#well i need that fucking money for my transition which is another thing i won’t get help with

[citrusghost-etc]

some days i fucking hate being trans and autistic i fucking hate it i don’t want to be like this it fucking sucks and i hate it

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP CHAPTER 10

PLEASE HEED THE CONTENT WARNINGS!!! this chapter features Evil Scientist Lady and her Fucked Up WorldView a LOT, and there are also some Major Plot Events that involve Violence. i will put a summary in the end notes if you decide at any point that this particular chapter is too much - that's super valid! i will also mention here that no main characters are going to die in this story and no one dies in this chapter either.

huge huge thanks to @flamingfawkes for beta’ing!

CW: extreme disregard for human life, mentioned human and animal cruelty, toxic workplace environment, violence (both imagined and actual, mildly graphic), gun mention, minor blood, death threats, extremely unethical character, unethical science, stalking

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // chapter 9 // read it on ao3!

“This is the same result we’ve gotten the last twenty times -”

“I don’t care, Steven, run it again!”

Steven sighs, punching at the keyboard to run the statistical analysis sequence again. “This is ridiculous! I’ve run this sequence so many times it feels like my eyes are going to bleed. Why can’t we just turn in the results we have and -”

“Because she’ll behead us,” James snaps, “and then she’ll destroy our reputations and our families and they’ll get no severance. I have three young children at home, Steven, I need this money.” Steven softens a little, fingers running smoothly over the keys as he combs the data again. Next to him, James has a computer screen full of frame-by-frame stills of what little data they recovered from the probe before it was destroyed; Penny across the room is surrounded by ancient texts a mile high and at least three laptops.

“Why is she so interested in this, anyway?”

“It’s beyond me. Since when do we question the whims of what we’re told to do?”

Steven squints at the screen, pushing his chair back and rubbing at his eyes. “If I have to stare at these numbers for one more second, my brain is going to explode. I feel like my eyeballs are going to melt out of my skull. I wanna scream.”

James pulls up another image, staring at the blurry image of the merman before him. Steven pushes away from his own screen and squints at James’s. The merman in the photo looks young, not much older than his kid brother, but they don’t know anything about the lifespan of these creatures. He looks confused, squinting at the camera. As James flicks through the stills, the merman transitions from confused to angry to enraged, and then he attacks.

“He’s not happy about the camera.”

“Would you be happy about someone spying on you and your family?” James says, switching to the next still.

“I wouldn’t be happy if I thought someone was doing anything we do in this lab to me or my family.” James elbows Steven, but luckily no one else seems to have heard.

“This lab isn’t the most ethical place I’ve ever worked, but it pays the bills,” James mutters. “And we’re not even in the experimentation lab. We just do data analysis. We’re removed from the situation.”

Are we? Steven wonders. He sees James reach out and touch the framed picture of his daughters, and keeps his mouth shut. He turns back to his computer, watching the little spinning color wheel of his mouse as the program calculates the same numbers again and again. The results come up identical to the previous ones, and Steven clicks “Run Program” again wordlessly.

They work in silence for a while, the three of them, broken only by James’s muttering and the occasional thud of one of Penny’s books and the clicks of keyboards and mice. If they weren’t so reliant on technology, Steven thinks, there would be an enormous corkboard spanning three of the four walls, covered in pushpins and handwriting and red string connecting images. He debates actually building one, if only to increase the levity in the room, but decides against it.

He’s seen people punished or fired or who-knows-what-else for far less, after all.

Instead, after his program tells him for the twenty-third time that his results are the same (and didn’t someone say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?), Steven scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms and opens the data entry window. Maybe the problem with the results has to do with the entry of the data; did he input something wrong? It’s possible . . .

Here he goes again, he supposes. He stands up, stretches, and leans back to crack some vertebrae. “I’m gonna grab a coffee, take a short screen break, and go back to the beginning. Maybe there’s something in the input that I missed. You want anything?”

James groans, thunking his head against the desk. “I want something with enough caffeine to kill three elephants, please.” Steven nods, looking over at Penny. She shakes her head, and he heads for the shitty coffee machine a few doors down.

Several floors below, a young woman pulls her lab goggles up to rest on top of her head with her perfectly-pinned protocol-compliant bun. “The latest round of tests is completely done, ma’am. I think you’ll find the efficacy . . . striking.”

She takes the clipboard, glossy perfectly-painted nails pinching the sheets of thin paper and flicking between them. “I’m afraid I don’t do so well with the scientific side of things - Kathleen, was it? Explain this to me, would you?”

“Certainly, ma’am. As you know, the kill time for the most effective neurotoxin currently available, tetrodotoxin, varies from thirty minutes to four hours. Average time for symptoms to manifest is seventeen minutes, and from there the symptoms progress through tingling of the lips and tongue, headache, vomiting, muscle weakness, ataxia, et cetera. Death occurs as a result of respiratory or heart failure, and the poison is nearly undetectable if you do not specifically test for it.”

“The untraceability is a plus, but that is far too wide a range of times, and too slow a time even at its fastest.”

“Of course, ma’am, but as far as naturally-occurring marine poisons go - actually, as far as naturally-occurring poisons go, full stop - it is the most effective. Until now, that is.”

“Oh? What are your findings?”

“Which trials would you like to start with, ma’am?”

“The human trials, Kathleen. The only ones that matter. I hardly intend to go around killing mice and hoping that no one traces their deaths to a novel neurotoxin.” She laughs airily, and Kathleen nods along.

“Certainly, ma’am. The most recent data points indicate an average efficacy time of thirteen minutes for our compound neurotoxin, with a full range between nine and seventeen minutes passing before subject death. Subjects began to show symptoms around five minutes, give or take twenty-five seconds.”

“And those symptoms were?”

Kathleen flips through the document. “Seizures, vital organ failure, blindness, painful muscle spasms, suffocation from the inside out.”

She hums, tapping a manicured finger against the report. “Well, Kathleen, that is certainly impressive, especially for a preliminary human subject trial. These results . . . I must say, they are not nearly as disappointing as I anticipated when I came down here.”

“Ma’am?”

“How long have you worked for this company, Kathleen?”

“Almost five years, ma’am, but I’ve always been an assistant. This is my first time as lead researcher and biochemist on a project, ever since you . . . laid off the previous lead researcher.”

“Kathleen, let me be frank. These results are not what I hoped for. The efficacy time and symptom onset times are both far too long for my liking, and the range of efficacy time is too broad. By all accounts, I should consider this a failure.” Kathleen swallows, but remains poised. “However, you’ve managed to shave off a considerable amount of time from the tetrodotoxin readings. The range of symptom onset time is an acceptable breadth, and your results are far beyond anything your predecessor ever accomplished for me. This is truly impressive, all things considered.”

“Thank you, ma’am. How should I proceed?”

“I want the efficacy doubled - tripled - I want it upped by anywhere between four and five hundred percent. I want the pain increased, too. Feel free to increase your requests for test subjects, but get me the results I want. You said the original tetrodotoxin was untraceable?”

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“Can you keep that feature intact?”

“As of right now, it is intact, ma’am. I will endeavor to keep it so in future experiments.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Welcome to your new position as head of this research division. Don’t let me down.” She holds out a slender hand, and Kathleen takes it, trying not to seem too eager.

“I won’t, ma’am.”

“How soon can you start this experiment up again?”

“The cleaners should be finished by tomorrow morning, ma’am, and I can tweak chemical formulas until then.”

“Excellent.” Her watch beeps, and she lifts it, pursing her bright lips as she examines the message she’s just received. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another matter to attend to. Someone will drop off your master access key for Lab Three within the hour.”

She steps into the elevator and lifts her watch up to her face, swiping through the messages from her secretary. One finger reaches out to press the button for the digital analysis labs floor, and the other taps away at her watch.

When she steps off the elevator, her secretary is waiting. “Ma’am.”

“What do they have for me?”

“Unclear. They said it was something they wanted to report directly to you and you alone, but it seems to be something big.”

“Hopefully it’s a big step in the right direction, or they’ll be taking a big step out of a job.” She relishes in the way the employees she passes all unfailingly flinch and then snap to perfect attention when they hear the sharp echo of her heels against the floor. She lifts her head and walks faster, striking the tiles with her heels like a gavel, sharp and precise against a judge’s desk.

The computer labs are disorganized when she enters, but there is a string of promising-looking numbers on the main display monitor. There is a woman surrounded by books and a man pulling up photos on his computer, and there is a third man standing in front of her like a toy soldier. She focuses on that one.

“I hear you have news for me? Make it swift, and make it good.”

He swallows, hard, and her eyes idly trace the line of his throat. If he disappoints her, perhaps she will drive her heel through it, to make an example of him. That would be far too messy; perhaps his dominant hand will do.

“I have narrowed down the location of the missing net, ma’am. I believe it to have washed up somewhere around these general GPS coordinates.” He fiddles with a remote in his hand, and the image on the screen changes. It shows an aerial satellite view of a secluded strip of beach, framed by rocky cliffs with larger rocks studded out into the open water. “It should have washed up somewhere in this one-point-three-seven-mile strip of beach. The whole area is property of one Doctor Thomas Sanders.”

She snarls. “That man. He won’t let us on that beach willingly until hell freezes over.”

The other man, the one scanning through photo stills and video footage, jumps up, knocking his chair backwards. “I found something!”

She turns towards him, and his excitement freezes and sputters into something much more controlled and terrified. “Show me.” He clicks something and pulls up video footage from one of their surveillance drones, zooming in on a particular patch of ocean along the stretch of Sanders’ beach. Her eyes widen when she sees what he’d noticed - a hump of red-and-white tail arcing above the waves before a pattern of ripples streaks off towards the cliff. He pauses the footage, rewinds it, uses a laser pointer to show an opening concealed in the cliff face.

“There’s some kind of grotto in there, hidden by the cliff. It’s on Sanders’ property, he has to know it’s there. And it looks like the merman from the destroyed drone knows it’s there too. Which means -”

“That must be where he’s keeping them.” Something burns in her chest, brilliant and terrifying and all-encapsulating, like wildfire. “We’ve found them, at long last.”

“What would you have me do?” her secretary asks. “I can arrange for a recovery squad at your earliest possible convenience, ma’am.”

“Assemble the squad, but do not have them move out. They will wait for my orders. When they go, you are to go with them.” Her secretary nods, once, sharp and sure. “Dispatch a crew to Lab One and clear it out. I want it prepped for containment, vivisection, chemical tests - the works. Get at least three tanks set up and one strap-down human table.”

“A human table, ma’am?”

“Yes. We have to deal with Sanders once and for all to ensure that he does not ruin any future experiments.”

“Will we be taking him as well?”

She hums thoughtfully. “No. Pull up the file we have on his known associate?”

A few swift clicks and flicks and a photo appears on the large screen: a young man with brown-and-purple hair, sleeves rolled up, carefully lowering a perfectly viable specimen into the ocean and letting it go, like some kind of fool. “His doctoral student, ma’am. The longest one he’s ever kept - this one has been with him a few years.”

“Excellent. When you raid the lab, take him.”

“Should we kill Sanders?”

“No. Rough him up a little, but leave him alive. Taking his protégé and leaving him alone, helpless to rescue him, will be the highest form of torture for such an insufferable person. The agony will eat him alive until his dying day.”

Her secretary nods, taking the notes down dutifully. The other employees look vaguely horrified, but she pays them no mind. No sacrifice is too great to be made in the name of progress, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a weakling who will never get anywhere in life.

She refuses to be one of those weaklings.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan wakes up confused.

He’s warm, warmer than he thinks he’s ever been in his whole life. When he stirs, he moves farther than he meant to - he must not be underwater. That’s enough to send a jolt of concern through his sleep-addled brain. Why isn’t he underwater? Why was he sleeping if he was above the surface? There’s no way his dad is here, and Roman hates surfacing, where are they? Where is he? But he’s so comfortable . . .

Someone shifts beside him, an arm draping across his waist, and Logan forces his eyes open. He shifts his lower half, confused when two things move instead of one, and there are layers upon layers of thin, flat, soft things wrapping around him. What is happening?

Slowly, slowly, his mind clears, and he remembers the events of last night. He grew legs - he was a human, once, before he was mer - he couldn’t sleep underwater with Dad and Roman - Virgil was teaching him to walk - Virgil put “clothes” on him - Virgil was embarrassed that he didn’t have those “clothes” on him - Virgil took him out of the lab to sleep - Virgil agreed to cuddle him since his pod couldn’t -

Logan feels the strange burning in his face again as he shifts. He can’t see well in this new human form, but when things are close enough to his face they’re relatively clear. And Virgil, still sleeping, is close enough that Logan can smell him - he smells like salt water mixed with something sharp and something sweet and something else that Logan can’t quite identify but finds addicting nonetheless. Sunlight streams in and pools around Virgil’s face, illuminating the tangled mess of hair spread around him and flopping into his face, the small puddle of water leaking out from his open mouth onto the soft thing he’s resting his head on, the way his chest moves slowly with every breath. His arm is wrapped around Logan, pulling him close. Logan thinks he might explode if he focuses on this any more, so he rolls from his side to his back as carefully as he can, not wanting to wake Virgil. Virgil tightens his arm around Logan and mutters something indecipherable in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake.

Rather than focusing on his very confusing feelings for the very pretty man next to him, Logan focuses on what he can see of the room around him. He makes a list in his mind of things that he plans to ask Virgil about later today, including:

1: There are many draws attached to the small, smooth cliffs surrounding them. How do they stay there?

2: There are lots of “clothes” scattered all around the floor, and there were several on the bed, too. Is that normal for humans?

3: Last night, Virgil did something that made the room light up with trapped sunlight! How did he do that?

4: How did Virgil get ice to stay in those big frozen sheets in such a warm place to let the sunlight in?

5: How did Virgil make ice into that weird shape that he filled with water and drank last night?

6: How did Virgil get the water to come into this place?

7: Do all humans have a specific area set aside for sleeping? Logan and his pod usually just sleep wherever they can, but Virgil seems to have this soft slab set aside with all of these soft things to be comfortable and sleep in every night. Is this a Human Thing or strictly a Virgil Thing?

Logan looks out through the sheet of ice that protects Virgil’s area from the outside and gasps. He can’t see well, but there’s a glittering expanse of blue that shifts and moves and oh, is that the ocean?

He’s spent his whole life (well, his whole remembered life, anyways) in the ocean, and he’s seen some truly wondrous things. He travels around the world with his pod, he knows the ocean is big, but seeing it spread out like this is . . . awe-inspiring. Logan has never seen the ocean like this, and now that he has he doesn’t think he can ever not see it like this again. It’s like a perfect sheet of sea-glass, rippling and unbroken but dynamic in a way that he never really gets a sense of when he’s beneath it.

He knows that there are waves, of course. There are smaller swells out on the open ocean, and larger ones when the Second Goddess dips her fingers down from the Upper Ocean and swirls the storms to a thundering burst. There are waves along the shoreline, ones that he frolics in with Roman and batter him against the shoreline. There are waves created when he or his pod members surface. But watching the movement of the ocean from up here is . . .

Even with his imperfect vision, he is completely at a loss for words as he stares at the ocean.

Eventually, Virgil stirs next to him, and Logan turns away from the ocean to stare at him. Virgil is close to him, arms wrapped tightly around him, face pressed against him. Logan’s eyesight is not great, but Virgil is close enough that he can pick out little details of his face. There are brown face scales scattered all over him, but they seem to cluster on his nose and his cheeks. Logan has wanted to touch them for a substantial amount of time, and he can’t stop himself from gently settling the tips of his fingers over Virgil’s cheek.

His face doesn’t feel like Logan was expecting. The scales don’t give texture to his face the way that Logan’s do; the skin is smooth and flat. There are little bumps all over, but the brown scales aren’t raised off the skin like Logan expected. He lets his fingers trail along Virgil’s face. His bone structure seems to be exceedingly similar to Logan’s, at least in regards to his head. Logan’s finger rests gently on the curve of bone under Virgil’s eye, and Virgil exhales warm breath onto his palm.

Logan wonders what it would be like to have this for longer than just his recovery period. He wonders what it would be like to wake up next to Virgil all the time, to get to run his hands over Virgil’s face and arms and chest and examine the differences between their anatomy. He wonders what it would be like to learn to walk without falling over, and he feels a sharp, unexpected twinge in his chest as he realizes that getting better at walking means no more closeness to Virgil.

His chest feels strange, like there’s a school of small fish swarming around and tickling his insides and making him feel all foamy, like the froth churned up by a windswept sea. He feels like he does when he’s underwater - free, weightless, mobile, limited by nothing except his own imagination. He feels unstoppable.

Virgil makes a sudden, sharp inhale, blinking his eyes open slowly. Logan thinks that, perhaps, he might not appreciate being studied unknowingly - he hadn’t appreciated Virgil doing it, before he understood what was happening, when all he knew was the loss of his pod aching like a scraped-out seashell. As Virgil wakes up, Logan shifts, turning his gaze to the rest of the room.

Virgil makes a sleepy grumbling noise, opening one eye. Logan chances another quick glance at him, and when his eye slides open Logan is struck by its beauty. He doesn’t get much of a chance to admire it, however, before Virgil is jolting backwards like Logan’s struck him with lightning. Logan is confused, reaching out and gently touching his shoulder. “Virgil?”

“Wassat?! Wait . . . L’gan?”

“It is me,” Logan says softly. “Are - are you upset with me?”

Virgil yawns, jaw dropping to his chest, revealing a flash of teeth and a soft pink tongue. (Logan wants to lick it. Why does Logan want to lick it? Why is Logan thinking about Virgil’s tongue licking his tongue - why is Logan thinking about Virgil - what in the Seven Oceans is happening to him.) “Wh - no, no, ‘m okay, I just - woke up, forgot I had you with me, got confused about another person in my bed.” Before Logan can start to feel bad, Virgil adds, “S’okay if it’s you, though,” and the foamy, floaty feeling is back.

“Did you sleep well?”

Virgil laughs, low and rumbling, and Logan can feel it in his fingers where he touches Virgil’s skin. “I never sleep well.” He sits up, and the fabric of his pajamas shifts to let Logan see stretches of soft, supple skin that he usually doesn’t. Logan wants to touch it. He very determinedly keeps his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Gotta admit, though, last night was . . . better than usual.”

This appears to be the point where Virgil first notices their position - pressed together, arm slung over Logan, basically cuddling the way that Logan normally would with his pod. (No tangle with his pod has ever felt this . . . electric, this charged, this important to Logan before.) His face flares a brilliant red, and he shifts like he wants to move away but -

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Logan blurts out. Virgil blinks at him a little, and maybe he was a little overly enthusiastic, but - “I sleep in a tangle with Dad and Roman all the time. I have extreme difficulty sleeping without contact with someone else. It . . . helped me greatly.”

“Oh,” Virgil says, face turning redder still, smiling shyly. “That - makes me feel better. Thanks, Lo.”

Logan smiles, and Virgil smiles too, reaching up to gently move a piece of hair away from his face. Logan thinks that, as far as deaths go, his chest exploding (which seems to be getting more and more likely every fifteen seconds he spends in Virgil’s presence, only accelerated by all this skin-on-skin contact they’re having right now) seems to be the most pleasurable.

Virgil opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was is interrupted by a Ping! noise from across the room. “What is that?” Logan asks. Virgil, sadly, untangles himself from Logan and the blankets, sliding out of bed and heading over to one of the other structures in the room (what did he call it last night? Dex?) and picking up a flat glowing rectangle.

“Is everything alright?”

“What? Yeah, yeah, I - Thomas sent me a text, it’s a little weird.”

“What is a text?”

“It’s a kind of human messaging system, it allows us to communicate when we’re far away from each other.”

“Like a pod call?” “Kind of? I’ll explain more later, I promise, I just - I gotta go down to the lab real quick.”

“I’ll come with -”

“No!” Virgil snaps. Logan flinches, and Virgil softens, crossing the room and gently touching his shoulder. “Hey, no, Logan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just - this message, there’s something off. I think something might be wrong, and I don’t want to put you in any unnecessary danger. Just - wait here, okay? Wait in my room, where it’s safe. It’s probably nothing, he’s probably fine, but on the off chance that he’s not, I want you to stay hidden safely up here.”

Logan isn’t sure why this makes his face heat up slightly, but it does. “Okay. I accept your apology, and I . . . trust you.”

Virgil smiles, soft and heartwarming, and Logan is beginning to give more credence to his “chest explosion is fine, actually” theory. “Wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him, and the foamy feeling in Logan’s chest dissipates a little. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something . . . off. If Logan didn’t know better, he’d think that he was sensing a predator approaching.

But that can’t be right, he isn’t underwater. His danger senses are likely just overreacting to his disappointment at Virgil’s absence.

. . . Right?

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas is beginning to regret letting Roman and Patton (specifically, Roman) out of the large tank before finishing his first coffee of the morning.

“I want some!” Roman complains.

“Do you even know what it is?” Thomas says. Roman pouts sulkily at him.

“. . . No,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. Thomas gives him the deadpan, no-nonsense, I-am-your-direct-superior-take-the-damn-samples-Virgil stare that he has perfected over the past few years. Roman wilts a little more, and Thomas feels slightly bad.

“It’s called coffee,” he says. “It’s a hot drink that lots of people have in the morning. Some people drink it plain, and some people add things to it to change the way it tastes. It helps me wake up more and get focused to start my day, and sometimes I drink it late at night to help keep me awake.”

Roman looks less like a kicked puppy and more like Logan, eyes wide and curious. “I want some!”

Thomas, taking a sip of his own two-seconds-of-cream-five-cubes-of-sugar coffee, nearly spits it out. He looks at Roman, eyes the very sharp, very detachable, very toxic spines covering his body, and says, “No.”

Roman’s demeanor changes entirely, switching from “curious toddler” to “toddler about to throw a temper tantrum” in a heartbeat. “Why not?!”

“Because when people drink coffee without being used to it, sometimes it makes them a little crazy.”

“I’m not crazy!”

“Do I need to recount to you how many times you’ve threatened me and my assistant since we met you?” Thomas says, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not giving you coffee until I know I can trust you not to stab me with your poisonous spines that cover your entire body and can be fired at people.”

Roman pouts more, dropping under the water and letting out a gratingly harmonious string of mer that Thomas is pretty sure translates to Roman bitching about the coffee situation to his dad. Based on the pattern of Patton’s response, he’s pretty sure Patton is laughing at Roman.

More sulky chalkboard-violin music, and then Roman resurfaces grumpily. “Dad agrees with you and says no consuming strange human foods.”

“Did he laugh at you?”

Roman squints suspiciously at him. “You can’t speak our language.”

“Yeah, but I know what it sounds like when a dad laughs at his kid.” Roman, continuing to pout, sinks back into the tank, presumably to sulk some more. Thomas takes another very long sip of coffee that is definitely too hot for his mouth and turns back to his desk.

Virgil should definitely be awake and in the lab at this point. The samples he’s supposed to be analyzing are sitting in their little tubes, each neatly labelled with locations and dates and times and what, specifically, Virgil is supposed to be looking for. Thomas considers going upstairs and waking up Virgil, who’s almost never been late for work in this way, but he decides against it. Virgil is upstairs with Logan, and Thomas knows that there’s something building between them. He’s not sure how advisable that something is, but he trusts Virgil to make his own decisions.

Besides, he could probably use some practice. His water sample analysis skills are pretty rusty, he’s had Virgil doing them for years. “Virgil, you owe me big time for what I’m doing for you.” He carefully shifts the samples over to his own desk, slides his earbuds in, picks up a pipette, and gets to work analyzing the bacterial and algal concentrations for any abnormalities.

Thomas accomplishes about forty-five minutes’ worth of work before Roman interrupts him by flicking water at him and soaking the back of his neck. “Hey!”

“I tried your name, but your little ear bug things were keeping you from hearing me,” Roman says smugly. Thomas, not for the first time, considers retreating to the closet and throwing beakers until he feels better.

“Can I help you?”

“Dad wants to go hunting and bring back breakfast, but we can’t leave without you.”

“Are you not going hunting?”

“I’m going to stay here and observe you,” Roman says.

Thomas blinks. “Do I . . . need observing?”

“How do I know you won’t sell us out to your little human friends the second you get a chance? If I’m here, I can stop you. Plus, what if you do something to Logan while we’re not here to protect him? No, no, I’m staying right where I am and you can’t make me leave.” His spines ripple; Thomas steps closer to a whiteboard in case he needs to duck.

“I’m not going to do that, and I don’t want you to stab me.”

“Still! I’m staying here! Also, Dad’s bigger than me, and he’s a better hunter cause he’s faster and he’s been hunting longer.

“Does he need something to help him carry all those fish?” Thomas asks. Roman opens his mouth like he’s going to say something snarky, pauses, and stops.

“I . . . usually we just eat what we catch when we catch it. We make a pile of prey and take turns guarding it while the other two hunt. Then we make a sacrifice to the Seven Mother Goddesses and eat what’s left.”

After some debate, Thomas is able to fashion a sling of sorts from some waterproof tarps and leftover anchor rope to tie around Patton’s body. “You can put the fish in this pouch and carry them back here. Will you be able to navigate your way back to the grotto?”

“He will,” Roman says. “Dad knows more about the ocean than any human possibly could.” Another discordant song from the tank, chastising, and Roman huffs. “Dad wants me to reassure you that he’ll be fine.”

Patton settles into the mobile tank easily, and Thomas gets him down to the grotto leading towards the sea. “When you come back, let out one of your pod calls and Virgil or I will come and collect you and your catch. Take as much time as you need, okay?”

Patton reaches up and gently pats Thomas’s arm with one large, damp hand, and Thomas takes that to mean an agreement. “Alright, off you go.” There’s a whoosh and a rush of water as it flows from the tank into the grotto in a clean arc, carrying Patton with it. Thomas waits for a moment, letting Patton disappear into the open ocean, before returning to the laboratory.

Roman, for the most part, ignores Thomas. He asks the occasional question, which Thomas tries to answer in a way that he’ll understand, and leans over the edge of his touch tank, eyes guarded. Every time Thomas sneaks a glance, when he thinks Roman isn’t looking, his expression is wide-eyed and wondrous, like Logan’s usually are, but the moment he realizes Thomas is watching him his entire face closes up like a clamshell.

Thomas wonders what it’ll take to get Roman to trust him, trust Virgil, trust any human. Granted, he doesn’t know Roman’s history with humans, but he and Patton are both fairly scarred, and Thomas might not know the whole story but he’d bet a not-insignificant amount of his monthly income that the giant starburst scar taking up the majority of Patton’s chest isn’t the result of a clash with a marine creature.

He works quietly, fielding the occasional question, keeping one ear on the grotto tunnel for Patton’s return. He’s not sure how long he expected Patton to be gone, but he hears movement in the grotto tunnel far sooner than he’d expected.

“Thomas, what’s -”

“Shhhh,” Thomas says. He stands up, pushing away from his desk, but before he can say anything else, there’s a flood of movement coming from the tunnel. Bodies pour into the lab, swift and strong and carrying weapons that they immediately train on Thomas and Roman.

“What is this?” Roman snaps, bristling. He sounds betrayed, like he thinks Thomas is behind this. Thomas picks up a heavy glass beaker, fully prepared to shatter it upside someone’s skull if necessary, but something heavy and hard strikes the back of his skull and he feels his knees crumple. Roman cries out, and Thomas struggles to push himself up. A hand fists itself in his hair and yanks him upright, sharply. Thomas exhales sharply through his teeth, but before he can start struggling, something cool and round rests against the back of his neck, shutting him up and shutting his brain down.

Roman is puffed up like a hedgehog, apparently fully prepared to defend Thomas despite his strong and inherent mistrust. Before he can begin to attack, Thomas hears the click-click-click of shoes on the hard stone floor. Whoever’s holding his head yanks him back again, and he is forced to watch as a woman walks into his laboratory.

(It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke - a sick, horrible, twisted joke.)

She has black heels, black tights, a black pencil skirt, a black blazer, and a blood-red blouse. Her hair is scraped back into a tight bun, pulled so taut it must hurt, and is held in place with a pitch black stick. She carries a - clipboard? tablet? Unclear - held against her chest, and there’s a sleek silver weapon in her right hand.

“The one from the video?” she asks.

“Affirmative, ma’am,” says the person holding Thomas’s head. The woman nods, lifting her weapon, and fires at Roman. Thomas tries to scream a warning, earning himself another painful yank from his captor, but the projectile lodges itself in Roman’s shoulder anyway.

It isn’t a bullet, but something that looks like a small syringe. Roman swats it out of his shoulder, swaying a little, but it doesn’t stop him from swiping at the - mercenary, they must be - who tries to grab him with his elbow spines. The woman frowns, lifts the weapon - some kind of tranquilizer gun? - and fires again.

Roman screams, inhuman and animal, and tears the newest dart from his arm, throwing himself out of his tank and clinging to the nearest mercenary. His teeth tear into the man’s shoulder, spines piercing through his camouflage clothing and flooding him with neurotoxin. The man collapses against the concrete, alive but unconscious, and Roman snarls at the next man as though daring him to approach. He sways, weakened but awake, and bares his teeth.

“Of course,” the woman says, tapping something on her tablet. “His naturally produced neurotoxin must be providing him with some level of natural resistance. Unexpected, but not a limitation.”

It takes three more tranquilizer darts before Roman finally slumps down into his tank, unconscious. The mercenaries look hesitant to approach him, but the woman reaches for her tablet and they scramble to action at once.

“No - no, stop, let him go, he’s not an animal for you to cart off to your lab -” Thomas starts. The man holding him knees him sharply in the back and he cries out, coughing.

They wrap Roman in thick leather bands, roughly shoving his spines flat and binding them against his skin so that he can’t attack them again. The woman nods, once, short and sharp, and they drag Roman away, letting his head bang mercilessly on the ground. Thomas catches a glimpse of a logo - emblazoned on the back of the jackets, on the back of the woman’s tablet, on the side of her tranquilizer gun - and commits it to memory. He’s going to need it, if he gets out of here alive.

“- your phone,” the woman says, and oh, when did she get in front of him.

“My what?”

His mouth runs dry as she places the tranquilizer gun under his chin, barrel pressing against his throat, and tips his chin up. “I said, give me your phone.”

Thomas blinks. “My - the desk. It’s on the desk.”

She sets her tablet down, picks up his phone, and shoves it in his face. “Open it.”

“I - wh -”

“Unlock your phone, Dr. Sanders. Must I repeat myself a third time?” She rolls her eyes. “Doctorates are wasted on people like you.”

Thomas numbly punches in his passcode, and she swipes through to his messages app, frowning before turning the screen towards his face to reveal a message thread with Virgil. “Is this your assistant?”

Thomas glares at her, he’s not going to give her what she wants, he’s not going to just give her Virgil but then the - gun, it must be a gun, what else would they be holding against his neck like this - pushes into him harder, and it’s probably bruising, and he can’t get himself killed here because then he definitely won’t be able to take care of Virgil and -

“Yes,” Thomas says, hating himself for giving in so easily. “What do you -”

She turns away from him, nails clicking against his phone screen as she sends a text message - to Virgil, presumably, and that makes his heart sink like a stone - before dropping it on the floor and stepping on it to shatter it. “I have a message for you.”

“A - what?”

“Did they really hit you that hard, or were you this stupid before we came here?” she says coldly, picking up the tablet again and tapping at the screen. Thomas groans as the man yanks him to his feet, shoving him onto his chair and pulling a roll of duct tape out of one of his multiple pants pockets. He tapes Thomas’s wrists and ankles to the chair, keeping his weapon trained on Thomas’s temple at all times, before pressing it roughly against his head and gripping his hair again.

The woman sets the tablet on his lab table, and the screen flickers to life, and then there’s a woman in front of a dark black backdrop, smiling at him like a cat who’s caught a canary. “Thomas Sanders. How long I’ve waited for this day.”

Thomas recognizes her. He knows he recognizes her. She used to be his classmate, before . . .

His head hurts, so badly that he can barely keep his eyes open, and the memory slips away. “You . . . why are you doing this?”

“Why? Because I am a real scientist, unlike you. You refuse to do what is necessary, what must be done for the progression of the species. The sacrifice of some worthless animals is necessary for humanity to reach its zenith. You would really hinder the entire human race for the preservation of lower life forms?”

“Wh - I -”

“You think that ‘preserving the ecosystem’ and ‘keeping animals alive’ makes you a good scientist, but it makes you weak. You are weak, Thomas Sanders, and if the world was left in the hands of people like you, the human race as we know it would die out in a few centuries. Fortunately, there are people like me, who understand what must be done.”

“Caring about other people and things - it doesn’t - it doesn’t make you weak,” Thomas says, chest heaving, and the woman just laughs.

“One of many logical fallacies to which you subscribe, Thomas. They really gave you a doctorate? Of course caring makes you weak. All emotions make you weak. They corrupt your data and make your experiments worthless. You must be ruthless. You must be willing to do whatever it takes to pursue your goals and achieve the height of success. But no.” She rolls her eyes, face hardening, twirling a pen in her fingers. “You insist on ethics and principles and letting emotions cloud your judgement, and that makes you a failure as a scientist. It makes you weak. Your attachments will be your downfall.”

Thomas’s eyes slide shut, head pounding, and the man behind him yanks at his hair so sharply that he knows some has been ripped out. He forces his eyes open in time to see a smile slide across the woman’s face like a knife, teeth gleaming white as sun-bleached bone.

“You won’t - get away with this,” Thomas manages. He grinds his teeth together and curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to keep himself awake. “If you leave me alive -” Thomas, stop talking, why are you reminding her that she has the option to fucking kill you “- I will not rest until I find you. I’ll - you can’t -”

“You’ll what, Thomas? If you call the police, you’ll expose those creatures you’re so intent on protecting to the world. Are you really willing to take that chance?” Before Thomas can even begin formulating a response, she steamrolls him. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you were, I’m going to take some . . . insurance, shall we say.”

“Why not just kill me?” Thomas spits. Excellent idea, Doc, poke the murderous lady with a stick like a god damn hornet’s nest, the tiny Virgil in his brain hisses. Her smile, somehow, only widens, and that’s . . . that can’t be good, can it? Smiles are supposed to be good! They’re supposed to make you happy, but all Thomas feels is creeping dread and pain, so much pain, and -

Yeah. He’s . . . pretty sure he has a concussion.

“Because if I kill you, you get to take the easy way out. Your suffering will end. But unlike you, I don’t put limits on my science. I know how to cause you the maximum amount of pain.”

Thomas eyes the toxin gun, but the on-screen woman just laughs. “Not yet, Thomas. We need something from you, first.”

“You already took Roman,” Thomas says. “What more can you possibly take from me?”

“You named it? You’re even weaker than I thought.”

“He told me his name, he’s not an it, he’s not a thing for you to play with and - and I -”

There’s a strange sinking feeling in Thomas’s chest as the woman onscreen laughs. “I knew you were emotional, Thomas, but I can’t believe this! It looks like I’ll have more hanging over your head than you thought.”

“You -”

“Say, Tommy-boy, have you heard from your precious little assistant recently?”

Thomas’s entire body flushes ice-cold and then white-hot, immediately struggling against his duct tape bindings despite the man tearing at his hair and shoving the gun into his neck and snapping at him to shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up before I do something we’re both gonna regret -

“Don’t you touch him!” Thomas snaps. “If you hurt him, I swear to God -”

“You’re not in a position to be making demands, and if you don’t calm down, I’ll paint your boring little lab bright red.” Thomas freezes, holding his entire body tensed like electricity is running through his blood.

There are footsteps on the stairs. “Doc? I got your text, what’s -”

“Virgil, run!” Thomas chokes. Virgil comes around the corner, holding his phone, staring at the screen in confusion. He looks up, eyes widening in horror as he takes in the scene.

“You know what to do,” the woman onscreen says. The other woman lifts her tranquilizer gun, and Thomas is sure that he’s screaming, his mouth is open and sound is coming out but his blood is rushing through his ears and his heart is pounding like waves against a boat in rough sea and he can’t - he can’t -

Virgil turns to run, but the tranquilizer dart hits in him the back of the neck and he collapses like a sack of bricks. The woman lowers her gun and jerks her head at the two remaining conscious, unoccupied mercenaries, who step forward and grab Virgil.

“Let him go!” Thomas screams, and his throat feels raw and his chest feels raw and his wrists are rubbed raw and his soul feels hollow and raw, like he’s been scraped out with a jagged piece of metal and only an empty shell remains. Virgil’s head lolls against his chest as they drag him down the grotto tunnel, and Thomas struggles and screams and stares after them until Virgil is out of sight.

His face is damp, and his eyes are burning, and he isn’t sure if it’s blood from his head wound or tears or some strange, morbid mixture of both.

“The greatest torture of which I can conceive,” the woman onscreen says, and it takes him a moment to realize that oh, she’s talking to me, “is to leave you alive, knowing that your precious little protégé is with me, and that there is nothing you can do about it.” She leans forward, and any trace of a smile is gone. “If you try to come after me, I will kill him. If you call the authorities, I will kill him. I already found you, Thomas. Don’t think I’m not watching. If I catch so much as a whiff of you planning something, his blood will be on your hands. Do you understand me?”

Thomas, numb and shocked, can’t even respond. “Knock him out and bring the specimens back to me,” the woman onscreen says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t even feel the tranquilizer dart hit his neck, but he welcomes the sweeping darkness.

(Summary: Evil Scientist Lady has been spying on Thomas and she finds the entrance to the grotto where our mer friends have been hiding. She sends her assistant and several armed thugs to invade the lab, they drug Roman with tranquilizers and kidnap him. Thomas gets knocked around a lot and is mocked for being an ethical scientist and caring about people by Evil Scientist Lady and she gloats at him through Evil Facetime before kidnapping Virgil in the same way they did Roman, knocking Thomas unconscious, and leaving him tied to his lab chair. During this whole scene, Patton is out in the open ocean hunting and Logan is safely hidden in Virgil's room.)

[raindownforme]

Green

Ted Nivison x reader [she/her used]

“This sucks. This really sucks.”

“Money is money Ted.” y/n readjusted her elf costume. “Maybe just pick the better idea next time.”

Ted groaned as he looked at the camera. “I’m not doing a transition.”

“It’s your video. Come on, get in the spirit!” y/n watched Ted go over to the tripod, the bell on his hat jingling the whole way.

“I’ll turn the cold air on. Then we won’t over heat in these things.”

“Well don’t make it too cold. It’s already 70 out.”

“Ooooh cali girl can’t handle cold weather.”

“Can you at least say the full name? Put some respect on it.”

Ted rolled his eyes, walking back over to y/n. “Okay, camera’s on. We’ve got all the ingredients, is there anything else?”

“I’d liked to say we look adorable as elves.”

Ted blushed a furious red, muttering something under his breath, but y/n didn’t notice as she was turned to the table of ingredients. “Anything important?”

“Where’s my food dye?”

“Why?”

“It’s Christmas time. It’s a Christmas cheesecake.” y/n walked over to Ted’s pantry and dug around the shelves for the small bottles. “You can pick which layer is red and which is green!”

Ted sighed, then straightened himself as he prepared to do the video. “The things I do for you.”

“Oh please you love me.” y/n took her spot next to Ted and cleared her throat. She looked up to Ted, him being quite taller than the former, and frowned. “Ted? Buddy?”

Ted was stuck in a state of shock almost. His face had become bright pink as he stared dead ahead. “Uh. Yeah love you too.”

“Jeez alright. Come on man we got a video to do.” y/n nudged him slightly and watch him smile to himself.

“And now it is Christmas!” Ted gestured with his arms as he talked to the camera. “As you can see we are elves for this festive Yuletide cheesecake that y/n has so graciously given us the recipe to.”

“Thank you Ted. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. So now we start with the…. Crust?”

y/n nodded as she took graham crackers from the box. “You take roughly 30 crackers and place them in the baggie, then crush them to small crumbles but not dust.”

“Hmm. Like a Nickelback concert.”

y/n paused. “What did you say?”

“I said what I said.”

“Alright, well take them into the bowl now.” y/n continued to demonstrate how to make the crust, then the two moved onto the cheesecake filling that consisted of sugar, vanilla extract, eggs, and of course cream cheese. After mixing the filling for the full 30 minutes, Ted chose to make the layer red, adding just too many drops so it looked more like blood than Christmas.

“Okay, then this will bake for 50 minutes.”

“That’s an oddly specific time.”

“Do you want cheesecake or not.” y/n poked fun at Ted before she slipped the cake into the oven. “Now what? Dishes? Are you changing into Santa clause this time?”

“I was just going to put on music or something.”

y/n fake gasped. “The famous Toyota Tacoma playlist? It couldn’t be.”

“Oh sorry because you have one playlist that’s not even named.”

“Whatever dude.” y/n smiled as she put dishes in the sink.

“You don’t have to do the dishes. It’s my house.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s my stand mixer we used.”

“y/n. It’s fine. You’re my guest.”

“I’m literally here all the time. I’m allowed to do something nice for you.”

Ted watched silently as y/n washed the large mixing bowls. Quietly, he walked over to her side, resting an arm on her shoulder. “Hey-“

“Jesus fuck.” y/n dropped a bowl in the porcelain sink, making a large clattering noise. “You need to move that smoothly? You quiet little weirdo?”

y/n turned to face Ted. “You didn’t hurt yourself right? No glass?”

“No it’s just a metal bowl.” She reached up and poked his cheek. “You’re so cute when you’re worried for me.”

Ted pushed her away. “Pssh. Am not.”

“Yes you are! See-“ y/n reached to take a steak knife of of Ted’s knife rack, but he raced over to stop her, setting his hand over hers. “Ted.”

“Knives are dangerous! Also I don’t know what your plan was there.”

“Mostly to make you worried.” y/n let go of the knife, letting the blade snap back to the knife rack, but Ted didnt let go of her hand. Instead, he turned it around and brought their fingers together, interlacing them. “Ted?”

“y/n.” Her face felt warm and she tried to look away from the tall man. “I’m your friend. I’m allowed to worry about you.”

“I- I didn’t say you weren’t.”

Ted let go of her hand. “You’re right. You look adorable as an elf.”

“Dude I’ll get you I swear.”

Ted smiled to himself. “Yeah right cali girl.”

The two continued peacefully for the next hour, allowing the cake to cook and fully rest before the next step.

“Alright, so roughly two and a half cups of sour cream-“ y/n plopped the sour cream into a glass mixing bowl with a spatula. “Then vanilla and some sugar. Ted what color do you pick this time?”

“GREEN.” y/n watched as he emptied nearly half a bottle of green food coloring into the previously white mixture. “GREEN.”

“Alright you barbarian. And now we mix.”

“You know.” Ted watched as she stirred the sour cream mixture by hand. “This could be easier for you if you just let me dry the dishes.”

“They can dry on their own I just need to mix this for, like, two minutes.”

“Two minutes?” Ted watched as she set down the bowl and turned for a second. He took that to his advantage, dipping his finger into the mixture. As she turned around, he took the chance to smear it across her nose. “That didn’t seem like two minutes to me.”

“Ted!” y/n stuck her fingers into the mixture as well, jumping up to smash it across his mouth and jaw.

The two stared at each other, anticipating something. Ted grinned, grabbing a heaping handful of the green sour cream. “Oh it’s on.”

Ted chased y/n around the kitchen, splattering green sour cream all over her skin and the cabinets and the counter tops. y/n retaliated, picking up the bowl and using the spatula to fling green at him liberally.

“Oh I’ve got you now.” Ted had her cornered, standing over her with the height difference. She stood defensively, aiming the green-stained spatula at his neck. She shuffled to the side, hoping to get around him. She dashed for it, but slipped on sour cream on the floor. “Shit I’ve got you-“

The spatula clattered on the ground as Ted caught y/n in his arms. y/n held her breath. She was inches away from Ted’s face. She lightly placed her arms around the back of his neck. “Ted.” Her voice was hushed as he slowly lifted her upwards, keeping his face still inches away from hers.

“y/n.” The two leaned closer, barely centimeters away, before Ted closed the distance, smashing their faces together. He couldn’t help but smile as she kissed him. She kissed him! Ted pulled her closer, crossing his arms behind her waist.

“Wait wait stop.” y/n pushed him away slightly, separating by barely two inches, but Ted still loosened his grasp on her waist.

“Did I say something? I’m sorry I shouldn’t have assumed-“

“No no it’s just… you taste like green sour cream and it’s- it’s so off putting.”

Ted laughed, pressing his forehead against hers. “Was that okay then? Cause I’d like to do it again if you don’t mind.”

“Maybe when you don’t have sour cream everywhere. Speaking of which, we have extra right? Because I think we used it all.”

Ted pressed another kiss to her forehead before standing upright. “I’ll buy you all the sour cream you want.”

“Good because this Christmas cake needs it.”

Ted laughed, pulling her back to the counter. “Ready?”

y/n took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers. “Ready.”

[winterscaptain]

push.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: alright, team! this one covers cradle to grave and the eyes have it. i am so excited to share this with you, and we are that much closer to 100. ahh!! (i also mistakenly noted that infirmity was part three and it is in fact part four. while i can write, i made no promises in regard to counting.)

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! (the pieces stand alright on their own as well, for the most part!) one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 4.2k warnings: canon-typical violence and discussion of violence, language

summary: “if you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?” - t.s. eliot. a shift, a transition, and a lie.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

Aaron meanders around the store, looking into the glass cases. There’s very little purpose, very little direction. He figures, just like the first time, the right one will make itself known. 

What are you doing? 

He takes a breath, ignoring that pesky little voice in his head, focused on the task at hand.

I’m listening to Haley. What are you doing?

Playing devil’s advocate because you shouldn’t be doing this right now. What are you thinking?

I don’t know. Fuck off. 

The man behind the glass greets him, asking if he’s looking for anything in particular. 

“Yes,” Aaron says, only a little startled out of his thoughts, “though I’m not quite sure what it is, yet.” His gaze wanders. “Can I see that one, please?”

He takes a close look, but it’s not quite right. 

He’ll find it. 

+++

You’re still at your desk when Hotch leaves JJ’s office, late. You throw him a little bit of a smile as he frowns at you. 

Why are you still here? 

You shrug. Work?

He snorts. Sure. and hops up the stairs to his office. There’s a moment where he stops short at the door. With a little bit of a startle, you realize Strauss is in there. 

How did I miss that?

JJ arrives in the bullpen with an armful of files, and you tip your head toward Hotch’s office. She works her distribution, setting folders down, her eyes glued to the window. 

When Strauss leaves, you both busy yourselves, looking up as she passes. 

She greets the both of you with your formal titles, and a chill runs down your spine. 

“Ma’am.”

“Ma’am.” 

You and JJ echo each other, throwing an approximation of a smile in her direction. 

What the fuck? 

You exchange a look with JJ once Strauss is out of sight, nod, and stand. 

Reaching his door, you note that he hasn’t moved. 

“Hotch?”

He’s still as he answers. “Yes?”

Something feels wrong. Really really wrong. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” 

You stand there for a moment as he turns over his shoulder and returns to his desk. He knows better than to meet your eyes - then you’ll know for sure he’s lying. 

Choose your battles. 

Protect him. 

How? 

Just try. 

“Goodnight, Hotch.” 

+++

“You’re kidding.” 

You look up from your file at Spencer, who has a manic little grin on his face. “What?”

“You’re not going to believe this.” 

“Try me.”

He laughs. “Someone started this blog called What Would Carl Sagan Do? and it’s so woefully inaccurate I’m wondering if this is some kind of 100-level school project, it’s -”

Derek walks in and you beam at him. He doesn’t return it. “What’s the case?”

“What case?” You ask, the smile falling from your face. 

“I just got three emails from Hotch about cases.” 

A little confused noise leaves you as you refresh your email once...twice. “I don’t have anything.”

Spencer follows suit. “I didn’t get any emails from Hotch, or did I?” He checks. “Nothing.” 

With a sigh and a huff, Derek puts his things down and walks purposefully toward Hotch’s office. Spencer looks back at you. 

“Wonder what that’s about.”

You hum, looking back at your file to hide your face. “I dunno.” 

What happened last night?

+++

“What’s with Hotch?” Derek catches up to you in the hallway on the way to your hotel room at the end of the first day. Naturally, he’s not at all out of breath. 

You frown at him. “What do you mean?”

You know exactly what he means. 

“You’re a shit liar.” 

You chuff at him and unlock your door, opening it and shepherding him in. “Alright. Fine. He’s stressed.”

“He’s...stressed? Really? That’s all you’ve got for me?”

Throwing your hands up, “It’s not like he tells me everything, Derek.” 

You do know, however, that Jack spent his fourth birthday in protective custody, with only a surveillance feed to satiate Aaron’s need to see his son. 

It sucks. 

“Yeah, but -” He pulls the chair from the little desk and sits backwards on it while you take your shoes off. “ - you know him.” 

“You’ve known him far longer than I have.” 

“It’s different. I’ve been working with him longer, but you know him better.”

You can’t deny that. “Well…” You search and search for a viable explanation. “...maybe he’s just more open to help than he usually is? He knows how good you are at your job, so…” Your mouth twists. “...I think it’s a compliment that he’s relying on you more and asking for your opinion on things.” 

He squints, thinking. He “hmphs” once before standing up, replacing the chair, and heading toward the door. 

“I’ll tell you if I hear anything.” 

No I won’t. 

The side of his mouth lifts. “No, you won’t.” Then, “Goodnight, kid. Get some sleep.” 

+++

Aaron hands him an aggressively annotated copy of the preliminary profile. “Morgan, in order for the profile to be useful it has to generate multiple scenarios about what the unsub is doing. Rewrite it.” 

You have to admit you’ve been looking between each of them like a particularly interesting game of tennis as they volley back and forth. 

It’s tense...and confusing. 

Derek looks completely crestfallen. You wipe the confusion off of your face as best you can and exchange it for something you hope is empathetic. 

Hotch pulls JJ aside to discuss her new findings while Derek joins you at the table. 

“What is with him?”

You shake your head. “I wish I knew.” Your gaze wanders over to him, where he’s watching the pair of you. You look away, focused on the profile Hotch returned to Morgan. 

Your next words are almost a sigh. “I know he pushes hard, but…I just...don't know.” 

+++

You take a deep breath as Derek snatches a piece of paper from the printer and stalks to Hotch’s office. 

Maybe this time, they will kill each other. 

Who would win? 

Hm. Catch-22. They both lose. 

Even then, you’ll always put your money on Aaron. 

You keep your eyes on them and you know JJ’s doing the same. Part of you is always ready to bridge a rift between Aaron and Derek. For some reason or another, they both listen to you when you tell them they’re acting like shitheads. 

So, they listen. Often. 

Hotch’s jaw tenses and, though you can’t hear him, you can tell he’s raising his voice, his tone growing harder. 

That’s it. 

You shove off from the desk and open the door without knocking, interrupting Derek mid-thought. They both look at you and don’t even have the good graces to look caught out. 

“Garcia needs to talk to us.” 

Hotch takes a talking breath, but you cut him off. 

“Now.” You tip your head. “Please,” you add for good measure. 

They brush past the both of you, Derek’s fingers brushing your sleeve as he passes. 

You catch the hem of Aaron’s suit jacket and tug. 

He turns on you - there’s still a lot of fire in his gaze and for a moment, you let yourself be intimidated, looking away from him and bringing your hand back. 

There’s a sigh, and you know he feels bad (just a little). “Yes?”

“You’ll tell me if you want help, right?”

He meets your gaze. There is so much going on behind those deep brown irises you don’t even know where to start. “Yes.” 

Liar.

I miss you. 

Not satisfied, but pacified for now, you turn and lead the way back to the table. You meet Derek’s eyes and shake your head just a little. 

Damn it. 

+++

When you’re done with Penelope, you find an excuse to get Derek alone. Your conversation, somehow, is already heated. 

“He’s just trying to challenge you, Morgan.” Your body language isn’t great, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Arms crossed, tight mouth - you’re the picture of frustration. 

He’s restless - shifting his weight back and forth. “I don’t understand it. He’s on my ass about shit he’s never been on my ass about before.” 

“Did you even hear what I said?”

“Yes, I did.” He stops moving, gesturing sharply with an open, flat hand. “Why is he challenging me, when he’s the one under the gun?” 

You close your eyes and press your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “Did you ever think, just once, maybe, he wants to make sure this team still functions if something happens to him?” 

Derek, finally, has the good sense to deflate. You follow suit, leaning on the desk behind you. 

“We almost lost him a couple of months ago,” you remind him. “If we don’t know everything his position entails, we will not be able to help him if there’s a next time.” 

You step forward, a fond little laugh in your voice. “Derek - you’re a natural leader, a great tactician. There’s no better person for him to build up, just in case.” 

He breaks your gaze, thinking. 

For good measure, you add, “He respects you a great deal. Remember when you said you tolerate him, just for me?” You hold his gaze as it returns to you. “I think that’s bullshit.” 

Another breath. He steps forward, meeting you in the middle of the isolated, small conference room. You offer him a small, closed-mouth smile. 

“Come here, kid.” 

You tuck into his arms with a little laugh. “How did you two manage before I got here?”

You can feel his laugh rumble through him. “You have no idea.” 

+++

Of course, under Derek’s careful tactical direction, everything goes according to plan. Textbook soft entry, no hostages, peaceful takeover, and four rescued victims by the end of it. 

“I love these ones,” you say, standing between Aaron and Derek in the precinct as a family forms before your eyes. 

“Which ones?” Aaron asks. 

“The ones where we all get to go home, and so do they.” 

+++

“Well, I guess it’s time,” Derek says, pushing back from his desk and rising. You’ve both stayed late for one reason or another, with the excuse of paperwork. 

Really, Derek was building his nerve, and really, you were waiting for Aaron. 

You furrow your brow. “Time for what?”

“Hotch wants to see me.” 

“What does he want?”

He laughs a little. “I thought you’d know.” 

You shake your head, so he shrugs and walks up the stairs, knocking twice on Aaron’s door before stepping inside. 

They immediately take a seat, but not at Aaron’s desk. 

Red flag.

You know it’s ridiculous to worry, but nevertheless, you pace around the bullpen as the boys talk upstairs. It looks serious, given the image before you. They both sit forward in their chairs, lit by the warm light from Hotch’s lamp, their elbows on their knees, their hands loosely laced. 

Other than on the plane, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen them sit so close together. 

Aaron didn’t close the door, but still you know to keep your distance. The coffee pot is scrubbed again, the mugs reorganized, and you return to your desk after you run out of tasks, still fidgety. 

“What?” You hear. “No!” 

Your head whips up to the office at Derek’s outburst. They simmer down again after a moment, but continue talking with low brows and lower voices. 

They rise after a few more minutes, and Derek swings out of the door and whistles for you. “Hop to, kid, let’s go.” 

Your brow crinkles, but you jog up the stairs and land in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

Derek and Hotch exchange a look. 

“Have a seat,” Aaron says, finally. You follow instructions, sitting gingerly on the couch. 

What the hell is going on? 

Aaron sits across from you, looking a little lighter than he did this afternoon. You’re hoping it’s good news. 

“I’m resigning as unit chief at the end of this week.” You open your mouth and move to protest with your entire body, but Aaron’s hand stops you. “Wait. Hold on. Feel free to get mad at me when I’m done, but I’m not done yet.”

Is he...smiling? 

No, but it’s close. 

You freeze, waiting. 

He speaks to you like a scared animal, likely remembering the last time he tried to resign and you chased him across the office. “Morgan will be taking over as acting unit chief until we catch Foyet. I will return to my post at the conclusion of the investigation.” 

You still don’t move as you ask, “You’re staying on the team, though, right?” 

He nods. 

So it’s not as bad as you thought. “Why?”

Aaron glances at Morgan, who sits heavily beside you. You settle down and mirror their postures from earlier, feeling a little like a co-conspirator. “I’ve shared this with Morgan and I’ll share it with you, but -”

“- don’t tell anyone. Got it.”

His lips twitch. “Right. The bureau thinks that my ability to lead this team has been compromised.” 

You blink at him, waiting for him to continue. 

“What do you think?” He asks. 

This is a trick. He’s tricking me. 

“What do you mean ‘what do I think?’”

His gaze is definitely a little amused as he watches you. “I mean, what do you think?”

“Hm. That’s helpful.”

Oh, to be a fly on the wall in Derek’s head. 

He’s never seen two people more well-suited for each other. The fact that you’re giving Hotch shit right now to avoid answering the question speaks only to the closeness between you. You push him harder, give him more hell, and have the power to make him more miserable than anyone else. 

And yet, he loves you. It’s so clear. Why can’t you see it? Why can’t he see it?

You’re both profilers, for fuck’s sake. 

Derek’s eyes flicker back and forth, watching the raise of your eyebrows and the upturned corners of Aaron’s mouth. There’s a fondness between you - it rests in your eyes - as you wait each other out. 

God, they’re stupid. It’s written all over their faces. 

Aaron repeats himself, but slower. “Do you think my ability to lead this team has been compromised?”

You sigh, finally breaking his gaze to focus on one of the degrees on Aaron’s wall. “Alright, fine. I have been...concerned about some of your choices in the field the last few weeks.” You meet his eyes again. “Though, I believe I’ve told you as much in the moment, so that shouldn’t come as much of a shock.” 

He snorts and you swat lightly in his direction, purposefully missing him entirely. 

“But I don’t think there’s anyone better to lead this team.” You look over at Morgan. “Not to say you can’t or shouldn’t do it, but -”

Derek interrupts you. “- No, I agree.” 

You nod, turning back to Aaron. “Out of curiosity, what’s the alternative?”

His eyebrows rise for a moment. “The alternative is, I remain in my post until I am inevitably removed. In that instance, the team will be split and budgets will be cut.” 

“Oh.” 

“But,” he continues, “if I promote internally, we can avoid that.” 

It’s unsettling, to be sure, but not the end of the world. You think about it - what the team would look like with Hotch as just “one of you,” and Derek at the helm. 

Your eyes flicker to Aaron, taking in his suit, the strong set of his shoulders, the authoritative brow, the serious mouth. It wouldn’t be quite right, but it is better than the alternative.

God, he’s handsome.

We knew that. 

I know, but look at him. 

You’ve looked too long without talking. Derek noticed. He starts to think, already excited for Hotch to resume his post so he can start a betting pool on how long it’ll take for you two to finally give in to whatever...this is. 

Weirdly, though, he wouldn’t call it tension. It’s more like a blanket - covering the both of you in a kind of warmth that radiates to everyone in the vicinity. 

Derek has no idea how you got into Aaron’s good graces so quickly, why he trusted you so early on, but it’s made him a better leader, a better agent. 

He might even go so far as to say you’ve made him a better man. 

“I think,” you say, slowly, “given the circumstances, that Morgan leading the team until we catch Foyet would be a sound decision.” Your lips twitch into a smile. “And now I get to share the burden of being the one who gets pissed at you when you pull risky shit in the field.” 

Aaron almost smiles, but it’s enough. “Alright, then.” He stands and so does Morgan, so you follow suit. He crosses around to his desk, where two massive boxes of files are waiting. 

“If you intend on getting any sleep tonight,” he tells you, “I would recommend you leave now.” 

You suppress a smile. “And miss all this?” You gesture to both the file boxes and the boys. “No way.” 

+++

The next morning is...hectic, to say the least. 

Strauss stole Morgan the second he arrived, so naturally Penelope came up to the bullpen to keep tabs. “So, did anyone say why Hotch is stepping down?” 

You keep your eyes on your work, pretending to be only half-tuned into the conversation. There are eyes on you for a minute before you look up and cursorily shake your head. 

“All Morgan said this morning is that it’s happening,” JJ says. “Business as usual, I guess.” 

Emily’s not so easily appeased, sitting on the corner of your desk. “So we’re just supposed to move forward without any discussion?”

 Oh, there was a discussion. You just weren’t part of it. 

You look up for real and put your pen down. “I think we’d have to prepare for anything after Foyet, don’t you?”

The rest of you quiet down as Hotch descends the stairs. You’re the only one who keeps your eyes on him. 

No need to pretend you’re busy when he already knows you’re paying attention. 

“...I’ll have all my things cleared out and it will be all yours.” 

No. 

Your brow crinkles and you look up at the office. It feels...wrong, somehow, to imagine that room without its shelves of legal citation books, legal dictionaries…

Legal this, legal that. 

Could he be any more of a lawyer?

No. 

“Hotch, I don’t want your office.” Their voices are low, but they carry - especially to shamelessly eavesdropping ears. 

Strauss starts talking, but honestly, it just sounds like static. 

“All due respect, Ms. Strauss,” Derek says, “but both of you have trusted me to step in as acting unit chief. I’m asking you to respect my decision.” 

You drop your head down to your paperwork, a proud smile pushing at the corner of your lips. 

“I’ve decided I don’t want Hotch’s office. That’s where he belongs. If necessary, we can discuss this again at a later date, but right now, we really need to get started on this case.” 

He looks up, and you all pretend to be doing something else. It’s a ridiculous showing, really. 

“Guys. Grab Rossi.” 

Emily huffs, jumping off your desk. “I got ‘im.” 

+++

It’s weird at first as you all settle in and get used to looking at Derek more often. He’s doing well - asking good questions on the plane and stepping in when you arrive at the precinct. 

Aaron still looks like the authority in the room, but that’s just how he is. There’s more than one occasion where you’re forced to hide your smile as he intentionally and mindfully defers to Derek in front of the local officers. 

It’s not actually funny in any comedic sense, but the strangeness of it all gets to you a little bit. 

You’re driving (another perk of Derek being in charge - he lets you drive) while Hotch takes shotgun. You’ve just hung up the phone, where Hotch said again “It’s your call, Morgan.” 

It made you smile, and now you’re under fire. 

“What’s funny?”

You check (again) that you’re the only two in the car. You are. “It’s just weird. I’m getting used to it.” 

“What? That we’re the same rank?”

Honey, we’ll never be the same rank. 

“Sure,” you reply, dubious. “Like you and I are in the same league at all.” 

He shakes his head, playing off the twinge of hurt that doesn’t come from his freshly healing wounds.

In his mind, you’re right in more ways than one. 

That train of thought led him down a rabbit hole he’s now punishing himself for. Why he should even have half a thought dedicated to any of that is completely beyond him...

“What’s wrong?” 

He shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You know I can tell you’re lying to me without even looking at you, right?”

A sigh. “Oh, yeah?”

DIdn’t think he’d answer that one. 

“You have a tell when you’re lying to me, specifically. It’s different from your other tells.” 

“Is that so?” He sounds skeptical. 

“Mhmm.”

You can almost feel him squint. “Are you going to elaborate on that?”

“Nope. If I do, you’ll stop doing it and I have to start from scratch.” You shoot him another glance and the corner of your mouth tips up. “And I don’t take orders from you, anymore, so you can’t make me.” 

His fond eye roll finally breaks you, and you laugh at the absurdity of it all. He doesn’t break himself, but it’s the thought that counts. 

Your laughter is the best reward to him, anyway. 

+++

Goddamn it, Aaron. 

If you had a dime for every time you’ve had that thought in the last eight weeks, you’d have...a shitload of dimes. 

You’re chasing after him, because of course he ran after the unsub without backup. It’s like he’s on a mission to give you hypertension. 

“FBI! Get off her!” You hear his voice, rough and authoritative (you, of course, ignore what that does to your anatomy) and round the corner. 

You find him grappling with the unsub, cuffing him. 

With a sigh, you take over - holstering your weapon and hauling the unsub to his feet. 

Derek walks over with Emily after you’ve passed the unsub to the local officers for processing. “What happened?”

“Hotch took him down by himself.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

You press your mouth into a thin, facetious line. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Derek shakes his head with a huff that’s almost a laugh and returns to Hotch, who clarifies the aforementioned events. He looks over at you. “Did you tell him you were right behind me?”

You just stare at him. 

Derek takes over, saving you the trouble of getting too annoyed with Aaron. “You should have waited for backup.” 

Unit Chief Derek, in with the feedback. Very nice. 

You look unfairly smug, but the look drops off your face when Hotch answers, almost smiling, “Would you have?”

You're confronted with an image - Aaron, ten years ago, only a little older than you, a young, hotshot agent with a sarcastic streak a mile wide. 

Poor Gideon...

Derek just turns with another sigh, off to do whatever acting unit chiefs do. 

Emily manages to hold her laugh until he’s out of earshot. Hotch, passing her, just smirks. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

+++

Alright, that’s enough. 

You rise from your desk and pat Derek’s shoulder on your way past him. “Proud of you.” It’s casual, almost a throwaway line. If it was any kind of serious, you know he’d hate it. 

A little staccato hum leaves his throat. He’s still working, and you leave him to it. 

You knock twice on Hotch’s office door before letting yourself in. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies but doesn’t look up. 

You sit at one of the chairs and prop your chin on the heel of your hand. “How late are you staying?”

“You should go home. it’s late.” His response is absent, at best. You’re not even sure he actually heard you. 

“Hey.”

He finally looks up, his brown eyes tired and bloodshot. “What?” His tone isn’t unkind, but it isn’t patient, either. 

“You should go home. It’s late.” 

He heaves a sigh and lets it out through his mouth, choosing not to acknowledge your use of his words against him. “Can’t.”

You hum, looking over his nameplate to the files on his desk. “He’ll still be there tomorrow, you know.”

“That’s the problem.” 

“Fine,” you relent. “Then let me help.” 

He doesn’t protest when you reach across the desk for the first case file, so you figure you have tacit permission.

Maybe, just maybe, if you learn this case backwards and forwards, too, something will change. 

Your love for the man across from you makes that lie easier to swallow. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @ambicaos

[sly-merlin]

Killing Me - 7 | n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre :    angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au , smut

warnings of this chapter : cursing and mention of a knife.

words :: 6k

summary : “life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”                                  

  or              

                       “  curiousity got the cat hitched”

taglist :: (not tagging the old ones because they have read it already bt if u want , lemme know! )  @yiyi4657 @sorrywonwoo @sillywinnergladiator @suhweo @exfolitae @minejungwoo 

@kafenetwork​ @neowritingsnet​

K.M masterlist

k.m 6     k.m 8

*************************************

It was 10 a.m. Not too late! but if someone has a long check list for the day, waking up this late in the morning was obviously not an ideal option. Groaning, you removed the sheets to get ready for a busy Sunday. As much as you didn’t want to tread in that direction, there was only one way out of the room. Keys jingled as you opened the door from inside, mentally thanking Kun for providing you the separate keys for it’d have been impossible to get the little nap that you took after 3a.m.

You were surprised at how door didn’t creak at all when you opened it. Your brows drew together as your eyes darted east and west to find any sign of life but hopefully the door of the other room was closed. You sighed, dragging your feet towards the bathroom.

unconsciously bolting the door, you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Eye bags adorned your deep eyes, cheekbones seeming dull and a bit hollow and all of this has happened in just a week. No matter how comforting the bedding was, the panic had already seeped through your bones when you saw that knife in yuta’s hand. With broken resolve of staying away from them, your anxiety had forced to to call taeyong at midnight, hours after fighting with your thoughts.

“Y/n you need to calm down. I told you already there’s nothing to be afraid of!

“How am I supposed to calm down when he literally threatened me with a knife!” your voice came out in loud whisper.

“He’s just finding a way to control you. I know he might have sounded aggressive but he’s not-

“Aggressive? You are defending that asshole!.... but it shouldn’t be a surprise to me. After all he’s your own kind. I can’t put-

“No y/n. you said yourself he looked drunk! and when I’m telling you you are safe th-

“I don’t think there’s anything to believe. I won’t be surprised if this was just a ploy to kill me in some more satisfactory way.” and you had hung up the phone on him.

After the call, you had realised there were flaws in your accusations towards taeyong but you were not in the wrong here and caring for your own life never counts as overreacting!

Finishing the morning routines, you were about to enter your room to get ready for the day but your feet instinctively led you to the living room.

Knife was gone. But the mark it left was a reminder of the alarms that went off in your head hearing yuta’s words.

You shook your head, deciding to stick to your original plan. Live and leave!

your to do list was not lengthy but still time consuming and luckily you won’t return until eight or nine so maybe you won’t face him today.

Tutoring, returning the boxes and some groceries.

You were recalling everything you had to do as your privilege to delay things was already gone a week ago. Being a senior in the same uni, you were the best option for the juniors, who could teach them the tips and tricks of attempting subjective exams and it was filling your bank account so you were not going to complain about teaching on Sunday as well.

The stack of plastic boxes seemed to be teasing you. There was no Johnny or jaemin, so it’d take atleast two rounds to get those downstairs and moreover you had to spend extra money on the taxi as well.

You whined loudly. The load of glitches in your life was not ending at all.

And all for the courtesy of none other than nakamoto yuta.

*****************************                                        

“I’m back!?” yuta announced his presence in the house in his loud good morning voice. “What’s for breakfast?

“Your favourite!” jungwoo replied cheerfully, tying his shoelaces.

Yuta glanced around finding most of them busy with one task or another but one particular scene going about in the corner of the hallway caught his attention.

“you lost yours! this is mine!” ten was shouting at doyoung, the same so-done-with-everyone look on doyoung’s face and between their hands was a mask that was getting harassed by both of them.

“You haven’t been active since two months, so no chance that this is yours!”

“I just went with you few days ago-

“What the heck are you both jumpy for?” yuta interrupted their bickering. They both stopped instantly, taking in yuta’s appearance. with hair looking like a bird’s nest and clothes all crinkled like he was wearing his sleepwear which he was not!

“Hyung! he is not giving me the mask. Its mine. I can’t go out for mission without it!” doyoung whined pointing at the black face mask aka cover at yuta.

“Since when are you nursing such macho interests doyie?” yuta snickered at doyoung , ten joining as well.

Doyoung gave them a stern look before throwing the mask on ten’s face. “ I’m not going with you anymore” he grumbled before making his way upstairs but stopped midway, pointing towards yuta, “ and I’m telling yong you are here again!” and he ascended upstairs.

“Give him my cover ten.” yuta patted ten’s shoulder but before he could ask or say anything to him, yuta made a beeline for the kitchen.

There in the kitchen, chenle and Kun were already gossiping minus chenle’s screaming, so it was visibly something serious. They both stopped as soon as yuta neared them and he definitely noticed the transition in the mood.

“What you hiding lele?” he asked the boy, settling himself between him and Kun.

Chenle simply giggled in response, his face lighting up yuta’s mood.

“What’s for breakfast?” he curiously asked Kun.

“cereal.” Kun replied.

“What! But jungwoo said it’s my favourite!”

“Yeah. You can definitely have your favourite cereal!” Kun exclaimed, sharing a high touch with chenle who couldn’t stop giggling at yuta’s scrunched nose.

“Don’t you have a mission to attend?”

“Mission? Pfff. why are you calling it that? It’s just a regular deal and why do you smell like...” chenle pretended to sniff yuta before completing his verbal assault. “Like someone poured egg mixture on your head.” kuns eyed widened as he tried his best to control his laughter by pursing his lips.

Chenle let out a high pitched scream as yuta grabbed his neck from behind, chenle’s body squirming under the pressure.

“Don’t you want to live few more years!” yuta playfully warned him, leaving his neck. As soon as he was released, he ran out of the kitchen for his dear life.

“You ain’t being a good father Kun!” Kun shook his head at yuta’s remark and turned towards the coffee machine instead. Yuta on the other side trudged across him to find his cereal box.

“Did jaehyun called you?” Kun asked him.

“He would call me for what now?” yuta backfired pouring the milk into the bowl.

“Taeyong hyung had a message for you but he was a bit busy.”

“Busy my ass. His backyard is always stuck to that ten feet chair. Haven’t you noticed how flat he has become!” he said with mouthful of cereal making Kun chuckle and cough at the same time, the coffee tickling his throat.

“What’s so funny here?” taeyong arrived in the kitchen, his hand poorly covering his yawning.

At the very moment, Kun coughed harder, trying to divert taeyong’s attention. After few more seconds of pretending, he calmed down.

“Done?” yuta asked Kun, smiling at him. Kun frowned at him in response as taeyong watched the exchange amusingly.

Taeyong made his way towards the cabinets to get himself something to eat but yuta circled backwards, blocking him with his long legs, feet now placed at the lower cabinet.

Taeyong glared at him through his hooded eyes. “Go back to your home and let us live in peace!”

“This is my home and I have pledged to not let anyone live in peace, especially you.” yuta replied pointing his spoon at him.

“Not . anymore!” taeyong declared, emphasising each syllable.

“Why are going to the deal in pyjamas? Are you trying to impress someone there? Perhaps li-shan, Taiwanese weapon mogul. But I don’t think you can amaze her without showing your ugly face boss.” yuta jabbed at yong, wiggling his brow at him. But with each word leaving his mouth, he was annoying taeyong more than ever.

“Why not talk about you instead. Let’s explain kun what you did last night hmm!” taeyong brushed his palms together before folding them against his chest. Kun titled him head at his words. He was missing something probably.

“I don’t know what you are talking about yong.” yuta replied calmly but moved his legs to clear taeyong’s path, hoping he would slide away, taking his precious mouth with him.

taeyong that was facing yuta now rotated his body in kun’s direction, addressing him, “our dear yuta welcomed y/n into his life by slamming a knife into the coffee table, telling her to leave the fuck out of his life, all while being under influence of alcohol, which we all know was nothing but a façade.” the composed manner with which taeyong spoke was enough for yuta to break down his frisky mannerisms. He didn’t think you would rant him out to taeyong.

“So she is a whiny baby like our doyoung!”

“This is not what I mean and you know that!” taeyong’s voice rose, staring yuta down with his hands tucked in his pyjama pockets.

“It was a mistake”, yuta tried to explain, threading a hand through his hair, “I was drunk.” he completed quietly.

“Then how did u drive home? Were you drunk and driving?”

“I told you alre-

“Cut it yuta! I’m done hearing your stupid excuses for impulsive actions. Because of you she doubted me! Fucking me! Am I seriously a man of my words or was this all some stupid drama. She thinks I’ve hired you to slaughter her in her sleep! What the fuck, don’t you laugh at me now!” out of nowhere, yuta has started laughing and nobody knew what was so funny to him in the whole conversation.

“I seriously don’t remember anything except the knife part but now I feel like she might have peed her pants yesterday!”

“Bring her here tomorrow and you’ll apologise in front of me!”

Suddenly yuta’s face fell at his order. “No way in hell I’m doing that. And she’s never sitting in my car. ever.” he emphasised, leaving the stool to put dishes in sink.

“Oh wow. Ohkk. Then you are bringing her to the district office tomorrow. For registration. At sharp 9a.m and i don’t need any lame stupid excuses. And she’s sitting in the passenger seat of your car. Or you are apologising to her in front of everyone. A or b. you choose now!” taeyong stated with a flash of authority in his voice. They both eyed each other down as Kun whirled around to leave the negativity. He was done and that too for good.

“I’m going to shower.” yuta announced, rounding the counters to follow Kun but stopped once he reached the door.

“I don’t know what has come over you but I’ve never seen this much hatred in your eyes ever. not for anyone we know. never expected it from you yongie. why it has to be me hmm!”

taeyong’s anger reduced to one of puzzlement as he took in yuta’s word. He raised his hand to stop him but he was gone. Sitting on the stool and resting his head in between his hands, he could sense yuta’s hostility for him. Yuta has always been messing up with his head. That was nothing new. But when did his gamesome disputes got twisted into antagonism, taeyong was unable to find an answer for that. His intentions might not have been bonafide but they were truly far away from the malice yuta was accusing him of. He didn’t hate him. Never had. And never will. But now was not the time to repair their cuts. Because yuta won’t allow him to even try.

***************************************

16:00

“Do you think of all the topics, Mrs. Kang is going to choose double jeopardy?” your junior or student at the moment, asked you in confusion, flipping through the pages of his constitution reference book.

“Yes she would. Definitely. And subjective on that. How many times do I have to repeat! There are just 73 pages of Article 13 on this book. Just pick and choose the precedents and landmark cases and you are done.” you concluded.

Just when you were about to taste your now cold chocolate latte, another one chirped up.

“Can’t we skip some of the civil rights? She gave us an assignment of ex post facto laws instead and we don’t think she’d question us on the topic she didn’t even taught in the first place!”

You suddenly chuckled, resting the cup on the small table. “That’s nothing new actually. For all I know, she has been doing this since she joined fifteen years ago. Topics differ but same pattern follows. She gives an assignment a month before exams, adds the grades as extra credit, imprinting a false presumption through her actions that she’d go in hell if she ever questions from that topic in exams. Everyone is happy that they can skip at least one topic without worrying about it and then boom!!!.She puts that very topic in subjective part. Voila! and everyone’s scores drop.” you sighed looking dramatically at the opposite wall. “But not actually everyone is that naïve so people like me and you actually do the chore of consulting our seniors. And this chain is as old as her career. So do you want to take the risk of doubting me?” you completed looking down at them with furrowed brows.

If words could kill, it’d have been the ones you just threw mercilessly at the young ones right now! They looked like seconds away from passing out. Your own face dropped at their helplessness so instinctively, you assured them.

“Hey! No pressure. You have one of the best guide here so I’ll make sure you ace the civil law!”

Their stiff shoulders relaxed for once in last 3 hours. Another forty five minutes and you would be leaving this small study room. The occasional yawns were not going away by coffee either. You were tired as hell but still had plenty to do. The visit to supermarket was still pending and you were not going to waste your precious money on taxi. Not again. You’d rather travel for an hour by bus to reach your new residence.

You were consumed in your own restless thoughts when the ringing of your phone woke you up.

Yugeom.

“Oye y/n, we are going to itaewon. A new restaurant has opened. At eight. Get ready and I’ll pick you up from dorms.”

no hello. No formalities. He commanded you like you were his junior soldier in a war waiting for his directions to act.

“Slow your roll! I’m busy. I can’t join you today.”

“What are you doing at this hour? Your tuitions ended an hour ago.”

“No. I missed previous sessions so I’m making up for It.” you heard a long sign from other side.

“Ok. So you are only fifteen minutes away from dorms! You can make it. If you say we’ll delay for an hour. How about now?” you cringed at his antics but you had no other option than to burst his hope.

“I’m busy after that. I’ve some grocery shopping to do. I moved out so I’m busy setting everything up.” you deliberately mumbled the last part.

“What the! You moved out. When and why” the happiness in his voice suddenly turned into one of annoyance, “Why is everybody hiding stuff from me these days? Jungkook is busy every other day doing don’t know what! And now you! You changed address and probably I’m the last person to be knowing this!” he huffed at the end.

“I don’t know about kooky but I just took the decision in emergency. And I promise I’ll treat you to bulgogi next time.” your peace offering to him was his favourite food so you knew you were in safer zone. that was the only way you knew. food.

“yeah yeah whatever. Its not like I expect you both to visit my grave or anything. just don’t miss yeong’s birthday. she would chop off your hair.”

“Yeah sure. Now bye. I’m busy.” you hung up with a smile plastered on your face, your students already waiting for you with knitted eyes.

“Oh sorry. What is it?” you apologised for distraction and moved your chair further to take a look at the book.

“Umm what should be the beginning sentence? I promise I’ll get through this, just give me a kick start.”

“Me too! I don’t want any less than an A.”

You rolled your eyes at their competitiveness and their dedication to cling to you for head starters. Last time, you told yourself that you won’t help them with papers next time. But their puppy faces got through you resolves. Every time.

“Doyeon, you can start with the maxim “autrefois convict” and how it is applied in other countries, indirectly giving a comparison with our system. And you!” you continued, concentrating on mingi. “You would give beginning of civil law and how it was admitted in Korea and then explain the article 13 while giving subtle hints about how our system is a bit shitty at this but don’t forget to sugar-coat or Mrs. Kang will make sure your stupid ass never completes law. afterall…Her husband is a judge in the high court !” you advised rather sarcastically, glancing back and forth between them in silence. As they understood the reference, a burst of loud hearty laughter covered the small room before all of you returned to your studies.

*****************************************

9:30 p.m.

Your sneakers squeaked as you dragged your tired body out of the elevator. The apartment ,besides being just few steps away seemed miles away for now. By the strength you were holding and pulling the jute bag up from the floor, you were sure the red marks would be visible by now. Odds were never in your favour these days, but still to save yourself from the wrath of the monster, you had decided to take a longer route instead. Travelling, dinner, shopping, you had turned these everyday jobs into a mission to avoid yuta. But you had forgot about the discomfort that’d be caused by these extra efforts.

So now here you were, wishing the door itself would come and welcome you!

As soon as the door came into sight, you dropped the bag just when your body slumped against it. You groaned again realising chelin is not there to drag your almost dead body inside, so you picked the bag again. 2610 and the entrance was in vision.

As if some sort of warning, three pairs of shoes welcomed you. You took a deep, harsh breath before entering the hallway mutely. You walked straight for the kitchen but were not unnoticed by the two male figures sitting on the couch. Their heads turned like owls when you placed groceries on the counter. yuta and mark. You peeked through your hooded eyes to notice that they were playing some sort of game on the t.v and it wasn’t hard to read that the sour look on their faces was due to your presence in the vicinity.

So you did what you initially intended to! Leaving the bag on the counter, you left for your room but apparently everything has a limit excluding your bad luck.

You turned around ,muffled exhausted moan leaving your pursed lips only to find that the filled jute bag was now halfway empty, little red balls rolling and rolling towards the couches and the little marathon of apples stopped only at mark’s feet. You stood there like a deer caught in headlights until your admirer spoke out.

“That’s not how you feed your guests Mrs. y/n and especially not your husband.” the third man, jaehyun, who was hidden behind yuta till now, voiced his very genuine concern for your manners.

You initially rolled your eyes at his comment, deciding to avoid him as much as possible and removed your backpack to pick up the fruits and candies. But while you were picking up the stuff, a very annoying laughter erupted from the opposite side, definitely from jaehyun so you decided to address him directly.

“Hate to burst your bubble jaehyun, but uninvited guests seldom meets a welcome. so the problem here is maybe not me!” you  gave him a tight lipped smile and started with your scattered groceries again, placing them one by one in the bag again, the jute now balanced nicely to contain them.

“Well I’ve have an official invitation to be a guest here. Anytime I want. So isn’t it your duty to be a good host!” his snarked.

“Oh then someone who can adopt you, can feed you as well! And I’m sure you are in good hands jaehyun ” you only heard a snicker and someone’s shushing voice as the oranges in your hand started to roll out again. You were already frustrated enough to handle jaehyun and now the oranges were not cooperating either.

You started collecting them again when a pair of legs shadowed you.

“Wait I’ll do it!” mark said sheepishly, his hands already holding the other apples.

“It’s ok”

“You are wobbling. Lemma help.” mark gestured towards the fruits ,  fixing his glasses with his knuckles.

“Thanks” you merely mumbled as he filled and picked the bag only to place it in the corner of the further counter, secured properly.

After he was done, you thanked him again before picking your bag to leave for room.

“y/n don’t play the ‘lets catch criminals’ game in your sleep, who knows you might not wake up from the trauma of the consequences.” he shouted at you, chuckling along the way.

You were sure if frustration and idiocy had a face, jaehyun surely matched them perfectly.

“登録事務所。明日。 9時に”

Your mouth hung open as you stopped with the hand on the knob, trying to decipher what he said but obviously it was of no use. You didn’t know any Japanese so you just shut the door behind.

Loud laughs and yelling disturbed your sleep and that continued till 11p.m and after multiple trips to bathroom, you were able to rest a bit.

And one more thing you noticed during your frequent visits, yuta had officially moved in as your roommate.

*****************************

Turning off the alarm, you hid your face further into the summer sheets. The night was a bit peaceful as compared to the ones you have been experiencing lately but in no way blissful. You missed your small single dorm bed, your comrade in the battles of stress. The rooster alarm had woke you up at 6 but for every student, the desire to be in the embrace of bed swells on the day called Monday. Reluctantly, you rubbed your eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. But as you beheld the sight with squinted eyes, a smile crept on your face, your legs taking you towards the balcony. As you opened the sliding door, the warm of the morning sun welcomed you, making you close your eyes at the feeling.

After staying there for a few moments, you decided to get ready as the university was now actually too far away for anyone’s liking and you were supposed to attend the lecture of Intellectual property law at 9 a.m sharp

Collecting the clothes for the day, you pushed yourself for the bathroom. As you opened the top cabinet, there was everything but what you stacked a day ago.

There was a toothbrush, but clearly not yours. There were cleansers and toners, but again, not yours! Even your sanitary products were gone!

Yesterday night, the new hand wash that also didn’t belong to you had indicated that yuta has settled down but it was only now that you noticed, he had thrown out yours to accommodate his own stuff! You pulled your hair in frustration at his thought. He was a jerk, for sure, but of very senior kind. If hundred jerks were grinded in a mixer, only then one yuta could come into existence again.

Looking around ,your eyes fell on the cabinets below the sink, a bit inwards, that were probably used to put cleaners or something. But as you opened them , a squeal left your lips. There were no toilet cleaners but still your essentials were haphazardly thrown over each other. At least these weren’t thrown outside!

Huffing and puffing, you properly assembled them, ready to get through the day. Your main focus was not to trip yourself into another blunder but that yuta was scheming against you even in your absence. Not that you could do anything, but if there was a slightest probability, you’d slice his bitter tongue at first attempt. But no violence, even in thoughts. For now.

Somehow, the running water had managed to wash your cold head and you happily got ready for university in black long sleeved top and washed jeans. There was no need for scarf and yeong won’t be seeing you due to her paper presentation, so the fashion exercise was also cancelled. Putting your hair in a low ponytail, you grabbed your heavy backpack and went out to get some breakfast. The thought of cornflakes topped with apples was watering your mouth. So you ran out of the room, throwing bag on the couch, then made your way to food paradise.

Thanks to Kun or Johnny, the kitchen was already well equipped with the utensils and cutlery but still it was hard to navigate to find a small bowl for cereal. Once the hunt for glass bowl ended, you gasped!

In your hurry to dodge the them yesterday, you had totally forgotten to refrigerate the milk and there was no doubt the milk was spoiled by now.you sighed digging through the bag for your milk cartons but wow! there was cereal, apples, which needed to be stored as well, the chocolates, but no milk. you were sure that you indeed paid for the two milk cartons but no nothing, nada!. biting your nails, you eyed the fridge. Could it be!

Yes, it was. The cartons were stored in the fridge fresh and packed. You would thank that mark boy someday, if he remain cordial with you! of course.

The milk was too cold for your preference, but everything’s better than starving! The watch on your wrist read 7:40, you were on time like always. You stored the milk back and washed the dishes. Last thing you wanted to hear was that man taunting you for not keeping the space clean. Tossing two apples into the bag, you marched for the door.

“Where are you going?” rotating in your steps, you noticed yuta standing by the counter, shirtless, wearing only jeans, drying his hair with a towel and his orbs staring into yours in a showdown.

“A student with a backpack at 8a.m! I won’t be going to a fight club right!” you replied impulsively but immediately regretted opening your mouth, noticing his warning gaze. You again turned to continue but he paused you again.

“You are breaking the deal here then! Taeyong hates deceivers and results of his rage are not very pleasant either. Not that I would mind anything here”

Your face twisted as to why would taeyong would feel being defrauded at your uni trip! He himself told you to continue study.

As you dictated your same thoughts to yuta, you were met with a questionable look.

“I’m talking about district office. The place where we are going to register this peaceful treaty. Today. At 9 a.m.” he air quoted peaceful as you took in his words. He could be lying right! As if he heard your thoughts, he clarified with a smirk garnishing his lips, “It’s not an assassination attempt. You won’t be walking right now if I wanted to kill you so much.”

You gulped at his words but regained composure moment later, “but taeyong didn’t inform me about this and I’m late for my lecture. I can’t miss it without informing my teacher. So go alone.”

“I would love to sweety! But I had informed you yesterday and they need both of us, unfortunately.” he was still crushing his blonde hair with the towel.

“We didn’t even talk yesterday!”

“You didn’t. I did. I told you right when you were outside your room so don’t lie. If you want to go, wait here. Or else take the bus. I don’t mind.” he concluded, walking away. And you thought he was shit-talking in Japanese.

“I don’t understand Japanese. So talk to me in Korean or English next time.” you shouted at his back, frowning in annoyance.

“DON’T YOU STUDY LAW OR SOMETHING?”

You groaned loudly at his illiterate comment. “Japanese isn’t a law subject you moron!” you mumble to yourself, fishing out your phone to shoot taeyong a text.

You: district office meeting is today?”

Waiting, you moved to the couches. His response came immediately.

Taeyong b.n: hmm. Johnny and doyoung would be there so jaehyun won’t be a trouble to you. If yuta does anything, do tell me. Bye.

You threw your head at the back, moaning in an ugly tone. The idea of travelling with yuta was daunting and nerve wrecking. And jaehyun was just cherry on top. Single minute in his presence made you felt like an intruder. So much for new family. Then there was Johnny who could be counted as totally normal if placed in same balancing scales as these foolish brains and Kun had same vibes as jungkook, positive and put together. And from jungkook, your mind floated to chelin. You had decided to let her choose some skirts for you as it would make her happ-

You craned your neck at the sound of utensils. Yuta, now properly dressed ,was making food for himself. And he was wearing black shirt and washed jeans. Same as you. How insufferable. You were going to be looking like his little sister or something!

“Hurry up!” you exclaimed. “I have a lecture. I want to attend the half of it at least.” crossing your arms, you tried to focus on the t.v instead. Your previous happy mood was nowhere to be found in the reflection that faced you!

“We aren’t going on a bicycle. And we are going to a govt. office. Forget about the lecture, you’ll die of standing in the queues anyway.” he scoffed at you, taking a bite of the bread.

Cabinet open. Cabinet shut.

Refrigerator open. Shut.

Another thud. Maybe of glass bowl. By the sound of it, the bowl he was using won’t last for too many days.

A few moments of silence.

at this point, you could hear your own heartbeat, but still you were on edge. Your legs were restlessly shaking, fingers crossed, and thumbs fighting for dominance. Then suddenly, you face contorted at a certain sound.

Slurping. And it continued to breach the silence for few more moments. A louder thud.

“Are you sleeping or what? It’s not like I’m dying to drive you!”  The repulsion in his voice was clear.

Not choosing to answer, you picked the bag, walking outside, stopping only at the shoe rack.

“Oops. Wait. I think I forgot my sweetheart inside!” he announced before going back.

A small seat was attached with the shoe rack. You were tying your shoelaces when yuta sat beside you, picking up his own shoes. You gave a side glance to his shoes, the sight making your eyes round with surprise. A knife was clearly visible through his white sock. and maybe one of many. You jerked your head to focus on your own shoes. You got up before he did, smoothing the sleeves of your top.

What you missed were yuta’s eyes. On you. More specifically, on the ring, decorating your forefinger. His hooded eyes travelled upwards from finger to your waist, he gulped at the sight of your chest which was slightly pushed out due to straps of the bag but he halted right there, opting not to look further. He suddenly wanted to look anywhere but you. He peeked again but was glad that you were busy with your ponytail, instead of giving him any attention. He abruptly got up, cleaning his hands with the sanitizer he had kept yesterday right there.

While walking away, he looked behind, “wait outside the building.” he said like he was reading a morning newspaper, in stoic and emotionless voice. Opening the door, he stilled again, “and wear the ring in the third finger. Got to make them believe!” and he was gone.

You looked at the platinum which was shimmering due to the light. You closed your hand tightly after changing it.

**************************************

The entire car ride was silent. Not comfortable one but the kind that could make one nauseous. As the district office was approaching, the discomfort intensified. your gnashed you teeth in an attempt to control your movements, moved the zipper of the bag up and down , sideways but your heart beating sped up like never before as yuta parked the car.

You jumped out as soon as he opened the door, craving for fresh air. Taking deep breaths, you gave light pats on your churning stomach. Once feeling a little better, you circled the car to reach where yuta was standing. He didn’t say anything but you followed him mindlessly.

“Morning y/n. how are you?” you peered at Johnny, who was smiling at you, expecting a response. You merely nodded at him, hugging your arms,.

“Hurry up. Its almost 9. I don’t have much time.” jaehyun said, not even acknowledging your presence.

“How much time do we have to wait for our turn?” you asked Johnny, now fumbling with the bag straps like a nervous school kid.

“Not even a sec!! jae got it here. Just witness signatures have to be done and then they’ll make you sign on a register.”

Reminder to not believe a fuck yuta says!

“Give me your bag. It won’t look very smart,” you handed over your bag to Johnny as everyone else was already miles away.

It was not even a room, if you could say. It was just a cabin with a small sign marriage registration written on it. There were plenty of people waiting but somehow you were the first or at least it looked like it.

“Please sit.” the lady offered politely, pointing towards the two chair opposite hers. You and yuta took seats as jaehyun opened the papers for her. She went through all the three pages in painfully slow speed, intermittently glancing at you both through her round glasses.

You were focused on her as she matched the details of birth certificates with papers when Johnny nudged you. He was trying to say something ,by actually not saying anything.

A smile. Then he looked at yuta. And he kept repeating it until you understood.

Smile. Yuta. Smile yuta. Smile yuta???

Ohh smile at yuta!!

You nodded profusely before turning towards yuta who was receiving the same instructions from doyoung but was too oblivious to catch anything. You waited for him to pick up and when he faced you, found you already doing the same. He plastered a smile on his face, you mirroring him instantaneously. And that was when you noticed, the twinkle in his eyes, howsoever fake, but still a beautiful sight. Your curved lips almost dropped at this. His eyes didn’t left your face as he scanned it completely. You, for a fact knew, your smile didn’t reach your eyes. You were just unable to do that. And nobody has ever questioned it but yuta’s eyes! , his eyes were teasing you. That he was better at this game. And that you were lacking something when compared to him!

“You kids are so fine!” you broke your eye contact at her voice, thanking her internally. “Most couples these days just come here, being all over each other and blah blah but the ones who try to find the shine in other’s eyes are like rare diamonds. Keep looking at each other and you’ll both find your paradise someday.” she clasped her hands together, tilting her head slightly to look at your figures. Her smile seemed …hopeful! How could she not realise that you both were faking being happy!

“You can sign here!” she exclaimed. You both signed at mentioned space. Afterwards Johnny and doyoung also signed as immediate witnesses.

“Collect the certificate in two days.” she said, an indication for you that you were over with another drama. You bowed to her before leaving, not forgetting to briefly smile at her.

Were you both that believable? Maybe faking being intimate wasn’t that of a trouble! Or maybe it was because you were both good at the art of pretence!

“Your bag y/n.” you took it from Johnny, putting it on your shoulders immediately. Taking out your hair tucked in the back side of the bag, you nodded at Johnny as goodbye, making your way outside.

“Hey wait!”

You stopped at his voice.

“Taeyong gave a message. The reception is on Friday evening. And lemma drop you. I’m not going with them.” you didn’t even know how to react at his words as you shook your head in refusal, your tummy giving you active signs of running away.

“No. I’m fine. Bye. take care.” you concluded, sprinting outside for a wave of fresh air, leaving Johnny behind, dumbfolded.

“Quite a runner!” jaehyun laughed as he and others joined Johnny.

“Yeah. She was shouting about some lecture at 9 a.m. maybe if she runs like bolt, there’s a chance to attend it!” yuta spoke. jaehyun laughed as if what yuta said was actually really funny.

“No. she is just hurt and upset.” Johnny explained, following you but immediately stopped at yuta’s words.

“shield cant be a sword johnny. Shield can never be a sword!”

***************************************************\

“登録事務所。明日。 9時に”  = registration office. tomorrow. 9 o’clock.

[zigtheeortega]

redeemed

pairing | m!raleigh x mc

word count | 6.6k

warnings | cursing, innuendos, mentions of sex

tags | @natesewell, @choicesarehard, @empressazura, @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @pixelsandkink [tagging people who usually ask to be tagged !] 

author’s note | i’ve talked about this before but i’m not a huge fan of the platinum mc’s personality, so i’ve kind of crafted my own that’s quite a bit more rebellious than canon. i’m obsessed with the idea of an mc who’s romancing raleigh and falls into the same pattern of behavior and it genuinely concerns them – so yeah i play with that idea here! i deviate from canon some but not too much ! this is my submission for day 2 of @platinumweekend as well ! also i had no idea how to end this so i apologize for the fizzle out at the end lol

•─────────────────•

As soon as he stepped off stage, he was shuffled to his tour bus, Fiona on his heels. She looked like the human embodiment of rage in a grey blazer, a look in her eye that made him thankful he wasn’t the one it was directed at – or at least he hoped he wasn’t the reason she was two seconds away from a murderous rampage.

She slammed the door behind her, locking it, running to the windows and closing the curtains, peeking out at the paparazzi that no doubt had already tried flocking at the edges of the blocked off area where the bus was parked.

“Damn, what’s the problem? Can’t I at least get my food from craft services? Jesus,” he complained, grabbing a bottle of water from the fully stocked mini fridge, downing it while Fiona frantically ran around the bus, turning off every electrical device in sight.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She wheeled on him, a few strands of her hair sticking to her lips. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah, you won’t let me go get my fuckin’ overpriced grilled cheese that I know is waiting for me,” he jabbed his thumb towards the venue. “At craft services.”

She eyed him, pupils wide, her anger nearly palpable. “It’s bigger than food.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair, some strands completely drenched in sweat. “Lay it on me.”

And the three words that fell from her lips were soul crushing, his post-show high wearing off in an instant.

“Dom’s been arrested.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He sat up, posture rigid. “What happened?”

“Not here. We’ll talk on the plane,” Fiona said, twisting the knob of the closet door, grabbing the black duffel bag on the ground. She tossed it at his feet, motioning for him to stand. “The jet leaves in an hour. I packed for you.”

“The plane? Where is she?” He was getting more and more frustrated, nearing hysterics. He should’ve felt a bit more shame about how worked up he was getting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Fiona took notice, her fiery gaze softening at the edges, the blue flames flickering across his face. “Not here, Raleigh.”

He slung the duffle bag on his shoulder, walking to the door.

“Wait –” Fiona said, leaning over the couch to pull the curtain to the side, peering out again. “I paid off a security guard to distract the paparazzi. And when he does, we have to run to the car that’s gonna pull up any minute now – undetected,” she shot back at him, her icy gaze warning.

Within minutes, a security guard with a similar build to Raleigh sprinted towards the venue, jacket over his head, paparazzi on his heels.

With the camera’s flashing finally pointed away, they were able to slide into the back of the cab, thankful that Hank had connections everywhere. The driver rolled up the barrier without question as soon as Fiona tossed him a wad of cash that she’d fished out of a plain leather pouch.

She shook the pouch, her lips set in a thin line. “You know what this is?”

“A purse?” He asked, brows furrowed. “Is this some kind of fuckin’ trick?”

“It’s an emergency fund. Cash. Not traceable.”

She shook her head, dropping the pouch into her lap, before pinching the bridge of her nose. “When Dom first started getting into trouble, I had to pay off a few people here and there, but when it became more frequent, I had to actually sit her down with her accountant and sort this out.”

“Sort… what out?”

“How much money she needed to allocate to her… antics,” she rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on the back of her seat, hand pressed to her forehead.

She looked drained. Fiona never looked disheveled, but he sensed this was the closest she’d be to it.

“If it’s money she needs, that’s fine. Lemme call my agent –”

“There’s only so much cash I can hand people under the table before it becomes a problem. Not just financially, put publicly,” she sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’ve been able to cover up the smaller mishaps, but this, I’m afraid, might be the start of something… much worse than disorderly conduct.”

“You gonna tell me her charges?” His jaw set in anticipation, already running through a list of the best lawyers in L.A. that got him off from potentially hefty lawsuits.

Her short locks swayed as she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, leaning into the corner of the cab, legs splayed wide as he tried to take a nonchalant stance. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll be glad you have a bedroom, shower, and fridge on the plane,” she said with another shake of her head.

––––

Raleigh laid in bed, aimlessly scrolling through his burner account.

He never really cared for social media under the public eye. Every post of his was either related to tour or the series of brand deals for products he never used. Each page was a personified advertisement – some shit he regretted signing up for.

One drunken night, his curiosity got the best of him and he found himself making a pretty inconspicuous profile, following some funny internet personalities and political commentators. And although he had plans to delete it, once Dom came into the picture, he unabashedly lurked.

He followed her on all platforms, and when he had the chance, he watched her stories, voted in her daily polls, and occasionally scrolled through her old instagram photos.

This time in particular, though, he was looking for something specific without really knowing if there was an answer.

He scrolled to her first post, hundreds down, smiling at high school Dom. Thick eyeliner, layered hair, brace-adorned grin – she was a poster child of adolescence.

Photos of her with Shane at pep rallies, in Halloween costumes, in prom formal wear filled the screen, later transitioning to senior portraits, graduation photos, and dorm photos. A setting of picturesque normality as Dom grew into herself, growing out her choppy layers, softening her makeup, her gleaming smile lighting up each photo.

She grew more beautiful with each year, each little phase of her life coming with a new style, a new little identity or association, Dom’s willingness to try new things the reason she was able to break free from her small town.

God, was Raleigh so fucking envious of this imperfect little portion of her Instagram. If someone were to look this far back for him, there’d be photoshoots and magazine spreads and paparazzi photos all neatly planned. The shaky off-guard photos, the unedited red eyes, the off guard photos, the expressions they made in them… it was something Raleigh never had the chance to do.

Being in the business for ten years, everything was pristine, crisp – always smiling or smoldering, no in between. Sexy and rugged or smiling and happy. Like he had two modes and he wasn’t ever able to exercise those other parts of himself because being in front of the camera was restrictive – while Dom was able to be unabashedly herself.

He was breaking shit just to feel something, to have some range of emotions even if it was a stupid fucking publicity stunt where he damaged property or made out with another politician’s daughter or attempted irreparable blows to his public image.

The more recent the posts, the more calculated her photos got, the phrase “ad” showing up more and more. But even with a skincare brand deal, her step-by-step skincare routine video was on brand for Dom, her bright smile and wit always present in everything she did.

But Raleigh couldn’t help but feel like parts of her were slipping away.

Her online persona was still pretty crisp, except for her style shift – tattoos, a couple piercings, and some edgier photoshoots signified a tonal shift in Dom’s aesthetic, but nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Hell, when he used his first innuendo on his solo album, there was widespread outrage on Sunset Skatepark fan forums, ripping into him for singing about using his dick (even though he was definitely an adult and definitely not a virgin).

But other than her general style, nothing was different. Nothing to indicate this downward spiral that Fiona kept a secret.

Where’s the shift? He thought to himself as he scrolled to the top. When the hell did she start changing for the worse?

She’d come a long way from her clean songs that didn’t require a radio edit. He felt a pang of something in his chest –– regret, maybe? Was he the reason she’d changed?

The questions sent him into a near tailspin, his pulse quickening at the realization.

He was the problem.

She’d since deleted her photos with Raleigh, because their breakup was so public, but he could tell that the shift happened right around the time she started spending more time with him.

He’d been a mentor of sorts, opposite of Avery, showing her the ropes… which meant that he was teaching her how to evade the press, fuck with the paparazzi, pick out industry plants – the whole nine yards.

She was impulsive, daring, adventurous, fearless – all the qualities he liked in himself. But he never thought those traits would take a negative turn, morphing her into a rebel with an affinity for breaking laws.

He could blame himself all he wanted, but he couldn’t blame her for taking the same route he took. 

He knew it better than anybody – it was hard to shift the public’s persona of you. Once you did something horrible to make them hate you, either the rebrands and ass kissing worked, or you get written off by everyone.

Raleigh Carrera was a special case, a wild card of sorts who toed the line, unpredictable, both with his craft and his behavior. The nastier his lyrics, the crazier his publicity stunts were, the more polarizing he was.

And that was no doubt the route Dom was on, heading towards an inevitable press nightmare – if people were to find out the home grown rags-to-riches Dominique Avalos dove headfirst into her rebellious phase with no smooth transition, she wouldn’t be able to Google herself for months without having a panic attack.

She’d changed drastically, but that’s what fame did to people. Some people cracked under the pressure, or they rebelled to show the public they were in control of their narrative… or that they desperately wanted it back.

He took a shaky breath, swiping out of the app.

He wasn’t sure if he could save her, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna try.

––––

The moment the jet touched down, Fiona was in full manager mode, adamant on abandoning his phone, stressing the importance of going off the grid.

“If anyone finds out you’re here, they’ll be able to put two and two together. Why else would you be in the same country as Dom when you’re supposed to be heading towards New York for your next show?” She asked, hand outstretched.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbled, tossing his phone into her palm. “Where are we exactly?”

“I can’t tell you,” she sighed, looking exhausted. He had a gut feeling she hadn’t slept a wink since they’d boarded the plane.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit safer that way.”

He scoffed. “You’re serious? Look, I’m not exactly thrilled to pull the A-List celebrity card, but this is borderline kidnapping.” 

“Let’s just say you might be able to pick up on some of the language,” she said, turning on her heel to exit the plane.

Within minutes, they were pulling onto a dirt backroad, the small houses they passed barely casting shadows onto the ground.

The town itself was seemingly innocuous – the tiny brick houses riddled with dust, the stone paths lining the road cracked and deserted. The tiny town had turned in for the night, their old Sedan sticking out like a sore thumb despite the old model.

Raleigh squirmed in his seat, twisting the expensive watch on his wrist. He fucking hated this.

No matter where he went, he was noticed in some capacity – so wearing a Rolex and Cartier rings in a small village in the middle of nowhere just made him look pretentious.

He slipped the rings and watches off, shoving them deep into the pocket of his jeans, ignoring Fiona’s calculating side eye (one he knew all too well).

The only light, other than the gas lamp posts and their high beams, came from the building at the end of the road.

The car pulled around the side, flicking their lights off, the driver peeking around before motioning for them to exit the car.

“Throw the hoodie on, Raleigh,” Fiona ordered while slipping on a ball cap of her own, her casual t-shirt and leggings wildly different from her normal outfit.

“Sure,” he murmured, tugging the hood on.

The walk from the car to the dusty glass front door was short, Fiona breaking into a light jog to keep up with Raleigh’s brisk pace.

The makeshift “waiting room” in the front corner of the station was empty, the scratched up folding chairs in crooked rows. The front desk was occupied by a sleeping form, head buried in the crease of his elbow, snore muffled by the counter top.

The other officer stood at the back near an old vending machine, sliding coins into the slot, the clink of each piece ringing out against the brick and linoleum.

No cameras, he thought, after a quick scan of the room, shoving the hood back in its place at the nape of his neck.

The holding cells were farther back, but he couldn’t see her.

He stepped up to the counter where the man was sleeping, giving a gentle knock to the top. The man stirred, unfurling his arms, while the other man in the back glanced up from where he was, elbows deep in the snack machine as he fished out his bag of chips.

Raleigh offered a basic greeting in Spanish, frowning just a bit when both officers’ eyes lit up – the phrase “famoso” and “celebridad” falling from their lips almost as soon as they recognized him.

Yeah, he was gonna use his notoriety to their advantage, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t sting when people immediately tried gauging what they could get from him when they realized who he was.

For a long time he’d been waiting for the day where name dropping himself didn’t get him out of deep shit.

And the day he met Dom, when he assumed she knew who he was, all she did was raise her brow as if to say “Why the fuck should I care?”

It startled him, truthfully. But it was such a breath of fresh air. He couldn’t remember a time before or after that someone showed no interest in him.

The officer in the back jogged to the front, pulling his phone out of his back pocket while asking for a picture.

He looked to Fiona, who was shaking her head furiously, stepping up next to him like her 5’5 stature was enough to shield him. “Nobody can know we’re here.”

He nodded, turning back to the men, trying to negotiate with them.

Yes, Dom’s here.

No, you can’t see her.

He racked his brain trying to figure out how he was gonna get himself – and Dom – out of the situation unscathed if he couldn’t give them a photo or autograph.

“Dom bought me the Rolex and Cartier rings, right?”

Fiona’s brows furrowed. “Yes. She gifted them to you on your birthday. You know this –”

“No, what I mean is, she has the receipts? Or you do?”

“I don’t have them, but I have access to them,” she said, still confused.

“Get rid of ‘em. I haven’t told anyone she bought them for me.”

Her face lit up in recognition, and she nodded, encouraging him to go on.

He dug in his pockets, fishing out the watch and thin bands.

After a quick exchange, the officers took two rings each, and began rapid fire arguing over the Rolex. They tossed Raleigh the keys, stepping out the front door.

“I’ll keep watch,” Fiona said, turning towards the door.

“Hey –” Raleigh said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She quirked a brow at him. “What?”

“You’re not coming with?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not? I’m not even sure what the fuck I’m supposed to say –”

“She specifically asked for you.”

He took a step back, resting his palm on the countertop behind him. “What the – are you… are you serious?”

She nodded once. “She might’ve been slurring, but she was clear as day. She wanted you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, running a hand through his short waves.

Fiona’s gaze softened, her eyes still piercing. Fiona was a lot of things – steadfast, headstrong, determined – but she wasn’t soft. She didn’t sugar coat shit.

“She’s missed you. She doesn’t confide in me much, but even I can tell she’s unhappy. Be gentle with her,” she said, gaze tearing right through him.

The walk to the holding cells felt miles long – his resolve was shrinking with every step.

He wasn’t afraid of seeing Dom, not at all. He was afraid of whatever part of himself that might’ve been reflected in her.

The cell was empty, save for the curled form on the bench, long dark hair cascading over the edges of the seat.

“Dom?” He called, hearing her sharp inhale of breath as she stirred, bending into a long stretch, her limbs unfurling until she was lying on her back on the bench, tilting her head towards his voice.

God, even when she looked like life had torn her to shreds, she still looked beautiful.

“Raleigh?” She croaked, her eyes squinting to adjust to the low lights. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

She arched her back, stretching again, her long frame covering the bench. It was almost the right level of distracting to stop the creeping annoyance at her question.

“What do you mean? I’m here to bail you out, obviously.”

“Where’s Fiona?” She asked groggily, rolling off the side of the bench awkwardly, trying to gain her footing.

“You asked for me, didn’t you?” He raised a brow, sliding his forearms through the bars, resting them there.

“She told you?” She asked, voice raising in betrayal, a scoff following his silence. “I was drunk.”

“And? You still asked for me.”

 “Oh, fuck off,” she murmured, crossing her arms as soon as she was balanced.

He dangled the keys between his fingertips, gently jingling them. “I’ll let you out if you tell me what happened.”

Her lip curled in annoyance. “You’d really leave me here?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

She ran a hand through her hair, blowing air out of her cheeks. “Alright.”

He unlocked the door and slipped in, the heavy door creaking as he slid it wide enough for him to fit through.

She backed up, plopping back onto the bench, arms lowering to curl around her sides.

He followed suit, sitting a couple feet away from her on the other end of the bench, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

She stared at the floor, clearly waiting for him to make a move.

“So…”

“So, what?” She grumbled.

“So… how’d you end up here?” He asked, trying to remain as relaxed as he could since she was clearly on edge, ready to tear him a new one at a moment’s notice.

“I was drunk. I got in a fight. Here I am.”

He sighed. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything, but I can’t help you if I don’t know if you’re ankles deep or neck deep.”

She chewed her lip, chin dipping lower, strands of her hair falling forward, creating an inky veil. “Fine. I’ll tell you but… can you not… look at me?”

Raleigh’s face contorted in confusion, but he listened, swivelling until he was facing the back wall, propping one leg up on the bench.

He waited for her to speak. The break in conversation was a bit too long – but before a quip could fall from his lips, she spoke.

“I did get drunk, and I did get in a fight. I’m telling the truth but I, uh, left out some details,” she started, her voice low.

“I, uh, was passing through this town after my last show because I wanted to go to a bar without being noticed. Like the old days. I know it was stupid, but I didn’t think anyone would find me here.”

That was her first mistake. Smaller towns surprisingly had the most dedicated fans – maybe because they’re bored or nothing exciting happened in their towns, but most of his die hard fans came from the middle of nowhere. 

“The first hour was fine, and I was able to drink and dance with strangers. Most of them were a lot older than me and spoke zero English – and I speak a little bit of Spanish as you know, so I could make some small talk, but I was on my own just… enjoying myself and my freedom,” she said, and he could almost see the grin tug at the corner of her lips.

“I noticed someone taking photos of me with their phone, so I got a bit paranoid and sat in a booth in the back drinking for a little while longer so I could figure out my next move,” she continued, before sighing loudly. “I guess they told the local news or something, because by the time I decided to leave, I ran smack into a reporter on the sidewalk.”

Silence ensued again, this time more deafening than the last.

“I didn’t mean to give her a black eye. Or break the camera. Or elbow the camera man in the face when he tried restraining me. I just… couldn’t think straight. I was mad. Intoxicated and wrong, but still mad.”

“I know Fiona’s trying her best to get me out of this mess but… I think I went too far this time.”

Raleigh stared at the wall, racking his brain for something. He was a little dumbfounded that she spilled to him so fast. He figured it was gonna take a bit more digging to get her to open up, but she blossomed in front of him; despite the wilted petals, he was relieved to know she still trusted him enough to confide in him.

“Are you gonna say something?” She asked, a bit timidly.

“Not if I can’t look at you.”

“Okay, then don’t say anything.”

He sighed, settling into his spot on the bench, waiting again for her to speak.

“Why did you come?”

Instinctively, he shrugged. “You asked me to.”

“But you don’t owe me anything. We’re not together.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t drop everything to come help you. I mean, I’d like to think we’re at least acquaintances, if not friends,” he joked, resting his arm over the back of the bench.

“Sure,” she said, voice straining just a bit. Just enough for him to notice.

Dom was a special kind of resilient – one trait that Raleigh was sure she didn’t copy from him.

He knew that being a woman in the industry was already hard enough – everything from beauty to body standards to raging misogyny was enough to give people reasons to hate her, as stupid as they were.

Raleigh benefitted from the standards in place for men. He was young, attractive, talented – didn’t matter what he did wrong. He’d bounce back.

But he’d seen some vile shit since he’d ascended to fame. So many celebrities fading into obscurity after one mishap. One bad album. One bad interview. One rude encounter. One rumor.

For some reason, despite diving headfirst into troubled waters, Dom bounced back every time, fire in her eyes, her jaw set in determination, her face painted with the look she got when she was ready to face the world.

But whatever she was feeling in that moment, in that jail cell in the middle of nowhere – was enough to break her. 

He heard her take a deep, shaky breath, and he started to turn, but he felt her warm palm on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He listened to her labored breathing, likely struggling to hold back tears, while he stared at the cracks in the wall, trying to think of something – anything – to console her.

“Did Fiona seem… upset?” She asked, seeming a bit nervous.

“It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest. She’s pretty intense all of the time,” he laughed, not really meaning to.

He was relieved to hear a light chuckle from behind him.

“Yeah, I figure she’s pretty mad at me. I don’t blame her,” she sighed, another break in conversation ensuing. A couple beats later, she asked, bluntly, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he answered with zero hesitation. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

She laughed again, a bit more genuine that time. “Not sure where you got that impression.”

“You wouldn’t leave me here to rot if I asked you to come, Dom. You’re not that heartless,” he teased gently, glad that things were taking a lighthearted turn.

“I’m just glad you’re not gonna lecture me. I already know I’m gonna get an earful from Fiona, not to mention the shit I’ll get from Shane and Avery. I couldn’t handle one from you.”

He grimaced. “Uh, well, you’d rather hear it from me than Fiona, right?”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled under her breath.

“You know I normally don’t care what you do, because it’s your life, and you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want, but Dom…” he trailed off, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I know I fucked up, Raleigh. I don’t need you making me feel more guilty than I already am,” she said defensively, voice raised.

“I’m not gonna make you feel guilty. Just offering some advice.” God, did those words feel foreign to him. Offering advice. He never did shit like this for anybody.

He took her silence as a green light. “You’ve just gotta slow down, Dom.”

Whatever impact his words made, he couldn’t see it, since he was still facing the damn wall. “Can I please turn around? I can’t talk to you like this.”

“Sure.”

He adjusted himself on the bench, trying to look attentive without staring. She was stunning, even with the smudged makeup, the dark circles, the red eyes  “You don’t have to do anything and everything you’re asked to do, but you gotta find some kind of balance.”

She wrung her hands in her lap, picking at her cuticles absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean balance the good and bad, Dom. There’s a line for people like us and you can’t cross it often. You can get close, but you can’t just dive over it and not expect there to be some fallout.”

“I know,” she said, bluntly, looking a bit more annoyed with each word that came from his mouth.

“You can cause some chaos, but some of it isn’t acceptable,” he said, watching her expression contort in anger. “For them. Not acceptable for them. The average person, I mean.”

“Oh, you’re one to fucking talk!” She rolled her eyes. “How are you gonna sit here and tell me that your brand of shit stirring is okay, but mine isn’t?”

“I’m not the one sitting in a jail cell right now, Dom,” he said, calmly but firmly. He wasn’t used to being the rational one, but he had to be level headed. He was trying to save her.

She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back against the back of the bench. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Trust me, I know.”

“You’re hypocritical.”

“Not necessarily,” he said, propping his arm up on the back of the bench. “I was in the industry for years before I started dirtying up my image. You just got here.”

“And you’ve been here too damn long to act the way you do,” she nearly spat, lashing out.

“I’m too far gone,” he simply stated, keeping surprisingly calm through it all.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been here for a long time, which means, I’ve got a lot more fuck ups under my belt. Irreparable damage, if you will.”

“People love you,” she said, matter-of-factly, like that solved it – it honestly relieved him. A bit of Dom’s naivete from when they first met was shining through.

“People also hate me, because I’m a little shit who sets fires for fun,” he grinned. “For legal reasons, my lawyers insist I clarify that I’m joking.”

She rolled her lips, trying to suppress a smile. “People who hate you don’t know you.”

He nodded. “You’re right, and you’re so close to the point I’m sure you can taste it.”

“I’m too far gone to save. No matter how hard I try for the rest of my career, I can never get away from the wild card label. Plenty of people don’t wanna work with me. I’ve damaged business relationships. Lots of artists don’t want to collab with me because of how it’ll make them look.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I know you don’t want this. You’re too good for whatever baggage comes with being a ‘rebel’, Dom. I don’t want to see you turn out like me.”

For the first time that night, she stared at him – really stared at him. Her deep brown, nearly midnight eyes searched his for any sign of insincerity.

“You’re… serious?” She asked finally, brows furrowed in confusion.

“One hundred percent honest,” he said, nodding.

She sat back in her chair, chewing on her lip, contemplating.

“Can you turn back around again?”

He nodded, wordlessly facing the wall again.

“I left out a few details,” she said from behind him.

“I’m listening,” he affirmed.

“I, uh, was pretty hammered by the time I left, so it was even harder for me to understand what people were saying,” she said before he could speak. “I heard the reporter say ‘Raleigh’ and ‘novio’ and I saw red… so… I, uh… swung.”

His chest clenched, tightening until it was difficult to breathe. He was thankful she’d asked him to face the other direction, because he knew his reaction betrayed his cool demeanor.

“I guess I’m not over it,” she laughed humorlessly.

He ran a hand over his face, racking his brain for a response, but coming up short.

“You, um, don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel the same. I shouldn’t have gotten attached. It’s on me.”

That made him turn, swivelling around before she could finish speaking.

She flicked her head towards the bars of the cell, raising a hand to cover her face. “I said ‘don’t look at me’, Raleigh. Goddamn.”

Years and years of PR training and interviews and he had no idea how the fuck to console her. Partially because he was trying to get a grip on whatever the hell was going on in his brain as well.

Instead, he answered her with a question of his own, a tactic he’d used anytime he wanted to deflect in interviews.

“Why can’t I look?”

Dom tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, slowly rotating to meet his gaze. She sank her teeth deep into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“Fuck,” she cursed, rubbing the backs of her hands under her eyes, the dried black mascara under her eyes beginning to liquidate again. “Because I’m crying, Raleigh. And I don’t cry.”

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I know there’s more to it than you’re telling me,” he asked, holding up two of his fingers in a solute. “No judgement.”

She sighed, crossing the room to put some distance between them. She began pacing, taking slow steps as she spoke.

“I might’ve fucked up my career and I keep letting people down and I’m destructive because this whole fame thing isn’t what I signed up for and I didn’t think I’d cave under pressure like every other mid twenties child actor who goes through a premature mid-life crisis, but here I fucking am,” she said, nearly out of breath by the end.

His legs carried him across the room before he could think twice, pacing towards her while she strode across the room in the opposite direction.

“God, I’m so fucking stupid –”

“Stop. You’re not stupid.”

“I am,” she said, wheeling on him. “And – and I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that my manager and – and my ex –” She stopped in her tracks, rubbing a palm over her forehead, shutting her eyes.

He reached out to her, but let his hand fall almost immediately.

“My acquaintance had to fly out to a fucking village in the middle of nowhere to bail me out –” 

“Dom, stop –”

“– because I fought a fucking reporter over not being able to handle my fucking feelings –”

“Dom –”

“– like an adult with a functioning frontal lobe all because I love someone who –”

Her eyes popped open, her expression horrified. “Oh my god, I’m – I –”

She dug the heel of her hands into her eyes, dropping into a squat. “Fuck, fuck, Goddammit –”

“Did you just –”

“Yeah, Raleigh, I did. Don’t make me feel worse, alright? I know I fucked up,” she groaned from her heap on the ground.

“You just said you love me, Dom. I think I’m allowed to react,” he said, a slight teasing to his voice.

She glanced up, glaring. “Okay, then, react.”

Her gaze was fiery, her deep brown irises challenging – something else a bit more vulnerable lying beneath.

She was terrified.

He leaned down, gripping her around the waist to pull her back up, wrapping his arms around her upper back, hugging her to his chest.

She melted into his arms, relaxing and leaning into his embrace.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” she murmured into his chest.

“So do you?” He asked, chin gently balanced on her head.

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, voice small.

“You don’t have to know. I don’t know either,” he said, just as earnest, feeling her tense in his arms. “But I do know that I like you enough to want you around, and that counts for something, right?”

She laughed (as genuine as he’d heard it), leaning back to look at him. “Yeah, it does.”

Their bodies were still pressed together, Dom’s chin tilted upwards towards him, their faces nearly touching.

“If this gets out, don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re a bad person,” he said, voice low. “You’re the best person I know –”

Dom closed the gap between them, capturing his lips in an intense kiss. He cupped her face in his palms and held her in place, moaning into her parted lips.

God, there was nothing that compared to kissing her. Nobody matched up. He’d made out with a lot of people since he was flung into stardom at sixteen, and no one – absolutely no one – left him in a daze like she did.

She gripped the strings of his hoodie, pulling him closer, sighing contentedly against him.

The smell of her shampoo mixed with the sweet scent of her skin and the warmth of her hands and her chest flush against his – it was the next best thing to being inside of her.

He pulled back, trying to catch the dreamy, half-lidded look she always got when they parted.

“So… did you take your jet here?”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Out of context, that sounds so superficial.”

She grinned, her first genuine smile that night. “Oh, but you’re not? Hanging around a rising artist to cling to relevancy?”

He laughed, the sound reverberating off of the walls. “I really am rubbing off on you, aren’t I?”

“Yep. The good and bad,” she agreed, still smiling at him.

“The good?” He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not so sure about that.”

“You’re literally the reason I haven’t walked out on my label and moved to bum fuck nowhere and lived off the land,” she said, shrugging. “You taught me how to have fun. You were the only one keeping me sane.”

He thought he was the one encouraging her to leap over the edge, but he was the one tugging her arm back.

The whole time he was convinced he was a bad influence, but he was doing some good – for her.

But with that revelation came the guilt at her words.

“‘Were’?”

“Well, we don’t really talk anymore. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“Yeah,” she chewed her lip, stepping back, unraveling herself from his embrace. “I’m sorry.”

That was a slap to the face. Dom rarely apologized, because if she felt she was right, she wasn’t going to budge. She was stubborn as hell.

“Huh? Why?” “I don’t want to guilt you into spending time with me… or feeling things for me,” she said, rubbing her arm. “I didn’t mean to corner you.”

“You didn’t. I wanted to come.”

She glanced up, blinking at him. “No, you didn’t –”

“I did,” he emphasized, slipping her hand into his, intertwining their fingers. “I kinda missed being forced to hang out with you. Feels like old times.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from ripping from her, this one louder than the last. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, but seriously, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Always.”

“Thank you.” With her free hand, she punched his shoulder lightly. “You’ll regret that sooner or later.”

“Nah,” he said, lip curling into a smirk. “I don’t think I will.”

––––

[misterbitches]

I ship muren and li cheng bc i only saw it through gifs then i watched this episode cos i was like im only starting this show if they kiss im waiting and they did and it was nice and i got so anxious that i was about to fucking vomit. I really like them together. The top/bottom shit is dumb and i hope if they must mention it they all build a bridge and get over it so they can switch cos who gives a shit. I didnt realize how large they all are like most “tall” men on tv are lying. But bc that kid is so thin and tall and the other one (idk the stepbrother) is huge too. Li cheng is shorter than them both but more ~manly~ but still short so why doesnt he take a DICK UP HIS BUTT XD since that’s all that fucking matters and there’s only 2 genders and 2 eays to have sex lmao so nothing else otherwise ur screwed

Hd a terrible past couple of weeks personally and because i keep seeing my peopl eget murdered and things ripped from us ^_____^ anyway here’s Some libertatrian communist dumb bitch discoars so i’ll tag it:

keep in mind these are my opinions’”” when i engage in discourse. I am not the end all be all and I don’t need you to agree. There’s some shit I am non-negotiable on but thsi is just exchanging of information. Any authoratative tone I take on comes from my beliefs, my life, my experiences, and what I choose to cultivate as a person and an artist. I dont have control over your feelings, you do. If it hurts you then either tell me the issue and be PRECISE about it, understand that context matters which is why i type so much in engagement, and do not fucking lie or misconstrue my words. Do not call me western ever in your life either. I am a black-american. I have adhd and bc i am a black woman if ur automatically thinking im brolic i am accepting money in my paypal for ur wellbeing to get me to shut the fuck up.Thanks.

The stepbrothers storyline is stupid and lazy writing. I really want to counter people that say it’s written well and that it’s interesting because it isn’t. Even if it was illicit and fucked we can write a story out about this. Let’s rethink what they could have done shall we:

- become stepbrothers at about 16 and their parents mismanage the relationship and they fail in trying to get an integrated family together (this is what happened in the #iconic transit girls and that was fuckin’ weird but hey dude guess what we watched it and it was weird but not unethical and we know one is like 19 and the other is 21 and a girl so it’s like wow you avoided so much and handled their stepsister story very…….um lightly given the end lmao but it was there and people had AGENCY)

-OR you realize that freak is obsessed with him and then he realizes it and is like “bitch i swear to god” and in typical shtity trope BL fashion they can find a way from obsession, to loss and independence when you lose your obsession, to “love” if they choose

- have the fucked up shit but make it clear what the issues are and you literally cannot write your way out of it so do not try

But why can’t fucked up things be shown? Also this is realistic.

0. Well according to you but no one said that they can’t. So that’s on your interpretation of critique (that is, again, not bullying or harassment.) They can, i just gave plenty of scenarios in which it is affective and not just annoying to witness, trope-y, and frankly ridiculous and offensive. Sorry! They don’t do it well. You can come up with alternatives too. See #2 btw.

1. No it isn’t doing a good job of reflecting life because life has consequences. The exaggeration in drama doesn’t mean the arc shouldn’t be there. Almost always things that aren’t heavy with the message or meant to be sobering in a deep way are COMPELLING. The realism is the basis for art because we are human. This is not the way real humans act.

Someone said Tharn Type was mature and I had to laugh because no, no one acts that way and is “in love” if they act that way that means they fucking hate each other and they’re immature and frankly it’s just not that interesting for many of us to watch because the dramatization of the “realism” is fucking bonkers. That was such poor writing it is unbelievable and someone has the audacityt o say it’s how real adults act. Fucking murder me if I’m with someone for 7 years and we break up over a miscommunication and for some reason I am not as horny as my always horny boyfriend. The fuck? What kind of lives do you lead? Either you are not an adult or you are an adult who needs therapy.

I also hear the “realistic” argument but then people try and temper it with “but also it’s fiction.” What do you think fiction is? Why do you think filmmaking exists? Number one, it’s propaganda in the sense that you want others to buy into your presentation and see what you see. That means that the creators are telling people and influencing them WITH ART BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT IT IS about their feelings around a situation. That’s why it is imperative to be responsible as a filmmaker and artist and underline the deepness of creepiness if that’s what they want. If they want to relay that rape sometimes ok and psychos are crazy so they get boy (??!?!?!? BITCH?) then they achieved it with no innovative information. We know people get raped bc we are human beings and many of us live with that fear. You know, being the target demo and all. And bc BL loves that trope it’s rape fantasy peddled to young people and women. Just like shitty wattpad fics or NYT best sellers. Hooray, what now? Or are you trying to purport that this isn’t glorified fanfiction? Which it literally is

2. This is the issue with these shows. No one is saying that fucked up shit cannot be shown. There’s a film about a woman who is raped and she falls in love with her rapist (because he was masked but i think we find out later that she knows. Binoche is in it.) I have no desire for that film—i think it’s by a man and i extra dont care—but I hear it’s sort of powerful for many. I heard it was a good film. But the act itself is always eschewed and the conflict comes from how fucking ridiculous it is especially finding out that she knows. The power imbalance adn the possibility. They may not have handled it in a way I would have cared for but it was there.

There’s simply no imagination because these people do not care that much and aren’t great writers and filmmakers because they simply do not have to be. Sorry.

The industry doesn’t rely on the best they rely on efficiency (this is everywhere.) You can tell by the camera angles, the editing, the camera itself (idk if it is multicam but the flatness is typical soap flatness without the glowboxes to soften their faces.) Simple constant lighting. Now the surroundings are mostly beautiful. But even to some of the costumes. And those edits are abysmal, some of that camera work.

So with all that said even with the couple I extremely enjoy I see its (H4) faults. Add into that a lazily thrown together “shocking” love and if they are trying to get us to feel a type of way about its sexiness they fail. This is why movies like 50sog, 365 days, etc aren’t enjoyable to people because it’s fucking strange situations that they dont want to entangle or make enjoyable to viewers across the board. They know what people will take. It’s just that bitch what are we here for if even the sexiness isn’t there for ur stupid story.

At least with that teenager and 30 yr old man in MODC (which i do not love but i like them in theory if it wasnt totally repulsive to me and also if it was developed in a way that was good TO ME) they had their, er, “sex appeal” i talk about this as well the main couple in MODC to me, visually, was a miss. Not bc whatshisface was small and stuff but bc he was so sickly and they needed that to propel the story but it was just not appealing given how the story progressed. A missed opportunity in tying the two together besides making him look waif-y and sickly only to have the “did ur mom die in a car crash? No, cancer” type of move in not another teen movie. But the opposite. And not funny. Wayne tho????? GORL. Eggs. Cracked.

fandoms have a very warped sense of harrassment and discourse.

Most fandoms have harassers who are “protecting” the cast and crew who don’t need their protection (or maybe the crew does since they probably dont get paid well but why the fuck would anyone care about that lol) but very few have the people who have concerns or massive critique about the show are not going to be “bullying.”

If people are saying “if you like xyz, u suck” then sure it may suck for you to see but who fucking cares. Either talk to the person or don’t be friends with them. That is not bullying or harrassment. Things that are shitty get criticized. Fuck, things that aren’t shitty don’t. Get away from this idea of cancel culture and people misunderstanding the story. We have the ability to.

Think beyond your noses of personal preference. You don’t have to convince people of what you believe. Discussing it is good but critique is not bullying, harrassment, or hate. Neither is fucking roasting shit because even this shit I like (manner of death lets say) deserves it. Art is meant to be critiqued and if you dont fucking like the bullshit people make then say it. They know stupid stories like this are scandalous and they don’t give a shit in how to present them.

And guess what? You won’t like everybody. Many people can’t stand me i’m sure. Oh well. I mean frankly I don’t like that and I feel very unsettled when I don’t feel understood. That’s ok! I have to temper it. Sometimes calm myself down. I won’t get anything and everything I want. And you won’t like every opinion and sometimes it’s like “man am i a dummy?” But the part of growing up is fucking maanging that and beng honest about “bashing and harrassment” and “bullying” and growing up. Yuo can like what you want the “let people like what they want thing” is so fucking juvenile and THAT is not the real world. Which is probably why so many people feel that way, they dont want to live in the real world. Unfortunately, you do.

Think beyond our noses of personal preference and what we feel emotionally in conjunction with others. You don’t have to convince people of what you believe. And you can say things that you believe to be true but it doesn’t make them so or maybe it isn’t received that way to people. And many times we learn new things in the discussions “oh shit i didn’t see it that way” right? Discussing it is good but critique is not bullying, harrassment, or hate. Neither is fucking roasting shit because even this shit I like (manner of death lets say) deserves it. Art is meant to be critiqued and if you dont fucking like the bullshit people make then say it. They know stupid stories like this are scandalous and they don’t give a shit in how to present them. Usually the “opposition” in these situations aren’t the popular beliefs that permeate through society. Trust me lmao

Antiblackness

Antiblackness is a thing. It permeates everywhere. It permeates in this genre and it permeates in fandom. Get it the fuck together. Also do not conflate cultural relativism with being repsectful. They are not barbarians, they are smart human beings either making work or deciding to. We all have diff cultures but we have fucking sense in what is respectful and not. And if we don’t we fucking learn. You cannot excuse things and say “oh culture” when you have 0 idea of that culture or actual people who are radical etc and are fighting against it. Additionally the word westerner is an ignorant term when referring to people in the US or UK who are black. Because we are not. We extend sympathy to other groups and empathy since we know so there is no inherent power imbalance between a black viewer and their subject. Don’t suggest that because it’s wrong and ahistorical and contextless.

FIRST the fallacy of representation as freedom makes people fucking complacent, individualistic, and doesn’t let them think critically. Consumption and discourse around consumption is not helping material conditions of the marginalized communities in your home, the black ones who are ignored, those intersectionalized in these communities. Groups talk about art and what it means for them outside of just what we see and because we also don’t have access to a bunch of Thai reviews or what movements or going on we are less likely to know if we don’t FUCKING SEARCH for it. Because art is constant...which leads me to....

Representation is difficult. It matters and it doesn’t.

Tthese shows are not meant to overturn the LGBTQ+ community.

There are queer filmmakers and artists in these countries. Deep illustrious film careers or even TV that is moving and deliberate. We can even see it with the dude from “your name engraved” in their short series he was in beforehand. BL is no wa pejorative because it is simply not “qu**r” storytelling whatever that means. But know it has always existed everywhere and there are also out artists or radical artists in all these countries who do no respect mediums that are cash-grabs and poorly made.

ex: As much as “Like in the Movies” sort of isnt for me and is a bit hamfisted you can tell how much love goes into that. Love of the characters, acting, and message. Yes it’s cringey to see some of the lines (like very tbh subtlety wasnt exactly their strong suit) and yea naming them after lenin and marx is just 0ihgoaudgijposkagjihou BUT GUESS WHAT? THEY FUCKING DID IT. THEY TRIED. And class was a large component as well bc u cant fuckin ignore it. The show is aware of the machinations in its world as a show but also in the philippines and for a fuckin reason. And duatarte? Loooooooool so like yea not so sure bl makes him love his ppl but the show isnt trying to do that

It’s not a transgressive genre and it has no reason to be. No ethical anything under the way we live it’s just trying your fucking best to be. That’s it. They serve societal ills and capital’s purposes. Which is fine but it is not revolutionary.

These countries in SEA or even SA do not have as big budget for even mainstream dramas—though things are changing and that’s bc REVENUE like revenue from kpop is fucking huge for SK and again so much about that is bc of what happened in their history from japanese imperialism to WWII to the US—so for “queer” stuff it is sort of now important to make that an export and it sure is one. Not only globally or to the west but a lot of these places make their money within asia (duh!) outside of their countries. OBVIOUSLY. so BL is a way to output and gain money. The thing is, it doesnt seem to be put back into the industry at all. For people in all these countries to make works that aren’t for mainstream or wont reach as many people there’s a difference between trying and just shoving shit in your face and going here it’s gay you like it right? But dont antagonize the inherent patriarchal nature of BL.

Another thing: did you guys know thailand was never colonized? You should look it up. There’s little hints of things in ITSAY to represent french influence still. Isnt that fascinating? Find out why. It’s certainly interesting that the representation, though damaging and dubious many times and also incorrect like any media, is huge in asia and this isnt a commodity here (the US) exactly. A lot of that has to do with colonial ideas of gender of which I am sure. But listen………lmao

Sometimes people dont give a shit. And it very much shows. Here is the thing once again. GOOD TRANSGRESSIVE WORK exists.

Een within the capitalist Bs paradigm or you can see people trying (I can sort of applaud parts of lovely writer) also queer media has always existed everywhere the reason you don’t know about it is because it gets takena nd commodified into a mainstream product. We hvae little incentive, particularly if we are not fans of cinema or art in gen, to search fror others when the output is right here. Being dictated by others and the state and who will give you money. No longer an effort of a cast and crew who want to convey things. But google [any country] independent cinema, radical cinema, queer radical cinema, or even retrospectives on the cinema and rethinking what is queer and radical in film. What if we took that, diluted it, got rid of the creators who put themselves through all the work, ignroe al the nuances and do……………….two actors who are conventionally attractive with no chemistry making out.

It’s the same here lets say daniel kaluuya winning the oscar for the film about the BPP. I heard it was okay and not too offensive but it still isnt’ enough. It still isn’t like hwood isn’t trash, nnati black, misogynistic towards BW and women, and all that other shit. It was pushy but it can’t be enough where we are. Black KKKlansmen i think won an oscar, by circumstance i fuckin hate these award shows they mean nothing, and i like the film a lot but he has his misogynoir still resting in his films even if it is poignant. And it was a film that honestly wasn’t really made for black people. And should all art be a response to direct trauma or trying to make ourselves palatable when we’re just human?

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ and it’s importance (capitalism) but also sorta individual responsibility

Considering a lot of these actors are rich and then just dip that’s another problem. Mainstream isn’t what sustains marginalized art ever. It doesn’t change in the vast ways we think it does. What changes is the people of these groups pushing, fighting, forcing and then capitalism trying to make it work under capitalism. It will not. It cannot.

This is why artists and labels often don’t mix or you see people like Sonic Youth doing whatever they want and pissing off their label but making them give them money. Same with Nirvana. Vince Staples. The thing is they can fight and make good shit but what capitalism helps people….not care? They don’t respect the audience? We’re getting those returns on poor executed product placement, lighting, editing, framing, fucking acting. And you surewon’t see mixed black asians in these shows. WHY R U is the oNLY one i have seen it in and he just disappears (but that was pretty cool.) so who the fuck is this representing? And before you start: asian countries are not homogenous the way we believe them to be. There are marginalized communities outside of even mixed people that are harmed. So you can skrrt cause on that one: you’re wrong buddy. But it gives us the IDEA of a paradise which is what they NEED.With representation and visibility comes consequence and responsibility as artists. What it allows them to do is coast and not think complexly because why should they; it’s mostly the fantasies of some older woman who probably has money and much less interaction with the world. It’s bonkers. And what that allows even further is for them to say YOU ARE THE THING THAT YOU CONSUME and the THING THAT YOU CONSUME IS YOURS. It is not, it is not your identity, form a close bond but figure it the fuck out. Especially for adults who are hellbent on twisting their minds into pretzels and can’t acknowledge what’s just laziness in art and not giving a fucking shit. Truly.

There’s damage that has been done from Parasite as he was supported by CJE&M and the bullshit obsession america had and eveyrone’s poor interpretation of it if they are rich. BJH is a socialist and he is a filmmaker. He has made films that are outstanding and cost a lot of money. But now a fear for indie filmmakers is just not being able to raise that much or have that much attention. Getting funding that helps them instead of expecting the Next Big Thing that is a fad because capitalism is trash. Yes this funneling of money is absolutely harmful to us artists. Even buying in is strategic. Additionally, that film is probs one of the most radical films to have that wide release and accolade (unlike “Sorry to Bother You” which i have a lot of thoughts about. One being that asian exports are acceptable but black ones are not. This is an overall art critique and global media critique. Blackness is removed, not respected.) However, filmmaking isn’t green, it can’t be socialist, and it’s a lot of work. They used tons and tons and TONS of water to do a huge beautiful feat but we still know there is a cost. We have to figure that out because it shouldn’t be. It doesn’t go back into the crew’s pockets the way it should and the work becomes that of the director’s and actors solely. It’s fucking hard. We have to do our part but it doesn’t mean we are doing it perfectly. We just have to try to do better. So does BJH cos he needs to not be a misogynist but anyways i digress.

additionally and this is something some users fail to understand: people in the media sphere generally have fucking money. I went to film school that was international with super fucking rich kids. Taiwanese kids, kids from south asia, china, thailand. They had money. No not upper middle class money, not “rich” money, not some paltry 1m that’s chump change. Fucking money. Fucking RICH-RICH. MILLIONAIRES. BILLIONAIRES. WHICH IS DISGUSTING MIGHT I ADD. The domestic people didn’t have the money for school (in the UK) and i am in a massive amount of debt like every other black student that went there. You do not understand how much money is needed to survive so people who turn to these crew positions even casting etc need this fucking money usually. OKAY. A lot of the people that do well in these dumb shows or even on a larger scale HAVE MONEY. The reason these industries are small and struggling is because of lack of people and lack of resources to independent shit because oh gee it takes money to make things.

Why should I try? Well you don’t have to really if you have money or a name. Yet...

We can tell when like those Tik Tok shows or DCOMs dont give a shit (anymore.) You know how frustrated we get when content for young people is garbage? Well, see, BL is literally that under that system. Occasionally we will get something good now but there is virtually no need in any sector in the world at this point to truly figure out how to make it better and what to do to enhance artistic literacy, outreach, teaching people new things, getting people from these communities there and having true realistic says. Art and culture is IMPERATIVE TO WORLD LIBERATION but not when it is so stiffly trying to bend to capital’s idea of progressiveness. No. Neoliberalism. No.

That’s why in a way ITSAY is a huge feat; it takes from films etc and they clearly had money (the actors rae rich too which….lmaooooo j’aime pas) but it was a respected fucking script, acting was important, blocking, framing. There’s very little to critique as a visual medium for that because I understand what they are trying to do, their market is going to be mostly young girls, but they RESPECT THE FUCKING AUDIENCE. And guess what guys? You can make money from it!!!! WOAH! Since that may be the only goal which is disgusting and repulsive.

HOWEVER AND THIS IS WHAT IS SAD: itsay is an ex of a great show however knowing the actors backgrounds and the pseudo trouble it stirred when they weren’t supporting people protesting against the coup in the summer it really put a damper on my enjoyment. And this is how we can see that:

a) it’s honestly just a show and a good one but b) now what?

These kids (actors, who are like idk 19? 20?) are rich and not saying anything while countless actors, who were filming, did. Even tul who has $$$$ and the thing is the protesting against the coup legitimately attacks the rich. As it should. The protests going on were cries for help, against a dictatorship and fucking coup, asking people to get fucking help for covid, having kids be able to live. There’s a mini on VICE about this and it probably doesnt go too in depth but there’s a kid in there who talks about his friends getting into drugs and how he just wants to make music, have fun, skateboard. And it’s harrowing to see. This is a direct example of what these things do and don’t do. Yea we know a good show is here, we know growing up and slice of life, we know this is a bit of escapism and idealism but the idealism is reflected in the way these actors also choose to live their lives. So what progress? To who? For who? How is this helping me? What purpose does it serve? I say ITSAY serves its purpose as a piece and a glimpse into possibility of growing up but i do not say it antagonizes a broader issue that needs to be relevant in some sense but simply is not. It’s very singleminded and, well, it’s sort of like “besides my sexuality, what do i have to worry about?” But for real humans like....a lot. I do not respect their decision at all.

Why can’t we do our jobs and make something decent and respect our audience? No time, gotta make that sweet sweet sweet cash baybee. Look how progressive we are! Don’t look at history and material conditions. Thanks in advance, management.

History 4 does not have that respect. Many of these shows do not. Sometimes we hit good, sometimes we don’t. But in the end we cannot settle. And I won’t. If I am critiquing something I will not be shy and if I am meant to enjoy something as escapism then these shows NEED to highlight that and it’s rare sometimes (the best twins is a good reminder like that show is bad but man do i Brain Empty when i turn it on and i like that and there’s not much in it that makes me want to kill myself from annoyance but there are transphobic jokes i dont love however the whole show is a comedy about this dude’s crazy homophobic sister and she is constantly positioned as wrong and they talk about the aforementioned trans women as the actor was in drag. Interesting that they can manage that, huh?)

Oh btw.....taiwan has a very complicated history but ignore all the bad stuff it’s good now you can kinda sorta get married and stuff. KMT? You know how i learned that? I care about human beings and read about it lmao. I am not Taiwanese and look at that. So now I have historical and DIALECTICAL~**~*~****~*~*~ context so i can judge it as an artist, a black woman from america, and from the knowledge i have to pick up on their history to see if this fits into a broader picture besides the micro-one of sexuality on an individualized level. And this is kinda where it comes full circle: these shows are not you, you are not them, they do not exist in a vacuum because nothing does. The failure to critique now means continuing on as it has and it will still do so. History and time are not linear in the sense we think it is. Someitmes things are better, sometimes things feel more austere. We are not living under liberation though and these shows are not going to do so. So they are not US nor are they for a nebulous “us” of which the groups are all fractured and have diff opinions anyway (my opinion as a black american is going to vary from an asian woman’s say and that could really clash and i do not feel solidarity with all those in every community i am for several reasons.)

Final thots that have taken up my time and the only thing i actually wanted to write but got distracted:

Anyway my dissertation is that I ilke Muren and LiCheng a lot a lot and i like how cute they are and how truly dumb li cheng is. This is an example of mostly good writing, decent actors, nice chemistry, and sort of a calmness to them. And I super enjoy how Muren is pretty forward with LC in the sense that being together is like very important to truly be together. When he was like “no i didnt forget!” Or when LC asked him something in the office I forget it was 6 am and again i almost threw up and muren nodded and then LC leaned on him. Very cute. I want more of them tho i may have to skip that othre couple (the cameo the ones from MODC) but omfg the younger one HIS HAIR GREW SO MUCH HE LOOKS SO MATURE AND CUTE OMFGIJ0HUG9SAOGIJPKOAGJSIOHUAGIJP hahhaha the one good thing i will say about THEM.idk how old the actor is i figure he was young idk it makes me happy to see him he’s very cute. I hope he’s in something i can watch and not gag at. Is he hot? Who knows but he is a cutie!!

Anyway muren and lc have a good thing going it’s nice to watch ho\pe they dont fuck it up but im truly a sucker for some true finds 2 luvas i think some user on her\e was like i’m not a fan of friends ot lovers bc it doesn’t seem like they’re actually friends and maybe they were referring to this show idk. But it made me think and it was a very good observation. So i think they are friends and also luvrs <3

[levyfiles]

Last week the @skepticbeliever-bookclub prompted us to post a selection of our favourite shyan fics so there’d be a nice little way to highlight all the hidden gems of favourites we might already recognise and love while sharing a few we might never have found otherwise. Last December I posted a little list of some of my favourites so I figured I’d dust off that list with a few new additions of particular favourites I treasure. 

Be All My Sins Remembered by spoopyy

Summary:  In every lifetime, they find each other.

Review: This fic manages to take you on a long journey through what feels like a series of AUs and they all weave in and out of the wealth of their relationship with some vivid descriptions of the historical settings their journey takes them through. As someone who grew up reading Anne Rice’s epics through historical events, this fic is right up my alley. A vampire Shane passing through the wave of human society’s climb searching for a reincarnated Ryan again and again, trying to hold on to him and keep him through great tragedies and timeframes that just don’t let them be together. This was one of the first fics I read when I was only a lurker and to be quite honest, I need to give this one a nice re-read, maybe for the book club which would be loads of fun. Either way, 10/10. Would be Hurt in the heart again.

Perfect Fit by @beaniegara

Summary:  There’s a legend that says anyone able to take all of statue Shane’s cock will summon the god to the mortal realm. Given the statue’s excessive size, no one has ever succeeded to prove or disprove the story. Until Ryan that is.

Review: Listen. You wanna talk actual fandom legends. This fic is one of them and it pulls out all the stops on being delicious and evocative. Also features one of my favourite incarnations of size queen bergara. Good stuff and you’re really rooting for Ryan in this lol.

a prize for rotten judgement  by sarcasticfishes

Summary: “You’d drive each other crazy. You sit together at your office all day, and then you’d be commuting home together, eating dinner together, watching TV together, going to bed — well, not together, but you get it, right?”

It doesn’t sound so awful to Shane. There are worse people he could be spending all his hours with than Ryan Bergara.

Review: The moment I happened to glance at the notes of this and saw that Fie’s secondary title for this would have been Ryan and Shane move to the Suburbs, I about lost it with excitement. Primarily because the show this references is one of my favourite comedies and that is one of my all-time favourite episodes. Let me tell you though, even if the reference is lost on you, this story is so much gold rolled into a heart-gripping tale of two best friends who spend every waking moment together taking the plunge to share a home and they were roommates oh my god they were roommates. Shane is pining and you’ll pine right along with him as you’ll yell and holler for him to stop being so damn real and full of doubt. It really is worth every gasp of pain and all the more for the execution but the delivery will leave you in delight. Certainly had me yelling at the author. This fic is gonna be one of my timeless favourites; I knew it the moment I began.

Everything’s Weird and We’re Always in Danger by beethechange

Summary: Ryan perches on the edge of the bed, an indistinct shape that Shane can only just make out in the dark, so he turns the lamp back on. He wants to see Ryan’s face, wants to know that he is alright. Ryan’s cheeks are damp, his hands fisted in the hideous flowered duvet.

“It won’t go away,” Ryan says miserably. “I’ve been like this since we got here, basically, and it won’t fucking—”

“Ah,” Shane says. “Well, you know, sometimes fear…adrenaline…they can affect people. Physically.” He waves his hands indistinctly crotchward. “It’s a, a scientifically known phenomenon.” Shane feels a little better staying in the realm of scientifically known phenomena.

Review: Word of advice. You see a fic is authored by beethechange, run don’t walk because you’re absolutely always going to be treated to the best of banter, the best of prose, chemistry, organic execution and feels right up the bottom end of your heart. This fic, this changed everything I thought I knew I wanted out of a bed-sharing fic. It’s got a little bit of two treats here. You got a sex-pollen-esque situation mixed with bed-sharing and holy fucking damn that is more than you think you deserve, but read this because you do deserve the best of the best. The build up, the dialogue, the surprisingly hilarity of it, the hotness woah, and The Aftermath. When you think you know what you’re in for, you’re wrong and you’re most pleasantly surprised. Get this fic in your life and honestly? while you’re at it, you could do a clean sweep of every fic in her list of works and while my less than adequate reading time management may still be short on some of her most well-recommended pieces, I have an adamant faith that Bee doesn’t disappoint. Go get y’all juice.

Maelstrom by thewindupbird

Summary:  Here’s the thing about driving halfway across the country to see someone. You can’t really deny, after that, that you’re pretty much head over heels for them.

Review: Listen. One morning on a day off, I just laid in bed and read this– all 40k+ words– while lying there clutching my pillows, hurting and loving every moment of it. The descriptions of Americana, the slow steady metronome rhythm of Ryan’s feelings as frightened and helpless as they feel when you’re relating deeply to them juxtaposed with the deep-seated struggle of understanding what it is to be with someone you love so much but your mental health is burning quiet holes in your ability to express it in a way that can be understand. Ryan’s fierce determination, breaking through the silence of their non communication is really Everything to me in this fic. i think I really left my heart in the scene in Shane’s parents kitchen. That finished me. Read this fic and understand the deep relief you get when you’ve finished a fight with someone you fiercely care about and they understand you and you understand them and it’s OK; it’s gonna be all right. Augh.

5 times Shane had to overrule Ryan’s “No Homo” + 1 time he didn’t have to by ghoulboyboos

Summary: There was only one thing that would truly drive him up the wall with Ryan, much more than any debate about ghosts ever could: Ryan’s consistent twitches of “no homo” when any sort of physical contract between them happened.

Review: I have such a soft special spot in my heart for this fic particularly because Lud manages to examine a trope I tend to avoid in such a sweet and honest way I couldn’t not love this fic. The story takes a painstaking and very real look at the “no homo” issue as it weaved through the journey that was early days Ryan and Shane. Shane’s reaction to in this and how he communicates with Ryan has such a very heartfelt and once again, real quality to it. I get in my feelings all over again about how far they’ve come and what it meant for Ryan to have Shane there. Lud really nails this piece and it’s a classic in my eyes.

A Burial on Box Hill by InkStainsOnMyHands

Summary: The Celtics believed that the yew flower symbolized both immortality and death. Meanwhile, for centuries, the buxus flower was seen as a symbol for safe passage into the afterlife.

Or,Shane and Ryan were never the same after investigating the Black Forest of Germany alone.

Review: Let me just quote my bookmark comment here. Usually I flee from tragedy like a cat spotting a cucumber but the brevity and the prose dragged me in and now I’m a functioning mess. Bless this fic. Oh my god it’s short and reads like one of those quick horror stories you’ll read to your friends just as the scary stories are transitioning from the urban legends to the ones that feel real. Big warning for main character death but still read it if you appreciate a good story told.

Body Farming by shiphitsthefan

Summary: Failed suppressants and a surprise heat: the worst of cliches, and here Ryan stands, living the trope on location with the alpha he’s hopelessly in love with. Even worse, they’re spending the night in the famous Bell Witch Cave, completely alone and with no way to contact the outside world.

Ryan knows he can survive and keep his preheat a secret, as long as Shane will stop being so protective and concerned. After all, it’s not like Shane wants to bond with him.

Right?

Review: Now judging from the reactions of many people I’ve spoken to, big heavy ABO kink is not popular here but guys, GUYS. This one. Let this one in I promise it is not what you think it is. The dynamic is organic and the worst side of the trope is subverted in all the best ways and lord help us, the smut is hot, like swelteringly smoking. It’ll stay with you.

Believer by cellard00rs

Summary:  Some demons and otherworldly creatures love climbing up the power ladder. Shane is not one of these. He likes where he is (thank you very much) and has no interest in moving up. All he wants is to give his friend Ryan a nice birthday gift. So, naturally, everything goes to hell.

Review: This fic is another fandom legend. When I think demon!Shane. It’s this and one other one that always pops right into my mind. This was my first exposure to the bureaucracy meets the supernatural!Shane trope and I was sold from the get-go. The Shane in this fic is everything I imagine a demon!Shane is and his ginger care for Ryan, the concept of their bond and how even though Shane is a demon and responsible for keeping the supernatural a firm secret from Ryan and the rest of the world, his skepticism is relayed through his status as a demon. I want to talk more about it but I think so much of the enjoyment comes from the surprises as the plot unfurls.

hey boy, take a look at me by weakspots

Summary: Ryan is 27, for Christ’s sake, and he’s not exactly hideous, so there’s really no reason to spend his money on a dude — a dude — whose face he’ll never see but whose livestreams he’s been jerking off to for roughly 4 months now. He should be going out and partying and fucking random chicks. Or a guy, whatever, just to get it out of his system and confirm to himself that he really is 100% straight.

Because he is. This is morbid curiosity, if anything.

Review: I’ve been a long-time fan of this universe and it was a universe I didn’t know I needed until this author gave it to us. We or rather me, a desperate audience, just devoured this with every update. Not only is it hot, but it has the delicious intrigue of secret identity, anonymous stuff and a LOT of blush-worthy prose therein. This version of Shane makes me thrive but the titillating nature of straight-identifying!Ryan being bowled over by the turn of events that leads him to his world tilting into the gravity of a camboy just--you Have to read this one!

Heartbeat by quackers

Summary:  So the guy Ryan sits next to at work is a vampire. That’s no big deal, right?

Review: I could talk your literal ear off about this fic. Vampires, man. I love the trope; you don’t know me as a person if you don’t know this at least. And this fic kept me fed all damn year. It was a readable garden. If there is one thing I can guarantee about quackers’ work, it’s that their world-building is a festival of detail. The realms and alternate universes they work with while still managing to keep Shane and Ryan’s voices so familiar and real is a talent not attributed to your everyday author. This fic propelled me into wanting to write more and more because quackers makes stories so much fun! Reading their work is, to me, not unlike the feeling I got when I was younger and finding series that speak to my need to escape this crummy existence, made me want to believe in fun spicy things like a vampire that lived through centuries, cynical but still searching, navigating a world where people are still people, adjusting to differences and prejudices, finding comfort in a guy that understands that and more. I’ve talked about this fic in more than a few different posts so I’d just be reiterating a lot of things I loved about the more historical aspects of Shane’s journey, the way Ryan is so firmly curious and inventive in ways to connect with Shane. Look, even if vampires aren’t your thing, I can promise that if you visit quackers list of work, you will find something for your supernatural-lovin’ palate that speaks to a gentler side of your own curiosity about monsters and the jocks that love them. lol.

I’ll Crawl Home by carrieonfighting

Summary:  “Shane was almost unnerved by how quickly he’d settled into this body, this name, this life - his friendship with Ryan was the most time he’d spent with any human before, and yet the man fascinated him.”

Review: This is the second fic I think of when someone says the words ‘demon!Shane’ to me because ohhhh my word, this fic is a masterpiece. I really am hard-pressed to find anything better than the feeling I get when I think of demon!Shane headcanons interwoven with the irl Buzzfeed reality and the idea of the Ryan as we know him being protected and watched and loved so deeply by a demon that found him so long ago and wanted nothing but to protect him. I feel an almost vicious glee reliving that moment when Ryan and Shane are on goatman’s bridge and man, I just really love canonical fic mixed with a slight twist. The writing in this makes it work so well with lines that still haunt my heart and soul like “Ryan liked popcorn. So did the demon. Genuinely, not just out of a desire to please the human – he liked the way it crunched between his vessel’s teeth. There were some aspects of taking a corporeal form that were… nice; laughing, coffee, feeling warm. Ryan made him laugh.” FUCK! The beautiful agony of it, watching the demon fall in love with Ryan through the eyes of his vessel. Just stark with pain and unspoken, well-written angst and pain with a perfect ending, I wouldn’t change for anything. I love this for us as a fandom and will always love that author crafted this piece and shared it with us. (Also every time I hear Work Song by Hozier, I think of this fic again and sigh).

[violetsystems]

#personal

It was a pretty quiet September 11th around the city for a change. I took the train downtown for coffee near the river. I was all over the place yesterday. On foot, on skateboard, on train. On the platform, a woman who had been seated with her son approached me. She asked me softly what book I was reading. It was William Gibson's "Pattern Recognition." I had been carrying it mostly because I saw a woman holding a bag a few days prior with the words "always carry a book." You get clues from society sometimes of how not to be a douchebag. You learn to read the court. Know when to fake. Know when to pass the ball. Know when to dunk on a motherfucker. This was one time where I had a chance to follow through on that wager. I told her it was science fiction but written too long ago so that it just seems like reality. The least complex way I could explain it was science fiction meets advertising. I could hear her son groaning presumably in the background. Probably at me. But it was a thoughtful conversation. We both agreed that carrying a book was about as neutral as it gets. If someone wanted to talk to you they'd have to reference the literature you were holding. It beat doom scrolling through the news which we both agreed is always different but never changes. We also agreed books put us to sleep. I said that was probably why I liked to read them in transit so I could tune out the world. The train approached as she wished me a good day and I continued my journey of minding my own business. Chicago lately feels a little less intimidated by culture as it happens. Particularly in communities of color where I spend most of my time and foot traffic in. I don't really feel all that comfortable or at ease around white people for the most part. They're all too scared to be real and talk about anything unless they're drunk. One of my favorite white basketball players was inducted into the hall of fame. He's a cracker for sure but a Croatian American which is one third of my nationality. He was called "the waiter" in which he was famous for waiting to pass the ball at the right time. He won a game for the bulls with five seconds remaining. He could dunk from the foul line and so on. And he played on a team of athletes where he was the minority and got his due. He did well enough to get inducted in the Hall of Fame when all was said and done. But he achieved that through team work not through domination. I have all these situations where it might seem from a certain vantage point that I alone saved the day. That I'm some superhero. And my only power is getting along in the environment I'm in. An environment that people constantly report is unsafe, in flux and horribly toxic. It is when you don't do anything about it to change it And then again people are smart enough and connected enough to figure out ways to cope. That is if they talk to each other. It's not like New York or Hong Kong where everyone is so used to living side by side. Chicago loves to have space and defaults to awkwardness. It's gasping for air sometimes in that respect. You need to wear your heart on your sleeve at all times. What better than a good book?

It seems like I write one every week. There's so much to reference and yet it all seems like chaos to organize. I can get lost in my head for any number of reasons. The people I care about most are far away in some ways and not so much in others. But it is still all so very vague. Small interactions at least keep me from feeling attacked and isolated. I think we're all looking for a balance to be able to express what we feel out in the open normally. Everybody is so focused on crystalizing it online one sentence at a time. They react to a feed that's been frankensteined together for an ulterior agenda. You read it on the news and it must be true. And year after year it is never about you. They've since taken the model of activism and made it a fucking reality show with Usher. The prize culminates at the G20 where you face the secret tribunal and receive funding for your cause through some bizarre sectarian ritual. I'm sure this is not the truth of it. But activism like reading should be a passively active goal. It should be your compass on the high seas of adventure in a city like this. The reward should be the conversations you unlock. The things you can reflect on and write about. How I don't really feel self conscious talking to people on the spot anymore. If a member of the opposite sex came up to you and asked what you were reading what impression would they leave you with? I'm already changing the world around me. And there's things that I've done in the past that are great trivia but don't speak for the real me. I was invited to see some people dj down in Chinatown last night. It was by the river in a park. I had just gotten back from Little Italy to get Hong Kong style Indian food at a restaurant called Siri. All of this is within walking distance if you don't mind shin splints. Everybody can tweet away how they're afraid to visit Chicago for fear of getting shot by the gangs. I am on foot ninety percent of the time. There's crime and then there's crime. And then there's what five media conglomerates owned by five billionaires have to say about it. This is why I listen to publicly funded radio. I hurried back, burnt my mouth on dal makini and jumped back on the bus to the park. Everybody was there that I knew from footwork and magic the gathering. An impossible mix of people who nonchalantly know you as violet systems moreso than Tim. I hung out for an hour and left around eight thirty. I took another long walk home over an empty bridge overlooking the city. I did this all alone. Aside from the people I run into from the neighborhood on the block. I was free to do so. And Chicago is still that place no matter how mad I get at it. And it isn't going anywhere.

Seemingly neither am I. For all the bullshit I write about how frustrated I am with things, people do eventually get the message. Would you rather have them understand it organically or force your perspective? You can repeat the same thing over and over again and it becomes tired. About how you are so progressive that nobody in your city has actually heard of you. About how you are doing all these things to fix the future but aren't living life in the present. All it really takes is letting the world know you are stable. Getting your own chaos in order and operating from there. Maybe you inspire someone along the way. Maybe you start a conversation that has nothing to do with you. But it all starts with communication. Knowing when you've said enough. Knowing that simply showing people another side of you may change the dialogue. Living by example and not just talking about it. Maybe understanding that it isn't constructive to be fighting with the universe all the time. Maybe the peace we seek to achieve on the global level starts with the conversations within ourselves and not the society trying to galvanize public opinion. If we could just help people feel normal again maybe we would all deserve normalcy. September 11th was a horrible thing caused by an outdated mindset across the board. It is twenty years later and we still cower in fear. Mostly of our own country's shadow if we are Americans. We have since thought of our freedom as something to be shaken out of other people. To rattle and provoke each other to show our true selves like a bull in a glass house. We don't start small. We get egged on and thrown in such a paranoid mind state that we think everyone is out there just to roast us. We constantly feel we have to prove our patriotism to a peanut gallery of billionaire funded social networks. We chase money in the present instead of investing in better futures. We don't know when it's our time to pass the ball. Working as a team, you fear you will be forgotten. That somehow you won't get your slice of the bloated pizza pie and unevenly distributed future of the American dream. But we all live here oblivious to the freedom we have to build it back better ourselves. The billionaires aren't walking on these streets. They're blind to how it really works. Maybe it just starts with a book and an honest question. What am I reading these days? I'm reading into all the signals and they're coming back clear. Whatever I've written in the past is just context for whatever I write about in the future. And the future holds less terror because I am less fearful of being misunderstood. I still wear that bright pink heart on my sleeve. It's the team I represent. I'm just waiting for the right time to dunk from the foul line. For now I pass it back to you all until next week. <3 Tim

[lady-therion]

a prompt for elriel could be florist elain x part timer azriel ! elain needs help with her flower shop and at the right moment azriel comes around in need of a job and a temporary place to stay(; !

A/N: What a sweet prompt, anon! 

***

Boys and Flowers

***

Elain knows that flowers aren’t permanent. 

They grow and they die. Then, they do it all over again, season by season. Here’s the real magic: You never encounter the same flower twice. Each one is unique, not unlike people. 

Elain knows that people aren’t permanent either. 

Take Graysen. Or rather, let’s not. Elain’s memories of him are oil-dark and bitter. In the morning, she opens her planner and marks down the number of days since “the unspeakable incident.” Today’s tally is 43. In the margins, she writes, “I’m not numb anymore. Just sad.” Which is progress. Feyre would throw her a party. Nesta would buy her a drink.

But neither of her sisters are here. They are far away in a different state, still wondering about Elain’s decision to move and open her own flower shop. They ask a lot of sensible questions: Why open a small business in this economy? Why not just work for a local florist? What are you going to do about rent? 

It’s fair for them to worry. Money is a sore subject in their family. But Elain stands by her decision. The reason for leaving is simple: She’s tired of playing a role in someone else’s story. Here, in a town where almost no one knows her, she has the space to learn what her story is really about. 

All her life, Elain has been waiting to meet herself. 

Now she’s got her chance.

On a less philosophical note, her sisters are still right about money. Business is good, but she’s been having trouble keeping up with orders, which has been eating away at her bottom line. Her inbox is a disappointment. There are no applications for a potential assistant. Location is probably an issue. Her flower shop isn’t by any convenient public transit.

She chews her lip; a bad habit. What would she do if she couldn’t reach a sustainable quota? Her savings are fine, but they can only get her so far. Would she need to take out a loan? Could she even afford the interest? How long would it be before she goes into the red…? 

A swift knock at the door interrupts her downward spiral. Elain freezes. There’s only one person in this town who actually comes to visit. 

Over Zoom, Feyre calls him “the sexy neighbor.” 

Nesta calls him “the nuisance.” 

Elain just knows him as Azriel.  

He lives in the apartment next door. The first time they met was over a noise complaint; her noise complaint. Azriel himself isn’t particularly loud. But his lady friends? Just thinking about the sounds they made caused the blood rush to her cheeks (and other places). 

Obviously, Azriel is very generous in that area. 

But generous or not, Elain wasn’t about to lose any more sleep. 

Hi, I’m Elain. Your new neighbor. 

Ah. I’m Azriel. A pleasure. 

Right…pleasure. 

How are you liking the new —? 

— Did you know our bedrooms share the same very thin wall? 

I….what…? 

Did she regret bringing it up so abruptly? Yes. But constant sleep deprivation had already frayed her patience. It didn’t matter that Azriel literally looked like one of those Greek statues on display at the Louvre. It didn’t matter that he had eyes and tattoos and muscles that could stop traffic.  

Elain may have lost her way in a lot of things. 

But she did not lose her manners. 

And she would absolutely hold her neighbors to the same standard.

She can remember how Azriel blushed to the tips of his ears as he stammered an apology. The next day, there was a bouquet of flowers left on her doorstep (and a pair of ear plugs, the scoundrel). But after that, there were no more lady friends (that she could hear, anyway, with or without the ear plugs). 

As part of their truce, they would invite each other over for brunch at least once a week. It gives Elain something to look forward to. Especially since she still hasn’t met anyone else here. 

Besides, she finds his presence soothing. He doesn’t ask her too many questions. She doesn’t ask him in turn. Elain gets the sense that they’re both living from moment to moment. Or that they’re both running from something that they can’t give voice to. Maybe someday, they would. 

Azriel’s broody eyes gleam when she opens the door. 

And no, it does not make her heart race. It does not. 

“Elain.” 

He never says “hey” or “hi there” when he sees her. He just says her name, then smiles. Not a toothpaste commercial smile either. His smiles are quiet and tentative things, like he isn’t used to doing them often. That he would always make an effort for her in this way brings her inexplicable joy. Like watching the sun suddenly appear on a gray afternoon.

“Want some coffee?”  

“I’m getting evicted.” 

Elain’s heart drops to her feet. She opens the door a little wider. “Want something a little stronger?”

***

Turns out their landlord is a jerk. 

“So you were dating his ex?” 

Azriel drains his glass. “Dating is kind of a strong word.” 

“Hn.” Well, who is Elain to judge? “That doesn’t really seem like grounds to evict someone.” In fact, Elain is pretty sure that whatever’s going on is illegal. She thinks about calling her father. Being a businessman himself, he could probably put Azriel in touch with a good lawyer. 

Azriel waves away her offer. “It was bound to happen anyway. People are petty. And cruel.” 

Elain thinks of Graysen. She thinks about the scars on Azriel’s hands. The scars they never talk about. Yes, people can be cruel. But people can also be kind. The fact that Azriel takes the worst of humanity for granted saddens her more than anything else. 

She doesn’t want to lose him as her neighbor. 

“Where will you go?” 

“I could move in with one of my brothers for a while.” He tells her where they live. Her anxiety deepens. They’re just as far away as her sisters. “I don’t want to bother you with this either, but some of my contracts fell through. Even if I could stay here, I wouldn’t be able to make the rent.” 

Elain swallows. There are moments in life that one calls turning points. Turn one way, it will become this. Turn another way, and it will become that. There is no way to tell which path is the right choice. But although Elain isn’t blessed with future sight, she is blessed with a sense of indomitable compassion.

She proposes a plan.

“What?” 

“You can live here,” she says again. 

The silence that follows could rival graveyards. “Elain…I can’t do that. How would I pay you?” 

She tells him about the shop. 

“I don’t know anything about flowers.” 

“I’ll teach you.” 

“Elain —” 

“It’s temporary,” she insists. It’s a good thing all Archerons were born with an iron-clad persistence gene. “You can stay in the spare bedroom until you figure out your next move.” When he doesn’t say anything else, she adds, “You won’t be freeloading. You’ll be helping me out. I can’t fulfill as many orders without an assistant.” 

“I…don’t you think it’ll be weird? Sharing a space?” 

“On my life, I promise to keep your virtue intact,” she deadpans.

Azriel laughs. A deep, deep sound that comes from his belly. It is, quite literally, the most glorious thing Elain ever heard. 

“Thank you,” he says. “This is….I can’t even describe how gracious this is.” 

Elain’s body does not at all respond to this compliment in a tingly, somersault-y, or gushy way. Nope, that rush of happy warmth is probably something else. The sign of early menopause, perhaps. She should see a doctor.

“So it’s a deal?” She sticks out her hand. 

Azriel’s hazel eyes light with something she can’t describe. He reaches out to lace his ruined fingers with hers, every mark and ridge a map to something that Elain feels intent to discover. 

“It’s a deal.”

*** 

Thank you for reading, loves. 

Tagging these baes: @illyrianbeauty, @sunsummoner, @tessas-herondales, @jemma-nessian-and-elriel, @abillionlittlepieces, @tntwme, @rosehallshadowsinger, @maastrash, @julesherondalex, @wolffrising, @stardustsroses, @voiceoftheroses, @katexrenee, @highlady-brittney, @goldbooksblack,  @mariamuses, @alexisnm95, @tswaney17, @rowanismybae, @elide-lochan-salvaterre  @ourbooksuniverse, @cruelwickedthing, @shadowazriel, @a-trifling-matter, @kaliejane26, @wewhohavefailed, @elide-lochan-salvaterre, @empress-ofbloodshed, @lordof-bloodshed, @katshrev, @writer-reader-traveller, @whyyoumakemesadstahp, @captain-timetraveldreamer, @awesomethreedragons, @escapingtheconstrictingboxes, @thenameisjaida-blog, @moonbeammadness,  @leulivy, @fantasy-faes,  @poisonwhiterose, @fucking-winchester-trash, @maddieimhot@ame233, @xinyourdreamsx, @feyaelin-rowsand, @queenofillea1, @rosalesgold, @aelins-fire-queen, @rhysanoodle, @dreamerforever-5, @ben-roll-io, @azrielismycinnamonrollprimary, @hope-unswervingly, @illyriangarbage, @feysand-dot-acotar, @faequeenaelin, @illyrian-bookworm, @propagandaprincess, @musicmaam, @velarian-trash, @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn, @featherymalignancy

Send me an ask if you’d like to be tagged, untagged, or I forgot you because of a silly mistake.

Check out my full Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3

[love-pyramus]

P

Hi, you're on a rock floating in space. Pretty cool, huh? Some of it's water. Fuck it, actually, most of it's water. I can't even get from here to there without buying a boat. A plane is shown flying from South America to Africa. The plane fades off the screen, and a lone, sad stick figure is shown standing on Africa. NARRATOR: It's sad. I'm sad. I miss you. The camera pans left across the globe to show more sad stick figures also standing on South America, North America, and Europe. CHORUS: How did this happen? NARRATOR: A long time ago- Actually, never, and also now, nothing is nowhere. When? Never. Makes sense, right? Like I said, it didn't happen. Nothing was never anywhere. That's why it's been everywhere. It's been so everywhere, you don't need a where. You don't even need a when. That's how "every" it gets. A long pause happens. NARRATOR: Forget this. I wanna be something. Go somewhere. Do something. I want things to change. I want to invent time and space, and I know it's possible because everything is here, and it probably already happened. I just don't know when to start, and that's exactly where it started. The sound of VCR fast forwarding plays. NARRATOR: Ooh, I paused it. I think there's a universe now. What's it made of? CHORUS: Quarks and stuff! NARRATOR: Ah, that's a thing, in a place. Don't like it? Try a new place, at a different time. Try to stick together because the world is gonna get bigger and emptier, but it's not empty yet. It's still very full and about a kjghpillion degrees. About no seconds pass. NARRATOR: Great news! The quarks are now happily married and in groups of three, called a proton or a neutron, and there's something else flying around too that wants to join in but can't because it's still too- An explosion goes off while the screen says, "HOT." 10 minutes pass. NARRATOR: Great news! The protons and neutrons are now happily married to each other. Some of them even doubled up. About 380,000 years pass. NARRATOR: Great news! The electrons have now joined in. Congratulations! The world is now a bunch of gas in space, but it's getting closer together... 10 million years pass. NARRATOR: ...and it's getting closer together... 500 million years pass. NARRATOR: ...and it's getting closer toget- An explosion occurs. CHORUS: It's a star! NARRATOR: New shit just got made. Some stars burn out and die. Bigger stars burn out and die with passion, and make some brand new, way crazier shit... CHORUS: Space dust! NARRATOR: ...which allows newer, more interesting stars to be made, and then die, and explode into- CHORUS: Even crazier space dust! NARRATOR: ...so now stars have cool stuff around them, like rocks, ice, and funny clouds, which can make some very interesting things, like this ball of flaming rocks for example. NARRATOR: Holy shit! We just got hit with another ball of flaming rocks, and it kind of made a mess, which is- CHORUS: Now the Moon! The year is now -4,000,000,000. NARRATOR: Weather update, it's raining rocks from outer space. NARRATOR: Weather update, those rocks might have had water inside them, and now, there's hot steam in the sky. NARRATOR: Weather update, cooler temperatures today, and the floor is no longer lava. NARRATOR: Weather update, it's raining. NARRATOR: Severe flooding alert! The entire world is now an ocean. NARRATOR: Volcano alert! CHORUS: That's land! OCEAN: (Mumbles) There's life in the ocean. NARRATOR: What? CHORUS: Something's alive in the ocean. IMMATERIAL OBSERVER (IO): Oh, cool. Like, a plant or an animal? The camera zooms in on a single-cell organism. NARRATOR: No, a microscopic speck. It lives at the bottom of the ocean and eats chemical soup which is being served hot and fresh, made from gnarly space ingredients leftover from when it was raining rocks or whatever. The cell divides. NARRATOR: Oh, yeah, and it can do that. Those cells divide many more times. NARRATOR: It has secret instructions written inside itself telling it how to build another one of itself. So that's pretty nifty, I would say. NARRATOR:

Tired of living at the bottom of the ocean? CHORUS: Now you can eat sunlight! The year is now -3,000,000,000. NARRATOR: Using a revolutionary technique, you can convert sunlight into food. CHORUS: Taste the sun! The year is now -2,300,000,000. NARRATOR: Side effect, now there's oxygen everywhere and the sky is blue. Then the Earth might have been a snowball for a while. Maybe even a couple of times. The year is now -500,000,000. NARRATOR: It's a sponge. It's a plant. It's a worm, and some other types of weird, strange water bugs and strange fish. CHORUS: It's the Cambrian explosion! IO: Wow, that's animals and stuff. SEA LIFE: But we're still in the ocean. Hey, can we go on land? CHORUS, as LAND: No! SEA LIFE: Why? CHORUS, as LAND: The sun is a deadly lazer! SEA LIFE: Oh, okay. CHORUS: Not anymore, there's a blanket. NARRATOR: Now the animals can go on land. Come on animals, let's go on land. FISH: Nope, can't walk yet. And there's no food yet, so I don't care. 100 million years pass. LAND: Okay, will you learn to walk if there's plants up here? SOME BUGS AND FISH: Maybe NARRATOR: ...said some bugs... and fish. The year is now -380,000,000. FISH grunts because it is struggling to get on land, for it has no legs. 5 million years pass. The year is now -375,000,000. FISH now has legs, for it has evolved into an AMPHIBIAN. AMPHIBIAN: Okay, so I can go on land, but I have to go back in the water to- CHORUS: Have babies! The word "idea" flashes on to the screen. NARRATOR: Learn to use an egg. AMPHIBIAN: I was already doing that. NARRATOR: Use a stronger egg. Put water in it. Have a baby, on land, in an egg. Water is in the egg. Baby, in the egg, in the water, in the egg. The year is -312,000,000. AMPHIBIAN OFFSPRING: Works for me. CHORUS: Bye bye, ocean! 50 million years pass. NARRATOR: And now everything's huge. Including bugs. Wanna see a map of the land? IO: Sure. The year is now -252,000,000. A globe is presented. The camera starts to pan around it when a large explosion happens, destroying a land mass on the globe the size of a continent. Text pops onto the screen reading "PERMIAN EXTINCTION." The Permian Extinction has occurred. NARRATOR: Oh fuck, now everything's dead. Just kidding, here are the survivors. The thrinaxodon, lystrosaurus, and proterosuchus are shown. NARRATOR: Keep your eye on this one... The proterosuchus is circled. 75 million years pass. NARRATOR: ...'cause it's about to become the dinosaurs. Here's another map of the land. The globe is shown again. It does not yet look like the Earth we know today; many of the continents are in pieces or out of place. NARRATOR: Yeah, it broke apart. Don't worry about that. It does that all the time. The year is now -66,000,000. NARRATOR: Here comes a meteor. A meteor comes into frame and hits the globe near what is today called Central America. CHORUS: And the dinosaurs are gone! NARRATOR: It's mammal time! Here come the mammals; look at those breasts. The year is now -15,000,000. NARRATOR: Now, they're gonna dominate the world, and one of them just learned how to grab stuff, and walk. The year is now -4,000,000. A transition from one of human's older ancestors to one of human's younger ancestors is shown. NARRATOR: No, like, walk like that, and grab stuff at the same time. The year is now -3,000,000. NARRATOR: And bang rocks together to make pointed rocks. IO: Ouch. The year is now -1,500,000. NARRATOR: And set things on fire. IO: Yeouch. The year is now -200,000. NARRATOR: And make crazy sounds with their voice. CAVEMAN: Gneurshk. NARRATOR: Which can mean different things. Via the CAVEMAN's thought bubble, "Gnerushk," is shown to mean, "Hi," "Bye," and, "Can you hand me that rock over there?" CHORUS: That's a human person! NARRATOR: And now they're everywhere, almost. Text pops on to the screen, above the landmass that is today called North America. It reads "not here yet." Humans have not migrated there yet. The year is now -20,000. Text pops on to the screen, between what is today the American

state of Alaska and the Russian autonomous okrug (district) of Chukotka. The text reads "ice age." The ice age is occurring, creating a land bridge between the two landmasses. CHORUS: Ice age! HUMANS: What? You can walk over here? Cool! The year is now -10,000. CHORUS: Not anymore. HUMANS: Well, I guess we're stuck here now. NARRATOR: Let's review. There's people on the planet, and they're chasing their food. HUMAN: Fuck it, time to plant some grass. Look at this. I control the food now. Now, everyone will want to be my friend and live near me. Let's all build houses, except mine is bigger because I own the food. This is great. I wonder if anyone else is doing this. The year is now -5000. NARRATOR: Tired of using rocks for everything? Use metal! It's underground. NARRATOR: Better farming was just invented in a sweet dank valley right in between these two rivers, and the animals are helping. A sheep baas in the background. CHORUS: Guess what happens next! NARRATOR: More food, and more people who came to buy the food, and you need people to help make the food and keep track of the sales, and now, you need houses for people to live in and people to make the houses, and now, there's more people, and they invent things which makes things better, and more people come, and there's more farming and more people to make more things for more people, and now, there's business, money, writing, laws, power. CHORUS: Society! NARRATOR: Coming soon to a dank river valley near you. Meanwhile, out in the middle of nowhere, the horse is probably being tamed. DISTRAUGHT HUMAN: Why is all my metal so lame and lumpy? NARRATOR: Tired of using lame, sad metal? The year is now -3300. NARRATOR: Introducing- CHORUS: Bronze! NARRATOR: Made from special ingredient tin from the far lands of Tin Land... I don't know, my dealer won't tell me where he gets it. Also, guess what? CHORUS: Egypt! The year is now -2000. NARRATOR: Meanwhile, out in the middle of nowhere, they figured out how to put wheels on a horse. Now, we're getting somewhere. Also- CHORUS: China! NARRATOR: And did I mention- CHORUS: Indus River Valley Civilization! A "society count" comes on screen. It lists the four civilizations just named (including Mesopotamia, the "sweet dank valley right in between... two rivers"), as the counter counts up from one to four. It pauses for a moment before ticking up to five. A fifth civilization appears on the list. The camera pans right across the globe to what is modern day Peru. CHORUS: Norte Chico! NARRATOR: The Middle East is getting more complicated. Maybe because it's in the middle of the East. The year is now -1600. PEOPLE WITH HORSES: Knock, knock. Er... clop clop. NARRATOR: It's the people with the horses, and they made an empire, and then everyone else copied their horses. CHORUS: Greeks! NARRATOR: Ah, look, it must be the Greeks. Or, a beta version of the Greeks. Text pops up on screen, reading "mycenaean greeks." These "beta version... Greeks" are the Mycenaean Greeks. NARRATOR: Let's check in with the Indus River Valley Civilization - they're gone. Guess who's not gone? CHORUS: China! The year is now -1200. CHORUS: New arrivals in India! Maybe it's those horse people I was talking about, or their cousins, or something... And they wrote some hymns and mantras and stuff! NARRATOR: You could make a religion out of this. The year is now -1150. NARRATOR: There's the Bronze Age collapse. CHORUS: Now, the Phoenicians can get down to business! HUMANS: (Offscreen) Also, can we switch to a metal that's a little easier to find? Bronze switches to iron. HUMANS: (Offscreen) Thanks. NARRATOR: Look who came back to Israel - it's the twelve tribes of Israel! CHORUS: And they believe in God! NARRATOR: Just one though; he's got like a ten step program. NARRATOR: Here's some huge heads. Must be the Olmecs. The year is now -800. NARRATOR: The Phoenicians make some colonies. The Greeks copy their idea and make some colonies. The Phoenicians made a colony so big it makes colonies. The year is now

-671. NARRATOR: Here comes the Assyrian Empire. The year is now -600. NARRATOR: Nevermind, it's the Babyloni- The year is now -580. NARRATOR: Media- The year is now -500. CHORUS: It's the Persian Empire! IO: Wow, that's big. NARRATOR: Ah, the Buddha was just enlightened! IO: Who's the Buddha? NARRATOR: This guy, who sat under a tree for so long that he figured out how to ignore the fact that we're all dying. You could make a religion out of this. The year is now -475. NARRATOR: Oops, China just broke, but while it was breaking, Confucius was figuring out how to have good morals. The year is now -400. NARRATOR: Ah, the Greeks just had the idea of thinking about stuff... The year is now -330. NARRATOR: ...and right over here, Alexander just had the idea of conquering the entire Persian empire. It's a great idea. He was... Great, and now he's dead. Hopefully, the rest of the gang will be able to share the empire evenly between them. The year is now -305. CHANDRAGUPTA: Knock knock. NARRATOR: It's Chandragupta. He says- CHANDRAGUPTA: Get the hell out of here. Will you get the hell out of here if I give you five hundred elephants? Okay, thanks. Bye. CHORUS: Time to conquer all of India! NARRATOR: Er- CHORUS: Most of India! IO: But what about this part? NARRATOR: That's the Tamil kings. No one conquers the Tamil kings. IO: Who are the Tamil kings? CHORUS: Merchants, probably... And they've got spices! TAMIL KINGS: Who would like to buy the spices? ARABIANS: Me! NARRATOR: ...said the Arabians, swiftly buying it and selling it to the rest of the world. The year is now -221. NARRATOR: Hey, China put itself back together again, with good morals as their main philosophy! Actually, they have three main philosophies. Confucianism, Taoism, and legalism appear with the corresponding messages under: having good morals, go with the flow, and "fuck you obey the law". The land northwest of Qin China, which is roughly modern-day Mongolia, is circled. NARRATOR: Out here, the horse nomads run wild and free, and they would like to ransack your city. The horse nomads repeatedly bump into China with the coin sound effect from Super Mario playing each time they do so. The camera pans left on the globe back to the Ancient Greek Empire. NARRATOR: Let's check the Greekification levels of the Greekified kingdoms. Greekification overload! PARTHIANS: Bye. NARRATOR: ...said the Parthians. JEWS: Bye. NARRATOR: ...said the Jews. PARTHIANS: Hi! NARRATOR: ...said the Parthians, taking over the entire place. The year is now 1 CE. ROMANS: Heyyyyyyyy... NARRATOR: ...said the Romans, eating the entire Mediterranean for breakfast. JEWS: Thanks for invading our homeland. NARRATOR: ...said the Jews, who were starting to get tired of people invading their homeland. The year is now 30 CE. JESUS CHRIST: Hi, everything's great. NARRATOR: ...said some guy, who seems to be getting very popular, and is then arrested and killed for being too popular, which only makes him more popular. You could make a religion out of this. NARRATOR: Want silk? Now, you can buy it from China. They just made a- CHORUS: Brand new road to the world! China conquers Vietnam. CHORUS: Or you can get there on water! INDIA: Sick! New trade routes. NARRATOR: ...said India, accidentally spreading their religion to the entire southeast. Funan is highlighted. NARRATOR: Hm, that's a good place for an epic trading kingdom. The sound of a zooming car plays. NARRATOR: There goes Buddhism, traveling up the silk road. The year is now 220. NARRATOR: I wonder if it'll reach China before it collapses again. The year is now 225. NARRATOR: Remember the Persian Empire? PERSIANS: Yep. NARRATOR: ...said the Persians, making a new one. Axum is getting so powerful they would like to build a long stick. Has anyone populated Madagascar yet? BANTU and MALAY: Let's do it together! The year is now 280. CHORUS: China is whole again! The year is now 320. CHORUS: Then it broke again. NARRATOR: Still can't cross the Sahara Desert? Try camels! CHORUS, as

GHANA EMPIRE: Hell yeah! Now we've got business! NARRATOR: ...said the Ghana Empire, selling lots of gold and slaves. ROMAN CHRISTIAN: Hi, I live in the Roman Empire, and I was wondering- CHORUS, as ROMAN CHRISTIAN: Is loving Jesus legal yet? ROME: No. The year is now 330. CONSTANTINE: Actually, okay, sure. NARRATOR: ...said Constantine, moving the capital way over here to be closer to his- CHORUS: Main rival! CONSTANTINE: Don't worry about Rome; it won't fall. The year is now 400. CHORUS: It's the golden age of India! NARRATOR: There's the Gupta Empire, not Chandragupta, just Gupta... First name Chandra... The First. Guess who's in Rome. CHORUS: Barbarians! NARRATOR: What's a barbarian? ROMANS: Non-Romans. NARRATOR: ...said the Romans, being invaded by non-Romans. The year is now 476. NARRATOR: R.I.P. Roman Empire. Er, actually just half of it; the other half is just fine, but it's not in Rome anymore, so let's give it a new name. CHORUS: The Mayans have figured out the stars! NARRATOR: Oh, and here's a huge city, population: everyone. The year is now 576. NARRATOR: The Göktürks have taken over the entire Eurasian steppe. Great job, Göktürks. How's India? Broken. How's China? CHORUS: Back together. NARRATOR: How's those trading kingdoms? CHORUS: Bigger, and there's more of them. NARRATOR: Korea has three kingdoms. Japan has a kingdom; it's the sunrise kingdom. An intermission occurs. The year is now 610. NARRATOR: Deep in the Arabian desert, on the top of a mountain, the real god whispers in Muhammad's ear, so he goes down to the cube where everyone worships gods, and he tells them their gods are all fake... The year is now 622. NARRATOR: ...and everyone got so mad at him that he had to leave town and go to a different town. You can make a religion out of this... The year is now 650. NARRATOR: ...and maybe conquer the world as well. The Roman Empire is long gone, but somehow, the Pope is still the Pope! Plus, there's- CHORUS: New kingdoms all over Europe! NARRATOR: I wonder if there's room for Moors. The year is now 786. NARRATOR: Here's all the wisdom, in a house: it's the Baghdad House of Wisdom, just in time for the- CHORUS: Islamic Golden Age! SWAHILI: Let's bring stuff to the coast, and sell it, and become the Swahili on the Swahili Coast. NARRATOR: ...said the Swahili on the Swahili Coast. NARRATOR: Remember this tiny space you have to go through to get from here to there? Someone owns that now. NARRATOR: Wanna get enlightened in the middle of nowhere? NARRATOR: The Franks have the biggest kingdom in Europe, and the Pope is so proud that he invites the king over for Christmas. The year is now 800. POPE: Surprise! You're the new Roman Emperor! NARRATOR: ...said the Pope, pretending to still be part of the Roman Empire. Then, the Franks broke their kingdom into what will later be called France and Not France. The Northerners (or just Norse, if you don't have much time) are exploring. They go north, from the north, to the northern north, and they find some land, two types of land, and they name them accordingly. Large text comes on screen reading, "prankd." NARRATOR: They also invade some other places and get called many names, such as Vikings. The year is now 882. NARRATOR: There's the Rus, the Kievan Rus. IO: Are they Vikings? KIEVAN RUS: I don't think so. NARRATOR: ...said the Kievan Rus. IO: Okay, fair enough. NARRATOR: The Pope is ready to make some more emperors of the Roman Empire, the Holy Roman Empire. It's actually Germany, but don't worry about it! New kingdoms! DISTORTED VOICE: CHRISTIANIZE ALL THE KINGDOMS! NARRATOR: Which brand would you like? ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH: Mine's better. EASTERN ORTHODOX CHURCH: Mine's better. ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH: Mine's better. The year is now 1066. WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR: Time to conquer England. NARRATOR: ...said William. The year is now 1071. NARRATOR: It's a bird! It's a plane! It's the Seljuk Turks! BYZANTINE EMPIRE: Aah! NARRATOR: ...said the Byzantine Empire, who's getting so small it almost doesn't

exist anymore. BYZANTINE EMPIRE: We need help! NARRATOR: They need help, so they call the Pope. BYZANTINE EMPIRE: Hey, Pope, can you help us get rid of the Seljuks? Maybe take back the Holy Land on the way? Come on, I know you want to take back the Holy Land. POPE: Yes, I do actually want to do that. Let's do a Crusade. The year is now 1099. CHORUS: Crusade! NARRATOR: They did many crusades, some of which almost didn't fail, but at the least the Italians got some sweet trade deals. The year is now 1100. NARRATOR: Goodbye, Mayans. CHORUS: Hello, Toltecs! NARRATOR: Goodbye, Toltecs. CHORUS: Hello, Mississippi! NARRATOR: Look at those mounds! There's the Pueblo. I've always wondered how to build a town on a cliff. The year is now 1150. NARRATOR: Guess who's here? Khmer! IO: Where? NARRATOR: Here, and Pegan is there! Vietnam unconquered itself, Korea just became itself... The year is now 1192. NARRATOR: ...and Japan is so addicted to art that the military might have to take over the government. China just invented bombs and typing... The year is now 1230. It rapidly starts to count upward as the Mongols spin and fly all over north Asia. The year ends on 1259. NARRATOR: ...and the Mongols just invaded most of the universe. (sarcastically) Nice going, Genghis! I bet that will last a long time. The Mongol Empire that was just formed shatters. NARRATOR: Some of the Islamic Turks were unaffected by the Mongol invasions because they were busy invading India. Bright, happy text comes on the screen reading, "tonga time." NARRATOR: Is it Tonga time? TONGAN: I think it's Tonga time! Text comes on screen reading, "colonizing the pacific ocean..." The Tu'i Tonga Empire forms. NARRATOR: I just found out where the Swahili gets all their gold! It is shown that the gold comes from the Great Zimbabwe, as the Great Zimbabwe is highlighted. NARRATOR: Look at this "chad" (it means lake). There's an empire there, right in the middle of- CHORUS: Africa! The year is now 1324. NARRATOR: The King of Mali is so rich, he's going on tour to let everyone know. NORTH AFRICA and THE MIDDLE EAST: Wow, that guy's rich. NARRATOR: ...everyone said. The Christians are doing a great job reconquering Iberia, which will soon be called Spain and Not-Spain. IBERIAN PENINSULA: Please remain Christian. We will check in later to see if you're still Christian when you least expect. The year is now 1350. NARRATOR: Whoops! Half of Europe just died! CHORUS: Ming! NARRATOR: China's back, yay! The year is now 1400. Hey Khmer, time to share! New kingdoms here and there. Oh, look who controls all the islands. It's the Mahajapit- The buzz of an "incorrect" buzzer buzzes. NARRATOR: Majahapit- Buzzes. NARRATOR: Mapajahit- Buzzes. NARRATOR: Mahapajit- Buzzes. NARRATOR: Mapajahit- Buzzes. NARRATOR: Ma-ja-pa-hit? The ring of a "correct" bell rings. The year is now 1450. NARRATOR: Oh, Italy's really rich. Time for them to care a lot about art and the ancient classics. It's kinda like a re-birth. The text on the screen reads "renaissance". NARRATOR: Here's a printer, let's make books! BYZANTINE EMPIRE: So you think you can conquer the Byzantine Empire? OTTOMAN TURKS: Yep. NARRATOR: ...said the Ottoman Turks. Nice job, Ottoman Turks! The year is now 1453. NARRATOR: Oops, you missed a spot. Don't forget to ban Europe from the Indian spice trade. PORTUGAL: What? That's bullshit! NARRATOR: ...said Portugal, spiceless. CHORUS, as PORTUGAL: Well, I guess we'll have to find another way to India! CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS: Wait! NARRATOR: ...said Christopher Columbus, probably smoking crack. COLUMBUS: If the world is round, let's go this way to India! PORTUGAL: Nah, don't worry, we already got this NARRATOR: ...said Portugal. So Chris goes to Spain. COLUMBUS: Hey, Spain, wanna hire me to find India by going around the back of the world? SPAIN: No. COLUMBUS: Please? SPAIN: No. COLUMBUS: Please? SPAIN: No. COLUMBUS: Please? SPAIN: Okay. The year is now 1492. NARRATOR: So he sails into the ocean and discovers... More

ocean... And then discovers the Indies and Japan. The year is now 1494. SPAIN and PORTUGAL: Let's draw a line to decide who gets which half of the world. NARRATOR: The Aztec and Inca Empires are off to a great start. I wonder if they know that Europe just discovered their continent? NARRATOR: The Hapsburgs are marrying into so many royal families that they might have to start marrying each other. The year is now 1500. NARRATOR: Move over, Lithuania! Here comes Moscow. Ivan wants to make Russia great again. Move over, Timurids; maybe go invade India or something. The year is now 1501. NARRATOR: Persia just made Persia Persian again. Let's make it the other kind of Islam, the one where we thought the first guy should have been the other guy. ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH: Hey, Christians! Do you sin? Now you can buy your way out of Hell. MARTIN LUTHER: That's bullshit, this whole thing is bullshit, that's a scam, fuck the church. Here's 95 reasons why. NARRATOR: ...said Martin Luther, in his new book which might have accidentally started the Protestant Reformation. SULEIMAN THE MAGNIFICENT: You know what would be magnificent? NARRATOR: ...said Suleiman, wearing an onion hat. The year is now 1530. SULEIMAN: What if the Ottoman Empire was really big, which it is now? The year is now 1556. IVAN THE TERRIBLE: What if Russia was big? NARRATOR: ...said Ivan, trying not to be terrible. NARRATOR: Portugal had a dream that they controlled the entire Indian Ocean, including the Spice Trade... and then that dream was real. And Spain realized that this is not India, but they pillaged it anyway! ENGLAND and FRANCE: Damn. NARRATOR: ...said England and France. ENGLAND and FRANCE: We gotta start pillaging some stuff. NARRATOR: Then, the Dutch revolt, and all the hipsters move to Amsterdam. The year is now 1600. AMSTERDAM: Damn. NARRATOR: ...said Amsterdam. AMSTERDAM: We gotta start pillaging some stuff. ENGLAND, FRANCE, and THE DUTCH: Question 1: Can you get to India through North America? No, but at least there's beaver. Question 2: Steal the Spice Trade. NARRATOR: That's not a question, but the Dutch did it anyway. CHORUS: Sugar! The year is now 1640. NARRATOR: Guess where all the sugar is made. In Brazil- THE DUTCH: Stolen! NARRATOR: -In the Caribbean, and it's so goddamn profitable that you might forget to not do slavery. The next thing on Russia's to-do-list is to get bigger. The year is now 1754. NARRATOR: Britain and France are having a friendly discussion about who should control the entire world, more specifically Ohio. Then it escalates into a seven year discussion, giving Prussia a chance to show Austria who's boss. IO: But what about Britain and France? Did they figure out who's boss? NARRATOR: Yes, they did! It's Britain. Guess who's broke. Also Britain, so they start taxing the Hell out of America. The year is now 1776. AMERICA: Fuck you. NARRATOR: ...says America, declaring their independence and fighting for it, and France helps them win. Now, France is broke... The year is now 1788. NARRATOR: ...and Britain will have to send their prisoners to a different continent. IO: Wait, if France is broke, why do the king and queen still wear such fancy dresses? The year is now 1794. ROBESPIERRE: Let's overthrow the palace and cut all their heads off! NARRATOR: ...says Robespierre, cutting everybody's head off until someone eventually got mad and cut his head off. IO: You could make a religi- NARRATOR: No, don't. Haiti is starting to like the idea of a revolution... The year is now 1791. NARRATOR: ...especially the slaves, who free themselves by killing their masters. TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE: Why didn't we think of this before? IO: Wait, who's in charge of France now? The year is now 1804. CHORUS, as NAPOLEON: Me! NARRATOR: ...said Napoleon, trying to take over Europe. Luckily, they banished him to an island- CHORUS: But he came back! NARRATOR: Luckily, they banished him to another island. A burst of horns play. NARRATOR: There goes Latin America, becoming independent in the Latin

American Wars of Independence. They last from the year 1812 to about 1830. NARRATOR: Britain just figured out how to turn steam into power, so now, they can make- CHORUS: Many different types of machines, and factories with machines in them, so they can make a lot of products real fast. NARRATOR: Then, they invent some trains and conquer India and maybe put some trains there. BRITAIN: Hey, China! NARRATOR: ...said Britain. BRITAIN: Buy stuff from us! CHINA: Nah, dude, we already got everything. NARRATOR: ...says China, so Britain tried to get them addicted to opium, which worked, actually, but then, China made it illegal... The year is now 1839. NARRATOR: ...and dumped it all into the sea, so Britain threw a hissy fit and made them open up five cities and give them an island. Britain and Russia are playing a game where they try and stop each other from conquering Afghanistan. Also, the- CHORUS: Sultan of Oman lives in Zanzibar now. NARRATOR: That's just where he lives. The year is now 1857. NARRATOR: India just had a revolution, and they would like to govern themselves now. BRITAIN: Nope. NARRATOR: ...said Britain, governing them even harder than before. The screen reads, "HI I JUST SENT YOU A MESSAGE THRU A WIRE," while the Morse Code for "SEXLOL" plays in the background. CHORUS: Technology is about to go crazy! The year is now 1863. NARRATOR: The United States finally figured out whether slavery is good or bad. ABRAHAM LINCOLN: It's bad. NARRATOR: ...they decided, and then, they continued manifesting their destiny, which is to kill the rest of the natives and take their land and maybe kick out the Mexicans too. The year is now 1884. EUROPE: I know! Let's rape Africa. NARRATOR: ...said Europe, scrambling to see who could rape it the fastest. (They never got Ethiopia.) Britain and France are still hungry! (They never got Thailand.) The United States ran out of destiny to manifest, so they're looking for more. CHORUS: Hawaii and Cuba! IO: Wait! Spain controls Cuba! UNITED STATES: Well, blame something on them, and go to war. AMERICANS: What should we blame on Spain? The U.S.S. Maine explodes in the Gulf of Mexico. UNITED STATES: Let's blame the Maine on Spain NARRATOR: ...so they blame the Maine on Spain. The year is now 1898. AMERICANS: Now, we're in business! NARRATOR: To celebrate, they kick Panama out of Panama and make a canal, connecting the two oceans. The year is now 1908. NARRATOR: Britain just found oil in the Middle East. (It makes cars go.) The year is now 1911. NARRATOR: China is so tired of being bossed around that they delete their old government and make a new, stronger government, which is accidentally weaker and controlled by a guy from the previous government. Europe hasn't had a war since the last war... The year is now 1914. NARRATOR: ...so they start World War I. Look at those guns! It's gonna be a "Great War" - so great we won't need a second one. After it's over, they blame Germany. The year is now 1917. NARRATOR: Russia went on strike, and the workers overthrew the government. Now, everyone's paycheck is the same. The year is now 1922. CHORUS: Communism, in the Soviet Union! NARRATOR: The Arabs revolt... The year is now 1917. NARRATOR: ...and Britain helps. BRITAIN: (Offscreen) Now, the Ottoman Empire is gone, The year is now 1922. BRITAIN: (Offscreen) So we can give the- CHORUS: Jewish people a place to live! NARRATOR: Hopefully, the Arabs won't mind. SYKES and PICOT: Let's cut the cake! NARRATOR: ...said Sykes and Picot, cutting up the remains of the Not-So-Ottoman-Anymore Empire. The year is now 1923. CHORUS: Except Turkey! Turkey makes a brand new Turkey! NARRATOR: ...and then, the Saudis conquer Arabia. It just seemed like the right thing to do. A phone rings. IO: Hello? THE 1920s: Yes, it's the 1920s calling. Let's get in a car and drive to a party and listen to jazz on the radio and go to the movies. The economy is great, and it will probably be great forever- just kidding! A slide whistle with decreasing pitch briefly plays.

The year is now 1933. NARRATOR: Germany is back, featuring Hitler, the angry mustache model, and he's mad at the Jews for existing. Japan is finally conquering the East, and they're so excited... The year is now 1937. NARRATOR: ...they rape Nanking way too hard. They should probably just deny it. The year is now 1945. NARRATOR: Hitler's out of control, so the international community tackles him and tries to explain why killing all the Jews is a bad idea. But he kills himself before they could explain it to him. CHORUS: That's World War II! NARRATOR: Bonus Round! Air horns momentarily play in the background. NARRATOR: (Like Announcer from Mortal Kombat) Pacific Showdown: United States versus Japan! Fight! A drop-down menu that reads "weapon select" pops up, and the U.S. cursor moves down from "boat" to "plane" to "extinction ball." It is picked, dropped on Japan, and an explosion results. The year is now 1945. NARRATOR: (Like Announcer from Mortal Kombat) Finish him! Another one is dropped, and another explosion follows. NARRATOR: Let's unite all the nations and have some- CHORUS: World peace! NARRATOR: Seems legit. GANDHI: Hi, I'm Gandhi, and if Britain doesn't get the Hell out of India, I'm gonna starve myself in public. The year is now 1947. Britain leaves. GANDHI: Wow, that worked? NARRATOR: Bonus! Now, there's Pakistan. Actually, two Pakistans; one of them can be Bangladesh later. The Jews and the Arabs finally figured out which one of them should live in the Holy Land. JEWS and ARABS: Me! NARRATOR: ...they both said at the same time. The year is now 1947. UNITED NATIONS: Let's divide up the land so everyone's happy. CHORUS: Sike! They both get angrier. NARRATOR: Look out, China! The year is now 1949. NARRATOR: There's a new China in China! What's on the menu? PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC of CHINA: Communism! REPUBLIC of CHINA: No, thanks. NARRATOR: ...said the other China, escaping to an island. I wonder which one is the real China? The year is now 1950. NARRATOR: There's the Korean War: Korea versus Korea. Nobody wins and then it's on pause forever. Let's meet the sponsors! Oh, it's the two global superpowers. They're having a friendly debate over which economic system is good and which one is an evil virus of Satan. And they both have atom bombs. NARRATOR: (With an echo) FIGHT! NARRATOR: Wait, no, that would be the end of the world. Let's just keep it cool and spy on each other instead, and make sure we have enough atom bombs. The year is now 1957. SOVIET UNION: I'll race you to space. The year is now 1969. An American rocket ship is shown to land on the moon. SOVIET UNION and UNITED STATES: Now, let's make some more countries fight themselves. NARRATOR: Europe is tired of pillaging other continents, and the continents they were pillaging are tired of being pillaged. So here's a new map, with new countries! Now, you can't tell who they're being pillaged by. The year is now 1963. NARRATOR: The United States finally decided whether racism is good or bad. They decided it's bad, and the world agrees. South Africa might need another minute to think about it. Let's check the world population. A graph is shown, displaying a spike upward in population that jumped from "a billion" at the beginning of the 1800s to "way more" around the beginning of the 2000s. IO: Whoa... Okay. NARRATOR: Technology is better too; that might keep happening. The Soviet Union decides to relax a little... The year is now 1991. NARRATOR: ...and accidentally falls apart. Europe makes a union... The year is now 1999. NARRATOR: ...so now, they can all use the same money, except Britain 'cause they don't feel like it. Let's check the mail! Surprise! It's on the computer. The year is now 2001. NARRATOR: Whoops, someone just attacked America. I bet they'll remember that. Phone call! Surprise! It's in your pocket. Wanna learn everything? Surprise! It's on the computer. Now, your phone's a computer, which is in your pocket. A chart of the 2008 economic recession is shown. NARRATOR: Whoops, the economy just

crashed. Don't worry, the big banks won't fail because they're not supposed to. Surprise! Flying robots, with bombs. Wanna print a brain? Some people have no friends, some people have no food, the globe is warming- CHORUS: And the ocean is full of plastic! EVERYBODY: Let's save the planet! NARRATOR: ...said everybody, not knowing how. The year is now 2028. THING INVENTOR INVENTOR: Let's invent a thing inventor. NARRATOR: ...said the thing inventor inventor, after being invented by a thing inventor. That's pretty cool. By the way, where the Hell are we?

[ifyoulovemeletmebinge]

We’re All Monsters

destiel au where everything in canon is used at the wrong time and oh also cas is a monster. 

for @beingforcedtolivebadwriting

RATED M 

read it on ao3 here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Dean Winchester knows he hates monsters.

That’s one thing. It’s almost the first thing. In almost every situation.

Dean wakes up and all he can think of is how much he hates monsters.

Some of it comes from the fact that John is a shitty dad and that’s not because of him being a shitty dad. Dean can’t remember much at all from his life before the fire, but from what John tells him, they were The Perfect American Family. He knows that at least.

He also knows that because monsters fucked that dynamic up for his family, he hates them unconditionally.

None of that has been truer than how he feels tonight. Tonight, his hands are still shifty on the wheel of the Impala, tonight his feet are still struggling to reach the brake pedal without stretching, and tonight the sky is pitch black and the air is warm and humid, and tonight he’s gonna kill some monsters.

Well. Maybe not.

John’s instructions were to stop by (by which he means break in) the morgue, take an extra look at the bodies, and identify any marks that stand out for a tell of what kind of son of a bitch they were dealing with.

John usually does this himself, but Dean thought it best to not bring up the fact that his dad needs to drink himself to blissful unconsciousness on the week of the anniversary of his dead wife. The case was bad timing, thus, Dean is the lucky pick to do the dirty work.

Not that he minds. This is something he wants to do. This is something he craves. Dean has been getting taller and bigger and stronger, and his hands have been itching more, and he can’t stop shifting his weight, and lately he feels like doing something that will fully transition him into the man he’s supposed to be. Except all he knows is John, and John is a hunter.

But Dean doesn’t mind. He’s good with a gun, and he’s a quick runner (he would have joined the track team if John had let them stay past Christmas break at his last school), and if that’s all he’s got, he’ll use it to do something. He’ll figure it out.

He’d way prefer to risk himself getting arrested, and going to juvie (again), than Sammy. Sammy, who’s back at the motel. Sammy who’s hopefully, peacefully sleeping. Sammy, who he hopes won’t be awake to see John come back from the bar. Dean intends to make it back before that. It’s only 11pm. He’s got time.

Dean parks the Impala (he only struggles for a few seconds with it, alright) a couple blocks down from the police station. His shoulders crowd up around his ears, cotton of his sweatshirt brushing his jaw, as he walks, as silent as he can, between the shadows of the decorative trees in this stupid suburb, to the back of the station.

He’s already scouted the place earlier in the day, so he knows which window leads to the desired formaldehyde smelling room. The station is only one story high, so he’s easily able to unlatch the outside lock with his pocket knife, and heave himself up. He shimmies himself in (fuck, that window’s tight) and ends up doing a supported handstand on the morgue floor. He throws his legs to the side--only hurting his ankles a little on the edge of the window--and then he’s finally got both his feet on the ground.

Dean stands up from his crouch, slowly. Then he scoffs to himself. Who the fuck is gonna hear him in here?

He moves closer to where the target is. There’s a sleek metal table in front of him, and yes, there’s a dead person on it, covered by a thin white sheet. Dean searches for gloves in the dark, because he’s a teenage boy but he’s not that gross, and he snaps them on, pulling back the sheet and averting his eyes from the corpse’s face. He goes straight to where the money is.

At the junction between the corpse’s shoulder and jaw, right in the middle of the neck, there’s a big bite. It’s not anything his dad has seen before, as he kept complaining so much since they found the case, and Dean has to swallow back bile at how ugly it looks. Black and protruded, half scaly-like, half-raw ripped skin, at least under the moonlight coming from the window. He should have brought a flashlight.

Dean is cataloging the patterns to draw for his dad later, tracing his fingers over the lines carefully, really feeling the texture and the way it’s swollen the skin. He thinks he imagines the sound at first.

Then he stops his hand, and he thinks again.

That’s definitely a sound. Like a real movement that wasn’t him, and it’s coming—it came at least—from the room right next door, the main storage for the other bodies. Dean turns his head to look at the door, and oh, would you look at that, it’s peeking open to more darkness on the other side. Where the sound came from. Except how is there a sound at a morgue in the dead of night?

Dean was not prepared for this. His heartbeat starts announcing itself in his ears, and he’s almost vibrating with fear. He thinks of his dad. What would John do at a time like this? Probably start shooting.

But Dean didn’t have a gun. Even if he did, it could just be the doctor, or a policeman staying after (they always got in his way), and he can’t go around shooting random people. It’s hard to explain to a dead person: “Hey! Sorry! Thought you were a monster! My bad!”

Then he remembers his pocket knife, whips it out, and holds it tight in his right fist. Dean starts walking towards the door, but he wants to knock the whole wall down and skeet the fuck out of there.

He holds his breath as he gently kicks the door with the tip of his boot (he figured out a way to make Sam convince John to get him new ones, and yeah, these loggers are pretty fucking cool), and then he’s in the room.

The first thing he notices when his eyes adjust to how dark it is in there (honestly, would it kill a monster to turn on a light?), is the two figures bent over what he assumes is another poor corpse being taken advantage of. He also hears… ew. Those are chomping and chewing noises. He never gets the clean ones.

Dean doesn’t know what to do! Does he shout? Scare them? Lunge at them? Anything he does next could be the last thing he does. Is he ready to die?

Luckily, Dean doesn’t have to decide his first move because the figures do it for him.

It happens too fast—and maybe he’s reading too many comics because his first thought is I wish I had super speed like Barry so I could gank these fuckers, except he doesn’t, so it’s fast.

He’s on his back in a blink. There’s a bony arm on his neck and another holding one of his wrists in a grip so tight Dean wants to make a eulogy for his circulation. There’s also a normal-ish weight on his hips and his stomach, which suddenly lurches because fuck. Fuck. The monster’s on him, he’s pinned. And for some reason he’s still alive.

Still. Fuck.

After a moment of heaving breathing from the guy on top of him, the figure lurking around, and his own wheezing lungs, Dean grunts out: “You guys gonna eat me or what?”

The guy above him doesn’t let up, but Dean does feel the other one walking around. Like the ground shakes with his every step as he comes closer to Dean’s ears near the floor.

“Personally,” says Figure 2 from way above him, and Dean feels disoriented at how far away his voice sounds, “I’m fairly content. My son here, however… well, he’s just famished.”

Dean’s eyes flick to the guy on him, trying to make out his features but it’s just too dark, and all he can feel is the terribly tight grip on his wrist, the way his forearm is crushing on his neck, and—hey. His pocket knife is still in his hand. His free hand, the one trapped under the small of his back, where he can feel the butt of the handle digging into his skin slightly.

“Go on, son.”

Figure 1, aka The Son, seems to be hesitating, and Dean doesn’t want to wait till he decides if he wants more salt on him or not before the meal, so he wriggles his hand out, and drives it across his body and downwards in a surprisingly strong stroke. He knows he hit something when the arms on top of him lift up entirely, and there’s a pained groan resounding amid the darkness.

He rolls on his side, scrambles up, and flies out of the room, back into the main morgue lab, through the door, down and down the long hallway, past the reception desk, and he’s out the main entrance, not caring one bit about the obnoxious ringing of the alarm behind him.

His calves are burning by the time he throws himself in the Impala, and he clumsily fishes out his dad’s keys, turning the car on. He drives 50 above the speed limit until he gets to the motel.

Dean tells John everything. He draws what he remembers with shaky hands. He neglects to mention how many of them there were.

<15 years later>

“And then, like a fucking Clint Eastwood movie, he comes back home--”

“You mean the motel?” Sam interrupts.

“Yeah, whatever. So he barges in the door--” Dean frames a rectangle with his hands “--silhouetted by the moonlight, and he tucks his gun in and he swings his dirty machete over his shoulder and he tilts his head and then he says: ‘Boy, pack your stuff. Our job here is done.’ I mean… it was fucking awesome,” Dean chuckles.

“I think your memory is unreliable.”

“Sam, you were dead to the world that night. On my bed, might I add, so you didn’t even see any of this. John kicked ass!”

Eileen’s smile is a little forced, and a little awkward, but Dean can’t blame her. His energy is hard to match when he’s a few beers in. Sam keeps eyeing her, like he's checking in on how she’s receiving this story about their dad. Like she would ever judge him for it.

“He sounds like a brave hunter,” she signs and says. Dean feels way too proud.

Sam tries and fails to keep the grimace off his face. “Yeah. Babe, is it late? We should…” he trails off, tilting his head in the direction of their bedrooms. Eileen nods in agreement, seeming relieved. She squeezes Dean’s hands as she leaves. Sam is standing now, and he waits until Eileen is gone to turn his bitchface on.

“Dean, please stop doing that.”

Dean furrows his eyebrows. “Doing what?”

Sam sighs, exasperated. “Praising dad. I don’t know, sugarcoating him, painting him as the hero. You know damn well he wasn’t.”

Dean’s throat tightens. If that’s what Sam thinks he was doing, he really doesn’t know him at all. He's full of indignation when he answers: “That’s the last thing that I would do. I know firsthand, more than you, how shitty John was. Sam, I know. I was telling the story how I remembered it. ‘Cause back then? Yeah, he was my hero. I’m old enough to know better now, but--what the fuck do you care? You think I’m purposely lying to Eileen? For what?”

Sam can’t meet his eyes. “Dean, no that’s not what I-I just can’t hear that shit. It makes me… uncomfortable. I don’t wanna talk about dad like that anymore. I'd rather not talk about him at all, actually! I just… I can’t hear that shit from you.”

Dean balks, mouth open. He scoffs, “Fine.” He stands up and puts his jacket back on, checking his pockets for his keys and his wallet.

He’s halfway up the stairs when Sam calls from the library, “Dean, come on. Let’s talk about this. Or not! Dude, we just got back from a hunt, don’t leave. Let just-let’s forget about it, alright?”

Dean pauses at the railing. He turns around and shouts down at Sam: “Yeah, sure, Sammy! Let's forget our whole heritage. It never fucking mattered to you anyways.”

He’s slamming the door to the bunker closed behind him, and hopping in the Impala (which he didn’t have time to wash or put in the garage since their hunt), and then he’s off god knows where. He needs a drink.

Dean picks the fourth bar/restaurant place he sees. That seems like far enough away from his brother for now. It’s one he hasn’t gone to yet. Fun, new, and exciting!

He’s working on his third whiskey, maybe half an hour after he arrived, when the bartender puts down another glass in front of him.

Dean glances up. “Hey, um. I’m good for now, really.”

The bartender is tying his long cornrows in a ponytail on the back of his head, and when he meets Dean’s eyes, he gives him a shit-eating grin. He nods off to the side, “Courtesy of your secret admirer.” Then he winks at him and leaves for the kitchen behind him. Dean feels all warm inside at that, but he doesn’t have much time to revel in it before a man sits down on the stool next to him, a non-respectable four inch distance away.

Dean is appalled before he takes in this dude, and okay. Not bad. Looks about the same age, dresses like a grandpa from the trenchcoat he sees, has spiky black hair that Dean might want to run his hands through, and shit, fuck, he’s looking at Dean, say something!

“Hello,” the man says and whoa, who died and made you Batman? His lips are plumper than a guy’s lips usually are (look who’s talking, Dean) and chapped and they’ve got a nice shape. Dean likes the cupid’s arch on his upper lip, it looks classy. His nose is pointy, and maybe a bit small, but damn if it doesn’t work well with his sharp cheekbones. By the time Dean can register his eyes, all his brain can think of is wow.

Dean’s never seen bluer eyes. They’re as clear as the sky, but Dean feels like he could drown in them. Or maybe that’s just the way this man is looking at him. Dean’s rarely been stared at with this much intensity, and he feels a blush spread to the tips of his hot ears.

He clears his throat. “Hi.” Dean has to look away now, back to his own glass before he combusts. He’s surprised a dude like him would buy him a drink.

Apparently, the man can’t sense how awkward and unprepared Dean was for this because he starts talking again, keeping his voice low so that only Dean can hear him, so it’s only a rumble in his chest. “I hope I’m not overstepping. You looked like you needed some company. Is that the kind you like to drink?”

Dean is so flustered at the sheer… whatever this dude has, he has to remind himself this is a normal human interaction. Be nice. Make eye contact.

“Yeah, it’s uh--it’s great. Thanks. For buying it. Um, I’m kinda driving tonight, though, so I might want to stop at this--” Dean raises his own drink in his hand “--You can-you want it? I'd be a waste otherwise.” He’s cringing so bad inside that his stomach hurts.

The man levels him a neutral stare. A few seconds later, he nods and reaches over to pick up the extra whiskey. Dean follows his hands and fuck they’re nice. He’s got long fingers, and for some reason the way his metacarpals shift under his skin is incredibly attractive.

The fun doesn’t stop there though, because then the guy is bringing the glass to his mouth, and he’s not taking his eyes off Dean’s own wide ones, and he’s taking a drink and it all looks sinful. The way his trachea shifts as he swallows, the opening and closing of his enticing jaw, and especially the way his pink tongue peeks out from his mouth to lick at the rim of the glass.

Dean swallows what feels like sandpaper.

“My name is Castiel,” he says, putting the glass down, holding it between his hands like he's bracketing it. He shifts his hands and the glass follows, rotating back and forth.

“Dean.”

Castiel nods, his lips quirk up a little, and this might be the first sort-of smile Dean has seen from him.

“Why’d you buy me a drink?” he blurts out.

The grin grows by a millimeter. “You looked like you needed one.”

Dean snorts. “That bad, huh?”

“Maybe that good.” Dean sees a peek of teeth from Castiel and he can’t help but shiver.

Dean recognizes it for what it is, so he turns on his own charm, slipping into familiar flirting territory.

“So what do you do, Castiel?”

Castiel’s eyes flick to Dean’s mouth for the quickest moment, and then his mouth is a neutral plane again, smirk vanishing completely. He thinks for a few seconds. “I’m an accountant.”

Dean knows that could mean literally anything, except the guy is wearing a tie and there’s a trenchcoat, so yeah. He’s an accountant for real.

“Cool. Numbers, huh?”

Castiel narrows his eyes, like he’s squinting. Dean finds it both intimidating and endearing. “Yes. How about you, Dean?”

He blushes harder at hearing his name in that gravelly voice, but keeps his cool when he answers, rehearsed: “Odd jobs, here and there.”

Castiel doesn’t miss a beat. “Fascinating.”

Dean blinks. Okay. “Is it?”

“Yes. You must travel a lot.”

“I do, yeah,” he nods, feeling a little vulnerable.

Castiel is back to staring at him intensely, and it makes Dean’s veins sizzle a little with want. They’re upgrading from Flirting/Small Talk Territory to Let’s Go Like Now Territory. Dean’s breathing comes a little deeper.

“Would you like to travel right now?”

“What?”

Castiel is definitely looking at his mouth. “Would you like to go outside?”

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. This guy does not waste time. Not that he’s complaining, he’s been feeling hot all over since Castiel sat down, and he’d give himself at most another half an hour before he proposed they move this interaction somewhere else himself. So Dean downs the rest of his whiskey, feels the buzz in his ears and the tips of his fingers, and he stands up. “Let’s go.”

Castiel follows him outside.

The night is more humid than it should be for August, but Dean can feel the chill of Fall coming, and he’s grateful for his jacket. He’s shoved his hands in his jean pockets as he walks to the corner where the sidewall of the bar meets the front wall of it. He stops and leans one shoulder right at the edge of the wall to the side, facing the parking lot. Out of options for what to say, Dean waits until Castiel comes closer (his hands are in his trench coat pockets and it’s weirdly cute), and he points at his Baby, thirty feet away.

“That’s my car. She’s my Baby.”

Castiel stops two feet away from him, but right in front, and he turns his body to the side to follow where Dean’s finger points. He stares at the Impala for a bit, before he turns his head to Dean again. The light coming from inside the restaurant is what brightens Castiel’s face and Dean is a little breathless as he admires his illuminated features.

“She’s very beautiful.”

Dean smiles, proud and sheepish. “Thanks. Um, what about yours?”

Castiel inhales, taken aback. “Oh. I didn’t drive here tonight. I like walking.” he says slowly.

“Oh, okay.” Dean answers stupidly. It’s not that he’s disappointed they can’t talk about cars, it’s just… what else are they supposed to talk about at a moment like this?

“So what brought you here tonight, Cas?” Dean doesn’t catch himself in time, and the nickname is out. Oops. Castiel seems to inflate a little in response though, so he’s fine. For now.

“Rough day.” He says, then like an afterthought he adds, “At work.”

This dude is so fucking weird. Dean is obsessed with him.

Suddenly, he doesn’t want to wait anymore, he just wants to take what Castiel offered. He’s been wanting to taste him since he looked at his lips, so he smirks at Castiel and he asks, “Come here, Cas.”

For a moment Castiel tilts his head, and Dean can’t figure him out, and he kinda loves that, the anticipation of not knowing what this guy is gonna do or who he is. Dean beckons him with a hand. He’s drunk enough on the beers from earlier and the whiskey and the adrenaline drop from the finished hunt that he’s allowing himself this tonight. A little recklessness can’t hurt.

Castiel walks closer than Dean expected him to, and Dean turns to press his back to the side wall, his shoulder barely off the edge where the front and side connect. Castiel follows the twist of his body perfectly because suddenly he’s crowding Dean against the small space with his hands on either side of his head on the wall. Their faces are mere inches apart.

Dean loves the way the air shifts then, like someone pulled a lever down and the current of electricity started running. They’re breathing each other’s air, and Castiel’s eyes are glued to Dean’s mouth, while Dean alternates his staring between Castiel’s darkened eyes and those chapped lips. Dean feels like he's vibrating.

He forces his hands to unfreeze and brush the trench coat flaps aside, coming to rest on top of Castiel’s hips, over his belt. This moves their bodies closer still, Dean subconsciously opening his legs wider to let Castiel slot a knee in between them. Their hips press, Dean shivers, and then he shivers even more when he feels Castiel’s lips pressing against his.

It’s exactly like he imagined, except it’s about a thousand times better. Castiel’s lips are soft and pliant, and he presses brushing kisses and pecks Dean’s lips for a bit, leaving them tingling for more, until he starts to really get into it. Castiel softly clamps his mouth around Dean’s bottom lip and he pulls back, and Dean is so fucked. He tries to keep his knees from wobbling, and then he gets what he wants when Castiel presses forward again, kissing him open mouthed, and there is his tongue, and it tastes really sweet and Dean feels positively intoxicated.

He can’t remember when he closed his eyes, but there are fireworks exploding behind them, and his dick is saying “Hell, yeah!” and he’s tilting his head to kiss Castiel deeper, chasing more of his mouth and his taste and his smell. His hands are gripping Castiel’s hips in a vice.

Dean can’t help the moan he lets out when Castiel’s tongue does a thing, and he also can’t help his surprise when Castiel pulls back abruptly after the sound has registered. His shock is almost overshadowed by the crude things his brain is thinking when he takes in Castiel, whose lips are shiny and wet, and whose pupils are enormous.

Dean holds his breath, furrows his eyebrows, and waits. Castiel is looking at him, pained.

“Dean, I can’t,” he whispers.

There is a moment, and then Dean blinks, understanding everything. He’s a little upset, but mostly embarrassed, except his brain can’t fully express that, so it’s put through a well-oiled machine that converts it into anger. Now, that he can do.

He’s pushing Castiel off him, walking five steps away then pivoting and walking back. He repeats this path, running a hand down his face as Castiel just fucking stands there, looking at him sadly.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dean bites out.

“Dean, I can-” Casties tries.

“No, seriously. What the fuck is wrong with you?” he whirls around to stare right at Castiel a few feet away. Castiel’s shoulders fall and it enrages Dean even more.

“You know what, Cas? Go fuck yourself. You got some issues to figure out, and it’s not gonna be with me. Go to hell, asshole.” Dean spits out, fixing Castiel with a furious stare, feeling his jaw tick in anger, and then he’s stomping away.

As he gets closer to the Impala, he crosses his arms, feeling indignation constrict his chest. This is not the first time this has happened with Dean and unfortunately, he thinks it probably won’t be the last.

Damn it. A guy like that? Probably has a pretty little wife, probably hides his wedding band right in his front pocket, which Dean completely skipped on his way to grab at Castiel’s ass. He groans internally as he rounds the back of the car till he reaches the driver’s door. He’s going home with the worst case of blue balls he’s ever had.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” He hears as he fishes out his keys and puts the right one in the slot to unlock the door, and hey, Castiel’s voice is much closer than he expected, but Dean doesn’t have time to turn around and yell at him some more because suddenly the ground is completely gone from under his feet. Dean’s vision goes blinding white, and then pitch black.

The pain finally registers on the back of his head, and the last thing he sees before he's out, is the key chain dangling from the lock on the Impala’s door.

****

The world slowly slots back together as Dean wakes up. There’s four, then three, then two, and then it all merges into one again. Dean acutely feels the pouding in his head.

He’s… laying down? Yeah, he’s on a bed. The mattress is nice. There's even a thin blanket on top of him, dark grey. He turns his head to the side-nope, that’s a wall-tries the other side and okay good, there’s the rest of the room. He feels a little less claustrophobic now that he’s seen the whole space. It’s dark just because the lights are off. It looks like a normal basement, unfinished ceiling and all, with boxes stacked in the corner covering a whole wall. There’s a couch facing him, parallel to the bed, and there’s a figure sitting there. Dean eyes his phone, wallet, car keys, and pocket knife on a night stand next to the bed. It’s just out of his reach.

He pinches his eyes shut, wiggles his toes in his boots (no brain damage done, yay), and then he groans out: “What can I do for ya, Mr. Monster?”

When he opens his eyes, Castiel has turned one of the overhead light bulbs on. He looks serious.

“Firstly, I want to apologize, Dean. I didn’t want to have to do this, and I didn’t plan for it.”

Dean is more than confused. “What.”

Castiel stands up from his couch, he’s only in his suit now, tie loosened, and damn Dean’s stupid (probably concussed) brain, but he still looks yummy. Monster, Dean. Focus.

Castiel crosses his arms, and plants his feet. He keeps a very respectable distance away from the bed, and Dean’s gut twists at the thought that he was playing him all along.

“I didn’t… want to seduce you. I just wanted to talk. I might have derailed from my plan slightly.”

Dean’s jaw ticks. “And what was that amazing plan of yours, Castiel? If that’s your real name.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean’s tone. He huffs a breath out his nose, frowning.

“You know, Dean, you may not remember me, but I remember you. Fifteen years ago, your father killed my father, and I’ve been keeping tabs on you ever since.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breaths out after a few seconds of stunned silence, propping himself up to fully sit up on the bed. He feels his bruised brain click things together. “You’re the second one. You survived.”

Castiel is silent, and that’s all the confirmation Dean needs to know he was pinned down by this guy way before tonight.

Dean laughs. “What kind of fucked up revenge plot is this? You’ve been stalking me for years? Well, then you must know my father died of alcohol poisoning almost a decade ago. It was ugly and painful, and you missed your chance, asshole.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Dean,” he says sternly, “I didn’t want to kill your father. And I don’t want to kill you. That’s not why I ended up kidnapping you tonight. I’m grateful for what your father did for me.”

Dean does a double take, swings his feet off the bed and onto the ground. “You’re what?”

“This may come as a surprise, but not every monster is a monster. Not fully, anyway. I’m half-human. And I need your help to go all the way.”

[kissjane]

Last one for today, but this one is defs not a drabble, but rather a full one shot, so once again, continue reading under the break! This one was requested by one of the anonymous Davenzi shippers, so anon, hope you enjoy!

And with this one I think I have done 15 out of the 50, that’s 30% done! Yay! The next one will probably be Elu again (#5? #12? #49? I can tell you it won’t be #30, though.). 

#23 from this prompt list.

“Just tell me why you did it!” “Because I’m in love with you, okay!”

David knew it was his worst idea ever. He knew he shouldn’t do it, but it was stronger than himself. He knew it would ruin everything, but he just couldn’t lose Matteo.

Matteo. His best friend since as long as they both could remember.

The had never kept a secret for each other. David had known Matteo was gay before anybody else, years ago, and he had kept Matteo’s secret faithfully. Matteo had shown him the same courtesy when David had told Matteo he wanted to transition. And when David had started the long process, Matteo had helped him choose a new name, and had used it without ever slipping up once.

It was straightforward between the two of them. They understood each other without many words, and acceptance was as simple as a nod, an easy ‘okay’, and nothing more was needed.

They knew everything there was to know about one another.

Except for that one thing, the one secret he had kept close to his heart for years now, patiently waiting until Matteo would be ready to come out officially.

He just had never counted upon the fact that Matteo would come out by introducing his boyfriend to the whole squad.

But that was exactly what had happened. Matteo had just shown up with a tall, blue-eyed, blonde guy, and when the boys had fallen silent upon spotting their linked hands, he had bluntly announced the facts.

“Michael, these are my friends, David, Jonas, Carlos, and Abdi. Guys, this is Michael, my boyfriend.”

David had spat out his drink. The others had needed a few seconds to digest the news, but then they had exploded into their usual chaos.

“Bro, when did you get a boyfriend?”

“More importantly, how did you get a boyfriend? You have absolutely no game!”

“And you never felt the need to tell us you were gay before, huh?”

“You shouldn’t just assume he’s gay, bro. He could be bi, too.”

“Way to go, though, Luigi. Way to go.”

“Are you gay, then, Luigi, or what?”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s taken. More girls for us, either way.”

“Man, Michael, we can tell you stories about Luigi…”

And amidst all the noise, Matteo had turned to David.

“Hey,” he’d whispered, “Thanks for keeping the secret all these years. But I guess I’m out now. I couldn’t have done it without you though,” hugging David briefly before turning to the boys again, and putting a firm stop to any potential embarrassing stories.

David knew he should have been happy for Matteo, out and proud, and with a boyfriend, too. But instead, he felt numb.

And that is why something inside him snapped when Michael turned to him, smiling politely, saying he had heard so much about David. And he decided to follow through on his worst idea ever.

“Nice to meet you, Michael. Although I am sure we won’t see each other often.”

The polite smile on the boy’s face faltered slightly.

“I am sorry? What? I wouldn’t keep my boyfriend from his best friend, if that is what you mean.”

David laughed, high and phony.

“Oh, no. I just mean you won’t be his boyfriend for very long.”

He took a sadistic pleasure in seeing the confusion grow in Michael’s eyes.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, honey,” David said, insincere concern lacing his voice. “You thought Matteo was out now? Oh, no, sorry to disappoint you. His dad is a homophobic dick, but Matteo needs his money. And his mom is very religious, and she’s also in a fragile state right now, so Matteo will not risk her health by telling her he’s gay. I’m afraid he’s just using you for a bit of fun. But he can be a lot of fun, take it from me.”

He winked suggestively. He felt the bile rise in his stomach as soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth, and he wanted to take it all back, claim it was just his way to mess a bit with his best friend’s boyfriend, but he thought he might vomit if he opened his mouth again, so watched helplessly as Michael talked to Matteo, and Matteo just sat there, turning silent and small and sad, his shoulders hunched and his blue eyes dull.

And he still watched as Michael left, and Matteo came back to the table where the boys were still being their rambunctious selves. They didn’t even notice Matteo’s struggle to keep the tears at bay, so Matteo slid silently into the booth next to David, and David, feeling every bit the snake he was, put an arm around Matteo in consolation.

“What’s wrong?”, he asked.

“He – he broke up with me. Just like that. Couldn’t he have done it before we came here and I came out to everybody, then?”

“I’m – I’m so sorry, Matteo…”

“And what did I do wrong? He just said it wouldn’t ever work out. Why, David? I didn’t do anything, wrong, did I? Or am I just not good enough?”

The tears shone in Matteo’s blue eyes, and they were like pools in which David would drown willingly. He couldn’t stand it. He hurt his best friend, out of spite and selfishness. He needed to come clean, confess to his actions of tonight – and the reasons behind them.

He took a deep breath.

“I think I may have said some things to him that were not true, and which scared him away.”

Matteo looked at him as if he just had grown an extra head.

“What? Oh, I see. You are just trying to cheer me up, David, but that’s not necessary, I mean, I guess I’ll just have to get over the fact that nobody will ever love me and –”

“Teo. I’m not trying to cheer you up. I chased Michael off. I – I told him you were not interested in a relationship and were just using him for some fun.”

“You – what?”

The incredulity in Matteo’s voice made David feel even more guilty. He tried to grab Matteo’s hand, but the latter wasn’t having any of it, and shook off David’s arm, too, planting his hands on his knees and looking David straight in the eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Matteo, I didn’t mean to –”

“You didn’t mean to lie to my boyfriend? Or you didn’t mean to break up the two of us? Cut the crap, David. Just tell me why you did it!”

Matteo was full-on angry now, and he actually yelled the last sentence. This finally got the attention of the other boys, who looked up anxiously. David wondered if any of them had ever heard Matteo yell before. Even David had only heard Matteo shout once before, at his father the day the latter had come back to pick up his stuff, three weeks after leaving his teenage son and unstable wife alone.

Three pairs of eyes turned towards Matteo and David now, and David swallowed.

“Why, David? Just tell me why,” Matteo repeated, at a much lower volume, tiredness speaking from his words, his posture, his entire being.

“Because I’m in love with you. Because I’ve loved you for years, okay?”

David almost choked out the words, but his eyes didn’t leave Matteo. All colour drained from Matteo’s face, and he opened his mouth, only to close it again without speaking a word.

It is, in fact, Jonas who broke the silence.

“Hey, uh, boys, let’s go. Call me later, Luigi.”

Carlos and Abdi got the hint, and they stood up, hastily collecting their phones and jackets and scarves and hats. David thought Abdi was wearing Jonas’ gloves, and Carlos had just grabbed a bunch of clothes without actually putting them on, and in a matter of seconds, the boys had disappeared.

Matteo was still staring at him, not moving, not speaking, so David tried again.

“I love you, Teo… I know I shouldn’t have done it, I know I should have been happy for you, but I just –”

“You’ve been in love with me for years?”, Matteo interrupted, forming the words carefully, as if this is the only bit of information he had retained.

“Yes. Yes, Matteo. I know it’s not an excuse, and I swear I’ll make it right again, I’ll call Michael and explain it was a lie, just give me his number and –”

“Why did you never tell me then?”

“What? Oh – uh, I – I didn’t want to put pressure on you. I didn’t know how you felt about me, and I didn’t want to lose you, and even if you could ever see yourself giving me a chance, you weren’t ready to come out yet and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to for my sake… I know I fucked everything up now, and I understand if I lost you anyway because of this. But I swear I will call him, Matteo, and I won’t stand in your way ever again, just… just don’t cut me out of your life completely, please?”

Matteo didn’t answer, and David felt his stomach sink as dread slithered clammily down his spine. Of course, Matteo would not forgive him. He was just about to start begging again, when Matteo spoke, softly.

“I love you too.”

David felt sucker-punched straight into the gut.

“Matteo?”

“I just didn’t think I could have you…”

David wasn’t sure if this was reality, or whether he had somehow entered a parallel universe.

“But you can! God, you can, Teo!”

Matteo nodded, seemingly lost in thoughts. David decided to push his luck. If he was indeed in a dream, he might as well make the most out of it. He took Matteo’s hands in his. Matteo didn’t pull back this time, and David considered it a good sign.

“So… uhm… Can you forgive me, then?”

Matteo looked up, then, and his beautiful eyes had found their sparkle again.

“I don’t know… It all depends…”

“On?”, David asked, his heart beating rapidly as he awaited Matteo’s answer.

“How good you kiss,” Matteo smirked, and David laughed, carefree and bright.

“No pressure,” he murmured, teasingly, as he leaned in, and finally – finally – captured Matteo’s lips.

This was by far the best idea he ever had, he thought, before all rational thought left him completely.

[adventuresloane]

The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) -- Ch. 5

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Updates every Friday. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story–more significant changes to come in later chapters. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

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Hurley had seen it coming for days, but even so, they felt a wave of sickness when they picked up the canteen and heard no more than two or three mouthfuls of water slosh around the metal interior. 

It shouldn't have startled them the way it did. After all, they had been rationing their own water for a reason. They had been taking it by the capful like medicine doses, getting just enough to moisten their tongue, as if they could trick their body into feeling quenched. It took maybe an hour to sweat out that amount. Still, they had kept trying to enact a miracle, drinking smaller and smaller portions so that the supply would never quite run out, so that it would be effectively infinite. Ridiculous as that was, it kept them from considering the alternative. Which is why the alternative hit them harder than expected, when it became reality.

The inside of their throat itched. They wondered how parched their mouth would have to get before they became unable to speak, and then they squeezed their eyes shut, as though they could squeeze the idea out of their mind. Instead, they focused on the fact--and it was a fact, if they decided so--that they would not die of thirst. They called to mind the math that they had been churning through their head for days. There was one other full canteen of this size left. If they kept activity levels low and drank as little as possible, it could last two and a half days. A full three, maybe, if they were really careful. Then they would have the rest of the alcohol, which might dehydrate more than it helped, and then nothing at all.

Or they could leave behind everything here in search of more. And that would mean everything. 

They left the supplies in the wagon and stuck their hand in their pocket so they could feel the teeth of the cuff key against the pad of their thumb. Outside, Sloane plucked out the notes to what sounded like some hymn they'd once known. When they walked up and sat silently a little ways from her, she only nodded once before going back to the music. Over the past few days, they had never told her to ration her own water. It had seemed unfair, when they were supposed to be the one looking out for her, and anyway, it had turned out to be unnecessary. They hadn't seen her take more than a sip at a time lately. That shouldn't have surprised them, given how often she stayed out here. What did catch their notice was the way that, when she drank, she would often glance over at them from under a furrowed brow, over and over. 

But right now, she kept quietly twanging out the melody. The guitar hummed and whined. They looked at the sky above and found it as bone-dry and flat at the ground below. It was so, so very blue. They shut their eyes to it and simply focused on the sounds. She was making beautiful things happen over there. They hadn't noticed how quickly their heart had been beating until it began to slow, then. They listened until they started to feel the vibrations of the strings buzz inside their mind.

That's that little gut talking. Their mother poked their belly again, pressed her ear to it.

"I don't think you killed anyone," they said, and as they did, they realized, for the first time, that they really did believe it.

"Uh," Sloane said. "Thank you?"

They pressed on. "Am I right?"

"What?"

"Tell me whether I'm right. Did you kill anybody?"

They heard her make a derisive sound. "Why are you asking all of a sudden? It's just my word against everyone else's anyway. It won't make a--"

"I want to hear you say it." For the first time, they looked her in the eye. 

There had been a small, lackadaisical grin on her face, but it was erased when they stared at her. She seemed abashed, then confused, but crucially, she held eye contact when she finally spoke. "No, Hurley," she said quietly. "I didn't kill anyone."

"Yeah," they breathed. "That's what I thought." Things went quiet again. Hurley thought of Bane, of one-person juries. They thought of the way he looked when he said that a bounty hunter was not a judge. Then, regardless, they stood up and said, "Sloane, come here."

"Well, alright, then, Your Highness."

They rolled their eyes. They should have expected that nothing would be easy right up until the end. "Please?"

She waited a moment longer, one brow cocked. Then she set down her instrument and took a few slow steps over. As soon as she was close enough, Hurley bent down and unlocked the shackles around her ankles with hands that, they were proud to say, stayed steady the whole time. 

She took off before they could blink. Turned on her heel quickly enough to kick sand in their face. Like she had been waiting for it, which she had. In the seconds afterward, the air around them felt strange and unusually still, the way it did just after a deafening sound. They hadn't exactly expected a long goodbye, but they had thought that she wouldn't leave without a word--that she would at least take the time to get supplies. But that was it, the. Well, it wasn't as if she owed them anything.

They thought that the flapping wing of her black hair behind her was the last they would see of her. Then, almost as quickly as she had started running, she stopped. She looked behind her, and the positively gleeful smile on her face faltered. After a few seconds, she slowed and then halted all together, simply standing and staring Hurley's way. 

They looked right back at her. It seemed like she was waiting for something from them, though what, they couldn't say. After awhile, they simply gave a small shrug. "You're free to go.” They picked up the chains from the ground, hung them on their forearm, and started to walk away. 

"Hey, wait!" 

They did. She was poised to dart off again at any moment, but she didn't. Instead, she kept on blinking and blinking at Hurley, mouth open. "Why aren't...you're not going to come after me?"

"Nope." 

Over and over again, she looked down at her feet, as if to ensure that the manacles were really gone. "Did you..." she started shakily. "Did you do that on purpose?"

They chuckled in spite of the strange sinking feeling inside their chest. "You don't really still think I'm that dense, do you? I wouldn't have let that happen by accident."

By now, she had transitioned from confusion to outright shock. Her head whipped back and forth rapidly, from the horizon and the open space to Hurley again. Then, suddenly, she shook her head. "Nononononono." She wagged her finger and, for some bizarre reason, laughed without humor. "Come on, what are you trying to do?"

"Um." Briefly, they looked around at the hobbled wagon with its missing wheels, the dust-covered pile of second-hand cooking supplies, and the stretch of flat nothing for miles around. "Listen, I don't know what kind of nasty plan you think I have in mind, but I'm probably not equipped for it."

"Ha!"

"I don't think you're getting it. I'm letting you go, alright? Isn't that all you've been trying to do for this entire time, is get away from me?"

"I could've done it myself," she blurted. 

"Okay--"

"I could've."

"Well, for the gods' sake, do you want to come over here so I can try to let you go again? I'll try to make it look like an accident this time if that makes you feel bett--"

"No! No, I'm just..." She let out a long breath and ran a hand down her tired face. "I'm just trying to...this doesn't make any fucking sense! Why now?"

They sighed. Their saliva was thick and tasted bitter. "I failed. I said I was going to bring us both back to Goldcliff in one piece, but I can't do that. Not with how we're running low on supplies. And I'm not going to risk your life trying to do it. You didn't sign up for that. So there. What? What do you want? This?" They held up the key to the cuffs. As they tossed it on the ground in front of her feet, out of their own reach, they said, "Take it! I don't need it anymore." She kept on standing there. Finally, they huffed and extended their arm in the direction of the Western sun behind her. "Go. I'm serious."

Sloane still didn't move. Her arms had fallen down to her sides, and she was no longer in a position to flee. She just continued looking on. When, finally, she spoke, it was in a far smaller voice than before. "Posters say 'Dead or Alive.'"

It took a moment for them to process the meaning of that, but when they did, it hit them right between the eyes. First they felt the surprise and then the sting of it. "You really think I'd kill you for the money?"

There was a moment of quiet--consideration, maybe?--before she answered, "Guess not."

"What, then? That I'd keep you here when there wasn't enough water for the both of us? That I would...that I'd stop letting you have what was left? Seriously, you believe I'd do that?"

By now her eyes were cast downward. She took a deep breath and turned her head away. "Dunno. I've only known you for a few weeks," she mumbled. 

They shouldn't have felt insulted. It was true, after all--their job had been to get the Raven, or rather her body, back to town one way or another. And even if they had never intended to harm her, there was no reason they should have expected a prisoner to think any better of her captor. But maybe they had expected it anyway. After sleeping side-by-side for many nights and talking through the days, they thought that they had opened enough of themself to her, that she would have been able to just look and see for herself who they were. "Well, I wouldn't," they said quietly. Their back was to her now. 

They had gone back to sorting through supplies, to see what they would need to go on living, when they heard the slow approach of footsteps from behind. She picked up the key from the ground before she kept stepping, almost gingerly, toward them. She stopped well before she was within their reach, but still, she was close enough now that they could get a good look at her eyes, which were wide and wondering. "You're serious, aren't you? I'm free?" A smile had begun to form on her lips as she spoke.

They weren't sure whether to laugh or moan in frustration. They did a little of both. "Yes, you seriously are."

She laughed in a way that they hadn't heard her laugh yet, soft and high, almost a twitter. Already, the way she carried herself was different, her back straighter and her movements looser. It looked as if a weight, heavier than the weight of the irons alone, had been taken off her. They felt a little lighter too. 

A moment later, though, she snapped back to look at them, her smile sloughing. "What about you? I mean, what are you going to do if not stay out here?"

Hurley swallowed. It was an excellent question, and one that they hadn’t really allowed themself to think too hard about before now. They sucked in a breath and tried to grin. "Well, start walking just like you, I suppose, right? I’ll just sort of retrace the steps I took to get here with the posse before.”

Sloane snorted. “Okay,” she chuckled.

“Okay what?”

“No, I’m sure you’ll do just great out there.”

Hurley scoffed as they started putting together a sack of what remaining supplies they could carry. “I can take care of myself.”

“Which way’s the river?”

They paused to think for an amount of time that was unlikely to inspire confidence, then abruptly pointed behind them.

“Was that a guess?”

“No.” It only took a few more seconds of her staring at them until they conceded, “...Yeah.”

“The biggest bend in it is quite a few days’ walk off to the northwest,” she sighed. Hurley went back to shoving cans into their sack, until she kept walking up to them and closed the gap. She plucked the strap of the bag from their hands. “And you shouldn’t be traveling this time of day either. You know it’s too hot.”

They looked at her. “Well, you shouldn’t be either.”

“Guess not.”

They stood there for a little while. 

Sloane scuffed her foot in the sand and muttered, “I didn’t think, um...this is really weird. I guess I should thank you?”

“You could.” Hurley bit their lip. “Do you want to get stuff to take with you, since you’re not leaving yet? You can take back all the stuff the posse took off you.”

“Sure,” she said slowly as she shuffled toward the wagon. Hurley listened to the shifting of supplies as she sorted through them and tried to ignore what felt like a metal weight hanging down inside their gut. 

As Sloane gathered things up, there was a question plain on her almost dazed face. But it wasn’t until she had turned away from Hurley and crouched down to look through bags of food that she asked, “You know where to get water?”

Hurley paused, then glanced her way. She still had her back to them. “Do you?”

“I mean, I know how to find it.” She was working more quickly now and seemed to grab things almost without looking. “I figure the least I can do is get you some water too, if you want to come with me.”

“How far will we have to go?”

“Don’t know. Could take a few hours, could take a day.”

“Well, I don’t want to leave camp for a whole day if I’m just going to come back to it after we get water.”

She stopped, finally, and quietly replied, “Then I guess you should just pack up and leave along with me.”

“What?”

She said, "We could," and then, under her breath, "shit." When she at last turned around and met their gaze, her eyes were hard. "Look, I can help you get back to Goldcliff, but we're doing it my way, alright? I'm not gonna take the main routes and risk getting caught all over again. Take it or leave it."

They were stuck on the "I can help" bit of that. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm..." She huffed. "I don't feel good about leaving you on your own out here right after you just up and let me go. It doesn't seem right. I can help you out."

"You don't have to do that, though."

"No, I don't. But I know this part of the desert a lot better than you, so..."

"Are you saying we have a truce?"

Before that moment, she had appeared disinterested, almost flippant. Her arms were crossed, and her half-lidded eyes had shifted to look off into the distance. Now, she seemed to snap to attention, brows raised. "Yes," she said slowly, as if it were occurring to her while she spoke. "I guess you'd call it that."

They felt a smile come across their face before they could stop it. “Alright,” they said. “Of course. Thank you.”

“Early tomorrow, then.”

----------

They did indeed leave the following morning with what they could carry on their backs. Shortly after rising, the sun looked honey-golden and honey-sweet. The closer they got to high noon, it would turn cruel as always, but that seemed a ways off.

Hurley followed her. They watched the sheen of the sun bounce off her hair. They also watched as, now and then, she glanced back toward them, then turned away again. Like she wanted to see whether they were still behind her, or like she was watching her back. 

When she had told them that she wasn’t Abernathy’s murderer, they had believed her, genuinely. That didn’t make this less strange, to be guided blindly to some unknown place by someone who was, at the very least, a career criminal.

By now, they knew that the desert’s inhabitants came alive near dawn. Mice and scorpions and lizards would start scurrying around at first light to gather food before the day got too hot. Still, Hurley hadn’t had to contend with so many flying insects since they had first arrived here. They tried to fan away the gnats that kept flying in their face. More than once, a tiny biting fly landed on their skin, and they tried to slap it down. 

Suddenly, there were fingers gripping their arm. Sloane was in front of them, suddenly, and they were instinctively about to wrench themself away until they saw that she wasn’t doing anything else. She was just staring at the crook of their elbow, where, they now saw, another fly had settled.

Both of them watched the little black creature sit there for awhile before lifting off and into the sky. Sloane tracked it with her eyes as it flew until it became less than a speck in the blue sky. Then, definitively, she walked off in the direction in which the fly had gone. 

Hurley considered that it wasn’t too late for them to go their own way. Then, after several moments’ hesitation, they walked after her. 

The bugs didn’t let up as they went and went. They only seemed to get more plentiful. It seemed like the two of them would never quit just walking, and Hurley thought about saying as much until they looked up once more and saw. Instead of the scrub that they had gotten used to over the past weeks, greener, smoother plants with broad, tapered leaves began to dominate. It was some of the first green they had seen so far. 

Soon enough, Sloane stopped close to one of the larger plants and dropped to her knees. The ground was softer here, and she began to turn it over with her hands. When Hurley realized what she was doing, they went over to help her dig, feeling the dirt beneath so much cooler than that at the surface. 

When the water came up, it sparkled. For a moment, Hurley could only stare at it, until Sloane dipped a cloth into it and wrung it out over her head, so that the drops fell down her dusty face. More liquid came bubbling up out of the hole to take its place, sprung from the ground fresh and clean as a sprout.

A moment ago, they had kept themself from considering the possibility that they wouldn't get through, but a possibility is what it had been. Now even the air inside their lungs felt like less of a burden, like air indeed instead of something dense and heavy. Now the idea of not surviving seemed like no more than a bad dream. The very ground did not feel so hard beneath them.

“Yes!” they shouted as they jumped to their feet. “Holy shit, you did it!”

Sloane seemed a little taken aback, then said, “Good gods, relax, I do this all the time,” but said it with a slowly growing grin.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not amazing,” they said as they scrambled to take advantage of the plenty. They barely knew what to do with themself, whether to drink or wash their face or fill up their canteens. They cupped their hand and dipped it into the little pool and let the coolness watch down their throat.

When they finally looked away from the water, they saw Sloane watching them, her head tilted a little to the side. Without thinking, they got up, feeling like they wanted to hug her, and then stopped short. Instead, they just took both of her hands in theirs, beaming. She let them. "Thank you," they said in a hush. "Thank you, Sloane. This is incredible."

She only stared and stared at them, then quickly shook her head as if to snap out of a trance. “It’s fine,” she muttered. “Um, so do you want to keep going soon?”

“Yeah, let’s.” And they realized, suddenly, that they would not be alone. They would still have a voice to anchor them in the darkness, music around the fire. They would not go crazy at night, thinking that they were floating apart from the rest of the world in directionless darkness. Her presence would be proof positive that they had not been left alone completely. It was peculiar, their realizing that they had learned to like the nights.

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Forest Fires || Geralt x Reader || Pt. 8

Summary: Now that you’ve made it to the Temple of Melitele, the hunt for the Princess Cirilla begins—with an unlikely team at its head: A Witcher, two and a half sorceresses, one Huntress, and a Priestess of Melitele.

Word Count: 2,645

Warning(s): None for this chapter.

A/N: Alright, so I know this chapter is a lot of setting up for the next few chapters, but I actually really had fun writing it, so I hope you all enjoy it!

If you enjoy my work and want to check out more of it, you can check out my masterlist, and if you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, comment or message me and I would be happy to add you 😊. Also, I do have a ko-fi page now, and I would really appreciate if anyone is able to give a little; it would really help me out with this whole transitioning careers and still pay off medical bills thing. But of course, the best way y’all support me is just by reading and sharing my work. I appreciate it more than I can say. 

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||  Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7

The Hunt Begins

You are surprised when you wake up to early morning light filtering through the windows; it had been afternoon. You don’t even remember the last time you’d slept so long. There was always so much to do back at the cottage—there was never time. Well, that, and the fact that even hunting all day and then taking care of everything else when you got home was less exhausting than opening one single damn portal. All those years of being a sorceress—of it being your entire identity—and you’d still forgotten how damn exhausting using magic truly is.

You sigh, kicking back the covers. Even with the evening damp still lingering in the air, you feel too warm. The Witcher laying beside you is likely contributing to that factor, but you wouldn’t dream of kicking him away. For some reason, you are surprised that he is there, even though you realistically shouldn’t be. Perhaps you just imagined him staying up all night planning things while you were lazily sleeping away, but you are happy to see that he is sleeping. You have no idea what the future will bring, but you are certain that you’ll all need the rest.

“Good morning.” The Witcher’s soft, low morning voice pulls you from your thoughts. You smile slightly, turning to look at him, eyes drinking in the familiar sight of the white haired Geralt of Rivia. His hair is pulled loose, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and sleepy. You’ll never get enough of the sight, you’ve decided.

“Morning,” you mumble back. You are frustrated at the way your voice sounds; all tired and scratchy and haggard. While you certainly feel much better than you did the previous day, your body is still catching up.

“Did you sleep well?” Geralt asks, his amber eyes all warm and full of concern. You are simultaneously touched and annoyed by it. Though, you suppose, there are worse things than someone being concerned for you.

You nod, blinking slowly. “Yes. I hardly remember falling asleep at all.” You’ll have to remember to thank Yennefer later. The tea must have worked wonders. You don’t remember waking up covered in sweat, trapped within a nightmare, either. Finally, you ask, “What time did you go to sleep, Witcher?”

“Late,” he grumbles a response. You raise your eyebrows in a question, which he picks up on right away. “We’re not the only ones trying to track down the girl.” Obviously.

The girl. You sigh at the use of the phrase, even though you couldn’t bring yourself to call her anything else.

“Do we know who else?” You ask, pushing yourself up into a sitting position but making no move to actually get out of bed. But you’re already prattling off possibilities before he can answer you, “Nilfgaard, obviously. And I bet the bounty on her head is pretty high. I’m sure the elves are looking, too. Lara Dorren’s blood and all that.”

Geralt just nods gravely, confirming your suspicions. “There’s also a mage,” he adds, “Vigelfortz.” You don’t bother to ask how he is certain of this specific information. Yennefer would know, you suppose, even if she had turned away from the Brotherhood years ago like you had.

“Nilfgaard wants a marriage with the blood heir to the Cintran throne. The bounty hunters just want money from the highest bidder—which I’m guessing is also Nilfgaard. The elves want Dol Blathanna back the way it was… So who is this mage working for?” Honestly, it was too early to be having this conversation, but you brain won’t let you focus on anything else.

“That’s the thing,” Geralt mutters, lifting a hand to play with the ends of your hair idly as he continues, “Seems like he’s working for himself. Yennefer is with the Brotherhood—Vigelfortz cut ties a few weeks before Nilfgaard sacked Cintra.”

You can already feel a headache coming on. None of it makes any sense—you only remember Vigelfortz from your late days at Aretuza. He hadn’t stood out much then. He was just another mage—not even a court mage, if you remember correctly. You look at Geralt, “He used to study antiquities, old civilizations and buried secrets or whatever.”

“Buried secrets?” Geralt asks, propping himself up on his elbows. Your eyes scan his scarred chest for a moment before finally meeting his eyes.

Definitely not the right time, you tell yourself.

“Yeah—he’d work on archeological digs and things.” The memories start to flow back faster than you expected them to. “And he taught at Ban Ard,” you add. “Probably about the same subjects.” Your mind is spinning at a dizzying speed. What the hell would a scholar want with the girl?

And then it snaps into place.

“The gir—Cirilla is supposed to have the blood of Lara Dorren.” Geralt looks at you, confused, as if he is still trying to catch up. “An ancient bloodline that supposedly possesses great power.” To be honest, you’d thought the whole thing was bullshit; some made up fairy tale. It might be just that; but to someone like Vigelfortz, you are certain that it isn’t.

You watch Geralt’s face harden as realization washes over him, “So he’s just trying to collect another ancient secret.” His words are tinged with the same disgust that you feel. It hurts, thinking about the young girl being pursued by several parties, all wanting someone from her—wanting something she may or may not have and certainly didn’t ask for.

“Fucking mages,” you hiss, voice dripping with venom. Granted, this was just one mage and however many worked with him. Though, you are certain the Brotherhood has its own reasons for hunting down the girl. If you know one thing, it is that the Brotherhood hardly does anything out of good will.

“Treating a human like a fucking old vase,” the Witcher’s warm amber eyes have turned cold as he stares off toward the window.

Silence settles over the two of you for a moment, broken only by the sounds of people speaking outside and the wind blowing through the open windows. When you saved the Witcher’s life in the woods that day, you had not expected this—some crazy suicide mission across the Continent to find a missing princess and, what, save her from the grasps of evil?

“Maybe Yenna’s found something,” you say, mostly just to fill the empty space. If the woman you reunited with yesterday is anything like her past self at Aretuza, it was unlikely she’d slept at all. Once she was focused on something, there was no deterring her for any reason. “She’d know more about Vigelfortz than me. I haven’t had contact with the Brotherhood since before I left Nilfgaard.”

And now, the thought of facing them again filled you with dread. You’d failed your duties as a court mage, failed to protect the girl when you had the chance, and failed to report to the Brotherhood about any of it—letting them think you were dead for the last eleven years.

You stand up and stretch, grimacing at how sore your muscles are for no particular reason, and also at the fact that you are still wearing yesterday’s clothes. “Before we go ask, though, I need to bathe.”

“No time,” Geralt grumbles, glancing out the window at the sky. “We’re to meet down in the hall at seven.”

You huff, running a hand through your tangled hair and looking down at your filthy clothes.

“They brought up clean clothes.” Geralt points to a neat little pile folded atop one of the old dressers. You sigh, as you pad over to the dresser, wishing you’d have woken up an hour earlier. You’d like nothing more than to scrub all of the last few days off of you. But, you suppose, clean clothes will have to do for now. Thankfully, upon further observation you see that they are not much different from the clothes you were already wearing.

You’re the soft material of a shirt rumple in your fingertips, studying it for a moment before offering Geralt a small smile “At least they aren’t making me dress like a nun.”

You are shocked by the soft seriousness in Geralt’s gaze as he looks at you for a moment before finally saying, “You’d look beautiful in anything.”  

Despite the circumstances, the response still makes color rise in your cheeks. You offer him a soft smile, before deciding to finally slip out of your clothes and pull them on. You don’t bother to go behind the dressing screen—it’s not as if Geralt hasn’t seen all of you already.

Just as you are tucking the loose tunic into the high waisted, you feel Geralt creep up behind you, wrapping a strong arm around your middle. You sigh, tilting your head back to rest against his shoulder as he presses his lips to the place where your shoulder meets your neck. The kiss is slow and careful, as if the two of you have all the time in the world to just stay in this room with one another.

Unfortunately, you don’t.

Geralt gives you a small squeeze as he presses his lips to the side of your forehead with gentleness that conveys an unspoken promise—everything will be okay. We’ll figure this out. We’ll do what must be done. We’ll live.

At least, those are the thoughts that flood your mind, even if you don’t quite believe them. It seems a little foolish for the two of you, Yennefer, and whoever else is involved in this particular search party to go up against all of those others; especially the Nilfgaardian Empire. It seems stupid for anyone to go after Nilfgaard—and yet here you are.

***

Despite the fact that hunger had been absolutely clawing at your stomach for some time now, you are finding it difficult to make yourself do something as mundane as chew and swallow. The food looks and smells delicious, but everything seems to turn to ash in your mouth.

The table, though quite large, is empty save for yourself, Geralt, Yennefer, and the woman that you’d been introduced to a half hour before—Mother Nenneke. You can’t help but feel dread creep up on you even stronger as you pick up the mug of hot coffee with fresh cream and swallow it down. There are entire armies looking for Cirilla—not to mention scary mages and at least a few bounty hunters. All of those people, and four of you.

“Triss Merrigold has also promised aid,” Yennefer says, cutting into the silence. You catch yourself wondering at how it was as if she’d read your thoughts for more than a few seconds before you remember that she likely is.

You’d read Geralt’s mind yesterday, for only a moment, and yet you’d forgotten that many sorceresses did that all the time. You didn’t tend to do so much—mostly because you were afraid of what you’d find in those thoughts. It wasn’t as if you were well-respected in any circles; you’d rather not hear about it.

Mechanically, you put up the magical barriers they’d taught you about all those years ago, a wall around your thoughts. And yet, when you do, you do not feel anything pushing against the barrier. Perhaps she hadn’t been reading your mind, after all.

“So that brings the grand total to five.” The worried words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them, drawing three pairs of eyes to you. You chew on your bottom lip nervously.

“Less people means less of a chance of someone turning on us or letting something slip,” Geralt points out, in the middle of devouring some sort of omelet.

“Exactly,” Yennefer remarks.

“Three sorceresses, a Priestess, and a Witcher—seems like a find team to me.” Mother Nenneke is much warmer than you’d imagined. She even says the words with a small grin. It just… was not how you imagined a Priestess to be.

“Two and a half sorceresses,” you mumble, taking another large sip of your coffee.

Yennefer laughs, tilting her head back as she does so. “Oh, Y/N, you act as if you’d really died.”

You find yourself smiling lightly as you look back at the raven-haired sorceress, shrugging. “I may not have died, but I certainly haven’t used magic,” you sigh. Brief flashes of the previous afternoon threaten to bubble to the surface of your mind, but you push the thoughts down.

“Alright, then we’ve got two and a half sorceresses, one archer, a Priestess, and Witcher,” Geralt says, a sly grin also appearing on his face. “Even better.”

You suppose it is true—you learned to hunt silently and efficiently. Though the thought makes your stomach turn, you suppose those skills would be equally useful against people… And perhaps better. As evidenced by the fact that you literally had everyone convinced you were dead, it was a lot less… attention grabbing.

Despite feeling relatively reassured by this, you still find yourself anxiously drumming your fingers on the table.

“But how do we even know where to start?”

At least you are feeling more comfortable, so talking doesn’t make your throat want to close anymore.

Your eyes land on Yenna first, for some reason expecting that she was the one who had the answer—but it is Mother Nenneke that smiles. A slow, almost mischievous smile that has you watching with bated breath, waiting to hear what she is about to say. You can tell by the gleam in her eye that it is important.

“We ask Iola the First.”

Geralt’s eyebrows tick up in recognition, and Yennefer nods gravely. You, on the other hand, have no idea who this, apparently very impressive, woman is. That fact is evident on your face, but the other simply carry on with their conversation, earning an annoyed glance in Geralt’s direction from you.

“Doesn’t she need something that belongs to Princess Cirilla? If she’s going to… you know?” Geralt asks, eyes narrowed in thought as he looks intently at Mother Nenneke.

“Yes,” Yennefer cuts in, “And we’ve got it.”

“What is it?” You are surprised at how quickly the words slip out, and how eager you are to learn exactly what it is. Some of your annoyance has melted away, as you’ve figured out at least something about the mysterious Iola the First. She must have some sort of visions—you’ve heard stories of Priestesses being gifted with things like this. Though, you have to admit, you thought it was mostly bullshit. But if Yennefer and Geralt both trust her, you are suddenly finding yourself putting more stock into the rumors.

Yennefer turns, gingerly pickup up a green cloak that you hadn’t noticed draped over the high back of the chair next to her. You don’t bother to ask how they know its hers—you suppose that isn’t important, but Geralt seems more curious than you yourself are, because he asks precisely that.

“She was seen at two refugee camps following the attack on Cintra, always wearing this cloak.” You can’t seem to take your eyes from it, extremely drawn to the clearly very expensive and well-made cloak.

“The cloak was found in the forest, just outside of Brokolin,” Yen continues, “And Triss confirmed with the dryads that Cirilla had been there and stayed with them for a time.”

Everyone at the table has their eyes thoroughly fixated on the cloak in Yennefer’s hands, likely all thinking the same thing—there is no sign of blood on the cloak, meaning the chance that she is alive is quite likely. Though, the thought that the girl is now out wandering without even a cloak to keep her warm makes your chest tighten uncomfortably.

It is Geralt who finally breaks the silence, turning his attention to Mother Nenneke.

“Right,” he clears his throat, “Let’s go speak with Iola.”

***

To be continued.

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[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 14 Pt 2

As soon as the lock clicked his mouth was on hers, fingers demanding, enticing.

“Only for today.” He breathed and pressed her against the bathroom door. “There’s something about you today that I can’t get enough of.” He breathed. “I need you, all of you.”

He pinned her to the door and devoured her mouth. She’d never seen him like this, needing her like his life depended on it. The incessant need to fuck. She wasn’t much better if she was being honest. She’d wanted him to have her until she couldn’t walk ever since he got home Monday. They’d turned into a couple of randy teenagers intent on ravaging each other senseless.

He hoisted her up and wrapped those long legs around his waist, with a quick thrust he was buried inside her, both groaning at the sensation of filling and being filled.

“Fuck Sildie you feel so good love.” He growled and took what he wanted, what he needed.

His sudden explosive need for her only made her crave him more. Never had she been wanted by a man so completely, so passionately. Her fingers gripped tighter as he pounded into her, he’d have bruises tomorrow for sure, so would she.

“Harder.” She breathed and bit down on his shoulder, a cry escaping when he did as she asked. The primal need to feel him fuck her was taking over her system. The pleasure overwhelmed her both physically and emotionally her body trembling for release.

“Go over love, come for me.” He murmured and watched as she tensed and came hard. He followed her into bliss as her pussy milked him. A soft groan of his own.

Her cries as he pounded into her prolonging their pleasure were mixed with tears. The intense orgasm destroying the remains of her emotional defenses she’d put up for the day.

He’d expected the tears, not straight after sex, but he’d expected them sometime today. He held her there and soothed her as the sobs came.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked softly. She was silent for a moment which worried him.

“No. Just stupid emotions.” She mumbled and held onto him tightly. “Sorry.”

“You sure?”

He helped her back to her feet and pulled his sweats up, closing her robe with tender fingers. His hand cupped behind her neck drawing her in close. Standing there he held her as the silent tears fell, no words were needed as he knew why she was upset.

“You make me feel things so deeply.” She said softly.

“So do you love.” He kissed her brow and stroked the length of her back. “So do you.”

She made him feel like he was the only man in the world, so loved, so wanted. Those three little words stuck in his throat as she cried against him.

There was a knock at the bedroom door.

“Ama? Dinner’s here.” Brendan’s voice came through the door slightly muffled.

“Thanks, be right there.” She said as cheerfully as she could.

“So what’s for dinner?” He asked and wiped the stray tear from her cheek.

“Your favorite.”

“My favorite? Now where did you get that information?” He joked. “And I have lots of favorites.”

“Daisy. We talked.” She grinned.

“Oh shit! What else did she tell you.” He chuckled and kissed her, not really surprised the two of them had hit it off.

“Nothing that would get her fired. I like her.” She giggled.

“She’s my saving grace sometimes.” He said softly.

She went to move away but the hand at her neck pulled her back to him. His kiss was tender and loving.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked gently.

“Yeah, I’ll let it hit me tomorrow. I want today to be fun and happy.” She kissed him. “I promised Lily when she was born I wouldn’t cloud today with tomorrows crap. I won’t do that to you either. Happy times, happy memories.”

“Well it certainly has been a happy day for me. Your mouth around my cock, two quickies, and my hands on you all day. I’m set.” He smirked and kissed her longingly. “I can’t wait for Saturday to see what else you’ve got planned.”

“I’m looking forward to adult time with you.” She grinned.

“Adult playtime.” His growl made her moan as he nipped her neck.

Brendan had started to spread out the feast of traditional Swedish food, she’d even got his favorite pickled herring.

“Where did you get all this?” He asked a little shocked, knowing full well which restaurant had these signature dishes and the price tag that came with them.

“Frantzen.” She said and sat down. She knew he’d probably get upset about it as it was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city and had cost her a small fortune. But she wanted to spoil him, so something special for him.

“They don’t deliver.” He growled and kissed her jaw.

“Apparently they do for me.” She grinned. “Eat. Enjoy.” She kissed him sweetly. “Happy birthday love.”

“Thank you but pizza would have been just as good.” He looked at her and she could see he was thankful but irritated with her, she knew he would be.

“If I’d wanted pizza I would have bought pizza but I wanted this, for you.” She kissed him again and squeezed his hand. “Don’t be mad at me for wanting to do something nice for you.” She said shortly and kept her tone even. She didn’t want this to blow up in front of the boys and ruin a perfect day.

“I’m not mad, just...” He sighed trying to find the right words that wouldn’t cause a full on argument. “I know how much they charge and I don’t want you spending that kind of money on me.” He knew this would head to where it ended up last time they fought a it but he’d say what he had to say.

“My money to spend as I see fit.” She said and there was a bite in her tone as she threw his own words from a few months ago back at him. “And this is part of my gift to you.”

“Tuche.” He sighed. He gave in, he had to. There was no argument. Presents and food were off limits. He’d sprung for pizza so many times that this could be counted as her turn. Her turn for the next six months he thought to himself. It was only the babysitter and those sorts of things that they had their agreement on. Trust the lawyer to remember that verbatim.

“What are you smirking at?” She asked with a sly smile of her own.

“I just got played.” He chuckled and kissed her.

“No, I just used our agreement to my advantage.” She grinned.

“You lawyered me.” He said both shocked and in awe as his hand fell to her knee and he squeezed.

“Yes I did.” She said triumphantly and smiled at him as she ate. The food was to die for and well worth it.

“I won’t forget this you know.” His tone low and one that held a promise of seductive retribution.

“I’m sure you won’t.” She laughed.

They finished up dinner with jokes and laughter. Gustaf felling the kids funny birthday stories from when he was a kid. She sat back and watched the kids and Gustaf. It all fit together so well. Were Quinn and Dana really watching over them to make this such a seamless transition. Well whatever divine intervention is happening let it continue she thought, because in the back of her mind was that niggling doubt that it was all going to fall apart at any moment. They were both fragile people trying their hardest to make it work.

Brendan brought out his dessert and Gustaf had to hand it to the kid, it was fucking good.

“This was good.” He said pointing to the remnants of the meal from the restaurant. “That was better.” He pointed at the Kladdkaka and took another slice and watched Brendan’s face perk up, that smile so similar to Sildie’s, his fathers smile no doubt.

“I know who to come to when I need another one made.” He winked. “Which might be tomorrow.”

She watched as those words made Brendan’s whole world light up. Gustaf was so good for him, that bond growing stronger the more time they spent together. It still didn’t make her feel any less guilty, the thoughts of it should have been Quinn still running through her head.

He pulled Lily into his lap as she started to fuss while he finished the second slice.

“No, not for you Lily bear. You’ll be bouncing off the walls all night with that amount of sugar and caffeine running through you.” She heard him say. “And I have other plans while you’re sleeping.” The look he gave Sildie as he spoke to Lily made her pussy clench, undiluted desire.

Brendan helped Sildie clear the table and the twins set up the games. Gustaf sat with Lily and watched Sildie.

“Mum mums a little upset Lily bear. They’re all going to feel it tomorrow. It’s going to crash down on them so hard it’ll make them reel. I need your help ok?” Lily squealed and pulled herself up so she was standing on his thighs. With her tiny hands on his vast shoulders she bounced up and down.

“She’s going to crumble, so are the boys and we need to keep them together. Any thoughts on how we do that?” He asked her.

“Dad dad sooch.” She said patting her hand on his cheek.

“Sooches huh? That might work, good advice.” He grinned and smooched the little girl until she was giggling.

He put her down and watched her toddle off to play with the toys sprawled out on the mat. Sildie came out a while later with a fresh pot of tea and sat it on the table. He was lost in thought watching Lily play, that gorgeous face relaxed.

She waited until Brendan had gone to the couch with the twins to play games before she covered his hand with hers.

“Where did you go love?” She asked gently.

“Nowhere, just thinking.” He smiled and hoped she’d let it go. They would deal with all that tomorrow, not today. “Have you told the kids about Friday?”

She shook her head. “I wanted it to be a nice surprise for them after tomorrow.”

“Can we all fit in your car or am I driving separately?” He asked brushing his thumb across the inside of her wrist lazily.

“My car. Brendan can squeeze in the very back.” She sipped her tea. “Same for tomorrow if you want to come with us?” Her voice shook slightly.

“I’ll go with you to where ever you need tomorrow love. I’m not leaving any of you alone.” He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. “I promised you that and I intend to keep it.”

“I don’t know if I can do this.” She whispered. It was stupid really because tomorrow was going to come whether she was ready for it or not.

“You can.” He hooked a finger under her chin and gently lifted her head so she’d look at him. “I’ll be right here with you. It’ll hurt, but you’ll start to heal.” His kiss settled her. Tender, loving, it warmed her.

“Gustaf can you come play games?” Liam asked politely.

“Sure. Let me finish my tea ok?”

“Ok.” Happy with the answer he ran back to the couch and flopped on it.

“I worry about them.” She said sipping her tea.

“I know love. We’ll get through it ok? Together.” He kissed her again and finished his tea.

“Now excuse me love, I have some asses to whoop.” He grinned that childish grin and her laugh made his heart soar. He leaned in and kissed her.

Don’t say it now the voice in his head said quietly, it’ll freak her out with everything that’s happening. He was sure she could see it in his eyes though. He kissed her again and joined the boys on the couch, scooping Lily up along the way.

He saw her curl up with a book in the one seat moments later and smiled. He liked seeing her not working or cleaning or insanely busy with the kids. Some decompression time even though the mind was still occupied. When Lily started to fuss he took her to Sildie’s room and put her down.

He sat on the floor and watched sleep slowly take her under. His finger tightly gripped in her tiny hand.

“I won’t let you go either little lady. Sweet dreams now.” He rested his head against the rails and made sure she was really out before even attempting to remove his finger from her hand.

When he came out the twins were just getting into the tub and Brendan was talking with Sildie. He let them be and decided to get the twins cleaned up and in bed quickly.

“Are you coming with us tomorrow?” Finn asked as he climbed into bed.

“I am if you want me to.” He said. He didn’t know where they were going but would hazard a guess it would be the Cemetary.

“I want you to come.” Finn said and punched the covers not knowing what to do with his hands or if he should even be asking Gustaf to be there.

“Me too.” Liam hugged Gustaf tightly. They were scared.

“Come here. Both of you, come here.” His arms wrapped around both kids and he pulled them in close. “It’s ok to be scared, it’s ok to be sad, its ok to be angry, it’s ok to cry. If you want me there I’ll be there, if not that’s ok too. You won’t upset me if you just want family.”

“You are family.” Finn mumbled into his shoulder and Gustaf tightened his hug.

These kids were his undoing. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for them, mountains he wouldn’t move. If they only they were old enough to understand what those words meant to him at this point in the relationship.

“Love you guys.” He said softly and with an I love you too they laid down so Gustaf could tuck them in.

“Are you staying tonight?” Liam asked.

“I’m staying until Ama gets tired of me being here and kicks me out.” He winked.

“So never.” Finn giggled.

“Here’s hoping kid.” He stood and watched them settle before flipping the light off. “Straight to sleep.”

He came out of the twins room to find Brendan standing at the door to his waiting for Gustaf.

“Night B.” He said and the kid hugged him tightly.

“Happy birthday.” He mumbled trying to keep those emotions that were suddenly so raw at bay.

“Thanks, and that dessert was fucking amazing dude. You need to meet my sister. She runs a nightclub and they’d go ballistic over that.”

“You really liked it?” His grin was huge.

“Loved it, I’m going to have it for breakfast tomorrow if I don’t eat the rest tonight.” He hugged the kid again, he was hurting so much already Gustaf could all but see the wounds to his heart bleed.

“Will you come with us tomorrow?” He asked eventually.

“Like I said to the twins just now, if you want me there I’ll be there, if not, that’s cool too.”

“I want you there, and Ama needs you there.” His voice quiet.

“You’re not alone this time B, neither is Sildie. I keep my promises.” The kid nodded. “Get some sleep ok.” Brendan nodded and with a final ’night ’ he closed his bedroom door.

He came out to an empty couch and saw her in the kitchen making tea. Closing the hall door he walked to the tv and turned on a movie. That would at least cover some of the noise he was about to have her make. Standing behind her he folded her into him, feeling her relax was promising.

“Doing ok?” He asked softly and kissed her temple.

“Yeah. Trying to keep it all in tomorrow you know?” She said and poured the tea.

“I get it. Thank you for an awesome birthday.” He kissed her again and breathed in her scent, it drove him crazy she smelled so good.

“Even though I lawyered you?” She smirked.

“Oh we’re so not done on that score love.” He growled and kissed her neck as he swept the strands of copper from his path.

“I’d say we’re even.” She sighed as his lips found the spot below her ear that made her knees turn to jelly.

“Not even close.” He chuckled.

“Don’t make me mad at you.” She warned.

“I’ll stay within our agreement, you found a loophole and now I’ll exploit it.” He murmured and slipped a hand under the silk of her robe to cup a breast.

“You’re impossible.” She chuckled and relaxed into him as his hands wandered.

“I am, and you’re stubborn.” His thumb grazed her nipple which earned him a sigh. “Finish your tea.” He purred and tugged the belt of her robe loose. “I have something else to exploit.”

“We have to be careful out here.” She warned, not really wanting him to stop.

“And we will be.” His voice low as his fingers pulled the fabric from one shoulder so he could suck at the silky flesh.

“This spot here is a favorite.” He whispered and kissed the dip in her collarbone letting his tongue graze it.

Slipping the fabric from her other shoulder he paid it equal attention. His hands cupped a breast each and her moan sent a shot of lust to his cock. Thumb and finger pinched her nipples as he devoured the tender flesh of her neck and collarbone. His large hands squeezing her breasts the weight of them heavy and exotic.

“I love it when you touch me like this.” She breathed and gripped the counter as his hand traveled lower.

Cupping her heat he pulled her hips to him and she felt his erection nestle between her ass cheeks. She pushed back and he growled into her neck gripping her breast tightly.

“I want you in me.” She whispered as his fingers slipped into her soaked pussy.

“Mmmm so wet for me love.” He purred and her breath hitched as he grazed a finger over her clit.

“I want to take you right here.” He growled.

The counter they were at was the only one slightly shielded from the hall door. Open plan living had its downfalls.

Her hand slipped between sweats and skin to find his hard member. She stroked it and that only spurred him on.

“Is that a yes?” He whispered.

She turned her head and snaked an arm up to pull him in for a kiss.

“Yes.” She breathed.

“Let me have you.” He bit into her shoulder gently and that soft cry of ’always’ fell from her lips.

He lifted her leg and placed a foot on the counter which stretched her hips wide open for him. Still holding her breast in one hand he gripped his cock in the other and ran the tip along her pussy. He pushed slowly into her savoring the feel of her heat swallowing him whole.

He groaned in ecstasy and bit down on the pulse at her neck. She held onto the counter for balance as his hand left her breast to slide up to grip her throat. The gesture was gentle yet erotic, the slight light headed feeling already pulsing through her. He eased off and kissed her below the ear.

“You like that too don’t you?” He smirked not needing an answer and kissed her again. The feel of her pulse quicken at his touch made him harder for her.

“Yes.” She breathed out as his hand tightened slightly and his hips started thrusting.

Her cry was soft as the different angle of penetration touched her in places she didn’t know existed. It wouldn’t be quick, he was going to take her slowly until she was wrecked. The feel of him plunging in and out of her like this was erotic torture, she never wanted him to stop.

He’d dreamed of taking her like this for months now, stretched wide and wanting, at his mercy. With each thrust he filled her, slow and deep. He kept his hand at her throat, supporting her against him with a muscled forearm between her breasts as the other grabbed a breast roughly and pinched her nipple hard.

He feasted on her exposed neck and shoulder as he plunged deeply, his teeth sure to leave marks by tomorrow. He felt her body tremble as she came close to her orgasm and he’d make sure it was mind blowing.

His hand at her throat gently squeezed as a finger slipped over her clit. The movie playing in the background drowned out her cry. He watched as her body quivered as he stroked and flicked her clit.

“Give yourself to me.” He whispered.

He thrust deeper as her body tensed. Felt her body yield, to him, to the pleasure he was giving her. He felt the pulse under his fingers quicken as she crested, and squeezed gently, just enough for a buzz.

“Harder.” She whispered and he did as she asked. She wanted to feel him claim her, pound into her, his cock bottoming out. She gave herself to him and felt her body tense so tightly she thought she’d snap something.

“Come for me love.” He growled and bit down on that sensitive part of her neck.

She wasn’t sure how loud she screamed but she’d never come so hard. Stars exploded in her brain, the feel of his hand around her throat, and the new sensations of him fucking her in this position almost made her pass out. He loosened his grip at her pulse as if reading her mind but continued his furious assault on her body.

She felt the second climax build so quickly she almost wasn’t aware it was happening until it was crashing through her. He’d pinned her to him, fucking her relentlessly now and she had no control. She cried out again as she came hard her pussy gripping and sucking at his thick cock.

She was beautiful when she came, lost to him and everything he was doing to her. He’d tip her over for another before he was done. She felt so good around him, hot, silky, and wet. The pulse of her pussy as it contracted only adding to the pleasure. He groaned as she cried out his name as she came again, he wouldn’t last another one.

“Gustaf please.” She begged him. To stop or to make her come again she wasn’t sure.

“Come again for me love.” He groaned as her pussy felt so incredibly tight as he pounded into her.

She screamed this time and even he was worried it would wake the kids. His world shattered as she came around him and triggered a powerful orgasm. He tensed and thrust hard, rough, and urgent. He rode out the pleasure with her as he filled her with his seed and slowed to a stop.

He kissed her tenderly where he’d bitten her before, hands caressing where they pinched and gripped tightly. He was also keeping his ears open for the hall door. Nothing yet, hopefully they would think it’s just the movie.

Panting she leaned her head back against him. She’d never been fucked so thoroughly. He kissed her neck and stroked tender fingers down her throat.

“Happy birthday.” She murmured when she’d found her voice again.

“Best birthday present ever.” He said softly and continued to stroke and soothe her.

He kissed her knee before helping her to place her foot on the floor again. Gently turning her around to face him he kissed her tenderly, her legs still shaking.

“I’ve wanted to have you like that for a while now.” He confessed and kissed her again.

“It was pretty intense.” Her finger trailed the scruff at his jaw.

“We don’t have to do it again if it’s too much.” And he was serious.

“I didn’t say that.” She smirked. “I like what you do to me.” She whispered and kissed him so seductively his brain melted.

“You can’t kiss me like that after I just fucked your brains out.” He growled.

“Yeah I can, it’s your birthday.” She giggled.

“Come with me.” He said and took her hand.

“I think I just did but ok.” She quipped.

“Smart ass.” He muttered and smacked her playfully on the butt.

He sat on the couch and pulled her into his lap. No kids venturing out of their bedrooms meant more play time. He wanted her wrecked so she’d pass out tonight and sleep well.

“I’ll give you a moment to catch your breath and then I’m having you again.” He said gently as he kissed her.

Curling her into his chest he held her there.

“Not if you hold me like this, I’ll be asleep.” She said and laughed as he pushed her upright with a chuckle.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed that clever mouth.

“Fuck Sildie what did you put in my food today to make me want you so fucking badly.” He chuckled and kissed her again with a groan.

“Nothing.” She laughed.

“I want you just like this.” His hand was palm flat against her spine at her shoulder blades before it fisted in the robe and raked it down her body to feast on her breasts.

His talented mouth seizing a nipple and tormenting it until she was grinding her hips against him. Her hands clawed for the hem of his shirt and she had it off him moments later wanting to feel his chest under her hands. He lifted his hips slightly so she could pull his sweats down.

He groaned as she stroked his cock, long firm strokes that would have him hard again soon enough.

“Such talented fingers.” He murmured as she slowly pumped his cock.

“Such a clever mouth.” She grinned and a gasp tore from her throat as he bit down on her nipple gently.

She ran his tip along her entrance and circled it there. The hiss and groan from him urged her on. As he feasted on her breasts she slowly lowered herself onto him to cradle his cock deep within her.

His head tilted back and claimed her mouth feverishly.

“Fuck me you feel so good love.” He breathed as she started to ride him slowly.

Her hands cupped his face and she kissed him tenderly, she wanted him slowly, erotically. His hands gripped her hips as she rode him, both finding that pleasurable rhythm. As his mouth attacked her throat she tipped her head back, arms resting on his shoulders. His hands coasted over her body with a featherlight touch, arousing her further.

“Sildie.” He breathed as his fingers gently tangled into her hair and he kissed the spot below her ear.

“Give yourself to me.” She whispered and kissed those lips she craved, her eyes searching his.

“Anything for you love.” He whispered back.

Her fingers interlaced with his and she stretched his arms along the back of the couch.

“This is familiar.” He growled and kissed her tenderly smiling at the memory of her rocking his world and blowing his mind all in one evening.

He tipped his head back and let her ride them both to oblivion. She changed it up slightly as his breathing quickened by brushing her breasts against his chest.

“Shall I make you come love?” She purred and nipped his throat, his slight chuckle at his own words from earlier today made her smile.

“You first.” He groaned as she sucked on the pulse at his throat.

“You’ll have to wait then, I’m enjoying fucking you slowly.” Her voice was wicked.

His groan turned to a hiss when she circled her hips. She’d brought him to the edge to have him hover there until she was ready to come.

“That’s just...” He lost his train of thought as her teeth grazed the column of his throat.

“Just what? Use your words.” She teased gleeful at finally rendering him speechless.

She’d blanked his mind. He was so lost to her now he couldn’t form words let alone think. That erotic body slowly taking him deeper with every stroke down. Her silky folds grinding against the base of him.

She felt him throb inside her. The struggle to hold back the pleasure until she came first. She wanted to watch him come, the pleasure she gave him. Feel that thick cock pulse inside her, filling her.

“Sildie please.” He whimpered, it was his turn to beg and he knew it aroused her more to hear it.

She rested her elbows on the back of the couch and began to bounce gently. He lifted his head up and devoured her mouth as his cock slammed into her deeply and bottomed out.

“Faster.” He breathed and she denied him for now, keeping it slow.

“Please.” He choked, he was struggling to hold off his orgasm now as she took him how she wanted.

“Look at me.” She whispered and he did, those soulful blue eyes drawing her in. “Go over.”

His hands gripped hers tightly as she quickened her bounce. With a choked cry he came hard, his eyes fluttering shut as he gave himself to her. With the feel of him pulsing inside her, the quicker pace of glorious friction she followed him into bliss and shattered.

He claimed her mouth and kissed her as she continued to ride him, milking everything from him. Her hand left his and cupped his face. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again.

“Now it’s a happy birthday.” He chuckled as they caught their breath.

“Now it’s take my worn out ass to bed.” She laughed. “I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.”

“A good sore I hope?” He always worried he was too rough.

“I’ll tell you if it’s not.” She said softly brushing her fingers from temple to chin.

She wondered if that’s something else Ana had done to him. Wanted it rough then accused him of hurting her. She couldn’t understand women that played those mind games, especially with someone as sweet and giving as he was. She wished he’d tell her, let her in.

She kissed him tenderly as his hands caressed her bare back, soothing, comforting.

“If you’re going to keep doing that I need to be laying down.” She chuckled. “It’s making me sleepy.”

He pulled the robe back up and held it out for her to stick her arms through. She turned off the tv and stood, helping Gustaf to his feet. He went to the bedroom while she checked on the kids, they were all sound asleep.

He was almost asleep when she climbed in next to him. She lay straight, running her long frame against his, the top leg curled over him, face buried in the curve of his neck, arm on his chest. She breathed him and her entire body relaxed, the stress melting off her.

“Gustaf?” She murmured.

“Mmmm.” He breathed as his arms wrapped around her pulling her closer.

“I don’t want tomorrow to come.” She said softly.

“I know love, but it will and we’ll be fine. I’ll be right here with you. Together remember.” He kissed her brow and heard her sigh it out.

“Sleep now love.” His whisper wasn’t answered, she’d finally let sleep claim her. Smiling to himself he followed shortly after.