#very him. hope he rots away stuck in place believe it’s healing him

[hongluboobs]

Bound king new md abno gave me Hong Lu vibes so I started drawing. Event dialogue dropped on the wiki midway thru drawing and my opinions were proven correct immediately ! I’m soooo true and right always :)

(original abno under cut if u haven’t seen it)

(you have a choice whether to declare the fabric bandages or chains)

[sporadiclilbook]

May I request some hcs of Dimitri and a caring! Reader please? like they think he's just their friend and is looking out for him? Like sending him food, asking if he's okay and all that stuff, only because he saved their life.

Sure can anon! I hope you like this

Yan!Dimitri x Caring!reader

Pre-TS

Let's just say, as a fellow Blue Lions student, he saved you during a mission.

Immediately you started to feel like you owed him a favour. Even though he said he's just looking out for his fellow student, and in a way, his citizen. So you decided to become sorta like his unofficial retainer. Kinda like Dedue but without the fighting.

You started to notice how he is tense all the time. So you started to ask everyday how is he doing. It's a simple and small gesture but he's glad that someone cares for him. Especially when that someone is you.

Whenever he had his headaches, you would fetch him some remedy from Professor Manuela and when the whole Flame Emperor thing happened you were there to listen to him.

Were it not for you, those voices in his head would've made him go insane so early. With all of the things he went through, your presence felt like a saving grace from the Goddess.

Felix, knowing how unhinged he is, warns you to not get too close to the boar prince. You brushed it off as Felix being rude as usual but that was your mistake.

You've became one of the people Dimitri care about. With everyone that he has lost, he can't even bear the thought of losing you. He wants to be with you. Or to be clearer, he's a fool in love for you.

But one day he hear Sylvain talking to you during training. He was ready to belittle Sylvain for disturbing you during time when he shouldn't but he can't help but eavesdrop a bit.

"So, (Y/N), you and your highness?"

"What? Sylvain, no! I only see him as a friend...."

"Then why are you so caring for him? Making sure he's okay and everything....Come on there has to be something."

"Because he saved my life and I intend to return the favour Sylvain! It's the least I can do."

Hearing this made him quite sad. You only saw him as a friend. A friend that saved your life. He wanted to be more than that! He wanted to be the one you love and cherish. To be the one by your side for as long as time allows it. Because you're the only one who can tame this beastful thoughts of his.

But he's not easily deterred. He will not give up until he has you. He will do whatever he can. He'll slowly spend more time with you, guilt tripping you a bit in the process. You wouldn't want to abandon him, right? Do you not feel grateful for the time he saved you?

He's even more protective of you in the battle. Dedue has been at his side but now he also has you. You try your best to help him and in turn he tries harder to protect you. Quite easy with his inhuman strength. Your kind-caring heart is no place for such a morbid atmosphere.

Your fellow Blue Lions are.....quite amused at his blatant crush. They'll try to tell you (Except Felix, he's the only correct one telling you to keep your distance) that he clearly has a thing for you but your answer remains the same, you only saw him as a friend. But soon enough, he'll change your mind.

"Thank you for staying by my side. I can't possibly imagine a life without you."

Post-TS below (Azure Moon spoilers)

Ah, this is where things gets more awry. With his sanity barely intact and the war going ablaze across Fódlan, he can't help but descend further. One of the thing that was still pounding some sense into him into staying alive was the fact you were possibly still out there. He won't believe you're dead until he saw your own rotting corpse.

But as the 5 years slowly goes by he can't help but think you're dead. Because he wasn't there for you. Too weak. Too late. Your voice haunts him. In his sleepless nights he kept muttering apologies to the ones that was dead, especially to you.

"Where were you Dimitri?"

"My path ended....because of her...

you know what you must do, don't you?"

"Avenge my death.....spill Edelgard's blood."

"Of course (Y/N), anything....for you...my beloved."

After the resurface of Professor Byleth he was hellbent on making Edelgard pay for your 'death'. Even if it's the last thing he does. But it all changed when all of his classmates reunited. He felt his dead heart twitch at the sight of you. Alive and well.

After disposing of the vermins that plagued the monastery, suffice to say he was quite scared to meet you again. He's a monster covered in blood but you were still ever the same caring person you were once was.

But you approached him anyway, worried about his well-being. He wanted to tell you to go away but he seems to be unable to say it. The words was stuck in his throat. He missed your benevolence so much.

He allowed you to continue as normal. Bringing him food, checking in on him. Honestly, Professor Byleth was grateful to have you around. The man won't budge at all from his sulkings but he seems to listen to you a bit. Even managing to drag him to the dining hall sometimes.

Back then he's afraid of showing his ruthless side but now he's basically putting it on display. His enemies crushed. Your assailants obliterated. He wanted to show you that he was capable of protecting you. Of course you were quite shocked at the display of his monstrous strength but it was war. And yet you can't help but feel sorry for the enemies who were unfortunate enough to cross his path.

But with time he slowly started to heal. After the death of Rodrigue, he becomes less bloodthirsty. Even more so with the return of Dedue (unless you didn't do the Duscur Paralogue). After finally taking down Edelgard, he can finally confess. And he won't take a no.

Courting after gruelling war isn't really the best time so he'll take it slow. Until the moment when he confessed, you will have no other choice but to accept. Even if you deny it.

You still saw him as a friend until today? What about those memories of you fighting together? The moments where you cared for him and when he protected you? Please just love him.

You better not love anyone else because they will end up dead somewhere. If you still reject, albeit with a different reason, he will still try.

Oh, it's because he's a royalty and you're a commoner? Fret not he's the King of Faerghus now, YOUR king. The people can't disobey him now.

Hm? You're from a small noble house? Then perfect! None will ask why he wants to marry you, it'll go smoothly.

Aside from that, the amount of PEER PRESSURE of people telling that you two does look good together is also one of the factor. Can't you see the king is in love with you? Surely you don't want to break his poor heart! He's been through a lot you know.

In the end, no matter what, you will end up marrying him. But he won't let you out of the castle ground at all. He's afraid that something might happen to you. At least you can still enjoy a fresh breath of air in the gardens even if there was some handpicked guards watching you.

You were his everything. You were his fuel to live on. He's not the very best with affection but he loved to hold you close to him. It gave him some reassurance that he didn't fail to save you. The Goddess gave him a second chance and he swore not to failed it.

"I'm glad you're here with me, my beloved."

[god-of-dust]

since i already posted Rising Sun, i thought that it would be interesting to show part of my writing process for it. this is part of the first, unedited draft that i wrote without any finesse and then rewrote completely. notice the “send help” bit XD

He waits until Aang's finished with his mantras before speaking. “Can I have your opinion on something?”

“I'm listening,” Aang says, voice deep and resonant.

“The anniversary of the genocide will be in a few months,” he begins, unsure on how to approach the subject.

Slowly, Aang exhales, rolls his shoulders and neck and opens his eyes to look at Zuko. “Yes.”

“I'd like to make it an official day of remembrance.” He passes a hand through his hair, gathering his thoughts.

“That's... incredibly thoughtful, Zuko. Thank you.”

Zuko scratches at a bit of sealing wax that's stuck to his desk. “The power I have means nothing if I don't use it to right the wrongs that my family has done. To be honest, there's a lot that needs to be mended, especially when it comes to your people, and even for this anniversary I have no idea what to do. What's the appropriate way to do this?”

“In truth, I have no idea either.” Aang briefly clutches his beads. “Now that the war is over, I have more space to think about what happened and how I want to honor my people so that their teachings aren't forgotten, but it's—well, a lot.”

“I was thinking about theatre—a play that tells the real story, what truly happened that day, instead of that bullshit militaristic propaganda we've been fed during the war.” Zuko offers cautiously.

“That could work. Can I think about it some more?”

“Of course you can. But, um, on the topic of propaganda... there's also something else I've been meaning to ask you.”

“There's always something else,” Aang says, and even though his tone is neutral Zuko still flinches. There's unconcealed tiredness in those words, one that Zuko is well-acquainted with; long nights spent wondering if the demands of his title will pile up and pile up until they swallow him whole, followed by long days where he brushes away the bruises under his eyes and puts on his best diplomatic face to attend to those very same demands.

“I'm working with my advisors to completely rewrite the school curriculum. They've been a great help, but for all their genuine interest they've been indoctrinated about Air Nomads as much as anyone else in this nation. I want kids to be taught about your culture, and for that I need you.” Before Aang can reply, Zuko speaks again. “I know that I'm asking too much. I know that this would be yet another responsibility you got saddled with... but you're also the best person possible for this.”

Aang's smile is a wry, bitter thing that makes Zuko's chest ache like a hollowed out tree. “Not the best. The only one.”

“You're not the only one. I could recruit some of the Air Acolytes if you think it's a good idea.”

“No, that wouldn't be enough,” Aang says, shaking his head minutely. “They're passionate scholars, and their presence soothes the part of me that was afraid that any hope for community had been lost. Still... they can never get it completely. There are things that can't be taught, only lived.”

There's nothing that Zuko can reply to that. No words will ever be enough to restore what has been destroyed and taken away from Aang; as much as that wound appears to be scarred and healed, Zuko can see that there's a well of grief that Aang doesn't let anyone get close to.

Some gaps can never be closed, but others can.

He rises from his desk and crosses the distance between them, kneeling before Aang. They're at the same height now, and Zuko gently presses his forehead against Aang's; after a small moment of hesitation, he places a hand against Aang's cheek. This tentative touch is all he has to offer.

“I wish I didn't have to ask this of you,” Zuko murmurs, eyes closing in surrender, thumb stroking soft skin.

They breathe together like this, slipping into a state of shared equilibrium. It doesn't erase the pain, but it makes it bearable. A thing that they both can carry together.

“I'm the last airbender. I won't disrespect my people by running away. Besides, I'm the Avatar, and my voice carries authority that I'm meant to use exactly for reasons such as these.”

Zuko sighs. Outside of the window, where the sky is beginning to darken, a handful of stars begin to emerge from its expanse. “I want more than anything to see you at peace, and yet I find myself burdening you with heavy choices, over and over.”

“Your choices aren't easy either, Zuko.”

“No, they aren't. But then, I'm honor-bound to rule this nation to the best of my abilities, regardless of my wishful thinking about how easier it should be.”

Aang squeezes one of his shoulders, reassuring him with a simple touch.

I know how it feels. You're not alone.

And Aang does understand, better than anyone else. The feeling of suffocation that comes with the high stakes involved in any misstep, the anxiety that has taken permanent residence under Zuko's ribs ever since his coronation. He never speaks about it, not out loud, and he's glad that he doesn't need to.

Aang puts a hand on the back of Zuko's neck, lightly kneading the lingering tension away.

Why is it that Aang makes it easy to accept a touch so loving and tender? He'd struggled to accept his uncle's hugs and comforting pats, feeling unworthy of his freely given affection.

Aang doesn't owe him anything. And yet here Zuko is, unmoving, his own palm still cupping Aang's tranquil face, fingers tracing absent patterns on it. Thoughts slip away, awash by the simplicity of this moment.

"Be here, Zuko. There's a lot we must do, a lot that's been appointed onto us, but now we have this."

"Thank you," Zuko whispers, and he means it.

The pressure of Aang's hand on Zuko grounds him. They breath as one, and for a moment they are one, a single essence.

“The first time I entered the Avatar state I experienced visions of the world that can't be expressed with words,” Aang says. “I saw the oneness of all things. I saw impermanence, the mutable nature of everything. Going back to being myself, with a body, after that... It took a bit of adjusting. Okay, a lot of adjusting.”

“How did you do it?” How can a person contain all that? is what Zuko wishes to ask, though he doesn't quite dare.

“I don't know. It's an apparent contradiction that I have yet to come to terms with. I have a duty as Avatar Aang that I'm meant to uphold, while having witnessed that, ultimately, I have no separate identity at all.” An exhale, long and deep. “Sometimes it feels meaningless. Why bother, why struggle, when we are all one and the same? But it's what we're here to do, what I am here to do.”

“You're the most selfless person I know.” It tumbles out of Zuko's mouth, unfiltered. Aang is... all that.

At Aang's age, Zuko had only cared about firebending forms and maybe his crush on Mai. He'd still hoped for his father's approval. Then there's Aang, a hero, a survivor, who's seen more than any person would be able to bear; the most profound loss, the glory of victory, and the ultimate detachment from it all.

It's impossible that this larger-than-life being can be so unassuming. That he has love for Zuko, so much that his scarred heart can drown in it.

Never has he felt so cherished, with no strings attached, no familial bonds, no hidden treachery glistening behind constructed gestures.

His chest isn't hollow anymore. It feels full, the fuller it's been in a long time, overflowing him. The naked affection he holds for Aang is humbling, devastating.

Aang has the supreme quality of making Zuko feel like he belongs. They belong together, as strange and different as they might be, as conflicted Zuko might feel about it. It doesn't matter.

When Aang talks about oneness, this is what Zuko can compare it to. Their mingled breaths, Aang's hand on his skin. That time at the Sun Warriors temple, along with now. They have everything. They are everything, and when they're together, Zuko can believe that they can achieve anything, overcome any struggle.

There's no obstacle big enough to stop their combined strength.

Is this what unconditional love is? The complete, utter perfection Zuko feels?

Nothing can mar this. Not when Aang is with him.

“I want to be there for you. I want to do everything in my power to provide reparation, to acknowledge the harm that's been done to your people, to offer my effort to make it right again... but I don't know how. I need you, Aang.” He stares into his eyes, gold meeting gray. “I need you to teach me. To tell me if I'm doing it wrong.”

“Okay,” Aang says, simply. “I'll be your advisor in this.”

“I'm so sorry that I'm asking this of you. I'm sorry that this is yet another burden piled up on top of your other responsibilities.”

Aang sighs. It's not a sad sigh, nor a frustrated sigh. Just... a deep exhale. “Someone has to do it. Might as well be me.”

“I wish you didn't have to.”

“Wishing is pointless. We might as well act on what we have.”

Zuko shakes his head. “I still can't accept the things that I suffered through. I haven't forgiven my family for what they've done. My father is rotting in prison, and he deserves it. For what he's done to me, to you, to this nation. The fact that you can be so calm about it... how? How can you be so calm?”

“Forgiving is not forgetting. What has been done has been done, and it's still impressed in my memory and will always be. But punishment serves no one.”

“So he should just... not pay for what he's done? Where's the justice in that?”

“Justice is meaningless. Justice is the illusion of balance, based on false ideas of truth.”

“Aang I don't fucking get it. He's a genocidal maniac. Send help.”

“The pain he's caused can't be mended through punishment. It cannot be solved in any way. We can only acknowledge that pain and make sure that it doesn't happen again. And... I'm glad that you're thinking about this. It warms my heart that you feel this way.”

[wiltking]

no one asked for this but here’s a brief explanation for every song on my burakhovsky playlist. it includes brief lyric translations and breakdowns.

disclaimer; ive only played classic and i havent completely finished it either. also im not 100% fluent in russian, but i do try my best.

---

yellow love

all i feel is celestial desire a distant joy is dancing all around me all i see is yellow in the spring air how beautifully the color worked itself in

the only track on this playlist that's in english but it was too good to leave out. the most obvious connection is the color yellow - a nod to the yellow tone of areas that have survived infection and become safezones for a day. the comfort of walking through one of those yellow zones and knowing that you're safe, at least for a moment.

it also sets the foundation for a few other songs down the line with the celestial theme - the feverish celestial pull of love.  

---

океан // ocean

Ты видишь, что взгляд мой усталый // you see the tiredness in my eyes Мой друг, верни мне покой // my friend, bring me back to peace Мой друг, верни мне покой // my friend, bring me back to peace

i know there is no ocean in the steppe. but if you substitute for steppe for ocean in this context, it works well enough. and if you think about it, a sea of grass is still a sea. and more importantly this song is about a desire for peace. about having no where to go back to but the place you are currently in. and wanting to stay here, forever and ever.

Hо я не вернусь, я весь твой // but i won't go back, i'm all yours

and that part just gets to me.

---

мякоть // pulp (the meat of fruit)

я вырастил сердце на грядке // i grew my heart in a garden надеюсь, оно там в порядке // i hope its okay there я вырастил сердце на грядке // i grew my heart in a garden просил поливать его часто // and asked to water it often

this whole song is a goldmine and i could go through it line by line but to keep it simple i see this song being about the time when daniil inevitably leaves town on gorkhon, goes back home to his dear thanatica, and yearns for the heart he left behind. and he knows he left it there, it was a conscious decision, but it still pains him in a distant way.

и мякоть, и мягкость, и нежность // and pulp and softness and tenderness созрели довольно поспешно // ripen rather quickly но я не тороплюсь его слушать // but im in no hurry to listen to [the heart]

and daniil doesn't regret leaving, he knows it was the right decision because he still has so much he needs to do. but that doesn't lessen the ache. and the yearning for softness and tenderness.

хоть что-то решить - это сложно // to decide on something is difficult я с радостью срезал бы ножиком // i'd gladly sever it with a knife

and when the yearning builds - he feels stuck, torn between two places - the town and artemy, and his studies and livelihood in thanatica. and he almost wishes he could cut all ties. but he can't, because the heart doesn’t deserve to rot or wilt. because its full of pulp and softness and tenderness.

---

рельсы // rails (traintracks)

мы сегодня сонные // we are sleepy today но мы рядом // but we're near (almost there) это должно избавить от яда // this should get rid of the poison

this song connects to мякоть by referring to the destination of a train ride as a garden. in other words, the town on gorkhon is a garden, in which daniil is inevitably returning to. and only once he gets there, will he be able to breathe.

расскажи, кто ты такой, // tell me about who you are почему всегда налегке // and why its always light давай говорить // lets talk на любом языке // in any language

initially i took this as a nod to how you can play the game in russian or english, but after further consideration i like the thought of it meaning that danill eventually learns more of the kin's language, enough to carry conversations in it with artemy.

---

то что рождает весна // what spring gives birth to

Запутался, кто я и для чего создан // confused about who i am and what i was created for И что между нами случилось тогда // and what happened between us then

i think this speaks for itself.

Мы плавно перешли с тобой на «ты» // we smoothly switched to [using the casual pronoun] 'you'

re: this exchange in patho 2:

Daniil: Так что и вы не смейтесь надо мной, коллега. Как вас там… эрдэм. so, don't you [formal] laugh at me, colleague. how are you... erdem? Artemy: Ты проверял?.. То есть… вы проверяли? you [casual] checked? ... rather... you [formal] checked?     Daniil: Можно и на ты. Да, проверял. It's okay to use 'you' [casual]. Yes, I checked.

---

рассвет // sunrise

Каменный остров, танцы на костях // island of stones, dancing on bones Сын девяностых помнит, кем не стал // son of the nineties remembers who he did not become Где для него место, где – покой // where is the place for him, where is the peace Это не просто, знать, что мир не твой // this is not easy - to know that the world is not yours

i see this as mostly a song about artemy. about him returning home and coming into his role there. but i also remember when daniil told block that his father wanted him to be a soldier, as well as his Conversation with the Powers That Be. so i think there's some overlap there.

Где для меня место, где покой? // where is the place for me, where is peace? Мне нужен воздух, место и покой // i need air, space and peace.

it’s all about a desire for peace. all of it.

---

дом // home

Отпусти я не буду мешать тебе найти свой дом // let me go, i won't get in the way of you finding your home Давай верить что мы в нем вдвоем // lets believe that we are in it together

Твой путь не легче чем мой / your path is not easier than mine Давай я буду идти за тобой / let me follow you

by this point i think its obvious that i see both daniil and artemy struggling to have a place that they truly feel is home. and after the events of pathologic, they have a lot of work to do as individuals when it comes to building those homes. but as much as they understand that, they still have this connection between them that makes them want to build a home together. and its about the tug and pull of their different paths, which aren't so different after all.

---

по сырой траве // on (along) damp grass

по сырой траве // on the damp grass да босой ногой // with bare feet по услуший земле // on the sleeping earth мы пойдём с тобой // we will go with you

this one is all about daniil following artemy. its about him trusting him. following his guidance about the steppe and seeing the beauty in it.

это ночь без бесаких сомнений // this night without any doubts колыбелью станет для нас // will become a cradle for us нам подарит уюта мгновение // will gift us a moment of comfort мы узнаем любовь в первый раз // we will know love for the first time

that last line just gets to me every time and i dont think i need to say any more. its about the vibe. 

---

ускользает // slipping away

Я не знаю, где искать // i don't know where to look Где среди домов в холоде // where among the houses in the cold Где горит твоя молодость // where your youth is burning Не переживай, не переживай, не переживай // don't worry don't worry don't worry Не смотри как // don't look at how Ускользает // its slipping away

honestly i just love this song and wanted an excuse to listen to it more. but i also like to picture daniil and artemy growing old together.

---

родинки // [skin] moles

Я посчитаю родинки // i will count your moles Их больше сотни на тебе // there are more than a hundred of them on you Я заберу тебя с собой // i will take you with me Целоваться до утра // kiss you until morning

this one is just cute.

---

давай?! // let's go?!

Вверх по спирали, // up the spiral К черту все детали, // fuck all the details Все ракеты на старт... // all missiles on launch...

there's no question that this reminds me of daniil's canon ending in patho 1.

Выше и выше, // higher and higher Я слышу как ты дышишь, // i hear you breathing И хочу сказать...// and i want to say... Знаешь... // you know...

В городах, уже правды нет, // in cities there is no longer truth Давай мы улетим от всех?! // let's fly away from everyone!?

so if we're going along the line that daniil has destroyed the town, and he can't go back to thanatica and he has no reason to stay here in the town on gorkhon, and he has utterly no where to go, i like to think that he might have the desire to ask artemy to leave with him.

---

ты моё // you are my

поле, ты моё поле // field, you are my field

more steppe imagery.

душу и сердце моё исцели // heal my soul and heart

self-explanatory

двое, хас только двое // two, there are only two of us мы летнее солнце в осенней груди // we are the summer sun in autumn's chest

two halves of a single whole...and as healers they are the light that shines upon the town during the autumn sand pest pandemic.

---

забери // take

расскажи мне о радости дня // tell me about the joy of day нам бы только успеть до рассвета // we only have time until dawn

я хочу прикоснуться к тебе // i want to touch you [...] забери меня к себе // take me to your place

it's all about the physical intimacy. just a very gentle song that i think they deserve. all of studio’78′s songs have this gentleness to them, as well a very poetic lyrical sense that fits with them so so well.

---

доктор // doctor

когда доктор придёт // when the doctor comes скажите ему, что я уже мёртв // tell him im already dead пускай волнуется, щупает пульс // let him worry, check my pulse душа моя танцем в небе закружится // my soul that's dancing in the sky will spiral

"i'm causing problems on purpose"

---

кавказ / caucasus

к подножью самых южных гор // to the foot of the southernmost mountains я буду нежно целовать // i will kiss you tenderly как будто в самый первый раз // as if its the very first time

i just like to picture them traveling together. that's all.

---

tldr; it’s all about the нежность.

[kmikaelsonimagines]

One More Drink: A Kol Mikaelson Imagine

Request from Anon: hi! could u please do an imagine based on the song one more drink by GJan, if not thats totally okay:) love your imagines and hope ur well during this time

Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x 

Want to hear the song? Find a link to it just below:

One More Drink

I found out today, that he's a liar Room full of him, the smell of sorrow

Love wasn’t supposed to hurt, not like this. It was supposed to be a pleasant tingle, a sting that you wanted to stay, a wound that you wished would remain open, knowing that he would always come along and heal it.

It wasn’t supposed to be this blistering burning, the rotting smell of infection invading your nostrils, tears spilling from your eyes as it overpowered you. It made you wonder if what you had felt for him was even love in the first place, made you wonder if you had ever felt love at all in your life, ever felt that sting that made you smile.

Not with him, no, definitely not. But yet, it hurt all the same, made you feel sorry for yourself. He had been lying to you for so long, probably waiting for the moment that you found out about her so he could have an excuse to leave you. He certainly hadn’t seen upset when you told him it was over.

You tried to smother your thoughts of him with alcohol, with the music blaring in the background, with images of someone else. You thought about calling that someone else, that someone that was always there for you when you needed him, a friend who would always pick up the pieces, but another drink was pushed your way and that was enough to make you forget.

I don't want to know if she's like me Or how much she loves the way you speak I found out today, that you're a liar

Your next drink was taken out of your hands, fingertips brushing your skin ever so gently, a familiar sensation that was accompanied by a friendly face. You smiled slightly as you looked at him, at that friend you hadn’t called but had shown up anyway, knowing that your silence meant something was wrong.

One look into his eyes, full of so much love for you, for his friend, and you crumbled, tears staining his shirt as he pulled you into him, his arms around you, holding you close.

“He never deserved you, Y/N,” he whispered, “She’s got nothing on you.”

You pulled away from him at that, and his eyes widened as he realised what he’d said. You hadn’t told him about the affair, not yet, and it wasn’t like they were in contact.

“You knew?”

He tried to lie, but failed, as he always did. He could never lie to you.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Y/N-”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

You left the bar, not quite believing that you had discovered that the two closest people to you were liars. First him, and now your friend, your best friend that was supposed to be your salvation.

And I say I got stuck into you And I can't believe it, oh I'm on fire

Kol could have kicked himself. He’d just ruined everything, after all.

He’d been in love with you for as long as he could remember, absolutely stuck on you every minute of every day. It was a pleasant burning in his heart, a heat raking up and down his skin when you smiled, the warmth he felt spread through his body whenever you hugged him that reminded him.

He was head over heels in love with his best friend, and you were in love with someone else.

He’d found out about the affair only a week ago, and had been meaning to tell you. He’d just struggled to find the right words, not wanting to break your heart, not wanting to see you in pain, not the woman he loved.

The events of only a few moments ago had been enough to break him, to make his heart shatter. If only he’d kept his mouth shut, then you wouldn’t be hurting as much as you were now. He hated watching you walk away from him, clearly angry, knowing that if he didn’t run after you, he would lose you forever.

Rolling his eyes, and gritting his teeth, he sped after you, never losing the fire that was burning in his blood.

Friends told me what to do But I don't believe it, oh I'm on fire

“Y/N!”

“Go away, Kol.”

Those three words cut him to the very core. He had never heard you speak to him with such contempt, with such hatred, and it was enough to douse that fire in his blood ever so slightly. Not enough for him to back away, no, but enough for him to want to fight for you, for his plans to change, for him to tell you everything.

“I wanted to tell you, I was going to, I just didn’t know how.”

You turned on him.

“Well, for the future, how about you just start with Y/N, your boyfriend’s having an affair by the way? That usually gets the point across. I’m supposed to trust you Kol, you’re supposed to be my friend. How could you lie to me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Too late for that.”

You turned her back on him once again, so Kol grabbed your arm. There was a ferocity in the look you gave him, and that fire began to rage hotter than ever before. Words evaporated, so Kol did the only thing there was left to do.

He kissed you.

Aha, one more drink tonight Aha, one more drink tonight

You weren’t quite sure what to do when Kol kissed you.

Your eyes widened, as to be expected when you were taken by surprise, and for a moment, one long moment, you stood there, letting his lips move against yours. Here he was, your best friend, kissing you like he loved you, like he had forever.

You couldn’t ignore the fluttering in your heart, the feelings that began to form, or maybe they had always been there. Was this love? Was this what it was supposed to feel like? A heat, a pain, a sting you had never felt before.

You needed another drink.

You began to think about what it would be like if you kissed back, if you took that step with Kol, your best friend becoming so much more than that. You could picture yourself walking down the street with him, holding his hand, waking up next to him, going to sleep with your head on his chest.

You could picture yourself telling him you loved him, that moment when it transformed from a grand gesture into a pleasant part of everyday life.

The thought made you smile.

So you did the only thing there was left to do.

You kissed him back.

Masterlist

[drangues]

Impervious

The Armed Detective Agency was in something of a chaotic frenzy.

This, in and of itself, was not anything new- Day in and out, if one listened hard enough, they could hear the infuriated screams of one Kunikida Doppo as he frantically chased after his coworkers in a futile attempt to get them to complete whatever paperwork they were avoiding that day. Hearing the terrified screams of the patients- Or perhaps, the victims- Of one Yosano Akiko’s medical practices also wasn’t too out of the norm, for the area.

What was out of the norm was the genuinely fearful air about the workers of the Agency- Every single one of them was rushed, in some way, and they all bore a frenzied energy that seemed to refuse the idea of sitting still.

And if one looked into the Agency’s office space, they’d find the reason why.

xxx—xxx—xxx

There was not a single member of the Armed Detective Agency that was having a good day, and it wasn’t even in the “we’ll laugh about this later!” way that Dazai Osamu liked to torment his coworkers with. To be fair, the man himself was hardly in the mood to be pulling pranks and making a mockery of everyone- And it was all for one simple reason.

Nakajima Atsushi had gone missing.

He wasn’t sick or calling out of work for some other reason, because Izumi Kyōka had seen him before she left their shared apartment, Kunikida had called to make certain that he wasn’t feeling ill and had forgotten to notify them, and Dazai had even broken into the apartment (without asking Kyōka) after all was said and done, just to double check.

He wasn’t lost in the depths of Yokohama, because Miyazawa Kenji and the Tanizaki siblings, Jun’ichirō and Naomi, had been combing through the city on foot to make sure he hadn’t gotten sucked into any trouble, and Tayama Katai has been looking through the security records in every available place, both legally and illegally, just to cover all their bases.

He wasn’t in the custody of the Port Mafia, which they admittedly only knew because at least three separate people would have sent a message to gloat about having captured the weretiger.

(Also, Dazai had not-so-secretly pulled some of his older strings and broken out a few threats of dismemberment, but that was neither here nor there.)

No one knew where the white-haired male had gone, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that someone outside of the usual suspects had interfered in their lives.

Now if only they knew who the hell this new subject was.

xxx—xxx—xxx

When he opened his eyes, it became clear to Atsushi that something had gone very wrong between Point A and Point B on his way to work.

Admittedly, the day had started off somewhat badly to begin with- Kyōka has dropped the breakfast crêpe he’d made her on her way out the door, so he’d promised to make her a new one while she went on ahead. Then, once he’d finished with it, he’d realized that he was late, and that he was certain to get an earful from Kunikida about it. So he’d stepped up the pace and started running for the Agency, and then-

And then-

And then what?

He… Remembers, somewhat vaguely, someone stopping him as he ran. They wanted something, he thinks. Then… Nothing. The last thing he remembered seeing was-

Ah, he thinks, somewhat dully, I dropped the crêpe.

It wasn’t actually that big of an issue, all things considered- Clearly, he’d been kidnapped- And yet, that’s what stuck out at him. That’s what he remembered.

How stupid.

You couldn’t have remembered something actually useful? Your captor’s face, perhaps? Your surroundings?

Useless, awful beast-

Atsushi breathed in. Breathed out. Not right now. He couldn’t handle hallucinations right now. He needed to think. Whoever took him had to want something, right? Something from the Agency?

But what, and why-

Creeeaaak.

The door opens, slowly and loudly, and for the first time, he realized that he was, in fact in an inclosed space- He just hadn’t thought to use his senses to confirm it. He isn’t wearing a blindfold, but the light is flickering and dull- Certainly dim enough to offset anyone else, if they’d been caught. The air is stale, too, an old kind of scent that makes him think of earth and dirt- Underground, then. Maybe.

How would you know? You can barely even function as a detective on a normal day, much less when you’ve been taken by someone.

Should’ve left you to die in a ditch.

Should’ve let you starve.

Should’ve left you rotting in the basement-

With a shaky sigh, Atsushi manages to ignore the words that have always haunted him, and the figure of a man standing just at the corners of his vision. Instead, he takes in his captor.

They’re taller- Taller than him, anyways- With messy, frantically rumpled brown hair and wild, dark brown eyes. He looks like he just rolled out of bed- Or like he’s been too worked up to take care of himself.

Atsushi catches a whiff of his scent and immediately decides its the latter.

He doesn’t… Register everything the man says- He’s still groggy from being unconscious, and there’s a distractingly sickening pit in his stomach that gets deeper the more this man talks.

Dangerous.

Run.

Stay away.

Run

Run.

Run!

And it’s only as the man tightens his restraints and lets out an unhinged laugh that Atsushi realizes, with a dullness that only comes from experience-

Oh.

There’s a nail above his foot, and a few more set aside.

His captor raises a hammer.

I’ve seen your kind before.

Atsushi doesn’t scream.

xxx—xxx—xxx

It takes them four days, some intense virtual searching from Katai, and the intervention of Edogawa Ranpo (Who had been away on a mission for the Agency for the first three days, and who they hadn’t been able to contact) for the Agency to realize when Atsushi was taken, who took him, and where he might be at the moment.

Most alarmingly, alongside this information, they discover what might be happening to the weretiger while they tried to find him.

Hanmura Ryō was a man with an extensive criminal history, and the connections to make sure he never really had to suffer for it. He was well know for kidnapping and torturing people- Usually, those people are between the ages of seventeen and twenty one, and they mostly had silver or white hair. This torture could apparently range from a single day to a month, and he’d initially killed his victims after becoming bored of them.

Then his connections had proven to be powerful enough to keep him from facing any real consequences, and he took to leaving his victims alive after he was done with them- A last sort of mockery on their inability to do anything to him.

Needless to say, this information only worked the Agency up even further.

After all, Atsushi, as far as they were aware, had never really had any experience with being tortured- Which wasn’t to say that they’d be alright if he did have experience with it, but it made them worried that it would break him irreparably.

(Of course, unknown to them- Or perhaps, ignored by them- Atsushi did, in fact, have experience in that field.

It wasn’t his fault they didn’t believe him.)

Luckily, it only took a few more minutes of digging from Katai (Minutes filled with some very colorful threats from Dazai, and a distinctly murderous feeling from Kyōka) to narrow down the kidnapper’s location- And, with any luck, it will be Atsushi’s location, as well.

It’s Dazai, Yosano, and Kunikida that end up getting in the car to go on their rescue mission.

(Kyōka had wanted to go, but Fukuzawa Yukichi had very firmly put his foot down, regardless of her past experiences, and told her that Atsushi would much rather have the first face he sees upon returning be that of his little sister.

She was now waiting very stubbornly by the door to be exactly that, but he’d take what he could get.)

They just hoped they wouldn’t be too late.

xxx—xxx—xxx

Atsushi doesn’t know how long it’s been, exactly, but he does know that he’s… Surprised? At how little this is all affecting him.

Oh, don’t misunderstand- He’s terrified out of his mind at being in a place that he never asked to be in, that’s so similar to a place he hated (Hates? Hated? Dazai and Jun’ichirō had made things so confusing…). He’s terrified that he can’t bring himself to use his Ability in such a place. He’s terrified that the Agency might not come for him- Because they can’t? Or worse, because they don’t want to.

But- While the nails going up and down his arms and his legs hurt- The torture itself isn’t getting to him. Oh, sure, the hot pokers that his captor had shoved in his gut hurt something awful, and getting his bones broken, only for them to heal, was an… Interesting experience, but.

But this wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before. If anything, it was tame in comparison.

The man hasn’t even tried to sew his mouth shut, like one of the Sister had when he was a child. He isn’t being forced to do labor while injured. There’s blood- His blood- But he isn’t being forced to clean it up. Words on his own worthlessness as a human being aren’t being forced into his head, day in and day out.

Well, they are being forced there, but he isn’t sure if a hallucination counts- It isn’t anything new, after all.

It hurts- Everything the man does hurts. His body aches, and he knows that, without Byakko, he’d be irreparably broken, physically speaking.

But he’s used to this sort of thing. “This sort of thing” is one of his earliest memories.

His captor screams, frustration coating his voice as he kicks Atsushi’s chair down. The pokers twist in their wounds, making him wince, but he still doesn’t make much of a sound at the feeling.

Breath in, breath out.

The man shrieks again, foot coming down on his spine with an audible crack for what must be the fifth time.

Remember- What’s better than being alive?

xxx—xxx—xxx

It doesn’t take all that long for the trio to arrive at their location- A fairly normal house, all things considered, if somewhat rundown and a bit out of date. The key feature is, of course, the basement they’re almost entirely certain is holding Atsushi.

(Everyone hopes that’s where he is, at least. They’re pretty sure that Dazai will actually go on a killing spree if it isn’t- And they don’t think they’d stop him.)

The entire building is silent upon initial observation, though, and none of them are quite sure how to feel about that.

Is he okay?

Is he gagged?

Is he dead is he dead is he-

Yosano enters first, and Dazai would complain if he didn’t know it was to give her quick access to Atsushi if he had a fatal injury. (Also, she was generally a badass, but that’s another story, entirely.) The two men follow behind, all three quiet as they scan the first room for anything potentially alarming.

There isn’t much, really. Just some dull, ratty carpets, thrown over the floor in haste, and cracking wallpaper.

Also, there’s a padlocked door at the far end, and they could’ve sworn there was screaming of some sort.

It doesn’t take much more than that for them to break down the offending door, which was apparently soundproofed somehow, because the screaming, while still indistinct, became much louder without it. In fact, the screaming itself didn’t even stop at the noise of the door falling.

They take the stairs two at a time, with the exception of Dazai, who simply skips walking down entirely to throw himself at the bottom, hitting the floor in a neat roll as he gets back up.

All three of them get weapons out, turning to face the source of the noise.

None of them were quite expecting what they saw.

xxx—xxx—xxx

Atsushi doesn’t know what he did to make his captor so mad, but he’s kind of wishing he hadn’t done it, regardless.

The man will. Not. Stop. Screaming.

For someone with sensitive ears, like Atsushi, it’s hardly a pleasant experience, and he isn’t entirely certain what he’s yelling about in the first place- Wasn’t he the kidnapped one, here?

He shifted again, causing the plethora of nails, pokers, and stakes that his captor and pressed into his body to tug at him uncomfortably- Any bruises created from the beatings he’d been given had long since healed, much to the man’s ire, and he’d eventually chosen to keep going with the only things that left lasting marks.

(That they only left lasting marks because he wouldn’t remove them was ignored, apparently.)

His head fell back against the dirt floor he’d been laying on ever since the man had knocked over the chair that was holding him.

You deserve this.

Weak. Useless. Mindless.

It’s your own fault, couldn’t even hear him coming-

Monster monster monster monster-

He shut his eyes, trying to block out the voices hissing in his ears- But concentrating was a lot harder with the hunger twisting in his gut. His captor hardly felt the need to feed him, after all.

A foot lashed out, driving a trio of nails on his collarbone deeper into his body, and he choked at the sensation.

It still wasn’t a scream, though, and the man snarled, foot reeling back to repeat his actions-

Thu-thud thu-thud thu-thud-

THUMP.

If he’d been using them, Atsushi’s tiger ears would’ve twitched at the noises- As it stood, he simply raised his head, attempting to peer into the front of the room, where his captor typically used as his entrance and exit.

He blinked.

To be fair, he didn’t think the man was expecting the sight behind him, either, if the look on his face as he twisted around was any indication.

Behind him stood Dazai Osamu, Yosano Akiko, and Kunikida Doppo of the Armed Detective Agency.

And they did not look happy.

xxx—xxx—xxx

When they found their missing coworker, they’d expected blood- Lots of blood, to be honest. Broken bones, screaming, the whole nine yards- And they technically got that.

They just. Weren’t expecting the screaming to come from Hanmura.

Oh, Atsushi was clearly in pain, sure- His eyes were glassy, and his breathing was far to rapid for their comfort- But he wasn’t screaming or cowering, as they were afraid he’d be.

By all rights, he seemed almost… Used to this.

Had they still been too late? They’d moved as fast as they could-

Had he broken completely?

Was he just stronger than they thought-

God, they hoped he was stronger than they thought he would be-

It takes them only a moment to regain their bearings, and within seconds, Dazai has shot Hanmura in both kneecaps with pinpoint accuracy, with Kunikida moving in to fully restrain him a moment later. Yosano, meanwhile, had immediately moved to Atsushi’s side, carefully removing him from his restraints with some quickly applied bolt cutters and lock picks.

After that, it doesn’t take long at all for her to begin examining one of her newest coworkers- Senior only to Kyōka, really. With as much care as can be afforded, she begins checking the wounds around every intrusion to his body before removing them and allowing the tiger to do its work.

Better safe than sorry, she thinks. Super healing or no, if infection had set in-

She pushes the thought aside, only really intervening in the healing itself to remove any cauterized areas- The fucker had used heated pokers at some point, then.

How lovely.

(And maybe she would typically be more sadistic, but even she has her limits- And she won’t make things worse for Atsushi after he’d just spent four days being tortured.)

Luckily, it takes only five minutes for her to remove all of the nails and stakes and pokers that had been shoved in the silver-haired male’s body, and soon enough, she’s able to help him to his feet, though he’s a bit unsteady, and far, far too light.

(He probably hadn’t been fed at all, and she sees Dazai stomp a foot down on one of Hanmura’s now-broken kneecaps.

Good.)

Once he’s up, she steps aside and let’s Dazai hold Atsushi, instead- The man has been worried out of his mind, after all, and she can’t say she blames him.

True to expectations, Dazai immediately wraps an arm around Atsushi’s back to steady him again before pressing his face into his neck in a sort of half-hug, and after some rather impressive, nonverbal back-and-forth, he convinces him to at least get on his back so that he doesn’t have to walk too much.

(Healed or no, the man had still be starved. So what if he wanted to take care of him a little bit?)

A mutual look between all three rescuers tells them that they’ll talk about this later- About why Atsushi seemed so unaffected, and about how the hell to make sure that Hanmura stays down- But for now, they have more important things to focus on.

It was time to go home.

xxx—xxx—xxx

Author’s Note: Yes! It is I, Nyanon!!! Anyways, you mentioned wanting a fic of the “Atsushi being tortured” idea I sent you on anon- Hopefully this is good enough!

Also, if you’re wondering why Atsushi didn’t just turn into a tiger and eat Hanmura- It was sort of meant to be a “he’s been in this situation before, and just pliantly doing what they wanted was how he survived” sort of thing? Because Trauma. Hopefully that makes sense!

[queenofmoons67]

Upon the Qinghe Mountains

With Nie Mingjue's anger worsening, Nie Huaisang can't bring himself to believe his da-ge loves him anymore--and so he throws up a flower. And then some more.

Or, in which I caved and wrote a platonic NHS & NMJ Hanahaki AU.

Like all cultivators, Nie Huaisang had heard the warnings: Your golden core can do weird things when you love someone. Especially if you think they don’t love you back. The unrequited love can sink into your body and try to rot there, and your core will respond by forcing your own love to the surface. It’s a defensive mechanism, but if you let it reach the point of blooming, your core will be the death of you.

Being from the Nie Sect, Nie Huaisang wasn’t exactly new to the concept of one’s core being a death sentence. The difference this time was that there was a solution: Have a doctor remove the core. Hanahaki only appeared in cultivators, because only a golden core could let the flowers grow. Remove the core, and there were no flowers.

Staring at the bloody green and yellow petals cupped in his hands, though, Nie Huaisang knew that there would be no cure for himself. Removing the flowers also removed any memories of the loved one. If it had been anyone else… but he knew it was his da-ge.

Once, Nie Huaisang would have laughed in the face of anyone who tried to tell him his da-ge didn’t love him. But that was then. This was now, when Nie Huaisang frequently found himself hiding from Da-ge’s temper—and once, when Da-ge found him anyway, cradling both a bruised cheek and a broken fan. In the years since the Sunshot Campaign, something had changed in his da-ge.

Nie Huaisang would always love him, no matter what his da-ge did.

Nie Huaisang couldn’t say the same for Da-ge.

That love was the problem, he thought—his love, which made him hold on to every good memory of his da-ge that he had left with more desperation than he had ever turned towards the saber, and the fact the hard truth was that most of his memories involved Da-ge. Remove Da-ge, and Nie Huaisang’s mind would be riddled with holes to the point that he couldn’t say how much of Nie Huaisang would remain.

Smiling bitterly, he dropped the petals into a waste bin, rinsed his hands of blood, and then dumped the dirty water out the window to the ground below. Nie Huaisang would be even more useless than he’d ever been, with no memories of saber practice—always conducted by Da-ge—or lessons on politics—sometimes sat in on by Da-ge—or council meetings—held by Da-ge.

Perhaps that Nie Huaisang would be happier, with his ability to actually carry out his responsibilities taken away and the perfect excuse in his hands.

But this Nie Huaisang knew that some of the only times left that Da-ge actually smiled at him were when he did something like go to a council meeting without being dragged there, and this Nie Huaisang would hang on to those moments with all the life he had left in him.

Even if it killed him.

<line break>

The next few weeks passed slowly, but the disease progressed quickly. It wasn’t long before Nie Huaisang was having to hide at the mere sight of Da-ge, pressing fully-bloomed flowers into his qiankun pouch and wiping bloody hands on his inner robes. Any time they were forced to be together, Nie Huaisang found himself choking down flowers and hiding bloody teeth behind his fan.

And, as time kept moving on, Nie Huaisang felt the flowers growing. They began to come out with thorns, repeatedly tearing the inside of his throat. An average cultivator might have hoped to heal between each round.

Nie Huaisang was not an average cultivator. With a large portion of his core already unwillingly devoted to blooming flowers, what little he had left could only barely close the wounds.

And then, of course, the roots began to grow and thicken. They entered his lungs, and Nie Huaisang wished he’d never found out how hard it is to throw up when you’re already fighting for every breath.

<line break>

Between the flowers, the breathing, and the bloody robes he left for the servants every night, Nie Huaisang wasn’t surprised that some of the disciples began catching on. Their foreheads would furrow, staring at the pieces of evidence, before shock and horror made their faces relax just before worry made them tighten again. They would try to approach him, and he would shake his head no.

No, they could not come over. No, they could not tell anyone. No, he would not tell anyone himself. And no, his da-ge would not find out.

Nie Huaisang didn’t know what Da-ge would do if he did.

He didn’t particularly want to find out, either.

Would it be the sign of love he longed for, for Da-ge to demand he get the surgery? Or just another sign of hate and indifference?

Right now, Nie Huaisang could fight on, extending his life as much as possible, because a small part of him still believed that Da-ge loved him. Anything but the Hanahaki outright disappearing would just be confirmation that wasn’t true.

<line break>

In the end, it was Lan Xichen’s fault. The man came over to play Cleansing, which Nie Huaisang had known about, and Nie Mingjue insisted on Nie Huaisang listening, too, which Nie Huaisang hadn’t expected.

“You do look a little pale, A-Sang,” Lan Xichen noted. “Cleansing might help your body get rid of what is making you ill.”

Nie Huaisang smiled, blood, flowers, and thorns trapped behind his lips and further hidden behind his fan since Da-ge had entered the room. He nodded, and sat as far away from his da-ge as could be feasibly believable.

Even so, Lan Xichen’s brow wrinkled, his eyes flicking once between the two Nie brothers—and then he sat, and Nie Huaisang relaxed as he began to play.

And play.

And play.

Nie Huaisang tensed with each minute that passed. Jin Guangyao tended to play Cleansing once, sometimes twice, and then leave—perhaps because he played it so often? Lan Xichen had surely played it three times already, did he need to play it a fourth? Was he trying to make up for how much time it had been since the last time he visited?

By the time Lan Xichen began a fifth round, Nie Huaisang was swallowing as many flowers as he could, but the force of them colliding with the ones coming up was making him shake, and he couldn’t—he couldn’t breathe.

Fisting his hands in his robes to try and steady himself, Nie Huaisang made eye contact with the disciple standing guard at the door. It was one of the ones who knew about his Hanahaki. Maybe—?

No, the disciple shook his head and purposefully diverted his eyes.

Nie Huaisang had no hope of a distraction; he was stuck; he—he couldn’t breathe, the thorns had dug into his throat and the flowers had knotted themselves around them, he couldn’t swallow anymore, he was bent over and seeing spots, he had to get out, Liebing had fallen silent with one last sharp note, he had to stand, he had to—

Nie Huaisang vomited flowers and thorns and blood, and that was the last thing he knew.

<line break>

Nie Huaisang opened his eyes to white and blue robes.

“Er-ge?” he slurred. “What—?”

“A-Sang!” Lan Xichen cried, leaning forward and putting a hand on Nie Huaisang’s arm, as though to hold him down on the bed.

Nie Huaisang didn’t know how to tell him he couldn’t have moved if he tried; his entire body ached, though his throat was numb enough he thought someone might have applied an agent to it.

“What were you thinking?” Lan Xichen asked. “From how many flowers you threw up, you’ve had Hanahaki for a while, and to—to just sit there while I played, I—A-Sang, why didn’t you tell someone? Mingjue is furious.”

Nie Huaisang couldn’t help it: He laughed. “Da-ge? Er-ge, he—” for a moment, he hesitated, but no; there was no point in keeping his secret any longer. It wasn’t like Da-ge would be blind anymore to Nie Huaisang avoiding him, or throwing up flowers in his presence “—Er-ge, Da-ge’s the reason I have Hanahaki. I know he’s acting this way because of his qi, but that doesn’t change the fact he doesn’t love me anymore.”

Lan Xichen looked shocked. “A-Sang—”

“If he loved me, he’d be here!” Nie Huaisang added, glancing pointedly around the room. It was empty but for the two of them.

Lan Xichen didn’t look away from him. “A-Sang,” he said gently. “I promise you, your da-ge loves you very much. Right now, he’s out interrogating disciples, trying to figure out if anyone else knows who hurt you. He never believed it possible it could be himself.”

Nie Huaisang frowned and opened his mouth, but for the first time he’d ever seen, Lan Xichen bowled someone else’s words right over.

“I’m going to have a servant fetch him, and you two are going to have a long talk,” he said firmly. “I won’t let either of you out until you do.”

“That won’t be necessary, Xichen,” Da-ge said, and Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen both jumped and turned to him. He looked—he looked like he should be the one in the hospital bed, Nie Huaisang admitted to himself, even as he swallowed more flowers down. Da-ge’s braids had become frayed, and sweat beaded on his face. Probably from running all over the place. From trying to help Nie Huaisang. From caring for Nie Huaisang.

“Da-ge—” Nie Huaisang started, but then fell silent and looked away. He didn’t know what to say. What even could he say?

“Xichen, please leave us.”

There was the sound of footsteps, and when Nie Huaisang looked up again, Lan Xichen’s robes were disappearing out the door and Da-ge was settling into the bedside chair, hands folded awkwardly in his lap.

“Huaisang,” Da-ge said quietly, and then sighed. “Didi.”

Nie Huaisang’s heart pounded. He swallowed flowers. Da-ge watched the movement of his throat, and smiled sadly, and leaned forward and took his hand. He cupped it as though it was something precious. Something worth caring for. Something worth loving.

Nie Huaisang swallowed more flowers, and Da-ge said, “Didi, I’ll never forgive myself for this—no, let me speak. I’ve been silent long enough—I made you think I no longer loved you. I made you think you had to hide it, that you couldn’t come to me—and I didn’t see the signs that were there anyway. I’ll never forgive myself for that. But, Didi—” he squeezed Nie Huaisang’s hand “—if you’ll let me, I’ll show you how much I love you. How much I’ll always love you.”

Nie Huaisang could only stare. He was so overwhelmed, his core didn’t even try to grow more flowers. And in his silence, his da-ge kept stumbling on.

“It might be selfish of me, but I don’t want you to get the surgery, either. I don’t want you to lose the memories you have of us. I want you to still know that no matter what, I’ll always be there to hold up the world for you. And I know that if we work together, we can make those flowers disappear.”

Nie Huaisang couldn’t hold the tears back any longer, and Da-ge surged forward to clutch at his arms. The alarm was clear on his face, and Nie Huaisang couldn’t help but cry harder, which made Da-ge reach out to hold him, which made him cry even harder—and as Nie Huaisang cried his way to hiccups in his da-ge’s arms, there wasn’t a petal to be seen.

[vigilantesanonymous]

and the thing is, i’m not scared anymore (part 2)

In which you are a healer being held against your will by the First Order. There are legends swirling around the galaxy of a great Sith healer, one that can bring a man back to life, all without Jedi power. But to you, you’re just a girl stuck on a planet with nowhere to go, left to rot there for the rest of your life. That is, until a cocky and utterly charming Resistance pilot crashes in to save you. (So kinda like Tangled but make it Star Wars. Only kinda though.) 

Word count: 2418

In the safety of space, Chewbacca returned to pick up Poe and rather roughly dump him on one of the beds in the sleeping quarters. Poe groans as he clutches at his side, making my heart ache. 

I help him so that he’s leaning against the cold metal wall. “We’re going to have to take this off of you so I can see what we’re dealing with. Is that okay?” I ask, my fingers tracing along the hem of his shirt. 

“What? Oh, yeah.” If I didn’t know any better, I would say that Poe’s cheeks tinged pink. He sits up a little straighter so I can peel his shirt off, which allows me to really get a look at a very toned abdomen, I mean wow they don’t make Sith leaders as attractive as this guy- and of course, his blaster wound. 

“Think you can fix it?” he asks softly.

I nod confidently. “Oh, I can fix it. I’ve worked on a lot worse,” I reassure him.  “Just don’t… Y’know... Don’t freak out,” I say. 

“What a great thing to hear with a life threatening wound,” Poe jokes weakly. 

I give him a look and he shuts up. Very gently, I ease him back so he’s relaxing against the pillows, and cover the wound with my hand. I hear him inhale sharply- obviously it still hurts- but he doesn’t make any more jibes. I close my eyes, letting myself focus on healing him, feeling the flesh beneath my fingers sew itself back together just as if it had never been touched. After a moment I pull my hand away, revealing perfectly smooth skin beneath. 

I look up, and Poe is staring at me with huge eyes. “Don’t-” I start, but he shakes his head.

“This is me not freaking out,” he says quickly. He looks down to inspect where the wound was previously, running the tips of his fingers over it gently at first, and then firmly poking it. 

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”

He shakes his head no again, seemingly at a loss for words. “It feels great, actually. Like, like even better than before I got hit. Thank you.” He slips my hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I can’t believe I was just healed by the legendary Sith healer,” I hear Poe murmur to himself.

“I didn’t get to choose a side,” I correct him. “I was taken when I was young. I don’t know how they knew about my power, but they did. I’ve been stuck there for years Poe, and if I don’t help them, then they hurt what’s left of my family, or they kill me.” I sigh, rubbing at the bridge of my nose, right between my eyebrows. “You don’t understand. I was given the label of Sith- but I’m not. There’s no hope in the Sith. The only one out of all of the First Order that has ever given me any kindness was Kylo Ren. That’s it.”

“Well, I hope I can change that,” he says, and for once in my life, I feel like I can trust someone. “We need someone like you in the Resistance,” he adds. “Someone… Someone gentle. Calm. Everything is chaos all the time, with flying off here and there and having battles all the time. Every moment is so- so stressful. I wouldn’t have it any other way, don’t get me wrong. Everything I do is for the Resistance. But this,” he gestures to his side. “And you? Are incredible.”

I look down, my cheeks burning in the wake of his compliment. I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams that someone so kind and stupidly handsome would ever think I was incredible. But he treated me like a person instead of a tool. And for a lonely girl who was more often referred to as a thing instead of a person, that meant a lot. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He shifts forward, gently tilting my chin to meet his eyes. “Eyes on me, baby,” he says softly. “You don’t need to look down anymore. No one in the Resistance will treat you like they did, ever. I promise you that.”

He’s staring at me so intensely, and the air feels thick with tension. I just want to kiss his stupidly chiseled face, make him do that half smile thing where the side of his mouth quirks up on the side and-

A droid crashes into my leg. It’s different than the one I saw before, it’s smaller and orange and rolls around. “BB-8!” Poe cries happily, but I can’t help feeling a little sour that the moment is lost. “Don’t I look great? Our new healer here fixed me up good as new.”

BB-8 lets out a succession of excited beeps, its head swinging back and forth to look between the two of us. Whatever it said makes Poe laugh, that little flush coming back to his cheeks. 

“Droids,” Poe says to me with a chuckle. “I think I’m gonna head up to the cockpit and see how it’s going,” he says as he stands up, tugging his shirt on. “Care to join me? Or you can make yourself comfortable here. I would say explore the ship, but then again, Han stored weird shit all over the place in here, so that might not be the best idea.”

“I think I’ll come along. I’ve only seen space from all the drawings in the books I had,” I mention as I saunter down the hall behind him. BB-8 circles my feet, beeping and eyeing me up and down before twirling around and zooming back to where I assume the cockpit is. The ship is huge- or at least I assume it is, considering I have nothing else to compare it to. I take in the metal floors, the worn white walls, the hum of space- it’s all so new and overwhelming, but I can’t stop smiling. It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of. 

Poe leaves to go toward the cockpit, I’m assuming to take over piloting. He had only been there a minute before I hear him screaming, “What do you mean one of the engines is shot, Chewy?!” He storms back into the main hold of the ship, the Wookie following on his heels. “I heard you the first time, I know that jumping to lightspeed away from the planet saved our lives, but the engine!” He takes a deep breath and turns to the little huddle of droids and I. “Okay, change of plans. We’re gonna have to stop somewhere to get the engine fixed or we won’t be able to make the jump to hyperspace, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be stuck in this tin can for weeks while we slowly inch our way back. Tatooine is close enough; I’m thinking we lay low in a cantina, get the Falcon fixed, and get back as quickly as possible. Sound good to everyone?”

Chewy says something, looking between Poe and I and then laughing. I studied languages, but I’ve never actually heard a Wookie talk so it was hard for me to make out what he was saying. Judging by Poe’s face, he was making fun of him. 

Perplexed, C-3PO perked up. “Why would Master Poe be going on a date, Chewbacca? This is a mission, there is no time for romantic endeavors!” 

“Can it, 3PO!” 

I look between the Chewy and Poe, heat creeping up to my cheeks as I realization dawns on me. 

Poe, visibly flustered, shakes his head. “You know- I was gonna… I’m just gonna go back and pilot the ship,” he finishes before turning on his heel and beelines for the cockpit. 

“Master Poe is acting quite strangely,” 3PO remarks as I try to suppress my giggles. 

*

Tatooine is hot. Like really hot. I’m used to the sticky feeling of humidity, so the dry, unrelenting climate is uncharted territory for me. The sweltering heat makes the air shimmer, causing things in the distance to look wavy. It almost looks like they’re dancing. Everything is dry and dusty, and this planet has sand, which crunches under my feet and kind of tickles. I can taste it in my mouth, sand crunching every time I clench my teeth. Chewbacca insists on staying with the Falcon at the repair hangar with all of the droids, so it’s just Poe and I heading across the dunes to the town a few miles away. 

“I’ve never seen so much sand before,” I say as we trudge across it. The town is getting closer, everything being bathed in a bright orange glow as the suns begin to set. 

“I bet,” Poe chuckles. “That’s all this planet really has. That and Jawas.”

“Jawas?”

“Yeah, nasty little shits. They’re scavengers, and if you’re not careful they’ll strip your ship faster than you can blink. I’m sure we’ll see a few of ‘em in town. Oh, that and the dark lore creatures,” he says with a mischievous smirk. 

I give him a gentle shove, which makes him laugh. “Poe?” I ask hesitantly. 

“Yeah Sweetheart?”

I feel embarrassed, but unbeknown to Poe, I’m terrified. My mind swirls with stories I've overheard from Stormtroopers about the thugs and bounty hunters that hang out at bars on planets like these. “Will there be… Ruffians there?”

“What?” Poe laughs. “What do you mean?” “You know! Bounty hunters, thieves, crooks, people that would want to take me back to the First Order!” I huff. I feel foolish and regret even asking anything. I should have just kept my mouth shut. 

“You would have loved me back in the day then,” he chuckles to himself. “I was a spice runner. Lot’s of ruffians in that business,” he adds when he sees my confusion. “But don’t worry about it Sweetheart. Just stay with me, and nobody will bother you. I promise.” He gives me a warm grin, and my worries evaporate. 

Before we enter the bar, Poe slides an arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him. “Remember: just stick close to me, and don’t talk to anybody. We should only have to be here for a few hours.”

I nod in agreement, my heart thumping out of my chest. Poe holds onto my waist tighter as the doors open, his grip soft but firm. I try to hold in my shock at the scene in front of me: creatures beyond my wildest dreams are sitting around drinking some kind of blue liquid at the bar, while others are cleaning weapons and eyeing everyone shiftily in their booths. It’s loud, and two men near the entrance are shouting at each other over seemingly counterfeit Imperial credits. Trying not to bump into anyone, Poe weaves us through the crowd to the back where it’s a little bit quieter and more private. 

We smash ourselves into the small booth, Poe so close to me that I’m able to count the freckles that just barely stand out against his tanned face. “How are you doing, kid?” he asks, just barely audible over the din. 

“I’m okay,” I stammer. “Just- just taking everything in.” My eyes must be the size of moons; I know I’m not doing well at concealing how scared I am. 

Poe gives me a small smile, squeezing my hand. “It’s alright. Maybe just try to look a little less terrified. I’m starved, do you want anything?”

“You’re going to leave me?!” I squeak. 

“Just for a minute! If I don’t come back in 5 minutes, you have permission to scratch up my X-wing.” He starts sliding out, but I grab his hand. “5 minutes,” he repeats before disappearing into the crowd. 

Poe returns a few minutes later, his hands full with drinks and what looks like a warm stew. How anyone could want to eat something hot when it’s already scorching on this planet escapes me, but once I smell it I realize how hungry I am. “Dinner,” he says as he passes me my bowl. “I hope you like it,” he adds as he scooches close to me. 

“I’ve never had anything except Imperial rations, so I’m sure that anything will be better than those,” I say sincerely. Poe makes a face at the mention of Imperial rations; I’m glad to see that he isn’t a fan either. 

“Try it, see what you think.” Poe rests his head on his hand, his dark eyes sparkling in the dim light of the cantina as he watches me. 

I take a bite, more flavor than I thought was in the galaxy hitting my tongue. It’s warm and smokey and even a little spicy. “This is really good,” I say after I swallow. “Who knew that food was actually capable of having flavor?” I giggle. 

“You know there’s Jawa in that, right?” Poe says offhandedly as I start to take another bite. My face falls in shock, making him burst out into laughter. “I’m just kidding, no Jawa. I just had to, it was too easy.”

“Whatever, Dameron,” I huff, rolling my eyes. Poe just continues to giggle to himself, shooting me an ‘I’m sorry but not really’ kind of look. 

We stay in the cantina for a few hours, talking about anything and everything. I ask him what the Resistance is like, if Leia is nice and if she’ll like me, who this Rey person is that everyone in the First Order can’t shut up about, if she and Kylo Ren actually have a thing for each other or if it’s all just Stormtrooper gossip; he asks me about what it was like being stuck in the same place my whole life, if I’ve ever seen Kylo Ren with his mask off and if he can actually talk clearly, who the ugliest Sith is, if I remember where I came from. I feel like it’s just the two of us in that bar, the other patrons melting out of sight. The way Poe listens to me, the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m the only person in the galaxy that exists. After another harrowing story about his bravery and excellent flight skills, Poe begrudgingly mentions that we should head back. And for as scared as I was, I think I like cantina’s now. 

Chewy looks like he knows that too, with the grin he gives us as we board the ship to head back to D’Qar. 

[aminiatureworld]

Hi, may I request a quick drabble where Legolas is dying on the Pelennor Fields and Aragorn is there comforting him, cradling him? (character death please) Thankyou!!! Love your work! Keep it up

Hello! Thank you for your kind words! I hope that I may continue to live up to your expectations! As for the fic, I hope you like it! Unfortunately I’ve not seen the movies in a few months I think and the most recent books I’ve read have been the Silmarillion and Beren and Luthien, so if something’s off please forgive me! I hope you enjoy reading it and once again thank you so much!

Also Ao3 link will be in reblog if you prefer that format

           There was something almost sickeningly ironic in an elf who was felled by an orc. They were two sides of the same coin after all, one a being of pure energy, the other a festered, twisted version of the first. And now one had spread their rot to the other, for the arrow embedded beneath Legolas’s collarbone was sure to bring infection, if it hadn’t already torn at a major artery. Death never seemed a reality to the, relatively young, elf. Of course Legolas knew that there was no guarantee this wouldn’t happen, for this was a battle for the life of Middle Earth itself, and casualties were inevitable. Still, as he felt his knees buckle underneath himself, as his vision began dancing in specks of impossible colors and he felt himself falling, falling, falling, Legolas knew that death was coming for him, whether he’d prepared for its embrace or not.

           Aragorn knew that the arrow had landed of course, but for a moment he’d not truly believed it. There were few times that the ranger had allowed himself to deny his eyes, for he’d always been alone and in danger, and life had never tried to hide from him how cruel the world could be. Still, Legolas was an elf, fluid and dangerous; he wasn’t supposed to be the one who fell, wasn’t supposed to be the one to give his life to this cause. So, though Aragorn felt himself begin to run, heard a distance scream, a calling of Legolas’s name, he didn’t truly accept that this was happening, that death was arriving and taking the elf, his elf as Aragorn had come to think of him, away.

           He knelt down in the dead grass, aware that this wasn’t the place for a scene, that there were still riders charging and the battle was still being fought fiercely, but not caring, for that all seemed distant, sounded in his ears as if it were happening on an island miles and miles away rather than right around him. The elf who was curled up on his side was sputtering, his chest heaving, causing the shaft of the arrow still stuck in his chest to shake violently. At a loss Aragorn pulled the elf to his chest, wrapping his arms around Legolas, who in turned grabbed onto the man’s arm. “We’ll get you healed. I promise,” Aragorn spoke all in a rush, the words he both desperately wanted to say and yet to bury at the same time flying out. Legolas was smiling weakly and shaking his head, but Aragorn had to continue, had to give the dying elf hope, had to give himself hope. “I’ll carry you, I know that we can find someone on this gods forsaken field who can heal you. I won’t have…” he couldn’t get those words out, they stuck in his throat like rocks, “you’re the best of the fellowship, and we can’t have you fall behind.”

           “I’m not falling behind.” Every word seemed slow and deliberate, and to Aragorn at that moment the ability to speak elvish seemed like a blessing he didn’t deserve, for at least his companion wouldn’t have to make the effort to speak in human tongue, could be allowed to communicate in the language of stars and silver. It seemed like an odd thing for Aragorn to focus on now, the beauty of the words that were leaving Legolas, the way his voice made them sound musical, even though they were raspy and dulled. “I’m… I’m going ahead. I’m sorry, it seems that you must continue the next part of the journey without me. Not alone. Never alone. But I must go ahead and I must wait for you in another land, in the Halls of Mandos.”

           “But I cannot go on.” Aragorn heard his voice break, felt steaming tears running down his cheeks, that seemed to eat away at him, as if they were made of poison. An odd empty feeling was coming over him, and he felt a blast of fear run through him as he wondered if he weren’t taking too long, if he wouldn’t be halfway through a phrase when the light left the elf’s eyes. “You promised you’d be there when I became king. I won’t become king unless you’re there to help me. I refuse, I’ll not have it.”

           “There will be others.” Legolas made a grimace that seemed to be almost a smile. “You cannot stave off destiny. Not even for me. You know that.” He winced then and for a moment Aragorn forgot his protestations, for Legolas was dying, truly dying, and the worries and cares of Arda had nothing to do with those about to leave its lands.

           “Never mind that.” He shook his head. “You’ll be there. I know you will. Even if you leave for a time, you’ll be there. Those who go to the Halls of Mandos don’t stay long, and don’t speak to me of exceptions, contrariness is a cardinal offense.” Legolas huffed out a laugh, but his eyes were becoming glassy, and he seemed to Aragorn as if he were already half into another realm.

           “It’s, it’s burning more than I thought it would. I… I don’t want to leave you. I wanted to be there. I wanted always to be there. I’d rather not go. I know I’m only going on ahead. But I’d rather not go. My ada, what will he think.”

           “He’ll be so very proud of you, they all will. For all you’ve done they’ll sing of you in their great halls. You’ll be alright. And they’ll sing of you, whether you go on ahead or not. And I’ll never forget.” Aragorn wished he could say something more, say something that truly conveyed the worth of the flickering soul he was holding, but words seemed impossible, no matter how he tried the words he was looking for seemed to dash out of his grasp. He gazed back at his companion, who was shaking his head softly.

           “Ada would never be so proud as that. But, I hope that he’ll wait for me, as I know he’s waiting for her, I hope he’ll wait for me. I hope, I hope everyone will. I’m not ready. I’m scared.” Aragorn held Legolas tighter in his arms. A sob was forming in his throat but he was determined to hold it back, determined Legolas shouldn’t see such a broken figure as he was led away.

           “He will. Everyone will. I promise. It’ll be alright. It will be alright, you’re only taking a journey, only going on an adventure. I promise we’ll be waiting at the end of it. You’ll only be going for a visit. I promise. And I promise you’ll survive it, and come and see everyone… see me. And then you’ll scold me for all I’m doing wrong in the kingdom. And I’ll scold you for making me keep my promise without you.”

           “Can’t take it back now.” Legolas sounded almost petulant, and it made Aragorn want to cry all the more.

           “I suppose not.” He tried a laugh but it came out dead and sharp, like the grass they were sitting in.

           “No.” The elf laughed. “No you can’t. But I forgive you for trying ahead of time. I’ll miss you. Maybe you most of all. Don’t tell them. It’s my secret. It’s…” he paused, and for a moment his grip tightened on Aragorn, painful and burning like a brand. “I feel… light.” He breathed out a soft sigh, a smile playing on his lips, and Aragorn, putting his head on the elf’s chest, let himself finally be carried away by the current of anger and despair and grief that ripped through him, as unforgiving as the cold figure that had carried a piece of his heart away.

[seeaddywrite]

overcome by shame, can i ever change?

part 3/6: five times Alex stopped Michael from doing something stupid, & one time Michael returned the favor.

warnings: for this part – grief, allusions to depression, alcohol abuse, self-loathing, abuse of a police officer’s position, the usual. 

you can also read/follow on AO3, if you prefer. (the formatting is 110x better & includes italics where they are supposed to be!) i’m not making any promises about having the next part up tomorrow because this work week may kill me, but i’ll get it up asap. 

Less than a month later, Michael’s slumped against the wall in the Chaves County Sheriff’s station. The view from the cell hasn’t changed since the day Michael and Isobel gave Max hell for healing Liz Ortecho in front of it, and the sight gives Michael a painful expectation of seeing his brother walking through the door at any moment, uniform and disappointed scowl in place, self-righteous lecture at the ready. But that’s not going to happen, so Michael’s swollen eyes are closed. The feeling of loss eases, if only a little, and keeping his eyelids shut helps against the steady throb in his cheek and ribs, too. 

It also allows him to ignore the look burning into him from the desk across the room, where his arresting officer sits. The young man is new, desperate to prove himself -- fuck, it actually looks like he’s shined the badge on the front of his uniform. He’s wet behind the ears, too goddamned eager to show how much better he is than guys like Michael. 

Michael knows that’s why he’s still sitting here. Sheriff Valenti would’ve let him go by now, shaking her head at him in wordless disappointment, just as she had the last few times he’d found himself in here after Max’s death. This guy doesn’t give a shit about Michael’s grief, though. Doesn’t even know about it, since only a few have been told the truth. Kyle’d insisted on bringing his mom into the loop after Caulfield and discovering his father’s role in it, and Michael and Isobel had been too numb to argue for more than a few minutes. 

The sense of those eyes on him starts to chafe, and Michael forces his eyes open to meet the Deputy stare-for-stare. He knows the picture he paints: the black cowboy hat perched haphazardly on his head, the insolent tilt of of his chin and shoulders, the sprawling pose he’d adopted against the wall with his legs crossed in front of him. It’s an image he’s cultivated for the last decade of his life. The rebel. The drunk. The outcast, challenging anyone who dares to get too close. 

Most people never bother to look beyond the facade, and Michael usually prefers it that way. Today, though, it rubs him the wrong way. He’s used to Max being the one to pull him out of the drunk tank in the morning, accustomed to the lectures and the insistence that Michael is worth more than this, more than the booze and the fights and the disappointment in everyone’s gazes when they looked at him. Those damned speeches had always made Michael homicidal; Max never seemed to understand that what they’d done to Rosa had killed any chance of a future for him just as surely as it had killed the girl herself. To Michael, Max had always seemed unaffected, infuriatingly numb to the truth of the crime they committed and immune to the consequences, and his insistence that Michael deserved to move forward, simply because he had, only ever made Michael resent his brother.

Finally, the Deputy seems to have enough of their staring contest. Michael’s eyes flicker open at the scraping of a chair leg on the floor, and he watches with a blank expression as the man strides across the floor with the sort of bow-legged strut used men with more ego than common sense. He tips his chin back to meet the man’s gaze, squinting through the swelling around his eyes, but doesn’t move otherwise, letting the man come at him first, instead.

“So,” he says, and Michael’s eyes dart to the too-shiny badge on his chest. Simmons. The name is vaguely familiar, like all names in a town this small, but Michael doesn’t care enough to try to figure out where he’s heard it before. It’s not like it actually matters. “Your third bar brawl in two weeks. I’d be impressed, except that’s nothing for you, is it?”

The sneer in his words is expected, and Michael only rolls his eyes. “Slow week,” he drawls in reply, ignoring the shooting pain caused by moving his jaw. “I’ll make sure to throw a few more punches next week just for you.” 

Simmons huffs a disdainful laugh, and reaches back to take a stack of paperwork from his desk. “Unlikely,” he says, flipping a page in a file. “I know that you’re used to special treatment, Guerin, but I’m not Valenti. I don’t have a soft-touch for hopeless cases.” 

Michael snorts. “Yeah? You want to go tell her she’s a soft-touch to her face?” He doesn’t think much of the law, never has, but he knows that Michele Valenti is far from gentle. She’s fair, and usually pretty by-the-book, if Max is to be believed, but she’s as tough as nails when needed, and if Simmons hasn’t learned that yet -- well, Michael’s pretty sure the Sheriff will enjoy showing him how wrong he is. Michael can only hope he’s around to see it. 

Apparently, Simmons doesn’t like Michael’s flippancy. His brows draw downward into a pinched, angry expression, and he leans in close, close enough that Michael can see every carefully steamed inch of his impeccable uniform. The image jolts something loose in Michael’s mind, dragging unwanted memories of Max’s first days on the force to the front. 

Isobel had insisted on re-ironing Max’s slacks so they wouldn’t be wrinkled for his first shift. Michael’d been at Max’s for god-knew what reason, since he hadn’t even been able to look at his brother that soon after Rosa’s death -- but Michael had been there as Max put that uniform on for the first time, watched as determination filled his expression and inflated his chest and shoulders. Determination to make up for the wrongs he’d done, to atone for the sins he’d committed by helping others, as if he could somehow undo the horrible thing they’d done with good intentions. 

Michael had burned with fury at Max’s naivete, with jealousy, for his ability to move forward when Michael himself was stuck, suspended in that moment, day after day. 

It’s funny. Michael had always thought that the year after Rosa’s death was rock bottom -- yet here he is, still trapped, still furious and heartbroken, with no one to blame but himself. 

“You’re going down this time, Guerin. Assault, at the very least. That guy you were beating on had broken ribs, and there’s no way he’s going to drop the charges -- and I will personally see to it that someone claps you in cuffs and throws you in a cell to rot.” Simmons slams his hand against the bars, hard enough to make the entire cell rattle, and Michael blinks away the remnants of the memory to look back at Max’s replacement, lips curled in a sneer. Blood trickles from a split that hadn’t quite closed, yet and down his chin, but Michael doesn’t move to wipe it away. 

“That what gets you off? Guys in handcuffs?” he drawls. “I’m flattered, officer, but you’re not really my type.” And that is an understatement. In fact, comparing Simmons to Alex is an actual insult, as far as Michael is concerned -- not that he should be thinking of Alex right now. Or ever. 

Simmons’ face flushes with anger, and Michael allows himself a small, triumphant smirk. He knows he’s signing his own arrest warrant with his behavior, but he’s known that for weeks. Eventually, all of his sins would catch up with him, and he’s done trying to outrun them. 

Much to Michael’s regret, Simmons gets ahold of his temper quickly; his hands clench at his sides, and there’s a vein throbbing visibly beneath his carefully tousled blond bangs, but his voice is calm, almost cloying pleasant, when he speaks again. “Ah, well that explains things, doesn’t it?” he muses, and the knowing tone in his voice makes Michael wants to punch him hard enough to break that Colgate smile. “I knew Evans was disappearing your paperwork - every time someone tried to prosecute you, it would all just vanish, or the plaintiff would just suddenly withdraw all charges. It was obviously Evans -- I just hadn’t been able to figure out why he’d risk his career like that on a nobody like you.”

Michael struggles to make sense of that information, tries to fumble it into the schema of his and Max’s relationship for the last decade, but the pieces don’t fit. Max had always been the goody-two shoes, so by-the-book in dealing with Michael’s indiscretions that it is impossible to believe that he’d literally been tampering with the paperwork to keep him out of jail. Michael had always just thought Max had pulled in favors with Valenti, or used the ‘old friend’ card over and over -- but this? Had Max really gone to such extreme lengths to keep Michael out of jail?

“But if you two were fucking before he skipped town, well. That makes a hell of a lot more sense, doesn’t it?” 

White-hot rage greys out Michael’s vision, and he’s on his feet against the bars before his mind catches up with the instinct. The feeling is senseless; the insane assumption should be something he laughs at, uses to deride Simmons’ detective work, but Michael can’t summon any humor or snark to throw at him. Hearing Max’s name from his asshole replacement is too much, and Michael’s had all he can take. Power builds in his hands where they’re pressed against the cold metal of the bars, humming through him and causing a ringing, metallic buzz to echo through the small room.

He can’t do this. He has to stop, needs to push the power down and keep it hidden, but Michael’s so removed from his own body in that moment that he can practically look down at himself and see the tension turning into a wavering aura of power in the small cell. 

“That’s enough,” a harsh voice snaps, and both Michael and Simmons’ attention shifts immediately to Alex Manes. He’s looming in the open doorway, blocking all view to the administrative section of the office, an air of authority around his camo-covered shoulders that makes Michael’s breath catch in his throat.

In some ways, Alex is as familiar to him as the parts of his truck, or the smooth surface of the ship fragments he spends his nights with, but while he wears that uniform and that particular expression -- the one that not only demands instant obedience but expects it -- Michael can’t help but feel like he’s staring at a stranger. And after years of limited contact and heartbreak, that’s likely how it should be. Michael almost wishes it could be that simple. Instead, he’s fairly certain that despite everything, he could still pick Alex out of a crowd of millions from miles away. Something in his chest always thrills to Alex’s presence, drawing Michael’s gaze to him even when Alex is the last person he wants to see. 

“What the hell are you doing back here, Manes?” Simmons demands, crossing his hands over his chest and straightening his shoulders in an obvious effort to look intimidating. He’s got an inch and several pounds of muscle on Alex, so it should work, but in comparison to Alex’s hard expression and relaxed but ready body language, Simmons is nothing. Alex certainly doesn’t think so; he stares fearlessly back at the Deputy and raises an eyebrow, a challenge inherent in the minuscule movement. 

“That’s Captain Manes, actually,” Alex corrects definitively. “And I’m here because the guy he hit—” Alex nods toward Michael. “— is Air Force. He’s being reassigned effective Monday morning with a black mark for excessive drinking and brawling in public, so he won’t be pressing charges.” 

Alex presents a set of papers to the Deputy with a flourish, a hint of the attitude Michael had fallen in love with a decade ago shining through in the movement. Simmons gives him a long, hard look, then snatches the papers from his hands, all but tearing them with unnecessary force. While he reads, Alex looks around him to Michael, a silent query on his face.

Michael blinks slowly, taking stock of his body and the energy that has receded somewhat at the sight of Alex. He’s sober enough to wonder, this time, if he’ll always have this reaction to the other man -- if he’s doomed to only ever feel calm and safe around someone who’s so tangled up in some of the most negative, traumatic experiences of his life that Michael doesn’t know how to separate Alex’s comforting grip with the vice around his heart when he thinks of Caulfield. Of his mother.

Right now, he can almost convince himself it doesn’t matter. Michael’s too relieved to see Alex, too grateful for his intervention, to feel anything else.Taking a long, slow breath, Michael peels his fingers away from the bars of the cell and takes a step back. The metallic hum in the room stops completely, and as long as Alex gets him out of there without Simmons making any more comments about the kind of man Max was, Michael thinks he can avoid this situation turning into more of a disaster.

“The military doesn’t have any jurisdiction in Roswell,” Simmons says a moment later, his chest once again puffing out in righteous indignation. “Guerin’s been picked up three times in the last two weeks for the same offense. We don’t need your guy to press charges; I’ve got plenty of evidence to keep him in lock-up.” 

Alex’s eyes narrow, and Michael almost feels sorry for Simmons. Almost. 

“Really.” The word is flat, loaded with insinuation. “So this has nothing to do with the fact that you lost out on the  position at this station to Max Evans? And then lost out on the last open position for Evans’ partner because he said he didn’t want to work with you?” Alex’s expression is carefully blank, but Michael can read him well enough to know that he’s ready to go for the throat. 

It shouldn’t surprise Michael that there are large chunks of Max’s life he knows nothing about. The two of them hadn’t been able to get past what happened to Rosa and the way it was handled, and that crack had led to nearly complete fragmentation in the intervening years. There’s no chance of fixing it, now, no way of knowing if they could have regained the closeness they’d shared for so long, because Max is dead -- but somehow, Michael is still learning things about his brother that make him want to put his fist through a wall. How many times had Max risked his career for Michael by destroying documents and evidence? How many people had he run off from the position as his partner to protect Michael? And why had he done it? Protecting their secret is one thing, but fuck, how is Michael supposed to take that information in stride?

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simmons blusters, but Michael can tell the Deputy knows that he’s been beaten. Alex doesn’t go to battle without all of the facts on his side, without an ironclad plan, and Simmons had lost before they’d even begun. 

Alex snorts. “Sure I don’t,” he says amicably. “Why don’t we ask Sheriff Valenti, then? If all of your evidence on Guerin is by the book? I’m sure she’d be happy to back up one of her deputies and kick me out, if that’s the case.” 

Michael doesn’t know if Alex is bluffing, which almost certainly means Simmons can’t tell, either. He waits, aware that he should be more concerned about the outcome of this grudge match than he is, until Simmons growls, “Fine. Get him out of here. But the next time --” 

“You’ll throw him in cuffs and leave him to rot, yeah, I got it,” Alex interrupts, his tone suggesting that if he weren’t in uniform, he’d be rolling his eyes. “Keys.” 

Simmons slaps the keys to the cell into Alex’s extended palm and stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Michael watches, silent, as Alex allows his airman persona to fade back into the gentler, less composed version of himself. “I hacked the cameras before I came in, just in case,” he says, and gestures at the lock on the cell. “You still need me to let you out?” 

A moment later, Michael has released the latch on the cell with a tendril of thought and stands in front of Alex, chin raised daringly as dark eyes take in his injuries. “We should go before that guy comes back,” is all he says, and Michael trails him out of the precinct and into the cool night air. Michael takes a deep breath and slouches back against the wall, eying Alex. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say or what’s expected of him now; hell, he doesn’t know how to interact with Alex on a good day, anymore. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Michael says after a moment, the words stiff. Anger would have been better, but Michael can’t seem to summon it back now that it’s gone. “It would’ve been fine.” 

Alex shoots him a skeptical glance, but doesn’t argue. “I’m going to take that as Guerin speak for, ‘thanks for getting me out of jail,’” he snipes, and hits a button on his keychain, making his SUV blink its lights from a block down. “Come on. Your truck is still at the Pony, I’m guessing? I’ll give you a ride and you can pick it up tomorrow.” 

There isn’t much chance to argue, or Michael’s too tired to try. He trails Alex into the SUV, grateful despite himself for the unwavering presence at his side. His brain is still trying to process the fact that Max, despite ten years of distance and resentment, had still been protecting him. It’s a bizarre juxtaposition with the assumption that Max had only ever done anything to protect him in order to protect their secret. Max had fucked up so many times over the years: he’d left Michael alone and scared in foster care, had only listened as Michael whispered confessions of pain and fear of the families he lived with as a child, had pushed him into taking the blame for Isobel’s crimes and allowed him to give up on the one chance at a future he had -- 

Michael hates looking backward, and hates the fact that he understands Max so much better now that he’s gone. His brother had never been human, but he was as flawed as any of them, and yes, he had made mistakes. But how many of those mistakes had seemed unforgivable because of Michael’s own unhappiness? How much of his resentment toward Max had sprung from Max falling from the pedestal Michael had put him on? 

The hand that had, until recently, been numb and scarred, flexes against his thigh. Michael will never know what Max was thinking, that night. He’ll never be able to ask questions, or try to mend the rift that he’d helped created between them. 

Michael will never have a brother again, and the loss feels fresh, now, as if the experience with Simmons had ripped a new wound over the infected one still oozing in his chest. 

“Michael,” Alex says quietly, catching his attention more effectively than if he’d stood up and yelled. It’s rare to hear his first name from Alex, rarer still to hear it in a tone that borders on affection. They’ve avoided that sort of relationship for years, both aware that they’re in the middle of a balancing act, and one wrong move could send them careening over the edge into a world of hurt. “You’ve got to stop doing this. I’m not going to be able to use the same tricks next time, and . . .” he trails off, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he psyches himself up for whatever else he has to say. “And Max isn’t here to stop them from making sure you end up in prison.”

The words emerge in a rush, so quick that Michael has to let them process before he understands why Alex is so nervous. No one who mentioned his brother had walked away unscathed, lately; it was a surefire way to send Michael spiralling. 

But it hurts less, somehow, hearing the truth from Alex. Maybe because he knows that Alex understands grief, understands the feeling of anger that follows in the wake of abandonment, or because he knows Alex isn’t throwing words around to hurt him. So Michael doesn’t react; he simply turns his head to look out the window and watches the New Mexican desert fly by. 

It’s clear that Alex doesn’t know how to read Michael’s silence. He rushes on, obviously determined to get the words out before Michael loses his temper. “Think about it, Michael. If they get you in a jail cell, how long is it going to take before your cellmates, or a guard, or someone realizes that there’s something different about you? What if you get hurt and sent to medical? Who’s going to stop them from doing tests and figuring out that you’re not human? My father would love that kind of opportunity, Guerin. Please, for the love of god, don’t give it to him.”

Michael swallows, an old fear rising in his gut as he considers the scenario Alex spins for him. Jesse Manes. Experimentation. Tortured, like his mother and the rest of those poor souls hidden away at Caulfield prison. He shudders, hands digging into his jeans hard enough that his nails score the tender skin beneath. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Alex’s hand is resting over the back of his left one, a gentle slide of skin that makes it easier for Michael to breathe. He almost misses the tremble in Alex’s fingers, caught up in his own emotions, but it’s there, and impossible to ignore. Michael glances up at Alex, surprised to see an anxiety nearly matching his own on his face, and wonders how often he’s ignored the way the people around him are feeling in favor of drowning in his own feelings. 

Michael flips his hand and squeezes Alex’s back, and triumph sparks in his chest when he catches the barest hint of a smile flash across full lips. 

“I know you don’t want to talk, okay, I get it. Believe me, I get it.” Alex’s words, when he speaks again, are full of rueful self-recrimination, and again Michael is struck by his own selfishness. He’s not the only one mired in trauma and hurt. But despite his own pain, despite the way Michael has treated him, Alex has been there when MIchael needs him. Every damn time. 

“But the way you’ve been acting lately -- shit, Guerin, it’s fucking terrifying. The drinking is one thing, but the fighting? The total disregard for your own health and well-being? That’s not what Max would’ve wanted for you. Do you think he spent the last decade of his life bailing you out of jail because he wanted you to rot there? Do you think your mother died convincing you to run because she wanted you to die out here instead?”

Michael’s fists clench in his lap, but his powers don’t react. This is Alex, after all, the calm in the middle of his storm, and something in Michael refuses to allow anything that might bring him harm. He grits his teeth against the spiral of guilt and shame that threatens at Alex’s words, and reaches for the door handle, ignoring the fact that the car is still moving. Alex shouts and slams on the breaks, leaving them both startled and staring at each other across the console between their seats. 

“I just want to help, Guerin,” Alex says, obviously biting back a furious comment at Michael’s stupidity. “I’m not asking you to love me, or date me, or whatever it is you’re so set against. I just want to make sure you don’t end up dissected or left to rot in one of my father’s torture chambers. Can’t you just let me?” 

The fight rushes out of Michael with a long breath, and he slumps back in the car seat. His head tips to one side, and he looks straight at Alex with a resigned, wary expression. “That’s the problem, Alex,” he says dully. “I do love you.” As much as he could love anyone at the moment. “But I can’t do anything about it. Not right now.” Maybe not ever. 

Alex’s face is washed pale yellow in the headlights of an oncoming car, and Michael doesn’t miss the hurt etched into the lines of his face, though it’s gone in a moment. 

“I’m not asking you to do anything about it,” Alex says quietly. “I’m asking you to come back to my place tonight, get some sleep, and eat an actual meal in the morning. We can figure out where to go from there.” One large hand rests on the gear shift lever, waiting for Michael’s go-ahead before he puts it into drive. 

Michael hesitates, part of him determined to climb out the door and trudge back to the Airstream to suffer through another night alone. But fighting Alex never gets him anywhere, and Michael’s tired of trying to stand on his own. If Max’s loss has taught him anything, aside from the fact that he does care about the self-sacrificing dumbass, it’s that Alex meant it, when he called Michael his family. And maybe, on a night like tonight, it’s not so wrong to want that support, no matter how selfish it feels.

So instead of following his instincts to run, Michael catches Alex’s eye and nods.

[ianpriceisnotright]

it’s time the kid got free - an ian price playlist for his past, present, and future

i. when she looks at me and laughs, i remind her of the facts. i'm the king of rock 'n' roll completely... hot dog, jumping frog, albuquerque! // like it's gold, you're a prophet. someone's gonna profit. // pawn on every chess board, used 'til they get bored. smile when they yell, 'checkmate.'  // i'm supposed to be happy and free. everyone is talking to me. most of the nights, i lay on my phone, watching the world... nobody knows the sadness i hold. nobody sees what's about to unfold. // i been thinking about you and i wanna go do something nice. i can't take rejection and that's why i pay the crazy price. if you ain't ecstatic i feel like i blew it big time. i'm a little manic, i just wanna see your big smile. nothing means more to me than when i hear that you're proud of me. // i'm wasted, losing time. i'm a foolish, fragile spine. i want all that is not mine. i want him, but we're not right. // i should've stayed at home, 'cause right now i see all these people that love me but i still feel alone. // i had a dream i got everything i wanted. not what you'd think, and if i'm being honest, it might've been a nightmare. // if it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad?  // somewhere i lost some of my innocence, and i miss it. stay up all night thinking it's twisted, my life's been survival of the fittest, but i did it. // they tell me i've got something more, and oh you could be loved. but i don't want the lights to find me when i'm dark and lost but never on my own... they said you'll never be alone again, but i don't think you understand me or what i fear... i wonder how it feels to burn out young. // this is everything i wanna say, but can't say yet. and everything i wanna change, but can't change. // they said, don't meet your heroes, they're all fucking weirdos, and god knows that they were right. because nobody loves you, they just try to fuck you, then put you on a feature on the b-side. and who do you call when it's late at night, when the headlines just don't paint the picture right? when you look at yourself on a screen and say, "oh my god, there's no way that's me..." i remember this girl with pink hair in detroit, she said, "you gotta promise us that you won't die 'cause we need you" and honestly i think that she lied. // who put the world on my back and not in my hands? just give me a chance... think i'm reaching my limit. can i exhale for a minute? // i hold you so proudly. traumas, they surround me. i wish you'd just love me back. // i think the kids are in trouble. i do not know what all the troubles are for. give them ice for their fevers. you're the only thing i ever want anymore. live on coffee and flowers and try not to wonder what the weather will be. // i found love in a place i thought was hopeless, now i'm glad i stayed... but i still say i don't wanna be here. i don't wanna be here, i don't wanna be here, take me away. // i'm a pretty boy livin' on the west side, livin' so loud, you could never hear me cry... no more fears and no more lies, i tell myself to sleep at night, amongst these hills, baby. // god, i wonder why we bother. all the glamour, and the trauma, and the fucking melodrama. 

ii.  i can fake a smile, i can force a laugh. i can dance and play the part if that's what you ask... but i'm only human, and i crash and i break down. your words in my head, knives in my heart. you build me up and then i fall apart. // i thought if i was older, i'd have less on my shoulders. i can't tell if i'm sad or bored. most nights i am not sober. l.a.'s making me colder. i've got voices i can't ignore... took my patience for weakness. i wish i would have had the choice. // rip me open, you'll see you're not the only one who's hopeless... don't let me let you down. hey, baby i'm not your superhuman, and if that's what you want, i hate to let you down... it's such a long and awful lonely fall down from this pedestal that you keep putting me on. // and just like a tale my dream was a scam. you waited smiling for this? i am burnt out... oh maybe i'll talk about it. i'll never talk about it. // i'm like a paper cup with a pin prick. you can fill me up but i'll only stay full for a while... you say you understand me well i don't get you at all. it seems everyone around me is so good at faking it that i don't know just how to act around you. // i'm afraid that i've gone vacant, and i don't have time for your equations... when you push me like hell, that's when i start to despise myself. // honestly, what will become of me? don't like reality, it's way too clear to me... we are what we don't see. we miss everything daydreaming. // i was in but i want out. my mother's love is choking me. i'm sick of words that hang above my head. what about the kid? it's time the kid got free... i'm sitting pretty on the throne. there's nothing more i want, except to be alone. 

iii. you peaked. sorry to kick deep, but heard your story before it's not unique... why can't you just play your part? you were supposed to be somebody. you were supposed to make more money. // these are the reasons i drink. the reasons i tell everybody i'm fine even though i am not. these are the reasons i overdo it... to make up for these habits, to survive this sick industry. // why do i waste so much time on things that i can't fix? all these things i hold inside i just can't forget. thought that i could let this go, but i ain't know that it would be like this... baby, i'm impossible to be with. // said my spirit doesn't move like it did before. said that i don't look like me no more. i said i'm just tired, she said you're just high... oh, i make you cringe now. don't i make you cringe? // you're so shook when i look right past you, so surprised you don't get an answer... ain't it weird to feel small 'n stuff? oh, come on, just say something. no, go ahead, tell me, what do i need? // these people don't heal, these people don't feel. these people aren't real so make me this deal. won't you gimme love when i'm gone? // all these voices in my head get loud. i wish that i could shut them out. i'm sorry that i let you down. yeah, i guess i'm a disappointment... paranoia, what did i do wrong this time? that's parents for you. very loyal? shoulda had my back, but you put a knife in it, my hands are full. what else should i carry for you? // i would rather rot alone then spend a minute with you. i'm gone, i'm gone. and you can't stop me from falling apart, 'cause my self-destruction is all your fault... doesn't matter what i do, nothing's gonna change. i'm never good enough... how could you, how could you, how could you love me? when all you ever gave me were open wounds? // oh and i tried to start caring like you and like them when you said that i was killing myself. i healed everything but my shame. // and at once, i knew i was not magnificent. 

iv. and they tell you that you're lucky, but you're so confused, 'cause you don't feel pretty, you just feel used... and they still tell the legend of how you disappeared. how you took the money and your dignity, and got the hell out. // i know that i'm stuck in this misery. guess i'm not enough like you used to think, so i'll just run. // out on my own, kicked out of the show. i'll take what's mine and i'll go. // you've got a second chance, you could escape it all... you could still be what you want to. // i'm a goner. somebody catch my breath. i wanna be known by you. // i had a hole in the middle where the lightning went through it. told my friends not to worry... didn't want to be your ghost. didn't want to be anyone's ghost. // some say love is a burning thing that it makes a fiery ring. but i know love as a fading thing, just as fickle as a feather in a stream... i will not open myself up this way again. // you can't take back what you've taken away, 'cause i feel you. i feel you near me. // have you forgotten what you have and what is yours...? there's so much more, you can reclaim your crown. you're in control. rid of the monsters inside your head, put all your faults to bed. you can be king again. // somebody said you disappeared in a crowd. i didn't understand then, i don't understand now... i was solid gold, i was in the fight. i was coming back from what seemed like a ruin... now i only think about los angeles when the sun kicks out. // first night of your life curled up on your own. looking at you now, you would never know. // i do believe it's true, that there are roads left in both of our shoes. // shout out to the old me and everything he showed me. glad you didn't listen when the world was trying to slow me... had to fuck it up before i really got to know me. // what if who i hoped to be was always me? and the love i fought to feel was always free? what if all the things i've done were just attempts at earning love? 'cause the hole inside my heart is stupid deep. 

[thecardsimagine]

Of shipwrecks and seafoam

Summary: Let me tell you a story about a pirate and a merman, finding a love that goes beyond insecurities and death. Let yourself be taken away onto a journey about doubt and secrets, understanding and a bond that even goes beyond the deep blue of the ocean.

Pairing: Merman!Julian Devorak x Pirate!Reader (Nonbinary) Rating: Mature because of swearing and suggestive content Warning: Blood, Death, Killing Genre: Romance, Drama, Alternate Universe ____________________________________________________________

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Near-death experience, Self-loathing, Vomit ____________________________________________________________

a/n: The last complicated chapter, I swear! Please enjoy it, it is a little different than the others because I wanted to convey a certain amount of insanity creeping up on our beloved reader. I hope you all like it still!

Tagging: @julians-chest-hair / @sireennotsiren ____________________________________________________________

Chapter 10 - Alone on the deep, dark Sea

The first two days were splendid, at least you thought they were. You rationed your food properly, you made sure to always have water and not burn too much wood. The wind was merciful to you, and you barely had to row at all. On day three, you found some salvage and gained a linen bag and some planks. You were happy, it was alright.

Sometimes, you missed the calm nights at the beach. When it got dark, you felt scared by the water bubbling around you and what could lurk underneath. But you slapped yourself whenever you got too scared, sure to keep you sane.

On day four, you got seasick for the first time. You had never gotten seasick before. You were a pirate, how pathetic could you be. Day five and you felt like shit all day, barely able to stay on course and only doing the minimum necessary. On day six, you felt a little better and found out that one of the dried fish had rotten, so you flung it into the ocean where it immediately sunk under the surface. You wondered if something might have lured, but you shook off the feeling with some better judgment.

By day eight, you had disposed of all fish because all of them had started to rot and attract flies. You only ate fresh ones now. But it was okay, not as bad as expected. Cut yourself once trying to gut a fish, and the salt water stung when you put your hand into the ocean. The thought crossed your mind that with some seaweed, it might heal better, and you hated on yourself for thinking about it.

The day after that, the sun shone for the first time without a cloud in the sky. It felt amazing, and you took it as a godsend sign that your actions had been right. For a while, you sunbathed, then you went back to rowing your raft forward, always in the same direction. Soon there would be land you hoped, and you looked forward to it a lot.

After that, everything started to go under. You were able to peel off your sunburned skin. Nevermind the dizziness you felt even though you covered your head with the bag you found. You felt sick in every fiber of your being, there was just water, water, water, sun. Fish, seafoam, bubbles, water, sun. You had made it to day ten but at what price.

Ocean, ocean, ocean, ocean.

Water, water, water, water.

You, you, you, you.

God, you couldn’t stand yourself anymore.

Scooping up some saltwater to your lips, you let it rush through your mouth before spitting it out. You lost count of how often you had to throw up by now. Did you catch something from all the fish you were eating? Was it the sun? Were you seasick? You couldn’t even pinpoint the reason anymore. But it made you weak, so incredibly weak.

Not only your body was done for by now, so was your mind. You had an infection on your hand, your eye wouldn’t stop losing some kind of secretion, and you were shivering all the time even though you were burning up from a fever. The compass had long found its place on a hook unmoving for days as you just couldn’t get up and do anything anymore. It was a wonder you were still alive and had not died from starvation yet. The only thing you did take was water every now and then.

Your thoughts weren’t better. They were blaming you for giving up, for not finding back to civilization already, though you knew that it would still have taken a lot of time to get back in the first place. But they just kept nagging and bothering you as if they had nothing better to do. Kept reminding you what you could have done better to not get so sick and not get so pathetic. You just wanted them to be quiet, and with whatever strength you had, you shouted into the blue nothing for them to shut up.

And then they cried out for Julian.

Maybe it was your heart pulling the strings in the background, but your mind kept reminding you of him, told you that you were nothing without him now. That you always had run away, that you never faced your fears. Never tried to understand him, never listened. This was your punishment, it was all your fault. You were to blame, you fucked up. All your fault, all your fault, all your fault.

At some point, you managed to stop listening.

Laying on your raft you looked up at the pale blue sky, the sun roasting your body. Ah, you loved him. You loved him so much, you never loved anyone like this before. Maybe your parents, not your captain for sure. Your captain really loved his second mate, you never had a chance. But Julian-

Julian had loved you too. Every fiber of his being had loved you, even though he was different from you. Had there ever been something as amazing as the feeling of him kissing you back, wanting you just as much as you wanted him. Even if he didn’t know it, his heart hurt because you went away, he must have loved you so much if it made him feel these things. Like on a broken instrument, the words he told you played over and over in your mind, they were bitterly beautiful.

Given, you had too much time to think about these things now. What else was there to do? You couldn’t forgive his species for what they did, and you surely could never justify him helping. If he had really liked you, even just a tiny bit, had it really been necessary for him to assist still? Did he not develop a small speck of respect for humans - at least enough to hold back on experimenting on them even if it was just for your sake? Had the pressure been too much to expect this from him?

But when you managed to set these doubts aside, another face rolled into your mind: Portia. Even though you had barely listened after she revealed what was really going on, you had never spared her previous words any thought. You remembered them as something along the lines of “No one knew you were up here,” and “You are precious to my brother.” If those were true - by any chance that she lacked the ability to lie as she simply didn’t have to, and you believed her words as she was very open with you - then Julian had spoken the truth too. No matter if he initially tried to use you, he had never put you into any danger, never telling anyone about you.

You still remembered his gentle touches when he would tend to your wounds, or even just put the seaweed tighter around your hand. And you remembered all the tones he would let out occasionally, from his whines to chortles whenever he laughed. How high his voice was when he was excited, but how melodic it could be when he was serious. And you remembered the two kisses you shared, one sheepish, the other passionate. The way he immediately went for it, even though he probably still didn’t know what he was doing at all. Maybe, just maybe, because it felt right for him too.

Rolling over you hung your head over the side of the raft, spitting out what got stuck in your mouth. You loved him so much it made you sick. And he had been right. All along had he known he loved you, he even told you. He wasn’t the stupid one, telling you ‘Things he didn’t understand’! You were stupid! It had all been you! From the very beginning!

Moving back into your position, you spread out your limbs, taking deep breaths. Oh, if only destiny had some mercy on you and disposed of you now. You would never make it back alive, probably dying from dehydration and infections before reaching any shore. A storm, a shark, a freaking mermaid, anything would have sealed the deal now. Oh, you wished you could have seen Julian only once again, made sure to apologize, listened.

Forgive him. If only your heart had the chance to tell him what love is. What a lucky human you would have been if you could have just openly told him, “I love you too!” Only once, one time. But more than ever before, you were alone now. Alone on the deep, dark ocean, where you could neither see anything to your left, nor to your right, nor below, nor above. Your life was no adventure anymore. No glorious story to tell your grandchildren. It was a Tragedy, soon to end as such, you could feel it. With the last strength you had, you cried out to anything and nothing at all.

“Julian!” you screamed, tears burning up in your eyes. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for everything!” But, of course, there was nothing reacting to your cries. “I didn’t listen! I ran away again!” Your voice cracked, being overtaken by sobs. “I broke my promise, I am so sorry!” The last sentence was barely a loud whimper, pressing out with the last bit of air in your lungs. ‘God,’ you thought. ‘Just let it be over soon.’ And as if you had been heard, your eyes wouldn’t open anymore as you drifted off into unconsciousness, limbs falling to the side of your body. It got calm around you, your tears drying out. It was peaceful, but it was just as lonely, and it made you fear what was coming next. Even if it was for the better and you had tried to find some inner peace with your last sentences, it was a tragedy, nonetheless.

In your dream, you were lucid. You knew it was not the reality, but you weren’t able to determine if this was the afterlife or a simple fever dream. Back on board of your pirate ship you watched as the opposing ship crashed into it for the first time. You had had these dream before, all the time as you had build your raft but never had you been able to feel the shaking just as much as this time. You fell to the ground, and while the ship rocked up and down, you were trapped under something. A mass you couldn’t make out. It held you down, making sure you were not going to fall off again.

That part had been new. Up until now, you always had fallen down, sinking into the cold water until you could see again and would stare into the bloody faces of your comrades. But not this time. The thing pinning you down was heavy, and it was unpleasantly wet, but as fast as the shaking had occurred, as soon it disappeared, and with it, the weight. In a matter of seconds, you were back on a calm beach, like the one you had woken up on before.

Even in this lucid dream, you could not get up from the ground, having to experience how a gooey mass started to build all around you. It took up your feet first, then your legs, then your torso. In no time you were awash with it, slowly creeping up onto your face until only your mouth stuck out. You shut your eyes tighter, trying to not get it into them. After what felt like an eternity in the mass, the scene changed once more, to a wooden dock somewhere.

You just instinctively knew it was connected to the mainland, it was what you always had wanted to reach, you were finally there! Quickly, you stood up, walking over the wood, feeling it under your feet. “Where are you going?” a voice asked, and you knew it so well. Turning around, you looked at Julian who watched you expectantly. His head on his crossed arms, he leaned on the dock, his eyes shining curiously.

“Home! I am finally back!” you laughed, not believing yourself that you had really made it. “I can’t follow you there, [Name],” he calmly noted, and your laugh disappeared, being replaced by a frown. Walking back to him, you sat down, not minding him hug your body and laying in your lap. “Please don’t leave.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” you asked, wondering about it as you very much recalled him not wanting you to leave before too. “It’s dangerous. I can’t follow where you are going, I can’t help or protect you there.” His grip on you tightened, and you brushed your hand through his hair. “If only you were human,” you mumbled thoughtfully. “Then you could come too!” In your lap, he shook his head. “No, [Name]. I can’t go there.” Questioning, you urged him to look up at you. “But if you were human-”

“No,” he said firmly, pointing at something behind you. “Look closely.”

You turned around, looking into a deep, dark forest that laid behind you. There were long, sturdy vines, tall trees, lush greens. But the harder you looked, the more everything seemed to turn into dust, crumbling the longer you watched it. Soon it was overtaken by darkness, a darkness that closed in on you faster and faster, swallowing the dock whole.

A hand came up to your face, cupping your cheek and turning it to you. “Don’t go, [Name]. Living things don’t go there, and it’s not where you belong either. Come with me,” he said, taking your hand in his. With a mild panic, you looked behind you again watching everything crumbling away when you felt his tug on your arm. This time, you didn’t run away from his touch, and you gripped his wrist just as strongly, letting yourself be pulled into the water.

Immediately, you were surrounded by millions of bubbles as you sank, deeper and deeper into the blue ocean. Your eyes wouldn’t open no matter how hard you tried to look around. But even if you panicked at first, you soon realized you could breathe just fine. Desperately you touched around you, trying to find Julian, but you didn’t have to wait long for one strong arm to embrace you, resting at your hips and drawing small circles on your back. You knew it was him, his claw sharp against your skin, but he was gentle as ever, not hurting you in the least. Something, only he would do.

“It’s okay, [Name]. I am here,” you heard him say. It was odd to listen to him underneath the water. “I will make everything right, I swear. I’m so sorry for everything.”

“You don’t have to, we can do it together.” It cost you a lot of strength to open your mouth and speak. But the minute the words left your lips, it seemed so much easier. “You’re not alone in this.” You still couldn’t open your eyes, no matter how hard you tried, but you were relieved to feel his forehead against yours, the cooling sensation feeling good against your heated skin. “I love you, Julian. I love you so much, I am so sorry for what I did.”

From his throat an appreciative chortle erupted, making you laugh, though you could only huff. He sounded so pleased with what you said. “Me too, I love you too. I love you more than anything I have ever experienced before.”

“More than any other human you met before?” He chuckled, sounding like the voice of an angel falling upon you.

“More than any creature I ever met before. In fact, more than any fish I’ve ever seen before! More than any crab! More than-”

“Idiot,” you chuckled. “Idiot yourself,” he retorted quickly, though his tone of voice was playful. “How nice, two idiots for each other,” you mumbled, voice slowly fading out. “I’m tired,” you noted quietly. “That’s fine. Sleep, and then come back to me.” Moving your head up and down in a tiny motion, you concentrated on his breathing, his hand on your back. Julian began to hum softly, a fine tune you had heard before. Once you had described it as a song that your mother would have hummed to you, but now you knew it was Julian who sung for you, letting you feel his care in the form of a lullaby. The emotions you could not understand when you saw them before, spilled out in the notes he hit, and it made you live through everything that had happened no matter if it was good or bad.

It was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard.

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (46 of 46)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump​, @killian-whump​, @sancocnutclub​, @killianjonesownsmyheart1​, @courtorderedcake​, @facesiousbutton82​ <3

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’RE AT THE END!!!!!!

Special thanks again to @sherlockianwhovian​ for organizing the event that started it all :)

A million thanks to @cocohook38​ for the incredible art that I will never ever recover from! LET’S ALL TAKE ANOTHER LOOK AT PERFECTION!!! 

COVER ART 1 ~~~ COVER ART 2 ~~~ CHAPTER 1 ~~~ CHAPTER 7 ~~~ CHAPTER 12 (ART) ~~~ CHAPTER 12 (ANIMATION) ~~~ CHAPTER 19 ~~~ CHAPTER 34 ~~~ CHAPTER 36 ~~~ @sancocnutclub​ WE ARE SO BLESSED BY YOU!!!!!!!!! (**APPLAUSE AND FLOWERS AT YOUR FEET**)

Thanks to everyone who stuck with it to the end and left such amazing and supportive comments!!! I love you all!

I have an idea or two for new stories, but it will be a while before anything is near ready for sharing. In the meantime, may I humbly direct you to my previous works on FFN? 

“Or Sleep with the Fishes,” “They Never Bury Your Bones,” and “A Captain’s Heart” are all whumpy multichapter tales which I may someday also post to AO3. They can be read in any order but the latter two make small references to their predecessors so may as well read in date order.

Also @killian-whump has a wonderful collection of fics (and art!) by other amazing creators of whump so do check all of them out as well!!

________________________________________________________________

One month later…

Emma took her eyes off of the road for a brief moment to glance over at Killian, who was currently reclined in the passenger seat of the Bug. Just as she had suspected: fast asleep. She let him be, knowing that with the rough road coming up, his nap would not last much longer.

He had only been released from the hospital two days ago, Whale having declared that further recuperation could be managed on an outpatient basis, as long as he remained on bed rest and followed the prescribed regimen of medications to support his physical and mental well-being. Uncharacteristically, Killian was submitting to all of it without complaint, even though the drugs battling the brain deterioration, in particular, left him feeling wiped out and frequently sick. He had hardly been out of bed beyond scheduled short trips down the hall to stretch leg muscles and a stiff ankle, to prevent blood clots, and build strength in his recovering lungs. Apart from that, he had mostly been sleeping, although he never turned away the opportunity to have Hope nearby. Even when she was there against her mother's wishes. Killian would fix her with a tired smile, hold out a brace-encased hand, and invite her onto the bed next to him. Oreo-Eeyore usually joined them and, more than once, was left behind to keep Killian company after Hope had scampered away.

Today, Hope was attending a half-day Kiddie Cruise hosted by Captain Smee; the first two had been so popular that the Wish Realm captain of the Jolly Roger had been talked into arranging some shorter sailing excursions without the dire motivation behind it. Emma knew that Killian would have liked to attend as well, had he been a bit stronger, but they both trusted Smee and his crew, and Hope’s Auntie Alice was specifically in charge of the three-year-old this time. 

Of course, there was still a small part of both of them loathe to let her out of their sight for any length of time. Emma was getting better about it; Killian still had major difficulty, as his perverse images of her tortured little body were quick to resurface when he didn't have her physically present to counteract them. But they couldn't be near her all the time, and their errand today was not an appropriate one to include a toddler in.

Just as anticipated, as the pavement gave way to mud and potholes, Killian’s breathing indicated his return to wakefulness. He did not stir or even open his eyes, but Emma saw the telltale signs of pain and tension in the way he held himself and the very controlled manner with which he drew breath.

“You okay?” she asked quietly. “We can still turn back; you don't have to do this.”

Killian merely tightened his jaw and nodded once. And really, she had not expected anything different, but she’d had to try. 

*****

There had been much speculation over the origin of the ruined village which had become the Vocivore’s base of operations. Emma’s personal opinion was that it looked like a long-dead World War II village, and being within the borders of the Land of Untold Stories, it was likely the setting of some sort of war romance or similar BS. The bigger mystery was the origin of the monster itself, and how it had come to reside in the United Realms. She was convinced that they would never find a satisfactory explanation of that question.

Thanks to knowledge gleaned from three weeks’ worth of Exchanges, both Killian and Emma knew that they wouldn't find another Vocivore lurking anywhere nearby, and that it hadn't... laid eggs or whatever. But that possibility would have been a mere fraction of the rationale behind the village’s eventual condemnation, anyway. None of the buildings were structurally sound, and only a few could have been considered salvageable if someone had the motivation. No one did, of course. Suffering leached into every wall, broken window, and rotting ceiling, like blood stains that could never be scrubbed away. So they would be demolished, the materials repurposed when possible, and the land converted somehow; those details had yet to be determined. But today was day one of the destruction. And the church would be the first building to fall.

Killian shifted in his seat, and though his eyes were still closed, Emma could tell by the quickening of his breaths that he sensed their impending arrival.

She had almost decided not to tell him, fearing that it would upset him too much to think about that place, even in the knowledge of its demolition. But an impulse had caused her to murmur the information in a casual, gentle way the night before he'd been discharged from the hospital. He hadn't said much at first; Emma had thought that maybe her initial instinct was correct and he didn't want to even think about it. But then, later, out of the blue and in a tremulous but determined voice, he had surprised her by saying that he wanted to watch. Once out of earshot, she had discussed the idea with Dr. Whale and Dr. Hopper, who had both given a cautious green light, thinking it could serve as therapeutic. But both men had also warned that revisiting the site of so much trauma could be more than Killian could handle so soon, and thus had extracted a promise that she would keep a very close watch on him the whole time. As if she would ever do any different.

Rounding the final bend, the trees began to give way to flashes of bright yellow construction equipment. And even though she was sure she hadn't given any hint, she could see signs of increased tension from Killian, as if he could sense their proximity without having to open his eyes. The ragged shape of the church’s bell tower loomed above the village, looking even more unstable than when she'd first laid eyes on it. She shuddered with an unexpected chill. This was also her first time back; she had not anticipated that it might be difficult on her as well.

The Bug bumped up onto the beginning of the cobblestone road that paved the village streets. Newer model cars lined both sides, indicating the number of United Realms citizens in attendance that day. The liberal application of yellow caution tape blocking doors and windows gave a cheery, bumblebee mask over the pall of death still present in the doomed community. Emma glanced at Killian and found him quietly observing their progress, working visibly to keep his breaths slow and even.

A rose-dusted pigeon strutted its arrogant little way along the gutter, and Emma battled a brief but powerful temptation to swerve in that direction. A few new scratches to add to the car’s nose would be a small price to pay for the satisfaction of flattening the feathered pest. But it wouldn’t make a difference to the problem as a whole, and Emma didn’t want to cause Killian any additional pain, so she contented herself with casting mental curses in its direction as they passed.

The pigeon quandary persisted, no easy solution to be found. Current suggestions included rounding them all up and transporting them to their natural habitat in New York City, trying to get them to interbreed with regular pigeons to hopefully dilute their ability to block magic, or create a strain of avian flu that would target them specifically and wipe them all out. That last one sounded like the premise of an apocalypse movie to Emma, but with the proven-but-painfully-slow success of his treatment for Vocivore-Slave-Brain, Dr. Whale now considered himself even more of an invincible Scientist! than he had before. 

Meanwhile, the shield expanded, and Killian’s ability to survive a longer trek was worthless because even the furthest reaches of the United Realms were now stripped of their magic as well. A visit to another realm altogether was not out of the picture, but everyone, including Killian, had reservations about the effects of portal travel on his hard-earned progress, so that remained a task for the future. To be honest, at this point, not much benefit would be gleaned from exposure to healing magic anyway, though Emma would have liked to spare him the residual pain, and possibly reduce the visibility of some of his more gruesome new scars.

Later, she promised herself. When they were sure the forces of a portal would not disrupt the fragile healing within his brain and cause a relapse of the condition. Today was about his psychological well-being. She pulled into the village square and came to a halt directly in the center, a front-row seat for the crumbling of remembered demons. Maybe it was absurd to feel resentful towards a building for not falling on its evil occupant when it had the chance, but Emma knew she would feel a vindictive pleasure watching its destruction nonetheless.

*****

The car had stopped, but it was as if the church had continued moving, sliding near, swelling in dimension and darkness until it filled the entirety of Killian's view out the windshield. In fact, it seemed to fill the car itself, almost as if the car were inside the church and the church inside the car. Or maybe the car didn't exist at all. Maybe Killian didn't exist at all; perhaps it was his spirit hovering just beyond the crooked door, just out of sight of the cooling corpse it had recently vacated, now on its way to the place of white light and columns where screams no longer rent the cool morning air. 

AT LONG LAST. MY TRIPOD HAS RETURNED.

The voice was not real. Logically, Killian knew that, had drilled the facts of the monster’s defeat over and over into his mind. The words were of his own creation, filling the space where harsh dominion once dwelt. Whale and Hopper had both confirmed that enough exposure to anything and the brain could replicate sensations even in their absence.

That knowledge did nothing to combat the feelings of despair taking root within Killian now.

I EAGERLY AWAIT YOUR PRESENCE, TRIPOD, his Master seemed to say. COME INSIDE AND YOU SHALL SCREAM AS YOU’VE NEVER SCREAMED BEFORE.

Emma placed an understanding hand on his forearm, which pulsed with residual and remembered pain. A muscular, slithery tentacle; Z’s leather strap, pulling on a ring that was no longer present, dragging him where he did not wish to go, restraining him with a shattering ache that had not truly subsided even after initial reconstructive surgery. The stake was gone; its oppression remained.

“Should I tell them to get started?” Emma's gentle voice was way out of place, startlingly jarring among the torture of memories. Killian winced, filling tight lungs with shaky resolve.

"I need to go inside," he whispered, and Emma's expression of patient understanding crumbled into doubt.

“I... Are you sure?”

Killian felt his tentative nod wobble side to side nearly as much as it bobbed up and down. This, apparently, did not do too much to convince her of his confidence. Suppressing a shudder, he reached for the door handle.

“Okay, just... Hold on,” urged Emma as she hastily unbuckled her seatbelt. “Let me get it.”

Even the flash of resentment at his temporary helplessness was not enough to fully drive away the monstrous voice.

YES, it confirmed, HELPLESS. YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO DEFEND YOURSELF OR YOUR FAITHFUL MATE SHOULD YOU ENTER. BUT YOU WILL COME ANYWAY BECAUSE YOU CANNOT RESIST MY COMMAND.

Killian allowed Emma to unbuckle his seatbelt and assist him to his feet, but his eyes never left the imposing scene of nightmares before him. Though so much had changed since his last time crossing that threshold, the ingrained feelings of reluctant terror still clawed at his being as he took a wobbly step forward.

There were strangers in hard hats gathered on the stoop. Their clothing bore little resemblance to sackcloth, yet their presence hearkened back to the revolving groups of dull-eyed guards endlessly cluttering the entrance. The ones who had listened to Killian's screams, watched the tortures, suffered some themselves. And the majority of whom were now dead.

Emma waved a cordial greeting to the relaxed construction workers, who nodded back casually, their posture normal, an ordinary, calm light in their eyes. No duress. No fatalistic numbness. Killian thought he may recognize one or two, but the blurred tentacles crawling across his vision prevented a positive identification. With the hand not currently helping to support her husband's weight, Emma flashed her badge and murmured some sort of explanation, to which one of them replied something about still clearing out the interior. Occupied with fighting oppressive memory, Killian focused on remaining upright, allowing Emma to do the talking.

And then the door was screeching open in a mockery of human suffering. And then he was walking through, joining a procession of his previous selves from the first to the last, each slightly more hunched than the one before, curling inward in anticipation of the pain, less and less able to face the scene ahead. Bowing, body and soul, to the dark of despair.

A blood-tinged shaft of light illuminated a patch of paving stone at the bottom of the stairs, as if highlighting the spot he had fallen so often, had lain in utter torment, visualizing his daughter’s corpse while it was he himself who cried and bled.

The altar was gone. Dismantled, decorative facing and heavy broken surface nowhere to be seen. A few scuff marks and differently colored concrete were the only signs of its once-looming presence at the top of the steps. Other stains marred the empty floor; Killian did not have to work very hard to guess their origin.

He did not wish to get any closer, but his unsteady legs took him forward anyway while dust particles and flashes of nothing became heavy, lurking pincer and wriggling tentacle in the corners of his vision. Each time he blinked, the instant of darkness filled with ghastly mental images: sometimes the Vocivore returned, sometimes the fictional Hope which he’d been working so hard to banish from his memory. He could hardly even feel Emma’s supporting hand under his elbow, or even her presence at his side; he'd always come into this room alone, come to face its worst alone, and his subconscious mind could not reconcile the change in paradigm.

Oddly enough, though, the remembered voice remained as silent as the empty cathedral. Fragments of disjointed scenes continue to play behind his eyes, their haunting soundtrack present but muffled, all firmly in the realm of past torments and absent any current threat. Could it be that the visual evidence of the Master's lair, empty, had shut up its voice once and for all? Killian scarcely dared imagine the possibility.

Only steps away from the scuffed stairs, Killian's weakened foot caught on an uneven stone and he staggered into Emma, who silently braced him up, throwing her arm around him and squeezing in a comforting manner. With a couple of one-legged hops, he managed to regain his balance, though he remained reluctant to put his full weight back on the tender ankle. Emma glanced around and spotted an upended pew in the periphery of the space.

"Can you manage on your own for a sec?" she murmured. At Killian's unconvincing nod, she carefully ducked out from under his arm and hurried toward the pew.

If Killian had felt alone before, the feeling tripled as Emma's presence vanished. The ghost outline of the altar shimmered into view. His arm resting atop with a spike driving into the bone. His savaged body pounding against the wood while he screamed. His bloodied hand, impaled amongst tarnished depictions of wheat stalks and grapevines, shuddering as the last vestiges of life drained away.

And then, again, the image and the words, louder than ever. The old mantra. Hope kidnapped, Hope tortured, Hope dead, no hope no hopenohope…

Quickly back at his side, dragging the long wooden bench along with her, Emma recognized his distress and gently eased him down onto its surface, pulling his aching fist away from his face, quietly urging him to relax, to breathe, reminding him that she was there and that he was safe. Tears dripped onto Killian's lap as he struggled to contain his sobs. Emma knelt before his hunched form, squeezing his wrist and stroking his cheek, shedding tears of her own in response to his emotional turmoil.

After several minutes, Killian managed to drive away the demons and settled into a quivery rhythm of intentional breathing; it was the only way he would escape an eternal spiral into overwhelming hopelessness. His chest ached from the strain, his hand throbbed with the effort of holding his emotions in his fist. The volume of the wrong mantra decreased but did not abate. Still stroking his cheek, Emma murmured, 

“Are you okay?”

Killian gave a tentative nod, and he could feel the remnants of the involuntary tremors that still appeared whenever he was tired or stressed. “Just... Tell me it will get better.”

“It will,” she promised softly. “I really believe that.”

She delicately threaded the fingers of one hand inside his, gently but persistently nudging his fist to relax. When his fingers were finally uncoiled and his palm flat, facing upward, she began a careful massage of the tender flesh beneath the brace.

“We did a good thing, Killian. It's hard for us to say it was worth it. Hell, if we had known all the details, and how long it would take, I don't know that I would have been able to go through with it. But…” She leaned back on her haunches in order to look up into his face. “I've been thinking about what you said to Archie the other day, about how the scars will make it hard to forget everything. And I think… maybe that's the way it should be.”

Killian just looked at her through red-rimmed eyes. Continuing on, she explained,

"Each one represents a wound you bore so that someone else wouldn't have to. And, frankly... we'd all be dead if you hadn't done what you did. Sooner or later, in all likelihood, most of Storybrooke would be dead. So instead of looking at the scars and remembering the awful, I think you should give each one a meaning. A person whose life you saved by enduring all that pain, whom you can think about instead of the torture itself."

Killian studied her, eyes slightly brighter as he turned the idea over in his mind, and Emma flashed an encouraging smile. 

"Need an example?"

Seeing his nod of agreement, Emma ran her finger along his palm, where she knew, underneath the stretchy fabric of the brace, a pinkish-white line marked the entry wound from the dagger stabbed through and into the altar. 

"I can think of two people you’ve called your right-hand man in different situations. For a long while, that position was filled by Mister Smee." She turned his hand over and traced an approximation of the exit wound on the back. "These days, when you go sailing, it's always Henry who takes over the duties of first mate. So... you got this scar so Henry could live. And this one is for Smee." With each person named, she touched the corresponding line on his skin, so gently that there was barely a whisper of sensation in response.

A tear dripped off the tip of Killian's nose as, with head bowed, he watched his wife’s fingers brush his hand. 

Quietly, Emma asked, 

“What do you think? Helpful?”

Killian gave a hesitant, indecipherable movement of his head.

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

The word was faint, hollow with ache but also a dash of hope. Emma clambered to her feet, her hand trailing along his jawline and down until it came to rest with fingers splayed over the twin lines on his shoulder which marked the transmitter’s brutal removal.

“Side by side,” she remarked. “Sounds like Mom and Dad; what do you think?”

Killian winced a tiny smile, and she took that as his approval. Emma sat gingerly on the pew next to him and held his blunted wrist in both hands, massaging the sides once skewered by cruel metal and asking,

“Detective Jones?”

“And Alice,” he added hoarsely. Emma smiled fondly. Then she sobered and laid her hand against his chest, approximating the site of the near-fatal stabbing. It had not fully knitted into a solid scar yet, the outer layers still supported by strips of water-resistant tape beneath padded bandaging. Sudden tears sprang to her eyes as her free hand came up to tangle absently in his hair.

“And this one,” she choked out, pausing to clear her throat before continuing, “nearest your heart… this one's for Hope, I think.”

Killian's vision blurred, and a sob jolted his chest, but instead of the corpse of his nightmares, he saw the charmingly misshapen sketch of the Papa bear, cradling the lump that represented his baby bear as he protected her from a frowning monster that only the mind of a 3-year-old could conjure. He sniffed, wiped his eyes with a careful knuckle, and breathed, 

“Aye. For Hope.”

A long moment’s silence filled the sanctuary as tortures relived began to take on additional significance and gruesome mental images grew new outlines. Emma continued to make her presence known through comforting touch, and finally, over tense neck muscles, her tender fingers found two dime-sized pink discs which had only recently lost their scabs. The matching pair on the other side would be out of her view, but it was clear she referred to all four when she mused,

“I was going to say something about naming everyone in your life who could be described as a pain in the neck, but would that be too flippant?”

Surprising both of them with a quick-witted response, Killian deadpanned, 

“Well, you've already assigned both Jones and Dave, so I'm not certain that leaves anyone else who fits that description.”

The moment of levity clashed so strikingly with everything the building had to come to represent, yet it felt improbably cathartic as well. Picking up on the mood, Emma leaned in to place a kiss on one of the scars, muttering in between pecks,

“Regina?”

 Killian almost smirked. She kissed the other, saying,

“Doctor Whale?”

With a groan, he conceded that point. 

“Most assuredly.” Then he added, “S'pose we can't list Regina without the inclusion of her sister.”

“Zelena. Right. And the fourth?”

“That only leaves one, Swan. Let's see if you can name him.”

Emma truly did not have to think very hard to come up with that one. The uncontested champion of showing up at the worst possible time with tidings of woe. “Oooh! I know! It's Grumpy, isn't it?”

“Unlikely as it is,” said Killian, “this one is for Grumpy.”

Thrilled that he was taking to her idea so positively, she was about to try and make the dubious connection of "ankle biter" to Neal and Robin, neither of whom were anywhere near that category anymore, but at least he'd known them when they were... But before she could go down that path, Killian abruptly straightened and shifted positions so that he faced her a little more squarely.

"Distant friends and relations are all well and good," he said as he reached for her hand. "But there's one person immensely important to me whom we've not yet mentioned."

Emma took a slow breath. She really hoped he wouldn't be upset by what she was about to share. Placing a hand above his ear, she stroked his temple with her thumb for several heartbeats.

"Some scars you can't see," she finally began. "But are no less painful or important. So... the ones you carry in here..." Her fingers stilled, her hand an almost weightless representation of the burden he bore within his mind. "Those are for me. Because I have some, too. And mine are for you. They're the price I'm so willing to pay to have you here with me." Emma snuggled closer, dropping her hand to his back and resting her forehead against his. "It's a burden we'll carry together," she continued softly. "And that's why I believe it'll get better, Killian: we'll help each other."

Killian felt a new sort of pain at the thought of Emma's own trauma, and how she'd been dealing with it mostly on her own as he endured the grueling process of recovery. But he could not deny drawing a small measure of comfort from her words, her expression of empathy and promise of support. He leaned into her and they shared a moment of silent communication, where emotions and vulnerabilities and fears intermingled in an easy acceptance, where it was okay to have doubts and dark thoughts as long as they both clung to the shared hope of brighter days ahead. And in that moment of quiet, Killian mentally reached for the images that might one day replace, or at least live alongside, all the scenes of torture. He watched the brand scalding his palm, then thought of Granny, her false prickliness covering such warmth and generosity. That one was for her. He felt the pincer tearing at his ear and pictured Archie, patiently absorbing as much of the story as Killian was ready to tell, giving advice and professional support as needed; that one was for him. He saw himself pinned to the altar and struggling to breathe, and instead of succumbing to the imagined fire in his lungs, he clung to his tangible Hope, the ability to see her again in just a few hours, the proof of how she viewed her papa and what he had done for all of them. For Hope, he thought. Always and forever, for her.

"Which one are you hearing now?" Emma whispered into the silence, and Killian worked to direct the inner mantra as he'd been taught.

Hope, free. Hope, safe. Hope, loved.

"The good one."

Hope, free. Hope, safe. Hope, loved.

"I’m glad. What say we get out of here; let ‘em finish their work so they can smash this place to smithereens and we can go home?"

Hope, free. Hope, safe. Hope, loved.

Vocivore, defeated.

Hope, free.

Killian, free.

Free.

"I'm ready."

________________________________________________________________

[deadbydelight]

I'm in love with soulmate au so maybe a dbd killer of your choosing x reader with soulmate. Like name or the first thing they say. Would be awesome if you did Max the hillbilly with something written on him. Thank you if you do! 😊

This somehow took me so long to finish because of life being harsh lol but I did it and I made it sweet and fluffy cuz why not ? Hope you like !

_________________

Hillbilly x reader (soulmate AU)

You had heard about the rumors around the Coldwind farm. How supposedly a monster or something like that was haunting the place, how you could faintly hear a chainsaw sound if you were close enough to the property...

And you intended on discovering exactly what was in there. You were what you might say, an explorer of haunted places, you had a video channel as well as a blog where you had quite the number of followers and subscribers. You were curious and adventurous, a lot of people said that it would be the death of you... As the expression said, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

You had everything with you, a bagpack with everything necessary for exploration, a flashlight, food, water, ropes, a heavy jacket with a scarf and gloves, your phone and last but not least, your faithful camera.

"Alright guys, here I am, ready to explore the famous Coldwind Farm, you know the one ! Wish me luck!" You exclaimed happily to the camera, your breathing making cloudy pattern in the chilly air of the night.

You were well aware of the fact that no one would answer to your ask for cheering, but it was mostly for the sake of the video. It wasn't easy to stand out in all the people doing exploration stuff, let's not forget you were a lone wolf too, but you were quite proud of what you accomplished so far.

"I'll begin with a brief tour of the farm, then I'll try to get inside, so far so good, haven't heard the famous chainsaw at all... for now."

As you advanced in the unfamiliar place, you felt a shiver ran up your spine. You felt... observed. However you weren't one to back off from such a place just because you had a feeling about it.

"Damn..." you muttered as you made your way in an abandonned corn field.

You had come accross a really large tree on which several cows were hanging, grossly killed and their body pierced by hooks. You made a mental note of putting a warning for this in the video because it might shock and terrorize people and you didn't want that. You were starting to feel a little nauseous yourself, but would that stop you? Nope.

After 20 minutes of exploring you finally heard the famous chainsaw noise... But it was far from where you were at the moment.

"Urg I don't know if I'll have enough content to post this damn video... Am sure as hell ain't sleeping here" you grumbled under your breath (a bit that you would cut from the video of course).

You decided to finally go explore what remained of the actual farm, hoping that you'd find something nice and scary (some might call you crazy but hey, this was how you paid the rent so yeah). Nothing really extraordinary happened either as you went inside. The wood was creaking everywhere, eaten by thermites and the many days of rain that made the walls rot. All in all, the greatest danger here was to be killed by the farm collapsing on itself.

You sighed dramatically, deciding to stop the recording here. But as you looked down on your camera you froze. There was a very big shadow on the floor, and you knew for sure it wasn't yours. You even stopped breathing all together, a sudden wave of panic crashing through you, yet you stayed perfectly still, staring intently at your camera and the shadow. How could you not hear this guy come? Maybe it was all the noises made by the old wood, but now you could hear the mysterious stranger clearly. It was breathing so heavily, it sounded like a mix of an animal and an actual engine.

You began walking, mechanically. Acting like you didn't notice the silhouette that was clearly right behind you. It followed, walking at your exact pace so that you wouldn't hear its footsteps. So whatever it was, it had some kind of intelligence. You gulped as silently as you could, and when the abrupt noise of a chainsaw being turned on right behind you roared, you didn't think twice. You made a mad dash out of the building, throwing the camera without any second thoughts for the rents or anything video related, you just wanted to live.

The wind was cold on your teary face and it was difficult for you to run on the muddy ground, since it rained the day before that. You felt like the mud was slowing you down more than anything and you almost lost it here and there when you heard the chainsaw so close to you. In a desperate attempt, you plunged to your left as you arrived near a tree, getting mud all over you and hurting your ankle along the way. It seems like you were lucky, because whatever was pursuing you with its chainsaw literally crashed on the tree you were just nect to. It yelled, so loud you swore you could have lost an ear right here and there with the decibels. Finally, you had a clear vision of what exactly was haunting the Coldwind Farm. To your surprise it was still... Mostly human.

Still an impressive height, but its face was somehow very diformed, skin completely twisted on its face and shoulder. You could see some actual features on the face, but you could tell that whatever this guy was born as, it wasn't treated as it should have been. It's spine was totally torn and you could see that there was some effect of heavy malnutrition.

You should have run away here and there. Sprint home and never look back. But you couldn't help the slight fascination and curiosity bringing you to stay right here and observe it... No, observe him. You were now fairly sure that he was as human as you. He was still yelling, his chainsaw stuck in the tree and moving his arms wildly as if it had been... Hurt?

You got up as silently as you could, noticing that, indeed, splinters of woods were struck on his right arm. You winced at the sight, it looked really painful. You took the risk of stepping toward him, but this caused him to pay attention to you once again. He stared right back at you and you swore you lost your breathing at it.

So many emotions swirled in those pupils, almost hidden by the skin difformity. Pain, anger, sadness, confusion... But what you mostly saw was fear. He started growling at you, like an animal endangered, and it's where you noticed that even though his chainsaw was stuck in the tree and he was hurt, he still had very nasty looking hammer in his other hand, covered in what you assumed was fresh blood. You took a deep breath. After all, this might just be the end of you.

"Look, I promise I want to help you alright?"

At first he didn't seem willing at all to listen to you, still thrashing around and growling menacingly. But as you approached him while keeping your hands raised to show you wouldn't try anything he seemed to calm down. When finally you were right next to him you shivered, not exactly sure of what you were doing.

"I'll take a look at your arm alright ?"

You were sweating heavily and you could feel his ragged breathing caressing your skin. It was like trying to reassure a wild animal. You made a face  at the shards that were stuck on his arms, they were stuck deeply, blood spilling in thin tricklets. This looked painful.

"I'm going to open my bag and use some product to help you heal. Ok? Ok"

At this point you didn't care anymore, you just wanted to try to help him at least. He was still looking at you warily, but at least he stopped moving so much. You pulled some tweezer that you had in your emergency case and looked straight back at him.

"This is going to hurt. You're ready?"

He stared at you, his eyes boring into yours, then closed them, a silent way to give you the go ahead. You stopped breathing and went to work. He tensed when you began pulling out the shards but he didn't make a single sound. You almost let out a "good boy" that you thankfully kept in your head. You kept caressing very lightly his arm after each shard, trying to soothe as him much as you could.

Why did you want to help him so much? There was something in those eyes that entranced you. You saw more humanity in those eyes than a good number of people you met.

When finally you pulled out the last shard, you allowed yourself to be less tense.

"Good job. This is going to hurt too, but I need to clean your wounds."

He tilted his head at you, maybe wondering what you were doing... or why. He seemed to somewhat understand what you were saying. He grunted when you cleaned his wounds but stayed perfectly still, allowing you to work just fine. Finally you reached for the bandages, rolling it slowly around his arm. You froze as you noticed a little detail on his upper arm. There, on the malformed and bruised skin was a neat handwriting.

Look, I promise I want to help you alright?

Was this really..? You so didn't know what to do. You started panicking a bit inside. Were you hallucinating? You had lost hope of finding that one person so long ago, part of you couldn't believe it. How could you be sure anyway? This guy didn't seem to even know how to talk. You finally came back to your sense when he started to get his arm back. You didn't even realise you were gripping him so hard.

"Oh..." you blushed awkwardly, not really knowing what to say and embarassed by what you just said. "Sorry, I uh, I didn't mean to..."

You were having difficulties forming the words out of your head. Everything was going too fast. He was still staring at you, warily but also curiously. He probably had no idea of what you were doing. And to be honest, you neither.

"I need to go!" You finally cried out all of sudden, making him jump.

You didn't give him the time to react as you ran away from Coldwind Farm. You took a look back, he was still there, staring and unmoving.

"I'll come back alright?! I promise!" you yelled, and you could tell was more and more confused.

But he made a noise. As if saying "alright". This was fine by you. And come back you did. At first it was once a week. Then it became everytime you could actually visit him. You did some research on who lived here before. Turn out it was a farmer couple. They had a son named Max Thompson Junior that was never even brought to school. It didn't take you long to put two and two together, you had deduced that he had been abused by his parents, never properly taken care of and possibly never allowed to have affection in any form.

It made you sick to know that parents would reject their own kid like this... moreover he possibly was your soulmate, so that struck a chord. You still weren't entirely sure that Max was indeed your soulmate, after all he never really said anything understandable apart from noises, their intensity varying with his mood.

At first he was still wary of your visits but you warmed up to him so much, he actually got used to your presence. All that you had in mind was to see him, the more the better, the video could wait... you also discovered that he loved all types of little snacks you brought to him and you were more than happy to make him discover all the delicious food he had never even had the chance to taste before.

Once again you were off to see him, bags filled with all types of food rather than survival supplies. He was there, standing near the corn field, his eyes seemingly lost in the scenery.

"Hey Max!" You called, waving your arm around.

He jumped a bit a your voice (he was quite sensitive to sounds) but turned toward you his face lighting up and the hint of a smile forming on his mishapen lips.

"H...Hey."

You froze at the first word that were finally formed by his mouth. It had been weeks. And finally after hours of you talking to him almost non stop, even though no one took the time to teach him how to speak, he had put the effort to salute you back, just like you always did when you went to see him.

His voice was raspy and almost inaudible by the lack of use but it was there. Tears started rolling on your cheeks and your bag fell on the ground, forgotten in your rush of emotion. He whined alarmingly, not liking seeing you cry like this. Were you hurt? Did someone upset you ? Did HE upset you? His eyes were lit by  worry and panic and you hurriedly dried your tears with your arm, hiccuping a bit.

"Don't worry Max, those are not tears of sadness or pain... I'm just... so happy!"

You showed him your own arm, sleeves rolled up. There was written one small little world. One word that made you go crazy at first. After all what kind of soulmate would just tell you Hey? But right now it felt like the most beautiful word you could hear. After all, he took it upon himself to say it to you.

"You see this? This means we were made from one another !"

You abruptly ran to hug him. He didn't even move with the force but he tensed a bit, not used to the contact, but he eventually relaxed and hug you back, a light but secure grip around you. You weren't even sure if he had any idea about the soulmate thing, but somehow you had a feeling he knew. As he started slowly dancing in a circle with you still in his arms, you had a feeling that he knew.

And you couldn't be happier.

______________________

All the fluff for this sweet boy , I hope it's good enough aaaa

[gffa]

I practically read through the entirety of the STAR WARS Rare Pair 2018 Exchange and, jeez, this fandom just has its hooks in me so hard, I love these characters and this world and the wonderful creativity of the fandom! I may often go back to the same tropes that I always love, but there’s also always something new and interesting, some new corner to explore, some new character or relationship to give focus to, some new AU to help fix things. And fandom is really great about giving me the things I want to read a hundred times over and finding cool new things! So, here, have some both! STAR WARS FIC RECS: TIME TRAVEL RECS: ✦ Asajj Ventress and Her Tiny Time-Travelling Conscience by shadowsong26, asajj & luke & cast, 2.4k wip    We all love time travel fics, right? Here’s one with Luke. Tiny, precious, ten-year-old Luke. Who accidentally travels back in time to the last year/year and a half of the Clone Wars. And lands on Ventress. PREQUELS RECS: ✦ Red Sky at Morning by darth_vaporwave, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & yoda & plo & quinlan & luminara & cast, 16.8k    Master Ahsoka’s off on a short mission without Obi-Wan, which suits Anakin just fine. There’s something up with Obi-Wan. That last mission he went on by himself, where he got hurt, really took something out of him, and Anakin’s going to figure out what it is. But first, he’s got to figure out why their filing project went so wrong… ✦ untitled by stonefreeak, mace & cast, ~1k    Mace scrubs a hand across his face, trying to keep a clear head even as the council meeting drags on. ✦ Punch-Drunk by bell (belldreams), obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, ~1k    “Am I the only one who’s not gone punch-drunk over fruit?!” Anakin explodes. ✦ Precipice by shadowsong26, anakin & padme & obi-wan & luke & leia & bail & ahsoka & rex & cast, 165.3k wip    An AU in which Anakin Skywalker does not follow Mace Windu and the others to Palpatine’s office after they leave to arrest the Chancellor. As a result, he doesn’t get that final push over the edge, and doesn’t Fall. ✦ Dance Softly Through by Lady_Katana4544, ahsoka/barriss & cast, 3.3k    She’s still reeling from the parasite in her mind and confused about her feelings towards Ahsoka. Barriss hasn’t known the other Padawan long, but she wants to get to know Ahsoka more if they ever have a chance. ✦ Leitmotif by FireflyFish, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 2.2k    Anakin can hear music that no one else can. Some of it is beautiful. Some of it haunting. But his music? His music is terrifying. ✦ Chosen, not assigned by Lysore, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 2.2k    “It looks like our problems are solved. Fresh troops, new supplies, and perhaps they brought my new Padawan with them,” Obi-Wan had said. Though there seemed to be a misunderstanding regarding the identity of the Master of said Padawan. ✦ The Last Jedi by FireflyFish, obi-wan & palpatine & cast, 2.3k    “The dark is generous and it is patient and it always wins – but in the heart of its strength lies its weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back.” - Revenge of the Sith ✦ To Traverse the Center of Your Heart by JumpingJill, mon/padme & obi-wan & bail & cast, 6.1k    Padmé survives giving birth to the twins. Mon has a front row seat to the fall of the Republic and the rise of the Empire. Somehow, they continue. ✦ Hearing by Bythoseburningembers, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 11.4k wip    Takes place immediately after Crisis on Naboo, and follows Anakin and Obi-wan as they try to heal a broken friendship in the face of lies and a never-ending war. ✦ Every hand’s a winner by MirandaTam, adi & han & qi'ra, 1.6k    Corellia has more than its fair share of troubles. Adi Gallia has more than her fair share of headaches. ✦ Raising Up Hope by dreamiflame, obi-wan/padme, 1.5k    Family is what you make of it. Padmé, Obi-Wan and the twins are trying to make it work. ✦ Stitches and Time by ladyarcherfan3, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & ocs, 4k    Alara Nel is a seamstress who keeps getting an unusually large number of orders for Jedi robes from an Obi-Wan Kenobi. Over the years, she learns why and gets to know the Jedi a little bit better. ✦ Balance Point by Vinyarie, anakin & ahsoka, 6.3k wip    Ahsoka wakes up trapped beneath the rubble of the Sith temple on Malachor with the man currently known as Darth Vader. He’s a Sith lord who has done some truly awful things, but she’s certain that some part of him is still Anakin Skywalker, and she’s going to convince him of that. No matter how many times he tries to kill her for it. ✦ Refuge by Ljparis, rainydayadvocate, obi-wan/padme, 2k    On Mustafar, Padmé takes matters into her own hands. Obi-Wan is there for her when the dust settles. ✦ The Pleasures of Life by AngelQueen, obi-wan/padme, NSFW, 6.2k    During her early months as a Senator, an irritating soirée takes an interesting, unexpected turn for Padmé. ✦ Along Our Twisted Path by ambiguously, anakin/ahsoka & cast, nsfw, 12.5k    Ahsoka steps out of the World Between Worlds, but not into the galaxy she remembers. ✦ Difference in Degrees by maebmad, obi-wan/anakin/padme (pre-relationship?) & ahsoka & rex & cast, 8.6k wip    An anthology of stories in a universe that is both better and worse than the one we know, in various ways. It is difficult to sort each part into good and bad, after all, when everything is so often both. Evil is not created overnight. Empires are not built in a day. Good intentions don’t guarantee righteous acts. ✦ he will tear your city down by collegefangirl3791, obi-wan & cast, 11.8k wip    Obi-Wan planned to keep a low profile on Tatooine, after Order 66. He was there to protect Luke, and that was all. ✦ Getting to Know You by ambiguously, thrawn/padme, 2.8k    Padmé has agreed to this. That doesn’t mean she’s happy about it. ✦ Let My Second Love Be Kind by nichestars, obi-wan/padme & cast, 3.1k    When Padmé holds her children in her arms for the first time, she thinks: This is the fewest number of beings with which I have been entrusted since I was twelve years old. ✦ Wedding Braids by skatzaa, bail/breha, 1.7k    Breha meets her reflection’s gaze. She was right: the glow from her pulmonodes turns her dress from pink fabric into a living sunset. But she hadn’t anticipated the way the light would catch on the loops and curls of her wedding braids as they cascade over her shoulders. ✦ Warm me up by Ljparis, bail/breha, 3.1k    After enjoying a brisk winter hike in the mountains of Alderaan, Bail and Breha get trapped at the Antilles’ family cabin during a snowstorm. ✦ The Very Best of Acquaintances by Skyberrie (LyaStark), bail/breha, 1.5k    It wasn’t love at first, second, or even twentieth sight for Bail and Breha. But they managed to get there just the same. OBI-WAN/ANAKIN RECS: ✦ Each Day Is Your Last by Nisa, obi-wan/anakin & mace & dex, NSFW, 15.4k    I have always wanted to write what really happened after the Poster Boy scene in ROTS. ✦ Don’t Let This End by SoftlyFocused, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, 4.9k    Anakin is frustrated by how devastatingly handsome Obi-Wan looks at one of Padmé’s political parties, he gets drunk to cope. Obi-Wan is frustrated with how needy and demanding Anakin has been, he gets drunk to punish him. Both of them really need to release some tension after this seemingly endless war. ✦ Miasma by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin & rex & cody & fives & kix & cast, sith!obi-wan, 12.6k wip    Obi-Wan never believed his best friend and lover Anakin would die first. But he has. ✦ Nice to Meet You Again by darlingamidala, obi-wan/anakin/padme, soul mates, 3.3k    A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, three people met, and fell into a love so deep that it bound their very souls together for all eternity. ✦ To Be Found by darlingargents, obi-wan/anakin/padme, 7.1k    When Anakin and Obi-Wan are caught during a battle and imprisoned alone for weeks, it leads to some revelations. From Coruscant, Padmé, with the help of Ahsoka, is tracking them down – and coming to some realizations of her own. ✦ A Gift for the Hurting by by Petralice, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 1.9k    I’m not even gonna try to be fancy here; this is self-indulgent Obikin smut. They’re banging, folks. ✦ Bedroom Hymns by JediMistress, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, spanking, bondage, bdsm, d/s, 10.9k wip    Anakin Skywalker is a young student with some kinky interests, and his search for a Dom leads him to Obi-Wan, a former professional. Obi-Wan has retired, but their purely professional kinky relationship changes the lives of both men. How long can they keep it professional? And what happens when they start falling for each other? ✦ 36 Questions by thelivingcontradiction, obi-wan/anakin, 24.9k wip    In a study by psychologist Arthur Aron, they found that strangers would fall in love when asked to answer 36 questions together. ✦ Exile Vilify by nessa_j, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, 1.4k    Anakin struggles with the horrors of war, Obi-Wan tries to offer comfort. ✦ feening by mexicanfood420, obi-wan/anakin & padme & cast, 15k wip    Anakin Skywalker, an angsty mess of hormones and resentment, is thrust elegantly into the hands of temptation, and is expected to turn down every little thing he’s ever desired. ✦ The Blessed by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin/padme, soul mates, 1.4k    Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker can see something few others can, a special gift the Force gives only to those with a soulmate: color. ✦ Saber’s Hilt by lovelykenobi, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.3k    Anakin’s a boy with a mouth and a sassy attitude. Obi-Wan reacts accordingly. ORIGINAL TRILOGY RECS: ✦ whatever a sun will always sing is you by victoria_p (musesfool), luke & leia & cast, 2.2k    Leia has a lot of things to do, but first, she needs to speak with Luke. ✦ Edges of the World by glompcat, leia & luke & anakin & padme & han & ahsoka & ventress & sana & bail & breha & obi-wan & cast, 228.4k wip    Leia Organa finds herself stuck in a strange alternate/parallel universe where the Empire never came to exist. Meanwhile, trying to navigate a galaxy ruled by the Sith weren’t exactly the Jedi Trials Leia Skywalker had expected. ✦ If That Mockingbird Won’t Sing by ambiguously, obi-wan/beru, 3.1k    Obi-Wan brings Luke to the Lars homestead only to discover Owen Lars isn’t there any more. ✦ Gingerbread Cottage All Covered in Sweets by ambiguously, luke/leia & anakin, NSFW, dark themes, 7.1k    Luke will do anything for Leia, even if it means seducing her to the Dark Side. ✦ Bedtime Stories by kurage_hime, obi-wan & leia & cast, 1.1k    Prompt: Leia being so madly in love with tales of Obi-Wan Kenobi and crushin’ so hard on him IS MY JAM. Doesn’t have to be requited, or happen irl (I don’t mind if it does). ✦ Only In Memory by rainydayadvocate, han/qi'ra & han/leia (sort of implied) & cast, 2.4k    Han, Leia, Luke, and Chewie are on sent on a fuel supply run, and Han suspects the supplier is someone from his past, someone that probably belongs there. ✦ Contentment by WritLarge, obi-wan/owen/beru & luke, ~1k    Both Owen and Beru had harangued him once they’d determined that he was harmless, relatively speaking. When tempting him with kindness and physical comfort hadn’t worked, Beru had begun guilting Ben. ✦ Truth by ambiguously, obi-wan/beru/owen & cast, 4.2k    Kenobi brings Beru and Owen a child to raise. ✦ Midnight by lilyconrad, obi-wan/luke, 1.1k    A gentle moment between two twined in the Force, set just before A New Hope begins. ✦ φοῖνιξ by ambiguously, luke/leia, 1.8k    Everything in Luke’s life has burned to ash. REBELS RECS: ✦ Four Doors by veritascara, hera & mon & cast, 10.8k    Hera and the Ghost crew return to Yavin IV, where she must confront tough decisions about what her future will look like. ✦ Speculation by Nana, zeb/kallus & ap-5, 1k    “AP-5,” Kallus said, “are you under the impression that Captain Orrelios and I are involved, romantically?” “It is common knowledge at the base, sir. You don’t have to deny it just because I am a droid.” ✦ roisters by spookykingdomstarlight, zeb/kallus, 1.8k    For once, he is willing to put aside his thoughts and act. “Garazeb,” he says, because he is the only one who calls Zeb by his full name and because he’s noticed the way Zeb’s fur ripples in pleasure after he says it and somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that means something. “A word?” SEQUELS RECS: ✦ We Met in Blood and Dust by lucymonster, leia/amilyn, 1.5k    Life is only ever a borrowed possession. Amilyn has borrowed twice now. ✦ never gonna get too close to you (even if it hurts) by bittersnake, luke/sana & finn & hux & cast, 2k    Sometimes death brings second chances. ✦ The storms are raging on a rolling sea by ambiguously, rey/phasma, nsfw, 5.2k    Rey is searching for an old Jedi temple and finds someone she was never expecting to see again. ✦ The Warm Sunlight by tspofnutmeg, rey, 1.5k    A Jedi knight, that’s what Rey is now. Well, she has been for a while, but she was hesitant to take on the title. FULL DETAILS + RECS HERE!

[canon-notcanon-warriorcats]

Submitted by: yumiponypup

Excerpt from Wildstar’s Pride

Warnings: Mentions of Death, Implied Attempted Suicide, Depression

°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°

“Are you ready Wildfang?”

The tom paused, and took a deep breath, turning to face the toms that he brought with him.

“Not like I have much of a choice Rabbitsong,” he sighed, not at all ready. Smallrunner pressed his nose into his shoulder, giving his mate comfort before the ceremony.

“You’ll do just fine Tiger, I know you will.”

With that, Wildfang approached the Star Spire, and pressed his nose to the cold surface.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in a dark, yet also somewhat glowing area. He got up and started to wander, having no clue what he was supposed to do past the spire. He let out a very manly scream that was totally not from fear when he was tackled to the ground by something not bigger than he. He swiped at his attacker, but stopped when he heard that voice he missed so much.

“I know it’s been years Wildfang, but I would have hoped you would still recognize my scent,” purred Icegaze. The warrior released him, and let out a hearty laugh that one wouldn’t expect from such a scrawny tom.

“In my defense you don’t exactly have a scent, it reeks of monster fumes near the spire…” Wildfang paused, lurching towards the tom, “I missed you dad,” he mewed.

“I’m always keeping my eye on you boy, but you know why I’m here. I believe your clanmates would rather have you before sunrise,”

Wildfang straightened up, and let go of the breath he wasn’t holding. He held his head down to level with Icegaze, and gained the first life of many to come.

“With this life, I grant you compassion, use this wisely, I shouldn’t have to explain this to the badger I call a son,” chuckled the older tabby, who promptly received a playful swat from the younger.

Wildfang shivered, he wishes his coat was thicker. It got warmer with his mother taking a seat under his chin. Not wanting to keep him waiting, she held her nose towards her son, waiting for him to meet her halfway. Wildfang held back a snort, and complied.

“With this life I grant you friendship, use it to make great a closeknit clan and keep the bonds holding it together stronger than ever before,” Specklefall purred, and kissed her son’s nose. Wildfang returned the favor by smooching her head, hoping he looked groomed so she wouldn’t fuss about it.

He missed the warmth, but knew Acornkit was in his tail, trying to find a warm spot. The little kit bit him and he had to refrain from jumping, she was no bigger than a mouse compared to her much larger brother. “I thought I scented mischief, what do ya got sis?” The tortiseshell stuck her tounge out, but pressed her nose to the elder.

“With this wife, I gwant you pwotection. Use it to fight to defend youw cwanmates as if they wewe youw own chiwdwen, Siwvewpewt knyows they'ww nyeed it.” Wildfang felt a much more intense warmth, and now finally understood what the other leaders meant when they mentioned burning. He felt like shredding ears.

With the kit fading out to who knows where, Paledream enters, and looked almost too happy to be near Wildfang again. “I’m so happy to finally see you,” purred the grey tabby. Then it hit him, he could finally see what he looks like now, he forgot he could only see him when he was a kitten planning to be his apprentice. Paledream suddenly pulled away and touched his nose.

“With this life, I give you healing, use it to bring a new kind of knowledge to your clan, poor Rabbitsong would thank you for it.”

Wildfang was about to comment, but was hushed by a sudden Littlemist pressing his nose to his. Wildfang pushed him away quickly, needing to recover from being startled. Paledream, who hasn’t left yet, chatised the tom for doing that. Wildfang recovered, and met him again, on his own terms.

“With this life, I grant you leadership, use it to, well, lead. I have so much faith in you, I believe in your strength Fangface.”

Littlemist and his mate faded away, leaving Cloudstar in their place. He was about to say something but Wildfang cut him off with a tackle hug, which was happily returned. Cloudstar backed away, stretching, before continuing with the ceremony.

“With this life I grant you the gift of mentoring, use this to both teach others and learn from those you inspire.” The living cottonball named Cloudstar rested his chin on his old apprentice’s head, remembering what he was going to say. I should have named another warrior to mentor you, Rainstar was a mis-“

"You were dead, it’s not like you could’ve done anything about it, and Stormstar pretty much took me from him so it’s not all bad…” Wildfang trailed off, wishing that Rainstar was never brought up, but recollected himself to prepare for the next cat.

Cloudstar left with an apology, but the IslandClan cat arrived with another. “Wildfang I’m so sorry to have dragged you into that mess it was my fault you-” Wildfang stopped him from speaking with his paw, his pale blue eyes soft with worry. “Flamepoppy, you have been forgiven, I never blamed you for what happened and besides, why would I leave my best friend to rot in a cave?” Flamepoppy started to cry, and pulled the much bigger warrior into a hug. Wildfang pet his head while this occured. The black and ginger tom was soon joined by his mate, a Queen if memory serves. Wildfang nodded to the she-cat who left too soon. “You look even stronger than I remember,” purred Daisyskip, her nearly white eyes shining with starlight. “Come closer child, we don’t have the entire night to waste time with idle chatter,” Flamepoppy let an amused meow escape his muzzle, but quickly corrected himself when he seen the pair watching him. The couple approached, and pressed their noses to his cheeks.

“With this life we grant you Justice and Loyalty, try to both find it and grant it to others, and to show your clan that you aren’t what they may fear you to be,”

The mates left, leaving Wildfang alone once more. He counted the cats who came to see him, but something was wrong… there were only eight cats that gave him a life, and two gave him one life… that added to only seven lives from the Stars.

“You always were the smart one,”

His eyes shot up to meet the ones he hasn’t seen since he was an apprentice. He let his walls down, and started sobbing at the sight of his old denmate. He hasn’t told anyone but Stormstar the truth of what happened, he thought Smallpaw was mad at his mistake. His legs gave out, and he fell forward, spared from the ground by an oddly warm body catching him. Smallpaw knew that Wildfang would’ve been upset after the cave-in, but it looks like he never actually accepted that he was actually gone.

Wildfang shuddered, wrapping his forelegs around the shorter tom. Time was of no concern to him. He wanted to stay and keep Smallpaw in the embrace, but the other pulled away, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Those damned eyes, they looked so lifeless yet showed so much life behind them.

“You know we can’t stay,” Wildfang nodded.

“You know why I’m here,” He nodded again, ears tilting back slightly.

“Did you know that I’m not mad at you?” He didn’t.

“Did you know that I was never mad at you?” No.

“Did you know that he loves you?” He paused, not responding.

“You know,” He does.

“You love him too,” He has to admit that he’s right.

Smallpaw pulled Wildfang in for a quick hug, and they met in the middle.

“With this life I grant you Strength. Not for combat, but for being the leader of a Clan who may not want you to be theirs. For being a shoulder to cry on, and to listen to the voice others may not hear. To have the ability to cry when you need to, and to admit when you are weak. May the Stars grant you safe passage home, my sweet,”

One voice faded to many, as if every star was cheering to him.

“Wildstar!”