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candiliam328 · 3 months

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✨ Bean's Top Five Song Discoveries of 2023 ✨

yes i realize it is already well into january 2024 but here, enjoy the songs i found this year that define my 2023. if you're new here, hi i used to make obsessive music posts but now dont have time to make full ones so take this instead: your very own unique insight to my 2023!

this post is dedicated to @disco-tea for somehow being invested in all my music adventures and obsessions, bestie ily 🥺💕

STOP (Lollapalooza Version) by j-hope (Eng. translation // Performance w/ Eng. sub)

im totally cheating already by choosing this when i first listened to jitb in 2022. but honestly? i dont care. i saw hobipalooza for the first time in 2023 and this version was only officially released then so here it is now!

to be frank, watching the performance was a completely different experience to me compared to listening to the studio release. while the original recording sounded conversational, it felt like something was exploding out of him during this performance. he needed to get things off his chest and yet still barely stops himself in his tracks from spiralling. and the juxtaposition !! placing it right after Equal Sign, where he is preaching kindness and understanding and unity and even goes so far to say "it costs you nothing to be kind" ?? and then the sudden immediate whiplash into STOP where he is actively holding himself back because its not true! being kind is hard!!! but he wants to be understanding and practice what he preaches but even he fails and gets "contaminated by the viruses" sometimes. its hard, its real, its raw. and ugh !! this song !!!

Bonus: the moment I always start to lose my mind

its the way the alternate title to this song is "there are no bad people in the world," a belief he holds deep to his core. and yet only a few breaths later, he confesses that the reality of the world makes him question if people are even human anymore. 😩 like wtf-

but also. its so true. and relatable. sometimes i cant even look at the news anymore bc its so hard to be a hopeful and positive and good person when you are bombarded with only hate and tragedy. i have never seen that feeling captured so perfectly in a song. jung hoseok you king.

tldr i think about this song, its performance juxtaposition, and what it means way too often. eternally sad that the youtube video with eng subs playing those songs back to back got taken down, i rewatched it so much it haunts me. may we never ever forget hobipalooza bc jung hoseok made Choices !!

Don't Wanna Cry by Seventeen (Eng. translation // Performance w/ Eng. sub in captions)

the real ones remember how j-hope took over my life that second half of 2022 and how much i fought tooth and nail the entire way... so yeah lol seventeen took over the second half of 2023 and this is the song that got me out of that denial.

the thing is. i had kept hearing about this song and this choreography and how iconic it was, which is why i avoided it for so long. but as we all know, no matter how much i joke, i am and always will be a dancer. dancing will always be in my blood. so it is very on brand that a good dancer has been what gets me into kpop groups 100% of the time (2 out of 2 groups stanned bc i fell for the main dancer 🫣). and as a choreographer, good choreo will always have an unreasonable chokehold on me. and yet, Don't Wanna Cry has the audacity to exist ?? featuring performance unit leader hoshi with his most masterful choreography for this heartbreaking song ?? come onnn, i had no chance.

i cant say anything about this choreo that hasnt been said before but like seriously, watch this practice video and tell me this choreo isnt one of the most in-sync yet emotionally effective pieces of art you've ever seen. You don't even need the translations to understand the emotions behind it. But when I first saw the lyrics with the choreography, I swear I got chills. Ironically, once DK sang out this line:

my eyes got blurry. because thats the whole point of the song isn't it? thats the whole reason why they dont want to cry. because they realize their time together is limited, their heart is breaking but each second in their presence is so beautiful and precious, how dare tears get in the way of fully appreciating this time together. its beautiful and heartbreaking and then the timing of falling to their knees right after for a chorus just adds into the hopelessness.

And I know everyone talks about the bridge but like- the bridge.

Lying to yourself that everything is OK only to fall on your knees again begging "come back, come back, come back". The rawness in this choreo. The almost uncontrollable chest pops in this vulnerable, open position because these words are coming from their heart.

Also Hoshi still to this day calls this one of his favorite svt choreos. He doesn't brag much about his choreo nowadays but the interviews I could find of him proudly relaying the story behind the iconic "streetlight" choreo just 🥺🥺 me too buddy. choreo can be beautiful sometimes and he did so good with this one. 🥺🥺🥺 choreographer hoshi, king of my heart, thank you for making me fall in love with this song 🥺🙌

I'm Just Another Person Oh God by Daisy the Great (lyrics)

Ah, yes. the Daisy the Great phase. I could have picked the whole All You Need is Time album honestly bc the storyline it has in my head is so fucked up I can't handle it. But in the end, it was a toss up between including this one or Aluminum in this list bc those were the ones I had on loop. for. reasons. 🫣

Gosh, what to say about this song. other than admitting, wow was I going through something for this one. Haven't we all felt this way sometimes though? Wanting something so bad and it not working out and then stepping back like. "wait am i being greedy and selfish with this?" and the answer is no! like actually im just being entirely super normal with this. just like everyone else! only i am also filled with some bonus woe! like ?!??!?! wasnt that the biggest 2023 mood? idk it was for me lmao.

There is something to be said with this album though, that is particularly apparent in this song. It's that kind of cynical wistfulness of wanting something you had in the past. Passion? Naivete? Whatever it is. It's gone now bc of life, the passage of time, and you're being like so super brave and normal about it (clenched fist, arthur meme style). Everything is painted with a bit of regret and "why am i always like this", all wrapped up in a funky floaty song that is almost uncomfortably easy to listen and vibe to bc of how concerning those lyrics can be when you really listen. but hey ✌️ it really do be like that sometimes i guess. shoutout to them for the insane 20yearold something vibes bc daisy the great? they get it ahaha.

Snow on Tha Bluff by J. Cole (lyrics)

Lol surprise.

if you ever want to know how i find music, a lot of my favorite songs are usually found by chance. a random deep dive fueled by curiosity or hyperfixation and every so often, my spotify will give me a gem. this particular discovery was bc for a variety of reasons, i decided to listen to a playlist of j.cole's music and was bopping along appropriately until this one came up and. i had to replay it multiple times.

its very understated. and raw. stream-of-consciousness.

i dont even know but i listened to this one a lot. even as i write this now, its been months since i listened to it but when i was making this list, i knew i had to include this one bc of how much ive thought about it.

there's something about understated vulnerability that always gets me in. nothing about this is showy nor does it really seem to have a point other than him needing to get this off his chest. yet there's such a poignant art to it. the instance he speaks about is v specific but the sentiment is still relatable and somehow resonated with me a lot.

idk i just think this song is so beautiful in its simplicity, which is something i think i should try to emulate more considering i said a whole lot of nothing in this section so i think ill stop this one here.

I Don't Understand But I Luv U by Seventeen (Eng. Lyrics)

if i had to pick a song that defined my december, it would be this one. hands down, no contest. i think i listened to this nonstop the last two weeks of the year. and:

... yeah.

im realizing as i write this post that i spent a lot of this past year just thinking about music and life. seventeen's songs actually tend to be a bit of a slow burn on me so i had known and even heard this song a few times earlier this year but really it only hit me last month. yet despite listening to it nonstop, i cannot recite to you the actual english translation of the song. bc ultimately the translation doesnt matter. what i love about this song is already there in the title.

"I don't understand but I love you"

after all, isnt that love in its truest essense? love is accepting you may never truly understand everything about a person but choosing to love them anyway. love transcends all language and all understanding. its a choice and an action and this is the song that always reminds me of that when love gets hard.

idk what this all says about my 2023 but love is hard. family is hard. but in a way, i think that's what makes it all so beautiful. just as beautiful as this song. i can and will (and have!) listened to this song on repeat bc the ✨vibes✨ i think it might even have been the first song i listened to in 2024. that guitar riff is so sick and sensual. the ad libs are so cute - the little zoom! at 0:46 and smoke smoke! at 2:02, i sing along to it every time 🫣.

also hearing the girlies lose their minds when watching this performance on the big screen during their simulcast concert was so funny but endearing. i'd never but those girls sure love thirst traps skakakka

the story behind this song too just 🥺 hoshi getting absolutely blown by a fan's comment "i dont understand but i love you," repeating it, saying they could use it as part of their lyrics and then a few months later, this song comes out. you can literally see his eyes light up im just 🥺 so endeared. and the way its a Performance Unit song, a unit that is made of 50% foreign members, and that several pre-debut clips show members struggling with language barriers. idk this song is all so soft, it means so much to me and clearly means so much to them. and there we go, its all in the title for me ✨

✨ if you made it all the way here, wow and thanks! here's to even more good music in 2024 ✨

#this was actually so much fun #and a great way to reflect on my year #2023 was an interesting one for sure 👀#hope ill be able to do something like this again in december!!#i miss making music posts #/ making posts in general lmao #my ramblings #personal #musical beans #yay! i finally spat this bby out. its been in the drafts for so long

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kim-woonhak · 1 year

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I've seen you post quite a lot of concerts this year so I wanted to know all the concerts you've been to in 2022 :)

omg i- yeah i've been to a lot this year...... 😂💸💀 it's the first year i've ever been to a kpop concert ever!! it started by taking my friend to a twice concert in february, then literally on the way home on the train we booked more concert tickets and it's honestly spiraled uncontrollably from there. in total i've been to 11 concerts and 3 music-festival/convention format events and saw a total of 30 unique soloists/groups perform live (31 if u include the kq trainees that opened for ateez <3). i even have a running tag #📷 for any content i post using my own fancams 😎

my year was something like: february twice, april bts, may kpop.flex in germany (these were the tickets we bought on the way home from the twice concert bc my friend is a huge moomoo and i'm a huge multi so i was easily convinced LOL we managed to get barrier spots the second day which sadly nct dream was day 1... and oneus also got covid 💔 the final lineup was mamamoo, kai, nct dream, monsta x, enhypen, dreamcatcher, ab6ix, (g)i-dle, and ive), july ab6ix (bought these the night after seeing them in germany haha they included soundcheck + hi-touch which were fun^^) & stray kids & dreamcatcher (which i wasn't planning on going but bought tickets the day-of haha), august seventeen and kcon LA (finally saw tbz after my june concert was canceled 😥 lineup: stray kids, nct dream, ateez, the boyz, itzy, wjsn, cravity, enhypen, kep1er, lightsum, loona, ini, to1, p1harmony, nmixx, stayc), september sunmi, october blackpink, november ateez & the rose, december yerin baek and LA3C which we went for seventeen's ~50 min set LOL

yeah so i've essentially gone to a kpop concert every month this year which is def one of my fave parts of being a multistan hehe 🥰 i already have tickets for p1harmony's tour next january as well as oneus in february and have been keeping an eye on any announcements about new stops for mamamoo's world tour! we'll see how many more memories i can make in 2023 :)

anyways here's some of my fave pics i took from the year below the cut, mostly from kpop flex haha (warning very long sry):

extra bonus: jeon woong levitating right side up and then upside down (aka mid backflip haha) in the back of the 2nd pic lol

#ask #anon #📷#sorry this is such a long ass post and also answered a month late... i hope curious anon still sees this 😅#also i think the picture formatting is bugged on web so it's extra long bc it's just single column... thanks dumblr :(#ik i'm very fortunate to live in america i wish groups would tour more prolifically in other parts of the world too :(#and that i have the friends and means and nice job to support this kind of spending and traveling...#tho none of my friends r willing to go to the p1h concert w me so that'll be the first one i'm going to alone :')

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andromeda3116 · 2 years

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I wrote this originally in 2019, and I thought I had posted it here, but I couldn't find it again to reblog it, but I still think it's important, and worth sharing again.

It was April Fool’s Day, 2009.

I remember. Ten years ago, a teenage girl committed suicide. When I received the text message with the news, my first reaction was appalled, righteous fury: this is a really sick April Fool's joke, how dare someone play this prank.

It was not an April Fool's joke.

I remember. The last time I saw her, I thought "something's wrong" but I dismissed it. We weren't exactly close, that gray area between acquaintance and friend, we'd talk if we ran into each other, hey how ya been?, but I'm sure I didn't cross her mind much, and for the last year or two of her life, she didn't cross mine much either. It happens. Different grades, different lives. People move on. No hard feelings.

I don't know what led her to it, I don't know what she was thinking before she did it. I don't even know why it struck me the way it did; maybe it was because I remember thinking that something seemed wrong, and I didn't do anything about it -- or was that hindsight? Did I actually think, at the time, that something was wrong, or was I just trying to remember the last time I saw her, if there were any signs? Was I just trying to find blame, some sense in the senselessness? Maybe I did think it at the time, or maybe it’s just memory trying to find answers. It doesn't matter anymore.

This post both is and isn't about me. I cried, I grieved, but I didn't come home for her funeral. We weren't close. I was at college four hours away. It happens.

But something cracked in me when I read that text. I'd struggled in the past, but I believed it was in the past, I really did. I'd moved out, gotten some independence, had a plan for the future. I was coming out of my shell. I was happy, I had a social life, I went to parties. I was going to Be Someone. The stress and breakdowns of senior year were just being sixteen, seventeen and placing too much pressure on myself to succeed.

I was wrong. It lurks. It waits. And all it takes is one hit, in just the wrong spot, and the whole structure comes crashing down. And did it ever crash down. It took almost exactly one year to fall to the point that I had to withdraw, and another to finally hit the bottom.

It wasn’t her fault. I was never not someone with depression, with ADHD and all its associated neuroses, I was simply someone who could compensate for them, until I couldn’t. The day was always going to come when I couldn’t do it anymore. It was just the catalyst. Maybe it would have gone differently if she hadn’t done it, I don’t know. When I wonder what the world would be like if she hadn’t, I don’t think of myself. She was kind, the first one in the new youth group at the new church to be friendly to me, to make me feel included. She was funny, outgoing, vibrant. Her death was a huge loss, and the effect it had on me is irrelevant to the tragedy of it. I don’t mean to imply otherwise, or twist things to make a tragedy all about me.

But this post is about me, and it’s about the things we forget when we get lost inside ourselves. Because the path her death incidentally sent me spiraling down almost led me to the same place, and it took me a long time to understand why.

It's taken me ten years to rebuild myself, my personality, from the bottom up. I'm still not back to where I started. I don't think I ever can be. Part of me didn't come back from that place, and at some point I had to just… let go of it. There is -- and will always be -- a ghost-version of me in the back of my head, who didn't fall. The ghost is perfect. The ghost is always happy. The ghost does all the things I dreamed of at eighteen and has all the things I meant to have now, ten years later.

Everyone has at least one, I suppose, the thing that splits their lives into "before" and "after", and the person in the “before” is simply… gone. Or at least changed in some irrevocable way. It happens, it goes from now to yesterday, to last year. Time passes. The world turns. The ghost goes on like nothing happened, and the real you -- well, eventually you learn to stop comparing yourself to it. It doesn’t really go away, but it gets quieter. You close the door on it, move on from it, but it’s always there, in that room, and you always know it’s there, and every now and then it screams and bangs on the wall, and --

Well, you live with it. There… really isn’t another option. You live with it or you die from it; there’s no cure, no pill a doctor can give you to make it go away. Believe me, I tried.

But this post also isn't about me.

This post is also about people, about the world, about you if you're still reading this. You, who think, either consciously or idly or just as a general feeling in the back of your head, that no one would really care if you were gone, or that they’d be better off if you removed the burden of dealing with you from their lives. You, in the darkness of a bad night, wondering why you even bother.

She was a classmate and a friend from church, one of the people who came and then went from my life, the people I simply drifted away from. No drama, no fights or falling-outs, we parted on good terms and waved at each other in the hallway and then went our separate ways, because that’s just how time moves people around.

And yet her suicide was the sudden wind that brought my house of cards crashing down. And its aftershocks linger to this day, the fact that I’m even writing this, I idly scroll through Facebook memories and I see an old picture of myself, timestamped ten years ago, and it reminds me.

Of myself, and of her, and of the horrible holes that we can leave in the lives of other people, when we forget that we have the power to.

The point to all of this is that you are never an empty space. Your presence, your absence, the news of what you’re doing with your life, for good or bad -- more people are affected by it than you can possibly imagine. We’re all connected in a billion intricate ways, the loss of the one ripples through the many.

The point is, your loss would never be nothing. Even the awful stories you hear, the old lady who died in her apartment and went unfound for years -- someone opened that apartment door and felt a horror they would never be able to un-feel. Someone read that story and called their grandma to tell her they loved her. Someone heard about that lady and decided to check in on the neighbor they hadn’t seen in a while.

No one lives in a bubble, totally self-contained, only affecting themselves. We’re all connected to one another, we know it, we joke about it, six degrees of Kevin Bacon and “it’s a small world after all” and “lol same” -- but we see it everywhere and so we don’t see it anywhere. It’s the truth that hides in the background radiation of everyday life, all the ways, big and small, that we bounce off of each other. We see so much of it that we never look at it.

So take a look. Remember. You’re never the only one you affect. Your life is never worthless. And, consequently, you’re never really alone, with your sorrow or your joy or your love or your rage or your indescribable pain or your terrible hollowness. Everything we do has an effect on the people and the world around us, some in tiny ways you’d never think to notice, and others in huge, life-changing ways you can’t take back or do over, for better or worse.

I didn't mean to write this much, and I don’t have a real conclusion to this post that turned into an essay, except this: depression is horribly, horribly isolating, it tells you that no one cares and it tells you that they’d be happier without you and it tells you that you’re all alone in your little world in your head, but it is lying.

It is a liar. You are never nothing.

#depression #mental illness #adhd #suicide

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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Whumptober Day 25: Disorientation

CW: Sick whumpee, emeto references, infection, medical whump, some references to institutionalized pet whump. Needles, track mark mention, IV placement (vague, non-graphic). Brief misgendering (out of delirium/not being able to see correctly, very brief/accidental). Includes hallucination referencing parental death.

TIMELINE: Immediately post-Infection

“Blood pressure is 100 over 60. That’s lowish, but not the worst it could be.” There’s a voice. He doesn’t know the voice. The words are familiar, though. Like a show on TV. “You got a temp?”

“One hundred three point four degrees,” Another voice says. They’re speaking so quickly he is struggling to follow them.

“Shit. That’s up from when his guardian called.”

“We need to get that fever under control. What did she say about history?”

“Threw up this morning and didn’t stop throwing up. Says he admitted he’s been hurting for two days - classic symptoms, pain started at navel and moved right and down. His fever was probably present from when he woke up, but.” There’s a pause. Chris blinks his eyes and sees, blurry and bleary, a sense of someone shrugging.

“Why didn’t he tell anyone?”

There’s a snort. “Kev. You know why.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m going to get fucking blacklisted from EMT work if we get caught, you know. What we’re doing is illegal.”

“We’re not gonna get caught. I’ve been part of lib life since I was seventeen, just trust me on this.”

Chris tries to speak, to ask them who they are, where he is, but his lips move without sound. He can feel the vibration of an engine, hear it rumbling, and the world around him is shaking minutely, bumping along on a road. With each bump and pothole, the screaming pain in the boy’s abdomen crests like a wave crashing the shore inside him, and he can feel tears running freely, blurring his vision when he tries to blink, to see.

Above him there is white inset with tiny round lights and his breath hitches. He tries to sit but there are straps holding him down, and his eyes widen, staring up in terror.

No. No, no, no, they said I wouldn’t go back, they said-

He breathes in shallow whistles he can’t seem to control. His stomach is churning, flipping with new nausea, the pain throbbing through his abdomen, behind his eyes, all the way to his toes and fingertips. “Wh, where, where, where-where, where am, am I-”

“Sssshhhh.” Chris flinches and twists as best he can to look up and behind him, the person he vaguely saw shrugging before is there wearing a dark blue uniform with letters that hurt to look at across a pocket on the front. A plastic-gloved hand presses to Chris’s shoulder to help push him back down. “Hey no, you gotta stay steady, there, kiddo. Don’t move, you really, really don’t want to strain your muscles right now. We’re about to check and make sure Yoder’s guess is right.”

Chris keeps blinking, but his eyes are blurring with tears so quickly he can’t get a clear look at the person’s face. He can move one of his hands, at least, and he lifts it to lay it over the person’s glove, feels the slip-slide of plastic and the warmth of them underneath. He shivers, then whimpers when the pain worsens in response. “Nat? Where… where is… Please-... please, sir, h-hurts-”

“Not sir,” The person says, gently, a bit of auburn hair falling over their forehead. Their voice is low, soft and soothing. “Can you see?”

Chris rolls his eyes back towards the ceiling. The light coming from the little circles in the roof of the vehicle is slightly yellowed. It isn’t cold. It has weight but isn’t cold. There is padded blue plastic lining the walls, something like a bench on one side and a jump seat, like flight attendants sit in on airplanes…

She holds his hands, so so tightly, as they bump around. He clings to her, breathing fast. She tries to smile at him and her eyes are wet. “Just remember, Tris, even when the flight is kind of bumpy, you don’t have to worry about a thing. The pilots do this all the time.” Her face is pale, though, and he sees her looking ahead, where a woman in a skirt is buckling herself into a special seat.

“Mom? What’s, what’s, what-what-what is, is that, why does does she have a different-”

“It’s called a jump seat, baby,” The woman says, and the plane bumps up and back down, and his mother’s breath comes shaky and uneven.

“I love you, Tris,” His mother says suddenly, and her voice catches. “Baby, I love you so much-... l-love you-... it’s okay, baby, it’s okay-” Her voice is getting weird and thick like she’s speaking through water.

His breath catches at red spreading over the front of her shirt, and the plane stops tumbling through the air because she’s sitting with her back against a wall under a photo of the three of them last Christmas and her blood is on the wall behind her in a spray and Tristan starts to scream and he paints with blood on a cold white wall and the plane is hurtling through the air and his mother is gone and his father is gone and his life is gone-

The headache hits him and the thought he was having dissipates under the pain, one more piece of him throbbing. “K-Kind... kind of… can see... hurts-... Mom, I’m, I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t stay, stay hidden, I’m sorry-”

“Sssshhhh. You’re okay, you’re okay.” The person squeezes his shoulder, just a little.

“What the fuck was that about?”

“Rescues do this. Don’t ask.”

“That’s fucking eerie, man-”

“I said don’t ask. We don’t ask them, they don’t tell us. It only makes it worse if they try to keep thinking about it, so just… forget he said anything. He probably already has.”

The headache slips back, and the pain in his stomach is stronger again. Chris hears a low voice from somewhere slightly further, relaying information, speaking in a monotone that is just soft enough that Chris can’t understand it.

The person with the nice voice and pretty auburn hair is talking to him again. “Here we go. Tori’s going to help me get you some paperwork going and we’ve kind of got a system to get you in without the docs picking up on anything. Don’t worry, kiddo. You’re not the first we’ve pulled through this.”

“Th’ first…” He can’t keep his thoughts straight. Can’t understand what any of it means.

“Well, one good way to check,” The second voice says, and Chris turns to stare upwards at a man who gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry, kiddo.” He presses both hands down on Chris’s abdomen, on the right side of his navel. Briefly, the sharp pain fades, and Chris’s breaths slow, just for a second. “All right, let’s check his response.” The man pulls his hands back.

Chris, strapped down to the table, arches his back in a nearly perfect arc as best he can, screaming hoarsely as the pain rushes back in, even worse than before. He is buried in it - he drowns in the waves of agony, like and unlike the pain of the shock collar, like and unlike the worst pain he’s ever felt.

His scream ends, and the two people in uniforms look at each other. “Well, that’s a fucking sign, isn’t it?”

“Check the heel. Okay, kiddo, we need to test one more thing to know for sure, okay?” The hand squeezes, one more time, at his shoulder, and then pulls back. “I’m going to prep fentanyl-”

“I don’t know, that pressure’s low for fentanyl.”

“... no, you’re right, it is, but... it’s our best option for controlling pain until we get there. It’s riding a line, but I think 100 over 60 can handle it.”

“You sure?”

“Confirm first, we’ll decide after that.”

“Got it.” Chris has only just settled back into the swaying nausea of hurt when there’s a flat, blunt impact against his bare heel - and he sobs, whimpering at the way pain rockets through him from his abdomen, spiraling like blades beneath his skin down his leg and up his side, gripping his heart. He jerks away but he’s strapped down too tightly to move. He wants to curl up but they just keep hurting him. They’re handlers, and this is fun, and once again Chris is the trainee and they’ve tied him down so he can’t stop them.

He starts to cry, hot tears running down his face, and the man who hit his heel says something to the other person but he can’t hear them over the rushing of his own blood in his ears, the pain inside him has taken him completely. He isn’t being good enough, that must be why they’re hurting him. He wasn’t good, and he is being punished, and the handlers have something they want he’s not giving, but he doesn’t know what, and he can’t… he can’t see…

“Please,” He whispers, groping blindly as much as he can. “Please, please, please, stop, please, I’ll, I’ll, I-I’ll do anything, please make it stop, I’ll b-be good-”

There’s a pause.

“Christ. Give him the fentanyl, Kev.”

The man’s voice is shaken. “... yeah, let’s do it. Uh, yeah, yeah. Right.”

“You handle the IV,” The first person says, the one who seems to know Nat. “Can you get him set up?”

“Dunham, I-”

“Just breathe, Kev. Let’s get his IV in.”

The Drip. No, not the Drip, no no no no-

Chris tries to beg - they have always loved his begging, and these new handlers will, too, he’s sure of it, he will beg them to let him keep Jake, he can be so so so good for them if they’ll only let him have Jake, if they won’t take his memory of Jake away. He can be so good...

He can’t make his mouth work any longer - it hurts too much, he can’t seem to force his brain and mouth to connect. He can’t do anything but cry, heaving wailing childlike sobs, and he is going to lose more people, all over again, he will never stop losing the people who love him-

Please, don’t take them away from me, please-

Mom, I’m sorry-

“Yeah, I’ve got it. You going to-”

“Hold his hand or something. He’s scared. They’re always scared.” The kind face, hazel eyes and auburn hair, slides back into his vision. Their voice softens and they brush a little hair away from his forehead. “Hey, you. We’re going to get you something to settle that pain, okay? Just hang on for me.” They turn away, briefly, voice raising above the rumbling engine, the low vibration, the rocking and swaying that neither of the two back here with him seem to notice like he does. “Amy, what’s our ETA?”

“Seven minutes,” A woman shouts back from the front. “Seven minutes and I’ve already confirmed Tori has a chart prepped to go. Before we stop I’ll make sure she’s ready to get us inside. She’s called in Mandela to do the surgery and you know the nurses wouldn’t tell WRU a fucking thing. Get that wrist bandaged over and we got this. Tori’s got our asses covered.”

“Gotta love that woman,” The person murmurs, turning back to Chris, smiling kindly down at him. “Look, we got you all set. Yoder-... uh, Natalie’s going to be there when you wake up, okay?”

What good does that do if they give him the Drip and he doesn’t know her anymore?

“Pl-please,” Chris whispers, managing to get his hand over the person’s, holding onto their wrist with the tightest grip of his thin fingers he can manage. Their skin feels blistering hot and he shakes, the world spinning around him. “Please, please, n-no, no, no no no, no needles, please-”

“I’m so sorry,” The person answers, soft-voiced and sincere. Handlers never say they’re sorry, Chris thinks. Handlers don’t apologize for hurting you. Handlers tell you you deserved it, or you wanted it, or you need it because you’re just a slut you fucking love this, but they never apologize. His hand is gently uncurled. He stares up into the person’s face, lost in the look of real compassion there. He has never seen someone who wears a uniform look at him like that. Like thy care. “This is just for the pain.”

“Jesus Christ,” The man says from the other side of him, and Chris turns, trying to see him more clearly. “I cut off the sleeve, Finn, it was too tight to roll up-” Chris hadn’t even noticed. “-and he’s-”

“Yeah, he’s a rescue, we talked about this, Kev, they’ll have a barcode-”

“No, he’s got track marks.”

They both go quiet, and Chris doesn’t know what the words mean together, although he knows them both separately. The silence draws out, and then the first person says, “They drug them. Heavily. You should always expect track marks on your rescue patients.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-... this is the first one for me.”

“No problem. Just keep that in mind. Does he have a usable vein or no?”

“Yeah, these are old. I can get him set. Just… shook me up a little, is all.” There’s a swipe of something cold along the inside of his elbow, sickeningly familiar. Chris is good - he goes very still, waiting for the needle to slide into his skin.

He is a good statue boy.

“I, I’ve lost-... please, please, please don’t make me lose, make me lose them,” He whispers. “Please don’t, don’t take him away from me, please don’t take Jake-”

There’s a sharp pinch, more indistinct voices as they speak to each other, and then his eyes roll up and his body shudders hard, rattling the table.

He feels himself thunk back onto the softly-molded padded plastic, a burst of ache as he bites his tongue. The world goes white around all its edges, he slips and slides inside his mind, breath slowing or going faster and he’s no longer in his body enough to know the difference.

Both of the people in the back of the strange van start cursing low under their breath.

“Shit, shit shit shit, check that blood pressure again-”

“Could be a syncope, Yoder said he’s terrified of needles, could just be a trauma response-”

“It could be, sure, or he could be crashing. Fuck!”

“Don’t be crashing don’t be crashing don’t be crashing, come on kiddo, stay with me, don’t be crashing-”

Kiddo

“Could be the fentanyl, maybe his bp was too low to pull that off, oh shit what if we fucked this up, Finn-”

Little man

“We didn’t fuck this up. Okay? It’ll be okay, he’ll be fine. I’m checking his pressure again. Amy, what’s the hold up, we need to move!”

“Almost there, Dunham, I swear! Just hold him together until we get there.”

“Doing my fucking best, Amy!”

It’s okay, Tris

You’re okay, sweetie

It’s all right, baby, you’re okay, Mommy’s got you.

Chris takes in a breath, and blinks his eyes open one more time as something cool seems to pass through him, the throbbing agony fading, just a little. The world slows around him in its dizzying spin. He looks blearily up at the person, the handler or not-handler, who apologized. “Please… please…”

“I know,” They say, softly. There’s pressure, of some kind, but Chris is drifting now, his eyes moving without focus over the little circles of light. The two people move around him in some kind of strange dance that both of them know but Chris doesn’t, and that’s okay - he wouldn’t be able to dance like this, anyway. He’s dizzy but not sick with it, and that’s kind of funny, but he can’t remember how to laugh or why he thought that was funny at all.

Compression somewhere on his arm. It doesn’t matter.

“70 over 40. God damn it.”

“Okay, let’s get that B.P. stable and check once more time before we get him inside to see if it’s up. Temp check?”

A pause, a sensation Chris can barely understand, and then more swearing. “His fever’s not fucking going down. Jesus fucking Christ-”

“Okay. Keep it calm, Kev.” The voice is even and steady, and Chris feels the barest brush of fingers over his shoulder. “We have got to stabilize this kid. Mandela can’t operate if he doesn’t stabilize. Come on, kiddo, don’t crash on us, come on come on come on-... Amy, confirm with Tori that we’re covered, please?”

“Tori is ready and waiting for us, Finn,” Amy says, a disembodied woman’s voice that swirls in a fog around Chris’s thoughts. “They’re prepping surgery, we can get him straight in. Mandela was close by and she’s already in the O.R. They’ll get him off your hands as soon as we stop, Tori’s got a new team called out to give us a break so you can tell his guardian the plan. Guardians will be in the E.R. waiting room, there’s two of them. They’re wearing-”

“Amy. We saw them when we picked him up, remember? Plus I’ve known Yoder for years.”

“... Right. Sorry.”

“You’re good. Tori really thought of everything, huh?”

“Christ, I love that woman,” The man - Kev - mutters. “Just… love her.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Tori’s on top of it. She’s been doing this longer than I have, she’s actually who got me into it at my last job. I was into the movement young but just, you know, flyers and stuff, little bit of sneaky shit. When I met her was after I got kicked out of the Army-”

“You got kicked out of the Army?”

“It’s a long story. Technically I’m not allowed over the Canadian border anymore, either. Anyway, when Tori got a new job, I just… kind of followed her here.”

“What, you weren’t born elbow-deep in La Resistance?”

“Ha, ha. Oh, here we go. Okay, kiddo, time to fix you up good as new.” The vehicle slows, and slows, and then there’s a hard turn, and Chris’s eyes close.

When the pain fades a little more, he finds he is too tired to open them again. He slips away into a warm and drifting darkness where the pain can’t reach him anymore.

I love you, baby boy.

Hold on.

I’ve got you.

You’re going to be just fine.

He hears something, high-pitched beeping noise that seems to be fading as the world around him fades. It’s all dark now, and warm, and he’s going to be okay.

She brushes fingers over his face, and he can barely hear the voices of the people inside the ambulance with him as he sinks into the darkness.

“Shit shit shit, not again-”

“65 over 35-”

“Fuck, I’m gonna have new gray hair after this-... come on come on come on-”

“Finn!”

“What, Amy?”

“We’re here.”

---

Finn Dunham and Tori (mentioned) belong to @whump-tr0pes and are used with permission. Thanks to Athena as well for her help making this sound remotely realistic!

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

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spockandawe · 4 years

Text

I’m so unbelievably weak against characters who make terrible choices because they’re hurting and upset. I love the subtler resentful decisions that quietly build up ill will, and I love the big dramatic choices that end with everyone going down in flames. But more than anything, I love love love hurting myself with the emotional flavor of a character struggling with the tension of simultaneously realizing that people hate/mistrust them (or how much people hate/mistrust them, or which people hate/mistrust them), while also realizing that those people just have... no idea where they’re coming from.

I was thinking about this first because of Mu Qing, who is honestly a very low-key version of this scenario (and it’s also quieter since he’s not a lead character and rarely takes the spotlight himself). But the first big tgcf flashback honestly made my heart ache, seeing him trying to walk a line between maintaining his own independence/pride and not belonging to someone he wants to be peers with, but when he tries to be tactful, people decide he’s being shady. He was picking cherries, to bring a treat to his poor mother (and the poor children around his home), but then got accused of stealing, and then didn’t want to say that it was because his only remaining parent was living in poverty. And it continues through the present day! He knocks out Feng Xin so he can save him from a burning city, because Feng Xin refuses to leave, and people are like ‘>:OOO MU QING ATTACKED FENG XIN??’ In some ways, this character hurts me more than the others, because he rarely does anything wrong, he has a bad attitude, but his most significant “missteps” tend to be like ‘you could have been a little more kind, tbh.’

But also too, I’ve been working my way through the svsss extras again, and... Shen Jiu. God, Shen Jiu. This character is agonizing, and I love him so much. He makes terrible choices! He does terrible things! He tries to set up an actual literal child to die horribly, because he resents that this child had a parent who loved him, and that he found his way to Cang Qiong young enough to reach his full potential! It’s absolutely unforgivable! But nobody except Yue Qingyuan has any clue how much Shen Jiu has been through and how to possibly help him grow or heal or how to support him into better decision making. And Shen Jiu is so hurt by the way Yue Qingyuan left him that he refuses to let Yue Qingyuan help him now. Like! This child was a slave, begging for food on the streets, then was sold to a rich boy who abused him in sexually-flavored ways and planned to marry him to his sister so he could keep him forever, and then his “rescuer” was a scumbag adult who taught him to steal and murder.

And while Shen Jiu was suffering, he thinks Yue Qingyuan, who came from the same beginning and who promised to come back for him, was living in careless pampered luxury in a prestigious cultivation sect. Shen Jiu’s own self-evaluations are incredibly harsh, from the moment he’s reunited with Yue Qingyuan. He calls himself terrible, he calls himself a thing, and once it’s clear that he’s going to pay the price for his bad decisions, he tries hard to shove away the one person who cares about him and find some way to protect him. Yue Qingyuan never stopped loving him and defending him, but literally nobody else in the world has any sympathy for him whatsoever. How am I not supposed to be heartbroken? Shang Qinghua sighs over how his readers used to hate on Shen Qingqiu for having no motivations, which, sure, that’s understandable from what’s on the “Proud Immortal Demon Way” pages, but seeing the trauma driving his choices in svsss and seeing his own self-awareness and self-loathing and knowing that one (1) person in-universe has any inkling of his internal world (and that person died trying to help him), I’m! In pain!!!

Plus, in svsss proper, I saw a post in passing once that was something like... ‘readers are hard on luo binghe, because he’s the only mxtx protagonist where we see the worst decisions of his life and aren’t in his head to understand why he’s making those decisions.’ Which I still find fascinating, and think about often. It makes sense to me. And as far as my terrible-decision-making children go, he’s very interesting to me because he doesn’t really deal with the widespread distaste/mistrust that mu qing and shen jiu experience, it’s very much targeted on one person. I live for the parts of svsss where all Luo Binghe has to do is breathe, and Shen Qingqiu flinches and bolts. And Luo Binghe is not acting in kind or well-considered ways, a lot of the time! But he was seventeen, and his beloved teacher had told him that ‘humans can be good or evil, demons can be good or evil,’ but the moment Luo Binghe turned out to be half demon, even though he’d just been fighting desperately trying to protect Shen Qingqiu, that teacher he trusted more than anything immediately turned on him, stabbed him in the chest, and threw him into hell.

That’s agonizing!!!! Even without the aftermath, that’s agonizing to read! And when Luo Binghe comes back, years later, he’s upset, he’s hurt, he’s lonely, he’s still stinging from that betrayal, of course he’s not making good decisions. I follow good blogs, because I haven’t seen any terrible Luo Binghe takes on my dash, but I’m kind of :c that these takes apparently exist. Again, it’s not that I think he makes good decisions, but I can see why he makes bad decisions, and I can see other characters missing that context, and I am rolling in terrible, glorious pain. Luo Binghe shows up secretly in Huan Hua Palace and starts taking it over and generally acts shady as heck? Well, Shizun wouldn’t let him beg for forgiveness when he was a disciple, and he’s afraid to face Shen Qingqiu until he can meet him on a semi-equal footing. Luo Binghe gets angry and spiteful when Shen Qingqiu asks if he’s responsible for the sowers? Yes he does! He’d always, always tried to do right by Shen Qingqiu, and trusted Shen Qingqiu when he said demons could be decent people, but the moment he turned out to be half-demon, Shen Qingqiu immediately started expecting the worst from him at every turn. It hurts! I don’t blame him for acting on that hurt! And I am so endlessly compelled by the way that Shen Qingqiu completely fails to recognize the context for where Binghe is coming from.

And like... I cannot leave out Xue Yang and Jin Guangyao. Xue Yang is fascinating in his own way, because the steps are... a lot more explicit and clear-cut than some of these other characters. Shen Jiu’s downward spiral is very internal and he curls up tight to hide his weak spots even with the person who values him most in the whole world, but Xue Yang very plainly tries to lay out his reasoning for his most important person. His whole world is crumbling by the time things reach that point, and it was probably beyond salvaging, but god! He tries so hard to explain the position the world placed him in, from childhood onward, helpless and vulnerable, and that nobody was going to defend him except himself.

But when Xiao Xingchen doesn’t understand what he’s trying to communicate, when he realizes that the person he values most isn’t willing to hear what he’s trying to say, he starts lashing out again and trying to hurt. It’s the same lesson he learned when he was young, in some ways. ‘If I’m stupid enough to trust you, you’re going to use that to hurt me.’ And then the logical next step, ‘If you’re going to hurt me, all I can do is try to hurt you worse.’ You can see the trauma playing out right there on the page, and it’s agonizing. I can understand some people not enjoying reading things that make them hurt that way, but I have trouble Getting it when people don’t at least find that kind of dynamic compelling as hell. I’ll sometimes avoid media that I know is going to make me sad, but if I’m in the mood to Experience Sadness, I know a dynamic like this is going to grab me by the heart and shake me like a ragdoll.

And... Jin Guangyao. He was on my mind too, partly because I’ve seen a few takes on his motivations lately that honestly kind of baffle me? Like, to each their own, especially since mdzs never takes us inside his head. But I see posts that like... he was bullying Nie Mingjue, or what if Lan Xichen could Tell he was never genuine and mistrusted him on some level, and how to put this. It’s not that I agree with the choices he made, though I really don’t want to play fandom purity police in any way, shape, or form (murder is good, actually), but I understand the choices he made enough that those sort of interpretations that skew towards the cruelty-for-the-sake-of-cruelty territory honestly kind of upset me.

There’s some interesting comparisons to be made with Mu Qing, in some ways. They both grew up poor, without a father, in “shameful” single-parent situations (a sex worker mother vs. a father being executed for being a criminal). They were poor boys with ambition, but no matter how they tried to carry themselves with dignity, those poor beginnings were rubbed in their faces, years after the fact. I think it does make a real difference that Mu Qing’s shame is mostly based in his own history (sweeping floors) while Jin Guangyao’s is more external (son of a whore), and that Jin Guangyao’s also insulted a parent who he loved dearly, and that Mu Qing was seeking the respect outside of famiial structures while Jin Guangyao was desperate to be accepted by his father.

There’s so much of Jin Guangyao’s early life that’s like ‘I’m Just Trying To Live My Life, My Dude,’ and it hurts me to watch. He really didn’t have goals that were all that excessive! If his goals were excessive in some way, it’s only by virtue of how highly ranked his father was, which isn’t his fault. His goal: ‘I want my father to accept me into the family.’ What the world saw: “oh my god, this son of a whore SERIOUSLY wants to be brought into this noble family, lmaooooo.’ There are characters who are more compassionate than that, and a lot of that reaction is down to the nature of the setting, but LORD, man! It’s honestly a pretty restrained goal for a kid to have! Especially when his father totally promised to come back for him someday, and he waited patiently for years before setting out on his own.

And even once he gets kicked down the steps of Koi Tower and dials back his ambitions, he gets so little space to breathe. He’s learning cultivation late, he takes a position as a nobody in a different cultivation sect, he’s just trying to live. But no matter how he rolls with the punches, no matter how he smiles and bears it, he’s being constantly, constantly prodded in that old, painful bruise. I’ve been finally working my way through The Untamed, and it was painful to watch, in Gusu, when he’s trying to present the Nie Sect’s gift to Lan QIren, and people just start focking gossiping about him, right there, perfectly audibly. And when we see him back in Qinghe, he’s perfectly polite and deferential, and that one disciple is still like ‘fuck you, ur mom was a whore.’

He makes bad decisions, but even when he makes good decisions, he can’t win. I don’t get anything from him at all that suggests he had Hugely Lofty Ambitions from a young age, he just wanted some kind of decent life, but almost nobody would cut him a break. Nie Mingjue did cut him a break, and Lan Xichen was gentle and kind to him, and that made such an impact on him. But I also think it made it that much worse, when he made later questionable decisions, and Nie Mingjue refused to let him explain himself. Nie Mingjue’s rigidity breaks my heart in lots of ways, but especially when it comes to Jin Guangyao. I don’t want to make this all about personal attachment, but it’s kind of inescapable in this situation. Nie Mingjue sends him a loud, violent message that if he’s not perfectly morally upright, he’s Done. But by now, Jin Guangyao has years of history of people being cruel to him based on a history he never was able to control. Nie Mingjue protected him, but hes made it clear that protection was... conditional. There could be arguments about how conditional, and what the non-murdery limits would have been, but the murder has been done, and it was already clear that Nie Mingjue never had the power to protect him from everything.

I can’t read Jin Guangyao’s later actions without also reading that fear and insecurity into his decisions. He even tries to say it outright, that he’s afraid of everyone and everything, and Nie Mingjue misses the point. Jin Guangyao hurts me a lottle, because he suffers both in terms of the general public’s judgment of him, but also in the judgment of someone he cared deeply about. I can see the reasoning and trauma, but so many other people in the story can’t. Jin Guangyao gets pushed to the edge by how his father holds him at arm’s length from the family, the atrocities he tells Jin Guangyao to commit on his behalf (and then maybe I’ll treat you like my actual son, maybe), but when he tries to express that, Nie Mingjue is like ‘can’t you just endure more, though??’ He builds a temple with a statue with the face of his dead beloved mother, and the public is like ‘omg, he made that statue with his OWN FACE, can you believe it??’

In some ways, the way Lan Xichen determinedly loves and trusts him makes it all hurt even worse. I absolutely believe Jin Guangyao when he says that he never once wanted to act against Lan Xichen. So many of the terrible decisions Jin Guangyao makes tie so directly to him seeking either safety or security. But he works hard in social gatherings to keep the peace and people think he’s two-faced. He endures years of mistreatment before hitting back and people judge him for hitting back at all and say that well, what else could we have respected from someone with that background. Nie Mingjue threatens to kill him multiple times, and he was a very straightforward, honest man, of course Jin Guangyao was frightened of him and decided it was safer to see him dead. I live for the pain of seeing a character I love make decisions I strongly disagree with, understanding why they’re making those decisions, and seeing other characters not understand, and simply hate them for the decisions.

This isn’t exactly new, this is why I’ll never be able to shake my love for Starscream, even if his quality of motivation... varies by continuity. And Pharma and Prowl are two of my favorite characters in all of idw1 for exactly this reason. I’ve got at least three fics brushing up against Pharma’s resentment over ‘yes, i got ordered to run a hospital on a garbage planet I was sharing the most violent, sadistic decepticons in existence, I SURE WONDER WHY I WAS DRIVEN TO THIS DESPERATE POINT, BUT THE LOVE OF MY LIFE THINKS I’M JUST A TERRIBLE PERSON, SO I GUESS THAT’S THAT.’

And in the murderbot books, I genuinely get reduced to tears when murderbot has to deal with people compassionately interpreting its behavior instead of giving it no credit, the way its used to. I find the raksura books intensely, intensely satisfying in how Moon struggles to fit into a highly social, close-knit society after growing up so traumatized and alone, and how his colony gradually adapts to him and gets used to his quirks, instead of driving him out, the way he’s experienced so many times. No real conclusion here, I was just spacing out during a work training call, and got overtaken by how much I love characters who experience this particular flavor of emotional isolation.

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missskzbiased · 3 years

Text

The Three Lessons

Genre: Angst, Romance, Fluff (Hm…), Witch! Au, Love Triangle

Pairing: Chan X Fem! Reader X Seungmin

Word Count: ~5,1K

(The First) (The Second) (The Third)

Warnings: (Mild) Mentions of [Death, Burned Witches, Torture, Poisoning]

Reminder: I’m not a witch and do not have knowledge of any kind about the matter in modern days. It’s mere fantasy writing. It’s not intended to reflect Neopaganism since I’m not versed in it.

Notes: Reference to Songs: “The River Is Flowing” (Lindie Lila) [I modified the lyrics to fit my need] and “The Ghost of Pagan Song” (Donovan)

Updates: I’m writing the 2nd Chap yet. As soon as I finish it and review it, I’ll post it.

Tagging: Please, send me an ask/DM me if you wish to be tagged

////

CHAPTER 1: The First Lesson

There are only three lessons you should never forget, kiddo…

The voice faded away like a thin fog vanishing from your view, and you couldn’t help but wonder why your sub-conscience felt the urge to remind you about it every single day of your life. You fluttered your fingers ─intertwined on top of your chest─ beginning to regain your consciousness over your body, feeling every inch of your form wake up along with your mind before you slowly opened your eyes to fix your gaze on the ceiling.

At the age of seventeen, you should be used to have this same dream over and over again ─ as if your brain was some kind of broken parrot, who couldn’t stop replaying it on your mind every night ─ but you weren’t, and you didn’t really feel like you would ever be.

The ceiling looked like the usual: Woody and leafy, as you liked to define.

You didn’t need to look around to know exactly what it looked like because, for seventeen years of your life, you woke up in the exact same spot. You lived in the exact same place. You interacted with the exact same people. You lived the exact same life. You had the exact same dream. You heard the exact same voice. You learned exactly… Well, at least you learned different things over your life.

And again, none of those answered your questions.

You felt your sweat dripping slowly from your forehead; all your body burnt as if you were baking something all day long ─ except you weren’t ─, and at this point, you weren’t even surprised anymore. Every day you woke up like this: Dripping sweat and burning fever.

The Coven swore to you that you weren’t sick.

It was just Nature manifesting itself.

You never saw Nature manifesting like this on any of your fellow members.

You knew it had something to do with your dream but you couldn’t completely understand it. The scenes were blurry ─just like when you’re crying and the tears make it impossible to discern anything before your eyes ─, and the voices that surrounded you were loud and incomprehensive enough to confuse you to the core. The only thing you could really point out was that at the center of whatever place it was and surrounded by the crowd, something was consumed by the flames.

It was easy enough to assume that something had a name…

It was only logical to assume that the voices resumed the existence of that something ─ who was indeed a someone ─ in the only thing they could understand; chanting it in a tone filled with hatred and fear… You could only assume that the nameless figure who was engulfed by the flames ─ the only discernable thing in your dream, a bright orange-ish dance that emanated all the warmth that you felt burn your body at night─ was being called a witch.

Just like you.

You couldn’t even count the times you woke up afraid of being that nameless figure burning down on that stake… You couldn’t even count the times that you prayed for Nature to protect you like She had protected so many of yours… You couldn’t even count the times that you wished your undiscovered power wasn’t premonitory… You couldn’t even count the times you asked for The Elders to take this away from you.

Yet, They couldn’t.

Nature wants you to live with it, They said.

Pretty convenient.

“Do you need me to throw cold water on you or will you raise that butt by yourself?” The door shoot open as the old lady ─ also known as your grandma─ opened all the windows with a flick of her hand. The wood slammed on more wood, sounding loud and clear into your head, and all the brightness of the day got to your eyes, hurting them “I’ll give you three seconds!” She chanted, walking around the space, and picking up things around.

She was loud as hell.

You would expect an old lady like her to be really slow and quiet, maybe feel a lot of pain and complain a lot.

Actually, one of those could be checked.

She complained a whole lot.

“And three!” She snapped her fingers.

You felt the mattress whip under you ─ twitching in a way that projected your body out of it─, making you yelp as your body raised in the air, limbs floundering around as you waited for her to do something to prevent you from falling to the ground. You raised your voice as you yelled, eyes widening and heart bursting out in your chest, feeling despair wash over you as your body began to make its way to the ground.

“And two!” She snapped her fingers again, sounding giggly as she did it, and you made a mental note to make a hell out of her life by the end of the day.

The vines that hung from your ceiling came to life, tangling over your limbs to pick you up right before you hit the ground. They lifted your body enough to get you to her eye level, and she grinned at you, looking harmless as her eyes molded into crescents. You shot her a scorn grimace, waiting for her to give the order, so the vines would peacefully place you to the ground. She took one step back, taking the bucket she had under her arms and smiling brightly at you before snapping her finger, a coil of fluids forming of thin air to fill it up.

Oh, boy.

“And one!” She sang before jolting the bucket and hitting your face with cold water. You shut your eyes, mouth agape as you felt the drops rolling down your face, the cold feeling penetrating your skull and waking you up completely “Let’s go, we have a lot to do today!” She dropped the bucket with a loud thud before clapping her hands twice, turning her back to you and heading to the door.

“A little hand here?!” You yelled as she disappeared from your view, and her head came back into your view, peeking over the doorframe slyly. You waved your arms in the air, gesticulating to yourself and tightening your lips, suggestively looking at her, so she would realize you were still stuck on there.

“Oh, right!” She chuckled dismissively “Vivi, let her go, Sweetheart!” She said friendly, and the vines ─ Vivi, as they were called─ promptly dropped you to the ground. You hit the floor with a loud thud, arms preventing your face to smash on the floor, raising your head to glare at your grandmother.

“Really?!” You whined, yelling so she could hear you after disappearing again behind the doorframe. You rolled over your back, watching as the vines retracted to the ceiling, adorning the wooden beam there “Well, thank you, Vivi!” You sneered but they didn’t give you any attention, tangling over the wood and resting peacefully.

“What is all that commotion?” You tilted your head back, taking into your view an upside down Chan framed by the door “Again?” He giggled, dimples digging his face as he approached you, extending his hand for you to take. You took it gratefully, standing up with his help and dusting off your clothes, trying to look presentable enough.

The blond warlock didn’t seem to mind your soaked self or your sticky hair to your face, keeping his smile as if he didn’t even notice the mess you looked like right now. He ruffled your wet hair, chuckling as you shrank embarrassed, before he raised his index finger, spinning it around. The warm and soft air jet that twirled from his fingertip slowly dried out your hair and clothes, and you took the opportunity to fix them once again.

“This is so cool!” He chirped “I never thought I would have this honor” He sighed, satisfied.

Chan was an expert among the few Warlocks you had at The Coven. It was general knowledge that magic manifestation in natural forms ─ such as elemental spells ─ was uncommon for Warlocks but there he was, playing with the warm air. No one believed him when ─ at the age of nineteen, only halfway through his witchcraft studies ─ Chan said he learned to use some basic air spells.

It had been a week and he had yet to grow used to the idea.

Although some of the others related his abilities to the fact that he was the grandson of The Airy Elder, you didn’t agree with them. None of the others could make spells, and some of the Warlocks, such as Changbin, were grandsons of other Founders too. The fact was that Chan had a pure soul; pure enough for Nature herself to grant him the honor to hold her power.

You may be a little biased, though.

“First, stop flattering yourself!” You joked, pushing him lightly, getting a giggle out of him “Second, I was totally going to get up!” You defended yourself, which he dismissed with a knowing look that made you blush. You cleared your throat ─ a vain attempt to hide how your heart drummed inside your chest ─, feeling embarrassment wash over you at the mere thought of your painfully obvious crush being there for anyone to see.

It was especially uncomfortable to know that Chan had a great hearing.

The young Warlock specialty was to hear the soul and heart’s voices.

At this point, you could just deafen him just by your heartbeat.

“Oh?” He blurted out, arching his brows as he shot a look to the ceiling. You followed his gaze to meet a small bird flying around in a spiral right on top of you two. He extended his finger in a twig-like gesture that invited the tiny creature to approach him, which it did. The bird landed on his finger, fleeting and tilting its head to glance at both of you, blinking rapidly. You stared at it curiously, tilting your head to the side, and it funnily mimicked you.

Stop flirting around and come help me, you ungrateful child!

You rolled your eyes when your Grandma’s voice sounded through its opened beak, embarrassed. Chan seemed to find it funny enough, though, because soon he was in stitches, holding his stomach as his laughter sounded like jingling bells. The bird flew off right after, startled by his sudden motion, letting you and the amused boy by yourselves once more.

He recomposed himself, wiping a tear from his eyes and chuckling before looking softly at you and gesture to the door, accompanying you out of the cottage. You closed the door behind you ─ rubbing your arm awkwardly as you averted your eyes ─, trying to figure something cool to say that could cover up all the embarrassing moments before. He took it in the wrong way, though, taking off his coat and covering your shoulders with it, throwing you a warm smile.

“Oh, no! There is no need for such a thing!” You rushed to say, trying to take out his clothes. He grabbed your shoulders, squeezing them lightly before chuckling. You glanced at him coyly and he patted your shoulders, fixing his gaze somewhere behind you before leaning closer to your ear, his breathy giggle fluttering some hair strands on your temples.

“Keep it… Who knows how many surprises she holds for you?” He whispered, turning you around to look at your impatient Grandma, tapping her foot on the ground. He pushed you lightly, waving goodbye when you threw a look over your shoulder before picking up your pace to reach the upset Elder.

/////

The trees' crown rustled, allowing the thin light beams to dance on the ground.

The gleam caught your eyes for a split of a second, bringing a content smile to your face as you felt the warmth of the woods impregnate your body; the blowing wind inciting you to spin around with the dancing trees. You fluttered your limbs in a dainty motion ─ spiraling once while feeling the breeze dance along with you ─, connecting yourself with every single living creature around for just a brief moment, enough to bring you to tears.

The moment was overwhelming and you felt your heart swell before the gentle breeze and calming tune that came from the deepest parts of the woods shattered in small pieces right before you. The silence that came along was overbearing. It was like every single one of the creatures mourned and yet gloated, choosing to retire themselves for a while; a suffocating hollowness falling to the woods.

The sudden gale hit you like a slap, pushing your body backward before spiraling around you ─ and you around ─, bringing altogether thousands of voices that didn’t seem to belong to anyone, and yet seemed to belong to everything. You shot your head up, eyes roaming around the woods as you tried to spot whoever was the source of such powers, but meeting no one to the sight. The whispers resounded in your mind, bewildering you, and the mix of voices buzzed to your ears before dying out gradually.

Nature allows you to be who you truly are… Never turn your back on her

The First Lesson was chanted by a soft voice brought by the wind, a voice that soon enough fell silent again; just like the woods. You roamed your eyes around ─ urging to make sense out of the suspicious situation ─, noticing how the animals hid far from the sight, a less than best-case-scenario for your hunting.

The silence was broken once more by the wind itself, a sourceless yowling blown into your ears, making you snap your eyes to the side, startled. Once again, no one was in sight. You had this odd feeling in your gut, like an intruder just came into your home, and the bitterness that grew on your tongue prompted you to grunt, sharp eyes darting between the trees.

“Reveal yourself!” You demanded, head swiveling but meeting nothing but the forest before you. The wind blew again, whispering through the leaves, and this time you followed its flow cautiously, eyes attentive to every single flutter you caught in the way. It faded away just like this, without a path for you to follow, and you groaned in frustration.

What ─ in the name of the Goddess ─ was happening here?

“H-Help…” Your ears perked up, eyes shooting to your left “P-please…” It was a small voice, undoubtedly owned by a human, and the realization made you shiver. You closed your eyes for a few seconds, sighing as you pondered what to do. Should you pretend you didn’t hear it?

The wind blew again, violent, as a not so silent warning.

You tsked, sighing before slinking through the trees for a few minutes until you spotted the boy on the ground, curled up. He seemed to be young ─maybe around your age─, dark hair stuck to his sweaty skin and eyes unfocused, roaming around. There was no doubt that his intoxicated figure ─pale skin, delusional eyes, and dry lips─ were caused by the one thing that had your hands tied: The River.

As much as you pitied his agonizing end, he deserved it.

You would never forget the day when all of the younger ones ─ such as yourself─ joined to ask The Elders why you couldn’t go into the woods like the older witches and warlocks, upset that you couldn’t do anything for The Coven.

You would never forget the way your Grandma looked at you ─ letting the pain wash over her features right in front of your eyes─ before averting her gaze to the horizon, a stern and distant self that seemed to look directly to the past as if she could see everything unraveling right before her eyes.

“The Humans… They were cruel to us” You remembered her saying “They tortured us over the years in ways that I wouldn’t dare to tell you kids in details… The Coven is protecting you from them and you should listen to us because no one else out there will care for you as we do” Her answer wasn’t satisfactory for any of you, so you whined, prepared to make a commotion. She stomped the ground ─a loud roar echoing from under her foot─ and looked at each of you with a steel-cold gaze.

“Take a look at those” She raised her feet, exposing burn scars all over the sole, making all of you gasp in unison “I was captured by The Humans ages ago… Before The Coven was even founded... I and tons of other witches were tortured for being what we are… Women. They hate us and persecute us. They wanted us dead…”

“They restrained us to the point we couldn’t feel our own blood running through our veins… The blood that connects us to this Nature… Some of us lost our hands or our feet… Some of us lost our lives at this point… It didn’t really matter to them” The pause revealed a suffocating silence but none of you dared to interrupt her rewind, keeping your breaths withhold “The ones who survived were already deprived of water, food, or light… We had only ourselves, our voices, our hope, and our faith with us. We didn’t even have clothes, as they stripped us and let us freeze to death. Some of us did. Some of us didn’t”

“The ones that still survived all that were beaten up to the ground… Battered to the point they couldn’t even bear to stand up and fell dead right there, in front of our eyes… I wish I could say it was just it… Just once… They selected some of us to go to the woods, to let us have the chance to survive” She scoffed, looking away “The ones that weren’t selected were allowed to drink some water before going through all that over again… And again… And again… They had us for about three weeks” Her eyes teared up, and you still had the urge to cry until today whenever you remembered her broken voice.

“When my time to go to the woods came, I discovered we weren’t simply thrown in the woods… No, we had to bear with our bare feet the red-hot soil under tender skin… Dehydrated… Starved… Ruined… I almost wished they could only burn me down at the stake. They didn’t. All of the survivors were marked for their lives… Not only here” She pointed out to her temples “But in a way that they could identify us in the future…” She raised her feet.

“They said the ones who survived were witches and the ones who didn’t weren’t… So we couldn’t have any winners. It didn’t matter if you survived or not. It didn’t matter if we were witches or not. All of us somehow deserved to be dead…” She looked at you filled with sadness and regret before she averted her eyes, ashamed “They even poisoned the river… They knew the first thing we would do was to look for water, drink to relieve the dryness of our soul and body… And so did tons of us… Especially the younger or the least experienced ones… The exhausted souls that couldn’t think of purifying the water anymore… Who couldn’t handle it” She sighed, lowering her head “All dead”

It wasn’t out of vanity that The Coven enchanted the river.

The first thing they thought you at the age of fourteen was how to purify water so it would be safe to drink from the river; so you wouldn’t be killed by the cruelness that flowed through its waters if they ever did it again. The enchantments and spells threw all around the place were the only way to protect all of you from them… The only way you could afford to have somewhere to survive. The only way that you could be yourselves.

If it meant the death of some meddling humans… Let it be.

They killed you enough for regret to wash over your souls.

The River now was a symbol of your rebellion, of your power and urges to live… It was also the symbol of all the deceased witches you had because of their cruelties. It was the blood that ran through your veins. It was the magic that imbued your souls and body.

The magic that ran through the body of this unaware guy struggling right in front of your eyes… The magic you couldn’t undo even if you wanted to…. He was a lost cause. You turned your back to him, ready to go back to your hunting and leave him behind, but one broken sentence was enough to make you stumble over your feet.

“I don’t want to die all alone…” He cried, holding his throat tightly in despair.

Never turn your back on her…

You sighed before approaching him, sitting right beside him before taking his hand into yours. He shot his eyes at you, startled at the sudden presence, and you made your best to throw him a gentle smile even though you could see his face slowly swelling up as he suffocated right in front of your eyes.

“The river is flowing… Flowing and growing… The river is flowing down to the sea…” You chanted, caressing his hair gently “Mother, carry him… Your child He’ll always be… Mother, carry him… Down to the sea…” You wiped his sweat, opening your canteen to give him some water to placate his thirst, wetting your hand before carefully rubbing your palms over his face.

You could feel how the woods sang along with you, the soft rustles of the leaves following your tune, and birds tweeting to the rhythm. You felt your heart swelling, connecting to your surroundings once again, and even his heartbeat seemed to sing along with Nature for a split of a second.

The attuned orchestra was interrupted by his muttering ─ soft voice under his breath─, something impossible to comprehend that made you nod anyway. You kept your smile firm on your lips to reassure him in his last moments, hoping that Nature could have some mercy on him. He tried to hum along with you ─ like he was tempted to pray before his end but could only follow your lead ─, and even though his rattling lungs couldn’t keep up with your chant, you slowed down a bit, getting a single grateful tear from his eyes.

The emotional moment was broken by his strangled gasps ─a desperate attempt to breathe normally─, and you made sure to avert your eyes to look straight ahead. You shouldn’t witness his moment of weakness like this. You squeezed his hand to reassure him, to remind him that he wouldn’t die by himself, and as soon as he squeezed back ─ as strong as he could, trying to get your attention─, you obliged yourself to return your gaze to him.

“K-Kim Seungmin” He struggled to say, sharp intakes of breath hinting he wouldn’t last much longer.

“I’ll let your family know” You lied, bringing his head to your lap so he could feel more comfortable, allowing a little bit of air to get to his lungs. He tried to nod, and you averted your eyes again, looking into the woods to distract yourself.

And distracted you got.

The scene that met your eyes was, to say the least, amusing; your Grandma strode in your way, staff floundering in the air as she approached the guy in a rush. She took a look at him, musing before shoving some herbs inside his mouth out of nowhere, gripping his jaw in a way to force him to munch it.

You looked at her startled but utterly ignored as she snapped her fingers over and over again.

“Come on, young man” She said in her best elder lady voice you had ever heard “Gulp it down so you won’t die” She instructed, snapping her fingers to get his attention. Except it wasn’t the case. You could almost feel the frisson around his body as she kept snapping it over and over again, drawing circles in the air. The heavy layer of magic covered him like a blanket.

He gulped down before you heard a sharp intake of breath ─ one that signalized he could really breathe right now─ and he gasped, again and again, feeling the air burn his lungs as he coughed for dear life. His torso snapped up, hand meeting his throat as he tried to recompose himself, practically back from the dead, eyes roaming around the place.

The purple that once painted his face dissolved into a more healthy color and flushed cheeks. You took a better look at his face, warm brown hair hiding his forehead and dark eyes that were big as saucers for the moment, completely taken aback by his luck. He had just survived. He opened his mouth a couple of times, and you couldn’t help but notice how red his lips were right now, and also exceptionally well-shaped.

“Don’t talk right now” She advised, taking the canteen from your hand “Drink this… You must be thirsty” She said kindly, adjusting the object so she could allow him to drink some of the water inside it. He took large gulps, eyes overflowing with relief before he had enough strength to raise his hand to the canteen and stop her motions.

“I don’t know how to express my gratefulness for both of you” He said sincerely “I own you my life” He was quick to kneel, lowering his head in respect, one arm bending on his back and the other one rested on top of his knee. You extended your hand, ready to dismiss the unnecessary formality, but your Grandma seemed to think otherwise.

“You do” She agreed, standing up and supporting herself on her wood staff, like an elder. You almost scoffed at her antics but a single twist of her feet made you shut your mouth, the hard inaudible pang on your ass making you think twice before disrespecting her “Unfortunately, I may have to take some of it from you” She smiled apologetically.

She acted before you could even understand what she had just said.

The staff was raised to strike his stomach in a quick motion ─ so quick that he couldn’t help but hunch his back, hands over his stomach as he huffed in astonishment ─ before her hand covered his face to push his head to the ground, tipping him over.

“What strings are plucked beneath the mound? Awake the seeds to break the ground” She chanted, hand gripping his head firmly. You could see his right eye widen, peeking between her long fingers, mouth opening to scream for help. She jerked his head once, the sudden movement silenced him, and as you watched the scene with your mouth agape ─ utterly startled─, you noticed how his eyelashes fluttered close, hinting he was under a sleeping spell.

“Grandma, what are you doing?” You hissed, looking around the woods as if Nature herself would come to punish both of you.

She raised her other hand in a sharp movement, signalizing that you should keep quiet. You shut your mouth, pursing your lips to make sure not a sound would drop from you. It didn’t prevent you from stretching your neck, trying to get a better look at whatever was happening right in front of your eyes.

The scene before your eyes had your head tilting.

You never saw an enchantment like this.

You watched as strings of translucent energy oozed from his ears, slowly drenching the ground underneath his head in a spiral that seemed to fuzz the grass. The delicate flutters of her free hand seemed to hasten the energy flow, and soon enough she released his head, fluttering her fingers as if she was seasoning him. The mere thought of the unconscious boy being treated like a roasted chicken made you chuckle, and she shot you a glare to keep you quiet.

“No question asked… No answer found” She continued, and the energy coiled to the ground, knotting there before a small flower gradually sprouted, “Young man, now list to me…” She snapped her fingers, and all the fuzzing you felt around vanished. She caressed his head, thumbs running through his cheeks “It’s all a strange dream; don’t worry too much about this… It was really dangerous to fall asleep in the woods, wasn’t it? They should be worried about you by now…” She sighed, getting up and gesticulating for you to follow her.

You straightened up, prepared to obey without a question.

A sudden breeze made you shiver and you stared at the boy on the ground, musing for a second before taking Chan’s coat from your shoulders and covering him up. You threw a look over your shoulder to check up on him as you rushed to your Grandma, watching his asleep form snoring peacefully in the middle of the woods, resting next to a tree as if he was in a secure field. When you finally got on her tracks, you threw her a look, clearing your throat before voicing your thoughts.

“Shouldn’t we wake him up? He could be eaten by a wolf…” You pointed out but she kept her pace, waving her hand dismissively.

“He’s not our problem anymore” She shrugged, walking fast “Furthermore, it’s not the time for his death yet…” You narrowed your eyes at her, humming in wonder.

“Was that why you meddled?” You asked curiously, and she finally glanced at you over her shoulder, pursing her lips “I never thought you would save a human” You admitted.

“My mission is to respect Nature… If Nature herself wants this young man alive, I’m not the one to go against her wishes” She declared, intending to drop the subject. You hummed again, and before you could open your mouth, she cleared her throat “I thought it was clear that neither of you should approach a human until the age of eighteen” She stated matter-of-factly.

“I’m just a few months away…” You rolled your eyes before grinning “Also, I thought the first lesson of The Coven was to never turn our back to Nature… As you said, Nature herself didn’t want the young man to die” She scoffed, amused by your retort “Who am I to go against her wishes?” You chuckled, noticing how she shook her head in disbelief, though it was clear she found it funny.

“Don’t forget the other ones” She muttered seriously before snapping her fingers twice, probably releasing the poor boy from the sleeping spell.

////

I won’t lie to you all, I’m really excited about this SUHAHUSAHUSASHUAUS It’s the first time I’ll be writing any kind of fantasy stuff. I have the general plot in my mind and I may be dropping some hints to make some kind of spin off if people like it or if I feel like it in the future lol

I really hope you guys like it!

Any feedback is more than welcomed, especially vocabulary and stuff like this. Feel free to criticize me (just do this in a constructive way, please LOL)

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fandomrewrites · 3 years

Text

Season 3a; Episode 8: Visionary

Hello all! I hope you enjoy this chapter and as always constructive criticism is appreciated. Make sure to answer my pinned post and let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

Season 3a; Episode 8: Visionary

Pairings: Scott McCall x Twin Sister, Lydia Martin x Best Friend, Isaac Lahey x Reader

Warnings: Mention of death

Word Count: 2,192

Season 3a masterlist

Stiles asked me to go to Derek's loft with him so we can find out when Derek would be back from hiding. Cora's response was to tell us a story about Peter and Derek hiding in a root cellar when hunters found them.

"They stayed there for two days. Hiding and waiting." She finished the story. "It's what we were taught to do when hunters found us. Hide and heal."

She turned to look at Stiles and I as Stiles started talking again, "So is two days standard? Or are we thinking Derek's on an extended getaway?"

I lightly hit Stiles on the shoulder and glare at him, "He needs time."

"And why do you care anyway?" Cora asks.

"Because in the last few weeks, my best friend almost killed himself, his boss nearly got ritually sacrificed, a girl I've known since I was three was ritually sacrificed, Boyd was killed by Alphas- do you really need me to go on? Because I can. For like an hour." Stiles rants.

"You think Derek can do anything about it?"

"Since he's the one everyone seems to be after, it's more like he should do something about it."

"Stiles, it's not that easy and you know it. It never is. He's going to need help. He can't do anything without the rest of us." I say.

"I don't even know if he can do anything." Cora whispers, "There's something about him now. He wasn't like this when I knew him."

"Well, what was he like?" Stiles asks.

"A lot like Scott actually." Peter says as he walks down the stairs.

Stiles jumps as he turns to the werewolf who continues, "A lot like most teeangers. Unbearably romantic. Profoundly narcissistic. Tolerable really only to other teenagers."

"So what changed him?"

"The same thing that changes a lot of young men. A girl."

"Some girl broke his little heart and that's why he's like that?"

"Stiles!" I scold. Stiles throws his hands up in mock surrender.

"The details are a bit more textured. You remember before Derek was an Alpha his eyes were blue? Do you know why some werewolves have blue eyes?" Peter quizzes.

"I thought it was a genetics thing." Stiles shrugs.

"Genetics? Come on, Stiles. Don't reduce our nature to something as boring and mechanical as DNA. You want to know what changed Derek? Then you need to know what changed the color of his eyes." Peter states.

We sit down as Peter starts telling us the story of Derek and his first love. A quiet girl named Paige. She was a musician who caught Derek's eye at school one day.

Rain was pounding down on the window as Peter was telling the story. "So if Derek was a sophomore back then how old was he?" Stiles asks.

"He was probably about 16. That's how old we were as sophomore's." I say, shrugging.

Stiles nods then looks at Peter, "How old were you? How old are you now?" Stiles asks.

"Not as young as we could have been, but not as old as you might think." Peter vaguely answers.

I narrow my eyes in confusion as Stiles says, "That was frustratingly vague." He turns to Cora, "How old are you?"

"Seventeen." She answers.

Stiles turns back to Peter, "See? That's an answer."

"Seventeen the way you would count it in your years." Cora continues.

"What?" I ask, even more confused by that response.

"Forget I asked." Stiles says, shaking his head. "What happened to Derek and Cello Girl?"

"Her name was Paige." Peter corrects. Cora, Stiles and I exchange looks at his odd tone.

It abruptly disappears as he continues, "What do you think happened? They were teenagers. One minute it was 'I hate you. Don't talk to me.' The next it was frantic groping in any dark corner they could manage to be alone for five minutes."

I scrunch my face up, not wanting to picture a young Derek being sexual. "Their favorite dark corner was an empty distillery outside of Beacon Hills."

"Alright, hold up." Stiles stops the older werewolf, "How do you know all this? You just said they were alone."

"And back then I wasn't just Derek's uncle. I was his closest friend. His most trusted confidante. That's how I knew."

"Your telling me Derek didn't have better friends?" I ask.

Stiles mouth twitches up to a smile as Peter glares at me, "Right sorry. I just assumed that you were always a sociopath. Please continue the story." I wave my hand gesturing for him to continue.

Peter closes his eyes for a brief moment and sighs. Once his eyes open back up he continues the story, telling us about the meeting of Alpha's and how the hunter's killed someone in Ennis's pack.

As he's telling the story, he traces a spiral on the window. "Our mark for vendetta. One that wouldn't end until Ennis was satisfied."

"You guys really take the revenge thing to a whole new level, don't you?" Stiles asks.

"It's not just revenge. Losing one of your pack isn't like a death in the family. It's like losing a limb." Cora states.

"For you, (Y/N), it will probably be worse." Peter adds.

"Because I'm a Zeta?" I question, raising an eyebrow. Peter nods, "Well let's hope no one in the pack dies then."

"Anyways, they wouldn't even let him see the body." Peter continues.

"I don't get it." Cora says. "Why are we hearing the Ennis revenge epic? What does any of that have to do with Derek?"

"Everything. Don't you know how these things happen? It's never one moment. It's a confluence of events. A tragedy of timing. Personally, I looked at Ennis's circumstance and saw a profound loss. Derek saw something different. He saw opportunity." Peter replies.

"To do what?" Stiles asks.

"To always be with her."

"He wanted Paige to get the bite?" I question, a look of realization crossing my face.

Peter nods. "The thing is, though. He had this constant fear. He was obsessing over it. Thinking about it. All night. All day. It was always on his mind."

He pauses for a moment, "I kept telling him not to do it. But every day the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced. You know how teenagers are. I bet even he blames me now. He's probably convinced himself that it was all my idea."

I instantly roll my eyes, the only thought running through my head is that he probably did put it in Derek's head. As the story continues, pack Emissary gets brought up.

Cora starts to explain the role of the Emissary, "But they're mostly a secret in the pack. Sometimes only the Alpha knows who the Emissary is. Derek and I never knew anything about Deaton."

"Or his sister, Morrell." Peter adds.

"She's an Emissary too?" Stiles asks.

"For the Alpha pack."

"Our guidance counselor? Why the hell don't you people tell me this stuff? I said some very personal things to her."

I rest my hand on Stiles leg and lightly squeeze to provide him some comfort. "Did she give you good advice?" Cora asks.

"Actually, yeah."

"That's what they do. It's what Deaton used to do for Talia." Peter says. He then continues the story, telling us that Ennis was the Alpha asked to bite Paige.

"Ennis? You asked him to do it?" Cora asks.

"Why not? He needed a new pack member. Paige was young and strong. Doing a favor for Derek would mean Ennis would be in good with Talia. Back then, everyone wanted to be in good with her."

"So what happened? Did he turn her?" Stiles impatiently questions.

Peter explains that Ennis bit her at the school one night. Derek tried to fight him off after he changed his mind but it was too late. "He doesn't remember it was Ennis, does he?" Stiles asks.

"If he does, he keeps it to himself."

"Like everything else."

"So did she turn?" Cora asks.

"She should have. And most of the time it takes. It does. The bite heals. There's a change in reflexes. All the senses heighten. Most of the time." Peter replies.

"Wait. What do you mean most of the time? Derek said he’s never heard of anyone being immune" Stiles states.

"That’s because no one is." Peter nods. He then explains how Derek took her to the root cellar, the nemeton. When he realized that she was dying he tried to take away her pain but it was too much. He killed her to end her suffering.

"Poor Derek." I say, as the story finishes.

"I remember taking her body from his arms. I carried her out of the woods to a spot I knew she would be found. It was another in a long line of Beacon Hills animal attacks."

"What about Derek?" Cora questions her uncle.

"He wouldn't leave the root cellar. Taking an innocent life takes something from you as well. It takes a little bit of brightness from your soul. Darkening it. Dimming a brilliant, golden yellow to a cold, steel blue. Just like mine." He flashes his eyes as we look at him.

*_*_*_*_*_*

After Peter leaves, Stiles and I sit on the steps of the loft. Cora stands in front of us, "What? You both have this look on your face."

"What look?" Stiles asks.

"The kind that makes me feel like punching you."

I bite my tongue, stopping myself from saying something rude, "You're definitely related Derek." Stiles says.

"What's with the look?" Cora asks once more.

"I don't believe him." Stiles states.

"I was thinking the same thing." I state.

"Why would he lie?" Cora asks us.

"Because he's Peter? A manipulative, compulsive, sociopathic, liar." I say.

"It's like... In Ms. Blake's class we're reading Heart of Darkness. It's in first person, right? Narrated by Marlowe." Stiles starts explaining.

"Really starting to want to punch you now, Stiles." Cora says. My mouth twitches up into a smile.

I tilt my head down to hide it as Stiles continues, "But he's an Unreliable Narrator. The story he's telling? There's details that you just know changed because of his perspective."

"So we got the story from Peter's perspective. So what?"

"So, I don't think we got the whole story."

"There's three sides to every story. The two people in it and the truth." I say shrugging as both turn their attention to me. “What? I read it somewhere.”

"What? Are you guys going to ask Derek about the girl he fell in love with and then killed?" Cora asks.

"If we have to... yeah." Stiles answers.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Once Stiles dropped me off back home I quickly went to my room to get ready for bed. I pushed my door open and jumped when I saw Isaac sitting on my bed. "Shit. Don't do that." I place my hand over my heart.

Isaac cracks a smile, "Sorry. I've been waiting for you."

"Stiles and I were at Derek's talking to Cora and Peter." I say as I sit beside him.

"About what?"

"Peter was telling us a story about Derek when he was younger."

Isaac nods. I watch him carefully as he stares at my comforter, "What wrong?" I ask.

He turns his head to me, "I-" He pauses. I raise an eyebrow waiting for him to continue. "Sorry, I just don't know how to start."

"Take your time. But you know you can tell me anything." I smile at him.

He nods and licks his lips. He flickers his eyes down then looks back at him, turning his body so he is fully facing me. "I think we should stop having sex."

"Oh?" I blink in surprise.

"It's just- I'm pretty sure you're not ready for a real relationship. And I want something more. I don't want to pressure you into anything that you aren't ready for but I can't keep doing this."

I nod, "I understand." I look down at my hands as I start playing with them, "I honestly haven't really thought much about if I'm ready for a relationship or not. I've been so busy thinking about the Darach and Alpha pack."

"Maybe someday we can try this again."

I look back up and whisper, "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. I know that you loved Nate and he hurt you a lot. And I'm okay, really."

"I guess we just fell for each other at the wrong time." I sadly smile at him.

He lightly laughs, "Yeah, you can say that again."

"Just because we're stopping this though doesn't mean that you can't talk to me, okay? I still care about you."

"Same goes for you." I lean over and give him a tight hug. Once I let go he smiles one last time then walks out of my room, shutting the door behind him.

Once the door is closed, I flop back on my bed to stare up at my ceiling. Thoughts of what went wrong and why I couldn’t be committed running through my mind.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @crazy-fan-101 @rogershoe @judayyyw

#isaac lahey imagine #lydia martin imagine #sister mccall imagine #series rewrite #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf rewrite

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nobloodneeded · 3 years

Text

I started listening to Rosemary Clooney, Frank Sinatra, and my favorite Dean Martin tonight and boy did my heart get real tender. Romance just walloped me right in the gut.

A weakness of mine is Dean Martin’s song “Sway” in particular. I remember I sang it at karaoke once and the people at the bar started slow dancing and it was so nice.

I miss that, I miss romance. I miss dancing. That song is instills such an immediate yearning in me. It makes me want to slow dance at two in the morning in the kitchen, twirling someone and holding them close, their back to my front. I want to kiss their cheek while dancing, feel their heat against me.

Feelings and desires sort of just spiraled from there.

I miss kissing the most. Real bad. I miss kissing for the sake of kissing, the pleasure of it - and only it. I’ve complained before how aggravating it was for me - before officially realizing my demi and sapphic-leaning sexuality - that kissing with my cishet male partners was always always for the sake of foreplay. It was a chore, routine. There was passion, sure, but knowing that it always led to sex bummed me out and took me away from it.

I could kiss for hours, though. Sex is all well and good, I like it just fine - sometimes even insatiably - but it’s all about the kissing for me.

I miss all of the different kinds and every aspect of it.

I miss that heart stutter when a person looks at my lips and back at my eyes. I miss the head lean, that offer that races my heart before I gladly accept. I miss the hesitant stroke of lips with that first chaste kiss. I miss the small sounds of compliance as it continues. I miss the feel of hands through my hair, pressure at the back of my head goading me on that I eagerly mirror. I miss stroking my thumb across a soft cheek and feeling the same against mine. I miss feeling a tongue working against mine. I miss that abandonment when everything else in the world goes blank except for the lips directly against mine, the sound of a tv droning barely above the sound of lips and rustle of clothing. I miss that breathy laugh that escapes sometimes when we take a minute to catch our breath. I miss exploring a person’s face, neck, body with my mouth. I definitely miss my neck being kissed, just one makes my mouth go dry and my body shudder. I miss my hands holding and massaging that person above me, below me, stroking gently and digging in firmly. I miss those kisses that leave me breathless and those kisses at the threshold of the door just to say goodbye and thank you. I miss those casual kisses in passing, the ones against my lips or cheek, the ones I get to place the same way.

It’s been almost a year since I left my ex-husband, but honestly it’s probably been at least four years since I’ve felt anything like that. Realistically, I could go out and get it. Sometimes I’m inclined to. There is something that holds me back - I know what it is and I’m fine with it - I’m ultimately content to continue as I am. Sort of.

I think I’ve grown a bit comfortable with my unrequited pining and part solitude. In my time alone, I’ve officially realized who I am and what I want - and it’s been really wonderful; content. My whole life I had tried to force myself into boxes I didn’t even realize were wrong. I figured I was a circle, when in reality I had been a triangle. All the clues were there, I just figured everyone went through what I did and I would grow out of - or rather into - my box. I bent my edges to fit into that circle and was uncomfortable and wrong the whole time without truly knowing.

I’m non-binary trans-masc. Neither and both. Too female, and proud, to be male; far too male to be female. I saw a post that fits me well in that regard: a male character written by a woman.

I’m queer/”sapphic” and always have been. For seventeen years, I presumed I was straight. Then I thought I was bisexual because of my attraction to men and women. I realize my “attraction” to men was in fact my confusion of gender envy, wanting to BE them not be WITH them, and I have never actually been attracted to men. I remember like three years ago I saw a post that said “some lesbians don’t have a problem with dick, they have a problem with the men attached” and I went “ha ha, same!” and then realized what that might mean and being married to a man I was like “ope we’re just going to tuck that away and not reflect on that for awhile.” But it was true.

I’m ethically non-monogamous. Always have been, however my respect and loyalty within a committed relationship I have always been monogamous, despite it not being my actual mentality around dating. I’m too affectionate, too interested in what the world and its people have to offer. I understand that I cannot be one person’s world, nor should I, and similarly one person should not be my all - romantically or platonically.

From this point forward, I’m probably only ever going to casually date people. Especially given that I am demisexual - if my partner is allo, I don’t want to “limit” them or “force” myself, and if my partner is ace I would not expect or have them go out of their comfort for me, either. I am incredibly romantic and put sincerity and my whole heart into pretty much every relationship I am in and will continue to - I do still want that “special” feeling with someone, multiple someones if that happens to come to pass, though it is not my intention to seek it. If it happens, it happens, if it doesn’t, it doesn’t.

Oof, i derailed my own tender-hearted post. Back to the matter at hand, I’m whiny and sad and miss kisses because damn it, I am far too good of a kisser to have gone unkissed for this long lmao.

#personal

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victoria-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter One: My Story Is Much Too Sad to be Told

AN: I’m fairly shocked at the reception this story got, I didn’t expect to gain immediate attraction because I posted it at like 3am lol. Nonetheless, I am grateful to all the people who read this story. Once again, this chapter is dark as well. I promise this whole story is not going to be doom and gloom, but it feels inappropriate to even try to glaze over the cruel treatment of slaves in America and to be honest, this chapter is probably just a glimpse of what real life slaves were put through.

Word Count: 3.1k

Trigger Warnings: slavery, violence, physical/mental abuse, racism, racial slurs

Chapter Two: Life Being What It Is

That was seventeen years ago.

Sabine's life had changed for the "better", at least that's what Mistress Genevieve would try to convince her as such. Sabine certainly didn't see it that way, she was still a slave, after all. Not to mention, that the Martin family has for all intents and purposes, mentally and physically scarred her for the rest of her life.

Sabine was fucking miserable on the Martin Plantation.

From the moment Sabine arrived on the plantation as a child, she became something of a pet project to Genevieve. She taught Sabine arithmancy, how to read, write, and to speak proper English and French. This was not out of kindness though, no, this was a source of derision. Whenever Genevieve would host any type of social gathering, Sabine would find herself being paraded around by her Mistress to her guests.

She despised the gatherings with every fiber of her being, she was subjected to the most degrading comments by the party goers.

"Dear me, I didn't know negros had the capacity to learn how to read,"

"Genevieve, you must have the patience of a saint to be willing to teach a member of an illiterate species,"

"You taught the monkey to read and write? What's next Genevieve, music?"

This is what Sabine had been put through for as long as she could remember. Every time she learned and mastered something new, Sabine knew what was to come. She hated the fact that accomplishing something a white person could do was met with oohs and awws in the most mocking fashion from Genevieve's friends. Sabine remembered one night that word had spread at a party that she was fluent in French and for the rest of night she was bombarded with requests of ‘saying something in French’. She felt like an animal in a zoo and she knew that's how most people viewed her in the first place.

"Teach anymore parlor tricks to your pet Genevieve?"

Sabine would internally scowl every time she witnessed Genevieve be lavished in praise by her friends for her work. Isn't it sweet? The benevolent mistress bestowing an education to a lowly slave like herself. The Southern Belle, extending her graciousness to one of her lowliest effects.

Oh, but Sabine would find little ways to carry out her revenge especially as she grew older and was given tasks that held more responsibility. Her favorite way, "accidentally" pulling her mistress' corset too tight or "accidentally" stabbing her in the scalp with hairpins. Her yelps of pain would bring a ghost of smile to Sabine's lips which would instantly vanish if Genevieve turned around to scold her for her carelessness. And of course Sabine would offer a quick apology, telling her mistress that she didn't mean to and will be more mindful in the future. But the second Genevieve left the room, Sabine would let out a snicker only to be popped in the back of the head by Alice, the woman, who's in charge in keeping the rest of the slaves in order.

The blow was not out of malice, further from that really, it was out of love and concern. Alice had been like a mother figure to Sabine since the day she arrived on the plantation.

"One day the Mistress is not going to put up with your 'mistakes'," Alice warned, worry was evident in her eyes.

It wasn't until Sabine would turn sixteen the following year that Alice's warning would finally sink in for her. The most ironic thing about it was the fact that it didn't happen because of one of Sabine's mischievous acts, it happened because of the wandering eyes of Genevieve's husband, Aaron Martin. What's even more ironic, is that Master Martin didn't even want Sabine in the house at first, he wanted to make her a field hand. Genevieve convinced him otherwise, saying that she would be malleable and make the perfect, obedient slave since she had no attachments on their plantation.

She was wrong.

The decision to keep Sabine as a house slave would be one that Genevieve would come to regret, but only out of wounded pride. Sabine, on the other hand, longed for freedom and was desperate to escape the growing tension between Genevieve and Master Martin. She doubted that they knew how many times she fantasized about running away from the plantation. It was more than once as each day passed.

She had good reason to as well, Sabine had noticed that the mistress had been short-tempered with her as of late. And that was never more evident on one fateful day, where everything in Sabine's life seemed to further spiral out of what little control she had.

Sabine wiped down the top of the fireplace on the far wall of the parlor room, humming to herself.

"What's that song?"

Sabine stumbled in surprise of hearing Master Martin's voice, his French accent only slightly there. Pushing away from the fireplace, she tightened her grip around the rag in her hands as she stood at attention. His thin lips were curled up into a smile, a smile that Sabine was sure he thought would put her at ease, it didn't. Matter of fact, the expression had the exact opposite effect, Sabine thought his smile looked like a wound opening. Everything about the forty-five year old man unnerved her, Master Martin had a complexion that teetered between being pale and matte, short, dark brown hair sat on top of his oblong head. His long face made his humped nose prominent, but the most terrifying feature on his face was those piercing gray orbs.

It was the eyes of a predator stalking its prey.

Bowing her head in apology, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you, Master," Sabine apologized, vowing not to hum again.

"You didn't disturb me. What is that song?"

It's something that her mother would sing to her when she was younger. Sabine couldn't remember the words to the song, but she knew how the tune went, it was the only piece of her mother that she had left of her.

Shaking her head, "I don't know," Sabine lied remorselessly.

Instead of letting her get back to her work, Master Martin just continued staring at Sabine, it made her flesh crawl. His eyes traveled from her face before letting them roam down to her neck and then onto her chest. This had become increasingly normal behavior for Master Martin, each week it seemed like he managed to find her alone and just study her figure. His eyes would always linger on her breasts, and that was what made Sabine most uncomfortable in his presence.

Master Martin leaned against the door frame, "You've been filling out your dress quite nicely as of late Cecile," he commented, now looking at slim waist and then her hips as his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

Sabine had to swallow down the bile she felt that might escape her mouth.

"Cecile!" Genevieve's shrill voice called from down the hall. "Cecile! Where are you, you daft girl?!" she yelled, as she stopped right beside her husband. "Aaron, dear, what are you looking-" she began, but cut herself off when she followed her husband's leering gaze. Genevieve's expression hardened and she narrowed her eyes at Sabine, pressing her lips together into a thin line. She stormed over to Sabine and came to a stop in front of her.

"Mistress I-" Sabine started, but Genevieve's hand whipped out and struck her hard across the face. Sabine's head snapped to the side and she lowered her stare to the floor, her breath uneven as she rubbed her cheek.

It was the hardest slap she had ever received.

"You stupid girl! Why are you distracting the Master?" she demanded, glowering at Sabine. "Get out of here and get back to work!" she ordered, her rising temper reflected in her face.

"Yes Mistress," Sabine replied, quickly bowing her head as tears began to well up in her eyes.

"And didn't I tell you to cover that horrid hair of yours? The sight of it is revolting!"

Genevieve had never once demanded Sabine to cover her hair, not until that day. But from that day on, Sabine wore a headscarf religiously to cover her head. Sabine figured that Genevieve's thought process probably fell along the lines of, if Sabine's hair wasn't visible then she'd become less attractive. It was a flawed logic that did nothing of the sort, much to Genevieve's and Sabine's dismay. So, for Sabine, the physical and mental abuse she received from Genevieve increased on a scale that she never experienced before.

The days of Sabine just being a pet to show off to Genevieve's friends to poke fun at her, were long gone.

Genevieve now saw Sabine as competition for Master Martin's attention. Attention that Sabine never wanted in the first place, Genevieve could keep her disgusting husband all to herself for all she cared. But of course, Genevieve would never see it Sabine's way, no, somehow Sabine's at fault for Master Martin's lustful stares.

Things only seemed to get progressively worse for Sabine as the years passed and her body continued to mature. Not only did she draw the unwanted attention from her perverted master, but she unfortunately also captured the eldest son's attention, Marc. He was almost a spitting image of his father, but was by far, worse than him. He's actually touched her in inappropriate ways, too many times for Sabine to recall. At least Master Martin just stared at her, although Sabine was sure that one day he might begin touching her as well, her worst fear was that he would flat out rape her.

Lord knows, Marc had been working his way up to it.

Sabine noticed that he had become increasingly aggressive as of late. And that frightened her to no end. She remembered one time after a dinner party she had to serve in the parlor room where the male guests were playing cards. She had just finished serving a round of drinks to Marc's table and the way he decided to thank her was to roughly squeeze her ass with a disingenuous smile. This action made the men at the table roar with laughter, but all Sabine could feel was mortification.

She wanted to curl up into a ball and cry in the corner of the small shack that she called home.

Sabine wanted to believe that the abuse she was suffering could not get any worse, she thought wrong. For, not only was she terrorized by the Martin's, but Marc's arrogant, smug college friends who often visited the plantation, partook in her torment as well. They would whisper things in her ears that no upstanding, God-fearing gentlemen would ever say to a white woman.

And for having such a supposed repulsion and violent reaction to someone of her complexion, white men sure seem to fancy negro flesh. It was confusing, yet terrifying realization. How could you hate and treat someone with so much scorn, but at the same time want to sleep with them?

Sabine's worst experience with one of Marc's friends was that he managed to corner her and forceful stick his hand up her dress, grabbing her thigh, luckily his hand wasn't able to go any higher thanks to one Alain Martin.

The only kind-hearted Martin in the family.

Alain, the curly headed and bright blue-eyed boy who always had a boyish grin on his face. He actually treated Sabine and the other slaves on the plantation like actual human beings, showing them dignity and respect, something that was completely foreign to them. Sabine wondered how the cruelty that Alain's family gleefully inflicted on the slaves didn't corrupt him and make him turn out like them. Maybe it was because Alain had actually questioned his surroundings as a child and didn't simply just accept what his mother and father told him as fact. She could recall many times Alain saying, ‘that doesn't seem right’ as a child.

And as Alain grew older, he continued to challenge his parents on the practice of slavery, prompting several arguments and debates, especially when it was dinnertime. Sabine had been a witness to quite a few of the shouting matches that would erupt at the table between Alain and Master Martin, Alain would also go at it with his older brother. Marc claimed, 'that because of the negro skull size all they were capable of was menial work and that white people were justified for enslaving them. With no one to oversee the negroes, they would hurt themselves'. This claim only enraged Alain further and Sabine as well.

Sabine had more knowledge in her pinky, than Marc's thick skull.

She pitied Alain, he had become the black sheep of the family. He attended college in the North and his views against slavery had only become stronger. He was an unapologetic abolitionist, which of course was completely the opposite of what his family believed. There would be many times that Sabine found herself listening to Alain as he vented out his frustrations about his family. She didn't mind, because that's what friends do, you let them vent.

However, it was not always like this, the bond they shared now as young adults would seem unimaginable to Sabine when she was younger.

Sabine and Alain had spent a lot of time together as children, but not because she wanted to, at first. The only reason she and Alain were in close proximity all the time, was the fact that she was tasked with fanning him while he had lessons with his tutor. Sabine resented him, they were only two years apart and yet here she was fanning him like he was some type of king. She was cold towards him (as respectfully as possible) and it went on like that for a couple of months, until Alain decided to speak to her when his tutor went inside the house.

"Pssst, Cecile, do you know how to say this word?" he asked, pointing to a word in his book.

Internally, Sabine arched a brow, she didn't know if he was asking out of genuine curiosity or to mock her.

"No sir," she answered, her grip tightening on the fan at the fact that she had to address a fellow child as 'sir'.

"You didn't even look," he argued softly, looking up at her. "Come on, I know you're smart, probably smarter than me," he added, moving the book closer to her eyes.

"Don't let the master and mistress hear that," Sabine remarked mindlessly, before freezing at what she let slip from her mouth.

Sabine expected to hear Alain run from his seat and tell his parents what she said, instead she heard giggles.

"You're funny Cecile," he commented, shaking his head.

A breath of relief left Sabine and she craned her neck, "What's the word, sir?" she asked, her eyes scanning the ink on the page.

"This one," he replied, pointing to the third word on the page.

Sabine nodded her head, "It's glaciers, sir," she said, before looking at Alain.

"Thank you Cecile," he smiled, bringing the book closer to him again.

"Your welcome sir,"

"Alain," he corrected.

"What, sir?" Sabine asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Call me Alain,"

And from that day forward, to some extent a friendship was born. The breaks in between Alain's lessons where his tutor wasn't present, were the only time that the two of them could really speak to each other. Alain did most of the talking, he told Sabine things he probably wasn't supposed to and if his mother ever found what Alain told her, Sabine was sure that Genevieve would just about faint. Sabine on the other hand, was much more reserved on what she was willing to tell Alain. She never told him anything personal, just mainly what she did each day. Sabine was afraid of telling Alain something that could somehow finds its way back to Genevieve. But, as years passed and they slowly matured, Sabine finally felt that she trusted Alain enough to tell him her real name when they were fourteen.

She hadn't heard the name Cecile since.

It was a friendship of secrecy, but that didn't mean Alain wouldn't try to protect Sabine as best he could. Alain could do it overtly, like he done with Marc's friend by yanking him away from Sabine and punching him square in the jaw. Other times, he would opt for more subtle ways that were just as effective. Remember the assault that Sabine suffered in the parlor room? Well, Alain was a witness to his older brother's molesting of her.

Alain strode over to Marc, appearing as though he was going to tell him off, which for Sabine's sake, she hoped he wasn't. It would only lead to further humiliation of her in some sort of fashion and probably Alain as well. Alain approached the table where his brother was playing cards when he suddenly tripped over his feet. Sabine watched in almost awe as the champagne flew in the air before raining down all over Marc, soaking his hair and a part of his evening jacket and dress shirt.

Marc's face turned beet red.

Sabine had to force herself to keep a neutral face, for a grin was threatening to form on her lips followed by uncontrollable laughter.

"You clumsy idiot!" Marc exclaimed, venom laced in his insult.

Alain didn't seem affected by the remark, "I'm so sorry brother," he apologized, without the faintest hint of sincerity in his eyes. "I'll go get some towels for you," he offered, before turning to look at Sabine. "Will you escort me? I would hate for my clumsiness to resort in another mess," he explained, and Sabine nodded.

"Of course sir," she stated, and led Alain out the parlor room.

Once they were in the hallway and out of view from everyone, Alain grabbed Sabine's wrist and pulled her along to the bustling sounds of the kitchen. Entering the room, Alain let go of her wrist and the two of them stared at each other before bursting out in laughter. Sabine felt tears forming in her eyes and used the back of her finger to wipe it away.

"You're going to get an earful from your mother Alain," Sabine warned, with a breathless laugh.

"I don't give a damn," Alain declared, a proud grin on his lips. "Marc deserved it," he added, nodding his head.

Sabine leaned back against the counter, "You didn't have to do that for me," she said, looking over to her friend.

"No," Alain disagreed, vigorously shaking his head. "I had to, Sabine," he corrected, his expression turning serious. "Marc assaulted you. He humiliated you," he continued, his hands bawling up into fists. "Humiliation in return, it was the least I could do," Alain explained, and Sabine ran her hand up and down his arm soothingly. "I know it won't erase what was done to you Sabine, but I had to do something," he finished, his gaze soft as he looked at her.

"It is a small victory I shall revel in for a long time," Sabine said, placing her hand on top of his shoulder. "Thank you, Alain,"

Chapter Three: Steal Away

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thebrotherssalvatore321 · 4 years

Text

Keeping Secrets Ch. 1

Keeping Secrets Masterlist

Pairing: DamonxOc. TylerxOc in future chapters, ElijahxOc, KlausxOc is endgame. She’s never sleeping with more than one guy at a time. This is just a long story with 25 chapters so far that I’m also posting on FanFiction.net. Warnings: She does however cheat on someone in future chapters if that counts as a warning.

Keeping Secrets

Katie Finnegan’s house sat on a beautiful street lined with beautiful houses. It was actually right down the street from her best friend Elena’s. Elena had recently lost her parents and was now under the guardianship of her aunt Jenna. It was a bleak situation, but one that Elena and her brother Jeremy could with time bounce back from with the loving support of their aunt. Katie on the other hand had long been plagued by the loss of her parents who died from a cause unknown to her when she was just ten years old.

Unlike Elena and Jeremy, Katie didn’t have any loving aunts or uncles to take her in. All she had was the abusive grandfather who she had never even met despite the fact that he lived in the same town that she did. She didn’t even know what he looked like until he showed up on the doorsteps of her parents house with a suitcase and two moving trucks. One was for her parents stuff to be packed up and auctioned off and the other was full of his.

Only after he showed up did she realize that she had seen him around town, but her parents never acknowledged him. At first she couldn’t understand it. For the first few months he was okay. He didn’t talk to her or play with her much but that was fine with her since she was always good at playing by herself, but once the social workers stopped coming by to make sure she was settling in okay, things started taking a turn for the worse. If she accidentally spilled her drink or dropped even a crumb he would lash out at her. Then she started understanding why her mother ran away with her father at the age of seventeen.

As she got older she got to know how to stay out of his way when he was sober, but when he was drunk there was no avoiding him. By the time she was seventeen she was sneaking out of the house on weekly biases just to get away from him. She thought over the years that her friends, Elena, Caroline and Bonnie would have figured out what was happening to her at home, but they never did. She became too good at hiding it and brushing off the bruises and cuts as her being clumsy. So they never asked more and she never told. She put on a good face and acted like every other sporty teen age girl looking forward to getting into college on a scholarship. She dreamed of the day she could leave Mystic Falls in her rear view and never look back.

Chapter 1

Katie Finnegan sat at the dimly lit roll top desk, in her bedroom writing in a spiral notebook that had the word journal written on the front cover in black ink. Her auburn waves, tamed with just the right amount of styling product, hung around her face and she tucked one tendril behind her ear then pushed her glasses up her nose and continued writing. "Today was the second day of school. Summer is officially over, no more avoiding my friends as much as possible. I saw Caroline and Bonnie at cheer camp, but Elena didn’t make it this year. So it's back to the real world. And the real world has given us high school girls some new eye candy. His name is Stefan and he already has eyes only for Elena. Although, it seems like Caroline is going to give her a run for her money. She's already practically stalking the guy. I'm supposed to be getting ready to go to the stupid back to school bonfire tonight, but I don't really want to go. Why would I? It's just going to be a bunch of people getting drunk and hooking up and that will just remind me that no one wants to be with me. I'm invisible. Sometimes I think I'm just a ghost that only my friends can see and sometimes even they don't see me. I'm not looking forward to sneaking out tonight. Last time I got caught Grandpa nearly beat me to death. But I have to go tonight otherwise I will never hear the end of it from Caroline in the morning. So I’ll talk to you later, Journal."

Katie tucked the pen inside, closed the book and pushed it away from her. With a sigh she pulled on a pair of dark wash distressed jeans, a black ac dc tank top and her favorite black leather jacket that she'd found for a good price at the local resale shop. She finished the look off with red converse and touch of tastefully smudged eyeliner.

With tentative steps she pushed open her bedroom window and eased herself out onto the roof. After glancing over the edge to make sure her grandpa wasn't waiting for her at the bottom like the last time, she started climbing down the surprisingly strong rose trellis. Now that she was safely out of the house she put her car into neutral and pushed it a few blocks away then started it and headed to the party.

The party was what she expected it to be and after drinking a few cups of beer and having a few laughs with Bonnie, she decided to stop, otherwise she wouldn't be able to climb back up to her room. She was tossing her empty cup into the trash when she spotted Stefan, who had taken up most of Elena's time, near the treeline watching her talk to her ex boyfriend Matt. Excusing herself from Bonnie who was telling her how she saw a crow when she touched Elena's hand she headed over to Stefan. "Hey." She greeted him with a small smile that he returned with his own greeting as if he didn't want to talk to her. "Don't worry unlike every other girl at this party I'm not going to throw myself at you." She laughed as she moved to stand a few feet beside him, making Stefan surprisingly give her a laugh and a genuine smile. "I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm Katie, Elena's friend." She informed him. "I saw you over here looking all jealous and I figured I'd let you know that you don't need to be."

"Yeah, why's that?" He asked turning toward her without moving his feet as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"I know it's not my place to say and I'm sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, but...she's over Matt. Has been for a long time now. She just couldn't make herself hurt him." She answered. "She's sweet like that."

"Well, you're..."

"Weird." She finished since it seemed like he was looking for the right word to describe her.

"I was going to say forward, but weird works." He laughed. "You know, you're the first girl that hasn't tried to hit on me since I got to this school. It's kinda refreshing, but I don't get it." He looked at her with pursed lips and puzzled eyes. "Why are you trying to help me get the girl?" Stefan asked.

"Because I’m weird.” Katie answered as if she were trying to sound mysterious then laughed. “Na, it’s really because I knew I didn't stand a chance." She answered as she dropped her eyes to the ground then got quiet for a second. "And also because she's one of my best friends and she's had a hard year. She could use a little happiness."

"How do you know I'll make her happy?" He asked with a tight lipped smile.

Katie glanced up at where Matt and Elena had been to see that Matt was gone and Elena was looking at the two of them. "Because," she started then turned to look at Stefan across her shoulder, "now she's the one looking jealous."

She was pretty sure that once Stefan looked at Elena he forgot all about her. So she went back to the party, meeting Bonnie at the top of the small hill. "Hey, where you goin'?" Bonnie asked when Katie walked past her.

"The grill. I need coffee if I'm going to sober up enough to get home before Grandpa leaves for work and realizes my car isn't there." She replied and kept walking.

"Okay, we’ll meet you there later." Bonnie called after her and Katie waved over her shoulder letting her friend know she heard her.

After getting a hot coffee Katie chose a table outside and pulled the book they had been assigned for English out of her bag. She was half way through the assigned chapters when sirens started blaring and cop cars sped past the grill toward the party. After they passed out of sight her phone vibrated and she looked at the screen to see a text from Bonnie that said, "Vicki was attacked by an animal."

She didn't have enough minutes left on her phone to text Bonnie back, so she called her since it was free. "Hey, what do you mean she was attacked by an animal? Is everyone okay?"

"I don't know, Elena and Jeremy found her in the woods with some kind of bite on her neck. No one else seems to be hurt, but they’re putting Vicki in an ambulance right now." Bonnie answered, sounding worried and tense.

"Oh my god, do I need to come back?" Katie pressed her fingertips to her lips not knowing what else she could say.

"No, me and Caroline are about to head your way. We’re gonna sober up while we wait for news." Bonnie told her.

"Okay, just...stay safe okay?" She got a positive answer from Bonnie then hung up the phone. Not being able to read anymore she tucked the book into her bag and focused on sipping the still hot coffee. Ten minutes later Bonnie pulled up and parked in front of the grill. They got a table inside and the other two girls ordered coffee.

"Why didn't he go for me?" Caroline asked sounding whinier than usual, clearly talking about Stefan. "How come the guys that I want never want me?"

"I'm not gonna touch that one." Bonnie answered.

Caroline looked to Katie for answers. "Yeah, I'm not answering that either."

"I'm inappropriate. I always say the wrong thing..." She started listing off the things wrong with herself. Katie pulled a I'm gonna keep my mouth shut look and took a sip of lukewarm coffee. "And Elena always says the right thing. God, she doesn't even try and he just picks her. She's the one that everyone picks for everything. I try... SO hard and I'm never the one."

"It's not a competition." Bonnie said, looking at Katie for back up.

"Sorry, Bon, but sometimes it kinda feels like one." Katie said with a shrug.

"See." Caroline said with a motion to Katie. "Thank you."

After things calmed down and Caroline sobered up a little, Bonnie left the table to go pay the bill. Katie looked up from her empty cup and noticed Caroline smiling at someone and followed her gaze to a dark haired, ice blue eyed, gorgeous guy who was smiling back at her. "Looks like you found someone to like you back." Katie told Caroline with a grunt as she slid out of the chair and grabbed her bag. "Tell Bonnie I said good night."

"I will." Caroline replied not breaking eye contact with the guy. Katie just rolled her eyes and walked away.

She managed to sneak successfully back into her room and sat down at her desk, pulling her journal out and flipping to a fresh page. "Well the party was as I predicted it would be, except Vicki Donovan got attacked by some kind of animal. I wasn't there to see it, but it was apparently pretty bad. After the party Caroline, Bonnie and I met up at the grill to sober up. I got to listen to Caroline complain about how she never gets the guy and Elena gets everything. Of course right after this conversation she catches some super hot, blue eyed guy’s attention. Like, I can't stress enough how hot this guy was. The contrast of his dark hair and ice blue eyes was enough to make a girl's heart melt, not to mention the cute smirk he was giving Caroline. I hate to sound like Caroline, but why don't guys ever look at me? I mean I may not be crazy beautiful like Elena, Bonnie and Caroline, but I don't think I'm ugly either. Maybe that's why, because no one notices the average girl. And that's exactly how I would categorize myself. Whatever, who needs a guy anyway? All they bring is trouble. I need sleep. Ttyl Journal."

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

Love Me Roughly: House Hunting

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,220

Rating: M for Mature

Plot: Severus meets up with the wizard in charge of finding him a place to live. He manages to strike up a deal and purchases his new home.

A/N: This is part 3 of 7 for the week 1 schedule for Snape Appreciation Month! @snapeloveposts

DISCLAIMER: I have edited (drawn over the original) the artwork (taken from a 80′s bodice ripper novel) for the purpose of this short series and will post more information about the original work here.

Posted: 6/3/20

Chapter List

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~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Severus left his motel room, locking the door and placing the key firmly in his pocket. He picked the dog up and walked out of the parking lot, turning a corner, and heading along the outer wall to the back. He figured the center was where he was standing and started walking into the forest, counting out seventeen steps before stopping.

The woods surrounded him shielded most of the sun and made the forest seem eerie. The little dog started squirming so he set it down on some fallen leaves, watching as he shook his fur out and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him to behind a large tree.

He heard rustling and then a very familiar witch walked out form behind, carrying the dog. She wore an open cloak with three buttons clumped at the top and a hood covering most of her hair, and yet, there was no mistaking who she was.

The woman from the airport walked closer and pulled her hood down, “I never would have guessed.”

“Not exactly a compliment,” Severus looked down at the dog, “Do you always make a habit of leaving your animals unattended?”

The woman laughed, “He makes sure our clients are here on time… and also that it isn’t a Ministry trap.”

He looked down at the dog in her arms, somehow doubting this particular one was very good at his job. He approached with caution and stuck out his arm, wanting to get a move on with house hunting. She took it and immediately apparated them out of the forest.

Severus heard a thump and opened his eyes, looking around at the wooden log walls and dark oak floorboards. They stood in the open kitchen of a small log cabin, a lounging area to the left and spiraling stairs directly behind them.

She set the dog down, “This is one of the simpler houses we have available to wizards here. During the winter, the snow mounds for miles and the trees offer much privacy.” She motioned to the stairs, “And the whole of it is so small that it’s easy to set up heating charms in every inch with ease.”

He walked behind the spiral stairs and opened the door to the laundry with a toilet and sink inside. He continued up the stairs to a corridor with three rooms. The first on the left looked to be the master bedroom with a large closet. The second was a smaller bedroom, A study perhaps, right across the way of the second bathroom.

He walked back downstairs and eyed the kitchen and connected room, finding it all surprisingly agreeable. “So, what is near?”

“Well, a short hike down is a corner store and your closest neighbor. A short hike up is a cliff,” she smiled.

He chuckled, these wizards really do know the business. He’d always heard of how well of a job they did, placing would-be convicts, escapees, and celebrities in the perfect homes for their situation. He suspected it had more to do with prior knowledge of the unsuspecting client, however. I always wondered where all the supposed diviners went. Even before the first wizarding war less and less were being found, though rumor had it they were being discovered for other, more appreciated, jobs.

“Well, I think you already know I approve of it.”

She dropped a folded paper on the low wooden dining table for him to take. He opened it and read out the price of the little log cabin.

“Really,” he sneered. “For maybe one twice the size of this one.”

She rolled her eyes, “You expect a well-built cabin, hidden from the noses of the Ministry, requiring no proof of wizard registration or mention of you on any documents for any less?” She laughed and picked up her dog, who had been lying peacefully next to the heater, and extended her elbow for him to take. “Why don’t we find you one worth the money you will have to pay, then?”

He scoffed, “Enough with the theatrics. Is there no discount?”

“Discount? For what? Looking cute?” she winked.

Severus swallowed and looked away quickly, raking his hair forward, “I’m sure the discount for that would be quite pitiful.”

The floorboards creaked under her shoes as she crept forward, “Oh, I’m not so sure about that. I’d give you ten percent off for your eyes alone.”

Severus turned to her, suddenly feeling the air very hot between them. Without thinking he opened his mouth, “And what else is… worthy… of a discount?”

She smiled and came closer still, “Hmm. Ten for those lips, and twenty for that incredible nose of yours.”

His hand went straight to cover his nose as her words replayed in his head, “Very funny.”

“It’s not a joke,” she stepped back glancing at the paper in his hands, “It’s my final offer.”

He looked at her confused, waiting for any clarification but none came.

He nodded, “Deal.”

She snapped her fingers and the numbers on the paper changed to a much more affordable price, “I’ll see you tomorrow then, for the money and to give you the keys.”

She apparated away and he was left alone in the house he would have to make his home now. He smiled to himself at their exchange. His heart wasn’t racing or thumping loudly, it was calm. He wasn’t ‘lusting’ after her like how his book described… but he did find guilty amusement in the fact she had indeed flirted with him. And he flirted back… something that, surprisingly, gave him enough joy to make him smile still, minutes after she had left.

His stomach growled and he remembered what time it was. He summoned his packed trunk and took out the food from it. He made himself a simple sandwich and placed the rest in the small fridge. He noticed the light did not turn on and figured there was no electricity yet.

He shrugged and charmed the fridge with a chilling spell and the freezer twice with the same one. That’ll do for now. He sat at the table and looked around at all the windows, watching the green trees sway with the wind and the occasional bird fly by.

He didn’t want to unpack just yet, not until everything was finalized, but there was one thing he could do. He took out his book from his muggle coat pocket and opened it back up, slouching over the table. He bit into his food and turned the page.

‘Robin turned from Stephano’s outstretched hand, not wanting to believe what his manly lips were saying. How could she believe a man that large, kind, muscly, handsome, and manly wanted such a small, dainty, soft, beautiful, girl like her?’

Severus rubbed his eyes and looked up, surprised to see the sun had set already and it was dark out. He locked the back door with a spell and walked over to the front door, doing the same. He dragged his luggage up the stairs and set it at the foot of the master bedroom’s large bed.

It was dark and he could barely see, cursing himself for not bringing candles. I had so many! Why didn’t I pack them? He imagined them al melted on the floor of his old home. I should have brought my scented ones at least. He fumbled for his night shirt in the dark and changed out of his clothes, unbuttoning everything slowly. He slid one arm in after the next and pulled the night shirt down. He took out his wand and cast Lumos to inspect the quality of the sheets.

They looked fine, recently cleaned even. He shrugged and set the wand down on the floor, hopping into bed and pulling the covers up. It was cold, but nothing compared to the dungeons during the winter. He turned and tried not to think of anything. Not tonight.

. . .

“Mmm, Stop it!” He lifted the hand that had fallen out of bed and was swinging low enough for the puny dog to lick. “Why must you do this? Hmm?”

He rubbed his eyes and looked out the window at the bright blue sky and large green trees. He wasn’t sure of the time, but knew that woman was already here, unleashing her dog onto him. He picked up his wand and cast Nox, extinguishing the light.

He pushed the dog out of the bedroom door and closed it, changing behind the bed and away from the window. He combed through his hair with his hands, wiping them on his coat, and made his way down the spiral stairs. She wasn’t in the kitchen so he turned his head and leaned forward, looking into the living room where she sat on the floor, reading –

“That’s not mine!”

She looked up, laughing, “Oh isn’t it?”

Severus ran into the room, stopping himself suddenly and composed himself. “Of course not… some-someone gave it to me and – ”

“So… it is yours, then.”

“No. It’s not, because I don’t want it. I was going to throw it away,” he coughed and looked away. There was a mirror hanging on the wall and he saw his face was a deep red. He turned his back to her and walked into the kitchen, arms folded.

Stupid! Absolute idiot! How could I leave it there? The cover alone has an image of a near naked woman in the arms of a shirtless man! …And it’s pink! He breathed out to calm himself, No matter. She will be gone forever in a few minutes.

She walked in behind him and set the book on the counter, giggling quietly, “It’s alright if you’re reading it. It seems interesting enough – and quite steamy.”

“No! No, I-I… Here is your money,” he extended his hand and summoned the bag of Galleons he had prepared for her.

She took it. “Well… Here is your key.”

He took the key without looking and put it in his pocket.

“Your water will start running soon… First month is free… after that you’ll need to pay us at the start.”

Severus nodded stiffly but the woman did not leave, “Yes?”

“About our conversation yesterday… I believe I called you cute and complimented your lips.”

He looked at her finally, and noticed she was biting her lip. He didn’t need to use Legilimence to know what she was thinking… and Merlin knows he was now thinking the same thing, though he didn’t believe he could pull it off in the least. He straightened and walked closer, excited to start the conversation up again.

“I do remember. I believe you also complimented my eyes,” he smiled.

“Who wouldn’t?” she stepped closer and touched the black cloth tucked under his shirt, “I love the patterns on your cravat.”

Severus watched her smooth actions, smiling. It had been a while since he had flirted with anyone, let alone had someone so willingly participate. The last time was surely before the Dark Lord’s return and as far as he remembered, it hadn’t gone so well, not on his part.

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He chuckled nervously, “Forgive me, I-I don’t really know how these things go…”

“Then perhaps you’ll allow me to lead?”

She came closer, forcing him to step back against the wood walls of the kitchen. He couldn’t help feeling so giddy, he wasn’t sure why. He supposed because for the first time he didn’t have to worry about anything else getting in the way of… whatever she allowed to happen.

He leaned his head down and brought his lips to her ear, “I would like that.”

He pulled back and he could see a new fire in her eyes and a mischievous twinkle too. He lowered his head only to have her immediately attack his lips with hers, tangling her hands in his hair. He wrapped his arms around her for a few intense seconds before pulling her away and leading her up the stairs – to his surprise she was following.

It was broad daylight but that hardly seemed to matter, not to him and by the looks of it, not to her. The second they reached his room they continued their intimate embrace, slowly inching closer to the bed. The second their legs touched the mattress they pulled apart and began to undress.

He undid button after button as fast as he could while watching her and the little show she was obviously putting on for him, making him blush. She got undressed and jumped on the bed, watching as he shed layer after layer. He left his wand in the kitchen or he would have used his unbuttoning spell already, but by the look on her face she was enjoying every second of it which made him want her even more.

“Are you sure?” his voice was deep and he could hear his own excitement in it.

She reached out and touched his skin, making it feel hot and electric where she stroked. She stood on the bed and pulled him in by his shoulders and kissed him again, humming and smiling. He touched her skin and felt it smooth and silky, warm, much like herself.

“Extremely,” she giggled.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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qscvgyum · 3 years

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Are YOU THAT STUPID

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fatefulfaerie · 4 years

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To Stand Aloft

Direct? Botw 2 trailer? Next week? I can only hope.

If not, I suppose it’s just more one-shots like this to tide us over...

I’m trying to post more content because the rest of the world is ending. Please let me know if I’ve sacrificed quality for quantity and I’ll stop. Been a couple weeks since I’ve been told I’m crap, go for it.

Their feet crunched in the snow in an unpredictable pattern, a rhythm as they ascended the snowy hill. It was the only sound that was heard in the silence between Zelda and Link.

He looked over to her as they walked, her forward glance ensuring she didn’t notice. Link was worried that her attire wasn’t warm enough, yet she seemed just fine. Her newly cut hair stopped right above the wool at her neck, the regality of her gold-encrusted white coat apparently accounted for the cold, it being made of Rito feathers much like Link’s apparel.

He could see her breaths much like he could see his. There was a slight coloration on her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, yet it was no different than how he most assuredly looked.

His concern proved pointless, Link returned to his own forward gaze.

“Up this way,” he said with a slight gesture of his head. The path up Mount Hylia seemed to spiral upwards to its’ peak, Zelda stopping to peer up at it.

Her exhale came out as a puff of air, Link stopping next to her.

“I’m not surprised that he was buried here,” Zelda said quietly. “His people knew him well.”

Zelda started up the incline, Link following suit.

“He spent a fair amount of time on the Great Plateau. He loved Hyrule, but here it was just a little more isolated. I’m told that as a family we would stay in a cabin here sometimes. To get away from the castle, I suppose. I don’t remember much about back then, though. After mother died, we didn’t return.”

The conversation lagged, Link searching for how to respond in his mind before it was too late.

“The Temple of Time is actually where my parents got married,” Zelda added, changing the subject.

“Aren’t royal weddings traditionally held at the castle?” Link asked.

Zelda looked to Link, her eyes squinting.

That wasn’t common knowledge anymore. Unless he actively sought out that information...

“They are,” Zelda said, acknowledging that it was only a logical conclusion to reach. “But the Temple of Time was common for weddings of all stations. It’s religious value and connection to the Goddess Hylia were likely what my parents sought after.”

“Makes sense,” Link added.

“Actually when I was younger,” Zelda continued. “I fantasized that I would follow in their footsteps. The Temple of Time was once so beautiful. Now, I wouldn’t mind throwing away the tradition all together and getting married somewhere completely rebellious, like Tarrey or Hateno.”

“You say that as if you have someone in mind.”

“You don’t imagine things about your future when your mind wanders?”

“I do,” Link clarified. “I was just curious if you had someone in mind.”

“Link, I’m still only seventeen,” Zelda said. “I’m not planning on marrying anyone soon. Without courtship proceedings in place or suitors in line, I can now take things one day at a time.”

“I see,” Link said.

There was a silence, Zelda assuming the conversation was now over.

“Korok Forest,” she heard Link say.

“Hm?” Zelda retorted.

“That’s where I’d want to get married, Korok Forest, hypothetically of course.”

“Oh, that would be beautiful,” Zelda said with the fullest sincerity. “We could--”

Zelda felt herself freeze and tense up. Not in the completely physical way, as she was still walking, but her chest was tight as she pondered her error, feared the response.

Why could she never think before she spoke?

But Link only smiled, a chuckle making his head angle downward.

“Yeah, it would be beautiful,” he said.

Zelda smiled as they reached the peak, yet it faded quickly when she saw her father’s grave.

A wind whistled through their ears as they stood, looking at the simple collection of rocks.

Zelda hugged her arms close, for a comfort beyond warmth as her expression sank.

She turned her head in Link’s direction, not enough to meet his eyes, but enough for him to know who she was addressing.

“Do you have anything?” She asked. “Anything you’d like to say?”

“Anything nice I have to say has already been said,” Link said. “Out of respect, I’ll keep the rest to myself.”

Zelda nodded as her head returned to the grave.

With her first step forward, Link knelt to the snowy ground, his knees wetted by the moisture of the snow. Much like 100 years prior, he bowed his head to his king.

Zelda’s second step saw her arms dangle at her sides. The position, however, was short-lived, her third step the last before she plopped to her knees, sitting on her heels.

Her gaze was low, on her hands as they wrung each other.

“Father,” she started, but no words followed. Link tried to keep his head down, resisting the urge to rush forward and hold her, comfort her.

It was a familiar urge, being lowered to a kneel and frozen there for respect of this King, knowing that the Princess before him needed the comfort.

He remembered using every ounce of his strength not to jump to Zelda’s defense when her father was chastising her on the bridge to her study.

He wanted to defend her from his sharp words. Being her knight attendant, he knew they harmed her more than any assassin’s blade.

He wanted to shout and scream at the King, to hug Zelda and to tell her that she could do whatever she wanted, that she deserved to delve into her passions and study plants or animals or technology or whatever her heart desires.

He wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to be a princess, that she didn’t have to access the sealing power, that she didn’t have to face Calamity Ganon, that he believed in her no matter what.

That he loved her for who she was.

But instead he knelt, then and now, out of respect for her father, the fallen King.

“Link, he…” Zelda finally continued. “He told me you talked to him, guided him when I couldn’t. I am beyond grateful for your kindness. Hyrule is indebted to you yet again.”

She paused, biting her lip.

“But I can’t help but wonder what you would have said to me. I suppose I can only imagine you saying that you are proud of me, or how disappointed you are, or that I saved Hyrule like you always thought I would, or that I proved everyone else right in causing it’s fall.”

Zelda looked up to the large stone, snow starting to drift upon the scene.

“In all honesty, I don’t know what you would say to me now. Hyrule was saved at such a great cost and even then, we may have only scratched the surface.”

Zelda’s eyes went sad.

“I...uhh...I cut my hair,” she said with a forced smile. “Technically I suppose Link did, but the consequence remains.”

“It felt a lot better, freer,” Zelda added. “As did these past few months living in Hateno. Link is truly one of a kind. He’s different than before but, so am I. One hundred years is a long time.”

Zelda stood up.

“I know I’m becoming the person you didn’t want me to be, but I can’t help it. The support Link has given me has--”

The ground started to violently shake, Zelda trying to keep two steady feet on the ground to no avail. Link rushed to steady her, clutching her shoulders until they hurriedly embraced each other.

It was no use, the snow underneath their feet making them slip. Zelda shrieked as they tumbled down the rocky side of the hill. They slid feet first until they rolled, holding on to each other for dear life.

Link’s back landed on the snow, his eyes clamped closed at the soft thud.

When he opened his eyes, she was right on top of him.

“Incredible,” she said as she sat up. “Two earthquakes in one week.”

Link tried to push himself up, but she was really right there, him thudding right back into the snow. The longer he laid, the more his face reddened, Zelda too immersed in scientific analyses to realize that she was practically straddling him.

“The tremors are stronger here, which means I was right, it’s coming from the castle.”

“Zelda--”

“Unless it’s stronger in general, but the frequency assures me it’s definitely an unnatural occurrence.”

”Uh...Zelda…?”

”Huh?” She retorted as she finally looked to Link.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, her cheeks blushing deeply as she quickly moved her legs off.

“Sorry,” she said as she stood up, looking to the castle for any visual changes.

”It’s okay. It’s not the worst place to be stuck,” Link jived as he brushed the snow off his backside.

But there was no response.

“What?” Link retorted. “It was just a joke.”

Link furrowed his brow as he brushed off the last of the snow.

“Zelda?” he asked as he looked to her figure, completely still.

He paced to her side, studying the way her mouth was popped open in speechlessness, the way her eyes searched and searched for an answer to a lingering question he knew not of.

Link did a double take towards where she was looking before he saw it.

The castle, Hyrule Castle, which had stood aloft for ten thousand years and beyond had risen to reveal a structure underneath.

Link’s lips went to form the word “what”, but even then, he didn’t know where to go with that. He tried “how” and it ended in the same silence.

He felt Zelda’s hand slide down his right arm, her fingers entangling with his.

Their future was behind them, and before them, stood the harrowing unknown.

#botw #botw 2 #zelda #link #zelink #breath of the wild #breath of the wild 2 #tloz #the legend of zelda #hyrule #Hyrule castle

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fear-before-valor · 4 years

Note

💫

(Thank you again for your help with the trollish, by the way!!)

Tranz by Gorillaz

When you get back on Saturday night And your head is caving in Do you look like me, do you feel like me Do you turn into your effigy?

Jim stared into his bathroom mirror, where a crack remained that had never been repaired. He traced over his own doing with a very human fingertip, though he’d made the crack with, at the time, stone hands, instead of the warm ones that he was peering at now. The crack had split the mirror down the middle, and spiderwebbed into smaller offshoots that weren’t quite enough to completely distort his reflection; they were only just enough to make something look Not Right. Though, to be fair to the mirror, every time Jim had seen himself since even as far back as Eternal Night— and really, was that even that long ago? Or did it only feel that way?— something had felt Not Right. Capital N, capital R, Not Right. He’d seen it in everyone’s faces; in the brave way his mother had tried to hide her fear and worry behind support, but he could tell. He’d always been able to tell, with her. And Toby. And Blinky, after a while. He’d seen the worried faces of his family who tried to be strong for him, like he tried to be strong for them. But no amount of strength could hide when something uncontrolled in their faces blanched for just a moment, when they’d looked at him, just for a split second too late for them to cover it up.

It was one thing he definitely didn’t miss, from his time as a troll.

He wasn’t sure he even could say he missed it at all, though, if he was being honest. He’d never really asked for the form; only accepted it because it was what had been expected of him.

He supposed, if he did miss anything from it, though, he missed how utterly invincible he’d felt.

…Well.

Until he hadn’t anymore, when he was stabbed through his armor—through his heart—and suddenly he hadn’t felt so helpless in his life, as his own mind had turned traitor.

Jim never thought he’d approach anything like the singular sensation of even seeing his own effigy. Though, to be fair, he still hadn’t.

He hadn’t seen his own effigy.

He’d become it.

Do you dance like this? Forever

He could feel stone crumbling, as he met his own eyes in the mirror; he could feel his own skin crumbling, as his terror stared at him back. He could feel his own body crumbling— I’m dying…! He’d thought. I’m dying and Claire has to watch—

and then he felt the soft vibration of his phone at his hip. Three quick buzzes, a pause between them, three more buzzes, a pause between them, three more, and a pause, and Jim almost missed the green ‘accept’ button.

He raised his phone to his ear, forgetting to look at who it was.

“Jim? Where are you? My mom is demanding pictures, and my dad can only stall for so long!”

Claire.

When Jim opened his mouth to answer back, he was surprised to feel a smile stretched over his lips— he hadn’t even known he’d started to do that. He was quiet for a moment, just smiling, listening to the muffled commotion of Ophelia Nuñez nigh on a warpath, and her husband who had the distinct sound of a father trying to quiet a rambunctious toddler, while also attempting to have a civil conversation with his wife, all at the same time.

And it struck Jim.

It was so normal. So, incredibly normal. Even hearing NotEnrique chime in once in a while, sounding remarkably delighted by the chaos, was so blessedly normal, that Jim’s smile threatened to turn into a beam.

Claire had apparently gotten worried at his lack of response, however, and said, uncertainly, “…Jim? Are you there?”

He snapped back to the present. “Oh. Hey, Claire. Sorry; uh, I was having trouble fixing my—” he’d meant to decide if he was going to say his tie, or his hair, but instead it came out as, “Hairtie. I mean—”

Claire cut him off, a soft giggle chiming through his phone speaker, which set his heart spiraling. “Your hairtie, huh? Well, hurry up beauty queen, or we’re going to be late. You know between my mom and yours, we’re going to take centuries to be done with photos, and that’s not even taking into account when we meet up with Toby and the others, and their parents. It’s gonna be a brigade of parents, Jim!”

Jim chuckled, supposing that he wasn’t quite as unhappy about that as he perhaps should be. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way.” He said, and after a hushed ‘I love you,’ from Claire— who would never live it down if she was caught saying such a thing at seventeen— and a sickeningly sweet ‘I love you’ from himself in return, Jim hung up the phone, and slipped it back into his slacks pocket.

In his defense, he really had been trying to fix his hair, before he’d had his… episode. Now, he stared at it, and decided it was a hopeless cause due to the sheer amount of ruffles it would get from his mom alone, and so reached to grab his suit coat, instead. Pulling it on, he exited the bathroom, and just as he was about to slide down the railing, a hand caught him by the back of his collar.

“Now, Young Atlas, I do hope you were decidedly not going to risk ruining your dress pants on our banister?”

Jim groaned, rolling his eyes in an extremely over-exaggerated way, making sure Strickler saw. “I was gonna be careful!”

Strickler only looked amused, “I’m sure. But why don’t we take the stairs like civilized people, just in case?” He wrapped a gentle arm around Jim’s shoulders, guiding them both down the stairs together.

Barbara was at the bottom, dressed casually, for once— there had been no ifs ands or buts; she had the night off, and wasn’t on call unless the world ended. Of course, given Arcadia’s track record, that could have been an unfortunately high chance, but then again, it felt like even evil was taking a backseat that day. It seemed that that day was the first day they’d had in ages where no one wanted to destroy the world. Not even a continent.

And it was divine.

The sun was hanging lazily in the sky, golden light filtering harmlessly through their blinds, though Strickler was, of course, careful, regardless. He’d agreed to stay with the children until Barbara got back, but stood in the foyer as a mother stared at her son— looking so scarily like an adult— and watched with a smile, as she embraced the boy, trying to hide her misting eyes.

Barbara pulled back after a moment, and despite her valiant effort, hadn’t successfully stopped her tears from spilling, so as she pulled away from Jim, she wiped at her eyes under her glasses. Jim’s face softened, as he reached up to put a hand on her cheek, “Aw, mom, hey—”

“You just look so grown up, Jim.” She cut him off, going in for a second hug. He laughed, and hugged her again, and they held it, for longer this time.

After a moment too long, Jim opened his eyes to glance at Strickler, and shot him a look that screamed help me. Jim wasn’t sure he’d be able to get his mom to let go by himself. Then again, this, too, did not bother him much.

Seeing Jim’s face, however, Walt chuckled and moved to place a comforting hand on Barbara’s shoulder. “Come, now, tarn, you must get going. You two have a picture date to attend, after all.”

Barbara finally pulled back enough to give a wet laugh, saying, “I’m glad you made me get waterproof mascara.” She smiled fondly at Walter, “It’s going to come in handy, if this is only beginning.”

The beginning of many more events to come, she meant. Jim was a senior this year, and graduation was approaching far quicker than any of them were ready for.

“I’m going to go get a few more tissues, actually.” She realized, and turned to dart back into the living room, to secretly tuck the whole box into her purse. She wouldn’t be the only one who needed them, after all.

As she left Walter and Jim alone, the former teacher reached to clasp Jim’s shoulder, to get his attention, and to hold him in some way. The boy was good at hiding it, but Strickler hadn’t missed the slight shaking of his hands, which he’d tried to hide, as he’d buried them into his coat pockets, post-hug. Walt gave Jim a gentle, reassuring smile, “Jim. How do you feel?”

The boy futzed for a moment, glancing into the living room, and then back to Strickler— there was a flash of a memory, when the two of them had been watching for Barbara in a much different way— and then he shook his head, smiling—a real smile, genuine. He spoke the truth when he said, “I’m fine, actually. Just nervous. I’m bad at dancing.”

Walter gave a gentle, kind laugh, “I believe you ought not worry, Young Atlas. Were Claire to break up with you over your dancing, I fear there would be a much larger issue at play.”

Jim’s eyes went wide at the implication, and Strickler realized the poor timing of the joke. “Ah, but… you needn’t worry. The world will not end because our trollhunter has two left feet. Claire loves you, Jim. You will be quite alright, I believe.”

Jim fidgeted for a moment, looking as if he was trying to make up his mind on something.

And then Barbara rejoined them, giving Walt a quick kiss on the cheek, interrupting whatever Jim had been about to say. She slung her purse over her shoulder, and reached to place a hand on Jim’s back. “Let’s go, honey. Can’t keep Claire waiting too long, eh, Romeo?” She teased.

Jim rolled his eyes, but grinned, “Yeah, yeah.” He turned to the door, but then halted, and looked over to her, as if he’d just remembered something. “Hey, Mom? Why don’t you go get the car started? I think I left mine and Claire’s tickets upstairs.”

Barbara looked at him to joke that that was, of course, important, but as she turned, she caught the smallest glimpse of the corner of the tickets already sticking out of Jim’s coat pockets. She glanced from Jim to Walter, who gave her a nod. Ah.

She pretended to be none-the-wiser, as she walked over to hug Walter. He was surprised, but accepted it, and as she held on, she whispered, “Thank you, my love.”

He murmured, “Of course, von swin dwoyem eks klokarp.”

Barbara gave a soft laugh. “One day I’ll get you to tell me what that means.”

“Not a chance.” He winked, as she let go, and properly exited the house.

Jim had averted his eyes throughout the exchange, embarrassed. No matter how long he lived with them, it would still always be a little awkward to see the two of them like that.

He looked back up when the front door clicked shut.

It was a split-second, the silence hanging in the air between them. And then Jim surged forward, and wrapped his arms around Strickler’s neck, having to get up on his tiptoes to do so, even for his stature. He held on only just long enough for Walt to loosely wrap his arms around Jim in return. They stayed for a moment, and then Jim pulled back, standing awkwardly, as if he’d surprised himself.

Strickler opened his mouth to speak, but Jim took that moment to cut him off, blurt, “Thank you,” and make a beeline for the door.

Walt let him go. When the front door shut again, he smiled to himself.

Do you dance like this? Forever

That night, three very not-normal teenagers engaged in one of the most normal rituals of high school that any of them had gotten to do, thus far—Senior Prom. They filled their phone storage with pictures, screamed their voices hoarse, abandoned shoes, ties, coats, danced themselves breathless, wheezed when they had not the breath to laugh at that very same dancing, collapsed on each other in a giggling heap on the floor when they rested for only a moment—they had to soak up everything; they couldn’t waste time sitting!— and stole far too much food from the snack table. They saw friends, old and new, teased each other, or professed love, declared themselves best friends, and decided to abandon their plans for the future. They didn’t need them. For one, incredible night— for one, normal night, they danced, frozen in forever.

For one beautiful night, Jim danced, hand-in-hand in a three-pronged circle with his two best friends in the world, and after two long, long years… Nothing was wrong. It was perfect.

#// one: sorry this is so long omg #// two: i did not think this song would work so well?#// three: you're amazing #ask #maiolica-admirer #song prompts #drabble #not rp #// edit: added a read more #trollhunters #jim lake jr #// fandom tagging bc I kinda like this?#// I kinda like how it came out??#// so uh #// iaoefjw #// yeah #// chucks this into the tags and yeets away

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

glass is fragile

Criminal Minds Fic Part Two

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: implied character death

Notes: cross-posted on Ao3. this is the result of a random idea I had because while I love Hotchniss, I love the idea of the two meeting in college and keeping in contact with Hotch being an overprotective brother

fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur (fortune is glass; just when it gleams brightest it shatters) - Publilius Syrus

“I’ve got five names on the bottom of the list Prentiss gave us,” Morgan said, walking towards the case board. “Luke Renault, Lawrence Riley, Lyla Rafferty, Lyle Rogers, Landon Raines.”

“All with the initials L.R.” Seaver pointed out.

“The CIA uses cryptograms like that to assign non-official cover agents working the same case,” Hotch remarked.

“So do other foreign countries,” Morgan added. “These last five names are covers—spies,” he said, pointing at the document.

“Wait,” Garcia said, taking the document. “No, this isn’t right,” she said, pointing at the page. “Do you see this space? That shouldn’t be here.”

“Could it be a formatting error?” Reid asked.

“No, this is a spreadsheet template,” Garcia answered. “Formatting doesn’t allow for this, there’s a missing name on here.”

“It’s another spy whose cover is L.R.” Hotch said quietly, looking to the elevator and mentally preparing to give the looming long-winded explanation.

“‘Lauren Reynolds is dead,’” Reid said aloud behind him.

“What?” Hotch turned around in shock, having not heard that name spoken aloud in years.

“‘Lauren Reynolds is dead,’” Reid repeated, “Prentiss said that on a phone call seventeen days ago, but her intonation wasn’t surprise or grief, it was like a mantra, like she was reminding herself.”

As Reid continued talking, Hotch pulled out his phone and dialed her number, hoping like hell his hunch about what she's doing is just that—a hunch.

“If Prentiss is the last name on that list, she’s on Doyle’s list, too,” Seaver said.

Hotch followed the sound of a ringtone to Emily’s desk and opened the first drawer. “Guys,” he cut into the team’s discussion, holding the gun and badge she’d left behind out for them to see.

“She left her badge and gun? Why would she do that?” Morgan asked, confused. Hotch placed them back down and grabbed his other phone, pulling up his messages.

<< It’s T, isn’t it.

>>He’s going after us, he’s threatened the others.

<<Blackbird.

<<Where are you?

<<What are you doing?

>>I’m sorry.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Reid turned back to the others, uncomprehending. “Why run? We’re her family, we can help.”

“Doyle’s killing families,” Rossi pointed out in realization. “She’s not married, not close to relatives—”

“Last night, Doyle verbally threatened to kill us,” Hotch said, looking up as his worry for Emily’s safety returned in full force.

“How do you know that?” Morgan asked suspiciously. In response, Hotch held out his phone and played the recording Emily had sent over last night.

“Aaron, Doyle mentioned all of us except you. Why?” Rossi asked, noting the distinct lack of any threat directed at the unit chief. Hotch didn’t answer, looking out through the glass doors towards the elevators. The others followed his line of sight.

“JJ?” Garcia stood up and dashed over to the long-missed blonde, who was standing in the doorway.

“I’ve called the State Department for permission to have someone come over and shed light on Emily’s past. Officially, I can’t tell you anything,” Hotch told the profilers who were staring in shock, “but JJ can.”

~~~

“Okay, so I talked to a friend from Langley, he couldn’t give me Emily’s full CIA history, but he could give me this,” JJ said, turning to the TV screen. “She assumed the identity of Lauren Reynolds as part of a special task force called JTF-12.”

“I heard about them,” Rossi remarked, “They were profiling terrorists, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” JJ answered. “Assembled after 9/11, CIA and Western agencies contributed their ‘best and brightest’.”

“But serial killers and terrorists have different personality traits,” Seaver pointed out.

“How does Doyle fit in?” Reid asked.

“He was their last case,” JJ said, “and now the JTF is on his hit list.”

“Jeremy Wolff was victim number one, from Germany’s BND,” she began, focusing on the pictures on the screen. “Sean McAlister at Interpol was the second and was the one who brought the JTF in on Doyle. He was murdered last week in Brussels with his wife and daughter,” JJ said softly, flicking a brief look at Hotch, who had squashed down his reaction.

“Tsia Mosely of France’s DCRI—she got engaged to Jeremy earlier this year and fled here when he died,” JJ continued and sent another look at Hotch, who took a breath and steeled himself for the barrage of accusations and questions he was sure to get.

His picture appeared on the screen.

“Hotch?” They turned to look at him in confused shock.

“It wasn’t my prerogative to tell you,” he moved around the table and took the remote from JJ, looking at the other profilers. “None of you had the clearance for this, and there wasn’t time between the numerous phone calls I had to make in order to get JJ back here.”

“I understand you have questions, but we need to focus on Emily,” he said firmly, turning to the screen. “Clyde Easter of the British SIS was the leader. I’ve talked to him over the phone twice and he was in DC last I heard, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of him since Tsia’s murder.”

“You were involved in the Doyle case?” Rossi asked. Are you safe? went unasked but was heard by everyone.

“I’m well aware of the danger I am in,” Hotch said, “but if I’m right, he’s going to be too fixated on Emily to care much about me, though I’ve had precautions in place since we first found out he escaped.”

“Did you ever make any arrests? Maybe that’s why he’s after you?”

“No, the host countries always took care of that and we just moved onto the next case. Given the shadowy nature of terrorist cells, we were mostly involved in infiltration.”

“Who was undercover on Doyle?” Reid asked.

“Emily,” JJ answered.“She posed as another weapons dealer and met him in Boston to get intel on Valhalla.” JJ paused, looking at Hotch apprehensively.

He took over, knowing what she was hung up on. “The recon we did on Doyle included a background on all of his previous romantic relationships, and… ” he trailed off, hesitating, “she’s exactly his type.”

~~~

“Prissy, where the hell are you?”

“Oh, is that worry that I hear, Iceman?”

“Blackbird’s in Boston, isn’t she.”

“Is that a question?”

~~~

“Emily walked into a trap,” Garcia said shakily, pointing at the screen. “It looks like Doyle got into the SUV, but from this angle, you can see that he didn’t, which I wish Boston PD would have told me before I started watching it.” She looked at the others apologetically. “Sorry again for the screaming.”

“She threw a flash-bang grenade into a car,” Morgan said incredulously. “She’s lucky the three people inside didn’t die. Is anybody else bothered by that?”

“Well, three bad guys,” Rossi pointed out.

“Illegal as it is, when you’re dealing with the likes of Doyle, who has nothing to lose,” Hotch said softly, staring into space, “you have to be as ruthless as he is and act the same way.”

“So how did Doyle know she was waiting for him?” Rossi asked.

“Well, the mole must have told him, right?” JJ suggested. “The same guy who’s been feeding Doyle the contractors and agents?”

“And our best suspect was just arrested with a suitcase full of cash,” Seaver said.

“Let me take care of Prissy—Clyde,” Hotch amended when the nickname garnered him strange looks. “The rest of you focus on Doyle’s location.”

“I hate to be the one to ask this,” Garcia hesitantly spoke up, looking to Hotch. “But how long does Emily have?”

He remained silent for a moment. “Doyle saved her for last because she is his stressor—she had an intimate connection with him,” Hotch blew out a breath and focused his gaze on the analyst. “He’ll take his time.”

A horrified silence fell over the group. He stood up, unable to bear the heavy tension and fear, and walked into the jet’s bathroom. He leaned on the counter for support and took a few deep breaths, trying not to spiral into a panic.

“How long have you known Emily?” Rossi asked quietly, having followed behind him.

“Fall of ‘89,” he answered, feeling faint amusement at the older man’s surprise. “Yale; I was an ambitious law school student while she was a goth sophomore student. We saw each other again when I did some work for the Ambassador, then again when JTF was formed. Clyde always referred to me as the overprotective big brother even though she’s a year older than me.”

“Did you know about Emily and…?” Rossi trailed off, unsure as to how he should phrase the question.

“I had my suspicions,” Hotch admitted. “I wasn’t there to see her after she was extracted, but I talked to her afterward, and something was definitely different.”

~~~

“October 2006. ‘In closing, I have never worked with a finer agent than Emily Prentiss. Her skill at analyzing and predicting terrorist behavior is unparalleled.’ Signed, name redacted,” Hotch looked up at the Englishman. “I knew something was off when I read her personnel file those years ago. Buzz words, the like—you sold her to the bureau just like you sold Doyle to the North Koreans.”

Clyde remained silent as Hotch continued to stare at him. “It takes a skilled sociopath to betray his team and the cause he held dear for self-preservation.”

He leaned forward, expression dark. “If anything happens to Emily, I swear I will destroy you, our past history be damned.”

Finally shifting in his spot, Clyde sent an appraising look over Hotch. “You were the best,” he said, “but you’re slipping. I’m disappointed.”

Hotch looked at him dispassionately. “My team and I will get Doyle with or without you. Pack lightly—Guantanamo gets humid.”

He turned away as Clyde chuckled behind him. “Nice try,” the Englishman said, “but I’m curious. If I’m the sociopath, then I should feel no empathy, correct?”

“Oh, you’re not the sociopath,” Hotch corrected him, turning around at the doorway. “Doyle is.”

He carefully looked Clyde up and down. “Weren’t you a better profiler?”

~~~

“Did you know Jeremy sold the list to Doyle?” Hotch asked, sitting across from Clyde.

“I had my suspicions,” Clyde admitted casually.

“So when you got to DC, you couldn’t trust Tsia, either. Emily and I read your doubt as duplicity,” Hotch said, leaning forward. “Emily is in trouble, and you need to help me brief the team on the original profile so we can combine that with who he is now as a serial killer.”

“Aaron, you know that Doyle is going to escape from one of your American prisons as easily as he did in North Korea,” Clyde retorted. “There is no catching that man, you have to put a bullet in his brain yourself.” He looked at Hotch seriously. “You, as an FBI agent, took an oath to protect the laws of your country. Can you break your oath, Agent Hotchner?”

Hotch shook his head, understanding his intent and opting for a different answer.

“I can take one.”

There was a knock on the door, which opened to show JJ. “The British consul’s here,” she told the men.

“Could you tell him I’ll be right out?” Clyde requested, not looking away from Hotch. “I’m consulting with the BAU on a case.”

~~~

The profilers stood around quickly set up table and case boards in the Boston field office, Clyde and Hotch at the head of the table.

“Ian Doyle is a power-assertive psychopath. Highly controlling and very explosive when something doesn’t go as planned,” Clyde informed them.

“Okay, so how does this fit in with who he is as a family annihilator?” Seaver asked.

“And Prentiss’ role in it,” Rossi added.

“Annihilators have a romanticized view of who their family is,” Reid suggested.

“Actually,” Hotch interrupted, “he was an orphan.”

“Well, they think of family as their possession until some law shatters that and starts them killing,” Morgan offered.

“Doyle was never married,” Clyde said.

“Children?” Rossi asked.

“No.”

“You run your profile that he carried out his murders with surgical-like precision,” Reid interjected, holding out a photo of the dead child.

“Yeah.”

“With no collateral damage,” Morgan continued, which Clyde and Hotch confirmed.

Rossi looked up, an idea coming to him. “Perhaps this child was a surrogate for one he had.”

“Say Doyle had a child and you didn’t know about it,” Seaver suggested hypothetically, turning to Clyde. “Is it possible that Prentiss did?”

“Then why would she keep it from me?” Clyde asked as if the idea was inconceivable. Hotch raised an eyebrow and let out a scoff, earning himself a look from the Englishman.

“First name Declan,” Hotch told Garcia, ignoring Clyde. “Adoptive guardian Louise Jones, Doyle’s housekeeper. Emily moved them here to Boston eight years ago and she told me she made sure they’re safe. Anything beyond that, a last name, I don’t know.”

“Declan and his mother went missing seven years ago,” Garcia said, typing rapidly. “Bodies were never found… wait, what’s this?” Multiple pictures popped up on her screen. “God, someone took pictures of them being shot,” she said, horrified.

“Is there an address?” Hotch demanded.

“That looks like a warehouse,” Garcia said as she entered in the specifiers. “It’s gotta be big enough to house a small army. That’s weapons, supplies, let’s see, which means it has its own perimeter…” she trailed off, hitting enter. “1518 Adams Street,” she read from her screen.

“Hold on, look at the photos,” Reid interjected, taking a closer look at the screen.

“It’s black clothing and a hand, Reid,” Morgan said, confused.

“No, look at the fingernails,” he corrected, pointing to the screen.

Garcia let out a gasp as she realized what Reid was talking about. “Oh my god.”

~~~

“Agent Prentiss is the only friendly in the building,” Hotch briefed the listening agents, ballistics vest on. “Rescuing her is our primary objective.”

“Our only advantage here is stealth,” Morgan said. “Once they know we’re on site, there’s nothing to stop them from killing her, so we keep it quiet until we get to her… ”

~~~

“Cut the power.”

~~~

“I got her!”

~~~

“Come on, stay with me!”

~~~

“She never made it off the table.”

~~~

“You really didn’t have to do this.”

“She’s my friend, and so are you. I want to protect her and make sure you don’t fall under this weight.”

~~~

<< Stay safe

>>You too

~~~

“Prissy, where are you hiding out right now?”

“Good to hear from you too, Iceman. The Golden City. oh, and I know she’s alive.”

“Glad to hear your habits haven’t changed a bit.”

~~~

“How are you doing?”

“The others aren’t as mad as I expected.”

“Red tape, writing up report after report for bureaucrat after bureaucrat, they’re more perceptive than you give them credit for. However, I don’t believe I asked about them, I believe I asked after you.”

“I think cleaning up this mess while trying to go about life with an international criminal potentially out for my blood is a fitting punishment for my failings.”

~~~

“I get it. We’re a family, and it’s important that families talk, and holding it in will just make this sick, sad feeling of awfulness more awful,” Garcia said, “right?”

Hotch allowed himself a brief upturn of his lips at her rambling before sobering up. “Internalizing does make it worse,” he agreed.

“I’ll talk, but I don’t want to talk about her being gone,” Garcia said softly. “Can I talk about how she made me smile?”

A pang shot through Hotch’s heart at her hopeful question as he thought back on the close relationship the women had with each other.

“Of course.”

~~~

“The last time I was on a couch like this was when my father left,” Reid mused quietly. “They all thought I needed to talk, but developmentally I wasn’t guided by conscience—I could only reveal what my mother and my teachers told me was acceptable.”

“You told them exactly what they wanted to hear,” Hotch summed up, not showing just how much that hit home. “You don’t have to do that here. Yell, curse at me, whatever you need to do.”

The genius swallowed. “It’s just unfair that she’s gone,” he said, barely holding back tears. “It’s like if we can’t keep each other safe, then why are we even doing any of this?”

Hotch remained silent as Reid continued. “It’s… sometimes I think maybe—maybe Gideon was right, you know. Maybe…” he trailed off, staring into space. “Maybe it’s just not worth it.”

~~~

Morgan sighed, leaning back on the couch. “So I came in here to do what? Talk about losing Emily?” He shook his head when he received no answer. “Strauss put you up to this?”

“The assessment’s routine,” Hotch finally said. “I asked her to let me do it rather than bring in somebody from the outside. Thought it might be preferred, even with my role in this mess.”

“So let me guess—it’s about the five stages of grief,” Morgan let out a breath. “You want to figure out where we all are.”

Hotch looked at him expectantly, remaining silent, much to Morgan’s annoyance.

“All right,” Morgan said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. “Denial. I’m fine, this can’t be happening to me—well it didn’t happen to me, did it?” he started. “So that rules that out. What else is there—bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. Well, obviously, I haven’t accepted it, otherwise I wouldn’t be in here,” he looked at Hotch. “So where does that leave me?”

“Angry.”

“Angry,” he repeated. “Yeah. Yeah, sometimes I feel like I want to quit my job and spend my time chasing down the son of a bitch who killed Emily. You’re damn right I’m angry,” he declared, anger pouring out of every word before he deflated.

“Sixty seconds,” Morgan breathed out, shaking his head in self-recrimination. “If I had gotten there sixty seconds earlier, Emily might still be with us.”

“Derek, you know that you did everything you could—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I did everything I could. We all did. I know,” he snapped. “What, that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“You protected each other for years, don’t expect this to go away anytime soon,” Hotch told him.

“This what? This—this guilt?”

“Just because you were the last one there doesn’t mean that you could affect the outcome,” Hotch said. “We all wish we had that kind of control.”

“So what do we do, we just chalk it up to fate?” Morgan looked at Hotch incredulously. “What, I can’t blame anybody? What, this is the will of God? No. I do blame somebody, I blame Doyle.”

At a loss, Hotch remained silent, hiding the guilt that threatened to swallow him in the face of Morgan’s grief.

“Hotch, what am I supposed to do?” Morgan finally asked, voice breaking. “I lost my friend right in front of me, and I’m supposed to go on like nothing happened?” He shook his head, taking in a shuddering breath. “You know, we—we come in here, and we talk to you,” he turned to Hotch and asked, “Where do you go?”

Hotch glanced down as Morgan continued, “Where are you with all this?”

“Same place as you,” the unit chief looked back up, a mutual understanding passing between them. “Wishing she was here.”

~~~

“There are benefits to meeting after hours,” Rossi commented, raising his glass of scotch and taking a drink.

Hotch looked down at his own glass. “You know everybody’s feeling it, and nobody wants to talk about it.”

“It’s too soon, Aaron. You know that better than anyone,” the older profiler sent him a look. “And, uh, doesn’t Strauss usually run these assessments?”

“There was no way that was going to happen,” Hotch said firmly to Rossi’s brief chuckle.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he said, as Hotch took a long drink out of his own glass. “And I also know that you grieve privately. But,” Rossi paused, looking at him solemnly, “you’ve been through more than any of us in a very short time. How are you holding up?”

“I’m all right,” Hotch repeated three words that had become a mantra, briefly glancing at Rossi. “I think it’s an ongoing process,” he said, thinking about the mess he was buried under after the events of the past year.

“This is not my assessment,” he looked at Rossi in reproach, “I’m supposed to be asking how you’re doing.”

A corner of Rossi’s lips briefly tilted up before he looked back down as he thought about what to say. “I’ve always had trouble letting people in,” he began slowly and shook his head. “But this is different. I guess I’ve come to realize… I’m more married to this team than I ever was to three ex-wives.” They shared a brief moment of amusement as his quip.

“It’s been a hard year,” Hotch finally said quietly. “We’ll get through it.”

“Yeah, we will,” Rossi agreed, lifting his glass in a toast. “Emily and Haley.”

Hotch raised his own, the two lapsing into heavy silence.

~~~

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m sorry I’m sorrysorrysorry—

He threw the blanket off himself and got up from where he was laying on the couch to walk over to his desk, glancing out into the dark bullpen as he went. He sat down and started going through the stack of unfinished reports in an attempt to ward off the thoughts that have plagued him since that painful day two months ago.

I’ve failed you, Blackbird.

I hope you’re safe out there.

~~~

“Believe me, everyone who tried to save him that day isn’t going to forget. It’s the day they failed. They’ll ask themselves what they could have done—could they have gotten there sooner? They’ll heal, but it’s going to take time. They’ll move on, but they won’t forget.”

~~~

“Over the next few weeks, each of you is going to be asked if you’d like to stay with the unit,” Hotch informed them.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Reid asked, confused.

“There are other options for you out there,” Hotch answered. “And while I want the unit to stay together, I understand completely if you want to see what the alternatives are. Morgan, there’s renewed interest in you from the New York office.”

Morgan looked surprised. “Nobody’s called me.”

“They will.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to go,” he said slowly.

“Oh, I know,” Hotch said evenly.

“Are you staying here?” Seaver asked Hotch.

“It’s my intention to,” but we’ll have to see what happens with Doyle. He felt Rossi’s eyes land on him, knowing that the man would have caught his careful word choice.

Either way, there’s a high chance I’m going to be overseas soon.

~~~

“Has he ever left before us?”

“He technically isn’t leaving—he’s still in danger and doesn’t have the luxury of going into hiding, so he’s been rotating through the Academy dorms.”

“Jack?”

“He’s been staying with the Brooks family. Hotch implemented as many security measures as he could and has been visiting as often as he can.”

~~~

“Hotchner.”

“Hey, it’s me,” Morgan’s voice came over the phone. “How’s it going out there?”

“Got to Pakistan a few days ago, so far long days, some territorial issues to work out, nothing surprising,” Hotch answered, straining to hear Morgan over the helicopters whirring overhead. “How’s everything there?”

“Hotch, we found Declan Doyle.”

“What?”

“Listen, I knew finding the kid was the only way I could find Doyle,” Hotch was silent, mind immediately straying to the potential ramifications. “I know what you’re thinking, man.”

“Is Declan safe?” he finally settled on asking.

“Yeah, he is for now. I’ve had surveillance at his house and his school for a few weeks.”

“Morgan, I didn’t authorize this—”

“I know you didn’t, Hotch, but listen to me. I think Doyle may have found Declan, too.”

Hotch shook his head. “All right, I’m coming back.”

“You want me to wait?” Morgan asked incredulously.

“Morgan, fixated on his son as he may be, Doyle is still incredibly smart and meticulous,” Hotch reminded. “You make sure you have eyes on Doyle from all angles. If you take him alive, keep him under constant surveillance and limit his contact with other people, even if they’re our own.”

~~~

“Prissy, Doyle’s in custody and under constant watch. You can come out of whatever hole you’ve crawled into.”

“Dare I ask how you got to him?”

“I’m still in Pakistan, I didn’t do anything. The team took care of it.”

~~~

<<Time to come back, Blackbird.

>>You got V?

<<Looking for his K.

>>I just got a call from K’s caretaker. What happened?

>>Iceman.

<<K disappeared

~~~

“Welcome back, sir.”

“Thank you,” Hotch turned around to see the brightly-dressed analyst hurrying towards him with a folder under her arm. “What have you got?”

“A top-ten list of Doyle’s enemies.”

“Anybody recently in the States?” he looked through, recognizing the names.

“Richard Gerace’s been here a few weeks,” she answered. “He’s a low-level gun-runner who angrily crossed paths with Doyle. I caught an image of him on the surveillance camera at Declan’s house and confirmed it was him through a scar on his neck. Have you come across him before?” Garcia asked, referring to his time with JTF.

“I don’t think so,” Hotch shook his head. “Get me everything you can on Gerace.”

“Yeah,” Garcia hesitated, “what I just told you is everything I’ve got.” Hotch nodded and briskly walked around her out of the conference room.

He made his way to where they were holding Doyle and walked up to the window next to Rossi.

“Well, that’s a good look,” Rossi commented on his beard. Hotch allowed a brief smile to appear on his face while he texted Morgan, who was inside with Doyle. “How was the desert?”

“Hot,” Hotch replied shortly, still able to feel sand in his combat boots and the sun beating down on his back.

“Doyle’s here, so have you seen Jack yet?”

“No, Jessica took him on a road trip, they’re at Hershey Park right now,” Hotch said, still occupied with his messaging.

“Well, he’ll love that beard,” Rossi looked over at him.

“Yeah, we skyped every day,” Hotch said dryly, looking back at the older man. “He’s not a fan.”

~~~

>>C just called to check in. On the way right now.

<<See you in a bit

>>If I survive the others

<<Blackbird, I made this decision, I am responsible for this. It’s my burden to bear, but I’d do it all over again if it means having you alive.

<<Oh, and J came back fourteen weeks ago. As a profiler, now.

>>What? And you’re just telling me this now?

<<Didn’t find out until I got somewhere with secure service, and that was a week ago.

<<We’ve really missed you.

~~~

“Welcome back,” Morgan greeted Hotch.

“Thanks,” Hotch said, steeling himself. “Everybody, have a seat.”

The profilers looked at him strangely. “Why?” Morgan asked. “What’s going on? Everything all right?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch crossed his arms. “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle, but the doctors were able to stabilize her and she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.”

He continued on, watching as different emotions appeared on the teams’ faces as they realized what he was saying. “I called Clyde and we met with the brass while she was being flown over, and it was decided that her identity was strictly need-to-know, and she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. Given the danger Doyle posed, she was reassigned to Paris, where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, hopeful shock clear in her voice. Hotch’s silence spoke volumes.

“But we buried her,” Reid said, uncomprehending.

Hotch looked directly at Morgan. “As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision, and if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me.”

“Any issues?” Morgan repeated in angry incredulity. “Yeah, I got issues,” he trailed off when he noticed the others looking behind him.

“Oh my god,” Garcia breathed, tears rolling down her face at the sight of Emily Prentiss in the doorway. She stood up and rushed over, enveloping the woman in a careful hug, as if she were going to disappear.

“I am so sorry,” Emily said, as the analyst let go of her so Reid could take her place. “I really am. Not a day went by that I didn’t want to…” she trailed off, catching sight of Morgan’s expression. “Really, I—” she approached him, hoping he’ll understand, “you didn’t deserve that, and I’m so sorry.”

She leaned in, hugging him tightly as Morgan slowly returned the hug through his shock. They stayed like that for a few moments before she backed away and turned to the others. “There’s so much I want to tell you guys, and I will, I promise, but right now I really need to know what’s going on with Declan,” she said, walking to stand next to Hotch and JJ.

“Emily, was there a man living at the house?” Reid pushed forward to ask.

“Yes, my friend Tom Koehler, he was raising Declan as his own.”

“Where is he?” JJ asked from the side.

“I never saw him go in or out of that house,” Garcia told her.

“He was on assignment overseas,” Emily said.

“But he’s all right?” JJ checked.

“Yes,” Emily confirmed, “He’s on his way back now. He got a call from Declan, he called me, and Hotch texted me just moments later telling me you had Doyle in custody.”

“And because of Tom’s line of work, that’s why you enrolled Declan in a boarding school,” Hotch said.

“I made sure that he, Louise, and I were the only ones allowed to take him off campus.”

“Louise took him home last night because he was sick,” Reid told her.

“Food poisoning,” Hotch interjected.

“Yeah, a few of the kids had it, apparently, so whoever did this got to him on campus. They knew they only had one chance.”

“Current suspect is Richard Gerace,” JJ said, “he’s the most recent arrival into the states. We’ve been tracking his progress through the city, but we came up empty.”

“We know it’s him because he has the scar,” Garcia added.

“That doesn’t make sense, Gerace gave up on Doyle a long time ago,” Emily stated.

Rossi spoke up, “He said you were the only one who knew Gerace.”

“Which is why I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have the balls to pull this off,” she said. “There was no forced entry at the house?”

“I had two agents working security,” Morgan said.

“We think Gerace and his partner pose as the next shift, and one of the agents was a woman,” Reid told her.

Emily’s response came quick. “She’s the alpha.”

“So we’re looking for a woman who’s getting back at Doyle,” JJ summarized.

“Well, our suspect list just got a whole lot longer,” Hotch remarked, exchanging a sardonic look with Emily, who nodded in agreement.

~~~

“Is Strauss still there?” Hotch asked over the phone, striding outside towards the parked SUVs.

“She is.”

“We need full support.”

“Doyle said McDermott’s family imported weapons to a private airfield in Maryland,” Emily said.

“Close?”

“Largo.”

“All right, send me the coordinates. Oh, and Emily?” Hotch added.

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to have you back, Blackbird.”

~~~

“Hotch, are we really going to do this?” Morgan’s voice came over his earpiece.

“No one leaves here,” Hotch said firmly into his mic, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings.

~~~

“Iceman.”

“Blackbird,” Hotch returned as Emily approached him at the side of the conference room, having escaped the others’ excitement at her return. He looked her up and down, taking in the welcome sight before pulling her into a tight hug. The others fell silent, watching them clutch to each other like a lifeline in an embrace that spoke of a deep familiarity.

“You did all that you could,” she told him quietly, as their grip on each other loosened slightly, “thank you.”

A few traitorous tears slipped out of his eyes, which he had squeezed shut. Hotch kept his head at the crook of her neck, taking in the familiar warmth that reassured him of her presence.

“It’s so good to see you.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #bau #fanfic #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #hurt #sodone glass is fragile

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