#listen my brain has latched onto this idea and is CONVINCED i can make it work if i try hard enough

[dakotacrisis]

Topsy Turvy

Hyper-fixation has been activated! Who needs to work on their wips when they can start something else entirely? Hahaha...it’d be funny if it wasn’t true.

Anyhoo! Saw this cute comic by @hannahyonana and my goblin brain latched on and wouldn’t let it go. So I give you this unofficial expansion of this wonderful comic. In short: these children are disasters in more ways than one.

---

Two weeks. That is how long Adrien would be gone. Two long and painful weeks without seeing his face or hearing his voice. Pictures and videos were well and good but they were no proper substitute for the real thing.

Marinette came to the train station to see him off and steal a few more blessed minutes with him before he departed on his work trip/vacation. She had tried to convince Alya and Nino to come so she wasn’t totally alone with him but they already had plans. Marinette hadn't heard about any plans before this so she could only assume this was another Alya scheme to give Marinette a chance to confess.

Marinette had thought about it. Telling Adrien how she felt would get a lot off this nervous tension and anxiety off her chest. He didn’t even need to respond or give her an answer. Just having him know would be enough.

But could she do it? She had tried countless times before to no avail. What made this different?

Adrien and her walked along the platform full of people bustling to get here and there. Marinette gripped the box of macarons her parents made for Adrien behind her back.

The Gorilla took Adrien’s luggage and carried it onto the train. He looked back to see if Adrien was following.

"You go on ahead, I want to say goodbye real quick." Adrien ushered his bodyguard away. The Gorilla looked between them and with a curt nod of his head disappeared inside the train.

Adrien turned back to Marinette. His hair was stylishly tousled and his smile bright and beaming. Could the boy stop modeling for even a second? How was anyone meant to keep their wits about them with that thousand watt smile?

"Thanks for coming to see me off, Mari." Adrien said.

"Of course," Marinette replied, shuffling from foot to foot. "Even if you're only gone for two weeks…"

She brought the box out from behind her back and held it out to him. "Also, this is for you from my parents. A little something to snack on during the ride."

"What! That's so sweet! Literally." Adrien took the box with glee. "Be sure to give them my thanks."

"I will,"

BEE-BOOP!

The pair looked up at the sudden sound.

"Oh, that means it's time for me to go," Adrien said with a small shake of his head.

Gone again. In just another minute he'd be out of her reach once more. Even after all this time saying goodbye felt so hard. He was only going to be gone for two weeks! He was gonna come back! Why did it hurt so much being away from him?

That familiar weight settled on her chest. So many feelings left unspoken. Secrets she was dying to share. It felt like they were smothering her.

"Before you go," Marinette halted him before he could enter the train, "I have something to tell you."

"Oh yeah?" Adrien tilted his head like a curious little puppy. Why did he have to be so cute? Marinette was sweating he was so cute. Or maybe that was just her inner terror at what she was about to say.

"Well I--you see--I…" Marinette stammered and lost her nerve, "I uh, make sure to send us pictures."

"Of course!" Adrien responded with glee. "Alright well, see you later, Marinette."

He turned to get on the train and Marinette’s heart sank. Another chance at happiness, wasted. Perhaps it was for the best.

She forced her feet to move, to carry her from this painful moment. When they did though they didn't back away. They surged forward. She was barely aware that she had reached out for Adrien until she grabbed the back of his shirt.

"Wait! That's not it!" She proclaimed loudly. Her nerves came out in the shakiness and desperation in her voice. She kept her eyes shut tight. Afraid of what she would see if she opened them.

"The truth is, I'm in love with you!" She  blurted out. She let go of his shirt, her hands fisted into tight balls by her side as she quickly explained, "I'm not expecting a reply. I know you don't like me back. But have a nice trip!"

She turned on her heel and fled. Tears of anxiety or fear stinging her eyes. The last thing she heard was Adrien calling out for her to wait. Once she was far enough away she risked a glance back and saw Adrien’s face staring out the closed door in shock before the train pulled away from the station.

She stared at the now empty train track for a long time before it truly hit her. She just told Adrien she was in love with him. He was going to be thinking about how she told him she loved him for the next two weeks. Then she was going to have to face him knowing all that when he returned home.

Marinette whipped out her phone and called Alya. “I did something stupid and I need help.”

---

Adrien pulled himself away from the train door and sat down in his seat. Marinette’s parting words echoed in his ears. She loves him. She is in love with him.

When did that happen? He knew they were friends but he hadn’t expected her to be in love with him. Marinette…

He glanced down at the box in his hands. Something small and sweet to take with him. A reminder of home. A reminder of someone petite and kind that just spilled her heart out to him on the train platform.

She said she didn’t expect a response but he felt like he owed her one. She had also said she knew that he didn’t like her the same way she liked him. While it was true that Adrien’s heart had belonged to Ladybug for as long as he’s known her he did feel a warmth around Marinette. Was that love? Or was it just friendship?

Nino had a crush on Marinette. Maybe he would know. Adrien pulled out his phone and hit Nino’s number. “Hey, I’m on the train heading out but I had a question about Marinette.”

---

“Oh dear,” Alya shook her head, she covered the receiver of her phone so Marinette couldn’t hear. Not that Marinette could hear anything over the sound of her own panicked ramblings. She turned to Nino on the couch with a sly smile.  “Marinette just confessed to Adrien before he went on his trip and she’s freaking out.”

“Wow, good for her, do you think Adrien will respond?” Nino asked.

“No idea,” Alya shrugged, “It’s a good thing we left them alone though. Marinette finally got the guts to say something to him.”

“Speak of the devil,” Nino held up his phone where Adrien’s contact picture flashed on the screen. He hit answer. “Hey dude, what’s up? Miss me already?”

Alya went back to listening to Marinette and trying to calm her down while Nino talked to Adrien. The both of them were panicking messes as they ranted and lamented at their respective best friends over the phone.

“I don’t really know what to tell you about your own feelings, dude,” Nino told Adrien, “Yeah I had a crush on Marinette but it only lasted a week. That’s kind of how it is with most of the people from our class.”

“What?” Adrien said.

“Yeah, literally everyone has had a small crush on Marinette at one point or another growing up. You’re like the only person who hasn’t. Which is weird considering how much she dotes on you and swoons around you. Did you really not know about her crush until today?”

“No!”

“Ah...then again you have been head over heels for Ladybug I don’t suppose you would have noticed anyone else unless they confessed to you point blank.” Nino said. He had thought that Adrien’s crush on the spotted hero of Paris was something that had been waning recently once he had agreed to go out with Kagami. But when they broke up it had returned full force.

“Marinette, hold on a second,” Alya shushed Marinette on the other line and turned to Nino with wide eyes, “Did you just say that Adrien has a crush on Ladybug?”

“Uh yeah? Why?”

“What’s going on?” Adrien asked.

“Alya is--”

Alya snatched the phone out of his hands. She held up the other phone with Marinette on the line. “Girl, I know you are spiraling right now but I am gonna need to call you back. I swear I will only be like ten minutes max. Goodbye.” she turned to Nino’s phone, “Now you, pretty boy, I’m gonna need you to repeat that for me.”

“That I have a crush on Ladybug?” Adrien answered timidly.

“How long has that been a thing?”

“Since she first showed up in Paris. Why?”

Nino saw the calculations going off in Alya’s head as she processed this information. Had she not known? He was sure she had to have known but apparently that wasn’t the case.

“Adrien, listen to me very carefully,” Alya said, “You are going to want to accept Marinette’s feelings.”

“Listen, Alya, I know that you are her best friend but--”

“No buts, Agreste!” Alya snapped, “Really listen to me here. I know that you have feelings for Ladybug. Who wouldn’t? She’s amazing but she’s also a superhero with a secret identity. Do you really think you can take Ladybug out to the movies or invite her home for dinner? How are you gonna call her? How do you plan on making that work?”

“Well I--”

“Moonlight rendezvous over the rooftops of Paris sound fine and dandy but you know what else is nice? Marinette. Tangible and readily available with romantic feelings already pre-downloaded in her core. You already call her our Everyday Ladybug. What more do you want?”

“I see your point. But that situation is a little more complicated than that.”

“No it isn’t. Do you not think Marinette is great?”

“She is. She really is.”

“Do you not think she is cute?”

“She is very adorable and attractive. I will confess to that.”

“So if Ladybug wasn’t a thing then would you consider dating Marinette?”

“I mean I guess. But Ladybug is still real and she owns my heart. I can’t just give up on her that easily.”

“Adrien, I do not know how to tell you this but you are not giving up anything by dating Marinette. She is every bit as amazing as Ladybug and you would do well to remember that. As a wise man once said, “far better than any dream girl, is one of flesh and blood, one warm and caring, and right before your eyes.””

“Did you steal that from The Little Mermaid?”

“Not the point! Just think on it. You have two weeks before you come back and make a decision. I suggest you use the time wisely and really consider what I’m telling you. I’m not just saying this because Marinette is my best friend but because I know deep in my gut that you two were made for each other. The only one that doesn’t see it is you.”

“You think we’re made for each other?” Adrien’s voice was soft and quiet. It made Alya’s heart melt.

“I do. I think that you two would make each other so incredibly happy.” Alya sighed, “But no pressure or anything. At the end of the day it is your heart and your choice. I’m just asking you to look at all the possibilities before you make a decision.”

“Okay, I’ll think on it. I promise.”

“Good. Now I gotta call Marinette back before she worries herself into a human pretzel. Bye.” Alya handed the phone back to Nino. She dialed Marinette back and wandered into her room for privacy.

“Why did you hang up on me?” Marinette asked. “I am having a crisis here!”

“Girl,” Alya’s face broke into a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame. “You are not gonna believe this. Adrien’s had a crush on you this entire time. Or rather, a huge, massive, fanboy crush on Ladybug that is.”

“WHAT!”

*Two weeks later*

Well that was the longest two weeks of Adrien’s life. He had done what Alya suggested and really thought over his feelings for Marinette and Ladybug. The more he compared them the more he realized how alike they were. He knew he called Marinette their Everyday Ladybug but he hadn’t realized how true that was until now.

His heart belonged to Ladybug but he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel anything for Marinette. Adrien knew that through Alya and Nino’s eyes the answer was obvious. Marinette was their friend and classmate and she was so much closer to them then Ladybug. But they didn’t know that Adrien was Chat Noir. They didn’t know that he had a direct line to Ladybug. They didn’t know he had this already huge connection to her.

So what was there to do? Have a happy civilian life with Marinette and stop his pursuit of Ladybug? Or let Marinette down gently and keep trying to make things work with his Lady? He needed to come to a decision quick since his train was getting closer to the Paris station. What if Marinette was waiting out on the platform? What was he going to tell her?

The train came to a screeching halt that flung everyone forward. What in the world was that? HE scrambled to the window and saw the leg of a huge a robot. An akuma.

He was thinking up an excuse to leave his bodyguard when the roof of the train was ripped off. The giant robot looked in and reached out its hand and started grabbing random people and dropping them into its mouth.

He had to get out of here and transform! He made a bolt for the bathroom but the robot got him first and lifted him off the ground. He struggled to get free but he was no use against thousands of pounds of metal and magic.

“Oh no you don’t!” the robot’s arm lurched away from its mouth. Ladybug stood on a nearby building with her yo-yo drawn tight to keep the robot from dropping Adrien down its gullet. “Rena! Now!”

Rena Rouge leapt out from behind Ladybug and pounced at the akuma. She dug her flute down between Adrien and the clamp holding him captive. With a large heave she pried the clamp open enough for Adrien to wiggle free. She reached to grab him but at that moment the robot had broken free from Ladybug’s hold and the pair of them were thrown off.

“I got ya!” Ladybug swooped down and grabbed hold of Adrien. Rena was quick on her feet made a safe landing down on the ground.

They landed on a nearby rooftop for Ladybug to deposit him. “You okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, never better,” Adrien’s heart was beating wildly in his chest.

“Good,” Ladybug looked back at the akuma with a small frown, “I gotta go take care of this guy but you should be safe here.”

“Alright,”

“By the way you’re really cute and I think we should go to a movie sometime. Bye!” Ladybug said quickly and leapt back into the fight.

“Wait! What?!” Adrien shouted after her but she was already gone. He was so stunned that by the time he remembered he was Chat Noir and should be helping Ladybug and Rena Rouge had already defeated the akuma.

The miraculous cure swept across the city and Adrien was deposited back in the fixed train in his seat like nothing had happened. Well this got a whole lot more complicated!

---

(Part 2)

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea

Star Wars, The Bad Batch Pirate!au (Hunter x Reader

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers dad and bothered are asses.

chapter one

Chapter two: The Stowaway

It is a disgusting day on Coruscant. Hot, humid and you can’t help but feel something sinister in the air. You feel hollow, and it is only partly due to the tightness of your dress. The yellow and green material wraps around you in layers. Your face is blank but your mind is racing, if you cannot convince your father to call off the marriage, how else can you put a stop to this?

Very few people talk about the war, and so how Lord Nython made his fortune is a mystery to you. What you have gathered from whispers of those in your household it was through a lengthy siege that devastated republic and seperatist forces alike.

“And the weather today is perfect for sailing, I bet those ships at the docks will be itching to set off.” Your handmaiden Seil says to you, and you frown, since when did she have an interest in the docks. But she continues playing with your hair.

“I'll get you the most expensive jewelry in the house,” She says with a smile you’ve grown up with. Perhaps carer was a more accurate term, considering she seemed to be the only person in the world that wanted the best for you. She returns with a pouch of all kinds of gold, silver and gems.

“There is a way to the docks, it is so lovely for a stroll. Away from the busy streets and such like.” You frown at her obsession with an area crawling with pirates.

“Seil what in the name-” You start saying, turning around to slip your flats on. And you stop, in her hands are your boots, made for riding as you had done so many times before.

“I thought these would be fitting, as they are your favourite.” She’s talking about all the times you told her how much you love how sturdy they feel around your feet. And how when you would run the fields, how powerful they made your legs feel.

And then it clicks. The docks, the boots. The tears in her eyes. While you were planning on an escape from this marriage, Seil had been planning an escape from every marriage your father would force on you. She ties the boots tightly, and places a hand on your cheek as you both take shaking breaths to compose yourselves.

And with your father still passed out in bed, and the sun barely rising, you slip into the streets and into the areas less traveled, sprinting off towards the ocean.

The docks are infused with the smell of fish, and the workers barely turn a glance your way as you shift through the swarms of people. You come to a halt at a clearing in the crowd, and your brain catches up with itself. What are you going to do now? With no money, skills, or plan, you begin to second guess yourself. You have time to make it back to the household with no one being the wiser. But you remember meeting Lord Nython for the first time.

His hand latched to yours like a monster squid to its prey, you notice that unlike some men he doesn’t ask ‘may I’ before touching you, and you briefly wonder what about you invites his hand onto your own. But your fake smile remains plastered on as he looks you up and down like a farmer regards the sale of livestock.

Your gut had told you then that all he could bring you was bad news, confirmed by rumors and stories of his wartime expeditions, and when he told you about the war, and the pathetic Grand Army of the Republic he spared no detail in his murder of an entire army.

Of course it's not the same as killing someone like you or me, those kaminoans are devils, and those freaks are just the same. Like hunting the same dumb peigion over and over again. We surely must have downed hundreds of them that day, but they are rats you see, you have to kill every last one in order to rid yourself of the infestation.

Education had not taught you about the Kamino Clones, but experience had, every sepratist man who held power despised them. ‘Scum of the earth’ your father had said when you asked about them. Telling you they had their emotions removed, and blindly followed orders given by the highest bidder. And when the G.A.R had fallen, they scuttled into exile.

And now you stand on the docks of Coruscant, two paths in front of you. Surely if you left Nyhon would send someone after you, he never seemed to back away from a fight, and given his reputation for always getting what he wanted, you doubted he’d take to your absence kindly. So that left you with leaving the only home you’d ever known, and given that you cannot sail, nor pay for passage, stowing away was your only option.

You briefly wonder about the procedure of stowing away, does one pick a certain ship or choose at random?

“Can I help you miss?” A Togruta man asks you, only his blue face visible from underneath his hood and cloak, but the markings give him away, as well as the point in the fabric over his head.

“I...I…” you pause to gather yourself. “I’m fine, thank you.” and you quickly turn away from him, walking down the docks at a purposeful pace. There are so many ships all looking to either load or unload supplies, but none of them seem to be leaving shortly. You need escape now, and not later. The longer you dwell the more the bad feeling in your stomach grows. You must lose yourself again because before you know it a man is rushing past you and shouting

“Sorry miss!” as he goes, you catch the clanking of metal and a glimpse of eyeglasses as he disappears up the ramp of a large dark oak ship, the name Havoc Marauder painted in red at the back.

Perhaps you have found your escape after all.

You very quickly decide the ocean is terrifying. After having snuck up the ramp and into the depths of the ship, you found yourself in your current spot. Huddled behind stacks of crates sitting on the wooden floor and being violently rocked around as the water crashes into the side from all sides. More than once you’ve had to close your eyes in panic when something particularly bad happens, but you refuse to appear weak - even if you’re the only person to witness it.

And the footsteps, even though the men seldom come below decks but you can hear them step ferociously above you. They sound like an army and considering you didn’t get a good look at any of them, you had no idea how many people you were hiding from. They’re loud, and kept busy by the Sea, you have no idea where you’re headed, but as long as it’s far, far away from Coruscant you couldn���t care less. And there are no windows here, so you have no idea how long you’ve been traveling for.

Footsteps start to make their way to the set of stairs leading down into your hiding spot, the small nook of the ship that resides in the belly of the beast. The steps you hear aren't as heavy as others, but they seem to keep most of their weight on their toes, you never quite hear their heel make contact against the wood. And you press yourself tighter to the wall, a tall frame passes you by, lean and with ashen hair the man halls a crate away from the other end of the room, and turns to leave. Your panicked eyes can do nothing but stare back at him through the gaps in the boxes, and they watch him squint for a moment, before he turns and heads back up the stairs. Crate in hand, and your heart in your chest. He cannot have seen you, if he had, why turn away? Panic consumes you.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“Sarge,” Crosshair says, thumping the crate of bread and dried meat down in front of him. Hunter simply raises an eyebrow at his vod, and it confirms Crosshair's hypothesis. The captain is in one of his moods again, when shaking off the nightmares is impossible and the hate inside him grows and simmers at fantastical measures.

“There’s a woman on board.” He tells him, casually popping a pick into his mouth. And watching as Tech’s and Wrecker’s heads snap up.

“A woman?” Tech asks with judgement. Crosshair rolls his eyes.

“Yes a woman, you know, the things that look almost like you except for their b-”

“I know what a woman is!” Tech cuts him off before things get graphic. His brother never having the politeness nor the decency to hold his tongue.

“There’s a woman aboard the Murader?” Wrecker tries to confirm, and underneath his wide captains hat, Hunter’s eyes darken.

“Listen very carefully.” He growls, the midday sun shining its way onto an unforgiving face. “If there is a stowaway. I do not care if you have to drag her to me with her intestines hanging out. Get. Her. Off. My. Ship.”

“But…” Wrecker starts, taken aback by the aggressive imagery.

“But what?” Hunter snaps, standing up and seeming small compared to his brother, but nonetheless intimidating. “I want her found and I want her off my kriffing ship.” He demands one last time before stalking back to the captains quarters.

Below deck you hear the slamming of a heavy wooden door, the sound makes your skin jump crawl with dread. Something has gone very wrong indeed, and it is not long before you see boots standing at the top of the steps down into the hold where you thought you were hidden. It is difficult to tell how many, two for certain, the change in foot size tells you that much. None of them talk, making it even harder for you to mask your panicked breaths. But just as one foot begins to descend the stairs, a voice from afar distracts it.

“Ship off the starboard bow!” it’s enough to get the men turning away from your concealment, and towards the voice.

“What does she fly?” Another voice shouts, much closer to you.

“Looks Weequay to me!” comes the response, which causes someone else to grumble something about eyesight and crowsnest. Frankly it’s all gibberish to you, starboard could be another hyper-ocean speedway let alone a part of the ship, and while you are sure you’ve heard the term Weequay before, you can’t place where or in what context you heard it. Laughter breaks you from your thoughts.

“That’ll be Hondo’s ship then!” A loud shout settles in your bones. Not one in anger but perhaps more so simple loudness. And whoever or whatever a Hondo is, it is enough to carry the shoes away from you and rush to another, more pressing task. Which makes you think you just may owe this Hondo your life.

Taglist: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses

comment to be added!

[downondilaudid]

High as a Kite

After a stressful case reader unwinds in her own unique way, unfortunately, the BAU is called in on another case. Spencer doesn’t seem too fond of the reader’s stress reliever.

A/N: This is very poorly edited. I just got into a massive fight with a few friends. So now I’m very sad, and just wanna sleep. But fuck them. Like that one vine says, I don’t need friends, they disappoint me. Seriously, FUCK THEM. I still love them doe, i have too, they’re the only friends i have.

Oh also, I wrote this in first person, instead of my usual second person. Let me know if you like it or not! <3

Requested: Yes

Prompts: None

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: (Unprotected)Penetrative Sex, a DASH of angst, drug use, let me know if I missed anything.

“He rarely smoked, but once in a while, like now, when his world had been shaken, his woman nearly killed in front of his eyes, and he’d watched a house consume a man and spit him out, he figured a drag or two were appropriate.”

― Christine Feehan, Safe Harbor

Relaxing after a case was one of my favorite things on the planet. Especially when it ended well, I had been able to watch as the little girl who had been stolen from her family, ran to her parents, her little arms wrapping around their legs. Seeing the love and adoration in the parent's eyes as the wept and held her made me want to have a child of my own.

Spencer and I had been together for a little over a year, but I doubt either of us are ready for children. Our job alone is stressful enough, in fact, it’s how we met. I worked as a technical analyst under Penelope Garcia. I will say my job wasn’t as strenuous as Spencer’s, but it’s not exactly ideal to look at dead bodies all day.

We all have our own peculiar ways of unwinding, Spencer loves to sit and read a few books, Hotch heads home to spend time with Jack, and Emily is always down for a drink. I, on the other hand, would much rather smoke a bowl than read a book. It was my own way of unwinding and allowing my brain to cleanse itself of the horrors of the world.

My pink pipe was packed with weed, a matte black lighter in my hand. The weed burned in the small bowl, crisping to a dark black. My finger released the carb of the pipe a couple of times, allowing the smoke to fill my lungs.

The haunting voice of Lana Del Rey filled the room. Her voice alone is smooth as honey, but listening to her while high is an ethereal experience. I could only imagine what Spencer would do if he could see me now, probably ramble off the statistics of marijuana addiction. But I could definitely say I wasn’t addicted, it was just an easy way to relax.

I took another hit, watching as the smoke tumbled from my lips. My stomach rumbled, causing me to giggle lightly, here come the munchies. Usually, I didn’t have the biggest sweet tooth, but when I’m high I can’t get enough sugar.

My hands pulled open the pantry, hips swaying lightly to the music.

Suddenly the music was gone, replaced by an annoying buzzing, “Ugh, you’re fucking kidding.” I groaned. I let the pantry fall shut, making my way over to where my phone sat. I had an inkling who was calling me, but every ounce of my body was praying I was wrong. Unfortunately, I was not, as I had one text from Hotch and a missed call from Spencer.

As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my hand, Spencer’s name illuminating the phone. Quickly I answered the call, pulling the phone up to my ear. “Hiya Spence.” 

“You get the call?” Spencer questioned, his voice cracking slightly, it was obvious he hadn’t used it in a while. He had probably been reading ever since he got home.

I giggled lightly at the sound of Spencer’s voice, taking a moment to admire the perfect way it croaked. “Mhm, can you pick me up?” 

There was no immediate response, it was obvious there was something off, Spencer could tell. I never asked him to drive me anywhere, I was always the one driving. Especially due to Spencer’s hatred of automobiles. 

“But don’t you usually pick me up?” he questioned. 

“Spencer, that last case… I’m literally the definition of exhaustion, can you please, just this once?” I was hoping that with the use of his full first name, he would understand the seriousness of my question. There was no way I was driving to work, with Spencer in the car, while high. 

Speaking of, I still had zero idea how I was going to act sober in a room of profilers, granted, I had a lot of practice of acting sober in front of people, just not at work. Unfortunately for me, the best two words to describe myself while high were, giggly and horny. Oh, and hungry, who doesn’t get the munchies?

Spencer sighed on the other end of the line, “Of course, Y/N.” He paused for a moment, a slight hesitation in his voice with his next words. “Is-is everything okay?” 

“Oh, totally, the case just got to me, that's all!” My reply was all but convincing, it didn’t help the awkward silence made me giggle, which I quickly stifled with my hand. But to Spencer, I’m sure it sounded like a muffled sob. At least he’d buy it, right?

… 

I hopped into the car, looking too giddy to be dealing with another case, “hey.” 

Spencer turned his head to look at me, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his tongue peeking out between his pink lips. “Y/N are you sure you’re okay?”

I rolled my eyes before playfully glaring at Spencer, “yes, now drive, baby.” I reached out, grabbing the gear shift, and shifting the car into drive. 

The car rolled slightly before a startled Spencer slammed his foot on the brake, “Y/N what the- my foot wasn’t even on the brake! Do you know how many accidents are caused a year due to pedal error? Sixteen thousand, and that’s just in the U.S.”

I know it was inappropriate, but during the whole lecture he was giving me I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his hands. They were so perfect, long and thick, the number of times that I’ve come undone on those hands is immeasurable. I shifted in my seat before meeting his eyes. Honestly, I hadn’t comprehended a word he said, something about cars?

Spencer shifted the car back into park, turning in his seat to lean towards me. His eyes scanned me up and down, and not in a good way. “You’re acting strange. You’re overly bubbly, especially considering we have another case. You aren’t thinking rationally-”

A gasp left my body once I realized what he was doing, “Spencer Walter Reid, are you profiling me? We agreed not to do that!”

Despite my yelling he kept speaking “and you were too focused on the movement of my hands to retain a single word I told you.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. 

“Spencer, what the fuck are you-ow!” A blinding light clouded my vision, causing me to recoil further into my seat. 

A scoff left Spencer’s mouth as he turned off the flashlight. “You’re high,” he stated, “what did you take?”  

“I’m not-” I quickly stopped my sentence once I saw the glare Spencer was sending me. “Okay, I just smoked a little weed. Seriously, it wasn’t a lot.”

Spencer unlocked his phone, pressing a few buttons before opening the “W-what are you doing?” I asked, although I already knew the answer. 

“Calling Hotch” Spencer replied, his voice even yet stern. It was somehow scarier than his occasional outburst.

“What? No, Spencer!” I reached over the console, latching my hands onto his phone, before pulling back. Sadly, the phone stayed rooted in his large hands, and with a swift tug, he had the phone back in his grasp. 

Spencer glared harsh daggers at me, before looking back down, and continuing to type on the phone. “Y/N, you’ve already pushed me far enough. Sit down and keep your mouth shut.” 

I fell back into my seat, pouting and crossing my arms childishly. The faint sound of ringing broke the silence, stopped by the barely audible voice of Hotch over the phone. 

“Hotch, Y/N can’t come in, she’s sick. I think she has a fever.” The lie tumbled easily out of his lips. 

My head whipped towards him, my eyebrows raised in amusement. “Thanks, I will.” Spencer ended the conversation, this time setting his phone in the cupholder in the console. 

I giggled lightly, “what would I do without you to save my ass?” 

He didn’t respond, instead putting the car in drive, this time with his foot on the brake. Silence filled the car, Spencer opting to focus on the road, and me fidgeting with the hem of my skirt. 

“Spencie, are you mad at me?” I asked, resting an elbow on the console between us. 

It was obvious he was frustrated, I would be too, but how was I supposed to know we’d get called in on a case? “Yes, Y/N” he answered, his words punctuated and his jaw clenching, accentuating his razor-sharp jawline. 

There was something about angry Spencer that sent shockwaves to my core, leaving me squirming against the leather of the car. Eh, what the hell, might as well go for it, I can just blame it on the cannabis. 

My arm reached across the console, my hand landing on the top of Spencer’s thigh. I watched him visibly jump at my touch, he obviously wasn’t expecting it. “Are you sure it’s just anger?” 

He sighed loudly, one of his hands leaving the steering wheel to remove my own from his leg.

…  

“Please Spencer, just really quick? It’d help you relieve some stress!” I cried as I walked through the door. 

Another angry sigh left Spencer’s mouth, he seemed to be doing that a lot. “Y/N, you’re under the influence, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

I almost laughed at his statement, it was perfectly logical of him to think that, and utterly sweet. But he was my boyfriend, my love, I would fuck him in whatever state I’m in. “Spence, I can promise you you’re not taking advantage of me. We’ve had sex countless times, I’d have sex with you even if I was sober, have you seen you?” I paused for a moment before adding onto my sentence, breaking the slight tension with humor, “yourself, not you, that doesn’t sound right.” 

Spencer chuckled to himself, rolling his eyes as he reached for his belt. “Hell yes!” I cried as I began to undo the buttons of my blouse, quickly shedding it. I could’ve just left the blouse on, but Spencer was a tits man through and through. 

As soon as I heard the clinking of his belt colliding with the floor, I ambushed him, immediately letting my lips find his. The kiss wasn’t rough, nor was it gentle, it was somewhere in between, a perfect balance. I pulled away, biting down lightly on Spencer’s bottom lip. 

My hand slipped into his unzipped pants, palming him lightly. It was the most heavenly sight on earth to watch his head fall back, and a low moan tumble from his lips. “Fuck, Y/N” 

Nodding my head I giggled, “yes, please fuck Y/N.”

Spencer tilted his head back up, laughing lightly at my comment.

I pulled away from him, grabbing the hem of my skirt and shimmying it up over my hips. Spencer’s eyebrows raised, a look of amusement on his face. “Please” I begged.

“Alright, turn around, over the table,” Spencer commanded, his voice low and demanding.

A giggle passed my lips as I turned around, making my way over to the table. My top half pressed against the table, my body resting against my forearms. I could hear Spencer’s footsteps as he crossed the room, stopping behind me. His large hands wrapped around my hips, pushing my skirt higher up my body. “Do you know how irresponsible it was of you to try and come into work while under the influence?” 

His hand left my hip coming back down onto my backside, the impact causing me to cry out. “Spencer!”

His hand raked up my side, grabbing a fist full of my hair. “I-I didn’t have a choice.” I stuttered out as one of his fingers hooked onto my underwear, pulling them to the side. 

“You did have a choice, you chose not to inform Hotch, leaving me to save your ass. Do you understand how detrimental the consequences could’ve been if something were to go wrong?” Spencer’s fingers ran through my folds, spreading around my arousal. 

“Fuck” I moaned out, using my forearms to push myself back against his hand. “Better hurry this up, Spence, we don’t have long.” Spencer shuffled behind me before I felt the head of his cock brush against my core. “Fine, if you’re so impatient.” He grunted, pulling back on my hair, and pushing his cock into my folds. 

He was quick to set a rough pace, pulling out and pushing back in, using the hand in my hair as leverage to pull me back in time with his thrusts. “Yes, Spencer, fuck,” I groaned out. 

“You know,” Spencer started, pausing to roughly thrust into me, sending my body forward against the table, the edge digging into my thighs. “If you wanted a stress reliever, you could’ve come to me. Sex releases endorphins and other hormones, the same way exercise does. Particularly, oxytocin, commonly referred to as the “love hormone.” 

I moaned against the table, my body beginning to falter as my orgasm approached. “Fuck, Spencer, mhmm, yes.” 

With every thrust, I could feel the strain of Spencer yanking my hair back, which would definitely leave a crick in my neck. But I was enjoying myself too much to tell him to stop. I could practically feel Spencer’s anger with every obscene smack of our sweaty skin. It was what I was hoping for, a good fuck, and for Spencer to be able to release his anger before heading back to the BAU. 

Surprisingly, Spencer released his vice grip on my hair, easing the tension on my neck, allowing my face to fall forward and my cheek to squish against the table. He planted his forearm beside my head, leaning over me so his chest was pressed against my back. “How good would you feel if I allowed you to come right now?” To add to the pleasure, Spencer’s hand resting on my hip wormed its way around my body, two of his long digits beginning to rub circles around my swollen bud. 

A sob racked my body at the added pleasure, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. I could feel my legs starting to tremble as I held back my release, almost as if my body knew I couldn’t let go until he gave me permission. “Please, please?” I begged.

“Say it. Promise me you’ll come to me next time you need to relieve stress.” Spencer growled, his voice cracking, signaling he was close too. 

The desperate sounds of our moans and the musty smell of sex filled the room, drowning out my senses. I was too lost in the euphoria to reply, instead, I deliriously rutted my hips back as an attempt to feel him deeper. 

Spencer let out a groan before burying his head deep in the crook of my neck, moaning out “promise me, Y/N.” 

“I promise, fuck, please, Spencer?” The words tumbled almost incoherently out of my lips, barely comprehensible. 

Nodding his head against my skin, he placed an open-mouthed kiss to my neck before moaning out “come, come with me Y/N.” 

And just like that, I was sent headfirst into a trembling, teeth-clenching orgasm. My back arched, uncomfortably pressing my breasts even further against the table. My vision went white, and my legs threatened to collapse. Spencer had stilled, burying his cock deep in my cunt, lewdly moaning out my name, and a series of various curses. An unfamiliar warmth coursed through my body as he filled me up with his seed. Leaving me to grin like a Cheshire cat, caked in sweat. 

The two of us laid against the table, deep pants leaving both our mouths. Spencer pulled out, tucking himself back in his pants. “Thank you” I giggled, pushing myself up from the table, and shuffling my skirt back down my legs. 

When I turned around I was met with the sight of a sweaty Spencer, running his hands through his tousled hair. “You look fine, Spence.”

I could tell Spencer was trying his hardest to contain his smile, probably wanting to stay mad at me. But as soon as his eyes met mine, his face broke into a soft smile, my own following suit. I took a step forward, wrapping my arms around his torso, and letting my head rest against his chest. “I love you” I murmured against his shirt. 

His arms wrapped around my back, pulling me closer to him, “I love you too” he replied, placing a kiss to the top of my head.

“Okay, I have to go,” Spencer said, letting his arms fall back to his side.

I pulled back, unwrapping my arms from his body. “Don’t forget your belt,” I nodded towards his belt that was left discarded on the floor in the midst of our frenzy. 

“I have an eidetic memory, Y/N, remember?” Spencer joked, snatching his belt from the floor, and looping it back through his pants. 

Rolling my eyes with a laugh I replied, “that doesn’t mean things can’t slip your mind, Spence.” 

“Actually-” he started.

I cut him off by opening the front door, “bye, have fun, I love you!” 

Spencer laughed, pecking me on the lips before heading out the door, looking over his shoulder to call out, “we’ll talk more about this later, Y/N. Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet.”

“Shit.” I groaned, letting the door fall shut.

Taglist: @pinkdiamond1016 @gubler-squad @garcias-batcave

[arminhug]

THE ARMIN CONTENT IN YOUR STONER AU WAS *chefs kiss* would you ever consider writing more just for Armin?

YES???? bold of u to assume i don’t already constantly daydream about armin and have an extensive mental list of hcs for stoned armin anon xo

☄. *. ⋆ armin arlert stoner au! headcanons ☄. *. ⋆

tw: drugs. please read at your own discretion.

hoo boy the number of times i wish i could smoke up with this boy 

i think that because he grew up as the textbook teacher’s pet smart kid, he was dead set against drugs until he got to high school and a couple of his friends started to experiment with alcohol/drugs as they got older

it definitely freaked him out at first because he was so used to hearing of all the dangers and terrors of narcotics at school that he learned to associate drugs and alcohol with only danger.

i think he finally gave in and tried pot when he was 17/18 because he’d had a hell of a day, was feeling incredibly anxious and eren brought up the idea of smoking some of a new indica based strain he’d bought

my man is so lucky to have eren by his side to have taught him how to smoke properly because he wouldn’t have known. 

definitely coughed his lungs up the first time he’s asthmatic LOL. probably still coughs quite a bit even though he’s a pretty seasoned stoner (no shame in it homies. i’m not even asthmatic and i’m a frequent smoker who still occasionally dies from coughing)

he views getting high as an after college/work treat, especially if it’s been particularly busy or stressful, and won’t get high until he’s finished all of his work for that day

i don’t think he’d mind group seshes, especially with his closest friends, but he’d definitely prefer smoking with just eren or his s/o.

ok so it’s been established that armin loses every one of his damn brain cells when stoned and he forgets things a bit too easily. he may or may not have ordered food for his s/o and himself, forgotten that he ordered and then ordered more food.

pls just imagine the pizza guy arriving with three lots of pizza and armin is just there like 🧍why is there so much food y’all would be eating pizza all night, for breakfast and lunch the next day

i don’t imagine him to be the hungriest stoner in the world, but when he does get hungry he won’t shut the fuck up about food. pls order him a chinese so he can just scran 

pls pls watch an ocean documentary with him. he’s already so excited by the ocean whilst sober, but high armin will be absolutely entranced i love him sm

JUST IMAGINE HIS FACE WHEN HE WATCHES THE MARINE LIFE ON THE TELEVISION, HE’D HAVE THE BIGGEST GRIN!!!! AND HE’D POINT OUT HIS FAVOURITE ANIMALS EVEN THOUGH HE PROBABLY FORGETS WHAT THEY’RE CALLED

he always likes to have eren, mikasa or his s/o nearby when high because he is known to get paranoid on occasions and wants someone he trusts fully to help calm him down

he’s 50/50 when he’s high. sometimes he’s completely zoned out, grinning, just absorbing the vibes like a damn shamwow

but the other half he will latch onto someone the entire night and talk their ear off. sometimes it’s actually quite profound (although not necessarily intellectual) and other times it’s just “hi there i was wondering if you can help me find this song so we can listen to it, it goes nananananana DOO DOO DOOOOO nananaaaaa na na-”

you have no idea what the fuck he’s trying to sing

“no it’s ok you can just shazam my singing”

you definitely cannot

i think he’d want to beach house, sea fret and tv girl while high. also would be a fan of lofi but it isn’t his go-to because he uses lofi to study and might end up worrying about his assignments even though he’s a good boy and has completed them all already

probably not the biggest fan of edibles because waiting for them to kick in makes him anxious and he feels like he has less control over the dose of thc.

PLS HE’D BE SO CUTE IF HE GREENED like just brush his hair from his eyes if he vomits and get this man some orange juice and when he’s finally well enough to move from the floor he’ll snuggle up to you all night

THE FIRST TIME HE GOT HIGH WITH THE CIRCLE HE STARTED OVERSHARING LIKE HELL AND IT WAS SO FUNNY CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE he would just pipe up with something random like “oh i think i jacked off to this song for the first time when i was 12-“ “OK ARMIN LET’S GET YOU A SNACK”

and mikasa definitely has multiple videos of him trying to look for his glasses whilst he’s wearing them or similar dumb stoned armin antics for birthday posts

armin arlert get stoned and make out with me challenge bye

[write-nerdy-to-me]

Who’s Da New King of the Universe?

Ever since I saw the s5b trailer, I’ve been thinking some Thoughts™ about where the show is going, where these characters’ journeys of self-discovery will lead, so on and so forth. Putting aside my Deckerstar fears (which, hello theme of the season — “that’s all they are, fears”), I want to talk about the plot they’ve introduced with the return of God, and more specifically, who I believe will actually “become God.” (Though can an angel just assume this role…? I’m getting ahead of myself.)

For the first time in millennia (possibly ever), God has touched down to earth. This unexpected visit is fraught with tension and unease for a myriad of reasons: Why now? How come God hasn’t reached out before? What does this mean for everyone? What does this mean for Lucifer? Why did God do what he did? Why, why, why… 

Already, Lucifer is trying to navigate his new-and-fragile relationship with Chloe and deal with Michael, The First Fearmonger, who is still lingering about. There’s no doubt about the inevitable internal turmoil Lucifer will experience with facing the being he curses the most (besides himself). Then, to really top everything off, God announces his retirement. Like, holy shit, that’s a lot to deal with. 

So, what does Lucifer do? Well, in Peak Lucifer Fashion™ totally not avoiding the issues at hand — as there are no issues, obviously — he decides that he’s going to take his father’s place and become G-O-D (or Lod, if you’re feeling fresh. Please don’t call him Lod). He certainly can’t let Michael take their father’s place, that’s for damn sure. But, and this is important, is ruling the universe what Lucifer truly desires?

Lucifer has grown so much since his and Chloe’s first meeting, there’s no denying that. Of course, he’s not without slip-ups, just as anyone else isn’t, but he’s trying and that’s what matters. Before, everything he did was ultimately flipping the bird to his dad (but also to himself, but that’s some other shit), yet he willingly, selflessly returned to the place he vowed to never step foot in — just to protect Chloe, to protect humanity. He had no idea when he would be able to return, if he would even be able to. Would he ever get to see Chloe again? I’m sure the question haunted him for those thousands of years, as there’s no way he’d believe they’d reunite in hell.

Anyway, deeper Lucifer analysis aside, I just… don’t see him actually wanting the responsibility the role of God brings. Ruling hell, being a king, was always a job that was put on him and he met it great reluctance, if not outright hostility. “It was a job, Detective. Something I was forced to do.” Lucifer doesn’t have any desire to rule demons — he was all for the demons themselves to become the new king, just so he didn’t have to go back — but... Lucifer will be fine and dandy to rule... well, everything? Like, if he hates being the king of hell, what’s to say he’s even going to find fulfillment in being Master of the Universe? Lucifer wants to experience humanity, to help them to realize their deepest desires — and, hopefully, understand his own in the process. I believe that he’s latching onto this idea of entering Godhood because he’s avoiding the issues in front of him: Chloe asked him if he loves her back, and he never gave her an answer. He’s distracting himself, doing something dramatic as he’s wont to do — just to realize that he’s right where he’s supposed to be. (Chloe was just getting used to being in love with Thee Devil™, and now he’s... God? Mm, fancy that. The devil doth protest too much, methinks.) So, what does Lucifer want? Well, that’s a whole other convo, which I’m planning to get into later.

Now we have the question: Who is fit to be God?

It’s rather obvious when you think about it. Who is most often ought out, prayed to for help? For guidance?

Amenadiel is known for his strength, his unwavering loyalty, his compassion, and his love for humanity. He didn’t come by the last two easily by any means. Before, he held humanity at a distance by slowing down time and visiting earth without it knowing. It was after staying and experiencing humanity that he began to feel a change in himself. Since his journey of self-discovery, he’s learned that separating himself from people is not what he wants. He’s come to love humanity, and so, let go of the walls that kept him apart. “Look, I wasted so much time keeping them at bay, looking down on them for millennia when they have so much to offer. I’m only now just realizing how lucky that we are that we actually get a chance to connect with them. So I say put up your sign: ‘Open for business. Humanity, come on in.’”

The nuns felt God’s love stronger than ever reflected back at them in the presence of Amenadiel. This had never happened to him before and it couldn’t have happened because he wasn’t ready. After losing his wings, becoming human himself, experiencing loss, he’s closer to humanity than he’s ever been. He’s even a father now, and he finds fulfillment in just being there for Charlie; he doesn’t need anything else. Whereas Lucifer says he’s ~practicing his dad jokes, but has never been too terribly fond of offspring — with the Detective’s being the exception — and has shown no inclination for fatherhood, except, y’know, now that Godhood is dangling in front of his face like the shiny distraction it is. There are the few instances where he’s seen drinking out of the #1 Dad mug, which I think was foreshadowing for God’s arrival and this subsequent idea of Lucifer’s to be God, more than anything. There’s more to being a father than the puns, though. Between these two, I think it’s pretty self-evident who is more fit to carry the responsibility of the universe.

I think, perhaps, Amenadiel will take the universal throne, and Lucifer will continue as he has by guiding souls to their deepest desires. It will be another partnership, the brothers working together instead of against one another — just as they did to light the flaming sword. Someone for strength, someone for honesty. (Who knows, maybe Michael will be in charge of hell — it would either have to be something he’s bound to, or of his own free will. I mean, ~what do you truly fear~ definitely vibes more with the “you fuel your own hell experience with your guilt” thing.)

And now, some visuals and dialogue that make my brain go brrr. 

“Oh well, thanks for nothing.” “Listen, I really wish I could help you find Chloe, but I have faith in you, brother.”

“And what do you need?” “I think I just need someone to hold my hand and tell me everything’s going to be okay.” “I promise you, Linda. Everything is going to be okay.”

“You couldn’t wait to tell everyone up there how all of God’s children create their own fate, how we decide where we belong.”

“I don’t think it’s God’s job to stop the bad. I actually think he’s there to give us the strength to get through it.”

God, thy name is Amenadiel.

tl;dr

I believe s5b will not end with Lucifer as G-O-D, but with Amenadiel. If I haven't convinced you to come over to the Amenadiel as God side, what if I told you that the combined name is Godadiel. God -> Dad -> Amenadiel.

The dots? Connected. The code? Cracked. My sanity? Gone.

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.15

if we cannot find the light, we will always make our own

Chapter Fourteen

This is the fifteenth chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Derek & Emily called Spencer for a consult, and with him off his antidepressants, things very quickly fell apart.

In This Chapter: Hotch & Penelope pick up the pieces.

tw: depression-related exhaustion, disordered thinking, reference to last chapter's breakdown, discussion of medication

Word Count: 4K

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

(Quick Note: A couple of chapters ago I referred to Spencer's psychiatrist by she/her pronouns, but I forgot that I assigned that character he/him pronouns wayyy back, so I've decided to go with that one. I just wanted to address that in case anyone else caught it like I did! I apologise for the mistake & any confusion it might have caused.)

AARON

"Find my hand in the darkness and if we cannot find the light, we will always make our own." — Tyler Knott Gregson

Aaron doesn’t fall asleep until well into the small hours of the morning, finally lulled into a cold dreamless sleep once he’s cried himself out. He keeps as quiet as he can, but he knows he won’t wake Spencer up anyway: he’s completely exhausted, and he’s out cold. It’s a small consolation, but he tries to take a small bit of comfort in knowing that his boyfriend is at least getting the rest he needs.

He wakes up only a couple of hours after he falls asleep, and despite feeling completely exhausted, he sets about the things he needs to do. The first thing he does is call Strauss to request a family day — thankfully, the bureau’s been a lot more understanding of his situation since Haley died — before texting Derek and telling him that he needs to take charge of the team if they get sent on a case. Then he calls Jess and asks if she can collect Jack from his sleepover at lunchtime and have him until the evening.

With the technicalities sorted out, he makes a phone call to Spencer's psychiatrist. At this point, if he has to drag him kicking and screaming, if Spencer never talks to him again, if it calls an irreparable rift in their relationship, it won’t get in the way of him getting Spencer the help he needs. After an emergency appointment for 11am is booked, he collapses onto the sofa and calls Penelope.

“Hotch? It’s not even 7am, is everything alright?”

Just hearing her voice, hearing someone ask if he’s okay, is enough to push him over the edge. “No,” he admits into the phone, not even trying to disguise the emotion in his voice.

“I’m on my way,” she says immediately, and he can hear a flurry of activity start up on the other end of the line. “What’s happened, Hotch?”

He breathes out shakily, running a hand down his face. The early morning sun, the bustling city below him, the bright apartment all seems so contrary to the current situation. “Spencer hit a breaking point last night,” he says shakily, unsure exactly how to word it. “Derek and Emily called him to consult on a case, and they were as brisk and focused as we all are when we’re working, but he’s out of practice; he’s not used to that way of doing things anymore. It triggered him and sent him into what I’m gonna guess was a panic attack? But honestly, Penelope… it looked like a breakdown.”

“Oh God,” she says quietly, and the sound of her exiting her apartment reassures Aaron a little.

“I had no idea how to handle it,” he says, dissolving into tears. “He locked himself in the bathroom and was literally tearing his hair out… there were clumps of hair all over the floor. He was screaming at me to leave, telling me he wasn’t good enough that he forgot his place? I had no idea what he was saying—”

Penelope interrupts him. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“Well, when I first found out about his depression, Spencer told me something about how he didn’t feel like he was good for anything except his brain and IQ, you know? He said that he wasn’t cut out for friendships or relationships and I’m pretty sure he called that his ‘place’. It’s stuck with me because of just how awful it sounded.”

“Fuck,” Aaron mutters, sniffing as a fresh wave of tears come to his eyes. “So Emily and Derek consulting him for their case triggered those thoughts again.”

“Sounds like it,” she agrees. “They’re gonna feel so guilty.”

Aaron knows she’s in a tricky situation: her girlfriend and close friend sending her best friend into a near-breakdown, and for a brief minute he feels guilty for roping her in before reminding himself that she wouldn’t be anywhere else if Spencer needed her.

“Yeah, I don’t even know what I’m gonna do about that,” he sighs. “I thought about not telling them, because Spencer doesn’t need everyone knowing about every step of his recovery; it’s personal, right? But more secrets between everyone… I don’t know, it doesn’t feel like a good idea. Especially not for something this serious.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” Penelope promises. “Look, I’m in my car now. I’ll be there in 10, okay?”

He sighs in relief. “Thanks, Penelope.”

They hang up and he drops his phone next to him before staring up at the ceiling for a minute, rubbing his temples. Forcing himself off the sofa, he considers putting the coffee machine on but he doesn’t want the sound of the bean grinder to wake Spencer up, so he settles for a cup of instant coffee instead, putting a slice of bread in the toaster as well.

By the time he’s finished his second slice, Penelope’s letting herself in.

“He’s still asleep?”

He nods, watching as she dumps her handbag on the armchair and walks further into the apartment. It’s always strange seeing her without her usual colourful outfits and makeup on, and although he’s gotten used to it in the past year as they’ve rallied around Spencer, sometimes it still reminds him of seeing her in her casual clothes for the first time when she got shot a couple of years ago.

“I’m just gonna grab some breakfast and a tea,” she says quietly, helping herself to everything in the kitchen as she always does. “You go and sit down, I’ll be over in a minute and we can discuss a game plan.”

He obeys, closing his eyes against the headache coming on, but it’s only a couple of minutes before Penelope’s sitting in the armchair opposite the sofa with a cup of chamomile tea and a slice of marmalade toast.

“Right, the first thing we need to tackle is convincing him to get back on his meds,” Penelope says seriously, keeping her voice low to avoid waking Spencer up.

He nods. “I know. I’ve made an emergency appointment with his psychiatrist for 11am, it’s just a case of a) getting him there and b) making him listen to him.”

“The problem is that he sees going back on medication as admitting defeat or failing at recovery. We need to have a really honest, frank conversation with him about it, but I just don’t know how we’re gonna get him to believe us.”

“Maybe we should use our own experiences? He doesn’t think any less of me or think I’m weak when I take pain medication when my injuries flare up. He wouldn’t think any less of you for accepting pain meds throughout your recovery after you were shot. He doesn’t think less of his mother because she relies on psychiatric medication.”

Penelope nods. “He has a twisted perception of himself. One rule for himself, another for everyone else.”

Something about her words makes Aaron feel suddenly, desperately sad. He’s always been sad for Spencer and what he’s gone through, and he’s been crying most of the night, but the realisation, the reassertion, of just how much Spencer hates himself, what his brain’s put him through over the last two years cuts deep, winding him.

“I just wish he could see himself the way we see him,” he says sadly, another tear spilling down his cheek, as though he has anything left to give.

Penelope’s expression tells him she feels the same.

Hotch goes in to check on Spencer as the clock approaches nine, and his heart breaks for the thousandth time when he finds him staring listlessly at the wall again.

“Morning, baby,” he says gently, making his way into the room.

Thankfully, it grabs Spencer’s attention, and he turns to look at him, misery and self-loathing written all over his face. He doesn’t say anything, but he holds eye contact with Aaron long enough for him to understand that it’s okay for him to be there, and he makes his way further into the room, climbing onto the bed. He’s not expecting Spencer to immediately latch onto him, burying his face in his t-shirt as he clings to him like he’s going somewhere, but that’s exactly what happens.

“Penelope’s in the living room,” he murmurs, carding his fingers through Spencer’s hair. There’s no expectation for him to reply, so he lets the words settle over them as they lay quietly together; the calm after the storm. Aaron hopes it won’t double as the before as well.

After a good couple of minutes, Spencer shifts, and Aaron follows his lead as they shuffle out of the bedroom towards Penelope’s contemplative perch on the sofa. Spencer heads straight towards her, curling into her side and drawing the warm comfort Penelope always has to offer.

“Oh, baby genius,” she whispers, kissing the top of his head. “You’re okay. We love you so much.”

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say, because Spencer immediately withdraws, curling in on himself as he starts to cry.

“Hey, hey, Spencer,” Aaron soothes calmly as he rushes over to his side, “what’s going on?”

Penelope starts to apologise but Aaron shakes his head and she settles for resting a gentle hand on his side instead.

“Can you tell us what’s wrong, Spencer?” Aaron asks, a knot forming in his stomach as he hopes against hope that this won’t turn into a repeat of last night. “We can’t help you unless you talk to us.”

Spencer takes a ragged breath in, turning his face slightly towards Aaron’s direction, and his chest clenches at the bags under his sore, red eyes; his pallid skin. “I’m sorry,” he says shakily, wiping at the tears on his face.

“You don’t have to apologise, Spencer. You just need to tell us how we can help you,” Penelope says gently, her hand rubbing small, consoling circles on his side.

Spencer meets his eyes, his face crumpling as he does and Aaron, in that moment, is reminded distinctly of a star collapsing in on itself. Spencer heaves a painful sob as two more tears spill down his cheeks. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

The admission seems obvious at surface level, but the magnitude of such a statement isn’t lost on either Aaron nor Penelope.

Aaron sighs sadly. “Come here, baby.” Spencer falls gladly into Aaron’s embrace, sobbing dejectedly into his shoulder, sounding so tired and defeated that it’s painful to listen to.

Once he’s finished crying himself out, Aaron and Penelope switch places, Aaron moving to sit on the sofa with Spencer propped up against him and Penelope settling into the armchair.

He approaches his next words carefully. “I’ve made an appointment for you to see Dr Parker at 11am. Penelope and I will take you, and we both think that you should talk to him about going back on the venlafaxine.”

To his surprise Spencer just nods tiredly, no longer crying and instead resuming his blank staring.

“And we also think you should consider talking to Derek and Emily about what happened yesterday,” Penelope suggests quietly, an encouraging expression on her face.

Spencer looks up at her, emotions flying across his face as he processes her words and how he feels about them. Briefly, he looks like he’s about to argue, about to shout or get mad, but he quickly deflates. “They’ll feel guilty,” he says miserably. “Not their fault.”

“Your relationships with everyone have come a long way, Spencer, and that’s great. But everyone is still fragile and affected by everything that’s happened in the past year, and keeping secrets like these is only going to hurt everyone more.”

Spencer’s still and silent for a moment before he nods reluctantly.

“I think that maybe,” Aaron ventures cautiously, “you should avoid doing any consulting work for a while. It’s clearly damaging for you and is always going to come with potential triggers, and when you’re already feeling sad and vulnerable, it’s really just a catalyst for an event like yesterday evening.”

Spencer nods at that, too, and Aaron wishes he could take his acquiescence as a win, but he knows it’s coming from a place of defeat and despair, and he’ll never take any consolation in that.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Aaron says. “We have about an hour until we need to leave, so why don’t we get you some food, get you into the shower, and then you can rest for any left over time? Does that sound okay?”

At Spencer’s agreement, Penelope heads to the kitchen to whip him up something a bit more nutritious than the toast they both settled for, while Aaron takes him to the bathroom to wash up.

“Are you alright on your own?” he asks as he sets the shower up for him, Spencer perching on the edge of the bath as he waits.

Instead of answering his question though, panic suddenly crosses Spencer’s face and he looks at Aaron urgently. “Jack!”

“Hey, it’s alright,” he says soothingly. “Jess is gonna pick him up from his sleepover at lunchtime and have him for the afternoon. I’ve taken a personal day and unless a case comes in, Penelope will be here for as long as we need her. Everything’s in hand.”

“But it’s Jack’s spring break! You should be spending time with him, not herding me into the shower—”

At the first sign of tears, Aaron is quick to step in, reassuring him as best he can. “Hey, I will spend time with him, alright? He was already going to be with Sam all morning, and he’ll be dropped off before dinner, so Jess is only going to have him for a couple of hours. And if you’re feeling well enough once we get back from the doctor’s, then he can come home early, but right now, your health is the most important thing we need to deal with, you hear me?”

Spencer nods reluctantly, but he can tell that the thought of cutting into Aaron’s time with Jack is only fuelling his self-loathing. Having to accept that there’s nothing he can do about that, he makes sure he’s okay in the shower before heading out into the kitchen to find Penelope.

“I can’t tell if that went well or not,” she says quietly, not looking up from the frying pan currently cooking eggs and bacon.

Aaron sighs, leaning against the counter top, his eyes fixed on the bathroom door. “I think it went about as well as it could.”

“I texted Emily and Derek, and they’re going to pop over this afternoon if we don’t get a case,” she says. “If Spencer’s not up for it, we can rearrange, but I thought it was better to be prepared.”

“No, you’re right, thank you for doing that, Penelope. What would I do without you?”

“Aw, stop it, bossman,” she says, grinning as she nudges him playfully.

He smiles. “I mean it.”

“I know. But I’m happy to help you guys out. I’d do anything for Spencer, and I know he’d do anything for me.”

“Without a doubt.”

Spencer emerges from the bathroom a few moments later, clad in a white t-shirt and some tracksuit bottoms Aaron is pretty sure are both actually his, damp curly hair a mess on his head. He can’t help but smile despite himself; his boyfriend looking so damn cute will always be a small pick-me-up on even the worst of days.

“Penelope’s cooked up a storm for you,” he says as brightly as the situation allows, guiding him to the sofa and tucking him in with a couple of blankets to get him as comfortable as possible.

He gets a small smile at that, and a murmured ‘thank you’ when Penelope brings him over a plate of bacon and eggs, arranged as perfectly as he’d expect with Penelope serving as cook.

He flicks the TV to the discovery channel, managing to catch the beginning of a documentary on big cats, and he counts it as a win when it catches Spencer’s attention, hoping it takes his mind off the pain he’s feeling just a little bit.

They spend the next forty minutes watching documentaries with Spencer before Penelope notices the time and begins herding them out the door towards the parking garage.

“No way,” Aaron laughs as she heads towards her car.

“What?”

“You are not driving, Penelope,” he says, laughing even more at her incredulous reaction. “I’ve seen you; you drive like a maniac. We’re taking my car.”

She pouts. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Does this mean I have to sit in the back, too?”

He just levels her with a look that has her sighing dramatically and flinging herself into the backseat, but when he looks over at Spencer and sees a smile on his face, he’s suddenly even more thankful for Penelope.

They sit in the waiting room while Spencer has his appointment and try desperately not to make each other more anxious than they already feel. Penelope flicks through fashion magazines at a pace that tells Aaron she’s not reading a single word, and Aaron reads over and over the case notes he’d bought with him to pass the time, no more going in the second, third, eleventh time than it did the first.

Finally, though, Spencer emerges from Dr Parker’s office with a script in hand and they both sigh a small breath of relief at the idea that he’s finally getting the help he’s been needing so badly.

“Okay, baby?” he murmurs as Spencer reaches for his hand on the way out of the psychiatrist’s office, and something loosens in his chest when Spencer nods and smiles, looking happier and more relaxed than he has in weeks.

Derek and Emily come over just after lunchtime, and Penelope gets up to open the door for them, Spencer and Aaron not moving from their position on the couch, Spencer resting his head in Aaron’s lap as one of his favourite sci-fi movies is playing on the TV.

When he sees who it is, though, Spencer moves to sit up slightly, still keeping himself folded into Aaron’s side.

“Hey, Spence,” Emily says softly, taking a seat in the armchair while Penelope comes over to perch on the arm, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend, “what’s this about?”

Both Emily and Derek look confused enough that Aaron knows Spencer will be able to tell that neither he nor Penelope told them what happened last night, willing to give him a last minute out if that’s what he needs, as well as full control over the narrative.

Derek comes over to the sofa and sits next to Spencer, keeping enough distance between them to keep Spencer comfortable, though he still rests a warm hand on his ankle. “What’s going on? You can tell us anything, pretty boy, you know that.”

Spencer looks to Aaron, and the expression on his face conveys what he needs immediately.

“Yesterday, your consult with Spencer on the methanol poisoning case triggered an… event,” he explains, trying to choose his words carefully. He wants to tell the truth, but he also doesn’t want to sound like he’s blaming Derek and Emily or use language Spencer wouldn’t be happy with. “It was a breaking point of sorts and as such, he decided to go back on his medication.”

Relief tied up with confusion are the first emotions he watches play over Emily and Derek’s faces. Everyone’s been hoping Spencer will return to his medication, but he knows they’ll want more information as to what exactly happened and why they’ve been asked over.

“An event?” Emily asks, sounding a little hesitant.

Before Aaron can answer, Spencer speaks up, his voice a little tired and croaky but convicted nonetheless. “It was a breakdown,” he says plainly, not sugar-coating his words. “I was in a bad place already and I was out of practice with what a time sensitive case entails, and it sent me into a tailspin. It reminded me of all the feelings that working in the BAU caused that year, and I couldn’t handle it. I lashed out at Aaron and…”

“The details don’t matter,” Aaron rescues his tailed off sentence. “The fact is we thought that more secrets were only going to make things worse in the long run, and you needed to understand what happened last night since Spencer going back on his meds was bound to raise questions anyway.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer interjects, his voice anxious and urgent. “It wasn’t your fault, it’s just the way of the BAU and if I’d been on my medication like I should’ve been in the first place it wouldn’t have been a problem, it was just a horrible medley of circumstances. But I’ve decided that I won’t be doing any consults for a while until I can get my head on straight again. It may be that I’m never able to do them without being triggered, but we’re going to play it by ear.”

Aaron smiles at him proudly, kissing the top of his head as soon as he buries back in for a cuddle.

“Oh, Spence,” Emily sighs sadly. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t even think. We were so caught up in the case we didn’t even stop to consider you and how you’d interpret things.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer says again, this time from his place on Aaron’s chest. “I’m sorry that it had to be you guys that triggered the breaking point.”

“We should’ve been more considerate,” Derek says firmly, his expression filled with regret. “The last thing I’d ever want is to make you feel the way I did last year, and even though other circumstances contributed to what happened last night, we still failed you, kid, and I’m so sorry for that.”

“It’s fine, seriously. In a way, I’m glad it happened. Something had to give, and I’m glad that I can look forward to finally feeling normal again. I talked to my psychiatrist this morning and even though… it still feels a little bit like giving up, I feel better about it. And we’re gonna work on my attitude to medication in the next couple of sessions until I feel more comfortable about it.”

Aaron knows how much Spencer hates talking about his recovery, so it feels like a big step for him to be so personal and vulnerable in front of four different people, even if they are all virtually his family at this point.

“I’m proud of you, Spencer,” Emily says earnestly, and even though Aaron can tell she still feels guilty, at least it’s no longer the most dominant emotion on her face.

“Me too, kid. You’ve been through hell and back and we’re all so proud of you for getting to where you are.”

Spencer smiles gratefully, but Aaron can tell he’s exhausted from the events of the morning, so he sends a look to Penelope and she shows Emily and Derek out, but not before giving Emily a kiss and being teased by Derek for it.

“Right, baby,” he says as the apartment quietens and it’s just the three of them left. “I think you could do with a nap, don’t you?”

“Don’t wanna leave you,” Spencer mumbles tiredly, clinging to his t-shirt.

“Well how about I come and sit with you while you sleep, yeah? You go and get tucked in and I’ll be in in a minute, I promise.”

“You better.” It’s not much, but it’s the closest to teasing Spencer’s come in weeks, and he’ll absolutely take it.

He gives Penelope a warm hug and disappears into the bedroom.

“Looks like I can leave you to it,” Penelope says quietly as soon as the door’s closed behind him.

Aaron looks at her seriously, before wrapping her in a rare hug. “Thank you for today. I mean it. I don’t know what we would’ve done this past year without you, Penelope, but we sure as hell wouldn’t be where we are now. I’m always gonna be thankful that Spencer has someone as wonderful as you to call a best friend.”

“Hotch,” she says tearily, “I love you both so much. You don’t have to thank me, but it means a lot that you did.”

He smiles at her. “You should go back to the BAU. Go and find Derek and Emily who are no doubt beating themselves up and tell them they’re being ridiculous.”

She gives him a mock salute as she smiles back. “You got it, boss.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Keep me posted,” she says as she gathers the last of her things and heads to the door. “Let me know how he’s doing tonight and I’ll pop round after work to see him tomorrow, okay?”

“Perfect.”

As soon as she’s gone, he climbs into bed with Spencer and wraps him up in his arms, feeling — for the first time in weeks — a distinct conviction that everything is going to be okay.

Chapter Sixteen

Soooo, we don't hate me anymore? I really enjoyed writing this part of the fic, I'm such a sucker for third act angst and the resolution is always so satisfying to me, so I hope I managed to give you guys the same feeling. Only one more chapter to go, and then we're done wtf, how did that happen? I can't wait for you to all read the happy lil ending I wrote for you! See you next Saturday, for the very last time :( If this chapter has brought anything up for you and you're feeling unsafe please check out this link <3

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[dindooku]

ao3 - loulou1810

you hesitated, knowing there was no other way around this. he could just look you up on the holocomputer. your name would be top of the list. and he’ll, you were in a max prison security unit, so using petty crime wouldn’t cut it either.

you’d have to tell him, be honest. that’s the honourable thing to do, right?

tw - contains violence, suggestive themes and flashbacks of sexual assault/rape

word count: 5,040

____

His chair slowly turned to face you. The child was sat comfortably in his lap playing with a small silver ball, completely entranced by its chrome.

“Is that it?” He scoffed back with a slight hiccup of a laugh. “Me too, why’d they lock you up there? Bit overkill?”

“Yeah…” You drifted, wondering whether you should tell the truth. “I was captured about 2 years ago…” You start, gauging his reaction to see whether he actually wanted to know. He sat up and fixed his gaze to you, signalling that he was listening and for you to continue. You dropped your head, eyes now transfixed on the loose piece of thread you were wrapping around your fingers,

“Well, I was captured. I was originally what you could call a hit-man for the Republic. I’d worked for them consistently for around 8 years. They used me to hunt down and dispose of Ex-Empire politicians and War Lords, but one mission went south and I was drugged. I was then sold to a high-class underground fighting ring, they’d implanted some sort of control chip which meant they could stop me from lashing out or protesting. They could make me do whatever they wanted…” you paused.

This part of the memory was particularly painful. “They didn’t just use me for fighting,” There were so many hidden meanings and stories hidden there, stories you’ve hidden away and not even bared to think about yourself. They’re too painful, just thinking about it felt like daggers were being slowly pushed into your skull, “One customer had let their name loose during…” Your breath hitched, tears now pricking your eyes as the trauma replayed vividly in-front of your eyes, again and again. You close your eyes so that Mando can’t see how much this has affected you. “I committed the name to memory. During one fight I heard that name again. I saw them in the crowd and something in me just snapped, I couldn’t take the pressure anymore. As soon as I’d dealt with my opponent I sent a knife straight through his skull.” The memory was clear as day now and just as callous.

The extravagant curtains draped the room. Rows of black leather chairs lined the arena, circling around the central ring. The lights were dim, a subtle red stained the multicultural onlookers in a bloodied mood lighting. This was a highly prestigious place, only the highest-ranking officials and galactic influencers could witness this fight… this was obvious from the lavish guest attire. Some coated greedily in gold, others jewels and crystals. Normally you’d be dismayed by the lavish beauty of it all, but not today. You were fighting for your life against one of your more difficult opponents. They were at least 3 times your size, chiselled from pure warrior muscle, wielding a heavy battle-axe which was decorated with the bones of their previous wins. You’d given them a run for your money the whole fight, slowly chipping away at their ego with your double-edged Phrik knives. These were the only weapons you needed. Despite this, you weren’t yourself in this moment. Your targets unbeknownst to you were sat peacefully in the viewing box. Your thoughts were painful, the weight of the constant torture and manipulation had worn you thin, you were on your last tether. Despite the chip stopping you from resisting, your soul was ripping that connection from you with every punch, kick and slice. ‘This is your purpose, do it’ swirled your mind in a violent tempest. The words tortured you, controlling every cell in your body.

And then you heard it, their name. You glanced towards its direction. They were right there, in front of you, taunting you with their presence. ‘Complete the mission. Do what you have trained to do. Feed that temptation ’. You’d had enough. As if timed moved slower now, you slid under the belly of your opponent, grabbing their ankle you kicked yourself up, swinging onto their back. You planted a knife into the nape of their neck, twisting it to make sure. As they fell forwards you used the momentum to jump, launching your other knife over the barrier and into the viewing box.  It left your fingers before you could control it, before you could stop yourself. The next few seconds felt like a lifetime that day. The confused agony not leaving their face until you’d dropped to of view. You’d watched their face as they realised what had happened. The synthetic mind that had been forced into you left the moment the knife did, and the weight of that kill latched onto your soul.

“The synthetic consciousness left with the knife. What I didn’t know is that they were a high ranking Republican political official, and you can piece the puzzle from there. That was that. It was over for me”

You could feel his rage. This had angered him more than you.  You didn’t dare say a thing. You fiddled harder with the fabric in your fingers now, the anxiety was suffocating you and you didn’t know what to do.  You knew that what the officer did to you was wrong, illegal. But the way you’d been treated afterwards was what stung. You were the dirty criminal, they were a war hero. It didn’t take long for them to convince you that you were crazy, that you were a psychopath.

This guilt would carry you to the grave, maybe even push you in.

“If it wasn’t your choi-… if it was synthetic, why’d they lock you up? You were kidnapped and manipulated.” The question fair, and exactly the same question that had eaten away at you ever since they sentenced you. You were taken, held hostage, abused and tortured. Your body became a toy, something for them to release their anger and lustful cravings on. The pain they slowly incited within you only made things easier for them, more enjoyable, they fed off your hate. You tried to cut your emotions, but what they did to you was unforgivable, sadistic. They used your emotions against you, like Lori said would happen. By the time their use for you came around you were an empty shell, stripped bare. They implanted you, and with the flip of a switch, you were their puppet.

“My kidnappers implanted a chip into my brain. They could control me when they wanted, on and off like a droid. It was an old hijacked Clone Wars tech. They only had one use for me, making money. Once I’d done their bidding for them, they’d turn it off. After the incident though, they destroyed the switch along with the evidence. I was classed as insane. The Republic arrested me and took me in. That's how I ended up in the transporter. I was Disposable”

The last word rang your ears, it was driven into you from the start. No one had any attachments to you, no one. You were nothing. A credit without currency. An object.

The sigh that left your body felt like it took the last remaining pieces of your soul. Your tears relenting now, a nervous response to the rehashed trauma. You’d thought about it until your mind was raw. No matter how hard you reasoned with your conscience, you couldn’t shake the guilt. It was your fault, you knew it. You wished that you hadn’t thrown that knife, that you’d had more self-control and restraint. Deep down though, there was no other reason, you killed them, no one else. You, you’re the sick psycho.

“So they can’t control you anymore?” It was low, quiet. You knew he was trying to understand how it all worked, it was confusing even to you, and you weren’t the best at explaining things either.

“I don’t think so, they said they’d destroyed the controller,” You told yourself that they couldn’t control you like they did then, not anymore. But you couldn’t deny the power they still held over you. The way they’d manipulated, engraved their domination into you meant that you’d do anything they’d say out of fear. They were the only people you feared. You couldn’t face that pain again, and you knew resisting would only lead to torture. Out here in this ship, flying through hyperspace… they had no grip here, you were away from them, free.

He seemed uneasy, and you thought it was because he suspected that you could just turn on him at the flick of a switch. You were sure that they’d destroyed it. They’d not used it since…

“Would you like a job?” Out of everything you thought that he was going to say, you really could not have ever thought he’d be asking to employ you. You darted your eyes up, the confusion on your face was almost painful. Completely speechless. He elaborated, “I need someone to look after the Kid” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You’d just told this guy that you were a top-ranking assassin and now he wants to employ you as his babysitter?

“Are you having a laugh?” Is all you could say, chuckling as the words left your mouth. You’d never dealt with kids. You had no idea what you were doing. Mando seemed to be doing fine, why did he need you?

“Why, what makes you think that?” He sounds confused now. He shifts his head back a bit, his back straightening. He really did not know why this was all so confusing…

“You want me…me?” you point to your chest, emphasising your concern “of all people, you want me to look after the Child? Did you listen to a word I just said?”

“Yeah. You’re overqualified. Exactly what I’m looking for.” Right, this is odd. You pinch yourself, are you really awake. Have you somehow died or is this some messed up dream?

“I don’t understand?” You curt back, arms now folded in an aggressive manner. You weren’t up for being played around.

“I need someone who can protect the Child, you said you were trained and that’s obvious, I saw the way you moved from me in the cell, how you came away unscathed from Xian” He was right. You started to see what he was getting at, and despite agreeing that you could quite comfortably be the Childs personal bodyguard, you couldn’t deny the fact you had no idea how to look after a Child in the first place.

“I have no idea how to look after a Child…”

“Neither do I, we can figure it out together” He looked down to check on the kid. He was in a whole other galaxy, completely amiss to the tense situation happening just in front of him, the chrome ball his only concern. Mando’s gaze held for a moment, you assumed to weigh up all the possibilities of what he was offering. He turned back to you.

“You can call me Mando” And with that, he left the cockpit to put his weapons away in the main hull. You glanced at the child’s beaming toothy grin as he was carried away. You were frozen. That was it. You’d just bagged yourself a job.

___

He watched you, eyes bearing into your back as you assessed what was now going to be your new home…if you could even call it that. He handed you a small bag of clothes, some black long sleeve t-shirt’s that were way too big for you, some trousers and toiletries. The gesture was appreciated. You placed it down next to the metal slab of a pull-out bed… Damn, it is what is. You scold yourself, you’ve never had luxury, why do you expect it now? Maybe the promise of freedom was sweeter than it actually was. He nods for you to follow him out of the room.

He shows you the fresher, which is small but practical. Next, the carbonite freezer, explaining briefly that this is where his bounties go. Then, he pointed to his cabin, making it explicitly clear not to enter or open it unless he says so, even in emergencies. You thought it was odd but then it clicked as to why, and so you let the question die before it surfaced.

You’ve heard the stories of Mandalorian’s, how they’re the fiercest warriors in the galaxy. You’d read books about the battles, the power that ran through their blood. Through your job, you’d come across a few who posed as Mandalorian's but were never real. They wore the armour for protection and style, never out of honour. But with the way this guy acted, spoke and had some sort of attachment issues to his armour… you sussed he was the real deal. Xian even said the doesn’t take it off during…stop.

_____

A few days had passed now and Mando was getting more and more agitated. You’d stopped off at a small spaceport on a remote planet to gather more supplies and fuel.  

You walked together through the market. He’d given you a small bag of credits so that you could get some spare clothes, toiletries and anything else you’d need for your stay on the Razor Crest. It wasn’t much but was enough to tide you over. You couldn’t complain, you had no money so it was better than nothing. You made sure to say thanks as you walked out the ship, following just behind him.

The market was a bit overwhelming at first, but once you’d realised that no one was out to get you you settled down. Mando walked in front, the Kid sat up in his pod, watching the people go about their lives. You noticed that people were making extra effort to stay out of his way, turning to whisper to others as you passed. He stuck out like a sore thumb wearing all that armour, but he didn’t seem to care. It certainly made traversing the busy streets a lot easier. You also found that you got things for a lot cheaper too, he’d stand just over your shoulder each time you went to a stall. The owner would give you the biggest smile whilst simultaneously trying not to anger the armoured chrome bucket behind you.

You found one stall that sold a bazaar range of things, from cutlery to footwear. But what caught your eye was the small Orback toy sat over in the far corner. It was perfect for the kid, it’d keep him distracted and it meant that Mando might get the silver chrome ball back. You asked for the price, not bothering to haggle the shopkeeper. Once you’d paid for it he handed it over and you placed it straight into the Childs hands. He looked it over for a second, confused at what you were giving him. He soon realised and the noise he made melted your heart, he was ecstatic. Waving it around in the air you grabbed the silver ball and handed it to Mando. He nodded at you, then glanced at the now screaming child who was what looked like laying down the law to his new friend.

After a while, the distance between you and Mando got closer and closer until there came a point where your arms were practically nudging one-another with each stride. You didn’t mind the contact, it was nice actually. Even in the busy streets, you felt like the only one there, his presence looming and protective. As the streets got busier you started to get antsy, you’re now scanning for possible threats. You didn’t want to slip up on your first day on the job, first impressions count. Mando could sense your tension and tried to soothe you by resting a hand onto the small of your back as you were walking. It brought your attention away from the dark alleyway and the rooftops and right into his touch. It paid off and you were instantly calmer. You said thanks through a small smile, which still hadn’t left your face whilst you were packing your stuff away back on the ship.

“We have to go somewhere, to pick up someone. I know you’re skilled in fighting, more than many I’ve seen” The compliment lands short as he continues, “The Child has a bounty and he isn’t safe until we take out the root cause. I'm going to need your help with this, is that ok?”

“Yes… for the Child, anything” He stared at you for a second. You guessed it was so he could read your face, ensure that you were ok with what he was asking of you. If it meant that the Child would be safe, then you’d do it. You know it was now your job, but over the few days you’ve been part of his crew, the Child has grown on you, incredibly. He’s already taught you so much, things you never thought you’d learn, and you’re grateful to the Child for that. Even though he can’t talk, he still finds ways to communicate warmth and hope. You don’t like to admit it but he is growing on you…a lot. He nodded and then left for the cockpit, firing up the engines and directing the ship out of the port. You turned away, walking back to your room.

__________

You wake screaming, the torture of your nightmare gripping your neck vindictively, suffocating you, dragging you into the depths of your mind that you never want to re-visit. You’re screaming but its broken, bloodied, hurt. You’re sat upright now, gripping your neck as you find release, the door to your cabin swinging open. He rushes in, quickly scanning the room for the cause, only to set his eyes on you and realise the root of the problem. He slows, just a small space between the both of you now, his helm still checking to ensure there’s no physical harm causing your pain.

You struggle to catch your breath, still clutching at your throat. The dried tears coating your cheeks, your eyes glint off of the ships dimmed lights. The extend of your struggle was shown in the reflection of his Beskar suit, the physical strain pertinent around your neck, the grip you’d been holding was enough to kill.

You were still struggling to breathe but were completely conscious now. Mando reached out a hand to your shoulder, trying to soothe you, “Breathe” He looks again to triple check the child isn’t doing any crazy magic as he had woken in a fit of tears too.

You quickly turn to look at him, your breathing still hoarse. The physical contact cutting through your mind and bringing you to now. Your eyes search for his. The black visor stared back. It’s probably good that you can’t see his face, as its currently slightly torn at the physical wound you’d inflicted to yourself in your sleep. His eyes scan the rest of your body, gazing at your arms which are now bare, the sleeves of the black-top he had given you were now rolled up. They’re riddled with scars of different shapes and sizes, but obvious. He glanced to your neck again, the edges of some pointed out from under the neck of the tee, some raised, some etched, some burned.

“Sorry for startling you…I…” The embarrassment starting to set in now you’ve absorbed the situation.

“The Child woke in tears too, and then I heard you screaming. Cara’s looking after him now”.

You furrow your brows at the new information. The Child too? Was he connected to your dream somehow? Or did the feeling transfer… you wouldn’t know, just acknowledging the connection and leaving it at that.

“Yeah… I was confused too…” he’d noticed the coincidence too, “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us. You should start getting ready soon.”

All this information was starting to rack your brain, the sleepy haze in your mind making it difficult to focus. Then you remembered.

The last week had been a blur. You’d picked up some reinforcements for the mission. First, an ex-shock trooper who went by the name Cara, the tattoo was one of the first things you noticed. She wore it proudly. Cara seemed nice enough even though Mando had told her your backstory, she understood. Her eyes had seen the horror of manipulation too. She knew pain, death. You doubt she’d excuse what you did, but it seemed as though she’d done her fair share and maybe call it even. You’d made small conversation with her and it seemed that you could trust her, you hoped that she’d trust you too.

And then Kuill, now he was sweet. A kind, older Ugnuaght who had served the Empire. He’d done his time. Like you, he was forced to do something he didn’t want to do. The similarity between you two was silently acknowledged, he knew your pain, wanting to fight back but not being able to. He always spoke to you with soft words. You remember his admission with clarity. A day or so after picking him and his Bluurgs up, Mando and Cara were discussing the plan in the cockpit. You were sat in the corner of the hull, entertaining the Child, rolling the chrome ball back and forth along the floor. Kuill strolled up to you, holding your shoulder, bringing your attention from the Child to him.

“I too know the pain of Capitulation. I served my time, and now I work for no one. My soul is free. You are changed now, your punishment dealt. Make good of your life now it is yours. I have spoken.”

You didn’t know what to say but you knew that was exactly what you needed to hear. You’d never had kinder words spoken. It was bittersweet, but a lifeline nonetheless.

“I don’t know exactly how things will turn out so it’s probably best we prepare for anything” he admits, fear hidden in the admission somewhere. “I have asked Kuill to look after the Child along with IG. You’ll come with me and Cara to sort the problem. To finish this.”

Your head turns to the small Ugnaught now standing in the doorway, Cara to his side holding the Child. You nod politely to them, slightly embarrassed at how they were seeing you. The Child coos, his arms outstretched to his Dad. Cara walks into your room to give Mando the child, he coos again, this time more assertive. Cara tries to hand him over to Mando but he’s blubbering louder now, his arms are now outstretched to you. You sit up properly at the realisation. Mando nods to Cara, giving her silent permission to hand the Child to you. They both watch as you and the Child babble, his hand grabbing around your finger.

The connection warms you. He’s telling you through the only way he knows how that he’s ok, and that you should be too. He exudes calmness, soothing your mind to level with his. You smile at him, silently thanking him for his unique comfort. He nods back with a coo, head-turning towards Mando. He looks back at you with a toothy grin, releasing your finger then making grabby gestures to Mando. You smile to yourself as you watch Mando pick up the Child and leave, resting him in his right arm. Mando’s head was tilted towards the Child as if to ask what all the fuss was about. Cara watches them leave then turns to you.

“Hey,” She says calmly, sitting to perch on the side of your bed.

“Hey, I'm sorry if I interrupted you, I didn’t mean to-” She cuts you off.

“Don't apologise, it’s ok, we all have bad dreams sometimes” She sports a small smile, letting you know she understands. You smile back. It’s nice to have another girl on the ship, you feel like you can open up to Cara a bit more than you can with Mando. You maintain the small smile, showing your sincerity. “The kid seems to really like you” She chuckles, showing a couple of teeth. She’s right, you both got along really well. You’d not known the Child for long but you were already smitten, the toothy grin got you every time.

“Thank you, Cara.” You don’t know what else to say. The simple reply is soft, thanking. You really did appreciate her care.

“Don’t thank me, you’re the one that can make that little womp-rat smile. I’ve tried and he just… anyway. We’re not far out now. You should get ready”

You both exchange a small smile, it's sweet. You know you can trust Cara now.

___

The doors to the weapons locker opened and you couldn’t stop your jaw from dropping in awe. There was enough to form a small army! Does this guy have a thing for weapons or what? He reaches out and grabs a blaster. It’s exquisitely crafted, the mahogany wood polished to within an inch of its life. Once securing it in his belt, he reaches out again, grabbing two leather sheaths. Turning, he hands them to you. You put them on, one of them sits on your right thigh, the other sits just under your binder and rests under your shirt. You look up at him, his visor pinning you in place.

“I took you as a knives person” He deadpans, handing you two combat knives. Yeah, true, he’d read you like a book. You loved close combat, the thrill of it was always your favourite. You hated your past but you did have to admit, you enjoyed the hunt, it felt like fighting was what you were made to do. You drop your gaze to the knives. They’re pleasing to the eye. You’d not seen anything like it, the metal had waves to it, like an ocean. You traced a finger up one end of the blade, the sharpness of them tantalising, “Beskar” he chimes. Goosebumps riddled you like a rash, you couldn’t hide the grin that found your face. You’d not had a nice pair of knives since you were taken, hostage. Looking back up to him you thank him, placing one in the thigh holster and the other in the holster on your chest. You felt more confident now, adrenaline starting to prickle your senses; your body was starting to prepare itself for what was to come.

He reaches in again, grabbing a small belt. It was rough and tatty, this must be an older belt he’d once used, the one he wore now was a lot sturdier and more practical. Turning back to you he hands it over. You hear a slight scraping sound, like metal on metal. Inspecting one of the two pouches attached to it you found it was full of little throwing knives. They weren’t the same material as the daggers he’d just given you, but still sharp nonetheless. The grin feverish once you’d placed the belt around your waist, it hung lower than you’d like but it was still practical. You tested the buckle to see if it’d release quickly, and to your amusement, it did. You look back up at Mando, grin now toothy like the kids. “Thanks, hopefully, I won’t have to use them”

“Don’t lie, we all know you want to,” he said jokingly. So he finds it funny now? His comment makes you glance down. He was right, you were looking forward to it. Guilt floods your cheeks and you blush, now coming to terms with how you’d been acting. You didn’t want them to think you wanted to fight. This mission needed to go as smoothly as possible, for the Kids sake. Now they just think you’re in it for the blood, great.

“I didn’t mean it like that…I…” He stutters on his words, now realising the meaning behind what he said.

“It’s ok, I get it” you mumble back, turning away to get your boots from your room. You don’t notice him turning his head back around, watching as you walk back into your cabin.

___

Trust Cara to be carrying the biggest blaster from the locker. She’s all muscle that girl, and she knew it too. A blaster that size would look stupid if you tried to use it, you’re not even sure you could even lift it. Cara made it look like it was second nature, each to their own.

“Let me do the talking,” says Mando. Him? Do the talking? Is he having a laugh? The guy can barely hold a conversation, and now he thinks he’s some negotiating mastermind. You let it slide though, he is a Mandalorian at the end of the day, the armour does most of the talking for him. “Kuill, are the Bluurgs ready?”

“Yes. Someone will have to walk, I only have three” he says back to Mando, back turned as he’s fixing the final bits of equipment to the Bluurgs.

“I’ll walk,” you say, you’re the odd one out at the end of the day. You want to make a good impression, and you thought that a decent walk wouldn’t do you harm. You’ve not had a chance to properly stretch your legs in too long.

“You sure? It’s a fair way?” Cara asks back, she’s genuine.

“Yeah, I need to stretch my legs, let me lend a favour” you smile back. You really did want them to trust you, and you thought this is the least you can do to show your appreciation for their kindness over the last few days.

“If you get tired then you tell me,” Mando commands. There's no room for if’s or but’s, he means it.

You pull a sneaky grin, the temptation to say it was just too much, you can give in this once, right? You pick your next words very carefully but use the most seductive tone you could. It's just a bit of fun…

“Yes, Sir”

Cara chokes out a shocked laugh. You turn to her, she’s pulling her eyebrows up and down in a suggestive manner. I'm glad that landed well… You laugh back as you both follow Kuill out of the ship to the Bluurgs, her elbow nudging your arm in a jokey way. You both continue giggling, not noticing the now slightly flustered Mandalorian.

Notes:

Hope u guys enjoy this chapter! the next couple chapters are quite action-driven as they follow the original arc, but I'm a few chapters ahead and let me tell you... is it getting hot in here?;)

[kopikokun]

Middle of The Night (Na Jaemin)

Request 11: Jaemin + “You’re cute when you’re angry.” (47) + “Are you flirting with me?” (56) + “What are you listening to?” (127) + Middle of The Night by Monsta X

Genre: Angst, Suggestive

Wordcount: 2k

Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

Time and time again, Jaemin had repeated that single word in his mind like a mantra, hoping that it would somehow convince him to stop himself from succumbing; perhaps heighten his low self-restraint. Obviously, it had never worked. And it wasn’t going to any time soon, especially not now.

So, he picked up his phone.

And he immediately regretted it after hearing that voice. That melodious voice call out his name, like it had done on so many other occasions, and yet he still felt his stomach turn each and every time.

“Jaemin, can you pick me up at this party? I’ll send you the address.”

What had he been expecting? For you to greet him kindly? Tell him you were secretly in love with him? Tell him that you weren’t going to use him for just sex anymore? That wouldn’t happen even in his wildest fantasies, what more in this cold, brutal reality? You only called Jaemin when you needed something out of him. It was usually sex, but tonight it was a ride.

Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

His brain persisted. Jaemin knew all-too-well that giving you a ride home would only hurt him again. He had to distance himself from you, create a boundary you could never cross for the sake of keeping the remaining shards of his fragile heart intact. Even hearing your voice made his throat constrict; how could he possibly look you in the eye and endure an entire car ride with you? He’d only be torturously teasing himself with the concept of dating you – something he could never possess – if he agreed to send you home.

“Don’t you have any friends who can drive you home? Or maybe you could hail a cab?” Jaemin tried his hardest to keep his voice calm, steady, as if his heart wasn’t beating out of his ribcage. Unfortunately, it shook slightly.

“I did hail a cab, but this guy keeps insisting on accompanying me back because he wants to get in my pants . . . so I kind of need you to swoop in and scare him off.”

Jaemin had no right to feel enraged – you were a pretty girl, obviously guys would be racing to fall into bed with you – but he did. Something despicable came to life in his gut, clawing, tearing down his already weak defences. He could do it. It was only a car ride. He could resist your tantalising charm for half-an-hour.

“Fine. I’m on my way.”

***

Fuck, why’d you always have to look so fucking irresistible?

Even with your hair haphazardly blowing in the breeze and your cheeks flushed, Jaemin just wanted to wrap his arms around you and keep you pressed against his chest forever.

He forced himself to shift his attention back to the dimly-lit road when you swung the car door open and effortlessly slipped inside.

“Hey Jaemin, thanks for picking me up. I owe you.”

Jaemin didn’t know what compelled him to look at you, he should’ve kept his eyes tacked to the road because what greeted his gaze was nothing short of ethereal.

It was your smile.

The corners of your eyes crinkled, your lips quirked and your face lit up with pure joy. Jaemin couldn’t even begin to articulate how your smile made him feel. It made his head spin, his eyes unconsciously crinkle, and soon enough, he mirrored your expression. All hopes of keeping his tough resolve was washed away by the tsunami that was you.

You exhaled, picking at your bottom lip. Jaemin knew you didn’t like silence, neither did he – that was partially why you two clicked so well. It was never silent when the two of you were together. One of you always had something to say. But this time, Jaemin kept his lips sewn shut.

“What are you listening to?” You gestured to Jaemin’s earphones in an attempt to liven up the atmosphere as his car cruised past streetlights and houses. “Can I listen?”

Before Jaemin could answer, you plucked one side out of his ear. Jaemin was helpless as he watched your grin grow and grow at his choice of song.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, a warm glow dusting his cheeks.

“What? I didn’t even say anything!”

“You’re going to make fun of me, I can tell.”

You laughed, your hand resting on his thigh. He knew you didn’t think much of it – if anything at all – but Jaemin’s heart rate was accelerating. “No, I’m not! It’s a good song! I just didn’t think you’d listen to songs like this. It’s super romantic.”

Jaemin’s face grew hot. “Whatever.”

“No, no! I like it. It’s really nice.” You took his earphones out, handing them back to him. Jaemin took the remaining side out as well. He couldn’t stop himself from yearning to hear your sweet voice, devoid of any distractions. “And has anyone told you that you’re cute when you’re angry?”

You always did this. Always said things to make him feel so giddy. You made him ditzy with joy after only calling him cute. He couldn’t contain himself around you. You brought down all those walls he struggled to keep standing with the smallest of gestures.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe . . .” you trailed off. The hand on his thigh kept creeping upwards. You were a tease. Always. Even that first night you stumbled into him in the hallways of that dingy motel, you had teased him. Even in bed you teased him. And now you were teasing him with the idea of you. Of being with you. Jaemin couldn’t help his mind wandering to thoughts of having dinner with you, having lame dates at home, laying on the couch and watching bad movies together; he wanted all those things. But he’d never have them. “Yes.”

Jaemin cleared his throat. Normally, a bold statement like that would solicit a flirtatious remark out of him. He had to bite back his words. He couldn’t have any banter with you. Not now. If he did, he’d fall so deep he’d never crawl out again. That had nearly happened last time he saw you.

You had dialled him at God knows what time and coaxed him to come over. Jaemin had gotten a taste of sharing a domestic life with you that day. Instead of being shoved out the door first thing in the morning like he usually was to avoid coming into contact with your roommates, he awoke to the smell of pancakes and the sight of you humming away at the stove. Your friends had left at the crack of dawn and Jaemin had found that he could barely suppress his glee. He had given you a back-hug as you cooked, burying his face in the crook of your neck to litter your shoulder with kisses. It had been one of the best days of his life, and simultaneously the worst. Going back home had been dreadful. His apartment was cold, grey – lonely.

You seemed to be expecting some sort of reply out of him, yet it never came. You sunk in your seat. The rest of the car ride was spent in tense quietude. For the first time since he had met you, you were as still as a statue. No bouncing your leg, twiddling your thumbs; Jaemin despised it, but he didn’t say a word.

As he neared your house, you finally broke the silence. “Wait, wait stop here.”

Jaemin’s car was a few houses down from yours, just below a streetlight. If casted a glow onto the hood of the car. He hesitantly peeked at you. “Why?”

“I can walk back from here.” You smiled sheepishly, shifting in your seat to unlock the passenger’s side. “Um, well thanks, Jaemin.”

If Jaemin had given it a second thought, he could’ve stopped himself. Too bad he was impulsive. His grip on your wrist was tight. “You can’t walk back alone. It’s dangerous. I’ll drive you there, it isn’t that far anyway.”

“No, no . . . it’s fine. I can walk back, Jaemin.”

“Why?” His hold of you loosened, but his gaze steeled.

“Huh?”

“Why do you insist on walking back alone? Why are you so scared your roommates might see me?”

“Jaemin—”

“Are you ashamed of me? Is that it? Am I not good enough to be seen around you?”

“No, God no.” You caressed his cheek, and although Jaemin was telling himself that he was pissed at you, he leaned into your touch. “Of course, I’m not ashamed of you. You’re wonderful.”

There you went again. Saying things you didn’t really mean. He knew that you weren’t sincere, yet his heart still pounded in his ears. He knew that, yet he still leaned in to kiss you. He knew that, yet he still lowered his seat to allow you room to straddle his lap.

You tasted like the strawberry candies you had stashed in your bag. You smelled like the vanilla mist he saw on your dresser. You felt like silk beneath his touch. Jaemin was buzzing. He knew he should stop, but he didn’t. And perhaps that added to the thrill. His hands ran up and down your waist, his mouth hungrily latched onto yours. He couldn’t get enough of you. He groaned as you tugged at the hairs on the nape of his neck, pulling him away from you as your lips travelled down to his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, nipping and teasing. You were a tease. Always a tease.

Jaemin’s mind was clouded with you, you and only you.

“You’re amazing. I missed you so damn much. Everything about you. Fuck,” Jaemin sighed shakily, “fuck, I love you.”

Jaemin’s blood ran cold when you paused. He gulped as you stared at him, eyes wide.

“Jaemin, I—”

He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have just left it. But he didn’t. “I know this was supposed to be some friends with benefits kind of shit, but I can’t, fuck, I can’t go on like this. I can’t lie to you.” He doesn’t know what impels him to continue, but he does. “God, I love you. So much. I'm going out my mind for you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ll stay with you for the rest of my life if you want because I love you so fucking much it hurts.”

Jaemin wished he could read minds. Your gaze hazed with something indiscernible. “Jaemin.” The tone of your voice shattered him. “I – I can’t. I don’t like you like that, and I’m sorry. Fuck, you’re a great guy and I love being with you, but I don’t—”

“It’s fine.” Jaemin smiled softly. The situation is made worse with you still sat on his lap.

“Jaemin—”

“No, really it’s fine.” He willed himself to smile wider. “Just let me drive you home. Properly.”

You nodded, rigidly manoeuvring back to your seat.

As you stepped out of the car and shuffled to the front door, Jaemin watched you. Just as you were about to enter, you turned and waved, smiling softly. Jaemin wished you hadn’t. Because it only makes leaving so much harder.

Jaemin regrets telling you he loves you. If he hadn’t, then maybe at least he’d still get to see you laying fast asleep next to him at night, even if it meant nothing to you. But most of all, Jaemin regrets ever meeting you. He regrets tagging along on that stupid road trip with Jeno, Hyuck and Renjun. He regrets ever driving into Motel Six’s parking lot. He regrets ever colliding into you in the hallways. He regrets ever agreeing to spend that first night with you. Or the second. Or the third. Or the ones after. He regrets all the hours he spent loving you.

And when he comes home that night, the only thing that greets him is the cold, grey, lonesome walls of his apartment.

want to request? go here!

[humangods]

△ alexis/lucy

@kimsgoeun

Send me △ for my muse to get trapped in a small closet with yours

The door swings open and the little bell above it jingles to announce the presence of a customer. Lucy's eyes dart towards it and breathes out a quiet sigh of relief when she sees who it is. Alexis walks in with two piping hot cups of coffee in her hands and walks up to the counter where she sets one down and nudges it towards Lucy.

"For you," she states and takes a sip of her own beverage.

She knows Lucy's been on edge and that she'll likely stay that way until the case is closed, but Alexis decides against broaching the topic not wanting to cause Lucy to start fretting again first thing in the morning.

"Thanks. What's the occasion?" Lucy questions, bringing the cup to her lips.

Alexis lets out a thoughtful hum as she browses the titles without much thought. It occurs to her the gesture isn't a common one.

She gives a noncommittal shrug and shoots Lucy with a smirk. "What, I can't do something nice for you sometimes?"

Alexis notices the way Lucy's lips tug into an amused smile, but before Lucy can get in a word, she interjects. "I don't know, I felt like it," she mutters with a small frown and tries to change the subject suddenly feeling flustered. "Oh, did you have that book I asked about last night? It was pretty late so you may not have seen the message."

There's a pause and Alexis glances over at Lucy to see if she heard her. Lucy is watching her, but quickly recovers as she sets her cup down under the counter.

"Yeah, it's in the back." She motions for Alexis to follow her.

Alexis reaches over the counter and sets her drink down next to Lucy's then heads towards the back of the store. Lucy finds the book in question and hands it to Alexis, but just as the two begin to reemerge in the main room of the shop the bell jingles again.

Lucy sees a police officer step inside and grabs Alexis's arm yanking her into a supply closet. Alexis tumbles in with an "Oomph" that prompts a shushing sound from Lucy.

The pair of women are silent. Lucy listens with rapt attention and Alexis blinks a few times while her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. She tries to wiggle into a more comfortable position, but the space is cramped and the handle of what she's guessing is a vacuum or broom starts digging into her back and she nearly steps on Lucy's foot a couple of times in the process.

"What the hell-" She hisses, but Lucy gives another sharp hushing in response.

There's only the sound of someone walking around in the store that pauses every now and again to, Alexis presumes, peruse the books on the shelves or tables.

"Lucy-" Alexis tries again in an irked, her voice low yet not quite a whisper, but she's hushed again.

A couple minutes stretches between them with the muffled sounds of whoever is outside still moving around beyond the closet door.

Alexis pipes up once more. "Lucy." She whispers, but cuts off there. Her hands find Lucy's arms and she holds onto them. Lucy makes no move in reaction, but she glances down at Alexis for an instant before turning her attention back to the stranger to see if she can hear any sounds that would indicate they're looking for her.

"Lucinda..." Alexis murmurs in a raspy voice. Her breathing becomes labored and her grip on Lucy's arms tighten a little.

This time Lucy's attention shifts from the police officer somewhere in the store to Alexis. "What is it? ...Alexis?" Though it can't be seen well in the dimness of the closet, Lucy's brow knits in concern when the other woman doesn't answer her.

Alexis leans into Lucy, forehead pressed against Lucy's collar. "I'm... Claustrophobic," she utters between short breaths.

She feels the sharpness of panic continue to rise in her chest despite also knowing how irrational her fear is, and squeezes her eyes shut. Doing so only causes unpleasant memories to flash in her vision.

Lucy says something, but Alexis doesn't quite make out the words. Breathe. She tells herself on repeat, growing frustrated with the lack of favorable results, involuntarily still clinging to her fear.

"Damnit," she growls out feebly.

The sentiment is echoed by Lucy who tries the doorknob that only rattles in resistance with each further attempt made. The two of them stay like that with Alexis gripping onto Lucy and Lucy juggling wracking her brain for ways to try and force the door open and doing her best to try and help Alexis. Every time she thinks she has an idea, Lucy is met with failure.

"I'll get us out, don't worry," she promises for the countless time, but the words come out shaky and she convinces neither of them.

She thinks of calling for help only to remember her phone is in the backroom and not on her. She wonders if Alexis has a phone, but Alexis hisses out that it's dead.

Eventually Lucy runs out of ideas with a defeated sigh and places, what she hopes, is a comforting hand on Alexis's back. The only thing they can hear now are Alexis struggling to get her own breathing under control and Lucy whispering words of reassurance. Their legs are starting to go numb from being in the same position for so long and Lucy hopes they won't be stuck in there for long.

Finally, Alexis speaks up in a hoarse voice. "ID. Back pocket," she says between forced, slow breaths. She doesn’t trust her hands to be able to remain steady enough for her not to drop the card.

Lucy wishes it were one of the jacket pockets or even front pockets of Alexis's jeans. However, she has no choice and mumbles an apology as she reaches into the back pocket and pulls out a plastic card. She doesn't need further instructions and gets to work sliding the card into the crack of the doorframe. She jimmies it, keeping a tight grip on the card, feeling for the latch to give way. The door creaks open ajar, but it's still enough for Lucy to push it open the rest of the way and the two women fall out.

They stumble forwards and rest their hands against the wall across from them. Alexis is first to turn around and slump against the wall while she slides down into a seated position. She tilts her head back, closing her eyes again as she feels the cool of the carpeted floor beneath her palms. Meanwhile, Lucy scans the shop floor for any signs of the police officer. There is none and it doesn't appear anything is out of order. She let's out a tentative huff relief with a mental reminder to take a more careful look later.

Lucy keeps a steadying hand on the wall as she eases herself beside Alexis, but half-flops onto the floor at the last second as her legs give way.

"Sorry." Alexis apologizes with a languid sigh.

Lucy shakes her head looking over at the other woman then averts her gaze. "Don't be, it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry for getting you into the mess."

"Cop?" There's no judgement in the tone and she hopes Lucy knows the question isn't meant as a criticism.

"Yeah."

"I get it. It's okay," Alexis replies with a weary smile. "Are you having that feeling of pins and needles in your legs?"

"And they ache too." Lucy answers with a frown. "Are you going to be late for work?"

"No."

She squints at Alexis, doubt filling her eyes. "Really?"

Alexis lets out a tired chuckle. "No, but it's fine. The others will survive without me for a while. I can't move anyway, so let's just stay like this for a few minutes." Without thinking she leans over and rests her head on Lucy's shoulder as she closes her eyes again.

[and-it-freezes-me]

Smashed Cups

Summary: After the way he freaked out on Tuesday, there’s no way Juniper can leave his room again. Not when his housemates might see him - they must think him a freak.

Word count: 2.5k

Content warnings: panic attack, insufficient eating, self-deprecating thoughts, anxiety

If you think anything else needs to be added, please let me know!

It was six o’clock, and he was hungry. Half past six. Seven. Seven o’clock, and he was listening at his door, trying to figure out if there was anybody in the kitchen. He couldn’t tell - the kitchen was downstairs, after all. Better not risk it. Eight o’clock. Half past eight. His stomach had been complaining quietly for the past five hours, ever since it had realised that he had skipped lunch; it was starting to get hard to ignore. Twenty minutes later, he heard the sound of footsteps passing his door - he definitely couldn’t go out now. What if they were still in the corridor? What if they saw him? He couldn’t let them see him. And then it was after nine, and they’d all be curled up on the couch together, and they’d see him if he tried to sneak past to get to the kitchen. Half nine. Ten. They’d still be there. What if they fell asleep on the couch?

And suddenly it was midnight. He couldn’t go down to get some food now. What if he knocked into something, or dropped a plate and woke everyone up?

No, he should wait until tomorrow. It wasn’t a big deal.

With a small groan, Juniper stood, and realised that his legs had taken the opportunity of his being curled up against his bedroom door for the last few hours to cramp up. Typical.

Not bothering to undress, the brunet climbed into bed and pulled his duvet up to his ears. The weight of the covers calmed him a little, and he suddenly realised how tired he was. Juniper had barely gotten any sleep the previous night, and adrenaline had been spiking through him all day. Now, though - now he could relax. Nobody was going to come looking for him in the early hours of the morning to tease or ridicule or worse, treat him as though he were made of glass. Sleep slipped over him like a shroud: dark, warm, empty of light or dreams.

The next morning, his head felt full of sand, and he was aware from the moment he awoke that his stomach was empty. What time was it? Rolling over with a quiet groan, he peered at the glowing green digits of the clock on the cabinet beside his bed: 06:27. Half six. Too early. Maybe nobody else would be awake yet - it was only the start of term, so it wasn’t as though anybody would be getting up early to prepare for a long day of classes, or else to start revising early to make sure they had a free evening. Actually,  half six was pretty early to wake up even during the middle of term.

If he was going to go to get something to eat today, now would be a good time. If he was lucky, Juniper would be able to grab enough to last him for the rest of the day - then he wouldn’t need to risk going back down to the kitchen at all. It wasn’t as though he would need to be anywhere today, after all. There was nothing wrong with hiding out for another day. Nothing wrong at all.

Despite reassuring himself that nobody would be awake to hear him, his heart was pounding in his throat as he pushed open the slightly creaky bedroom door and tip-toed across the hallway to the stairs. The small house was almost completely silent, which made the squeak of the third step of the staircase uncomfortably loud: almost enough to drive Juniper back to his room, but not quite. His stomach was protesting its emptiness quite loudly, after all - and he was suddenly half-remembering an article he might have read last year, something about the stomach starting to digest itself if left without food for too long?

The tiles of the kitchen floor were freezing on his bare feet. 

Maybe he should get something to drink while he was down here, too. If he could get enough caffeine into his system, maybe he’d be able to go over enough lecture notes to justify not having left his room since Tuesday. If anybody asked, he’d have proof that he wasn’t avoiding them, per se, proof that they didn’t need to feel guilty about not wanting him around because he was very busy anyway, and- 

Focus.

First things first, cereal. There was a half-empty pack of cornflakes in Jupiter’s kitchen cupboard; he got halfway through pouring a bowl for himself before giving up and stuffing a handful into his mouth, swallowing before he had even half finished chewing. They were uncomfortably scratchy against his dry throat, but that didn’t stop him from inhaling another two fistfuls before pausing for breath.

He had just stacked an apple and an orange on top of the small pile of food in his arms (featuring the cornflake pack, four slices of bread, a tin of tuna, two bags of crisps, and a bottle of water) and picked up his coffee awkwardly in the more free of his two hands when someone cleared their throat behind him. “Ju? What are you doing?”

Juniper choked on a fresh mouthful of cornflakes. One hand rose automatically to cover his mouth as he coughed, and the mug of coffee fell to the floor and shattered. Boiling liquid splashed over his frozen feet. “Sh- Shit! J- Jacks, I - shit!”

The food in his arms had cascaded after the coffee as he turned, landing among the shards of broken china and hot, dark liquid. The tall figure in the doorway moved forward and Juniper took a step backward, his heart already in his throat as he swallowed the last fragments of cereal.

“Ju, are-”

“I - I’ll be out of your way in a second, let me just clean up, I-”

“Ju, stop, it’s-”

“It - it was my mug, it’s not a problem, I didn’t think anyone would be up - I didn’t mean to bother you, I’ll be gone in just a-” He was rambling, already crouching to start scooping food back into his arms, the bread turning to mush under his shaking hands and the words on the back of the crisp packet beginning to blur as his breathing quickened. How could he have forgotten? Jacks was usually up first. It must be later than he thought it was, and now he had screwed up again, twice already this morning, three times if the horrible, sick feeling in his stomach grew any worse, he-

“Juniper.” Hands landed on his shoulders, and he flinched backward automatically. Looking up, he saw the thick rims of Jacks’ glasses, a frown furrowing the forehead above them. They were mad - he had screwed up and they were mad and now he was freaking out in front of them and his heart was hammering in his chest and he could barely breathe - “Juniper. It’s okay. It’s just a mug. Relax.”

“Nonononono, I - I’m sorry, I - I’ve ju-just gotta - I’m fuh-fine, I’m fine, I’m fine I’m fine I’m-” There was no way Jacks was going to be convinced by that, but Juniper’s mouth kept going, seemingly detached from the rest of his brain. His shoulders were hunched to his ears and his hands had clenched into fists and-

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay, Ju. How about we just breathe, yeah? Just for a minute. Breathe with me, that’s it. Ready?” Jacks’ voice was even, and even though Juniper shook his head his brain latched onto the words.

“Can’t - can’t, I’m fine, fine, I’m-”

“That’s okay. Let’s just try it. Ready? In. Two, three, four, and out, two, three…” But Juniper barely made it past two before exhaling again in an unsteady rush, a dry sob tearing itself from his chest. “It’s okay. No biggie. In, two, three, four… And out. Two, three, that’s okay, Ju, and in, two…”

“- I - I’m suh - I’m sorry - I’m-” There was a gentle pressure on his hands, Juniper realised suddenly - Jacks was squeezing his fists. This wasn’t how Jacks wanted to spend their time. This wasn’t how anyone would want to spend their time. He was ruining everything. Again. He couldn’t even get some food without messing up, he was just -

“In, two, three, four… You’re safe, Ju, just breathe… three, four, and out, two… That’s it… in, two, three, four…”

Juniper wasn’t sure how long they had been sat there, him hunched and shaking but gradually managing to time his breathing to his housemate’s quiet counting, Jacks cross-legged and calm, cold coffee staining trousers and feet alike, when there was movement by the door. It was obvious the second the newcomer saw the mess he had made, and Juniper felt the panic swirling back up his throat again as he flinched backward. Not someone else seeing him like this. He couldn’t bear the idea that Jacks was here for this, let alone the idea of anybody else watching him tear to pieces.

“J, what’s - fuck, what the fuck? Juniper, are-”

“Come back later, Noah. Everything’s going to be okay. That’s it, Ju, just focus on me, it’s okay…”

“Are you sure? I can clean up - fuck, you need help and-”

“Go away, Noah. Go back to bed.”

“No, I - I want to help, J, Ju, what can I do?”

Jacks seemed to know what Juniper was thinking even before he started shaking his head, ragged breathing shifting back toward unsteady gasps as the iron bands around his chest tightened. “Fuck. Off, Noah.”

Silence. Silence, other than his panicked breathing and his quiet sobs and - and then footsteps, and the blurry figure in the doorway was gone. Jacks exhaled slowly before turning back to look at him with red-rimmed eyes, and guilt rose like bile in Juniper’s throat.

“I - I’m sorry - Juh- Jacks, he’s - you shuh - shouldn’t ha-”

“He’ll forgive me. He’s just worried about you, Juniper. We both are. Do you want to try breathing again?”

“He’s yuh-your -”

“We’re going to go back to the breathing. Forget about Noah. Inhale, that’s it, one, two, three, four… And out again, two, three, four… Inhale…”

Gradually, painfully slowly, Juniper found himself calming down. Jacks’ voice was easy to focus on, it was steady and tranquil and safe. They weren’t mad. They weren’t angry with him, not like they should be, not like he deserved them to be. When his shoulders finally slumped, Jacks gave him a soft, encouraging smile, and squeezed his hands again. “There we go…”

“I’m sorry…” He had said it before, of course, said it many times already that morning, but now Juniper’s voice was a hoarse whisper and no longer shaking. The dark-haired person in front of him shook their head and reached up to rest a hand against his cheek, thumb swiping at the remaining tears in the corner of his eye.

“You don’t have to apologise, Ju. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

A few seconds passed in in silence again, a quieter silence than before. When Juniper looked up through his untidy bangs at his companion, Jacks seemed to be chewing on the inside of their cheek. He didn’t really have the energy to be properly worried about what his housemate was thinking, but when Jacks didn’t volunteer it immediately Juniper took a slow breath.

“What is it?” Did his voice have to be so scratchy? He sounded pathetic. Then again, wasn’t he?

“I’m just thinking.” Jacks paused, and Juniper’s stomach gave a weak jolt. It had to be something bad, or the other wouldn’t be spending so long trying to corral their thoughts into working order.

“... About?”

“You. This.” Something must have shown on his face, because this time Jacks rushed to fill the silence. “Nothing bad, I promise. I’m just… Worried. Something happened on Tuesday night, and then nobody saw you yesterday, and then this h-”

“I’m sorr-”

“Ju, please stop apologising. It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m just - ugh.” The hand that had been cupping Juniper’s cheek had dropped to rest against its owner’s knee, fingers dipping briefly into the cold-coffee puddle between them, and Jacks seemed to realise the mess they were sitting in. “Ew. We’re both gross now…”

“S - I mean, I’ll clean it up, let m-” Juniper’s words were cut off yet again as Jacks waved a slender hand.

“I’ll get it. Always cleaning up after people, that’s me - and don’t you dare apologise, that was a joke really.” Dark eyes ran briefly over Juniper’s half-slumped figure, taking in his messy hair and rumpled hoodie, coffee-stained pyjama trousers and bare feet now purple with cold and red where the boiling liquid had splashed across them. Juniper wanted to apologise again. He was a mess, and Jacks had just had to spend he didn’t know how long calming him down, and now they were going to clean up after him? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all. Still, he held his tongue, and then Jacks was standing and extending a hand to pull him to his feet. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You, Juniper Washing Machine Owens -”

A weak chuckle left his chest, and they beamed at him. “Not even close, and you know it.”

“- are going to go upstairs and take a shower, and then you’re going to put on some fresh clothes, and then you’re going to get your ass back down here and eat whatever I can persuade Noah to make. I’d like to talk about this later, though. If that’s okay with you.”

Juniper hesitated, eyes darting away from his housemate and toward the floor, and Jacks caught the motion. They squeezed his hand gently again.

“Nothing bad. Promise. I just want to make sure you’re alright. Go on, dude. Go shower. I’ve got caffeinated bread mush to clean up. Go on. Get out of here.”

He hesitated a moment longer; Jacks waved a hand at him in a shoo-ing motion and Juniper chuckled again in spite of himself. Nodding once, he made his way slowly out of the kitchen, trying to ignore how numb his feet had become. He was half way up the stairs when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a green-haired figure slipping into the kitchen and heard the murmur of voices. Were they talking about him? Had Jacks been lying when they sa- Then Juniper remembered Noah trying to help, and Jacks’ reaction, and felt guilty again. He appreciated Jacks sending their boyfriend away, but… No, they were going to be okay. It hadn’t even been a fight, really, and Jacks and Noah were really good together. He could apologise to Noah later, and if there was a problem he could pull the blame onto himself. It would be okay.

And then he was outside his bedroom door again, and he had to focus on finding clean clothes.

Half an hour later, curled up under a blanket on the battered blue couch in the main room and clutching a plate of pancakes almost shaped like octopi, Juniper had to admit that he felt a little better. Jacks hadn’t been angry with him. Noah didn’t think he was a freak. Quint, apparently, hadn’t even noticed him freaking out on Tuesday, and had been mildly concerned not to see him the previous day (of course, that was just what Jacks and Noah said - Quint was rarely up before eleven - but they had no reason to lie to him). They didn’t think he was stupid, or crazy.

They just wanted him to be alright.

And, for now, he was.

[accioharry]

 find my way back to you | brightwell {post 1x19}

i call this "12am running with a theory to soothe my pain from last week's episode". please ignore any mistakes, i'm exhausted and not happy with the writing tense issues, but here we are. regardless, i hope you enjoy. the title and inspiration for this fic come from the song "find my way back" by eric arjes.

read here on ao3 | word count: 2k

He didn’t want to see her. He wanted to see anybody but her. 

Trust was never in her vocabulary, and especially not in his, but Malcolm found himself on a mission to get Dani Powell to trust him from almost the day they met in the elevator with Gil. She was a case he wanted to solve, a mystery he wanted to know every single detail about. Something about her intrigued him and every day he felt as though he needed to know more. She was annoyed with him at first, and probably always is, but slowly, he caught her starting to open up, bit by bit. Once he saw that, he caught on to it and never wanted to let go. 

Which is why as he sits handcuffed in the interrogation room, the same handcuffs she put on him an hour ago, he prays to whoever will listen that Gil or JT walk in the door because he physically can’t look at her right now. Not when he ruined everything he had worked so hard for. The silence in the room feels as though it is crushing him alive, and he doesn’t have the strength to fight back. His survival instincts aren’t kicking in anymore, and he realizes he’s not even a little upset about it. 

He winces when the door opens because of course the universe is never done with him, and Dani walks in with a file in her arms. Her leather jacket is missing, presumably at her desk, and her long-sleeve gray shirt covers her fingers like mittens. She doesn’t even bother to look at him.

A defense mechanism, Malcolm notices. He feels his heart start to break even more. He had always considered Dani a friend, nothing more than that because he never let himself go to that point. He didn’t want to push her too far away by encouraging the idea of them ever being anything more in the distant future, but it looks like he did it anyway. How did he screw up without even trying?

She sits across from him, still avoiding his gaze, and Malcolm gives up to stare at the metal table he is handcuffed to. Dani had not said a single word to him since she muttered, “I’m sorry,” as she handcuffed him in his apartment. What on earth could she be sorry for? She’s not the one who ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him simply by existing. 

The two of them sit in silence for a moment before Dani softly slides the file across towards him. He’s seen enough interrogations to know how it works, knows he should get a lawyer, and stay quiet. He couldn’t convince her, let alone the team that he was being framed, and it seemed like everything he did would incriminate him more. His eyes widen to see Dani open the file, and it’s completely empty. He whips his head up to look at her. For the first time in his life, he has no idea what is going on. She stares back at him.

Her voice is soft, as though she is afraid to speak out loud. “We had to get you out of your apartment.”

He wants to joke with her to make her feel better, but he decides not to. “By arresting me?”

She nods. He notices the dark circles under her eyes, circles he hadn’t seen since the time she came to visit him in the hospital after Watkins. When was the last time she had slept, and how did he not notice? He answers his own question, the gut-wrenching memory of Eve’s body flooding his memories. He was so preoccupied with her murder, he didn’t pay attention to what was going on in his surroundings. It wasn’t like him to do that.

“Dani,” he starts, not missing how she doesn’t look him in the eye. “Please, you know I didn’t do this.”

She doesn’t answer him. If he thought losing Eve was painful, why does this hurt so much more? Why does Dani avoiding his gaze make him feel as though Watkins stabbed him all over again?

“Dani,” he pleads, “come on, you know I didn’t kill him!” It takes everything in him to not get mad at her. Dani is a detective and a damn good one at that. She looks at the evidence and makes her conclusions, just as he does. Her mind is already made up. For someone who spent his entire life avoiding emotional confrontations, he just wants to see her feel something. “Dani!”

“Stop,” she mutters, barely loud enough for him to hear, but he does. His posture changes, he goes into red alert because just as he did when they first met, he latched onto whatever she gave him, regardless of how small it was. “Not now.”

The way she says it implies there’s something more going on, but Malcolm can’t figure it out. Dani had always been good at putting up walls, but this was an entirely new side of her Malcolm had never seen before. A side he wanted to hold and keep safe from whatever demons hurt her in the past, but now? He was one of those demons, and he hated himself for it. 

“You’re not telling me something,” he says after a moment of silence. He feels himself getting agitated.

“What, you’re going to profile me?” She scoffs. Her eyes narrow directly at him and she puts her elbows on the table. “This is already decided, Bright. We know what you did, I know what you did.” 

“No you don’t!” He knows better than to argue with her, let alone the NYPD, but he was frustrated. For a profiler, for someone who knew every interrogation tactic back to front, he thought he was going to lose his own mind. 

“Really?” Her demeanor changes suddenly, and Malcolm finds himself leaning back in his chair when she stands suddenly, kicking the chair back behind her as she leans towards him. “You didn’t kill him? Just like you didn’t shove Watkins in a box? Just like your Father didn’t kill those 23 young girls? You didn’t end up just like him?” 

He wants to stand up and fight her, and he almost does. If it was anyone else, he would have. He feels the rage in his blood, for Dani to turn around and to use this against him, knowing how he spent his entire life fighting everyone’s opinions of him before they even met him. How he let himself believe Dani was the one thing in his life he hadn’t screwed up.

Wait a minute. 

He holds her gaze for a moment as his brain does the rapid calculations. He remembers her demeanor when she came into the room, the sudden rage she had when she looked at him. He remembers sitting in the car with her, talking about the terrible movie that played in his head. He remembers the wedding, of working together nearly perfectly. He remembers her opening up about her undercover years, about her past. He remembers her soft smile when he admitted that she was the one he liked talking to. He remembers Dani, the woman who never judged him for his family, and the woman in front of him is not her. 

He glances up at the camera in the corner of the room, at the window behind her where he knows Gil and JT are watching and listening to his every move. He glances down at Dani’s hands, one still covered by her sleeve. He looks at her face, noticing how her eyes keep blinking back what look very closely to be tears, tears she refuses to let fall. 

“Okay,” he speaks slowly, cautiously. His brain remembers how Eve died, how she got too close to Endicott. How Endicott easily wove his way into the lives of his mother and his sister. “I didn’t do this.”

The door opens, JT and Gil enter the room swiftly. JT reaches to the camera on the wall before unplugging the power. Gil starts to undo Malcolm’s handcuffs. 

“We’re good,” he says, and Dani collapses into the chair she stood from. She buries her head in her arms. 

“Thank God,” she shivers, and Malcolm stands when his hands are free, shaking his wrists out. 

“What the hell is going on?” He looks between the three of them. 

“Your apartment was bugged, Endicott set you up for murder to get you off of his case. Your mom and Ainsley are on their way here,” JT speaks fast. “We didn’t know if the precinct was bugged, and we didn’t want to hold off on the interrogation while we checked because that could take a long time—”

“and Endicott would catch on if there were delays,” Malcolm nodded, his eyes never leaving Dani. “So you had to make it believable.” 

Dani looks up at him then, and Malcolm realizes how drained she is from the past ten minutes. “You know I…we know you didn’t kill anyone.” 

“Dani,” he wants to pull her into his arms to reassure her that he knows her, and knows she didn’t mean the words that came out of her mouth. 

She shakes her head. “I need some air,” she leaves the interrogation room suddenly, and Malcolm immediately follows her into Gil’s office. She’s shaking, and her hand is running over her face repeatedly. She’s anxious, borderline terrified, and Malcolm recognizes it instantly. 

“Can we talk here?” He looks around the room. 

“The entire precinct is on lockdown, this place has been swept from top to bottom, we’re fine. I’m fine,” she goes to brush him off, but he’s faster and catches her wrist. 

“Hey,” he tilts his head to the side, studying her with the amused look on his face that always earned an eye roll from her. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she pulls her hand away from him. “Even if it wasn’t real, I should never have used your father against you—” 

“Endicott would expect you too,” he cuts her off. 

“Well, Endicott isn’t here—”

“You didn’t know that,” he cuts her off again. “Dani, I’m not hurt or mad at you. Please don’t think I am.”

When she meets his gaze, he visibly relaxes because he recognizes the eyes staring at him. Dani is back, his Dani, and for a moment he feels okay again. 

“I just don’t want anything to happen,” she admits. Malcolm knows her walls are still up, but these are walls he’s worked through many times, and he’d do it a million more if it kept her in his life. 

“You know we can’t promise that,” Malcolm says, and part of him still wonders if he’s technically under arrest, because if he’s been framed, what exactly does that mean for him? He shakes it off. “We’ll get through this Dani, just as we got through everything else thrown at us.” 

“I’m not worried about that,” she chuckles softly, and Malcolm forces himself to not think about how much he loves her laugh. Now is not the time to reconsider the idea of being something more with her, someday. Not when he’s been arrested for murder. 

“I just don’t like change,” she admits. “If we can’t prove you were set up…and Endicott somehow wins and you go to prison…” she trails off, which Malcolm had previously noticed she did when she did not want to finish a sentence that seemed personal. 

“That’s fair, prison isn’t as glamourous as my father makes it look,” he shrugs, and Dani laughs for real at that. “I wouldn’t have my partner to keep me from being reckless either,” he laughs when Dani glares at him. 

“I take it back, maybe prison would be good for you. It’d give me time to get my sanity back.” 

“Haha,” he counters. “You’d miss me, you just won’t admit it.” 

She walks past him to the door. “While you keep telling yourself that, I’m going to save your ass, again.” He laughs and watches her walk out the door before his face falls. “Wait, what do you mean again?!”

[queenmuzz]

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter X

The Pieces (of Pizza) Fit

Read the full story on Ao3 Here! Where the Hell is my brother?

The voice, full of rage, nearly gave you a migraine as you struggled to get out of the unyielding grip.  Slow to anger, my ass, you brain unhelpfully supplied to you as you frantically tried to get out of his grasp.  At the same time, the clock was ticking as your oxygen levels depleted and your lungs protested.  Great job, your brain continued, trying to get your crush (NOT MY CRUSH you corrected) to safety, only to get killed by the one man you thought could save him.  If it weren’t for the fact that you kinda needed your  brain to remain alive, you’d attempt to shut the damn thing off.

WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?

His grip tightened, and you could have heard an angry growl in the water, instead of in your head.  And just when you felt like you couldn't take any more, you were pulled out of the water.  You tried to take a breath of precious air, terrified that he’d dunk you back in, but he slammed you into the hull, knocking any remaining air out of you.  Your head whacked painfully on the fiberglass frame, and your vision turned black for a moment.  Your jackknife slipped out of your wet hands, and into the depths, leaving you nigh defenseless.

“I swear to the Tidemother, if you have touched a hair on his head, I’ll drag you to the deepest fucking depths of the ocean, and let the scavengers eat your corpse.”

You tried to respond, tried to tell him that you meant him no harm, but his face was full of fury, and now he gripped your neck in his webbed hands.  Your hands latched on to his wrist, in a futile attempt to break free, but all you managed to do was to jostle the amulet free from under your shirt. 

The glint of gold must have attracted his attention because he loosened his grip slightly allowing you to gasp out for air.  Perhaps he recognized it as a sign that Vergil trusted you.

That idea went out the window as he snarled, and suddenly you were lifted up and thrown back onto the deck, sliding a metre and a half across the wood. 

You barely had time to reorient yourself before you heard a massive splash, a crushing weight on your torso, and most worryingly of all, the cold, sharp tip of metal at your throat.  Your vision rapidly cleared, you saw him on top of you, teeth bared, reared back, with an honest to God sword pointed at your throat.  (Where the hell did that come from? your brain asked unhelpfully)

“I don’t go after humans,” his icy voice chilled you to the bone, “But for you…” the sword tip moved slightly to lift the amulet up, “I’ll gladly make an exception.  Where. Is. He.”

“Help…”  you managed to croak.

“Bit too late to be begging for help, babe” he sardonically replied.

You shook your head, and slowly grabbed the amulet, intending somehow to take it off, before, surprisingly it easily unlatched itself.  Sparing a quick glance at it as you cautiously slid it to the side, you were perplexed that there was no clasp, no broken chain...magic?

No time to ruminate about it, you took another breath of air, praying that it wouldn’t be your last.

“Help….him”

Confusion flooded Dante’s face, as to your relief, he withdrew his weapon away from the hollow of your throat as he snatched the chain and scooted away from you.  You took this precious moment to catch your breath, heaving in and out and when you had recovered some of your strength, you rolled over to see Dante clutching the amulet to his chest, a matching one in silver and red around his neck, his eyes shut tight.   The sword was gone, and you were beginning to think your lack of oxygen had caused you to hallucinate it.

A good minute passed as you watched him, neither one of you moving an inch.  What he was doing with it, you had no idea.  You slowly backed up, you didn’t want to hurt him if he attacked again, you just wanted to convince him that you truly wanted his help.  

And then, out of nowhere, the merman laughed.  It wasn’t a soft chuckle like his brother’s, but it didn’t seem dangerous.  

“Oh bro…   you’re such an idiot…” he bent his head over the necklace, his wet hair obscuring most of his face, leaving only a toothy smile, “You know, once I get your tail fins out of there, I’m never gonna let you forget this, right?”  You weren’t sure if he was talking to the gem, his brother, or himself.

He brushed his hair to the side, allowing you to see his face.  It was much kinder than before, if a bit embarrassed.  “I…. eh, sorry ‘bout that, kinda swam out before checking the current, you know what I mean?  Mom always told me I was a bit impulsive.  You okay?”

“Yeah…” your voice was raspy, but felt much better “Wait, did you just know what happened just by holding that?” you pointed at the chain, dangling in his hand.

“Well, I got the gist of it, it’s not like we can send messages like you humans do in your little things you carry around constantly, but it can give me a bubbleful of information.” He chuckled, “So, my brother’s been captured and being kept as a pet, but you’re a friend of his.” 

Your heart warmed up at the fact that Vergil, despite everything, considered you worthy of friendship.  You hoped that you could be on friendly terms with his brother.  So you did the thing that worked with Vergil.  Grabbing the cardboard box that had fallen to the deck in the kerfuffle, and opened it up.

“Want a piece?”

The way his nostrils flared and his eyes widened at the sight, you realized you had made the correct decision.

*****

“So, Verg says to me.  ‘Brother, I wager you ten cordina to get on that boat and grab something from it’...” Dante regaled you as he worked on his fifth slice of pizza, savouring every mouthful.  His imitation of his brother was quite on the nose. He lounged on the sunny side of the deck, still shielded from prying eyes by the way you tilted the sail, as you anchored the boat.

“And I says ‘you’re on!’ and I scope out this boat full of guys playing loud music.  I’m looking for a way to sneak on the damn boat, but there’s waaaay too many people dancing or something.  But I’ll do anything to prove my bro wrong, so I wait.  And Wait. And Wait.  But when the Dawnfather was just about to rise, everyone finally fell asleep.  So I flop on board, and I’m terrified that I’ll wake up someone, but everyone is really sleeping, like if it wasn’t for those funny noises you guys make when you sleep, I’d think they were dead.   I grab the first thing I see, one of these,” he held up the half eaten slice, “and I bring it to Verg, and he grumbly pays off the bet. But,” he finished off the slice, “what’s weird, this stuff was the real prize.  Vergil could have offered me a hundred cordina for that one piece, and I’d have said no…. It was so fucking delicious.  And now you come along with a whole box of this…” “Pizza” 

“Mmmm… Pizza…” he picked up another slice and stretched out the cheese.  “I gotta say, this is why I like you humans, you come out with some pretty delicious food.  It’s hard to make this stuff when you are surrounded by water.”

You smiled.  Vergil had said they were twins, and while they looked very similar, (aside from scale colour) their personalities couldn’t possibly be any more different.  While Vergil was calm, composed, and contemplative   Dante was brash, bombastic, and brazen.  Vergil was disdainful of humanity, (although you couldn’t really blame him), while Dante seemed to enjoy the quirks humans had.  But strangely, despite his totally different personality, you liked him, though not in the same way as his brother.

“So, you want to get my brother back to the open waters, eh?”  He had emptied the box of its contents, and was now licking his fingers for any remnants of melted cheese.  

“Yes, and I need your help to make sure he gets as far away as possible, and doesn’t try to do something that’s liable to get him captured again.”

“That I can do… although I can hardly believe that he actually regrets not listening to me. You sure he said that?”

“Pretty much…”

Dante went a bit serious… “Okay, it should be simple.   You get him to the ocean...let’s say,” he scanned the horizon, before pointing at the beach that lay next to the suspension bridge that linked both sides of the bay. “Right there.  Should be when the next time the Tidemother shows her full face, that’ll give you enough light to see, to slip him out, and also the tide will be up, making the trek to the water’s edge as simple as possible.  I’ll be waiting, and I’ll drag him by the tail fins out of here, if I have to…. and knowing Vergil, that’s probably literally, not figuratively speaking.”

“That simple?”  you were perplexed.  Surely there had to be more, or else Vergil would have been dropped off a long time ago, before you had time to develop feelings for him. 

“Should be, I mean, you come across any trouble, he can probably use Yamato to get rid of any problems.”  He now was scraping the melted cheese off the bottom of the box, and you were worried that if you didn’t stop him, he’d just eat the entire thing, cardboard and all.

“Yamato?”  you’d never heard that term before.  

Dante dropped the box, looking alarmed, “Wait, he hasn’t shown you Yamato?” his eyebrows shot up, “okay, that makes sense on why he’s been stuck… he doesn’t have his, …. um….” he cocked his head in thought, “I guess a rough translation would be ‘soul-weapon.’”  You shook your head.  Vergil had never mentioned anything about a weapon.

Dante continued, “I don’t really know how you humans see your souls, but the gist is, everyone of us has a weapon that’s intrinsically connected with our soul, our very being.”  He rubbed his head, “some of us have harpoons, others daggers, even have a few with a trident. Me on the other hand…” his hand waved out, and instantly, in a red flash, appeared a sword.  You hadn’t imagined it!  “This is Rebellion, ain’t she a beaut?” 

You had to agree.  It was a long solid sword, with what seemed to be a stylized human skull at the crossguard, but with shark teeth poking out from where the eyes were, as well as embedded into the ricasso of the blade.  It definitely was intimidating.  “So, a brief summary of how we look at our lives.  Us Merfolk see life like the way water moves.  Water flows throughout the ocean, until the Dawnfather decides it is time for it to ascend, and so the water becomes the clouds above, before raining back down and eventually rejoining the ocean.  It’s a cycle.”

“Ah,” you nodded, “like reincarnation”

“I guess?” Dante shrugged, “the philosophy of it all was all mom’s and Verg’s thing.  Anyways,”  he looked at Rebellion, “like I said, the weapon is linked to our soul, and if anything happens to it, it’s like someone took a bucketful of  that water and just locked it away, never able to return to the ocean, or repeat the cycle.  And it’s irreversible, a fate worse than death.”

Instantly, your mind went back to something similar Vergil had said all those months ago, and you remembered the ‘leash’ the good Doctor had in a long slender briefcase.  The pieces were beginning to fit.

“I mean, it’s hard to damage one of these, but it can be done, and most likely there’s the connection that's the issue.”

“The connection?”

“You can’t stray too far from your weapon, that’s why if you get too far, SNAP,” Rebellion dissipated in a shower of sparks.  “It’s the same as if the weapon got destroyed.  Somebody probably got a hold of Yamato, and you got lucky that they haven’t gone too far with it, or they know that they can use it over him.” his brow furrowed.  “On the bright side, it means it can’t be too far from where he is right now, so you won’t have to search too far.  But on the other hand… I’m still trying to figure out why he never told you  about this…”  he seemed honestly puzzled , “I mean, he trusted you enough with the amulet.” It worried you too.  Was Vergil too proud to ask a mere human, even one he was on good terms with for aid?  If he had just asked, you would have dropped everything to find and get this Yamato back for him.  It would have saved you a lot of heartache.  

“I think..” you said, “I know where his sword would be.”  The warehouse.  It was the only building Doctor Griffon could possibly keep the ‘leash’.  It wouldn’t be hard to get to, you had keys and codes for all the buildings on the property.

“Good!” his face brightened, “you get that sword to him, and you bring him here, and I can get him out.  Easy as swimming!”

“Yeah… easy as swimming” You attempted to match his enthusiasm.

“You know, you’re a good person.  Vergil has never been too close with humans, especially after mom and dad… well,” his features fell, “I thought I lost him too… was halfway about to follow him on a suicidal attack. When I felt the amulet,” he clutched it tightly in his hand, “I thought that he’d escaped, and when I found out it was a human, I just… I just snapped.”  

“You don’t have to apologise, Dante.  He’s your brother, after all.”

“Well, he’s a lucky son-of-a-barnacle to have an Odar like you, Dawnfather knows what would have happened to him if he didn’t meet you.”

You were slightly confused, “Odar?  Never heard that term.”

“Ah, keep forgetting you’re not familiar with Old Mer.  Basically a term for a human, but in a good way” he clarified. “Oh,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. “That’s not what Vergil calls me.”

“Ah?  What does he call you? It better not be ‘Chiktik’, or I’ll be punching him in the face when he gets back.”

“He calls me… Sifa.”

There were a few moments of silence, with only the gentle lapping of water against the hull, and the flap of the sail in the breeze.  Dante just stared at you, jaw dangling, looking exactly like a moray eel.  And then, to your astonishment… he just started laughing.

“Verg… of all the mer… well, I guess the polyp doesn’t drift too far from the coral.   Mom would be proud of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He seriously hasn’t told you what it meant?”

“Vergil said it meant, ‘human,’” you answered and the red scaled merman cackled before looking up to you with a big grin. 

“You really want to know what it means?”

You bit your lower lip, afraid to know, but yet still intrigued, and after some hesitation, you nodded.

“There’s not a perfect translation, but basically, it means ‘Beloved’.  It’s a term you only use… well, for someone you really care about.  Someone…” he paused, as if for emphasis.  “You love.”

It was a good thing you were already sitting, because your legs began to feel like jelly, numbness spreading to your chest.

“He can’t…” you managed to wheeze out.

“Why not?” Dante asked.

“I’m basically his jailor!  There’s no possible way he could be truly in love with me!” You tried to protest.  But to your dawning horror, you realized a whole plethora of signs that he had been developing feelings for you.  The songs, the glances, the gentle touches.  Your head sank into your hands as you stared at the wood.  How could you have been so stupid?  How could you have been so blind?  

Or...maybe you had known, you just didn’t want to accept the truth.

“Well,” Dante added unhelpfully, “you don’t just call anyone Sifa, it's a fairly dedicated term, and Vergil wouldn’t just call you that if he didn’t mean it.”  He slipped back into the water gracefully, apparently oblivious to the turmoil that he had inadvertently caused.

“But there’s no way it would work between us!  I mean,” you pointed at your legs “we’re not even the same species!”

His response was to laugh.   If it wasn’t for the fact that he was Vergil’s  brother, you’d have clobbered him for his continued ignorance about how much this affected you.  “I don’t really think that’s much of an issue, but that’s not for me to say,” he responded cryptically.  “I’m sure Verg can fill you in.”  

And with that, he slipped back into the water, leaving you staring at the trail of bubbles.

No, you were not going to speak to Vergil about any of this.   You were going to keep this whole revelation to yourself, and focus on locating that sword and then getting him home.   It would be painful, but it was for the best for both of you.  That’s what you kept telling yourself.

Without warning, the water opened up again to reveal the smiling visage of Dante, his hand outstretched, holding your jackknife, and his own amulet, keeping the golden one around his neck. “Meetcha when the Tidemother is at her highest point when she shows her full face!  Good luck!” and after handing the blade and the silver amulet  to you, he swam off, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, leaving you alone with your turbulent thoughts.

*****

You returned back home, to see an expectant Vergil poised at the edge of the platform.  His eyes widened as you nodded and handed him the silver amulet, proof that you’d finally met his elusive brother.  He clutched it tightly, and for a moment you panicked, wondering if he was somehow able to look into the latest conversation you and Dante had.  But when he opened his eyes, they were full of relief and happiness.

“Ah, so he is well.”  He leaned back  in the water as he placed the chain around his neck, “That is good, that is good.”

You attempted to add some sort of joviality, “He thinks you’re an idiot for getting yourself captured.”

Vergil chuckled, “That does sound like him.  But at least he’s alright…” he turned to you, smiling gratefully.  “Thank You, Sifa.”

You successfully managed to hide the pain that word caused you as you gave him your best grin.

“Anything for you, Vergil”

[choupichoups]

Press F (Instagram/College AU) Ch.11

Lucas swears he’s the absolute master of undetected stalking. Or: Eliott is instagram famous and Lucas is the disaster gay who accidentally likes his post.

Lucas watches the numbers on his notifications blow up. Ten, fifty, a hundred— mostly messages from curious strangers inquiring about the status of their relationship. Lucas doesn’t understand how any one of them would think that Lucas would spare them an answer. 

He messes with the settings until his direct messages are only open to the people he follows. 

Eliott’s been silent for so long, even on social media, that everyone’s frantically latching onto this update on his story— Lucas included. But he doesn’t understand. He listens to the song over and over, looks up the lyrics to make sure his English isn’t failing him, and ends up back on Eliott’s story. 

The song can’t be directed at him, right? Lucas can’t think of anything that went wrong the last time they were together. Well, everything went wrong but nothing between the two of them. 

Honestly, it’s evident that something suspect is happening when he saw Idris post something on his account the day prior. Idris had told him before that both he and Eliott shut off their technology whenever they have to seriously work on a project so why is Idris available for contact but Eliott is not?

lucallemant Is your project going okay? 

idrisomd What project?

lucallemant The one Eliott said you guys need to work on? His phone’s been on airplane mode no?

idrisomd Oh yeah, that project Uhhhh  Maybe it’s better if you ask him?

lucallemant Haven’t seen him since Saturday

idrisomd  oh

lucallemant Was there even a project at all?

Lucas isn’t dumb, he’s had a bad feeling about this whole project thing three days into Eliott’s abrupt silence. There’s just something very strange about the fact that he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of him despite Lucas orchestrating ‘chance meetings’ by hanging around his boyfriend’s building at the most convenient times. It’s like Eliott’s gone airplane mode not only with his phone, but with life as well. 

All he needs is confirmation before he can allow himself to get angry at the sudden disappearance— and what a confirmation it is when Idris doesn’t respond to that simple question. 

His jittery legs begin bouncing under the table. What did he do to drive Eliott away now? Lucas runs a hand over his face, chewing on his bottom lip. He wasn’t too clingy last Saturday was he? He didn’t say anything scary either like, wanting to adopt two babies or something so he doesn’t know what’s—

Ah. His mother at the clinic. The shouting match with his father. 

Did Lucas scare his boyfriend off with his fucked up family? 

He gets up from the lounge, determined to get to the bottom of this. There’s nothing he can do to fix it, sitting around making assumptions by himself. 

When Idris gets out of class sans Eliott, Lucas steps into his way and Idris jumps about a foot in the air at the sight of him. 

“Jesus!” Idris has a hand to his chest, steadily looking more and more afraid for his life the longer Lucas stares unblinkingly up at him. “Shit, I’m innocent, I swear!”

“So there really is something wrong then?” Lucas’ eyes narrow and he moves closer as Idris very visibly struggles for words. There’s something comical about the way the larger boy is trying his best to cower away from Lucas’ gaze but the latter isn’t in the mood to laugh at anything until he figures out what the hell’s up with Eliott. 

“Listen, Lucas.” Idris takes in a breath, glancing down at his phone in the same movement but the screen’s already darkened by the time Lucas instinctively looks as well. “Things are a little rough right now.”

“That’s not helping. Why did he lie to me?” 

Idris grabs his arm and moves them to a more secluded area, noticing the stares they’re beginning to attract. Lucas doesn’t know what he does but Idris lets out a pained groan when their eyes meet again. 

“Stop looking like that,” Idris says, fidgeting restlessly with his phone. 

“I can’t control my face,” Lucas retorts. “Did he say what I did?”

“Dude…” If conflict had a photo, it would be Idris’ expression right at this moment. “Talk to him. Please. It’s not,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Just talk, okay?”

“He’s not responding.”

“Fuck, make him respond.” Idris types something on his phone before he looks back out to the hallway. “I have to go. Talk to him, please,” he repeats his own words before leaving Lucas with no choice but to contemplate those obscure words by himself. 

And fuck, yeah, whatever, he’ll just go for it. Talk to him it is. 

lucallemant Look, I know your project excuse is bullshit And even if it’s not, you kinda gave yourself away with that story  Can you fucking respond to me already? I know you can read these

srodulv Sorry, I just needed time to think

lucallemant About? 

srodulv Us I think it’s best if we don’t see each other for now 

lucallemant You’re kidding right?

srodulv No Sorry

lucallemant Don’t fucking ‘sorry’ me Where the fuck are you we need to talk

srodulv I don’t think that’s a good idea

lucallemant I don’t give a shit Eliott I’m serious  Either talk to me properly or there’s no ‘for now’ We’re not seeing each other again ever

srodulv I’m at home

Lucas can’t remember the last time he’s felt this livid. 

When Eliott opens the door to his apartment, Lucas shoves in without preamble. He’s a little startled to bump into Emir as he does so— Omar’s also at the side, slowly putting his shoes back on. The two boys don’t say anything, throwing acknowledging nods in Lucas’ way as they put on their jackets. On his way out, Emir shares a look with Eliott and it lasts the entire time it takes for Eliott to close the door back up.

An uncomfortable silence surrounds them once the lock clicks into place. 

“So?” 

Eliott turns to face him— he looks like shit. Or as shitty as Eliott can look anyway. Lucas still thinks he’s beautiful because of course he’s fallen in love like the massive dumbass he’s always been. 

“I already told you over the phone.” 

“Well I don’t agree. I think it’s a stupid thing, not seeing each other and all. So convince me.” He’s trying his hardest to sound as confident as he wishes to be. 

“I’m just… not sure if we’d work out together in the long run.”

And no, no no no. This isn’t happening to him. Not with Eliott. 

“No?” Lucas asks, ignoring the prickle in his eyes. He swallows once, twice— desperately hiding the catch in his breath, the shiver in his voice. “Cause you seemed pretty sure of it when you were fucking me last week.” His voice fails him, cracking in the middle of the sentence. “Is that just… did you just…?”

Eliott’s head snaps up, meeting his gaze finally. But Lucas isn’t sure he wants the contact any longer. Even so, he doesn’t turn away, desperation to fix whatever the fuck is happening between them right now takes priority over the anger simmering in his blood. 

“Lucas.” Eliott sounds wrecked by the implication. Good. Lucas hangs onto that last thread of hope. “Lucas, no. It’s not— fuck it’s not that at all. Please never—” Eliott cuts himself off, hands waving about in front of him. “Never think I— you’re more than that. To me, you’re so much more.” He shakes his head, stepping closer to Lucas. “It’s not you.”

Lucas laughs, harsh and humourless. “What the hell am I supposed to think when you’re over here, using that it’s not you, it’s me bullshit? We’re not in one of your films, Eliott. I’m real,” he almost shouts the last word, wanting and needing Eliott to understand. “So please, if you’re going to leave me, at least have the decency to give me a real reason.”

Eliott goes silent, eyes wide like a child caught in a lie. Lucas’ mind swirls at the raw emotion he sees there, doesn’t know what to think anymore when Eliott stands there looking at him like Lucas is holding his whole heart in his clumsy, unstable hands. And yet. And yet.

“I’m only going to hurt you, Lucas,” Eliott whispers, frozen in position just out of Lucas’ reach. “I’m the exact kind of person who can hurt you real bad.”

Well, he’s not wrong about that. “You don’t think you’re hurting me right now?”

“Not like this.” Eliott swallows. “It’s better to end it now before I…” He trails off, looking away, moving only to clasp his hands together. His thumbs run restless circles over the back of his own palms. 

“Before you what?”

“You won’t understand.”

“Try me.” 

Eliott stops his fidgeting, looking at Lucas with eyes so devastated he looks away, almost takes back his own words if only to remove that look permanently off of Eliott’s face. “I’m bipolar, Lucas,” he says, voice trembling as he continues, “I’ll never be able to give you the normal life you deserve.”

Once, when he was a kid, Lucas had jumped into a pool of water six feet deep, out of sheer misguided courage, in order to prove to himself that he was no coward. The way his world had shrunk into that little bubble of space underwater, and all he could hear was the endless nothingness of the water around him as he recalled everything he’d said and done that led up to that exact situation— it stuck with him. He can still feel it, intensely, the memory clinging to the tips of his fingertips. 

It’s strange how he comes back to that place, right now. He’s in Eliott’s apartment and he’s drowning. 

“Eliott,” he gasps out, forcing his head out of water, everything around him coming back to life. His own words from the last time they were together haunt him. The way he’d wished, out loud, for a normal family. For normal people in his life. “I didn’t mean it. God, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“But you did,” Eliott says, his tone remaining kind. It kills Lucas inside. “And you’re right.”

“No.” Lucas wants to cover the distance between them but a conscious part of his brain tells him he no longer deserves that privilege. “I swear, Eliott, I didn’t mean it.” 

Eliott doesn’t look convinced. “Please, just go.” 

“No, not like this.” Lucas forces his feet to move forward, barreling past the invisible wall that’s begun to form between them. His hands slowly raise to cup Eliott’s face in between them, his touch the most gentle it’s ever been. “Please understand. I… when I said I wanted a normal family, it’s got nothing to do with my mother, I swear. I would never trade my mama for anyone else but I would give everything to have a— my dad,” he says in a rush, needing Eliott to get him but he’s not sure he’s expressing himself clearly enough. He doesn’t know how to explain himself. “When I said I wanted a normal life I meant that—” He chokes on a hiccuping sob, barely able to keep his tears at bay. But no, he’s not going to start crying now. It’s not about him. “If I could go back in time, I would change so much of my decisions from the past couple of years.”

Eliott softens but still shakes his head. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’ll be a burden for you eventually. I didn’t think it through before. You make me feel so good,” Eliott pauses, leaning into Lucas’ hands. “I was on such a high, I forgot I can’t keep you forever.”

“Why not?” Lucas tries to move closer but Eliott leans back. 

“Because everything is temporary,” Eliott says, removing Lucas’ hands from his face. “I don’t want to ever end up being one of the things you regret.”

“You’re not. You won’t be.” Lucas reaches for him again but Eliott brushes him off. 

“You only say that cause you’ve never seen me at my worst.”

“I don’t care.”

“How can you not care?!” Eliott pulls away completely, pacing the small space from the kitchen to the living room. “I can’t stand the thought of you crying and hurting like that every time I’m down or manic or whatever the fuck my brain decides to force on me without any fucking warning. You know this shit gets ugly, right? I’m not just going to lay down and sleep it off for a couple of hours. Sometimes it takes an entire week, Lucas. And I won’t always be quiet, I’m going to go off on you for no reason, I’m going to push you away—” Eliott stops for a breath, looking over at Lucas. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? Your mom does similar things sometimes, right? And the thing is your mom isn’t even with you all the time and it still affects you so much. How would you react when I’m the one losing my fucking mind?” 

Lucas shakes his head, stepping forward in a desperate bid to get through to Eliott. He doesn’t reach out this time, wringing nervous hands into his sweater sleeves as he shifts around trying to make Eliott look at him. “I can handle it,” he says when their eyes finally meet— Eliott’s gaze is steel but Lucas isn’t easily cowed. “We can handle it.”

“I don’t want you to handle it!” Eliott shouts back, sounding increasingly flustered by Lucas’ persistence. “You should take this as your warning and leave!”

“Well I don’t want to!”

“Why?!”

“Because!” Lucas takes time to breathe, closing his eyes as he reels his temper in. They’ll get nowhere, screaming at each other like this. “Because I’ve never felt anything like this before,” he says in a whisper. “Because I’ll also yell at you, I’ll also do stupid shit, also shut you out sometimes.” Lucas shrugs, looking up at Eliott helplessly. “But all I know is that everything inside me is telling me to keep you and I’m willing to fight for that. I want to fight for that.” He runs a hand through his hair, running out of steam. “So if you think I’m giving up all of this. You. Us. Just because you think you’re not good for me, then you’re wrong. Relationships are a two way thing, Eliott. You can’t just make a decision like this for the both of us. Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

A heavy silence follows. Lucas sighs softly, unsure of what else to do to get his point across. 

Until Eliott mutters the most quiet, “I need time to think on it.” 

And okay, he’ll take that. He’s got time to spare. 

Lucas nods, moving towards the door. He’s pretty sure their conversation ends here. But before he leaves, he lingers by Eliott’s side, taking in his hunched shoulders, the way his eyes are trained on the floor. Everything about him screams defeated. 

“I’ll give you all the time you need,” he says, soft in the wake of their loaded words from earlier. “But know that I still want you in my life, Eliott.” He pauses, taking in a shuddering breath. “All of you.” 

He leaves it at that, walking out the door, out of the elevator, out of Eliott’s building. He doesn’t look back until he’s standing outside, breathing in the chilly evening breeze. He doesn’t realize he’s hoping for something to happen until his eyes are greeted by the empty foyer. There’s a stillness around him that could possibly be peaceful if not for the turmoil knotting in his chest. 

If anyone had told Lucas years ago that he’d be standing in front of a boy’s apartment building, hoping for a scene straight out of a romance movie to happen to him, he’d have laughed in their face until tears streamed down his eyes. 

And yet here he is, waiting. 

But Eliott doesn’t come to chase after him. 

Eliott misses school for two days the week following their talk, and then another two days the next week after— he only knows this because Idris takes it upon himself to keep him updated. On a Wednesday when Lucas doesn’t even have any classes to attend, he sees a glimpse of Eliott around campus. He’s surrounded by people, shoulders covered by that signature brown jacket that Lucas infuriatingly misses. 

Lucas wishes Eliott would see him, wishes so hard that they’d meet eyes across the field and for Eliott to smile that genuine smile of his, eyes crinkling at the corners. He wishes Eliott would look at him like Lucas is the only thing that matters again. 

“You okay?” Arthur nudges him with an elbow, following his line of sight. “How’s it going with you two?”

He shrugs, instinctively unlocking his phone. Eliott hasn’t sent him any messages for the past two weeks. Lucas wants to send something, of course, but he thinks Eliott should be the one to break the silence once he’s ready to go forward with their relationship. If he still wants to that is.

Lucas is starting to have his doubts. “Nothing.”

Arthur sighs, raising an arm to tug Lucas close. “He’ll come around.”

“Sure.” 

On the third week of silence, Lucas isn’t sure Eliott would ever come around.

“Lucas!” Erin rushes inside from the front house, startling Lucas from his gloomy thoughts. 

“Yeah?”

“There’s someone asking to see you.” 

His heart skips a beat, and he almost stumbles out of his seat in his haste to get up. It’s Friday and he’s only here to cover for someone else’s shift but it’d be the best day ever if Eliott’s decided to end his suffering today. 

Marco, their pastry chef, barks out a laugh. “Careful, kid.” 

“Yeah,” he responds absently, jogging forward to peer through the glass window of their kitchen door.

His heart plummets to the ground when he sees the person waiting by the counter. “Did you tell him I was here?”

Erin’s budding smile drops. “No, I only said I’d check, didn’t know if you went out for snacks or something.”

“Okay,” Lucas breathes out, bidding for his heart to slow its beating. “Okay. Please tell him I’m not here.” 

Marco shifts closer. “You okay? You want me to get rid of him?” 

“He’s a paying customer,” Erin mumbles, apology all over her features when her gaze meets Lucas’. 

Lucas appreciates the offer either way. 

“Damn.” Marco grumbles, running a hand over his chin. “Can you handle the front alone? I’ll keep Lucas here to help out with the baking.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“You look like you’re gonna pass out,” Erin interrupts before he can even finish his protest. “I’ll tell him you’ve gone home. He should go away in a few hours, right?”

Lucas isn’t sure about that but he doesn’t want to worry them. “Yeah.”

Erin pushes the door open and Lucas can faintly hear her lying to Raphael for him. 

God, what’s Raphael doing in the cafe? How does he know Lucas works here? 

He walks back to the couch with surprisingly steady steps, sitting down as his mind reels with possibilities.  What the fuck is Raphael doing, trying to barge back in his life like this? The rest of his break is spent panicking in silence but thankfully, it doesn’t bleed into his work when Marco tasks him with frosting the chilled cupcakes. They turn out pretty good, considering his experience in that area is nothing but sometimes watching Manon decorate her stress baked goodies. 

At eight o’clock, he has to reassure Marco that he doesn’t need to wait an extra two hours to give Lucas a ride home. The guy has been there since early morning, working overtime to complete a gigantic preorder for an event their customer has the day after. Besides, Lucas knows Marco’s children are waiting for him to get home before falling asleep, as Marco likes to very fondly remind them all the time. At ten o’clock, Erin lingers, kindly offering to take the bus with him until Lucas reminds her that he walks home and urges her out with a simple reminder of that assignment she’s been procrastinating on for the past week. 

Alone in the cafe, Lucas doesn’t bother to hide the tremor in his hands. 

He calls Yann twice and gets voicemail for both before he remembers that his best friend’s taken off to Bordeaux straight after classes for a family reunion celebrating his grandmother’s birthday. Basile’s fallen asleep hours ago, according to their group chat, after having stayed up three days straight studying for an exam. Arthur would probably come for him but Lucas knows he lives too far away to arrive in time. Champ is waiting for Lucas back home, he can’t possibly waste more time hiding inside the cafe.

But standing at the welcome mat right in front of the door, Lucas gives in, admitting to himself that he’s scared out of his fucking wits. 

lucallemant Eliott, I know I said I’d give you all the time you need And I mean it, you can have more right after this  But please, can you pick me up at work? I need you please Please

He walks around aimlessly, barely registering his own movements as he cleans up everywhere, making sure everything is sparkling clean and wiped down at least three times before he gathers his things so he can lock up. He makes an aborted move towards the curtains which he’d flipped shut earlier, resisting the urge to check if Raphael is out there, waiting. 

It’s ridiculous, it’s been hours.

But he knows. He knows it’s not irrational.

His phone remains silent and a quick check on the app tells him he has no new messages waiting. 

Okay, fuck, that’s fine. It’s fine. He’ll be okay. 

He fishes the cafe keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door from inside. It’s dark when he steps out, almost pitch black in the late hour. The quiet around him is disturbing, the streets abandoned on a typical Friday night. Locking the door back up proves to be a hassle as his shaky fingers fail to slot the key in twice. Irritably, he swats at his forearm— he doesn’t know if his brain is playing tricks on him or if there are really ants crawling up his sleeves at the same moment. 

A couple more tries and the latch finally gives a satisfying click. Lucas stands there, breathing out slowly. It’s still quiet. So, so quiet he almost convinces himself he’s been freaking out over nothing.

Until he turns around and sees the worst mistake of his life. 

Raphael shakes his head, tall and imposing in his fucking suit. “You know I hate it when you lie to me, baby.” 

Lucas shutters, turns around quickly so Raphael doesn’t get a whiff of his effect on Lucas. If the bastard realizes how Lucas feels right now, it’s over for him. He tries to leave without acknowledging Raphael, wanting to sprint back home but that won’t be a very good idea won’t it? With Raphael on his tail and all. His mind, slow as molasses, can’t come up with anything he can do to get away without revealing anything.

He hears footsteps coming up behind him, leisurely, like Raphael knows he’s got nowhere to go. 

“Come on now, Lucas. Don’t be so rude.” 

“What do you want?” If he’s going to be stuck here, he might as well deal with it. He gathers all the courage he can muster and turns to face Raphael, but his own voice sounds distant to his ears, as if he’s separated from his body somehow— a spectator of this hellish scene rather than a direct participant.

It’s been over a year since they’ve ended things, on a terrible note, so Lucas doesn’t understand why Raphael would bother to come back. 

The man shrugs, standing a safe distance away, hands in his pants pockets. “I thought we could revisit that talk from before, you know?”

“No,” Lucas scoffs, his answer hasn’t changed and it would be a waste of their time.

Raphael rolls his head backwards with a deep, showy sigh. “Stop acting like a child. You’re in college now, Lucas, can we have an adult conversation about this?”

How fucking dare Raphael talk to him like that? Lucas won’t rise to the bait, he’s long been over this. He’s worked hard to fix everything Raphael tore down and yes, it’s a work in progress, but he’s healing. “Fuck off.” He starts walking again to god knows where— he’ll go back to campus or sleep in a fucking church if needed. 

It makes Raphael chuckle. “I see. That’s how it is now, huh?” He doesn’t seem to be following so Lucas ignores him. “Careful there, you’re turning into your mother, all mean and moody like that. I heard crazy can run in the family, you know?”

Lucas has fireworks for temper. He’s learned to tone it down as he got older but the one thing that can set him off like nothing else is when people talk shit about his mama. Raphael knows that. Lucas knows Raphael knows that. But he falls for it hook, line, and sinker.

He rushes back to where Raphael is standing, gripping the neatly ironed collars of his dress shirt to pull him down to Lucas’ eye level. “Don’t talk about her like that, don’t talk about her at all, don’t even think about her, you fucker,” he hisses into the space between them, to which Raphael responds with a smile— unkind, predatory. Lucas knows what’s coming but he can’t seem to reign in the anger that makes him act on his most foolish thoughts. 

“Ah.” Raphael’s eyes light up like a demon in the night. “I knew you’d come to me.” His hands easily engulf Lucas’ wrists then, close as they are, and starts dragging him towards the parking lot. Lucas stumbles at first, unprepared for the change of pace but he forces his limbs to cooperate after a few heart stopping seconds. He digs his heels on the pavement, pushing back against Raphael with all his strength. The resistance only frustrates Raphael and Lucas barely has time to catch the angry look Raphael throws over his shoulder before he’s being pulled to the side of the building and slammed unceremoniously on the wall so that his back presses painfully against the rough bricks of the cafe exterior. “Stop making me angry, Lucas. I’m serious.”

“Then stop talking to me!” He yells back, impact behind his voice while also hoping for someone, anyone, to pass by and hear him. “Let go!”

Raphael shushes him, soft and amused. Lucas’ stomach lurches and if he’d eaten anything at all he might’ve thrown up right then and there. The grip around him tightens, heavy shackles of flesh digging into delicate wrists and Lucas just about manages to hold back a whimper. “You know I don’t want to hurt you but you’re making things very difficult right now. Do you understand me?”

Lucas wants to cover his ears— he can’t deal with those words. Not now, not ever again. Not with that same gentle, warning tone. A familiar bout of panic takes hold of him, all that time spent rebuilding himself flies out the window and suddenly he’s back to being sixteen, terrified but helpless under Raphael’s control. 

“You don’t…” He swallows, knowing he has to be brave. No one will protect him but himself. No one. His breathing picks up, vision darkening around the edges. No one, Lucas. Fucking save yourself. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.” It comes out as a whisper, too weak for what he’d been gunning for but the fact that he’s able to get the words out gives him strength. His vision’s no longer fading but he wonders why everything around him looks so damn blurry.  

“Shh,” Raphael hushes him and Lucas strikes his head against the wall behind him to get away from the warm breath near his lips. The movement should be painful but he feels numb to his core. “Oh come on, I’m sorry, baby. Please don’t cry.” Raphael uses one finger to brush against the wetness on Lucas’ cheek. Fuck, fuck, fuck, when did that happen? “Come with me, I’ll make it better, okay?” 

No. He’s going to say it out loud. Once he works up the courage. He’s going to. He’s going to. 

He doesn’t have to.

“Get the fuck off of him.” That cold voice is a welcome distraction from the suffocating conflict in Lucas’ head. Hearing it brings forth so much relief he barely registers everything that comes after. Through tear blurred vision, he watches Raphael stagger backwards as Eliott roughly pushes himself in front of Lucas, shoving Raphael towards the opposing wall.

“And who are you?” Raphael sneers, tone dripping acid. Lucas leans his forehead on Eliott’s solid back, desperately in need of an anchor. 

“None of your business,” Eliott responds, equally venomous. “Leave.” 

“I don’t think you understand, pal, but this is none of your business,” Raphael intones, trying for a calmer approach. “He’s mine and he’s not feeling well right now, so can you please move and let me take care of him?” Lucas hears footsteps approaching but he closes his eyes, unwilling to see any more of that man.

Eliott stands his ground. “Nice try, pal,” Eliott practically growls out, and when Lucas opens his eyes again he sees Eliott’s hands clenched into tight, shaking fists. “You can fuck right off or I swear to god.” 

Lucas doesn’t hear anything else— he brings his hands over his own ears and squeezes his eyes shut , waits it out until Eliott turns around and wraps him in his arms completely, so tight and all encompassing as if trying his utmost best to hide Lucas from the rest of the world.

“I’m here, I’m sorry I took so long, I’m so sorry, I have you, I have you,” Eliott whispers into his hair, barely audible above Lucas’ gasping sobs. He clutches onto Eliott’s jacket and tries to regulate his breathing but every attempt goes down the drain, washed over by the torrent of emotions rushing out all at once. For a single moment he wishes for that numbness from earlier back, if only so he doesn’t die of oxygen deprivation on the spot. 

Eliott tilts Lucas’ head sideways and presses him against his chest, taking slow, deep breaths that Lucas instinctively matches. Under the carefully timed breathing, Lucas can hear Eliott’s erratic heartbeat.

His wheezing tapers off, leaving him sniffling and coughing a little as a strange sort of calm takes over. Eliott, painfully gentle, runs his thumbs across Lucas’ face, wiping all traces of his tears. Lucas doesn’t know how to explain what just happened and he doesn’t think he wants to explain, as a matter of fact. 

Thankfully, Eliott doesn’t ask. “I’ll take you home,” he says, glancing at Lucas carefully before the latter offers him a nod in response. 

Lucas pulls himself away from their embrace, missing the safety in Eliott’s touch but with his head slightly clearer, he remembers, acutely, the status of their relationship. After everything Raphael’s return has brought back, Lucas’s now hyper aware of what he’s asked of Eliott. God, the other boy must think he’s such needy garbage, sending a message like that. Isn’t that considered emotional blackmail? Even if Eliott’s lost his feelings for Lucas, reading a text like that would still make Eliott rush to the rescue. Lucas knows Eliott’s heart is just soft in that way. 

He’s glad the walk home is fairly short. He doesn’t want to keep Eliott later than he has to.

“Thanks,” Lucas says, walking numbly towards the building. Champ must be bored out of her mind. He hopes she ate well— she’s usually good at pacing herself even when he leaves a large amount of food outside when both he and Yann will be out for a long period but sometimes the dumbass gobbles it all down in one go. Hopefully there’s no vomit for him to clean up once he unlocks the door. 

Locks on the door.

How did Raphael know where Lucas works? Why did he leave without much of a fight when Eliott arrived? Is it because he also knows where Lucas lives?

Lucas unlocks his door, fiddles with the mechanism a little, and decides he’s going to go out and buy some extra locks just for good measure. Tonight, in fact. He has to do that tonight. He’ll take Champ with him so she can have a little walk as well. 

“Hey, how are you?” He murmurs into Champ’s fur when she wobbles over to him, not bothering to switch on the lights. She’s the only one he needs to see anyway. “Sorry, I know it’s late now but we’ll go for a walk, alright? I’ll buy you a snack too.” He clips the leash on her collar but bundles her tight in his arms as he goes back out. 

When he gets to the entrance, Eliott is standing right where Lucas left him. 

“Why are you still here?” He’s surprised he’s able to string together a proper sentence around Eliott, seeing as his heart has been shattering anew for every time he catches even the slightest glimpse of the boy for the past few weeks. Maybe there’s simply nothing left to shatter. “You should go home now.”

“Lucas,” Eliott’s voice sounds shaky. Lucas can feel Champ’s tail sleepily wagging at the sight of him. “Why are you not inside?”

“I have to buy something.”

“What are you buying? Can’t it wait til tomorrow?”

Lucas shakes his head. “I need new locks for the door.”

“What happened to your lock?” Eliott’s stepping closer, slowly, like how one would approach a spooked animal. 

“Nothing, I just want more.” Lucas has his eyes trained on the ground, counting the cracks on the cobblestone as he grapples for something, anything to occupy his mind with. He can’t let it run empty or he’s afraid he’ll stop breathing. 

“Where’s Yann?” Eliott’s close enough to touch by now and he lifts a hand to pet over Champ’s little head. 

“At his parents’.” Lucas distantly notes that Eliott’s hand is trembling and he wants to hold them, keep them warm, but he’s not sure he’s allowed to. “You should go home, it’s only gonna get colder.” He thinks Eliott says something after that but Lucas misses it— everything around him seems so strange and muffled. He’s inside a glass container with only one eye peeking out. “What?”

“Lucas.” There’s a desperate note in the way Eliott says his name and Lucas isn’t sure what to make of it. He follows the way Eliott’s hands stutter midair, hovering close on either side of Lucas’ face but Eliott doesn’t touch him.  “Come back to me.” 

What does that mean? “I’m right here,” he responds, meaning for it to be a question but his tone falls as flat as everything else he’s been saying. 

Eliott shakes his head, distress loud in his eyes. There’s a voice inside Lucas’ head screaming for him to reach out and comfort Eliott, to erase that pained expression and to try his damnedest to make him smile. The glass around him shrinks protectively and Lucas doesn’t move a limb.

“Okay… okay, you’re sleeping over at mine tonight,” Eliott says, one of his hands flying up to run through his own hair while the other goes to his mouth, biting at his nails. 

“But Champagne…”

“She’s coming too.”

“Her stuff’s upstairs.”

“We’ll go get it.” 

Gathering everything Champ needs is a quick and quiet affair, with Lucas floating around grabbing anything that looks remotely like something a dog would own. Her food and water bowls are last to enter the bag. Lucas leaves feeling as if he’s forgotten something but the thought doesn’t stick, so he lets it go.

They walk to Eliott’s flat mostly in silence, partly due to Lucas missing half of what Eliott tries to tell him. He can see his lips moving but Eliott has to repeat twice, three times, before Lucas understands what’s being said. It’s a tiring exercise and Lucas doesn’t have anything to respond with anyway, much more content with burying his face into Champ’s soft fur, cuddling into her warmth despite of how small of a space she takes up. 

Once inside, he lets go of Champ to let her familiarize with the place while he stands immobile at the doorway, staring at the plant Eliott’s placed beside his bookshelf. It looks like it’s dying. Lucas would laugh but the notion dies before the thought even completes itself. 

“Hey.” Eliott’s close again and Lucas lets his eyes fall shut at the comfort of his presence. “Lucas? Lucas, are you with me?”

He’s exhausted. The walls around him are thickening, until he hears nothing but his own breathing.

Eliott sighs, and Lucas feels him brush the hair away from Lucas’ forehead before he shuffles off elsewhere. When Eliott comes back, it’s with a bundle of clothes in his arms and a gentle hand guiding Lucas to the bathroom.

Behind the closed bathroom door, Lucas is forced to face himself in front of the mirror. It’s a relief to find nothing outwardly amiss; his hair’s a little messy and his eyes a little red. But when he removes his clothes and sees the finger shaped bruises forming on his wrists, stark against the otherwise unblemished skin, the bubble around him breaks— sharp pieces of cracked glass lodge themselves under his skin, and he bleeds and bleeds from the inside. Everything around him is suddenly too loud, too bright, too much.

Come with me, I’ll make it better. 

“No,” he whispers, hands sliding up to cover his ears, albeit futile, against the phantom words. He stumbles backwards and falls to the floor with a thud but Lucas barely notices the pain that shoots up his tailbone.

Stop acting like a child and listen to me.

There are footsteps thundering from outside the room and a small part of him, the one that hasn’t completely lost its mind, recognizes it immediately. “Eli—” he begins to call out but a nagging thought stops him. No, he can’t ask for Eliott. He’s got enough to deal with without Lucas adding on his own pile of bullshit. 

Where’s his phone? He needs to call his mama— wait no, she’s having a rough time already. She has to get better first and worrying about Lucas won’t be of any help. 

Yann. He’s probably not asleep yet, Lucas can try calling him again and—

Except Yann doesn’t know the entire story. Lucas had swept it all under the rug after telling his best friend a heavily edited version of how much Raphael had fucked him up. 

Fuck, he’s alone. He’s alone. How does he manage to always end up alone?

I’m the only one you have.

“Lucas?” Eliott slams the door open and it startles Lucas enough that it silences the ugly memories running through his head. He looks up to the sight of Eliott frozen by the door, looking wholly unsure and slightly terrified and god, Lucas can’t help it. Just a little bit. He just needs a little bit of Eliott to survive the night. 

“Eliott,” he croaks out, but he doesn’t get to finish the thought when tears fill his eyes and spill out uncontrollably like a flooded dam. Eliott rushes to his side, gathering Lucas up in his embrace. In turn, Lucas latches onto him. He’s going to regret this tomorrow, he knows, but for now, he crawls into the space between Eliott’s arms and hides in the crook of his neck, searching for safety. “I don’t wanna go back,” he gasps out. “I don’t. Please don’t let me go back.” 

Eliott holds him that much tighter— the strength in his arms juxtaposes the waver in his voice as he says, “I’m here now. I got you. You’re never going back, I’m here. I’m here.” 

Are you? Lucas’ tears pour heavier, though he guesses that empty promises are better than no promises at all. 

[hereliesbitches--me]

@draconicmatriarch​ asked: "Rosie." She stalled, letting Suzaku sleep on her folded legs. "Am I a bad person for loving someone despite knowing that they still do terrible things?" She didn't have the strength to say his name, but everyone knew. "I could spare so many people suffering if I could kill but one man. That's what a queen should do, right? Destroy one for the sake of many. B-But I can't," she sobbed. "I can't kill him. As soon as I raise my fist, I see a scared child that was once him."

-------------------

What is it that makes a person fall in love? Who ever had the answer to why the heart one day begins to thump a little faster when you see a particular person? Why one day a simple friendship is suddenly forever altered by a change of feelings from the blue? Who is to blame for the strands a desperate soul throws to the winds in hopes it catches its match?  

Can you change what fate decides? or does it all dwindle down to the simplistic needs of basic animal biology to have companionship?

Rosie has been in love before. She tasted its bliss and basked in the euphoric highs that would have been the closest to heaven a person like her could have ever been. Rosie knew love so intimately, held onto it with such desperation, she believed not a damn thing in the world could ever hurt her again. But that was one of life’s greatest lessons; For to love was to fall into its deceptive arms of comfort, knowing well there lay a sword to fall on should you lay down your heart in callus hands. Love held the power to heal you, to build you, and break you down all in the same breath. And now she stood the result of its breaks, a shambled, pessimistic deity trapped within a human skin. A broken doll. Giving advice to a mother with a heart that still dares to love. A bastard chicken , of all things to have tied herself to. Its been a long but pleasant day for them, spent catching up and tiring out the little halfling tyke on their little adventure through Kia’s lands. Rosie appreciates her company, she loved Suzaku, but good things had a tendency to vanish quickly in the Moon’s life -- this moment was no different. She knew that question was coming from a mile away, a thought that ate at Kia throughout the day as they walked and talked, nagging at the back of her mind. Her shifting, her wandering eyes, the way her fine lips opened and closed with practiced words never spoken, did not go unnoticed. Now at last they spill out with all its hesitance, with the practiced pacing of a politician, carefully asked in the sanctuary of two friends that shared almost everything. For some odd reason, Rosie finds herself winded by the question.

    She must bite her tongue before her cynicism comes pouring out. In fact, it takes everything in her power not to twist her face and scowl in disgust at the outrageous question that should have had an obvious answer for anyone listening ; The reality of this was far more complex than a simple yes or no answer, so she settles for balling her fist til her knuckles turn white and holds in those words with her stolen hair she managed to retain in. Kia is delicate, she knows, as any woman would be when the heart full of misplaced love is raw from its emotional misuse. If it had been anyone else, Rosie would have bitten down with cruelty of the harshest truths, to call her a fool and roll her eyes at the notion of sympathy for a bastard king of pea brained birds just because he was left twisted by childhood. But this Rosie knows love, and how blinding and controlling love can be when it has latched its silken strand and binds itself to another. Now there came a child born from it, and the dragon is the bird in the cage, pinning after a man who will never appreciate her the way she deserved to be. All these words jumbled in her mind makes it difficult for the cat to filter through and pick just the right ones that can be strong together well enough to cushion the crushing blow Kia needs to hear. She’s torn with the bias of bitter resentment, and the instinct to be a comforting friend. For a while, Rosie can’t bring herself to look at the Queen. Because if she looks, everything she thinks may be conveyed too well through her eyes that Kia will shatter. She fixes her gaze instead to the colorful sky, a mural of pinks and oranges as the sun begins settling along the horizon, shades that could smooth her temper and malice. Softening her worn edges well enough, the angel sucks in a breath into her desperate lungs, flaring her nostrils in subtle irritation, before letting it slip away with the breeze and her negativity.

A Moon’s purpose is to bring and keep balance. Balance it.

  “ It isnt exactly so clean cut as a yes or no answer, despite what the people around here whisper to each other…”  She starts. Yes, the sonar ears on her head can hear a whole lot when people have no idea just what cat ears can pick up. The mentioned featured twitched and folded back slightly , her tail swaying with emotion she would not convey in words. She sniffs and turns slightly, enough to reach her hand out and stroke through Suzaku’s blonde tufts, stare shifting to study the sleeping boy intently, “ As Queen, you’re tied to your duty to your people . But being a Queen doesn't mean you’re not a living being with feelings. Its the human part-” She stumbles slightly, “ Eh, its the person you are that helps you empathize with your subjects and the people around you. It shouldn’t come as a shock that the empathy can be spread further to the companions you work with, especially when politics are thrown into the mix.” Adding politics and love certainly made for a slippery slope that don't make the conversation any easier. In the midst of her reply, Kia’s crackling voice as she heaved a sob tore Rosie’s focus upward to her dear friend just as the tears pooled and spilled over her round cheeks. An unsightly appearance, red faced and blubbering, for a queen.. A sight that seers through Rosie’s skin and makes her wince, in both a flush of bubbling wrath and the cold chill of empathy that washes over those flames. How could anyone ever expect a woman to kill the father of her child? No matter the nature of it, no matter how the celestial herself felt, Rosie cant blame Kia for her nature of seeing the good in people. There had been something between her and Shahin that passes as a secret only lovers will ever know and understand, no matter how much the bastard pretends that there is nothing. Fighting her trembling anger, Rosie transforms and redirects it to shuffle herself higher on the grassy hillside to pull Kia within her arms. Careful not to disturb the sleeping youth, Rosie’s brows knit together and crease her forehead in rippling waves of worry as she cradled the Queen. Stroking through the silken raven hair, she pressed her cheek upon the crown and purred soothingly,

“ Kia, I understand you. Trust me, I do. I know what love can do, what it makes you think and feel.. But it can’t be used as an excuse for him.” She whispers, gentle yet stern, her eyes falling closed, “ Even still, I nor anybody can force you to act against your heart… So, if you really believe there is something in him that can be saved or reasoned with,” Her scarred palm bearing the cross rose to wipe the tears away from Kia’s cheeks, relinquishing her venom to a kinder alternative for the Queen’s sake, “ Then I’ll help you. I can try to change his ways with some convincing, a little at a time. But , if all else fails..”

Rosie sits up straighter, wills herself to meet the crimson gaze of the Dragon with solemnity as she held her by the shoulder,

“ I won’t ask you to kill him.

But I will do what I must,

if I feel its for the safety of you and Suzaku. And Your kingdom.”

[welllpthisishappening]

All Was Golden in the Sky (18/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

—

Rating: Mature AN: If I ever write a story where Ariel does not sass the ever-living heck out of Killian Jones, something is wrong.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

“Is this going to work?” “Swan, this was your idea, love.”

She clicks her tongue, but he’s definitely got a point and she’s still not entirely convinced it’s going to work. She’s also not entirely convinced it’s an appropriate time for any human being to be awake, but there hadn’t really been much sleeping the night before, quiet discussions and a loose stone in her floor that Emma hadn’t known was there. 

With treasure underneath. 

At least some treasure. 

Of the magical communication variety. 

“That doesn’t sound particularly enthusiastic,” Killian says, standing on the edge of the dock with the first hints of sunlight starting to peek over the clouds. Emma stifles a yawn. “We don’t have to do this. I don’t even know if she’ll--” “--No, no, c’mon,” Emma cuts in, because this is not the first time he’s tried to get out of the plan. It’s a good plan. It is, at least, a possibly feasible plan. 

Because he’d kept treasure in her bedroom, which Emma can’t possibly think about for too long, and Killian has promised, several times, that the rather large shell in his hand is more than capable of finding Ariel. 

The mermaid. 

They’re trying to find a mermaid.

Emma takes another step forward, moving into his space and resting a hand flat on his chest. She’s started to do that more and more. And she knows they’ve both noticed it, her hand flitting closer to his heart every time, like she’s checking to make sure it’s still there and beating and both of those things are melodramatic, but he traded his ship for her and she’s going to fix this.

She’s going to fix all of it. 

And live happily ever after. 

“Talk to me,” Emma says, only a little disappointed that it sounds a bit like begging and that’s not the vibe she’s going for. At all. She’s going for enthusiastic girlfriend, determined to support her pirate boyfriend and his, apparent, treasure stashed throughout the kingdom and she genuinely cannot wrap her mind around him keeping things in her room. 

Even after. 

Especially after. 

Like… “Swan,” Killian murmurs, the curve of his hook under her chin. “There’s not anything to talk about. It’s...it’s fine.” “You’re honestly getting worse at it.” “That can’t possibly be true.” “It’d be insulting if I weren’t so worried.” He sighs, head falling forward slightly, but that only makes it easier to push up on her toes and brush her lips against his. “There’s nothing to be worried about,” Killian says, not bothering to pull back. “At least not when it comes to this.” “Liar, liar.” “We’ve already had several discussions about my pants, love.” Emma doesn’t really laugh, but it’s almost there and she’s pleasantly surprised the dock doesn’t shake when she drops back to her heels. And, just like that, everything changes. She snaps her head up, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together because, just like that, she’s jumped out of worried and directly into focused and she’s going to track down the goddamn mermaid and make her help if she has to. 

She’s going to get this ship back and find Edward Teach again and maybe cast a few spells and then, for good measure, she’s going to make sure that Killian Jones tells her every single thought he’s had in the last two weeks. 

“Emma,” he whispers, pulling her out of her reverie. He’s staring at her incredulously, which is also a little insulting, all things considered, but they’ve also both been through so much garbage and consistent shit, that Emma assumes maybe they’re just not used the potential of something good happening. 

Gods, that is depressing. 

They’re going to get this ship back and set sail for somewhere else. 

“A week,” Emma says, well aware that those two words don’t make sense. Killian’s eyebrows get lower. “A week. At least.” “What are you saying right now?” “You and me. A week. Maybe two. We don’t even have to go anywhere. What’s the technical term for that? Port? Dock? Oh, oh, oh,” she stabs her finger into his chest, flashing a smile when his hook moves around her wrist, “drop anchor, that’s it, isn’t it?” “Probably depends on context.” “Can you sail a ship on your own?” “That’s insulting.” “That’s not an answer.” “Yes,” Killian says, widening his eyes. “Where are you going with this?” Emma takes a deep breath, jutting her chin out, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. If anything she crowds further into his space, letting the warmth that seems to just exude off him wrap around her, twisting and settling and making her even more determined. She’s going to save this. Them. She’s going to save them. 

“I want you to listen to me and don’t interrupt, you understand?”

He doesn’t say anything. Emma rolls her eyes. That only leads to a smirk, crinkles around his eyes and a flash in his gaze that’s several decades in the making. “Aye, your highness. Not a single interruption during your decree.” “Gods, you’re frustrating.” She hates his eyebrows. And the tip of his tongue. Or, just, his tongue. In general. 

She does not. 

About any of those things.

“We are getting this ship back,” Emma says. “And I know--damn, ok, I know you think that you’ve done things wrong and--” “--Swan.” “What did I say about interruptions, Lieutenant?” He ducks his eyes, dots of color on his cheeks that probably shouldn’t be attractive, but they also make him look so much younger and Emma knows they’re only standing on this dock because they need to get a goddamn mermaid to lead them to an infamous, horrible pirate, but her mind has kind of latched onto the symmetry of it all and--

“When we were in Storybrooke, you said that you were worried about the riptide,” she adds, voice dropping of its own accord. This is not going the way she planned. That should be tattooed on her forehead at this point. “And you can tell me there’s nothing going on. That it’s fine. You can get progressively worse at lying every single day for the rest of our lives, but that’s all they are, babe, lies.” He looks back up at her, a little repentant and just a shade nervous. “That’s not what I want.” “I know it’s not. So talk to me. Why do you keep trying to brush this off?”

“I’m not.” “Killian,” Emma sighs, far too much oxygen falling out of her. She grits her teeth, free hand coming up to yank lightly on his jacket until her fingers move towards the charms around his neck and she can’t seem to stop moving. 

So she doesn’t. 

She traces over skin, moves over his collarbone and the tendons in his neck, obvious whenever he clenches his jaw. She brushes over his shoulder, leather soft under her skin, dragging down towards his elbow and the cool metal of his hook, letting her fingers wrap around that as well. She pulls it away from her wrist and for half a moment she thinks Killian’s eyes have fallen closed, but then his gaze finds hers and it’s all emotion and charged energy, far too much blue to be entirely fair, and his lips part as soon as Emma pulls his arm towards the ring hanging over the front of her shirt. 

“Talk to me.” One side of his mouth tugs up at the command, a bit of royal they very likely don’t have time for. “It was years, Swan,” he breathes, and, that time, his eyelashes do flutter, memories playing out across his face and practically tugging at the back of her brain. “And I know--I know I didn’t remember it the whole time, but it’s…” 

He exhales, licking his lips before he tugs them behind his teeth like he’s looking for the perfect words. “If Arthur knew what I was, then he’s far from the only person. And even if they don’t, they know Captain Hook. It wasn’t always magic, love, but it was never particularly good.” 

“I know that--” “--No, Emma, you don’t,” he interrupts, the words turning to metal and steel and it’s a stupid sword pun. He hates that sword so much. “And its---” They’re going to use up all the air on the dock. Maybe all the air in Misthaven. She’s far too dramatic when she’s tired. “You don’t,” Killian repeats. “Not really. And I...it’s all here again. Like flashing neon lights.” “Times Square.” “Aye, exactly like goddamn, bloody Times Square.” Emma chuckles, soft and understanding and she gets it. She does. Nothing has happened the way it was supposed to. “I’m sorry.” “It’s not your fault.” “Seriously, the lying. It’s gross.” Killian hums. His lips twitch again, teeth chewing down lightly and the jacket’s got to be heavy. There’s just so much of it. Emma wonders if that’s some kind of message. Like armor, or something, hiding him just a bit from eyes that widen every time he walks by and doors that slam shut and...her. 

“I thought--” Killian starts again, running his hand through his hair and yanking hard enough that Emma is certain she can feel the stab of pain as well. “I don’t know what I thought, honestly. I hoped, I suppose. That everything could just be. Again.” “That’s not a bad thing.” “Aye, it’s not, but it might be an impossible thing. What did our esteemed captain of the guard tell us? We’ve got to be both and people are still going to be afraid of me, Emma. No matter what I do or what I promise.” He shrugs, disappointing hanging off every one of his limbs. “Maybe I deserve that.” “That’s ridiculous,” she says before she can stop herself and they do not have time for this. The town is starting to wake up, a low hum that doesn’t have anything on Times Square, but there are fewer costumed characters here, so it’s kind of a give and take sort of thing. 

“Excuse me?” Emma tries to elongate her spine. She hopes that makes her look like more of an authority. “Ridiculous. Just it’s---” Her hands move through the air, and she’s definitely missed her mark on authority and royal, particularly when Killian tires to contain her limbs, half a smile and his head tilted just enough that several strands of hair fall towards his eyes. 

“Ridiculous?” “I’m going to curse you.” “You know the threat loses some of its weight, when it’s happened so many times now.”

He grins when she groans, eyebrows jumping and hook falling back to her waist. “Do you miss the magic?” Emma asks, voice barely that because it’s a shitty question and even worse thought and Killian’s lips practically disappear. 

“Sometimes.” “Yeah, I figured.” “I know you did, love,” he mutters, nosing at her cheek. “But that’s not a particularly good thing either, is it? The magic wasn’t good, Swan. It was the opposite of good. That was kind of its whole schtick.”

“You’re not funny.” “I’m not trying to be. The magic was bad. It was dark and wrong and evil. At its core. I could---I could flick my fingers and people would be dead. I could freeze them and move my sword through them as if I was moving it through air. But worse than that. I did things even without the magic. Gave in to darkness that was just...me. It wasn’t the magic and it wasn’t what you’d done. It just existed. There.” He tilts his head down, letting his chin fall towards his chest and the hand Emma still has pressed there, a few inches away from his heart. “It wasn’t anything except me, Swan,” Killian whispers. “And sometimes...I want it again. I want to feel that again. The chance to be more than myself because just me is--bad. And I miss the magic and I want the control, to have something go the way I want it to, to believe that I could--”

“--Oh, if you say protect me, I will slap you.”

Killian shakes his head. “You’re more than capable of protecting yourself. You don’t need me for that.” “But?”

“There it is.” He kisses the bridge of her nose when she huffs in frustration, a burst of magic that seems to fly out of her left heel and, that time, the dock does shake. “But,” Killian continues, “Isaac said it, love. It’s not--I’m not…”

He doesn't finish. He doesn’t really have to. 

And Emma will, eventually, wish she reacts better. She knows it’s unfair. After everything – the years and the regret and far too much magic for two people to ever contend with – but her brain doesn’t care and her heart cares even less, furious by the words she’s processing and the feelings she swears are simmering just underneath her skin, fire and fury and more goddamn, fucking magic. “Is that what this is?” she asks, pushing back up to try and force herself into his eye line. “You think you don’t deserve to get things back because...what? You were an ass?” “Emma.” “No, no, no, that’s--” Her laugh is absurd, a little manic and disbelieving and Killian’s expression shifts again. He’s breathing through his mouth. “Shit, I can’t come up with another word except ridiculous. Tell me another word.” “So you can make fun of me?” “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Aye, I know that too. Inane is a good one.” “Oh, yeah, that is good, actually.” “All those years amongst the stacks paying off,” Killian mutters, exhale tickling Emma’s skin. It makes her wobble on her toes, but his arm is there and she can’t quite get a handle on his limbs. There’s some kind of octopus joke to be made.

“I think we may have missed out on the stacks,” she says. His arm tightens. “Don’t you think?” “Don’t make plans you can’t follow through on, Swan.” Emma grins, laughter that feels more normal than anything has in the last two weeks bubbling out of her and it’s always been so easy. They’ve always been so easy. Inevitable. That’s a good word too. She scratches her nails lightly against his chest, drawing a wonderful sound out of him that’s something like a groan and a sigh and she almost loses her train of thought entirely when his mouth drags against her jaw. 

“I think we could do something about that,” Emma mumbles. “It’s a rather good college cliché, isn’t it?” “I believe so, yes. And I did have memories of attending a naval academy in that realm. That’s rather close to college, don’t you think?” “Enough.”

Killian hums, burrowing closer to her neck and there are teeth involved that time, a quick nip against her skin that makes Emma’s back arch. “It’s going to be alright, love,” he says, and Emma knows he’s not just telling her. He’s reminding himself. 

“But?” “You’re repeating yourself.” “And you're very obvious when you’re not saying something.” “I don’t think that’s true at all,” Killian argues, not lifting his head up and there are footsteps around them now, muted voices and the start of a day and they’ve really got to find this mermaid. She can feel him inhale. “The stories are all there, love,” he adds, “the good and the bad and the magic and the heroes live happily ever after, every single time, but…”

Emma jerks back. She sounds like she’s panting. It’s gross. But her heart is beating so quickly it hurts and her magic roars, defenses rising because she’s only ever, really, wanted to defend this and--”That’s not what’s going to happen.” “Plans you can’t follow through on.” “No. It’s---none of us were really the good guys here.” Emma swallows back her frustration, but she can see how much he believes it. That he doesn’t deserve any of it, that people should be afraid and her hand flies to his cheek. Her question is silly. She asks it anyway. “You think you don’t get that? Bullshit. Of course you do. It’s--whatever you want, that’s…” Gods, she can’t catch her breath, clawing at the front of his jacket like that will keep her grounded or expand her vocabulary. “That’s what this is. We’re going to use the stupid shell phone and--seriously, where else were you keeping treasure?” “Oh, I like that you used the word treasure.” “Did they teach you deflection techniques when you decided to become a pirate?” “Not as such, no.” “Then?” “Lots of places,” Killian says dismissively, and Emma is only kind of annoyed by that, but it’s getting increasingly difficult to see past the tears in her eyes. “You never want to leave all of it in one spot. Easier to steal that way. Plus, the burying part is a horrible stereotype.” Emma scoffs, and he’s smiling at her. It’s almost convincing. “This is happening,” she says, another decree that only sounds slightly unimpressive when the words wobble out of her. “You’re going to do whatever you have to do with that.” She nods at the shell still, somehow, clutched in his hand and it might be actually be vibrating, but Emma is on a roll and her magic feels like a wave and more tide puns and-- “And we’re going to find Edward Teach and, aw, fuck, teach him a lesson sounds so lame.” “Yes, it does.” “Shut up.” He winks at her. He tries. He’s so bad at that. “That’s happening too, though. And then we’re going to thank the mermaid for her help and get on the ship and you’re going to prove that you can sail it by yourself or at least teach me how to do something useful and--” Emma has to take a deep breath. Her lungs are burning. That may be her magic. “We’re going to sail somewhere and stay there and there will be no birds and no royals and I’m not going to let you wear that jacket at all.” Killian blinks. “Do you not like the jacket?” “Your pants are still ridiculous in this realm, you know that?” “I think that means you’re looking, love.” “I mean…” Emma shrugs, not able to argue and not all that inclined too, and Killian catches her mouth with his before she can even begin to formulate words anyway. They stay that way for a moment, simply content to exist and be, and, for a moment, Emma forgets about everything she’s just shouted. 

That’s probably her first mistake. Or seventeenth, whatever. She’s not keeping track. And the voice that appears next to them sounds almost amused at what she’s witnessing. 

They’ve got to start making out in more private locations. 

The stacks of the castle library, maybe. 

“You know, you never were very good at understanding how that worked.”

Emma jumps back, hands flying up and Killian’s sword nothing more than a blur in the corner of her eye, but the woman in front of them just smiles and woman isn’t really the right word. Mermaid. It’s a mermaid. 

She’s got her arms resting on the edge of the dock, chin balanced on one of her palms and a wry smile that’s almost impossible to see over the mess of red hair draped around her shoulders. Her fingers flutter against her own cheek, eyebrows disappearing into that same hairline and whatever noise Killian makes does not sound surprised. 

“Hook,” she says brightly, although her eyes keep darting towards Emma. “Long time, no see.” Killian makes that noise again. “How did you get here, Fisk?”

“Fisk?” Emma asks, finally lowering her hands and Ariel rolls her eyes. She assumes it’s Ariel. She hopes it’s Ariel. 

If there are multiple mermaids involved in this Emma may scream. 

“It’s another word for fish,” Ariel explains. “He thinks he’s very funny.” “Yeah, I’ve noticed that, actually.” “I assumed as much. You are her, right? You look like her.” “Do I?” Ariel nods, a soft hum of agreement that leaves Killian sighing dramatically, the tips of his ears gone red. “Oh yes. It’s the eyes.”

“An answer, Fisk,” Killian snaps, and Emma only kind of regrets that because she’s, quite suddenly, got several brand-new questions. “How did you know we were here?”

“I think it had something to do with your princess, actually. All that magic. Opened up the shell, got it working and here I am.” “Were you eavesdropping on the conversation?” “Not intentionally,” Ariel mutters, but Emma’s very good at picking up on lies and that’s a particularly bad one. “I mean...you were talking very loudly. You’ve gotten awfully self-loathing in the last few cursed years, haven’t you?”

“Eavesdropping is a very unattractive habit in humans.” “Luckily I get a pass on that.” “Hysterical.” Ariel grins, familiar and confident and Emma’s whole soul is going to burst with the number of questions it’s now holding. “Why New York?” “What?” “You left my sword in an abandoned train track in New York City with--”

“--Oh, did you mess up my collection, Hook? I’m going to be really annoyed if you did that.”

“That was you?” Emma balks, Ariel’s nose scrunching slightly. “All that stuff? You’re...you’re the reason the sword was in New York?” “I’ll only agree to that if Hook promises not to get angry.”

He makes a low noise in his throat at that, not quite a threat, but fingers dancing over the hilt of his sword. Emma’s starting to feel like she’s interrupting something. “An answer,” Killian growls. “Why there? Why not--” “--I couldn’t get into the town,” Ariel explains. “There were protections around it and it wouldn’t have made sense to just leave the sword there. That’s...that’s insane.” “And we’re not that, are we?” Ariel scowls. “You’re getting high and mighty with me, Hook. You want an explanation? Shut up.”

Emma may laugh. It sounds like she laughs. She doesn’t mean to. 

Killian head twists at the noise, smile stretching across his face in slow motion, like he’s surprised and so is she and maybe that can go under the first tattoo. 

There’s not enough room on her forehead. 

“Where did you end up?” Ariel asks. “Incidentally. I’m assuming it wasn’t where all my treasure was. And it doesn’t seem like it was New York at first.” “Your ability to discern context clues is unparalleled.” Ariel flips her tail, Killian’s hair sticking to his forehead and only one side of Emma’s pants are wet. She twists her hand and the water is gone. 

“Impressive trick,” Ariel mumbles, Emma humming in something she hopes is a good first impression. “Where, Hook?”

“Boston. Then--” He may set a record for dramatic exhales. “I couldn't hear it at first, the sword. Like I could here, but I knew. I...did you start the Camelot rumors too?” “Did that work?” “What the hell were you trying to accomplish with that?” She looks incredibly disappointed, lower lip pushing forward into a pout that Emma gets the very strong impression is one of Ariel’s most dangerous tools. Killian lifts his eyebrows. “It was a clue, Hook,” Ariel yells, rolling her whole head for emphasis. “Son of a codfish, that was obvious!” “Son of a codfish,” Emma echoes slowly, Killian’s laugh echoing in her ear. He kisses her temple.

“Very creative curses in Atlantica. You should hear her after she’s had a few drops of rum in her as well. Gets very mouthy.” “And the pirate gets self-important when he’s trying to control a situation,” Ariel adds, widening her eyes in unspoken challenge when Killian glares at her. “You really didn’t understand?” “Speak English, Ariel!”

She sticks her tongue out. “Once upon a time, several lives and a few curses ago, you told me that the very first mission you went on as a bright-eyed naval officer, trying to impress your aforementioned princess, was to Camelot. Which, as I’m sure you’ve noticed in the Land Without Magic, is a rather fantastical and popular legend.” “Not much of it is true,” Emma grumbles. 

“Yes, that was the point.” “What?” It takes her a second more to understand, Ariel’s smile turning triumphant when Emma lets out a soft oh damn under her breath. “It was a clue. Ok, ok, so. Let me get this straight. You can bounce between realms--” “--I mean, there’s not really bouncing involved.”

Emma sighs. “Killian knew where the curse would send us. So did Rumplestilskin. But they didn’t know where we’d land in the Land Without Magic. That’s where you come in. You find Storybrooke, can’t get in, find another city with--what was it about New York, exactly?” “The pirate is a rather large fan of history if you haven’t noticed.” “Yeah, that’s true. Ok, so you find the historic spot, you start...what? Stashing treasure of your own on Track 61 and then, once, you and Killian get the bean and he’s gone, you take the sword and put it there, because that’s your horde.” “Oh, collection is a better word,” Ariel amends, but Killian makes a dismissive noise and mutters horde again. She flicks water at his boot. 

“Whatever,” Emma says. “So you leave the sword there, not knowing where Killian ended up, just knowing that you had to keep it safe because of what it was. And you left him clues. Like...breadcrumbs.” “I’m not a bird, Swan,” Killian grouses, but Emma is still staring at Ariel and the mermaid is smiling and they were all playing games with boards they didn’t design. 

Gods, Liam was right the whole time. 

“He told me that was his first mission,” Ariel says, and it’s clear she’s doing her best to avoid Killian’s stare. Glare. “That you gave him the commission and all he wanted was to do something right. To live up to expectations and a plan he’d concocted in the bowels of a ship, wishing for a future he knew was impossible, but suddenly felt like a rather distant almost. That it could be. Because you did that. A princess, with magic in her fingers and light in her eyes.”

“And he’d been scared. Of the ship and the sea and what it could do. We make quite an interesting pair, don’t we, Hook?” Killian arches an eyebrow, inching closer to Emma like he’s making sure she’s still there and she knows she can’t hear his pulse. She does. She likes to imagine it anyway, the soft patter of his heart and the shift in his breathing, the hint of color that hangs on his cheek when his tongue presses into the side of his mouth. 

“It was a rhetorical question anyway,” Ariel continues, eyes shifting back to Emma. “But that first mission set the course for everything, didn't it? So, once Hook was gone and I still had that infernal sword, I knew there was only one option. To hide it. In a place I could get to if I had to and one that I could help him find. Seemed almost too easy, honestly.” “Ursula added a caveat,” Killian explains, voice gruff. “When I left. She didn’t--” “--The betrayal thing probably didn’t sit too well, huh?” “No, it didn’t. I didn’t remember. Who I was or what I was. Why I was even there. I woke up in Boston with fake memories and this feeling that something was wrong, but no way to figure out what it was.” Ariel’s jaw drops, a hiss of pain when her arm slides off the edge of the dock. “But that’s--how did you find her, then?” “I didn’t. She found me.” “Seven seas,” she breathes, smile wide when her hands move to her cheeks. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.” “You’re getting sentimental on me.” “Shut up, seriously.” Killian grins, some of the anxiety around him disappearing. So, naturally, Emma keeps talking. “Did you ever go back, though?” she asks. “To New York, I mean. You said you could get back...did you?”

Ariel freezes. And the silence around them isn’t that, is hustle and bustle and those are both terrible words, but Emma’s always been impossibly curious and even more stubborn and a week. At least. 

“No,” Ariel answers eventually, and Emma can feel Killian’s jaw tense. 

“Where have you been, Fisk?” Ariel groans, twisting and the splash of water definitely comes from the movement of her tail. Emma is having a difficult time with this. “I found him,” she says softly, and Killian exhales. It’s not anything except the sound of absolute joy though and Emma can’t snap her head between the two of them quickly enough. 

She feels like a pinball machine, bouncing between the flippers with flashing lights and incorrect references for her current realm, but Ariel is beaming and Killian is staring wide-eyed at her and there is a story here. 

She hopes it’s a good one. 

“Did you?” “Took some time,” Ariel mutters. “But...well, we’d been on the right track and obviously we didn’t go with Rumplestilskin when he left and--it’s good, Killian. Really good.” “And you said we were romantic. I’m glad.” “Me too. You want to tell me what you’re doing now? We heard that the royal court in Misthaven was back, but I wasn’t sure if…” “That included me?” “You said it, not me.” Killian nods, sheathing his sword again and Emma’s neck is starting to ache. “Still a very good fight, Fisk.” “I’m not trying to fight, Hook. Your princess opened up the shell, I heard you talking and you’re looking for Blackbeard, aren’t you? For the Jolly.” Emma’s eyes feel like they’re going to fall out of her face. “Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t, no. But--I’ve heard tell of a man, standard drunkard, not much more than a damp rag, except he’s been raving about the crew he’s just left and how he’s desperate to get back home. There was talk that he kept mentioning some kind of rein--horse, thing, but I didn’t really listen to that part of the story.” “Naturally. He wouldn’t happen to have been more specific, would he? About the ship.” Ariel nods. “The Queen Anne’s Revenge.” “What?” Killian shouts, drawing more than a few stairs and whispers and he throws his whole head back when he groans. “Bloody hell, stupid, sodding--” He inhales sharply, shoulders shifting and jacket moving and Emma yanks both her lips behind her teeth so she won’t say something. Ariel does not look impressed. Or surprised. Again. “It wasn’t the Jolly?” “Why would I lie to you, Hook?”

“How did you find out?”

“You came to me. You thought I’d know where he was!”

“Because you were the last person, mermaid or otherwise who knew where everything was, Ariel! The sword, the ship, the--” Killian cuts himself off, chest heaving and his tongue is a marvel. It darts out, licking his lips again and dragging across his teeth, a move Emma assumes is more threatening when he’s actually holding a blade. “You were there, Fisk,” he adds, softer that time. “The whole time. Why would Blackbeard be sailing a ship that wasn’t mine?”

“Did you want the answer to the first or second question?”

He tries to pull his sword out. And the whole thing is going to pieces much quicker than Emma expected, so she acts on more instinct, twisting and turning, a hand on his chest and fingers curling around a belt loop. Ariels laugh is sardonic at best. “Where is the man, Ariel?” Emma asks, staring straight at Killian and he doesn’t blink. 

An impasse of the piratical variety, it seems. 

“Misthaven?”

“No,” Ariel mutters, Killian’s mumbled of course not far too loud, even with more people around them and it takes a moment to realize that there is another set of feet nearby. Emma refuses to be held accountable for the noise she makes. 

It flies out of her – surprise and...surprise. That’s it. Because the mermaid is now standing. Right there, in front of them, arms crossed over her chest and an unimpressed look on her face, a band of leather around her wrist that wasn’t there a few seconds ago. 

“It still works,” she says, nodding quickly. Killian’s jaw is never going to recover from this morning. “I was worried after you left, but...it was impressive magic.”

“You did that?” Emma asks, regretting the disbelief in her words even before the words have passed her lips. 

Killian reaches back, tugging lightly on the hair behind his right ear. “The one she had wasn’t...well, it sucked didn’t it, Fisk?”

Ariel laughs. Loud. And disarming. But then she’s leaping forward and the noise gets muffled in the curve of Killian’s shoulder and the side of his neck, arms wrapped tightly around each other with only one of her feet barely trailing against the wood of the dock. 

She burrows her head closer to him, a soft sniffle. “Do not say anything about that,” Ariel warns, and Killian hums. “It was Ursula,” she adds, presumably because Emma’s face is still doing that confused thing. “I, um--well, there was a man and he had legs and I didn’t, but I could and it’s a very involved story that does now have a happy ending and Hook and I just...he’s my friend.”

“I’m glad,” Emma says. “For both of you.”

“Yeah, me too. And it’s a very chatty ocean sometimes. Seagulls who love to gossip. This so-called former pirate is in Midas’ kingdom. A port village. Roior.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“It’s not,” Killian sighs, setting Ariel back on her feet. 

“You’ve been there before?” “He’s been everywhere,” Ariel mumbles, earning herself another glare that she seems to find endlessly amusing. “When?” “Before you,” he answers. “Years ago. It’s not a particularly safe place.” Emma can’t help her eye roll. “Well, where would be the fun in that?” “Swan.” “Are you serious right now? What did we talk about before?” He sighs, but she doesn’t back down and her magic makes her feel a bit like she’s flying or floating and this is going to work. Two weeks, maybe. “Can you get us there?” “That’s way more insulting than whatever I suggested before. And obviously.” “What is she--” Ariel starts, but there are shouts echoing around them and Emma can hear the telltale sounds of blades leaving scabbards and she’s going to issue another decree. Or get Regina to do it. This is getting ridiculous. So, she doesn’t explain. 

She grabs Ariel’s hand and wraps her fingers around Killian’s hook, closing her eyes and hoping for something, anything, to happen the way she wants it to. 

They land relatively well, all things considered. Those things being that one of them does not always have legs. And Killian only gasps slightly, which is a big shift up from the way this usually goes, fingers clawing at Emma’s side like she’s going to disappear. 

“I think that worked,” Emma mutters, Killian clicking his tongue in reproach. “Oh, aye, aye, it worked fine, Swan. You still steady on there, Fisk?” “I’m going to drown you,” Ariel promises. She stands up straighter though, shaking her hair off her shoulders with a look of determination that Emma is quickly coming to appreciate. 

“Didn’t we do that once?” She tuts loudly, kicking her foot out and that doesn’t do much to help her balance. 

Emma pulls her gaze away for a moment, glancing around instead to, at least, try and figure out if they’re in the right place. If the look of it is anything to go by, they are. 

And the smell. 

It smells like fish and mud, as if the ground is never completely dry here, a definite squelch every time Emma shifts her foot. There are more clouds in this sky than there were in Misthaven, a haziness to it all that is as far from gold as it’s possible to be. The nearest building isn’t much more than a shack, and Emma still doesn’t entirely understand how foundations work, but she’s fairly certain walls shouldn’t droop quite that much. 

She can’t find a single window with an attached shutter. 

“This is Midas’ kingdom?” she asks, Ariel nodding before she finishes the question. “But that’s--” “Everything that happened in Misthaven didn’t just affect Misthaven. When you lot left, the entire Enchanted Forest felt it. George dying sent a whole string of events into motion that people are still trying to come to terms with. And not just your people. Everyone. Across the entire realm.” “Fuck,” Emma breathes. “God damn, Arthur was right.” “Misthaven was at the center of it all, your highness,” Ariel continues, seemingly oblivious to the small crowd inching closer to them and Killian has to lean back to get his sword out without stabbing Emma in the process. 

“What happened to Midas?” “Did you know that his daughter was supposed to be betrothed to your prince?” “What?” “I’m going to take that as a no.” “This is not helping, Fisk,” Killian hisses, twisting and blocking Emma’s back with his front. He flips his wrist, the point of his sword directed straight at the men suddenly in front of them. 

They’re all wearing matching expressions, disgust and fury, mumbled curses and shaky steps, the scent of stale mead hanging around them. Most of them have dirt smudged on a variety of different spots on their cheeks, hair that’s matted to their head with sweat and rainwater and none of them seem capable of focusing their eyes very well. 

They all look slightly glazed over, and for one, paralyzing moment of fear Emma wonders if they’re also cursed. They’re not. They’re drunk. 

Constantly. Indefinitely. 

“Shit,” she mutters, like she’s going down a list of un-princess-like curses. 

“That about sums it up,” Ariel agrees. “George had been stockpiling magic. And no matter what his reasons for that really were, it happened. Then all that magic disappeared. In one fell swoop and the entire realm shook with the lack of it. You said it, your highness, Arthur was right. That’s why he did what he did. And this kingdom? Midas and his gold and his riches. He pulled in on himself, drew back behind that gold and those riches and forgot everyone else. Left them all to rot here with the fish.” “The very gossipy fish,” Killian mutters, hissing when Ariel does, finally, land her kick. The men are still moving towards them, most of them stumbling, but some walking with purpose and focus, blades dragging across the ground and Emma flexes her fingers. 

The ground shifts, mud moving underneath stained boots until it’s all but impossible for any of the crowd to lift their feet. She grins. 

Killian spins back towards her, a breath of air that’s almost too obviously filled with pride and Emma seriously cannot think straight when his eyes go that color. “Brilliant,” he says, a quick kiss that’s closer to searing than anything else and that’s probably why everything goes to hell.

Figures. 

His lips have barely left hers when Emma’s magic jumps, makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up and her stomach fly into her throat and she can’t move fast enough. She tries, does her best to get her hands up, or her mind focused, but neither one of those things work and the sword that moves into her vision is barely that. 

The metal is rusted, a warped blade that will probably do more damage now and it all happens impossibly fast. Emma’s head snaps up, Killian twisting when she tries to move him, but the sword is already falling through the air and she squeezes her eyes shut, hoping and, maybe even praying a big, silent plea to gods who have already done enough, and then she’s on the other side of the square. Ariel’s teeth are bared. 

There’s something in her hand. 

And the man is frozen. 

“Is that…” Emma starts, barely able to get her vocal chords to work. 

Killian chuckles. “A bloody fork.”

“Ok, it’s not a fork,” Ariel argues, but she moves her hand slightly, stabbing forward because whatever it is in her hand is embedded in the man’s shoulder. “It’s a trident. Small. Powerful. Able to hold--” She glances over her shoulder, smile turning teasing. “You ready, Hook?” “Gods.” “What?” Emma demands. “What is it?” Ariel’s smile widens. “Squid ink.” Killian might whimper, head falling forward and crashing against Emma’s shoulder, a thump that doesn’t quite hurt, but feels a little defeated. She closes her eyes, trying to catch her breath. It doesn’t work. 

She didn’t expect it to. 

“Who is that, then?” “Beats me,” Ariel shrugs. “But he reeks of rum, so...I’ll give you a chance to guess, if you want. And, just as an added bonus, I know you didn’t hear him yell whatever he was yelling when you were making eyes at each other.” Killian hisses. “Ariel.” “Are we not having fun, Hook?” “You think this is the man?” he asks, jerking his head towards the still-frozen body and it’s kind of weird to look at. He’s clearly breathing, a steady rhythm to his chest, but that’s all there is. His limbs, arms that are questionably large and undeniably strong, hang at his side, sword by his feet and clothes that don’t look like they belong in this part of the Enchanted Forest.

“You said he was trying to get home,” Emma muses, not quite a full-fledged idea, but at least getting there. Ariel blinks. “When we were on the dock. You said the man was trying to get home, that he’d left Blackbeard’s crew--” “--I never said left,” Ariel cuts in. “For all we know he was thrown over the side.” “That seems like a good thing, doesn’t it?”

“If this is the right man.” Emma nods slowly, not an agreement, but more hope. “Can you uh...you want not be stabbing him anymore?” “Sure,” Ariel says, but Killian makes a noise. “Seriously, what is your problem? If this is the guy then he probably knows where Blackbeard is lurking.” “What did he say?”

“Hmmm?”

“You were making quips, mermaid. What did he say?”

Ariel twists her mouth, a look that’s also becoming familiar and Emma would like a detailed history of their entire time together. “Do not try and go fearsome pirate captain on me right now. It’s never worked.”

“An answer, Ariel.”

“He said, and I’m quoting because you were distracted o fearsome pirate captain, it’s her . So, you two probably have a lot in common.”

Killian’s eyes are nothing more than slits, lips gone thin as he tries to push Emma behind him again. She cannot sigh loudly enough. “You’re an idiot,” she mumbles, stepping around him before he has a chance to catch her with his hook. She waves a hand, the man flinching when his eyes land on the fork still stuck in his shoulder. 

“What in all the realms is that?” he shouts, and he doesn’t sound like a villain. Emma’s going to take that as a sign. “What is--you! It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Depends on who you’re looking for.”

“You’re the Savior. Right?”

Emma ignores the flutter of warning in her stomach, a soft push of nerves that isn’t quite as strong as the magic flaring in her palm. The man’s eyes bug. “Why are you looking for me?”

“Hook did you not ever tell her how to interrogate a prisoner?” Ariel groans, dropping onto a half-broken window sill with a surprising amount of grace. 

Killian’s eye roll lasts for at least several seconds. “When have I had time?”

“That’s fair, I suppose.”

“Generous.”

Emma waves an impatient hand over her shoulder, staring intently at the man in front of her and he, honestly, does not look like a threat. He looks strong. Years, she’d imagine, of time spent on a pirate ship in a realm that was, apparently, falling apart because of her, but he doesn’t look like he wants to hurt her and he only grunts softly when he tugs the fork out of his shoulder. 

“Ah--” Ariel cries when he tosses it on the ground. It bounces off his sword. She doesn’t say anything else. 

“Am I right?” the man whispers, a note of entreaty in his voice that makes Emma’s magic jump again. Because it wants to help. She nods slowly. “And that’s--that’s Captain Jones?”

Ariel nearly falls off the windowsill. And Emma did not expect that. Several disasters of the magical variety or otherwise, but certainly not that. The ground makes another noise a ground should not make when Killian steps forward, his hook pressed lightly into the small of her back.

“Who are you?”

The man sighs, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to stand up straighter or at least look a little bit better and Emma appreciates the effort. “My name is Kristoff Stein,” he says. “I’m from Arendelle.”

“Arendelle,” Emma repeats, the word cracking when she practically screams it. Kristoff nods. “Like--Elsa and--”

“--That’s my sister-in-law. Or, well, it might be. If I can ever get home.”

“Might?”

Another nod. This one is more depressing. “Anna--that’s my fiancé. She and Elsa were young when their parents died. But it was alright for awhile, at least as much as it could be. There were regents and some time before Elsa came of age and then she did and--that magic, it scared people. Whispers and rumors and fear. That’s what it was, really, fear. 

Elsa, she...she left and that was it. She was gone and we just...we never saw her again. Anna did her best, tried to rule and control things, but when we heard Misthaven had disappeared it was too easy for others with claims to the throne to challenge her and I don’t think it took Hans more than a few weeks to gain control. She ran. Into the woods and found me and my family and--”

“--Where does the steed fit into it?” Ariel cuts in, unimpressed by Emma and Killian’s matching groans. “Every story I heard about you said you were bemoaning the loss of a steed.”

“Reindeer,” Kristoff corrects. This is too much for Emma’s brain to deal with. “And magic of our own. I grew up in those forests. With the rock trolls.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma says, “rock trolls?”

“I promise, that’s not the important part of the story.”

“Right, right, right. But Elsa is back now. We’re back.”

“Yes, but that hasn’t fixed everything, I’m afraid. I didn’t even know Elsa was here until I got to this town. Not a lot of information readily available under Blackbeard’s rule.”

Killian stiffens at that, the curve of his hook digging further into Emma’s back. “How did you end up a pirate if you grew up in the Arendelle forest?”

“I just told you. Hans. He wanted a throne and he found one perfect for the taking in Arendelle. He stole what should have been Anna’s and Elsa’s, seized control and turned the kingdom into something it’s not. It’s---that’s not the home I knew anymore. And Anna was content to stay with the trolls for some time, but she’s--” Kristoff shakes his head, a look that makes Emma’s chest ache. “We couldn’t just let Hans win. And we’d heard a rumor. About a pirate captain who’d traded with Anna’s parents before. He had a wishing star.”

“That sounds very fake,” Ariel muses. 

“It’s not. It’s magic. Strong magic that could have helped us get rid of Hans and bring Elsa back home, but--”

“--Blackbeard didn’t have it, did he?” Killian asks, Kristoff’s disappointment almost palpable. 

“No. We thought he did. Let him talk and demand things, but it was nothing more than a rouse and then Hans was there and it was...I couldn’t let him take Anna.”

Emma’s ribs feel as if they’re cracking. She can’t remember the last time she took a deep breath. “What did you do?”

“Agreed to give myself up if he let her go. I’d stay on the ship, work until---well, until the end, I suppose, and he agreed. It took some convincing, but Anna left and I didn’t. I stayed on that ship and breathed that salt and I don’t think I ever really slept, lost track of the months. But then, something happened.”

“Yeah?”

The question is silly. Emma knows the answer. 

And it’s not a something. It’s a someone. 

“Very loud footsteps, you know. Like he’s trying to prove something. Or intimidate.”

“Or control his magic,” Ariel mumbles, a smile when Killian gapes exasperatedly at her. “What? That’s totally true.”

“That’s not the point, Fisk.”

“Anyway,” Kristoff continues. “I was in the galley and I heard the footsteps and the shouts. Demands and questions and

Blackbeard thought he’d won. I knew who Captain Hook was, had heard the stories of the fury and the way he was able to wield that sword. Like it was part of you, wasn’t it?”

“Something like that,” Killian says. “Where’s my ship now? And how’d you know my name?”

“You are all terrible at listening, aren’t you? Blackbeard thought he’d won. He was convinced he’d defeated the great Captain Hook, stolen his ship right out from under him--”

“--I gave it to him!”

“I can guarantee he did not care. He thought he’d tricked you, sent you away with a worthless piece of discarded magic. So he started calling you something else. Killian Jones. Thought it was disrespectful.”

Emma’s anger does not make sense. It’s not her name or her ship or anything except what Killian has given up for her, but the feeling rushes through her all the same, a flash of heat and burst of emotion and she’s breathing loudly. 

Because Blackbeard is a goddamn fucking idiot. 

And Killian Jones, on his own, just him, is the best man she’s ever known. 

She spins on her toes, pushing up because she cannot fathom the look on his face, defeated and disappointed and her kiss is barely more than a brush of her lips against his. She’s got something to say anyway. 

“I want you to listen to me,” Emma says, wrapping her fingers around the side of his arm. “It doesn’t matter. None of it. No matter what. No matter what they’ve said or will say or could say and---how many tenses is that?” “I don’t know, love.”

Emma laughs, soft and shaky. “I love you. Just you. Every single time, right?”

“Aye.”

“So we find Blackbeard and we get the Jolly back and it’s happily--”

“--Is that what you think?” Killian interrupts, and her calves do not appreciate the way she falls back to the ground. “It’s not about the bloody ship, Emma.”

“What?”

“I was wrong, Swan. Every single thing I did. Even this--” He waves a derisive hand towards Kristoff. “--rock troll person knows it!”

“Hey,” Kristoff snaps. Emma is not breathing. It hurts. But that’s almost expected at this point. And three weeks.

Definitely. 

A whole month. 

They deserve it 

“I don’t think rock troll person really makes sense, babe,” she reasons, one side of her mouth tugging up. It works a quiet scoff out of Killian, eyes gone glossy and mouth hanging open. “What is it then, really?”

He swallows, a muscle in his temple jumping and she knows he wants to tug on his hair. He doesn’t move his hand away from her though, lets his fingers drag up and down her side, like he’s marking the fabric and the skin underneath, determined to leave the feel of him behind until Emma’s magic flickers and Ariel gasps at the light around them. “The rules are there love,” Killian whispers. “Every story. Every time. The villain doesn’t get to come back. And I--it was too quick, Emma. There should have been more time there. Without the magic or the memories or people staring at me like I’m going to run them through.”

“You’re not, though.”

“You know that. They don’t. And I would have. I told you I wanted to in Camelot. Even David said it. It was never about the ship, Emma. It’s you. Every single time.”

Kissing him is not the right response. 

But neither crying. 

And she’s doing both, so Emma figures she’s lost complete control of the situation and lets herself fall into the moment, the feel of him against her and the rhythm of his lips on hers, steady and certain and happily ever after is an absurd phrase, particularly after so much time spent in the Land Without Magic, but she’s kind of clinging to them at this point and--

“That’s not going to change,” she says, a promise she’ll make every day if she has to, even without the ship or several kingdoms that continue to hate her for the rest of time. 

“You don’t--”

“--No, no, shut up. That’s not how this works. Just you, Killian.”

He kisses her that time. It’s a slim distinction really, and probably not all that important, but Emma covets it, does her best to memorize the slight tilt of his head and the brush of his hair against her forehead, the way his tongue brushes into her mouth like he’s giving in and that’s not really right. 

He’s done waiting. 

Because she found him. 

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” he mumbles. “What were you saying about a week before?”

“I’m at like...a full month now, honestly.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s better.”

“So, uh...were we still going to find the Jolly or did we not want to do that anymore?” Ariel asks, back on the windowsill with her legs kicking out in front of her.

Killian’s eyes dart towards Emma. She nods. “Kristoff,” she says. “Do you know where the Jolly is now? Does Blackbeard actually still have it?”

“As far as I know.”

“And you know where he is?”

“Where he was last, at least.”

“Which was…”

“I ran when he docked in DunBroch, but that was weeks ago and now I’ve heard he’s not there anymore.”

“Where?” Emma asks softly, but there’s no mistaking the demand or the magic that audibly crackles between her fingers. 

“The men here say he was scared when word arrived that Captain Jones was back in this realm. So he went the one place he’s hopeful he won’t be followed.”

“Oh bloody hell,” Killian mumbles, Ariel’s whole body sagging with the force of her sigh. Emma tilts her head up, another question she doesn’t have to actually ask. And that time, she doesn’t. Because she knows. And it’s not good. 

“So,” she says, “how do we get to Neverland, then?”

[inkedanchors]

Echoing Sadness

As the rain glides down the window pane to my left, I try to decipher the shadows on the wall. Maybe each rain drop casts a different one as it blocks the dim sunlight from reaching me. It could be the clouds passing by, slowly, as they release their sadness. Or is my mind playing tricks on me? I look up from my laptop and my eyes dart across the room. Am I casting the shadows? Perhaps they’re simply the taunting thoughts of negativity, dancing around the room the same way they do in my mind. Crawling across every wall and seeping their doubt into every bright corner of my life-not that there are many to begin with. I stare at this bright page while I’m typing and the room seems darker after a while. It’s gradual, almost as if it’s closing in on me. I look up, and my eyes readjust; reminding me my perception is not my reality. I must be too focused. Maybe I’m just thinking too hard. Could it be that once I am distracted from the pain, that’s when the shadows make their move? I glance at the window and watch the rain again. Why does sadness seem so peaceful on the outside? Or is it from the inside? There isn’t thunder or lightning. It’s just cloudy. It’s calm. Every drop that trickles down my window was once a sad thought that couldn’t escape. You’re free now, I shed that tear. I remember. Move on to bigger things; find a flower to feed into. Help them bloom.

Sigh.

I seem to forget that those tears were bitter…not the ideal refreshment for anything at all to bloom. I look back down at the keyboard. I need to say something. Anything. But the cursor just blinks back at me, pulsating rhythmically like a mocking reminder that, once again, I have nothing to give. Maybe if I stare harder, words will appear and I’ll know what to say from there. But the harder I stare, the darker it gets. My room feels heavy. Is that normal? It’s as if I’m sitting in a tunnel that’s blocked in from one side and there’s only one way left to escape. And at any second, it could cave in from every burden, doubt, regret, and pessimistic opinion that I’ve collected. Imagine if you could put a number to the weight that brings. Welcome, darkness. I thought I’d lost you.

 My battery is dying. My screen dims down to warn me. The only light now, is from my window. Only the left side of me is illuminated. I can see my reflection in the laptop screen now that the brightness has been significantly reduced. My silhouette is partial. Hmm, fitting. I don’t feel very whole. What’s odd is that only my left side can be seen, and that side of the brain is the logical, organized side that processes science and mathematics. I wonder when the creative side will come back. I haven’t viewed my life in color in quite some time. It seems my spectrum has become very limited. Is it weak to be this impressionable? To crumble beneath every insult, or latch onto the disappointment of a failed task? It will never be good enough. I…will never be good enough. I think that a lot; that I’m insufficient. But I’m starting to believe that the only standard it applies to is the one I have for myself. People out there love me. I know you do. I know she does, and I know he does. I have wonderful parents who consistently support me and show me the most unconditional love I could ever ask for. But does it help when they’re in another country? When I can’t reach them? When I can’t feel those hugs that once warmed my cold body and forced me to remember it isn’t alone? Skype can only give so much through the pixels and broken internet connections. I want to feel someone. I want to feel something. I can feel myself draining. My personality has diminished itself so much. Be as bland as possible and you won’t have to entertain too many conversations. Stop. This isn’t you, Jess. You have to stop. But for who? For me? It couldn’t possibly be for me because I couldn’t care less where this body ends up. This mind has done its fair share of spiraling and my heart has been scarred one too many times. At what point is loving yourself not enough anymore? Is it when you have no love left to give or is it when you don’t see a point in giving it up?

My world is dark. It’s cold and wet. The ground outside sinks with every step I take, the same way my heart does. At this point I would bet a surgeon that it’s in my gut, not in my chest where it belongs. If I suck in my stomach hard enough, it almost feels like my heart lifts a little. Why is it so heavy? Perception is not reality. It’s all in my head, right? Right. Heart, you are light and filled with an abundance of happiness. I squint my eyes shut. Wish harder. Okay, heart. I know you can hear me. I know you’re down there thinking you can sink as low as you want. But hear me out, if you lift yourself up you’ll have a better view. Maybe a more positive outlook on life than my last meal, right? When was that…noon? Wow I haven’t eaten in 15 hours. Who am I kidding anyways, the view is always the same. I’m trapped here within the walls of this place, and worse, within the walls of my mind. It gets smaller every day. I used to think I was the one changing, that I was getting bigger. And that eventually, I was going to break out and feel the freedom brush against my skin. But, I see the truth now. The only way out is to go deeper. I have to listen to the whispers. I have to acknowledge that doubt, those insecurities, and locate them in order to confront them. Ugh, can’t I do it tomorrow? This happens every single time. Procrastination wins the debate between want and need. I need this to be over, but I don’t want to do it right now. I’ll just take a nap. I’ll just give in and do it later. I’ll just convince myself that it was my idea anyways and then maybe I won’t feel so defenseless.

I’ll just….I’ll…

  Leave myself hanging again, like I always do.