#so she has to force herself to come to terms with burning her bridges on accident. retroactively justify them. revel in them

[majorasnightmare]

as a tragic doomed siblings enjoyer what are your headcannons about dirge/orin's relationship pre-betrayal? care to elaborate on what was going on with them based on what we know? when do u think the resentment from orin rly started peculating?

this is an EXCELLENT excuse to have somethin i can quickly refer to for autosarcophagy thank you 💜💜💜

so a LOT of it is speculation and headcanons with most of our canon sources being close to the end of their pre game interactions with each other. We know Orin resented Durge for taking what she felt was her spot, we know Durge demeaned her ritual murders and scoffed at the idea of fighting her for the role of Chosen, we know Sarevok essentially led Orin on by acting like she was ever anything more than a sacrifice, and we know that the cult of Bhaal isn't entirely pleased with the change in leadership. It's a fairly straightforward tale of resentment and betrayal and an unworthy upstart claiming what shouldn't be theirs out of jealousy, but I like to throw wrenches in the works and add fun complicating emotions in like genuine admiration and sibling affection

a core aspect to Dirge is that, much like real world wolves, he is deeply family oriented. upon arriving at the temple of Bhaal, he has killed his only family, and only has Sceleritas as company, who at this point is more cagey than comforting for him. hes lonely, and scared, and vulnerable, and is coming off a profoundly miserable experience roughing it in Baldur's Gate. the temple delivers on the one form of connection Dirge craves more than anything: not only is there family, there are siblings.

Dirge technically has four siblings waiting for him at the temple. Haflidi, who at this point would be either an older teenager or a young adult, an angry spiteful vindictive barbarian goliath. Ornaryn, a drow vengeance paladin, who IS invested in trying to make sure the Temple's newest additions aren't horrifically traumatized (and near immediately removed from influence and forced to travel to the other side of the continent). Zherimon, the eldest, a tiefling paladin serving as the current head of the cult (begrudgingly). And Orin. Not only is Orin close to his age, she's also the only one who's as happy to see him as he is to see her. His other siblings are all emotionally unavailable for one reason or another, but Orin is here and Orin is excited and now he finally doesn't have to be alone anymore. He latches onto her very quickly, and throughout his entire time with the cult, she's the only one he was ever close to.

Orin is canonically the youngest in the cult to ever achieve the rank of Unholy Assassin, which, given that shes close to Dirge's age, would mean she achieved that lofty goal BEFORE him, and I like to think this is another example of Orin's latent natural talents and skills that eventually contribute to her feeling ignored and overshadowed. Because for at least half of their lives together, it would've been the other way around. Dirge and his prodigy sister, who had already served as Bhaal's mouthpiece once before in the ritualistic killing of her mother. Ironically its a relationship they were both happy with. Dirge arrives at the temple emotionally distraught, but now Orin finally has a playmate her own age, AND hes going to join the temple, same as her! Finally someone she can practice murder with that isn't grandpa Sarevok!

Dirge is a crybaby as a kid, and hes quiet and deferential. This is a new place, with lots of new people (and he's never been fond of new people), and he still feels sick about his parents, but he hits it off with Orin immediately. Orin has a strong mischief streak, emboldened by her shapeshifting, and she ADORES having someone to teach and be superior to. Dirge in turn is happy to have someone who delights in teaching him, because a lot of whats going on is confusing and unintuitive and upsetting. Orin softens his early years of indoctrination into something that could even be construed as pleasant. She excels and pulls ahead, and she bullies her brother for being a crybaby, but she still reaches out behind her to help pull him back up. Orin very much takes on the role of "big sister" even though its a negligble distinction given their circumstances. She teaches him how to delight in torture, makes the doctrine of nihilism make sense, emphasizes that the two of them are special and chosen and important, that they dont have to care what other people think, because theyre stupid and wrong anyways. She diminishes the pain he feels from killing his parents by affirming what SHES been taught, that it was a good and holy and rightous thing and he deserved to be rewarded for it, just like she was (though maybe not the SAME reward because SHES going to lead the temple one day!). Sarevok and Zherimon have already decided on grooming Dirge for the role instead, knowing EXACTLY the difference between them, but both Dirge and Orin are children, whats more important is making sure Dirge is properly indoctrinated, and Orin is very useful for that.

Theyre thick as thieves for most of their childhoods, Dirge perfectly content to trail behind Orin wherever she goes, and to follow her progress right on her heels. Orin definitely has the most energy of the two, and she delights in playing leader, deciding exactly what games the two of them will be playing and where, while Dirge pads along behind her. She gets into the habit of shapeshifting into him for one of her favorite games, that being "find ways to bully and harass the other initiates in the barracks and avoid trouble by making sure no one can tell who's who". As Orins changeling nature is well known, you can never really tell if your looking at Dirge or looking at Orin, who will tell you whichever is more confusing at the moment. As changelings and dopplegangers have empathetic abilities, this also means that Orin is extremely keyed in to Dirge's emotional state. She typically uses this to lightly bully him, but also typically follows that up with attempts at genuine comfort, because a good leader has subordinates happy to follow them, and makes sure theyre taken care of well enough to serve. Theyre siblings, and theyre best friends, and theyre little hellions, and Orin knows every crack and crevice in the temple and where exactly there are spots too small for the grownups to follow them that the two of them can still crawl through. The cult is slowly but inevitably carving away their empathy for the world outside, bringing them into a miserable ideology of death dealing and slaughter, and isolating them from anyone who could ever break them free, but right now they are small and close and she is showing Dirge exactly where to stab in a rats belly to make all the guts come out, and when he scrunches his tiny face in disgust she'll call him all sorts of names, but take his tiny hand in her own and hold the knife together nonetheless

Dirge doesnt resent Orin when she makes rank before him. He doesnt resent Orin when she excels, when she grasps the knifework faster, memorizes the doctrine quicker. He doesnt resent her when she gets assignments first, or when they work together and she takes the lead. Thats the goal hes chasing, after all. To be as good as his sister. To eventually pull ahead. To play chase like they always do. But when he DOES pull ahead, when the lead he has grows but never shrinks, its equal parts pride and confusion. Proud to finally surpass her, confusion that he KEEPS surpassing her. Shes slower to catch up, angrier about it. It isnt resentment, not yet, just frustration. Theres something hes stumbled into that she hasnt gotten yet. More reasons to train together, after all, put their heads together and work it out. But when the cult finally passes down the mantle of leadership, it doesnt pass into Orin's hands, youngest Assassin, pre chosen vessel of Bhaal. For reasons neither of them understand, it goes to Dirge instead. Purest bhaalspawn, severed hand of their God let loose, the one true prophet of armageddon. It doesnt make sense, but hes trained so hard and come so far, he wont dissapoint their Father now. its a bitter pill orin doesnt swallow easily. its there the resentment starts

The gap wont ever close now, not really. Dirge is too neurotic, too anxious and obsessed. He leaves no breathing room for anyone to pick up the slack, because he leaves none, will not ever give the slightest hints of being unworthy. Its suffocating. Diminished, demeaned, forgotten, Orin falls to the wayside, swallowed within an ever lengthening shadow, and he never turns to her, never reaches back. Pushing himself to the breaking point, and then far past it, and now HIS word is law, is doctrine, when it should have been HER, she who spoke with Bhaal's voice when all he has is fleeting visions. The resentment grows, made all the more acrid by the sweet memories of yesteryear. Its like everything shes worked for means nothing, and now he wont even cast a glance her way. Seeing him less and less, and then never as himself, always acting as Leader, Prophet, Idol, everything the cult needed and more, and now when habit rears up and she takes his face to talk to him, he scowls at what he sees. Like the bastard ever had a leg to stand on, she knows what he is, pathetic weak crybaby bloodkin trailing in her wake, acting big and strong now that hes special. Now that hes chosen. Like he knows something she doesnt. Like he could ever know something she doesnt. Grandfather calls him proud, arrogant, and theres no other explanation for the cold she feels from him, inside his skin, its cold arrogant bastard pride for finally besting her at the only game that mattered.

It falls apart slowly over the years. Sarevok, and then Zherimon, instilled in Dirge the need for perfection, to serve as Bhaal's will on earth, and the need for it burrowed deep into Dirge's psyche and consumed everything else around it. He loves his sister. He misses her. But this life is hell and Bhaal's expectations for his chosen spawn are cruel and exacting. All Orin needs to do is what shes always been good at, thats enough. He'll take on everything else so she isnt choked or constrained, so she has room to flourish. He's pulling further and further away from her and it hurts but theres nothing to be done for it, because its Father's will (HIS father, not that he could ever stand to tell Orin, and take from her yet something else, another pillar she stands lofty upon). Shes more than a sacrifice, thats obvious by the way she holds a blade, and Dirge refuses to waste her potential in a single sacrifice to Bhaal, when together they could bring so much more glory to Him at each others sides. He won't take the duel. If she wants for them to kill each other, she must promise a death so glorious as to make this single murder worth more than all the slaughter they could achieve together. The idea is laughable. Somewhere in the back of his mind behind a door that wont stay locked is a treasured sentimental sin, two tiny bodies pressed together in a crevice only barely big enough for them both, outside a man about to be flogged for his failure calls out a name neither of them respond to, and all else is quiet save for the hushed giggles swallowed by the stone. No, she isn't worthy. She isn't worthy by far.

Its a mix of Dirge taking on as much responsibility as he can while leading the cult to give Orin more freedom, and Orin having next to nothing to do with all that extra time and lack of duties beyond ruminating on the discrepancy between them. It feels like she isnt trusted or considered good enough anymore, when she clearly remembers the opposite, and the more he pulls away the more she hates him for it. The resentment is tempered by religious duty and childhood memories, but even though Dirge makes attempts to try and bridge the gap, the circumstances are that there really isnt anything he can do. I like to headcanon that Dirge helped Orin make her skin suit, because he has a noted habit of taxidermy and human leatherworking, as a way to try to reach out to her, but the inertia has built up too much to stop whats going to happen. It was doomed to fall apart at the start, driven by forces neither of them could have even hoped to work against.

The love was always there, but it just made it hurt.

[searidings]

....🥺 can you please tell us more about that season 5 alternate ending where andrea ends up using the dagger pretty please, just like who does she end up hurting and the others reaction? if only you want to of course !

hooookay this ask got me to open that wip for the first time in a year and actually it's not that far from being complete! but idk how to finish it and i feel like i've done the s5 conflict resolution thing in multiple fics now like how many is too many? i fear i may have hit that limit. BUT since you asked, here is the beginning of it. please note:

1) this thing is angsty and also it's unfinished, so read at your own peril

2) because i wasn't ever expecting to finish/publish it, i've recycled bits of description from it into other fics. so if you see stuff i've repeated elsewhere no you don't <3

-

The last thing Lena sees is a flash like dark shadow pass over Andrea’s eyes, before a kryptonite dagger slides between her ribs.

The sound she emits is less of a scream and more of a surprised squeak as she sinks to the ground.

If you want to get to Supergirl, you’re gonna have to go through me.

It’s not that she hadn’t believed Andrea would do it. Lena was under no illusion of safety when she placed herself between Supergirl and the glowing green rock in Andrea’s hand. She’d come to terms with the possibility of dying for Kara long ago.

What she hadn’t been able to prepare for was the pain. The abstract of sacrifice was all well and good, but. Reality, this searing epicentre, a point of white hot agony turned molten, seeping through her body. No amount of her mother’s decorum training had prepared her for this.

Something is filling her mouth, thick and dark and oozing. She can’t scream. Kara sits, eyes silver, a world away. Kara. Lena has to move. She can’t. Andrea steps over her, and is that the pounding of receding footsteps or the dogged beat of Lena’s heart? Either way, it’s slowing. Every inhale cracks her body down the centre, each exhale buries shards of glass inside the gaping wound.

Her eyes are beginning to mist at the edges but she strains, listens. The sound that cuts through the haze is not the scream she dreads, Kara’s agony as her veins sear emerald. It’s not a scream, but a shout, and then a blur passes over her like light and shadow.

Concrete cracks, or perhaps it’s Lena’s ribs. Sounds are muffled now, the world dulled down like the inside of a snow globe. Underwater, time passes sluggishly to where she lies, drifting, encased in glass. But someone is fighting the current, resisting the pull. Hands grasp her shoulders, burning where they touch. Through the rolling fog comes Kara’s face, blurring out in red and blue and gold and sickly green. Lena wants to push her away, keep her separate from the venomous substance protruding from her chest, keep her untainted. But Kara’s hands are dancing there-away along her cheeks, her jaw, Lena’s own name sounding from her lips over and over, a siren song, calling her home. It’s raining now, wet spots peppering her brow, or maybe the sun is crying.

“Lena, Lena,” Kara is saying. It sounds like her heartbeat and she cannot bear for it to stop.

“Kara,” she manages, a whisper, a prayer.

Her face flashes within Lena’s line of sight for one perfect moment, and is she green-tinged or is it Lena’s failing vision? A shiver passes through the air between them, I’m sorry fluttering like a bloodstained white flag but whether it falls from her own lips or another’s, Lena cannot say. Then a sudden pressure at her ribs, a heavy push and release that feels like salvation and damnation all at once.

Lena hears a scream, two screams, billions. She is left gaping, open and exposed. Invaded by the air and exalted by the sticky-sweet blush of her own blood, her body purging itself. Through the slick of gathering crimson her head rolls to the side, darkness pressing in around her, eyes blazing with the final image of a limp hand on the ground beside her, veins shot through with glowing green.

-

For a long time, there is only darkness. The deepest blackness she has ever known, all-encompassing. Devouring light, thought, feeling. Lena floats, tethered to her own existence only by the pressing weight of the dark, closing in until the end of the world.

Slowly, sensations begin to blur in and out. Cold, a deadening flow, hooking into her very marrow and stripping her from the inside out. She drifts, and then there’s heat, scorching, radiating out from her ribs in scalding waves, and she wishes for numbness.

For a moment, Lena thinks she sees the star-burst of veins behind her eyelids, but then they are gone and all is black again. Sound fragments filter through her peripheral awareness. A great noise, banging and shouting and exploding. She slips back under.

Vibrations reach her, but they must be sounds because Lena no longer has a body with which to feel them. She floats, untethered, sinking beneath the surface of a dark ocean so vast it surely cannot know she’s there. In the deep, voices flicker.

“Haven’t you heard that you’re supposed to leave the knife in? She’s minutes from bleeding out.”

The blackness turns to blood around her, not vibrant red but sticky dark, the kind so loaded with the very force of someone’s life that it moves slowly, crawls under the weight of it, sucking light from all it touches.

“Her veins were green, Alex.”

An eternity passes.

She dreams of her mother, dark hair fanning behind her as she cuts through the still waters of the lake. The scene is calm, but the growing dread means Lena knows what’s coming and suddenly it’s not her mother but Kara before her, and the lake isn’t clear but radioactive, glowing green, and still Lena stands at the shore and watches her slip away, helpless.

Words float through the haze and Lena wishes she could reach out, grasp them, weigh them in her hands to know the truth behind them. Radiation and poisoned and flared and gone, the sounds making physical shapes in the darkness. She thinks of a child, two dark-haired children, of hours spent pouring over a dictionary. A cruel laugh when she got a definition wrong, grudging silence when she got it right. How she wishes now to be wrong, to mishear, a stay of judgment on the world these words conjure into being. But the focus is gone, and she slips away again.

“—whatever you have to do! Or so help me, I’ll—”

Though Lena is nothing now, just an exhale in the wind, she smiles. Warmth blooms, the blackness not crushing but caressing for a moment, and she drifts into memories of happier times.

A million years pass, a billion. Lena is upside down, and right way up, and no way up at all. If she still had a face, she might feel the pressure of a warm forehead against her own. If she still had hair, the imprint of lips pressed gently against it might still ache. If she hadn’t burned every meaningful bridge in her life in the year before her death, she might believe the trick of a whisper wrapping on the breeze, words of comfort, of promise.

But she had, so she doesn’t, and time collapses in on itself as Lena watches, motionless and alone.

-

Though she has always been nowhere, she can feel herself drifting further and further from the last thing that might just resemble a somewhere. The eons slow. If she were a doctor, Lena thinks, then this would be the time to make herself comfortable. To say her goodbyes.

She cannot look at blackness any longer, cannot bear the glowing green after-image that seems to stick to every corner and edge. She thinks of blue, of rain-washed skies and Kara’s eyes, conjures it into being with every fibre she has left. Wraps herself up in it, plunges headfirst, drowns.

“Like it matters!” Kara says, no, shouts, from somewhere far above and below her. Lena would flinch, if only she still had a body. The voice rings out through the void. “Like any of it matters now.”

Lena is privately inclined to agree. She tries to breathe, but the full weight of the universe, of every universe, presses in. As everything, even the blackness, dulls, there emerges a crushing, cracking suffocation, and Lena wonders why she can’t even die in peace. A high-pitched scream, maybe hers, maybe Kara’s, maybe her mother’s, maybe the world’s, stretching out before her like a pathway. Though there’s no doubt where it ends, Lena almost wants to follow it, if only to escape this sensation of being crumbled, submerged, denied life as its very essence is wrung from her being.

And then a hundred trillion bolts of lightning shoot through her at once, and Lena is gone.

-

When she wakes, she wakes secure in the knowledge that she must be alive. Sure that the pain that had burst through her, blighted every nerve with an agony so intense she feels its phantom grip even now, could only lead back to life. Sure that no departure could hurt that much.

When she wakes, it is through cracked, dry eyes to the sight of pipes and ceiling vents, the bland, industrial grey that can only denote underfunded government property.

When she wakes, Kara is standing at the foot of her bed, hands behind her back and looking every inch the righteous hero, and Lena’s unsteady heart sinks. She’s been on the receiving end of this authoritative pose more than enough for one lifetime. At least her hands aren’t on her hips.

But Kara’s eyes brighten as they meet Lena’s fluttering gaze. “Lena.” Quiet, reverential. “How are you feeling?”

Lena takes stock. Alive, to begin with. Every limb still intact. Aside from an unnerving constriction in her chest and the fact that her blood feels a little like it’s burning her cells as it courses through her veins, it could certainly be worse.

When she speaks her voice is hoarse, cracking. “What happened?”

The same darkness creeps into the edges of her vision as she listens to Kara list the extent of the damage. She presses her lips together, willing away the blackness, registering only snippets.

Stab wound. Kryptonite poisoning. Collapsed lung. Cardiac arrest. Resuscitation.

Leviathan, gone. Andrea, captured. Lex, escaped.

The words wash over her like a freezing tide, and Lena wonders if maybe the darkness had been easier after all.

It takes far longer than it should for her to realise that the room has fallen silent. Kara is watching her, concern etched into her features like tears carving through stone.

Lena swallows as best she can. “And you?”

A corner of Kara’s mouth quirks up. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

But she doesn’t look fine. She looks exhausted, her face drawn, blue eyes lacking their characteristic shine. Even her hero’s stance can’t mask the fatigue weighing heavy on her shoulders.

But Lena doesn’t have the strength to argue the point. She rolls her head to the side, joints popping and releasing, noticing for the first time the tangle of IV lines threading into her skin. She lifts her other hand to touch them, feels the warning tug of more needles even as Kara steps forward, arms raised as if to stop her.

Her hands reach toward Lena, or at least, the spaces where her hands should be. Huge white dressings swaddle Kara from the wrists down, so bulky they do not resemble hands at all. Lena’s breath catches in her lungs as she takes in the unwieldy bandages, third degree burns and possible nerve damage echoing through her mind and she understands now why Kara had hidden them behind her back.

The inhale she aims for seems to stick in her ribs and she can feel again the crushing, the cracking, the dizzying lack of oxygen as her head spins. Kara is by her side in an instant, radiating warmth and just breathe, Lena, it’s okay, a comforting weight settling against her hip. Lena thanks the thick blanket for blurring the press of rough bandages where there should be warm skin, softening it into something just nondescript enough to be calming.

When her pounding pulse has slowed, the heart monitor downgrading to a less frenetic beat, she sucks in a breath despite her lungs’ protestation, waits for her vision to clear. Kara is still there, and dread opens up in Lena’s chest.

“You— you touched it. The kryptonite. You pulled it out.”

Kara doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just nods, her gaze locked on Lena’s own. Lena lies catatonic, paralysed with the knowledge, unable to move even as Alex enters the room. Dimly aware of low words exchanged between the two sisters and then Alex at her bedside, gentler than Lena’s been worthy of seeing her in years. Just rest, Lena, the press of a button on the IV monitor, and she sinks back into oblivion.

[my-mt-heart]

(This is mostly addressed to various commenters and anons, not actually MT, just to be clear I'm not trying to yell at you!)

I'm usually a fandom lurker, but man, some of y'all are infantilizing Mel and Angela as powerless damsels in distress and it is... yikes.

If AMC screwed Mel over, it WILL leak. There is no world where her agency lets AMC paint her as a demanding, inconsistent leading lady who quit an announced show, post-contract, for something as vague as she "needed a break."

It's obvious that "needed a break" isn't the whole story, but it's also 100% in keeping with Mel's history to stay quiet and vague about her personal life. I really hope I'm wrong, but my bet is a medical situation for her or someone close to her. It would explain why AMC is talking about Carol's return but with zero concrete details, and it explains why they aren't burning bridges with Mel after she blew up an announced project (which is a big fucking deal and does not actually happen often on this level of production).

On that note, you all are nuts if you think AMC would burn that development money, piss off fans who were excited about the spinoff, and make vast changes in location and story (plus probably scrambling to get other talent and crew on board) so late in the game just to save Norman a few transatlantic flights. Sure, Norman would have the clout to demand a specific location during contract negotiations. The period of time where he had enough power to make demands like that was long gone by the time Mel left the project. (And yes, this 100% would have been addressed before signing or announcing anything, he and Mel are union so AMC is on the hook for significant travel, housing, and other compensation if it makes them film outside of LA or NY.)

The cringiest part of all of this is when people try to make Angela Kang out as a hapless victim of the big, bad lead actor and/or studio. It's easy for the fandom to see the actors every week and think they make the entire show, but the industry looks at Angela and sees a potential Shonda Rhimes. She 100% had more power over the spinoff's story and location than Norman. He could not have forced her out any more than she could have forced him out.

Anyway. I'm not going to try to pull industry credentials since no one will believe the random internet stranger anyway, but I had to get this off my chest. I think maybe we're all so heartbroken that we *feel* like an injustice has been done, and some people found a way to see it as an injustice. I really thought it was just going to be a couple of the rabid Diane Kruger haters, but man, it seems like everyone has gone nuts with speculation, harassing the cast and crew "demanding answers." It's bumming me out almost as much as the spinoff changes, honestly.

(I will also start with the disclaimer that none of my responses are spewing anger at you directly)

1.Could be an eventual possibility? Most actors/actresses who get screwed over don't come out and say so until much later, right? Unless she signed something that prevents her from doing so or if new terms are going to be arranged (i.e. Carol returning at some point). I guess it depends on what we're thinking in terms of being screwed over. Just because it isn't an explicit or conscious effort doesn't mean it isn't happening. Also, maybe she won't be the leak herself. For example, and I'm not saying I do, but one could count some of the crew gossip as a leak despite certain embellishments.

2. I hope you're wrong too. One because I obviously don't want Melissa/her loved ones to be suffering any physical ailment, but also...though AMC might not be saying anything definitive, NR literally is. He's saying in interviews that Daryl and Carol will "definitely" come back together. Obviously that's above his paygrade and I don't take it as gospel, but if he already "definitely" knows that's not possible for MMB, I would find his insistence otherwise troubling. It sets her up to "blow things up" again for fans and it makes him look like a bad friend who’s only using her to take the heat off himself.

3. I think we're in agreement that Norman did not push Mel out due to demanding a location change. Like you said, none of that would have been decided last minute anyway, though for reasons I'll explain below, it's worth mentioning that Europe couldn't have been the original plan when they first signed on whenever that happened or when it was first announced back in 2020.

4. Are people holding Norman accountable for Angela's exit too? I haven't seen that anywhere. You're right that Angela has far more power over story and location than the actors, but she does not outrank Gimple or anyone at AMC. If she did, the Caryl spinoff would have remained a lighthearted (presumably cross country) road show instead of morphing into outrunning variant walkers in France. You will never convince me that’s what Angela wanted her show to become. 

Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems like what you're responding to mainly is some people's perception of Norman's responsibility in all this. For me and many other Carylers, the injustice is institutional. For one thing, the announcement of the Caryl spinoff may have been a dream come true in and of itself, but what really sparked excitement was the idea of that lighthearted road show because it promised light at the end of the tunnel for two characters who have had long, grueling journeys. We talked about it for two years, getting our hopes up. Little did we know the concept we all loved was being changed. 

AMC and co. may pretend that Europe was always the plan, but absolutely nothing about it lines up with what was initially said in interviews about the project or even what was implied onscreen. However early on after the announcement and press junkets, it changed. To something that in fact does not honor their emotional arc or even fit into the canon of the walking dead that we know. Yes, fine, [insert business reason here]. But as someone who is both in the industry and a big fan of the show/characters, that doesn't reduce the feeling of being strung along, lied to, and robbed of a story I was looking forward to, nor should it.

But even bigger than that, Caryl Abroad took all the hard work, thought, and care that a female showrunner put into developing what was supposed to be her show and put it in the hands of someone who consciously or not wants a male driven story to maintain a male audience. As for Angela's and Mel's exits, everything is speculative, but how can you not speculate when there are so many different narratives being put out there -- location, break, creative decision -- instead of one consistent explanation, however it needs to be phrased to give Melissa the privacy she's entitled to.

Chalk it up to misdirected anger/heartbreak if you want, but the way I see it, it ought to be acknowledged how bad it looks to not only lose two extremely vital women on the project, but to then replace them with two men. To then put all the responsibility on the women everywhere in the media and to do so without any sincere show of compassion or understanding i.e. "We know this was a really difficult decision for her, we love working with her, we're sorry we won't be able to this time around, but we understand why she needs this time." To then manipulate the fans into thinking it was our fault for expecting the road show we were promised. To jump to the defense of their male star after YEARS of ignoring the hate Melissa and other women received. 

I am deeply sorry for all the stress Norman, Melissa, and Angela have been put under for all of this and I would never demand answers to anything personal I'm not entitled to. But I am not sorry for having questions or believing in the possibility that a studio could make terrible decisions resulting in their actors, EPs, and fans getting screwed over (again, to whatever degree).

[knuffled]

Just Practice - Chapter 16

it’s here! i know i said this last chapter, but this is the most important one in the fic so far now. hope you enjoy it! if you could leave a comment and reblog, it would mean the world to me! thank you!

ao3 link here

The state cross country meet was held on a cold, gray April morning. Rainfall from the night before had left the ground muddy and slick, and clouds still lingered in the sky, obscuring the sun. Mist seeped out of the woods and crept across the ground, coating each blade of grass with dew. Annabeth toyed with her jacket’s zipper and watched her teammates file off the school bus. Coach had left her in charge of finding a spot for the team to warm up before the race, which meant a lot of standing around in the cold.

Annabeth chaperoned her team in search of an unoccupied spot, but it looked like they were late to arrive. Much of the grounds had already been camped by other schools. As they passed, Annabeth made mental note of the competition that had gathered. She recognized two girls from Northbrook who had placed higher than her at state the year before. There was the girl from Creston that beaten her to second place at the invitational. A few runners from Seneca Falls passed by from time to time, but Reyna herself was not among them.

Once they were settled, Annabeth led the group stretches in Coach Davis’s stead. The chill quickly sank into her bones and the wet grass drenched her yoga pants, only adding insult to injury. Annabeth could hear her teammates’s teeth chattering when the cold wind blew past. They were uncharacteristically solemn, even the younger ones. State tended to have that effect. The effort to stay focused was evident by the grimaces on their faces, but more than that a cloud of anxiety hung over them. Annabeth had hoped Coach Davis would have some words of encouragement for them but she was nowhere to be seen.

Strangely, this was perhaps the one meet that Annabeth did not share in their nervousness. She was so accustomed to being a bundle of nerves during meets that it seemed completely bizarre to feel otherwise. Today, however, it was like Annabeth was so focused she didn’t feel anything at all, but it wasn’t a strained focus. Instead, it was somehow relaxed and effortless. Percy had described the sensation to her before when she had asked him how he managed to stay so calm before swim meets, but she had never understood his explanations. Now, experiencing it firsthand, she couldn’t help thinking it was a good omen.

Coach Davis returned just as one of the meet officials announced the women’s five kilometer would begin shortly, and Annabeth approached her once she was done with her stretches.

“I think you should say something to them,” Annabeth muttered. “They look like they’re going to puke.”

Coach raised an eyebrow. “Me? You’re the captain. Rallying the troops is your job.”

Before Annabeth could protest, Coach stood in front of the team and cleared her throat. “Alright, listen up everyone! Your captain has a few words for you all before the race.”

Annabeth pursed her lips and balled her hands at her sides. She wasn’t one for speeches. Still, the tentative, expectant look on the faces of her teammates compelled her to say something.

“Um, congratulations to everyone that made it here,” Annabeth started. “For some of you, this is your first time competing at state. It’s normal to be nervous. I know I certainly was my first time here. But, I want you to know you’re here for a reason. Trust in all the hard work and dedication that brought you here, and make sure when you leave here today, you do so with no regrets!”

Looking at her teammates now, Annabeth couldn’t help feeling a lump form in her throat. “I, um, also just wanted to say that it has been an honor and a privilege to be your captain this year. I know I haven’t been that great at it, but I couldn’t be more proud of you all. Now, this is the last race of the season, so let’s go out there and make it count!”

The cheers of her teammates took Annabeth by surprise and embarrassed her. She shifted on her heels and felt her face heat up. Even she herself was taken aback by how well she had spoken. A few of her teammates thanked her or clapped her on the back when they passed by. Even Clarisse gave her a begrudging nod of respect before jostled past her on her way to the starting line. Annabeth hid a smile and shook her head before she turned back to Coach Davis.

Coach gave her a thumbs up and said, “I didn’t know you had it in you, kid. That was a killer speech.”

Annabeth breathed an incredulous laugh. “Don’t expect me to do it again. That was one hundred percent luck.”

Coach shrugged and said, “Who knows? Maybe today’s your lucky day.”

“I sure hope so.”

Coach Davis threw an arm around Annabeth’s shoulder. “I know so. Next time I see you, you’re gonna be holding a first place ribbon in your hand. You’re gonna kill it today, Chase.”

Annabeth ducked her chin to hide a smile. “Thanks, Coach. I’ll do my best.”

Coach gave her a final clap on the back and whispered, “Go get ‘em, kid.”

Annabeth nodded and jogged over to the starting line. Since she was late to arrive, Annabeth didn’t even bother jostling for a place closer to the head of the pack. It was nothing she couldn’t make up within the first few minutes of the race anyways.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her body felt lighter than normal. Her mind was clear. Around her, tension droned in the air like a buzzing bee, but she felt removed from it all. She couldn’t bring herself to feel nervous, even as the official raised his gun and squeezed the trigger.

This was it, Annabeth mused. Her last high school race.

And then, the gunshot shattered the silence and Annabeth took off into the misty woods.

The ground was so soft and slippery that it was difficult to maintain proper footing and weave between all the other runners during the initial scramble to find a place. It didn’t take long for mud to cake her shoes and shins, much to her chagrin. But, after a few minutes, Annabeth found herself a spot towards the head of the pack.

The pace Annabeth held for the first half of the race was faster than the one she had adopted at the invitational, and as such it wasn’t long before she pulled into tenth. Since the new year, she had focused almost exclusively on her stamina, training to her limits. One Reyna’s greatest strengths was that she could sustain a brutal pace for the majority of a race. That alone gave her enough of a cushion to make it practically impossible to make up the distance by the end of the race. Annabeth realized that it was essential to keep up with Reyna until that point if she wanted to stand any chance of beating her.

All of that effort finally showed results when Annabeth managed to push into third place twelve minutes into the race. The girl from Creston was ahead of her, but Annabeth could tell that she was faltering. Her pace hadn’t improved since the invitational but Annabeth’s had. Annabeth’s suspicions proved correct when she managed to pass her only a minute later and pull ahead into second place.

Now, there was only one last obstacle. Reyna was ahead of her, but her lead wasn’t so large that Annabeth wouldn’t be able to make up the distance. If she had to estimate, there were perhaps a hundred meters between them, and she had the better part of three minutes to close it.

Annabeth set her jaw in grim determination and picked up her pace. Deviating so early from her race pace was risky, but she couldn’t afford to play it safe if she wanted to beat Reyna. She was doing fine in terms of stamina, and there was enough adrenaline coursing through her to give her confidence that she wouldn’t burn out.

Over the next two minutes, Annabeth managed to shrink the distance from a hundred meters to twenty. Reyna even heard her coming and fixed her a steely look over her shoulder before facing forward again. Even in the heat of competition, Annabeth couldn’t help taking a moment to admire Reyna. Her form was still immaculate this late into the race. There was something beautiful about the sheer efficiency of it. The only sign she was even working hard was the sweat on her brow.

But with six hundred meters left to go, Annabeth was still unable to bridge the distance between them. The remaining distance made things tricky. It was too much for her to abandon her pace and launch into a sprint. Honestly, her legs were already having a difficult time maintaining her current punishing pace, but Annabeth couldn’t afford to go into the final two hundred meters of the race behind Reyna. With a headstart, Reyna would beat her ten out of ten times in a sprint.

So, Annabeth made a bold gamble and abandoned her pace early.

Sprinting for over a third of a mile was not possible. Annabeth knew that. At best, Annabeth guessed could manage a little under four hundred meters at close to a sprint. Ideally, she would pull far enough ahead during that time and Reyna would be unable to make up the distance during the final two hundred meters.

Annabeth dug deep into what little stamina she had left and pushed herself as hard as she could. She grit her teeth and ignored the way her lungs immediately burned in protest. Reyna gave her a look when Annabeth managed to pull alongside her, but then she subsequently increased her own pace.

Annabeth wanted to scream. Reyna had an even faster pace?

Before she could spiral into negativity, Annabeth forced herself to calm down and re-evaluate the situation. She had no way of knowing, but it was entirely possible that she was throwing Reyna off her pace. If Reyna hadn’t planned for that, it could deplete her stamina much faster than she would have anticipated. Which meant that it wasn’t impossible for Annabeth to win.

Of course, it was all complete conjecture. Maybe Reyna had practiced for this very situation, and Annabeth was doomed. But if there was even a remote possibility that Annabeth was throwing her off her game plan, she would take it. If she could force a war of attrition, Annabeth could actually see a world where she could win.

Don’t slow down. Just keep running.

The following two minutes were perhaps the most brutal in Annabeth’s entire running career. It felt like her lungs were tearing themselves in two, and her calves burned like they had been coated in acid. The simple act of breathing was painful. At some point, her mind blanked out, and she slipped into a kind of trance. Thinking was no longer a necessary function. All that mattered was putting one foot in front of the next. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.

But then, for the first time in the race, Reyna began to falter. Her shoulders were hunched and her stride grew inconsistent. It was subtle but cracks were beginning to appear.

A rush of excitement swept through Annabeth.

She could win this. All she had to do was deliver the finishing blow.

Just one final push, and state was hers.

Annabeth reached into the last vestiges of her stamina and pushed forward, desperate to pass Reyna for the first time.

But then, she hit a patch of mud and slipped, hyper-extending her leg.

Her left knee made a popping sound.

A bolt of pain unlike anything she had ever felt before shot up her leg.

Annabeth released a cry of pain and fell into the mud. Her mind was still blank, so it took her a moment to register what had happened. Once she came to, Annabeth desperately scrambled to her feet, but her left leg gave out on her the moment she put any weight on it.

She tried again only to fall face first into the mud. Annabeth blinked in disbelief and looked up. Reyna was getting further away. This couldn’t be happening. She was going to lose.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!

Annabeth pounded the ground with her fist, hard enough to bruise her knuckles. She laid there in the mud, lacking the energy and the will to sit up. Anger wracked through her like venom.

She had finally been about to beat Reyna. Just a little more, and she would have done it.

But now, she had no shot.

It was all over for her.

At this point, she wouldn’t even finish the race.

Mud crept into her mouth, forcing her to finally sit up. Annabeth spit it out, but the taste of defeat lingered on her tongue. She brushed away the tears pricking her eyes and blearily took in her surroundings.

It was so quiet. Her knee throbbed in agony. Reyna had stopped. Mist curled around Annabeth’s waist. The ground trembled ever so slightly, heralding the onrush of runners.

Wait, Reyna had stopped?

What was she doing? Why was she just standing there? The other runners were going to catch up to her.

She watched in disbelief as Reyna walked over to her and dropped to a crouch, a strained look in her eyes. “Can you stand?”

Annabeth blinked blearily. “What?”

“Can you stand on your own?” Reyna repeated. “Or do you need help?”

Annabeth screwed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I- I don’t understand-”

Before she could react, Reyna tugged her onto her feet and threw Annabeth’s arm over her own shoulder. Reyna held her hip and pulled her into her side to support Annabeth’s weight before her knees buckled from under her.

The girl in third place sped past them without so much as a look.

Annabeth stared at Reyna with wide eyes and hoarsely asked, “W-What are you doing?”

When Reyna didn’t answer, Annabeth squirmed in her grasp. “Let me go.”

“Shut up.”

Three more girls passed them in rapid succession.

“Let me go,” Annabeth pleaded, her voice cracking. “You’re throwing the fucking race! Let me go!”

Reyna refused to look at her. “I said shut up.”

A lump formed in Annabeth’s throat, and she found herself fighting back tears. She didn’t think it was possible, but this was somehow worse than injuring her knee.

“Wha- Why?” Annabeth stammered. “Why are you going so far for me?”

“Because we’re friends,” Reyna said simply. “Now, let’s get going. We’ve got a race to finish.”

Annabeth barely registered the journey to the finish line. Her knee throbbed in pain the entire time, and her heart felt like it was tearing itself in two. It was already bad enough that she had completely fucked up the race, but the fact that she had stolen Reyna’s victory too was more than she could bear. At the rate she was going, Reyna would have broken the state record and placed nationally if it hadn’t been for her. Annabeth could already tell that she would never forgive herself for this.

The next thing she knew, they had stopped. Annabeth blinked and looked around, trying to figure out where she was, only to find herself standing right in front of Percy and the rest of her friends. Her throat seized up, and her heart squeezed in her chest.

The look on his face made her want to die.

Reyna helped Annabeth into Percy’s arms, a wordless understanding passing between them. He immediately supported her against his chest, and Annabeth melted into him. Usually, his scent was enough to calm her down, but not today. Today, it just made her sad. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and clutched at the fabric of his shirt, her lip quivering.

“P-Percy,” Annabeth whispered, voice cracking.

He held her tightly against him and ran his hands down her back. It was hard to say why, but that gesture was what broke the levy and allowed her to finally cry. Annabeth sobbed in his arms and held onto him like a lifeline.

“Get her to a hospital,” Reyna muttered.

Annabeth could hear Percy speak through his chest. “What happened?”

“She fell. Badly,” Reyna said tersely. “I did my best to get her here, but she’s yours now, alright? Take care of her for me.”

Percy’s grip on her tightened. “I will. I promise.”

There was a pause before Reyna nodded and turned to leave. But before she could get too far away, Percy called out to her.

“Reyna?”

She looked over her shoulder and met his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Reyna paused for a moment and nodded one last time. And then she was gone.

:::

The sky had begun to darken before the hospital staff allowed Percy and her friends in to see her. She had spent nearly two and a half hours in triage with the doctor and nurses. They asked her a lot of questions and ran some preliminary tests on her, mainly to measure her mobility, before they decided she would need to stay overnight. They didn’t know what the issue was for certain until they ran some imaging tests, but their tentative diagnosis only affirmed Annabeth’s worst fears.

After that, she was allowed to take a bath and changed into a hospital gown. Her knee was put in an elevated brace to keep her from putting any weight on it. The position was remarkably uncomfortable, but she had no other options than to bear it.

It was only after that that her friends were allowed inside to see her. They rushed inside and crowded around the bed, except for Percy who lingered by the doorframe. Annabeth fleetingly met his eyes and quickly looked away.

“Oh, Annabeth, we were so worried about you,” Rachel cried, taking her hand.

Frank nodded and quietly said, “They made us wait for so long that we thought something might have happened.”

Annabeth mustered a wan smile. “You mean apart from my knee getting completely fucked?”

Her friends looked at each other before Jason stepped forward and said, “We were afraid they had pulled you into surgery or something.”

“They still need to run a few tests before that,” Annabeth said.

“Do they know what’s wrong yet?” Piper asked, furrowing her brow.

Annabeth did her best to shrug. “They don’t have any leads just yet,” she lied.

There was an awkward silence before Hazel cleared her throat and said, “Well, let us know if there is anything we can do for you.”

“I think I’ll need a change of clothes and some toiletries probably,” Annabeth said.

Piper nodded to herself and made some notes on her phone. “Got it.”

“Anything else?” Rachel asked.

“Nothing for now,” Annabeth said, trying to smile. “Just some bed rest.”

“Alright,” Rachel said, nodding. “Let us know if that changes or if anything comes up.”

Annabeth nodded. “Sure, I will.”

They lingered for a short while longer before a nurse popped into the room to yell at them for having too many people in the room.

Jason sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I guess that’s our cue to leave. We’ll see you later, ABC. And remember: anything you need, we’re here for you.”

Annabeth nodded and waved feebly while they filed out of the room. Only Percy stayed behind, but she had suspected as much. She had been dreading talking to him most of all. When he got worried like this, he wouldn’t let her get away with weaseling her way out of talking.

Percy stood by the base of her bed and offered her a soft smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“I tried calling your dad, but he wouldn’t pick up,” Percy said. “Sorry.”

Annabeth nodded. “I figured as much.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright, I guess,” Annabeth said. “My knee sure hurts like a bitch though.”

“What happened?” Percy asked. “Reyna said you fell.”

“I mean, yeah, pretty much,” Annabeth said, sighing. “I was about to pass her, but then I slipped on some mud and hyper-extended my leg or something. Next thing I know, my knee is completely fucked and I can barely stand.”

“I’m sorry,” Percy said quietly.

“Yeah, well,” Annabeth said, trying for a shrug.

“How are you feeling?”

Annabeth looked at him. “You already asked me that.”

“You told me how your leg was doing, not how you were doing,” Percy said.

“Don’t have the decency to let me wallow in my own misery, huh?” Annabeth joked half-heartedly.

“Afraid not,” Percy said lightly.

Annabeth sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t really know, honestly. Hasn’t really sunk in yet. Just can’t help thinking the universe sure has a sick sense of comedic timing that’s all.”

Percy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I was so close, Percy, so fucking close,” Annabeth said. “Just a little more and I had Reyna beat. But, when the time came, I fucked up like I always do.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Percy said. “You were just insanely unlucky.”

“I know,” Annabeth said, smiling sardonically. “That’s what makes it so funny. I’ve spent the last six years of my life training my fucking ass off, and all it took was one moment to make it all completely meaningless. Isn’t that just fucking hilarious?”

Percy shifted uneasily and said, “Annabeth-”

“And you know the worst part is that I dragged Reyna into it too,” Annabeth said, shaking her head. “She was going to win and place nationally, and I stole that from her.”

“She made that choice herself,” Percy said gently. “Besides, we don’t know if she would have won for sure.”

“Yeah?” Annabeth laughed humorlessly. “Well, here’s something I do know: it would have been better for everyone if she’d left me there in the mud.”

Percy inhaled sharply and said, “Oh, Annabeth. There’s absolutely no way that’s true. And all your hard work wasn’t for nothing either. You still have all of your college career ahead of you.”

Annabeth stared down at her lap, a lump forming in her throat. “But what if I didn’t?”

Percy furrowed his brow and said, “What do you mean?”

Annabeth wrung her wrists. “T-They’re saying that I probably tore my ACL.”

“But you said before-”

“I was lying,” Annabeth interrupted. “I just didn’t want to bring it up in front of everyone.”

There was a slight pause before Percy held a hand to his forehead and muttered, “Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

They both knew a torn ACL had spelled the end to many an athlete’s career. It wasn’t a death sentence, but there was a good chance Annabeth would never come back stronger than before her injury.

Percy’s hands tightened around her bedframe. “It’ll be alright. I’m sure that some surgery and rehab will do the trick.”

“Wish I shared in your optimism,” Annabeth said, half-smiling.

“Look, I know it seems hopeless right now, but you’ll make it out. You always do.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “And there’s also a good chance I’ll never be as fast again.”

“Well, I believe in you,” Percy said. “I know how strong you are.”

Annabeth offered him a weak smile. “But what if I don’t believe in me?”

“Then I’ll do enough for the both of us and make up for it,” Percy said gently.

His words should have made her feel better, but instead they lit a spark of anger in her. “Just because you believe in something, doesn’t make it true, Percy.”

Percy must have sensed the shift in her mood and carefully said, “I’m aware of that.”

“No, you clearly aren’t,” Annabeth snorted. “This isn’t something you can just self-help, positive thinking bullshit your way out of.”

“I never said it was,” Percy said quietly.

“But it’s what you meant,” Annabeth insisted.

Percy pursed his lips and looked at her. “What would be more helpful for me to say instead?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you can start by acknowledging what’s really going on,” Annabeth said caustically.

“And what’s that?”

Annabeth sat up straight and crossed her arms over her chest. “How about you admit I might never be able to run competitively again? Or how about admitting I’m responsible for sabotaging Reyna’s victory at state? Admit that my best isn’t good enough, that it’ll never be good enough.”

“And that will help you feel better?” Percy asked slowly.

“Compared to the garbage you were saying before? Yeah, it would.”

Hurt flickered in Percy’s eyes before he took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m not going to say that.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?” Annabeth demanded.

“It’ll only make you feel worse,” Percy said quietly.

Annabeth ground her teeth and glared at him. “You know, I really hate when you do that.”

Percy furrowed his brow. “What?”

“When you pretend to know how I think or feel,” Annabeth fumed. “Or when you act like you know what’s good for me. It’s so fucking arrogant.”

“I didn’t mean for it to come across-”

“Then stop fucking pretending this isn’t real!” Annabeth snapped. “Do you really not understand how completely fucked I am right now?”

“Annabeth, I get how you feel. Trust me, I do,” Percy said. “But with the right treatment-”

“Percy, I could lose my scholarship over this,” Annabeth interrupted, fighting back tears. “I-I can’t afford to go to Berkeley without one, and I sure as hell can’t ask my fucking parents for money. They couldn’t even be bothered to see me here!”

He paused and processed the information quietly for a few moments before he said, “If we find a good surgeon and a physical therapist, they’ll figure out a way to cure you.”

“But what if it doesn’t work?” Annabeth asked desperately. “What if I never fully recover?”

Percy walked around the side of her bed and took her hand. “Then we’ll figure that out together too.”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Annabeth laughed bitterly. “This isn’t your fucking problem. You still have your scholarship. Even if you didn’t, your mom would help pay your tuition. You still have people who give a shit about you. I don’t have anyone like that.”

There was a hint of tragic desperation in Percy’s voice when he said, “But you have me.”

Annabeth looked up at him with a strained smile. “Do I? Do I really?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Percy asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You have been hiding things from me,” Annabeth said quietly. “You’ve been hiding things from me, who knows for how long.”

“Annabeth, what are you talking-”

“Kara Mayfield,” Annabeth said tiredly.

Percy stiffened like he had been slapped across the face, and that was the final nail in the coffin.

“Where you ever going to tell me about her, about what happened to you two?” Annabeth asked softly.

When Percy was silent, Annabeth breathed an incredulous laugh and shook her head. “So never then, apparently.”

“I never meant to hide anything from you,” Percy said. “It’s just-”

“I don’t want your excuses, Percy,” Annabeth said. “Either you don’t trust me enough, or you think I’m too fragile to handle it, like I’m some kindergartner that needs protecting because I don’t know what’s good for me.”

“I’ve always only ever had complete trust in you, Annabeth,” Percy said tersely.

“Well, it sure doesn’t feel like it,” Annabeth fumed. “I have never kept anything from you. I’ve always told you absolutely everything about myself. I guess it just hurts because I assumed that you did the same.”

Annabeth paused and stared down at her lap, digging her fingernails into her palms. “Honestly, it’s fine if there are things you can’t tell me. Like, it hurts but I can live with it. But then what was the point of the fucking ocean of subtext that you’ve been forcing me to swim through since the start of the school year? I just don’t understand why the fuck you’ve been leading me by the nose on this wild goose chase if you’re so unwilling to open up to me. At least have the decency to make up your fucking mind.”

When Percy still continued to remain silent, Annabeth just felt suddenly exhausted, like all the events of the day had caught up with her all at once.

“I’m just so tired of this, Percy,” she muttered. “I’m tired of having to lie awake at night trying to analyze why you said this or did that. I’m just so fucking tired of it, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“You don’t think I would’ve said something if I could have?” Percy said tightly. “You think that I’ve liked keeping things from you? It kills me-”

“Then just tell me then!” Annabeth said. “This is your chance: right here! Just fucking say what’s on your mind for once.”

“I can’t!” Percy said, voice cracking. “I- I just can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

Percy was silent for a moment before he whispered, “I don’t know.”

Annabeth bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering. “You’re breaking my fucking heart, Percy Jackson. I really hope you know that.”

Percy took a step closer to her, looking shattered, but Annabeth pointedly looked away at the opposite wall and cleared her throat.

“If you don’t have anything to say, I think you should just leave.”

A suffocating silence draped over them like a blanket, so palpable that Annabeth could almost feel the weight of it smothering them both. She held her breath, hoping against hope, that Percy would finally come out with everything he was holding back, but he didn’t say anything.

She didn’t know how long he simply stood there before he opened the door to her hospital room. He paused between the doorframe for a few moments, and her heart jack-hammered inside her chest.

This was it, Annabeth realized. This was finally how he left her.

Before he could close the door behind him, Annabeth frantically turned to him and yelled, “I’m in love with you!”

Percy froze and looked at her with a searching gaze. Blood pounded in Annabeth’s ears. Maybe now he wouldn’t leave. Anything to make him stay.

It felt like an eternity before Percy withered in front of her. His smile was achingly kind and familiar, but Annabeth was too struck by the hurt in his eyes. She had never seen him in so much pain before. Was that all her doing?

“It’s alright, Annabeth,” Percy smiled. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

His words hit her like a sledgehammer to the face. The door closed and shut behind him before she could react, and then she was alone.

And then she was alone.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Crown For Two {4}

Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU

Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes, Slow Burn, Dialogue Heavy, PLENTY OF WORDS

Words: 6.6k

Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.  

Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”  

Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated.

This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.  

As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.

Note: All right, all right people, the ride continues. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a reminder, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.

As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

***Picture Heavy***

Previous Chapters: {1} | {2} | {3} | 

-Five Days Later-

-Henry-

“Before we get to cut this ribbon, I want to say something. My father—your king.”

 He paused, swallowed, and bowed his head slightly, trying to gather his thoughts and reign in his emotions. This was one of the first times he’d spoken about his father since his death, especially in front of the entire country. This unveiling was televised all around Brexendor and probably in neighboring sister countries, which meant he was probably speaking in front of over four million people. Clearing his throat, he tried to continue.

 “Eh-em, my father, and your king loved this project. He spent so many nights coming through every detail of it. He particularly wanted to be hands-on with this because he felt this endeavor would bring many people together.”

 He looked from face to face in the crowd, making eye contact and giving reassuring smiles—a tactic he’d learned long ago that made speeches more effective.

 “He believed though we are individual countries filled with many different races, ethnicities, beliefs, and cultures, he believed we are all one people. He believed that one of the most universal things was connection.”

The crowd murmured their agreement as several heads nodded. He felt the hand of his mother on his shoulder, gently reassuring him and giving him some of her strength.

 “As humans, we all crave connection. We all want to make connections in our lives that are worthwhile. That is what this endeavor is, a bridge for our connection across the world beginning with our finances, and he would be so incredibly proud to see it today.”

 The crowd before him erupted with applause, giving him a reprieve to bring himself back to his stoic image. He waited for them to quiet down before he continued.

 “Without further ado.”

 He walked over to the shimmering blue ribbon that was aesthetically tied in front of the bank's doors. Once before them, one of the men handed him giant scissors, and he got into place. The crowd counted down from three. Each second that passed, he could sense the excitement increasing. Once “one” was yelled, he cut the ribbon signaling the crowd to explode with applause and cheers. The camera snapped pictures of him from every angle as he shook hands, waved, and posed with everyone on the bank’s council and the finance commission’s office.

 The next hour was spent walking through the location, explaining all the details that his father had put so much time, thought, and energy into. As he pointed things out, he remembered the various conversations they had together about the items and specifications. This was a project just as close to his heart as it was to his father’s. from the corner of his eye, he saw his mother standing in front of the giant grandfather style clock that his father had chosen special. He loved clocks and had collected quite a few in his years. She placed her hand on it, then dipped her head down. He knew her pain.

 The following few hours passed with him answering questions and doing his duties as head of the country, never breaking away from the status quo. He could do this in his sleep. That was how well trained he was for this. In a matter of weeks, his duties would be tripled or even quadrupled when he went through his coronation. At that time, he’d really put all that grooming to use. It was an event he’d imagined differently his whole life. For one, he’d always expected to look out to his mother and father’s faces as they’d passed the duties on to him. This future was one he was not prepared for.

 “Mother.”

 She hummed and spun her head to him with a solemn smile on her lips.

 “Are you well?”

 She smiled brightly, and any evidence of her previous sadness was only visible in her pale blue eyes, but just a smidge.

 “Of course, I am. What about you, my darling boy?”

 He smiled. She’d been calling him that since he was, in fact, just a boy.

 “Glad to have gotten through that.”

 His mother nodded before she looped her arm through his.

 “You did beautifully. Your father would be incredibly proud of you, Henry, so incredibly proud.”

 The tears welled in her eyes before she kissed his cheekbone.

 “I have only ever wanted to make him proud,” he admitted.

 “He has been proud of you every single day since you were born. Every day.”

 She turned her face away, and he knew it was to hide the tears that had rolled down her cheek. He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her, allowing her to dab at her eyes. Several moments passed in silence as he looked out the window at the passing snow-covered hills. After a minute or two, his mother cleared her throat.

 “So, what is this I hear of a house guest?”

 He smiled to himself, thinking of you, your smile, your tenaciousness, and stubbornness. Since his mother had been away in Sandvell on Queen duties, she’d been absent for the excitement from the last near two weeks. He explained it to her in the vaguest of terms and finished stating you would be remaining at the palace most likely for the duration of the month. He spoke it so flippantly that he hoped it sounded to her ears that it was not a big deal.

 “Mm-hm. Well, I am pleased you are showing your charming side rather than your scrooge one.”

 He gasped, then snapped his head to her to see her amused eyes dancing with laughter.

 “I do not think it is right for a mother to call her son a scrooge.”

 She did not look as if she regretted it at all. “It is right for a mother to let her son know how he is perceived or has been for the last seven months.”

 “Mother, I do not mean to—I have tried--,” he sighed. “It has only been seven months since--.”

 “I know darling, believe me, I know. One of the tragedies of our roles, we are expected to carry on as if we are not human. We are seen as figurines, and we must ever be pristine. The human emotion of grief cannot hold us bad. Oh, how I wish it were different.”

 They sat quietly again for a few turns on the drive back to the palace.

 “I assume you have taken the necessary precautions with our house guest?”

 “Yes.”

 “Have you spoken to her?”

 “I have.”

 “Was it my son the scrooge or my charming son who did the talking?”

 He scoffed, then shook his head. “I am always charming.”

 His mother giggled before she rested her head on his shoulder.

Once they reached the palace and walked inside, the staff swarmed his mother, giving her details for the preparations for the opening ball that was taking place within the coming days for the beginning of the festive month. It was the tradition for a ball to be thrown the first weekend of the month to usher in the month-long festivities. That also meant that many would come to the palace to stay and join in on the jam-packed month of celebration.

 “Yes, Carolina, I know we have much to plan in a short amount of time.”

 Carolina, his mother’s personal royal assistant, nodded her strawberry blonde head as she gripped the stack of papers and folders in her arms tighter.

 “Welcome home, your majesty,” she began. “Shall we begin right away?”

 His mother, now free of her coat and outside garments, shook her head. “No. Prepare the necessary details, and we will meet in the pink tea room in thirty minutes.”

 “As you wish, your majesty,” Carolina replied with a head bow and curtsy.

 “Oh, Carolina, for tonight’s supper, please tell the kitchen I am feeling quite festive and maybe a roast. I hear we have a house guest, and I would like to welcome her properly.”

 “Mother, do you really think that I have been anything but absolutely hospitable?”

 She smiled and looped her arm through his again as they began ascending the stairs.

 “Of course, I am sure you instructed the staff to be hospitable and tend to her needs,” she clarified.

 She knew him too well. If only she knew that he himself had been the most hospitable of all, he thought to himself. He reminisced on the last few days. He hadn’t been able to have dinner with you for the last five days because the closer the event got, the more work he had to do. You’d exchanged emails about his speech with you leaving notes on what he’d prepared or even giving him suggestions on where to carry other thoughts he’d begun. He liked all your additions and suggestions. It was your suggestion to bring up something personal about his father, especially since it was his passion project. He’d had every intention to disregard it, but in the end, he’d listened to you, and he still hadn’t regretted it.

 Though you were maybe a six-minute distance from his own bedroom and under the same roof, he hadn’t physically seen you in those five days. He did get information from Dr. Alphonsi and even details from McArthur about how you looked, who had been to see you to extend his apologies for getting you into this predicament. McArthur was now your greatest fan. You hadn’t chastised him or belittled him for hitting you with the car. You said it wasn’t his fault, accepted his apology, and even thanked him because you would have probably had a health crisis sooner rather than later with your other ailments.

 Everyone in the palace seemed to have grown to like you. When he saw Jemma, his sister, she often sang your praises and chattered on about something you or your sister had told her. It was easy to see that even she’d been captivated by you, just as he had.

 “Were you listening to me?”

 Shaking his head, he glanced at his mother with a raised brow. “I am sorry, mother. What were you saying?”

 “What has got your head so far away? work?”

 He sighed, shrugged, and looked forward, realizing they were in the hall leading to your bedroom.

 “Where are you leading me, mother?”

 “It is you who is leading me, son.”

 He scoffed. Even his feet seemed to want to go to you. he made a swift left turn away from your hall.

 “Mother, I have some work to attend to before supper tonight.”

 “All right, do not work too hard. Supper is at seven…promptly, Henry.”

 He smiled and kissed her cheek. “Promptly,” he repeated before continuing on his way.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  -Y/N-

“I am quite happy with your improvement, Xari.”

 You smiled.

 “I do feel a lot better today than I have in weeks.”

 Dr. Alphonsi smiled and began closing his doctor bag.

 “That is wonderful news. The direct infusion through IV usually does work better than capsules or any other treatments. You have been a sample patient. If only my other patients would give me this little trouble.”

 You snorted, then shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve always been a teacher’s pet.”

 Dr. Alphonsi smiled again before he walked around to the IV rod to disconnect you. You watched as he slowly removed the needle from your forearm, only flinching slightly. He pressed down on the puncture hole for a few moments then plastered a band-aid across your arm.

 “There. So as our plan goes. A week IV, a week injections, then repeat,” Dr. Alphonsi reiterated.

 “Sounds good.”

 Dr. Alphonsi walked over to the stainless steel trey resting on the side table and placed the needle on it, then began taking the emptied IV bag off the pole. Once the items were arranged on the trey, he walked back over to his doctor’s bag.

 “Any questions for me?”

 You thought for a moment, then began. “Not really since I already know you’re going to say no traveling.”

 “You are not a prisoner here, Xari. If you are feeling strong enough, you can go anywhere you choose. The palace has plenty of rooms that would interest you. When it comes to venturing outdoors, I would say be careful, pace yourself, and do not overexert. There have been many who thought they could walk a block only to find they could not make it more than fifteen meters.”

 You nodded again.

 “Would you like me to speak to the prince about assigning you a lady’s maid?”

 “Oh my goodness, no. that is not at all necessary.”

 “All right. Well, you have my telephone number if you need me, as does the staff. I have instructed someone to inform you every time you are to take an injection. I have a trained professional here at the palace who can administer it if you are not confident enough to do it yourself. If you feel confident, remember every six hours one vial. I’ve combined them to decrease the number of needle pricks.”

 “Thank you very much, Dr. Alphonsi.”

 He nodded, then prepared himself to leave. As he walked to the door, it opened, and in came Anika.

 “Does she have a clean bill of health?”

 “Cleaner, but we still have quite a way to go. Slow and steady, says the tortoise to the hare,” Dr. Alphonsi said before walking out of your room.

 “Oooh, look who doesn’t have a pole attached to them anymore. How do you feel?”

 You took a deep breath and thought about it for a moment, then smiled. “A lot better than a did.”

 Anika smiled with you, then dropped on the bed beside you. “Does that mean you can finally leave this room and go exploring with me?”

 “Nika.”

 “Don’t Nika mean, you know you’re curious and want to look behind every door of this place.”

 She had a point. You were curious. You’d been in a few palaces from around the world before, but you’d never been in a palace as a guest. At the thought of “guest,” you began to wonder if that was what you were. Patient yes, unexpected and unwanted temporary responsibility, maybe. The look Anika was giving you said she was impatiently waiting for a response.

 “Ugggh, fine. Yes, let’s get our Dora on,” you said, slowly getting out of the bed.

 A shower took you longer than usual, mostly in part because you couldn't help but marvel at your surroundings. There was marble and porcelain everywhere. The amount of luxury that surrounded you made your jaw dropped. You sampled everything, beginning with the twelve jets in the shower to the heated bidet. The shower even had a switch that you could change the water from fresh to sea saltwater. That part tripped you up because you didn’t know why anyone would want that. Even the sink had buttons you could use to change the water pressure.

 By the time you’d showered and changed, an hour had passed.

 “What’d you think of the sea salt option in the shower?”

 You snorted, then busted out laughing. “Oh my god, I almost lost my shit. Did you try it?”

 “You know I did. Then I immediately regretted it when I forgot and began really getting into crevices to wash and rinse. Ouch.”

 That only made you laugh harder. The whole time Anika protested and pouted. When you stepped out of the room into the adjoining one, you felt like you saw it in a new light. The first or even second time you’d been in it, nothing registered. Now, you could appreciate the art on the wall, the décor, and color choices. It screamed elegance but also comfort.

“I asked around, and this particular room is called a sitting room. All of the bedrooms have one,” Anika informed.

 “Yeah. When I went and toured Versailles, the sitting room was where visitors were entertained. Marie Antoinette loved to also have tea and cake there before turning in for bed,” you added as you walked around, touching different materials and snapping pictures from a few different angles. It was all super high class. You didn’t expect anything less.

 You and Anika stepped into the hall, and your jaw dropped.

 “Holy Shit!”

 The people in the hall stopped what they were doing and looked back at you while Anika tried to stifle her laugh.

 “Sorry, sorry. Please carry on.”

 They slowly continued what they were doing while you and Anika made your getaway. The halls were gorgeous. The white and gold complemented each other so well you just knew that this was just the beginning. Then when you looked up to the ceiling at the Sistine Chapel worthy mural, you could hear a heavenly hymn in your ears.

 “The Sistine Chapel could never,” you muttered while walking and snapping pictures.

 It was so beautiful you almost didn’t want to move. Anika’s arm looped through yours was the directing force. She pulled you down the stairs that were on the same level of grandeur as the Russian opera house’s. The carpet that lined them was blue instead of the red that bathed other royal abodes. It even looked like it was silk. When the two of you finally descended the stairs to the main floor, you went down one of the halls on the right.

 The first door you both walked into, Anika whistled loudly. “Well, fuck!”

 It was the largest dining room you’d been inside in a long while. The table looked like it could seat at least seventy. As you walked around the room, you took pictures from different angles until you got to the window, then you gaped at what you saw.

 “Wow.”

 “Like a winter wonderland, right.”

 “Have you gone out?”

 “Heck no. You know me and winter don’t agree. There is a reason I live in Georgia.”

 You shook your head and snapped two pictures before you walked off in search of more. Once you and Anika finished looking around the dining room, you walked into a large parlor with several places to sit. You wondered what the room was used for. Your imagination said it could have been where smoking parties happened, or maybe a lounge area before dinners. It honestly could be used to anything.

 A library followed that you knew you could get lost in for days and days and lost you got. You touched titles you were familiar with and others you’d never heard of before, making a mental note to come back and have a closer look. The ones you couldn’t pass up, you took from the shelves and took with you. You didn’t know how long you spent in the library. It was hard to tell because you hadn't looked through the whole thing even with all the time you spent there.

 Somehow, you found yourself pushing open intricate golden doors and walking into an ornate room filled with gold, marble, and that same blue carpet lining. From the ceilings hung low hanging crystal chandeliers and an even more awe-inspiring mural. At the end of the carpet, you saw a pair of thrones. Immediately you knew you’d happened upon the throne room. You walked the length of it, taking a picture every few steps. When you reached them, you stopped in front and stared.

 You could imagine him sitting in the one on the right. You imagined him with perfect posture, a stern face, and tightly clenched jaws with the most regal of crowns. You wondered if this monarchy was as ostentatious as others. Maybe he usually held a scepter and golden orb while being draped with royal furs. At that thought, you imagined him sitting on that throne completely naked with nothing but the royal furs draped over his shoulders. It was a damn inviting vision, one you wouldn’t mind seeing.

 A loud sound behind you made you spin around to find a cleaning crew. Quickly you walked back down the carpet and out the room apologizing for intruding. Once back in the hall, you spun around, unsure when you’d lost Anika. You called her name a few times, but there was no answer. It was then you regretted not bringing your cellphone. You walked a little further down the hall then made a left as the scent of flowers captured your attention.

 When you stepped through glass French doors, you felt as if you’d walked into some country garden. The room was bathed in soft amber and purples, no doubt from the sunset. Thanks to the glass room, you were able to see peeks of its glory through the fluffy looking white snow resting on it. The more you walked around, the more the exterior contradicted the interior. You knew it being the dead of winter made it impossible for the sight before you. There were flowers of all different kinds. It was a sea of blues, reds, yellows, pinks, and even purples.

“Holy Shit!”

 “I will take that as a compliment.”

 You spun around, looking for the owner of the voice, but there was no one there.

 “Uh--.”

 You walked around cautiously.

 “A few more steps.”

 After three steps, you found a woman sitting at a table decked out with every piece of a tea set you could imagine, along with a few pastries.

 “Found me.”

 She looked up at you, then looked back down to your feet until she met your eyes again.

 “Uh—hi,” said.

 “Hello.”

 The smile on her face was pleasant, and it matched the kindness in her blue eyes. They were eyes you felt like you’d seen before, only on someone else. Slowly it hit you who she could be.

 “Oh my god, your majesty.”

 You dropped down to your best curtesy, hoping it would distract her from your potty mouth. She softly chuckled.

 “You are quite all right, dear. Stand up, please.”

 You stood and tried not to give away that you were slightly unnerved.

 “I’m sorry about the cursing. It’s a horrible habit and probably not—dignified,” you expressed.

 She laughed again, then took a sip from her golden rose printed porcelain cup. It looked fancy and antique. “No need to apologize. Believe me; cursing is not the worst thing in the world. I have said quite a few in my day.”

 You smiled, even though you found it hard to believe, especially with how prime and proper she looked sitting there.

 “I have to know, though. How did you know who I was?”

 “Um—your eyes.”

 She looked even more curious. “My eyes?”

 You swallowed and avoided her gaze. “They’re—they’re the same as Henry’s—eh-em, I mean his highness.”

 The way she looked at you made you slightly uncomfortable. She looked like she was assessing you. Before she could speak, another woman walked into the room, one with strawberry blonde hair.

 “Your majesty,” she began stopping instantly when she saw you.

 You cleared your throat and turned to walk away. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

 “No intrusion. Carolina, I think that will be all for today. I would like to finish my tea and possibly get to know our new houseguest.”

 “As you wish, your majesty.” She curtsied then walked back out of the room, leaving you alone once again.

 “Please, have a seat,” the queen said.

 Before you sat, you actually thought to dart out of the room but quickly changed your mind. When you sat down across from her, you took note of the open binders and folders sprawled out on the table. Out of nowhere, someone walked into the solarium, took up the matching teapot, and poured it into a new teacup to your right.

 “Will there be anything else, your majesty?”

 “Thank you, Edie.”

 The woman walked back out of the room, and it got silent for a few moments.

 “Please, have some. It is a Darjeeling blend that is grown right here in Brexendor. I drink at least a cup a day. I promise you it is delicious.”

 She took another sip, but she didn’t look at all worried that you wouldn’t sample it. You placed the books on top of the table and took up the teacup instead, and sipped. Lavender, mint, honey, and rose filled your mouth. A moan escaped you.

 “Good, right.”

 Nodding, you took another mouthful.

 “How are you?”

 After swallowing, you placed the cup down. “I am feeling a lot better, your majesty.”

 “Please, every time I am called that, it makes it impossible to forget. Call me, Cecelia, please.”

 You didn’t know what to say to that, and it must have shown because she smiled then giggled.

 “O—kay.”

 “I promise. I am not trying to trick you in any way. I just want you to be comfortable. I can imagine what it feels like to come here and be surrounded by all of this. It is—overwhelming…intimidating even. I just want to make your time here peaceful and enjoyable.”

 She didn’t look like she was lying or trying to cover something. She came off as genuinely kind, like she truly meant what she said.

 “Thank you, your—Ce—Ms. Cecelia.”

 She smiled, then nodded. “Alright. I understand.”

 “I’m Xari.”

 “A beautiful name. It is wonderful to meet you, dear. I do hope your stay has been a good one so far.”

 “Yes, yes, everyone has been nothing but kind and hospitable. I appreciate your kindness,” you expressed.

 Cecelia nodded and took another sip from her cup. Her eyes landed on something on the table.

 “Of Vice and Virtue and Clandestine. Two wonderful selections.”

 “I hope it’s alright. I took them. I promise I will put them back,” you began.

 Cecelia reached her hand out and placed it on top of yours. “Xari, I could not care less if you kept them. You are free to anything in the palace.”

 You slowly nodded and took another sip of tea. As you did, the photos on the table caught your eye. They were of a decorated room. It looked like a mock-up of a ballroom of some sort. The colors of the flowers were orange, and they didn’t look like they belonged with the pastel green that surrounded them.

 “This color scheme is all wrong. You shouldn’t pair orange and green. You have to pick one or the other. I’d recommend the green; it’s very pretty.”

 She looked curious, most likely wondering who the hell you were to say half of what you did.

 “Are you a decorator?”

 “Not officially. I took some classes, got some certificates in event planning and interior design,” you admitted.

 “Oh, so you design for a living.”

 “No, no. It—I am a travel photographer and blogger. It’s not what I planned, but I fell into it. Event planning and design are more of hobbies.”

 “Well, this might just be serendipitous. I am in the middle of planning the ball for the opening of the festivities,” Cecelia began adjusting herself in her seat. “I just got back in Brexendor, and the trip was longer than I anticipated. That means I have two days to put together our annual ball that is supposed to open Brexenavid. That is our month-long celebration of what every Brexdorian prides themselves on—our holiday time.”

 “What exactly is Brexenavid?”

 “It is our month-long holiday celebration that we go all out for. There are tens of events, sometimes games, balls, dinners, and dignitaries within Brexendor and our neighboring countries who will begin arriving to stay with us here,” Cecelia explained.

 You were impressed. It all sounded like a lot of work.

 “And you’re the one to plan all of it?”

 “Yes. That is my role as the matriarchal head of the royal family. It is one of my many roles.”

 You released a breath, then finished your cup of tea. Before you spoke, you poured another.

 “So tell me, if you were planning this, how would it look?”

 You took a few moments to sip your tea and think about how you would do it. Closing your eyes, you tried to visualize the space, but you’d seen so many spaces that you couldn’t really picture it.

 “Where will it be? What room? Can you describe it to me?”

 Cecelia smiled, then stood. “I can do better. Let me show you.”

 Cecelia walked out of the room, leaving you to hurry behind her. she led you through the hall you’d just walked down until you went down another hall you hadn’t before. About a minute later, you followed her into a large ballroom that looked like it belonged in Versailles. The walls dripped gold, and the ceiling housed so many chandeliers you didn’t bother to count past five.

“Wow. What a room.”

 “One of my favorites. It is the usual one I use. What do you think?”

 “Nice room. I would say with the amount of light that comes in and the views; I’d play that up. since it is December and I’ve seen several of your streets, Christmas is huge here.”

 “If you only knew,” Cecelia confirmed.

 “Then play it up. Christmas trees, poinsettias, tree lights, tinsel, everything that everyone loves about Christmas. Give your guests what they really love about this country, the beauty, the splendor,” you suggested.

 She looked around the room as if she were trying to picture it. “I like it.”

 Her smile was bright. “I more than like it. I love it. Carolina thought floral.”

 “Floral isn’t a bad idea. You can add some in. Roses are subtle, lilies, even Dahlias, and Tulips.”

 Cecelia approached you and took your hand. “I love your ideas, Xari. I have one of my own. How would you feel about taking point on this? I know you are still recovering, but you would have every staff member at your disposal. You would not be doing too much. You give the design orders, and everyone else will execute it.”

 You were speechless and couldn’t believe the queen had just asked you to deck out her palace for a ball. “Obviously, you do not have to if you do not want to.”

 “Do what?”

Henry’s voice brought your attention to him. he wore a simple white button-down shirt and grey dress pants. While it wasn’t as formal, he still looked put together.

 “I have just asked Xari if she would put together the ball.”

 “Mother. She is supposed to be resting and recuperating. Dr. Alphonsi has left very strict orders, and work was on the list of prohibited actions.”

 His mother looped her arm with his with a smile. “Oh, darling, I am not talking about manual labor. She has quite an eye for design and event planning. I thought it would be fun.”

 “Mother--,” Henry began again.

 “Plus, what are you doing here?”

 “You said supper was promptly at seven.”

 “Heavens, is it seven already? All right, Xari, you do not have to answer right away. You can take the night to think about it. we should all go to supper.”

 “Uh—I’ll go back to my room,” you began.

 “Nonsense, looking at you, you are well enough to dine with the rest of us. Come,” Cecelia pressed as she released Henry to loop her other arm with yours and led you closer to her son.

 Henry smirked, and when he realized he was in the middle, he softly scoffed and held out his arm for you. Your eyes locked for a few seconds, and you picked up a hint of amusement behind his blue orbs. You slowly looped your arm through his, allowing him to led the two of you out of the ballroom and down the long hall.

 As you walked, his mother chattered on about something that you paid no mind to. All you could focus on was the smell of Henry’s cologne and his towering presence beside you. Your hand rested on his forearm, and the heat radiating off of him tempted you to flex your fingers against him. The minute your fingers moved, you felt his bicep tense. It was an action that brought your eyes to him. You lost your breath when you found his were already on you. Goodness, you thought to yourself, slowly trailing your eyes over the details of his face until they landed on his lips.

 “Eh-em.”

 Snapping your head forward, you saw that you’d arrived in the dining room. You pulled your arm free and walked away from Henry flashing them out, trying to cool them from his heat and gain some control over your wayward thoughts. This dining room was a different one from before. It looked more intimate.

 “This is the dining room we prefer to eat in as a family,” Cecelia explained the closer you got to the table.

 Taking your place beside Anika, Henry took his at the head of the table while his mother across from you beside a beaming Jemma. Once everyone was seated, the staff walked in carrying trays of food toward you. Once yours was put down, the silver cover was taken off to reveal a pot roast of some kind.

 “I hope you are not a vegetarian,” Cecelia began.

 “Oh no, my sister and I love all kinds of meat, Anika blurted out, making you give her a harsh eye.

 “Wonderful. Please, dig in.”

 Dinner went on uneventfully. Jemma talked about her plans to include a local orphanage in the planned festivities for the month. Everyone seemed to think it was an excellent idea. Then the conversation turned to Anika as the Queen tried to get to know her better. The only ones who remained relatively quiet were you and Henry. Every so often, your eyes met and lingered. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words never manifested. That was when your eyes drifted to some part of him, either it was his lips, or his hands, or even those sprigs of black hair that teased the bounty that laid under his shirt just waiting to be played with.

 By the time dinner was finished, and after dinner, coffee and tea were served, things had moved to one of the sitting rooms you’d walked through earlier in the day. After your first cup of chamomile and lavender tea, the queen said her goodnights and left you, Anika, and Jemma to your own devices. It allowed you to crack open one of the books you’d picked earlier. By the time you finished your second cup of tea, exhaustion had caught up with you. When you looked up, it was just you and Henry sitting there. Once again, Anika had disappeared, this time taking Jemma with her.

His nose was buried in a book. Before you could admire the view of him sitting there with one leg crossed over the other, his eyes drifted to you; then he lowered his book to reveal a soft smile. Neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence that didn’t need to be filled with words. A yawn sprang from you, making him snort.

 “This can’t be regular chamomile or lavender.”

 “You are probably right. I do know it is farmed straight from the field and brought here,” he answered.

 “Wow, so literally from the earth to your stomach.”

 Henry smiled again.

 “I um—I think I should probably turn in,” you said.

 Henry placed his book aside, then stood. “Allow me to walk you back to your room.”

 “Thank you, your highness.”

 He smiled, came closer, and held his arm out to you.

 “Are you always such a gentleman?”

 “I try to be. It is what I was raised to be,” he replied.

 “So—always. There isn’t a time of day where you say fuck it and let it all fall away?”

 He smiled and stepped a little closer. It was as close as he was the first night in the bar before you parted ways. His eyes bore into you from his towering height, and you decided you wanted to see what he would do.

 “There is about an hour in the morning when I first wake. No one has come in to give me news or updates. It is quiet, and my mind is clear. Then there are those few minutes at night before I fall asleep where I can let everything fall off me. In those two moments—I—I feel like myself.”

 There was a pained look in his eyes that you wanted to know more about.

 “And what does it feel like to be yourself?”

 Henry gave you a melancholy smile. “Lonely.”

 A full minute passed then Henry held out his arm again. “Shall we?”

 You looped your arm and let him lead the way out of the sitting room, down the long corridor, and up the grand steps. The walk was quiet, but you didn’t feel weird being close to him like this. It felt normal. Halfway to your room, Henry spoke.

 “My father told me before he died, the more people that want a piece of you, the less you have for yourself and the lonelier it is at the top.”

 “Sounds like the words of a wise man.”

 “He was very wise.”

 Silence. You’d heard the sadness in his voice the first time he mentioned his father.

 “Do you miss him?”

 “Every single second of every single day,” Henry answered.

 As you turned down the hall that would lead to your room, the silence returned.

 “Your speech was amazing.”

 “You’re saying that because you helped write it.”

 You couldn’t help but laugh. “It doesn’t matter who helped write it. Words are nothing without the conviction to back them up. You made the speech.”

 You could feel his eyes on you, so you met them right before you stopped in front of your door.

 “Thank you,” he whispered. He then took a step to you, closing the wide gap between you.

 “Do you usually have to approve the plans for big events?”

 His crinkled brow said he was confused. “I guess it depends. Why?”

 “Well, since you are so busy being his highness and all, the only way we’d ever see each other the next few days would be for me to accept your mother’s offer and plan this ball seeing how his highness would get the final say-so on all plans. Right?”

 Henry slowly began smiling then he licked his lips. “That sounds about right, but that would mean one thing and one thing only.”

 You leaned against your door and smiled innocently. “And what’s that?”

 “That you want to see me almost as much as I want to see you.”

 Your heart pounded faster and faster. “Almost as much?”

 Henry rested his arm on the door jamb, sort of boxing you in. “You have to know, Xari.”

 “Know what, your highness?”

“Henry,” he whispered quite breathlessly as he stared into your eyes.

The tension between you was palpable. It felt like any second one or both of you were going to do something that neither of you could take back. The loud crack of thunder boomed outside, bringing you both to realize your surroundings. Henry cleared his throat and took two steps back.

 “Good night, Xari. I look forward to seeing those plans at every decision,” he said with a stern face and plenty of humor in his eyes.

 “Your highness.”

 He sighed, then walked back down the hall, leaving you to admire the sway of his hips and the plump but firm state of his ass. God help you, you thought to yourself before you stepped back into your room. You’d never been good at fighting off temptation. You liked to put up a fight but eventually, you always gave in. 

You knew that it was only a matter of time before you did just that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[uchihasakurawrites]

Until Next Time

Rating: T

Summary: When ghosts from the war come back to haunt Sakura, Sasuke's there to try his hand at warding them off. A story of comfort, growth, and realization. (Blank Period)

Word Count: 3,777

A/N: Long time, no see everyone! Thank you for your patience as I’ve worked through some writer’s block the past few months. I know many of you are waiting on the next chapter for A Lesson in Practicality, but I hope you’ll still enjoy this piece. Please let me know your thoughts if you have the time! Otherwise, thank you for taking some time to read my work. ^_^

Warning: This story contains depictions of panic attacks, PTSD flashbacks, and some alcohol abuse. Nothing too dark in here since it's mainly a comfort fic, but please be cautious if any of these topics are triggering for you.

Cross posted on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

____________________________________

Her day begins and ends the same way every other day the past year seemed to - with Sakura walking into the hospital with a confident spring to her step and a brightness in her eyes and dragging herself out (on the rare day she had the energy to pry herself from her desk) with antiseptic or blood or a mix of the two staining her hands and the lab coat she'd forgotten to peel off.

Tonight, Sakura consciously decides not to make the effort to drag herself out of the hospital. Leaving means she'll be roped into the birthday party Ino's been planning for Sai for months, and she doesn't quite have the energy to even shower, let alone paste a convincing smile on her lips.

She spares a glance at the old clock posted right above the chalkboard in her office as she shuffles in and locks the door behind her.

8:00PM.

Fourteen hours since Naruto shook her awake and thrust her straight into a day from hell.

It's still a little too early for anyone to come looking for her yet. Naruto will notice that she's not at the bar right when he arrives, but Hinata will patiently remind him of the shitshow that was today and reason that Sakura's still probably dealing with the aftermath. (In much less colorful terms, of course; Sakura's only heard her friend curse a handful of times, none of which were in front of Naruto.) That'll buy her about an hour before Ino starts making a fuss and sends Sai or Kiba out to Sakura's apartment.

If she's not there, they'll assume she's still at the hospital, and they won't come back until it's close to midnight. Not today. Not after seeing the hallways lined with burn victims pleading for someone to find their loved ones. Not after returning home and finding that the stench of charred skin and blood isn't so easy to wash out of their clothes.

Sakura didn't get to leave. Her role just changed from a kunoichi dispatched on a rescue mission to the de facto head of the hospital the moment she crossed the threshold.

She pulls the shades in hopes of convincing her friends that she isn't here if they do decide to come looking but stops short in front of the light switch. The migraine between her temples screams for her to turn the fluorescents off, but she doesn't trust her mind not to see death in the shadows of her office tonight.

She turns them off anyways.

It isn't until she's sitting criss-cross on her floor with her too-full bookshelf at her back and a bottle of sake in her hand that Sakura realizes her hands are trembling. A splash of sake makes its way onto her carpet instead of into her cup, and she curses because it's good sake - the expensive kind that Tsunade bought her a case of after the war and no no no.

She cuts that thought there because violent memories of the war, or rather the days immediately following the war, have been intruding into her mind all day and she just can't.

A case or so of sake should knock her and those thoughts right out (or so she hopes). Years of honing her skills as a medic nin have given her a certain resistance to toxins, including alcohol, and it's why she doesn't bother to drink most of the time; social drinking is more of a waste of money than anything else. She figures that's precisely why her mentor gave her an entire case as a gift.

It isn't until she's two bottles in and there's a buzzed lightness to her body that she realizes she's crying.

Her breath seems to come faster and faster, shallower and shallower, and she wonders if the buzz and creeping, cold numbness in her fingers is because of the alcohol or the lack of oxygen. She's shivering, muscles tensed to the point of pain, but she blames it on the chill of the hospital.

Another glass will knock the cold right out. At least, that's what Tsunade used to say when she drank away the ghosts that forced themselves a little too close to the front of her mind.

It's a few glasses later that Sakura starts seeing the eyes of the dead staring back at her from the shadows at the edges of her office. She's back on the battlefield, the same smell of burnt skin and the mournful cries of shinobi finally processing the deaths of their comrades hanging in the air. She's been healing for days, but she continues to push. The fighting may be over but there are still identities to confirm, survivors to heal, and families to be notified.

Sakura knew that death was part of her job description from her days in the Academy; protecting the interests of the village often required it. Tsunade had let her figure out that the same was true of her job as a medic on her own, when she lost her first patient at fifteen. She'd learned to put the deaths she dealt with in a neat little box which she deadbolted and tossed on a shelf in the deepest recess of her mind she could find.

But death was a uniquely stubborn bastard that didn't always like to stay in that box.

She'd been awake for the full three days the war had drawn on, but the medical corps was tasked with the brunt of combing through the miles upon miles of dead shinobi for another forty-eight hours or so. They'd had help, but medics were the ones needed throughout to organize, heal, or in the worst possible cases (which Sakura and Shizune handled) show mercy to the shinobi who were alive but long past the point of saving.

Sakura nearly vomits and washes the bile down with more sake. One glass. Another.

The quiet tears have turned into sobs that scratch at her throat and squeeze her lungs. Her nails cut thin crescent moons into her forearms, and her shoulders hunch as if she can ward off the prying eyes. Sakura barely has the presence of mind to activate the silencing seal in her office - the one she keeps on hand when discussing particularly sensitive cases - before her sobs grow into half screams. She can't get enough air to manage much more than a hoarse cry, but if she can just drink fast enough, it shouldn't matter.

And so she cracks open another bottle and brings it directly to her lips, trying to focus on the burn of the alcohol on her throat and Naruto's bright smile reassuring her that everything would be fine when he first found her clutching a bottle of sake in the corner of her disaster of a bedroom.

What she doesn't count on is the alcohol making it increasingly difficult to distinguish reality from the memories that have escaped from her mind and seared themselves into the darkness around her. They become more real, more tangible, until she swears she can hear the fresh widow of a shinobi from Cloud shouting about how Sakura hadn't done enough. Another voice joins until there's a chorus telling her exactly what she feared most:

There shouldn't have been so many casualties. She should have been able to do more.

She was weak.

Her tears stop for a moment when she looks up and sees Sasuke standing in the doorway. For a fraction of a second, she almost feels relieved and tries to move to go to him, but she's reminded none of this is real, and she can't be sure which Sasuke this is. Given her current state of mind, it's probably the one who haunted her nightmares for months after the bridge and still longer after his genjutsu in the war. She takes a swig from the bottle she clenches in her fist and curls back into herself.

Sasuke's repeated calls of her name fall on deaf ears.

For his part, Sasuke is at a loss. He's never seen Sakura like this (and he'd witnessed her tears firsthand on many occasions as genin). Sure, she's always worn her heart on her sleeve and been far too open with her emotions by standard shinobi rules, but she has never seemed so broken.

Looking at the scratch marks that trail down her forearms and the far too many empty bottles of sake for someone of her stature littered on the carpet, Sasuke realizes he doesn't know this woman - and in retrospect, he never should have assumed otherwise.

From her confessions both during the war and when he made the decision to leave her behind yet again, Sasuke knows she's still fiercely loyal and has a light bright enough to forgive and heal anything it touches without her needing to make the conscious choice to do so. Her skills as a shinobi have grown to the point that she could give him a challenge if they were to spar, and he's seen her heal an entire battlefield for days on end while still fighting on the front lines.

She's become more than worthy of the title of the "New Sannin," as the original Team 7 has now been christened, and she still loves him (unreasonably so in his opinion, but he's come to realize that maybe he doesn't want her to change her mind - even if he thinks it would be better for her in the long run). But that's all he knows, and he finds himself wanting to discover more of who Sakura is now.

He has years of absence and cruel actions to make up for, and far more growth beyond that to become someone who deserves the steadfast love she's always been ready to give him.

At the moment, however, he needs to get her to let go of the liquor bottle she clutches onto like a lifeline and refocus on the present. He's been trapped by his past more times than he'll ever admit, and though he hasn't had real comfort since his mother (and Sakura, he amends), he owes it to her to at least try.

Sasuke approaches her slowly, intentionally making his footsteps heavier so that she can hear him approach. Whatever nightmare she's trapped in - he confirmed it wasn't a genjutsu the moment he broke the lock on her door after an unnerving spike in her chakra - she hasn't seemed to notice he's actually here. He bites back the guilt that surfaces at the thought that he could be part of her nightmare, but that's something they can work through later.

He crouches down in front of her, taking a firm hold of the hand that clutches the bottle to try to coax it out of her grip. She jolts at the touch, peeking hesitantly up from her knees with red-rimmed eyes and a mix of tears and sweat coating her cheeks.

"Breathe, Sakura."

Her grip loosens as she meets his eyes. He sees uncertainty waver in her gaze as she hiccups in a short breath, but then the panic snaps back down and tightens her hold on the bottle yet again.

"I- I can't."

The words are stilted, as though forcing out those two words causes her physical pain. Sasuke, however, considers it a small win as it means Sakura's decided he's real. Her breathing is still far too fast, and he knows he needs to stabilize it before she's ready to explain what's happening.

It's awkward - both because Sasuke has never done this and the fact that he hasn't completely sorted through his feelings for his teammate - but he eventually pulls Sakura far enough away from the bookcase that he can shuffle in behind her. He secures his legs around her sides and arranges Sakura so that her back rests on his chest.

It's almost annoying just how snugly Sakura fits against him, her head tucked just below his chin. A part of his mind notes how her curves seem to melt into his frame only to be ruthlessly shoved down. There are priorities, and noting how the boyish (yet annoyingly charming) Sakura has clearly blossomed into a young woman is not one of them.

Where the Sakura from his memories smelled of strawberries and artificial sweetness, the woman in his arms tonight seems as though she's been doused in a pungent blend of antiseptic and ash.

"Breathe, Sakura."

Sasuke repeats Sakura's name to ground her as he starts regulating his own breath: six counts in through the nose, hold, eight counts out through the mouth. He's sure to exaggerate his breaths a bit so Sakura can feel the movement against her back. Hesitantly, his hand comes up to trail over the marks on her forearm. His hands have always been cold, so he figures the one he has left might be able to relieve some of the sting from her nails.

He makes a mental note to pick up some basic medical ninjutsu and doesn't bother to pretend it's just for field injuries.

It takes about ten minutes for Sakura's breathing to return mostly to normal. It still stutters every now and then, but she's matching Sasuke almost breath for breath. She doesn't move away from him, and Sasuke doesn't move to shift her.

As they sit in silence, save for their own breathing, Sasuke realizes he's put himself in a position where he needs to actually start the conversation. There's no bright chatter, no smile to coax him into talking. Again, he's at a loss.

It seems this new Sakura has retained a talent for doing this to him.

Annoying woman.

"Tell me about it."

Sakura immediately shakes her head, breath trembling yet again. Sasuke sighs and guesses he should have known she wasn't going to make this easy for him. He can't blame her. If someone asked him to do the same, he would have told them to fuck off.

"Sakura."

She turns to him with a dangerous look in her eyes, a cold jade that threatens to cut him if he pushes too far. Sasuke's always been the best at serving the very same look, but it's unnerving to see it etched into Sakura's soft features.

"Dammit, Sakura. Just talk to me."

Her gaze grows warmer, but not in the way he wants. She's angry, and Sasuke isn't really sure how he could have pissed her off in just six words. Sakura being Sakura, she of course makes the reason for her anger clear immediately.

"And why the hell do I need to do that, Sasuke?"

Sasuke nearly winces at the dropped suffix on his name and tries to remember how his mother handled it when he refused to confide in her.

"You haven't been here" - even Sakura knows this is unfair as she says it, but the confusion, grief, and alcohol clouding her mind make it difficult to acknowledge how much the man she loves has grown to be able to offer this to her- "and you never told me anything when I asked you to. So fuck off, Sasuke-kun. I'm sure Naruto's expecting you."

Naruto most definitely wasn't, but Sasuke doesn't see the value in pointing that particular fact out. By the time he got to the village and was promptly dragged into the bar he had made the mistake of walking past on his way to the Hokage Tower, the idiot was already drunk off his ass. Ino was as well, so Hinata asked Sasuke if he would mind going to check on Sakura at the hospital since she and Sai needed to stay to take care of their significant others.

Sakura finally moves to get up, tipping over a half-full bottle of sake in her efforts, but Sasuke can still see the tremors in her hands and the familiar strain of a jaw clenched against tears. Her eyes still dart towards the corners of the room.

Sasuke's well aware of the ghosts that can haunt those shadows and resolves to help Sakura put hers to rest, even if it's just for the night. His legs tighten around Sakura before she can fully pull away from him, and she falls back against his chest with a huff and a glare that's more tired than venomous.

Sasuke sighs and lowers his head. His bangs cover his eyes as he decides to voice at least part of the feelings he's managed to process regarding Sakura. He's not sure exactly how to categorize how he feels about her yet (mostly because his mind still can't comprehend why someone so bright has loved him through so much darkness), but he wants to help and that's about all he can offer her at the moment.

She deserves more, so much more, but he hopes it's enough for now.

"I'm here, Sakura."

He wants to add that he's not going anywhere because someone who will stay is only a fraction of what Sakura deserves, but that's not a promise he can make.

He feels Sakura's surprise as she stiffens against him, and her breath stops altogether for a few worrying moments. Sasuke wills himself to stay relaxed at her back, still maintaining a steady breathing pace should she need the rhythm again.

Sakura's thoughts are a whirlwind that she tries to grab ahold of but slips right through her fingers. She's torn, half of her mind shattered glass that urges her to open up and share even a part of her pain so that she can just stop breaking. Sasuke's here, showing his own vulnerability (however slight) in hopes that she'll trust him enough to do the same, and she's not sure when she'll experience this side of him again.

The other half, near-solid stone with only spiderweb cracks, whispers that voicing the memories that haunt her will only confirm her weakness in Sasuke's eyes. Instead of seeing the warrior who destroyed the ground and healed thousands in the war, he'll see the wisp of a girl who had trailed behind him as a genin.

It's the gentle, unconscious stroke of Sasuke's thumb across her forearm that makes her decision. Sasuke can sense the shift in Sakura as her head drops back onto his shoulder and her eyes squeeze shut. She's tired, so tired.

"I killed them."

Her voice breaks in the middle, and Sakura hisses out a quiet dammit at her traitorous voice. Sasuke's hand tightens where it rests on her arm.

He's quiet for a moment. Outside of discussing strategy or the details of a mission, talking isn't something Sasuke has much practice in. That, and his plan may have ended at getting Sakura to calm down enough to breathe properly.

He spends another minute in silence, growing increasingly frustrated with his inability to find the words he needs to comfort the woman who has always known exactly what he needed to hear. Sakura, however, doesn't seem to mind the silence as she relaxes against him. Green eyes crack open, and though they're still muddled with pain, he sees a steady glimmer of trust and contentment behind them that immediately quells his frustration.

The open trust in Sakura's gaze reminds Sasuke that she's never expected him to be anyone other than himself. She's always been patient, meeting him more than halfway as he seemed to take one step towards her and two or three back.

He suspects it's the same now, as there's no expectation in her eyes, no tension in her body that suggests she's irritated by his silence. So instead of pushing himself to think of the correct words to fill the empty space, Sasuke pulls her more firmly against his chest and shifts her so his chin rests lightly atop her head.

It's more affection than he's ever shown, and it's far from comfortable for him, but Sasuke knows that Sakura's worth a bit of discomfort.

Just as Sakura has spent so many years steadfastly waiting for him to come to her, he settles in to wait for her to tell him - whether that time comes tonight or later down the line.

That time doesn't come tonight. Though she trusts Sasuke with her life, Sakura can't quite break through the insecurity that he'll find her weak the moment she says anything more. Maybe it's not a fair assumption to make, but most of her memories of them together on the battlefield ended in Sakura being treated as fragile - something to be left behind and protected.

Even if they made progress during the war, Sakura's not quite ready to test the durability of the picture of strength she painted as she threw herself at Madara or took on a goddess at her team's side.

Instead, she's happy to just let his presence ward off the shadows in her mind. The voices are silent at his touch, so she decides to just enjoy the rest and wrestle with them when they inevitably come back after Sasuke's gone again.

Sasuke feels Sakura's breathing even out and watches her eyes flutter closed as she falls asleep against him. It's an interesting thing, having someone trust you so fully that they're willing to be at their most unguarded.

And he's done nothing to deserve it. He knows this, and it merely strengthens his resolve to continue his journey of atonement so that he can become someone who's at least a fraction deserving of Sakura and all that she's willing to offer him.

As he maneuvers himself out from behind Sakura and shifts her onto his back, Sasuke realizes with a tinge of bitterness that this is something he could have every day - Sakura's presence and everything bright and loving that entails. But as much as he wants to be there when she wakes up and finally say yes to taking her with him, he's not quite ready for that step.

There's more growth to be had, more relationships to mend, more emotions for him to reconcile within himself. While he knows having Sakura by his side would expedite the process of mending bridges and healing his own wounds, she needs to keep some of her light for herself.

When he leaves this time, it's out of consideration not just for himself, but for both of them. He can just make out the time when he asks Sakura to join him on his journey in the near future, but it's not now. They both have steps they need to take before they're ready.

He leaves Sakura tucked under the nest of far too many blankets she's always stubbornly kept haphazardly strewn across her bed, with a simple note on her nightstand:

Next time, Sakura.

[moral-turpitudes]

Drowning:

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Guns, Neglect, etc.

Word Count: 2,400

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Shelby!Sister 

I’ve wanted to try my hand at OC’s for a while so her name is Evelyn Shelby lol.

Request: “Hey! Maybe one with Thomas were he kind of forgets that his little sister actually has feelings. He keeps on using her as bait for the business and one day she snaps, pointing a gun to her head. Just an angst fic. Love your writing so much. xx”

Requested by: Anon

Summary: Years after returning from London and agreeing to help out her family, Evelyn Shelby soon comes to terms with the horrors of her job and hopes someone can help her see the good she’s done for the family, even if it means talking to her ever-distant brother Thomas.

“That’ll be 3 pounds Mr.” The third youngest Shelby said quietly, grabbing her hand gun from her purse while the man looked away, giving her enough time to slip her coat on over her bare body, and hiding the gun in her pocket.

“I’ll give you 5 if you tell Mr. Shelby I’m coming for him tomorrow, I know you’ve seen him around here.” The man said, his breath reeking of whiskey as he whispered in her ear.

Shivers went down her spine as the man touched her face. He caressed her cheek roughly before moving away from her, placing two extra bills on the bed before heading to the door.

“Wait, I forgot to tell you something...” She said as he stopped to turn around. He smirked, eyeing her up and down as she walked towards him.

“You won’t be seeing anyone.” She said, giving him a wicked smile as she quickly pulled the gun out and shot the man point blank. As he fell to the floor with a loud thud, blood dripped down her face and bare chest as she looked at the mess of the bedroom.

Tommy saved this area of the Garrison for when anyone in the family needed a place to stay or a place to fuck, and tonight was her night to use the room as she pleased, all in the name of blinder business.

She walked over to the en-suite bathroom, looking at her haggard reflection in the mirror. Blood glinted off her face and chest in the dimly lit room, her makeup was smeared in some areas, and her hair was in a messy bun of sorts.

As she glanced silently in the mirror, she lit a cigarette, letting the smoke escape through her lips before curling it back through her nose, desperately needing to calm her nerves as she thought about the past couple years.

After her brothers left for war, she left for London, leaving Ada and Polly to care for Finn in order to start her life on her own terms for once, knowing she couldn’t stay out in Small Heath like the others as it held too many memories. But when she eventually got news of her brothers coming home, she knew she couldn’t leave them, especially after their mother’s death and their fathers sudden departure.

As the memories came flooding back, she remembered that she took this job to help them and to spend more time with them, but it only took a toll on her as time went on.

On the outside, she remained calm much like her older brother Tommy, but on the inside she was drowning. Drowning in the darkness that consumed her thoughts when she was near her brothers, thinking that if she’d succumb to the waves, that no one would be there to pull her out, not unless they were forced to. The only ones who paid her any mind these days were Polly and Finn, as Ada was out with her son most days and the boys were out wreaking almost as much havoc as she was.

As she finished her cigarette, she dabbed some of the blood off her face and chest, realizing there weren’t many wash cloths to use.

“Fuck it.” She mumbled under her breath as she quickly got dressed and put her bloodstained coat back on. Her dress was wrinkled and torn where the man had roughly gone for her chest, not having any sense in his drunken state.

With light footsteps she padded over to the bed to strap on her heels, and grabbed the money as she headed for the door, avoiding the puddle of blood and stepping over the mans body.

Her heels clicked down the stairs as she made her way through the back hall of the Garrison, the bar seemingly empty except for her brother Tommy.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, almost no emotion in her voice as she spoke from tired lips, a cut from a few hours before making itself known as she remembered the man slapping her for being too “bossy” when explaining her rates like rehearsed.

“I’m here to drink, Evelyn. I’m also here to collect that mans body so I don’t have to deal with it tomorrow.”

“Tommy Shelby, getting his hands dirty? I thought that was for Arthur these days. What about uncle Charlie? You seem to have enough blood on your hands already.” She remarked, sitting down across from him at the booth and looking at his bloodied knuckles. He scoffed as he took a swig of his whiskey, the smell of it making her stomach churn slightly.

“Did he do that?” Tommy said, an angry look filling his eyes as he looked at the cut on her lip.

“What do you think?” She said putting out her cigarette as she blew out a final puff of smoke.

“It’s a good thing he’s already dead.” He said, looking out the window and avoiding his sisters tired gaze.

“How was the family meeting? I wasn’t invited apparently.” She remarked, ripping him out of his thoughts.

“I’m not doing this, Ev we talked about this.” He said rolling his eyes at her as he sat back in the seat, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I just want to know why in the hell you include everyone except me in the meetings. I want to know why you make time for everyone except me...Tell me. Now.” She demanded, her heart racing and face flushing with anger as her temper flared. Her eyes eerily mimicked her brothers as she looked at him.

Tommy sighed as he spoke, choosing his words carefully.

“We think that limiting your attendance at meetings can be good for you. We’re just wanting to protect our sister.” He said.

Evelyn scoffed as she took the bottle of whiskey in her hand, drinking straight from the bottle.

“You think you’re protecting me but you’re not. One day Tommy...one fucking day you’ll realize that I’m valuable to this god forsaken family as more than a whore. You can pull that shit with the others about what’s best for us but you’re not pulling that with me.” She said taking another cigarette out of her coat and lighting it herself as she continued.

“I want to be here, believe me I do, but not being let in on what’s happening doesn’t help as much as you think it does. I barely know what’s going on unless you come to me personally...If you cared about me, you wouldn’t cast me out as the fucking bait of the family and then leave me hanging.” She said, tears threatening to fall down her blood stained cheeks.

“You’re helping with the business because it’s in your blood, Evelyn. We’re family, and we’re paying you more than you could back in London. Would you want to abandon us?” He asked, getting defensive.

“What difference would it make Tommy? I’m no more valuable to you dead or alive. I just lure the men you can’t kill right away and I don’t get any recognition for that. I’ve killed 20 men since I’ve moved back to help the family and I can remember each of their faces.” She said, looking away from him annoyed.

“Don’t you get tired of seeing their faces haunting you?” She asked, taking another swig from the bottle, the alcohol burning her cut lip as she swallowed.

“I stopped seeing their faces a long time ago Ev, and you need to as well. This is why we’ve been keeping you out of the business most days.” He said taking the bottle from her grasp.

“I’m sitting here still covered in his blood, I’m sitting here after another night with a drunken evil man and I’m disgusted Thomas...I feIt nothing when I shot him.” She said, her fingers grazing the metal of the hand gun in her pocket.

“You know how you said you felt like you were drowning when you came home from France?” She asked.

“Well I feel like that too, but no ones dared to ask how I've been. I’ve always been the last in command. Hell, fucking Finn has more say in this family than I do.” She said, putting the gun to her head shakily. Tommy froze inside, barely being able to speak at first.

“Evelyn...listen to me...your work has helped us, we’ve just been too busy to stop and fucking think about anything else. Who was the person that cheered me up when Arthur and John and I got home aye? It was you. Not Ada, not Finn, just you. If you’re drowning...I’d like to help, if you’ll let me...” He said, looking into his sisters eyes that were almost a reflection of his.

With a sigh she set the gun on the table, sliding it to Tommy. He immediately put it in his coat and stood up.

“What are you doing?” She asked, running her hands over the dried blood down her cheek.

“We’re going to talk about this and I’m going to clean you up.” He said, lighting a cigarette before heading over to the bar.

“What’s eating at you aye? You may not think I can tell that you’ve been off but I can. You know Polly sent me here for you...” He said, pouring her a glass of water and drenching a cloth in alcohol.

He handed the cloth to her and got to work on the other one as she wiped off the blood on her chest, looking at the tear in her dress and pulling her coat tightly to her as she tried to cover the large rip.

“Polly will kill me herself if she sees the dress is torn. Fucking bastard.” She said taking a sip of water.

Tommy sat near her and dabbed the cloth on her face and inspected the cut on her lip, causing her to wince as he cleaned it.

“I’m not talking about the dress Evelyn, that can be fixed. What’s going on up here?” He asked, pointing to his head.

“Everything and...nothing...” She said, looking down at her hands that were clenched together in her lap.

“I guess it’s in our blood because I like this business...getting rid of bad men that keep fucking us over, but...killing them takes a toll. I see their faces when I try to sleep some nights, and other nights I sleep as if nothing happened...” She said as Tommy sat back in his chair, he nodded for her to continue.

“I just get so scared that one day I’m going to lay with a man and not come back, some of them are vile people.” She said, wincing at the memory of a past painful business deal.

“If I put you on regular business in the shops, would that help you?” He asked.

Evelyn scoffed at his offer.

“You know me Tommy, I have to keep moving. I have to do something more than sitting at a desk crunching numbers. I’m too wild for that.” She said smirking, her features resembling her aunt Polly at times.

Tommy smiled at the memory of her chasing rats with Ada, shooting at them with a revolver as they played in the streets near their house.

“I know. That’s why I’m planning on changing your job.” He said giving her his signature smile. Not many people saw it after the war, but when she’d returned from London when the boys had gotten back from France, it was the one thing he reserved for her, the one thing that made her realize she didn’t completely lose her brother.

“What are you planning? I can practically see your brain flipping over in that ugly head of yours.” She joked, lightly punching his arm.

“I’m wanting to hire some lighter muscle. Someone who can get info on the inside but still be able to hold their own. Ada’s been working on getting some inside information about her contacts she had with Freddie, and I think you could help me when we go on more blinder business.” He said.

“Do I look like I could hold my fucking own? Are you mad?” She asked.

“I’ve seen you shoot my enemies plenty of times, and you wrestled Arthur and I to the ground years ago. I’d hate to see what you could do now.” He said smirking.

“I’m sure with enough training I could still take you down.” She said looking up at her brother. His eyes tired and wrinkling at the edges.

“I wouldn’t doubt it. You’ve never liked being in one place and never liked people picking on us. If anything you’re the only one of us whose really held on to our gypsy roots aye?” He said, adjusting his coat as he stood up.

“You have a point.” She said, smirking as she got up as well.

“Are you drowning now?” He asked quietly, his eyes scanning hers.

She sighed and looked down, trying to think about all that’s upset her over the years since she’s been home.

“Not anymore.” She said, giving her brother a hug, taking him off guard at the sudden contact.

He gently placed his hands around her in a warm embrace as she kept herself there, not remembering when the last time was that she’d given one of her siblings a hug.

“Tell Polly thank you. And I guess since I still love you guys, thank you for checking in too. I accept the offer as well by the way.” She said releasing herself from him.

“Isn’t that what big brothers are for?” He asked as she walked towards the door.

“I guess.” She said chuckling as they both walked out of the Garrison.

“Aren’t you going to take care of the bastard upstairs?” She asked.

“I will once I take you back home. He’ll be gone before the morning.” He said, lighting a cigarette and driving off towards her apartment.

“I’m counting on that. Can’t have the coppers after me.” She said, looking back behind her as the Garrison shrunk in the distance.

“I’ve told you this before, you don’t have to worry about the cops. They’ll leave ya alone if they want to keep their eyes.” He said, driving as the sun set around them, the plans for the future of his business rolling around in his head the whole way there.

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[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 23

--------

2000

We were ten years old, Derek and I. Playing a game of hide and seek with his sister Laura. It felt like it was more a game of “let the kids run around and not bother me”. We were deep in the woods outside of their home, laughing and squealing delight as we ran and ran. That is until lightning flashed through the sky and thunder boomed immediately after. Spooked, we ran further from the thunder and lightning, finding a small improvised shelter that we had made a few years before when we would play cops and robbers. Derek’s uncle Peter had helped us build it, occasionally playing the sheriff when he deemed us “less annoying than usual”. 

Once inside the little hut, we sat and decided to wait out the storm or at least until someone came to get us. It was mostly dry with only or two leaks in the roof. We waited a while in silence, only the rain and wind howling filled the air. It was almost peaceful. I had been sitting there, literally twiddling my thumbs when I noticed the anxious movements Derek was making. He was tapping his foot against the soft earth and he was repeatedly cracking his knuckles. 

“What is it?” I asked. He seemed to snap out of his trance and looked at him, then looking away with a slight blush on his cheeks. 

“I was just thinking about what my mom said last year... About us being arranged in a marriage.” 

“What about it?” I turned my body so that I could face him. 

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact, “I dunno... I guess that I wouldn’t want to be forced into a marriage with you. It doesn’t seem fair.” 

“You’re right.” I glanced out towards the woods, smiling fondly, “I want to fall in love. I want someone like Dimitri in Anastasia.” I sighed dreamily. 

“Wasn’t he a con-artist?” Derek raised an eyebrow. I shoved him playfully. 

“No...Well, yes. But he doesn’t take the money the Duchess offered him as a reward because he wants Anastasia to be happy.” 

“He’s a cartoon.” 

“And you’re a dork.” I shook my head, “What about you? Who would you wanna marry someday?” 

Derek thought for a moment, “I guess... I would want someone like Anastasia. She’s super badass and defeats the villain all by herself. She also went through a lot and did a lot even when she didn’t remember who she was, she fought for her future.” 

As sweet as that was...

“She’s a cartoon.” I mocked his voice. He grinned and shoved me, starting a wrestling match that ended with Talia and Peter finding us. They brought us home and made us hot chocolate. 

-

After landing, Michael and I had taken a ferry to the Shetland islands to Sumburgh, the village on the island where the Lunar Circle was settled. We actually were brought to a castle, which was already insane enough. The next insane thing was a statue just inside the massive doors into the main room of the castle. It was a humanoid with the head of a wolf, wearing a kilt and armor. The creature also carried a sword. 

“What is that?” I whispered to Michael. 

“The Wulver. A werewolf that had come to peace with his wolf and human sides. He was friendly to locals and they seemed fine with him. That’s when hunters came and tried to kill him. He was the reason for founding the Lunar Circle - coexistence. 

“Can I do that?” I whispered under my breath. 

“Unfortunately, no.” Our attention was brought to a man with a thick Scottish accent walking into the room, “Our world has lost touch with the old magic. But maybe someday we can bring it back.” He was average height, with salt and pepper hair that was on the longer side and a bit shaggy. His eyes were a kind blue color. He held out his hand to me. 

“Praetor Lachlan McLeod.” The stranger introduced himself, “It’s so good to finally meet you, (Y/N).” So this was the man who wrote the letter, it was nice to have a face to a name. I shook his hand and smiled politely. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Praetor.” From my googling, Praetor was a Roman term for an official, which was an interesting concept since Rome had completely invaded all of England, Ireland, and Scotland and almost wiped out their culture. But whatever. 

“Please, call me Lachlan.” 

I nodded, “Okay, Lachlan.” He held both of my hands in his smiling sympathetically. 

“I want to extend my condolences, again, for your loss. Your mother and father did so much for the Lunar Circle.” 

Slowly, I slipped my hands from his, “Thank you... I just have a lot of questions about them.” 

“All in due time, my dear. You’ve had a long flight and I’m sure that you’re exhausted.” 

Michael sighed, “Oh, we sure are-”

 “I’m not tired. I want answers.” I said sternly. Michael looked incredibly nervous which made me wonder how high up this Lachlan guy was, “I appreciate your concern, sir, but I am coming from a place where I am just now remembering my parents were a part of a secret werewolf society that gave them the tools to take all of my memories away and said society wouldn’t allow me to be accompanied by my partner. It took a lot for him to let me come by myself, especially since he had never trusted the Lunar Circle in the first place.” 

“Ah, yes, Derek Hale.” He said, almost amused, “I remember his mother’s rejection letter. It was somehow very personal. I think she referred to me as ‘a spineless coward who would rather fraternize with the enemy than fight them.” 

I clicked my tongue, “Sounds like Talia.” Michael nudged my side, signally for me to chill. 

“And another thing-”

“Oh no.” Michael hid his face in his hands.

“This guy.” I pointed to Michael, “He killed my parents, isn’t there some kind of punishment for that?”

Michael ripped his hands from his face, “Hey, that wasn’t my fault.”

“Mr. Keaton’s unfortunate affliction caused by Peter Hale has been reviewed.” Lachlan put his arms behind his back, “I assure you. It was all the Hale’s doing.”

I jerked forward, Michael had to grab my arms to hold me back, “Derek is not his uncle.” My eyes flashing red. 

Lachlan raised his eyebrows and smiled, leaning down and flashing his alpha red eyes at me in return, “I’m sure he’s not.” The red left his eyes and he stood up straight, “Take her to the infirmary and then straight to bed.” He said to Michael, his eyes never leaving mine. I kept my eyes on him, even as he started to walk away, this kilt swaying with each step.

“The infirmary? Why?” Michael asked. 

“I believe Miss (Y/L/N) is carrying something.” He grinned, “Something that may calm her temper.” 

-

After a blood test in the infirmary, we were escorted to two rooms in the castle. Of course, this left me alone with my thoughts that I really didn’t want to think about. Knowing that Derek and everyone else was back home fighting against the alpha pack while I was in this ancient castle where I haven’t gotten the answers I wanted. Why was I even here? To take up my parents’ mantle? Whatever it was, I didn’t want it. I just wanted to go back home and help. I looked out the window of the castle, seeing the moon high in the sky. 

I mean, what could they tell that I didn’t already know? My parents took my memories to keep me safe and look where it got them? Burned to ashes. And what else? I was only stalked by a psychopath and had to watch my friend struggle to not hurt anyone. I mean, hell, I was still struggling with the change. Uncle Noah was still processing what I was. Yes, he’s supportive but to what end? And Stiles? I wasn’t there to protect him when he was kidnapped and beaten by the Argents and now I was millions of miles away and if he was in trouble there was nothing that I could do. And if anything happened to Derek and I wasn’t there to save him? What was the point of even being alive? I would be without them, helpless and guilty, all because of some stupid secret society. 

My chest got tighter and tighter as my emotions ran high. My thoughts and feelings were moving so quickly that it felt like I didn’t have control of my own mind. My hands clenched tight, I could feel all of my features shift. Coarse hair growing down the sides of my face, the bridge of my nose tightening. I screamed loudly, the high pitch lowering into a loud roar. 

“This is your fault!” She shouted, standing up, “Take me home!” She lunged forward. Michael lunged forward, using the shield to knock her back across the room and into the window. Surprisingly, it didn’t break. She fell to the ground, looking up quickly. 

MICHAEL

From the loud roar that just came from the next to his, Michael had a feeling that the Sheriff had been right. She was a time bomb and she just exploded. Michael quickly grabbed a shield from one of the suits of armor that for some reason always decorated castles and made his way into (Y/N)’s room. (Y/N) was on the bed, tearing at pillows. There were feathers and fluff flying all over the room. She was in full shift, her eyes fiery red, her canines sharp. Her eyes took him in, snarling loudly. She jumped off the bed, landing in front of him on all fours. Michael jumped back, shield held tight in his hand. 

“Come on, (Y/N)!” He tried to put on a brave face, “You just need to calm down and get some rest.” 

“SCREW YOU!” She shouted, lunging again. This time, Michael moved on the way, letting her slam into the door, which also didn’t break. 

“That’s a good door.” He said to himself. Michael looked from the door and back to the angry werewolf. She was seething with rage and one step closer to killing him. 

“Think about this.  You don’t want to kill me!” 

“Yes, I do! I hate you!”

“Hate is such a strong word...” He said nervously. (Y/N) lunged again and was met by a door to the face. Lachlan had opened the door and they both looked down at (Y/N) on the floor. She was on her behind, rubbing her forehead. Lachlan sighed, reaching down to help (Y/N) up. 

“I seem to have underestimated your anger. Please, walk with me.” 

(Y/N)

Lachlan led me out of the castle and down to the grounds. In the back of the stone walls, there was a large garden. The Praetor hadn’t said anything since we had been out here, but I think that’s what he wanted. The moon and the atmosphere around us was calming, must be the magic here. 

“I apologize for dismissing your concerns earlier.” Lachlan said finally, leading us to the cliff side where we could see the waves crashing against the rocks, “You have been through a lot lately. More than any new werewolf is expected to handle as well as you have.” When I looked at him, I could tell he was being genuine. 

“I just...” I sighed, leaning against a nearby oak, “I didn’t want to come here. I didn’t want to leave my partner behind. And... I didn’t want to meet the people who told my parents to take my life from me.” 

Lachlan looked up at the moon, the wind flowing through his hair, “Your concerns are near and dear to my heart. My own parents used the Wolf Eclipse spell on me after I mated with a she-wolf from a rival clan. The look in her eyes when I told her I didn’t know who she was... I see it every time I close my eyes. And then I lost her.” His voice shook a bit, “I never forgave them after that.” He looked back at me, “When your parents told us that they had done the spell after the Hale fire, we told them it was a bad idea. You needed to be stronger than ever, maybe even leave Beacon Hills, but they became too attached to the community, to the sheriff and his son.” They stayed for them... I have no idea what my life would have been like without Stiles in it. It was so different. That was a life I didn’t want to think about because it was a life without my best friend and his insane antics. It was a life without Uncle Noah who loved me no matter what. It would be a life without Derek, or at least a life where I wouldn’t be there to meet him again. 

“I remember now that my father thought we were safe.” I wrapped my arms around myself, “Chris Argent is loyal to his word and the code his family is supposed to follow. Unfortunately, he is the only one who follows that code. Even his own daughter was corrupted by his father and his sister and she was dating a werewolf.” 

“Unfortunately, not every hunter can be Chris Argent. From our understanding, he is the only one fighting with his head while the others see us as inhuman.” He chuckled, “You might even say that we are more human than they are.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. 

“Lachlan?” 

“Hmm?” 

“What am I doing here? Why bring me all this way?” 

Lachlan looked back up at the moon and smiled, “Well, it was originally to restore your memories. Thankfully, that resolved itself. Now, since you are the only member left of your clan - an alpha was two sparks - we were hoping that you could spend some time with us to relearn the basics. And I also want you to relax, experience your culture, your legacy.” 

“That sounds great and all. But I don’t have time to do that. I need to get back to Derek.” 

“(Y/N), you know that it is too dangerous for the both of you to be there. I don’t want you to experience what it’s like to lose a mate. It’s... It’s soul crushing. Losing who you love most - that is the worst pain anyone can feel.” Lachlan turned to go back to the castle, “Think about it. You aren’t a prisoner here. You may leave whenever you like. But I think you could do great things with just a little help.” With that, his footsteps faded into the darkness; leaving me with only my thoughts, the moonlight, and the ocean below. I had to make a decision, one that would ultimately decide my future as an alpha. I just wish someone I knew was here to help me make this decision. If only Uncle Noah were here. He was so level headed and wanted the best for me, but the werewolf drama was probably too much for him already. And Derek would want me to hone in on my skills, even if that meant going into battles alone and possibly losing them. 

I just wish it wasn’t this hard. 

-

After pressing Derek’s contact, I pressed the phone to my ear and listened to it ring. I had no idea what time it was back home, I just needed to at least pretend I was talking to him. 

“Hey Der.” I smiled, “I know it’s late or early. Honestly, I’m not sure. But I wanted to call you and tell you how today went. The flight was long, the food was okay. Uh they made me get a blood test for whatever reason. Oh, and there’s this thing called the Wulver and he was a werewolf that came to peace with his human and animal side. Lachlan’s really nice and doesn’t want to take me from you so the coast is clear on that one. And uh I remembered something today. When we were kids, we got lost in the woods in a storm and we talked about crushes. Funny how you had a crush on a girl who lost her memories.” I laughed, “Anyway... I miss you. And I love you. And I’ll be back as soon-”

I was cut off by a beep and a message telling me that the allotted time of this  message was over. Sighing, I set my phone down and flopped back on the extravagant bed that seemed to form to my body in just the right way. All the fluff and feathers had been cleaned by the time I came back so I should probably thank whoever the cleaning staff were. All I can do is sleep and hope that tomorrow will give me better answers. 

-------------------

Read part 24 here!

I watched Inside today so I am no feeling good. 

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[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ three

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.1k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part three

​

"First order of business," Yunho starts as he gets up from his stool. "I need to run some basic scans on your arm to gauge the injury and infection. Then a full-body scan to see how far the infection has spread. How long have you had the injury?" He moves around the bed you're placed on with quick steps, a tablet in hand.

"Th-Three days," you stammer, watching him work. Spectre cuts in, and you almost forgot he was standing nearby with a brown belt in hand.

"Four days. Today is the fifth," he says. Yunho glances over at him, eyes wide in question.

"How do you know…?"

"She was on the bridge of the HMS Revenge. Considering that Hongjoong destroyed the ship four days ago, this is the only logical explanation." Spectre motions towards you with his head. "I noticed her on the second day, to be honest. I only wanted to see how long it would take for her to reveal herself. Until I saw the blood trails, at least."

"Ah yes, that makes sense." Yunho nods before bringing his tablet to hover over your arm. Blue light emits from the bottom of it, a faint stream of light that cascades over your bare skin.

Now that your military uniform has been stripped, you can see the injury better, although you don't particularly want to see it. It's bruised black and blue, blood all around the hole that is shiny and fresh. It oozes a bit still, although the liquid is not all red, and you're certain that it's the infection mixed in as well. Not something you would like to look at but the blue rays coming from Yunho's tablet are quite fascinating to watch as they dance over your arm. You don't feel the touch of the light; you can only see it as it moves as though on its own accord. Sure you've had injuries time and time again, but the treatment methods for them were never like this. No fancy tablets with strange lights. Although the military has always had a more traditional approach to everything they do.

"Hm. The bullet is in there pretty deep, huh? It… uh, it's in an awkward spot. The bullet tore right through your brachialis muscle along with a bit of your bicep. Moreso, the nerves all around the path of the bullet itself seem to be a bit fried? I doubt that makes any sense to you, but in layman's terms: two muscles have critical damage, and that's not something we can immediately fix. I can remove the bullet with an emergency operation to cut the arm open and take it out, which is the best course of action. The nerves can be… I'm not sure how to say this in a way that will make sense to you. Hm, well. The nerves can reconstruct themselves over time. When I do the surgery, I can help them along a little bit but I don't think it's needed. Nerves try to repair themselves by shrinking back and resting for a period of time. After the rest period, they grow back as they were. Muscles can do the same sort of thing but not in cases of extreme trauma. A muscle damaged in extreme trauma creates these gaps that are too large to fill on their own so scar tissue forms in the gaps as a way to compensate. Does that all make sense?"

"I have an infection-induced fever," you state. "I don't understand anything you're saying." Yunho raises his brows.

"I'll take that as a no." Yunho lifts the tablet higher and drags it through the air above your head all the way down to your feet. The blue rays conform to your body as they move, widening and contracting with the folds of your clothes. "San, could you do me another favor? I need you to go get Woo so I can have an assistant to run the operation."

"No, no, I can do it," Spectre answers with haste. His eyes dart between you and Yunho. "Woo won't be necessary. I can help you." Yunho stands up straight, pulling the tablet back to his chest one the light retracts from your body, and stares at San. He looks ready to argue about the topic but never opens his mouth to retort. Instead, he releases a deep sigh: a sign of relenting. San's lips quirk upwards into a small smile of victory.

"Fine. Get the anesthesia injection, a scalpel, tweezers, and gauze." Spectre turns away from the bed upon hearing the command. You watch him walk out the corner of your eye, thinking over Yunho's words.

"Anesthesia?" You repeat. "I thought you said you didn't want to use anesthesia on me."

"I didn't want to. But that was before I ran the scans and saw the extent of the damage to your muscle. I'm not getting this bullet out without trouble, so numbing it is pretty much the only comfort I can give you." 

"Wait San – the belt. I need it." San passes said object to Yunho by tossing it across the bed. Yunho folds it in half. "Here, you're going to want to bite down on this." He holds it out to you, and you take it between your teeth, glancing up at Yunho as you do. He then reaches around you to pick up the bottle of vodka from his table. "Please – well, please try not to jerk your arm while I do this."

Yunho grips your arm at the elbow, a small effort to keep you steady as he tips the bottle towards your wound. You clench your teeth around the leather belt before the alcohol even touches your skin. Anticipating the worst helps quite a bit, in fact, because the second the first drop of alcohol lands on the wound, you're screaming around the belt. If not for the death grip Yunho has on your elbow, you would be thrashing. It's the worst pain you've ever experienced. Far worse than being shot, far worse than burns or frostbite, hell even getting shot by a laser hurts less than the pain you're in at the moment. Yunho keeps the steady stream of alcohol going, flushing the wound out. The mix of blood, infection, and alcohol is causing a grotesque foaming mixture that drips from your arm to Yunho's hand and onto the bed.

"Hang in there, I'm almost done," Yunho mutters, voice barely audible behind your muffled screams. He continues pouring alcohol over the wound until it runs clear but the pain doesn't let up even after he stops. "See, that wasn't too bad!"

His cheery tone and optimism only make you want to punch him in the nose. Luckily for him, your punching arm is out of order at the moment and you're in so much pain that you can barely feel the limb. All you can do is spit the belt out. Yunho catches it before it hits your lap. He inspects the leather, a small laugh escaping his lips as he sees the indentations of your teeth along the belt. You all but bit through the leather on both sides.

"I hope you didn't like this belt too much, San," he calls to the man who stands on the other side of your bed. He's gathered the materials that Yunho asked for, all piled up with the other stack that Yunho already had.

"Oh, I didn't. Captain did though."

"You took this from Hongjoong?" Yunho asks, voice rising as he gapes at the other man. He grins like a Cheshire in response. "On god San, you're fucked if he finds out."

"That's why he won't find out. Can't miss something you forgot you had."

"That's not the way h—"

"Anyways." San passes the shot of anesthesia over to Yunho, interrupting his train of thought.

"Yea, yea. We need to work fast to get the anesthesia in so there's enough time for it to kick in and wear off before the 47 hours are up." Yunho takes the shot in one hand, his other hand squeezing around your elbow. He pokes at the skin a few times then presses so hard that you release a loud noise from the sudden pain. The needle enters your arm so quickly that you barely feel the pressure. Warmth is the only thing you feel for a moment, a cozy yet uncomfortable sensation that spreads down to your fingertips and all the way up your arm. "Okay, we'll need to give you a bit of time now. The anesthesia will take a bit to kick in, so in the meantime, I need to run an IV drip for dehydration. Just for putting some fluids back into your body that you've lost through all the sweating and vomiting. Not to mention you probably haven't had a lot of water in the past few days. I'll also do a drip later for narcotic painkillers once the anesthesia begins to wear off. Okay? All standard protocol for an operation like this, I promise."

"Let's just get it over with," you murmur back. He frowns at you, a small "okay" leaving his lips before he continues his work on you. 

The combination of your fever and the pain is bringing a piercing headache. You don't notice that Yunho moves around the bed until his hand reaches for your left arm. You yank it away as though burned. His eyes go wide at the forcefulness behind your action. A moment later though, he tries again, fingers closing around your wrist. You try to tug away but his grip is a bit too powerful this time and you fail to release your arm from his grasp.

"I need your uninjured arm for the IV. There's too much damage on your right arm to get these fluids into your bloodstream."

"Use my right arm or no arm at all," you hiss back. Your fingers clench into a tight fist, knuckles going white from the pressure.

"I already saw it," Yunho whispers. There is no point in whispering, as the room is silent aside from his voice, so San can hear the words as well. Still, you freeze. The tension leaves your arm and you let it fall limp in Yunho's grasp. "I'm sorry. I saw it when we were getting the uniform jacket off."

"Whatever," you say, looking away from the man. The plain, white wall before you is suddenly much more interesting. Despite the length of time that has passed since you received the brand, the memory always remains fresh. The sensation of searing hot metal being pressed against the inside of your wrist, the pain that resonated through your whole body, and the feeling of five pairs of eyes glued to you as you received the brand. It's all too real and present in your mind. Just the thought of someone seeing the brand is enough to send you headfirst into those memories.

"How… how did you get it?" The healer inquires. His voice is quiet again, no doubt hesitant and uncertain about asking the question. You barely feel the next needle that enters your arm.

"That's none of your business," you respond without looking his way.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry for intruding. I'm just – just trying to make conversation to distract you from the pain."

"Well, talk about something else. Not my past."

"Understood." You catch sight of Yunho's small smirk out the corner of your eye. Despite your confusion, you decide against asking him about it and wait for him to contain what he's doing instead. He places small round patches on various points around your chest, deft fingers dipping under the fabric and back out without you even feeling it. "These are just for keeping an eye on your heart rate. It's good I checked too because your heart rate is awfully slow. Could be due to the infection or your body is trying to conserve. Normally I only see it this low if the patient is asleep though."

"Need anything else?" San asks. He steps forward, hands coming to rest on the foot of the bed.

"Not right now. I think we're – wait. Wait." The level of panic in Yunho's voice does not comfort you one bit. Especially when Spectre's face shares the same level of concern. "Something isn't right." Yunho swipes furiously at his tablet, fingers moving so quickly over the screen that you can't tell what he's trying to do. "She was shot in the arm… outer arm with no exit wound, the bullet still present in the brachialis muscle right against the humerus. Why does she have pneumothorax too?"

"English please?" San asks.

"Punctured lung. It's a punctured lung that could collapse at any minute. Yours looks to be a pinhole, meaning it's small and acute. You should recover just fine without any treatment if you were a healthy adult but there's a serious infection running through your blood and that means it could cause complications if not treated. More importantly, I can't do an emergency operation like this if your lungs aren't fully functional. I'd need to put you on an oxygen mask just on the off chance that your lung collapses during the surgery but a one percent chance is still a chance."

"What caused it? I haven't noticed anything." You try to sit up a bit to look at Yunho's tablet but he pulls it away before you have the chance.

"It depends on all sorts of factors. Do you know how long you've had a lung problem?"

"I didn't even know I had a lung problem," you retort.

"She's been on the ship four days, Yunho."

"Okay, okay. We can worry about that in a bit. I need to get the IV drip in now." You glance forward as Yunho approaches your arm with another long needle. San is blocking your line of sight. He doesn't look back at you; instead, his eyes are fixated on your arm, rather your wrist where the chain brand resides. Subconsciously, you turn your wrist away only to have Yunho resituate it again as he inserts the long needle.

"You're looking pretty pale again," San comments. You take a deep breath but find yourself unable to respond. All the white in the room begins to blur together. All the strength left in your body is ebbing away. "Yunho, she's looking pretty fucking pale!" The man's voice climbs in volume as his form blurs into nothingness. Yunho keeps working on your IV, securing the catheter and tubes with a piece of tape.

"Shit, hey. Hey. Hey, stay awake." Yunho reaches over, patting your face with his palm. You push him away with a weak shove as a wave of coughs overwhelms you.

"Is this normal? What do you need? What's wrong with her? What do we do?" San rambles. Yunho rubs at the skin between his brows as San speaks.

"Shut the fuck up, San. If Woo were here, he would know what to fucking do since he helps me ninety percent of the time." San leans forward, smacks Yunho's hands away from his face, and grabs hold of his collar.

"If you don't want my help, then you're on your own," San hisses as he yanks Yunho forward. A weak laugh escapes your lips.

"Do you all fight this often or am I just special?"

Yunho sighs at your half-hearted jab and pushes San off him. He reaches for his ear, beginning to speak again but this time it's not directed at San.

"Wooyoung to the med bay for emergency operation assistance." The moment his hand leaves his ear, San is back in his face.

"Call it off!" He yells. Yunho deflects San's anger with a surprising sense of calm.

"I'm not letting a girl die simply because you don't want him to be seen. The fact of the matter is you don't know what the hell you're doing so you're of no use to me."

"Your damn savior complex is going to be the end of everyone on this ship."

"Then we were doomed the minute I set foot on the ship. Wooyoung is the only one who knows how to help me conduct emergency operations and laser surgeries. You need to fuck off and let me do my damn job. It's my job to save people, no matter the cost. Yours is only to kill them. So, why don't you listen closely and hear the wheeze in her breaths? The sweat on her forehead? The residue from her arm? If I don't get to work quickly, then you'll have a body to haul out. Do you want to be responsible for her death?"

At those words, San stands down. He leans back and stands up straight ahead, the fury dropping from his features as he moves. He turns away from the bed but something in you causes you to lunge forward with a sudden bout of strength and catch his wrist. He glances down at you with widened eyes.

"Thank you… for – for saving my life." San's gaze softens. A smile almost crosses his lips but he stops it before it can show too much.

"I did nothing except prolong the inevitable," comes his response. The words are spoken in a cold and emotionless tone, much different from the tone he used with you previously, but you no longer have the strength to even think straight. Your hand falls away from San's wrist as you fall back against the bed. Yunho lets San leave the med bay without exchanging further words with him.

Instead, the healer finishes connecting all the IV tubes and fluid bags.

"You're probably going to pass out," he mutters, bending over you and resting his palm against your forehead. "We'll try our best to work quickly and keep you under during the operation, okay?" You can only nod against the pressure of his hand. He eases you further into the bed and makes sure you're flat against the mattress. The action is like the magic touch for you to fall unconscious. Before your vision goes completely black, you see a new form enter the med bay, one with tanned skin and hair that looks like coal and ash. You don't have the chance to look over the rest of his form before the darkness overtakes you.

✦          ✦          ✦

Waking up again takes far too much effort. Your whole body feels as though it's made of pure lead, and you can't even open your eyes easily. You can't recall what happened before you fell asleep or where you are; the confusion only grows further when you're finally able to crack your eyes open.

White. The color is all you see for a few moments before your vision clears up some. The brightness of your surroundings blinds you. You shift and push your head to the left. Wires and tubes are all around you, two lead to your arm and another to your face. You try to feel around but you aren't able to; the strength hasn't completely returned to your body. All you can do is move your head from side to side for the time being. You check your other arm. There's a large white bandage wrapped around your bicep and you can't recall what's underneath it.

The clink of metal distracts you. It resounds from somewhere in front of you, and as you twist to look in that direction. A man with tan skin stands near a sink. You peer at him. Something about his figure seems familiar but you can't place it. Seeing him brings reality back to you, however, and you recall how you got here, a Cheshire cat finding you in a crate, the gentle giant healer who helped you.

"Wh-Where am – where am I?" You stammer out, voice cracking and hoarse as you try to talk. The man jumps at the sound of your voice. He drops what he's doing and turns towards you, eyes wide and curious as he looks over at you. Now that you're more awake, you can see more clearly and get a better look at the person with you. Besides the caramel tan, he bears dark hair that's almost black but not quite. The color is more between silver and grey but the color of his hair is the least interesting thing about him. There is a metal collar around his neck, a thick block that stands out against his skin, and you peer at it in curiosity. A collar? I don't… You don't have time to look at him, however, because he's rushing towards you a second later.

"Oh, you're awake!" He chirps as he comes closer to your bedside. "You're aboard The Horizon, ship belonging to Captain Kim Hongjoong. I'm not sure whether you remember it, but you were awake for a little while before the surgery." At his words, vague memories of a healer and a man with a strip of white hair float to the forefront of your mind. "You had a pretty awful fever though so it might be a bit hard to remember. Yunho – the healer, if you remember him – patched up the pinhole in your lung and kept it from collapsing with quick laser surgery. We also removed the bullet in your arm and drained the infection. He patched it up with stitches as best he could. He said that it was hard to close without some skin grafting, but he didn't want to do that so he just closed it without the extra graft."

"How – hold on, how long have I been here?" You ask. The sudden barrage of information catches you off-guard. You're still waking up, brain not coming back to full functionality, yet this man doesn't seem to care about that one bit. 

"Oh! Hm, I think you've been on the ship for maybe a total of seven days? If you include the first four stowaway days, that is. Otherwise, you've been asleep for three days."

"72 hours," you mutter to yourself. You remember something about the captain telling Yunho that he only had a certain amount of time to fix you.

"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that."

"72 hours… but the captain gave Yunho 48 hours to fix me."

"47 actually!" The man corrects with a bright and blinding smile, his teeth shining under the yellow light above your heads. "Captain only gave 47 hours to fix you, but it only took Yunho 17 so."

"Wh—What do you mean?"

"We were up for 17 hours trying to fix you up. Captain was impressed at Yunho's speed so he said that you could have extra recovery time. Oh, if you pretend to still be resting, you could get longer recovery time!"

"Why is everything in this room so damn white?" You mutter as you push yourself into a sitting position. The man shakes his head.

"No, no, no! You shouldn't get up!"

"Why not?" You protest, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm fine, I feel fine, and nothing is going to rupture. Laser surgery doesn't leave tears or stitches either so it doesn't matter."

"No!" The man argues, voice climbing in volume. You blink up at him, eyes wide from the sudden outburst. "Yunho told me not to let you leave, and I won't go against what Yunho wants. If he says you stay here, then you stay here."

"This is ridiculous. Now I'm being kept here against my will? Am I a captive now?" You scoff as you continue to get to your feet. The man moves with surprising haste. He leans across the space in front of you, snatches up something from the table, then grabs your head. You try to fight back but he has already caught you and overwhelmed you. Something sharp pierces your neck. You cry out at the pressure but waves of warmth wash over you next. You stumble backward when he releases his hold on you. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you fall back onto the mattress as your strength leaves your body again. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry but I had to do it. I won't go against what Yunho says." His voice sounds somewhat remorseful. You're losing consciousness so fast that the world spins around you and as you glance over at his hand, you spot a large shot. You'd recognize that almost anywhere. The military use them religiously, a typical weapon that you would brandish when dealing with insurgent civilians. High grade emergency sedative shots.

"Y-You…" You can't finish the sentence before the exhaustion overwhelms you and you pass out yet again.

✧  ✧  ✧

a/n: hello hello it’s that time~ new chapter! i hope you all enjoy it! please let me know what you think so far and what your fav part has been or anything about the story!! i know things are moving rather slowly at the moment bUT i promise it’ll pick up in the coming chapters, we just gotta get through this ish first !!

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Eight | Dating Start! (Part 3 of 3)

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Thankful he seems to be taking this just as seriously as you are, you begin with, "Back at that restaurant, you mentioned you could've most likely hurt anyone who passed beyond the Ruins, regardless of who they were, right?" He nods, so you add, "Why did you choose not to hurt Frisk, if that's the case? What…. What stopped you this time around?

"It used to be like that, yeah," he says, blunt. "But I made a promise not to do that not long after I was assigned to the job. Not that I even, well, favour killing innocent people to begin with, but that was the job assigned to me back then."

"And couldn't you have searched for another solution?" You're left in disbelief and think on how closely his words match with the rumours beginning to rise about monsterkind, most of it leaked by people like the man on the bus after your hospitalization -- through clips and videos of your incident at the bus, all of these posted on social media. "Just how many lives did you take before you made that promise?"

Your initial, more tolerant view of Sans diminishes the longer you give thought to that interrogative. 

Monsters were said to be merciful and kind, yet the first rumour you unmasked as true since that day at the restaurant was that of Asgore having ordered to kill seven humans for their souls?

"You-" you stutter, ire clouding both coherent thinking and structure alike. "You're just another hypocrite, aren't you?"

You peer down at him, his shorter height helping you maintain authority from within. 

"Frisk talks all about how kind, nice, and friendly you monsters supposedly are, but in the end, you- you've spilled just as much as blood as any other human being." Your voice breaks, the thought of Frisk passing away in the hands of a monster sending further ire down your body. "Frisk could've died in the hands of people like you, so I have no right to listen to how you deserve seeing them again, let alone a goat lady who claims she sees them as her child instead of mine." The thought of Sans being more guilty of a person than you once thought crumbles whatever kind view you had since meeting him. "I… I refuse to let Frisk see any of your kind again!"

A near foreign expression reaches his face just then -- almost hurt weren't you so used to him being all chill and unbothered a solid ninety-nine point nine percent of the times you've been around him. You refuse to believe he's been hurt by your words, though that changes when you see him recover from that expression once you don't show any signs of backing away from what you said. His irises turn dim, though he tries to recover with a soft breath out.

"And then... That's it?" he asks, masking whatever emotion he was feeling just a second ago. "So even those who haven't done anything bad get repercussions for it?" The patience in his tone snaps, though his expression remains the same, mellow and waiting for you to regain some calm yourself. "Humans have done more harm than we ever have. Asgore did that just so we could be set free."

"And you think that makes you guys doing it justifiable? Maybe six deaths seems trifling over your freedom, but did you consider those people before ending their lives?" You're quite frankly pissed now, incapable over -- and unwilling of -- hearing him speak without wanting to snap at him with every response he gives you. "Did they willingly sacrifice themselves for your kinds' freedom, or did Frisk have to fall down here and make you understand none of this was ever okay?"

The monster tries to reach a hand out for you, yet you avoid him, only realizing why he does that when you trip, hitting the edge of the river. He grabs your arm to make up for it, though you prove to be too heavy for him, sending you both to the water. A loud splash accompanies your fall, yet the strangeness of not feeling wet prompts you to open your eyes then, these having instinctively closed the second you tripped. Limbs left uncovered sting with the strength of the fall rather than over water splashing you, and that observation finally makes you look around to witness a thin veil of blue magic keeping you from falling into the water.

"I get that, as a parent, you're overreacting right now, but I'll stand by what Frisk's said about you and what I've learned about you since we've met." A beat of silence passes as he waits for you to calm down. "I know you're still a patient person underneath all that you're pullin' off on me."

"All that what, exactly?" you ask, a glare returning to your face. "And you think I'm overreacting? Didn't you hear what I said?"

"I heard you, and I know my kind's gonna pay for the damage they caused to other people." You try not to wiggle away and stay under him with how fragile his magic seems, so you're forced to look up at him as he stays hoisted over you. His hands are kept suspending the faint, magic veil, preventing the two of you from falling into the water. "If it makes ya feel any better, I'll let you in on a weakness I've got." 

He sits up on the veil and takes your arm again, trying to sit you down with him. You resist, waiting until he stands up and walks back to firm land for you to do the same. 

"My magic relies on Karma, meaning I couldn't possibly do you nor your kid any damage, if I even tried."

With him sounding so tired now, you can't decipher much over his change in tone. He has his back turned to you all the while, though his magic remains underneath you, still keeping you from falling into the water. His hands slip into his pockets and his veil disappears only after you climb out of it and make it back to stable ground. 

"If nobody does any damage, then nobody gets hurt. Simple as that. Your kid didn't hurt a fly goin' through the Underground, so even if I would've attempted to hurt them in any way, it wouldn't've had any effect."

You find it hard to believe him, yet follow along for the moment, eager to see where this would lead on to. "...So that means it doesn't work the same for all monsters?" You pause, considering his words and the abilities his younger brother had shown when play-fighting with Frisk the last time you picked them up at Toriel's home -- the day Frisk managed to convince you over continuing to be tutored by both Toriel and Sans alike. Thinking back on that day also brings back the memory of the gift Sans had given you, though you brush it off as quick as it comes to avoid being influenced by any of it.

Clearly, Papyrus was capable of attacking no matter what the circumstances were if he could use his magic to simply play around with Frisk, but then what about him?

What made Sans the exception?

"What are you supposed to be, then?"

"That's a bit of a rude question, don't ya think?" He turns back to you, an amused glint present in his gaze and grin. "No offense, pal, but I'm tryna be patient with ya here. And you're makin' it hard by being so stubborn." He chuckles, winking at you. "Though I guess that makes sense, considerin' how determined Frisk is. Like parent like child, huh?" His gaze lingers on yours as he says that. "We'll hafta go to Hotland now to make that fiery attitude and hotness of yours match with the climate."

"...Did you just wink at me?" You tense up, the lilt you catch in his words worsening your assumptions over that action. 

Of course, you'd seen Sans do that countless times before -- regardless of family, friend, or even yourself at certain times -- but his current tone and the subtle and upward, goofy curve to his grin makes it feel as if he's far from being friendly about it. "Oh, God. Are you hitting on me for real now, Serif?"

Finally, for what once seemed like a skeleton too laid-back for his own good, he shows shock through the tense of a smile and the flicker of his irises. His posture turns awkward and confidence vanishes from it, only masked surprise remaining. 

"...What?" That's the only thing he manages to say, gaze landing on your hand, a ring found on it. "Whoa, whoa, whoa there, pal," he blurts out, a chuckle bursting through, more nervous than humoured in comparison to past times. "Don't, uh, jump to conclusions so fast. I know Jerry's not in the picture anymore, and I dunno if you're seeing someone else right now, but..." He falls flat on his words, a hand going to the back of his skull, scratching it as a befuddled look overcomes him. "Are you? 'Cause ya found me out, if ya really did think I was flirtin' for real now."

"I'm not seeing anyone," you reply, letting out a sigh as you bring a hand to your nose, massaging the bridge in search of calm. "But what made you think it was okay to try and flirt with me now of all times, if I'm here barking at you like this? Sucking up to me won't erase my anger." You let go of your nose, forehead creasing as you take a quick breath in and chest tightening when you try to let your pride and grudges go, needing more humility for your next statement. "I'm eternally grateful your kind looked after Frisk while I wasn't there, but I just... I simply can't let things like what Asgore ordered to be done to my kind or even what Alphys supposedly did to her own kind slip by. I know I'm still only just figuring stuff out, but if these rumours have some truth in them, I… I don't think I'll be able to let this go so easily."

"So you acknowledge you're overreactin' a lil'?"

"I'm not. I'm simply calling your kind out on their hypocrisy." 

Sans returns his hand back against his neck and stretches it; how restless he looks makes you believe he's close to running out of ways over getting back into good terms with you.

When he lets go and huffs, patience returns, though not nearly at the same level as when he first approached you about the subject. "Even so, I... I'd say you're still overthinkin' some stuff up. Tori didn't even say she wanted to keep Frisk's custody all for herself. She just wants to see the kid every once in a while -- like she's doin' right now."

Notwithstanding, you place your hands on your hips and refuse to let your scowl fall, your display of gratitude from earlier ago seemingly nowhere present anymore. "Say what you want, but I still think it's ridiculous I have to let this matter go just like that."

He rests his back against a nearby, rocky wall, gaze facing down and focusing on a puddle. "Have it your way, then. I still think Frisk should decide if they want to see us or not again. 'Cause at the end of it all, they proved themselves capable enough to free us from the Underground all by themselves, and that's enough for me to give them merit over their capabilities for a lifetime."

You don't say anything back and lay against the rock next to him, eyes landing on the waterfall and the river bubbling with its force.

While you knew it was unreasonable to prevent Frisk from seeing every monster around rather than a few of them, you refuse to give in anymore. Pride over being right in your judgement drowns every other sense of amiability. You had to stand your ground now that you'd gone this far; backing away would only show your weakness.

Silence keeps itself between you for some time, broken by him not long after your mind comes up with the idea of exploring the Underground on your own. Having him show you around didn't seem so fitting anymore. "So... You're really not seeing anyone else? But then why the ring?"

His question takes you off guard, until you think back as far as three whole years ago, back when Frisk was still a toddler. They'd used two quarters to buy you a faux silver ring rather than the bubblegum they mentioned they wanted to try out; they gave it to you with as much pride as they did when telling you about a good grade or deed, and to quote, "It's to replace the one you had before!" -- 'one' referring to the one you stored away for emergency funds not long after ending things with Jerry. To this day, it's still right where you hid it -- and thankfully so. You hoped then and even now you still hope over never having to sell that ring away for funds; not because of any emotional attachment whatsoever, but due to you wanting to strive your best in order for Frisk to live a good life.

It's almost a vital part of you now, and -- hadn't Sans asked you about it -- you wouldn't've acknowledged it to such an extent.

You quirk a brow as you give thought to his question -- sounding genuine despite how blatant it is -- and find it difficult to answer despite how long it's been. Caught on a weak spot, you cross your arms and look away the second you meet with his irises, beyond embarrassed. "Frisk, um... Frisk gave it to me as a gift -- some time after my divorce."

"Ah." It's almost as if you can feel when his posture tenses again, a strain present in that sole sound he lets out. "Sorry 'bout asking."

Again, he sounds earnest, though you're not about to befriend your antagonist. "It's alright. But please don't try to flirt my anger away ever again."

A more brazen look takes him over, and you can only brace yourself for whatever he plans to say next, his intent on pissing you off clearly set on high. You engage in a staring contest as you wait, arms now crossed in a more defiant manner -- firm over your chest. If the monster said you were stubborn, by the Sky above, you would stay true to it. If he was set on teasing you to such an extent, you would do the same, multiplied by ten. An easy fight was in no way an honourable one.

"Enemies to lovers is a thing, though."

"Only in low-quality romcoms."

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[parasite-core]

Man. So we started Wrath of the Righteous last night. And it was…quite the session. It was…let’s say tonally fitting. In that we’ve had our first ever permanent PC death.

So my half-elf warpriest of Iomedae Draven was mentor of sorts to the party’s paladin Auriel, a shabti seeking his purpose and finding it as a crusader of Iomedae. They were both part of the Raven Corps, the lowest ranking members of the crusaders, basically the reserves, kept for glorified guard duty at best, and looked down on by everyone as the weakest links.

The day of the Armice festival, Draven and Auriel stumbled upon a notorious serial killer called the Butcher of Bellstreet in the storage house of the nearby temple, where they also found a symbol of the demon lord Deskari carved into the floor. The Butcher told them it was there when he got there, and they should be more concerned with the metal box in the room. Then he made a run for it. Draven told Auriel to check the box while he ran after the Butcher. Draven and the Butcher had a rooftop chase, while Auriel uncovered a mummified locust demon in a box with more Deskari symbology on it.

At the same time, an inquisitor of Shelyn, Melody, who had just arrived to town following a songbird across the continent saw Draven giving chase to the Butcher. She ran into Auriel in time for him to try to ask for assistance catching the Butcher, who they all believed was responsible for the Deskari conspiracy they’d just uncovered.

In the roof, Draven had fallen behind due to his heavy armor slowing him from climbing compared to his swifter foe, forcing him to find an alternate path. However the Butcher was slowed when he came to a bridge he needed to lower. At that time Melody got into range to cast forbid action, forbidding the Butcher from moving. Draven was able to catch up to him, and noticed that strangely he’d stuffed his clothes full of oranges to appear more bulky. He didn’t have time to process this however because a moment later he was yeeted off the root, landed near the festivities. Members of the color guard came to check on him, and he informed them that he’d been pursuing the Butcher, and of the Deskari symbol in the storage room.

On the roof Auriel tried to smite evil the Butcher after he insulted Iomedae, but the smite didn’t take, instead redirecting to the nearest valid target—the box the Butcher was holding. Melody tried to talk to the Butcher, who was frustrated and snapped at her that he was the Butcher of Bellstreet and he’d kill her whole family yada yada if she didn’t get out of his way. She realized he was just saying what he expected her to hear and maybe wasn’t really the threat he was trying to seem like. She tried to cut off his escape route so they could talk…but slipped up on her attempt and fell to the ground beside Draven.

The Butcher made a run for it, but the Eagle Watch Brigade cornered them, with Draven tailing behind them. The Butcher doubled back and tried jumping off the bridge and making a break for it, but then someone else used hold person on him. Another high ranking member of the crusades, Lady Salzara, showed up with her own sect of crusaders. She had Draven, Melody, and Auriel come with her along with forcing the Butcher to come along.

She went to give a speech, about how on this auspicious day a ‘lost lamb’ had been returned to them. When suddenly there was a horrible cracking noise. The building that housed the Ward Stone, the artifact that protected the city from the demon incursion, shattered. The barrier was destroyed. Demons began swarming in, slaughtering people. The head Paladin Commander Hol Rune was killed instantly without even being able to put up a fight.

Then the silver dragon Trendelev swooped down. He told us that the four of us had a grave destiny ahead of us, and that despite any misgivings we might have about one another we needed to work together to stop the evil that had befallen this city. He cast a spell, and the four of us, and three others, were cast down into the bowls of the earth, and into darkness, as our final sight was the great dragon, protector of Kenabres, facing the Storm King Khorramzadeh.

We woke later in a dark space with scattered memories that slowly returned. The Butcher removed ‘his’ hood after Draven made a quip about the oranges and revealed he was actually a middle aged woman with one demonic red eye, by the name of Luna. She was accused of being a serial killer in her teenage years for reasons we don’t yet know, and leaned into it, making an infamous name for herself in her Butcher guise. In reality, according to her she’d never killed anyone.

Melody lit a light cantrip, and we found the four of us weren’t alone. We were joined by a merchant noble, a crusader with a crushed and broken leg, and an elven wizard whose eyes had been completed blinded.

Draven healed the crusader, Anevia Tirabade, to the best of his ability, and realized she is the wife of the head of the Eagle Watch, Irabeth Tirabade. Someone he and many members of the Raven Corps look up to as she was originally a member of the Raven Corps who foiled a plot to destroy the Ward Stone many years prior and earned a name and rank for herself in the process.

Afterwards they checked on the elven man, Aravashnial, and had to break the news to him that they were not simply in magical darkness, but that he’d been blinded. Aravashnial was proud and didn’t want to be sidelined by this and was a bit headstrong initially. Draven tried to reason with him, trying to connect with the fact he’d lost one eye himself and had to relearn how to fight without the use of his left eye. He told him while he did believe in time he’d be able to relearn how to do what he could before, it *would* take time, and they were in a dangerous situation where rushing in (literally blindly) would be a poor choice. He and Melody also said he’d still be very helpful for his knowledge of the arcane, as absolutely no one else in this group knew a damn thing about arcane anything. Aravashnial couldn’t be said to be happy about his situation still obviously, but he was a bit less hard headed about trying to force his way into the lead into a dangerous position in his current state.

Last, there was the merchant, Horgus Gwerm. He was…unpleasant. He ended up in an argument with Luna and they went off on their own. They opened the box that Auriel had detected as evil, and removed a book from inside. Horgus tried to burn it, but it wouldn’t take, to which Aravashnial made a snide remark. We took notice that this trio seemed to not get along particularly well.

We moved forward, fighting through a number of nasty vermin, until we found an abandoned temple to Torag. Auriel and Anevia both wanted to stop here, Auriel to pay respects and to cleanse the forgotten temple, and Anevia to rest and mourn the state of the fallen temple.

Horgus didn’t want to stick around. He felt like Anevia and Aravashnial were slowing us down. He told Luna they were leaving—apparently he’d hired Luna as his bodyguard. He told us that he could pay us to come as well. The rest of us said in no uncertain terms that we wouldn’t be abandoning the injured for any amount of gold. Luna then managed to talk to him and convince him that it would be in his own best interest to keep strength in numbers, because even if the injured would slow us down, having four able bodied warriors as opposed to one was better for him. (In reality she was more worried that the injured people would get killed sticking with just the three of us without her, and tbh so were we, she’s definitely the strongest out of the four of us. Draven would admit it without pause at this point.)

We managed to reopen the temple and get inside, only to be accounted by the undead inhabitant: the remains of the priest who died in blaspheme in his final moments.

Our three holy members smote him, used judgements and blessings to empower our weapons…and all three of us missed all of our attacks. And Luna, the atheist who has a chip on her shoulder about religion, destroyed the undead priest in two attacks with no help from any holy magic at all. She was feeling very smug about it.

We decided to take a rest there. Auriel spent eight hours cleansing and reconsecrating the temple. Draven and Melody spent some time talking to Aravashnial and Anevia. Melody got…inquisitive…and got some backstory from Aravashnial about how his relationship had been ruined due to Anevia’s wife’s attempts to get the riftwardens to work with the crusaders. Then she found out about how Anevia and Aravashnial accidentally almost ruined Horgus’ reputation with accusations of being a worshipper of Baphomet, which ended up being proven to be baseless, but which led to someone ransacking Horgus’ place of work and besmirching his name. Draven, Melody, and Luna gently suggested/twisted Anevia’s arm that she and the other two should have a conversation like adults and apologize to each other because it sounds like they’ve all screwed each other over a bit and if they’re going to work together to get out of here they need to start with a clean slate. She wasn’t happy about it and said it sounded more painful than her broken leg but she reluctantly agreed, and in the morning the three of them did talk and seemed to be on more amicable terms going forward.

The next day the party met a group of people living beneath the city whose appearance was warped by demonic influence, known only as mongrel-men. We helped to rescue one of their number, Krel, from a cave in after convincing them we weren’t there to hurt them. They asked us to come with them to meet their chief, and we agreed.

On the way, we went through a cave, where we found what at first appeared to be two dead Iomedae crusaders. However the weapons they held weren’t longswords, and upon examining their bodies they had an unholy symbol of Baphomet on them. False crusaders, masquerading as one of our order. Draven and Auriel were incensed, and upon learning these people were the reason the village of mutants had thought we were enemies, we had all the more reason to want to meet with their chief. Draven and Auriel had decided we were going cultist hunting.

We met with the chief, who was happy to let us pass through his village if we intended to deal with the Baphomet cultists and the traitors of his people who had joined them. He asked only one thing in returned, which was that once we reached the surface, if we could put in a good word for his people. He believed it was time for them to rejoin the fight against the demons, as they were the descendants of the original crusaders, and the fight against the demons was in their blood. Auriel, Draven, and Anevia agreed to put in a good word for them, and Anevia brought up that her wife, the head of the Eagle Watch, is a half-orc, so times and old biases are changing, and hopefully people will be able to see past appearances.

After stocking up on some supplies, the party made for the fortress of the Baphomet cultists. The alarm got raised immediately, and it was a fight the entire way through. There was a nasty ranger who kept popping up and taking pot shots at Draven (because favored enemy) and he’d knock out most of my health in a single shot despite me having a ton of health for level 1. And then I got poisoned by a monitor lizard. And then I jumped down a hole and got shot again right after healing. And Auriel almost got eaten by an amoeba.

Anyways we slowly pushed our way forward, until we found the cultist of Baphomet, her tiefling servant, and that damn ranger. The cultist told us to throw down our weapons and surrender to be sacrificed at a more dignified location. Each of us said ‘fuck you’ in our own way.

Auriel’s way was to smite evil on her, rush in, and get a critical hit on his attack. He almost killed her in a single attack of holy fury.

Then she retaliated. As did her tiefling servant. Auriel went down. Luna and Melody went after the cultist. Draven went after the tiefling. Then the ranger stepped back out. An arrow in Draven’s back, and he went down too, right next to Auriel, right as Auriel failed his final con save and breathed his last breath.

Melody killed the tiefling. Reinforcements arrived, but at the same time Aravashnial and Anevia arrived—too stubborn to allow themselves to be left behind after all. Luna crit and killed the cultist as she tried to escape with a box she pulled out from the corner she’d been trapped in. The box flew open. A shining holy sword flew out, and stabbed into Auriel’s body. In the place between life and death, the spirit of the sword spoke to Auriel’s spirit, barely held together, and gave him a choice. Did he feel he had completed what he had been out on this path to do? Did he find the answers he’d been seeking? If so, the spirit would guide him to the Boneyard, and final rest. If not, he would return, bound more closely than before to Iomedae’s will.

Auriel decided that he had his answer. In his final act he’d done something in Iomedae’s name, and that was enough for him. He was ready to move on. And so he was guided away, and as shabtis do, when he died his soul shattered. A piece remained with the sword, and allowed Radiance to awaken for Draven—a warpriest, not a paladin, but someone trusted by a paladin so strongly in his final moments that it allowed it nonetheless.

Unconscious, Draven began to hear the sword calling to him, and its magic began to slowly heal his wounds.

At the same time Melody and Luna were brawling with the ranger, who was continuing to be a pain in the ass. I hate this guy. So much. He was played really smart. Good on the GM. But also fuck this guy so much lol.

Aravashnial healed Draven with a potion, and back to consciousness he heard Radiance speaking in earnest. He also saw that the holy blade was planted in his friend and mentee’s chest. For the first time the smile Draven always wears fell. He drew Radiance, stepped over to the ranger who had been shooting him full of holes this entire dungeon, and skewed him without a quip or a flourish.

Draven lost it a bit after that. Melody and Luna both blames themselves and he told them no. Then Melody said not to blame himself but he laughed manically and said it *was* his fault because everyone around him always dies, not because he’s a crusader but because he’s him. Then he carried Auriel’s body back to the underground city. Even Horgus mourned when he saw what had happened.

That night Draven tried to go off on his own but Melody wouldn’t let him. Draven told her it was better if people weren’t around him, to which she disagreed. He told her again that everyone around him dies, to which she disagreed. He told her that he’d run into demons two times before the most recent attack. The first time he lost his family. The second time he lost his friends and his eye. And now this time he lost his city, and his friend, and…possibly even Leto, he realizes. He’d been trying not to think about it, but his best friend, his childhood friend, had been in the city when the demons attacked, he might be dead too. He went a little manic again at the idea that even the golden boy, his brother, the one person who always escaped Draven’s bad luck, might be dead. Melody snapped at him a bit, telling him he wasn’t the only one who had lost people, and that if he was going to make it a one upping thing, then what hurt worse, losing it all at once, or seeing everyone you love slowly wither away and being helpless to do anything? Draven couldn’t and wouldn’t answer that, and Melody didn’t want an answer because there was none. They ended up going their separate ways for the night.

The next day Draven told Melody to forget about everything he’d said. She told him he couldn’t, because that would cheapen everything he’d felt. Draven reluctantly compromised and asked that she just not tell anyone about what they’d talked about, to which she agreed, and he in turn said for fairness sake he wouldn’t share what she’d told him in the heat of the moment either.

The party travelled through the underground until the arrived in a sewer tunnel. They found three orphans, who recognized Luna and were happy to see her. With them was a tiefling woman (Auriel’s player’s backup character), who told the party things had gone to hell outside. And that’s that.

[sugakookielix]

Calico: Chapter 3

Summary: It has been two weeks since Mika came to live with Yoongi, and it’s time for her to finally meet his friends

Pairing: CEO Yoongi x Calico hybrid OC. 

Mentioned Pairings: Hinted potential Bunny hybrid Jungkook x Calico OC (but not really, this fic is Yoongicentric only). Other implied pairings for the future. 

Rating: PG

Warnings: Extremely brief mention of mistreatment/abandonment, occasional swearing

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 5.4k

Calico Masterlist

Credit for header goes to a friend. Original character used in the fic belongs to me. Do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other sites without my permission. If you find my work has been reposted, please let me know asap. 

AN: This update took forever, and I know that a lot of you were waiting for it. As an apology, I have decided to make this chapter longer than my others. For future updates, please let me know if you guys prefer the longer or shorter chapters. I also would like to note (Since some people have asked) that this series started off as a commission to a friend who then decided to hand over character rights and rights to finish the fic as she left the fandom. If you would like to commission a fic such as this one, the link to my commission info can be found in my masterlist. Now, before I continue rambling, hopefully you guys enjoy the update!

It had been just over a week now and Mika seemed to be adjusting perfectly. As promised, Yoongi had taken her shopping and let her grab anything she wanted to help her feel more at home. Not the easiest task, given she would grab anything he looked at or recommended but never anything by herself. Eventually, he had given in and stepped back so she would have no choice but to pick things on her own, replying “If that’s what you want,” whenever she showed him something. It concerned the male a bit that she was so dependent for everything, but he assumed it was a result of her previous ownership and hopefully she’d snap out of it over time. Not that he minded having her cling to him, but it would be extremely tricky to get anything done if Mika always asked his permission to do something as simple as watch TV. 

Another recurring issue was the obvious separation anxiety whenever Yoongi had to leave for work. Hoseok had kept his promise and came over every morning to keep an eye on her so Yoongi could leave, but it was clear the hybrid was already attached to him. Mika would whine and cling onto him until he gave her a pat on the head and promised that he would return home before dinner. Otherwise, she had to be pulled away from him physically which caused its own set of problems. Yoongi would never admit it, but it broke his heart a bit to have to leave her while she was still adjusting, but there wasn’t much else he could do. It wasn’t like he could just not show up to work for a week or two to spend time with her, and he wasn’t confident with bringing her to the office yet given how shy she was. All he could really do was promise he would return until he determined if it would be a good idea to start bringing her to work. Hell, he hadn’t even introduced her to his friends yet. 

Thankfully, it was Friday, and Yoongi could spend the weekend focused on his new hybrid instead of the new business plan he was working on. His normally organized desk was now cluttered with various documents and files, some of which he hadn’t been able to open yet. It was that time of year where the male found himself flooded with potential changes to lead the business into another successful term and it was honestly overwhelming. Partnership offers, marketing plans, managing finances, looking over reports for all of the departments; it was a lot to handle, and yet here he was forcing as much of it as he could into his shift so he didn’t have to take work home with him. Not when there was a young calico cat waiting at home that deserved his attention on his days off. Especially since weekends were the only time she was actually calm, knowing Yoongi didn’t have to go anywhere without her. Yoongi had about an hour left before he could head home, and he was determined to complete as much of this paperwork as possible, having already worked through his lunch break as well.  

A knock at his door pulled the male away from his thoughts, barely looking up from the paper in his hand as he groaned out a forced, “Come in.” 

“You’re still working on that?” Yoongi looked up to see none other than Kim Seokjin, dressed and proper as always. If people thought that Yoongi was always professional, they probably hadn’t seen his business manager. Jin always dressed to impress, with well-tailored suits that molded to his form, hair brushed back with not a stray in sight, and the subtle touches of makeup to hide any potential imperfections. It was a very stark contrast to the way the older male acted, and definitely a contrast with the way Yoongi looked at the moment. His jacket discarded on the back of his chair and a few strands of his hair falling out of place from the number of times he’s run his hand through them in the past few hours. Jin took one look at the younger male and sighed, pulling up a chair to the other side of Yoongi's desk. “You’ve been looking at these since this morning,” he said, skimming through some of the papers, “why don’t you take a break before you burn out?” 

“I want to get as much done as possible,” Yoongi replied, “it would be nice to not take work home with me again.” 

“Because of your new hybrid?” Yoongi only grunted in response, but it was all the confirmation that Jin needed. “When are we going to meet her by the way? It’s been over a week now and everyone's dying to get to know the new member of the family.” Yoongi groaned and set down the document he was holding, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. He knew the question was going to pop up sooner or later but now was not the time. 

“Don’t you have work you should be doing?” he asked. 

“Given it’s the end of the day and you have most of the work, not really. Besides Yoongichi, you look like you could use the distraction.” Yoongi groaned again, but he knew that Jin was right. He probably wasn’t going to finish this in an hour anyway so a break was probably what he needed. 

“I don’t know when you’re going to meet her,” he admitted, “she’s really shy right now and still getting used to her new home, crowding her with new faces is probably the last thing she needs.”

“Well she's going to meet us sooner or later,” Jin replied with a shrug, “what's the worst that could happen?” 

“A terrified calico cat and my house getting destroyed,” Yoongi said with a deadpan tone. Jin laughed a bit at the youngers' expression before shaking his head. 

“You say that as if we are barbarians, I’m sure everything will be fine,” he tried to assure, though his boss didn’t seem too convinced. 

“It’s not you I’m worried about, or even Taehyung, since I know you’ll be gentle, it’s the other hybrids I’m worried about. Jungkook is hyper and practically twice her size, Jimin is physically affectionate, and when Namjoon isn’t accidentally breaking everything he can be very intimidating. Does putting them in a room together with a very anxious kitten actually sound like a good idea to you?” Perhaps Yoongi was being overprotective, but he had seen first hand how scared Mika gets by the tiniest of sounds, so her being scared by other hybrids was inevitable. Still, Jin seemed dead set on convincing him that letting them meet her was a good idea. 

“Aish, you’re overreacting,” the older chided, “no ones going to pounce on her. She’ll have to meet us at some point, better sooner than later.” Yoongi sighed and shook his head. 

“I’ll think about it,” that seemed to be enough to please the older, as he quickly excused himself before leaving Yoongi's office. The blonde sighed and ran his hand through his hair before looking up at the clock, it seemed that their conversation took longer than he thought as it was about time to pack up. His eyes glanced at the scattered papers on his desk before sighing, organizing them into one pile and placing them in the top drawer of his desk, already dreading having to come back to all of that work on Monday. Still, he promised himself that he wouldn’t take work home and would enjoy his weekend, so that’s what he was going to do. With a tired sigh, he stood from his chair and stretched, feeling his back pop a bit from staying in one spot for too long. Flinging his jacket over his shoulder and grabbing his things, he quickly scanned his office to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything before stepping out, locking the door, and making his way down the hall. A few of his workers paused to bow and tell him good evening, but he only gave them a slight bow of acknowledgment in return. Yoongi wasn’t really in the mood for conversation right now, he just wanted to go home and rest. 

It was silent when he finally stepped through the door of his apartment, kicking his shoes off and calling out a soft, “I’m home.” Another few seconds of silence passed before Hoseok popped out from the kitchen. 

“I was getting hungry so decided to make dinner, hope you don’t mind!” he said with a soft smile. Yoongi smiled back and shook his head. 

“Not at all,” he walked over to his friend before pausing and looking around again, “where’s Mika?” 

“Taking a nap on the couch,” the younger replied, returning his attention to the stovetop, “she’s been out for a while though so she’ll probably wake up in a few minutes.” Yoongi hummed in acknowledgment and took a seat at the counter. He groaned softly as he rested his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands. “Rough day?” Hoseok asked without looking back. 

“Just busy,” The older mumbled, hearing his friend hum in acknowledgment. Hoseok knew better than to pry on work matters, which Yoongi was grateful for. He didn’t want to talk about it, or at least the actual work part of it. The conversation with Jin replayed in his mind, and Yoongi questioned if he should bring the idea up to Hoseok. After all, he knew more about hybrids than any of them, so his advice could be useful. “I spoke with Jin-hyung today,” he said, easily grabbing the younger attention. 

“Oh yeah?” Hoseok replied, “what about?”

“Mika,” when he didn’t get a reply, Yoongi took that as a sign to continue, “he said everyone's getting pretty anxious to meet her and that I should introduce them soon.” Hoseok hummed softly in thought, turning off the stove and beginning to fill three plates so they could all eat together. 

“What did you tell them?” he asked after another moment. 

“I said I wasn’t sure,” Yoongi lifted his head to properly face the younger, “I mean, I know they have to meet her at some point but she’s so shy that I don’t really know if it’s a good idea.”

“I’m guessing that you are asking because you want my advice? I mean, Hyung does have a point that she will have to meet them eventually if you want her to stick around, and she seems to be adjusting well to living with you. I’d say that as long as you are right there with her, and she has a place to escape if she gets scared, then it should be fine.” He didn’t even have to look at Yoongi to know the older still wasn’t convinced, shaking his head as he walked over with two of the plates, having to make a second trip for the third. 

“Thanks,” Yoongi said softly, beginning to pick at some of the vegetables as Hoseok took a seat beside him. 

“Why don’t you just ask Mika what she thinks?” Hoseok asked, “explain what will happen to her and let her decide when she is comfortable enough to meet them. If you do it on her terms then it will probably have a better outcome.” Yoongi shrugged softly. 

“I guess,” as if on cue, he felt two small arms wrap around him from behind, a soft tuft of white and orange fur tickling his cheek as the young cat curled up against him. 

“You’re home!” Mika purred, nuzzling her head against Yoongi's neck. Said male chuckled and reached to scratch at her head for a moment. 

“Why hello sleepy head,” Yoongi teased, “have a nice nap?” Mika yawned softly and nodded, still half asleep. It was very obvious that she had just woken up; eyes partly closed, hair falling messily in her face, and her tail swaying lazily under the oversized sweater she was wearing. As soft and precious as always, it was a wonder Yoongi hadn’t completely melted in her presence yet. She stayed curled up against Yoongi for a bit longer before he reluctantly pulled away. He was slowly opening up to how physically affectionate she was, but it still made him feel awkward at times, especially when someone else was around. “Why don’t you sit down before dinner gets cold, I need my arms to eat after all.” Mika pouted a bit but nodded and quickly climbed into the chair next to him, not hesitating to dig into her food. Both males laughed at her before returning to their own food, the conversation between them forgotten. 

Hoseok left shortly after dinner, patting Yoongi on the shoulder and giving Mika a side hug before bidding them a good night. The pair migrated to the living room shortly after, Yoongi scrolling through the tv channels while Mika distracted herself with one of her toys. The soft jingle of a bell echoed through the room, coming from the soft ball that she was pawing at and pushing around the rug, letting her cat side start to take over. Occasionally, Yoongi would glance down at her and just watch silently, thinking about what Hoseok said. Would she want to meet the others? The more he thought about it, the more it couldn’t hurt to try his luck. “Hey Kitten,” he called softly, “come here for a moment.” Mika perked up and immediately made her way over to the couch, taking a seat beside him. “How would you feel about possibly making new friends?” 

“New friends?” Mika asked, cocking her head to the side and giving him a confused look. Yoongi couldn’t help but chuckle a bit as he nodded. 

“I have a few close friends that would love to come and meet you. They own hybrids as well so you could have new playmates. They are a bit hyper though so I wanted to make sure you were ready before inviting them over,” he explained. Mikas' ears twitched slightly and she looked down for a moment. Yoongi frowned when he saw that, immediately thinking the worst. 

“What if they don’t like me?” not the response Yoongi was expecting, though he probably should have. 

“Of course they’ll like you,” he assured, “I’m sure once you get used to them they’ll love you.” Mika looked up at him to try and see if he was lying. He wasn’t, he was sure that they would like her, the issue was whether or not she would like them. After seeing that he was being honest, the hybrid softly nodded. 

“Okay,” she said softly, “when are they coming over?” Yoongi felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“I’ll talk to them tonight and see, probably sometime this weekend,” he was already pulling out his phone to text Jin, knowing he would pass the news onto Taehyung for him. Mika watched him for a moment before deciding that she wanted his attention again. A soft huff left the female as she slid closer to Yoongi, gently tugging at his arm and successfully getting his attention. 

“Cuddles?” she asked. Yoongi bit his lip to keep from smiling as he lifted his arm so she could snuggle up against him. Mika immediately curled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his waist. The male could feel her purring against him after a few seconds, shaking his head as he let his arm fall around her. 

“You’re very clingy you know,” he mused. The response he got was her nuzzling her head against the crook of his neck, mumbling something he couldn’t quite hear. “What was that? I can’t hear you.” He expected her to move and repeat herself, but she made no effort to do so. Her tail brushed against his hand as she relaxed, purring continued as her eyes fluttered shut. Yoongi realized that she was falling asleep and shook his head. If he was being honest, he envied the cat hybrid for being able to fall asleep when and wherever she wanted. He was lucky to get five hours of sleep on any given day with how hectic his schedule was. Yoongi quickly finished up his text conversation and set his phone down. After a brief debate on if he should stay or wake the sleeping hybrid, he carefully wrapped his arms around Mika and stood up. It was a bit of a struggle to lift her since he wasn’t the strongest, but she was thankfully light enough for him to carry to bed without much issue. Yoongi gently set the Calico down on the mattress and placed the blankets over top of her before going and getting ready for bed himself, making sure the doors were cracked a bit so Mika could wake him easily if she needed anything. 

After texting Taehyung and Jin, they all decided to come over for dinner the following evening. Hoseok had to work, but he said he would stop by for a bit if he could. Yoongi had spent the day cleaning so his place would be presentable for their guests while Mika ran around and did her own thing. He had also decided to just order takeout for everyone so he didn’t have to spend hours cooking for potentially eight people. Plus, he wanted to avoid going to the store at the moment and leaving Mika alone in the house. She still didn’t have a proper collar, only a standard black one that he doubted was comfortable given how often she picked at it. Yoongi felt bad and tried his best not to take her out in public too often until he could get her one that was of better quality. Since most higher quality collars were more expensive, many people just bought simple ones and only made their hybrid wear it in public. Money wasn’t an issue for Yoongi though, and he knew when the time was right that he would get Mika one that was special. 

The sound of knocking snapped Yoongi's attention to the door, apparently catching Mikas as well since she was clinging to him in an instant, hiding behind his slightly larger frame. He knew she was nervous, but hopefully, she would calm down once she saw them. “Relax,” he muttered, reaching behind himself to pat her head softly, “everything will be fine.” That didn’t seem to help much as the calico was still clinging to his arm when he opened the door, revealing Jin and Namjoon. 

“I know we’re a bit early, but I was too excited,” Jin said with a smile. Yoongi nodded and opened the door further to let them both in. 

“Figured as much,” he replied, closing the door and trying to pry the scared cat from his arm. If it was physically possible, Mika had curled up even more when she saw the new guests. Not that anyone could really blame her though, since there was now a large and intimidating wolf hybrid standing a few meters away from her. As sweet and as clumsy as Namjoon was, he could be very scary upon first glance. He knew it as well since he was actively trying to distance himself from the pair while Jin tried his best to get a look at the young girl. Yoongi had already explained how she might act to them so they would know how to better act around her. At least until she got comfortable with their presence. 

Jin bent down a bit so that he was eye level with Mika, waving and giving her a soft smile, “Hi, I’m Jin and this is Namjoon, it’s nice to finally meet you.” She stayed silent for a moment before Yoongi gently nudged her. 

“I’m Mika,” she whispered, so quietly that even Yoongi struggled to hear her. Jin couldn’t help but coo a bit at how adorable she was.

“Aren’t you precious, don’t worry, we don’t bite,” he assured. It was easy to notice now Mika's eyes darted to Namjoon for a moment before hesitantly nodding. Still, her grip on Yoongi never loosened and he was starting to worry that she would accidentally rip his sleeve. 

“Come on, let’s go sit down in the living room while we wait for everyone else,” he urged, already beginning to walk. He knew Mika would move with him and Jin and Namjoon would follow after so there was no point in waiting. It was another struggle to get Mika to let go so that he could sit down, but they eventually managed to get her to sit without trying to cling to him. Even if she was still curled up into a ball; her ears pressed against her head and her arms wrapped around her legs. Jin remained standing while Namjoon made himself comfortable in another chair. It was barely noticeable at first, but he was doing his best to remain calm so that he would be seen as approachable. With their advanced senses, hybrids could easily pick up scents that went unnoticed by their human companions. It was oftentimes how they picked up on certain emotions or detected threats. Namjoon was also still keeping his distance, wanting the cat hybrid to approach him first. This seemed to work as she relaxed after a few minutes, staring at the wolf curiously. Yoongi and Jin were so caught up in their own conversation that it shocked them when Mika finally spoke up. 

“What do wolves do for fun?” she asked, causing the two humans in the room to stop and stare at her. Namjoon thought over it for a moment before looking up at her. 

“Well, I can’t speak for all wolves, but I like to read in my free time. I also accompany Jin-hyung to work a lot so I’ll help him there when I can,” he said. 

“Namjoon is a pup at heart,” Jin cut in, “don’t let him fool you, he’s also very playful.”

“And clumsy,” Yoongi added. 

“Yah! It’s not like I try to break things, it just happens!” Namjoon whined. Yoongi rolled his eyes and chuckled a bit in response. Mika seemed to get bored with this conversation and decided to change the subject. 

“Does Jin work with Yoongi?” she asked. 

“I do,” the male in question replied, “he is my boss.” Mika looked up at him in awe when he said this. 

“Yoongi is really the boss?” the shocked tone in her voice caused the blonde to pout. 

“I told you I was the boss the day I met you,” he reminded, “did you not believe me?” Mika blinked up at him for a moment before shaking her head. Jin held a hand to his mouth as he tried not to laugh, Yoongi giving him an unamused expression. “Why exactly would I not be the boss?” he asked.

“Because normally bosses are mean and scary, and you’re too nice!” At this, both Jin and Namjoon burst out laughing, confusing Mika and annoying Yoongi. 

“Yoongi? Nice? That’s a first!” Jin teased, causing the other to roll his eyes. 

“Oh hush,” he groaned before turning back to his hybrid, “you know that not all bosses are mean right? Hobi is the boss at the shelter, and he isn’t mean.”

“But Hobi is fun and doesn’t wear suits to work every day,” Mika pointed out. This effectively confused Yoongi as he tried to process what exactly she was implying. 

“I’m guessing she doesn’t go out much?” Namjoon asked. 

“Not yet, no,” Yoongi confirmed, “Obviously I can only speak for the past two weeks, but we haven’t gone out much.” Both Jin and Namjoon nodded, knowing what he was implying and not wanting to bring up a potentially touchy subject. If Mika did realize, she probably didn’t understand properly as she spoke up again. 

“I was told hybrids weren’t supposed to go out much,” she said, referring to her previous owner, “the last time I went out we went to the park and then I ended up at the shelter.” Everyone froze at what she said, not knowing what to say. Thankfully, they didn’t have to worry as another loud knock echoed through the house, followed by another series of loud knocks. Yoongi sighed softly and excused himself as he went to answer the door. The second he opened the door, he was almost knocked over from the force of two hybrids pouncing onto him. 

“Hyung!” both males shouted, nuzzling against Yoongi who was still trying to regain his balance. 

“We missed you,” Jungkook said. 

“Yeah yeah, you literally saw me two days ago,” Yoongi muttered, “get off.” He pushed both males off of him as Taehyung stepped inside, giving his friend a huge smile. 

“Doesn’t mean we can’t be excited to see you!” Jimin argued. 

“Whatever,” Yoongi straightened out his sweater before closing the door, “come on, everyone else is waiting in the living room.” When they entered the room in question, everyone was in the same position they had been left in. Jin was busy laughing at something, likely another one of his awful jokes, Mika was looking at him confused, and Namjoon was trying not to laugh himself. At the sound of footsteps, both hybrids' ears twitched as they turned to the source of the sound. Namjoon waved at the group while Mika gave them all a shy smile. 

“Awe,” Taehyung cooed as he dropped to his knees in front of her, “aren’t you adorable? I’m TaeTae!” Mika flinched back a bit but nodded in acknowledgment. At least this time she didn’t immediately try to cower behind Yoongi. Well, that was until Jungkook and Jimin excitedly bound over to her, quickly jumping up on the couch. 

“Hi, I’m Jungkook!”

“Hi, I’m Jimin!” both hybrids spoke over each other, their energy immediately startling the smaller feline as she yelped and rolled off the couch. Within seconds, she had dashed past the group and back over to Yoongi, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head in his shoulder while muttering something about being too loud. Yoongi sighed heavily, ‘not again.’

“Yah!” Jin scolded, “we literally just got her to stop hiding and you had to come in and scare her again!” The two in question pouted a bit and lowered their heads, Jungkooks ears flopping down a bit. 

“Sorry Mika,” Taehyung apologized for them. 

“They’re just excited,” Namjoon explained calmly, “don’t worry, no one's going to hurt you.” Yoongi wrapped his arms around the girl softly before whispering to her. 

“They’re idiots, just ignore them and they’ll calm down eventually.” 

“We can still hear you!” Jungkook exclaimed, making the other roll his eyes. Still, the laugh he got from Mika was worth it. 

“Come on,” Yoongi encouraged, “we still have a few hours before dinner, why don’t we sit down and you can meet everyone properly.” He waited for confirmation from Mika before he pulled away enough to lead her back to the couch. The others would definitely tease him for being soft later, but he didn’t care. 

After a few hours, everyone calmed down enough and Mika actually felt comfortable being around the group. She was still a bit on edge and didn’t engage in conversation very much, but she did occasionally speak up or ask questions. Hoseok had decided to drop by as well which helped a lot, helping push Mika to interact more and not be shy. At one point, she had even allowed Taehyung to pet her, nuzzling into his hand a bit as he ran his fingers through her multicolored hair. They had all just finished dinner and were now winding down to watch a movie and relax before calling it a night. Yoongi, Jin, and Taehyung were tidying up in the kitchen, while the hybrids and Hoseok were playing in the living room. It was really just Jungkook and Jimin though since Mika was too shy to move and Namjoon knew better than to try and wrestle the younger boys. 

Mika was on the floor with one of her bells, tossing it around softly as the others did their own thing. Jungkook and Jimin were play fighting a little bit away, having already failed at trying to throw the bell with her. Hoseok was leaning on the back of the couch as he watched, about to say something when he heard his name being called from the kitchen. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, “try not to break anything while I am gone.” He heard a mutual hum of acknowledgment as he walked away, leaving the hybrids alone. Jungkook watched for a moment to make sure he was gone before making his way over to Mika with a smirk. Of course, she noticed, looking up at him with a questioning glance. 

“Can I see the bell?” he asked, causing the felines' expression to shift. 

“No,” Jungkook pouted a bit, trying to reach for the toy as Mika pulled it back. 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s mine and I don’t want to give it to you.”

“That’s mean, I just want to see it.” Mika huffed and held her hand out to show off the bell. 

“There, now you see it,” she said with a smirk of her own. Jungkook glanced at her before chuckling. Moving faster than she could react, he snatched the item from her hand and darted back to Jimin on the other side of the room. Mika blinked in shock for a few moments before realizing what just happened, “Hey! That’s not fair!” 

“Not my fault you weren’t quick enough,” Jungkook teased, laughing a bit as Mika glared at him, “if you want it so badly, why don’t you come get it?” The catgirl hissed for a moment before crawling over and trying to grab the toy from Jungkook, who only held it higher in response. “Really Jungkook?” she was clearly unamused by whatever game the bunny was trying to play. 

“Jungkook-” Jimin tried to interject but the younger only shook his head at him. 

“I already told you, if you want it then take it,” he pushed, dangling the toy over Mikas' head. She tried to grab for it again, only for him to pull it away at the last second, causing her to groan. Her tail began to sway behind her as she backed away slightly, ears pressing back against her head. Jimin, who realized what was happening, quickly tried to interject and grab the bell back, only for Jungkook to push him away as well, glancing at him and mouthing ‘Trust me.’ Namjoon had also picked up on what was going on and began to get involved as well. 

“Jungkook…” before he could get his full warning out, Mika had pounced onto the bunny hybrid, successfully knocking him back. Jungkook gasped as the wind was knocked out of him, but regained himself before she could grab the bell out of his hands, tossing the item to the side as he flipped their position so he was the one pinning her down. The commotion immediately alerted the attention of those in the kitchen who immediately ran out. Yoongi and Taehyung panicked and immediately tried to run over and break the two up. They were stopped however by Hoseok holding his arm out in front of them. 

“The hell Hoseok?” Yoongi hissed, to which the younger shushed him. 

“Relax and watch,” Hoseok whispered back. Yoongi huffed but did as he was told, biting at his nail to calm himself down. Sure enough, Mika quickly regained herself and managed to push Jungkook off of her, dashing after the bell once she was free. The bunny was still quicker though and beat her to it, hitting the toy away so they were both chasing after it. After a minute, the sound of laughter filled the room as both hybrids wrestled and chased after the small object, Jimin getting involved shortly after. Both owners immediately relaxed when they noticed this, Hoseok smiling at them proudly. “See, they’re just playing! Nothing to be worried about.” Yoongi couldn’t help but smile at the sight in front of him, happy that they seemed to get along. 

“Looks like we’ll be over for playdates a lot more,” Taehyung whispered. 

Yoongi's smile widened as he nodded, “Looks like it.” 

Twitter: SugaKookieBias

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[bellshells]

Splitting Hairs ch. 7

Hello dearies, chapter seven is here. It’s a long one again, so strap yourselves in. As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read this it means the absolute world <3

Severus x OC  Summary: Sad Sev is sad tm. Minerva is brill and Valentine is honest.  Warnings: Angst, mentions of unforgivable curses, bit o’ blood n that.  Word Count: 3586

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It was the final week before the Christmas holidays and Severus was miserable. Now, that’s not to say that Severus being miserable around Christmastime wasn’t a common occurrence; but this year was different. Severus had all but shut off communications with everybody bar Minerva, although their visits to each other were now short and full of long silences. Severus felt like he was constantly treading water, if he were to falter slightly- he would drown. He withdrew himself from everything; Quidditch matches, meetings, his revision groups, until finally he stopped eating in the Great Hall all together; choosing instead to lock himself away in his chambers. It became so rare to see Professor Snape anywhere other than his classroom, and people knew better than to ask questions. But in truth, if anyone were to ask Severus why he was suffering so, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to give a cohesive answer. He felt the weight of the term as it constricted around his neck, what he intended it to be (a tedious bore), and what it transpired to be (anything but), were two completely different things.

He missed Valentine. He missed her with a burning intensity that he was not familiar with, yet it had become as necessary to him as breathing. From the minute he opened his eyes he felt the burning, it started in his chest and by mid-morning it had consumed his very being, it reminded him that he was still alive. That although he was hurting, he was not entirely broken because he had allowed himself to feel. He had not known exactly why it hurt so to think about Valentine, perhaps he was merely embarrassed for allowing her to bewitch him, or perhaps he was rather fond of her and felt betrayed-? Either way, he had neither sight nor sound from her since the night he had visited her chambers, and she had revealed that her father was an acquaintance of Lucius Malfoy’s. Severus winced as he recalled the conversation, she had told him she had pursued him due to boredom and Severus had wept when he had reached the safe confines of his bed. He felt stupid. He felt used, but more importantly, any ounce of sympathy he felt for Valentine had vanished. Yes, he desired her- as any man would. But, after the callous way she had treated him, he cared not for any ‘danger’ she might have found herself in. It didn’t concern him, whatever it was, and Severus was content with that.  

He struggled immensely with the idea of him having a ‘purpose’. Since the Dark Lord had fallen, Severus had to ingratiate himself with his colleagues for fear of being cast out. None of them had trusted him when he had taken up his post and quite rightly too, but it had been ten years- or there abouts, and Severus was still there, trying to compel people to believe his version of the story. But surely, as Severus had thought for several years, Albus had no real need for him anymore. He could understand that, as the dust settled those first few years after what happened happened, he was a necessary evil required to bridge any gaps that surfaced on the road to a social and economic recovery for the Wizarding community. At least, that’s how Albus had worded it and Severus knew better than to challenge him. Severus had played his part in the war, and he had done what Albus had asked him to do in exchange for what Severus wanted.

Almost as if he had apparated there, Severus could feel the cool night air whip around his face as he had pleaded with, no, begged Albus to help spare the lives of Lily and her son. Albus had been indifferent he remembered, almost cold. But now he knew that you don’t get something for nothing with the Dumbledores and Albus was no exception. Did the headmaster forget what Severus had sacrificed all those years ago? Had he forgotten that Severus had been hurled toward a chasm of despair at the loss of his friend and did he just expect him to continue? Ultimately, Severus thought that Albus didn’t care one way or the other what happened to him, or anybody else, so long as they achieved what was right. Severus was just a little pawn in a big boy’s game of chess, whichever side he landed on didn’t matter. He wondered if that was why Valentine had affected as much as she did, of course there was the obvious, the searing resemblance she bared to Lily; but Severus had become almost accustomed to it now. The jolt of pain it used to cause in chest was dulled to a small ache when he looked at her. Or perhaps, it was because she was the first person in years that he felt he had a connection with, that what they shared was something special that he could proudly confirm was his.

It had been three weeks since he had seen her. He was so angry with her still, his mind scoured over every conversation they had had, every nice word she had given him and had scratched them out with a big red line. They were wrong, all wrong and all lies. Now what was left was a yearning for what they shared and an anger that fuelled him to put one foot in front of the other. He had to continue, he had to get to the end of term and get himself home. Home, whatever that meant. Spinner’s End. Cokeworth, the place where dreams go to die. He would usually stay at the castle over Christmas, but this year he didn’t have it in him. He wanted to be as far away from this place as humanly possible and for the first time in his life, his childhood home that was often filled with fear and rage, offered him a solace that he didn’t think possible.

It must have been near seven when there was a knock at the door. Severus grumbled to himself as he opened it a crack, Minerva stood anxiously on the other side, she offered him a small smile. “Severus? May I come in?” Severus grunted in agreement and opened the door wide enough for his friend to enter, he flounced into a chair and gestured for her to join him. “How are you?” Minerva asked cautiously, she tapped her foot nervously as Severus regarded her. She looked worried and Severus felt uncomfortable. “I’m well, and yourself?” He replied after a small silence, Minerva frowned slightly and sat back in her chair. “Fine, thank you.” She paused, “Would you like to accompany me to dinner this evening?” Minerva looked at him hopefully, she knew what had transpired between Severus and Valentine through a hastily written note pushed under her office door. He had requested not to talk about it after the fact, she had obliged, of course she had, but Severus knew Minerva well enough to know she had questions. He wondered whether she would have probed Valentine any further about the letter from her father. Knowing what they knew about her connection to Lucius Malfoy would be enough to arouse suspicions in anybody, but that paired with a mysterious warning from Azkaban was more than worrying. “Before you answer,” Minerva began, “Elizabeth has been on a leave of absence for the last two weeks, so she won’t be in attendance. Also, there’s a nasty flu going around, and the infirmary is fit to burst so, turnout is a bit thin.” Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He shot Minerva a pained look, he was grateful for his friend, however he was also weary. But he didn’t want to cause her any more distress. “Will you sit with me?” He asked in a small voice, Minerva’s eyes glistened. She rose from her seat and pulled Severus up by his hands. “Of course I will, dear boy. I’ll be by your side.” She pulled him into her embrace tightly, “I’ve been so worried Severus.” He hugged her firmly, he scrunched his nose in order to halt the tears that threatened to escape. Minerva pulled away but held him at arm’s length and Severus smiled slightly.

 When they were seated Severus could really see the effects of the flu Minerva had mentioned in full force, the long student tables were barely half full, and coughs and sneezes were in abundance. Severus flinched as yet another rumbling cough trundled toward him as students passed in front of the high table. “Well this is divine.” Severus muttered slyly to Minerva as she rolled her eyes. “Shall I conjure us a couple of plague masks?” “Your nose wouldn’t fit.” Minerva said with a smirk as Severus spluttered on his drink, a real smile emerged on his face and laugh left his chest. Minerva’s smile suddenly faltered as she gazed passed Severus to the other end of the high table, Severus followed her gaze until it ultimately settled on a dishevelled figure which sat themselves uncomfortably at the very end of the table. “Merlin, would you like to leave, Severus?” Minerva’s words felt miles away as Severus’ eyes met Valentine’s from across the expanse. The redhead looked awful, her eyes were bloodshot and were surrounded with dark circles. She had a large bruise on her cheek and her bottom lip was swollen and red with a sizeable cut. She lifted her hand to push her long hair which hung limply around her face, behind her ear and he could see her knuckles were split and bruised. “What’s happened to her?” Severus whispered to Minerva without taking his gaze from Valentine. “I don’t know, she’s been away.” Minerva sounded concerned as the pair watched Valentine struggle to pick up her goblet, she seemed to be in incredible pain. “Has she broken her hand?” Severus shrugged his shoulders and forced his gaze back to his own plate, his heart thundered in his chest. He could feel it begin to heave shallowly, and his hands gripped onto the edge of the table. Minerva squirmed in her seat; she craned her neck to get a better look at Valentine who now struggled to use her fork. “Oh, she needs to go to the infirmary. This isn’t on.” The deputy headmistress slyly stood from her seat and hurried to the other end of the table and crouched down next to Valentine. Severus watched from the corner of his eye as Minerva whispered into Valentine’s ear and the two stood and exited the Great Hall, Minerva’s hand under Valentine’s arm; guiding her carefully as they walked.

Severus contemplated his options for a moment, he didn’t feel comfortable sitting in the hall by himself so he could either return to his rooms or he could follow Valentine and Minerva. His heart ached for her, she looked like she had taken a brutal beating and Severus felt a quiet rage build in his chest. His affirmations that he didn’t care what happened to her, that she was a liar and not worthy of his time disappeared as he replayed the visions of her injuries in his mind. Whatever was happening in her life was obviously dangerous and for whatever reason she felt like she couldn’t divulge any information to him, but that didn’t alter the fact that she needed help. He stood from his place at the table and followed the same route previously taken by Minerva and Valentine.

They were already in the infirmary when Severus caught up with them, Poppy was fussing with Valentine, ushering her down to the very end of the busy ward and into a room off to the side. Minerva followed hastily, ignoring the lines of sneezing students and opening the door for the nursing mistress as she supported Valentine into the room. Severus waited a moment or two before creeping silently passed the long lines of beds full of students in various degrees of wellness and knocking on the door to the private room. He didn’t wait to be invited in, instead opening the door and slipping inside. Poppy looked over in his direction as she helped Valentine onto the bed and removed her shoes. “She’s had a nasty Cruciatus, Severus,” Minerva whispered as she sidled next to him. “She must have fallen as well.” “It looks like she’s done a lot more than fall, Minerva.” Severus muttered. They watched as Poppy sat Valentine up and tried to remove Valentine’s jacket, the young witch winced with pain as she withdrew her arms from the sleeves. Poppy lifted her shirt at the back and gasped, she looked at Severus, her face pale. “Severus, would you mind?” Poppy hastened, Severus was by her side in two quick steps and felt the bile rise in his throat as he regarded the deep lacerations painted across Valentine’s back. Severus slowly extended a finger and gently traced the outline of one of the bigger ones, Valentine whimpered at the touch and Minerva moved forward to grasp her hand. Poppy looked up at Severus worriedly, pulling Valentine’s shirt further up until it rested atop her shoulders. “What do you think, Severus? Is it-” “Sectumsempra? Yes.” He confirmed stiffly. Poppy only nodded sombrely as she produced her wand and started to chant the Vulnera Sanentur quietly, Valentine groaned, and Poppy nodded at Severus to help. He grasped Valentine’s shoulders to steady her in place as Poppy worked on closing the wounds on her back. How long had she been like this? Whomever had cast the spell, his spell had done so haphazardly, it wasn’t strong enough to cause a haemorrhage and Valentine was able to get away. He whizzed through the names of people who knew about the curse in his head, fuck there were so many. All of them vile too, who on earth had Valentine pissed off for them to do this? Not only had she’d been a victim of the Cruiciatus curse, but someone had really wished to hurt her with the curse of his own devising, you were not supposed to be able to walk away from it.  

Valentine’s face was contorted with pain as Poppy tried to work as swiftly as she could. She writhed under Severus’ grip and he felt sorry for her. “Minerva,” Poppy said quietly, not looking up from her work. “I think it best to fetch the headmaster.” Minerva stood at once and left the room, she closed the door softly behind her and Severus turned his attention back to Valentine who still squirmed on the bed, tears fell her closed eyes and Severus’ heart once again ached for her. “Just try and keep still,” Severus said gently, “Nearly finished now.” Valentine didn’t respond but she nodded and took a deep breath. She seemed to relax slightly as Poppy started on the third incantation, allowing Severus to bear more of her weight by leaning into his hold. Satisfied with her work, Poppy stood back from Valentine and ran her hand over the healed skin. Still tender, Valentine flinched. “I think we’ll just pop this top in the bin, don’t you, Elizabeth?” Poppy said as she tapped Severus’ hands away and carefully lifted Valentine’s shirt over her head and over her arms. Severus’ eyes widened and he turned his back immediately. Valentine let out a weak laugh; “I think we’re passed all that, Sev.” Valentine said feebly, he turned to look at her and she offered him a tired unconvincing smile, her bruised hand covering her breasts. He returned her smile weakly and took a step toward her. She extended a hand to him and without thinking, he took it and perched on the seat next to the bed. “Good job you’re not wearing a brassiere my dear, or that could have been very fiddly.” Poppy said cheerfully as she rustled through the standing wardrobe and pulling out a hospital gown and shaking it in Valentine’s direction. Severus took the gown from the nurse as she helped Valentine stand, Poppy turned her away from Severus giving him a good look at Valentine’s back. Poppy really had done a marvellous job in closing Valentine’s wounds; but she would always have the scars. But you would never guess that they were fresh and bloody only moments ago. Poppy asked Severus to support Valentine’s arms as she unfastened Valentine’s trousers and instructed her to step out of them, which she did unsteadily. Severus presented the young with the sleeves of the gown, careful to not let his body touch hers. She pushed her arms through, and Severus pulled it over her shoulders and worked on fastening the ties at the back.

“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” Valentine laughed softly followed by a cough. Severus couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the first night they met, zipping her dress after dealing with another of her calamities. After helping her back onto the bed and pulling the covers over her lap Poppy turned to Valentine with a smile; “I’ll be back in two ticks, just need to give one of the Weasley boys a drop of Sleeping Draught.” She made her way to the door and stopped just before she opened it, “Will you be alright with Severus, dear?” “Oh yes, I’ll be fine.” Valentine answered with a smile. “Lovely, I’ll be back to reset the bones in your hand. Won’t be nice, but you’ll thank me for it in the morning.” Poppy offered both a smile as she left, leaving the two of them in silence.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” Severus spoke first; he brushed his hands over his trousers and placed them neatly in his lap. Valentine bit her bruised lip before she answered. “Not really.” She smiled weakly. “Please don’t feel like you have to sit with me, Severus. I understand if you’re angry with me.” “Whether I am angry or not is of no pertinence. You mustn’t be left unattended, and it seems like I am the only one here.” He said flatly. “Those wounds on your back. Who gave them to you?” “Why does it matter?” Valentine groaned and she studied her broken hand in the dim light. “It matters to me.” “Why?”

Because although he would swear otherwise, he cared for her and he wanted her to be safe. “Because you’re a good friend to Minerva, and she’ll only worry.” He said coolly, Valentine nodded sadly. A silence settled between them, and although it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable Severus felt he should break it.   “I feel like I should apologise to you, Severus.” Valentine said, startling him. He looked at her then, as she hunched over on the bed. He felt sorry for her, she looked so small and meek. A shadow of the gregarious woman he had met in the summer. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I would like to say it nonetheless.” Severus raised an eyebrow and waited. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. None of it was true, I said it to get a reaction from you. It was immature, and I’m sorry.” “So you admit it?” “Pardon?” “You admit it?” “Admit what?” “That you were pursing me?” “What?” “You admit that you were pursing me. And now you attest that it wasn’t due to boredom. That is, interesting.” Severus smirked. Valentine looked confusedly at him, he enjoyed it. He had power in this moment, and he relished in the energy that passed between them. Him, in control of the situation.   “I have a genuine interest in you Severus, why is that a difficult concept to grasp?” She questioned as she tried to lie down on the bed. Almost as if she had forgotten, she yelped in pain as her back touched the mattress. She shot up again and Severus lurched towards her, he pulled her into his arms and tried his best to soothe her. Valentine wept as she clung to Severus with her good hand, he kissed the top of her head deeply.

“Did you try to run?” He whispered into her hair; he traced his fingers ever so lightly over her back. It was an odd place to be hit by the curse, he wondered if she had tried to escape after she had been curcio’d. Valentine nodded and sniffed pathetically. Severus felt his stomach drop, she had tried to get away and someone had hit her with his curse. “Oh darling.”

They stayed that way for a moment or two, Severus gently rocking back and forth with Valentine in his arms. He hummed quietly to himself, he remembered his mother doing this for him when he was a child. It didn’t remember it ever making him feel better, but it was worth a try. When he heard the young witch’s breathing relax he turned her face to his with a finger and thumb.

“So, you admit it.” He said gently, if he wasn’t mistaken he could have sworn Valentine rolled her eyes.

“What am I admitting to this time?” She sighed. “That you are interested in me-” “Are you twelve, Severus?” “Perhaps,” he chuckled. “But I feel it important to share that I-” he coughed, Valentine looked at him with an expectant smile. “I have an interest in you, also. So…there, yes.” He gazed into Valentine’s bloodshot green eyes and smiled.

“Kiss me.” She whispered. Severus of course, complied eagerly. 

[the-voltage-diaries]

I’m only one call away, I’ll be there to save the day - Daisuke Kambe x Haru Katou

AO3 link

This is the literal definition of self indulgence I’m not even kidding you.

And I totally did not write the last 1/3rd of it in a car because I didn’t have the patience to get home.

And this is unedited. So if you find errors please spare my humble life. I LITERALLY WROTE THIS ENTIRE THING TODAY. The inspiration istg.

Summary:

Daisuke Kambe doesn't get nervous. He doesn't overthink. He doesn't doubt anything he does, or any decision he makes. Except when he's in the dressing room, waiting for Hoshino to come and escort him to his soon-to-be husband. 'Cold feet' is the farthest term one would use to describe Daisuke, yet here he stands in front of the large mirror, wondering if he's good enough for the man whose eyes shine brighter than any star he's seen.

All it takes is one call.

And before he knows it, Haru right there in front of him.

He needs his hero, and Haru is there.

TW: Panic Word count: 3136 (woohoo)

Special tag: @akaiiro-yume​ for being my ultimate simp buddy. I told her this whole thing as just an idea and she said she felt like crying and I was like FUCK IT IM GONNA WRITE IT. So here we are. Thank you. 

“Daisuke Kambe,” Haru called his name, his voice so gentle it almost got drowned by the waves as he looked straight ahead at them with Kambe by his side. The serene way his lips curved into a peace smile hid with such grace the nervousness shooting up his spine. 

“Mm?” Daisuke glanced at his boyfriend, wondering why the inspector suddenly chose to call him by his full name instead of the usual ‘bastard’, ‘pain in the ass’, ‘idiot’, or just ‘Kambe’.

‘Am I doing the right thing? Are we ready for this?’

“What is it, Haru?”

“Marry me.”

Daisuke’s eyes widened, and he stared at Haru without blinking even once. “... What?”

“I said,” Haru turned to look at him, giving him an awkward little grin before grabbing Daisuke’s hands in his own and slowly going on one knee, “Marry me, ‘Suke.”

That was all it took. That nickname.

Daisuke felt every tense nerve in his body relax almost immediately as the answer came as naturally to him as breathing.

“Okay.”

Daisuke’s gloved hand wraps around the glass, his soft lips placing themselves on its rim to take another sip of water. It’s probably his tenth sip in the last two minutes (and counting).

“Lord Daisuke, you look incredible!” Suzue remarks, and he sees her smile at him through the mirror.

“Mm.”

“I can’t believe you and Katou-sama are finally getting married.” Suzue steps up behind Daisuke to smoothen the non-existent wrinkles on the thick piece of blue fabric covering his shoulders.

‘I can’t either.’

“It feels like just yesterday when you came back to Japan,” she continues, not noticing the way Daisuke’s nervous fingers fiddle with his cufflinks, “And now it’s already been six years… time passed by too quickly, didn’t it?”

“It has.”

Silence descends over them like a calm cloud while Suzue busies herself by fussing around with his three-piece suit, straightening it more than it already is, rubbing off any invisible lints, fixing his already perfect tie - a crisp, sophisticated taupe - and Daisuke lets his mind wander off once again.

He thinks about the six years he’s spent in Japan. But more specifically, he thinks about the time he spent by his side.

He thinks of all their firsts; their first meeting, their first argument, the first time he let Haru fall (not for him, but off the bridge), their first show of trust, first confessions, first kisses, first everything.

He thinks of their life after they decided to become more than just friends or colleagues. All of the small ways in which Haru reminded him, every day, just how much he adored him. Daisuke thinks of all those cuddles, all the nuzzles, all the intertwining of fingers.

And before he can stop it, a smile - albeit small but so full of love you could feel it radiating off of him - is gracing his lips.

‘Thank you.’ He finds himself thanking Haru in both his mind and heart… for just about everything. 

“Lord Daisuke, are you okay?” Suzue asks, snapping him out of his heartwarming walk down the memory lane.

“Yes, why?”

“Your eyes…” she trails off, and Daisuke’s gaze shifts from looking at her through the mirror to himself. A small gasp leaves his lips when he sees what’s got Suzue so worried about his eyes.

Tears.

A thin layer of unshed tears coats those calm eyes, and Daisuke feels his heart clench with absolute adoration when he realises the meaning behind such a blatant show of emotions.

These tears aren’t of pain. Or of agony. Or of suffering.

There are tears of gratitude. Of love. Of unrestrained joy at the mere thought of the wonderful man waiting for him at the same beach where he proposed.

“I’m fine, Suzue.” Daisuke says, his eyes never leaving the ones in the mirror. “I’m just… overwhelmed,” he admits, taking a deep breath in.

Suzue smiles. “I can understand. It IS a big day, after all.” She turns around, walking towards the door. “I’ll be outside.”

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it. He couldn’t be more grateful to have a sister who understood him so well that they didn’t need words to get their message across.

And with that, Suzue steps out of the room, closing the door behind her, leaving Daisuke alone with his thoughts.

His eyes travel to the clock on one of the walls of the gigantic room, and he sees that he’s still got some time before Hoshino would come by to escort him to his lover. And his fiance.

Daisuke feels another smile tugging at his lips at the word, and he briefly thinks about how he’s been smiling too much today before his mind again wanders off to the man responsible for making him smile so much.

‘He’s too good to me,’ Daisuke thinks, sighing fondly. ‘He makes me believe that it’s okay to feel this… that it’s okay to feel happy. Sometimes it feels like it’s too good to be true.’

And that’s when it strikes him. The one thought which makes his shoulders go stiff, and his lips press themselves together in a stiff line.

‘But… What if it IS too good to be true?’

Daisuke’s mind decides to take another walk down the memory lane, but this time the road isn’t filled with Haru’s smile, or his warmth. This time, the road is dark, cold, unwelcoming. It’s filled with every memory of each time things felt too good to be true… and they were.

‘What if… what if this doesn’t last?’ He thinks, the pictures of his own parents clouding every space they could find in his head.

Haru and him wouldn’t end the same way… right?

‘Would I be able to make Haru happy?’

… As happy as Haru made him?

‘Everything I ever cared for in my life was ripped away from me… Will Haru and I be the same way?’

He notices as his chest starts rising and falling at a faster pace, but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

‘Is it because I’ve been weak? I haven’t been able to protect the people important to me. I-I’ve never been good enough. What if… I still am not good enough?’ 

Daisuke’s eyes widen, terror seeping into them as his mind chooses to project a mental image of Haru walking, but not towards him. It’s an image of Haru having his back turned towards Daisuke, and he is walking away.

‘Am I even worthy of being loved?’

Daisuke thinks back on all the warm, loving moments that he thought of not even five minutes ago, but this time his mind focuses on his own actions instead of Haru’s

‘Haru has done so much to show me he loves me. How many times have I done the same?’

The back of his eyes burn so hard it feels like they’re on fire, and he finds it harder to breathe; he feels as if someone’s just wrapped their fingers around the base of his throat and is squeezing, hard. 

‘Is Haru happy with me? WILL he be happy with me?’

His own fingers come up to his throat, as if trying to replace the invisible ones.

‘Should we even be getting married? What if he realises I’m not worth it?’

‘Where are you, Haru?’ is what his heart screams instead, but he doesn’t hear it.

‘O-oh god, I cannot be forcing him to marry me.’

‘I need you, Haru. Find me. Please, find me.’

‘He doesn’t love me. He shouldn’t be marrying me.’

‘Haru, please. Save me.’

I’m only one call away.

He doesn’t even notice his fingers finding the surface of his phone and he is too busy letting himself fall down the dark spiral his mind lay out for him to bother seeing what his fingers are doing with the phone.

Daisuke feels his feet give away, and he slowly slides down to the floor. His body trembles, his breathing continues to quicken, and he feels something dark crawl up his spine.

It’s something he can’t describe, but it’s so dark and so… consuming. He feels like his mind is being ripped into shreds, as if someone is slowly claiming their control over it.

“H-Haru…” He whimpers and looks up, closing his eyes. He feels the thick layer of tears forming beyond his lids collapse as silent tears stream down his face. He opens his mouth to breathe, but the inhale turns into a choked sob.

He wasn’t good enough. He isn’t good enough. And he never will be good enough.

Daisuke bites his trembling lips and brings his knees closer to his body in an attempt to hide away from himself. 

Hah. What a pitiful sight. And Haru thought THIS weak little boy would be good enough for him? He should leave him while he still has time.

“Haru… please. I need you. Pl-Please don’t leave m-”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

I’ll be there to save the day.

Daisuke’s head snaps in the direction of the voice; a voice powerful enough to break the hold of what was slowly crawling through his mind, consuming him whole.

“Haru…” he whispers, blinking the tears away in an attempt to clear his vision.

The attempt is futile anyway, because the moment his sight comes into focus, he feels a pair of all too familiar arms pull him into a strong chest. “I’m right here,” Haru murmurs, pressing a kiss to his forehead before sitting down in front of him and pulling Daisuke between his legs.

“I-” Daisuke’s eyes widen, confusion slowly colouring over every other thought for the moment. “Wasn’t it Hoshino who was supposed to come?”

“You really expect me to ask Hoshino to check in on you when you call my number and then say my name the way you said it?”

‘I called him?’

“You sounded like someone was forcefully pulling every ounce of life out of you.”

“... I did?”

‘Yes, you bastard. You scared the living fucks out of me, y’know?’ Haru thinks, but instead of saying anything, he only pulls Daisuke closer to him.

He smiles when he feels Daisuke return the gesture.

Daisuke’s arms wrap around Haru’s neck and he places his face in the crook of his neck, taking a deep sniff of the latter’s scent. He feels his panic flow out of his body as the warmth of the man himself washes over his entire being.

“H-Haru-” the millionaire stutters, tears again filling his eyes, now that he’s had a moment for everything to catch up to him. Haru’s arms only pull him closer, as close as physically possible, and that’s when Daisuke notices some things he didn’t see earlier.

“You’re safe. I’m here. I’m with you. And I’m not going anywhere.” Haru speaks in between pants, his forehead covered with a thin, barely there layer of sweat.

‘He RAN all the way here?’ Daisuke thinks, taking in every bit of whatever Haru offered him; his love, his warmth, his confidence, his belief in them.

Superman got nothin’ on me.

“Haru.” Daisuke pulls his head back to look at the taupe-haired man.

“What?” Haru replies, his head still facing down. He doesn’t look up, and Daisuke can only wonder why.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Haru.”

“No.” “I love you.”

Haru’s head snaps up at the speed of light, his eyes so wide Daisuke fears his eyeballs might pop out of their sockets.

But now that Haru’s finally looking at him, Daisuke takes the opportunity to find out for himself why the man absolutely refused to look up at him just moments ago.

He feels all the air drain out from his lungs at the findings of his inspection.

‘He’s trembling.’

“I was so scared, Kambe,” Haru whispers, his head dropping on Daisuke’s shoulder. “I was so scared when I heard you sound so… weak.” 

“I love you.” Daisuke repeats, and this time it’s him who places a kiss on the other man’s forehead.

“I love you too.”

Haru looks up, and their lips come together so naturally and so perfectly, one would think it was meant to be. And maybe it was. 

And just like that, they sit there for a few minutes, wrapped up in their own warm little bubble, the world forgotten.

“Oi, Kambe,” Haru murmurs into Daisuke’s shoulder, successfully catching the attention of the shorter man. “What really happened?”

Daisuke sucks in a sharp breath, knowing exactly what Haru was talking about. The fingers holding on to Haru tighten a little more as he opens his mouth, and begins explaining what actually went down.

Daisuke speaks, and speaks. He expresses every minute detail, because he knows Haru is listening. Haru always listens. And he doesn’t just listen, he makes sure the other knows that he is there for him no matter what.

I’m only one call away.

Once he is done telling Haru everything, he looks at him with baited breath, trying to gauge Haru’s reaction. The only answer he gets is utter confusion as Haru pulls back from their embrace and stands up, brushing the barely-there dust off his suit. He looks down at his lover and extends a hand out to him.

But instead of grabbing that hand, Daisuke’s eyes get lost in the very gorgeousness of sight Haru Katou presents. Haru’s dressed in a three-piece suit, just like Daisuke himself, but it’s taupe in colour. His tie is the same blue as Daisuke’s suit, and he looks downright ravishing.

“We haven’t got all day, idiot.”

Haru sighs, grabbing Daisuke by the hand and pulling him up. He quickly wipes Daisuke’s tears and makes him look presentable (as if he wasn’t already) before dragging him to the door.

Haru opens the door to the dressing room, but before they can step out, Daisuke stops him.

“What are you doing?” Daisuke asks, his brows furrowed and the usual disinterest back on his face.

“Walking down the aisle with my bride.”

“You do know that you’re not supposed to be the one escorting me.”

“Yeah, and what about it?”

“Katou Haru. Are you joking with me?”

Haru turns around to meet Daisuke’s eyes and pulls the shorter man to him with one tug on his arm. He bends his head, giving Daisuke a quick kiss before pulling back and whispering, “Why? Is there a problem?”

Daisuke isn’t even given the time to blush, because Haru is already turning on his feet and walking down the hallway, pulling the millionaire behind him. They keep walking for a short while, even after they leave the building and step onto the beach, before Haru finally comes to a stop.

“We’re here.” 

Daisuke pokes his head from behind Haru’s back to see where exactly they are. “Oh my sweet bleeding heart.”

“Of all things in the world, that’s the first thing you say, rascal?”

“Haru, I-” Daisuke is quite literally at a loss for words, because right now, in this very moment, in front of him is a low stage setup with curtains falling around it in a circular fashion, and tiny fairy lights giving it it’s very own magical glow. It’s like a world within a world. A world away from everyone, from everything - a world for just the two of them.

“Come on, you and make it anywhere. But for now… we can stay here for a while.” Haru mutters, glancing at Daisuke, “'Cause you know, I just wanna see you smile.”

“Very cheesy, I’ll give you that,” Daisuke chuckles, stepping on to the stage. “So…” he turns to look at Haru, “What now?”

“Dance with me.” Haru says, and then there is no going back.

All it takes is a nod from Daisuke and Haru steps closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“What is it?” Haru asks, noticing the furrow of Daisuke’s brows.

“We have no music.”

“I got it covered,” is all Haru says before snapping his fingers, and almost immediately, music fills the space around them. 

“What song is this?” Daisuke asks, letting Haru pull him in by the waist and following his lead.

“Doesn’t matter. Focus on the lyrics. Oh, and me, of course.”

And so Daisuke does.

I'm only one call away I'll be there to save the day

Daisuke’s eyes stare into Haru’s as their feet move together, and he smiles at the lyrics, letting the other man know just how much he loves him. And this. Just how grateful he is for it all.

Superman got nothin' on me

And Daisuke can’t help but agree with that. His fingers gip Haru’s a little tighter as he sighs, his head coming to rest on the other’s shoulder.

I'm only one call away

Call me, baby, if you need a friend I just wanna give you love

“I love you,” Daisuke whispers at that, pressing a kiss to where his forehead rested just a moment ago. 

Come on, come on, come on Reachin' out to you, so take a chance

Daisuke pulls back a couple of steps, only to have Haru reach his arm out. He grabs it, doing a slow spin and falling into the arms of the man he loves more than his life could possibly define.

No matter where you go You know you're not alone

“I love you too.”

Silence soon falls between them and they both close their eyes, letting the music be their voice.

Come along with me and don't be scared I just wanna set you free

Come on, come on, come on You and me can make it anywhere

Realisation finally dawns on Daisuke as he realises where Haru’s words from earlier really came from. He smirks.

But for now, we can stay here for a while, ayy 'Cause you know, I just wanna see you smile

“You’re just a giant ball of sap, aren’t you?” He retorts, looking up at Haru. He might be smirking, but even he can’t hide the affection that swells up in his eyes as his hands reach up to wrap around Haru’s neck, allowing the latter to snake both his arms around Daisuke’s waist.

“Shut up.”

And when you're weak, I'll be strong I'm gonna keep holdin' on

“I’ll never let you go, Katou.”

Now don't you worry, it won't be long, darlin' And when you feel like hope is gone

Haru smiles, pulling Daisuke closer to him.

Just run into my arms

“Funny, because I don’t plan to let you go either, bastard.”

I'm only one call away I'll be there to save the day

“You really are a hero, you know, Haru?”

Superman got nothin' on me

“Just yours, ‘Suke. Just yours.” Haru murmurs, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against Daisuke’s.

I'm only one, I'm only one call away

“Forever.” Daisuke replies, his own eyes slowly shutting.

“And ever.”

Fin.

DONTCHA WORRY THEY DID GET MARRIED IN THE END THEY DIDNT FORGET ABOUT IT

[iturbide]

Genuine question here: if Edelgard succeeded in her conquest, do you think she'd turn her eyes on Sreng and/or Almyra? She wouldn't have any real reason to - but then again, she never had any real reason to declare war on the church, and all it'd take is the Twisted framing Sreng or Almyra as their base of operations...

It’s a good question!  Interestingly, though, Edelgard herself brings up her feelings on the subject in CF, specifically after you either spare or kill Claude.  After the attack on the Alliance capital, a paralogue becomes available where the Imperial forces rally at the Locket to repel some Almyran skirmishers; in the aftermath, this is what she says:

Edelgard: The Almyran army retreated.  Their casualties were numerous.  As I understand it, they won’t be attempting another invasion anytime soon.  Still, we must prepare the local troops before their enemy returns. Byleth: They are an irritating neighbor. / Maybe we can befriend them?  Edelgard: That is my hope.  I would even consider a treaty.  Unlike Fodlan, Almyra is not a land ruled by blind fealty to the goddess.  I believe we need only to communicate openly with them and respect the differences between our cultures.  If we do that, we should be able to have a meaningful dialogue with them, one more promising than what we can expect from followers of the goddess.

So by her own admission, Edelgard has no interest in expanding her conquest to Sreng or Almyra.  She in fact has designs toward allying with them, or at least establishing peaceful relations, because she believes they’ll be more reasonable than anyone who follows the Church of Seiros.

(In all honesty I hate the ending of this paralogue because everything she says is pure hypocrisy.  It’s entirely possible that she just got done murdering Almyra’s prince but she assumed that Claude was a “believer in the goddess” and therefore couldn’t be reasoned with, even though he’s one of the very people she could have been working to forge an alliance with.  Way to poison the well, there, Edelgard!)

I don’t think it’s accurate to say that she never had a real reason to attack the Church of Seiros, though.  I actually do understand her sentiments -- I just think that her way of acting on them was completely blown out of proportion, because rather than just focusing her attention on the corrupt church hierarchy -- like the archbishop -- or on the principles it’s built on that end up being so toxic for humanity -- like the bias toward Crests -- she decides that everyone who worships the goddess is unreasonable and needs to be dealt with by force.  No one who holds faith in the goddess can be good in her eyes, which is the kind of horrific absolutism that makes my skin crawl.

As for the reason why she attacks the church, it’s really a combination of factors: first, it’s that she’s part of House Hresvelg, and therefore aware of the “true” history behind the Church of Seiros.  This is part of her pre-battle conversation with Byleth in Chapter 14, aka the battle where Claude can potentially die (and she unwittingly burns her bridge with Almyra regardless):

Edelgard: Professor...do you know the true story behind the legend?  The Relics were created by the hands of mankind.  Seiros collected them after killing the 10 Elites.  Seiros manipulated the people of the world and defeated the all-powerful King Nemesis.  Byleth: I thought he was corrupted by his power? / Why would she do that?  Edelgard: The church maintains the false history that he was corrupted and turned evil; however, it was little more than a simple dispute.  Should the one leading the people of the world be someone with humanity, or a creature that can merely masquerade as a human at will?  In the end, Seiros was victorious.  The Immaculate One and her family then took control of Fodlan.  I know this because this knowledge is passed down from emperor to emperor.  And that is because the first emperor is the human who cooperated with Seiros, allowing humanity to be controlled in secret.  Byleth: ... Edelgard: Perhaps it’s fate that you can wield the Sword of the Creator, just like Nemesis, the King of Liberation.  And that very fate will lead you to use that sword to stand against those who would distort history.

So a not insignificant part of her distrust in the Church of Seiros comes from the fact that she knows it’s been doctoring history which inevitably leads to suspicion because why is it being doctored?  On top of that, though, the entire reason why she was subjected to the Crest experiments that led to the deaths of her siblings and imbued her with the Crest of Flames is because of the ingrained systems founded by the Church of Sieros that so highly value Crests.  The church might not directly tell people to aim for Crests at all costs, but the fact that nobility is more or less predicated on the presence of a Crest has had negative effects on or outright ruined countless lives, including Sylvain’s (his older brother’s hatred), Mercedes’ (becoming a pawn to improve her stepfather’s status), Ingrid’s (becoming a pawn to improve her house’s long-term survival), and Hanneman’s (his sister’s abuse and eventual death). 

(The irony here is that the people least affected by this Crest bias are in the Alliance, where the Church of Seiros has the weakest influence.  The presence of a Crest in the family only seems to determine whether someone can be counted among the Great Lords at the roundtable, which is why Judith von Daphnel -- herself lacking a crest -- gave up her seat to Margrave Edmund following his adoption of Marianne who does.  Judith herself is still held in extremely high regard and House Daphnel appears well respected despite the fact that they don’t have any Crest-bearers.)

With all that in mind, Edelgard really does have a valid reason to go after the church.  Now, if she were being logical about it, she would have been fighting for reform: alter the existing structures to reduce and eventually eliminate Crest bias in the system so that it was no longer a requirement for inheritance of title, potentially leading to the eradication of the nobility/commoner system entirely.  Unfortunately, despite her loathing for them, the influence of Those who Slither likely stoked her negative feelings toward the church into outright hatred, and led to what we get in the game.  The fact that Edelgard routinely interacts with them and has even assisted in their plans (such as Flayn’s kidnapping -- even if she didn’t have a direct hand in it, she did help the Death Knight escape) heavily implies that for all that she hates them, she’s not immune to their influence.

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Cyprus brings shampoo to Rotterdam 2021

I FELL IN LOVE, I FELL IN LOVE, I GAVE MY HEART TO PRODUCT PLACEMENT.

Though I do see where they come from. Everyone from Panik Records, from her to Eleni Foureira featuring Perfectil on the “Fuego” MV, gonna need that sweet sweet money all of the time. But has Greece’s economy not really recovered for them to constantly need to advertise products on music videos or am I just losing my mind overthinking things?

Eitherway, this review may or may not appear before or during their rehearsal day, so see how do I make a fool of myself by trying to estimate Cyprus’s chances!

ARTIST & ENTRY INFO

This year we have a 26 year old Elena Tsagrinou from Greece here (the way they were last represented by a somewhat Cypriot on 2017?). She did music early on in her age, also participated in the Greek version of Got Talent. Though, before breaking out as a solo pop sensation in ways you cannot imagine, she used to be in a pop band OtherView. Strangely enough, I’ve heard of them because of this song below but I could’ve NEVER estimated it was her and never could have I predicted she would land herself a Eurovision entrance all alone:

The band has had quite a few successful enough singles with her, she did some music shows participation and hosting, her band switched labels midway through (guess into which one they eventually landed, hint: some of the screenshots in this review have this peculiar logo), and in 2018, she had to “withdraw” from the group to go ahead and pursue the aforementioned solo career, somewhat. She continued doing a lot of shows (particularly seen on the MAD music channel related events), and doesn’t have as many singles as she had with OtherView right now, but she’s possibly well on her way to blossom as an artiste. Some of those reading (lol who am I kidding who even reads these) may be familiar with this little song of hers:

You’ve heard way too many things about “El Diablo”, her 2021 entry, so idk if I feel like explaining the technical side of things all by myself or you already know everything. But in these reviews I repeat everyone else regardless, so let me just say that “El Diablo” is an obvious pop song, with a lot of Swedish related touches to it, because at least one person on this song also worked on Alvaro Estrella’s Melodifestivalen 2021 entry that glorifies at least a handful of the same cliches that “El Diablo” does lyrically. Dear Eurovision lyricists, you can use more foreign languages than Spanish for your obligatory foreign language incorporations, thanks~

Although I’m not sure about whether it is more Laurell Barker’s fault as much as it is Joker Thörnfeldt’s, but it’s easier to blame them equally, because the former probably came up with “ta-taco, tamale” and the latter couldn’t get enough of the word “mamacita” they used for the aforementioned Melodifestivalen entry. Anyway, the lyrics, from what I get, is that she’s in love with an eeeevil guy because he’s sweet talking her, they do some sexy stuff together (presumably), pour sauce on their bodies for no explicit reason other than “obligatory-foreign-reference-itis”, she’s breaking the rules (and idk if it was “mama-mamacita” telling her to do it), got the icy edges that the spicy is melting for her, throws eyelashes on the floor when she’s got no wigs to throw (but that doesn’t matter because even without a wig, she can flip her hair and make him look twice), and there’s as much as you need to know about the song’s lyrics as I feel like I should show to you, because eh. Eurovision has suffered from worse cookie-cutter lyricism through the years, “El Diablo” is painful but not the worst.

REVIEW

But I do like the song somewhat!

“El Diablo” was initially compared to Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” upon release, and I totally kind of see why, because in all the right spots you can absolutely hum over the chorus to that over the one of “El Diablo”’s, it just exchanges gratuitous French translation of one of the already sung lines on the bridge for obligatory inserted Spanish terms just for the sake of being trendy with the crowds of the nowadays, because as we learned nothing these days, having a lot of Spanish in your song is apparently trendy. And Elena does nothing absolutely batshit insane on the music video (other than advertising) - no lapdance for the devil Lil Nas X style, no being forced into a bath, no person to sell her body to (not even the titular diablo), no dancers that rise out of their Christian sleep pods. Just Elena singing behind lots and lots of trash bin bag wrap.

Honestly the bigger issue for me than the song being “sAtAnIc because it is called “the DEVIL!!!”, aside from the lyrics, is that the MV does not come with any forewarning whatsoever for the people that are seizure prone when they see strobe lights? And that happens for some extended periods of this clip? I know you are indulged in your advertising and good for you but don’t just care for the companies that pay you if you use their products, do care about people’s wellbeings too, sometime.

But enough about the MV.

The song is decently sounding. It has interesting uses of what sounds like hi-hats during the verses (e.g.: a moment when this happens for the first time on the song is after Elena sings “tonight we’re gonna burn in a par-tY” the second time, and then there’s something that sounds soaring - that’s what I think that the hi-hats did.). It also has some sort of a synth piano on the second verse to boost the song’s sound rather than just relying on 808s and beats. I quite like how the chorus is so instant somehow, idk why but it is for me. Might have a gripe with that childish choir singing “I LOVE EL DIAB-LO” in the tune of standard kindergarten children teasing tune (aka ”NA NA NA BOO BOO”), as well as the constant breathing sounds, but they don’t distract me from generally “fucking” with this song, lol. It’s just that likeable imo.

I just can’t cope with the fact that Cyprus can’t seem to dare to go at least a little bit original with their song, yanno? Ever since 2019 they were called out as being a ripoff of something... hell, everyone since 2016 except Eleni was a ripoff of something. Alter Ego? “Somebody Told Me” by The Killers. Gravity? “Human” by Rag’n’Bone Man. Replay? “Fuego” itself. Running? “Lose Control”, Meduza x Becky Hill. Now we have a Lady Gaga song wannabe that even caught the attention of another singer that the music video looked like it was ripping off, and the Eurofandom caught up in hysterics:

Heads up, folks: not EVERY short haired blonde with messy hair, silvery tank top and shortpants that writhes on the floor is a Zara Larsson clone. And I don’t know who stirred controversy first - her or the fans - but this was ridiculous to see, even for me.

Although for a second I saw where they were coming from.

Now see why I want Cyprus to go original for at least once? Because I guess that the way “Fuego” was conjured up, it brought Cyprus so much success with how the package was, how Eleni sold it, and how the song sounded. You know the first thing of everything potentially going wrong for you later on is if you find the formula you’ve been looking for, but you proceed to be using the exact same formula that got you this far in the first place, without realizing what was it in the formula that you needed to bank on to further to make it click, but instead proceed to copy everything like it was an easy, fill-in-the-blank form. You can and should do better than that.

Though that doesn’t stop me from ranking it 11th this year.

Thing is, I really expected it to be the one female pop song of the year I would have the constant impulsive need to replay, replay, yeah. Ever since the chaotic entry MV drop that occured on some random-ass Cypriot TV show where three guys talked a lot (and before that, we got a cooking show), and kept growing increasingly agitated that no one is liking their show, until at some point one of them erupted in “IN TWU MEENETS... EL DIABLO... ON UR TEEVEE”; I was really devastated I couldn’t be able to break the replay button because of Panik Records deciding to rather benefit for themselves to have the MV on their app, then on Youtube, THEN on Spotify in that order. So I listened to a few video rips that I received / had for myself, and it was a fun time... until I realized the desire to play it declined much faster than I thought it would when it actually dropped on Spotify, oops. So I can’t really let myself rank it higher, when there are at least some catchier female bangers with better overall sound, better lyrics, and better multiple-replay factor. But I can’t really settle for a much lower rank for her than 11th, anyway. Girlbanger 2021 power y’all!

That and vocally she’s actually not that bad, even if she has shown up singing her song drunk in a handful of Instastories for some event of some party house, and at the time people overreacted, but I think that at least a large audience of those same people has collectively dropped their “Cyprus obvious NQ” talks come the pre-parties.

Panik Records, when will you put the yeehaw El Diablo on streaming? Now THAT’S a version that has replay value, and I might never get bored of it instead :(

Approval factor: Yeah, there exists some for me in it Follow-up factor: CyBC did one of the nastiest in terms of following up their 2020 arc of “Bring Your Artist Back for Revenge Year” that was 2021, straight up ditching Sandro probably right after Eurovision was done (well it doesn’t look like the case because CyBC published a statement later, but I sense that it might’ve been the case), because “Running” wasn’t doing so well with the “YAS QUEEN” branch of the Eurofandom. Which sucks because Sandro would’ve actually been down to be asked again for Eurovision, as he revealed it to NikkieTutorials during many of her interviews with last year’s class of. “Agreement from both parties” my ass, unless Sandro secretly realized that like Tom Leeb, he was too busy for 2021 Eurovision, which I doubt. It actually sucks imo that Sandro can probably be considered as even a forever non-returnee, because Sandro is more of German roots than Greek, and if we learned anything about the Mukuchyangate 2021, is that Germany will never send a returning artist, at least one that didn’t represent their country first and foremost. So Greece could only ask Sandro nicely only if the contest comes on to Germany, I guess? How do you think they decided on getting Stefania, who still ever so regularly appears on Dutch music, to represent them this year? So on that regard the follow-up from CyBC stinks, eventhough I think that entrywise the follow-up was rather decent, at least in the usual Cypriot way of sending female pop (going from “Replay” to “El Diablo” which I like more than “replay”), and eventhough I’m falling out of the hype for Cyprus I once used to have, their 2015-2021 entry streak had entries that I largely feel positive for overall, so in that regard, the follow up is decent. Qualification factor: In a year of Semi 1 Female Banger Slaughterhouse, Elena goes out in my eyes with several scratches, but not enough to completely kill her chances. If anything, given the divisiveness of Ireland’s rehearsals, Elena is likely to obliterate any last memory of Lesley Roy any first time viewer has ever had, except for her stage graphics. Even if Elena’s staging will not be as mindblowingly cartooney as the last, once a bop comes on, everyone forgets the slower song and gives into the bop, at least that’s how the draws work when choosing what insignificant song to put on 2nd and wedge in between the opening banger and some lesser-key banger, right? I know that “Replay” barely qualified, but I find “El Diablo” slightly better, and it all goes well, it will barely just as qualify as well. Because in a Semi 1 Female Banger Slaughterhouse, she can’t be the losing one, really.

INTERNAL CORNER

I already told everything that was noteworthy about Elena’s journey in previous sections, honestly.

• That I said that CyBC likely ditched Sandro right after cancellation just like Hooverphonic ditched “Release Me” should they have had a chance to keep or toss their entry. It doesn’t present itself as the case, but I just feel like it is.

• That the song was revealed on a Cypriot talkshow where three dudes were aware that we were waiting for “El Diablo”, trying to throw some gratuitous English our way, hating that we didn’t like our show, but promising that “El Diablo” MV will be shown in “TWU MEENETS”, which wasn’t but worth the wait eh?

• That people were cackling at Zara Larsson joining in the talks of Elena’s MV having aspects of her own song’s MV plagiarized.

• That Elena performed her song in a private-ish event when drunk and having heaps of fun and people cried that it was gonna be a NQ.

And do I really need to elaborate about the local Cypriot church scandal? It just so happened that a bunch of people read into a song’s title so much, thought it was rude of their country to sing about the devil (eventhough the bigger offenses made here is the gratuitous Spanish more than anything), and hoped that the broadcaster will disqualify the very song they okayed to be internally chosen because they are displeased with it - and if it’s not disqualified, they even threatened to burn the headquarters down. No, really. That’s like the most amusing part of that whole spectacle. Imagine burning a broadcaster headquarters down for a song... if I did it for every favourite of mine that lost to other broadcasters, the broadcasters would run out of locations to rent, because everything else good is pre-occupied or the ashes of their lost headquarters staring back at them.

Imagine being toxicly Christian in 2021... How long until Elena’s face gets photoshopped on the main protagoniste of The Unholy?

ANY LAST WORDS?

Even if I’m with this song, part of me kind of wants me to fail to make Cyprus realize that their formula is starting to wear thin and they got to be somewhat of a versatile nation in Eurovision if they want to be on the radar of not just one specific niche. But then again, they learned nothing when they flopped with Tamta, because she sneakily qualified as opposed to failing even harder than Tulia, ah well. Will they ever learn?

But why would I openly wish this to a top 11 song of mine, oh dear. Good luck Elena, may God be on your side, I guess. :P