Idk what scenario this would take place in but I think about Sarah describing being hanged to Dani and Max.

Like, how uncomfortable the rope was, how it wasn't as fast as the ledgens of them made it seem, and the three of them basically suffocated. Rather than their necks snapping and dying quickly. (Or at least Sarah's neck didn't snap. They can't be sure about their sisters'. They never talk about it). How it was all so scary, and they still get nightmares about not being able to breath.

And Daniela finds it so fascinating, because she's never considered hanging to be such a slow way to go.

But Max is lowkey horrified because he's tried to hang himself before (and failed) and has a vague idea of what Sarah is describing. And now he's kind of glad that never worked out for him because Sarah talks about how long it felt in that moment, and he's not sure he could have handled all that very well.

This is just a very quick and dirty plot summary from chapters 21-23 of the romantic route. Lots of spoilers, I'm leaving out a lot of information, and there's no guarantee that it's accurate.

I made it so that I could follow along with the plot, keep track of the mysteries, and a few of the interesting scenes.

Spoilers for Gilbert's route

Spoilers, Spoilers, Spoilers

Emma realizes that Gilbert knew everything before they even met. He knew who she was, that she was selected as Belle, and that he only had one month to live. His reasons for doing everything he has done still a mystery to her.

Emma wakes up in Gilbert’s bed, with his arms around her. She remembers sitting by his bed while he recovered the previous night, and surmised that after he was stable, she must have fallen asleep. At some point, Gilbert must have pulled her into bed.

Emma has a choice, she can reveal that she knows Gilbert’s most deadly secret, or she can lie and pretend ignorance. Looking back over all their conversations, one thing that stands out is how much Gilbert hates lies. Whatever it is that’s going on between them won’t survive without absolute candor.

The emotion drains from Gilbert’s face, and he tells her that this was her choice. He straddles Emma, pinning her to the bed and begins strangling her. He tells her that this is a matter of national security, and Emma is no exception to his vow to kill anyone who knows he’s dying.

Emma claws at his hands and promises that she won’t tell anyone. Gilbert tells her that he long ago promised himself that he wouldn’t trust anyone, wouldn’t love anyone.

As he strangles Emma, she thinks that rather than cold and emotionless, he looks more and more in pain, as if he was the one being strangled. Emma was nominated as Belle, for her ability to read people. And despite the hands crushing her throat, she still doesn’t believe that Gilbert can kill her.

When Emma loses consciousness, Gilbert stops, burring his face against her shoulder. Everyone betrays him in the end, even Emma. Still, he can’t bring himself to kill her.

Emma has a strange dream that feels like a memory. The bookstore owner, Akatsuki, is telling her about a boy he knows. The boy is smart, sweet, and kind. He is the first one to help people and cheer them up without a thought of his own happiness. Little Emma thinks this boy sounds amazing and she wants to grow up to be just like him. After all, she also loves making people happy.

When Emma regains consciousness, Walter is shouting at Gilbert. He wants to know what the hell Gilbert was thinking, trying to kill the woman he’s in love with. Gilbert corrects him, this isn’t love, it’s hate. Walter wonders why he’s bothering to try to reason with a man as twisted as Gilbert.

Gilbert and Walter play the blame game with each other, with Walter asking why Gilbert even bothered to bring Emma to Obsidian if he intended to keep this secret from her. Gilbert just laughs.

They realize that Emma is conscious again, and she finds that she’s been moved to her room. Thankfully, there was no long-term damage, but her throat will be bruised. He has a topical ointment for it, but Gilbert decides he will apply it. He pushes Walter out of Emma’s room, promising that he’ll try not to kill her.

Gilbert begins to apply the ointment to Emma’s throat, pretending not to notice her flinch. Emma asks why he didn’t kill her back then.

Gilbert is going to give her a choice. She can spend the rest of her life trapped at his side, or he can finish the job. Which would she prefer?

If she stays with him, she will never be permitted to leave Obsidian, much less the castle. Gilbert has no intention of news of his illness spreading, much less people thinking it’s liked to his death. If the symbol of terror, the Obsidian Royal Family were to die too soon or too gently, then the corruption he has fought to eliminate will return and spread.

Emma asks if this means he’ll get the treatment Walter told her about - the one that will save his life.

Gilbert is upset that Emma knows about the treatment, and that he’s been refusing it. With a grimace, he tells her that he’ll go through with the treatment - if she agrees to kill him later.

Emma demands to know how that even makes sense. To Gilbert it makes perfect sense - he cannot be allowed to live in the new age where the weak have overthrown the nobility. 

Emma recalls Gilbert warning her that it is nearly impossible to change people’s values. She knows that, and she knows that she’s nothing special, she can’t convince Gilbert to give up his ideals. But still . . . 

Gilbert tells her that she has other things she should worry about instead of him. Now that she’s made her choice, she won’t be able to attend the signing ceremony.

Emma asks who the new proxy will be, but Gilbert shakes his head, it was her or no one. That road is now closed to them, and this will just be one more promise Obsidian has reneged on, proof that this country cannot be trusted.

Besides, her princes in Rhodolite will have their hands full soon enough with a civil war. Now that her role has ended, Gilbert has no reason to delay his plans anymore. 

A few nights ago, Gilbert gave Emma the prototype gun. But that wasn’t the only one he had made, and he has distributed the weapons to the rebel anti-Royal groups. The only thing he was holding back was the ammunition required to use them. 

The bullets are made and ready to be distributed among the groups, all waiting on Gilbert’s go ahead.

He was waiting to see if Emma could use her ideals to bridge the gap between the rebel factions and those in charge, but that chance died last night. 

Gilbert stands up to leave and put his plan into action, but Emma jumps on his back, restraining him.

She asks why he was waiting this long - from what he said he could have sent Rhodolite into a civil war at any moment. Why wait? He knows the longer he waits, the more time the princes have to thwart his plans.

Maybe Gilbert doesn’t want a bloody civil war. Even with his ideology of raising the weak and overthrowing the nobility, a lot of innocent people, men, women, and children will die. And what is even the point of doing this to Rhodolite?

Gilbert doesn’t want all those innocent people to die, but he sees no other way. Besides, at what point did he say that this civil war was only going to happen in Rhodolite?

Rhodolite is a relatively small, almost insignificant country. Gilbert’s plan encompasses the entire continent, including the five largest nations outside of Obsidian. Benitoite and Jade, but also Tanzanite, the Country of Divination and Illusions, Acroite, the Country of Snow and Law, and Ruby, the Country of Night Blossoms and Turbulent Times.

Gilbert turns around and very gently embraces Emma. She knows that he’s the Calamity that Will Destroy the World. And he will purify all the rot from the world.

Can Emma still look at him and want him to live?

Emma begs Gilbert to let her attend the signing ceremony - she still might be able to stop this without bloodshed. She’s his and now the world’s last hope. 

If he can’t trust her not to spill his secret, he can have her watched. If whoever is monitoring her thinks she’ll betray his secret, they can kill her. Gilbert tells her that’s not an option, she’s his prey and only he can kill her.

In that case, he can come instead and monitor her. Gilbert refuses this option as well, if he dies in a foreign country, it will be impossible to cover it up and have his plan continue. 

Of course, Emma has a third option. If she kills Gilbert, she will prevent the civil war and could go where she pleased without needing to be monitored.

Emma wonders what she can do, how she can make a world where everyone, including Gilbert, can smile.

Over the next few days, Emma continues to beg Gilbert to let her go to the signing ceremony. When he refuses, she asks to go to the city. If she can at least get word to Lucien, he could inform Chevalier. But Gilbert refuses that as well.

Gilbert coughs, something she never heard him do in Rhodolite and panics. Gilbert teases her about crying every time he coughs these days. 

Emma asks him to go back to his room, but Gilbert refuses. He spent most of his childhood being so sick he was bedridden; he doesn’t intend to die that way either. Besides, he gets way warmer by cuddling with Emma than he does sitting in bed under blankets.

The scent of medicine lingers around Gilbert, the same scent from the infirmary in both the Castle of Rhodolite and the Castle of Obsidian. It’s also the smell that lingered in that secret Rhodolite flat Gilbert had used as a child. 

Gilbert warns Emma not to grow attached to him, all he’ll do is hurt her in one way or another. Emma asks if he’s reconsidered Walter’s treatment, and Gilbert reminds her of their deal. If she promises to kill him, he’ll accept the treatment. Rather than cry, Emma buries her face against Gilbert’s shoulder and feels him gently stroke her hair.

Roderich interrupts them; a group of three foreigners are waiting in the receiving room. Miraculously they passed the stringent border inspections, miraculously they were not accosted during their journey to the capital, and miraculously they are now in the middle of the castle. Roderich looks pointedly at Emma, as if he’s trying to tell her something.

Well, Gilbert is in a good mood right now, so he’ll meet with them. He tells Emma to come with him, after all, they’re her guests.

When she enters the room, the three visitors rush towards her but are pushed back by Gilbert who holds Emma close to him. He reminds them that Emma is his hostage, and if they have anything to say, it will go through him.

Rio and Akatsuki are not amused and nearly lunge at Gilbert. It’s Yves who has to play the voice of reason, reminding them that they’re not here to pick a fight with Gilbert in the middle of his own Castle.

Emma should be happy that they came here for her, but with everything that has happened, she cannot bring herself to smile. Thankfully, with Gilbert commanding their attention, they didn’t notice. 

Gilbert laughs, it appears all three of them want him dead. How about Emma, shall he go ahead and die? Emma snaps at him to stop joking about it.

She immediately regrets it, Gilbert is still smiling, but Rio, Akatsuki, and Yves look confused. She cannot drop even unintentional hints about Gilbert’s illness lest everything she’s trying fall apart. Emma diverts attention by asking how they came here.

Akatsuki still has his border crossing permit.  Yves and Rio hid in his cart of goods during the passing and inspections. 

Akatsuki did notice that the border patrol was unusually lax during their inspection. He asks if Gilbert arranged it that way.

Gilbert denies this, what reason would he have to welcome outsiders into his country. On that note, he knows only Akatsuki has the permit to cross the border, with the addition of the other two ‘guests’ there are now three illegal immigrants in his city.

He asks why they have risked so much to come.

Akatsuki tells Gilbert to return Emma to them. Gilbert refuses, she’s still his goodwill hostage. Rio complains that Gilbert is obviously not treating her well, just look how pale she has gotten. Emma denies this, but Yves points out that she has obviously been crying recently. Has she been crying ever since she was handed over?

Emma can feel Gilbert’s gaze bore into her, waiting for her to break.

Emma tells them that they’re mistaken, she has just been reading a really moving book. It was really, really sad.

Akatsuki points out the lie, Obsidian is famous for having terrible taste in literature, there would be nothing here up to her standards, much less worth crying about. 

Gilbert cuts in, Emma is obviously lying, but shouldn’t they respect her reasons? With his arms still wrapped around her, he very deliberately leans forward and kisses the corner of her lips. He reminds them that she’s a hostage, she has plenty of reasons to cry. And he might have given her a few more.

This time, Gilbert sweetly kisses the side of her eye.

Rio and Akatsuki agree that Gilbert needs to die right now. Yves yells at them to stop or it will just be worse. Emma insists that Gilbert is lying, he has been treating her like an honored guest. Gilbert tells her that he wouldn’t spend every night together with her if she was just his honored guest. Yves, Rio and Akatsuki look at her in horror.

They continue the meeting, with Yves bringing up the reason they’re here. They have received no communication about the Emperor of Obsidian’s intentions to come to Rhodolite and attend the signing ceremony, so they assume Obsidian is backing out. In that case, they would like Gilbert to return his hostage.

Gilbert insists that the emperor has already sent a letter to Rhodolite with the arrangements and declaration of intentions. After all, he brought Emma here as his hostage in exchange for the non-aggression treaty. Apparently the three of them just missed the letter, he apologizes for them wasting their time - they’re not going to be able to take Emma away with them.

Gilbert decides the meeting is ended, and he stands up, grabbing Emma’s hand and pulling her out with him. He gives Roderich orders to remove their guests from the castle, and to put them up in the nicest lodging available- in the city. 

He brings Emma to his room, and she asks why he lied during the meeting. He doesn’t intend to have anyone attend the signing ceremony. 

Gilbert’s logic is that it’s not a lie until he actually misses the signing ceremony. But he has something else to talk about, a new gift to give her. He pulls out a bundle of black cloth and gives it to Emma.

It’s a completely black dress, with the lace at the throat to the chest done out in a rose pattern. It started for Emma back when Gilbert was planning on having her sign as proxy, though now it is useless to him. Still, rather than waste it, he thought she should have it. He urges her to try it on. 

Emma heads to the restroom attached to Gilbert’s room but stops when she realizes that he’s following her. He insists that he wants to help her put it on, but Emma refuses. She has gone most of her life perfectly capable of putting on her own clothes, and she’s not planning on changing that today. 

After some time in the restroom alone, Emma finally pokes her head out to find Gilbert casually leaning against the wall next to her. She needs help, the dress was made with buttons on the back she can’t reach. Laughing, Gilbert helps, noting that black really doesn’t suit her.

Emma asks why this dress fits so well, and Gilbert tells her it’s his secret. Emma decides there are some secrets she’ll just be happier if she doesn’t know.

Gilbert decides that Emma looks far too lovely to be kept alone in his stuffy room. Emma asks if he wants to go for a walk together, but Gilbert doesn’t like the idea that a castle full of people, some of which are even men, could see her like this. 

But there is a secret passage they could take, that only Gilbert as the last member of Obsidian’s Royal Family knows about.

He takes Emma through a maze of passages and secret doors before they arrive at the main ballroom of the Castle of Obsidian. The floor is carved with the emblem for the Country of Obsidian, and for a moment it overlaps in Emma’s mind with the Rhodolite ballroom. It has floor to ceiling windows, depicting a beautiful view of steep mountains and is illuminated by the setting sun.

Emma is impressed by how beautiful it is - this is the first place in the Castle of Obsidian that doesn’t look like a modified military fortress. She can imagine noble parties being held here.

Emma isn’t wrong. Gilbert tells her that back when the Mad Emperor reigned, there were endless lavish gatherings For aristocrats held here. Even now, Gilbert still likes the view.

The sound of Gilbert’s cane tapping against the floor reminds Emma of the welcome gala where she and Gilbert danced together for the first time. She asks if he hasn’t had many opportunities to dance, even though she thought he was quite skilled.

Gilbert explains that his illness makes physical exertion, dancing included, shortens his remaining time. He used to only dance under very special circumstances. Of course, dancing is now impossible.

Emma promises to practice dancing and improve and asks Gilbert to dance with her in the future. 

Gilbert laughs, she is the only person whom, after everything he has done to her, would want to dance with him. He agrees to consider it, but Emma understands that he’s at the point where he is not making any promises.

Gilbert reminisces about the ballroom; it was very lively back when the Mad Emperor was still alive. He asks if Emma noticed how close the ballroom is to the city below, sometimes people would sneak out the secret passage that led directly from the ballroom to the town for an illicit outing. Of course, these days the secret passage is a weak security checkpoint that could let criminals come and go as they please, but Gilbert could never bring himself to destroy it out if sheer nostalgia.

A miraculous visit, a beautiful dress, a whimsical walk, and the trip down Gilbert’s memory lane all snap into place for Emma, but she still doesn’t understand what Gilbert’s intentions are. 

Perhaps this is what it means to be the Trampling Beast. Emma has no doubt that Gilbert was serious when he wanted to imprison her in his castle and keep her chained to his side. But even then, he’s also giving her this final chance. Maybe this is the only way he can bring himself to let her go.

Gilbert never took back the documents naming her as the Emperor of Obsidian’s proxy. This is her final chance to attend the signing ceremony and bridge the gap between the anti-Royal faction and the princes of Rhodolite.

Emma asks if Gilbert believes in her. Gilbert plays dumb, and Emma decides not to push it. This might be, for Gilbert, as far as he can go. 

If Emma were to take this opportunity and leave, will Gilbert be here when she returns? Will he live long enough to hear whether she succeeds or fails?

Gilbert asks why Emma is crying. Emma tells him that it’s his fault. She remembers Gilbert, long ago, warning her to stop killing her heart before becoming a fallen beast like him.

Emma deliberately looks at Gilbert and tells him that she is not alright. She asks if she promises to kill Gilbert, would he accept the treatment. Gilbert tells her not to lie, she hasn’t gotten to the point she can hold up her end and kill him. 

Emma assures him that she absolutely can and will kill him, but Gilbert laughs and tells her to listen to herself. Didn’t anyone warn her to not get close to villains?

Emma is conflicted, should she listen to Gilbert and respect his will? Or should she trample over him and force her will on him?

Emma bites her lip hard enough to break through the skin. Gilbert’s cold hands cradle her face as he asks if she really loves him that much. His grip on her is hard enough that she cannot do anything other than look into his eye.

Emma thinks back to everything she has experienced since meeting Gilbert. So many bad things had happened to her afterward, she was harassed and had to deal with the heartbreak of ostracization. She had even been nearly exiled by her own country, just because Gilbert called her a friend.

Once Gilbert had warned her that everything he loved betrayed him, so instead he controlled it and trampled it so that nothing he loved could hurt him. And here she was, quite literally in the palm of his hand. Admitting love to Gilbert was the same as drinking poison.

But it wasn’t all bad. There were nice memories, and Gilbert hadn’t really done anything bad to her (except for attempted murder). His kindness had been malicious, but it had been kind. She couldn’t help but respond to that kindness, that part of him that held her as special. As Gilbert’s finger traces her lips, Emma feels emotions pouring into her heart like ink, dying it black.

Emma wishes that they could go back to the way they were, and Gilbert tells her that it’s already too late. It’s written on her face and is impossible for her to hide. She loves him and wants him to live.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Gilbert nods, Emma has made a very terrible decision, really. Falling in love with anyone, villain status aside, is the worst someone could do, akin to self-harm. That’s why he decided not to fall in love with anyone, no one can betray that love and it doesn’t even hurt when you kill them. After he made that decision, his painful life became so much easier. Emma should give it a try too.

Because of his hold on her face, Emma can’t look away from Gilbert’s eye. She has no choice but to see it waver with sorrow.

Emma tells Gilbert that it’s a pointless struggle, and Gilbert is proof of that. Why is she alive if not because Gilbert loves her too much to kill her? As much as she wants Gilbert to live, he wants her to live too, even though she is now a threat to his nation.

Emma realizes that she can see Gilbert’s heart, and he must be able to see hers as well. They have opposite ideologies, with a fathomless chasm between them. This should be impossible for both of them.

Emma tells Gilbert that she does love him, and that means she can kill him. After all, this is the only way that can guarantee that he will stay alive. She’s accepted that she must be able to kill him in order to save him, so she will.

Even if he doesn’t believe her, Emma asks if Gilbert is okay with dying now? She intends to stop his plan; no matter how many bullets and weapons he sends out, they will be worthless if no one picks them up. She warns him not to discount her because he thinks of her as a baby bunny, she will stop his plan and triumph over him.

A part of Emma wonders how she can even register as a threat to the Marshal of Eternal Victory, and it’s right, as she is right now she is not. She needs to get back to Rhodolite and make a real difference. Even if this choice means that she will never see Gilbert again.

Gilbert is standing as close to her right now as when they first met, but unlike then his red eye is wavering. Emma kisses him, at first lightly, but then Gilbert’s hand is against the back of her head, as if blocking her escape route. They kiss again and again, and Emma thinks that for the first time, she can feel a humanlike warmth from Gilbert.

Suddenly, Gilbert’s teeth sink into her lip. Emma jerks back, though she doesn’t think he broke her skin. She demands to know why he just bit her, but Gilbert reminds her, he wants to leave a mark on those that he likes.  Emma grumbles that most lovers cherish those they love, and Gilbert agrees. And there are dozens of men who will treat Emma softly and gently. But she won’t be able to forget him, and the pain he brings. Emma complains that he has a cowardly way of reasoning, but Gilbert just reminds her that he’s the Arch-Villain.

Gilbert’s hand slides down Emma’s thigh, checking for the gun. He complains about her promise to kill him when she doesn’t even wear the gun. He urges Emma to answer him, and she asks if she wears the gun on her, would he consider living. There’s a long silence between them, and Gilbert reminds her that he doesn’t lie.

Even now, Gilbert doesn’t make any promises about surviving. Emma knows that this is a good thing for Rhodolite and the other countries, but she can’t hold back her sobs.

Gilbert wishes her luck.

~~~

In Rhodolite, Luke enters the chapel deep in the forest near the royal castle. He asks why Chevalier summoned him here, when the office was so much closer and nicer. Chevalier responds that he didn’t want to get blood on the documents. Without changing his expression, Chevalier unsheathes his sword and points it at Luke.

Luke notes that it felt like someone was sniffing around him and asks when Chevalier realized he was connected to Gilbert. Chevalier praises Luke for his ability to deceive everyone at court, it really was a masterful disguise.

When Chevalier looked into Luke’s background (a second time) he found a few suspicious points. First of all, Luke was issued a death certificate 10 years ago during the Day of the Blood-Stained Roses. That meant that it was impossible for their side to confirm that Luke was alive. Then he reappeared about a year later and got a job with the guard.

Luke had been a child during the year he was missing, he would have been unable to fend for himself in the wild, nor would he have been undiscovered by Rhodolite forces.

But it wasn’t only Rhodolite who was there that day. Obsidian forces could have taken Luke in, protected him for a year before he returned to Rhodolite.

Luke asks how that would connect him to Gilbert, who hadn’t been part of the military invasion.

During the Day of the Blood-Stained Roses, Obsidian had a policy to kill non-combatants, including women and children. The Obsidian soldiers should have killed him, under orders of the Emperor. There would have been only one person in Obsidian who could order the soldiers to keep him alive instead.

Well, Chevalier got him. It’s all correct, when Luke had lost his home, his family, and nearly his life, Gilbert had stepped in and saved him.

Normally, Chevalier wouldn’t care if Luke was or wasn’t connected to Gilbert. The problem is what Luke has been up to since returning from Obsidian.

Ever since the tragedy ten years ago, people have been vocal in their distrust of the royal family. At first they were disjointed groups, no one could truly agree on an issue. But, starting a few years ago, someone began organizing them. What had been a few small groups scattered across the nation were now bundled into a pillar that could burn Rhodolite down to the ground.

This is how Gilbert destroys nations, he unites people and controls them with hatred by dying their hearts black, and giving them the means to destroy their country. And, knowing that, Chevalier was able to look into Luke even further, and realize that he was the leader of the anti-Royal faction.

There is a long silence between the two of them. Luke asks if Chevalier thinks that by killing him, he will solve the current crisis. Chevalier doesn’t, though it would be so much easier if it was true. Besides, it’s too late to stop the events Gilbert has put into motion.

Luke asks why Chevalier still has his sword pointed at him. Chevalier replies that he will kill anyone who harms the nation, and from his estimation, if Luke continues to lead the anti-Royal faction there will be greater destruction.

However, if they were to formally convene a court to put Luke on trial, it would be a scandal that would hurt the Royal Family of Rhodolite. Instead, Chevalier has decided to dispose of Luke secretly.

Luke unsheathes his own sword, holding it between him and Chevalier. It seems no matter who it is, anyone who has status has decided that they have the right to do anything they please to those below them. This is the exact sort of thing Gilbert would say, and Luke wonders if Chevalier is the perfect symbol of authoritarianism in this world.

Well, unfortunately for Chevalier, Luke has no intention of dying before he has achieved his vengeance. Chevalier asks how long Luke can last in a fight against him. They point their swords at one another, the chapel become a battleground full of bloodlust and murderous intent.

Clavis enters the chapel, complaining loudly that Chevalier keeps on dragging him to weird places.

Clavis asks what the hell is going on. He rushes between Chevalier and Luke, reminding them that sibling fights are done with fists, not swords. Both Chevalier and Luke snap at him to get out of the way.

Clavis tells them both to calm down. He assures Luke that he knows Chevalier well, so Luke doesn’t need to say anything for him to know that this is all Chevalier’s fault. Clavis looks at Chevalier, into his eyes and tells Luke to run away, Chevalier is seriously planning on killing him. When Luke hesitates, Clavis reassures him that everyone will blame Chevalier for this.

After Luke leaves, Chevalier sheathes his sword, and the murderous aura fades. Clavis asks if he was really going to do it, but Chevalier says that this demonstration served its purpose. He sits on a pew listlessly, seeming carefree except for a bitter smile. Clavis tells him that if he wanted to kick Luke of out the court to prevent information leaks, there were other, and better ways.

Chevalier asks if Clavis is ready with his part, and Clavis complains about being ignored.

There is a unit prepared to participate in the operation, led by Cyran. Their preliminary reconnaissance reports line up with Chevalier’s predictions, they should be able to suppress the attack at the signing ceremony. The problem is that the group has been supplied with Obsidian weapons, even if Chevalier’s operation succeeds, there will be lots of casualties.

Chevalier has accepted the loss, dialogue is no longer an option, leading violence as the last resort. Clavis complains that Chevalier really is a beast who has abandoned his own heart.

Chevalier cuts in, asking for a report.

A guard with long hair and a uniform designating him as one of the elites approaches them. Clavis recognizes Lucien, and recalls that he was sent to Obsidian after Emma. Lucien reports that he just arrived.

Chevalier surmises that if Lucien is here, then Emma is returning from Obsidian far earlier than they expected. Lucien tells him that he’s right, she’s returning with the other three.

Claivs is impressed, he didn’t think that they would really be able to bring Emma back with them. Lucien hesitates, and Chevalier has to prompt him to continue. Lucien admits that a very unexpected situation has occurred.

Clavis tells him that nothing can surprise him more than them shipping Emma off to Obsidian in the first place.

Oh, this might.  

Lucien explains that Emma is returning as the Empress of Obsidian.

Clavis and Chevalier stare at Lucien in shock. After a long, long time, they demand Lucien repeat himself.

~~

Back in Obsidian, Gilbert has finished giving Roderich his orders. Roderich protests, but Gilbert silences him. He tells Roderich that his body is at it’s limit, so now it’s Roderich’s turn. He assures Roderich that he will be fine, he believes in him. Besides, he promised Emma that he would see her after the signing ceremony, and he doesn’t want to break his promise with her.

Roderich is pretty sure this would count as breaking the promise, but Gilbert tells him that he’s not interested in repeating himself.

Smiling, Gilbert pushes back Roderich’s hood, revealing glossy black hair and red eyes.

Gilbert wishes him luck.

Island of the slaughtered victims analysis: Heather

At first I was going to analyse the victims in order of how they died but I just gonna randomised them so I am analysing the Queen B herself, Heather. So Heather is the 15th camper and the last person to die at the hands of the killer. Heather is dragged away from the group where she is begging for life, the killer not having any remorse cuts her head with a chainsaw. The killer acknowledging Heather’s beauty takes her head and puts it in the freezer. Later on, Gwen and Leshawna find the aftermath of Heather, Leshawna finds her body while Gwen finds her head.

Heather being the last one to die is a reference to how she was last camper to be eliminated just like how Ezekiel was the first to die and the first to be eliminated. While looking into Heather’s death I noticed that she had one of the few who had quick death while everyone had to suffer through. Courtney's legs were broken and was beaten to death, Noah was stabbed, strangled and drowned, Bridgette was burn alive, Tyler's neck was stretch, Sadie was eaten by wolves, Geoff was sewed on Owen while Owen was alive. But Heather’s death was quick, her head was cut-off.

Her having a death is similar to how her downfall is humiliation rather than brutal unlike Alejandro and Scott, but she also had to suffered in way by doing all the dares until the last dare where she had to get her head shaved by chef which was orchestrated by Lindsay. Heather refused by kicking the clipper away but it ends up flying towards her and shaving her head back. Heather’s downfall was her vanity meanwhile Alejandro was burnt by lava while Scott was injured by Zoey's trap than later got mauled by a mutant shark.

Her head getting cut off is very telling since that were the brain is located and Heather is the most strategical intelligent character in the game. She has caused the most eliminations, her teams win the most challenges and she managed to get to finals 2 times and even won a season. In my assumptions, I believe that Heather would be most realistic pretty much has realise earlier when Chris left them than their fate has been sealed. So it is interesting of her to be begging for her life when she herself would know it happened however it's very different when death is staring right at you.

Because Heather is seen as the bitchy mean chick, her being a spirit is basically telling Chris that you not only fucked up but also you shouldn't have come back. Heather is possibly the most dangerous that she uses her long hair to suffocate you. Her head being located in the freezer is a nod back to when she gets locked in by her teammates in If You Can't take the Heat but I also noticed that Heather has used the kitchen in challenges three times. The cooking challenge, she used the kitchen as a hidden place when they were hunt down by chef and her key was located in the fridge. It's like it was intentional for her head to be in the freezer that and her beauty doesn't decay.

Leshawna and Gwen being the one to find her head and body is reference to how Leshawna and Gwen are her main and mortal enemies. Her and Leshawna insult each other which results Leshawha to go into physical violence. Heather find ways to humiliate Gwen on live television like reading out her diary or ripping her skirt where everyone sees her underwear, however Gwen does get back at her by dropping Harold's red ant farm on her and using her freebies which results Heather to do the dares.

Hopes and Dreams Part I

.I have this idea in my head since I saw the first trailer of Resident Evil 8, which was in March? This will be multichaptered and english isn’t my first language, so if anyone of you likes the story enough and is willing to be my beta, I would greatly appreciate it. *** About the story: Reader was Alcinas first lover and got reincarnated over the centuries. Alcina lost her everytime and after the fifth, she just gave up on ever finding reader again, because she couldn’t take losing her anymore times. But as fate would have it, the reader will find her.... Chapter One

Five. Five times Alcina has seen you reincarnated and crossing her way, and yet, fate always found a way to take you from her. The last one was particularly grueling. She remembered the day she lost you, as if it happened yesterday and considering her immortality, it may have been. You looked so happy and excited when you said your goodbyes, and Alcina could understand that. The titanic was a big thing then, even more so after the tragedy that unfolded. You were one of the many victims of the sheer stupidity of men, at least in her opinion and she hasn’t been the same since. Every single one of your deaths was devastating, but the last one was the one that broke her. Bela was there to take care of her, but something died within Alcina when she heard that fate had taken you away from her yet again.

When Cassandra and Daniela came into her life, it certainly helped, but she still grieved for you to this day. Usually, she would search to the ends of the world for you, but she couldn’t stand to lose you, if she ever found you again. She couldn’t do that to either you or herself.

She straightened her dress when she got to her feet again, gently stroking a hand over your grave. Well, the first you, anyway. The only one where any remains were found to be buried. You loved the lake near the castle, no matter in which life. Some asked about the tombstone, but she would just smile and say that it was someone she cherished when she was young, never revealing the whole truth. The first you lived the longest and happiest, before Alcina was turned. Centuries before Mother Miranda found out about her and the other lords.

Her musing was disrupted when she heard distant howling. It seemed like Heisenberg’s Lycans had found another victim, and they were oh so messy in their killing. She harrumphed and started her trek back to the castle, ignoring the ever-closer growing howling. That was until she heard rustling and a figure, cursing like a sailor rushed out from the bushes. Your eyes met and time seemed to stop for both of you.

***

You were furious with yourself for letting your guard down. You have been hiding away in this remote village for two years now, so far avoiding any supernatural beings. But it seems your luck had run out. You were checking your traps in the forest, never noticing them sneaking up on you. Which was a feat in and on itself, normally you could smell them miles away. During your travels you had to fight of many supernatural beings, a pack of Lycans shouldn’t be a problem, but the forest was dense in these parts and you knew when you were at a disadvantage. So, you ran, hoping to distract them with the chase long enough to form a plan.

Meeting her wasn’t part of the plan. You have never seen the lady of the castle, but you heard enough to know exactly who you were looking at, her height being one dead giveaway. Yet something about her made you stop dead in your tracks, the pack of Lycans chasing after you completely forgotten. Her honey-colored eyes stirred something in you, some feeling of familiarity you couldn’t quite place. Your heart clenched, not entirely in an uncomfortable way, because she was just so stunning. If you weren’t gay before you sure as hell were now. What intrigued you even more was the look of utter shock in her eyes, mixed with other emotions you could have named, if it weren’t for the Lycan crashing into you and propelling you down the small cliff you hadn’t noticed before.

“Motherfucking mutt!” you hissed and pulled the knife from your boot. You skillfully spin the Lycan underneath you, stabbing the knife into the Lycans chest to soften your fall. But another four already jumped right after you and you were still distracted by the lady, who apparently decided that watching you would be a nice way to kill some time. With a sickening crunch from the dead Lycan you landed on the edge of the lake. The others where circling you, growling menacingly. With another sickening crunch you pulled your knife free and took a defensive post. You kept most of your concentration on the Lycans, but the woman was still distracting you somewhat.

‘Might as well try to impress her’ you thought and grinned up at her, which was your second mistake that day. You felt sharp claws digging into your left leg and hissed in annoyance.

“Not cool, man!” you huffed and kicked him in the throat. The desire to impress equally impressive tall, beautiful women left your mind and you made quick process of the remaining Lycans standing in your way. You kicked the corpse of the one that got you for good measure, cursing under your breath. When you turned around you noticed that the lady had made your way to you, still staring you down as if you were the weirdest thing around here.

“I would help you, but it seems you have the situation under control,” she said, and a shiver ran down your spine. Her voice was like liquid honey and your heart clenched again. You absentmindedly rubbed your chest and said “Well, they are not the first supernatural being I have encountered, and they aren’t the most dangerous ones.”

She seemed impressed with your answer if the slight smirk was anything to go by. Her gaze wandered down to your leg and something in her eyes changed. Some far away voice in your head screamed for you to run from her, but you felt weirdly safe around her.

“Believe me when I say that I taste quite awful,” you said and grinned. That seemed to pull her out of her daze, and she stepped closer to you. You gulped a bit when the realization of how tall she truly was hit you, but you wouldn’t back down either. Craning your neck to keep looking at her face you stood still and waited. You should be scared shitless and still you felt as if no danger was coming your way. Yet.

“You should take care of that, before you attract more of them” she simply said and turned around. Sheer stupidity, paired with a malfunctioning brain to mouth barrier made you utter your next words “Well, shouldn’t you be the one to help me out, considering that I only got hurt, trying to impress you?”

She turned around so fast that you just knew she popped something. She was upon you in seconds and hissed “Excuse me?”

“I- I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” you stuttered and felt a blush creeping up your face. All her beauty and your weird feeling aside, she was still someone infinitely more dangerous than 200 Lycans combined. What exactly had you gotten yourself into? 

***

Seeing you tumble out of the woods came as a shock to her system. No matter how many times you got reborn, she would always recognize you, though you certainly looked more different than ever before. Not that Alcina had much time to look at you, when just a few seconds after your eyes met a Lycan barreled into you. Her feet moved on her own, ignoring the other Lycans tumbling down the small cliff, when she rushed to the ledge of the small cliff just in time to see you landing on the dead Lycan.

You were certainly feisty and skilled this time around and the grin you threw her way made her feel things she thought long buried. Until one Lycan got to you and she saw red, but when she came down, she only saw you kicking a dead Lycan before he turned into dust. Alcina was rather impressed when you made that off-hand comment about encountering other beings before. Which would explain why you didn’t react to her like normal people do.

No matter how many times you two met in the course of history, there were certain things that never changed: you always looked similar to your you before, and your smell. Looking at you now, she realized that this time, a lot has changed. The most obvious being your smell. You still smelled like you, but something was underneath all that, that made you somehow all the more alluring to her. Something in your blood sang to her and it confused her a great deal.

You were always kind of shy and timid around her when you first met, but the confidence you oozed made you all the more attractive and Alcina felt as if she was betraying your past lives with that thought. Hearing that you encountered supernatural beings before made her stop dead in her tracks. What was your life like until you met? What happened to you to change you so fundamentally? But your next words shocked you more than she would ever admit

“Well, shouldn’t you be the one to help me out, considering that I only got hurt, trying to impress you?” you said with such an insufferable grin that Alicna had the impulse to strangle you for the first time in her long life.

“Excuse me?” she hissed and clenched her hands. Not that you would notice. But apparently you didn’t mean to say that, if your blush was anything to go by. Still, Alcina was fuming at the blatant rudeness, but also shocked at your bluntness. Your new personality was… still somehow endearing and interesting. She couldn’t fit your current you into the picture she had of you which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“What is your name?” Alcina asked and took a few steps back to get a better look at you. The smile you gave her was apologetic when you said “Excuse my poor manners, I really don’t know what has gotten into me today. My name is y/n.”

“I am Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, but you will call me Lady Dimitrescu or my lady. You would do good to remember your manners, little one.” She said and offered her hand to you. You gave her another stunning smile as you took her hand and bowed to give kiss to her knuckles that did ABSOLUTELY not fluster her, before you purred, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

You would be the certain death of her this time around. She was certain of that. She should keep her distance from you, it wouldn’t do to become to attached to your, your attitude would get you killed rather sooner than later. But what she said was: “Come now. The castle isn’t that far, and night is almost upon us. It wouldn’t do to stay out here, with you being injured.”

Rexobi. I really just wanna see Rex and Obi-wan drinking together and complaining about the disaster that is Anakin Skywalker. They decide to team up to get anakin to calm the heck down and to talk about his feelings. Anakin doesn’t realize what’s going on but gets the idea he needs to play matchmaker with his master and his captain. He thinks he’s the smart one but he’s really not

(i have once again chickened out of your full prompt and instead give you the leadup to rexobi getting anakin to talk about his feelings. 

i uhhh may be unable to think of anything but a rexobi au à la this post by @norcumii and @dharmaavocado about roleswap-ish senior padawan obi hella vibing with this mutant clone that can’t get above the rank of captain even as an arc trooper because the kaminoans are Like That, and qui-gon is going spare, because between anakin somehow being allowed to be in charge of a whole battalion and obi-wan picking fights with every single seperatist leader, he and cody never get a moment of peace. and like. just obi and rex being dumbass 20 year olds trying to deal with a general/master like anakin in the middle of a war. i don’t have TIME for that though

thank you for the prompt as always, i think this is the only rexobi/obex prompt i’ve ever gotten and this ship is criminally underappreciated. like?? kadavo?? anyways here’s whatever this is)

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 Not for the first time, Rex wishes Kote were the one here dealing with this, because “how to comfort your favorite Jedi” hadn’t exactly been covered in ARC training – actually, Alpha probably withheld the information on purpose, the fucker.

  But Kote is on the other side of the galaxy with the 187th and just as upset they’re not here in Rex’s stead: it’s barely a month off General Kenobi returning to his own face, and Rex knows his vod would strangle the entire Senate if given even half a chance for deploying them separately on their general’s first mission back after the Hardeen... incident. 

  And Fett’s Ghost knows Rex’s own general is going to pitch a fit when he finds out Rex is here instead of taking leave like the rest of the 501st, but Kote certainly wasn’t about to let Kenobi go all the way to Alderaan unguarded so soon after his supposed death; and honestly, Rex would have been offended if they had asked anybody else to do it. Thankfully, Kenobi hadn’t seemed offended when Rex had shown up at the Jedi Temple’s flight hangar before he could take off; instead, he had been rather amused. 

  Even luckier, Alderaan is barely a day’s jump from Coruscant, so they don’t have to spend too much time awkwardly pretending that Rex hadn’t attended the man’s funeral in Kote's place (that he would have attended anyways), or that Rex doesn’t know Anakin hasn’t spoken to his former master since their debrief to the High Council about Cad Bane. Which Rex should absolutely not know in the first place, but Anakin is his friend, for better or for worse, and Ahsoka thinks her master airs far too many of his grievances to his captain.

  It isn't until their cruiser is making the descent over Alderaan that Kenobi finally addresses the tension between them, which only proves that Kenobi is well aware of it, but had put it off as long as he could. It's a humanising observation, that Rex wishes he could have had when he isn't the only vod in a ten mile radius that isn't the pilot, because at least then he wouldn't be the sole receiver of the soft smile Kenobi gives him as he joins Rex to wait by the shuttle's access hatch.

  Rex thanks his progenitor's laughing corpse he has his bucket on, because all he can do is stare. 

  "You are worried about Anakin," Kenobi says matter of factly, though not unkindly, and Rex lets out a breath that's almost a laugh. 

  "I promise I am far more discrete with my thoughts in the field, sir."

  Kenobi chuckles warmly, tucking his arms behind his back to watch the planet under them grow larger as they approach. "Do try not to worry so much, my dear, this will all resolve itself in time." 

  It's hard to stare right at his gentle assuredness, so Rex looks away. "You have far more faith in his ability to forgive than I, sir."

  That laugh strains at the edges. "Yes, well, I'm afraid some of my lessons seem to have been... lacking."

  Rex has regs carbon-printed on his brain, he knows that even without the direct chain of command, the soft push and pull of his relationship with Kenobi, the steady, serene growth of it, is... problematic, for so many reasons that he wouldn't know where to start. Not least of all is rank, how much more important a Jedi is than a replaceable CC-track washout, but, well, Rex had washed out for being too emotional, so it's not as if he's exactly unused to reacting to things inappropriately for a good little soldier.

  "It's not my place, sir," he murmurs, remembering Kadavo, remembering Umbara, remembering the hand Kenobi had laid on his shoulder for far too long after the Blue Shadow virus, and has Rex really been this gone since then? "just say the word and I won't mention it again. But just because Kote isn't here doesn't mean you have to... shoulder all of this alone."

  In fact, it's wildly not his place to make such an offer, however implicit, but that month on Kadavo did happen, and Rex isn't so self-deprecating to believe he  hadn't had a heavy hand in helping Kenobi make it out on the other side as well as he did. He doesn't think so little of the bond they had formed then, to believe that Obi-Wan is unaware of it. 

  Not when he smiles at Rex like that, like he's a warm cup of caf after a week in the trenches, like Rex is... worthy of such sincere affection. 

  As the shuttle settles around them and the pilot announces their arrival over comm, Obi-Wan simply says, "I did not for a moment believe I was, my dear."

-

  "You and Rex seem close."

  Normally Obi-Wan can feel Anakin coming from an entire corridor away, but he also knows Quinlan has been teaching him a few Shadow tricks, so he isn't entirely surprised when Anakin appears at his elbow in the empty bridge looking like a smug necu.

  Aside from eating firstmeal with Kote in the mess, Obi-Wan hasn't even seen Rex today, much less interacted with him: as he understands it, Rex is trying to round up the remaining 501st shinies that are running around the Negotiator, so Obi-Wan really doesn't know where Anakin had gotten that notion. Recently, at least. 

  Anakin rolls his eyes and scoffs, leaning back on the railing next to him and crossing his arms. "Please, Master, even Snips has noticed."

  Obi-Wan refrains from telling him that anyone with a modicum more self-awareness than him has noticed. Be that as it may, "This is one of those times where I truly don't know what you're trying to say, my dear: I have been close with Rex since he was in the 212th."

  It isn't even an exaggeration, that there had been... something between them before Anakin whisked Rex away to his own battalion after his knighting, though back then it had been nothing more than friendship. If he recalls correctly, and he does, the cleanup of the Ryloth capitol had been the first time since then that they had worked closely, while Anakin had been on the ground with the locals and Mace had been with General Syndulla, and Obi-Wan had found he still quite enjoyed the way they worked together. Their time on Naboo combating the Blue Shadow virus had only endeared the captain more to him —he does remember a slip in propriety in his relief that Rex had been rescued safely with Padmé and Ahsoka, a hand left too long on the captain's shoulder until Kote had called him away— enough that Obi-Wan had been both relieved and horrified that it was Rex there to support him on Kadavo.

  "Cody said Rex was the one to go with you to Alderaan; you sure nothing 'happened' while you were there?" Anakin chuckles to himself like he's being incredibly clever, like there isn’t a hickey visible over the collar of his under tunic.

  Obi-Wan raises a brow slowly and refrains from rolling his eyes. "Despite what you may believe, Anakin, not everyone leaps into committed relationships after life-threatening situations." Not that Alderaan had been life-threatening, it had actually been as close to actual leave as Obi-Wan has had the entire war.

  "Please, it took Padmé and I ages to–" 

  Anakin seems to swallow his tongue, then, face rapidly going purple, and it really is a miracle the entire Republic doesn’t know about his marriage; the GAR certainly does.

  Sighing, Obi-Wan checks the chrono and decides it isn't too early for another cup of tea. "If you have a specific question about my relationship with Captain Rex, I do wish you’d be direct, my dear."

  Anakin splutters. "Relationship?!"

  "Great Maker, Anakin, you’re easier to spook than a half-starved blurrg." He pats Anakin’s arm, his sonbrother floundering for anything other than abject confoundment, as Obi-Wan turns away from the bridge to go locate both tea, and his commander to hopefully finalise their newest mission orders. "Don't worry," he calls over his shoulder, "I'll actually let you come to the wedding, unlike someone."

  Not that Obi-Wan has any such plans, Maker knows he and Rex have yet to address their feelings in the first place, but he'd be lying if part of him doesn't want to conspire with the captain in question —and perhaps Ahsoka— to see just how far they could take this before Anakin realises they're stringing him along. 

 Remarkably, Rex is waiting by Obi-Wan’s office with a flimsi cup of tea and a harried smile that promised quite the day chasing after shinies, and Obi-Wan decides conning his former apprentice can wait.

Mando’a: vod/e — “brother/s”, “comrade/s”, “sibling/s”, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brother/s”

Black Waltz [1/2]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 [Finale]

➜ Words: 13.2k

➜ Genres: 70% Fluff, 30% Angst, Butler!AU

➜ Summary: When your parents pass away in an accident, a family secret is revealed. The only person you can trust and rely on is your personal butler, Kim Taehyung.

The caskets are small.   You’re not sure why but you always imagined that they’d be bigger. The undertaker already reassured you thrice that the bodies of your parents fit perfectly. Perhaps they were always that small.   “Poor girl.” Someone murmurs in the corner, not realizing that you can hear above the discordant sobs. “She’s already such a weak child. How will she handle this?”   “How do you suppose?” a man replies in a sharp mutter. “She’s just become one of the richest people in Trulia overnight. Look at this entire estate. All thanks to her father’s watch business.”   “Will you have more delicacy?” she bites back in a whisper. “A man and woman just died.”   You don’t bother looking at them. You don't cry either.    Not a single tear sheds down your cheeks as you look through your netted veil to the closed coffins belonging to your parents. Even the gardener is sobbing into his hat, but you don’t.    Your expression remains stoic.   A man approaches, dark hair and darker suit. He bows his head towards the caskets and then turns to you standing by. You recognize him the few times you saw him in passing. He’s your father’s worker, Yoongi. “My condolences, Miss Y/N.”   “Thank you.”   “Your father was a great man. It was a privilege to work under his guidance. I’m sorry this happened.”   You nod and he takes that you don’t want to extend the conversation and leaves you be.    It was an unfortunate accident. More specifically, a railroad accident. It claimed the lives of many and that also included your parents coming home from a trip to Germany.   “Eugene!” Suddenly, Uncle Seokjin throws himself over the casket. A few distraught folks try to pull him back, but he continues to howl, “How could you leave your only brother like this!”    Aunt Marie cries louder into her handkerchief.   It’s noisy.   In the midst of the ruckus, the corner of your eye catches an older man with brunette hair. The wrinkles crease around his eyes with his sorrowful expression and he takes off his top hat as he approaches. You watch as he places a rose in front of your mother’s casket and then he turns to leave without addressing you.   “Oh, Y/N!” Your attention is ripped away by your hysterically sobbing uncle grabbing your hands. “Poor Y/N!”   Someone takes him away before you get the chance to shove him off.   //   Everyone gathers in the dining room not even a full day after the funeral.   The wallpaper is dark, black trim that matches the hardwood. The long table is mahogany and there’s an unnecessary golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. You’ve always hated this room and its decorations, especially the heavy curtains that block out the sunlight.   “Y/N!” Your uncle draws out your name and smiles widely as he comes before you with open arms. He gives you a quick squeeze much to your dismay and then lets go. The middle-aged man searches your expression. “My favourite niece.”   “I’m your only niece.”   “Which makes you even more special to me.” His words are sweet. He shakes his head. “What did you ever do to deserve this?”   You wonder the same thing.   Aunt Marie clears her throat and Uncle Seokjin flounders. “Right, right, we should take our seats.”   Your eyes lift to your cousin who smiles at you, dressed in a navy frock coat with an ascot tie. “It’s been a while, Y/N. I didn’t think you’d notice but I was greeting guests at the funer—”   “I noticed.”   You cut Hoseok off mid-sentence with his mouth still open. Aunt Marie chastised him under her breath to sit down and at the same time, the family lawyer enters with his briefcase. He’s been working with your family before you were even born. You could feel his sincerity when he spoke at the memorial.   “Good evening everyone. Y/N.” Mr. Kim — Namjoon as your parents familiarly called him — nods at you in sympathetic acknowledgment and takes his place at the head of the table where your father once sat. He reaches for his briefcase and opens it up for a sealed envelope inside. “I never thought there would be a day like this. Most unfortunate indeed.”   “A heartbreaking tragedy,” Aunt Marie agrees.   “But no time like the present for us to fulfill their last wishes.” Mr. Kim slips out the crisp papers and then his eyes flicker up at you. You subtly motion to him that you’re ready for it to be read and he clears his throat.   Your relatives are sitting on the edge of the seats, hands clasped on the table in anticipation.   “I, Arden Eugene, resident in the City of Lennox, Country of Trulia, being of sound mind, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all prior wills and codicils made by me. I appoint my wife, Arden Hana, to inherit all my assets.”   The lawyer continues, “In the event where my wife is unable to inherit...all my assets, including the investments, savings and the estate, liquid and otherwise, I leave my daughter, Arden Y/N, in their entirety.”   Your aunt’s jaw ticks, your uncle has a face of disgust and your cousin’s jaw has dropped.   You’re not sure why they’re so offended. It’s not a surprise. This is what you expected.   That is until Mr. Kim adds the word— “temporarily.”   Your head turns. The lawyer’s mouth continues to move.   “Until the date and time when her half-sibling will be found.”    You’re not sure what happens first. The gasps echoing in your ears, Aunt Marie nearly falling off her seat in laughter, your uncle standing up from his spot, or your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as blood drains from your face. You feel ill, like you might throw up right on the table.   A half-sibling. Another child. There was another child all along.    “—to which ownership of all asserts will thereby be shifted onto them.”   “What is the meaning of this?!” Uncle Seokjin protests. “What child?!”   “I’m sorry, Mr. Arden. I only know as much as you do.” Mr. Kim’s eyes place on you before he resumes reading. “I give my daughter, Arden Y/N, a pocket watch.”   The amused snicker of your aunt is all too clear.   A small box is placed in front of you. It’s the size of your hand, a deep wine red. For a moment, you want to huck it on the floor, but with your breath held in your throat, you nudge the lid open. It’s a perfectly round contraption, the cover golden and perfectly polished, reflecting against the candlelight. You flip it open to find handles ticking away as seconds and minutes pass.   “To my brother, Seokjin, my sister, Marie, and her son, Hoseok, I wish them the very best in the rest of their lives.”   Aunt Marie scoffs. Uncle Seokjin collapses back onto his seat.   The will is finished being read and the paper is folded. The room is full of a tense silence as you stare at the watch. Mr. Kim clears his throat again. “As you are aware of the laws, Y/N, all assets are entitled to you temporarily. But as you have no husband to collect the inheritance, it makes things a bit more complicated. You may still live at this estate and continue the company, but you cannot alter it in any way. That includes liquidating, removing, expanding, or withdrawing. You do not have the jurisdiction to alter the company or any of the investments either.”   Everything is essentially frozen. They left you with nothing.   “Yes.” The corner of Aunt Marie’s lip curls and she sits back. “Even if you are twenty one, you need a husband to own land and wealth. Trulia’s quite old-fashioned, isn’t it?”   Trulia — a small country that bridges France and England together, cutting the English channel into half. You’ve lived here all your life, born and raised, and never hated it more.   “Y/N.” Hoseok breaks your train of thought and you look him in the eyes. Your expression remains impassive. “Did you know you had a sibling?”   You hate it all.   //   The bedroom is shrouded in darkness as you sit back in the armchair.    You’re loosely holding the cold, golden chain of the pocket watch, studying it as it swings back and forth. It’s like a clam, but without any engravings, designs or even ridges on the surface. It’s heavy, perfectly new and polished, the time precise. When both handles of the pocket watch come to twelve, the grandfather clock from downstairs chimes throughout the mansion.   Your other hand crumples into a fist and with a strangled cry in your throat, you hurl the pocket watch across the room with all your might. It clatters to the ground, ear-splitting.   A figure emerges from the shadows, leans down and picks it up with his white gloves.   “Madam, are you not well?”   “Don’t call me madam,” you snap at him.   Taehyung comes closer, his dark hair slicked back, dressed in the usual black tailcoat and trousers. His smile is tender. “You are the head of the household now.”   Arm propped up on the armrest, you press your hand to your forehead. “It makes me feel old.”   “Then I won’t, my lady. I apologize.” He places the pocket watch on the vanity table and comes to your side.   You look up at him, wondering if you look as bitter as you feel. “Even when they’re dead, they have to have the last laugh, Taehyung. They spared me nothing.” Your eyes sting painfully, the lump at the bottom of your throat aching. Anger has coloured your vision red. You’re so full of hate, but you wonder why most of all, it hurts. “I can’t believe my parents didn’t love me even after their death.”   Taehyung kneels and takes your hands that are crumpled hard enough that your nails sink into your skin. He earnestly gazes at you. “You have me. I’ll be with you until the end.”   He promises it rather recklessly. But he’s more than just your butler. More than just a worker in this house. He’s been a friend since childhood. The only one you can fully trust.   Taehyung’s expression softens even more and he reaches out. He hugs you, propping your chin on his shoulder, placing his arms around your back. “You can cry.”   You scoff. “You’re stepping over the line.”   “Then discipline me.”   You bite the inside of your cheek, vision becomes foggy as tears hang onto your lash line. “Why should I cry for those people? If...if anything, I should cry for my own circumstances.”   Taehyung smiles. “Cry then.”   For the first time, you let go. You sob into his shoulder, grasp his coat with tight fingers, allowing yourself to be at grief’s mercy. Wails choke out of your chest and the thick lump finally escapes your throat, leaving it raw and aching in a different way. The tears stain a path down from your welling eyes to your cheeks and then Taehyung’s shoulder like a chilling rainstorm.   It feels like minutes tick away until you’ve cried yourself to exhaustion.   By then, you’re so weak and you can barely open your swollen eyes. But Taehyung guides you to bed and pulls the covers. He tucks you in, making sure you’re warm. “Get some sleep.”   You nod and he extinguishes the flame in the oil lamp.    Sleep comes easier than you expect.   //   When dawn arrives, the light of the sun comes through the white curtains to cast against your eyes. You stir uncomfortably before your lids flutter open. The world is bleary in your fogged vision and your body is heavy. You don’t want to get up, but you have to.   “Good morning, mistress.” Taehyung enters, dressed in his black trousers and tailcoat with a white waistcoat underneath. His hair is pushed back in a windswept look. He sets down the golden tray balancing a water bowl and cloth. “Glad to see you’re already awake.”   “Couldn’t sleep more if I wanted to.” You round the bed and collect the water to wash your face before pressing the cloth to your skin.   Taehyung steps towards your wardrobe. “Would you like me to replace the curtains?”   “It’s fine. I don’t want to wear anything too restricting today.”   He hums. “Then will an aesthetic dress do? Green?”   “Is there a dark blue?”    Taehyung swiftly takes out a simple gown, cut loosely with a few frills at the neckline and a red, ribbon sash around the waist. The shade is a midnight blue and perfectly to your tastes as if he read your mind. It’s without any restrictive corset too. Heaven knows today is going to be suffocating enough, you don’t need to make it more difficult for yourself.   You stand in front of the three panel mirror folded into a nook and lift your arms up. Without batting a single lash or looking twice, Taehyung undresses you from the silk sleepwear and helps you into the camisole before draping the dress over your figure.   You sit at the vanity and he gently brushes out your hair. “Taehyung.”   “Yes, my lady?”   You look at him through the mirror. “Do you think I can do this?”   His eyes flicker up and he smiles. “Of course you can.”   “What if they don’t find me intimidating enough?”   “Then I’ll stand beside you and help you with that.”   What he says has you bursting out in laughter. You spin around in your seat, and Taehyung’s completely unsuspecting when you squeeze his cheeks together. His rounded eyes blink and his lips mimic a fish’s. It makes you grin. “You’re more of a puppy than a guard dog.”   But well, you suppose it’s not important what the truth is. The illusion is what matters most.   He pins half of your hair up and you barely powder your face before you’re leaving for the family meeting. On the way, you brace yourself, only temporarily interrupted by the gardener, Park Jimin, a man who’s been working on the estate for the past three years. He takes care of the garden well, better than your mother ever could. Her roses always withered. He, on the other hand, has quite the green thumb.   “Good morning, madam.” Jimin greets you merrily.   “Good morning, Jimin.” You slow in the entrance hall and Taehyung behind you does as well. “I hope you and the others are doing well. Thank you for still being here.”   The young male blushes. “We’re just doing our jobs, ma’am. You already gave us a whole week’s break which we’re more than thankful for. We just had to come back for the funeral to honour Mr. and Mrs. Arden. So there’s no need to worry about us.”   “I’m glad then.” Your smile eases. “Please continue, don’t let me stop you.”   He nods and goes on his way.   The moment Jimin’s gone, your expression hardens as you enter the main lounge area.   There your uncle, aunt, and cousin are seated around and you recognize your father’s worker, Yoongi as well. You’re not sure since when this house became a guest home where anyone can enter and loiter in as they please. You’ll have to have a word with Taehyung later.    “Y/N! My dear niece!” Uncle Seokjin’s loud and he stands from the armchair with an enormous smile that looks like it’s about to break his face. At that, everyone’s head swivels around.    Yoongi slowly rises from his seat as well.    But your uncle continues, “I hope you had a good sleep. I could barely get a wink thinking about your father and our happy days. Speaking of which, I was thinking about how empty this house will be with your parents gone. Isn’t it time for you to get married? You’ve been of age for a while. I happen to know this very kind young man from England. His name is Mark. I’d be happy to introduce—”   “Uncle Seokjin.” You stop him. “I’d rather not have you speak about my private affairs in front of a stranger.”   His pupils flicker to Yoongi and his mouth closes with a smile. “Right.”   You turn to said man and he nods his head in acknowledgment. “Would you like to have tea in the parlor?”   “No, this will only take a moment. I’m sure you’re already busy. My apologies for coming unannounced.”   “It’s not a problem. What is this about?”   “Your father’s company,” Yoongi says. “There is a client waiting for a shipment and since we closed we’ve been unable to finish the order. Would you like to refuse it?”   “No. It’s fine.” You hold in your sigh and press your finger against your forehead for a moment. Then, you come to a decision. “You may continue and run business as usual. You may act as the temporary lead, Min Yoongi.”   At the announcement, Hoseok rushes upwards with his jaw gone slack. “I could!” Heads turn towards him. “I-If you need me to! I could take over! T-Temporarily, of course!”   Your eyes narrow into your cousin, your expression cold. “There’s no need, Hoseok. I’m sure Mr. Min here will already have his hands full. There'll be no time to properly train you and no way you could take over.”   “But—!”   You ignore him to address your father’s right hand. You’re not sure if this is the right decision, but Yoongi comes across as sensible and rational. He doesn’t seem to have any malicious intention or ulterior motives either. At least your father trusted him, so you will too. “I’ll take a look at the finances and figure out the details soon enough of where the company will move forward from now on. But for now, I will entrust you to it. Please proceed as you normally would.”   Yoongi nods. “Thank you, Miss Y/N.”   You shift on your feet and look to your butler whose height towers your own. “Taehyung, can you please see Mr. Min out?”   He puts his gloved hand over his heart and bows. “Certainly.”   The two men leave the room while your cousin crosses his arms and drops back down into the sofa with a displeased face.   Aunt Marie’s eyes are narrowed in on you and she sighs, shaking her head. She comments, “You’re quite close with that butler of yours, Y/N. A bit too close, if you ask me.”   Your brow cocks. “You don’t have any authority in this household to make such comments, Aunt Marie.”   “I am merely looking out for you, Y/N,” she quips with an underlying sharpness to it. “You never know what rumours can get out and they can get quite nasty. It wouldn’t do you any good to be in a scandal. It’s best if you weren’t so close to the such lowly—”   “I choose who I want to affiliate myself with.” Your voice booms throughout the room, unknowing to how Taehyung’s already returned and that he’s standing just outside of the room. “Taehyung is my most trusted confidant. To insult my personal aid is to insult my choices and thereby, me. From now on, I will not take such things lightly.”   Aunt Marie shuffles back with a cough and the room’s swept into an uncomfortable silence.   Taehyung smiles to himself and notices a timid maid rolling a cart down the hall towards the room. He takes over and dismisses her to which she’s grateful for, knowing the room is tense. But Taehyung is unaffected as he enters with an exaggeratedly cordial expression. He places down a cake stand of pastries on the table, then the teacups.   “There, there. Let’s not get so upset in the morning.” Your uncle sits down and you find your place in front of the fireplace and the imposing family portrait above the mantle. In the meanwhile, Taehyung pours the tea with one hand in front of him. It’s earl grey, your favourite.   You sip it warmly while your expression remains stoic.   Uncle Seokjin clears his throat. “Your cousin, aunt and I have been discussing, Y/N—”   “And?”   He smiles. “We think it’s best if we...join forces.”   The tea is no longer pleasant on your palate, so you set it down on the porcelain saucer. “How so?”   “Well….”   “We don’t know who this half sibling of yours is, Y/N,” your aunt cuts to the chase. “Who knows who they could be or what they would want with us! It is simply outrageous that an outsider could come and collect everything that your parents have worked so hard for and take everything away. Your father clearly had some misunderstandings when he gave us nothing and you so little. I believe he must not have been well when he wrote that will. There must be some mistake.”   Uncle Seokjin nods and Hoseok finds the opportunity to jump in. “I have a friend who’s working in law. There must be ways we can challenge the will or at least find a way to claim back what should be rightfully ours!”   ‘Rightfully ours’.   You want to laugh. “So you want to sneak the money away?”   “You shouldn’t put it that way.” Your uncle laughs heartily. “It’s more like making a wrong a right!”   “Yes!” Hoseok enthusiastically nods. “We can’t just let someone else steal it, Y/N! What if tomorrow someone comes knocking on the door claiming to be your brother or sister, and they want to take everything away?”   Aunt Marie offers a smile. “It’s best if we work together on this matter.”    Taehyung steps behind you, shadowing your form as your relatives look at you expectedly. They have a point, but you’re not at all tempted by their most generous offer. “No.”   “Pardon?”   “I said no.” Your arms cross and you sit back. “Everything is already in my name, the estate, the investments, the company, albeit temporarily, but I’ll figure out what is to come on my own.”   Hoseok’s mouth draws open. Your uncle is unable to muster a rebuttal.    You scoff, rolling your eyes as if their very proposition is ridiculous. It’s too easy to play the villain — and it’s the only way you know how to protect yourself. “And why should I have to accept your help and have to split up my parents’ wealth when I can take it all for myself.”   “Why you!” Aunt Marie stands up, face reddened. “Ingrate!”   Her hand raises, arm extending back. But before she can slap you like she wants and knock your head to the side, Taehyung snatches her wrist. He’s faster than anyone can blink and he clutches her back, glare boring into her skin.   Her teeth grit and she rips back her hand to her chest.   You rise to your feet, eyes placed at the god awful antique cabinet on the other side of the room. “If that’s all everyone wants to say, then you can leave now. Thank you for coming to the funeral but from now on, none of you have permission to enter this estate until I announce otherwise.”   Your aunt scoffs and with her remaining pride, she stomps out. Hoseok’s brows are knitted together at a loss while your uncle is already trying to reason with you. But you leave through the doorway and allow Taehyung to take care of the rest.   //   The streets are full in the afternoon bustle — hooves clacking as horses pull the street car, ladies with parasols giggling as they cross, shouting coming from the tenement windows above, wheels of the carriages rolling along the dirt. It’s the symphony of the city. But he leaves it all behind for a short carriage ride away.   It’s a short uphill climb on foot that follows, but he swiftly gets to the magnificent mansion on a stretch of green behind black gates. It’s quaint here.   A girl in a maid ensemble scurries over and opens up the gates for him. “Right this way.”   The man is led up the path and he removes his top hat as he enters.   The manor is darker on the inside, the wallpaper a deep shade, black trim matching the hardwood. He knows every inch of this place is ridden with wealth, from the chandeliers, the ornate carpet underneath his feet to the glass cabinets full of antiques. It’s old money that will last for centuries.   But he doesn’t get to admire it for too long. A taller man with slicked back hair wearing a black tailcoat approaches. “If you’d follow me, sir.”   He nods and silently shadows the butler to the west wing. They twist down the corridor before turning a left to two large doors. The butler opens them and he hesitantly enters after.   There’s a figure behind the desk at the very back wall, an inked pen in her hand. He muses that the lady looks much too young to be residing so deep inside of this mansion surrounded in papers in the low lighting. She might be even younger than himself.   “Taehyung, stay.” You mutter out of the corner of your mouth before he can leave.   The doors shut and you finally look up as Taehyung takes his place beside you.   “You are Detective Jeon?”   He has brunette hair and brightened doe eyes, rather boyish looks overall. But you know better than to underestimate anyone simply based on appearances.   “Yes, ma’am. I am Jeon Jungkook from the Bennett Detective Agency.” He comes up to you with his briefcase in hand and gingerly places a business card on the desk. “I believe you contacted me for a private investigation.”   “Yes. I did.” You stand, going to the seating area and he follows suit. “Would you like tea?”   “No, ma’am. I’m fine, but thank you very much.”   You nod, noticing how Detective Jeon’s eyes flicker to Taehyung who comes to pour your cup.   He finally asks, “How may I be of service?”   You take a sip, savouring the flavour on your palate before placing the floral porcelain cup down. Your expression is indifferent as you sit back. “As you may have heard, my father and mother recently passed away in a railway accident.”   “I read it from the newspaper. My condolences. Your father was a very charitable man and did a lot for Trulia.”   “Yes, well, they left behind a will and revealed that I happen to have a half-sibling that is to inherit this estate.” It goes silent. A pin could drop in the room and echo. You inhale a breath and continue, “I want you to find this sibling of mine and tell me who they are, where they are, and what they’re doing. If you can do it, I’ll pay you a generous sum. However much you want. However long it takes.”   Detective Jeon nods. He doesn’t seem too surprised or curious. You suppose he must be used to this sort of thing in his line of work.   It was through your connections that you found him. He’s an upcoming private detective, but what he lacks in experience, he makes up in tenacity and foresight. He’s the best that Trulia has.   “Do you have any leads?”   You hum. It’s remarkable he asks that. You’ve been thinking about it — picking apart every single memory, all instances there could have been a hint, each time you could have been blinded to such a secret. “I don’t have any leads, but I have suspicions.”   The detective leans in closer, doe eyes placed on yours.   “I believe my sibling may be older than me and I believe contrary to any initial hunches, it may be my mother’s child.” Maybe your father knew and something had happened. Maybe he was ridden with guilt and that’s why he decided to give everything to your sibling.    “I remember, years ago, my mother came in one drunken night and she told me about her previous lover. She was supposed to marry him and they even ran away together, but my grandparents found them and she was forced to marry my father. It’s possible that she may have had a child with him before I was born. And it may be possible he came to the funeral.”   Detective Jeon takes out his notepad and begins scribbling. He bobs his head and you inhale a staggering breath as you continue to talk. You never thought you would have to divulge into your parents’ secrets after their death, that you would have to reveal all you know to a stranger. But you have to do what it takes if you want to find this person before your aunt and uncle do.   “I saw a man about your height. He looked old, about fifty or so. He put a rose at my mother’s casket and left without speaking to me. I have never seen him before in my life.”   “Did you see anything else about him?”   “Nothing that would be helpful. He had brown hair, but he was wearing black as everyone else was. He left before I could get to him.”   “Did your mother ever tell you anything else? Where they ran away to? What they were planning to do afterwards?”   “No. She only ever spoke to me about it on that one occasion.” Frankly, you’re not sure if you want to know, but you push past the thought. Detective Jeon notes it and something prickles in your mind. “If you can, I want you to also look into Park Jimin as well.”   His eyes lift off his paper.   “He’s a gardener that works at this estate,” you tell him. “He’s always been close to my mother.”   And unusually so. She never cared much for the help, but you’ve seen them walking together before and conversing on numerous occasions.   “I’ll see what I can do for you.” The detective smiles and once the conversation concludes, he takes his briefcase.    “Oh and Detective Jeon.” Your voice stops him on his way out and he turns. “It would be best if no one finds out about this, namely my relatives. They can be quite...nosy.”   He looks at you and smiles. “Understood.”   Taehyung sees him out and you take a moment to recline back into the armchair, gandering at the many bookcases lining the walls. You never thought you would one day sit in your father’s study like this. He was in here more often than any other room and somehow, it always seemed so big when you were a child.    Taehyung comes back within minutes and you can tell by the expression on his face that he has questions.   The corner of your mouth tugs and you languidly bat your hand. “Ask away.”   “What are you planning to do when you find them?”   “I’ll kill them, of course.”   You get onto your feet, slowly rounding the desk. There’s a glass paperweight on the surface and you pick it up to fiddle with it. There’s a floral print inside and it catches the light no matter what direction you turn it to. You gave this to your father for his birthday one year.   “I can’t return to being that naive person like you hope I will, Taehyung.”   You’re not children anymore. As much as you wish, you can’t go back to that simple time.   “I know.”   You twist on your heel, looking him straight into his eyes. “Then will you help me?”   He closes the distance in two strides and leans down to take your other hand. His plush lips kiss against your knuckles and he swears his loyalty yet again, “I’ll do anything for you, mistress.”   //   The next afternoon, you gather the entire estate’s servants together — the cooks, kitchen workers, maids and footmen. They look nervous at the sudden impromptu gathering, glancing at one another and quietly murmuring.   You clear your throat loudly and their attention is taken.   “As you all know, recently my father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Arden, have passed away. And I have become the new head of household. You have done a well enough job to be here and your services are much appreciated. For those who came to give their condolences at the memorial, it is something I will not forget. However, your loyalties must belong to me, not to my late parents.”    There are worried glimpses exchanged and you begin to pace in front of them. “As I am now the lady of the Arden estate, I would like to begin anew.”   You can’t afford to feed so many mouths, considering all the wealth is frozen. You’ll be paying with what you personally have until you can find a solution with Mr. Kim. Not to mention, you’re not sure who can be trusted, who your uncle and aunt have already persuaded. The last thing you need is extra eyes and ears in this house.   “From now on, Taehyung will be the manager of this household. He will see to it that the household will still function. If you have any questions, ask him. If you have any concerns, then ask him. He will come to me with whatever he cannot solve.”   “Few of you will stay and I thank the rest for serving this house for so long. I will make sure your severance pay is generous enough until you will be able to find work elsewhere. If your name is called, you may stay.”   Taehyung, standing behind you, begins reading from the list. One of the three names called is none other than Jimin himself.   The gardener smiles out of relief, eyes crinkled into half-moons. “Thank you, madam.”   You nod and once it’s done, you leave for the study as Taehyung takes care of the rest. You don’t want to stay around to see disheartened expressions or hear pleas to stay. So you’re resigned to watch out of the upper windows instead.   You’ve allowed them a few days to leave, but some are already taking their exit with their belongings with them, tearfully looking back at the mansion. It’s difficult but it needs to be done.   “My lady…”   You hear Taehyung come from behind you. You shift away from the window. “You’ll help me look for new help?”   “Of course.”   “Do you think four maids and one cook will suffice?” You count on your fingers. There’s already Jimin taking care of the gardens, you kept one maid so he’ll only have to hire three, and there’s a trustworthy kitchen maid too. It’s not like you need that many hands to take care of the estate. “Or will you need more help?”   “That’ll be fine.” The edge of Taehyung’s mouth pulls. “I could technically do it all, if you’d like.”   “And have you fainting on me from exhaustion?” You notice lint on his coat tail, so you come up to him and gently dust off his shoulder. “I think not.”   Taehyung’s sly smile tugs. “Do you consider me delicate?”   “No. But I am,” you clarify, looking up at the man. “If you’re not here twenty four seven attending to me, then what would be the point of having you around?” You brush past him, mumbling, “Can’t have you in the kitchen when you’re supposed to be by my side.”   The man stifles back a laugh to himself, yet his grin is all too evident. “Yes, madam.”   You glare at him over your shoulder, but it reminds you, “Tell the new help not to call me madam. You know I don’t like it.”   He puts his hand over his heart and bows exaggeratedly. “Yes, young mistress.”   You scoff. The title is not that much different and he knows it too. He always knows how to be cheeky, but you let it go because he’s Taehyung. It’s not like you can ever be upset with him for long.    He’s already won before the game’s begun.   //   A few days later, there’s a knock at your door.   It’s unusual. Taehyung never knocks and your suspicions are confirmed when an unfamiliar girl is sticking her nose into the room. “Umm...pardon me.”   It’s an unfamiliar girl in a maid ensemble, a black dress with white trim and a ruffled apron with a headpiece. Her hair is dark and shiny, features sharp. You assume she must be one of the new ones. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t find Butler Kim, I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Kim, the lawyer— I think, is in the parlor. He instructed me to tell you that he’s brought it.”   You nod and get up. But you stop for a second and come eye to eye with the girl. “What’s your name?”   “Jane.” She smiles to herself as if she’s happy you’ve made a note of it.   “If you could clear the teacup from the table.”   “Oh! Certainly!” She rushes over and you don’t linger.    True to what’s been told, the middle-aged lawyer is sitting in his chair and he staggers up as you come into the room. “It’s good to see you well, Y/N, and that you’ve taken charge of this estate so well.”   “Thank you.” You motion to the armchair. “Please, sit.”   “I brought your parent’s business expense reports as you asked.” Mr. Kim takes it from his briefcase and hands you the thick folder after settling down. “I didn’t think I would have it until I remembered there was a box in my office closet meant for this sort of thing. My office ended up branching out and opening a professional accounting firm a year ago, you see, so we no longer do bookkeeping.”   You flip open to find your father’s writing, then pages of Mr Kim’s. The reports match up with what he says. It stops a year ago. You might need to get into contact with Yoongi to find the more recent expense documents.   “Thank you for this. It will be very helpful to me.”   The lawyer nods. “Anytime, child. Now about what you talked to me about last time….”   “Yes, how is that coming along?”   He sharply inhales. “As I suspected, it will be difficult to challenge the will in court, Y/N. It hasn’t been done before and it may be costly. For now, my first submission is still in process, so we’ll have to see if we can even speak to a judge. I’ll let you know how that comes along.”   You’re grateful he’s still of help to you. He's older than your father is, but you suppose he must enjoy his line of work to not retire at this age. “Mr. Kim, if I may ask a question. Were...you aware that I had a sibling?”   The man smiles sadly. “Unfortunately, I was not. The will was sealed and I was simply entrusted to read it to you all. It took me by surprise as much as it did for you.”   If you didn’t know, the family lawyer wouldn’t either.    You wonder how many other well-kept secrets there are in your family.   That night, you look over the documents while burning the midnight oil. As usual Taehyung insists that you head to bed when the grandfather clock chimes past twelve, but after you tell him to go retire first, he stays silent beside you.    Taehyung’s too stubborn sometimes, but you don’t tell him his company is pleasant to have.   “Huh.”   “What’s the matter?”   “I didn’t know my father donated to St. Andale Orphanage.” You squint, reading the barely legible writing. You don’t remember that happening or it being posted in the newspaper.   “It must’ve been done anonymously,” Taehyung comments and you make a noise in agreeance. But it’s strange. Your father always liked to have his name on donations so that people would know and it would be written in the newspaper. It’s not like him to go quiet and he gave quite generously too.   “I’d like to go to the orphanage tomorrow.” You look up at Taehyung. “In the morning.”   “I’ll arrange that for you,” he says with a smile.   You close the books. “I’d like that man to join me as well. My father’s worker, Min Yoongi.”   At that, Taehyung’s brow quirks. “For?”   “He was close to my father, right? He might know something I don’t.”   //   The orphanage is a worn brick on the south side of the city in the poorer area, yet it somehow looks to be holding up well. It’s unlike the other buildings around that’s crumbling. You wonder if it’s your father’s doing that made this place half-decent.   You can hear the laughter of children in the plot of grass fenced in. You watch them at the distance while strolling the perimeter with Taehyung to your left and Yoongi to your right.   “It is quite cloudy today.”   “It looks like winter is coming soon.” Yoongi looks at you. “If you’re cold, we could go inside.”   “No, it’s quite alright. I don’t get to enjoy the cold weather often and it can be nice.” You turn with a small smile. “I might be like my father in that way.”   “Yes, I remember he told me he quite enjoyed the snow.” His eyes gloss over, reminiscent. “Your father was a very respectable man.”   “He was a good businessman and an even less attentive father,” you hum and feel Yoongi’s gaze on your profile, but he doesn’t get a chance to reply. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but did my father ever speak about his private life, Mr. Min?”   “Yoongi is fine. But no, not frequently at least. I only remember he once told me about flowers he was going to get for his wife before he headed home and I remember he spoke about you a few times.”   “Me?”   “Yes.” Yoongi offers a polite smile. “He told me that you were quite talented in your personal studies.”   You take a glance at him. There’s not a single trace on his expression that lets you know he’s lying or exaggerating, but you still find it hard to believe. “In his will, he gave me a pocket watch. I was hoping you’d know more about it. It’s gold and without any designs or engravings—”   “Gold?” Yoongi gives you a peculiar expression. “The company doesn’t make gold pocket watches.”   “Pardon?”   He explains, “We found that the profits weren’t worth the costs, so what’s used is silver, bronze, ceramic or even glass. In the third collection, there were some gold watches, but you said there weren’t any designs or engravings on it?”   “There’s nothing.”   The corner of the man's mouth pulls. “Mr. Arden must have personally handcrafted it for you then.”   Your brows furrow. You’re not sure how you feel upon hearing that, so you cast a glimpse to Taehyung who’s been quietly listening and he smiles at you. Yoongi clears his throat a moment after. “I wasn’t planning on telling you this, Miss Y/N, but considering it’s about your family, I think you have a right to know.”   Your head turns over in alarm. “What is it?”   “Your cousin, I believe, Hoseok. He’s been….showing up to the company often. He’s been wanting to book a meeting with me for a week now and he waits until I’m done working to try to speak to me. I suspect he wants to take over the business.”   You’re not surprised. “I’m receiving that kind of pressure in regards to the wealth and estate, Yoongi, and a hundred times worse. I think you have it in you to handle my overbearing cousin.”   Yoongi laughs from his chest as if he already figured you didn’t have any real solution. But based on your answer, it’s allowing him to do whatever he wants to that cousin of yours.    A few minutes pass before an older woman emerges to the field. “Children! Children! It’s time for lunch! Come along now!”   Another woman comes to invite you inside, so you follow after them into a room where they’re serving soup and loaves of bread. You watch children as old as fifteen to as young as three line up one after another. It’s both sad and heartwarming to see so many sparkling eyes in hunger-pane frames.    “Today’s food was given to us by Miss Arden and Mr. Min, can everyone give a big thank you?”   There’s a chorus of ‘thank you’s throughout the room and toothless grins from boys and girls.   When a woman struggles with carrying a box inside, Taehyung comes to help and then Yoongi. They’re supplies that you donated out of your own pocket, clothing and some blankets — it’s not much but still better than nothing.   “I want more!”   A pitched voice of a four year old boy in drab clothes knocks you out of your train of thought and you shift towards him. His friend adamantly shakes his head.   “No! ‘Member what Sister Emmy said? You only get one!”   You step forward, lips parting but before a single word can escape—   “Here you go.” An older girl with soft features and her hair pulled back in a frayed ribbon has spun around with an extended arm. Her loaf of bread is in hand. The boy blinks owlishly at her and she beams. “You can have it.”   “Thank you!” He takes it and the two boys run away.   “That was very kind of you,” you speak up and she turns around, startled that someone saw. You smile at her, lowering yourself to match her height. “You can have more bread. There should be enough for the next few days.”   Her eyes light up. “Really?”   You don’t like children much, but this girl seems to be intelligent and mature for her age. “What’s your name?”   “Rose, ma’am.” She bows her head awkwardly, rather well-mannered. “Thank you for the food.”   “I’m happy to help when I can. Can I ask how old you are?”   She counts on her fingers for a moment. “I believe twelve, ma’am, but I’m not sure.” As you frown, she quickly explains, “My mother died when I was young and I’ve never met my father, so I don’t know for certain how old I am….”   Her voice becomes quieter and quieter as it goes on and you realize she’s ashamed.   “That’s quite alright. I don’t have parents anymore either.” You muster a smile and the corner of her own mouth tugs. It’s pleasant to talk to someone who doesn’t know you, someone who doesn’t have any ulterior motives. “What do you like to do, Rose?”   “I don’t do much. But I like to cook! And churn butter. I also like collecting eggs and making milk.”   You hum. “How would you like to come back with me and work at the house?”   Her eyes open wide, irises practically glistening from the afternoon sunlight coming through the windows.   You’re normally not so impulsive, but you have a feeling she’s wasted here in the orphanage where she’ll have to work in a factory soon or get married by fifteen. Your mother always warned you to pick and choose the people around you carefully, and this girl seems trustworthy. Or at least, you can see capability.   Taehyung was even younger than she was when he entered the house for the first time. He must’ve been six or seven. His dad worked for the household and so did his dad’s dad — a whole lineage that made it inevitable that Taehyung would follow too.   Rose comes home with you three hours later.   You take it that this kind of affair customarily doesn’t happen so quickly judging by the head lady there being overwhelmed by the generous offer of taking the girl. But the process was most likely sped up considering your well-known status and Rose’s enthusiasm at the promise of a private room, food each day, and a high pay at the end of every month. She was more than happy and practically begging the woman she knew well to let her go. And the woman was happy too — even thanking you for giving her a home.   You’re not sure if it’s much of a home. But it’s yours.   “This is...enormous.” Rose gasps as her eyes lay upon the manor, lugging her small case of belongings by her side. “I-I mean, thank you, ma’am. I will work very hard!”   Your lips tickle into a small smile. “I’m glad.” The three of you enter and she gawks at the place. “Taehyung will show you where you’ll stay in the maid’s quarters and what will be expected of you. I’ll give you time to settle yourself, so don’t worry about anything for now.”   “Thank you, ma’am!”   “It’s right this way.” He guides and she tottles after him. You sigh softly with a smile as you watch the pair. He was amused when you told him that you wanted to take her home and he followed your instructions without much protest. Hopefully Taehyung will let her know that you’re not keen on being called ma’am or madam.   You’re about to retire to your room, but you’re stopped on your way by Jane.    She fiddles with her fingers nervously. “Miss, um, there’s, uh…”   “What is it?”   “There’s a guest in the parlor. He came about an hour or two ago and he insisted on staying until you came home.”   You hold in your sigh, wondering why it’s so hard to take a rest these days. “From now on, do not allow anyone inside the house when I am not here unless said otherwise.”   She flinches at your tone and dips her head. “Yes, my lady.”   You make your way to the room to find out who this uninvited guest is, and your brows furrowed in confusion when you see the backside of an unfamiliar man. He’s dressed in a sack coat with a matching waistcoat and black trousers. He must hear your footsteps since he turns around and instantly gets up, jaw gone slack.   “You must be Y/N,” he murmurs in awe. “You’re even more beautiful in person.”   The man comes to you and takes the back of your hand, placing a kiss against your knuckles. You eye him the entire time. “And you are…?”   “Oh, I apologize, I hadn’t realized I didn’t introduce myself.” He takes off his top hat and presses it to his chest. “I am Mark Carter. I believe your uncle may have spoken about me previously.”   You vaguely remember something about meeting his friend’s son, but you can’t quite pinpoint the details. Your expression remains stoic and unimpressed. “Is that so?”   “It’s an honour to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”   You guessed this would have happened, but you didn’t know it would come so soon. Being the head of the Arden Household and unmarried at that, it’s only natural that others will come after you.    It would be wise of you to consider it as well — the only way you can collect the temporary inheritance is through your husband. But as silly and naive as it might be, you want to marry for love and not convenience. And it’s the one thing you won’t allow yourself to give up on.   “Like what?”   “Pardon?”   “What have you heard about me?”   Mark clears his throat. “Well, I have heard that you are as intelligent as your father and as beautiful as your mother, no less than a red rose blossoming in the morning dew of spring. And I must say, those rumours do not do you justice, Miss Y/N. You far exceed any poetry that could possibly be waxed.”   The corner of your mouth curls in amusement. Admittedly, it’s nice to hear such bold and blatant compliments once in a while, even if they are exaggerated and likely crafted by your uncle. “While I am wholly flattered, Mr. Carter, is this what you came here to tell me?”   The man’s posture straightens. “I came to ask permission to court you.”   You nearly choke on your own spit. You’re taken aback at the man’s shamelessness, not sure if he’s dimwitted or simply brave. “Meaning?”   “I would like to send you letters every so often if you grant me permission and perhaps if you’d be inclined to take strolls with me.”   You’re not sure how to answer or what to say, but you’re starting to feel your impassive expression crumble. You muse it’s impressive your uncle found someone as overbearing and insistent as he is. “Can I ask why you want to send me letters? We’ve never met before.”   “Actually, we have,” he says and blinks. “At your father’s charity function two years ago.”   You scour your mind, but you can’t recall. Every charity function you attended, you just remember sneaking out food for Taehyung and sitting together outside looking at the stars.    Mark reads your expression as he realizes that you can’t remember and his face falls. “It hurts me that you can’t remember the encounter but no matter.” He suddenly takes your hands and you lean back to create more distance. “If you let me, Miss Y/N, I promise you that you will not be disappointed.”   “Mr. Carter—”   “I have not been able to forget you since that night.” You wonder why he didn’t look for you sooner then if he felt so passionately about an encounter you can’t even remember. But before you can ask, he comes closer to you, forcing you to take a step back. “If you give me a chance, I will grant your every wish.”   He’s crowding you, intruding in your space, larger than you are.   Your mouth parts, trying to utter out a word, but it’s not necessary. A looming shadow comes over Mark, draping him away from the light.    It’s Taehyung with a menacing expression — his lips drawn together, eyes practically burning holes. He grabs the back of the man’s coat collar and yanks him away from you, finally giving you space to breathe. “Please do not lay a hand on her ladyship, good sir.”   “W-Who’re you?!” Mark looks between you and Taehyung as if expecting you’ll tell him to leave him be. But you don’t move whatsoever.   Your butler offers the man a stiff smile that has your own mouth curling upwards. “Uninvited guests are no longer permitted in the Arden estate. The maid that you let in was inexperienced. A mistake like that will never happen again. So unfortunately, you will have to leave now until you receive a proper invitation.”   “Wait!”   You stifle back a laugh when Taehyung physically picks him up, nearly throwing him over his shoulder.   The man struggles and his cries echo throughout the manor as he’s taken away, “Put me down! Stop! You idiot! You’ll hear from my father about this! How dare you!”   Taehyung throws him out of the estate and you’re finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.   When he comes back, he dusts off his hands with a more pleased expression. “What would you like for dinner, mistress?”   //   The next time someone visits, it’s not uninvited.   “Who are you?” Jane has stopped in the middle of her path, duster in hand and scrutinizing the doe-eyed male in the foyer. His brow lifts at the girl, but before he can come up with an answer, Taehyung appears from the corridor.   “Right this way, sir.”   The man in his coat nods and walks away, yet the maid is still curious. Her eyes follow the stranger’s form and she murmurs to Taehyung, “But who is he?”   “Her lady’s affairs don’t affect you,” he coldly deadpans. “It would be better to attend to your duties than ask questions.”   “M-My apologies, Butler Kim.” Jane dips her head and turns around, but she still steals a glance over her shoulder with a pout and a huff escaping through her nose.   Taehyung comes inside the study to find you and Detective Jeon going through what he’s found.   “I looked into Park Jimin like you asked me to.”   “What did you find?”   Detective Jeon flips open copies of documents. “He was born and raised right here in Lennox, never stepped foot outside of Trulia. His parents are immigrants from the East, still married and living together on the West side of the city in a tenement. His father worked in a landscaping company and his brother, three years older than he is, is a wagon craftsman.”   You go through the papers and sigh after a moment. It doesn’t seem like he’s the one you’re looking for. Well, you suppose you’ve ruled out at least one possibility.   “He’s as boring as they get,” the detective says. “But I did find something...peculiar.”   “What is it?”   “That man you wanted me to search for, the one who came to the funeral, I think I might have found where he is.” Detective Jeon hands you another worn folder from his briefcase and you eagerly untie the string to look at the pages inside.   “An intern at your father’s company actually spoke to him briefly and I found the inn he was staying at in Lennox. Spoke to the lady there and went to the train station. I have a connection with someone who manages the books and they found a train ticket. There’s more to it, but I won’t bore you.”   His name is Arthur Kahl. There are small details of him written, how he’s in his fifties, where he lives and a drawing of him sits amongst the documents. Your brows furrow. This is him — there’s no doubt about it.   “He’s an artisan. A woodworker,” Detective Jeon tells you. “Lives in France, in a town called Colmar, but he grew up here in Lennox.”   Your eyes flicker up to Taehyung and then the detective. “Thank you for this.”   He offers a smile. “It’s all in a day's work.”    Shortly after, Detective Jeon is escorted out by the butler. His eyes are perceptive but his senses are even more keen. He takes a glance at the taller man. “Your name is Kim Taehyung, right?”   Taehyung’s brow quirks. “I think you already know the answer to that.”   Detective Jeon boyishly smiles. “Is it alright if I ask a question? It might be intrusive.”   “Then don’t ask.”   “But see, I’m much too curious.” His steps slow while the two men come outside where it’s harder to eavesdrop. They stop on the front path of the manor leading towards the gates. “It might be the reason why I ended up in this line of work. Can’t give up on something once it’s in my head. I just have to know.”    There’s a pause. Then, he doesn’t hesitate any longer. “Do you perhaps fancy Miss Y/N?”   Detective Jeon’s doe eyes sparkle in the sunlight.   It’s a subtlety that can only be noticed through careful observation.   But he’s seen it — through the way you allow the butler to stay in every private conversation divulging the secret details of your family. How he always knows what you want without you needing to speak a single word. You’re in rhythm with one another and always taking glances when the other person isn’t looking.    Jungkook has seen many things. But never a master and servant so close to each other.   “That is an intrusive question.” Taehyung’s expression remains impassive. “My devotion goes beyond such kinds of frivolous and fickle emotions.”   His mouth quirks. “Why don’t you do anything about it then?”   “It’s not my place. I merely grant her wishes and fulfill my necessary duties.”   “So you’re holding yourself back on purpose?”   “That’s enough questions.” Butler Kim continues walking. “You’re a detective. If you’re that curious, I’m sure you can figure it out.”   “You’re right.” Detective Jeon grins, led out the gates, yet he turns around one last time. “But if you’re willing to do anything for your mistress, would you kill for her?”   His expression hardens while Jungkook flashes another smile. It’s not the kind of question that is waiting for an answer, so the other merely walks off, down the path and away from the estate.    //   You’ve only ever left Trulia twice in your life.   Once on a family outing when you were five or six and another time for just a few days when you were accompanying your father on a business trip. You’ve never had the chance to see much outside of this country and it’s a wish that you never spoke to anyone before but Taehyung.   There was simply never a chance for you to go. And while you expected your next journey out of Trulia would be an adventure and perhaps seeing new sights, you suppose this is a good excuse as well.   “Can you please pack another dress? I don’t want to run out when I’m there.”   Rose enthusiastically nods and goes to your wardrobe to pick another gown. While Taehyung is the one who would ever pack your suitcases, you don’t want to rely on him too much. He was already preparing the rest of the things for the trip and Rose seemed more than happy to help.   “The blue one will be fine.”   She nods and folds it into the case as you look over the gloves. “How long will you be going for, miss?”   “A few days.” You look up at the twelve year old and the corner of your mouth tugs. “You’ll watch the house for me? I don’t want any roaches to crawl in while I’m away.”   Her head bobs up and down. “I’ll try my best, my lady.”   You smile, noticing Jane looking into the room. She realizes you’ve seen her and clears her throat. “Do you need any help, my lady?”   “No, I’m fine, thank you.”   It’s nerve-racking to leave the estate and Trulia. You trust that a few days won’t bring things into chaos, especially considering that you’ve kept your affairs discreet. But underlying the unsettlement is a buzz of excitement — that just for a short while, you can escape.    You feel that way even a day later when you’re at the train platform. And whatever you were afraid of is washed away with Taehyung by your side.   “Stand right here. I’ll only be a moment,” he tells you, holding your tickets to Colmar and you nod.   Your hand grips the suitcase as you overlook the bustle of people. You’ve never seen so many gathered in one place before, families and lovers parting ways, children rushing past, the conductor quickly pacing to the front of the platform. It’s dizzying to look at and overwhelming to be in.   You wonder if you look out of place in the mass of people. You chose to wear a white dress with a natural silhouette, a bustle pad underneath and a bonnet around your half pinned-up hair. It’s modest attire, but the threads are still expensive. The last thing you would want is to attract needless attention and that’s why you made Taehyung wear a normal white waistcoat and black frock coat with matching trousers than his usual stiff tailcoat. He looks rather nice in normal clothing anyhow.   As you think about Taehyung, you start to search the crowd.   The red and black painted train whistles, smoke coming from its chimney. It looks like it’s about to leave soon, but you’re not sure if you should go in or where you would even sit or put your luggage. It’s been so long since you’ve been on a train, you don’t know what to do.   The endless questions and uncertainty drains blood from your face and you start to panic.   Until Taehyung comes into sight.    “What took you so long.” You frown at him but he still has the audacity to smile.   “My apologies, I had to check if we were at the right platform. Let’s go.”   He takes your suitcase and offers his arm which you take.   Taehyung keeps you from being swallowed by the thick crowd and pushed back. His height looms over even most men and although his stature is lean, he remains steady. Once you’re at the doors, he puts down the cases and holds your hand to help you up the step and then he resumes by your side, cutting through the passenger cars.    The two of you pass the more luxurious sleeping cars and as you peek into the window of the car of commoners, wondering if that’s where you’re heading, he slides open the door of a compartment.   It’s a private booth with a large window and a ledge overtop for your suitcases.   “Here we are, my lady.”    Taehyung organizes your belongings as you sit down on the plush seat. A moment later, the train begins to move, wheels rolling against the rail and then it builds speed to chug along.   You watch houses flash past the window.   “What do you think?” he asks, sitting opposite of you.   “Is it supposed to be so nauseating?”    Your head is light and the world is dizzying from the fast motion of the train. Taehyung must see your weakened expression with the way his eyes widen in alarm. But you quickly lift your hand and try to reassure him, “It’s fine.”   It isn’t. And he knows it.   “We can get off the next station.”   “No!” You inhale a deep breath, calming yourself. “We have to go. We have to make it, Taehyung.”   You shut your eyes. There’s no way you can turn back now. “It’s probably because I haven’t been sleeping well.” Not when you’re up day and night taking care of what your parents left for you, even if it’s only temporarily. And not when you’re kept awake plagued by the secrets of the people who were supposed to be closest to you. “The herbs in my tea can only do so much.”   Suddenly, you feel the seat dip beside you and your eyes flutter open to see Taehyung. He reaches over and gently guides your head to lean on his shoulder. “Then sleep. Don’t think about anything else.”   The corner of your mouth curls. “You make it sound so easy.”   “I’ll watch over you.”   A noise is made at the back of your throat and you allow yourself to mold against Taehyung’s side, your head cradled against the slight slope of his broad shoulder. As you ease, your fingers slowly drag itself over until you graze the back of his hand. No words are needed. No explanations are necessary.    Taehyung flips his hand so that his palm faces upwards and his fingers entwine with yours.   Within a few minutes, your chest begins to rise and fall, soft breaths escaping your parted lips.   Taehyung’s eyes stray from the windows to watch you.   You’re cold and blunt, carrying yourself with an intimidating demeanour that either frightens others or causes them to despise you. But he can still see the traces of your childhood self, even if the recent weeks have forced you to harden. Taehyung knows that you’re still sentimental, that you’re affectionate, that you’re not as indifferent as you’d like to be.   He knows you’re still grieving for your parents.   The two of you grew up together after all.   Since young, he’s been told he’s talented for this line of work, but devotion was another matter. He was told that being a butler meant more than just serving — it meant protecting. And he swore his duty to your name that day you took the blame when he stole from the kitchen and you got slapped by your mother.    He can still remember your small frame standing in front of him. How your words didn’t waver.   Taehyung knew it then and he knows it now — there’s nothing more important than protecting you.   His mouth tugs and his eyes lift from your sleeping features, but something catches the edge of his vision. Taehyung looks up to the window of the compartment door and finds a man, blue eyes, blonde hair curled in front of his forehead. The stranger peers into the compartment and when he notices Taehyung’s gaze, he dips his bowler hat as if to shield himself.   Taehyung moves.   He cradles your head until you’re laying down fully on the seat and he quietly slides the door open.   “Excuse me.”   Taehyung moves past someone, eyes darted on the man who peeks over his shoulder and quickens his steps.   He had seen the man before — earlier on the platform and then again when he left you alone. Taehyung came back right in time. You hadn’t noticed the man behind you at all.    Taehyung quickens his steps, stalking after the man who looks over his shoulders once more. His strides hasten. He practically breaks out into a run. Taehyung chases after him as the train curves into a tunnel. The windows are blackened, darkness sweeping throughout the cart.   He hears staggering breaths pulling roughly out of lungs and at the same time, the train rushes out the tunnel. Light breaks through the windows again and the steel door at the end of the cart begins to close. Taehyung sees through the tiny gap where panicked eyes meet his own gaze.   Taehyung runs.    He throws open the door and the cold wind rips through his hair with the intensity of a storm. The wheels shriek against the rail. There’s only a tiny step before one would have to make the jump to the other cart’s door. In between are violently rattling metal links that connect the two carts.    “Hah!”    There’s a squeak of shoes behind him. Taehyung ducks. The door slams closed.   The man’s arm is extended midair, having missed Taehyung’s cheek and within a blink, Taehyung grabs his arm and twists it. The man shouts in agony, teeth gritted. “Why you!”   His fist swings and it manages to catch Taehyung’s jaw. He’s knocked back, tasting a surge of coppery blood.    Taehyung wheezes, but his lips curl into a smile. He launches himself forward as the man squares himself. An arm swings. Fist curled. Taehyung dodges.   Taehyung takes the opportunity, no longer on the defense, and he swiftly strikes.   The man stumbles back, air ripped out of his lungs, eye sure to bruise.   Taehyung steps forward, but the man grabs something within his coat.   “Step back!”   Taehyung’s met with the muzzle of a revolver and puts his hands up, calming his breath.   The man snorts with a sly smirk. “Yeah that’s right. You’re just a dog.”   But then Taehyung's left hand clutches the man’s wrist and he contorts it at an angle, knee coming up to slam into the man’s stomach. Instantly, the man keens and wheezes.   He cries out as the revolver crashes onto the links connecting the carts and falls beneath to the rails.   Taehyung grabs the man’s collar and holds him backwards, nearly off the train. The man’s eyes become rounded in fear. There’s a storm of verdant in the background, fields and trees darting past.   “Who are you?!”   “Let go of me! I...I swear, I didn’t want to do this!”   “What do you want with her?” Taehyung demands, shaking the man whose head nearly touches the steel rails. The man’s fist curls on Taehyung’s so he doesn’t fall. “Answer the question!”   The shout is torn from Taehyung’s throat, his face crumpled into unadulterated anger, jaw clenched.   “I-It was her uncle!” the man quickly spits out in fear of his life. “Seokjin! He hired me! He wanted me to kill her!”   “So you were planning on putting a bullet through her head?!”   “I-I just needed the money! I’m sorry! Please, please,” the man pleads. “You don’t have to do this. W-What has that girl ever done for you? You’re just her guard dog!”   Taehyung has a deadpan expression, eyes dim. He begins to release his hold on the man who audibly sighs of relief. “That’s right.”    But it’s too soon.   “Don’t you know dogs are one of the most loyal animals?” Taehyung grabs the man again as he stands and throws him off the train into the soft meadow. “Woof.”   The man’s scream echoes. Taehyung dusts off his hand.   He comes back to the compartment to where you’re still sleeping and resumes his spot with your head in his lap, finding a warm blanket to drape over you.    Six hours later, you wake up, rubbing your eyes. He smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair in front of your face behind your ear. But your sleepy daze shatters when you see his split lip.   Almost immediately, you’re leaning over to Taehyung, grazing the wound with your thumb.   He sharply inhales.   “What happened?” you demand, worry written all over your face.   It hurts to smile, but can’t resist it. He should never admit it — he likes it when your attention is solely on him. “I tripped.”   You look at him incredulously. “Taehyung.”   “I did.” He doesn’t give up the excuse no matter how much you prod and pry.    The train arrives in the town of Colmar shortly after.   It’s a quiet place with a certain dryness to the air in spite of the river running through the town and underneath the bridges. The homes are tightly knitted next to one another. It’s a cozy kind of atmosphere. For a moment, you can imagine your mother having spent her life in this place and you’re not certain how to feel.   You decide to stay in an inn near the square, dropping off your suitcases in your given room.   “We should find him, shouldn’t we?”   You turn from the window to Taehyung with an unreadable expression.   “We don’t have to,” he says and it’s all too tempting. You want to forget that you’re here looking for your mother’s old lover, that you’re searching for your sibling. You wish you can pretend that this is merely a trip to enjoy with Taehyung in a place far away from Lennox.   But even if you were to dream such a thing, the truth would not stop plaguing your mind.   You muster the strength to shake your head. “We can enjoy ourselves after. There’s no point in putting it off.”   “He’s an artisan. A woodworker.”   The detective’s words ring inside your head.   “Lives in France, in a town called Colmar.”   It should be difficult to find the man — that way you have a legitimate excuse to put this off. You wouldn’t have to confront your parents’ secrets. Or meet a brother or sister you never wanted.   “But he grew up here in Lennox.”   Yet this town is small and there is only one known woodworker. If such a thing as fate or destiny exists, then it never stops being cruel to you.   The bell rings as the door of the shop opens.   “Hello there! How can I help you?”   There’s an older man behind the counter busy at his shelf, brunette hair and features tender, wrinkles creased around his eyes to mark each smile he’s collected over the years.   You come towards him with Taehyung by your side. “You were at my mother’s funeral.”   At your murmur, the man turns around wide-eyed. Arthur Kahl, the man your mother loved, who she wanted to marry and be happy with. The father of your sibling.   “You’re Hana’s daughter….” His mouth draws open. “Wh-what are you doing here?”   “I came to see you. I think you may have answers to my questions.”   “I-...I don’t know if I do, but please, sit.” He hobbles to the front of his shop, turning the sign over to not receive any more customers and the both of you sit on wobbly chairs. He knows you came this far, that you searched for him. There’s no other way you could have found him. “I’m sorry I never spoke to you at the funeral. I thought since we didn’t know each other, there was no point in bringing back old memories.”   “Is it true then?” You look at him carefully. “About my mother and you running away together…”   “That was a very long time ago.”   “Then why did you come to see my mother?”   “It was a long time ago, but I still wanted to pay my respects. Your mother...was a wonderful woman and treated me kindly. I’m glad she ended up having a good life and a happy family.”   The corner of your mouth twitches.   He continues, “While I never personally met your father, he seems like a very respectable man and a good husband. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”   The words sit uncomfortably in you. Your parents always seemed to treat each other with mutual respect and trust. It was never a passionate affair like pairs you’ve met, but rather a quiet relationship of sitting alongside one another. You never would have guessed your mother had someone else.   But you don’t want to know anymore about your mother’s history.   “I received my parent’s will a day after their burial.” You inhale a breath, bracing yourself. “And it promised my sibling the estate and the company. I don’t want to harm them. I want to fulfill my parents’ last wishes. So please, allow me to meet my sibling.”   Your eyes meet his earnestly. The man stares back at you, his brows knitting together.   “My apologies, but I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding. I don't know who your sibling is.”   The clock on his shelf ticks loudly.   “Your mother and I never consummated our relationship.”   //   The night sets in, matches hissing into a flame and thrown into the wood in the fireplace until it awakens and paints the room in a warm orange hue. The quietness is deafening outside of the crackle and pop of the fire.   You haven’t eaten. You don’t want to. You don’t think you could stomach it.   “My apologies.”   You’re seated at the rounded table in the chair, motionless. You should’ve never come. You should have just stayed in the estate instead of trying to dig around in the secrets of your family, into the reasons why nothing was left for you, why they didn’t love you even after death.   “But I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding.”   You came here for nothing.   “I don't know who your sibling is.”   Your efforts were worthless.   “Your mother and I never consummated the relationship.”   There’s an ear-splitting crash that rings the four walls.    Taehyung opens the door, eyes darting to you. You’re hyperventilating, clutching the handle of your suitcase, all your belongings fallen on the ground beside the wall. You toss the case aside with a frustrated cry.   He calmly shuts the door before anyone in the inn can pry and closes the distance in two strides.   “It’s okay.” He opens his arms and he engulfs your quivering frame.   You grasp onto him, your hands twisting into his white shirt. “I-I don’t know what to do, Taehyung. I...I really thought I had it. I was preparing myself—”   You were preparing yourself to meet your sibling. To confront it all. For once, you were ready.   The frustration cripples you blind and angers you.    How much longer will you be left in the dark? How much longer do you have to look like the fool, a child fumbling in her parent’s history searching for the truth? Why did they do this to you?    Why?   “You can cry,” Taehyung murmurs.   And tears finally slip from your eyes to stain his shoulder.    If it wasn’t for him, if he wasn’t here, you might have lost your mind by now.

Episode 1 Notes/Meta

Contains minor spoilers up to Youtube's schedule and references to the novel

Since I don’t have any new episodes to watch until Friday, I decided to watch the drama all over again, very closely, to see if there’s anything new to discover.

Zhou Zishu's character: 

Drama immediately sets the backdrop/tells us why his character is kinder, more compassionate than in the novel. We don't know that drama!ZZS is kinder yet at this time, but we can see that he's schemey and sneaky

He wears a mask of indifference as the Window of Heaven's leader (sorry ZZH, I was wrong. I thought your acting was stiff during one scene, but now I know better). It's one of the many subtle faces of ZZS.

Wen Kexing's character:

He must be a highly-skilled martial artist based on how easily he kills two ghosts and that he can spot another skilled martial artist from a distance (beggar Zhou)

He's quite schemey. First, when he orders all his subordinates out to hunt for a man he just killed. Next, when he lets Gu Xiang go to check on the beggar, he's also subtly using her to test that unknown person's martial arts skills.

Why they're soulmates:

WKX understood immediately what "beggar" Zhou was doing (suntanning)

They're both well-matched schemey bastards

Behind the cut, geographical details and some details about the supporting characters. This is a very text-heavy post FYI

In chronological order:

20 years ago, Rong Xuan was killed by the Five Lakes Alliance and the gathered heroes.

Prince Jin is based far away in the North (Hedong 河东), where he holds power. It implies most of the story later takes place closer to the south of China.

Prince Jin ordered the Window of Heaven (TC in short, for Tian Chuang) to assassinate the Military Governor of Zhenwu (Officer Li). The Zhenwu Army is located somewhere around Inner Mongolia today.

Prince Jin falsely claims the Military Governor is a traitor to the country and has him assassinated. Prince Jin harbours treasonous thoughts, and in turn, makes ZZS and TC traitors.

Officer Li recognized Zhou Zishu by sight (calls him Officer Zhou), which means that they must have met previously somehow. He is shocked to know that ZZS is the leader of TC, so TC must be a secret assassin/spy organization (like an ancient CIA)

Zhou Zishu gets a drop of blood on his sword and flicks it off – he does not like blood.

Princess Jing An knows ZZS and first calls him Zhou shixiong (her first instinct is to use a familiar address). She later changes it to Officer Zhou when she realizes what he did.

Princess Jing An quotes, "The flowers blossom in all four seasons, knowing everything in the world", which makes ZZS turn to look at her - he sees the hairpin that his shidi Qin Jiuxiao made for the one he loves. ZZS gets super sad.

This line of poetry refers to the Four Seasons Manor (ZZS's martial arts sect)

ZZS, during his time as a court official, intentionally has a blank mask, so his emo is seen only in his slightly teary eyes.  Removing this mask is also part of the freedom he seeks. Possibly symbolic that he feels freer living behind a physical mask than he does with his face.

Prince Jin ordered ZZS to personally nail the seven nails into Bi Chang Feng (Uncle Bi). It seems somewhat cruel of the Prince. ZZS walks with 2 of his commanders – Duan Pengju and Han Ying.

Uncle Bi calls ZZS Manor Lord (庄主)*. He says he cannot help but suspect the motives of Prince Jin. ZZS shows a slight reaction to this. He knows the motivations of Prince Jin by now. Not only is he a traitor himself, but he dragged all his 81 men down with him.

This is the root cause of ZZS's different personality traits in the drama and novel. I think his character in both the book and drama adaption is similar, but his additional compassion stems from being placed in different circumstances.

Novel!ZZS did terrible things for the right reasons. As a result, he won't feel as guilty and has less reason to be so compassionate.

Drama!ZZS followed the wrong master, and the awful things he did were for treasonous reasons. There's no justification for the lives he took. Because he did worse things, he's better able to "see the light" and understand things in life better. Therefore, kinder.

The motto of the Window of Heaven (as requested by Prince Jin):

The members are to carry out their missions without leaving a trace (shadow without traces)

Once a person enters TC, they're never to leave (entry without exit.)

To know everything and to be everywhere.

When the camera cuts to ZZS's two senior officers, Han Ying shuts his eyes sadly while Duan Pengju has a slight smile on his face 🤨🤨.

Nails of Seven Torments (七窍三秋钉) – seven nails, each to be driven into the seven primary acupoints (for martial arts) in a person's body. After that, a person won't get to see more than three autumns. They would lose their martial arts ability entirely, and their five senses deteriorate over time, preventing the secrets of TC from being leaked. (see #2 of their motto)

ZZS does not like anyone who's not from his sect to call him Manor Lord, as it's a reminder of his failings. He doesn't think he has the right to be called that any longer since he ruined his sect.

Prince Jin calls ZZS by his name directly (Zishu); it implies a certain level of familiarity. However, ZZS hasn't been presented himself in front of Prince Jin in some time, suggesting he has already distanced himself from Prince Jin (and a certain level of disrespect)

From Duan Pengju, we learn that ZZS hadn't taken up his sword much in the past year due to a lingering injury; this time at the Military Governor's residence was the first time he wielded his sword in a while.

DPJ also uses this word again (又) in Chinese to describe ZZS aggravating his injuries again (that isn't in the YT subs), which implies that he has suffered other internal injuries before, not solely from QJX's death. DPJ is subtly suggesting to Prince Jin that ZZS is no longer very fit and not suitable for his role (shows us his ambition).

ZZS's current injury (that Uncle Bi refers to and why he coughed up blood in the snow) came about after Qin Jiuxiao's (shidi) death. He coughed up blood then and fainted.**

ZZS's residence is called Chongming Garden (重明苑), where he has a mural of 82 white flowers and the line of poetry about the Four Seasons Manor. He paints each flower red when one of his original sect members pass away. There's only one white flower left --- himself.  See this link for a more detailed translation.

ZZS scolds a vision of his shidi not to cry. ZZS's assertion that men shouldn't cry comes up several times later. His eyes only get teary after this scene, and not a single tear falls again (still canon for now).

ZZS has an official court position. He's an Imperial Guard with some seniority, and it's likely why the Military Governor calls him Officer Li. (A governor would not call a low ranked Imperial Guard “Officer” 大人 daren)

ZZS has several battle wounds from a blade, but the ones on his back (shoulder blades) look messy. Not sure what they are yet, but I think it could become relevant later.

Prince Jin appears unstable when he talks about everyone leaving him. Yunxing and Beiyuan are both characters from Lord Seventh. Beiyuan is the titular character of that novel. When Prince Jin said, "Beiyuan is gone too", ZZS displays a minute reaction because he knows Beiyuan isn't actually dead.

Prince Jin says ZZS is ruthless, but he's even more so to himself (recurring description).

Here, we see that ZZS knows of DPJ's ambition to take over his job when he says they both get their wishes today. DPJ becomes the new TC leader.

Prince Jin lets ZZS go. As he watches ZZS leave, he recites two lines from a poem, which title roughly translates to "on one's deathbed/imminent death".***

“涓涓江汉流，天窗通冥室。谗邪害公正，浮云翳白日。” Small streams can become large rivers; even a window as small as a skylight can brighten a dark room. Rumours and evil can harm the public good; clouds can block the bright light of the sun.

There's some foreshadowing here. Prince Jin sees ZZS leaving as a threat. It could be that one person leaving TC "standing" may lead to an exodus or that ZZS knows too much to be left alive outside for long. Prince Jin sees himself as the righteous and the sun here. He follows the recital by saying he's only letting ZZS go for now.

ZZS's beggar styling is supposed to juxtapose his strict and neat dress as the leader of TC, including his hair and overall CBAssed-ness of how his clothes hang.

Hanged ghost died super quick. We see an arm covered in a red sleeve strangle him to death. Red sleeve dude seems to be the head of the Ghost Valley (yaaaaa we know who you are)

WKX lies to the masses about the Hanged Ghost and tells them to set forth out of the Ghost Valley. We can see that all of them are scared of him. He has a scheme -- but we don’t know what it is yet.

WKX and ZZS meet (yay!!!) in Yue (modern-day Zhejiang, in the south), far away from Prince Jin. We should note that this is very far away from the North, where Prince Jin and TC hold power.

ZZS would rather be a beggar than the Emperor. The freedom to live and do whatever he chooses is more important to him than riches or power.

WKX understood what ZZS was doing right away (while GX thinks he's a beggar). This is why they're soulmates!

Gu Xiang's cuteness comes off as a little forced here, but upon re-watching, I believe it's because she hasn't been out in the "human world" before. Her mannerisms are all learned from her life in the Ghost Valley. She's also about ten years younger than WKX, so she's supposed to be more energetic.

WKX allows GX to go down partly because he is curious about the beggar, who seems to be very skilled at martial arts. GX is quite a straightforward and innocent person. She's unaware that she's helping to test the beggar's skills for her master.

WKX notices the ZZS's martial arts and stands up right away. This scene is also more important than it seems to be at first. Later in episode 2, it's revealed that he recognized the beggar's particular martial arts as unique to the Four Seasons Manor sect. I think it's the first hint that beggar Zhou may be "Zhou Zishu". (We find out that WKX knows ZZS's real name in episode 6.)

ZZS intentionally hits himself to make himself seem like a poor injured beggar and GX a bully. It shows that ZZS is sneaky – and again, ruthless, even to himself.

* ZZS is not a real lord. He's the sect leader (Manor Lord comes about because his sect's name ends in Manor, and the address "my lord" comes from Manor Lord). ** This is a fictional type of injury, where people in Chinese historical dramas cough up blood when they suffer severe emotional shocks that cause some unexplained internal injury. *** 《临终诗》

It's been a while since we last checked on Flippy, so let's see how he's doing!

We start with Cuddles this time, who's sitting upside down on a bench when Petunia and Flaky approach him, asking if he's seen Flippy anywhere.

He has not, because he thought Flippy was with Petunia.

Petunia folds her arms and asks why Flippy would be with her for about a half to a week and a half, and Cuddles shrugs; maybe they got REALLY intimate and just needed all of that time together.

Flaky squeals, because it's dirty, and Petunia tells him to get his mind out of the gutter because this is crazy serious.

Cuddles gets up and relentls and asks if they stopped by his house.

They did, and he wasn't there.

Did they check the woods?

Not there either.

The GYM?

He doesn't even BELIEVE in going to the Gym, most days; why GO to a place to workout when you have the equipment at your house or just outside in general?

Cuddles finally realizes that Flippy's MISSING missing, and gets up, joining the girls with finding their friend.

Flaky hopes that Flippy's okay, but Cuddles assures her that he's smart, he wouldn't do anything stupid like run away.

Funny he say that because Flippy IS doing something stupid, staring at a projector that's showing a bunch of war footage, like pictures that NO AVERAGE PERSON should see.

Splendid cringes as turns a small dial on an IV line and watches Flippy struggle to both handle the medicine that's being pumped into him and not flip out.

Thankfully, all that happens is that he vomits in a bucket.

Splenedid stops the medicine and hands Flippy some water, asking if he's really okay with continuing; they've been at this for a while and they're making very debatable progress.

Flippy washes his mouth out and nods. He can keep going.

Splendid hestitately changes the image to a collage of very familiar faces:

Tiger General, Sneaky, and Mouse Ka-Boom.

Flippy gasps at seeing them and asks how the hell Splendid got these pictures.

Splendid admits it was a simple internet search, because people spread information around like it's a puff puff pass, especially if said information is a tragedy and a victory. He can give Flippy a few minutes, if he needs it.

Flippy only takes a few seconds seeing the faces of his dead partners and nods.

Splendid gets the IV and medicine going again and Flippy takes a few deep breaths as what I call the "Make Me Sick" medicine(MMS for short)(if MMS is a real thing, I deeply and sincerely apologize. I know there's a name for the drug/"medicine" used for aversion therapy, but I forgot it🙏🙏🙏) runs through his system. TV perspective, his eyes dart between Mouse Ka-Boom and Sneaky and he sees old memories of the three in training, i.e. standing still while a drill sergeant yells in their faces and/or tries to make them laugh, having a meal together, goofing around before bed, and even comforting each other after getting tased and pepper sprayed as a part of training.

Flippy's eyes go 'killer instinct-y' and he fights a gag as he remembers how they all promised to meet again once they were out of the army, and how both looked at him with shock, sorrow, and betrayal because of how he accidentally killed them.

The memories change to taking on Tiger General 1v1, how he had to fend for himself, got his hands removed, and was almost strangled to death until he ultimately came out on top amd took down the rest of the enemy base.

When I say he vomits, I mean he VOMITS until there's nothing left to get out of his system and he's dry heaving.

Splendid quickly turns off the projector and gets Flippy off the IV, though the veteran tells him he can take more, he just needs a few minutes.

Splendid, however, tells him to call it a day; they've been at this for hours and he's already making phenomenal progress; of course Splendid is not going to TEST it right now because his friend just threw up all of his digestive system.

Flippy sighs and agrees, relinquishing for the day.

Splendid helps him up and asks if he's okay to walk home and Flippy states he's fine; he just wants to go shower and clean himself up after throwing up so much.

The two bid their farewells and Flippy begins a very uneasy walk home.

A bit of context: it's been a week or so since the last part and they've been doing this all day everyday since then, from dawn to dusk, and today they started around MAYBE 4 am in the morning and it is now 12 or 1 pm in the afternoon, so yeah it's time for the Flipster to go home and rest.

Back on track, Flippy's not exactly the best because he needs to get the vomit taste out of his mouth and just feels like crap, so he takes a shortcut home.

He gets there relatively fast and flops onto the couch and falls asleep, exhausted.

He dreams he's with Sneaky and Mouse Ka-Boom, all three playing a mix of Spades and Poker, Sneaky and Flippy speaking in english before translating for Mouse Ka-Boom to understand them; yes, Mouse Ka-Boom speaks french. He understands English well enough, but isn't the best at speaking it, aside from, 'Sir, yes, sir,' 'Sir, no, sir,' and a few insults he picked up from Flippy on accident; he may or may not have gotten the three in trouble because he repeated one of these insults in front of a commanding officer.

Regardless, the three are having a good time before Sneaky asks Flippy a question: How did it feel to throw that knife at him rather than the General? Did he enjoy it? Did he hate Sneaky that much he had to throw a KNIFE through his chest?

Flippy deflates and clarifies that he did not mean to miss the General; it was a heat of the moment thing and he's, admittedly, not good under stress.

Mouse Ka-Boom lowers his cards and asks if cutting him in half was another 'heat of the moment thing,' along with getting them both blown to smithereens.

They change before Flippy's eyes, both mangles and burnt, and Flippy leaves the table, backing away from them.

That is until a hand claps on his shoulder and his own voice tells him to admit that he actually did enjoy killing his friends; it's what he's been trained to do, so what better way to see the reward of all that effort?

Flippy turns and sees himself, who demands he admit it, admit that he's never going to change, that he won't let himself because not only does he like it, he also wants to go back to fighting and wants out of Splendid's Aversion therapy.

Flippy barely gets a word out because his other self tackles him to the ground and starts to choke him, calling him weak, a liar, and a coward, saying he should've died on that mission, not Sneaky or Mouse Ka-Boom.

Speaking of which, the two appear and grab both of Flippy's arms, holding him while he's practically being strangled again.

It gets worse when his other self turns into Tiger General, who laughs that he wouldn't be surprised by such an admission because it took Flippy how many tries to kill him. Might as well return the favor.

Flippy, breathless and trying to break free screams out and wakes up on the floor, though he gets up and runs to the kitchen sink, where he dry heaves and coughs up spit.

He stops after a while and sits against the cabinets, having regrets about the choice to go along with Splendid's idea.

These regrets linger as he walks outside the next day, catching a toy Cub dropeed while and Pop are on a stroll, though Cub is in a wagon.

They walk off, Pop thanking Flippy, and Flippy gets a surprise attack hug from Flaky, who's close to tears because he's been missing.

Cuddles, Giggles, and Petunia also approach, asking where the hell he disappeared to, because they've been looking all over for him.

Flippy apologizes for worrying them and straight up lies, saying he just left town for a little bit to enjoy some quiet time; and to restock on his medicine as soon as he could because he ran out.

Cuddles still lightly punches Flippy on the arm and tells him not to scare them like that again, or they'll put him on a harness or walk around with him in a wagon.

With Flaky now piggybacking him, Flippy muses that it sounds tempting, because he could see everyone getting some excerise because of it.

The group laugh it off and start toward a diner, because they all skipped breakfast and lunch on accident.

Flippy decides to join them, having NOT skipped breakfast, and they head to the diner.

On his back, Flaky asks Flippy if he's okay, because he looks pale and feels tense.

He nods, claiming he's fine, just a little sore from a workout he did while he was away.

Flaky is suspicious, but drops it. FOR NOW.

Cut to them at the diner, all talking and looking over the menu to see what they want, and a visual gag of Cuddles and Giggles having a contest of who can spin longer in their chairs(they're all sitting at the bar).

Flippy is a little uneasy because ANYTHING can trigger his instincts and he doesn't know how well this aversion procedure is going to qork because neither he nor Splendid went out and actually saw if it was working.

Petunia sees his unease and asks if he needs to step outside for a second.

He shakes his head and admits he's just trying to figure out what to eat.

Good thing he's having a hard time, too, because Petunia is not in the mood for grease.

Flaky fakes a gag or an "Eugh," and jokes, "Ew, flirting."

While Flippy laughs, Petunia DARES Flaky to repeat that, because it was her that helped the two get closer.

His laughter dies when a kitchen fire starts on accident right in front if them.

TV/anime perspective, we see the reflection of the fire in Flippy's eyes as they widen and he gasps/whimpers. We don't see his flashback, but we hear about a bomb going off and people screaming in pain. Flippy clenches a fist on the countertop, silent as the fire is put out and everyone relaxes.

While everyone talks about how crazy that just was, Flippy spontaneouly gets sick to his stomach and gags, excusing himself really quick to go to the bathroom.

The group watch and are now very confused, because usually flame triggers him, but he did not go off on them.

Cuddles, being the only boy, follows Flippy, saying that he'll try not to die in the process.

He does not die, but he does see Flippy vomiting into one of the sinks, very violently, I must say.

Cuddles asks if everything's okay, which scares the crap out of Flippy, but the ex-soldier claims he's fine; the fire just got him scared.

Cuddles doesn't really buy it, and asks another question: Has he been eating, AT ALL? Because he looks like he lost a little bit of weight and sick as hell.

While he waters away his mess, washes out, and wipes off his mouth, Flippy admits he has been, as much as he can, at least.

Cuddles still doesn't buy it, asking WHAT he's eating and when.

Flippy leans over the now clean sink and measures his options.

If he tells the truth, there's a chance his friends are not going to take it well.

If he keeps them in the dark, they will be fine, even though he'll feel even more like garbage.

Flippy turns and holds up his hands in surrender. He's been eating venison to build immunity, and because it, honestly, tastes really good.

Cuddles reels on him, asking why he'd do that when he's almost deathly allergic to the stuff.

Flippy apologizes and admits that, yes, he knows it's stupid, but he's just trying to make himself better, in case they have a cookout and someone accidentally brings venison instead of steak.

Cuddles points out that's BS because NO ONE eats venison(whatever it is)(Flippy corrects him that it's deer), but still drops it because Flippy clearly doesn't want to talk about it; guy code.

Flippy thanks him anyway and they rejoin the group, everyone keeping an eye on Flippy as he eats, Flaky especially, because, having known him the longest, she canntell he's both hiding something and isn't as good as he's pretending to be.

HMMMMMMMM????

A comfortable Clone Commanders pile

Dedicated to: TyraCapulet

I was asked to write clone pile things. And I wrote this.

Rex knocked on the door of Fox's office. He had not been there often in his life, the dry and quiet hallways of the senate made him uneasy, his hands drawn to his hips like magnets.

There was laughter behind the door and a strained sound of someone before the door opened and he got greeted with Ponds’ gruff but giggly face. "Rexyyy", he grinned and slumped against the doorway, his breath carried the distinct smell of strong alcohol. "Are you guys getting dunked in there without me?", Rex raised an eyebrow and pushed past Ponds to find his brothers, Cody, Fox, Thorn and Colt - much to his surprise - huddled together on the floor. Most of them had already disposed of their upper armor.

"Reeeex", Fox called, almost throwing a small bottle at him that definitely contained said strong alcohol. Cody grinned, cheeks pink from drinking while Colt still seemed pretty cooled in his place behind Thorn's back. They all somehow already managed to lay on each other with nobody being the lowest. Impresive with only 4 people.

"Mind if I join?", Rex grinned happily as Ponds already helped him take off his armor. It would only get in the way uncomfortably. "Please", Thorn slurred and grabbed the bottle from Fox's hand to take a swig. He pulled a face and passed it on to Cody who screwed the lid back on. "What's the Rancor Commander doing here?", Rex pushed aside their legs to make space for himself and add himself into the pile.

"You know, vacation is a thing", Colt replied with a self-indulgent smirk. "You lucky fucker", Thorn commented with a snort. Rex snaked himself under Cody's legs with his head on Fox's soft belly - a clear sign for the lack of training his fellow brother got around here, forging the chancellor's signature instead of fighting. "Here, Rex'ika", Fox pushed the bottle into Rex's chest and he took his time to look at the tagless bottle. "What even is that?" - "Some super cheap backyard slobbery, it's awful", Ponds explained and pushed himself up to Cody's flank and probably back into his arms judging by the way Cody awaited him.

"Hey, Thorn", Fox uncoordinatedly slapped his brother in guards against the biceps, "When was this ambassador gathering again?" - "The one with La Pee Tou?" - "Yeah." - "Like... noon-ish?" - "Ah. Alright."

"Don't mind if I ask, who's La Pee Tou?", Rex questioned as he unscrewed the bottle and took a sup without even smelling, there was no use, his receptors had been burned to the ground by the last tear gas ambush on Polonio I. The liquor felt like he was swallowing down a rotgut made with gunship fuel. It burned his throat like fire and caused him to clear his throat a few times.

"Tou is an ambassador from the far outside worlds, even beyond the outer rim. They're interested in trading, or something", Fox explained and passed the bottle on to Colt who took a big swig before Ponds reached for it. "Fifth sector worlds? They do realize we're in war, right?", Cody snickered. "The shab do I know?", Fox threw up his hands and snatched the bottle from Ponds waiting hands to have another swig.

"Hehe", Thorn laughed lightly, "You won't believe what happened the other day." - "What?", Rex accepted the bottle once again. "This man, yeah, this man of a chancellor...", his voice was a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Fox burst out laughing. "Oh, riiight, I totally forgot 'bout that." - "Sometimes I think this man just wants to die. Like that one suicidal senator we had, you remember?" - "Lord Oberon?" - "Yeah. But like three times worse."

"Why? What did he do?", Cody chuckled. "You know, he's the chancellor, which means he gets a lot of death threats, most of them are just harmless little jabs but there was this one message that everyone of us said should be taken seriously because we don't want to take any chances. We tell him that, say that he should stay in his damn penthouse until we have clearance and all." Fox's laugh had almost become hysterical at that point, his stomach pushing up against Rex's head like a jackhammer. "What does this bloody idiot do - I'm still not over this stupidity", Thorn rubbed his face, "He legitimately dresses up as one of his body guards and sneaks out of the senate like a stupid little bitch." - "I love how he literally thought we wouldn't notice", Fox laughed, "Like, homie, what did you expect? Your bodyguards are like 5 miles taller than us. Don't you think we notice when they magically shrink?!"

"Did you call him out?", Colt asked. "Nah", Thorn snickered, "We want him to believe that we didn't notice." - "I want to know how often he's going to pull that off", Fox added, smirking into the neck of the bottle.

"Quick check-in, who's still bound to show up?" - "Nobody", Colt waved off, "You were the last." - "Oh yeah? Where's Wolffe and Bly? I mean, I know that Bacara's on Tamba IX." - "Bly is somewhere shagging his girlfriend." - "What?", Rex snorted, and made himself comfortable against the side of Fox's chest. "He'd protest loudly", Cody threw in, "But it's impossible there's not something between them. I mean, just look at her clothes." - "Yeah, she basically asks to be shagged, right?", Ponds added. "Are we speaking about General Secura?" - "Who else?", Cody grinned.

"Well, Commander Tano uses to wear rather.... liberal clothes as well, but we still get along on a very professional base", Rex argued. "Yeah, because she's like 3 standard years old", Ponds rolled his eyes. "She's actually older than us", Cody corrected neutrally. "What?!", was Fox's reply. "Yeah, but I'm still concerned for her most of the times. General Skywalker is so chaotic at times and she's such a teeny weeny little thing, I’m afraid she might get caught in the crossfire at some point", Rex sighed, "You know, she's my superior and older and everything but I just feel.... responsible."

"I totally get what you mean", Cody threw him a brotherly but slightly too strong punch, "Do you remember that few months when you still served under my command and Skywalker was still a commander himself?" Rex laughed. Yes. He did remember that time vividly with all it's craziness. "That must have been the worst time of your lives", Ponds commented. "You bet!", Rex spat out.

Thorn and Colt chuckled. "At least you work together with people who got a clue of what the shab is going on", now it was Colt's turn to throw up his hands in disbelief. "You won't believe what strange excuses some rookies come up with just to not be bound to do anything", he laughed lightly, "I once had a squad who all broke a bone on purpose to avoid being shipped out. You should have heard their stories, one of them said he fell from his cot. And another one 'slipped in the shower'." - "Oh, so they were lying?", Thorn asked. "Well.... one wasn't. One of them stumbled over some stairs and totally wrecked his kneecaps." That drew a round of laughter from the pile.

"Folks, guys, brothers, I have a good story as well", Cody flailed with his arm to get the next turn to speak. "Are you going to complain about General Kenobi again?", Rex predicted with an eyeroll. This was getting out of hand, Cody didn't even realize how lucky he was with the reserved and calm thinking Jedi Council member and not with an airhead called General Skywalker. "How do you even expect him to talk about anyone else?", Fox mumbled around the rim of the rotgut. "Force, you're so right. Cody, your Kenobi-stress-headaches have been replaced with an obsession. This is an unhealthy turn of events", Ponds teased, earning himself a slap against the chest.

"Alright", Colt rolled his eyes, "Tell us, then." Cody opened his mouth to speak but had to take his time to giggle first which immediately infected the whole group. Cody's laugh was rare. But ever the funniest, with a little snort in the beginning and the waving snickering in the end. "It was-", he had to pause again, "I'm wheezing, guys." - "Believe it or not, we noticed", Thorn commented dryly which set Fox off like a rocket for no reason whatsoever. "Impressive story, really", Colt took over from there and Rex had to shift his head because the constant thrashes of Fox's stomach were getting uncomfortable in his neck. "I really liked that middle part", Thorn continued, Fox was officially lost now. "Yeah, never have we heard of such stupidity before", Colt agreed and took another big mouthful.

"You didn't even hear the story yet", Cody whined between sobs and Ponds patted him on the head: "It's alright, Cod'ika, we don't have to if you're not ready yet." Fox let out a pitched, strangled scream and threw his arm over his eyes, his laughing already sounded more like crying in the moment. "Folks, guys, brothers", Rex called, laughing, "Have mercy, he's gonna choke." Fox made a night vision goggles sound before laughing his ass off again. "I think we broke him", Thorn said and received an approving clap on the chest from Colt.

Rex was beginning to feel warm in his skin. The alcohol was taking effect on him now as well but the happiness within the circle of his batchmates was definitely playing a factor in this. He felt like he never wanted to get up again, hearing Fox enjoy himself so much he'd choke on his own spit or Cody now quietly complaining to Ponds about whatever breakneck stunt General Kenobi had pulled off this time or Thorn audibly approving of the way Colt began to card through his thick, paling hair. Rex was happy here surrounded by his brothers in arms. He would never want to trade them for anyone else, not even Torrent Co, and those were a funny and chaotic little pile of ants. He smiled and closed his eyes then pressed his cheek against Fox's warm thigh. This was where he wanted to be right now and nowhere else.

"Rex's enjoying himseeelf", Thorn called out and now suddenly the attention was on Rex. He grinned at them a little sheepishly and tried to hide his blush in Fox's blacks. "Aww, what're ya thinking 'bout, vod'ika?", Colt asked and now even Cody and Ponds rose their heads to look at them. "Ah, nothing", he grinned behind flushed cheeks, "I was just thinking how lucky I am to still have you guys." That erupted a wave of hums and awws from his friends and Fox immediately opened his arms wide. "C'mere lil bro", he slurred and what else could Rex do but comply? He shuffled closer and placed his head on Fox's chest only to get swallowed up by comfortable arms.

He felt the pile tighten around him as the others tried to participate a little in the hug. Rex smiled into Fox's chest and closed his eyes again. "I love you idiots. From deep within my heart", he confessed. "You say that to every batch you've ever been in?", Colt joked and earned himself a slap from Thorn. "Stop killing the fucking mood, Colt", Cody complained. There was a hand between Rex's shoulders that started dragging their nails over his back, which caused comfy goosebumps to trail down his spine. He reached out with his own arm to follow the trail of the comfort bringer to find it was leading back to Thorn. He scratched lightly over his brother's shoulder before resting his hand there which soon was accompanied by Colt's much warmer hand.

A comfortable silence fell around them all and when Rex paid much attention to it he could hear the quiet scritching of Colt's nails on Thorn's scalp or the rub of a hand over blacks. Soon those sounds were drowned out, though, by Fox taking out his feels on Rex's buzzcut.

The even movement of blunt nails on his scalp and the slight fondle on his neck and the regular rise and fall of Fox's ribcage rocked Rex's dreamboat. What if, he thought, it could always be like this? To come home after a long, day of hard work and just lay down and be peaceful with each other. Oh, what wouldn't he give for that?

"I love you, too, brothers", Thorn mumbled after a while. "Mhm", Cody hummed approvingly followed suit by the sound of a kiss. Rex opened his eyes again to see who it had been but they were all laying there comfortably with their eyes closed and arms and legs wrapped around each other. A peaceful picture, laughing into the face of the war. Children, as they were. And he was part of this beautiful, comfortable home.

pico & whitty - high

⚠NSFW WARNING⚠

Pico never liked to think of himself as submissive.

Even if he was dating a 9 foot tall man, he still convinced himself he would be on the top of their endeavors, even if they didn't have them too often. Whitty is asexual, so he never initiates their little things they may have. Pico however was very needy. Boyfriend was convinced it wouldn't last long because Whitty was such a gentle giant. Pico made sure to tell him to go eat shit.

Whitty didn't mind having sex with Pico, however he was really bad at picking up the hints, so Pico would have to be blunt and honest about when he was horny, even when it flustered the fuck out of both of them.

When they did fuck, however, Pico was always on top of the other, refusing to be under Whitty in any way. Whitty figured it hurt his pride or something.

________________________________________________________________________________

Pico sat in their little apartment, alone, watching family guy, as he does. He had nothing to do today, and Whitty went out to buy some groceries, specifically milk and bread. The ginger haired male simply waited for him to get back, as he had been gone for only thirty minutes, but that felt like hours to him. He wanted to cuddle with his tall man. He would never tell him that though.

With a bored groan, he got himself off the couch, stretching his aching limbs. He had the urge to get completely wasted, and hopefully he'd K.O before Whitty got back so he wouldn't have to deal with a drunk Pico. He wasn't aggressive or abusive when he was drunk, he just didn't feel comfortable being intoxicated around anyone, not even Nene and Darnell. He sighed, making his way to the kitchen, scratching his chest through his shirt like he'd been asleep for a while. They didn't buy alcohol all too often, the bottles looked fancy sitting on the counter though. 

he walked right past those. The ones Pico really wanted were in the fridge. Nene recently passed one onto him. It was like strawberry lemonade, or something like that. This was a while ago. He decided to give it a try while he could.

The bottle was easily identifiable. It was a rather small glass bottle, curved like fancy glass art. The small bottles mean it's hella strong. He popped off the top, then took a whiff. It didn't smell like absolute dirt. In fact, it was rather sweet, and had a fruity aroma to it. That's a good sign. He took a sip on his way back to the couch. It tasted even sweeter than it smelled, which made his face contort in distaste. Trying real hard to hide the taste of alcohol, huh? He could barely stomach cotton candy, and this shit was borderline pure sugar.

After getting over halfway through the bottle, he began to question if it was really even alcohol. He shrugged it off, setting it on the coffee table in front of him. Oh well, at least he wasn't eating to pass the time. He could literally feel himself gaining weight ever since he took a break from his usual activities. Whitty thought it was cute. He usually punches him for that.

________________________________________________________________________________

Whitty got back about an hour later, holding about two bags of groceries on his arm. "Pico, I'm back!" He called out, but got no response in return. He narrowed one of his eyes, but chalked it up to the other being asleep. He went on like usual, taking the bags to the kitchen, putting up the groceries. It wasn't until he could hear movement down the hall from the living room that he realized his lover was awake. "Pico??" He looked over his shoulder. "I swear to god if you jump out of the closet again I will strangle you.." He mumbled under his breath. He shoved all the plastic bags into one, then began his way down the hall to their bedroom.

He felt the movement stop once he got to the floorboard that creaks. "Don't come in!" Pico's voice shouted from the other side of the door, startling Whitty a bit. He sounded either distressed or.. frustrated? "What's wrong?" Whitty called back, voicing his worry in his tone. He had to make sure Pico wasn't having one of his episodes, he hated for him to go through them alone. "S'nothing! J-Just.." Pico's voice trailed off. Whitty couldn't stand by anymore. He pursed his lips before pushing the door open. "If you really didn't want me to come in, you would have locked the door." he noted, poking his head into the room. Pico moved quickly before he could see what was going on. He had a death grip on the bedsheets, as if he were pretending to sleep, despite being wide awake enough to tell him to go away earlier.

"Pico, hun, what's up with you?" Whitty made his way inside. "It's hot in here, why don't you open a window or something." He walked over to do just that, but didn't expect what he would see when he turned to look at Pico's face. It was flushed red. His entire face, as if he was sitting in a sauna for an hour. He bit his lip before hiding himself under the blanket some more. Whitty let out a small huff, then sat on the bed, pulling the blanket off the other in one sudden swift motion. Pico let out a small whine, unintentionally, and was quick to cover himself.

poor guy was bare from the waist, and Whitty could put together what was going on. "Oh, so you're just horny? Why didn't you just say so?" He puffed one of his cheeks in frustration, while Pico shook his head. "S-S'not just that.." He struggled to say, and Whitty couldn't help but laugh a little. "Come here you." This was a signal Whitty could easily pick up, and Pico looked like he was suffering. "Do you want me to help you out?" he gently asked the shorter male, but got a response he wasn't expecting. he had reached out for his arm, but when he touched him, Pico recoiled, grunting in discomfort. Whitty tilted his head, seeming confused, This was an obvious cry for help, right?

Pico had began to tremble from his presence alone. "I-I do.. You just.. surprised me.." he mumbled his words. Whitty reached for his arm again, gently taking it this time. he helped him sit up, a gentle smile on his face. Pico simply scoffed, sitting on his knees, though not looking at Whitty. "What's with the smug look.." He sneered at him, but Whitty simply moved one of his hands down to caress his hip. That gentle touch alone was enough to elicit a small gasp from the ginger. "You're quite down bad, aren't you?" Whitty joked, and Pico headbutted his chest in embarrassment. "Fuck off, you didn't even know what that was until yesterday.." He growled in response. His harsh tone was replaced by quiet whimpering soon after as Whitty began to stroke at his erect cock gently, pleased with the trembling mess under him.

"You're so cute when you can barely speak." Whitty commented, innocently enough, taking his precum covered hand and prodding a finger at Pico's twitching hole. "Fuck you.." Pico strained out, arching his back and digging his nails into Whitty's shoulders. "Kinda the opposite right now." Whitty never missed the opportunity to throw it back at him. He pushed the finger inside, slick with his erotic juices.

The pleasure shot up Pico's spine in violent waves, more than he had ever felt in his life. "W-Whitty..! Nngh..!" He panted heavily against the taller male. Whitty could admit he genuinely found it cute. He added another finger, gently spreading them apart inside of him. He wasn't sure what could have made Pico so sensitive. He usually acted like he would take any moans with him to the grave.

The ginger stuffed some of Whitty's hoodie into his mouth to silence himself, wettening not only the clothing but himself with his drool. He tried discreetly moving his hips up and down onto Whitty's fingers to get the most out of it, and Whitty couldn't help but laugh to himself. "Fuck.. H-Holy shit j-just fuck me already..!" He pushed Whitty's hand away, moving away from his lap and onto the bed. He pressed his own chest against he bedsheets, propping his butt up into the air. Whitty took in his body with wonder in his eyes, feeling his cheeks warm. Good god he loved this guy so much.. "S-Stop staring at me and hurry up!" Pico barked at him, and Whitty jumped a little, then quickly nodded. "Right, right."

He unbuckled his jeans, already being semi hard from Pico's cute demeanor. He took hold of his large meat, pressing the tip against Pico's entrance as a warning he was about to go in.

Pico impatiently pushed himself onto Whitty, bouncing his hips against him so he wouldn't have to wait any longer. "God... FUCK! Whitty please.. Oh fuck..!" He almost couldn't control the moans leaving his lips, pressing his face into the pillow below him in desperation. Whitty began to move his hips along with the ginger, biting his lip at how he contracted around him. "You're very noisy this time around, huh?" The taller man commented lightly, pulling him by the hips to get a deeper angle.

It felt like his cock was burning Pico's insides, like a volcano dripping magma. Beads of sweat began to form all over, and his skin felt hot to the touch. Whitty almost began to suspect the other had a fever. It wasn't until Pico began to sob, his moans growing higher in pitch, that he realized he was close. Whitty sped up for him, light grunts slipping past his lips. He usually tried to do all he could to please Pico during sex, but he could tell right now that all Pico wanted to do was fucking cum, as he began to beg him for.

With one more hit to Pico's sweet spot, he released all over the bed sheets, gripping the pillow tight between his fingers as the trembling finally began to calm down. Whitty finished a bit after, though he pulled out to do so. He didn't feel like helping clean him out today.

Whitty sat on his knees and helped to move Pico a bit, mindful of the back shot he just gave him. "What got you so worked up today?" He asked him curiously, and Pico simply let out a huff, still refusing to look at him. "Probably that shit I drank earlier.." He admitted softly, the weight of his eyes soon becoming too much to bare, and he would have passed out if it weren't for Whitty. "Come on, I refuse to let you marinate my bed sheets with your meat juice." He picked him up, only to get a scoff in response. "Meat juice? Seriously?"

Do No Harm - A Witsnah Fic

Guess who’s back...Back again. IT’S ME. Y’all didn’t think you had escaped my Witsnah content forever did you? Because you DIDN’T. I’m back with some Highly Indulgent Content. Pls enjoy. 

Title: Do No Harm 

Rating: M (for violence and cursing) Content warnings: blood and stabbing

Summary: Jasnah is dying and Wit goes a little bit feral as a treat. AKA: Wit realises he's in love with Jasnah via the power of terror. AKA: Wit discovers he can pine while in a relationship because he’s just That Dramatic.

Someone makes another attempt on Jasnah's life within her chamber of Urithiru. Wit realises he's willing to do whatever it takes to save her. Even if that means risking his own life.

Teaser: 

Wit liked to think himself largely shock proof.

Not electrical shocks, of course, he was still working on that. But startling shocks, the jump scares of life, unexpected occurrences around every corner. Those he felt he was damn near immune to.

Jasnah Kholin stumbling from their shared chambers at sixteen minutes past three in the morning wearing nothing but her nightgown and a considerable amount of blood, gasping his name and seeming near unconsciousness? That did it.

Link: AO3

On a list of things Jasnah hated, assassins were definitely in the top five.

She felt that was reasonable. They had killed her father. They had killed her brother. They had attempted to kill her multiple times. They had threatened everyone she loved, at one time or another. 

And they were also responsible for the large bolt currently protruding from her chest.

Jasnah had been asleep in her bed within Urithiru when the fabrial device cleverly hidden in the canopy had fired the projectile directly down into her body.

Ivory's split second warning had woken her and allowed her to shift aside. Not avoiding it, but it had meant that it hadn't plunged directly into her heart. He'd likely saved her life.

"Something is not, Jasnah." Ivory said, his voice more curt and clipped than usual. His way of expressing concern.

Dimly, using one of the corner posts of her bed to haul her to her feet, Jasnah recognised the same thing.

She had experience with having things stabbed into her. Which had only increased during recent years. Though the bolt embedded in her chest would prevent the Stormlight healing the direct wound, it should still have sealed the skin and muscle around it by this point.  She shouldn't be losing this much blood.

The silk nightgown she wore was soaked in scarlet. Blood was still gushing from the wound in rather alarming torrents. The wheeze to her increasingly laboured breathing told her blood was slowly filling her lungs as well, so there was no internal healing either. Wonderful.

She had to get it out to give her body a chance to fix this.

Forming that rational thought was more difficult than it should have been.

 Panic was starting to gather in the blackening edges of her vision, like a Highstorm threatened in the sudden gathering of clouds, and it was becoming harder and harder to push it back.

Trembling, legs bowing with fatigue, she grasped the bolt in her left hand and willed it to change, to become air, free, and fluid, and no longer fatal.

Nothing.

It didn't refuse her, as objects first had during the initial fumbling attempts to Soulcast them. No. It simply didn't exist to those senses that had become so attuned to the world around her.

That confirmed the fear that had been building within her, and did nothing to still her rising panic.

Stormlight thundered in her veins, a fill, raging Highstorm's worth. She was a Fourth Ideal Radiant, with more experience and knowledge of her powers than almost any other. She had survived shipwrecks, and battles. She was faster, and stronger than any human had a right to be, and had the power to warp the world to suit her whims.

Yet Jasnah felt utterly, gut-wrenchingly helpless in this moment.

She couldn't Soulcast. She couldn't heal. Her strength was fading with every pounding beat of her heart, trying to help, but only forcing more blood from her body.

Escaping to her safe point in Shadesmar was out of the question. She had lost the ability to so much as peer into that realm, she- 

She was dying.

"Jasnah," Ivory barked, both out loud, and in her mind through their bond.

No. No. She was not going to go like this. Taken out by a single aluminium arrow. Alone in a blood drenched nightgown, cowering on the floor of her bedchamber. Helpless and terrified like that child locked in darkness.

She was not that child any more. 

She was a Storming Knight Radiant. She would die defiant and fighting to her last breath. Or not at all. She would accept no other outcome

Parting, she wrapped a blood slick hand around the bolt and tried to wrench it free. Her body screamed in protest, but she ignored it. Pain and she were old allies in this fight called life.

"Jasnah you have not." Ivory said, standing beside her at his full height, something like anguish chiseled into his sharp features.

The fear in his voice nearly reduced her to That frightened animal of panic and raw, foolish instinct. She'd never heard such a tone from him before in all their time together. Where she was logical, Ivory was logic. Any emotion that slipped into his voice told of an extreme reaction.

What was worse was that he was right. 

Her trembling muscles couldn't have pried a splinter from her finger, much less a thick bolt that had pierced her chest, the sharp point of which erupting between her shoulder blades.

She needed help. She needed- Wit. Wit was in the sitting area of their chambers, deep in his books when she'd left him to rest.

The cry of pain that would have issued from her bloodied lips was strangled by her flooding lungs as she lurched towards the door, pausing only to grab at a bundle of cloth on the floor and press it to her chest, in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood.

It took several attempts to force the handle to turn. She would have cursed, if she'd had the breath for it. Black spots were starting to dance across her vision, though, so she had far bigger problems than an inability to unleash profanities at a door.

Agonisingly, inch- by- inch, spattering blood in a grisly breadcrumb trail behind her, Jasnah clawed her way down the passage that would take her to Wit. Her last hope.

The logical thing to do would have been to send Ivory to bring him to her. But she couldn't stand the thought of ordering him away and leaving her utterly alone. Not now. Not with the darkness crooning to her on all sides.

It was irrational, she knew. But was also deeply human. And she hadn't felt so terrifyingly, nakedly, human in a long time.

Wheezing, she dragged herself to the break in the wall that opened out into the study. 

Her heart lurched painfully as her eyes fastened on the desk she'd left Wit at and found it empty.

If the storming man had gone wandering now and wasn't here when she needed him, and so she died, she'd spit into the Beyond until she could personally kill him and drag him there with her.

With the last bit of breath and strength she could summon she rasped his name into that awful, waiting silence.

Her body was failing her. She could feel it. Every muscle shaking as though she'd been exposed to a Winter Highstorm. Her legs were buckling. Her vision was fading.

Then movement. 

A rippling shadow in the corner of her vision. 

Wit, or an assassin, or the personification of death fabricated by her fragmented, dying mind, she didn't know.

Then she did.

Warm , strong arms wrapped around her and gently lowered her to the ground.

Wit. Without doubt. He was saying... Something? His voice seemed horribly distant, but she thought that he was seeking permission. She nodded to him, tried to tell him to do it, whoever it was, but ended up only tasting blood. Still, for the first time since the bolt had pierced her chest, she felt her heart calm, and steady.

Maybe that meant that she was dying. But if she did, she would die feeling strangely safe. And she would not die alone. That was strangely comforting. Wit was speaking to her again, but she was slipping away from him, like smoke drifting free of a Soulcast object.

The last thing she was aware of was Ivory's terrified scream shattering through her mind.

Then she was darkness once again.

***

Wit liked to think himself largely shock proof.

Not electrical shocks, of course, he was still working on that. But startling shocks, the jump scares of life, unexpected occurrences around every corner. Those he felt he was damn near immune to.

After all, he'd been alive for a very long time. In the same way fans of horror plays began to sense the tell-tale warning signs that something strange and frightening was looming.

The smart playwrites began avoiding the tried and tested tropes and clues in a bid to shock the frequent theatre-goer.

Unfortunately, the truly savvy horror aficionados were able to still identify the deliberate absence of tells as tells themselves. And so, the drama reward was, one way or the other, ruined before it was ever reached.

Wit had been attending the theatre of life for a very, very long time. The writers were trying their best to catch him out, but with so much experience under his belt, it was just really very difficult to do. 

Jasnah Kholin stumbling from their shared chambers at sixteen minutes past three in the morning wearing nothing but her nightgown and a considerable amount of blood, gasping his name and seeming near unconsciousness? That did it.

In the flicker between heartbeats he had to assess the situation, his assessment wasn't good.

Jasnah's normally deep tan skin had turned a worrying gray. Her eyes, usually so sharp and focussed, were glassy and glazed with pain and fear.

Most of the blood that should have been in her body seemed to be staining her nightgown instead.

And there was a thick, wicked bolt protruding from her chest. A quick pulse of burned Steel told him it was aluminium based, which was less than ideal.

He met Jasnah's gaze and recognised her legs were about to give way under her. Flaring his pewter, he launched himself towards her and pulled her to him. 

Then he eased them both to the ground, giving her fascinating new things to bleed all over, such as his shirt, and the fluffy rug Navani had decorated the sitting area with.

She was growing cold already. 

It took everything in him to ease her away from his warmth and lower her to the ground so he could take a look at the damage. 

Flipping a simple hunting knife from his boot he split her dress down the front to expose the wound. She'd forgive him if she lived. And if she didn't, he'd see to it that he was appropriately punished on her behalf.

"That is not a good pattern." Design observed, pulsing with concern over his shoulder.

 "No," Wit agreed tightly, feeling his hand tremble even as he streaked forward to probe the bolt.

The pain he knew doing so would cause burned warningly in his chest. The Dawnshard’s lingering influence had forged a connection between himself and all living things. 

If he physically harmed them, the same damage would be reflected back to him on a far grander scale, naturally. It had become so ingrained within him now it was physically impossible for him to do it in most cases. Instincts reinforced over millennia took care of even the strongest pulses of anger and desires to inflict pain personally.

“Design, can you please find Lift, bring her here? Now." he said, with such grim finality in his tone that she didn't pause for one of her usual facetious comments before she left.

If he could get the bolt out himself the Stormlight he could sense pounding futile within her, like a trapped whitespine, should take care of the wound. If he couldn't... That was why Lift was coming. 

"Jasnah, love," he whispered softly, hoping her permission, such as she was capable of giving in this state, might make this easier for him. "I need to remove this thing that's made its unfortunate home in your chest. I'm afraid that it's going to hurt."

She nodded, and he was sure her lips formed the words 'do it' before she choked on her own blood. 

Fuck. He didn't have time to waste wondering whether he could do this. Or worrying about what would happen to him if he did. She was dying, and he couldn't let that happen.

Her body shuddered, and Ivory let at out an anguished cry as she lost consciousness in his arms.

Time stopped. 

Reality blurred. 

Something deep inside him became suddenly very dark and impossibly cold. It took him a moment to realise it was his heart. 

That fickle, feeble thing, more scar than soul at this point. It had withered, like a once beautiful blossom that since lived devoid of light and warmth and air. Both lost to dust and decay.

 Yet he felt it, now. 

He felt it on this quiet, unremarkable day, as he held Jasnah Kholin in his arms and contemplated the weight of her death. 

And he knew.

Whatever the cost to fix this, he would pay it. If he had to endure untold agonies, or shred another piece of his shattered soul, or rewrite the ending of worlds, or break an unbreakable contract, or pray to gods he'd renounced millennia ago...

He would do it. He would do it all.

Because, ah, sweet fool, he loved her. He loved this woman. He loved the breath and bones of her. The blood and soul. The logic and dreams. The wit and wonder. And the spit and bile of her, he loved that, too.

Without conscious thought, he wrapped a hand around the bolt in her chest, and pulled.

Once before he'd come close to death. True death. Not of the sort he'd described to Jannah as 'inconveniences’. That had been a permanent threat, a permanent end.

A Shard had managed to capture his essence, in his earlier years, when he’d been less careful, and more easily fooled. Then they had begun to methodically shred it, with no small amount of gloating glee.

Emotion by emotion, bit by bit, bloody chunk by bloody chunk, he'd been ruined.

In those horrifying moments, he'd felt sure he'd finally reached the last of his luck. He'd thought he was facing his end. And an end it would have been. One that would have been more final than even the Beyond. For if it had been completed, there would barely have been a memory left of him to echo through the Cosmere.

This was worse.

This was so much worse.

He had not known agony such as this in a long time. 

None of the Investiture he held helped in the slightest. It was but a flickering candle flame before the hurricane of consequence that currently ravaged him.

Some time ago, he’d learned that the line between help and harm could be incredibly thin. And that blurring it would not always work in his favour.

A part of him was sure that he was dying. And a larger part was begging for that to simply make all of this stop. But another, sharper, harsher part was convinced that if this had been going to end him, it would already have done so.

The first time he had nearly been rent into oblivion, all that had saved him had been the Shard's determination to not only end him, but to do it with as much unnecessary pain and drama as possible.

Wit enjoyed overzealous theatrics, especially when they gave him an opportunity to escape with the final shred of himself intact. Barely.

From there, over long centuries, he had painfully rebuilt what had nearly been taken from him.

He'd been careful never to go near the flame that had nearly consumed him again. Until now. Until he'd throw himself into it for her.

She returned that favor beautifully. 

For this time, all that saved him was her.

Her permission, in her final moments of lucidity, the trust she had given to him, in a way she had perhaps never given to anyone since she'd been a child. The faith she yielded to no God, she'd granted him in her deepest moment of vulnerability.

It had saved him. 

It had given him an anchor of certainty to cling to in his agony. Her conviction that, no matter the pain, he meant her no harm. And never would.

That act of love from a woman who saw harm and assassination in every flickering shadow, but had managed to find safety and salvation in him. It had been enough to save him, and now he only had to hope, in the slightest, most distant corners of his soul that were still capable of doing that, that it had been enough to save her, too.

On his knees, muscles violently shaking in spite of his Stormlight and his Pewter, Wit forced his eyes open to find Jasnah on the floor in front of him, still as a corpse.

Blood still seeped from the wound, which was smaller than before, but still deadly. Her Stormlight had run out keeping her alive as long as it had and now...Now she was not breathing.

"No," he breathed, dragging his pain ravaged body closer to her. "No. We're not yet done here, Jasnah Kholin. Not by any stretch of even my imagination." 

He breathed out, expelling all of his own remaining Stormlight in a shimmering cloud above her. Doubling over as the wave of nausea rolled over him, he clenched his fist and forced himself to lift his head so he could see her.

Breathe he willed her. I know you're too stubborn to die like this. Breathe damn you.

She did. 

First a 'breath' to draw in his Stormlight, then a wheezing rasp as she forced air into her rapidly healing lungs.

Wit slumped down onto the furry carpet, dizzy with relief and with the consequences of his foolish decisions.

He listened to the rhythmic sounds of Jasnah's chest rising and falling. And strained his Tin until he could hear the pleasing accompaniment of her heart beating, strong and defiant, like her. 

She really did make such sweet music. 

He closed his eyes, and listened to the ragged sounds of her breathing. The life he had bought with his gamble, and his pain. Worth it. So absolutely, completely, undoubtedly worth it. 

Her logic would have condemned that thinking. He’d bought her a few more decades of life with the potential sacrifice of millennia on his end? He could almost hear her voice telling him he was a Storms damned fool. 

It just made him smile. Because she was breathing beside him. And her heart was still beating. And she was still here, and still his, and that was all that mattered to him in the whole fucking Cosmere at the moment.

This symphonious serenade was interrupted by a chaotic donor at the door. Hauling himself to his feet he answered it and found Lift.

"I have obtained the strange Edgedancer!" Design informed him helpfully, sounding very pleased with herself.

"I ain't strange," Lift insisted, barging into the room and heading for Jasnah, gliding across the floor, bagel in her left hand.

"It was a compliment," Wit told her tiredly, closing the door and turning to face the chaos of the room with a wince.

"It was a factual observation," Design corrected, sliding across the wall alongside him, “I took a survey to back it up."

"Design, please," Wit groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He was neither drunk nor Invested enough to deal with that conversation right now. 

Lift was crouched over Jasnah, examining the still healing wound. Aluminium injuries sometimes took longer to fully heal, even after the offending object had been removed. Lingering traces of the metal still caused problems with the Investiture healing. It was horrible stuff, truly.

"Damnation jester man," Lift said, whistling between her teeth, "What kind of freaky starvin' stuff have you two been doing in the bedroom? "she demanded, incredulous. "Pretty sure you're meant to stick it in her downstairs bits, not her chest. Figured you'd know that."

Regret. Yes, that was that feeling knocking against the inside of his skull like an insect trapped in a glass.

"I didn't stick it anywhere" he replied, with far less levity than he would ordinarily have mustered. It had not been a very levitous night. 

"Yeah, I've heard that can happen." she said, tone half- knowledgeable, half -sympathetic. 

In hindsight, he should have just let Jasnah bleed. The rug wasn't getting any less ruined. Unlike his sanity.

"If, could you please-"he began wearily, gesturing impatiently to Jasnah.

"Alright, alright," she said, sounding exasperated, as though he were being unreasonable in redirecting her attention to the woman slowly bleeding all over the floor. 

Her power flared, and a moment later she said, proudly, "There, see, she's waking up already." 

Wit stopped his pacing and knelt down by his queen once more, placing her head gently into his lap and stroking her hair back away from her face. Lift, for once wise, made no comment.

Jarrah stirred and groaned as he trailed his fingers gently through her hair and Ivory stood on her chest and minutely examined Lift's progress.

As her eyes opened and her vision clarified on him, those words were on his tongue. 

Those foolish, damning words that had nearly gotten him killed tonight.

The sudden powerful rush of emotion that hit him as she looked at him nearly knocked them from his lips, like a High storm wall dislodging a boulder.

But he smothered them with a smile, and held them inside. He wasn’t totally sure why. It just didn’t feel quite right. Not now. Not like this.

She stiffly raised herself enough to survey the damage.

Then she pursed her lips and said, "Rather unnecessary treatment of my best nightgown, wouldn't you say?" 

Wit choked on a laugh and pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers, keeping himself from covering her mouth with has only through millennia of cultivated restraint.

"Hello! You're welcome!" Lift’s loud, irritable voice burst in on the intimate moment, like a chull lumbering into a banquet and demanding to know where the sweets were.

Her arms spread indignantly wide to remind them she was still there and was responsible for Jasnah's current consciousness, she glared pointedly at both of them.

"Thank you, Lift." Jasnah said graciously, even as she gripped Wit's arm painfully to pull herself upright. “You may go to the kitchens if you wish. Tell them I approve the making of any dish you request." 

A gleam of near feral glee flickered into her eyes at this and she squinted at Jasnah before clarifying, “The royal kitchens, right?” 

Jasnah nodded, and Lift’s grin became absolutely and undoubtedly feral a moment before she saluted Jasnah, then shot off as fast as she could go.

"You may regret that," Wit said lightly, knowing only too well what kind of dish Lift was likely to order.

Jasnah, who probably had a shrewd idea too, allowed, “Perhaps. But it's a regret I'll deal with tomorrow. For now-" she began to rise with difficulty," My chambers must be investigated. The fabrial trap must be sent to my mother for examination. Then we must have the guards on duty interviewed, as well as any servants or maids who have had access to my quarters, and-"

" Jasnah," Wit interrupted quietly, one hand resting gently on her arm, drawing her back to him for a moment before she rose and drew away.

Some deep, instinctual part of him that he usually kept such an excellent hold on after all these centuries of civilised existence, it needed her. It needed her here with him for just a moment longer. He was not yet ready to let her go. Not when he’d come so close to never being able to hold her again so recently.

She obliged and turned back to face him, seeming to understand, though she too leashed those parts of herself as well.

Ever grateful, he dipped forwards and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, tender and intimate, then rested his forehead against hers.

Again, his traitorous tongue almost told her, but instead he murmured sleepily,  “I'm very glad you're not dead." 

Her lips quirked into a faint smile at that, “You say the sweetest things," she deadpanned in that way of hers that he loved so well.

"I know," he sighed, with an appropriate and expected level of drama, "I spoil you so much." 

She pulled back a little and studied him with a keen eye, “I feel I should be expressing to you, too, that I'm pleased you aren't dead,” she said with a slight frown.

"Only if you really mean it," he said, with mock seriousness.

She ignored that, except for a slight frown. Then she asked, blunt and direct as ever, "What happened?"

"You ate all of my Stormlight." he returned smoothly. Technically it was true. But it was so far from the full truth of what had passed between them that it felt more like a lie, somehow.

"How rude of me," Jasnah said quietly, pressing another soft kiss to his lips.

 He could tell that she was not fully satisfied with that, however, and would likely return to it before long to tease further information from him. Damnable woman knew him too well.

"We have work to do," Jasnah said, getting to her feet with a poorly canceled wince and a wobble.

"Yes, we do," Wit agreed grimly, also rising and readying himself for a fight as he added, “We need to rest and recuperate and follow the advice of a healer on how best to recover."

Janak, as anticipated, didn't much like this suggestion.

She frowned slightly and said, “There will be time for rest and recovery later, Wit. There was an assassin in my personal chambers who made a very good attempt at killing me. I-"

"They did." Wit said very softly. 

"What?"

"They did kill you," he murmured, meeting and holding her intense violet eyes as he spoke, seeing something shift within them a moment before she blinked and turned away, unable to hold his gaze and whatever she saw within it.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and took her hand, gently twining his fingers with hers, as the Cosmere had tangled their fates. 

"You died, Jasnah." he told her softly. " I watched you die." 

They both let that statement echo, done and unchallenged in the silence that followed. 

Then he squeezed her hand and said, "Please." 

She studied him hard, considering his words, hisintent, then she sighed faintly and nodded, yielding to his good sense. 

“Vey well." she agreed, “But I am not comfortable remaining here," She looked around at their quarters with a slight shiver. 

Once her sanctuary, now it would forever be the place where she had died. She did not get overly attached to places, or things, in general. She was the least materialistic aristocrat he’d ever met. Yet this had been a place of safety, and refuge, and the violation of that would probably haunt her more than the injuries themselves, already swiftly on the road to being fully healed. Smooth skin spread over another scar that she would never forget, regardless of the lack of physical reminder.

As if to illustrate this point, she said, with a grim expression, "But  in the morning, we find the bastards that did this."

"I've no objection to that whatsoever," he said smoothly, even though that was a lie.

Right now he never wanted her to go to work again. He wanted her to remain in his arms, safe, and whole, and unharmed. 

He couldn't have that. He knew he couldn't have that. He shouldn’t want that. That was the point of this relationship. That they each had goals larger than one another, that they had always known and accepted that from the very beginning. It was what they had both wanted. A relationship beyond simple wants. A relationship of deep, nuanced understanding of two of the Cosmere’s most complex creatures. 

And now...Well now he’d gone and fucked that right up, hadn’t he? He’d gone and fallen in love with her. Because of course he had. How could he not? 

It had been centuries since someone had challenged him as surely as she challenged him. On every fundamental level of his existence, she met, and even exceeded him. 

It was thrilling, and intoxicating. 

And more than that. More than the challenge. More than her ability to go toe-to-toe with him and even come out on top. It was her understanding of him, her acceptance of who and what he was. Even as he understood and accepted her, and- 

What an idiot. What an absolute, Adonalsium damned idiot he was. 

He could not contain this woman. He could barely even keep up with her most days. He would never be allowed to hold her gently in his arms and keep her safe from the world. No. She would not permit that. 

So he settled in the short term for pulling her into his arms now, one hand held about her waist while his other tangled in her long, black hair.

I love you. His heartbeat said, where it pounded against his ribs, pressed so close to her an irrational part of him thought she must feel it. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

It was not some impulse foolishness from a boy panicked with his first crush. No. He was old. Old and stupid. So much so that he'd walked this path before.

The woman in his arms was not a fleeting fantasy conjured up by a frantic, terrified mind. She was solid, and real, and warm. And every inch of him was in love with her.

Truly in love with her.

Not in love with that desperate moment. Not in love with the unattainable idea of her that she could never be. No. His idiotic, foolish, witless little heart loved her in all the way it was possible for one person to love another.

Fucked. That's what he was. Well and truly fucking fucked.

But he didn't tell her. Because he was not yet that stupid.

He just held her.

Held her and kissed her and cared for her, for the few hours in which she would allow him to do so.

He helped her out of her ruined gown. Wiped the blood and gore from her skin as she bathed. Braided her still damp hair. Helped her into a clean nightgown and a different bed.

Then he held her again as she finally managed to drift off in his arms. And as he did, he thanked whichever Shard, or God, or raw force in this world had let him save the woman he loved. 

The woman he loved. 

Oh fuck him, this was unlikely to end well at all.

He did it anyway.

You all want to hear a shocking secret? I’m still writing these 😅 

Drabble #3 for @valasania-the-pale! 

Reckless Conversation 

Pairing: Future Geralt/Dandelion with pining Dandelion and references to other ships

Word Count: 3,581

How'd it go? Geralt would ask, head bent over his blade like he wasn't hanging on Ciri's every word. 

I think I broke Dandelion's nose should produce a fun reaction. 

That was an enjoyment only future Ciri had access to though. Right now, present Ciri had to deal with the damn thing. 

"It's not that bad," she insisted, even as blood soaked through the rag she'd given him. She winced as Dandelion all but stuffed the material up his nostrils in an effort to stop the flow. Ciri was pretty sure she'd last used that to mop up some drowner slime... best not mention it. Besides, it wasn’t like he was breathing through his nose right now. "It's fine. You're fine." 

"I'd like to be the judge of that!" came the muffled reply. Dandelion staggered to a nearby water trough, blinking down at his own reflection. When he straightened his face was curiously blank. "You've ruined me." 

"Oh please." 

"I'm done. Through. My career will never recover. I hope it was worth it, little miss witcher, I really do." 

"Okay, first of all you're fine. Second, I doubt a bruised nose will hinder your poetry—" 

"I am speaking of my romantic career, dear, keep up!" 

Ciri rolled her eyes to the heavens, half hoping they'd open up and drown her. Dandelion had dropped plaintively to his knees, staring into the water and bemoaning his bloodstained shirt. She bit down on the urge to point out the new mud on his trousers. 

"Maybe," she said, rocking back on her heels, "you shouldn't go grabbing little miss witchers from the depths of alleyways. They have a tendency to hit first and ask questions later." 

The glare didn't surprise her. The words though... 

"Well, I was happy to see you." 

Oh. 

Shaking her head, Ciri pulled Dandelion to his feet and straight into a hug. "And I'm happy to see you too. Drama and all." 

The sounds emanating from her shoulder were curiously wet, though whether that was due to injury or emotion she couldn't say. "Friends pay for ruined clothes, you know." 

"Not when one friend has a monopoly on Novigrad's entertainment district and the other barely has two coins to her name. Plus, I'm pretty sure one of them is counterfeit. I owe someone else a broken nose. Sorry you got it instead." 

With a laugh Dandelion pulled away. "In truth I'm happy to receive anything you might give me, Ciri. Though I'd really prefer a strong drink." 

"I think we can manage that." 

After checking that his nose truly wasn't broken — just blooming a display of color that would put many painters to shame — Dandelion took Ciri's hand and led her into the city. He wasn't a native, but he might as well have been given the number of years he'd spent here, moving between high society circles and dangerous slums. Ciri knew there were few who could show her Novigrad like Dandelion and after months on the Path she was more than happy to let someone else call the shots for a while. 

She shouldn't have been surprised when, just minutes later, she was steered into a small alcove, the entrance so dark even she might have missed it passing by. An elf stood off to the side of a door, the bulk of his arms contrasting the ornamentally styled tunic. He inclined his head towards Dandelion as they slipped inside. 

"Milireth," he whispered, though the sudden onslaught of chatter made that unnecessary. "Great chap. Bit taciturn for my taste, but then I have plenty of stirring conversation for the two of us. He had some trouble finding employment a while back — you know how inhumane those Eternal Fire folks are and yes, I use that term deliberately — so I called in a favor with Julia and got him a spot here. Perfect fit. Now Milireth, in turn, lets me in without Julia being any wiser." He dropped her a wink. 

"Dandelion. Are we going to get kicked out halfway through our drinks?" 

"Absolutely not. Probably not. Provided we keep to the back. Or provided Julia has gotten over her most recent grudge. Either way I'd consider those excellent odds. Come on!" 

He led her through the establishment with impressive skill, weaving among the closely packed tables, dodging feet and legs. As Ciri's eyes adjusted to the low light she realized why Milireth was a good fit for this place. While Novigrad tended to divide its species rather strictly by districts and boroughs, here there was a diverse mix Ciri had only ever seen among her own friends and family. Dwarves, humans, elves, and, she suspected, a doppler or two made up the majority of the crowd, largely keeping to their own tables but still intermingling to an almost unheard of degree. They were literally sharing elbow room, leaning into one another's space with a confidence that said here, at least, everyone was welcome. A figure all the way in the back was shrouded in their cloak, but claw-like hands brought a mug to their lips. A woman with slit eyes smiled as they passed. Another was giving off pheromones — if the men draped in her lap were any indication. Monsters of all manner took refuge in shadows, fortifying themselves with good food, better drink, and even, if any would admit it, the company. 

Dandelion gently pushed Ciri into an empty seat. Her legs felt loose as a water hag's stew. 

"What — ?" she started to say before realizing that she knew precisely what this place was. Ciri shook her head. No one liked stupid questions. "How does this place exist?" 

Dandelion waved a hand. "Well, the philosopher might spout something about life finding a way, no matter what might stand against it. The Captain of our guard would say that the scum of the city are unerringly skilled at meeting in clandestine places. I suppose that both are right in their own way. Me? I might wax poetic about the stunningly skillful enchantments that keep this place from prying eyes." 

Ciri's gaze dropped instinctively to the Cat medallion against her chest. It lay quiet as a grave. Well, a grave post-witcher contract. 

"Very sophisticated enchantments," Dandelion said. 

"I'll say. I'm surprised you and the other humans aren't buckling with migraines." Ciri wasn't sure what protected her exactly. The Elder Blood, early exposure to magic, the fact that she was a Source... who could say. Except maybe Yen, and the last time she'd brought it up she'd gotten a mind-numbing lecture for her trouble. Better to simply let some things remain a mystery. 

Dandelion shrugged. "We will. Eventually. In an hour or two, but by that point one should be three sheets to the wind, so who can really tell the difference?" With a grin he waved down a passing barmaid who unceremoniously dropped two mugs on their table. Apparently one didn't order here. Or if you did, best be quick about it. The barmaid paused only long enough to peer closely at Dandelion's face. By the stretching of his grin he no doubt thought her a suitable distraction. Ciri suspected she was just interested in the growing bruise. 

She ignored them both to try the drink. Bitter and frothy, but it went down easier than most of what she'd had in the last year. Ciri took a long swing and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. 

"Which means," Dandelion continued, waving the barmaid away, "that we have more than enough time for you to tell me everything you've been up to. Don't spare the details! Though you may not have my knack for storytelling, dear, I know you're not entirely without talent. If you leave even a morsel out I'll be devastated." 

"Well, far be it from me to devastate you." 

"Precisely." 

So Ciri told Dandelion all, keeping her voice low in case a room full of creatures didn't take kindly to a list of her contracts. A few had eyed her swords upon entry, but said nothing, seemingly content to keep out of her way provided Ciri kept out of theirs. It was only too bad she couldn't say the same of her travels. Drowner infestations were one thing, even if the sailors too often tried to get handsy instead of paying her in coin, but a pack of werewolves had given her trouble for a solid month. All born into the curse, they possessed the ability to transform at will and had used it to their advantage as bandits, terrorizing a collection of villages. Solving the problem without indiscriminate slaughter had been a tricky business, demanding that Ciri pull from her knowledge of negotiation and mediation: neither of which were her strong suits. 

The werewolves at least would live out their days as members of a community. The rampaging godling out in Kaedwen was another matter entirely. Ciri hadn't had the privilege of meeting one until then — and she'd always assumed it was a privilege based on Geralt's teachings. "Not a beast to be put down," he'd say, eyeing the aggressive drunk. "Just mischievous. Respect them and at the very least you'll finish your contract without bloodshed. At best you'll come out of it with a friend." Well, she'd been more than respectful. Especially towards a being whose mischievous nature had resulted in families terrified of their own dreams, to the point where one newly minted wife had walked out her window. Another strangled her infant, thinking it an intruder. Ciri had tried to establish if the families had moved into what the godling perceived as her territory, if she had some sort of grievance towards young wives and mothers, even if it were possible for their species to fall under spells... all of it came to naught. Her inquiries were only met with laughter and, in time, more death. When a member of the Viper school had passed through and casually mentioned burdock root for navigating dreams, she'd bought him a drink, crushed a whole stem up in hers, and met the godling in another reality. Ciri couldn't swear she killed it, though as the Lady of Time and Space she suspected she'd had that edge. Either way, afterwards the women had slept soundly for a fortnight and it had felt safe to move on. 

There were others, of course, though no encounter quite as thrilling. It seemed like no matter how much people sneered at the trade — Geralt for his yellow eyes, her for being born a woman — everyone had a nest of something in need of extermination. Or a haunting to be put right. Or even, on occasion, just a particularly nasty job that no one else wanted to do. Ciri didn't mind mucking about in the sewers, provided her payment got her a bath at the end of the day. As well as, weeks later, the humor in watching Dandelion's face twist in on itself. 

"You didn't," he murmured, taking a large gulp of his drink. He swirled it as if to wash away an imaginary taste. "You drank from it?" 

"It was either that or die of thirst. I don't have a witcher's mutations. Sometimes you've just got to make do." 

"You poor, wretched thing." 

“Oh I know. Buy a poor, wretched thing another drink?” 

Speaking with Dandelion was easy. Even when he interrupted to supply what he considered to be the superior description, or went off on his own, thrilling tangents — forever stealing the spotlight. They were just the quirks of talking to him and after so long on the Path Ciri found herself welcoming the familiar. More than that, or the warm interior, or even the satisfying drink, she soaked up the feeling of family that permeated the air. 

It was a funny thing that, family. Funny, at least, if you shared her sense of humor. If anyone asked about her parentage (and plenty certainly had) they were in for quite the explanation. Born to the lovely Pavetta and Duny, though orphaned at a terribly young age. So really, in spirit Ciri’s parents were her grandparents, nothing less than the Lioness of Cintra herself and her devoted husband, Eist Tuirseach. But oh, haven't you heard? Her father hadn't really died. Why, he was no mere Lord, but the Emperor of Nilfgaard himself! Emhyr var Emreis, The White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies and so on and so forth. Surely then he would be the one she referred to as 'Father'? Well, not when one considered a slew of complexities there, including her status as a Child Surprise. Duny, Eist, and Emhyr may have all vowed for the title of 'Father,' but destiny gave that dubious privilege to Geralt of Rivia and time proved one a wise man and the other a fool. So it was that Ciri found herself with three fathers, technically, though four if one considered the childhood emotions she'd attached to the Urcheon of Erlenwald. Two mothers as well, with the third arriving along with Geralt: Yennefer of Vengerberg. Sorceress. Visionary. Protector in the extreme. 

Yet the irony was that it didn't stop there. Who were the other witchers if not additional fathers, given joke names like 'Uncle' and 'Brother' to avoid confusion? What else made up the Lodge but mothers when it was they who taught her everything from magic to the ungodly chore of managing her blood each month? For an orphan Ciri had an uncommon number of parental figures... including the man who sat across from her. 

"Who's raising who?" she'd once heard Dijkstra mutter while Geralt and Dandelion had argued over her. It had been about something inconsequential, the disagreement lost to time, but Ciri, hardly a teen, recalled thinking that they were indeed like children in their bickering. 

Now, as an adult, she was inclined to re-term such moments as... frisky. In the absurdly strange way of all witchers and bards. But really, what friends argued so strongly over the raising of a daughter? 

Their interactions across nearly fifteen years hadn't exactly escaped her notice, even if childhood had often mischaracterized what precisely those interactions were. Nor, of course, could Ciri have missed how Dandelion kept speaking of romance without naming any new paramours. 

"So," she said, leaning across the table. This time a young man passed with drinks and Ciri snatched one, enjoying the spicy scent. She dangled the brew before Dandelion's nose before taking a sloppy sip. She was no lightweight, but they didn't skimp on the alcohol here either. 

Dandelion leaned forward to meet her. "So?" 

"Don't tell me I've been blathering on and you haven't thought of a single thing to share? No exciting adventures of your own? No... new friends?" 

In the shadows of the establishment Dandelion's face fell, then grew soft. In an instant the performer was gone and in his place sat a man closer to fifty than forty, a little tired, a little stressed, but more happy than anything else. He took the mug out of her hands and stole a drink for himself. "Can I share a secret with you, dear?" 

"Always." 

"Promise not to tell?" 

"Witcher's honor." 

"Your skillfully thrown punch may not have been the death of my career. I fear that's coming along just fine on its own." 

"Come on." 

He chuckled, so light and airy it floated away into the conversation around them. Ciri only knew he was laughing because of that smile and the shake in his shoulders. 

"All right, all right. You've caught me. There are still many men and women alike who flock to my side post-performance. Even a few who have asked for a private staging, if you catch my drift." 

"Dandelion. I've 'caught your drift' since I was fourteen and you gave me a lecture on avoiding venereal disease." 

"Did I?" 

"You were drunk." 

He took another massive gulp from their shared mug. "Well, that would explain it. But yes, I'm still popular — thank the gods for that — but I'd be a fool not to acknowledge that most of that stems from my unparalleled musical talent and a hefty nest egg. I'm not as limber as I once was, dear. I have wrinkles." Dandelion shook like a dog shedding water. 

Ciri smiled. Slow. Syrupy. "You're still the most handsome poet I know." 

"Oh thank you. I should hope so! The others are all cads..." 

"And you're dodging the question. Or the implied question, since I know you like to get technical." Dandelion scoffed. "No new friends? No last hurrahs before your golden years? Come off it, Dandelion. The last two times we've met up you haven't mentioned a single new 'acquaintance' and we both know you'd be talking up any encounters whether they'd been good or not. A girl's got to wonder." 

"A girl's gotten nosy." He slammed the now empty mug back on the table. "Let's go." 

"Ah — look. Sorry. If you don't want to talk about it — " 

"I don't want to talk about it here." Dandelion rolled his eyes with such fervor that Ciri worried for a moment that they'd leave his head. "Come now. Have I ever kept things from you? I'll tell all with a master's flair, but I'm doing it out of their earshot. Besides, that headache’s starting up." 

A few patrons cast them looks, which Ciri could only interpret as confirmation that they'd been eavesdropping. Then again, she'd been doing the same. There was a certain amount of camaraderie as they left the establishment, Dandelion passing a hand over all he knew (and dropping reminders not to mention him to Julia) and even she got a few nods of recognition. Changling, bard, vampire, or un-mutated Witcher, it seemed so long as you kept yourself to yourself all were welcome. 

She'd have to come back sometime. 

Ciri took note of the street as they ambled away, Dandelion's arm comfortably tucked into hers. They'd nearly reached the market before he spoke. 

"I know I just promised a tale, but are you really going to make me explain this?" His petulance drew out a laugh. 

"No," she admitted. "What's to explain? I’m not blind. You've spent the last twenty years following Geralt around and very nearly losing your head for the trouble. Or your voice. Your arm. Your balls, if some of those stories are to be believed."

"Oh, believe it, my dear."

"So I think that speaks for itself. Mere friends don't go to such lengths."

The toe of Dandelion's boot found a small stone, sending it soaring ahead of them. "Yet you forget one crucial detail."

"Enlighten me."

"Future loves do not have poetry worthy relationships with a sorceress."

She ground them both to a halt, the sudden loss of momentum drawing a curse from Dandelion. "Are you kidding me?" He squawked as Ciri reached up to knock some sense into him. Try to, anyway. "Oh, I knew immersing yourself in that exaggerated, destiny-laden, overly dramatic drivel would cause problems someday."

"One moment now! Drivel?"

Ciri ignored the outcry. "Yes, Geralt loves Yen... Just like Yen loves Istredd. Triss loves Geralt. Triss and Yen both had that weird thing for Philippa and don't even get me started on Fringilla. What do you think it means that Geralt spent months with Regis and Yen still dragged him up to that unicorn the moment he returned? Or that they casually talk about a 'sorceress' work' over the breakfast table? Dandelion, he's past his first century with so little family left. If you think that leaves less room for you in this mess than you're not nearly as smart as the masses claim. You’ve been listening to your own ballads too much."

She supposed this was some kind of accomplishment: leaving the most verbose man in The Continent utterly speechless. The alcohol still burned in the back of her throat and Ciri could admit that, in a more sober, everyday moment, she probably wouldn't have said as much as she had. But it was all true and dammit, if she'd learned anything since the Frost it was that a short life could be just as cursed as a long one. She was sick of people — herself included — letting things pass by.

"I don't know which is harder to believe," Dandelion murmured, raising a hand to his brow. "That you have twice assaulted me on this beautiful day. That I am being egged into a relationship with a witcher by his uncouth daughter..."

"Or?"

"Or that he remains that stunningly handsome at over a hundred years old."

Ciri snorted, tugging him along. Dandelion stumbled a moment, a testament to her words, but did quickly regain his feet. "You know we've never shied from discussions of sex in this family. Love though? Absolutely... so go slowly there."

A blush stained the great poet's cheeks, though no one else would have caught it on such a hot, sunny day. He delicately cleared his throat. "Any suggestions?"

"Hmm." Ciri pretended to think, tapping her chin. "We've been apart so long and really, our day has only just started, so I suggest that you come home with me. The three of us can start by having lunch."

The blush turned into a conspiratorial smile. "Where you will unexpectedly disappear, leaving the two of us alone?"

"But of course."

"My dear Ciri, I'll make a storyteller out of you yet."

A story she was more than happy to work on. How'd it go? Geralt would ask, trying to hide both face and curiosity. She'd done enough telling for today and Ciri looked forward to dragging Dandelion into their home, shoving him forward, and letting two of her dads work that out for themselves.

Snatcher x Baker!Reader Oneshot: A Trade

I blame my friend, idk if they’re gonna see this or not, for causing me to spiral into developing a mess of reader insert fics! And by that I mean yes, I have more planned because I’m a mess! XD

Word count: 2472

Summary: Of course, deciding to take a shortcut through Subcon Forest was not the best idea, but at least you had something to trade if you got into any trouble.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

The fall air was cool and crisp, and felt quite nice as it blew across your face. You were bundled up for the cool weather, of course, wearing a light jacket and a hat to stop yourself from getting too chilly. You were on a mission, a mission to get to a party.

… Well, it was more of a small gathering between you and your friends that you had not seen for some time thanks to work and the general distance between you all. One of your friends had moved to some island to study cannons while another had gone out into the desert to learn about architecture. This made it pretty difficult for everyone to get together, but this year you had planned everything out to the smallest detail, and made sure that everyone was able to attend this get together.

However, you had run into a complication that had led to your current situation. The meet up was taking place in a small village outside a forest known as Subcon. It was fairly secluded, few roads leading to it and as someone who did not have a car, transportation was definitely the biggest challenge you had to overcome.

Fortunately, overcoming this hurdle had been fairly easy as you managed to catch a train, the only train, that let you off at a stop right outside the forest. From there it was just a quick jaunt through the trees before you arrived at your destination. Of course, this was easier said than done when it came to navigating Subcon Forest in all its spooky glory.

The tower trees piercing the sky above you, the shadows that crawled across the forest floor. Overall, the forest was pretty cool and somewhere you would probably like to take a hike through, but not tonight.

Especially since you were one of the people responsible for bringing food.

Baked goods, that is. You were currently carrying an insulated pack full of all sorts of cookies, with some cupcakes stacked on top. All Halloween themed, too, even if it was not Halloween just yet. Your primary hobby was baking as you found it to be a great way to deal with stress, and making your friends happy with your baked goods was just an added bonus.

So, you were determined to get to the meet up as soon as possible with the food you were bringing being as intact as possible, which was actually more of a challenge than you had originally anticipated it being due to how many roots poked up from the ground, tripping you every so often. There were also some rocks you stumbled upon, and even a bush you had fallen into-

You could be clumsy at times, very clumsy.

Although, at one point as you had tripped over yet another uneven clump of dirt and fumbled to catch yourself while not crushing the food, you swore you had seen something that resembled a tombstone.

… Hopefully someone was just getting into the spirit of Halloween a bit early?

Foolishly, you ultimately ignored this foreboding sign and continued to make your way through the trees. Trees, trees, and more trees-

What was that?

Not too far away, you heard the giggling and laughter of some children. Were you already at your destination? You were almost certain you still had a ways to go, so where had those noises come from? Some kids who were exploring the forest that you had just managed to bump into, or something else…

Curious, you slowed down and crept around the trees, taking your time and doing your best to keep your steps silent until you spotted the source of the sounds.

Those were kids alright.

Decked out in strange, shadowy shawls that hid most of their bodies from sight, their short stature combined with their mischievous laughter definitely gave off the impression that they were young, and pranksters. You had to admit that their… clothes? Costumes? Whatever they were, the attire that they wore was pretty neat with the faint, purple glow it gave off.

Maybe there were lights in it or something?

You watched as they paused, whispering between each other before laughing once again. One of them turned to look at you, face hidden in the shadows created by their hood, and-

They flipped you off!

“Hey!” You immediately shouted, resulting in more laughter coming from the rude children as they rushed off. “That’s not nice!”

Of course, your scolding got no response from the duo as they vanished from sight, leaving you alone in the forest once again. You let out a sigh, disappointed in the rude behavior, and kicked at the dirt. “Little… jerks. It’s not nice to flip off someone who hasn’t done anything to you.”

In your agitated state, you failed to notice how the shadows seemed to be… closing in on you. Sharp, glowing points started protruding from the ground, twitching and slowly reaching up higher and higher, increasing in size. If you had been paying closer attention, you would have noticed that they resembled the children you had previously seen, in a way. Both shared that same, purple and shadowy glow.

Alas, you were oblivious to the ring growing around you, instead taking the time to check on your food and make sure nothing had been too damaged by your stumbling and tripping.

Nothing worse than broken cookies.

Upon seeing that everything was fine, you let out a huff, brushed off your clothes, and took a step forward-

Just in time for the shadows to spring up around you!

You immediately let out a startled yelp and stumbled backwards, tripping and falling in the process. Fortunately, your quick thinking managed to save the food, but you did land heavily on your butt, letting out a pained noise in the process.

In seconds, your view of the forest had been completely cut off as the shadowy vines surged up into the air, a purple dome forming between them. The ground beneath you glowed, and tall, shadow figures loomed in the distance with their bright eyes focused on you.

What the-

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!”

The loud, booming voice behind you caused you to whirl around, hands scrambling at the ground to help you turn faster while you nearly knocked your pack over in the process. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of the being now looming over you, claws outstretched and glowing maw twisted upwards into a menacing grin.

Was… was that a ghost noodle?

For as shocking as the situation that you now found yourself in was, you had to admit that whoever this was, was not all that…

Intimidating.

Truthfully, while he certainly did seem to be menacing, the general appearance of his body only served to lessen the impact. Even now, as you stared up into his glowing face, you realized it resembled a smiling jack’o’lantern.

Plus the fluff around his neck seemed very soft…

You were snapped out of your thoughts when the spooky shadow started speaking. His voice was also quite nice, definitely an odd thing for you to notice at the moment, but then again the shock of the situation was probably making you process things weirdly.

Definitely the shock.

“Oooooooooh, you dared to set foot in my forest.” He sneered, leaning in nice and close. Your face felt warm from the bright lights before you.

Or perhaps you were blushing, who knew.

“I-I… I’m sorry?” You stuttered out, uncertain as to how you should react in this situation. A ghost, demon, something had just jumpscared you and trapped you in some weird shadow dimension-

You had been sent to the shadow realm.

Possibly being memed to death was definitely not how your day was supposed to go.

“You should be. But, since I’m feeling nice today, I’ll cut you a deal.” He chuckled as he snapped his claws, causing an elegant contract to appear in front of you. You hardly had a chance to skim over the contents, fortunately noticing that his name was apparently Snatcher, before he continued speaking.

A snatcher of lives? Of souls? It was certainly an ironic name and you quietly wondered if he had thought of it himself or if someone had given it to him.

“Your soul for some chores. Picking bones out of the local swamp, chatting up the nooses, and if you fail…”

His smile grew wider, and far more menacing.

“You’ve got your soul on the line, that should be motivation enough.”

But, rather than accept the shadow’s demands, you had your own plan that you had managed to come up with on the fly. You had something else that you could offer other than your soul.

So, without further ado, you opened up your pack and took out your trump card.

“... What. Is. That?” Snatcher spat as he stared at the offered item in your hand.

“A cupcake!” You cheerfully replied, the vanilla cupcake seeming to sparkle in the light due to the crystalline sugar scattered across the top. The vibrant purple icing fit in wonderfully with the colour palette of your surroundings, and the spooky spectre floating above you. “I’m offering you a trade, I’ll make you some sweets or other stuff in exchange for letting me go.”

The shadow stared at you for a solid ten seconds before a strangled wheeze escaped him and he broke down laughing, body crumpling over from the force of his cackles.

“HAHAHAHHAHAHAA! Oh that’s RICH!” He chuckled, wiping an imaginary tear from one of his eyes. “You trade me some cupcakes for your soul-”

“Or cakes!” You interrupted, causing Snatcher to look at you. “Cookies too. I’ve also been working on making danishes. Besides…”

The smile on your face turned the slightest bit smug. “Since it looks like you have a business in this soul snatching deal I bet they’re pretty common here, but how often have you gotten a professional baker to offer their services to you?”

You were definitely exaggerating with the professional bit, although you had been paid to make cakes for parties before. It was a good source of secondary income, too, and would hopefully help sweeten the deal.

Snatcher eyed you, looking as though he was seriously considering your offer, before snatching the cupcake out of your hand and inspecting it. “A professional, huh? And what if I don’t like sweets, what’s your offer then?”

“I’d make other things!” You immediately offered. “I mainly bake, but I can cook other things, and…”

You thought back to those children you had encountered earlier. “I can make food for others, too! You could give it to people you care about-”

Upon seeing Snatcher’s mouth open, probably him about to argue that he cared for no one, you quickly continued speaking. “Or you could use them to lure people into a trap, or trick them and cause them to not notice. There’s nothing creepier than seeing a plate of freshly made cookies randomly on a tree stump, or something.”

“... Ohohohohoho,” The shadow grinned, and you could easily imagine him rubbing his claws together were it not for the cupcake still being held in his clutches. “Sounds evil-”

“Deliciously evil?” Your attempt at punnery caused Snatcher to immediately freeze and glare at you.

“If you ever say anything like that again in my forest and presence, you can kiss this little deal between us goodbye.” He hissed, the genuine annoyance in his voice making you quickly nod your head in agreement.

“Yup! Got it! I fully understand and consent to these terms!” You babbled as you took a step back and raised your hands. “So, we cool then?”

Snatcher’s eyes narrowed before he bit into the cupcake, wrapper and all. “... We’re cool, for now. But first..” The contract that had been floating in front of you flashed before changing. It had been corrected to include the new conditions that you had mentioned, and featured a feathered quill for you to sign with. Seeing no other option, you quickly scratched your name onto the piece of parchment and, as soon as you were finished, it vanished from sight.  “Deal’s done! Don’t forget to uphold your end, or else.” 

With that, the shadow dove in the ground and vanished from sight. The dome around you also slowly broke apart until it was gone completely, leaving you free to go and finally get to the party.

Even if you were now one cupcake short, a small price to pay for coming out of that with your soul intact. Although, now you had another problem to consider.

How to get in contact with your new boss. Maybe it was time to finally invest in a ouija board…

Omake:

One week later…

“Okay, this should work.” You mumbled to yourself as you scanned over the book you had borrowed from the library. Within was an intricate circle with various symbols lining the edges and parts of the interior. It was supposed to be for summoning demons and ghosts.

Which was exactly what you were looking for since you needed to get back in contact with Snatcher. The circle offered protection from the summoned being as a bonus!

… Something you felt you definitely would need since you had a feeling the shadow would be pissed.

You looked up to check on the replica circle you had drawn in chalk on the floorboards, internally cringing at the potential damage that could be done to your apartment, but also certain that if you did not do this soon that bad things would happen.

Including you getting hunted down by an angry ghost-noodle-demon-thing.

“Okay, okay, let’s do this.” You breathed in and out, trying to slow your racing heart as you followed the instructions from the book. An incantation was needed, the demon’s name being the primary component.

Time to see if “Snatcher” was a nickname or not.

You had done it! You had summoned Snatcher, except-

He was stuck halfway in the floor. Only the upper part of his body was visible with his long tail probably extending down in the apartment below you. You doubted your downstairs neighbors were home due to the lack of screaming.

But then again, soon enough you were not able to hear anything other than the shrieking of the trapped shadow.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Snatcher squawked as he lashed out at the invisible barrier around him, ultimately failing to free himself. “I’M STUCK IN THE FLOOR!”

You dropped to your knees, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes as you laughed. Snatcher, now finished with his tantrum, crossed his arms and angrily glared at you. The only thing that could be heard was your wheezing laughter, until-

“Well? You gonna let me out?”

You promptly died laughing all over again.

                                         xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I have no idea if/when I'll put out more reader fics, but they could happen! Maybe! I have one in mind with the Prince... maybe....

I hope you all enjoyed reading!

- ImmortalCoelacanth

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

Like blood on a patch of fresh snow.

I'm not sure of where this fic went, but... oh well. I don't want to look at it for much longer, so here y'all go, 1.9K words of whatever this is. I really wanted to write more NaomiLG because I love them, but I realize I'm really not their best writer, so I need to hone my skills. Take this weird-ass oneshot with a very specific and picturesque prompt as an attempt to nail them. It was fun to imagine all of the red-on-white imagery, at least. Title comes from a Rammstein song because it played while I was writing this and I figured, y'know, it means "red rose", so why not make it the title? It at least sounds epic to someone like me who knows shit about German. No correlation to the lyrics, though, far from it lmao.

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Rosenrot

Summary: Naomi's past catches up to her in a street as someone else's blood spills for her.

Fandom: Trauma Team (spoilers for TC:SO and TT) Ship: Naomi/Little Guy

Wordcount: 1.9K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo​

AO3 version available here.

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Like a widow who had lost her spouse, Naomi started wearing black after losing her ability to save lives. Back then, she didn’t really know why, probably to remind her of the sins she still had to expiate. It felt weird to her to wear white again, since it kept reminding her of the life she had to leave behind, that of a lifesaver whom people trusted with literally all they had left.

Even now, even as her life has gone back on track (she has a stable job, a daughter and friends who hold her in great esteem – things she thought she’d never have until a year ago), she continues wearing black because it feels more comfortable to be able to fade back into the shadows would she ever need to slip back into the night. She can’t ever live in the broad daylight, not anymore she knows this; but, as long as Alyssa doesn’t mind, then she doesn’t have a reason to complain. The cold and silence have their perks.

 Wearing black, at first, was to hide stains when she was working with Delphi. God knows there was little hygiene there, so blood could easily show on clothing when they weren’t careful. Wearing black robes (or whatever outfit they had given her that looked very little like a robe) allowed them to conceal the dark reds and rusts more easily without having to think about it too much. Out of sight, out of mind, she supposed.

On the other hand, blood is too visible on white. Of course, it is the point of wearing it for surgical procedures, since it’s easier to disinfect – it’s still too visible for people like Delphi or, in a way, her. Even to this day, seeing reddish stains on white fabric makes her uneasy, reminding her of things she’d much rather never think about again. She’s like the black-clad widow staring at the radiant bride with a wine stain on her dress: she knows what she lost and has the feeling of seeing a bad omen.

 There is this one thing about Delphi she has stopped minding, and it’s Little Guy, or whatever his real identity was supposed to be. If he reminded her of their dark past not too long ago, he now represents what they could become: atoners, working for “the right side” for once, working in the shadows to help the living move on like they’ve had to. Unlike her, he didn’t let himself dwell on the past, preferring to get moving.

The moment she understood it the most when he started to wear white more than black, renouncing to the colour she was always used to see him dress. It felt weird, at first, but he knew how to pull it off, and she got used to the new habits. Never dwell on the past, let herself get swiped away by the changing winds. Moreover, Alyssa really liked it whenever he’d drop by the house after driving her home after work or getting Alyssa from school when she couldn’t.

 But now, the past has caught back to them. Ex-Delphi members have found them again, motivated by the recent rise (and fall, but they forgot about that second time) of Adam’s nephew trying to bring the virus back right as PGS cases flare up across the USA. They’re not running away, this time: she did that enough when going to seek amnesty in Europe, so now, she better prepare herself to strike. Little Guy already cocks his FBI-licenced gun out, intending to strike judging by the little tremors in his fingers.

It goes in a flash: a couple bangs, blood spilling on the ground, dirt and smoke and iron fill the air of an urban cul-de-sac. The commotion is such that it’s difficult to follow anything until the stench of violence lifts up and so does the smog it created. For a moment, she believes they may have both gotten killed, and that she’s already passing into the afterlife, in denial of everything, not ready to face death nor discover if there is, indeed, something on the “other side” that isn’t roaming around this world and calling the “voodoo hotline”.

 One thing quickly becomes clear: she is still alive. In fact, everyone is somehow still alive, because she sees their three assailants with their weapons on the floor and wounds in their legs: they were only harmed to disarm them. She pats her own clothes and body to check if she hasn’t been injured, remembering reflexes she had thought long gone coming back to her in a moment’s notice. To her fortune, she seems okay, as she only feels dirt, dry clothing and skin under her fingers’ touch.

 Seeing the men lie on the ground in pain, she already grabs her phone and calls for help, going into not too many details for everyone’s safety and privacy.

“Little Guy,” she starts calling to her partner so they can get away from this place before being brought into this, her finger about to swipe the call off, “let’s go.”

His response is delayed.

“Sure… Sure thing.”

His voice sounds strangled and hesitant, drier than her clothes, and it prompts her to turn around. As soon as she does, however, her own breath gets caught in her throat as her entire body tenses up. Her mind, which was until now fixated on running as far as possible from the scene before they were going to be questioned about the bullets in their pursuers’ limbs, immediately switches to the same sort of panic she felt in Caduceus Europe all those years ago when she witnessed a fellow surgeon collapse in pain.

Little Guy!

 He’s sitting on the ground, back against the wall that cornered them until now, a hand loosely holding onto his gun, the other barely holding onto a striking red stain on his clear, monochrome attire. It’s expanding moment after moment, replacing the immaculate white of his shirt and suit jacket with a much darker colour. If it was only the bloodstained clothes, it’d have been fine, no matter how much this man frets over such things – but it’s not what is scaring her so much about this.

“Little Guy, what happened?!”

As he struggles to get an answer out, she takes his pulse: there, obviously, since he’s breathing, but weakening. His breathing is quick but shuddering, as if fragile like glass.

“One… one of them was armed,” he replies, swallowing every few words. “One bullet hit… my flank, I think?”

Not caring for the nail polish Alyssa put on her fingers last night, Naomi digs under the bloodstained jacket and where the incriminated wound must be. There, she confirms Navel’s suspicions: it’s indeed in his flank.

“If my assumption is correct, it shouldn’t have hurt an organ,” she says, a little bit of relief pulsing through her. “We need to get you into a hospital asap, though, you’re bleeding profusely.”

 She grabs back her phone, which she previously slipped into her pocket, and adds the information on a fourth wounded. She gives more information on their location and the circumstances, merely forgetting to mention this is all because of Delphi’s doings and their smothered shady pasts, and stays on the line, putting the phone in speaker mode so she doesn’t miss crucial information.

“You should go, Dr Kimishima,” Navel whispers, eyes getting glassy and unfocused, the speed at which this happens prompting her to check the wound again. The blood has spread even further, making the fabric stick to the wound. “Don’t… let them catch up to you.”

“You’re an idiot if you think I’m leaving you for dead. Plus, I’d rather have to search for amnesty again than get pursued for not helping someone in critical need.”

It’s the pragmatic way to say she’d never handle having his blood on her hands and his death on her conscience. He, however, doesn’t reply, letting uncomfortable silence install itself as they wait for assistance to arrive.

 When they do, the sirens’ shrills muffle Navel’s breathing, lights almost covering the blood stains on his suit and her fingers, slipping under her nails, drying out already.

It could, however, never erase the image from her mind.

  -----------------------

Naomi waits in this bedroom, all alone and in silence, for a little while. She doesn’t know how long exactly (probably around half an hour, although it feels like more than that), all she knows is that the chair she’s sitting on isn’t very comfortable and that she needs to remember when to pick Alyssa from school; two things that, for the moment being, don’t matter much.

The weather is beautiful, today. Even earlier, when they were outside, there was a gentle breeze blowing through their hair. She merely forgot about it due to thinking about literally anything else under the sun, mostly her colleague whom she found out wasn’t just randomly hit during the kerfuffle. To be fair, she should’ve guessed that was what had happened when she suddenly found herself on the ground rather than standing, but…

 She suddenly hears Little Guy stirring and, finally, opening an eye. His injuries were fortunately not as grievous as she was afraid they’d be, even if he’s clearly landed himself for at least a week in the hospital. What an idiot.

“Doc… Doctor Kimishima…?”

“Go back to sleep, Little Guy, you still sound like you’ve pulled a week-long all-nighter.”

As if obeying her (but most likely because losing this much blood tends to leave you weak, and his corpulence isn’t exactly one that’d take kindly to blood loss), his eyelids flutter; but he doesn’t go back to sleep. At least, not yet.

 “Are you okay…?” He asks, voice recovering some clarity, even if it’s unlike his usual swagger.

“I’m pretty sure I should be the one asking you that, you know; but I’m okay. Better off than you, that’s for sure.”

He chuckles once before groaning in pain.

“Urgh, I forgot how sore post-surgery was…”

“You’ll get used to it. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m sure you do, Dr Kimishima.”

 She drops the playful banter for something else altogether.

“Oh, and, Little Guy?”

“Yes…?”

“Never do that again. I don’t want to see you covered in your own blood again.”

His face, which is slowly regaining more colour, distorts a little.

“Even if…”

“Even if it means saving my life.”

He looks aside, in silence. She guesses he’s unable to honestly give her the answer she wants to hear, so he instead prefers not to say anything. Well, that’s something she expected would happen: people have told her he was wrapped around her little finger. Too bad that this man got infatuated with someone like her whom death and misfortune follow her every step. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, considering the number of close calls he found himself in when he was by her side. You sometimes have to wonder what other people even think…

“I’ll… I’ll try,” he eventually replies.

 Naomi can’t stay upset about it forever, especially when she sees how dishevelled and vulnerable he looks with his hair askew, dark rings under his eyes and hospital gown, so far from the sharply-dressed bachelor she’s come to appreciate.

“Good. Just be careful and we’ll be clear.”

“Sure thing, ma’am.”

As long as he doesn’t mind being so close to death, she’ll make sure he doesn’t meet it.

A quick timeline of the Australian Fires

It’s really tempting to look at Scott Morrison, Prime Minister of Australia, and consider him completely incompetent in the face of his inaction in a crisis, complete lack of empathy and general ineffectiveness. But here’s the thing - he’s risen to the top position in Australian politics somehow. He must have some political skill, even if it’s not displayed to the media. You don’t find yourself in a position of such influence and power by accident. He might look like an incompetent clown and buffoon but he got there somehow, he must have some political smarts.

And given that you must be reasonably politically savvy to rise to become Prime Minister of Australia, it would be wisest for us plebs on the ground to assume that at least some of the results of his actions are proceeding according to plan.

If you’re a politician attempting something undesirable, unpopular or unsavory, the best case scenario for you is accomplishing that goal without anyone figuring it out. The second best outcome is plausible deniability, so that even if people suspect you, enough will still excuse those actions to vote you in for your next term.

So what is actually happening?

(And for reference for non-Aussies: ‘Liberal’ is the name of our actually conservative main political party, they form a coalition (team) with the Nationals to be the LNP and are currently in power. ‘Labor’ is the other main party, more progressive by nature but not overly so. ‘Greens’ is basically a left-leaning, environmental party which has never been in power, but the LNP love to blame them for everything. Liberal does not mean pro-personal freedoms in the Auspol context.)

There has been a 12 year warning about climate change causing catastrophic fires by 2020 in the places there are currently catastrophic fires in 2020.

That was in 2008, when the Labor party had just won parliament, and they would subsequently try to implement a carbon emissions trading scheme which while perhaps not that great was making an effort.

The Liberal party took power again in 2013 and inexplicably have remained in power. While in power they have scrapped any carbon emissions trading, given the go-ahead for more mines, logging, fracking and generally done nothing to improve our environmental situation. Generally they have been climate change deniers.

Also tried to introduce laws to prosecute environmental protesters and to forbid boycotting companies like banks who fund anti-environmental projects like mining.

Now, Australia is:

Getting drier. There’s basically a drought every other year instead of every few years.

Getting hotter. We had 3 record breaking heat days in a row last December. Every year there is another record broken.

Continuing to log old forests. Removing the canopy of old trees allows the undergrowth to dry out along the roadside and cleared areas, making them easier to burn.

Now it is getting too hot and dry to safely do fuel reduction burning. Burning has been part of our landscape and Aboriginal land management for thousands of years, but it hasn’t been doable this last season.

Rainforests, which previously never burned, have now burned.

Naturally, without humans, lightning strikes would start most bushfires, but they were closely followed by rain. Now fires are large enough, generating enough smoke clouds, to create their own weather. This includes dry lighting - lightning generated from the smoke clouds that has no rain - and fire tornadoes.

We fortunately haven’t had as many deaths this year as the Black Saturday fires, most likely due to the fact that everybody now takes the fires more seriously since then, and the winds have been pushing the fires towards the coast, where people can flee in boats.

But the government has been strangling the fire services. Budget cuts earlier in the year, only paying ‘volunteers’ if they are taking time off work, not if they were retired, looking for work, or on welfare. And only paying $300 per day if they’ve worked for more than 10 days, and paying for a maximum of 20 days. For a fire season that’s already been going on for months and will probably continue through February.

So we have a worsening, drier, hotter environment, a strangled fire service, and a government with plausible deniability.

Because while this has happened, the Liberal government also implemented cashless welfare cards, and repealed the Racial Discrimination Act in some states to preferentially apply cashless welfare cards to Indigenous people.

Now regardless of what you think of cashless welfare cards and who they should apply to, when you have a community on them, and they end up in the path of a bushfire, when the power goes out and there’s no phone lines (Centrelink kindly suggested people ‘just call them’ if they are in a bushfire zone and having trouble with their welfare card... where there is no power or phones) then you leave these people vulnerable to natural disasters if they can’t, for example, buy petrol from the automatic petrol pumps to flee the area.

It’s plausibly deniable, but making isolated Indigenous communities more vulnerable to natural disasters by sabotaging the environment and pushing them onto cashless welfare cards seems rather... sinister... to me.