#we’ll see how it does when everything is colored and rendered but

[getosugurusbangs]

yuki wip >:)

[sssammich]

day 19: hazy

for supercorptober 2023

read on ao3 instead

crepe AU: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 day 19: hazy, day 22: art, day 24: enchanted, day 30: magic

author's note: this is kinda sad with no real resolution at the end. so if you don't wanna read it, then that's fine! feel free to skip. thanks!

---

“Kara, who am I?” 

“You’re Lena. You are my life’s greatest love.” 

“Don’t forget, okay?” 

“How could I ever?” 

—

Kara, depleted of all her energy, watches as the vengeful alien points a specialized extraterrestrial gun directly at her. She places her hands up in surrender, but he is not so merciful, his final act before his inevitable death is simple: take Supergirl down at any cost, to isolate and ruin her the way her people had done to his. 

But, of course, Kara didn’t know that. 

The gun blast hits Kara dead center in the solar plexus, penetrating through the dwindling defense of her supersuit, propelling her back several yards until her back collides with the wall. She is caught under the rubble, her body buzzing like it’s been infiltrated by white noise under her skin. 

She hears a muffled voice yelling after her, pushing through the debris until she finds Lena hunched over her. 

Her consciousness starts to wane and within one long blink of an eye, the vengeful alien’s mission is complete. 

—

When Kara first opens her eyes, her gaze immediately lands on the source of her deepest comfort standing by her bedside: dark hair framing pale skin, sculpted brows arching beautifully, and light green eyes the color of moss in sunlight. 

She blinks a few times to clear the remaining haziness in her mind and she is awash with relief, her nerves settling. 

“Hi,” she offers, her voice croaking. Lena turns to her, relief all over her face as she stations herself by Kara’s side. Alex rushes to her other side, quick to give her the once over and check for her vitals. “What happened?” 

“You don’t remember?” Lena asks, her voice tinged with worry. 

“I just remember this nasty alien shooting me and it blasted me against the wall.” 

“Well, that’s about the long and short of it, actually,” Alex offers. “You’ve been out of it for about 36 hours.” 

“Didn’t think a gunshot would render me powerless,” she comments, grimacing as she pushes herself upright. She does not see the way Lena and Alex glance at one another. 

“It didn’t.” 

Brows furrowed, she asks, “What do you mean?” 

“We’re not….we’re not sure what the gun did to you. All of your injuries and your blown powers can be traced back to everything before he shot you.” 

Their worry gives her pause, but she is not the paragon of hope for nothing, so she bravely wears a reassuring smile, and grabs hold of their hands. “I’m sure whatever it is, we’ll figure out in due time. For now, though, mind if I go home?”

Her wish is easily granted and she makes her way back to her apartment, Lena by her side. Kara senses the tension and worries all over Lena’s face. 

“Are you worried?” 

Lena’s gaze softens. “I think you know by now I’m always going to be worried.” 

She slumps against the bar stool and beckons for the other woman. “Tell me. Please?”

There’s hesitance in Lena’s posture, but Kara only flashes her a reassuring, albeit tired, smile.

“I just…it doesn’t make any sense. You were affected by the blast, but the shot itself did not affect anything, at least none that we can trace or track or check for. But…we can wait until tomorrow to start solving that particular problem. How about for now, you get settled in bed?” 

She doesn’t protest and follows silently as Lena ushers her to bed. Lena tucks her in before sitting on the edge of the bed, their joined hands resting on Kara’s stomach. 

“Whatever it is, I know you’ll figure it out. You protected me before, I know you’ll protect me again. You always do.” 

Lena smiles and clutches at Kara’s hands. “Always.”  

—

The return to normal is expected, and goes without any special notice. She attends to her duties and her obligations, savors every minute with her loved ones. Her days inch forward the same as they had always done. And the case with the vengeful alien laid to rest a few weeks after the attack, though without any real conclusion or closure. 

Yet despite moving forward, the tension in her shoulders never quite disappears, not when Alex and Lena continue to share worried glances from across the room when they think she’s not looking. Or when they huddle together in a corner in hushed tones when they think she’s out of earshot. 

“Maybe it was just an anomaly,” she offers one late night at the Tower. “I just don’t want the two of you to carry all these stresses when nothing has happened.” The ‘so far’ hangs unspoken. 

Alex and Lena share one last glance before they nod and accept that perhaps they have given this incident more power than it truly wielded. Satisfied with their promise to let the issue go, Kara gave them both hugs. She wished her sister a good night just as she left with Lena to spend the night back home, the two of them under the security and comfort of rest in bed. 

They break their promise: speaking in codes, meeting in secret as they pursued the niggling thought in the back of both of their heads that there was something more. They don’t get very far, every theory hitting a dead end.

But, of course, Kara didn’t know that. 

—

Exactly 42 days, 13 hours, 56 minutes, and 27 seconds after Kara was shot that they enter the point of no return. 

—

It starts with her nightmares, the images playing in high definition—vivid and real and altogether harrowing. She wakes up from them drenched in sweat, limbs tangled in the covers. She’s gasping for breath, like desperately breaking through the surface after having been underwater for a minute too long. 

Lena is there, always, with a mixture of fear and worry and helplessness. Kara eventually comes down from the adrenaline rush, and she is filled with equal measures of guilt and regret when their eyes meet under the blue shadows of the moon that filter in the bedroom. 

“You’re Lena,” she gasps out, a means of reassuring herself, even as she reaches forward to tether them together. She shuts her eyes tightly and lets herself be comforted by Lena’s arms that circle around to her back and rubbing it soothingly despite the dampness of her shirt. Or the way Lena presses comforting kisses on her hairline. 

What Kara doesn’t see is the tremor in Lena’s lips that she tightens against her forehead nor the dawning fear in those eyes of what she and Alex had feared from the beginning.

—

The changes are gradual, almost imperceptible until she’s already in the middle of something that she realizes something is amiss. 

Like ordering takeout from three places despite agreeing to only order from one. 

Lena’s confusion is apparent when she enters the apartment and slowly drops her purse on the counter amidst the bags of takeout. Kara scratches the back of her neck as she does her best to explain what she cannot explain. 

“Pizza, postickers, and sushi?” Lena asks, amusement laced in her voice even as she looks at Kara incredulously. “Are you really that hungry?” 

No, she wants to say. This wasn’t her plan, she wants to say. She doesn’t know what made her do it, she wants to say. 

“I saw a bunch of videos while at work and got carried away,” she offers with a shrug. Lena studies her for a moment before sighing and helping spread out the containers all over the coffee table and ottoman that they pull closer. 

Kara’s not even that hungry, but she pushes herself to eat everything so that Lena doesn’t question her even as her mind reels. 

—

On and on the days progress and Kara is beginning to buckle under the strain of making sense of her world and failing. 

“Jess, how much longer is Lena gonna be? You think I can sneak into her office and wait?” she asks one late afternoon, carrying a bag of donuts for the two of them. 

Jess only stares at her in mild confusion before slowly looking at her monitor. 

“Is this some kind of trick?” 

Kara’s brows furrow and she stares dumbfounded. “Wh-what? Why would you think that?” 

“Because Ms. Luthor is in Metropolis for another two days.” 

They stare at one another, the assistant’s face quickly transforming from confusion to concern, slowly reaching for the phone, no doubt on her way to call Lena. Kara reaches forward and places her hand on the phone. 

“Gosh, I just—I must have been losing track of time and missing her so much. I’ll call her on the way home and see how she’s doing. Here, have the donuts and share it with your partner.” 

Jess stares at the bag that gets dropped right by her keyboard. 

What Kara wants to do but will not do in front of Jess is check her phone with the text message she knows is there from Lena telling her that she’s been craving a strawberry frosted donut and that she’d love to have one miraculously appear after her meeting with the board today. 

“Can you do me a favor and not tell Lena about this?” she pleads. “She worries enough about me as it is and I want her trip to go without a hitch. I just, you know, really miss her.” 

It’s another few beats of growing awkward silence until Jess nods. 

“Thanks, Jess. I owe you.” 

She doesn’t quite break into using her powers, but she hightails it out of the office, practically slamming her hand against the elevator buttons, hoping that it swallows her whole. She doesn’t dare look past the doors as they close knowing that Jess is watching her every move. 

When she opens her phone in the comfort of the empty elevator, she is filled with abject horror when she finds no textual evidence of Lena’s craving for a donut anywhere in their messages. 

—

The moment it comes to a head for them all is when Alex and Lena find Kara sitting by the window of her apartment in front of an easel and a table with paint supplies. 

“Hi guys,” she greets them over her shoulder before returning her attention to the image of what she’d drawn, putting the palette down, the brush gripped in her hands. 

“That’s beautiful, Kara,” Lena says, placing a soft kiss on her cheek and resting her chin on Kara’s shoulder. “What is it?” 

“Thanks.” She stares at the canvas in front of her; hues of red skies and purple mountains, a vista of a distant yet familiar landscape. “It’s…”

Kara’s silence stretches, her mind searching for words to come to mind, yet none appearing. 

“Krypton.” It’s Alex who supplies the response when Kara’s silence has stretched entirely too long. “Kara, that’s Krypton.” 

“Right.” She frowns, her eyes searching the canvas for answers, but not finding any. “This is Krypton. I am from Krypton. I am Kryptonian.” 

Her heart sinks when she moves to look at Lena and Alex’s eyes, her eyes brimming with tears. 

“I think I’m in trouble.” 

—

She explains the last few weeks, the way her mind has been playing tricks on her, fabricating memories about dates and appointments, swaths of her memories blank for a time. 

She confirms their suspicions and they explain all the secret work they’ve been testing. 

The rest of the Superfriends are briefed about her situation and they all get to work as a team, coming together to pool their wits and resources on finding a solution that will reverse this problem and get Kara back to them. 

Kara maintains her unwavering hope, if not for herself, then for Lena who touches her softly, reverently, cautiously. 

“I won’t break,” she whispers to Lena, afraid to break the quiet that has blanketed over them in bed. 

“But I might.” 

She pulls Lena closer to her, their noses touching slightly. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll always protect you.” 

Lena is crying now, and Kara’s heart splinters and cracks. 

“I love you,” she says, kissing away each tear that escapes. “Please stay strong for me, Lena."

Lena’s face is tear-streaked and heartbreaking, but she’s kissing Kara and holding onto her, the two understanding what’s at stake, the gravity of their situation weighing on them. 

—

When Kara opens her eyes, she sees the most beautiful woman in front of her. 

Dark hair framing pale skin, sculpted brows arching beautifully, and light green eyes the color of moss in sunlight. Her face is light and pale save for the pink hues of her cheeks and the tip of her nose, like she’s been crying. 

How unkind, she thinks to herself, to have such a beautiful woman cry. 

She flashes the woman a smile. “Hi.” 

“Hello.” 

“Who are you?” 

The woman flinches slightly, and Kara thinks she’s done something wrong. But the woman’s smile is soft, is sad. “I’m Lena.” 

She likes that name, it’s familiar to her. She warms to it instantly. 

“Hi, Lena. I’m…I’m Kara. Yes, right. Kara. Kara Zor-El.” 

She offers her hand and Lena glances down at it for a second before gingerly placing her own. 

It’s the same hand that has held her and touched her and loved her for years. So to offer it now as if for the first time is a cut through Lena’s heart and soul. 

But, of course, Kara didn’t know that. 

—

Alex sidles up next to Lena as they watch Kara talk with Kelly from across the Tower. Close, yet far. A chasm now between them and Kara. 

She is determined above all else to get Kara back, but it doesn’t soften the blow or lessen the ache of having Kara stand in front of them in this state: like a stranger, like an alien. 

“We won’t stop, okay? We’ll get her back. Just hang in there.” 

She nods, restraining her tears as she watches Kara’s every move. As unreachable from this distance as she would be if she was in Kelly’s place. 

Kara seems to sense her, and she turns to meet Lena’s eyes. Her smile is bright and lively and beautiful and darling and it’s still directed at her. Lena knows Kara is still there, and she’ll do anything to have Kara back and fight their way back together again. 

—

“Lena, who am I?” 

“You’re Kara. You are my life’s greatest love.”

“Don’t let me forget, okay?” 

“How could I ever?”

[qvid-pro-qvo]

what about sereshace + taking pregnancy photos in the fall with all the pretty leaves & stuff????? 💜

“you have a leaf in your hair.”

bradley turns to the voice, not really processing until he sees natasha walking towards him. it takes another moment to really see her, to watch the way her dress, the color of pine needles, glides over the red, yellow, and orange beneath her feat.

she’s always stunning. it’s an effortless thing, to make bradley speechless, to render him a little aghast. she does it mid-flight, mid-laugh, mid-pregnancy without breaking a sweat. but there’s something about today, about now, that makes his chest ache with it. he’d watched her get dress, watched jake zip her up, and yet —

she reaches out to him. pulls the leaf from his curls, and he winces as it crumbles and gets on her dress. reaches out to brush it aside, smiles as her hand tangles with his.

“thanks,” he says, smiling at her. “part of the territory?”

“or just you,” she says, chuckling. “trying to blend in with the scenery.”

“i’m not nervous,” he repeats, for the tenth time that day.

“could’ve fooled me.”

he doesn’t know how jake sneaks up on him so easily. the force of his personality, his smile, his everything, could fill a football stadium. but he does, and suddenly bradley is wrapped up in warmth from behind, overwhelmed with jake and the smell of his cologne in the best way.

bradley turns to face him, sucked into his orbit. the greens in his eyes are brought out by the green in his own ensemble, and bradley feels his throat go dry.

“well, i don’t clean up as well as you both do,” he manages. “how am i supposed to compete?”

“not a competition,” jake says easily, kissing him gently. “and trust me when i say if we’re clean, you’re sparkling.”

“i’m not nervous,” he repeats, and natasha’s hand squeezes his.

“good. because we’ll both be here, the whole time. sound good?”

the whole time. the whole time. and that’s the crux of it, right? the whole time they’ll be taking photos, they’ll be commemorating the three of them, the feeling of being together and the future they have. and bradley, here and now, feels the pressure of it, the weight, the fear he hasn’t let himself really soak up at the thought of letting them down.

because what if he does? what if he drops the ball? what if he can’t be as good of a parent as natasha or jake? what if he loses them like he lost his own parents? what if he leaves like his dad, like his mom, like mav?

but then the photographer arrives. starts arranging, starts directing. makes them laugh, makes them love as naturally as they can.

and as bradley stands behind natasha, with his arms around her stomach, holding their future child in hands, as he feels jake’s fingers tangle with his on her belly and the little laugh from nat as he kisses their baby, he knows… he just knows.

it’ll be okay.

“sounds perfect,” he answers. too low for natasha or jake to hear. but he means it, and he swears it, and he knows no matter what happens, that’s what it’ll be with them.

perfect.

[inventors-fair]

The Upside to Downsides

Let’s talk some more about downsides! They are an important staple of MTG, having existed since the very first days of Alpha. Their existence ebbs and flows, but drawbacks are an important tool in any designers Balance Belt™. Let’s break it down!

Synergy

One thing you always want to pay attention to when putting a drawback on a card is synergy. Does the drawback play into the rest of the card? If the creature has to attack each turn, then is it the type of creature that wants to attack? It may sound odd to say that drawbacks should fit the card- what with them being drawbacks- but the reverse leads to cards without purpose or place. A high-cost creature that enters the battlefield tapped is incredibly difficult to put in a deck, since it won’t be able to block the turn it’s cast and you won’t be able to do anything else that turn, so you’ll just end up dying. Make sure the drawback feels appropriate for the card.

Too Much Synergy

Counterpoint: it’s easy to steer too far in the other direction. After all, a downside still needs to be a downside, and if it plays into the rest of the card too well, what’s it playing against? If you have a creature that attacks each turn if able, but it’s unblockable and has one toughness, then it’s not like you want to hold it up as a blocker anyways! If you’re giving a card a downside in order to temper out the design, make sure that the rest of the card doesn’t render the downside irrelevant.

That’s not a REAL Drawback!

This is an argument you hear sometimes. Is Decayed really a drawback when it lets you trigger morbid? Is  a downside if it lets you bluff a pump spell more easily? The short answer is yes. Don’t get blinded by potential. While synergy is cool and important, so long as a downside has situations where it is unfavourable for you, then that’s all it takes to be considered one. Ultimately, the term is colloquial and lacks a strict definition, but in most cases, it’s pretty clear one way or another. As for the corner cases? Well, we’ll look at those if they come up.

But the Flavor

Something we see a lot is drawbacks that play into card flavor. A peaceful warrior who can’t deal damage, a spell that can only be cast at night, or a demon that eats your own creatures. Downsides are a great way to really hammer home the connection between flavor and mechanics, as it forces a particular event instead of leaving the choice up to the player. This is a great tool in your arsenal, but it can be dangerous. If the downside doesn’t match up flavorfully, or the rest of the card is pulling too hard in another direction, you end up in a bit of a discombobulated puddle. Use the flavour to inform the downside (and the rest of the card), but don’t allow it to dictate everything. After all, as we know, mechanics trump flavor. This is, first and foremost, a game.

Symmetry

There is also the argument to be made that giving an opponent an upside is the same as giving yourself a downside. Totally true! If you play a creature that allows your opponent to make a bunch of tokens, that’s a downside! Where it gets a little murkier is a perfectly symmetrical effect. Is “Each player draws a card” a downside to “you draw a card”? Technically, sure. I’m definitely not gonna disqualify a card that does that this week. But ask yourself how it’s using that downside as an effective part of the design. If the card just does the symmetric effect and nothing else, well then it feels less like a downside and more just like that version of the ability. How does the downside inform the rest of the card? That’s what you should ask yourself here. 

A Note on Color

There are a few exceptions, but typically speaking, you don’t have to worry about downsides breaking the color pie. The color pie is concerned with allowing too much mixing of beneficial abilities, but downsides are almost always fair game for whatever card needs them. Since you can always choose to block with a creature, a creature that forces itself to block can be any color that it needs to be (depending on the rest of the design, of course). Any color can force you to sacrifice one of your own permanents, even if some colors lean into it a little more. However, just because there’s a mechanical justification doesn’t mean there aren’t still limitations. After all, you are limited by player expectations. Why is black the color with the most downside cards? Because black’s whole deal is “power at any cost”, which lends itself naturally to these designs. Sure, Abyssal Persecutor isn’t technically a pie break in green, but would it make sense? Not at all! So don’t worry about breaking the color pie with your downside, but make sure that your card as a whole still feels right at home in the color(s) you put it into.

That was a whole chunk of text, but I hope you enjoyed reading, and I can’t wait to see your designs!

[capsizedskeleton]

so the collector’s rhyme, huh

“you caught me..

to you who stray so far from home

to me who’s trapped beneath these bones

we’ll play forever, me and you

when you paint the land in nine bright hues!”

(image of both the demon and witch world splintering, titan head shrinks into collector’s hand)

some fun thoughts bouncing around in my head

the piece of the mirror with the collector’s crescent on it that belos got in elsewhere and elsewhen. the collector clearly has smth to do with fucked up projections of magic and fun. maybe he only exists in special reflections and that’s why being buried under the earth would essentially render him dead?

kinda love kinda hate that this is all just a game to him. he’s not a human or a witch. what does it matter if these lives are lost? as long as he gets to live freely

nine bright hues: any nine bright hues?? there’s no scene of the collector explaining his strategy, belos could have full well projected a light show of 9 random colors into the air and dealt with the aftermath later

i love how the collector is so visually distinct from everything else, not only the flat design but the monochrome and the unusual bright colors that belos presents for the covens when he’s first carrying out the collector’s plan. i think it would be very fun if in some form of a final battle the world would be bending to the collector’s will, all color sucked out or unnaturally bright and poisonous

the collector seems to want to destroy both witches and demons (luz points out the latter, but not the former) what the fuck is he then??? it also makes sense the titan would have wanted to defeat him

anyway the visuals of a giant behemoth fighting a 2d little shit projection are great and i hope to see some sort of flashback

[choiwrites]

kth | wolfgirl (m.)

Words: 10k  Genre: twlight!au, it’s new moon but taetae as jacob, ur bella but you have a personality :o, oh also smut and a little angst Warnings: no protection and no fcks given, language ig?, descriptive seggs lol, vampires and all that bs if that triggers sum of yall, oral (f receiving), tae is younger than u and kind of a sub (dom tae is overdone we need change in this country) i cant think no more no thots hed mt Rating: 18+ Song: Iron & Wine - Flightless Bird, American Mouth Summary:  During your stay at your Aunt's house in the wet town of Forks, you never thought the boys next door will change your perspective in how you see the world.

The weather in Washington was something you’re not used to. You can never go places without getting mud on your shoes and it takes more than your patience to clean them every time before going out. Sure, it was great to experience a different weather other than the blazing sun in Los Angeles, but it was hard to adjust. You weren’t ready for it with all the sleeveless and loose tops you brought from Los Angeles.

After months of debating with your mom, you decided it would be a great way to spend your summer vacation turning your camera focus into something more dark and cloudy. Your professor had also suggested that it would look good in your portfolio if you try different moods in photos other than the hot weather in Angeles. So, you thought about it for months before asking your mom to buy you tickets to see your Aunt Sylvia who you're currently living with for the meantime.

She was in her mid-thirties, but she looked younger than her real age. She knew how to groom and with the way she looks, she probably had that life during her high school days. You rarely see her though, you can remember all the conversations you both had. She leaves home early for her duty at the police station as an attending desk officer. Her place wasn't big, an average suburban house painted in cold tones of white and gray with dark furniture inside. It's not your typical definition of cozy. Good thing you brought your two sweaters — one with a Christmas tree embroidered on it and one with the phrase "'tis the season!" Wearing a sweater in Los Angeles only means one thing, and that is the season of giving. But who cares, it's not like anyone was going to notice, right?

About to finish the second cup of black tea, an idea pops into your mind about what Sylvia had said about the landscapes nearby the house. However, she had warned you about the risks of a few wild coyote appearances, but one could call you a junkie. There’s no fun in danger, but dangerous does rhyme with adventurous.

A cool whip of breeze enters the thin fabric of your sweater, immediately regretting stepping out of the doorstep after locking the door. As you are approaching the back of the house to enter the woods, young laughters echo through the area, lessening your fear for a bit. It must be safe if a group of teenagers are hanging out in such a secluded forest.

Unbothered by the noises, whether they were from teenagers or not, you make your way further into the woods of coppery branches on the endless verdant ground with subtle eau de nils. It’s like walking into a surreal three-dimensional render of a forest, too perfect to be right in front of your eyes.

It was quiet and serene in the woods. Aside from birds chirping, it felt like out of this world. It was an alien planet. Everything was green — the moss surrounding the place, every tree had some sort of fungi beneath it, the soil dark brown as if staring right into the earth’s eyes. The very healthy kind of earthy, and it was easier to breathe in the forest than it was in the city of Los Angeles. No wonder why they're both on the opposite sides of the country. They're literally poles apart. Being at Forks, it's as if you were able to be in a different country. It was secluded, unlike in Angeles, there are people in every place you go.

While changing the film of the camera, a strong gust of wind on your left side. So strong that your body stumbled onto the ground. You were on your knees, camera shattered as it hits a hard medium-sized rock. You break a couple of curses to the wind.

The camera looked hopeless with lenses separated from it, lying in pieces against a rock.

"What the hell was that?" 

There had to be some kind of a fast animal that ran from your side, which quickens your pulse, but the devastation you felt for the camera overthrew that fear. When you caught a glimpse of the 'wind,' it was human-like. It ran around in every direction surrounding you,  freezing you into place. The only thing you were able to do was to keep watching the human-like creature run in circles like lightning. You tried standing up, but it approached you in a rapid current that you fell into place again. But you couldn't see it, you weren't able to look into its eyes.

"You shouldn't be out here alone,” behind you says.

You whimper, embarrassed when the deep voice sends hums into your nerves.. 

"Why didn't you run?" He looks at you with knitted brows as he approaches to help you get on your feet. He’s far too attractive to be a wild coyote, you slap that stupid thought away.

"I... I didn't know what to do,” you force out, still affected by the broken camera and creeping fear.

He was around four inches taller than you. He looked about your age. Dark thick hair, with light brown irides inside his almond-shaped eyes. His skin was of a rich walnut tan, and his dark green hoodie complements that. 

"You must be Sylvia's niece. I'm Taehyung,” he said in a sultry manner as he offered a hand for a handshake.

"How do you kno-"

"She told us. My family's close with Sylvia. Our mothers used to be best friends, y/n." He puts his hand back in the pocket of his hoodie.

A tinge of embarrassment brushes through your cheeks, feeling guilty that you didn't give him a handshake. But all of that is ignored when he smiles.

"Did I creep you out?"

You chuckle softly. "No, of course not. I'm just still in the moment... of processing." You ease him, as if you were able to read the tension in his undecipherable eyes.

There was a few seconds of silence before Taehyung spoke again when he noticed your camera on the ground.

"Hey, we have a technician at home, maybe he has some tools he could help you with."

He was absolutely gorgeous. You find yourself lost in his face, studying his features and every little action he does. He would look so good as a muse. If only you could capture him right now, he'd be perfect under the clouds that create shadows that contour his cheeks and makes his eyes even more mysterious.

"Don't worry, you can trust me. Sylvia knows where I live,” he adds. 

Though that doesn't really solve the problem, you find yourself walking with Taehyung in the woods, drifting away from the devastation and fear from earlier. 

The laughters were from them. The laughs you heard earlier before entering the woods were from Taehyung's friends. They confirmed that they were walking around the woods earlier and that they passed by your house. All looking friendly with similar doe eyes, almost like they were relatives. They were all in a circle, all of them sitting on a chunk of thick logs, dressed in a similar way. The men were younger than you, but there is a girl who's older than you. She didn't seem as friendly as the others as you notice the judging glances towards your way. She had shoulder length of hair and she was just as tan as Taehyung. Taehyung discussed each of them one by one to you, all of them introducing themselves in an endearing manner except for her. Only saying her name was Leah and that was it, which made you feel an ounce of intimidation.

"So, y/n, how long do you plan to stay?" Embry, the one with the shortest hair, asks as he plays with the two twigs he'd been digging up dirt with the moment you arrived. His color was a tad bit darker than the others. He had a grin that could steal every girl's heart. He was gorgeous. They were all just as gorgeous as Taehyung.

"Oh, one month. I have a college application to fix back home,” you answered surely. You were only here to take photos for your college portfolio, and making friends was out of the picture until today.

"Sucks for Tae, I had a feeling you could be more than a willing candidate to be his girlfriend." Everybody laughed except for you and Tae who exchanged awkward glances at each other.

"Stop it, Bry." Taehyung wanted to laugh along but embarrassment got the best of him.

"She looks so out of place. You probably party a lot in Los Angeles, don't you?" Leah gives you a stern look, seriously waiting for your response. She only wants to get a reaction from you and you weren’t the only one to get the feeling as the group feels the rising tension between the both of you.

"No, I don't go to parties. Mom is very strict." You tell her. You didn't want the group to feel that you were intimidated, after all, you wanted to befriend everyone.

"She'd be perfect for our overnight tomorrow then." She prickly grins.

"Right! Want to join us in La Push? It's the nearest beach out here. We'll have bonfires and such," Seth, the youngest one with the tiniest body (still bigger than yours), expresses in excitement. Out of all of them, Seth was the friendliest. 

"I'll go talk to Sylvia for you, if you want." Taehyung raises his brows. He had been laughing quietly ever since he had brought you to meet his friends - which seems like he regrets, additionally. He was more mysterious than you thought. He didn't share much of his life during the discussion, only three things: his last name was Kim, he’s 20 years old, and he lives at the rez along with the rest of the team.

"Sure. I'll just bring my other camera." You smiled.

Taehyung said that he'll get Chase, a friend of his who wasn’t part of the circle, to fix the broken film camera. He assured that it will only be a matter of three days before the camera is all yours again. After a few more useless fun discussions, you had forgotten that the sun had settled for a while. When Taehyung realizes your face of worry, he offers to give you a ride home. Great, a ride with the wild coyote who had immediately earned your trust by rising a brow. You wouldn’t be so shocked if you end up ‘missing’ in the news in the next hours.

He owned a Chevy pick up truck. It was red, but faded, making it seem vermillion in color. It had a few dents and you were sure that it wasn't one of the smoothest rides you've ever had. But Taehyung made a few jokes about how he feels uneasy with the truck as well, only to reveal that it has been with him ever since his birth.

"It's great. Very retro." You gave him a smile to let him know that he doesn't need to feel embarrassed with his truck.

"Shut up, Y/N. I know it sucks, okay. I can't even play a single song here without a static." He laughs and you admit it.

He gave a charming wave to your window and had a small chat with Sylvia, who’s been home for hours, before leaving, probably about the La Push trip for tomorrow. Once you've changed into your pyjamas, Sylvia knocks on your door as you are about to settle in bed.

"Tae told me about the La Push camping tomorrow,” she began.

"Are you gonna let me?"

She smiles in an assuring way. You can't deny how lovely she looked with her hair down, her waves framing her heart-shaped face. "Of course, honey. You better wake up early tomorrow. Tae told me that he'll pick you up by seven." She winks and rubs your shoulder before heading downstairs.

A beach trip in a cloudy town without bringing any hoodies with you? Sounds about perfect, if you’re looking for a hypothermia attack. And you were never a morning person either so it’s a big mystery why you even agreed to go in the first place. The waking time in Los Angeles was ten in the morning. In Forks, it was seven. 

When Taehyung arrived, he was wearing a black shirt and a black leather jacket, pairing it with slightly oversized pants. He looked bigger than yesterday, maybe it was the jacket that made him look buff. He waved softly before you even stepped out of the doorway. He was carrying a medium-sized paper bag with small wet stains.

"My sister made us breakfast. Just in case you didn't have enough time to prepare," he opens the car door for you and waved to Sylvia goodbye, "thought you'd take more time because you probably wake up late in the city."

“I’m somehow a little offended with that assumption,” you cooed and he replied with a stammering laugh, unsure whether to take it as a joke or not.

He fumbled with the stereo and it played better than yesterday, giving you a sloppy smile as the first chords of Creep by Radiohead plays.

"You fixed it?" You take a bite from the sandwich his sister prepared. You thank God his sister prepared it for you, your stomach would be growling by now.

"Yeah. I just didn't want us to have that awkward silence along the way." He breathily laughs.

Everything Taehyung has is beautiful. He had an amazing laugh, a deep sultry voice, and doe eyes. He's simply astonishing. You were sure that everyone he has met so far had fallen in love with him. You weren't one to deny that either.

It took around fifteen songs before the both of you arrived at the beach — thanks to Taehyung's amazing playlist. It was quiet, the weather didn't change much in the place. Still cold and dark, untouched by a glimpse of sunrise. It was windier than the rest of Forks, and you wore your Christmas sweater to at least help with the cold a bit.

It was weird to say, but Taehyung radiated heat whenever you were near him. It's like when you're not around Taehyung, you feel the coldness of Forks. His truck didn't even feel cold though his air conditioning was on, you just felt a sense of unfamiliar comfortable heat you found yourself curling in your seat minutes ago. The group welcomed the both of you except for Leah of course. Sooner or later, you knew you'd start to hate her.

"You guys are early,” you tell Embry and Paul as they greet you with warm hugs.

"Of course, we are. It's La Push, baby." Embry gives you a wink and you blush.

"Okay, Bry, I haven't had my breakfast and you're already winking." Paul fake puked and the rest of the group laughs.

They started setting up tents as Taehyung offered to take your bag when he noticed how it's weighing you down. Before he could put it in the tent, you took your digital camera and started roaming around by yourself to take pictures of the view. Astounding as you had expected. It's like you were in the middle of nowhere. Only Taehyung's friends were at the beach which was a lucky shot for you and the group.

"Set up the fire, Tae! We're having breakfast." Leah yells across the place as she places the logs in the middle of the circle the tents are built in.

Taehyung sighs loudly. "Get ready for the Quileute Tribe stories." 

"You seem tired of it, you joked.

While Taehyung builds a fire with the rest of the boys, you secretly take pictures of him busy as the both of you keep talking.

"It's always the story every camping day. The Quileute Legends, you know? The scary stuff." 

You knit your brows when the word ‘scary’ comes into play, bringing your camera down to take a better look at the almost sweaty Taehyung.

"Scary stuff? How scary? Thrill me." You weren't aware as to how much Taehyung also studies your features. He wanted to know you better, but he was afraid of scaring you away by asking too many questions. It had always been his issue, scaring people away from him. And this time, he didn't want to let you in like the others, he just wanted to be acquaintances. But the more he spends time with you, the more he wants to be near you as if there were magnets pulling you together.

"I don't know what would thrill you, y/n. But the world is darker than you think, it's not always safe." He gives you a look. It was impossible. You were five feet away from him, but you could almost see your reflection in his eyes. It was too comforting. You were devoured by his eyes, falling steadily into his charms.

"I know. It's just as scary in L.A., I mean," you gulped, "crime is everywhere. Can't really stop it." You explained.

"It's not always crime that's scary, y/n. I'm talking unexplainable things." He smirks.

"Like paranormal?" You gaze away from him, starting to take pictures of the beach. But no matter how hard you try to distract yourself from Taehyung, your eyes keep falling on him.

"More than paranormal. Ghosts are easier to believe in."

You inhaled sharply. "I mean those are just legends, right? What's with the obsession in the Qui-Quileute Tribe?" You struggled pronouncing the word.

"It's not me. It's a tradition." There was a moment of silence before you could think of what to say again.

"Delete my pictures by the way." He scoffed.

"I thought you didn't notice."

"I was posing." 

You laugh at his joke, still certain you're never deleting any of his pictures, most definitely the one when he accidentally looked at the camera.

"You look sort of beautiful in the camera." Your lids flutter like a high school girl. “Not just in the camera, I mean… haha.”

He stares at you in confusion, and somehow you always find yourself frozen and embarrassed whenever he looks at you. "Sort of beautiful? You're more naive than I thought." He removes his jacket and throws it on the log nearby, revealing his buff body. You look away in discomfort, you didn't want to find yourself checking him out. "I'm not what you think I am. And I don't think you want to know."

"Maybe I do." You point the camera towards him and take a shot of his reaction. You wink.

The clouds hovering above the clamorous sea tell that there's probably rain coming, but it seems like the group wasn't bothered by it at all. You were sitting next to Taehyung two feet away from you on the logs nearby the fire that Seth had given up trying to help making after a couple of failed attempts. His heat never failed to linger around you though.

Sam was discussing the Quileute Legends and the group was very fascinated with the story, even though Taehyung had confirmed earlier that they've already heard the story too many times from their own families. Sam was good. He had a way in telling stories. You find yourself actually believing the legends. Werewolves and vampires? Shapeshifters and Children of the Moon? You weren't one to believe in such fantasies. You liked to watch historical movies more than fairytales, but with the way Sam elaborated every part of the legend, you can't deny the shiver that you felt when he discussed the cold ones.

Fast like lightning. Beautiful and alluring. Undead without a soul.

You thought it was ridiculous for Sam to even give out a warning about the cold ones. You were suppressing your laugh a little bit, and you were sure Leah already had her eyes on you. Why would Sam give out a warning about the cold ones? It's not like they were actually real. He also mentioned a treaty. And he sounded pretty serious about it too, even Taehyung was carefully listening. All of their eyes were on Sam, except for Leah.

Sam talked about a specific family of the cold ones, that they proposed a treaty. These cold ones are not allowed to hurt anybody from Forks, or else the mentioned werewolves are allowed to pose a fight with them. He talked about it like it was a plan.

It was afternoon and the clouds were still as thick as it was in the morning, but rays of sunlight shone through the gaps between the dark clouds. It looked ethereal, an aesthetic you'd only see in paintings. You thought those paintings are only manifestations of amplified emotions of the painter, but here you are, smiling to your camera as you take hundreds of shots.

"Save some memory for the other landscapes," Taehyung says beside you, throwing pebbles to the water, each bouncing impressively for three times.

"I know, I just can't get enough of this. You don't see that in L.A." You pointed your index finger towards the horizon of the sea.

"Yeah, but at least you can swim in LA. It's too cold out here to even go for a swim,” he emphasized.

"Not when you're around. It's weird, but I feel like you have a fever. You're too hot."

He raises his brows . "I know I'm hot," he chuckles.

"I didn't mean it like that,” you protest, though you know for a fact, Taehyung right. If he were to live in L.A., he'd be escorted many times by a modeling agency.

"So, I'm not hot?" You knew he was teasing and your embarrassment was obvious enough because of the blood rushing through your cheeks.

"You're attractive. I'm sure you know that." You roll your eyes, trying to keep everything casual — which is getting harder and harder every time he's around.

"No, I don't,” he teased. He was obviously getting pay back on you for taking candid shots of him earlier.

Your eyes landed on Sam and Emily play-fighting in the sea, just the sight of them being happy made you feel a bit of a heartache. You were a sucker for romance. The boys told you earlier that they were engaged for three months now. Leah was Sam's ex-girlfriend and Emily was Leah's ex-best friend. Finally putting the pieces together why Leah was one of the hardest to be with. She was extremely hurt and broken. She would rather shut the world out rather than let anybody in. She would rather be alone, than find anyone again who could possibly hurt her.

"Look," you poked Taehyung who was too busy throwing pebbles, "Sam and Emily are swimming. We should too!"

Though you were shivering, you bravely took off the mustard jacket that Taehyung had let you borrow. You were left with your thin brown tank top and denim shorts. He's still in his black shirt, unbothered to even take it off nor his jeans.

"What are you doing? Let's go." You tell him as you walk towards the sea.

This was a bad idea. It felt like ice was draping all over your body. How can Emily look like she's having fun when you're over here freezing just by stepping into the water? Half of your body was shivering from the wind, the lower half was for sure numb. You wanted to slap Taehyung for taking so long to get in with you, and you weren't even sure why you were so desperate for him to get in with you. It's not like he had a heater with him.

It took Taehyung a few more seconds before he started taking his shirt off, revealing his caramel skin, but it wasn't his color that caught your eyes, it was how built he is. His body looks like it was sculpted by the most talented and precise sculptor. It was defined, and shadows are doing magic in giving it silhouettes in the right areas. The best part about it was how shy he was taking off his clothes, like a teenager getting ready for his first swimming lesson.

He was for sure planning to swim today, revealing the gray trunks he’s wearing underneath his jeans. He needs a bigger one that fits him better, because the trunks he's wearing isn't doing him any justice.

Okay, no. Maybe it was justified by a subtle outline of his —

Don't even look down there, y/n, you tell yourself.

You didn't know where to focus. His thighs were just as eye-catching as his abs. Just as toned and thick. It would be such a material for thigh riding, you thought and you quickly shake your head at the idea. It has to be the waters that did this to you. Time has never been more relevant when he was walking towards your way, as he scoops water with his hands to wet his hair, while biting his bottom lip and giving you a small smile after.

"Freezing?" He smiles, eyes pierced on your small body. You were hugging yourself, embracing yourself from the fact that if you let go of your hands, you might touch something else.

"You were taking so long." 

He chuckles before holding your arm, taking it off your body. "Come on, dip your whole body." He pulls you softly towards the ocean, the sound of walking through water comforting your ears.

He was a foot away from you, the water level was on his chest and so was yours, but slightly higher. He looked even more godly. His hair pushed back, and to see his face in its entirety was a blessing, a gift.

None of you dared to talk, and you thought it was better that way. You just get to stare at him, as the sunlight lands itself upon his bronze eyes with specks of gold if you would close enough, majestic indeed to see something like that once in your life. You'd wish to wake up to that every morning.

There was this comfortable silence between the two of you. Drops of water fall under his eyelashes, fluttering them as he struggles to stare back at you. The moment was ruined when he suddenly smiled and looked towards Embry and Paul. Embry was sitting next to Paul, staring at the both of you while laughing. You shrug, feeling invaded.

"Why? What is it?" you asked Taehyung.

"They're thinking ridiculously."

 You furrow your forehead. "How do you know?" He tightens his hold around your arm as he keeps you steady near him, aware of you struggling to touch the floor.

"I just know," he softly plants circles on your arm with his thumb, "trust me."

"Maybe we shouldn't stand too close to each other then. I think they're making a big deal out of it." You didn't want to come off feisty, but you guessed it went that way for Taehyung as he moved away from you without letting you go.

"No, they're not. They're just teasing." When he said that, it was like he only said it to get near you, to assure you that it was okay to be close to him like that.

"Still cold?" he asked.

"Not so much anymore." You muttered. There were so many questions you wanted to ask Taehyung, but your voice isn't very trustworthy at the moment. You know it will betray you the moment you open your mouth.

"Penny for your thoughts? Why did you want to swim?" His voice was soft, calming as the ocean.

"I wanted to test how warm you can make me, even in freezing water."

He laughs breathily. "Seriously?"

You nod. He wanted to tell you a lot about himself, but like you, he was just as scared. Skinny dipping wasn't really your thing, especially in cold water, so after a few more moments of swimming and small talks with Taehyung, you let yourself dry by sitting next to the tent, keeping yourself busy by viewing all the pictures you took.

It was four in the afternoon, and the sun looked like it was already setting. Time was almost irrelevant at Forks, you wake up and the next thing you know, you're already getting ready for bed. Even though today was quite eventful, the clock still ticked quickly.

Feeling dry enough, you walked to the other side of the beach, Embry had mentioned that there was a cliff nearby along the woods. Though Taehyung was busy drying himself and laughing with the others, he glanced your way as you were heading towards the woods. You lifted your camera so he knew what your motive was, and he flashed a sly smile.

Trees. Cliffs. Birds.

The place could be a haven for the National Geographic Channel.

"I thought the pack wouldn't ever leave you alone like this." A deep voice spoke behind you, his english accent was thick and strong. You were sure that if you turn around, he’ll be ten feet away from you. You regret blinking your eyes, because the next thing you knew, he was right in front of you. His expression with so much thirst, so much hunger. For what?

You only inhaled sharply, first thing coming into your mind, confusion overpowering your nerves. You examined the man before you quickly. Olive skin, dark ruby eyes. His skin was inhumanly shiny, he almost looked dead, but in a mesmerizing type of way. He had dark purple circles, but his eyes were beautiful enough to distract you from it. He mirrored a cement under sunlight, he had fragments of diamonds and glitters on his skin. It wasn't your brain consuming you but his visual, his aura.

"Didn't bring your dog with you?" You weren't sure what he meant. He takes a step forward to lean into your ear, and your feet beg to stay, your eyes staring deeply in his beauty. You were too engaged, everything about him had you in place.

"You smell different from the others. Are you aware of that?" His breath touched your skin and there the exact opposite of heat seeping in your skin. “La tua cantante. I can hear your blood flowing through your veins. I can hear your heart. It's beautiful." He sniffs your neck as he hisses.

He wasn't human, and this time you were sure. He had danger lingering in his eyes, but it dressed so captivatingly beautiful, you found yourself lost.

"It won't hurt, I promise. It will be just a tiny bite, you won't even feel it."

There were words coming out of your mouth, you swore that. But nothing, your mouth still and close. It's sort of like he had power upon you, controlling and manipulating your body to be a mannequin. 

"Shh, don't fight it. You won't win over me." His teeth were grazing on your neck, seeking for a soft spot. You were unsure of his nature, what could he be?

An alien from this alien planet? An experiment gone wrong that escaped from a lab, perhaps? Maybe a demon, or an angel. A greek god of some kind?

They were all terrifying.

At the corner of your eye appeared a shirtless Taehyung, but he didn't look like himself. He was red, smoke flaring around his body. His chest expanded by time, and when you felt a small sensation of sharpness on your neck, Taehyung jumped towards the man.

No, it can't be.

This isn't Taehyung. Taehyung was gone. Maybe you were imagining things, but you felt all of them happening in front of you. As the man got distracted, your senses came back, falling on your side from losing balance. You pushed yourself away from the two monsters, as you would describe it. This wolf was huge, enormous. Any man who would try to fight it will easily lose. It stands almost seven foot, three bears wide.

Without trying, the creature had already decapitated the man. You weren't sure how to feel — safe or worried — but you were sure that you are mortified, and your face clearly expresses that.

You were only moving away from this huge thing in front of you, maybe that'll help you escape. But you don't even know if you wanted to escape. A part of you believes that Taehyung is inside that wolf, maybe eaten alive, or a spirit. 

So much for the wild coyotes, thanks for the heads up Sylvia.

Your eyes met his. Dark bronze eyes with specks of gold if you look close enough. You could almost see yourself in them, they were that kind. His eyes had a message for you, to approach him, to pet him, that it was okay and he will never hurt you. Before your hand could land on his lowered head, Sam and the others came running to help you, obviously seeing the wolf, but not even being bothered like you were.

"Y/n, are you alright?" Sam helps you stand on your feet.

Sam and the wolf had some kind of connection. Sam stared at it and the wolf left.

"So, wolves are normal here?" you spoke with a weak voice.

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again, thinking of how he can explain what just happened. You know that he knows something, and he was struggling to tell it.

"Where's Taehyung?" You scan their faces with no sign of Taehyung.

Holy shit! The wolf ate him! you thought. All you want to see right now is Taehyung. To prove himself. He can't be that wolf. The wolf must have eaten him. It is far too impossible for Quileute Legends to be real.

"We should get going before the other cold ones get here." Sam assists you to get back in the tents, completely ignoring your state of bewilderment.

Maybe it's a Forks thing to be mysterious and quiet. It irks you so much that none of them are even acknowledging what happened. This would be a great story for your mom.

Hey, Mom. Just wanted to call to tell you about how great my day was. So Taehyung, right? Aunt's neighbor, really hot guy I'd totally fuck, got eaten by a werewolf. But that's not too crazy, an incredibly beautiful medieval British man held me hostage, telling me he wanted to suck my blood. What a Forks thing! And everybody saw this huge tall wolf, I'm talking as big as a shelf kind of wolf, but they all acted like it was some puppy leaving the scene. Anyways, Mom, I'm traumatized. Going home in a week.

There is no way you can paraphrase that. No way you can make everything happening right now to sound normal at least one bit. This must be normal in Forks, but this is some Hollywood work in LA already. Things like these don't happen unless there was a shoot next door.

"Hey, you okay?" Leah approaches you. Her concern is seemingly genuine.

"I'm alive, guess I am okay. Where's Taehyung?" You don't bother to look at anyone at all, you drive your attention to the waves landing on the beach, hoping you could synchronize your breathing with them.

"Taehyung's fine. You don't have to worry about him."

"I saw him there. He was... he was red! Like he was burning! And... and there was smoke. Then I blinked, then there's a wolf. I swear it ate him!" Leah looked at you with wide eyes, but her lips were shaking trying to hide a smile.

"You're not taking me seriously! That wolf killed that guy! I don't know. He sounded British!" Leah bit her lip. "That was horrifying. I saw its head removed, there was no blood! What was that?" Leah inhaled sharply before looking at you with assurance.

"Can you calm down? The wolf you saw, don't you think it was described like the one in the legends?" Leah almost shouted, yet still controlling her laugh.

"Shapeshifters? Those are legends, Leah! The wolf ate Taehyung!" 

She chuckled. "No, they are real," she protested.

"The British man there was a cold one, a literal vampire. Taehyung didn't kill him, he was already dead."

No.

"Shut up, Leah. I know you hate me, but this is no time for jokes." 

She laughs harder. "You're right about me not liking you, but I'm not joking. That dark brown werewolf is Taehyung. One and only Taehyung. 20 year-old Taehyung who lives at the rez. That Taehyung."

'The world is darker than you think. It's not always safe.'

Taehyung had already given you clues from the start. But a word from Leah wouldn't be enough to stop your mind from going everywhere. You needed to hear this from Taehyung.

It was twilight already and the group had decided to spend the night in their cabin, instead of the beach. Sam explained that it was for your safety which until now he hasn't elaborated yet. Emily offered newly baked muffins, but it was too late before you could grab one when all the boys devoured around them. You gave Emily a smile.

"You can have the next batch." She shied away.

Emily looks like an average girl next door. She had fringes and medium length hair, they were very flat. Her skin was like the others, tan and healthy-looking. One thing you haven't examined deeply about her were her eyes. Embry had told you once that staring at Emily would bother Sam, and when you first saw her, you knew immediately why. She had a scar on one of her eyes, they looked painful. It looks like a cat scratch, only if that cat was a lion. It covered half of her face, but that didn't stop her from being lovely. She was still pretty in every way.

Taehyung arrives at the cabin, looking at everybody except you, his body resting on the door frame. He was heavy-breathing like he just finished a race. Sam came after him, giving him a small pat then walking towards Emily. Taehyung's eyes remain on the floor. His actions were complicated. You haven't figured him out yet.

"Y/N, Tae, maybe you can talk outside alone." Sam smirks at Taehyung, and Taehyung smiles back.

'This is no time to be smiling!'

Taehyung finally looks at you before leaving the door and you follow. But he still hasn't talked. And your rage is piling up inside you, you finally take a step forward.

"Care to explain what the hell happened there? I thought you were swallowed by that — that thing!" He gulps, stopping his tracks and turning around to see your face.

"I was scared," you muttered.

He totally understood why you were scared. Because he was just as scared and confused as you when he first discovered who he was, and just like you, he chose to deny it in every way he can, and he hoped that denial can make a change.

"You're not supposed to know about this. I didn't want to put you in this position — of knowing what truly there is." His eyes are sad, like he was a missing child.

The same day Taehyung figured out what he was, his eyes looked exactly the same; with fear, agony, and deprecation.

"So, you're a werewolf?" You felt his pupils dilate.

He looked at you in disbelief as if he hadn't given enough clues yet.

"Werewolf. Shapeshifter. Monster. Dog. Whatever you call it, it wasn’t my choice." His voice was weak, almost ashamed of what he had just said.

"And you kill —"

"Vampires." He finishes your sentence before you could assume. "Just vampires. The cold ones? Those that violate the treaty? They’re real." And so the legends were correct and real, and the evidence stands right in front of you, breathing and staring at you.

But no matter what angle you look at him, he wasn't a monster. He is not what he is described in the fairytales. He wasn't a merciless creature, not even harmful. He was just this young boy who lived near you.

"I get that you're afraid of me. Trust me, so am I."

"I'm not scared of you. If it weren't for you I would be bloodless by now." You bit your lip. "But I'm still a little overwhelmed." You gulped.

He had no words, but he was relieved. And you knew that when his eyes twinkled, the kind he gave you when you were jamming to the songs he had in his truck.

"If it's okay for you, I'm inviting you and Sylvia to my birthday tomorrow. It's just a small gathering."

"Will there be drinks?" you kid.

"Sam doesn't really want me taking any drinks for the meantime." He chuckles.

"Why not?"

"He said that I can't be on alcohol during my first six months of phasing. Why? Do you drink?" he innocently asks.

"Was just teasing." You playfully pushed him before proceeding to walk back in the cabin.

Before you even knew it, Taehyung was irrevocably infatuated with you. He wouldn't have thought that a college girl would give a small attention to someone younger than her, or even finding out about who he truly is and still staying by his side. He had spent so much time denying who he was, but maybe being a werewolf isn't so bad after all, if phasing is what it takes to protect you or anyone at all.

You were just like what he thought you would be — kindred spirits.

The party isn’t filled with loud chats and crowds, it is a gathering. Taehyung tried his best to always stand by your side to give you ease in enjoying such an unfamiliar place as Sylvia gets indulged in conversations with the others, completely forgetting you. Every minute though, he'd have to leave you alone on the couch but he'd return as soon as he can.

There weren't much talks between you and him either, only a couple of smiles exchanged whenever Embry and Quil do something embarrassing in front of the both of you.

It seemed as if the night was the longest night of your life, only occupied with listening to others’ stories and Taehyung sipping a punch from his red cup. He had asked a few questions to keep things interesting, but it was hard to keep the mood flowing. You had asked about his hobbies and all the boring stuff you could think of, and surprisingly he would reply with enthusiasm like he have always wanted to be asked those questions. This makes you more curious how his daily life goes, how many people does he actually talk to.

When the hand of the clock drops at ten, you were just patiently waiting for Sylvia to get on her feet and cut the conversation with the others but she seemed to have consumed more alcohol than she could tolerate and the next thing you knew she was laughing like a maniac. You were stuck in a loop circle of smiling so thinly to everyone you get eye contact with.

You distract yourself with admiring the intricate designs of Taehyung's small home, and the thought of a young Taehyung growing up in where you're sitting currently makes your heart jolt. It's uplifting seeing his pictures on the wall, but there was a difference between his smile before and his smile now. One can easily tell which was more true. You had no clue what it's like to be his kind, hell even now you still can't believe what he is. But it sure shows in the way he had changed judging from the innocent photos that hang on the wooden walls. You've never known him since then, yet you wanted to restore this angel-being beaming at the sight of a camera who now hates being in photos because he thinks he's some sort of a monster.

You wanted to ask him about the pictures, the one where he was wearing a towel with a headband, the one where he was framing his face. All of them speak some kind of connection with you, maybe it's your love for photography that makes you feel this way, but innocence is one of the hardest thing to lay your lenses on.

Then you finally got it. What your professor was talking about, drawing something intangible to your camera. This is what he meant. Your gallery is only filled with landscapes, mostly the aesthetic of architecture and nature. Taehyung is what you needed to change the mood of your photos, not the weather, not the dark ambience of Forks, but his story. If only there's a chance for you to grasp his mystery in a single picture, his adventurous smile in one flash.

A pang of pain in your forehead pulls you back into reality, and the lights that stood above you only made it worse. You needed to leave immediately before the pain has you grunting. Welcomed with a wrapping breeze, you brace yourself and regret wearing the dress Sylvia begged you to wear. She said it was her favorite when she was your age, a Prussian blue dress that stops before your knees with tulle around the hem and a lighter blue ribbon on the chest.

Of course Taehyung who sits beside you would notice your leaving, and before you can inhale the fresh air from the porch, he was already asking what's wrong.

"I don't feel so good. I think I'm gonna have to go home alone since Sylvia's still occupied," you said, pushing on your temples with your thumb and middle finger.

"I can drive you home. I don't think they'd notice that we left, they're all pretty wasted." He chuckles, complementing the high tones of the strong wind that travels past your bodies.

"I'm really sorry. I'm being rude, I mean this is your party... your birthday party and you're going to drive me home."

He places the sippy cup on a coffee table near the entrance, and he was palming his pocket to reach for his keys.

"It's fine, y/n. The party's been dead four hours ago and I can't send you home alone. Do you have the house key or should I go back inside and ask Sylvia for it?"

"She gave me a duplicate. I think it's best we go now. My head's really killing me."

It was unusual, headaches. They rarely come to you since you monitor your phone usage and water intake. You hate getting them because you hated taking meds for it, and you just hoped Sylvia would have a stock of it. Your fingers have been roaming your forehead for a while yet you can't seem to navigate where the pain is, where it's beating. It would be better if you could massage it along the ride but you were struggling to even keep your fingers raised.

Taehyung stops the car in the middle of somewhere as you are hitting your head continuously on the head rest. It was quiet, a deafening silence that rang your ears that brought you to open your eyes. Taehyung wasn't in his seat anymore, only fog filling for his place crawling under your skin.

There was your breathing, crickets, and rustles of trees that travel the air. You weren't sure how to react but one was definite, you were scared. The hand resting on your thigh turning white and wet, breathing faster and heavier as the air seems to be corrupted with toxic poison that does nothing but suffocate you.

Don't get out of the car, don't get out of the car, you chant internally hoping it will help your situation.

"Hello, dear," a slinky voice says through the window, almost similar to the man— vampire from yesterday. Could it be? Could there be more? "Don't make me wait, dear. Open the door and make this easy for the both of us, hm?"

It sounds the exact same as the accent the man had with an alluring tone that draws you to open the door. However, it wasn't just her tempting attempt into convincing you to endanger yourself, the pain in your head inflates as you try to control yourself.

"You want it hard, my dear?" She smirks, you weren't sure but you hear the spread of the corner of her lips.

Then she was in front of the headlights, filled with rage, her eyes dark and dangerous as she showed her predacious teeth. From here, you can feel the vibration of her anger as if she had the ability to let you feel all the harnessed emotions inside her. You can count them one by one: anger, vengeance, and the feeling you get before success. None of them were positive emotions, none of them was mercy. She came here to accomplish one thing.

Your death.

Finally understanding it, inside her browbeating eyes were agony and mourning. She was here to avenge the death of the vampire that Taehyung had killed. She was as beautiful, as seductive with her pale skin and ruby lips, curly strawberry blonde hair that flows until her shoulders.

You discovered that there was a split second of slow agonizing memory of your life before it's taken, and you wished there was none. She runs towards you, careless whether she bashes her head into the glass. She takes your neck, her fingers poking specifically at the sides and right before you can regain your breath your eyes open.

Gasping and catching air, awakening in the seat with Taehyung by your side who drives in silence as Midnight Rambler by The Rolling Stones plays from his rusty stereo.

So if you ever meet the midnight rambler

I'm coming down your marble hall

Well, he's pouncing like a proud black panther

Well, you can say I, I told you so

He sits there, unaware of the chaos that repeats in your head. It all felt so real, the grasp on your neck that locks your throat, you could've sworn you've given your last breath. The pain had stopped, replaced by dizziness that you knew would pass as minutes go by. 

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Is there something on my face?"

You shake your head. "I didn't know I was staring."

That's right. You didn't know you were staring. There was so much comfort in knowing he never left, the heat of his presence brings you a feeling of security. It's okay now. Taehyung's still here. By your side.

Once reaching home, Taehyung does his best to assist you as though you were ill. It's cute how he acts that way, so careful, so gentle. Upon reaching your room, Taehyung stops before your bedroom door, almost waiting for an invitation.

"I should get going now. I'll tell Sylvia you felt sick." And before he could say good bye, you're already wrapping yourself in the blankets as he passively makes a step away from your door.

"Taehyung," you said, reaching out. "Thank you for today."

He doesn't turn back. "You're welcome. Also, thank you for coming."

A shiver spreads across your back when your lids start to fall, and your body jolts upwards. The beautiful woman from the early nightmare visits your mind again, her face inches from yours close to ripping it apart.

"Taehyung," you whispered, but he heard you within the thin walls of the lonely house. "Can you... stay for a sec? I... I had a nightmare earlier... felt so real. C-can you?"

He walks back, eyes landing everywhere except your body that waits for him on the bed. Is she serious? he thought as you opened the blankets for a space behind you.

"Until you fall asleep?"

You nod. He kicks off his shoes and he positions himself behind you, both of your breaths synchronizing as he lies down softly. You bury your cheek into the pillow when you feel his warmth wrap the room, the security coming back. You turn your head to see him watching you inches away, his hand keeping his head up as he rests his cheek against it. You take his free hand that lies on his right side, pulling it to your stomach requesting for him to scoot closer until his body brushes your back.

You can stay like this, for longer than you can imagine. Just the sounds of your breaths and the hums of his loud thumping heart that makes its way to your upper back, the release of breath from his nostrils that flies over your hair. Peaceful. Safe and sound.

In his embrace, you forget everything: the packing for Los Angeles, the fear of not getting into any university, the supernatural that you had discovered that you still cannot comprehend, the clouding fear that something is coming to get you. In his arm, it's like they never existed. The worries are nothing but disappearing sea foams, a water in heat that evaporates into thin air.

You enclose the hold in Taehyung's hand above your stomach, intertwining them for ease. Falling back into his embrace, he subtly moves away hoping you wouldn't notice. His warmth turning into heat, breathing ragged, hold on you tighter and stronger. Then you feel it, a gentle thrust behind you and he pretends to adjust position. He pulls you closer with the hand on your stomach and you sigh which caused a poking at your butt.

You may not be the smartest person on earth, but it doesn't take a book to know what it was. Taehyung murmurs an apology, his words passing by your neck which sends your stomach into a spiral. You rub your thighs together hoping to dissipate the throbbing in your core, not now.

Not now that Taehyung's beside you. Or maybe it should be now that Taehyung's beside you, you were open for a helping hand. His hand over your head tucks a strand of your hair, the finger brushing on your temple made your aching much harder to ignore. There would be no distraction, no having to worry about who will hear the both of you, for God's sake the house was built in the middle of nowhere, so you thought 'Fuck it.'

You tug his hand to the middle of your chest, to rest them between your breasts as your head turns to face him. He gulps, looking at you intently with lust hovering over his hooded eyes. You lean towards him, your lips reaching his and he pulls away for a second before diving back in. He had pillowy lips, and if it weren't for your hot need at the moment you would let your lips sleep on them for a longer while, but as of right now there are a lot of tensions that need handling.

You leave his hand on your chest while he's still shy to grope one of your breasts. Your hand then wrapping the back of his head to pull him deeper into the kiss, he sighs. That sigh caused the aching to grow, shaking your behind to feel how needy he was and he sighs again. His hand that was on your chest now pushes below the curves of your breasts to pull you closer, to have more friction, to thrust into you.

Until he couldn't take it anymore, he wants you below him as much as you want him on top of you. He hovers above you, his knee swift in spreading your thighs open and he is bucking in a steady pace on your clothed entrance.

"Take me, Taehyung," you breathe the second he leaves your lips.

He takes it slow, burning your insides, as his fingers pull the bow on your chest, untying the effortless knot you had made in the mirror. Too slow to keep up with your throbbing heat, you trail his hand to open the loose front, exposing

your nude bra. His eyes are pinned on yours, and you would make quick glances at his moderate hand you're directing. You unclasp the front of your bra, and when he hears it setting on the bed, he kisses you as if asking if you were really sure. Beneath the feverish endless kiss were words of fear from him, what if he wasn't truly ready.

The last time he had experienced this was long ago, a time before he knew how dangerous he could be. Careless of what his hands could bring, when he hadn't given a single thought for any of his actions. Well, it was one time, only once with the first girl he had ever loved. And the first was always the quickest, but it was unforgettable, he had kept every detail of her daisy fresh skin remembered under his fingertips. The laughs they had shared in between, a significance of the innocence they were about to lose. His head loses in doubts, questions that can only be answered if he risks hurting you tonight.

Then you whisper, "It's okay, you're not going to hurt me." Because in your mind, that was the last thing in his abilities. You smile, "It's okay." Rubbing circles at the back of his trembling hand, his jaw clenches.

Once he had started kissing you again, you parted his lips with your tongue in which he had replied with a tender bite causing you to moan within your throat. This motivates him to grope your breast, aggressing as seconds pass by, pulling a nipple in between his fingers and you arch your back. You rest your feet on his back, synchronizing with the movement of his hips. You admire the way his head moves downward, stopping after every inch of your skin to place a soft kiss until he reaches your breasts to which he places a long stripe lick moving from one bud to another while his eyes remain on yours. He's going to be the death of you.

You pant, trying to reach his hips that came to a halt. His hands pushing the hem of your dress higher, stopping at the middle of your waist. And his evil slow hands, still taking his time, move behind your thighs to pull them away from his back and placing them on his shoulders as he gets comfortable right between them. With gaze pierced on yours, he flats his lips on your clothed slit, tracing the wet spot visible in your white underwear. The thought of you being almost naked underneath the dress ever since earlier brought Taehyung into insanity, he could've fucked you with his fingers on the couch, he could've removed them and left your pussy out in the open as he keeps it in his pocket, he could've done so many things if only he knew earlier how much you'd wanted him just the same.

You look at the empty ceiling, too affected by the darkness in his stare, you were scared you would cum too quickly if you remain watching. He pulls your garment upward to put his bare thumb against your clit, until you couldn't take it and you look down again to see him putting the said thumb in his mouth. Sweeter than the cranberry juice he'd been tolerating to drink, adding that to the list he could've done earlier while your panties were in his pocket; enjoying the sweet fervor of your cunt on his tongue. He plays at your clit, tongue curling to lap up the wetness that increases as his spit mixes in. He knows so well what he's doing, the fragile scoop of his bottom lip from your opening to your clit where he stops.

Everywhere around his lips glistens as the bright light from the hallway outside your room shines upon them. His hands still holding your thighs steady, he slips his tongue inside you which has you shaking and he had to adjust the control in his grip. Once they've settled, he puts his touch above your breasts, flicking both buds in each hand.

You were crumbling under him, desperate for release, grunting in a throaty voice as you tried to keep yourself together. Tears huddle in your eyes, blurring your vision until he stops, now smiling above you while he pulls your underwear away from your body. It doesn't take long for him to get naked and you take time to admire his build. His skin was made of honey, toned and reflective of the warmth he emits. His cock slapping his tummy before he could fully get out of his tight boxers, his tip reaching his button.

He returns to his position between your thighs but this time around he was the one to wrap your legs around his waist. His shaft falls between your slit and he makes subtle movements in burying himself between them.

"I just want to say," he began, "how amazing you are." A gravelly moan of your name escapes his lips as you take matters in your own hand, thumb going over the head of his cock while the rest of your fingers rest wraps his cock.

He thrusts into your hand. His face forming wrinkles, frustration painted across his face. Until he falls on both arms caging your head, bucking for more friction, enjoying the suppleness of your touch. He was groaning, panting, and making a mess of himself to which all echoes from one wall to another. You put a hand on his abdomen to break his movement. He obeys, feeling you part yourself for his cock, torturously slow in entering you.

You pull your hands to your sides, getting a hold of Taehyung's biceps. Opening your lids to watch his pupils dilate as he rams the rest of his length inside your beating entrance.

"Y/n," he groans, brow knotting together when you clench around him. He's going to fall apart, he thought. You wrap him tighter, letting go of yourself in ecstasy, careless whether you melt into the bed or break it, all is well as long as you're looking into his eyes.

He chants your name again and again in a symphony of continuous moaning, and all you could say is how good he sounds. A compilation of ah's and oh's whenever he reaches your spot, his head brushing against it and it felt like nothing but heaven. More, he wants more, if only he could fuck you endlessly he would. The bed hits the wall in coordination of his sharp thrusts, and he's losing himself in you he couldn't care less if he breaks the walls. In sync with the sounds he makes were your gasps and high-pitched whispers of his name that he can see himself in the near future thinking of them and fucking himself alone in his room as he recalls them.

"Tae— oh fuck, Taehyung," you cried out causing his cock to twitch inside you, you call out for more. His name and a couple of curses were the only words you could spew out. Trembling, you feel an explosion of euphoria inside you, letting go of the tight grip around Taehyung's arm.

With one last fluid thrust, he pulls himself out and spills himself on top of your stomach. Both of your breathing slows until they were no longer audible. He rolls to his back beside you waiting to cool down and you take care of yourself by wiping his cum away with the tissue from the nightstand.

"I'm sorry, I made a mess," he says, breaking silence.

You didn't reply, instead you lie on your side to face him and wrap his cock in your warm hand. His cock still hard and wet under your touch, he breathes out a long sigh. "I made a mess of you too."

He chuckles before placing one last kiss on your forehead, and you watch him fall into his dreams. You shut the door, thankful Sylvia didn't come home during the circumstances earlier. You make a note not to leave it open next time.

Next time? Were you actually hoping for a next time? It's not long until you're leaving. Forks is not your home. Your home is on the other side of the country, and everything you grew up with awaits there. Forks is not your home, you tell yourself. The night grows along with your need for sleep, falling onto Taehyung's chest and getting lost in a slumber. You wake to Sylvia opening the door, an indication of her coming home, and you fall asleep again.

The next time you wake up, the sun shining alight from the windows to your eyes, Taehyung was sitting at the end of the bed fully clothed. His head turns slightly, feeling the sense of your waking.

"Y/n, there's not just one who wants to kill you," he says but you couldn't make out a single word, "there's a whole coven of them."

a/n: happy new year! pls dont take the bella comment seriously. also team jacob ftw!!! also appreciate my banner work owo.this is my first descriptive smut like i actually write them having sex idk i hope yall like it tho :* i love y’all! 

[baronessblixen]

Christmas trope! Scully accidentally drinks too much egg nog at the work Christmas gift exchange. Its daytime and being tipsy is not appropriate at work.

Finally writing this! Thank you for the prompt. 

Ficmas Day 11: Christmas party

A pre-“Millennium” fic

Tagging @today-in-fic

He catches Scully in the hallway – literally – when she wobbles towards him, an absent-minded smile on her face.

“Muler!” She becomes liquid in his arms, staring up at him with big, doe-like eyes.

“Scully?” He asks slowly, making sure to keep her upright. “What happened?”

“You,” she says, pressing her middle finger into his chest. “Youwerenothere.” Her words run together but she punctuates each one with a finger stab.

“What?”

“The party!” She exclaims as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. And he remembers. The annual FBI Christmas party is taking place today, along with a gift exchange. There had been emails (he deleted each one, most without even opening them). But Scully, obviously, hadn’t.

“Sorry I missed it,” he lies.

“Gotta go back,” Scully says and tries to slip away from his grasp. She stumbles and he grabs her elbows to steady her.

“How about I go with you?” He asks, putting on a soft smile.

“You would do that? Really, Muler?” She beams up at him, rendering him speechless. He’s never seen her like this. Not once. He’s seen her drink a few glasses of wine now and then, has seen the color rise in her cheeks and hear her giggle when she was tipsy, but this is new to him.

“Really,” he says. “I think, um, how about instead of going back to the party, I’ll take you home?”

She shakes her head, taking a few unbalanced steps forwards. “Can’t. Pick up the- the gift.”

“What gift?”

“For us. For the X-Files.”

“Tell you what,” he says, touching her shoulders. “You wait here and I’ll go in, get the gift and we’ll get out of here.”

She thinks about it for a moment, biting her bottom lip. Finally, she nods. “Okay.”

“Wait here,” he says sternly, flinching. He feels like he’s dealing with a child, not his very competent, overly rational partner. But she nods and sits down on one of the visitor benches. “I’ll be right back.”

Finding the party is easy enough; he just follows the cheesy, too loud Christmas music. A few agents throw him looks as he makes his way through, trying to find someone he knows.

“Hey Mulder,” one agent says, lifting his glass towards him, “where’s your partner?”

“None of your business,” he snarls.

“I’m just asking cause,” the agents follows him, checking for curious, eavesdropping ears. “She’s been drinking this,” he points at his glass, at the yellowish concoction, “a lot. I mean a lot.” Mulder glances at the agent, unable to place him or remember his name. He seems genuine enough, reminds him of Agent Pendrell back in the day.

“She said something about a gift,” he says. The other agent nods and Mulder follows him to a large table with torn wrapping paper and an assortment of cheap trinkets.

“This is yours.” An alien mug. No wonder Scully felt the need to get drunk.

“Thanks,” Mulder says, taking the mug and leaving as quickly as he can, not giving a damn about what any of these agents think about him or Scully.

He finds her exactly where he left her. Except now she’s half-asleep, barely sitting up. Love for her spreads through him and he touches her shoulder gently, squeezing it. A smile breaks out on her face, lazily, when she sees him.

“Hey,” she says as if she’s seeing him for the first time today.

“Hey you,” he replies, taking her hand and helping her up. “Time to go home.”

“Hmm, okay.”

He isn’t surprised, and somewhat relieved, when she falls asleep on the way to her apartment. She is slow to wake when they arrive and too quiet for his liking in the elevator. There’s a greenish hue on her face and he scrambles for his own set of keys, not taking his eyes off her, to unlock the door. As soon as he does, she dashes past him with a speed he didn’t think possible considering her state of inebriation. He closes the door, takes off his coat and shoes, and then follows her to the bathroom.

“Oh, honey,” he mumbles, not even thinking about the term of endearment as he sits down next to her on the cold tiles.

“Don’t feel so good,” she says, leaning against the toilet, her head resting on her arms.

“I know you don’t,” he says, gently stroking her back and making sure her hair is out of the way. “I’ll find you some aspirin, okay?”

“Dontleaveplease,” she says quickly, throwing him a pitiful look.

“I’m not leaving,” he promises in a whisper. He quickly gathers everything they need: a large glass of water, some aspirin, a pillow, and a blanket. It’s going to be a long night and he can’t be sure how much of it will be spent in the bathroom.

“What happened to it?” Scully asks him after taking a sip of water.

“To what?”

“That mug,” she says, groaning.

“Ah. Our Christmas gift. It’s in my coat pocket.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she says, sounding tired. “Getting drunk.”

“It’s okay, Scully.”

But she shakes her head. “I was frustrated.”

“Because of the mug?”

She shrugs. “And… other things.”

“What other things?” He nudges her.

“I kept thinking,” she says, “wondering whether you’d ever…” she looks up at him with glassy, exhausted eyes. A few messy strands of hair stick to her pale forehead and he sighs inwardly, amazed how beautiful she is, even like this. No, especially like this.

“Whether I’d ever what?”

“You never tried again. To kiss me,” she says.

Oh.

Oh.

“I didn’t- I wasn’t- I-“

She laughs softly. “I thought, one glass of eggnog and I’ll do it. Blame Christmas. Then one glass of eggnog turned into… Mulder, how many glasses?”

“I don’t know,” he says.

She groans. “Too many.”

“Here.” He wraps her in the blanket he brought and tightens it against her cool body. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly. They’re silent for a moment, waiting to see whether Scully’s stomach has settled for the night. She takes a deep breath and glances at him. “Did you ever think about it again? Kissing me?”

“Scully, I think about it every day.”

“Then why?”

He doesn’t have a reason, not a single one. There are hundreds, and there are none. He shrugs, gives her a sheepish look. “Never a good time, is there?”

“My head hurts,” Scully says. “Can I sleep here?”

“You could,” he says, “but you’d regret it in the morning. Come on, time for bed.” He helps her up and leads her into her bedroom, taking baby steps. He leaves her to get changed and finds a bucket, just in case. She’s in bed when he returns.

“You’re leaving.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be here. Try to sleep, okay? If you need anything, I’ll be in the living room.” He presses a soft kiss to her clammy forehead.

“Mulder?”

“Hm?”

“Can we try again? Soon?”

He needs a moment to understand what she’s asking. When the penny drops, he blushes. She wants to kiss him. And soon.

“I promise,” he says. 

[beatricethecat2]

"This is nice," Myka says, sipping her beer while surveying the bar.

"Consuming alcohol in a public house?" Helena asks.

"Yeah," Myka says, eyes angling down as she picks at her label. "Working with Pete...this wasn't a thing I could do much. Then Steve and I had a drink here, and I remembered what it was like. I used to go on my own in DC just to unwind. Feels like a lifetime ago."

“In many ways it was," Helena says, idly stiring the ice left in her drink. "Could you ever have imagined the company you now keep?"

"I don't think so," Myka says, shifting closer to Helena. "But I like it, a lot. Doing this with you feels...normal. Two people, spending time together, not a care in the world."

"You care for nought?" Helena says, fingers tracing a line from Myka's thumb to her wrist where her hand rests on her thigh.

"Ok, one care," Myka says, eyes flicking up to meet Helena's. "Hey, I know that look. We said we'd stay for the band tonight, not just hole up in our room."

"Is there not another band tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but we said we'd stay for this one." Myka slips her hand from Helena's.

"As you wish," Helena says, settling back on her stool, frustration evident in her tone.

"More drinks, ladies?" the bartender says. "The band's about to start."

"I shall need one," Helena grouses.

"Stop being dramatic," Myka snips.

"Fine," Helena snaps. "Bourbon. Neat. Top shelf, please," she instructs the bartender.

"Comin' right up." The bartender steps away to complete the order.

"Oh, we're getting drunk now, are we?" Myka quips.

"When in Rome..."

"I'd actually like to see that, a drunk H.G. Wells," Myka says, poking Helena in the arm.

Helena flinches. "You may very well if you keep behaving as such."

"Seriously though, when's the last time you drank enough to let your guard down, even a little."

"In the company of others? Not in recent memory. And you?"

"Same."

"Here you go," the bartender interrupts, setting the tumbler on a napkin in front of Helena. "Another beer?" she asks Myka.

"You know what? I'll have the same." Myka waves her bottle at Helena's drink.

"Cavalier, Ms. Bering."

"We'll keep each other in check. We deserve to get super tipsy, at least."

"Color me intrigued."

The band strikes its first cord just as Myka's drink arrives. She tugs Helena's arm, and they relocate to a table near the stage.

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

The Adventures of Bering and Wells ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 4 Title: New Orleans: Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Summary: Myka and Helena follow whim rather than duty, driving south, detouring around Washington DC, avoiding a second emotional rabbit hole so early on. After a wi-fi-free week in a cabin, deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, they feel ready to tackle urban density again. ("The Rockies are better," Myka declares. "We'll go there, too.) Vowing to stay as touristy as possible, the pair head towards history-filled New Orleans. But far too soon their carefree trip hits a snag and they're in need of Warehouse help.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3

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

***BONUS SCENE***

"Exactly how touristy have you been?" Abigail asks.

"Pretty touristy," Myka answers.

"Practically flâneurs," Helena says, grinning as Myka looks up at her with sparkly eyes.

"Well, that narrows it down," Steve mutters, typing into the keyboard. "Let's start with your hotel. Why'd you pick the carriage house?"

"The lack of adjoining suite and the king-sized bed."

"Helena!" Myka smacks Helena on the arm. "Because it's cute and charming."

"So this ghost isn't listed on their website? Wedding dress woman, Civil War soldier, dancing patio woman?" Steve asks.

"No. And the manager hadn't recognized the description I gave," Helena explains.

"So not all ghosts," Abigail says.

"If seeing them is normal," Myka says.

"Let's say the ones on their website are but H.G.'s isn't," Steve says.

"Are we to assume I've been 'whammied' then?" Helena says.

"You freeze in place. I have to shake you out of it," Myka explains.

"Perhaps I'm studying the phenomenon."

"You're never that still. It's creepy."

"Then I think we should consider it," Abigail says.

"Where else have you been?" Steve asks.

"Um, everywhere?" Myka answers. "That blacksmith's bar you and I went to. And The Gas and Lights Museum--"

"Such memories. So many details wrong," Helena gibes.

"On a carriage ride--"

"Highway robbery! Sixty-five dollars for a turn around the park. And not in the least authentic."

"You said it was nice!"

"I said it was familiar. The sound of it took me back," Helena says.

"I thought you'd like it." Myka leans back and looks up at Helena questioningly.

"I enjoyed the company quite thoroughly," Helena says, laying her hands on Myka's shoulders and grinning down at her fondly.

"Aww," Steve coos.

"Did anything about the carriage ride scream 'lady ghost will now appear at will?" Abigail asks.

"Not to my knowledge," Helena says.

"We also went to the Pharmacy Museum. And on a steamboat ride," Myka adds.

"Not that I'd have stepped foot on that death trap without proof of modern safety precautions. In my day, they exploded frequently," Helena explains.

"Ok...let's start with the Pharmacy Museum," Abigail says as Steve types. "Could this woman have afforded a doctor?"

"She often appears in her Sunday best, but also in, shall we say...less. She didn't strike me as particularly monied."

"Did she look sort of vampire-ish?" Steve asks. "I'm reading that people with consumption were rumored to be vampires due to how the disease aged them."

"I'm familiar with that premise, and no, this woman was not withering away."

"Could she have died on a steamboat?" Abigail asks.

"She doesn't give off that sense. There's a calm about her. She's not in danger."

"Let's try another angle. The neighborhood you're staying in, Storyville, claims to be the birthplace of jazz," Abigail says, reading over Steve's shoulder. "Maybe she's related to that?"

"Myka took me to hear this 'jazz,' and I can't say I was at all impressed."

"I like it. Steve does, too. You really hated it?" Myka asks.

"The bleat of the saxophone evokes vaudeville for me."

"Play her some Charlie Parker. Or John Coltrane. That might change her mind," Steve suggests.

"Does this relate to our ghost?" Abigail presses.

"I don't see a connection," Helena answers. "Her dress is previous to that of jazz, of an age closer to my own."

"Storyville was once a legal bordello district," Steve explains. "The whole neighborhood was shut down in 1917. So maybe she's from then?"

"That makes sense," Myka says.

"Do you see her inside or outside?" Abigail asks.

"Thus far, outside."

"But," Myka protests, "last night, when we were...t-the blindfold, you said 'just in case.'"

"Did that not heighten our activities?"

"That's not the point. I can't believe you--"

"Punish me later, darling--"

"Why don't you two hash this out, and we'll get back to you," Abigail suggests.

"Wait, is this her?" Steve asks.

Steve shares a black and white photo of a woman, seated outdoors, in front of a makeshift white backdrop, her hair styled into a modest, shoulder-length coif. Her linen top, trimmed with lace, hangs off one shoulder, and a string of pearls adorns her neck. Her lipstick, rendered as a middle grey, matches the kohl lining her eyes, giving her a soft, silent movie-era look.

"Hm, possibly."

"Here's another."

Helena leans further over Myka's shoulder, looking closely at the image. "Yes, I believe that is her."

"That's, um, really off the shoulder. Shoulders..." Myka says. "Isn't that kind of racy for the time?"

"Quite tame compared to some. Her expression is unusual, contemplative almost, recalling solemn greek statues rather than the usual fodder meant to titillate men's desires."

"How would you know?"

"One encounters all sorts of materials as a Warehouse agent," Helena says with a smirk.

"As an agent. Uh-huh."

"Listen to this," Steve interrupts, "these prints were made from a stash of glass negatives found locked in a desk drawer years after the photographer died. Many are of Adele, the woman you're seeing, but there are other women, too. They were shot in the 1910s, but these prints were made in the '60s. If there were any original prints, they were never found."

"May I see the images again?"

Steve cycles through and adds a few more, one depicting a roll-down desk with a shrine of photos arranged above, all of women, vignetted portraits and romantic depictions of the female form more typical for the time.

"Not sure if that last one is related. But it says it's by the same photographer."

"Could you send that one over? I'd like to look more closely."

"Sure."

Myka trades places with Helena, and Helena clicks the link. She enlarges the photo and inspects the array of images.

"I vaguely recall flicking through a basket in a shop with ephemera such as this. Perhaps this ghost woman was amongst it, but printed in a manner such as the images depicted here."

"So you're saying the photo in the shop might be a photo from this photo?"

"That is what I'm hypothesizing."

"So when you see her, you freeze like you're her photograph trapped in this photograph."

"Or perhaps I am her, caught in the decisive moment of the image being captured."

"That's really meta," Steve says.

"No matter what, neutralizing that photo should do the trick," Abigail suggests. "Heck, neutralize everything in the basket, just in case."

"Do you remember which shop you were in?" Steve asks.

"My recollection is hazy at best due to the copious amount of drink someone encouraged me to consume the evening previously."

Helena looks at Myka and scowls. Myka looks back, endearingly.

"I don't get hangovers."

"Lucky you," Helena quips.

"I hope you find it soon," Steve says, "because being happy looks good on both of you. You should get back to that."

"Thank you, Steve. And thank you, Abigail, for all your help," Helena says.

"Anytime," Abigail says.

"Have a great trip. Send some postcards!" Steve says.

"What a marvelous idea," Helena replies.

"Isn't flicking through postcards how we got here?" Myka warns.

"Shall you pre-screen everything I touch from now on?"

"Maybe I should--"

"We're hanging up now," Abigail says.

The screen goes blank as Myka and Helena devlove further into playful bickering.

*End Scene*

-TBC-

NOTES: "Laissez les bon temps rouler!" is Cajun French for "Let the good times roll." In season four, Steve and Myka go New Orleans and both say they like jazz, so I'm not making that up. I see Myka as more of fan of popular tunes - Billy Holiday, Duke Ellington, Nat King Cole, etc., whereas Steve would know the genre through and through (and try as he might, never gets Claudia quite on board with it all). The photographer is E. J. Bellocq - I was going to incorporate that more, but the politics behind photos I mentioned is...complicated. I want this B&W show to focus on our ladies journey, artifacts are side-plot motivations. But if you're interested, look him up, and I suggest reading both Susan Sontag and Nan Goldin's essays for some clarity on why the images hold the status they do. From the research I've done, his images are plastered all over Storyville businesses, so if you've been there, you've seen at least one. Oh and I had a roommate once who could drink anything and never got a hangover. Some people are lucky like that.

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 46 - Salve

Title: Irreverent Pt. 46 - Salve Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~10K

A/N: Flashback Chapter set between Chapter 14: Superheroes and Chapter 15: Foyet. 

Irreverent Series Masterlist

The bar was thrumming with activity and the energy that accompanies people who've all had a long, hard day at work and would like to do nothing besides forget. The team had gotten back from a case in the evening, and with only Friday separating them and the weekend, had all decided to head out for a night of drinking.

You look around, your hands wrapped around a glass of scotch - Derek, Penelope, and Emily were dancing in the makeshift dancing area, JJ was playing darts with some guys, Spencer was cheating people out of their money at a game of pool, and Rossi had long ago excused himself to go sit by some woman at the bar. You'd be dancing too, but the unsub had gotten the jump on you during the takedown and you'd been nursing a sprained ankle ever since. Hotch had stayed with you - whether it was simply to keep you company or because none of the other activities appealed to him, you're unsure. Likely the former - he was pretty good at darts too.

He's sitting across from you in the booth, a glass of scotch in his hand as well. He doesn't make a face when he drinks it, which you have to admire - it was such a man thing. You only drank liquor to get drunk and had been surprised with the drink by Rossi, who had insisted that you needed to drink something stronger than a glass of wine after the day you'd had. You take another hesitant sip from your glass, trying hard not to give away how little you like it. He could've ordered you a mixed drink - something sweet so you didn't taste just pure alcohol.

"What've you got going on this weekend?" you ask Hotch. The case had been miserable all around and you wanted to talk about anything but that.

He looks up at you, the faint hint of a smile on his face. "Haley and I worked it out so that I can have Jack the entire weekend. I'll have to think of something to keep him occupied."

You knew that Hotch would be content to do nothing as long as it was with Jack, but he liked to make the most of their time together and did his best to plan things out that Jack would like. "I saw a poster that said the Air and Space Museum has some special exhibit on this month. It looked interesting." You knew Jack would enjoy that - his latest toy was a rocketship that went everywhere with him.

"Saturday?" he asks, eyebrow quirked up in question.

"Make it 11, and you've got a deal," you tell him, with a small smile. "I am no longer entertaining plans at 9am."

He lets out a slight huff. "If you just went to bed at a normal hour it wouldn't be that hard to wake up in the morning."

This was an old argument with the two of you. Hotch insisted on always being the first in line to any ticketed event. He hated waiting - he'd start to fidget and get annoyed and keep leaving the line to walk to the front and see what was taking so long.

"Take it or leave it." You were sticking your ground. He could use the lie in too, he'd just never admit it.

"We'll pick you up," he says, bringing his glass to his mouth and taking another sip, eyes meeting yours from above the rim.

It was interesting how you and Hotch had settled into this routine of constantly doing things with Jack. You reckon he likes having another adult around when he's out with Jack - it definitely made things easier to keep a little kid entertained. You'd once mentioned to Emily that you were having dinner with him and Jack and she'd looked at you a little oddly, saying that she'd been on the team forever and had never once had dinner with her boss and his kid. You'd responded by telling her that she probably wouldn't enjoy it all too much - Emily liked kids just fine, but her and Hotch tend to get on one another's nerves a bit after a while. They were far too different even if they did work well together. Hotch would try and fail at limiting her to two glasses of wine with dinner and she'd annoy him by just putting the dishes straight into the dishwasher without caring how she did it.

"Someone sent this over for you." You turn to see the waitress place a drink at your table, and indicate towards a man in a wrinkled suit, seated at the bar, who waves at you.

You can feel your face turn into a grimace as the waitress looks at you expectantly. You avoid looking at Hotch across the way. You didn't need to see his reaction. "Would you mind telling him thanks, but, no thanks for me?" you ask her apologetically.

She nods understandingly, taking the drink back and walking towards the bar.

You turn to look at Hotch, completely exasperated. It was nice. It was a nice gesture - sending a girl a drink. Friendly. Yet, you're just a little at your wit's end lately when it comes to men. It all just feels superficial.

Hotch can read you pretty well by now, so he asks if you're alright.

You look at his concerned face. You know why - usually you don't mind this sort of thing. Hell, you pretty much encourage it with the way you act, flirting with nearly everyone simply because you can. It's like a sport to you.

"Are you asking as my boss or as my friend?" you ask him, eyes cast down towards your drink, following patterns in the wood of the table.

"Friend," he says, adjusting to lean in a bit more towards you.

Sighing, you shift a bit, dropping your leg from where you'd been keeping it elevated next to him. "Lately, I just feel like I can't get guys to see me. Like every guy I meet, they either want to date me or kill me," you tell him, referring to your job. "But beyond that, it's like I don't even matter."

Hotch nods understandingly at your frustration, his face a grimace at your explanation. He's unable to deny that that is very much the case when it comes to women quite often - especially in your line of work. You're all far too aware of the horrors of dating, being called in on numerous cases on dating gone wrong. "Aren't you still seeing that guy - Kensington?" he asks with a slight uptick of his jaw.

"Well, if you can call seeing someone six times over the course of about an equal number of months, then yes I suppose so," you scoff lightly. "Twice we got called in on cases halfway, once he got interrupted by a work emergency, and then most recently I accompanied him to an event at which most of the other dates were the kind that demand a retainer in exchange for services rendered," you say, alluding to the super model types you'd kept company at Cedric's business event a couple of weeks back. You could fit into his world quite easily, but you didn't want to. You'd left that behind for a reason.

Hotch chuckles slightly at that, amused at your tone and manner in which you referred to women who were essentially either escorts or sugar babies. You didn't really fit that mold - of that he was quite certain. For one, you definitely didn't need the money.

"Don't get me wrong, I actually do like him. We get one another and our background and upbringing is similar enough. He makes me laugh. However our schedules - both of ours - are highly unconducive to dating and in his line of business he needs a girlfriend who can leave everything at the drop of a hat to stand by his side."

"So unless you leave your job or he leaves his, it won't work out," Hotch finishes your thought for you, a resigned expression on his face in commiseration.

"Exactly. Which is a shame because he's actually one of the good ones. He's rich but not pompous, educated and intelligent without being condescending about it, and actually shows genuine interest in me and my job. Believe it or not, as basic as those things might seem, they are actually difficult to find all in one man."

He hums. "I can imagine," he says, taking another sip of his drink, a slightly amused expression on his face. You rarely talked to him about your dating life so he was actually very interested in this insight. He wonders briefly if there's any significance to you having listed the fact that Kensington was wealthy before any of his other qualities. From what he knows of you, he doubts you'd truly care if your partner had money or not. More than likely it merely helped establish a commonality, nothing more. However, from what he does know of the men you've dated recently, they all appear to be quite well off nonetheless.

"Anyways, all that is to say that I'm not exactly looking to entertain complete strangers in bars at the moment. I don't trust my luck."

"Probably for the best, anyways," Hotch comments, appraising the crowd at the bar. There really didn't appear to be anyone worth talking to - especially none of your caliber, per his judgement.

"What about you? How's the post divorce dating scene?" you question, feeling a little bolder than you usually might, since the two of you are already discussing the matter. Turnabout was fair play.

He's a little surprised at your forwardness. You tend to do your best to not meddle in his personal business, despite the amount of time you two spend together. He believes it's your way of maintaining some modicum of professionalism to your outings. Your conversations tend to revolve around cases, your classes from college, an article in the newspaper, or the ever present game the two of you like to play of profiling complete strangers walking by. He says its to hone your skills, but really he just enjoys how invested you get - how competitive and passionate, color rising in your cheeks as you defend your assessment, annoyance tinging your tone as you disagree with him, admiration when he notes something you hadn't, and pride when he praises your observations, your cheeks flushed a prettier pink and your eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

"I wouldn't know," he discloses, a slight flush in his cheeks. He hadn't dated at all since the divorce. He hadn't had the time and he hadn't really had interest in anyone. Not when you exist, so overtly present in his day to day life. He knows he's - in some capacity - using the outings with you and Jack as the closest thing he's got to dating again. Not to say that it was that - dating. However the fact that his weekends were typically filled by you and his son made it so he wasn't exactly left wanting.

Your eyes widen a little in surprise. Their divorce had been a while back now - you knew for a fact that Haley was dating, having ran into her with some man when you'd offered to drop Jack off for Hotch when you all got called in on a case last minute. You hadn't mentioned it to him, but you're sure he knew as well. "You're joking. Really? No one?"

"You might recall, I got divorced because I didn't have the time for my existing relationship. A new one requires quite a bit more attention than that," he says dryly, self deprecation dripping from every word.

You hum, narrowing your eyes at him as you stir your drink with the toothpick it came with, spearing the cherry inside and popping it into your mouth.

"You should just go for it next time we're in some whatever town. Every female detective we've encountered constantly gets all moony eyed around you," you inform him matter-of-factly. They're all so obvious too, eyes always drawn to his ring finger in search of a wedding band, and upon finding it empty, hanging onto his every word. Flicking their hair and fluttering their lashes at him, keen on proving themselves to be competent by sticking their noses into the profile.

"That's hardly true," he contradicts, shaking his head, the color in his cheeks having creeped down his neck.

You chuckle at that. "Maybe you're not as good of a profiler as you think you are."

He glares at you, however the lightheartedness remains in his eyes so you know you're in the clear for your jab.

"Anyways, all I'm saying is, whenever you decide to get back on that proverbial horse, I think you won't find a shortage of options," you tell him kindly. After all, Hotch worked harder than any of you. He deserved to find happiness again.

He rolls his eyes at your statement ever so slightly. His right hand was a much less complicated and demanding lover for the time being - he was making do just fine.

"So, on to the next for you then?" he asks, attempting to divert attention back to you and your existent dating life rather than him and his non-existent one.

You shake your head, a humorless smile appearing on your face as you start to feel just slightly light headed from the alcohol. Maybe accepting random pain killers from Emily hadn't been quite the right move. "Nah," you mumble into your drink. "Cedric can stay, if only because I don't have an actual good reason to end it yet. Besides him, the other two on the back burner are quickly losing what little appeal they held to begin with. I might actually take a break."

Hotch smiles as if he doesn't quite believe you're capable of actually taking a break. Your reputation for never being without a date far preceded you.

Truth be told, at first it was simply easier to always be dating someone in the aftermath of the John wreckage. If you could constantly keep yourself occupied and distracted in that area, while you actually gave turning straight a fair shot, then maybe you'd make it through instead of going crawling back to his bed. Maybe you'd stop seeing his broken face when you told him you couldn't be with him. Maybe the memory of leaving him standing alone in front of that tattoo parlor in the Village wouldn't cause your heart to ache and rebel against your own actions. Maybe. Just maybe.

Now, the pain of Julian's death and the subsequent fallout with your family was merely hurtful when you chose to think of it or were reminded of it inadvertently It was no longer ever present. That seemed like progress. Like somehow despite everything - the pain and torture you'd inflicted upon both you and John had somehow been worth it if it meant you could go to sleep without thinking of Julian. Wake up without your father's face looming ever present in your mind.

You and Hotch look up when you see the rest of the team approaching the table one by one as the night drew to a close. It was last call and about time to head home so you could all have a hope of making an appearance at the office the next day.

"You want a ride home?" Hotch asks you, noticing your slight struggle to get out of the booth.

"It's totally out of your way," you protest, yanking your coat on and fishing for your keys in your pocket.

"I insist, come on. You can't drive properly with that sprain right now. He walks towards you and placing his hand at your lower back, guides you out of the bar behind the rest of the team. "Your car should be fine and we can grab it in the morning."

You know he's right, so you allow yourself to lean against him ever so much more, letting him help you out to his car. Hotch helps you in and closes the door behind you, before walking around to the driver's side. You take control of the music, plugging in your phone, intent on introducing him to more modern music. The two of you made it through seven Top 50 songs on the drive to your place, Hotch complaining throughout and not finding anything redeemable in any of the songs you'd chosen.

Aaron looked over at you as he neared your house, your head moving along to the music and your fingers dancing across your thighs to the tune, a large grin plastered on your voice as you tried to convince him that this this one he surely had to enjoy. He actually didn't mind most of the music you picked out to introduce him to - you didn't just pick anything, you always did your best to pick something you thought he'd truly enjoy. However, he worried that if he started to openly like any of them, you might stop trying so hard.

He pulled into your driveway and walked around to help you out of the car, lending you a hand along the path and up the steps to your door. He stands on the lower step as you unlock the door, before you turn around to tell him goodbye. When you turn, you're almost at his height due to the different steps you two are stood upon and you're not quite sure what compels you, but you reach for him and lean in to a hug, tucking your head onto his shoulder. If he's surprised he doesn't react as such, wrapping his arms around you as well briefly.

"Thanks Hotch."

"I'll pick you up at 8:30AM tomorrow. Is that alright?"

"Sounds good. I'll be the one standing right here, holding the cups of coffee."

He smiles, rolling his eyes just slightly, before turning around and walking away.

*------------*

He first becomes aware of only pain. A piercing, stabbing pain that he can feel everywhere, centered around the abdominal area. He can't move, everything feels heavy. Opening his eyes is a struggle and he manages to only open his eyes a fraction, before being forced to close them tight again. It was bright. White and too bright for his sensitive eyes.

He's slowly starting to realize where he is - becoming increasingly aware of the pain and the bandages, the needle connecting an I.V. to his arm - he's in a hospital. He tries to remember what happened - he'd dropped you off, waited until you made it inside and waved him off, before leaving. He'd gotten back to his apartment. It had been quiet. Eerily quiet. Then Foyet was there. After that all he recalls is pain and Foyet's voice - over and over and over.

Do I seem impotent now?

You should've made the deal.

This will never be over.

Aaron finds it too difficult to keep his eyes open and closes them once again, slipping under.

The next time he wakes, a technician was present and the girl quickly hurried out when she noticed him move.

Once the nurses became aware that he was conscious, it had been a flurry of activity - doctors and technicians in and out to ensure he was alright and to up the pain medication. Some talk about internal bleeding and nine stab wounds to which he'd simply nodded along. He tried to ask for Dave - someone who could make sense of all of this. They told him no visitors yet, but that family had been informed.

Once Dave enters, that's when he finds out everything. Foyet had dumped him outside the hospital. After he hadn't shown up to pick you up that morning, you'd raised the alarm and Garcia had tracked him down. Nothing was missing from his apartment from what they could tell, despite the mess. The only thing left out was his address book. Dave had it with him and Aaron looks through it, going immediately to the one page that mattered. It wasn't there.

Haley Brooks.

Rossi had sent you to go get Haley since the Marshalls were getting ready for her. You'd left Jack with JJ, assuring him that you'd be right back. He'd already seen his father and you'd watched from a distance as Hotch had adjusted to sit up, insistent on not letting his son see him as anything but alright, even in the context of a hospital bed. Haley had been with them and you watched as her eyes flitted from Hotch to Jack - fear for her son and what he might have to go through, due to his father's job, her main concern. She was worried for Hotch too, of course. She must be. However, their initial interaction that you'd witnessed hadn't been quite how you'd expect a wife to react to her husband being in a hospital. Though, you suppose, she wasn't really his wife anymore. Not that it mattered to him - you're pretty sure in his eyes, she might as well still be.

You approach, and you can hear Hotch and Haley in conversation about what's going to happen next. Foyet had taken only the page in his address book with her name on it, so his intentions were perfectly clear. Haley and Jack were being targeted by a serial killer. That meant they needed to be protected, and you knew that Hotch would have to break it to her.

"Do you know where they're taking us?" Haley asks. You can hear the uncertainty in her voice. You wait outside, trying not to eavesdrop but it was impossible not to overhear.

"No I don't. And that's the point. I can't know where you're going. If you have any contact with anyone, then he could track you."

"Jack has school, Aaron. He has friends. I have a job now." Her voice is accusing and you want to tell her that none of that matters right now. The only thing that matters is the two of them being safe.

"I know. And I'm sorry. We will catch him. And you'll come back, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you." Hotch's voice comes out low and you can hear the anguish caught in his throat as he speaks to the mother of his child - telling her to take their son and go. Breaking his own heart in the process by keeping Jack away from him. Knowing that that is exactly what Foyet wants. Wants him to suffer.

"Are you sure that we're in danger?" she asks, her voice suggesting that maybe he was overreacting. You feel a surge of anger course through you at that. For her to even suggest that he was overreacting when he was laid up in a hospital bed with multiple stab wounds was simply…you didn't have the words. He wouldn't make her go through this over nothing!

"Yes."

You decide to intervene then. Before she can question it further and agitate him more. He needed to rest. You knock quickly, alerting them both to your presence. "Haley, the Marshalls are ready for you."

She nods and grabs Hotch's hand. You avert your eyes to give them their privacy as Hotch tells her to be brave and strong. He'll see her and Jack after she's met with them.

Haley walks towards you and you point her to the tall female agent standing at the end of the ICU doors, wearing non-descript clothing in order to not garner too much attention. She nods and looks at you, and you see a hint of something pass through her eyes, like she wants to speak, but then seems to think better of it and walks towards the direction you'd pointed her in.  

You watch her go, before turning to Hotch. His eyes followed her until she disappeared around the corner, and then he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. You hesitate for a second, before walking in. Your presence wouldn't be missed for a few minutes, you hope, so you walk towards the bed and take a seat in the chair to his left, waiting until he decides to look at you.

"How're you feeling?" His face is turned towards you as though he's partially surprised you're even there at all. You wonder if he would've preferred you have left him alone instead.

"They're got me some pretty strong meds," he tells you, indicating towards the I.V. drip connected to his arm.

You lean over and read the chart hanging from the side of the bed, eyes glancing over it. "They got you on all of the good stuff - Hydromorphone will get the job done for sure." You try to smile but you know it won't reach your eyes right now.

"How long did it take you to sound the alarm?"

You shift, tilting the chair to look at him better, your teeth worrying your bottom lip and eyes narrowed, trying to work out why he'd ask that. The smell of a hospital was starting to get to you a bit - that odd smell that feels like despair and cleaning supplies. "Ten minutes. At 8:35, I called your cell and you didn't pick up. I called again at 8:36 and 8:37 and 8:38. At 8:39 I told myself I was acting crazy and that the weird feeling I had wasn't anything really. I just needed some breakfast. At 8:40, I called Penelope and had her track you down." You remembered the ten minutes of pure panic you'd gone through when he hadn't been outside at exactly 8:30AM. With anyone else, it wouldn't be a cause for concern. With Hotch, you'd expected him to be there at 8:25AM and so you'd been ready to go by 8:15AM with a travel mug of coffee for the both of you in each hand. He also always texted you when he left his place to come to yours and you hadn't gotten an ETA text that morning. Maybe that's what had originally put you on edge.

He looks at you, an odd look on his face at your explanation as if he's trying to decide what to make of it - the entirely detailed and rambling explanation he got from you, likely catching him off guard a bit. Great, he thinks I'm insane.

A small smile makes its way to his face however, and you're glad he's still capable of that, despite everything. You haven't yet looked down at his bandages. Foyet had stabbed him nine times. You'd seen the notes that Rossi had taken - what Foyet had said to Hotch as he stabbed him. Talking about how Hotch has profiled him as being impotent. The mere act of stabbing Hotch while taunting him with that particular piece of the profile -it filled your stomach with churning acid. It was the closest to sexual assault that Foyet could inflict upon Hotch and you're trying hard not to think about the emotional and mental ramifications of it all for him. The physical was one thing - that's something that people can move past with time. The violation of one's home and one's body however - the toll that takes on ones being and sense of self - that's much more difficult to bury.

Just to even think that he was exaggerating - you're mad all over again at Haley. You shouldn't be. You know that isn't fair at all. She was having her whole life upended. And yet…he was the one in a hospital bed and you're having a hard time recalling her seeming at all concerned for him. She must've been, of course. But…he didn't deserve to be made to feel like shit because of it. It wasn't his fault. Knowing him, he really would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

You avert your eyes to stare at the wheels at the bottom of the bed. They'd wheeled him, unconscious, past you when you'd first arrived at the hospital, not bothering to go into the office and instead arriving straight from your place via a cab. You'd been the first one there, having Garcia call the rest of the team. You'd called Rossi so that he could be the one to call Haley. He'd known her longer. You'd limped your way into the ICU, bypassing every single security check with a flash of your badge.

Pointless really. They wouldn't let you see him. Family first. You had to wait for Haley and Rossi to arrive - they were his emergency contacts. You briefly wondered if that was because he'd never bothered to update it after the divorce or if that was truly still the case - if she would be the person he'd want to have during an emergency.

"Can I say something?" Your voice comes out small and hesitant. He hadn't said anything in the wake of your explanation earlier.

He nods, looking at you curiously.

You wet your lips, clearing your throat a bit and sitting up straighter. It's not your place, and yet.. someone should say it. Someone should tell him.

"Sometimes, when we love people, we allow them to hurt us. We allow them to ignore our pain in favor of elevating their own. We allow them to bypass our feelings and our needs because we believe we aren't as worthy of having what we need acknowledged. I get why, of course. Especially right now, but.." You trail off, not knowing how to finish what you'd started in a way that didn't complete overstep the boundaries that you'd already crossed. He'd know you had heard. He didn't need to know that right now, you didn't exactly love his ex wife. You liked her just fine. But right then, you didn't appreciate how she'd treated him.

Hotch looks at you, breath caught by your words. He hadn't realized you'd overheard the conversation between him and Haley. There could be no other reason for you to be saying all of that. You'd said it all softly, hesitantly, knowing you were crossing some sort of line and yet you'd still said it because you felt he needed to hear it. We love.. We allow… We believe… You were speaking from some amount of personal experience. Your first question to him had been about how he was doing - unlike both Rossi and Prentiss who had asked him what happened. He's not sure why the distinction matters, yet it does.

Haley was right too, however. He can't be upset with her. This was all his fault. He hadn't made a deal with Foyet and now his family - his son - their lives were being upended. Haley had already put up with a lot during their marriage. The divorce should've meant that she no longer had to bear the consequences of his job. He can't help but feel guilty for that - for putting her in this situation. Especially when he's so overtly aware that he could've kept it from happening.

He watches as you sit in that chair, eyeing him apprehensively, chewing on your bottom lip. You care. He can tell you care. You care so overwhelmingly that it's hard to deny it. Sometimes he wishes you didn't. It would make things a lot easier on him if he could think that he felt something for someone that didn't even think about him - that he never crossed your mind even. However, there's far too much proof to the contrary. So instead he has to live with knowing that you care about him, that you think of him, that you likely - in some capacity - love him. The way one might love a friend or a mentor. Somehow that's worse because he has to then deal with you saying stuff like this. Things that make it seem like only you care.

He doesn't know what to say and he can feel tears forming that he's quick to blink away, hoping you hadn't noticed. He swallows and just nods, not trusting himself to say much of anything that didn't involve asking you to stay - possibly forever, because for the first time since he'd woken up in the hospital, he feels seen.

You try to smile and change the subject, fill him in on the Marshalls' plan with Haley and Jack. Offer to get him ice chips or some food that wasn't from the hospital cafeteria. He notices how at ease you seem in the hospital, and comes to the conclusion that maybe a family member had spent some time in one. You seem to know which nurses to talk to in order to get whatever you needed. You watch like a hawk when they come to do anything with his medications. He's pretty certain you would've slept there overnight had Rossi not asked you to help Morgan with something on the ongoing case.

He misses you as soon as you leave.

*------------*

You catch Jack and Haley on your way out. You know you won't be seeing Jack for a while. The Marshalls would be taking them today. Everything was going to change for them.

You nod at Agent Montgomery - the U.S. Marshall that's going to be on their case for the time being. She shifts, moving to the doorway to give you guys a moment.

Haley is seated at the table, her hands holding onto some paperwork. She meets your eyes briefly and nods before returning to the documents. There's a pen in her hands and you can't help but note that her fingers shake around it a bit.

Jack is seated at another table nearby, Agent Montgomery having cleared the breakroom for their meeting.

"Hey buddy." You kneel down to where Jack has been sitting, coloring a printout that one of the nurses must've provided. Jack turns to you, showing off his work. "That looks amazing, Jack!"

He beams with pride at your praise. "Thanks, Y/N."

"I have to head out, okay. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left."

Jack gets up and hugs you, wrapping his little pudgy arms tightly around your neck, allowing you to sweep him up entirely. You know this is the last time you'll get to hold him for quite a while, so you allow it to linger, hugging him back tight. "I love you, Jack." Whispered into his ear while you blink back tears.

You release him and stand, making sure he's settled back into his activity and occupied, before turning to Haley. She stands, walks with you a small distance away from Jack. It isn't fair, what's happening to her. You don't really hold anything against her. It's awful, entirely awful what's happening - her whole life was about to be uprooted because of your jobs. Because of all of your collective failure to catch Foyet the first time. It was your mistake and her and Jack were going to pay for it.

You look up at her and you can see how entirely scared she is of what's about to happen. To have to do this on your own was one thing. Doing it with a partner, another. To have to do it all alone while supporting a child - she wouldn't have anyone she knew to rely upon. All by herself and unable to trust anyone.

"We're going to find him. We're gonna catch him. I promise." You know words were of little solace but that's all you have to give right then.

She smiles, a watery smile to match the unshed tears in her eyes. There's a shaky nod before she moves forward, hugging you in much the same manner Jack had. She's a bit taller than you, so you try to stand straight, allowing her to lean against you. "Take care of him." Her voice is a whisper against your ear, as though she's entrusting you with something extremely precious. Which she is, you suppose. She's counting on you to make sure that Hotch would be alright. That Jack's father would be fine, awaiting his son's return.

"I will."

*------------*

It had been a week since Foyet had left Hotch outside the hospital. A week since Haley and Jack had been taken into WITSEC protective custody and given new identities in an unknown location. A week since Morgan had become the new acting Unit Chief of the BAU, taking over in Hotch's stead. To the public - to the outside world - and especially to Foyet, it had to seem like his attack on Hotch had left him completely alone and broken - no wife, no kid, no team to lead.

You hated it.

The team had been assigned a new case late Sunday evening after you'd all pretty much spent the past couple of days in the hospital. Hotch was discharged earlier in the day and was under strict orders to stay on bedrest for the time being. You'd all flown out early Monday morning and it was now Saturday evening, the case having stretched out the entire week due to the Unsub's kill schedule.

You got back home after submitting your report, grabbing a water and a pack of the little bunny crackers you keep on hand for Jack. You're pretty sure you won't be seeing Jack before those expire and someone should eat them. You shower and get dressed for bed, thinking about Hotch. You knew he was home and would be coming back to work next week, doing the absolute bare minimum bed rest that the doctor had mandated. You're fairly certain the doctor had been intimidated into it by Hotch's severe face, daring him to say anything longer than a week.

It's fairly late by the time you actually crawl into bed, plugging your phone into the charger by the nightstand and flickering off the lights, plunging the room into darkness save for the red glow of the alarm clock stating that it was now eleven o'clock. You wonder if anyone has checked in on him while the team has been away. Perhaps Jess, but she must also be out of her mind with worry about Haley and Jack.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you've grabbed your phone and scrolled to his name in your Favorites, pressing on it. You hold the phone up to your ear and listen as it rings, once, twice, thrice, until you hear the sound of it being picked up.

"Hotchner." His voice is low but doesn't sound sleepy, so you're at least confident that you hadn't woken him up. Having nothing to do but lay around must be messing with his carefully regulated sleep schedule.

You suppress a laugh at his formal no-nonsense greeting, even though he undoubtedly knows it's you. "Hey." Your voice comes out breathier than intended.

"Is everything alright?" There's a slight edge evident in his voice and you realize that maybe calling him at eleven at night when his wife - ex-wife - and kid are being kept away safe wasn't exactly the right move.

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's alright. I'm sorry. I just called to check in. How are you?"

There's a pause where you can hear the ambient sounds of your house settling in along with him shifting - the rustling of a bedsheet and the groan of the frame as he moves to adjust himself. So he had been in bed when you called.

Finally, you hear, "I'm alright. Thank you for dropping off the food."

"Yeah, yeah of course," you respond, your heartbeat picking up a bit for some reason. You figure it's because you're unsure of the call itself still and knowing that Hotch was in bed and you'd likely disturbed him in some sense at least, makes you feel a little uneasy.

For his part, Aaron had been going stircrazy, sitting at home with nothing whatsoever to do. The Marshalls had taken Haley and Jack the very same day. Dave had taken him from the hospital and back to his apartment and Garcia and JJ had dropped by the same day with some groceries and a couple of ready to eat meals for him.

He spent most of Sunday sleeping, the strong painkillers making him drowsy. Monday morning, he awoke to his doorbell and his nurse, Eric, from the hospital was there to help him with the dressage. He didn't think that was covered by his insurance - he could only imagine how much home visits from a medical professional cost - and had told Eric there was some sort of mistake. However, Eric had insisted that someone at the hospital had already worked it out and insurance wasn't an issue - this was a covered service apparently. Since Aaron already knew him, and he really could use the help, he'd let him in. Eric had entered holding a large box of food as well, that he said had been left at the door along with a note. After Eric left, Aaron had opened the box to reveal pre-portioned meals - all homemade, all different, all things he could throw in a microwave easily. The note was just signed with your name, telling him to call if he needed anything else.

He'd slept through most of the days, awakening only to let Eric in daily. He ate only because he had to in order to take his medications. Otherwise his mind was a haze of thoughts and worries - worrying about Jack and Haley, about Foyet being around the next corner, about the team managing without him, and somewhere at the farthest reaches of his mind your face danced around - worried and concerned for him, despite doing your very best to appear otherwise.

When your name flashed across his phone late at night, at first he felt the thrust of panic - that something had happened. And then there's your voice, calm and even, asking him how he's doing. No one else had called him. Dave and Prentiss had texted once or twice over the week, but with a case going on, everyone had been busy.

There's a brush of silence after he thanks you for the food and he can hear you take a breath and shift ever so much. He realizes that you're calling him while most likely lying in bed. It causes his heart to speed up and a tight coil to begin tightening in his stomach. It's utterly benign - he has no reason to feel that way, and yet, yet he does.

"How was the case?" he asks, desperate for someone to speak with, not wanting the phone call to end.

You're slightly surprised but you easily talk him through the details of the case, the profiling process and how the team had approached it. You find yourself babbling on for a while as he asks you questions about the evidence, how the local detectives had been, how the team was doing.

Aaron listens to you, taking it all in. You're good at this, providing all the details you know he'd want. You notice everything, all the little things. How the local detectives had responded to Morgan being in charge - how it had been easier for JJ to liaise with them more closely instead. How Reid was getting much more comfortable with having a weapon in the field. There's a soft, sleepy quality to you despite your obvious willingness to tell him everything. Your voice like a salve, doing more for him than any of the medications the doctors had prescribed.

He's not sure when or how, but the conversation has meandered from the case to something Prentiss had told you once, to a story he had of Dave and Gideon back when he first joined the team, and then to a professor of yours from college who had been particularly invested in the Bundy trials in a near obsessive manner. He finds himself laughing for the first time since that night at the bar with you.

When his eyes next catch the time, it is past 2AM. You'd been on the phone for the past three hours. Before this, the longest phone call he's ever had was fifteen minutes.

"It's late," he whispers, almost as though he doesn't want you hear him. "You should get some sleep."

You glance at your clock and find yourself shocked at how long the two of you had been on the phone together. Who knew Hotch was even capable. Though, you figure, you'd been doing the bulk of the talking, rambling on about something or the other. He must be utterly exhausted of listening to your voice.

"You should too," you murmur through a yawn, your eyes flickering under the weight of your lashes.

"Good night, Y/N." You can hear a smile in his voice and it's almost as though you can feel him - the way he feels when he hugs you, warm and strong, firm against you, surrounding you completely with his being.

"Night Hotch."

*------------*

Hotch had been back a couple of weeks and the team was adjusting. While Morgan was indeed the public face of the team, Hotch was very still involved and working far too much behind the scenes. You've kept an eye on him, looking for signs of him overexerting himself. He is, of course. He's burying himself in work, diving in head first because that's likely easier than focusing on everything else. So far, all you've done is give him looks that say Shouldn't you be going home? and Is this really what you want to spend a Wednesday at 9PM doing? He doesn't acknowledge them openly but you know that he knows that you see exactly what he's trying to do. He'll leave once he realizes that you're staying if he is.  

You're not quite sure how to check on him during the weekends. Before, you used to have Jack as the reason why you saw him. Now, without Jack, you're not quite sure how to go about seeing Hotch and making sure he's alright, without it somehow being seen as overstepping. You nudge Rossi to go check on him one of the days and then another, you invited the entire team over for dinner so that you know he ate. You know he won't let you cook for him if he's no longer on bedrest, even though the way he holds his gun and the sharp inhale he takes anytime he has to put the Kevlar on is extremely telling.

JJ wants everyone in the conference room on the other side of the floor since your regular one is taken and she calls you to inform everyone of the change in venue for the scheduled meeting. You glance up from your desk after having told Derek and Emily of the location change, trusting them to tell Spencer when he returns. JJ isn't expecting everyone for another half hour, and Emily had caught Rossi as he was heading out to lunch, so he's also aware. Emily and Derek follow in his steps, asking if you're going to join them, but you wave them on ahead.

You take the steps up to Hotch's office swiftly, knocking and turning the knob in one motion, only to find him standing behind his desk, no jacket or tie, shirt unbuttoned, a patch of red visible on his skin from one of the stab wounds inflicted by Foyet. He looks up at you and you can feel the surprise in his eyes. It was your fault, you should've waited. That was stupid. Your eyes can't seem to look away from the blood spotting the otherwise white wrappings that sit in a pile on the desk.

"I - I'm sorry," you stutter out, blinking and trying to make sense of the sight in front of you. You notice that his shirt was also equally marred, the blood having seeped through. You'd obviously interrupted him.

He draws a breath, and you can see him try to put on a mask of being unbothered by your sudden appearance. "Did you need something?"

'Um, JJ had to move the briefing to the other conference room," you inform him, still unable to look away. You're staring. You know are. It's dawning upon you how entirely you'd fucked up. Hotch was such a private person. He'd hate having someone see him in such a state of vulnerability.

He nods. "Thank you. Could you close the door, please?"

You don't move from your spot in the doorway.

"Y/N?"

You're not sure what exactly has overcome you, except this overwhelming need to take care of him. Especially now, right then when he's hurting. Bleeding quite literally. Hotch takes care of everyone. Every single one of you. But no one takes care of him. Not the way he needs to be cared for.

You cross the threshold, shutting and locking the door behind you. He seems entirely taken aback as you approach him silently. There's a voice in your head telling you that this, right here, this was the definition of overstepping. Yet, there is a more insistent compulsion residing within you, urging you forward until you've reached him. He looks at you, confusion in his features.

"Let me." You reach for the alcohol wipes on the table, meant to disinfect the affected region.

He doesn't say anything, but he also doesn't move, making it difficult for you to actually reach him as he's standing flush to his desk. He only looks at you, brows scrunched together, the pronounced cleft of his lower lip set tightly.

"Let me." You repeat yourself, moving forward and forcing him to back up a little and make room for you. You deftly move to sit on his desk, facing him, and beckon him towards you without looking up. If you looked up, you might lose your nerve.

You part your legs and much to your surprise, he actually moves forward, coming to settle between them. You can feel the heat of his body radiating off of him. You're suddenly very aware of the friction between his dress pants and the material of your own fitted ones.

You take the alcohol wipe and tear open the packaging, unraveling the cloth before cautiously moving towards him and dabbing at the area that seemed to have opened up slightly. He releases a sharp hiss and suddenly, his hand is at your waist, gripping tightly. You pause, looking up at his face. His eyes are shut, lips pressed tightly together. After a second, he nods, indicating at you to continue. He doesn't make a sound again as you clean up the area, though he does tighten his grip ever so slightly a couple more times.

You look at the items on his desk and pick up the jar of salve that he must put on prior to the dressings. Carefully, you unscrew the lid, looking up at him with a question in your eyes. He nods again, barely looking at you.

You try to do it quickly. Fingers picking up some of the salve and gingerly spreading it over the region, brushing past raised skin, puckered up as it heals. Slowly. Not fast enough for him.

Aaron watches as your head is bent, teeth biting down on your lower lip in concentration as you gently span the entirely of his chest and stomach. Soft, dainty fingers quickly working so as to put him out of his misery faster.

Of all people, he didn't want you to see him this way. So vulnerable, so exposed, so scarred. You'd thrown him off balance when you hadn't quickly scampered away after you realized your error in barging in. Approached him with such purpose that he hadn't known how to turn you away.

You reach for the fresh roll of gauze next, swallowing as you look up at him once again. "This would be easier if you take the shirt off."

He shrugs it off at your words, placing it on the back of his chair. There's a fresh shirt on the seat of his chair. He'd been prepared, it would seem.

"This might put a dent in the line of women waiting to pounce." He indicates towards his chest, self deprecation dripping from his weak attempt at humor, in an effort to cut whatever imaginary tension he had made up in his head.

You look at his face, seeing the vulnerability and insecurity as plain as can be. He doesn't need to verbalize his thoughts in order for you to know exactly what he's thinking. What he's been thinking.

Who would want someone this grotesque?

Who would want a man as broken as this?

Who could possibly bear the sight of him - marred forever? His very flesh a perpetual reminder of the terror he wades through, the monsters he encounters, the horror that is his life.

"No."

Your answer is simple, straightforward. Yet nothing has ever confused him more as he watches you hold one end of the gauze to the front of his chest near the top of the scarring, and then bring the roll around his back, over it to hold it in place, your small hands ghosting over his skin with the utmost propriety, intent in making this as painless, as easy, as comfortable for him as possible.

"I'm not going to tell you some patronizing bullshit about scars being beautiful."

You control your breath in easy measured paces, forcing him to follow along. One breath in. Pause. Breath out. Repeat. You continue to wrap the dressing around his chest slowly, your eyes fixed on the task at hand to ensure that it was all straight and even, tight but not too tight.

"They do, however, speak to all that you've endured. All that you've conquered. Overcome. Anyone who loves you will see you just as you are. They would think you absolutely incredible. Regardless of anything. Because of it all."

Aaron focuses on your voice, soft and melodic and yet sure. So very sure. How could you possibly be so sure?

"Someone who loves you will see the scars," your fingers press ever so slightly against his chest, "and they will know. They will know all that you've undergone to become who are - how you survived despite the odds."

You take a sudden shuddered breath as you recall the sight of him unconscious in the hospital bed, being wheeled past you. You're quick to shake it away.

"They will be grateful. To have you, scars and all."

You finish, tucking in the end of the gauze firmly and ensuring it wouldn't come loose with just the slightest of motions.

You look up at him then, finally meeting his eyes properly. Beautiful, deep brown eyes with flecks of gold brought on by the late afternoon sunlight that was filtering through the windows.

Aaron can't help but look at you. He rarely gets to see you this up close. So very close. If he were to just bend down the smallest amount, there'd be no space at all. Your hair bundled back into a professional low bun, soft wisps framing your face. The cupid's bow lips - pouty, pink, perfect lips. The upturned nose and the slight babyface cheeks that accompanied it. He realizes his hand is still gripped onto your waist and he's reluctant to remove it. Not yet. In a bit. Not yet.

"Thank you." His eyes are closed as he says it so he misses it when you nod your acknowledgement.

You lean past him, one hand grabbing his forearm for balance while the other reaches for the shirt on the chair. You'd started the job. Might as well finish it. You unbutton the collar and he takes it from you, quickly slipping it on, and yet not moving away. His hand returns to your waist. Staying where you could easily reach up and start buttoning it for him. So you do.

Aaron knows you don't need a response to everything you'd said. He also is quite certain that you believe it. No matter the entirely shallow world you'd been a part of, he knows that you aren't like that. You might be a little vain - the nice clothes and makeup, the care you put into your own appearance. However, you're not vain like this.

Aaron breathes out a deep sigh that he'd been holding for some time as you dexterously work each button into its proper hole. He really could get used to this. To you.

"Why do you always sit on stuff?" His voice is soft and low, calmer.

You glance up, noting the slight humor dancing behind his eyes while he waits for your answer.

You can't help but smile, a breath of laughter escaping you just barely. "I suppose…because I'm short," you admit, shaking your head as you continue down the trail of buttons. "Makes it easier for me to be at eye level if I sit on higher surfaces."

He laughs. A near boisterous laugh. His chest rumbles underneath your hands, causing your fingers to tremble.

You can't help but laugh along with him, releasing a deep held breath as you do.

He would be alright. He would.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Drifters ch.8 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Edge has got a handle on this parenting stuff. Seriously. He does. It's alllll under control.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

In Underfell, Edge always showered quickly and efficiently. It was the surest way to avoid the bursts of cold that came from their capricious hot water heater, and there was no reason to assume things would be different in Underswap. Efficiency was the key to many things in his life and kept the juggling act that was his life well balanced between his guard duties, his training with Undyne, and simply dealing with his brother.

He’d expected to be able to transfer those lessons to caring for this child; practical efficiency, that would be the way. What he hadn’t considered was how such a tiny little creature could thwart his plans so easily, nor had he anticipated how much effort was involved in all this, even when it came to something so simple as a bath.

Once the tub was full of water and frothy bubbles, and the baby was down to her bare bones, Edge was forced to consider the best method of bathing her. She wasn’t able to sit up on her own, but she could if braced and managed to more or less hold her head upright, surely a minor magic of its own considering the ungainly size of her skull.

The easiest approach seemed to be holding her up with one hand and bathing her with the other. It was a reasonable strategy. He should be able to finish quickly with none of the aforementioned ‘greased watermelon’ issue coming into play.

What he didn’t take into account was that she was less of a simple slippery melon and more of a sentient squirming slippery melon, with legs and arms and an unshakeable will of her own.

The moment he lowered her into the bath, the child began to thrash, making a fair attempt to bash the bubbles with both tiny fists and feet. She laughed gleefully as the water splattered around them, right up until the wave returned to splash her directly in the face.

The baby sputtered and coughed, floundering as she gasped for breath while Edge struggled to keep her head above the water. Her chin trembling as she turned her dripping face to him, sockets wide and wounded as if seeking reassurance for this terrible betrayal.

Edge couldn’t hold back a low chuckle, “I’m sorry, child, but that’s what happens when you don’t consider the consequences of your attack.”

His amusement seemed to spur her own. Her upset forgotten, she chortled happily and renewed her attack on the water, and this time the wave encompassed them both. In the end, there was very little washing on his part. The best he could manage was keeping her from slipping underwater as she splashed and played. It wasn’t the most efficient method, but he had to admit, she was very clean when he finally lifted her from the tub despite her loud protests.

Then came drying which turned into a game of its own when he learned that if he held up the towel so she couldn’t see him, then quickly dropped it, she would squeal happily, hands and legs flailing with her excitement. That continued long after she was dry, until she began sucking on her fingers again, a sign he’d learned to read as meaning that food needed to be on its way soon or else the screams would quickly begin.

Her pajamas had escaped her watery wrath, at least, and that gave him another new experience to manage. She seemed to have very little control over her own limbs, they flailed and waved seemingly of their own accord and combatting that to gently navigate them through narrow sleeves and pantlegs proved a heroic task all its own.

By the time he was done, she was clean and dry, sitting pertly in her light blue pajamas with a snowflake motif, and he was a sweaty, damp mess in Stretch’s ratty old bathrobe. How did parents manage this, he wondered, how had his brother managed this? His esteem for everything his brother and Stretch must have endured to care for him and Blue had raised tenfold in the past 24 hours, with no end point in sight.

The finger sucking was increasing in urgency and Edge sighed inwardly, already resigned to all his hard work being rendered useless within the hour. He lifted her up, cautiously balancing her on his hip as he’d seen Stretch do, and found it not only comfortable but also a way to free one hand.

“Come along, little one,” Edge told her, smoothing that hand down the curve of her skull. “Breakfast is downstairs.”

She babbled softly, little nonsense sounds of agreement that food was an excellent choice, and he smiled helplessly.

“You need a name,” he told her as she cooed up at him. “But perhaps I need to know you better before choosing one.”

Down in the living room, Stretch and Red were sitting on the sofa together, looking for all the world like they hadn’t been talking about him while he was gone. One of those colorful bowls was in the table, half-full of some sort of pale mush.

“hey, you two,” Stretch said. One side of his mouth curved in a half-smile, his gaze more on Edge’s bedraggled form than the baby. “made it out alive, huh?”

“She made a fair attempt at drowning me,” Edge admitted.

“ya look like she won,” Red said, unimpressed, and of course he wouldn’t know Edge had already heard his pride this morning. That memory was already tucked away safely in his soul.

“there are no winners at bath time, only survivors.” Stretch reached for the child. “here, let me handle second breakfast while you get changed.”

Edge stepped back enough to put both of them out of reach. “I can do it,” he said firmly.

“sure you can, but i can also help, you know.” It was lightly said, in the same tone as yesterday when Stretch pointed out he didn’t need to slap away helping hands. It left Edge torn with indecision. On one side of the coin, he needed to become accustomed to handling the child on his own. Once he found a job and they found a place to live, he wouldn’t be able to depend on Stretch for simple childcare. But on the other, he was here now, damp, undressed, and thoroughly ready for breakfast and a shower of his own.

He looked at Stretch, at the dark circles under his sockets, the mismatched clothes he’d likely scrounged from the unfolded clothes pile. He’d already done so much for them, more than anyone could reasonably expect, far more than a fuckbuddy, as he’d called it, should. Edge couldn’t keep asking for more.

“She’s already wreaked her havoc on me,” Edge managed to gesture at his damp bathrobe without the use of his hands, “I may as well take the full brunt of the damage she can cause before I clean up.”

It was the right thing to say. Stretch laughed and shook his head. “heh, fair enough.” He gave the bowl a nudge in Edge’s direction. “have at it.”

Edge settled the baby into her little pillow fort before picking up the bowl. The contents were gooey and a brownish-beige, unrecognizable. He sniffed it warily, “What is it?”

“banana.”

Edge scooped up a spoonful and let it fall back into the bowl with a wet plop. His experience with bananas was limited to pictures he’d seen in books. That was the sort of fruit only found in the King’s orchard, not in the outskirts of the Ruins where Snowdin lay.

“It doesn’t look like any of the pictures I’ve seen,” Edge said doubtfully. For one, he was very sure that bananas were supposed to be yellow, not the shade of the old personal computers that littered the dump.

“you probably saw them pre-baby smash,” Stretch said, “g’wan, she’s waiting.”

She was in fact smacking her mouth like a baby bird, gurgling hopefully. Well, he’d trusted Stretch so far, now was not the time for doubts. He scooped up some of the gunk and poked the spoon between her teeth. Then he had to grapple it free when she bit down, grunting and wriggling enthusiastically as she messily swallowed down her mouthful.

Behind him came smothered laughter from his unwanted audience.

“yeah, gonna have to be quicker than that,” Stretch chuckled.

Red hooted a laugh of his own. “be glad she ain’t got sharp teeth. almost lost a finger coupla times with you.”

Edge scowled at the baby, who met his glare with pure innocence that no longer fooled him. He was a captain in the royal guard, a days-old child was not going to outmatch him.

This time when he poked the spoon into her mouth to deposit the banana, he quickly pulled it back out before her teeth could close around it.

“Aha!” Edge said triumphantly. “You see? A little cooperation and we’ll get this done, child.”

“Brrrrp,” the baby replied, spewing smashed banana directly into Edge’s face. He sputtered, falling back, but it was too late. He could never again say that he didn’t know what slightly used banana tasted like, not unpleasant but definitely not something he’d choose on his own.

A sort of strangled sound came from behind him and he swung around to find Stretch nearly neon in the face, his gaze firmly on the ceiling and his teeth locked together. He refused to meet Edge’s glare, only studied the ceiling as if the answers of the universe might appear there, if only he looked hard enough.

His brother, on the other hand, was never shy about enjoying the pain of others. Red only grinned at him, asking with disturbing sweetness, “problems, pap?”

“Not at all,” Edge said stiffly.

“uh huh. paybacks a bitch, bro.”

Before he could scold Red for his language— honestly, her first word was going to be some sort of swearing, he just knew it— the front door opened, and Blue was talking before he even made it through the entryway.

“Papy, I’m home,” he called, “which you shouldn’t be because you’re supposed to be at your sentry station, what if a Human came through—"

Blue stopped, words trailed off as he stood in the doorway, a swirl of snowy air blowing in around him as he took in Edge, dressed only in Stretch’s bathrobe and a newly acquired layer of banana, his brother and Red taking up the sofa, and of course, their smallest and newest guest who paid him no mind, too busy preparing to decorate Edge with second banana-y coating.

“Is that a baby?” Blue said at last.

Edge groaned inwardly. Here we go again.

tbc

[clonewarsarchives]

Inside 'Star Wars: The Clone Wars'

By: Gerri Miller  (original article link on howstuffworks)

Sources

George Lucas interviewed August 4, 2008

Dave Filoni interviewed September 11, 2008

The sci-fi phenomenon that began more than 30 years ago with a movie about a galaxy long ago and far, far away has expanded exponentially ever since with sequels, prequels, books, games and animated spinoffs. Although the animated "Star Wars: The Clone Wars" movie, released this summer, has to date grossed a less than stellar $34 million, it was an offshoot of creator George Lucas' mission to create a TV series, and it served its purpose as a promotional tool for the weekly "Clone Wars" episodes that premiere on Cartoon Network Oct. 3, 2008.

Focused on the conflict briefly referred to in the original "Star Wars," the galactic civil war takes place in the period between "Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones" and "Episode III: Revenge of the Sith." The Clone Wars pit the Grand Army of the Republic led by the Jedi Knights against the Separatists and their Droid Army, led by Count Dooku, a Jedi turned Sith Lord aligned with the evil Darth Sidious. Many of the characters from the "Star Wars" universe are involved, including Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi and young Anakin Skywalker, before he was tempted to the Dark Side and became Darth Vader.

"I was lamenting the fact that in 'Episode II,' I started the Clone Wars, and in 'Episode III,' I ended the Clone Wars, and I never actually got to do anything on the Clone Wars," says Lucas. "It's like skipping over World War II."

To remedy that omission, he tapped Dave Filoni, an animator (Nickelodeon's "Avatar: the Last Airbender" series) and passionate "Star Wars" fan, to bring "The Clone Wars" to TV.

Ensconced at Big Rock Ranch, near Lucas' Skywalker Ranch headquarters in Marin County, Cali., Filoni and his team of artists and computer animators are making 22 episodes in season one and have nearly two more seasons written.

"We're way ahead. We've been doing this ever since I finished 'Revenge of the Sith,'" says Lucas, who hopes to do at least 100 installments.

He and Filoni collaborate on everything from story to design to execution in translating the "Star Wars" universe for television. It's a daunting creative, technical and logistic task, as we'll explain in the following sections.

Building the Universe

How do you scale down an IMAX-size spectacle for television and still have it make an impact, especially on a small screen budget? That's just one of the problems Dave Filoni has to solve.

"'Star Wars' is very famous for the scale of it, and how convincing it looks. So when you're doing a weekly television series, you have to figure out how to do things on that level," he notes. "Sometimes it forces you to be creative and come up with solutions that are better than if you can shoot everything you want," he continues, preferring to consider budgetary constraints a creative incentive rather than a limitation. "The team here is challenged to come up with these giant battles. We haven't shied away from anything."

While he did some of the initial character design, subsequently, Filoni has spent most of his time supervising other artists and animators, who number around 70 in-house and another 80 or so at facilities in Singapore and Taipei.

"Everything is written here, and the story and design and editing are all done here. The animation and lighting are done overseas, and sometimes some modeling as well," he outlines.

­"I meet with George to talk about the episodes and he hands out a lot of the storylines and main ideas for the stories. I'll draw while he's talking and show him the sketch," Filoni continues. "That way we communicate right off the bat about what something might look like."

At any given time, the director notes, episodes are in various stages of completion, "from designing to working on a final cut, or adding sound and color-correction. I have four episodic directors to help me, who each have an episode they're managing."

Rather than use computer animation to duplicate the live-action films' characters or continue in the very stylized vein of the 2004-2005 "Clone Wars" micro-series, "We kind of shot for the middle," says Filoni, who endeavored to blend a 2-D esthetic with 3-D technology.

"The 3-D model makers and riggers who worked on the prequels dealt with the height of realism to create convincing digital characters. I knew that we weren't going to be able to do that for the series. And we wanted it to be different than a live-action feature, to get away from photo-realism. It was a choice to simplify something in the character models, the same way we would do things in a 2-D show."

So how did Filoni stay true to the "Star Wars" legacy in this newest installment? Read on to find out.

Clone Style

Taking some inspiration from the earlier cartoon series, Filoni

approached the characters as a 2-D animator would, "but stylized the face a little more. If you look at Anakin, he has certain edges and lines in his face. I would draw an edge or a line that might be unnaturally straight or curved, and that would play into the lighting of it. I tried to sculpt in 3-D the way I would draw or sculpt an image in 2-D, with shadow and light. I wanted it to look like a painting -- you see a textured, hand-painted style on every character. I have texture artists who literally paint every single character right down to their eyeball, because I wanted that human touch on everything."

Advances in computer animation have allowed Filoni to accomplish much more than he would have been able to in traditional 2-D. "For eight years I worked just with a pencil. I never touched a computer. But working with George, we try to look at computers as an incredibly advanced pencil. The technical side helps the creative, artistic side," he says.

Battles filled with huge numbers of soldiers can be rendered faster than ever before, but they still have to be created, along with every other prop and character in an enormous universe. "'Star Wars' is so complex in that you're building a whole galaxy. We go to many different planets," Filoni reminds. "So every rock, tree, blade of grass, native vehicle -- every asset -- needs design. We had to create a whole bunch of assets for each episode, and the budget goes up for each element you have. Once you build it, you have it, but we can't go to a different planet and have the same chair there," he laughs. "On a schedule where we need those things right away, it's difficult to get it all built."

Since "The Clone Wars" is chronologically sandwiched between "Clone Wars" and "Revenge of the Sith," it has been a mandate for the creators to stay consistent with the mythology. "That's probably one of the trickiest things," admits Filoni. "We always have to keep in mind what the characters are thinking and feeling at the beginning of this and at the end. You have a lot of room to play with when you're in the middle, but you have to remember what people say in the third movie. With characters like Obi-Wan or Anakin or Padme, I have to pay very careful attention that it will hook up. And then there's the expanded universe of "Star Wars" novels and video games. I try to be aware of it all and work it in, because fans really appreciate it."

Filoni hopes to attract existing fans and create new ones, especially among the younger generation, but admits doing the latter may be easier. "One thing we have that's different from any movie that came before is we're an animated series. But there's an instant reaction to the word animation that it's for kids. How you get around that is with the stories you tell. We'll have our snow battles and we'll also have our lighter 'Return of the Jedi' moments. Some episodes lean older, some younger. But in the end it has a broad appeal," he believes.

The recent "Clone Wars" movie (out on DVD Nov. 11 ) served as a stand-alone prequel to introduce the characters at this point in time. In contrast, "The series has its small arcs and shows you the war from across a broad spectrum of episodes. It's not just Anakin Skywalker's story," Filoni underlines. "We can go left or right of that plot and deal with characters we have never seen. There's a lot of material. It's a three-year period in the history of the 'Star Wars' Universe, and there are so many stories to tell. The longer it goes, the more chance we get to tell fascinating stories in that galaxy."

Character Study

"The Clone Wars" shows a different side of some of the film franchise's most iconic characters. "In a series, you can do a whole episode about a character and learn more about what they were like, which makes what happens to them a lot more poignant," explains Filoni. "We know Yoda is powerful, but how does that power develop? How does he use it? We get to go into more detail that you just couldn't do in the live action films, because they're mainly focused on Anakin."

While few of the actors from the live action movies agreed to reprise their roles in voice over for "The Clone Wars," Anthony Daniels, the original C-3PO, is the exception. "One of the special moments for me was hearing Anthony on the telephone, discussing C-3PO with me and his experiences. That really helps us round out the characters," says the director, who enjoyed similar input from Rob Coleman, the animation supervisor who worked on Yoda on the prequels.

Of the new characters not seen in the live action series, there's the alluring but venomous Asajj Ventress, a disciple of Count Dooku. "She is, of course, a villain, and fits into the structure of the Sith," Filoni elaborates. "Darth Sidious -- Senator Palpatine -- is the main bad guy, and his apprentice is Count Dooku. Dooku is training Ventress in the Dark Side. She's getting more powerful. I wanted to make her intelligent, deceptive and also kind of sexual. She's kind of a forbidden fruit -- Jedi are not supposed to get involved with the more lustful aspects of life. She adds another dynamic to the series."

On the other side of the good/evil coin is newcomer Ahsoka Tano, Anakin's teenage pad­awan, or apprentice. "She's Anakin's student and helps us see him as more of a hero," says Filoni. "Once he gets over his initial reaction, he takes pride in her. He's unpredictable and the Jedi know that, but he has compassion and that is used against him and it later brings him to the Dark Side."

Ahsoka was created, says Lucas, "Because I needed to mature Anakin. The best way to get somebody to become responsible and mature is to have them become a parent or a teacher. You have to think about what you're doing and set an example. You look at your behavior and the way you do things much differently. The idea was to use her to make Anakin become more mature. We've made her a more extreme version of what Anakin was- - a little out there, independent, vital and full of life, but even more so. He gets a little dose of his own medicine."

"She's been a really fun character to develop," adds Filoni, who likes Ahsoka but admits that his character tastes tend to run a bit more obscure -- his favorite is Plo Koon, "a bizarre Jedi Master. It's been fun to develop him and show his personality beyond the fact that he's bizarre looking and carries a lightsaber."

Fan Fare

Just three years ago, Filoni dressed up as Plo Koon to see an opening night showing of "Revenge of the Sith," so it's not surprising that the 34-year-old fan is still pinching himself that he has this job. "It's a very creative atmosphere," he says of Big Rock Ranch, where the lakeside setting is "meant to inspire us artistically and definitely does. A lot of the people I work with grew up with 'Star Wars,' so we have a great time. It's hard, intense work, but George is very engaged in what we're doing. What more could you ask for? I have the guy who created the 'Star Wars' universe excited and interested in what we're doing. We couldn't be happier about that."

Asked why he thinks "Star Wars" remains a fan favorite today, three decades later, Lucas says diversification is the key. "We were always able to deal with different aspects of the story in various forms and I think that keeps it alive. It is a lot of fun and it's a universe that has been created to inspire young people to exercise their imagination and inspire them to be creative, and I think that always works."

"The original 'Star Wars' had broad appeal to everybody, and it holds up so well," adds Filoni. "I think there's a timelessness to it, even though Luke looks like a kid from the '70s with that haircut. Luke is a farmer boy and Han is a cowboy. Jedi Knights are like the samurai of Japan or the knights of Europe. Those archetypes work the globe over. It's a world phenomenon that speaks to everyone. There will always be a character you can relate to."

[clonecaptains]

DELIVER ME - a mandalorian fic 

word count | 5.7k

rating: m for smut; mentions of forced arranged marriage

summary: mandalorian x reader; The Mandalorian is a bounty hunter - and you’re the bounty. You’re set to marry a man you’ve never even met. The Mandalorian is set to deliver you to him, and he will deliver you - but not the way you expect. 

a/n: there’s a handful of planets and places mentioned - none of these are in the star wars universe - i just made them up! also this is my first sw fic - feedback is appreciated~! 

Deliver Me

The wealthy king of Alloral'la has brokered a deal with the Zenkoth system’s dignitary. A trading system will be enacted between the two systems after the king’s daughter marries the dignitary. It’s old-fashioned, but since the Empire has fallen - anything goes.

Only no one bothered to ask you if you wanted to marry this dignitary on another world. And this man is truly despicable.

Where you come from - love, the sacredness of marriage, and virginity is part of your DNA. It’s quite easy for others to taint the way of life. This dignitary being one of them, and your father doesn’t seem to mind if he gets his end of the deal. Your life, your love, is being traded for metals to build better cities. “It’s a sacrifice for the greater good,” he told you.

But what good will it do you? You haven’t had a chance to fall in love or see your planet for that matter. There’s an entire galaxy out there, but you’ve been trapped in the walls of this palace for your entire life. All attempts to escape or sabotage your father’s plan have failed.

On Alloral’la, everyone has purple eyes. If you have fallen in love or given your body to another in sexual pleasures, a bright pink circle surrounds your purple iris. Therefore, you’ve never been allowed to leave; your eyes are purple. Pure dark purple. If you’d fallen in love or had sex, that pink would appear - rendering you useless in a trade such as this.

You’d planned for years to sleep with a guard, sex would do the trick to give you the pink coloring in your eye, even if the sex was meaningless. It bothered you for years how readily you were willing to trade such an intimate act to be free. But the older you’ve become, the less you care. Your heart has turned cold to love, you’ve given it up.

So when the deal is made, and you’re to be traded like fine jewels to this dignitary, you decide that if your deliverer won’t turn your eyes, maybe you can find someone else who will.

The Mandalorian is your deliverer. This job isn’t exactly his first choice, but your father is good for the money, and so is the dignitary.

You watch Mando fuel up his ship from the fuel banks nearby in the shipyard. It’s almost time to leave. You’ve said your goodbyes, and when the Mandalorian nods his head, you know it’s time.

You follow behind him in the palace courtyard to his ship. Several guards follow behind with crates of your things, mostly clothes and old books. You observe your quiet deliverer. His armor is shiny but has seen battle. His cape is tattered on the bottom. Weapons are strapped to him in multiple places. It’s a sharp contrast to your flowing gown and delicate hairdo.

A variety of emotions have passed through your mind, but a numb feeling is the most prominent. Saying goodbye to your father was rather emotionless. You’ve not seen much of your own planet, so saying goodbye to your home was a freeing feeling truth be told. But the moment the hatch doors of the ship closed, and your guards were gone, tears rolled down your cheeks. You’re alone now with this silent bounty hunter.

It’s silly you think for him to comfort you in this time of pain, but he does. In his own way.

“Follow me,” he tells you, and he leads you to the cockpit. He motions for you to sit down, and when you do, he sits in the pilot seat. He pushes a button on his gauntlet, and the small hissing sound of a door being opened sounds behind you. Only it’s not a door, it’s a large ball - the doors open revealing a tiny green baby, with grey hair and big ears and bright eyes. It coos at you, and it brings the first genuine smile to your face in weeks.

“May I hold it?” you whisper, and he nods once. Reaching inside the ball, you lift the baby and it coos happily. It grabs your finger and begins to suckle, making you laugh. Holding this small child brings more tears to your eyes. You’re scared. At first you felt nothing, but now you’re feeling everything.

You don’t know what the Mandalorian’s thinking, but you can tell from his body language, he’s uncomfortable. He’s accustomed to capturing bounties that aren’t happy. But this, this is different. You’ve not done anything wrong, you owe no one a debt, you’ve committed no crime.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, trying to suck it up. “I’ve just never seen the stars like this,” you tell him looking out the window. “And I never knew my planet was so blue! I’ve read about this one planet that has blue sands. I’d love to visit.”

“You’ve never left that place, have you?” his voice is quiet, gentle.

“Not ever.”

For reasons unknown to you, you tell him your life story. That you’ve been trapped, that your eyes are still purple. That you’re being traded away. That the galaxy to you means freedom.

You have absolutely no idea if he even cares, or why you’re telling him. But you have an inkling he does care because you know about the Mandalore culture. Your life has been spent reading and learning about a galaxy you’ve never seen. He carries a child with him, which a surprise on its own. You suspect he has heart underneath that cold armor. It might be harder than you thought to get him to take you to bed, he’s not scum. Scum wouldn’t be so concerned about this child.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your own yawn. It’s been a long day.

“Get some rest,” he tells you. “You can take my quarters.”

“What about you?” you ask through another yawn. Your eyelids feel so heavy. You feel like you haven’t slept in weeks. Truth be told you don’t remember when you slept well. Fear of this trade has kept you awake.

Mando answers your question, but you don’t understand him. His voice sounds far away, you’re already drifting to sleep. You vaguely remember slumping over in your chair and feeling him lift you up into his arms to carry you to his bed. It feels like a dream.

When you stir, it’s dark. You begin to panic, for a moment you’d forgotten where you were. For years, it’s been the same bed. Same room. Never anything different. Alloral'la has three moons in the sky at night, you’d grown accustomed to them illuminating your window. Now to wake in complete darkness frightens you. The fear passes when you remember where you are, then your other fear of your destination comes to the light.

You don’t know what you’re going to do, but you cannot, will not marry this dignitary. Thoughts drifting back to the Mandalorian, you think of how his gloves felt on your skin, the cool metal pressing against you of his armor. His voice is gentle, his build is strong. If you were to pick anyone to ‘change your color’, you wouldn’t mind if it’s him.

Adrenaline from fear sets a light in you and you climb out of the bed. Again, you think of him, this is his bed. It’s cozy, soft. Smells clean but there’s a lingering musky smell. It’s masculine. Your bedroom at home is always clean, always perfumed. Never touched by a man. Just like yourself.

Getting up, you turn on the light and find your way to the cockpit. He’s awake, he’s watching the child sleep.

“Everything alright?” he questions, hearing that you’re slightly out of breath.

“I need you to fuck me,” you say louder than you meant. You’re not used to swearing, ‘it’s not ladylike.’

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said.” You feel anxious, you need a concrete answer.

“I don’t make it a habit of interfering with clients.”

You clear your throat and turn your head towards the sleeping baby in the cradle. “What about this one?”

“That was different.” He knows you’re right.

“How am I different? I’ve been locked away and am being sold against my will to a disgusting dignitary. Please. I’ll pay you since you need the money.”

“No.”

“Please, you don’t even have to do anything,” you kneel in front of him. “It’ll be enough.”

“Absolutely not,” he grabs your arm to pull you off the ground. You start to yank yourself free from his grasp when a rapid beeping sounds from the console in front of the two of you.

He releases his grip from your wrist to switch off the sounding alert.

“Low fuel.”

“Are we in danger?”

“No,” he speaks calmly. “There’s a planet nearby, we’ll stop and refuel and get something to eat. That alright with you?”

You nod. Your curiosity is piqued, a new place to see and new foods to try.

“Is that-?” you gasp seeing the planet as you approach to land. It’s a rich blue. Even brighter than your planet.

“It is.” His answer is curt, but kind.

“I’ve studied maps of the galaxy. This system is nowhere near my home. Did you bring us here?” You turn to look at him with a gasp.

He shrugs simply. “I might’ve. You said you wanted to see more of the galaxy. I figure we have some time.”

It dawns on you further that he didn’t need fuel. Your heart aches from the kind gesture. It’s more than anyone has done for you in a long time.

Walking down the hatch door, you hesitate right before you should step off onto the blue sands. Mando is ahead of you, the child following behind leaving a little trail in the sand.

When Mando doesn’t hear you behind him, he turns seeing you still haven’t stepped onto the sands. Without a word, he walks towards you and offers his hand. You don’t need help getting down, but he offers it to you all the same. You take his hand, and your heart jumps feeling the sand under your feet.

“It’s gorgeous,” you gasp.

“It certainly is,” he says. You could have sworn he was looking at you, but you can’t tell. The child is giggling in the sand, and you along with him. Looking up at you, the child reaches for you with a gentle coo. You kneel to pick him up and hold him close.

“He likes you,” Mando says walking beside you. You fight a blush wondering if ‘he’ means the child or himself

With a nod of his head, Mando directs you to a restaurant in the small town you’re walking into. Once inside, he flicks a coin to the bartender, and he points the three of you to a table.

When you’re seated you notice a man at the bar who is staring at you.

“Maybe I could try my luck with him,” you say aloud half joking. You lean up to sit more comfortably, but Mando takes it as you’re getting up to approach the man.

“No,” he touches your arm to stop you, “not like this.”

“Not like what?” you’re confused. His hand feels warm on your arm. You don’t realize how touched starved you’d been until you feel his gentle protective hold on you.

“I thought-”

“Thought what? I was going to let that man take me in the back alley?”

“You were ready to ‘take me’ in the Razor Crest not a few hours ago. There’s a whole galaxy out there, don’t waste it.”

“On him or you?”

“I don’t like how he’s looking at you,” Mando grumbles.

“I’m about to be given over to a dignitary who already has 8 wives. He just wants the pleasure of watching my eyes turn pink while he takes me to bed. I will not let that happen. I need to fix it.”

“Not like this,” Mando tells you again.

Your food is brought, and at first it embarrasses you to eat in front of him while he is not eating. But then you remember all the meals you’ve eaten alone with a guard watching over you.

This ‘guard’ is different. He seems to care about you. And a fondness grows in your chest.

When the meal has been eaten, Mando gives another coin to the bartender. You’re making your exit behind Mando when the man at the bar grabs your arm.

“Hey!” you gasp. His grip is tight on your arm, it hurts.

“Let her go,” you hear, and in the blink of an eye there’s a blaster pointed in the man’s face. His grip weakens, and you yank yourself free.

Mando gently touches a hand to your arm, “are you alright?”

You nod. There’s that blooming feeling in your chest again. This time it accompanies a slight ache, a headache. One like you’ve never had before, but it passes quicker than it arrived.

As you walk away you notice a crest on the man’s sleeve.

“I know that crest,” you tell Mando. “It’s from the system you’re taking me to.”

“You’re of high importance if they are keeping tabs on you,” he replies, his pace quickening. He doesn’t like that his every move is being tracked, that’s usually his job.

Once you’re safe on the Razor Crest, Mando does a once over of the perimeter and interior of the ship, just to be sure you’re not being followed again. You take your place back in the cockpit with him, feeling safer by his side.

“Why do you never say the names of the systems?” Mando asks punching in the course in his navigation system. “You know plenty about them, but you never say their names.” He turns to face you awaiting your reply. He means no harm, it’s a conversational question. He’s trying to put you at ease, the guilt of taking you is weighing on his mind.

“I don’t know how to pronounce them,” you blush, sheepish. “All my old-fashioned books, and learning pads never speak them. I usually must guess. I don’t want to be wrong, so I don’t say.”

“The planet we were just on? That’s B’eul. The planet I’m taking you to? Zenkoth.”

“You know so much, I envy your life, your freedom.”

“Others don’t see it that way.”

“So, you never take off your helmet? You can still see out of it. See the universe. I’ve been stuck in the same room, same palace. And I’m about to be stuck in another. I’ve seen more of the galaxy with you in these few days than I ever saw from my old books.”

“When I took this job, I didn’t know.”

There is such gentleness in his voice you get a swell in your chest again. And that strange headache hits hard. It takes longer to pass this time, but it eventually does.

It’s not long before Zenkoth is beeping on the radar. If you could see his face, you know that he’s looking on you with sympathy.

“What’s your name?” you ask him, trying to ignore the sick feeling bubbling up in your stomach. You’re looking out the window over this planet, your new home. And it feels cold. The surface is grey. Dark grey snow is swirling in the air.

“Din. Din Djarin.” His voice comes out raspy, like a whisper.

“I wanted to hate you, for taking me here. But you’ve shown me nothing but kindness. I’ll forever be grateful Din Djarin.”

You sniffle once, then clear your throat. There’s not much to be done now but accept your fate. You say goodbye to the little Child. Leaving him hurts just as much as Din. You’ve grown attached to the little thing.

“Wait,” Din gently reaches for your arm. “I have a plan.”

“To what?”

“To get you out. I could use someone like you to watch the kid. In return, you could see all these new systems.”

“How would it work?”  

The less you know the better. Din doesn’t tell you much of the plan, only what you need to know. This place is new to him, so he must do recon to get the lay of the land. He’ll do his best observing while he’s delivering you and when he gets paid. Lucky for him, there is a celebration going on, a wedding celebration. Parties mean organized chaos, which will give him more opportunity to sneak around. And he very well could be invited to the party, that’s happened on more than one occasion.

Din is by your side when you’re introduced to your intended. The room is gaudy and there’s all 8 of his other wives with him. Each one is from a different system, ranging in colors and sizes. Your stomach churns to be among them, and you find yourself walking as close to Din as possible. He touches a gloved finger to your thigh, letting you know it’s alright.

It all happens so fast. The dignitary brings you close and touches his hand to your face. He’s examining your eyes, checking they are still purple.

“Send her to my quarters,” he gives a command with a flick of his wrist, and you’re pulled away. Din is still standing in the center of the room watching you disappear down the hallway.

Cold. That’s how you feel. Cold. You’re not dressed for this cold planet. Your box of clothes had been carelessly left on the Razor Crest. Din was more concerned with your safety, and he can’t carry the boxes on his own. So, they were left behind because no one else bothered to.

You shiver in the bed chamber. You’ve never felt such emptiness in your life. You have hope Din will come, but for now you’re alone. You look out the window and see the dark snow fall. Clouds cover the sky, it’s dreary. You’d do anything to see the three moons outside your window of your old room.

Cringing that the only place to sit in this room is on the floor or on the bed, you choose the corner of the bed. Every sound of footsteps by the door has your heart pounding in fear. When you hear it creak open, you feel all the color leave your face.

Then you hear your name in a familiar voice.

Din turns the corner and into your sight. The very sight of him has your heart bursting, he’s come for you. Your heart is pounding, you feel your head pound - that headache is back. This time it’s blinding white hot pain.

He’s surveying the room, looking out the window for any and all escape routes. He turns abruptly when he hears you wince in pain. Din kneels in front of you and tilts your face upwards towards his masked one.

“I’m too late,” he sighs.

“You aren’t!” you tell him, the headache is gone again. You’re too overwhelmed with fear and emotion to think much of it.

“Then why are your eyes pink?” Din’s voice cracks.

The word ‘pink’ hits you hard, your breath is stuck in your throat. You’re paralyzed, you know what this means.

As if on cue, you hear a booming voice enter the bedchamber. It’s the dignitary. Din is quick and rolls under the bed - it’s the biggest space he can fit in.

You’re panicking now. In about two seconds he’s going to see that your eyes are not pure purple anymore. You fear for your life.

Thinking up a lie, you nod you head when he speaks to you. Expecting him to take you down to the courts for the actual wedding, you’re surprised when he pushes you backwards onto the bed. He’s about to climb on top of you, when he trips and falls. You stifle a giggle knowing a certain someone under the bed might have had something to do with that.

Collecting himself, the dignitary stands up and towers over the bed. You try and hide your face from him, but the pink is unmistakable.

“What’s this?”

“I- I’m so overwhelmed with love for you sire,” you lie.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t recoil from my touch,” he pouts like a child.

With a harsh backhand slap against your face, he spits, and barks out an order to his bodyguards to have you taken to the prison quarters to be dealt with later.

Somehow in the prison cell you feel safer. Four walls you’re not allowed to leave. You’re used to it. And you know Din is coming. All you must do is wait.

The cell they put you in has a pretty low-tech lock. You’ve read about these types before. You watch for the guards to walk past, but this cell area is abandoned, so done walk past - giving you time to unlock this door. You almost have it when it sparks, burning your fingertip.

You’re about to try again when you hear clanging, thumping, and blasters firing. Then quiet footsteps sound down the hall towards your cell.

“I’m here to retrieve a heinous criminal,” Din teases rounding the corner. You can’t stop smiling when you see him. “She’s committed the worst crime of all.”

He pushes one button and the cell block door hisses and opens. He cocks his head in confusion at how quickly it opened.

“I tampered with it,” you smile and jump into his arms to hug him. He’s stiff at first, but then relaxes and holds you tight to his Beskar plated chest. Looking up at his covered face, you touch the cool metal of his helmet, “thank you.”

You know he’s looking in your eyes, and you want him to see. That pink is from him alone. The first person to show you kindness in ages, he truly does care.

“We need to move,” he speaks gently, his hand is resting on your back protectively. He moves to stand in front of you as you quickly exit the prison area. There’s a window nearby that he smashes. Knowing the sound will draw unwanted ears, he grabs you quickly in his arms and using his jet pack- he flies the two of you out the window.

You cling to him tight and don’t let go until you’re inside the Razor Crest and the hatch doors are closed.

He gets the ship off Zenkoth as fast as possible, and when the course is set - he joins you in main area of the ship. You’re sitting with your head in your hands trying to catch your breath.

“You alright?” he asks sitting down next to you. You hear a wince in his voice.

“Are you alright?” you ask looking at him. You side red on his side, and you touch it gently. “You’re bleeding! When did this happen?”

He winces again and stands to remove his Beskar. You get the feeling you shouldn’t be seeing this, but he touches your face gently with his gloved hand, “I need your help.”

He tells you where the aid pack is, you leave him to collect it. It dawns on you as you make your way around this ship that it’s your home now.

You fetch the pack quickly. As you return to him, his back is to you. You see him putting his helmet back on. Your heart jumps, that means he’d taken it off when you were gone. It was already covering his head, so you miss any glimpse of what his hair color looked like.

Coming around to face him, he’s sitting now on the floor. Armor completely off and around him on the floor. He’s shirtless completely, the only thing on him are his pants and helmet.

The first sight of his chest hair makes your knees weak. A dark line of hair disappears into the waistband of his pants and you tremble.

When you hand him the pack, his fingers touch yours and it sends a jolt to your core. First skin to skin contact with him. His hands are soft, but work roughened. Fingers are slender, knuckles cracked. Scars and burns are all over his body. Old and fresh bruises paint his skin. His newest wound isn’t horrible, the bleeding spot just needs to be bandaged.

He lets you ‘help’ him, and he’s silent watching you attend his wound.

“You didn’t really need my help did you?” you ask not looking up at him. You can’t even see his eyes, but you know his gaze is on you. You’re feeling a lot shyer around him now that he knows you’re in love with him.

“Not for this no,” there’s humor in his tone. “I told you I need help with the kid.”

“That’s all?” you smile knowing he’s toying with you. “Alright, all finished,” you tell him and smooth your fingers over the bandage, smoothing out all the edges. His skin is tan and warm, you love how it feels. His body is reacting to your touch as well, his abs tighten and skin quivers to feel your light touch.

You’re two touch starved people dancing around something more intimate, but for now it’s gentle grazes of fingers on skin.

“Can I try something?” he asks getting to his feet. “I’m going to turn off the lights in here.”

“I don’t like the dark,” you sound panicked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures. He waits patiently until you nod. Then he hits the power switch leaving you in complete darkness. Your heart is ramming against your ribcage, then you hear his gentle voice. It sounds different, unaltered.

His helmet is off.

You hear him sit down next to you and hear the slight thunk of him set the helmet down on the floor. Warm hands find your hands, and he guides them up towards his face. He lets go of your hands, and lets you explore his features.

“You have a mustache,” you laugh feeling the bristles on his upper lip. His mouth twitches up in a smile. You want to feel it all, and he lets you. From his cheeks, to his strong jaw. His chin is lightly dusted with facial hair. You scratch his chin, and he purrs in the back of his throat. When you touch his lips, he lightly kisses your fingertips. He even lets you feel across his eyebrows. His forehead has sweaty hair stuck to it, and with both hand you rake your fingers through his hair. He moans to be touched so, and you’re beside yourself.

“Can I try something?” you ask him, repeating his question.

His ‘yes’ comes out soft. He knows what you’re asking because his face is close to yours. The gap is closed, and he presses his lips to yours. Your first real kiss.

It starts sweet, gentle pecks. Then his hand finds his way into your hair and he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth and you sigh to be held like this. Such sure hands hold you, so deliberate.

A beeping from the cockpit interrupts the moment. Din pulls away and blindly reaches for his helmet.

“I’m turning on the light, watch your eyes,” he tells you and hits the switch. You squint at the sudden change. He disappears into the cockpit and you follow behind.

A deep red system is in your view from the window.

“Welcome to Rosania.”

You gasp, you know of this place. The entire planet is covered in beautiful red flowers of all kinds. It’s known for its romance and beauty.

“Why did you bring me here?” you turn looking at him. Again, you wish to see his face, but his silence is enough to tell you - and you know why you’re here.

Next thing you know, you’re barefoot walking next to Din in a peaceful field of flowers. The Child is in his ball, his eyes are bright and excited looking at the flowers around him.

The three of you find a good place in the shade to eat. Again, Din doesn’t eat, he’s content to sit with the two of you. He’ll eat later.

“So, are you going to stay?”

“Stay?” you reply unsure of his question.

“With me. Help me take care of the kid.”

“I owe you my life. And I’d love to stay.” You don’t have to say you love him. He knows.

“Good,” he nods.

Standing, he pushes a button on his gauntlet and closes the doors of the ball the Child is in.

“Can I try something else?” Din’s voice is raspy again. Eagerly you nod, though a bit unsure of what he’s up to. Using the blanket, you’re sitting on, he tears a off a long strip of it. “It’ll be dark again,” he tells you, showing you the strip of fabric. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod and let him tie the strip of fabric around your face, covering your eyes. He moves quick despite his injury to remove his Beskar. Then his hands are on you.

“Do you want this?” he asks reaching around behind you, fingers toying with the fastenings of your dress.

“Please, I love you,” you sigh and find his lips with yours. Your dress is complicated, and you need his help getting it off. Experienced fingers unfasten your undergarments and soon you’re naked in front of him. Your arms twitch to cover yourself, you’ve never been so exposed in front of someone like this before - but he stops you. He cradles your head in his hands and lays you down on the blanket.

“It’s alright,” he whispers above you.

Now it’s his turn to explore you. He kisses all over your face. The slight tickle of his facial hair has you wriggling. Your neck is his next target, you shudder to be touched like this. A laugh bubbles up and you can’t help but let it escape.

“All my years of reading, I’ve read so much of pleasure. I wasn’t prepared for-”

“For what?” he murmurs into your skin.

“The way my heart would feel in my chest.” Then you feel his warm calloused hand press over your pounding heart. He takes your hand and puts it over his heart. Your smile is so big it hurts your cheeks, and he kisses the corner of your mouth.

When his hands touch your breasts, you gasp arching your back into his touch. Calloused thumbs brush gently over your nipples and you squirm. The sparks of pleasure are too much you think, but he only adds to it but closing his lips around one of your nipples. He sucks and teases with his tongue. You ache to see him, but something about not seeing him adds to the feeling. You have no choice but to focus on how he feels. And he feels divine.

When he’s done with each breast, he moves down lower. There are a few moments where he’s not touching you and you call out to him.

“I’m here,” he answers. You felt his breath against your lower stomach, and by the time you realize where he is - he’s placed his lips on your center. He licks and sucks on your sex and it’s all you can do to not scream.

In your years of wondering what sex was like, you’d pleasured yourself. But nothing could have prepared you for his warm mouth. His facial hair tickles only adding to the sensation. Then he slips a finger in your sex, and it’s not long before you find your release, you’re at the mercy of the Mandalorian.

There’s a slight chuckle in his voice when he comes back up to kiss your cheek. Your essence is on his chin and you feel it when he kisses you.

“You told me ‘not like this’ when I was thinking about that man in the Cantina. Is ‘this’ what you had in mind?” you’re still catching your breath when you ask.

“Something like that,” he muses and kisses you once more.

It’s then you feel the weight of him on top of you, his body is so warm. Immediately, you cling to him wrapping your arms around his back, and your legs around his waist.

He kisses your jaw and ear a couple times before he whispers a question, “are you ready?”

“I think you know,” you whine. With another kiss, he pushes himself into your heat. Like everything else he does, it’s deliberate and controlled. He’s patient. He kisses all over your face and strokes your skin. When he’s fully situated inside of you, you let out a soft cry. Tears soak into your blindfold, and he sees some fall on your cheeks.

“Am I hurting you?” his voice is soft in your ear.

“No, it’s just. My entire life, my culture, your eyes turn pink in a moment like this, and I’m blindfolded.”

“Yes, but your eyes were already pink with love for me,” he tells you kissing your temple.

He’s right, but still the action of it isn’t lost on you. You were about to be traded away for the joy of seeing your eyes change in bed. You never anticipated they would change from love. Then to have your lover take you to bed only to have you blindfold, your heart is aching in the best way.

“Din?”

“Mmm?”

“Move.”

He obliges and begins to thrust his hips forward into you. Feeling his warm skin, hearing his soft grunts, the pressure of him between your legs, it’s not long before he brings you to your second release.

With a few more thrusts, he finds his release. You cling to his shoulders, and his hand is holding you to him tight.

“You know, you’re a really terrible bounty hunter,” you laugh when he moves off of you. Your joke sets off laughter in him and he falls next to you laughing on the blanket. It’s absolute music to your ears. You wish you could see his smile.

His confession of love is a gentle rasp in your ear. He’s gently running his fingertips over your face.

“I didn’t think this would be the outcome when you set out to deliver me,” you think aloud.

“I think you’re the one that delivered me,” Din answers with another kiss. “What system do you want me to take you to next?”

[nasir-simp]

Azula’s Trauma

Okay, so I know that she was born psychotic (says so in the comics) but she still went through a lot of trauma that made it worse.  So here’s me listing the reasons why she went off the rails. 

Azula’s odds were never in her favor since she was born. She loved fire bending as a kid and would rather use a sword than play with a doll. It’s very to understand what she’s thinking and her emotions if you just payed attention. In some cases you could say she that she’s more on one side of the spectrum than others. She’s not very empathetic to begin with but she never knew better. No one really taught her how or that what she was doing was wrong. 

1. She was already at a disadvantage seeing as Zuko’s older than her. That too, she was also a girl. But doors opened for her when Ozai realized how gifted of a fire bender she was. Also remember, Zuko didn’t know that he was born with the gift of fire bending. 

This was the beginning of his envy towards Azula. She got his father’s love so easily while he had to try so hard to even get a shred of his recognition. This caused him to start distancing himself from Azula. Being Ozai’s prodigy wasn’t easy on her. Her mother probably thought of her as a monster to some extent. (Yes she loved her but that thought was always at the back of her mind.) 

It also didn’t help that whenever Zuko cried her mother automatically assumed that Azula had something to do with it. Her mother should understand that it’s normal for siblings to make the other cry even if it’s their fault. It’s just normal sibling rivalry. This probably led to Azula resenting her own mother. Even with this newfound resentment towards her, she was still a child that wished for her mother’s love. Or for her mother to even glance at her the way she does Zuko. Because of this she tried to find parental love another way, through Ozai. 

2. Being brought up by Ozai is much different than being raised by Ursa. He probably thought Azula battle strategies instead of reading bedtime stories. He probably taught her that mercy was for the weak, an example of that would be Iroh. Before she even met him, she already had a bad impression of him. The impression only went downhill when he sent her and Zuko gifts. Zuko got a blade while she got a doll. 

Ozai must have told Iroh something about her, because if he knew her he would have known that would want a blade as well. It would make more sense for Azula to receive the blade, the girl who trains 24/7, rather than the boy who feeds turtle ducks in his free time instead of practicing. It was at the moment that Azula thought that no one really understood her but her dad, Ozai. But even he didn’t understand her, he just only saw of her as a child soldier. 

All he ever id was encourage her ruthlessness towards other and to disconnect from other’s emotions to avoid being ‘weak’. It must of felt so good to finally be favored over Zuko. Ozai favored her while Iroh and Ursa favored him. The maids and servants probably had more of a liking towards Zuko since she never treated them as well as Zuko. But REMEMBER, Ozai taught her that kindness was a weakness not a virtue. Azula got hooked on the approval that comes with impressing Ozai which caused her to train harder and be better than Zuko. 

This isn't how a child should be raised though, they should know the they are loved no matter how talented or talentless they are. You have to remember, she is still a child!

3.  But, she had two friends that helped her gain the normalcy of childhood, Mai and Ty Lee. They were her best friends, she felt as if she could genuinely enjoy life instead of being trained like a soldier that's going to be shipped off for war. When Mai had a crush on Zuko all of Azula's insecurities probably entered her again. Afraid that Mai would soon favor him more and soon only hang out with him. The only thing that helped her feel grounded was the fact that Mai was shy and that it was highly unlikely that she would ever act on those feelings. She would still be on her side like always, or so she thought. 

4. Now we'll talk about the Agni kai between Zuko and her father. Outwardly she seemed happy that Zuko was going to be banished and let's be honest, she probably was. But there's a chance that she knew he was still her brother and hoped that he wouldn't kneel in front of Ozai knowing that would just make him an embarrassment. With Zuko kneeling, she lost all of the little respect that she had for him because you're not supposed to show mercy to your opponents no matter what. Whomever it may be. Even with this lost of respect she must have felt happy knowing that with his banishment, there would be no competition for Ozai's attention. And with him, the uncle who knew nothing about her also left. 

The years following Zuko's abandonment led Azula to perfect her fire bending and become a master. That too, also gaining a neverbefore seen fire color, blue. There's not much to say about this time since we don't know that much. Continuing on, when Zuko came back and joined the trio including Mai and Ty Lee, she probably felt the happiest she's ever been in a very long time. When it came down to the decision between Azula or her uncle, Azula must have felt fantastic to have someone favor her, even if it was just Zuko. To be someone's first choice, the words are indescribable. 

During the beach episode we see a new side of Azula. We see her realize how different she is from everyone else. She desperately tries to fit in but it wasn't what she was trained to do. she must have been isolated from kids her own age besides Ty Lee and Mai during her childhood with Ozai. She was trained to conquer cities like Ba Sing Se, capture the avatar, be a master fire bender. This is what's natural for her, not making some boy like her. During the fire pit scene we see Azula open up towards the group saying how her mother thought of her as a monster. They all reacted quite calmly, not really jumping in with words of encouragement to make her feel better. Subconsiously, Azula must have known her friends shared the same thoughts as her mother. But she never really thought they would leave her seeing as they were friends, right? This scene is also where we see Azula show genuine emotion other than ruthlessness and it's directed towards Ty Lee. Ty Lee told the group that she always felt shadowed by her 6 other sisters. You could see the emotion flash through Azula's face. Azula related to Ty Lee on an emotional level because she went through the same thing, but instead it was with Zuko.

5. During the prison break when Azula was trying to stop the avatar from escaping, it probably broke her heart to see Zuko with him. Helping the avatar to escape goes against everything she was taught. But that wasn't what broke her, it was Mai betraying her. Sure she knew that they finally got together after Mai harboring the crush on him for years but she always thought that Mai would stick with her. She thought that Mai liked her and actually thought of her as a friends instead of the monster that everyone paints her to be. 

6. The final crack on her heart though, was Ty Lee. When Ty Lee chi blocked her to let Mai escape, it broke her. Her eyes of pain were evident as she fell. Seeing the two people she trusted most on the other side when she thought they would be beside hers. Ty Lee was the only person who she never had a doubt on. It wasn't even a doubt that Ty Lee's loyalty could even be wavered. She trusted Ty Lee with her life. With the treachery of Ty Lee, Azula knew she was alone in the world. This final betrayal is what caused Azula's mask to crack. That crack let her insanity finally shine through.

7.While training with Lo and Li the only feedback she received from them was that she had a hair out of place. That hair symbolizes her mental health. Throughout the show her hair gradually becomes messier and messier. The messier it is, the more cracked her facade of well being is. The last time we see her on the show is during her Agni kai with Zuko. This is where her hair is the most messy. To quote Remus Lupin,"Finally the flesh reflects the madness within."

8. Even at Azula's worst she still held her own at the Agni kai during Zuko's best. But when she knew she was going to loose, she shot lightning at Katara with Zuko getting in the way just in time but rendering him useless. Once Katara bested Azula by freezing her in water to wrap chains around her arms, we hear Azula schema in defeat. The best way to describe it would be to call it a panic attack. Watching Azula breakdown hurts so much because it's so realistic. Her screams are heart wrenching and it hurts knowing what she went through. And she's only 14, a child! She's just a kid, a kid who went through too much that no one should ever experience. She went through too much for her to ever have hope. She went through too much to ever have the odds in her favor. 

To conclude, Azula is a child who's broken on the inside and out. She's never stood a chance. She may have been born lucky but she wishes that she was never born. 

[thiswasinevitableid]

Have you seen the post going around about the zoom class with one guy and his full streamer setup vs the guy whose just in the middle of the woods? I know you have a prompt list rn but I’m just saying there’s a sternclay fic in there somewhere...

It is! Here you go!

Life is better with order. Or, at the very least, with some attempt at patterns, organization, or consistency. 

Which is why Stern has carefully arranged his desk, his chair, and his equipment in the background. Streaming as a hobby and a side hustle means he has some (okay, a lot) of practice making his digital self look just right. He needs to make a good impression on the first day of the semester.

Unlike some people. 

“Holy shit man, are you in the woods?” Duck, the guy in a “Monongahela National Forest” shirt, grins as he asks this of another student whose screen consists of a forest clearing, a log, and the name “Barclay.”

“Yeah. Hang on, lemme finish getting the phone balanced.”

“Dude, that’s like, way better than my background” this comes from Jake, in front of a poorly rendered half-pipe. 

“Can’t really take credit for it, just where I ended up.” Barclay sits down, and Stern gets his first look at a man so tall he barely fits in the frame, with a short, coppery beard and an honest-to-god man-bun.

Damn west coast schools. 

“How is your battery going to last long enough for class?” Stern leans back in his chair, certain Barclay will have “battery trouble” halfway through as an excuse to cut out early.

Barclay smiles, lifting up a small green and black rectangle, “solar battery. Not everyone needs fancy gadgets for school.” He aims a pointed stare at Sterns set-up. 

“It’s important to have the right equipment.”

“Whatever you say, man.” He lifts a cup of iced coffee into the frame, sipping it through a straw. It’s the picture of relaxation, as if nothing is wrong in the world. As if this is all totally normal. 

Stern wants to reach through the  screen and slap some sense into him. Preferably while he’s shirtless.

He chalks that thought up to not having gotten laid since last December and pulls up his note taking software as Professor Chicane enters the room.

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

Private Chat 9/20/20

Duck (he/him): I timed it, we’re already at ten minutes of arguing.

Indrid (he/him): I know Ned enjoys their demonstrating the different modes of rhetoric, but this is a bit extreme.

Duck: To be fair, Joe does seem kinda uptight.

Indrid: Yes, but Barclay should know by now that zeroing in on him during our practice debates only results in this.

Duck: Yeah. Oh shit, are they for real wrapping up you think?

Indrid: We can only hope. Skype me tonight?

Duck: Of course, sugar.

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

What is Joseph’s problem? He’s got a set-up that would make a pro-vlogger jealous, what looks to be a well-lit apartment with some houseplants and the kind of coffee-cups that are weirdly lacking in personality. His clothes are immaculate, his hair slicked back as if he;s in a business meeting rather than an online class in the midst of a chaotic world. So why is he acting like everything is terrible? And why is he always arguing with Barclay, when there are plenty of other people in the class to disagree with?

“Now” Mr. Chicane’s voice booms through the tiny speaker on his phone, “if you all had a chance to read over the instructions, we will begin the first mock debate. Do we have any volunteers?”

He and Joe raise their hands at the same time. Mr. Chicane raises an eyebrow.

“While I appreciate your eagerness, gentlemen, I would like two other volunteers this time.”

That’s fine by him. It’s not like he likes listening to Joseph get all wound up and passionate, making everyone on the call sit up and take notice of him. It’s not as if he enjoys being the center of his focus. 

Nope, not at all.

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

Private chat 10/11/20

Jake (he/him): Dudes, did you see who got paired up on the final project?

Aubrey (she/her): Chicane must be getting them back for all the times they’ve hijacked discussions. 

Duck (he/him): Man, for their sake I hope it works out.

Indrid (he/him): This is going to be a disaster.

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

“Are you out of your mind!” Stern is talking before Barclay’s video is fully on. 

“Nope. And you don’t have to yell, my speaker works just fine.”

“You’re outside, for all I know there’s a ton of ambient noise.”

Barclay, phone obviously in his hand as he walks through the trees, groans.

“And don’t try to derail this; how can you possibly suggest I come out there so we can do the project in person? We’re supposed to be limiting travel and gatherings.”

“Look, Joseph, we both agree that trying to generate our own cryptid hoax is the best way to demonstrate all the techniques Ned wants us too, right?”

“Yes” he hides his answer behind the rim of his coffee mug. 

“We’ll do a way better job if we work in the same space. And if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had any human contact in three weeks; all quarantined up, unlike whatever you’ve been doing in the city.”

He sets the mug down with a thunk, “I haven’t been out in a month. And before that was only for one grocery run and a hospital visit.”

“Uhhh-”

“I cut my hand cooking. So. Yeah.”

Literal crickets chirp, courtesy of Barclay’s end of the line, as the silence stretches on.

“If it helps, it’s real easy to stay isolated here, and I’ve still got utilities and everything.”

“And you’re not subsisting only on MREs or granola or something?”

A deep chuckle, the kind that makes his skin prickle, “Nope. That much I can promise.”

Stern glances around the studio apartment, clean and empty. 

“What’s your address?”

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

Look, all Stern is going to say is that he’s seen and read plenty of stories that start with a cabin in the woods and none of them end well. Which is why he’s still sitting in his car, parked beside a beat-up Subaru, rather than knocking on the door. 

Breathe in, five counts. Out for four. Repeat four times. 

Waiting for him on the door is a note.

Joseph,

Key under mat, make yourself at home. 

Barclay. 

He brings in his bags (a matching set of three, a gift from his aunt last year), placing them in the tiny guest room. It’s not much more than a bed, a dresser, and a tiny table. But there’s a heating unit below the window looking out into the woods, which is pretty pleasant. He’ll be keeping the blinds closed at night, though; he hates the thought of something being able to look in. 

Stern’s busy evaluating the laundry closet when the front door opens. 

“Hey, glad you found the place okay.”

Barclay stands in the doorway, a basket full of fruit in one hand. He’s remarkably kempt for a man living in the woods and that, combined with the deep voice being even richer in person and the fact Stern has to actually look up to meet his eyes, has him stumbling for words. 

“Your directions were very thorough. Thank you. Um. I put my things in there, should I, um-”

“I can give you the grand tour.” The taller man sets the basket on the dining table, notices Sterns puzzled expression “there’s a piece of property about a mile thataway that has orchards they don’t really use. They let me come and pick whenever i want, less for them to clean up.”

Barclay keeps up a steady monologue as he shows him the cabin. The lower level is the living room and dining area, a kitchen which leads onto the back deck, Sterns room, and a bathroom. As the cabin is A-frame, the upstairs is Barclay’s room, all dark wood and pine colored plaid. It’s as Barclay is telling him about the woodpecker that sometimes nests in the eaves that he realizes why he’s talking so much.

He’s nervous. 

Neither of their nerves improve when he gets to his last point of order. 

“Uh, so, the bathroom downstairs is only a half-bath.”

“So...if I want to shower, which I do, I have to come up here.”

“Yeah.” Barclay scratches the back of his neck, “sorry. I don’t, like, sleep naked or anything so we should be fine.”

“Disappointing.” Stern sighs, only to sail past sarcastic and land face first in sincere. 

Barclay blushes, then shrugs, “Trust me, after the first night, you’ll see why.”

Stern does. He’s warm as long as he’s in bed, but the moment he ventures into the bathroom in the middle of the night he’s cocooned in cold. 

The morning brings cinnamon and coffee on the draft coming under the door. He plods into the kitchen in search of caffeine, finds Barclay in an pron, the counter covered in trays of dough. 

“Morning!”

“Morning. Coffee-”

“Right there, sugar and stuff’s in the cabinet above it, cream and such is in the fridge.”

Blessedly, there’s heavy cream to be found, and soon he’s sipping from an enamel mug emblazoned with a UFO made of veggies. 

“Is this all for your job?” Barclay mentioned he was a cook during an icebreaker. 

“Yep. Way it works is I bust my ass baking once or twice a day, and Thacker, who works with Mama at the Lodge in town, comes and takes them over there. Normally I’d just be there but, well, y’know.”

“Everything is on fire? Figuratively, I mean.”

“Sometimes literally too, but yeah.”

As he’s turning to grab his clothes and head showerward, Barclay adds, “You a scone man, coffecake man, or a cinnamon roll man?”

“Coffeecake?” It comes out hesitant. 

“There’s no right answer, man.” Barclay sounds amused, “what do you want?”

“Cake, definitely.”

“Cool. I’ll save you a slice.”

Once he’s showered and on the wi-fi, his day runs like normal; one lecture, reading, a research paper, his initial half of their project, and working either his copy-editing or transcription job in between, and planning his next stream. Barclay comes and goes, stops now and then to see if he needs anything, leaves a sandwich in front of him around dinner time. Then it’s time to crawl under the covers and dream of a less-stressful world. 

The next day, just before one, Barclay taps him on the shoulder. 

“Ready for class?”

“Yes…” He gestures to his laptop and notebook. 

“C’mon, join me out here, it’s way nicer, and we can share the phone.”

“Barclay, it’s  a nonsensical way to attend class, just stay in here with me! Even this set-up has to be better than the woods.”

“This set up. You mean my house?” All the friendliness leaves hi voice. 

“Yes. Look, I agreed to come out because you’re right, if we want to ace this thing that’s worth sixty percent of our grade, this is the place to do it; I don’t have to go along with the whole self-sufficient woodsman aesthetic while I’m here. “

“Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty far from self-sufficient. See you in class.” 

Stern stews through the entire session, but where he’d usually find something Barclay says to latch onto, he instead gnaws on himself. Why didn’t he just go with him? Why snap at someone who’s been nothing but nice since he got here?

Whatever the answer, how can he fix it?

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

Barclay tromps back through the twilight, done with his second class of the day. If Joseph is in the main house, he plans to ignore him until tomorrow morning. That all goes out the window with the clank of dishes from the kitchen. 

Peering in reveals the other man bent over, pulling a casserole from the oven. He waits to announce his presence until Joseph is out of the danger zone, enjoying the view as he does. 

“Smells good.”

Blue eyes flick over to him as Joseph opens drawers, “it’s mostly cheese and chips, so I’m not surprised.”

“Servers are in that one.”

“Thank you. Nacho pie?” He scoops some into a bowl, holding it out. 

“Sure. Uh, look, Joseph I-”

Joseph holds up the server, “Wait. Before you apologize I, um, I wanted to say I’m sorry for my comments. And for being so...me-ish.” He sighs, staring at the utensil in his grip, “I’ve always been a little bit tense, tried to be polite and effective and friendly in spite of it. The last six months made that harder to do. I don’t love it when I can’t be organized, when normal systems go out of place. But that’s no excuse for being rude to you, even before you invited me here. You’re just so...you’re always so calm and relaxed, like nothing was wrong and I just honed in on that way more than made sense. I’m sorry.”

“If it makes you feel better, I kinda did the same thing. You’re always so put together, it looked like you had this organized life in the midst of this whole shitstorm. I feel lik everything is slipping away, like my world is just this cabin. I mean, I assumed you were seeing friends in the city, while I haven’t seen Mama in person since April. So” he sets the bowl down, rests his hand on Joseph’s shoulder, “I’m sorry too.”

Joseph laughs, softly, “turns out we both had failures of imagination, huh?”

“Yeah” he runs a hand over Joseph's back, “now come on, this dinner’s not gonna eat itself.”

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

“You sure you don’t wanna wear the bigfoot costume?”

“Positive. Besides, it suits you.” Joseph finishes styling the fur on the head of the costume to look more realistic, “I just hope we get this done before that storm comes in; as mush as the rain would add to the mood of the scene, that’ll be hell to dry and you’ll be miserable. So, go lurk over there while I finish up getting the camera settings where they need to be.”

“Yes sir” Barclay pops the head on, leaves crunching as moves to his appointed tree. He smiles as he watches Joseph fiddle with the camera; things have been so much better between them these last two weeks. They trade off cooking dinner, study side by side, and watch movies or play games in the warmth of the heater. They have a similar sense of humor and taste in books, and are tidy to boot.   Joseph’s even come with him to listen to lectures in the woods, the pair sharing a thermos of coffee under the astonished gaze of their classmates. There’s just one problem. 

Barclay’s buried crush is now blooming in every direction. Animated, argumentative Joseph was attractive. Joseph, in all his moods and mannerisms, is devastatingly enchanting. He’s come close to telling him this, but the other man is his guest and also only here for another two and a half weeks, so a confession is setting himself up for heartbreak at worst and awkwardness at best. 

He almost blew it last night when they were washing dishes (Joseph scrubs, Barclay dries and puts away). 

“Last one.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.”

“What was that?”

“Uh, blue eyes? Like a, uh, a nickname?”

Joseph laughs, “Sounds like something from a Raymond Chandler book. I like it.”

On the plus side, if Joseph thinks it’s just a nickname and not a pet name, maybe Barclay can keep using it.

“Are you ready?’

He sticks up a hairy thumb and calls, “you know it, blue eyes.”

That same laugh as Joseph takes up his position. Maybe it’s the weird film over the costume’s eyes, but Barclay swears he sees a blush.

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

Stern trawls through the search results. Their video is getting some traction, with two cryptid hunter sites claiming it’s credible footage. He’s making note of how the information spread, which threads lead to belief and which to doubt, when Barclay calls from upstairs. 

“Joseph? Little help?”

The other man is in the bathroom, and when Stern knocks he says, “Think the pilot light on the water heater went out again, all I’m getting is cold water. Can you go relight it?”

“Sure.” He gets to the stairs then, stops, “where’s the key to that closet?”

“Huh? Oh, shit, right, hang on” Barclay says at the same time as Stern’s “don’t worry, I can find it.” 

Which is why the instant he turns back into the bedroom is the same instant Barclay steps out of the bathroom, blue towel around his waist. 

Any blood that doesn’t head south goes instantly to Stern’s cheeks. 

“You okay there, blue-eyes?”

“It’s completely unfair how good you look without a shirt.”

He clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Idn’t ean to ay at out oud” The mumbled explanation makes Barclay smirk. 

“You like this, should see what’s under the towel.”

The unusually bold statement from Barclay kindles his own confidence.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, big guy.”

“Who says I won’t.” Barclay sits down on the edge of the bed, nonchalant and leaning back on his hands, “got plenty of time to make good on them.”

“We literally don’t. I go back in a week and two days.”

Barclay toys with the lint on the towel, “you could stay. Through break, through next semester, for however long you wanted.”

“Do you mean that?”

A shy nod, “I like having you around, Joseph. Even beyond the huge fucking crush I have on you I...everything is a little better when you’re around.”

“I, um, I guess it could work. We know next semester is online too, and so is work, so…” there must be variables missing, something he’s not seeing, some reason this is too good to be true.

“You want some space away from shirtless me to think about it?”

“That’d be great.”

Barclay stands, hesitates, then plants a quick kiss on his forehead, “take all the time you need, blue eyes.”

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

Private Chat log 1/11/2021

Barclay (he/him): Did you see the look on Duck’s face when we turned up in frame together. 

Joseph (he/him): Yes. Pretty sure Aubrey yelled something about him needing to pay up. I wonder what the bet was. 

Barclay (he/him): Whatever it was, pretty sure I came out the biggest winner. 

Stern snorts, trying not to blush on camera, and leans over to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek. 

[shintorikhazumi]

A Warm Diana Chapter 7: A Scorching Heat

A/N: Sorry this took so long. Ahhh, I don’t know why I struggle with writing this story, haha. It’s like I just open the file, stare at it, and worry. I’ve opened this file every day for the past week and some days more without updating it. Damn.

Anyway, on an odd sidenote, someday I hope to be a good enough writer to get recommended to other people haha. I’m not quite there yet. But I might get there… probably. Probably? Probably. Let’s start with finishing this fic.

Right, reminder that this is still around after Ep 20 so please don’t be surprised if Akko still thinks of Chariot as Ursula. I’m going to be giving a heads-up though, that I might not be able to integrate canon events into this anymore and may just have to do the Chariot Croix reveal a different way. Or we’ll see. Anyway. Apologies in advance if the quality and plot is bad…

This is so long, I could not beta and spot the mistakes. If you did, please tell me ahaha, I’ll fix it, I guess. Sorry if there are a lotta typos.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

 A Warm Diana Chapter 7: A Scorching Heat

One kiss, two, then three.

Again, again, and again.

In their hidden corner of the library, behind the fountain, in front of their room door.

At morning, in the afternoon, and as the starry dark night blanketed the sky.

Warm, hot… hotter. Hot until their touches burned already heated skin.

And it would only get hotter still.

Ever since that day, the day they finally cracked, when they had finally overheated, it was as though the struggle to curb their emotional wants and affectionate gestures for one another only grew. It felt like shackles being removed, freeing them to do as they pleased.

Diana, in particular, wrestled with her will to keep her hands to herself every time Akko was near. She was just so lovely. Like a flower- well, a wildflower, but a flower nonetheless. What Diana would do to stroke her petals… Eyes, alluring and hypnotizing, seemed to always invite Diana in with their shyness, but at the same time heated passion.

Diana’s throat would run dry as a desert. She would sometimes wonder if she harbored her own personal sun within her. It rendered her with a dry throat, sweaty palms- and sometimes feet-, intense heat boiling up from the deepest part within her… Diana felt thirsty. So, so thirsty.

Oh wait. If she was searching for the sun, Akko was the sun. Her bright, shining, warm, marvelous sun that lightened up her darkest days and had given her hope. Akko drew her cold-blooded soul in like a moth to a flame, and sometimes she worried. She worried she’d be an Icarus, free from the imprisonment that was the expectations of being Diana Cavendish; she was afraid she was flying too close to this Sun. She’d burn her wings and fall… fall… fall.

But Akko would catch her.

She was sure she would.

Just like right now.

Locked in place between Diana and a desk in an abandoned classroom- how cliché- Akko’s breath heaved, cheeks tainted red. Diana loved that color on her. It suited her. The school was right to assign her to that specific-colored team. They chose well. It pleased Diana.

Akko pleased Diana.

So much so that Diana spent almost every moment she could basking under the sun’s glow that belonged to Kagari Atsuko. She would always steal her away any moment she could.

Her restraint was that slim.

But still…

Though it happened often, their moments of heat and warmth were always hidden, tucked away behind curtains and closed doors, and covered by the shield that was Diana’s reputation. The shield that might very well be a double-edged sword instead.

 //-//-//-//-//

 It was a normal day, a normal class to attend.

Diana strode down the halls as she always did, normally. With her teammates by her side, as per usual. That was normal. And she was at her normal state as well: Elegant and perfect.

Though this time, she had… someone else trailing a little after her, not exactly the same picture of elegance, but… perfect, nonetheless. In Diana’s eyes, she was perfect.

It was a rule they decided to establish when in the public eye. As intimate and touchy as they were when in their own corner of the universe, PDA was something they both knew would greatly affect them both negatively while they were out and about in society. Especially for someone like Diana.

It pained her to think that this was something necessary as of the moment, seeing as how she had just found the opportunity, and had been given the chance to step forward as the next Cavendish heir- she needed the acknowledgement of the rest of her family, and she needed to prove her drive and sincerity to succeed the role she was to play in the household by being incredibly focused on- and dedicated to becoming a top-tier witch. She needed to prove to them that she was capable and driven, and wanted this position above all else.

But this wasn’t just about that. There were so many things that prevented them from making their relationship public. School duties and responsibilities, studies, the teachers’ mindsets when it came to such involvements, societies eyes. The connections they had to everyone. Not just to the elite, but to their friends and families as well.

Though maybe the ‘friends’ part wasn’t quite as difficult-

Scratch that. Despite being so supportive of them before they made things “official”, currently, Diana would catch Sucy and Lotte giving her warning looks every once in a while, to which she would return with a gaze that asked, ‘what?’.

She wasn’t doing anything wrong, was she?

Not when she would simply hold Akko’s hand under the table; not when she would sometimes caress the smooth skin of her thighs and make her struggle to not squirm in that adorable way of hers; not when Diana would pick Akko up from her dorm room every morning, and take her back a little later than usual- but never breaking any curfew rules! She swore!

She was glad her team seemed to have warmed up to Akko. Hannah and Akko would have the occasional cooking session, borrowing the academy’s kitchen from time to time; Hannah was surprised to learn that Akko sometimes contributed to the breakfast preparations when she had spare time, or in the event that she woke up too early.

Barbara had been close with Lotte as of late, and she wasn’t one to stay spiteful for long. She and Lotte had taken a shine to dressing Akko up in Nightfall-related clothing after the Japanese revealed some of her cosplaying habits back home.

Well, that was one way to bond, surely.

Diana loved watching them all interact.

(Though they all prevented her from watching whenever Akko was made to change into some of the aforementioned costumes. They even went so far as to kick her out of the room! Excuse them, but Diana was the one dating Atsuko, not them!)

She sighed.

Her roommates took a shine to Akko, but why did it feel like they took too much of a liking? They seemed more protective of Akko than of her. And the student body had supposedly labelled them as her lackeys back then!

And she hadn’t even gotten started on the green team.

If a bullet were shot at Akko and Diana each, at the same time, their friends would rather form a line in front of the former and leave Diana to get shot.

These people.

She swept a glance over their little group. Despite all that, she smiled rather fondly. It was nice to know they were all closer, perhaps happier? Diana certainly was. And it was all thanks to the wonderful person she knew as Kagari Atsuko. She was a light, a hope. She was brilliant.

And everything was normal.

And just a tad bit better than that.

Drawing near to their designated classroom’s door, Diana could hear the normal class chatter, though something felt slightly off as it seemed to be buzzing with more intensity than just the standard excited gossip, morning greeting, and casual conversation.

She shrugged it off as the tiniest change from the normal class dynamic, striding into the room with her typical air of confidence and authority. And then everything quiets.

Diana quirked a curious brow at this, feeling the weight of many gazes on her. Whispering ensued; some students not subtle enough as they throw glances at Diana far too frequently that she preferred they just stare blatantly instead.

Then Akko comes in right after her and the whispers increase their volume; not quite amplified enough to return to the earlier sounds of talks, but everyone was certainly louder in their murmuring

Not one to lose her composure in spite of the oddness of it all, as well as the pressure of all this attention, Diana takes a seat in the same normal way she does every school day. Once more, it quiets. This time she has to admit, she’s begun to feel it: unnerved.

They are heavy. The many stares.

Then their first professor of the day walks into the room, and Diana felt her lungs capable of respiration again. Yes, this day would continue on as it always does. She would pour her all into her studies, she would be called as an example to the class, she would perform flawlessly, answer questions knowledgably, and she would have lunch with Akko and all their friend. They would get back to studies, and after class-

The teacher scanned the room, a nervous glint in her eyes, as if in search of a threat or a criminal.

Her eyes fall on Diana’s, and they lock gazes. She found what she’d been looking for apparently, lighting up as she spots a certain brunette a few seats back. Diana knows that’s who the teacher is looking at. She just knows.

And there is a call for them.

More whispers.

Diana barely misses Hannah shooting a glare at everyone staring, and she catches out of the corner of her eye, Barbara biting down on her lip while looking around nervously, the red and blue teams clearly confused and uncomfortable with whatever was occurring at this moment.

She tears her eyes away from the teacher, and regards Akko with a nod instead, a silent beckon to go out together. Lotte had taken a hold of the cuff of her teammate’s sleeve, afraid to let Akko go, not knowing what this was all about. Or maybe they did. Maybe they all did.

Sucy is quiet. Not her normal Sucy quiet with underlying playful malice or sarcasm waiting to be released. Neither is it boredom or deliberate evil planning.

She was just so quiet. And still. Her eyes followed the brunette’s retreating back, a hand on Lotte’s shoulder, a way to keep the Finnish woman from following after her. She looked just about ready to run off with Akko somewhere where they wouldn’t be subjected to this painful awkwardness.

Louder. Everything just gets louder. And maybe Diana has just become more sensitive to everything as her senses are heightened by adrenaline and nervousness. They exit the door just as it closes with a click behind them. And the droning whispers still follow them as they leave the area, barely drowned out by the silence of the halls.

 //-//-//-//-//

 “Miss Kagari.” This is normal. Akko argued with herself that hearing this particular name from the strict disciplinary professor was nothing out of the ordinary. A perfectly normal addressing of her name, she and Diana used to it as the heiress was usually in the area when she got scolded. “Miss… Diana Cavendish.”

Now those. Those were unfamiliar sounds, an unknown tone of voice directed at her partner. Odd on the palate of someone like Finneran, foreign. The way it was spoken, anxiety-inducing.

“Before I reveal anything, would you perhaps happen to know why you are here?”

Headmistress Holbrooke sat wordlessly in her seat. She did not look as though she was angered. There was something else in her eyes. It did not look to be something against her students, but rather, it was frustration towards the atmosphere surrounding all of them.

Akko had been genuinely confused since leaving their classroom, trying to list off all the things she could have done wrong; the rules she could have violated lately. Nothing came up, she only drew a blank in her head. After all, there was no reason for her to do anything unwise since most of her time had been spent with Diana- …something flashes in her eyes, a deep worry.

She hopes it isn’t what she thinks it is. Every time she’s made trouble before, the atmosphere was never this suffocating. Coupled with the fact that she was called together with Diana, it ruled out all possibility that this would just be Akko’s normal scolding for things she had ruined/destroyed on campus, be it tangible items, or things such as classes and her teachers’ temperaments for the day.

In contrast to her tense nature, Diana, calm as ever replied, “I’m afraid I have no clue.” The heiress was brilliant in everything, even acting. But Akko could see the tiniest tremor of her hand, and the fear in crystal blues. “I don’t believe we’ve done any wrong to warrant a call from you, ma’am.”

Diana may be an expert at meeting any problem as they came, but even she couldn’t keep her eyes from widening at the object their professor procured out of her coat pocket, hand holding it out in front of them pointedly.

“Well, then. I suppose you would have no problems explaining this photo?”

Them. It was a picture of them. A captured portrait of Akko and Diana in the library. This alone wouldn’t have been anything of concern, but it was the act that they had been engaging in at that moment that warranted the alarms in possibly everyone’s head.

They both knew when this was.

They could never forget it.

It was a memory that would play vividly in their minds in many moments. They saw it in their dreams, they dreamed it in their waking moments. It coursed through their minds, into their veins, a heart-pounding, magical sensation.

It was their first kiss.

“What…” Akko had no words to complete that. Her tense arms fell limply to the sides, legs trembling as if they would give out at any moment.

Diana was similarly speechless, staring at the photo blankly, mind running miles an hour.

“One would say that this was possibly photo-shopped to ruin your reputation, Miss Cavendish.” Finneran continued, and Diana had half a mind to nod, maybe realizing that she could go along with this possible lifeline of an excuse… before it was harshly cut. “But the source is far too reliable to be that.”

That seemed to have caught the heiress attention as she posed her inquiries. “What do you mean, professor?” Red eyes watched as fists clenched and loosened, the heiress’ voice barely staying level. “Who exactly produced this photo?”

Finneran paused, appearing as though she were weighing some options in her mind, before deciding with finality. “It’s something I cannot divulge to you. Not now, as you are. Maybe once you’ve reflected upon the wrong you’ve done.”

Akko’s head whipped up, that word she was so used to being associated with used again. But in this setting, in this context of her feelings for Diana…

Wrong.

Wrong…

Wrong?

What was?

Being in love with someone? Being in love with each other? Being in love with Diana?

What wr-

“And what wrong have we done?” Diana’s sharp tone cut through the fragile air. “Is what we have together so wrong? We haven’t broken any public rules, we did not bother anyone, nor did we force others to accept us right away, right in these very moments.” She fumed, at the edge of bursting from all her emotional tension. “What right do you all have, to tell us who we can and can’t love?!”

“Miss Cavendish.”

Akko flinched, noticing Diana did as well at the Headmistress’ tone of voice.

“We did not wish to jeopardize you, or undervalue your rights to freedom of choice, of expression, and of love. But there is one thing that is out of our control as of the moment and that is that these types of scandals are tied to a much larger picture. I’m sure someone like you can understand. The economy and society that used to be against us have only began to turn to support our school’s growth-“

“So, this is about money; I see now.” Diana butted in harshly, scoffing; anger, distress, and desperation blinding her usual rationality. She went on and on, words she would never mean or say. “You fear the support will pull out from you so you go against your values and standards in choosing witches, in raising witches and people, in guiding students, in encouraging their futures, and in teaching-“

“Diana.” It was cold. The usually warm, kindhearted woman was so cold. “You know that is not true. It’s not about that.” The voice demanded attention, and Diana relinquished hers. “The person who produced this photo is threatening to spread it to the outside world, jeopardizing- not only Luna Nova’s safety and reputation, as well as business opportunities- but the students’- your rights, future, privacy and safety as well. For all we know, it could have been published in newspapers, spread to inner circles of high society; and you know what that would mean for you.” Holbrooke’s voice dropped volumes lower. “You know what that would mean for your inheritance…”

Diana’s brows were still pulled together, but tears of helplessness and frustration had pooled in the corner of her eyes in addition to the frown still marring her beautiful face. Even in anger, Akko found her to be the most stunning. And yet she feared that she had tainted that power of Diana’s. The power to beguile and charm… simply because she was found greedily desiring the spot next to her. Like dirt on a gorgeous painting… Akko would destroy Diana’s shine in the eyes of many if that picture leaked out.

No.

That could not be. Should not be.

The Japanese witch could only imagine how difficult this situation would be, how complicated, how humiliating it was for someone such as Diana.

The headmistress stood up, walking towards the blonde at the center of the room, head dropping low from its earlier defiant stature.

“We are trying to protect you.”

Diana’s back wasn’t large by any means, but Akko had always thought it to be wide and intimidating. At this very moment, however, it seemed so small. As her hands were held in the wise professor’s, Akko could faintly here the smallest hidden sniffle.

“Please, Diana.”

 “… Understood.”

 //-//-//-//-//

 Tap. Tap. Tap.

Taptap-tap-taptap.

Tap.

“Akko?”

At the mention of her name, wine-red eyes blink out of their stupor, turning to her motherly tutor as the pen in her hand freezes just before it can touch the desk of the woman’s personal office another time. “Yes?” She offers a cheery smile that does little to convince Ursula of her current state. And Akko knows that.

“Are you alright?”

Akko would have scoffed at that question. Clearly, everyone in the school knew of her issue already. She loved her teacher, but that question felt too unkind. ‘Are you alright?’, the woman had asked.

Was she?

“I… guess not…”

“Would you like to tell me about it? How you feel?” That was somewhat of a surprise. After having been told off for ‘how she felt’ so few hours ago, she wasn’t in the mood to discuss it, only to be told they weren’t right.

But this was Ursula-sensei. She might just be different.

Akko hoped she would be.

Or her heart would break from having the only adult supportive of her who was close by, betray her as well.

She had already tasted it many times now. First, with her good friend Andrew, the wound still unhealing… Andrew… had he been right all along? That she could not bear the weight of a love like this, with someone like Diana?

No… that was not it. It should not be it. Diana was… Diana is…

Andrew was…

Akko shook her head. There was nothing to compare. Diana was a star, and Andrew was simply a friend she once had that had tore her trust to pieces, and though she longed to mend their former relationship… was it possible to recover in the first place?

These feelings of battling possible prejudices did not stop with the boy. It continued with the teachers, and then the judgment of possibly the entire school. Who even knows if her friends weren’t just pretending at this point? Could they even stand to… stand by Akko? When everyone was leaving her bit by bit?

… just as her mother had, not even intending to.

Could she still open her heart to someone right now, without fear of it being trampled into the dust, the monsters of her mind daring her to try. Try and be cursed by the inevitable consequences of rejection and abandonment. Try to let people see… see her feelings. See the emotions that many had already labelled as filthy.

But she desperately needed to let it out. To let her pain and frustrations out, she needed someone to confide in. She needed… she needed… she needed someone there. Beside her. Someone not chained to society’s expectations like Diana, someone not at risk of being ostracized from the rest alongside her…

She wanted to try to tell her.

Try… Trying… might not hurt. Or maybe it would.

“…Maybe.” Ursula had her full attention to her beloved student at the first sounds that escaped her anxiously shivering frame, arms wrapped around her upper body in a protective stance, eyes unfocused and dimmed. Her heart broke at the raspy voice and the quietly posed question that came soon after. “Would you… hold it against me as well? These dirty feelings.”

...

“Akko…”

The little witch’s eyes hurt. They were stinging with pinpricks here and there, allowing tears to well up, only held back by sheer will to not cry in front of someone who might just judge her like everyone else. She couldn’t take it. Not from one of the so few she trusted in, the few she believed in. One of the only people she could confide in.

Please, don’t let Professor Ursula be one of…them.

Her hold on herself tightened as she curled into a ball in her seat, every part of her just hurting and wanting to hurt even more. Her chest felt so tight, almost as if it denied any fresh air from clearing her lungs and her thoughts that were filled with all the restrained sentiments she had held back for god knows how long after she’d left the office. Her heart clenched and yet tore apart at the same time. She felt as though every part of her being was bleeding. Bleeding what? Blood, sweat and tears, maybe. Her throat itched, and she let out a few coughs.

Please… not you.

Please…

Ursula had been so quiet; the atmosphere was weighing heavily on Akko and she was quickly being crushed by her demons of anxiety. Her eyes had begun darting from place to place on the floor she was staring at, the signs of a panic attack and stress making the back of her neck up to her ears burn hot, her hands and feet freezing in stark contrast.

Her eyes squeezed shut as her head began to spin, all these negative thoughts swirling about in a whirlpool of sickening negativities and passions.

Please.

Please just-

Arms wrapped around her, squeezing so tight, Akko would have complained about the inability to breathe. But then the dam broke as Ursula kissed her temple, whispering words like magic. “It’s okay… I understand. I heard you. I heard your heart.”

“Please… stay by ME.” Akko felt helpless, like there was no one else. She just needed someone… Please someone. Anyone who would choose her. Who would believe in her.

Ursula continued to press gentle kisses to the crown of Akko’s head, rubbing her back soothingly as the girl hiccupped, writhed in pain, moaned out her frustrations and wants.

“Please.” Her voice cried, broken and tired. “I don’t have anyone else… Diana… my friends… I don’t want them to be…” A choked sob hid her words for a moment. “-just because of me…”

“No, No, Akko. Sweetheart, no. You are not to blame. I know. I also know you are in need. Of support, of someone.” Ursula took a breath to calm her own wild horses, wanting to be rational in this fragile balance of a situation, but also let Akko know she would help. “There… there may be many occasions where I won’t take your side, especially when it involves you getting hurt, or in trouble. But at this moment…

…I’m here beside you right now, and I believe in you. You and your feelings.”

A sniff.

Then whispered words.

“They… are they so wrong? To love someone so amazing and try to do your best beside them… is that so wrong?!, Voice in a crescendo, Akko questioned everything. All the conflict that came even before this point. “Is it so wrong to want to be someone better, but by their side instead of being alone?” The professor only hugged her tighter. “Are my feelings so wrong?!”

What could she even say besides her earlier words of standing by Akko? If encouraging these emotions meant more danger and future turmoil, should she shield the girl instead and save her from a crippled future? Or should she nurture them in some way, and choose the narrow path that could lead to everyone’s destruction? In her heart, Ursula knew she was also betraying her, but on something unrelated to the current turmoil the girl was going through. It was a secret she was willing to take to the grave, even, if it meant that her beloved student would only reap more pain. But she mustn’t think of that now. This was about Akko’s state of emotion, her love for Diana, right now.

This situation was just not something in their control. She had heard from the headmistress that Holbrooke herself hardly minded such relationships so long as they were properly monitored, and proper behavioral protocol was still observed within the school.

The problem lay in the person who was against all of this, against the two students, against Diana… and her inheritance.

It wasn’t something that they could easily intervene in. But the person seemed willing to pull all stops, even to the extremes to ensure that Diana never took something that was very rightfully hers. It was all they could do to be careful, and calmly try to protect the girls, even if it wasn’t as effective as they liked.

Really. If only they could do more.

“I’m sorry…”

 //-//-//-//-//

 The “consequences” of the spreading scandal were laid out clearly for them to follow just before they left the room. They could still attend classes as the teachers had agreed that they didn’t want to jeopardize their future, or make the situation look worse than it really was. This was also to stop rumors from spreading, and/or being confirmed. However, despite this privilege, they were not to linger after classes: Akko would go straight to Ursula for tutor sessions, and Diana would either study on her own in her room, or go on patrols; and Diana and Akko were forbidden from meeting at any time in any place.

To ensure this condition was met without struggle, Akko was moved to a different class to be separated from Diana. But this would also mean that she was separated from the rest of her friends, and the sole people who could be her comfort and support. In the new class, she was truly alone.

She knew no one.

She only knew judgment.

And that knowledge stabbed at Diana’s heart each passing moment as she’d catch sight of their friends, the brunette’s teammates, or simply her now-empty seat. It hurt.

Distracting her from being consumed by that ache in her heart, however, was the heat of everyone’s gazes: overbearing, scorching Diana; her palms would sweat, ears turning red. Subjected to the discriminating scrutiny of people who knew no better than rumors, Diana acted with an air of defiance, trying to mask her frustrations with her situation with a cold pride.

Still, the comments…

“I didn’t think Miss Cavendish was like that.”

They were words she’d rather not hear.

“What about sir Andrew?”

“Was all of that just an act?”

“She acts like that to woo men in, only to actually lead them on, is that it? I’d never have thought.”

“So miss goody-two-shoes actually has a rotten personality? I kinda saw that coming.”

They made no dents on Diana’s pride, nor did they hurt her one bit. If it was about her liking women, they could come at her all they wanted. If all they engaged in were rumors of her and men- most specially that disgusting Andrew, she couldn’t care any less. Rumors were rumors. And people believe what they believe. She didn’t think anything she’d say would change their impressions anyway, and she would rather die than plead for the acceptance of such shallow characters.

It was just that the chatter was becoming rather annoying. No longer able to bear the irritating notions thrown about her classroom, and seeing as class had been dismissed, there was no reason for her to lurk about here for much longer.

Swiftly standing from her seat and drawing the attention of all those around her, it seemed, Diana left with a swish of her hair, shoes tapping off the floor. She knew the mumbles would start up again as soon as she left the room, but she could no longer be bothered as she traversed the halls, following her mind’s map to her room where she would spend her remaining hours before dinner.

Eyes followed her even in the halls, but that was to be expected. However, gazes once pointed at her due to admiration were replaced by wariness and possibly scorn. Though scorn may not be that new, after all. Diana was used to the burns of jealousy, but maybe not harmful judgment.

As she neared a corner, the average amount of students she encountered remained the same, but fewer and fewer were looking at her passing figure. Curious, she saw some holding a piece of paper, most of them identical from the last individual or group she saw. They all appeared to be quite shocked and interested in the photo. But Diana had no time for them. She only had time to figure out how to turn this problem in on its own head.

She was curious, nonetheless. More identical papers appeared in the hands of more students. And they all were simply captured by whatever was on it. Now it really got to Diana, and she was confused as to why.

Then her eyes caught sight of the bulletin board in the hall, and ‘why’ no longer existed. Diana stared at photo and article on the bulletin, disbelieving, ocean blues widening.

Now that she knew what was on it, Diana whipped her head about frantically, reconfirming the amount of people now in ownership of a copy of what was supposed to be one of the most magical moments of her life. Her first kiss with the one she loved more than anything in this world.

Like the sudden crash of lightning and thunder, noises filled her ears; she couldn’t hear anything else but their judgmental murmurs. Overwhelmed, heating up, and feeling like she’d soon go mad, Diana took a step forward towards the nearest group of girls, having plans of snatching each and every photo to burn the torturous material to the ground.

The noises only got louder as people began to notice her plans and actions. Murmurs, mumbles, whispers… the usage of her name, the dragging of Akko’s. She tried to reach for the girl’s hand, but her school mate had moved away, everyone taking notice of her.

This silent, desperate Diana look-alike.

No.

No.

Stop.

Please stop.

She swiped at the paper, but again, it was held out of her reach. She tried to snatch it, tear it apart; she could probably take it away so easily had she been in the right state of mind, but after the stress her usual composure had been subjected to, no one could recognize the pathetically mute, and desperate person the top student had become. As she stepped forward to make another grab for the item from fast hands, she could just see the evil little smirks, and the taunts forming on cruel lips.

“Oh? What’s this? If it isn’t the high and mighty Diana Cavendish, here to erase the evidence of her dirty little secret.” Venomous and harsh, Diana loathed the tongue that spat out those words. “First, playing at friends, then now playing at lovers or something? Then being all ashamed of it?”

No. That’s not true.

I’m not-

“Well, I guess I’d be ashamed too if the other party just so happened to be someone as embarrassing as that idiot, Akko.”

Stop this,

I’m not like that.

I’m not ashamed of Akko!

Stop!

Please, stop-!

“She’s such a-“

“What is this photo?!” A voice bellowed, righteous anger making its presence known. But though it was on Diana’s side, she still did not want to be called out. She did not want more people prying into her well-kept private life.

Stop.

Don’t look at it.

Diana wanted to scream.

Stop.

Don’t look at me!

“O-oh, It’s just the new story going aroun-“

“Oi.” Biting and cold, if this was how death sounded like, so many ladies were already at death’s door. “You all take that shit on the bulletin down, and stop yer annoying yapping. If you got nothing better to do than gossip, then fucking scram!”

Diana had lowered her head in her unusually timid state, so she could not see the expressions of the person? People? It seemed like they were accompanied, who had saved her. She felt arms wrapped around her shoulders, helping her fix her posture and begin walking again. Lifting up her eyes, she saw that at her side were her teammates glaring at anyone who dared take so much as a peek at her.

Sparing a glance around, she saw Lotte, Jasminka and Constanze taking copies away from students and walls where they could see the papers with the pictures. The voice Diana had heard was apparently Amanda, now cornering the group of girls who had kept Diana from taking their copy of the scandal away.

“Imma throw all this trash away,” The redhead snarled. “-or in your faces if you keep up this little attitude.” Amanda had suddenly appeared like the typhoon that she was, snatching the photo out of the girl’s hand, tearing the photo loudly and savagely in front of them as a warning. Diana wasn’t sure if she appreciated that, or if it made her want to cry. That moment… was not meant to be walked all over like this, trampled like the dirt. But it was her only salvation in this moment.

The rest of the girls were doing the same with the papers they had gathered, crumpling, tearing, Sucy burning a few. She had never quite seen Sucy and Jasminka angry, but by the looks on their faces, many students knew that they were dead serious with any threat they posed- or were about to pose.

Diana breathed deeply, eyes shutting as her inner working swam about, rendering her nauseous and barely conscious in the arms of her teammates. Upon opening them, her teammates helped her find her bearings, steadying her on her feet. They were about to walk back to the dorm before professor Croix came marching up to them and halted right in front of them, arms crossed intimidatingly at first, and Diana thought she’d have to fight another battle. But then she began scratching the back of her head awkwardly, before sighing.

“Cavendish. You have a call in the office.”

“What do… they want with me this time?” Diana breathed out.

“I don’t know. Something about a call from a manor is all I know. I think you better be quick. Holbrooke looks like she’s dealing with a lot to keep them entertained.” With that, she turned on her heel, leading the way for the trio to stagger on behind her.

Upon reaching the large doors of the office Diana had been in not too long ago, Hannah and Barbara were blocked by the teacher from entering with their leader. They would have voiced their opposition if not for Diana’s chilling lifeless eyes that ordered them to obey. She then shut the door behind her.

 //-//-//-//-//

 “Who was it.” She murmured, stomping down the halls, Hannah and Barbara barely staying in stride beside her.

“Hello? Who might be calling?”

“Who was it.”

[“Young Lady… it’s Anna… I… I don’t know how to tell you this…”]

“Who was it.”

 [“There… have been rumors circulating… almost in all of… well England… and…”]

“Who was it.” The eyes… the gazes, they burned, they were scorching hot. The scrutiny like magnifying lens under the sun. But Diana could spare them no mind as she approached the library to blow off steam, maybe through studying, or borrowing a new book on spells to occupy her mind instead of her rampaging thoughts.

[“The people… who initially wanted to support and back you… for the succession… are pulling out one by one…”]

“Who was it.” She tapped her foot under the table, tapped it impatiently as she lined up at the counter to have her book checked out.

[“Young Miss… what must we do? How can we help you?”]

“Who was it.” Not touching her food in the dining hall, Diana was found harshly tapping her fork against her plate.

[“Is there… even something we can do? It’s become so wide-spread miss, I… I…”]

“Who was it, who was it… who was it.” She walks the dorm corridor to her assigned room. She entered, slamming the door shut. “Who was it?” She queries, hitting the wall with closed fists.

Hannah and Barbara looked up from their bed and study desk respectively, turning to one another before deciding to leave Diana for a bit. “We’ll be back, okay Diana?” To Give her the space she so clearly needs.

[“Miss, not to offend you, and I have nothing against it… I was simply surprised…”]

“Who was it, who was it, who was it?!”

[“…I didn’t know you… it… was like that.”]

“WHO DAMN WAS IT?!” She finally screamed out all the pent up frustrations, slamming her hands on her desk.

A Knock on the door. Soft, but continuous. This only furthers her irritation as she runs to the door in blind fury, abruptly pulling it open to curse at the guilty perpetrator daring to add on to her madness.

“WHO BLOODY IS IT, DAMNIT?!”

…And there stood Akko, eyes wide, curled back into herself in horror. Diana only registers this as the girl lets out a whimper, tears released by lovely rosy eyes that Diana loved so much, but had hurt just as much.

“I-it’s… it’s only me, Diana.” She croaked, backing up when Diana reached for her, making the heiress flinch. “I’m sorry, was I… was I bothering-“ No, Akko could not leave, not now. Not when Diana needed her- the only one capable of keeping her sanity in tact- the most!

The brunette yelped as she was pulled in, door shut behind her, before being engulfed in a tight hug, arms circling her waist and a face buried in her neck, a tall nose inhaling her scent, tickling the spot with gentle brushes.

“It’s just you… Akko…”

And the girl feels Diana’s labored breathing calm, her high body heat burning against her skin.

“Diana…”

“Akko…” She murmurs in a defeated tone, broken. She the realizes what she had just done to Akko mere moments ago, dropping to her knees, the brunette going along with her. “I… I apologi-“

“Shh… It’s okay now.” Akko wraps her arms around Diana’s shoulders, turning to plant kisses on any part of her head and hair that she could reach. “It’s okay now. I’m here. It’s okay now. We’re here. Together.”

She felt the bundle of blonde sorrow nod against her, and she raised her up, assisting her towards Diana’s bed before sitting the tired heiress down. Diana refused to release Akko, and so the latter stood there between her legs, allowing Diana to draw her comfort from her. She’d do anything to help her calm.

“Let’s talk this through, and make it out together. We will get past this. I know.” She murmured, leaning down to plant a kiss against Diana’s throbbing temple. She was under so much stress. “Do you want to lay down and rest?”

A shake of the head.

“But you really need it.”

A sniff.

“What if… I rest with you, will you go to sleep?” Akko was hesitant to place down this offer, knowing that if she didn’t leave soon, who knows what would happen if she got spotted.

But she couldn’t leave. Not now, not even if she wanted to. And she didn’t want to.

At Diana’s nod, Akko guided them both to a better position atop Diana’s dorm mattress, the top student, though with a larger frame, snuggled closely into Akko, resting under her chin, allowing the brunette to shield her away from anything outside of their tiny bubble of tranquil.

And in so few minutes, to the sound of each other’s tired breathing and beating hearts, they both fell asleep.

 //-//-//-//-//

 The sound of soft rain pattering against her glass windows woke the light sleeper in Diana up. At first, she had panicked at the feeling of being wrapped up in someone’s arms, under someone’s weight. But faint scents of strawberry and a pleasant type of fresh earthiness tickled her nose, and she knew just who that someone was. With a wistful smile, she looked to the person who held her heart, and remembered every bit of yesterday, said heart aching. Brushing her bangs to clear Akko’s face, Diana planted the faintest kiss on her chapped lips before sitting up, still in the other witch’s embrace.

Her eyes surveyed the quarters, finding the absence of her roommates, but by her bedside, a small note, telling her of their location. Barbara and Hannah had left to fetch them some food in the event that they’d wake up late and/or around a time when many students would be walking about and would have a high chance of catching Akko leaving the room. They had also tried their best to make sure that no one was lurking about their room by placing a barrier spell that would alert the people inside if there ever was anyone. It was their way of looking out for them, and Diana cried with gratefulness in her heart for their gracious actions.

Not too long after she had closed the note, the door came ajar, and in peeked a ginger hair, looking tense, but then relaxing as they met Diana’s eyes, realizing all was well.

Locking the door behind them as they entered, Hannah and Barbara placed the trays down on their little table in the middle of the room. Diana nodded gratefully as everyone seemed to have the same idea of allowing Akko more moments of rest after everything that had unfolded yesterday. They were all certainly drained.

Diana never knew of what other things the other seven had gone through while apart from them, but from the little she had witnessed, she knew she could trust them with her life. And really, she was already doing that.

Once Akko had woken up, the pair had their breakfast as the inhabitants of the room exchanged ideas on how to get Akko out to her own before anyone realized she was gone. It was already a surprise to see her here and without anyone barging in the previous night after rollcall. Hannah and Barbara assumed that Akko’s roommates must have done something similar to them, telling the monitor that Diana was sick and asleep- which was not totally untrue.

Not long after, they had received a small note through the window, delivered by one of Lotte’s little sprites, and it was urging them to return Akko. They knew she had to be in the blue team dorm, as that was the only place she’d logically be in after they had asked the green team and Professor Ursula and were given a negative that she had been with them the night prior. They had Alcor do a few rounds across the school grounds to confirm if Akko stayed in the ruins or tower, and with that turning up with a blank, the only remaining place she would be safe, was there.

Sucy had prepared some kind of dummy that was almost believable, and with Lotte’s sprites, they were able to create a believable, clone that did minimal shuffling movements under blankets, a waving of hand, and a weird groaning sound that was very convincing for the dorm monitor.

But that wouldn’t hold up in class.

They needed Akko back as soon as possible. So, they could only plan to sneak Akko out as discreetly as possible.

They began with the everyone taking their turns washing up and preparing for class. They somehow needed Akko to meet up with her own team on the grounds, far from the room. How they would accomplish that, they did not know. The most important part was that Akko and Diana were not to be seen together. They were under a probationary rule, and should they break terms regarding that, heavier consequences would definitely follow.

They wondered if they could have Akko transform herself into her mouse form and climb along the windows, but should anyone be outside and see that familiar brown creature, they might still be caught, especially if said animal was coming right from Diana’s window.

However, the idea of transformation magic wasn’t all bad. They decided to slip her into Hannah’s pocket, hoping that if suspicion were directed at Diana and she were checked, they could get away somewhat.

With that agreed upon, they put their action into motion, Akko climbing into Hannah’s uniform, and the blue team striding down the corridor, attempting to look as normal as possible.

Then Finneran barred their path, raised her wand, and for a moment, they thought it was an attack spell. A spell that would harm students, cast by a teacher.

But then-

“Metamorphie Faciesse!”

 And laying on the ground was Akko. Caught.

 “Not only did you break your agreement to stay apart, but what else could two people, essentially lovers, do when spending the night together?” The implications were strong, and they all knew it.

Very quickly, a crowd had begun to form around them.

“I never thought you’d dare engage in such… illicit activities, Miss Cavendish. This is beneath you!”

“Illi- No! There is nothing of the sort! Why would you-“

“Regardless of what you have done, the relationship in and of itself is immoral, and you two should not have been granted this much freedom.” Finneran stated, stepping forward to grab Akko, before Diana came between them. “Diana Cavendish. You do not seem to understand your situation. You do not seem to understand that I am protecting you. You do not seem to understand that there may be eyes and ears all around you who could so easily procure another proof OF YOUR RIDICULOUSNESS IN PURSUING WHATEVER IT IS WITH… WITH THIS CHILD!”

“WHAT DON’T I UNDERSTAND-“

“It was all me.” Akko’s voice was barely raised, yet it tore through the tension, above all the screaming, clear and heard. “I’m the one who came to her room despite knowing the consequences.”

‘No... No!’ Diana’s eyes bolted to the girl behind her, disagreeing with her whole being, trying to reach for the girl, before her hand was slapped away and Barbara and Hannah held her back to prevent further damage from adding on to the situation. Akko was now their friend, yes, but her eyes had told them all they needed to know. That she was taking a bullet for Diana. And they were also reminded, that in the end, Diana was to be their priority. As her teammates, as her first friends.

This answer seemed to please the professor as she stepped back. “…Indeed. It was you. It would be hard to believe Miss Cavendish would initiate such… I believe even this whole charade of a relationship was of your doing? I don’t know how you managed to do it, but to bribe and convince someone with a social standing as high as a Cavendish, you have quite the nerve.” She scoffed. “Come to my office. We’ll discuss the details of what will now happen to you.”

Akko no longer responded verbally, nodding as she dusted herself off, trudging after the disciplinary teacher, not sparing Diana’s pained form any glance.

Akko had taken the brunt of blame.

She had taken it all.

If only to lessen the weight of the events and rumors about Diana. If the headlines would soon change to be, ‘An Untalented Witch Seduces An Innocent Rising Leader: Bewitching Is A Reality’- or something of that ridiculous sort, maybe things would work out. Anyone could conjure a tale that was almost believable. Maybe this would give Diana’s reputation some leeway to be worked out.

So why shouldn’t Akko be the first to create it?

As icy blues stared at the figure leaving her behind, slouched shoulders, and the gradually quieting echo of steps bouncing off the walls reaching silence, Diana’s sense of hearing was replaced by those horrid sounds that infiltrated the peace of her mind.

They were back, to make Diana’s ears bleed. To drive her insane.

The murmurs.

The rumors.

The whispers.

And hidden among those was a slivering hiss passing by, with eyes that would always say,

‘No.’

 A/N: I’m really sorry. I have a lot of disappointment for how I’m performing in this story. It’s just so hard because, as I may have mentioned before, my laptop broke last year and wiped all my data, and my flash drive was lost with the backup. I’ve lost hours-worth of stories and data, and I really did cry for it. So I have no clue as to the direction the original scenarios were supposed to go. I’m trying to build off the older chapters, coming up with the story now. Ahhhh. I sincerely wish I could deliver this story better as I’m attached to it.

AHHHH I DON’T KNOW ANYMORE. Somehow, I don’t like how I’ve written this out at all :’<

Lowkey, the office scene feels like I wrote it from experience…

Everyone’s attention in this chap on Diakko may seem a little dramatic (I’m sorry), but if you’re somewhat well-known in school, and in a place that’s either really strict or conservative, especially when it comes to morals, you’d know that people can be quite… scary. Maybe this Is just justification, I’m sorry.

~Shintori Khazumi

[five-rivers]

Eyes

Dannymay!

It's been two years since I started posting fanfiction. Can you believe it?

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.

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Danny sucked the ghost into the thermos and landed, breathing heavily and clutching a shallow gash on his side. Fighting someone with sickles for fingernails was not fun, and it was even less fun when he first had to expel that someone from his principal's body. Luckily, however, he had left Mrs. Ishiyama back at the school and she wasn't here in this alley to see him become human again, bright transformation rings sweeping over him, changing his white hair and green eyes to black and blue respectively.

He groaned and rubbed the back of his eyes. The encounter with not-Ishiyama had begun while he was on his way to after school detention, Mr. Lancer was going to be... unhappy with him.

Shadows swept past the mouth of the alley as Sam and Tucker ran by and then backtracked. Danny waved at them, tiredly, with the hand that was holding the thermos.

"How did you know she was overshadowed?" asked Tucker, breathlessly while Sam bent to examine Danny's wound.

"How did I know? More like, how didn't you know? Her eyes were completely red. The whole thing!" He removed his hand from his wound to wave it in front of his face. Sam needed better access, anyway.

"What are you talking about?" asked Sam, pulling a first aid kit from her backpack. "Her eyes were normal."

"Yeah," said Tucker, taking the box from Sam so she could rummage through it without putting it on the alley ground. "She looked the same as she always does."

"What, really?" asked Danny, nonplussed. "Wait, hold up. You've seen other people overshadowed before, right?"

"Yeah? Of course we have," said Sam.

"You've overshadowed me enough," said Tucker.

"And you've never, I don't know, noticed that a person's eye color changes when they're overshadowed? That they glow?"

"No," said Tucker, slowly. "Because it doesn't. It stays the same. Otherwise it would be really easy to tell when someone was overshadowed. You'd just have to look at their eyes."

"I guess it's a power that you didn't notice was a power," said Sam. "Do Vlad's eyes look red to you all the time?"

"No," said Danny. "He looks normal. Wait, you guys can see when my eyes glow, right? When I get angry, or when I use my powers in human form?"

"Yeah," said Tucker. "We see that."

"I think this is good for now," said Sam, patting the bandages. "Fly to my place and we can finish it up, there. Unless you have something I haven't noticed?"

"No," said Danny. "You're good. And we really have to test the eye thing."

.

The wound didn't need much cleaning, and his ghostly healing factor had already started to work on it by the time he met back up with Sam and Tucker, so the bandaging was light, unnoticeable under his clothing. Which was good, because obvious bandaging tended to get his parents' attention in a bad way.

"Mom?" he called. "Dad? I'm home!"

"Hey, Danny!" called his Dad, his voice echoing up from the open door down to the lab. "Come down and see what we're working on!"

Well, that was enough to trigger a full-body cringe. Danny did not like going down into the lab while his parents were actively working on something. All too often the thing in question would attack him.

Still, he didn't like to disappoint them if he could help it, so he set his backpack down by the door and slouched tensely down the stairs. "What is it?" he asked, as he neared the foot of the stairs.

"A possession detector!" said Jack, waving a screwdriver. "We haven't come up with a name yet!"

"We only started to work on it today," said Maddie.

In theory, a device that could detect overshadowing and keep people from being taken advantage of that way would be great... unless it could also detect half-ghosts in their human form. Then it would be not so great. It would also render his newly-discovered ability and advantage rather moot, so he wasn't sure how he felt about it overall.

"That's cool," said Danny, neutrally. He flexed his hands. "How does it work?"

"We'll show you!" said Jack, pulling the half finished thing off the table as Maddie tsked in disapproval. He dropped the thing over Danny's head like a helmet, and he stumbled under the unexpected weight, a squeak of distress escaping from his lips. Something bright shone into his eyes and he flinched back before being steadied by his father. "You see?"

"Um," said Danny. "No."

He heard Maddie sigh. "After examining some volunteers who claimed to have been possessed recently, we noticed that they had a much higher level of ectoplasm in their eyes than normal, even for people living in a high-ectoplasm environment. Working backward from that, we realized that the ghosts possessing them must have been physically manifesting their eyes to some degree while doing so, probably to retain their visual acuity. Ghosts generally have better eyesight than humans."

"Uh huh," said Danny. He had noticed that, actually. Being half ghost and all.

He was also really hoping the machine was non-functional. Maybe it had been long enough for him to take it off without being remarked on?

"The thing is, we think we should be able to detect that layering," said Maddie. "We're trying out different wavelengths of light. The problem is, we don't want to accidentally accuse people like us, who just have relatively high levels of ectocontamination, of being possessed willy-nilly."

"Or Vladdy!" said Jack. "He's had high levels of ectoplasm in his system since college! It's why he kept having that ectoacne!"

Danny felt his eye twitch.

"You can see how that kind of thing could evolve into a witch hunt," said Maddie. She lifted the machine off of Danny's head. "See? You're getting readings like the ones we took from the people who had just been possessed, but we know you haven't been." She showed a receipt-like piece of paper to Danny, and he nodded, even though he couldn't read it. "Ours are like that, too," she finished.

"Well, it would be cool if you could get it to work," said Danny, relieved not to have to deal with his parents deciding he was possessed but also disturbed that his parents' eyes apparently contained a similar amount of ectoplasm to his. "I should probably go upstairs and work on my homework."

"Okay, Danno!" said Jack, ruffling Danny's hair. "Go knock it out!"

Danny smiled, already retreating. "I don't think you can do that with homework, Dad. It isn't like our hot dogs. It's not animate."

"Speaking of food," said Maddie, we're ordering out, tonight. "Is there anything you'd like in particular?"

"Chinese?" asked Danny, hopefully, his foot on the stair. "From the place that makes it really spicy?"

"Alright, but we're only getting one that hot. The rest of us can't handle it."

"Okay!" said Danny, jogging the rest of the way up the stairs. "I love you! Bye!"

He did go upstairs, but first went to the bathroom, not his bedroom. He stared into the mirror, and let a tiny bit of ectoplasm seep into them, a thread of glowing green circling his iris. Were his eyes really all that different than everyone else's?

He shook his head. He had homework to get to. Maybe if he did everything for English Mr. Lancer wouldn't give him another detention.