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it-was-summer · 4 years

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Video Killed The Radio Star - Chapter 2 (Spencer Reid x Reader)

A/N: I’ve gotten so much positive feedback and a lot of people seem to like so I am so happy to share another chapter with you all! In this chapter I will put Asterisks (***) before anything that might seem triggering to some viewers just to give you all a heads up! I would also like to add that virginity is a concept made by man and if you are/aren’t one that is valid as hell!- much love, Em❤️

Warnings: torture, blood, cursing, distributing individual / content, sex talk, sensitive material ahead.

Plot: The team works to find you before the situation escalates, you spend time in a less fiery version of hell.

Word Count: 2.2k

“This girl made my job easier,” Garcia was logging into your computer with a smile “, It was never difficult, but now I get to skip a few tiny steps.” She was searching through your emails, looking for any messages that could have been from your stalker, there was nothing so far. So she moved to your phone records, unknown calls, texts, anything that could help.

She did find one call from an unknown number that had left a voicemail a few minutes before two in the morning on the night of your abduction, but the only thing that she could get from it was the sounds of sobs before the line goes dead.

The rest of the team was combing your apartment in Richmond. The most impressive thing about this whole case was how you knew something was going to happen and the evidence you left behind for them. Sticky notes decorated your desk, labeling everything from your passwords to the gifts your stalker had left you. Another thing that shocked the team was seeing photos of almost all of them, you didn’t get one of Garcia, with little sticky notes next to them.

The sticky notes contained little comments like “Fine as hell,” that one was for Reid, Morgan teased him about it before he looked at his own picture that had the note of “Arms?? Yes?”

It seemed like you had a sense of humor that you didn’t let on in your videos. It made Prentiss laugh, but as soon as she did her eyes looked down at the carpet, seeing a single rose petal near your nightstand. Instead of being red like all of the others, it was the pale color of pink. “It looks like the Unsub is in love with her,” she bent down to pick up the petal with a glove “, or whatever their demented version of love is.”

Reid was focusing on the books, you had a tiny library growing at your house filled with classics, some fiction, others nonfiction. He took note that you already had copies of the Brontë sister collection in your library, and they looked slightly worn down. He couldn’t help but wonder why the Unsub would give you books you already owned. Was it just for their notes? Why couldn’t they use the copies you already own?

Hotch tore Spencer away from his thoughts “The bed was neatly made and there are no signs of struggle, indicating that our Unsub probably made the bed and had time to clean up.”

“Or that she was too afraid to sleep, either way, they probably drugged her and got her out of here as fast as they could,” Prentiss added as she searched the bed for any other evidence.

Reid hummed as he watched Prentiss flip pillows over “It could have been someone she knew, a friend maybe?”

“We can’t rule out anything.” Hotch said as he looked at his wrist for the time “Ried, go with Morgan to the library. Prentiss and I will visit the family.”

***

March 6, 20XX

The night of your abduction you were sitting on your couch, holding one of the decorative pillows close to your chest as you watched the black screen of your television. You felt numb, after you recorded your video you broke down. It started off as crying and then slowly developed into a panic attack, but now you were on your couch trying to think about anything but this horrible situation. You glanced over at the time seeing it was nearing two in the morning, you had already called your mother. She told you to come home and you said you would in the morning.

You couldn’t think about her right now, you started to cry, finding it surprising that you still had enough water in your body to cry again. Sobs escaped your mouth, then something pricked your neck and the world was gone.

When you woke up it all felt so soft. You felt like you were laying on the softest bed ever created, your eyes fought against you, opening slowly in fluttering moments. The room was illuminated in a wondrous pink light, you smiled in your drugged state before it all registered. You suddenly felt hot, on fire, everything was on fire. You attempted to sit up on the bed, slipping back down with a yell, red rose petals flying up around you as you collided with the bed. You carefully sat up, looking down at the bed, if you hadn’t just been kidnapped you would think was romantic.

You tried to pull your legs up to your chest, but you screamed out in pain. Your eyes darted around the bed, in a terrified attempt to stay calm as you looked down at your leg. Bile found its way into your throat, burning in your esophagus as you looked down at your snapped ankle. You vomited off the side of the bed, your body shaking vigorously.

“Catherine,” A terribly sweet female voice spoke, “ My sweet Catherine, you’re awake.”

You coughed lightly before spitting the rest of the vomit out of your mouth, turning your head to look towards the sound of the voice seeing a familiar and beautiful brunette woman smiling over at you. “My name isn’t Catherine,”

“Yes, it is. You’re Catherine Earnshaw, Jane Eyre,” she walked closer, her hair swaying to and fro gently “ Hell, You’re Emma Woodhouse and I am,”

“Crazy, you’re fucking crazy!” you screamed.

“I’m Heathcliff! I am Mr. Rochester! I am Mr. Knightley!” She screamed back at you, her happy demeanor changing in a second, rage decorating her face for a simple second before she let out a calming sigh and smiled once again. “I’m sorry, my sweet, I didn’t mean to scream at you like that. I love you.”

Tears were streaming down your face as you nodded, slowly “You love me,” too afraid to speak out against her again, you nodded through your tears.

She sat on the edge of the bed, that you were slowly realizing was indeed heart-shaped. She reached her hand out, you flinched feeling it land on your head, her hand petting your hair gently.

March 8, 20XX

Morgan was smiling a considerate smile across the table at one of your coworkers, Noelle. She was a pretty blonde, had a sweet smile. The only thing they got out of her was that you were single, her eyes stayed on Reid when she said that, and that you were nice to everyone. Baked for people on their birthdays, or days they were struggling, you were… you are considerate.

Reid hated to admit that the nicest people always seemed to capture the attention of the most dangerous people. Unwanted, cruel, attention.

Spencer excused himself, stepping away to take a look around the vast library. There was a small cafe in the corner of the library, it was possible that the unsub first met you here, checking out a book or something of that kind. He went back to Noelle, “Would you say that Y/N had admirers?”

“Not really, but there was something in December,” she let out a soft sound as she gathered her memories “,this woman came in, beautiful, said she knew Y/N from college or something. It was a weekend so she wasn’t working, but uh she was nice, wanted to buy Y/N a Christmas gift, and asked what she would like. Y/N likes roses, she likes romantic stuff so that’s what I told her.”

Morgan’s eyes widen, holding back his comments as he thanked Noelle for her time before turning back to Reid “A Woman?”

Spencer nodded, trying to make connections in his head. The books and the roses made sense, why the blood-soaked panties? The roses because of what Noelle said, Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre were classic romance books. He had read them both, but he wanted to see your new copies of the books, your annotated versions.

As for the blood-soaked pair of panties, his mind went to one thing, innocence. Assuming that you weren’t a virgin anymore the blood covering them would mean that your innocence was already taken from you. The unsub might’ve given them to you to remind you what you’d lost or to make the threat that you should have stayed a virgin, that you should’ve stayed innocent. However, despite your so-called ‘ruin’, it seems that she still loves you, hence the gifts.

Spencer assumed that the unsub thought that the two of you were connected through romance, maybe even a taboo type of romance. The romanticism of Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre made that fairly obvious to him, as well as the rest of the team. Red roses symbolized romance, while the pink rose symbolized admiration and grace, indicating that your relationship with the unsub could have been anything but new.

“Can we get a map of all of the florists in the area?”

***

You pressed your face into the cushions, it was a weekday and she had yet to come in. Heather, after a day or two you finally remembered who she was, Heather Alexander, she lived on your floor your freshman year of college. She was quiet, sweet, and, apparently, crazy. In college, she seemed less glamorous, wore glasses, had quirky hair, complete with a babyface. You used to invite her over whenever you would bake something sweet, till one day she was gone. Dropped out.

Now, almost seven years later, she seemed so broken. Living in a delusion, thinking that she was some hero or romantic interest of yours. The two of you were destined to be together, well that is until you live out the fate of Catherine Earnshaw and die.

You found it painful to cry at this point, you were so dehydrated and tired that you didn’t even try to force the tears out. It wasn’t that you were too tired to fight, well that was to be debated, you still had plenty of fight left in you. You were playing it safe, the thing that was holding you back from fighting was your mother. You couldn’t bring yourself to put yourself in danger, you needed to hold on to her, you needed to see her again and you knew she needed to see you again. So, you did what you thought was best, for now, lie in bed and feel numb.

It wasn’t that hard to feel numb, given that Heather had you hooked up to a morphine drip. You learned that whenever she was mad at you she would call you Emma, sometimes Jane, but for the most part you were Catherine. When you were Catherine, she would give you all the morphine you wanted for your broken ankle and when you were Emma or Jane she would ween you off till she saw fit. So if you were Catherine, you would feel numb, feel okay at least for now.

You were staring up at the ceiling, feeling especially stoic, when you heard keys jingle at the door. It opened, showing a glimpse of a regularly lighted room, fluorescent as ever, before leaving you and Heather in this disgustingly pink room. “Catherine,” she threw her keys off towards the counter in the corner of the room. You were too drugged up to think about an escape plan, too drugged up to do anything but stare up at the ceiling. It felt so desperately good to be numb, you barely noticed when she touched you, but as soon as you did her touch felt like fire. “Catherine,” she leaned in close, her lips meeting yours in a second. Heather kissed you with her eyes closed, you always kept your eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling waiting for her harassment to be over. You never kissed back and she didn’t seem to mind so long as she was enjoying herself.

Heather pulled away with a childlike grin “Did you enjoy yourself today? I wish I could have stayed with you, but duty called!” Your eyes traveled down to the name on her uniform, it was the name of a floral shop near your work, the roses.

Your speech was slow and slurred, causing Heather to reach over to the morphine drip, fixing it so you would get lower levels of the drug, but that wouldn’t start working for a couple of hours. Heather seemed to know that so she simply got up, walked away, grabbed her keys, and went towards the door “You can answer in a few hours. Till then, my Catherine.”

***

Prentiss watched your mother as she played with her hands, her mouth trembling as she spoke “Y/N called me when it all started,” she looked up, her eyes shifting between Prentiss and Hotch “I should have listened, oh I should have listened!”

“Mrs. L/N, you didn’t know this would happen. You can’t blame yourself here.” Prentiss offered comfort towards your mother only for her to let out a heartbreaking wail of pain.

“She’s all I have.”

Hotch and Prentiss were walking down the porch steps with a tin of chocolate chip cookies, a habit of her’s that you had picked up on. Prentiss looked over at Hotch, whose eyes betrayed him, she didn’t say anything about the look in his eyes. She knew that he probably didn’t want her to ask. She blew out a sigh as they got into the car

“Need a cookie?”

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apiratewhopines · 3 years

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Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork and for helping me pick a movie that wasn’t already done!

Midnight

Chapter 6 — The Mice

Summary: In which our heroine wins the battle but loses the war

Chapter 6 of 7 on AO3

“The way you changed my life

No, no, they can’t take that away from me”

-They Can’t Take That Away from Me, Fred Astaire

After the excitement of the morning passed, Sidney grumbled until they returned to the table. Still shaken by whatever Arthur said on their brief phone call, Killian declined to join them and returned to their room. No doubt to dream up a make-believe pregnancy for her. Most probably twins this time.

“I thought you told me we would have smoked salmon for our bagels,” the man complained to Guin, face upset as if the plentiful choices offered on their breakfast buffet were insufficient.

“I’m sorry, dear. I know it’s your favorite, so I made sure it was on the menu I gave to our chef,” she murmured coaxingly. Looking at the butler who was filling Arthur’s coffee cup, she asked, “What happened to the salmon?”

“There was a mistake, ma’am. It was left out of the last delivery, and since the phones have been out all morning, we couldn’t contact the market. I’ve sent one of the girls into town to buy some, so we will have it tomorrow morning. If the gentleman prefers, we can prepare a plate for him this afternoon.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “The phones are in perfect working order. We just made a call to Europe to check on the Baron’s daughter.”

“No, ma’am, only the internal phone system is working. An accident took out the lines last night.”

Emma reached over and grabbed Arthur’s hand under the table as they shared an uneasy look when the other three people at the table all glanced at her with questions in their eyes. Lance broke the silence. “I don’t understand…”

“I’m afraid he’s right. I wasn’t on the phone with my mother-in-law. In fact, I don’t— No, I don’t want to burden you with my problems,” she said haltingly, her mind racing with ways to get out of this mess. The words tumbled from her mouth so quickly she didn’t have a chance to think through the consequences, which seemed to be the way she operated these days.

“Oh, please, you can’t stop now. This little mystery is the only thing distracting me from my lack of fish,” Sidney countered. He was studying the wide variety of fruit compotes and toppings for his pancakes and sounded desolate. “Please.”

“Well, let’s just say the Baron’s family has a touch of eccentricity,” she continued with a grimace. She had their rapt attention; even Sidney abandoned his food and gawked at her. “My first hint was at the wedding. I was opening the gifts, and his grandfather gave us a broken compass covered in Thousand Island dressing.”

“Yes,” Arthur broke in, determined to help. “Now I remember hearing there was a streak of madness in the family. His father was known as the Mad Baron of Cambridge. He liked to give people roller skates with missing laces instead of flowers.”

“The truth is…we don’t have a daughter.”

“Oh, this is much more delicious than breakfast,” Sidney gushed, pushing his plate away and moving to the seat across from her. “Tell us more.”

“I don’t want you to think bad of him. Most of the time, he’s lucid and the sweetest man in the world. That’s the man I fell in love with. But when he’s having one of his episodes, like this morning, he can get quite aggressive if confronted. It’s best to go along with whatever he’s saying. It always starts when he first wakes as if he can’t shake some odd dream in his mind,” she grabbed her napkin and dabbed at fake tears. “There was one time about six months ago he woke up convinced he was Captain Hook. He wore eyeliner for weeks and refused to use his left hand. When I tried to make him see reason, he insisted I call him Captain and tried to have me arrested as a mutineer.”

“You poor thing,” Guin said, genuine sympathy in her expression. “I wondered why you called him that. I thought perhaps he served in the Navy.”

“And you’ve stayed with him all these years?” Lance’s gaze, which was always admiring, held a new respect for her now. It didn’t make her feel any better. “You’re wonderful.”

“Hmm, yes, absolutely amazing,” Arthur murmured under his breath. The smirk was back, and she could tell he was enjoying her web of lies. At least someone was. “Is there some medication he can take? Perhaps you should have him committed.”

“No, I would never. I promised to stay with Killian in good times and bad. It will pass eventually. It always does,” she bit out, kicking him under the table. Before anything else could be said, she heard the Captain whistling as he practically skipped out of the house toward them dressed in the sky blue scrubs of a surgeon. The color made his eyes even more beautiful, and the tiniest smattering of hair visible above the v-neck of the shirt did things to her heart.

“Arthur, Guinevere, thank you for the hospitality, but we really must be going. I have to get back for my shift at the hospital.” Everyone jumped at the pronouncement, exchanging loaded glances and trying to figure out what to say or do next.

Guin smiled at him shakily and in a calm voice asked, “The hospital, Baron?”

“Not a baron, I’m afraid. And this woman isn’t a baroness. You notice I didn’t say my wife because she isn’t that either,” Killian informed them as he stopped by her chair and reached down to place a hand on her shoulder.

“Killian, you don’t mean that,” Emma responded. She would have laughed at his look of confusion at the lack of reaction to his revelation if she wasn’t so sure it would come back to bite her in the ass.

With an admonishing look, Lance said, “See here, Baron, there’s no need to insult the woman who has stayed by you through thick and thin.”

“Thick and thin? We met five nights ago, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of me. She’s an imposter. And I’m a doctor who has real things to do in the real world. Come on, Swan, let’s leave these lovely people to their breakfast.”

“Oh, I get it. You think she’s Elizabeth Swan from Pirates of the Caribbean.” Sidney snapped his fingers as if all the pieces had fallen into place.

“What? No, I think she’s a bounty hunter and the most impossible woman I’ve ever met,” Killian argued, determined to make them see the truth. The more he spoke, the more their faces cleared of all emotion like they were afraid a smile or frown would push him further into his delusions. He pulled her from the chair gently, and since she felt like pond scum for the lies she told, she let his arms circle her waist. As an added benefit she didn’t deserve, the position allowed her nose to be tickled by the chest hair so temptingly on display.

“Maybe she’s a mutineer,” Arthur offered.

Looking at the group, Killian shook his head in disbelief. “I think you’re all crazy.”

“Yes, that must be it,” Guin said soothingly. “Why don’t you have some breakfast, Baron?”

“I’m not sure how I can be more clear. I’m not a baron. We’re not married. We met in the middle of the road a few nights ago, and I pretended to be her Uber driver so I could give her a ride to a strip club. It turned into the best night of my life.”

Undeterred, Guin patted his arm, which was still wrapped tightly around her. “What a lovely courtship you’ve had. Now, let’s get you something to eat. Do you prefer coffee or tea to drink?”

“Are you not listening to a word I’m saying? We’re fakes! We haven’t known each other for more than a week. She twisted me around her little finger in two minutes. As infuriating as she is, I fell in love with her smile. The sound of her laugh makes my blood pump faster, and when she talks about not believing in love, it makes me want to prove to her that it exists every day for the rest of our lives.”

She was fading, her will to stick it out with Arthur and give him a happy ending melting in the heat of Killian’s honeyed words. His genuine concern at how nonchalantly they were accepting his confession should have been funny, but all she could think about was how he said ‘the rest of our lives.’

Like he meant it.

“Well, fakes or not, I’m still hungry,” Sidney answered, trying his best in the face of impossible odds. “Maybe your patients could wait a few hours until the salmon arrives. It’s quite good.”

“Bloody hell, this is a madhouse. Come on, Emma, enough is enough. Let’s go,” he urged her again. Taking the napkin from her hand, he threw it on the table and switched his grip to gently hold her upper arm and guide her away from the group.

They were immediately halted by Lance, thunder in his expression and lightning in his eyes. “She’s not going anywhere with you, Baron. We know all about your illness. She won’t be safe.”

“My illness?” Understanding dawned on his face and his head tilted back like he was searching the morning sky for answers. With a wry chuckle, he sighed. “Bravo, Swan. You told them I’m crazy. And I played right into it, didn’t I? Because I’ve been acting crazy, a man driven out of his mind at the sight of his most cherished dream waltzing away from him like he was nothing. Like everything he felt was nothing as far as she was concerned.”

She choked up at the bitter twist of his mouth. He was so brave, declaring his feelings in front of everyone, even convinced she would reject him again. Was it any wonder she had fallen head over heels for him?

And what did she do? She lied. She tricked. She ran. Then she rinsed and repeated.

“Captain,” she whispered, her hand moving to cradle his face when a sickening crack was heard and he crumpled at her feet.

Behind him, looking proud of himself, Sidney was still holding a pan aloft like he thought Killian might jump to his feet and demand a second round. Fear flooded her and she dropped to her knees to cradle his head in her lap. Helplessness, her hands fluttered over his body, her mind trying to sort out the impossible situation that was entirely her fault. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“He looked homicidal.”

Shaking him gently, she begged, “Killian…Killian, come back to me. Don’t leave me here alone.”

“You aren’t alone, sweetheart,” Lance promised, trying to move her away.

She swatted at his hands and refused to leave. The movement caused Killian’s head to lull to the side, and she saw a smear of red dripping from his hairline. “Someone call 911. He’s bleeding!”

Sidney glanced down at them with a mildly alarmed look and then at the weapon he still held. He ran his finger across the bottom and, with some relief, announced, “That’s not blood. It’s raspberry compote.”

—

Arthur’s personal physician made a house call to attend to the victim. Of course, the woman knew Killian Jones, MD, who was apparently the Director of Pediatric Oncology at Storybrooke General and one of the foremost experts in his field.

He was a saint in addition to being her Captain.

He deserved so much more than a lost girl who was too scared to know a good thing when it stopped on the side of the road to save her.

“This couldn’t have worked out better, my dear,” Arthur commented with an eyebrow wiggle. “Lance is beside himself. He just announced he plans to hire a divorce attorney this very afternoon. Run along. I’ll make sure the good doctor makes it back to town safely. I’ll even throw a couple thousand his way for his performance.”

“Shut up, Arthur. This is terrible. An innocent man got hurt, and it’s all our fault. My fault,” she corrected with a whisper, running her hand softly through Killian’s hair. He regained consciousness as the doctor checked him out but fell asleep while she assured them no permanent damage was done. Replacing the ice pack against the goose egg forming on the side of his head, she silently pleaded with him to wake up so she could grovel properly and beg for forgiveness.

“He seems quite taken with you.”

“Maybe he’s crazy after all,” she joked, but her heart wasn’t really in it. She doubted she would find anything funny until she saw his electric blue eyes again. “Can you leave us alone? I want to be able to explain when he comes to.”

“Of course, just call if you need anything.” He gave her a probing stare as if trying to decide whether to say something else before he left.

When she heard the door click shut, she leaned over and brushed a soft kiss across his lips. “I’m sorry. For running. For lying. For putting you in a situation where you got knocked out. I know that’s not nearly enough, but I am.”

“It’s a start,” he groaned as her hushed tone drew him from sleep, one hand moving to cover hers where it held the ice to his head and the other reaching out to play with the ends of her hair. “What happened?”

“I happened. This is why we don’t work, Captain. I’ve brought you nothing but pain and suffering since the moment we met.”

“I didn’t figure you for the melodramatic type, Swan. We had some good times before this farce began,” he reminded her as he shifted into more of a sitting position. “Are you ready to admit there’s something between us, or do I need to jump back into the fray and take a punch bowl to the face?”

“I never denied there was something between us, just that it was a good idea. I believe a raspberry-flavored concussion proves my point perfectly.”

His hand drifted to her cheek, calloused fingers glancing over soft skin. She wanted to look away from his intense gaze, but he tenderly grabbed her chin and held her in place. “Love, come away with me. It doesn’t have to be forever; we can sort that part out later. I’m simply asking for your company now, to give us a chance before you decide against it.”

“I want to, Captain. I want the carrot and everything else behind Door Number One,” she murmured with a watery chuckle. His gentle caresses grew hotter and more insistent. Finally he pulled her to him, her body half-covering his, as he claimed her mouth in the kind of scorching kiss that would burn through her memory forever.

She had nothing to offer him, and she had a long way to go before she would be worthy of this kind of love. Unconditional. All-encompassing. The kind she didn’t even know existed until he rescued her.

“I sense a but coming…”

“But—“

With a sad smile, he interrupted her. “On second thought, don’t. Please. I can’t bear to hear you say the words. To watch you run one more time. Let’s call it a day now so we can remember it fondly in the years to come.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” He tapped her nose lightly with his fingertip, observing the tears in her eyes as she fought to keep them from falling. Giving her a bittersweet grimace, he added, “Just promise you’ll take care of yourself, Swan. No more skipping meals. No more pretending to be anyone other than the amazing woman you are.”

The tears that were a threat until then slipped past her defenses, leaving trails down her face. He swiped at them and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Then he was gone.

Arthur found her later in the exact same place, not having the energy to move. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “This is the last time you’ll ever have to live this day, my dear.”

She knew he was trying to make her feel better, but the knowledge he was wrong caused her to feel light-headed as she turned into his embrace. She would never have to say goodbye to Killian again, but she knew she would relive it over and over until the day she died.

—

He approached her on the shoreline as she watched the blue waters of the Atlantic crash against the rocky beach forming one side of Arthur’s estate. Heat lightning flashed in the distance; the far-off storm robbed of its noise and violence when viewed from the calm of land. Emma knew it was only a matter of time until he sought her out. He was a smart man, a gambler and a rogue, so why not press his advantage?

“You disappeared on me after the baron left.” Lance never referred to him as her husband, always ‘the baron.’ She wasn’t sure if it was his way of skirting the immorality of his pursuit or simply to rob the other man of any claim on her, but it was starting to piss her off. Which was silly considering he wasn’t really her husband. Or a baron.

“He told me he was filing for divorce on his way out. That he hoped you found happiness but had come to realize it wasn’t going to be with him.”

She had yet to look at Lance, but she felt her heart break a little at the scene he painted. It was just like the Captain to try to help her all the way to the bitter end. She supposed he simply couldn’t stop himself. Breathing in the warm salty air, she wanted to let it fill her lungs and sweep out the misery that had taken hold in the core of her.

She was an idiot. She had let someone who had never loved her, never really even cared about her, twist her into someone who would do the same thing to a man who was perfect in every way. If she hadn’t already sworn to get even with Neal Cassidy, this would have driven her to it.

She was damaged now, unfit for human company, clinging to a sham because it was easier than facing the fact she made the biggest mistake of her life. Only this time, there was no boogeyman in the form of a cheating, lying ex to blame. She did this to herself.

But she didn’t have to double down on it.

With a deep sigh, Lance dropped on the sand next to her. He was more casual than she had ever seen him, and somehow it made him more approachable. Barefoot and with his pants legs were rolled up to mid-calf in a nod to the tide, he observed, “He was wrong, wasn’t he? You still love him.”

“Yes,” she admitted, staring at the horizon.

“And you aren’t a baroness…”

“No,” she confirmed, this time chancing a sidelong glance at him. “Everything he said was true. I’ve been here under false pretenses.”

“To come between Guin and me. It has the smell of an Arthur scheme all over it,” he explained with a wry grin. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t deserve it. I never intended for it to go this far, but once it started, we kept getting deeper and deeper until I couldn’t see a way out. And then I didn’t want to. I love her, I probably always will, but she’s not mine. You helped me realize that. A gorgeous wake-up call designed to turn my head and steal my heart. Losing you is my penance. One I can’t regret because I have a feeling you saved several lives by playing along.”

“You’ll be back in the saddle again soon, I’m sure, and the women of the world will be better for it. Do yourself a favor next time, though. Choose an available woman, and once you find her, don’t let her go. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Pick up where I left off, I suppose. I have some debts that still need to be paid and a fugitive to bring to justice. Maybe if I keep busy enough, keep moving, this will all fade and seem like some fever-induced dream.”

“I meant, what are you going to do about Jones?”

“I think I’ve done enough already. The best thing I can do for Killian now is to stay away.”

“For someone so smart about other people, you have a rather glaring blind spot when it comes to your own life. A mistake is only a mistake if you keep making it. You know where to find him, you know he wants you to, the only thing stopping you is fear.”

“Fear is enough, Lance.”

“You know what fear has gotten me: Absolutely nothing. I was afraid to put myself out there, so I only got involved with women who I knew would leave me before the whole thing even started. It’s hard to mourn the loss of a relationship that never stood a chance to begin with. It cost me my best friend and two women I care about. You’re better than that, Emma, and doesn’t he deserve the best version of you? But more importantly, don’t you?”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

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izzabeean · 3 years

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Chapter 12 : Uncertainty

SUMMARY

A new situation presents itself that causes you to rethink a couple of things.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 3,299

content : profanity, slightly suggestive nsfw

tags : alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n : another late chapter because it's been a bit difficult to sit myself down and write this one, it's a bit of a long one. I know no one is meant to address weaknesses but the dialogue is so hard for me to write! but anyway please enjoy xx

masterlist

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Alone, at last.

The serene silence of the apartment fills you with relief as Oikawa left you by yourself to go out for a jog. Seeing as you haven’t had much time to yourself since moving in with him, you weren't extremely grateful to be able to sit back, relax and watch your favorite show for what seems like the zillionth time.

But this surge of anxiety rumbles from within while your mind seems to spiral wondering where Iwaizumi could be. He still hasn’t come back from his outing, hasn’t even updated when he will be back. And your attempt to distract yourself isn’t remotely engaging as you continue to check your phone for messages.

Maybe there’s a personal reason why he is taking so long.

Yes, he’s with friends, yet the word ‘friend’ could be defined so inconsistently on your tongue. For instance, a friend could be the beginning of a possible more-than-friends scenario or the description of a secret relationship. Perhaps a girl he didn’t want to tell anyone about or perhaps even a promised fuck-buddy agreement for when he visits.

You grind your teeth wishing you could stop the worry festering. And because you’ve started to rummage in what if delusions, you decide that the only cure is to light a smoke.

Oikawa hasn’t been out for long and told you he’d be gone for an hour or so. So, you take the chance to keep your secret still a secret, by looking for the cartridge stashed in your jacket.

Weird, you think sifting through the pocket to which you find nothing. Even when searching the rest of your things, other pockets, and bags, you can’t seem to locate the pack. It’s been a while since your last smoke and try to trace your tracks to where it could possibly have gone to. Obviously, it wouldn’t get up and leave...

Usually, it wouldn’t aggravate you this much to find something, often you were used to misplacing things and having them show up eventually. However, this down-right pissed you off. You eye up your jacket persuading yourself you have enough time to go out to the corner store and grab a pack. The nearest shop is a couple of blocks away and you can have it out there instead of at the apartment where Oikawa can definitely catch you.

But in your head, the plan seems too risky trying to play it out. And instead, you let out a yawn grabbing a textbook off your desk remembering that you should probably be a good student instead of pursuing bad habits.

Walking into the living room, you lower the television volume to create some background noise so the place isn’t totally quiet making you vulnerable to the slightest floor creek. The apartment sounds aren’t what you’re used to and you most definitely predict your paranoia will obliterate your concentration.

That’s not all that does though.

The warm cozy lighting in the room starts to relax your mind a bit more while you start to take notes. It could be the fact you’re reading a piece of text from one of your most boring classes or due to another long day, but you find yourself reading the same paragraph over again, and over again, and over again trying to absorb the content on the pages. You pinch yourself to stay awake whilst your vision starts to blur and slowly your eyes slowly close…

------

You’re in your apartment bathroom.

It’s not quite the same sleek compact room you’re used to-- the walls are covered in water damage, with the paint slowly peeling off some parts and the floor is torn up exposing the old floorboards.

The new decor doesn't phase you though as you lean in towards the mirror touching up your lashes with a thin coat of mascara. Once you back up to take a look at your reflection checking for any flaws, you notice a sense of familiarity in this inspection. Like you've lived this all before. A part of you chuckles thinking you're just paranoid, but an unexpected knock echoes the room causing you to jump.

You freeze, listening closely as you try to quiet your breathing wondering if you were just hearing things. You must be.

Analyzing your reflection more, you notice you're dressed up in the same clothes you were going to wear that night you and Ushijima were supposed to celebrate your final year at university together. The same night he broke up with you.

Curiosity mixed with fear causes your eyes to glaze over not wanting to relive that moment again.

Another knock sounds.

Before you could persuade yourself to stop, you walk out into the hallway to answer the door. The anguish in your chest grows stronger and stronger while the suspense heightens upon getting closer and closer. All you ever wanted was to be happy with someone who accepts you for who you are. Someone that would be there for you through thick and thin. And here you are once again reliving the thing that haunts you the most. You don’t know if you can take the rejection again, but your body can't stop. It wants to see Ushijima.

Reaching for the cold knob you turn the handle slowly opening the door that emanates Ushijima's daunting aura. Horror that once filled your eyes almost instantly vanishes though because instead, you face Iwaizumi.

“What are you doing here?” you breathe. “I’m supposed to--”

You're cut off by an aggressive push from Iwaizumi into your apartment. You don't flinch as your entire body freezes in shock from him pressing you up against a wall. It’s dangerous how close he is, you can see his pupils dilate as he pulls in closer, bending down to nuzzle his face into your neck. You feel a rush of electricity that tingles from the top of your head to your toes.

“You’ve been wanting this for a while now,” Iwaizumi hums. “Haven’t you?”

His teeth graze against your neck as he forces his knee between your legs and slides it upward. You let your body melt into it with a soft gasp as your nerves excite.

He pulls back and you’re dying to see the look he has on his face, but notice you are no longer looking at Iwaizumi… No, now you’re looking at Oikawa.

Your eyes widen as his face dips down towards you, but you dodge and push him in an attempt to free yourself. He doesn’t budge leaning in closer tilting your chin up with his hands so he can look you in the eyes. His touch is gentle, not threatening but his eyes are drunk with lust.

“I thought it was me you wanted,” he purrs, eyes searching in yours for an answer.

But your throat squeezes shut restricting you from forming the words you wish to and his face inches closer closing in the space between you. You thought you’d be more reluctant for this to stop, but the thrill igniting inside you pushes you further as you slowly slide your hand into Oikawa’s hair. Closing your eyes waiting to be entangled in each other, but the kiss doesn’t connect.

When you open your eyes, you’re in your room sitting on your bed next to Ushijima. Everything feels lighter contrasting to the enticing atmosphere from before.

He pushes the hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You can’t look away seeing as this is the closest you’ve been to him since you were together.

It feels like home. It feels right.

He runs his thumb over your lips as he leans in sealing his lips over yours.

No, we shouldn’t, your brain screams, but you let yourself indulge in his warm soft kiss as he holds you close.

------

The act instantly jolts you awake.

You blink still feeling the essence of Ushijima’s kiss linger on your lips and the traces of his hands holding you close. But it looks like you’re not alone as you find yourself facing Iwaizumi who’s holding up a blanket.

“D--did I wake you?” he asks, straightening himself up, startled by your sudden rouse.

“No, no,” you say, before sitting up. Your heart almost skips a beat as you immediately envision Iwaizumi pressing up against you. And, as if on cue, your ears start to burn up unable to actually look at him before rubbing your eyes hoping to hide from the sheer embarrassment plastered all over your face.

“How did it go… With your friends?” you express, in an attempt to change the subject to leave behind your suggestive dream.

“It was good,” he sighs, taking a seat beside you on the couch. “Had a lot to catch up on. You should meet them actually, I feel like you’d all get along.”

“That’d be cool,” you smile.

Then it occurs to you this is the first time you’ve been alone together since the kiss. Your options could be to completely avoid the topic as if it never happened, but a little voice inside keeps reminding you to say something. But how can you when even speaking about your actions is deeply embarrassing? Why didn’t you just think before you act? Then perhaps, this awkward conversation you’re about to have wouldn’t have to happen.

“But maybe warn them, if you plan to kiss them,” he teases.

“Um…” you feel your face grow hot at his words wondering if Iwaizumi can read your thoughts. “About that…”

“Hm?” Iwaizumi blinks.

“I’m sorry if it came out of nowhere, there was just a lot going on in such a and I just -- It was uncalled for… I didn’t mean--”

Iwaizumi lets out a laugh causing you to pause.

“What?” You suddenly feel stupid for bringing this up, thinking you’ve missed the reason as to what’s so funny.

“Sorry,” he shrugs. “You were just trying to make your ex jealous, right?”

Yes, you were, but there was more to it than that.

“Mm,” you reply, unsure of what else to say.

“Don’t you think Oikawa would have been a better contender to piss Ushijima off?”

“I mean… I think it was more than that,” you begin, but lose your courage to confess anymore as Iwaizumi gazes at you with an unreadable expression. “Cause you know, you’re new and he’s never seen you before and so it’s more… Mysterious?”

It sounded more like a question as if you were trying to convince yourself too, but Iwaizumi doesn’t ask further.

“Of course,” he replies so a matter of factly, you feel stupid. Like you’re self-sabotaging yourself.

“I guess it did sort of work seeing as he punched Oikawa,” he adds.

Your face softens at Iwaizumi’s remark in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I mean, if it really worked he would’ve punched you,” you joke. “Oikawa persuaded Ushijima all on his own.”

You both laugh and you know, now, that it wasn’t such a bad idea to talk about it.

“Well if you ever need to get Ushijima off your back, I can pretend to be your boyfriend.”

Huh?

You weren’t quite sure if you heard that correctly, seeing how nonchalant he is. And when you don’t reply and continue to gaze at Iwaizumi wide-eyed, he’s quick to reply.

“I mean, if you need one,” he continues.

You laugh nervously. At this point, you’re definitely not sure what he’s thinking about, but the fact he so blatantly offered such an outlandish task, makes you wonder if he’s on the same page as you. Is it so obvious to him, that you think he’s hot, that you enjoy spending time with him?

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say, as calmly as you can, trying to suppress the excitement bursting inside. “When’s your last day?”

“Next week.”

“That sucks,” you spit out. “I mean! It’s cool you get to go to school in California, but just sucks you’re going to be leaving”

“We can still keep in touch,” he replies softly.

“You better,” you tease. “I’m jealous you have it all figured out.”

“You will too.”

“Doubtful,” you groan. “But I’m trying to stay optimistic.”

“You’ve got lots of time,” he sighs.

Silence encompasses the space between the two of your time limit with Iwaizumi worries you more. You’re happy he gets to pursue his dream, but you wonder if there's more to why you got to see him again. It feels wrong for wishing him to not leave, the essence of selfishness rolls through you as your conscience nags for you to stop.

"I hope so."

------

It’s the beginning of a new week and you’ve finished your morning class.

But it's very hard to forget the conversation you had with Iwaizumi about the kiss, about him leaving. As much as you’d like him not to leave, to see where things could go, you know it isn’t your best interest to start dating someone new so. You’re not like Ushijima. You’d much rather die than ever admit that you are the same as him. Luckily, you are not. You have morals and you’re a much, much better person than him.

Your name rings down the hall as you stroll towards the exit and turn to see Sara trying to catch up to you. You haven’t seen her since the evening Oikawa swung at Ushijima and honestly had been avoiding her since. Though you did know, you’d have to face her eventually, you preferred it being during class where you can gently brush her off.

“How are you, I haven’t seen you since the other night,” she breathes, trying to catch her breath from basically booking it down the hall.

“I’m fine,” you grunt, unapologetic to how cold it sounds, yet Sara pays no mind to it as she continues to beam with excitement.

“I just wanted to apologize.”

“For?”

“For inviting Ushijima,” she replies, her voice unwavering. “I didn’t find out until later that he’s your ex.”

“Did he tell you?”

“Well, he did that night,” she chuckles, then clears her throat when you raise your eyebrows at her in displeasure. “I was mortified that he didn’t even tell me. I told him who would be there and he didn’t say anything.”

You're quiet, trying to make sense of Sara's explanation. Why is she even telling you this? Is it because you're in a group together? She could have just pretended nothing ever happened and keep things strictly school-related. If this were you, you'd be: 1) pissed your significant other didn't tell you about an ex and 2) would avoid the ex like a plague. Yet here she is, standing in front of you, apologizing. Nothing seemed to add up.

“And you didn’t get mad?” you ask, unable to comprehend Sara's reasons for confronting you.

“Oh my god no, why would I be mad?” she laughs again.

“I thought you were close?”

“Close? I guess, but he’s just been showing me around.”

"Huh?" you blink.

“He’s part of a program here, to help new students.”

You blink again.

“Y/N? You there?”

“Yeah… I just-- you were-- I thought… What’s the program?”

“Um, he's assigned to a new student to help settle in for the first week on campus...”

Your mind flashes back to the other day when Ushijima showed up at your apartment wanting to tell you something, then to the time he tried to chat with you at the restaurant. Was that it? That it's just been a misconception all this time.

"... One time he showed me around the city, but that's about it," she continues, forcing you out of your thoughts. The keyword showed me around the city rings setting an alarm to when you first saw them together. That day, it felt like your heart got ripped out and thrown on the ground with your entire body submerged in an unfathomable sense of agony. You were destroyed.

“So... you normally just hang out with him at school?”

“Yeah. He's the only person I know on campus,” she snorts. "That's why I invited him, as thanks. Regardless I feel like a complete idiot. I’m so sorry I invited him, I totally didn’t mean to put you in an awkward situation.”

You feel perplexed and look away, trying to figure out how to take the information.

Nothing and everything makes sense at once. As if you had stepped into a dream world and your body is separately itself from reality as you trying to mull the information you've just absorbed.

“Forget it," you say, forcing a smile. "I-- I have to get to class.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” you smile, walking in the opposite direction. "I'll see you around."

You sigh realizing you misjudged Ushijima entirely. No wonder he wanted to speak to you and all you've been doing is giving him a cold shoulder. Maybe, guilt can describe the feelings swimming in the pit of your stomach, completely blinded by wrath. You had to tell Oikawa--

Buzz!

Scooping out your phone from your pocket you check down to see a text from said guy. It says: just finished class. you on campus?

You quickly send a reply then your eyes flicker up to a familiar figure walking towards you.

Iwaizumi.

“What are you doing here?” you say.

“Came to drop off Shittykawa’s books," he replies. "He forgot them for his next class.”

“I can take it to him, I was just headed to meet up with him,” you smile.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I was kind of hoping to run into you….”

------

I’ll be in the courtyard.

Oikawa reads a text from you and gives a small smile walking in the direction of the destination. Your company is always something he admires especially to kill time between classes. But it was never killing time with you. Instead, it seemed to always go by too fast, like he never had enough of you. His heart starts to race as he nears the courtyard and he doesn’t know why but he’s feeling extra giddy today. Perhaps he woke up in a good mood or perhaps it feels like for once he’s getting somewhere with you by the fact you’ve opened up to him and have been a lot friendlier than usual.

Then he sees you. You’re easy to spot. And he starts to talk a tad quicker, but as you become more in view, he sees you talking to Iwaizumi. His entire body freezes.

------

“I was hoping to spend my last day… With you,” Iwaizumi mumbles. “Oikawa has class during the day and I wanted to see if I could snag you.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen with surprise and excitement as the words echo in your head.

“If you’re available that is,” Iwaizumi quickly adds.

You grin at him. “Yeah, of course. I’d like that!”

“Awesome, I look forward to it,” he says casually before turning around to leave.

“Iwaizumi…”

He stops and turns back to you.

“The books?”

“Oh right, I totally--”

He rushes back over to hand them over, yet the books gently graze your finger and fall to the ground. Both of you react by swooping down to pick them up and from your eagerness accidentally bumps your forehead into Iwaizumi, making loud bonk.

“Oh my god are you ok?” you ask while holding your forehead from the surprise collision.

“Yes, are you ok?” he chuckles while rendering a small smile.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “Sorry I got excited.”

Your face feels hot from how close he is and his contagious laugh. It’s nice and feels... exhilarating. Unlike anything, you’ve felt before from someone.

Suddenly your moment is interrupted by the sound of your phone going off.

It’s your mom.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyu x reader #Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa x y/n #ushijima x reader #ushijima x y/n

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papers4me · 3 years

Text

Fruits Basket Manga Review , ch 102- 106

I thought abt skipping those chapters cuz the difference from the anime are’nt big & there’s hardly any tohru in them which I know where the great difference between anime & manga is. However, I like yuki & I was delighted to see the difference between manga yuki & anime yuki! Really, furuba anime makes so much focus on him & all, yet manages to miss the mark when it comes to his character. Yuki is such a prince “from a fairy tale but with trauma” in the anime which contradicts his vision of himself in canon as he said it IS fake, but in the manga he’s a real character with layers.

A-Chapters 102 & 103/ se03, ep 3 ( A dynamic Yuki vs a prince):

Not much change in the plot from the anime, se03, ep 3, except few things I’ll highlight here:

MACHI: ch.102 is basically machi’s story that we saw in se03 ep 3 first half before the motoko part. but it’s fascinating how the anime handled it greatly & how the manga had its unique touch. The anime gave machi’s part its own color, mood & focus, while the manga excelled in the facial expressions.

YUKI: In ch. 102 & 103, Yuki in particular had many facial expressions in such a refreshing way different from the anime. In the anime, yuki emoted exclusively with kyo & kakeru in ways that you don’t need to hear his monologue to understand his thoughts, he was also allowed expressiveness with machi in the anime but with maintaining big doses of his princely aesthetics & mannerism cuz we see him from achi’s perspective. Ironic cuz she calls him imperfect but the anime gives him lots of shojo bubbles from her pov. In the manga, yuki is way more expressive with lots of characters!!! Even with the fanclub girls, he had funny expressions, & we see a cute scene of machi trying to cheer him up!

in the manga, yuki & machi both are given expressive features. Machi isn’t silent with her head down 95% of the time & yuki is is not living in his own head & is very dynamic with other characters as well, which makes him feel real.

Also, in the manga, yuki isn’t super skinny like the anime! I love how he fills his school uniform without it looking so baggy. In the manga, yuki looks like a grown teenager boy reaching his 17!!! In the anime, yuki looks the same all seasons.

In the anime, the clear body growth was exclusive to kyo in se02, during beach arc mainly cuz the plot required it as tohru kept commenting on kyo growing up physically & told Kazuma. So, the anime made huge effort to make kyo look grown physically. Also, in the anime, yuki is given a princely aura from se01 to 3 as his physical appearance & aesthetics remained the same minus his interaction with kakeru where you see glimpses of a more firm & free character. A peek into his soul perhaps?

B-Ch 104 -106, Anime, se3, ep 4. (Isuzu’s Arc closed, Akito’s begins!):

I love the way the page transitioned from Isuzu’s hair at kureno’s feet to Haru’s entering akito’s room!

I love akito in this chapter/ep, not love her as in support her, no. lol. but love how this chapter/ep sheds light into her twisted mind. Great writing! The way Akito was shocked at kureno’s betrayal of saving Isuzu is why Akito’s growth from abuser to feeling guilt & repent is not satisfactory in the anime ( I’m yet to reach this part in the manga, so I’ll wait to see if it was handled differently). Akito was way more self-centered & concerned with her delusions to stop a bit & entertain the thought that isuzu was on the verge of death. This is a huge red flag. This is sth you can’t brush under tohru’s healing words of feeling similar to akito & akito finding “ true friendship” as a healthy replacement to her delusional “ together forever”.

-The core characters that the entire show/ story/ manga is built upon their views are tohru & akito. You can’t spend 2 seasons & a half faintly touching these characters’ pov & trauma, then give quick hasty focus, then hit them with “ healing growth”. Both tohru & akito needed more screen time/ spotlight to dwell into them cuz they’re fascinating characters!

This chapter the focus is on haru & isuzu, however, these two characters arc would pretty much be wrapped after this chapter/ep minus few cleaning here & there. Akito’s descending into darkness truly begins here. This is what should be followed & given much care!

I love how this line connects what seems like a sub-plot story to the main story of the original zodiacs!!! In the original story, the cat refused to be by the Ruler’s side & it was percieved as the cat betraying him & the others. All the rest of the animals must ALWAYS be on the Ruler/Akito side & not copy the Monster/Cat behavior. Excellent foreshadowing & a twist to kyo’s/ akito’s / kureno’s story! The cat was right all along, but it’s not abt right or wrong. It’s abt choosing sides. With us or against us. If you are not with us, you are the barbaric enemy/ monster. ( kinda similar to our real world issues & politics)

Side Notes:

I have nothing to say abt motoko except in a 13 ep core & major final season with thematic & plot focus, she really got her share. Out of all the content to cut. what logic? I can never understand..... Not hating, but truly bewildered & confused. Fan service? Gotta be. Wasting valuable screen time for a character with no effect on plot or characters or anything.. I mean if it was a 26 ep season, then okay... but the nope! lets chop chop core plot & give motoko an epic send off!

Maybe Motoko got pity love from the anime team? She wasnt given yuki’s love, so the decision maker whoever they are, gave her better emotional focus than the actual love interest (machi) has got! XD (again not hating, but amused! XD)

I love how furuba’s writing don’t need over-exaggerated drama at all. All the pain is in the writing. in the characters themselves. The anime only needed to focus on them & get rid of the theatrical display of emotions & forced fast paced & unrealistic timeline. sigh~

Still, I love how ep 4 was directed in the anime starting the 2nd part, it was given its own mood & colors.

I love that Haru didnt just find Isuzu in the streets right wawy but waited few days to meet her. It hammers the importance of pacing time in the manga, but I also understands why the anime needed to go directly to it seeing that as I said haru & isuzu are reaching the end of their arc here & they want to close the door behind their issues once & for all. lol.

Everthing else abt Machi story, haru & isuzu, akito & kureni, I have already said before in my weekly anime reviews when se03 was airing.

I peeked into ch. 107 first two pages!!!!! Tohru’s focus???? Is this the beginning of the weakly directed ep 6? YESS!!! I cant wait to read it next weekend! <3

#Fruits Basket #manga spoilers #fruits basket manga #sleepy paper #ch 102 #ch 103 #ch104 #ch105 #ch106 #Anime Only #reading the manga #manga reviwes

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one-leaf-grimoire · 3 years

Text

"the knight who pierced the king's heart"

Chapter 3

Summary: Julius wonders if going on this date is a good idea, only for Lisa to almost immediately try and bail.

Warnings: They are both big idiots oops

Pairing: Julius x Lisa

Link to full work on AO3

“Please, Marx, just trust me-”

“Julius! I’m not going to allow you to run off and skip your meetings!” Marx balled up his fists and for a brief moment, Julius feared for his life. His advisor was already livid about his disappearance last night, which did not go unnoticed by Augustus. Julius explained it away as he was feeling sick, but another excuse wasn’t going to get him past Marx. “Not without a really, REALLY good reason, at the very least.”

“Oh, well- I have a reason-” Julius glanced nervously at the clock in his office. If I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to miss lunch time! “Er- um…” Any good excuse was evading him, so he just blurted out something slightly stupid: the truth. “I’m going on a date.”

Marx’s jaw dropped, and Julius immediately regretted his decision. “WHAT?!” He dropped the paperwork in his hand out of shock, and it scattered all over the tile floor. “You’re kidding!!!! It’s been ages-”

“Don’t remind me-” Julius cut in, trying to reveal as little information about the date as possible. “I’m going to be late to meet her if I don’t-”

“BY ALL MEANS- go!” Marx was suddenly behind him, pushing him out the door. “This is great news! It’s about time you got married and produced an heir!”

“Heir?! Married?!” Julius had thought about it, sure, but he didn’t expect Marx of all people to start bothering him about it now. “It’s much too early to start talking about that stuff-”

“Whatever! It’s still a good sign.” Marx smiled to himself as he finally released Julius. “Go- I’ll make an excuse. But let me know about your plans ahead of time in the future so I can plan your schedule, alright?”

Julius nodded, and couldn’t help but grin to himself. “Thank you… I’ll be back by the evening.”

“You better be!”

Julius quickly ran to his room to change, glad to discard all his finery. His crown was carelessly thrown onto his bed, replaced by a wide-brimmed hat that covered most of his hair. When combined with his usual bandana, it worked as a great upgrade to his “disguise.” She’s not going to be tipsy this time, Julius thought to himself, his heart pounding as the nerves started to set in. So it’s more likely that she’ll figure me out… she did kiss my hand that day, after all. But maybe that’s for the best… I don’t want to keep tricking her or anything like that.

With that, he set off, slipping out of the castle unseen as usual for what he hoped would be a fun afternoon.

As he walked through the busy streets as fast as he could, Julius couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to what Marx mentioned.

Marriage… and an heir.

Julius really hadn’t worried much about either of those subjects before. Back before he was king, when he was still just a knight, he had dreamed about settling down after retirement and having a family with someone. But of course, plans changed; his injury, his father and uncle’s deaths, and his ascent to the throne threw him off course. The position he took over was the one that oversaw the army and foreign policy, and the kingdom was on the brink of war at the time. Now, 5 long years later, they were at peace, and Julius finally found himself without much to do.

I guess… maybe this would be a good time to figure that all out after all.

He was never a fan of the dynastic aspect of things. Julius wasn’t supposed to take the throne at all, but of course things changed and the royal line shifted. But he didn’t really feel too possessive over the future of his line. One of his cousins would take over when he died or retired, and Julius was fine with that.

But still… maybe it would be nice to have kids.

Maybe it was all a weird delusion. After all, no one could predict the future. It might be silly to imagine this whole future from just two meetings with another person, but Julius didn’t stop himself.

Anyway… what was so special about her?

Why do I even like Lisa?

The truth was, Julius had been infatuated before he even saw her face. The way she fought in that tournament let her determination shine through, and when she took off her helmet, and kissed his hand-

Julius could acutely remember how it felt last night, with her holding onto him, her cheek pressed close against his chest. It had been a long, long time since another person was so close to him. Just the memory was enough to dust his ears in red.

So… is it all physical?

No…

It must not be all physical. Because, somehow, from just those two meetings, Lisa was able to make him think about a future, and imagine her there too.

Or… maybe I’m just being silly.

Julius suddenly halted, letting a few people brush by him in the crowd.

Lisa… she’s so young. She just started her career as a knight. If we get closer… it might hurt her…

However, a moment later, he started walking again, his steps more confident.

No… that’s silly. I’m the King, I’d be able to protect her! All I know is that I like her, for whatever reason, and I’m not going to let that go!

For now, all Julius had to worry about was making a good impression and figuring out a way to let Lisa know exactly what she was getting into.

“...hello?”

Julius half expected Lisa to have forgotten about their “date,” but to his pleasant surprise she was already standing outside, dressed casually with her arm still in her cast. She blinked at the sound of his voice, turning to see him. Her eyes immediately widened, and to his relief, she smiled.

“Oh! So I didn’t dream you up!”

“Ah, yeah, no you didn’t…” Julius laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m glad you remembered.”

“Me too!” Lisa stepped a little closer, and despite her smile, Julius could pick up on a distinct apprehension in her stance. She’s nervous too… probably more nervous than I am. For good reason, too; it was quite risky to meet up with a mysterious man, even for a lunch date. “I woke up this morning and all I could think of was I have a date today! I’m glad you’re just as handsome as I dreamed~”

AHHHHHH

Julius gulped, his heart jolting around every which way in his chest. She’s still just as bold as ever- “Thank you… you’re just as lovely. So-” He averted his eyes and looked around under the brim of his hat, which he was surprised didn’t hinder her opinion of him today. “Where would you like to go?” It had been a while since he had been on a date, but he assumed it was the gentlemanly thing to do to let her take the lead.

“Hmm… I was thinking that we should just get something from the market then go somewhere quiet.”

Somewhere quiet? Alright… Julius nodded, then turned to lead her off. “Sounds like a plan… this way, right?”

“Yeah!”

Julius didn’t want to overstep boundaries, but it turned out he didn’t have to; Lisa immediately slipped her right hand into his left. Ah! Ok, that must be a good sign… He glanced down at her as they walked, seeing her staring ahead, still looking as happy as could be. So far so good… now I just have to figure out how to go about the rest of this.

Before he knew it, they had finished up their trip to the market, and Lisa was dragging him towards the outskirts of town. Julius didn’t object, following with ease as he carried both of their lunches in his free hand. “This way!” she said, glancing back at him. “There’s a hill on the edge of town… it has a great view!”

Sure enough, she let go of his hand to race up the hill, lively despite her one useless arm. Once at the top, Lisa turned to look down at Julius, her grin faltering when she saw him still at the bottom. “Come on! I can’t wait up here forever.”

“... oh, right.” Julius quickly snapped out of it and climbed after her. I started staring… I have to be careful about that.

But how could he not stare at her? She demanded the attention of all those around her with every movement she made. Julius didn’t understand her yet, but he could see that she was the type of person who breathed life into everyone she crossed paths with.

Even him.

“You’re right, the view is great up here.” Julius finally sat down, letting out a sigh as his back came to rest against the trunk of a tree.

“I know right?” Lisa quickly sat next to him, reaching towards the lunch bag. “I bring dates up here all the time.”

“All the time?” Julius repeated, his heart sinking again. I mean… I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s pretty, I’m sure she has a lot of admirers. I’m probably nothing more than a fun way to pass the time-

“No. I lied.” Lisa laughed nervously, awkwardly digging through her bag. “I don’t really get asked on dates much… not even this time! I asked you didn’t I?” She licked her lips as she pulled the sandwich out. “I do still come up here a lot, though… just by myself.”

Something changed in her voice. Julius stared at her, not exactly sure what to say.

Oh… so… I guess she’s also…

Lisa stared at her sandwich in her hand for a moment. Then, with a soft breath, she let it drop back down into the bag.

“Last night… I feel like I embarrassed both of us. I don’t know why you were there, or why I recognized you, I don’t even know your name now!” She let out a sigh, and to Julius’s dismay, she stood up. “I guess the reason I wanted to meet you today was to apologize. Sorry about all that… but you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

Finally, she turned to look down at him, a sad smile on her face.

“Thank you… goodbye.”

Without another word, Lisa turned back around and started to walk off down the hill.

For a moment, Julius didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he was even processing what happened. His eyes were glued on the back of her head, as her hair bounced around her with every step. Maybe that image was what made him snap out of it and finally jump back to his feet.

“Wait!”

Lisa paused, glancing over her shoulder at the man behind her. Julius gulped, his arm halfway outstretched dramatically. He didn’t really know what to say; he just started talking.

“My name… my name is Julius.”

No change could be seen in her expression. Julius started to sweat. Should I say my last name too? I thought she would have put two and two together…

“...I saw you at the jousting tournament.”

His hand dropped back to his side as he continued to speak. He only had one goal in his mind, one desperate goal to keep her here just a little longer. The realization that she was about to leave, possibly forever, was finally dawning on him, and the emotion pounding from his heart had just one name:

Fear.

“You broke your arm, yet you kept pushing forward. I-I couldn’t help but admire that… and then…”

Here he was again, spewing out the dumbest thing he could: the truth. Yet, for the second time today, it was working. Lisa’s eyes finally widened a little, her body turning back to face him fully. Julius sucked in a breath through his nose before continuing.

“Then… you took off your helmet, and I saw that you aren’t just brave and strong… you’re beautiful too.”

Lisa blinked, shock starting to register on her face with each passing word. Julius couldn’t tell if she was pleased or not, and his next words caught in his throat. He stood there for a moment, his mouth open, unsure if he should continue.

“... I should be the one apologizing. It was weird and selfish of me, but I ended up at a party where I didn’t belong, because I wanted to see you again-” For some reason, Julius felt himself laugh weakly at the thought. “So… I’m sorry. But, if you have the time… I’d still like to have lunch with you.”

For a long, long time, Lisa just stared up at him, a light blush on her cheeks from the unexpected confession. Julius held his breath, feeling a bit dizzy. But somehow, he was still smiling.

And then, miraculously, she smiled back, closing her eyes for a brief minute.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

She opened her eyes again, and Julius swore that they were sparkling. “I finally get my hilltop date, with an admirer, no less! How could I refuse?”

Julius let out a sigh of relief, his nervousness shifting into a more pensive kind.

She’s staying… just a little longer… that’s all I need!

“My name is Lisa… but you probably already knew that.”

“Yeah, I did…”

#julius novachrono #julius novachrono x oc #julius novachrono x reader #oc: lisa #bc oc #knight au #marx francios #black clover #tkwptkh #julisa #automation

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masked-buffoon · 4 years

Text

Chapter 12: Curtain call (Part 4)

Warnings: strong language, violence, death, mention of drugs

Author notes: here is the fourth part of the chapter, with some action because it’s been a while...! I hope you’ll like it...!

"Fox, I need your help." I told him through the phone.

"Again…?! We already had a deal, I did my part…!" He protested.

"It's important. I need you to locate someone for me."

"For f*ck's sake!" He cursed "Can't you rely on anyone else?!"

"If you find me an informer who doesn't charge my money, sure, I'll leave you alone." I rolled my eyes "Find Taikin-san. He escaped from me."

"Do you know you're annoying…?" He sighed heavily "I'll make sure you get that…"

"No need to, I'm right behind you."

He brusquely turned towards me the moment I hung up the call.

"What the —"

"Discretion is one of my forte." I chuckled and sat down "Please, search. I'll wait for my order~"

"That woman is going to be the end of me…" He thought.

"Indeed, if you don't start working on my request, I'll shoot a bullet between your eyes." I threatened, bothered.

"Sorry, sorry… Dammit…" He mumbled.

I laid my head back, trying to rest in the old leather armchair. It was comfortable enough… At that time, Yosano-sensei had most certainly arrived at the Taikin enterprise. Closing my eyes, I hoped the secretary had been saved, as well as potential survivors I had not found earlier. I wondered what Kunikida would say, when I would return to the Agency after completing the mission on my own… Would he yell at me for being irresponsible? Or would he welcome me back with a compliment? There was no way… He would rather scold me, most certainly.

The cold sensation of a blade on my neck made me open my eyes, and I stared blankly at the Fox. He was menacing me with a pocket knife.

"It's advised to stay focused when you are in an unfriendly place…" He grinned and lowered his weapon "I have what you want."

I took the paper he was handing over to me.

"Thank you. That's good."

"Good…? I personally took care of it, in only ten minutes…! And all I earn is 'good'…?!" He was outraged.

"It was only ten minutes…?" I muttered for myself "I see… Anyway, thank you again."

"That's the last time I want to see you here…!" He pouted "I don't need a client who doesn't even recognise the worth of my work and who, on top of that, doesn't pay me…!"

I raised an eyebrow and, before he could even realise what was happening, shot a bullet in his direction. It landed in one of the computers behind him.

"I don't pay people who menace to slit my throat." I sighed "Not that you would have succeeded, anyway."

"... That computer was worth half of the money you gave me…!" He whined "Couldn't you tell I was messing with you…?"

"Then use your payment to buy another…" I brushed the matter off "Can't you see I'm messing with you…~?"

"Dammit… Were you always such a bully…? The former mafioso would never even crack a smile…" He rubbed the back of his head.

"How could you tell, with the mask I used to wear?" I smirked "But you are right… I've been feeling a lot more lighthearted lately."

"... I preferred when you were gloomy…" He whined "Now, farewell, and don't ever come back here…!"

I let out a small laugh, and waved him goodbye.

"I'll make sure to come by when I need something~"

"I said don't!"

Maybe Dazai's playful and annoying personality had rubbed off on me… A little bit… I would have to be more careful if I did not want to appear insufferable for the people I met. Being like my friend… It was not a way I wanted to pursue.

The way towards the harbour was long, and it did not help that I was stuck in a traffic jam. Nervously, I tapped a finger against my thigh, going through the information the Fox had obtained for me one more time. Taikin-san had run away to an old warehouse he rented for his business. Except goods his enterprise sold, there should not be anything else that could interest me… There should not be, but there actually was a ten years old boy waiting to be saved. And, even if we could not prove him guilty of setting up that unbelievable scenario, my informer had managed to find out about an illegal drug business he owned. Whatever… Had he been completely devoid of any weakness, I would have robbed an entire bank in order to pay for forged evidence, enough to put him in jail forever. He was a sick man who had resorted to crime for a stupid affair… For a woman he did not even love, a cover to look like the image of a perfect and successful entrepreneur… And he had killed an innocent child. It was true that I had assassinated many people, including harmless kids, but I was still able to delusion myself and pretend it was for work… Whereas that person… He had no excuses.

"What's going on?" I asked the taxi driver as I noticed the vehicle was still motionless.

"I'm not sure…" He admitted "It could be anything…"

"How far is the port?"

"Roughly five minutes from here with a car… And under normal circumstances."

"Thanks." I unbuckled my belt.

"M-Miss…?!"

"Keep the money."

I exited the car and quickly got out of the road not to disturb the drivers. I was so close to that place… Every minute lost was time our opponents could use to prepare themselves, and I did not want to give them a single chance. I had to crush them mercilessly and efficiently. Luckily, this was something I was rather skilled at, and Kuninida was not there to stop me from ending their life.

I bit my lower lip as I headed towards the warehouse. Odasaku had wished for Dazai to live on the good side, and I had joined him with the will to become a better person too… But I was still a mafioso, and I would always be a criminal at core… There was no way I could change, not so easily… Nevertheless, from the next day on, I would start a new life, I promised myself. These people would be the last ones I would execute coldly, then, I would have to move on and fight against these murderous pulses and the monster sleeping in me. It would be the last time.

Once I arrived in front of the targeted warehouse, I took a few pills from my box and noticed it was almost empty. I would have to stop that as well, I was disgusting… A neat and righteous life, ruled by laws I did not even care about nor agreed to… Ah, no, I could not think this way. I did not want to be an outlaw anymore, that was the reason why I strived to join the Armed Detective Agency in the first place. I pulled out a gun, and entered the storehouse. It was quiet in appearance, only filled with containers up up the ceiling. However, they could not hide from me, who could detect their thoughts. The criminals were behind these large boxes of metal, gun in hands, waiting for me to enter to shoot me. They had surely already noticed me, but it was underestimating me to think they could even get a bullet to graze against my skin. Discreetly, I crouched down and calmed down my breathing to erase my presence. I was a trained killer and I did not always lead a mass shooting. From the inner pocket of my suit, I pulled out a silencer and plugged it to the barrel of my pistol. Then, I started moving.

I sneaked behind the first man and put my weapon to his head, covering his mouth at the same time so he would not scream.

"Talk if you don't want to die. How many of you are in there?" I whispered "Tell me with your fingers. Ten? Ah… That's not a lot…"

I pulled my trigger without a blink.

They were too easy to take care of. My heart did not even skip a beat, nor did a drop of sweat slide on the skin of my face. So boring… That was a loss of my precious time, but it was necessary to get Sakunosuke-kun out of that dirty place. When, finally, there were none of them left in the warehouse, I noticed something was off. Where were Taikin-san and his son? Were they not supposed to be there?

My phone vibrated and I cursed. I had forgotten to turn it off… Fortunately, there was no living soul around me. It was a message from an anonymous number, most certainly sent from a burner phone.

"Be careful, backups are coming."

I did not need to question the strange message, I could, indeed, see that more members of that group had arrived in the meantime. They were at least twenty out of that warehouse… I did not lose composure and removed the silencer from my gun, before pulling out my second one. I had planned to do that quietly, but if they were determined to come at me with so many people… Why, I would have no choice but to create a bloodbath.

The moment one of them stepped inside, his head was blown up. I could not let myself be overwhelmed by their number; killing them one by one was my best option. Even so, fighting alone against an entire group proved to be a challenge, even for me, mostly when the number of bullets I owned was limited. At some point, there was nothing left in my magazines, and there were still enemies alive. I threw my guns away and went out from behind the containers to try and grab a submachine gun from the corpses lying on the ground. That would expose me to the volley of bullets, but with a lot of luck, none of my vitals would be touched. With as much dexterity as I could muster from my body, I dove towards the weapon I had spotted. My hands wrapped around its handle and I rolled on the concrete to dampen the shock from my harsh landing. As soon as I was up, I pointed the gun towards my assailants and pulled the trigger, killing a few of them in the process. Then, I hid behind a box to dodge their attack. I took a deep breath. Blood was pulsing in the veins of my head and its sound overwhelmed my train of thoughts. It looked as though the entire organisation had come to help out its members… Alone, I would never be able to eliminate them all… Even sōkoku had needed two skilled people to erase a whole organisation… There was no way I could accomplish the same achievement on my own… Could I…?

I put a pain reliever between my lips, allowing myself a minute of rest before going back to the fight. I did not have the skill of the Port Mafia's sōkoku, but Dazai had grown a brain in my head. If, somehow, I could take advantage of my surroundings for the situation to favour me… I looked around. Except containers, what could I use…? I smirked. Of course… Taikin-san also managed a drug cartel, after all… I picked up the lock of a giant box and opened it to reveal bags and bags of white powder. With some improvisation and a tad of luck, that should work…

I studied the scene carefully. The members of the underground organisation which worked for Taikin-san had stopped shooting, visibly waiting for me to come out of my hideout. I would do them this honour, of course, but I feared they would not appreciate it. I pulled out my loyal handkerchief from my pocket and wrapped it around my nose and mouth. Then, with all my strength, I threw a bag of drugs towards the group of people. I had carefully ripped it off beforehand, so that the powder would burst from it, creating the most convenient and dangerous smoke screen for me. I had to be cautious not to inhale any of that toxic product; morphine was already enough for me. I took the opportunity of the visible confusion I had caused to act. I exposed myself to shoot them better and pulled the trigger of the submachine gun. Five of them fell, clearing the way out for me and giving me access to their back line. That was the end for them.

#bsd #bsd fanfic #bsd oc #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs oc #dazai #Dazai Osamu #bsd dazai #bsd kunikida

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nikkzwrites · 4 years

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Yesterday Once More | Dark Fix-It Fic Series | Chapter 15

A/N: This fic is one that I started with my OC because honestly, I personally didn’t like how season 3 ended. So I am rewriting all of Dark with my OC Annalise Dahlheim. I hope you all like it. Some things will be expanded more on just for more depth to Dark that season 3 kinda skipped over so…. yeah.

CW: Canon Typical Triggers: Smoking, Sex, Language, Drugs, Drinking, Death, Violence, Suicide Mentions, Cutting, Violence.

Word Count: 6.5k

[First Chapter] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Older Jonas shot up from his nightmare seeing Annalise was sitting in the room texting. His heart slowly calmed seeing her so relaxed. She had bags beneath her eyes though from lack of restful sleep. He kicked his leg to the side and walked over to the girl and kissed her head. His nightmare was a memory of his and Martha’s first time slowly turning to the darkness that grew from her. He pressed his forehead against the girl’s neck and asked, “Did you get any sleep last night?”

The younger Jonas slowly woke up. His senses flooded with the feeling of Annalise next to him. Yet as he opened his eyes, he saw no such girl there. His broken heart dropped. He ran his hand against the pillow still disbelieving that his senses would cruelly trick him. There he found his evidence that she was once there. A strand of her hair danced around his fingertips as they dragged across the pillow. He slowly sat up holding it to the light just to make sure it was indeed hers. The corners of his lips fought in effort to give a small tender smile. Slowly, he resettled down into the warmth of her. His blue eyes twinkled in the lantern light as her familiar mild presence washed over him. His imagination wandered to a place where she was indeed next to him smiling and giggling with him. That all the pain was far far from his mind. He slowly let her last remains drop to the ground as he looked around the bed finally. This was something he pictured her liking. Its four poster frame was made of a dark wood reminding him of the forest she treasured so dearly. The bed itself was so fluffy and eloquent. It cupped the recipient in a warm cozy nest made of the mattress and warm blankets. Something befitting her. Everything about this place just radiated with remembrance of her. He jolted when he saw his older self sitting in the corner of the room staring at him.

“Isn’t it peculiar,” Adam started, “that one feels the greatest aversion towards the very people who are most similar to oneself?” He paused for a moment and stated, “You were thinking of her, weren’t you?” He remembered that feeling well. The time he was so in love with her yet refused to acknowledge it. The yearning that would grow and grow to slowly eat at him even now wanting nothing more for her to by his side through everything. Knowing deep in his heart that she was constantly on his mind and that any love he had to spare was immediately gobbled up by her greedy image buried deep in his very being.

Jonas stared at him and replied angrily after being taken from his delusion, “I want to know how to get back home.”

Adam stood up and walked in front of the bed. He stared at his younger self for a moment as he tried to instead picture her smiling face waking up to greet him. It wasn’t hard to do, yet it was just so painful to try and imagine so close to the end. Adam sighed and told the boy, “Get dressed.” He turned and left the boy there alone. He looked around the room to find his signature yellow jacket, khakis, and white shoes there for him to get redressed in.

There were only two days left until the apocalypse in 2020. The older Jonas put on his bag and headed down stairs to watch his mother sleep. He stood there for a moment before walking out of his house.

Katharina stared at the picture of her time lost son when she heard her older two children walk down the stairs. “Wait,” she called to them. She stood and walked to them, “I have to show you something.”

“We’ve got an appointment,” Martha told her mother before turning away.

Katharina urged them, “Maybe you’d better sit down.”

Magnus asked, “Can we do this some other time? We really have to go.”

“It’s… I…” Katharina struggled with the words but tried to walk closer to her children, “I have to tell you something. It sounds totally crazy, but I have to know what you think about it.”

Martha asked, “Are you nuts? You’ve hardly spoken to us for months and now you want to know what we think?!” She scolded her mother. The girl motioned around the house and said, “Look around you. We are the kids, but you’ve been acting like one for months!” The girl started to yell more, “Mom, you act as if you’re alone with this shit! But we lost them too!” She started to cry. When Katharina reached to wipe her tears away, Martha hit her hand away, “So you want to talk. That doesn’t mean we do too.” She stormed out of the house with Magnus close behind.

“Why is he so interested in the nuclear power plant,” Aleksander yelled over the phone, “Find someone at Criminal Investigation who knows this Clausen guy. What does he really want here? Call me as soon as you know something.” He hung up the phone.

Regina slowly stumbled through the house, “Bartosz isn’t here.” She informed her husband. He turned speechless causing Regina to continue, “His bed hasn’t been slept in. He wasn’t here all night.”

“Maybe he’s with Martha,” Aleksander tried to reason with her.

Regina shook her head, “They’re not together anymore.”

Aleksander slowly walked his way to his wife to try and calm her, “They must’ve made up… Or maybe he’s with Annalise. Have you called?”

Regina replied, “No one’s answering.”

Aleksander shrugged and told her, “I’m sure it’s nothing. Kids don’t answer their phones all the time.”

“Tell me it’ll all be fine,” Regina plead with her husband.

Aleksander nodded and held his wife, “Everything will be fine.”

In 1987, Ulrich calculated his escape plan to try and find Mikkel as Claudia sat in her office. She stared at the article before knowing what she had to do. She stood up after her secretary walked in and asked her to reschedule the French delegation before she left.

In 1921, Jonas stared at the painting before turning to his elder self. He asked, “Why am I here?”

Adam looked down, then back up at himself. “A person lives three lives,” He started, “The first ends with the loss of naivete. The second with the loss of innocence. The third with the loss of life itself. It is inevitable that we go through those three stages. You will turn into your older self, and your older self into what you see before you.”

Jonas stormed up to him, growling, “I don’t have time for this shit! I have to go back home. To my time! I’ve seen what will happen. I’ve seen their graves.”

“You have lots of time,” Adam told him, “This is the year 1921. Strictly speaking, you still have 99 years.”

Jonas looked down trying to calculate everything and what his next course of action should be.

In 1987, Ulrich’s snack arrived in his room which meant his plan was now needing to start. He hit the man over the head with pottery to knock him out then grabbed his card key to use it to get out of the gates and enter the real world again.

“You haven’t been here in a long time,” Egon told his daughter.

Claudia shook her head then nodded, “I just wanted to quickly check how you are.”

Egon smiled and nodded, “It’s good.” He could tell his daughter was thinking and hiding something from him from her guilty face and the way she was just so stiff. He asked his daughter, “Claudia? You do know that I’m proud of all you’ve accomplished. And your mother would be, too.”

Claudia started to feel tears well at the bottom of her eyes. She stood up to try to hide it from her father, “I’ve got to go.” She walked to the door quickly. She took in a deep breath then turned to her father, “The real reason I came was… I want you to move in with us. You wouldn’t be so alone. And Regina would be happy to see more of you.” Egon smiled at his daughter until she said, “Tomorrow would be best.”

“Tomorrow,” Egon asked his daughter, “You’re acting like I’m almost on my deathbed.”

Claudia sighed. She knew she couldn’t just tell her father why. She debated with herself before just telling her father, “Think it over. Alright?” She then left with her father watching confused.

Hannah sat at the table with Annalise helping arrange photo albums. Both of them looked a little worse for wear when they heard banging at the door. Hannah stood up to go grab the door. “Katharina,” she said as the blonde stormed into the house as if she were looking for something.

“Is he here,” Katharina asked, continuing to look around. When both of them looked at her with blank looks, she exhaustedly asked, “Jonas?”

Hannah shook her head, “He’s vanished. I have no idea where he is.”

When Katharina looked at the girl, she just shrugged and continued going on looking at the albums. Katharina shook her head at the zombie-like girl and turned to Hannah, “You said you saw Mikkel. You were there. How do I get to him?”

Hannah looked down at Annalise to see if she were going to interject then looked up at Katharina with a small shrug, “He has this sort of… device. I guess it’s like a...time machine.”

Katharina snorted. “A time machine,” she asked, shaking her head at them, “And do you know how it works?”

Hannah looked down at Annalise and then walked over to help the girl rearrange some of the pictures, “Even if I did, it wouldn’t help.”

Annalise’s exhausted husky voice grated through the air, “He took it with him.” Hannah pet the girl’s head. She leaned down and kissed her head while wrapping her arms around her from above. Annalise didn’t even look up. She just kept stacking the duplicate pictures into the middle of the table.

Katharina lifted one of them up and said, “He was always there. Right in front of me.” Hannah sighed as she slipped away from fully embracing the girl and just left a hand on her shoulder. The blonde shook her head and sneered, “I just can’t believe you slept with my husband and my son. But you always did want what belonged to me. You’re like a parasite.”

“Shut up,” Annalise whispered. Tears dripping down her depleted face.

Katharina, not hearing the girl, asked Hannah, “Did Ulrich ever actually tell you he loved you? In the end, he would always choose us.”

“Shut up,” Annalise screamed, gripping at her hair, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” She stood up and threw the table as she did. She panted angrily when they all heard a knock on the door.

Hannah rushed to the door and opened it, “Hello.”

“Hello,” Clausen greeted, “You missed your appointment yesterday.” He walked in as Hannah apologized, seeing Katharina standing there with a teary faced Annalise and a flipped table. He continued staring at the situation in front of him as he commented, “Hard to believe you’d forget it when your own child is missing.” He walked more into the home and greeted Katharina, “Mrs. Nielsen.” He looked at the girl still trying to calm herself. Annalise was rubbing her own arms trying to self soothe as she rocked back and forth. Clausen looked back at Katharina and stated, “You were the last person I expected to see here. But since you’re here...” He took out a sketch of the older Jonas and asked, “Do you know who this is?” He looked at Annalise and said, “You can answer too. If you know him.”

Katharina stood between him and Annalise before Annalise got a chance to look up, “No. I don’t. Neither does she.”

Clausen looked at her and asked, “Why can’t she tell me that for herself?” He looked at the younger girl and then back at Katharina, “Mrs. Nielsen, if you don’t mind…” Katharina looked at Annalise and Hannah for a moment. She pulled the girl into a small hug, then left. Clausen then sat in the tableless chair and asked Hannah, “And you?” He showed her the sketch and asked, “Do you know this person?”

Hannah shook her head and told him, “No.”

Back at the Nielsen’s, Stranger Jonas wandered into the house. It was so messy and chaotic, as if looking straight into their state since Mikkel had disappeared from their lives. He walked into Martha’s room. It wasn’t much different from what he remembered. He turned to see a picture of he, Martha, and Bartosz hanging up next to a photo booth set of her and Annalise making funny faces and laughing. Everyone was so happy then. He sat on her bed and tried to debate his life.

“Do you want to know everything that will happen,” Adam asked his younger self, “I know when wars begin and end, what discoveries will be made in the years ahead, what shares I should invest in… But I don’t know what my counterpart will do as long as I haven’t seen his future.”

“But you know my future,” Jonas said confused, “You know what I’ll do.”

Adam nodded and tapped his fingers against his leg, “I am your future.”

Sadness and regret hit the boy. He shook his head and desperately tried to reason, “There must be a way to change it all. So things happen differently.”

Adam stated, “A loophole.” He took in a deep breath and told the boy, “It took me 66 years to find out how to find a way to escape this hell.”

The table screeched as Annalise lifted the table back up and rearranged everything. Clausen looked at Hannah and said, “I’ve been here almost a week and I get the impression no one is telling the truth. Everyone’s trying to hide something. Although I’m not sure if you’re all hiding the same thing or if everyone is trying to keep their own skeletons in the closet.”

Annalise walked into the kitchen and asked, “Coffee?”

Clausen shook his head and asked, “Actually could you…”

Hannah shook her head, “That wouldn’t be best right now.” She looked at the girl then back at him, “She just had an attack. Leaving her alone wouldn’t be the greatest idea.”

Clausen nodded and then looked back at Hannah, “Does he pay you?” When she looked confused, Clausen asked, “Aleksander Tiedermann.”

Hannah’s brow furrowed as she shook her head, “I don’t quite follow you.”

“You worked as his physiotherapist,” He commented, “You no longer do so, right?” Hannah nodded in agreement. Clausen, then, asked, “Yet he still transfers the same amount every month. One would normally expect a service in return, so what is it?”

Hannah looked down and paused. When she heard Annalise start to speak up, Hannah shook her head then turned back to Clausen, “What you don’t get is we stick together here. We support each other. My son disappeared. Aleksander helps me with the money. That’s it.”

Clausen held the picture of Hannah, Ulrich, and Katharina in his hand and said, “Nothing beats a good neighborhood.” He looked up and said, “It’s remarkable that Mrs. Nielsen feels the same way about that. Oh, well, maybe that’s how small towns are. People not only share secrets, but also money and beds.”

Annalise started to growl and Hannah looked at the girl. She grabbed Annalise’s wringing hands and turned back to the man.

The rest of the group of teens stormed the caves with the suitcase. Elisabeth stopped for a moment and looked behind her. Her brow furrowed seeing no one there. She could swear they were being watched. She turned and ran back to catch up to her sister. Noah slowly emerged from behind the tree and watched as his future wife ran into the caves.

Down in the bunker, Charlotte asked the man, “I want to know what you know. Where is Noah.”

“He’s one of them,” Stranger Jonas told the woman, “A traveler. He’s Adam’s puppet. He killed the children. Mads, Erik, Yasin.”

Charlotte fought back tears and admitted, “I think all of this has to do with me. Do you know who my parents are?”

Jonas looked down and shook his head, “No… But I knew your grandfather.”

Charlotte started to cry, “He’s not my real grandfather. I just grew up with him. Did he know all this?”

Jonas nodded, “Yes.”

“Is he one of them,” She asked, “A traveler?”

Jonas shook his head, “He’s just a pawn, like most of us. Claudia. She used him. Just like she used me, Peter, and the others. She had him build this.” He walked away and showed the woman the time machine.

Slowly, Charlotte came to the realization, “You know what’s going to happen in the future.”

Jonas nodded, “Yes.”

Bartosz shivered. His stomach was so empty. He was cold. A stabbing pain of numbness ran through his veins. He squinted when Magnus pointed the light at him. Magnus knelt down at the boy and asked, “What is this?”

“Want to spend another night here,” yelled Franziska.

Martha pleaded with him, “Bartosz, look at us. What are we doing here? Why won’t you tell us what’s going on?”

He shook his head, His bruised neck aching with every movement, “I would if I could. I’m not allowed to.” He whimpered, “Even if I did tell you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Why not,” She yelled at him.

Franziska stared down at him without any remorse or empathy, “The human body can go three days without liquid.”

Magnus stared down at him then back at his sister. He stood and grabbed the case to follow Franziska and Elisabeth out. Martha stared as Bartosz yelled, “You want to leave me here to die or what? Martha… Wait… Please. Martha, You can’t do this.” He tried to plea with her again, “Martha!” He shook his head and reasoned with himself to calm his panic, “Okay… Okay…” Bartosz yelled at their backs, “It’s a time machine!”

They all turned to him. Magnus walked around his sister. His face contorted in bewilderment, “What? Are you screwing with me?!” Magnus was getting even more annoyed every minute this was going on. Annalise hadn’t been returning any communication since the other day and his family was still broken apart. He was getting no answers to anything he needed.

Bartosz sobbed into the dirt, “I said you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Come on, we’re leaving,” Magnus told the group.

Martha held out her hand and rushed to the tied up boy, “No. Wait.” She looked Bartosz in the eye and demanded, “Then show us how it works.”

Bartosz agreed and when they untied him, he slowly opened the suitcase. He took the box out, closed the top, then placed the machine on top. He carefully opened it up to show them. He turned and said, “I need a phone.”

“There’s no reception here,” Magnus told him, shaking his head.

Bartosz shook his and explained, “That’s irrelevant. It just needs to search for a signal, that’s it.” Martha walked forwards and handed him her phone. Bartosz booted up the machine and backed up as it’s components whirled to life. As the electricity started to open up the portal, Bartosz commented, “You need to come closer.”

Magnus stepped forward first as they all watched the particle start to grow and surround all of them.

“The incident last summer,” Claudia explained, “You told me it was from a reaction in the volume control system.” She looked at Bernd and said, “I checked the data. Everything was normal. So…” She removed her hands from the table and asked, “What really happened?”

Bernd looked down then slid a leather folder to her from across the table, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to let it rest.” Claudia stared at him annoyed but opened the folder to look. Bernd continued, “After the incident, I had a sample taken and analyzed. What you see there are the results.”

Claudia looked up, then back down at the report, “These values are impossible.”

“That’s what I thought at first too,” He replied, “So I had the tests repeated. The results were identical.”

Claudia looked up and asked him, “Is this what I think it is?”

“Possibly,” Bernd slyly commented, “In many respects it corresponds to Englert, Brout, and Higgs’ calculations in 1964. But not entirely.”

“The God Particle,” Claudia said looking back up at him.

Bernd knocked on the table with great satisfaction, “The particle that gives all things its mass.”

Claudia shook her head happily, “This is a sensation.” She closed up the file and looked up at him, “If this data is correct, we have to go public with it.”

Bernd sighed, “I already told you. Some sleeping dogs should be left to lie.” As Claudia’s face dropped, he continued to explain himself, “If we go public with it people will want to know how we found it. The nuclear power plant is my legacy. Do what you like with the data, but leave my name and the power plant out of it. At least as long as I’m alive.”

Ulrich jogged to the Kahnwald house. He panted. There out at their garden table sat Mikkel. Ulrich sobbed seeing his long lost son. Happiness rushed through him.

Mikkel looked up at the older man and asked, “Can I help you? Are you not well?” He stood up and looked at the man.

Ines walked through the halls of the hospital. She went into the medicine cabinet and stole some more sleeping pills for Mikkel. She tried to walk away to hide her crime when another nurse stopped her and alerted her to the news that a psychiatric patient had escaped and that he had the reputation of killing 2 children in the 1950s and nearly killed a third. Ines’s face changed to horror. Mikkel was home alone.

Ulrich sat waiting for Mikkel. He nervously picked at the wood at the table. It wasn’t long before Mikkel came back with the orange juice. “Thank you,” Ulrich said to his son after being handed the juice.

Mikkel stared at the man. There was something really familiar about him, but he couldn’t quite place it. His mind was a bit foggy. His memories of his past life slowly fading in and out of his mind. He shook his head and admitted, “You seem familiar somehow.”

Ulrich sighed and admitted, “I’ve waited 33 years for this moment.” He looked at Mikkel who had started to look terrified. Ulrich thought for a moment and turned over his empty glass, “‘The question is not how, but when,’” He turned to Mikkel and said, “You said that. Remember?”

Mikkel felt a bittersweet emotion fill within him. He nodded as tears started to fill within him. He grabbed onto his father and held him close. It was just as he remembered. They started to cry together as Mikkel whispered, “Dad…”

“In the future,” Jonas explained, “There’s a prophecy about a new world. That Sic Mundus will lead people into paradise.” He looked at Adam and asked, “Is this that? A religion?”

Adam shrugged with one shoulder and explained, “We are the exact opposite of that. We’ve declared a war on time. God. We declared a war on God. We’re creating a new world, without time, without God.”

Jonas’s brow furrowed and asked, “What does that mean?”

“It means that what people have worshiped for millennia,” Adam explained, “The God that holds everything together, that God is nothing more than time itself. Not a thinking, acting entity. A physical law with which one can negotiate as little as one can with one’s own fate. God is time. And time is not merciful.” He thought of his own life as he continued, “we are born, and our life is already trickling away like the sand in the hourglass. Death is forever inevitably before us. Our fate is nothing but a concentration of cause and effect. In light and in shadow.”

Charlotte walked into her grandfather’s shop and continued her search. She found the blueprint of the machine and stared at it. It wasn’t long before the man whom she was searching for joined into the store with her.

“Charlotte,” Noah greeted her after the bell alerted her to his presence. He slowly approached the woman.

She backed away as he walked forward and asked, “What do you want?”

Noah took off his hat and introduced himself, “I’m Noah.”

“I know who you are,” She explained holding her ground, “You killed the children.”

Sadly, Noah shook his head, “I can no longer change what you think of me.” Tears filled his eyes, “But… Maybe one day you’ll understand that I only did this so that it will one day no longer happen.” He took out the notebook as he stared at the terrified woman, “So you’re not taken from me again and neither is your mother.” At her confusion, Noah opened his notebook and showed the woman a polaroid of he holding a small baby, “When you were born, they didn’t give you much of a chance. You were premature. You were tiny.” He shook his head and further explained, “But you wanted to live. You were so strong. Your tiny hand grasped my finger and wouldn’t let go.”

“Stop,” begged the sobbing woman. She shook her head in complete disbelief, “That’s impossible.”

Noah placed the picture next to her and stated, “Your mother took that picture. I promised her I’d bring you back.” He studied her face and told her, “I’ve looked for you all these years.” He looked down and said, “But you were here the entire time.” He laughed slowly breaking down, “Adam knew it was you. He knew it the entire time. He’s preparing for what comes afterwards.” He smiled, “I read the last pages. The nuclear power plant, Jonas, David. It’ll all happen again. The apocalypse. In two days. But I now know what I must do.” He backed away from his frightened daughter, “I have to end Adam. So everyone lives.” He put back on his hat as he started to leave, “Not just those in the bunker.”

Charlotte finally gained the courage again. She gripped onto it firmly and asked, “Who is my mother?”

Noah stopped and slowly turned to the sobbing woman, “She loved you very much. She still does.” He turned away and walked out leaving his daughter crying there.

The teens walked out of the caves into 1987. They turned to Bartosz and Franziska asked, “What happened here?” Everyone looked around seeing the forest different from what they remembered.

“The armchair is gone,” Martha commented.

Magnus turned and asked the boy, “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t believe it at first either,” Bartosz started, “But then he told me things that would happen. And they did, just as he said. That… You and Jonas kissed. He told me that before you did it. That Annalise would get drunk, try to go home, and nearly fall off the bridge. That my mother would get cancer. That Jonas and Annalise would vanish.”

Magnus sneered and approached the boy angrily, “Who told you that?” He wanted to destroy who ever told the boy these things without trying to fix them. His rage boiled.

Bartosz leaned away from the displeasured boy and admitted, “Noah.”

“Noah,” Franziska asked, “A priest with big blue eyes?”

Bartosz looked towards her and asked, “You know him?”

Franziska shook her head then motioned to her sister, “I don’t. But Elisabeth does.” Bartosz looked down at the small blonde girl finally feeling kinship with someone again.

“Okay,” Magnus growled, “What’s going on?”

“Noah said it was about a war,” Bartosz’s brow creased as he tried to remember what the man had said. None of it made sense but the boy continued to tell his story, “And about ruling over time. That my grandmother is involved in it… That Jonas will return and…”

Martha asked, “Jonas? Jonas is coming back?”

“Yeah,” He admitted before continuing, “They’re both part of the war. Annalise and him.”

Magnus started to laugh. He shook his head. There was no way any of what Bartosz was saying was true. He turned away from everyone and told them, “I’m going home.” He started to walk away followed by Franziska and Elisabeth.

Bartosz looked at Martha. He begged her, “You have to believe me.”

Martha shook her head and turned away. She walked to try and catch up with the rest of the group leaving him alone, there in the woods.

Ines rushed though the house trying to find her adopted son. She called his new name, “Michael! Michael!” When she saw the two cups, the woman ended up calling Egon, “I just got home and Michael isn’t here and… The man broke out of the psychiatric ward... ”

“Which man from the ward,” He asked.

Ines shook her head, “It was on the radio today. Do you remember? The children at the construction sight in 1953? That man escaped.”

Egon hurriedly told her, “I’ll call the police station at once. I might know where they’re headed. I’ll come pick you up.” He hung up.

Mikkel and Ulrich ran through the forest trying to get to the caves before anyone could stop them. The sirens blared through the air. Ines led the officers but soon got out ran.

“Stop,” one of the officers yelled at him shooting into the air.

The two stopped. Ulrich placed himself in between the officers and Mikkel. “Michael,” Ines called the boy.

“Let the boy go,” another officer commanded.

Mikkel held onto his father tightly. “No,” Ulrich yelled back. Ines tried to run to them, only to get pulled back by Egon.

“Get on the ground,” A different officer yelled at the man.

“Michael,” Ines yelled.

Ulrich hid Mikkel behind him and yelled, “You don’t get it!”

Another voice commanded, “Get down!”

Ulrich pleaded with them, “He’s my son!”

“I said get down now!”

Ulrich slowly lowered himself to the ground. The officers surrounded him and separated the boy from him. “Mikkel,” Ulrich sobbed.

Ines ran to the boy, “Michael!” She held him close as the boy watched the officers arresting his father, “Michael.”

“Mikkel,” Ulrich fought the officers to tell the boy. He promised the boy, “I’ll be back. I’ll take you home.”

Mikkel’s chest hurt as he watched his father getting pulled away from him. His eyes never left Ulrich’s side. A part of him knew now that he was going to have to accept this new life. His old life was always going to be ripped away from him no matter how much it came back to him. It was simply a haunting.

Ulrich sneered at Egon as they passed, “It’s all your fault! It always has been! I swear, next time… I’ll kill you.”

Adam sighed, “Mikkel… Michael. Our father is just a small part of a knot. That is infinitely larger and more convoluted. The entire universe is nothing but a gigantic knot from which there is no escape.”

“If that’s true,” Jonas concluded, “if everything is perpetually in that knot, if nothing can be changed, then you’ve already had this conversation?”

Adam nodded, “And posed that very question. My whole life, I was convinced that this moment could never be repeated in this way. I could never speak the words that my older self said to me back then. Because I could not understand how I could ever in my life want what he wanted… Now, 66 years later, I understand it. Some moments...” He fiddled with his thumbs thinking of what was going to happen in just a short time once he sent his younger self back, “change us forever.” He paused then thinking of what was going to happen once again in two days, “Some pain you never forget.” He leaned forward uncrossing his legs, “But there is a way that leads us out of all this cruel fertility.”

“If that’s true,” Jonas leaned in closer, more interested once more, “if there is a way, why does it all happen as it always has, why have you changed nothing?”

Adam smirked and walked to his wall of notes. He explained to his younger self, “Every development builds on the previous one. First you have the wheel, then the car. I can’t be me without previously having been you.” He raised his hands and explained, “You saw the passage in the bunker. The chair, the device. The thing in the future. But that’s not the end of the chain.”

Claudia thanked the scientist for meeting her and for his time. She slowly took out the God particle and asked him to analyze it without telling anyone. She vaguely explained it to the man as they watched the dark liquid slosh in the small glass canister.

The teens walked over the hill and to the bus stop. There they found evidence of it being 1987. They watched as the old styled cares drove past. Ulrich turned to see the group there. He begged the officers to pull over because he saw his children. This was all for not. The officers kept driving the poor man away from his family to go to the hospital.

Bartosz looked at the group and asked, “Do you believe me now?” He turned as the rest of the group just tried to process what was going on.

Hannah sat at the table. Annalise was slowly fading in and out of sleep. When the door slammed open and shut, the mother stood and rushed to the older version of her son, “You’re back. Where have you been?”

Jonas took a step back. He looked at the two, then to the pictures, and then looked back at his mother, “Did this ever mean anything to you?” Hannah looked towards the side as Jonas asked, “Did you ever actually love Dad?” He shook his head and said, “I know you had an affair with Ulrich.” Annalise stood up and got in between them. She weakly tried to push him away from his mother, but this didn’t stop him from asking, “If you could choose between Dad and Ulrich now…”

Annalise slapped him. The girl screamed at him, “Oh and you’re one to talk!” Tears ran down her face, “That’s such fucking bullshit Jonas.” She started to hit his chest.

Jonas effortlessly took both of her wrists in one hand and ignored her. He stared at his mother and said, “With all this shit, I thought you were the only person I could trust completely.” He looked down at Annalise and said, “This isn’t the time.”

Her fury unleashed itself, “Yeah?! And when is it the time?! HUH?!” She tried to twist herself out of his grip, “Yeah! I fucking thought so! This is so fucking stupid! I hate this! I hate you! Let me go!”

He let her wrist go, but scooped her up into his arms as she screamed. He knew she was just exhausted and tired. Her mind was weighing thousands of options and she felt like the weight of the universe sat squarely on her decision. Jonas couldn’t be angry with her. She was so young, scared, traumatised, and having to face the hardest decision of her life. If anything, it hurt more seeing her descent. He didn’t see this side of it last time and he never wanted to see it again. Knowing how she could have continued being to see her now thrashing and raging as if a caged animal. He pulled her into him despite her animosity and tried to go up the stairs to their room.

“I ruined everything,” Hannah said. With that everything stopped. Jonas stopped walking up the stairs, Annalise stopped screaming, everything. Hannah looked at the pictures of her family and whispered, “I know.”

Jonas shrugged and stared at Annalise then back at his mother, “Maybe you always have.” Annalise went back to spewing obscenities and hatred at the man as he tried to carry them up the stairs.

“Jonas,” Hannah tried to stop him again.

Jonas slowly came to terms with what needed to be said to both himself and his mother, “You need no one. Just yourself.” He climbed up the stairs with Annalise screeching.

The teens walked their way back to 2020 as Ines carried Mikkel back home. Egon sighed and guiltily walked away. Ulrich shook trying to be released screaming for his family that was ripped from him until the sedative hit. Charlotte stared at the polaroid of baby her and Noah. Ines made her son hot chocolate and put the sleeping pill’s contents inside. Martha walked into her room and found some of Jonas’s hair there. She looked up knowing he must be close. Adam walked his younger self to the portal room.

Adam explained, “It’s not the same as what lies in the future.” It is, in a manner of speaking, it’s twin. It is part of the infinite. It pervades everything. People have given it a myriad of names over the centuries: ether, dark matter, the Higgs field.”

Jonas looked over to him and asked, “How did it come to be?”

“The one in the future,” Adam told the boy, “via the disaster in two days you so dearly want to prevent. This one… We produced ourselves. It is the end of a technological evolution. And… it will be the end of the knot. This right here will take you to the exact day that you want to travel to. It breaks the 33 year cycle.”

Jonas stared at him, “That’s why I’m here. That’s what you want from me. There is a way to stop it all if I stop the beginning.”

Adam nodded, “That there is. The only question is when is the beginning?” He looked up at the portal, “And what sacrifice we must make?”

Jonas’s lips trembled as he told the man, “The 20th of June… 2019. The day before it all happened. Before Dad took his own life. Before it all fell apart.”

Adam’s heart raced, “If you can prevent him from taking his own life, then everything that follows will not occur.” He turned and started at the portal once more. He sighed and said, “Mikkel will not travel back. You… I… We won’t be born… But everyone will live.” He paused and leaned forward knowing what he needed to say, “Martha will live.” Adam set up the machine to send him back. Tears fell from his face as he called, “If you succeed, we will reorder the world.”

Jonas looked at the dark orb and let himself be surrounded as Adam watched on.

#yesterday once more fanfic #dark netflix fanfic #dark fanfic #dark netflix #dark (netflix)#dark (netflix) fanfiction #annalise loses her shit this chapter

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saveyourblood · 5 years

Text

Stolen Dance | Part 8

Summary: “Maybe this was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.”

The one where you’re a paramedic, he’s an FBI agent, and the time you spend together is borrowed.

Word Count: 4.8k

Song: Moving On - Kodaline

Warnings: a few parts of this chapter (mostly, a single scene) are pretty disturbing. It's nothing worse than what is mentioned in Criminal Minds, but it's graphic. If it gets to be too much for you, skip to this: *** (the scene will also start with this symbol if you want to skip it altogether). Take care of yourself <3

_____________________

Syria, 2014

“Are all girls from Colorado this rough, or is it just you?”

“Shut up, Austin.”

Austin laughed.

It was weird — soldiers buzzed around you like bees in a hive, but whenever you and Austin got the chance to talk, it was like you and him were the only people in the room. You just wished you could talk to him under better circumstances.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Austin continued. “The last guy you treated walked out of here looking like Frankenstein.”

“Without me, he would’ve been rolled out,” you retorted. You pulled at the sutures tightly, causing him to wince.

“Alright, alright,” he ceded with a chuckle, “I get it. But if you mess up my face, my mama will come after you.”

“I would never mess up a handsome face like yours,” you said sweetly as you worked at the cut on his cheekbone. “Why would I ruin a man’s only asset?”

“You wound me, Y/N,” Austin said, setting a hand over his heart. “You wound me to my core.”

You snorted, laying a bandage over the sutures. You patted his shoulder. “You’re good to go, soldier.”

Austin stood up from the gurney, grabbing his button-down digital camo shirt. He draped it over his arm, which you swore was the width of your head. As if that wasn’t enough, he towered over you: he was at least 6’4, and built like a tank. You once said he was the Army’s wet dream. You got a good laugh out of that remark.

Austin bowed slightly and tipped an imaginary hat. “Thank you, m’lady,” he said, accentuating his preexisting southern drawl.

You shoved his shoulder with a smile. “Get out of here, Crow.”

He smiled, his white teeth contrasting his dark hair. “See you around, Y/L/N.”

“Hopefully not too soon,” you replied.

“What, you don’t want to look at this pretty face?” He asked, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Not really, no,” you laughed. You cleared your throat. “Seriously, Austin: Don’t be a hero.”

He nodded, respecting your change of tone. “Yes ma’am,” he agreed, before walking out of the triage tent and right back into danger.

You sighed, picking up and putting away your equipment.

Some days, you wished more than anything else that the two of you met under different circumstances. You wished he moved to Colorado with his family when he was a teenager, or that the two of you met in a small cafe in a big city. Hell, you’d even be okay if you met during Basic Training, the two of you fell in love, and he worked on a local reserve while you persued a different career. Really, you just wished you hadn’t met while serving in Syria, because no matter how you spinned it, it just wasn’t appropriate.

Austin was a Staff Sergeant, which technically meant he ranked higher than you. However, the two of you worked in different areas; Austin was a combat soldier, while you were a medic. He fought on the frontline, you mostly worked triage. You took care of men like him. So, even though the Army may not forbid an affair between the two of you, that didn’t mean you thought it was okay. It felt like�� corruption, like you were breaking the trust between you and your brothers. You didn’t want anyone for a single second to feel like they were less important to you.

So, you pushed your feelings aside. You savored the moments you spent with Austin, but you didn’t push it. You didn’t seek him out, you didn’t play favorites. You enjoyed the time you spent with him, but said time was brief, as it should be.

You sighed again. He was a charming Texas boy with a heart of gold. How could a person not fall in love with him?

“The longer this goes on, the worse it gets.”

You and Austin watched a new batch of soldiers go through training. They were already deemed fit for combat, so the next few weeks would be spent teaching them the ins-and-outs of living and serving in an active warzone. Today’s lesson? IEDs.

“I know,” you agreed, voices low as to not distract. “It started as peaceful protests against a President, and now more than half a million people are dead.”

“70 airstrikes later,” Austin said with a sigh. “Sometimes… nevermind.”

“What?” you asked. When he didn’t respond, you nudged his shoulder. “Sing your annoying song, Crow.”

He smirked, but didn’t quite laugh; the sound he made was that of a scoff. “Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m even doing here.”

“Me too,” you said softly.

_____________________

The two of you found some downtime; Austin wouldn’t be heading out with his team until later in the afternoon, and after a busy morning, your tent was hitting a lull. The two of you decided to eat lunch together in an empty triage tent lined with gurneys.

You sat on the ground beside each other, boots sunken into the mix of dirt and sand that made up the ground. Austin sat cross legged, and his knee brushed against your calf as you bounced your foot up and down.

“You gonna use that cheese?” He asked, referring to a silver packet you set on the ground.

“No,” you said, dumping your chicken fajita mix into your cooked rice packet. “Shit’s disgusting.”

Austin picked up the packet and tore it open with his teeth. He spread the fake, overly yellow ‘cheese’ spread onto a weird, fake pork sandwich he was making. The bread looked more like play-doh than bread, and the barbecue sauce he used was almost black. MREs: the epitome of luxury dining.

“That is nasty,” you remarked.

“Sometimes, you gotta take what you can get,” Austin said. He picked up a packet of clam chowder that had been heating up in its bag for awhile. He opened it and stirred it around before taking a spoonful and plopping it right on over the cheese spread. He finally closed the sandwich and took a massive bite.

“I’m gonna gag,” you stated bluntly.

He frowned. “Why?” he asked through a mouthful of food.

“That is vile, Austin,” you said. “You just put clam chowder on a sandwich! With barbecue sauce and cheese! That’s so gross!”

He offered you the sandwich. “Wanna bite?”

You tucked your chin against your chest and leaned back, shaking your head. “Get that away from me.”

_____________________

To say the night was busy would be more than an understatement; 4 men from the same troop were rushed to triage, all with similar injuries caused by IEDs. One of the men ultimately ended up a double amputee, one leg blown off above the kneecap and the other being so damaged that most of the calf had to be removed. Somehow, a man from the same troop ended up with only minor lacerations. War was strange that way; you step on an IED the ‘right’ way, and it’s something you can walk away from. If you don’t, you could die.

“Alright everyone, we have 6 more soldiers coming in!” Your Lieutenant Colonel shouted. “All non-emergent patients should be transferred. Let’s hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”

You helped ‘reset’ a few stations, making sure they were clean and ready. When the men still hadn’t arrived, you approached Colonel Todd.

“Colonel,” you asked, catching her attention. “What else do you know?”

“Best guess? Task Force 221,” she replied, signing a few papers when someone handed her a clipboard. “Crow and his boys were out patrolling, Folks don’t take too kindly to soldiers around here.”

Your heart sank.

The men from Task Force 221 came in at the same time, and they were loaded out of the truck and onto gurneys one by one. You got assigned to the first person, which happened to be Austin himself.

“Go, help them,” Austin protested, already trying to get off the gurney. “I’m okay, just help my boys!”

You pushed him down by his chest as you and two other people rolled him inside.

“Can I get a dose of Lidocaine, please?” you instructed, cutting away Austin’s already torn pants. So far, you saw two GSWs: one to the left lower leg, and one to the right calf. You adjusted the light above you to get a better look. “Make it two doses.”

“I’m fine,” Austin pushed, once again trying to stand up.

“Austin Crow, I swear to god, I will tie you down if I have to,” you threatened. “You’re not fine — you’ve been shot. Sometimes, to take care of your team, you have to take care of yourself first.”

He laid back with a sigh.

Three hours passed before you could properly speak to Austin. After pulling the bullets from both his legs, you ran around trying to help people wherever and however you could. Eventually, you found the sweet spot where no one was critical but everyone was still busy. You managed to slip away and pull the curtains around Austin’s bed.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” you hissed under your breath.

“...What?”

“I heard what you did,” you said. “Your lieutenants were more than happy to tell me exactly how you got shot.”

“By doing my job?” Austin asked.

“You put yourself in the line of fire!” you argued. “You ran right into danger!”

“To help someone,” he explained calmly. “No man gets left behind, Y/N. You know that.”

“You could have died!” you said between clenched teeth. You were trying to keep your voice down, but his apathy was driving you crazy. “God, what is it with you? The same day I take out your stitches, you come in with two gunshot wounds. What’s next, Austin? You want me to plan your funeral? Write to your parents, tell them how you died a hero?”

“Why are you so pissed at me?” Austin asked. He seemed more confused than angry.

The words fell out before you could stop them. “Because I love you!”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. You laughed bitterly.

“There,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Cat’s out of the bag.” You sighed, setting your hand down and looking him in the eye. “I think… I’m in love with you, and I don’t want to see you dead.”

Silence fell. Austin looked away, looked back to you, looked away again, and clenched his jaw. You crossed your arms in self-defense, heart pounding as you waited for him to say something, anything.

Austin scooted over, then patted the space beside him. “Come here.”

You approached the bed, slowly and carefully sliding next to him. It was almost too small for Austin by himself, let alone with another person, so your weight ended up mostly on him. He didn’t seem to mind, though.

Austin’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to his body. He buried his face in your hair, taking a long breath. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll do better. I promise.”

_____________________

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were only covering for someone, a temporary replacement until a new combat medic was hired. Austin was hesitant; he wasn’t sure if you were cut out for the job. You assured him you’d be fine, that you went through the same training everyone else did, and that it wasn’t permanent.

You were an amazing combat medic. You tied every tourniquet tight, you took care of men until they could be shipped off the triage. The Colonel in charge of Task Force 221 commended you, said you could be a real fit for the field.

Austin didn’t agree. The two of you had been secretly dating for about a month, and it was the first real fight the you got into. You said you were seriously considering accepting a job as a combat medic, and Austin disagreed. You could tell this fight wouldn’t be like the last one — you weren’t about to kiss him and tell him everything would be alright.

“What, only you get to do the dirty work?” you asked. “Only you get make some real change?”

“This isn’t about glory, Y/N,” Austin sighed, running a hand through his cropped hair. “It’s about keeping you alive.”

“Now you know how I feel!” you argued, laughing at the irony. “It’s scary, isn’t it, Austin?! You want more than anything to pull me off of the battlefield, put me somewhere in this godforsaken country were I can be at least somewhat safe?!”

He clenched his jaw and looked away.

“I’m gonna take that job,” you stated, “and I’m only quitting when you do.”

Now, you were here, in a place you didn’t know, but you knew you didn’t like.

“Y/N?” you heard someone call weakly.

“Austin?!” you said, trying your hardest not to burst into tears. You couldn’t see anything, so hearing his voice was a massive relief.

Your memory came back in pieces: you saw Austin walk ahead to secure the area, but he ended up stepping on and IED. Without even thinking, you ran ahead, despite the yells and other protests of the men beside you.

“Hey, baby,” you said gently, looking him up and down. It took everything in you not to gag or faint.

He stepped right on the edge of the IED, meaning his left leg was blown off to right below the kneecap. The exposed muscle was shredded, and his bone stuck out like a morbid fence post.

“You’re gonna be fine,” you promised, taking out your tourniquet. Just like you had been instructed what felt like decades ago, you pulled it as tight as you physically could to stop any more blood loss.

Austin moaned in pain and mumbled a few words you couldn’t understand. When you looked up to call for help, the butt of a gun connected with the back of your head, effectively knocking you out.

You woke up here.

“It was a trap,” Austin said, voice rough and quiet.

“We’re gonna get out of here, okay?” you promised. “Half of the fucking Army is probably looking for us right now.”

After what felt like hours, someone came in to remove your blindfold. You could finally get a good look at Austin, and it made your heart pound in your ears. He didn’t look good. Things would get ugly if he didn’t get proper medical attention soon.

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you,” you said immediately. “Just let me help him.”

A man dressed in all black began to yell at you in Arabic. You could only make out a few words — work, plan, and money. He paused, most likely to give you time to answer. When you didn’t, he punched you across the face.

“No,” Austin said weakly. “Stop it.”

You spat some blood onto the floor, your entire head throbbing. “Don’t worry,” you said, then looked to your attack. “I can take it.”

_____________________

Present Day

“They didn’t get anything out of me by punching,” you said, staring at the light above your bed. You sounded detached, like you were talking about a movie you watched rather than recalling the worst day of your life. You supposed that’s how you coped with it — you pretended it wasn’t real, that it never really happened. “Even when they brought in someone who spoke English, I didn’t talk.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You adjusted the bed to a sitting position awhile ago, but you still felt vulnerable.

“You can stop,” Spencer offered, gently taking your hand. It was taped up and gloved, as it was the hand they put an IV in, so his touch was more delicate than usual.

You shook your head. “I want to tell you everything,” you promised. “It’s just hard to think about. It’s hard to remember.” You took in a breath. “When the punching didn’t work, they moved on to whipping. And when that didn’t work…”

_____________________

***

Syria, 2014

Your back stung and your head throbbed. You hoped that eventually, you’d pass out, but unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Either your pain tolerance was too high, or the breaks they took between the methods of torturing were enough to keep you conscious.

“Get her on the ground,” one man growled.

You groggily put together that there were three men in the room, all of them equally pissed. They probably thought you’d be easy to crack.

The fresh wounds on your back hurt even more when they connected with the dirt; you could practically feel the infection in your skin forming. You gritted your teeth, barely able to refrain from making noise. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, someone began to pull down your pants. In that very moment, you prayed for a heart attack, for your body to give out completely. This, on top of everything else? You wouldn’t be able to take it.

“That’s enough!” Austin shouted, so loud that it practically shook the walls. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just get the hell away from her.”

Austin gave up the location of the base, as well as other details they wanted, like what patrols and other missions had been scheduled. Apparently, all they wanted was to get the upper hand, strike before Austin or anyone else’s task force could. It made you wonder what they did when information was time-sensitive.

They slammed the heavy door behind them, and immediately, you burst into tears. You rolled onto your side and curled into a ball, shirt in shreds from the whipping. You stayed in that position for so long that your arm and legs fell asleep, but you didn’t really care. You wanted to feel nothing right about now.

“Y/N,” Austin called, for what was probably the millionth time. You tuned out everything around you, only the sound of static filling your ears.

You sat up lifelessly, a blank stare on your face.

“Come here,” he said.

You crawled over to Austin, your concern for him trumping both the physical and mental pain you were in. It had only been a few hours at most, but he already looked worse. His face was pale, lips dry, and despite the tourniquet, he seemed to have lost quite a bit of blood.

“What do you need?” you asked.

“Can you take off my shirt?” He asked.

It was a weird request, but you obliged. You lifted up the hem of his shirt, and carefully, you pulled it above his head. You managed to get it off without having to lift his arms too high.

“Put it on,” Austin instructed.

You smiled through a few new tears.

It was damp with sweat, meaning it was entirely sanitary, but more than anything, you appreciated the sentiment. You slid it over your head, slipping your arms through each hole. Unsurprisingly, it was massive on you — the sleeves were technically short, but they almost hit your elbow.

“Sit by me,” he said, tilting his head to the empty space beside him.

You did as you were told, careful not to lean back and inflict more pain.

“Closer.”

You laughed, wiping your nose as tears streamed down your face. You scooted closer to him, lifting one of his arms and slinging it around your shoulders. You curled into his chest, and despite the sweltering heat, you found comfort in his warmth.

“Hey, Y/N?” Austin asked, voice raspy.

You looked up. “Yeah?”

“I’m in love with you too.”

It didn’t occur to you, but ‘love’ hadn’t come out of either of your mouths since the night you first admitted it. You spent countless hours in each other’s presence, but it hadn’t come up. You didn’t Austin to say a word in order to prove how much he cared about you — he showed it. It was implied.

And now, it was over.

_____________________

***

Present Day

“It took them 18 hours to find us,” you said. A few tears made their way down your cheek. You wiped them and continued on. “I think Austin died halfway through it.”

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; you thought Spencer was afraid to even breathe.

“I stayed by his body until someone found us,” you said. “I managed to fall asleep a few times, and every time I woke up, mice were eating his skin. As if his leg being blown off wasn’t bad enough.” you paused. “I think his blood started to spoil. Is that possible? I don’t know. I think the heat was cooking him, though. It didn’t take long for his skin to start rotting.”

Your face contorted, and you stifled a sob. “I wanted to save him, Spencer,” you cried, clutching his hand. “I really did. They just wouldn’t let me.”

Almost immediately, Spencer joined you on the bed. He pulled you against him, arms tight around you like a barricade. You gripped his shoulders as you cried into his chest.

“None of this is your fault, you hear me?” Spencer said. “None of it is your fault.”

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that. Eventually, you stopped sobbing, but the occasional tear still rolled down your cheek. Spencer held you throughout it all.

Eventually, you felt Spencer lift his head from the pillow. You looked up to see the team standing at the nurses’ station. Any other day, you would have pushed him aside and invited them in. Today, though, you just sniffed and moved closer to him.

Spencer kissed your hair and continued to hold you close. They’d get the memo.

_____________________

The hospital kept you overnight for observation, but by daylight, you were discharged with a clean bill of health. Sometime during the night, Emily and JJ swung by to drop you off a change of clothes, which you were eternally grateful for.

Spencer didn’t leave your side the entire night. He waited outside the bathroom when you changed, he held your hand as you took the elevator ride down to the lobby, and he sat in the middle of the backseat on the cab ride home. You stared out the window the entire time, but you kept a hand on his knee.

As you stared at the multi-colored, almost bare trees, you realized something: life goes on. People were waking up and heading to their 9-5, and their biggest concern was what to make for dinner later that day. Some of them had a violent or traumatic past, just like you did, but that wasn’t how they lived their life. You and everyone else alive did the same thing: you woke up, and you tried your best. Sometimes, that’s all anyone can do. And that’s enough.

“The rest of the team is going over to Rossi’s tonight; he’s making spaghetti,” Spencer said as the two of you entered the apartment. “We can go, if you want. Or we can stay here all day. We shouldn’t have a case until tomorrow. Even so, I’m sure Hotch would understand if you took some time off.”

“Spencer?” you asked.

“Yeah?”

“I’m okay,” you promised. “Everything I told you is something I’ve been reliving for the past 2 years. Talking about it didn’t dredge anything up. Actually, if anything, it helped. It’s like… I don’t know, a weight was lifted off of me. I feel like I can start to move on, finally.”

He smiled faintly. “Good,” he nodded, “I’m glad.”

You set your arms on his shoulders. “I’d love to go to Rossi’s for dinner,” you said. “But first, I need your help with something.”

“Anything.”

You played with your hands. “Ever since I got back, I’ve been thinking of visiting Austin’s family. It took me 6 months to go back to work after what happened — I can’t imagine what it was like for them to lose a child. I thought they needed some time before I brought everything back up. I think I’m ready now. At least, I’m ready if they are.”

“And that’s what you need my help with,” Spencer concluded.

You nodded. “I don’t know how to get in contact with them. Honestly, I was just gonna start by googling them.”

“Over 45 million members of Generation X use Facebook,” Spencer said. “I think we should start there.”

_____________________

“I swear, I am never letting you go,” Garcia said as she hugged you. For someone who was normally so soft, in that moment, she could crush all of your bones.

“Come on, baby girl,” Derek chuckled, “we all get a turn. And Y/N needs to breathe.”

With a pout, Garcia let go of you. JJ, who was standing next to her, extended her arms. You pulled her into a short but sweet hug. Spencer wasn’t joking: this team was a family.

“We didn’t get to see you in the hospital!” Emily exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around you.

“I wasn’t there for long,” you said, pulling away. “Besides, I wasn’t really in the mood for visitors. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Derek hugged you next. His massive arms wrapped around you, and as you briefly relaxed into his chest, his chin rested on top of your head. A small, warm smile crossed your face. He was like the older brother you never had.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” He asked as the two of you parted.

Though surprised, you nodded. “Yeah, of course. You wanna step outside for a sec?”

Derek nodded.

“Don’t be too long!” Rossi called from the kitchen. “The show’s about to begin!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you promised.

As you followed Derek onto the porch, you noticed Spencer talking to Hotch. You gave him a small wave, which he returned with a look of confusion. You raised your index finger, a silent way of telling him you’d be just a second.

“What’s up, Derek?” you asked, closing the door behind you.

“Are you okay?” He asked. “And I mean really okay, not the ‘okay’ that gets you out of a conversation.”

You took a few steps, resting your arms on the porch railing. “I think I am,” you said, looking over your shoulder. “Why do you ask?”

Derek moved to stand beside you. He pressed his palms to the smooth wood. “Maybe you didn’t see us at the hospital, but we saw you,” he said. “I’ve never seen someone who was so sad to be alive.”

“It wasn’t that,” you promised. “I mean, it was for awhile, but not anymore.”

“What’s going on?” Derek pressed, bumping you shoulder with his. “Something’s eating at you. I can tell.”

“I lost a friend,” you said simply, “when I was in Syria. I watched him die.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, setting a hand over yours. “That’s awful.”

“It was,” you agreed, “and ever since I got back, I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m alive and he isn’t. He had a set of happily married parents and two beautiful sisters to come home to. I’m an only child, and my father was six feet under. He had so many people that cared about him — the only person who would have really missed me was my mom. It didn’t seem fair, ya know?”

He nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

Derek shifted his footing. You nudged his shoulder.

“Something’s eating at you: I can tell,” you joked.

He chuckled softly. “Fair enough.” He paused. “I watched my dad die. One day, he picked me up early from school. I asked him if we could go to the convenience store. When we got inside, there was a woman being robbed. My dad was a cop, so he stepped in, hoping he could diffuse the situation. The robber shot him.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “How old were you?”

“10,” Derek answered. “It took me a long time to move on; I was lost without my father. I thought if I had toughed it out until the bell rang, maybe my dad would still be alive. The older I got, though, the more I realized that it didn’t matter. What matters is what I do about it. So, I shaped up. I started solving problems instead of creating them. Maybe I’m biased, but I like to think I did an okay job.”

“You did an amazing job,” you said with a smile. “You’re a good man, Derek Morgan. Your father would be proud of you.”

“So would yours,” Derek returned. He slung an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to kiss the top of your head.

_____________________

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longsightmyth · 5 years

Text

Myth Reads the Naming, Chapter 21

PELLINOR

The chapter is called Council of Friends and I for one could use some more friendship is magic stuff in my life, bring it on.

Maerad has a nightmare and a voice speaks in something that is almost the Speech but fucked up. It says, “I am again, but none shall find my dwelling, for I live in every human heart.”

I just wanted friendship, book. You promised me friendship.

She wakes up and reassures herself, and then Hem knocks on her door having also had nightmares. They huddle together and fall back to sleep.

Maerad wakes up to a beautiful morning and Hem, eating bread in a corner. He’s been waiting for her to wake up. She asks how Cadvan is and Hem doesn’t seem to care much (which, fair) but says he’s probably still sleeping and Maerad should hurry up because there is food (I appreciate a lot about this interaction. If I forget to mention it in the comparison please bug me so I can talk about it in a reblog or something). Maerad kicks him out to get dressed and then they walk down to get lunch together.

When they get to the sitting room, Cadvan is awake and chatting with Saliman. Cadvan is the worse for wear still but he’s talking and awake and teasing Maerad a little bit, and Maerad almost cries with how happy she is that he’s alive, black eye and stitched up face cuts and all. He assures her when she asks that he feels great and sends her off to the food.

Appetite sated (Hem comes with her for seconds) the siblings return to Cadvan and Saliman, who are discussing Saliman’s journey. Turns out Saliman was attacked by three hulls and killed them, but not before they killed his horse. He’s pretty sad about it and so am I: horse death is sad. The horses are just doing their best okay.

Anyway, Nelac comes in while Maerad is looking out at the gardens and says that most of his flowers survived the storm. Maerad immediately likes him, not least because he fixed up Cadvan and reminds her of Cadvan.

Hem continues to eat as the adult bards convene and catch each other up on everything, and when they get to the part about the Kulag Cadvan admits he was in a hurry and not as careful as he should have been with magic or travel. He credits Maerad with getting them all out alive.

“I wondered…,” said Maerad, and then stopped.

“What, O my Deliverer?” said Cadvan.

Maerad blushed again at his teasing. “I wondered if the Landrost had hurt you, and that was why…” she faltered and stopped again.

“The Landrost did indeed hurt me,” said Cadvan. “And I was less in my power than I could be. But that is no excuse for rushed decisions and the mistakes that come with them. I judge myself at fault, and so I am; and it is a severe judgment, Maerad, because things very nearly were otherwise, and the result would have been terrible for many more than us.”

Maerad saw for an instant an implacable harshness in Cadvan’s face, and she shivered; she thought she would not like to be judged by Cadvan, had she done any real wrong.

They continue to catch up, and Nelac remembers hearing about the Treesong somewhere but he’ll have to look for it again, but Saliman Knows What’s Up and sings a verse from the poem at the beginning of chapter 17, which I will transcribe here so nobody has to search the hellscape that is my tumblr tags:

Grows a Lily on the Briar

Grows a Briar on the Wave

Triple-tongued its voice of Fire

Edil-Amarandh with save

True and false the cunning Flame

Burning in the darkest Night

False and true the secret Name

Quickened in the womb of Light

Where the Briar on the Foam?

Doth the Lily stemless stand?

Who will bring the Singing home?

Where the Harp? And whose the Hand?

Nelac is like ‘lol it almost sounds like you’re saying Maerad, who can speak common, Elidhu, and the Speech, is the Foretold’

Cadvan’s ACTUAL (specified as distracted and absent) RESPONSE: “Yes, yes, of course I am.”

Maybe warn a guy before you drop prophetic bombs in his lap, Cadvan.

Nelac thinks about it a minute and sorta soul searches Maerad with eye contact is like ‘okay fine you may have a point’. Also the Treesong is a super ancient song, he remembers.

Nelac ALSO wants to scry Hem. Hem is not having it rn and runs into the garde. Maerad chastises Nelac with all the vehemence of a sibling vs outsiders and heads after her brother. After assuring Hem that SHE believes him, obviously, and that Cadvan does, he agrees to come back inside, where Nelac straight up bribes him with food to be scried later. Hem is like ‘well if there’s FOOD’ and agrees, which, fair.

Further, Nelac says they have to figure out where Hem can go to bard school because Norloch is being Particularly Racist at the moment and Hem, unlike Maerad, looks very Pilanel. Cadvan says irritably that Hem would like other schools better anyway, fuck Norloch (okay not in quite those words but it’s close).

Saliman: hey no worries I’ll take the kid home with me where racist dickheads aren’t in charge. Sound good, Hem?

Hem: Boy does it!

Section paraphrased for clarity.

Also, Nelac adds, y’all haven’t been here in a while so let me tell you what else Enkir has fucked up: no more lady bards can train at Norloch.

The fuck, everyone in the room basically mouths in unison.

Nelac: so the flaw in our system is, if all of our elected officials are old white rich white dudes with The Right Families then it turns out they elect an old rich white dude with The Right Family as leader, which means even the relatively benevolent old rich white dudes get outvoted when it comes to civil rights and not destroying the world because these guys have no concept of doing anything for other people even in the name of self interest.

Not that we know anything about that in the States or anything.

Everybody agrees that a council must be called regarding world saving because they still labor under the delusion that old rich white dudes with The Right Families in power give a shit what happens to the world if it doesn’t affect them in the next five minutes. The poor saps.

Cadvan shows Maerad around Norloch and assures her once again that even if she isn’t the foretold it’s no biggie, he’ll take her to a good bard school.

“Would you stay there?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

He glanced at her quickly, his face unreadable. “For a time, until you were settled in,” he said.

When they get back, Hem wants Maerad there while he’s scried. Nelac says it’s unusual, but so is scrying a child so why not. There isn’t much to see since we aren’t in Hem’s PoV, but Nelac confirms that Hem is Maerad’s brother and everybody rejoices. Maerad offers to get them something to drink, does so, and leaves, feeling like she intruded.

At dinner, which Hem actually skips, they make a game plan for presenting Maerad-as-The-Foretold to the council. Nelac is going to do it alone for political reasons. That’s the end of the chapter.

THRONE OF GLASS

Three chapters of ToG is a fitting punishment for taking so long I guess. 46,47,48.

Dorian is hunting through the woods to ‘let the freezing air rush through him’ and burn off steam regarding Celaena, who apparently watches him like a cat watching a mouse, which is different from every single other woman ever, who otherwise look at him adoringly.

Dorian, I would think Kaltain fits that description. I’m just saying.

Apparently Celaena makes him want to be a better king or whatever by watching him and he’ll never be happy with any other woman now that he’s kissed her and he’s worried about her in the duel. Sure.

CELAENA’S POV.

She’s thinking about the duel, worries that Cain might be better because he has stamina (I mean this is a valid concern: Celaena can’t seem to do any sort of strenuous physical activity without throwing up, her stamina IS crap) and then that she might have to obey the King of Adarlan if she’s his Champion.

I’m not sure what you thought you were signing up for, Celaena?

Then she decides she wants to stay in the castle because Hot Dudes, I guess.

NEXT CHAPTER.

Kaltain drugs Celaena’s goblet(?) in the outside duel.

Swap to Celaena’s PoV, where she complains about the cold and thinks that she doesn’t know why they have to have the duels outside. Me neither, Celaena. Me neither.

She recognizes a couple of council members who hired her in the past, and then Nehemia shows up. For reasons?

Anyway, the king makes a speech, the duels start, Cain wins his. Celaena thinks that the other guys hadn’t even lasted three minutes, which, I mean. People generally greatly overestimate how long fights take, especially fights that aren’t specifically hemmed in for competition. Three minutes is a long time to fight one on one for your life?

Oh wait they aren’t fighting to the death. That would be too men for the demon infested king? I don’t know.

Chaol offers Celaena his sword to fight with, and Nehemia offers her Nehemia’s staff instead.

“If I may,” Nehemia said in Eyllwe, “I’d like to offer this to you instead.” The princess held out her beautifully carved iron-tipped staff. Celaena glanced between Chaol’s sword and her friend’s weapon. The sword, obviously, was the wiser choice—and for Chaol to offer his own weapon made her feel strangely lightheaded—but the staff…

Nehemia leaned in to whisper in Celaena’s ear. “Let it be with an Eyllwe weapon that you take them down.” Her voice hitched. “Let wood from the forests of Eyllwe defeat steel from Adarlan. Let the King’s Champion be someone who understands how the innocents suffer.”

So Celaena chooses the staff, which is actually a GREAT weapon vs a sword assuming you know how to use it for a myriad of reasons? Why would a sword be a wiser choice? Why is that obvious? Especially if it’s ‘iron-tipped’ by which I think she means capped, but whatever. We already knew very little research went into this, I’m lucky Celaena isn’t using that soap and hairpin thing.

She’s going to fight Grave. Don’t worry about it, we’ll get an explanation about him in the second book when he suddenly becomes relevant again.

Chaol squeezed her hand, his skin warm in the frigid air. “Give him hell,” he said. Grave entered the ring and drew his sword.

Pulling her hand from Chaol’s, Celaena straightened her spine as she stepped into the ring. She quickly bowed to the king, then to her opponent.

She met Grave’s stare and smiled as she bent her knees, holding the staff in two hands.

You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, little man.

NEXT CHAPTER.

Grave’s first move is to try to break her staff. I. I’m just. Whatever at this point.

His sword gets stuck in her staff when he hits, and she punches him in the nose. He gets angry and charges, “aiming a direct blow to her heart.” She knocks his legs out from underneath him and puts the staff to his throat, which ends the fight I guess, though he doesn’t yield and isn’t injured aside from a broken nose.

She brought her mouth close to his ear. “My name is Celaena Sardothien,” she whispered. “But it makes no difference if my name’s Celaena or Lillian or Bitch, because I’d still beat you, no matter what you call me.” She smiled at him as she stood. He just stared up at her, his bloody nose leaking down the side of his cheek. She took the handkerchief from her pocket and dropped it on his chest. “You can keep that,” she said before she walked off the veranda.

She intercepted Chaol as soon as she crossed the line of chalk. “How long did that take?” she asked. She found Nehemia beaming at her, and Celaena lifted her staff a little in salute.

“Two minutes.”

She grinned at the captain. She was hardly winded. “Better than Cain’s time.”

How slowly are these people moving? Why are we counting time? What is HAPPENING.

Anyway they have a toast.

“Out of good faith, and honor to the Great Goddess,” Kaltain said in a dramatic voice. Celaena wanted to punch her. “May it be your offering to the Mother who bore us all. Drink, and let Her bless you, and replenish your strength.”

I want that all noted for the record on the religion front.

Celaena is thrown directly into fighting Cain without any more of a rest and does not realize she’s been drugged.

The conqueror of Erilea raised his hands.

“Begin!” he roared, and Celaena shook her head, trying to clear her blurry vision. She steadied herself, wielding the staff like a sword as Cain began circling. Nausea flashed through her as his muscles flexed. For some reason, the world was still hazy. She clenched her teeth, blinking. She’d use his strength against him.

Cain charged faster than she anticipated. She caught his sword on the broad side with the staff, avoiding the sharp edges, and leapt back as she heard the wood groan.

He struck so quickly that she had to concede to the edge of his blade. It sank deep into the staff. Her arms ached from the impact. Before she could recover, Cain yanked his sword from her weapon and surged toward her. She could only bound back, deflecting the blow with the iron tip of the staff.

Given that Celaena is a, an assassin, b, just had a refresher course on poisons, and c, has been poisoned like this at least once before in the prequel novellas, I don’t know what to tell anybody here. Finally she gets it when she hears Kaltain laugh.

She had difficulty holding the staff. Cain came at her, and she had no choice but to meet his blows, barely having the strength to raise the weapon each time. How much bloodbane had they given her? The staff cracked, splintered, and groaned.

Did Nehemia give her a wimpy-ass staff or does Celaena just not know how to use it to deflect rather than just take the full force of a blade? His sword sinks into it, it splinters and cracks? Y’all. No.

She had to end this now, before the hallucinations started. She knew they’d be powerful: seers had once used bloodbane as a drug to view spirits from other worlds. Celaena shot forward with a sweep of the staff. Wood slammed into steel.

The staff snapped in two.

The iron-tipped head soared to the other side of the veranda, leaving Celaena with a piece of useless wood.

Y’all. Y’ALL. You don’t even know how much I’m despairing right now.

Anyway, we go through Dorian and Chaol’s PoVs in quick succession to show that they’re worried about her and are probably in love, because sure, that’s what’s important right now, why not.

Celaena starts seeing creatures from another world as Cain keeps beating her up and Chaol keeps telling her to get up. Apparently the eye of Elena actually was protecting her, because…

Cain reached for her throat, and she flung herself backward. All that he managed to grab was her amulet. With a resounding snap, the Eye of Elena ripped from her neck.

The sunlight disappeared, the bloodbane seizing control of her mind again, and Celaena found herself before an army of the dead. The shadowy figure that was Cain raised his arm, dropping the amulet upon the ground.

They came for her.

That’s the end of the chapter. Thank goodness.

COMPARISON

Say it with me: I despair.

These chapters are pretty different from each other, but I said I wanted to talk about Hem and food and I do.

Both Hem and Maerad have been deprived all their lives, and while Maerad is slightly less preoccupied with filling her stomach than Hem, she also does not in my memory refuse food when it is offered, and only ever delights in the fact that she has it. Hem, obviously, is a little more fixated, but Maerad usually got ENOUGH to eat by virtue of her musical talent and value and the whole superstition thing. Hem rarely did.

Celaena turns her nose up at salmon and complains when chicken is a little bit dry. It’s just not behavior I would expect from someone starved in a salt mine for a year.

Pellinor’s mythology and religion and society remains consistent. ToG’s still rolling with the one goddess lots of little gods thing for now.

I’m just glad that Celaena used an actual weapon (poorly) and didn’t try to get creative. God knows what she would have done with a blade of grass or something. Why are we timing our fights. How was Chaol watching the clock closely enough to know that AND watching the fight. This could all have been solved with some research.

STATS

Pages: 23

Fragments: 36

Em-Dashes: 50

Ellipses: 14

Pages: 22

Fragments: 6

Em-Dashes: 2

Ellipses: 13

#myth reads the books of Pellinor #myth reads the naming #myth rags on throne of glass #myth talks

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odderancyart · 6 years

Text

Retribution

Chapter 8

First

Last

On AO3

Summary: A late night, after yet another unfruitful day with no work, Detective Edge Serif receives a phonecall from the countryside. There seems to have been a murder.

Warnings: Murder, Violence, Swearing, Past Abuse, Past Rape (of a character not in the story)

His head aches as he slowly regains consciousness, blinking against the blinding light. As he tries to lean forward, he finds he can’t. He jerks at his hands, finding he can’t move them either. There’s something keeping them stuck to the arms of the chair he’s in. What happened...?

Images. They flash before his eyes. A bedroom, letters with the British royal crest, Papyrus with a fire poker. He’d been knocked unconscious. Edge twitches as it all comes back to him and he throws his eyes open, even as his head throbs at the sudden assault of light. He’s still in the bedroom. By the writing desk, Papyrus stands, stirring a cup of tea as he watches him. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have allowed himself to get so distracted that he didn’t notice Papyrus coming into the room? His eyes catch on the gun lying next to Papyrus on the desk. His gun.

“You’re awake,” Papyrus notes. “Good.” The spoon chinks as it hits the walls of the porcelain cup, painted with roses. The cook smiles, almost apologetically. “I am terribly sorry I had to tie you up, but you really shouldn’t have come and ferreted around my room. It’s terribly rude.”

Edge tries to speak, but as he does, only muffled noises comes out. His eyes widen. In his stupor, he hadn’t realized he had a cloth stuffed into his mouth. When he glares at the other, Papyrus only tsks. “Don’t look so mad. I can’t have you yelling, you surely must understand that? I’ve reached my goal – getting revenge on the bastard who destroyed my brother’s – my entire family’s – life for many years because of something as stupid as racism. You Americans should know something about that, shouldn’t you? But it works somewhat differently home in Europe.” Disgust covers his face as he sips his tea. “I’ve lived my entire life in Wales. I was born there, and so was my brother. And our parents. But because our grandfather came from Bulgaria, from Eastern Europe, apparently we cannot be trusted. Lazy, they call us. Thieves. Not that you’re different here. Had I attempted to enter with my own name, I am certain I would’ve met a lot more resistance.”

There’s so much bitterness in his voice. Edge stares at him, and Papyrus stares back. “What do you say? Do you think they would’ve been as happy to let in Nikolay Todorov as they were to let in Papyrus Safont, Doctor Gaster’s personal cook? Would your Immigration Act have let me? Even though I’m two generations British?” When Edge remains quiet, he grinned humourlessly. “I didn’t think so.”

And he was right. Maybe his British citizenship would’ve been enough, but Edge has seen the distrust for Southern and Eastern Europeans first-hand. They are seen as threats – competition for jobs and housing, and people fear they’ll undermine American values and cause Bolshevik revolution similar to the one in Russia during the War. Stupidity, Edge would’ve said if anyone had ever bothered to ask for his opinion. If they came to America, he can only imagine it is because they wanted to live in America, not in Russia.

After putting his cup down on the desk, Papyrus saunters over to him, smiling sweetly. “Never mind all that. You look like you want to ask something.” He holds up a vial with powder. “If you make any unnecessary noises, I will shove this down your throat, and you’ll die an incredibly painful death. So better not do anything stupid, alright?” Edge nods slowly. Papyrus – Nikolay – beams. “Wonderful! See how simple things are when you cooperate?”

He pulls the gag out of Edge’s mouth, and Edge coughs, opening and closing it a couple times. Oh God, his mouth feels like a desert. Concern glimmers in Nikolay’s eyes, and he takes a few steps over to the bedtable, where a water pitcher stands, together with a glass. After pouring some into the glass, he offers it to Edge. Edge eyes it suspiciously, and he rolls his eyes, taking a sip himself. “See? It’s not poisoned. Drink, friend.”

As he puts it to Edge’s mouth, Edge does as told. Both because he does not wish to make him mad and because he genuinely needs it. When it’s empty, and his throat feels less rough, he sighs in relief before looking up at Pa- Nikolay. He looks genuinely sorry for what the situation has come to. But why would he? If he didn’t mind framing Stretch, why would he be care about Edge? That’s his first question.

Nikolay shrugs. “In all honesty, I wanted Blue to be the one. His loyalty to the Gasters is sickening. Can’t seem to see any of their faults, even when his own brother is being abused. But since anyone who knew him would know how he poured his soul into serving them until the point that’s what his life is about, and they would’ve realized he never would have, Stretch was the second best. Doing it to Sir Razz would’ve simply been stupid: his family is incredibly powerful. At least this way, I get to Blue somehow. He adored that family nearly as much as I hate them. In all honesty, I almost feel bad for him. Almost. Plus, I haven’t missed how he speaks about my heritage. He’s just like everyone else. Up on his high horses thinking he’s better than me because he’s a pure-blooded Englishman. And now his own brother is getting sentenced for the last Gaster’s murder.” He hums, the bitterness gone as fast as it came. “You get two more questions, and then I’m afraid I’ll have to get rid of you before it’s too late. I am not an unkind monster, I’d feel awful to kill you when you’re so close to solving the mystery.”

“How did you do all of this? Why wait so long?” Edge’s head spins with all the new information, but he forces himself to focus. The longer he can keep Papy- Nikolay rambling, the more time he has to get out of here. Dying is not in this week’s schedule, especially not by a cook.

The other’s smile widens. “It wasn’t hard. When your brother is a former MI6-spy, falsifying papers and learning about poisons is a child’s play. We simply made up a reasonable backstory, fixed some papers, and then I went to search employment at the Gasters. As for why so long? I’m a patient man. I very much did not wish to be new as I did it – my foreign ancestry already made me suspicious enough, since everyone’s bigoted. And your third question?”

His last.

There were multiple things he wants to know. Why, exactly, he is doing this. How he’s managed to keep this act up for such a long time. If he hasn’t grown fond of the brothers during the time he’s worked with them, even a little? How he can do such a thing to Stretch of all people. But in all honesty, there is one thing that’s more pressing to him than anything else.

Edge’s soul pounds in his chest as he stares into Nikolay’s eyes. His eyelights are soft as he meets his gaze, almost remorseful. Nonetheless, they’re determined, and Edge has no delusions about him changing his mind and letting him go. “What are you going to do with me?”

Nikolay’s smile softens. “Oh that’s easy. I’m going to give you some Cerbera odollam-seeds. The former owner of the manor had a poison greenhouse and I’ve been caring for it. I’m very sorry to tell you it won’t be painless. Then, once you fall into a coma, I’ll shove you off the west wing. It’ll look like you fell.” He crouches down so he can reach into the secret compartment. Picking up a vial holding several brown seeds, he shakes it gently. “I doubt you’ll get the sort of investigation he got – you’re a nobody, aren’t you? No family to speak of, no money?”

Edge remains quiet, face paling. He’s right. There’s a much too big risk that he’ll simply get written off as an accident or a suicide. Especially in these times. After the Crash, so many committed suicides, and he was born into a short life-expectancy group.

“Thought so.”

The house creaks around them as Nikolay steps forward. Edge feels his palms start to sweat as he leans backwards in the chair, as far away as he can. He squeezes his teeth shut as his breathing shallows. Something moves behind Nikolay, silently, slowly. A hand grips his jaw tight, starting to pry it open. Edge fights him, eyes trained at the other’s face. Nikolay’s expression is determined as he digs the tip of a phalange in between Edge’s teeth.

Edge struggles, throwing his head to the side and rocking the chair, which makes the other’s expression harden. The chair legs scrape against the floor. The finger slides in deeper, and Edge lets out a squawk as his mouth is bended open. Triumph shines in Nikolay’s eyes as he plops the cork of the vial with his thumb. It falls to the floor with a quiet thump. The seeds rustles inside the vial. A dark shape appears behind Nikolay, making his soul skip a beat as he attempts to throw away with his head again, to no avail. The cook has an iron grip on his jaw, his fingers hooked into it, keeping his mouth open.

His eyes flicker to the shape behind, widening. Apparently, Nikolay notices.

“Wha-” he says, turning to look over his shoulder. Thuck.

Edge gapes as his eyelights roll back in his eyes and he sinks to the floor with a groan. Behind him, holding a broomstick raised in the air, stands Blue. His face is still red from tears and his suit is crumpled, but fury is written on his face as he lowers the broomstick, glaring down at Nikolay in disgust. Edge can’t help but stare at the right-hand man in shock. Without a word, Blue drives the end of the broomstick into Nikolay’s head once more before shoving him to the side, facing Edge.

“Are you alright, sir?” he asks. Edge nods mutely. “I was looking for you. Inspector Fuente wanted to speak with you.” He picks up a handkerchief from his pocket, rubbing his red cheeks. “Let me untie you.”

“Yeah,” Edge says loftily. Holy shit. His mind spins as he tries to process the last few moments, now when the adrenaline is sinking away. “Please.”

Nimble fingers soon loosen the ropes keeping him stuck to the chair around his waist, arms, and legs. “I can’t believe-” Blue stops to stare at the body of the murderer he’s just knocked out. “Yes, he’s-” He shakes his head. “I know I said I suspected him, but I can’t believe he’d frame my brother.” New tears welled up, which he was quick to wipe away with his handkerchief. He smiles wetly. “But that means my brother is innocent. I knew it. I knew Stretch wasn’t a murderer.”

“So did I,” Edge murmurs, and Blue’s smile widens.

Once Edge is free, standing up and stretching his stiff limbs, they stare at the body.

“So what are we doing with him, sir?”

Edge smiles faintly. He’s shivering – almost getting murdered will do that to you. “We bring him to Inspector Fuente and get your brother back.”

Soon, he carries the unconscious Nikolay like a potato sack over his shoulder upstairs while Blue brings the evidence. The vials and the letters, and some of the ropes Edge had been tied up with. They use the others to tie up Nikolay.

Inspector Fuente and Sir Razz are standing in the main hall, conversing, as they show up. Both of them stare as Edge drops the unconscious cook on the ground.

“Here’s your murderer,” he says.

For a few beats, the room is completely silent.

“He nearly killed me too,” he adds, “but Blue knocked him out.”

Another couple seconds of silence follow. Blue holds up the poisons and hands over the letters to Inspector Fuente.

“The murder weapon, the attempted murder weapon, and his motivation.” Edge rolls his shoulders. God, Pa- Nikolay is heavy. But he is, of course, a grown man so nothing else was to be expected, really. He looks at Sir Razz. “It seems as though your husband, sir, destroyed his brother’s career within MI6 because of their Bulgarian descent. Because of racism, clear and simple.” He gives them a brief summary of the last hour.

“May I have my brother back now?” Blue demands, stepping forward and actually glaring at the inspector. Sir Razz blinks in surprise. “He’s innocent. As I said.”

Inspector Fuente huffs, shock, amazement, and amusement all playing on his face as he looks between Edge and Blue. He nods. “Yes, we’ll go into Deadford and get him out of the arrest. This case took an unexpected turn.”

If he’s worried someone will say anything to the Police about him being wrong, or if he even cares, he doesn’t show it. Nonetheless, Edge puts a hand on Blue’s shoulder, receiving a questioning gaze, before he nods back. “I do believe we have solved this case,” he says.

The inspector raises an eyebrow, but nods, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. “Yes… It seems we have.” He dips his hat to Sir Razz. “Well, sir, we better get going.”

Sir Razz nods as well before turning to his right-hand man. “Blue, you go with the inspector and get your brother. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that the most.” Blue nodded quickly. “And Detective Serif, come with me and I’ll pay you what I owe. And a bonus for almost getting murdered.”

Edge can’t help but grin. “I appreciate it, sir.”

…

And then he is back where it all began.

He regards his reflection in his office window before looking outside at the dark street. A beggar sits bundled up in some stairs, a wild dog wanders by. The rain is, as always, pouring down over Deadford, smattering against asphalt and windows. It’s in the middle of the day, so the occasional car comes by and some pedestrians walk by, too used to the rain to bother with trying to escape it. It’s still dark: the clouds are black as coal as they spit heaven’s fury down over the town, as lightning and thunder flashes and booms.

For the first time in his life, he’d opened a bank account. Sir Razz had paid him seven hundred dollars for his services, and he’s never had that much money in his entire life. And since he does not feel safe keeping that money in his office or his shared apartment, the bank seems like the most logical choice. For once, he does not worry about ending up on the street eventually. He’s not about to buy any frivolities, though, like some others may have. In times like these, that money is best kept as backup in case he’ll lack food or be unable to pay the rent one day.

A purring comes from the side and he smiles as a white cat steps on the hand he has planted on the windowsill, demanding attention. He scratches her ear before stroking his hand down her back. Luckily, being away hadn’t destroyed his relationship with that beautiful cat on the street: in fact, once he came back, she’d been willing to move in with him. Her name is Doomfanger now. A beautiful, hairy cat with a scar running down along her right eye and torn ears that has seen better days. He loves her already.

His fingertips slide over the cold glass as he pets her, making him shiver, and she licks them, looking pleased with herself. Taking her into his arms, he walks over to the desk. Details from a new case already covers his desk: with Sir Razz’s commendations on his resumé, he suddenly turned into a highly sought for private detective. For now, he does not need to worry about money at all, for the first time in his life.

It feels good.

It knocks on the door, thrice, and he raises an eyebrow as he opens his arms so Doomfanger will jump. She lands on the floor with a quiet thump, staring at him in offence. The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. Apparently he isn’t allowed to put her down already. She lounges in the back of the room as he steps over to the door. Who would visit him at this time of day, in this weather?

The door creaks as he opens it, and a dark shape is revealed in the dark hallway. Once his eyes get used to the dim light, he hums in surprise. Dressed in a huge coat with its collar pulled up halfway over his face, stands Stretch. Edge steps to the side, gesturing for him to come in, and he does, waterdrops sliding off his coat and down on the floorboards.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you?” Stretch asks, folding down his collar to reveal his face. His teeth chatters, and his smile is nervous.

Edge shakes his head, smiling. “Not at all. I am very sorry I didn’t say goodbye, but I was worried about overstaying my welcome.” He gestures toward the coat-hanger before stepping back a few steps so he can pull out a bottle whisky from his desk drawer. Alcohol may be illegal but literally who the fuck cares? He places two glasses on the table. “Whisky? You look cold.”

“Thank you,” he says as he pulls of his coat, hanging it up next to Edge’s. Doomfanger stares at him from behind the desk, distrustful.

Once Edge has poured up two glasses with honey-brown liquid, he hands one of the glasses to Stretch before sitting down in one of the two old leather armchairs by the wall, gesturing for the other to do the same, which he does. The armchair squeaks and sways as Stretch sits down, and for a moment worry flashes over his face, as though he’s wondering if the armchair is going to break beneath him.

“And I understand.” Stretch smuts at his whisky, sighing in relief as he drinks. “Sir Razz can be intimidating. I came to say thank you. You know. For not stopping investigating.”

Taking a gulp of his own whisky, feeling it burn pleasantly in his throat, Edge shakes his head. “Of course. I- There was something about it that didn’t feel right. I didn’t think you were capable of doing such a thing… And you weren’t.”

“No.” He stares into his glass as he swirls the liquid around it. “I hated Dr Gaster. Hated him, with all my soul. I would’ve resigned the day I turned eighteen and taken employment in the factories, if Blue hadn’t- Yeah. I couldn’t leave my brother. He would’ve been heartbroken, and mother and father would’ve broken all contact with me, and made him do so too, just like they later did with Clara – our older sister-”

Edge nods. The sister who ran away to run a Scottish tavern in Minnesota with her partner. He can only assume that meant she isn’t married. In all honesty, he can’t help but admire her guts.

“-but no, I couldn’t hurt the doctor. Not that I didn’t occasionally want to throw wine in his face, damn the consequences, but no. Never.”

“You’re a better person than me,” Edge murmurs. “If my foreman is still alive, and I met him, he’d be lucky if I only punched him.”

Flashing him a quick smile, Stretch downs the rest of his whisky. “Well. You’d be justified. At least I was never physically hurt.” He sighs. “But now when I know how disgustingly he acted during the War – I didn’t even know he was in the War, we all got to hear he spent a year at Université Paris-Sorbonne – I feel even more that he truly did deserve what he got.”

“He did.”

Even if what Nikolay did was truly abhorrent as well. But the trial was coming up, and with the evidence against him, Edge didn’t doubt he’d spend a lot of time paying for his crimes.

By now, also Stretch has finished his whisky. He glances at the clock, and then at Edge. There’s something wishful on his face as he moves to stand. “Maybe I should go back before it gets too late. I just wanted to thank you.”

“You can-” Edge says before he can stop himself before cutting himself off. Stretch’s eyes flicker to him, something almost hopeful shining in there, and Edge relaxes. “One of my roommates is out of town. If you’d like, you can borrow his bed. It’s not as fancy as a manor, but it’s warm and dry. That was you don’t have to travel back in this weather.”

The smile that lits up Stretch’s face makes it impossible for him not to return it, smiling just as warmly.

“I’d like that, thank you.”

The End

#noir detective #underfell #undertale #underswap #swapfell #uf papyrus #uf sans #ut papyrus #us papyrus #us sans #sf sans #mystery #detective #murder #my writing #please tell me what you think!

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jimlingss · 7 years

Text

Beyond Reach [4]

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 (Finale) Words: 6.5k Genre: Angst, Grim Reaper!Au, Ghost!Au Summary: If someone could see what you could, they’d pass out. But you don't blame them. Who would ever expect for a ghost, a priestess and a grim reaper to be together - much less be rescuing others. Warnings: Death and topic of illness.

If someone could see what you could, they’d pass out. Maybe they’d try to claw out their eyes, scream to the high heavens or simply….perhaps they’ll think they’re high on some sort of drug. That it’s all one big delusion, hallucination or a dream. You wish it were that way.

Who would ever expect for a ghost, a priestess and a grim reaper to be sitting smack dab in the center of a high school play, surrounded by young children and parents? It’s an unconventional trio, if you do say so yourself.

“What did you think?” A bumbling student comes dashing your way as the crowd filters out. His grin is bright, dazzling even and it makes him look his age. As you predicted with your intuition, Taehyung is indeed a louder boy, drawing in people naturally with his demeanor. And now that he isn’t so quiet anymore, you can truly see the extent of his radiant personality.

“It was good.” You bring up your hand, ruffling the blonde strands of his hair. You’re not used to complimenting or praising others, being affectionate but it’s not as awkward as you thought it would be. “Really good.”

Taehyung’s smile widens even more and then he leans in, “Have I melted your cold heart?”

Your hand falls from his head and you lift an eyebrow. Taehyung laughs and asks what the other two thought about it. “I thought I was going to get a heart attack!” Hoseok says dramatically and you almost begin laughing. The ghost rambles on while Namjoon shrugs.

Taehyung hasn’t fully recovered and he never will. Jimin’s death is not a wound that can heal with time or medication. The impact and mark it’s made on Taehyung has shifted his entire life but he’s slowly learning how to confront the pain by focusing on the memories. No longer fixated on ‘what could have been done’ but the things they have done together since they were mere kids who knew less than babbling.

The guilt - the self-deprecation - the resentments of being left behind - the endless questions that can never be answered - the worry that Jimin hates him, they have all but dissipated. Taehyung will never forget Jimin, his greatest friend. Now until forever. And he will never forget about what it means to live, to die.

The blue rubber bracelet around Taehyung’s wrist serves a reminder on the boy with the crescent eye smile, the bubbly giggles and the compassion of an angel who is still with him no matter where Taehyung goes in his life.

“Taehyung!” Seulgi pokes her head out from the red curtain. “Get your butt back in here! You need to help clean up!”

“Alright.” He draws out in exasperation before she disappears. The boy looks back at you with a smile, blinking twice to soak in all your features. Then, suddenly, he pulls you in for a hug. You let out an ‘oof’ from being crushed but Taehyung soothes your back, nuzzling into you.

“Thank you.”

Taehyung lets go a second later and runs off, turning his head just a bit to shoot a wink and a ‘see you later’. You wave him off and Hoseok wonders what it would be like if he, too, could embrace you. If every time he reached out, his skin didn’t pass through yours. He wonders what it would be like if he could feel again, touch, truly breathe. He pounds his head for memories on what that was like but he comes out with nothing.

“Where are you going?” You catch him straying off by himself and Hoseok softly smiles, ignoring the impulse of pulling you in his arms, an impulse that he cannot fulfill.

“I’m going to clear my mind for a bit.”

He tries to remember, he bulldozes his brain, traces back to anything...anything at all. But he can’t. Hoseok leaves the school grounds in tears, running for his life. A way to release his fear and to get away before you can see him break down. The one thing that he’s most afraid of...is being taken. From his memories. From you.

He can’t focus on anything else but trying to recall the past.

“What is the afterlife like?” You ask Namjoon whilst staring up at the sky, wondering if Jimin is watching.

He chuckles, a smirk on his lips as he matches his pace with you. The black hood has fallen to reveal his face but the ends of the cloak drape the ground as he strolls. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

“That’s a vague answer.”

“To be frank. I don’t know.” The Grim Reaper focuses ahead down the path. “Whether souls live again….if they wander aimlessly in another dimension or if it’s a second Earth. Heaven. Hell.”

Namjoon sighs, “I’m just a messenger, a deliverer. A bridge to send souls from one place to another. All I know is that people must face the choices they have made over their lifetime and the consequences of those choices.”

For the time frame that you’ve known Namjoon in, you’ve noticed. With your curse of empathy, you felt it inside your very core - absolutely nothing. You’ve felt nothing. His emotions are never strong ones. You’re not even sure if Namjoon has emotions. He’s always solemn, apathetic, neutral. Perhaps that’s what the best Reaper should feel...nothing.

Namjoon is a vessel to be used - to send the dead to the other side. Just as you’re a messenger for the dead. The two of you aren’t so different.

“Do you ever wish to be human?”

“Do you ever wish to be a bird or a rabbit?” He replies with questions of his own, his smirk glued to his lips as he contemplates aloud. “My mind wanders occasionally but in all honesty, no. I don’t wish to be something I’m not.”

You let his answer sink in, how his indifference even belongs with his philosophies. In the silence that follows, Namjoon is the one who nabs at the opportunity to ask you something he’s been mildly curious about. “Why do you keep lying to yourself?”

You don’t respond.

“You hate your ability, yet, you still help others by using it. You’re self-sacrificial but not from your own will. You’re far from being a saint but you can’t hide your sympathy underneath your cold and serious exterior. Why?”

“Why do you hate helping people so much? Is it not what a priestess like you should do?”

You shake your head, the chickadee birds chirping waking you up from your trance. “I don’t hate it. I do it because it feels like a moral obligation, a responsibility.” You meet his hardened eyes that hold no colour. “It’s exactly as you say. Because it’s what a priestess like me should do.”

Namjoon muses to himself out loud, “it sounds like a burden.”

“It is.”

Life likes to play jokes. You’ve learnt that the universe becomes bored every now and then. When that happens, the subject of its toys are humans. When you say one thing, life may give you the complete other. When you deny something, refuse it, it always comes back to slap you across the face, appearing in abundance. All for life’s own amusement.

You once knew a boy who hated to eat spinach. It was the irony of things when he ended up working at a spinach farm part time and he often brought spinach home to eat when he couldn’t afford much else. His fridge became stocked with spinach despite his hatred for it.

In the same way, by constantly reminding yourself how much you hate becoming involved, how much you despise and condemn your curse, it comes back more and more to haunt you.

“Don’t you think you could cut me some slack?” Hoseok hums out, skipping ahead before twirling around with a smile. “You don’t have to take me….right, Namjoon?”

“That’s not my choice to make. It’s the list...” Namjoon sighs out and frowns in distaste, “And since when have we become comfortable enough for you to call me by my name? Do you not know the power of a Grim Reaper’s name?”

“I’ve been spending so much time with you two…” The ghost’s eyes land on you and his smile melts into a sheepish and soft one. “Are we not family now?”

You keep your gaze pinned on Hoseok and you answer without missing a heartbeat, “we are.”

“Are you sure you want a Reaper as a family member?” Namjoon throws his head back and chuckles. He tugs his sleeves to reveal his fingers and he wiggles them, surprisingly being playful to the ghost. “That means I can take you in the middle of the night and drag you to the depths of hell, right? Because we’re family and you’ll be understanding.”

“No!” Hoseok yelps and then pouts, looking over to you for help. “Tell him not to do that, Y/N!”

You don’t reply. Your feet have stopped, eyes pinned elsewhere. The errands that your grandmother sent you on fleet away from your mind, slip from your grasps. The pair of them exchange looks before following where your irises have lead you-

A boy. Who’s walking uphill across the empty street, tugging on his bag that’s slung across his body. He keeps his eyes downcast, an emotion of utter despair takes hold of your breath. If the colour blue could be embodied into skin, that would be him. Bleak. Misery. Without hope.

The wind chimes ring.

A middle-aged woman is following behind the boy, the few wrinkles of her face showing the decades she’s held. She waddles after him, faltering but determined steps. Worry mars her face and the woman doesn’t even notice you, far too concentrated in her task.

“Y/N?” Hoseok momentarily forgets that he cannot touch you when he reaches out to catch your hand. His skin passes through yours and he gnaws on his bottom lip. “Y/N?”

You’re not sure what compels you. For the hatred of your abilities to the bitterness of implicating yourself in matters that do not affect you. Namjoon is curious - Hoseok is bewildered - you take a step forward across the road, following the woman in silence.

“Y/N? What are you doing?”

“There’s just...something about this ghost.” You whisper to him, not able to shake off the feeling that’s overwhelming you. “I can’t put my finger on what it is.”

Namjoon summons a black book into his hand, scrolling through the crisp pages while stealing glimpses of the woman. “Jeon Junghwa. Born May 18, 1969. Death by illness and disease.” He hums and the object disappears into thin air. “She’s been wandering for three weeks.”

The three of you follow the ghost who’s trailing behind the boy. Neither of them turn around, too occupied in their own thoughts. “A hospital?” Hoseok frowns and tilts his head as he watches them enter.

Namjoon smirks, “My favourite place.”

The boy twists and turns in the ivory hallways, already knowing his destination by muscle memory. He enters a vacant room where a nurse is waiting for him and he is handed a box of forgotten things. He bows his head and takes it within his thin fingers as she scurries away. A few moments later, a doctor enters and you catch the words, ‘payment’ and ‘sorry’, watching as the white coated man deeply bows his head. There’s only so much you can piece together, lingering outside without grant.

The doctor leaves the boy, letting him absorb in whatever information was given to him. And slowly, the ghost stumbles out with tears in her eyes. She doesn’t notice you or the other two, turning and walking away.

This is your chance.

The snapshot in time you’ve been waiting for. Where you, too, can walk in the other direction and pretend that this never happened. It’s an opportunity where you don’t have to involve yourself. There are no obligations, no pleas or begging, no one on their knees in front of you, desperate or angry. This isn’t your responsibility. You can finally escape.

Hoseok calls you gently to shatter your reverie, “Y/N.”

You meet his brown orbs, the ones that are full of fondness and curiosity. He doesn’t expect you to do anything and neither will he urge you to. Hoseok is too aware that it must be of your own will. He just wants to know what you’ll do, what you’ll say. If you’re truly the person he thinks you are.

The person who he cherishes with all his heart.

“Excuse me.” You pick up your pace when the woman doesn’t perceive your voice. “Excuse me-”

“Is there something wrong, dear?” She stops to look at you as if you hadn’t just spoken to her. You blink twice to make sure she’s a ghost; the transparency of her flesh, the sickly colour of her skin, the way her movements are fluid and her feet are almost hovering over the floor. It’s unmistakable.

She’s not surprised, not like every spirit entity that you’ve met thus far. “D-do you need my help?”

“Your help? I..I don’t need anything….at least not at the top of my head, dear. Thank you for asking me but- oh!” Her eyes twinkle when she smiles and her pupils flicker to the boy whom she was following earlier. “My son.”

“Your...son?”

The boy is dragging his feet. A messy mop of brown hair hidden behind the navy hood of his sweater. He has doe eyes that match his youthful face, resembling that of a rabbit with a button nose. Despite his lean figure, his hollow cheekbones and chapped lips tell you that he is left starving, that he’s forgotten to care for himself, that he’s lost.

“Jungkook.” She smiles tenderly as she calls his name, letting each syllable lay on her tongue. “He’s my son.” The woman says proudly, watching as he leaves the building. “And if you can help him - you’re helping me.”

Namjoon says nothing, letting an exaggerated sigh leave his parted lips. Hoseok gazes at you, finding it strange that you’re the one who is taking the step forward, willing to aid instead of being asked to. Every time Hoseok makes an assumption about you, can finally pinpoint the details of who you are - he’s wrong. And it makes him yearn to know more about you.

It almost hurts that time is ticking.

You knock once, Namjoon to your left and Hoseok to your right. The two figures tower you in height and if the boy could see what you could, he’d surely faint on the spot. But he doesn’t.

A few seconds, a ‘crash’ sounding from inside and a tired “coming” later, he opens the door. “Can I help you?” His voice is groggy and he speaks slowly with exhaustion.

“I’m a neighbor.” You shove yourself inside and it’s too fast for Jungkook to keep up with. “Just moved in, nice place. My name is Y/N.” Hoseok laughs at how intrusive you are and even Namjoon smiles. Jungkook’s mother comes out of a room and if you didn’t know what you did, it would look like she’s still alive, simply a mother full of concern that’s walking around her home.

When she sees you, she lights up.

“S-sorry for the mess. I’m Jungkook.” He scratches his head of hair, eyes swollen from sleep. Despite the amount of rest it seems like he’s gotten, he’s still tired. “Where exactly did you move?”

“Down the street.” You brush him off quickly, moving to pick up the clothes off the floor.

Mess is an understatement. It’s chaos and mayhem, the town dump paling in comparison. Clothes are thrown on the floor, chairs and the old couch. Dirty plates and utensils are joined with them, the trash not taken out and overflowing. The curtains are covering the windows, shades pulled down to plunge the wreckage in darkness.

“W-what are you doing?” Jungkook’s rounded eyes double as he watches you take out garbage bags from your bag, collecting trash in the middle of his shabby living room. He looks even more like a child, confused and lost as he blinks at you. “Why are you cleaning?!”

“I’m a maid.” You lie to him, “It’s bothering me too much. I hope you don’t mind.”

His hand curls around your wrist before you can pick up a paper bowl. “I-I can’t pay you.”

“You don’t need to. Just think of it as a kind gesture that I’m doing for meeting my new neighbors and for joining the neighborhood.”

He can’t protest when you begin to roll up your sleeves, pounding down to work. Namjoon sits on a stool, pointing to things for you to pick up. “Right there, Y/N. You missed a spot. You missed it again!”

Hoseok pushes him off and the intimidating Grim Reaper falls to the ground, curling his knee to his chest with a loud ‘ow’. “Don’t boss her around!”

“You stupid ghost! I’ll take you right now if I have to!”

He sticks out his tongue to mock Namjoon. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Are you okay?” Jungkook lowers himself to meet your eyes. “Why are you smiling?”

“Oh, nothing.” You brush him off, continuing to pick things up. Jungkook rushes over and helps you, taking his laundry into a basket properly and trying to do whatever he can, completely embarrassed that a stranger is cleaning his home. He’s utterly bewildered and baffled but has no strength to question you or make you leave. You seem much too determined for some strange reason.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Jungkook’s mother hurries past, instructing you in every moment. “The mop is in the closet over there. And oh! The laundry detergent is on that shelf, I’m not sure if he remembers. If you need the dustpan, dear, it’s in this bottom cabinet.”

She does everything within her power to assist you. So does Hoseok but he can’t pick anything up and it frustrates him to no end, reminding him that he’s no longer suppose to be here. He’s not suppose to be on this side of the living. “Can’t I possess objects?”

“You’re a ghost.” Namjoon hums out, “not a ghost or a spirit from some fancy movie.”

Between the banters of Hoseok and Namjoon, the worried scurrying of Jungkook’s mother, you find yourself stifling back some laughter. Jungkook becomes even more skeptical.

He wonders if his mother is watching such a bizarre event unfold.

After five hours, the house for the most part is in better shape. Right when Jungkook is anticipating your exit, you head to the kitchen to make lunch upon his mother’s request. Apparently he hasn’t been eating well and you’re adamant about making a meal despite Jungkook shrieking that you shouldn’t while you insist you should.

“How do you remember?”

Hoseok is sitting with the middle-aged woman who looks well beyond her years, the folds on her bony hands showing the struggle of her life. He’s been searching for so long, blaming himself for being incapable of withholding any memories of his life. Every spirit or ghost he’s met, the handful that he’s seen with you, have all retained some ties to their past. Why doesn’t he remember?

All Hoseok wants is to find answers. To know.

“How could I forget?” Junghwa croaks out as she observes her son with sad eyes. “When I woke up in that hospital, he was there. When I followed him, I began to remember again.” The woman turns to the other ghost, “was there anyone there when you woke up?”

He bites his lower lip, ignoring the sting of his chest and his eyes. “I was alone...I..am alone.”

She laughs, shaking her head and Hoseok follows her eyes to you and Namjoon hovering over the kitchen counters with Jungkook. “No, you aren’t.”

As you’re constructing a sandwich together haphazardly, you lift your face to meet Hoseok’s eyes. He thinks he’s caught a smile, your crinkled eyes, a slight pull on the corner of your lips. You look unrestrained, not burdened or hiding away from the dilemmas that go seeking for you. He’s caught you in a moment where the brick walls and barriers you’ve surrounded your heart with don’t exist. They’ve fallen on your own accord.

Hoseok thinks to himself that if he could still live, if he could have his life back in his hands, he would want to spend the rest of it with you.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” You tell Jungkook at the doorway, entertained with how confused he looks. “We haven’t finished yet.”

“Tomorrow?”

You come and go as you choose, not plagued by a spirit or persuaded by one. “Tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s mother waves to you, immensely thankful for what you’ve done today. And for once as you make your path towards home, your mind doesn’t cripple the abilities you were born with.

The morning air is brisk, the coldness of the ground not yet melted away from the warmth of the sunlight that still peaks over the horizon. But Hoseok wouldn’t know what it would feel like for the sharp bite to nip at his skin, wouldn’t know the freshness of a large inhale to fill his lungs. He can only watch as you slightly shiver, tugging the sweater closer to your body, and he wishes that he could only somehow wrap his arm around you to provide some warmth.

Hoseok clenches his fist, looks the other way and blames himself for being so powerless.

“Why?” Hoseok manages a tiny smile, trying his best to paint over a calm facade. “Why are you helping her so willingly?” Namjoon listens carefully too, curious as to what you’ll answer.

“That woman.” You keep your eyes trained ahead. You’ve been asking yourself the same question and it only occurred to you when you bidded your grandmother goodbye. “She reminds me of my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“She passed away and had abilities like I did.” The curse that runs through your blood, tainting your future and your eyes. But she never saw it the way you did. She always called it a ‘gift’. Something you’ll never understand and unfortunately, never have the opportunity to ask why.

Your mother was a kind woman, so much so that it came at the cost and expense of herself; generous, charitable and selfless in the ways that you’re not. And she loved her child too much - she loved you more than you actually deserved. Your father was benevolent in the same way. But the memories you do have of the two of them are far and few between.

You wish you could remember. But at least they remember you.

“You’re here early.” Jungkook’s eyes are reddened like fire as if he didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. “C-come in.”

Namjoon enters while whistling, not bothering as he flops down on the couch. Hoseok greets Jungkook’s mother, asking if the night went well and if she needs anything at all. You take your time slipping off your shoes, lugging in your plastic bags. When Jungkook stares intently at them, you lift them for him to see. “Groceries. I’m making food.”

“Y-you are?!”

He stares at you in such wonderment that you can’t help but raise your hand and brush his messy hair. Jungkook’s eyes widen and he looks like a deer in headlights with his rounded orbs. You walk past him, right into the kitchen. And he’s left there, grounded into the floor, reminded of the way his own mother used to ruffle the strands of his brown locks.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” You hold up some leeks and the boy comes scrambling over.

“I’ll help! I’ll help.” He begins to wash down the vegetables and he grins. “So...is this our first date?”

“I don’t date young brats like you.” You tease him back as he pouts. “Only strong men who fight for their life.”

As he begins to chop the carrots, he leans over. “Should I join the army then?”

You stifle back a laugh. “You wouldn’t last a single day.”

“Hey! I’m a man, you know! I’m not a minor anymore.” The banter goes back and forth while Namjoon takes a nap that he doesn’t need, Jungkook’s mother is listening with a smile, watching as her son brightens up and Hoseok is content with you just being happy.

“What is this?” Hoseok asks as he looks at the spinach floating in the pot. “It looks disgusting.”

“Are you a child?” You scold him with a scoff. “You’re not even the one eating it. Move aside.”

He whines and you’re about to give in, scooping it out to appease him but then Jungkook returns from the pantry with a frown. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one.” You say quickly without a change in your blank expression. “Mostly to myself.”

Jungkook shoots you a strange look but doesn’t say much else. You don’t either, not when you’re listening to his mother. She hovers over your shoulder, instructing you like a nurturing teacher. Her recipes are ingrained into her mind and she tells the correct measurements of each ingredient, how long you have to cook it for, each and every detail to create the dishes she wants. You become the ghost’s hands.

It takes hours before you’re done cooking the meal. And you set it up nicely on the table, sitting across from Jungkook. “This looks...amazing.” He sniffles and swallows hard, meeting your eyes. “Thank you.”

His silver spoon dips into the familiar warm soup and he brings it to his parted lips, taking a sip.

As it registers inside his head, he drops the utensil. It ‘clacks’ against the bowl and in the stillness of the air, Jungkook bursts into tears. The droplets stream down his cheeks as he casts his face to his lap. It tastes exactly like how his mother used to make it.

“Happy birthday to you.” You begin to sing quietly. “Happy birthday to you.” The boy lifts his head up and stares at you past his water soaked eyes. “Happy birthday, dear Jungkook.” He wonders who you really are. “Happy birthday to you.”

In your eyes, the orbs that can see beyond, Hoseok is sitting next to you. Namjoon is on your other side and Jungkook’s mother is sitting beside her son, clapping her hands and grinning past her own drenched cheeks.

But in Jungkook’s eyes, in the entire home, it’s just you and him sitting around the dinner table.

[Four Months Ago]

Day in and day out, Jungkook is working.

He is tirelessly working until his hands have peeled from scrubbing mountains of dishes in the kitchen. Until his feet have bled from waiting tens of tables, all while slapping a smile on his face to appease customers. He has never been the child he should have been, accompanying his friends after school, fooling around and laughing without restraint. Jungkook has never lived the life of freedom that people his age should live.

Each hour that he wastes is money lost, sleep lost, studying that needs to be done.

“So, you can’t go tonight?” A coworker of his asks, hope diminishing as she analyzes his face.

“I’m sorry.” He turns around and masks his own disappointment, “I have a thing to go to.”

And that thing...is his mother.

His sick mother who has been this way for as long as he could remember. Hospitalized. Pale. Vomiting. Incurable. He doesn’t remember when it began like this, when he began to despise seeing his own mom. Jungkook loves her and it hurts to see this way. But he’s tired.

He’s exhausted of fighting for her at the cost of himself.

“Jungkook.” His mother softens into a smile, several tubes running in and out of her arm, one sticking into her nose. She can’t even lift herself off the bed to greet him. And she doesn’t know how the last ten hour shift has made him detest her even more.

“H-how….” The woman is out of breath. “Was...sc...hool?”

Jungkook scoffs and rolls his eyes in disbelief. She doesn’t know how he stopped going months ago. She doesn’t know anything at all. She can’t do anything on her own. His mother is useless, getting sicker and sicker...throwing up…. disgusting.

“It was fine.” He brushes her off. “How are you?”

“F...ine…” She smiles at her son and Jungkook sighs.

He finally knows the word. The word to call his mother-

Burdensome.

“You’re not my neighbor, are you?” Jungkook wipes his face, “I-I looked into it and no one has moved into this neighborhood. So...w-who are you?”

You take a large inhale, bracing yourself to reveal the truth. “I’m fulfilling your mother’s last wish.”

The boy across from you nods as he begins to cry again. He nods again and again, gnawing on his bottom lip to try to retain his emotions. “I believe you.”

Tears begin to flow and you can feel his heartache, the agony that makes his entire body shake. His mother is by his side, worried that he’ll become sick from crying. She brings her hands to wipe away his tears but upon remembering that she cannot touch him, she leans over to grab a tissue. That, too, passes through her hands and she sighs softly.

The unconditional love she shares for her son torments you and stitches you back at the same time. It makes you whole. It makes you desperate. As you watch the woman fuss to her child that cannot see her, ignoring her own sorrows and tears….You can feel it.

It’s the fuzzy blanket that is wrapped around you, shielding you but then it is ripped away. It’s the touch and kiss of an infant that coos in your arms. But as you pull the baby closer, it dissipates into thin air. You’re walking blindly in the dark, arms out in front of you, screaming into the oblivion, asking yourself when this all went wrong. You’re begging for an answer.

You know this regret.

[Three Months Ago]

“Sh-should….we celebrate….your…” His mother wheezes once but still forces her words out. “...birthday together?”

Jungkook scoffs, “Why?”

“I’m….so...rry…” Her shaking hand tugs the oxygen mask off and she smiles. “I’...m….no-..t...the mother….I’m...suppose...to...be.”

He sighs and looks away from the window, finally to his mom who’s laying in her bed. “It’s not your fault.” And it really isn’t. Jungkook knows she has no control over her sickness. If she did, she wouldn’t be in this situation and he wouldn’t either.

“For my birthday…” He hums and thinks for a while. “Let’s just have a meal together. I think that would be nice. Cake, too, maybe?”

“O...kay…” His mother nods slightly, “I promise...you.”

With doting eyes and trembling fingers, she slowly lifts her arm to brush her son’s hair. But before her fingertips can make contact with his brown strands, Jungkook slaps it away.

“Don’t do those things.” He bitterly looks elsewhere. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

She lowers her hand, smiling at him. “Okay.”

The doctors don’t leave her room with good news, never entering with it either. They simply look at her charts, shaking their heads and mumble under their breaths. They don’t tell her but she doesn’t need them too. Maybe it’s because she felt like she saw a black cloak appearing at the corner of her eye and the scent of disintegrating ash lingering in her nose, but she knows.

Time is running out.

“Are you sure this is alright for you, Mrs. Jeon?” The nurse asks as she places the birthday cake on the table in front of her.

“Y-yes…” She gasps out. “G-ood.”

“I think your son will really appreciate celebrating his birthday a bit in advance.” The woman in scrubs takes a glance at the clock. “He should be here soon, right? As usual?”

“Yes…”

But Jungkook doesn’t come that evening. He decides that it’s the day he’ll give in to his friend’s invitations, be a normal boy his age; eat a warm meal, wander around, sing at a karaoke bar, laugh and not be restrained by time. And Jungkook truly enjoys it. There’s nothing holding him back. Nothing that’s….burdensome.

“Are you joining us to the next place?” His coworker asks and he takes a peek at the time.

“You know….maybe next time.” Jungkook decides he’ll check in with his mother, despite already visiting her every single day. The responsibilities and obligations don’t disappear as much as he wants to ignore them. “I have somewhere to go.”

As the crowd draws away with him, he turns around and asks himself why he can’t join them...why he’s always weighed down by-

“Jung...kook…” His mother wheezes, having waited for him for hours on end. She smiles sheepishly. “You...made it…”

And before he can ask her why a cake is there, why she’s not sleeping yet and why the lights are still on - his mother slumps down and her heartbeat flatlines. She’s still smiling. “Mom?” It’s a constant beep, one that burns into his ears. Jungkook is frozen in his spot, the universe swirling around him.

He opens his mouth to say something...anything...but the doctors push past him. “Incubation!”, “Her pressure is falling!”, “Dial up to five hundred!”. In the swarm of strangers, Jungkook limps forward and crashes beside her.

“Mom. You….promise..d...me-...”

He didn’t get to become a good son. Jungkook didn’t get to apologize. He didn’t get to say his goodbyes.

“Mom!” He didn’t tell her that he loves her. “Come back!”

The food is still on the table.

Jungkook’s mother, Namjoon, Hoseok and you surround it while watching Jungkook sob out his eyes and releases the grief he’s held with a tight grip. “I didn’t...I didn’t treat her well.”

“I never got to fulfill my promise, Jungkook.” His mother shakes her head while you repeat her words slowly. “I’m sorry. No son should have to watch his own mother die like that.”

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t ever healthy. That I could never take care of you. I couldn’t even pack you lunches, pick you up from school...I couldn’t even follow through with my promise and celebrate your birthday. What kind of mother am I?”

“The best mother that I could ask for.” Jungkook weeps into his hands. “I-I miss you and I love you, mom. I’m-...sorry. I was a bad son. I was a bad son.”

“You aren’t.” She laughs and one that is full of life. “You’re my son. Which makes you the best.”

Jungkook mourns her death and you slowly go over to him, embracing his trembling frame. He grabs onto you, muffling his wails and whimpers into your clothes. His mother raises her hand to try to stroke her son’s hair, hovering over slightly. You mimic her actions, brushing your fingertips through his strands.

“I made you work hard but you can rest now, Jungkook.”

That night, Jungkook eats each and every dish on the table. He cleans it completely like he’s been starving for months, furiously as he cries every now and then. The boy savours the taste and imprints it into his mind as his mother’s last cooked meal for him. You watch him, across the table, knees gathered together.

Jungkook eats and eats until the clock strikes midnight and his birthday is over.

His mother’s last wish becomes fulfilled and she is able to leave onto the other side in peace.

Her arm is looped around Namjoon’s and she smiles joyfully. “You know the last time someone held me like this was my husband…”

The Reaper smiles, “Is that so?”

The woman turns back again, beaming at you thankfully before murmuring her last words to her son. When the white door to the other side disappears and the house is as quiet as Jungkook’s ears, you echo the soft syllables.

“Happy birthday, Jungkook.”

When people die, it’s difficult to imagine the aftermath.

Some worry that others will forget them, an empty funeral, a grave left abandoned. They try to make a lasting impact or they fret and worry. Others don’t care at all. And a few disregard the people they love and those who love them. They forget about those they’ll leave behind.

But even if the entire world does not shift over a single person’s death, the memories they leave behind with a handful, a dozen, a bunch or even one doesn’t change. It lasts.

Death is not the end. The story does not end. It continues. And the legacy isn’t forgotten.

Jungkook is kneeling at his mother’s grave, sponge in hand and water-filled bucket by his side. He uses his strength to scrub down her gravestone, cleaning every inch of it off. You’re crouched beside him, taking care of the weeds.

“Do you think she left to the other side peacefully?” He asks you as he wipes away his sweat and scrubs harder. Jungkook doesn’t care if his hands will peel or his feet will bleed. The pain is taken away by the memories he spent with her, laughing in her small room, holding her wrinkled palm, letting her fingers smooth over his hair.

He remembers the birthdays that they did spend together.

You look over to Namjoon and the Reaper nods. “Yes. She did.”

“Good.” Jungkook grins, his doe eyes no longer telling a story of being lost, wandering blindly in the dark. His eyes rather resemble his mother’s. “That’s good.”

The burial place is an endless green field, vivid and colourful for the dead. The grass grows tall and untamed in between the straight rows of tombstones but the bouquet flowers add hues other than verdant green and gray. When the trees rustle and the leaves twirl down, Hoseok pulls Namjoon away.

“Do you know?”

The Reaper cocks his eyebrow and smirks, about to ask what the ghost means but he already knows. “I have no power to restore your memories and there’s no reason for me to. It would make you and a bunch of others more reluctant to leave anyways.”

“Why don’t I remember, Namjoon?” Hoseok looks around him, ripping his head apart, wondering if one of these stones are of him. If his true body is buried six feet underneath him where he’s standing. All he wants is to know. What kind of person was he. Who it was that was important. Why he’s still here and being held back. “Why?”

You stand up, glancing around to where the both of them have disappeared off to and when you catch them a while away, you raise your arm to signal that you and Jungkook are finished. A smile takes place on your lips and Hoseok gazes at you in desperation. Why?

Why can’t he be with you?

Namjoon exhales, scanning the premise, amazed at the amount of souls he’s taken. Then he vanishes, his black cape whisking him into a shadow.

His voice is the only thing that remains. “Do you need to remember?”

#bts fanfic #hoseok angst #jungkook angst #hoseok fanfic #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #oh man oh man oh man

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caffedrine · 7 years

Text

Impressions - Day Dream Lover Chapter 1

Chapter I - The Long Dream

Alice finds Gray Ringmarc and the other employees are running through the hallways looking for Nightmare. They have little hope of finding him as he often escapes into dreams, and only Gray can drag him out. Alice spots Gray and offers to help him search for Nightmare, to which Gray gratefully accepts.

Gray’s eyes remind Alice of a panther, and even though he has been nothing but polite to her, she still feels intimidated by him. He is one of the two role holders living at the Tower of Clover, the center of the Country of Clover.

The other role holder is Nightmare Gottschalk, who is the lord of the tower and in charge of the City of Clover. He claims to be the most important person in the country, but takes ever opportunity to skip out on his work. He has very poor health but avoids the hospital more than he avoids work.

Alice heads to Nightmare’s office to start her search and immediately finds him smoking on the sofa. Nightmare doesn’t appear to be aware of the search going on and waves at her lazily. Alice starts to scold him and while coughing, Nightmare argues that he’s just taking a break. Alice tells him that if he’s going to cough like that, he should probably stop smoking. Nightmare argues that smoking is something cool adults like he does during their breaks.

Alice is still thrown off balance by Nightmare’s presence. She had grown used to him visiting her in her dreams while she was in the Country of Hearts, so it was strange to see him in the waking world.

It all began one Sunday afternoon when Alice had been enjoying a picnic with her older sister, Lorina, in their garden. Suddenly, a mysterious man with rabbit ears abducted Alice and brought her to the Country of Hearts, a place that was on no map.

In this world, time was crazy as it would change from day to night to evening at random times with no discernable order. There were people with rabbit and cat ears, as well as normal people all shooting at each other. Alice’s common sense was no longer an asset to her in this world.

In the Country of Hearts, Alice found a home at the neutral Clock Tower. There were three other territories, the Castle of Hearts, The Hatter’s Mansion, and the Amusement Park, which were always fighting in an unending territorial dispute.

The solitary head of the Clock Tower, Julius Monrey, was a silent, gloomy and difficult person to get along with. However, he allowed Alice to stay with him, and they had gotten along very well. It should have stayed that way.

Instead, one day Alice woke up to discover that she was no longer in the Country of Hearts. While it’s difficult to explain, the land ‘moves’ and Alice had found herself in the center of the Tower of Clover without warning. She still doesn’t understand why she wasn’t able to stay with Julius at his Clock Tower.

When she asked, the only answer she received was that as an outsider, she wasn’t tied to the Clock Tower.

However, the move didn’t leave her completely alone. The dream demon she had grown to know from the Country of Hearts was here in the flesh, as disorienting as it was.

Back in the present, Nightmare complains that he is very important and powerful, and there is no boss of comparable dignity than him. He is a respected and generous lord. Alice complains that he’s saying this to his victims. Nightmare complains that she is wrong, he is an amazing boss.

Alice gives up on trying to convince him otherwise, all she has to do is keep Nightmare here and wait for Gray to wander by. Alice wonders if Nightmare was like this back in the Country of Hearts. To be fair, he was stubborn even then, but he seemed more mysterious and in control. In the real world, Nightmare was troublesome instead of mysterious.

Gray eventually finds them, and he is not in a good mood. He reminds Nightmare that if he is always taking breaks, they won’t get anywhere in their work. Alice reflexively grabs onto Nightmare’s arm, sensing his imminent escape into the dream world. Nightmare tells her to let go, and Alice tells him that if he’s such a great boss, he won’t cause any more trouble for his subordinates.

Nightmare coughs up blood onto his shirt and Alice asks if he would rather go to the hospital or go back to work. Nightmare complains that he doesn’t want to go to either.

At this point more subordinates enter the room to subdue Nightmare. On Gray’s instructions, they bring Nightmare to another room, leaving the office quiet for once.

Gray collapses on the sofa, looking like an exhausted mother dealing with her son’s rebellious years. He thanks Alice for her help, and she sympathizes with having a troublesome boss.

Gray starts smoking a cigarette and agrees with her. Alice is impressed with him for putting up with Nightmare as long as he has.

Before her move to the Country of Clover, Alice had no prior contact with Gray. However, there had been times when Nightmare would enter her dreams only to dash away, and in retrospect, that had probably been him avoiding Gray.

Gray tells her that before, Nightmare would immediately dash away into a dream in order to hide. He thinks Alice’s presence is to thank for this easy capture. He only hopes that she won’t grow tired from dealing with Nightmare all the time. Right now, Nightmare is becoming more dependable, and it’s all thanks to her.

Alice is a bit creeped out, this is the longest conversation she and Gray have had since her arrival at the Tower. Besides, he’s acting like she’s some kind of wonderful person that she’s not. On the other hand, Gray ticks all her boxes for being a wonderful person. He’s smart, mature, and very handsome. Of course, Nightmare is also good looking, but his beauty is more feminine, as opposed to Gray’s masculinity.

Gray has been droning on for a bit, and Alice catches the last part where he suggest that Nightmare is restless because he’s single. Alice idly agrees, men are known to calm down when they have a family.

Gray realizes his break is up and tells Alice that he would like to talk about this further in their free time. In the meantime, he asks her to consider what he was saying. Before Alice can ask him what he means, Gray dashes out of the office.

xxx

Later Alice complains to Nightmare that there was something strange about Gray. Nightmare asks if she means Gray magically sprouted rabbit ears and Alice tells him to stop telling that joke. It reminds her of Peter White, the rabbit-eared man who abducted her to this world, and the mental image of his ears on Gray makes her shudder. Although, if it were Elliot’s ears . . . Well, that wasn’t what she was getting at.

Nightmare asks her to explain, and she looks at him while she considers her answer. Nightmare’s skin is pale, as if it has never seen the sun. He has bluish, purple lips. There is a medicine bottle nearby that has no signs of being used, and documents that have not been read. Alice feels a wave of pity for Gray. Maybe she’s being a little hard on him.

Alice asks Nightmare if he plans on drinking that medicine anytime soon. Nightmare has a disgusted expression on his face and complains that she’s abusing him. Alice points out that they had the doctor use strawberry flavoring to make the medicine more palatable, but Nightmare isn’t interested. Instead, he’s interested in hearing about Gray.

Alice tells Nightmare that Gray had spent some time praising him to her shortly after they captured him. Nightmare wonders what is strange about a subordinate praising such a great boss like him, he can understand why Gray would want to brag.

Alice wonders if Nightmare has secretly brainwashed all of his subordinates, and that is why they all adore him.

Nightmare asks if there was anything else, and Alice tells him no. She prepares a cool towel and places it on Nightmare’s forehead. She takes another towel and wraps it around his neck. This reminds her of the time she got sick and Lorina took care of her. The memory sticks, and Alice feels her heart skip a beat.

Nightmare grabs onto her wrist, and she looks into his quiet gray emotionless eyes. Nightmare tells her that she should be dreaming when she sleeps, not when she is awake. If she’s not careful, she’ll become caught up in a daydream.

Alice complains that she wasn’t daydreaming. Daydreams were just unrealistic delusions, she was just remembering her older sister. And that wasn’t a delusion, it was okay to remember her sister from time to time. Nightmare warns her that there is nothing more unreal or delusional than memories.

Alice frowns wonders if the people of this world don’t understand family ties. She asks Nightmare if this is his way of getting back at her for when she handed him over to Gray earlier. Nightmare tells her that he wouldn’t do that and asks if she really thinks that low of him.

Alice huffs, it still feels like Nightmare is making fun of her, and she’s growing tired of him reading her mind. Nightmare quickly assures her that he’ll stop reading her mind and strokes her hair. Alice points out that he said earlier that he can’t help but overhear thoughts and Nightmare promises to block her out. Alice wonders why he wasn’t doing that at the start, and Nightmare shrugs, pointing out that just because he can hear something doesn’t mean that he’s listening to it. It’s like listening to a sunken treasure chest buried beneath the ocean.

xxx

Alice dreams of machine oil and relaxes as she lays in the single bed in Julius’s workshop. It’s a single room with no luxuries, but it was Alice’s home. She wonders if Julius was surprised at her sudden disappearance. She still hadn’t made coffee that Julius would score ’90 points’ yet, but she felt that she was coming close to that day. However, when she got up from the bed, there was no Julius or his indigo, shampoo model-esque hair.

Instead Alice smells dirt and finds a basket of scones and sandwiches. Once again, she is in her family’s garden on a Sunday afternoon, picnicking with her older sister Lorina. Alice apologizes for keeping her waiting and Lorina laughs and tells her that as long as she finds her way home, Lorina won’t be mad. Alice sees the book in Lorina’s lap and recognizes the story. It’s about a girl who falls asleep and dreams of a laughing cat, the Queen of Hearts, roses that are painted red, an endless tea party with hatters, and a medicine that says ‘drink me’. Alice realizes that the Lorina is turning the last page and begs her to stop, to not end the dream so soon . . .

xxx

Alice wakes up to find that she’s in neither her family’s garden nor Julius’s workshop. She’s in a spacious light green guest room in the Tower of Clover.

To her surprise, Nightmare is by her bedside, trying to sooth her. Briefly she wonders why he’s there, but then she throws herself into his arms. She wonders why she feels so uneasy, it’s not like she had a bad dream or anything.

Nightmare holds her tight and she smells tobacco smoke. As she feels Nightmare’s warm body next to hers, she finally begins to calm down. She asks if she’s still dreaming, and Nightmare tells her no.

Alice eventually realizes that would mean that this is the Country of Clover. And the Nightmare she’s pressed up against is the real thing. Embarrassed, Alice releases Nightmare and furiously demands to know why he just waltzed into her room. Nightmare points out that he would have visited her within her dreams, but Alice already shot that down earlier. And besides, he totally did knock first.

Alice points out that she didn’t give him permission to enter her room, and wasn’t her door locked? Nightmare tells her that since this is his tower in the center of his territory, he can go where he pleases. Alice realizes that means that there is no woman safe from him and his rudeness.

While she is angry, Alice also feels embarrassed about how she latched onto Nightmare earlier. She tells him that he didn’t need to wake her up, it’s not like she was having a bad dream. Okay, maybe she feels unsettled and lonely, but it’s not like she needs him.

Nightmare informed her that she was the one who called out to him. He doesn’t just go into women’s rooms without an invitation, he came here specifically because she was calling for him.

Alice wonders what kind of joke this is, especially since she remembers not wanting to wake up. She looks at Nightmare’s face and realizes that he’s serious.

Stroking her hair, Nightmare tells her to stay with him, he will keep her from seeing any more bad dreams. He promises to protect her in a way that Julius cannot. Alice asks why Julius wasn’t in her dream and Nightmare only smiles sadly.

Alice has been dreaming often of Julius since she moved to the Country of Clover. And every time she wakes up from that dream, Alice wishes that she could go back to the Clock Tower. Alice recalls that Nightmare can read people’s minds, and must have heard her wishes. In a way, she’s been rubbing it in his face that she hates it here and by extension, him. It must have hurt him every time she wished to go back to Julius.

Before she can apologize, Nightmare tells Alice to not worry about him and focus on herself. He promises that she won’t even notice him when she goes back to sleep, and he can keep her from having any more bad dreams. Alice is too selfish to argue as Nightmare gently tucks her in.

Alice muses that despite the fact that this is technically a dangerous situation, she doesn’t feel any alarm from being on a bed alone in the room with Nightmare. She wonders if it’s because Nightmare is so gentle, or if she’s just not aware of him as a man.

Nightmare interrupts her to ask if she’s trying to be rude now. Or is she saying that she wants him to try something? Alice snorts, and tells him that if he does try something, she has no doubt that she’ll be able to dropkick him across the room. Nightmare is aghast at the violent image he reads from her mind.

Miffed, Nightmare assures Alice that he won’t try anything. He promises to stay with her until she falls asleep in order to keep her from dreaming the rest of the night.

Alice thanks him, feeling relieved. She thinks that if ever Nightmare suffers from insomnia, she will repay this favor by singing him a lullaby until he falls asleep. As Alice drifts off, she hears Lorina’s voice in her mind.

xxx

About five hours later, Alice wakes up feeling refreshed. Like Nightmare had promised, she had slept soundly with no more dreams. It’s a beautiful morning and the sun is shining brightly through her window.

Alice realizes that there is a soft breathing sound coming from her bed. Horrified, Alice turns, remembering Nightmare’s promise to stay with her until she fell asleep again.

Alice tells Nightmare to get out of her bed this instant. Half-awake, Nightmare grumbles that he needs just a little more sleep, another ten hours or so. Alice grabs the sheets and tries to tug Nightmare off the bed.

Nightmare grumbles that he might be willing to get up if she was gentler, and maybe kissed him on the cheek. Alice tells him that she only kisses men who contribute to society. She asks if he realizes what this situation implies.

Nightmare yawns and idly asks her why she’s so upset. Isn’t it normal for women to spend the night with their favorite man? Alice gives up and starts trying to drag Nightmare to the door by his arm. She tells him that if anyone sees them like this, they’ll get the wrong idea.

She opens the door, intending to throw Nightmare out, only to find Gray on the other side about ready to knock. He apologizes for disturbing her, but he was hoping she knew where . . . Nightmare . . . was.

Gray’s eyes immediately go to Nightmare, who is in disheveled clothing and only half awake. They flick back to Alice, who is still only wearing her pajamas. Okay then, Gray understands this situation completely.

Alice yells at him to stop ‘understanding’, but at this point Gray has adopted a perfect poker face. She wonders how she can explain this situation without making it worse.

Gray tells her that she doesn’t need to say anything at all, she can trust him. He won’t let her down. Just as Alice is starting to feel relieved at this sudden show of understanding Gray continues, promising to find the perfect place for the ceremony and handle all of the arrangements.

***

So far it’s a lot like Nightmare’s Clover Route. I kind of miss the part where he announces that he and Alice were sleeping together in front of all his subordinates, but maybe that will happen in the future. And poor Julius, he’s going back to being the romantic rival. I suppose it makes sense, but still!

I like the morning after scene, I wish the game had something like that. Nightmare’s route was a comedy of errors, it was missing Gray walking in on them on inopportune moments and misunderstanding. I like that the book had the scene.

#daydream lover #Light Novel #Alice Liddel #nightmare gottschalk #Clover no Kuni no Alice #HnKnA

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hager2121 · 8 years

Text

Short story

Something different. Hope you like it. Or at least give it a chance. For writers and people who wish they knew the next chapter:

FOREWORD

I am reading a book.

And just finished the first few chapters.

But they are long and painful at times.

And you know how I hate mysteries.

So I skipped to the end to see what happens.

Good news.

The boy gets the girl.

Happily ever after ensues.

You should read it.

The main character breathes like you.

CHAPTER ONE

The writer was good at words. He was bad at life.

Words he could manipulate and string together to form complex thoughts. But life was its own complex thought in which he had no control. Or, at the very least, he did not seem to exercise it at the right time.

For the last few months, with Her, he had tried to write his Happily Ever After. But the ending was not what he wanted. And when he lost the girl, depression followed. Words – which had previously come so easy to him – were elusive, like trying to catch rain drops with a butterfly net. His mind was occupied with one thought, and the more he focused on it, the less anything else mattered.

His therapist suggested he write his story so far, just to get it out of his head. He said he’d try. It was a painful slog through great memories, one after another, and though he was filled with joy when they originally happened, recounting them now, given his situation, was too much.

He was honest about everything. His mistakes. His wrong steps. His story was their story, and he did her justice. He poured his soul into each paragraph, mining his pain for context and conclusion. The river of words cleansed his soul of some of the guilt – a tiny bit; a smidge.

He wrote and wrote until he was caught up to the present. And though it gave him comfort to get it out, he realized he had no ending. Which he was OK with. Not having an ending to a story you don’t want to end is the most exciting outcome.

So he wrote a new chapter. Fiction: The phone rings. She is on the other end. They talk.

It was a best-case scenario, he knew, but was this exercise JUST about remembering the past? Wasn’t it also about creating a path to the future?

He finished the new chapter, and as he hit enter, his cell phone buzzed.

“Hello?” he said, seeing her name flash. His heart thumped so hard he could feel it in his throat.

“Hi” she said.

“I, uh, am glad you called.”

“You OK?”

“I’m … alright. I guess. You?”

“I’m good. Sorry to bother you. I was just sitting here and got an urge. I know we said we were going to give each other distance, but … I don’t know. I had to talk to you.”

CHAPTER TWO

The writer was confused. The conversation had gone pretty much how he had described it, down to pauses in the conversation. It was so identical, he was not sure he had actually written it first.

Maybe I’m having a mental break and wrote the chapter AFTER we talked? he thought. Loss of time, disorientation, delusion … those were all symptoms of major psychosis.

They had agreed to meet for coffee the next day to talk, just like he had said they would. That was where his story ended and where their convo had stopped.

Still not quite sure what to believe, he decided to write the next chapter. The following day. In the coffee shop. He’d send the copy to himself, his cell phone, that way he could read along to what he wrote.

The phone conversation they had was good, not great. He had grounded it in reality when he wrote it, with lots of heartache and talking about the future. But if he was writing his fantasy now; the coffee shop would be much different. He wanted passion. He wanted hope. He wanted her.

***

He got there early, five minutes, which was unusual for him, as he was never early. Of course, he’d written he would get there early. And even though he left late, he had the perfect storm of great traffic lights, which allowed him to zip across town and get the booth in the back, well before she arrived.

He checked his phone, reviewing what he’d written: She breezed through the door, wearing a tight black dress – much too overdressed for a dingy Starbucks in a nondescript part of town. Her hips swayed as she walked. Her red lips glowed, a look of determination in her bright eyes. She saw him from across the room, a tiny smile on her lips. She walked toward him with purpose.

He glanced up. She breezed through the door. Tight black dress. Red lips. Swaying hips. Smile. Purpose.

“You look nice,” she said, taking a seat in front of him.

“Thanks,” he said. “I decided to wear a clean tshirt for once.” She laughed, and he remembered how much he had missed seeing her smile.

“Thanks,” he said. “I decided to wear a clean tshirt for once.” She laughed.

“Look, we said we were not going to play games,” she said, taking a sip from the mocha latte he had ordered for her, “so I’m not going to. I’m just going to come out and say it … I miss you tremendously. I want to make this work.”

“Look, we said we were not going to play games,” she said, taking a sip from her mocha latte, “so I’m not going to. I’m just going to come out and say it … I miss you tremendously. I want to make this work.”

The writer smiled, not letting on to her what the joke was. This was impossible, he thought, but he quickly erased that. Who cares? Did he? Maybe this was a gift for years and years of rejection from editors and agents and publishers. He had squandered his promise a long time ago. Maybe THIS was the story he was meant to write. His story. And if it ended happily, who cared?

He knew how the date would continue. More laughs. Longing looks. A passionate kiss. Her curled up in his bed the next morning, greeting him with a smile and a hug and a promise of more tomorrows.

He was OK with that ending. But he had more to write.

CHAPTER THREE

He set up a routine. Wait until she fell asleep each night, slip out of bed, write the next chapter.

Sometimes he would write longer scenarios – a weekend away, for instance – that did not include too many details. He would sum it up in a paragraph or two, allowing himself to be surprised by the actual results. As long as he knew where they were heading, he was fine.

Other times, he was specific in detail. The way she looked at him with those intense eyes, not breaking contact. Things he missed and thought he’d never get back. A dress she would wear. A tender moment they would share.

And he was generous, too. He did not make it just about what he wanted. He gave her a promotion at work. He wrote himself into a fitness routine so he could get in better shape for her. He sold short stories so they could do more things together – he never got greedy, never went for too much. He wanted what they had back, no some sensationalized fantasy.

He even allowed them to fight. Healthy couples fight. Disagree. It was important they be as normal as possible. Jealousy. Anger. Envy. Bad days. Bad nights. He wanted to be honest with his words. He wanted his characters to be real, not stereotypes imagined by a hack writer.

Mainly, though, he wanted her to look at him the way she had always used to. He wanted her laugh. Her smile. Her warmth. He didn’t want a new set of eyes staring at him. He wanted it to be real.

And it felt like it was. For months.

But the first time he had writer’s block, and she woke up the next day and stared at him blankly – the way she used to, when their relationship was ending – unsure of what she was doing there and why, he tried to shrug it off.

The week he had the flu (he had written it would happen, careful to include a bit of bad in his story to ground it in reality, but he did not specify the severity of the sickness), he could not keep his head up enough to beat out even a single line. That week, her visits were a lot less frequent. When she did show up, the spark from her eyes was gone. She focused on the things about him that had driven them to take time apart to start with. He could see she loved him but did not long for him. The rules for this were too great, he realized, both with the story and the relationship.

He’d tried to change – or, at least, “wrote” that he changed – but his imperfections were still there. And they were especially noticeable to the woman who knew him best.

The more he tried to fix the narrative with new chapters, the more muddled the story became. He was losing track of days, time. It was a creative mess. There was no consistent narrative, no story. Just a series of disjointed scenes with an insecure narrator and a female protagonist whose only purpose was to advance the story. He was losing himself in his own book.

CHAPTER FOUR

He feared her slipping away. Again. Feared destroying what they had. He knew he could make her happy. Knew he could write the perfect ending. He just couldn’t take any chances.

He’d finish the book, he thought. He didn’t need details. Just speed through the next 40-50 years of bliss. Throw in a wedding, a few trips, monetary security, fidelity, close friends … he could wrap up “forever” in 3,000 words and leave enough spaces to keep it interesting.

That was the problem, he convinced himself, TOO much detail. He needed more space to let it breathe. Stop pushing the story. Find the quiet moments.

And, when he finished, he’d put the manuscript in a safe somewhere. Lock it away so he couldn’t tinker. Couldn’t manipulate. He’d work off the blueprint he set out and live with whatever happened. As long as they were together.

He never questioned if he should write it. Writers never do. He just wanted to get the story right.

CHAPTER FIVE

The first part of the rest of their life started at a big wedding they were attending that weekend, he wrote. He would propose to her on the dance floor. She would say yes. They would hug. They would kiss. It would be magic.

Wedding. Honeymoon. New house. New jobs. New lives. Friends. Family. Pets. He crammed as much as he could in, working fast, trying to give the story as much reality as possible. He thought about working in world peace or the end of cancer – who knew where his powers stopped? – but didn’t. Small miracles are still miracles.

As a writer, he felt like god, but not THE God. A lesser one. One who wrote on a Mac.

He typed the last page. Happily Ever After. Sent it to the printer. Placed it with the rest. The stack was at least five inches thick, enough to fill a binder. Their lives. The past. The present. The future.

He read through the first few chapters again, just for perspective. For narrative.

They met. They fell in love. How innocent they were. How alive.

The first kiss. The first time they made love.

The fights.

The makeups.

The Us.

It was real. The first part. It was them. He had not read it since he had originally wrote it, but it was clearly their story. He recognized those people. And though parts of it hurt – it hurt in the way something important should hurt.

And then he got to the new chapters.

He noticed a change in his writing. More “I,” less “we.”

There was a desperation to his work. A neediness. An ugliness. He had not noticed it while he was writing. He had not intended it. He clung to her, like she could save him.

Chapter after chapter of a fun-house mirror of their relationship. Who were these people? All the things HE needed – even though he was sure he had written what THEY wanted. It was crude. Ugly.

You can’t write your own story, he thought, because it’s never just YOUR story.

It was Their story. It had been. The first half of the book. It wasn’t anymore. Maybe it couldn’t be from now on. You can’t force someone to love you, he realized. There’s no shortcut to happiness.

He could not even read the last chapter, the one he had just written. He had been arrogant. Selfish. The reason he lost control of his characters was because he stopped believing they could figure it out on their own. He’d lost faith in their love and had replaced it with cliches.

He shredded the last chapter. It was an easy decision. Then the rest. The past six months reduced to thin strips of paper memories.

He saved the first part, though. The reality. He saved it and put it in a folder and tucked it away in a drawer in his desk. He had earned those chapters. The ending? He’d cheated to get them.

EPILOGUE

He did not hear from her the next day. Or the next. She texted him and said she was busy, but he knew what was happening. He did not blame her.

A week later, she called. She said they needed to talk. She said she loved him but needed space. She said he had not changed, and she needed him to. His heart was broken, but he did not fight it.

“I still believe in Us,” she said, giving him hope.

He promised her he would not stop fighting for the future. She said she hoped he didn’t. She said she missed who they were, not who they were now.

For the first time in months, he had no idea how their story would end. And though it hurt him to not know the direction it would take, he knew he needed more than words if he wanted her back.

#prose #shortstory #story #fiction #tumblr writing community #twc writers #love #love story #writing #writer

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