I know I’m a bit late to the party, and this topic has already been discussed by others… but I wanted to add my own thoughts/opinions regarding Lesson 35.

Personally… I think Mammon is absolutely correct :

Oh, I beg to differ, Satan.

Maybe Lucifer won't be fully controlled by his own powers, but it's extremely possible that he's being heavily influenced by them.

I'll go a step further and say I firmly believe that, although Lucifer may be better equipped at controlling himself/hiding the fact that his sin is starting to take over compared to his brothers, he IS still being greatly affected by his pride.

I previously said that Lucifer genuinely seems so manipulative and borderline controlling now (moreso than ever).

I also said that I strangely like that side of him not just in a kinky way either lol. I just truly mean that, generally speaking.

Why?

Because doesn’t it fit Lucifer perfectly?

I mean, think about it :

A prideful demon such as Lucifer couldn’t possibly be wrong. His viewpoint is the only thing that should make sense. His opinions matter, his advice and decisions should be accepted with the utmost gratitude. Because Lucifer knows best.

He’s right.

Call me crazy, but I feel like all of that plays in so well with the power struggle going on between Lucifer and MC right now.

(In reality, I would be butting heads way more with Lucifer. Simply because I am a pretty stubborn person, and I would challenge his idea that he knows me better than I know myself..... Yes, I still haven't let that go lol)

But I’m most excited for what may happen next…. because I wonder if Mephisto’s arrival will end up fueling Lucifer’s sin.

We all know how much Mephisto dislikes Lucifer.

And it’s bad enough that Mephisto is going to successfully interrupt a private trip between Lucifer and MC… but if Mephisto starts questioning and/or contradicting Lucifer, inserting himself in their conversations, acting like he knows more than Lucifer… perhaps it will lead to Lucifer’s pride consuming him.

After all, who is Mephisto or anything else to question or challenge the Avatar of Pride?~

Plus if MC is directly involved, I’m positive that will only exacerbate matters.

Well… either way, MC will be involved because we have to save our favorite sadistic old man haha xD

Anyway!

I am seriously looking forward to the next Lesson.

Maybe I’m a bit of a sadist myself for saying this, but I kinda really want to see Lucifer struggle to control his sin to the point where he absolutely needs MC’s help.

At the very least, it would be a good reason for Lucifer to potentially give in/change his mind and finally make a pact with us.

Either way, I’m excited for what will come next (:

The Light of Knowledge

A warm comfort fanfic about Dead Poets Society introducing Diana Williams. Might not always be (chronologically) accurate, but has the intention to warm your heart and take you to a wonderful place. Will (hopefully) be updated, because I love wrtiting it. Feel free to give feedback and correct linguistical mistakes <3

Chapter one, in which the thoughts are free

Wer kann sie erraten,                      Who can guess them sie fliehen vorbei,                           they flee away, wie nächtliche Schatten.                 like nocturnal shadows. Kein Mensch kann sie wissen,       No man can know them, kein Jäger erschießen.                    no hunter can shoot them. Es bleibet dabei:                             It stays like it is: Die Gedanken sind frei.                 the thoughts are free

Ich denke, was ich will,                 I think what I want und was mich beglücket,               and what makes me happy, doch alles in der Still,                    but all in silence und wie es sich schicket.               and how it acquiesces. Mein Wunsch und Begehren         My wish and desire kann niemand verwehren,              nobody can deny, es bleibet dabei:                             it stays like it is: die Gedanken sind frei.                 The thoughts are free

(from a German folk song)

I stop and take a deep breath. The time-honoured school building looks stunning against the setting of trees, whose leaves are starting to turn colourful. I still can't believe I'm really here. My heartbeat accelerates with excitement as I let my gaze wander over the dark, weathered brick bulidings and the adjoining school grounds. A river runs through the valley and flows into a lake aside the houses. Welton Academy. I actually made it. A blast opens up the cloudy sky and the golden sun rays of late summer bathe the school building in their light. I close my eyes, hold my face against the warmth and then set out for the Academy, for a new life.

In front of the entrance door, an old man with grey hair is waiting for me. He introduces himself as Dr. Hager and shakes my hand. „You must be the recipient of the Eisenhower-Scholarship. Diana Williams, right?“ I nod. „Yes, Sir.“ „Well, in addition to my function as teacher of mathematics, I am residential supervisor for grades eleven and twelve, a cordial welcome to Welton Academy on my behalf. Please follow me to the director now.“ I tightly sqeeze my suitcase as I walk behind Dr. Hager. In the entrance hall, the walls are covered with pictures of former years and special awards of students. One day, my picture will be on these walls, too, I think and feel like I could scream with joy. But of course, I controll myself. Keep it upright, a slight smile on my lips, just like my mother told me to. Dr. Hager stops and knocks on a door made of the same dark wood the walls here are covered with up to shoulder height. „Come in!“, it sounds from the director's room. I square my shoulders, adjust my glasses and step in. Behind the huge mahogany desk sits a man with short, white hair. For a moment, his eyes behind the round glasses linger on my school uniform before he signifies for me to sit down. „Miss Williams, it is a pleasure to welcome you to this school. Your parents don't seem to have arrived with you?“ „No, Sir. They were both indispensable, so I took the train here by myself.“ Director Nolan takes notice with a nod and then continues. „You certainly understand why the school has asked you not to attend the traditional welcome ceremony. Students and parents have been informed about the project, but the school administration considered it appropriate to avoid any possible disruption of the ceremony.“ In other words, the teachers think the presence of a girl would lead to inappropriate behaviour on part of the students? I internally roll my eyes. „Miss Williams, as you know, your admission to this school is a pilot project. An attempt to see if teaching female students at an institution like Welton is possible. Of course, you are familiar with the rules of this school as well as our four pillars?“ „Yes, Sir. tradition, honor, discipline and excellence, Sir. It is a great honor for me to be able to attend this school.“, I say in a steady voice. Nolan nods again, almost approvingly this time. „Here, you are expected to adhere strictly to the tried and tested standarts and to understanf the four pillars as the headstone of your life. Be aware that your success or failure at this school contributes a major part in the decision about an enlargement of the pupils.“ I can feel his stern look on me, but I don't even blink. I have been aware of the efford and the responsibility this scholarship would entail from the very beginning, when I was suggested by my principal. „As for your school uniform“, Nolan throws a glance at my legs in the suit pants, „an alternative will be found as soon as possible. You will understand that until now, this institution hasn't had any need for adequate skirts.“ That's what I was afraid of. Why can't I just wear pants? Skirts may be pretty, but most of all, they are impractical. Well, my school uniform surely doesn't have top priority here. Who knows how long it will be until I actually have skirts to wear. „It also goes without saying that you won't exploit your position as, well, unique. It is an important requirement for the continuation of your scholarship that the concentrated working atmosphere in the classroom won't be disturbed. For this experiment to be successfull, you too are expected not to let living with male students diminish your achievements.“ „I assure you this won't be an issue, Sir.“ Nolan hands me a paper on which my schedule appears to be printed. „From tomorrow on, you will attend class with your classmates and, based on your last report cards, you will take part in the following extracurricular activities: Pupil's magazine, yearbook and debate club. Dr. Hager will now lead you to your room and I will have your class representative lead you through the school during the afternoon. He will also tell you where to pick up your books. Dinner starts at preciely six o'clock. He rises and so do I. „Thank you for your time, Sir.“ After a quick handshake, I am dismissed.

My new home is a small room, the last one on the left side oft the hallway, that has my name on it's door. The walls are dirty white and it's very plain, but at least it has a window with a wide ledge. It was probably originally used as a storage room or something, but now it has everything I need. A simple metall bed, a wardrobe for my clothes and a desk with a chair and a small lamp. It reminds me of home. I slowly put down my suitcase and step up to the window, from which I have a beautiful view of the school grounds. A slight mist is rising, making the lake and the far edge of the forest seem blurry and mystical. I feel tears rising in my eyes and I can't tell wether it's the beauty of nature or the fact that I'm actually here, at the best preperation school in the United States. Six month ago, I couldn't even dream of an opportunity like this. But now, with a lot of work and a degree from Welton Academy, I should even be able to go to college! Almost floating with happiness, I start unpacking my possesions. I didn't bring much, just a few everyday clothes, my coat and a pair of shoes, which I put into the closet next to the school uniforms that have been sent to me. I have just stored my books and writing material and am wondering what to do with my bathroom stuff when I hear muffled noises outside my door. A moment later, someone knocks. That's probably the class representative, i think and quickly put away my bathroom bag. When I open the door, a boy in grey Welton uniform is leaning against the frame and looks at me with a mischievous grin. Behind him stands a group of boys around my age whose facial expressions range from enthusiastic to mild panik. It's hilarious. I slightly raise my eyebrows. „Can I help you?“ The boy that's leaning in the door frame casually extends his hand. „Charlie Dalton. Welcome to Hell-ton.“ „Diana Williams. Pleased to meet you.“ As I shake his hand, he looks deeply into my eyes and pulls my hand to his lips. I sigh internally and stifle a grimace, but I continue to smile nonchalantly. Of course, I knew what kind of attention I would get here. Remain polite and kind, I admonish myself. Mother taught you the best way to handle situations like this. Fortunately, another boy steps forward and I can withdraw my hand. The boy's school jacket is covered with pins. „Diana, I'm Neil Perry, the class representative. Mr. Nolan sent me to show you around and“, he gestures to his companions and gives me an apologetic look, „these guys absolutely wanted to welcome you, too.“ I inconspicuously wipe my Charlie-Dalton-kissed hand on my pants before i extend it to Neil Perry. „That's nice of you“, I say, even though I can't quite avoid a mocking undertone.  „I understand that it must be rather unusual to have a girl here. Let me tell you, it's a weird situation for me, too. But please, come in if you want to. We really don't have to talk with one foot in the door.“ I sit down on the window sill and watch the whole group enter my freshly occupied room. Charlie Dalton immediately makes himself at home on my bed and another one takes a seat on my desk chair, but the others keep standing more or less awkward in the middle of the room. For a moment, nobody speaks, until I tilt my head and casually ask: „Alright, and how is the rest of my eloquent guests called?“ Charlie Dalton's grin widens as he begins to introduce the other guys. „This right here“, he points to the boy that is sitting on the desk chair, „is Steven Meeks, the genius of the class.“ Steven Meeks makes a face and slightly rises his hand. „To his right, we have Gerard Pitts.“ The boy is so tall that in order to stand unter the pitch of the roof, he has to crouch uncomfortably. „Those two are Knox Overstreet and Richard Cameron...“ A smiling boy and another one with a very neat haircut nod to me. „And this“, he points to a guy that is kind of shyly standing next to Neil Perry, „is Todd Anderson. You already know Neil here. We are the best your class has to offer, the rest is dull.“ I have to smile. „Alright Charlie Dalton, Steven Meeks, Gerard Pitts, Knox Overstreet, Richard Cameron, Todd Anderson and Neil Perry“, I say without missing a beat, „it's a great pleasure to meet you.“

The guys seem smart and adorable and I feel much more comfortable with them than I expected. We talk for a while, then Neil shoos them to the common room so he can carry out his duty as a guide. He shows me where to put my stuff in the bathroom and leads me through the school buildings and the classrooms in which I'll have class tomorrow. Neil chats to me cheerfully and tells me stories about teachers, but i hardly listen. I'm enchanted. The escritoires made from dark wood, the chalkboards, the pin boards, the smell of ink and paper. With every breath, I can feel all the knowledge, all the thoughts and hard work. In the room we have english class in, I sit on one of the escritoires, pull my knees to my chest and stroke the wood, that generations of students chafed with the back of their books, with my fingertips. „There is one thing I don't get“, I say and draw a circle around an ink stain. „You are telling me all these awful things about the teachers and how exhausting the classes will be and yet all I can think about is how beautiful it is here. Don't you feel the freedom this place is radiating?“ I look up and see Neil frown. „Freedom? If Welton lacks in one thing, than it's freedom, believe me on this one. You do have to be disciplined, or else you'll get penalty points.“ I nod pensively and jump off the escritoire. „Hm, I don't think that's what I mean.“ So we go and pick up my books. On our way back to the living quarters, we meet Todd who apparently has been waiting for Neil. Both of them accompany me to my room, where I store the books. Neil turnes to Todd. „Do you get a feeling of freedom when you enter Welton?“ Todd shakes his head. „No, if anything, the opposite of freedom.“, he says quietly. „Why?“ „That's how I felt.“ I turn around to face the boys. „And I think now I know why. You may not feel this way, but for me, this place is more than I could ever dream of. When I can make it here, then...“, I gesture vaguely, „basically anything seems possible.“ Neil and Todd nod. „I'm glad you feel this way“, Neil says with a smile. „You are right, your situation is just different. You didn't expect to go to Welton. But you'll see how little controll they give us here.“ I shrug as I watch the last rays of the dying sun slowly fade away. „The thoughts are free, boys.“ Before I can go on, the bell calls us to dinner.

I Would Now

Summary: Steve finds himself glad that she isn’t in the middle of target practice, though he knows logically that she could kill him a dozen different ways no matter what she has in her hands. Or with no hands. It probably says something about his sense of self-preservation that this fact makes him admire her more than fear her. 

(5 times Steve dared to ask Natasha a personal question +1 time when he didn’t have to)

also on ao3

thank you to @likearollingstony for beta-reading!

—

Steve doesn’t think that any of them really planned on moving in. But here they are, nearly a month after the media-dubbed Battle of New York, all six of them living—not permanently, of course—in Stark’s building. 

Dr. Banner was the first to take up Stark’s offer of temporary housing. It seems the two of them had hit it off remarkably well during the whole alien invasion thing, despite the fact that Banner was extra vulnerable to provocation and Stark was extra unable to stop himself from provoking everyone around him. Nevertheless, they’d formed a bond born of scientific jargon, and when Steve arrived less than two weeks after all of them had presumably parted ways, he found Bruce already here, with a personalized private lab that was at least triple the size of the one on the helicarrier. He’d welcomed Steve alongside their host with a small smile and a shrug, saying something about how he could do more good here than he did when he was hiding away in a remote corner of India. 

Steve had arrived with far more reluctance. He’d caught on to the fact that he wasn’t exactly Stark’s favorite person, and sure, fixing falling aircraft and fighting aliens from outer space together had eased that tension, but he still didn’t want to intrude. After SHIELD had thawed him out, they’d given him a place to stay, and it had been fine, for a while. Really, all Steve needed was four walls and a bed, and he definitely didn’t need any fancy 21st century flair. He had a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, full access to a plain but private gym, and he was grateful. 

But after the invasion, something changed. The space was still physically comfortable; that wasn’t the problem. It was just—he’d grown up in the heart of Brooklyn, raised in the bustle of life that only came from being surrounded by people. And his SHIELD-issued quarters were the definition of isolation—likely on purpose to give him time to acclimatize and settle in. But once he really did start to adjust to the new era, to get used to the hollow ache of loss in his chest for Bucky and Peggy that would always be there, once he’d found a purpose in a world that had changed so much yet still needed him to fight, he found himself missing that liveliness. He missed people.

At first, he tried finding housing in Brooklyn again. That quickly became a bust. Prices were steep, modern real estate gave him headaches, and he really didn’t have anonymity anymore. He wanted to be living beside people, not swamped by fans. So he called someone who he knew wouldn’t treat him like a celebrity.

Stark had been surprisingly gracious about the whole thing. He hadn’t asked questions, only said to give him a few days, and when Steve showed up in the Tower lobby with his few personal belongings in a duffel, Stark had already prepared an entire floor for him. It was, as expected, far more extravagant than the one from SHIELD, but he (or perhaps Ms. Potts) seemed to have exercised a great deal of restraint, and Steve’s apartment had simple enough furnishings that he wasn’t uncomfortable. Tony had even included helpful printed instructions by every piece of complicated tech, and Steve had a feeling they weren’t even meant to be entirely mocking. 

Barton and Romanoff joined them shortly afterwards, inseparable as they’d been since reuniting on the helicarrier. They’d each been given their own floors too, but from what Steve could tell, they both spent those first few nights holed up on Romanoff’s. Not that it was any of his business. 

One night, he overheard her explaining to Tony that Clint needed to recover away from SHIELD, to be around people who didn’t constantly watch him like he was going to break or turn on them again. Apparently SHIELD agents weren’t as good at hiding their thoughts as they should’ve been—or maybe Barton was just too good at detecting them. In any case, Steve made sure that he just treated Barton like a normal human being and didn’t try to talk about any of the mind control business. It didn’t occur to him until later that Romanoff had probably allowed him to overhear her for that very reason.

Nobody expected the Norse god of thunder to stay in the—lavish, yes, but nonetheless very human—apartments that Stark offered. The first time, he’d arrived to check in and update them on the Loki situation. The second, it was something vague about being in the area. Then Thor stopped bothering to come up with excuses. Overnight visits increased in frequency, and he even brought his badass astrophysicist girlfriend on occasion. 

Now, they’ve settled into something of a routine. Steve’s starting to get used to this motley crew of roommates—it isn’t uncommon for him to find Bruce sitting by the breakfast bar of the communal kitchen with a tablet in hand, or to spend nights on the weekends laughing as Tony and Thor engage in some kind of drinking contest that the god is always, always going to win. He’s even started to bump into Clint on morning jogs when the weather forces him to run indoors, in one of those unbelievably decked out gyms downstairs. 

It really hits him one Saturday afternoon, as he’s lounging on the top floor of the Tower—recently repaired and redecorated after it was destroyed by the invasion. There’s nothing unusual going on. Steve’s on the couch, capturing the view on a sketchpad that he found propped by his door with his name on it one day. Bruce and Tony are over by the bar, gesturing at one of those floating screens and debating something Steve isn’t going to try to follow. Thor is sitting on the floor with his back resting against the couch, munching on an impressive sandwich and gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Even Clint is sitting a few feet away, busy fiddling with a newly enhanced quiver that Tony modified for him. A breeze ripples in from one of the windows JARVIS opened, and Steve realizes with a mild start that it’s the first time he’s truly felt at ease since he woke up in the 21st century.

They’re all getting along more smoothly. Steve would call his fellow Avengers acquaintances, by now. Certainly colleagues who are friendly with one another and happen to live together. But even though it’s getting easier—and they’re not grating against each other’s nerves as much anymore, and maybe they even enjoy each other’s company—there’s still something missing. They’re not exactly a team yet. Steve puts down his pencil, looking around with a frown. Well, how can they be a team, when one of their members is never around? It’s the one thing that hasn’t changed. 

“Hey, Barton.” The man glances up from a twisted metal arrowhead, cocking an eyebrow. Steve keeps his voice casual, though he’s certain Clint will be able to sense the undercurrent of hesitancy anyway. “Where’s Romanoff?”

“Nat? She’s in the main gym.” Clint flips the arrowhead over, index finger tracing a groove in the metal. “Why, do you want to call an official team meeting, Cap?” His mouth has a sarcastic twinge to it that has been appearing more and more frequently as he’s recovered.

“No, nothing. Just wondering.” Steve returns to his sketchpad, trying to put the matter out of his thoughts. If Natasha doesn’t want to spend her time around them, he highly doubts he can change her mind. 

But what if something’s going on? Steve had thought she’d started to warm up to him during the battle, and he remembers genuinely enjoying fighting by her side—as much as anyone can enjoy fighting for their life and all of New York. Maybe she just needs more time to get used to them all. And if something really is going on, he’s sure that Clint will help her with it. 

Still, it just doesn’t sit right with Steve to not check in when she’s pulled back so suddenly from the rest of them. Because she has to be pulling back on purpose. They’re all living in the same building, for crying out loud. And sure, it’s a big building, and she could be staying on her own floor most of the time, but she must be using the gyms, and Steve is down there all the time, doing his therapeutic punching. Or how about when she leaves the Tower? She’s still employed with SHIELD even if Clint isn’t as active with them anymore—she has to leave for work sometimes, right? It just doesn’t seem like a coincidence that Steve almost never runs into her. 

With an internal sigh, he closes his sketchpad and gets up. He knows Clint is watching him leave out of the corner of his eye, but the man doesn’t say anything, so Steve takes it as a hopeful sign that he’s not going to be murdered in his sleep for this.

“JARVIS, take me to the main gym, please,” Steve says as he steps into one of the elevators. It does function manually, too, but with 93 floors to keep track of, it’s easier to just let the AI deal with it.

“Certainly.”

The elevator dings pleasantly as he reaches one of the two residential floors dedicated to fitness—or training, really, even if Tony insists they’re not soldiers. No normal fitness center has a virtual combat simulator or an entire room for archery.

Steve makes his way to the one that could be deemed normal for the average billionaire. Romanoff is at one of the weight lifting machines. Steve finds himself glad that she isn’t in the middle of target practice, though he knows logically that she could kill him a dozen different ways no matter what she has in her hands. Or with no hands. It probably says something about his sense of self-preservation that this fact makes him admire her more than fear her.

Romanoff gives him a nod as he walks in. She looks like she’s been expecting him to arrive; either she and Barton have some telepathic link, or she somehow sensed his footsteps past the soundproof door. Both seem pretty likely, in all honesty. 

“Mind if I join you?”

She finishes a rep and makes a magnanimous gesture. “Not at all. I’m nearly finished, anyway.” She doesn’t seem to be lying or even mildly uncomfortable, but Steve knows better than to trust appearances around the Black Widow. 

“Thanks.” He grabs a pair of boxing gloves, absently fitting them on. He doesn’t realize he’s frowning until she speaks again. 

“Something the matter, Rogers?” There’s an innocent note in her voice. Steve lets out a quiet breath, looking down at his hands. He wasn’t planning on coming out and saying it, but, well, if she’s going to ask him directly… 

“Why are you so determined to avoid the rest of us?” He looks up to gauge her reaction. Her expression hasn’t changed, save for an almost amused tilt to her lips.

“Not sure what you mean.” 

“Oh, come on, don’t do that with me,” Steve mutters before he can stop himself. “Might be naive, but I’m not completely stupid.” 

At that, Natasha does give him a grin. “Relax, old man.” Steve blinks. The comment seems more suited to Tony or Clint, and Steve vaguely registers that she could be using humor as a defense mechanism. But somehow that seems too obvious a tactic for her. “Clint and I are leaving soon, that’s all.” She releases her grip on the machine’s handles and stands. “There’s no real point in mingling if I’m not going to stay.”

“So you’re sparing our feelings?”

“Something like that.”

Steve doubts that’s the whole truth, but there does seem to be a hint of it in her words. He chews on the inside of his cheek as Romanoff walks past him, debating if he should push any further. She’s almost out the door.

“Have you actually talked to Clint about it? Because—he seems to want to stay.” He risks glancing over and sees her pause. But he might have imagined it, because she’s gone a moment later. Steve sighs. Well, that conversation didn’t go anywhere.

The next morning, Steve wakes a little later than his usual rising-with-the-sun habit. It’s been happening more often these days, and honestly, it’s kind of nice that some of his military-ingrained patterns are slipping away. He makes his way down to the communal kitchen to get breakfast and a daily news update from Bruce, but stops short as the elevator doors open. A shock of red catches his eye from the living area.

Natasha’s there, sitting primly in Clint’s lap on the couch, sipping from a tacky holiday mug. Her hair’s pulled up into a loose bun, and she’s dressed more casually than he’s ever seen her. Thor’s lounging on the other end of the couch, laughing at whatever they’re talking about.

She glances up as Steve enters. Her posture remains neutral but she holds his gaze, as if challenging him to say something. Steve looks away first, smiling to himself as he heads over to grab his own cup of coffee.

Dramas I’ve Been Watching in April

It’s that time again when I tell you what I’ve been watching and if I liked it (without spoilers). As always it’s a long post so everything’s under the cut.

I was struggling to find the other ones so now they’re all tagged monthly posts. (I don’t know that anyone else needs to find them, but I do. It’s like the index page on my blog.)

When the Weather Is Fine (finished)

Seoul music teacher leaves the city and her unfulfilling job for the countryside, reconnects with adorable highschool classmate. They heal from the past together.

Mentioned in the last post and all other my blog. I said it was feel-good and having finished it, I stand by that. The great thing is, even when what’s happening with the leads isn’t great, there’s always another storyline to balance things out.

It looks so good. I love the fashion, which is almost exclusively thick jumpers and warm coats and gloves.

There’s two readings of the ending, one more positive than the other. But either way the finale is worth watching for Jang Woo’s little speech about happiness and mundane things.

Meow, the Secret Boy (ep18 of 24)

Cat adopted by unwilling new owner discovers he can turn into a human around her.

Started this one last month with hopes of cute romcom but it’s too weird to ship at this point. For me anyway.

It is, however, ridiculously funny. But I can’t watch more than one ep at a time due to the aforementioned weirdness. So I haven’t caught up yet.

Cute second couple, though.

Skate into Love (finished)

Star hockey player is reunited with the girl he hated in primary school at age 18, decides to take revenge.

It becomes more about how to navigate a relationship when you have an entire childhood of history and Olympic dreams. Also meddling parents and manipulative admirers.

Did I fast forward a bit? Yes. It’s 40 episodes after all, and the drama is edited to be a bit slow I think. You can easily watch it at the 1.25x speed. There’s plenty of supporting characters with their own stories, some more interesting than others. But I still found it worth watching.

I love the leads! And they actually grow, individually and as a couple. They both make mistakes and apologize and move on together.

While I’m here, let me mention that there are decent kisses!

Here’s what I wrote about the drama in the beginning.

If you don’t mind spoilers, here’s more thoughts.

Joy of Life (finished)

21st century character is sort of reborn in what looks like ancient china, with memories from his past life intact.

It’s been a long time coming, but I finished it!

By a long time coming I mean I started this drama in... December? Which might as well be a century ago at this point. I mentioned it here in January if you missed that.

46 episodes is a lot for me, especially if the drama is no longer airing. If I don’t watch it as it comes out, I 100% will end up taking up to 6 months to finish it. That’s just my brain.

The drama itself is a delight! Both funny and heartbreaking. Lots of intrigues and politics, but not in a boring way. It definitely keeps you on your toes.

Wan’er being one my faves (I don’t care if some find her plain), I was sad to see her character fade in the background as the drama progressed. The lack of romance from ep35 or so might be why it took so long for me to finish it. I love my romance ok?

Also this is season 1 of at least 2, so the ending is... an interesting and shocking one.

A Piece of Your Mind (finished)

Two people dealing with the loss of loved ones help each other through the darkness. Also there’s artificial intelligence involved.

I thought the fact that there was AI would mean the plot would inevitably end up where it usually does for this genre of kdrama: some evil person or entity trying to acquire the technology through legal or illegal means. Thankfully, that never happens. It’s not that kind of drama but a sweet melo.

Did you know I love Jung Hae In? I have that one post about him where I say exactly that but in more words and I’m always happy when it gets notes. The thing is, I don’t mind that he’s been playing similar characters lately. On an emotional level, his portrayals always work. I can’t look away from his eyes. Especially if he’s about to cry. He plays “overwhelmed with emotion” so well whether it’s anger or sadness or love. Plus, I’m all for kinder and softer male leads.

I know Chae Soo Bin from 3 other dramas and they were all comedy I think. I didn’t know she had the range! It was a good surprise to find that she could play a more poised character. I love her in this.

Is it because I’ve been re-watching One Spring Night but this drama looks so bright! In a good way. I love the light and colours. Especially at sunset. Plus all of the snow in the beginning, and Soon Ho’s plants!!! Also I love how they film through windows and play with reflections.

I’m sad they had to cut 4 episodes but they managed to wrap things up pretty well.

So many great characters. And I love that there’s several very strong non-romantic relationships. Soon Ho and Ha Won for example. As someone who wants to scream anytime I hear “men and women can’t be friends”, I love that these two are best friends. Also the boarding house scenes were great. Especially once Min Jung and the medical student moved in.

More thoughts about the AI.

Hyena (finished)

How do I describe Hyena?

It’s an unusual love-to-hate-to-love. Two resourceful, rich-people’s lawyers cross paths and well, sparks fly.

It’s not cute and fluffy. They defend the worst people and with questionable means. They have ethics but they’re different from mine.

As I have mentioned here, it was Hee Jae that grabbed my attention. Joo Ji Hoon is a brilliant actor.

The drama is fast-paced and I watched it in like a week.

Read this post I wrote at the end if you want to know more and don’t mind mild spoilers.

The King: Eternal Monarch (ep2 of 16)

King with a tragic family history finds the door to a parallel universe.

Technically I’ve watched 2 eps and like 15 min of the 3rd ep.

I’ve decided to give it at least 4 episodes. I still haven’t caught up.

Main appeal for me: Woo Do Hwan. He’s not the lead though so there’s that.

I don’t usually pay much attention to that but since I edit them for this... the posters aren’t great? And none of the ones I’ve found have the standard format so I had to choose between cutting the title and cutting off half of Lee Min Ho’s face.

Love is All (ep4 of 26)

Historical romcom. I kinda didn’t pay attention to ep1 so I’m not super clear on why the male lead is hiding his identity but he is. He’s left the capital to become a county magistrate in a small (?) town. There he meets a romance writer who becomes his adviser.

They fight all the time.

Also she keeps unknowingly declaring her love for him because she knows him by name and has a crush on him, but he’s living under a false identity. So she’s annoying him a lot but also complimenting him all the time and he’s not indifferent.

Fun supporting characters.

Is it kinda cheesy? Yes, but that’s what I typically watch cdramas for.

Ladybug and Reine Nuit: Chapter 14

The Evillustrator I

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

@miraculousl4dybug @livinthebilife tagged as requested :)

Chapter 13 | Chapter 15

“Nathaniel!” Ms Mendeleiev’s voice barks. Marinette jumps and looks over her shoulder at the teacher’s latest victim, along with everyone else. “What are you drawing?”

“Wha – wha –” Nathaniel stammers. Next to him, Sabrina shrinks away from the furious Ms Mendeleiev, who picks up Nathaniel’s papers and snorts.

“And these artistic endeavours are clearly why you are failing science,” she snaps, wiping her hand on her shirt.

“I’m sorry…” Nathaniel says. But Ms Mendeleiev isn’t having it.

“You go march yourself down to the principal’s office and show him that chicken scratch! Then you’ll be really sorry!”

On his way down the aisle of Ms Mendeleiev’s classroom, Nathaniel trips over a bag and goes flying, as does his sketchbook. Chloé immediately snatches it up, though not before Marinette gets a glimpse of…herself?

“Ooh!” Chloé squeals. “It’s Nathaniel as a superhero! And look who he’s saving! It’s Marinette!” She snickers. “He’s so totally crushing on you, Marinette.”

But no one else in the room laughs with Chloé. In fact, all Marinette can see are looks of utter sympathy for poor Nathaniel, who dives to snatch his sketchbook away from Chloé before Ms Mendeleiev shepherds him out of the classroom.

“Alright, class,” Ms Mendeleiev says once she’s at the front of the room. “If you don’t want to join Nathaniel, I suggest you listen closely as I call out the groups for your particle physics presentation.” She looks down at a piece of paper and says, “The first group is Alix, Mylène, Max, and Nathaniel, who’s not here for obvious reasons.”

Alix and Ivan don’t look too upset, although Rose looks wistfully at Juleka.

“The next group is Kim, Rose, Ivan, and Juleka.”

“Sweet!” Kim holds out a hand to Rose behind him for a fist-bump, then wilts under Ms Mendeleiev’s withering stare.

“Next is Nino, Adrien, and Alya.”

“Lucky!” Marinette says enviously. She closes her eyes and braces herself for the next announcement.

“And then Sabrina, Chloé, and Marinette.”

“So unlucky,” Alya says with a sympathetic back pat.

“Ms Mendeleiev, can’t I please join another group?” Sabrina says, looking down at her desk. “I don’t really get on with Chloé anymore…”

“I don’t get on with Chloé at all,” Marinette adds.

“This is a group presentation, so unless anyone wants to swap with either of you, deal with it!” Ms Mendeleiev says. Marinette immediately turns and looks at her classmates, mimicking Sabrina’s pleading pout.

“Hey, I’ll swap myself for Marinette,” Kim says after a moment. “No big deal. Means I’ll get to work with Chloé.” He grins at Chloé, who looks like she’d rather eat a bowl of earthworms than work with him.

“Thanks, Kim!” Marinette says, grinning at her new groupmates. But then her smile fades. “But, uh, I don’t mind if you swap with Sabrina instead…”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Sabrina says quickly. “I can handle it.”

“I’ll swap with you, Sabrina,” Mylène says quietly.

“Really?” Sabrina says. “You’re so nice!”

“Ugh, gag me,” Chloé says while Mylène smiles.

“Are we all done playing musical groups?” Ms Mendeleiev says acidly. “Now, pay attention.”

.

“Chloé, you look through this book,” Mylène says when the groups are in the library getting a start on their projects.

“Uh, excuse me?” Chloé says. “You expect me to pick up a book? You and Kim do the work and I present it. Equal!”

“Uh, not really,” Kim says. Marinette snorts to herself from the next table over with Juleka, while Rose and Ivan hunt down books.

“Did I ask you?” Chloé snaps.

“We’re happy to do a bigger share of the work, Chloé,” Mylène says. The usually mild-mannered girl looks utterly done with Chloé’s crap, although that’s possibly due to having been akumatised into Horrificator last week due to Chloé sabotaging her role in Nino’s horror movie just to kiss Adrien. “But you have to help. It’s a group project.”

“Ugh.” Chloé looks over at Sabrina, who’s sitting with Max, and says, “Sabrina, you do my research!”

“But I’ve got my own group to work with,” Sabrina points out.

“Then do my work too!”

“No!” Sabrina crosses her arms. “We’re not friends anymore, Chloé. You do your own work!”

“You go, girl,” Alix grins as she returns with a stack of books. When Sabrina wilts under Chloé’s scorching glare, Alix dumps her books on the table and grabs Sabrina’s hand to squeeze it in an unusual show of sappiness that, in her words, “she never freaking does”.

“How dare you?” Chloé growls. “After everything I’ve done for you –”

“What, bossed her around like a slave?” Alix says. Chloé hisses at her. “I dunno why you’re so pissed that I’m just telling the truth. You pretty much had her under lock and key.”

As though summoned by Alix’s words, a long chain materialises around Chloé’s ankles from thin air and hoists her upside-down. Everyone gasps and backs away, no doubt recognising this as an akuma attack, and Marinette immediately darts behind a bookshelf to transform.

“Hey, let me go!” Chloé says shrilly. “You’re totally gonna leave my perfect skin with ugly chain marks!”

A gigantic bottle of lotion appears out of nowhere, the cap popping open threateningly. Chloé shrieks and tries to angle herself away, but to no avail; that is, until a silvery baton whacks the chain to loosen them and send Chloé tumbling to the ground, while Ladybug simultaneously wraps her yo-yo around the giant bottle and yanks it away.

“That could’ve been a slippery situation,” Reine Nuit quips when she lands next to Ladybug, who rolls her eyes and tries not to let her lips twitch. They attack the bottle together, leaping over the chain when it lashes out at them, only to land flat on their faces when both bottle and chain disintegrate into blue sparkles.

“What the –?” Ladybug blinks. She gets her answer when she looks up at the top floor of the library and sees a boy with bright red spiky hair, pale purple skin, and a dark purple mask around his eyes similar to that of Stormy Weather’s. He makes a run for it as soon as he realises he’s been seen, and when the heroes try to follow him, he draws something on the sketchpad on his arm and a clear wall materialises into being seconds later. Ladybug and Reine Nuit, not expecting this, crash into it and tumble to the ground.

“Hey, where’d he go?” Ladybug says when they’re back on their feet and he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Dunno,” Reine Nuit says. “But we should get prissy princess Chloé to safety. Ugh.”

“You’re right,” Ladybug sighs. “We should take her back to – gack!”

“Selfie!” Chloé whips out her phone with the hand that’s not around Ladybug’s neck throttling her and presses the camera button. “This is totally going on my Instagram! Being saved by Ladybug!” She grimaces. “Wait, no. I look great, of course, but your smile is all wonky. I’ll take another!”

Ladybug resigns herself to being snapshotted with Chloé, who gleefully bounds away with her prize. Reine Nuit pats her on the back sympathetically.

“I’ll take her back to the hotel,” Reine Nuit says. “You go and look for that guy.”

“Are you sure you’re willing to make such a sacrifice?” Ladybug drawls. Reine Nuit snorts.

“Hey, it’s only because I know you’ll deck her if you stay here. I’ll think of a way you can pay me back later, angel bug.”

Ladybug laughs. “Thanks, pretty kitty. Couldn’t ask for a better partner. Call if you need anything!”

.

After combing Paris, a frustrated Ladybug is forced to admit defeat when she doesn’t find the akuma anywhere. Although Tikki can theoretically hold the transformation indefinitely until Lucky Charm is used, there’s no point in staying transformed while she can’t find the akuma, so she ducks into an alleyway to detransform and then heads back to the school. Even though Chloé’s not there, that’s where the akuma seemed to originate, so she might get lucky and find him there.

As it turns out, he finds her.

“Marinette!” says a voice. Marinette grins when a familiar limo pulls up next to her and the back window rolls down to reveal Adrien. “Do you – you know – want a lift back to school?”

“Well, I won’t say no,” Marinette says. She’s just about to get into the car when another voice calls her name and Adrien’s eyes widen almost comically. She whirls around, and her heart screeches to a halt when she sees the akuma standing right behind her, regarding her with a soft smile. Now that he’s not trying to attack her, she can see that his white shirt extends down to cover his hands and has black horizontal stripes and red, yellow, and blue spheres on his chest, while his purplish pants fade into scarlet at his feet.

“It’s you! From the library!” she gasps. She takes a step back towards the car.

“Hey! Don’t touch her!” Adrien’s out of the car and by Marinette’s side in a heartbeat, which forces his bodyguard out of the car to protect him from the clear threat.

“I won’t hurt you, Marinette!” the akuma says. “I’m Evillustrator. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why?” Marinette says. “And why did you attack Chloé?”

Evillustrator’s face darkens. “Because Chloé is cruel and selfish!”

Marinette conceals her snicker behind her hand. “Can’t argue with you there. So, wait…you’re not going to hurt me? Why?”

Evillustrator’s eyes widen, as though Marinette had asked the silliest question in the world. “Because you’re Marinette! You’re beautiful and sweet and – you’re perfect. I could never hurt you!”

Something warm flutters in Marinette’s chest, even though it’s an akuma saying these words. “Wow – uh – that’s – very flattering! Um…thank you?”

“I just wanted to ask you…” Evillustrator fidgets like an awkward teenage boy – and judging from the hair and the drawing skills, Marinette’s pretty sure he is one. A certain one who’d been humiliated earlier, to be precise. “Uh – it’s – well, it’s my birthday today and, uh…would you wanna come to my party?”

Is this really happening? “Um…it’s actually not the best night!” Marinette says. “See, I’ve got a presentation to work on, and –”

“Oh, please, Marinette!” Evillustrator begs. “It’ll be just you and me.”

“She said no!” Adrien takes a step towards Evillustrator, whose face darkens. With a flourish of his pencil, Adrien and his bodyguard are trapped inside a clear box that even the thickset bodyguard can’t smash open. With Adrien and the bodyguard out of the way, Evillustrator draws something else and kneels to give it to Marinette, who gasps when she sees that it’s a sketch of the two of them joined by a ribbon, along with a birthday cake. Oh…wow. He…actually does have a crush on her! So, Chloé hadn’t been lying just to hurt him…

A plan starts to form in her mind. “I…love it!” she says. “So much that I will absolutely be at your party. On one condition.”

“Anything for you, Marinette,” Evillustrator says immediately.

“You have to let Adrien and his bodyguard go,” Marinette says. “Adrien was just worried about me because he saw that you were an akuma and thought you were after me. And you can't hurt Chloé anymore.” Marinette dramatically swoons. “I simply cannot bear violence!”

“For you and only you,” Evillustrator says. He erases the box encasing Adrien and the bodyguard, then holds out his hand. “Shall we? I want to spend some time with you before we go on our river cruise tonight – ah, I’ve said too much. It’s a surprise!”

Marinette panics. She’s meant to be able to turn into Ladybug and warn Reine Nuit! “I – uh – I’m just wearing these boring old clothes!” she says. “You deserve way better.”

“I can draw you the most beautiful clothes you’ve ever seen once we’re there,” Evillustrator says. Marinette’s eyes dart to Adrien, and another plan forms straight away.

“Just let me thank Adrien for trying to protect me,” she says. “He’s such a dear friend to me!” Before Evillustrator can protest, Marinette turns and pulls Adrien into a hug, then whispers in his ear, “Reine Nuit. Le Grand Paris. Tell her we’ll be on the river tonight.” She lets him go and smiles, then turns back to Evillustrator and takes his hand. “Okay. I’m ready.”

.

Okay, so maybe Reine Nuit’s regretting letting Ladybug be the one to look for the akuma. If she’d known that Chloé was going to be this much of an insufferable brat and complain non-stop about her particle physics project, she totally would’ve made Ladybug stay behind instead. Poor Kim and Mylène.

“Reine Nuit?” Chloé latches onto Reine Nuit’s arm and flutters her eyelashes. “Are you any good at particle physics?”

“Oh, no,” Reine Nuit says, yanking her arm free of Chloé. “I’m not doing your project for you, prissy princess.”

“Why not?” Chloé scowls and stomps her foot. “You don’t even have to do all of it! Just some of it! Kim and Mylène will do the rest.”

Reine Nuit is saved by Adrien – sweet, blessed Adrien, who she’s totally going to write a poem for. He bursts through Chloé’s suite doors, and she gasps and instantly attaches herself to him.

“Adrikins! You came to see me!” she croons. Adrien shakes himself free.

“Uh, actually, I came to see Reine Nuit,” he says. Chloé huffs indignantly. “The akuma – Evillustrator – he’s got a crush on Marinette, my classmate. You know, black hair, pigtails, pretty blue eyes?”

“Ugh,” Chloé gags as Adrien’s cheeks turn red. “Who’d have a crush on her?”

“Shut up,” Adrien and Reine Nuit say together.

“Rude.”

“He’s got Marinette,” Adrien says. “But she told me to tell you that they’ll be on the river tonight. He’s taking her on a river cruise for his birthday.”

“Aww,” Reine Nuit coos. She’s totally going to have to tease Marinette about this as Alya. “Thanks for telling me, Ladybugreste. And no, you’re not gonna come along and film it,” she adds when Adrien opens his mouth. He droops.

“Can you at least get me out of here?” he says. “I told my bodyguard you’d take me back to school, so…”

“You just want a ride from a superhero,” Reine Nuit smirks, but she still slips her arm around his waist and heads for Chloé’s balcony. Before Chloé can protest about her project again, Reine Nuit leaps off and starts to leap through Paris to take Adrien home.

“Thanks,” Adrien says when Reine Nuit deposits him outside the school gates. “You’ll save Marinette, won’t you? I don’t think Evillustrator will hurt her but…he is an akuma.”

Reine Nuit salutes. “I’ll keep her safe. That’s my job, right?”

“Yeah,” Adrien sighs. “Man, I wish I was a superhero. It must be so cool to be in the action like that.”

Reine Nuit grins and ruffles Adrien’s hair, then bounds off in search of Evillustrator. Sure, she knows where he’ll be that night, but if she can take him down now then hey, so much the better. And where the heck is Ladybug?

Mattex - #17

17. “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

Alex Kingston is uncomfortable.

This is unusual for three very good reasons. Number one: she’s been through enough in her life to not be phased by almost anything, no matter how awkward the situation may be. Number two: she’s currently at work, in a setting she definitely hadn’t anticipated would become uncomfortable for her, especially while surrounded by people she’s known and missed for the past few months in her absence. Number three: she’s usually the one making others feel uncomfortable.

But now she finds herself avoiding every private space she has on set - her trailer, that small spot behind one of the sets, the closet behind wardrobe where they keep all the lighting equipment - because of a date.

Or, more specifically, because of a date with Matthew Smith.

Alex blows a curl out of her face as she leans against a door, trying to keep out of sight from the cast and crew. God, it would be so embarrassing to have to answer their prying questions later on - why did he have to ask her out publicly? And why did she say yes?

You know exactly why you said yes, Alexandra, her traitorous mind taunts her, and she purses her lips at herself.

So maybe she had allowed herself to think of her co-star in more of a… sexual light of late. So maybe he was the subject of many forbidden fantasies privy only to her mind in the late hours of many a sleepless nights. So maybe she’d allowed herself to become stupidly, irrationally attached to a version of him borne completely out of imagination - and brought those expectations to their first date last night.

So maybe, just maybe, their first date turned out to be a disaster.

“Has anyone seen Alex?”

“I haven’t seen her since she left Wardrobe two hours ago.”

“Damn it. Well, if you see her, tell her I’m looking for her, will you?”

“Of course, Mr Smith.”

Alex feels her heart pounding in her chest as she hears Matt’s voice again, followed by his footsteps getting closer and closer. Anxiety and panic claws at her heart as she looks around desperately for a hiding place, and she finds one almost immediately, presenting itself like a gift from the heavens. She swears she almost hears angels singing.

She tiptoes towards the prop Tardis that they keep on set, creeping in and closing the door behind her. Outside, she hears Matt approaching nearer and nearer, and she sits there, barely breathing for fear of discovery. Her heart is thumping so loudly against her chest she’s almost sure he can hear it too-

“Alex?” Matt calls out.

She stays silent. God, she doesn’t want to do this. It’s embarrassing enough on its own that people know about their date - but to talk about it with her actual date is something else. She doesn’t think she’ll ever let go of the mortification for as long as she works on this show.

“I just wanna talk about yesterday. Alex?”

She shuts her eyes in an effort to make herself invisible even though she knows no one can see her. It comforts her somehow. But as she breathes quietly the dust in the box tickles her nose and she tries to repress it, makes her face red as she tries to quash it down but it doesn’t work because-

“A-choo!”

Dammit, Alex.

“Alex? Was that you?” The once receding footsteps are approaching again and Alex wants so badly for the ground to open up below her. He knocks on the door. “Are you - are you hiding in the prop Tardis?”

He opens the door wearing an amused expression on his face and raises his eyebrows at her. She only offers up a small smile.

“Hi.” she says.

“Hi. I’ve been looking all over for you.” His expression turns serious but hopeful. “Can we talk? I promise it won’t take long.”

“I… guess I don’t have much of a choice, since you have me cornered and everything.” she says lightly. She gestures towards the box. “Come in.”

Matt raises his eyebrows higher than she’s ever seen them go. “In there? Couldn’t we just… talk out here?”

“I’d really prefer it if we weren’t overheard.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

He manages to squeeze himself into the box, facing Alex and leaning against the opposite wall. There’s only a small beam of light flying through a thin line at the top of the box, but he can see her just fine. And he can tell she isn’t liking where this is going.

“So… we should talk.” he starts.

“Yes.”

“About yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“I know it was a bit of a… rough start,” he decides, and Alex cringes at the memory. It had been plainly awkward between them - she hasn’t gone on blind dates that were filled with that kind of tension, honestly. “I’m hoping that it won’t affect what we have at work, and as friends.”

“No, of course not.” Alex says, feeling a comforting smile warm her face.

“Really?” he asks dubiously. “Because I’ve been trying to talk to you for the past two hours and I find you in here literally hiding from me.”

She blanches, fidgeting a little before taking a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll try my best not to let it affect our friendship.”

He nods. “Just because it didn’t work out between us doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right?”

She nods too. “Right.”

“Okay, good. That’s settled, then.” he turns towards the door and makes to leave, but as he turns the handle he hears a loud click. “Shit.”

He jiggles the lock but it wont budge. He slams his shoulder against the door but without the leverage of distance he doesn’t make much of a headway.

He turns to Alex, whose eyes are wide as saucers.

“Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

***

A phone call to maintenace and props and one minor panic attack on Alex’s part later, they’re both leaning against opposite walls, facing each other. Alex is determinedly not looking at him and he feels a sort of sad, lonely feeling in his heart - because he likes Alex. More than that, he adores her. As a colleague, and as a friend, and before last night, as something more too - but clearly he’d destroyed any chance he had with her before he even properly had a chance with her, and that ship has sailed.

He laughs dryly at the look on her face. “Don’t worry, Kingston. As soon as we get out of here I promise you won’t have to look at me. Not for another few hours, at least.”

Alex frowns, but he can’t find the heart in him to look away because she’s finally looking at him instead of the floor.

“What - why would you say that?” she asks softly, because something in the tone of his voice - something in the way he dejectedly said it, even if it was meant as a joke - something about that tells Alex that maybe he really does mean it.

“I know, even if you say otherwise, that things won’t ever be the same between us. They’ll always be tainted by yesterday.” he says, shrugging a little, determined to act nonchalant about it. “And that’s okay, Kingston. It really is. Things between us will change after something like that, and even though it isn’t how I hoped it would change, it is what it is.”

Alex nods. “Yeah.”

He nods too. “Yeah.”

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t want to see you anymore,” Alex says. “You’re still a friend, Matt - and even though things are a little shaky now, I’m sure we’ll be back to normal in no time.”

Matt smiles sadly at her. “I hope so.”

Alex’s frown deepens. “Why won’t things go back to normal?”

Matt pauses, running a hand through his hair and breathing deeply. “I’m just… not sure how I can expect myself to see you every day and greet you like a friend knowing I screwed my chance to be something more for you.”

She laughs, though there really isn’t anything funny about what he said. “We both made mistakes last night, Matt.”

“Oh? Like when you admitted that you’ve thought about shagging me almost nightly?” he asks. She feels her cheeks heat up but a distinct glint remains in her eye.

Determined not to be outdone, she bites back, “Or when you told the waiter you wouldn’t be having any of the chicken breast because I have enough of that.”

Matt outright laughs at that, and Alex feels the tension lifting between them already. It feels nice to joke about like this. “Or when neither of us could find anything to talk about so we just started talking about the weather.”

She snorts at that one, wondering how they ever made it through the night like that. “Or when you spilled wine down my dress.”

“Hey!” Matt exclaims, looking affronted. “You said you wouldn’t hold that against me!”

“It seemed appropriate,” she shrugs, a small smile still playing on her lips as she sighs easily and leans against the wall again, her head falling back softly. “Why did we ever think going out would be a good idea?”

He watches her carefully, his eyes tracing around every detail before he sighs too. “Because we like each other.”

She smiles at him. “Yeah, we do.”

“I was trying so hard to impress you yesterday,” he admits, chuckling lightly. “I forgot to just be myself. I didn’t want to be like all the other blokes you go out with.”

“Well, you weren’t, I promise you that.” she says, with a twinkle in her eye. “I brought too many of my fantasies along with me.”

“Do you think… maybe, if we tried again - without the fantasies and trying too hard - do you think we could do it?”

She lifts herself up a bit, frowning at him. “Are you really asking me out on a date again? After yesterday?”

He shrugs, his ears a little red and looking so innocent and sweet in that tweed jacket and the bow tie. “I really do like you, Kingston. And by all accounts, we haven’t really given it a proper shot, have we? Since I wasn’t really being myself and all.”

He fidgets a little and his face catches the beam of light. Alex blinks and she sees the sincerity etched onto him, clear as cloudless skies, and she feels the bit of trepidation melt away the longer she stares into him.

“I really do like you, too.” she says softly. He beams up at her and she can’t help the smile that lights up her face in response. “So dinner tonight? I’ll cook and you bring dessert?”

“Tonight?” Mild panic flows through him and his mind races with fancy dessert places and pastries before he tells himself to breathe, Smith - this is exactly where you went wrong yesterday. “Tonight is good. At 8?”

She nods. “Good, that’s settled then. There’s something else.”

“What?”

She smiles and reaches up, her hand curling around the back of his neck and pulling him down towards her. The last thing he sees is Alex’s gorgeous grin before their lips meet.

And then he sees stars.

» the hero doesn’t die in this one

Hello @whatevsbla !! I’m your (backup) secret santa for the @pandoraheartssecretsanta event :) I hope you like it !! 

Summary:  » He doesn’t think it’s that strange at first – and really, he’s used to weird dreams by now (in which the world crumbles and falls, in which he walks down bloodied hallways, in which golden lights rain down from the sky, in which he falls to his knees and does not get up again), he’s had them a couple of times a month ever since he can remember and he’s dealt with them how he’s dealt with everything else in his life: he’s gone to the library and read a couple of books on the matter, and then he’s read more books and then he’s gone back and started re-reading them all until he felt that he adequately understood the topic. It was enough information to figure out that every psychoanalyst would have a field day with his dreams. It was enough to start a dream journal, just for his own personal amusement.

Read it on AO3

» we all are living in a dream, but life ain’t what it seems, oh, everything’s a mess. » and all these sorrows I have seen, they lead me to believe that everything’s a mess. » but I wanna dream, I wanna dream, leave me to dream.

(the hero doesn’t die in this one.)

The dream starts with his sixteenth birthday.

He doesn’t think it’s that strange at first – and really, he’s used to weird dreams by now (in which the world crumbles and falls, in which he walks down bloodied hallways, in which golden lights rain down from the sky, in which he falls to his knees and does not get up again), he’s had them a couple of times a month ever since he can remember and he’s dealt with them how he’s dealt with everything else in his life: he’s gone to the library and read a couple of books on the matter, and then he’s read more books and then he’s gone back and started re-reading them all until he felt that he adequately understood the topic. It was enough information to figure out that every psychoanalyst would have a field day with his dreams. It was enough to start a dream journal, just for his own personal amusement.

The journal is how he figures out just how weird his dreams have gotten over the years. Specifically, one particular dream.

It’s not a strange dream per se, it’s just that he has the same one in various lengths over and over again, right down to the words he uses to describe it in his diary, like his brain can’t even think of different expressions to write about something that is so thoroughly identical. He’s read about this phenomenon and apparently it’s not that unusual to have reoccurring dreams. It is, however, unusual to have them more and more frequently over the span of a couple of months. What started out as a monthly nightmare turned into a bi-weekly nightmare turned into a weekly nightmare turned into an ‘almost every night’ nightmare.

And then it starts creeping into his days, like reality slipping away into the dream, lose threads entangling with something he can’t really touch or see or explain to anyone except himself. It’s the first time he becomes really, actually scared.

He catches the face looking back at him from blank surfaces – his bathroom mirror in the morning, a window at school he’s passing by, even the stillness of the lake behind the dorm rooms. His face, or what his face would be with a sharp haircut and without his glasses. He lets his hair grow extra messy, just out of spite.

(It may be a nice addition that Elliot likes his hair long and messy, and that he sometimes plays with the dark strands when he’s tired or nervous or concentrating or distracted or –)

(Another nice addition is that Oz would sometimes ask if he can bride his hair – simply as practice for when he sees his sister again during school break, of course.)

The face brings a warning with it that he doesn’t really understand., but he doesn’t have to understand to know that it’s something he should pay attention to – the books have taught him that. And if not the books, then the look in the face’s eyes – his own eyes, not hidden away behind big glasses and thick bangs – that utter desperation, dark and deep and endless. Whatever that face has seen, Leo will make sure that he himself will not have to see it. Never.

(he doesn’t have to.)

The dream is this: he’s standing in some kind of cave, surrounded by darkness and gravel and dirt. There’s a figure in a red cloak standing in front of him, motionless, like the shadow of a statue, still and unmoving and radiating some kind of dark power that makes Leo shiver. The longer the dream lasts (sometimes he wakes after the first few scenes), the darker it gets around him and the figure, but in the darkness, more figures appear until he is standing in an endless sea of statues and shadows and so much power it feels like something is going to shatter under the physical strain it has on this dreamed up world. If the dream lasts this long, the figure steps forward with one elegant motion, almost as if not moving at all but just disappearing and reappearing. And then the figure pulls back their hood and Leo’s own face is looking back at him with those lost and empty eyes. His hair is shorter, framing his face instead of hiding it away and he’s not wearing his glasses. It’s weird how vibrant the purple colour of his eyes is in the darkness, and a part of Leo knows that it’s there where that disturbing power is coming from – somehow it’s connected to his eyes.

Everything comes down to his eyes in the dream. They are what is haunting him when he wakes up, because they are beautiful and terrifying, so sad and lonely and yet so filled with more of the world than Leo will ever see (or at least he hopes so).

The figure only ever says to sentences: “They are watching you.”

And: “Keep him safe.”

That’s where the dream always stops. This is also where it starts bleeding into his reality. The face is watching him, following him around, as if to make sure that he’s listening, that he’s following these orders, that he does keep him safe. (Leo does not have to ask who this he is supposed to be.)

No matter where he looks, it always seems to be looking back at him. He is truly haunted and a part of him – the part that isn’t scared, isn’t worried, isn’t freaking out – is a little thankful for this constant reminder. As long as the face keeps staring back at him, like it’s doing right now, it’s not too late. He can still keep him safe. Leo just wishes he would know what to keep him safe from. What could happen that would turn his eyes into such a deep and troubled stretch of water, filled to the rim with despair? He doesn’t want to think about it, but he can’t help himself whenever –

“Leo? Hey, Leo!” Elliot’s voice draws him away from the his own reflection, glittering on the surface of the still lake behind their dorm rooms. It’s not the face, but he’s been waiting for it ever since they sat down in the soft grass, the mild April sun warm on their skin.

“What?”, he mumbles a little more annoyed than he really is, but it’s just so irritating. Staying on the path between reality and dream is an act of balance that is becoming harder and harder with every day, and Leo doesn’t know how much longer he can keep his slowly decreasing sanity a secret from Elliot.

“I asked you a question”, Elliot shoots back, matching his irritation instantly. “But apparently you got distracted by your own good looks. I didn’t know you were so vain.”

Leo takes a breath to prepare for the oncoming shouting match – or maybe just to push back his fear – but Oz already breaks up the fight before it could develop, as smoothly as ever.

“Where do you think we should go from here?”, he asks, and this boy is a genius when it comes to diplomacy. He takes one of the papers they’ve been scribbling on for the past hour or so and practically throws it at Leo’s face – excitement rolling off him in big waves.

This is exactly how Leo has pictured this school project to be when he and Elliot got grouped up with Oz Vessalius of all people. Of course Elliot immediately complained about having to work with Oz Vessalius because he still doesn’t want to admit that he likes him. He still has to admit that Oz is pretty smart and hard working and therefore a good partner when it comes to school projects. He’s also pretty good at mediating and stopping fights before they escalate (he’s pretty useless once they’ve started though), which is also helpful.

For the project, they have to write a fairytale. It’s ridiculous, really, but it’s an easily achieved good grade and the weather is nice and Leo doesn’t mind spending a little bit more time with Oz. If only because it’s fun to watch him and Elliot dance around their awkward rivalry-slash-friendship.

They are almost done with the fairytale by now, Leo realizes as he skims over the last couple of notes, written in Oz’ neat handwriting.

What they have so far is a knight, happily questing his way through his kingdom, along with his servant and a young magician in training. They are doing all kinds of heroic things: slaying dragons, rescuing people from bandits, helping to rebuild destroyed villages. What they need now is the climax, and the ending.

“So he is stepping into the tower, the only part of the cursed castle that is not completely in ruins”, Leo repeats the last thing they’ve written down. “What are the options now?”

Elliot huffs. “Shorty here wants him to meet a princess and then be cured by true love’s kiss or something.” He rolls his eyes in obvious disdain. It’s adorable how hard he tries to hide how committed he is to the story by now.

Oz rolls his eyes. “It’s a fairytale. Love is supposed to be the final solution!”, he insists.

“That’s not the point of a fairytale at all!”, Elliot rebuffs immediately. “This is not a romance novel. A fairytale is supposed to be dark and … cruel. Almost brutal. And in the end is teaches a valuable lesson. See? No need for romance. At all.”

Leo sighs. Elliot is kinda right, but he doesn’t say that out loud. (He doesn’t have to, Oz is smart enough to figure that out himself. Oz is also smart enough to have figured out what Leo already knows, too. The way they’ve set up all the pieces and parts … there’s only one way for the story to progress now. And apparently Elliot still hasn’t picked up on that yet. That what Oz is trying to do with his silly romance plot is to –)

“Ah, crap!”, Elliot shouts in frustration. “We have to kill him, don’t we?”

(– save the knight.)

Leo came up with the idea pretty early on. It’s what actually sent the knight and his servant on their quest (because responsible knights don’t just abandon their family and political position for a little bit of fun): the knight got cursed. Or rather, the knight got injured and the servant tried to save his life by making a deal with an enchantress who then cursed the knight in the process of saving him. He would die in a year’s time and bring great destruction with his death. To prevent this from happening, the knight and the servant set out to find a way to break the curse. They picked up the magician along the way, who told them about the castle and that there’s supposed to be a means to end every curse ever in its ruins.

Oz nods slowly. “I mean – the problem with breaking the knight’s curse is that it would also mean that his sealed wound would kill him after all. That’s what the magician established when they first met, it’s why he didn’t break the curse himself. I don’t see how that rule should change just because they found something shiny in an old castle. But at least if they use the thing to break the curse, the knight’s death won’t bring eternal destruction over his kingdom?” He winces. “I’m sorry, Elliot.”

For a moment, Elliot only stares at their notes, every pretence of him not being deeply invested into their own characters gone, then he sighs. “It can’t be helped”, he says and shrugs if off. “It’s the only thing that makes sense at this point and I really don’t feel like going back and changing almost everything. Also, like this the magician won’t have to secondhand-kill the knight to prevent the eternal destruction.”

Oz pats him on the back and starts scribbling it down.

Leo chews on his lips. He’s staring at the face, it’s staring back from the surface of Elliot’s metal pencil case.

“Maybe …”, he starts, his mind spiralling down into the violet darkness, “… they could find something to turn back time? Go back to the moment when the knight was injured in the first place and prevent it from ever happening? The lesson would be that it’s never too late to fix your mistakes.”

Oz looks up from his notes and blinks at Leo, something like hope spreading in his green eyes. The emotion suits him.

It’s Elliot who shakes his head and then stretches his arms over his head. “But that would also undo all the knight’s heroic deeds – all the people he’s saved and helped. Even the magician, they only met him because they were on their quest. The knight wouldn’t be the same knight anymore, and he wouldn’t have the same friendships.” He’s very casual about it but Leo knows him well enough to pick up on the stern idealism behind his words. For some reason, it sends Leo’s heart into a thrumming sprint.

“So, what’s the lesson gonna be then?”, Oz asks curiously, watching Elliot with that eager expression that reveals just how bad his case of hero-worshipping is.

Elliot looks back at him with a faint blush on his cheeks. “That sometimes all you can do is make the most of the time you have and use it to do good. That’s the lesson for the knight, at least. For his friends it’s probably something like, they keep questing in honour of the knight’s sacrifice? Sometimes you lose a friend but their effect on your life will never disappear again? It’s all very cheesy, isn’t it?”, he asks, suddenly a little bit shy.

Oz coughs and grins, shaking his head. “Nope, I like it. It fits the general theme of honour and meaning we’ve been going on.”

Leo nods. “The knight dying and his friends carrying on his honourable quest – it’s a fitting end”, he says and means it. But when he looks back at the face, the purple eyes look up at him with an even darker shade of sadness than ever before. Then the face turns away and vanishes.

Somehow, Leo feels like he’s failed his task.

That night, he wakes up from the dream in the middle of the night, soaked in cold sweat and terror clutching his heart in its icy hands. He hates it when that happens. He’s supposed to be stronger than that.

He sits up with a muffled sigh, pushing his bangs out of his face and rubbing his eyes. It takes a moment for his sight to adjust to the darkness around him (normal, powerless darkness, not filled with hovering and ominous figures and warnings and foretold loneliness). He doesn’t notice the figure sitting on the windowsill at first, and it takes him another glance to figure out that it’s Oz. He’s crouched against the pane of glass, his face turned to look outside and his arms hugging his knees to his chest.

Something has always been a bit off about Oz Vessalius. It’s what makes him fit in so well with Elliot and Leo. He’s surrounded by a thin layer of chaos, like he’s pulling a tear in the fabric of reality behind himself. It used to be quite unnerving but then Leo’s own reality has started to splinter and fray around the edges and he’d started to wonder if that would be visible for other people, too. If Oz would look at him and see the same tear drifting around him.

Oz tilts his head and meets Leo’s gaze over the reflection in the window – his eyes are blood red in the dark.

“You get the warnings too, don’t you?”, he asks softly, quietly.

He swallows. “Yes.”

Oz turns around and looks at him, red meets purple and power spreads and – then it’s gone. “What are we gonna do now?”

Leo turns to Elliot, who is still sleeping in his own bed, safe and sound. “We listen”, he says.

Oz simply nods. Reality knits itself back together around him and after he blinks slowly, his eyes are green again. The next morning, Leo wonders if he’s simply imagined the whole thing, but he never dreams the dream again.

(he already died in someone else’s dream.)

Hearth - Day 1: Midnight Visitor (Huedhaut/MC)

This is a request for @juliettebbgamer who wanted a Hue/MC story. I wanted to challenge myself with this because Huedhaut is one of the gods I find it hardest to relate to, and this somewhat backfired on me. It was harder to write than anything I’ve done and it’s not finished yet. I will be posting the other parts as I complete them.

The premise: a winter tale in a remote mountain village in the buildup to the New Year. Hue chooses this time to go to Earth and see who his goddess has become, but instead of a short anonymous trip he ends up spending one week with her new incarnation isolated in a cabin. Will he recognise her for who she is now? What will she think of this mysterious stranger who’s turned up at her door?

DAY 1

——————————————-

Her breath came out in thick white plumes as she rubbed her hands together. It was cold in the cabin and she was alone, having arrived before her friends.

They’d rented out the cabin for a week for the holidays, planning to spend the time together and return on New Year’s Day. They’d agreed for her to go a day before everyone else since her holiday began earlier, and make sure that everything necessary had been delivered to the cabin like they’d asked: firewood, bedding for the four bunk beds, towels and groceries for the week. She didn’t mind taking care of all that, she enjoyed feeling useful.

However, when she arrived the cabin was far from the condition it was supposed to be in. No firewood, no bedding, only bare mattresses and pillows and only one old towel. Not one for pessimism, she was grateful it was at least clean.

It was a small village in the mountains that she lived near. She’d spent a summer there once but since then the village had become unrecognizable. Hardly any residents had remained and the cabins around the one she’d rented were all empty. Thankfully the only shop in the village still operated and she managed to buy some food.

Now she was looking around for firewood in the cold, underfurnished cabin, hoping there would at least be matches or a lighter left somewhere since the shop hadn’t had any. She found none of the three.

“Great…”

The sharp noise of her phone ringing cut through the quiet and she jumped.

“He-hello?”

“Hi sweetie,” the voice of her friend greeted her from the other side.

“Hey, what time do you guys get here tomorrow? There’s been a couple problems here. Tell the guys to bring firewood, there isn’t any here.”

“Yeah… about that. I don’t suppose you’ve heard the news yet..?..,” her friend’s unsure voice worried her.

“No, I only get one bar of signal here and you know my car doesn’t have a radio. What happened?”

“We… uh… we won’t be able to come over at all. There were warnings of a flash blizzard and it’s already started. Apparently the road to the village has already been closed and they won’t send snow ploughs until the snow stops.”

“Oh…,” she fidgeted with the gloves in her lap, “Hiyori, I can’t access the news from here. When is the snow expected to stop?”

The couple seconds of tense silence from the other side did nothing to alleviate her growing nervousness.

“They don’t know… At the moment it’s looking like at least four days… And the ploughs will take at least another two to clear the road. The road won’t be accessible until at least New Year’s Day.”

“…”

“I’m so sorry, honey! I wish we could have come so that you wouldn’t be stuck there alone!”

“It’s alright, Hiyori, we couldn’t have foreseen this. Hello? Hello?”

She looked at her phone to be greeted by the “No Signal” icon.

“Great… Completely cut off from the world now…”

The prospect of being stuck alone in the freezing cabin for a week suddenly became reality and sent a wave of anxiety that left her restless.

She went to the door, determined to go back to the shop to ask the owner if he could spare any firewood but as soon as she opened the door she changed her mind. Snow was already falling heavily, blanketing everything in sight white. Resigned, she decided to wait out the first night, cold as it was, then wait for a break in the blizzard to go back out to the shop and try to convince the owner to give her or sell her some of his own firewood since the shop didn’t sell it from stock.

The hours trickled on slowly as the light faded and gave way to night. She had bundled herself up in all the clothes she could put on, using the rest as bedding and the towel as a blanket, and spent the time with the book she’d brought. The original intent was to read a bit before bed each night but now it seemed the book would be her only company all week.

The quiet was unnerving, broken only by the occasional creak of the ceiling boards under the weight of the piling snow and the whistling of the wind outside. She took a break from reading to eat one of the sandwiches she’d bought and switch on the lights. The lights in the cabin worked but were very weak, forcing her to strain her eyes to keep on reading. Soon enough the effort became too much and she felt her eyelids become heavy.

She put the book on the floor next to the lower bunk bed she’d chosen to sleep in and huddled in, trying to get warm enough to sleep. She was tired but the cold was just enough to keep her awake, a mild torture added to the already uncomfortable surroundings. She let her mind wander and eventually, her thoughts became vague dreams as she drifted in and out of a light sleep.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

She gasped, startled at the sudden noise and bolted upright. Fear was the first emotion that struck through her body and she willed herself to calm down and rationalise.

She glanced at her phone which blinked zeros, signifying midnight.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

The knocking continued, not very loud but insistent and she willed herself to step towards the door.

“Who is it?”

Her voice shook but she managed to get the words out.

“Terribly sorry to trouble you at this hour. I was hoping you might have blankets I could borrow?”

The male voice on the other side of the door jarred her in a good way. It was deep, smooth and calm, the stranger’s words polite but hopeful. It calmed her racing heart and she opened the door.

“Oh, sorry Sir but I’m afraid I don’t have any….”

The words died on her lips when she came face to face with the man on the other side.

She was certain that he had to be the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Tall, slim but well-built, with hair that was nearly black but still had tints of blue in the dim light, and his eyes… His eyes pierced her and time seemed to stop for a few long moments. His eyes were calm yet intense at the same time, a painfully beautiful shade of sapphire blue. He looked almost otherworldly and she realised she was staring, quickly averting her eyes in embarrassment. Yet, despite his decidedly unusual, attractive but unfamiliar appearance, a feeling rose up in her chest, making her rib cage feel too narrow. The feeling that somehow, somewhere, she’d seen him before.

“Miss?”

His gentle voice forced her to look at him again and this time she noticed that he was far too underdressed for the weather. He wore a simple white and grey striped button-down over what looked like a V-neck white t-shirt.

“Oh goodness, you’ll freeze like that! Hurry, come on in while I look through my stuff. I might have something you could borrow.”

He raised his eyebrows in mild surprise, appearing not to expect to be invited in. As the wind outside blew in a particularly bone-chilling gust, he didn’t question her and stepped inside the cabin.

“That was not entirely necessary but I’m grateful regardless,” the stranger said with a hint of a smile.

She looked at him for a moment, taken aback by the remark. It sounded a bit rude but she didn’t read much into it.

“Oh.. well I thought it was preferable to making you wait outside in that blizzard.”

She left him to his own devices as she switched the lights back on. In an unfortunate coincidence, three of the four lights buzzed ominously, flickered a few times and went dark. A solitary light near the bunk beds was left weakly illuminating the cabin.

“Damn it,” she whispered tensely, flicking the switch on and off again.

“I doubt they’ll come back on the fifth time if they haven’t come back on the first four.”

She gave him a poorly-concealed look of slight offence.

“Well… I’m just going to find you something warm to put on.”

She rummaged through the clothes in her backpack, eventually pulling out a fleece-lined blue hoodie. It was too big on her and she thought it might fit him.

“Here, put that on,” she said, handing it to him.

He looked her in the eyes as he took it.

“You know, I never asked your name,” she added as she laid more clothes on the bed to add to the warm pile she’d been sleeping in.

“I’m Huedhaut.”

“Come again?”

She blinked blankly, the name having gone over her head.

“Hued-haut,” he said slower. “Hue to you though, to make sure it sticks.”

“That’s okay, I’ll remember it, Huedhaut,” she said a bit coldly, having caught his slightly patronising remark.

“I suppose I should be on my way and leave you to your book then,” Huedhaut said, glancing to the book which she had left haphazardly splayed open on the floor, “And thank you for this.”

“Are you staying in the village?”

“No, I was just passing through,” he replied as he headed for the door. When he opened it, she noticed that the snow outside was now knee-deep and the blizzard was showing no signs of letting up.

“Wait, Huedhaut!”

“Hmm?”

“Haven’t you heard? All the roads have been closed. You won’t be able to leave.”

“Well that is a tad inconvenient,” he said sarcastically, seeming to choose his words carefully.

“Do you have anywhere to stay in the village?”

“I don’t. Like I said, I was just passing through. I wasn’t intending to stay.”

“Well…,” she hesitated, looking up at him, “You could stay here for tonight and we’ll see how things are in the morning. Is that acceptable?”

Huedhaut finally looked at her, seeming to deliberate. Something in her eyes made him lean in closer, trying to see in the dim light.

“What…?”

She looked away, slightly embarrassed at their closeness, but Huedhaut reached to put a hand on her shoulder, making her look back at him in surprise.

“You… You still have her stars in your eyes…,” he whispered, his face suddenly lighting up in disbelief. “Her stars…”

“Excuse me?”

He blinked, as if suddenly remembering something, and let her go abruptly.

“Pardon me, I… I just got confused for a moment.”

He closed the door, the sound of the howling blizzard outside quieting down.

“I’d like to stay, thank you for the offer.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. You can pick one of the beds and I’ll give you some of my things to keep warm. I just arrived here today actually, I was meant to be here with my friends but they couldn’t make it past the road closures. We were meant to stay here until New Year’s Day.”

“So you would have stayed here alone had I not shown up?”

She smiled sarcastically.

“Not much choice in the matter. I have food, clothes and toiletries for the week, what I don’t have is any means to heat this place. The owners were meant to leave firewood for the week but they haven’t, and I couldn’t find any.”

“Hmm, perhaps in the morning we can ask around the neighbouring cabins.”

“They’re all empty,” she said.

“Oh? Then perhaps some of them have weak locks,” Huedgaut quipped, smirking.

“Um… Did I make a mistake inviting you in here,” she said, her face darkening in suspicion. He might have been a thief or a burglar after all. You could never be too careful with people.

“Why, I’m offended,” he feigned, raising an arm dramatically. “I don’t take pleasure from breaking and entering, but given the circumstances, we might freeze to death if we don’t bend our morals just slightly.”

She didn’t say anything more but only nodded. Then she gave a few sweaters to Huedhaut to cover himself for the night and she got into her own bunk.

“What do you intend to do all week here, then,” Huedhaut asked as he adjusted the pillow on the lower bunk across from hers.

“There isn’t much to do. My friends were going to bring games to play, we were going to go for walks, sit around the fire and just have a good time. Since none of that is happening though, I suppose I’ll just have to spend the time reading.”

“Luckily I also have a book with me. I’d be interested to read yours too, if you’ll lend it to me in exchange for mine.”

“Deal,” she said.

“You sound tired,” Huedhaut pointed out as he lay down, bundling up in the sweaters she’d given him.

“That’s because I am,” she yawned. Unexplicably, she felt herself relaxed in Huedhaut’s presence. There was something very calming about him and she felt safe.

“You should sleep.”

“I’m sorry, it would have been polite to ask you more about yourself but I’m just so tired for some reason.”

“Rest now, there will be time to talk tomorrow,” Huedhaut said, his deep voice taking on a surprising gentle tone, almost sounding familial.

“There’s food on the counter if you’re hungry,” she said instead of good night. By her breathing, Huedhaut could tell that she was asleep a minute after she said that.

He listened to the even sounds and took in the cabin. Plain, with a table and chairs, the bunk beds, a kitchenette and a small bathroom. The wood floors were unlacquered and so were the walls. It gave the cabin a rustic look which he suspected was intended to be appreciated with a fire crackling in the fireplace, but unfortunately appeared drab instead with the weak lighting and the bitter cold. Her backpack and snow boots were at the side of her bed and her book now lay at the side of her pillow.

Huedhaut made sure she was asleep, then quietly snapped his fingers and switched off the light. He had no need for sleep but he knew that even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to rest tonight. He’d seen them. The stars in her eyes. She was his goddess. Yes, she wore a different face and didn’t remember him, but her soul was there. Her beautiful essence he’d falled in love with that brought her to life. He could feel his heart beating fast from how close she was.

It had been so long. All he wanted to do was reach out and touch her. But he could not. He’d have to be satisfied with watching her sleeping form tonight. He propped himself up, looking over her face. It looked peaceful as she slept, undisturbed. His goddess wore a different face but even this unfamiliar face was beautiful. The hours trickled by as his eyes never left her.

All right, as promised—in the wake of the super dramatic snowstorm that rather pathetically drove my country to a standstill—I’ve decided to throw a weather-inspired event at the dash. Rather than something social, I wanted to give an excuse to plot as a group, and reach out to others due to unusual/dangerous circumstances that you mightn’t have otherwise had reason to talk to. This also gives the chance for longer-lasting repercussions that don’t typically follow a party. (Unless you’ve been caught banging someone in a lift, obviously.)

I think this weekend will be a good opportunity to play things out! This also gives you time to approach each other with ideas about what you want to write, and plan plenty of drama together. Things can get as bad as you want. Go wild. Britain is about the most dramatic country on the planet when it comes to snow, so it’s not out of character.

DETAILS:

By this point it’ll have been snowing badly, pretty much constantly, for about five days. Even for London—a place typically more resilient than the rest of the country when it comes to these kinds of things—this is unprecedented, and it’s beginning to feel the strain of what is essentially a country-wide shutdown. Blizzard conditions over the past couple of days have meant, due to poor visibility, ploughs haven’t been able to clear the roads, and hundreds of buses and cars have been left stranded as a result. This makes it incredibly difficult for emergency services to get through to those in need.

Whilst snowfall has totalled around fourteen inches, near open areas due to the intense winds, snowdrifts have reached anything up to seven or eight feet. The canals have frozen over. Shops are beginning to struggle to stock their shelves, and some in South London who haven’t opened due to the conditions have been looted. London is a clusterfuck, yo. Use your imaginations. It’s bad.

The start of the event/writing prompt will begin with a blackout around 8:30pm local time. I haven’t decided the specific cause because I’m not a technical human, but we’ll imagine due to the weather circumstances, it’s going to take a little while to get people out to fix it. I might have to get a little unrealistic here when it comes to how long, just for writing’s sake, so forgive me. This will be discussed more as the event progresses.

POSSIBLE SCENARIOS:

THE UNDERGROUND: Even though the city has come to a standstill and you are not supposed to be travelling unless absolutely necessary, sometimes something serious crops up. The tube is still running an incredibly limited service on the busiest lines, but blackouts across South, West and Central London result in them failing, causing many trains getting stuck between stations. Passengers will be trapped aboard. The last time there was a power cut that impacted the underground, it took some trains two hours to be evacuated, and that was without any of the disruptions that would be caused by days of endless snow. You could be stuck down there a while.

HOMELESS SHELTER: When conditions took a turn for the worst, pop-up shelters started to open across the city in an attempt to keep the rough sleepers and those who can’t afford to heat their homes, safe. Volunteers have come from all over the city to help out; donating food, clothes, and time. When the power goes out, there is a mild panic, but it’s eventually reasoned that staying inside is safer than heading out into the storm. Who knows how long it’ll be until you can get out again? Especially if a snowdrift cuts off your exit. Hope you bitches donated enough blankets.

THAT ONE LEGENDARY PUB: There’s a crazy landlord in Westminster that has kept his business open for those who need a pint. They’re offering warm food and shelter for those who need it, and are keeping spirits high in those who dare venture outside. When the power cuts out, their personal generator means they’re able to maintain minimal electricity, and let people stay inside safely. Maybe it’s better to wait it out here, rather than venture out into the pitch black streets in blizzard conditions, yeah? The alcohol is totally just a bonus. Not a motivator in your decision at all. 

You could also figure out one on one ideas with each other if one of the group settings doesn’t appeal. Getting trapped in elevators, needing rescuing from your car, or having a mental breakdown because no power means no wifi, anything goes. 

Just have fun and enjoy writing it!

If you have any questions, you know how to reach me. Don’t be afraid to ask.

god save the queen [ eggsy x reader ] 003

warnings: cussing

chapter summary: you and eggsy break into a bank

words: 3 442 (oops?)

MASTERLIST KO-FI. AO3. GSTQ masterpost. 7K GIFT!

mission 1: accepted

The heavy drumming of rain is soothing, it mimics the tunes of your favourite song as it taps on the glass windows of the conference room. Outside the glass is an indistinguishable mess of dark grey colours that create a rather abstract and eerie painting. Though, the comforting glow of warm yellow lamps dismiss any and all un-pleasantries of the weather and the drowsiness that comes with it.

“…Can you speak proper English?”

“Yis I can spek propa Englesh.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“Nonsense, I was making fun of you this whole time.”

You and Eggsy Unwin had been at it since morning, since before the pour had started. He was told to help you with your accent so you could fit in better – you honestly didn’t understand why so much secrecy, it’s not like being American is illegal. But alas, you had agreed and now facing the torment of him pronouncing words like ‘Cat’ ‘Dog’ ‘Fuck’ ‘Arseface’ and so on and you, like a child in grade school, repeating after him in a monotonous tone. It became boring after five minutes for you. Eggsy, however, seemed to find immense amusement in you butchering the British accent.

You are waiting for Merlin to show up with the details of your mission. To say you are anxious is an understatement – behind the façade of mild-amusement directed at your partner, you boil on the inside. You had never been so nervous in your entire life, not even during exams when you were training to become a Statesman. You almost didn’t want Merlin to come just for the sole reason that you’d have to finally face the reality of the situation: you are alone in London with men you see for the first time in your life on a mission that will most likely bring you closer to death than you ever bargained for. You even pondered about contacting Tequila – he, besides Ginger, is the only other person you hang out with – but hurriedly dismissed that idea. He’d have a field day if you were to call him. You can’t give him the satisfaction.

“Agents.” Merlin’s thick accent makes you jerk and you snap your head to the entrance where he stands with his tablet in hand. You glance at Eggsy – he relaxes in his seat, fixes his glasses. Looks like the pronunciation lesson is over. You ponder should you stand up or not, after all you are sitting in a seat that doesn’t belong to you and if other Kingsmen are called to this meeting… Before you can do much Merlin nods at you, most likely sensing your distress, and moves closer to the table, typing something into his tablet. “I hope you are ready to leave at a moment’s notice, because the Royal Bank closes in a couple of hours.”

You blink, “The Royal Bank?” Merlin lifts his gaze up to you.

“Yes. Is there a problem, agent?”

“Why do we need to go to The Royal Bank? Do we need credits, or something? Budget cutbacks?”

“Well, you don’t actually think we have the pearl, do you?”

Eggsy straightens up; “Wait” He interrupts, “Are you tellin’ us we’ll have to fucking steal it?”

“Yes that is exactly what I’m telling you.” Merlin states harshly, “Are you two deaf or something? The Royal Bank doesn’t actually belong to the Royal family; theoretically, all ties it has is the name. Is the pearl with the Royal family? No. Does that mean you’ll have to retrieve it? Yes.”

“So…we’re here to plan a bank heist?” You inquire.

“Heist, rescue mission – call it what you want it, the point is that pearl needs to be back in this building by six o’clock sharp.”

“Oh, so we have a deadline now, too?” Eggsy crosses his arms over his chest.

“That’s because your target is having a dinner party at eight.” There’s a tad of amusement in Merlin’s voice as he takes out an envelope and slides it over to you, “And congratulations! You two are invited.” You and Eggsy share a look, “We’ll talk about parties after you get the Black Pearl from one of the safest vaults in London, though. Now…care for some details? I recon they’ll be useful.”

~*~

“You scared?” Eggsy asks you, standing close, shoulder to shoulder in fact, as he tilts his head softly with a smirk. The two of you enter through the Royal Bank’s main doors. Your eyes immediately shoot around the impressive interior, though not to awe at it – you trail the camera’s staring directly at you. The red carpet underneath your short heels seems to sink you in and for a split second you are nervous, are afraid and completely immobile. You stop walking and Eggsy does too; He smiles at the woman by the reception desk that asks you what business the two of you are having. Finally turning away from the security camera’s you look at her, look into her eyes that gaze at you with polite kindness and offer a charming smile of your own.

“Yes, hello,” You say with a perfect accent. You surpass the urge to smirk at Eggsy’s expense, “We’re here to see Miss Solace.” You explain casually, not a shred of anxiety in your voice despite the ever growing lump in your throat.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” The receptionist replies “See we’re closing soon, and we’re not allowed to take in customers. But, if you were to come back tomorrow—“

“We won’t take up long.” You reassure her, turning to Eggsy and grasping his hand, “My husband and I just need to sign so papers, is all.”

“I’m sorry, Miss, but really, I—“

“Listen, sweetheart. My name is Elenor Davies and my flight to the Bahama’s leaves in two hours. See I really, really need this brand new yacht to show off to my colleagues and I can’t get it when the bank refuses to do its job properly.” You state coldly, “You want to do your job properly, don’t you? Check me on the list. I’m a loyal customer, and once you find me, and I am sure you will, I will magically forget this fiasco and move on with my day and you’ll even get to keep your job. Is that clear?” The poor receptionist nods slowly, not entirely convinced, and starts typing. You turn to whisper to Eggsy, “Put me on the list.”

For a few short moments there is nothing but typing and clicking heard and your impatience grows rapidly. Furthermore, you’re still holding onto Eggsy with a grip that tightens as seconds pass without you even realizing it. Not that he minds all that much. He simply stands close as you tap your fingers on the receptionist desk, mildly amused and impressed that you managed to master the brit accent so quickly. In a couple of hours, actually. Perhaps you aren’t that bad after all. In turn of looks, you’re not hard to look at. In turns of attitude, well, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like ‘em feisty. Eggsy figured your sarcasm came from confidence since you always talked with your nose high in the air. But now…As he watches you fidget it slowly dawns onto him that you really aren’t all that confident, and his question you failed to answer, the one that was meant as a jab, turns out to be completely true. Yes, you are scared. He doesn’t know a lot about you, but now and now only he can tell that you are absolutely new to this. You are scared, but you’re fighting it. And he feels just a bit more proud to be your partner.

The receptionist eyes slowly widen and she looks up from hr computer screen, “Oh, Mrs and Mr Davies, my apologies, I didn’t—“

“Save it.” You tell her off, “Now punch me a ticket at let me see Solace.”

“Sure thing,” With that, she presses the machine and a paper with the number 52 shoots out. She hands it to you with a smile, “Should I inform Miss Solace—“

“No need, we had brunch last Thursday.” You finish dryly, grasping the ticket and wishing the receptionist a good day before trotting off with Eggsy in toll. You make a bee-line for the elevator. Punching the ‘12’ you finally let go of his hand, glancing at him before you come to stare at the metal doors. “And to answer your question…I’m not scared of anything.”

“Oh?” He inquires with a raised brow. The doors open and the two of you step inside. Chilly. The wide mirror reflects your brand new bullet proof tailored suit; dark and light brown colours compliment your skin tone, the non-prescription glasses frame your face and conceal your lying eyes from the world. It looks made for you, granted it was made for you. Measurements had to be taken twice since Eggsy is not that great of a tailor after all. He did, however, mention something about your suit looking a lot like Roxy’s. “Smile to the camera’s.” He suddenly says, drawing you out your thoughts. Glancing up you see the small security camera, having a glowing red dot on its side, abruptly turn a deep green. The Kingsmen have infiltrated the system.

“I really hope Merlin is watching down on us, like a guardian angel.”

Eggsy snorts, “Merlin? Angel? You mental?”

“No,” You say, turning to him, “but after this mission’s over I’m ninety percent sure I will be.”

A cheerful ‘ding’ echoes in the secluded area and a breath gets caught in your lungs; the tips of your fingers numb lightly. Eggsy clears his throat and fixes his tie. The metal doors finally part and a musky fragrance, pleasant, though unusual, greets your nose and you inhale cautiously. The corridor is bright and open and few people buzz around with stacks of papers in their hands; no yet dare to meet you eye to eye, then again, the two of you don’t dare to get off the elevator. Finally, Eggsy takes a first step and you tag along in fear of being left behind. Glass windows reveal the whole of London: it’s magnificent, though grey, scenery and sad blue skies. It almost feels like the walls are closing in on you. Your nerves are starting to show, and when one worker smiles at you, you merely look down and shuffle past him with urgency.

Solace’s office isn’t that far off – only ten meters, your glasses inform you. Dark carpeting under your feet leaves imprints of your shoes on it. Perhaps you wouldn’t be that nervous, or not nervous at all of that matter, if you knew exactly what you were going to do. Merlin only gave the key information; how you are to retrieve the pearl is entirely up to interpretation. Eggsy likes spontaneous plans and doing everything at a minutes notice. You know he does, you watched him closely on the way to the bank. How he tapped his foot, tried to conceal his smile as he gazed out the window. That or he simply thought you couldn’t take your eyes off of him for other reasons.

Eggsy hooks his fingers around the glass handle, sends you one last look and you meet it with a light nod. He pulls it open, motioning for you to go in first and you reward him with an ironic smile. The office is spacious, enriched with open views and some expensive decorations that show status, rather than actual appreciation for the arts. Solace, a tall woman with a knot of black hair on her head and sharp, narrow eyes, sits in her chair typing away on her laptop. For a second she looks up; her eyes portray alarm but soon a polite smile graces her lips and she is about to open her mouth to greet you two and possibly inquire why are you here. Before she can say anything you lift your hand and your watch – a gift from Kingsman – shoots her with a tranquilizer. There is a note of surprise on her face before it smacks into the desk.

A whistle from behind you, “Suppose that’s one way to do it.” Eggsy comments as he steps past you and in quick strides reaches the unconscious Solace, “You recon where the Pearl might be?” He asks, with one finger, quite lazily at that, flipping papers that lay on her desk.

“If it’s really that important,” You start, fixing your watch; you spin the hour hand counter-clockwise two times before it clicks, informing you that it is ready to hack at a moment’s notice, “then think of a place that’s shitting out security. Not electronic either. My guess is there are guards all over the lower floors, in the vaults.”

“You think one of us should go down there?”

You nod, “Safest bet. Pretend to be an employee, or something.” You mumble, pacing to the laptop. Gently, you grasp Solace’s wrist and place it away from the keyboard. Angling your watch, you press the crown. The computers screen turns black and whirls with indistinguishable code.

“You do it.”

You blink, “What?”

“You have a higher chance of convincing them.” He explains. You raise a brow.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you look like a person that would actually work here.”

“What?! No I don’t! If anything, you look like a banker with your posh suit, stupid glasses and your head up your ass.”

“Exactly. Why would I go down to the vaults?”

You hate that he actually makes sense for once. You don’t verbally express your agreement, merely grumble something incomprehensible and look back at the screen, trying to ignore his triumphant smile. Finally, a few messages pop up, security camera angles and you surpass a cuss once you note the tight security. Pressing some sort of alarm would immediately cause panic – this whole secrecy business is very important, if not then you and Eggsy could’ve easily barged in, guns blazing. But you are no criminals. Even if, technically, what you’re committing now is a crime.

“Vault 641…” You read off.

“--Is the location of the Black Pearl.” Eggsy finishes over your shoulder. When did he come so close? His chest barely grazes your back, hands planted right next to yours on the table, but he shows no acknowledgement of invading your personal space; rather he stays focused, skimming the lines of information. You tilt your head to get a better look at him, frankly you have never seen him from this close, nor have you wanted to, but now that you have a chance you can’t help but admire his boyish features that are coated with lines of worry, healthy young eyes that hold a certain heaviness of loss and pain, the bags under his eyes, barely visible, but still there, that inform of many sleepless nights he has had up until this point. And you aren’t exactly sure when his autumn sky blue eyes connected with yours, but once they did you felt a spur in your chest, one you simply could not explain. You note the corner of his lip curl into a smirk, “Fancy the view?”

“The outside is lovely, thanks.” You mumble as you look away.

“Wasn’t talkin’ about that.”

With a roll of your eyes you reach into your breast pocket and take out a pen. Eggsy’s eyes widen and he takes a cautious jump back, “Woah!” He exclaims, “I was only fuckin’ jokin’, calm yourself, yea?”

You give him a puzzled look, “What?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘what’?” He repeats, “That fuckin’ pen is for poisoning.”

“You brits have pens that poison?” You utter, “Fascinating…” You add hurriedly before continuing, “It’s a vocal transmitter.” You explain. Eggsy doesn’t appear to be following. You sigh, “Look, when I get down into the vaults I’m going to say that Solace sent me. They will call, and you will answer. With this,” you hand him the pen, “your voice will morph into hers.” You press the cap and the pen clicks, “First, you press it to her throat, here.” You point at your pulse, right below your jaw, “Then, to yourself. Congratulations, you assumed a new identity for exactly sixty minutes.”

“You mean to tell me this pen, to be clear, Statesman pen, not the killing Kingsman pen, is goin’ to turn me into petite lady Solace over here?” He asks, eyeing the object cautiously.

“Just your voice.” You clarify, “Make sure to do it correctly, though. Or else we’re both fucked.”

~*~

The elevator went ways down quickly and the temperature dropped with each story. Finally, you were underground, and when the metal doors opened for the umpteenth time that day what greeted you was no view of London or another impressive sight; hard empty walls secured the area, narrow corridors, cameras, vaults in heavy metal doors, locked from inside and out, and guarded by few pacing men that are even less friendly than they seem. With a nervous inhale of cold air you step onto the concrete floor. A glass door with a guard post is what you first see, an old man sitting in his post and lazily staring at the small screen – is it camera footage or a re-run of some old TV show you have no clue. His eyes shift from it to you, they pierce you and you instantly feel a lump starting to form in your throat. Trying to remain confident you pace to him, hand him a card you took from Solace and explain, “Miss Solace sent me to check up on Vault 641. Apparently the clients have become restless. They fear that someone might’ve…taken it.”

The guard skims the light blue card with numbers on it, then types something in his machine before he looks up at you, “Where’s your nametag?” He inquires; his eyes narrow with suspicion and you can tell he’s holding his finger just above the emergency button.

“Left it at the break room along with my wet clothes.” You explain, “A car splashed me on the way here. It was a mess, really. Miss Solace requested a check-up as soon as I entered. We both know how demanding she can get.” You continue to ramble, “Call her, if you need.”

He gives you no reply, just punches a few numbers and leans onto the microphone, “Miss Solace, there’s a---“ He looks at you expectantly.

“Jude Law.” You blur.

“-A Jude Law here. She says you ordered to a check-up on Vault 641.”

“Yes.” A squeaky voice from the other end replies, “Yes I did. Let her through to get it over with; Law here still needs to bring me my latte.”

“Just checking in, ma’am.” The guard finishes and the line goes dead. He gives you one hard look, unreadable, but still cautious, before slowly standing up and leaving his post. The clear glass doors open after a moment and a chill goes through you. Finally, you’re in.

As he leads you through the confusing corridors – he refuses to make conversation, or look at you for that matter; - you hardly contain your grin as you recall how different Eggsy’s voice sounded. You hope Merlin heard that. You also hope he will never let Eggsy live that down. The guard nods at a few armed men as they pass; you try to ignore their stinging looks on the back of your neck.

After sometime you stop next to the Vault with ‘641’ carved on it. Your fingertips tater; cold, you feel cold and your suit does little in terms of providing warmth. It’s almost like wearing a summer jacket in a winter blizzard. The guard looks at the key-pad, then at you, “You know the code?”

You shake your head, “I’m not authorized.”

Finally, you see a hint of trust in his old eyes – so you have done something right after all. You give yourself an imaginary pat on the back, after all, if you had not listened during today’s briefing you would be in deep shit right about now. He punches in the code and the door depressurises, jumps out a bit so that the guard can grab its handle and, with little strength, fully open it. With butterflies rising in your chest you fiddle with your watch again; it sets itself to ‘darts’ again and you wait for an opportunity.

If your calculations are correct, the guards you passed should’ve made their way to the post by now and will turn back at a moment’s notice. If you put Mr Post Guard to sleep now, you could get away with this without anyone realizing it was you. Until, of course, his body is discovered and the alarms flare.

Having a clear thought in mind, you poke your head through the door and—

“It’s…gone?”

tbc ( if you want to be tagged, let me know!)

tags: @writeasfitzsimmons un-education @ketterdame @magical-spit @theater-geek76 @peachy-vixen @zayum @we-are-band-sexuals @atlantiqves @englishautumnrose @violetsonthelam @crazysocklovingfangirl @jimmyateworld @theoinkypiglet @ghistwrite @doctorwhoandrory @kpkarlee @dreamwhisper87 @lol-you-thought @ly--canthrope

Any love for Berraris/Eidard? I absolutely loved how bashful Berraris was in the Abomination Vault, and it's one of my favourite characters (he had like two lines of dialogue in the novel... but i love him) so maybe a scenario for the reader meeting the gentle giants for the first time? If it's not a problem/you have time and ideas :) cheers!

OMG I thought I was the only one who love Berraris! THIS IS SO EXCITING THANK YOU I’VE BEEN WANTING TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR HIM!

Also, this is for everyone to make up for the content that has been….decidedly lacking of late.

—-

You and Death make your way down a hallway so long, you’ve grown tired of counting all the glyphs set into the wall.

You eventually come to a slow halt in front of an intimidatingly large, iron door. From the corner of his eye, Death curiously observes as you suddenly seem to slam into the magical barrier that emanates from behind it. You almost gasp in surprise as you meet the unseen resistance. It feels a lot like trying to walk head-first into gale-force winds, only there’s no sound, nor sensation of air hitting your skin. But the pressure is there, and the slight tingle that isn’t dissimilar to the feeling you get when surrounded by Death’s magics.

Stubbornly, you shake your head and jut your chin forward against the supernatural ebb of energy and glance up at the horseman, who you’ve only just noticed has been watching you very intently.

“Do you need to sit down?” he asks with a curious glimmer of humour lingering behind the condescending tone.

Fixing him with a half-smirk and a cocked eyebrow, you gesture at the door with a wave. “I always feel like sitting down when I’m with you. You’re exhausting.” Death’s eyes squint slightly, a clear indication of his amused smile, or possible glare, it’s still hard to tell. “Just knock,” you huff with a shake of your head.

Death’s knuckles rap solidly against the hard door three times before he steps back and places a hand on his belt. Curiously, you gaze up at the intricate patterns adorning the surface of the metal. You don’t get to study them for long however, before the sound of a gigantic lock being slid free of its confines interrupts your concentration and the door eerily swings open wide without so much as a whisper of disturbed air. ‘Spooky,’ you contemplate briefly before peering up at the enormous being who’d opened it.

It was a maker. A surprisingly young maker in comparison to those you’d met so far. He seemed even younger than Karn, less weathered and a lot more….nervous. You tilt your head, endeared at the way his silvery eyes were fixated on the ground at Death’s feet.

“Horseman-” he bows his head low politely and the light from the forge behind him bounces off his golden hair, “-It’s a pleasure to see you agai-”

The maker’s voice cuts off abruptly when his eyes catch another pair of shoes beside the horseman’s own. Immediately, his eyes fly up and lock onto yours, his mouth dropping open in shock.”Oh! S-sorry,” he stammers, “I didn’t see you there, hu-human?” He trails off awkwardly, unsure of what to call you.

With a good-humored smile, you step forward and thrust your hand out towards the rigid maker. “Y/n. Call me Y/n. Good to meet you.”

Your friendly grin seems to ease his nerve but the shock is still evident on his features when the maker dazedly reaches forward and ever so gently takes your relatively tiny hand in his. His skin is warm, rough and blackened with soot, which he notices with a sudden, apologetic grimace as you shake his hand up and down. Your skin is clean, unsullied and quite possibly the softest thing he’s ever felt. He’d wager that most angels’ wouldn’t compare. He’s rather horrified when he pulls away and a trace of grim lingers all over the surface of your hand from where he’d engulfed it in his huge fist. The gesture of a handshake isn’t unknown to him, but it’s always been regarded as an especially human greeting.

Death watches the interaction with mild interest, tensing imperceptibly when Berraris took your hand in his. But he seemed to be making a tremendous effort to be as delicate as he possibly could and Death couldn’t help but to be a tad amused. So the apprentice knew of human fragility. Good to know. Still, the maker had apparently forgotten that the horseman was there entirely, considering how entranced he seems to be, staring into your own wide eyes.

Clearing his throat, Death breaks whatever spell had secretly fallen over the two young ones in his presence. “Although certainly an oddity,” he begins, “I’m sure Y/n isn’t the most bizarre thing to have walked through these doors, Berraris.”

The poor maker visibly jumps and his head whirls over to look at Death for a moment until his nerve gives out and he once more casts his eyes down to the floor. Then, Berraris steps aside to grant the both of you entrance, stuttering apology after apology and refusing to meet the horseman’s appraising glare.

You trot past the apprentice, pausing to pat his forearm sympathetically, “Don’t worry pal,” you laugh, “I know humans are funny to look at.” He instantly snaps his head up and raises his meaty arms, shaking both hands hurriedly and stumbling over his words.

“O-oh! No! No, that’s not it at all! I-I-I was just staring because, errr..I’ve never actually seen a human before. At least, n-not up close…” He trails off and uses an arm to wipe a bead of sweat away from his brow as it trickles down from his hairline. Death rolls his eyes but you just wink up at Berraris.

“Well, we are….we certainly are a rarity.” You pause and look at your feet, expression a bit morose. “Especially now….”

The horseman accompanying you casts a sidelong glance at you and behind his mask, he frowns.

Berraris shuffles his feet and glances between your dejected little form and Death’s, understanding finally dawning on him. Of course the maker was aware of the events that had happened on Earth. He’d heard from the Coucil’s wispy messengers of the Corruption that’s currently seeping through many realms, including the homeland of his fellow makers. Somehow, his master’s home has managed to remain untouched. You, however….

The maker starts to lead you and Death down a long, wide corridor towards his Master’s room. You lost everything you knew in the space of a few days; Family. Home. Species. World. As he scuttles up to a broad door, Berraris furrows his brow as he feels a pang of hurt at your expense. His silver eyes find you down by his boots, now clutching your elbow and rubbing your arm nervously.

“I won’t be a moment,” he promises, disappearing through the heavy door. The horseman turns to look at you inquisitively and nudges your shoulder with his elbow after a too-long moment of quiet.

“I think you’ve made a friend,” he observes, teasingly. Gradually, a smile creeps its way across your face and you snort.

“Wish I could say the same for you! The poor guy’s terrified of you!”

Death’s broad grin is obvious, despite the mask. “Well, I find a little reverence tends to keep one remarkably humble.”

“Humble!?” you choke, not even bothering to hide the skeptical guffaw behind a hand.

“Hey, don’t push it,” he warns.

Any jovial response is cut off as Berraris suddenly pops his head back through the door and beams down at you, but addresses the horseman.

“He’s ready to see you now.” The young maker steps through the door and begins his return to the forge when Death’s voice, unusually soft, stops him.

“Berraris, I wonder…Perhaps Y/n would like to see some of your projects?”

The maker spins around, comically stumbling a little due to the speed at which he made the turn. He gazes down at you with a look of astonishment mingled with hopefulness. “You…You would?” he asks.

“I would?” you mouth at Death, wondering why he’s so hesitant to allow you to accompany him in his meeting with this Keeper. The eldest horseman merely nods and places his hand on the small of your back, pushing you towards the eagerly awaiting maker with a hum of affirmation. Tossing a bewildered gaze over your shoulder, you watch as Death turns and slips through the open door. But just before it closes, he levels a glare at you. One that you’d frustratingly come to recognize as his ‘this is for your own good’ glare. The door falls shut silently, so you turn and follow the shy maker back to his workshop.

—

Death sighs and turns to the figure that sits contentedly on a stone bench inlaid with patterns of gold and bronze. The Keeper of Oblivion, his face still hidden by the large helm of pure metal, only a tiny slit for eyes to see from.

“Must you terrorize my apprentice every time you visit, Death?”

The horseman returns an offered nod of greeting and barks out a short, sharp laugh. “You can’t blame the lad for having a modicum of common sense.”

The Keeper inclines his head and hums in agreement, allowing the subject to drop.

“Such intriguing company you’ve deigned to keep,” the old one remarks instead.   “A human….I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Special circumstances,” the horseman deadpans, picking at his soul-scar in apparent disinterest. “Y/n is of….some import to my mission.”

The Keeper leans forwards and rests his gnarled hands on his knees. “Your mission to save your brother….a decidedly perilous undertaking.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Death agrees. He falls silent and regards the ominous portal with a tired glower.

The Keeper follows the horseman’s gaze. “Come now, Death,” he calls gently, “there are a thousand things on your mind, but only one is at the forefront. Tell me, why have you come?”

The horseman shakes his head, though for no reason other than to alleviate the tenseness in his jaw. “War….He…He’s completely at the mercy of the Council, any punishment they see fit, he’d be powerless to stop them. I wonder-” here, the horseman hesitates as though unsure of how to broach the topic. Fortunately, The Keeper, nearly omniscient in his ability to read others, finished Death’s thought. “You wondered if they’d ordered me to cast your brother into Oblivion.”

The bluntness of the reply has Death wincing. The very thought he’d been entertaining since War was convicted had finally been voiced aloud.

“Is that why you were reluctant to allow me the pleasure of meeting your friend?” The Keeper continues.

Death grunts and folds his arms tightly across his chest. “Calling Y/n my friend is a bit of a stretch.”

The Old One manages to convey an unimpressed expression, despite his features being entirely obscured from sight. He sighs softly, “The human isn’t here, horseman,” he presses, “you don’t need to pretend around me. As for your brother, if the Council has been contemplating his….” The Keeper shifts his gaze over to the black portal. “…fate, then they’ve yet to let me know of it.”

The horseman nearly slumps with relief. Nearly. “Good,” he breathes instead, “I’ve been questioning the Council’s motives as of late and thought perhaps that even they might resort to such drastic methods. But War is innocent.”

“I have no doubt,” The Keeper replies with a nod.

—

“You made everything here? Berraris, these are incredible!”

The wall before you stretches high above your head. All across it’s impressive width, there hangs a myriad of amazing creations. Weapons, armour pieces, shields and other things you couldn’t even begin to identify. Behind you, Berraris stands, outwardly bashful, but inwardly proud.

“A-aye!” he nods vigorously and scratches at the back of his neck, a blush spreading across his already rosy cheeks. “I made em, but I don’t know about incredible. You should see Ulthane’s work.”

Something dull and small catches your eye as you scan the wall. It’s a glove of sorts, a little larger than your own hand, probably crafted to fit an angel rather than a maker. Reaching for it, you glance back and up to find Berraris watching you intently. When he meets your eye, he stiffens and tears his own away, peering at a particularly interesting spot on the far wall.

‘Subtle,’ you smirk to yourself. “May I?”

He looks back at you, seeing what you’re reaching for. “Oh! Please, allow me.” With that, he stretches a hand over your head, bathing you in its shadow and plucks the glove delicately off the wall. “Here, hold out your hand.”

With an expression of utmost concentration, Berraris carefully slips the glove down over your arm and tugs it gently into place on your fingers. “S’a little big,” he observes, “but with a few adjustments, I could have it fit you perfectly!”

“Oh!” you exclaim, “Berraris, I didn’t mean I wanted to keep it. I was just-”

The maker chuckles warmly and bumps his hand into your side companionably, “I know, I know. But it’s not doing anything up there, and it’s probably the only thing here that’ll fit you…” He trails off and lets his eyes rove over his many projects fondly.

You peer at your now leather-bound hand and flex your fingers, testing the give. “Okay, but…Why are you giving this to me? Didn’t you make it with someone else in mind?”

Berraris’s face falls slightly. “Well, I did. An angel. I took his measurements, but he wasn’t too keen when I showed him the prototype. Said it wasn’t good enough.”

You scowl and cradle your fist in the other, ghosting your fingers over the soft leather. “Well, more fool him. I think it’s beautiful. Intricately made, phenomenal craftsmanship in the material, a real work of art!” You nod decisively and beam up at the maker who suddenly looks thoroughly lost. He opens his mouth and croaks quietly, then he coughs into a closed fist and scuffs the toe of his boot against the floor.

Thanks to his height, you can easily see the toothy grin that splits his face and even catch sight of the red blush that blooms from the tips of his pointed ears, which lay flat against his head in embarrassment. “I..ahem, well, thank you Y/n,” he whispers, breathlessly, still smiling, “In that case, it’s definitely got to be yours.”

Pretending not to notice the state he’s in, you flash Berraris a grateful smile of your own. “Well thank you, Ber!” The maker starts at the nickname. “Death might be a while,” you mutter, looking back towards the door, “how quickly can you make those adjustments? I’d kind of like to see your creative process.”

And you thought his grin couldn’t get any wider.

Look at this photograph (Criminal Minds sickfic)

This is a repost from A03.  I also write Criminal Minds.  Here!  Look!

I’m not exactly 100% happy with how this came out, but people seem to really like it.  I know the title kind of sucks.

Contains migraines and vomiting, as well as mentions of violence (what do you expect? it’s criminal minds.)

When Spencer arrives at the BAU, he has the vague feeling that something’s off.  It has nothing to do with the packet of disturbing photos waiting on his desk.  Unfortunately, teenaged girls with bashed in faces aren’t too unusual in his line of work.  Spencer fills his coffee mug, adds sugar, and sits to peruse the file.  Hotch and Garcia will certainly fill in the details when the team moves to the conference room in a few minutes, but Spencer likes to try to deduce as much as he can first.

The pictures show three girls, all with long, stringy light brown hair, crumpled on the floor in various untidy rooms.  The background of the images looks like the low-pile carpet and dark paneled walls common in mobile homes.  These girls were probably the sweethearts of their trailer trash community.  Why would someone kill them?

Spencer takes another swig of coffee.  He can practically feel the warm liquid running into his stomach, and it’s less comforting than usual.  It feels sloshy, almost sickening.  The sensation of not-quite-rightness is back, and now it’s amplified.  Spencer wonders vaguely if he’s coming down with something, but he doesn’t feel ill.  He has a mild headache, but that’s normal considering the cloudy weather and his usual insomnia.  Conditions are rife for a migraine, but the usual vision-stealing aura doesn’t seem to be approaching.  Spencer’s stomach feels fine, but he has no appetite, apparently not even for coffee.  He doesn’t feel feverish, but he has a desire to curl in on himself and pull his wool sweater tightly around his body.  He doesn’t feel good.  Not in the sense that he necessarily feels sick.  Just that the needle on the meter of his physical well-being is stuck in neutral; it hasn’t ticked up into the green zone of good.

Spencer opens his top desk drawer and gazes down at the contents.  It’s a disorganized mass of small office supplies and random items.  A spare roll of tape sits partially on top of several large rubber bands and beside a miniature figurine of the Incredible Hulk.  Two bottles of Excedrin and a bottle of ibuprofen float in the mess, and Spencer briefly considers which he wants.  He’s not really in pain, but craves something to take away his discomfort.  Better over-the-counter than something else.

He chooses the Excedrin since it contains caffeine and he seems to be having trouble getting his fix in liquid form today.  Spencer dry swallows two pills, remembering and subsequently ignoring that he should probably take them with food.  He leaves the bottle out on the desk, upside-down, and looks back at the photos in the file.

Spencer’s suddenly filled with apathy.  He’s looked, made some deductions.  He’ll learn more in the briefing.  Given their track record, the team will probably catch the perp.  And none of it will bring back three dead girls.  Spencer folds his arms on top of the desk and lowers his head to rest on his hands.

He closes his eyes and flips through a series of mental photographs.  One of the younger murdered girls laying on a pink bedspread on the floor, a stack of toppled Nancy Drew hardcovers beside her.  Morgan leaning confidently against the driver side door of his new black BMW, arms crossed and mirrored sunglasses covering his smiling eyes.  The evergreen-colored pill bottle sitting cap down on Spencer’s dark wood desk, the expiration date showing that he had approximately three months to generate enough headaches to finish the bottle before it becomes ineffective.

“You ok, Spence?” a soft, slightly concerned voice says from over his right shoulder.  Spencer slowly sits upright to avoid dizziness.  Nonetheless, vertigo catches up by the time he swivels his chair to see the speaker.  It’s JJ, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Spencer says, rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead, which feels like it might bear an imprint of his sweater’s cable-knit cuff.  He pulls his eyes down from her face to the pale tan folders she holds against her chest.  Spencer closes the file on his desk and snatches it up, sending the Excedrin bottle tumbling in the process.

JJ tracks the green plastic as it rolls across the desk and bounces onto the floor.  Spencer quickly bends to retrieve it, and his sinuses throb as he tosses it back onto the desk surface.  “Headache?” JJ asks.

It’s hard to lie to JJ, even when she hasn’t seen the evidence.  Spencer mentally smooths out a half-truth before saying, “Yeah, just didn’t sleep that well.”  He did have a fractured night—real sleep from 11:30 to 3, then a series of nightmare-punctuated drowses until he finally just got up at 4:45 and flopped on the couch with the War and Peace audiobook.  He neglects to mention that he’s been through the same routine every night for the past 27 days.

“It’s tough when we can barely count on 12 hours at home before it’s time for another case,” JJ says as the two of them start across the bullpen to the conference room.  “Hopefully we’re going somewhere far away so you can nap on the jet…”

They’re not.  The murders occurred relatively nearby in Appalachian coal country, where the local population’s collectively ill with poverty, black lung disease, and water contamination.  It’s under an hour to fly to West Virginia, complete with takeoff and landing procedures.  The flight’s uncomfortable, but Spencer white-knuckles his way through it, hoping no one makes assumptions based on his pale face and aversion to the coffee machine.  Approaching weather creates turbulence and adds to the uneasiness in Spencer’s stomach.

Once they’ve landed and exited out to the cloudy runway strip, he sticks with JJ and slides into the backseat of one of the local police cruisers that’s waiting to drive the team into town.  He puts up barriers with his demeanor to ensure no one tries asking if he’s ok.  Not just because he’s annoyed and embarrassed, but because he still doesn’t really know.  He feels slightly better after leaving the jet, but the weather system is adding pressure to the headache and his stomach is stuck in the not-quite-nauseous state that follows eating too much birthday cake or chugging some revolting vegetable juice.  Like the body is saying I don’t need to actively reject it, but I just want to reinforce that I don’t like this.  So here, feel sick for a while and think about your actions.

***

He makes it through the day on a stream of I’m busy and have we looked into this angle yet?  Spencer hasn’t taken a second to think about himself, though he’s still sitting on the verge of unwell. When it’s time for dinner, he’s out of excuses.

The whole team knows he’s barely eaten all day, and there’s only one restaurant in town that’s not a fast-food joint.  Emily rounds up some borrowed umbrellas from the local PD, and the team proceeds to walk across the street for a shared meal.  Spencer’s so tired he’d rather go back to the hotel and try to sleep, but there’s no way he’ll get out of dinner without serious inquiries about his health.

Once in the diner, the six profilers are herded into an enormous round booth, which is touted as the best seat in the house.  Spencer tries to position himself on the end, but Morgan slides in beside him at the last minute.  Their server passes around menus and promises to return with water that no one plans on drinking.

Spencer scans the menu, not really taking in the list of homestyle, greasy fare.  The whole place has a slightly stale, oily scent.  He sets the laminated pamphlet on the sticky table surface.  His hands are trembling, so he can’t hold it steady.

It’s hot, especially with the booth’s close quarters.  Spencer feels his forehead, hands, and feet growing clammy, and suddenly he’s overwhelmingly nauseated.  He leans back in the booth and takes a deep breath, willing the feeling to pass.

Morgan looks up from his menu and glances at Spencer, who imagines all color has drained from his face.  “You ok?”  Morgan asks.

Spencer fully intends to respond that he’s fine, but when he opens his mouth, he feels like vomit might come with the words.  He stands and gestures for Morgan to get up and let him out of the booth.  “Just—sorry,” he chokes.

Spencer walks quickly but smoothly to the bathroom, trying not to jostle his stomach.  He pushes into the stall without bothering to lock the door and immediately retches over the toilet.  There’s nothing to bring up, but his body still contracts, intent on expelling something even if it’s just air and saliva.

The second heave is just as unproductive, but it leaves Spencer dizzy and off-balance.  His knees give out, and he grips the wobbly toilet seat and sinks down onto the unclean floor.  Spencer feels like his eyes are rolling up in his head as he retches a third time and finally vomits.  It’s barely a tablespoon of bile, so sour it makes his eyes water and leaves him coughing.

“Reid?”  A voice says his name, and the sound is muddled with footsteps, the creak of the stall door, and Spencer’s own ragged breathing.  There’s a hand on his shoulder, light and comforting. Feels like Morgan.

“Alright, it’s ok,” Morgan soothes as Spencer hacks.  Strings of mucous hang into the toilet.  A final dry heave works its way up from Spencer’s contracting abdomen, and he grunts from the pain and bitter saliva.

“It’s alright,” Morgan intones again, sweeping his hand between Spencer’s shoulder blades.  Spencer shudders and coughs, then tries to spit out as much of the bitter taste as he can.  His eyes and nose are dripping, and his entire body feels damp and dirty.  Contaminated.  Like he’s sweating out toxins that are collecting on his skin.

“Ok,” Morgan says calmly, still gently rubbing Spencer’s back.  They sit there, Spencer still hanging over the toilet, for a silent moment.  Then Morgan asks.  “Think you’re done?”

Spencer hopes he is.  The imminent nausea has passed, but he still has an aching stomach, raw throat, and dizzy head.  “Yeah,” he croaks, pushing up on his arms and lifting his head and chest from the toilet seat.  Spencer turns his body and leans against the stall wall, slouching so his head doesn’t come into contact with the toilet paper dispenser.

“Ok, good,” Morgan says.  He reaches up and flushes the toilet, though it still looks clean.  He leans against the stall wall opposite Spencer, their legs awkwardly crunched and touching knee-to-knee in the small space.

Another minute of quiet passes, then Morgan invites conversation.  “Talk to me, pretty boy,” he says.  “What’s going on with you?”

Spencer takes a deep breath.  “I, uh,” he starts, throat still raw and sore.  “I don’t know.  I was fine.  Then just got really nauseated…”

“Yeah, got that part,” Morgan says, still calm, but with a hint of impatient sarcasm.  “But you’ve been off your game since this morning.  Tell me, for real, what’s up with you today?  You think you’re sick?”

Spencer shakes his head and looks down at his knees, avoiding Morgan’s gaze.

“Do you have a migraine?”  Morgan asks, offering another explanation for Spencer to grasp.

It would be easy to just nod an affirmative, but Spencer lacks the motivation even to do that.  He shrugs

“Kid,” Morgan warns.  It’s clear his subtext says don’t lie to me.

“I have a—a headache,” he says, pausing to swallow.  “Not that bad.  Not light-sensitive.  At least not yet.” Spencer tries to explain, closing his eyes and massaging his forehead.

“Is it making your stomach sick?”  Morgan presses.

“No,” Spencer sighs.  Then, “I don’t know.”  He can’t even begin to explain what he’s feeling.  He can’t even begin to understand it.

“Ok,” Morgan says.  “Have you eaten today?”

Spencer swallows hard again and still doesn’t make eye contact when he slowly shakes his head.  “Not hungry.”

“Yeah, I know.”  Morgan places a hand on Spencer’s knee.  “But you’re probably nauseous because you’re empty.  You’re just completely out of energy, and your body’s freaking out.”

Spencer vaguely nods.  He knows this.  The unsettledness is returning, but not in an urgent way.  It’s just annoying.  And exacerbated by the growing feeling of stupidity Morgan’s questions are bringing on.

“You’re probably dehydrated,” Morgan continues.  “D’you want—”

Spencer interrupts him with a hoarsely muttered, “Can you stop?”  Spencer’s on the verge of tears, and he isn’t completely sure why.

“What?  Yeah, kid.  Sorry,” Morgan backtracks, getting his voice back to pure comforting calm.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  I’m just worried about you.  We all are.”

Spencer exhales and presses fingers to the corners of his eyes.  “I know,” he whispers.  “I just…I feel all…” He tries to find a word for the turbulence of physical and mental sensations swirling inside him, but all he can come up with is profanity.  “…fucked up,” Spencer says.  “And I don’t know why.”

“It’s alright,” Morgan reassures.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to now,” Morgan says.  “You don’t have to talk to me.  But eventually Hotch has to know.”

All Spencer can do is sigh.  “Yeah.”

Morgan gives him another minute, then asks, “You ready to get up?”

“I don’t want to go back out.”

“You have to, eventually,” Morgan says.  “You’ll probably feel a lot better once you drink some water, have something to eat…”

“But I don’t—” Spencer has a hard time getting the words out.  “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”  He feels like shit, and he’s mortified about it.  The other profilers are probably just worried and eager to help, but to Spencer, it’s overwhelming.

Morgan pats Spencer’s knee again.  “How about I go back out first.  I can tell them you’re not feeling so good, and you want to be left alone,” he offers.

Spencer thinks for a moment, and silently nods.

“Ok, good,” Morgan affirms, starting to his feet.  He holds out a hand to Spencer, who accepts it and shakily finds his way upright.  He’s trembling all over, and he pauses to make sure the vertigo at the edges of his vision will stay at bay.

Spencer exits the stall and shuffles to the sink, where he turns on the water but doesn’t make a move to wash.  Instead he braces both arms on the porcelain and glances at his reflection in the spotted mirror.  He’s pale to the point of ghostliness, and his hair clings to his forehead with clammy sweat.  The armpits of his oxford are also soaked through.  He thinks about buttoning his cardigan to cover the damp stains, but it seems like far too much effort.

Morgan offers a paper towel, which Spencer takes, partially wadding it up so he can hold it and brace on the sink at the same time.  “You alright?”  Morgan checks in.

“Yeah…” Spencer says spacily, looking down at the running water between his hands.  He knows he probably looks ready to pass out.

“You’ll be ok by yourself?”

“Yeah.”  Spencer forces his voice to come out more confidently.

“Ok.  If you’re not out in 5 minutes, I’m coming back for you,” Morgan says as he opens the bathroom door and steps outside.

Spencer slowly releases the sink with one hand and dips it in the stream of icy tap water.  He knows he shouldn’t drink it, what with all the mining contamination, but he should be safe to wash up.  Cool down.

He actually can’t really tell if he’s hot or cold.  The sensation playing over his skin isn’t the heat that comes with nausea or the chill that comes with fever.  It’s more like the prickling of a thousand tiny cockroach feet.

Spencer splashes his face, catching his hair as he bends over the sink.  Then he pats his skin with the rough paper towel.  Vertigo almost overwhelms him when he takes his second hand away from the porcelain handhold, but he inhales the slightly woody scent of the paper towel and forces himself to remain upright.

Besides removing some residual bile from around his mouth, the hasty wash job does nothing to make Spencer feel better.  He still feels filthy, like a greasy, germy teenager.  He takes a deep breath, swallows foul-tasting mucousy saliva, and slips out of the bathroom.

***

Once the dinner bill is paid, the team exits the restaurant and opens umbrellas against the drizzle.  The general intent is to walk back to the Police Station and get in a few more hours work, but Spencer knows he can’t join in.  He wants nothing more than to sleep (or at least try to sleep) so he won’t have to feel so awkwardly unwell for a while.

He doesn’t get a chance to speak up, though.  Hotch claps a hand on his shoulder and says, “You need to go to the hotel and rest.”

Spencer doesn’t reply.  Hotch continues, “I’ll walk with you.”  Then, to the rest of the team, “Don’t wait for me.  Get as much done as you can.”

They split up, Hotch and Spencer heading down the block to the Holiday Inn while everyone else crosses the street.  Spencer feels the toast Morgan forced him to eat sitting heavily in his stomach.  There’s no way he’ll get out of talking.  He tries to remind himself that it’s not that bad.  Telling the truth is not hard.  It’s just the lingering feeling of stupidity that bothers him as he struggles to explain what and why he’s feeling.

Once in the hotel, they ride the elevator up to Spencer’s room.  Spencer fumbles the key card into the door slot, then steps over the threshold and sinks down on the end of the bed.  Hotch pulls the chair over from the desk in the corner and sits opposite.

“Reid,” Hotch says.

Spencer doesn’t make eye contact.

“I know you’re not feeling well.  And you don’t like getting attention like this,” Hotch continues.  “But I need to know what’s going on with you.  Not because I don’t think you can take care of yourself, but we have three dead girls and a killer on the loose.  The team can’t work at its best if you’re not honest with me.  And we need the team working at its best right now.”

Spencer sighs and finally raises his head.  He feels like crying.  His sinuses are heavy and there’s immense pressure behind his eyes and in his forehead.

“I just…” Spencer starts, “I just feel bad.  My head hurts and I keep getting nauseous.  My whole body is just…uncomfortable,” he tries to explain.  “It’s not—I don’t think I have a fever or anything.”

“I know you haven’t been eating,” Hotch says.  “Sleeping?”

Spencer shrugs.  “Sometimes.  Have a hard time most nights.”

“You’ve been having migraines.”  It’s not a question.

Spencer tightly closes his eyes and presses the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  “Yeah, but…” he whispers.  “I mean, I’m not…I don’t really know.  If this is aura, it’s different from how it’s been before.”  He takes a deep breath and grasps for any semblance of composure.

Hotch’s hand comes down on Spencer’s knee.  “I have to ask.  Have you taken anything?”

He knows his supervisor means hard drugs, but Spencer can still barely whisper, “Excedrin.”

“Did it help?”

“No.”  The word hardly escapes Spencer’s lips when the dam breaks.  His eyes are wet behind his fingers and his breath is caught up in a painful sob.

“It’s alright,” Hotch soothes.  He increases the pressure on Spencer’s knee.

Spencer sobs again.  He feels his heart beating fast and hard, and his head throbs in time with it.  Vertigo assaults him, and Spencer leans forward to rest elbows on knees and head in hands. Hotch’s comforting touch jumps up to Spencer’s shoulder.

Spencer takes a deep inhale and wills the dizziness down, but it turns to nausea anyway.  He focuses on his feet, not quite toe-to-toe with Hotch and tries to tell himself he’s fine.  The next sob brings on an excess of bitter saliva, and Spencer swallows thickly.

“Reid?” Hotch questions, fatherly instincts kicking in.

“I—” he swallows again.  “’M sorry, I think I’m gonna throw up.”  Spencer struggles upright, almost tripping over Hotch and unsure of what to do with his arms.

“Ok, yep,” Hotch intones as he stands and hovers at Spencer’s shoulder as the younger man moves to the bathroom.

Spencer bends over the toilet and sobs until a gag cuts him off.  Half a slice of undigested toast and a few sips of water don’t take long to expel, but time feels suspended, and both retches and sobs taste bad and make his stomach muscles hurt.  He’s so dizzy he’s half afraid he’ll fall forward and drown in the toilet water.

Spencer isn’t sure how much time has elapsed when his stomach finally stops spasaming and he feels comfortable moving away from the toilet.  He uses the edge of the counter to pull himself upright and drag himself over to the sink.  Spencer rinses his mouth with the probably-not-safe-to-drink water and buries his face in a hand towel.

He’s shaking horribly.  Everything, from his fingers to his lips feel clumsy and freezing.  The only thing he wants is to lie down so maybe his surroundings will move from painful back into ordinary. Spencer drops the towel onto the counter and slowly steps back toward the bedroom.

He gets as far as the door when his legs give out.  So does his vision, and he has no idea where he is for a moment.  Then an arm catches him around the chest and the world does a dizzying swoop as everything rights itself.

And finally, finally the skull-splitting pain hits.  It’s almost a relief.

“Hey, ok, take it easy,” Hotch says.  “Reid, you with me?”  He gets his arm solidly around Spencer’s shoulders.

Spencer swallows and tries to respond.  His throat is raw and full of snot, his very brain is being sawed in half, and his “yeah,” comes out as a hoarse croak.  He coughs and shifts his feet so he’s steadier.  “oh, god.”

“Alright, the bed’s right here.”  Hotch supports Spencer the five or so feet, and Spencer immediately sits and curls onto his side on top of the quilt.  Tears are leaking from his eyes again, and every part of him is trembling.

Hotch’s phone rings.  The ringtone indicates it’s one of the BAU team members.  Hotch answers, and Spencer covers his face with his hand and feels guilty all over again.  Someone’s probably found something, actions probably need to be taken.  The team leader should be there at the police station, not here putting Spencer to bed.

“Hi, JJ,” Hotch says.  Spencer can hear JJ’s voice on the other end of the line, but it’s too soft to understand the words.

“He’s uh…” Hotch sighs.  “He’s not good right now.”  She must have asked how Spencer is doing.  Another wave of guilt slams into him, worsening his headache.  Now he’s distracting JJ too.

“He’s upset.  He got sick and almost passed out,” Hotch says.  Spencer doesn’t want to hear it, and he wonders why Hotch doesn’t leave the room.  Either he’s afraid to take his eyes of Spencer, or he wants him to hear what he’s saying.

“Yeah, I think maybe the pain finally hit.  He’s very dehydrated, and that’s what’s worrying me.  And we don’t have any drinkable water here.”

There’s a long pause as JJ’s voice sounds again.  Then Hotch says, “Ok, let me see if he’s up to it.”  He holds the phone to his chest and crouches beside Spencer.  “JJ wants to talk to you.  Is that ok?  Do you want to talk to her?”

Spencer’s first thought is no, he does not want to talk to JJ.  She’s probably his closest friend, and she’ll do everything in her power to make him feel better.  But Spencer’s not weak, he does not need help.  Especially for something ridiculous like anxiety and a headache.  But in his state of severe discomfort, all Spencer can do is nod and reach up for the phone as tears flood his eyes.

Spencer takes a shaky breath.

“Spence?” JJ asks gently.  “Hey.”

“Hi,” Spencer whispers.

“You really don’t feel good, huh?”

It’s one of those questions where yes and no mean the same thing.  “Eh,” Spencer replies, trying not to sob into the phone.

“Is it your head?”

“Yeah.”  He’d gladly go to a guillotine for relief.

“And your stomach?”

“Yeah, I don’t know.  ‘s just everything.  Hurts.  Doesn’t feel right.”

“Oh, Spence.  Can I come see you?  Maybe get you something to drink so we can get you feeling better?”

“But…the case?” Spencer asks.

“The internet is so slow it’ll probably take another hour or two for anything to turn up.  We’ve got Garcia on it back in Quantico.  It’s a miracle this call hasn’t broken up yet.”  She pauses for a second.  “Is it ok if I come see you?  We’re probably gonna call it a night here.”

Emotion crashes through him again as Spencer tightens his grip on the phone.  “Yes.  Please, JJ.  Yeah.”

“Ok.  I’ll be there soon.  I’ll be right there.”  She hangs up, and Spencer slowly moves the device away from his ear and returns it to Hotch.

Spencer stays curled on his side on the bed.  Hotch removes Spencer’s shoes for him and offers to help him into a more comfortable position, but Spencer declines.  He must have drifted into a light sleep, because all of a sudden someone’s saying his name and pushing his hair off his forehead.

“Spence.”  It’s JJ.

Spencer doesn’t open his eyes, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to see even if he does.  Bright silver-white shimmers poke at his left eye, making it water with more than just impending tears. Aura’s supposed to come first.  He’s so off track he can’t even have a migraine properly.

Before he can form another coherent thought, he’s sitting up, his head swimming, and pressing his face into her stomach.

“Hey, Spence,” JJ whispers.  “Alright.”  She wraps her arms around his head and shoulders, pressing him to her.

Every single thing that’s ever been right or wrong or harrowing or painful seems to flash behind Spencer’s eyelids as he leans into the embrace.  His confused non-childhood, his mother’s illness, leftover PTSD and quirks from months on dilaudid, the inability to relate to other people, the debilitating headaches with no apparent cause…all of it falls in big, salty tears.

***

When Spencer wakes next, it’s still dark.  No light filters through the hotel room’s cheap curtains.  Spencer’s grateful; he’s positive any errant sunshine would send him heaving over the edge of the bed.  The pain’s settled in his right temple, and if it weren’t so damn incapacitating, he’d be relieved.

Spencer struggles to remember exactly what happened after JJ came into the room.  Everything in the past 24 hours seems like a painful blur, but that length of time’s especially blank.  There were comforts and kind words, Spencer thinks, then water and Gatorade and vomit.  Or maybe he’d been sick before she arrived.  It hardly matters now.

The mattress dips a millimeter, and Spencer rides the resulting wave of queasy agony.  JJ’s still here, he realizes, lying behind him, fully clothed, on top of the slick hotel comforter.

“You ok?” she asks sleepily.

“Hm,” Spencer affirms.  “Ok.”

“Feel better?”

Spencer’s torn.  Physically, it’s about the same as it was last night when the puzzle pieces realigned themselves into garden-variety migraine territory.  Which is to say his head feels like it’s going to fall off, his stomach’s in knots, and his eyesight’s completely shot.  But in terms of knowing what he’s up against, the reprieve is almost magical.  A day or two of hellacious headaches is manageable, it’s the devil he knows rather than the void of anxiety and depression and drug cravings that he wishes he doesn’t.

“I’ll be ok,” he whispers.

“How about right now?”  JJ doesn’t miss a beat, even when she’s half asleep.

Spencer doesn’t answer.  JJ fills in the blank.  “Still not so good?”

She’s up on her feet before Spencer can protest, bringing Excedrin and Gatorade.

“You don’t have to stay.  You should rest,” Spencer whispers after he’s painfully hauled himself upright so he can swallow the pills.

“I have Henry.  I’m used to being up at all hours,” JJ replies with a wan smile.  “Besides, someone’s gotta look out for you when you’ve got a headache.  Remind you to take fluids.  Otherwise you’re no use to the team.”

The eye contact she initiates says so much more than the sentence.  When you’ve got a headache may as well have been when you cry about your mom or crave long-gone drugs or claw through depression or need to mourn three dead girls.  Someone’s gotta remind you to take care of yourself.

“I don’t mean that you can’t do it on your own.”  JJ echoes Hotch’s words from earlier in the evening.

“Yeah,” Spencer sighs.  He realizes with a sudden onset of exhaustion that it’s not bothering him much anymore.  He has done a shit job of getting himself through any of it.  Maybe it is that dose of human contact he struggles so much with that actually makes all the difference.  “I, uh, I really appreciate it.”

“I’d do it for anyone I care about,” JJ murmurs.  She rescues the Gatorade from Spencer’s softening grip.  “I don’t know what I did before you joined up,” she continues in a whisper.  “You’re like my brother now.”

As Spencer drifts asleep again, he turns through pages of mental photographs again.  Bumper-to-bumper Los Vegas traffic.  Lonely country roads.  Three dead girls who deserve justice.  Hotchbending to unlace Spencer’s shoes.  JJ lining up bottles of water along the edge of the bedside table.

He knows what’s important.

And he thinks he might just feel a little better.

Arctic May Have Crossed Key Threshold, Emitting Billions Of Tons Of Carbon

Permafrost at the top of the cliff, melts into the Kolyma River outside of Zyryanka, RussiaThe Arctic is undergoing a profound, rapid and unmitigated shift into a new climate state, one that is greener, features far less ice, and is a net source of greenhouse gas emissions from melting permafrost, according to a major new federal assessment of the region released Tuesday.The consequences of these climate shifts will be felt far outside the Arctic in the form of altered weather patterns, increased greenhouse gas emissions, and rising sea levels from the melting Greenland ice sheet and mountain glaciers.The findings are contained in the 2019 Arctic Report Card, a major federal assessment of climate change trends and impacts throughout the region. The study paints an ominous picture of a region lurching to an entirely new and unfamiliar climate state.Especially noteworthy is the report's conclusion that the Arctic may have already turned into a net emitter of planet-warming carbon emissions due to thawing permafrost, which would only accelerate global warming. Permafrost is the carbon-rich frozen soil that covers 24% of Northern Hemisphere land area, encompassing vast stretches of territory across Alaska, Canada, Siberia and Greenland.There has been concern throughout the scientific community that the approximately 1,460-1,600 billion metric tons of organic carbon stored in frozen Arctic soils, which amounts to nearly twice as much greenhouse gases than what is contained in the atmosphere, could be released as the permafrost melts.Warming temperatures allow microbes within the soil to convert permafrost carbon into the greenhouse gases - carbon dioxide and methane - which can be released into the atmosphere and accelerate warming. Ted Schuur, a researcher at Northern Arizona University and author of the permafrost chapter, said the report "takes on a new stand on the issue" based on other published work, including a study in Nature Climate Change in November.Taking advantage of the new studies - one on regional carbon emissions from permafrost in Alaska during the warm season, and another on winter season emissions in the Arctic compared to how much carbon is absorbed by vegetation during the growing season - the report concludes that permafrost ecosystems could be releasing as much as 1.1 to 2.2 billion tons of carbon dioxide per year. This is almost as much as the annual emissions of Japan and Russia in 2018, respectively."These observations signify that the feedback to accelerating climate change may already be underway," the report concludes."Each of the studies has some parts of the story. Together they really paint the picture of - we've turned this corner for Arctic carbon," said Schuur. "Together they complement each other nicely and really in my mind are a smoking gun for this change already taking place."The report notes there is still considerable uncertainty about carbon emissions estimates given the relatively limited observational measurements. But it also warns that the Arctic region - which is warming at more than twice the rate of the rest of the world, may have already turned into the global warming accelerator long been feared.The findings come just as U.N. climate negotiators meet in Madrid to address the need for more ambitious cuts in greenhouse gas emissions, and would mean that the world faces an even steeper challenge in meeting the targets outlined in the Paris Climate Agreement.Schuur said that the carbon being emitted by the Arctic amounts to less than 10% of fossil fuel emissions each year. "So it's a small addition to what humans are already producing," he said.However, that number is likely to grow with time, as the Arctic continues to warm. "We've crossed the zero line," Schuur said."We don't think the Arctic is going to admit so much more emissions that it will make fossil fuel emissions irrelevant," but any extra emissions complicate the already difficult task of slashing them to net zero by mid-century to limit global warming to no more than 1.5-degrees Celsius, he said.Merritt Turetsky, an ecologist at the University of Guelph who was not involved in the Arctic Report Card, said three new discoveries support its conclusion.New information on fall and winter carbon, as opposed to summer when plants are active in the far north, "shows much greater ecosystem losses of carbon to the atmosphere than we expected," she said in an email. "So our biosphere in the North is leakier than we thought because soils are remaining warm and respiring both carbon dioxide and methane." Methane is another powerful greenhouse gas.She said wildfires are pushing farther north into the boreal forests, and these also release carbon stored in ecosystems.And studies in the past few years have shown that permafrost can respond rapidly to warming and increased rainfall."We know little about abrupt permafrost thaw, and it occurs at local scales so is difficult to scale up. But our best estimate shows that abrupt thaw has the potential to double the climate impacts of traditional measurements of permafrost thaw," Turetsky said.The broader Arctic Report Card shows the region is undergoing extensive changes in the marine environment as well as frozen lands. The Bering Sea, in particular, has seen "disquieting" shifts in the past two years, the report finds. What happens here is crucial for the U.S. economy, given that about 40% of the domestic fish and shellfish catch, worth more than $1 billion, comes from this region every year.For the past two years, the maximum sea ice extent in the Bering Sea has been at record lows, at about 30% of the long-term mean from 1980 through 2010, the new report finds.This is due to a few factors, including unusually mild, southerly winds during winter that pushed sea ice northward and transported warm, moist air into the Pacific portion of the Arctic. In addition, the late freeze-up of the bordering Chukchi Sea in the previous fall seasons helped to delay ice formation in the northern Bering Sea, and warm ocean temperatures from low sea ice conditions slowed the advance of new ice as air temperatures cooled.The wintertime ice retreat is crucial, since it causes ripple effects on fisheries by governing the placement of frigid waters that sink near the bottom of the continental shelf. As ice retreats, taking this cold water with it, a mass migration of fish species is underway in the Bering Sea, with Arctic species such as Pacific cod and walleye pollock moving north, replaced by southern species such as northern rock sole.In the southeastern Bering Sea, warming has accelerated to the point that the "cold pool" - the frigid, salty water that provides a barrier between its southern stretch from its northern, Arctic region - shrank from covering 56% in 2010 to 1.4% in 2018. It only inched up to 6.3% this year, and species such as Pacific cod surged north."I don't think it was on anyone's radar that it could disappear," said Lyle Britt, who oversees the NOAA Fisheries Bering Sea bottom trawl survey.Britt said he and other researchers are still analyzing the area's fish to determine how many have migrated from southern waters."This is a big change to the ecosystem," he said. "We have a lot of work to do with genetics just to make sure we know where the fish is coming from."According to Mellisa Johnson, an Inupiaq who is executive director of Bering Sea Elders Group, coastal Bering Sea communities are grappling with the loss of sea ice, which dramatically alters their ability to access food sources such as seals, walrus and bowhead whales."We have to continue to look for alternative food sources," she said in an interview.To illustrate the swiftness and complexity of the changes indigenous communities are seeing, she said people are "having to create new words to depict what is going on with our changing environment," citing a new type of plant that has shown up in the region as air and ground temperatures have warmed.Alaska has had its hottest year to date in 2019, with no sea ice visible from the shoreline in Nome as of Dec. 9, which is highly unusual for this time of year."We fear for our young people; we worry that they will grow without the same foods and places that we have known throughout our lives," says a chapter written by a group of indigenous representatives in the Arctic Report Card. "We are no longer able to reliably predict the weather," the report states, citing the reduced use of knowledge passed down from one generation to the next.(Except for the headline, this story has not been edited by NDTV staff and is published from a syndicated feed.) Read the full article

Ustrina Genesis: Shards of Fire

Chapter Six: Blood tears

"What do you mean we got nothing !" Cade stood up suddenly smashing his hands on the desk in front of him crushing papers and knocking over his desk tidy "Sir I sent emails with photos and scans to every hospital and University on the island and sent every form of message out of the island with either no response or they have no idea because of the individuality and fragility of the boy's eye no one knows what to do" the Assistant said with a noticeable waver in his voice " I refuse to believe that because he's a little different no doctor in the island knows what to do" he paces around his desk ad shakes his hand in front of him as he talks "Every doctor on the island are either stupid or still ignoring us" he pulled his fingers down his face to his nose, his eyes squinted shut "Jesus Christ! Its been four damn years, forget it ill just do it myself. I'll sort it out" he sighed "But Dr Dens the board said if you do any more unsigned procedures they could shut us dow-" " ADAM, I said ill sort it out so ill sort it out! OKAY!" the Assistant recoiled at the exclamation " Y- yes sir" the assistant stuttered then Cade sighed again " Listen I'm sorry I'm just very stressed" he looks around at the table behind him "Where's my coffee..." he looks around frantically "WHERE'S MY COFFEE, I NEED MY GOD DAMN COFFEE!" he slams his fist on the table mid-sentence "ADAM I NEED MY COFFEE GET ME MY-" " Already on it" the Assistant interrupts as he runs out the room.

As Adam ran past he revealed a certain red boy standing at the office door " Oh... Bullet I uh... didn't see you there" Bullet didn't move "We were just talking about the uh new bedsheets in your room which one would suit you better, cream or... white" Bullet gave him a level look and Cade stirred at the unusual maturity coming from him "Grampa. I may be seven years old but please don't treat me like an idiot" Cade's eyes widened at the child's statement " Uh... okay" he gave Bullet an obviously too-wide smile and nods " Did you come to ask to see your brother?" Bullet just looks down and shuffles on his feet and nods " Come on then" Cade waves Bullet over and holds out his hand and gives Bullet a warm smile Bullet stays quiet but takes Cade's hand and they walk out of the office. As they walk down the sunlit corridor Adam jogs over to Cade and hands him a mug with white and blue wings overlapping each other, Adam hands the mug over to Cade's freehand" Oh Adam you're a lifesaver" Adam smiles at Cade and he smiles back then promptly takes a large sip of the coffee "ahhh that's a good cup of joe" Bullet looks up at Cade with a raised ‘eyebrow' " Whaaat? I like me some joe" Bullets face softens and he smiles.

The two stop at a door that has a clipboard with 6 names including L. Dens, Cade knocks at the door and waits, after few shuffles inside and some footsteps the door opened and a white-coated fox came to the door. Cade and the unknown doctor exchanged some words as Bullet watched, after a bit, the two nodded at each other and the fox went back in, closing the door behind him. Cade turned back to Bullet "Dr Factor said that you can't come in right now as their doing some tests but we can come back in fifteen to twenty minutes" Bullet nods " Okay" Cade walks Bullet a little bit down the corridor to the waiting room. They both sit down in an empty blue couch, the room had other people in it also waiting for their turn and they chattered and interacted amongst themselves. A blocky TV was set up at the front of the room on the wall on an old metal arm with thick black wires along it covered in dust; the TV seemed to be on a news show. Cade found the remote on a side table and turned it up.

"-ank you jenny for the weather. And now to the top story of this week, the infamous new head technician at the bioengineering facility has been found dead Tuesday morning at the construction site of the new office location of BioTemp Ltd, furthermore the wife of the technician, Mrs Lucerna Dens was pronounced missing the day after. Through citizen reports we learn the victim was walking home with his wife and two children from work and from CCTV footage it shows they were encountered by an unknown figure before the incident, however, unfortunately, all CCTV footage cut out shortly after. The next morning the discovery was made by an early working construction executive who immediately reported the situation to the police. The crime scene was a mind-blowing mystery as there were massive craters in the ground, a giant hole in the side of a building and many of the windows from the ground to hundreds of feet up were shattered."

"Our experts say that the crater was caused by a person crashing into it at high speeds as well as the hole in the building as it has traces of blood on the shattered tarmac and glass shards, however, the windows were caused by a giant shockwave of sound. The most terrifying part of this story was that the victim was found with massive disembowelling holes in his torso and his skull almost completely shattered and the tools needed to do all of these things would have unimaginable force. " they flash a small warning for disturbing imagery as the reporter talked then showed the bloody scene of the crime scene and then the autopsy showing the deep holes and intestines.

"Due to the malfunctioning of the CCTV footage the identity of the suspect is unknown and there are few leads. However, due to the suspicious disappearance of the Mrs Dens, she has also been considered to be a crucial suspect in this case. A freind of Mrs Dens, a receptionist at the bioengineering facility Miss August Lee Was interviewed the following night of the incident-" the video cuts to a recording of robust lady being interviewed in front of a wide reception Littered with police officers "Lucy and her kids came to meet Arco after his meetings ended here for the day; they came to me to chat a bit about normal things had a bit of a laugh, Arco forgot his keys to the construction sight because they always passed through that way to go home and because construction hadn't started yet so it was safe to go, or so I thought-" the clip momentarily cuts "Do I think she had any reason to do it, of course not they were a perfect little happy family that at least seemingly had no problems, they adored each other so there's no way-" "although Arco did rise to a very high position rather quickly no one had any visible animosity towards him because he was all round a really nice guy and always strived to improve the department for all including the lower workers so I think its highly unlikely that it was anyone from the facility.-"

The video transitions back to the news reporter "It was reported that yesterday afternoon the two children were reported to arrived Monday night of the incident hundreds of miles away at the Cornico island general hospital and taken in by the father of Mr Arco Dens the also well known (however for the wrong reasons) the in-famous Dr Cade Dens however when we asked for information on the subject he refused all inquiries. Interviews on close friends and workers of the will continue throughout the coming weeks and the investigation will continue to find more concrete information. If you happen to have any information about the case please contact this number onscreen or go to our website for more informa-" the TV suddenly was cut off. Cade stood there trembling and gritting his teeth, rage and despair flushed on his face and the room stood silent staring at him. Bullet suddenly gags running out the door, breaking the silence cade twitches and looks around the room "What are you lookin' at" everyone avoids eye contact looking away and the room again fills with conversation.

Cade turned the TV back on to a different station and walks out in the way of the bathroom, sounds of violent coughing and retching came from a stall in the corner of the bathroom in there sat Bullet, hanging onto to the walls of the stall for dear life, his small but sharp claws burrowed into the walls and his face blindly staring into the toilet bowl retching with nothing else to give, his eyes were filled with realisation and devastation, the blood that streamed from his reopening wound and the tears from his right eye rolled down his crimson cheeks and gathered at his chin, the blood tears dripping down to the floor and at his feet, further exhausting his small dehydrated trembling body. Cade crouched and put a hand on the small boys back he swivels around fast in a sudden and involuntary panic and the terror in his eyes sent shivers down Cade's spine "hey, hey its just me calm down" He gently put his warm hand on Bullet's head; his eyes soften and he hugs Cade and continued to cry into his chest "Its ok, its ok, lets go change that dressing on your eye; Bullet just nodded still hugging Cade close and Cade picked him up and walked into the room across the hall.

After his dressing was changed and he cleaned up and calmed down Bullet sat at the end of the bed looking down, his hand planted squarely on his lap. "I assume you don't want to talk about it" Cade said breaking the silence; Bullet paused then slowly shook his head "Allrighty then" he hopped onto his feet Lets go see your brother then" he held out his comparatively large hand and Bullet took it and they walked out the room. They walked up to the door again and Cade knocked, Dr Factor opened the door and walked them into Lightning's bed near the window with twilight shining through the window. He slept in the hospital bed with two machines connected to him and monitoring his vitals. Bullet sat in a blue chair beside the top of the bed and Cade pulled up a chair beside him. The doctor walked up to the other side to the bed, clipboard in hand "Ok so we've finished all the tests, and Lightning is mostly in shock after whatever transpired on Monday, he's had a mild concussion and so should wake up soon however, he has severely strained and damaged his vocal chords to the point of rupturing a blood vessel, so I advise he does not talk at all until they are completely healed which could be two to three months, however, due to the strange biology of this boy there is a chance that his vocal chords regrow in an irreparable form and he could be mute."

They look back to Lightning who had sat up silently without the three knowing and sitting silently with wide eyes. Bullet jumped to hug his brother who smiled and winces in response, his bruises and cuts were not fully healed. "I'm just glad you're awake and ok.. for the most part" he moved back " Welcome back Lightning" Cade said with a smile and Lightning smiled back; the three looked back to the doctor "So I assume you heard what I said about your voice Lightning" Lightning nodded slowly in response "Ok, so I will provide two alternative options for speech replacement 1. A whiteboard and pen/book and pencil for the short term or for the long term in case of complications you could use sign language, I have a small sign language book of simple things for kids and you Bullet could learn it with your brother" Bullet looked to his brother then back to the doctor "It could be your own little secret language" the doctor said with a warm smile.

He handed a whiteboard and a book to Lightning the brothers exchanged looks and then Lightning looked to the book and picked it up and flicked through it and then held it up to the doctor with a page with the sign for "this" and then a sign for "one" the fox chuckled and said "Ok" as he took the whiteboard "Ill check on you on a bi-weekly basis from now on Lightning, but for now this concludes our session. You are free to leave but if you are still tired you can stay in the bed" lightning promptly shook his head and started to move himself out the bed "You don't have push yourself too hard" the doctor said worriedly, Lightning shook his head determinedly. He edged out of the bed and stood on his feet, his legs were a bit shaky but he pulled himself up using Bullet "are you ok" says the doctor, Lightning nodded shyly "Well you are free to leave" The doctor does a small nod to all of them and then he walked off to attend other patients.

The three walked out of the room into the slowly darkening hallway, lights fluttered on as the night was solidifying "Ok you two as your tests are over and I don't have any urgent work until mmmm about an hour and a half later so I'll show you where you are going to stay, come on" he motioned to the two to follow him as he walked off down the hallway resting his hands behind him and the two hobbled after him. They reached an elevator a quarter the way from the end of the long hallway, Cade took a ring of keys from his pocket and then put a red-capped key into a slot among four under the elevator keypad and then pressed up; Bullet and lightning looked up to a complicated looking colour coded level map for the hospital, their eyes were drawn to a brown rectangular section with the code RW20 which stood for Residential Wing 20, it had 4 initials written in eraser marker in small writing and one engraved wooden plate at the very end with Dr C. Dens and above it the letters CEO in block capitals.

The elevator doors finally opened and they walked in, Cade pressed a button labelled RW20 amongst a terrifying number of buttons and they went up. After a bit the door opened and he walked out to the right of them down another hallway; at the end of the hallway were two large-ish dark wooden doors, cade pushed the doors open revealing a massive but cosy library "This is the hospital residents library for levels 15 and above, it is mostly quite here so you can come here whenever you want and read, there is a kids section. You could also practice your sign language when you get to that here Lightning." he said and Lightning nodded to Cade. They walk to the very back of the grand library to a small wooden door with a latch, barely noticeable among the towering rows of books. Cade takes out a complicated key for such a small door from his personal key chain and opens the door, it reveals a small spiral staircase and they walk up to it to another door.

The door was white with a fresh label that reads B & L Dens "Welcome to your new home " Cade said and then he opened the door. It opens to a large apartment with a grand looking staircase in the middle with windows up it; the boys stare in stunned silence and then excitement quickly spreads across their faces and they run off to explore the place "I assume you like the place, it has three rooms a kitchen living room and an attic, I wanted you two to have a place big enough to live in for a long time and big enough for me to stay when I can, of course you won't be completely alone, one of the kids nurses will be coming it 4 times a day to check on you and I will whenever I can" Bullet and Lightning run down the stairs and pull Cade up by his hands "Grampa Grampa we know where we wanna stay" Bullet says excitedly "ok ok I'm coming" they run up to the top of the staircase into a dark and dusty room with an arched window at the end "The attic? Really? Are you sure?" The two nod in sync "ok then whatever you want" Cade says with a smile patting the two's heads.

"Alright, now that's done follow me" He walked back out of the apartment, the library and back down the hallway. They walk all the way to the end and they come up a single door " This you two is my apartment and office, come here if you need anything but try to use the help desk on this level and section first because I'm usually very busy ok" the two again nod in response "ok you can go back to the library now, I trust you can do that" they nod again and Cade waved to them "see ya later" the two wave back an walk in the direction of the Library. They trek there way almost all the way back to the Library. As they walk back they pass a tall figure, it was a dark with a pointy nose, giant towering ears and wings attached to their arms. His barely open eyes were dark, sunken and tired but his face healed a deep-set wide smile, his hands rested behind him and he wore the doctor uniform and had an embroidered name tag at his lapel that read Dr C. Ivoss in black cursive letters. As the two passed him Bullet caught eye contact with him and his smile widened slightly, a deep chill shot down Bullet's spine and spread through his entire being, clawing at his brain. His body somehow was physically and deeply perturbed and with that, he quickly looked away sped up toward the door. However, the man's eyes still followed them, watching intently and enticed...

To be continued...