#i was stricken by the urge to do this at 4 am and now it is 5:38 and my computer only has 5% battery

[laceswan]

The Spirit of Fate

The Smiling Princess, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5

Finnick Odair x fem!dancer!reader

What if the equivalent of a Disney Princess was thrown into the Hunger Games? Sylke is optimistic and has an affinity for all that is gentle and sweet. What happens when she is placed in an arena and forced to kill or be killed?

Fluff and angst, strangers to lovers, T/W: canon-typical violence

Epilogue is out!

Finnick woke up with a startled gasp. With eyes wide open he was now incredibly aware of all that was touching his body. He could feel the suit from the arena clinging to his body, the cold air and the mask on his face, and a bandage on his arm. Looking around, he saw the inside of a jet much like the one had taken to get to the arena. Beetee and Katniss were in a similar position, lying on mats on the floor with bandages and wires monitoring them. Behind a frosted glass door he heard voices. Slowly, he stood up and walked over to the door. Inside, he found Haymitch and Plutarch sitting by a table and talking.

“You’re up.”

“I am. Where are the others?”

Plutarch stepped closer. There was sadness in his expression, but Finnick had half a mind not to trust it.

“Snow got to them before we could, there wasn’t any time.”

Finnick leaned against the table, his head hung low and defeated.

“Alright… what about Sylke, where’s she? Are we headed to the house or-“

This time it was Haymitch that spoke. He placed a hesitant hand on Finnick's shoulder.

“Finnick, I’m really sorry.”

Terror painted across Finnick’s face.

“We sent some people, but by the time they got there…”

Haymitch trailed off as Finnick sunk into his body. He let his body fall onto a chair, but had it not been there he would have just ended up on the floor. He assumed the worst. His hands flew to cover his mouth and muffle the little cries that came out. He’d already suffered her death once before, why again?

“Do we at least have her body? I want… I wanna give her a proper burial.”

His voice was shaky, but this was what needed to be done. He needed at least to say goodbye.

Haymitch looked to him with utmost pity.

“Son, she’s alive. They got her.”

And suddenly her death felt like a blessing. Burning emotion seized his body. It wasn’t even rage, nor terror, just pure anguish.

“No, no! You told me-you promised! You promised we would get her out!”

Haymitch sighed.

“I made a lot of promises. We’ll send a rescue team when the dust settles.”

Finnick nodded. His whole body was still stricken and trembling with agony, but he wasn’t one to throw a tantrum; especially not when he knew firsthand the nuances of covert operation in the capitol. Katniss, however, was a different sorry. When she heard about Peeta she did everything Finnick’s impulse had urged him to do. She screamed and shouted, even attacked Haymitch. She clawed and batted at him like a desperate animal, repeating that he made a promise, that he was a liar. Finnick could only watch, for once feeling pity, as well as understanding. Ten years ago, he would have done exactly the same.

When they landed in District Thirteen, Finnick, Katniss, and Beetee were sent to the infirmary. The lightning strike had presented some complications to Finnick’s health, so they dressed him in a white gown and admitted him to a small room with a thick glass door until he recovered. The room was probably white too, clinical and pristine, probably cleaned by the hour. But right now, it looked like it was coated in mustard gas. The lights buzzed with a sort of iodine yellow hue, washing the room in an ominously warm colour.

During his recovery, they allowed him few personal items-not that he had many to begin with. He was however, able to get some rope. When he was awake his mind would race. There was nothing to do, nothing to keep him distracted, his only task was apparently to recover. He could at least keep his hands busy, tying and untying the same couple ropes until there were blisters on his hands. It helped to move his hands, but not enough. Every second, his head was flooded with thoughts of her. Perhaps he had brought this on himself, refusing to think about her for so long in the arena, simply because there wasn’t time. Now, he had all the time in the world, and it felt wrong not to think of her at every moment. They were keeping her alive, he was sure of that much. They wouldn’t give up their leverage so easily. Was she in a similar room, white and cold with a similarly racing mind? We’re they hurting her? Or was she still just some pretty thing in a cage? Was she able to dance? A bittersweet smile came to Finnick’s face when he pictured her dancing. He saw her in a room just like his, in a gown just like his, dancing barefoot around the room with her eyes closed. It brought him comfort, the idea that she could perhaps maintain at least a little joy. But of course, thoughts of her dancing were followed by a much more somber and unfortunately likely possibility. In his mind, Finnick couldn’t help but wonder if they were restraining her. He saw her strapped fo a bed much like the one he had in the infirmary, struggling and begging to be given even a moment of freedom to move. He at least had that privilege. He could pace, sit on the floor, even dance if her wanted to. What if she couldn’t? Such questions plagued him mind. The span of morbid possibilities refused to be ignored, and so he listened to that dangerous voice. He fell into a spiraling rabbit-hole of ways she might have been hurting, only further enabled by his present utter inability to help her.

It affected his health too. The doctors called it a parasympathetic stress response, but all he understood was that it felt like shit. He was always tired but only sometimes able to sleep, he experienced phantom pain in random places, and everything took longer to heal. The time he spent in the infirmary was miserable. It was miserable for Katniss too. She had a nightmare once and came into his room. That night was perhaps his lowest point. It was when death looked so welcoming, so lovely a fate to experience, if only it would come sooner. The only thing that kept him alive was knowing the capitol wouldn’t let her die. He refused to die if she was still alive and hurting.

Katniss somehow recovered much faster. Finnick was a little jealous, that she was able to keep living her life even when Peeta was in the capitol. She was discharged, and not long after, Coin called everyone to hear a speech, which included those admitted in the infirmary. Finnick stood with the doctors and other patients, making a little patch of white in a sea of grey. Coin announced that Katniss was to be the face of the rebellion, and that in exchange for that, there were some “concessions”. Specifically the extraction the the victors held hostage in the capitol. The crowd began to clamor at the mention of Peeta’s name. They shouted and exclaimed, rejecting Peeta’s rescue. Katniss made her way over as Johanna’s name was announced.

“Finnick, I made the deal for Sylke too.”

Coin’s voice boomed through the hall.

“…and Sylke Fairinan”

Their was utter silence at her name. Some people looked a little confused. Finnick was just a little shocked himself as well. He never quite thought of Sylke as a victor. Hearing her name, her full name, announced like that to a crowd made her feel like a public figure, a celebrity, someone with an image and a life they hide from the world. But to him she was just Sylke, that’s what she’d always been. He hadn’t even heard her last name in ten years. She was always just Sylke, the angel that occupied eternal space in his mind and heart.

“Once freed, they will be granted pardon for any and all crimes committed against the rebel cause.”

The crowd once again resulted into vocal dissent and anger. A worries look quickly came to Katniss’ face. Finnick tried to console her, knowing the two of them were the only ones with loved ones hostage in the capitol.

“Good.”

She looked to him, concerned and clearly unsure of herself.

“That’s good, Katniss.”

For the first time in a long time, there was a small smile on his face. There was hope again, however small.

“If Katniss Everdeen fails to fulfill her duties, the deal will be off.”

That look of fear and heartache returned to both of their faces as the people filed out of the hall. It occurred to Finnick as he made his way back to the infirmary that his spirits were rather fragile now. That night, when he was alone, words couldn’t help but escape his lips. Even with Coin’s speech, hope was hard to hold onto. Finnick sat on the floor of his room, leaning against the bed with his head hung low.

“Angel, how do you do it? How do you stay smiling? I’m trying, I promise.”

His voice was quiet, speaking words meant only for him and someone miles away.

“I’m so tired.”

He cried quietly to himself, though did eventually drift to sleep there on the floor.

Finnick recovered slowly. While Katniss was filming propos and being the Mockingjay, he was in the infirmary. He wallowed, but with every day came a little more hope. Katniss and Beetee sometimes came to see him, bringing news of the rebellion’s plans. Smiling got easier, as did picturing Sylke dancing. The idea that she would be alright seemed more and more true. When the phantom pains and memories of Sylke finally became manageable, he traded in his white gown for a grey jumpsuit.

The whole of thirteen gathered one night to watch Katniss’ new propo. He was horrified by the bombing, he was angry with Snow for uncountable reasons, what he was not was triumphant. At the end, the symbol of the mockingjay came onto the screen accompanied by a message. Join the fight. The crowd chanted their celebration like they won a war. That sort of victory song always felt misplaced to Finnick. Blaring horns and happy voices when people lie dead on the battlefield. People showering him with gifts and congratulations just after someone died in his arms. But that was what the propos were meant to do. He looked to Katniss beside him, and she had a similar look of confusion and discomfort.

“You don’t like hearing a fight song at a funeral, huh?”

She turned her head to look at him. He continued, reminding her and himself of what they needed to remember.

“The more people on our side, the closer we are to Sylke and Peeta.”

She nodded. No matter how icky it felt, this was what needed to be done.

The days passed with incredible monotony. Every day was exactly the same, the same schedule, the same people. The only variety came in the form of news, speeches, broadcasts. One night, Finnick visited Katniss in her room and they watched Peeta’s interview. He was crying, and he looked terrified. Finnick in a way envied her, for she able to see Peeta’s face and know that he was at least physically healthy. But he also knew that the pain of seeing him say everything they couldn’t believe in was a whole different world of pain and confusion. In the short time he knew Peeta, the subject of rebellion or even government never really came into conversation. It was the same with Sylke. Perhaps that was the worst part; that what Peeta was asking of Katniss and the rebels seemed entirely possible. From where he was standing, he just wanted the violence to stop. He was most certainly being fed information, being manipulated by the capitol, but the root of his argument was something understandable. It was almost reminiscent of Sylke’s words in her interview so long ago. She was never one for violence or combat. Ever since the beginning, she favoured diplomacy, kindness, and compromise. Finnick couldn’t help but wonder if Peeta’s words were even that treacherous. They were currently entrenched in desperate times, and thus desperate measures were called for. But later, they would need people like Peeta, like Sylke, to remind them of the value of compassion. Finnick made a small promise to himself, that he would try to be one of those people, at least when the fighting was over. If they managed to win, he was going to try to be like her. To be kind, to have mercy, and to offer grace.

The next day, he went with Katniss to hunt above ground. It was calming for both of them, getting to move and use the skills they had honed for years. That familiar feeling of a trident sinking into flesh, the thwip of an arrow as it flies through the air, it brought them comfort. They did eventually sit down too.

“I’m glad we were able to come out today. I think you needed this after last night.”

She nodded.

“I don’t like watching those broadcasts, but I can’t look away. He’s so different already. What are they doing to him?”

Finnick was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know. I think that’s the worst part.”

“It is. They could be telling him to say all that stuff and threatening to kill him, or maybe they’re actually convincing him it’s true. I don’t know what’s better.”

“I don’t think there is a better. It’s all bad when it comes to Snow.”

She murmured agreement. They were quiet again, listening to the birds and the rustling trees. Nature has such an ability to soothe, with her ambient noise and dappled light. It made them feel safe enough to talk.

“Is it bad that I just want this to be over? Sometimes I think he’s right, that we should just give up. At least then I could see him again.”

“I don’t think that’s bad, Katniss. I think it’s human.”

She looked unsure of herself.

“You miss him. And you want to be with him, so you can know he’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Do you want it to be over?”

“Of course. I just want to know she’s safe. That safety could come with a ceasefire, or with victory.”

“Yeah. But a ceasefire means she goes back to that mansion.”

Finnick clicked his tongue and tilted his head in agreement.

“And that’s why I’m here. If we win, we wouldn’t just be safe, we’d be happy. I want her to be happy.”

Katniss smiled.

“I think I could be happy with him.”

They spent a few more hours talking in the forest, confiding in each other as the only other people who could relate, who knew this special sort of pain. Their afternoon in the forest was a nice respite, but they did eventually need to return to the concrete rooms under the earth.

After the attack on the dam, another interview was broadcast. Peeta called it inhuman, begged her to stop. He looked so genuinely terrified. But what he was scared of was unclear. There was something just behind the camera, something that instilled and powerful fear in him.

“They’re coming, Katniss. They’re gonna kill everyone. And in District Thirteen you’ll be dead by morning-“

The broadcast was cut off as he was dragged away. Sirens began to blare, people filed out to level forty. If there was panic in the air it was hard to detect. People were calm and orderly as they rushed down the stairs, perfectly trained soldiers. That is, until water rained from above and the lights went out. People screamed, ran, let go of order in favour of getting to the bunker. People would scream each time a blast hit. When the night grew quieter, no one slept. They just kept waiting for the cracks in the ceiling to widen, for the walls to cave in and for death to arrive. Finnick sat in one of the beds, fiddling with the gold bangle instead of rope, which he had given to Katniss during the bombing. She had looked like she needed it more than him. In the quiet of night, Katniss walked over and sat beside him.

“He’s taunting me, using Peeta to punish me. I didn’t understand until just now, watching that stupid cat.”

“Yeah. That’s why he took Sylke too.”

Finnick sighed before continuing.

“After your first Games, I thought the whole romance was an act. We all expected you’d continue that strategy. But it wasn’t until Peeta’s heart stopped and he almost died that…"

He looked at Katniss directly, hoping to convey just how sincere and vulnerable this conversation was for him. This sort of openness wasn't exactly natural to him, but it needed to be said, and right now, she needed to hear it.

"I misjudged you. You love him. Anyone paying attention can see it.”

“How do you live with it?”

“I’ve been doing it for ten years. For five of them I thought she was gone. I did the whole self-pity thing the first time around. I had nightmares-I still do. But you learn not to give in to it. It gets easier.”

She listened, nodding her head ever so slightly.

“But then it happened again. And it takes ten times longer to put yourself back together than it does to fall apart, you saw how long I was in the infirmary. But if Sylke taught me anything it’s that little joys can keep you alive. They kept her sane in that house, and they’ve kept me going down here.”

Katniss didn’t say anything. They sat in silence for a while, and once Finnick started nodding off, she went back to her sister and mother.

In the morning, she was gone and thirteen was buzzing with action. Finnick was sitting, anxiously waiting for something he could do to help. Beetee was working through the capitol’s electronic system or something, there was a rescue team setting up, and all Finnick could do was watch. He had signed up to be on the team, but as a refugee and not a soldier, they informed him that he couldn’t. By nightfall they finally had a job for him. He was going to be a distraction broadcast so they could jam the whole system, and the team could safely get it. He stood on a pile of rubble and white roses, with stagelights warming his skin.

“This is Finnick Odair, winner of the 65th Hunger Games. I’m coming to you from District 13, alive and well. We’ve survived an assault from the capitol. But I’m not here to give you recent news. Instead, I’m here to tell you the truth. The truth about the capitol.”

He continued for what felt like forever, indulging in his whole story, the one he only ever told Sylke. The story of how after he turned sixteen, he was sold like a commodity to socialites in the capitol. That he wasn’t the only one, and if you refused, your loved ones were killed. That there was one girl who was dead to the rest of the world, but Snow brought her back just to sell her.

“Remember Sylke Fairinan? She was your princess. You dressed her up in fancy gowns and gold tiaras before she went into the arena. I felt her die in my arms. And then they started her heart back up and sold to the highest bidder. Lycan Indigo. He kept her like a doll, locked in a mansion for ten years. She’s alive. You kept your princess in a gilded cage. And what's worse, after ten years in that place, after slowly learning to find happiness there, you've taken her from it again. President Snow is holding her hostage, to taunt me. He is not the kind man he shows himself to be.”

Finnick kept going. He revealed Snow’s history of poison and assignation, the reason behind his heavy perfume, the bloody sores in his mouth, every secret he knew was a secret no longer. As he spoke, one or the people behind the camera spoke up.

“Okay, you can stop.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, it looks like they’re broadcasting Katniss now.”

Finnick nodded, unsure of what was going on. They went back down to find everyone looking incredibly distraught. He and Katniss sat in a room, silent, waiting for news. He once again had the rope in his hands, tying and untying knots to keep his hands busy. He had to think she was safe. He had to. Cause if he considered for even a moment that she wasn’t, he’d fall apart again. When Haymitch opened the door, their eyes show up.

“They’re back.”

All that needed to be said for them to get up and sprint to the landing area. Johanna was the first one they saw. She was gaunt, her head shaved, but a smirk was still on her face. And then he heard it.

“Finnick? Finnick!”

That voice he hadn’t stopped hearing for ages, but only ever in his head. Her name fell from his mouth involuntarily, quietly questioning if it was real as he ran towards the source of her voice. Later, people would tell him that they said each other’s names perhaps a thousand times in that single exchange. He would notice later that she looked weak, her hair was longer and had lost some of it’s shine, and that despite all that her spirit had in no way dimmed. Her eyes had lit up when she saw him walk in the room. And suddenly, it was as if there was no one in the world but the two do them, crashing through space to reach each other. They collided and lost balance, slamming against a wall, but they stayed there, clinging into one being. Indivisible. He whispered like he didn’t believe it.

“You’re safe…”

She pulled her head out from his embrace to look at him, nodding with a smile. Whether they were smiling or laughing or crying, even they didn’t know. Words fail to describe the joy, the relief, the wonder of being back together. When heart rates slowed and the dust settled, they finally spoke. Finnick had a smile the magnitude of which hadn’t touched his face in far too long.

“Hi.”

“Hi. It’s been a minute.”

As though they were one being, they burst into simultaneous and gentle laughter.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“No, no, I’m okay. They beat me up a little, but I’ll be alright.”

“They what?”

Finnick’s voice was hoarse, breathy. He knew that they would do that, and yet in that moment he couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that someone would ever want to hurt her. Not even Mr. Indigo did that. But her smile clearly wasn’t gone. With a voice laced with affection, she put a hand against his cheek and reassured him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You guys got me out before they started my ‘treatment’. I’ll be just fine, I promise.”

“We should get you to the infirmary.”

“Okay.”

Still refusing to stop touching her, Finnick scooped her into his arms and carried her himself to the infirmary. On the way there, her head was nuzzled in the crook of his neck.

“I was right, you know.”

“Hmm? How?”

“I knew you’d come back to me. You didn’t win, but you didn’t have to. I told you, didn’t I?”

“You did. You were right to hope.”

She laughed to herself, closing her eyes. Even with her sunny disposition, her body was clearly exhausted.

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

As her body melted further into his and her breathing slowed, he continued walking. They didn’t put her in a room, apparently her condition wasn’t that bad, so she would only need a bed for a few days. Mostly bruises, a couple of open wounds, but nothing bad.

When she woke up, she found herself in a cold room devoid of colour. For a moment, she wondered if it was a dream. Sitting up, she looked around. Finnick wasn’t there, and neither was anyone else. The curtains were drawn. Had they moved her to a new place? We’re they starting her treatment? She hastily removed the IV from her arm, leaving the patch with the needle and luer connector, but no tubing. Whatever they were pumping into her needed to stop there.

“Johanna? Peeta?”

Silence. She heard faint chatter from just outside, doctors or scientists getting ready. Hesitant feet touched the ground. Her fingers brushed against the thin fabric of the curtain. Fear kept her from grasping it. What would she see on the other side? There was hope in her still that she was safe, that she wasn’t in the capitol anymore, but what if she was wrong? What if she was still there, destined to be Syren Indigo? What if she was wrong to hope?

“Hello?”

She heard footsteps. Fearing the scolding that might come should they find her out of bed, she laid back down and put the IV back against the luer connector, though not actually placing it inside. Hopefully she’d be able to fool them. The footsteps got louder. It wasn’t necessary, but she wasn’t ready to face them yet, so she relaxed her body and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. She heard metal rings scraping against a pole as the curtain was opened.

“Sylke?”

That was his voice. She wanted to open her eyes, see him, but what if it was a lie? What if this was the start of her treatment? She heard how it started with Peeta. They played him altered clips and all sorts of things. What if this was one of those?

“Oh. You’re still asleep.”

A chair was pulled up, and someone sat down. A warm hand smoothed out her hair. She took a long inhale. No perfume. The hand then gently rested on hers. She knew that touch, and it made her flinch. But still terrified, she kept her eyes closed. The technology of the capitol could do anything.

“Sylke? Are you awake?”

That was his voice. He sounded so real. Even if it wasn’t him, couldn’t she take a look? Even if it was fake, couldn’t she see his face again? That voice of temptation was so loud. What would be the worst that could happen? They were going to wake her up anyway. Slowly, hesitantly, she opened her eyes. And there he was. With those lovely green eyes staring right back at her.

“Hey, Angel. How are you feeling?”

She frantically searched his eyes, before looking to everything else around her. His eyes looked right. His face too. He was in a grey jumpsuit. Everything else was grey too. Behind him was what the curtain used to cover. It looked like a hospital. It was quiet, but not deadly silent. It didn’t look the same. The walls weren’t pristine white, they were concrete. The lights would flicker every now and then, nothing seemed quite perfect like it was before.

“Angel? Is everything alright?”

She looked back at him with terror in her eyes.

“Are you real? Are you really here?”

He moved closer to her, with nothing but love and affection in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m real. We’re safe. We’re in thirteen, remember?”

“We are?��

“Mhmm. You’re in the infirmary right now, but they said you can be discharged in a day or two.”

He looked at the IV lying unconnected at her arm, and plugged it back in with a chuckle.

“That is, if you actually listen to the doctors and take the meds they give you.”

She smiled, a sad, bittersweet smile.

“How come you unplugged it?”

“I… I thought I was in the capitol. I thought they had moved me to start my treatment.”

“You said that earlier too. What treatment?”

“I’m not entirely sure, I didn’t hear all of it. But Mr. Indigo… when he visited me-“

“He came to see you?”

“Yeah. Almost every day for maybe an hour, he’d come in and talk to me, make sure they were treating me well, he even snuck in a couple things for me once. More recently he started mentioning the treatment. Said he talked to the doctors and convinced them to let me get the help I needed, so I wouldn’t be starting fires in my room anymore. And he said it would make me a real Indigo if I wasn’t already. I remember the words.

‘Syren Indigo. Got a nice ring to it, don’t it?’

I heard what they were doing to Peeta. I figured they’d do something similar to me. He wanted me to be his daughter.”

“Oh Sylke…”

The words to be said evaded him and he was left with only actions. He stood up and walked over to the bed, gesturing that she move over. She did, and he crawled under the covers, holding her close in his arms. His embrace was warm, comforting, familiar.

“Finnick. I don’t want to forget you. I don’t want to forget.”

He held her even tighter, placing a kiss on her head.

“You won’t, I promise. I’ll make sure of it. You remember how to waltz?”

She looked at him with a grin.

“Of course.”

“Then get up.”

He got out of the bed and offered his hand. The moment she took it, he placed a hand on her waist, pulling her close. With his other hand, he grabbed the pole on wheels from which a bag of saline fluid hung. Sylke rested her hand by his neck and with the other room Finnick’s hand, holding the pole as well.

“Do you remember?”

“I couldn’t possibly let myself forget. Not when I still owed you a dance.”

And with that, they swayed about the section of the room she had been allotted. It was just like she taught him that night, all those years ago. One, two, three, brush, one, two, three, brush. Swept up in the music they heard in their heads, the dance continued. He spun her around, lifted her off the floor, and always right on the downbeat. It ended when they let go of the pole and it rolled too far away. Sylke felt a sharp tug at her arm and the imaginary music stopped.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just maybe we should be more careful."

“Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away.”

Sylke laughed, wrapping her arms up by his neck.

“We both did. Once I’m out of here, we’ll get to dance properly.”

Finnick nodded.

“Soon.”

Finnick did eventually have to leave and resume his schedule. Sylke went back to sleep, clutching a pillow in his stead. Slowly but surely, a new world faded in. Her limbs were blocky, solid, and utterly incapable of movement. All that she had control over was her eyes, glancing around. In her periphery, she was able to figure out what exactly she was. She was a marionette, strung up on a stage. In the audience, right there in the front row, we’re the cold, wolf-like eyes of Mr. Indigo. He was watching her, with a hideous, inhuman grin. And then the music started. It was plucky, out of tune, like a harpsichord left untouched for ages. And she began to dance. Her arms and legs flailed about, and her torso was yanked up and down. She couldn’t open her mouth or even breathe, and yet somehow she kept moving. This dancing cage of hers moved without life or spirit. It had no bones, no muscle, only string that extended up into the vague darkness above.

Sylke didn’t wake up screaming or yelling. Her eyes merely flew open, tears already pouring down her face. Sniffling and quietly sobbing, she sat up and clutched the pillow in her arms. Johanna, from the neighboring bed, spoke up. Her tone was harsh, unsympathetic.

“What are you crying about?”

“I-I just had a bad dream.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“Mr. Indigo. He was looking at me, and I just…”

Words dissolved into sniffles. Johanna just laughed. There was venom in her voice when she spoke.

“Your scared of him? Seriously? That man visited you almost every day. He was so good to you-“

Heartache emerged from her throat.

“He loved you!”

A whimper escaped from Sylke and she clutched the pillow even tighter.

“But he…”

“He what? I heard him talk about you, he had nothing but love for you.”

"Please don't say that..."

She kept going, words flowing like a river from her mouth, with no hesitation or tact.

“Are you really that ungrateful? Everything he did was for you…”

She paused for a moment, a devilish smile growing on her face.

“… for his little Syren.”

“Please, just stop…”

Sylke took a shaky breath, shifting to look at Johanna straight on.

“I never asked for his love. I know he’s the reason I’m still alive, I know that it could have been worse. But that man took my life and made it his.”

The shaking stopped. Sylke regained her composure. She stood up and walked to Johanna’s bed, sitting down next to her. Their time in the capitol made them quite familiar with one another’s hardships. Sylke knew exactly where these words were coming from. She knew why Johanna was hurting, she knew that when one has no one, even unwanted love seems desirable. And so she spoke gently, hoping her empathy would be understood as such, rather than pity.

“Mr. Indigo didn’t love me as a person. He didn’t care if I was happy, so long as I provided entertainment. That’s not how you’re supposed to love someone.”

Johanna nodded, saying nothing. She knew she overstepped, she knew her words were impulsive. And now suddenly she felt a little guilty. Sylke had appealed to her humanity with just a few sentences.

“I know. It just hurts, you know?”

“I know.”

Sylke murmured more validation, placing her head on Johanna’s shoulder. She wanted to say that Johanna had friends here, people who loved her, but decided to let it be quiet. She’d say it some other time.

Sylke’s wounds took very little time in healing. She only needed to stay in the infirmary until the larger wounds had closed up, which didn’t take long. Really, they only worried about the cut on her side. She remembered when it was made. The blade was jagged and dull, dragging across her skin at a snail’s pace, over and over again. They asked her with every stroke what she knew. Of course Finnick hadn’t told her about the plan, she barely even knew he was a rebel. But they kept going. First there was a raised line of red, where the skin was raw and irritated. The blade tore further into her skin, but drew no blood. They grabbed her arms with and iron grip and threw her back into her cell, earning her a couple bruises. Once there was a film of yellow scabbing, they took her back out. Slowly, and again with the questions, they peeled it. With the layer of platelets gone, blood dribbled out of the wound. The flesh beneath was tender, and they took advantage of that. She answered each question honestly, but they didn’t like what she said. And with each answer they didn’t like, she received another swipe against her side with the jagged blade. Eventually, they gave up on trying to get information out of her. Sometimes they would try again, but never to that degree.

Now, she had a bandage wrapped around that area, gently changed and cleaned every couple of hours. The doctors were kind here, always making sure it was alright to touch her and asking if the bandage was too tight. Under their care, the wound closed up in no time. By then, all of her smaller cuts and bruises left only fading scars. Soon, she was given a drab grey jumpsuit and assigned to new quarters. It was a small room not unlike the infirmary in style. There were two small beds and a table between them, one bed for her and the other for a roommate. After guiding her to the room, the nurse previously assigned to her shut the door, leaving her alone in that room. She did not hear the click of a lock. Her schedule was to start tomorrow, for now she could settle in and find a place in the room for any personal items. Of course she had none, but curiosity led her to peak at her roommate’s. Everything was neat, folded, as though it was never lived in. The only signs of a human’s stay there were a couple of items on the table, seemingly the only personal items this roommate of hers had. Perhaps they were a refugee as well, with only a moment to have gathered items of sentimental value. Or perhaps residents of thirteen simply didn’t value material possessions all that much. Considering the lack of decor and personality in all parts of the place she had seen, that was in fact the case. Sylke allowed herself to fantasise for a moment about who this person might be. A coal miner from twelve? She had always wanted to see a forest, maybe they could tell her about them. A soldier from thirteen? One who had trained their whole life for combat, for revolution, and now finally had the chance to prove themselves? Or perhaps another refugee from the capitol. What if she knew them? What if one of the few people she was able to meet in the capitol had been a rebel, one who took a chance one night and ran away? They could exchange life stories, maybe become friends. But none of those turned out to be true. On the table, she found a golden bangle and a short bit of rope, neither of which told her about this person. She sat on one of the beds, hopefully the unoccupied one, and waited. She wasn’t tired, she’d slept plenty in the infirmary. So she sat, waiting for something to happen. The door slid open to reveal her roommate.

“Finnick?”

He chuckled.

“I asked them to put you in as my roommate, I didn’t know they’d actually do it. How are you feeling?”

“Good. Everything’s healing well, so I they discharged me this afternoon. I do still have to keep it bandaged, but the wound is much smaller now.”

“That’s great!”

He walked over to the bed and stood before here, a smile adorning his face.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you here with me.”

She leaned into his touch as he caressed her cheek. The words “I love you” were not needed in that moment. There was a mutual understanding of affection, one that had been there for ten years. Though not entirely true, retrospect and nostalgia had a way of convincing both of them that it had always been this way, that this familiarity and affection was present since that first night they met. In some ways this was correct, there was always a connection. But the comfort in it had developed over time. Insecurity was able to fade away, they became more familiar with the other’s habits. And yet wonder was not lost. There was still a glimmer of shock, of flustered joy in moments of affection. Things between them weren’t perfect, but they were damn well close to it.

Sylke’s task in thirteen was to help in the kitchen. The food was boring, seasoned only with salt, and they often stirred in powders of vitamin supplements or something of that nature, because the people down here rarely saw the sun. She spent her days standing beside people she found to be kind, talkative in comparison to the Indigo household staff, and generally pleasant company. Life was certainly monotonous, but that was something she was used to. At least now, she wasn’t alone. During mealtimes, she would serve the food, watching everyone eat and chat from afar. On occasion, she would sneak away and sit by Finnick, but that often got her scolded by someone who cared far too much for rules. At the end of the day, the whole facility would get dimmer, and she would be back in her room with Finnick. The beds were made for one person, but they made it work for the both of them. In the mornings, she would wake up before him, needing to go and prepare breakfast. His arms held her tightly, unwilling to let go.

“Finnick, I need to go.”

His voice was deep, raspy, and barely awake.

“I don’t want you to go.”

She giggled and pressed a kiss to his jaw. His eyes were still closed, but a satisfied grin appeared on his face.

“Fine. Two minutes, and then I really have to go.”

He groaned, considering her offer, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“Okay.”

Running his fingers up her body, he attempted to feel for her face, too tired to open his eyes. His touch was gentle and yet possessive, still unwilling to let go. Once he found her jaw, he pulled it closer and planted endless kisses on her face. At some point, his eyes fluttered open. He was confronted with the image of her smile, a little tired and a little exasperated, but undeniably lovely.

“You’re beautiful.”

A little colour came to her cheeks.

“You know, you can’t keep me here forever. Do you want food today or not?”

He let a sigh as she got up from the bed.

“Alright fine, I concede. Just one more kiss though.”

She laughed, leaning down to peck his forehead before leaving. Once alone, Finnick’s mind couldn’t help but fantasise about waking up with her every day, and not having to rush off somewhere.

The explicit concept of marriage had come up only once or twice in their five years of exchanging letters. Far more common was talk of a hypothetical life they would have one day. A wedding was implied, but never really stated outright. Instead, they talked about days without urgency, when they could lie in bed for hours, dance in the kitchen instead of cooking, fall asleep on the beach, and all of this simply because they wanted to. But as the danger of revolution increased, both of them began thinking about the specifics of that vague life together. It didn’t take Finnick long to understand that he wanted to marry her. He mentioned it one night when the room felt quiet and too awake.

“Hey,”

“Hmm?”

“Would you want to get married? I know we’ve talked about being together, when it’s all over, but what if we did it now?”

She looked to him with wide doe-eyes.

“Now?”

“I mean here, in thirteen. Before anything happens-before anything possibly could happen. Just in case.”

She took a moment to think, sinking into his chest. If she had been falling asleep before, she was wide awake now.

“Okay. Just in case.”

“Yeah. That way if something happens, I’ll have been married to you. Another thing to help prove to the world that you’re here, and that I’m yours.”

She lifted herself to prop her head up on her hand, smiling at him. He soon followed, staring lovingly back at her.

“I like the sound of that.”

She placed a kiss on his lips.

“But nothing’s going to happen to you, okay?”

That was partially a lie. There was a reason they were doing this, a risk, and they both knew it. But after everything they’d been through, fate had to be in their favour. It would simply be wrong, to have done all of this, just to lose their happily ever after.

She reassumed her position lying on his chest after that, speaking softly to him, but also to herself.

“I used to picture my wedding, you know. When I was little, I had this image in my head of a white dress and a castle and a ballroom, like in the fairytales. I didn’t know who would be my prince or princess charming, but I knew that I’d love them. That was always the best part. I know we won’t be in a castle, but in a way it’ll be exactly like how I dreamed of as a child.”

He was falling asleep by that point. She lifted herself to look at his peaceful face. He looked calm and safe, lying next to her like he was sure, like everything in the world assured him, that this is where he was supposed to be.

“I love you, my prince.”

Plutarch explained that the wedding was going to be filmed. “To show the capitol that we’re alive and well” he said. Because of that, they were allowed all sorts of luxuries that thirteen didn’t usually permit. The hall was glowing with amber light and greenery they brought in from above. Finnick was dressed in a lighter grey than usual, with sturdy fabric that hugged his waist but got a little looser at the shoulders. He was also given something of a cape, but it only covered one shoulder. He looked somewhere between a soldier and a duke. For Sylke they made a dress fit for a princess. White of course, a colour held with some disdain in thirteen. The skirt was long and full, trailing behind her every so slightly when she walked. It was simple, no layers of tulle or golden jewelry to match, but it made her feel like herself, entirely herself, which was really all it needed to be. It felt like all of her, nothing held back or exaggerated for anyone.

She made her way alone down the aisle, smiling at the man ahead, the destination toward which she walked. He took her hands in his, this time with no iron bars between them. She looked into his green eyes, like she had so many times before, and everything felt right in the world. There was no sunlight or gentle breeze, no magnolias or birdsong, but there didn’t need to be. He was here, looking back at her with all the love in the world. When it came time for her to say her vows, she had very little prepared. She spoke truthfully, freely, saying everything that her heart told her to say in that moment.

“My darling Finnick. I’ve said to you before that I believe in fate. We were just kids when we met, and even then, I knew my story was tied to yours. I promise to love you, to cherish you, and to be by your side for the rest of happily ever after that fate allows.”

The smile on his face grew before he took a breath and said his vows.

“Sylke, my angel, you have my heart, as you always have, for all eternity. Whether together or apart, we will always be united, tied together by the strings of fate. I promise to protect you, to dance with you, and to love you until death do us part.”

They didn’t quite need to be told that they could kiss, but once prompted, they did just that. All of thirteen began to applaud, but neither Sylke nor Finnick could bring themself to care for the audience. Just as it had ten years ago, the watching eyes melted away, leaving only tenderness and love burning between the them.

The festivities began once the aisle and ceremonial decor was packed away. First was a slow waltz meant just for the newlyweds. The two of them had danced in their room many times before, but never with music. With a guiding melody, they were able to truly get lost in the movement. No longer was it necessary to count or concentrate, they could simply dance. They swayed and twirled about the room, never once breaking eye contact. When the music slowed to a halt, Sylke was securely nested in Finnick’s arms and lowered to a dip. There was once again applause as people came to join them on the dance floor. A more upbeat tune filled the hall as everyone started to dance. The sound of lively fiddles filled the room, and spirits were lifted. It seemed like everyone was having a lovely time, smiling and laughing with friends. For that night, war was but an afterthought. It was a respite from tragedy, a true celebration of all that is good and lovely, and its survival even in dark times.

It wasn’t long after the wedding that Finnick was sent away again. He and Sylke had a rather lousy honeymoon, spent mostly in their room underground or in the forest just above. Soldiers were slowly returning from the fight at the capitol, some injured, others returning for a dignified burial. Sylke was transferred to the infirmary when it got too understaffed. And then Plutarch called Finnick into a meeting. That night, Finnick sat waiting in their room until Sylke returned from her shift in the infirmary. She entered the room and gravitated to his hunched figure.

“Finnick, are you alright?”

She placed a hand to his face, suggesting that he look at her. His eyes were sad, conflicted, scared. Sylke saw his expression and quickly kissed him before anything more could be said.

“What happened?”

He shifted to make space for her on the bed; she sat down.

“Plutarch wants me in the capitol. They put together this squad for filming propos, he calls it the face of the invasion.”

He spoke so matter-of-factly, such that it was hardly a question: he would be going. There was no debate about it, both of them knew that. An all too familiar feeling churned in her core. Her chest became heavy and her throat strained. She croaked out a single sentence before leaning into his embrace.

“Come back to me, okay?”

He held her tightly, the way he wanted to that night outside the mansion.

“I will. I believe in fate.”

They fell asleep there, unsure when the trembling cries faded into unconsciousness.

Finnick left in the morning. Goodbyes were cut short by the arrival of a jet full of wounded soldiers. Sylke was pulled away by the other medical staff, parting with a fleeting kiss and a smile.

The infirmary was bursting with people. New patients arrived every day from the capitol, covered in wounds and burns and horror stories from the city. They told of abandoned streets full of bombs and traps set by peacekeepers. Every moment of peace or quiet we’re impossible to trust, they were left waiting for the inevitable bloodshed as they walked through empty streets. Sylke couldn’t help but wonder the state of the mansion. Had Mr. Indigo evacuated? What did he take with him? She pictured the house empty, devoid of the usual upkeep, dusty and alone. What about the household? Had they gone as well? What would they do without their jobs? Did that even matter when the city was under attack? Her imagination took her through each room and corridor. The office she’d only been in a few times, the dining room that could seat a dozen but never saw more than two, and of course, her bedroom. Soot still on the ceiling, dance slippers tucked hastily under the bed. The soldiers mentioned bombs and fire. What if the mansion was destroyed? The image of fallen walls, a pile of rubble and ash, arrived in her mind. A bittersweet sort of pain burned in her chest as she pondered such a possibility. That mansion was her prison, her gilded cage. And yet there were happy memories there. There were times when she smiled, dancing around her room or strolling through the garden. She found joy in that wretched place and thus made it slightly less wretched. The delicate China in the sitting room was beautiful, with hand-painted birds and flowers under the faintly cracked glaze. The furniture was soft, velvet or leather or brocade, but always unreasonably comfortable. And of course the magnolias. Those fragrant blossoms could distract her from everything bad. A lovely part of being human, isn’t it? The ability to be distracted, to find small joys, even trapped in a cage. She pondered all the things she loved in that house. The drapes and the garden and smooth feeling of the banister beneath her fingers as she walked down the stairs, all things she missed now. Was it bad that she missed it? Was that terrible, to think somewhat fondly of her time in the mansion? A part of her was sure that it was simply horrible. Mr. Indigo was a dangerous, horrible man, and thus his home was the same way. But he also gave her dancing slippers. He cared for her in his twisted, infantalising way. Johanna’s words sounded in her head. Perhaps, in a strange interpretation of the word, he loved her. Sylke couldn’t bring herself to fully accept that idea. Love was the tenderness she saw in Finnick’s eyes, it was the warmth in her chest when they were close, she was entirely and unequivocally sure of that. But as time went on, she continued to wonder, her mind volleying standpoints, if Mr. Indigo’s bizarre affection was also love.

Such thoughts bounced around the back of her head as she tended to those in the infirmary. Days slowly bled into one another, all monotonous and practically identical. She would wake up alone, eat with some of the other medics, and then go to the infirmary. After a long day, she would return to her quarters and lie on her side, reaching her arm out to where Finnick would have been lying beside her. And when the foggy darkness of sleep arrived, the day would begin again.

News from the capitol came every night. The whole of thirteen would go quiet the watching broadcasts. Just a day after they deemed Peeta well enough to join the “Star Squad” in the Capitol, that infamous anthem blared from the broadcast. The faces of every member of the squad was shown. Sylke had been working when it came on the screens. All faces looked to the screen in the room, stepping away from their work for a moment. She froze when she saw Finnick’s portrait appear. She hadn’t seen his face is so long, too long, but this was not the way she wanted to see him again. He couldn’t be dead, he promised. Why, after all this time, why now? After all the trials they encountered and survive, how could it end? Something was wrong, it was simply wrong. Fate wasn’t supposed to be like this, fate couldn’t be like this.

You said you would come back to me

Her perception of the world was cloudy. The hands on her shoulder, the steps she was taking, they didn’t register. Voices were muddled, nothing felt real. All she could do was mutter his name, repeat the same phrases, praying that someone would hear her, some great puppet master who could pull the strings of fate and make them right again. Her murmurs became sobs, and when her eyes were dry, when her energy was drained, she could finally sleep.

She woke to a sharp voice and someone shaking her awake.

“Sylke, get up!”

She pulled herself up, groggy and confused. For a moment, it was just like any other morning, and she almost bolted up, afraid of being late for the start of her shift. But then her vision cleared, and reality set in. She saw the medic uniform she was still wearing and the sad look on Johanna’s face.

“What happened?”

Johanna’s tone was careful and sympathetic.

“You kinda lost it after the broadcast. Don’t worry, you didn’t hurt anyone or do anything bad, you just kinda froze. We didn’t know what else to do, so we just took you here to rest.”

Sylke nodded, not quite sure if she could bring herself to stand up and start her day, as though nothing happened.

“What time is it?”

“I don’t even know. But they’re calling all the medics right now, so…”

Sylke didn’t move.

“They’re flying you guys out to the capitol.”

She still didn’t move.

“Sylke, that means you need to go.”

“I know… I just…”

Johanna placed her hands on Sylke’s shoulders and looked her square in the eyes.

“Look. I know you’re hurting. I know you just lost someone. It’s not the same but I lost him too. But Sylke we’re so close. And people are hurting in the capitol that don’t need to be. We need you to go out and help them.”

Sylke took a shaky inhale and nodded. With Johanna’s help, she made her way down to the hanger where medics were streaming into jets and strapping into their seats. Sylke followed suit, getting her jet assignment and sitting down on a cold metal chair.

The flight was a blur. They landed in district two and waited until the final stages of the battle to fly into the capitol to help innocent citizens. Soon, they were flown in and dropped off in the city circle. When the cries of countless people reached her ears, helping them became Sylke’s sole priority. The moment her feet touched the ground, she rushed to anyone and everyone that looked hurt.

“Are you hurt? Are you alright?”

“Where does it hurt? Are you bleeding?”

“Let me take a look.”

She was wrapping a splint for a woman with a broken leg when a familiar chime rang through the air. She looked up to see grey canisters on parachutes floating down from the sky. She froze again, remembering everything from years ago. She remembered the way Finnick’s eyes lit up when he saw a trident float down on an identical grey parachute. That had always been a sweet memory, but now it was laced with pain. She looked around, seeing the people stretching their arms out, welcoming the gifts. There was a flash, a boom, and then quiet.

Sylke’s eyes slowly fluttered open. She was lying on her back, on something soft and comfortable. There was quiet. A peaceful, calming sort of silence surrounded her. She noticed pain on her skin when she tried to get up. Her body was bandaged in random places, and the flesh of her arms and hands felt incredibly sensitive. Her body was sore, but she could move, albeit only slightly. She turned her head to look at her surroundings. She was in a tent, seemingly a medical tent, surrounded by equipment and kits she recognised as the portable medic kits that each person on the jet had been equipped with. Turning her head to look directly to the side, she saw someone lying in a bed like her own. They looked like him. Beneath the bandages she saw his face, sleeping peacefully with his eyes closed. She longed to believe that it was him, to enjoy that delusion and ignorance. But she knew it wasn’t. She knew he was gone. He wasn’t there, no matter how much she wanted him to be, no matter how much he should have been. Tears formed and fell quickly from her eyes. Quiet wails and sobs escaped her. She murmured his name, hoping beyond hope that it would will him back to life. The person in the bed began to rouse.

“Hmm?”

They sounded like him too, why did they have to sound like him? She curled into herself, ignoring the pain in such movement. She hid herself beneath the blanket, like a child afraid of the monsters beneath their bed.

“Hey, are you alright?”

That was his voice.

“Why do you sound like him?”

She wailed with a volume she hadn’t used in days.

“Sylke?”

“You sound just like him…”

Her whole body shook with sobs. She heard fabric rustling and quiet groans that sounded so familiar. There was a hand on the edge of the blanket.

“Can I…?”

“Go ahead.”

Her voice was dejected, entirely hopeless. The blanket was pulled away, revealing a face with cuts and bandages, seemingly some stitches as well, and sea green eyes holding a tender gaze.

“You look like him too.”

“Angel… I’m right here.”

“No you’re not! You died! I saw your picture, I heard the song, you died!”

“Oh sweetheart…”

The person sat down on the bed and gently lifted her to sit up as well. They then pulled her into their arms. That warmth was exactly the same.

“I’m right here, I’m alive. I got damn near dying, but I didn’t. I told you I’d come back to you, didn’t I?”

Finally, she let herself believe. Her grasp on him tightened.

“You’re alive? You’re safe?”

“I’m alive. I’m right here, Angel.”

A part of her still couldn’t believe it. Somehow, there was a shard of pessimism in her that refused to be tricked. And he could sense that. He understood all too well the spirit of self preservation that will do anything to keep itself from hurting. So he pulled away slightly to look at her.

“Hey, look at me, look at my eyes.”

She gazed up at him with scared, teary doe-eyes.

“Don’t you believe in fate?”

And with that, the last bit of denial shattered within her. A smile and then a laugh came to her face as hope returned to her spirit.

Taglist: @zulpix-blog

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick x oc #finnick x reader #hungerverse #district 4 #district 1 #hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #finnick odair x oc #fluff #angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #thg #thg fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #johanna mason #beetee latier #plutarch heavensbee #75th hunger games #3rd quarter quell #mockingjay part 1 #mockingjay part 2

[fttlouie]

Crime and Punishment in Young Royals

I don't know if there is already existing meta on this but I don't know how I could have missed good ol' Dostoyevsky reference in a show that regularly talks about "privilege and punishment'. It feels so obvious now that I have noticed that August is our Raskolnikov and Sara being Sonya.

There are several parallels and its been a while since I've visited the book so I will lay out things that I remember. I also have some speculation about season 3 on here but take it with a grain of salt.

Raskolnikov fantasises several times about killing the pawn broker. aka. committing the crime, but does not do so until he finds out the situation that his sister Dunya is in due to his family's poverty. Similarly, August does not post the video aka. commit the crime, but only does so after his family's financial position comes to light, also after his mother's situation and her poverty is known.

Speculation: One fascinating thing here is Raskolnikov despises his sister's (Dunya) position while August hates his mother's position. In Crime and Punishment (C&P), eventually Dunya leaves her fiancée. I am not sure if the same will happen to his mother by her divorcing her now husband. The parallel is strong but the story is not an exact replica so it might not happen.

2. After he commits the crime, Raskolnikov conceals the stolen item aka. result and weapon of crime. Similarly with August, he hides the phone aka. the result - video, and weapon - the phone.

3. Raskolnikov then becomes delirious with the guilt and weighing exhaustion of crime until he faces the consequence. We know from Season 2 that August feels guilty and illness can be the nervous attack that occurs in S 1 Ep 1 infront of Sara.

Speculation: It is known in the story that Raskolnikov becomes progressively worse in his delirium until he confesses. He also becomes apathetic to his crime and the morality of his actions during his journey, all which we can see with August. However, August like Raskolnikov might be given reduced statement (Raskolnikov is sent to prison for 8 years for murders, since August's crime is of lesser magnitude, he probably wont serve in prison or his sentence will be very significantly reduced) and is considered to be ultimately redeemable once he faces consequence of his actions. He will also be happier and freer, aka. he might leave his addiction with pills behind by the end of show.

4. Raskolnikov angers the workmen and his caretakers by asking casual questions about the crime he committed, even suggesting that they accompany him to the police station to discuss it. We know that August reaches this stage several times subtly as he asks about what would happen if he confesses and is present in the room when rest of the boys are discussing who filmed the video.

5. As Raskolnikov contemplates whether or not to confess, he sees Marmeladov, Sonya's (aka Sara) dad, who has been struck mortally by a carriage. He rushes to help and succeeds in conveying the stricken man back to his family's apartment. However, Marmeladov ends up dying in his daughter's arms. Raskolnikov later hands Sonya money for his funeral.

This is a speculation now but I am wondering if we will get any interaction between Mikke and August in Season 3. If there is, it would probably be in the context of August helping Sara. In C&P, Raskolnikov also acts as the catalyst to reconciliation between Sonya and Marmeladov, excited to see if the writers follow through to show that August will bring Mikke and Sara into an understanding. Hopefully Mikke won't die like C&P, although he might be sent away (maybe he will be punished for his alcohol trade or drugs idk).

6. In C&P, Sonya is pure and righteous although she falls in love with a criminal. Sonya also urges Raskolnikov multiple times to confess his crime to free himself of the mental burdens. Raskolnikov goes back and forth few times but ends up confessing because of her. We can see that in YR, Sara is actually primary reason August takes a step towards his redemption, although he goes back and forth with it.

Speculation: Sara and August will reconcile. In C&P, Sonya helps Raskolnikov when he is serving his sentence in Syberia. Sonya loves Raskolnikov despite knowing his darkest side, this is true for Sara who loves August's true self. Only hurdle is Simon, who is a wild card in their love story as his character is not present in C&P. Despite that, very high chance that atleast there will be an hopeful ending of being together in the future for Sara and August.

7. Another fascinating parallel between C&P and YR that solidified to me that the story follow closely to one another is the fact that before Raskolnikov goes to confess his crime, there is already someone else, Porfiry, who confesses to his crime saying it is them. This Porfiry is clearly Alexander. However, after Porfiry's confession, Raskolnikov aka August, becomes more fearful that he will never have a peace of mind which drives him to confess his crimes in great detail.

Speculation: Alexander has done his job as the decoy already in season 2. It is unlikely that he will play a role that parallels C&P. Any more action that this character takes will be entirely new which exists outside the C&P parallel, because according to C&P, this is the end of his role in the story.

I can't remember anything else for now. Here are some interesting details about C&P, do what you will with this information:

Dunya's fiancée commits suicide after she breaks off their engagement. Here, Dunya is August's mom, therefore the fiancée could either be August's real dad who already committed suicide or his step-dad who is yet to meet the same fate. I think it is the former but idk.

Raskolnikov's motive for committing the crime was the class disparity in then Russia. He was, in a sense, jealous that some people can get money and status in the society while he has to be in financial hardship. Very close to August's motive although he belongs in the same social class.

Sonya is accused of stealing the money that Raskolnikov gives her for funeral for the death of Marmeladov in C&P. Similarly, August's kindness to Sara could be misunderstood by other people in a major way, either this has already happened subtly in Season 2 or it has yet to come in a big way in Season 3, especially to do with money and reputation.

Some story details may vary as I wrote this from memory, please double check the source to confirm and let me know if there is existing meta on this.

#young royals #yr #august #sara eriksson #young royals meta

[herbs-and-poultices]

Once in a while I get the terrible urge to share that my taste in music is even weirder than my taste in fiction. (What's a random American gal with no English/Scottish/Irish heritage doing listening mostly to songs like these? Blame my parents for raising me on murder ballads and ceilidh tunes.) So here is:

A Vaguely Whumptober-Themed Anthology of Folk Songs from the British Isles / Transatlantic Tradition: Part 1

1) "But now this room is spinning while I'm just trying to fill in all the gaps" / Swooning: Plains of Waterloo

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

How to make sure your girl still loves you, according to folklore: tell her you're dead and see if she faints

2) "I'll call out your name, but you won't call back" / Delirium: Battle of Waterloo

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

Jeannie, oh Jeannie, I am surely done Stricken doon in battle at the mooth o' Boney's guns Jeannie, oh Jeannie, aye sae dear tae me Let me hold you in my mind afore I dee

3) "Like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon": Anderson's Coast

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A tale of tragedy upon tragedy during the Transportations

We stole a vessel and all her gear And where are you, my Annie? And from Van Dieman's we north did steer 'Till Bass Strait's wild waves wrecked us here Oh Annie dear, don't wait for meI fear I shall not return to theeThere's not to do but endure my fate, And watch the moon, the lonely moon, light the breakers on wild Bass Strait

4) "I see the danger, it's written there": Sir Patrick Spens

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A shipwreck song

The king he wrote a broad letter and he sealed it with his hand And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, walking out on the strand: "To Norway, to Norway, to Norway o'er the foam With all my lords and finery, to bring my new bride home" The first line that Sir Patrick read, he gave a weary sigh The next line that Sir Patrick read, the salt tear blinds his eye Oh who is it, oh who is it, who told the king of me To set us out this time of year to sail across the sea...

5) "You better hope I don't get up this time" : El Fusilado

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

Stretching the music genre and the prompt a bit here, but this is a great cover by a band that does a lot of traditional folk, and I feel like surviving a firing squad is 1) folk-song worthy and 2) enough to make anyone think twice about messing with you

6) "Do or die, you'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart": Tam Lin

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

One of the better-known English ballads. The intrepid heroine goes someplace she shouldn't, meets an elfin knight, falls in love with him, learns that he his a changeling held captive by the fae, and braves the wrath of the Faerie Queen to save her love from becoming the faeries' Halloween sacrifice

7) "Can you hear me?": Springhill Mining Disaster

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X (cw: real event still within living memory)

Listen for the shouts of the dark-faced miners Listen through the rubble for the rescue teams Three hundred tons of coal and slag Hope imprisoned in a three-foot seam

8) "I have a soul, but I'm not a soldier" / All for nothing: Green Fields of France

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain The killing and dying, were all done in vain For, young Willie McBride, it's all happened again And again, and again, and again, and again

9) Mistaken Identity: Bonnie Banks of Fordie

Listen to my favorite recording here: X (cw: suicide mentioned)

An old ballad that gets darker the more you think about it

Gae tell tae me your brither's name My brither's name it's Babylon... Oh sister, what hae I done tae thee Hae I done this dreadful thing tae thee...

10) Stranded: The Golden Vanity

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A tale of a tragic hero and a cruel ship's captain

Quickly he swam back, to the cheering of the crew But the captain did not heed him, for his promise he did rue And he scorned his poor entreatings when loudly he did sue And he left him in the Lowland Sea

11) No One Will Find You: Twa Corbies

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

There's mony a ane for him maks mane But nane sall ken whaur he is gane O'er his white banes when they are bare The wind sall blaw forevermair

12) "I haven't slept in days, but who's counting?" / I'm up, I'm up: Off to Sea Once More

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

Whaling was not a fun time

Some times we're catching whales, me lads, some times we're catching none With a twenty-foot oar stuck in your paw, from four o'clock in the morn And as the shades of night roll on and you rest on your weary oar, It was then that I wished that I was dead and could go to sea no more

13) "I don't feel so good": Lord Randall

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X X

One of the better-known English ballads. A tale of deadly betrayal: A young man returning home at the end of the day thinks he just inordinately tired. A more careful accounting of the day's events reveals the terrible truth. Versions vary as to who did the deed, but the young lord's fate is always the same.

14) Just Hold On: Skye Boat Song

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

Some of you may recognize the tune. The traditional lyrics memorialize the aftermath of the Jacobite defeat at Culloden

Burned are their homes, exile and death scatter the loyal men Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath, Charlie will come again

15) Makeshift Bandages: Twa Brithers

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

Now you'll take off your white Holland shirt An' teer it frae gore* tae gore An' you will bind my deadly wounds That they might bleed no more So he's ta'en off his white Holland shirt An' he's torn it frae gore tae gore An' though he's bound his deadly wounds Ah, they bled ten times more *seam

#whump playlist #about me

[anjanettexcordonia]

A/N: Welcome to chapter 4 if you’ve stuck around. This chapter has a song that helped me pump this one out. Enjoy. No word count. Please excuse grammatical errors because I’m half assing editing. Sorry. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4

Ransley

The Last War-Epic Music VN

Mine. Mine. Mine. That’s all that is going through my head as I hold her close to my chest. Her perky tits pressed against my chest. Mine.

I am taking her home with me. There is no choice. I can not let her go. I know she felt like I did. I know she felt the zap up her arm when our fingers touched. I know she felt the magnetism between us and I know she felt my hard on when I pressed her against me. Hard on all for her. I couldn’t care less about any other woman here. I can’t see them. I can feel their eyes on me. I know I am a mystery. I know they think I am a recluse like my father. They think I am grief stricken and destroyed. Just doing my duty. How wrong they are. I am not a recluse, not even close. I am a very social person. I am known all over the world. I hold many business holdings all over the globe. I chose to study abroad in New York. Until I was summoned home, I lived my life thoroughly and uninhibited. But I’ve always known my duty and never balked against it. I’ve led a life of privilege and gradeuer and now it’s time to honor my father.

And honor my father I will by choosing the first and only woman that I danced with tonight. Taking her home and making her mine in every way imaginable. Mine. I will own her.

“Mind if I grab a glass of water?” Her big blue eyes look up at me. She's nearly a foot shorter than I am. Sweat is beginning to bead across her forward and her chest is heaving. I nod and grab her hand as I pull us from the dance floor. “Fair is over.” I announce it to Bernie, my head of security. Without waiting for response I pull my sweet girl along behind me feeling her stumble in her stilettos but not relenting even a bit. The faster I get her out of her the faster I can satisfy this animalistic need roiling inside of me. A primal urge I can’t control. It's almost a high, I can’t seem to control it.

“Slow down please.” She tugs on my hand but I only grip hers tighter as we get closer to the exit of this charade. The crowd parts like the Red Sea to let us through. People bow as I rush by but I don’t spare them a glance. I can feel her tension growing as the fleet of SUVs comes into sight and my men; they may be the King’s men, but they are my men all the same; flank us from all sides. The door to the coach opens and I pull her in behind me.

“What are you doing? Where are we going?” Juliette’s voice has an edge to it. Her eyes darted all around the vehicle, to the privacy screen and blacked out windows to the chilling champagne and back to me. Her eyes harden. “What’s going on?” The vehicle roars to life and begins to accelerate.

I ignore her.

“Where are you taking me?” I can sense the panic beginning to set in. It only fuels my need for her. Fear me and only me I want to tell her. I don’t of course, I remain silent and stoic. Stoic as all royals.

“Home.”

“I am not getting out of the car.” It’s been twenty fucking minutes of this. Her refusing to get out of the car. My anger rising and rising. I think steam may be billowing out of my ears. “I am going to drag you out of this car and lock you in the dungeon, you have ten seconds.” I can hear Bernie’s snickers behind me. He is going to be locked in the cell next to her if he keeps it up.

“This isn’t my home. Take me home.”

“Ten.”

She thinks I’m joking.

“Nine.”

“Take me home.”

“Eight. You are home.”

“Seven.”

She crosses her arms in defense and huffs out a breath.

“Six.”

Eye Roll.

“Five. I will put you in the dungeon.”

“You don’t have a dungeon.”

“Four.”

I smirk. This is going to be fun.

“Three.”

“Take me home now.”

“Two.”

I take off my jacket and start rolling up the sleeves of my dress shirt.

“One. Last chance.”

Nothing. She thinks I’m bluffing.

I grab her by the ankle before she can pull it further out of reach and yank her out of the car. I throw her across my shoulder. I hold her legs still but she’s beating the shit out of my back. She’s making sure to stay as far north of my ass as possible in this position. That makes me hard. Fuck.

The metal bars slam on the decrepit dungeon door. I’m not sure these doors will even hold her in here. She could probably just kick them down if she tried hard enough. I don’t see that happening. She’s submissive. I can sense it. I will break her and mold her to my will. The key clicked the lock and I turned without a word. She thinks I was bluffing. She will see to never fuck with me. I am a King after all.

Tags: @txemrn @tessa-liam @kingliam2019 @twinkleallnight

#fanfiction #theroyalromance #trr #choices

[bringmoreknives]

THE JETSET LIFE IS GONNA KILL YOU - MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

#my chemical romance #mcr #my chem #the jetset life is gonna kill you #three cheers for sweet revenge #three cheers #revenge #mcr lyrics #emo #emo lyrics #mcredit #mychemicalromanceedit #lyricedit #mine #mine:mcr #i was stricken by the urge to do this at 4 am and now it is 5:38 and my computer only has 5% battery #i'm obsessed with this lyric sry not sry #not totally stoked on this but anyway i'm putting it out there

[sj-ficrecs]

1,000+ followers fic rec!

Recently noticed at some point a little while ago I passed 1,000 followers on this page! In honor of that here’s another fic rec of some good ones I’ve been reading lately. As usual, no specific order. 

PREVIOUS FIC RECS HERE!

(Hopefully this shows up in tags bc my last one didn’t & tumblr wouldn’t fix it) 

Thanks to @whimsicalrogers for this divider I’m using below :)

Bucky x reader:

3B by @softlybarnes Bucky x reader

“Bucky is used to being alone, so is the girl living in apartment 3B. He keeps to his routine, to crossing off amends. But mutual loneliness forges an unlikely friendship. Alone and reclusive, sweet and incredibly strange, with deep secrets and regrets, 3B has more to reveal than meets the eye.”

(un)cool by @belowva rockstar!Bucky x reader

“in the summer of 1973, after covering the howling commandos’ concert for a night, you - a young and inexperienced music journalist - accidentally end up following the up and coming band from new york city across the country. between shows, parties, backstage nonsense, interviews and failed attempts at writing a cover story for rolling stone magazine, you end up developing a love/hate relationship with their brooding, but devilishly handsome, guitarist james “call me bucky” barnes. (based on “almost famous”)”

Your Song by @summergrls​  Rockstar!Bucky x reader

“it’s not summer without you. or, that’s what your favorite rockstar always says. it’s all happening.”

Last Love by @wicked-mind Modern!Bucky x reader

“Based on the quote “He may be your first love but I intend to be your last” by Klaus Mikaelson.”

Remember Me by @wicked-mind​ Modern!Bucky x reader

“Y/N and Bucky were the unlikely match when it came to love, but they were inseparable since they met. After a fight, Y/N left to be a trauma surgeon in the military and returns without her memories. How will Bucky remind Y/N how she is the fire in his bones?”

Cake by @tellmealovestory (Part of the Something More universe) Modern!Bucky x reader

“The wedding plans continue as you and Bucky try to decide on a cake flavor.”

My Eyes by @invisibleanonymousmonsters Bucky x reader, past Steve x reader

“Steve is a good man, America’s golden boy, a hero. He’s Captain America for christ’s sake! So it’s normal to want what he has… right? Bucky knows he doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t even deserve the second chance at life he’s been given. But Bucky can never let him know. Steve can never find out that his friend is in love with his best girl.”

The Mess by @sanguineterrain​ Bucky x Avenger!reader

“A wild night in Vegas changes everything between you and Bucky. Suddenly, all eyes are on you and you’re left wondering just how much can change between you and a man whose guts you hate (and who also hates yours).”

The Devil Has Lilith by @write-orflight Bucky x reader, soulmate AU

“They say your soulmate is supposed to be the one person you love unconditionally. So why did they make yours so insufferable?”

College!Bucky series / Couldn’t Be Me by @drunken-imagines College!Bucky x reader

Bucky is a known fuck boy trying to win over reader

Best of Friends by @anna-phora Modern!Bucky x reader

“When your best friend steals marries Bucky’s best friend, the two of you are left with only one solution: to become best friends yourselves.”

Back to You by @celestialbarnes Modern!ex-Bucky x reader

“desperate to find a place to stay after your boyfriend cheated on you, you end up crashing at bucky’s apartment, the problem is he’s the ex that you never really got over and he’s got a new girl who doesn’t like you very much.”

It’s Been a Long, Long Time by @luminnara Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

“When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back…and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!“

Friends Don’t by @watchtowerindistress Bucky x reader

“Reader is in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Bucky Barnes. Rule #1: no feelings - so don’t get attached (written by Bucky). Rule #2: don’t ever stay over (written by (Y/N)). After a fateful mission, one of them is going to break all the rules.”

Just a Touch by @buckychrist Bucky x reader

“Your powers? Controlling any feeling a human can have, from emotions to pain, with a simple brush of your fingertips. Your mission? The traumatized soldier with sad stricken eyes and scream filled nightmares.”

Under Pastel Skies by @redgillan Modern!Bucky x Artist!reader

“Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.”

A Long Ways Away by @ai-unknown Bucky x reader

“Connection, reconnection, and a small miscommunication. Bucky will travel however far, if it means making you smile.”

No Rest for the Wicked by @abovethesmokestacks Trucker!Bucky x reader

Based upon this ask: “i have the absolute weirdest urge today to get railed by trucker!bucky in a motel in like southern florida🤨 and it’s late too, maybe 3-4 am. the place is kinda seedy & it’s rlly humid and hot outside & the ac barely works so we’d both be sweating a lot but it makes it hotter”

Meanwhile in Louisiana by @multifandomwriter Bucky x reader

“You are Sam’s best friend and you meet Bucky when Sam organizes a party down at the docks.”

A Tender Heart by @river-soul Alpha!Bucky x Omega!reader

“You’ve been sweet on Bucky since you started working at the compound six months ago. Normally quiet and mild mannered, an unexpected fight with a coworker brings Bucky into your orbit.”

Steve x reader:

Jane Doe by @justkending Modern!Steve x reader

“They weren’t next door neighbors, but they did live in the same apartment complex. However, they were on completely different sides of the complex. Steve always sees her across the way doing her daily routines and way about life on her balcony from his own. Something about her has him checking in on her from across the way when he can… She’s intriguing and has a way about her life that he finds calming and captivating. He wants to know more about who she is, but there’s no non-creepy way of approaching a neighbor that doesn’t know you exist. Is there?”

#bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #modern!bucky #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve x reader #steve x you #steve rogers x y/n #bucky x female reader #college!bucky #rockstar!bucky #alpha!bucky #omega reader #abo #reading #fic recs #fanfic recs #fanfic recommendation #modern!steve #soulmate au

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎! 𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝐾𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑂𝑓 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑅𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑠 𝑓𝑡. 𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝐾𝑖𝑑𝑠

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, encouraging, supporting, justifying, or promoting mafia behavior or lifestyle. This is all a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

Warning: Brief scenes of violence. Reader discretion advised.

「𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈」

When Hongjoong escorted you through the hall for your uncle's wedding, the last person he expected to be seated at the same table you two were in was none other than Bang Chan, who was also surprised to see him.

"You?!" They both exclaimed, already getting into a fighting position.

The people around you guys stared in shock, afraid of some shoot out about to happen. You however calmed Hongjoong down while explaining that Chan was your cousin's boyfriend.

"And you couldn't have mentioned this before?" He crossed his arms in front of you.

"Can you both just not cause a scene here? It's my uncle's special day." You begged them.

"Yeah, 5th special day in the last 4 years." Chan teased earning him a smack from his girlfriend beside him.

They just sat quietly during the entire reception, refusing to acknowledge each other, although occasionally they couldn't help but throw slight jabs at each other. It all culminated though when it was time for the bride to throw the bouquet which was caught by none other than you. Chan actually laughed at that.

"What's so funny?" Hongjoong asked.

"The fact that of all people, Y/N caught the bouquet when we both know you don't have the guts to make her walk down the aisle."

Hongjoong slammed his fists down and stood up.

"That's it! I've had it with you. You want to take this outside? Cause I'm ready."

「𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂」

Seonghwa and you happily strolled through the park, enjoying each other's affection, when you were startled by an all too familiar voice and face behind Seonghwa, one you had not seen in over 2 years.

"Y/N! Long time no see. How have you been gorgeous?"

Seonghwa noticed how you seemed to sunk your shoulders down, your eyes not wanting to directly look at the man in front of you. And Seonghwa was not at all amused by the way this man talked to you.

"I... I'm fine.... Lee Know..." You responded, your voice slightly trembling.

At hearing the name, Seonghwa turned around and indeed, it was none other than the infamous play boy Lee Minho himself, smirking right at you. He looked at Seonghwa and let out a tiny scoff.

"I take it....he's your new boo?" Lee Know asked, cocking his head to the side.

Seonghwa merely wrapped an arm around you protectively, clearly signaling an affirmative answer. Lee Know smiled.

"Well.....then good for you. If you ever get bored of him....you know you can always call me." He shamelessly said as he walked away.

Seonghwa looked down at you, the way you were holding back tears was enough to know Lee Know was your ex, the one who had torn your heart apart years ago, the one who made it difficult for you to accept Seonghwa because you were so heartbroken and scared about starting a new relationship.

Seonghwa kissed your forehead and held you close to him.

"You know I love you and I'd never hurt you like he did right?"

「𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒐」

Yunho slowly walked through the city's streets, casually listening to music and overall trying to relax a little. He thought he spotted a familiar sweater on a rather familiar frame, but it couldn't have been you right? Especially when the figure seemed to be lovey dovey with none other than....

Seo Changbin?!

Yunho ripped his earbuds out, tearing them off when he noticed it was definitely you and you were definitely hugging one of his arch nemesis.

"Get the fuck away from her!" Yunho declared as he ripped you away from Changbin's embrace.

"Yunho! What are you?-"

Grabbing the smaller man by the collar, he easily hoisted him up.

"I'm warning you right now, don't ever come near my girlfriend or so help me your gang will be short by one member." He warned him.

"Yunho! Stop! Put my brother down!" You cried out as you tugged at his jacket.

Yunho widened his eyes and looked back at you, immediately turning soft when he stared at your panicked stricken face.

"Bro...brother?" He asked incredulous.

"Yes! Her brother now do you mind putting me down?" Changbin asked as he tried to pry Yunho's fingers off him.

Yunho put him down and you immediately checked on him to make sure he was ok. You only got a scoff from him as he warned you:

"Careful with him and his gang Y/N. I'm only holding back for your sake."

Changbin began walking away, not wanting anymore confrontation in front of you. Yunho sheepishly looked at you while you merely rolled your eyes.

"I'm sorry.....but you never told me you had a brother."

「𝑲𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈」

The young man calmly stepped inside the room, looking around, trying to figure out if it really was a set up or not.

"Hello?" He called out, not seeing anybody.

Suddenly the lights turned on and from the shadows, Yeosang emerged, hands in his pockets as he calmly looked at the man in front of him.

"Hwang Hyunjin, thank you for accepting my invitation." He spoke out, voice laced with sarcasm.

"Get to the point Yeosang. The fuck you want." Hyunjin didn't want to waste his time.

Yeosang hummed. "I simply want you to stay away from Y/N."

Hyunjin actually let out a chuckle at that.

"Of course the overbearing boyfriend would pull out this mediocre shit. Listen, Y/N and I have been longtime friends and you can't change that. She's my friend. "

"I know. And I also know you have the hots for her and more than once you've shit talked me to her in order to get her to leave me." Yeosang raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to contradict him.

Hyunjin's smile faltered for a moment, but then he smirked.

"You're not gonna do shit Yeosang. And you can't stop me from seeing Y/N."

"What makes you think-"

"Suppose I accidentally let it slip out to Y/N what you actually do for a living, let her find out who you really are?" Hyunjin threatened him.

Yeosang stayed quiet, clenching his fists, resisting the urge to break Hyunjin's skull against the floor.

"I think it's in your best interest to not try me Kang Yeosang. You'll end up losing."

Yeosang just stood there, unable to do anything but watch his rival leave victorious...

"For now..."

「𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑺𝒂𝒏」

"Well well well.....look what the cat dragged in."

San let out an evil laughter as he picked up the blonde haired boy up and slammed him against the wall.

"I thought I told you never to show your ugly rat face around here Jisung." San reminded him.

Jisung got up from the floor, refusing to back down at the taller and obviously stronger male.

"I'm actually a squirrel, thank you." He replied with a smug grin.

San didn't hesitate to throw a punch at his face, knocking him down once again. San picked him up again, this time with his hands wrapped around his neck as he choked him.

"Wrong move to try and be brave with me punk." He sneered at him.

"San! Don't! Let him go!"

Your voice made San look over at you. You ran over to them, fear and panic written all over your face.

"Stay out of this Y/N." San warned you, inadvertently pushing you away rather roughly, making you fall to the floor.

Seeing you get hurt triggered something in Jisung. Using whatever strength he had, he swung his leg and kicked San hard enough to loosen the grip he had on him. He got to land one solid punch to his cheek, knocking him to the ground before he proceeded to take out a switchblade from his jacket.

"No Jisung! Please don't!" You begged him, your arms encapsulating his waist, trying to get him to stop.

San just stood looking at you in disbelief.

"Y/N....what on earth-?" He asked, his voice somewhat breaking.

"Jisung! Please don't! I'm begging you! Don't kill him!" You begged.

"Give me one good reason!" Jisung exclaimed.

You looked up at him with tears falling down.

"I love him..."

Jisung's face dropped as he realized what you meant. He looked back at San who had confusion written all over his face, which then turned to shock when he asked:

"So you're my sister's boyfriend?"

「𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒊」

Mingi stormed into a room, watching as the younger male was strapped to the chair in front of him.

"Felix....." Mingi said, walking around and watching as the feline looking man remained quiet.

"Do you have any idea why you're here?" Mingi asked him.

"I can tell you the reasons I'm not here for." Felix scoffed.

"Stop acting you little shit! You know damn well why I brought you here!" Mingi's deep voice boomed throughout the room.

Felix wasn't intimidated though, he simply leaned his face closer to Mingi's.

"Try me."

Mingi huffed before taking a picture out of his wallet and holding it up.

"You see her?"

Felix squinted his eyes at the picture before realizing that it was none other than you.

"I want to know why you've been hanging around her place more often. Are you stalking her? Planning to kidnap her to get back at me? Was that your plan? Use my own girlfriend against me? You think I'd let you get the chance?" Mingi questioned him.

Felix rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Yes Mingi, I was totally going to kidnap my own sibling and possibly torture her in order to get under your skin." He replied sarcastically.

Mingi's face dropped. "What?"

"You dumbass. Y/N is my sister and I've been hanging around her place for protection. In case you don't know, there's another gang that's been recently rising up. They call themselves Oneus. About a week ago, they sent all of us pictures of our closed ones to taunt us, and so we've been on guard over them."

Mingi now froze as Felix said those words. He realized now you were in danger. He quickly cut Felix loose from the ropes before ordering:

"Tell me everything you know about these bastards."

「𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒐𝒐𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈」

"I love you so much." Wooyoung whispered, kissing your nose, making you giggle.

"Do you?" You teased him.

"I do. I love you more than-"

"Y/N! What are you doing with him?"

Your oldest friend, Seungmin promptly pushed Wooyoung away from you, placing himself in front of you.

"Kim Seungmin, do you want to die?" Wooyoung glared at him.

"You're the one that's going to die if you keep playing with my best friend." Seungmin warned.

"Playing?" You asked.

"Best friend?" Wooyoung was in utter confusion.

"Don't give me that. Everyone in the mafia world knows you're the biggest fuck boi there is. Only making girls fall in love with you so you can get in their pants and then dump them, you sick pervert." Seungmin cringed in disgust.

Wooyoung let out a dry chuckle at his words.

"Play with whoever the fuck you want but leave Y/N out of this. She deserves better than trash like you."

Wooyoung bit the side of his cheek, finally understanding where this was going.

"Like who? You perhaps?"

Seungmin gulped slightly, confirming what Wooyoung was thinking.

"How long have you been in love with her Kim Seungmin? Wait don't answer me, it honestly doesn't matter..."

Wooyoung snaked an arm around you and pressed you to him.

"Cause she chose me and she's mine."

Wooyoung couldn't hid the smirk on his face as Seungmin looked at you in disbelief.

"Y/N.....please don't tell me.."

Your words broke Seungmin as you replied:

"I'm sorry Seungmin.... I'm in love with Wooyoung..

「𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐」

You pulled your face away from your ex, getting disgusted when he dared touch your cheek.

"Come on Y/N. Don't deny you still have feelings for me." He chuckled darkly.

You could only glare at him.

"I don't love you anymore Jeongin. So why don't you just let me go before it gets ugly?"

He got up and began laughing.

"Seriously? You really think your boy toy is going to come for you?" He asked.

"I don't think.... I know he will." You stated proudly.

"Really? You really think the Choi Jongho gives 2 fucks about you princess?" Jeongin cooed at you, his hands petting your hair softly.

Right at that moment there was a loud commotion heard outside, guns firing, and the sound of running feet could be distinguished. In less than 15 seconds, the door burst open and none other than Jongho himself came in, eyes full of rage when he saw the close proximity of your ex.

"I'm giving you 3 seconds to get your filthy hands off my girl or I'll split your head open." Jongho warned, coming closer to him.

Jeongin quickly pulled out a gun and held it to your head, prompting Jongho to halt his steps in fear of you getting hurt.

"That's what I thought Jongho. Y/N was mine first and I'm taking her back." Jeongin declared.

Jongho clenched his fists.

"Over my dead body."

Swiftly, he lunged at Jeongin, knocking the gun out of his hand. Jongho tried to punch him in the face, but Jeongin caught his fist with his hand before it collided with his face, giving him a cold stare, refusing to go down without a fight.

"That could easily be arranged..."

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners.

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez mafia au #mafia!au #mafia!ateez #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho

[kth1]

Crosscurrents [Hoseok x Reader] Part 3

Crosscurrents - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Genre: The Little Mermaid AU | Fantasy AU | Series Pairing: Mermaid!Hoseok x Princess!Reader Featuring: BTS Princes Warnings: Angst, fluff, rated G, sorry no smut, mentions of pain, eventual character death, it’s just a fantasy story. pining, angsty? W/C: 6.2k Summary: Hoseok is a carefree middle child among seven princes, each running one of the seven seas. With a curious nature to study the world above, he makes several routine visits to the surface, once even saving an alluring princess who he grows very smitten by. With a strong determination to meet his lovely princess, Hoseok makes a risky deal with the ocean’s enchantress to become human. Author’s Note: Sorry for the wait, but I am still very happy about this story. Now finals and my semester is over - I can continue updating. Thank you all who support me. Portions of the fic is unedited. 🐚🧜‍♂️

Credits: Story includes strong elements from Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Little Mermaid’; Disney’s ‘The Little Mermaid’; and Michiko Yokote’s manga ‘Mermaid Melody’.

☀ CROSSCURRENT MASTERLIST ☀

Hoseok felt foolish pulling that stunt in front of everyone. He felt like he tainted a good day with doing something so stupid. Once the party returned home, Hoseok straightaway moved his body along the perimeter of the palace. Finding the marble staircase that descended down to the beach where the ocean laid.

He knew the initial contact of the ocean will help him much faster. Stepping down into the first crested wave that touched his feet, he almost felt the immense pleasure of vibrating liberation. The water quivered his knees to bend, landing into a kneeling position into the shallow bay. As long as he was in the water, he was better.

“Aqua?” A bittersweet voice yelled out. “Aqua, where did you go?”

There was no reason to try to grab the princess’s attention, for he cannot yell back. So, he sat still, basking in the waves that drew up to his waist and sank back into the sea.

“Hey… what’s the matter?” The princess’s voice was soft as she stood behind Hoseok. She was confused how come the man was drenching his clothes in the tide. Why was he sitting down in the sand…

Hoseok hung his head, hair falling around his profile. There was no way he can explain everything he wants to talk about. There wasn’t any gestures or sign language that could come up with the answers for Y/n either.

A pair of feet showed up within Hoseok’s peripheral, they mushed into the wet sand. With surprise Hoseok looked up to see Y/n staring down at him curiously. Her wide shining eyes connected back with his.

“You must enjoy the water a lot.” She sighs, lifting the skirt of her dress a bit higher just in time for the tide to rise up around her ankles. “I like it too.”

There was a bubbling of excitement forming within Hoseok’s stomach. Relatively it would be the feeling of butterflies fluttering around, feeling lighter. He watched her gaze focus out towards the sea that stretched far and wide.

“In all the times I have visited other kingdoms, my mind never has changed about these waters. They are my favorite. Nothing could compare.” The princess’s face remained firm, her voice spoke earnestly.

Hoseok couldn’t help the corners of his lips from upturning, he felt the immense emotions of satisfaction. These were his waters. This was his sea. And she loved it the most.

When Hoseok stared off into the distance, he noticed something treading below the water. A ripple of waves lingered over to the side, a green figure popping its head out – Kiko!?

Erratically Hoseok thrusted himself forward into the waves, causing a splash and frantic waving of arms. He wasn’t sure why Kiko was levitated herself above water, so easily to be seen. And completely uncommon for a seahorse to be found this close to the shore. Hoseok’s poor attempt to shoo away his buddy failed completely, instead she swiftly made her way to him. Uttering out apologies and apologies.

Only Hoseok, who is still somewhat part-fish, can understand Kiko clear as day. But the princess didn’t, her ears weren’t trained or spelled with gifted hearing for creatures of the underwater realms.

The princess gawked down at the leafy creature now swiveling itself around Hoseok in patterns, but to her it looked like the creature was trying to play with him. “Is that a sea horse?! It’s so pretty!” She bit her lip, almost attempted to step further into the water but refused to get her dress wet.

Hoseok’s alarmed face met hers, shyly nodded to her as he couldn’t explain anything. Just toying around the leaves of Kiko’s fins.

As the princess stared in wonder, pressing her curiosity further, Hoseok can all but listen to the pleading expressions of regret from Kiko. He gave her a dirty glance, a look of ‘what the clams are you talking about?’

“Sir, I’m so so so sorry!” Kiko winced, rustling herself up against his body. “He came looking for you, you guys were supposed to discuss trades! When you weren’t there. And he – he put two and two together! I swear!” The poor sea dragon panted, “I had nothing else to cover you up with I had to tell him! I am so sorry!”

There was a hint of skepticism from Hoseok, puzzlement knitted on his forehead. He didn’t fully understand his scaly friend’s panic-stricken concerns, what she was talking about. Not until a crustacean coated in white and purple scurried itself next to the princess’s feet. Getting awfully close.

Hoseok jumped again, this time actually splashing the princess meanwhile cupping the crab that was mere inches away from the princess. He knew who this was, who he belonged to. Hoseok mentally sighed to himself, pulling the crab up to his face and criticizing him with his eyes.

“Put me down!” it whined, threatening with a pinch of his claw.

“What a cute little crab!” The princess cooed, now bending down to take a closer look. She ignored her dress, partially because Hoseok already messed it up, and submerged the bottom of her skirt into the water as she stepped closer. “I haven’t seen one before with these colors!”

Hoseok gingerly put on an innocent smile as he stared back at the princess. He hid his worried look when he glanced around the ocean, looking for him.

Namjoon was here.

Once the princess had enough of her clothes soaking up the salty water, she receded back into the palace. Of course, she had urged Hoseok to join her in her return, but he properly declined. Hopefully she understood that he will come back when he was ready.

Now, about 50 feet out away from the marble steps to the palace, Hoseok stepped further and further away by the directions of the white crab, Surf.

“I can’t believe how selfish you are, such a difficult prince you are.” Surf complained, “Further.”

Hoseok walked towards a headland that obtained a natural arch, drifting farther away from the palace. Once he made his way under the bridge, he was met with a cold icy stare. Eyes piercing straight through Hoseok’s from just above the water, silver hair slicked back against his scalp.

The sun was low, dimming the surrounding areas slowly. Surf jumped off Hoseok into the water, scurrying himself over to Namjoon who remained still. Eerily still.

There was an unspeakable battle between the two brothers – only the sound of the environment filling up the void between them. Namjoon rose, gesturing Hoseok to sit down with a pointed chin. Bottom lip jutted out, and a swift cock of his eyebrow that told Hoseok instantly that he was in for a harsh scolding.

He obeyed, plopping himself on a rock that sat in the water. Kiko swam freely around his feet.

“What have you done? No – never mind that. I know what you did. I know you can’t speak.” Namjoon points accusingly, drifting his body closer to Hoseok. “And you have these things? What has gotten into you?” His fingers tapped onto Hoseok’s knees, face in disgust. The purple-to-silver tailed man sneered down at Hoseok who hung his head.

Namjoon’s inner rage was holding him hostage, he wanted to lash out on his younger brother. Reprimand him into oblivion. With clutched fists he retained himself, as much as possible while wearing a sour scowl.

Hoseok wanted to explain, he wanted to be able to voice his opinions and thoughts. Even apologize for doing something so reckless because that’s what Namjoon would like to hear – but he couldn’t find the regret in him. Instead, Hoseok looked back at his brother with sadness. Not sad that he was being yelled at – sad that he wasn’t ever understood.

“When father finds out – I can’t even imagine.” Namjoon pinches his fingers between the bridge of his nose, clenching his teeth together. He was furious, upset, disappointed all the same time. The slap of his tail whacking the water was his signal of agitation – causing a startled Hoseok to lean back.

Hoseok sat frozen, watching the merman of the Antarctic chill over the surrounding areas with his icy personality. After Namjoon recollected his thoughts, pushing his emotions down the drain, he stared back at Hoseok. “We can’t settle this now, can we? You like that woman.”

Namjoon murmured under his breath, trying to understand the infatuation Hoseok gained for the world above. It just didn’t make any sense to him – maybe because near his realm, there wasn’t many environments like this. But Namjoon adored his environment, his clean unpolluted waters, crystal clear ocean to swim freely around. Beautiful deep blues in the cracks and corners of his realm, and the complimented purples of his region.

Hoseok ran his hand behind his neck, shy to admit to his brother that what he was stating was correct. There was something about this women that called to Hoseok, something he yearned for and wanted – no – had to get to know her better.

Namjoon placed his hand on Hoseok’s shoulder, leaning towards him as if his next words were to be secret. Whispering he spoke, “We can’t lose you – I… I can’t lose you Hoseok.” The casual uninviting front that Namjoon’s eyes originally generate now showed distress, he was scared.

There was a weight, a heavy weight, weighing down on Hoseok’s chest. It tightened, as if he couldn’t breathe the fresh ocean air anymore. The impact of his brother’s words hitting him – he never understood the importance he had towards his family. Better yet, he didn’t understand how his careless behavior was affecting his brothers.

It was then that Hoseok remembered the deal he made, what actually needed to be done. For him to remain human, he needed to be with the princess. If he didn’t, he will return back to a merman, tail and all – but he had to surrender over his kingdom… Nobody knows of this deal, besides the sea witch and him as there was no way for him to explain it.

“I’ll have to figure something out. We – we have to figure something out. I’m going to gather the others; I don’t want father knowing of this.” Namjoon’s thoughts came rushing in waves, murmuring out loud to himself. “We’ll maintain your kingdom. Leaving your palace unattended with no explanation doesn’t help the folk who live there.”

Hoseok tried to hold Namjoon from leaving so suddenly, had to figure out something to tell him, anything to tell him. But it was too late. The reflective moonlight shimmer of Namjoon’s tail flipped away, diving deeper into the depts where he could no longer see him.

He needed to figure out how to break the news.

Over the course of a few days, Hoseok and Y/n bonded. He assisted around the castle, partially for learning measures and also for making up his share of the King’s and Queen’s generosity. There was a day he had spent alongside the King, listening to his lengthy lectures about history and the kingdom back in his day. Thankfully for the King, Hoseok had no choice but to be a great listener.

Another lovely day where the princess and aqua prince studied the garden, planting fresh greens and tiny bulbs of plants, messing around in the dirt, and rearranging the agriculture. Sipping tea quietly along  a tuneful record. Days they scoped the beach together to gather shells and miscellaneous ocean trinkets. And lending a helping hand in the selection of the princess’s custom-made dresses. He always favored the fancy blues, tying the beautiful color with rich gold jewelry.

Their stares lingered on another from time to time. Longer than normal, but nothing was mentioned besides the appreciative bashful smiles in return. Hoseok remained a true gentleman, assisting the princess with whatever activity she desired to participate in. Board games, drawing and painting, even more carriage rides out to the town. The subtle glow between them grew brighter, and at times Hoseok had to cease his actions when it came to accidentally brushing up against the princess’s skin.

He’s been learning many new things, so much so that it was hard for him to retain everything. Certain trinkets he had back in his personal study now had proper names addressed to them, the fork, the spoon, a globe, and so on. His favorite time of the day were when they met up outside, routine now, to dip their feet in the cooling ocean waters. Each passing second he grew more and more in love with her.

During these days, which soon turned to weeks, Hoseok would meet up with his brothers at night when he snuck back outside for once last dip. One by one another brother and their pet added to the group, greeting, scolding, and slowly trying to figure out what was going on with this huge dilemma. Nagging, bickering, consulting and more. Seeing his brothers is bittersweet, and he was realizing it would be hard to live without them.

Some days, Hoseok would purposely be forced out of the princess’s company for lengthy periods of time. As suitors from kingdoms came to visit, spend time with the young beauty. It was her duty, her parent’s orders as well. Meanwhile Hoseok would sneak his way through the inners of the palace whenever he had the chance, he grew to know the layout pretty well by now. Sometimes even leaving little painted notes in the rooms he’d know the princess would be occupying, making her think of him when she was being bothered by another royal.

Oh, he wishes to be in their shoes. He is a royal no doubt, but of a different world. His princess doesn’t know this, nor does any other human. If he had his way, he’d be able to swoon Y/n the moment he could show her his world. Teach her the ways of the water, indulge her in his plants and beautiful riches no humans could even imagine of.

As time continued to tick, admirers continued to show up and Hoseok found better ways to communicate. He would gather paper, paints, brushes, and sketch himself figures. Painting out a storyboard filled with images of what Hoseok needed to tell his brothers. Sadly, there wasn’t any script for mer-folk. Nothing was read, nothing had symbols that represent words and sounds. They just had music.

Hoseok lost track of days and the time, not realizing how long he has gone without his underwater realm. How long his brothers have been vacating theirs as well. It was unhealthy, they had responsibilities, yet they decided to stay as close as possible to help their brother.

Jungkook, bless his young ethos, even offered to contact the sea witch herself – to reverse the spell. But all of the others insisted that wasn’t the wisest of choices.

“Who’d know what that conniving being would do to one of us if we went there!” Spoke Jimin with an unsettling aura. The disappearance of his pearl still remained unnoticed by the others – to Hoseok’s surprise. Jimin did decorate his waist with many accessories already, a flashy distraction from the missing stone.

“But she knows what’s going on! She could help!” retorted Jungkook.

As the bickering continued, the orange tail spoke up with a stern tone. “Enough you two. It’s almost sundown. We should be heading up.” He brushed pass the others, leading the pack.

Yoongi was unsettled, disgruntled – completely upset when he heard the news of Hoseok. Firstly, he was the last of them to know. With Seokjin and Namjoon figuring out that Yoongi would be the hardest to tell, as he resembled a lot of qualities their father composed of.

He puffed up large like a lionfish, his coal black eyes scanned his surrounding brothers with a reproachful glare. The group waited for the venomous lash out, a poison quill drilling into each and every one of them – metaphorically speaking. What came next was unexpected.

Yoongi met the eyes of his worried brothers, seeking for affirmation that what they said was true, that Hoseok left them for the upper world. It shattered him, his sharp eyes turned bleak, body hunched over and supported his weight with his hand on the nearest wall. He couldn’t breathe the water around him, he felt his body shaking – and each brother watched their fiery brother completely break down in front of them all. Tears cannot be formed or shed underwater – mermaids and merman simple do not cry. But they can resound vocally, physically – in which that’s what Yoongi did.

The six of the princes swam up together, meeting at their usual isolated location where Hoseok met them every single night. Kiko sought comfort with the youngest, connecting herself by his side at all times until she was able to see Hoseok. Each of the mermen found purchase on miscellaneous fixtures, Jimin and Jungkook daringly lay in the shallow waters. Over time, they grew slightly more comfortable being above the water.

They chattered among another in hushed tones, Seokjin and Yoongi always keeping their eyes on the outskirts of the area just in case they see a potential threat approaching. On schedule Hoseok peers his head around the corner of the headland arch cautiously – checking to see if everyone was there and didn’t want to startle them.

Hoseok stepped through, feet sinking into the sands beneath him as he carried a lantern in one hand and a variety of utensils in his other arm. He greeted with his wide boisterous smile, nodding, and waving to his fellow brothers.

“What do you have there?” Jungkook’s large eyes stared at Hoseok with interest as he dragged his body further up the shore. The light within the lantern flickered, incased in glass so the wind didn’t snuff out the flame. It emitted enough light, enough warmth for the night and what Hoseok had planned.

Hoseok remained a bit up the sand, not wanting to get his belongings wet from the water as he diligently set himself up a place to plop down.

“That’s fire, Jungkook-ah.” Yoongi spoke up, he’s also gazing at the small flare in the odd mechanism. “It’s a small one.”

Hoseok flipped his notebook over, carding through pages until he found the one that illustrated the beginning of his story. He spent the times away from the princess to paint photos into his book, trying to decipher his story. None of the other princes knew what Hoseok needed to do to come back to them or to stay up on land – until now.

His storyboard idea was working, with some confusion on pictures and their meanings along the way. Hoseok gestured positive and negative praises giving his brothers a sure tell sign of the direction their guesses were headed.

“Marriage?!” Shouted Seokjin, staring at a photo Hoseok held up of a sketched male in blue holding hands with a woman – which was deemed as the princess with a tiara on top of her head. The picture represented unison, conjoining together. He didn’t know how marriage up on land was like, what was required and traditional. But in their world, a marriage showed coddling, a decorative garland looping around the two beings – tails intertwined.

“Wait –“ Namjoon interrupted, bemused by Seokjin’s assertive claim. “Hoseok? You have to marry her?”

Hoseok slowly nodded with hesitation. He stood up fast, shaking his hands in the air erratically once he saw the first reaction of Jimin’s face turning into a jaw dropping frown. Hoseok pointed to the picture, and then to his legs – and repeat. He needed to get this point across, he needed to show them to keep his legs need needed to marry this woman.

They seem to get it, even commenting on the fact that if that is the case then Hoseok still wouldn’t have a voice. And his feet would be a massive burden having to handle the sharp pain for the rest of his life. Why would he do all this, his desire for this woman must have been so grave.

“Why would you go through with that?” Questioned the deep green merman. His stare looked blank, almost drifting away from Hoseok and speaking into the abyss. “Do you really think you could live like that? Honestly?” His fingers fiddled with the pearl on his earring as Taehyung pondered his next words. “We can’t keep visiting you like this if you continue, we have our kingdoms to control and protect. We have lives as well. You’re tearing yourself away from us, and who knows what hell will break loose once Father…”

“Taehyung.” Yoongi’s voice bit, snapping Taehyung out of his complex trance. He blinked, looking around until he noticed Hoseok standing still, eyes shifting away from everyone. Taehyung’s words hurt, but they were true. The severity of this situation wrenched a split between everyone.

Jimin sighed loudly, only he could feel the most sympathy towards Hoseok because he shared a similar secret with him. But not quite as serious. He bit his lip before spilling the words that were on the tip of his tongue, “Don’t we want Hoseok to be happy?”

Silence.

Jimin turned with a flushed face, “I know we all have feelings about this. Many are negative, but we’re here for him – aren’t we? He’s our brother. We love him. We want to support him, and by no means will he be removed from our family.” His atypical bubbly self was depleted, no light tone to his voice as he sneered his words towards Taehyung.

The two stared at another, provoking and edging each other on to dare say the next thing. Even Hoseok could feel the static tension of the water between the two without actually touching the surface.

“Cut it out!” Namjoon demanded, slapping his tail in annoyance. “Don’t argue this, stop the accusatory assumptions and pointing fingers. We need to work together.”

They’re all hurt. They are all torn. As much as they wish the safety and security of their aqua prince coming back to them, they wished him happiness – whether he found it up here or down below.

The brief commotion was halted when a splash of water combusted from the center of their mer-circle. A large rock chucked into the water to gain attention – it was Hoseok. His nostrils flared, brows weaved together tight, and eyes glowered with pain. They looked shiny and wet. Tiny streams leaking from the brims of his eyes.

The salty liquid dripped off his face, but he remained unphased. Aggressively grabbing hold of his notebook, he flickered through the pages until he came to his design resembling him coming back to the sea. He flashed it to them – it consisted of the princess being wed to another. As Hoseok looks up from the ocean with his blue tail intact.

He angrily stepped knee deep into the ocean, getting closer to his mer-brothers. Jungkook and Jimin, who were closest, leaned closer towards him and latched their arms around each of Hoseok’s legs. The three dancers, a special bond along another. They missed him, they love him, they looked up to him.

“You’re saying that if she marries someone else, you’ll be turned back into a mermaid?” Yoongi and Namjoon inspected, scanning over the artwork. “Assuming you’ll have your tail and voice back?”

Hoseok gave a closed-lipped smile, fury still present. He felt his emotions overwhelm him, watching his brothers one by one have some sort of sign of relief on their faces. It upset him, though it shouldn’t. Because they don’t know what’s yet to come…

The gears in Seokjin’s, Namjoon’s and Yoongi’s heads were working fast. All instantly hoping for this result, to get their aqua brother back safe and sound. Don’t let him marry her. He belongs to the sea.

Before Seokjin’s mouth fully opened to speak, Hoseok was quick to point his finger at him – cutting off his chance. He held his finger up in a ‘hold on, just wait’ with a defeated look in his eyes.

He flipped the page. Showing a creative piece of blues and yellows, a structure under the water. It looks vaguely close to Hoseok’s palace, and with a nod and a point to his personal pearl, he confirmed it was.

Then, with a quick motion, Hoseok ripped the page clean from the notebook. Crumbling it up in his fist as his eyes glistened with pain. The page underneath showed a blackened creature with tentacles and a sinister eerie smile. He shoved the notebook towards each of them, emphasizing the importance of the sheet. Holding the crumpled piece of paper up in the air, he tossed it as far out into the sea as possible.

“Huh?” they all simultaneously voiced.

They were confused, of course. What does it mean? What was Hoseok saying? Goodbye? The palace is gone? The witch?

But Yoongi knew exactly what it was. Ciphering the artwork and charades like an expert in cryptograms. His face drew pale, eyes wide in shock. It clicked straight away, and his eyes met Hoseok’s.

“It means if he comes back to us, he must surrender his kingdom to the sea witch.”

Hoseok was sitting himself at his vanity in his guest quarters, staring into the mirror at his reflection. He noted how the wave of his hair seem to have dulled down slightly, probably from lack of the saltwater teasing it up. He stared back into his almond brown eyes, the deep blue twisting within his iris’. There was something unnerving today, he can sense it.

His brothers all have assured him that his realm is perfectly undamaged, clean as a whistle. Even though his servants and staff all have noticed his prolonged disappearance. They excused him, claiming that Hoseok was accompanying the Mer-King for family business. Though that excuse is fading fast the longer he’s been away. Surprisingly there hasn’t been any mandatory obligations for a festival, no reason for the King to show his presence among the several regions.

It was midafternoon when Hoseok relieved himself from daily events. Isolating himself back in his reserved guest quarters. He didn’t feel well, there was something persistent in the back of his mind that told him there was something off.

A small piece of paper folded over off to the side of his mirror caught his attention, drawing his mind out of his clouded aura. He placed it here for good keeping, knowing where to find it when he needed it. And he found himself looking at this piece of paper more often than he can admit.

Unfolded, it showed a painting of a sun with shades of yellow in the center. Small lines of black in angles representing a flock of birds flying. And strokes of blues in wave-like formations below it. The princess painted this small piece, giving it to Hoseok as a kind gesture but it meant so much to him. She was sweet, delicate, attentive, and kind. A curious being – just like himself.

He sighed with his shoulders, adoring the token of gratitude. He’ll never forget it as it was special to him.

Until a riled commotion fumed from outside – perking Hoseok’s ears up. It sounded far within the palace, undistinctive. His feet followed the voices down the hallway into the opening of the staircase, from here he can look down into the foyer from above. The ruckus is coming from the vestibule, hearing several voices arguing as they walked into the room. The princess is along the group, chattering away with pleas.

“Please!” She protested; her voice was laced with full distraught.

Gretta was holding her back by her shoulders, the princess arguing towards her mother who walked swiftly away. “Please mother!”

“There’s no more excuses, my child. You must grow up.” The queen departed coldly.

Princess Y/n stood there with her maid, her shoulders shaking heavily. Hoseok managed to stay out of view, looking between the railing posts to see what was going on. He couldn’t quite understand what the uproar was about, but he knew it left the princess disturbed, enough to make her shed tears.

Later in the day, Hoseok found himself in the garden terrace, pacing back and forth along the grass with bare feet. It felt better to not confine his toes in those snug boots anyways. He hasn’t seen the princess after the event earlier and he was growing concerned. He wanted to know why she was upset, what happened.

Hoseok perched himself against a marble stone statue, nothing marvelous compared to the one he has laying in his gardens back at home. His intentions told him something was wrong; he couldn’t ignore it. It had to deal with the princess – but what happened?

“Aqua?” A sweet innocent voice called to him.

Hoseok’s eyes fluttered over the princess, she was wearing a cream-colored day dress that flowed just below her kneecaps. His soft smile welcomed her to approach him. She looked effortlessly breathless, and he couldn’t bear to think how her face was just twisted with sadness only a few hours ago.

He held out his hand towards her, beckoning her to reach for him. Y/n gladly accepted walking towards Hoseok with her hand in his. It was warm – hand soft, and thankfully she was too preoccupied maintaining contact with his stunning eyes that she did not notice the glow radiating between the contact of their skin.

She leaned against the statue along with him; as much as he would love to intertwine their fingers together, regretfully Hoseok dropped her hand once she was comfortably next to him.

There was silence as they gazed up at the surrounding sky, watching the clouds slowly drift. It was peaceful and calming. The breeze swayed leaves and blades of grass, petals of the flowers dancing with the wind.

Princess Y/n heaved a deep breath, an obvious sign that she has something burdening her. There was clearly a difficult situation she was managing internally, but her walls were diminishing the longer she stood with the man she grew well acquainted with over a short period of time.

Hoseok looked down to her with eyes that spoke ‘speak to me’. He was concerned, she doesn’t know he heard the incident earlier and dreadfully he couldn’t talk to her, only listen.

“Aqua…” She sighs again. “I’m not sure if you could understand. Coming from a royal family has its perks and benefits, but it really isn’t all that amazing.” Her eyes wondered around the garden, the one Hoseok had helped maintain and make look wonderful.

“It’s quite unfair most times. You don’t choose things; you run on the law. And rarely ever do you agree with the stuff you’re forced to deal with. Royalty is a movement, there’s always demand after demand. And most of the time, you don’t get what your heart wants.” She verified with choked words, her voice faltering ever so slightly. “Earlier today, I was told that I must marry a prince from a faraway kingdom. One my parents found appropriate, not bothering to ask me for my own say.”

Her words cut through Hoseok like a blade, it wasn’t intentional – she doesn’t know his side of the story. His fists balled up on his sides though he maintained his composure for the sake of his beloved. They’re both hurting inside now – for separate reasons.

Y/n eyes glossed over with a watery shine. “I know it is my duty. I know it will help the kingdom and my family. But I – I won’t be happy. I can’t feel my heart with it. And I’ve ran out of time I’m afraid.”

It takes everything in Hoseok to push back his anxieties, no longer able to look down at the beautiful princess he stared straight ahead. It’s selfish of him to worry about going back to his realm, his family, and knowing his kingdom has to be handled over to the sea witch on a silver platter. It’s inconsiderate to worry about himself while the princess is nearly weeping besides him.

Hoseok swallowed back whatever bit of pride he had, to focus on the one he learned to love. Taking his thumb to swipe away the tears that caught on her rosy cheeks. It felt so natural and serene how such tiny of an action felt to him.

Bashful, she profusely apologized for her sobbing, laughing at how ridiculous she might have made herself look. “Please, I’m so sorry. I know I mustn’t cry.” Hoseok responds with a reassuring look, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The pull on his heart strings forcing him to look at her until she relaxes.

“I need to tell you something – please don’t think I’m crazy.” She avoided eye contact with him, afraid to catch herself getting lost into his tangled brown eyes. “I had a goal, a hope. A while back, we were celebrating my birthday among a beautiful ship just outside these waters. My parents found it very fitting since I’ve expressed my interests of the ocean one too many times.” She laughed. “It was a great celebratory event; I was having fun! But unfortunately, an oncoming storm approached out of nowhere forcing the vessel to be wrecked during the process.” She started to express her story through body movements, the swing of her arms.

“I was very lucky to have not drowned. I honestly don’t know how I am here today. But they found me washed up on the beach, a bit of a ways down the shore. My birthday gown all tattered and soaked from the previous night.” She paused her rant, contemplating the next thing she was about to say. “I know… deep down I know somebody saved me from the shipwreck. But when my guards and Toby found me, there was no one in sight.”

Her eyes looked back at Hoseok’s who seemed unreadable, almost intense. And she interpreted his look as guilt flooded her senses, she thought she was sounding absurd. “I know this sounds comical, and you can laugh or mock me all you need, but I swear when I woke up, I saw a man over me! I couldn’t see or recognize him because the sun was blaring into my vision! He was all a blur, but I know – I know he was real! I can still hear his voice ringing through my ears.” The princess could recollect how vividly that voice impressed upon her memory.

Hoseok’s eyebrows shot up as high as they could, almost kissing his hairline when the princess claimed these notions. She knows, she knows he helped her! Wait – no… she doesn’t. She has no clue. But she remembers his voice. Hoseok’s voice. He wanted to gesture to her frantically, lose his balance over the fact that he was the one who saved her from that terrible storm. But something stopped him.

Princess Y/n’s voice trailed on, “… and now I ran out of time to find him. To thank whoever it was who had saved me. I tried visiting that area many times after the wreck because now there’s something so sentimental about it. I know nobody will believe me. And now I have to marry in the next few days.”

That’s when Hoseok felt the pit of his stomach churn, that’s what prevented him from hopelessly trying to tell the princess it was him all along. The realization of Y/n being forced to wed by obligation, not her choice what-so-ever. There’s nothing he can do, and even if she did figure it out – then what?

She had thanked him in subtle ways. She took him in, treated him kindly. Fed him, bathed him, gave him a warm place to stay and the clothes on his back. Indirectly the princess thanked him all along, and he thanks her for so much more. Teaching him about the land, the intriguing structures of humankind. Hoseok gained a friendship with the one human he was interested in; he can tell through the shiny glow that radiates between them. She is good, he trusts her with everything.

Without hesitation, Hoseok grab hold the princess’s hand within his. His other briskly reaches for his lonely pearl, slipping the earring out of his lobe and placing it inside her up-facing palm. Her breath hitched; her eyes wide at the sight before her. Y/n’s hand gleamed around his, and his unique decorative pearl glimmered inside her palm. The luminesce vanished the moment Hoseok withdrew, leaving her to stare down at the aqua pearl. “What was – “

Hoseok placed his hands on each side of the princess’s warming face. This was the only way he knew how to properly thank her, and he knew she would keep his precious bead safe from any harm. Her eyes sparkled back into his, whether she understands the circumstance or not, she couldn’t help but stare in awe. He leaned in pressing her fondly in his arms, placing a sweet innocent kiss atop the crown of her head, then bowed gracefully.

“That light?” She whispered, eyes dropping back to her hand. “Where does it come from?”

He met her at eye level with a soft smile, placing his finger over his lips. Shh.

© All rights reserved under @kimtaehyunq​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This tumblr is the ONLY place my fics are posted.

#bangtanarmynet #bangtanhq #ficwithluv #btsbookclub #armysource #magicshopnet #crosscurrents #crosscurrents part 3 #hoseok x reader #mermaid au #bts fanfic #mermaid hoseok #jung hoseok #jhope #hobi #bts #series #hoseok

[returnn-of-the-mac]

One thing that really irked me about Fallout 4 was the lack of illnesses. Our bodies evolve alongside diseases, gaining immunity through exposure, which is then passed to the next generation. Then you have the Sole Survivor, who has effectively time-traveled to the future, and subsequently has none of this immunity. They should be very vulnerable to infection. How would the companions react to Sole getting horribly sick from what is the equivalent of a mild cough for the rest of the wasteland?

Ayy, so this is another combined react! I felt like even though these two aren’t directly related, they could work together. So thanks for the rq’s @conspiracysnail and @doodledust2017! Please enjoy!😊

FO4 (❤️+ Nick & Deacon) Companions React: Sole Catching a Deadly Disease, Slipping Into a Coma & Waking Up

What was supposed to be a quick trip to the Kendall hospital to gather some supplies quickly turned into a night-long ordeal when Sole and their lover unexpectedly encountered an abnormally aggressive deathclaw. After a long and grueling battle, Sole and their partner emerged victorius.

Now the pair was trudging along a beaten dirt road when Sole suddenly felt ill. Very ill. Like nothing they had ever experienced in their 200+ years of living. Nevertheless, they continued to carry on.

MacCready:

“Um, hey. Maybe we should stop for a minute,” MacCready suggested, “You’re looking kinda...grey.”

Sole wiped some sweat from their forehead, assuring MacCready that they hadn’t slept well the night before. He seemed didn’t seem to buy it, but didn’t bother arguing.

Moments later, the urge to vomit suddenly overtook Sole. They desperately fished through their bag for something to suppress it—maybe a purified water?

“What’re you looking for?” MacCready asked, concerned, “Gun? Ammo? Gumdrops?”

Just as Sole opened their mouth to ask for a purified water, they fell onto their hands and knees and began vomiting.

“Eww,” MacCready grimaced and backed up a few steps, “You get food poisoning?”

Sole continued unleashing a seemingly endless stream of puke and their companion grew concerned.

“You...you gonna be okay? You must be running out of stuff to throw up,” MacCready warily approached, “[Name]? Can you still breathe?”

The vomit stream did not cease, and Sole felt themself losing consciousness. The last thing they remembered was being shoved to the side moments before fainting, narrowly avoiding the vile puddle in front of them.

Curie:

“[Madame/Monsieur], you look unwell,” Curie noted.

Sole denied feeling ill and pressed on.

“Zis is zerious, my love!” The synth said firmly, grabbing Sole’s hand to get their attention. It was cold and clammy.

Sole was taken aback by their friend’s unusually stern tone, and Curie’s eyebrows furrowed.

“I apologize for raising my voice, [Madame/Monsieur], but I am zincerely worried,” she explained, “I knew exploring ze ‘ospital was a risk because you ‘ave not been exposed to many Post-War diseases. You’re immune zystem...it will ztruggle.”

Sole let out a long, rattly cough and Curie frowned

“Oh non...zis ees not good,” Curie fished through her supplies to see if she could find anything to treat Sole. She walked over to her companion and gently rubbed their back, hoping to soothe their respiratory tract. They coughed again— this time much harder.

“[Madam/Monsieur]! You’re pupils are constricting!” the synth observed, tenderly squeezing Sole’s hand, “Ztay with me, mon amie, please!”

Sole experienced tunnel vision as their lover’s pleas got fainter and fainter. Then, everything went black.

Piper:

“Blue, you’re not looking too hot right now,” Piper commented, “Are you alright?”

Sole denied their illness and insisted on pressing forward. After about 5 more minutes of walking, Sole started to see black dots materialize around them. They began to sweat and shake their head frantically, trying to clear their vision.

“[Name]?” Piper stated. Her voice sounded comically deep, as if in slow motion “Arreeee yooooouu oookkkayyy?”

Sole giggled at the sound of their friend’s voice before the black dots completely overtook their sight. They felt their knees give way as the world went black.

Gage:

“An’ so I told em: how old do ya think we are? Ten? A rubber chicken ain’t cuttin it. Neither is a whoopie cushion. That shit ain’t hard— uh...boss?” Gage paused, “Are ya still listenin’ to my story? It’s pretty damn funny.”

Sole weakly nodded, and Gage stared at them.

“You’re fulla shit, boss,” Gage chuckled, “Now, what’s on your mind? Ya look...spacey.”

Sole swallowed and took a seat on the ground, the world spinning.

Gage frowned.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

He took a seat beside them and noticed their ashen skin.

“You look like shit. Tell me what’s goin on.”

Sole suddenly felt chills and their skin went clammy. They shot their companion a panicked look before they felt their vision go blurry.

“Hey!” Gage yelled, grabbing his lover by the shoulders, “Hey! Talk to me! Fucking speak!”

Sole collapsed into the Raider’s arms and blacked out.

Hancock:

“You feelin alright?” Hancock asked, frowning, “You haven’t said a word since we left the hospital. That ain’t like you.”

Sole shook their head and continued moving forward. They wanted to answer, but they couldn’t. They were too nauseous.

“Hey,” the ghoul pressed, approaching a flat boulder. He sat down and patted an open spot ned to him, “Come here, gorgeous.”

Sole sat down beside their lover and immediately curled up next to him. Hancock put his arm around them, but now knew without a doubt that something was going on.

“No shame in needin to take a break,” Hancock murmured, kissing the top of Sole’s head, “If ya need an off day, we can just take the day off. No harm in that, doll. The Commonwealth can survive a single day without ya.”

Sole smiled and opened their mouth to say thank you. Before they could get the words out, however, they began to projectile vomit.

Hancock jumped in surprise, but immediately composed himself. He climbed behind Sole and [held back their hair/rubbed their back] as they continued to puke.

“Easy, easy…” Hancock cooed— more so trying to keep himself calm than Sole.

After a few minutes of non-stop vomiting, the ghoul felt his lover falling forward. He roughly tugged them back to prevent them from falling.

Sole now lay face up on the rock, eyes closed. The force of the puking and the dehydration had caused them to black out.

Danse:

“Taffington Boathouse is just over the horizon,” Danse announced, “It would probably make for a safe place to spend the night— assuming the settlers have kept the bloodbug population under control.”

When Sole didn’t answer, the former Paladin turned around to check on them. He noticed his lover straggling behind.

“Soldier? How are you holding up? Do you need to take a break?”

Sole nodded and plopped down on a rock, curling up immediately.

A concerned Danse approached them, and put the back of his hand to their forehead.

“[Name], you’re burning up. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Sole closed their eyes.

Danse frowned and sat beside them. “Soldier, are you going to make it across the river? We could just camp out here for the—”

It was then that Sole went completely limp and began to roll off the rock. Danse sprung into action and caught them just before they hit the ground.

“[Name]! Talk to me, [name],” Danse demanded, holding Sole and grabbing their hand, “If you are unable to speak, squeeze my hand.”

Nothing happened, and Danse noticed how cold and numb Sole’s fingertips were.

“Oh. God. Dammit!”

Although Sole could neither move nor speak, they could still hear the commotion. They made one final attempt to communicate with their panic-stricken lover before they blacked out.

Preston:

“Hey,” Preston began, slowing his pace, “I need to ask— we need to talk.”

An exhausted Sole mustered all of their energy to focus on their concerned companion.

“I feel like you haven’t been taking care of yourself lately. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” the Colonel explained, approaching his lover, “I hate to say this to you— and please don’t take this the wrong way— but you look horrible, babe.”

The words hurt Sole, but they knew Preston was right. They did feel terrible. Their entire body ached from head to toe, their lungs hurt, and they felt nauseous.

“You should rest,” Preston suggested, “Since we’re still pretty far from Taffington Boathouse, we can camp out here. I’ll gather some firewood. In the meantime, you should eat something.”

Preston handed Sole a noodle cup.

“It’s cold, but at least it’s packed with nutrients.”

Sole tried to pop open the lid, but their hands fumbled around clumsily.

“Are you okay? You’re shaking like a leaf, babe.”

Just then, Sole’s vision went blurry. The last thing they remembered was Preston shouting their name before they blacked out.

Cait:

“Hold up, [handsome/gorgeous],” Cait began, “Ye ain’t lookin to hot. You’ve gotta take a break.”

Sole ignored the redhead and pressed onward, but the redhead roughly grabbed their arm and pulled them back.

“Oh no, ye don’t! We are stoppin here and campin out. I’m not gonna have ye pass out on me in the middle of a firefight. Got it?”

Sole tried to wiggle out of their lover’s grasp, but they were far too weak.

“Yer a stubborn one, ain’t ye. I’m not surprised. But ye can’t even shake free from my grasp and I’m not even tryin that hard. Now what if I were an enemy, darlin? Ye’d be good as dead.”

Sole sighed and sat down on a rock. Their head was pounding and their stomach was churning. The nausea was becoming unbearable.

“Hey,” Cait began, crouching next to them, “Yer lookin a bit...green. Do you need—” before she could finish, Sole began to vomit violently.

“Shite!” Cait shrieked, falling over backwards. She was covered in pink chunks. Despite being thrown up on, she shot back up and scrambled to her lover’s aid.

“See if ye can chug some water down or somethin,” the redhead suggested. Unfortunately, Sole’s stream of vomit failed to cease.

“Bloody hell! Are ye ever gonna stop!?”

Sole tried to regain control of their stomach contents, but they were unable to. After a solid two minutes of vomiting, Sole blacked out.

Nick:

“Stop,” Nick demanded. Sole turned around, shocked by the detective’s uncharacteristically stern tone.

Nick sighed and approached his lover.

“You work so damn hard to ensure everyone is taken care of, but sometimes, you just need to take care of yourself, dear,” Nick explained, “You look exhausted. Still beautiful as alway, but jaded.”

Sole hated to admit it, but they knew Nick was right. They were wearing themself out. After leaving Kendall Hospital and coming in contact with hundreds— if not thousands— of foreign disease strands, they were feeling it now more than ever.

“Honey,” the detective began, placing his hand on Sole’s forehead, “You’re definitely running a fever. Please, just rest for tonight. You deserve it.”

Sole took a seat on a nearby rock as the detective searched his inventory for a blanket and food. As Sole watched their lover, they began to feel dizzy.

“[Name]?” Nick called, looking over his shoulder, “Are you alright?”

Before Sole could answer, their vision went blurry. They felt themself losing their balance on the rock.

“[Name]!” Nick cried.

That was the last thing Sole remembered before everything went black.

Deacon:

“Hey hotshot, you ain’t lookin too hot,” Deacon teased, “You actually look kinda cold. I see goose bumps on your arms!”

Sole tried to crack a smile, but they just couldn’t muster the energy.

“Baaaabe, you good? Do you need water or something? Oh! Maybe a teddy bear! I’ve got a ton of those!”

An exhausted Sole curled up on the ground, and their lover could sense that something was wrong.

“[Name], tell me what’s up,” Deacon pressed, “You look...horrible, actually. Are you sick or something? Did you contract some kinda disease at the hospital?”

Before Sole could answer, they started seeing stars.

“[Name]?” Deacon asked, worried, “Hey...you hanging in there? You look all cross-eyed. [Name]?”

Everything went black.

…

Sole groaned and opened their eyes slowly. The light was blinding and their entire body was numb. They could make out some shapes— some settlers and...a person sitting right beside them? They must be at a clinic in one of the settlements.

Before Sole could even finish processing the environment, there was a sudden commotion in the room.

MacCready

“[Name]!” The mercenary cried, throwing his arms around Sole “You’re alive!”

Sole could barely breathe with how tight their lover was hugging them. In fact, they were surprised he even had this much strength. Sole tapped MacCready on the back a few times before he got the hint and pulled away.

“Heh, sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, “You were in a coma for two weeks. I...I thought I’d lost you.”

MacCready’s eyes started to glisten, and Sole mustered a small smile.

“I’m not crying,” he defended, “It’s dusty in here!”

His lover let out a laugh, and the mercenary lightened up a bit. He pulled Sole into another hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. I love you so much, [name].”

Curie:

“MON CHERIE!” Curie shrieked, sobbing into Sole’s shoulder, “Oh, I zought you were gone!”

Sole pet their lover’s hair as they continued to bawl.

“You ‘ad a zerious virus. You caught it from ze ‘ospital. Ze Kendall one,” the synth explained, “I tried to ‘elp you as much as I could, but I zimply did not ‘ave the proper equipment.”

Sole continued to comfort their distraught companion. When Curie had finally stopped crying, she stared lovingly into Sole’s eyes.

“I don’t know zwat I would do wizout you, my love,” Curie breathed, “You mean ze world to me.”

Piper

“Blue, Blue, Blue, oh my god!” Piper squeeled, clinging onto Sole’s arm, “You’re alive! I thought that afternoon two weeks ago would be the last time I’d ever get to speak to you again!”

Sole smiled as their lover babbled on.

“I love you so, so, so, so much! To the moon and back! More than every last grain of sand on the beach! More than all of the dust in the Commonwealth!”

Piper planted a warm kiss on Sole’s cheek, and then pursed her lips.

“Don’t you dare go scaring me like that again, you goober!”

Gage:

“Are ya— ” He stared at Sole, “Alive?”

Sole nodded and Gage grinned.

“I knew ya’d pull through it, babe! You’re the roughest, toughest [girl/guy] I know!”

Gage punched Sole’s arm— much to the annoyance of the onlooking settlers— and gave them a rough kiss on the forehead.

“Ain’t no germs gonna mess with us.”

Hancock:

“Hey, how’re ya doin, sweetheart?” Hancock asked, brushing loose strands of Sole’s hair to the side, “I’m so glad to see you’re doin okay. I love ya, doll.”

Sole smiled, and Hancock wrapped his arms around his lover.

“You sure had me spooked. And I’m not scared of anything,” Hancock laughed, tilting his head toward a mountain of used jet puffers.

Sole rolled their eyes and the ghoul chuckled.

“I know ya hate when I do that but...I just couldn’t fathom spending the rest of my life without ya. I love you so much, and I care about ya more than I’ve cared about, well, anything honestly.”

Danse:

“There you are,” Danse sighed, squeezing Sole’s hand, “I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“And now you can finally stop pestering me about [his/her] condition,” an annoyed settler— seemingly the doctor— remarked.

“Affirmative, civilian,” Danse growled, “Now if you would please give us some privacy. All of you.”

All of the settlers left the room, and Danse looked back at Sole.

“I was...scared, admittedly,” Danse confessed, “If I lost you, I honestly don’t know what I’d do.”

Sole smiled at Danse, and the former Paladin pulled his lover into a tight embrace.

The two sat in silence for a moment, Danse holding his lover close, before finally breaking the silence.

“I love you, [name],” Danse murmured, “So much.”

Preston:

“Babe?” Preston whispered, “Oh my god. You’re awake!”

The Colonel beamed and pulled Sole into a tight hug. The settlers clapped.

“I really thought we’d lost you, General,” Preston explained, “You mean so much to me. You stuck by my side when I was at my worst, and for that I am truly grateful.”

Sole smiled and Preston gave them a kiss on the cheek before pulling them into another tight hug.

“Thank you for staying strong and surviving,” he whispered, voice wavering, “Being together with you is truly amazing, and I just couldn’t imagine— I don’t even want to think about it. I love you, babe.”

Cait:

“Good mornin, sunshine,” Cait giggled, “How was yer slumber?”

Sole raised an eyebrow and Cait ruffled their hair. She was unusually giddy.

“Ah, I knew a few germs wouldn’t take down the tank! I knew ye would be survivin,” the redhead chirped, “Didn’t worry a smidge.”

Sole studied Cait’s face and observed her puffy red eyes, the dark bags that framed them, and her hollow cheeks. She looked like she had been to hell and back. Was she back on psycho? Sole hoped not.

Sole furrowed their eyebrows and looked deep into their lover’s eyes.

“W-What?” Cait cracked. Her lip was quivering, “Quit lookin at me like that!”

After a few moments of silence, the redhead finally broke down. She threw her head down on the pillow beside Sole and began to sob violently. Sole rubbed her back as she struggled to breathe.

When Cait had finally cried herself out, she stared at Sole, wiping away a string of snot with her arm.

“Yeah, yeah I’m disgustin,” Cait mumbled, “And no, I’m not back on psycho. I know that’s probably what yer thinkin. I’ve just been worried sick.”

Sole smiled and Cait hugged her lover.

“I’d never undo my sobriety. You sacrificed so much for me. I can’t thank ye enough for that, darlin. I hate to sound cheesy, but yer the light of me life.”

Nick:

“My god,” Nick breathed, immediately pulling Sole into a tight embrace, “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

Nick looked at the young doctor in the room and nodded.

“Thank you,” he began, peering over Sole’s shoulder, “You are truly a talented young man. [He/she] wouldn’t be here without your hard work.”

The doctor smiled and left the room, leaving the couple in peace.

The detective held Sole and rocked them back and forth for a few moments before gazing into their eyes.

“Darling...I truly didn’t expect you to ever wake up from that coma. You were out for two weeks,” Nick explained, “By the time I got you here, you were in rough shape. I’m eternally grateful to everyone who came together to help you. And I’m so relieved that you’re alive and well.”

He planted a passionate kiss on Sole’s lips before pulling away and smiling.

“Get some rest, dear. You need it,” he stated, pulling the thin sheet up to Sole’s chin and fluffing their pillow, “I love you.”

Deacon:

“Well hello there!” Deacon laughed, his eyes brimming with tears, “Long time no see, babe!”

He playfully wiggled Soles hand around a bit before pulling them into his arms.

“I missed you so much,” he stated, wiping is eyes, “I really thought I’d lost you.”

He pulled back, forcing a small grin.

Sole raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t think you can escape me that easily,” he teased, “I plan on sticking around to annoy you for at least another few decades!”

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #piper #maccready #hancock #danse #paladin danse #deacon #nick valentine #cait #curie #gage #preston garvey #react

[hoodoo12]

Model Behavior (5/5)

SFW. Barbara catches her husband and Beetlejuice in their quiet moment.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

I want to take another moment to thank the always fantastic @turtlepated for rping this little indulgence with me. You are simply the best. I can’t state that enough.  The person who played Barbara is no longer on tumblr that I am aware. 

@janitor-boy @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul @angelicspaceprince

Enjoy! `

After the serious conversation she had with Adam regarding their only other ghostly housemate, Barbara was admittedly worried. Not for anything changing between their marriage, no, no--but it was a growing concern for Beetlejuice. They all witnessed the exchange between the demon and his monstrous mother, Juno, and it was quite obvious that Beetlejuice was more than just  . . . well, some needy pervert. She had forgiven his past transgressions with the new understanding that he had his own traumas to go through. Centuries of them, from what she could tell. So she was curious to see how Adam had handled the situation, opening the door to the attic and calling out to her husband, 

"Adam? Are you still up here? I wanted to talk to you about--" but Barbara cut herself short, surprised by the current scene before her. 

An embarrassed pink flooded her cheeks as she searched for Adam's eyes, silently wondering if this was a bad time. Oh, she really hoped she hadn't ruined this moment…

He was right, this was some sort of trap! Somehow the Maitlands had set it up so he'd be stupid and vulnerable in front of Adam, and then Barbara would see it, and she scared him, she had this extra little strength when she was angry-- 

He tried to untangle himself from the embrace, tried to get up, tried to stammer an apology as well as a snarky, "Were you raised in a barn, learn to knock!" kind of comment and ended up panicking and freezing in place instead. Caught! A deer in headlights! 

No matter what kind of happy, solid marriage they had in life or death, finding her husband locked in an embrace with him was not going to go over well.

Rather uselessly, Adam gasped when he heard the door swing open and his wife's voice as she came into the room. Even though he was now dead, he could swear his heart gave a meaty thump of surprise in his chest when Barbara's words trailed off into stunned silence. Beetlejuice jumped against him, rigid as stone and just as still. His thoughts whizzing through his mind at a dizzying speed, Adam met Barbara's eyes over the specter's shoulder, raising his eyebrows and pulling his lips into a thin line. He cut his eyes toward the demon and back to her bewildered face, willing her to understand what she was seeing. 

He didn't drop his arms from around Beetlejuice, either, even as he felt the other ghost's arms trembling minutely against him as he glanced frantically back and forth between the two of them as though waiting for the explosion.

Beetlejuice couldn't see it, but he just knew any pink that might have sprouted in the roots of his hair when he was just getting relaxed with Adam wither and retreat. They were replaced with deep purples and blues, the colors of a bruise. That always felt heavy on his head. He wished he could disappear.

With wide eyes, Barbara nodded her understanding to Adam before she turned her gaze to the now changing colors of Beetlejuice's hair. Normally a vibrant green, she observed the what she thought was pink recede while it was replaced with deep purples and blues. She also didn't miss his shaking and the tense way he braced himself as if he were about to be struck. This broke Barbara's heart, a spark igniting her anger at Juno. But this wasn't the time. Her gaze softened and very slowly she made her way over to the two men, making sure to stand enough in Beej's peripheral that he could look over to see her. She leaned over slightly, giving Adam a sweet smile before addressing Beetlejuice. 

"You guys look pretty cozy . . . got room for one more?" The question was timid and open; no matter the answer, she wouldn't be mad. Still, maybe she should reinforce that. 

"It's okay if you don't want me too, but I certainly wouldn't mind a hug either," she finished with a motherly smile, hoping to comfort him instead of scare him more.

Adam flashed his wife an encouraging smile, turning his attention to the specter who had fallen deathly, uncharacteristically quiet. Beetlejuice looked positively petrified, eyes darting between the couple like a trapped animal eyeing its captors, expecting pain, and the stricken expression on his pallid face caused a twinge of deep sadness to squeeze Adam's chest. 

Schooling his voice carefully, keeping his tone light and casual and unconcerned, he attempted to soothe the demon's obvious unease. "Sounds great to me! The more the merrier, I always say! What about you, Beetlejuice?"

If he couldn't run, he could be small. The self proclaimed ghost with the most shrunk back as best he could into the cushions of the couch. 

With the sounds of his own inner dialogue making a racket in his ears, it took him a moment to not only hear but understand what the couple was saying. Barbara had come closer, but she wasn't screaming accusations or calling him names. Adam hadn't pushed him away. 

They were . . . good? With this? Barbara asked for a hug? Adam agreed? 

It was a lot to process and he finally unhooked an arm around Adam. His hand went to his mouth and he habitually he chewed his thumbnail, trying to make the pieces of this puzzle fit together. The couple had a slight air of expectation, awaiting his answer.Timidly, unsure of his own voice and who exactly decided to speak, he looked up at Barbara and croaked out, 

"W-would you like to s-s-sit, sit here," he indicated the open space beside him, "or next to Adam?"

Barbara's smile warmed graciously at his offer and she moved over to the to open space beside him, though not sitting yet. 

"Is it okay if I sit next to you, Beetlejuice . . .?" she queried. 

Sure, he offered the seat, but with his clear nervousness, she wanted to make sure he knew he was in control of this situation. His choices were the one that mattered. They were there to offer him comfort and if he chose to accept, they would gladly oblige.

Although his nail was still between his teeth, he nodded quickly.

"Thank you," she replied steadily, hoping to ease his worries by staying. She smoothed out her dress as she sat next to him, angling towards him more. Her eyes flitted over to Adam, before back to Beetlejuice. 

"Is it okay if I touch you? Can I give you a hug, too? Like Adam did . . . ?"

Mrs. Maitland sitting down made the cushion dip a little. She sat a little closer than he'd expected, angled so her knees were against his. It was burned into his memory that she'd almost ripped his arm out of socket, so he fretted a little, but she'd been calm and quiet so far, and that reassured him. 

And she'd asked about touching him too, just like her husband had! He filed that away for future use, because it seemed like something that people did. 

Adam still seemed comfortable, and not at all concerned he was going to grope his wife, so with that kind of encouragement, Beetlejuice took his hand out of his mouth, turned it palm side up, and held it out to Barbara.

Barbara's smile grew at his offer, laying the back of her hand against his palm. She made no move to grab at him, instead letting him get used to her touch. He really was acting like a cornered animal and despite the strong urge to wrap him in a blanket and mother him, she knew that would only frighten him.

This was promising! It still felt so strange to see the flamboyant, borderline-manic demon looking so cowed and jittery. Adam stretched out his arm across the back of the sofa, draping it across Beetlejuice's shoulders but curling his hand into Barbara's hair, letting the silky strands run through his fingers. He shifted closer, sitting flush against the demon's side. 

"You doing okay?" he gently asked the other ghost.

Her hand was smaller than her husband's. It fit well into his hand as he closed his fingers lightly around hers. Of course, he'd have said that Adam's hand fit well in his too. That was interesting . . . did everyone's feel like that? 

Beetlejuice jumped slightly and his back stiffened as he felt the pressure of an arm settling across his shoulders. From the corner of his eye he saw the familiar gesture between the two of them: hands in hair. It must feel nice, because they both did it. Gradually he relaxed again. That was much better, and the small beginnings of a smile touched his lips.

When Adam gently played with a few strands of her hair, a lighthearted giggle bubbled up from Barbara's throat before she met her husband's eyes. There was immeasurable adoration held in her gaze, but she broke it to check on the demon her. 

"How are you doing, Beetlejuice?" she wondered softly, giving his hand a light squeeze before leaving her hand lax again.

"I'm . . . g-good," he replied, with a soft stutter, still trying to take in having people voluntarily pressed to each side, an arm over his shoulder, and holding her hand. He wanted to catalogue it all and sear it into his memory to revisit. 

It occurred to him that maybe his answer didn't sound sincere, so he tried again. In a stronger voice, he repeated, "I'm good. How're you?" 

Internally he winced at his return question.

"Well, I am doing wonderful! Thank you for asking," came her cheery response, leaning over to playfully bump her shoulder with his. 

"What about you, honey? How are you feeling?" she addressed Adam next, offering a bright smile. Beetlejuice seemed to be relaxing. That was good. Maybe this would be the start of something better for him. Something better for them all.

His wife's sunny disposition never failed to make him smile, even in such an awkward situation as this. The sheepish demon sandwiched between them did appear to be loosening up, though the tiny stammer would indicate he was still a little unsure. 

"I'm right as rain!" Adam replied with a broad smile to the pair seated next to him, hoping to set Beetlejuice more at ease. "This is nice, isn't it? Just sitting together, vibin’, as Delia would say." 

He punctuated the remark with a swee-ing hand gesture that was supposed to look cool but would probably have made Lydia groan and roll her eyes.

"Oh, Adam!" Barbara chastised innocently, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head at him. Despite the light admonishment, she laughed and the bright smile returned to her lips.

He'd always seen the adoration the Maitlands had for each other from a distance, but now he was caught between them and it was glorious. Just being here made him warm and he could sit here forever, he thought. He sighed and more of the tension left his shoulders.

fin

#writing #fanfiction #rp #Beetlejuice #Adam Maitland #Barbara Maitland #soft

[finallyaniguana]

Watch The Eyes: Paris. 12:15pm CET [4]

[3]     masterpost    ao3     [5]

"Just go along with it."

It was almost like a whisper in his mind. He blinked a few times in the sunlight that hadn't been there before. This... wasn't the Batcave. Yes, he was certain of that.

Damien didnt have a soulmate bond as far as he knew. And it suited him. His mother and grandfather always taught him that soulmates were a distraction. A waste of time. He was glad he had no marks. No colors missing. He was free to move about his life unhindered by another person. His brothers, however, were unsatisfied with his lack of desire to have a soulmate.

Tim had done so much research, looking for examples of all the soulmate bonds he could possibly have. Damian resisted all pushes in "her" direction. He chose to believe there was no one out there. It was easier that way. Easier for her.

When Tim presented his research Damain wanted so bad to throw it back in his face.

"I don't want this, Drake."

Tim squinted down at his younger brother.

"Why?"

"Soul mates are a distraction," he stated, trying to turn and walk out.

"Damian."

He turned again to glare at Tim.

"At least look at my research. I spent alot of time on it," more than annoyance at a waste of time implied in his tone.

He was imploring him to be open to connection. They fight alot but Tim really wanted his brother to be happy.

Damian snatched the offered papers out of his hand, fully intending to leave them to sit on his bedroom desk. Before he could fully make it up the stairs, he felt a twinge of curiosity, followed by a profound emptiness.

That night he glanced over at the papers. The boy sighed and forced himself up begrudgingly.

He spent the whole night reading through them. Thousands of different kinds of soul bonds. Tim had barely even touched on the early outwardly presenting ones, knowing they were irrelevant to the situation. But the possibilities left over were still overwhelming to say the least.

One in particular Tim spent a good amount of time on. The mind switching bond.

In the year that the two would meet, on the younger persons birthday, they would switch minds for 15 minutes. No warning. The only way for others to notice was the eyes. The eyes follow the mind, as common windows to the soul. Connected souls channel each other. One person may start to act like the other as the souls grow closer.

'This one would prove dangerous,' he thought. 'Most likely why Drake researched this one extensively.'

It was one of the more interesting and rare bonds. Only one or two couples in a generation ended up with these ones.

That's why Damian had an advantage over his soulmate in this situation. He knew exactly what was going on.

A quick moment of mental deliberation and he followed the beckoning girl out the door. He didn't say anything. If he could blend in, he could learn.

She walked out of the classroom and down the stairs to two waiting boys, one with glasses and dark hair, one blond.

The blond one smiled at Damian. "Bon anniversaire!" He said.

Damian's eyes widened as he realized he must be talking to him. Good thing he knew French.

"Oh! Thank you?" Damian resisted the urge to react to the voice spilling from his vocal chords.

High and sweet.

The other boy, who's arm was now linked with the girl he had been following also offered birthday greetings, extending a fist.

"Happy birthday, dudette."

When Damian didn't return the fist bump, he tried to reemphasize it like he hadnt seen it. Realizing he should be playing along, he bumped his fist back.

"Alright! Since it's your birthday, you will NOT be paying for your icecream, okay? Don't fight me on this, girl."

"Um, okay." Damian let out a nervous laugh. Why was he acting like this?

"I'm so glad my father let me come celebrate with you guys," the one boy said, adjusting his white outer shirt.

"Me too, dude."

'So it's her birthday,' Damian affirmed in his mind. 'Most definitely the mind switching bond, then.'

"Alright, Alya, lead the way," her apparent boyfriend said.

'Alya. Noted.'

She tugged on his arm, giving a smiling glance back at her friend.

"No time to lose! Let's go!"

She grabbed onto the blond boy who reflexively grabbed onto Damian. It took everything in him not to throw off his soulmates friend. They were moving fast. Barreling out of the school, Damian tried to glance back to see what its was called.

They were moving too fast for him to find the name on the outside of the building. 

He screwed up his face in annoyance. That was going to make it harder to find her. His mind came to a screeching halt. When had he decided he wanted to find her?

Before he could fully figure out his sudden change of heart, they had arrived at the park, ice cream truck in the distance.

Damian reached to the purse by his soulmates hip. He had to check the time. He wasn't positive of the time he had switched but it felt close to fifteen minutes ago. So focused on finding the phone, he missed the little red creature lying doll-like in the purse.

12:28

He mentally cursed. Less than two minutes left and he barely had any intel.

"Nino and I will get the ice creams. You two find us a place to sit. We'll meet you there!" Alya wiggled her eyebrows before pulling Nino in the direction of the cart.

A few beats of silence passed, watching the two run off to get the treats.

"Okay, Bug, where do you want to sit?" the blond said, turning to Damian.

"Bug?" He said aloud.

The world went dark for the second time that day.

Gotham 6:30 am EST

When he came to he was suddenly stricken with a horrible realization. He was still in the Batcave.

His soulmate has been in the Batcave.

His soulmate knows.

Damian, now securely back in his own body, whipped around to where he remembered Grayson to have been standing. He was still there, watching him with an odd expression.

"Baby Bird?" He called out. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Blinking at his older brother he could feel his heartrate increase. Grayson is still wearing the mask. Theres no way she wouldn't recognize that.

Why was he reacting this way? He had been telling himself for literal years that he didn't want or need a soulmate. This was just another reason not to find her. The only way he would ever be able to find her would be to reveal his father's close kept secret. He couldn't do that for a girl. His soulmate. Wouldn't do that. Would he?

Grayson was still waiting for an answer. He chose his next words carefully.

"I-i need to go get ready for... school," he forced out and turned back to the exit, wondering for a millisecond how his soulmate made it this far without Grayson figuring out something was wrong.

He dashed out of sight and back into the manor.

Where can he go? One look at him and anyone in his family would be able to tell something was very wrong. He needed time to figure something else. Reconvince himself to not think about soulmates. 'Soulmates are a distraction, soulmates are a distraction, soulmates are-'

He almost made it to his room without running into anyone. Damn Tim and his bad timing. (Lol)

The elder of the two had a large cup of coffee in hand and dark bags under his eyes. In his other hand he had a tie, clearly getting ready to go to work at WE. One look at Damian's face and his neutral expression crumpled into concern.

"Are you-" he didn't get to finish.

Damian pushed past him and finished his the walk to his room at a sprint. Tim managed not to spill his coffee. He slammed the door behind him. Leaning against the door he tried to catch his breath. Unbeknownst to him, Tim was currently walking down the stairs to find anyone and everyone better equipped to deal with whatever Damian was freaking out about.

'Focus on something else,' he told himself.

He shook himself out and meticulously packed away all his school belongings into his backpack. He changed out of his pajamas he had (and his soulmate???) had sparred in in exchange for his school's uniform.

'She wasn't wearing a uniform. No! Think about something else!'

He gathered his belongings and prepared to face his concerned brothers. They probably would have spoken to Alfred by this point. Another person to assuage concerns for.

Before he could even open the door there was a knock. Taking a deep breath, he called upon all his skills to mask his internal turmoil. Having created a blank face he intended to wear the rest of the day, he opened the door to find Alfred on the other side.

"Alfred."

"Master Damian."

#daminette #maribat

[dailychapel]

God my Champion, embolden me with the power of Your Holy Spirit when I am tempted to fear. Please strengthen me, help me, and hold me up with Your righteous right hand. These circumstances will not prevail against me, for You champion my cause. These troubles will be like grass that withers in the heat of the sun, for Your hand of blessing rests on me. Amen.

[Psa 18:2-16 NKJV] 2 The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer; My God, my strength, in whom I will trust; My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. 3 I will call upon the LORD, [who is worthy] to be praised; So shall I be saved from my enemies. 4 The pangs of death surrounded me, And the floods of ungodliness made me afraid. 5 The sorrows of Sheol surrounded me; The snares of death confronted me. 6 In my distress I called upon the LORD, And cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, And my cry came before Him, [even] to His ears. 7 Then the earth shook and trembled; The foundations of the hills also quaked and were shaken, Because He was angry. 8 Smoke went up from His nostrils, And devouring fire from His mouth; Coals were kindled by it. 9 He bowed the heavens also, and came down With darkness under His feet. 10 And He rode upon a cherub, and flew; He flew upon the wings of the wind. 11 He made darkness His secret place; His canopy around Him [was] dark waters [And] thick clouds of the skies. 12 From the brightness before Him, His thick clouds passed with hailstones and coals of fire. 13 The LORD thundered from heaven, And the Most High uttered His voice, Hailstones and coals of fire. 14 He sent out His arrows and scattered the foe, Lightnings in abundance, and He vanquished them. 15 Then the channels of the sea were seen, The foundations of the world were uncovered At Your rebuke, O LORD, At the blast of the breath of Your nostrils. 16 He sent from above, He took me; He drew me out of many waters.

[Jer 5:1-31 NKJV] 1 "Run to and fro through the streets of Jerusalem; See now and know; And seek in her open places If you can find a man, If there is [anyone] who executes judgment, Who seeks the truth, And I will pardon her. 2 Though they say, '[As] the LORD lives,' Surely they swear falsely." 3 O LORD, [are] not Your eyes on the truth? You have stricken them, But they have not grieved; You have consumed them, But they have refused to receive correction. They have made their faces harder than rock; They have refused to return. 4 Therefore I said, "Surely these [are] poor. They are foolish; For they do not know the way of the LORD, The judgment of their God. 5 I will go to the great men and speak to them, For they have known the way of the LORD, The judgment of their God." But these have altogether broken the yoke [And] burst the bonds. 6 Therefore a lion from the forest shall slay them, A wolf of the deserts shall destroy them; A leopard will watch over their cities. Everyone who goes out from there shall be torn in pieces, Because their transgressions are many; Their backslidings have increased. 7 "How shall I pardon you for this? Your children have forsaken Me And sworn by [those that are] not gods. When I had fed them to the full, Then they committed adultery And assembled themselves by troops in the harlots' houses. 8 They were [like] well-fed lusty stallions; Every one neighed after his neighbor's wife. 9 Shall I not punish [them] for these [things]?" says the LORD. "And shall I not avenge Myself on such a nation as this? 10 "Go up on her walls and destroy, But do not make a complete end. Take away her branches, For they [are] not the LORD's. 11 For the house of Israel and the house of Judah Have dealt very treacherously with Me," says the LORD. 12 They have lied about the LORD, And said, "[It is] not He. Neither will evil come upon us, Nor shall we see sword or famine. 13 And the prophets become wind, For the word [is] not in them. Thus shall it be done to them." 14 Therefore thus says the LORD God of hosts: "Because you speak this word, Behold, I will make My words in your mouth fire, And this people wood, And it shall devour them. 15 Behold, I will bring a nation against you from afar, O house of Israel," says the LORD. "It [is] a mighty nation, It [is] an ancient nation, A nation whose language you do not know, Nor can you understand what they say. 16 Their quiver [is] like an open tomb; They [are] all mighty men. 17 And they shall eat up your harvest and your bread, [Which] your sons and daughters should eat. They shall eat up your flocks and your herds; They shall eat up your vines and your fig trees; They shall destroy your fortified cities, In which you trust, with the sword. 18 "Nevertheless in those days," says the LORD, "I will not make a complete end of you. 19 "And it will be when you say, 'Why does the LORD our God do all these [things] to us?' then you shall answer them, 'Just as you have forsaken Me and served foreign gods in your land, so you shall serve aliens in a land [that is] not yours.' 20 "Declare this in the house of Jacob And proclaim it in Judah, saying, 21 'Hear this now, O foolish people, Without understanding, Who have eyes and see not, And who have ears and hear not: 22 Do you not fear Me?' says the LORD. 'Will you not tremble at My presence, Who have placed the sand as the bound of the sea, By a perpetual decree, that it cannot pass beyond it? And though its waves toss to and fro, Yet they cannot prevail; Though they roar, yet they cannot pass over it. 23 But this people has a defiant and rebellious heart; They have revolted and departed. 24 They do not say in their heart, "Let us now fear the LORD our God, Who gives rain, both the former and the latter, in its season. He reserves for us the appointed weeks of the harvest." 25 Your iniquities have turned these [things] away, And your sins have withheld good from you. 26 'For among My people are found wicked [men]; They lie in wait as one who sets snares; They set a trap; They catch men. 27 As a cage is full of birds, So their houses [are] full of deceit. Therefore they have become great and grown rich. 28 They have grown fat, they are sleek; Yes, they surpass the deeds of the wicked; They do not plead the cause, The cause of the fatherless; Yet they prosper, And the right of the needy they do not defend. 29 Shall I not punish [them] for these [things]?' says the LORD. 'Shall I not avenge Myself on such a nation as this?' 30 "An astonishing and horrible thing Has been committed in the land: 31 The prophets prophesy falsely, And the priests rule by their [own] power; And My people love [to have it] so. But what will you do in the end?

[1Co 4:1-21 NKJV] 1 Let a man so consider us, as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God. 2 Moreover it is required in stewards that one be found faithful. 3 But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by a human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. 4 For I know of nothing against myself, yet I am not justified by this; but He who judges me is the Lord. 5 Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness and reveal the counsels of the hearts. Then each one's praise will come from God. 6 Now these things, brethren, I have figuratively transferred to myself and Apollos for your sakes, that you may learn in us not to think beyond what is written, that none of you may be puffed up on behalf of one against the other. 7 For who makes you differ [from another]? And what do you have that you did not receive? Now if you did indeed receive [it], why do you boast as if you had not received [it]? 8 You are already full! You are already rich! You have reigned as kings without us--and indeed I could wish you did reign, that we also might reign with you! 9 For I think that God has displayed us, the apostles, last, as men condemned to death; for we have been made a spectacle to the world, both to angels and to men. 10 We [are] fools for Christ's sake, but you [are] wise in Christ! We [are] weak, but you [are] strong! You [are] distinguished, but we [are] dishonored! 11 To the present hour we both hunger and thirst, and we are poorly clothed, and beaten, and homeless. 12 And we labor, working with our own hands. Being reviled, we bless; being persecuted, we endure; 13 being defamed, we entreat. We have been made as the filth of the world, the offscouring of all things until now. 14 I do not write these things to shame you, but as my beloved children I warn [you]. 15 For though you might have ten thousand instructors in Christ, yet [you do] not [have] many fathers; for in Christ Jesus I have begotten you through the gospel. 16 Therefore I urge you, imitate me. 17 For this reason I have sent Timothy to you, who is my beloved and faithful son in the Lord, who will remind you of my ways in Christ, as I teach everywhere in every church. 18 Now some are puffed up, as though I were not coming to you. 19 But I will come to you shortly, if the Lord wills, and I will know, not the word of those who are puffed up, but the power. 20 For the kingdom of God [is] not in word but in power. 21 What do you want? Shall I come to you with a rod, or in love and a spirit of gentleness?

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.

Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

[need-a-new-hobby]

Demonology

note: this is my first emily centred fic, i hope i’ve done it justice \\ emily’s such a badass, i just imaging piper looking up to her and being so heartbroken to see her so sad \\ warnings: attempted depiction of loss and grief \\ apologies in advance if i have misrepresented grief, please do tell me if i have

“No way. Inigo every single time.” Piper shook her head at Garcia as she tossed a popcorn kernel in her mouth.

“But Westley became a freaking bandit for Buttercup!”

“Yeah, and Inigo spends the rest of his childhood and young adulthood mastering the sword for his father,” Piper argued. “How is that not attractive?”

“Because Westley is cuter.” Garcia stomped and Piper was about to launch her popcorn kernel at Garcia’s eye when she spotted a dripping Emily in the elevator. “Hey, Em! Who’s your favourite from the Princess Bride, Inigo or Westley?” But Garcia garnered no response as Emily staggered towards her, slightly shivering.

“Did you get that file for Tommy Vee like I asked?” Emily’s voice tumbled out, shaking and shivering, and Piper instinctively pulled off her own knee-length coat, holding it out to Emily. But she ignored it, reaching for the file instead. Piper faltered, tucking her coat over her arm. “Is Hotch still here?”

“I’m pretty sure he lives here…” Penelope trailed off as Emily pushed past between them. “What’s up with her?”

“Dunno. Guess she doesn’t want to talk about it yet,” Piper commented as Penelope pushed forward to the elevator. Piper stared at the door Emily went through until Penelope called out her name. “JJ’s coming back tomorrow right?”

“Yep. I’m thinking lasagne to celebrate her first day back.”

“Great idea.” The elevator doors closed as Emily tumbled her way to Hotch’s office, numb to the bone. But that wasn’t because of the rain.

“I just found out that... An old friend of mine died.” Emily fought the tears threatening to spill over the brink of her eyelashes.

“I'm sorry. Do you need to take some time?”

“Um... There's a chance that he could have been murdered, and there might be a second case.”

“What do you need?”

“Just some leeway to check it out.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Thank you,”

“Emily, if you want to take a few days and let us look into it...” Hotch offered, taking a step towards his battered agent.

“Matthew was...incredibly messed up, and I hadn't seen him in a long time, but he was important to me,” Emily explained, though there was no need.

“At least let us help.” Emily nodded as she sniffled and left the office after thanking him.

Somehow, she managed to stumble home, eyes fluttering closed as her head hit the pillow. She woke up early later that morning, dragging herself into the shower. As the water pounded her skin, she closed her eyes and there he was, bright as day. Before the drugs. Before the alcohol. Holding hands high, glee-stricken faces. Hot water melded with tears as they streamed down Emily’s face.

Emily thought she’d be the first one at the office, except she saw Piper doing paperwork at her desk. “Piper, it’s 7 am.” Without looking up or halting her pen, Piper gave her some excuse that Emily saw right through.

“Fine. I was worried about you.”

“I—” Before Emily could respond, Hotch appeared from his office, telling Emily the M.E. was ready to see her and Piper grabbed her grey winter coat, wrapping it around the pale turtleneck she was already wearing as well as her bike keys.

“C’mon. You can explain when we get there. I don’t have a spare helmet though.” Piper’s bike was liberating as it weaved through traffic, wind whipping Emily’s charcoal hair into a frenzy. They skidded to a stop outside the morgue and Emily unhooked her leg from around the bike.

“Now I get how you’re the first at scenes,” Emily joked weakly as Piper shook out her hair.

“Trust me, helmet hair is not fun.” Piper said as she hooked an arm around Emily’s, striding into the morgue with her. As the examiner revealed Matthew Benton’s pale body, Emily choked, and Piper answered her cell. “Got it.”

“Is it possible someone could have induced the heart attack?” Emily managed to ask.

“The easiest way to stop the heart is an injection of potassium. I would have found traces.”

“There's no other way?”

“I suppose it's possible he could have been injected with epinephrine. It wouldn't register, because clinically, it's identical to the natural adrenalin in the body.”

“Did he have a medical history of cardiac problems?”

“No. The attack was induced by his prolonged abuse of drugs and methamphetamines.”

“Was he tied?” Emily lifted Matthew’s wrists gently, stomach sick.

“The wounds are superficial.”

“Anything else out of the ordinary?”

“He bled heavily from his nose, but with the damage to his septum, my guess is that it was prolonged abuse of cocaine or methamphetamine.”

“And what about the other autopsy,” Piper asked. “Thomas Valentine?” The ME nodded, turning to the next body.

“He died of dehydration. There were traces of prescription antipsychotics in his system. I understand from his family he had a history of mental illness.”

“So, his death was induced by the antipsychotics too?” The doctor nodded

“Piper.” Emily held up Thomas’s wrist.

“Considering the self-inflicted wounds and the history of mental illness, the police didn't suspect foul play.”

“So, you have 2 bodies with ligature marks – each superficial. But you just dismiss them?” Emily confronted the examiner

“There's no medical reason to connect these deaths,” the ME defended herself. Nervous by Emily’s undiplomatic outbursts, Piper excused them, and they walked out into the rain. Before Emily could hook her leg around the bike, Piper tugged at her arm.

“Hey, we’ll find out who did this.” Emily’s shoulder sagged.

“You believe me?” Piper’s stomach dropped at the desperation in Emily’s voice as rain dripped down her coat.

“Always.” Piper shot Emily a soft smile as she donned her helmet and they drove back to the office. 

While JJ fixed Piper and Emily a hot cup of coffee, the others filed in, filling in Piper, Emily and JJ. Thomas Valentine was a schizophrenic who was married but lived alone. Spencer and Derek described how his wife took the kids away to protect them and how he was cursing God. Rossi and Hotch filled them in on Mrs Benton’s firm belief that Matthew was possessed, and Emily scoffed at that.

“Matthew had a thing about challenging the church. He could push it. When we were in high school, his mom and dad consulted a priest because they were afraid that he was possessed.” Derek pointed out that Mrs Valentine had suggested the same thing and both houses had scuff marks under the beds.

“Well, drug addiction and schizophrenia are the most common conditions to be misconceived as possession.” Piper spoke rationally, trying to fit things together. “Plus, both had conditions that could induce their deaths what with both having consistent levels of drugs in their system. Could the unsub have known these conditions?” The question wasn’t directed towards anyone in particular and Penelope’s rush into the room pushed it to the side.

“So, both Thomas Valentine and Matthew Benton were in Galicia, Spain over the same week 4 months ago.”

“That mean anything to you?”

“Yeah.” Piper stood up. “Galicia is one of the biggest Christian pilgrimage sites in the world and the cathedral is absolutely breathtaking.” Spencer noticed the gleam in Piper’s eyes. “Actually, it’s been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since the 90’s.” Derek threw his hands up and took a seat.

“So what, we think these are exorcisms?”

“It could be.” Piper leaned on the mahogany table, challenging Derek.

“Look, I know the Bible just as well as anyone, but I also know there's nothing more open to behavioural interpretation than religion.”

“Meaning what?”

“I think it's dangerous for us to wanna find a connection between these deaths.” Piper nodded slowly and straightened.

“Spencer, to the best of your knowledge, what are the main causes of heart attacks?”

“Complete or partial blockage of the coronary artery, age, high blood pressure, high triglyceride levels, obesity, diabetes, metabolic syndrome, family history of heart attacks, lack of physical activity, stress, illicit drug use, a history of preeclampsia, an autoimmune condition…”

“And apart from drugs, how many of those apply to both our victims?”

“Well, really it’s just drugs and stress.”

“Right, Emily?” Emily hummed as she sipped her coffee. “How long had Matthew been using?”

“Since we were about 16. Why?”

“Right, so if Matthew is almost 30, he’s been using for at most 15 years, wouldn’t there have been a sign before now?” They were all silent, staring at her, then Derek. “Guys, my math skills aren’t that bad.” Spencer shrugged, muttering that calling them skills was a bit of a stretch. She resisted the urge to slap him with a hardcover, mainly because the only thing in her hand was a cup of coffee. “What about silent killers, things you can’t see in a medical exam?”

“Chronic stress, maybe,” Reid suggested.

“Guys, don’t you think this is a stretch? I mean seriously, stress?”

“When stress is excessive, it can contribute to everything from hypertension, to ulcers to irritable bowel syndrome,” Spencer said.

“What could the guy be that stressed about?” Tired from Derek’s negativity, Emily slammed down two pictures of Thomas and Matthew’s wrists.

“Maybe he was stressed about a guy holding him down, trying to banish the devil out of him.” Emily stared him down until JJ squeezed her arm and soothed her back into her seat.

“Guys, look, I'm willing to say that we might have an unsub who ritualises killings as if they were exorcisms, maybe, but right now, we don't even know if we have a crime yet.” But before Piper or Emily could retaliate, Rossi intervened.

“Derek’s right. We need to step back. Let me talk to someone before I have us all telling ghost stories.” Piper downed the last dregs of her coffee while Rossi left to brave the pounding rain outside. Emily stormed out quietly, refusing to make eye contact with the team. Piper and Spencer tramped downstairs to their desks.

“You really think this is a serial killer?”

“I don’t know, Spence. All I know is that if it is, there’s someone out there who’s gonna kill again. I don’t want to take that chance.”

^-^

Rossi pulled up in front of his church, the largest congregation in his area, and closed the door behind him before he took the marble steps two at a time, careful not to slip. He shoved open the large double doors to the church, walking across to catch a familiar priest cleaning the altar.

“Hey, stranger,” the priest greeted Dave.

“I know. It's been too long.”

“So maybe after we speak, you'll let me take your confession?”

“Gonna strong-arm me?” The priest laughed.

“You bet. So, how can I help you?”

“What do you know about exorcisms?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow as he sat down in the first pew to answer the question.

“Well, they're, uh- they're controversial. The Vatican issued a new exorcism rite in 1999, so nobody speaks out against it, but if pressed, not every priest believes in demonic possessions.”

“Do you?”

“Let me put it this way. You believe that evil exists.”

“I've seen it.”

“So, if children are born innocent, at what point does evil enter them?”

“How common are exorcisms?”

“Conservatively, I’d say 400 or 500 a year.”

“Has anyone died in one?”

“What's this about, Davey?”

“I'm looking into the deaths of 2 men. Both were troubled. Each recently had made the same pilgrimage to Galicia, Spain. Each died within the last 2 weeks.”

“And why do you suspect exorcism?”

“Well, it's just a theory. One of our agents knew one of the men. She was afraid there might be some foul play.”

“You agree?”

“Would you know if one took place here in DC?”

“If it's sanctioned, probably.”

“If not?”

“Well, then it's not a true exorcism.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.” As Rossi turned his back, the priest raised his arm, first to God, then to the Father and finally the Holy Spirit, praying for his friend’s soul.

As Rossi returned from his trip, Piper jumped up to retrieve him. “Garcia got a call, 38-year-old white male found dead in his bed by his fiancée,” she told him as they rushed up to Hotch’s cabin. “Patrick Cavanaugh was in Galicia, Spain at the same time as Thomas and Matthew.” Rossi opened the door to Hotch’s office as Piper finished. “Reid, Prentiss and Morgan already left to see the scene.” Piper returned to her desk, resuming her leftover paperwork.

^-^

Derek walked behind Emily and Spencer as they trudged through the brief respite from the rain up to the Cavanaugh household. They flashed their badges to the officer standing guard outside the house. “What can you tell us?”

“Uh, white male, been dead for hours. Medics think it was a brain aneurysm.”

“You mind if we take a look at the scene?”

“Knock yourselves out.” The three agents walked into the room and Spencer noticed the scratches under the bedposts.

“This is kind of starting to freak me out a little bit.”

“Let's figure out if we have a crime before we start freaking out.”

“Obviously we have a crime.”

“Prentiss, how does an unsub induce an aneurysm?”

“Uh, could be caused by stress,” Spencer intervened.

“Yeah, like if you were restrained on a bed while someone tried to banish the devil from their body.”

“All I’m saying is I think we should go easy,” Derek spoke as Mrs Cavanaugh entered the room.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was meek and yet reverberated around the room. Being the closest to her, Derek held out his badge. “FBI? What are you doing here?”

“We’re investigating a series of unexpected deaths,” Reid provided from the back of the room.

“I don’t understand.” Sidelining any empathy that she could have held for the recent widow, Emily started interrogating her.

“Was Patrick acting erratically recently?”

“He had a brain condition. He was getting headaches, wasn't acting like himself.”

“Were you aware of a trip he took recently to Galicia, Spain? Uh, there's a church there called Santiago de Compostela we think he may have visited.” Emily stepped closer to the young widow.

“My fiancé travelled a lot for work. I don't know everywhere he went.”

“With all due respect, ma'am, I don't think you're telling us the truth.”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you believe Patrick was possessed?”

“I'd like some privacy, please?”

“Was someone trying to rid him of demons? Is that how he died?”

“No.”

“You really believe he had a brain condition?” Derek stepped in between, urging Emily to stop and motioning for her to leave before apologising to the young lady for Emily’s behaviour. But apparently, Hotch had already heard about the incident as the three found him waiting in front of the elevators.

“What happened?”

“I think there may be a third victim,” Emily maintained as professionally as possible.

“Is that what you think?” Hotch turned to Derek who glanced at Emily quickly before inputting.

“I don't know.”

“Uh, we have ligature marks, the Spain connection, and scuff marks under the bed.” Emily attempted to salvage the case as it fell apart at the seams.

“Hotch, it's weird, definitely, but there's no way to physically connect dehydration, a heart attack, and an aneurism.” Hotch sighed and Derek asked him if everything was okay.

“We've had a complaint. JJ 's trying to smooth it over with the DC police, but we haven't been invited in on the case.” Hotch uncrossed his arms, face neutral as always and Spencer followed his boss into the bullpen. Derek made to follow too, stopped only by Emily’s voice.

“Hey, that's how you have my back?”

“Prentiss, I'm trying to protect you.” Derek held his hands up.

“I don't need protection,” she spat.

“Hotch just said he got a complaint, and he didn't come down on you. You realize that? You just dodged a bullet. We have to approach this just like we do any other case.”

“Meaning what?” She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to continue.

“Grief can make us wanna believe there's a reason for things when there's not.”

“That woman couldn't even use Patrick's name. She could only say, "my fiancé," because she's convinced something else died in that room that night.” She pushed past him, deliberately digging her shoulder against him, as she walked into the bullpen. As she poured coffee, Spencer recounted the earlier events to Piper.

“Yikes. Is Em okay?”

“I don’t know. She’s convinced there’s an unsub.”

“You don’t think so.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Spencer said as he sat at his desk. “It’s out of my hands.”

“Yeah, I heard there was a complaint.” Piper unclipped her hair, scooping it into a ponytail as she watched Emily glare at Derek over her cup. “Also, Garcia found something.” Piper rolled her chair closer to Spencer, leaning in as she spoke. “Turns out there was a blog posting by Matthew to create a support group for people who felt betrayed by their faith.”

“That explains how they all met.”

“That’s what I said. But it gets better.” Piper slurped at her tea. “And by better, I mean worse. The week the 3 of them were in Spain, the services at Santiago de Compostela were cancelled when the priest there died of, and get this, a heart attack. And,” she emphasised. “If you listen to the conspiracy chatter, there is a strong belief he was killed to interrupt services during the height of the pilgrimage. Their best guess is some kind of gas, sarin or VX, something that wouldn't show up in an autopsy. But it could be anything that would induce stress, cause a heart attack.”

“Then we have a motive. And a potential MO, An eye for an eye.”

“That’s what I said.” Piper’s eyes widened. “But Hotch can’t authorise an investigation.” She leaned back in her chair.

“Wait, but why’d you say that so secretively? Everyone knows, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve just always wanted to do that.” Piper beamed, spinning her chair before skidding over to her own desk. After a few minutes, Emily walked over, shrugging off her coat and getting down to get some work done. Piper looked up to see an attractive man walk up to Emily’s desk and she embraced him quickly. She couldn’t quite make out their hushed conversation but saw Rossi approach them and the two agents left to ‘grab coffee’.

^-^

“You know, there are nicer places to take a girl to coffee.” Emily stood outside the ruins of a burnt down house and Rossi snorted.

“You ever watch The Exorcist?”

“Yeah. Piper hated it.” Rossi nodded.

“The real case started right here. The fire department actually burned down the house themselves. The authorities referred to the boy as Robbie Doe. He's still in the DC area today.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Whole lot of effort went into destroying the house of a kid who probably had onset schizophrenia or Tourette’s syndrome.”

“I'm not following you.”

“You're sure he was murdered. So, what's the story?” Emily sighed. “If you, uh, don't wanna explain, that's fine, but if you do, I'm all in.”

“Matthew knew the Bible inside and out, and he started to question everything.”

“Why?”

“We moved around a lot when I was a kid, 'cause of my mom's postings,” Emily said, pawing at the ground with her foot. “It was hard to get accepted, and when you're 15, that's all you want. You'll do almost anything.”

“You got pregnant,” Rossi inferred, and Emily nodded. “Was Matthew the—”

“No. I couldn’t tell my mom and I didn’t know what to do.” Emily’s voice cracked. “Matthew suggested I go see a priest. He said that if I had an abortion, I wasn't welcome in his congregation.”

“What’d you do?”

“Matthew found a doctor. He took me there. He stayed with me. That Sunday when we got back to Rome, he held my hand and walked me into the church. Father Gamino actually stopped his sermon, but Matthew told me to hold my head up, and we walked to the front pew.”

“What happened?”

“He and Matthew just stared at each other. It was like a battle of wills, and-- and then suddenly Father Gamino went back to his sermon. Matthew saved my life. He made me feel like i was worthy of... Love and friendship. But that's when his anger and questioning started. Then the drugs. His parents saw it all and assumed he was possessed by something evil.” Emily exhaled, looking at the overcast sky to avoid eye contact with Rossi. “It’s my fault…that Matthew’s life unravelled. Rossi watched her blink away tears before he continued.

“Garcia uncovered some information. It's possible Matthew and the others killed someone in Spain.”

“No. I don't believe that.”

“I'm just saying if we keep pushing, you have to be prepared for what we might discover.”

“I need Matthew to rest in peace. I owe him that.”

“Then let's go give a profile.” Rossi moved towards the SUV they rolled in.

“The-the police haven't invited us in.”

“The police aren't gonna do us any good on this one, anyway.”

^-^

Piper was perched on the podium, tightening her small ponytail over her dark cardigan as she watched the group of priests. Spencer stood in an adjacent corner, leaning his back against the wall as Rossi delivered the profile in front of their audience. “We are not here to examine your beliefs in demonology or exorcism, but we are operating on the theory that the person responsible for these deaths does believe. We believe the inciting incident was the death of Father Raul del Toro in Galicia, Spain, 4 months ago.”

“Th-there's an element who believes that the death was actually a murder.” Emily shoved her hands in her pockets.

“The man we’re looking for is probably a priest with a psychotic break,” Piper continued. “He may be under the delusion that he is working for God, would be obsessed with the event in Galicia.”

“He believes he's fighting evil and may very well have followed these men here to Washington,” Spencer finished Piper’s sentence. “We believe that one of the exorcisms took place over enough days for the victim to die of dehydration.”

“Uh, if I may,” David’s priest raised his hand, saying, “An exorcism is like a prize fight. It's completely draining, both physically and spiritually. Now, if this man truly performed 3 rituals within the last few weeks, he would need medical care.”

“Is there somewhere he would go to convalesce?”

“Um, anything less than a working hospital would be too dangerous.” Spencer met Piper’s eyes and she jumped off her perch, following him outside as he dialled Garcia.

“Garcia, it's Reid.”

“Speak, boy wonder.”

“I need you to run Catholic hospital records. Look for any admissions for exhaustion immediately following Patrick Cavanaugh's death. You got it?”

“You know I do.”

“Alright, now run the same search for the days immediately following the first 2 deaths.”

“Oh, I sense a cross-check in my future.”

“Do you have anything?”

“One hit- Father Paul Silvano. Currently at St. Agatha's hospital on 214.” Piper’s forehead unwrinkled and she sprinted down the halls of the church to Rossi, flinging the door open, announcing 3 magical words.

“We got him.”

^-^

“What do you mean he has diplomatic immunity?” Emily slammed a hand on Hotch’s desk.

“Exactly that. Emily, he’s protected by the Italian government. My hands are tied."

“Hotch, he killed three people.”

“There’s no proof.”

“He admitted he was there at each crime scene, that he performed an exorcism on him.” As the fight continued, Spencer gazed intently into the window from his desk.

“What do you think is happening?”

“Auntie Em and Dad are fighting again,” Piper answered as she scribbled the last word on her file, finally completing the week’s paperwork.

“I can see that. I mean, what do you think is gonna happen?”

“The regular. Hotch doesn’t listen to anyone except Rossi so hopefully he can sort this one out. Emily will storm out in 3… 2… 1…” Spencer watched her slam the door behind her as Rossi continued the argument with Hotch, sighing. JJ walked over, leaning her back on Emily’s desk.

“Can we deport him?”

“I doubt it,” Spencer sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“It's crazy. Diplomatic immunity wasn't intended to shield people from murder charges,” Piper complained as she stacked her finished paperwork.

“So Hotch bypasses the state department,” JJ suggested, “goes straight to the Italian Consulate.”

“And loses his career,” Spencer snorted. “The state department won't risk the potential embarrassment. They'll shut us all down.”

“Well, there's some realpolitik for you,” Piper puffed. “So, what do we do now?”

“Did you check his papers with ICE?” Spencer turned to JJ.

“Yeah. His diplomatic status runs till the end of the month.” Piper stood up, starting to pace.

“Okay, let’s go back to the profile. He's a believer.” Piper juggled a stress ball in her hands. “He deals in certainties. In his mind, he has a job to do. Which doesn't end until the end of the month.” Spencer stood up.

“There's another victim on his list.” As the realisation dawned on her, Piper jumped up onto Spencer’s desk before leaping over the partition, sprinting up to Hotch’s office. Spencer just blinked at where Piper had stood merely seconds ago. “That’s starting to get annoying.” Rossi then stormed out to catch Emily by the elevator and they went for another ‘drive.’

They drove to the Benton household where Mrs Benton recognised Emily perfectly, greeting her snidely. “We know Matthew died during an exorcism by Father Paul Silvano. He's performed 3 in the last few weeks. Each subject has died. We believe he's planning another one.”

“That's none of our business.”

“Matthew's gone. You've accepted that. At least let us warn the last family so they know what kind of choice they're facing.” Emily’s pleading met silence. “This isn't about me. This is about other families and the people they love.” Mrs Benton just sighed and walked back inside, leaving the door open for them to come in.

“Father Paul didn't kill Matthew.” Mr Benton was perched next to his wife on the arm of her chair.

“Why are you so willing to accept that? I- I'm just trying to find the truth about how your son died,” Emily pleaded with them from the opposite chair.

“Then listen to me. Father Paul never laid a hand on Matthew.”

‘How do you know that?”

“Because it was me.” He looked ashamed as he stared at his worn leather shoes. “I held him down, I sanctioned the exorcism.”

“I was there.”

“You stood there and watched Matthew die?”

“He wasn't the person you knew.”

“Because Father Paul said that?”

“Something horrible happened on that trip to Spain.”

“You believe that because Father Paul said it. You can't think for yourself?”

“Young lady, do not speak to me like that.”

“How could you allow him to perform a ritual over Matthew?”

“I loved my son.”

“Then you knew how Matthew was. You knew how paranoid he could be.”

“I was trying to save his life.” Emily stood up in frustration at Mr Benton.

“That priest must have done something. Matthew's heart wouldn't have just given out.”

“That thing killed Matthew! It was inside him for years. I know you know that's true.”

“No. Matthew was a sweet boy. He was just troubled.”

“He was never troubled until he met you,” Mrs Benton murmured loud enough for Emily to hear and she recoiled.

“Look, Father Paul explained that Matthew was a conduit. If you opened yourself up to him, you were putting yourself in danger of being taken over.”

“Was anyone with him in Spain or in DC?”

“No-one. He didn’t see anyone when he came back,” Matthew’s father explained.

“No, that's not true. I - I know for a fact he saw our friend John Cooley. His parents worked with my mother at the embassy in Rome. You called him to tell him Matthew had died.”

“I haven't spoken with John Cooley in over 20 years, not since you were kids in Italy.”

^-^

While Rossi went to smooth things over with Hotch, Emily went to John’s apartment, meeting Derek there. Derek flanked Emily as they stormed the apartment. Emily raised her gun, rushing to protect John as Derek dragged Father Paul away. Once outside, Emily freed John while Derek cuffed Paul. Carefully, Emily guided her old friend to the ambulance though his complaints of being fine. Before he left, he murmured something to Emily. “I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. In Italy.” Emily just smiled, rubbing his arm gently before pushing him gently to the ambulance. She rubbed her own arm as the ambulance doors closed and drove away. Piper stood next to Emily.

“You saved him.” Emily nodded. “If you want to crash over at my place, we can watch old movies together,” Piper offered as Hotch approached. She squeezed Emily’s shoulder gently before leaving them.

“If you want my gun and badge, I understand.”

“There’s no need. The Vatican intervened.” Morgan dragged Father Paul over to them. “There's a plane ticket in your name to Rome. Agent Morgan and I will drive you to the airport. Any of your belongings can be shipped to you.”

“You have no right to deport me.”

“The Italian government has rescinded your diplomatic status. They'll do with you as they see fit when you're back in their jurisdiction.” Hotch motioned for the SUV. But as they left, the father called over his shoulder.

“You’ve made the world a more dangerous place. May God’s love be with you.”

“And with you,” she spat back. Rossi, Piper and Spencer joined her and Derek

“I saw that guy up there. He was certain he was fighting against some kind of evil,” Derek murmured to the group as the snow glistened on his shoulders.

“We all have to be certain,” Rossi remarked as he watched the priest leave with Hotch.

“Rossi, don't tell me you believe in evil.”

“Don't tell me you do this job and you don't.”

“I believe there are evil acts, but those are choices, brain chemistry,” Derek explained. “What do you think, Pipes?”

“There’s no evil in the world. Every feeling, every emotion has its justification. For him, it was his beliefs. I think it’s easy for us to dismiss someone or something as evil.” Piper puffed; her breath smoky. Morgan nodded thoughtfully before Hotch called him. One by one, they all left to their own SUVs. Piper looked over to Emily, who stared thoughtfully into the snow, one tear rolling down her cheek. Piper draped an arm over her shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you home.” Piper drove Emily carefully to her own apartment, letting her in gently. Emily couldn’t help smiling as Penelope held a hot bowl of soup.

“It’s chicken noodle.” Garcia beamed at Emily who took it, smiling softly at the soup. “Also, the movie choices are Sweet Home Alabama, Pretty Woman or Titanic.”

“I don’t know, I should—”

“How about just a quiet night in? Tell me you still made that lasagne.” Emily sat on Piper’s maroon couch, slurping at her chicken noodle soup as Piper and Penelope fought over how to cut lasagne.

“It’s not pie, Piper! You don’t cut it into triangles.”

“But it’s fun!” Emily giggled despite herself and Piper glanced over, smiling softly as she walked over, wrapping Emily in a throw when the doorbell rang. Piper opened the door for JJ who carried little Henry in one arm and a bottle of champagne in the other. Piper held Henry in her arms as JJ walked over to Penelope. The four girls sat on the floor, slurping soup, drinking champagne and eating lasagne. Emily smiled, finally feeling at home.

#criminal minds #derek morgan #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #aaron hotch hotchner #bau #bau x oc #baby girl #agent derek morgan #criminal minds x oc #morgan #garcia #jareau #aaron hotchner #dr piper bishop #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #reid x oc #hotch #chocolate thunder #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #hotchner #spencer reid fluff #oc #dr reid #reid #d #agent prentiss #agent jareau

[milkystrawsenpai]

10 animes to get to know you? (what anime are your fav / define you?)

Oh boy, are you ready for this??? I always have this need to explain my thoughts every time I receive these types of questions lol.

1. NARUTO. Honestly I am such a stupid fan girl/boy for Naruto. I shit you not, this anime saved my life. It’s stupid weird that whenever I’m feeling down or unmotivated I’d always think “what would Naruto do?” He wouldn’t be moping around having a pity party!!! Also whenever I am bringing up groceries (I live on the third floor) I always think I HAVE to make it one trip even if it means losing circulation BECAUSE NARUTO AINT WEAK. Sometimes when I think about what it’d be like if I wasn’t here anymore, I get sad because that means no more Naruto and worst of all no more SHINO.

2. Samurai Champloo. A friend at work recommended this and I was hesitant because low key seemed boring but it was and ADVENTURE. I think living in this era (although stricken with war which is bad) would be liberating. At least that’s how the anime shows it, just three pals on the road. Mugen is also BAE.

3. Banana Fish. I can’t tell you how much I cried over this anime. It’s painfully realistic, and takes place in America. I think about Shorter often...

4. Dr. Stone. Uhmmmm yes. I love. It was soooooo hard choosing a favorite character because they’re all great. I especially love Senku because although he is a genius he isn’t an arrogant asshole. He’s super supportive (I love his bromance with Chrome) and as long as someone is interested in science he’s actually encouraging. WE KNOW YOU LOVE YOUR FRIENDS SENKU YOU CANT HIDE IT.

5. Yuri on ice!!!!!!!!!!!! I don’t care how many people rag on it. I love it. This is my most watched anime of all time. It just soothes my soul. So pure and wholesome and the soundtrack is amazing. It’s calming. 10/10 recommend for managing the saddies.

6. Haikyu. I hate sports (sorry) but I love this sports anime. At first I was like eh why is everyone upset it’s just a game?!?! And now I’m crying at my screen like omg my babies, they deserve so much. They’ve grown so much as individuals and as a team and I love. I get this weird annoying urge to cry every time Daichi comes on screen and idk how to stop.

7. A silent voice. My favorite movie of all time. I cry every time. I relate to this movie quite a bit and I’m just so proud of Shoya. He was such a bratty kid but as he grew up and matured he was so respectful and kind and understanding and never blamed anyone for his problems. I CRY.

8. Assassination classroom. This was a WILD anime. It’s in my top 5 favorite animes. Every time I try to explain it’s like okay so a yellow octopus blows up the moon then comes to earth and becomes a middle school teacher and the government hires the students to assasinate their teacher. AND THE BEST PART IS THAT HE IS A GREAT TEACHER. And it sounds weird but I loved it. The character development, the art style was super different, the plot was original, the plot twists were great and Koro Sensei was just lovable. I wish they made a continuation of the show that shows Nagisa being a teacher.

9. My hero academia. How cliché right? first of I wanna say MOMO IS THE MOST UNDERRATED CHARACTER HOW ARE YOU GUYS NOT OBSESSED WITH HER. She’s beautifully drawn, she’s a genius and she has the best quirk. Bnha has the greatest movies. I saw the most recent “heroes rising” in theater last week and I’m totally gonna see again tomorrow and I’m not even sorry. Also the first bnha movie was so great I went home and immediately bought it. Just saying.

10. It’s a tie between two of my favorite comedies. Asobi Asobase because SAME GIRL SAME. I’m Hanako and I’m not sorry. I’m the super weird one and my fashion sense is wack and it’s great and I’m happy. It’s so entertaining and their facial expressions have me DYING. 10b. Shimoneta. This anime about risqué content and dirty jokes. Could you imagine living in a society were you couldn’t make a dirty joke?? How awful. This is a really interesting and hilarious anime that surprisingly has a romantic aspect. The opening is also one of my favorite because Tanukichi is adorable and I low key enjoy his crime fighting outfit of choice 👀

#boku no hero academia #naruto #shino aburame #samurai champloo #mugen #banana fish #yuri on ice #assassination classroom #koro sensei #momo yaoyorozu #shoya ishida #a silent voice #shimoneta #asobi asobase #haikyuu daichi #dr stone #senku ishigami

[ciarawritesmarvel]

Close to Home [4/4] - Detective!AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Language, as you already know, 

A/N: Here we are! The final part of Close to Home, I do so hope you enjoy and ket me know what you think regardless. As before, this is my entry for Layla’s (@wxntersoldiers) 5k Challenge and I can’t thank her enough for her support on this series! I know that most of you just kind of want to read this now so I’ll stop rambling and just leave you to it ;)

masterlist is in my bio and the series masterlist can be found there! if you fancy being tagged in the next parts over the weekend, drop me an ask!

---

“Back inside,” he said, his tone low and unforgiving and you saw a look in his eyes that seemed sadistically playful. He was enjoying this. The smirk that appeared on his face when he saw your fear-stricken eyes proved that point.

“Carl, you don’t have to-”

“I said, back inside.”

His gun moved ever so slightly left of Steve’s shoulder and pointed instead at you again and it was enough of a warning for Steve to wrap an arm around you, still facing Carl, and slowly walk you backwards and back inside the apartment. He’d called for backup two minutes ago - you probably had another two minutes to wait for it. Time to stall.

“I thought shooting you would be enough to steer you away from this case, Y/N. Or at least for poor little Steve to steer you away. I guess I was mistaken.”

“Steve knows I can handle myself,” you said confidently, proud when you couldn’t hear the wobble in your voice that you’d anticipated, “It takes more than a shot to the arm, Carl.”

“Maybe this time I’ll make it a shot to the chest then,” he said matter of factly, face void of any and all emotion, “And before you say something heroic like “You’ll have to go through me”, save it Rogers, I will happily go through you.”

Steve closed his mouth. You wondered, just for the briefest of moments, whether that actually was what he was going to say. You didn’t let your mind wander for long.

“Why are you doing this Carl?” you said, stepping out from behind Steve in a move that shocked the both of you and had Steve’s eyes screaming at you to get back behind him.

“Killing people? I’m only killing the people who deserve to die, Y/N, you should relate to that. Each stupid fucking business man in a suit that I’ve killed is a no-good criminal that’ll never be caught. I’m just teaching them a lesson.”

Steve seemed to catch onto your stalling tactic and butted in.

“So why shoot Y/N? She’s an upstanding citizen, does everything by the book, tries to do right. Which is what you’re trying to do, right?”

You could tell it pained Steve to even suggest that what Carl was doing was anything close to doing the right thing, and it only made you all the more proud of him when you thought about it later. But in the moment, all you could focus on was the barrel of Carl’s gun pointed at your chest and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

“You two just keep getting in my way. Following leads and getting closer and closer to finding me out,” he was spitting his words out of his mouth, “I was hoping that by flirting with wifey here I might be able to derail your stupid fucking holier-than-thou marriage and therefore derail the case but no such fucking luck there. So if I have to kill you to continue my life’s mission, then so be it.”

He was clearly not in his right mind as he spoke and his reasoning certainly wasn’t making sense but suddenly all the over the top flirting did.

“You were trying to ruin our marriage?” you asked incredulously, not thinking about how he might react to your tone and just in disbelief that he ever thought that might work. The idea would have been laughable, had this been a situation where you could breathe properly.

“Thought maybe you’d realise this tall tower of righteousness was so up his own ass that you could do better but apparently I misjudged how up your own ass you are, Y/N,” he said, a fake and frankly cruel smile on your face that made you desperately want to take a step backwards. It was almost as if he sensed the urge, because in one fell swoop he had stepped forwards and wrapped one arm around your throat, the other pressing something cold into your temple.

You let out a whimper and cursed your weakness.

Steve was frantic, you could see the darting of his eyes, but he stayed vigilant, gun pointed directly at Carl and hands only visibly trembling to the sharpest of eyes.

“Detective Peterson, it does not have to come to this. Let her go.”

His voice was calmer than you’d expected, so perfectly mediating, but you knew there wasn’t much time. Now, with you in this position, you were desperate for backup to arrive because without it you weren’t sure what would cause Carl to hesitate. You had the faintest worry that Steve might shoot him, but looking into his eyes told you that he was wracking his brains for any other possibility right at that moment.

Shooting him didn’t mean he wouldn’t shoot you.

“Carl,” you croaked, good hand holding onto the arm that was wrapped around your throat, bad arm resting uselessly by your side, “Please.”

He laughed then, a throaty chuckle that held no weight and you felt the cold metal press harder into your temple, enough to cause an ache.

“I’ve always hated you, Lieutenant Rogers,” he was talking to Steve now and you closed your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to stop panicking so much, “You had everything that I didn’t. The money. The nice house. The perfect job. The doting wife. And now, I finally have the opportunity to take away one of those things.”

Steve didn’t say anything, and you opened your eyes to see the panic and pain as his eyes flickered over to you instead of Carl. There were the beginnings of tears in his eyes as he looked at you, almost a cry for help, a cry for you to tell him what to do. You could feel your heart breaking for him.

“Don’t-” Steve’s voice cracked and his shaking hands were far more noticeable now and you felt anger bubbling up inside you when you glanced at Carl’s face beside yours and saw the joy there, “Don’t you dare.”

Carl opened his mouth to say something else, milking this moment for all it was worth, but before he could there were shouts from outside. Backup.

You felt the gun leave your temple. Saw your opportunity. Took it.

You reached around with your right hand, your good hand, and snatched the handgun that you had hidden at the base of your back, flicked off the safety with one thumb.

A shout from Steve. From Carl. A gunshot rang out.

But this time, you weren’t on the receiving end.

Carl cried out as his legs buckled and he fell to the ground, a steadily growing path of blood blossoming on his leg and Steve had enough of his senses about him to run forward and kick the gun out of his hand, letting it skid across the floor to the other side of the room. As you watched on, gun still held in a death grip in a shaking hand, Steve was suddenly cuffing Carl and officers were pouring through the door, taking over from Steve and taking Carl out of the room, presumably to the hospital, as he screeched and screamed about you having shot him.

When the commotion had gone there were just a few officers left milling around, conducting a final search of the apartment, cordoning off the site and listening to Steve’s instructions on where to find the ski mask evidence.

You were still frozen in place. Hand and eyes trained on the spot where Carl’s leg had just been.

You jumped as you felt a hand on your shoulder, head snapped towards whoever it was, eyes wide and somewhat manic. You blinked and let out a shaky breath you’d been holding when you were met with a worried Steve.

“Just me, baby,” he said soothingly, running his hand down your arm and gently taking the gun from your hand. Your fingers didn’t move, stayed in the shape that they were stuck in, that you were stuck in, “C’mere.”

His arms wrapped around you slowly, scared about how you might react, almost scared to break you. For a moment you just stood there, arm still out as if holding the gun, Steve’s head in the crook of your shoulder and arms around your waist. Eventually, after several moments where Steve thought he was going to have to pull away, you broke out of your trance and your arm finally wrapped around Steve, tightening in the collar of his shirt as you buried your face into it.

You could feel his tears soaking into your neck and you were sure there were a few strays of your own making their mark onto his shirt. The smell of his aftershave and the sound of his heartbeat kept you sane.

“Steve, m-my neck,” your voice was muffled and he pulled away just enough to be able to hear you, but you clearly weren’t allowed out of his tight hold yet - not that you would complain about that anytime soon.

“What was that?” he wiped his face with the back of his hand and you released your grip on his shirt to help him, with soft hands and cautious touches.

“Just, you were resting on my neck a little and-”

You gestured to your neck in lieu of explaining and sure enough there were already faint bruises forming on the skin where Carl’s arm had been wrapped around your throat. Steve faltered, a finger coming up to trace the marks with a feather like tenderness and you savoured the contrast.

“God, I’m so-” a crack in the voice, a fresh wave of tears, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Shh,” you hummed softly, letting the hand that had been wiping his tears rest on his cheek as you had done so many times in the past, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

He paused and cast his gaze downwards for a couple of seconds like he was gathering the courage to say what he wanted to say next and you gave him as much time as he needed, patiently waiting.

“I can’t protect you. I couldn’t three weeks ago and I couldn’t today. I-” he paused with a turbulent sigh, still attempting to talk through his steady tears, “What kind of police officer am I if I can’t protect people?”

“Steve-”

“What kind of husband am I if I can’t protect my wife?”

The last few words were strangled and hoarse and your own tears started up again at the sound. Urgently, you pulled his face forwards and rested his forehead against yours, closing your eyes to focus entirely on his touch. His eyes fluttered closed out of sheer instinct.

“You don’t need to protect me, honey. I never want you to feel like you have to protect me,” your hand lay on his neck and you let your thumb rub loving circles into his jaw, “And anyway, you stalled for long enough that the backup came and I could make my move.”

“It was such a badass move,” he chuckled and you joined him a little.

“Well, we both know I am a badass.”

“An insanely hot badass who happens to be the best wife in the goddamn world,” he said sincerely and you smiled against him.

“Whatever ever floats your boat, mister best husband in the goddamn world.”

He leaned in first, or maybe you did, or maybe it didn’t matter, because as soon as you kissed him, you finally, finally, felt safe. Overwhelmingly so.

---

Paperwork had never seemed more menial. That’ll happen to you when you get shot once and then nearly killed.

It was as if you had to get used to the mundanity of ordinary life again after your ordeal, which was taking a while but not longer than expected. It had only been about a month, after all, and through both you and Steve going to workplace provided counselling that Fury had basically insisted upon, you were getting past it. You helped each other more than you could ever thank each other for.

You couldn’t help but glance at Steve as you thought about him, how good he had been during the whole thing. Taking care of you with your out-of-action arm, taking care of you after the incident, letting you take care of him when he needed it. Never failing to remind you how much he loved you, sometimes a little more than was necessary. It only served to remind you how much it had shaken him.

Currently, he was staring at his computer with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, which flicked back and forth as he read through what was probably another boring document he didn’t want to read. Occasionally, he would reach down for his coffee and take a sip and you had to stifle a giggle when he reached without looking and accidentally hit himself in the head with the mug.

All of a sudden you were back in the academy.

You were watching Steve. Again. It was a pretty common occurrence for you, though it just so happened that the days on which you decided to have a little glance-fest at Steve didn’t coincide with the many days on which Steve decided to have a little glance-fest at you. It was almost as if fate wasn’t quite ready for you yet.

He was jogging around the perimeter as you had your break, being in a different group to you today. As you relaxed back on your forearms on the unforgiving concrete, your eyes were drawn to the hair that flopped into his face and then downwards to his flexing calf muscles and all the way back up again.

The way your chest was heaving was due to the difficult exercise you’d just been doing. Of course. Nothing else.

It was as if he felt you watching, or perhaps, you always thought later, fate decided to have a little tease, but he glanced at you at just the right moment to catch you staring. You didn’t look away, despite every nerve in your body screaming at you to do so but held his gaze in a thrilling exchange that had two hearts beating in frantic unison.

And then he ran right into the basketball post.

He staggered backwards from it, all his previous momentum lost and clutched his head and before you knew what you were doing you were up and racing over to him on the other side of the tarmac.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

He turned to face you slowly and looked at you like he was surprised you were talking to him. For a few moments he just stayed like that, the look on his face equal parts confused and slightly - was that awe? Then he shook his head and cursed like he just realised you’d asked him a question.

“A-Am I okay? Yeah-Yes I am...um...fine. I’m fine,” he winced as he stumbled over his words like a complete idiot. You’d only spoken a few times before, when you’d been partnered up or during drinks with a few other mutual friends in the academy too. Each time, he fucked it up. He would be having serious words with himself in the mirror later.

“Are you sure? You might be concussed,” you held up three fingers in front of his face, still struggling to keep your cool in front of him but the worry about him helped with that one, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three. I promise I’m- I’m actually fine,” he assured you finally finding his voice again.

“Okay. Well, that’s good.”

There was an awkward pause. He was now sure he’d imagined you staring at him and felt idiotic. You were now sure he had caught you staring at him and felt embarrassed beyond belief.

“Anyway,” you stretched the word out to its fullest extent and stepped a safe distance away from him, one where you didn’t think you were about to jump into his arms and ask him to hold you, “Take better care of yourself, Steve.”

As soon as you said his name you cursed yourself, because why the fuck would you know his name unless you were stalking him and he’d obviously think you were weird now and why oh why did you have to-

“See you around, Y/N.”

The elation the both of you felt deep in your chest as the exchanging of names really should have been a sign of what was to come, but for that moment it only served to fan the flame of a crush to span a lifetime.

Falling in love was easy when it felt like this.

You had always maintained that it was that moment for you when you knew you were completely done for when it came to Steve, but he claimed it happened to him far earlier. You’d always been sceptical of that.

The thought of him from years ago, all fresh faced and stuttery had you watching him at his desk with a renewed loving gaze. Not many people got this lucky.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You picked up a few case files and stacked them together and pushed yourself up from your desk with purpose.

You walked tall as you made your way over to Steve’s desk in the precinct, pushing past busy cops walking this way and that, a certain swish in your walk that you couldn’t quite shake and a permanent smile set into your features.

“Hey.”

He looked up and the smile that involuntarily lit up his whole face at just the sight of you still made your heart flutter like the flustered young girl at the academy with a crush on the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. He still possessed that same ability to make you lose your cool and you still possessed the same ability to turn him into a stuttering mess, when you decided to utilise it. Some things never changed.

“You’re sure we shouldn’t keep it formal?”

“Nah,” you said breezily, coming round to his side of the desk and pushing yourself up with both hands to sit on the edge of it, still thanking your lucky stars that you finally had the use of both hands. You’d only been cleared for field work last week and so far hadn’t been put to use, but you were itching to get back out there, “We’ve been married for two years. Together for eight. I think we can accept we’ve never had much of a work relationship.”

“You think?” he asked teasingly and you stuck your tongue out at him, revelling in the loud bark of laughter it gave you, “What did you want anyway?”

“I was just going to drop off these-” you dropped the case files on his desk, “-for a second opinion, if you don’t mind. I could do with a partner on a few of these cases that I seem to be stuck on.”

“No murderers?”

“No murderers,” you confirmed happily and he smiled, looking practically grateful it seemed.

“Good,” he murmured, “I don’t think I can take another murderer anywhere near you for a while.”

“That’s sweet and also, very fair,” you said honestly and then, remembering your actual reason for coming over, you cast a quick glance over your shoulder to check nobody was truly watching you. Coast seemed clear, “And speaking of accepting the nature of our working relationship, there is actually a second reason for coming over here…”

“Oh yeah? And what would that be, sweetheart?”

He said it like he knew exactly what you were going to say next and you reasoned that he probably did. You crossed one leg over the other and gently touched a foot to his calf, slowly dragging it up his leg as you looked at him through your lashes and bit your lip as you asked-

“I was just reliving our days in the academy where we fell madly in love,” you loved watching his face flash with memories as he recalled the same feeling of hopefulness you just had, “And remembering how much of a distraction you were.”

“Not my fault you enjoyed the view.”

His interruption made you chuckle but you narrowed your eyes at him in fake warning anyway.

“Anyway, in the spirit of reliving those days - wanna go makeout in the fourth floor cupboard?”

“You know we have done that since the academy babe.”

“You’re either in or you’re out, Lieutenant,” you said matter of factly, taking your foot away from his leg and pushing yourself to stand, beginning to walk away with just that extra swing of your hips that you knew the effect of.

He caught up with you instantly and his mouth beside your ear as he whispered sent a jolt of electricity through your spine. “Oh I am in,” he said teasingly, as he wrapped an arm around your waist and snuck you off down a back corridor towards the cupboard, giggling like teenagers, “I am most definitely in.”

Staying in love was easy when it felt like this.

#wxntersoldiers5kchallenge #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers series #captain america imagine #captain america angst #captain america fluff #captain america series #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel series #marvel fanfiction #close to home

[mymothershumility]

“You deserve so much more than what you’ve been given.”

past transmissions || { always accepting }

{ Part 1 } & { Part 2 } & { Part 3 } & { Part 4 }

{ @neverflownwithme }

She doesn’t require the whispered murmurs of the maesters to know the cruel fate that has come upon her. In truth, Laira had known the very moment she had felt the pain splintering down through her.

She had known the moment she had seen the drops of blood growing along the stones of her balcony.

She had known the moment she had pulled her hands away from herself only to find them slick with dark blood.

The whispers are merely confirmation. Strange how they do not tug at her the way that the pitying looks of the Sand Snakes do. Sarella is the only one of them all who acts appropriately around her in the hours that follow. She speaks factually to her, telling her what is likely to follow in the coming hours and days.

It’s painful to hear.

All the same, it is preferred to the empty words and sorrowful apologies that are offered to her otherwise.

It is preferred to the vile words she continues to hear hissed in her mind.

‘He will want nothing to do with you now,’ the voice reminds, tone tormenting and maliciously gleeful. ‘Without your little bastard, you’re nothing. He is free of you.’

Sleep does not come to her, no matter how much she wishes it to. The voice makes sure of that. It taunts her, makes her relive the pain and the sorrow of her child being ripped from her in the dead of night.

More than once, she dissolves into fits of tears and pained screams.

More than once, in the midst of her sobs and her screams, she catches the glances that the Sand Snakes cast in her direction.

They look at her as if she is going mad.

Perhaps, she is.

‘The Targaryens have always danced too close to madness,’ the voice taunts.

It’s yet another cruel reminder.

Two short days –an eternity, in her eyes– after her loss, Princess Arianne broaches the subject of sending correspondence to her husband.

‘Let her,’ the voice whispers. ‘Let her send a raven to him. He will take the Baratheon girl to bed when he reads the contents. He will have a new queen to worship.’

In a way, such a thought nearly hurts her more than the physical loss she suffered just nights before. The thought of him rejoicing at her loss –their loss– nearly makes her dissolve into tears again… makes her stomach lurch. She nearly turns herself sick with the thought.

He would not be so cruel… would he?

Sleep comes to her seven days after she is stricken and five days after Princess Arianne broaches the subject of sending correspondence to her husband in the Stormlands. It comes some time in late afternoon, on the cusp of night. Her slumber brings her no peace, her dreams unsettling. She wants to wake herself… knows that she’s trapped in the nightmare that has started to bloom from the moment slumber came upon her.

For a time, her nightmares are nothing more than swirling darkness and the unrelenting sounds of voices. Slowly, the darkness begins to take shape.

The godswood of Winterfell forms around her, snow covered and dark. A familiar presence comes next, momentarily stills the panic and the fear that has been pulsing hot through her.

And, for a moment, the queen feels safe, delighting in the warmth that spreads along her back and the mouth that presses briefly to her temple. Such feelings are soon dashed, the feel of a hand closing about her throat making her panic. She goes still, too afraid to move, and attempts to calm the now frantic beating of her heart.

Her pulse only quickens when she feels the cold press of the tip of a blade pressing against her side. Tears sting hot in the corners of her eyes, realization beginning to settle over her.

‘What have I done?’ she hears herself ask, her voice strained. ‘What have I done to make you hate me so?’

The press of the blade lessens then retracts completely from her side. Her relief is short lived. A moment later, the blade returns, plunging and twisting deep into her side. She feels the blood long before she sees it, warmth spreading at her side and then running down over the curve of her hip and the length of her leg.

Her legs give out beneath her, the hand that had been wrapped about her throat releasing her as she tumbles down into the snow. There’s a dark pool of crimson growing out around her. It’s too familiar… too reminiscent of just days before when she’d lain in a different garden and suffered her child’s loss.

Boots crunch in the snow around her, form moving until it stands before her. Her vision blurs and though she cannot see the face of the one standing in front of her, she knows them.

She knows. The voice that comes is mere confirmation.

‘You deserve so much more than what you’ve been given.’

Her thoughts whirl. She wants to ask him why, wants to ask what she has done to make him despise her… wants to ask if this had been all part of some grand scheme. Had he always meant to do this? To kill her? Was he seeking revenge for Lyanna Stark? For his grandfather and uncle?

She wants to know why.

Her voice falls short. Blood gathers in the back of her throat and as she chokes on it, she sees nothing except for a lone crow perched upon a branch of Winterfell’s weirwood heart tree, its three red eyes blinking back at her.

Laira awakes with a scream, throwing herself forward in her bed. She finds herself disoriented, sight blinded by tears and limbs tangled in her sheets. She tumbles from her bed in her fright, falling in a heap upon the hard polished stone floors out beside her bed.

Her stomach churns, a result of the pounding in her head and the lasting images of her nightmare. She crawls out onto her balcony, body attempting to expel the contents of her stomach. She hasn’t eaten anything in days. There is nothing for her body to rid itself of. She dry heaves until her back and her middle ache just as much as her head. When it all finally stops, she huddles herself in the corner of her balcony, too exhausted to even pull herself back into her rooms.

Below her balcony, Laira hears the rumbling purr of Viserion. Movement comes and then her dragonmount is appearing in her line of vision, her head leaning over the stone railings of the balcony. The queen reaches a shaking hand for the dragoness, palm sweeping over heated scales.

“I am frightened,” she tells Viserion, her voice shaking as she speaks. “I am afraid. I am afraid he… he…” She trails off, unable to finish the statement. The thought lingers in her mind, though.

‘He will kill you,’ the voice whispers, barely contained glee coloring the words. ‘You have seen it. He is going to put his blade through you.’

Out among the trees within the garden, Laira hears the call of a crow. All at once, her head feels as though it is going to split open. She fears she may turn herself ill the pain is so much.

Viserion turns her head with an angry sounding growl, spitting flame into a nearby pear tree. The tree catches flame with ease. There is a final panicked crow’s call before everything goes quiet.

“This city is a sickness,” Viserion growls, her melodic voice clear. She returns her head to the balcony, molten eyes pools of gold in the bright moonlight overhead. “We should leave,” she tells her little golden dragoness. “I will keep us safe,” she vows. “I will take us somewhere our enemies will be unable to reach us.”

Laira wishes to argue. She does not believe any such place exists. Their enemies will find them. Have her dreams not already shown her that? No matter where she journeyed, they would find her.

The sounds of knocking at her apartment doors catches her attention, makes her heart pound roughly in her chest when she hears worried calls mingling with the knocks. One voice strikes her above all the others, makes fear burrow deeper into her heart.

No…

‘He has come,’ the voice growls to her. ‘You know what will come next.’

Hands reach out for her dragonmount, fingers curling about golden horns as Viserion urges her up onto the railing of her balcony and then onto her back. Laira thinks nothing more of what lies behind her. All she thinks of is the feel of the wind around her as Viserion presses forward with a sudden jolt and takes flight.

{ @truetargaryen & @zaldrizo & @shewhoisironborn & @fullrangeofemotions & @xcoatlicuex & @adornishviper & @viperparamour & @hisvipereyes & @aladyofwinterfell & @anunfailingkindness & @therosesofhighgarden & @thequeenmaker & @ialwayswasthebest & @ablondewonder & @iveneverbeenagoodgirl }

#neverflownwithme #;transmissions #v; fire cannot kill a dragon #;drabble #otp; you are the light in the dark #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: miscarriage