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olivinesea · 3 years

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Space Is Only Noise If You Can See, pt.3

Part 1 Part 2

a/n: Surprise! Next part’s here. A bit shorter but no less traumatic so don’t get comfortable. TW major character death, guns, suicide, violence, you’ve got the picture. I’ll do my best to get the final part to you in a timely manner. ~2k

The hits keep coming.

The street was quiet when he got there thirty minutes later. No ambulance or police with their colors flashing across the front of the house. He thought it was odd but it barely registered when everything in his life was a little off. He ran up to the front door and found it slightly ajar. He pushed it open cautiously, uncertain what he would be met with on the other side. It had grown dark, the sun replaced by much weaker street lamps. He felt around for the light switch, knowing he would regret this action.

He sucked in a breath when the shadows were lifted, every gruesome detail just as he remembered. The blood. There was so much blood. He reached up a hand to wipe it away from his eyes. He was numb, unable to look at anything but Morgan’s body, cold and lifeless on the floor. The scene replayed again, this time in Morgan’s entryway, the setting a little different, the results all the same. He had never been able to save them.

The thought of the others, the rest of his team who he’d watched get murdered hundreds of times, reminded him that JJ was there. She had called him, that was why he was here, not a case, not a killer. He wanted to call out for her but it felt wrong to raise his voice in such close proximity to this horror. Instead he carefully stepped around his friend, not looking for fear he would fall to his knees and try to force the life back where it belonged. If he could bring Derek back by returning every drop of blood to the emptied veins, he would spend eternity gathering what had been spilled. If only the world allowed for that kind of trade.

He made it around to the kitchen but found it empty, as were the other rooms on this floor. While he searched he called 911. He didn’t understand why they weren’t there yet, they should be there by now. When he questioned them, the dispatcher told him there’d been no reports made about that address. He quickly relayed the basic details, even more eager to find JJ and discover what had happened between her call and his arrival. He frowned as he hung up, confused. As a precaution, he pulled his gun from its holster, nerves lighting up. JJ wouldn’t have left surely. He crossed the hallway again, this time heading for the stairs. He didn’t know why, there was no reason for her to have gone up there. But there was no reason for any of this. So he climbed to the second floor, placing each footstep carefully on the polished hardwood.

He found her in the master bedroom, curled up on Derek’s king-sized bed, her back to him. The relief he felt upon seeing her dissipated quickly. Something about her form was too still. He approached, apprehensive but also hopeful that the room might dissolve around him at any moment. This had the same feeling as his nightmares, perhaps it was only that. He'd never hoped more that his mind was tricking him.

As soon as he touched her shoulder, he knew. Everything was wrong. The weight of his hand made her body fall back until she was face up, head resting on the pillows. Her blue eyes were open, blonde hair loose around her, some of it caught across her face. He brushed it back, feeling the chill of her skin, the precious warmth already fled. There was no blood but he spotted an empty pill bottle in her hand. His mind fought against what he was seeing, so far from the correct order of things. She had only called him half an hour ago. How was there even time for this to occur? He pulled the bottle from her hand and felt the world spin faster. He blinked, chasing away the errant lines crossing his vision but the words on the label remained the same. The block type informed him that it once held opioids prescribed to one Aaron Hotchner.

He couldn’t imagine how it had ended up here, couldn’t even remember when he had gotten the prescription. It could have been after any number of injuries. He never took more than one or two before his body reminded him how sick they made him feel. The pain relief was never worth the sweating weakness and nausea that accompanied it. He usually tried to decline when they were offered but somehow he regularly ended up with one or two bottles mixed in with his too large assortment of other medications. He worried about it, knowing Jack was getting older, getting taller, might become curious about such things. He knew it was irresponsible to have narcotics he was not keeping track of somewhere as accessible as his medicine cabinet. But he never imagined this would be the consequence of that uncharacteristic lapse in judgement.

He stared at the small orange bottle, dwarfed by his hand. He didn’t know what to do with this information, had no idea how to process its meaning. Stunned he backed out of the room, out of the house completely. Everything he found inside there was upside-down and he needed air. He stood on the porch, looking vacantly out at the street, gun in one hand, death in the other. He rubbed the bottle continuously with his thumb as the ambulance and cop cars began arriving. His thumb caught a little every time it met the edge of the lid, scraping his skin against it, trying to remember when he even got it. When it disappeared.

An officer approached, weapon drawn, demanding he identify himself, wary of the gun dangling from the large man’s fingers. With effort, Hotch focused his eyes on the stranger, distantly registered the man’s anxiety. He gave his name and slowly moved to pull out his credentials. Hotch tried to answer his questions but all he could remember was Morgan getting shot by Mr. Scratch. Or did he shoot him? His words veered into incoherence and the officer became alarmed. If he hadn’t seen the man’s badge, he’d have a hard time believing this was BAU Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner.

“Sir? Were you injured? I think you need to get checked by the medics,” he said. He took Hotch’s gun from him and steered him in the direction of the ambulance. Hotch didn’t mind him taking the gun, what good was it? His gun couldn’t protect him from the phantom tearing through his life, destroying everything that was good. He doubted a medic could help either.

Hotch was sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, continuing to ruminate when Dave arrived. The medic, after determining there was no physical injury to the man, left him there with instructions to stay put until someone came for him. Hotch hadn’t thought about who was listed as his emergency contact.

“Aaron! What happened?”

Hotch looked at him with wild eyes. He was terrified for Dave, certain now that this was the dream come true. Peter Lewis had gotten inside not only his mind but his life and was ripping the pieces apart slowly.

“Dave you can’t be here! You have to go,” he stood up and put his hands on Rossi’s chest, as if to push him away. Dave grabbed his wrists, eyebrows drawn together, confused by this reaction. Hotch curled his hands into fists and ducked his head. “Please,” he begged, “please Dave, it’s not safe.”

“Aaron, look at me.” Anticipating a bad reaction but doing it anyway, Rossi took hold of his face with both hands and forced the other man to meet his eyes. “What is going on?”

But Hotch was past reason by this point. The words he got out didn’t make sense to Rossi who only heard snippets about coffins and blood and Scratch—but that case was months ago, surely this was unrelated. He didn’t like to think that Hotch had been hiding something about that night for this long but he wouldn’t be surprised by it either. He thought about how Hotch’s confusion had lingered long after the doctors said the drugs’ effects should have worn off. How he had stopped asking for confirmation of details from that night yet he would occasionally lose focus, be half a step behind in conversation.

Rossi looked quickly over at the house, now swarming with officials, drawn to the crime scene like summer moths to lamps. He wasn’t needed here and Hotch very much needed to be somewhere else right now. Dave didn’t know what was happening in his friend’s mind but he knew the chaos of the scene around them wasn’t helping. He waved over an EMT to inform them he would be taking Agent Hotchner home, would ensure his safety. The medic gave no argument, there was nothing wrong with the man that they could see, only that he might be in some sort of shock over finding his colleague’s body. There was no reason for him to be their responsibility, they were happy enough to let someone else take over.

Rossi managed to lead Hotch back to the SUV, even more concerned by the fact that he didn’t resist being guided by a hand on his back. Didn’t try to shrug off the outward expression of concern. If Aaron was too distracted to notice physical contact, something was urgently wrong. Dave thought about this as he opened the door and gently pushed the other man into the passenger seat, giving non-committal responses to Hotch’s continued warnings that he needed to get away, that he needed to get everyone away.

“Put on your seatbelt,” he instructed after getting in himself and seeing it was still undone. Hotch stared at him blankly and he had to actually reach across and grab the restraint for him. Thought it bruised his heart, Dave ignored the way Aaron recoiled from his sudden nearness. He hated to see this side of Hotch, it reminded him how hard the man must work all the time to suppress his reactions, how much effort he went through to hide parts of himself he deemed unacceptable.

He straightened up and secured his own seatbelt before turning the key. He paused, not sure where to take them. Hotch was quiet now, seeming to be lost in the lights that danced across the front of Derek’s house. Dave decided to call Garcia, to update her and see if she had any updates for him. He had rushed from the office after receiving a call from a worried officer about one Agent Hotchner found disoriented at a crime scene. There had been little time to share details. Dave tried not to think about how he was using the term “crime scene” to describe Morgan’s home.

Rossi put his phone on speaker as he shifted into drive. He decided the first stop should be to Aaron’s apartment to check on Jack and see if he could get the man to calm down enough to make some sense. As soon as Garcia answered, he regretted calling her. She was in a panic, news of what had been found had reached her. Normally able to work, even through big emotions, this was all too much for Penelope. She was nearly as incoherent as Hotch was when he’d found him.

“Okay, okay, listen Penelope. I’ve got Hotch, I’m taking him home. Why don’t you call Emily? She’s supposed to have landed by now I think,” Dave was trying his best to stay patient. Honestly, he didn’t know what any of them should do but this manageable instruction seemed to calm Garcia a little.

She sniffled. “Emily, right, of course. I’ll call her right now, sir.”

“Great, thank you Penelope. Let’s just try to stay focused on getting everyone safe. I’ll call you when we get to Hotch’s place.”

“H-how is he? How are you?”

Dave looked over at Hotch who was still quietly brooding. Rossi could almost hear Hotch’s thoughts racing, trying to find a way to get ahead of whatever was happening. It was actually encouraging, he seemed more lucid than before. Dave opened his mouth to tell Garcia everything with them was alright for the moment. But that was the moment a truck slammed into the driver’s side door, sending the SUV spinning wildly through the intersection.

~Part 4~

#Criminal Minds #tw major character death #tw guns #tw suicide #tw drugs #aaron hotchner is having a really bad time #jennifer jareau #derek morgan #david rossi #penelope garcia

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smokeybrandreviews · 3 years

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Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Air Force Blood

I’m a sucker for a good Vampire flick, When executed with creativity and passion, you can get great films out of it. Some of the best movies i have ever seen are vampire flicks. Byzantium, Let The Right One In, Thirst, Doctor Sleep, What We Do in the Shadows, A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night; All brilliant cinematic experiences staunched deeply in the bloodsucker genre. I love these films so imagine my surprise when the cinematic offering from Netflix for this week, is a vamp flick. I’ve heard good things about Blood Red Sky and finally have the time to properly check it out.

The Good

I like the absolutely ridiculous premise of this film. Snakes on a Plane but with Vampires. It’s bonkers and a little absurd but i respect the creativity. In a world where Hollywood refuses to back anything not from a franchise, sequel, or remake, sh*t like this is always refreshing.

This thing is shot fairly well. The look is quite unnerving. It keeps you off-balance the entire time, adding to the already palpable atmosphere. Solid camera work, i must say. I’m always a literal apprehensive going into these smaller budget films. They have to be very creative with stuff and sometimes that creativity doesn’t pan out.

The narrative is far more compelling than the sensational title would lead you to believe. There is way more heart, more meat, here than whatever it you may be assuming. At it’s core, this is a story of motherly love and sacrifice but with, you know, vampire hijackers. I was thoroughly surprised by how well this idea coalesced

The cast, itself, doesn’t have any stars from the US and i think that goes a long way to giving these performers room to do their thing. Everyone is very good in their respective roles, even the child actors. I mean, Dominic Purcell is in this thing but, like, Prison Break is really all he’s known for. I particularly enjoyed the lead, Peri Baumeister, who plays Nadja. She has a lot of emotional range for someone laying a vampire in an extremely ridiculous set of circumstances.

The action and gore in this thing is top tier sh*t. Like, The Thing levels of practical awesome. I was surprised that films are still made like this. It gets gruesome and they don’t shy away from the brutality. I’m not just talking about the vampire sh*t either. This is an exceptionally bloody movie.

The Bad

This is a foreign film and that almost always turns people off. It has subs and is ably dubbed but the fact that the lip sync is going to be off, might turn some people off. If you can get passed that you will be able to fully engage with something pretty special.

You have to suspend your disbelief a great deal, outside of the whole vampire hijacking. Like, these dudes fire weapons on a plane in flight. That would never happen. For obvious reasons. Sh*t like that is kind of riddled throughout this picture.

This thing is a little long in the tooth, clocking in at over two hours, so it might be too long for some. The movie does a good job of keeping you engage, mostly, but with a runt time like that, i can see how people might tune out. Especially with the whole foreign language thing.

The Verdict

I had a great time with Blood Red Sky. It’s not a great film but it’s still pretty entertaining. It’s about as good as Gunpowder Milkshake but in a different way. This thing has an exceptional idea and is executed competently but i think, in the hands of another director with an actual budget, this thing could have really popped. There are some solid characters and a rather compelling plot filled with tension. It is, admittedly, longer than it should be but there is more than enough here to keep you committed until the end. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with this film, German inception or not. Blood Red Sky is a great f*cking time and well worth the time, especially if you enjoy vampire films.

#Smokey brand Movie Reviews #Blood Red Sky #Transatlantic 473

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keytomythoughts · 3 years

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Perfect Imperfections | Chapter 2

Chapter Index

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“Wait, you’re making your debut soon? You were still a trainee when I was in high school, right?”

He nods, one hand on the steering wheel while the other hangs outside of the car. “The company told me a month ago, so we’ve been practicing like crazy. Fortunately, practice ended early today, so I was able to swing by and pick you up from the train station.”

I smile smugly, punching his arm playfully. “Aww, you did miss me. Look at that.”

He snorts but doesn’t refute my statement.

The evening sky is dusted in shades of rose, gold, and soft orange, the mix enveloping the horizon similar to a canvas being brushed with aesthetic paints. The clouds hang low, the sun casting shadows on the tallest of buildings with its warm, pale-yellow glow. The wind doesn’t nip at us sharply, instead shifting to a more calming, serene breeze.

The car ride shouldn’t have lasted as long as it did, but I realize halfway that he was purposely taking the longer routes home. Sensing my lurking apprehension from our phone call hours ago, my brother picked up on that cue and decided to distract me as much as he could before we inevitably had to return.

Something my parents failed to realize.

“Oh right, I forgot to ask,” Jaehyun stares ahead and switches lanes with ease, heading towards yet another highway, “how are Eunwoo and Moonbin?”

I did mention that Eunwoo and Jaehyun are close friends as well, so it wasn’t surprising when I found out that he knows of my friends circle. Well, those two really. Imagine my horror when I realized that they were the same age and friends. Shocking at first, but I got used to it. Besides, it’s not like we were awkward about it or anything. Moonbin also knew my brother, so we all essentially got along fairly well.

I push the strands of hair away from my face, glancing down at my phone in my lap to find no new notifications from them since I last texted. Sighing, I look out to my right. “They’re fine. Both of them are gonna be in Seoul for the summer, so we’re just planning on hanging out until college starts.”

“Have you guys decided where to go, what you want to study?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Not really. I mean, I’ve been thinking about medicine at Korea University, but,” I sink into the seat a little, sighing, “you know it’s not up to me.” My voice drops to a whisper near the end, my eyes casting towards the road ahead.

Jaehyun turns to me, taking his hand off the steering wheel to gently pat my arm. “I know, sis. I really do. But still,” he removes his hand and places it back on the wheel, his eyes refocusing back on the road, “you should tell them what you want to do. Who knows, they might listen this time.”

I snort, crossing my arms over my chest. I tilt my head back against the seat, turning to look at my brother. “You really think so?”

To this, he doesn’t respond. How could he? It would be a lie meant to comfort me, but we both know the truth. He simply sighs, running a hand through his hair and leaving it behind his neck. I heave another sigh as well, both of us knowing that things may not work out the way we would like them to.

This wouldn’t be the first time anyways.

We exit the freeway and merge onto the familiar streets of my neighborhood. Soon enough, we were pulling up into our driveway, the nervousness replacing the initial excitement of being back home. Jaehyun turns off the engine, neither of us making a move to leave the car first. Of course, with my nerves shot and breathing shallow, there would be no way I could go inside alone. Lucky for me, I’m not.

But why can’t I shake this sick feeling?

Jaehyun reaches out and squeezes my hand once, flashing that stupid grin of his at me. “C’mon, let’s go inside. Your oppa will protect you~”

I swat his hand away, my nose wrinkling in disgust but the laughter bubbles in my throat. He rubs my head again before removing his shades and stepping out of the car. Before I can unbuckle and step out myself, Jaehyun already stands at my side, holding my luggage. He waits patiently until I close the door behind me, my steps wavering slightly as I stand before the elaborately carved wooden door of our house.

Jaehyun nudges my shoulder, smirking. “It won’t bite, Hyu.”

I roll my eyes as I follow right behind him. He unlocks the door and turns the doorknob and disappears past the threshold. I trail close behind him, a breath catching in my throat as I walk towards the living room. Everything was the way I remembered it, minus the new decorative pieces presumably from my father’s visits abroad. Living as a surgeon requires him to embark on trips overseas, sometimes not returning for months at a time. My mother, on the other hand, doesn’t actively practice surgery, instead deciding to teach as a medical professor at a top university in the northern district of Seoul.

Four years and nothing has changed, huh?

Jaehyun states that he’s going to put my belongings in my room before coming back down, and I nod at him. Just as he ascends up the stairs, my mother emerges from the kitchen, smoothing down the front of her lavish apron, a tight smile adorning her small, petite face. Her reddish-brown hair is worn in a small bun, her glasses hanging from her shirt. I won’t lie to you, my mother is a beautiful woman, even in her late forties. Smart, rich, and insanely polished. Not only her, but my father is the same as well. It’s no surprise where my brother gets his enviable features from, while I question what leftovers were given to me. I never believed myself to be smart or beautiful, like my parents. Nor was I carefree and sociable, like my brother. Sometimes I question if I was ever adopted, seeing as I seem to be my family’s outlier. The odd-one-out. Yet, Moonbin and Eunwoo highlighted those little bits of me that I’ve shamed myself on. Where I saw disappointment, they saw genuity. The “flaws” were my strengths. They prided me on the things my parents didn’t view so favorably.

How I wish they were with me right now.

My mom approaches me, enveloping me in a rather tight embrace. Wasn’t expecting that, but I reciprocate the action anyway.

“Hyuna, dear, I’m so glad you’re home,” she pulls away, grabbing me by my arms as her eyes scan my face, smiling, “and you’ve gotten so much prettier. I see your aunt took care of you well, I’m glad.” She places a hand against my cheek.

I smile nervously. “Happy to be back, mom. Sorry for not informing you and dad that I was coming back today.”

She shakes her head, tapping my cheek lightly before moving away from me. “Nonsense, dear. Your father is in his study, so he’ll be down shortly. I know how very tired you must be, so let’s set the table for dinner.” She shuffles back towards the kitchen, soon bringing out various utensils and a stack of plates. I immediately grab them from her and arrange the items on the table for the four of us. My mom kisses the top of my head and smooths my hair down, returning to the kitchen so she could bring out the meals.

Something’s not right here.

My mother isn’t really the affectionate type. While it was blatantly obvious that I wasn’t the favorite child, that title reserved for Jaehyun (again, no surprise there), they didn’t really hate me, if that makes sense. They just tended to leave Jaehyun to do as he pleases, while I would have to listen to them. I don’t doubt that they care for us both, as good parents should, but I can’t help but feel disheartened when they would dismiss my feelings and decide to enforce their own ideals on me. Claiming that this would be “the best for me”.

As much as I respect my parents for raising me to be the ambitious, hardworking woman that I am, a part of me wishes that they would see me as a person with hopes and aspirations of my own, not just an extension of their legacy.

How could they decide what’s best for me when I don’t even have the ability to voice them myself?

Moments later, my father descends from the stairs, my brother walking down from behind him as well. It seems like he’s been busy with office meetings, seeing as he’s still dressed in his formal beige button-up shirt and black dress pants. His glasses sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants.

I bow my head in respect. “Good evening, Father.”

He acknowledges my presence with a curt nod. No surprise again. He’s a man of few words, but when he does speak, he’s blunt and gets straight to the point. Wasting time and skirting around the truth has never been his philosophy. He practically radiates with superiority and firmness. From the stoic expression on his face to his neatly styled brown hair, my father was nothing short of a posh man in his early fifties. The best surgeon, the perfect doctor, the staple of all admirable men in South Korea.

In short, he’s practically worshipped by professionals across the nation.

Naturally, my brother and I take great pride in our parents and our family’s rather successful and lavish legacy. Of course, with this reputation, it’s expected of us to uphold it. Education must be nothing short of challenging. Careers must be everything but disappointing. Appearances had to be pristine, no flaws or shortcomings apparent.

You get the picture.

My brother attended college for a short while—a year and a few months, if I’m not wrong—before dropping out once he got scouted by a reputable entertainment label. I don’t know specific details, but I do know that my parents weren’t initially too pleased to hear that he wanted to pursue a career as an idol singer. Nonetheless, and with the things Jaehyun was allowed to get away with, this was just another thing to be added to that list. I figured my father would come around and think that the Jungs shouldn’t be limited to more “sophisticated” fields—medicine, law, business, and the like. Branching out and including fine arts, including performance, would only solidify the notion that our family is meant to dominate every field imaginable with integrity and poise.

My mother and I finish setting up the table and call for the rest to sit. Seeing the variety of dishes laid out, you would think it was a special occasion. Surely they weren’t celebrating my graduation as class Valedictorian. I haven’t told them any of my accomplishments, but I’m sure they had their means of getting access to my reports even before I was made aware of them. Connections, the most vital thing in the Jung family. It’s what helps us climb ranks and secure top positions in society. Why we’re so heavily respected, as well as feared.

Jaehyun and I sit adjacent to each other while our parents are seated across us. We begin to eat in silence. Nothing too different from how we had family dinners back then, albeit the absence of my father or mother from late meetings or an overseas conference. To be quite frank, it did seem strange to have a meal with all of us present after so long.

My father suddenly clears his throat. “Hyuna, I heard from the teachers at your high school that you performed excellently. I’m pleased to hear this.”

I pause, my eyes training up to meet his steady gaze. Though pleased, he didn’t seem to express it facially. A direct complement is seldom said, so it comes as no surprise that it was the only thing I, or my brother, would be receiving.

Jaehyun nudges me, realizing that I hadn’t responded as my father awaits with the same steady expression.

“O-Oh, thank you, Father.”

He nods, placing his utensil back down on the plate before clasping his hands in front of him.

“Now that you’ve graduated, have you considered your possible college options and future career plans?”

This. This is the very question I’ve been dreading.

I can feel the air around me grow thick with anticipation. His words hang in the air, the words to respond with the scripted lines I’ve recited endlessly in my brain unable to fall from my lips. I suddenly recall what Jaehyun and Moonbin had told me prior, to try and voice my opinions in hopes that they may be heard and properly considered this time. After all, I would never know if I didn't try. Here’s my chance.

But, my father continues upon my brief hesitation. “With your academic record, you would have no issue enrolling in the top universities within the country. Even abroad, if you considered that as well.”

I gulp, my fingers clenching tightly in my lap. I force my rapid heart to slow its pace in fear that it may burst out of my chest, my breathing trying to be as calm as it can be. I can feel Jaehyun eyeing me from the side, and my mother stops eating as well.

There’s silence. One which I break when I open my mouth to let the words bottled up in my mind spill out before I can properly think them through.

“I want to stay here, in Seoul.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

#moonbin x oc #moonbin ff #moonbin fic #moon bin #cha eunwoo #jung jaehyun #astro #nct #fanfiction #my writings #mine

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mae-gi-writes · 4 years

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Doctor's Touch [Part Two] | Juyeon (The Boyz)

Anon asked for a part 2 of Doctor's Touch so I hope you like it!! ☺️☺️💘

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Things definitely changed when Juyeon clocked in the next day.

For starters, Y/N barely gave him a second glance the moment she caught sight of his figure. She turned away, scrambling her papers against her chest in an attempt to appear busy. Juyeon went about his business nonchalantly as he would everyday; prepared his coffee while waiting for his water to boil, back facing the said older woman who seemed to be a lot more flustered about his confession than he was.

He waited until everyone else had exited the staff office, before turning to glance back at her. Evidently enough, she had been staring, eyes quickly flitting away the moment his settled on her face.

"Noona," he called her then, watching how tense her shoulders got at the mere sound of his alto. Pouring himself some boiling water, he continued in a casual tone, "can I shadow you today?"

She paused, still turned away with eyes averted, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I already signed my name on the timesheet next to yours."

"Oh," he watched, amused, as panic flitted across her face despite her fake nonchalance, "ah. Uh--okay then."

As much as Juyeon wished to clear things up about where they stood, he knew how important it was for her to have her head on her shoulders when she had a mountainful of work to go through. He wasn't going to add to the pile and guessed that these personal questions could wait till after their shift.

So imagine his surprise when she pulled him out onto the terrace during their break.

"Sorry for being so abrupt. I needed to talk to you about something."

Her expression looked serious, mouth pressed into a thin line and eyebrows drawn together as though she was gearing herself to deliver bad news. Juyeon now understood how it felt to be the patient on the other side of the equation.

"What is it?" He managed to croak out. His throat squeezed at the thought that maybe she didn't want to have anything to do with him now that she had time to ponder over his words.

"I wanted to ask you--uhm--well…"

"What?"

Her eyes darted down and away. Her teeth nibbled on her bottom lip.

Juyron cocked his head in curiosity. She definitely did not appear remorseful or guilty. That was a good sign, right?

"There's this...exhibition. Yeah, at the park. Uhm, I had two tickets and was--I wanted to know--you know since you're free and all--" she blundered on in a string of babble that made his lips curve up at the corners in affection, "if you wanted--if you wanted to go…with me?"

She was just too adorable for her own good. He had to curl his fists at his sides so that he wouldn't pinch her cheeks, and it was definitely not an image he was used to seeing on Y/N's face.

Realizing that she was waiting for him to respond, Juyeon's smile widened into a grin as he murmured his agreement.

"You don't have to, it's not an obligation, if that's what you're thinking," she hurriedly added.

"No," he replied, locking gazes with her, "I want to."

"Okay," she bit her lip,"great then. I'll text you."

She made a move to turn back towards the building when Juyeon's hand shot out to grasp her hand, tugging her over so that she crashed into his chest.

Y/N's eyes were the size of saucers. Her face whipped up to his, "what are you--"

His arms laced around her waist, lips pressing against the side of her temple and rendering her into silence.

"Just for a few minutes," Juyeon murmured and tightened his hold a little more. Her body felt so petite against his, so soft and supple against his hard frame. It was hard to imagine that she was the strict senior that he was so used to seeing during his shift.

Her scent invaded his nostrils as he breathed her in, letting her fresh scent wash over him like a tidal wave he welcomed with open arms.

"Juyeon," her fingers pushed against his chest in protest, eyes glancing around in panic, "we can't--"

"No one's watching," he murmured back gently, breath brushing against her forehead and bathing her in a warm bed of electrical tingles, "just give me five minutes."

It took her a few minutes to relax in his hold, but she did eventually allow her body to melt into his embrace without protest while her own arms snaked around his middle.

"I don't want people to know," her mumble was barely above a whisper.

Juyeon hummed, the sound vibrating against her temple, "I get it, noona."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not?" Leaning away to look down at her face, he spotted the dusty pink dotting her cheeks in embarrassment and his mind squealed in delight.

"It makes me sound old."

"No it doesn't," he said, "it's a term of endearment."

"...sure."

A chuckle burst from his lips at her sour tone, "you're so cute."

"Wh--No I'm not!"

"You are," his hand reached up to pinch one of her cheeks and he relished in the soft intake of breath falling from her lips. Her eyes met his, swimming with an anticipated excitement dulled by a tinge of nervousness. Yet, there was always a gentleness in her brown orbs, a tenderness that made him lean even closer despite the fact that Juyeon wasn't one to take risks.

"Juyeon?" Her whisper brushed against his face, causing goosebumps to explode across his skin, "why...are you looking at me...like that?"

And that was when his mouth worked faster than his brain, "can I kiss you?"

"Huh?" Her jaw fell slack.

Juyeon chewed the inside of his cheek and repeated the question a little quieter this time, barely above a murmur as a twinge of apprehension twisted inside his stomach.

A few seconds passed without much response from the said woman, and as much as he tried deciphering what was going on behind her deep brown swirls, this was a step that required consent and that was something he truly respected, especially when it came to women.

So he pulled away slowly, gently, so as not to startle her.

Only for her hands to come up and press the back of his neck before driving his lips down to hers.

It was a short kiss. Brief, and sweet, and just so delicate that Juyeon felt he was floating on a bed of stars. He pulled away slightly, the taste of Y/N on his tongue while their foreheads pressed together.

Her eyes were closed, lashes evoking shadows atop her cheeks and lips slightly parted and pink.

Juyeon couldn't help himself. With a soft shaky exhale, his mouth pressed another chaste kiss onto hers. He kissed her deeper, longer, with a longing that made her knees wobble and her fingers to gently graze the back of his head in response.

They parted, breaths wafting over each other's faces as Juyeon tried his best to calm down his racing heart.

"Shall we get back?" He breathed, voice still hoarse from their kiss.

She nodded, pulling away with only their hands left entangling with each other as they headed back to the building.

If he wasn't sure where they stood then, he definitely knew where they stood now.

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unfunny-quips · 4 years

Text

Snippets from The 22 Deaths of a Fool (an akeshu fic that I’ll eventually write more for).

Makoto’s week started far too early Monday morning with a call about a body being fished out of the bay.

It was supposed to start with a nice breakfast with Haru. Makoto had been looking forward to testing the latest scone recipe her wife had come up with for the cafe and enjoying the freshly roasted coffee Haru had made special just for them. Their schedules had been hectic recently, not leaving them with much time to see each other outside of curling together in an exhausted heap on the couch for a bit before shuffling off to bed.

There was no helping it, unfortunately. Between Okumura Industries’ newest restaurant branch Grand Opening pulling most of Haru’s time not spent at the cafe and the precinct being critically understaffed there was little time left for each other. Makoto’s captain had promised that at least a few more detectives were going to be pulled in from other precincts around the city - and apparently one all the way from Osaka - but until they actually were transferred Makoto was stuck handling the casework of three people. She didn’t even have a partner anymore to share the workload with since her last one had quit to pursue a career in writing romance novels.

She couldn’t even be mad. Not really. Himura’s novels were a delight to read and Makoto had bought every last one he’d written over the past three years and even had him sign them for her. He never seemed so happy as he did the day of his retirement party when he was loudly recounting all the time he would have to focus on his next series.

So, overworked and underprepared, it was to the bay she went. Dark circles under her eyes from not enough sleep and her wife’s coffee on hand as she trudged her way through the chill autumn morning. Haru had been nice enough to drag herself out of their warm bed and make a thermos for her while she showered and got ready. Makoto didn’t know what she’d do without her. Probably walk into traffic in an exhausted, uncaffeinated daze.

She arrived at the scene almost awake just as the body was being carefully zipped up and placed on a gurney, the coroner finishing up her notes as Makoto donned the last of her appropriate crime scene gear and carefully picked her past where the the forensic techs were scouring the area for evidence and towards the perpetually hunched form of the coroner.

“Dr. Ito.” Makoto greeted, only just managing not to yawn. The Coroner worked nights and by all rights should have already gone home by now rather than dragging her exhausted self to an early morning crime scene. She didn’t need Makoto yawning to remind her of how long she’d been on shift.

“Detective Niijima. Nice to see you this beautiful morning.” Ito said flatly, looking more dead eyed and exhausted than usual. A feat in and of itself, especially with her wild mess of hair tucked back under the hood of her clean suit and her tired eyes half hidden behind a pair of safety glasses. Ito nodded towards the bodybag now being loaded up onto the transport. “Won’t be able to tell more til I get him back to the office, but so far it looks like you have an interesting one on your hands this time.”

Makoto tilted her head, “Oh?” She asked. Ito was good at her job, exceptionally good, but had an air of apathy to her that rarely was shaken. Makoto had come to learn over the past few years that the coroner wasn’t actually indifferent to the victims she encountered or the cases she helped work on, but rather just worn out. Fifteen years on the job could do that to a person.

That Ito looked so interested now spoke of one thing for the case: trouble.

“Yep.” Ito said, “The call reporting the body came in a bit over three hours ago from port security. Me and the techs have been on the scene for about two hours.” Ito jabbed a gloved finger over her shoulder towards transport, “Everything I’ve seen in the report so far shows sightings of our victim drifting around since 2:06am. That’s four hours. And it’s very likely based on what the tech’s told me about the currents here in the port that our friend was probably pushed in from the bridge over the course of several hours,” Ito spread her hands wide, “So in the water probably since midnight and yet our victim looks fresh as a daisy. Barely any sign of decomp on him at all. Hell just you and me talking and not official? Looks like he could have died minutes ago.”

Makoto blinked. “That’s….”

Unsettling. To say the least.

“Yeah, I know.” Ito nodded, “Like I said, I won’t really know for sure until I get him back at the office and really start digging into things. But that’s not all.”

Unease pooled in her stomach at that. A faint warning at the back of her mind she couldn’t quite name just yet. Frowning behind her face mask. “What else is there?”

Ito glanced over her notes, “For the most part he looks fairly normal. Male. Black hair. Appears to be in mid to late twenties in good shape. 175cm tall. No apparent injuries or cause of death. Then there’s the tattoo.” The coroner pointed up at her covered head, “Right dead center of his forehead he has two Xs. Like roman numerals. And that’s not even getting to his eyes. Never seen anything like it before. Bright gold.”

“Gold?” Makoto found her mind, still a bit foggy at the edges, snapped wide awake at that. “What do you mean? Like contacts or?”

Ito shook her head. “I checked and nothing. I thought it was a trick of the light first but my assistant confirmed it and we double checked the pictures the photographer took.” Ito shifted, “Certain diseases can be known to cause a copper ring in the eye, I’m thinking it might be something similar. Certainly will make it easier to identify him.”

“Right,” Makoto said, feeling far away from her body. She watched blankly as Ito finished up her notes and climbed into the coroner’s van.

Golden eyes.

Apprehension crept at the back of her neck, a faint dread she couldn’t quite explain settling on her shoulders as she thought of a world long gone to her. A world of shadows and monsters and gods. A world of golden eyes.

A world that shouldn’t exist anymore.

—

Ren Amamiya stood still and quiet in the doorway of Sae’s office, eyes hidden beneath a tangle of dark bangs as he stared at the floor before him.

Sae hadn’t even noticed him arrive, so intent on making sure she didn’t drop the oversized pile of paperwork in her arms as she hauled it over to her desk. She’d just made him out in her periphery as glanced down, and nearly jumped out of her own skin as she did so. She very nearly flung the files in her arms across the room - which would have been a nightmare to gather back up and get back into order.

She should have never let Tae talk her into watching that horror movie the other night, she’d been jumpy ever since.

Swearing under her breath as she realized just who it was lurking there she sighed, “Ren, god, you scared me half to death.” Adjusting her hold on the folders in her arms she added, “I always thought Makoto was exaggerating when she said you needed a bell on you. Here, give me a second to put these down.

Turning away from the boy in the doorway she dropped the files onto her desk, glancing at the clock that ticked away next to her computer, the soft clicks of the mechanism turning slowly turning the hands the only sound in the still office. Last minute before midnight, no wonder she was so wired. The files could wait until morning when she could recruit the legal secretary to help her pour over them.

“What are you even doing here so late?” She asked her unexpected guest absently. Her attention was on shuffling the file folders into a neater pile - exhausted or no, there was no need for clutter. Once some semblance of order was in place she looked up at him with a small smile. “Don’t tell me you need a lawyer.”

Ren was no longer in the doorway. Only empty air and the reception area beyond with it’s expansive windows that overlooked the glittering city beyond.

She paused, brows furrowed in confusion. She hadn’t heard him leave. Well, she supposed she hadn’t heard him arrive either - and something buzzed faintly at the back of her mind at that thought. A warning that she’d missed something.

Frowning she shook it off and strode across the room to the open door. Knowing Ren, he’d likely seen the chance for a prank after seeing how spooked she’d been earlier. Maybe even had come in the first place for that exact purpose, Sae had mentioned he’d swung by the clinic recently. Sae didn’t doubt the doctor and the thief might hatch up a plan together to try and rattle her in the wake of the horror movie debacle.

The reception area was empty when she leaned out, no sign of Ren at all.

She frowned.

While her office only had her desk lamp on, lengthening the shadows and giving her eyes a rest from the fluorescent overheads, the reception area was still brightly lit. There were now dark corners for Ren to hide behind, and from where her office was she could see behind the reception desk. The other offices were locked up tight, and though she didn’t doubt that the thief could open one and slip inside in the sparse seconds it took her to cross the room, she doubted that he would just to pull a prank on her.

“Ren?” She called, leaning to see if he had tucked himself behind one of the plants by the elevator. He wasn’t there. Her frown deepened. Had she imagined him there after all? She hadn’t thought so. For all Ren tended to blend into a crowd when he wanted to go unnoticed, his presence was a difficult thing to ignore once you knew him. He had that kind of charisma, even back when he’d been in highschool. Bruised, beaten and drugged half out of his mind and still able to convince her to help him. He’d only grown into himself more in the ten years that followed.

There was no answer to her call. Her frown deepened.

She’d call him, she decided. If he was playing a prank on her, whatever cheerful sugar-pop ringtone Futaba had set him up with this week would give him away. Mind settled she turned -

And came face to face with Ren, a scant few inches behind her.

With a swear she jumped and stumbled back, catching herself on the doorframe so that she didn’t tumble to the floor entirely.

Ren didn’t make a move towards her, no attempt to reach out and help her, no offered apologies for scaring her so badly. Just stood there, still as a statue with shoulders hunched awkwardly up around his ears. His head was dipped down towards the floor, chin nearly to his chest. His face was obscured by the odd angle and the wild mess of his dark hair. His clothes, too, were wrong. A frayed and thin jumpsuit, black and white stripes, a shackle on each wrists as they hung limply by his sides. There were heavy chains hanging from them, pooling at his bare feet.

Something was wrong.

The thought settled coldly in her stomach, made the hair at the back of her neck prickle and heart hammer in her chest. She felt cold, looking at him, her hands shaking and fingers numb. Ren wasn’t speaking, wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing.

That gnawing thought from before, that sense that she missed something from just moments ago. Seeing Ren now, awkward and strange and wrong, it made the pieces click in place.

She hadn’t heard the elevator. Hadn’t heard the squealing of the stairwell door being pulled open either. Ren had always been light on his feet, a cat’s grace with the same tendency to get in trouble, but even then he would have had to slide in through a window in order to not have been heard arriving on the floor. A tricky thing to do twenty stories up.

“Ren?” She asked, cautious, voice wavering slightly in the sudden stillness of the room. Her throat felt tight.

A distant echo at the back of her mind, some ancient instinct shivering in warning. Not of danger, per se, but of something. She felt as if she was something very small and very helpless standing in the shadow of a giant about to collapse. Rooted to the spot despite knowing that the crash of the colossus might kill her.

Something dripped from his face to the floor. She thought, for the briefest of seconds, that it was a tear. That Ren might be crying but as her eyes flicked down she saw that no. Not tears. Blood. Thick and dark, sliding from his hidden face and collecting in a horrible constellation at their feet.

“I’m sorry.”

Her body trembled at his voice, cold fear icing her veins. Soft and thready, more whimper than whisper. It was not his voice that made her shake, not exactly, but something in it. A high clear note she couldn’t identify that made her ears ring and her bones throb. She felt it in her chest, felt her breaths struggle beneath the weight of it. She thought that her knees might buckle beneath the weight of it.

His head, slowly, began to lift. The movement was wrong - it was all wrong - too slow, too fast, too at odds with the way a human’s body was supposed to work.

She saw his eyes first.

Gleaming and golden, shining all the brighter against the dark blood that covered his face. No, not covered. His face was simply gone. The flesh around his eyes torn away grotesquely, it looked almost like a mask.

Her feet were rooted to the spot, body locked in place by the horrible desperate expression he held. She wanted to run, wanted to flee, but her body wouldn’t obey. Even as he took a shambling awkward step, body still not moving the way it should, the way someone as graceful and languid as Amamiya Ren was meant to move. He shambled and stumbled, hands raised - and they too were red, fingernails torn and hand stained, god it looked like he’d torn his face off. The thought made her want to scream, everything about the situation made her want to scream.

“I’m…I’m so sorry.” He collapsed into her, hands - cold, cold, cold - desperately clung to her. She felt the chill of his skin down to her very bones, felt the weight of fear and oddly grief choking her. Not her own, not entirely. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

He whimpered it like it was a prayer. His words looping on each other again and again, apologies she couldn’t understand crashing over her, drowning her. That sound that tainted his voice worsened, making her head spin and her stomach churn. He sagged into her hold - when did she move? When did her arms reach up to catch him, when did she become the one keeping him in place? - and they both collapsed to the floor.

She was crying. Cold tears sliding down her cheeks and landing on his torn and tattered face. His eyes were so wide, so frightened that she felt sick as his terror crashed and entwined with her own.

And then she felt the solidness of his body give.

His shoulders, his back, crumbling beneath the weight of her hold as if he was no more than wet paper. Inch by inch he collapsed into himself, black cracks appearing over him - not just his skin, but his eyes and even his clothes - the splintering spidery lines of cracked porcelain. Where he’d already crumbled was only black ash, flaking away and falling apart in her hands.

His mouth, half deteriorated already, opened.

“I’m so sorry.”

Sae jerked awake at her desk, nearly knocking over the cold cup of coffee at her elbow. Her heart pounded in her chest and she panted as her gaze darting around the dark corners of her office.

A dream. Just a dream.

She’d fallen asleep while pouring over her files and had another nightmare from the horror movie Tae showed her. That was all.

She’d should just go home and try to get some actual rest, maybe watch a comedy to settle her mind. And tomorrow, tomorrow she’d call Ren and see if he wanted to meet up for lunch. Just as a reassurance, just to see a friend. And maybe - Her hands stilled where she’d been gathering up her things, eyes wide as she stared.

The clock read midnight.

There was ash staining her fingertips.

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opheliacassiopea · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER 6.

TW: Mature language, mentions of alcohol consumption.

Flopping down on your sofa the next morning, you find yourself grinning at the thought of last night as you look through the many pictures that had been taken to document the events of the evening. You insisted on using your Polaroid camera to capture most of the evening, the walls of your apartment were littered with small snapshots of your life; the team, your friends outside of work, nature, anything that made you feel at peace. Your apartment, much like your appearance was how you expressed yourself and it was your sanctuary.

Looking through the photos, Hotch plays on your mind. He looked good last night, so much so that you had to fight with yourself to stop stealing glances at him. You knew it was wrong to think about him like that, but it was nearly impossible when the man looked that good. Especially his hands, the prominent veins and the polished silver Rolex that sat on his wrist making him look even more attractive. Pulling out a photo of the both of you laughing at Spence’s attempts to beat Derek at a game of snooker, you think back to the conversation at the table.

“You did good, you did good, Pais”. ‘Pais’. Not Selwyn, not Paisley, Pais. As you repeated it, it sounded strange at first, or at least it did until you imagined Hotch being the one saying it and then it felt right. Did he realise the significance of giving you a nickname? The very word is defined as ‘a substitute for the proper name of a familiar person and often used to express affection, it is a form of endearment and amusement’. Surely he must have done, he wasn’t the type of person to do that sort of thing, something that..intimate. Plus, he knew you weren’t one for your name being shortened by just anybody. Was he trying to say something, to tell you something? Of course he isn’t you tell yourself, he’s your superior for God’s sake. Pushing thoughts of your boss to one side, you carried on about your weekend. Despite your plans not being thrilling, you were looking forward to them nonetheless. You had dedicated the time to catch up on much needed sleep and general self care and you were incredibly glad of the opportunity. Always valuing time to yourself, you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that the weekend vanished at a frightening pace.

Flipping through the information brochure, you don't bother looking up at JJ who speaks to you “Spence tells me you’ve picked lecturing for the last module of your doctorate?”. The team, well you JJ, Prentiss, Morgan and Reid were currently sitting at the round table on your lunch hour, which was a rare occurrence with your schedules, you were nearly always working a case, or too swamped with paperwork. Garcia was hidden away in her lair doing who knows what, Rossi out for some fancy lunch and Hotch locked away in his office.

“Yeah, figured it couldn’t be too difficult and the genius himself has offered to help me prepare in the library so it seems like a win win if you ask me” you reply to her as you finally stop reading and look up at the faces around the table “what? It’s not like he’s writing my thesis, I’m just being resourceful and making the most of what's available, y’know?” you defend yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Oh so you’ll accept Reid's help, but not mine? You wound me pretty girl” Morgan teases, throwing an empty bottle at you, which you catch effortlessly and throw it into the bin, but not before you roll your eyes at him, sending him a cheeky smile as you do.

Disconnecting herself from JJ’s embrace, Emily stands and crosses to you, picking up the brochure you were reading and scans over the information, before discarding it and spinning the chair you were sitting in toward her, clearly she could sense your apprehension. “You’ll do great Paisley, you’ll hit every inch of this criteria, I doubt you even need Reid’s help and besides, it’s not like you need another qualification to prove yourself, you’ve earned your place here” she tells you and you find that you have to force yourself to hold her gaze so you give nothing away.

One of the reasons you had multiple degrees was because on some level, you did feel the need to prove yourself, to prove you were doing something with your intellect and to prove that you did have a place on this team. Never did you want to be looked at as the baby FBI agent, who simply followed the others on the team like a shadow. On the other hand however, you genuinely loved learning and felt it was only natural to continue your studies to the highest level

and you were proud of yourself for doing so, you’d come a long way since your childhood, but you didn’t want to dwell on that for long. A few weeks pass and you soon find yourself sat in one of your favourite places; the older, dustier and lesser well known section of the bureau library, scanning over various notepads and books whilst feverishly typing at your laptop planning your first lecture. Looking across the table at Spencer, who kept true to his word and accompanied you to the library for assistance, you voice your initial plan for your first lecture in a few weeks.

“I’m thinking of starting with nineteenth-century literature with the themes of crime and detection as a general focus and then work my way into psycho-linguistics with instances in literature, before moving on to case specific examples”. Whilst you held a close bond with Derek, you were good friends with Spencer too. The two of you would often hold mini academic debates between yourselves on the way home from a case, or on the phone in the early hours of the morning. From an outsider’s perspective it may look like something more, but that wasn’t the case, you genuinely just had a lot in common and it was nice to be able to watch Harry Potter over and over with somebody who gave no complaints.

“What texts are you thinking of using? I personally think that Arthur Conan Doyle’s, Sherlock Holmes stories would be a fine choice. It’s more of an obvious one as the element of crime is incredibly apparent and the style of writing is fascinating on it’s own, so it would break the students in nicely I think.” Spencer reveals and you nod in agreement, returning to your typing.

The weekly sessions in the library seem nothing more than distant memories as you find yourself standing at the front of the lecture hall listening to Professor Moore’s introductions. You begin to wish you’d chosen a different final module. Why were you so nervous? You chased serial killers down on a day to day basis, surely you could give a lecture to a bunch of hopeful students for an hour?

“Much to your enjoyment, I will not be lecturing you for these next three months” Professor Moore informs her students in a lighthearted tone. You knew firsthand she was a good teacher and hoped her students didn’t expect too much from you. “This fine young woman will be taking over as part of the last module for her doctorate in criminology and psychology, so please be kind to her and don’t even think about any kind of tomfoolery in my absence, I will be dropping in and keeping in direct contact with Paisley so don’t think it will go unnoticed.” she looks at you and winks as she tells them “plus, she’s one hell of an FBI agent so she won’t tolerate it anyway”.

“Right well, thanks for that Professor. Uh, I’m Paisley and as you know I’ll be taking over for these next three months, hopefully you’ll find it as quick and painless as possible” you tell them, hoping it will break some of the tension and it does, you find the students take to you well as you dive in to the job you’re there to do. “We’re going to start with looking at nineteenth-century literature through the themes of crime and detection. I know this isn’t the big stuff right away and I apologise for that, but I find it’s better to develop a general understanding of the topic first, before delving deeper.” you tell them as you begin to pace the lecture hall out of nervousness.

“This is the century which saw the creation of the Metropolitan Police Force in London, the birth of private and police detectives, and the rise of investigations into the psychology and social causes of crime. The genres of detective fiction and the dramatic monologue which both emerged during this period will be largely focused on, but we’ll also take a look into less frequently studied genres like journalism to give you a full flavour of the period’s insatiable taste for crime”. Switching to the next powerpoint slide, you take a breath and steady yourself, maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

“Fictional texts are studied in the context of contemporary debates about crime, policing, criminal responsibility and madness, including legal texts and those related to the emerging science of psychology. We will be studying the texts through genre theory and cultural and historical perspectives”. As you look out to the back of the lecture hall, you’re able to make out the familiar figure of Dr Spencer Reid. He’d taken one look at you that morning in the bullpen and knew how nervous you were; you’d paced back and forth to the break room countless times, drinking far more tea than usual and barely uttering a word to anybody as you fiddled with the two necklaces that always hung round your neck.

You bite back a smile and continue speaking to the students “indicative primary texts for the semester will consist of a selection of popular crime ballads and the dramatic monologues about murder and madness by Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, along with a selection of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories. It’s absolutely essential that you all keep up with the reading. And with that, I’ll leave it there for now. Don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions and I’ll see you all next time”.

Watching the students disperse from the room, you breath out a long sigh of relief and throw yourself into a nearby chair and by the time you get back to the bullpen, Spencer is practically screaming at the top of his voice as he tells anybody that would listen about how well you’d done in the lecture, speaking in just the right tone to be authoritative, but relatable and approachable. In short, he was incredibly proud of you and pride radiated off every inch of him.

Two months had now passed and much to your surprise, it had now become part of your daily routine that Hotch would sit on the chair beside your desk during your twenty minute break at eleven o’clock each morning. At the start of your break you’d always find a cup of tea, perfectly made on your desk and each day you’d find yourself smiling as you knew who it was from. If Hotch was in a particularly good mood, he’d surprise you with a vanilla milkshake and raspberry muffin like he had done that very first time. If the team hadn’t picked up on it at first, they definitely had now, but they chose not to say anything.

Some days you’d talk in depth about all manner of things, whereas other days you would find yourselves both working away in a comforting silence. Today was one of his chattier days and he greeted you with a smile as he placed a mug of tea down for you, and a mug of coffee for himself. “You’ve never told me the story behind all these little cartoon frogs pinned to your noticeboard” he begins, tracing his fingers over them as he looks to you for an explanation.

“You never asked, I’m surprised you didn’t use those profiling skills of yours to figure it out” you reply in a joking manner as you set your mug down. “To answer your question though, Spence asked me what my favourite animal was when I first started and when I told him it was a frog, he started to draw me one for each month of the year to help me settle in. I’ve got one of them tattooed on my ankle, I’m surprised you’ve not noticed it” you finish telling him.

“Can I see it? The tattoo?” he asks and you notice the nervousness in his voice and it makes you smile, seeing him almost shy is so unnatural you’re not quite sure how to act. You comply, kicking off your doc martens and pulling your left trouser leg up to reveal the image of a frog wearing a hat, sat on the edge of a teacup. It’s not the most conventional tattoo in the world, but you love it nonetheless. “It’s very you, I’ll give you that” he tells you as he helps you back into your shoe.

You share a small laugh and you begin to pick up a file, ready to get back to work as the break comes to an end and the team filter back into the room and head to their desks. It’s Prentiss who asks you first “how’re feeling about your final lecture next week, Miss almost Dr Selwyn?” as she maneuvers a huge stack of case files from one side of her desk to the other.

“Pretty good I think, just want to find out who the assessor is and get it over and done with to be honest” you tell her as you begin looking for a case consult you’d lost in a stack of folders.

“Doesn’t Hotch normally assess some of the final modules? He used to guest lecture with Rossi and Gideon quite a lot” JJ asks as she collects a pile of completed files from the table.

“Actually no, he stopped guest lecturing once Gideon..uh...left” Reid fills you in “he thought it took up too much of his time and it was more productive to focus on leading the unit”.

“Huh, well at least you know it won’t be Hotch” Emily tells you and you smile in response as you dial the internal number for a copy of the police report for the consult you were working on. The rest of the day passes easily as you work through your files, thankfully not being interrupted by a new case and the rest of the week sailed by smoothly.

This was it, the final week of your doctorate. You’d been allocated reduced duties to allow time for the final hand in of your thesis, along with the multitude of exams you had to complete and you now you just had your final assessed lecture to complete. Arriving slightly earlier than anticipated due to your nerves, you decide to busy yourself replying to emails at your desk in the relatively empty bullpen, mulling over the happenings over the past week in the process.

Hotch had been keeping his distance and you didn't have it in you to figure out why, you’d just presumed it was just work and left it at that. Realistically you had far too much to worry about; the past week had left you feeling the most stressed you’d felt in years.

Shifting your gaze to Hotch’s office, you’re able to see him talking on the phone, eyebrows furrowed together and jaw clenched. Clearly he’s not in a good mood and you’re thankful you’ll be out of the office all day. Checking through your notes one last time before you make your way to the lecture hall to set up, Hotch’s voice alerts you to his presence, you’d been so caught up in going over your notes that you didn't notice him leave his office. “Don’t you have a lecture to teach, Selwyn?”.

Before you can even look at him, he’s turned his back and retreated to his office. Pushing through the glass doors, you furrow your brows in confusion; what was his problem? It was only on your arrival to the lecture hall that your nerves began to kick in, this was it, once you’d finished teaching this class, your doctorate would be complete. Beginning to set up the powerpoint slides and distributing the resources for the lecture you find yourself slipping into a state of calmness as you worked, you could do this and you could do it well. Treat it like a case briefing you told yourself. Ten minutes later students begin to file into their seats and you’re pleased to greet Professor Moore who’s acting as the assessment supervisor. Toward the end of the lecture, you noticed an extra body had slipped into one of the seats on the back row and you knew who it was instantly. Aaron Hotchner. You’ve got to be fucking joking. He’d spent the better part of a week avoiding you and when he did speak to you, it was mostly dismissive and now he had the gall to show up to your final assignment. Swallowing the urge to throw one of the bulky textbooks at him for his sheer nerve, you continue explaining your current point to the students.

“We’ve already been over the idea that psycholinguistics is the study of how the psyche responds to words and languages and this is how it’s distinguished from sociolinguistics. One focuses on the social dimension of language, and it’s stylistic patterns, whereas the other focuses on the expressive functions of language”.

You begin to bring the lecture to a close, but not before thanking the students for their patience and hard work throughout the semester and you’re quick to express your gratitude to the professor for all her help and support. And just like that it was over, you were done. Hastily, you start to pack away the resources from the lecture in order to avoid a conversation with Hotch, his dismissive attitude had annoyed you all week and you weren’t thrilled at the sight of him in your lecture after the way he’d spoken to you this morning.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask him in a cold tone, your eyes focused on shoving your laptop in your bag as you wait for his response, but you don’t receive one. Scanning the room one last time for any of your belongings, you promptly turn on your heel and exit the room, ignoring his calls as you melt away into the sea of scurrying students.

Things between the two of you eventually returned to normal, you weren’t even sure what ‘it’ was at this point and you didn’t care to ask, you weren’t even sure that it was normal. Hotch didn’t do these kinds of things or so you thought, but you knew better than to question it. Recently the team had been pushed in all directions, working case after case with little to no breaks, so it came as no surprise to you that the month of your graduation arrived in no time at all, acting as the perfect distraction for you all.

Pulling the garment onto your body, you admired the satin fabric of the deep purple dress you’d chosen to wear that day, it’s strappy sleeves allowing the many tattoos that graced the upper

half of your left arm to be shown off, along with the low neckline displaying the delicate tattoos on your collarbones. Before slipping on your graduation cap and gown, you add the finishing touches to your makeup, deciding to go for more of a dramatic look, if there was a day to go all out, it was definitely today. Giving yourself the once over, you feel a bubble of nerves form in the pit of your stomach, today was the day you were graduating and whilst you were excited, you felt apprehensive. Now that you were about to graduate, the pressure to live up to your new title was immeasurable and you were keen not to disappoint.

“Miss Paisley Anora Selwyn”.

You stand as your name is called, focusing on not falling over in your heels as you walk across the stage to receive your doctorate. There were no words to sum up how you felt, the moment was indescribable and as you walked back to your seat, you could hear a chorus of cheers and shouts from the team who insisted on buying tickets to watch the ceremony and later celebrate at one of the slightly fancier bars in the area. Luckily you’d managed to talk Penelope down from doing anything over the top and she very reluctantly agreed, making you settle instead for a compromise that allowed her to buy you a extravagant gift instead.

“Tonight we’re here to celebrate Dr Paisley Anora Selwyn, many many congratulations” Dave begins the toast and you inwardly cringe at the use of your middle name.

Midway through the pleasantries, you feel Hotch’s hand resting on your lower back and you resist the urge to turn and smile up at him, instead opting for shuffling closer, a slight blush creeping onto your cheeks as you do so.

“Dr Paisley Anora Selwyn” the team echo as they raise their glasses to you, all grinning from ear to ear.

As the night progresses, you lean back against the bar, taking stock of the day. It was hard to believe that only three months ago that you were sat up till the early hours of the morning studying, the end seeming to be miles away, and now you’d finally done it. That wasn’t the only thing on your mind though, much like usual, Hotch occupied your thoughts. All throughout the night there had been subtle touches, stolen glances, and silent conversations between the two of you, and you loved it. Appearing next to you at the bar, Hotch’s arm slips round your waist, pulling you closer into his side as he congratulates you.

“I’m proud of you, well done, Pais”.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #fbi #behavioural analysis unit #aaron hotchner #aaron #aaron hotch hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch #ssa hotchner #hotch x you #hotch x reader #hotch x oc

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Atlas: Space, Jupiter

TITLE: Atlas: Space

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: 7/12

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine narrating episodes of Loki’s life with the Avengers based on the songs from Sleeping At Last’s “Atlas: Space” album.

RATING: T-M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Welcome to my Sleeping At Last’s Atlas: Space challenge, aka Another writing project I do not have time for, but my brain insisted on doing.

This series will be less like a multichapter fic and more of a one-shot compendium, but that they all interconnect in one way or another. It will revolve around Loki and Becca’s relationship (Taking Turns, Glow, Helmet Heists–don’t worry, more Loki-Charlie stuff will be along) and I will use those one-shots as reference to the timeline. Each chapter will be one song, used as inspiration for the story.

Chapter 7: Jupiter

Summary: Tony has warned Loki and Becca about their heart eyes interfering with their work. So, what do they do? They sneak around in secret, of course. Well, sort of secret. (Post Taking Turns.)

Warnings include: Language, annoyingly soft domesticity, self-sabotage (I wonder who -.-). Fluff. All the fluff.

Wrote it down in the winter of 1610 Just a secret under lock and key until then While collecting the stars, I connected the dots I don’t know who I am, but now I know who I’m not I’m just a curious speck that got caught up in orbit, in orbit Like a magnet it beckoned my metals towards it, towards it

Loki sat basking in the warmth of the mid-morning sunshine at the corner of the development lab. He had cleared out a small corner of one of the lab benches and settled in with a few reference books and an empty notebook. In his head, his goal for the day was to uncover the secrets of an ancient tome he had only just found on a trip off-world. Ink marred his fingers, the ball-point pen running as he hurriedly jotted down notes, but his focus was somewhere else entirely. It was with the empty side of his bed that morning, and the faint smell of vanilla and sugar lingering on his pillow; with his favorite jumper, and the fact that it had been unceremoniously tossed on a chair.

He had set course for the lab as soon as he was able, like a magnet searching its opposite charge.

Movement out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention and he cut his eyes towards it. Becca’s form caused him to double-take. Quiet and concentrated, she tinkered with a prototype for the Spiderboy’s suit. His stare grazed over the elegant column of her neck, craned at a slightly awkward angle as deft fingers took care to place tiny components onto a circuit board. Loki forced himself to continue working, though his body would betray him, only to stare blankly at the object of his affections, like a fool. Shaking his head, he turned back to his notebook and promptly groaned when he noted that part of his notes had been obscured by a rough sketch of Rebecca, bent over her work.

Loki had never been one to indulge in drawing or any other form of art, though he certainly did not lack the ability. His lines were smooth and deliberate, and though looked true to model, they lacked the same warmth and light Rebecca naturally exuded. It did little to capture the dainty shadows of her eyelashes on her cheekbones or the soothing aura that enveloped him as soon as he got near arm’s reach. Nor did it portray his overwhelming need to act cool and collected when he was in her presence, when all he wanted to do was talk until he had discovered every last secret of hers, and she of his.

“What are you doing?” The voice appeared in his ear so suddenly that he started. He slammed his notebook closed a second later. “Jeez, since when are you so jumpy?”

“I was distracted. Didn’t think I’d be snuck up on in the middle of the day in the lab,” he grumbled, turning in his seat to face her.

Almost compulsively, his hand sought to pull her closer, resting at the point he knew that bullet had pierced her skin, months ago. He shouldn’t want to pull her into his arms and kiss her and promise her the world, when he knew full well it could hurt her. But he got so easily swept up in the delicious sweetness of her character behind closed doors and the way her eyebrow quirked when she was about to say something clever and sexy.

Becca brushed some of his dark locks out of his face and behind his ear, taking care to brush her fingers all the way down his neck before retreating. She smiled, something secret and intimate, before sighing. “You know better than to come in here while I’m working, Loki.”

“I wanted to see you,” he breathed, leaning forward until his forehead rested on her collarbone. Becca immediately petted his hair back as a shiver ran down his spine. “No one was here and Stark–”

“Already warned us about dating interfering with our work, and you know it.”

“I’m sorry I cannot resist the temptation of your charms.” He pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat and ghosted his lips over her neck until he felt her resolve melt. “Do you want to tell Stark you’re sick and go someplace else?”

She snorted. “It’s Saturday, Loki. I can go wherever I want.” He righted himself, quick as a flash, narrowing his eyes at her with a frown. “Seriously, glance at the calendar, every now and then.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“My boyfriend was deep in slumber this morning, so I kept myself occupied.” She grinned brightly, cocking her hip to rest her weight on one leg, the shift causing her curves to stand out in stark relief. His fingers shifted from his thigh to the spot where her wide hips flared and just the barest bit of bone jutted out delicately. He was fascinated with how his hands fit so perfectly onto her body.

“Why, pray tell, would you not just sneak into my bed and wait for me to wake?” He growled playfully.

“I wasn’t looking for disappointment so early in the mor–” The wind left her lungs in the form of a yelp as she was thrown over Loki’s shoulder and he blipped out of existence from the lab.

Make my messes matter Make this chaos count Let every little fracture in me Shatter out loud

Despite the fact that every member of the team had accommodations at Stark Tower, Becca had maintained her small apartment in the city. It was across the street from a small community park, filled with trees and laughing children, and not a single concern about HYDRA or alien races or some other world problem. It had quickly become their little escape spot whenever they felt the tower was staring at them too hard or too often.

Becca had been apprehensive of bringing Loki here. No one could ever say that she lived in the lap of luxury or that she had the best and most comfortable furnishings in the land, but this little shoebox was her safe space–her own little world. She feared Loki would have more than a few less than kind things to say about it. Instead, he embraced the familiar coziness of the small sofas and huddled into the warmth of the afghans she would wrap him in when he inevitably fell asleep while intending to devour her book collection. Not only that, but he looked so at peace in her little world. Every morning she woke to him neck-deep in bedsheets and duvets, looking as if he had been sharing that bed with her from the moment she got this apartment, just after her doctorate.

“No, Tony, I don’t know where Mischief is,” she said into the STARKphone balanced on her shoulder as she played with Loki’s hair. The man in question smirked up at her from his place on her lap. “Did you check his room? The library? What does his GPS say?” She contained a giggle when Loki turned to blow raspberries into her stomach to make her laugh. “I’m at home, working on that plasma cannon patent you wanted.” Biting down on her lip, she smacked Loki’s shoulder to deter his agenda of making her break. “OK. Talk to you later, Tony.” When Becca hung up, her eyes narrowed at the giggling man with the bright blue eyes. “I will have to find some way to punish you for that.”

Loki chuckled, his long arms drawing her torso down so he could kiss her. “Mmm… punish away, love.”

“Kinky bastard.”

He frowned momentarily. “You’re the one who insists on following Stark’s rules, not I. Why am I the one being punished?”

Becca rolled her eyes, as if she hadn’t answered this question a million times before. “If he knew you the way I do, we wouldn’t need any damn rules.”

“Darling, if he knew me the way you do, I would have swindled him out of his company with a thorough fuc–”

“Ugh, you’re the worst!” She groaned, but promptly bent down to recapture his lips with her own. He pretended he was unaffected by the precious ache that tore his soul whenever she indulged his ridiculousness, every time she tended to a fissure in his dry, sarcastic armor.

Make my messes matter Make this chaos count Let every little fracture in me Shatter out loud

The breeze that blew through the summer leaves was perfumed with flowers and the lingering scent of petrichor from an earlier shower. It sweetened the secretive meeting under the great oak tree. Loki had walked away in a huff after a disagreement with Thor, and Becca had been at her home all week, working on some paperwork for Stark. It wouldn’t be long before Thor, Tony, or even Natasha went off to search for him, so they enjoyed each other’s company for as long as they could.

“Have you ever been off-world?” Loki asked, back against the tree with Becca resting on his chest, between his legs. He was playing with her hair, making long braids and twisting them into patterns on her head.

Becca laughed. “Have I been to space? No. I have not.”

“I should take you somewhere. There’s so much more than dreary Midgard.” He kissed her cheek as he pinned a braid behind her ear. “I could take you somewhere pretty.”

“I’m sure traveling with someone who’s pissed off half the galaxy is a grand idea, Loki,” she teased, and he pinched her side lightly before chuckling.

“They don’t hate me everywhere.” He considered it shortly while twisting a strand into a rose. “Just most places.”

She half-turned in her spot, leaving Loki to stop his work to attend her focused stare. “Loki, I love…t-to travel. It’d be fun to go off-world with you.” Her cheeks were a deep shade of red when she turned back around, leaving Loki to smile, almost proudly to himself. The smile faltered almost, instantly, the darker side of him chiming in about how it was a bad idea to get attached. She had not been wrong–his reputation would more than likely land them both in hot water. It took more than a minute to bring himself back to the whimsical state of mind he had been in a few seconds prior.

Becca’s phone buzzed and she turned it over to see a text from Tony that read Need to discuss web-shooter patents, followed by Tell Lokes I said hi. “Oh, busted.” She giggled before getting onto her knees and turning to face him. “I’ll see you later, Loki,” she muttered, cupping his face in her hands and kissing him before getting up and dusting the dirt off. “Don’t forget to lock the door behind you when you leave.” She was out of sight a moment later.

Her smile felt like a balm to his troubled soul. But it was still troubled. Why did every little morsel of affection feel like a wound and why did he want them so badly? Was it because of the affection or the pain? Did she deserve to live with this darkness? Would it dim her light? Could he even think about letting her go?

Groaning, he banished all thought from his brain and made his way back to her apartment. He would worry about this later.

#Loki #Lover #Others #Submitted fic #submission #Fanfictrashdump #atlas space #jupiter #chapter 7

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

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Promises Not Kept Part 8

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 8: Leah is moved to Arrow House as Tommy fights for his life in the hospital.

“Ada? Ada, please, you need to tell me what’s wrong.” Leah was relieved to hear Tommy’s sister on the other end of the phone but she was still in a panic.

“Just listen to me, okay?” Ada sounded shaken but she wasn’t going to tell Leah anything just as Tommy had instructed before the doctors took him away for surgery. “There’ll be someone to come and pick you up in five minutes. They’re going to bring you to Tommy’s house in Warwickshire. You need to stay there until I come to explain everything.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I promise you’ll be safer if you just do as I say.”

Leah wasn’t worried about her safety, she was worried if Tommy was still alive or not. “Please just tell me he’s going to be okay.”

The silence on the other end of the line was terrifying. Ada took a deep breath. “He always ends up okay.”

Leah kept a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders during the drive to Warwickshire. The driver didn’t speak to her because he didn’t know anything about Tommy’s condition.

It was late when they arrived at the estate. Leah wasn’t sure she’d ever seen such a massive and imposing home. There weren’t many lights on in the house and the dark night shrouded the manor in a haunting shadow. She stepped out of the car and wondered if she was just in the middle of some frightening nightmare. Tommy was fine and she was still in her little flat in Birmingham. But it felt too lifelike to only be a dream.

A few lights in the home turned on in the front rooms. The doors of Arrow House opened and an older woman walked out to greet her. She was proper but had a kind look about her.

“You must be Miss Ward. Miss Shelby said you would be arriving soon.”

Leah swallowed and nodded. “You can call me Leah.” She said quietly. The night’s events had thoroughly flipped her world upside down and she wasn’t sure how to process any of it.

“I’m Mary. I’ve made up a room for you upstairs, you must be tired.” The maid welcomed her into the home. There were few lights on giving the home an empty sort of feeling.

Leah walked in feeling severely out of place. She was only used to the feigned luxury of Midland. She hadn’t been subjected to actual wealth before, not the kind of wealth that Tommy was apparently now used to. She paused and saw a large portrait beside the stairs. She instantly recognized Tommy next to Grace and Charlie. Leah couldn’t help but stare at the woman who once had all of his love. The beautiful woman with blonde hair and an air of class. She appeared to be everything Leah wasn’t.

“Do you need anything else, Leah?” Mary asked, interrupting the woman’s thoughts.

Leah shook her head slowly. She felt like she was walking through a fog that was delaying all responses. “No, thank you.”

“If you’ll follow me.” The older woman showed Leah upstairs to one of the rooms. “If you need anything, just give me a ring.”

She wasn’t used to being waited on before. It felt strange and Leah certainly felt like she didn’t deserve such treatment. “Thank you.” She replied and Mary took her leave. Leah stood in the room, too shocked to move. She couldn’t get Tommy’s voice out of her head. The pain he was trying to hide from her as he struggled to get out another word. She closed her eyes and felt a tear slip down her cheek. She didn’t want to lose him, not after she’d denied him with such anger. Now he was trying to protect her from whatever danger was looming. She was afraid, more afraid than she’d ever been before.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Leah was downstairs early in the morning despite the late night she’d had. She needed to know if any news about Tommy’s condition had arrived. While descending the stairs, Leah heard a giggle from a young child. She followed the noise into the parlor and found Mary kneeling on the floor with a young toddler. He grinned cheekily and scooted a toy car around the elaborate rug.

“Good morning, Leah.” Mary smiled politely. “Are you hungry? I could have the kitchen make you something.” She offered.

Charlie twisted around to see the visitor. He looked exactly like the portrait over the stairs. And there was something about him, other than appearances, which made him undeniably Tommy’s son. He was a precious little boy with a cherubic face and a healthy appearance. Leah was sure he was every mother’s dream. But his mother wasn’t there to fawn over him. Now, he could lose his father too.

Leah’s jaw tightened and she tried to force a smile. “I’m not hungry now, thank you though.” She said to Mary. “Hello, Charlie.” She knelt down on the rug near him.

The toddler smiled and held out the toy car to her. It was clear why this little boy was Tommy’s pride and joy.

But Leah was a little apprehensive. With little to no experience with children, she was afraid she would do or say something wrong. “Thank you, darling.” She held her hand out and let Charlie plop the car on her palm.

“Let me make you some tea, dear.” Mary stood. “If you’ll just watch him for a moment, I’ll be right back.”

“Oh…” Leah paused but Mary was already halfway out the door. She looked to Charlie who had grabbed a toy horse. He handed it to Leah as well and began to quietly babble nonsense. “Thank you…” She smiled and stiffly held the two toys, not sure what he wanted her to do. It wasn’t like she could talk to him as if he were an adult. She was afraid that if she said anything, she’d look foolish if he didn’t understand a word she said. Without much knowledge on childcare, she wasn’t sure what Charlie was capable of. Tommy mentioned he was two but that didn’t mean much to Leah who had no idea what milestones two-year-olds were supposed to reach.

As if to answer her question, Charlie stood up albeit shakily and toddled over to the fireplace.

Instinct kicked in and Leah dropped the toys, jumping up from her spot on the rug and grabbing him before he got near the grate. “No, no, that’s hot.” She touched his shoulders to turn him away from the fire.

Charlie didn’t seem to mind and merely waddled around the room. “Daddy.” He said out of the blue.

Leah saw he was standing near a side table that had picture frames placed on it. His chubby little hand was pointing to a picture of Tommy standing beside a racehorse. He stood tall and proud, with a stately look of power in his features and one hand on the reins of the horse. He wasn’t smiling but Leah had a feeling he wasn’t one to smile for a photograph.

She crouched down beside Charlie to see what other pictures Tommy had. There was one of his wedding, the entire Shelby and Burgess family standing outside the church. Again, Tommy wasn’t smiling; he had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, his arm linked with Grace’s. But he didn’t look unhappy, he appeared content and his eyes held the same pride that she recognized when he spoke of his son. Grace looked happy; Leah couldn’t imagine why she wouldn’t be.

“Mummy.” Charlie pointed to a silver picture frame, one that held a portrait of Grace. She looked off to the left with a thoughtful look. She was just as pretty as she was portrayed in the family portrait.

“Yeah, that’s mummy,” Leah said softly.

Charlie looked at her quizzically for a moment. He frowned and reached out to touch her blonde curls. “Mummy?”

“I’ve got hair like hers, don’t I?” Something stuck in her throat. She remembered Tommy’s face all the way back at Midland when he realized she had the same honey curls as his wife.

Charlie seemed confused, glancing back to the picture then to Leah. He looked to the picture of Tommy again. “Daddy home.”

Leah chewed on her lip. “He’s not here right now.” She kept her voice soft as she spoke to him. “But he will be soon.” She gently straightened a piece of Charlie’s soft brown hair.

He smiled back at her and returned to his toys. Leah was relieved she didn’t have to explain Tommy’s absence to him. She followed him back to the center of the room and sat down again.

Mary returned a few moments later with a tray of tea and breakfast. “Leah, Miss Shelby is on the phone for you. You can use the phone in Mr. Shelbys office in the next room.”

“Oh…thank you.” Leah stood up; hopeful Ada would give her good news. She found Tommy’s office, the large room colder than the rest of the house. Tommy’s desk was fairly organized but with a few loose papers scattered about the large space. She sat down across from his desk chair and picked up the telephone. “Ada?”

Ada was relieved to know that Leah had arrived safely in Warwickshire. Her brother had kept mumbling on about not letting Leah or Charlie be alone for a second. He repeated himself all the way to the hospital and right up until he was put under for surgery, the words becoming a slurred mess as the damage took its toll. In the end, he was only able to get out Leah and Charlie’s names. Ada held his hand going into the hospital and assured him they would be kept safe.

“He’s woken up from surgery just a few hours ago. He’s still pretty…” His sister bit her lip. “Incoherent.”

Leah felt some relief that he was awake. But there was no telling what the chances were for recovery. “What did the doctor’s say? Will he be alright?”

“They think so. They’re trying to keep him from moving as much as they can while he recovers.” Ada tried to get the haunting images of her brother lying on the bed, the brace around his head and neck like a cage. His gaunt face pale, the stitches on his scalp, and his piercing blue eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. Every so often he would make a sound of discomfort but there was nothing she could do to help him.

Leah pressed a hand to her chest. “If you could just have someone drive me, I can be at the hospital soon I…”

“No, he-he doesn’t want you to come to the hospital.” Ada had asked Tommy, thinking maybe the woman’s presence would make him feel more comfortable or secure. But he mouthed the word ‘no’, not able to shake his head. “It would be best right now if you just stay in Warwickshire.”

“Ada, I want to see him.” Leah insisted. “I need to know he’s okay.”

“I’ll keep you updated every hour if you need me to. But trust me, you won’t want to see him like this.”

Leah’s stomach knotted up and she held back tears of confusion and grief. “I don’t understand though, why am I in danger? What happened to him?”

“I can’t explain it over the phone. I’ll be around in the next day or so to talk to you. For now, just stay there and don’t go off alone.”

The instructions only made Leah more concerned. But she didn’t know what else to say. “C-can you just…when he’s more awake, can you tell him that I-” She cleared her throat and shook her head. “I’m sorry and I care about him.”

“I will,” Ada promised.

“And tell him that Charlie’s asking for him.” She added.

“Okay.” His sister took a deep breath to steady her heart. “I’ll call back once he’s talking again.”

Leah nodded absentmindedly. “Okay. Okay.” She whispered as if trying to convince herself that things would improve.

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

Tommy had spent almost two months in the hospital. Ada kept Leah at Arrow House, never telling her which hospital he was at. But she updated her every day of his progress. He was staying awake longer periods of time, he could remember certain aspects of his life, he was speaking in full sentences, he was eating again, he could sit up, and he was just starting to take a few steps.

Leah appreciated Ada’s help but it wasn’t enough. She needed to see Tommy with her own eyes to know he was okay. But she couldn’t go dropping in at every hospital in the nation. Most likely, Tommy had made it so he was under a different name or instructed the nurses not to allow anyone to visit. So she had to remain at Arrow House. Beth called, concerned about her well being, but Leah had to assure her she was okay. She would return to work when Tommy returned.

In the meantime, Leah grew attached to Charlie. It was difficult not to, he was such a sweet little boy. Always smiled when he saw her and began calling her Lee. She took on the role of putting him to sleep at night, telling him stories she recalled from her own childhood. She knew she was digging herself a deeper and deeper hole the more she bonded with him. Soon, she would be back in Birmingham. There was a possibility that Tommy didn’t even want her to be in that role of caretaker. She couldn’t be Grace, so why would he want her to act as a pseudo-mother to his only son. One night, Leah was bringing Charlie up to bed. He was already fast asleep, his cheek resting on her shoulder, clinging to her like a little monkey.

Leah stopped halfway up the stairs. She looked up at the large portrait of the Shelby family as it once was. Initially, she thought Charlie only looked like his father. But now she was starting to see bits of Grace. Perhaps he acted like her too.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, rocking slightly to keep Charlie lulled to sleep. She wished she could ask Grace, bring her back and ask if what she was doing was okay. Of course, if she could bring Grace back, she would bring her back for Tommy. He’d be happiest that way. She knew that if Jonah were returned to her, she would be so happy. It made her feel unbearably guilty, despite the vows she’d made with her late husband.

Charlie sighed softly and burrowed his face further into her shoulder. She smiled sadly at him and brushed a piece of his hair out of his eyes.

Human relationships were too complicated to remain free of wounds.

Before she could finish walking upstairs, Ada came in from the side door. She saw Leah holding Charlie as if he were her own. She knew Tommy would be thrilled to see that. He wanted Charlie to grow up with a mother despite losing Grace.

Leah acknowledged her but quietly said she wanted to get Charlie to sleep and then they would talk. So Ada lingered in the front room, glancing up at the same portrait Leah had been standing by.

“Did you see him?” Leah asked when she returned from Charlie’s room.

Ada nodded and set her coat and purse down. “He asked about you and Charlie.” She smiled. “He was glad to hear you two were getting along well.”

Leah had to force a smile. “That’s nice to hear.”

The Shelby woman could see the pain behind her eyes. “I know it’s not easy just standing around. But the doctor said a few more weeks…”

“A few more weeks?” Her eyebrows knitted together in grief. “Ada…

“I know, I’m sorry. But he’s not eating like he’s supposed to and I keep telling him-”

“Just let me see him,” Leah begged quietly. “Tell me where he is, he doesn’t even need to know you told me. I’ll say I heard from someone else. I just can’t sit here and wait for him. I want to be there for him.”

Ada wrung her hands together. She recalled her brother repeating himself firmly. ‘Don’t bring her here, Ada, I’m serious, she can’t come here’. But the look in Leah’s eyes was heartbreaking. Ada knew what it was to be in love and she could see it in the woman’s eyes. “Alright.” She said quietly. “Alright.”

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

“Told Ada not to let you come here.” Tommy sat on the edge of his hospital cot with his back to her. He knew she was standing in the doorway. The nurse had come in moments ago asking if he wanted to see Leah. He was too desperate to see her and couldn’t refuse the inquiry. That’s why he told his sister to keep her away. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to refuse her.

In the hospital room, he was weak and he didn’t like to appear weak. But most of all, he didn’t want her to worry about him. It was hard not to the way he looked. He had just started to walk again, even if it was just a few staggering steps at a time, and his vision was restored although it was blurry here and there. The pain was still an issue, though he was well-drugged most of the night and when he needed it during the day.

“She didn’t tell me where you were. I heard it in passing. I was worried and I...I just wanted to see you were doing better.” Leah spoke quietly. The hospital setting was starting to make her nauseous. “Ada told me what state you were in when they admitted you. I know what you told her but…” Her voice gave in. How could she tell him the truth without sounding foolish? She had panicked because she thought she was going to lose someone else in her life and the foundation she was trying to set would crumble again.

Tommy sighed deeply and pressed his hands into the cot to stand. He couldn’t just ignore her now that she was there. His arms shook and his knees buckled as he began to slowly rise.

Leah dropped her things and hurried to help him. “It’s okay, you can stay there.” She took his arm as he sat back down.

The man sitting in front of her wasn’t the man she knew before. Seeing him made her want to cry. He was even more gaunt than usual, his cheeks sunken in, dark circles beneath his eyes. His skin was pale and sported discolored blotches where he’d been hit the worst. Worst of all, she could see the stitches on his scalp. His hair had been shaved for the emergency surgery and it was only just starting to grow back.

“Tommy,” Her voice was weak with shock. Ada’s warnings couldn’t prepare her. “Who did this to you?”

He just shook his head. There was no way he was going to tell her about the Oddfellows or Father Hughes. The less she knew, the safer she’d stay. If he could just keep her in Warwickshire, away from it all, he would be satisfied. But he knew it wouldn't be enough of an answer for her.

“Tommy.” She touched his cheek but was almost afraid she would break him. He seemed so fragile, a massive juxtaposition from his usually stoic and unbending manner.

He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. It was a welcome feeling when all he’d felt nothing but agonizing pain and mind-numbing highs for two months. “Ada said you were getting along with Charlie. She said he loved being around you, always asks for you.” He changed the subject.

She smiled slightly and nodded. “He’s precious, isn’t he?”

“Always seems to fuss with me.” His chest tightened painfully when he tried to chuckle. "Always preferred Grace to me." He shrugged.

“I’m sure he misses you. He always talks to your pictures in the parlor and when we visit the horses, I think he’s looking for you. Always thinks you're going to show up on one of the horses.”

“Just glad he has someone to be there for him now. Been afraid he's been lonely.” He took a deep breath. “I know I’m not enough for him.”

Leah stroked her cheek against his sharp cheekbone. It was clear he hadn't been eating enough. He was painfully thin, especially in the face. “That’s not true.”

“Mhm.” He felt the familiar dull throbbing in his head start up again. That usually meant he was due for another dose of morphine.

Like clockwork, the nurse came in. “Mr. Shelby,” she was holding a glass vial. “It’s time to rest.”

“She’ll stay.” He replied firmly.

Leah went to stand. “Tommy, you should rest.” She said softly. "I don't mind, I could come back tomorrow if you'd like me to."

“I can rest while you’re here.” He argued weakly and took the vial from the nurse. He down the clear liquid and reclined back in the hospital cot. Leah stayed sitting on the edge, resting her hand on his knee. He closed his eyes and reached blindly for her hand. “Lay with me.” He requested silently. After two months, he was starving for her affection again. She didn’t argue and curled up into his side. She rested her palm over his chest so she could feel every inhale and exhale he took.

~~~~~~~~~~~

After another month in the hospital, Tommy could return home to Leah and his son. He was still healing but decided he would fare better in a more comfortable place than the hospital.

He’d had been sleeping in more albeit he didn’t sleep through the night. His pain kept waking him up. He’d clench his teeth through the pain and try to focus on Leah sleeping peacefully beside him. She never woke up, or at least not when he did. She always stayed close to him through the night, hardly pulling away even an inch. It gave Tommy security that he hadn’t had in the hospital. It made the long nights a little more bearable. And eventually, his body became too exhausted and would succumb to sleep whether he was in pain or not. He didn’t want to smoke opium around Leah or Charlie so he made sure he didn’t have access to any at Arrow House.

One morning, Mary brought the regular dose of morphine and Leah set it on the nightstand for Tommy when he woke up. She let him sleep, going downstairs to eat breakfast and entertain Charlie for a bit so Mary could have a break.

Once another hour passed, Leah went back upstairs to check on him. She found the bed empty, so she glanced in the open door of the bathroom.

Tommy stood at the sink, her back to her as he poured the morphine down the drain. He heard her come in but didn’t stop until the bottle was empty.

“What are you doing?” Concerned, Leah walked in and saw what he was doing. “Tommy, you-” She reached to stop him but the liquid was gone, swirling down the drain. “Why did you do that?”

He set the vial on the sink's edge. “Not taking it.” He replied with frost in his voice as he passed her in the doorway. And that was the end of the conversation.

Leah picked up the glass and sighed. She had no idea how many doses he’d already chucked since he returned home. Perhaps she should’ve been monitoring him more. When she left the bathroom, he was getting dressed.

“Tell Mary to bring my breakfast outside.” He instructed quietly.

Leah ignored his slightly demanding tone. She knew he was tense and frustrated by his slow recovery. He pushed himself, desperate to return to the man he once was. The man who had to run a company and take care of business as well as revenge. It took patience to take care of him and she thought that was one of her strongest suits. As long as she was tender and tolerant of his curt requests and clipped replies, the house would be calm.

Tommy was a man who hated being knocked down. The last three months in the hospital had been hell for him, practically cemented to the bed by his injuries. He was keen on exacting his just revenge and carrying out his plan. He spent the time scheming and had nearly driven himself mad. Now that he was back home, he had some semblance of humanity and identity back. But he was still annoyed by how useless he felt. His brain was still foggy and the pain was nearly unbearable.

“Easy!” Leah grabbed his arm before he tore a stitch by dressing so quickly and forcefully. Tommy never treated his body well, especially when he was injured. Both Mary and Leah had to remind him to eat and get some rest or he would never heal. Yet he was just as stubborn as ever.

Tommy let his hands go limp as Leah gently did up the buttons of his shirt. Her slender fingers composed and delicate, unlike his jerking movements as he fought with the pain. She slipped his braces over his shoulders and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. Tender, loving care. That’s what he needed even if he didn’t know it. He stood still, closing his eyes for a moment and actually taking the time to breathe. Even if he didn’t say it enough, he appreciated her unwavering affection.

“I’ll sit outside with you.” She offered. “Want me to bring the paper for you?”

He nodded. “Please.” His voice softened and he grazed his thumb over her cheek.

Leah left with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

The air was warm and the sun was welcome after so many weeks in the hospital. It put him in a significantly better mood but it would sour after he opened the newspaper and found nothing but a jumbled mess of black ink. He squinted and brought the pages closer to his eyes and then further but nothing worked. The letters were blurred and he couldn’t make out a single word. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust his eyes but the blur persisted.

“Something wrong?” Leah asked.

Trying to keep his frustration under wraps, he only shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Someone’s here.” She pointed out.

Tommy set the paper down and saw Johnny Dogs walking across the lawn. “Just a friend.” He assured her. Leah often asked who attacked him or whom he was trying to protect her from. But he never let on much.

“You called for me, Tom?” Johnny asked when he got near the iron-wrought table.

“Yes, just for a quick word. Leah, this is Johnny Dogs, an old friend.” Tommy introduced the two.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Heard a lot ‘bout you.” Johnny smiled. “Enjoying paradise here, aye? Tommy’s kingdom?”

She laughed softly and nodded.

“Leah, would you go inside and check on Charlie?” Tommy asked. “I need to have a few words with Johnny.”

She nodded and stood up. She kissed his cheek before heading back to the home.

~~~~~~~~~~

Leah played with Charlie a bit before he got restless and asked to see the horses. She looked around for his coat but couldn’t find it anywhere. Mary was in the kitchen, so she decided to ask Tommy if he knew since he was the last to take Charlie for a walk.

She knocked on his study door and waited for his reply. “Tommy, have you seen Charlie’s…” She paused when she saw another man sitting in the study. He immediately gave her an odd feeling, something that settled deep in her bones. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were in a meeting.”

The man stood up. He had an appearance built for intimidation. His intimidating frame was created by a large coat and a wide-brimmed hat. He wore a scruffy beard and calculating eyes. “Don’t apologize, love. Just having a friendly chat.” He reached to shake her hand, his fingers adorned by thick, gold rings. She noticed a tattoo branded on the top of his hand.

“This is Alfie Solomons, a work acquaintance,” Tommy told her with a reassuring nod.

“Nice to meet you,” Leah said quietly and shook his hand politely.

“You’re the girl Tommy stole from Rosetta, ain’t ya?” He asked brashly.

Having never met the man before, Leah was surprised he already knew so much about her. “I uh…”

“Right? That’s you, innit?” He interrupted her.

“Alfie.” Tommy gave him a warning tone.

“With all due respect, Mr. Solomons,” Leah found the words after a brief moment of confusion. “I left on my own free will.”

Alfie narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before cracking a smile. “Yeah, can see why Tommy likes you.”

Leah smiled but was still uncomfortable in the man’s presence. She glanced over at Tommy who was standing by the liquor. “Tommy,” She sighed and snatched the whiskey bottle away from him as she went for the door. “You’re not supposed to be drinking.” Before he could protest, she left the study.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He set the crystal glass down and went to light a cigarette instead.

“So, when’s the wedding then, Tom? You gonna invite me this time or am I going to have to fucking read ‘bout it in the paper again?” Alfie asked and sat back down with a heavy grunt. He rested his hands on his cane and glanced up at the Blinder.

“I’m not planning a wedding anytime soon, Alfie.” He replied and took a long inhale of the cigarette.

“Right…” Alfie ran a hand over his beard. “You’re going to let her have the baby ‘for you marry her then, following the same plan, aye?”

“She’s not pregnant,” Tommy replied coolly and tapped some ash off into the crystal tray on his desk.

Alfie furrowed his eyebrows. “You are fucking insane, then aren’t you?”

“Not sure what you’re referring to.”

“Mate, you ain’t ever gonna catch me letting a whore into me fucking house. Two seconds in and she’d be robbing me with a fucking gun pointed at me crotch, wouldn’t she?”

Tommy wasn’t angry with Alfie; he knew the man was just either trying to get a rise out of him or just talking for the sake of talking. “Leah’s not a whore, she works at a dress shop in Birmingham.”

The Jewish man peered at Tommy silently for a moment, scratching at his scruffy cheek. “Right…well, s’nice to see you’ve found another thing to fill that hole where your fucking heart oughta be. Really romantic, innit?”

“You’re here to talk business, Alfie.”

“Business, yeah, but what’s a little chit-chat between friends, aye Tommy? Just trying to make small talk. Fucking hell...”

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii

Tag list: @shelbyblinded

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#tommy shelby #alfie solomons #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelbyxoc #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders #Peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #oc #ofc #ada thorne #ada shelby #Johnny dogs #charles shelby

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digitalworldbound · 4 years

Note

“D..did you just make that noise?” For Sora/Jyou

Number 20: “D-Did you just make that noise?”

Characters: Sora/Jyou. This takes place sometime during the Tri timeline. I tried to add some references to other pairings you like, so if you squint, I hope you can see them. I absolutely loved the idea of all of the Chosen in their little Halloween costumes, and had to stop myself around 1500 words because I was getting way too excited. Also, I apologize for the abrupt ending!

Send me a prompt if you’d like!

In retrospect, maybe encouraging her rambunctious group of friends to go to a haunted house on Halloween may not have been the best idea she’s ever had, but Takenouchi Sora refused to admit defeat. The past week had been stressful, filled with exams, sports tournaments, and holiday festivities. The group was due for some relaxation.

As Sora watched Daisuke and Iori competitively inhale their second yakitori, she felt more like a mother hen tending to her chicks than a high schooler. “Hey, guys!” she called, attempting to gather the attention of at least two of their collective braincells. Any response she might have received would have been lost in the throngs of people that crowded the waterfront. Festival tents lined the shore, the smells of fried food and pumpkin spice wafted through the air.

Each second of silence only added to her annoyance. She had worked endlessly for days to plan this get together, and it seemed that no one was taking it seriously. “Did you need something, Sora-san?” A small squeak escaped her throat as her body whipped around in surprise. The skirt of her devil costume swayed around her hips as she tried to regain control of her breathing.

“Oh, it’s you, Jyou-senpai.” She managed, heart pounding in her chest. A Bakemon costume (hand crafted by Mimi) hung off his thin frame, casting grueling shadows across his cheekbones. The sight reminded her of their first encounter with the ghost-like creatures, all wrapped up and ready for a sacrifice.

Instead of responding, the gentleman in question smiled a toothless grin. The soft glow of the fairy lights illuminated dark blue eyes as they scanned the crowd for his friends. “You know, everyone looks like they’re having fun.”

From their position on the outskirts of the festival grounds, Sora could make out Mimi’s hair as the girl mercilessly teased Koushiro. Her cat costume left little to the imagination, and Koushiro’s pink cheeks contrasted against his blue wizard robes.

Sora’s tension eased when her eyes landed on a blonde vampire and his mummified friend chatting amiably next to a noodle cart, toothy grins gleaming under the lights. It always soothed her worries when those two boys managed to get along. Their siblings, ever the rowdy pair, competed head-to-head in a heated battle for dominance: dart throwing. At stake? A month supply of strawberry ice cream for the girl in the Wizardmon-inspired ensemble and a kiss on the cheek for a smaller, blonder vampire. Sora laughed lightly as Takeru’s last swing wedged itself in the bullseye and Hikari’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Even if it wasn’t Miyako’s slightly off-key voice that filtered through the karaoke speakers, she would have been easy enough to find in her full Sailor Moon cosplay. Ken had managed to slip away and join Iori and Daisuke in their quest to consume any meat that was wedged onto a stick. They looked darling, Sora decided, dressed as Alvin, Simon, and Theodore.

“I guess. I just wanted everyone to go to the haunted house together. What’s the point of planning this get together if we all aren’t, you know, getting together?” Punctuating question with a sigh, her shoulders slumped forward. “But,” she continued, “they all look happy enough, so it’s okay.”

Jyou opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it. Sora’s hands fiddled with the plastic horns nestled in her hair. Her eyes flicked towards her navy-haired friend as he cleared his throat nervously. “Well, just because they won’t go doesn’t mean we can’t.”

Her rejection died in her throat when her eyes settled on his hidden smile and flushed cheeks. “Jyou-senpai, you don’t have to sacrifice your night to entertain me. I’ll be fine. Besides, I think Koushiro-san might spontaneously combust if Mimi-chan tries to feed him again.”

In an uncharacteristic act of boldness, his slender fingers wrapped themselves around her wrist. “C’mon,” he said, turning his neck to meet her eyes, “You need to live a little.” Sora allowed him to tug her down the boardwalk and towards the old courthouse. If the twisted, bloody smiles of the clowns weren’t enough to double the young girl’s heart rate, the shrill, primal screams spilling out into the October air were.

If the twitch of Jyou’s hand on her wrist was any indication, he was becoming apprehensive as well. His smile never wavered, nor did his grip on her. Before Sora could decide whether or not to kindly remove his fingers, the pair were shoved in a group of Love Live! Idols and various farm animals. “Welcome to the House of Terror!” gritted the clown from before, his pungent odor testing the limits of the young girl’s gag reflex. His mouth opened once more, but whatever advice he was about to give them was drowned out by the screeching of the entrance erupting wildly on its hinges.

“Right this way, my pretties.” an old woman crooned from the building, voice reminiscent of branches scratching against a window. Sora shivered, but allowed Jyou and some stranger dressed as a rooster to push her along.

Her tension eased once the group left the corrupt clown outside. The hallway they entered was eerie, a black light illuminating the fabric of Jyou’s costume. One of the school idols screamed as an arm reached out from behind a blood-splattered curtain to caress her. Sora pressed herself closer to her companion. Wordlessly, his fingers reached down to grab her own, giving her palm what Sora assumed was supposed to be a reassuring squeeze. If his hands hadn’t of been so sweaty, she might have been comforted.

The black sheets opened into a large room filled to the brim with children. Dismembered baby dolls littered the ground, limbs hanging from the rafters above. The Chosen of Love smoothed down her pleated skirt, eyes avoiding the creature in the corner. A young girl, no older that thirteen, sat alone on the far side of the room. Dressed in a simple white gown, the child chanting something, but her voice was so low and haunting that Sora couldn’t make it out. Water dripped from her dark hair, and her lips were painted sea-sickening blue.

A couple dressed as cows made a run for the door on the other end of the room, utters quaking in fear. Their hooves slipped on a severed baby arm, and their spots went flying. Jyou tensed, the crunch he heard after the fall not boding well with his first-aid training. Sora looked around helplessly as the pair of utters still hadn’t gotten back up. ‘Oh, gods.’ she thought, stomach anxiously twisting itself into knots.

The group’s guide had suddenly disappeared.

“D-Did you just make that noise?” Jyou whispered into her ear. For a second, the red-haired girl had to convince herself that the shiver she felt was a result from the chilly atmosphere, and not the fact that his lips had been that close to her skin.

In all honesty, her heart had been pounding too loudly for her to hear much of anything, but with one look at the soulless girl in the corner, she turned towards Jyou. “No, but let’s get out of here!”

Jumping over the up-turned cows and various idols, the pair ran towards the rickety door. Apparently, the staff on the other side had no idea they were expecting the next group of people to terrorize, as the bloody nurses and doctors still engaged in an intense lip lock.

“G- Gomen'nasai.” Jyou stuttered, a flush reaching his hair line. His little devil companion felt as uncomfortable as he looked. “Um,” the polyester doctor called out, “this room is occupied.” Sora made haste to drag her and Jyou away from the hormonal teenagers before he could give them The Talk. He attempted the same thing with the younger kids a few months prior, and nearly cried when they were the ones to correct him.

Red light filtered through the hazy hospital room, but Sora recognized an exit when she saw one. “This way, Jyou-senpai!” she yelled, tugging his arm behind her.

The pair burst into the warm October night, panting and sweating. It took several minutes for the pair to catch their breaths and ever longer to notice their mischievous friends staring at them.

Takeru’s laughter startled Sora, her hand flying up as if to hold her heart in her chest. As her orange eyes rose to meet mahogany, she found herself temporarily blinded by the flash of a camera. “Hmm,” Hikari mused, “this one may be cute enough to develop.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s developing.” the younger, annoying, traitorous vampire giggled out. His basketball reflexes proved useful as he dodged an attack from the little devil, pulling an amused Wizardmon behind him. “See you love birds later!” he called out cheekily, admiring his own pun.

“Get back here, you guys!”

Jyou laughed quietly beside her, the hood of his costume bunching around his shoulders. “Ah, just let them have their fun. Besides, I’m pretty sure that sound I heard was the growl of your stomach.”

Fingers still intertwined; Sora allowed her senpai to tug her towards the tents of food. On the way down, her eye caught Mimi’s. In a strange way, the well-placed wink and sly smile on her friend’s face seemed to be a cue of sorts., and Sora tightened her grip on Jyou’s hand.

“Hey, Jyou-san, how do you feel about splitting some ujikintoki?”

#sora takenouchi #jyou kido #digimon adventure

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olivinesea · 3 years

Text

Off Souls, pt. 3

Part 1 Part 2

a/n: We’re back. Things are still serious but maybe not as rough? Let’s call it soft-anxiety. This part and the next were supposed to be one but it got out of hand. So stick with me for a few more feelings and I promise there will be a little action soon. ~3.7k

Some problem solving.

There was no miraculous recovery to their friendship. Things remained tense between the two of them. Emily was on edge for obvious reasons and he still wasn’t sure where he stood with her. The split had shaken his trust more than he wanted to admit. Still, he knew he needed to be there for her. Despite her best efforts he saw how delicate she was right now. He saw her tensing in crowds, grinding her teeth whenever someone brushed past her, hanging back ever so slightly as they entered buildings. He was familiar with all these little grasps at safety. He could have made a list without a second thought. They were all things he had seen his mother do, things he had felt himself doing. Emily was scared and she wasn’t sure when that danger would reappear.

He did what he could, staying close and being mindful about the spaces they went to. He first realized he needed to be more cautious after they tried to go to the dining hall during the midday rush hours. Emily didn’t eat anything. She spent her whole time stiff, searching the faces of the other diners. She had been worried about running into him ever since the first time he had appeared unexpectedly. Now she had to worry about Hotch, too. She distinctly did not want Hotch to know his identity. He was unable to mask his fury whenever the topic surfaced. She knew nothing good would come of their meeting. She appreciated that he wanted to fight for her but what she really wanted was for this to never have happened. Hotch getting involved, bringing some sort of vigilante justice to him, made it much harder to pretend.

Plus she didn’t want him getting in trouble over her. She knew how hard he worked to keep his clean record, his scholarship contingent on high grades and good behavior. In a less concrete way she also knew what it would mean for Hotch’s relationship with his parents if he were to find himself in trouble. He was evasive but had slipped up enough for her to have a rough picture of the Hotchner household. It wasn’t all so so different from her own, she thought. Opposite sides of the same coin perhaps—love that didn’t exist within normal boundaries, too present or too distant. The lonely place in her heart hollowed by frosty absence, his carved out with a heated knife. She didn’t want to be the catalyst for any conflict there.

That first day he found her she had been unable to discuss options. Far too overwhelmed by her current reality, she waved him off when he tried to bring it up and curled into herself in a way that made him kick himself for asking. A couple of days later while they were walking back to the dorms he tried to tactfully broach the subject again only to be surprised by her short reply.

“I’m going in Friday.”

“Oh, ok. Good. That’s good?”

She looked at him, squinting slightly. “Yes? Are you surprised?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, of course not.”

“What? Did you think I wasn’t going to get an abortion? That I was going to have a fucking baby?” She stopped and rounded on him, growing angrier with each word.

He stopped also, but carefully backed up to the side of the path, pulling her gently with him. He dropped his hand when she snatched her arm away. “No. You just didn’t seem like you knew what you wanted to do before. I thought maybe you wanted to talk about it before you decided.”

“I can take care of myself.”

He rubbed his face with his hand, not sure how he had offended her. He spoke through his fingers.“I know, Emily. I just want to be there for you. For whatever you need.”

He looked up and she was glaring at him.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he offered.

She wanted to stay mad. The anger felt good even though she knew it was a little misplaced. She remembered how she had imagined he would look at her once he knew. She hadn’t let herself hope for understanding. She didn’t want to admit it to herself but having him back in her life had been a huge relief. She didn’t have the words to properly express to him what it meant to her that he was there. That he hadn’t hesitated to hold her close, hadn’t questioned or abandoned her.

Now she was acting ungrateful, lashing out at him when he was only trying to help. She had worried he might second guess her decision, have some moral hang up bred of his conservative upbringing. She hadn’t wanted to involve him in this step, didn’t want to need help. She was afraid to discover a limit to the grace he’d given her. She hugged her arms around herself and nodded, feeling too awkward to look at him directly.

“Please.”

“Then I’ll be there,” he said simply and started walking again. She followed a half step behind.

The time between that conversation and Thursday dilated uncomfortably. Every moment she was aware of what was happening inside her: cells collecting and dividing, a slow, sinister act of creation. She knew she couldn’t literally feel what was happening but her skin crawled with the knowledge. If she let herself think about it, it would consume her. Frozen by the thought it felt like hours before she she could move again, only to find just moments had passed. She could only keep track of the passing time by the different foods that were available in the dining hall. Waffles, it must be morning; stir fry, evening again. She followed Hotch around and he led her to class, to eat, back home again.

She looked up from her plate, still filled with untouched potatoes and greens. He was looking at her and she knew he’d asked her a question but she didn't know what it was. She thought she remembered him asking if she wanted more water, though that could have been during a different meal or a dream.

“Yes,” she said, faking confidence.

He stared at her blankly.

“Sounds good.” She hoped she wasn't agreeing to anything serious.

His stare became somewhat anxious.

“I have no idea what you said,” she admitted reluctantly as she looked at her full water glass.

He exhaled sharply, everything still too bleak to laugh. “What time do we need to be at the clinic tomorrow?”

Was it tomorrow already? For her it had been weeks since yesterday and yet only this morning that had been the Tuesday before last.

He waited for her to answer, watching the wheels turning slowly, gears mismatched and stuttering. She pressed her thumb hard against the sharp end of her fork, trying to pull up the relevant information.

“Noon. The appointment is at noon.”

He reached out and touched her hand gently. “Okay.”

They left early to walk to the clinic. Rather than use the campus health center and risk detection by her mother, she found a local clinic about a twenty minute walk from campus. Their walk was quiet, both attempting to appear more stable than they felt. She was eager to be done with this whole experience. He was not sure what to expect, everything about it still a mystery to him. Too uncomfortable to ask questions, he hoped his presence would be enough. As they approached the low cement building, she slipped her hand into his. Only slightly surprised, he squeezed her fingers softly.

They went inside and were struck by the quiet. There were people sitting in about half the chairs, mostly young women. Everyone looked similarly focused, no one spoke unnecessarily. Emily walked up to the counter and gave her name and appointment information. The receptionist was kind, smiling patiently as she stumbled over her words. Once checked-in she was given a clipboard of forms to fill out. She turned to find Hotch still standing awkwardly by the door. She eyed a couple empty chairs between them and nodded to them with her chin. They met at the corner seats and she dropped her bag onto the floor beside the chair as she sat down. He sat a little more reluctantly, still scanning the waiting room.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

She was focused on filling in birthday and address and didn’t register what he said.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you wanted me to go up there with you or…” he trailed off. He hated that he was so nervous. He had waited in dozens of rooms like this before, many far more chaotic than this. It was tense in here but it was also hopeful. He stopped looking around and dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap. He traced a nail with his thumb, feeling all the bumps and edges.

She looked over at him, saw the apprehension shadowing his eyes. “I’m going to be ok,” she promised. She was not yet convinced of this but it felt good to say.

He nodded. “I know that. It’s just—“ he swallowed. This was no time to be bringing out his own problems. Regardless of what he wanted though, he could feel his stomach tightening, a conditioned response to the danger presented by medical offices. He hated doctors with their cold gloved fingers pressing into fresh wounds, only to act surprised when he shrank away from the pain. It was always harder to lie when they confused him like that, the sensations blocking out thought. His well-practiced story would seem to slip out of his mind and his mother would look at him, terrified, as he grasped at the correct details. Waiting rooms were not his favorite place to be by a long shot.

She was too involved with her paperwork to notice how he’d retreated into himself. After skipping the section on insurance (it’d be much easier to hide a couple hundred dollars pulled out of her checking account than a claim for abortion on the statements her mother received), she’d come to a form asking more specific questions about her body. She was trying to count back weeks in her mind but kept getting tripped up. She pulled out her phone to look at the calendar and her heart sank when she confirmed the number she had been hoping was a mistake. Had it really been two months? She’d lost so much time.

She finished filling out what she could of the forms and leaned back into the vinyl chair. She did feel more calm now that she was here. The anticipation had been difficult but now all the pieces were in place. She’d gotten herself here, now she could just follow along with the rest of the ride. She leaned her head onto Hotch’s shoulder. Absently he turned his face towards her and kissed the top of her head. His only reflexive act of affection, he had done that to soothe Sean more times than he could count. He had never done it to Emily, however. She closed her eyes and smiled, again thanking the universe that she had somehow earned a friend like him. They waited for her name to be called.

Though she was expecting it, hearing her name still made her jump a little. They both stood up and turned towards the nurse.

“That’s me,” her voice sounded squeaky, unable to get enough air into her lungs.

The woman smiled sympathetically. “I’m afraid your friend will have to wait out here. We can bring him into the recovery room as soon as your done though. Is that going to be ok?”

Emily and Hotch looked at each other, exchanging silent messages. They had known this was probably how it would happen. She didn’t really want him to see her like that anyway. But still, it was hard to let go when she had been spending the past week relying on him to keep herself standing. He knew she would be taken care of but he still didn’t want to let her disappear into the back hallways and exam rooms of the clinic. In his mind the building stretched out infinitely, hallways becoming mazes, folding and twisting into inescapable loops. Once she was beyond that door he wouldn’t be able to get to her quickly; once she was out of his sight, he couldn’t make sure she was safe. What if she needed him and he wasn’t there again?

She settled on a quick hug. “I’ll see you on the other side.” She was trying to be light but it came out sounding grave.

He nodded. “I’ll see you soon, Em.”

She followed the nurse through the door and he returned to one of the stiff chairs, this time deliberately choosing one with a view of both doors. He looked at his watch. It had already been more than an hour. He wasn’t sure how long it was going to be but he figured he could safely assume it wouldn’t be quick. He’d brought a book because the thought of flipping through waiting room magazines made him uneasy. He opened to the scrap of paper he’d been using as a bookmark and stared at the page. His mind refused to focus as he read and reread the same three paragraphs.

Eventually he gave up and leaned his head back against the wall behind him, narrowing his eyes but never fully closing them. No one paid attention to him, everyone there was too tangled in their own personal dramas. He started making lists in his head: adjectives starting with each letter of the alphabet, working backwards from Z, animals that migrated, the different license plates he had memorized. The last one had begun as a way to drown out the fighting as his family traveled to and from his grandparents’ house several hours out of town. He would try to remember each license plate that passed, whispering them to himself in a long string of letters and numbers, an incantation to prevent disaster. It was never clear whether it was ineffective or if his definition of disaster was too small.

Emily was led to an exam room. The nurse checked over her forms, following up on some pieces of information she hadn’t properly addressed. The nurse explained how the procedure was going to work, how the anesthesia was likely to make her feel and what she could expect in the following days. Emily nodded when she was supposed to, affirming that her decision was hers alone. She made fists with her hands to stop from picking at her nails, determined to appear calm and in control. The nurse gently patted her shoulder before she left, promising that the doctor would be in as soon as possible.

As soon as possible wasn’t all that soon it turned out. After sitting nervously at attention for twenty minutes, Emily laid down on her side on the exam table. The white paper crinkled beneath her as she tried to find a good position. She kept an eye on the door, alert to any sound or movement coming from its direction. She didn’t want to be caught sleeping, already feeling far too vulnerable in this place. She stared at the white paint of the door for so long that she started to see shapes floating on its surface. They grew and melted and she was mesmerized by it until suddenly the door swung towards her. She sat up quickly, trying to look as if she had been upright the whole time, but the creased paper gave her away.

This time there were several people that entered. She got more considerate smiles as she was introduced to the doctor, the anesthesiologist, the nurse from before. Again she stayed quiet, just nodding when it was appropriate and wondering what Hotch was doing out in the waiting room. There was more explanation of what was about to happen and she shifted uncomfortably, partly wishing that she didn’t need to know quite so much detail.

Finally things got started. It was not a pleasant position to be in and she second guessed her decision not to choose the at home option. Her dorm room just hadn’t seemed like the best place to try to go through something like this. The promise of a quick procedure, in, out and on with her life had landed her here. In a cold white room, outnumbered by people in white coats and sterile gloves. She felt her heart rate picking up, panic threatening to overpower her. She felt a light touch on her shoulder and turned her head to see the nurse smiling at her.

“You’re doing great.”

Emily closed her eyes. The anesthesia started to work and she felt herself begin to drift. When she opened her eyes the nurse was still there, still smiling at her. She had said something but Emily hadn’t registered it.

“All done,” she repeated.

“Oh,” was all Emily could say. She thought she had only blinked a little long. But sure enough she saw the doctor straightening up the different medical detritus on the counter. The anesthesiologist was busily wrapping up some tubing.

“Let’s get you dressed and over to the recovery room.”

“Is Hotch there?” Emily felt a sudden pang of worry. What if he had left, had decided she was too much trouble after all?

The nurse looked confused for a moment then realized what she was asking. “If you have someone waiting for you we can bring them back once you’re settled.”

Frowning, Emily accepted that answer. If she had someone waiting. Did she? The drugs were making her mind hazy. She remembered coming in with Hotch but she also remembered him being upset. Had he been upset with her? It was hard to be sure when it felt like all her recent memories had been shuffled like a deck of cards.

She let the nurse guide her to another room down the hallway. This room was softer, lacking the metallic equipment and raised exam table. Instead there were a couple arm chairs and one particularly soft looking couch. A side table held individually wrapped snacks and tea bags. Without invitation, Emily dropped onto the couch, leaning heavily against the arm and enjoying the pressure of the cushions behind her.

The nurse asked her if she wanted something to drink but Emily only looked at her with glazed eyes.

“Where’s Hotch?” She did her best not to sound desperate but there was a tremble in her voice she couldn’t contain.

“Ok, I’ll go get him. But think about having something to eat and drink. It’ll help.”

Emily nodded to show she would obey and the nurse left her, closing the door quietly. Emily leaned further into the couch, she was feeling a little nauseous and the colors around her appeared upsettingly bright. She closed her eyes and tucked her face into her arm. She completely forgot about eating or drinking anything.

As the nurse walked Hotch to the recovery room, she listed advice on how to take care of Emily. “She’s going to be tired and probably a little confused for the next couple hours. It’s best to just relax, watch a movie, nothing too strenuous. Make sure she eats and drinks plenty of water. We’re sending home some painkillers if she needs them.”

They reached the door. “Take as long as you need but she will probably be ready to go in half an hour.” She open the door. “Emily?”

Emily turned her face up from where she’d pressed it into the couch. Her vision was momentarily clouded by black spots that scattered in the sudden change of lighting.

“I’ve brought your friend, Mr. Hotchner. He’s going to sit with you until you’re ready to go. I’ll come back and check on you in a little bit.”

Emily nodded vacantly.

Hotch thanked the nurse as she left and crossed the room to Emily, who was still looking dazed. He crouched down in front of her, one hand on the arm of the couch. He looked closely into her face and she stared back at him with her wide brown eyes. She blinked.

“You’re very pretty Mr. Hotchner.”

He snorted, ducking his head, hair falling across his forehead. She reached out to push it back, running her fingers through it.

“So, so pretty.”

“Alright you,” he said, standing up, trying to hide a smile. “Let’s get something in that drug-addled brain so we can get out of here. What sounds good?”

She sat up and shrugged one shoulder. It didn't matter to her, she was just glad he was here. He grabbed a peppermint teabag from the basket and put together some tea for her. She watched him from her spot on the couch as he considered the snack options. He sat down next to her, pressing the paper cup into her hand and tearing open the package of dark chocolate cookies. She yelped when the boiling water burned her tongue.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, looking genuinely apologetic, as if he had intentionally overheated the water. She just shook her head and tilted her face down into the steam coming from the cup. The smell was soothing even if she couldn't drink it yet. She heard crunching next to her and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Those are supposed to be for me.”

“There’s more,” he defended himself, mouth half full.

She laughed and he felt himself relax. He had been painfully on edge for days, probably weeks. She had been so distressed and he hadn’t known what to do to fix it. He hadn’t been sure how this experience might complicate things further. Too familiar with disappointment, he had prepared to find her still broken, still consumed by grief. But here she was, laughing at him again. It was the thing he loved and had missed most about her. He allowed himself to hope a little. Maybe this was going to work out. Maybe they could get past this and everything would be okay again.

~Part 4~

#Criminal Minds #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #college hotchniss

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aquilaofarkham · 5 years

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title: asclepius rating: teen and up (medical procedures, childbirth, brief mentions of animal death) summary: After spending some time alone, Alucard decides to continue his mother’s work and becomes a local doctor—a choice that eventually brings unexpected consequences.

AO3

Alucard doesn’t need to look at a mirror to know the kind of sordid state he’s in: red watery eyes, sniffled nose flushed pink and disheveled locks of hair falling over his face after being tightly bunched up in his fists. It’s surprising how much crying can put certain things into perspective. With a trembling hand, he uses the end of his sleeve as a handkerchief.

He hasn’t cried this much since childhood. It feels... liberating. He was always so concerned with maintaining his composure while in the presence of others. Hide your softness; keep a guard around your exposed heart. Always be the cold spot in the room.

They say if you walk through one of those cold spots especially in an empty room, it means you have just brushed shoulders with a ghost. Not necessarily the worst thing to be. This castle might once again feel like home—or some semblance of home—should Alucard become more akin to a ghost. He would fit in better with its occupants that come and go, down staircases and across open doorways as fleeting visions of past memories.

Alucard places both palms upon his wet cheeks, trying to cool them. No more of those thoughts. In an hour or so, he will be fine. What he needs is distraction and there is plenty of that. He could continue wandering the corridors, inspecting whatever damage he missed during his first walkthrough. Make his favourite rooms more presentable and allow the sun to brighten up this dreary, death filled citadel, no longer to be hidden in shadows.

Standing up, Alucard sets off down the hallway. Cleaning, like crying, should help unclutter his mind. He starts by brushing aside larger pieces of rubble, stone, and splintered wood before realizing he needs a broom—and perhaps a shovel. There’s a substantial storage room in one of the neighbouring halls. Alucard recalls visiting it many times after accidentally breaking an entire set of Lisa’s vials or toppling over a row of candelabras when his powers were still new and difficult to control.

He hopes to feel some sweet nostalgia walking throughout the castle. A sense that he has returned to a past that kept him safe, gave him knowledge, and comforted him despite its bloodied history. A past that he loved.

There’s always the Belmont Hold should Alucard need it; the very thought causes him to stifle a chuckle. His relationship with that museum is certainly an interesting one. There was hatred, suspicion, even jealousy. All of which he made sure to voice very plainly to its sole heir. Alucard regrets those particular words, along with others that escaped.

You were right in calling me a bastard. Another memory that tugs at the corners of his lips. These days, he can’t help but respect those archives and their contents. He should, now that the Hold is his to own. Though the vampire skulls in their glass cases will have to be thrown out.

Tick, tick, tick. Alucard stops in the middle of another stone hallway. He almost moves on, thinking he misheard, until it occurs again. A few steps forward and the sound grows in volume. He follows and arrives at a closed door. Strange; he always remembered this to be one of many empty rooms. Most likely a stray cat or bat trying to claw its way out. Alucard grabs the doorknob. Might as well set it free else the noise echoing off the walls will drive him mad.

He’s right about it being a trapped animal, yet the reveal still surprises. Alucard backs away while a cat and what he thinks is a fox scamper out in a panicked dash. A few birds, including an owl, follow close behind. He doesn’t question where they came from or how they managed to get inside the castle yet; he’s more intrigued by the contents of the room. Nearly identical to his father’s workshops and studies with a large table erected in the centre. The only differences are the animal cages lining the walls. Curiosity develops into wariness when Alucard comes across splatters of red gracing the wood, too old and too dried to be washed away.

There’s another unexpected noise; a subtle, high-pitched whimpering that seems very close. Alucard searches around before looking under the table. Nestled in the farthest corner he sees a small black shape curled in on itself, shaking. He edges closer, noticing a tail and two folded ears.

“Where did you come from?” At the sound of his voice, the dog turns around only to cower even further away. Despite its bright blue eye, wrinkly face, and tongue that perpetually sticks out, its demeanour is one of debilitating fear. Alucard decides not to be concerned with the missing eye and exposed bone; Castle Dracula will always be home to a whole manner of colourful creatures.

“It’s alright. There’s no reason to be scared.” He holds out his hand, but the dog refuses to move. He needs to earn its trust in a different way—a palm full of food or stick as a plaything.

Something lying on the floor catches Alucard’s eye. A broken piece of bone, red as the stains across the table, should do just fine. Crawling back, he stretches his arm and offers it to the dog. Still shaking, but now with a slightly less apprehensive look in its eye. Ears and head perk up; its tail might even be wagging.

“Here. This is for you.”

The dog stands up, showing how small it really is. Nails tap against the stone floor as it walks forward. Its tongue flicks against the bone before opening its mouth to gently accept it. He relaxes, watching in delight as the creature happily gnaws on its new toy. It even allows him to reach over and pat the top of its head. Fingertips brush along its skull, but Alucard doesn’t flinch. He realizes how it might have come into existence.

Necromancy, alchemy, transmutation—these are not unknown concepts. Dracula dabbled in everything, including the sciences that fed a young dhampir’s insatiable curiosity. Or the medicinal practices he learned while sitting on his mother’s lap. No area of study was taboo in their household. Admittedly, the sight of a reanimated dog playing, panting, and barking like all others in the world (with their skin intact) isn’t that much of a shock to him.

Alucard had many pets; most humans would have called them unsavoury beings. He never cared then, so he doesn’t care now. He’s charmed by this little black dog. Picking it up, it drops the bone and starts licking his cheek, squirming excitedly. The castle doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

“Now what should I call you?” Nothing comes to mind, but a visit to one of the libraries might help instill some imagination into it. The dhampir prince leaves the room with his new friend, who had managed to calm down. “Let’s go find you one, shall we?”

A copper gear clicks into place, fitting with the others like the final piece in an elaborate puzzle. With a couple flips and switches, Alucard changes his multi-lensed glasses to the highest magnified setting. He makes a minor adjustment, wielding the needle-think pick between steady fingers. Satisfied, he picks up the polished cover, his own golden eyes shining in its reflection, and carefully presses it into place.

Alucard takes a well-deserved breath. The glasses weigh heavy on the bridge of his nose. He looks over his stagnant creation with its sleek body hiding an inside filled with gears and springs that in theory should work together in tandem. There’s only one more step, then he can at last call this project finished. Using a pair of pincers, he takes a ball of coal and delicately hovers it over a nearby candle. Not enough to light it ablaze, but enough to ignite a few embers. He then places the ball within his device through a hole in its back before closing it. All that’s left to do is wait in anticipation while thin billows of smoke drift out of every crack.

There’s one click. Then another, and another, coupled with a few whirs. Metallic eyes blink followed by a tail swaying from side to side. The fox with shining gold and silver in place of red fur exhales steam, stretching out its limbs one by one. A little janky at first but after getting used to how its mechanisms work, each movement becomes much smoother. Alucard removes his glasses, pleased at how his creation hops off the table to join the other fox with its exposed muscle.

If his father were here, he might call his animatronics frivolous (in a well-meaning tone). Mere toys showcasing spectacle and little else. True, they are for his own amusement and there’s not much brand-new knowledge Alucard can gain from them. He already knows how machinery operates. But it’s a nice feeing to create something for pleasure rather than defensive purposes.

“Would you like a companion for yourself, Agrippa?” He leans down to see a small black dog sleeping under his chair, no doubt having worn himself out from the hours he spent running around the laboratory. The name Agrippa comes from the author of three ancient books based on the subject of occult philosophy. Alucard found them by chance while rummaging through untouched shelves down in the Belmont Hold—it seemed the best fit for a creature of similar origins.

“No, I didn’t think so.” He doesn’t need a companion. He seems content enough to be on his own, free to run up and down the castle hallways until passing out on the middle of the carpet. Then early in the morning, before the sun has the chance to rise, he’ll jump onto Alucard’s pillow and wake him by nuzzling his face. Or tug and paw at the hem of his master’s pant leg while he’s at his workstation if he’s that starved for attention. But Agrippa never gets lonely.

Neither does Alucard—he tells himself this every day. He’s not lonely or bored. He needed distraction, he found it, and it’s been serving him well. Seldom spending his nights in bed, more so in the laboratory and libraries. His hours are filled with the sound of electricity sparking, liquids bubbling, and gears clanking.

Until he steps outside into the rest of the castle and it’s quiet again. Without Agrippa for company (and conversation), all that’s left are his footsteps and heartbeat. Not even the ghosts disguised as memories come to visit as often as they used to. Soon, his mind goes quiet as well. Quiet and slow. He stops walking and sits at the bottom of a stairwell, scraping some excess grime off his fingertips. The two foxes, both reanimated in different ways, bound across the corridor, their snouts rubbing against each other, before they run off, soft paws racing against hard ones. Such a marvel. What might they say if they saw what...

They. Alucard’s thoughts become clear. It’s been weeks since their shared farewells—or has it been a month? Time seems to pass differently for him. Before he can wonder how they’re faring or where they’ve gone to, Alucard realizes that he already has his answers. He always does whenever the need strikes. Making his way up the spine of the castle, he heads straight for the main study. All the paintings have been restored to their hanging positions; all the glass has been cleared away. That is until Alucard enters the room and the jagged shards spring to life, hovering gracefully in the air, mismatched and in disarray. He beckons one forward and uses an elongated nail to inscribe the first rune onto its smooth surface.

Sounding off a gentle chime, the shards twist and dance, forming a mirror. A few more ticks of his nails, a few more runes sink into the water-like glass. Alucard’s reflection dissipates, replaced by grass, trees, and the colours of dawn. The scene before him is humble, a small campsite with a familiar canvas covered wagon. Yet his eyes are immediately drawn to the extinguished fire pit where two travelers sleep side by side. This sight isn’t shocking; it’s still quite early in the day after all. What does surprise Alucard are their clothes. Sypha’s robes have been immaculately repaired while Trevor at long last got himself out of that old tunic and into something which brings out his better physical qualities.

Sypha lies comfortably with her head on his chest and arm pulling her closer. Alucard smiles softly, the sound of glass upon glass ringing in his ears. He raises a hand after debating with himself. This is a transmission mirror. 400 years old with the ability to push through solid matter—including flesh and blood. Easy as stepping through an open doorway. He could join them. Ask about their travels, their adventures, and how often they managed to get into trouble. He could enjoy their company one more time. He could...

Alucard’s fingers touch the glass, sending ripples across its surface. They stay. He stays. There’s nothing wrong with the mirror, not even as Trevor and Sypha fade away. He stares at his reflection, a combination of dejection and acceptance. He won’t forcibly insert himself into the life they now lead. It would be awkward reuniting with them this way. Give it time, they’ll see each other again somehow. Alucard recalls the advice he gave himself, about guarding his heart and the cold spot in the room.

Warm sunlight pours across the floorboards, the same that greeted his friends. He’s always been wary about leaving both the castle and Belmont ruins for too long. Short woodland walks with Agrippa bounding excitably by his feet have been the extent of his outings. But today the nearest village is hosting a market, and Lisa always wanted him to try existing among the same humans she cared for.

It’s strange walking down the roads that lead away from the Belmont grounds. Plenty of things feel strange now. There’s no worry of bumping into the night hoards that once plagued these roads. They’ve been left empty for some time, save for animals in the underbrush.

Alucard used to look out his window every evening, certain he would see carriages bearing emblems from across the continent, pulled along by rotting horse corpses. Up towards the steps of the castle they would arrive, letting out vampires dressed in silk redder than freshly spilled blood. One by one, their heads held high like a meticulous procession. Here on the resting place of a mad lord, after spitting upon the ruins of their oldest enemy, they would try removing Dracula’s bastard son from a nonexistent throne.

He hasn’t seen those carriages, the horse corpses, or the finely dressed vampires—not yet. Alucard can’t even bother viewing himself as a ruler to be dethroned. He takes after his mother in that aspect, preferring simpler things. She would be pleased to see him strolling through the gates of a lively hamlet, mingling with his other half.

Alucard wants nothing more than to continue honouring the memory of Lisa (perhaps now through less violent or patricidal means). Though his visit to the market is also for personal benefits. It’s good to see faces apart from his own in the Carpathian mirror. Despite how awkwardly he puts one foot in front of the other while wringing the leather strap of his shoulder bag, unsure of how to present himself to a world outside the castle. Trevor and Sypha would be so much better at this.

“Rabbit, wolf, and bear pelts!” Shouts one merchant with as much hair on his forearms as there is on his chin. Alucard avoids him.

“Fancy some cured and dried meats, sir?” A different one inquires.

“Not for me.”

Farther and further he explores. Soon the marketplace and its contents start blurring together. Food, clothing, daily tools to make the average Wallachian’s life a little easier. There are a few stand out vendors such as a woman selling jewelry that sparkles in the sunlight, the daughter of a blacksmith perfecting her skills in exchange for a few generous coins, and a pair of young men manipulating half-melted glass after heating it over an open flame while spectators watch in awe.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Asks a voice just behind him. Alucard spins around, wondering if the question was meant for him or someone else. He faces a man and a younger woman, one stocky and well-tanned, the other frail with pronounced cheekbones. Bushels of dried herbs coupled with root vegetables and jars of wild berry jam line their vendor table. “They’re brothers from Bucharesti but were raised in Constantinople. That’s where they learned their trade. Like magicians, those two. I could watch them work all day.”

“You’ll have to excuse my father.” Alucard steps forward and sees the wisps of thin hair beneath the girl’s multicoloured headscarf. The closer he looks, the more her weight—or lack thereof—worries him. “He likes to converse with anyone who happens to pass by, whether they wish to or not.”

“It is a rather fascinating sight.” One that Alucard has seen performed through magic many times before. Nonetheless, he cannot help but show his own amusement, even admiration at what human hands can achieve and create. The very same sensation he feels when Sypha bends the elements to her will or when Trevor wields the Morningstar with such ease and, dare he admit it, grace.

Humanity is violent, cruel, and more often than not operates solely on its own warped superstitions and self-preservation. Yet there are lights that can be found within it—a hunter who rose up and realized his true potential. The most powerful, fearsome, brilliant magician Alucard has ever had the pleasure of knowing. A marketplace where its residents no longer have to fear what might be lurking outside their gates. A doctor and mother who thought only the best of her own kin.

“Do you live in the village?”

“Close enough. My wife, this not so little one, and I live further out in the woods. Not a lot of land to call our own, but there’s no shortage of plants and berries. Plenty of game passes through too, boding well for us whenever we need meat and pelts.”

“And we’re about to be blessed with another little one.” The daughter speaks in a breathy tone, as though exhausted from nothing.

“Yes, of course! My wife’s heavy with our second child.”

“Congratulations.”

“I see you’ve got your eyes set on the jams.”

Alucard’s head perks up at the comment. He never had much of an enduring sweet tooth, at least not for the usual pastries and candies. As a child, he would sneak into the kitchen in the hopes of finding a few biscuits before bedtime. After growing out of that habit, what he craved instead were sweet marmalades and jams.

“Oh, right. I will take... those two.” He points to a bright red and dark blue jar.

“Would you like those wrapped?”

“Yes, thank you.”

While Alucard readies his payment, he notices how the young woman struggles to wrap two jars in a simple piece of brown parchment. Her thin lips chapped beyond remedy and her mouth seems incredibly dry. She hands him his purchase with trembling hands, unable to say much else. Alucard turns to her father, their expressions matched in concern.

“Everything alright, Daniela?” He asks, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“... I’m fine. I just need water... anything to drink, really. I’m going to the square to find something. I will return soon.” As she leaves, Daniela gives Alucard a friendly but weak smile. “Thank you, sir.”

An uncomfortable silence grows between the two men. Alucard thinks about walking away. Leaving this brief encounter as just that—an encounter, nothing more. It’s what he should do, it’s what anyone else in the market would do. Yet the image of Daniela, still young but carrying herself like an elderly woman, tugs at the impulse to know more.

“Your daughter seems very frail.”

“So you’ve noticed. Daniela wasn’t always that thin or weak. She used to be healthier than either myself or her mother. Then... I’m not really sure what happened.”

“Has she been eating?”

“Morning, middle of the day, and night. But nothing sticks to her bones. It’s like all that food just... goes right through and disappears. Every time she takes a bite, she starts complaining about chest aches. Drinks plenty, though. Enough to drown a fully-grown man.”

“How long has she been like this?”

The man furrows his brows. “You ask a lot of personal questions.”

Alucard feels his stomach drop. Spoke too soon, spoke too much. Will he ever learn? “It’s just that I know a fair bit about medicine and what causes illnesses.”

“Medicine? Like leeches and boiled pig fat?”

“No, nothing like that. Forgive me, but I was only concerned for your daughter.”

He crosses his arms, sizing Alucard from top to bottom. “Well, you’re an odd mister, but somehow I can tell you have good intentions. Name’s Mihai, by the way. If you’re really concerned for Daniela and you want to put that medicine of yours to use, you’re welcome to visit our cabin and see how she’s faring. Just follow one of the paths due east from here and you’ll find it.”

“I shall consider the offer.”

“In the meantime, enjoy that jam.”

Alucard nods before taking his leave. He meanders through the rest of the village, but not for long. Too much is on his mind and the market has become suffocating. This is no place to think about the condition of a sick girl who may need his help.

Metal paws clink against the stone floor, followed by the ever familiar, ever present sound of working gears and steam whistling like a kettle. The other fox, the one remade from dead flesh and bone, playfully pounces on its gold and silver mate as the two creatures run about in the kitchen. Alucard pays them no mind, nor does he pay much attention to his plate of stale biscuits, let alone the half-eaten piece still in his hand. Mihai was right about enjoying the jam; it’s the only enjoyable thing about his sad excuse for a meal.

His cup of wine remains untouched. All Alucard can focus on is the text in front of him, handwritten on pages of thick journal paper. One of the many notebooks Lisa thankfully kept in the castle as opposed to her clinic. Thoughtful eyes narrow as his teeth slowly grind down another uncaring bite. A fingertip traces down a list of symptoms he recognizes—constant dehydration, short of breath, weakness, and a dangerous lack of weight despite an increased appetite.

When he returned home and began searching for the right book, he hoped to prove his original predictions wrong. Daniela is merely a victim of stress; what woman her age and social stature wouldn’t be? Feeble thoughts driven out the moment Alucard opened the front cover. It’s an unsuspecting, insidious illness, like all the others. Commonly occurs in human bodies regardless of age or health and due to its long-term effects on sugars in the bloodstream, Lisa labelled it in her notes as “the sweet death”.

Alucard turns the page to a detailed diagram of an internal organ curved at its end. Beside the drawing with all its minuscule descriptions is a paragraph titled “insulin and its properties”. Accompanying it are instructions that fill up the entire opposite page. It will take time and there can be no error. Already Alucard feels overwhelmed even as he looks over the complicated procedure. All the more reason to get started. Closing the book, Alucard tosses away the rest of his biscuit and leaves whatever he didn’t touch for the foxes.

He stops just before reaching the doorway. The notebook tucked under his arm suddenly feels heavy. A voice that had always been locked in the back of his mind crawls forward like a near death cadaver digging its way towards the surface. This isn’t any of your business.

No, it isn’t. Just as it wasn’t any of Lisa’s. She had no obligation to seek out true medical knowledge all because she hated the notion of resorting to leeches and bloodletting. No one asked her to do what they considered to be the unthinkable, the unholy. Those patients from Lupu, Targoviste, even all the way from Bucharesti, would have gone about their daily lives had they never met her. They would have also died far too early. It was her life’s calling to help these people.

And look at what it brought her in the end.

Alucard’s thoughts push his conscience in opposing directions. There’s too much of his mother in him, no enough of his father. And yet he cannot forget what they did to her, how those strangers repaid her countless good deeds. Should this family discover the truth, will they repay him in the same way?

His sheer stubbornness undermines any lingering apprehensiveness. Damn his guarded heart as it begins to soften. Of course he wants to help Daniela; he’s the only one who can. Heading towards the laboratory, Alucard says a silent prayer for Lisa. I will be careful, mother. I promise.

He works nearly a full week before enough vials are made, filled to the brim with clear liquid. They should last Daniela for a month if not more. Along with a needle and syringe fashioned by himself, Alucard places each one into a bag. The glass vials gently clink together with every subtle movement, but he makes sure to secure them. At least until he arrives at the cottage.

Alucard waits until dark, patting Agrippa’s head as a goodbye (and for good luck). It’s a clear night, clear and quiet. Once reaching the roads most traveled, he slips into the forest, following the same route he took towards the village. It’s safer this way—no sightings, no questions, no suspicions. When the gates come into view, he follows Mihai’s directions, vague as they were. Go east along the paths, search for a cabin. Alucard holds the bag steady after hearing another round of clinking glass.

He thanks his eyes for possessing a keen nature and sharpness not found in mortal humans. There in the distance nestled between the trees with a thin stream of smoke wafting out of its chimney sits a small cottage made from wood and stone. Candlelight shines dimly through its windows. Alucard takes note of the wild berry bushes surrounding this humble plot of land. Walking up to the front facade, he raps his knuckles against the door and waits. His stomach feels heavy and there’s a sledgehammer banging away in his ears and in his heart. But it’s far too late to turn back; not after the work he’s done, not after the promise he made.

The door opens, revealing a surprised Mihai. “Oh, it’s you. I… I didn’t really think you’d actually come.”

“I wanted to come sooner, but—”

“Who is that, love?” A different voice calls out.

“The man from the market, the one I was telling you about.” Footsteps can be heard from within the house. After more waiting, a woman dressed in a thick handknit shawl appears by Mihai’s side. Alucard’s eyes are quickly drawn to her pregnant stomach hiding beneath layers of clothing. It tells him enough of her condition.

“This is my wife, Tobi.”

“Good to meet you, sir. Mihai tells me you bought some of our jams. And that you’re a doctor of sorts.”

“I do have the knowledge. I’m here f—”

“You came to see our daughter.” Tobi interjects, one hand around Mihai’s arm while the other rests on her swollen belly. “I’m not usually one to let strangers into our home. But our poor girl is on the verge of desperation... along with us. If you can tell us what’s wrong with her, that’ll be enough.”

“I can do more than simply tell you what ails Daniela; I made something that can help her.” He holds up his bag and reveals its contents. Mihai and Tobi stare inside with cautious interest. “Can I see her?”

The two turn to each other for assurance, contemplating their options (what little they have). Eventually, it’s Mihai who opens the door wider. “Come in.”

It’s a quaint home, warm and inviting. Better than most other woodland cottages Alucard has been welcomed into. There’s a well-fed fireplace and the smell of food cooked with heart; small enough to house three persons along with a fourth on their way, but no more. Hanging off the walls are rows upon rows of dried herbs and meats, tapestries of a hard-working family.

“She’s resting in there.” Tobi leads him through the main living space and points towards an open doorway. Alucard looks inside; a single, wavering flame lights the room, revealing a stool where the candle sits collecting drops of fresh and dried wax. Everything else is covered in shadows. A young woman lies on a narrow bed with her back turned towards the entrance, shoulders rising and falling at a laboured pace.

“Daniela…” The figure’s head turns around as she adjusts her position upon the creaking bed frame.

“You again. This is a surprise.” Daniela replies, trying her best to sound as welcoming as she did at the market. It’s difficult to greet her in this state—her cheeks look even more hollow and her neck thinner after only a week. “What brings you to our home?”

“Your father told me of your condition and I—”

“He told you?” She wants to sound angry but in her weakened state, it only comes off as mere annoyance. Daniela rests her scalp against the sweat stained, well-used pillow. “Thank you for the concern, but you shouldn’t have troubled yourself. It’s really nothing. I’m tired, that’s all.”

“What you’re afflicted with is far more serious than mere exhaustion.” He glances at Mihai and Tobi, who are just behind him standing in the doorframe. “You two should hear this as well.” They join Alucard by the bed; four persons crowded into a single claustrophobic room. He contemplates his next words, which ones would be better to use in order to describe this particular illness. How can he make this easy for them to understand?

“The reason why this is happening to you is because inside of your body, there is an organ that has stopped working properly. While your lungs help you breathe and your heart pumps blood, this one helps you ingest food and keep you as healthy as possible.” Alucard pauses to ensure that Daniela is still attentive. Her expression has grown considerably more anxious, but she doesn’t ask any questions yet. “However, because it no longer functions, the food you eat doesn’t get properly ingested. No matter how much you consume, you continue to lose weight and grow weaker.”

“I... I have something... dead inside of me?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it dead.”

“Is it the plague?” Daniela’s eyes grow wide with distress until Alucard quickly takes her hand to calm her.

“No, no. It’s not the plague at all. There’s no real term for it yet. Here...” He pulls out one of the vials and holds it up against the candlelight yet far enough as to not burn the clear liquid. Mihai and Tobi draw in closer, trying to get a better glimpse. “This will help. It acts as a substitution for the organ. You have to take a certain amount every time you eat a meal. The more often you do, the better you will start to feel.”

“Do I drink it?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.” Now comes the most difficult part. His hand slips back inside the bag and retrieves a needle. Daniela begins to squirm at the sight of it; Alucard had the same reaction the first time Lisa showed him. His reluctant cries could be heard throughout every inch of the castle even before the tip punctured his skin. Fortunately, the initial act felt far less painful than he anticipated, and it was only beneficial for his health over the years, but he was a child. Daniela has most likely never seen anything like this before. Alucard won’t chastise her.

“You will need to fill this device with the liquid—not all of it, but enough—then insert the tip either through your arm, abdomen, or leg. I’ll do it first, so you know how it is done.”

The tension in the air remains steady as Daniela goes silent. Water pools up around the curve of her eyes, ready to break into tears running down her cheeks the moment she blinks. She bites her lip; she’s scared but all she wants is for this to end. So that she can stop feigning strength and indifference.

“... please make it quick.”

“It will be. Hold out your arm.” Trembling, she does just that. Alucard takes it in his gloved hand, his other one holding the needle after it’s been filled and prepared. He can feel her shaking, struggling to hold still. “Have you ever been stung by a hornet, Daniela?”

“Y-yes... it was awful.”

“Well, this will be considerably less painful.”

Daniela holds her breath, clutching the sheets in her fists, yet musters enough bravery to not look away even as the needle enters her upper arm. Though the same cannot be said of her parents who turn their heads. At least she now knows how to inject herself. With care, Alucard pushes the liquid forward and empties the container before removing the needle. Daniela will need more than the usual amount, only to get her through until the next morning. After so many hours of constant work, sleepless nights, and days gone without a proper meal, after all that fretting from both parties, the deed is done.

“That was it?” Mihai and Tobi nearly ask the same thing.

“How did that feel?”

“... felt like nothing. Now what happens?”

“It will take some time. But you need to continue taking the medicine.”

“For how long?”

“As long as possible. It will be hard, but this isn’t something that disappears after a few remedies. Although with enough work it can be made liveable.”

Daniela pauses, then nods. “I’ve been through harder times... I’ll do my best.”

“You did well tonight.” He shows her the rest of the vials along with the needle and what she’ll need to keep it clean. “Remember, take some before every meal and at night to be safe. Don’t empty the entire thing. Now rest, you’ve earned it.”

As Daniela lets relief and exhaustion overtake her, Alucard hands the bag off to Mihai and Tobi, who have both remained shockingly quiet throughout this entire ordeal. He at least expected some words of protest or disbelief. “The remainder should last for a month. I’ll return after that time with more. Try to keep these somewhere cold so that the liquid stays potent.”

Tobi speaks up, unsure if her response is what he wants to hear. “The ground sometimes freezes over during the nights.”

“That will do. Put these in the dirt until she needs them again.”

“When you said you knew about medicine, this was the last thing I expected.” Mihai speaks softly. He and Tobi exchange a glance—they know what the other is thinking. “We cannot thank you enough for this, sir. Would you mind sitting down with us for a moment?”

Alucard thinks about how late it is but traveling in the dead of night as never been a problem for him before. He follows them to the fireplace and seats himself.

“Do you have your own practice somewhere? A clinic, or something like it?”

“No. I wouldn’t call myself a doctor.”

“You should,” Tobi states. “People around here need one, especially someone with your knowledge and skills.”

“There was one people always kept talking about when we lived near Targoviste.”

Alucard leans forward after hearing the name of that forsaken city. “You used to live there... when did you leave?”

“Over a year ago. Long before all the... killing and dying started.”

“We never had to visit her, but a few of our friends did and sometimes we tagged along just to see what all the fuss was about. She turned out to be the best of them. Better, actually.” Mihai turns to Alucard, his eyes inquisitive yet serious—an expression even the dhampir has difficulty reading. “While I watched you help Daniela, I could have sworn I saw her again. The way you spoke, worked, and the sort of tools you used, it was like she had come back from the dead. What was her name, love?”

“Lisa, I believe. Can’t recall her last name. Did you know of her?”

A sharpness cuts through Alucard’s chest then down into his gut. This is what he feared most coming out here only because he wanted to help. He could lie, say he never knew this doctor named Lisa. His previous actions coupled with a current panicked expression across his still face betray him. “I did.”

“Did you study under her?”

No answer, but Alucard holds his tongue as Mihai raises a hand. “Not to worry, sir. No matter how you knew her, we won’t tell a soul either way. We never believed the horrid things they accused her of.”

“Even when...” Even when Dracula promised vengeance and kept that promise to the bitter, blood-soaked end.

“We always thought that what came after her burning was a sort of punishment, not from above but from below... ask me and I’ll say some of them deserved it.” Tobi refuses to waver from her comment, even when her husband turns in shock.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Course I do. Those people and their leaders were daft for staying in the first place. What sort of fool stands up to the Devil and challenges him?”

Alucard unwittingly scratches at the centre of his chest. What sort of fool indeed? Instead, he gives an obvious response. “It’s late. Your family has been through enough tonight. I should leave.”

Mihai stops him before he can take another step. “Let us give you your pay first.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Just wait here, I won’t be long—”

“I said no,” Alucard repeats with the right amount of force in his tone. Mihai and Tobi stare at him, baffled.

“You saved our daughter’s life. We only wish we could do more to repay you.”

“Make sure she takes her medicine just as I instructed until I return in a month and take care of each other. That’s all I ask of you.”

They barter some more, but Alucard refuses to change his stance. Mihai lets out a huff. “Odd as ever. Safe travels and remember we’re still in your debt.”

“Thank you, sir. And bless you.”

Much like his farewell at the market, Alucard nods courteously. His eyes linger on Tobi’s stomach for a second longer before exiting the cottage. She must be due soon.

He leaves the same way he arrived with much to think about. The looks of pure, unbridled relief and gratitude on the faces of all three family members linger in his mind. They knew Lisa, but what of others? How long have they gone without seeing a proper doctor to receive real medicine? He shouldn’t forgo the lives of innocent people only because a much larger existential threat has been eliminated. It’s not what Lisa would have done.

That voice, the one crawling and scratching about, returns as the cottage begins to shrink in the distance. You promised you would be careful. And he will.

Alucard is nothing if not observant. He attributes it to his natural born heightened senses—whether a blessing or curse, he hasn’t decided yet. For now however, he is grateful. It allows him to slip in and out of villages, including the one that played host to the market. He listens to people’s woes without making himself noticed; rumours, gossip, words of concern for friends and neighbours.

“The widow’s baby is sick. Refuses to eat or even cry.”

“My son can’t go outside. The chill in the air will kill him. Stays in bed all day.”

“It’s getting worse. He can barely speak without coughing.”

That’s all Alucard needs to hear. Day after day he makes his routine excursions then returns to the castle laboratory with enough work to keep his hands and thoughts busy. At night, he quickly goes from house to house, leaving an odd assortment of gifts for these people on their doorsteps. Tonics, powders, bottles filled with caplets; sometimes they find a handwritten note detailing instructions on how to take these remedies.

Others have started talking, of course. Alucard now hears the name “good Samaritan” whenever he visits these communities. Word hasn’t reached any church official, but it will. He’s certain of that. There’s some small comfort to be found in the constant reassurance that they won’t find him, not while Mihai, Tobi, and Daniela keep their promise. Only they know the truth and Alucard prefers it stay that way.

He hasn’t forgotten about them or their daughter’s plight. The stress and worry while he creates more insulin has significantly lessened now that time is on his side. Although it doesn’t stop Alucard from making a premature delivery before the month even ends. His impatience gets the better of him for two reasons: he wants to see how Daniela is faring and he needs to check on her mother’s pregnancy. His previous insistence of “not calling himself a doctor” is starting to hold less and less weight.

Alucard takes a familiar route, leisurely and unperturbed until he arrives at the family cottage, a stream of smoke still drifting from the top of their chimney. It’s not quite dark outside, but late enough for the skies to turn shades of red, orange, and gold. He barely gets in a few knocks before the door opens. A pleasant yet relieving surprise greets him; not Mihai, but the happy expression of Daniela. In the weeks since they met, she’s already gained a small amount of weight, filling out her once baggy dress, and there’s a light in her eyes that was missing before.

“Hello,” she exclaims. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“I thought I’d pay you and your family an early visit. How have the injections been treating you?”

“Well enough. I had some trouble getting used to it, but I feel much better. And I can do it myself. Whatever you gave me worked like a miracle.”

“It’s no miracle, only medicine. I brought more, so you won’t need to worry for the next while. How is your mother?”

“The baby’s been giving her more trouble recently.”

“How so?”

“She’s a lot more tired now and keeps complaining about backaches.”

“Do they occur often?”

“They come and go all day. She’s not in any great pain, at least that’s what she keeps telling us. Would you like to come in? We’re getting supper ready, you should join us.”

“Actually, I’m only here for a short visit. I won’t inconvenience you.”

“Nonsense. Come in, it’s the least we can do after all you’ve done for us.”

“That’s very kind of you to offer, but it isn’t necess—” But Daniela doesn’t give Alucard much of an option when she starts pulling him into the cottage. All the while, he thinks about Tobi. Perhaps he spoke too soon; perhaps he should stay longer.

“Mother! Look who’s come back.”

Tobi stands by the fireplace over a large black pot, stirring a wooden spoon in what looks to be meat stew with vegetables. She stands up straight (or as straight as she can) and turns around. “Welcome!” She smiles, wiping her hands on an apron. “Have you come with more medicine? Or just to say hello?”

“Both.” Alucard replies, a little meekly. He places another bag filled with new vials off to the side. “How are you?”

“Tired, but well. My husband’s off hunting for rabbit.”

“We already have some meat, but mother insisted he go find more.”

Tobi side-glances in Daniela’s direction. “Careful with that tone, my dear. It won’t get easier when there’s four mouths to feed instead of three.”

“You should sit down.” Without much resistance, she allows Alucard to gently guide her into a chair. Daniela tries to keep an eye on the pot and stew, but her attention is drawn elsewhere. “Your daughter tells me you’ve been experiencing terrible back pain.”

“It’s not terrible. Annoying is more like it, no worse than when the baby starts kicking.” She rubs her stomach, speaking between every breath as they grow heavier and more laboured.

“When did it begin?”

“A few days ago... it’s fine. I remember something like this before Daniela was born.” Tobi winces, sucking air through a row of gritted teeth, and Alucard feels a sting of worry. He read Lisa’s notebooks on pregnancy and childbirth but only as a precaution. These contractions that Tobi feels everyday—they’re normal during the later stages. Expected, even. Yet they are a sign of what is to come very soon.

“Rest, mother. I’ll prepare supper.”

“Have you spoken to any midwives?”

“The closest one lives in Arges—”

“And you’re in no condition to make that journey,” Daniela interrupts.

“No more worrying from you. We’ll send word to her when the baby decides for themselves.”

“The baby?” Alucard inquires.

“In the end, it’s not our decision to make. They’ll join this family when they’re good and ready to.”

The hint of a smile tugs at the corners of Alucard’s mouth. He lets Tobi rest and joins Daniela by the fireplace. Time passes, the aroma of spice of herb fills the cottage, yet there’s no sign of Mihai. Alucard listens carefully to Tobi’s breathing, arduous but steady.

Until they turn into groans, which then turn into shouts. Her hands fumble about, unsure whether she should rest them on her belly or the arms of the chair, so tight her nails might dig right into the wood. Blood drains from Daniela’s face.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening? Mama!”

“I, I don’t know, I just—” Her words are cut off by another cry of pain. “It, it hurts so much now...”

Alucard wretches himself out of a near frozen state and rushes to Tobi’s side. The immediate sight of her wet stockings coupled with faint splotches of red confirms his suspicions. She was right; newborn babes come when they’re good and ready, but most are impatient.

Arges is miles away. He’ll have to act in place of its midwife.

“Daniela, I need you to bring me a basin full of warm water and as many blankets as you can carry.”

“Is she going to be aright?” Her frantic tone betrays what little composure she’s desperately trying to hold onto.

“She and your sibling will be fine if you do exactly as I say. Now go, quickly!”

While Daniela runs off, he helps Tobi out of the chair. Before she can try walking on her own, Alucard has already scooped her up into his arms. It’s easier this way, and he has the strength to do so. He doesn’t care if it reveals the truth about himself—in this moment, he doesn’t care about anything that isn’t the safety of Tobi and her unborn child.

Alucard takes her into the bedroom, stripping off any excess clothing until there’s nothing except a simple, light underdress. Her skin feels hot, close to a fever. Daniela arrives with exactly what he asked for. “Lie down. Careful now...” He says after laying a blanket on the bed. Tobi struggles, her teeth grinding together, hand tightly grasped in Alucard’s, but she achieves this one small goal. As if by pure instinct, she spreads her sweat-drenched legs and bends them.

It’s alright. Everything will be alright. A mantra more for Alucard than anyone else. He removes his coat, gloves, and rolls up his sleeves before tying back his long hair. People give birth in their homes every day. Hands dip into the water basin. My mother must have assisted with over a hundred. I know what to do.

Tobi lets out another scream followed by a series of curses, loud enough to shred her vocal cords.

“Don’t push so fast!”

“Something’s tearing, I can feel it!”

“Nothing is tearing. You and your baby are both alright.” Daniela takes a step back, eyes watery and lower lip trembling, but she stands firmly by her mother’s side. Alucard is proud of her, of them both. “I need you to keep breathing and push when I tell you to.”

The air in the room, barely big enough for three persons, turns thick. Everything becomes sodden; wet with sweat, blood, and other fluids. All over the bed, Tobi’s legs, her dress, and Alucard’s hands. But she breathes and pushes when told to. There’s a glimpse of the baby’s head before it disappears.

“Push again. You’re doing well. Take a deep breath... and...”

This continues, push after push after push. Too many to keep count of. Daniela holds onto her mother’s hand, unsure of whose grip is closer to crushing the other. There’s the blood again—more than there should be. Yet the only thing Alucard sees is the top of the head until it vanishes for the umpteenth time. He hears crying, not the sort that would give him hope. It might be coming from Daniela or Tobi or both.

“I don’t understand...” But he does. His lowered tone does nothing to hide the panic rising up. This is unfortunately another common occurrence with pregnancies and just as dangerous for the parent as it is for the child. There is a solution—the thought of which sends Alucard’s mind and heartbeat into a frenzy. It will be worse when he has to tell Daniela and Tobi. What would Lisa say if she saw him in this state?

Calm yourself. You’ve been forced to do worse. You can take lives easy enough, but now you can save two.

He swallows hard, glancing down at his bloodstained hands. There will be more to come should he put this plan into action. “Tobi... can you still hear me?”

“Y-yes...”

“Listen to me very carefully. Something’s gone wrong, but I can make it right. I’ll need to cut open your stomach—” Shock. Horror. Angry silence from Daniela most of all. Just as Alucard expected, yet he explains further. “Right now, it’s the only option left. I promise to make it quick and painless...”

Daniela grabs his slippery wrist. “You’re not touching my mother again! You’ll kill her!”

“I won’t.” He doesn’t try to match the volume of her voice, nor does he wrench out of her grasp with more force than necessary. There’s no need for her to fear yet another thing. “You have to trust me.”

“She just needs to keep pushing!”

“Your mother has done all she can and it’s putting her life at risk.”

In the midst of their arguing, Tobi chokes out her decision. “Do it.” Tears mingle with the sweat upon her reddened cheeks. “If you have to save one of us... save my baby.”

Now you can save two. “Both of you are going to live. I swear that on my mother’s grave.”

Alucard instructs Tobi to lie back completely and for Daniela to stay by her side but not to look no matter what happens. Slipping a hand underneath her waist, he whispers something in an ancient language; dead to most Wallachians, alive and well in the Tepes castle hold. Only to help numb Tobi’s body from her abdomen to the bottoms of her feet. Lisa had her ice baths, Alucard has his father’s spells.

No more easy steps from now on. Using a sharpened nail, Alucard cuts a perfect line across the abdominal wall. A knife would have done the job just as well, but he fears what could happen if he leaves for the briefest moment. Eyes turn upwards to Tobi’s chest—still moving. No screams of pain or bloody murder. Alucard holds onto his composure, his need to be the cold spot in the room with a desperate grip as he makes another rupture along the uterus, cutting open the internal sac surrounding the baby.

The baby. There they are. One moment still inside their mother, the next in his arms, feeble limbs kicking and toothless mouth wailing. Smaller than Alucard expected, but healthy and loud.

“What is that? Is that my baby? Is my baby alright?!”

Alucard is speechless, not even able to muster a single “yes”. He cuts the umbilical cord, removes the placenta, and cleans the baby before handing them to Tobi. She holds their wriggling body against her chest, shedding tears of her own. Uttering the words “thank you god, thank you god, thank you god”.

The final step is quick. Alucard’s hands are deft at closing the uterus and abdomen (using a smear of his own blood to assist in the healing process). Still no words; he’s out of breath, out of strength both physical and mental. His shirt is ruined, and he couldn’t care less. He only stops himself from collapsing when Daniela suddenly embraces him. She buries her tear drenched face into his shoulder.

“Our saviour... you’re our saviour...”

Alucard stares at Tobi as she holds her newborn child with such tenderness. He raises a hand and places it on Daniela’s back. The other follows.

Mihai returns home to his wife and two children. Alucard watches him drop his bountiful game to the floor and run to Tobi, weeping over the baby. Did his own father ever weep? Did blood flow from his eyes at the sight of Lisa carrying their son for the first time? Alucard has difficulty keeping his thoughts comprehensive, stuck in a daze. It takes a moment to answer Mihai’s question of why he was forced to commit such an act on his wife.

“There are many reasons. Age, unexpected complications with the body itself. She needs to stay in bed and let the wound heal on its own.”

“What you did... for my wife and daughter... you work miracles, sir.”

Alucard lingers on that word again: miracle. The first time he argued with its use in an effort to seem humble and rational. Now, he’s too exhausted to further dispute its importance. This is not a family that uses “miracle” and “saviour” in a light manner.

“I’m sorry for screaming at you. I was a fool... I should have let you work...”

Alucard’s expression softens as he looks at Daniela. “There’s no need for apologies. You were only protecting your mother.”

Daniela wipes away another tear before it has a chance to escape her eye. After much convincing, Alucard leaves the cottage wearing a new shirt gifted by Mihai once they threw his old, blood-soaked one into the fire. They made him swear that he would visit again, not as their doctor but as their friend. It wasn’t hard for Alucard to agree.

He trudges down the path with the moon and stars lighting his way. They haven’t name the child yet; it’s a tradition within their family to name a baby at least seven days after they’ve been born. But Tobi said she liked the sound of Adrian. Alucard likes it as well. It’s a good name for someone who might hopefully grow up to do good things.

The castle is dark, illuminated by only a few sparse candelabras burning the night away. They turn the grand hall into a hazy smoke-filled chamber. Nothing has changed in his absence, just as empty and quiet as it’s always been. A strangely comforting thing to return to. Alucard’s first immediate stop is the kitchen and its pantry. He pulls out a bottle of red wine and pours himself a glass, then another right after downing it in a single gulp. It won’t do much—to him, alcohol is barely stronger than water—but temporary release is better than none at all.

Alucard doesn’t reach his bedroom. Instead he finds the nearest study and collapses onto a lush lounge chair, his body sinking into the cushions. The ceiling tiles begin to blur and mesh together the heavier his eyes become. Something tickles at his fingertips. He sees Agrippa licking his hand, waiting patiently to be picked up and placed on his chest. Like the castle, he hasn’t changed.

“Sorry for neglecting you all this time.” Without sitting up, Alucard grabs the dog and holds him close. Reverting to when he was a child, lying in bed, holding that old wolf doll as though it were his third guardian. He allows himself the luxury of sleep, deep and peaceful.

“He’s not in here either.” Another door closes as the repeated sound echoes down the corridor. The two travelers have searched the entire ground floor with little success. Outside, sitting at the foot of the castle steps, is a familiar canvas covered wagon that has seen much better days. There it will remain for the next few days while its owners reacquaint themselves with the very place their respective families always taught them to fear.

“Do you think he changed his mind?” Asks Sypha.

“About what?”

“About returning to his vault in Gresit.”

Trevor ponders for a moment, his face framed by the white fur of his new cloak. All that somber talk about going back to sleep, about the castle becoming his grave; the dhampir is just dramatic enough to let everything turn into a reality. He doesn’t say it out loud, but the possibility worries Trevor. He didn’t gift his childhood home for nothing.

“If he did, the castle wouldn’t be in the shape it is now.”

Sypha stares up at the vaulted ceilings and towering walls, still impressed by such an architectural marvel. Trevor is right, the structure would have fallen into ruin had Alucard not stayed. They move onto the second floor and its countless hallways hoping to have more luck in finding their strange friend.

“You think we’re lost?”

Sypha tsks loud enough for Trevor to hear. “Speakers do not get lost.”

“Right. Just like how they don’t break things.”

“I thought we already had this conversation.”

They have, but Trevor brings up the topic every so often just for a bit of fun without putting in too much effort. Their playful banter is cut short when Sypha absentmindedly opens a door and a small black object suddenly rushes past them. Trevor instinctively reaches for the Morningstar, starved for blood after weeks of hanging off his hip as mere decoration, until he realizes whatever that was poses no threat. However, the encounter leaves him no less confused.

“Was... was that a dog?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down.”

The two of them enter the room and Trevor sees why Sypha was so quick to shush him. Alucard lies passed out upon a full-length chair, breathing gently. Not unlike the first meeting between him, Trevor, and Sypha.

“I’ve never seen him out cold like this,” Trevor murmurs as they lean over him.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. Just sleeping.”

Sypha continues to stare until she catches Trevor hovering the handle of his whip directly above Alucard’s forehead. “What are you doing?!” She whispers harshly.

“I’m waking him up.” His plan was to give him a careful tap on his skull, but Sypha has a much better idea in mind.

“Let him rest for a bit longer. We should make breakfast so that he has something to look forward to when he wakes.”

“Do dhampirs even eat real food? Or should we prepare him a nice banquet of pig and cow blood?”

Sypha decides to ignore Trevor’s sense of humour, even if he didn’t mean for it to sound so terrible. “Come on, you.”

She turns around and leaves, her blue robes trailing behind. Before Trevor can follow, he’s struck with a thought. Despite how he jests, he’s happy that Alucard seems to be taking care of himself. Even happier to be greeted with a few gentle snores rather than a middle finger to the face. Removing his cloak, now smelling of pine and smokewood, Trevor places it over Alucard’s body.

It seems he’ll always be there, offering dusty blankets to those he cares for.

#castlevania #alucard #adrian tepes #alucard castlevania #netflix castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #my writing #*cvfic #dear god i hope the read more works and if it doesn't i am SO sorry #long post

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