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ereawrites · 8 months

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Book Club (Kakashi Hatake)

Prologue - The Ambush

Kakashi sure as hell isn't going to flirt. Good thing you've got sleep-deprived courage (and Gai) at your back.

cw: alcohol use

word count 1.9k (chapter 1/9)

read it on ao3 here

"Maa, Asuma, did you forget to invite Kakashi again?", you scold, scanning the room for a flicker of silver hair even though you know you won't find it. All you see is Genma at the bar, buying a drink for a woman you're pretty sure is different to the one he was flirting with fifteen minutes ago.

"No. He just didn't want to come.", Asuma states this in a tone that suggests a lack of surprise, even as Gai slumps in his seat with disappointment. Kakashi has never been much for getting together with your old academy class, even when alcohol is involved. Asuma shoots you a sideways glance over his drink. "Although I'm sure that would have changed if I'd told him you'd be here."

"Huh?"

"Come on-", he takes another sip of sake and scoffs, not unkindly. "You've noticed how strange he acts around you."

You also take a swig of your drink, intrigued but not quite sober enough to really think about his words. "It's Kakashi. Isn't he strange all the time?"

Asuma laughs loudly - Kurenai looks at him from all the way across the room, you notice, you'll have to corner her in the bathroom later on - and claps a hand onto your shoulder. "Alright, I won't spoil it for you." He's smiling at you like the cat that's got the cream. You don't like it one bit.

"Asumaaaaaaa, don't be like that!", you complain, shrugging his hand off your shoulder and trying to fix him with a stern glare. When he returns it, you crumble - you're glad you didn't have him as a sensei back in your genin days. Besides, Asuma is too loyal to Kakashi, and not much for gossip. But-

"Gai! You know what he's talking about, don't you?!". You point an accusatory finger across the table at Gai, who has already won three separate drinking contests and has the flush to prove it. It's comical how hard he tries to avoid your gaze.

One more drinking contest later, he's yours. Asuma sighs as Gai begins his usual speech.

"My eternal rival Kakashi feels very strongly about me! Our rivalry is intensely passionate, in fact, it is unmatched! But, because our hearts are so inexplicably connected-", Gai lurches to his feet here, eyes shining with tears, "-I can sense that Kakashi feels almost as passionately about you!"

Huh? That can't be right, can it? You take a deep drink and barely even wince; then you look at Asuma, who surely can put the story straight. It's probably more like you've accidentally offended Kakashi, and inadvertently sucked yourself into a weird eternal-rival-threeway. Maybe one of his ninken likes you more than him. Yes, that'll be it. Pakkun was particularly taken with you that time you had to swing by Kakashi's apartment to deliver a message. Asuma looks somewhat defeated, but also a little pleased. "Oh, yeah. He's got it bad for you. Remember how he disappeared from your birthday party?" You'd assumed Kakashi had just got bored and went home to nap. He'd barely even said hello to you that night. "Genma got him pretty drunk and we managed to get it out of him. Then I got him more drunk, and he fell out the chair when he tried to get up and wish you a happy birthday."

"And I carried him home in my arms.", Gai sniffles, clasping your hand tightly. "And he opened his soul to me and cried freely from the power of his love!"

"No he didn't.", you deadpan.

"No-", he concedes. "But I know he wanted to!"

This is not how you expected the evening to go. Part of you doesn't quite believe them - then again, Asuma isn't the type to stir the pot and he knows Kakashi well - and you've heard enough of Gai's power of love speeches to know how serious he is about the topic. Thank God Kakashi isn't here tonight, or you might combust.

"He's going to bolt if I tell him I like him, isn't he?" Both of your friends nod gravely. One thing you remember very well from the academy is that Kakashi loves to brood: you need to let him stew in his feelings until he can't ignore them anymore, or you'll just scare him off. It only takes you and Gai two more drinks to come up with a brilliant idea - why not give him a little push in the right direction?

Ah. There he is.

He's running late - again - to meet Gai. You're not sure why Gai doesn't just start scheduling their weekly training sessions for the afternoon, instead of an ungodly time in the morning. You don't remember ever seeing Kakashi out before noon of his own volition. Then again, you don't remember Kakashi being on time for anything either. You briefly imagine Gai trying to fit in 1000 pushups before his eternal rival arrives at the training ground.

Oh, well. He's already late. Might as well commit to it.

Clearly, Kakashi is unbothered by the thought of neglecting his poor, dedicated rival. In fact, he isn't even looking where he's walking - and why would he? The wide street down to the yard is always empty at this time, because any sensible shinobi is in bed, asleep, and staying out of trouble. He doesn't notice you perched up on the rooftop of the ramen shop even when he walks right in front of it. You grin a little to yourself: you really are quite good at masking your chakra. You're so confident in your abilities that you even lean over the edge of the roof to get a proper look at the book he's buried his nose in.

It takes everything in you not to gasp out loud with glee. You'd recognise Jiraiya's preposterous illustrations anywhere.

This makes everything so much easier.

There's a little side alley a short way up, that weaves between shinobi apartments before coming out onto the boulevard right by the weapons store. Kakashi is wandering along at the leisurely pace of a man with nowhere to be, so it isn't much of a rush to reach it, but you're still a little breathless with anticipation. He's chuckling quietly at his book when you dash out the alley, swing a left, and crash square into his chest. Right as you do, you unmask your chakra, allowing it to just brush against his in a faux expression of surprise. He recognises your chakra, you can feel it, how his own energy reflexively gives way to yours. Kakashi doesn't stagger at all and you pretty much bounce right off him, but you do hear the snap of his book closing swiftly.

"Woah! I'm so sorry, I'm in such a rush to-", you exclaim, with what you think is a pretty good attempt at shock, as you right yourself and look him in the eye. "Oh. Hey, Kakashi!"

He blinks, then greets you in return. "You should be more careful. There's no need to be in such a rush all the time."

Your heart flutters a little bit at the implication that he pays such close attention to the chaotic pace you live life at. If you aren't careful, you're going to be the one leaving this encounter flustered. So you laugh it off, and pretend to readjust your flak jacket. "I do rush, don't I? It's just, I've been up all night pretending to be a particularly noisy owl outside one of my genin's window, and honestly I'm just desperate to go home and sleep." This is true - Haruki called you old for needing a nap yesterday, the little shit.

Kakashi doesn't even question why you've decided to torture one of your students. "I prefer to make monster noises outside Naruto's door when I'm aiming for sleep deprivation."

The one eye you can see crinkles slightly at the corner when you laugh. Otherwise, he doesn't react, so you decide to store away the image of him growling with his face pressed up against a dingy apartment door for a time when you need cheering up. Instead, you decide to set your plan into action. You're going to lose your nerve if you don't get a move on.

"Are you going to train with Gai?", you ask, as if you don't already know. Kakashi hums nonchalantly, switches his book to the other hand, and leans his weight against the wall of the store. You inch forward just a little as you continue, "We should get together someday soon too."

Kakashi's eye widens slightly. "Hm - to train, oh -", and you're so glad he has a dirty mind, because the thought of flustering him has your courage building by the second.

Finally, you allow your eyes to flicker down to his Icha Icha novel - he's carrying the discreet cover version, rather than the much more lewd one you've seen in the bookshop underneath your apartment. The plain binding makes it easy to see how well-thumbed the book really is. Flashing him your loveliest smile, you move in for the kill. "Say, Kakashi, what are you reading? It must be quite a book for you to be so engrossed so early in the morning."

It's hard not to almost, almost, feel bad for him as his whole body tenses up. "It's, ah... well... it's...", Kakashi pauses, clears his throat, and then clears it again. You give him an encouraging mhm as his knuckles turn white against the cover. "...An action novel." He finishes, his voice strained.

"Well, I've been looking for a new book to read in my downtime. Would you mind if I borrow it once you're finished?", you ask. You're starting to grin a bit too much as you speak, but hopefully you're managing to pass it off as just being happy to talk to him - to be honest, you smile at Kakashi far too much even when you aren't torturing him.

He's starting to slide down the wall just a little as his knees weaken."You want to read it?"

"If that's okay with you. It would be interesting to see what you like," you respond, allowing the pause to drag out just a little longer than necessary,"...to read." He might actually be having a nosebleed under his mask, you think, as he fixes his gaze very intently at the lamppost behind your head.

"Everything alright, Kakashi?"

Suddenly, he's skirting around you like you're hot coals. He starts to skitter away up the street, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he mumbles,"Yes. I just realised how late I am to meet Gai, I should go, hate to leave him waiting-"

A gentle hand on his forearm stops him dead in his tracks. "Of course. Well, it was a lovely surprise to see you. Enjoy your training session." You're sure to give the exposed skin there a gentle squeeze before letting go. His chakra chases after you.

"Enjoy your nap.", he replies, staring at you unblinkingly, voice absent. Something tells you Gai will be winning whatever fresh hell he's got planned for this morning - he's probably about 500 pushups deep right now, so you really should get going. Maybe you'll have a nice warm bath and read an action novel of your own. You start down the boulevard in the opposite direction, in much less of a rush than you began, and wave back over your shoulder.

"See you soon, Kakashi. Remember to bring me that book once you're finished!"

You can only see one quarter of his face, but you're pretty sure he's blushing. God, you really do like him.

#naruto #naruto x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi #kakashi x reader

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skylarsin7 · 3 months

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Chapter 22: At the Crossroads

Lily knew that this trip had been a stupid idea. She had argued with herself enough over the entire trip that her head was pounding. Yet, she was here. At least she was fulfilling the promise she made to Eddie. This would be the last she would ever see of her father’s grave, and the town that had been her home for nearly eighteen years. She wondered briefly if Steve had received her note yet, and how furious he would be when she returned. Because regardless of what awaited her, she would return. Hawkins had become her home, and she had to pitch in and defend it while she still could. Vecna had told her that the longer she stayed out of the Upside Down, the sicker she would become. So she had to act now. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Dark circles stood out like vivid bruises on her glaringly pale skin. Her face was gaunt, her eyes sunken and lackluster. She looked for all the world like a terminal cancer patient who was rapidly losing the fight.

She sat in the parking lot for a long time. The sun had risen hours ago, and the light of it was glinting off the dew that still lingered on the grass. She hated this place. Hated that this would be her final farewell to the man that had been her rock for so many years. She wondered if he was looking down on her now, and if he would be proud of her. Proud of the woman who was about to risk it all for the people she loved.

She forced herself from the warmth of Steve’s car, her heart clenching as the all too familiar lawn of the cemetery came into view. She shivered, the chill of spring not yet giving way to summer. Goosebumps pebbled her flesh and she could feel the beginning tingles she was certain would manifest into a splendid nosebleed. She shook off the sensation and trudged up the nearest hill. Her father’s grave was nestled under a beautiful red oak, its leaves still vibrant green swaying serenely as the breeze blew through them. Lily closed her eyes as she approached, concentrating on the sound, loving how, for a moment, she could almost hear her father’s laughter through the branches.

She stopped as the ground leveled out, indicating that she had reached the vicinity of the gravestone. She hesitated a moment, then opened her eyes. Surprise flooded her. Nestled next to the stone that bore her father’s name was a slightly smaller, polished one that bore her own. Unexpected tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. A set of delicate angel wings decorated the crown of the stone. She hadn’t expected this. Surely her step loser would be pushing her mother to forget that she even had a daughter. He had been embarrassed in Hawkins and that was something she knew he would not let go of easily. Fear lanced through her. It hadn’t occurred to her in her state of grief that because of that embarrassment, her mother might suffer now. She shoved the fear away. Her mother had made the choice to marry him. It wasn’t Lily’s fault that he was an abusive ass. Maybe now Elizabeth would see that everything Dustin told her was true. She squared her shoulders, taking a deep breath to center herself.

“Hello Dad, I know it’s been a long time. I’m sorry that I haven’t been to see you in a while. A lot has happened lately. I…got married and became a widow, pretty much in the same day.” She almost laughed at how absurd it was to say out loud. She was a widow. At eighteen. “Now I understand the grief mom went through when she lost you.” She paused, taking several more breaths before she could speak again. “You would have liked him dad. He was a bit eccentric and a little weird, but he was passionate about music and absolutely obsessed with fantasy and D&D.” Her voice broke and she fell silent, unable to stop the tidal wave of emotions that welled in her chest. “You’ve probably met him already. Us metalheads have to stick together, right? If you do meet him, tell him I love him? And that I miss him. So much it hurts.” She fell silent again, clutching the front of her hoodie, almost as if she held on tight enough, she could somehow push the jagged pieces of her heart back together. A single silvery tear slipped free of her control.

A cough sounded behind her and she whirled, a barely audible growl on her lips. The owner of the cough stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes, the color of a summer’s sky widening as she saw Lily. For several moments, neither of them could move. They could barely breathe as they stared one another down. Her mother’s blonde hair seemed dull and straw-like as the wind ruffled it, and even at a distance, Lily could see that she was sporting the same dark circles that ringed her own face.

“Who are you?” Her mother’s voice was hoarse, strained as if she fought to keep it level. As if volatile emotions struggled to break free of her control. Lily could relate and hesitated for a moment. “A fellow mourner.” She answered simply. Her mother drew closer, her fair eyebrows knitting together in a frown that nearly made Lily cry with its familiarity. On reflex, Lily stiffened a little, steeling her heart against the rejection, anger, or disbelief that was sure to come, her own emotions running the gambit between anger, sorrow, and downright pity. But it was not pity for the woman standing before her. It was a deep rooted pity for the woman she once was, a mother Lily would have been devastated for the loss of. But she hadn’t been that woman for years now. What hurt now was the cold indifference encasing Lily’s heart.

“What are you doing here?” Her mother’s voice was not as gruff this time, but curious now as she drew closer still. They were barely six feet apart now. Lily shrugged, going for nonchalance. “I’m not rightly sure. I felt drawn to this place.” She cocked her head as if in contemplation. “Are you alright? You look like you have seen a ghost.” Her mother hesitated, shifting her weight uncomfortably. “I thought I had. You bear a striking resemblance to someone I lost. My daughter. For just a moment, I thought you might be my Lily-bug, come back to me.”

Lily’s heart clenched at the use of her nickname and she was having a hard time distancing herself from her emotions. It was painful to see her like this. Despite the years her abuse fell on deaf ears, and how her mother had turned a blind eye, Elizabeth Ramsey was still her mother. Since she couldn’t trust her emotions, she forced herself to remain silent.

Elizabeth turned away slightly, towards the gravestone that bore Lily’s name. “If she were here I would have so many things to tell her. So many things to atone for. I would tell her how sorry I am. I was so wrapped up in my own grief, I couldn’t see that she was suffering through it as well. Yes, I had lost my husband, but she had lost her father as well. I would tell her that the man that abused her was no longer in my life.” Lily had to glance away to keep her surprise from being obvious. Her mother had divorced Arland? “I married him so quickly after I lost my first husband because he gave me a false sense of comfort. I was too blind to see what he was doing behind my back to my Lily. If I had been more attentive, maybe she wouldn’t have…” Elizabeth cut off as a sob tore from her throat. It took all of Lily’s self control not to reach for her.

“Sometimes, our grief can swallow us whole and we do things that make us seem cruel to those around us. It makes us blind to the needs of others, as our own needs seem so monumentally unattainable. I lost my own husband last week so I know how you feel. He was killed right in front of me.” The words left her before she could recall them. Her mother let out a tiny gasp. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I must seem so selfish, standing here rambling on when your grief is so new. How long were you married?” She asked. Lily sighed. “Less than a day.” Her mother reached for her, but stopped short and let her hands drop. “I am so very sorry. Losing a loved one so soon after vowing to spend forever with them. I can’t imagine.” She shivered violently and coughed, clearing her throat. “Sorry, I know all this seems deeply personal. I don’t know why, but I feel comfortable talking to you. So, thank you Mrs…” She trailed off, a question hanging in the silence.

Lily smiled. “Munson. Aezadora Munson. Most people call me Aeza or Aez.” Her mother reached out again and this time, Lily didn’t hesitate in grasping it. She was shocked anew by how pale and bony her hand looked cradled in her mother’s. Elizabeth didn’t seem to notice. “Pleasure to meet you Aeza. And thank you for listening.”

Her mother turned away from her and Lily had to once again school herself into stillness. Elizabeth seemed so small and frail now, not like the strong woman Lily had looked up to for most of her life. Lily’s heart felt as if a wire were wrapped around it, growing tighter and tighter with every step her mother took away from her. Despite the pain in her chest, Lily took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Mom. But it’s better this way. Better you believe I am already dead than having to mourn me twice.” Lily shoved her hands deep in her pockets, staring down at her father’s gravestone.

Elizabeth’s heart, despite the losses of both her husband and daughter, was the lightest it had been in over three years. Somehow, talking to Aezadora seemed to take the weight of guilt off her chest. It was as if her Lily had been with her, smiling at her in the face of a stranger. Aezadora. What a unique name. Odd to be sure, but lyrically unique. Almost whimsical. Familiarity slammed into her like a truck, pulling her up short. Suddenly she was no longer in the cemetery, her memories having pulled her into the basement of her home.

She remembered the morning she had discovered Lily's disappearance. It had been a Saturday morning and Lily had not been in her bed when Elizabeth had come knocking. Had it really only been a few weeks ago? It felt like a lifetime.

Arland had been furious, ranting and raving around the house about Elizabeth's wild and godless hellspawn of a daughter. Elizabeth would have been ashamed to admit later that her first thought had not been for the safety of her child, but what the other Elders would say when they found out that Lily had stolen her mother's wallet and her car, disappearing into the night. Arland had insisted on calling the police and reporting the theft of the car more so than the fact that their daughter was missing as well.

The first twenty-four hours had been a roller coaster of emotions. Grief, worry, and anger had warred in her heart. Then the first possible lead. Hawkins, Indiana. Why on earth her daughter had fled to Indiana was anyone's guess, but their car had turned up there. But no Lily. The anger grew into mind-numbing worry as memories of her first husband’s death had surfaced then. She had been unable to save the love of her life, and now she had lost her only child. Arland had fixated on catching Lily, not to bring his wife's child home safely, but to make an example of her. Elizabeth had begun to see the darkness behind his eyes and had wondered just how blind she had really been.

She had hoped that upon arriving in Hawkins, she would be reunited with Lily. Only to find the town in ruins. Only to be informed that her daughter had perished with countless others in an earthquake that had ripped Hawkins apart. Her grief had been swift and immeasurable. She remembered the boy they had met at the school, limping and dirty, his brown eyes bright and full of fury. He had known Lily, and had been with her when she died. His words burned her, even now. Arland had not denied the abuse. Had simply told her that the Elders would be notified and that they would go about their lives as if they had never had a daughter. Elizabeth had made up her mind at that moment and divorced him, kicking him and his abusive, gaslighting, perfectionist nature to the curb.

It was days before she could venture into Lily's room. It was as if the room itself was a vacuum and had sucked all the air from her lungs. When she could stand it no longer, she explored the rest of the house, going about the motions of tidying. She then found herself in the basement, where she had banished Martin's things so they didn't have the power to bring up painful memories. She found Martin's old frequency rig he had used in college to tap into their local radio stations. It seemed Lily had been as adept with the contraption as her father. Somehow, that thought had made her smile through her tears. She found shelves of books, their spines pale with having been well read and loved. Tolkien seemed to have been a favorite, for the spine barely held together as Elizabeth had leafed through it. One spine caught her attention and held. This one was new, barely touched. A Bible. Elizabeth remembered frowning. Lily had detested the scripture, so why…

She had pulled the tome from its shelf, both surprised and a little impressed to find that it was not, in fact, a bible, but a clever disguise to a notebook containing what looked like Dungeons and Dragons stats. She was no stranger to the game. Martin had been a DM as well as a player for years, beginning long before he had even met Elizabeth. Like father, like daughter. It was this memory that held her captive now. The name on the sheet. Aezadora. She remembered it because it had a very Elvin ring to it, a very Lord of the Rings feel to it. And this stranger….

Elizabeth whirled, her blue eyes frantically scanning the cemetery. Disappointment bloomed in her chest when she found it empty.

Lily ducked behind a tree, panting hard from her hasty retreat. She had noticed the moment her mother had stiffened, and not knowing what had caused it, had used a nearby tree to hide behind. "Sorry mom, I hope one day you can forgive me. Because I forgive you. I forgive you for everything. I hope one day you can look back with pride that I was your daughter." She whispered. Tears stung her vision and she didn't even bother trying to stop them. Her breath hitched and she let out a rattling cough, one so violent it doubled her over. She muffled the sound with her hands and when she pulled them away, they were smeared crimson. She shuddered, her heart pounding. Her illness was progressing. Fast. She had to move, get back to Hawkins before she would no longer be able to. Just one last thing she had to do here first.

***

She waited until the sun had sunk completely below the horizon before making her way to the house the Ramsey family had occupied. From what her mother had told her, she had kicked Arland out, so in theory, Elizabeth would be alone. Lily parked Steve’s car in the empty lot at the corner of the cul-de-sac, pulling her hood up over her head and cinching it tight. She couldn’t risk anyone recognizing her in case she was seen. She paused as she reached the pale monolith that had been her prison. The place was dark, silent. It felt strange. Only a few weeks ago this place had been her ‘home’, but now she felt like a stranger.

She approached the front door carefully, lifting the tiny marigold pot by the window. A small brass key caught the light of the street lamp and Lily couldn’t help but smile. Some things never changed. At least she wouldn’t have to break in. She opened the door slowly, taking a glance around before stepping inside. The living room was much the same as she had left it, but there were a few notable changes. Spaces on the walls where photos that had included Arland were missing. She paused, her eyes drawn to the space over the fireplace. Unexpected tears welled in her eyes, burning as they streaked down her face. Gone was the severe white clad photo of Elizabeth’s and Arland’s wedding. In its place was a photo of her, her mom and dad. She had frosting on her upper lip. Her mother was smiling, and her father’s face was almost purple with his laughter. She remembered this picture vividly. It had been a sunny day in the summer when Lily was fourteen, a day they had all played hookie and spent the day in the park. The sky had been a clear blue, with fluffy clouds that occasionally provided shade. They had had a picnic, hoagie sandwiches and whoopie pies for dessert. Lily remembered lying down on her back, the remnants of a whoopie pie still on her face. Her mother had flopped down beside her, her long blonde hair fanned out like a curtain of spun gold. Her father had completed the circle with his own wild curls of rich auburn, and had snapped the picture as he held the camera above them.

Lily pulled back from the memory. She swallowed hard as she forced her emotions down. She had a job to do and wouldn’t risk lingering too long. She climbed the stairs to her bedroom, pausing for a moment at the top of the landing. The door to her mother’s room was open, and Lily couldn’t stop herself from crossing the narrow hallway and peering inside. Her mother was curled on her side, and from the deep, even rhythm of her breath, was sound asleep. Lily sighed. She hoped that one day, her mother would be able to smile at the memories and not feel like her heart was being ripped out of her chest.

She stepped back from the doorway carefully, crossing the hall again, this time, for her own room. The familiar sights of her sanctuary nearly drove her to her knees. She took a deep breath, her muscles relaxing in increments. The bed was made, and the room had none of the signs of haste that had claimed her that night that felt so long ago now. So much had happened that it felt like another lifetime. She crouched, her joints creaking in protest. She ignored it, carefully wedging her nails beneath the loose floorboard and pulling it up slowly. To her relief, it made no sound. Setting it aside, she pulled the small wooden box from its hiding place. Opening the lid, she stifled a sob. Her treasures caught the light and winked back at her. All her father’s band pins, his wedding ring, the book of letters, and the cassette tape were all on top, and as much as it hurt to see them, it was as if she were among old friends.

She stood, setting the box on the bed and crossing over to her dresser. In her jewelry box, she found a plain silver chain, and returning to the bed, she threaded her father’s wedding band onto it before clasping it around her neck. It was cool against her skin, its weight a welcome one against her chest. She smiled. It felt right wearing it. Her fingers brushed over the pins, but she left them, reaching instead for the cassette and the book of letters. She held them close, breathing through tears that threatened to drown her. She placed the cassette back, closing the lid to the box and placing it back in its hiding spot. She stuffed the book of letters into her hoodie, unable to stop herself. Despite the fact that she was surely hurtling towards her doom, she couldn’t leave the words her father had written to her behind. And as desperately as she wished to hear his voice again, she couldn’t deny her mother the opportunity.

Smiling through her tears, she didn’t replace the board perfectly, leaving a tiny gap that would creak when stepped on. Her mother deserved this closure as well. To have some part of her husband and daughter back.

She rose, tiptoeing back down the stairs and out into the waiting night. She took one last look at the house before climbing back into Steve’s car. “Goodbye mom. I hope one day you will be happy again.” She let the tears break free of her control, streaming down her face as she pulled out of the cul-de-sac, and for the last time, let the town of Philly grow smaller and smaller in her rearview, until it disappeared all together.

***

It took considerably longer for her to return to Hawkins the second go around. She had to stop multiple times as dizzy spells plagued her, and nausea was a near constant companion. Her stomach ached with the dry heaves that refused to abate completely, and her throat was dry and burning from the bile. She was even paler than before, exhausted, and shivering with fever. She didn’t know what possessed her, but she found herself turning down the familiar road that led to Eddie’s trailer. The sun had already begun to set, casting the eerily silent trailers in shades of orange and gold. It would have been pretty, save for the crimson glow that split the park like a scar.

She stood before the ruined trailer, amazed the place wasn’t crawling with monsters already. The scent of damp and death hung like a miasma around her, choking the air from her lungs. Half the trailer was an open maw, and this close to the fissure, Lily felt instantly sick to her stomach. But the lack of activity unnerved her even more. It was as if Vecna was deliberately waiting on her to launch his attack. That thought was nearly a growl. “Arrogant son of a bitch.” She murmured. “Anyone I know?” Wayne’s voice was tired, and his joke felt thin as a result. She turned and flew into the weathered man’s arms. He seemed so much thinner since the last time she saw him. Had it only been a few days ago?

Wayne pulled her close, as if her presence was a balm to his shredded heart. She knew exactly how that felt. “What brings you here?” He asked quietly, releasing her. Her eyes met his, and it was all she could do to keep her tears in check. His blue eyes shone with concern as he took in her face. “Are you alright, you look pale as a ghost.” He brushed away a tear that had slipped past her control. She managed a smile. “I’ll be fine. Just haven’t been eating much.” She nearly choked on the lie as it stuck in her throat. But she coughed to clear it. “I came to say goodbye. And to give you this.” She took her wedding ring out of her pocket, its black stone glittering ominously as she set it in his hand. His brows knitted together in confusion. “But this is yours…he…” He cut off and swallowed hard. Lily understood. Eddie had been more of a son than a nephew to him, and even in her anger, she knew he had done what he felt was right. “I know…but where I am going, I won’t be needing it. I want…no, I need you to keep it safe for me.” She told him gently. Wayne’s tired eyes met hers once more. “Where are you going?” He asked warily.” Lily’s gaze hardened. “I’m going to make a deal with the devil.”

Wayne stared at her for a long time. “No.” Was all he said. Lily forced her eyes to soften. “It’s the only way I know how to save everyone and protect Hawkins. I need you to trust me on this.” Wayne reached for her, pulling her back into his arms. “I do trust you Lily. You’re my daughter. No matter how brief your marriage to my boy was. But I cannot stand by to watch you do this to yourself. I can’t lose you too.” Lily pulled away, offering him a sad smile. “Eddie sacrificed himself to save this town and the people he loved. How can his widow do anything less?”

He eyed her with grief written on his every feature, but slowly, his hand closed over the ring and he tucked it in his jacket pocket. “I will keep it safe for you. But you have to promise me that you will return to get it back.” She reached for him again, hugging him tightly, fighting back the torrent of her tears. Her father would have loved Uncle Wayne. They would have been fast and great friends. Reluctantly, she released him. “I know this may seem odd, but…” She broke off, unsure of the words. “May I…may I see his room?” As soon as the request was made, her heart yearned for it, longed to see the place her beloved had spent his evenings and his nights talking with her. See the place that was so inherently Eddie’s. Wayne nodded. “Be careful.” He said as he stepped back, a soft cough was the only indication that the air was getting to him too.

Lily approached the trailer carefully, holding her breath as she tugged open the mangled door, skirting the pulsing gate and doing her best to avoid the writhing vines. The rest of the trailer looked identical to its twin that resided beneath her feet. At least, it did for now. She made her way to the back of the trailer, past another two doorways across from one another. These had to be the bathroom and Wayne’s room. A force she couldn’t fight pulled her even deeper into the trailer, into a room that had her nearly falling to her knees as she entered it. Everything about this room screamed Eddie. Posters covered the walls in carefully thought out patterns, and clothes littered the floor. The Warlock hung in its place of honor over his mirror. Her heart clenched as she could see the first tendrils of vines snaking their way towards Eddie’s first love.

An assortment of coins and an ashtray of cigarette butts overflowed the nightstand, and an old, worn copy of “The Hobbit” lay with curling pages next to his pillow. She sank onto the bed, picking up the pillow and bringing it to her face, inhaling deeply. Pain exploded along her senses. The scents of shampoo and cigarettes clung to the fabric along with the faint scent of cedar and sandalwood. If she let her mind wander, she could almost believe she had buried her nose in his soft hair, and the warm closeness of the room could have been his arms around her. Despite the hurt she felt in her heart, she couldn’t deny that she still loved him. She always would, no matter what. “Forever Yours, Faithfully.” She whispered. She buried her face deeply into the pillow, clinging to it as tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking into the fabric in ever-widening circles. “I’m so sorry…” She murmured, sniffing. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you…” As her sobs slowed, she lowered the pillow to the bed. It was all she could do not to curl up on the bed and let the world slip away.

A white shirt hung over his closet caught her attention, and she rose. It was a Hellfire shirt, still stark and crisp as if it had never been worn. The logo on the front was only half finished, the eyes and ears that were meant to be yellow were still white and the dice to either side were just black outlines. The Hellfire Club name was also just an outline as well as the flame above the letter “I”. It looked much too small for Eddie. She took it down from the hook, her fingers brushing fabric paint on the back. She turned it over, another wave of grief plundering her control.

Aezadora

Shieldmaiden of the Stars

He had been making her a shirt. Her very own Hellfire shirt. This one was unique, as the others had not had their name inscribed on the back. And now, he would never have the chance to give it to her. How cruel fate was. It almost seemed fitting that the shirt was incomplete, just like her. She took the shirt of the hanger, draping it over her arm as she made her way to the Warlock. “Hello, dear friend…” She croaked, taking the guitar from its hook. “Your place is not to rot here. Come, I will keep you safe.” She hooked the guitar strap over her shoulder to drape the instrument across her chest. Her fingers hovered over the strings, warmth rippling through her as if an invisible hand laid over them, poised to play. That warmth surged through her and a faint smile curved her lips. “Don’t worry, my love, I will keep her for you.”

She was about to turn away when another flash of white caught her attention. On the dresser beneath the mirror was a small glass dish, filled to the brim with odds and ends, and even a few rogue cigarette butts. Atop this pile was a set of tickets, still pristine and uncreased.

Sunshine Promotions Presents:

THE ULTIMATE SIN TOUR

Featuring:

OZZY OZBOURNE

with Special Guest:

METALLICA

Tuesday, April 8th, 1986

7:30 PM

MARKET SQUARE ARENA

Indianapolis, Indiana

$14.50 ADVANCE………$15.50 DAY OF SHOW

Tickets available at the MSA Box Office and ALL TICKETMASTER Outlets

Including Karma Records & Brock’s Dept. Stores

She swallowed hard as grief threatened her again. She picked them up, smiling ever so softly through her tears. It amazed her that she even still had any to cry at this point. “You would have loved this.” She murmured. She tucked the tickets in her pocket and took one last glance around the room. She blew a kiss to the space Eddie had called home, as if kissing him one final time in goodbye. She doubted she would ever see the place again.

Wayne stood where she had left him. This surprised her. She would have thought the stench of death and decay would eventually drive him away. “I see you have his Warlock. I was going to go retrieve it myself.” Her father in law grunted as tears turned his blue eyes to glass. Lily unlooped the strap and handed Wayne the guitar. “I have retrieved it for you. Keep her safe. Oh, and here…” She handed him the tickets as well. “Go to this. I’m sure one of these tickets is yours anyway, and he can still see it through your eyes.” Wayne shook as sobs tore through him, shaking his head violently. Besides, She added in the privacy of her mind, if you are Indianapolis, I won’t have to worry about you being killed in the crossfire. “I…can’t…” He croaked. Lily pressed her palm against his chest over his heart. “He is still with us, though we cannot see him. He is here. Always here.” She didn’t know where the words came from, but they rang with truth in her chest. He gripped her hand, his fingers shaking around hers. She could see him mustering up every bit of his strength as he squared his shoulders. “I will then. For him.” He managed. She hugged him one final time, gripping him as tightly as she could, as if she could somehow squeeze the broken pieces of his heart back together. But as she pulled away from him, she knew that was impossible. Nothing, not even time, could heal a heart broken so completely. They would both bear scars for the rest of their lives. Scars so deep that it was likely that they would never recover from them. She squared her own shoulders and stepped back from Eddie’s uncle. Clearing her throat, she turned and disappeared into the growing darkness, the faint crimson glow of the gate at her back, on her way to the crossroads to make a deal with the devil.

#eddie munson fanfic #stranger things

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preemshots · 3 years

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the definitive post of WHERE IN THE WORLD IS JOHNNY SILVERHAND’S BODY?

AKA the post of HERE’S WHY I WANT TO BELIEVE WE ARE GONNA GET JOHNNY’S BODY BACK IN DLC.

buckle up, gamers. it's time for some lore. this is a very long post.

warning: this will contain a million spoilers. both for details of multiple game endings, a wee bit of the “where’s johnny” comic, and the cyberpunk RED book. if you want a sparknotes version this is the post for you. my main source here is the cyberpunk RED book as well as as some references to the cyberpunk 2077 world book to cross examine the lore.

i have no idea if someone has made this post before or what anybody else has been finding in their own lore diving. this is just me documenting my own findings from the sources i’ve been using.

it would be disingenuous not to preface this with the ways in which cyberpunk 2077's telling of the arasaka assault differ from the version told in the TTRPG books. the books =/= the game. pondsmith acknowledges in the intro of RED that this is a bridge between the old cyberpunk world and the new world of cyberpunk 2077.

we also know that johnny's an unreliable narrator and his memories presented to V are often different than real events. but on top of that we don't know if the reason why many elements are changed is simply CDPR editing/adjusting/condensing the storyline for their own canon, or if it's due to johnny's construct being manipulated by outside influences such as arasaka.

some of the main differences you need to know from cyberpunk RED canon:

in 2023 johnny doesn't bring the nukes to arasaka tower. he's solely there to free alt.

johnny and rogue and their team from the atlantis/the aldecaldos are actually hired by morgan blackhand.

morgan blackhand is the one who plants the nuke, unbeknownst to many members of the team.

morgan blackhand promptly disappears after this event and no one knows if he's alive or dead. (claire confirms this fact to jackie and v before the heist in 2077 canon)

johnny's silver cybernetic arm is its own character, separate from himself. it seems to have a mind of its own and johnny interacts with it and/or is influenced by it.

when he, spider murphy, rogue, thompson, shaitan, and a team of los lobos from the aldecaldos (who are there in place of santiago, as he’s busy as the leader of the aldecaldos at this point) are attacked by adam smasher, johnny and his arm actively choose to draw smasher's fire in a deliberately suicidal move. smasher downs him instantly, but the distraction is enough to also save his friends.

spider murphy shoves a mysterious chip in johnny's dying head as they escape that alt had downloaded to her a long time ago.

johnny's body is later "rumoured" to have been retrieved from the rubble by a full-body borg groupie that was a first responder to the ground zero of AHQ and then hidden away in a nearby garage.

here comes the political lore that makes my eyes cross, so hopefully this accurately summarizes it: the 4th corporate war begins to end. arasaka is ultimately blamed by the NUSA government to have nuked themselves in a political move to protect their secrets and promptly banished from the USA. arasaka denies this all the way back to japan, then eventually returns to “liberate” night city in the unification wars.

but what the public doesn't know is that kei, saburo's oldest son, had actually hidden an EVEN BIGGER MORE DEVASTATING NUKE at the bottom of the tower to, well, do exactly what they were being accused of doing, even though blackhand was the one who actually dropped the smaller nuke on them. and luckily the bigger one didn’t go off.

arasaka tries to find their nuke in the rubble so they don't get in even bigger trouble, only to discover that it was moved and hidden away to... surprise! a nearby garage.

to compare with 2077:

in RED: we have no johnny loading the nukes into the elevator. no johnny being carried off the premises. no meeting saburo. no johnny getting soulkilled.

in 2077: there's a parallel moment to RED's version of events right after johnny uploads "liberator" from alt's old cyberdeck with spider's help into the arasaka mainframe in saburo's office. adam smasher comes for him as he's trying to escape, knocking him off the second floor of the atrium into the rock garden below.

visually this is the same atrium we always meet alt in in cyberspace and also where V meets johnny for the first time. hmmm. meaningful, perhaps.

not unlike what happens in RED, johnny unloads a clip into smasher at that point, but from there the scene instantly cuts to him running to the roof attempting to board the AV with rogue, where smasher shoots him down again. it’s possible johnny actually died to smasher in the atrium and we have some fabricated memories going on.

either way, in 2077, we lose the character beat of johnny dying for his friends, and the current-day general consensus from rogue and others is that he’s perpetually a selfish asshole with ulterior motives.

and, just to wrap up the politics of it all: morgan blackhand is rumoured to have been secretly hired by the militech-backed NUSA government to help end the 4th corporate war by... you guessed it! nuking arasaka.

HERE'S WHERE JOHNNY'S BODY ENDS UP IN CYBERPUNK RED (SPARKNOTES VERSION):

RED ends with a story called "black dog" set in 2045. black dog is the last song johnny recorded right before the assault on arasaka tower, but the final copy is a bootleg copy of the song and only a fraction.

we're introduced to a fun group of cybernetic-enhanced characters that represent the classes in the TTRPG and based on/designed by real people in collaboration with CDPR.

this group includes trace santiago, santiago's son, who is a media that is curious about the mystery surrounding the circumstances around his father and the arasaka bombing.

just connecting lore here: if you talk to saul at the aldecaldo camp in 2077, he confirms that santiago was killed for his involvement with johnny and the bombing, something that rogue and johnny reference when they talk about their now-dead crew from the afterlife, and in chippin in, santiago is a friend that johnny lists as someone he had disappointed.

the group sets off to find any info about black dog, and meet up with a full conversion chrome woman named samantha in a garage who is blatantly a johnny silverhand fangirl. trace discovers she has a history with johnny, having rescued him from a studio fire at some point in 2015 and speculates she could have been a groupie also.

she mysteriously has a more complete recording of black dog, though not perfect, and offers to trade it for a service: she wants the group to transport a large crate to a facility in new mexico, asking them not to open it.

shit goes down. evidently everyone in night city wants to kill them for this package once it starts moving. eventually they open it. it's the arasaka nuke that had been hidden and never went off, emblazoned with warnings.

trace inquires about the circumstances surrounding the arasaka assault with an older member of the lobos who had been present with rogue and johnny. the man mentions that it was weird, because morgan blackhand organized the whole thing and then ran off immediately with a mysterious bag that we now know contained the nuke.

michiko arasaka intercepts the gang, explaining the situation around the bigger nuke, that other factions in arasaka want to utilize it for their own goals (presumably hanako and yorinobu) and her father's legacy, that she feels responsible for. she escorts them to new mexico so that the nuke can be dismantled once and for all.

they meet up with a woman named angel in new mexico that takes the crate from them, at a facility that specializes in nuclear material. she gives the group the full recording of "black dog". the group leaves successful.

this woman is also a johnny silverhand stan. once alone, she calls up samantha, who says, "i promised i would get him to you in the end" and reveals that she had already gutted/dismantled the original nuke and discarded the material into the bay.

angel opens the "nuke" to reveal a hidden cryochamber, and greets the face of the person inside with, "hello, my love."

i mean, holy shit. okay! so that’s DEFINITELY johnny’s body. cool!

now let’s go into all the references to this story in the actual game of cyberpunk 2077 that SUGGEST we are going to pursue this story AND johnny's body since it’s such a HOT FUCKING TOPIC.

and i know many of the following can just be considered easter eggs. but my personal interpretation of this game is that it has a really delightful way of intentionally glossing over important story details—and not by ONLY putting them in shards (which people tend to dislike because lol reading) but by also hiding them in plain sight, constantly deferring to V's own ignorance, distracting us with shallower, shinier things, encouraging us to actually play as the fool hero of this story.

so here's the fun list of “””evidence”””:

this one’s a reach, but fun. in the initial arasaka assault flashback in 2023: we can interact with the groupies at kerry's show as johnny. samantha doesn't appear to be present, but the first person and groupie you can encounter in the flashback has a passing resemblance to angel in that she has a cybernetic arm.

in chippin' in, where we go to johnny's "grave" in the oil fields: if we are to take the 2077 retelling of events as truth, the story could instead be pretty easily be changed that samantha procured his body from there.

mike pondsmith, who wrote these stories and created the TTRPG can be heard on the radio narrating various conspiracy theories. and sure, these can just be easter eggs, intended to reference the differences between the TTRPG lore and the game, so take it with a grain of salt:

johnny. bro. tell him it was morgan blackhand

to top it all off, mike also directly references the actual WORSE nuke arasaka had hid in another arasaka conspiracy:

SPOILERS FOR GAME ENDINGS AHEAD.

in the rogue ending of the game we discover rogue has a son. it's possible her son is trace (edit: nvm NOT LIKELY, since in RED’s black dog story rogue is listed separately from santiago’s mom in conversation) OR possibly one of the other characters. she tells her son to "pull over and look at the stars" or something along those lines. maybe just details, so that screams nomad to me.

rogue also has a photo of herself and johnny with mike pondsmith in her apartment/office in the afterlife. i initially read this as a delightful cameo but it also can mean mike the CHARACTER knew johnny and rogue, and rogue therefore has some kind of relationship to him and these conspiracies on the radio. and why the fuck not make him a full on character? we have a smattering of streamers and personalities already integrated into quests in the game. the creator of all this should be no exception. fuck it!

rogue and johnny constantly dance around this accusation of her “selling out”. it’s repeated over and over that she and adam smasher worked for "the same people". i'm beginning to wonder if this wasn't meant to imply only arasaka since smasher mysteriously disappeared after the AHQ assault in 2023 and returned to SOMETIMES take jobs from arasaka... but possibly morgan blackhand and/or by extension, the NUSA or any other greater influences. (like nightcorp? we still don’t know where all this shit with nightcorp/the peralezes/sandra dorsett’s discovery about their research into mind control is gonna go) this also doesn’t account for the multiple factions inside arasaka with VERY different motives.

morgan blackhand and adam smasher are rivals in the TTRPG, a role that appears to be at least partially filled by johnny instead in 2077. in relation to the arasaka factions, it’s worth nothing that smasher specifically works for yorinobu as his bodyguard at the beginning of the game, in part i assume because yorinobu is avoiding working with arasaka security details as he stole the relic and is plotting against his father. he is then promoted to head of security by yorinobu when yorinobu assumes power.

in the ending as you work your way through arasaka tower with rogue and shaitan and johnny, rogue remarks:

michiko at this point in 2077 is the leader of the more “liberal” faction within arasaka, so it’s possible we’re seeing that while rogue and smasher work for the same people/family, they couldn’t be more different.

you can also encounter rogue more than once on the phone fighting with wakako, who has apparently crossed her. wakako also seems to have her own ulterior motives and works mainly with the arasaka-backed tyger claws. she notably gives v/takemura the parade security info for “play it safe” without asking for anything in return, enabling hanako’s kidnapping. my theory is that yorinobu intentionally leaked the parade info to her to give away to put hanako in danger or at least continue to destabilize arasaka.

in the takemura/devil ending of the game, there is a point where violence breaks out at the arasaka board room meeting when yorinobu-allied security open fire on them. one of the only people that survives along with hanako is michiko arasaka, who was at odds with hanako’s decisions, but very involved in the preceding discussion.

and now for is my favorite detail! in the afterlife AT ALL POINTS IN THE GAME (but it can only really be inspected in the rogue ending when we are allowed behind the bar), we can find a photo of the squad that transported johnny's body from samantha to angel on the shelf below johnny's tequila, of them hanging out in front of the afterlife sign:

this implies rogue has some relationship with them, and sentimentality, if we're to judge by the placement. she maybe even took the picture. i don't know, it's charming, it could be all easter eggs. who fucking knows.

either way, rogue and these kids both have in common that they worked with or at least interacted with michiko arasaka.

and you know what my final evidence is? more wishful thinking! black dog plays on the radio in game. we got a full recorded version of it by refused. if not an oversight, i go ahead and take it to mean the final version was finally released to the public by those kids that were looking for it.

i haven’t the slightest idea how this is gonna wrap up in future DLC. who has johnny’s body now in 2077, decades after it was dropped off in mexico? what is the truth?? where the fuck is morgan blackhand?? from the devil ending, we know that arasaka stole jackie’s body and put his soul into mikoshi, so the idea that they would just toss johnny’s corpse has always been laughable. the “where’s johnny?” promotional comic was even about thompson unsuccessfully trying to find johnny’s body. i know i am biased here but i cannot fathom all this talk about johnny’s body ending off with us NOT finding it, whether it’s just to bury it, shove johnny’s engram back in it, make out with it, or WHATEVER.

if you made it through this slog, congrats. thanks for reading!

#cyberpunk lore #johnny silverhand #spoilers #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk game #lore post

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byunbaekby · 4 years

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title — the following pairing — demon!haechan x female reader, slight jaemin x reader featuring — jaemin as reader’s roommate and crush word count — 6.9k genres — horror, angst warnings — language, religious concepts in accordance to demons and angels, mentions of murder, psychological and physical torture, elements of haunting, choking, degradation in a nonsexual context (donghyuck often refers to y/n as feeble or unintelligent), minor character death inspiration — monster by red velvet

“under a single light, why are there two shadows?” “i’m a little monster, be scared of me / i’ll bother you by making you only dream of me.” “see i’m just playing, no bad intentions / try to come out of the dream but monster lives forever.”

author’s message — for the #neohalloween event hosted by @nct-writers. this is my first time ever writing something of this genre, so i’m very excited and nervous to put this forward. thank you to @give-seconds for proof reading this and making it 100x better! much love ♡

also, this entire scenario is loosely generated from a superstition in hmong culture that you shouldn’t pick up anything you find laying around in public, for you might bring home something else with you.

“Y/N? Is something wrong? Why are you calling me?”

Your roommate’s voice rings clear on the opposite side of the line. Though you’re shivering as a result of the cold, barren winter air, you try to get a response past your shaking lips. “I-I’m walking home, Jaem. Can you… can you stay on the phone with me?”

“Oh.” He immediately gets it; it’s never safe for a young woman to walk home alone, especially not in your neighborhood. “Of course… Where are you?”

You turn into the shortcut, your feet meeting the soft, pliable ground. The cemetery; it’s probably the worst shortcut you could ever take, but it cuts your walk home in half. “The cemetery…”

“Again? I told you that you should stop cutting through there, it’s not safe.”

You register his words in your ear as you eye a black bird resting atop a gravestone, peering at you with bright eyes. Casting your sight away from it, your teeth bite down on your bottom lip, roseate tier captured beneath the sharp incisor. “Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.”

Jaemin sighs on the other side. “Even worse, anyone hanging out in a cemetery at…” He pauses, likely to glance at his watch. “10:28 PM, is probably going to be weirder than someone you find out on the street on a Friday night.”

“Hey!” You tell him, clutching your bag close to you. “I’m a person hanging out in a cemetery at 10:28 PM.”

“My point exactly.”

You roll your eyes, a laugh leaving you, but you’re glad for Jaemin’s teasing. It helps get your mind off the fact that the hill you walk past casts a dark shadow over the path. As you walk past, engulfed in what seems to be the darkest area of the entire graveyard, you attempt to make easy conversation with your roommate to get it off your mind.

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask him, voice low as if someone were listening. Who knows, someone might be.

Jaemin easily sees through what you’re attempting to do, but he follows along anyway because he’s nice. “I did. I tried to wait for you, but you took too long.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “Time passed by me in the library.”

“I know. Like damn, you should really lay off the studying sometimes and have fun.”

“I know, I know. You tell me, Renjun tells me, Professor Kim even—woah!”

You drop to the floor, the air flying out of your chest and dissipating into nothingness as you fall forward onto your chest. All the contents of your bag spill out, along with your phone, which lies a few feet away on the dirt.

Groan escaping your lips, you look down at your white jeans. Completely stained and covered in dirt. Damn.

“Y/N? Hello? Y/N, you there?”

You can hear Jaemin’s muffled worried tone from where you are, but you focus on gathering your things from your bag first before you grab the phone. In the darkness of the night, you can’t even see everything, you just hope you manage to grab everything. It would definitely be your worst nightmare if you lost your Calculus homework due on Monday to the graveyard because you hadn’t grabbed it.

When you finally return everything to your bag, you press the phone to your ear. “Hey, sorry, I tripped.”

“You had me worried there! I was about to run out there myself,” nags Jaemin, and you can see in your mind the way his dark eyebrows must be furrowed in distaste.

“Sorry Jaem,” you apologize to him as you scurry down the path, ready to be free of the cemetery’s unsettling aura as soon as possible. “Please tell me you saved me some food, I’m starving...”

He feels it when you walk in. He senses the irrefutable change in the air, smells your delectable scent with his sharpness. His grave sits at the very top of the largest hill, giving him the perfect place to watch you from. The cemetery becomes alive with your entrance.

Ironic, isn’t it?

Sitting rather stylishly with his thin, gauntly body atop his gravestone, Donghyuck watches you with sharp, focused eyes. You’re so pretty. He smirks, observing the way you flutter through the graveyard, feet barely touching the ground in your feeble attempt to escape the ominous lot as soon as possible.

“Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.”

That’s where you’re wrong.

The dark demon can hardly keep the devilish grin off his tiers, watching you. Beautiful, you are.

He’s seen you a few times, in the handful of times you’ve dared to cut through the cemetery on your way home. With an amused, almost teasing shake of his head, he tsks. “Bad decision, little lamb.”

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask whoever you’re speaking to on the phone. Donghyuck can barely remember what human food tastes like. As a demon, he doesn’t eat humans, let alone get hungry, but if he had a choice, you’d definitely be his first choice.

Your soul is good. He wants it.

If he can’t have you, at least he can play with you a little.

It doesn’t take much. The moment you glide through the path and under the darkness of his hill, all it takes is the slightest snap of his fingers to send you flying forward. He’d love to make you stay down there, perhaps drag you down below with him, but that would be no fun.

Rather, he plucks off one of his rings, one of the many decorating his hands for absolutely no one to see, and tosses it seamlessly into the pile of your things spilled across the path. As he watches the way you carelessly shove everything back into your bag, his Cheshire grin grows even wider. Now, he has a reason to leave.

As you scurry away, Donghyuck jumps off his grave which he had occupied for decades, and lands on his feet. With a wipe of his hands on his jeans, he watches you go.

“Stupid little lamb. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to take things that aren’t yours?”

The rest of the walk home, you can swear there are steps behind you matching yours.

When you get home, you quickly slide into your bedroom amid Jaemin’s nagging sounds and slip off your white (well, brown now) jeans from your legs. After getting on some more comfortable clothes, you grab your dirtied jeans and make your way to the bathroom.

The restroom, however small, still has room for a washer and dryer, which you’re thankful for, seeing as you and Jaemin don’t have to pay a laundromat for your weekly laundry. You toss your jeans in the washer; normally you wouldn’t wash just one garment, but the dirt would likely stain your perfectly white jeans. After pressing start you make your way to the kitchen, where your roommate is reheating dinner for you.

The image of Jaemin’s broad back standing at the stove makes you smile to yourself for just a millisecond, so quick that it’s fleeting. Before you can take another moment to admire your roommate however, he turns to you with his trademark smile. “Hey, pick a movie. Let’s watch something.”

About fifteen minutes later, you’re eating your leftovers on the couch, Jaemin’s arm spread over your shoulders while the beginning scenes of The Conjuring play. You don’t have much, the apartment barely enough for the two of you to inhabit, and Jaemin is only your roommate, but you’ve gotten used to these kinds of nights. Simple, easy, sweet.

The light remainder of Jaemin’s daily cologne mixed in with his gentle cotton scent pervades into your senses, and you lean your head onto his shoulder with a smile. You’ve always wanted to be more with Jaemin, but you could settle for these comfortable nights of movies and platonic cuddling.

It’s something about having a full belly, Jaemin’s warmth, and the everlasting light traces of his scent that has you falling asleep, eyes drooping closed slowly into a peaceful suspension of consciousness.

You wake the first morning.

You don’t even remember falling asleep, but it doesn’t surprise you when you wake up in bed. Recently you’ve developed a habit of falling asleep on movie nights, and Jaemin is always kind enough to place you gently back in your room.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you let out an unearthly sound as you sit up and stretch your arms above your head. When you unsheath the blanket from your legs, your unprepared toes meet the cold wooden floor, causing you to flutter across the room quickly and into the living area.

It’s Saturday, but Jaemin volunteers at the hospital on Saturdays, so you only prepare a bowl of cereal for yourself. If your roommate were here, he’d probably scold you for the lack of nutrition, so you toss a couple of berries into your frosted flakes.

After you finish up, washing your bowl at the sink, your eyes widen in realization; you left your jeans in the washer! Falling asleep mid-movie had caused you to completely forget about them, not drying them before you slept like you had told yourself. God, they probably stink by now, sitting wet for hours.

But when you slide open the door to the bathroom, you see your jeans resting atop the drying machine, folded neatly like they had been waiting for you. Perhaps they were.

Ah, you realize, mouth parting just the slightest. Jaemin must have dried them and folded them before he left for the hospital this morning. Another grateful smile spreads across your visage; you really do have the best roommate.

You spend the rest of the day studying, and prepare a nice dinner (which also means going grocery shopping) for Jaemin, as a little thank you for always being so thoughtful. He appreciates it when he comes home to a fully cooked meal, and there’s something about the way he smiles that has you feeling as though you’ve finally done something good to amount to all the times he’s saved your ass as a roommate. When the night ends, you both retire to your rooms.

In your lovesick daze, you fail to recognize that under the single lighting of your room, there are two shadows.

VII.

On the seventh day, Donghyuck’s displeasure is enough to choke him—that is, if he needed to breathe.

He had wanted to tease you, follow you home and play with you a little before revealing himself. But God, you are so dumb; he should have expected as much from a feeble, stupid little sheep anyways.

That first night, testing the waters, he had done your damn laundry for you. It was just a little fun, to get the ball rolling. Any superstitious person would have known. And what did you do? You had thought it to be your roommate. As the days went by, his teasing grew in quantity and intensity; hiding your keys, ripping apart your essays, perhaps all the menial and annoying things that some stupid schoolboy would do to grab the attention of a girl he liked. But your attention is lost, and he is not a stupid schoolboy. No, he is far from it.

Even as his antics have built up throughout the following days, you always found some excuse to play it off; you must be more clever than he thought. No, you weren’t; you were either extremely clumsy and forgetful, or you were simply denying his existence. It’s time to make himself known.

VIII.

It’s the eighth night when he appears in your dreams. No, not he. It.

You can sense it, the moment your suspension of consciousness becomes overtaken by him and you find yourself in a simple black room. It seems to extend in every which direction, as though you could run off in any given direction and never hit a wall. But you feel it watching you.

He’s behind your shoulder, and the moment his low, amused chuckle is heard in your ears you swipe around to face him, eyes wide. He’s beautiful; dark brown hair, smooth skin, a captivating honey color, and dark eyes.

Those eyes.

They pierce into your soul, as though they can see right through you. They probably can. He is not a person, you know. He is… more.

Dark eyes once overtaken with curiosity are now characterized by bleak amusement. Your breath hitches, and his voice comes out low. “Welcome.”

“What is this? Where am I?” Your voice comes out rapidly, shaking. You know nothing of this… thing before you but you can’t help but feel unsafe under its gaze.

“Now, that’s not very nice. I am very much a person, not an it,” he smirks beneath the shadow which casts itself upon his visage. You freeze; he can hear your thoughts.

This realization only further widens the Cheshire grin across his lips, and instinctively you take a step back further into the black nothingness. “G-Get out of my head,” you threaten to no avail.

The same mocking laugh leaves his lips. “Sweetheart, this is your head. This entire place is of your making. If you hate it so much,” he says, and suddenly he’s in front of you. His hand leaves the pockets of his black bottoms, lithe digits suddenly cupping your chin and tilting it upward so you are staring right into his dark empty orbs which come to life with the image of you. His fingers, dressed in various shades of gold rings, grip you. You should feel his warmth on your skin, you should feel the radiating human heat that you so often feel with Jaemin.

“Erase me from it.”

But you don’t feel anything behind his callused skin, and that’s what scares you the most.

Your throat runs dry and when he parts his lips, even his breath is cold. “But you’re scared.” When you fail to respond, he licks his lips, and his next words are characterized by sarcastic rancor. “What’s wrong? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Unless…” At this point, under his burning gaze that contrasts the ice-cold emptiness against your skin, your knees begin to buckle. The smile which accompanies his next words, revealing his pearly whites and perhaps his intentions, is sinister: “You’re not afraid of demons… are you?”

IX.

You wake in a cold sweat, and you’re more aware of Jaemin’s soothing voice telling you to breathe than the fact that you’re not breathing. Chest heaving and eyes wide, you search for something in Jaemin’s eyes to tether you back to earth, back to reality.

He’s not real, he’s not real. He can’t hurt you.

It was just a dream.

“Hey, hey,” Jaemin calls out to you, hands on your shoulders to steady you from your previous thrashing. You had awoken him with your screaming. “You okay? Breathe, Y/N, just,” he takes a pause to take a deep breath, silently instructing you to follow with him. “Breathe.” In a few moments, when your breathing pattern has begun to return to normal, steady breaths, he asks again, voice dripping with nothing but pure concern for you, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s the first word you’ve spoken, so your voice comes out scratched and you’re reminded just how much air you need to actually speak coherently. “It was just… a bad dream.”

“Sounded a lot worse than a bad dream…” He responds, taking his respectful hands off of you and tucking them into the loose pockets of his fleece pajama bottoms. An image flashes before your eyes: that… person, hands tucked leisurely into their pockets, ominous smile enough to make you wonder what they were hiding in there.

You blink, closing your eyes tightly and shaking your head, as though it could shake the image from your mind. When you open them once more, Jaemin is still standing next to your bed. “I’m okay, I promise,” you tell him, though it feels more as though you’re speaking to yourself. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” responds your roommate, who offers you a reassuring smile and another worried look before slipping out of your bedroom. When you’re finally alone, you bring a hand up to your forehead, where sweat has made your skin clammy and sticky.

You’re warm. He is not.

XII.

“You’re a demon.”

You say this on the twelfth night, finding yourself once again stranded in the same dark and endless room with the sharp-eyed devil. This time, there are two chairs and the two of you sit facing each other. He sits as though he has all the time in the world, and perhaps he does. Legs crossed leisurely and arms over his chest with his head tilted at you, he stares.

With your tense posture in your own chair, you wonder fleetingly how enough light exists in this black room that you can never seem to avoid staring at his mocking facial expression. You gulp, gripping onto nothing as you tighten your fists to prevent them from trembling. He’s not real, you have to remind yourself.

“When did you figure that out, little lamb? When I told you, probably?” His tone is insulting, as though you were stupid. You narrow your eyes, biting the flesh inside your cheek.

“Aw,” he coos, grinning at you with dark beguilement. “You’re frustrated.”

“Duh, I’m frustrated,” you huff, blowing some air from your mouth to push away a strand of hair that has fallen into your face. “You keep bringing me here with no jurisdiction or knowledge of who you are.”

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “Three questions. Don’t make them stupid, though I know that’s hard for an incompetent human like yourself.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Next question. I’ll even be nice enough to abstain that as a question,” he responds, as though he’s doing you a favor.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Being a demon is rather boring, you see. Not here, not there.” He waves his hand around, as though pointing to heaven and its counterpart. “I found you, and you intrigued me.”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Or rather, you found me. You invited me in.”

“I never did that,” you reply, indignant.

“But you did.” A dark eyebrow raises at you, and you bite down on your lip to prevent your anger from rising. “You never checked your bag, did you? Never found a gold ring, maybe?” He lifts his chin off of his palm, stretching out his fingers as though they were cramped. “Maybe one with DH engraved in it.”

You had. You had found the ring in your bag on Saturday and had figured it to be one of your own negligible accessories, tossing it into your jewelry box. Had there been letters engraved on it?

At the look on your face, a smile spreads across his features. “So you do remember.”

Despite the umbrage bubbling in your stomach, perhaps more feisty than you should be in the presence of a self-proclaimed demon, you have another question. Leaning forward just the slightest you ask, “Why haven’t you hurt me? Isn’t that what demons do?”

There’s a glint in his eye, and the easy-going expression on his face is quickly replaced by a darkened simper. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

Your fists tighten again. “N-No…”

“Don’t tempt me.” His voice is dark now, his earlier lilted tone now descending into a deep pit. It’s almost demanding, as though he’s daring you to push his buttons and send him plummeting into a torturous rage. At the look of fear that swipes across your face, he chuckles once more. “Relax, little lamb. I’m just playing, no bad intentions here.”

You don’t believe him, not even for a second. If he’s really what he says he is… why does he torture you in this way, making you only dream of him? You push the thoughts from your mind, knowing that he has full access to your brain. “What’s your name?”

“Now you’re asking the good questions. You may call me…”

The corner of his lips tug upward into a smirk.

“Donghyuck.”

XIII.

The titles should shock you more than they do.

University Student Pleads Guilty to Murder of Three Female Students

College Killer: More Murders Revealed In Trial of Lee Donghyuck

Lee Donghyuck, Murderer of At Least Thirteen Victims, Sentenced To Death Penalty

He’s real.

It’s Friday night again, and you find yourself back at the library. Except this time, it’s not calculus nor world history that you are pondering. It’s not your psychology textbook that you are poured over.

No, the archives are open, and all it took was a little keyword into the filter to find just what you’re searching for. The only word you needed: Donghyuck.

He hadn’t been lying. Not about his identity or his demonic status.

When you read over the headlines and their accompanying stories, you don’t realize the way your pupils begin to shake, or the way that your heartbeat begins to accelerate as the truth dawns upon you.

He is real, he is dangerous, and he is haunting you.

XIV.

“So you know who I am.” It’s less of a question, more of a statement. Tonight, there is only one chair and you are sitting in it as Donghyuck walks circles around you. There are no chains, no straps to hold you down to the chair but you cannot move. Despite what he had told you the first night, that this is all your dream and that you have the ability to change anything, the opposite seems true.

He disappears behind you, and suddenly his voice is in your ear. Your breath hitches at the sudden gust of cold air on your sensitive skin as he speaks. “Are you afraid?”

“No.”

“You forget I’m in your head, sweetheart. I know everything, so don’t lie to me.”

He’s caught you.

You say nothing, and so he stands straight and makes himself present in your vision again. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s in your feeble nature.” His finger starts at your hand, bringing a chill down your spine. As he drags it slowly up the scope of your exposed arm, you hardly resist the instinct to shiver. “I just want to know, what are you afraid of?”

“Is it…” he speaks softly, teasingly throwing each word in your ear, like tossing small bites to a starved dog. “That I know each of your thoughts the moment you think it, and you only know my name? That I’m a dark spirit and can bring you enough pain to make you forget your name with just a snap of my fingers?”

His trailing hand, once tracing over the curve of your clavicle, suddenly grips your neck. Though only a light pressure is applied, you feel the wind knocked out of you by his sudden, unforeseen movement. “Or is it that because of me, sixteen women died and you might end up the same?”

With the little air you have left, you manage to squeeze out, “They said thirteen.”

Amusement shows on his visage before he finally lets your throat go, and you heave as you attempt to refill your lungs with air. “No,” he corrects, moving back to his original space, circling you like a shark locking its prey in uncharted waters. “They said at least thirteen. They never found the other three.”

The thought is enough to make you sick, but before you can manage to swallow down the bile attempting to rise up your throat, he speaks. “Don’t worry about them too much, my little lamb. You’ll join them soon.”

“You’re lying,” you spit out. “You keep threatening me, but you’re all talk and no proof. You can’t do anything to me, that’s why you only bother me in my dreams.”

Your sudden and unexpected quip seems to, rather than upset him, entertain him. “You think I can’t do anything to you outside of this box? Funny,” he scoffs, though he still maintains that grin on his lips. “Humans are so cocky, I learned that after they killed me.”

He stops pacing, and instead kneels before you, his face placed before yours. “I’ve done things, sweetheart. Remember the pants? The essay you spent five hours on torn up the morning after you printed it out? How about the dress you bought that I cut up until there was nothing left but shreds? You got really mad at your friend for quote-unquote, ‘pranking’ you.”

But Donghyuck is nothing if not honest. You’ve learned this.

“But on some level, you’re right.” His hand reaches up once more, but instead of resting it on your shoulder again, he gently caresses your cheek. It would be soft, romantic in any other case. But no, his touch makes your skin crawl. “I can’t hurt you, and I don’t know why. Don’t worry, I want to, but outside this dream…” His hand stops, and grips your chin instead. “I physically can’t. Tell me why?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You have a cross on you somewhere, little lamb? Or, a guardian angel?”

“I said I don’t know,” you repeat, voice louder as you turn your head sharply, ripping your chin from his grasp. In your ear, he tsks.

Now you’ve done it.

“Getting too comfortable, aren’t we? You’re forgetting who’s in charge here,” he says, voice dipping into dangerous territory as he reaches forward, gripping your throat once more. But this time, he digs his nails into the softness of your skin, and your choked scream is caught in your throat by his hands before it can ever leave.

“Y/N! Y/N, wake up!”

Jaemin’s voice is the only thing carrying you back to sanity, and when you finally force your eyes open he’s before you, gripping your arms once again to prevent you from thrashing about. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,” he coos out in worry as you finally come to.

Your hand immediately flies to your neck which is, to your relief, not at all sore. The moment your eyes fall on him and you realize that the hand around your neck is no more, you fall into a bout of tears. Instinctively, your roommate holds you to his chest in a protective hug whilst you sob into his chest.

It’s not real, it’s not real. You keep telling yourself this like a mantra in your head as Jaemin rubs your head soothingly. But why does it feel so real?

“It’s okay,” Jaemin continues telling you, voice soft as his sweet familiar scent pervades your senses once again and your tense muscles begin to relax.

Minutes pass before you’ve calmed down, outright sobs now quiet whimpers. Jaemin begins to set you down back into bed, but you grab at his wrist before he can set you down. “What, what is it?” He asks, eyes immediately scanning your body for any sign of distress.

“Can you… can you stay with me?” It’s a large request, perhaps much too intrusive for someone who is supposed to just be your roommate. But lately, Jaemin feels… much more. Every night as you’ve been plagued by Donghyuck’s presence in your haunting nightmares, he has come to save you when you’re falling apart in screams.

He feels like a friend, and a… a protector.

Not at all fazed by your sudden request, Jaemin wears an abiding smile and nods. “Of course,” he says, sliding into your bed whilst you move over to make room for him. You feel much safer with him around, and now with him in your bed, your personal dreamcatcher, you naturally find yourself in his arms once more while you drift away into sleep, Donghyuck’s presence no longer occupying your dreams.

Neither of you take the time or attention to look, for if you had you would have seen, in the corner of the room furthest from the window, where the darkened corner seems to extend into an infinite world of black, Donghyuck looking less than pleased.

Your roommate needs to be handled.

XXI.

Something seemed to have changed that night when Jaemin first slipped into your bed. You have since not dreamed of Donghyuck even once, and you definitely do not miss him. Perhaps he is gone for good.

How stupid of you to think so, even knowing what Donghyuck is capable of. Perhaps you never truly knew, not before now, just how powerful he is, or just what kind of chaos he can incite.

It’s 3 PM on the twenty-first day when you finally find out just how evil he is.

Jaemin is in the hospital.

You had gotten the call on the bus ride home from campus; your roommate, jokes and boyish smiles for all the time you’ve known him, had been hit by a car just outside your apartment building. Now, he is in the hospital with broken ribs and a herniated disk, barely holding on for his life in a coma.

You’re not allowed in his room, but you do catch a glimpse of your roommate when his physician enters, and just the sliver of him that you see is enough to make you turn your head away.

You know who is responsible for this.

The door to your bedroom is thrown open, and before you can recognize the emptiness of the apartment without Jaemin’s presence around, you’re screaming into the void.

“I know you’re listening, you dick! Show yourself, fucking coward!”

The obscenities that leave your mouth seem to do the trick because before you can register it, you’re on the floor. As though the carpet is pulled out from under you, you go flying forward and the wind is knocked out of you as you meet the ground chest first.

You don’t have any time to breathe or recover, as immediately there is a force pulling you up by the shirt, and suddenly you’re no longer standing on the ground.

You see him.

You’ve seen him before, of course. He’s appeared in your dreams enough to have his sinister expression sewed in your thoughts at all hours of the day. But now… now he looks stronger. Less pale and more colorful. Even the aura which exudes from him… is more dangerous than ever.

Yet, he still wears that shit-eating smile on his lips as he watches you float in the air, collar squeezing at your throat and looking completely powerless. “Now, little lamb, those are not very nice words,” Donghyuck chastises as he approaches you. When he’s finally before you once more, he twitches his eyebrow upward just the slightest. “Missed me?”

“Not at all,” you manage, gathering the spit in your mouth to chuck it out at him.

Not even fazed, he simply wipes at the spit on his face, flicking it off in a negligible direction. “I’m not feeling welcomed,” he comments.

“Because you’re not,” you retort, thrashing about to no avail. “What did you do to Jaemin?”

The mention of your now critical roommate only makes his grin grow wider. “You see, sweetheart, I thought you’d be pretty proud of me. I found out what was keeping me from being able to inflict any real damage on you,” he says whilst his cold hand comes out to squeeze at your cheeks. “Your guardian angel has been taken care of.”

Wait, what? Then it dawns on you.

Jaemin is… your guardian angel.

“You look surprised. That’s okay, I didn’t know either.” Donghyuck releases your face, instead choosing to pace left and right before you, though he never lets his eyes leave you. “But then he started sleeping with you, and I couldn’t get into your mind. I put two and two together. With him around, I’d never be able to touch you.”

The glint in his eyes turns feral. “And you have an embarrassing school girl crush on him, so I was able to kill two birds with one stone. With every second that passes, his life is draining away, and I’m only getting stronger.”

“Why are you doing this?” You cry out once again, though your voice is more desperate than it had been the first time around. “What do you want?”

“You see, I figured that out too.” His mocking tone begins to seep away and is instead replaced by that familiar dark timbre of his as he approaches you once more, gripping your chin again in his fingers. Tilting your head up harshly, he stares endlessly into you and whispers, “I thought I was done with those petty murders, that the sight of women begging at my knees like dirt for mercy wouldn’t excite me as much anymore. But no… I want you to suffer. I want to destroy you, take away your happiness, and break you piece by piece, until you’re just begging for me to take you out of your misery.” The semblance of a smirk quirks at his lips. “Just like those other girls. Except this time, there’s no limit to what I can do. And when you do die, I’ll be right here to welcome you back.”

Tears sting your eyes at the horrible things he whispers to you, but you refuse to capitulate to him. “I’d rather die than do anything you say.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be dead just as soon. The fun hasn’t even started yet,” he teases. Suddenly, it’s as if the paranormal restraints on your limbs are cut free, as your body immediately falls to the floor, collecting in a pile. You hardly have the energy to lift your head, but you register the sound of Donghyuck’s voice as he walks away from you. “Rest up tonight, little lamb. You’ve got a long eternity ahead of you.”

Then he’s gone. You swear you will make use of the last twelve hours of your life.

First, you visit Jaemin again. You know you’re not allowed in, but you know his room number and there’s no one coming in to check up on him, you hope.

You don’t know if he really is your guardian angel, but above that, he is your friend.

“Hey,” you say softly, making your presence known as you sit down in the chair beside his hospital bed. It’s arbitrary… you know Jaemin doesn’t have parents around, and perhaps that only lends to the possibility that he really is someone sent here to protect you.

“How are you?” You scoff at yourself. “That’s stupid of me to ask, you’re in a coma. I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you really are an angel, but thank you, Jaemin. For always… always being there for me, protecting me. Walking me through the cemetery, making dinner for me, chasing my nightmares away.”

Sitting there, staring at your friend’s lifeless body laying on the bed looking gray as a sheet, tears begin to sting your eyes. “I’m sorry for bringing you into this, I should have listened to you when you told me to be careful. And if I have to lose someone as amazing and… pure-hearted as you, I don’t think I can live with myself. So please, even if you don’t make it out of here, please… stay by my side.”

As your first tear breaks the barrier and begins to coast down your cheek, you reach out and grab his hand. It’s cold.

XXII.

It’s a little past midnight and though your fingers shake from the cold, you throw everything of yours that he’s touched into the bucket.

Even the things you weren’t completely sure of, you toss away anything that could have been influenced by his dark magic; the leftover shreds of your essay that you had recovered from the recycle, the pieces of fabric that he had obliterated your dress to, the white jeans you had worn that first night, and more. Finally, you throw in that godforsaken ring that had started it all.

You swore that you would never return to the cemetery again, but here you are. This time, you really can see everything at the top of the hill. You turn your head back to glower at the tombstone before you.

Lee Donghyuck.

What a piece of shit.

Though your fingers shake, you light the match without trouble. When you toss it into the basket of forsaken belongings, it is only a matter of seconds before Donghyuck appears, tethered to his tombstone once more.

Gripping at his body, he snarls out at you, “What the hell are you doing?”

That, you hardly even know. Following only the speculations found on the internet, you had unknowingly lured your monstrous demon back to his home.

It seems to work, as the greater the fire grows, the more pained Donghyuck’s expression seems to become.

Your voice finds its strength as you announce your intentions. “Erasing you.”

“You can’t do that to me, you don’t get to win!” Donghyuck yells in growing anger, reaching out to you but failing. With this inability of his to touch you, you tilt your chin higher, the orange tint of the flames reflecting off your strengthened pride.

“I believed you all this time, I let you scare me into thinking that you could overpower me. That you could hurt me,” you muse, staring without remorse at his pained form. “But I was wrong. You only exist as long as I let you. You can only hurt me as long as I believe you can.”

“I’ll be back,” declares Donghyuck as the fire roars, only sending him further into a realm of pain. Whilst he grips his limbs in pure fury, you shake your head.

“No, you won’t. Because you were right, this is my world. I’m the one with the power here: I have blood flowing through me, I have oxygen in my lungs, and I have a soul. You have none of those.” With your anger bursting at the seams, you kick over the metal bucket burning from the inside, instead tossing the trash over the dirt of Donghyuck’s grave. “And because of that, I’m not scared of you.”

As the fire burns out at the final thread, and the spirit which had infested your mind for twenty-two days begins to fade away in a fit of rage, you offer him the same powerful, mocking smile he had tattooed into your mind.

“Goodbye, Donghyuck. Rest in hell.”

CCCLXV.

“Hey, did you do the notes from the last lecture?”

Flipping through your binder, you nod and pull out the said notes, handing them over to the student sitting next to you. At this point, you’ve learned enough about her to know that on Mondays, she always asks for the notes. You’ve started printing extra copies for her.

It’s been a year.

You had taken a year off of university to return home. After everything that had happened and Jaemin’s death, you simply couldn’t bear to even step into your old apartment anymore. Over time, you’ve found that you’ve healed and you are no longer afraid.

Not afraid to return to school, at least.

“Here you go,” you tell her as you hand over the notes. “You can keep that copy.”

The look she wears is grateful. “Thanks!”

“Hey,” calls a voice on your right. “Do you have a pen?”

“Sure, I—” You start, reaching into your pencil bag, but stop when your gaze falls upon the owner of the voice.

No, it can’t be. It just can’t.

Before you is Donghyuck. Except it’s not. He’s… different.

His hair is no longer brown, but rather a light shade of blonde that accentuates his honey olive skin tone. Rather than all black, he is dressed in a cream-colored sweater and a pair of light washed ripped jeans. Most strikingly of all, his signature sharp eyes are no longer clouded by dark evil, but are light with the sweet smile that he wears on his lips.

No… it’s not Donghyuck. After your return home, you had begun to see his face everywhere, and have since learned to distinguish between reality and trauma. When the stranger catches you staring, he tilts his head, smile growing further. “I’m Haechan.”

Shaking your head slightly to clear the thoughts, you go back to searching for a pen in your bag. “Uh, hi Haechan. Here you go,” you say as you hand the pen over to him.

When your fingers brush just the slightest, he’s cold.

You pull your hand back quickly, as though you had been burned. No, you tell yourself. It’s cold in here, the air conditioning is always on in the lecture hall. Turning back to face forward in your seat, you try to calm your breathing, pulling your cardigan closer to cover you. The stranger next to you pulls out a notebook from his bag, and in full view, begins to write in the corner.

Your professor is speaking, clicking on his projector, when Haechan slides his notebook over to you. There, written in perfect handwriting…

I told you I’d be back.

#NCT-WRITERS #neowritingsnet #dreamwritersnet #mlznet #neothestars #haechan angst #haechan fanfic #haechan scenarios #nct angst #haechan x reader #nct fanfic #haechan horror #neohalloween

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mostlycompetentwriter · 3 years

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You Can STAY - Part 12

Pairing: Y/N x Felix (Side Pairing: Y/N x Stray Kids)

Genre: Fantasy AU; OT8; Scarlet Heart AU

Warnings: Lots of Angst; Major Character Death

A/N: This is the final part of You Can STAY. I have determined that I am very bad at writing series, and I apologize for the ending...I imagine that many of you will express mixed emotions.

However, there is a epilogue coming soon in the future! And I will, of course, add all of the parts together into one easily accessible story for future readers!

Nine Months Later

If I were to tell the end of my story, I would want it to go something like this: “At the edge of the Kingdom, secluded in the northernmost woods, a former Castle Mage lived with her husband and unborn son, dreaming about the King who stole her heart.”

I don’t like sad endings, but sometimes there are sacrifices whose consequences are too grave to ignore. While Felix ruled the Kingdom exactly as I had once urged him, I did my part by spending long hours tucked away inside a little cabin as my stomach grew rounder and the days grew shorter.

Jisung was good company, when he was around. In between his visits, he worked on the margins, watching over Felix and working with Chan to secure our borders and alliances. He was still very much ostracized from political life, and Felix, to my knowledge, had never forgave his brothers for their part in the rebellion that changed the Kingdom.

“I can deal with his wrath,” Jisung told me one morning. “I’m perfectly content.”

I managed a smile in return, but it was half-hearted. I knew that Jisung was referring to our marriage, one that only existed on paper, so that he could support me in isolation. He was more than content to live with me and provide anything that my heart desired.

But my heart’s most fervent wish lived in the Castle beyond the horizon, and I could easily glimpse the tops of the tallest towers, wondering if Felix ever looked out from the balcony and thought of the woman he once loved.

Of course he does, a voice at the back of my head reminded me.

“Hyunjin tells me that Felix speaks of you often,” Jisung added, even though it didn’t do much to assuage my guilt.

Thankfully, Felix had accepted Hyunjin back into the Castle as a personal advisor, likely because Hyunjin had nothing to do with Jisung, Jeongin, and Chan’s plan to overtake the Kingdom and dispose Changbin.

It seemed like a distant memory, and I sighed at the nostalgia of those memories: occasions where I walked through the hallways of the Castle, exploring the gardens and distant grounds, thinking of the day when Felix and I would finally both be free to love without constraint.

It belongs in that past, those sort of thoughts, and I had long ago given up on the prospect of a complete family where I could simply exist as someone who wanted to love and be loved.

Of course, there was also the issue of my health.

Despite early good reports on my pregnancy, our doctor had recently decided that my prognosis wasn’t as easy as he had initially perceived: “You might have difficulties,” he told me. “During the birth.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage, and I barely felt Jisung squeezing my hand as everything changed in a single moment.

One day, along the bright edges of the morning, Hyunjin came to visit.

“You look well,” he told me, accepting a drink from Jisung who then came to sit next to me.

“I feel good,” I said, even though there was still a prickling of doubt at the furthest reaches of my subconscious - a reminder that my future was suddenly difficult to presume.

“I’m glad,” Hyunjin replied sincerely, and he turned his attention to Jisung. “I just got back from a meeting with a Southern convoy. Things are turning around.”

“Good,” Jisung said, reaching out to take my hand. “We were worried for a while.”

I forced a smile, barely listening as they continued talking, discussing the same politics that I could barely stand since they had cost me everything.

“Where are you going this weekend?” Jisung asked, and I was faintly aware of Hyunjin’s response, but more than anything, my attention was suddenly preoccupied with a sharp pain in my abdomen.

I winced immediately, and Jisung noticed my discomfort, falling down onto his knees in front of me. “Y/N?” he asked, tone hesitant.

“Hurts,” I managed, and I could see Hyunjin getting up from the corner of my eye.

“Do you need the doctor?” Jisung asked, and I managed a nod, keeling over when it felt like a thousand knives were piercing me all at once.

“I’ll go,” Hyunjin volunteered, but his voice sounded distant, like I had abruptly been submerged beneath the water, struggling to hear.

“Y/N!” Jisung repeated, and his eyes were frantic as they found mine. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

I tried to say something, but there was a peculiar pull to the dark that was far more compelling, and I fell under its spell while Jisung became nothing more than a distant shadow.

When I woke back up again, the shapes and figures surrounding me were difficult to discern.

My stomach rolled and my skin felt like it burning! I groaned at the discomfort, attracting the attention of the two men standing at the door. “Y/N,” Jisung’s familiar voice spoke through the reverie, and he was at my side within moments, taking my hand in his own.

“Hello again, dear,” another voice said, and I recognized the doctor as he released a tired sigh. “Seems like we’re at a difficult point.”

I nodded, opening my mouth to speak, but ultimately deciding to remain silent. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Jisung whispered to me, and my heart ached at the pain in his eyes. “Do you feel like seeing a visitor?”

Not really, but I agreed nonetheless, expecting Hyunjin to enter the room. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of a familiar mess of red hair and bright green eyes. “Y/N.”

“Felix,” I said, voice hoarse and gravelly, but there were tears falling even without my awareness, and I quickly noticed that Jisung and the doctor had vacated the room.

It was a little awkward though, after all this time, looking back at Felix as he looked back at me, gaze heavy with something striking. “Y/N,” he whispered, and I was shocked to see him breakdown, making it to my bedside before falling onto the edge of the mattress.

“Are you okay?” I asked, instinctively, reaching out without hesitation to card my fingers through his hair.

He sniffled in response, looking up at me with tear-streaked eyes and a beautiful smile. “I am now.”

My heart stuttered at his sentiment, and I wanted nothing more than to curl myself into Felix and lose myself there in his embrace. “I missed you,” I whimpered.

“I know, love,” Felix said, and he pressed a kiss to the back of my hand.

“I’m sorry I left,” I whispered - as if it were an afterthought.

“I understand,” he replied, looking at me to expose the truth - he was aware, despite what I had burdened myself with believing. He knew why I had to leave, and there was nothing but peace left between us.

Peace and Love.

“At first, I was angry and confused,” Felix said. “But I read your letter, and I had Hyunjin to help guide me. He helped me realize that you left so that I could fulfill the destiny I had been denied as a child. It was painful without you, but our circumstances were far from trivial.”

“Yes,” I exhaled, tightening my grip on him. “I never wanted to leave.”

“It’s okay,” Felix reassured me, and his eyes were soft as they paused on my lips. “We’ve always been tethered at the soul. Together, even if it couldn’t be in the way we truly desired.”

He kissed me then, igniting a furious passion that had laid dormant inside of me for months. “It’s yours, you know,” I said, pulling back to graze the pretty line of his lashes. “The child is ours.”

Felix inhaled abruptly, looking down at my swollen stomach. “Truly? Hyunjin said that you were pregnant, but I didn’t want to assume-”

“It could’ve never belonged to anyone else,” I interrupted him. “It’s always been you.”

Felix nodded, allowing one hand to smooth down over the sheets, following the outline of my stomach. “This is more than I could ever ask for.”

I smiled at his pretty words, but then I felt a cold sweat break out against the back of my neck. “Felix,” I said. “The doctor told me that the pregnancy might bring some complications.”

He shivered, and I was surprised by the unfiltered grief written across his expression. “I know that too.”

“If I don’t survive-”

“If,” Felix growled, emphasizing that nothing could ever be certain.

“If,” I agreed. “I want you to raise our child. He deserves to be with his father.”

Felix visibly swallowed, looking away as if having trouble completing such a promise, but I forced him to look at me again. “Alright,” he eventually conceded. “If such things manifest.”

“And you need to forgive your brothers,” I said, holding him at attention in case he tried to move away again. “After all this time...”

“Y/N,” Felix sighed. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

I held my tongue, glancing down at our intertwined hands. “Think of it as a start to the next chapter.”

Felix chuckled, affectionate gaze meeting mine. “I’ll be here until it’s over. When you can rest for as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And you will always have me. In one way or another.”

“I can rest easy,” Felix said, and he started murmuring something soft and sweet to the unborn child inside of me, and I found myself able to breathe a lit bit easier for the first time in months.

I even managed a smile, knowing that I could still give Felix a piece of me after I was gone. Unlike our complicated time together at the Castle, our unborn son would be free of those heavy restrictions, and perhaps it was the better outcome. Because, when I really thought about it, our son wouldn’t just be a piece of me. It would be a little part of Felix as well, and I felt nothing short of triumphant when I imagined a world with the right combination of Y/N and Felix. Together at long last.

Victorious until the bittersweet end.

#stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #lee felix fanfic #felix fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #felix imagines #felix scenarios #scarlet heart au #mostlycompetent

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light Ch. 18

Scully, Mulder, and Missy travel to California to meet Emily and wrestle with the future.

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

The echo of Scully’s heels against the linoleum is almost enough to drown out her racing heart. Mulder’s thumping steps and her sister’s daintier ones help too, but their collective power does nothing to ease Scully’s awareness that the Earth circles the sun at a thousand miles per hour. Today, she’s feeling every bit of it.

The three of them round a corner, and a broad-shouldered man and tiny-waisted woman come into view. Agent Feniston and the lawyer, this must be. Outside of conference room C--as planned.

Straightening every disc in her spine, Scully extends a hand and exchanges a firm shake with each of them. Mulder and Melissa hang back.

“Dana Scully,” she declares. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“That decision rested with the foster parents,” the male agent insists. “As does any from this point forward.”

“Yes, and I’ll be sure to thank them as well,” Scully acquiesces.

“Hello, Ms. Scully.” The lawyer uncrosses her ankles. “I’m Tanya Joyce, you can call me Tanya. As a representative of the state of California, my priority is guarding the child’s wellbeing and ensuring that any choice made is what’s best for her.”

“Of course,” Scully murmurs. “Thank you for being here.”

Tanya thumbs toward the closed door of the conference room. “Brian and Cecily are eager to meet you. The foster system has extremely limited information on little Emily. Your testimony will help us all fill in some blanks.”

Scully nods. “Me as well...this is as much a surprise for me as all of you.”

“Are we to understand that you were not aware you bore a child, Ms. Scully?” Agent Feniston asks.

“Yes, sir. I know it’s quite hard to believe, I feel the same. I was missing for a period of time last year and was comatose when I returned.”

“Yes, and how long was that period of time, Ms. Scully?”

The edges of her lips fall. “Approximately five weeks.”

“So is it safe to assume that though the child shares your DNA, you did not carry her?”

“No sir, not that I know of. I believe that my eggs were harvested, and she was...well, she comes from one of those.”

The agent hums a note of acknowledgement. “As I told you over the phone, the federal database contained no viable DNA match of a father.”

Scully nods. “Yes sir, and I have no knowledge of what sperm may have been used.”

“Noted.” He rubs his neck. “We were lucky, we only found you because you were in the missing persons database.”

“I had no idea I was still listed there,” Scully says. “I’ve asked the FBI to remove it.”

“Well, it was a stroke of luck for us,” the agent tells her. “This little girl’s foster parents encouraged the state to pursue child abandonment charges against whoever left her. She was found outside a local care center at two weeks old, as I’ve told you.”

“Yes.” Scully purses her lips. She imagines a baby with her eyes, nose, toes, chromosomes crying on a nondescript doorstep...she and Mulder did not know what they were doing when they said they wanted the truth.

“We’ve already confirmed your story with the FBI,” Feniston continues, “and we have proof that you were working on cases in the east at the time of Emily’s delivery to the foster center, so you are free of any child abandonment charges.”

“Wonderful,” Scully replies, but really, those were the least of her concerns. “May I see my daughter now?”

That’s the first time she’s ever said that sentence, and she didn’t expect terror to shoot up her spine. Is this what it is, having an extension of your life outside your body?

The lawyer steps forward. “I’ll introduce you to Brian and Cecily, they’d like to speak with you first.”

Scully does not like the way that sits in the air. Still, she musters a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

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

Mulder and Melissa make themselves at home on a pair of leather chairs outside the conference room. They have been the pall-bearers keeping Scully aloft as her crushed dreams reinvent themselves as high hopes. They don’t understand how it happened any more than Scully herself: one phone call turned into multiple consultations with Agent Feniston, then Tanya and California Social Services and finally, DC social workers who performed background checks and prepared forms so that Scully could come here today to meet her baby and, God-willing, bring her home.

It doesn’t happen this fast, it never does--different voices said these same words to them a dozen times. And yet, barely two weeks after Agent Feniston’s fated voicemail, here they are. On All Hallow’s Eve, no less. Just in time for Emily to complete her first rotation around the sun.

They both play contrasting yet crucial roles in Operation Miracle Baby, as Mulder dubbed it. Dana has sobbed into Missy’s shoulder every night for the past two weeks; happy tears (her baby! she has a baby!), sad tears (she has a baby…and she didn’t even know...), scared tears (a baby! a baby, Missy! probably already walking, and maybe even talking if she’s exceptional...). The situation--and its implications--are impossible to reconcile in such a short time, if at all. Scully’s petite frame could not physically contain it.

Mulder’s the comic relief, the distraction, the reminder that nothing can be so grave if there's still breath left in your body. He bought a CD of nursery rhymes and stuck in it his beat-up office radio, playing it through the day while Scully labored over this form or that and he pretended to alphabetize the case file drawer. Now, he hums himself to sleep every night with one of those rhymes; he’s hoping this new skill will come in handy.

He would’ve bought toys and baby clothes too, but Melissa made him swear not to in case the adoption falls through. And she’s right, he can’t bear to imagine the pain Scully would feel packing those away. For sale: baby shoes, never worn hits you no matter who you are. Still, he has a stuffed UFO and a Build-a-Bear fox (yes, he went in and filled it himself) hidden in his closet, and he hopes they won’t go to waste.

Operation Miracle Baby has been as covert as anything Mulder’s ever been involved in. He, Melissa, and Mrs. Scully are the only ones in his partner’s circle with any knowledge of what’s going on. No one else, in Scully’s words, matters. Trinity too has received a full briefing from Missy and is ecstatic about her girlfriend potentially becoming an auntie. Skinner was told it was a family emergency--and well, it is--though surely he’s suspicious about both of his agents requesting time off. Bill Jr. has no idea they’re in San Diego, though they may seek “refuge” (the air quotes are Missy’s) at his place if the proceedings drag on.

This is a triumph or failure to be shared only with those most beloved, that’s what Scully said to them the night before they boarded the plane. Mulder has never been included in anyone’s most beloved before. It feels pretty damn good.

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

The perky lawyer raps on the conference room door, opening it in response to a voice on the other side. Scully’s breath catches….a strawberry-haired infant rests in her mother’s arms (Scully hates to think it, but surely this woman is more Emily’s mother than she is), pulling at a lock of the woman’s blonde hair.

The woman turns her way, and Scully gets her first glimpse at Emily’s face. Emily. Her baby. She wondered the whole flight here whether she would feel a connection….a sense of recognition...upon laying eyes on her daughter. And my god, it’s like some chained section of her heart has burst open, flooded with all the good feelings of the world. Icy blue eyes and cherub cheeks...that’s her baby. That’s her baby.

She watches as her baby is passed to a woman in a CA Social Services button-up who slides past Scully in the doorway like she’s not even there. Scully has a split-second to notice the dimples on her daughter’s cheeks, but that’s it. Emily’s gaze misses her entirely.

Tanya strides toward the couple in the room, Scully following behind.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace, this is Dana Scully, Emily’s biological mother.”

“We’re so glad to meet you,” the man says, shaking Scully’s hand with a firm grip. “I’m Brian, and this is my wife Cecily.”

“Thank you for speaking with me,” Scully tells them, shaking Cecily’s hand in kind. “I understand you’ve cared for Emily since shortly after she arrived at social services.”

“Yes,” Cecily confirms. “She came to us when she was a month old. Raising her has been an absolute joy.”

Brian nods. “She’s the second infant we’ve fostered. We adopted our first one, Andrew, when he was a year and a half.”

“I didn’t realize you had another child,” Scully converses, feeling out of her depth. “It must have been quite a transition, taking Emily in.”

“It sure was, but she’s an angel, truly,” Brian says. “We couldn't fathom that someone could abandon her and get away with it, that’s why we contacted Agent Feniston.”

Cecily chimes in--”We were told the chances of finding a DNA match in the federal database was slim. We didn’t expect to learn that you were unaware of Emily’s existence!”

“Yes, I’m still coming to terms with it all,” Scully replies. “I’m grateful that you’ve given me the opportunity to see her, at the very least.”

“When we heard your story, we knew it would be heinous of us to say no,” Cecily says, offering a sympathetic smile.

“You’re an FBI agent, did we hear that right?” Brain asks.

“Yes sir, I’ve been with the Bureau five years now.”

“You live in DC?”

Scully nods. “Around the corner from the National Mall.”

“That’s exciting!” Cecily pipes up. “How did you find yourself having Emily in San Diego?”

“I actually have no idea, Mrs. Lace,” Scully murmurs. “My family lived here when I was young, but I haven’t been back since. Coincidentally, my brother lives not too far off.”

“Wow,” Cecily gasps. “They weren’t kidding about you being a missing person.”

“No ma’am.” She went from a missing person to missing a person. No wonder she’s spent the past year feeling so empty.

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

Mulder and Melissa get only the slightest moment to catch their breath before a child that is unmistakably the progeny of Dana Scully is carried into the lobby. Her hair curls around her ears in a cute mushroom top, her tongue dancing in her mouth like it has a mind of its own. They stare; they know better, but fuck it, if any baby is worth staring at, it’s this one.

“Is that--?” Mulder whispers.

“Yeah,” Missy breathes.

They’ve both seen the pictures, they are well aware that it’s her. They say these things for the awe of it.

“She’s…” Mulder’s eyes are wide. “She’s bigger than I thought she would be. Not fat, I mean. Just...a whole tiny human.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Melissa smiles at her niece, who is now seated on her caretaker’s lap across the hallway. Emily’s big eyes blink at her, containing silent judgements. How like her mother she is.

Missy elbows Mulder. “I bet she orders mushroom pizza and then picks the mushrooms off because apparently ‘the cheese tastes better than on the regular cheese pizza,’” she muses, naming one of her sister’s quirks.

Mulder likes this game. “I bet she vehemently denies the existence of extraterrestrials only to secretly believe that her dashing partner is right,” he offers.

Missy smirks. “I bet she would find this game very stupid if she understood it.”

“I’m all in on that one.” Mulder mimes pushing a pile of poker chips into the center of a table.

Missy laughs, looks toward her seat partner with soft eyes. “She’s gonna be a great mom, isn’t she? Dana, I mean?”

“Oh yeah.” Mulder clasps his hands in his lap. “We should be so lucky to have a little Scully in the world.”

“Mm-hm.” Missy focuses on his face, watching for the slightest move that might give his thoughts away. “And she’ll be able to do it alone, do you think?”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll need some help from Mrs. Scully, and you, and…” he trails off before adding his own name, but Missy’s mind fills it in reflexively. “She’ll need help,” Mulder finishes, “but yeah, she’ll be incredible.”

The details have already been parsed out. As a single mother, Scully is required to list a guardian who would take custody of Emily if something were to happen to her. She listed her mother as the primary one--the social worker told her it’s best if it’s someone who has child-rearing experience--and Missy as the secondary guardian. She would, after all, already live in the child’s household.

Then there was the matter of the job--its extensive time requirements, travelling, and danger level were all of concern to the agency. This came as no surprise to Scully; a single female FBI agent does not make the ideal adoption candidate. And though she hasn’t yet spoken to the Bureau, Mulder has promised her they’ll work something out. It can be like your leave of absence, he assured her. You tackle the paper trail and I’ll focus on following the suspect’s trail. Easy-peasy.

That’s what he says to her, though he’s terrified of losing her as his partner...Of her being reassigned to something simpler or leaving the Bureau entirely. She could teach at Quantico, that schedule would be a hell of a lot easier than running on Mulder time. Agent Scully can pack for hastily-booked flights at midnight then catch them at 7am, but Emily’s mother couldn’t. He will have to reckon with this if all the pieces fall into their graceful place. He’ll have to figure out how to rearrange their partnership for her, or even worse, how to live without her as his partner. Or maybe even at all.

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

Scully glances at her shoes, then summons the courage to meet Mrs. Lace’s hazel eyes. “I hope you will consider my request. I know it’s not up to you entirely--the court will have the final say--but my abduction experience has left me unable to have a biological child, so learning of Emily was truly a miracle of the highest order.”

Her voice clips as she takes a breath. “I understand that it would be a huge sacrifice on the part of your family, and that you’ve developed a bond with Emily over the past eleven months. I just ask you both to please...think about it.” Tears twinkle in her eyes. She made it, thank god, she made it without breaking down! She’s rehearsed that speech ten times over.

Cecily lays a hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, Dana. It would be a painful sacrifice to us, you’re correct, but we understand that you’ve flown across the country to be here, and that you’ve brought witnesses to testify to your character, so your commitment is clear. We’ll listen and make as compassionate a decision as possible.”

Scully’s lips creep into a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She steps back, the weight of imminent sobs settling over her chest.

“Ms. Scully has already undergone most of the requirements needed for adoption,” the lawyer tells Mr. and Mrs. Lace. “Medical clearance, psychiatric clearance, criminal background check, and home study. In the spirit of her unique circumstances, California and the District of Columbia have agreed to cooperate to make the process as smooth and expedient as possible, if you should choose to surrender Emily to her. I don’t mean to sway your decision in any way, just to give you all the available information.”

The couple nods. “Thank you, Tanya,” Cecily answers. “We’d like to speak with the first witness now.”

Scully balks. She expected more questions, a barrage of them, as intense and prying as if she were testifying in front of Congress. And she was ready for that--she was prepared to do whatever they asked of her, to show that there are no lengths she wouldn’t go for Emily. She’s already documented every detail of her life for social services and given over the necessary specimens to prove that no, she’s not a drug user, and yes, her thyroid is hyperactive, but she takes medication for that and her doctor will confirm that it’s under control.

And if they wanted to know more, she’d tell them. She’d tell it all. Her deepest, darkest secret (telling Daniel that yes, he should leave his wife & kids...all for her, to be with her), the most petty thing that haunts her (stolen cigarettes, smoked on the family porch at 1am), what she wants to say most but can’t (I love you)...a part of her was taken to create Emily. She would give the rest away to keep her.

There was a moment, in one of the drab little interrogation rooms at DC social services, where Scully was met with a question that lunged toward her like a time-bomb. Pull the fuse, pull the fuse it taunted her. See what happens. Instead, she played it off. Pretended she didn’t hear its doomed tick. Feigned none the wiser. No, she isn’t aware of any potential medical condition that would inhibit her life expectancy or ability to care for a child, she told the nice woman. Thank god they got the chip out of her neck before it showed up on any x-rays.

She snaps back to reality, watching as the conference door opens, and her sister enters the room.

“Thank you, Dana,” Tanya says, and she assumes that’s the lawyer’s way of telling her to get out, so she does. Outside the room, she settles next to Mulder in a seat that’s still warm.

“How’d it go in there, champ?” he chatters. “You need some water or anything?”

Scully’s not listening. Her eyes are trained on the baby girl across the way with hair too auburn to be brunette that’ll require a smattering of box dye every two weeks to qualify her as a soulless ginger.

Emily’s eyes land on the woman she does not know is her mother, studying this new face with an infant’s usual curiosity. Mulder has realized by now that the little girl is of much more interest to his partner than he is, and he watches as mother and daughter wave to each other.

Scully lets out a laugh so strangled that for a moment Mulder thinks it’s a cry and jumps to comfort her. He relaxes back into his seat once he sees the joy on her face.

“She’s a sweetheart, huh?” Mulder wisecracks as the young girl jams her fingers into her mouth.

Scully beams. “She’s a baby, that’s her way of learning the world!”

“Hey, I’m not knocking it. That’s my personal preference as well,” he says with a lop-sided smile.

“Yeah, well, she’s not licking evidence,” Scully quips.

Mulder shrugs. “A man can’t help his oral fixation. Haven’t you ever heard of Freud…?” he lets it slide off his tongue.

Scully rolls her eyes. His inability to maintain an appropriate manner is nothing if not inspiring.

She gestures toward Emily. “You’re already encouraging bad behavior. Tsk-tsk,” she teases.

“That’s my job as--hey, wait. What’s she gonna call me?” If you get custody, of course passes silently between them.

“I don’t know, Mulder,” Scully says, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” That’s a lie. She’s sat up during the night trying to decipher Mulder’s relation to Emily. He would certainly be the male authority in her life, but that doesn’t make him a father figure. Right?

Scully adored her father because he was the head of the family, and he embraced the responsibility, always making sure they had what they needed. While her mother was often the one doing the grunt work of caring for them, her father provided for them. His long deployments with the Navy protected them. Scully understood his sacrifice and loved him for it

That’s not how it would go with Emily. If she were so lucky as to get the child, Scully would be the caretaker and the provider. A two-in-one deal with a high price. What would that mean, for Emily? Scully could do it, she believes that. Not that it would be anything less than utterly exhausting, but with a little help from her mother and her sister, she could make do, and they say it takes a village to raise a child anyway, so what’s so bad about that?

Since she’s filling those roles herself, that leaves...well, Mulder could be the fun uncle, that fits him. Bill Jr. isn’t gonna cut it, and neither is Charlie, considering that he’s god knows where. Besides, it’s unlikely that Mulder will get a chance to know a biological niece or nephew. He and Emily could fill missing pieces in each other’s lives.

Scully’s eyes trace the contours of her partner’s face. “Do you have a preference about what she calls you?”

“I was hoping for His Royal Highness Fox Mulder of Martha’s Vineyard--is that too much?”

Scully lets a strand of hair fall over her face. “It might take her awhile to get her tongue around that.”

“Or it’ll speed up her speech acquisition,” Mulder replies.

“Oh, you’re a child-rearing connoisseur now?”

Mulder twiddles his thumbs. “It is my goal to raise the first kid to transcribe canine language into English.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware of that,” Scully tells him, a smile flitting on her lips. It’s this kind of banter that keeps her sane. A few minutes out here with him, and she’s forgotten that what happens in that conference room will dictate the rest of her life.

Across the hallway, Emily giggles at the air, and it fits, doesn’t it? Here she is, already laughing at Mulder’s jokes like the Scully girl she is.

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

It feels like a prisoner exchange when witness number one in their civil-that-sure-feels-like-a-criminal case joins Scully back in the hallway, and Mulder is called forward “to the stand.” He swears he found a penny in the parking lot this morning & promises to bring back good news. Scully’s pretty sure he made that story up, but she’s no less hopeful that it’ll come true.

Returned from her brief stint in captivity, Missy dives right into a discussion of her niece: “Look at her, Dana, she looks just like you!”

“Well, she does have fifty percent of my DNA,” Scully concedes with an admiring glance at the little girl.

“Have you gone over to see her?”

Scully shakes her head. “I didn’t think that would be proper.”

“Are you kidding me?” Missy retorts. “First of all, Brian and Cecily are very nice people, and I’m not supposed to say this, but I think there’s a chance that Emily will be yours. Secondly, this could be your only opportunity to interact with your daughter and you’re not gonna take it?”

Scully bites her lip. Her sister knows how to craft an argument. “Alright, but you have to back me up.”

“Trust me, I wanna see her just as badly as you.”

Scully steels herself, then approaches the woman in the polo shirt. “Hello.” She does a polite half-wave, which she’s never done before and which makes her feel ridiculous. “I’m the potential adoptee, and I was wondering if I could say hello to this precious little girl.” It all feels completely out of character, like she’s reading lines from a script. But this is it, this is her reality.

The woman’s face offers little in the way of recognition. “You can have a supervised visit with her, yes,” she recites, as rehearsed as Scully.

“Great.” Scully claps her hands together. “May I take her to my sister right over there?”

The woman nods. Scully lays her hands on Emily’s waist and lifts the girl gently from the woman’s lap. She is heavier than Scully imagined, or maybe just heavier than she hoped. Every ounce is a reminder of unseen existence and unwitnessed growth.

Emily does not balk, just stares up at her mother with those probing eyes.

“Hi baby girl,” Scully coos to her daughter as she settles her against her hip. “Can you say hi? Have you got that one yet?”

The girl blinks. “Ma-ma.”

Scully crooks her neck, tries to reign in her racing imagination. All babies do this at this age, don’t they? Calling every woman mama and every man dada. Emily’s no exception. And yet...for that to be the first word her daughter has ever said to her. God winked at her, and she’s glad to have caught it.

The pair makes it to Missy, who blows a kiss in Emily’s direction. “Hey there little one.” She extends her index finger, and the girl latches onto it.

Scully cradles her baby’s head, Emily’s fine hair soft beneath her fingers.

“She’s even-keeled for a baby,” Missy remarks, wiggling her finger and watching Emily crack a smile.

“Yes,” Scully gurgles out of the sheer joy. She settles into her chair with Emily in her lap. “Do you know what she said to me?”

Missy looks up. “What?”

“Mama.” Scully dons a triumphant grin. “She called me mama.”

“Oh, no way!” Missy squeals. It’s a bit too loud and sudden, making Emily jump. The ladies laugh, and Scully pulls her daughter in closer, kissing the crown of her head. She still has that baby smell; the freshness of new life and all its purity. Scully sighs. It must have been even stronger when she was born.

Scully closes her eyes. If she had one chance to pause life somewhere along the way, to linger in a perfect moment longer, she would do it right now and she would never regret it.

“My baby…” she breathes into Emily’s ear, hoping it will stick. That one day she’ll remember and find her way home, should she need to.

A warm tear slides down Scully’s cheek and lands in Emily’s lap, a dark drop on the girl’s corduroy pants. “Mama loves you, Emily.” She tightens her embrace. “That’s me,” she sniffs. “I love you, Emily.”

Observing this, Missy feels that she is an interloper and slips off to the bathroom, leaving mother and baby to have their moment.

Scully strokes the girl’s tiny palm with her thumb. She has missed so much already, and my god, she could miss so much more. What is love, if not sacrifice? Hadn’t that been the takeaway from each week of Sunday school?

The conference door opens, and Scully finds herself irritated that life has failed to pause. Oh, what wouldn’t she do to take the reins from God, even for a moment? She looks up at Mulder, doe-eyed as he processes the optical illusion that is Emily and her mother. Said mother sees the tenderness on Mulder’s face as he comes to terms with this sight, and something in both of them breaks, and something else opens.

Mulder approaches quietly, apprehensive about ruining the moment. Little does he know, he’s not ruining it; he’s completing it.

“Hey,” Scully swoons. “How was it?”

He’s too earnest to crack a joke right now. “Less nerve-wracking than I expected,” he murmurs. “Brain and Cecily are good people.”

Scully can’t help but wonder if they’re hammering this point about Brian and Cecily to make her feel better when the gavel falls in their direction. Mulder directs her train of thought away from this when he kneels in front of Emily. His eyes are as soupy as ever, Scully notices; she could sink right into them.

“May I?”

Scully chuckles under her breath, like a stranger has just asked if they could pet her dog. “Of course, Mulder. Say hi.”

Over the past weeks, Mulder spent considerable time anticipating this initial interaction. First impressions are important, after all, and there is no one he has wanted to impress more than this sweet girl. Ultimately, he decided that he didn’t care what their meeting was, as long as it would be. And now that he’s here, knelt in front of his two favorite girls, he’s ready to make a promise.

He envelops Emily’s closed fist with one hand and uses the other to caress Scully’s palm. “I want you to know,” he begins, shifting his gaze between mother and daughter, “that I’ll always be here for you.”

He looks to Scully, realizing that Emily is unable to comprehend what he is saying. “Regardless of Brian and Cecily’s choice, I am prepared to make every sacrifice so that you two can be a family. The family you deserve to be. I know what it’s like to not have that, and christ, Scully, I’m not letting you go through that. You’ve had enough for one lifetime.”

Scully’s face puckers. She is moved on a dimension that transcends the spiritual, if such a thing is possible. She closes her eyes, lets the tears slip out, then softens her focus on him.

“Thank you, Mulder...Fox,” she effuses, needing to heighten the intimacy. “Emily and I…” she kisses her daughter’s temple again. “Well, you know. You already know.” Her voice is somber almost, reminiscent of a wedding vow’s binding utterance.

Mulder smiles up at them, pats Scully’s hand. “I know. Me too.”

There are many phrases that could fill her blank, but he chose his favorite, and he’s got an inkling that he’s right.

Scully sucks in a breath, and it’s the first one that has ever counted. Earth is new to her, again.

The door opens a second time, and the lawyer approaches with Brian and Cecily behind her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace would like to take some time to think about their decision,” Tanya announces. “You will understand, they hope…?”

Scully nods, swallowing back a lump in her throat. She would like to break into a tantrum, throwing chairs and screeching every obscenity she knows. Begging please, please, don’t let me miss another heartbeat. Let me live in this Heaven I’ve found. But no answer is better than an immediate rejection, so she screws her lips into a smile and gives away two more handshakes.

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Lace. I’m grateful for this opportunity.”

#you guysss i have been excited for this chapter since day one!!!#it only gets more emotional from here ahhhh #hope you enjoy <3 #i am hugging anyone who reads this #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf fic #txf #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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vintagedaydreams · 3 years

Text

TLNRS-Part Six (Marcus)

Without further ado- part six!!

Warnings: some cursing, brief illusion to panic attacks, low self esteem

Enjoy!!

@kettnerjanea @jelly-fishy-babie @the-graceful-ace @amwolowicz @batsdothings @waxingmoonstone @littlebabybatthings @mauvette268 @katsav17 @batsuperflashmartianwonderman @imyourapocalypse @chubbybbt @bepo-is-sorry @raindancer2004 @artaxerxesthegreat @bethanymccauley @bloodsweatandsnapple @kawaiipoplover268 @legithraclya

The next morning found you down in the kitchen for breakfast, a silly grin on your face and a happy song on your lips.

Last night’s date had been...amazing. You didn’t know anyone could be that attentive and sweet and Marcus had blown even the Queen’s expectations out of the water.

You gave a happy twirl and goosebumps erupted over your skin as you remembered the hooded look in his eyes and the gentle way he had wooed you over the course of the evening.

It was way too soon for Love and you were still a bit wary and skittish of anything remotely romantic, especially with Vampires, this soon after the whole Carlisle debacle, but oh, did you wish and want whatever this was to come to fruition.

It was so nice to be appreciated and feel as if you were sought after.

“Sounds like someone had a good night,” Edward’s sudden voice came from behind you and you jumped with a yelp.

“Eddie!” you scolded, holding a hand over your heart, willing it to stay within your rib cage, “Don’t do that!”

To your surprise, Edward lifted his hands in the air, a serious look on his face.

“No harm meant, Y/N.”

Your brow furrowed- what the heck was his problem? It wasn’t like you thought he meant to scare you into an early grave.

Edward’s head tilted a little behind him and you looked over his shoulder to lock eyes with Jane.

“Oh, hello,” you said with a small, uncertain smile. The Volturi has all been incredibly welcoming and helpful, but the Witch Twins had been more standoffish than the rest.

Which you could understand. After all, you were a human, and an Unwanted Mate at that.

Edward’s eyes narrowed in your direction and you gave a small sigh.

Honestly, you loved Eddie like a brother but the mind reading thing was a bit tiresome at times.

And it wasn’t like you were wrong!

You were human and you were an Unwanted Bond Mate.

Simple as that. No amount of positive thinking or good self esteem was going to change that.

You turned your attention back to Jane as she shifted and stepped further into the kitchen.

“You are okay?” the blonde vampire asked emotionless, ruby eyes darting from you to Edward and back again.

You tried valiantly to tramp down the warmth that blossomed in your chest at her question.

It was nice to know that she cared, even if she was just asking out of what was probably duty to one of her Kings.

You were suddenly grateful that Jasper didn’t like you enough to hang around like Edward.

One invasive-talented vampire was enough.

A gentle throat clearing reminded you that you had yet to answer, so with a very red face, you assured her that you were fine.

Jane stared you down for a few moments, long enough for you to start fidgeting, before giving a single nod and disappearing.

You turned wide eyes to Edward who just shook his head with a chuckle.

“I have no idea,” he smirked and you rolled your eyes.

Uh huh. Sure.

“Where’s Bella this morning?” you asked curiously as you continued to make your breakfast.

“Packing for our return trip,” Edward said quietly after a moment and you froze, all happy thoughts of Marcus disappearing as it dawned on you.

They were returning to Forks.

You probably should too.

Your mind started to race. What was it going to be like, back in Forks with the Cullens? Could you even stand to see them every day? Would their sudden apologetic and sad demeanors make you give in when you should stay strong or would their attitudes change back to how they were once you were out of Italy? Did you even want to stay in Forks? What if you didn’t have your job when you got back? What if you never recovered from being an Unwanted? What if—

A cold hand was suddenly on your shoulder and you were drawn back into a gentle, brotherly embrace.

“Breathe, Y/N,” Edward murmured into your hair. “Just breathe for a few moments, okay?”

You nodded as best you could with your head tucked into his chest, but dutifully took a few deep breaths.

Why were you like this?

You were pretty sure that normal people wouldn’t be freaking out over a sentence as simple as, “She’s packing”.

Then again, what exactly was normal anymore? Since apparently vampires existed and had their own version of the Mafia.

Edward snorted and you gave a somewhat shaky smile.

Well, at least you were entertaining to someone.

“You are not going to be forced to go back with us, Y/N,” Edward said softly after a few quiet moments. “I am sure that Aro would welcome you here.”

You raised your head to frown at the vampire. “I am not going to be a charity case.”

To your surprise, Edward actually rolled his eyes.

“Aro thinks many things about you, Y/N, but charity case is not one of them.”

You blushed at the slight reprimand and burrowed your face back into Edward’s chest.

A gentle hand ran through your hair and Edward added quietly, “There are a lot of people who care for you, Y/N. Never forget that. And those same people would do everything in their power to make sure you were taken care of and provided for. You have a way of endearing yourself to people quickly and we vampires are no different. Those that want to take care of you do so because of you and who you are, not because of any sort of pity.”

That warmth was back, unfurling in your chest like a flower blooming on a warm spring day.

You squeezed the vampire in front of you in a tight hug, mentally sending your thanks.

You needed to hear that.

“Anytime,” came Edward’s murmur and then you found yourself suddenly seated at the table in a rush of wind.

Your forgotten breakfast was placed in front of you with the order to eat.

“You’ll feel even better when you have something on your stomach. And then you can decide if you want to stay or come back to Forks.”

You weren’t exactly sure what epiphany Edward thought your food would give you, but by the time you had finished eating, you still were no closer to figuring out what to do.

Should you stay or should you go?

What really was waiting for you back in Forks?

But then, what was really waiting for you here?

You gave a soft growl, a pathetic sounding one compared to the ones the vampires could produce, but it made you feel marginally better.

Maybe you could just go...live in England on your own. No vampires, no Mates, no supernatural.

Just the English countryside, horseback riding and rain.

You smiled big, this was a great solution!, and turned back to Edward who was looking at you in a mixture of both amusement and disbelief.

“Y/N,” he started after a moment, “what on Earth makes you think that’s going to be an option for you?”

Your jaw dropped.

“An option for me?” you parroted. “I’m a grown ass woman! Why wouldn’t it be an option?!”

Edward snorted in pure amusement now and took a seat across from you at the table.

“Y/N, there are too many vampires interested in your well being to let you go off on your own somewhere. And,” he continued, holding up a hand when you opened your mouth to interrupt him, “English is very wet, very rainy and very cloudy. Not the ideal place to try and get away from creatures that thrive in the shadows.”

You snapped your mouth shut.

The man had a point there.

Which kinda sucked. What a good excuse to move to the UK.

“Why don’t you come back with us, Y/N?” Edward suggested when your thoughts didn’t leave England.

Your eyes locked onto tawny gold.

“At least for a little while. That will give you a chance to get everything in order if you don’t decide to stay.”

You studied his face while you thought it over.

It would be good for you to go back. Get back to the familiar and comforting.

And maybe even get on with your life.

Although…

“I know it sounds kinda crazy, Edward, it being so soon and all, but I’m going to really miss everyone here.”

The mind reader picked up on exactly who you would miss the most and he gave a gentle smile.

“I can assure you the sentiment would be returned, if he wasn’t going along.”

You blinked once. Twice. Three times.

And then, “Wait, what?”

Edward leaned back in his chair, an air of smugness radiating from him.

“Marcus. King Marcus. The one with the beautiful eyes and the amazingly kind heart you haven’t stopped thinking about?”

You blushed red at that.

“He decided to come along with us to Forks,” Edward continued, “if you had decided to join us.”

“But why?” you asked in genuine confusion. Why would he want to go to Forks of all places?

Edward leveled you with a look that said, ‘Really?’

You leveled a look right back at him.

“He’s known me for a few days, Eddie. And we’ve had one date- if you can technically even call it that. Seems a little premature for him to go galavanting across half the globe for someone he just met.”

Edward leaned in, elbows on the table and face serious and close to yours.

“Y/N. Listen and listen good. You are worth it. Whatever my sire has said and done, however my coven has treated you, forget about it. I told you- you endear yourself to people quickly. The Volturi are no different. What they feel for you is true and all because of you. Bonded or no, Unwanted or no, they care for you. As do I. Don’t be so hard on yourself or surprised that Marcus would travel with you to Forks. There are more that would come if they could.”

“Young Edward is right,” a low, gravelly voice said from the doorway and you snapped your head over to see Marcus standing there, Volturi robes blending in with the shadowed doorway.

“You sell yourself much too short, Cara Mia. I am going with you to Forks because I wish to. Because I do not want you to have to face Carlisle and his coven alone. And because I very much want to see where this attraction between us may lead.”

Marcus stepped into the room and slowly made his way to your side before lowering himself elegantly to his knees.

“However,” he continued quietly, “should you wish me not to go, I will remain here in Volterra.”

You blinked dumbly at him.

“You mean, I have a say in this?” you asked in surprise.

Edward made an odd sound and Marcus looked stricken.

“Y/N,” he said earnestly, “you will always have a choice.”

You looked between the two of them and then your eyes went wide.

“No, that’s not what I meant! I mean it was, but not necessarily like that! Just...it is surprising to me that I would have a say in whether you went to Forks or not, because...well, of the obvious.”

“Why would you think you wouldn’t have an input into whether I accompanied you to Forks or not?” Marcus asked quietly.

You rose a brow. “You mean other than the fact that you’re a King? A Vampire one at that? You can go wherever you want- why would my opinion matter? I’m just me- human and decidedly not a royal.”

“But perhaps I am just Marcus- a man trying to woo a woman he’s beginning to care very deeply for. A man who wouldn’t want to press his luck and go anywhere he wasn’t welcome.”

Silence reigned in the kitchen. Marcus was looking intently at you, you were gaping probably quite unattractively back at him, and Edward was pretending to be engrossed in the ceiling to give you two the illusion of privacy.

“Y/N,” Marcus whisperer, cold hand lifting to gently cup your cheek. “May I accompany you to Forks? And act as your Protector?”

Edward’s attention was now focused intensely on the two of you, but you paid him no mind, your own attention captivated by the King kneeling at your feet.

“Yes,” you finally managed to murmur. “Please.”

A soft smile curled the edges of the Vampire King’s mouth and he smoothly stood.

“Then I have preparations to finish. I shall see you when we depart tonight, Y/N. Until then.”

With a kiss to the back of your hand, he was gone in a swirl of robes and a gust of wind.

Dazedly, you wondered if Aro’s flamboyance was contagious.

After a few minutes, you snapped out of it and looked over to see Edward looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“...What?” you asked cautiously.

“King Marcus,” Edward started, before stopping, his expression warring somewhere between joy and caution.

“King Marcus what?” you finally demanded when it seemed he wouldn’t say anything else.

“He asked to be your Protector.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And you agreed.”

“Yeah? And?!”

Edward’s honey gaze met your own.

“And he has formally claimed you. He is your Protector and you are his Charge. Your battles are his battles, your enemies are his enemies. He wants nothing more than your safety and happiness.”

You gaped as Edward leaned forward to add lowly, “He would now die for you.”

#twilight imagine #reader insert #volturi #cullens #marcus x reader #twilight

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ittybittycommitty · 3 years

Text

Part 3 of my BBC Merlin g/t fanfic!

Part 1-Part 2-Part 3

Chapter 3

“Help!” Merlin wakes with a start. Sweat dripping down his face. He could have sworn he had just heard a voice. A woman’s voice, screaming loud in his head. He pulled away his covers and looked down at the room. Gwen was sleeping in the cot below, not showing any signs of consciousness. He sat on his bed for a bit, waiting to see if he would hear it again. Sure enough.

“Someone help me!” The desperation of the voice was crippling to Merlin, who put his hands to his ears in pain. He quickly climbed down from his ledge to investigate. He somehow knew where it was coming from, even if it was in his head.

He traveled across the room, past the sleeping Gwen to the window and squeezed through the crack, dropping onto the street below. He knew this was incredibly dangerous, but the voice was so… scared.

“Find it! Uther will not have any Sprites in his castle!” Merlin looked over and saw knights scouring small corners across the courtyard from him. Was it another Sprite calling out to him? She must be in trouble… He held a hand to his head and focused hard to find where she was.

A picture materialized in his mind, showing her hiding behind a cart near where the knights were searching. He gasped. He had to be quick or she would be found. He slid along a wall and waited for someone to come by, then he jumped by their feet and walked with them across the courtyard. Once across he dashed to the cart and finally saw the sprite face to face.

She was gorgeous, catching Merlin off guard, her eyes were a piercing green and her black hair was thick and flowing down her pale face. He quickly grabbed her hand and she was too scared to give any resistance as he ran with her to another hiding place. They waited silently until another passerby walked past them. Merlin pulled her forward and they hid beside the woman’s dress and dashed the rest of the way to another dark hiding spot. They used this time to catch their breath. She panted and struggled to keep her hair out of her face. Merlin managed to glance at a gash in her side in the chaos but she quickly covered it back up

“Who are you?” She asked.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” Merlin replied before pulling her against a wall and holding her mouth shut. A knight walked by a second later, not seeing them.

“Maybe we should talk later, we need to get back to my place,” Merlin grabbed her hand again and led her slowly to the window he had left from and the slipped back in. They sat there, catching their breath for a bit, but Merlin was staring at where he had saw her wound.

“You’re hurt,” He said, seeing her tense up. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’ll be fine,” Merlin glared at her.

“Liar, luckily, you managed to get the attention of someone who knows how to treat wounds,” Merlin got up. “Gwen!” He called out as loud as he could, making the girl jump. The sleeping woman’s head shot up and she looked around.

“Over here!” He called out, and the girl started to panic after noticing the human. She eyed the window and looked up at Merlin in worry. He bent down and reassured her.

“Gwen is a friend, she’ll help you,” She didn’t look convinced, just scared. Gwen got up and turned around, squinting to see the two. As soon as she noticed the second sprite huddled over she rushed over.

“Merlin! What happened? Who’s that?” She said, reaching out to the tiny woman, but the small girl flinched away from her hand. Gwen pulled back.

“No time to explain, she needs help, can you get me some bandages and alcohol?” Gwen grew stern and nodded, heading over to get the supplies. Merlin bent over and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Can you tell me your name?” Merlin asked.

“It’s… Morgana, my name is Morgana…”

“Nice to meet you Morgana, my name is Merlin,” He smiled at her but she just looked down. Gwen came back and set down the bandages and a small bottle of alcohol. Merlin was quick to work, cleaning up the wound and sterilizing it before wrapping it up nice and tight. Gwen sat nearby, watching intently. Morgana felt incredibly self conscious being stared at, but silently put up with it, very grateful for the kindness the two were showing her.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” Morgana spoke up after a while of silence. Merlin looks up.

“I heard you call for help in my head,” Morgana looked down.

“Thank you…”

“It’s no problem, and you’re welcome to stay here for a while to recover if you’d like,” Morgana looked at him in surprise.

“Really? Are you sure? Those knights are probably still looking for me…” Merlin looked at Gwen, not thinking about that.

“That might be a problem… Could you help us if that happens?” He asked Gwen, who nodded quickly.

“They might come searching here, we should prepare,” Merlin said.

He set to work making his loft look like just another shelf. Meanwhile Gwen grabbed a bundle of soft fabric and put it in the bottom of her pocket. Morgana watched her closely. She had never been able to look at a human this close before without being in imminent danger. She’s actually really pretty… Morgana thought. She noticed how soft her skin looked, and how beautiful her curls were- Morgana slapped her face with her hands. Stop! What the hell are you thinking? Gwen walked up to her and offered her hands to her.

“I’ll need to hide you if the knights come,” Morgana looked up at her, blushing hard. She didn’t know why, she barely knew this human.

“O-Okay,” Morgana said and shyly stepped onto the girls awaiting hands. Gwen curled her fingers around Morgana slightly as she set her gently in her pocket. With Morgana secure she turned to Merlin, who was finishing up hiding any evidence of him being there.

“You ready? I think I hear them somewhere close,” She said, reaching out her hand to Merlin. He jumps on her hand and she quickly slips him in her pocket with Morgana. Only a few seconds later there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” She says, gently patting her pocket to make sure they were still. Arthur and a couple of knights came in through the door.

“Hello Gwen, have you seen any sprites? We spotted one in the castle,” Arthur’s look of disgust unnerved Gwen.

“No, sorry, I haven’t,” Merlin and Morgana stay completely still, occasionally looking at each other for reassurance.

“Alright, we’re just gonna do a quick check around to make sure,” With that the knights entered the room and starting looking under things and behind books, occasionally knocking some things over. Gwen stayed out of their way as much as possible.

“Sorry about the mess Gwen, but it’s necessary,” Arthur said, stopping next to Gwen.

“Why all the fuss about a sprite?” Gwen asked, keeping her hands over her pocket protectively.

“My father will not stand to have them running around his castle, they’re pests,” Gwen winced and Merlin clenched his fists. After a long few minutes the knights came over to Arthur.

“Nothing sire, it’s probably fled the castle,”

“Good, let’s hope an animal kills it,” Arthur said, waving the knights away and following after them. Morgana grips at the material of Gwen’s pocket, her gut tightening in fear and dread.

When Gwen was sure they were gone she quickly pulled the two out of her pocket and set them down. She and Merlin quickly noticed that Morgana was shaking, and before Merlin had a chance to stabilize her Gwen reached out and put her hand around the small lady. Morgana immediately stopped shaking and looked up at Gwen. She had the instinct to pull away but the warmth and comfort filled in the one touch drained away all the fear she had felt from what the prince had said.

“Are you alright?” Gwen asked, slowly pulling away her hand but keeping it close. Morgana pulled her hands close to her chest and nodded, blushing.

The three waited in silence until the search was over, and they all let out a collective breath of relief.

"Why were you in the courtyard anyway?" Merlin asked, turning to Morgana. The female sprite looked down with a grave face.

"My sister told me to meet her here, she said she had this amazing plan to stop the violence against sprites," Merlin perked up in curiosity.

"Really? That sounds.."

"Crazy? Impossible? Yeah, I know, but she is pretty smart so who knows,"

"So what happened?"

"I never found her, I was spotted by a human who immediately started… attacking me," Morgana moved a shaky hand up to wipe her face from tears.

Gwen was horrified. She had always had mixed opinions because she had only ever heard about how sprites were evil and mischievous, coming into houses and causing illness with their magic. But as soon as she met one she knew that none of that was true, they were just like people.. But smaller, and magical. She pondered this. What if she tried showing them to others? Would it help them see what she saw or put them in danger? She was so lost in her thoughts she realized she was missing a lot of the conversation.

"-we don't talk about where it is as it could jeopardize the safety of it so yeah I understand," Gwen sighed, wishing she had payed attention.

"Thank you for understanding, even though it's just me and my sister there we have worked hard to make it our own,"

"Maybe when Gaius gets back he can help you return there,"

"Gaius? Who's that?" Morgana asked.

"Oh yeah, he's the physician I've been working under, he's been out of Camelot so that's why Gwens here," Gwen waved shyly at being mentioned.

"Well I would owe him much if he did that…and I owe both of you so much as well for saving me and hiding me," Merlin smiled and nodded in reply, Gwen smiled as well.

"So where's your sister?" Gwen asked, finally joining the conversation. Morgana jumped a bit, still getting used to a humans presence.

"I don't know, but I should probably search for her, or she could end up in the same situation I was in…"

"We'll help in any way we can," Merlin and Gwen share a look of understanding.

"So, we should probably get back to making medicine, still lots of people to help," Gwen said, straightening up and walking over to the workbench. Merlin offers Morgana a hand to get up.

"You can stay in this room with us, I'll get you situated, okay? How about you go keep Gwen company until I can come help," Morgana nods and starts making her way to Gwen. Merlin climbs up to his shelf and starts the process of making another bed.

"I know we never introduced ourselves but I'm Morgana," she said as she walking across the workbench.

"Oh! My name's Gwen! Very nice to meet you," She gave a smile, making Morgana almost swoon.

Morgana didn't know anything about medicine so all she could do was watch as Gwen worked.

"Agh, blast, the fire went out," she cursed to no one in particular. The fire being a small flame under a glass beaker, heating ingredients for her concoction.

Without thinking Morgana raised her hand and lit the flame from where she sat. Gwen flinched at the fire and gasped. She looked at Morgana and gaped.

"Did you do that?" She said, astonished. Morgana looked down and flushed in embarrassment.

"Yeah sorry, reflex," Gwen stared at the fire for a moment longer.

"That's amazing!" Morgana looked up at her in surprise. She had never gotten a response like that for her magic. She smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear.

"Thanks…" Gwen smiled and went back to work.

"What are you guys on about?" Merlin asked, making his way down from the ledge to them.

"Morgana can light a fire with her mind!" Gwen said excitedly. Merlin smiled at her naivety.

"That's magic, all sprites have it in some form or another,"

"Really? Wow!" Morgana and Merlin look at each other in bewilderment then laugh. What a strange human.

#gt #g/t #giantess #f/f #giant/tiny #wholesome giantess #tiny #gt writing #bbc Merlin #gwen x Morgana #gt story #gt fanfic #fanfic

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fyodorz · 4 years

Note

Can I request 22 & 3 from the fluff/hurt prompt list for Kouyou from bungou stray dogs? Thank you and take your time!

Hello! I'm surprised to get a request for Kouyou! Nice to know people love Ane-san as much as I do 💕 I hope you like it!

ʚ┈┈┈┈┈┈♡┈┈┈┈┈┈ɞ

Where are you hurt? | Kouyou Ozaki

Genre: Comfort

Warnings: tw blood (just patching up wounds)

It had been a long night for you, to put it bluntly.

You had been sent off by the Mafia to do a job that was not only annoying, but rather dangerous as well. You had been pinned against another ability user that was trying to steal from the mafia's reserves. The battle between you two was drawn out, but you emerged victorious. Although, you didn't escape without being pretty banged up. The ability user had back up, so you had the misfortune of getting grazed with a few bullets and got one in your arm.

Which is what led you to where you are now, sitting in the home of Port Mafia Executive Kouyou Ozaki. You had grown somewhat close to the woman during your time in the Mafia. She was kind to you, regularly invited you to tea and you both just sat and talked. After Kyouka left for the agency you thought it would take her awhile to bounce back, but instead she was as elegant and graceful as she always had been.

Her kindness is what drew you to her home after your little spat. With your hand covering the bullet wound in your shoulder you had headed to her place and had knocked on the door. She answered within a few moments, dressed in a night gown. It was pretty late, though you didn't know the exact time. She took one look at you and blinked a few times before you spoke to her.

"Can you help me?"

And that's how you got here, sitting on Kouyou's couch. She could see multiple spots of blood, which could be yours or someone else's at this point, you weren't sure anymore.

"Are you gravely injured? If so I shall have to take you to Mori for proper medical treatment." She said, which you waved off.

"No, I'm not going to die or anything." You replied tiredly.

"Alright then, where does it hurt?"

"My shoulder mostly, I got a bullet in it. I think another bullet grazed my side too."

Kouyou nodded, "I'll get my first aid kit, for now just take your shirt off."

You obeyed, too tired to really object. As she walked off you tossed your blood stained shirt to the ground. Not too long after, Kouyou returned. She sat beside you and got tweezers. The bullet was still in your flesh as there was no exit wound, so she had to dig it and it's shrapnel out herself. She gave you a rag.

"Bite down on this, it's going to hurt." Was all she said before she started to dig around in the wound. You quickly bit down on the rag, groaning in pain as she searched for the bullet. She sent got it out and went back in for the other small pieces of metal. She ignored your whines of pain until she got it all out, placing it in a small dish beside her. After that she put down the tweezers and grabbed peroxide and another rag. She carefully cleaned your wound. The peroxide hissed and bubbles and you made more noises of pain through the rag you had in your mouth.

Once she was sure the wound was cleaned she placed gauze on the wound and wrapped it in bandages. Afterwards she cleaned the small wounds on your side from the bullets grazing you and carefully wrapped your midsection. You gave a sigh, relieved the whole ordeal was over. You tiredly flopped your head against the executive, which made her give an amused laugh, especially when you squeaked and quickly picked up your head, realizing what you had done.

"It's quite alright to lay your head against me, I'm sure you're tired." She said

"A-are you sure?"

"I'm sure, don't worry."

With her reassurance, you carefully laid your head against her again. Kouyou hummed and gently pet your hair. Her letting you allowed you to relax. No longer in pain and now comfortable against Kouyou and her warmth, it didn't take you long to fall asleep. When she noticed, she smiled softly and summoned Golden Demon to fetch the two of you a blanket. The ability gently spread the blanket over you and her. She gave a content sigh and eventually she was lulled in to sleep with you.

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cheuwing · 3 years

Note

First of all: Thank you very much for your metas! I have a question about the role of Greg in tjlc. What exactly is he doing? Is he a good one or a baddy? Any space for Mystrade in tjlc?

Hello dear,

Thank you so much for your message! I was surprised to receive a question after such a long absence (a very nice surprise!). I don’t know if you’ll read my answer; hopefully it will find you well. :)

It is a very interesting question... I haven’t rewatched every single episode with a focus on Greg (I might do it later!), so feel free to take my view with a pinch of salt.

First of all: I adore Gavin Greg Lestrade! He is such an amazing, complex character in the series. I believe it is clear that Greg is on the good side. Actually, I think each character mentioned on the rooftop scene as targeted by Moriarty is explicitly good: John Watson, Mrs Hudson, Greg Lestrade. (Every other speculation is fair game, but these three are unquestionably good) The show never questions their loyalty either. Greg might be disgrunted sometimes, but he’s always there to help and support Sherlock (the “maximum back up” scene at the beginning of TSOT comes to mind). Furthermore, he is the very first one who talks about Sherlock’s side: “Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.” To me, these elements prove without the shadow of a doubt that Greg is, in fact, good.

Also, according to Sherlock:

That’s all the proof I need! x)

Now, regarding Greg’s role in TJLC... My personal opinion is that he serves as a mirror. Typically, a mirror for Sherlock:

detective, keen on solving cases,

clever,

good coat, and similar clothes in general,

quits cigarettes at the same time as Sherlock (showing their matching patches in ASIP), both are seen with - unlit - cigarettes in their mouth in s3,

willing to bend the rules a little bit to solve his cases - namely by calling a “consulting detective”,

blunt and a bit ruthless (his introduction scene in which he is uncomfortable, possibly annoyed, in front of the media and deadpans “Don’t commit suicide” while Sally plays Watson’s role as social facilitator)

solving a case or saving a friend is more important than taking credit,

a bit of a drama queen (... that “maximum back up” scene comes to mind again xD),

lovely interactions with John in which they tend to be very honest and a bit arseholy (”NOT REALLY”)... (also: taking care of him and bringing Sherlock memorabilia in Many Happy Returns), a few moments of them working perfectly in sync (that action walk shot in HLV)

... among other things!

Interestingly, I think it’s fair to say that Greg is associated to John in some aspects (public servants, caring arseholes, both of them striving to guide Sherlock on the side of the angels, mindful of Sherlock’s emotions & thoughts process... Betrayed by their wives. Even on a visual level: action walk in HLV, shooting scene in THOB, in which, hilariously, even though John shoots second, he manages to catch his target => metaphors!!!)

I personally believe that Greg serves to show how a real, uncomplicated friendship with Sherlock (or John, for that matter) would work. He has no problem hugging him when he comes back (something John is unable to do, because he is overwhelmed with too many conflicting emotions... also, they’re not alone). Talking about emotions and such is easier between them too (Greg doesn’t hesitate to ask about John when Sherlock brings Molly for the case). They still bicker, argue and even play jokes on one another like John & Sherlock do (Lestrade never hesitates to film Sherlock on his phone, or to force him to wear a security blanket). Same goes between John & Lestrade: the friendship is much smoother/more wholesome than with Sherlock, because no one has to rein desire/unspoken emotions in. I mean, as @just-sort-of-happened highlighted it in this post: Greg provides a contrast to John's attraction to Sherlock.

So there you go: to me, Greg is a mirror for Sherlock and his interactions with both John & Sherlock serve as a contrast between the wholesome friendship that could be and the complicated relationship with lots of hidden desires, unspoken things and general sense of constrinct that these two have.

I also believe that Greg is a sort of mentor to them? He is the one who guides onto the right path, the one who is concerned, who is proud (his proud daddy expressions give me life), and I guess, who experiences things first (he has already worked on the cases before he presents them to Sherlock - and usually has failed -, he shoots the hound first - and fails -, he was married before John - and... you get the jist). I feel like Greg will start his grand relationship before Johnlock and in a sense, will show them the way.

As for the grand relationship in question... I love Mystrade. I really do. If it becomes canon, I’d be very happy. (Also, I could totally see Mark Gatiss thrilled to pose with Rupert Graves, his crush from Maurice, as his fictional lover ^^). Greg has been associated with John enough that I could see their relationship as a mirror for Johnlock. (and I certainly love this trope in fanfics!) I would be more than satisfied with Mystrade (also... if it happened after years of queerbaiting issues? two gay couples? with Gatiss, creator of the show, playing a character in a homosexual relationship? That could be pretty cool).

However, I have to say that I’m not really convinced it will happen in the show? It seems to me Mycroft is very much presented as an asexual character, or, at the very least, someone who doesn’t understand sex at all (the allusions with Lady Smallwood show how uncomprehending he is on the subject, and not just in a ‘gay man approached by a woman’ kind of way. Contrast with Sherlock in ASIP, being able to say ‘women are not my area’, ‘I know it’s fine’ and ‘while I’m flattered by your interest....’). In Sherlock’s mind palace, Mycroft serves as “the mind”, cold, logical, rational, in contrast to John “the heart”, emotion-focused, soft. In the Mayfly Man deduction, Mycroft insists on intricate planning, intent... whereas John focuses on sex right away. Thus, I personally see Mycroft as very remote from the concept of sexuality.

I personally see another likelier (in the context of the show) love interest for Greg: Molly Hooper. If Greg is an obvious mirror for Sherlock, Molly is an obvious mirror for John (I mean, very explicitly... And also at the wedding). There is already a history of interest between the two, at least from Greg’s part. Remember the gaping mouth at Molly’s dress at Christmas? How the camera framed them as a couple at the wedding, while Tom was obviously discarded as a serious lasting boyfriend for her? To be fully honest, I would probably be slightly annoyed at Molly’s character development if she goes out with another Sherlock mirror, but... It would make sense. She said it herself: she has a type. And I’d argue that Greg is a much more wholesome mirror for Sherlock, and he’s obviously interested in her. I think the writers already paved the road for this romance, so it seems likelier to me. I guess we will wait and see :)

To sum up => I ADORE Greg Lestrade. I hadn’t explored my thoughts on him for a long time before I received your message and had the perfect opportunity to do so. It is a joy to study his character and role in the story. To me, he is unquestionably good (like Mrs H & John). He is a fascinating mirror for Sherlock, and a great friend who shows what an uncomplicated friendship with John & Sherlock would look like. I’d definitely be happy to see Mystrade on screen (and these versions of Mycroft and Greg would certainly work well together! I think Greg would love to tease Mycroft like John does sometimes -> cue to hilarious expressions). I personally don’t think the writers would go there, but who knows? That could be very satisfying. I think a likelier mirror for Johnlock will be provided with Molly/Lestrade. Either way, Lestrade might very well be the one to show John & Sherlock the way to love. I’m curious to see how they will show it :)

Hopefully this will be a satisfying answer. Take care, dear! (And feel free to share your thoughts with me on the matter :) )

#TJLC #tjlc meta #greg lestrade #molly as a mirror #johnlock #my meta #mycroft and sex #Mycroft Holmes #greg as a mirror

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rokutouxei · 3 years

Text

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 6 OF 22

Take hands. There is no love now. But there are hands.

- Laura Riding Jackson, "Take Hands".

When she first started hanging out with Theo and Arthur, Theo had left with her one piece of advice—one very, very important piece of advice: “If you’ll only ever listen to one thing I say, let it be this one: do not owe Arthur a favor, ever.”

Of course, in the usual Theo fashion, he did not give her any sort of context about it, no explanation as to how he had come to that very grave conclusion. Except that he knew he was right. And she was going to ask, but after hearing Arthur’s triumphant laughter at having overheard that—well, maybe the mystery was a little more than worth it.

And just like that, she had tucked that advice off at the back of her mind.

So now, she’s in the bookshop again, 2:00 pm on a Sunday, holding Arthur by the hand asking him a favor.

“Please, please, please, pretty please Arthur?” she begs, shaking his hand side to side as she goes. It is the midterm season now, and leaving your fellow students on their own isn’t really a thing in this university. Where possible, everyone is gathering to have group studies and teaching sessions. She figures Arthur could afford her one. Or seven. “You’ve taken his class, haven’t you? The infamous worst professor of the College of Arts.”

Of course, Arthur has. If he’s going to kind-of-not-really minor in Literature, the way he’ll do it is the way he loves the best: the hardest, most challenging way. Of course, that means he got the toughest classes out of the way first.

“Hardly the worst, love,” he says, with a mock-flip of non-existent long hair. “I’d say that fancy fake British accent woman teaching poetry is much worse than that bloke, but that could only be because I couldn’t stand what she was doing to the syllables.”

“Yeah, sure but—that’s not the point,” she says. “Look, I need a recommendation letter from this grumpy, wrinkled banana of a professor, and I’m not getting it unless I pass his exam. But you know how his exams are, he teaches you the English alphabet and then quizzes you in Spanish kind of exams, I just need to prepare properly and—well,” Dazai’s face flashes before her eyes, “you’re the most reliable one I could ask for? Please?”

Arthur lets out a small overdramatic sigh that’s really entirely theatrics. She knows better. “Here’s to me rescuing your sorry little ass, little miss. I’ll help you, but I have two conditions.”

“Yay!” she claps her hands excitedly and grins. “Yes, any! Give me!”

“First, you’ll owe me one favor.”

“Yes, sure, got you,” she nods.

(From the counter, she hears Theo murmur: “You have made the worst mistake of your entire life,” but she ignores it.)

“And—you’ll bring my old chap Theo.”

“What?”

She and Theo both look up at the same time.

And answer at the same time.

“What?” “Wait, wait, why is he coming?”

Arthur laughs. “Are you both so against it?”

“No, I’m just—curious?” she hesitates. “Does he even want to go?”

Theo and Arthur take a moment to glare at each other, which at this point you already know is the equivalent of them doing a high five or a handshake—it’s pretty much harmless.

Arthur’s flat smile turns into a big grin. He sing-songs: “Theo~”

“I can’t owe you a favor for asking you to shut up,” Theo says.

But Arthur is brimming with confidence when he says, “Well, no, it was a favor to me, so you’ll need to respect it.”

And Theo knows that resisting Arthur just spells trouble, so he settles for glaring even sharper, larger daggers into Arthur’s face, but does not argue: “Klootzak.”

And the Brit grins. “That’s why you shouldn’t try and owe me anything, old chap.”

She blinks and wonders what is going on.

Of course, work in the bookshop doesn’t end, and there are more and more customers looking for supplementary readings (or even distractions) so Theo and Arthur only get to join her after the shop closes at 5:00 pm. She’s announced that she’ll be studying every day at the Little Owl, the café Vincent works in, and Arthur had gleefully agreed to follow instead of having her move places. Besides, Arthur insists he cannot work without the taste of the coffee the cute barista (“not Vincent,” Arthur promises Theo) makes for him. Theo sighs, longing for the quiet and Arthur-lessness of the College of Business’ library, but decides to follow through with his promise.

Theo was alone at the bookshop today—Monday, Arthur’s day off—and so only follows suit to her and Arthur at the café once his shift ends. Vincent’s shift at the café ends an hour earlier than Theo’s at the bookstore, so the two brothers just miss narrowly miss each other. Which is a good thing, because even if Vincent already knows, he would be a little bit horrified if Vincent saw him headed to the two rascals already there. Is this who his brother thinks he hangs out with? No, Vincent, they are the exception, he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to argue with his brother during work.

“Why hello there, dear slave of capitalism,” Arthur greets happily. He’s wearing the glasses he wears when “he’s taking the world seriously,” the one Theo asked him to wear more often, for god’s sake.

Theo shakes his head. “We are slaves to the same bookshop, Arthur.”

“A really good bookshop!” she pipes up, looking up from her little studying set-up just as she finishes writing something down. In front of her, she has an old book borrowed from the library laid out on a book stand, a standing pencil case with all sorts of markers and pens, a notebook, and a little notepad to scribble on. Then, she points at Arthur with her pen. “I know you said don’t owe Arthur favors, but this doesn’t seem to be that bad an idea.”

“It will eventually be,” he says nonchalantly. “Well, don’t let me interrupt in your studying?”

“He’s actually done tutoring me for today,” she says, “so we can actually study on our own now.”

“But together,” Arthur insists. “That was my condition. Also, are you not forgetting something, little bird?”

Theo blinks. She pauses and then gasps. “Oh right! Right!”

She pulls out a lunchbox.

This isn’t entirely surprising on its own, because the two of them had decided to work for a good amount of time, and it might be cheaper to bring your own food than buy over and over again at the counter, even if it’s just a cookie or two. It’s midterms season so the café allows outside food, if for the sanity of its usual customers.

Except.

“I brought these for you, Theo.”

For Theo? But it’s nearly dinnertime, and he won’t be here for long…

Theo cautiously takes the lunchbox but doesn’t open it.

“This isn’t poisoned, is it?” he asks—jokingly.

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Oh, if I wanted to off you, Theo, there are better ways. Open it up, won’t you?”

And Theo does; pops open the little container to peer at what’s inside, and—

The lunchbox has pancakes inside.

Not full-sized pancakes, but small ones the size of poached eggs, fluffy and golden. Theo flushes.

“A little angel told me you liked them,” she says, grinning at his expression.

Theo realizes how transparent he has been about it and glares at Arthur in response. Arthur looks as remorseless as ever to his misery, but—does not claim the act with a smirk or a holler.

But the surprise isn’t over yet, because then she takes out of her bag the smallest commercially-available bottle of his favorite brand of syrup, giving it to Theo. And with a smirk in her voice, she says, “Can’t have pancakes without this, no?”

Theo’s ears are aflame , a deep red. Of course his own brother would betray him. Always looking out for him in the best of ways and then betraying him in the most expected of ones.

Theo takes the pancakes with a gruff Thank you that seems to be enough for her, and then the three of them return to their studying. Not that he does it entirely well that day, because has trouble focusing on his studies at all thinking of how delicious the pancakes she’s brought him actually are.

They study together the rest of the week.

It rains on Tuesday, and the café is more crowded than usual. For the first of three hours they spend there, it is only her and Theo, heads turned low into their thick books. Arthur arrives late because he said he had to take a detour for a “sweet skirt” from the medical department. Theo asks if it’s one of his professors he’s trying to talk into giving him a passing grade for his piss-poor efforts. Arthur does not deny. They pick up dinner at a local convenience store before heading their separate ways home on their respective bikes.

It is still raining on the evening of Wednesday, and Arthur and Theo have to run (without umbrellas, because—well, because they’re idiots) the distance from the bookshop to the café where she is waiting, jumping in between eaves and doing their best not to end up too drenched. Not that it works out that well, because she still looks at them pitifully before ordering the both of them coffee for their little misery. They dry off pretty well though, but they don’t get to stay too long because she insists they go home and actually dry off properly before they get sick.

Arthur finally takes their little study session a little seriously for himself on Thursday. Their usual spot—her favorite spot, mind you—is occupied when they arrive, so they’re camped out at a long table, she and Arthur sitting side by side and Theo across the both of them. Theo’s brought bound books for the past few days, but today he has sheaves of papers (readings, perhaps) and a leather-bound notebook (“That’s when you know he’s down for srs bsns,” Arthur says, and she asks how the hell he was able to say it like it was type-speak in real life). Arthur’s no different, with his thoroughly annotated medical anatomy books sitting in front of him, glasses on his nose.

But Theo… Theo is so distracting.

When they decide to study separately—that is, when Arthur isn’t clarifying a particularly complicated concept or Theo isn’t helping her out by quizzing her—the three of them work side by side in comfortable silence, all working with an earpiece or two on to at least dull the sound of the rest of the café working in their own little worlds. So this isn’t exactly odd; they’ve been doing this since Monday, after all, and if she were to be honest, she’d enjoy it if they did this a little more often in the future, if possible.

So then why… is she so distracted?

Why does she keep looking up from the poem she’s turning upside down with annotations and notes and markings to see if she can sneak a discreet glance at Theo, his eyes trained on the things he is studying? Why does she keep looking hoping she can stare at least a few more seconds at the unusual side of him, none of the crease marks on his forehead when he’s being rude or sarcastic, just concentration, deep blue eyes not straying from the pages through the rim of his glasses. And oh—Theo with glasses is such a sight! She’s not interested in him in that way—no—but by god, does he look different with glasses. Maybe she’s just gotten so used to Arthur with glasses that it doesn’t strike much in her, but Theo—

“Stop staring at me,” Theo huffs, looking up at her and meeting her gaze. His bangs are pulled to the side where he’d brushed them off, the back end of his hair standing a little cutely upwards because he was fiddling with the nape of his neck earlier with his pen, and—well.

It’s hard to not be blown away when he looks like that.

“Oh shit, sorry,” she says, snapping out of it with a shake of her head. Getting caught is such a rookie mistake! “I was zoning out.”

Arthur chuckles next to her. She and Theo pretend not to have heard him.

On Friday, she and Arthur decide to go have a little quizzing session to prepare her for the oral part of her exams. (“Hehe, oral.” “Shut the fuck up won’t you, Arthur?”) They get Theo to work with them as the scorekeeper. She gets a good percentage of the questions right (80%) but she still does not feel confident enough about it. She turns back to work on her laptop with Theo sipping coffee by her side as Arthur leaves to go on a dinner date with said sweet skirt from Monday. Theo repeats the joke, and this time Arthur says, “And what if it is?” They do not know if he is joking, at this point.

When their usual time to go has struck, Theo closes the book in front of him and stretches a little, bending his neck side to side. She turns to him and frowns.

“Look, I know I asked you yesterday we could do the book club today but… can we just skip it to next week instead? I’m really fried after today.”

“That’s fine,” he says, but then pauses. “You work too hard. I didn’t really expect to do it today.” He sips from his already-cold mug of coffee.

“Hey, I actually wanted to do it, alright? I just—I’m writing a short paper on 19th century literature right now” she answers. “For my portfolio. I’m submitting it as an extra right after the exam, and I want it done so I can focus on studying for the exam afterward.”

So that’s why she’s been typing away on her laptop with not much pause after Arthur left. “Portfolio?” he narrows his eyes. “Applying for something?”

“Yeah, the OSR’s scholarship.”

“The international one.”

“Yeah, that one,” she confirms. “I’ve been waiting for a bit for them to reveal the requirements and… I don’t know, it feels like it gets longer and more strict every year. I’m trying to up my chances by having a strong portfolio.”

“I see.” Theo pauses, takes in the disappointment still apparent on her face, and sighs. “Look, if you still want to do the book club—we can do it while we walk home.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he nods. “So if you’re tired, then pack up and let’s go. Schiet op.”

“Geez, just give me a sec!”

By the time she and Theo make their way out of the café, the sun is long out of the sky, the street lit in a beautiful shade of warm yellow from the streetlamps. The both of them live roughly in the same area of town—at the southeast residential side, but pretty close to the center, where the café is—but their houses are still around 20 minutes apart by foot. There is, however, the main boulevard that connects their ways home up until a certain point, so they decide to make the most of it by walking the 30 minutes up to that fork in the road even if she did technically have her bike with her.

“Okay, so, book talk, huh?” she says, digging into her bag to find the Kerouac he’d lent her. His copy of On the Road had weathered down rather beautifully over the years; the paper a shade of yellow just right for the eyes, no mottling of the pages, and despite the red matter cover being dog-eared and slightly faded, it’s the kind that’s endearing—the kind a book gets after being held well while being read, and then being kept away so lovingly. With the book in her hands now, she looks near hesitant to even part with the book at all. “Kerouac… was one hell of a read.”

He takes the book she hands back and thumbs it carefully. “What do you think about it?”

“I actually don’t know where to begin,” she says, staring off at the road beyond them. “The contrast of them going to these vast empty places to fill something deep in them...” She sighs, a happy sigh coming out of her. By this point, Theo already knows the kind of face she makes when she’s remembering the hours she spent reading the book—the expression she has right now betrayed that. “And then they were always—well, as with the title I guess—I felt like they were always on the road, even if not literally, then within them?”

Theo nods. “Always going somewhere unknown.”

“Yeah, for sure. It’s not like they were not established right, just that… there were so many possibilities you know? They were talking about crossing America and going from here to there and they seemed to… change with every landscape they went in. And it was exactly all those possibilities that were so fun. You definitely hit that request of mine, because I’m 100% sure all that going away made me want to go away again.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s kinda sad though, that things won’t be as mysterious as back then.” She waves her hand. “What with social media and all.”

“The insight that comes with travel is different now that the world is more connected to one another.”

“And the connection is so accessible!” she notes “Like, one of us can go away but it’s not the end of the world? We can still talk if we wanted to, there are so many ways to do it. And that’s great, but now… now when you go away it doesn’t feel as spiritual an experience? I mean, you can easily Google what a place looks like and…”

Theo turns to her after she abruptly stops. “And what?”

A beat. Two. She hasn’t stopped walking, with her eyes facing in front of her, but her eyebrows are narrowed like she’s carefully choosing how to put what she’s thinking into words. Theo patiently waits throughout the full minute it takes her to speak. “…Do you ever feel like you’re only a visitor in a certain place? Or maybe even anywhere. Like you’re only meant to be there for a few days, a month, maybe a year, but—never in the long term, never for the rest of your life.”

That… isn’t what he was expecting.

But then again, he doesn’t really know what to expect with her around, at this point.

Things are always more than with her.

For a moment, Theo ponders. Sure, he’s had instances feeling uncomfortable in the places he’s in, or maybe acknowledging that there are better places to be—such as when he left their hometown to go here, to follow his brother—but he hasn’t really thought about the rest of it. He’s always imagined the tides would just bring him to places, and he wouldn’t have to work hard to be brought elsewhere; to just let himself be washed ashore to new islands.

“I’m not sure,” he answers, thumbing the side of On the Road once more. He wonders what it was like during Kerouac’s generation—dreaming of a spiritual journey, going out there and exploring the unknown, how so much was left to be learned. How will his generation be remembered? What difference will they make, will they go down in history?

She nods simply. “It’s okay, I’m just the kind of person who likes to think about all this. Sal’s changing views on Dean was… I don’t know how to put it, it’s just like being in a different place, having a different experience with people changes the way you see about them, even if that place is… geographically, and not like a situation. Does that make sense?”

“You have to admit, most of the book doesn’t make sense,” Theo notes.

“…I did hear Kerouac wrote a good portion of it pretty high.”

“Maybe it’ll make sense when you read it high, too.”

They grin at each other, and Theo turns to get the Neruda book out from his bag.

“I’m so close to memorizing the content of this book, with how many times I read it,” he admits, passing the volume over to her. They touch fingers for only the briefest of moments. “Neruda has an interesting way with words.”

She nods. “I still feel bad that I don’t get to read him in his original Spanish because I feel like that makes a difference. The translations are still pretty good though. Any poem you liked particularly?”

“Maybe I Remember You as You Were.”

“Oooh, that’s very romantic,” she says, flipping right to the page he was talking about. “Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning.”

“Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul,” he continues. “The passion in some of his love poems get overwhelming sometimes. I remember You is just the right touch of romance and longing I like in a Neruda.”

“Hmm?” She turns to him curiously. “Mayhaps you’ve already been a Neruda fan from the start?”

“I’ve read him in the past, yes.”

That’s not that surprising, really, considering how much of a household name Pablo Neruda is to literary enthusiasts at this point. One of the more “modern” classics of poetry, arguably. She’s not satisfied with his answer, of course. “Which, pray tell, is your favorite?”

It takes him a moment, biting the inside of his cheek in thought. After a beat, he answers, “Don’t Go Far Off.”

“And you say you’re not a romantic,” she says while shaking her head.

“I am not a romantic.”

“Theo, I know the poem by heart. You can’t tell me that shit isn’t romantic.”

Every minute he spends with her, the more drops of confusion fall onto his mind about himself. And not the bad kind; simply, why is it that she can see him so differently compared to others? What is it about her that she catches what sneaks past others?

He wouldn’t call the poem romantic, but maybe if she says it…

No. Instead, he looks at her. Challenges her. “Prove it.”

“Okay, you start.”

He takes a deep breath before beginning. “Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because—”

“Because—I don’t know how to say it: a day is long and I will be waiting for you.” She doesn’t miss a beat when she answers.

He continues. “As in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”

The way she traces the sounds of the syllables so delicately, like it would shatter if she wasn’t careful with their sound, isn’t missed by him. Does she read all poetry, all literature with this much adoration? “Don’t leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together.”

At this point, Theo is already nodding, very much impressed. “The smoke that roams looking for a home will drift—"

(And together, they say) “Into me, choking my lost heart.”

The two of them look at each other quietly, the poem’s imagery settling in the spaces between them.

In a way that makes them feel content.

He continues. “Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.”

“Don’t leave me for a second, my dearest.”

“Because in that moment you'll have gone so far.”

“I'll wander mazily,” she breathes, “over all the earth, asking—”

Theo sighs. “Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?”

With that, the two of them relish in the silence at the end of the poem, letting it all dissolve into the air like the puffs of smoke from their breath.

“Nice of you to know that start to finish,” Theo says, by way of compliment.

She makes a little mock-bow with her skirt. “Thank you. I also really like that poem as well, actually.”

For some minutes, the two of them share a companionable silence, the moon shining over them, casting a silver glow. It is only when the itch to ask the question becomes too much that Theo finally opens his mouth.

“Why are you so fixated on going away?” he asks.

She stares at him. “What?”

“You’re always talking about the out there and the going away. And now you’re planning to leave for a scholarship—when you get in,” he says. “Have a boner for it?”

She makes a face. “No, what the hell,” she says. “Is it so bad to want a little adventure when you live in such a small town like this?”

“Not really,” he hums. “You strike me as the kind of person who disappears from everyone because you’re chasing something far off into the unknown,” he says.

She opens her mouth, about to say something, before she takes a deep breath to hold it back in. Theo feels like he’s overstepped a boundary he shouldn’t have. But instead of talking back at him or refuting, she says, “That would be a great story for a small Literature major like me, huh?”

It’s a non-answer.

The one Theo knows means there’s a more complex answer—that she’s not just ready to tell him yet.

It’s alright.

He can wait.

A few more minutes pass, this time in comfortable silence. Theo considers small talk, about the bookstore, or Vincent and Arthur, but she looks so deep in thought he decides not too. Sooner than he would have liked, they reach the fork in the road. He stops and turns to her fully.

“Books?”

She blinks as if torn away from a daydream. “Oh right, books. Nearly forgot.”

The two of them pull out the books to exchange from their respective bags; she catches the title The Night Circus in the one he hands her, another dog-eared, well-loved, black book; and she also catches the twitch of his eyebrow in interest when she hands him Atwood’s Dearly.

They keep their books away and fall back into their usual quiet.

“You sure I don’t need to walk you home?”

“It’s a well-lit road. I’ll be fine,” she insists. “I can bike from here to there, it’ll take me three minutes tops.”

He nods, the smallest of smiles on his face. “I’ll see you around, then. I hope you enjoy the book."

This isn’t the first time Theo has lent her a book. And this isn’t the last time Theo will lend her a book, either—if there’s anything about their kind-of friendship she knows for sure, it’s that he’ll need to try harder to get rid of her if he doesn’t like the company.

But somehow, the arrival of the new book in her small, rented dorm room leaves her unbalanced. She knows she has better things to do like her essay for the portfolio and studying for the exam—80% correct for the oral test is pretty good, but not good enough—but she lets the book taunt her anyway.

It is Saturday now, and she places it on her desk with the cover facing up, black and red and white with an intricate illustration of figures. Is it because of the conversation they had last night? It wasn’t odd for their little book discussions to wander into personal territory, because it is true that the way we read books is very much influenced by the things we have experienced in real life, but that one… that felt different. Somehow, it’s as if the both of them had opened up a pandora’s box of—well, something, and all of that is nestled in between the pages of the lent book.

It wasn’t like her wanting to go away was a secret in any way, shape, or form. Friendship with Theo or not, she was meant to leave this place. Or at least, that what she likes to believe. She’s pretty sure she’s mentioned even in the past that this town is too small for her; too little; there is a wider world out there to discover. And it wasn’t like Theo being some sort of hidden romantic was a surprise either—she’s known from the moment he didn’t stop asking her for poetry books. Nothing new was really uncovered last night, but then…

Why can’t she seem to let it go?

Her eyes rest back to the book on her desk. She said she wouldn’t read it until after the oral exam on Tuesday at the very least, but—she has peered into it the night before as she was going to bed, and yet once more this morning.

She’s not sure what it is about yet, but it seems that he’s lent her some sort of fantasy-romance, because she had asked for a book with a magic system in it. (Thinking about the wonders of magic is a great stress-reliever in the midst of exams.) She had expected Theo to be a good level of well-read because he worked at the Hoard—but somehow, he was always blowing away her expectations. Theo is always saying about how weird she is for pursuing him, but isn’t he the weirder one? At least she shows no pretense of being any sort of normal. He does his best to look put together.

Did that big looming man look like the kind of person who would read a novel title The Night Circus?

Not really, not to her. But it’s because he is that kind of person that keeps her so hooked, so interesting. She doesn’t quite know what has happened yet, but—whatever it was that unlocked between the both of them last night, it can’t be that bad. So by 3:00pm, when she said she would be running through drills for her exam, she closes her laptop shut, makes herself some tea, and curls up into her armchair to read.

Just because they get along with each other doesn’t mean they agree with everything.

For example, she’s explained that she’s the kind of person who marathon-reads whatever she can get her hands on, if she finds it interesting enough. It’s not that she doesn’t have patience for reading; she does, and she thoroughly enjoys being lost in a good book. It’s just that she can’t do what the others do when they like a book—read it leisurely, enjoy it from page to page, taste every word like it’s sweet. She’s more of the kind who sits down at eight in the morning with a interesting book and being unable to stand until it’s done in the afternoon. There is no waiting in her vocabulary, only the going.

Oppositely, Theo likes to take his time with his books, the same way one would do a walk. Take the scenic route; enjoy the scenery, take in all the details with your sense. To Theo, reading a book is going into it, getting lost in between the world that is hiding in its pages, and there is no need to rush that. The book is not going anywhere, and he can always open it up and return to where he’d stopped. Theo rarely reads books in one go unless he’s in a rush to do it, like say in a required reading for a class.

So when he sends her a message on Sunday, saying,

[ 9:44 | Theo ] Good book choice this week. Had fun with it

less than 48 hours from the moment she had given him the book…

She yells.

Really loudly. Her next door neighbor pounds on the wall between them, and she shouts out a “sorry!” as she begins typing on her phone.

[ 9:43 ] You finished it already?

[ 9:44 | Theo ] Is that so surprising?

[ 9:44 ] 😊 You don’t understand how happy I am rn

[ 9:45 | Theo ] It’s just a book, relax.

[ 9:45 ] Yea sure but don’t you read slowly on purpose? Kinda thrilled you liked it enough to polish it in one go.

She pauses, hand hovering over her phone, before she writes out another message.

[ 9:46 ] Thanks for telling me. This has def made my day.

And it takes a minute for him to reply, but then he returns:

[ 9:47 | Theo ] Isn’t this what friends do?

Well, let’s say that something in her belly does a flip, and—

It makes her feel weightless.

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

Text

Song of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 15

Song of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because HELLO NEW SPOOKY FRIEND

Last times in book: Kylan, Naia, and Tavra have traveled to the Caves of Grot to find a magic firca that will help them warn all Gelfling about the Skeksis. A Grottan gives them a startle by lurking above a tunnel entrance.

Chapter 15

Kylan and Naia meet with Maudra Argot

"Shadowling,” Tavra growled.

“Silverling,” the strange Gelfling replied, with a casual but equal distaste.

Huh! Time for more Gelfling prejudice.

Its hinted at later this chapter why the Grottan might be annoyed at a Vapran but I have no idea why the Vapran would have strong feelings about the Grottan.

So let’s get a look at our new friend, Amri.

Pulling back his hood, his skin was pale like moonlight, with silky silver hair like Tavra’s, shaved on one side and falling to his shoulder on the other. Had Kylan seen him aboveground, he might have mistaken him for a Vapra - except for his eyes. With his face hidden by the shadow of his hood, Kylan had at first thought he had no eyes at all. Now he could see two, large and black, with no whites in them. It was like looking into one of the inky ponds that dappled the cave’s basin floor.

He had to be Gelfling, based on the shape of his face and body but he held himself differently. Like a river plant, Kylan thought, or maybe even an eel or fish, eerily graceful as he gazed down on them with an unreadable expression. His movements were as fluid as if he were underwater, slow and seamless.

Maybe that’s why the Vapran and Grottan don’t like each other.

They both want to be the pale, white-haired pretty Gelfling clan and are like ‘one of us is going to have to change.’

Speaking of change, I wonder what did between the books and the show.

In the show, the Grottan have a greenish tint to their skin, like the Drenchen. On the topic, Spriton have darker skin in the YA continuity compared to the show. Not a big deal, things got changed around between show and books but I’m wondering if this was a case where the books were working off an earlier version of the series bible.

Having the Grottan be super pale actually does make a lot of sense, since they live in caves. Cave-dwelling creatures tend to be pale because they don’t need as much protection from light.

Naia introduces the group, although omits Tavra’s title since there’s already animosity without it being known she’s the All-Maudra’s daughter.

Amri just stares at the introductions then tells the group to follow him.

Kylan looked up as they passed through the center of the cavern, losing count of the tunnel entrances and walkways. Now that the silence had been broken, eh saw silhouettes of other Grottan Gelfling stepping out of the shadows, gathering in groups of twos and threes on the ledges to watch them pass. They were all ghostly, clothing in black cloaks like their guide. Only their faces, hands, and bare feet showed, slipping in and out of the shadows like starlight.

Ah, so that’s where the whispers were coming from. The peanut gallery.

Naia asks if this is really the Caves of Grot, which Amri confirms but says that the Grottan call it Domrak which Kylan translates as “Place-in-Shadows.”

“A fair translation in the common tongue. Others have called it the Cave of Obscurity. Land-in-Darkness. Hole in Ground. Either way, grot means crypt. Though in truth, nothing has died here.”

I love that one of its names is just. Hole in Ground. Hee.

Kylan decides that Domrak means home, not just place.

Home-in-Shadows has a nice ring to it.

But if grot means crypt, then Caves of Crypt. Which sounds weird.

And could you translate, Grottan as cryptid? Heh.

Amri takes them up a long spiraling stairway and like other parts of the cave, it is just lousy with dream-etching. Kylan reads bits and pieces of stories as they climb.

They reach a triangular archway carved to look like a colony of hollerbats, which sounds amazing. Amri goes in to speak with Maudra Argot and when he pops back out he says that Kylan and Naia can come in but Tavra has to wait outside.

Tavra snorted through her nose, and Kylan wished she hadn’t. If they wanted to gain the trust and alliance of every clan, they would have to be respectful, even if they did not get the same respect in return. Shouldn’t a daughter of the All-Maudra know better diplomacy? Huffing, she turned away and crossed her arms.

“I have no interest in paying respects to a Shadowling bat, anyway,” she said, turning her nose up. “Be quick about it.”

“Don’t start any fights,” Kylan said. “Please.”

Hope springs eternal, Kylan.

The maudra chamber has exposed crystal veins lacing the walls, but with the crystal still showing as clear and pure. The Darkening hasn’t seemed to reach this deep. Possibly the tree protecting them, as in the show.

Seated on the stone floor, cross-legged, was an old Gelfling woman. Her wings were sheer, almost completely transparent, draped out behind her like a crystalline pool. Her eyes were black, like all the Grottan, but bore the mark of time. Her kind, wrinkled face might have seen more than one ninet - if the greater seasons even affected the Grottan clan, so deep in the earth.

Apparently, a ninet is roughly one hundred trine. Wow!

Kylan and Naia very politely introduce themselves.

“It must be important, indeed, for daylighters to bother making the journey into the so-feared Grot. Amri here tells me you have a Vapra with you as well. Has the great Mayrin finally invited us to the Silverling capital? Ho ho hoo! Don’t answer that. I know it is not true. So tell me, children, why do you stray from the daylight?”

She seems fun. I like her.

And reasonably enough, the Grottan dislike the Vapran because the Vapran tend to pretend they don’t exist. Rude.

Kylan tells Maudra Argot that they’re looking for the firca of Gyr the Song Teller and that he read in a book that it was entrusted to the Grottan.

“Oh yes! That. What do you want with Gyr’s bone firca?”

“You have it here?” Kylan cried, forgetting all formality. “It’s real?”

“Of course it’s real. How else did you think all that dream-etching got on the walls? All of us can read here, of course, but it would have taken a whole ninet to do just half the caves the regular way. We don’t have time for that. Yes, yes, the firca is real. It is in the Tomb. Ho ho! But I’m not going to just hand it over to you younglings without an explanation first. Why do you need it? What will you do with it? And so on.”

Score one for a random story you read in a random book!

Of course, they now have the problem of explaining why they need it. If Argot is loyal to the Skeksis, they could be in big trouble. Heck, if she’s like Maudra Fara and just afraid to act, she might refuse to help.

The best way would be for Naia to dreamfast with Maudra Argot to show what she had seen. A conclusion that Naia also immediately comes to.

“Then dreamfast with me. I will show you what I’ve seen. You can decide whether it’s an explanation or not.”

“So you think I’ll trust your memories, no matter what they are?” Maudra Argot asked, tilting her head in the other direction. When she got a confused, uncomfortable silence in reply, she cackled again. “Ho! Don’t answer that, either. I am not afraid of your dreams, little Drenchen. Show me, and we will see where they lead us.”

Hey remember when I said it’d be boring to watch Kylan watch someone else dreamfast and that’s why he had to do it with Rian instead of Naia?

Well, I was wrong. Watching someone else dreamfast takes like a couple seconds.

The maudra let out a long grave hmmmmm.

“You have the gift of dreamfast, that is for certain,” she said. “Never have I seen dreams so vividly... It was almost as if I had my eyes back! Ho ho hoo! What a delight you are, my Drenchen daughter.”

Naia repeats some of the information aloud for Amri’s benefit and says they need the firca to warn all Gelfling.

“The Stonewood will be first, until the forest is empty of their tales and noisy dances. Then the Spriton to the south. Perhaps they will go west next, to the Crystal Sea - perhaps north, to take the capital itself. It is only a matter of time before they come for us, I suppose, even if we are the discarded relish on the banquet tray. Ho ho hoo!”

She described an ugly future, but her chuckle was so light, it was almost the giggle of a youngling.

“Nothing but a garnish on top of a Vapra delicacy!” Amri added. The comment sent the old maudra into a new fit, her little body shaking with laughter.

What a fun, weird old lady.

Kylan and Naia are uncomfortable with how funny she finds the extinction of the Gelfling clans and just sit quietly. Kylan reflects that maybe the situation is so horrible, that there’s nothing to do but laugh but can’t bring himself to join.

“Ho ho ho hooo! Oh, don’t sound so quiet. We’re not making light of the situation. This old maudra has heard many trine come and go. Just when I think I’ve heard it all, the Skeksis surprise me with something new and cruel. I can’t help but think Thra is telling a wicked song-for-laughs... Or maybe it is me who is old and mad and laughing when there are no jokes being told.”

Think about being so old that you think you know everything the world can throw at you and then hearing the most horrible thing you never knew.

I guess maybe all you can do is laugh.

Although, she’s a pretty laughy individual anyway.

Unsure of how to react to any of that, Naia just does Drenchen hard-talk and directly asks for the firca. And adds that its important that the Gelfling come together to resist the Skeksis because they won’t be able to do anything if they’re at odds.

“We Grottan have remained out of the affairs of the daylighters; ours was a different burden to bear, here in Domrak. But you are right. The Skeksis will never want the essence of an old maudra like me, but my children... even the lazy ones like Amri. We are all Gelfling. I’ll give you the firca. I’ll even give you Amri. He will show you to the Tomb of Relics and then go with you to Ha’rar on behalf of our oft-forgotten clan.”

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!

New party member!

Amri is less thrilled than I am, protesting that he doesn’t want to hang out with snooty snoots in Ha’rar but Argot tells him to suck it up. She already knows that he sneaks out of the caves to gather alchemy ingredients and she’s tired of his disruptive experiments.

“Take your maudra’s offer, and come back when you are grown.”

Sweet dunk on Amri.

Then she picks up her weaving which is a polite indication that the conversation is over so Naia and Kylan leave, followed by Amri. Although they hear Argot talking to herself as they leave.

“Damned Skeksis. Your time has come, at long last. Ho ho hoo...”

This was a very productive meeting!

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #Song of the Dark Crystal #liveblog #Kylan #Naia #Tavra #Amri #Maudra Argot

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frywen-bumbles · 3 years

Text

The Way to a Man’s Heart Goes Through His... Cat? Ch3

AO3

As much as Jaskier adores the fact Roach seems to warm up to him, there's one thing he can't stand.

<why>

Jaskier snaps a picture where all that's visible are glowing eyes in the dark, staring down at him and sends it.

<yeah, i'm with Essi, you're on your own>

<don't remind me I'm trying to sleep!!!>

<zzz>

The morning routine is something Jaskier has learned to both love and hate. His alarm rings at 8 like every morning and like possessed Roach jumps on top of him and screams.

"Mmmm yeah, I'm awake, Roach..." Jaskier mumbles and tries to sleep just one more minute. Roach is having none of it. She runs over him, to the door and screams bloody murder and jumps on top of him again.

"Please... Roach... just two... minutes..." Jaskier tries to bury his head under the blankets but Roach walks on top of him and screams again.

"Ugh... you're heavy... Okay, okay, I'm getting up. See Roach, I'm getting up..."

He walks downstairs to feed Roach who keeps screaming and thrilling until her bowl is full and walks back up to brush his teeth.

Roach doesn't take long until she demands to be let in the bathroom, scratching and meowing making her demands known.

"One of these mornings I will get to brush my teeth in peace," Jaskier sighs as Roach curls herself into the sink. This is not one of those mornings.

He checks his phone over morning coffee and is surprised to find a message from Fiona so early.

<Sure, swallow. What do you need?>

Fiona sends him a picture of her math assignment.

Jaskier looks at the math over and starts to explain it in detail. It's somehow endearing how much trust Fiona puts in him and he does not want to ruin it for her. Not that third-grade mathematics is hard, he suspects 'uncle L' just isn't that good at explaining things.

He can't help but venture to reread a different conversation entirely while he waits for Fiona to finish.

A picture of Cat Dad and Fiona. And actual texts after it.

<She's very fine! Quite vocal about what she wants but still lovely!>

And on another day:

Then another selfie with Cat Dad and Fiona, this time taken by Cat Dad. He is very bad at taking selfies, but somehow even that is endearing, despite the man looking like he's a member of a biker gang with the beard and all of the black leather. When he got the first picture, he hadn't even noticed. He had been too distracted by... other things. Jaskier really shouldn't feel this giddy just looking at a picture. Just rereading the texts. But he can't help himself.

The man is clearly crazy about his cat. And what's hotter than a person who loves their pets to the moon and back. Nothing, if you ask Jaskier.

<I'm glad you like the pictures! Like I told you, I'll send one or two every day!>

What Jaskier doesn't tell is feeding the cat cheese every single day to get her brushed. Little treats never hurt anyone.

Fiona sends him a picture of finished assignments.

Jaskier thinks he will melt. While being a tutor wasn't in his job description he doesn't really mind. To him, it's evident what Fiona wants most of all is company and support and he's happy to provide. The family she's staying with is trying their best, Jaskier is sure of it. But from what Jaskier gathers through Fiona's texts, they don't seem to have enough time to look through her school work as much as she wishes they would.

How can two people he's never even met manage to occupy most of he's thoughts?

***

Jaskier has barely put the first forkful of instant ramen in his mouth when he hears the door open.

"Geralt, it's me!"

Jaskier scrambles to meet whoever just walked through the locked door using their own key, what the fuck.

"H-hello...?" he manages to greet through a mouth full of food before he even sees who it is.

Jaskier is not one to be intimidated nor is he one to be at loss for words.

Somehow, the woman in front of him manages to do both. She's gorgeous, her raven hair falling in curls over her shoulders, violet eyes staring straight at him like he's a piece of cheap meat and suddenly Jaskier is keenly aware of wearing nothing but pants and an undershirt, his hair a ruffled mess, hands covered in ink, pencil and pen marks.

"You're one of those... trainees. Melitele forbid, what sort of trash does Geralt drag in here, why aren't you with the old wolf?"

Jaskier opens his mouth to answer but is immediately interrupted.

"No, don't answer that. Where is Geralt, I need to talk to him."

"I... um..." Jaskier gets the feeling this is a person who gets what she wants. She quirks an eyebrow at him expecting an answer and when none come she sighs, a dramatic gesture Jaskier is not sure he could perform better even if he tried.

"Where. Is. Geralt?" she asks like he's an idiot and Jaskier things at this moment he really is.

"He, um... is not here?" Jaskier tries his best. He does. But something about the woman, no matter how beautiful she is, radiates power, like she could crush him without even blinking an eye.

The woman eyes him, up and down and glances behind him to the kitchen. And smiles. It's a small amused quirk of her lips, one that makes Jaskier spin around immediately only to spot Roach sitting on top of his papers, meticulously dropping every single pen to the floor.

"Roach, no!"

Roach meows and jumps down from the table with a mrrrp. She trots to the woman and rubs herself against her legs before she jumps up to her scratching post to stare at them.

Jaskier kneels to collect his pens, muttering curses under his breath.

"You know Roach."

"Um, yeah?" Jaskier mutters as he crawls deeper under the table to reach the pens.

"Soooo, witchers, huh? Interesting topic of research."

Jaskier hits his head on the table.

"Yeah... yeah I. I know it's not the most conventional one but I do find it quite fascinating especially when you look at all of the historical songs..." Jaskier crawls from underneath the table and is met with the woman standing next to him and suddenly he's keenly aware of being in his underwear on his knees on the floor in front of one of the most beautiful women he's ever seen.

He blushes.

He's sure he's never blushed as much as he is right at this moment and he honestly wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

"You're not one of the trainees," the woman says eyeing him, amusement still lingering on her lips.

"No, I'm not," Jaskier admits and tries to get to his feet in a somewhat dignified way. He fails and all of his pens scatter to the floor again. "Fuck..."

"And who are you then?"

"I'm the cat-sitter. Julian." Jaskier gives himself a mental slap. He is an adult person why does he introduce himself like a toddler? "Can I please go put my trousers on?" he pleads. Maybe clothed he'll have a chance to be on equal grounds with the woman.

"Sure."

A few minutes later he comes back down, fully clothed this time, to find the woman sitting by the table and reading his scribbles.

"Um, hello?" Jaskier greets the woman again. She looks up but does nothing to stand up to greet him in return. "Julian Pancratz, the cat-sitter." Jaskier extends his hand to her and she takes it.

"I'm Yen. Geralt is my-... we're... friends. Now, where has that grumpy bastard gone?" The woman - Yen answers and looks at him expecting an answer immediately.

"I honestly don't know, he only told me it's work-related. I've never even met him. I was recommended by a friend of his who is also a client of mine. He occasionally answers the texts I send him, maybe you could try to reach him by phone?"

"He answers your texts? What did you do, enchant him?" Yen sounds honestly baffled and it makes Jaskier feel bad. She obviously has some sort of history with the Cat Dad so the least he could do is answer her.

"He only answers every now and then. I don't think it was even his idea to reply."

Yen smiles, a true smile this time, not just an amused quirk of lips, "You're probably right." She picks up one of the papers again and taps it, "Ever met a real witcher?"

"No, I haven't. I've just always found the stories interesting... I have plans for real research for my doctoral thesis as soon as I manage to finish my master's degree, I just need to get around to figuring out... well pretty much everything outside of the basic structure. I already know all of the material by heart, it's just... just look at this, how can someone write something so vile about people who work to keep us safe from monsters? And this here..." Jaskier rummages through the piles of papers and pushes the ones he meant on Yen's hands, not waiting for her to answer. "And look, I even came up with this account of someone killing a witcher after he had finished a job for them, just the audacity of it all!" He glances up at Yen, suddenly keenly aware he is probably either boring her or making her uncomfortable with all of this talk about monsters and monster hunters. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't bore you with this..." He reaches to take the papers from Yen's hands but she holds them out of his reach.

"No, you're not boring me at all. Please, tell me more about your current paper?"

Yen proves to be a far better company than Jaskier first thought. At the end of their discussion and a few cups of tea later, Yen turns the conversation back to him.

"Why do you live here? Wouldn't it be easier to write in your own place?"

"Oh, you know, roommates..." Jaskier mumbles, avoiding Yen's eyes. No way in hell is he going to tell a complete stranger he sleeps in his friends' sofas and in the musicology society's guild room at the uni when he can't find anyone to room him between jobs. His parents already think him a failure, no need to add a complete stranger to the mix.

"Hmm," Yen agrees and stands up. "I feel I have held you long enough. Good luck with your thesis. Here is my number, call me if you get into any trouble while you're staying here." Yen scribbles a phone number on the edge of one paper with a bright red pen she picks up from the floor.

"Um... what trouble?" Jaskier asks, suddenly wary. "I have only told one person the address like was the deal? I haven't told them anything else, I'm not in danger, right? This isn't some mob bosses hideout or something? I'm in trouble, aren't I? Melitele's tits, Essi will kill me..."

"Calm down, no trouble. Just... if anything comes up, like bills or something and you can't reach Geralt. He can be unreachable for days." Yen smiles at him, an uneasy smile, not quite reaching her eyes.

"Oh, okay, yeah, that's. That's good..." Jaskier feels so stupid. Not only has he managed to be half-naked while Yen walked in, but now he has also made a complete ass out of himself.

"Take care of Roach," Yen says as a goodbye and walks out of the door. Jaskier rushes to say goodbye but when he reaches the door, she's already gone.

Come night Jaskier is surprised how much he has managed to work on his thesis. Talking about it with someone made writing so much easier, even when most of the talk was him ranting about the unfair treatment of witchers which will never end up in the final paper.

He grabs something to eat before bed and spots Roach. She sits facing the front door, waiting for someone to walk through it.

It breaks Jaskier's heart.

Roach has done it every night, giving up only after Jaskier has gone to bed to crawl on the other side of the bed to stare at him.

Jaskier snaps a picture of Roach and sends it despite the late hour.

Jaskier doesn't expect an answer.

That. That is too cute. Jaskier can't handle it, he just can't.

"Roach, your owner is a big old sap and he wanted me to tell you he's sorry and he loves you, okay?" Jaskier tells her from a respectable distance away. Roach looks at him and meows pitifully.

"I know, girl. I'm sure he misses you as much as you miss him. Come on now, I'm going to bed, you can come and stare at me until I fall asleep."

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #cirilla fiona elen riannon #Yennefer of Vengerberg #frywen writes

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claymorecut · 4 years

Text

Patrol

A/N: It's been ages since I Iast wrote a GinTsu fanfic. So, yeah. Here I am. Back with another gintsu fic I’ve been working on. I still am not very confident about my writing so...yeah. I'm sorry if the characters look too OOC. Hope you guys enjoy my somewhat average(?) writing ^_^!

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

Tsukuyo’s patrols were nothing new to Gintoki.

Whether it was before the war or after, looking after Yoshiwara and Hinowa’s safety was her first priority. Everytime he visited, for one reason or another, he would see her, talk to her, have his usual silly argument and by nighttime hear her say “I’m out for patrol” to Hinowa before leaving the teahouse.

Yeah, it was her routine. Work. Some peace of mind. And then again, work. Really, was that woman going to work herself to death!?

It was gonna be the same this evening as well when Gintoki decided to visit Yoshiwara, simply because he was getting bored in his house all alone when the kids were away and he had nothing to do, literally. Arriving, he found Seita and Hinowa alone in the teahouse doing their work.

No signs of the drunk terminator.

It had happened before, many times, when he would visit and she wouldn’t be present, running across the district to chase away criminals. After all, unlike him, she was a pretty busy woman. And yet, he couldn’t held onto his curiosity a little longer.

“So, where is she?” Gintoki asked, sipping tea from his cup.

“Who knows."Hinowa replied. "She went out during noon, telling me she had some business to attend. But hasn’t returned yet.”

Gintoki continued to eat his dango while staring at the crowded street. Even Hinowa didn’t know where she was, and even if she did he wasn’t going to dig any further. It wasn’t his place to pry, after all.

“I think she visited his grave today.”

Hinowa’s words caught his attention as he stared back at her with his usual dead eyes. “It’s been four years today you know.”

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

It was night by the time Gintoki finally decided to leave the tea house. Really, Hinowa perfectly knew how to bribe him with her oh-so-sweet smile and four strawberry parfaits. Smiles aside, he could never say no to parfaits! And so, he got stuck with Seita, helping him with his studies.

And the whole time, still no sign of Tsukuyo.

It was late already and Gintoki wasn’t really planning to stay the night there just for her sake. When Hinowa told him about her visit outside, he knew pretty well. No matter what happened that day, she still considered him her master. And forgave him for his sins as well. After all, he knew that feeling pretty well too.

Walking down the streets, he kept his gaze forward, glancing at the rooftops once in a while just to check whether she was there yet or not. Finally, he found someone standing on the rooftop of one of the high-top buildings, her figure glistening with moonlight as she took another puff from her kiseru. Without giving a second thought, he turned around that building to meet the infamous leader of Hyakka.

The least he could do was say hello.

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

A gust of cold breeze relieved the night sky as the chitter-chatter continued on the streets of the former City of Nights. Amongst the voices and laughs was the sound of a certain someone wheezing in pain as he climbed the final step of the building.

Even the great Shiroyasha was no match against one hundred and fifty stairs. Seriously, where are the elevators in this building!?

Finally reaching the rooftop while cursing and panting, Gintoki stood there with one of his hand on his right knee and other on the rooftop door as he tried to calm his racing heart. He really didn’t want to admit it but he was growing old after all. Catching up his breath, he looked at the woman standing in front of him. Her back facing him as she continued to stare at the starry night sky, with the crescent-shaped moon shining above, partially lightening their surrounding.

“Out for patrol?"Gintoki asked, after finally composing himself.

Tsukuyo turned around in surprise to find the silver-haired samurai looking at her way. "Watcha doin’ here”?

"I guess I was the first one to ask."he replied, walking towards her.

Tsukuyo glared back as he now stood beside her. "Just had some business ta take care of.” She replied anyway.

Gintoki hmmed at her response. “What ‘bout ya? What brought ya here tonight?” She asked.

Grinning, he turned around to look at her with his response prepared. “Oh, nothing. Just thought you ladies must be missing your Gin-san so here I am. Paying you ladies a visit.”

Tsukuyo just smirked at his cocky response. “Ya were alone and gettin’ bored, weren’t ya?”

Gintoki couldn’t help those red fumes warming up on his face with embarrassment as she completely saw through his childish lie. “Yeah, yeah. I was getting bored and so just came here to look for some company.” He pouted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Got a problem with that?”

Tsukuyo could just smiled at his child-like behaviour. “Not at all.”

Gintoki glanced at the smiling woman as a peaceful silence soon surrounded them.

“So, how are you doin’?” He finally decided to speak.

“Same as ever.” Tsukuyo replied. “Got a lotta work ta do."

"You’re gonna work yourself to death, woman.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Gintoki rolled his eyes at her response. “Yeah. After you end up in some hospital bed.”

Tsukuyo lightly chuckled at his concerned behaviour. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

"Fine." He exhaled in defeat. Silence soon felp over between them as both continued to gaze at the former City of Night.

It was always like this; she was always like this. Strong-willed and determined, always trying to hold up on her own while a wall surrounded her. No matter how much someone tried, she would always keep that stoic face of hers, not letting anybody to see her vulnerable side. Not even to that man who’d seen her at her most broken state. Four years and still hasn’t changed.

“Hinowa was worried, ya know.” This caught Tsukuyo’s attention. “You skipped work today and haven’t been home since morning. It’s not like you.”

Tsukuyo heard the concern in his voice as guilt rushed over her. “Yeah…I just had somethin’ to do.” She replied, looking the other way.

Gintoki could easily detect the reluctance in her voice. Of course, she would do that. Feel guilty about it. The last thing she wanted to do was make anybody worry. Especially when she was being the center of their worry. He finally turned around to look at the woman standing beside him. “You’re killing yourself, you know that?”

It was Tsukuyo’s turn to look at him. And their eyes finally met.

“You can talk about things if you want.”

She always failed, always, when she found herself looking at those ruby irises as Tsukuyo could feel all her worry escape her mind, her walls slowly crumble, as she laid exposed in front of him again. But before it got too late, she caught up again, breaking herself free from that unnamed trance. Crossing her arms, she spoke in her usual monotonous voice. "Says the man who does exactly the same.”

Really. Now she was just getting on his nerves. “You’re being way too stubborn.”

“And you’re bein’ overly concerned.”

“Well, shouldn’t I be?”

For a second, Gintoki saw her flat, cold eyes dilate, a sense of guilt and..grief clouding her vision. But soon she turned away, no more facing him. Same. Always the same.

She really didn’t want to face him now of all people. “What do ya want, Gintoki?”.

“Nothin’.” Gintoki shrugged. “Just checking on a friend, that’s all. Unless…..you wanna go on a different route.”

“Just shut up.” Tsukuyo rolled her eyes at his very suggestive joke but the little smile that curled up on her lips was hard to resist. Afterall, he was always like this; would appear out of nowhere, crack lame jokes and make her smile at times where all she could think of was running away. Four years of being in love with this lazy-ass samurai, and she always ended up thinking this must be the craziest thing she had ever done in her entire life.

“So, where were you the whole day?” Gintoki asked, facing her yet again.

Just like always, straight to the point. “I visited Shishou’s grave today.”

“Oh.”

“It’s been four years today.” Although her voice reminded cold, her eyes spoke something else.

She still blamed herself for everything. Like always.

He remembered everything. Her bruised face, the fight with Jiraiya and the promise that he once made to her.

She killed her master to protect him. Back when Jiraiya stood behind him with his kunai ready in that abandoned temple, ready to stab him anytime. He knew he was a coward, just like that man. Running away from his cursed fate, running away from that pain. Running away from that one beautiful thing that he always wanted to protect. He remembered hearing a kunai stabbing, piercing the skin while the scent of fresh blood covered the entire room. Gintoki knew it was not him bleeding; and it was not Jiraiya who threw that kunai.

He remembered that look on her face. He remembered looking at her, as if he was looking at himself. Broken. And empty.

“That wasn’t your fault.” Gintoki didn’t know what he was saying but he just wanted to say something. He knew how heavy the burden was and now that she was here, he just didn’t want her to carry that all alone. "Please don't blame yourself, Tsukuyo."

It's not like Gintoki never called her by her name but it was still so rare. Their usual banters always made him call her a "hag" or "bitch" (and she'd stick to "perm head" or "bastard") and even when they're having a miraculous normal conversation like this, he preferred calling her "Tsukki", the beloved pet name that Kagura gave her, only to rile her up even more.

He preferred calling her Tsukuyo only when he was actually being serious.

"Thanks, Gintoki." Tsukuyo replied, a sorrowful smile forming on her lips.

From the corner of his eyes, Gintoki saw the stoic woman, her gaze still fixated on the city but a glint of regret and sorrow filling her eyes. She was a lady of few words; he knew she was never going to open up in front of anyone, let alone him. She might show the world that she was holding herself together but he knew too well how much she was hurting right now.

And right now, more than anything, he wanted to see her smile. Why, he had no idea, but his mind itched to look at her smiling face. It was rare but everytime she did smile in front of him, he couldn't help but just pray to whatever Gods that existed to let her smile like this more often. He didn't know what kind of magic her smile held but for some reason, he always found himself looking forward to that one smile. And deep down, before he even knew it, he found himself wanting to make her smile.

"I envied you."

Those words slipped his lips before he could even register it properly in his brain.

At his unusual confession, Tsukuyo found herself turning towards that man.

Gintoki couldn't understand why he decided to say this now out of all times. "Back then," he continued "I envied you. For how you strong really are."

Tsukuyo couldn't help the confounded look on her face as she heared him say those words.

"If it's the teacher's duty to carry the burden of their student then what's the student's duty? To grow strong enough to help carry the teacher's burden." Gintoki quoted her words; remembering her figure as she carried her master on her shoulder for the last time. "I always pushed people away, just like that man. I didn't want to bear that burden of losing anyone anymore. There was a time when I lost everything while protecting everything. And so I blamed myself. And the world. And even at times, the people I once cherished the most. Even when I met the kids and everyone else, I still felt like running away. I was still scared. And not strong enough to carry that burden. But that night," he took a deep breath, composing himself "you taught me something. Something which I was never able to understand. Or should I say, I didn't want to understand."

He glanced towards the woman standing beside him, her eyes bewildered and questioning as a small smile curled up on his lips. "I envied you because I realised I could never become like you. And that how kind and strong you really are and how much you've taught me. Those words, they were something that I guess I always wanted to hear. And this time, I was able to understand. So, thank you. For teaching me that."

Tsukuyo didn't know what to say.

She continued to look at the man with wide eyes as her heart soon was swelled with a number of overwhelming emotions. The amount of gratitude and respect that he expressed for her and how his kind words left her speachless; she wanted to thank him too. She wanted to thank him for all that he had done for them. For her. She wanted to scream, cry, smile and even jump in his arms because she knew how much it pained him to talk about his past. But still he remained there, trying to cheer her up. He always did. And she loved him for that.

"...I see." She replied, her eyes now looking down because she wasn't able to look at that man. "It's good ta hear that."

Gintoki's words must have boosted her spirits up but it wasn't always when he'd just come out of nowhere and start showing his gratitude towards her. And she still wasn't used to getting compliments from anyone, let alone him. And now, if she did look at him now, she knew she'd turn red or maybe even start crying because suddenly, her heart and mind was a mess. She was completely exposed, completely vulnerable under his gaze. However, it was her pride which helped her gain a little composure.

"So, ya were able ta carry the burden, huh?" She asked, calming herself a little.

"Yeah." He smiled, thinking of all the events that happened. He remembered his father, his friends, the kids, all the other people who stayed by him. And then there was her, standing right beside him. "Yeah, I was."

"Good ta hear that." She smiled, taking a puff from her kiseru and exhaling lightly as she tried to regain her composure. But before she could even let the heat escape her cheeks, she found herself pulled towards a warm chest as strong, wide arms held her close.

"Ginto-" she stammered, but was cut soon after.

"Shut it."

Tsukuyo heard the man whisper softly in her ears as her hand dangled awkwardly on her sides. His strong arms were wrapped around her torso as he pulled her closer. She was too surprised to give any kind of reaction at this point.

He didn't know what came to his mind. Maybe it was the stoic face which hid hundreds of wounds behind it. Or maybe it was her ice-cold eyes which had a look of surprise when he thanked her for all she had taught him. Or maybe the fact that how she'd take another smoke from her pipe just to relax herself a little. The little changes that he found himself looking at every single time he met her; how even after all those years, she never let herself see anyone. Even when they were burying Jiraiya's body next to his sister's at the cliff, her face and eyes remained unchanged. Even when she was betrayed, even when she suffered so much, she always remained strong and kind; she carried so much weight on her shoulders all alone and yet she never let herself fall apart. Neither did she decide to run away from her responsibilities. She was a role model, the Courtesan of Death everyone respected and feared. And she never let anyone look through the wall.

However, for some reason, he found himself wanting to break those walls.

It wasn't always when Sakata Gintoki just casually goes out sprinkling compliments on everyone, let alone pull someone right for a hug. But here he was, doing something completely out of charcacter. Physical affection wasn't really her thing but here she was, wrapped around the arms of the man she had fallen for. Of course she knew that he was worried about her and was trying to cheer her up but this...was highly unexpected.

"Stop carrying the burden all alone." He whispered in her ears.

And she flinched at his honest words."I told ya, ya have no right ta say that. Stop messin' with me."

It was once again when he saw right through her. When his arms pulled her closer, she felt so vulnerable, so naked, she wanted to go and hide somewhere. Yet, her mind and heart didn't tell her to stop. As if this place was a sanctuary and she had nothing else to fear. Before she could think any further, Tsukuyo found her arms wrapping around his neck as she buried her face in his chest. "Idiot. Why're ya always here."

It was more of a statement than a question. "Told you the reason already."

She chuckled at his usual, nonchalant voice. "Yeah, getting bored at home. I know."

He didn't know when he got this comfortable with her in his arms but to his suprise as well, he found himself burying his face in her neck as his nose lightly brushed her skin. "Yup. Something like that."

At that moment, they couldn't exactly pinpoint what were they feeling. But somehow, the sense of want and intimacy through this little gesture never felt so familiar.

"Thanks. Fer everythin'." Her voice was low as she clutched his kimono tightly. "Fer always bein' there and fer always coming back."

He smiled, now gently putting his chin on her head. "Thanks for waiting." He could feel her smile through his fabric.

Tsukuyo didn't know why she was crying; whether the tears now escaping her eyes were of joy or sorrow. But even so, crying in his arms did not feel forgein for some reason. As if she had cried a thousand times in his arms.

"Now don't rub your snot on my kimono. I washed it yesterday." He teased gently as he now felt small droplets of tear drench his kimono a little.

A chuckle escaped her lips as she gently nudged him on the arm, her ears listening to his almost steady heartbeat. "But weren't ya the one who told me that I could cry with a runny nose."

Ah. She remembered. "Well, aren't you a whiny one. Fine. But only for tonight. Don't get too comfy, you drunk terminator. "

"Oh I won't, ya asshole."

"Too bad you're hugging an asshole right now, Tsu-ki."

"Oh? Well, who was it who pulled me first, I wonder?"

"Just shut it, you hag."

"Back at ya, perm."

They didn't know whether it was the night, the breeze or just their warmth that kept them holding onto each other for so long. Maybe it was the mutual feelings shared between those two. Or was it really was night and the stars that made them share their secrets, they didn't know. It might be too cliche to say that time stopped for those two but even in that little moment, they were able to found years of serendipity in each other's arms. As if that was only thing that reminded buried deep within until then.

This moment couldn't be anymore poetic.

Maybe, joining her on her patrols wasn't half-bad. After all, even fierce individuals like them sometimes need a shoulder to lean on.

-------×××--------

#gintsu #sakata gintoki #tsukuyo #gintoki x tsukuyo #gintsuki #fanfic

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

glass is fragile

Criminal Minds Fic Part One

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: implied character death

Notes: cross-posted on Ao3. this is the result of a random idea I had because while I love Hotchniss, I love the idea of the two meeting in college and keeping in contact with Hotch being an overprotective brother

fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur (fortune is glass; just when it gleams brightest it shatters) - Publilius Syrus

“Agent Hotchner?”

Hotch looked up and did a double-take. “Emily?” he stood up, sending a surprised look at the smiling woman carrying a file box standing in front of his desk. He walked around his desk and closed his office door before giving her a half hug. “It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Emily let out a brief laugh, placing the box down on one of the chairs. “Last we talked was what, two years ago?”

“Must have been,” Hotch walked back around the desk and sat down, gesturing for Emily to do the same. “How’ve you been doing?”

Her expression dimmed a bit, shadows encroaching on the brightness of their reunion. “Well, he is still locked away, so it’s old history,” she shrugged. “Joined the bureau about a year ago, and I’ve been stuck in a desk job over at White Collar.”

Hotch held her gaze, knowing what was going unsaid, then nodded and changed the subject. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what’s brought you here? Last I heard you were doing pretty well over in the DC office.”

Emily’s expression gave way to confusion as she sat up straight. “I’m transferring to your team,” she said slowly.

Hotch paused. “I didn’t receive any paperwork nor did I authorize any transfer,” he told her awkwardly.

She reached into the box and pulled out a file, giving it to him. “I’m not sure what to tell you,” she said and indicated the file, “but that’s what I have.” Hotch flipped through, lips compressed in thought.

“I’m going to have to look into this,” he looked up at her seriously and forestalled any protests with a placating hand. “There’s no doubt that you’re qualified to join this team. However, normally, all applications for this unit go directly to me, and your transfer happens to come just as there have been some inquiries regarding this unit.”

A look of mutual understanding passed between them, their experience with bureaucratic and office politics filling in all the blanks. “Well,” Hotch broke that silence that had fallen and stood up, “you’ve luckily caught us when we’re on stand down, so I’ll introduce you to the team and you can get set up.”

Emily nodded and stood up as he picked up the box for her, both slightly put off-balance in the new boss-employee dynamic between them after they had worked together on equal footing for a few years. Hotch nudged her arm, stopping her just before they walked out of the office.

When she looked up at him, a small but genuine smile had broken through the darker affect he had gained since the last time they had seen each other.

“It really is good to see you again.”

~~~

“Any idea why Sean, just out of the blue, asked to meet with us?”

Emily shook her head. “No idea,” she answered, looking at the suited man in the driver’s seat of the black Mercedes. “It’s been six years since I last talked to him. You?”

“Same as you, about six,” Hotch replied. “I remained in contact with him for a bit after I returned to the BAU, but our exchanges were usually brief.”

The two lapsed into an easy silence until Hotch pulled up in front of a jazz bar. They got out of the car and easily fell into an old rhythm developed over twenty years ago in New Haven, one that they often took advantage of during cases because of its apparently intimate nature.

“Emily Prentiss,” a burly Scottish man stood up from a booth towards the back of the bar and opened his arms invitingly. “Aaron Hotchner.”

Emily let out a delighted laugh and went in for the hug while a Hotch lagged behind with a faint smile.

“Sean,” Hotch sent the man a nod of greeting and shook his hand, “how are you?”

“Good,” Sean answered, gesturing towards the booth and sitting down.

“Sorry we weren’t able to get back to you sooner,” Emily said, scooting inward to make room for Hotch. “We got caught up chasing a spree killer couple out to the Pacific Northwest.”

“I had to be in DC anyway,” Sean responded. The delight the two FBI agents felt at seeing the man quickly faded and made way for feelings of foreboding when Sean’s demeanor and tone turned serious and almost fearful. He took a breath. “Ian Doyle vanished from prison, and Interpol can’t find him.”

His insides turning cold, Hotch immediately looked at Emily, who had gone pale. “What—” she swallowed, “what are you saying?”

Sean leaned in, a grim look in his eyes as he looked between the two. “He’s off the grid,” he said gravely.

“Do you think he’s headed here?” Hotch asked quietly, thoughts straying towards Emily and his son. Sean’s gaze only turned grimmer as he didn’t answer.

Emily’s shaky voice broke the tense silence—only interrupted by the ambiance of the bar—that had fallen. “Am I in danger?”

The Scotsman looked down, taking a moment to gather himself before looking back up, a chilling answer on his lips.

“We all are.”

~~~

“He sent freesias to your apartment?”

“No, don’t tell me, not even over this line. I’m going on a run tomorrow morning around National Mall and planning to eat at Dupont Circle afterward. I’ll send you the address if you’d like to join me?”

“Yeah, the moment I got home after Sean told us I checked and reset everything, did my rounds. You know how I can be, especially after… yeah.”

“If I didn’t know better I’d say I might be the least at risk, given that I was only involved half the time you guys were. But you are in significantly more danger than any of us.”

“Leave worrying about what I have to lose to me. You—for once in your life, just think about yourself and be careful.”

~~~

“You’ve got to get out of there.”

Hotch approached Emily out in the hallway, picking out fear from the urgency in her tone. “Get a flight. Leave France, get back to America,” she continued, unable to fully hide her fearful worry as she met his gaze with her own. “Cash transactions from here on out, am I clear?”

He watched as Emily listened to the other caller, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Toss that cell phone and get home safely,” she finally said firmly, hanging up without waiting for a response.

“Who?” Hotch asked simply, having suspicions as to what this was about. Emily turned to glance through the window, seeing Reid watching the two carefully—Hotch followed her gaze just in time to catch Reid quickly looking back down.

He shook his head, looking back at Emily. “My office, as soon as we can.”

~~~

Hotch opened the next report in his stack and quickly flipped through only to see a ripped sheet of paper in between a crime scene photo and the autopsy report. Recognizing the handwriting, he pulled it out, only to freeze when he read the note.

I received a text last night. He’s in the country.

He ripped up the paper as he looked out into the bullpen, eyes landing on Emily, who was hunched over at her desk looking through a report. He took in a stabilizing breath as he felt yet another headache coming on in addition to the ever-present worry over his son’s safety, despite all the precautions he had put in place all those weeks ago in a fit of med-noncompliance-induced obsessive anxiety.

Digging out a sticky note from under the piles of paperwork on his desk and quickly writing a note, Hotch grabbed a fresh stack of papers and went out to distribute them. He surreptitiously slipped the sticky note onto Emily’s desk before moving onto the others and heading back into his office, closing the door behind him.

His personal phone buzzed.

>>T and C here in 48. 1300 rendezvous over phone (S): I’ll go out, you stay in the building

Hotch looked back into the bullpen at Emily, who was putting her phone away. He looked back at his phone and began to enter in a number when his gaze drifted over to the two pictures of Jack he kept on his desk. He sighed and deleted the number he just inputted, completing yet another round of the indecisive compulsion that started ever since that meeting in the jazz bar.

~~~

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Tsia’s voice came over the phone and faintly from a few meters away. “After what happened to Jeremy, I was afraid.”

Emily sighed, shifting the newspaper in her lap. “Tsia, I’m sorry you can’t be at his funeral. It’s today, isn’t it?”

“Well, that’s the problem with marrying a member from your own team,” the other woman responded resignedly. “One of you is a target, so is the other. I get it.”

“Hello, darling,” a new voice came over the call—Emily couldn’t help but mentally sigh at the nickname from Clyde.

“Alright,” Hotch interjected. “Emily and I took a late lunch, and I’m currently reviewing a potential field case, so let’s make this quick.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Clyde asked rhetorically. “I’m not quick about anything.”

Emily rolled her eyes in exasperation and faint amusement, practically able to feel Hotch’s glare over the phone. “I don’t know,” she drawled. “What about that time I blew my cover in Prague? You took out that sentry before I could even draw my weapon. You saved my ass, Clyde.”

“I’m surprised you remember the little people from your Interpol days, now that you’re a posh FBI profiler,” Clyde shot back.

Hotch pointedly cleared his throat and changed the subject. “What’s being done to locate Doyle?”

“Only every agency in the northern hemisphere is looking for him.”

“What are we doing to find him?” Emily emphasized.

“My contact at DCRI tracked one of Doyle’s aliases leaving France the day after Jeremy’s murder,” Tsia reported. “He took a commercial flight to Beijing, then doubled back on a train bound for Berlin.”

“But when GSG 9 intercepted it, he was already gone,” Clyde finished.

“He sent me flowers, so I think it’s safe to assume he’s coming here,” Emily wryly added.

“Why is he doing this?” Tsia asked.

“Why do you think?” Hotch threw back. “We put him away. Hold on—” he cut himself off just as Emily’s other phone beeped.

“Duty calls?” Emily didn’t answer, feeling Clyde’s eyes on her back. “I know what you’re thinking—absolutely not,” he said firmly. “Your team isn’t under oath—”

“They could help,” she interrupted.

“How?” Tsia questioned. “We don’t even know where Doyle is. Involving them at this point would be premature.”

“Hotch?”

“Emily,” Hotch started quietly. “They’re highly capable, yes, but they don’t have clearance, and I rather doubt Strauss would be willing to help plead our case.”

“It would also be highly reckless,” Clyde interjected. “Leave it to Tsia and I, and you two stay with your team.”

“Even in hiding Doyle can’t resist extravagance,” Emily suggested, relenting to the others. “Track the money.”

“I will find him, darling. Trust me.”

Hotch scoffed at the plea request over the phone. “I don’t trust anyone, anymore,” Emily threw back, her tone conveying how both she and Hotch feel about that appeal.

~~~

>>T and C tracked V to DC. Chuck Murray.

<<Isn’t that the name of V’s dog?

>> Yep.

>>I’m playing fish food tonight. Alone.

<<Are you sure?

>>Like you said: you’re in as much danger as the rest of us are. I also happen to be his main target and he’ll kill anyone in his way. You happen to have the most to lose, and you can bet that he’s already got eyes on you.

<<Don’t worry about me, I’ve gotten that handled quite a bit ago. Location.

>>Seriously?

<<I trust you. I just want to know where to start if you don’t show up tomorrow morning.

>>Fine. Hirshhorn Museum.

<<Don’t do anything stupid.

>>Awwww, is that emotion I detect from no-smile Iceman?

<<I can neither confirm nor deny.

<<Be careful, Blackbird.

~~~

“Ian Doyle is here in DC.”

“How can you be so sure?” Clyde asked skeptically.

“I sat next to him last night,” Emily deadpanned. “He said if I warned my team or told anyone, he’d kill them.”

“Does Aaron know about this?” Tsia was incredulous. Clyde snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Of course he does, he’s the protective big brother. Why didn’t Doyle kill you, and more to the point, why didn’t you kill him?”

“He’s not working alone,” Emily answered, staring at Clyde.

Tsia tried to reassure her. “Then he’s just playing with you—”

“No, no,” Clyde interrupted, disagreeing, “he’s a power-assertive psychopath. He doesn’t play games.”

“He’s meticulous, he plans everything down to the last detail—” Emily was cut off by a voice coming from her phone.

“Yeah, that last detail being you.”

“Finally decided to join us, Aaron?” Tsia turned to Emily. “Maybe you should tell your team,” she suggested.

“No, no way,” Emily shut it down. “This isn’t their fight.”

“Emily,” Hotch said over the phone. “He’s in DC, and he’s working with others. There is a high chance that the team is going to get pulled into something, you know that.”

“But—”

“I’m not saying we tell them now, but if the team does get pulled into this, we are going to have to tell them. You need to be prepared for that.”

Emily scoffed. “Are you?”

“We stay together, we can get him,” Tsia insisted.

“We already tried,” Emily retorted. “And look where that got us.”

“Wait, wait,” Clyde broke in, looking at her imploringly. “When you went undercover, I promised no one would harm you.”

“I’m not undercover anymore.”

“DC isn’t his comfort zone, it’s ours,” Hotch’s voice was firm. “This ends here.”

~~~

“Reid, you got anything?” Morgan asked, walking up behind the genius.

“The damage is pretty extensive, but luckily some of the tattoo remains,” Reid commented, focusing largely on the sketch.

“Seaver,” Hotch turned to the probationary agent, “get the victim’s photo out to the press.”

“I think I know who dug the hole.” Garcia’s voice rang out from behind them as she approached the group with a notebook in hand. The others turned. “The journo told me to follow the money, like straight up, that’s what he told me, so I did.” She moved to face the others. “It turns out ‘The Gazette’ is owned by a multinational global conglomerate—oil, new technologies, shipping, air and ground transportation—all of which employ the services of one company,” the analyst looked up from her notebook, “CWS.”

“Clearwater Securities?” Hotch asked, hiding the foreboding feelings starting to creep upon him.

Rossi looked at him in surprise. “You know them?”

“I’ve come across them,” Hotch confirmed, not looking at Emily. “They’re a private counterintelligence group out of Geneva.”

“Ron Cosenza, Byron Delaney, Kerry Fagan all worked for CWS,” Garcia told them.

“How long ago?” Emily asked.

“Seven years.”

“Seaver, hang up,” Hotch said, hiding the days-old conflict going strong in his head as she did as ordered.

Still looking towards Hotch, Rossi asked, “Do we have a problem?”

“No, CWS does.”

“Got it,” Reid leaned back in his chair, showing everyone the sketched reconstruction of the tattoo. Hotch froze, mind overlaying an old memory over the familiar design, and glanced at Emily, who had also gone pale. They made eye contact, and Hotch nodded to her unasked question.

As she slipped out of the bullpen, he turned to the others. “SCIF,” he ordered, bringing out his phone and scrolling through his contacts.

~~~

>>Are we…?

<<If V doesn’t already, he will know soon. There’s no reason not to tell them.

>>But like you said, they don’t have clearance.

<<Discuss this after the corporate roadblocks, see what the team needs to know and what they can know.

~~~

“Exactly why did you bring us here?” a portly man asked as the team walked into the SCIF. “And why is the BAU interested in CWS?”

Hotch handed the men at the end of the table a few folders as Morgan threw the first question. “Why did you pull that story?”

The men gave him a critical look before flipping open the folders to see pictures of the victims and crime scenes.

“That’s how you remember them,” Hotch indicated the headshots, then the crime scene photos. “And that is how they are now.”

“You warned your friend, Byron Delaney,” Morgan stated. “You knew him the longest. It’s too bad you were too late.”

The man looked back impassionately. “If you’re looking for reactions, this is our business.”

“Business?” Rossi questioned the wording.

“Ugly as that sounds,” the man amended diplomatically.

“Kerry Fagan, Ron Cosenza, and Byron Delaney, they all worked for CWS,” Morgan pointed out.

“As do forty thousand other subcontractors do all over the world.”

“So they were subcontracted to you.”

“If you’re looking for answers, take it up with the main contractor,” the man avoided the question.

“And that would be… ?” Rossi asked.

“Your government.”

“Whoever is killing these families holds your company responsible, not the government,” Hotch informed them shortly.

“We run operations from the Middle east to Antarctica,” the man said, “going over them all will take months.”

“So you’ve already started investigations?” The man didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes.

“That’s why you pulled the story,” Rossi concluded.

One of the others leaned in, whispering something in the man’s ear. He nodded and turned to the team. “The cases these people were involved in are protected by a multinational official secrets agreement. Even if I wanted to I—”

“These people were killed on US soil,” Morgan interrupted,” by trained suspects who fired on federal agents.”

“As a courtesy,” Hotch said when there was no response, “and out of respect for the predicament your company now faces, everything in this room is off the record. However, outside this room, if you withhold information about the case, you and your company will be held fully accountable.”

The men shifted, uncomfortable, when the spokesperson finally relented. “Alright, what do you know?”

“We’re looking for a European team with considerable training,” Hotch chose his words carefully. “And for one of them, it’s personal.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because they could have spared the child, but they chose not to,” Morgan said.

“The killing of Samuel Cosenza by one of the team was personal,” Hotch agreed.

“One of the attacks shot last night had the remains of a tattoo on his wrist,” Rossi informed them as Hotch passed over another folder.

“On the surface the tattoo may look like a simple four-leaf clover,” Morgan described, “but the stem has a ‘V’ at the end. We believe this is associated with a hidden sect of fallen warriors. It’s also the name of a ship famous for its journeys from Dublin to America, the ‘Valhalla.’”

Rossi eyed the looks on the men’s faces. “Have you seen that before?” he asked.

“We ran an operation to capture the leader of a breakaway IRA faction years ago,” the man said. “He assumed that moniker.”

“What’s his name?” Hotch asked, already knowing the answer. The man was silent for a moment.

“Ian Doyle.”

~~~

“Okay, Ian Doyle’s officially on everyone’s list,” Garcia said, eyes skimming over her computer screen. “His mug is all over the place. He’s not going to be able to get out of the district unless he sprouts wings himself.”

“It’s not that I’m not happy that we have his name,” Seaver interjected, “but how are we supposed to know who’s on his list?”

“We study his life and every single person he’s ever come in contact with,” Morgan answered.

“Look, Doyle’s been away for seven years,” Emily said as Hotch and Rossi entered the room. “But he still managed to figure out who the players were, maybe we should start with how he got out of prison,” she suggested.

“Well, where was he locked up?” Morgan asked.

“Russia, I think.”

“Actually, there are no extradition papers on him,” Seaver informed them.

“Was Doyle on your radar when you were at Interpol?” Hotch’s gaze locked onto Emily’s, putting the ball that had been passed between them over the past week in her court.

“Uh, sure, I had heard of him, but direct contact?” she shook her head. “I’d have to ask around.”

“You do that, I’ll see who I can get from my end,” Hotch said to the others’ surprise as she nodded and walked out. “Not now,” he said to the team, sensing their questions and pulling out his phone.

“Good guys and bad keep files close to them,” Rossi brought their focus back.

“What are in these files?” Garcia asked.

“It’s intel. Insurance. Protection, for times like this,” he explained.

“Maybe I should go to Byron Delaney’s house and see what I can find,” Morgan suggested.

Hotch looked up from his texting at him. “Take Prentiss with you, she might have some insight.”

~~~

“The more players we get on this board, the sooner Erin will get her nose into it,” Rossi remarked.

Hotch didn’t look away from the photos they had pinned on the board. “Strauss already knows,” he said absentmindedly.

“I’m surprised she wasn’t in the SCIF,” Rossi said, surprised.

Hotch finally glanced at him. “She’s on vacation.”

“Oh, great. Now she’ll never take another one,” Rossi quipped. “You know people in Interpol?” he asked.

“Taskforce, joined late 2001 and returned half a year after Morgan joined the team. Did a bit of everything,” Hotch gave him a sardonic look. “Apparently, being a former prosecutor, former tactical agent, and now a profiler was highly desirable.”

Rossi snorted, momentarily giving away to amusement before sobering up. “Is everything about this guy classified?” he asked, staring at the messy case.

“Somebody knows him,” Hotch said. “We just haven’t found them yet.”

~~~

“Here’s the million-dollar question,” Garcia said, pulling up a close up of a foreign road sign. “Anyone know what language that is?”

“Those are villages in North Korea,” Prentiss said warily.

Garcia tilted her head. “I love you. Of course she does.”

“There’s a political prison near Haengyong-ni,” Prentiss continued.

“Camp 22, kwan-li-so,” Hotch said in recognition. “North Korea denies it exists.”

The others stared at him incredulously. “How—?” Morgan began.

“Two years,” Hotch explained shortly. “Met Emily a few times, heard Doyle’s name being tossed around. You think they took Doyle there?” he looked at the woman.

“That would explain why he’s after them,” Seaver suggested.

“Even his prison is off the grid,” Garcia threw in.

“All we know is that he was never married, had multiple residences, and was arrested at his Tuscan villa,” Seaver continued.

“There’s paperwork to back that up?” Emily asked.

“Ans a list of who was there that day,” Seaver confirmed, nodding. “There may be photographs, Reid’s looking into that now.”

“Right, so those people need to be warned that he’s on the warpath,” Hotch noted Emily’s deliberate calm belied by a nervous swallow.

“They have been,” Seaver said. “But here’s a whole different life he’s led, one that isn’t in any file.”

“Prentiss, did you hear from your European associates?” Hotch asked, checking if she had anything, himself having not gotten anything from them as of yet.

“I’m waiting for them to send me a document.”

“We need it now.” call them, now. How did he get to North Korea?

~~~

>>Told T to get out. C isn’t telling us everything.

<<And you trust me and T?

>>Known you since what, ‘89? And we’ve seen each other on the daily for the past five years now, Iceman.

>>Honestly, I don’t know about T or C, no idea what they’ve been up to.

<<Corelli’s?

<<If you want to keep hiding this you need to be more discreet, overheard you walking to my office.

<<Tell me later.

~~~

“What’s holding us up?” Rossi asked.

“We’re waiting for somebody from DC Metro Police,” Hotch said. “Then we can start.”

“Who’s got updates on roadblocks?”

“They will. All parkways and interstates in DC, Maryland, and Virginia have station checkpoints.”

“Doyle has the means to get in and out of the country,” Emily pointed out. “What makes you think he won’t get out of the District?”

Hotch blew out a breath, glancing at Emily and then at the numerous agency reps standing around in the bullpen. “It’s the best we’ve got right now.”

The door opened to reveal Morgan on the other side. “Metro got held up. Double homicide on K and 9th,” he reported. “They want me to take a look.”

An icy feeling trickled down Hotch’s spine when he realized what the location was. “Doyle?” he asked, not looking at Emily.

“Vic’s apartment looks like a black market forger,” Morgan said.

“The other victim?” Emily asked.

“A woman, thirties, no ID, outside his door.”

“I’m coming with you,” her tone brooked no argument.

“Go,” Hotch urged the two, who left as he picked up the landline.

~~~

“It’s not often that we know a subject’s name, and in this case, knowing Ian Doyle’s identity doesn’t give us very much,” Hotch said, standing in front of a room full of members of numerous letter agencies. “He’s known to a select few, and those who know him well either work beside him or they’re on his list.”

“Two or three of his victims worked for CWS and were responsible for his transport to North Korea,” he said, noting Emily and Morgan’s return to the office. “There were seven opeartives on the mission altogether, and the remaining five have been warned. All the federal and international agents responsible for tracking him down are now on his list of targets.”

“We’ll find Doyle the way we find any other offender—by studying his behavior. We’ll dissect his every move since he regained his freedom. When he escaped from North Korea, he killed a man and he used his vehicle to cross the border into Russia…”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #bau #fanfic #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #hurt #sodone glass is fragile

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