could see himself in the little boy; his parent died and he stopped speaking out of grief. For Julia, besides the fact that Lucas shared her dad's name, it was he that knew things that other people wouldn't always know.

Julia knew how that felt; all her life she knew of things that would just randomly pop into her head and, of course, she had the bad feelings she got once in a while, like with Dean and Sam. It would scare her in the beginning, to see her family look at her in confusion—like how she stated the day before the news broke about President Clinton that he was going to be on trial—but she never thought of herself as a freak. To her knowledge, her family didn't, either.

"There are cases—" Sam sighed doubtfully. "going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies..."

"Whatever's out there, what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow?" Dean asked; Sam made an uncommitted sound that made him stiffen. "I mean, it's only a matter of time before somebody else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please."

"It wouldn't hurt, Sam," Julia spoke up. "You know that sometimes these things happen."

"All right," Sam gave into the pressure Dean and Julia were putting on him. "we got another house to find."

"The only problem is there's about a thousand yellow two-stories in this county alone," Dean grumbled.

Julia hummed and leaned forward, studying the drawing on Sam's lap. "What about the church?"

"True," Sam agreed. "I bet there's less than a thousand of those around here."

"Ooh, college kids," Dean teased them playfully. "you think you're so smaht, huh?"

Sam laughed and Julia joined in, pushing Dean's shoulder before sitting back in her seat.

They drove around the town, looking for the churches in the area. They had already looked at four of them when they came across a white church, almost identical to the drawing Lucas gave Dean. Right across the street happened to be a yellow two-story.

Dean and Sam nodded at each other before the three of them walked up to the house and knocked on the door. An old woman answered the door, looking at them in confusion. She let them in without a word—and introduced herself as Helen Sweeney—so apparently they passed her silent test. Or she was just a sweet lady who didn't think any harm would come to her in a small town like Manitoc Lake.

"We're sorry to bother, ma'am, but does a little boy live here, by chance?" Dean asked her politely. "He might wear a blue ball cap, has a red bicycle."

"No, sir," Mrs. Sweeney said sadly. "Not for a very long time. Peter's been gone for thirty-five years now," she glanced at an old picture of an adolescent boy sitting on the nearest table. "The police never—I never had any idea of what happened. He just disappeared."

Julia pressed her lips together sadly and looked around Mrs. Sweeney's home. It looked like a shrine to her lost son. There were a bunch of pictures, toys, balls, and even some small green army men just like the ones they saw Lucas playing with.

"Losing him," Mrs. Sweeney shook her head slowly. "you know, it's...it's worse than dying."

Dean and Sam gave each other a pointed look—that was the exact phrase that Bill Carlton had used when talking about his recently-deceased children.

"Mrs. Sweeney," Julia gave her a gentle smile, keeping her voice soft. "Did Peter disappear from the house?"

Mrs. Sweeney shook her head. "He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school but he never showed up."

Julia gave her a sympathetic smile and helped her sit down before offering to get her a glass of water. As she disappeared into the kitchen, Mrs. Sweeney allowed Sam and Dean to look around.

Dean spotted a picture of Peter and another little boy in a mirror hung on the way. He studied it and then turned it over to read the writing on the back.

"Peter Sweeney and Billy Carlton, nineteen-seventy," he muttered.

With the realization that the whole situation with Peter Sweeney going missing and being somehow connected to Bill Carlton, the three of them left shortly after Julia came back into the room with a glass of water for Mrs. Sweeney.

Sam, Julia, and Dean theorized that Bill must have killed Peter when he was a little boy and was now going after Bill Carlton. First, he killed Bill's children so that he would know the pain his mother went through when he went missing and then he'd take Bill for himself. As they raced to Bill Carlton's house, they knew Peter had gotten his revenge.

Bill had gone out onto the lake with his small motorized boat and in the middle of it; the boat flipped over on a very small wave that came out of nowhere and Bill plunged into the lake. He didn't resurface.

Julia, Dean, and Sam were led into the police station by Jake for questioning about Bill's death. It was suspicious to the sheriff that they just so happened to be at Bill's cabin at the same time as his boat flipped over.

Andrea and Lucas were waiting for Jake with a bucket of fried chicken when they walked into the building. She looked up in surprise when she saw them trailing behind her father.

"Sam, Dean, Julia," she furrowed her eyebrows and stood up. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"So, now you're on a first-name basis?" Jake asked her. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought you dinner."

"Sorry, sweetheart," Jake apologized. "I don't really have the time."

Andrea glanced at Julia, Dean, and Sam before looking back at her father. "I heard about Bill Carlton," she crossed her arms over her chest. "Is it true? Is something going on with the lake?"

"Right now, we don't know what the truth is but I think it might be better if you and Lucas went home," Jake advised.

Lucas looked absolutely panicked at the thought of leaving the station. He jumped out of his chair and ran to Dean. He whimpered as he frantically clutched Dean's arm, tugging at him.

"Lucas, hey, what is it?" Dean asked worriedly.

"Lucas?" Andrea asked uncertainly.

"Lucas, it's okay," Dean comforted the little boy, making Julia's heart ache and melt at the sight—he was damn good with kids. "It's okay, Lucas. It's okay."

Andrea pulled Lucas away from Dean and Lucas let go with a reluctant and stricken face. Andrea silently led him out of the station, giving her dad as hesitant look as they went. Lucas looked back at Dean with fear the whole time he walked away.

Uncomfortable, Jake slipped off his jacket and threw it onto the chair at the front desk. He walked into his office and the others followed him, knowing that they were going to be questioned now.

"Okay, just so I'm clear," Jake sighed heavily, sinking into his chair. "you see...something attack Bill's boat, sending Bill—who is a very good swimmer, by the way—into the water and you never see him again?

Dean glanced at Julia and Sam before looking back at him. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

"And I'm supposed to believe this even though I've already sonar-swept the entire lake?" Jake asked skeptically. "And what you're describing is impossible? And the fact that you're not really Wildlife Service?"

Julia's face fell in surprise. It wouldn't be far out to think that Dean and Sam felt the same way.

"That's right," Jake observed their expressions. "I checked. The department's never heard of you three."

Dean hastily started to make an excuse. "See, now, we can explain that."

"Enough," Jake snapped. "The only reason you're breathing free air is one of Bill's neighbors saw him steering out that boat just before you did. So, we have a couple of options here."

Julia pressed her lips together; she really didn't like this guy.

"I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you as a material witness to Bill's Carlton's disappearance," Jake listed, pointing a finger in their faces. "Or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you get in your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don't ever darken my doorstep again."

Sam spoke up before Dean's temper and Julia's indignance got them into more trouble. "Door number two sounds good."

"That's the one I'd pick," Jake nodded harshly.

Julia, Sam, and Dean quickly took their leave, making a quick pit stop back at the motel to grab their things and check out. Dean was quiet as they loaded up the Impala and got some gas and when they pulled up to a red light that would lead them out of town and toward Milwaukee, he didn't move when the light turned green.

"Green," Sam drawled, getting Dean's attention.

"What?"

"The light's green."

Dean waited a few seconds before pressing the gas. He turned right, pulling onto the road that would bring them back into town.

"Uh, the interstate's the other way," Sam pointed out flatly.

"I know," Dean didn't seem to care.

Julia was glad that they were going back. They may have thought that only Bill Carlton and his family were connected to this but Lucas was so scared when his grandfather told him and his mom to leave the station. He had practically anchored himself to Dean before Andrea got him to let go. He was terrified and with all the correct signs he'd given them before, why wouldn't they believe him now?

"Dean, I think this job is over," Sam tried to get Dean to act rationally.

Dean shook his head firmly. "I'm not so sure."

"If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney and Peter's spirit got its revenge, case closed," Sam pointed out. "The spirit should be at rest."

"All right, so what if we take off and this thing isn't done?" Dean asked him. "You know, what if we've missing something? What if more people get hurt?"

Sam gave him a weird look. "Why would you think that?"

Dean pressed his lips together and Julia spoke up in his defense. "Sam, Lucas looked really scared..."

Sam glanced back at her and, when she subtly nodded in Dean's direction, he looked back at his brother with wide eyes. "That's what this is about?"

"I just don't want to leave this town until I know the kid's okay," Dean declared firmly.

"Who are you?" Sam scoffed in amusement. "and what have you done with my brother?"

Dean glared at him. "Shut up."

"Dean, just admit you like kids," Julia rolled her eyes playfully.

"You shut up, too."

It was a good thing that Dean was so stubborn about going back to check on Lucas because, when they got to the Barr residence, Andrea was being drowned by Peter's spirit in the bathtub. Julia and Sam pulled her to safety while Dean held Lucas back from harm but it was still scary for the both of them.

It was when Dean discovered that Jake had been friends with Peter Sweeney and Bill Carlton that Lucas ran out of their house and pointed to a patch of dirt out by the lake. When Sam and Dean dug up Peter's red bicycle, Jake had arrived and threatened them with a gun.

It went quickly after that; Dean had confronted Jake about helping Bill Carlton kill Peter Sweeney and Jake admitted that it was an accident and they left the body go in the lake. Lucas was lured into the lake by Peter and Jake surrendered to the spirit in order to save his grandson.

Despite losing Jake, they were able to save Lucas and Andrea.

-

Dean was melancholy all morning the day after, still sulking about the fact that Jake had been killed by Peter. Julia was sad to see him so down on himself when he was the main person who kept Lucas and Andrea safe—he believed in Lucas and he made sure they stayed in town to protect them.

Sam noticed the same thing as Julia. "Look," he sighed as he slung his and Julia's bags into the trunk. "we're not gonna save everybody."

Dean nodded. "I know."

"Turn that frown upside-down, Bean," Julia used her childhood nickname for him and reached up, playfully poking his chin. The corners of his lips lifted even though he swatted her hand away from his face. "You guys saved Andrea and Lucas. That's what matters."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

"Sam, Dean, Julia!" Andrea called as she and Lucas ran up to them.

"Hey," Dean grinned at her.

"We're glad we caught you," Andrea declared. "We just, uh, we made you lunch for the road. Lucas insisted on making the sandwiches for himself."

"That's super sweet of you, Lucas," Julia gave him a sweet smile.

Lucas smiled sheepishly and looked up at his mom. "Can I give it to them now?"

Julia's eyes widened when she heard Lucas speak and let out a small huff of relief. She could tell by the look in Andrea's eyes that she was so relieved to see her son back to his old self.

"Of course," Andrea kissed his head.

"Come on, Lucas, let's load this into the car," Dean gestured the kid over to the Impala.

When they were out of hearing range, Sam turned to Andrea. "How are you holding up?"

"It's gonna take a long time to sort through everything, you know?" Andrea smiled sadly.

Sam sighed apologetically. "Andrea, I'm sorry."

Andrea shook her head. "You saved my son. I can't ask for more than that. Dad loved me and he loved Lucas. No matter what he did, I just have to hold onto that."

Julia grinned at her. "You're very wise, you know? You remind me of my mom."

Sam gave his best friend a sad smile and wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulder. Andrea gave her a grateful look and Julia was surprised when she pulled both her and Sam into a hug. If it had been a different life, she could really see herself being friends with Andrea.

The three of them walked over to the Impala, where Dean was sitting in the backseat so he was down at Lucas' level.

"All right," they overheard him say to Lucas. "if you're gonna be talking now, this is a very important phrase. So, I want you to repeat it one more time."

"Zeppelin rules!" Lucas exclaimed.

"That's right!" Dean grinned and held up his hand for a high-five. "Up high."

Lucas slapped his hand against Dean's. It was all very cute.

"You take care of your mom, okay?" Dean told Lucas seriously.

Lucas nodded. "All right."

Dean stood up when he noticed that Julia, Sam, and Andrea were watching them. Surprisingly, Andrea pulled Dean into a short kiss to show her thanks that had Sam and Julia raising their eyebrows at each other in amusement.

"Thank you," Andrea whispered as she pulled away from him.

Dean stared at her for a second before awkwardly scratching his head. "Sam, Jules, move your asses," he told Sam and Julia as he walked around to the driver's side. "We're gonna run out of daylight before we hit the road."

He was being dramatic since it was ten in the morning but Sam and Julia indulged him. It was clear that he was feeling uncharacteristically awkward from the kiss Andrea gave him and it was all kinds of endearing.

Julia gave Andrea and Lucas a final smile. "You two be safe."

What was left of the Barr family agreed as she slipped into the backseat. They waved as Dean drove off, his music blasting loudly.

"Hero gets the girl," Julia sighed, leaning her chin on the front seat. "and the other two get ham sandwiches and bananas."

Sam chuckled while Dean rolled his eyes in amusement.

"I'll eat your sandwiches if you don't shut up."

"Touch them and die, bitch."

(Gif is not mine)

[tsuki-chibi]

Passionfruit (November) Day 27: Misery

Read it all on AO3: Passionfruit

————

Much as he hated to leave Marinette, Adrien had no choice. Pretending that he was practicing the piano usually only bought him so much time, and he’d pushed that about as far as he could - he didn’t want Nathalie to get wise to his trick. Regretfully, he kissed Marinette goodbye, transformed, and headed back to the mansion.

Chat landed lightly on the windowsill and listened before peeking into the room. His music player had long since stopped, but, since Nathalie wasn’t waiting for him in his room with crossed arms, he figured he’d gotten away with it this time. He detransformed as he walked over to his computer.

“I want more cheese,” Plagg said.

“You know where it is,” Adrien said absently, motioning towards the fridge. Normally he rationed Plagg’s cheese, but he was too wound up for that. He sat down at his desk.

‘Really? Homework?’ Marinette thought.

‘I have to do something until Nathalie calls me for supper,’ Adrien thought back. ‘Once she sees me sit down at the table, she won’t care. My father has some kind of thing tonight, so I’ll be able to meet you if you want.’

‘Yes,’ Marinette thought immediately, so fiercely that a small smile tugged at Adrien’s lips.

“Huh,” Plagg said, and Adrien recoiled when his kwami appeared about two inches away from his face. The stinky cheese breath was revolting.

“Ew, Plagg. Get back,” Adrien said, pushing Plagg away. “What are you doing?”

Plagg shrugged. “I should’ve guessed that dopey look on your face meant you were talking to Ladybug.”

“I do not get a dopey look on my face,” Adrien said, offended.

“That’s what you think,” Plagg said with a snigger.

Adrien stuck his tongue out and then turned away with a huff, booting up his computer. He and Marinette spent forty-five minutes struggling through three pages of mathematics problems - and since Marinette was completely exhausted, that meant Adrien tried to figure out the problems and coaxed Marinette into writing them down - before Adrien was called down for supper.

As he expected, Nathalie barely stuck around long enough to see him pick up his fork before she was scuttling out the door after Gabriel. Adrien sort of wondered where they were going, because it was extremely rare for his father to leave the house, but in the end he didn’t really care: he no longer had to spend lonely dinners in quiet misery and that was all that mattered. The second they were gone, he dropped his fork, jumped up, and raced upstairs.

‘Meet you at the tower?’ he thought, heading for the window.

‘On my way,’ Marinette thought eagerly; that familiar tingle ran through him, telling him that she had transformed.

“Plagg, claws out!” Adrien called.

Green light shimmered around him, and Chat jumped out the window and struck out for the tower. He made it there before Ladybug for once and sat down on their favorite beam to look at the city. Ladybug joined him less than two minutes later, sinking down into his lap like she belonged there and pressing a shaky kiss to his cheek.

“That was awful,” she said, cuddling into him. “And I could still feel you the whole time. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose you and then get you back, only for you to have to leave because we didn’t know each other’s identities.”

“Yeah, not knowing each other’s identities seems like it would make things needlessly complicated,” Chat said, hugging her. She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon and he hummed in contentment, pushing his nose into her hair.

“Chat, stop! That tickles,” Ladybug complained, giggling.

“I can’t help it. You smell like cookies, My Lady,” he said.

“If you want cookies, here.” Ladybug grabbed the box she had set down beside them and pulled the top up. “I brought you some of the rejects since you didn’t eat supper.”

“You didn’t either,” Chat pointed out, helping himself to a chocolate chip cookie. His stomach rumbled happily as he chewed and swallowed. Sabine may have considered these cookies not good enough to sell, but he thought they looked and tasted amazing.

Ladybug took a cookie, this one cinnamon with a vanilla frosting, and bite into it without comment. She leaned her head against his shoulder as they ate. It was quiet and peaceful and, Chat thought, exactly what they needed for what was possibly their last night as Ladybug and Chat Noir.

“Ugh, you had to think it,” Ladybug said, wrinkling her nose.

“Sorry, Bugaboo. I can’t help it,” Chat said apologetically. His stomach churned with anxiety whenever he dwelled on tomorrow morning for too long.

“You’re nervous,” she acknowledged quietly.

“Aren’t you?” Chat asked, before realizing with some surprise that she wasn’t. Ladybug’s emotions were somewhere between resignation and determination, tempered with a lack of remorse.

“No, I’m not,” she confirmed. “If I could go back in time, I would do the same thing. I don’t regret finding out that we were soulmates. I’m so glad that we met before we got our miraculous.” She turned to him with a sad smile. “Thinking of all those years we might have wasted not knowing if we were each other’s soulmates makes me ache.”

Chat swallowed, his mouth dry. “I feel the same way.”

“I know you do. And I also don’t regret keeping the Ladybug miraculous. Today was probaby the worst day of my life, but our miraculous also gave us moments like this.” Ladybug spread her arm to indicate the city below them and automatically, Chat’s eyes followed her hand.

Paris seemed particularly beautiful tonight beneath a clear sky with no clouds. He and Ladybug were high up on a beam that no tourist and few civilians would ever get to see from. In a way, it felt like the breathtaking sight was reserved solely for them. Even Ladybug was prettier than ever, her eyes reflecting the sparkle of the Parisian lights and the wind bringing a red flush to her cheeks.

That red blush deepened as Ladybug lightly swatted his arm. “Stop that!”

“Stop what?” Chat asked innocently.

“Stop thinking about how pretty I am! It’s distracting and I’m trying to be serious,” she scolded.

“I can’t help it. Stop being pretty, then,” Chat said.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Anyway, I guess what I was trying to say before someone interrupted me is that I’m really happy you convinced me to keep the Ladybug miraculous. I would have given it up if it weren’t for you, and I would have missed out on so much.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to do it without you,” Chat said immediately. “I still wouldn’t. I would never be the Chat Noir to any other Ladybug. I...” He had to swallow again. “This is... I mean...” He trailed off, frustrated that he couldn’t put his feelings into words like she could.

“I know,” Ladybug said gently, and she did know. She could feel everything swirling through him.

Grateful, Chat kissed her. Now she tasted like cinnamon and vanilla and he couldn’t help smiling into the kiss. She smiled too, until finally she started giggling and Chat broke off the kiss with a snort to grab the last cookie. He broke it in half and handed her part of it, then tossed the other half into his mouth.

“You know what we should do?” Chat said.

Ladybug ate her piece of the cookie and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. It would be the kind thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

She got up and tucked the box behind another beam where she could retrieve it later, then took out her yoyo. Chat wrapped both arms around her waist and jumped off the tower with her. A rush of excitement flooded through him as the wind whipped past them. The ground rapidly approached. Only at the last moment did Ladybug throw her yoyo out.

By way of yoyo, it only took about ten minutes to make it to their destination. Ladybug landed on the windowsill, holding them steady while Chat tried the window. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was unlocked. He pushed it open and let her go in first before he followed, hearing a shocked squeal before his boots even hit the ground.

“L-Ladybug?! Chat Noir?!” Alix exclaimed.

“Hi Alix,” Ladybug said politely.

Chat took a quick glance around Alix’s room. The dark blue walls were covered in pictures of female athletes. There was lots of clutter everywhere - clothes, sporting equipment, school books - but he easily spotted Alix’s pocket watch. It had a place of honor on her desk. He was glad to see that it was safe.

“Um... not that I’m mad you’re here or anything, but what are you doing here?” Alix asked, baffled.

“I just wanted to check and make sure that you were okay. I didn’t get to talk to you after the battle today,” Ladybug explained.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine,” Alix said, her smile fading. “Ladybug... what happened today... I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry?” Ladybug said, surprised. “Why?”

“For hurting you. And Chat Noir.” Alix’s guilty look took Chat in too. “I don’t know what I did when I was akumatized... but it must have been really bad.”

“Alix, that wasn’t -” Ladybug began.

“Yes, it was,” Alix interrupted. “So I’m sorry.” She clasped her hands in front of her, nervously bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Ladybug said gently. “The blame lies with Hawkmoth, not you. He’s the one who is akumatizing innocent people. You were upset because you watch broke and Hawkmoth took advantage of that.”

“But it was my fault my watch broke,” Alix was quick to point out. “I should’ve been more responsible and taken care of it myself. Then I got mad at my friends.”

“It was just an accident. It happens,” Chat said, speaking up for the first time. “The good thing is, Ladybug was able to fix your watch.”

Alix brightened. “I was really glad about that. My dad would’ve been devastated to know that it got broken. I didn’t get the chance to thank you for that, Ladybug.”

Ladybug smiled. “No thanks necessary. We really just wanted to make sure that you were doing okay.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Alix said. “I hope you’re okay too.”

“I have my kitty to take care of me,” Ladybug said, shooting Chat a smile. “I’ll always be okay.”

“Then...” Alix looked at them hopefully. “Could you take a picture with me? Everyone in my class would think it’s the coolest.”

Chat grinned, his spark of amusement echoed by his lady, and nodded. “I think that can be arranged.”

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Family matters  Ben Hargreeves x Reader

(Gender neutral reader) 

Omg please write some Ben Hargreeves fluff! Like he married his childhood sweetheart (and he didn't die) and them introducing their newborn to the rest of the family? I think they all just need some happiness and a reason to see each other without the world ending or someone dying -(@Anon) 

Welp, someone still died, but!! It still got fluff, so I hope it doesn’t change too much from what you requested… 

Also, I’m really sorry it took so long, but, as you can see, I made this one extra long as an excuse, even if it barely meets anything to make you forgive me for the delay… 

Please think about taking a look at my ko-fi, or come see my Patreon, lots of love, LC. 

Words: 2471

Warning: Angst, fluff. The gif is not mine, It belongs to its creator/owner. 

You never actually met all of the Hargreeves’ siblings. You saw them, talked to about two of them, and had tea his the robotic mother -that served your husband as a feminine figure when he was a child- only once. Sure, you knew them. Everybody knew the Hargreeves’, they were the prodigy children of the Umbrella Academy. Ben didn’t fancy to discuss his past, neither did he like to speak about his powers. You understood, after years of marriage, you had been able to put the pieces together. The unique occasions you faced his family helped you read his personality. Klaus and Vanya were the closest siblings Ben had. Diego was too bitter now. Luther was -in his opinion- a dumbass and Allison was something he didn’t want to say out loud. After the disappearance of his brother, Five, he hadn’t been the same. 

''We're going to be late for tea, Ben!'' You screamed to the house, before huffing back in your seat. 

You met Ben at a relatively young age, about eight. You were not a child of the academy but lived close by. At such age, you were not yet aware of all that was going on inside their house. You used to help Ben brighten up when he wandered the streets on his free days. He would roam on the streets for hours, he did so for years before you dared to talk to him. A child with a hopeful smile and shining eyes, holding up a little card for Ben to take. That evening, you could remember, your mom baked cookies for the Umbrella Academy children. 

After years and years of being friends, he ultimately kissed you. It was before he went for a mission. You could still remember the sounds of cars passing by and the wind scattering your hairs as he did so. By the window of your room with one foot already out, Ben's lips met yours, knocking your teeth with his in the process. Awkward and blushing furiously, he stumbled upon his words. Saying that he had to go and came back two weeks later to address the subject with you. 

Now, the awkward first love moment was long past, and you were at your seventh year of the wedding. At the moment, you were waiting not-so-patiently in the car for Ben to get in. He stopped the car in the hallway from leaving the manor-like house you owned in London, Ontario. He did so at least two times to retrieve whatever was missing in his opinion. The thoughts of seeing his family once again stressed him out, you could understand that. It didn't mean you were happy to be delayed so much by it. 

''Ben! I swear... Let's go, we're gonna be late!''

 He finally arrived in the car, the lost rattle Justin had let in the house before you took him to the car in his hand.  The trip was made in silence, about two hours of the boring road on the highway with classic rock music in the background and Justin’s nonsensical gibbering.  

 Going back to the Umbrella Academy was making you nervous. Ben had only invited six people of his family out of eight. You weren't even sure the three last knew you he was married. It was sad because, out of the six family members Ben had invited, only four came. His father had work, and nobody knew what Diego was doing at the time. Since then, Klaus and Vanya had visited twice a year, and Grace was coming every now and then for tea. Pogo was tagging along with her sometimes too. But none of the others visited, although Diego did call often. The impromptu passing of Sir Reginald Hargreeves had stumbled upon all as a surprise. 

As Ben pulled up in the parking of the house, he let out a shaking breath.  Your hand find it's way at the nape of his neck. Your thumbs gently tracing shapes at the end of his hair to ease him from his nervousness. 

Ben finally nods, and you get out of the car, taking with you your newborn who was clutching to his rattle. Ben followed your initiative closely. The three of you walked toward the entry and Ben knocked at the door. You don’t wait long before Pogo opens the door, a small smile illuminating his face for an instant. 

‘’I didn’t think you would come.’’ He says softly, embracing Ben first, turning to you and your child after. 

‘’He was still my father, Pogo,’’ Ben answers to the talking monkey. 

There wasn't a living soul present in the living room. Grace seemed happy to see you, her hand clutching to the tea set you offered her the first Christmas you spent alone with Ben. She doesn't seem to realize she's not alone anymore in the living room. She sings under her breath, carefully pouring tea in the porcelain gift. 

''Mom?'' 

Ben's voice makes Grace raise her head, her plastic smile carved on her face once again. She meets the both of you with a cheerful ''Good morning children, tea?'' Your husband dismisses his mother question, but you nod happily. 

''Where are the others?'' Grace smiles as she pours you a cup of tea, her answer is fashionably late but teasing all the same. Just like when Ben was a child. 

''They won't be long my love. Sit.'' 

You make the living room cozy. Pogo took out one of the many blankets Reginald had for his children. He also takes out some old toys that he never had the heart to discard. Ben is lost in his thoughts as he watches you and your son play on the ground. 

As massive steps are heard going up, you just understand that Luther just came back. You also know that it's inconceivable that he didn't see Ben's car in the driveway, so he did just ignore you. When you look at Ben, he prefers to smile and act as if nothing is bothering him. Justin coos, agitating his little fist in the air. 

The first sibling you meet after coming back to the academy is actually Allison. She couldn't be happier to see her brother, even with the dark circumstances. 

“Hey, Ben!” Your husband gets up to greet her with a hug. You cradle your baby in your arms, so Justin can officially meet his aunt. 

 ‘’Hello honey. Who might you be?’’ Allison drops to your son’s level, adding a smile to her question in your direction. The both of you were never close, and you weren’t even sure that she knew Ben was married. Justin raises his head an awkward smile on his chubby face. A gurgle left his mouth and made Allison laugh. 

Allison makes grabby hands toward the little boy, and you slowly -carefully- give him to her. You know she has a child of her own, but the feeling of uneasiness that you feel from being away from your child is always excruciatingly hard to ignore. 

''I'm aunt Allison. Yes, I am!'' 

''I didn't know you married.'' Luther's voice made you flinch. How come a man so big could sometimes be so discreet? You sometimes forgot that they were trained superheroes. 

The blond brother of your husband was taller and more built than you remembered.  He was supported by the wall with his arms crossed upon his chest. Your husband lowers his head in shame, you take it upon yourself to speak on his behalf. 

‘’You weren’t available at the time, being on the moon and all... ‘’ 

Luther’s cheek flushed bright red at your words. You didn’t mean any harm, but the truth was sometimes harsh. Justin started to whine, his rattle getting your attention back on him.  Allison gave him back to you. You adjusted the baby, so you were both comfortable.  

Ben gave you more space to sit next to him, his arm resting on your hips as a sign of support. You were not one to hate people, but even as a child, you found Luther tough to find pleasant. Sitting under the needlessly huge dedicatory painting of Five, you felt small. Even more because of Luther and his eyes seemingly piercing holes into your skull. 

‘’How come when shit becomes interesting nobody calls me? Ben, (Y/N), darling love of mine, how are you?  How is that sweet nephew of mine?’’ Klaus exclamation brought everyone to turn in his direction. He cradled the child in his arms, sitting on the ground as you did in the first place. 

 To say that his presence in your hospital room surprised you was an understatement.  He had still his rehab bracelet and an exuberant bouquet of orange roses and Peruvian lilies. Klaus had acted deeply offended by your choice of not making him the godfather, but he looked like he was recovering now. 

A little bit later, as you didn’t really like Reginald, you took Justin for a stroll in town. Going out, you crossed path with Diego, in the staircase. He greeted you with a nod, his eyes staring a bit longer than he probably intended too on Justin before he continued toward his room. You could hear Allison’s comment on his spandex costume. 

‘’He’s right, I shouldn’t be here…’’ You heard Vanya mutter under her breath as Allison was trying to make her stay. 

‘’Hi, Vanya!’’ You were in good terms with the woman. She was kind and sweet, it was crushing your soul to know that most of her life her father had been so awful with her. 

‘’I’m so sorry about your father, Justin and I were about to go for a walk, do you want to join us?’’ The shy woman smiled at you, gratefully. Clearly, she couldn’t think of a better way to become comfortable in her own house than to hang out with the wife of her adoptive brother, literally an outsider. That just made you sadder thinking about it. You offered Vanya to take Justin and took her outside so she could breathe. 

Sitting on the bench in front of the house, the two of you spoke about life. Justin was going back and front between you and his aunt happily. Vanya asked about how your life had changed now that you had a son, and you asked about the orchestra. You always loved how she played, it was mesmerizing. When Ben came for you saying that Luther wanted to pay his respect in the ward, Vanya gave you back her nephew and entered the house, leaving you alone. 

The town was not so different than when you left it. It had been a long time since then, your parent had moved away, closer to where you lived, and the last memory you had of it was before going for college. A weird feeling burst in your chest. As you thought about its origin, shouting gave away the answers to your suspicion.  

Ben had always been a little reluctant with fights, due to his past and his abilities as a superhero. No matter how ironic that sounded for a hardened superhero. The dispute between Luther and Diego and triggered an anxiety attack. You had to be frank, it had been a while since his last downward. He was clutching to you for dear life, Justin tenderly hugged in his other muscular arm. 

''You're doing great.'' 

His breath was slowly becoming more relaxed, Justin was sleeping now, his small head on his father's shoulder. You detached yourself from your husband's grip to put the baby the bassinet you had transported from London.  

You woke up the next morning without Ben by your side. Comotion could be heard from the kitchen so, carefully, you went that way. You had made numerous scenarios about what it could have been. None of them involved thirteen years old Five surrounded by his siblings. Ben was looking disgustedly at the sandwich his brother was fixing himself. It was a tradition that you never understood from the Hargreeves. Peanut butter on the corner of his lips, Five looked up in your direction with a frown. 

''Did dad adopt a new child after me?'' He asked, making his sibling turn to look at you. 

''That's Ben's wife.'' Said Luther with a harsh tone. Ben gives his brother a look before making his way to you. Trying to explain the situation. 

''So you're telling me that Five created a temporal vortex to come back, that it changed his physical form from sixty-something to thirteen again?'' Ben nodded. 

Your cup of tea half empty in your hand you looked at the wood table in astonishment. You were somewhat used to Ben's power, but the others were still hard to grasp. And seeing as you didn't grow up with abilities yourself, it was kind of difficult to process the news of Five reappearances. 

 You were enjoying the last moments of calm before Justin’s crying would oblige you to parent businesses. Five was sipping at a carton cup of coffee from the donut’s house from downtown, eating peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich in all it non-nutritive glory. You, as a new mother with strong and newly acquired motherly instincts, were horrified. Only Five was not making things easier for you to forget about him and eat your own breakfast as he was intensely staring at you. 

‘’You’re that girl from down the road, ain’t ya?’’ He asked finally, his mouth half full of the disgracious sandwich. You nodded. 

‘’I assume that Ben is your significant other, now, if I may ask, how did the two of you actually become…’’ He gestured the rest of his sandwich in your general direction, ‘’a thing?’’  

As you opened your mouth to answer, a cry echoed in the academy, you bolted up to go see your baby. You could hear Five finish his monologue to your husband. “I never assumed that you would be the one to have the most healthy relationship of us all.”

 You took your time to bring your child down to the kitchen. Changing him and making sure he was comfortable. Diego stopped glaring at Allison to face you. A small smile on his lips, he gently touched your son's cheek with a finger. Luther sunk deeper into his seat as if he was trying to disappear, Five, on the contrary, rose from his chair to see Justin better. Ben offered him to hold him. It took Five a moment before Five accepted after you guaranteed that he wouldn't snap your son's neck. 

Seeing the happy smile on the teenager's lips grow, you found yourself thinking about how damaged they all were. The love they had known came from a robot and a monkey. So maybe they had troubles, but your husband's family could still work on their differences. 

[rpmemes-galore]

Fruits Basket — Volume 5   {Sentence Starters}

“Just go to sleep!”

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”

“Call him and I’ll kill you.”

“Did you fail on purpose?”

“Sheesh. You’re hopeless.”

“These... these footprints...”

“...Then what was that pause for?”

“There you go, again! You’re crying!”

“You fell down first and you know it!”

“You never get tired of that, do you?”

“He’s dangerous. Don’t go near him.”

“I just wasn’t really... feeling very well.”

“You don’t have some ulterior motive?”

“Just being around you wears me out!”

“What the hell did you come here for?!”

“You can learn from their bad example.”

“I think I can get by without anyone else.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen a real one!”

“You being levelheaded would be creepy.”

“My, my, how wonderfully thoughtful of you!”

“It was all you could do to protect yourself...”

“I just keep getting more and more pathetic...”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but please... don’t hate me.”

“Goodness... that’s quite a bite you’ve got there.”

“It’s not cool making yourself sick from worrying.”

“It would only end in sadness for her... and for me.”

“Do you realize how much we’ve worried over you?”

“That’s why you always keep suffering needlessly...”

“It saddens my heart that you would suspect me so.”

“You’re a demon! You’re a demon in mind and body!”

“Why did you run away? Why won’t you say anything?”

“I’ll kill you! Today will be the day you breathe your last!”

“Actions spawned from jealousy are quite unbecoming...”

“You know, you’ll end up with a fever if you keep that up.”

“I’ll see you sink to the bottom of the lake before I let that happen.”

“If she happened to remember something, it would be... problematic.”

“Even if the entire world turns against you, I will forever be on your side!”

“He does have a point. You always let people push their troubles onto you.”

“You cannot say whatever comes into your head and assume you’ll be forgiven.”

“Why are you suddenly saying stuff that doesn’t make any sense? Are you drunk?”

“If I did anything to offend you, please tell me! I’ll make sure to never do it, again, so...”

“You know, you have a really bad habit of saying things that are like pouring oil onto a fire.”

“I realize that kindness is one of your best features, but seriously, you go way overboard.”

“It’s not that I’ve suddenly become stronger, or that something has changed... I’m still shaking. But, we don’t have to let those fears stop us.”

[okimargarvez]

TEMPTING

Original title: Tempting.

Prompt: Penelope tries to follow the diet but Luke doesn’t help.

Warning: mention of Italian and Puerto Rican dishes.

Genre: funny, romantic.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: part 82 in Garvez canon Life.

Legend: 💏😘.

Song mentioned: none.

GARVEZ STORIES

TEMPTING

 He feels the gaze of his girlfriend on him, but decides not to give her attention and to wait until she explodes on her own. He doesn't have to wait that long, actually. -Shouldn't you always support me?- she asks with disappointed and resentful tone. She still doesn't get any reaction and her nervous grows. -Are you my boyfriend or not?- she asks, knowing that he will be obligated to reply to this.

Luke limits himself, however, to a fleeting glance, certainly not something he does usually. -Of course I am, and I am supporting you.- he continues to do what he is doing, then he gets up, going towards the oven; he opens it and seems satisfied with what he sees.

-Bullshits.- Penelope insists, observing his every move. -You know that for me this diet is important.- the man still gives her his back. So, she doesn't find a better solution to get his attention than to give him a very light nudge. -Luke, are you listening to me?- when he finally turns to her, he notices that the woman has folded arms.

-Yes, I listened to you.- he only limits himself to reply, walking beyond her without even touching her, grabbing and wearing oven gloves, embroidered, of course, with two heads of sparkling pink unicorns.

-So why the hell did you cook the Papas Rellenas?- he notices the certainty with which she guesses all the accents of the dish that his abuela had made her discover, of course, a day that she had told her about the Puerto Rican origins of the Alvez family. -You know I love it, but I have to pass it up, at least in this period.- Penelope's eyes struggle to break away from what is basically nothing other than potato and eggplant croquettes, seasoned with avocado sauce. Amalia hadn’t had any problems when she discovered that her nephew's girlfriend was a vegetarian and that Luke had become it too. In her day meat was certainly not a constant and it was not even so necessary, she had added, increasing the blonde's love for her.

In the present, Luke smiles with a pinch of wicked irony. -Oh, I didn't remember it. Even this?- he opens the refrigerator door to show her two Coconut flans resting in their caramel bed. When he turns again, Penelope's eyes are two flames of fire. -I didn't understand.- he shrugs. -Not bad, I'll just eat it myself.- he serves himself a good portion and moves his hands in front of the steaming plate, pushing the aroma towards her. -Can you smell it?- he continues.

Penelope first looks at her empty and shiny plate, then the one before her boyfriend. -You're a bastard of epic proportions.- she murmurs quietly enough to sound like a growl, but loud enough that Luke can hear it. Luke lifts his eyelids, pretending to be surprised.

-Why? You're the one on a diet.- he points out, starting to eat.

She tries to kick him from below the table. -A stupid diet, that's what you meant, right?- he doesn't answer. -It is easy to talk when you have a nice six-pack.- she adds in a less angry and sadder tone, which has the power to dissolve the mask of coldness of man.

He stands up, kneels at her height and takes her face in his hands. -Penelope. Hey, love, look at me.- she obeys. -You're perfect as you are.- he says in the most convinced, serious and sincere tone he knows. -Not only for me.- he adds. -It's an incontrovertible truth.- he almost snatches a laugh from her.

She sighs, looking away. -I know, but... I would still like...- she gestures without being able to find the right words. -...to get better.- she finally concludes.

-Can you improve perfection?- he asks her, with the precise aim of making her smile.

-Luke, stop it.- she replies weakly. -No one is perfect... not even you.- she points her index finger at his chest. -In addition, perfection is boring.- she says.

-Ouch, that hurts me.- but Penelope doesn't bit. -So are you really sure?- he asks.

-Yes, despite what you think, I'll make it.- she says firmly.

 A few days later

As much as he likes his work, his favorite cases are those that don't force them to move away from Quantico. He keeps the door open for her and watches her go by. -What you think if we go out to dinner tonight?- he asks, reaching her for the usual greeting to Roxy and Sergio.

-And where?- she answers with another question, getting to his feet.

-I was thinking of that place Rossi told us about.- he says, wrapping his arms around her waist. He feels the woman's body tense instantly.

-Italian food?- she exclaims, as if he were talking about poison. -Pasta, lasagna, risotto, eggs...- she lists, -You are trying to sabotage me.- she concludes, turning to face him.

-Me?- he raises his arms like an innocent person wrongly accused. -No, look, the Mediterranean diet is considered among the healthiest in the world.- he points out in Reid style.

-Mmm.- she curls the lips. -And the desserts? I won't be able to eat anything.- she speaks to herself.

-It's a pity, because there is a wide choice: Neapolitan babà, Sicilian cannoli, castagnaccio, baci di dama, tiramisu, cantuccini, Neapolitan pastiera, strudel... do they have very particular names, don't you think?- she frees herself from his grip and pushes him away.

-That's enough! You will not ruin everything! I wouldn’t even drink a coffee, with you.- she adds, resolute.

But he doesn't seem offended. -Perfect, it will mean that I will have to settle for Cynthia.- he says.

Penelope looks at him intently. -You wouldn't do that.- she challenges him, but she falters.

-Do you want to bet?- he replies in the same tone, wearing another jacket.

-Ok, go ahead.- she replies. -I don't care.- she tries to convince herself. -I'm not so jealous.- maybe repeating it aloud will make it real. Luke doesn't answer her. -And do you go out like that?- she asks.

He turns to admire himself better. -Why, don't I look good?- but that's not what she means.

She just gets sad. -No, you're... perfect. Goodnight.- she turns around. -Have fun, say hello to Cyn.- she says, but then she can't do it. -Right you, who are Catholic, you should under-stand the meaning of a small sacrifice.- she adds.

-Yes, to humiliate and feel guilty needlessly.- Luke replies. -You can also call it overthinking.- he approaches. -I'm not a fan of this practice, as well as indulgences and relics.- they look at each other in silence.

-If you grandmother could hear you!- she reaches out to push him away but she get caught.

-So, do you go out with me?- he asks her with a persuasive tone, continuing to hug her.

-And Cynthia?- Luke shrugs. As if they both didn't know he hadn't even called her yet. Penelope chuckles. -You're bad. The Mediterranean diet is really so...- he silences her with a kiss.

-Yes, search on google if you don’t trust me.- he answers a few minutes later. -And if I were wrong, I will give up baseball games...- he hesitates -let's say for a year.- he exhales for the effort.

-This really looks like a small sacrifice!-

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note: here the dishes I mention in this ff. I chosen Puerto Rican for Adam’ origins and Italian for my nationality. I don’t know which of these is know in United States and other parts of the words (I mean, the Italian cousine, especially the desserts). The funny part? I never had a good relationship with food, but I’m not a fan of diet (if you don’t consider the fact I’m vegetarian as a diet, for me is more than this). I haven’t try all of these desserts (and not even the Puerto Rican dishes), but I think they are all good at least to see. You eat before with eyes, don’t you?

-Puerto Rican dishes:

Papas Rellenas.

Coconut Flans.

-Italian dishes:

Neapolitan babà.

Sicilian cannoli.

Castagnaccio.

Baci di dama.

Tiramisu.

Tuscan cantuccini.

Neapolitan pastiera.

Trenitino strudel.

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[quakerjoe]

This is a long read, but it’s the best damned thing I’ve read in a long time... ~Joe

I stopped watching Chernobyl after the first episode because a lifetime ago, I was a serious physics nerd and everything they were saying was absurd about the levels of radiation. Last night we watched the other 4 episodes and I thought maybe I might try and push the rock up the hill again and maybe open some eyes about where we are right now in this truly dystopic Orwellian nightmare. J. Robert Oppenheimer was a particular hero to me as a teen because he was so brilliant and accomplished the impossible in just 18 months. If you have not read American Prometheus, I highly recommend it because it details a time when we had a government of imbeciles running around with their hair on fire about communists who threw people in jail who wouldn't admit to that old drunk McCarthy that they were communists. Like all demagogues, McCarthy thought he was the lone arbiter of who was and who wasn't a patriot and he rose to such prominence because he was willing to lie about anything to make his baseless allegations. But Joe McCarthy was no patriot nor was his principle henchman Roy Cohn. They used the collective paranoias of stupid people to manufacture a crisis that did not exist. They destroyed lives and relished doing it to what would be referred now as the 'elitist liberals' like Dalton Trumbo and Oppy. Oppy was an extremely educated liberal who spoke to other people like him. Some of whom were communists. This made him a threat in the minds of the men who put Julius and Ethel Rosenberg to death. Ethel was entirely innocent but that didn't matter to a public brought to full froth by the hysteria of the day. Those men beating the drums of patriotism could not conceive of a man like Oppy talking to a communist and not be a communist himself, the same was said of Trumbo. Guilt by association was just enough for the likes of Cohn and McCarthy. "For each lie, a debt to the truth is incurred." Chernobyl Historians have written heroic books about the great generals of WWII, MacArthur and Patton being the most famous and they do deserve their notoriety but they ignored to a large extent who actually won the war for the allies and that comes down to two men: Alan Turing and J. Robert Oppenheimer. By any measure, Alan was the greatest man of the 20th century. Oppy is a bit harder to fit into that calculus and he said so himself because he knew atomic weapons would change the world and not in a good way. It's true the Japanese were whipped and that Doolittle could have continued to firebomb Japanese cities until the Japanese came to heel but that is still speculation. After Nagasaki, the war was over right or wrong, Oppy did that and saved hundreds of thousands of American troops. After the war, McCarthy went after Oppy. He wasn't treated like the hero he was and didn't want to be. He was treated like a Soviet agent and stripped of all of his security clearances because he would not name names. He was threatened with prison, his jobs were taken from him and he was exiled from the community of scientists that *he* built because of the lies of scum like McCarthy and Cohn. Alan Turing didn't fair much better from his government either. The McCarthys of that time didn't really believe in America at all, he wasn't a patriot no matter how loudly his supporters screamed it. McCarthy didn't think the idea of America could survive 'communist infiltration'. He had no grasp of why communism spread in Russia like wildfire because to his primitive and ignorant mind, he didn't know what it was like to live under a Tsar. 'If it spread there then it can spread here' was the thinking because McCarthy didn't understand or believe in the ideals that founded America. To him, they were so weak and feeble that communism would be preferable than what we had in America. That lie destroyed lives, destroyed families and stands as a black stain on our nation's history. The thing about liars is that they have to tell bigger and bigger lies to cover for all the small ones and then that debt to the truth comes due. It came to McCarthy when Joseph Welch lanced the festering boil that was McCarthyism with the truth. Before Welch delivered his fatal blow, he reacted to McCarthy's slander with this: "And so, Senator, I asked him to go back to Boston. Little did I dream you could be so reckless and so cruel as to do an injury to that lad. It is true he is still with Hale & Dorr. It is true that he will continue to be with Hale & Dorr. It is, I regret to say, equally true that I fear he shall always bear a scar needlessly inflicted by you. If it were in my power to forgive you for your reckless cruelty, I would do so. I like to think I'm a gentle man, but your forgiveness will have to come from someone other than me." Then a moment later, he drew the blade that ended the national nightmare when he murdered McCarthy with the indelible truth: Mr. Welch: You've done enough. Have you no sense of decency, sir, at long last? Have you left no sense of decency? McCarthy and Cohn of course had no decency. Cohn delighted in going after homosexuals and destroying their lives while being a homosexual himself. They were the most vile hypocrites the world had ever known. McCarthy incapable of feeling shame, drank himself to death after he was humiliated as the coward he was. I sat there thinking about this as the full horror of what happened at Chernobyl unfolded. The entirety of the Russian government played out exactly like Trump having all of his cabinet praising his greatness, it was vulgar, it was disgusting. Then I remembered all the other dictators I've read about in history who surrounded themselves with sycophants. Martin Bormann being the reference example who served Hitler so faithfully. Bormann was a slack-jowled imbecile who was barely qualified to lick stamps but nobody in the Reich dare cross the thug because he was Hitler's favorite yes man. I remember that day Trump's cabinet took turns telling Trump how honored they were to serve under his super terrifically awesomeness and that they were but boot-licking sycophants. Pence really had to lather up Trump's ass before he could muster a vulgar enough kiss to satisfy that insidious git. I sat thinking that this was the lowest moment in the history of the Republic. What separated them from the Soviet Central Committee under Gorbechev? Not a damn thing. They *all* lie for a living and kiss the dear leader's ass. It was the most unAmerican thing ever done in the White House. It was sheer cowardice by each and every single one of them. Any man who had a lick of honor would have walked out in disgust to save what's left of their honor. The *only* one who got out of this administration with any was General Mattis. And you can see this cult in all of its terrible glory if you just glance at any of the stories coming in from visitors to the concentration camps now open on United States' soil. There are zero testimonials from any objective visitor who says conditions are fine. Last Thursday a government Lawyer argued to 3 appellate judges that giving toothbrushes and toothpaste were luxury items not to be afforded for the $700-$800 a day American tax payers are paying private prison companies to house these thousands of misdemeanor offenders. Republicans have strenuously objected to calling these 'detention centers' 'concentration camps' because nothing offends cult members like the truth about what they are really do. Ask any Scientologist if you're not positive of this undeniable fact. Children are living outside, locked up and fully exposed to the elements without food and running water because the man who concocted this policy is a 32-year-old psychopath named Stephen Miller who has devised schemes to strip parents of their children as a 'deterrent' from coming to the US. I remember wondering as I read The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich how so many people were duped into voting Hitler into office and here I am now witnessing it. I see right wing lunatics actually calling people 'Antifa' as if it is some slur. "Antifa'' meaning 'anti-fascist.' They seem wholly unaware that Americans won a war against fascism because we were all against what the Axis was doing. What the nazis knew was that they needed to control the press. What modern fascists like Rupert Murdoch have learned is that it is easier to control the masses with propaganda and to do that is to obey Goebbels' edict to 'accuse the other side for what you are guilty of.' This is where Republicans are now. There is no Republican party anymore. It is a cult of personality except it isn't Hitler being exalted by the hoards of half-literate morons, it's Trump. Trump lies to them and they breath in his lies and they repeat them with a religious fervor because none of them are aware that for each lie they tell, they incur a debt to the truth. In Germany and in Chernobyl, those lies always caused death on a mass scale either through incompetence or outright evildoing. Here we are at a crossroads in American history with an ignorant electorate chanting 'lock her up' as if that's something that's going to happen. The Secretary of the Treasury is openly breaking federal law in full few of all these miscreants and the cult doesn't care. The Attorney General of the United States, the highest law enforcement official in the land openly committed perjury before the US Congress. The President has committed election fraud, violated the emoluments clause and committed more acts of obstruction of justice than can be counted in full view of the American people and the sad fact of the matter is nothing is being done about it. The Republican cult doesn't even want to pretend like they don't want the Russians involved in the next election. They've done exactly nothing to safeguard our elections from Russian interference because they are so easily bought by Putin that they aren't going to do a damn thing to stop someone who is trying to help them win elections. I don't know what it takes before the people take to the streets but if opening up concentration camps isn't appalling enough to put the spurs in then nothing will. This is how it was done, the chipping away of normalcy with outrage after outrage until insanity became the new normal because as Voltaire so presciently said, 'anyone who can make you believe absurdity can make you commit atrocities.' Little children are locked up outside in the elements without so much as a blanket to protect them. They have no rights to anything because the courts are so overwhelmed with cases now that it will take many years before any of these refugees get a hearing. They're standing children up in front of a judge without a lawyer to defend themselves against imaginary crimes of crossing a line on a rock turning 35,000 mph in a small solar system. Republicans stole a supreme court seat and they will continue to lie, cheat and steal to remain in power. That's why Mitch has delivered over 100 carefully selected members of the Heritage Society to fill vacant judicial posts because he does not care about our democracy, he cares about power. As many Republicans have said, they only need someone to sign stuff, they don't care who. Trump is perfect for their agenda and democracy has never been on their agenda, usurping it is. 20 years of Murdoch's brainwashing has gotten us to this point and if anyone really believed in justice in this country, the heads of everyone at Fox would be rolling down main street as a lesson to future ambitious propagandists who mean to undermine our nation as that rogue Australian has done more than any other. To rid ourselves of this seditious scourge is going to take all of us who agree to speak with one voice at the ballot box. It's going to take protests on a scale not seen in the US. Blood is already being spilled in these concentration camps. Edmund Burke's warning that all it takes for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing is coming to pass *yet again* and here we are at tyranny's doorstep. How much is enough? What atrocity must be committed on American soil before we get off our sorry asses and start doing something about it? If you don't think we aren't at war with a very determined enemy bent on destroying our country then you need to wake up to reality before we wake up that one morning like Martin Niemöller did when he said, "First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me." Every single Republican in office right now is an enemy of the United States who are conspiring with our foreign enemies to keep themselves in power. So are the people who vote for them because they are no different than the people who voted Hitler into office. I sincerely hope if you agree with what I have said here that you spread this message with any like-minded people because as of yet, I haven't seen any presidential candidates calling these concentration camps what they are. If we don't start preparing for next November today, we could wake up to another 4 years of Trump. Our nation cannot survive such a reckless criminal administration the likes of this one for another four years. The nation will be bankrupt and in its death rattle. We can start speaking in unison this Independence Day by squelching this Trump celebration in DC by turning the real patriots out on a scale he can't imagine. It's time to start fighting and dirty at that while there's still something worth fighting for. #Resist Your very life depends on it as does our future.

- Thomas Clay