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writer-in-theory · 2 years

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To Run From It All — Part One

chapter summary: spencer is finally ready to introduce his girlfriend to his family. instead of a warm welcome, they arrest her.

summary: on paper, spencer and reader are complete opposites. a man who joined the highest levels of law enforcement right out of school, and a woman who dedicates her life to fighting against injustice in the system. in reality, they’re perfect complements for each other. when the politician reader has been most outspoken against dies mysteriously, there’s pressure on the BAU to find the suspect. the obvious choice: the woman who’s “trying to corrupt” their sweet boy genius. it’s up to reader and srpencer to prove she’s been set up before it’s too late.

request?: no

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

overall series warnings: 17+ (for suggestive scenes and heavy topics), discussions of protests (will be environment-related), murder (mentioned, not described), violence (canon typical), political corruption, false accusations by law enforcement (as in the BAU), language, mentions of stalking

chapter warnings: suggestive scenes, description of arrest, corruption in government, shady law enforcement happenings, language

word count: 7k

a/n: hello everyone!! i cannot wait to share this with y’all. it’s going to cover a lot so strap in and i promise there’s a happy ending.

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•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"Darling, let’s run like you’d run from the law, and run from it all...”

The morning began in her favorite way: with gentle kisses lined with the scratch of stubble against her skin, beginning first on her lips and trailing down to her neck. Daylight savings allowed for the sun to bathe the two of them in golden light, making Spencer appear as a Greek god beside her—with golden curls spread against the pillowcase and bare skin bathed in light, she was sure even Apollo himself would be jealous. The moment he noticed her eyes were open, Spencer’s honey-brown eyes softened, lips parting in an unstoppable smile that lit up the room better than the sun’s rays had.

“Good morning, darling,” he spoke, quiet with an additional note of raspiness from sleep.

“A very good morning, indeed,” she returned, tucking closer into his embrace. Though sometimes they’d sleep separate on either side of the bed, the couple almost always woke up entwined as if that were how they were always meant to be. Perhaps they were—two parts of one soul always destined to find one another, never split by anything as menial as fate.

“How did you sleep?” Spencer asked, one hand drawing intricate patterns across her hip with gentle fingertips. His touch sparked against her skin, causing her to shiver with delight against him.

“Wonderfully,” she answered simply, pressing a kiss into the space where his neck met his chest. “Sweet dreams?”

This would be the question she cared about most that day, the one that clued her into how her love was doing. He couldn’t always vocalize how he felt, sometimes couldn’t even tell her if it was a good or bad day. Instead, they would whisper to each other about the dreams they had, discussing what images haunted their minds even as their eyes closed.

“I dreamt of you,” Spencer told her, the hand at her hip moving to her lower back to tug her impossibly closer until she didn’t know where he ended and she began.

“Mm, I’m sorry then.”

“Don’t you dare.” Within seconds Spencer was on top of her, one knee perfectly slotted between her legs as a hint to what would come. “Take it back.”

“I don’t know, it seems like a lot to see me all day and then still have to dream about me.”

“I love dreaming about you,” Spencer corrected, pressing a kiss to her lips and softly biting at her lower one before pulling away. There was nothing quite like getting to see Spencer like this, eyes shining with the plan swirling around in his head, the threats of a smirk that still didn’t seem intimidating to her no matter how hard he tried. His curls were longer now, a few of them dipping down and starting to tickle her face. “So take it back.”

“What, are you gonna punish me or something, Dr. Reid?” she teased, waggling her eyebrows so dramatically it cracked Spencer’s serious mask. There was nothing but fondness in his gaze now, a look she had come to recognize often. At first, it was terrifying, the way he had so easily chosen to hold onto her despite everything that was different between them.

Because on paper, Y/N and Spencer seemed like complete opposites. He had chosen to join law enforcement from the moment he could, fresh out of college without having ever seen the world yet. She was different, choosing to travel for the first few years of adulthood and learn about the country she was living in, ultimately deciding she’d dedicate her life to calling out the injustices in the political and law enforcement systems. She supposed they should’ve hated each other, but that was only on paper.

In truth, Spencer was the sweetest man she’d ever met. He’d been through so much, eventually admitting that even he had seen first-hand the flaws in their system. He never let any of it stop him though, still choosing to wake up every day and be the hero that so many people needed daily. Spencer never criticized her for the work she did, but rather was her biggest supporter from the sidelines. She’d even managed to take him to a protest once and he’d admitted that he’d never felt so free and part of a community. On paper, they were doomed to fail but in life, they were perfect complements.

“Something tells me you’d enjoy whatever I came up with.”

“That something is me, I’m telling you that.”

“You’re such a naughty girl, Y/N,” Spencer spoke low in her ear, looking like he knew exactly what he was doing to her. Work would begin soon for the both of them; it’d be about time for her to pull herself from bed if she didn’t want to be late. How could she, when Spencer was over her speaking such things to her?

“I’ve been told that all my life, it’s never stopped me before.”

“Good. I like my bad girl just like this.”

“Your bad girl?” she clarified, an eyebrow raising. The words did something to her—sent a warmth through her chest and made her hands involuntarily squeeze around his biceps.

“Have a problem with that?”

“No, I like the sound of it.” She hadn’t ever been someone’s before, and though it was scary she was ready to jump right in. “I’m all yours, Spencer.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It was safe to say she was late to work that morning.

Maybe that was just one of the perks to being the boss. Stepping into the office, coat in hand and cheeks chilled from the winter air, absolutely no one said a word about the half an hour they’d been working without her.

She’d barely gotten to her desk, however, when she was reminded exactly why she was paid more as the boss. Almost immediately people were standing in front of her, barely worrying about pleasantries before launching into the issues that they were facing.

“We’ve locked down the speakers for the demonstration tomorrow,” Lara told her, launching into an explanation that wasn’t fully needed about how they’d gotten the deals made.

“Fantastic, thanks, Lara. Email me a copy of the schedule,” Y/N told her, already turning her head to the next person who needed to speak to her. Wyatt, her best friend and partner in crime, stood there holding out two cups of coffee. One was clearly marked with her name, the looping Sharpie script that she already recognized from their favorite coffee place.

“Oh, you didn’t,” she exclaimed, snatching up the cup and groaning at the taste.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it. I already know I’m the best friend you could ever have.”

“God, you’re so right.” With everything going on, Y/N had to sacrifice a few hours of sleep most nights. It left her with dark circles under her eyes and a lingering tiredness that cast over everything she did. Spencer had warned her not to choose work over sleep, but he knew as well as she did that this was much more important than just a work project. Wyatt truly understood though, having been her partner in the investigation the entire way. They had late nights together in the office, wrapped up in pages and pages of documents they likely shouldn’t have had access to. “How’s Project Chilton going?”

“Ready to publish, but a call came in for you first thing this morning,” Wyatt warned, resting against the edge of her desk.

“Yeah? What, did Senator Chilton find out what we know?” she half-joked, though nearly choked on her coffee at Wyatt’s serious expression. The man didn’t have a serious bone in his body, constantly cracking jokes to cheer her up when she got too stressed. This, now, was worse than the worst if he looked like this. “No way, how did he find out?”

“I don’t know, but now you have a lawyer threatening to sue and the Senator apparently wants to meet with you.”

“He can’t sue me if it’s true,” she protested, searching through her work phone history to see she did in fact have a voicemail waiting for her. There was absolutely no way she’d be in the same room as that man if she didn’t have to, not after everything he’s done and is doing to the American people.

“There’s not enough solid evidence, apparently. The lawyer said it’s mostly conjecture, it’s not enough to tie him to anything.”

And this, this was the worst-case scenario. The day before they were set to release everything they knew, the world came tumbling down around her. Months of hard work and late nights, desperately trying to find the evidence she needed. The Virginia Senator was nothing but corrupt, allowing companies to pay him off to fight against environment protection laws that would hurt their productivity.

His re-election had been announced yesterday, and the thought of him being in office for another six years made Y/N’s blood boil. He was making speeches about the importance of protecting the environment and then privately accepting money from the same people who wanted to undo everything her organization was working toward. So when she’d been anonymously given a sliver of proof that Chilton was corrupt to the core, she’d jumped on it. She’d banked everything on it, determined to make sure he was arrested before he could ever actually continue with his next term.

It seemed that wasn’t happening. She deflated, elbow on her desk and hand propping up her head. “Right, then I’ll scrap that for tomorrow’s schedule. I can come up with a different speech, there’s plenty to be said about him.”

“Wait, you’re just gonna give up?” Wyatt exclaimed, standing up fully and staring at her with wide eyes. “After all that work we put into this, you’re just gonna throw it away?”

“Wy, I can’t afford to get sued by a US Senator right now,” she admitted, shaking her head. “There’s nothing we can do about this right now, that lawyer’s right.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We find more evidence, something rock-solid that we can take to the police. He won’t be able to silence us if we get law enforcement on our side,” she explained, not liking the idea of keeping quiet about this any more than he did but knowing there was no other choice. There was always a risk of this happening, of Senator Chilton doing everything in his power to silence what they knew. She’d heard rumors of what happened to people who disagreed with him, and she did not want to see her face put up on an evidence board as a victim.

“Come on, Y/N, are you that stupid? You know the police would never listen to people like us,” Wyatt exclaimed, loud enough to catch the attention of half their office floor.

“Wyatt, that’s enough,” she snapped back, shoulders shaking from the barely restrained frustration. “I am doing my best with what we have. And right now, what we have is trouble waiting for us if we don’t do this the right way. We have to have some faith that law enforcement will trust us when the time comes.”

“And what if they don’t?”

“Then we keep fighting. I’m not giving up, I’m just changing tactics. I’ll never give up on this, I promise. One way or another, Chilton will go down.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The first job Spencer ever had was as a librarian’s assistant at the CalTech library. Due to it being a 24-hour library, he’d elected to take the night shift. Honestly, it was the best part-time job he could have ever had. Nights were spent mostly alone, just him and all of the books he could ever want to read. It was part of how he came to know about such a wide array of topics—Spencer would pick a different section in the library each night to pull from, wanting to soak up as much knowledge about the world as possible.

Though he had loved every second of it, the job hadn’t prepared Spencer for how social other jobs would be. Particularly this one, in which the team was practically a family after so many years of working through hell together.

They had all seen him go through his individual hells, had seen every piece of his life laid out in front of them. The team knew him better than anyone else did, and yet, he still found himself closing off from the conversation at hand for exactly the same reason. They had seen him, they knew what kind of person was good for him. They knew all of the things the person he loved would have to deal with, because they had to deal with them too.

“Are you excited for us to meet your girlfriend?” Luke tried to start a conversation, though immediately on the mention of Y/N the entire team ended up gathered around his desk.

“I’m very excited, Boy Genius,” Penelope exclaimed, looking like she could practically bounce from all of the emotions. “I can’t believe you’ve been dating for a year and you haven’t told us anything about her!”

All day they’d been asking about tonight, making sure that he wasn’t going to cancel at the last second like he desperately wanted to. It wasn’t that he wanted to hide her—on the contrary, Spencer wanted to shout from the rooftops that she was his and he was hers. He knew what happened to people when he admitted his love for them, though; he’d seen the dangers that came with caring about him.

So he’d hidden her away like a dark secret. Taking calls only when the rest of the team was occupied by something else, making sure to never let her name slip at work. No one had really seen his apartment since she’d moved in, knowing full well a set of profilers would pick out that another person lived there within minutes.

As time went on, it got harder to keep her from them. When he went to team dinners all he could picture was Y/N finally joining him, becoming a perfect addition to the little family they’d formed. So when she’d pushed one night, asking when she would finally get to meet them, Spencer relented. He’d called up the team and set up a night at the local bar they all loved, figuring there would be plenty of excuses if he wanted to leave early.

And all day, Spencer could picture easily how they’d react to her. They’d be stunned at first, of course, because never in a million years would any of them picture their Boy Genius finding someone like her. She was unapologetic for who she was and never afraid to say what she thought about the world. Her humor was unlike anything else, never failing to make Spencer laugh even when he thought it impossible.

Despite all of her fears, she would fit in right away. None of them would care what she did for a living, and instead would accept her in as the person who made Spencer happy in a way he hadn’t thought possible for so long. They would love her almost as much as he did, and for that reason alone he was anticipating the end of the workday.

When it finally came around, all of them packing away their belongings as normal, a call came through Spencer’s personal phone. Everyone watched as he picked it up, his heart racing at the thought of speaking to Y/N for the first time in front of the team.

“Hello, darling.” Distantly, he could hear JJ and Penelope cooing to each other about it, turning his cheeks a brilliant shade of red.

“Hey, I’m so sorry but something at work came up,” Y/N spoke rapidly through the phone, “I have to stay at the office late. Is that okay?”

“Of course, do what you need to do,” Spencer told her quickly. Though he was disappointed he wasn’t able to share her with his family just yet, he understood far too well what it meant when work took priority. It had seemed impossible to find someone who would be understanding of his hectic work schedule, but she had beaten his wildest expectations. She’d accepted it, ready to go with the flow and changing her schedule as needed when their plans changed unexpectedly. Spencer would be just as understanding now, knowing her major project would be coming to an end the next day.

“I’m so sorry, Spence. I really wanted to meet the team.”

“Don’t stress out about it, we can always reschedule,” Spencer reassured her, recognizing the panic building up her voice then. As self-confident as she was, there were always moments when insecurity and fear crept in. “I’ll see you at home?”

“Of course, I’ll probably be back by the time you get home. Have fun, babe, I love you,” she said before he ended the call with a quick ‘I love you too’.

He would miss having her there, but Spencer wouldn’t let it stop him from having a good time tonight. It wasn’t too often anymore that the team’s schedules lined up perfectly for a night out together, especially now that so many of them had families or partners they wanted to return home to.

So Spencer gathered up his bag and headed to the elevator with his family, trying to shove out all curiosity for what Y/N was up to out of his mind.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It happened while Spencer was asleep.

There wasn’t a time he could remember ever not being a light sleeper. It had become a necessity after his father had left, sometimes needing to help his mother in the middle of the night or needing to hear the approaching footsteps of dangerous kids when he inevitably fell asleep from exhaustion in the library. The acquired skill only continued to serve him well in adulthood, allowing the man to feel safe after hunting down so many horrendous killers. Perhaps it was also what kept him alive while in prison, the ability to sense danger even while unconscious. Spencer knew no matter what, no one would be able to sneak up on him.

The intruders now weren’t trying to sneak. In fact, he’d soon find out they weren’t even here for him.

“Police!” one of them shouted, loud enough to shatter whatever hope Spencer had left for a happy ending into pieces. He’d been wrapped around Y/N, arms clinging to her like she might disappear if he ever let go. Now, hearing the beginnings of an arrest in his apartment, Spencer was instinctually sitting up and throwing his hands into the air on either side of his head. Dear God, not again, he found himself repeating, I can’t go back, I won’t survive it twice. Like some kind of twisted memory, Spencer could practically feel the restraining chill of the cuffs on his wrists, the way his shoulders would ache if he was in them for too long. He already felt the panic of not being able to self-soothe with his hands, could feel the paranoia creeping up over his shoulder like an old friend.

They weren’t interested in him in the least, however. Instead, their eyes and guns all focused on the woman in bed beside him, miraculously sleeping despite the noise. She’d been the epitome of peace until this moment, every bit of stress from her job washed away. She’d even had that gentle smile on her face even in sleep, the kind that appeared only when she was wrapped up against him.

“Y/N L/N, get on your knees and put your hands in the air now!” the closest one shouted, forcing Spencer to watch as she jerked awake, eyes immediately shining with fear. She didn’t listen, instead guided by instinct to look over at Spencer for what to do.

“Just put your hands up, darling, it’ll be okay,” he told her, every fibre of his being wanting to shield her from these men. He wanted to grab her and run away from them, to go somewhere they would never find her. “Do what they say.”

It wasn’t fast enough for them. The second her hands started to raise, one of the men as grabbing her by the upper arm and ripping her from the bed. Spencer heard the yelp sound from her as her knees hit the ground with a dull thud, and suddenly he was seeing red. How dare they? This was his darling girl, the woman he’d promised himself would see no danger if he had anything to do with it.

“Hey! She wasn’t resisting!” Spencer protested, his own body flying out of bed and being stopped by two of the men before he could reach where the lead cop had her on her stomach, arms wrenched behind her in cuffs. “She’s not resisting!”

“Watch it, pal, before we bring you in too,” one of them said, sending a harsh shove to Spencer’s bare chest. Normally he’d feel the flush of embarrassment creep up at the thought of standing in front of all these strangers in just his pajama pants, but all Spencer could focus on now were the tears soaking into the carpet under Y/N.

“I haven’t done anything,” she spat at the cop that was locking metal cuffs around her wrists, holding onto the chain so she couldn’t get up from her spot on the floor.

“Y/N L/N, you’re under arrest for the murder of Senator Samuel Chilton. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you,” the officer recited before yanking her up by the chain on the cuffs, eliciting another shocked yelp from her.

“What? That’s crazy! I didn’t kill anyone!” she protested, eyes immediately searching the room to find Spencer. “Spencer, please,” she begged, and he’d have rathered gone to prison again a million times over than ever hear the pure terror in her voice now.

“Officer, this is a misunderstanding.” It took everything in him to keep his voice level, knowing antagonising them would only do further harm. “She’s not a killer, you have the wrong person.”

“You got a problem, pal, you take it up with the FBI,” the one holding onto Y/N told him, somehow making the situation so much worse than Spencer ever thought possible.

“I am the FBI.”

“Then nice going picking yourself out a jailbird, buddy.”

There were many times Spencer stood before an unsub and wondered what could have possibly made them hate someone so much to want to see them dead. He understood hate, and grief, and he understood pain. Never once had he ever understood the desire to reflect that pain onto another person. Standing there before this man, who disparaged his love even as she stood quivering and held up only by rough hands, Spencer understood the desire far too intimately.

And suddenly he was reminded of a game of chess. The threat was a pawn lazily thrown out, appearing like an easy target to grip onto. He could see it in the smirk on the other man’s face, however, that three moves from now any attack Spencer made would be met in kind.

So he urged his body to relax, to focus on the woman he loved who desperately needed a kind face. “Are you taking her to Quantico?” Spencer asked the man holding onto her.

When the man nodded, Spencer slowly crossed the room to her, hands up to show he meant no threat. It was the worst sight in the world, seeing her struggle to remain calm and unafraid. Her lower lip shook as she uselessly fought back the tears streaming down her face. His hands held her face then, thumbs gently brushing away the tears as they slipped down her cheeks.

“I promise you, it’ll be okay. I’ll call my team, we’ll figure this out. Don’t say a single word to anyone until we’re there,” he spoke gently, willing his own voice to stay calm. She needed someone to be strong for her right now, there would be time to break down later. Time with his team where he could cry, and scream, and yell, and curse whoever dared to sentence his love to the same fate he’d once been met with. “You’re not alone, Y/N. I love you.”

It had been what he’d wished someone had told him before, the promise that even in such pure isolation he was never truly alone. Instead, they’d come regailing stories of how his job had given up on him, had shown up with defeat in their eyes before the orange prison jumpsuit was even handed to him. It was a promise, a simple assertion that no matter what was to come he would be there. He would never doubt that she was innocent, and he would never stop fighting until she was freed.

As she was led out of their apartment in cuffs, Spencer was sure of one thing:

He would do whatever it took to ensure she never saw the inside of a prison cell.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It wasn’t too uncommon to be called in for a case in the middle of the night. When the victims were high-profile or when the unsubs acted fast then disappeared, the team was expected to jump on the opportunity to hunt them down. So it wasn’t unusual to see the entire team already gathered in the roundtable room when Spencer arrived, his hands still shaking at his sides from how cruelly he’d been woken up. He shoved the fear back down his throat, desperate to remind his anxious body that he was safe, that there was no need for him to fear going back to prison. No, it was someone else who was in danger now.

He wondered if the officers who had Y/N in custody beat him here if she was now in the same building as him walking around in cuffs she didn’t deserve. If so, she’d be led to an interrogation room and chained to the table. She couldn’t eat or sleep unless an agent let her, completely up to the mercy of the FBI now.

So yes, it was fairly normal for the team to be standing here at 3 am all looking exhausted but more or less present. JJ and Penelope were both nursing cups of coffee, and Spencer knew the rest of the team wasn’t far behind. What wasn’t normal was the fact that they already had someone in custody, someone Spencer already knew couldn’t have done this.

It also wasn’t normal for Assistant Director Britland to be standing in the room too, looking far too pristine for the early morning. How long had this man known about the impending arrest? How long had he had to prepare, to don this suit and style his hair perfectly slicked back on his head? Even Spencer looked more disheveled than normal, having hastily thrown on the one pair of jeans he owns and a sweatshirt.

“I’m so glad you could finally make it, Dr. Reid,” Britland practically sneered when Spencer rushed into the room last.

“I’m sorry, I got caught up with something, Sir,” Spencer instinctively snapped back without care for the rank of the person in front of him. He could feel the surprised stares of his team on him, but all Spencer could think about now was Y/N on another floor of the same building, alone and scared.

Britland stared at him for a long moment, as if considering how he should respond to this. Instead of saying anything about it though, the man simply cleared his throat and continued on. “It hasn’t been released to the public yet, but tonight Virginia Senator Samuel Chilton was found dead in his home. Due to the high-profile nature of our victim, I’ve been asked that the BAU handles this case. We have our suspect in custody, we need you to profile her and find the evidence to convict her.”

“We don’t make a profile to match an unsub,” Spencer protested immediately, once again drawing the attention of his team. Already Spencer could see the writing on the wall, could understand what Britland was asking of them. It formed a pit in his stomach, the realization that Britland was asking his team to ensure Spencer’s girlfriend is imprisoned.

“Reid is right, Sir, that’s how we get to false convictions,” Emily spoke up, giving him a quick warning look. She was the Unit Chief of the BAU, it was up to her to fight for this.

“I think you’ll find that what information we do have is compelling.” Britland sighed, scanning the room and seeing that there was clear opposition from the team. “I heard that your team has a nasty habit of not following orders, so I’ll rephrase. We have 48 hours to formally charge her before we have to let Y/N L/N go, and I will not go back to the Director and tell him we had to release our only suspect. Understand that in 48 hours, there will either be a formal charge or reassignments within this unit.”

“You can’t do that, Sir! This is wrong and you know it,” JJ piped up from just behind Emily.

“What’s wrong is we have a dead government official on our hands. If this gets released to the public without a conviction, we’ll be seen as weak,” Britland spoke with the kind of tone that let everyone in the room know he was finished. “Good luck, agents.”

Spencer was able to keep it together until Britland was gone, and only then did his hands tug at his hair and a frustrated shout slipped from him.

“We won’t get reassigned, Spencer, I won’t let that happen,” Emily tried to comfort him, but that only made it worse because he knew. He knew that when it came down to it, the team would choose each other time and time again. He understood this because he would do the same if he were in their shoes, he had done the same countless times before. Emily had once told him it was dangerous of her to pick the team over the law of the FBI, and he hadn’t truly understood why until this very moment when the threat of losing his love was never greater.

“It’s not about that,” Spencer tried, willing himself to stay as calm as possible but knowing his expression was betraying everything. These were the people he spent nearly every day with, the same people who were trained to read into microexpressions. They would be able to see right through him within an instant. “The unsub they arrested is Y/N L/N.”

“Britland mentioned that,” Luke piped up. “It makes sense they’d look at her first. She’s the head of the organization that’s been going after him politically.”

“She’s my girlfriend.”

The team was not known for being silent. When they were together, at least two of them were always talking—filling up the space with joyous noise everywhere they went. Now, one sentence was enough to completely silence the roundtable room. The last time they’d looked at Spencer like this was after Maeve had been killed, knowing there wasn’t anything they could do to fix the hurt he was feeling but wanting to try anyway.

“You’re dating Y/N L/N?”

“Yeah, and now we’re about to put her in prison.” As soon as the words were spoken, something cracked in Spencer. No longer were his legs strong enough to hold him up, so he sunk into one of the chairs at the table. He held his face in his hands, trying to cover up some of the splits so the team wouldn’t see them.

“We won’t, Reid,” Matt told him, a comforting hand patting his shoulder. “We have 48 hours, we can still make a profile and catch who really did this.”

“I promise you, Spencer, we’ll do everything we can,” Emily added when Spencer finally dropped his hands from in front of his face. “We’ll get started looking at the evidence. Right now, you need to go talk to her. I’m sure Y/N is scared and wanting some comfort.”

There was nothing else that needed to be said. As soon as he was given permission, Spencer was flying out of the room and closer to where Y/N would be held.

Though he thought he was prepared for the sight, nothing could have possibly hurt more than seeing her sitting at that metal table. Her forearms were resting on the table, cuffs still circled around her wrists and chained to the table so she couldn’t escape if she tried. Her head was down, eyes staring at her hands through sleep-mussed hair.

“Spencer!” she gasped when he opened the door, accidentally rattling the chains as she stood and tried to walk to him. “Please tell me you know what’s happening.”

He wished he didn’t. He wished her fate wasn’t up to his friends right now. If she went to prison because he was unable to save her, Spencer would never forgive himself. Though there were plenty of situations that had permanently changed him, nothing affected him quite like prison had. It sometimes felt as though the Spencer Reid from before had been killed off, replaced with this version of him that he was still learning about.

It was part of what made Spencer initially talk to Y/N so much. The rest of the team had seen how he’d changed too, had often looked at him like they were mourning something that was no longer there. Y/N had never met him before prison, had never seen who he had been before. She accepted him as he was now, never once faltering when at all of his broken pieces.

How could he tell her? How could he possibly look at her and admit that he’d promised to never hurt her, but had never once thought to protect her from this? This, his own worst nightmares coming to life once more. This, witnessing someone he loved sitting in the exact seat he’d once been in before. He knew how she was feeling now; understood the crippling fear and desperation that came with being falsely accused of a crime. How could he tell her that his team would have to be the ones to charge her with this when the time came?

“We’re figuring it out,” Spencer told her instead, sitting across the table and taking her hands in his. “I promise, we’ll get you out of here.”

“Do they really think I killed Chilton?” It was dangerous to be talking about this here. Spencer wanted to tell her to stop, to never say the words where they’d be recorded. All they could do was hurt her case even more but still, Spencer couldn’t imagine not trying to comfort her. No one was telling her anything, as expected, and she deserved so much better.

“They don’t have any evidence,” he reassured her because truly that was all they could hold onto right now. It was the only thing keeping her here and not in a jail cell awaiting trial. “They think you did it because of your campaigns against him.”

“Yeah, I hate the guy but that doesn’t mean I’d kill him!” She exclaimed, lip wobbling as she released the tears she’d been holding back since the arrest. She was trying to be so strong, whether for herself or for him Spencer didn’t know. He wanted to tell her it was okay to break down, that he would be there for her when she did. The simple truth was that it wasn’t okay, that Spencer didn’t want any of these other agents to see her vulnerable. They would use it against her in a heartbeat, choosing then to interrogate her until she said something incriminating. “I wouldn’t do something like that.”

“I know you wouldn’t, and the team knows too. You’re not alone in this, Y/N. We’re going to get you out of here, I promise.”

“You can’t promise something like that.”

He knew. It was far too clear that in two days, Spencer could lose her. In two days, Spencer’s entire world could crumble and wither away. Staring at her now, seeing the way the cuffs bit at the skin of her wrists, visions of her in a bright orange jumpsuit came unbidden to the front of his mind. He’d seen what it was like to be a prisoner during visit hours, would he have to see her from the other side of the glass now? Would he be the one dutifully showing up every week, promising her a way out even when he no longer believed in it?

No, because Spencer refused to ever let it get that far. She would never know the violence, the paranoia of prison. She was innocent, the team just had to prove that.

“I can promise that, darling. They won’t take you away.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.” The words were like a prayer on her lips, repeated even as the sobs made them unintelligible. “Spencer, I didn’t.”

“I know, I know, darling.” He also knew the agents watching them would frown on this, but Spencer would give everything up if it meant Y/N was never this upset again. So he stood, crossing to the other side of the table, and wrapped her up in his arms. He held her as all of the stress of the night was released and all of the fear for the future realized. “I know you didn’t. It’s going to be okay.”

Spencer wasn’t sure how long that sat like that but eventually, her cries died down into the occasional sniffle. She clung to him, fingers dug tightly into his shirt as though she had no intentions of ever letting him go.

For just a moment, Spencer could imagine they were still in their apartment. The two of them had woken up at the same time in the middle of the night—not from any tragic nightmare but simply because they needed to be together. Spencer would pad out to the kitchen and make tea, while she would gather all of the blankets she could find to make a little fort on their couch. The two of them would curl up together on the couch, sometimes talking but more often than not staying completely silent, simply taking in one another’s company. They would remain that way all night until they watched the sunrise together, and then Spencer would pull her back to bed where they’d lay for another few hours still wrapped up in each other.

Instead, Spencer was brought back to the cold interrogation room where she would be restrained for the next 48 hours. He would have to leave her soon to return to the case, knowing he could help the team solve this. It was the toughest goodbye, having to pull himself from her and watching as her face fell in clear disappointment.

“I’ll be back, you won’t be alone in this,” Spencer promised her, hoping that if she only held onto one thing through this it would be that she was not isolated.

“I love you,” she told him, and the world curled around his heart like a neat ribbon, keeping it held together when he could feel it trying to split in two.

“I’ll love you forever,” he returned before exiting the interrogation room.

Spencer was expecting a moment to himself, a chance to recollect himself before returning to the team. What he wasn’t expecting was for Emily to be standing there waiting for him, a guarded expression written clear on her face.

“We need to talk,” Emily spoke and her words sounded as though they belonged at a funeral. Spencer was suddenly reminded of the moment she’d admitted the team had no idea how to save him, the moment she suggested he take the plea deal for a decade. It was this expression she carried now, the unit chief look as she tried to work up the courage to tell her agent, her friend, something truly terrible.

“What is it?”

“A couple of officers stayed back to search your apartment and her car for evidence,” Emily explained. It was a horrible thought, those same men who’d dragged Y/N to the ground now picking through the things he’d collected with her. “They’re taking it to the lab now but...”

“What, what did they find?”

“Spencer, they found a bloody knife in her car.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

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doiefy · 3 years

Text

blue // na jaemin

“The winter has passed and the spring has come We have withered and our hearts are bruised from longing”

- blue, bigbang

In which one ceases to age until they find their soulmate, with whom they then grow old. In which everyone has moved on without you.

genre: soulmate!au, fluff, angst, slow burn

pairings: jaemin x female reader (written with a female character in mind, but it can easily be gender neutral!), features relationships with other dream members, briefly mentions haechan x jeno

word count: 11.6 k

warnings: language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mentions of war, mentions of death, discussions of Korea under Japanese occupation, some of the historical references may be inaccurate.

taglist (DM, comment or Ask to be added): @simplicitysbabe Big thank you to @neojaems for beta reading this for me !! <333

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Your test comes back blue.

When you rip open the envelope containing your results, you find the little coloured square hidden between pages and pages of lab protocols, testing procedures and other nonsense you know no one actually has the time to read. Then there are the stupid pamphlets, the ones with overtly bright and bubbly messages reassuring people that they’ll find their “special someone” soon, slogans most likely written by people who found their soulmates before they even turned twenty. You scoff, shoving the useless papers back into the envelope and recalling the first time you tested back in 1945, right after the war. The receptionist wrote your results down on a piece of paper and nonchalantly told you to have your emotional breakdown outside.

Now you stare at the blue marking on your paper blankly. It simply means you haven’t aged biologically in ten years, but when you haven’t aged in decades, it means nothing. While the world progresses, you remain frozen in the same body, playing a cruel game with fate. And as with any game that one cannot win, you’ve slowly become bored with it, allowing it to take its course while you sit idle nearby. You feel only disappointed, and not even perplexed or surprised in the slightest. Something about meeting Jaemin just seemed too good to be true; after a lifetime of misfortune and failure, something about the bad news feels… expected. Inevitable. As if unconsciously, you knew he wasn’t the one.

Na Jaemin is not your soulmate. And you spend the walk home contemplating how you’ll tell him this.

When you unlock the door to your shared apartment, you know he’s already home, and earlier than usual: his shoes are placed meticulously on the rack by the door and his jacket is hung up next to the messenger bag he takes to work. The living room smells faintly of the pine and vanilla candle you bought last month, and you smell traces of shampoo and bodywash from the bathroom.

“I’m home!” you call out as you kick your shoes off and put them neatly next to Jaemin’s. There’s a muffled response of your name before the door to your room opens. Then his arms are around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he mumbles a tired greeting.

“Bad day?” You ask softly, pushing all your other thoughts to the back of your head. He looks exhausted. His hair is tucked messily under the hood of his navy sweater, still damp from the shower he took earlier. His eyes lack the usual brightness you often find yourself so immersed in, replaced with the fatigue and weariness he almost never brings home.

“I hate this company,” he sighs as you run your fingers through his hair. You feel him relax in your arms a bit. “My boss is a dick, everyone in my department hates each other and the coffee tastes like actual ass. Maybe I should just quit while I still can.”

You frown. “Jaem, you’ve been with them for literally a month. You can’t possibly be thinking about quitting already.”

“A month! A month in and I’m already having mental breakdowns under my desk at lunch. Imagine what will become of me if I spend a year there,” he scowls, but his expression softens when you kiss him reassuringly on the cheek. “Alright, alright, fine, maybe not quit, maybe I’ll just take a long, long, vacation and then retire… Move to the countryside with you…” He trails off dreamily and for a moment, you lose yourself in the fantasy he’s painted for you. The mental image of a quaint house by the ocean is quickly shattered when you remember the test results hidden in your bag. The sunflowers you envisioned surrounding the cottage are blown away in the wind, their bright yellow petals swallowed by the blueness of the sky.

“Oh, you wish,” you laugh, quickly pressing your lips to his in hopes that he won’t see your expression, that he won’t see the sadness and regret you’re fighting to suppress. “Maybe, baby, maybe one day we can do that.”

“Maybe,” he laughs, his face lighting up with the energy and liveliness that has been missing. “But enough about me. How was your day, love?”

“Mm. The same old,” you say, pulling out of his arms so you can finally take your jacket off. You crash into the couch where you fold up your scarf and toss it aside. “Stressful.”

He stares at you for a hard moment, visibly concerned as if he can tell there’s something troubling on your mind. “Is something the matter?” He asks carefully, sitting down next to you. He holds you at arm’s length so he can look at you properly. “Is this about the test?”

“What? Oh, no, not the test. I doubt the results will come in until sometime next week.” The lie slips out easier than it should, and you feel guilt slowly start to twist your insides. Just a white lie, you tell yourself. It can’t hurt anyone but yourself. He’s been through enough today. He’s tired. Not tonight. It can wait. “I’m just tired,” you shrug. “I need some dinner and a nap, then I’ll be all good again. Do we still have anything in the fridge or should we order takeout?”

“I already ordered chicken from Yong’s. I had a feeling that today would be a bad day for the both of us,” Jaemin grins. His smile is smug at first, then endearing when he sees your shock.

You practically pounce on him in excitement, and the two of you go crashing into the couch cushions until you have him pinned beneath you. “Oh my god, I fucking love you, you know that?”

Jaemin groans, curling into himself as he gives you a wounded look. “And that’s how you show your love? By trying to break my bones?”

“Besides the point,” you huff. “You aren’t going to say it back?”

“Yes, of course. I love you too.”

Unsatisfied with his answer, you lower your face so your lips are hovering just inches above his. He looks up at you starry-eyed, his fingers ghosting over your cheeks; you can’t help but notice the way his gaze travels briefly to your lips.

Then you realize how dangerous this is. You know that he’s not the one. You know that you’ll eventually part ways with him when he finds out, no matter how reluctant you’ll feel. Every moment you spend with him like this will come back to haunt you when he’s gone. It will become another reminder of what you’re about to lose, yet here you are, falling deeper into his embrace, intoxicated by his scent and lost in the depth of his eyes. You are only tying more strings between the two of you, strings that will need to be stretched and snapped. You are only making it more painful for the both of you.

But for tonight, you don’t care.

“Say it like you mean it,” you whisper.

He holds your face gently, and those sparks you felt upon your first meeting with him are still there, igniting each time he looks at you, blazing into an open flame when he tells you, “I love you.”

You kiss him with more urgency this time, your lips meeting his in a clash of teeth and tongue. He puts his hands around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer to him. For just a moment, you’re focused on only him and his presence. For just a moment, you forget about everything; the sheet of test results is just another piece of paper in your bag, the blue mark just another colour. Because tonight, he is all that matters to you.

You met Na Jaemin almost three years ago.

Though the details have faded with time, you remember your first conversation well. It began at a friend’s art show beneath the golden glow of the studio lights, the two of you surrounded by brilliant splashes of colour and bold strokes of texture. Renjun had insisted on introducing you to Jaemin before you even arrived at the gallery, and you couldn’t have possibly refused. Your friendship with Renjun goes way back to the 40s, and you often think he knows you better than you know yourself. “I think he could be good for you,” he told you quietly just before leaving to speak with his other guests.

At first, Jaemin seemed timeless. It was as if he didn’t belong to any particular time period, as if he had lived to see several generations rise and fall, but had never risen or fallen with any of them. Dressed elegantly in a fitted turtleneck and a wool coat, he appeared youthful and contemporary; yet the way he spoke hinted at a certain maturity, at wisdom and sagacity. There was something charming about him too, something about the way he recounted events of the past and drew you in with only his words.

Next to a breathtaking oil painting of the sea, you discovered your commonalities. He was almost two decades younger, but like you, had spent his entire life searching for a partner without much success. You were delighted to learn that he had also worked in teaching—though he mentioned changing careers frequently whenever things became too mundane. He was effortlessly intriguing, and every word he spoke was lively and animated. He infused your conversations with colours, painted everything in bright yellows and aquamarines that matched the swirling paint strokes of the artworks around you, left you wanting to know more without even trying.

You left the gallery that night with his number in your coat pocket. Needless to say, Renjun was thrilled.

Weeks passed before you saw him again. Your busy schedules always managed to get in the way of your plans, but the two of you still kept in touch, chatting late into the night and well into the early hours. As the months went by, you dared to hope that maybe he was the one.

You immediately scolded yourself for being naive. With all your past partners, you had been hopeful in the same way, only to be let down in the end. Your test when you were with Donghyuck came back blue, as did the one with Mark. Both have since moved on, found their soulmates and written their happy endings. Even if you still stay in touch and meet up for an occasional coffee, you know that you are only a distant memory to them in some way or another.

The prospect of the same thing happening with Jaemin had never occurred to you—you’d been so caught up in getting to know him, so blinded that you’d completely forgotten. And then you saw him differently. As if he were a flame that could be snuffed out in an instant, a feather that could be sent flying with the slightest breeze, the slightest breath. You mulled over it for weeks and always did so silently, until it finally came up in conversation.

Almost a year had passed since you’d met him. With the summer coming to an end, the two of you had driven down to the Han River where you sat in the open trunk of his car, sharing a can of cheap beer from the convenience store. There were no words, only the faint melody of an old pop song buzzing from your phone and his hand around yours.

“Move in with me,” he said at last, glancing at you expectantly, trying to gauge your reaction. It wasn’t completely out of the blue—you’d been searching for a new apartment for weeks—but it still took you by surprise. “Too fast?” He asked when he registered your shock.

“No, not at all,” you shook your head and squeezed his hand. “Don’t get me wrong Jaem, I’d love to. It’s just, I don’t know about any of this. About us. If we’re actually…”

He hummed a quiet response, his brows furrowing slightly in contemplation. “Soulmates,” he said with a melancholic sigh. “You don’t want to go any further before we know for certain. I understand.”

You nodded. “It always hurts, you know? You think you’ve finally found them only to realize you’ve been completely wrong the whole time.”

“I know,” he said, and his empathy flooded you with warmth and reassurance. “You always think you’ll be prepared for the next time. You always think it will hurt less as time goes by. But it doesn’t.”

“Exactly.”

You tipped the last of the beer into your mouth; it tasted faintly sweet on your tongue before dissolving into a pleasant bitterness that hit the back of your throat. When you were finished, Jaemin took the empty can and fiddled with the tab, bending it back and forth until it snapped off.

“I want it to be you,” he told you after a few minutes of silence. “I want it to be us.”

“And if we aren’t?”

He kissed you, hard enough for you to see stars. It wasn’t desperate or longing, but it seemed to convey a hundred different thoughts all at once, a hundred different emotions for you to decipher. When he finally pulled away, his voice was thoughtful and he was seemingly lost in a pleasant daydream. “Oh, love, the universe has already cursed us to search eternally. We may as well spend eternity together.”

“Seriously, Jaemin, what if we aren’t?”

The tremor of your voice snapped him out of it. The glimmer of hope disappeared from his pupils and the dream slipped from his hands.

“We’ve been alive for so long,” you continued, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t think I can go on like this. What if we aren’t meant to be? What will we do?”

You didn’t regret your time with Donghyuck or Mark or Jungwoo or any of the people you were lucky enough to have met, but you’d watched all of them from afar, watched them grow while you stayed frozen in time. Each new generation that came along was only a reminder of your loneliness. You felt a certain emptiness each time you invited new people into your life, one that deepened when they eventually left you behind. Or worse, when they gave you their pity. You couldn’t stand it when people told you that it was unfair or that you deserved better, all while they lived comfortably with their soulmates. You weren’t jealous, nor could you ever be angry at them for something beyond their control. Your anger was directed at the invisible forces that toyed with the world, the mischievous hands spinning the universe in some strange direction that left only you disoriented.

His expression took on a faint sadness and when he spoke again, his voice was calm, barely a whisper. “Then so be it. If you need to move on, it would be selfish of me to stop you from doing so.” He stared out at the waters wistfully, at the yachts sailing downstream. “And besides, you’re right. Maybe it’s time we settle down… even if it’s not with each other.”

Your birthday came a few months after that night, but you held off on testing. The bus you took home from work passed by one of the labs, but you never got off at the stop, always watched the doors open and close from your seat. The test isn’t that accurate anyways, you told yourself; it could produce only an approximate biological age, so maybe the longer you waited, the better.

But in the end, it was simply an excuse to escape reality, to avoid your confrontation with fate itself.

You moved in with him just before the end of the year.

New Year’s Eve wasn’t a big deal for you (you’d lived through too many for it to be exciting), but you spent the last minutes of the year with him, surrounded by cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked. Jaemin had still made some sort of effort at festivities despite your indifference: pale pink and gold candles lit around the living room, golden champagne in delicate glasses set on the table.

You were almost asleep when the clock struck twelve, wrapped up in one of his oversized sweaters and a white throw blanket. The celebratory music blaring from the TV was muffled in your ears, a pleasant symphony that lulled you deeper into sleep until Jaemin awoke you with a kiss.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Jaem,” you mumbled, a smile ghosting your lips as you focused on the comfort you felt in his arms; on the new year, on your new home, new hope.

You know something’s wrong.

Jaemin doesn’t come out to greet you, even after you announce your arrival. He’s home—his shoes and coat are put away neatly like any other day—yet it’s deathly silent, terribly still. No music playing in the living room, no voice down the hallway. Only the occasional chirp from your broken smoke detector, which you’ve been meaning to fix for weeks. As you bend down to unlace your boots, you can’t help but worry.

You find him in your shared bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the comforter. The sun has almost set and the shadows stretch across the room, blanketing him in darkness and masking his expression with ambiguity. He doesn’t move when you turn on the lamp on the bedside table. He doesn’t move when you sit next to him.

There’s a familiar sheet of paper in his hands.

“Jaem, I…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It isn’t accusatory or hostile; his voice is laced with nothing but sadness, yet you feel so much guilt, guilt that closes around your throat and squeezes the air out of your lungs, leaving you breathless. You kept it from him for days, and now this is the way he must find out about it. From a piece of paper you were careless enough to leave where he might find it. From a piece of paper detailing the DNA extracted from a sample of your blood. You should have told him.

“I didn’t know how to,” you let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you serious?” There it is, the cold edge that begins creeping into his voice as he stares down at you. He flicks a finger in the direction of the date printed at the top of the paper. “It’s been a week, Y/N. You kept this from me for a week. Why?”

“I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you, okay?” It comes out sharper than you intended; you immediately begin to drown in guilt as soon as you see Jaemin’s expression fall. You didn’t mean to lash out, and now you make up for it by taking his hands in yours. They're ice cold. “Look, the day I found out, you were already tired from work. I didn’t want to bring it up and make everything worse—”

“So you lied. Said the results hadn’t come in yet,” he says flatly and you rush to defend yourself, only to realize that he’s right.

“I’m sorry.”

The rest of your words don’t come. With a tired exhale, you bury your head in your hands, too overwhelmed to say anything else. You can only hope that he’ll understand, that he’ll empathize and that he’ll forgive you, even if you don’t exactly believe you deserve any of it right now. You hold back the tears. Only when he pulls you into his arms do they fall. He takes your hands, gently pulling them away from your face so he can wipe your tears despite your protests. There’s no coldness in his expression now, only concern.

“I needed time to process everything,” you continue, but you choke on the words. “I couldn’t even accept it myself, I couldn’t—”

“I know, love,” he says quietly as his thumb brushes against your cheek. “I know. It’s alright.”

Your silent sniffles turn into unrestrained sobs as he pulls you into his embrace, your pent-up emotions finally released in the form of silvery streams on your cheeks. You aren’t sure how much time passes. The sun meets the horizon in a hazy line of faint pink and orange. The sky darkens. Outside, the city lights up in a multitude of hues, the amber light from the street below seeping into your room. The minutes go by, but Jaemin never lets go of you until your tears have run dry.

“Better?” He asks, albeit his voice is shaky, his gaze trembling when he looks up at you. You nod.

“We’ll figure this out,” his eyes seem to say. You can tell he’s just as terrified as you are, just as unsure and as lost. Though for now, you simply hold each other. You say nothing about the paper that lays discarded on the floor or what it entails, even if you both feel the need to address it, to face its implications. In this moment of brokenness, neither of you have the strength to do so.

You eventually collect yourselves. You make dinner and force yourselves to eat before passing a meaningless hour in front of the TV. You clean up, wash up. Sleep early in preparation for tomorrow. Jaemin never leaves your side.

“Where do we go from here?” You whisper into the darkness of your bedroom.

“Tomorrow, love,” you hear him say just before slipping into unconsciousness, into restless sleep.

According to Lee Donghyuck, the chances of meeting your soulmate are 1 in 10 000. Or at least, scientifically. Theoretically. Donghyuck was a man of logic and reason, and had your lives not revolved around soulmates like the earth revolved around the sun, perhaps he wouldn’t have believed in fate at all.

“Remove fate from the equation,” Donghyuck mumbled to himself thoughtfully, jotting a few numbers down on a paper napkin. “And let’s assume your soulmate is around your age.”

“Can’t you rule that one out too?” You pointed out, but he was too busy, already lost in his thoughts.

“If your soulmate is determined at birth and instantly recognizable at first sight… And they’re actually alive somewhere in the world…”

You watched the quick movements of his blue pen with intrigue. He spun the pen restlessly, allowing its barrel to cross over and under and between his fingers, at times so quickly that it became nothing but a blur of colour. Finally, he scribbled a final verdict and inked two definitive circles around it. “If fate hadn’t been so kind, the chances would have been one in ten thousand. One lifetime out of ten thousand.”

“That slim? Ten thousand lifetimes, that’s nearly impossible,” you said, skeptical but amused at his train of thought nonetheless. You took the napkin from him and looked over his calculations, though some of the numbers were too big for you to check without a calculator. You trusted that Donghyuck had done them correctly though. “You know, if you told that to someone who’d spent a century searching for their soulmate, they’d probably beat you up. You’re lucky I like you.”

He giggled. “We’re lucky it’s only hypothetical.” He took the napkin from you and crumpled it, smudging the neon blue ink on the tips on his fingers.

With Donghyuck, things were simpler. He was young, young enough to not be in a hurry, young enough to speak his thoughts so freely. He never pitied you or worried about offending you, and he never treated you as if you were out of place among the new generations. He offered you perspective. You knew that you weren’t meant for each other, but you were still content to spend your time with each other. To wait together.

“So… I might have found a new place.”

You don’t miss the surprise on Jaemin’s face when you tell him over dinner. His eyes widen a bit in curiosity, his brows arching upwards and his mouth falling slightly agape. He sets his fork down against his plate, folding his hands together the way he does when he’s deep in thought.

“Already?” He inquires. Maybe you imagine a hint of disappointment in his voice, a slight dip in his tone. He looks at you with a sort of sadness, as if trying to imagine what it would be like with you gone, to come home to an empty apartment every night. “Seriously, Y/N, you’re welcome to stay if you need to. We said we would take the changes slowly.” His words aren’t just out of consideration for you.

More than a month has gone by silently, and within that time, the frigid cold of winter has finally given way to spring. Nothing has really changed when you think about it, as if your test results are meaningless. And you suppose that they have become just that, a meaningless scrap of paper at the bottom of the recycling bin in the kitchen. Jaemin still holds you the same way, though his touches are just a little bit more fleeting. Your conversations still extend late into the night, though they feel just slightly melancholic. You hang onto his every word even while telling yourself not to, that maybe there is no point in doing so when everything is already coming to an end.

“I don’t know if I’ll take it… at least not for sure. And even if I do, I won’t be moving in until April. I just thought I’d tell you ahead of time,” you tell him, reaching across the table to take his hand. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I think I need some time alone. So I can adjust to all of this.”

“No, I understand. It’s just a little jarring, you know? Don’t know what it’ll be like without you here.”

“It’s literally only a block away,” you giggle, and he smiles. “I’ll still be here.”

After the coolness of February comes grey skies and a drizzly March, heavy rainfall washing the white snow to grey slush. Eventually, the clouds part across the sky for the sun, allowing the brilliant blue of the sky to peek through. April comes sooner than expected, producing blooms of yellow and white in the flowery courtyards of your new apartment complex, bursts of bright colours along the cobblestone paths.

You stand surrounded by boxes in the middle of your new studio apartment, watching the people pass by on the streets below. The windows are cracked open for air and you can hear the bustle outside, the yells of the street vendors, an occasional shriek of a child’s laughter. The new bedframe and mattress you ordered stand leaning against the wall in the corner, waiting to be assembled. Jaemin stumbles through the door with another box and sets it down before dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“That’s the last one,” he says. He collapses on the couch that the previous owner left behind, out of breath. You sit down next to him, allowing him to rest his head on your lap. He finally looks around, then at you. “Everything you hoped for?”

You nod happily. “I’ll miss having you around though,” you chuckle, playing with the soft strands of his hair, freshly dyed—after losing a drunken bet to Renjun a week ago, he reluctantly let the latter bleach and tone his hair bright silver. But you think it suits him; it accentuates the darkness of his eyes and paleness of his skin, gives him a cold and chic edge offset by the gentleness of his smile.

“I’ll still be here,” he repeats your words from two months ago. “And you’ll be much closer to work, right? No more crazy subway routes and early mornings. At the cost of me being your personal alarm clock, of course.” He grins, and you smack him with a red throw pillow.

“I won’t miss that,” you roll your eyes teasingly.

“Whatever you say, love.” He lifts his head off your lap to press a kiss against your cheek.

You spend the rest of the afternoon with him, unpacking boxes, hanging up clothes, building the bedframe and fitting the mattress with clean sheets so that at least you’ll have somewhere to sleep tonight. When the sun sets, everything is lit in an ethereal glow, and you stare out the floor-length windows, admiring the sky. Jaemin joins you after a moment, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you rock back and forth to the steady rhythm of the music playing from his phone.

When he leaves in the evening, he gives you a final hug, jokingly telling you not to miss him too much. When he’s gone, you find yourself staring out the window once more, at the blocky silhouette of Jaemin’s building a few blocks away. He pointed it out earlier, thrilled that you could see so far from this high up.

You quickly learn that on cloudy days, it is nothing but a smudge of grey in the distance.

While Donghyuck always tried to ease your worries with reason and strokes of pen ink on his skin, Mark took you on long drives around the city, hoping that the wind blowing through your hair would clear your mind.

On late nights when you couldn’t sleep, you often found yourself in the passenger seat of his 1975 Hyundai Pony, listening to static-laced 80s rock music while he drove you around the streets of Seoul. He would always roll the windows down in the summer and watch the contentment on your face, one hand around yours while the other guided the wheel.

Mark Lee was even older than you—and with all the wars and tragedies he’d lived through, he understood what it felt like to be kept awake by the nightmares. To be kept awake by thoughts of loved ones being blown to bits, to be haunted with memories of the past. With how long he’d been searching for the right person, he knew the urgency you felt and the longing to finally settle down with a soulmate. He understood.

The stories he told you were woven between puffs of cigarette smoke and gentle kisses on your forehead. He told you about Canada and the mountains that surrounded Vancouver, where he’d spent some time in the 40s. He told you about his family, about his brother’s grandchildren who looked older than he did. It was strange, he’d admitted with a small laugh and sadness in his smile.

The two of you often pointed out buildings along the side of the road, reminiscing what stood in their place before the bulldozers and big trucks rolled in. Just down the street from his apartment, the old drive-in cinema was being replaced by an upscale theatre. Next to it, a park was being cleared for a new shopping centre. Even the studio he’d rented out last summer had been demolished so a new entertainment agency could build its empire. Once in a while, he would drive by and stare ruefully at the construction site—the classical compositions he’d once recorded there were being replaced by a new type of music, with catchy beats and pretty pop stars dressed in shiny outfits.

His music had been drowned out by a new industry, and likewise, many of the things you remembered from your childhood have been lost to time. Talking about the past with him helped you remember. It was a sort of reassurance even as you moved on.

Mark eased a bit of your pain, staying out with you until the early hours of morning to make sure that you were alright. The next morning, he would almost always call to ask if you’d slept okay, unless there was an issue with the old landline phone in his office. All concept of time disappeared when you were with him, along with your memories and the demons haunting your dreams. But eventually, he would drop you off at home and bid you goodnight, leaving you to watch him drive away. Eventually, the night came to an end.

He couldn’t stay with you the whole night, nor could he stay with you forever.

Your evenings are often interrupted by Jaemin’s messages asking you to come over. Sometimes he says that he misses you, or he wants to see you for dinner. Other times, he kisses you breathless against the closed door as soon as you’ve stepped inside, always with an unmatched fervour and urgency as if you might slip right through his grasp and disappear.

Tonight, however, it’s neither.

It’s half past midnight when your phone is set off in a series of quick vibrations. Wrapped in nothing but a towel with your hair still dripping, you type in a reply, hesitate, press send. You get changed, slipping into a pair of jeans and an oversized T-shirt before grabbing your keys.

Jaemin is uncharacteristically quiet when he opens the door for you, his gaze downcast so you can’t see his expression. He’s deteriorating; you can see it in the way he turns his back to you after locking the door, the way he walks inside with a halfhearted invitation for you to follow.

“What’s wrong?” You ask when you’ve sat down across from him.

“I think I found them,” he mumbles and you notice how he averts your gaze. “My soulmate, I mean. I think I found her.”

“Wait, then why with the long face? Jaem, that’s great—”

He cuts you off with a sharp bark of emotionless laughter. His expression turns bitter when he pulls his sleeve up to reveal a mark along his wrist: two linear streaks of dark purple that twist together like the centre petals of a rose. He stares at it, almost with contempt. Apart from the standardized DNA tests, markings are the only other way to identify soulmates, though they almost never show. No one has any proper explanation for them and you have no explanation for why Jaemin has one now.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think she’s great. She’s smart. She’s funny. We have the same mark so I know it’s her,” he says shakily. “But god, I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this.”

You feel dread. It hits you all at once, because the way Jaemin speaks is so distant and unnerving, as if he’s lost himself in a trance and forgotten all about you. You’ve seen this dazed look before, only twice, when he was truly distressed and truly lost. This isn’t like him.

He found her. He should be happy. You should be happy for him. He should be happy.

“What is it?”

“I think I’m broken. Something’s wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, and you try to keep the urgency out of your voice for his sake. He doesn’t say anything. “Jaemin?”

“I don’t feel anything when I’m with her. Nothing.”

You don’t register his words. They don’t make any sense to you. They are barely coherent. No, you think. That can’t be possible.

“Maybe we rejected each other in a past life and then both offed ourselves. Or maybe this is just the universe’s way of saying ‘fuck you.’ Maybe—”

“Stop that,” you tell him firmly. “Whatever this is, there has to be an explanation for it. Marks don’t just appear out of nowhere, right?” You pause to take a shaky breath, suddenly realizing that your words aren’t meant to comfort only him. “We can look into it. We can figure out what’s going on. This is the 21st Century, remember?”

“But what am I even supposed to tell her?” He demands, his tone exasperated and his brows furrowed together. “‘I know you’ve been looking for me for your whole life, but I can’t see you as anything more than a friend, sucks for you’? What do I do, spend the rest of my life drowning in guilt and self-pity because I couldn’t love her the way she wanted me to? Because I could only pretend?”

You have no answers for him. Perhaps he hasn’t felt anything for her because he hasn’t let go of you. Perhaps it really was a mistake, a freak accident in the cosmos that put the wrong marks on the wrong people, designating a pair that was never meant to be. Your thoughts run wild, but you can’t put anything into words for him. Even if you could, you don’t think you would have the strength to say anything aloud.

Instead, you hold him in your arms, wiping away the tears of frustration that have formed at the corners of his eyes, running your fingers through his hair. You can only hope that his soulmate will do the same for him some day, perhaps in some future where the cruel forces watching over you cease their endless games. Genuinely, you hope.

The tone goes off a third time. You glance at the clock across the room: 11 AM. He has to be up by now, you think to yourself as your fingers continue drumming a repetitive rhythm onto the kitchen counter.

“Hello?”

Just before the automated voice can tell you to leave a voicemail, he picks up. Donghyuck’s voice is groggy, as if he’s just woken up—or maybe he’s just about to go to bed. With his disaster of a sleep schedule, you can never be sure.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Oh hey, you, I know you.” You hear him chuckle on the other end of the line. “How are you, Y/N? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“I’m alright, the usual, I guess. How about you? How’s Jeno?”

“Jeno adopted another cat because he’s fucking insane, so now we have three little furballs running around the house. But yeah, it’s going great! So great,” he drawls with a familiar bite of sarcasm. You smile to yourself. “If he brings home another one because ‘Oh Hyuck, look it’s so cute, can we keep it?’ I will literally choke him in his sleep. Anyways, what’s going on? You never call me.”

“You never pick up,” you huff, earning a small laugh from him. “Okay, I wanted to ask you something. What do you know about soulmate marks?”

Thoughtful silence. “Not much. I mean, I’ve got my theories, but nothing has really been proven. Why, did you get one?”

“No, not me. Jaemin.”

“Oh, Y/N… then that means…”

“It’s alright, don’t concern yourself with me, Donghyuck. I’m more worried about him, honestly.”

“Hm?”

“He found his soulmate recently, but it’s not exactly… it’s not going as expected, let's just say that. He said he feels almost nothing when he’s with her, and to make things worse, apparently now it’s mutual. God, Donghyuck, they’re so awkward with each other, it physically hurts me.”

Donghyuck is silent again, and you hear the faint clicking of his keyboard. You can almost see his contemplative gaze and the soft blue glow of his computer screen lighting his face. “Did they know each other at all before the marks appeared?”

“Yeah, they were coworkers.”

He hums. “Okay… that could be why. Marks have a tendency to appear if soulmates have been around each other for extended periods of time without realizing it. It’s like nature’s way of telling them that the person they’re looking for is right in front of them. As for why they haven’t felt anything for each other? I dunno… reincarnation can really fuck with people. Any previous sentiments for your soulmate stick with you as you pass on, even if you’re both reborn completely different people.”

I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this. Jaemin’s words echo in your head.

“Obviously, there’s still opportunity to fix things,” Donghyuck adds quickly before you can get too lost in your thoughts. “It just takes time. Honestly, I wouldn’t be too concerned”

“I know, I know,” you groan. “I’m just upset that after everything he’s gone through, this is the shit he has to deal with.”

“Yeah. I can’t even imagine.” He pauses. “You know, a lot of people would just run off if they were in the same situation. He’s lucky to have you.”

You give a breathless laugh and shrug. “I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

“You never give yourself enough credit,” Donghyuck says, a hint of melancholy to his voice. There’s a sudden noise in the distance that cuts him off, and he curses beneath his breath. “Shit, the new cat’s not trained yet and I think she’s doing something stupid in the kitchen. Jeno will kill me if anything happens to her.”

You suppress a giggle. “Go ahead. We can catch up some other time.”

“Of course. See you, Y/N.”

The line clicks.

If Donghyuck taught you to be hopeful and Mark taught you to be strong, Jungwoo taught you to be brave.

Kim Jungwoo was your first love, and in many ways, you consider him to be irreplaceable. Perhaps it had simply been the result of young naivety back then, but you thought he was unlike any other person you’d ever met. In hindsight, he was different. A bright light dancing his way into your life when you were only a child in the 30s, a free-spirited boy who went where he pleased despite living under such an oppressive regime.

The Kims lived only a few doors down. You frequently saw the boys in their front yard kicking a beat-up soccer ball back and forth between them. Jungwoo was the middle child, and he sat right in front of you in class, his back always perfectly straight against his wooden chair so as to avoid the teachers’ chastisement. He was a quiet boy, and he never said a word unless it was to answer a question. But even then, his voice was small—not exactly shy or scared, just quiet. He quickly learned to raise his voice when the teacher hit him on the back of the hand with a ruler and demanded he speak up, when the wood scraped apart the skin of his knuckles.

At the time, when Japanese was all too foreign on your tongue and you struggled to understand anything taught in class, you thought he was a genius. He always had the right answers when he was called upon and there wasn’t a trace of an accent in either of his languages. Not that you heard him speak Korean much; you didn’t dare speak it unless you were hidden in your own homes, where your parents could discuss the uprisings without having to worry about the police roaming freely outside. Though, they still spoke in hushed voices as if anyone could hear them, as if terrified for what could happen if someone did hear.

The first time you spoke to Jungwoo properly was in middle school. After a humiliating incident at school that left you in tears, he ran to catch up with you on the way home and spoke to you in timid Korean, offering to help. You were still teary-eyed and beyond upset, but you let him guide you through your homework. He rambled to you about the Japanese grammar you couldn’t understand and explained the mistakes you’d made for your teacher to lash out at you the way she had. It didn’t stop you from making the same mistakes the next day, but at least he was patient, unlike the adults at school.

“You’re not stupid,” he told you one afternoon on the way home. Again, you were in tears.

“But the teachers think I am,” you grunted. “And I feel stupid. I can’t understand a word they say. I never have the right answers. Everything I say is wrong. If that’s not stupidity, I don’t know what it is.”

“Y/N, all we do at school is memorize meaningless facts that don’t really matter,” he replied with a shrug. “Just because you can’t shove all that information into your head doesn’t mean that you’re stupid. Look at Doyoung. He was failing school but he’s still one of the smartest people I know. He just… learns differently.”

“So? That doesn’t make me smart either. They still think—”

Jungwoo scoffed. “Who cares what they think? I think you’re wonderful, and they’re the real freaks. Miss Ito, especially.” He wrinkled his nose. “She smells funny.”

“Hey, be nice, Jungwoo,” you chided, but you were laughing. He was effortlessly funny and it was such a pleasant contrast to the way he acted at school. He was always so disciplined and perfect when the adults were watching, but he seemed to let loose around you. It made you feel… special, in a way. Validated, accepted. Something you never felt at school.

You walked home with him almost everyday from then on. You became inseparable, even when your school shut down and sent all the students to gender-segregated schools, even when your parents worried that you were spending too much of your time with him instead of studying. Even when war arrived.

The Second World War plunged your lives into darkness; Jungwoo quickly became the only light to guide you. He was there for you while your parents were away, while they laboured in the factories making helmets and guns and bullets so that they could at least put food on the table. He was there when the light at the end of the tunnel went dim, though he was miles away from home.

Jungwoo had never struck you as a fighter or rebel, even if he had the physique of a soldier. He had the drive and the courage and the steel to fight, but you only saw gentleness in his monthly letters to you. The last letter you received from him still sits in a drawer somewhere, the last words he wrote sealed in a plastic envelope so that they won’t fade away.

You took the test a few months after the war ended, only because he had pleaded with you to do so. Even if I don’t make it home, he wrote to you in the same curving script he’d used to teach you years ago. Promise me.

When the receptionist gave you a piece of paper with an X marked next to your name—there were no colour indicators back then, only X’s and hollow circles—a part of you felt relief that you couldn’t quite explain. Another part of you was disgusted, convinced that you were being selfish and apathetic. You thought that maybe you had no regard for him; that you only cared for yourself and a stranger you were still searching for. He’d risked his life to join the rebel army, fought on the frontlines with the Allies, and you repaid him with nothing.

It would take you years to come to the conclusion that your reaction was only natural. It would take you years to heal and start seeing other people. In due time, you would stop frequenting the church in your hometown and your fingers would cease to brush against the memorial stone in the yard, upon which his name was carved. Just one name among many.

Jaemin’s hands are all over you: in your hair, around your throat, pushing you against the wall as he kisses you. His fingers tangle into your hair and he pulls on the strands, forcing your head back a bit so he can continue trailing his lips over your neck and collarbones.

“We can’t be doing this,” you tell him when you manage to pull away. His arms come around your waist anyways and he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and you glance behind him to see empty soju bottles on the kitchen counter.

“I’m not with Jieun,” he snarls. “Besides, like I said. I think we’re fucked. We aren’t meant to be.”

“Don’t say that,” you hiss, taken aback by his sudden coldness. “This isn’t fair to her.”

“It’s mutual, remember? I bet she’s out there doing the exact same thing with some other guy. She doesn’t need me.”

“Jaem—”

“We’re fucked. She told me she doesn’t need me, and I told her the same.”

You’re horrified. “You did what?”

“Hilarious, isn’t it? We had our first fight, and we aren’t even together yet.” He scoffs, pushing a hand through his hair in irritation. “Some type of soulmate.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this. He’s out of his mind. He’s lost it. “Fuck, Jaem, how much did you drink?”

“Not enough to feel better, clearly,” he snaps.

“Alcohol and whatever this is between the two of us isn’t going to make you feel any better. This isn’t going to fix your problems.”

“Then what do you want me to do?!” His words are sharp, his expression hard when he glares at you. “You tell me to move on and to give her a chance and to stop doing whatever—” he motions frantically. You’ve never seen him so wild, so out of control, and you’ve almost never seen him lash out at anyone like this. “—whatever the fuck this is, but do you even know how it feels? Do you even care?”

A sharp intake of breath, and then the world is crashing down around you.

The feelings you fought to suppress re-emerge, rising up to crush you and force you into relapse. Doubt. Regret. Guilt. The little voice in the back of your head is a raging monster now, and it shouts at you, screaming at you in a blind rage. Telling you that you’re heartless and self-absorbed and indifferent, everything you believed you were when Jungwoo died. Reinstating what you know isn’t true. You know he doesn’t mean it. You know that it’s just alcohol fueling the words spewing from his lips and nothing more, but they still bring back unpleasant memories, a sense of dread you can’t shake.

He realizes, albeit a bit too late. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

If you knew how much it hurts me to watch you do this to yourself. If you knew how much it hurts me knowing that there’s only so much I can do for you. “Don’t. I get it.”

For a few seconds, the room is silent, save the ticking of the clock behind you. It reminds you briefly of a memory that you can’t quite grasp, like a flash of deja vu before you spiral back down to the present reality where you stand in cold, frigid silence. The broken smoke detector chirps.

“I should go,” you say at last. You go to grab your keys from where you left them on the counter but he quickly stops you, his hand coming around yours. You look up at him in irritation, pulling away sharply.

“It’s late,” he says shakily, almost pleading. “You shouldn’t walk home at this hour. Not alone.”

“I’ll call a cab,” you shrug before slipping into your sweater and pulling on your shoes. You bid him goodnight and leave him dumbfounded in the living room.

You return home to a sleepless light and endless thoughts in a cold bedroom. A broken record replays his words in your head again and again, until you see Jungwoo’s face floating above you in the darkness. His features are faint, like wisps of smoke that loosely form sad eyes and lips pulled downwards in a frown. And then he’s the one asking, “Do you even care?”

You have no answer for the annoying voice in your head. You stare at the lines of light drifting across the expanse of the ceiling, wide awake as the sky brightens outside.

“How long will you be gone?”

It was the 3rd of August 1995. You knew because the next day would mark 50 years since Jungwoo’s death. The next day, you would be going back to your hometown and laying flowers on the altar in the Kim family home, revisiting the memorial you’d left behind when you moved to Seoul.

You shrugged as Mark passed you his lighter. The old zippo produced a small spark between your fingers, and then the sting of smoke was filling your mouth and nose. You didn’t smoke regularly—you’d stopped years ago—but you sure as hell felt like you needed one tonight.

“I dunno,” you said, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “A couple more days after the ceremony? If I stay any longer, Doyoung might get upset.“

“Upset?”

“He doesn’t like seeing me. Said I bring back bad memories. I think I remind him of Jungwoo too much.”

Mark grimaced. “Well it’s scary, seeing a childhood friend who hasn’t aged in fifty something years… Must he like seeing a ghost.” He paused, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear so that he could see your face. “My nephews feel the same way about me.”

“You remind them of something?” You asked.

“Their father, I guess,” he explained. “My brother… wasn’t the most understanding of them when they were younger. Whenever they see me, all they can think of is their childhood and his abusiveness.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

He took a moment of contemplative silence “No, not really. I mean, maybe it did at first. But it’s not like I go out of my way to avoid them just because of the memories they associate with me. That would be unfair for me.”

“It would be,” you agreed.

“So then why avoid Doyoung? What he thinks of you is beyond your control. If you remind him of painful memories, that isn’t exactly your fault.”

You sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel like staying out of his way might help him heal. Maybe it’ll help him move on from everything he’s trying to forget.”

“Oh, Y/N.” Mark took your hand with a breathless laugh. His smile was both sad and endearing, as if he were in awe of you—what for, you weren’t too sure until he murmured, “You’re too kind sometimes.” He paused to exhale, smoke escaping his lips and bleeding into the atmosphere, dispersing into the starry sky. He stared into the sky for a few moments, silent.

“But it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves.”

“What the hell happened to him?”

Jaemin looks like a mess. His hair is disheveled and swept messily all over the place. His skin is unhealthily pale, unusually warm to the touch beneath your fingertips. You can tell he’s had a little too much to drink; he sits on the couch in a daze, his eyes fixated on an invisible point in front of him as if searching for something that is no longer there. He yelps in pain when you wipe at the cut on his lip.

“We bumped into a couple guys at the bar. One of them took a swing at him,” Renjun explains as he passes you the bottle of disinfectant. You carefully apply a drop to a cotton swab. “And it didn’t help that he was also drunk. Thank god Lucas was there to break up the fight.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Jaemin groans in protest. “Just tipsy.”

“Tipsy? You couldn’t even tell me Y/N’s number.”

“I don’t remember anyone’s number.”

“Well, you couldn’t tell me your own name either. Got any excuse for that one, smartass?”

You ignore their bickering and continue cleaning the cut on Jaemin’s cheek, holding him firmly by the shoulder so he doesn’t move. The cotton quickly turns light pink between your fingers. You briefly examine the red marks along his jaw where he’d been hit, frowning. Jaemin has never been one to get into fights and especially not while under the influence, but the bruises on his cheek and his knuckles suggest otherwise. Hell, he rarely even gets drunk, but it’s becoming more and more frequent, to the point where Renjun makes sure to watch over him whenever they go out together. He’s derailing, you think to yourself as you brush his hair into some sort of order.

“Okay, let’s get you to bed.” You put his arm around your shoulder and help him up to his feet, nearly staggering beneath his weight. Renjun rushes over to help you move him into the bedroom.

“You should probably go home. It’s getting late,” you tell him when Jaemin has been settled in bed. You glance at the clock hanging in the kitchen as you clean up the first aid kit on the table: almost 2 AM. “I’ll stay with him… make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I really tried to keep him away from the alcohol tonight. I swear I turned away for only a second to deal with Yangyang and he— Ugh, I’m so sorry,” Renjun apologizes again, shaking his head. “This whole soulmate ordeal is really getting to him. I’m worried, Y/N.”

“You know how he is. He always figures it out one way or another” you reassure him. “I’ll talk to him again though. Maybe he’ll actually… listen this time.”

“Well, call me if anything happens. I probably won’t be asleep anyways.”

“I will. Thanks, Jun,” you nod appreciatively.

By the time Renjun has gone home and you’ve finished cleaning up, Jaemin is already asleep. He stirs when you switch off the lamp and reaches out for you in the darkness, fingers intertwining with yours. “Stay,” he mumbles, pulling you a bit closer.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say as you admire the way the moonlight filters in through the windows and draws pale lines across his cheeks. Despite the cuts marking his skin, he looks so much softer now, innocent, in a way. Again, you’re reminded of the Jaemin you met at the art gallery. He was none of this. None of this pent-up frustration released in empty beer bottles, none of these crimson bruises marking his otherwise smooth skin.

“You have to stop doing this to yourself,” you murmur. There’s no reply at first, and you wonder if he heard you at all.

“I’m sorry,” you finally hear his voice: small, feeble in the darkness. His words become more urgent as he keeps speaking, spilling from his lips uncontrollably. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I wasn’t thinking. You know I could never mean it.”

You hush him, wrapping him in the security of your arms. A single tear brushes against the back of your hand, then another. “It’s alright,” you assure him as you rub soothing circles against his back. “You were going through a lot. I understand, okay? It’s okay.”

He shakes his head frantically, his tears falling in steady streams now. You let out a low hiss when you see them stain pink with the blood from the wound on his cheek. “Still, that shouldn’t be an excuse. I’ve managed to fuck up everything since all of this started. I hurt Jieun, I hurt Renjun, I hurt you. I can’t even go to work and look at Jieun without feeling like such an idiot and getting mad at myself for being such a child. Without feeling like maybe I deserve this.”

Your heart drops, then shatters into a million pieces at the bottom of a dark abyss.

“Look at me,” you plead as you take his face in your hands. “Look at me, Jaem, please.” He finally lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in the stillness. All you can see is brokenness, defeat and regret, a look you knew well. It’s an expression that once followed you around for years, appearing in every mirror and reflection you passed by. An innate, intimate part of you that you despised so much until you came to accept it. “Listen to me, Na Jaemin. You are one of the strongest, bravest and kindest people I’ve ever met, and nothing will ever change the way I see you. You don’t deserve any of this bullshit. You don’t deserve this.”

“If you knew what I told her, Y/N,” he lets out a shaky breath. “If you knew what we told each other when we found out neither of us had any feelings for each other… maybe you would think differently of me.”

“If that’s truly what you believe, fix what you broke,” you say firmly. “Apologize to her. Make things right between the two of you, unless you want to go through this all over again in another life. Things will only get worse if you don’t address them now.”

“And if I can’t?”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, Jaem.” Trembling, you press your lips to his temple. “Whether or not you end up with her, whether or not you think you deserve this, I love you. And that will never fucking change.”

He leans forwards, his forehead touching yours, his nose brushing against yours and his lips just inches from meeting yours. But he never comes any closer, and you feel no urge to close the distance either. Perhaps it’s a sign that both of you are already starting to let go, to drift apart; this moment is nothing romantic or lustful, nothing more than comforting each other in your brokenness. Nothing more than trying to help each other numb the pain.

“I love you.” His voice trembles, but his words are steady, deep-rooted in sureness.

“Then promise me you’ll try, Jaem. You’ll try to set things right, for both our sake.”

“For you, love,” he murmurs, so quietly that you can barely hear him. His voice is lost to the faint rumbling of the air conditioning unit somewhere outside and the distant noises of traffic. “For you, I would do anything.”

You wonder if he’ll remember any of this in the morning. You wonder if he’ll take your words to heart, or if they’ll simply be enveloped in dreams fueled by drunkenness, reduced by sleep to nothing but a blur.

...it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves

You’ve done everything you can for him, you decide. Even if you continue to walk by his side, the rest is up to him.

One Saturday morning, Jaemin shows up at your door dressed in black jeans and a button-down shirt, his hair swept up neatly. There’s a kind of brightness to him; it’s not necessarily hope or excitement, but certainly a change from what you’ve seen the last couple of weeks. He’s meeting Jieun for lunch, he tells you nervously. He wants to see you before he goes. You tell him you’re proud of him. That genuinely, you admire him.

The next time you see him, it’s at a floral shop. He’s in the middle of picking out flowers, and he flushes when he sees you. A single rose seemed too cliche, he tells you sheepishly, and asks your opinion. He thinks she’ll prefer something a bit more unique but equally tasteful, equally elegant. You recommend orchids or gerberas. They last longer than roses, but they convey the same message. When he’s gone, you buy a small vase of irises for your apartment; your living room needs a bit of colour.

Weeks later, you find a small package in the mail: a parting gift, you realize when you tear open the padded envelope. It’s nothing too special, nothing fancy or expensive—just a piece of blue glass wrapped in silver accents, attached to a delicate chain that you loop around your neck. When you hold the pendant up to the sun, its blue tint shatters into infinite colours, tossing specks of luminous yellow and orange all over your bedroom. More than just a singular colour, it reflects the other hues around you. And for just a brief moment, you think you see your own reflection.

You watched Jaemin move on just as you’d watched Mark and Donghyuck: from afar, with reserve but at the same time, excitement. Close enough for him to know that you were still there for him, but allowing some sort of distance that grew as the days melded into weeks and then months.

For the most part, he seemed to be alright. His texts were always cheerful, covered in happy emoticons—he used them when he was too giddy with excitement to type actual words. “We figured things out,” was all he said one night, and it was all you needed to hear to know that they’d be okay.

You started to notice the fondness he’d developed for her; it was subtle at first, just a hint of affection in his voice when he told you about her over the phone. Though slowly, it developed into something more. It was just as Donghyuck said: time had forged a relationship out of nothing, out of empty words and empty emotions, growing a garden from a barren piece of wasteland.

The first time you spoke to Kim Jieun, it was over the phone during one of your calls with Jaemin. She’d chimed in on your conversation at some point to say hi, and the way she spoke almost reminded you of Donghyuck: bright, cheery, a little sarcastic in a playful manner. You quickly learned that she was easy-going though brutally honest at times, well-mannered yet well-humoured. Most importantly, she wasn’t judgemental, and she didn’t treat you any differently from Jaemin’s other friends just because you’d been with him previously.

Of course, there was still a sense of yearning, a bittersweetness whenever you saw the two of them together. Your fingers always danced fleetingly along the screen of your phone before pressing like on the photos he posted to his social media. You saw him less and less, only occasionally running into him at the bakery you used to frequent together or at a friend gathering. For the most part, you let the past stay in the past. He seemed happy. And honestly, you were happy for him.

“I told you he’d be fine,” Donghyuck murmured to you at one of Jeno’s rampant parties, once most of the guests had trickled out for the night. The two of you sat on the balcony, watching everyone stumble around in their drunken stupor: Jeno was passed out on the couch with two cats sitting perched on his chest. Renjun was trying to braid flowers into Jaemin’s hair, which he’d recently bleached yet another shade lighter to match Jieun’s platinum locks. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Chenle and Jisung exchange a few bills and bicker over a bet—Chenle was still in denial that Jisung had won, apparently.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second, Hyuck.”

“But you were worried,” he grinned smugly.

“Why wouldn’t I be worried?” You sighed and knocked back the rest of your wine before motioning for him to pass you the bottle. You swiftly poured yourself another glass. “If I couldn’t have my happy ending, at least I wanted him to have his. As… cliche as that sounds.”

Donghyuck raised a brow at you. “What’s to say that you won’t get yours too? They can’t keep you waiting forever. The longest it ever took for someone to find their soulmate was 241 years.”

“Goddamn, are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“Better, of course! Okay, what I’m trying to say is that it’s rare for anyone to wait longer than two centuries. If everyone lived for up to three hundred years, we’d have a lot of dictators and other crazies running the world. The universe would spontaneously combust.”

“I know I’m barely even halfway there, but come back to me when I set a new world record,” you rolled your eyes, to which he responded with a small chuckle.

“So what now?” He glanced at Jaemin, who sat across the room with his eyes half-closed, an empty red solo cup in his hands. Jieun had her head on his shoulder, rambling drunkenly about something to Renjun. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought she’d been a part of the group all along; she fit in so seamlessly, and it warmed your heart to see her getting along with everyone.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Nothing for now, I guess. Just waiting.”

“Whoever it is, I’m sure they’ll be worth it,” he hummed in reply.

“You think so?”

“People say that the longer you wait, the better. It’s all in your head, of course, but they have a point.”

You sighed, lifting your head to gaze at the stars hanging overhead. “I suppose they do. Maybe someday I get to find out.”

He patted you on the shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll figure it out. You always have.”

Donghyuck left a little later to get a drunk Jeno to bed, and then you had only the quietness of night to keep you company. Your mind drifted and you contemplated his words, repeating them silently to the wind. The night sky replied with nothing but a gentle breeze against your skin.

You could be patient, you thought as you watched the others inside. You fished the pendant out from beneath your shirt and stared at the reflection in the glass. It was as if you were grasping a piece of the night sky between your fingers: the stars and a crescent moon captured in a single, translucent oval. In the dark, the pendant appeared deep indigo, not too different in hue from the four coloured markings you’d acquired over the years.

But the sun would rise in due time, you thought to yourself mirthfully. Beneath the brightness of morning, you’d hold a different colour in your hands. You tucked the necklace back into the fabric of your shirt. You could wait.

read the epilogue, yellow

#nct #nct fanfic #nct dream #nct dream fanfic #nct jaemin #jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin fanfic #nct angst #nct fluff #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #the longest shit ive ever written hoLY SHIT #cznnet

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ladynestaarcheron · 3 years

Text

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Three

ao3 - masterpost

happy friday! here's chapter three, a little long, and dramatiqué so enjoy:)

canon fixes this week: 1) gwyn mentions the priestess who counsels them. nesta was never offered counseling. bullshit. 2) gwyn says they never talk about each other because they've all been through a lot. mm. okay. i went to a girls' school. you don't just not talk about anyone because they've been through a lot. it doesn't have to be cruel gossip, but you definitely still talk. and if someone is a bitch to you, then yeah, it's gossip.

---

When Nesta had first been brought into Prythian, right here into the House of Wind, she had often thought to herself that her life could not possibly get any worse. She was a faerie now, a monster, and Elain was wasting away before her eyes, and Feyre was off to no-one-would-tell-her-where doing no-one-would-tell-her-what. And every other day, Cassian would come by and interrupt her fear and anxiety to irritate her beyond belief.

‍And then the war happened, and the impossible happened. Her life did get worse.

‍And now she is here again, and it is...different. Sometimes worse. Sometimes better. Sometimes neither. But it's different this time.

‍This time, she doesn't have to be worried about her sisters. They're the ones who are worried about her. She isn't scared of her own reflection anymore--not comfortable in this immortal skin, but used to it nonetheless. And most striking...Cassian doesn't seek her out.

‍He doesn't sit with her for breakfast, though the healer, Daphne does come up every morning to check up on her (unnecessary. She is miserable and in pain, but stable). She hears him during the day, making rounds around the House, or doing something up on the roof, but she doesn't see him while the sun is out. He meets her once for dinner, to watch her take her mock liquor, and then once again when she hurls out her insides in the middle of the night.

‍And then the week is over, and he is gone.

‍Feyre is there to greet her for breakfast.

‍"I hear you slept the night!" she says, enthusiastic.

‍Nesta doesn't answer.

‍"You've detoxed," Feyre says. "I...I'm really proud of you. I know that was a long five days. Elain's proud of you, too. She sends her love."

‍Nesta nods slightly. She sits down at her usual spot at the head of the table, the chair dragging itself out to meet her.

‍Feyre notices. "Kind of creepy, isn't it? The magic all on its own?"

‍"I don't mind it," Nesta says.

‍On the contrary. The first morning she had awoken here, she had desperately wanted to bathe. But she stumbled into the bathroom and her body had seized up as she imagined herself sinking in the tub. Sinking...drowning...getting pulled under and never getting out. Perhaps it was being back here, but she had asked the House for some buckets, and reverted to her old practice of washing herself.

‍She had fully intended to accept her fate, coming to terms with the fact that while she was in the House, forcing herself to sit in the tub would be far too difficult, and she'd have to suffer through being covered in her own sick for a week, but on the second morning, the House had gifted her with an out.

‍The tub, ridiculously wide and deep--to accommodate wings, she realizes now--was still there, but hanging from the ceiling, almost like a chandelier, was a faucet. The House had turned on the water for her; she hadn't known what it was. The water came out like rain, with dozens of tiny streams instead of one the size of a fist, like in the bath. And she could...stand under it.

‍Nesta still isn't quite sure how much the House can hear, or if it cares. But she takes extra care to say please and thank you now, for things she wouldn't have bothered before.

‍"Well, at any rate," Feyre says, pulling her back to the present. "You'll be starting at the library today. Are you ready?"

‍Nesta shrugs.

‍"Do you want me to walk you down?"

‍No. Maybe. No. "Do...are girls normally escorted in?" she asks carefully.

‍"No," Feyre admits. "Normally...they're just brought here right after...but it's allowed. I mean, whatever's more comfortable for you."

‍She doesn't know what to say, so she deflects. "Did Elain not want to escort me?"

‍"She just didn't want to come by until you specifically asked for her."

‍"Why did you come, then?" She's blunt, but she only realizes how it sounds until after it comes out. She isn't trying to be cruel, though.

‍Feyre doesn't bristle. "I wanted to see you. And update you on the Illyrian situation."

‍"The rebels?"

‍"They're doing a good job of keeping their meetings secret," Feyre admits. "But don't worry. We're better."

‍"I'm not worried," Nesta says, and she honestly means it. She remembers the war well. Remembers Cassian's skill, precision, deadliness...no one compares. If he's defending her, there's no cause for concern. Except him, of course. "What is it?"

‍"They know you're at the House." Their spies in Velaris had probably noticed Cassian flying about, had marked Elain moving her things out of her apartment in the city...Nesta isn't scared of any Illyrians tracking her down while she's here, but the idea of some wretch skulking after her sisters in the dark....

‍Feyre continues, "And we do know they want to make a move. But they can't, Nesta. I promise you're safe here."

‍Nesta keeps her voice impassive, almost bored, when she says, "He's gone, though?"

‍Feyre knows whom she means. "Cassian? Well, we're still keeping the House secure...you might hear him or Rhys or Az checking the wards a few times a day, but that's it. No one in the House any longer. Just as you'd prefer it."

‍Nesta blinks. She hadn't realized this threat was real enough to warrant the three of them visiting the House multiple times a day. Perhaps...perhaps there is reason to worry. Or fear.

‍Because she certainly will be afraid...if it happens like last time. Strange faerie males breaking down her door, ripping her out of bed. By her hair, by her arms. Grabbing at her, pinching her. Elain screaming from her room down the hall.

‍"So, you'll go down yourself, then?" Feyre asks, dragging her back to the present.

‍Nesta blinks again, shoving that horrible night out of her mind. "Yes," she says, and because she doesn't want to give herself another moment to slide into that place again, rises to do just that.

Feyre had escorted her down to these doors once before, and they had descended the levels to find Hybern. This time, she is alone, and there are two priestesses waiting for her when she enters.

‍One clearly defers to the other, and she stands behind her. Her hood is set atop her head, and her brown face is pretty aside from some light scarring on either cheek. She smiles and says, "Welcome, Nesta."

‍Nesta cannot tell if the higher priestess smiles or not, for her hood covers her face. But truth be told, even if she were entirely naked, Nesta would only look at her hands, for they are wrecked beyond comprehension. Fingers at wrong angles and parts missing and--

‍"Hello," Nesta blurts out, because it's the only thing she can think to say and she doesn't want to stare. She hates when people stare at her. Her cheeks flame; she's not cut out for this. She can't be around these females.

‍The high priestess lifts her head slightly, enough for Nesta to see that she is, indeed, smiling. A parchment and fountain pen--and quite a good-quality one, she notes--appear out of thin air, making her jump slightly, and in a neat script write out:

‍Welcome, Nesta. I am Clotho, high priestess of the library. This is Thalia, one of our senior priestesses. She'll be showing you the library today. I hope you find it to your liking. I'll see you later today.

‍"Oh," Nesta says, not quite knowing what to reply. "Thank you," she adds, figuring that's as good as anything.

‍Clotho raises her head once more to offer her another smile and then sweeps away, parchment and pen disappearing after her.

‍"Shall we begin our tour, then, Nesta?" Thalia asks. She waits for Nesta to nod before beginning her descent down the spiralling levels of the library.

‍Thalia explains about the different sections of the library, and points out different offices for the other senior priestesses and what their specialties are. They meet some females here and there, and she introduces them, but luckily no one sticks around for a chat. Already Nesta can feel her pulse quickening, sick at the idea of having to be with all these people all the time. She is immensely grateful for her sisters for keeping her alone in the House during the nights, at least.

‍When they reach the fifth level, Nesta stops in her tracks. Thalia looks at her, patient and unhurried.

‍"Is it--back?" Nesta asks, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

‍Thalia smiles. "Bryaxis has never harmed any of us and is no cause for alarm," she says gently. "But no, it is not returned."

‍No cause for alarm? Cassian was scared of that thing.

‍But if it's not here...fine.

‍"Where's your office?" Nesta says, grasping for a subject so she doesn't have to see the look on Cassian's face when he found her running out of the library in her mind's eye.

‍"Level six," she replies. "Come, let's go there now."

‍Thalia's office is clearly very separate from the library, as it has the least amount of books of any room here. Which is still substantially more than what Nesta guesses the average room in Velaris has, with one wall made up of fully stacked floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and some on the desk in the corner and one on the coffee table in the small sitting area.

‍"Come sit, please, Nesta," Thalia says, choosing a couch for herself. "Well,"she says, when Nesta is settled in an armchair, "what are your first impressions of the library?"

‍"I've been here before."

‍Thalia smiles. "So you have. But you're a bit better informed on our particular brand this time around, aren't you?"

‍Nesta nods.

‍"Well, allow me to explain further. I am the priestess who counsels the females who choose to join us."

‍"Counseling?" she repeats, her heart speeding up. So she's supposed to just tell this female everything about herself? Is that what her sisters expect her to do?

‍"I know that's a loaded word, but I promise it isn't as scary as it sounds."

‍How can she be so cavalier about this? All smiles and twinkling eyes.

‍"We can have sessions as often or as rarely as you'd please. If you'd like, you never have to come to another meeting with me again after this, or any of the classes or sessions my colleagues direct. Except, of course, for our weekly check-in."

‍"What's the weekly check-in?" Nesta asks, because the priestess won't say anything otherwise.

‍"We do one mandatory group session a week where we all check-in with each other. Everyone attends. No one has to speak, but we all attend."

‍All right. Fine. She can do that. Sitting in a room one a week, silent. Listening to other miserable girls talk about their problems.

‍Could be worse, she tries to tell herself.

‍"So what exactly...does life at the library entail?"

‍"Our institution exists for the purpose of preserving and furthering knowledge on every topic we can get our hands on," Thalia says, "but we also serve to help females heal from various traumas. Because everyone is different, there's no one correct way to go about this journey. But a very broad number of sessions and exercises are available to you, and you are welcome and encouraged to try any of them. In addition to these, you will also be invited to work in the library. First you can start with menial tasks, and when you've got your bearings you can be given a more specific assignment.

‍"But the real question, Nesta," the priestess continues, and Nesta startles when she breaks her generic explanation to address her by name, "is what you want life at the library to entail."

‍She clenches her fists at her side, trying to draw the blood away from her cheeks. "What?"

‍"What would you say your goals are?"

‍Her throat tightens. Goals? Nesta hasn't had a goal in...probably since she stopped taking magic lessons with Amren. And for her life, well....

‍"Why don't we start with what urged you to make the decision to come here?"

‍Blinking twice, Nesta says, "My sisters."

‍"Did you come to appease them, or another reason, or a mix of both?"

‍Perhaps it's something in the female's tone, that genuine curiosity, that puts Nesta the slightest bit at ease.

‍"For them, mostly. But...a little bit for me." It sounds stupid when she says it, but Thalia does scoff or roll her eyes--of course not. And that's enough for her to continue, unprompted, "I want to live again."

‍Without missing a beat, Thalia leans over and picks up the book from the table and takes out a pen from the pocket of her robe. "Why don't we figure out how you can do that, then?"

Perhaps it was because of the topic of conversation--Nesta hates talking about herself--but she didn't remember sober conversations being so...difficult.

‍Thalia had coaxed Nesta into telling her the things she most wanted to happen. She had congratulated her on her sobriety--almost a full week, Nesta's mind bit with mock enthusiasm--and encouraged her to take her success there as indication that she is capable of working towards everything else she desires.

‍But so far Nesta is only sober because she lives in a house completely inaccessible to the outside world--unless she wants to hike down ten thousand steps, or ask Rhysand to carry her down--and there is no alcohol inside of it. She can't possibly manage any of her other goals in the real world.

‍"Why not?" Thalia had asked. "And who says this isn't the real world?"

‍That was fair. So Nesta shrugged, and after a painstaking few hours, they had a list of things Nesta wanted to do for now, comprised of a sentence Nesta worded and then Thalia's additions.

Not drift off inside her own head for undetermined amounts of time -> determine triggers.

Not always feel like she needs alcohol -> find productive coping mechanisms.

Be able to talk to Elain and Feyre normally -> determine what is stopping her since all three of them want the same thing.

Start reading again.

The fourth one Thalia had been very pleased to hear, and she had left as Nesta said it.

"I'd be happy to give you some recommendations, if you'd like," she'd said.

"There are romances in the House," she said. She had spotted some on the shelves in her room that hadn't been there last time. And who knew when the next time she was going to have sex was? Who knew if she'd ever have sex again? So she'd better find a good novel.

She didn't tell the priestess that, of course.

So after a morning of that, and a quiet lunch of one slice of toast by herself in the House--not much, but more than she'd expected to have. The detoxing must've given her the slightest bit of appetite again--Nesta descends down to the library again to begin her new job of shelving books.

The work isn't so bad. Dusty, and tedious, but it's good enough at distracting her from herself, because she doesn't know the library well enough for it to be mindless. After a few hours of this, a strong bell rings out--the call to prayer. The priestess all make their way to the same place, leaving Nesta alone in the library for half an hour, then they are back. No one asks her why she didn't join. No one asks her anything at all the whole day, until a second, softer bell rings out, and the priestesses begin to leave for dinner, and she back up to the House, and Clotho waits for her at the door.

Hello, Nesta, she charms her pen to write for her. How was your first day?

"All right," she says. It was. It was...fine. Not terrible.

Thalia tells me she's very impressed with your progress.

Nesta blinks. She hasn't done anything.

Clotho huffs a small sound of amusement, swaying her hood slightly. It can generally take a long while for someone to share with Thalia as much as you did.

I noticed you seemed interested in the Wats books.

At this, Nesta blushed slightly. Children's books, tall tales. "I hadn't realized I was being watched."

Clotho only waits.

"Yes," she says eventually. "I...like stories."

One of our senior priestesses is giving a series of lectures on the history of children's literature. There's one tomorrow. Perhaps you'd like to join.

The pink tinge in Nesta's cheeks hasn't fully faded. "Maybe."

Was there something else you wanted to say, Nesta?

Is it that obvious? Nesta's always thought she's good at keeping her thoughts off her face, but Clotho and Thalia seem to see right through her.

"I still don't understand how this is supposed to work," she admits.

Clotho lifts her head to show her another smile. I'm afraid "this" will require some patience. We want to find the right path for you. In the meantime, however, you are welcome to join sessions or lectures, and I will figure out an assignment for you within the coming weeks.

You have nothing to worry about, Nesta, Clotho adds. You're going to do so well. You're stronger than you think you are.

She has to say that to everyone, Nesta supposes, but she nods anyway, and turns to go up into the House.

Dinner is as quiet as lunch was, and Nesta manages to stomach another slice of toast and even some raw celery. Anything hot or rich, Nesta finds, is too much for her to bear, and she can't keep down. Even buttering her toast is too much for her. The House doesn't seem to grow impatient with her as she uncertainly, almost shyly, asks it for new foods. Just to see if she can smell them without growing nauseated. Small steps. Perhaps one day she'll be able to eat normally again.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps she'll be this wretched, vile, pathetic thing--

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It's not an uncommon occurrence, for Cassian's deep voice to echo in her mind, but it's been some time since they've felt so...comforting.

Your sisters love you. I can't for the life of me understand why, but they do. Yes, that had spun around in her mind for months. And most nights, sometimes even with another male's arms around her...I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.

He hadn't meant it. Or...he had in the moment and then without the looming threat, he had changed his mind. Or she had done something...

But this is real.

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It feels real. It feels honest and true and tonight, it is enough to drive out other thoughts, enough to spur her into choosing a book to start, enough to make her forget that she wanted the fifth thing on that list to be Not be so awful and disgusting and useless and pathetic because if he think she's not, then she's not.

It's enough to make her think she's doing the right thing, and enough to make her do it again tomorrow.

The next day, no one seeks Nesta out for a session. Some of the senior librarians say hello to her, but she is mostly left to her own devices and continues shelving books on her own. She does so all morning, and she expects to do so all afternoon, but around two, a priestess approaches her and asks her if she wants to join her lecture circuit on the history of children's literature. There's no real reason not to go, so Nesta agrees.

‍The room is smaller than the ones Father had once described to her were at higher institutes on the continent. It's the right size for the dozen or so priestesses already sitting in a semi-circle, facing a black board where a charmed piece of chalk already begins to write.

‍Nesta sits in an empty seat on the edge of the semi-circle, next to a copper-haired priestess, with her hood hanging at her shoulders. Actually, Nesta muses to herself as she studies the girl out of the corner of her eye, she might not even be a priestess at all. She isn't wearing that necklace they all have on their foreheads. It's nice to think that there's someone else here who doesn't worship that thing.

‍The lecture is interesting, if a bit confusing at times. Nesta is largely unfamiliar with children's stories over the Wall--there had been no magical quests or enchanted objects in her childhood. The witches and sorcerers and faeries had always been the villains.

‍But it's nice. To learn something new, to hear it from someone who is clearly passionate about it.

‍When the lecture is over, the priestess--Calliope--talks to her while the other girls file out.

‍"To your liking?" she asks, blunt.

‍"Yes," Nesta answers.

‍"Thalia said you might like some recommendations. What are you interested in?"

‍"Anything good. Romances."

‍"Are you well-versed in fae classics?"

‍"No," Nesta says. She's fairly well versed in human classics, though.

‍"I'll get you started. I'll have a pile ready for you by the end of the day."

‍"I...thank you," she says.

‍The priestess nods once and turns on her heel to leave.

‍Nesta blinks. She didn't realize priestesses could be...not so like Thalia or Clotho and maybe more...like her. Back when she was like herself, at least. She shakes herself a little and walks out of the room, too.

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" asks a clear, pretty voice from behind.

‍Nesta turns. The ginger possibly-not-priestess.

‍"Excuse me?"

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" she repeats, taking a step closer.

‍Tensing slightly, Nesta says, "She asked me if I liked her lecture."

‍"Well?"

‍Hands now fisted at her sides, Nesta says, "I beg your pardon?"

‍"Well, did you like it?"

‍"I did," Nesta says shortly.

‍"Do you think you'll be assigned to her?"

‍"I..."

‍"You haven't been assigned yet. I mean, you're new, so that's not unusual, but since you don't live with us and you're only coming now we wondered if you were going to be assigned earlier."

‍Nesta raises an eyebrow. "We?"

‍The girl offers her a sheepish grin. "It's not every day we get someone new. We...the other girls and I...we were just a little curious."

‍"Hm."

‍"Well, do you think you want to be assigned to her? I'm Gwyenth Berdara, by the way, I'm another student here."

‍"Nesta."

‍"I know. You're the High Lady's sister and you slew the King of Hybern."

‍Nesta freezes slightly, for a moment. Then she says, "I didn't. I stabbed him."

‍"Oh," Gwyneth says, teal eyes widening. "Well...they call you kingslayer. Not kingstabber. It's a better nickname," she adds, when Nesta doesn't say anything. "As far as nicknames go. Mine's Gwyn, by the way. Or what everyone calls me. Not as suave as kingslayer, but what can you do?"

‍Gwyneth Berdara...talks more than Morrigan.

‍"Sorry," Gwyn says, laughing a little. "We're not supposed to overwhelm you. I just...wanted to talk to you."

‍"Were you told not to overwhelm me?" Were those Feyre's orders, she wonders.

‍"Just anyone new. But...some girls don't talk for weeks, and you've already come to a lecture on your second day. And you talked to Thalia for a long time yesterday."

‍"I hadn't realized I was being studied."

‍Gwyn laughs. "This library's smaller than you think. So, you liked the lecture? Do you think you'll come to the next one?"

‍"Probably." What else is there to do?

‍"I like Calliope's circuits. She's always doing something interesting, if you like books. Do you like books?"

‍"I do."

‍"Well. Then you'll probably like her circuits."

‍They are both silent for a few moments, before Nesta realizes it is probably her turn to initiate conversation. "How long have you been here?"

‍"Two years, about." She is quiet for a beat, before she adds, "Lord Azriel and Lady Morrigan brought me here."

‍Nesta blanches. She's never heard them referred to with their titles before.

‍"Do you like staying at the House of Wind?"

‍"I...it's all right. Yes," she decides. "I like it." Why not? It gave her a standing bath. It keeps the fireplaces empty and uses some other form of magic, she thinks, to heat her room.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, and Nesta thinks she deflates a bit. "I thought you might prefer to stay in our dorms."

‍"I'm not very religious." That's polite. Nesta actively hates their god. Or whatever the cauldron is supposed to be. Demon, more like.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, blinking in surprise. "Oh. Well. That's all right. If you...ever change your mind. And you want to stay in our dormitories, I could help you find a room."

‍"Thank you," Nesta says.

‍Again, they are both quiet. Perhaps neither of them has had a friendly conversation in a while.

‍With a jolt, Nesta realizes--this has been a friendly conversation.

‍Nesta tries to grasp at something to say, something friendly. Has she been friendly? Or has she been cold this entire time? No, if the girl has been talking to her all the while, she must have been friendly. It's not as though Nesta's never been friendly in her life. She's had friends before. Clare and Joyly and Heather. She knows how. Even if none of them had thought her a good enough friend to bother trying to talk to her after she had distanced herself, after Tomas, after Feyre--

‍"I have to be getting back to my priestess. We're researching dimensions and other worlds. But I'll see you, Nesta." With a small wave, Gwyn bounds away.

‍"See you," she calls after her.

‍That...that's good, isn't it? Probably something Elain and Feyre would be pleased to hear. Maybe she should tell them. Invite them up for dinner.

‍Or is it too pathetic? One cordial conversation isn't anything to write home about. But maybe they'd like to know she's doing better; pathetic as her version of better is.

‍I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

‍Maybe...maybe she should.

‍She'll just write them a letter, she decides. No, that's too formal. But sending them up is too dramatic...but if they want to come see her--

‍Nesta pinches herself. Hard. Enough till she's only focussing on the pain, so these incessant, stupid thoughts are driven out of her head.

‍Just go back to shelving books, she tells herself. Just put away the books and don't think about anything else.

‍Her mind does stray, though, and she wonders if any of the minuscule steps she takes in the right direction are worth the spiralling she has to go through after.

Despite her echoing anxieties, her physical weakness, and sheer exhaustion of being herself, Nesta does manage to get through the weekend--Feyre does not visit, but she and Elain both send up letters, decorated with little paintings and pressed flowers--and to the weekly check-in on Sunday. She doesn't know what to expect, but Gwyneth Berdara is there in the large hall, where they all sit in a circle, and waves her over.

‍"Good morning," she says.

‍"Good morning," Nesta answers.

‍"First weekly check-in."

‍"Yes."

‍"You don't have to say anything, if you don't want to. I didn't for months. Ten months, actually."

‍She certainly does talk a lot now, though.

‍"I didn't realize there were so many females here," Nesta says, looking around. Dozens of girls...probably more than fifty, plus the twelve higher priestesses. Gwyn is the only one who doesn't wear the necklace on her forehead.

‍"A lot don't wander so much. Some don't come out of their rooms except for this."

‍"Oh," Nesta says. So it's...good, then. That she can still go places. Talk to people. Maybe she really isn't as hopeless as she thinks.

‍Not that these females are hopeless. That's not what she thinks. Oh, that's a horrible thing to think, especially after what they've been through--

‍"That's Merrill," Gwyn says, pointing at a senior priestess. "I'm assigned to her."

‍Carefully, Nesta says, "Maybe I'll be assigned to her, too."

‍"Ooh, you better hope not. Merrill's the worst." Gwyn shudders.

‍"What?" Nesta asks. "Aren't they all supposed to be nice?"

‍Gwyn scoffs. "Says who? Are you nice?"

‍"I...guess not," Nesta says. "But I'm not a senior priestess."

‍"All right, that wasn't nice," Gwyn admits. "Sorry. You're right. She should probably be nicer. She should definitely be nicer...and you're all right."

‍"I'm not nice." She has never been nice.

‍Gwyn shrugs. "Well, I like you anyway."

‍Nesta's heart stutters. "Er--why don't you ask Clotho to reassign you?" she asks, pulse pounding in her ears.

‍Gwyn crosses her arms. "I can stick it out."

‍Is that what she looks like, Nesta wonders, to other people?

‍She should tell her something. This Gwyn. Tell her to switch priestesses. Or...tell Merrill to be nicer. Or tell Clotho to tell Merrill to be nicer. Or maybe she can do it for her.

‍"Good morning, everyone," Thalia starts, and Nesta's eyes snap to her. "Let's begin, shall we?"

‍The weekly check-in is mercifully not as terrible as Nesta imagined. There's no announcement of her presence, though she can feel plenty of people stealing glances ("It's not every day we get a Lady of the court in here," Gwyn whispers to her. "Especially not the kingslayer."). Thalia announces changes in the schedule for the week, and one of the other senior priestesses gives a short lecture on her specialty, and then Thalia asks who'd like to begin the circle.

‍The circle, Nesta learns, is the worst of it. Everyone goes around in a circle and introduces themselves by name and says whatever they want. True to Thalia's word, though, no one has to talk, and no one says anything horrible. It's mostly banal, like I worked really hard on a paper last week or I sent my mother a letter and she still hasn't replied and I'm feeling anxious or I don't have anything to say today, but I hope everyone has a good week.

‍And then it is her turn, and who-knows-how-many pairs of eyes are locked on her and she just...can't. She can't. What are they thinking? Gwyn says they call her kingslayer, so they must know what happened.. Are they thinking about how she couldn't save her father? How she killed one thousand Illyrian soldiers? How about how she drowned herself in alcohol, how the mark of its loss is still clearly etched in the bruises under her eyes, the dullness of her hair, the sallowness of her skin. How ugly she is, how she never deserved anything better than that slew of nameless males who didn't care about her, how she just fails at everything she tries--

‍"My name is Gwyn. I had a good week."

‍The next girl speaks, and the eyes are--finally--off Nesta.

‍Gwyn touches her shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she says in a hushed voice. "At least you didn't cry."

‍Nesta manages a small smile. It might look more like a grimace, but Gwyn gives her a grin.

‍"It's really not half as embarrassing as you think," she whispers. "Everyone here is way more concerned with what others think of them...until you realize no one's thinking about that."

‍Maybe she's just saying that.

‍But...maybe she can just believe it. Just for now.

‍The weekly check-in ends, and the week passes by.

‍Nesta doesn't get assigned to a priestess, but she still--she thinks--makes progress. She may be making a friend, as Gwyn seeks her out a few more times. Sometimes just to say hello, sometimes to ask her if she wants to join her for a lecture or a session. She generally goes. She likes the jewellery making, finding that working with her hands keeps her focused enough that she can't think about herself. All the lectures, actually, Nesta finds interesting, as there's just so much she doesn't know about this world.

‍On Tuesday, she writes a letter to her sisters, telling them she's doing all right, and perhaps they can come visit over the weekend.

‍On Wednesday, she feels hungry and restless--hungry and restless. So she has two slices of bread with soup and she doesn't even feel sick, and she goes for a walk afterwards, on the track circling the outside of the House.

‍On Thursday, she brushes her hair in the morning, and almost none of it is ripped out with the brush. She makes Gwyn laugh with something she says about a lecture they disagreed on. Thalia tells her she thinks she has some ideas for coping mechanisms she wants her to try. She goes for another walk in the evening, even jogging a bit as the House hurries her along with flashing faelights.

‍"What is it?" she says, as she enters the door, gasping slightly. Goodness, she's never been so out of shape in her life. That was barely a run.

‍But the House isn't done yet, flashing more lights, leading her into her bedroom.

‍"Oh...do you...are we playing a game?"

‍The House swings her door--impatiently?--to get her inside, and when she is, it swings shut behind her and disappears into a wall.

‍"Hey!" Nesta says. "What are you--"

‍A tea cart appears in front of her. Nesta can smell the lemon and honey from the kettle as it rolls towards her. One of the armchairs pulls out.

‍"Are we having a tea party?" Nesta asks.

‍As if in answer, a book appears on the coffee table.

‍"Do you want me to read to you?" Nesta asks.

‍The curtains pull shut and her faelights flicker on.

‍"I'll take that as a yes," she says, and sits down to entertain the House. She gives a small huff of a laugh. "You had to finish my walk early, did you?"

There's no way around it: Cassian has never been more pathetic in his life than he is with this female.

‍Whether it's circling her estate, thinking of insults to throw at her, or circling her apartment, imagining himself tossing out the male with her that night and confessing everything to her, or circling the House to sneak a peek of her through one of the Windows...all right, so it's mostly all the same move. Gods, when had he become so predictable?

‍Pathetic, nonetheless.

‍The worst part of it is, he doesn't even try and convince himself to stop anymore. Not when Elain shrieks one morning and says Nesta's invited her and Feyre up for lunch on Saturday. Not when he sees her go out for a walk Wednesday evening--a walk, with a bit more meat on her bones, and a shine to her hair and--he might be too far to tell, but it looks like--life in her eyes.

‍Not joy. Not...excitement. Not even contentment. But life. And that's...so much more than what had been last week.

‍He wonders if it might've consoled her to know that he was just as miserable as she was. More so, even. Because he felt all the pain she did and he also felt his own pain of seeing her that way. Of knowing that fierce, cunning, determined, wildly brave, unnaturally beautiful female was...struggling. So, so hard.

‍Sleeping a level above her each night, and thinking only of her...and knowing she's not thinking of him. Of course not. It was stupid and selfish and stupid again, but...it's true.

‍And her getting better is not for him he tells himself, as he watches her go on a walk for a second evening in a row.

‍(Not that he's watching her. He's checking the wards. It's not as though he knew she'd be out. He didn't. It just happened.)

‍Not for you, he says to himself. Feyre had been clear. This is for checking the wards; to make sure she's safe. And the extra weight on her is not for him to better imagine holding onto something as he presses her against himself; it's so she's healthy. So she doesn't wither and waste away. She is not imagining a stroll through the Night Court botanical gardens with him right now; she's just getting fresh air.

‍Time to go. Wards are checked, alarms are set, so it's time to go.

‍He doesn't let himself steal another glance--not for you--as he turns to fly away.

‍He should go to the ends of the city. Shake this off him, put his head on straight. This is pathetic. This is just sad. Maybe he should go out with Mor. He did this for her, didn't she? For five hundred odd years. She can do this for him. Maybe he can even meet someone, just for a night, just a distraction--

‍But Nesta is all he sees when he closes his eyes. The beautiful woman she once was, the sickly female she is now, and guilt and revulsion rock him to his core at the very thought of someone else...

‍Pathetic, since she doesn't want him, and probably never will. No, not probably, just never.

‍Three clear bells ring out in the distance, and self-pity and misery snap out of Cassian as blinding fear takes their place.

‍The alarms.

‍Nesta.

‍He is on his way, flying faster than he ever has in his life, before he even registers it. And for the first time, he wishes he were like Rhys or Az and could winnow--prays one of them is already there, or both of them, to fight off whoever it is, to keep her safe--oh gods--oh, she's so scared, she's terrified, she's afraid for her life--and the priestesses--

‍Rhys and Az are already there, inside the House, and there are half a dozen. Illyrians. Illyrians.

‍So they were right. He hadn't wanted to believe it. Doesn't want to believe it. That they would ever...that they would dare...

‍Cassian can't think, just has to move, get them out, kill--

‍"No," Rhys snarls at him.

‍Dimly, Cassian knows why. They're plotting a rebellion. To take over their court, and to give Nesta over to their enemy. Direct attacks against the royal bloodline. They need to be interrogated. They can't be killed.

‍But they can't live. They're going to hurt Nesta; they can't be allowed to live.

‍INCAPACITATE, Rhys barks to his mind.

‍Fine. He will. But he doesn't have to make it clean.

‍He does it quick, though. Nesta's scared. She's probably hiding somewhere, scared for her life. He needs to do it quickly for her.

‍They're fair warriors, but no match for the three of them. It's not close to being a fair fight. It's only a few minutes before he and Az have knocked out the six of them--Az letting him do the brunt of it--and Rhys drags back another two who had gone off to find Nesta.

‍"Easy," Rhys snaps at him.

‍"Calm down or go," Az adds. "Nesta's in her room. She's safe."

‍"You'll scare her."

‍"I won't," Cassian says, growling.

‍Rhys unceremoniously drops the two Illyrians on the floor next to the six others. "Well, you've already destroyed her living room," he says drily, "and you're covered in blood."

‍"Not mine." Not enough.

‍"Calm down," Rhys says, and this time it's an order.

‍Cassian takes a deep breath. "She's in her room?"

‍"I can bring Feyre up--"

‍"Bring her, but I want to see her. She needs to see me." The words come out of their own accord, but neither of his brothers corrects him.

‍"We'll both go," Rhys says. "Az...take care of this."

‍Az nods once, and they go down the stairs.

‍Nesta's scent grows stronger as they descend. Not much fear that he can detect, though. None of the bitterness of adrenaline. Just that sweet, gutting floral, mixed with traces from books she's always buried in. And, he realizes pleasantly, no alcohol.

‍When they get to her floor, Nesta's bedroom door is missing. In place is a wall. Before he can hurl himself at it to break it down, it morphs back into a door, and Rhys is there, knocking, again before Cassian can move.

‍"Nesta?" he calls out. "It's safe."

‍Cassian can hear her shuffling around before she comes to open the door.

‍He fights to keep upright and still as her eyes meet his, widening more than he's ever seen.

‍"What happened to you?" she asks, voice stronger and clearer than he's heard in a long time. Beautiful, lyrical, even if she does sound appalled. "Did you come from a battlefield?"

‍"How did you get the door to change into a wall?" Rhys asks her. "That was clever. Was that your magic?"

‍Nesta blinks at him. "No...the House was playing a game."

‍"You play games with the House?" Cassian says softly.

‍She turns to him again.

‍Yes, look at me, look at me, look at me, Nesta Nesta Nesta--

‍"I...we're friendly." She tinges pink.

‍"You're friends with the House?" Rhys says, blankly.

‍She reddens still--yes.

‍"Why are you covered in blood?" she says again.

‍"You...don't know what happened?" Rhys asks carefully.

‍Nesta rolls her eyes--oh, gods, how he's missed seeing her irritated. Oh, maybe she'll turn red again. "Obviously not."

‍"The important thing to remember is that you're safe," Rhys says, his voice patient and gentle.

‍Nesta shoots him a sharp look, fully aware he's never taken that tone with her.

‍"What is it? What's happened?"

‍Oh, brilliant--now she's scared.

‍Cassian takes a step closer. "The House was breached," he says to her, and her face pales. "But that's what the alarms are for. They worked. And we all got here, and we've got them. Now we're going to figure out who else is working with them. We're going to keep you safe."

‍Nesta looks up. "I was safe. I am, I mean. The House...I didn't even hear anything. It just told me to come into my room and gave me some tea and asked me to read to it."

‍"It asked you to read to it?"

‍"I thought it was a game." Nesta moves past them, walking upstairs. She gasps slightly when she reaches the main floor and sees the state of the living room.

‍Cassian ignored the pointed look Rhys gives him. "I can clean it up." Thank the Mother Az has already gotten the eight of them out.

‍But the House already appears to be doing so itself. It even moves some furniture around, away from a wall that's been badly damaged.

‍Nesta sucks in a breath as she walks towards it and crouches down on the floor. "Oh...did they hurt you?" she says, quietly to...to the House. "I'm sorry. I...thank you for keeping me safe. I'll...I can fix this for you. I'll get you something to fix it." She puts her palm on the cracks and craters, as if stroking the hurt.

‍You will not, Cassian tells himself sternly, be jealous of a house.

‍Pathetic. Just...pathetic.

‍"Your sisters will want to see you," Rhys says. "Maybe you should spend the night at our home."

‍"No," Nesta says, not turning from the wall. "I'm staying here. Oh!" She leaps up, whipping around, face white again. "Is--are--the library, was it--"

‍"The library is fine," Rhys says smoothly. "The priestess are all fine. They wouldn't have even heard any of this."

‍Nesta breathes a sigh of relief. "All right," she says. "That's...that's good. All right."

‍"Are you sure you don't want to come down, Nesta?" Rhys asks, voice kind again.

‍"Yes," she says. "But Elain and Feyre can come up if they want to," she adds. "I'm all right, though. Really. I know I'm safe here." She touches the wall again.

‍Nevermind that it's he who's covered in blood, who fought them off for her. It's the walls she's grateful to, the walls she reads to and plays games with--

‍Shut up, idiot, shut up.

‍"We'll go bring them up, then. Unless...would you like one of us to stay with you?"

‍"I'm really fine."

‍"All right. Well...we'll be back in a few minutes."

‍Nesta nods and turns around to put her hands on the wall again, to talk to the House.

‍Rhys, the bastard, takes notes and gives him a grin as they step off the veranda and fly down to the riverfront manor together.

‍"I was jealous a lot before Feyre told me she loved me, but never--"

‍"Shut up," he snarls, and Rhys has the audacity to laugh.

‍He doesn't mind so much. Nesta's safe and...she's doing better and eating and going on walks and she has a friend.

‍Even if it is just a house.

#acosf fic #nessian fic #i know this feels more like a nesta/house of wind fic #but there will be nessian eventually i promise #also yayyyy gwyn!!!

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writefinch · 3 years

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Dear Dairy, Pt.1 (cn: noncon, Mm, kidnap, emphasis on *forced* feminization, induced lactation, milking, bondage, drugging, induction of gender dysphoria in a cis guy, things of that nature)

7th July 2018

Cold day today. I dusted off my scarves for the first time this year. Not literally, they'd been vacuum sealed and packed away when the weather turned in October. I threw out the red and yellow knit scarf, something I should have done last year, as it's far too Harry Potter. I was going to pick out the UMIST scarf but that felt a touch dull for the first scarf of the year. In the end I picked out the green silk paisley, which I felt provided a contrast with the pink shirt. I wore them with the second-hand grey Armani that I've yet to have tailored; I haven't yet decided if it's worth the trouble. I'm leaning towards yes, as I received two compliments today, one from Jason's database administrator, a charming and flirtatious--to say nothing of attractive--lady from Perth. We've talked about the possibility of meeting up for drinks at some point, and I'm increasingly inclined to take her up on the offer.

Experiment C2 is adjusting to his newfound freedom since his release last week. It was sad to see him go, and I'll cherish the time we spent together, our first night especially when he violently objected to the idea of servicing me. Oh, how he kicked and fought, clawing at his neck chain, scratching me, biting, swinging wildly. He bloodied my nose rather viciously and left me in no mood for sex that night, to the extent that I almost let him go entirely.

Of course, his demeanor changed altogether after I bagged him. A clear plastic bag over his head, taped around his neck, watching him gasp and writhe for air that isn't there, screaming his silly little head off until he's sure that he's taken his final breath, then tearing a tiny hole over his nostrils. I let him suck in four generous lungfuls of air before I bagged him the second time, and I went through seven bags before allowing him a rest. After that he became such an agreeable and solicitous cocksleeve you'd have thought he was raised in a merchant marine!

Still, he was unsuitable both physiologically and psychologically for the experimental interventions, and I only have so much space in the cellar, so I had to let him go. Some of my social acquaintances are keeping a close eye on him. He's been told that running his mouth will lead to nothing but the cold grave, and I believe he's a bright enough lad to take that to heart.

I'm beginning the search for his replacement tomorrow.

20th July 2018

I've found him! I've found him I've found him, he is everything I've been looking for, he is perfect, it is as if God placed that boy on earth for no other purpose than my need for him. I can barely contain my excitement.

He is an itinerant surf bum, twenty years of age, single, underemployed, estranged from his family. He has flowing blond hair, a few wisps under his chin that can barely be called a beard, deep brown eyes, and a lithe, rangy figure that seems to be slowly growing into the top-heavy carrot-shaped build of a classic surfer. He's been living in town since May, surfing most days, doing temp jobs, lodging in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine.

What a perfect physique! His body is accustomed to being dashed over rocks and whipped by surf, what fun I will have finding and surpassing his tolerances for pain! Oh, to restrict and ration out air to a boy who has trained himself to hold his breath underwater since he was a young teenager, to see those taut muscles stretched over a rack, I cannot wait, I can't wait.

I won't speak or write his name. I now take every action with the foregone conclusion that he is mine, and that he is already Experiment C3. In my mind, he is already in my cellar.

My friend has kindly allowed him to get behind on his rent, and C3 apparently plans to move to Sydney in ten day's time, driving out across the country in his decade-old Ford Ka, surfboard strapped to the roof. When he disappears a few days before that, people will assume he left to avoid paying his rent.

They won't be wrong, in a sense. C3 won't be worrying about rent for a long, long time...

26th July, 2018

It hasn't been an easy choice, and it is in fact a decision I've been struggling with for some time now, but I've decided to let my hair go grey. I'm almost forty for heaven's sake, and I noticed my first grey a year before the financial crisis. Ever since then I've been religious in my application of dye and toner, carefully concealing each and every one of the pale little buggers that pops up, but it's gone from something I'd do after a haircut to something I'm doing twice a week. I won't rush it, I'm going to ease off the dye over the course of the next year or so, but by next July I'll be au naturelle salt and pepper.

Work remains dull but tolerable. I know I'm blessed to be able to do most of my duties from home given my hobbies, but there's a certain sense of removal from everything, as if it's not really a job at all and I'm back at university doing a coursework-intensive compulsory module. On the other hand, I do enjoy going to the office in a way that I did not when I was going there five days a week!

Experiment C3 is screaming his head off again, I think. It's very faint, and I've turned off the air conditioning in the sitting room so I can hear it coming up from below. I suppose I can't blame the boy, given the circumstances. He hasn't seen me since the drugs wore off, and he's in the same configuration I first kept C2 in: his feet are in snowboard boots and locked into clips in the floor, his neck is in a steel collar connected to an eyebolt on the floor by a one-metre chain, his wrists are cuffed and pulled up towards the ceiling by another chain, he has noise-cancelling headphones strapped over his ears blaring white noise, and he's wearing a blindfold snug enough to prevent him from even blinking underneath it.

He's been there for seven hours now, since three in the morning. He can neither stand nor sit nor lie down, he cannot turn around, he cannot see--though it is pitch black in the cellar even if he wasn't blindfolded--he cannot hear his own voice, and I very much doubt he has any idea how he got there.

As I said, I haven't been down to see him properly yet, so I'm monitoring him at a distance via CCTV and also his pulse and blood oxygen readings. I'm keeping him watered through an IV drip and I'm not at all worried about feeding him just yet, though I'm sure he'll be getting hungry given that I emptied out the contents of his guts with an enema while he was still unconscious. I want him properly good and woozy from sleep deprivation before I introduce myself, either forty-eight hours or until his vitals get a tad skiffy, whichever is shorter. By my word, I am not an impatient man!

Of course, given the close monitoring required, I'll only be getting a few more hours sleep than he will. I suspect I'm getting the better half of the deal. Ah, the poor thing just wet himself. He needn't worry, it's all going into the bucket between his feet, and it'll go to good use later.

I've calmed myself down since his capture, for practical reasons as much as anything else, but I am still abuzz with energy. I am already looking forward to writing my next entry!

28th July 2018

I introduced myself to C3 today.

He spent an impressively long time in the stress position before he was unable to push his legs and instead dangled from his wrists, almost twelve hours, at which point I let the wrist rope go slack and allowed him to collapse. To prevent him from sleeping I intermittently blasted him with high pressure cold water whenever his pulse dropped below 100, for about a further four hours until I decided he'd had enough rest and strung his wrists back up.

He lasted five hours that time, so I let his wrists down again and stood sentry with a paintball gun, giving him a good and proper three-round burst whenever he stopped whimpering. Up again, barely an hour, down again, where I pinned him to the floor with wiring from an electric fence, set to deliver low-intensity zaps across his arms and chest whenever it seemed as if sleep was a possibility. He only got a few shocks, I think the first few put him in such a state of alarm that he didn't dare relax enough to be given another.

I strung him up a few more times, sometimes combining the motivators--his quivering thighs made a delightful target for paintballs as he tried to hold them in a crouching squat--until we reached the forty-ninth hour. I then played my recorded introduction tape through his headphones. It was identical to the one I'd played for C1 and C2, which was itself similar to the one recorded for B4 through B9.

Of course, as the deaf and blindfolded boy was crouch-squatting in place hearing my voice tell him that his old life was forfeit, that he was livestock now, that he would be used as a sex slave, that disobedience would only lead to misery, and the details of the hormone treatments he would be on, I was standing in front of him, masturbating.

My timing was impeccable. Just as the last lines of the recording said "if you're wondering when you'll meet me, I'm right in front of you," I came all over his whorish face. I'm afraid I'm no Peter North, I've no more than four spurts and the first one is always rather watery, but I nailed him right between the lips with one burst and smeared the rest over his face with the tip of my cock. He froze up rather delightfully during the whole ordeal, barely flinching as I cleaned off the tip in his hair.

I took the microphone and spoke directly into his headphones. I told him he'd been in his predicament for two days so far, that he was to obey my simple instructions, and that if he did he would be allowed food and allowed to rest. I told him that I would not require him to speak at any point during these instructions, and that if he so much as whispered I'd keep him strung up without food for another two days. He nodded in agreement, which earned him a hard slap, as I'd not asked him to nod or shake his head. I told him then to nod if he understood, which he did.

I freed one of his arms at a time, telling them to keep them in place and move them only as and when I told him to move them. He obeyed--a far quicker learner than C1--and I put him into the straitjacket. I unlatched his boots one at a time, putting him in ankle cuffs with a short length of heavy chain between them. I injected him in the buttocks with his first dose of anti-androgens, a painkiller, and his hormonal cocktail, and I removed the IV from his arm.

At that point I led him to his cage, a 2x3 metre cell, 1.5 metres high. I removed his blindfold, though it did him little good as it was pitch black in the entire room--I'd switched off the lights and was working via a set of light amplification goggles--and pushed him onto the wipe-clean bedroll.

"Lie still like a good little boy until the lights turn on, and then you can help yourself to some food," I said to him. He made a sound as if to respond, then silenced himself, lying still in his bonds.

The lights were on a timer, and they came on harsh and bright when I was upstairs, watching him through the CCTV on my desktop with a fresh pot of coffee. Three of the walls of his cage were walled off with a tarp, allowing him to see about a fifth of the basement through the remaining wall. Inside his cage was his bedroll, a doggie bowl full of oatmeal and bananas, a small plastic trough filled with fresh water, and a litter tray.

I considered staying up and watching him, seeing the fear grow in his eyes, his first attempt at eating cold food without the use of his hands, the humiliation of pissing in a litter tray, but I was exhausted. As soon as I've finished writing this entry, I'm going to take a well-deserved nap.

4th October 2018

The truffle salt from Coles is a waste of time. Don't misunderstand me, it's useable, it's palatable, and it has the necessary truffle aroma. "Has" is the key word there, it's got the half-life of Fermium and after a week in the cupboard it's now just table salt with black specks in it. I think I'm going to invest in some decent truffle oil at Christmas.

C3 is coming along marvelously. The combination of injections and a high-fat, high-calorie, vitamin-rich diet have had a visible impact on his physique. His skin has softened even further from a clear and healthy surfer's complexion to almost peachlike smoothness and he now has visible jiggle on his thighs, stomach and buttocks. Most importantly, he's now the not-at-all-proud owner of a set of A-cup breasts, complete with sensitive, pebble-sized nipples.

His breasts are extremely sensitive. He's told me as much directly, but I've confirmed it through experimental means. A few light stripes under the nipples with the cane used to bring a wince to his face when he first came under my care, now it brings him to his knees, and the mere sight of the thing leads him to cry and whine rather prettily.

He did have some issues with portion control, in that he wasn’t eating the full servings of food I had prepared for him. This was unreasonable and short-sighted on his part: while plain, I have not asked him to eat anything that I wouldn't willingly eat myself, and while I am not a professional cook I am certainly a talented amateur.

The solution was a simple one: if even a smear of food remains in his dish, I do not feed him for the next two to four days. I only had to enforce this rule twice, and he's finished every meal I've put in front of him for the past two months.

He's gone without sleeping for the last forty-eight hours, he's gone without speaking for the last three weeks, and I've added a low dose of LSD to his drinking water. Tonight he should be somewhat tractable for the induction of a hypnotic state. I am not trying to control his behaviour--there's nothing I want him to do that I couldn't compel him to do through more reliable means--but for an in-depth interview. In concert with a lie detector and a regulated dose of barbiturates, I am going to make him bare his soul to me.

There are a few specifics I'm interested in, such as confirming my assessment of his sexuality and gender identity, and it never hurts to shore up my security by inquiring of any planned means of escape or rescue, but in great part I am doing this for morale effect: I want him to have no respite from me, even inside his own mind. He will learn that he has no more control of his thinking than he does of his eating, sleeping or exercising.

Speaking of which, I had to leave him in an armbinder for a few nights when he insisted on doing press-ups in his cell. The additional restraints distressed him greatly, and he's seemed afraid to even move lest I restrain him further. That was back in August, and I have since acquired an elliptical trainer which I allow him to use daily, good behaviour permitting.

I will write again tomorrow with details of tonight's interview, and I only hope it's more productive than C2's interview was.

5th October 2018

Well, that was elucidating.

I left C3 unrestrained for the interview. It was his first time free of shackles and cuffs outside of his cage since he'd arrived, as I wanted him to be relatively comfortable and I was confident that his drug cocktail would prevent any serious escape attempts.

He is not a natural hypnotic subject and I was only successful in inducing a semi-trance state. I don't think he achieved a trance, but I think he believed he was in a trance, and for my purposes that was more than sufficient. He talked for hours and provided an unabridged history of his life so far. His parents, his brothers, his schooling, his love of surfing and camping, his romantic attachments and rejections, his childhood friends and bullies, his fear of dogs, his earliest memories, his deepest shames, enough to fill a short memoir.

The interview lasted for ten hours, with breaks every two hours to allow him to pee (as I'd also allowed him to drink lime cordial from a cup while he spoke) and to adjust his dose of drugs and deepen his trance state. He cried frequently and easily. He bears a great amount of shame and guilt for someone so young and so relatively innocent--raised by Catholics, naturally--and spent half of the fifth hour in uncontrollable hysterics. I let him rest his head in my lap and stroked his hair as he cried, and he clung on to me like a man drowning. Once he ran out of tears he had a bout of cathartic laughter, and after that a calm passed over him, and he remained in a state of detached, cooperative calm until I ended the interview.

Of course, most of this was filler and background information for the parts that truly interested me: his sexuality and gender identity. Both were perfect. His sexuality is less important but still delightful. He is entirely heterosexual and repulsed by men. He still has nightmares about the one time I have molested him so far, when I coated his face with cum shortly after his chapter. You wouldn't believe how hard I got as he told me that!

He sometimes masturbates in his cage, which he tells me is mostly from boredom than any sexual desire, and he fantasizes about sex with women. He has little interest in sadomasochism, no interest whatsoever about taking a submissive role, and aside from a weak interest in pegging he is plain vanilla. He has fantasies about sex in public, fucking multiple women, being woken up by receiving oral sex, and seducing older women.

His gender identity is much the same: male, through and through. He has insecurities about being slight and physically unimposing--related to bullying in school--and about being insufficiently masculine. He takes pride in the callouses in his hands and the scars on his body from surfing, and wishes that the thin, pale stubble on his face was thicker.

It's of little surprise then that he finds the changes from the hormones to be a cruel and unwanted imposition. His breast growth makes him feel powerless and disgusted with himself, he can feel his muscles weakening, the tenderness in his breasts is terrifying and degrading, and even the topic of penile and testicular shrinkage made him choke up and sob. He says that even when I allow him to sleep, his mind feels clouded and he finds it increasingly difficult to identify the particulars of his emotional state, which swings and changes in ways he is not used to.

Again, I must reiterate how promising this is. My experiments concern the induction of sexual neuroses and physical development on non-consenting subjects. C1 was unsuitable because he--well, she, more likely--was a little too keen to embrace the role I had planned for her.

C3 is sleeping now. I haven't actually left our impromptu "therapy room" and he's drifted off with his head in my lap. He needs the rest. I have big plans for him, after all.

24th October, 2018

I took a trip to the cinema today. Specifically the single-screen cinema in the back of the adult bookshop. C2 is turning tricks for the manager. I don't think it's his first career choice but for some reason he's been unable to get a job anywhere else in town. He tried being an independent streetwalker for a while, which didn't work out well for him as he was quickly picked up by the local police and treated rather roughly. Almost as if they were keeping an eye on him!

The manager of the adult bookshop got in touch with him, I believe he was waiting for him outside the local lockup in fact, and informed him of a safe, reliable means of plying his trade. Now he sucks cock in the back room cinema along with a handful of other whores in exchange for a roof over his head and ten percent of the ticket sales.

He was apparently given a second tour of the police cells for not handing his tips over to the manager in a timely and honest manner, so his left eye was still swollen shut when I saw him today. His garb was delightful: pastel pink yoga leggings with the Adidas stripes down the sides, and a duck egg blue midriff-cut t-shirt with "BOY" on the chest, with a female gender symbol in place of the O.

I sat down next to him in the otherwise empty cinema and flashed him my ticket, which had set me back $84--worth every penny--and he flashed me a charming smile. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, like all of my experiments and side projects he'd never seen me without a mask. He put his hand on my thigh and told me his name, which I've already forgotten. The feature began, a rather energetic video from the noughties with Kelly Wells, Hillary Scott and Layla Riviera, prompting C2 to get on his knees in front of me. He gagged a little when he unzipped my jeans, not because I was unwashed but because I'd applied a generous quantity of deodorant and aftershave so that he would not recognise me via scent.

I enjoyed a slow, leisurely blowjob for the next hour, where he displayed all the basic techniques I'd so painstakingly taught him as well as a few new ones he'd picked up more recently. There's something to be said about consuming porn this way, not just the oral service but also watching the film from the beginning, without skipping forward to my favorite parts or switching between videos, letting myself slowly build towards my climax at the same pace as the on-screen action. I came just before the money shot, pulling out to cum all over C2's face as Kelly Wells guzzled piss on the big screen, and let C2 lick and suck my balls until the credits rolled.

Before he or I got up, I took out $20, waved it in front of his eyes, and then used the notes to wipe cum up from his face. He flinched at the roughness, scowled, told me to cut it out, and put his hand on my leg as if to push away from me. I said three words.

"Punishment position three."

It was as if I'd reached inside him and squeezed. He let out a pitiful squeak, straightened up on his knees, pushed out his chest, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let his tongue hang out. I stuffed the cum-soaked banknotes between his mouth.

"Be good, C2," I told him as I stood up. He didn't move a muscle as I walked out of the cinema, and as the door closed behind me, I heard a single muffled sob. It was an enjoyable experience and I certainly needed it after the last few days because C3 has really been a handful.

It began on the weekend when the first signs of lactation appeared. C3 has been getting increasingly upset with the changes to his body, his widening hips, his weight gain, his shrinking musculature, his shrinking genitalia, and his C-cup breasts. The breasts are especially upsetting, he complains that they ache constantly and are tender to the slightest touch. In any case, when the first droplets of milk dribbled out of his nipples something snapped.

Through tears, he told me that he refuses to eat, that he cannot live with the things I am doing to him, and that I should either let him go or kill him. Obviously this is unacceptable. I told him I was not treating his request with any seriousness, and that if he did not eat his meal, he would go without for the next several days. He nodded forlornly, but still refused the food.

I strapped his hands into leather mitts to prevent him from improvising methods of self-harm, and continued as normal. For the next three days, he refused to respond to commands or obey orders, remaining silent and going limp. He wailed in pain when I caned his soles and slapped his tits, but he continued to wallow in self-pity.

He was ravenously hungry by Wednesday, but when I gave him the opportunity to eat, he would not. I left the bowl of food in his cage overnight, and in the morning it remained untouched. He had not thrown it out or despoiled it, he had simply ignored it in an admirable, if misplaced, display of willpower. I gave him one final warning that there would be serious consequences if he did not eat now. He refused, so I applied the consequences.

I fitted him into a padded restraining board, on his back, his arms, legs, chest, stomach, forehead, chin, wrists and ankles held in place by canvas straps. He could not move an inch, not that he was trying particularly hard. A hollow dildo gag with a breathing hole went into his mouth, principally to prevent him from trying to bite off his own tongue. I catheterized him and inserted a hollow plug into his backside, not overly gently in either case, much to his consternation.

Then, intubation. I fed a heavily-lubricated silicone hose into his left nostril. He thrashed and twitched, as is expected when such a procedure is performed without the aid of benzodiazepines. Undeterred, I asked him to start swallowing, lest the tube end up in his lungs. He did as much gagging as swallowing, but after a few eventful minutes I felt the tell-tale glide of it being pulled down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Once the tube was taped in place under his nose, I attached the free end to a pump until it drew fluid out from within him. A few drops of this fluid onto pH paper revealed it to be stomach acid, which hopefully meant that the hose was not in his lungs. I then attached the hose to the feeding machine, and explained to C3 exactly how it would work.

He would have his meals and water combined into a slurry, kept at a cool four degrees celsius, and injected into his feeding tube. The pressure inside the hose would make breathing difficult or impossible while the food was being pumped, and the volume of his meals--around a litre and a half of slurry--meant that each feeding would be spread out in thirty second bursts, delivered semi-randomly over the course of an hour.

As I told him this, I undid my belt and began to masturbate. Despite the obvious temptations, I had not molested C3 in an overtly sexual manner since that first facial at the beginning of his captivity. By combining molestation with removal of autonomy, I wished to impress upon him the importance of obeying me with whatever autonomy I allow him to have.

I pressed the button on the feeding machine as I approached my climax. C3 squealed and gurgled like a drowning cat from the sensation of ice-cold sludge pumping through a tube in his sinuses and down into his throat, choking as the diameter of the tube expanded enough to cut off his breathing. He thrashed in his restraints with such force that he almost moved the gurney beneath him!

Seeing tears stream from his eyes was too much, and his eyes were precisely where I aimed. I landed a good few ropes on each eye, which he scrunched shut in disgust. When the tube stopped pumping I pried open his eyelids with my fingers and made sure a good quantity of my burning, stinging cum got in each eye, then smeared the rest across his face. He tried to blink it out, with little success, and before he could do much else I applied the padded blindfold. He hates and fears the eye-shutting pressure from the neoprene padding at the best of times, and wasn't overjoyed to wear it with his eyes gunked up with sperm.

He's been like that for the last three days, unable to move, speak or see, fed three meals a day through his nose. The only interaction he's had is when I've unrestrained his individual limbs and allowed them some movement, one at a time, to prevent bedsores and deep vein thrombosis, and when I come down to grope his sensitive tits. He is only able to relieve himself through the catheter and through enemas.

After a few days of stick, he's almost ready for the carrot. Tonight I am making pork carnitas with soft tacos, which he has told me is his favourite meal. I have also purchased one of the Harry Dresden books, which he told me he is an avid reader of. When dinner is ready, I will make him an offer: he will ask me for normal food and apologize for forcing me to use the feeding tube. In return he will be allowed out of his restraints and returned to his comfortable cage, along with his favourite meal and a good book, which he will be allowed to read during his spare time as long as he behaves himself.

I hope he accepts, for his sake and mine.

16 November 2018

C3 had his first true milking today! I've been teasing dribbles of milk from his nipples with my fingers for weeks, but today the volume was so high that I had to deploy a handheld breast pump. He whimpered for the duration but was obviously relieved by the reduction in pressure. It was as if he found the whole ordeal rather humiliating.

The milk is rich, a touch gamey, and less sweet than expected. I don't think the taste will be anything to write home about while his stress levels are so high, and I think that will be the case for some time. I've taken half for myself, and I'm mixing the other half into his food.

He's been docile since the force feeding. The intensity and inevitability of the punishment is part of it, but the rewards are equally important. My deal is that he can ask for anything once. Obviously I laugh at certain requests--he's not getting a phone or a two-way radio--and some things require compromise, but otherwise I have been accommodating. His cell now contains a lamp he can turn on or off, two dozen books and graphic novels, an old mp3 player, and a box of wet wipes. His relief from the constant boredom of being confined in a cage for twenty hours a day is palpable, and he has chosen the comfort that obedience brings over the misery that stems from disobedience.

He has asked if he'll ever be free from this basement and I truthfully said yes. One day he'll be walking around outside free of physical restraints and he will sleep at night in a bed he can truly call his own, though I'm unsure if he'll ever truly be free of me. He takes comfort in the fact that he has not yet seen my face or anything that might identify me, as he reasons that I am therefore not incentivized to bury him in a shallow grave to protect myself. His conclusion is correct but his premise is wrong; he'll know who I am eventually and I still won't fear him.

I'm currently milking him once per day regardless of his feelings on the matter, and I think this has hidden from him the fact that he now needs to be milked. Without his daily milkings the pain in his breasts would become unbearable, and soon he will develop mastitis if he's not milked. This will form another important part of his development: begging for things that are distasteful but necessary. With the exception of the wet wipes, there is nothing inherently humiliating in the things he's asking for. I believe he'll find begging to be milked intensely humiliating, and more humiliating still because of the tolls I'll extract from him when he goes down that road.

A brief note on his physical changes: his breasts are bigger but they remain C-cups for the time being. There are now a striking set of stretch marks on the sides and undersides of his breasts, along with some smaller, subtler ones on his thighs and buttocks which have also thickened up nicely. At some point I'm going to give him a regular schedule of retention enemas until he gets stretch marks on his belly befitting a pregnant little broodslut. His skin is delightfully soft and I'm shaving his face daily until the home electrolysis kit arrives. The combination of hormones, daily exercise bike sessions, and a lack of any upper body resistance training has changed his physique from a surfer's build to a more bottom heavy one.

As soon as I have finished writing this entry I am going to give him two gifts. The first gift is an ear piercing. It will be home to a yellow plastic tag, a miniature version of a cattle tag. The second gift is his name. He's not C3 anymore, and he's certainly not whatever stupid name he called himself before I acquired him. He has lovely tits and he's a milk cow, so his name will be Cowtits.

Cowtits. I think it suits him.

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storydays · 3 years

Text

Season 1, ep2, p3

The lights went off, the crowd cheered in anticipation. You inhaled and exhaled softly, before opening your (e/c) eyes that were focused and ready. The announcer came out into the middle of the arena. "Introducing the Fire Ferrets!" You waved as fans screamed. "Ahh! I love you, Bolin! Mako, you're so awesome! Marry me, (Y/N)!" You laughed softly, as the main announcer took over. "The rookie Ferrets came out of nowhere, and have made it further than anyone had expected this season. But tonight, they face the toughest test yet, folks."

You smirk at your opponent, noting he was a fire bender. Time slowed down as you shoot your hand up, allowing the water to be pushed back, but he retaliated by sending fire towards your face. You ducked, and rolled under Mako's leg, and ran around Bolin's figure. "Oh, the two teams waste no time trying to blast each other out of Zone One." Mako jumped over your back, as you sent a water blast towards the firebender, knocking him back into Zone 2.

"Migo is the first to have wet socks, curtsy of (Your fake name)! The Tigerdillos try to repay the favor but (Y/F/N) is too quick! Meanwhile, Mako showcases his trademark "Cool Under Fire" style." Bolin groaned as the opposing waterbender him back, but you knocked the earthbender off the edge in return. "Oh, and Tico is out and down for the count, quickly followed by Migo!" The opposing waterbender looked nervous, as the three of you smirked before Bolin sent a double whammy and knocked him out. "Ohh, and the Fire Ferrets win round 1 with no trouble at all!"

Round 2 was over before you knew it, and now were panting heavily, the Tigerdillos weren't happy and were fighting with anger clouding their vision, and pride. Mako took the lead and knocked down the other firebender into the drink. You did a back flip, having the water flick the opposing waterbender in the stomach, before Bolin knocked him back into the firerbender, and Mako used his finishing move with a fire blast that made both teens lose their balance and fall into the water below.

"It's a knock out! Such teamwork!" The Ferrets fans cheered loudly as the announcer told them that the Ferrets were going to the championships. The three of you walked to back to the platform that took you back to your side of the arena. Nagisa was cheering your "name" happily, while Kazan was jumping up and down, grinning excitedly. You laughed softly, as the two children ran around you, as you took your helmet off, and took a drink of water. Bolin came around the corner.

"So what'd you think, Korra? Bolin's got some moves, huh?" He said, cockily. You chuckled, stepping behind a curtain to change into your Water Tribe clothes, leaving your hair in it's high ponytail. Noticing your arrows on your hands peeking out again, your tightened your gloves around your hands, so no slip ups happened. "What did I think? What did I think? That was amazing!" Korra cried, as Nagisa happily agreed.

"You did a good job, (Your fake name). That was some good footwork." Mako gave you a half smile, and walked to his locker. Turning to the firebender, Korra tried to talk to him again. "You guys were incredible out there. Especially you, Mr Foot Work." Korra complemented. "Oh, you're still here?" Mako snapped. "Oh, you're still a jerk?" She grumbled. Rolling your eyes at their behavior, you put your radio in your ear, and waited for the person on the end to pick up.

"Hello?" An irritated voice asked from the other side. "Hey, I-I need a favor." You sighed, sadly.

--Meanwhile--

"It's like there's a whole new way of bending here! Think you can teach me a couple moves?" She asked Bolin, as Nagisa jumped on Korra's back, and Kazan held Mako's hand. Surprised, the amber eyed male looked down at the younger, before shrugging and continued listening to the chattering benders in front of him. He sent a worried side glance towards you, you were hunched over, and were talking into a radio, looking concerned and sad, almost ancient. "Absolutely." Bolin said happily.

"Right now? Come on, Bolin." Mako sighed, a frown and irritation pulling at his face. "Just ignore him. Yeah, I could show you the basics. I'm just not sure how my earthbending would translate to your waterbending, but we'll figure it out." You got off the phone with an agitated look on your normally relaxed face, and gently took Nagisa off of Korra's back, and held her as you tuned into the conversation. "Won't be a problem. I'm actually an earthbender." Korra said, cockily. "I'm sorry, no, no, I didn't mean to assume. 'Cause I--You know, I was just figuring--with your Water Tribe getup that you are a Water Tribe gal." Bolin mumbled over his words, like the awkward dork he is.

"Nope, you're right. I am a waterbender....and a firebender." She stated, as Mako froze and you sighed. Bolin was stuck trying to figure it out out. "Mm. Mm-hmm. I'm very confused right now." "You're the Avatar, and I'm an idiot." Mako hung his head, as Korra agreed. "Both are true." Korra replied, jumping when you gently dragged the two little ones with you. "(Your fake name), where are you going?" Korra asked, tentatively. "Nothing. What could I possibly know?" You snapped, slamming the door, and leading the children with you. "(Fake name)? Where are we going?" Nagisa asked, as you lead them down the stairs.

Turning to the small children, you smile, knowing you owed them an explanation. "My name isn't (Fake name), I've just been using that name because I wanted to be a normal guy for a while. You're kids, but you are smarter than you think. My real name is (Y//N), and I am sorry for what happened to your parents. I know you've been left alone and probably feel like no one cares about you, but that ends now. I'm going to tell you a huge secret, because as of today, you two are going to be taken care of." You sent a blinding smile at the children who looked back at you with hope in their eyes.

--The next morning--

Korra growled, as she sleepily tried the gates again. Korra ran through the gates with aggression as Tenzin cried out, "Patience,Korra!" Korra growled as she starting burning up the exercise. You dropped your apple that you were sharing with Nevermore, in shock. Korra panted heavily as she realized what she did. "That was a 2,000 year old historical treasure." Tenzin started as you snapped,"What is wrong with you?" "There's nothing wrong with me! I've been practicing, just like you both taught me! But it isn't sinking in, okay? It hasn't clicked like you said you would.: She ranted.

"Korra, this isn't something you can't force.If you would only listen to me and (Y/N)--" Tenzin started. "I have been! But you know what I think? Maybe the problem isn't me. Maybe the reason I haven't learn airbending yet, is because you're a terrible teacher!" Korra accused before stomping off. "Yeah, Daddy, you're a terrible teacher." Meelo giggled innocently.Sensing their father's hurt, the girls hugged Tenzin's waist. You pat your uncle's shoulder.

"She didn't mean it, Uncle. You're a great teacher, but some of your methods are old school, and while some may respond to this style of teaching, some may not. Don't forget that her dominant element is water," You began leading him over to a pond, got into a waterbending position and began dancing with the waves, you following their movements.

"Others may need more of a hard push that can end in gentle reassurance. Like Mother used to say, A flower cannot bloom without sunshine and rain. When I asked her about it, she said that it meant, with out balance, nothing will get done." You said, gently dropping the water of your mother's memorial Magnolia tree, sending a warm gentle breeze and listening to your cousins' awed gasps. Turning to your Uncle, you told him, "Follow her tonight and you'll see." You said with a mischievous glint in your eye.

--That night--

You left your hair down and put a beanie on, before heading underground into an abandoned tunnel, taking the way you normally do to get to the city undetected. But something was different in the air tonight. You closed your eyes, inhaled and exhaled softly, before whirling around, eyes ablaze with annoyance.

"You know, it's not like I can't feel when someone's following me." You snap putting your hands on your hips, sensing a sheepish aura from the person, hiding behind the corner. The figure stepped out and you immediately tensed up in a fighting position. "Well, something big must be going down if the big boss himself came to see little ol' me." You snark sarcastically as Amon stepped out from the shadows.

"Ah, (Y/f/n), quick with the mouth as always I see." You could sense he was grinning under his mask, so you rolled your eyes. "Kiss my--" "Hey, now, use nice language." He chuckled, standing a few feet away from you. "You didn't know where I was going with that.....Ass!" You replied sassily. Amon remained silent, leaving the air with a thick tension, until you cleared your throat. "Okay, maybe you did." You replied weakly, before you gasped, feeling your left arm being pinned to your back, and right arm couldn't move at all.

"You always were a little smart mouth. But tonight will be the first step to baiting the Avatar to fall into my plans....just like I did to your mother." He said, lowly. You growled, flicking ice shards into the man's arm, just as he used several chi-blocking pressure points. You cry out, as you felt pain crawling up to your forearm and down to your wrist. Falling to the ground, withering, you fell to the ground on your injured arm, and looked up at the masked man with foggy eyes.

"What are you going to take my powers away? Go ahead, I'm not afraid of a loser, like you." You spat, feeling fear run through you as an electric rod was pressed into your ribs. While you yelped from the shock, Amon laughed. "No, I am not going to take away your bending. You've suffered enough and I have sent a message, thanks to you, ((Y/F/N). Until we meet again." Hitting the highest switch, you scream and black out, hoping someone will find you soon.

--Meanwhile (3rd Person's POV)--

Korra entered the Ferret's dressing room to see Mako and Bolin looking rather sullen. But you were nowhere to be found. "I didn't miss your match, did I?You guys look like you lost it already. And where is (Y/F/N)?" She asked. "We don't know! He's usually here early! Earlier than us, and we live here! We may have already lost the match." Bolin said, sadly. "It's not like him." Mako mumbled as the referee popped his head in. "You've got two minutes ready to play or your disqualified."

Mako huffed. "Well, there goes our shot at the championship and the winnings." Curious, Korra couldn't help but ask, "What about one of the other players? Can't you ask one of them to fill in?" "No, the rules say you can only compete on one team." Bolin replied. "Well, then, what about me? I'm a top-notch waterbender if I do say so, myself." She said cockily. "But, you're the Avatar. Isn't that cheating?" The green eyed teen asked.

"It's not cheating if I only use waterbending." Korra said confidently. "No way, I'd rather forfeit than look like a fool out there." Mako complained. "Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence." Korra rolled her eyes as the referee popped his head into the room. "Time's up! Are you in or out?" "We're in!" "Yes!" "Hey, I didn't agree to this!" Mako whined. "You can thank me later!" called Korra, as she put on your uniform. "This girl is crazy." The firebender muttered, as he put his helmet on.

"Looks like the ferrets have ferret'd out a last minute waterbender replacement!" Immediately (Y/N) fans began booing and demanding to know where you were. "Let's see if she's another diamond in the rough, like the brothers from the School of Hard Knocks." The announcer called, giving the green light to prepare to play. "Don't do anything too aggressive or too fancy. In face, don't do anything." Mako grumbled. "Just tried not to get knocked off the ring." "You got it, Captain." Korra replied, sarcastically.

"Players, are you ready?" The referee blew his whistle, and Korra sent the opposing waterbender off the rink with a powerful blast. Korra cheered as Mako facepalmed and Bolin winced in sympathy. "Fire Ferrets waterbender, penalty. Move back one zone." Called the ref. "What? Why?" Demanded Korra. "You're only allowed to knock players off the back of the ring, not the sides." Mako explained as Korra winced.

"And we're back in action after that hiccup. But I'm not so sure this replacement player knows what she's doing." As soon as the words left the announcer's mouth, the ref called another foul for Korra. "Foul! Over the line, move back to Zone Three." "Korra grunted and muttered under her breath. The bell rung loudly as the Platypus Bears took Round One. The Bears know a green player when they see one. They're focusing on the brunt of their attacks on this poor girl."

Korra couldn't take it anymore, and used fire and earth to block the incoming attacks. "Wait a minute! Did that waterbender just earthbend?" He ask as the room froze. The referee blew the whistle and called out, "Foul, I think. Did I see that right?" Korra laughed sheepishly as Mako growled under his breath. "Hold on folks, we're just waiting for the ref's official call, but I think the replacement waterbender could be--no way! She's the Avatar, folks! Playing in a pro-bending match! Can you believe that?"

"The Avatar will be permitted to continue, so long as she uses waterbending only." The Platypus bears grumble before attacking the Avatar with even more aggressively. "This girl may be the Avatar, but she's no pro-bender,and the Platypus-Bears are exploiting that weakness. Their giving her their best and her best just isn't good enough to stop it. And she's in the sink!"

Korra grumbled as she pulled herself out of the water before looking up to see a very angry Airbender starring down at him. "Oh, hey, Tenzin. I thought you didn't like coming to these matches." She chuckled awkwardly. "Once again, you have flagrantly disobeyed my orders. You were to stay on the island. Let's go." Tenzin said, sternly. "No, I'm kind of in the middle of something." "I have tried my very best to get through to you by being gentle and patient, but clearly the only thing you respond to is force! So I am ordering you to come back to the temple right now." Tenzin yelled. "Why? So I can sit around and meditate about how bad I am at airbending?You know, I am beginning to think there's a reason I haven't been able to learn it. Maybe I don't even need it!"

"What? That is a ludicrous suggestion. The Avatar needs to learn airbending. It is not optional." Tenzin was at his limit. "No, this is what I need to learn. Modern styles of fighting." Korra protested. "Being the Avatar isn't all about fighting, Korra. When will you learn that?" Tenzin placed his hands on his hips as Korra began walking away. "I have a match to go finish."

The next three minutes were some of the most annoying moments of Korra's life but your voice echoed in her head, reminding her to breathe, and suddenly she was a graceful swan, dodging fire and earth disks before moving forward with her attacks. "Well, how about that." Tenzin said, softly. The next thing the Platypus-Bears knew, they were all in the sink, and the Ferrets were finally in the championships.

The Ferrets made their way into the room, the brothers allowing Korra to get changed first. Tenzin came into the room with a soft grin on his face. "It seems my nephew was right about this being a better teaching for you. You did good Korra. You moved just like an airbender." Korra grinned, knowing both sides were calmed down and have no hard feelings toward the others.

"Speaking of my nephew, where is he?" Tenzin asked as they walked out the gym, as he promised the Ferrets a celebratory dinner, "He was the one who mentioned I should come down here tonight." Before anyone could reply, Lin Beifong landed in front of them with a worried expression on her usually stoic face. "Lin, what is the matter?" The older Airbending master hurried to his old friend's side, the teens looking at the Chief in concern.

"It's (Y/N), he's in the hospital."

#lok imagine #legend of korra x reader #x male reader #legend of korra #legend of korra imagine

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artoftamashi · 3 years

Text

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events (Pt. 3 of 4)

Part 3 is finally here! I think it's my favorite part of all. So thanks to you all who read parts 1 and 2 and are still here for part 3!

Why not just get to it?!

Spoilers: etooo, mentions a moment of the fight of episode 5.

TW: a lot of cursing, some anxiety feelings, oppression, helplessness, panic, and the word kitty is mentioned once.

I mean, 2 years isn’t temporary haha but he named me Hirano after about a year. He said I had a light and warmth around me like the sun (Hi-). But I won’t go by that name. Even after telling him not to come looking for me if I disappear, I don’t want him to find me using that name. Plus, I just got my new identification.

Oi, Natsu.

“Hm?”

I’ll take a break after this job.

“I don’t think Yamamoto-san will like that.”

I don’t care. That old-fart of a pervert doesn’t deserve my service.

“Tama….. Just make sure you’re polite…”

Yeah, yeah.

Tama’s current job is just a curse hunter. No attachments, commitments, or any responsibilities. The agency that handles these curses is not certified—that they can do with illegal shit. No paperwork or repercussions. The wealthy people hire them and pay them as long as they do the job in the allotted time.

Tama sighs. “At least Matsuda-san wasn’t a pervert. Hm? Oh we’re here. Well, I should be saying ‘I’m here’ but having you listening in all the time, well, doesn’t feel like I’m alone.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“Haha! No need! Anyway, I guess I should look around and investigate this place a little.”

The curse that’s been wondering around this abandoned construction site is a grade 2. People’s fears about ghosts around construction sites really fed this thing. I don’t think it’ll be that easy to defeat it, but I should be able to nonetheless. However, something doesn’t sit right with me. After observing the site, they did not even start a foundation. They only cleared the field where they were going to start. And there’s still a lot of forest behind this site.

Tama gasps at a realization. I’m sure it’ll appear if I start walking towards the forest. The thing is, it’s probably not the construction site that’s ‘cursed.’ It’s the forest.

Tama starts hearing a low grumbling as she nears the tree line.

“So there you are! Hurry! I don’t have much time!”

A curse appears. Not so big in size, but as Tama expected: she’ll have a little trouble.

“What do you say I we dance?”

Tama takes her phone and plays some music.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After some “dancing”, Tama is able to exorcise the curse, when something—or rather—someone catches her attention.

“Hm?… OOOIIII! Are you okay?!” She asks while waving her arm. They’re not responding but they seem to be walking this way.

Wait… what’s this feeling?.. Blood thirst??

And just like that, she recognizes who the man approaching her is. She drops her weapons and puts up her hands, as surrendering, so he can see that she truly means no harm.

He suddenly appears in front of her, Fast… inches away from her face.

“Ohoooo… I thought you’d have more of a reaction!”

Gojo Satoru. The man with a blindfold who I should tread around carefully.

“I know how to pick my fights. And I’m not trying to pick one with you.”

“Hm? Why not?” A grin appears in his face.

“Gojo Satoru. A man who should be feared if a fight should ensue.” “Hahaha. I shouldn’t be feared! I’m the greatest being in this world.” Still grinning with arms spanning about.

“I never said I feared you. I’m just relaying what I heard.”

“Oh. You must be well informed, then?”

“Not really. I was only warned. Anyway, now that you know I won’t wield a weapon, I’m bringing down my arms.” Tama, tired from the fight, just wants Gojo to let her go.

Nothing. The man isn’t saying anything. Even though he has his blindfold, I can see him staring. Studying.

“Oh. Gojo-sensei!” A boy with fluffy pink hair comes running to his sensei’s side. “Mm? Who is this sensei?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Yuji.”

So he was ‘examining’ me.

“Why don’t you just ask?” Itadori grunts. “I’m Itadori Yuji. This is Gojo-sensei. And these two are my classmates, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara.”

“I’m Haruna Natsumi.”

“Nice to meet ya! Oi, sensei. We should go. Seems like the curse is gone.”

“Guess you’re right! Let’s go get some sweets!”

Then suddenly, another sinister feeling creeps up Tama’s spine. It makes her shiver to her core.

“What’s this?” Itadori’s face has another mouth.

Tama jumps back in fighting stance. Her instincts just make her move; no second thought. She even grabbed her shikomizue in that split second.

“This one’s got fire, Yuji.”

“Sukuna, you! I’m sorry! Please, I don’t mean any harm.”

“That is not normal.” Tama says as she points to Itadori’s face. Damn. I can’t control my heartbeat. It’s like my soul is trying to escape my body. My entire skin feels like its being pierced by needles. An extreme uneasiness that I cannot contain. I’m sweating profusely.

“Keep this one around. She gives me the same sense as Fushiguro. Ha. Ha. See you later, Natsumi.” And just like that, Sukuna’s presence disappears.

Tama can’t stand. Trying to catch her breath, she maintains a distance from the lot. Was that…? No, it can’t be…?

“Nat..su..mi….?” A concerned Itadori asks.

“I’m sorry…. Just… let me… catch my breath….” Panting as if she ran for her life. You could say her soul tried.

“Who are you?” Gojo abruptly asks.

Tama looks at the blindfold with eyes filled with regret as if she could see his eyes. Many things run through her mind right now; the many times she was going to die, how she grew up, Matsuda-san, Ryoku… Natsu…. After catching her breath, she gets up and recollects herself before answering.

“I already introduced myself. I’m Har-“

“You have no curse energy. You yield weapons without curse energy. You sensed Sukuna before he appeared to you. So: who. are. you?” Gojo is not backing down, standing right in front of Tama.

Tch.

“Hmm….," he stares intently. "How about you come with us?!” He flips his switch. Serious -> Spontaneous. How does one even do that?

“Oi, sensei. Bringing in another stray?” Fushiguro steps in.

“Are you jealous Megumi?”

Fushiguro’s face says it all. Not a damn he gives.

“Whatever. The principal will be the one to put up with you. Let’s go.”

“I’m not going.” Tama doesn’t want to be involved with anything that has to do with Gojo Satoru. Ryoku’s words remind her that anybody around Gojo eventually get in serious trouble.

“Why not? Leaving something or someone behind?” Gojo asks as he puts his hands in his pockets.

“Uh, no. I need to pick up my pay for this job, so…”

“Oh! That’s what it is! We’ll go with you!”

“OI. SENSEI.”

“Megumiiiiii, so you are jealous.” Gojo pouts.

“As if. Just let her stop by when she’s done; of course, that’s only if she wants to come. Stop trying recruit.”

“I’ll go. But just give me time.” Tama isn’t sure if she should go with them. But maybe I can learn about myself if I have them around. “Oh, but wait. Sensei? Principal? You’re taking me to a school?”

“Riiiight.. I haven’t mentioned it. We are from Tokyo Jujutsu High! A high school for jujutsu sorcerers!”

“OI!”

“What Megumi? I think we can trust this kitty.”

Tama feels her stomach clench. Now, she’s not sure if she should go.

“How about sharing emails? So we can keep contact.”

“Uh, sure. I suppose.” Nobody tries stopping her so she assumes it’s safe.

“Okay then! I’ll be messaging you every day until you come! Bye-bye!”

“Every da-“ Why didn’t they bother to warn me?

And just like that, the lot of them leave, and Tama does too. I’m killing that pervert Yamamoto!

Phew! We've made it this far! I hope yall enjoyed this part. I focus on Gojo more because he's like my focal point (As I mentioned on a previous part.) Please stick around for the last part! Not so exciting so I understand if you don't stick around by then but it's a close interaction with Gojo and the heroine. Any way, thanks loves! 💖

#jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #fushiguro megumi #itadori yuji #kugisaki nobara #sukuna ryomen #fan fic #A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events #part 3 #heroine

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lillaxtrigger · 3 years

Text

Young Hope: Chapter 38

The open cloudless sky above begins to lose its orange shade as the twilight sun starts to sink down past the horizon and welcomes the stars and lunar glow of the full moon; their heavenly light gleaming upon the golden spire that towers past the sea of clouds. Along the edges of the golden warp gate are the three search nods that the angels had faced trail after trail to retrieve were tucked firmly within all three of their proper holes; the eyes and wings that make up their outer rims glancing around and flapping as they twirl in place. In the middle of the rings was a platform of glass sat in the middle of the golden top floor; Tore wondrously gazing to the rings as his cosmic mentor works on a holographic interface that protrudes out from the glass beneath their feet. When a distinct light shines down above them, the indigo angel aim’s his gaze skyward to behold the massive halo that hovers above the tower; the ring that hangs over them beginning to spin with a growing heavenly glow. The rings angelic glow slowly, but surely growing, Mall put away the holographic panel had been tinkering with and peers up to the halo above to state: “Good, the coordinates are finally set and the warp gate is pinpointing to my kind’s dimensional prison. It only be a matter of time now.” A warm smile permeates along his cheeks as he stares upwards, break his site away from the halo above and down to his blue ward before him; Tore gazing back to his cosmic mentor as Mall commends how: “I don’t think there is any way I can express my gratitude to you for aiding me in this long awaited noble endeavor. At long last, after millions of millennia, the Kybr shall return home. At long last, they shall be reunited with their own kin; and we have you to thank for it all, Tore. ... For the longest time, I only had the stars surrounding to call upon for comfort in my times of depression and isolation; to mend my sorrows with their gaseous light. Not once did I think that I would soon feel the warming welcome of another Kybr, another he could call his own kin to glide through the universe with. For that alone, I’m more than happy to have taken this journey with you.” “No prob, Mall. Bein on this whole adventure with ya made me realize what I’d been missing from my life; somebody I could really look up to help just guide me through all the stuff about life. Like a….you get what I’m saying?” “Hmm mm mm. Tore, I simply cannot wait to introduce you to the very people that you have stemmed from and behold in their majesty; to glide throughout the universe alongside our fellow kin. There’s just so much more of this reality I wish for you to view.” the cosmic angel describes, kneeling down to the blue boy’s level. “Honestly, it don’t matter to me a bit where ya wanna go; I just still wanna have ya around. There was seriously so much you taught me about myself that I didn’t even know I could do; stuff that I probably never would’ve realized my self if I didn’t go with ya. Really, if anyone’s to thank here, it’s you.” “Oh believe me, youngling; there’s still so much of yourself I can show you, so much of yourself that will surpass your human expectations. It’s my hope to one day cultivate you into a Kybr just as powerful as those in the days of yore; perhaps to even pass them. Before the cosmic Kybr could speak another word to his blue ward, the indigo angel reaches out for a warming embrace; Mall hugging the boy back in kind as Tore’s tear drip down from his face and stain his sparkling toga. “I can’t to show you all my friends and family. You’re gonna love em.”

Upon declaring this to his spacial teacher does a related thought pop into the blue boy’s mind, one that causes him to pull away from Mall’s grasp and stress how: “My fam! Oh god, its been around two weeks since I last talked to them! They must be worried outta their minds wondering where I’ve been this whole time. I know you said that using my phone might attract attention, but is it alright if I phone them up real quick and tell em I’m alright?” “Go ahead, Tore. Tell them...tell them of the wonderful news.” “Thanks Mall.” the indigo angel yips to his cosmic mentor as he strolls over towards the wayside and pulls his phone out from the depths of his pants pocket. After powering on his device, a wave of astonishment crashes upon him when first finding over dozens of notifications concerning calls that he had missed. Whoa! Holy crap! There’s seriously like 54 missed calls on here. Most of them from Mally too. Guess outta everyone, she’d be nearly on the cusp of exploding with worry. Better not keep her waiting any longer.

Without hesitation, the blue boy taps the last phone call his sister had attempted to reach through to him with; Tore putting his phone up to his ear as it starts to dial and waits as he hears the tone ring. Shortly after does he then hear the orange skater on the other end, yelping out to him: “Tore!?” “Hey, Mal. Sorry I didn’t really phone in for a while, had to turn my phone off cause I was helping-” “Oh my god, where are you!? What’s that guy you’re with doing!? Do you know what he’s about to do!?” “Whoa, easy there, Mal. Slow down a minute, w-what’s up with you?” the blue boy questions. “Tore, I need you to listen to me and answer; do you know what the Kybr were?” “Uh, Mall said they were powerful beings that could manipulate elements of the universe who shared their powers with humans and built cities to help teach em how to use em.” “Is that all he told you?” “Kind of, why? You figure out something?”

Above the very spire both the angels stand within, the tangible picture begins to come into focus within the golden halo; the outer rim of the ring surging with an otherworldly power as it starts to further twirl more rapidly. Tears begin to well underneath Mall’s very eyes as he peers deep within the transparent picture held inside the halo. Soon. Soon we shall be reunited. No more will this soul have to wander this lonely cosmo’s for eternity. We’ll be together. We’ll be home.

Among his mentor gazing up to the portal above them both, the indigo angel ventures back towards stargazing Kybr; a deep somber frown painted along his face as the light from the halo overheads casts their shadow over the blue boy’s eyes. “Mall…” Upon hearing his wards slightly meek call, Mall breaks his teary eyes away from the forming portal above and hears the boy before him request that: “Can I ask you some stuff...before Kybr come?” “Of course, Tore What do wish to know?” “Were there really no limits to what the Kybr could control in this universe?” “Indeed, there were none. The very forces of this universe were at our beck and call.” “Is that why the gods banished all of you?” “Sadly so. They couldn’t accept the control we had on what they claimed to be their dominion. But why ask of this?” The blue boy standing before the cosmic angel takes a moment to calm his shaking breath before he questions further on the matter with: “Was that the only reason?” “Pardon?” “What did Kybr do to warrant getting imprisoned?” “Tore. Let us not worry about such mysteries, not with our reunion so close.” the spacial angel attempts to thwart with.

“Mall...were the Kybr bad?” Such a question piercing the air causes every single hair along the cosmic angel to stand on end, Mall attempting to veer away from answer by uttering: “Tore, lets just drop the-” “Did they hurt people?” The blue boy’s burning hunger for these answers drive the cosmic angel to a dreading silence; one that only fuels his ward to push further. “Mall...Mall, what did they do? How many others wanted them gone? Why were they so hated?” Despite Tore’s constant push for tangible answers, this only drives further silence from the starry angel standing before him; his mentor’s refusal to answer drawing out only frustration and tears as he continues to shout: “Mall...Please just answer me already! Why won’t you say anything!? Have you just been lying to me!?”

At last can the cosmic Kybr not keep himself silent another moment longer, Mall finally responding to his angered ward outcries with: “We chose humanity to carry on the legacy, to mold this very universe accordance to their whims and to plot its very future alongside us. Tore...All that Kybr had done was to shape reality for the better and share in what we’ve created with all; even if it meant steering those who lived in this universe in a different direction. I myself couldn’t care less for what they plot to form this reality into...I simply couldn’t bare it anymore. The countless millennia of isolation and utter hopelessness I had toiled hiding from those who wanted us gone. I felt my very consciousness dull from the ever going loneliness. The life that I had felt when gliding alongside my kin, the joy I had partaken upon seeing a child of my own flourish had been left dimmed and withered to the merciless flow of time. I had resigned to such a fate. But a single spark was what had illuminated the hopeless void that had clouded my mind. Word of humanity, sparse human’s, growing to possess power those were bestowed by us once more. And lo and behold, the life within me that had hollowed had been restored upon seeing with my own vision those claims ring true; the future of the kin we had left behind. And during my journey alongside you, my boy, that very same spirit began to grow again. Bringing forth a dream I thought once impossible to achieve now on the cusp of coming true.” Midst declaring all of this, the cosmic Kybr approaches the young angel that stands before him; Mall kneeling down to his level once more to gently grasp his shoulder and begs out of him: “Tore, please, let us share this long awaited dream together. Let us welcome our kin home.” A long pause of quiet passes between the two angel’s as Mall awaits for the boy’s answer; all with nothing but the energy of the warp gate whirling through the air to fill the ambient silence.

But at long last does Tore finally bestow upon the lonesome broken man his answer as his hand balling into a quaking fist; the blue boy driving his knuckles straight into the cosmic angel’s face hard enough to send Mall careening across the top of the spire; the golden wall he slams into fracturing from the incredible blunt force. As the spacial bound Kybr starts to recover from the unexpected blow, a low groan utters out from his maw; the angel directing his site to the very boy who had struck him down. “Agh!...Wh-what the matter with y-” “You lied to me! You knew very well what the Kybr would do if they were freed; you knew they would terrorize the universe again and kept that from me! I trusted you! I fought alongside you! I looked up to you more than just a teacher; I wanted you to be like a dad, one I could actually stand alongside with. I cried when you offered me that. If you really cared that much about me, if you looked up to me like I was one of your own; you wouldn’t have kept me in the dark about something crucial, something that would’ve affected everyone I knew, what could doom everyone in this universe. I could’ve helped you. My family could’ve helped you. I bet even my friends could’ve helped you cope with being so alone and sad in this universe. You didn’t need to unleash an entire army of super beings that would destroy so many others…You didn’t need the Kybr to feel loved. But instead you chose this. Chose to try and release them. And chose to lie to my face!” Witnessing a flow of tears streak down from the boy’s enraged glare, Mall attempts to push through to him by uttering: “Tore, I didn’t-” “Shut up!...If you actually care. If you actually wanna still look at me like someone you care for,, then you’ll shut off the portal and keep the Kybr from breaking into this world.” Let utterly silent by the indigo angel’s ultimatum, the cosmic angel finally stands and hovers off the golden floor; glaring to the boy with determination and firmly declares: “No...I shall not let my kin suffer within their prison another moment longer, not with just a few more steps from opening the gates.” Knowing the Kybr’s ultimate decision left set in unbreakable stone, Tore’s entire body trembles alongside his breath; struggling to stand from the overwhelming heartbreak. But the indigo angel soon regains his composure to wipe away the river of tears from his eyes; staring on to cosmic angel that hovers before with his own branded determination and readies to face his former mentor. “Fine...But I’m not just gonna stand and let you doom the universe...To doom countless others...to doom my friends, my family, everyone I love!”

Its upon proclaiming this that Tore finally lunges forth towards his former mentor, dead set to deliver yet another betrayed fuel strike right to his face; what tears hadn’t dried at this point streaking off his cheeks as he approaches the cosmic angel. Moments as the indigo angel throws his fist straight out to the Kybr’s face, Mall holds his palm before the nearing blue boy and stopping him dead in his tracks; Tore feeling as if he had just hit an invisible solid wall. Its in that very same time that same space thrust him away with what felt like the force of a runaway semi truck, the blue boy sliding across the spires golden floor; Tore clutching the edge of the tower before he could be sent flying straight out into the sea of clouds behind him. Pulling out over the golden edge, the angel throws himself straight into the air above with a pale light gathering in his hand; Tore casts forth a beam of pale power down towards his spacial foe. Just as the ray was about to hit, the very space surrounding Mall redirects the beam to twirl around his very figure and splits apart under his command; the cosmic angel sending back the fracture pieces of pale white back towards their very sender. The blue boy delves right underneath the returning ray cluster as he swoops down towards his former master, Mall erecting a wormhole behind him to retreat from the blue boy’s diving assault.

Once sliding to a stop across the golden floor, Tore frantically peers to his surroundings for any sign of where the space manipulating angel had vanished to; failing to find even a single sign of his starry feathers anywhere in site. Midst wondering where the angel had disappeared to, Tore suddenly feels an invisible force squeeze his entire body from head to toe; almost as if the very space surrounding him was constricting the boy like a snake holding its prey. Slowly forcing his head to turn back, Tore discovers the cosmic angel emerging out from another hole with his clutched palm reaching out to the boy. With nothing but a swift swipe of his very hand, Mall commands the very space holding his pupil to fling him straight into one of the flora decorated golden walls that make up the top of the spire; some of the angel trumpets that hang from the swirls plucking off their stems and fluttering down onto the boy. Peering down does the blue boy see one of these flowers land cleanly onto the palm of his hand, a site which causes the gears in his head to start turning.

As he continues to face the young angel, Mall lets out a collection of stars from his very palm as he waves his hand through the air; every single twinkling star that the cosmic angel had conjured all thrusting themselves out to the blue boy all at once. Upon witnessing the stars incoming does Tore push himself off the wall of withered flowers and out towards the volley of glittering constellations Tore blocking them all with a single arm as he forces himself through shower of stars Powering through the barrage of twinkling bullets does Tore face the spacial Kybr once more; his fist glowing a rainbow of lively colors as he lobs it upwards towards the angel’s chin. Though Mall erects another wall of space between him and his blue ward like before, the solid space breaks apart upon the boy’s rising assault and is harshly struck right in the jaw hard enough send him skywards. Having uppercut his former mentor straight into the air, Tore rockets up after him to follow up with a hammering spike back down towards the spire floor; the glass platform Mall crashes into shattering from the impact.

While the blue angel hover back down onto the golden floor, he watches as his cosmic foe levitates right off the broken glass he bestows an applause; remarking how: “Using the life force of these flowers to power through. Excellent resourcefulness Tore. Seems I’ve trained you to use your abilities quite well. Bravo.” Despite his proud applause upon him, Tore keeps his glare locked upon the spacial angel; Mall himself ceasing his clapping to warm how: “However, if you believe that is enough to stop me. Then you are sorely mistaken.” On this very declaration does Mall then reach out to their surroundings and offers to how his own prowess with: “Allow me to show you what sort of influence the Kybr have upon this universe.” From the palms of his hands does the cosmic angel unleash an incredible bout of spacial power from his very depths; a monumental wave that bends and twists the golden spire they stand upon and until beginning to change into another location entirely.

Before the blue boy’s very eyes does he witness the golden walls of the spire transform, ditching the shimmering sheen of their swirls in place of rows and rows of faintly painted metal lockers. Peering down beneath his feet, Tore sees the glistening floor he stands upon loose its sheen as it’s morphed into slightly dirt ridden marble tile. Drifting his gaze skywards does Tore also watch as the starry night sky above is blanketed by popcorn ceiling donning flickering florescent lights. Between the lockers stood door after polished wood door, some of the cracking open to let some teens within peer out to the scene that plays out. “The Hell?” “What’s happening out there?” “Who the hell are these guys?” “Hang on. Isn’t one of them that strange blue dude with the angel wings?” Upon some of the students recognizing him does Tore himself realize where his former mentor had transported them too; this very hall being the very same hallway he walks through everyday in Townsville’s public school. “So this is my...Why did-” Right when the blue boy was about to question the cosmic angel why he had sent them here, the indigo angel puts his question on hold as he sees his former master continue to wave his hands through the air. All the kids that had peeked out from their classrooms are forced back inside before the hall that both angels stands begins to extend outwards; the end of the hall retreating into the horizon until vanishing into an infinite plane. Once commanding the space of the hall to extend endlessly, the spacial Kybr leaps back to retreat down the depths of the never ending corridor; Tore immediately pursuing after the retreating angel.

Amidst gliding away from the indigo angel, Mall turns back while continuing to retreat to unleash a salvo of stars that erupt out from the depths of his wings; Tore swatting away all the stars that streak out to him in his chase after Witnessing his spread of stars doing little to slow his blue wards feverish pursuit, Mall reaches his arms out towards the never ending rows of lockers that stretching out along the sides of the hall; their very metal stretching past their hinges and clustering together just before the boy. Left caught off guard by the unexpected blockade, the indigo angel slams straight through the barrier of cheap school grade steel and fumbles along the marble tile; but soon enough regaining himself and leaping off the floor in the middle of this blunder to resume the chase. As more and more of the lockers before him stretch out in an effort to block his way, Tore flies right over, under, and side to side every set that burst out from the walls; some dust flying out from the walls as the lockers protrude out. Upon watching the blue ward weave himself through every single set of lockers he stretches out, the cosmic angel clamps his hands together to command the lockers before him to all clamp together to form a wall of steel. A single lunging tackle is all it takes from the blue boy to bust straight through he blockade of cheap school grade steel; a couple of cobwebs flying through the air as Tore charges ahead.

Yet despite having broke straight through his former mentor’s barricade, the distance between the pair of angels continues to grow; Tore pondering of a way he can burst through the numerous lockers and close the gap. Not really any plants here to sap, though. Gotta be something here to take advantage off. Its in think of a way to draw out power that he feels something tickling his arms, the indigo angel glancing along his limbs to discover a couples of spiders and bugs scuttling along the surface of his skin. Bugs? Didn’t someone say that the school needed some sort of fumigation? Wait a sec, that’s it!

With an idea running through his blue noggin, Tore stretches both of his arms out to the endless row of lockers that sit along the side; his mind focused on all the numerous insects and arachnids that dwell within the cracks and crevices of the school walls. Come on… he concentrates on the dozens of vermin and insects that do swaths of color all seep out from their bodies, their very life gathering around the blue boy and surrounding him in coating of lively aura. Got it! “Excellent work Tore.” In hearing this come from his former mentor, Tore stares back to the gradually retreating angel; Mall further praising him on how: “Drawing out your aspect from the creatures hidden around you. But can you use such gathered power effectively?”

Its in that moment that every single locker that stands between them burst out from the wall and cluster together before the young angel in hopes of halting his pursuit; all the colorful life that the blue boy had gathered all coating his fists as he nears all the thicket of metal. With his very fists alone does Tore break through the rows of stretched steel as easily as ripping through paper; shards of the lockers metal scattering through the air as the boy breaks through every single wall that stands in his way. Seeing his pupil punch straight through the numerous barricades, Mall thrusts his palms out to the hall’s very walls and starts to pull them together; the cosmic angel warping the space itself into one blockade of solid stone and metal. With little time to stop himself from smacking straight into the twisted cluster of school brick and locker metal, Tore utilizes what energy he had gathered from his surroundings straight into the palm of his hands into a colorful orb of light; firing it all out in to the blockade in a stream of pure life. Effortlessly does the massive beam pierce straight through the thick rock and steel and striking the cosmic angel harboring behind; Mall letting out a pained grunt as his entire body is engulfed in the colorful glow.

Right then and there does the infinite hallway come to an end as Mall is sent careening straight through a set of door; the polished wood floor breaking underneath as he scrapes across the gym. From this crashing halt does every basketball player and P.E teacher suddenly stop dead in their track and gaze upon the spacial angel as he levitates himself off the middle of them floor. Following this do they then witness the blue boy break down the gym doors and land before the levitating man; a site which proves a good enough queue to go scrambling out for they realize that shit was going down. Once seeing every single coach and student all race right out through the corridor, Tore returns his site back to his former mentor; remain cautious despite Mall displaying a warm smile. “I must say, Tore. You’ve shown truly promising results thus far. But this examination is far from over.”

Upon this statement does Mall thrust his arms upwards towards the gym ceiling, the blue boy peering above and watches the support beams holding the roof up darken and morph from steel to stone. His attention is then drawn out to the walls, bleachers, and equipment that make up the gym all go through a similar transformation; some of the rock bursting into flames in the process. Its in witnessing all of this that he notices a bright orange light shinning out from the floor and peers down to discover the polished wood he stands on melting into hot molten liquid. Tore leaps right off the transforming floor as it fully forms into a lake of boiling lava and comes to find what he saw were airborne demons and drifting spirits sharing the blistering hot air. Soon enough is the site that Tore once saw as his school gym fully converted into the very depth of hell; both angel’s hovering just above a stretching lake of lava with a couple of brimstone islands decorated across the surface, all with little scales hopping out from the fiery molten depths.

Just as the indigo angel was curious why his former mentor had transformed their surroundings into this hellish lake of molten liquid, he returns his gaze to the cosmic Kybr to find Mall slowly bending his arms upwards; the lava lake they hang right over curving inwards alongside his limbs until covering the hellish skies above in a blanket of blistering hot magma. The lake that Mall had summoned forth had now been bent inward in an inverted sphere that now trapped them both in its twisted cage of molten goo and scorched brimstone; the lava within remaining suspended in the air as if the gravity itself had been twisted.

Once finished with their scorching hot cage, the cosmic angel then thrusts his palms down towards the very brimstone upsetting the lava; the piece of burning rock trembling for a moment before being uprooted from the molten goo. Raising the piece of scorching earth out from the depths of the magma lake, Mall clasps his hands together to command the rock to burst into pieces; the numerous remains of this very brimstone scatter through the air and chaotically revolve all around within the angel’s molten cage. One after the other does Tore swerve and evade all the directionless chunks of burning brimstone, navigating through the ongoing chaos as naturally as the winds traveling through a craggy canyon; the blue boy twisting about the storm of rock as he heads straight for his former mentor. Tore readies to deliver a swift spinning punch right to the spacial Kybr’s side as he closes in, the space around his former master twisting his body as he is fluidly veered right out across the angel’s side like a redirected stream of water. His assault having been thwarted, the indigo angel is but seconds away from taking a molten dive right down into the spherical wall of blistering hot goo; the blue boy stopping himself just short of the lake’s surface and makes a complete U-turn back towards the cosmic angel.

Witnessing his blue ward on the return, Mall commands the space around him to halt what burning brimstone happens to pass by and launches them all out towards the approaching indigo angel. With the barrage of fiery rocks raining down upon him, the blue boy thinks little as he simply breaks one of them to bits with just one kick; left caught off guard when bits of molten lava trapped within splatter out. Tore covers his face as the fiery hot goo splatters onto him, the blue angel continuing to swerve through the brimstone storm despite feeling the burns inflicted by the red hot lava across his body. Uncovering his face does the blue boy then see his former mentor simply direct more and more passing stones his way, the indigo angel taking little chances as he simply fires out sphere of his own power out to the approaching pieces of brimstone; with not even a single drop of the magma stowed within splashing into him. But when does his former mentor simply summon more and more burning chunks out after him, the blue boy hatches a little idea on how to use the hellish meteors against their caster and veers off along the lava prisons edges; all the pieces of burning brimstone giving chase after him as Mall himself watches closely. Soon does the cosmic angel witness the blue ward veer away from the lava side and start to near once more, Mall preparing to counter whatever sort of assault his pupil was planning. Yet at the very last moment does Tore suddenly ascend right over, his former mentor keeping his sites locked to him as the swarm of burning brimstone continues to follow. Once right hovering overhead, the blue boy quickly turns back and blasts out his own volley of pale power upon the pursing storm of hellbound rock; the magma that bursts out from within all splattering down toward his spacial foe. The lava threatening to rain down upon him, Mall keeps the descending drizzle from pouring onto him with a layer of solid space above; not a single drop able to even touch the starry angel’s very skin. Left distracted by the molten downpour, Tore takes this chance to steer right behind and rocket right towards his backside at breakneck speeds ready to strike with all his might.

Alas on the last moment does his swinging fist suddenly stop dead in the middle of the air, his knuckles just centimeters away from touching the cosmic angel’s back. Left paralyzed by the very space around him, all Tore could do was watch as his former mentor peers back into his very eyes; the last of the lava downpour dripping down behind him. “A valiant effort.” With this bit of praise however does Mall lift the blue ward up over his head while then criticizing how: “But physicality alone shall do little to aid you.” Upon declaring this, the cosmic angel thrust his palm downwards and sends Tore hurdling down towards one of the brimstone islands breaking up the lava lake; the blue crashing down and slide across the rough rock before stopping just short of the blistering hot rim. Though the blue boy attempts to stand back off the heated stone, his rise is ultimately cut short when his former master lands right onto his very chest and keeps him pinned to the hellish earth with just a single foot.

Struggling to escape underneath the spacial Kybr’s heel, the indigo angel gazes up to the lava behind him in his squirm and discovers something of note that he just now finds. Small schools of fish dressed in scales of pure bedrock leap right out from the depths of the lake, lively swimming through the lava as easily as freshwater. This only way outta this mess clear to him, the boy’s face tightens as he reaches out towards the rim; a sharp hiss sliding through the boy’s teeth before he swiftly dunks his limbs into the hellish molten goo. A sharp scream escapes from the boy maw as he keeps his arms submerged in the fiery lava, the odd and unpredictable act causing the cosmic angel’s guard to waver. Midst his agony do the pupils of his eyes start to glow a rainbow of color, Tore taking the moment to thrust his legs against Mall and kicking his former mentor off of him; bringing his arms back up to the surface as lunges after. His hands coated in a radiance of shimmering color, Tore reaches out to his fumbling foe’s head and clutches Mall’s very face; the indigo angel unleashing the life force he had somehow gathered into a point blank blast of radiant colors. The force alone was strong enough to send the spacial Kybr hurdling across lake, his body skipping across the surface like a tossed pebble until crashing right along side of a brimstone column.

While the hellish stone dust settles before him, Mall is left to ponder of the circumstances with utter: “That power. Where did-” While curiously questioning such does the angel direct his attention over to the very island he was blasted from, seeing the numerous scaly fish that had once jumped across the molten lava behind his ward now left bellying up; a proud smile stretches between his cheeks as pries himself out from the brimstone. “That’s much better.”

Whilst using what power was left to heal the numerous burns he had suffered, Tore watches as the man he once called his mentor hovers out to the very center of the lava cage and clasps his hands together; the space they both occupy once again contorting before his very eyes. The blue boy beholds the blister hot lava and brimstone that made up the environment now solidify and freeze as it starts to break apart; scorching heat of hell itself dipping into a deathly cold in a matter of just seconds. Tore starts to shiver and hovers upwards as the ground beneath him gives away, all the fiery light that shined from the lava disappearing and is replaced and coldly blue hue; the blue seeing his very breath permeate the frosty air. Within a matter of seconds does the indigo angel find himself floating within a frozen cavernous valley made up of thick icy paths, frosty slides, and arctic formations that stretch across the wide open cavern. Not this again.

Its in his shivering that Tore then peer out to the side and finds his cosmic foe floating in the middle of the freezing air, the spacial angel clasping his hands together before hammering himself straight in his very stomach; the impact causing dozens of cracks to rapidly grow along his figure. After this does Mall’s entire body break apart in a burst of glass, every single bit flying across the caverns and seeping into the icy formations that surround them. Despite this display of self destruction, the blue boy keeps his guard held high as he floats through the icy valley and prepares for whatever strange attack the cosmic Kybr has planned for him. Yet among his alert awareness does he fails to notice a faint light glimmering from the ice behind him; a reflection of his galactic foe’s figure sliding across the surface and sticks his arm right out to cast a star straight out to the blue ward. The starry blast hits the young angel’s back in a glittering explosion, sending Tore careening through frosty air. When finally stopping himself just before crashing straight into a hard icy wall, Tore peeks back to try and find what had thrown the glittering blast, but ultimately failing to find a single soul among the blue hue.

Its when seeking the culprit that he hears the strange sound of crackling ice behind him, the blue angel swiftly glancing back to discover his mentor within an icy slide behind him; Mall on the verge of tossing out another starry assault. In the nick of time does the blue boy evade his former mentor’s starry blast and chucks out his own pale energy straight out to Mall’s reflection; the icy formation he had dwell within shattering into glittering shards from the explosion. Even within the ice left into pieces, the young angel cannot find even a single sign of his former mentor among the frosty dust. While midst his confusion, Mall emerges out from the twisting icy pillar aside and rockets forth towards the blue boy; Tore himself glancing out just time to witness his former mentor on the approach. In the few seconds he had does the blue angel manage to evade the cosmic Kybr’s striking assault, his galactic foe just a few inches apart as he streaks right past. Even when having cleanly dodged the cosmic man’s surprise attack, the blue boy feels the very space behind him solidify; Tore looking over towards his former master and seeing him reach out to him with but the palm of his hand. Swinging his arm outwards does Mall cast his ward out through the icy cavern valley; Tore sent through icy paths and slides alike until crashing right into the valley’s hard ice wall.

Pulling himself straight out from the cavernous wall, the blue angel shakes off the ice stuck in his hair; his eyes widening when gazing ahead and finding the cosmic Kybr’s very image plastered across the icy formations making up the valley. He frantically looks through out all the ice paths, pillars, and slides in hopes of telling which of the many images of his former mentor be the right one as the slide across the surface like a pack of serpents; yet every single one he see’s prove completely identical to the rest. This isn’t good. Even if he comes out, there’s no way to physically touch him, not without something alive to draw power from. But what in the world could even survive in a place this blistering cold? Okay Tore, just think for a sec here. Think back to science class. The teach was going on about biology, right? Something about bacteria and micro organisms. She said that they were nearly in everything around us, even in like super extreme places like hot caves, hot springs, the depths of the ocean, even in Antartic- Its in pondering of his school teachers words that he snaps his sites over to the icy path that stretches beside him. Ice! That’s it! Upon this very revelation, the indigo angel glides down along the narrow icy path and slides the palm of his hand along its chilling cold surface; his mind focused on what microorganisms and bacteria could be dwelling underneath the frost. Its in his trip across the frosty narrow that bits of color start to slither through the solid ice and gather in the palm of his hands. When beholding all the life he had gathered from the microorganisms living within the ice, he’s left a little disappointed to find the size of a marble, one not even bigger than the palm of his hand. Huh. Guess this much is about what you’d expect from bacteria.

Venturing his site back towards the rest of the cavernous valley, the blue boy comes to find dozens upon dozens of his former master very image streak across every icy surface; each reflection moving of its own independence. Ain’t got much to work with here. Better make it count. Whilst keeping his eyes on the numerous pictures of the cosmic angel does he see them all suddenly disappear all at once; not a single trace of Mall left showing anywhere among the ice. Where...where did- In his frantic search for where the spacial Kybr could strike does he take a peek back just in time to see the cosmic angel charging out; mere moments away from ramming into him. With what life force he had gathered from the bacteria within the ice, the indigo angel coats the base of his foot its its colorful glow as he kicks out to his nearing foe; Tore kicking Mall straight into the roof of the icy cave. The very moment that the galactic angel crashes through the ceiling does the blue boy witness the icy valley he floats in crumbling like broken glass; all of their shards descending down into the deep black abyss set below.

In gliding through the void does the blue angel soon unintentionally flops down into solid ground; Tore prying himself out from the solid rock and discovers veins of bright lime green running across the rugged curving surface. Veering his sites upward does he find himself standing dead in the center of a wide crater that rival the size of several football fields. Along the surface of the crater do his pupils shrink when finding what were remains of colorful brick among the ruins; their once vibrant color having faded away from the anneals of time. This very site bubbles a powerful mix of dread and despair what was once buried within his very core; a feeling of sorrow that not only makes his very soul tremble, but makes him fall to his very knee’s. This place…

Before the boy could partake in a single moment of lament, his gaze is drawn upwards as an angelic shadow slides past his body; Tore gazing skywards to the very top of a long and towering flagpole where a torn banner holding what seemed was once a platypus. The blue boy see’s Mall perch himself at the very top end of this decrepit and ruined symbol; the galactic angel gazing down upon his wards as Tore slowly starts to rise back on his feet. “Magnificent show Tore. You’ve truly demonstrated greater promise that even the humans we had cultivated in the days of old. But this demonstration is not over yet. For now we reach the finale.” Declaring such does Mall suddenly rocket up high in the night sky, his cosmic trail overtaking the earthly stars. When hovering in the middle of the starry sky, the Kybr’s cosmic wings starts to vastly expand out; Mall blanketing the once peaceful starry sky above and transform them into the deep cosmos that reflects within his angelic wings. Swirling galaxies, leviathan sized planets, bright scorching suns, burning meteors, and billions upon billions of stars. Some of these stars gather onto the galactic angel’s back and bond together to give the angel a new starry set of wings as he descends down upon the glowing green earth; opening his eyes to face the blue angel that takes his stand against him with a determined and ready glare.

In just but a single instance does the entire length of Mall’s very figures stretch right out before the blue boy, the back of his body following after and catching right up as the cosmic angel stands before his pupil. Left caught off guard by his former mentor’s strange lunge out to him, all Tore could do to react was to leap back as he tosses out a ball of pale white out to the spacial Kybr; the retreating assault proving utterly fruitless as Tore’s blast scatters into pieces before even touching his foe. Witnessing his blue ward attempting to gain some distance, the cosmic angel reaches his arms up towards the cosmos that hangs above them both; some of the galaxies above drawn out from the reaches of space and shrinking as they near the planets surface. Though their immense size had been reduced significantly, these swirling galaxies still boasted the size of apartment complexes; the angel who had summoned them having next to no trouble hurdling them both out to his blue pupil.

Beholding these massive disk shaped celestial bodies swiftly glides right out at him, Tore up and decides to lunge out to them as they twirl his way; the light from their numerous stars glistening along his body as he squeezes right between them both. Finding his cast out celestial bodies having missed, the spacial angel thrusts his fingers out to both of the hurdling galaxies and commands them both to veer back towards the blue boy; Tore himself noticing the light from these galaxies and peering out to discover them both hurdling out to both of his side. With the pair of twin galaxies pinching out towards him, the blue angel stops dead in his track moments as they near and lets them both pass in front; their starry surfaces shining their glisten along the boy’s face as they pass through. Keeping his sites locked to the twin celestial bodies does he see them both steer themselves back out for another go at him; Tore seeing his moment when finding one of them approaching faster than the other. Just seconds before the edge of one of these celestial bodies could strike the indigo angel down, Tore clasps its very rim with nothing but his bare hands; the stars scraping against his palm as the impact drags him across the irradiated crater. Glancing past the galaxy trapped in his hands, the blue boy witnesses the other follow after the first, something that he had fully expected as he starts to lift the one he holds upwards and tosses it back to its twin; both of these galaxies colliding together and exploding in a shower of glowing stardust that lights the entire crater and the land behind.

Once the bright aftermath of the collision finally dims, Tore uncovers his eyes and glances around for any sign of his galactic foe; finding next to no sign of the spacial angel anywhere among the crater rubble. Its in that moment that he see’s the very sky itself start to glisten and aims his eye site above to find his former master hovering above; the fields of stars behind him rapidly twinkling as he points a single finger down upon the earth. From the cosmic skies above do all these thousands of stars all descend down from the very heavens akin to divine beams of light; every single one streaking down towards the blue boy in rapid fashion. The indigo angel glides across the green glowing crater as these numerous galactic rays crash down upon the earth in their attempt to strike him down; each descending star crashing down onto the earth he flies behind. Gazing back does Tore begin to see all the twinkling stars descending closer and closer as they all plummet from the skies above; some of them crashing down right behind his very feet. Aiming his sights towards his former mentor above, the blue boy watches the cosmic angel above and notices all the stars that rain down from the heavens streak right by him, as if commanding every one he summons from the depths of space to steer away from him. Doesn’t seem like he’s paying that much attention to them though. Wonder if…

Noticing this detail from his former mentor, the indigo angel peeks back and lobs out a bit of his own pale power out in a dynamic curveball; the sphere of white streaking along the surface of the crater as he ascends skywards across the cosmic sky above. Soon in its short journey through the sky does it blend in alongside the stream of descending stars and start to streak down towards the cosmic angel’s backside. Moments before the blue boy’s ball can strike the spacial angel down, Mall swiftly does a complete 180 to waft his pupils attempt of a sneak attack aside; the stars that streak past casting their light upon his disappointed glare. But in that very moment does the cosmic Kybr then feel something strike his very back, a second ball of pale light having exploded against Mall’s behind while his back was turned. All the stars from the cosmos above finally cease their torrential downpour as the angel who had commanded them himself plummets down towards the lime green crater in a smoking descent; the blue boy rocket right out towards his former master as he falls towards the earth.

Mere seconds before Tore could follow up his successful assault does his spacial foe suddenly stop in the air just before crashing into the glowing earth; Mall reaching his palm out to the approaching blue angel and halting him dead in his tracks. Before the indigo angel could even fight back against the space holding him in place, the cosmic angel casts him out from the earth and sends him skywards out to the cosmos above. Shortly after being flung skywards does Tore manage to regain his aerial balance, the blue boy peering back from whence he came to discover the scorching surface of the sun having replace the very earth he had been tossed from; its sheer light nearly blinding the boy as he hovers several feet above its blistering hot surface. Gazing away from the giant star’s fiery bright surface, the blue boy discovers the very angel that had sent him up now hovering above; the cosmic Kybr starring straight down upon his very ward despite the blinding sunlight behind him.

With nothing but a wave of the angel’s very hand does Mall push the blue boy out towards the blistering star set behind him; the gravity of the sun strengthening its pull towards what hovered around it and starts to drag the indigo angel towards its blazing hot surface. And though Tore fights back against the sun’s overwhelming gravitational pull, the incredible spacial force continues to drag him tick by tick towards his fiery doom. Among resisting this near dominant spacial force does the indigo angel see numerous flares spurt out from behind, Tore peering back to discover pillars of flame erupt out from the fiery surface and streak out towards him. While evading all the solar flares that burst from behind, all the blistering spurts send out a strong solar wind that starts to push the blue boy away; enduring the overwhelming sunny heat that bellows behind and glides him away from the surface. Watching his blue pupil begin to escape from the fiery star’s gravitational force, Mall reaches out towards the depths of the cosmo’s set behind them; the angel calling forth a shower of asteroids that all rain down towards the surface of the sun. Slithering around both the comet torrent from above and the pillars of flame that spurt out from below, Tore once again starts to be pulled towards the fiery sun; the gears in the blue boy’s head turning as he attempt to think of a way outta this mess. Midst pondering of such do his eyes manages to catch the site of one of the meteors that had been cast down towards the sun caught within a pillar of fire that spurts out from the surface; the intense force of the bursting combustion strong enough to send the asteroid flying back out to the depths of space. There it is. The ticket outta this mess.

Continuing to weave around the dozens of rising flames and falling boulders all around him, Tore keeps watch of all the rocks that plummet down towards the star set behind him; most of them disintegrates from the incredible heat as they reach the top of the simmering surface of the sun. What are ya trying to be polite now? Come on, just let one loose already! Watching among all the meteors that descend down towards the face of the sun that he see one of them plummet down towards a spot of the surface on the verge of bursting; the indigo angel chasing down the very asteroid as it plummets. Hovering from above does the spacial angel watch all this play out before him, Mall left perplexed as his blue pupil simply stands atop one of the falling comets that fall towards the gigantic star; both Tore and the rock swallowed by the sun’s intense light.

Meager moments just before the rock that the blue angel stands upon could touch down onto the fiery surface, an incredibly powerful solar flare bursts out from its very surface and erupts onto the bottom of the asteroid; the insane force of the rising flames shooting the rock and the boy who stands upon it out from the sun’s pull and through the torrent of comets. When seeing his indigo opponent rocket right out towards him, Mall redirects the path of a pair of asteroids that plummet beside him straight out to the rock his pupil rides; the spacial angel watching as the three comets collide into each other in a violent explosion of rock dust that blankets the light of the sun. Out from the asteroid dust does a lone hand emerge out from its very depths clutches tightly onto the cosmic Kybr’s very neck; the rest of the cloud scattering to reveal the very hand to belong to his unscathed blue ward. Having caught the cosmic angel in his clutches, the blue boy turns back towards the leviathan star that burns underneath them both and hurls his former mentor down towards its fiery hot surface; Tore watching as Mall hurdles towards the bright sun like a descending meteor. The bright sunlight from the star grows brighter as the cosmic angel falls closer to its very surface, the sun soon enveloping the very space they occupy within its solar warmth.

This incredibly blinding light eventually dims to show the blue boy fluttering back down within the glowing green ruins; Tore left peering along the sides of the crater for any sign of where his former mentor is. During this little look through these very ruins does the indigo angel notice a deep shadow beginning to loom over the irradiated earth, peering up to see what could cast such blanketing darkness; Tore’s left in astonishing horror when discovering what hangs above. Several thousand feet above earthly surface does he find Mall peering down upon him, a lone planet of which outclasses the very Earth itself dropping down from the depths of the cosmos behind him; its sheer size rivaling that of Neptune. The very angel that had summoned the descending planet disintegrates into stardust as its face passes through him, only leaving the earth itself right in the midst of its destructive path. Tore falls to the Earth as he watches the leviathan planet plummet; his knee’s trembling as he lands in the middle of the crater. Wha-what can I even...No...I won’t let it end like this! There’s gotta be something here, something to work with. But this crater, its all lifeless. Everything’s dead. Where on Earth can there be anything alive left around...Oh my god. That’s it!

Its in figuring out an incredible realization that the indigo angel thrusts his legs deep into the tainted soil; the blue boy punching his arms straight into the rock as the planet above grows ever closer. Just please work with me. There’s not much time left. The boys pleading thoughts pierce the craters irradiated soil and echo throughout the Earth, reaching the very essence of every living thing that dwells within and upon the planet. Bits of life from every person, every plant, every creature, every living organism starts to seep through the ground they stand or hover over; none of them even realizing the minuscule pieces of their lives were escaping from their beings. Even the energy of the planet’s core itself travels out from beneath the earth to reach out to the blue boy; every bit of life that burrowing through the earth at blinding speeds. The very sky and ground that make up the planet is glown alight as all the pieces of life gather towards the very point they had been called upon; all to gather within Tore’s very body. The crater that the boy has rooted itself in starts to let out a powerful glow as more and more power gathers within minutes.

Soon enough is the entire once dead crater proves ready to burst forth with all the life that had gather throughout the entire planet; the deathly lime green that had cursed the earth merging alongside all the color that had been collected. All at once does the collection of life spurt from the Earth in a ray of colorful light, the blue boy that had called upon it all leading it straight through the sky and to the oncoming planet above. Midst passing through the Earth’s atmosphere does color coated angel begin to feel the intense friction blister his very skin, the blue boy hissing in pain as he endures spacial entry. Can’t heal...Gotta put everything into this… His burning flight straight from his home takes him speeding towards the planet that plummets above; the indigo angel soon entering the stratosphere of the leviathan. In an instant does Tore pierces straight through the giant planets surface and continue through its rock like a bullet; tearing straight through towards its very core.

Hovering over all of this, the cosmic angel watches in awe as the colossal planet he had summoned forth, breaking apart as multiple colors fracture across its surface and exploding a burst of bright color. Peering past this glowing spurt does Mall discover a lone figure erupting out from the light at astounding speeds; Tore approaching from the planets remains with little lively color left streaking along his body. What powerful life he had left to spare, Tore cocks his arm back as far as possible while coating his very fist in the lively glow he nears his former mentor; ready to put everything he had gathered from the Earth into a single attack. The indigo angel eventually reaches his former superior and thrust what life he had left straight into his foe’s very stomach; both angels enveloped in a brilliant colorful glow stemming out from the point of impact.

Eventually does every piece of the lively glow fade away as the cosmo’s erected disappears; Tore left slowly hovering downwards as the space surrounding him is restored back into the very top of the golden spire where the feud had begun. Heavy breath pass out from his lips as he touches down onto the broken glass beneath his feet, the blue angel using what strength he had left spare to keep from collapsing onto the shards. Keeping stable enough, the boy gazes skywards up to the halo above and discover the picture of another dimension held within that’s halfway transparent. Still not too late...Just...Just need to…

Among this brief moment of respite and all the needed relief that it had given to the indigo angel is sudden shattered in but an instant when he starts to hear clapping; Tore’s pupils shrinking when peering back out to the side and discovering his former mentor alive and well, wearing a smile as he gives the boy an applause. “A magnificent performance, Tore. You’ve proven the potential to wield your aspect as as effectively as those in the days of old. Even with how much I had restrained myself, you’ve surpassed every single one of my expectation; I really couldn’t be more proud of you. You’re on your way of becoming a fully fledged Kybr.” “You’re...kidding...All that….was holding back to you!?” the indigo angel questions as he trembles. “Oh ho. Unfortunately so.” Mall confirms, commanding the space around his pupil to make him fall to his knee’s.

“Why then.. Why did you put me through all that? Why didn’t you just get it over with and finish me?” the blue boy demands to know, the angel he questions floating towards him. “I don’t want our bond to end in nothing but bitter blood; I meant it when claiming how you brought life back into my very existence, giving me the motivation and desire to continue. I am truly regretful to have kept the truth from you during their time together, afraid that it would drive you away. I couldn’t bare to be alone anymore, not in a universe that had cast our kind away. I truly did treasure the experiences I had shared with you Tore; I don’t wish for it to end like this.” In his struggle to arise from the shards of broken glass does the indigo angel peer up from the ground to witness a hand be extended down to him; Mall offering a welcoming arm as he pleads to the boy: “Please, Tore. I beg of you. Cease this hopeless struggle so that we may welcome the Kybr, our kin back to their long lost home.”

Nothing but the ambient winds are all that are heard for a couple moment before Tore finally starts to reach his hand out to the cosmic angel; Mall’s hopes beginning to rise as the boy’s as the boy’s hand nears. When just an inch away from him, Tore smacks his former mentor’s palm aside, at last responding back. “You don’t know how much I wanted something like this so badly. To have someone I could look up to in my times of need when I felt like every bit of hope was lost; somebody my dad wasn’t. I was starting to think at long last that wish was coming true. But all that wishing just led me straight to this! I can’t go down his road, Mall. There may be people you loved then trapped in there, but there are people now who love me here. If the Kybr are freed, there’s no guarantee the world I’ve come to know and love will live...If everyone in this universe will live. The existence both of us want...they can’t both be true.”

Despite the blue boy’s word of rejection leaving cosmic angel heartbroken, despite the stream of tears that flow from his eyes: he claims to him how: “I understand…” Mall aims his palm right above his blue wards head as glittering stardust starts to gather within his hand; the collecting cosmic power glistening against the boy’s face as a star forms before him. “The time I spent with you is something I will always treasure. I thank you for our time together.” As the light in the man’s hand grows its brightest, Tore shakes away what tears were left within and locks his eyes to the end; refusing to look away as he prepares for his former mentor to finish him then and there. Unyielding, to the last bit of life.

Right before the end could come upon him, Tore witnesses a gigantic pike of pure black thrust itself straight through his former mentor; the spear piercing most of the cosmic angel’s chest. A short breath escapes from Mall’s mouth as he displays a haunting mixture of shock and dreads; the stars that had gathered within the his palm dispersing as the pike within his very chest starts to withdraw from whence it came. The gravely wound the spear of black leaves behind shows the inside of the Kybr’s body reflecting the cosmo’s itself, the starry sky leaking out from the head sized hole like thick glittering blood, blood that splatters across the golden floor as Mall falls face first before his blue ward. Tore arises from the cracked glass floor as his former mentor falls face first, confusion and remorse easy to see across the boy’s eyes as he reaches down to the downed angel. “Mall?...” “Yo.” he hears a familiar voice grab his attention with.

His site drawn out towards the very edge of the spire, the indigo angel discovers the pike that had impaled his former master to withdraw to his purple brother’s side; both Roy and Mally standing atop the golden staircase as they gaze upon their blue brother in relief. “Glad to see we made it just in time.” the orange skater states. “Guys...Wha…what are you-” Tore is left to utter the blend of astonishing disbelief still fresh on display. “That shit should be obvious, ain’t it. Came all this way to see ya.” the merc obviously states with a pinch of sass, the two of them waltzing to their brother’s side. “Gotta say, Tore. You seriously wouldn’t believe the sort of sites we saw just trying to find you. Like I got some stories here that’ll make ya question what the hell we were even doing.” Mally remarks. “Seriously, it was already a pain in the ass to try and figure out where the hell ya went, you should see what sort of rowdy maniacs we had to bring along for the ride.” Roy adds. “Oh please. Like you’re in any position to judge anyone’s character without hypocrisy.” somebody from behind brings up.

Curious of who had given this very statement, the blue boy peers behind his sibs and sees a collection of five climbing over the golden steps that they had risen from ;Alex, Hank, Melvin, Vivi, and Ryan all stepping/hovering up to the top of the spire and taking in its glorious golden site. “Sweet plastic propellers, just look at all this! The blinking rings with wings, the golden swirls along the sheen, the halo spinning above. It all seriously looks like something straight out of a sci-fi novel. Don’t it make ya wanna dig straight in and figure out what sort of tech something like this could even be running on?” Hank geeks out with. “Meh, just looks pretty tacky to me.” Melvin beside him simply states.

Standing along the very rim of the spire, both Vivi and Ryan stare out into the blending site of the starry sky above and the sea of nightly clouds flowing below; the half skeleton left utterly star struck from the view alone. “Fucking sweet Jesus, look at all we be up in here! Its like the heaven went and decides to slip us a little site of the heaven underneath the skirt. We taking in the sweet shit, bitch.” “I just can’t imagine how we’re still even breathing all the way up here.” Ryan simply ponders aloud.

“I-I can’t believe all of you are even... How’d all of you even figured out where I was?” Tore questions his siblings. “Sure as hell wasn’t easy. Mal here kept following trail after trail of breadcrumbs in, out, and all around all over the fuckin place. Like we deadass found a hidden prehistoric land full of dinosaurs just trying to find ya.” “Wha! Aw, lucky. The only highlight of my trip was going down to hell.” the blue boy retorts. “Bruh, you fuckin serious?” While her bro’s continued to discuss points of their adventure, Mally’s gaze drifts over to the winged man that lies before them; the orange skater cutting through their conversation to question her blue bro if: “Uh, Tore. This guy do anything to ya to drag you with him?” The indigo angel ceases to speak for a brief moment as he gloom’s down to the remains of what he once called his spacial master; Tore taking in a deep breath before finally admitting how: “Nope. Went with him on my own?” “You’re kidding right? The hell would wanna make ya leave everyone behind after surviving a life threatening explosion just to pal around with this starry asshat ya barely know?” the purple merc questions him with. “I...I just felt...I just wanted someone with powers like mine to look up to, okay. Maybe to gimme some pointers on how all this works and what else I could do, I don’t know...What was I even thinking?…” Such a statement from their blue brothers draws out pity within their; Roy slightly shaking his head about as he peers down to the body of the cosmic angel.

“Hate to spoil this sentimental moment here, but can anyone enlighten us to what could be forming in the ring above.” “What!?” the blue angel utters, his sadness shattering into troubling alarm as he gazes skyward to the halo spinning above them all. Held within the twirling ring does the picture of the other dimension start to lose transparency, showing more and more of a solid picture depicting numerous angelic beings held within. “No!” Rushing right beside both his siblings does Tore race right to the center of the broken glass platform dwelling in the middle; the blue boy kneeling down and repeatedly slapping the palm of his hand against one of the chunks of glass. “Come on! Come on!” Despite repeatedly beating his hand against the glass, not a single sheen of light comes protruding out from its surface; the indigo angel letting out a frustrated groan before claiming aloud how: “Agh! The panel is completely broken! There’s no way to shut it off! So how else can we stop the warpgate from-...That’s it!”

Almost immediately does the blue boy race back towards his siblings side; the friends that they had gathered coming together as Tore proclaims to them how: “Guys, listen. If the control panel is down, then we don’t have much other choice then to head down in the center of this warpgate and destroy the Orphan.” “I like where this is going.” Alex remarks. “Say again?” Hank requests. “You seriously wantin us to fuck up an orphan, mate?” Vivian questions. “No, I- Th-That’s what they just call the core.” “Fucking call it the core then for god sake! Why ya gotta name it something so ominous?” Ryan blurts out. “But we didn’t find any other hall climbing up here. How the hell you expect us to find it?” Melvin asks. “Only a Kybr can use their power to open the way down into the center. But we gotta hurry; there might not be much time left.” Upon this desperate plea does Tore start to follow the others as all of them sprint out to the stairs they came up from; every single one of them stopping straight dead in their tracks when all of them hear a voice demanding that they all: “Stop!”

This very call withdraws their attention back towards the center of the spire; all of them beholding the man that Roy had struck down slowly hobbling right off the broken glass beneath his feet, despite harboring the gaping hole in his chest that continues to bleed out the cosmo’s. In between his breaths does he aim his piercing glare to them all as he claims to them how: “I refuse to let it end like this...I refuse to spend another waking moment in this world without the warming embrace of my own kind.” With this declaration cemented, an incredible wave of spacial power begins to envelope the angel’s wounded body; his once human like skin beginning to reflect countless planets, stars, and entire galaxies. “The Kybr are coming home!”

This commitment set, a monumental torrent of cosmic energy bursts out from Mall’s very being; a powerful shock wave that nearly sends everyone flying right off the spire. The earthly night sky is rend apart to reveal the depths of the cosmos underneath the blanket of stars, all while Mall’s body starts to implode in order to start metamorphosing into an entirely different being. Midst this transformation do both Roy and Mall cast forth a beam of dark purple and the yoyo gadget respectively; their desperate assault however repelled back by the incredible spacial gravity that floods out from their foe.

The angel’s drastic transformation proving to be utterly unstoppable, the boy that Mall had once called his own ward turns back over to all to his friends and family and demands that Roy: “Roy. I need you to lead everyone down into the hall and slap your hand against the inner side. You’ll open up a tunnel that leads down to the very center of the warpgate. You’ll know you found the core when you see a glowing baby floating in the middle of a bunch of spinning golden ring.” “Is that seriously why they call it the Orphan? What the f-” “Just go now! Before the portal opens!” All but the blue angel start to races straight down the golden step dash through into the hall without so much as another word; leaving Tore to face the mass of cosmic space he had once knew as his master, watching as countless wings start to sprout from the collection of cosmos. It doesn’t matter if you can’t be beaten, it doesn’t matter if you have the entirety of space under your beck and call. Just need to buy time for them all to go down and stop the warp gate from opening. If they can do all that, then it’ll be all worth it. It’ll be all worth it. It won’t matter if this is how things end.

Among his moment of preparation for what he may presume to be his final moments facing immeasurable odds, Tore then discovers both his brother and sister coming to his sides; the indigo angel demanding to know: “What are you two doing!? If the core isn’t destroyed then-” “Relax. Our pals down there got it all covered. And beside, you need more help up here than they do down there.” his orange sister informs. “Nrr! Do you know what’s even at stake here!?” “You seriously think we don’t know? We didn’t wind up following this trail of vague clues just to be told to piss off. We fought through the worst sort of shit nature could possibly hack up from every one of its holes just to find ya, and were damn well not gonna just up and leave like that.” Roy boasts out. “We started this hole journey separated, so now were gonna finish it together. You’re stuck with us weather you like it or not, and their ain’t a damn thing you can do about it.” Mally protests. “Guys…” Despite this nigh upset tone, a river of tears begin to flood out from the ducts of his eyes; Tore letting out a small snivel before crying: “Thanks. You two are the best pair of siblings anyone could ask for.” After their blue brother wipes away the tears from his eyes, he joins his purple brother and orange sister as they steel their conviction against the outer worldly foe before them; taking their stand against such immeasurable odds together.

The mass of unfiltered cosmic space finally takes its tangible form before the trio; hundreds upon hundreds of wings stretching for miles on end all swirls out from the center, their flesh made from the twinkling stars and galaxies of the universe as countless eyes all open upon from beneath its very skin. In the very center of this celestial body where the countless wings swirl from, a massive eye opens that twinkles and glows like the depths of the cosmos itself. The angel’s celestial transformation finished, Mall lets out a heavenly holy roar from the depths of their very soul; an incredible howl that shatters the very space they all dwell in. The scene of the golden tower breaks apart into thousands of pieces, the very floor they stand on crumbles away, the sky itself shatters until none of it remains; all of it swallowed by the scene of stars, planets, galaxies all floating within the depths of space. Tore, Mally, and Roy all now hover within this very cosmos with their holy foe floating before them, every single eye along the angel’s body staring down upon them all.

The first assault that the holy abomination throws out against the trio be an entire wave of numerous planetoids that all streak out from the cosmo’s held withing Mall’s very wings; all of them boasting unique shapes as they hurdle out towards the three. Seeing the storm of approaching planets close in, Tore grasps his sisters hand as both Roy and he glide out to the approaching barrage of worlds; soaring along and over the surface of not just spherical planets, but flat discs, waning crescents, leaning parallelograms, and numerous other strangely shaped polygons that careen in their direction. While holding onto her brother as he soars through the stream of small planets, Mally feels the light gravity of each beckon her to their almost smooth, polished surfaces; their gravitational pull giving the orange skater a clever little idea. “Tore!” she alerts her blue brother with. “Yeah?” “I think I know a way to close the distance. Fling me to one of those planet.” “What!? What are you even-” “Just do it!”

Despite his initial hesitation, the indigo angel flings his orange sister out towards one of the approaching disc shaped planetoids; Mally reaches out from behind to pull out her skating gear and swiftly starts to strap on her skates. The lass manages to don her skates moments before she approaches the planets surface and glides across its very face as smoothly as a knife cutting through silky smooth butter; the orange skater taking out both her hockey stick and grapple yo as she nears the end of the planetoid. Reaching the very edge does Mally leap right off the planet and out towards the next, flipping across space as she escapes the gravitational pull of the previous world and let the triangular one ahead pull her straight in. Gliding right across one of the triangle worlds sides, the orange skater sets her sites outwards towards a nearby waning crescent and leaps right off towards the moon; feeling the gravity pull against her body as she jumps between these planets. Mally glides across the inner edge of the waning moonside as naturally as a halfpipe, weaving around large worms that burrow in and out from the moon’s very rock; her sites drawn over towards a hexagram world made from crystallized tungsten and keeps her grapple yo handy when nearing the end of the crescent she skates on. Launching herself straight off the side of the moon, the orange lass drifts out towards the tungsten hexagram and cast her trusty gadget out to one of its pointed ends; the grapple yo’s string wrapping around the rugged point and letting the girl twirl around and around, constantly using the momentum to keep building speed. Upon finally unraveling her string from the point of raw tungsten, Mally flings herself out at breakneck speed; making a complete beeline straight for their celestial foe.

Closing the distance between her and the angelic horror, the orange haired girl swings her hockey stick towards the monstrous angel’s center eye; her tip of her weapons head stopping just short of Mall’s starry sclera. The orange lass is forced to a stop right before she could strike her leviathan foe, Mally struggling to push against whatever force is stopping her short of smacking the eye of the holy monster. Midst her struggles is she ultimately catapulted away from the abominations twinkling eye by an incredibly strong wave of space, one that Mally blocks with the neck of her weapon. Though she is mostly spared from the overwhelming spacial power, her precious hockey stick is scrambled to pieces under the powerful wave; Mally threatening to drift out towards the depths of the cosmo’s.

Before the young girl could drift too far out into the depths of the infinite, a streak of black and violet sweeps her away; Mally opening her eyes to find herself resting in her purple brothers arms. “Damn, took one helluva blow there, huh. Shocked your still in once piece.” he comments. “But, but my hockey stick…” she utters, peering over her brother’s shoulder. Glancing back to where his sis stares does he see what was left of her once treasured weapons; its remains threatening to drift away into the cosmos. “Hang on a sec.” the purple angel request as he casts his newfound dark arm out towards what was left of his sisters weapon. Upon nearing the scattered pieces of wood does the arm split into dozens of strands that all reach out to every single fractured splinter that once made up the hockey stick; all of its chunks cobbling together among the mass of darkness as it retreats back to its very sender. When returning to their side, Mally finds her destroyed weapon now glued back together by the very matter that makes up her brother’s arm; Roy himself handing the rebuilt hockey back into his sisters hand as he ask her how: “You remember how I get my arm to transform?” “By thought, right?” “Think of a weapon while ya hold it.” Like her brother instructs her to do, Mally starts to concentrate on a particular new weapon different to the one in her hands; the orange lass witnessing the head of her hockey stick engulf in the black matter that holds it together, stretching out into the long black blade of a great scythe. “There ya go.” “Nice.”

Its in this very moment that the stars within the cosmic angel’s center eyes start dim, Mall’s entire pupil and sclera darkening as black as coal, the rest of the eyes decorating the holy monsters wings following suit and dimming into darkness. The trio watch as their galactic foe splits themselves straight in half, both fracture pieces parting ways to unveil a tiny black dot that begins to draw in the nearby stars; the hole quickly growing to threaten to pull all of them into its void. Amidst being dragged straight into the darkness, Roy tosses his sister away from the hole’s monumental pull; the strength of the merc’s throw letting Mally escape towards a nearby planet as both he and Tore are threatened to be pulled into the black holes depths. Among gliding across the stars, the orange skater acts fast and flings her trusty grapple yo out towards her retreating blue brother; grabbing the blue boy’s attention with: “Tore!” Peering out where his orange sister floats away, the indigo angel sees the girls yoyo wrap itself all around his leg and further hears Mally demand that he: “Grab Roy!”

Without so much as another word does Tore start to race out towards their purple brother as he threatens to plunge into the void, all while their orange sis drifts off towards a nearby planet with her weapon at the ready. Upon touching down onto the planets surface, Mally digs the head of her transformed weapon straight into the worlds very soil; strands of the blade breaking off and rooting themselves into the planet. As her blue brother clutches their violet siblings arm moments as they were nearing the abyss, Mally wraps the steel string of her gadget around her very arm and keeps a tight hold of them both; fighting against the overwhelming strength of the black hole’s pull. Amidst her steadfast struggle does the steel string around her arm harshly chaff her, the incredibly tight friction cutting through her skin and causing her arm to bleed; the orange lass refusing to let go despite the overwhelming pain. For about half a minute straight does the orange girl keep her brothers from falling into the depths of the black hole, even as space around her is rend into its lifeless void; Mally’s pupil’s glowing a distinct blood red as she keeps hold of the pair of angels.

But at long last does the strength of the void finally dissolve away and its very pull fading from the space around them; Mally jerking her brothers back out towards her as the black hole finally putters out into nothingness. Rescued from their doom, Tore lets out a sharp hiss when discovering the orange girls arm left cut and torn as the blood that leaves it hovers out into the depths of space. Aw, that ain’t good. That seriously isn’t good. While unwrapping his sister gadget from his own leg leg, the blue boy notices the yoyo’s shell glowing alight; the crystal held within reflecting a glow quite similar to the life he’s pulled from other sources. Think it needs a tiny bit more juice. Clasping the shell of the gadget into the palm of his hand, the indigo angel disperses a little more of his power into the crystal with; his sisters grapple yo glowing brighter with a multitude of colors. Once beaming bright with life, Tore flings his siblings gadget back into her side as its string retracts into the shell; some of the power kept with splashing onto the girls arm as the grapple yo returns into her hand. This very power closes Mally’s bleeding wound and mends the pain throbbing across her arm; the skater herself recovering from the agonizing suffering and peering over to see her gadget to find its shell beaming with colorful light. “We got ya back, Mal.” the blue angel claims “Go ahead and beat this mofo down.” their purple brother tells her. Knowing her brothers got her back, Mally casts her colorful glowing gadget straight out to a nearby asteroid; the skater retracting the string back to fling herself out towards their holy foe.

Among gliding out towards the cosmic angel before them, the orange skater first comes across an entire cluster of solid stars and asteroids standing in her way; Mally drifting herself out towards one of these solid stars and leaping right across its crystallized surface and bouncing from star to star. Once making out of the dense star cluster does the girl then discover a planet with a ring around it similar to Saturn’s own; a big smile stretching across her face as she nears the very edge of the ring. With nothing but her own pair of skates does Mally grind right across the rings sharp edge, the sparks that result from grinding along the ring glowing a starry light as she slides right across the planets ring and leaps back out towards the spacial angel before them.

With the angel’s foes on the approach, Mall’s center eyes closes for a moment as its wings close inward; opening its pupil wide once more and flapping their wings to send out a visible pulse of cosmic radiation, a wave which reduces all that stand in its path. The threat of this radioactive wave ready to tear them all asunder, the pair of angels streak right past their orange sister and prepare to disperses the oncoming assault; the blue boy out of them shouting how: “Still got some life left in me!” Placing the palms of his hands upon his very chest, Tore draws forth colorful batch of power from the depths of his very body and unleashes it all into an intense beam of rainbows; the colorful ray cutting straight through half of the radiation. “That’s the spirit. Lets show this cosmic bastard why you shouldn’t piss us off!” Roy cheers on as he sharpen his onyx arm into the shape of a giant blade. With but a couple of swipes does the violet angel manage to slice straight through what remains of the radioactive wave; finally clearing the way and letting their sister streak right by.

With nothing else standing in the way towards the angelic horror, the orange skater starts to tie the string of her glowing grapple yo right around the neck of her dark matter infused weapon; commanding the very material to transform the hockey stick into a twinblade, one with a deadly swords protruding out from each end. With both her gadget and weapon tied together, Mally flings both of them out as she starts to twirl through the space before the holy horror; Mall themselves attempting to prevent the girls oncoming assault by stretching the space between them. In a ball of brilliant life and scorning rage, tied together by blood do the weapons streak straight through the artificially lengthened space and strike the angel straight into the center of its middle eye; pieces of the cosmic holy being breaking apart as he reels back from the overwhelming impact.

Shortly after the blow does Mall let out a holy screech that pushes back all that near; the skater that inflicted the blow sent flying back out to the depths of the cosmo’s behind her. Before she could be cast away into the endless infinite, a streak of white and blue zooms out and swipes the girl back toward their purple brothers side; Tore stopping right beside his purple brother just in time to witness their foe arise back up from the blow; its flapping wings distorting the very space it dwells within. “Didn’t like that too much, did it? Practically throwing a shit fit, tearing up space like a little tike shredding paper here.” Roy belittles. “If Mall doesn’t like this, then he sure ain’t gonna appreciate the rest of what we got to give him.” his blue brother expresses with clear vitriol in his voice.

Among venturing through the warpgate’s inner tunnels of numerous running veins and pulsing flesh, Vivi, Ryan, Melvin, Hank and Alex all finally come to the very core and behold the Orphan in all of its shinning glory; the child hovering in the middle glimmering brightly midst the rings that surround it. “Holy shit, man. You guys even consider for a sec the whole uncomfortable subtexts of this sorta bull might be; like fucking step back and think for a sec here. It’s all the theories with the final boss of Earthbound all over again about Giygas being a-” Before the young teen could finish his implicate thoughts over what they were about to do, the rest of them all immediately charge out towards the holy core all at once; Ryan himself letting out a small sigh before he runs after and proclaiming: “Sure whatev, just-...We don’t even have a plan yet!”

Hovering into the air before the shimmering holy core, Hank taps a few buttons along his armrest to unleash an entire cluster of missiles constructed from soup cans from his wheelchair compartments; a holy light beginning to glow out from the dozens of eyes that decorate the Orphans revolving rings as the missiles approach. In but a matter of seconds do all the eyes fire out a salvo of bright rays that curve through the air, perfectly striking out every single makeshift missile hank had launched out; reducing their aluminum to smoldering slag.

Among all the resulting smoke from the failed missile strike, Alex rockets upwards towards the very core of the Orphan in an attempting a beeline assault from below, transforming his arms into deadly weapons as he nears the outer rings. With the demon approaching, the outer rim starts to violently spin about as the light from its numerous eyes starts to glisten once more; the holy glow that glimmers from its pupils soon transforms into a solid shape and smacks Alex aside. Latched upon the veins hanging overhead, Vivian then tries to her luck in bombing down towards the core from below; the ring spinning in the opposite direction to swing its objects of solid light out to the skull girl and smack her aside like the demon.

Lunging out in the middle like a tried and true arrow, Melvin swipes through the ring’s solid light and reduces their glow to glittering shards that dissipate in the air; slipping by the rest of the rings and ready to strike the very core. Alas is the young man’s attempts thwarted when the Orphan lets out a Holy outcry similar to a crying infant; a wave of brilliant light that launches Melvin away.

While Hank simply hovers back to Ryan’s side, the other three roughly crash right before the two; Ryan taking in a little breath before asking the trio: “So, you guys wanna try charging out like a buncha eager jackass’s or do you wanna actually formulate a plan here?” “Fuck off!” all three of them shout.

Back up above do Tore, Mally, and Roy continue to thwart off the spacial assault thrown to them by the cosmic holy horror hovering before them; all three watching closely as the angelic being commands every star that occupies the cosmo’s around them to gather before him. Every single glistening star is collected out from the depths of space and is gathered before Mall, their numerous gaseous light collaborating together into an intensely bright and powerfully hot sun; this freshly born star’s very surface blistering hot enough to spew out flames from its very surface that all rocket towards the trio. The three split apart as the bouts of searing flames near them all, nearly avoiding being cooked alive as the purple merc among them states that: “Think it’s my turn to take a shot at this celestial asshole.”

Declaring such does the violet angel take off after the celestial entity set behind the very sun it had conjured, all while the sun’s surface continue to spew out dozens upon dozens of solar flares across its surface; both his brother and sister watching his back as he starts to move in. As some of these searing pillars of flame start to streak out towards the purple merc, his indigo brother swoops straight in with a lively power held in his hands; Tore casting out a colorful wave from the palm of his hand to disperse the approaching flare. When this beam of rainbows streaks right along his side, Roy feels something else irradiate from beneath this very wave; the violet angel peering back towards its very caster to sense that feeling coming from his very own brother. Set upon his face as clear as day could Roy see the seething anger painted across Tore’s face, showing the new found contempt he feels nowhere near being as much as what wells within the depths of his very soul; such a righteous fury making his new arm of dark black quiver.

Amidst staring out to his blue brother do numerous more flames come spewing out from the surface of the small sun; the fiery inferno’s streaking across space and towards the approaching violet angel. Just moments before these approaching fires could envelope the purple merc in their blazing fury, Roy feels a strand of steel string envelope his very hips and peers aside to see his orange sister pulling herself out towards him with freshly repaired hockey stick in hand; Mally swinging herself out before her violet brother to confront the approaching flame. Brandishing her trusty weapon does the orange skater start to rapidly twirl it out against the flames as the dark matter keeping it together widens out into giant fans, the black fan’s massive width quelling the solar flames away and reducing them to meager embers.

While his sis swings right out from his very flight path, the purple merc finds her donning a similar glare akin to their blue brothers anger; a potent rage directed towards their spacial foe. Tore looked up to this guy and in the end just wound up stabbing him in the back. And Mally here risked life and limb just to track him down and we come up to see all this shit go down. Ain’t hard to see why they’re so mad at this bastard. Sympathizing with his siblings unkempt fury, Roy feels his newfound limb begin to violently pulse upon these feeling of justified anger, the merc looking to the quivering arm as a sinister smile stretches across his cheeks.

Upon nearing the scorching sunlight, the violet angel thrusts his dark arm straight out towards the blistering bright star; the dark matter that makes up his hand growing to exponential size while its very finger start to twist and contort themselves into a recognizable shape. The cosmic angel’s sparkling pupil shrink when beholding the mass of darkness spread before him and very sun he had conjured; the mass of dark matter set before the holy being expanding into the leviathan sized head of a pitch black wolf. Mall left with only a few seconds before both them and the star they had conjured are devoured in a single bite, the sun vanishes underneath the black canines maw as the light that came from the sun is snuffed out; darkness starts to settle within the very space they all dwell.

Just meager seconds after this black void settles do pillars of pure light start to pierce straight through the head of the dark wolf and seep out into the surrounding cosmo’s; the wolf eventually exploding in a big bang as waves of galaxies flow out from the blast. From this brilliant supernova does the purple angel’s arm retract back to his side, all while he hand his siblings peering out beyond all the cosmic colors to behold the cosmic angel hovering in the center of it all; all of them noticing the numerous wings that the holy being had boasted reduced in numbers. “Doesn’t seem like this galactic jackass can take much more.” the merc claims. “We just need to get one more clean hit in and this angel will be down for the count.” the orange skater suggests. “I’m the guy that started this whole mess, seems only fitting that I go in and end it.” the blue boy offers.

Down within the inner workings of the warp gate does Ryan continue to watch his four comrades continue to fruitlessly attempt to break through the Orphan’s defenses, watching as Vivian keeps recklessly charging out, Alex’s constantly shifting and morphing weapon limbs, Melvin’s leaps and bounds along every angel he could take; and Hank trying numerous weapons and gadgets; all of it deflected, smacked aside, and pushed back by the Orphan’s might. Thrust straight into the wall of veins and flesh, the demon gazes over to the core that they assaulted to find the results of their attack having done less than little; the rings spinning along the Orphan continuing to glow as bright as the heavens. Thought the frustration beginning to build within him over this seemingly unbreakable wall, all that anger starts to subside when he eyes the skull girl pulling her severed bone arm right out from between a set of veins; Vivi jerking her arm back to finally uproot her limb and tear through the squishy flesh. From within these torn veins does a strange liquid spurt out and spill onto the floor, Alex following where the torn veins would lead to and sees this fleshy pipe stretching to the center of the chamber; it and other pipes protruding up to the Orphan right above.

Its upon this very discovery that the orange haired demon starts piecing together a plausible strategy within his black horned head, first calling Vivi’s attention with: “Hey, you withered skeletal annoyance, I need your attention for a moment!” The demon’s call proves incredibly effective at drawing the huffed half skeleton straight to him, Vivian getting all up in Alex’s face as she growl: “The hell’s yo problem, ya fuckin whole horned cock head!?” Pushing the skull girl away, Alex then points out towards the walls of the chamber and asks her: “Please direct what little span of attention you can wield and peer out to the numerous pipes and veins that decorate these walls.” Gazing out to the very veins the demon points towards, Vivi responds back with: “Yeah, pretty damn disturbing if ya ask me. The hell’s your point?” “From what I’ve been informed, you’re at least decently competent with a scythe.” “Who the hell told ya that shit!?” she blurts out. “I need you to travel along these very walls cutting these numerous veins that pump out precious juices straight into the core. Like that, we can effectively cut off our foe’s support.” “Ya got two limbs that can turn into fucking swords! The hell’s stopping you from doing it?” “Because I am in the midst of formulating a plan. One that might just give us what we need to stop our encroaching doom, and I unfortunately need all of your cooperation.” Hearing the demon’s words, Vivian peers back over to all the fleshy pipes that the walls of the core’s chamber as a blend of worry and doubt washes over her. The girl takes a moment to take in a calming breath before she claims that she’s: “Fine. On it.”

Midst racing towards the very edge of the chamber, the skull girl stretches her boney limb out into the air while focusing on the very tool that she loathes; the very same scythe that proves as a reminder of her fate. In a flash of bright lime green does the scythe of death materialize in Vivian’s hand, the skull girl clutching its neck with both hands as she approaches the numerous precious veins that lend the core its very life. While racing across the side of the chamber, Vivi flails the blade of her scythe against the numerous veins that decorate its very walls; bouts of ooze bursting out from underneath their cut flesh. While watching his skeletal ally rend apart the dozens of fleshy pipes set across the walls, Alex finds all the color that flows through these veins fade away and drain the core connected to them of precious support; the light that shines from the Orphan slowly starting to dim.

The piece of his plan falling into place, Alex peers over to the wayside and finds both Hank and Ryan in the middle of reloading their crudely made weaponry; the demon appearing to their side in a puff of smoke as Ryan questions: “The hell is Vivi doing flailing her scythe around like a mad woman? Practically gonna lose more than an arm doing that.” “Your foul tempered pal there is busy weakening the core’s support in accordance to my strategy. I’m sure whatever she loses can be firmly glued back on.” the demon answers. “Ooh, a strategy? Just what sort of plan ya got cookin up in that horned head of yours?” Hank gleefully questions. “The next step of my brilliant strategy is to halt the numerous rings from rapidly twirling about in order to gauge closer to the core. Hmm...Alas, I don’t imagine much in here that could serve to slow their rotation.” “I think I got something here that might cover that.” the wheelchair bound genius mentions while reaching down into a compartment along the side of his chair.

From the pocket of his chair does Hank pull out a couple guns crudely made from discarded plastic and splintered wood; both Alex and Ryan gazing upon these presented weapons with their own brand of “are you fucking kidding me here”, the demon among them questioning: “What manner of shoddy craftsmanship is this?” “Am I glad you asked. These babies are specifically designed in mind to fire out a special quick drying adhesive I use when constructing any aircraft’s. This stuff’s seriously strong enough to take going through a raging twister and coming out whole.” “Where did you get something that strong?” Ryan follows. “Something that me and I couple of my workshop pal’s cooked up out of old chewed up gum, tree sap, glue, rhino snot and-” “Don’t care. Just use it to keep that things rings from moving another inch.” Alex demands out of them both.

Upon this very request does Hank toss Ryan one of these specially made weapons as both of them race out towards the sides of the chamber, the chairbound genius gliding out towards the left as his parnter jumps out to the right. When along both of the glowing Orphan’s sides, the two boys pull the triggers of their crude guns for their barrels to spurt out globs of white glue straight out towards the core’s outer rings; the child hovering in the middle letting out an irritated outcry as some of the adhesive lands straight into the ring’s eyes.

Midst partaking in the truly bizarre site of both boys constantly firing out globs of glue out to the angelic monstrosity set before him, Melvin is left in a sort of strange disbelief from this site laying out before him; the young man lightly shaking his head as he mentions: “I...I don’t think anything could’ve prepared me for the sort of shit I’d see today.” “Then I sure hope you’re prepared to follow my lead in the finale.” Alex demands as he glides right by, Melvin growls over while he joins the demon’s side; both of them lunge forth towards the shinning Orphan at breakneck speeds.

Out from along the reaches of the freshly created cosmos, Tore and his siblings start racing straight out towards the cosmic angel; discussing on how they’ll deliver the final blow as Roy ask: “Both of us threw all we got at this galactic son of a bitch, how ya wanna end things bro?” “I’m just about tapped out myself here. You guys don’t mind given me a bit of a boost here, do ya?” the indigo angel asks. “Whateva ya need, man.” “Yeah, big bro. What ya need us to do.” Mally agrees. “Okay, ju-just don’t panic if it feels like your dying. I promise I’m just gonna take a little here.” “Wait, little of wha-”

Before the merc could question what exactly his blue brother was on about, Tore slaps his palms along his sibs sides; the two feeling rather woozy as the indigo angel extracts some of their life forced from the depths of their bodies. “Whoo. Holy...What the heck was that all about?” the orange skater questions, shaking off her inherent dizziness. “It’ll be the parts of you guys I need to end this.” Tore proclaims, holding both bits of life he had collected from his siblings in both hands. In a single moment does he shove essence of their very souls straight through his chest, their life force surging through his body and melding with his with his own to create a burst of raw power; a rainbow of colors surging through his entire body. “Ready to go!”

With the very life force given to him by his siblings held withing his very body, Tore zooms out towards their celestial foe with both his brother and sister by his side; Mall twisting the very space before him to hinder their assault forth and creating countless wormholes around them. Though Tore manages to evade the reach of these numerous wormholes, both of the indigo angel’s siblings unfortunately fall through a pair of portals that swallow them hole; the two of them spat out far behind their blue bro. “Ain’t gonna get us outta the game that easily!” Mally warns as both her and Roy casting forth her grapple yo and his new dark arm respectively, spearheading through the cosmo’s to reach their blue brother. When the limb and gadget both wrap themselves around the indigo angel’s legs, the two of them shoot throughout the depths of space and start to close the gap between them.

From what remained of the Kybr’s true form, Mall expels out entire galaxies from the cosmos held within his numerous fractured wings; their starry edges their very edges cutting through the very space they dwell in like a galactic saw blade. As the indigo angel weaves around the solar systems that are launches his way, his siblings latched behind him smack away their very stars as they get closer and closer to their blue bro; each galaxy breaking into nothing but stardust open being struck. With just a few moments away from collision, the cosmic angel unfurls their wings and sends forth one last leviathan galaxy out in an effort and thwart their assault once and for; Mall’s blue ward left in awe from the sheer size of the sent out solar system that hurdles his way. Just when facing the end of his final assault upon his former master, the blue boy witnesses siblings fling themselves out from behind him and towards the oncoming galaxy; both the orange skater and purple merc using the dark weapons in their hands to slice the very stars into shards and giving their brother the way forth. “All you Tore!” “Go for it!” Both his loyal brother and sister having given him a way forth towards the end, Tore speeds out towards their celestial foe as fast as he could; packing all the power he had gathered into his fist as he nears Mall’s center eye.

Within the core chamber, all of the glue that both Hank and Ryan had shot out in their pinching barrage starts to stick to the Orphans spiraling golden rings and keeps them from moving another inch; their ammunition running out before they could shoot out to the last few rings closest to the core. “I’m out.” Ryan warns. “Me too.” Hank adds. “Shit, now what?” Melvin questions. “We keep moving!” Alex orders. The demon determined to finish the final step of his strategy, both Melvin and Alex lunge forth towards the glistening child like core.

Seeing the core itself unleash a shining ray out towards them both, the young man zips out ahead and powers straight through the burning light to reach towards inner rings protecting the Orphan. Upon landing right above the core does Melvin take an iron vice grip onto the few remaining golden rings, feeling their incredible holy light burn his demonic infused hands as he keeps the halo’s from moving another inch. “Finish it!” he screams out. Requested out from his partner, the orange demon prepares to deal the ending attack to the open infant shaped core among the still halos; Alex morphing his arm into a sharp tipped pike as he nears towards the end.

Putting every single bit of power he had left to muster behind his swing, Tore thrusts his colorfully glowing fist straight through his former mentor’s center eye; Mall letting out a loud, ear piercing shriek as the life his student had gathered breaks apart his celestial body.

Once before the child shaped core of the warp gate, Alex thrusts his transformed pike limb straight through its glowing body; the core letting out a loud outcry as the darkness from the demon’s arm spreads within and fractures it to pieces.

Upon both of these finishing blows are the space around them all engulfed in a brilliant light; blinding all who behold its majestic glory as both the cosmic angel and holy child’s forms break apart. This awesome heavenly light slowly begins to fade away from view, away from this very existence only for all to dim into darkness once more.

An exhausted groan escapes him as Tore starts to open his eyes, obtaining the first lovely view of the morning sun arising out from the cloudy sea; the blue boy pushing himself right off the golden floor and stands upon his very knee’s. Peering over does he discover not just his family that had aided him in his ultimate hour of need, but all their friends as well; all of them lying along the golden spire floor unconscious; the early sunlight shinning its warming glow upon their sides. We’re back...Does that mean…? His vision peers skywards towards the golden halo hanging above them all, the picture of the other dimension held within its very rim was no more. The boy’s head droops down to the golden floor as an incredible relief washes over the indigo angel; certain this entire ordeal, the threat of the Kybr, was stopped just in time. His eyes arising from his own relieved reflection along the golden floor, a forlorn stare spread across his face as a peculiar site catches the blue boy’s attention; the blue boy finally standing on his own two feet and stumbling over towards such.

When awakening from their exhausted stupor, each one of them find themselves laying outside the spire and take in the welcoming site of the morning sky; the fresh twilight breeze all the more relaxing after the turmoil they had endured. While taking in the wonderful site along with their well earned victory, Mally suddenly feels somebody tackle her back down upon the ground; peering over her shoulder upon falling to discover her skeletal pal giving her a tight hug as she shout: “Hell yeah, bitch! That whole fucking show was insane! Still can’t believe all of us stopped shit from hitting the fan here!” “You’re telling me. I didn’t think we were gonna make it. After all the crazy stuff we all went through, It’s hard to believe we stopped all this from going off.” the orange skater admits.

During their little celebration, Hank rolls along over alongside Ryan as the wheelbound genius takes in a much more intrigued look to their surroundings and claims that: “Now that we stopped all of heavenly hell from busting loose. I wanna take a real good look at the kind of technology that makes this big old tower tick. I wonder how many gadgets and gizmo’s I could make from salvaging its parts?” “Seriously hope yer not planning on using any of the nasty shit we saw down there; cause I ain’t touching any of that stuff as long as I live. The way that all that squishy meat felt under his feet is something I might haveta blow money at just going to therapy for.”

“From the way things sound, seems like all of you did a bang ass job without us. Bravo there, kids.” Roy applauds to both Alex and Melvin, who stand before him. “Well, it was mostly thanks to my strategic prowess that the day had been won. No need to thank me.” the demon boasts aloud. “Motherfuc- So all the effort we put in to stop all that from going down wasn’t that important, that what you mouthin off over?” Melvin barks. “Please. As if that’s what I mean’t. All of the components around me were what made my vision possible...Though I doubt any of you would come up with anything half as brilliant.” Its in this last comment that the shots had been fired and horses take off, both of them going off on each other like set off C4 explosives of screaming complaints and insults; Roy shaking his head as he peers away from the two and out towards his blue brother.

Midst watching her friends talk to themselves over what all they went through, Mally see’s her purple brother venturing over to Tore’s side; the orange girl parting from her friends to join Roy in checking on him. The two witness find their blue brother kneeling down onto the golden floor, noticing a strange light emanating from the blue boy’s front. “Tore, you okay there?” his violet sibling worries. “...I’m fine.” he answers with clear melancholy, keeps his eyes to the light underneath. Peeking out from behind him do both Roy and Mally find their blue brother staring down upon a glint of light that hover’s above the palms of his hands; the sparkling glow glimmering like the very cosmo’s. “Is that who we think it is?” Mally questions. “All that’s left of him. And all that might ever be.” the indigo angel answers, rising upon his own two feet.

Continuing to gaze down to the cosmic glow left within his hands, Tore walks out towards the wayside of the golden spire; friends and family alike gazing to him as he walks towards the very edge. “Tore.” Along his very back do the boy’s wings of white protrude outwards, the indigo angel finally leaping off the very edge of the spire; all of them venturing to the edge to watch as the boy hovers down towards the sea of clouds below. “He might have to think some things through, Mal. Think we should just give him some time to himself.” his purple brother suggests.

His saddening gaze is kept upon the reminisce of his former master that now rests upon his gentle palm, Tore continues to hover down to the fluff below with the golden spire at his back; the light of Mall’s remains shinning as they passing down through the clouds. The light of the morning sun continues to arise from the cloud horizon as he slowly descends downward; its twilight glow reflecting off the edge of the shinning golden spire. Alas can its light not overshadow the bit of the cosmo’s that rests within the angel’s hand; its glow reflecting within Tore’s own eyes. Finally does he descend down through the sea of clouds, the cosmic glow in his hands shinning past the numerous clouds before he passes down through the bottom. A flock of countless tropical birds rises right past the blue boy; Tore keeping his eyes glued to the glint of his former mentor as tears start to drizzle out down towards tropical jungle down below.

Among his lamenting descent does Tore gently land down onto the jungle floor along the base of the spire, the grass beneath his feet parting as he touches down on the earth. Tore parts his palms out from beneath what remained of his once beloved mentor, letting the last bits of the cosmic angel flutter down towards the ground and disappearing into the earth. A small snivel escapes as the indigo angel wipes away the tears that flow down from his very cheeks; the blue boy gaze out to the vast jungle set before him to behold the flora and fauna alike that bask in the welcome morning sun together. It’s a new day. A fresh start. Everyone wakes up to the lives they walk. I just wished you could’ve shared in it all with me...Thanks Mall, for showing me how much its all worth. A small breath leaves his lunges before he begin to walk away from the golden Kybr spire set behind him; his wings glistening with bits of colorful glitter trailing behind as he walks forth into the unknown beyond. Along the ground he left behind does a lone plant start to sprout out from the earth; the small stalk of a flower who’s petals show the depths of the cosmos.

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Words cannot simply describe how long I've been waiting to write this whole arc out. From its strange beginning all the way up to its dynamic and bittersweet conclusion. I've seriously been planning to make something like this along the lines of 2 years, but knew I had to simply pace myself and wait for the moment to do so. That arc of one of the main characters finding a rolemodol, but having them be someone that they would have to stop in the end. To those of you that have actually stuck around this long, thank you. Thank you for taking the time to read the sort of stuff that comes out from my brain. Writing this redo these past couple years have shown me ways to improve my writing techniques for the future, and I have a bunch of amazing characters created by so many others to thank for it. Thank you for letting me mold these stories.

#lillaxtrigger #Young Hope #next generation

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cchvrrybbvmb · 3 years

Text

|| Sweater Weather || (Pt 2)

Bangchan x Fem!Reader (College AU)

Characters: Christopher Bang (Bangchan), Han Jisung, Seo Changbin, (3RACHA)

Synopsis: You were just starting college and to save on money, you move in with your brother and his two friends. Soon, you began to get a little crush on one of them. But there’s a problem, he has a girlfriend. A really awful one too. Not only that, but the school’s playboy has taken an interest in you.

Chapter Info/Warning: smut, fluff, angst, curse words, cheating, fighting, yelling

Word Count:

A/N: Listen, I’m a staytiny.. so I had to. Sorry there’s not a lot going on right now, but pt 3 will make up for that.

YT Playlist

Pt 1 |Pt 2 |

“Ugh.. Shut.. Up..” You groaned as you lazily reached over to turn off your alarm. A sigh escaped you as you flopped your arm down on the bed, blinking up at the ceiling to wake yourself up.

“Mmph...” You groaned quietly, sitting up and climbing out of bed. Dragging your feet across the floor, you made your way over to the dresser and pulled out some random pieces of fabric, hoping the outfit you tiredly put together would make sense and look good. Lazily, you got dressed and grabbed the things you needed before heading out your bedroom door.

“Binnie..!” You called, walking down the hall and knocking on his bedroom door. “I need a ride to class...!” A groan was heard from the otherside of the door before it opened, a tired Changbin standing there.

“Mm.. Okay.. Let me put my shoes on and we’ll go..” He grumbled, rubbing his face a bit.

It didn’t take long before the two of you were out the apartment and pulling into the parking lot of the campus. Wow, this place was nicer than the photos. “Don’t do anything stupid, and text me when you’re classes are over.” Binnie said, waving you goodbye as you got out of the car and shut the door behind you.

With a small, nervous sigh, you made your way into the building and made your way to the first class of the day, Music and Dance History. You took a seat in one of the few empty ones, right next to a boy with dark hair, a single silver streak in his hair. His head was propped up on his elbow, his narrow and cat-like eyes staring off at the teacher while they began their lecture. He glanced over at you while you got settled in, a small smile creeping up on his well structured face.

“You’re new here.” He said softly, his voice sounding like velvet and honey. You couldn’t lie, he was kinda hot. Damn, only your first day and you already have two men you’d like to really get to know. “I’m San. You are..?”

“Y/N.” You said simply, returning his smile with one of your own. “And yeah, I am a bit new here. You ah.. wouldn’t mind showing me around, would you? I had trouble finding this class, so I might need help finding my other two.”

“Sure. Under one condition, though.” He said, moving to lean back in his chair a bit to stretch before he turned slightly and moved a bit closer to you. “I get your number, and you come to my friend’s party Saturday.”

“That’s two conditions, but okay. Here.” You tore a piece of paper out of your journal and scribbled your number down before handing it to him. Almost immediately, he grabbed his phone off the desk and shot you a quick text.

XXX-XXX-XXXX: hey ;)

You giggled quietly, saving his number as ‘San, the party boy’.

The rest of your classes went by smoothly, San helping you out by showing you how to get to them and where some bathrooms were along the way. When your final class ended, you left almost immediately and waited by the end of the hall for San.

“Hey!” He called from behind you, jogging up the hallway to stand next to you. “When do you go into work?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I go in at five, why?” You reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of your face as you rocked back and forth on your heels.

“Because, I wanna take you to work. If.. that’s okay with you.”

“Um.. Actually, I already have a ride. My brother is picking me up. Sorry, but maybe tomorrow?” You said, watching as his face lit up.

“Yeah! Okay! Can I.. uh, walk you to wherever you need to go now?” San asked, but instead of using your words, you just nodded and grabbed his wrist to lead him out of the building. The two of you walked together to where Changbin was waiting for you, leaning against the side of the car with his arms crossed.

“Y/N you’re finally he-... San?” Changbin seemed a bit confused as to why he was with you. He uncrossed his arms and stood upright. “What are you doing with my sister..?”

“S-Sister.. wait.. You’re her brother?” San pulled his arm away from you and looked at the two of you in confusion, then his look of confusion turned into a devious, mischievous grin. “That’s good to know. Well, see you later Y/N!” And with that, he walked towards his car and left.

Changbin was silent during the ride to your job, until he pulled into the parking lot. “Do me a favor, stay away from San. He’s not good news.”

“What do you mean? Binnie, he’s the first friend I made here. Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do.” You retaliated, a little annoyed that he was acting this way about San, who seemed to be a good guy to you.

“He has a reputation of sleeping around, Y/N. Trust me. He’s gonna eat you up then throw you out. I’m just trying to look out for you. But, if you wanna find out for yourself, go ahead.” He sighed, looking over to you. “Have a good day at work.”

After you got changed in the bathroom, you put your hat on and made your way behind the counter to meet your boss. He went over the basics of how things worked and introduced you to the other insider working there.

“This is Felix. He’s been here for a few months now and can help you out if you need any help.” With that, he left to go help a customer up front.

Felix was a little taller than you, small and freckled face. He had messy brown hair and seemed very cheerful, happy to help you make pizzas. “This is how we slap them out, it’s pretty simple.” He grabbed a medium sized dough ball from the proofer and threw it down into the little container of cornmeal.

“Once you got it nice and coated on both sides, you pick it up and run it through this thingy like.. this” He said, watching as the dough slid through the machine. “Now it’s flat! And now we can dock it!” You followed along, watching as he took his fingers and pressed down into the edge of the dough, moving them around the entire thing. “Now you just pick it up, and slap the living shit out of it.” And he did. You sputtered as cornmeal flew into your mouth, quickly wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Jeez, that stuff really gets everywhere, huh?” You asked, laughing softly. It wasn’t long before you sort of knew what you’re doing, and it wasn’t long until it got busy.

“Ugh.. I smell so bad.” You mumbled, walking into the apartment with Changbin behind you.

“Then shower, stinky.” Changbin teased as he set his car keys down on the counter. “I’m gonna head to bed though, you do whatever. Jisung is asleep though, so keep it down. I don’t know where Channie is.” He waved bye, then went into his room.

You decided to shower first, heading straight into the bathroom shared between you, Jisung, and Chan. You started your water, then undressed yourself before slipping into the nice, hot hot shower. This felt nice. You stayed in there for a little while before finally stepping out, wrapping a towel around your body. Since Chan apparently wasn’t home and the other two were asleep, you thought it’d be okay to just get dressed in your room.

You left the bathroom and hurried to your bedroom, slipping the towel off of your body.

“Y/N you left your-...” You froze for a moment, then glanced back at whoever was speaking. Chan. Oh god. Move. Do something. Just don’t stand there! You panicked, grabbing the towel and throwing it over yourself.

“Chris! Close the door!” You yelled, even though you were the one who left it open. But to be fair, you didn’t realize he was actually home.

“O-Okay! Sorry Y/N! Please don’t tell your brother about this!” He quickly closed the door after setting your schoolbag down on the ground. You got dressed as quickly as possible and just climbed into the bed, deciding that going to sleep was the best option.

#bangchan #christopherbang #straykids #ateez #choisan #bangchanfic #choisanfic #straykidsfic

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basenji18 · 4 years

Text

Call Waiting

"Hm. that feels good."

"I like it."

"Would you like it better if I shaved?"

"What should I do then, polish them? I like you furry."

To drive the point home, she nuzzles into his chest hair, purring and preening, while her hand stays down below, gently cupping his family jewels.

"You keep playing like that, he's going to get excited."

"Mmm, let him. I have some furry bits you can introduce him to..."

She tilts up to kiss his metal face and he closes his eyes, imagines he can feel warm lips against his and not hard, unforgiving metal.

Then the phone rings.

Everything goes rigid, and not in the fun way he was just anticipating. Ana seizes up in his arms -- thank God her hand doesn't clench -- and bolts out of bed.

They're not in the habit of answering phones during private time. In fact, they don't keep phones turned on. But this number always rings, day or night. Even if her phone is turned off, this number cannot be shut out.

The Commander is calling.

Ana -- not Ana. When the Commander is calling she's fully Baroness -- jumps out of bed. In her haste her ankle catches in the sheets and she smashes to the floor. She ignores it, fumbling for the phone on the nightstand and pressing it to her ear while still on the floor.

"Commander."

James slides over, swings his legs over the side of the bed. He can't hear the Commander's side of the conversation, but Baroness's one word answers are tight and airless. The hand not holding the phone grips the knee she barked on the floor, insulted red skin already blooming hotly around her fingers. The Commander must notice her tone too, because after a moment she says,

"Knocked against a table corner getting up. It's nothing."

James hurts at that. He lays a hand on her shoulder, but she brushes it away.

"Yes, Yes, of course."

Always yes to Him. Yes, without question. If the Commander wants the impossible, she'll find a way to do it.

James -- Destro -- absently strokes his metal cheek. Maybe she's right after all.

The Commander asks a question which takes her a moment. Baroness looks into the distance, eyes unfocused as she calculates.

"I can be there in six hours."

Six hours from now he wanted to have her at an early lunch at a little pub with the finest herring and best brown ale in Scotland. His heart drops further when she amends,

"Four hours, then."

The call wraps up, a string of assurances and affirmatives to the madman on the other end. It's all formalities now, until Baroness stops, mouth open.

"I -- Oh. Yes, I had forgotten. Target practice. I still have the goggles on."

She doesn't. James frowns in confusion.

"Of course, Commander. Four hours. Stockholm."

There's no farewell. The Commander doesn't say goodbye to anyone, he just hangs up. Ana sits there on the floor, looking hollow and wrung out. James gets down on the floor and wraps himself around her.

"He asked why he couldn't reach me on my glasses."

"He...? Oh."

That is how they communicate most of the time. And she can take images and upload data with them. He can see anything she can. A chill grips James and it's not the cold floor.

"You can turn those off, can't you?"

"Obviously. But he's not happy about it."

"When is he happy?"

She frowns at the phone, still in the hand that a moment ago was holding him. He takes it away and exiles it to the nightstand, helps her back onto the bed. Blood oozes from a few small tears in the skin, but she's mostly going to have bruises. She hisses when his fingers brush too near.

"Let's get this cleaned up."

"In a minute. Stretch back out first."

They stretch toe to toe and stomach to stomach, her head tucked under his chin. The moment for flirtatious fun is gone. Now it's all about skin on skin comfort.

"It won't take you four hours to get to Stockholm."

"He thinks I'm in Tokyo."

"Then he can't expect you to get there in four."

"Can't he?"

They're silent for a while. He wants to stay like this, holding her until the mood comes back or they both doze off. But minutes they don't have are slipping through his fingers.

"Nastya?"

"Mm?"

"Leave him."

He meant to say "it," but it came out how it came out. There's a lengthy silence against his breastbone, her nose buried in the ginger hair. He expects anger, upset, something. But after a moment a hand slips up and rests on his metal cheek.

"You really think we can leave, my love?"

"Of course. Burn the phone, leave the glasses. Drop everything, we'll replace it all. Neither of us is foolish enough to keep everything in accounts under our own names. We can disappear wherever we want. I'll go to Siberia if you say so."

Holding her close and knowing he's spinning a fantasy, but wanting to live in that fantasy and not in the world where four hours from now she'll be away from him and taking orders from a man who leaves her naked and bleeding on the floor.

"Do you love him?"

Even he didn't realize he had the question, but now it's out and he knows its fear. Her head rests right against where his heart tries to beat its way out of his chest to her. She's very quiet. She winds a leg between his, melts into every crevice against him.

"No."

"Then why --"

"Because I owe him."

That seems preposterous. James stays silent, waiting for her to fill the space with explanation. After a moment, she does.

"He took care of me after my brother died. Gave me something to do. This whole world is so corrupt... The few who hold power, keeping the rest down, training those at the bottom to fight with each other rather than look up. Zhenya thought he could help, and he was murdered by the same people who claim to work for peace and justice."

A memory of a young man with familiar dark hair and glasses surfaces in James' mind. He doesn't tell her, but from the little he knew Eugene Cisarov, he wasn't much less than his sister's idolization makes him out to be. And yes, he did die fighting corruption, even if she's got the details wrong. That...is something he should tell her. Someday.

"What do I do? How do you fix anything when the heroes are frauds and the ones you’re trying to help don’t want to be? I floated around playing Eurotrash revolutionary...Throwing bombs, dodging tear gas. For what? What real change did we bring?

"Then I met the Commander."

Her tone changes. She comes more alive in his arms, though he's not sure he likes it.

"He explained to me: instead of rejecting the unfair system, I should leverage all the advantages it has given to me. Money, education, family name. Use it all to set up a new one from within, and then burn the old ways to the ground."

She digs her nails into him on the last part, not hard enough to hurt. Her voice is deep and rich. James closes his eyes. He understands now. He is her love; Cobra is her religion. But as she grabs his head in both hands and presses a kiss hard against his mouth, the metal mask between them reminds him it isn't his.

A fierce smile greets him as he opens his eyes. This is the part of her he both loves and mourns for. This passionate, brilliant, misled true believer.

"Do you really think the Commander is going to share power? That he will be a benevolent leader?"

She doesn't get angry. She just shrugs.

"No. But he's no worse than what's already sits in offices and board rooms all around the world. You know that."

He does, unfortunately.

"Besides, a little less freedom will be good for some places. No more little towns full of backwater morons refusing a new hydroelectric dam in favor of their dying coal mine. Yelling 'tradition' while rates of teen dropouts and industrial accidents increase every generation. No more outbreaks of diseases solved decades ago because some parent didn't vaccinate. Society is a child who needs to be fed its vegetables and put to bed."

She kisses him again.

"We can do that."

She purrs and cuddles him. He holds her back, if not for the reason she thinks.

You're a brave, bonnie, slightly deluded lass, but I love you.

"You're still relying on a few at the top giving orders."

She shrugs again.

"Some people are born to rule."

That warms his blood. He can agree with her there. (He agrees with her general principles, but her faith in Cobra Commander is entirely misplaced, he's sure.) He takes her by the hips and rolls so she's on top, favoring her wounded knee gently.

"We've got four hours. What do you say to a romp and some breakfast?"

Her sharp smile is in full force. Her hand slides back down between them.

"Where were we?"

#gi joe #gi joe renegades #gi joe: renegades #baronestro #baroness #destro #ana decobray #anastasia cisarovna #james mccullen #cobra commander #cobraaa #anastasia decobray #fluff fic #fanfiction

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ask-rijus-ocs · 4 years

Text

Starter

[ There must be better ways to meet an interesting stranger than in the middle of the night during a storm. Yet, here he is.]

[ Twilight really didn't have a reason to go out this late. But like always, sleep evades him. And like always, he doesn't have anything better to do. So he heads outside. It's raining. He doesn't seem to mind it, despite the many, many times he's caught a cold from staying outside in the rain. Ordon is quiet. Unbearably quiet. ]

[The forest village is usually bustling. To see it silent is...different. He's not sure if he likes it. It brings back memories of when the kids were taken. ]

[ Epona is asleep. Thank Hylia. She has much better luck than him. Twilight pulls the fur hood over his head and walks into Faron Woods. Even in the dark of night, he knows exactly where he's going. He could probably close his eyes and end up in the exact same place. He's going to the bridge.]

[ Twilight doesn't know why he's going to the bridge, but he is. His feet have their own instinct, and he knows the forest both from seven feet up and kneeling to the ground. He cannot possibly be lost; simply wandering. He's about to pass by Faron Spring when he sees something. There's a shivering form in the water. Just from a glance, he can tell that the person is not from Ordon. Even Uli doesn't have hair that long. It would most certainly get in the way of work. ]

[ Twilight knows he can't leave them there. The protective instinct takes over, and suddenly his pace increases. They're asleep. Cold. Very cold. They've probably been laying in the water for a long while, there are petals mixed in with their golden hair. He doesn't have a towel, but he does have the pelt, which he quickly wraps around them. He's also soaked by now, and he's cold too, but like hell if he's about to be selfish and take it for himself. ]

[ "C'mon. Let's get you somewhere warm." He picks the young girl up, planning on heading back to Ordon. And then he hears it. Rustling, everywhere. Perhaps if not for his acute hearing, he wouldn't have noticed, but here we are. Twilight places her back down (on dry land this time, of course) and turns up to face the sky. Is that a...tail? Hm. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, almost by reflex. And then, they jump.]

[ "Lizalfos. Just as expected." Twilight has the Ordon Sword out in an instant. Water is where Lizalfos are most mobile, but he can handle it. There's a lot of them. One,two, three, four, five....nine. Nine Lizalfos. In the rain. Hylia must really hate me, Twilight suspects. ]

[ The brunette attaches his shield fast enough to where he has time to get into stance. Two rush at him, and boy having the Bow or his Gale Boomerang with him would be real helpful right about now, but his past self assumed with naiveté that it would just be a harmless midnight walk. He's lucky he never lets go of his sword, otherwise he'd be dead. ]

[ Twilight's able to kick the first one to the ground before the second one gets to him, which he goes for the arm, and misses. Why'd it have to be midnight? Why now? He's saved Hyrule once before, can't he just be left alone? Perhaps it is his insomnia getting to him, but he's getting quite fed up with this. ]

[ He lands a hit the second time, and uses the pommel of his blade to slow down the third Lizalfos. An arrow hits his shield. Wait, an arrow? They have bows now? Oh, wonderful. Just wonderful.]

[ First is back up again, so he prepares for a helm splitter. That one's fast, so it dodges the head hit, but he's able to hit it from behind once he lands. Next comes the fifth, sixth, and seventh. They hold off for a few moments, and Twilight holds his blade out to his side in warning. They don't take it. Too bad. He releases a spin attack, sending all three stumbling backwards. An arrow hits his shield arm. Great. Just great. ]

[ He doesn't have any ranged attacks on him except for...Slingshot! How did he remember to take his slingshot and not his bow?! Stupid! Ugh, never mind, it'll have to do. He has to awkwardly tuck his sword under his arm so that he can use both hands. Good Hylia, it hurts to use an arm when you've got an arrow stuck in it, but he has a high pain tolerance, and so he manages. The last two bow wielding lizalfos fall to the ground and exchange their weapon for the swords of their fallen comrades. ]

[ Twilight has to straight up drop the Slingshot just so he has enough time to meet the Lizalfos in a sword lock. After it backs off, Twilight rolls behind the second one and performs a Back Slice. It's not as great as it could have been thanks to that goddess-damned arrow in his arm, but it hits just as well, and it's cause enough for the Lizalfos to retreat. He must've waited there for a solid ten minutes before he finally sheathed his sword. He's always tense after battle. ]

[ "It'll keep the wound sealed up until I can get back to the house, but it's gonna hurt like hell once I try to take it out. But I can't worry Rusl with this..." Twilight inspects the wound. If it gets infected, though, that's a different story. Hm. Well, thankfully, the girl is fine. He'll have to carry her only using one arm, but he'll manage. ]

[ The walk to the house is uneventful and painful. Putting all that weight on one shoulder made it hurt just as much as his arm.]

[ The sun is up by now. That fight must've taken a while. And now, another problem presents itself - how to get her up the ladder. At this point, he might as well just go to Rusl's place. Hmm.... If he can hold the ladder with his hurt arm well enough, then maybe. Twilight carefully ascends up the ladder, finally making it up to the door. ]

[ He sets her down on the bed, making sure she's warm enough. Hypothermia is something he knows well, and for someone with a child-like form to have to go through that is troubling. He wonders how she got here, and why she was laying out like that. ]

[ The next ordeal is his arm. He cleans the wound before taking out one of his spare daggers to cut the lodged in part. Renado has done this so many times that it's like instinct, but it's hard without anyone to hold out his arm or use the scalpel. He misses when Midna could just magic the arrowhead out and all he'd need to do was heal his skin afterwards. But alas.]

[ A pitiful wince escapes him as he pulls out the arrowhead. He'd been trying his hardest to stay quiet so she could sleep, but still. "Okay. Now to wrap it," He doesn't have any gauze, so he reaches into his dresser and uses one of his shirts to wrap it. There. He swaps his heavier arm guard onto that side for more protection in case it gets hurt again. ]

[ "Mm?" The girl sits up a few hours later, to find Twilight sharpening his blade. "Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." He looks up, placing the sword by his side after her panicked reaction. "Where.. Are we?" She looks around, baffled. "This is Ordon Village. It's my house." He explains calmly. ]

[ "Did you bring me here?" She adjusts herself on the bed, taking off the hood. Twilight nods. "You were passed out in the spring, it was raining. What were you doing out there?" He asks. "I found a portal while i was traveling. Took me here, but I got real dizzy and I think I passed out." She rubs her head. A portal? Strange. He decides to leave out the part about the Lizalfos to not worry her. ]

[ "Where's Roxy?" She searches her things. "?" "Roxy. Small fox, like 2'4", green eyes?" She explains. "Never seen them. Sorry." Twilight shakes his head. "Ah... " The girl looks nervous. "What's your name? Oh, right, uh, I should introduce myself first. I'm Carly Elizabeth Parker-Callisto. Uh... but just Carly works!" Carly nods. "I'm Li- Twilight." He corrects himself. He doesn't like his old name much anymore. ]

[ "Hm?" Carly pulls out something from her bag. "These quests weren't on the Slate before..." She swipes across the screen. "The Slate?" Twilight is confused. "A sheikah slate! It stores all my things, and I write quests down on here." Carly explains, holding it out in front of her. "Main Quest: Answer Questions... Side Quest:Find Roxy..." She cites it. "That's weird. I didn't put these in here." Carly scratches her head.]

[ "Answer questions? We don't have time for tests. It'd be best if you could get home as soon as possible. Where are you from?" Twilight sighs. "Lurelin Village! It's right here." Carly pulls up a map on her Sheikah Slate, handing it to him. "Never heard of it before. Actually, this whole map seems really off. Snowpeak is behind Zora's Domain, after all." He squints. ]

[ "Well, until I can get back home, I don't think it'd hurt if we answered a few.." Carly seems to like the idea. "I - I guess it'll be okay. But only until we can find your pet and get you back home." Twilight rubbed at his temple. "I think it'll be fun!" She smiles. Fun. Right.]

// Carly and Twilight are now open for asks! I will open up new characters as they appear.

- Mun Riju

#loz #Zelda #TP #Twilight Princess #TP Link #Twilight #botw #Carly Callisto #oc #asks open #a chance encounter // beginning arc #if there's anything else I need to tag this as lmk

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gloriousstudentfury-love · 4 years

Text

No Mass ✰

y/n’s POV

"I'm going to the Alvarez's!" I yelled

"Did you eat breakfast?" Schneider asked

"Yes." I groaned, knocking my shoes on the ground as I was anxious to get over there

"Obviously, you didn't brush your hair." Schneider said, gently patting my head

"What? Yes, I did." I gasped, pushing down my hair

"My bad. I know you didn't take your medicine." He said, shaking the orange bottle he took out of his pocket

"Come on, I'm fine. I promise." I said

"Nope. Come here." He ordered, putting one in my hand

I glared at the little white pill in my hand, wanting to put it in the trash

"Promise me you'll take it." Schneider begged

"I promise." I sighed, walking out the apartment door

I shut the door and crushed the little pill with my foot. I used my heel to push the dust under the welcome mat. 3

__________

Once I got to the Alvarez apartment, I walked right in as if I lived there. I practically did.

"What's going on today Alvarez family?" I asked, shutting the door gently behind me

"We're just moving the Pope." Penelope said as if it was a normal thing

"Do I want to know? Actually, don't answer that. I don't." I said, sitting at the kitchen table next to Alex.

"Did you take your medicine?" Alex asked, raising his eyebrows in question

"Yes." I lied, patting his shoulder

I turned to find Lydia putting up a picture of the Pope on their counter. We laughed at her as she continued to dance her way to her room.

_________

Later, I was back at the Alvarez's house. Lydia invited me and Schneider over to eat dinner with them.

"You can probably dump that whole thing on there." Schneider said, referring to the food Lydia was passing out

"Next time." Lydia, lovingly, laughed

"Hi!" We all said, as the door slammed following Penelope's entrance into the apartment

"Welcome home, Lupita. We are almost done, but there is plenty left." Lydia said, pointing to the dinner on the table

"Aw. Dinner with my entire family... and the whitest people I know." Penelope said, gesturing to me and Schneider

"We're not that white." I said, unconvincingly

"Honey, you're as white as your converse..and those are really white." Penelope joked, making everyone laugh

"Yes, I invited them, again. They're orphans." Lydia said

"Do orphans always have rich dads who buy them buildings?" Alex asked

I tensed at the mention of a dad, but shook it off with a smile. I wasn't going to cause drama in a situation that didn't really involve me.

"Hey, I may have money in the bank and two living parents, and four living stepmothers...but there is a hole in here. We never had family meals. I ate alone in front of the TV. At least now, I have this one." Schneider argued, ruffling my hair

I instantly felt guilty about not taking my medicine. I knew he wanted what was best for me, but I just couldn't bring my self to do it.

"Ay, pobrecito Schneider." Lydia said

"Oh, don't get me wrong. It was a massive TV. Sometimes my nanny would join me, but only if I agreed to watch telenovelas." Schneider said

"Ooh, those are so over the top." Elena groaned

"Right? This one time, Rosa got jealous of the housekeeper cause she was makin a move on her man, so she threatened to throw live scorpions on her while she slept." Schneider said

"Sounds good. Which one was that?" Lydia asked

"Oh, no. Rosa was my nanny. Ex nanny. Now, stepmother. I'm so glad to be here." Schneider sighed, rubbing the table

"I'm just glad to be home with everyone." Penelope said, smiling at her family

As if on cue, Elena's goth friend walked out of the bathroom and sat in Penelope's chair.

"Who the hell are you?" Penelope asked

"This is Carmen, my best friend. I'm doing my history project with her." Elena said, introducing the stranger

"These all sound like things I should know. Hi, Carmen." Penelope smiled, introducing herself

"Hi." Carmen sighed, dramatically

"I'm Penelope. Kind of a big deal around here. So, uh, what's this history project you're working on? And then maybe later you can show me how you turn into a bat." Penelope asked, teasing Elena's friend

"Well, we just got done explaining the whole thing." Elena said

"Oh, come on, mija, I missed it." Penelope begged

"Oh, wait. Alex, y/n, tell Penelope that funny story that happened in chemistry class." Lydia laughed

"Again?" Alex asked

"Okay, I'll tell it. So, there is the floor and... slip. Oh, that Dylan." Lydia laughed as she barley got through any of the story

"Oh, That story never gets old." Schneider said, laughing at Lydia's incoherent story

"I've been working so much. I've been missing all the scoops plus Latina Twilight over here. Careful. There's a lot of garlic in that chicken." Penelope said, continuing to tease Carmen

"Your mom's kinda mean. I'm obsessed with her." Carmen, oddly, smiled

"Who would like a pastelito?" Lydia asked

We all eagerly took one, ignoring the pizzas Penelope had brought home

"Mm! You know what? How about we go on a hike this Saturday like we used to?" Penelope asked her kids

"Mom, Uh, Carmen and I need all Saturday for our history thing." Elena said

"Yeah, and Abuelita, y/n, and I have tickets to wrestling." Alex cheered

"I don't understand why you waste good money on that." Penelope sighed

"It's educational." I said, attempting to convince her

Penelope stared at me with a "we both know that's bullshit" look.

"Eh, I don't know." I shrugged

"Okay, Saturday's out. How about we go on a hike Sunday morning before it gets hot?" Penelope asked

"You seem to have forgot. Sunday morning is for church." Lydia said

"So, we skip church." Penelope suggested

"You seem to have forgot. We don't skip church." Lydia said, shaking her head at her only daughter

"Mami, it's okay if we miss it one time. It's not gonna kill us." Penelope insisted

"Oh, really? My great uncle Luisito skipped church, and on the same day, he was crushed by a runaway tractor." Lydia said

"Why don't you just go to church and then go hikin' after?" Schneider asked, solving their obvious problem

"We're Latinos, Church takes all day. By the time you're done with mass and you've said hello to fulano y fulana, it's five o'clock." Penelope said

"Oh, you exaggerate. 4:30." Lydia insisted

"I wanna see these guys this weekend. Come on. Cause I like them." Penelope said, pulling her kids close to her

"I have to put my foot down. Sundays we go to church, and then sometimes we go to Applebee's." Lydia said

"Well, I have a foot, too, and I'm gonna put my foot down and say this Sunday we're not going to church." Penelope argued

"Well, I am putting both of my feet down. We are going and that is the end of it. Ya!" Lydia said, shushing Penelope

"That's not your decision to make." Penelope said, beginning to get angry

"It's starting to feel kinda like home in here." Schneider smiled, making me shake my head

"I'm with Mom. We don't need to go to church. After all, Abuelita, you don't believe half that stuff." Elena said

"I believe everything." Lydia argued

"Really? When you take the communion you believe you're eating the actual blood and flesh of Jesus?" Elena asked

"Ay, no, it's a symbol. Don't be gross." Lydia said

"Okay. So, if you believe that then you're Protestant." Penelope said

"There is no need for name calling. All I know is that a good Catholic does not skip church. Right, papito?" Lydia asked, looking towards Alex for support

"I like church. I see my friends and I eat some donuts." Alex said

"Now, this one gets it. We're going." Lydia said, patting him on the back

"No, we are not! I work hard all week. When I get home, there's barely enough time to have a meal with the kids. Weekends are my only chance. So, this Sunday, no church. End of discussion." Penelope said

Lydia stood up and said something in Spanish, confusing me and Schneider.

"Ooh." Alex and Carmen said

"What? What'd she say?" Elena asked, who was also confused

"I am raising my voice, because I cannot believe we're having this discussion! I'm their mother! I don't need permission! I decide." Penelope fought

"And I am your mother, and I decide what you decide." Lydia said

"We are a family, damn it! Don't make me choose between you." Schneider said, "Okay, I'd choose Lydia because of her warm food and even warmer hugs. But I'd feel really bad about it."

"All right, everybody, go do your homework. Schneider, take y/n and go call one of your moms." Penelope said

"Fine. Guess we'll just eat this all alone in front of my massive TV." Schneider said, storming out

"Thought that was at his dad's house-" Penelope started

"He has one too!" I yelled as we stormed out 2

_________

The next morning, I was sitting on the couch before school when someone knocked on the apartment door. Schneider went to open it to reveal the whole Alvarez family.

"Hello, Schneider. Listen have you—" Penelope started

"Wow! I always forget how huge your apartment is." Alex said, barging into the apartment

I waved from the couch before going back to my TV show, trying to ignore the chaos around me.

"Nah, come on, it's not that big. But let's talk in the parlor." Schneider said

"Schneider, have you seen my mom?" Penelope asked

"Gosh, no." Him and I, suspiciously, said

"Then why do I smell fried plantains and Cuban coffee?" Elena asked, glancing around the apartment

"Fine! She spent the night. But I want you to know, nothing happened." He promised

"Ew." I said, shaking my head at the older man

"What were you thinking chasing that women away? She's funny, charming, and when she gets angry, she cleans." He said

"Where is she?" Penelope asked, ignoring most of what he said

"I don't know. After last nights ugliness, she spent the night and left without saying goodbye. So, she already knows the drill." He said, referring to the previous women that had been in the apartment

"Again, Gross." I groaned

Then, a girl walked out a Schneider's room wearing just a shirt. Alex stared at her, making me laugh at his immaturity.

"Unlike some people." He said, glaring at the girl

The girl walked into a different room, and everyone turned their attention back towards Schneider

"What was that? And why was she drinking my coffee?" Penelope asked

"Well, when my family oasis blew up last night, I had to seek solace in the arms of.. I don't know her name. Your mom called her the stick girl and made her eat plato de huevos." He said

"Did Abuelita forget to give her her pants, too?" Alex asked, making me laugh

__________

Later, Schneider and I were still at the Alvarez's because Lydia wasn't there when Alex and Elena got home from school.

Penelope walked in and we all greeted her with smiles and waves, still worried about Lydia.

"Welcome home, Lupita! We already started, but I insisted nobody say anything interesting till you got here." Schneider said

"Aw, that's so sweet." Penelope smiled, looking at all of us sitting at the dinner table

"It's been weird." Elena sighed

"Did you find Abuelita?" Alex asked, desperate to see his grandma again

"Yeah, she's with Jesus now." Penelope said2

"What?" We all screamed, thinking she meant Lydia had died

"No, no. Sorry. She's at church. Poor choice of words. Uh, whoa! What do we have here?" Penelope asked, looking at everything Schneider had set up

"Oh, Nothing special. Just some nutted quinoa, wilted broccoli with radish micro greens, and venison carpaccio on a bed of nettles. Grab a cedar plank and dig in." Schneider said

"Big change from Abuelita's cooking, huh? You like it?" Penelope asked all of us

"I can't wait to have eaten it." Elena said, as Schneider stared at her waiting for an answer

"I didn't think I would like nettles, and I was right." Alex said, setting down the fork he was using to eat

"Well, I'm competing with perfection here." Schneider sighed

"It's okay, Schneider. We all thank you for this very Caucasian meal. Good to see you again, Elena's best friend, Carmen, you beautiful weirdo." Penelope smiled

Carmen stared at her, uninterested in what Penelope was talking about.

"I'm sorry things got crazy the other night. That's- that's not us." Penelope insisted

"Seems like us." Alex disagreed

"We have all kinds of arguments in my family. I have two brothers. Ones a priest, ones a witch, so..." Carmen said, making us look at her oddly

"I'm really glad I'm getting to know you better, Carmen." Penelope

"Hello!" Lydia said, dramatically making her reappearance through the front door

"Oh, Thank God!" Schneider said, running ahead of everyone and hugging her

"I am so glad you're home. I was wilting under pressure to be you." He groaned

"Oh, hello, babies." Lydia said, hugging Elena and Alex, then me

"I'm sure you did fine. Who threw up in the table?" Lydia said, approaching the table and judging Schneider's cooking

"What were you doing all day?" I asked

"Oh, you know, saying my Rosary, praying for the departed souls...Asking forgiveness for your mother." Lydia said

"Why?" Elena asked

"Oh, She didn't tell you? She's no longer going to church. Ever." Lydia said

"We can do that?" Alex asked

"You can't. We will all go together. Us. Your mother will go hiking with Satan." Lydia sassed

"Yeah, and then we'll go to Applebee's. Cause Satan loves the Fiesta Lime Chicken!" Penelope sassed right back

"So, I guess you want to take my grandchildren to hell with you." Lydia asked, furthering the argument between her and Penelope

"I don't wanna go to hell." Alex cried, making me pat his shoulder

"There is no hell." Penelope said

"Don't worry, papito, there is." Lydia said, not making Alex feel any better

"Okay! You- you really wanna do this? All right, let's do this. I am not even sure I even believe in God, Okay?" Penelope said

"Hardcore." Carmen said, as the Alvarez's gasped

"Oye, you're so smart. If God doesn't exist, who made all of this?" Lydia asked, gesturing around the apartment

"Target." Penelope said2

"Okay, can we agree that if there is a God, it's gender neutral and not a He or she?" Elena asked

"No! God is a man. If he were a woman, there would be less problems. Pobrecito God. He tries so hard." Lydia said5

"Look, Mami, I get it. You like going to church. It's habit. You go out in lipstick, get dressed up, see your friends, gossip. It's your little social club, Mami, and that's fine." Penelope said

"It is more than that. I pray. I seek forgiveness." Lydia said

"And I am so glad that that gives you comfort. But that doesn't mean that God exists, okay? I'm sorry." Penelope said

"He kept you safe. Every day that you were gone, he kept you safe. My little girl says she wants to go in the Army, and then the army sends her to Afghanistan where she is getting shot at and I don't even know what else. Do you have you any idea... how much I worried? When you were deployed, I went to church everyday and I prayed that he would keep you safe. And he did. So don't you tell me about God. I know that God exists, and he is great." Lydia said, crying as she finished her story

"Mami, I'm sorry. I had no idea. You know, you went missing for one day and I was worried sick. I can't imagine what it must feel like to worry all those years." Penelope said

"All those years putting up with Birdie, with her terrible hairdos and her smelly breath." Lydia said

"Look. I still wear the cross you gave me." Penelope said, showing her the dainty cross necklace

"So you do believe!" Lydia exclaimed

"No, I don't wear it because it's a cross. I wear it because you gave it to me." Penelope said

"I don't understand the difference, so please just let me have this." Lydia said

They both sobbed and hugged each other, as everyone else looked on with a smile.

"So, are we going to church or not?" Elena asked

"Yes. Wait, no. Wait.. Sometimes, okay?" Penelope asked

"At least at Christmas and Easter. And one other time, so we are not those people." Lydia said

"And I'm not saying God doesn't exist. In fact, I check in with him constantly, you know, like, 'please God don't let Elena come home with a face tattoo.' And Mami, I am glad that you find comfort in church. I just find it in different places." Penelope said

"That's how I feel when I watch John Cena." Alex said, making everyone laugh

"Exactly, or Sonia Sotomayor... or Death. Everyone has something that inspires them." Penelope said

__________

The next morning, I was sat on the couch with Alex watching the News. All of a sudden, a story about a car swerving off a bridge, into a lake, came on.

I stopped focusing on what Alex was talking about and stayed glued to the TV. As the story went on it started getting harder to breath, and I was shaking, and my eyes were tearing up.

"y/n? y/n! What's wrong?" Alex asked, grabbing my hand when he heard my labored breaths

"I... can't... breath." I said, shaking my head and crying

"Mom!" Alex screamed, calling out for an adult to come help

"What?" She asked running in, quickly rushing to the couch

"Something's wrong with y/n." He said, tearing up as I continued to shake and attempt to catch my breath.

"I'll go get Schneider. Wait here." She said, running out the apartment door

Elena, Alex, and Lydia tried to get me to calm down, but I just couldn't.

"Where is she?" Schneider asked, running in with Penelope.

When he saw me on the couch, he sat down and placed his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look at him.

"Okay, okay. Remember your breathing. Breath in, 1,2,3,4,5. Breath out, 6,7,8,9,10." He said

We did that couple times, and I calmed down to the point where I could at least talk.

"What happened, kid?" He asked, rubbing my back in comfort

"The news. And the story, the car, bridge, lake." I said, beginning to tear up again

"y/n. Why didn't you take your medicine?" Schneider asked, realizing what had happened

"I did." I lied

"No, it wouldn't have been this bad if you had." He insisted

"I can't, okay? Every time I take those pills, I feel numb. And as crazy as it sounds, I want to feel the pain. I need to realize that what happened to my parents is real, not some horrible nightmare that I can just forget. I need to remember, and I need to heal on my own. I know I'll never have a mom who cares for me, or siblings to comfort me, or a dad to hang out with. I miss that, but pretending it's not real is worse." I said crying

Everyone stared at me either with teary eyes or sympathy, making me want to sink into the couch.

"Hey, I may not be your mom or your dad, but I'll always be there for you. I didn't think I'd enjoy taking in someone else's child, but since you've been with me I couldn't imagine life without you. You're my family." Schneider said, hugging me, "You can't hide these kind of thing from me, though. You have to try and be honest about it."

"We'll always be here too. For anything." Alex said, coming in to wrap me in hug

The rest of the family joined in one big hug, making me realize that Schneider was right. I may have lost my biological family, but family isn't just about DNA. It's about surrounding yourself with the people who will love and care for you through everything, and that's what Schneider and the Alvarez's are to me.

_________

Alright, I hope this chapter provides an idea of what happened to her parents. Thank you guys for the reads!! And please, any feedback is welcomed.

#odaat #alex alvarez

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soveryanon · 4 years

Text

Reviewing time for MAG164!

- Okay, the “vignette” format of statements in the new circumstances seems to be more or less fixed: Jon narrating what is happening to a place, the ritual beginning with “There is a–”

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: … Wha…? [STATIC REACHING A PEAK] … “There is a place, deep in the heart of Fear, where you trap yourself and claim that it is safety. [STATIC DECREASES] It was once a cabin, and professes still to be such, but as with all in this new world that promises respite… it is a trap.”

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: … Alright, then. [INHALE] [SIGH] [STATIC RISES] “There is a wound in the earth. [STATIC DECREASES] A bayonet gouge, scored through the soft and sodden mud for uncounted miles. A trench that marks the front line of a war that has no name. It has always been raging, deep in the hearts of the powerful and those that thirst to see bodies piled high in their name.”

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: “There is a sickness in this village. Perhaps you would not see it from a distance and the faint sting of rot on the breeze is easy enough to dismiss; but as you get closer, that infectious feeling of wrongness is harder and harder to shake. The grass is not the green of nature, the buildings are warped by more than age, and the voices that come from behind the inhabitants’ masks… are hoarse, and wet. They move with exaggerated casualness, a parody of idyllic village life.”

(Which Martin seems to be aware of, calling what Jon’s doing a “guidebook”.)

For the first time, season 5 is giving us stories in third-person (even when Jon had extracted Breekon’s in MAG128, it had been in first-person), with a few general second-person occurrences peppered here and there – but although MAG162 was directly referring to Jon, it seems that it’s just a general, uncharacterised “you” in subsequent statements, which could be anybody discovering or living these places?

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: “The land outside is warped and twisted by the touch of those things that feed on your suffering, and behind those rough wooden planks, [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] it seems they cannot reach you. The screams may linger on the distant breeze, and your eye may wander beyond the curtains from time to time, but you and the one you love are, it seems… safe. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] If you had need to eat, no doubt there would be food; if you had need to sleep, no doubt the beds would be welcoming. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] But you have need of neither; and so you sit in your meagre comfort and belief of security with nothing to do, nothing to distract your mind from the agonies that lie just beyond your window.”

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: “You may find this trench reaching all across the world, and it will never stop, never be satisfied, never think of peace. […] On one side of the trench the hungry guns of the vile Enemy wait; and on the other, the just guns of heroes will cut you down no slower, save perhaps a breath to call you coward. […] He’s heard the enemy will eat your body if they find it in the mud; they won’t even check if you’re dead first. Alexei shudders at the thought.”

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: “Perhaps you would not see it from a distance and the faint sting of rot on the breeze is easy enough to dismiss; but as you get closer, that infectious feeling of wrongness is harder and harder to shake. […] Take a deep breath. The air feels thick and soupy in your lungs, swarming with a thousand contagions digging into you, begging for you to join the village. It itches, and burns, and you can feel it growing and spreading inside you, looking for the core of you. At least until it worms its way into your bones. […] There was never a time before the disease, no matter what the old bastards tell you.”

No markers to introduce the start of it, but it highlights that there is one when Jon ends it:

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: [LONG SIGH] I, hum… [SIGH] End recording…! [CLEARS THROAT] [SHUFFLING] MARTIN: Mm? All done? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Yes. [EXHALE] MARTIN: Good. [CLICK.]

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: [LONG EXHALE] … Okay… [INHALE] End recording. [CLICK.]

No “Statement ends” anymore, but still “End recording” (previously usually said after the follow-up/Jon’s personal feelings of the day). Jon admitted that what he was doing was pouring out into the tape, but it really shows that he’s not exactly feeding The Eye a statement anymore, but doing something else, tied to the tape recorders and them only, uh…

- No cookie for guessing it was a Corruption-dominated statement, the title gave it away – with the double-meaning being that the “sickness” was also the villagers’ state of mind, their obsession with finding culprits who could only be “others” (other fungi, visitors or people identified as newcomers, thus the xenophobia), and punishing them for it… while the problem seemed to be in the land itself:

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: “The grass is not the green of nature, the buildings are warped by more than age, and the voices that come from behind the inhabitants’ masks… are hoarse, and wet. […] There was never a time before the disease, no matter what the old bastards tell you. It has always been in the village, always festered in the dark corners where nobody could stomach to check, where good neighbours wouldn’t dream to speculate. […] The villagers stand on the green to watch, ignoring the bending of the grass as it tries to worm its way through their boots. […] In a moment she is swollen, bloated, bursting into a cloud of violet spores that envelop the green and those who dwell there, embracing them in a rot, that long since seeped into the soil of this blighted land.”

(I hadn’t caught on first listen that amongst the individualism, there was still a sense of community prevailing over that of “belonging (or not)” to the village. It was the type of fungus: “A few are spared brutality, and treated with such cordial politeness you must have thought their inquisitors old friends. Though there seems on the surface no rhyme to such decisions, were you to look beneath the coats, you might see the patterns of their mould were matched.” It reminds me of Wolves supporting each other during daylight in a game of Werewolf/Mafia!)

Strong Beholding vibes for me in that one, too, with the paranoia, the fear of being seen and your secrets being uncovered, the obsession with watching the sacrifices/designated victims, and the maypole ~watching~ over them (“They cannot allow such secret terrors to break their unity. And the maypole watches over all.”). Makes sense given that The Eye is supposed to drink it all in, but people seem unaware of it since they’ve been trapped in these nightmares pockets – I wonder if this is actually how Beholding is making itself felt, through other means integrated to the nature of the nightmares? The drones in the war, the scrutiny and the maypole in the sick/xenophobic village…

(- ;; I’m a bit worried that I won’t really manage to be into this season… because it’s been twice in a row that the multi-POV statements haven’t given me much emotion, and instead the impression that the characters inside are more playing a pantomime that being actual real characters with feelings…? It worked a bit better in this one since there was obviously pity spurting for Mrs Kim, and the whole idea that even though everyone is more or less in the same situation, the most vulnerable will be targeted… but also, the Actual Horror was not the fungus or An Eldritch Entity Going After You For No Reason, but people themselves. People doing terrible things to each other. And I’m a bit worried that we’re heading towards the idea that Humans Are Bad And The Problem/Virus, while I loved the series for precisely how it managed to still make positive human traits shine, how we were still witnessing sacrifices and acts of love from random on-off characters of the day in the middle of the storm…? That disconnected me enough that I wasn’t really able to truly feel the second-part of the episode either, since so far, the updates we’re getting for people who are out-of-the-box are all main characters, and it just strengthens my vague sense of unease that in this new universe, Only They Matter And Are Not Casual Assholes… I miss regular (positive) humanity a bit ;;)

- Not surprised at all that Martin would be extremely tense about this place in particular:

(MAG164) [CLICK–] [VILLAGE SOUNDS IN THE DISTANCE, A FLY STILL HUMMING] ARCHIVIST: We’re fine. MARTIN: A–are we? I mean, that place is– … I don’t, I don’t feel fine, okay, and you were there a long time doing your… y–you–your guidebook, which, you know, I get it, but that place is… I–it’s–it’s infectious, and, I don’t– ARCHIVIST: We’re not infected, Martin, that place, it– … It isn’t for us.

… since Jane Prentiss happened (and he had been shown having an awful time reading MAG084’s statement). … Technically, whoever sent Adelard’s last letter to Jon in MAG157 did Martin a favour, he didn’t have to read about gross Corruption stuff!

- Good practical use of Jon’s powers!

(MAG164) MARTIN: A–alright, but… but how do you know that– ARCHIVIST: I just do. I just know it. [SILENCE] [SHUFFLING] MARTIN: You’ve been knowing a lot lately. ARCHIVIST: … Yes. MARTIN: A lot more than you used to. ARCHIVIST: Y… [SIGH] Yeah. And it, it feels more… deliberate. L–like I have more control now. MARTIN: Okay. So… how much can you see? What else do you know? ARCHIVIST: Uh… Maybe everything…! MARTIN: What’d you mean, “everything”? ARCHIVIST: I don’t… Ask me a question.

I’m thinking again about the “reading” of TMA as a five-stages-of-grief-story, and the fact that we went from Jon enduring his powers last seasons (him “knowing” things he didn’t want to) to showing a form of control of it in what would be the “acceptance” chapter… is quite interesting. Is it because this world is above all ruled by The Eye? Is it because he has emerged from the chrysalis? When Jon had tried to “know” about Peter’s plans in MAG139, it had backfired badly, but now it’s manageable. (I also like how we’re getting a few limitations: it’s making him “self-conscious”, which could be enough to explain that they won’t use it for inconsequential questions unless Jon is feeling like it, what is happening inside the Panopticon is out of his reach, and the matter of the Fears is a hard subject, a bit overwhelming, so they’ve already got hints and pieces to explore but don’t have an idea to work on yet.)

- I’M SO DELIGHTED THAT SERIAL LIAR!MARTIN IS BACK………… OVER THE STUPIDEST THINGS…

* Finally an answer about “Martin K. Blackwood”, and the answer is that it’s whatever-Martin-felt-like because he was trying to be cool, and that it didn’t sound like a real name.

* Martin “I’ve been lying to my three bosses – what? Like it’s hard?” Blackwood:

(MAG120) ELIAS: I must admit I’m impressed, Martin. I knew you were all planning something, of course, but I didn’t believe you specifically would have the… er, capacity for boldness that you displayed. It took me quite by surprise. MARTIN: You didn’t just see it in me? ELIAS: Honestly, I didn’t look. For all my power, I will admit I am not immune to making the occasional lazy assumption. I presumed that I knew you thoroughly, but by the time you demonstrated otherwise… well. There was simply too much to keep watching over. I only have two eyes, after all.

(MAG158) PETER: But you said– MARTIN: Honestly… I mostly just said what I thought you wanted to hear. […] Elias– … Jonah had nothing to do with it. PETER: No! That’s not– You can’t– ELIAS: You’ve lost, Peter. Admit it. [CHUCKLE] He played you like a… like a cheap whistle. PETER: No! Shut up!

(MAG056) MARTIN: W… yes. You– you seem to be taking this kind… of person– ARCHIVIST: Because you keep lying to me, Martin! MARTIN: About what?! ARCHIVIST: I don’t know! But you are! […] Your handwriting, “If the others find out I’ve been lying”. Lying about what, Martin?! MARTIN: L– look, just forget about it, okay? Please. […] I… I lied on my CV. ARCHIVIST: … What? MARTIN: I don’t have a Master’s in parapsychology, I don’t even have a degree. […] So I… I just kinda started to lie on my applications, sending them out to just about anywhere. For some reason, my lie about parapsychology got me an interview with Elias and, and then a job here. M–most of my employment details are made up, I’m only 29!

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: I don’t… Ask me a question. O–one I can’t… possibly know already. MARTIN: O–kay. … What’s my middle name? [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: Hm! Y–… You don’t have one. [STATIC FADES] MARTIN: Whoa…. ARCHIVIST: You… I actually believed you! MARTIN: Oh, so–sorry, sorry, I just, I just wanted to try it out– ARCHIVIST: “That’s ridiculous,” I thought, “that’s not a real name, but he wouldn’t lie to me…!”

* I want to know when Martin lied to Jon about it, but all options are excellent. Pre or during season 1, before Jon learned about the fact that Martin had lied on his CV and should have understood that it wasn’t all of it? During season 2 or season 3, with the awkward flirting, when Jon should have known better? Cuddling in front of the fire during the three weeks honeymoon, and Martin casually blurting out another lie?

* Jon being offended that Martin would lie to him is hilarious considering HEY, IT’S MARTIN, but also mmmmmmmmmmm about the fact that Jon also told The Distortion that it couldn’t lie to him regarding the nature of being or not being Helen (The Spiral dealing in deceits) and that Jon&Martin discussed about The Web trying to contact Martin, and being unable to find Annabelle (The Web dealing in dissimulation and manipulation)… Is it because Jon needs to consciously search for a lie in order to pinpoint whether something is one? Or is the fact that Martin was somehow able to hide a truth from him going to be relevant in some way…?

- I do appreciate that Jon&Martin have been able to set up boundaries / are comfortable with expressing them, or navigating around them, or checking on the other! Last time, Martin tapped out; this time, Martin checked on him and Jon was able to say that it was beginning to get too much:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Is this… A–are you okay? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] MARTIN: How are you feeling? ARCHIVIST: I, hum, I am okay. [STATIC DECREASES] It is a little… strange? But i–it doesn’t hurt. Keep going, you have… questions, let’s hear them. […] [INHALE] Anything else? I’ll, I’ll be honest, I’m starting to feel a bit… self-conscious, being a post-apocalyptic Google? MARTIN: Okay, okay, just one more, but… it’s a big one. ARCHIVIST: [SMALL] Okay. […] MARTIN: J–J–Jon, what’s wrong? ARCHIVIST: Uh, it’s, uh… I’m sorry, trying to know things about them directly, i–i–it’s like… [STATIC DECREASES] [EXHALE] God, it’s like looking into the Sun…! MARTIN: Okay, okay – okay, alright, that’s alright. ARCHIVIST: [EXHALE] MARTIN: We can leave it. ARCHIVIST: … Good. [STATIC FADES] Ow… MARTIN: Hey. [REASSURING CHUCKLE] Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. We’ll go slow for a while. ARCHIVIST: [LOW] Alright… MARTIN: [LOW] Yeah… Yeah, there’s no rush. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH]

(… Last sentences not to be taken out of context.)

- ALRIGHT, I’m glad (and sad! But glad) to get an update on Basira and Daisy:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Is Basira alive? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] MARTIN: Is she… in… o–one of these places? [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: She’s alive. Out there, not… trapped in a–a hellscape, but… moving. [STATIC DECREASES] Hunting. She’s… she’s looking for Daisy. She’s a few steps behind. MARTIN: And Daisy? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: Bestial. Brutal. [STATIC DECREASES] [INHALE] Carving her way through the domains of other Powers, following the scent of blood. … Oh, Daisy, I’m sorry… MARTIN: What’s Basira going to do? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: She… thinks she’s going to kill Daisy. Like she promised. [STATIC DECREASES] But she’s conflicted. MARTIN: And will she? ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know, th–the future, th–that’s… that’s not something I can see.

* Very glad to hear Jon expressing sadness/pity over Daisy’s current state, since she had stayed in the Archives to allow Jon to reach Martin, leading to her giving to The Hunt again…

(MAG158) DAISY: They’ll follow us. BASIRA: … Goddamnit. Jon, go; we’ll keep them busy. ARCHIVIST: What…? No! I– BASIRA: Don’t argue, just go. NOT!SASHA: [IN THE DISTANCE] Jooo–oooon~? ARCHIVIST: … Fine. Just don’t die. DAISY: Go.

… and the few words about Daisy in MAG160 weren’t suuuuuper great, a bit callous even, for someone who had pushed Jon upwards for more than half a season, who had held up to her wish of being “better” once outside the coffin, who had been firm about the fact that feeding a patron to survive wasn’t worth it if it meant hurting innocents, and who ultimately surrendered to it right after doing Jon a favour. So. Really really glad that we’re getting a bit of emotions from Jon in that regard >w< + It’s the “I’m sorry” relationship of the series, uh.

(MAG132) ARCHIVIST: And if we get out… DAISY: But we can’t “get out”. ARCHIVIST: [CRIES OF PAIN] DAISY: [CRIES OF PAIN] I’m, I’m sorry… I’m sorry Jon… I’m sorry…

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: Carving her way through the domains of other Powers, following the scent of blood. … Oh, Daisy, I’m sorry…

* … Aouch for the fact that Basira is indeed respecting her promise…

(MAG158) DAISY: [PANTING] Basira… promise me something. BASIRA: What? … No, Daisy, no. DAISY: [PANTING] Mm, Basira… When this is over, you need to find me… and kill me. Promise me. BASIRA: No. No, Daisy, we’ll figure something out! NOT!SASHA: [IN THE DISTANCE] You can’t hide forever, Jon. DAISY: [PANTING] These last months, I… it was always borrowed time. Can’t outrun it forever. BASIRA: Daisy… DAISY: [PANTING] Promise me. BASIRA: … I promise. DAISY: Thanks. [BREATHLESS] Now, run…! BASIRA: Daisy…! DAISY: [GROWLING] Run!

… but that it means that Basira is now “hunting”, which… incidentally might be something Daisy would feel even worse about, if she gets lucid enough to comprehend it. It’s not absolutely certain that Jon’s use of the word “hunting” was in the sense of The Hunt, but the pursuit of a task has been Basira’s whole thing during season 4: searching for leads and being sent here and there by Elias, then focusing her attention on Annabelle Cane and trying to track her down, and now looking for Daisy. It sounds all very pointed, though, and there would be something absolutely tragic and Hunt-y in the idea that Daisy, who had been resisting The Hunt, would involuntarily pull her partner down the same path due to the promise made to kill her…

What prevented Basira from being caught by one of the nightmares, though? Is it her connection to the Institute – we don’t know as of now if the binding is still relevant? Is it because of Basira’s personal predispositions for keeping a single-track mind, as she had displayed during The Unknowing (allowing her to leave the building in time)? Is it because she’s being taken by The Hunt herself, pursuing another Hunter? (I’m surprised that Jon said she hadn’t been “trapped by a hellscape”… because being doomed to pursue Daisy in order to kill her, without knowing for sure that she’ll manage to do it, sounds like something that would be Basira’s personal hell.)

- Regarding Georgie & Melanie:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Uh, oh, okay. Hum… How are the others? ARCHIVIST: I, uh… [STATIC INCREASES] Hm! I’m… I’m not… sure, I–I can’t really see Melanie o–or–or Georgie. MARTIN: They’re dead…? ARCHIVIST: No… No, I–I don’t think so; if they were dead, I– I think I would know that, I just… I–I don’t know… where they are, w–what they’re doing. [STATIC DECREASES] MARTIN: Hm! ARCHIVIST: L–London, maybe?

Are they somewhere in particular (the tunnels, if they still exist?), or is it that their current states simply prevent Jon from knowing too much about them? Georgie had already had her fears cauterised, and it might have been the case with Melanie too:

(MAG157) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] … No, you’re right, I’m sorry. A–are you alright? MELANIE: Yes! I’m, hum… actually doing okay…! ARCHIVIST: That’s good. MELANIE: [SOFT CHUCKLES] My therapist isn’t happy about it, you know? Uh, unsurprisingly. Tried to have me put away, but they, uh… they let me come here. It’s, it’s been good for me, though! I… I feel alright. I’m, hum… I’m not scared anymore.

Plus, Melanie cut her connection to The Eye and I doubt that wouldn’t give her an advantage in some way when the apocalypse happened right after that.

… But Jon, what about the first love of your life, what about THE ADMIRAL, is HE doing okay. (And would it be possible to know about the others through him? Elias may have done that trick, so.)

- Jon didn’t mention that Georgie&Melanie couldn’t die, so mmm, I’m not sure about the possibility of death with the new rules? Especially since, while it seemed to be par for the course in last week’s statement, respawning wasn’t mentioned during this one: are you still able to truly die with the new world rules? Or is it only possible if you’re “outside” of a nightmare?

- reidfjkred so much for Jon spitting that Martin should call Elias “Jonah” in MAG161, it was absolutely Jon being a brat and complaining for the sake of complaining, uh? Since he’s been sticking to “Elias” since then, and it’s not an issue anymore.

(MAG164) MARTIN: What about Elias? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: He’s inside the Panopticon; the tower, far above the world. MARTIN: That one? ARCHIVIST: Yes. [PAUSE] MARTIN: How is he? ARCHIVIST: Hard to say. The, the way this works, this… “new sight”, the knowledge is, is… [SIGH] It’s somehow wrapped up in the Panopticon? An eye can’t… see inside itself. MARTIN: Mm. ARCHIVIST: But I can feel him in there. MARTIN: Hm. That sounds… gross. ARCHIVIST: It is! [CHUCKLES]

(mARTIN ASKED ABOUT ELIAS! So much for trying not to think about him, uh.)

… Yeah, everything about Elias would be “gross” anyway. I’m still suspecting that Elias and/or Jonah’s body has merged with the Panopticon and is the Panopticon by now… Would make sense that “all-seeing as long as his body remained there” made him turn into being the all-seeing building at this point, with the new dream-logic rules?

- With the new statement form (“There is a…”), the concept of the journey through different nightmares, there is the reoccurring descriptions of the Fears as spaces:

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: Geography doesn’t work anymore. Space… doesn’t work. MARTIN: … Alright. So what does that mean? ARCHIVIST: It means the journey will be the journey, regardless of how we choose to make it. […] The Panopticon and the Institute. Merged into something entirely new. MARTIN: Wha–, what? No, th–there’s, there’s no way we could see it from here. We, we must still be a hundred miles from the border, never mind London! ARCHIVIST: You could see that tower from anywhere on Earth. And it can see you. And if you walk towards it, eventually you’ll get there. But you have to go through everything in-between. […] MARTIN: What do you mean, “everything”? What’s out here? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] [FAINT CREAKING] ARCHIVIST: [HUFF] [BAGPIPES IN THE DISTANCE] ARCHIVIST: Nightmares. [BANG IN THE DISTANCE] Come on – that trench is our first.

(MAG164) MARTIN: A–are we? I mean, that place is– … I don’t, I don’t feel fine, okay, and you were there a long time doing your… y–you–your guidebook, which, you know, I get it, but that place is… I–it’s–it’s infectious, and, I don’t– ARCHIVIST: We’re not infected, Martin, that place, it– … It isn’t for us. […] MARTIN: O–kay. Good to know. How much further do we still need to go? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: A long way. Through many dark and awful places… […] MARTIN: Are we safe, traveling like this? ARCHIVIST: Yes… Yes, sort of, we’re… I don’t know how to phrase it, we’re… something between a pilgrim and a moth. We can walk through these little worlds of terror, watching them; separate, and untouched. MARTIN: [NERVOUS CHUCKLING] That’s not as comforting as you might think. ARCHIVIST: I like it better than the alternative…!

Once again, it does give out some credits to Smirke for identifying the Fears as “places” – or at least, explains why he was perceiving them that way?

Really curious about whether Jon and Martin have a place “for” them. The concept reminds me a bit of the Coffin, and how it was described in Jon’s dreams (MAG120, Elias: “He knows the writing on the coffin has changed, though is still carved deep into the splintered wood: [STATIC INTENSIFIES:] “I am for you.” He knows it is not addressed to him, but he reaches down and pulls the chains off all the same.”). Strong symbolic places we’ll need to explore again are, of course, the Institute/Panopticon (Jon’s?) and Hill Top Road… and it’s interesting to keep in mind that Martin still has never set foot in the latter – he wasn’t with the group when they went to search for Annabelle Cane in MAG147. Could Hill Top Road be the place for Martin…?

(Or, it will be a Lonely one, and that one will not be pretty anyway. Could they visit what used to be Moorland House? It’s South from London, but then, geography doesn’t work anymore…)

- I wasn’t expecting an answer so fast about The Phone!!!

(MAG164) MARTIN: Okay, okay, uh, what else, what else, hum… Oh! Hum, uh, who was, uh–uh, phone – hum, wh–who was calling me? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: … I think it was Annabelle Cane. MARTIN: Hm. ARCHIVIST: That’s… weird, I, I know The Web was wrapped around that phone, but, but I can’t… see her. A–at all. At least with Georgie and Melanie, I have a vague sense they’re still alive, i–in London, and, or– Well, what was London. [STATIC DECREASES] But Annabelle…? Nothing. [STATIC FADES] Hm. MARTIN: W–well, I’ll… I’ll ask her, next time she calls. ARCHIVIST: Well, I know that’s a bad idea…! MARTIN: What, do you? ARCHIVIST: … Okay, no, that one was a… very reasonable guess. MARTIN: Ha!

* somethingsomething tape recorders as Web (since Martin was asking the tape recorder about what it was, and the phone began ringing right after)

* somethingsomething Web!Martin / Alright: there is still a big question as to why, then, The Web tried to contact Martin… and not Jon. Was it trying to trap Martin, is he required specifically for something or as a way to pressure Jon? Was it a strategic choice, because Jon would have been immediately triggered while Martin might be able to hear/understand something Jon would have refused on the behalf of it being Web? Or is something preventing The Web from directly contacting Jon? (I’ve been toying with the idea since the beginning of the season that it might not be The Web making Jon forget about The Web’s lighter, but The Eye in the same way that it was preventing him from listening to Eric’s tape, and I’m not confident about it at all… but it’s still a possibility that Beholding is protecting his agent from The Web in some way.)

* EXTREMELY interesting that Jon had been able to tell that it was Web… but is not so confident about it being “Annabelle”, although he assumes it was. The Web/Annabelle confusion has popped up a few times already:

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: … Were you controlled? HELEN: What a delightful thought! … I don’t believe so, no. But the Spider’s strings are subtle, so I suppose it’s not impossible. Why? ARCHIVIST: I–I want to know; can The Web control another avatar, one that serves a different power? HELEN: [HELEN LAUGHS AND LAUGHS, ECHOING] ARCHIVIST: Make them do things they don’t want to, make them… [BREATHING FASTER] find victims, feed? […] BASIRA: … So you say you’re being controlled. ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know. Maybe? Th–The Web, it– BASIRA: What, what was the name you said before? Annabelle Cane? ARCHIVIST: … Yes, uh, she’s… she’s been watching us, I–I’m pretty sure of it… DAISY: Jon… I’m not sure there’s actually the– BASIRA: No. No, if he is being controlled, we need to know. And we need to know now. Do you know where she is? ARCHIVIST: H… Not… not properly, I, I think she has some connection to Hill Top Road.

(MAG148) BASIRA: Or that we were being stalked by some freaky spider woman. Don’t tell me you didn’t know about that! ELIAS: Ah, uh, y–yes… W–well… To be honest, I’d… advise you to leave that one – well alone. BASIRA: Oh yeah? ELIAS: Uh! Look, look, look. I’ve… been doing this a long time now and, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about The Web, it’s that it plays its own game. All you can really do is… hope it doesn’t get in the way of whatever your plan is. Because the Spider usually wins…! […] ARCHIVIST: Did he say anything about Annabelle? BASIRA: Not really. Sounds like he’s not too worried, though. Says to just ignore it. ARCHIVIST: [SNORTING] Yeah, good luck with that! BASIRA: Any luck finding her? ARCHIVIST: I haven’t really been trying. Doing that sort of thing consciously, it… makes me hungry.

We’ve never met Annabelle, the last time someone reported that a friend had seen her in a statement was chronologically before the series began, The Web had been involved with Gertrude (and Jon-as-a-child) long before her transformation as an avatar, Hill Top Road was Fielding’s domain and not hers, all-seeing Elias has never referred to her directly, Basira never managed to find her, Jon can’t find her… so was it truly Annabelle who tried to call Martin? Is it that “Annabelle” is actually more spiders than person at this point, thus mentioning her as “The Web” rather than “Annabelle”? Or has Annabelle been dealt with and MAG147’s statement was just a hoax? Have we been overlooking another potential Web agent?

* If Annabelle is still alive and kicking, how come Jon can’t find her? Is she in the Panopticon? In the tunnels underneath (if they still exist), since Jon had a hard time seeing? In the basement at Hill Top Road, that Daisy hadn’t been able to find when they went there? On the other side of the crack in reality at Hill Top Road, not existing in “this” world? On the back of Jon’s head?

- … I’m worried because it seems possible to deal with the Fears – and that’s optimistic, so where is the trick.

(MAG164) MARTIN: Okay, okay, just one more, but… it’s a big one. ARCHIVIST: [SMALL] Okay. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Can we turn the world back? [STATIC RISES, STRONG] ARCHIVIST: Wow! Hum… I–if the Fears are removed, yes; but they–they can’t be destroyed while there are still… people to fear them; th–then they can’t be banished back to the space where they came from, it’s not… there anymore, I… Oh! Uh… MARTIN: J–J–Jon, what’s wrong? ARCHIVIST: Uh, it’s, uh… I’m sorry, trying to know things about them directly, i–i–it’s like… [STATIC DECREASES] [EXHALE] God, it’s like looking into the Sun…!

(LOL JON, you’ve already looked into the (Dark) Sun once! … Though okay, he thought he was going to die (and had already died once at this point.), when he did.)

We already have a few limitations/problems with the solution: Fears are rooted in people fearing them, and the space close to reality where they used to dwell isn’t a thing anymore. Which means they would need for people to stop fearing them, OR to wipe out people (which… could tie in with an Extinction emergence and Simon’s description of the Vast Universe in MAG151, with cataclysms and apocalypses happening all the time, and humans being a grain of salt in the whole universe), but that’s not exactly ideal nor acceptable as a conscious decision (even if mercy-killing, that’s still genocide). Same thing, if they need to banish the Fears to another place… there is the crack at Hill Top Road, and the possible “other” reality, but that only puts me to mind that… this might be how the Fears have operated since the beginning of time? Being let into a world and festering, then sneaking into another like they had been doing in the TMA-verse in the first four seasons, before being allowed in by another Jonah, until they contaminate another one, etc.?

(… It says something that my most “optimistic” guess regarding casting the Fears somewhere would be into Jon, since he’s a “record of fears” and an “archive” himself…)

- ! Tiny thing, but regarding Helen:

(MAG158) MARTIN: Oh, actually! What about Helen, where’s she these days? [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: Uh, she’s… [SNORT] Right. Naturally. [STATIC FADES] MARTIN: What? What’s she doing? ARCHIVIST: Martin, turn around. [SHUFFLING] MARTIN: Oh, you’re kidding! ARCHIVIST: Wish I was…! MARTIN: [SIGH] Shall we, hum… ARCHIVIST: Do you want to do the honours? MARTIN: Not really. [KNOCK–KNOCK–KNOCK] Maybe no one’s home…? [THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN] [DISTORTION SOUNDS, BRINGING CONSTANT STATIC] HELEN: Hello, Jon! […] ARCHIVIST: Oh. Yes, sorry, uh… The Distortion can always find anyone who has… crossed its threshold. HELEN: And that includes you, Martin! Remember?

If there is something I love in TMA, it’s the tendency to introduce OR remind people of a small thing to give it more significance later. Regarding the fact that Martin had crossed Helen’s corridors (MAG079/MAG080), it had been mentioned in MAG082, MAG118, and reminded in MAG158 with Peter Lukas:

(MAG158) PETER: Is everything alright, Martin? MARTIN: Nah, it’s fine. … Don’t particularly like it down here. PETER: Ah, yes. Of course. Hard to trust the doors, I imagine. MARTIN: [BREATHLESS CHUCKLE] Yeah, well, everyone else seems to these days, so…! PETER: But she’s still the same corridors, I suppose. [INHALE] I’m sure– … what was his name? … Tim! Tim would– MARTIN: I’d really– … rather not talk about it, Peter.

So! I love that the tiny reminder also served to introduce/explain the idea that Helen can track people that way, which indeed explains how Michael and Helen had been able to find Jon in MAG101 and MAG143. Since Basira took the corridors in MAG143 too, it means that might come in handy at some point to find her and to get her back?

- First time Martin and “Helen” were interacting… and also, sad because Martin had seen Helen Richardson and had felt guilty that Tim&he hadn’t tried to save her:

(MAG080) TIM: Because this is us now. Worms. Monsters. Corridors. They’ll keep happening until one of them kills us and we’ve just got to deal with it. [SIGH] … Any sign of the woman…? MARTIN: I don’t think so. [PAUSE] We should have helped her. TIM: No. MARTIN: But we could have tried! TIM: How? MARTIN: … TIM: Look. There’s no point talking about it. It happened. I hope it doesn’t happen again. Statement fucking ends.

- Alright, we’ve already got an answer as to whether or not “monsters” do enjoy the new world:

(MAG164) HELEN: What would I have to gloat about? Much as I am delighted by this brave new world in which we find ourselves, I can take no credit for it. This was all… you! […] Look at this place, look at this… [DEEP INHALE] wonderland! This is the world now, and we are strong and free! There’s really no reason for us not to hang out. […] This is nice! I am really glad we get to spend some proper, quality time together now. MARTIN: … Yyyeah. HELEN: Anyway. Sorry to love you and leave you, but I must dash. It’s a very busy time for me, lots of things to do, people to… well. You know!

… The answer is “yup, very much, thank you”. Though The Distortion’s case is a bit specific, as Martin discussed with Simon:

(MAG151) MARTIN: … What about the monsters? SIMON: What monsters? MARTIN: Things like Mi– Hum, th– er, the Distortion. I thought they were part of the Entities themselves, ext– extensions. Surely, they know what’s going on? SIMON: Honestly, I think they have it a lot worse than we do. Imagine being a hand that can conceive of itself, having impulses shot through you, being moved and clenched by some unseen mind – but never knowing the reasoning behind your own actions, or even if you’re just some thoughtless reflex. Eww! Sounds horrid.

=> The Not!Them might be delighted too, but I’m not sure about avatars themselves?

- Distortion/Helen debate still raging, Jon stuck to “it’s mostly The Distortion”, not sure we’re meant to believe it when it seems to be mostly messing with Jon about that:

(MAG164) HELEN: And please: my name is “Helen”. ARCHIVIST: Like you said, I can know everything now. Including how much of a lie that really is. HELEN: Don’t mistake “complication” for “falsehood”, dear Archivist. ARCHIVIST: [AGGRAVATED EXHALE] HELEN: And remember, that knowledge is not the same thing as understanding.

(Helen reminded me of I.M.O.G.E.N., obviously, given the absolute unrestrained delight! Absolutely leaning into the Distortion mantle as an entity of delusion/deceit/fucking with your head, mm?)

- … Surprised that Helen knew about Georgie&Melanie’s refusal to help at the end of MAG157:

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: You could’ve–! … You knew what was happening. HELEN: I suspected. But all I really did was refuse to help! And that is hardly a unique quality. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] HELEN: If that makes it my fault, then surely, this is Georgie’s fault as well, and Melanie’s! ARCHIVIST: Leave them out of this, they didn’t know…! HELEN: There it is again! Knowledge! It’s so very important to you, isn’t it? These fossilised nuggets of pretend comprehension, weighing you down, stopping you thinking or feeling! What about… hypotheticals? If they had known, what would they have done? Is that something you can see?

How is it able to know about this? Was the door there, without Jon noticing (since he then went to knock on it in another scene, presumably in the tunnels)? Is it able to know just because it’s a sore spot and The Distortion can use whatever is on your mind as long as it can mess you up with it? (It’s also easy arguments to deflate: Helen kept quiet because she was having fun seeing Jon run in circles, and because Jonah winning meant winning too, and fucking everyone else over. She/It could clearly benefit from the chaos. Georgie&Melanie refused to intervene for self-protection, and because Melanie had already expressed doubts over the fact that the Archives team was “helping” in any way when doing anything; they had nothing to personally gain out of Jonah winning.)

(- Still a bit immune to the “Jon is feeling guiiiiiltyyyy” card because. Yep, not his fault!

… but on the other hand, the One Thing He Should Feel Terribly Guilty About (hiding that he was attacking people in season 4 and not trying to prevent more victims) was swept under the rug due to the new circumstances, and is likely to not be relevant again since it proportionally doesn’t matter much while they’re facing the apocalypse. So. Am not really managing to feel sad over him being unfairly accused for the apocalypse, since I’m still hung up on my unresolved grievances about things he absolutely is guilty of and did shit to try to repair or apologise for :w)

- Big “MARTIN!” but at the same time, Jon kept doing it for me:

(MAG164) HELEN: I always knew you crazy kids would make it work! MARTIN: … Thanks. ARCHIVIST: Martin. Look, I’ve no interest in your… gloating. HELEN: What would I have to gloat about? […] Goodness, he is in a mood. Has he been like this the whole time? MARTIN: Not the whole time. HELEN: Thank goodness! ARCHIVIST: Martin… MARTIN: In fairness, he’s had a lot on. HELEN: Oh, I’m sure, hm. ARCHIVIST: Martin, please. MARTIN: Sorry, it’s just… maybe she can help. ARCHIVIST: With what? MARTIN: With our… with our, with our quest! ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] MARTIN: We’ve been walking a while, and well, her… door’s– Maybe we could, you know… Shortcut. ARCHIVIST: No. … No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. […] MARTIN: Maybe she’s right…! ARCHIVIST: I am not, nor have I ever been “adorable”. MARTIN: [CHUCKLE] Okay, not true. But I actually meant the whole… being friends thing? I mean, I don’t see why– ARCHIVIST: Martin, she’s… a cruel… vicious monster! MARTIN: Yes. Yes, she is. But who else is there? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH]

… Given how Martin’s “I believe you” to Peter was also feeding him whatever he wanted to hear and planning to backstab him at the last moment, I think that it might still be the M.O. of good ol’Martin K. Blackwood, Liar Amongst Liars? Compromising himself, working closely with someone he has to take down, using whatever they can give him, and planning for them to underestimate him. It worked with Elias, it worked with Peter, so…

He’s kind of right that they’re in lack of allies, too, and indeed, Jon wouldn’t be ready to compromise (even less with Helen, since discussing with her in season 4 about their conditions still resulted in Helen following its own agenda at the end of it, and specifically refusing to help him when he was dead worried about Martin). Martin… is more callous and has been shown to be more strategic and calculative (MAG129: “You’re working for someone… really bad!” “Yes, I’m not an idiot, Jon, but it’s no… worse than working for something really bad, so…”), so it makes sense they would have vastly different stances about it…

“Who else is there?” is inviting for someone else to intervene soon – The Web calling them again? Georgie&Melanie are still in “London” at the moment, so they’re not on their way to meet up with Jon&Martin. Amongst the reoccurring characters who might not have wanted the apocalypse, we’re only unsure of Salesa’s status (officially dead, but no body seen), I indeed don’t see who might offer their help at the moment…

- …Uhoh, that’s some death flag over The Distortion:

(MAG164) HELEN: I would happily take him. But I don’t think he’d want to leave you. MARTIN: Okay, o–one, don’t talk about me like I’m not here, it’s… rude. Two, I know you can take two people at once. Me and Tim were both inside the corridors when it… ARCHIVIST: Martin, it’s not that s–… simple. HELEN: I’m afraid the Archivist is too powerful now. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] HELEN: If he tried to travel through my corridors, it would not go well, for any of us. ARCHIVIST: But mainly for you. HELEN: Ouuh! [CHUCKLE] Is that a threat? ARCHIVIST: No. HELEN: Mm! Pity.

It makes sense that Jon, Beholding avatar, at his most powerful, would cause problems inside of The Distortion (knowing the lies and illusions). So I’m guessing that it will happen at some point, leading to its annihilation?

… Now I’m wondering if this is, too, why Annabelle kicked out Jon&co from Hill Top Road: because Jon coming close to the crack in the basement, if he were to find it… could lead to something terrible, too.

- … That’s a lot of alarm flags also about Martin&Jon being together, the idea that Jon is protecting him, there is the fact that they got shortly separated last episode, and now Helen insisted pretty heavily on the notion of them-as-a-united-couple and we had a direct reference to the possibility that each could go their separate ways (although they refused that option):

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “How is Martin, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? [RUMBLE OF THUNDER] He’s earned that.”

(MAG161) MARTIN: … Are we still safe? ARCHIVIST: Y–yes, it… it doesn’t want to harm me. MARTIN: And me? ARCHIVIST: I won’t let it. [CREAKING SOUND] MARTIN: Hum… thanks.

(MAG163) [LOUD BAGPIPES] [EXPLOSIONS] [LOUD GUNSHOT RAFFLES] MARTIN: [SHOUTING] SHIT, SHIT– ARCHIVIST: Martin! MARTIN: SHIT-SHIT-SHIT-SHIT– ARCHIVIST: Stay with me, don’t let go! MARTIN: Oh! [LOUD BANG] ARCHIVIST: Come on! MARTIN: Shit, shit, shit…! ARCHIVIST: It’s okay! […] [DISTANT] Try to keep up! MARTIN: Yeah, yeah… […] ARCHIVIST: Martin, you need to keep up. It’s not safe. … Martin? You okay?

(MAG164) HELEN: To say hello! And check up on the happy couple~ [LAUGHS AND LAUGHS, ECHOING] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] HELEN: I always knew you crazy kids would make it work! […] MARTIN: We’ve been walking a while, and well, her… door’s– Maybe we could, you know… Shortcut. ARCHIVIST: No. … No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. HELEN: I would happily take him. But I don’t think he’d want to leave you. […] I’m afraid the Archivist is too powerful now. If he tried to travel through my corridors, it would not go well, for any of us. […] MARTIN: So, no shortcuts, then. [SIGH] Understood. I’m not leaving you on your own. […] What? HELEN: Just… taking a moment to look. You two are just such an adorable couple!

… They’re definitely getting separated accidentally at some point, uh? (And/or Martin taking the corridor by himself, and having to leave Jon behind, and/or Jon pushing him into it and choosing to stay behind.)

- terhsfinjr what does it say about Jon that Martin finds him “adorable” when we know what else he finds “cute”:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Maybe she’s right…! ARCHIVIST: I am not, nor have I ever been “adorable”. MARTIN: [CHUCKLE] Okay, not true.

(MAG022) MARTIN: I like spiders. Big ones, at least. Y’know, y’know the ones you can see some fur on; I actually think they’re sort of cute– ARCHIVIST: Please stick to the statement, Martin.

Jon “retro aesthetic” Sims being as adorable as a big grumpy spider, uh.

Title for MAG165 is less clear-cut than last times – there is ground for it to be Spiral, Hunt, orrrr Dark or Vast with astronomy in mind? (Vast could be interesting with the more “historical” meaning too, given Simon’s perception of his patron in MAG151.) I’m not expecting a Web phone to call Martin again, but then, I wasn’t expecting to learn more about it right after it happened, things are going fast, so it could happen…

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