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johannestevans · 3 years

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The #MonstrousMayChallenge 2021

Love monsters?

The #MonstrousMayChallenge is going to be a series of monster-centric prompts for every day of the month of May!

Draw, write, talk about, analyse, shitpost, critique, rec, discuss, create, consume, and otherwise have fun with each prompt.

Tell your friends, pick and choose the prompts that you like best: make art, make fiction, make rec lists, make jokes, make monsters!

May 1. What is a Monster? May 2. How to Talk to Your Monster May 3. The Vampire May 4. Iconic Settings May 5. Feeding Time May 6. The Lycanthrope May 7. Adverse Weather Conditions May 8. The Monster in Love May 9. The Undead May 10. "... and add a monster." May 11. A Baby Monster May 12. The Alien May 13. The Domesticated Monster May 14. Clothing Your Monster May 15. The Mermaid

May 16. The Gentle Kaiju May 17. Monstrous Transformations May 18. Angels & Demons May 19. Monstrous Flora May 20. The Monster in History May 21. The Hybrid May 22. Kept Captive May 23. The Human is the Monster May 24. The Dragon May 25. The Monster Dies May 26. The Hive-Mind May 27. The Fae May 28. The Monster Extinct May 29. Cultural Differences May 30. The Minotaur May 31. Happily Ever After

The full write-up for the #MonstrousMayChallenge is below the cut — for every day of the month of May 2021, there’ll be a new prompt all to do with creating monsters and monster-centric stories!

You can either go directly off of the prompts themselves, or if you want a little more inspiration, you can come check this post for more in-depth exploration of the idea in question.

For each entry in response to the prompts, regardless of what platform you post to, make sure to tag the #MonstrousMayChallenge! In the meantime, just spread the word and tell your friends to get them ready for May!

Feel free to pick and mix the prompts you like best, to skip any prompts that don’t suit you, or to swap in prompts of your own if you like — every 3rd day is a specific category of “classic” monsters, and they’re not for everybody!

“Monsters are the patron saints of imperfection.” — Guillermo del Toro (x)

The emphasis on all of the prompts below are on monster-centric and monster-POV stories. Monstrous romances and monstrous erotica are both welcome and encouraged, just as much as platonic monstrosity is, and please feel free to join in regardless of your medium, whether you draw, write, animate, or create in another way entirely!

Just a note as to what expect — this challenge is intended for those who love monsters, who identify with monsters, who feel for the monsters, and all the prompts are written with that expectation in mind.

One small note: throughout these prompts there are references to folklore and ideas from different cultures and backgrounds. When exploring ideas from cultures that aren’t your own, remember that not every representation of spirits or monsters can be divorced from its original context, and take care to do your research to ensure you aren’t harming others by furthering harmful stereotypes or appropriating ideas of cultural importance.

We’re all here to have fun, which means that using a love of monsters as a vehicle for racism (whether that’s outright or by upholding colonial and imperial ideas, appropriating from other cultures, or fetishising other races and cultures) is not what we want to see in the course of this challenge, and isn’t welcome here.

Note the above especially in regards to the Alonquian W*nd*go.

Saturday 1st May 2021 — What is a monster?

Here’s a warm-up challenge to start the month off:

For you, what is a monster? What makes a monster monstrous? What delights you, excites you, scares you, horrifies you about a monster? What fills you with affection for monster?

When you first hear the word monster, what springs first to mind?

This is a free space — talk about, write about, draw, animate, sing about, the monster(s) you love best, and why you love them!

Sunday 2nd May 2021 — How To Talk To Your Monster

How does your monster communicate?

Do they have a mouth, lips, a tongue, like humans do? Do they communicate verbally at all? Do they communicate via telepathy, via their tentacles, or their limbs? Do they speak, but at a pitch or volume or speed inaudible or incomprehensible to human ears? How is this gap bridged?

Does your monster understand humans but struggle to make itself understood? Does your monster want to be understood?

Alternate: How does your monster communicate with other, different monsters?

Monday 3rd May 2021 — The Vampire

The vampire is a walking corpse that sustains itself by feeding off the the blood of the living.

There are a thousand variations on the myth — a corpse that rises from its grave at night only to mindlessly glut itself on the prey it can find becomes a reclusive gentleman who lives in isolation in a brooding, gothic castle overlooking a Transylvanian woodland (Dracula); a sparkly immortal Mormon who likes to climb into young women’s windows to watch them while they sleep (Twilight); a rich aristocrat so intent on preserving his properties and his privilege that he clings onto immortality at all costs (Interview with the Vampire); an extremely sexy vampire in sunglasses who’s devoted to killing other vampires (Blade), and so on and so forth.

Explore your own take on the vampire:

Is your vampire actually dead? Do they just appear dead, or sleep in coffins?

What makes a vampire? A curse? A ritual? Transmission of vampiric disease — via the exchange of blood or via sex? Are they born that way? Do dhampirs (half-vampires) exist? Do vampires become vampires by choice? Is there a contract or an agreement?

Does your vampire drink blood? Cerebral fluid? Consume human flesh? Do they sap energy from others in non-literal ways — for example, do they feed off of emotions or energy, or seek to devour a soul?

If they survive off of the above, do they also eat or drink other things? Are they capable of doing so without becoming ill?

Is your vampire sensitive to sunlight? Bright light in general? Do they physically react to it? Do they burn, or crumble to dust? How do they cope with this — do they only come out at night, do they wear leathers and carry a parasol, do they use a medicated suncream?

Can vampires become ill? Sick? What weakens a vampire? What kills them?

Does your vampire have any other powers? Can they fly, hypnotise people, transform into gas or another animal?

What happens if a non-human becomes a vampire?

Alternate: A non-vampire monster becomes absolutely obsessed with vampires. They love them to pieces! Why? How do they get their vampire fix?

Some inspiration, if you want it:

Article: An 18th-century guide to hunting vampires from National Geographic

Article: The Great New England Vampire Panic from the Smithsonian Magazine

Video Essay: The Sexy Vampire Trope, Explained, from The Take

Tuesday 4th May 2021 — Iconic Settings

Imagine an iconic setting within the horror genre or without — your Transylvanian castles, your unending deserts of shifting sands, your haunted houses and their infinitely winding corridors, your unholy spires atop distant peaks, your deep and dismal caves, your roiling seas…

What monsters lurk within these settings? How do they feel about their environs? What happens if you transplant a monster from one such setting into its opposite, or combine a few of them together?

What happens if these settings are invaded, lost, destroyed, expanded, changed?

Alternate: Imagine any iconic setting you like, but instead of the monster lurking within, the setting is the monster.

The seas themselves are sentient; the caves are toothy maws of impossible beasts; the mountains themselves have eyes; the castles and houses and ancient tombs and temples are, themselves, imbued with a spirit… Is it hungry? Angry? Lonely?

Wednesday 5th May 2021 — Feeding Time

What does your monster eat?

Is it predator or prey? To a human understanding, does it look like what it is? If it eats meat, does it prefer to eat it dead or alive? If it’s not from this planet or dimension, does it struggle to find new things to eat? What does it look like when your monster eats? Is it private about eating? Does it look scary when it feeds?

Does it eat at all? Does your monster get its energy from the sun, from electricity, from magic, from something else entirely?

Alternate: From a monstrous POV, a human’s dietary habits seem monstrous and strange. Why?

Thursday 6th May 2021 — The Lycanthrope

The werewolf is a person who turns into a wolf, typically at the time of the full moon. Lycanthropy is the name of the condition of being a werewolf, or someone who turns into some other animal.

The variations on the werewolf are infinite — the core is often people bitten by strange beasts and left forever cursed with their regular transformation (for example, in The Wolf Man); but a curse is also possible, such as when kings are turned into wolves as punishment for their hubris (as with King Lycaon in Metamorphoses); or of course, a curse inherited, such as when young men who come into their inherited lycanthropy and suddenly have a whole host of new puberty concerns (Teen Wolf).

And it needn’t be a wolf at all — there are all manner of shapeshifters between one myth and the next, and as much as there are werewolves there might be werelions, werebears, werebats, et cetera, et cetera.

For your lycanthrope, why not explore:

What animal or creature does your lycanthrope turn into? A wolf, a bear, a lion, a snake, a bird? Something magical — a phoenix, a unicorn, a griffin, a dragon?

Once transformed, can your lycanthrope be distinguished from the normal edition of the beast? What are the differences, for example, between a werewolf and a wolf?

Can your lycanthrope transform at will? Is it influenced by their emotion? Is it kept to a regular schedule? Can that schedule be interrupted? For example, if it’s a monthly cycle like someone’s menstruation, can they go for periods without transforming or with “spotty” transformations? If it’s with the phases of the moon, does hiding from the moon help? What happens if you send them to another planet?

Is the transformation painful? Physically or mentally taxing?Are there any health problems associated with lycanthropy?

When transformed, how conscious and aware of themselves is you lycanthrope? Do they know they’re transformed? Do they remember what they were?

Alternate: Sometimes, another monster turns into a human.

Friday 7th May 2021 — Adverse Weather Conditions

What weather is your monster happiest in? What weather is your monster least happy in?

Is your monster native to an area that’s extremely hot and humid? Very cold and dry? Is your monster used to heavy rains, droughts and little water, sandstorms, electrical storms, blizzards? If your monster lives in space or underwater, how are they affected by solar flares or tropical storms, shifts in tides and gravitational flows?

How has your monster evolved or developed to handle these weather conditions — or, is there anything your monster hasn’t evolved for, and struggles with?

Alternate: Your monster is a house-monster, and will not be going outside. They would like a blanket and a cup of hot cocoa and a nice comfortable bed, please and thank you.

Saturday 8th May 2021 — The Monster In Love

Your monster’s in love — what do they do about it?

Does your monster have any particular mating rituals or ways in which they show their affection? Does your monster mate for life, does your monster date, does your monster romance singular or multiple partners? Does your monster yearn, do they pine? Do they bring gifts, do they do special dances, do say particular words or have mating calls?

Is their love reciprocated — is it even understood?

When one monster loves another monster, what does it look like? What does it look like when a monster is in love with a human? When a human falls in love with a monster?

Alternate: Your monster has never been in love, and is baffled — perhaps even disgusted — by the prospect. Do they do research? Demand an explanation?

Sunday 9th May 2021 — The Undead

The undead covers a lot of things under a similar umbrella, and it’s up to you whether they count as monsters or not — ghosts, ghouls, poltergeists, spirits, revenants, draugr, reanimated corpses like zombies, arguably vampires… To infinity, and beyond.

We can be talking spirits without bodies or with new bodies, corpses with new spirits in them, corpses controlled by necromancers or the like, and so on.

So, for this prompt:

For your undead monster, are they conscious, sentient? Do they control their own body? Do they remember when they were alive, if they were dead and then reanimated?

If they have a physical form, can someone tell they’re undead? Are they rotting, corpse-like, desiccated, all bones, all flesh, all muscle? Are they missing parts? Do they have any extra ones? Do they look the same way they used to? If they don’t have a physical form, can you see them at all? Can you see them only sometimes?

What sustains this undead monster? Do they feed off of anything, or are they just sustained by the air itself, by magic, by some sort of magical object or curse?

Was your undead monster once a human? Once a werewolf? Once a faerie, once a dragon, once some other creature entirely?

Alternate: Your monster is a necromancer, and they are not undead, but control and raise, in some way or another, the undead.

Monday 10th May 2021 — “… and add a monster.”

Take absolutely any iconic work you like, whether it’s a classic piece of literature, a poem, a piece of mythology or folklore, a fairy tale, a fable, a shanty or a campfire song — anything that’s in the public domain and might be well-recognised — and add a monster.

Have Sherlock Holmes meeting a vampire, reimagine Jean Valjean as a minotaur, give Mr Darcy a deep and affectionate longing for his local werewolf.

You don’t have to keep to the same characters or plots — rewrite an existing plot with monsters (Rapunzel or Cinderella, for example), have two plots crossover (what happens when the monsters in two myths team up to defeat the hero out to kill them?), add monsters or change the monsters in the narrative, or if it already has a monster, add another.

Alternate: Take a public domain domain monster and give them a break. Send Dracula on holiday, give the poor result of Frankenstein’s experiments a spa day, etc.

Tuesday 11th May 2021 — A Baby Monster

How do the monsters breed?

Do they lay eggs? Give birth to live young? Do something else entirely? Are monsters active parents? What happens when monsters interbreed, or breed with humans?

Is the breeding… fun? 😉

I know not everyone likes writing babies or kids, and equally that some people have come into this challenge specifically for the monsterfucking, so there’ll be two streams of main prompts — one focusing on the breeding for you child-free monsterfuckers, and another focusing more on monstrous baby development once an egg is laid or a baby is born, etc.

Feel free to do both if you want to do both, as one does lead into the other!

Questions about breeding and monstrous pregnancy:

Does your monster fertilise eggs for the purposes of a live pregnancy, do they lay eggs, do they clone themselves, do they breed in some other way?

If your monster has genitalia, what do they look like? Are they analogous to human genitalia? Are they particularly big or particularly small compared to the analogous human parts, if so? How compatible is your monster’s genitalia with a human’s genitalia — or another monster’s?

If there is a size difference between monster and partner, what comes of this? Are there any chemical differences between monster and partner — for example, does the monster’s touch impart a high or some kind of contact aphrodisiac?

Are any attempts at breeding viable? If the monster’s partner is filled with eggs, what happens the longer they carry them? If the partner does carry the eggs or the babies to the point of birth and laying, what happens? Is it a painful process? Will they survive it? Does the partner know they’re pregnant at all?

And the pregnancy/egg-carrying questions: how does the partner’s biology change to accommodate the pregnancy? Do they have any strange or unexpected cravings? Does their biology change in any unexpected questions?

Questions about monstrous child development:

How is the monstrous baby first conceived? Is it an egg laid, is it an egg fertilised, an egg fertilised and then carried, as the result of a live pregnancy, something else entirely? If they’re laid eggs, do they go through a larval stage or other similar development?

Are monstrous babies born alone, or in groups? Do they have a high viability rate? Do the monstrous babies eat one another? Do they eat their egg casing or their placenta, if applicable? If not, what do they eat — do they drink milk or blood, do they need their food pre-chewed by their parents, can they look for food themselves?

Are monstrous parents very active in caring for their offspring? Are monstrous babies born able to take care of themselves, able to have a sort of independence, or do they need to be cared for for a period first?

How fast or slow is a monster’s development? How long does it take for them to become fully grown? How much do they grow, and how does their body develop and change as they run through their lifecycle? Do they shed their skin or any body parts, do they change a lot materially?

Alternate: What does monstrous contraception look like? Do they have a concept of it? If they don’t, how do they feel about it being explained to them?

Wednesday 12th May 2021 — The Alien

What makes an alien?

Are they from another planet, another dimension? How similar are they to anything found on Earth? How did they get here?

Are they intelligent, sentient? Do they know they’re on a foreign planet or in a foreign dimension? How fit are they to survive on Earth? How do they respond to the animals, the new sounds, the new world, around them? What technology do they have? Do they appear to be aliens as people imagine them? Do they pilot aircraft as people think they do?

Alternate: A human (or another species from Earth) is the alien on another planet or another dimension populated with “monsters”.

Thursday 13th May 2021 — The Domesticated Monster

Let’s look at the monster domesticated.

The likes of Pokémon, fantastical creatures as beasts of burden or as steeds — unicorns and pegasi and giant spiders and dragons, for example — or other tamed monsters that have learned to live with humans, and live side-by-side with them.

Are monsters actively bred for a result, or do they domesticate themselves as cats and dogs did? Do they perform tasks or assist humans? Do they give milk or eggs or honey or silk or meat? At what point in their domestication are they? Are they happy? Are they well-treated?

Alternate: A monster gets a pet of their own — is it a fantastical species, or is it a dog, cat, bird, etc? Is it even a human?

Friday 14th May 2021 — Clothing Your Monster

Does your monster wear clothes or armour?

What sort of clothes or armour do they wear? Is it grown, made, bought, traded for? Do they wear any other kind of jewelry or decoration? Do they always wear it, or only for some occasion? What do they think of human clothes? Do they want to try wearing any themselves, or taking human fabrics for monstrous clothes?

Alternate: If your monster does not wear clothes, what do they think of human clothes? How do they feel about the fact that humans wear them? Do they have a full understanding of the separation between clothes and flesh?

Saturday 15th May 2021 — The Mermaid

A mermaid is a half-human, half-fish.

You can take this very literally, as in The Little Mermaid, with someone who has a human upper half and fishy bottom half (or the other way around…😏), you can think more along the lines of the fish-person we see in Abe Sapien from Hellboy or (also) in Guillermo Del Toro’s The Shape of Water, or you can look at different variations on mermaids — the seal-like selkie who can remove their pelt to walk on land; the siren that calls to sailors so they dash themselves upon the rocks; naiads and other spirits of the water; the rusalke of the water, and so on.

Questions for your merfolk:

Do they belong in freshwater, saltwater, brackish water? Do they stay in the seas, in deep lakes, in ponds?

Do they regularly come to the surface, or do they live very deep below? What sort of temperatures are they used to, and how much sunlight? If they live in cold water or deep below the surface, are they very large and blubbery to ensure they can cope with the pressure and the cold?

Are your merfolk bioluminscent? Fish-like, cetacean-like, cephalapod-esque? If they do look similar to humans, with a human face or human body parts, do they look or feel like human flesh underneath the skin, or is it just for appearance?

What and how do your merfolk eat? Do they eat fish, meat, seaweed, plankton?

How do your merfolk feel about humans? About fish and other marine life? About animals on land? Other monsters?

Can your merfolk step onto land? Do they want to? Are they curious about what they find there? Do the humans nearby know about them, care about them?

Do merfolk live alone, in groups or as families? Are they migratory? How far do they travel, and for what reasons? Do they build towns and cities? How do they feel humans compare to them?

Alternate: A completely different non-merfolk-esque monster lives at the very bottom of the sea. What is it? How do humans come upon it? How big is it?

Sunday 16th May 2021 — The Gentle Kaiju

Kaiju is a Japanese genre of films— your Godzilla, your Mothra, your Rodan, all of these are kaiju: strange, gigantic beasts.

This prompt is centred around any monsters of superlative size that are trying their absolute best not to harm any of the little people scurrying them about them.

You can take this literally — think kaiju tip-toeing their ways through great cities and trying not to step on anything important, huge space beasts careful not to disturb planetary orbits in case they hurt anyone, or even the likes of the human trying not to step on any ants — or you can think of other monsters trying not to harm others despite some aspect of their biology making it difficult for them — Lovecraftian beasts doing their best not to do anyone any psionic damage, for example, or Medusa-like beings desperate to avoid people’s gazes in case they do any harm.

Alternate: An extremely tiny monster or another monster very easily harmed by human activities needs to kept safe.

Monday 17th May 2021 — Monstrous Transformations

How does a monster transform?

Does in transition between one form or another, like a werewolf, or between forms for land versus water? Does it regularly transform or transition through different physical presentations? Does it shed its skin, leave its old body behind? Does it grow new teeth or claws or body parts? Does it transform in response to disease or ailment?

Does a human transform slowly into a monster? Does a monster transform into another? Is this transformation willing, conscious — is it against all desperate attempts to prevent it? Is it painful? Is it agony?

Alternate: A monster expresses deep curiosity about human transformations — perhaps the differences between a child and an adult and their scale of growth, perhaps the apparent transformation when a human changes clothes, or puts on a mask, or even make-up.

Tuesday 18th May 2021 — Angels & Demons

A demon is typically an evil spirit or devil, and are sometimes thought to be fallen angels; angels are typically benevolent spirits, often thought of as celestial messengers.

Being as they’re often thought to be celestial or infernal, do you think of them as being from another dimension? How well do they mesh with Earth, from their own perspectives and human ones? How do they look or appear? Do they have to present themselves in a strange or unusual form? How do they communicate with humans — and why? Are they evil, benevolent, or simply neutral?

Are angels and demons separate things? How many kinds of angels and demons are there respectively? If they’re separate, do they communicate with one another, balance with one another?

Alternate: A monster that is not a demon or angel decides to present itself as one or the other. What is it? Why does it present itself this way?

Wednesday 19th May 2021 — Monstrous Flora

Your monster is plant- or mushroom-based!

(Or lichen-based, or algae-based, or moss-based, or coral-based, or…)

What does it look like? What makes it different from a mammalian or scaly monster? Where does it come from? How does it move, how does it breathe, how does it eat? Does it sleep? Does it 😏… you know? Is it good at it?

Alternate: Your monster lives codependently with, or lives inside, some sort of plant. What does that co-evolved relationship look like? How big is the plant? What does it look like?

Thursday 20th May 2021 — The Monster in History

Throughout history, the perception of your monster has changed over time.

Is your monster immortal? Over the progression of recorded history, has it been this same monster recorded in one sighting after another, in art or in story? Or, is your monster the latest generation of a species or line of inheritance that has gone on for a long while?

How much has your monster’s culture changed and developed in that time — has it changed in reaction to or alongside human cultures? How accurate has human perception of your monster been as the centuries have rolled by? How has art or stories about your monster changed in their telling?

How has the monster reacted to changes in human history, or different events as they have happened?

Does your monster even notice the passage of time? Are they in some way insensible to it, or do they experience it in a way humans don’t?

Alternate: The monster is a time-traveler! How do they do this? Why?

Friday 21st May 2021 — The Hybrid

A few things are bred together to create a monster, whether that monster be sublime or an abomination before the universe!

Think about griffins, pegasi, basilisks, cockatrices, and of course the manticore — any sort of beast made by combining one creature with another.

What creatures have been combined to create this monster? Has a human been one of them? How has this combination been achieved — via actual interbreeding, magically assisted or otherwise, via alchemy, a curse, or some other magical process? Has this creature literally been stitched together and then reanimated? How have the different creatures contributing to the creature changed its behaviour or its abilities?

Alternate: An attempt is made to create a hybrid… and unfortunately this is not the result. What is?

Saturday 22nd May 2021 — Kept Captive

The monster is captured.

How big or small is your monster? How was it captured — was bait used to draw it in, such as a food stuff, a copied call? Was it herded into an ambush? Was it trapped under a cage, in drop trap, in a magic trap? How easy was it to capture — did it take a long time, were several attempts made? For what reason was the monster captured?

Now kept captive, how big is your monster’s enclosure? Is it a cage, a glass box, physical chains or bondage, something else entirely? How long has it been there? Is it alone — would it rather be alone than the alternative? Is it struggling with its captivity? Is it marking out the amount of time it has been kept trapped, screaming at its captors, harming itself in its desperation for escape?

Is it likely ever to be freed?

Alternative: A human is kept captive by a monster.

Sunday 23rd May 2021 — The Human Is The Monster

From the perspective of the narrator, the human is the monster.

Who or what is made to fear them? What makes the human so monstrous in their eyes? Is it to do with the human’s size, their appearance, their behaviour, the nature of humans as a collective?

Alternative: The human thinks they’re thought of as the monster — the real monster is behind them (figuratively or literally).

Monday 24th May 2021 — The Dragon

A dragon is a mythical creature, often large and scaly, with variations found the world over.

Is your dragon extremely big, or very small? Is it indeed scaly, or does it appear so? Is it some form of sea serpent, or does it fly? Does it have wings, fins, a tail, teeth? Does it have very powerful senses, or different ones entirely to what one might expect? Does it have a mouth, eyes, a tongue, ears? Does it breathe fire or ice, have gills? Does it have some other supernatural power — telepathy, telekinesis, affect the weather or the tide?

What does your dragon eat? Does it eat meat, vegetables? Does it feed off of magic?

Does your dragon hoard anything — gold, jewels, young people out for a wander? Livestock? Something else entirely?

Alternate: An ancient dungeon, temple, or some other monument, is marked by a huge statue of a dragon. Something else inhabits it.

Tuesday 25th May 2021 — The Monster Dies

It’s the end of the story — or perhaps the beginning.

The monster dies.

Alternate: The monster dies… but only for a while.

Wednesday 26th May 2021 — The Hive-Mind

The monsters in this one are multiple.

They share a hive-mind, whether that hive-mind is created by pheromones, by fungus or infection or disease, by magic, by telepathy, by technology, or something else entirely. How many beings are part of this collective? Do they exist in conjunction with one another, and move as a swarm or a hive? Do they synchronise their movements, and work together toward a common goal? Can they work independently, or only as a group?

Can others be inducted into this hive-mind, willingly or otherwise? Is this painful or uncomfortable? Does it wipe away what experiences came before?

If a member of the hive-mind travels far away, do they remain connected to the whole? How is this hive-mind used, when beings work independently? Can it be sensed or its effects be noticed by outsiders? What is its everyday function?

Alternative: A being once a member of a hive-mind or a collective is severed from it, and now alone. Are they grieving? Do they feel free? Are tasks suddenly more difficult or easy for them? How do they feel?

Thursday 27th May 2021 — The Fae

The fae are supernatural beings or spirits found in a variety of folklore.

The fae are often associated with woodland, bodies of water, bogland, or other particular areas, but there are variations on variations of different fae legend: elves, brownies, merfolk, y tylwyth teg, the bean sidhe, selkies, gnomes, kobolds, leprechauns, nymphs, pixies…

In a lot of modern fantasy, the fae are associated with rigidity around law and rules, certain contracts, and many superstitions are associated with fae or fae-like beings, where one offends them at one’s peril.

What makes the fae monstrous? What makes them frightening and an object of horror for others? What rules do they follow and expect others to follow? What superstitions are associated with them?

Alternate: The fae are introduced to pop culture depictions of fairies. What is their response?

Friday 28th May 2021 — The Monster Extinct

The monster has been extinct for thousands of years, if not hundreds of thousands, and based off of the evidence of them — stories, fossils, remains, old art, people are trying to back-engineer what they were like, what they looked like, how they communicated.

How accurate are they? How off?

Alternate: The monster doesn’t exist yet, or is a long way off, but has been told about in prophecy, or glimpsed in visions of the future. Are these glimpses accurate to the truth? Do they tell the whole story?

Saturday 29th May 2021 — Cultural Differences

What does cultural exchange look like between monster and human, or between two monstrous cultures?

How do these distinct cultures affect one another or interact? Are there large cultural differences between the monstrous cultures and the human ones? Are there any moral, ethical, aesthetic, economic, political, legal, or other cultural aspects that are very much at odds between some cultures and the others?

For example, do the human and monstrous cultures both have money? Do they treat money as of the same importance? Do they rank things in the same orders of importance? Do they have similar customs around politeness, greeting, language? Does each culture respect the others, or do they consider themselves superior or inferior?

Alternate: A human has never had much experience of the culture they were born of — they only know the monstrous culture they were raised by and into. What does that look like?

Sunday 30th 2021 — The Minotaur

It’s my birthday and the minotaur is my absolute favourite, so! Minotaurs!

The classical minotaur was the son of Pasiphaë and the unwilling stepson of King Minos of Knossos: born with the body of a man and the head and tail of a bull, he was declared monstrous and trapped within the labyrinthine maze beneath the great palaces of Knossos, until the hero Theseus came to slay him dead.

Today, the minotaur is the name for any half-bull half-human delight, tragic or otherwise.

Alternate: You needn’t limit yourself to a half-bull half-human if you feel the need to abandon literal perfection — go for the drider, perhaps, a half-human half-spider, return to the merfolk of several prompts above, and go half-human, half-fish, the satyr, half-goat half-human.

Whatever it is, make it half-human, half-something else, and then decide:

Is your monster cursed? Were they made this way, were they born this way? Are they happy? Are they the same as their family members, or are they different? If they are the latter, are they loved and accepted, or made an exile?

What are the benefits and negatives to their physical appearance and to their biology? Are there any aspects that might be unexpected?

Are they viewed by people in general as frightening, intimidating, unusual, strange, incredibly sexy? Are they treated as a monster?

Monday 31st May 2021 — Happily Ever After

The monster lives happily ever after…

What does that look like?

Alternate: Or, your monster has a tragic ending — because you’re the monster, apparently! 😒😭

-------------

Thanks so much for considering taking part in the #MonstrousMayChallenge!

If you want to do any of the above prompts, or if you want to do them all, but you’re not a writer or an artist, or you are but you’re not always in the mood for art, here’s a list of alternate activities you can do to tick off the prompts!

Do some worldbuilding, analysis, meta, or discussion of common tropes within or related to the prompt

Shitpost or make jokes or memes about or related to the prompt

Do some aesthetic or graphic posts

Watch movies or TV episodes, read comics, or consume other media, related to the prompts

Make rec lists for other people of movies or TV episodes or books (or other media!) related to the prompts

Comment on and show some love for other prompt fills in the #MonsterMayChallenge tag! Share your favourite work and support fellow creators!

I’m on Twitter, and will be posting about the challenge throughout, but I also write other short stories and books!

Check out my Patreon, my stories on Medium, my books for sale, and my WorldAnvil — and if you would like to, feel free to leave a tip!

#as defined by dictionary #monstrousmaychallenge #monsters #writing prompt #writing challenge #rb to signal boost!

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haloud · 3 years

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

(Wednesday, 11:00 am)

Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

#my fic #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #malex

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btsslowburnfic · 3 years

Text

Chthonic Love Chapter 12

Summary: A Greek Mythology AU featuring Yoongi/Suga as Hades and reader as Persephone. Olympian ruler Namjoon has delivered you, Persephone, as a gift for his brother, lord of Death, Yoongi

Chapter Summary: Your library date is interrupted, leaving you to question some things

AN: a tad angsty. Pain is a part of growing, yes?

Previous Chapter here

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The two of you had combed through the stacks quite thoroughly by the time lunchtime rolled around. You had acquired a few legal texts in addition to finding some interesting horticultural books. The books were sprawled out along a large wooden table on the first floor of the library. Most of the morning had been spent in comfortable silence with you and Yoongi each bringing books back to the table, looking for more, and continuing the process over and over again.

The door opened with Lethe and another woman carrying trays. “On the table please,” Yoongi mumbled from his seat, gesturing to an empty space next to him.

“Very well my Lord. Just so you know. Penthos was asking about you sir. He did not wish to disturb you, but he would like to speak with you.” Lethe sat the trays down, taking them from the other silent woman.

“Thank you Lethe,” He responded, not looking up from the book he was reading. The two women took their leave while Yoongi continued reading. Finished with the section, he tore off a piece of parchment and put it between the pages to mark where he had stopped. He ran a hand along his chin in thought. Most of the books had been vague and unhelpful. Not surprising since this wasn’t a law library. He looked at the trays of food. He often forgot to eat. As an Olympian he didn’t really need much in the way of sustenance, but he was fairly certain Earth deities required it.

“Persephone,” he lightly called out. He wasn’t sure where you had ended up. Not getting a response, he pushed back his chair and wandered over to the middle. THe library was big, but not so much that it would be difficult to find you. “Persephone.” He called once again, up the stairs.

You looked up from your seat by the window. You had gotten lost in what you were reading. You looked at the page number, committed it to memory, and sat it down. You walked over to the railing and saw Yoongi near the main table. “Yes?”

“Lunch is here,” he gestured to the trays on the table.

“Oh. I didn’t even hear anyone come in.” You remarked as you descended the staircase. “Good. I’m starving.”

Yoongi smiled, pleased with himself that he guessed something right about you. He pulled out a chair for you, causing you to blush slightly.

“Such good manners today. Are you trying to impress me?” You teased him.

“Something like that. Is it working?” He asked shyly, shaking his hair out of his face. He sat down across from you.

You laughed but didn’t give a response, instead you went for the food immediately.

Yoongi took some food to be polite. “Did you find anything?”

“No.” You paused while chewing. “I put like three legal books in the stack and then I found a book about plants of the underworld and started to read it. Did you know the Underworld can actually support plant life? I mean, without me keeping it alive actively.”

“I didn’t. It was dead when I got here. There was the Sea, the Desert, the Caves, and the Mountains.”

“You sir are going to have to take a vacation and do some traveling. The book I read says that some of the mountains used to be volcanic and the resulting ash is actually a somewhat fertile soil base.” Your passion for plant life was clear as you shared these facts with enthusiasm.

“How old is this book you found?” Yoongi raised his brows in surprise.

“I don’t know, but I’m guessing it’s one of the few Underworld books you didn’t write. I’ll go grab it.” You started to get up.

“No, it can wait until after lunch. I’m curious but I’m not in a hurry.” He responded easily. “I guess I don’t know everything about the Underworld.”

The two of you heard a knock at the door. Yoongi straightened up. You hadn’t noticed how casual and relaxed he was while talking to you until you saw the stark contrast. “Enter.” He said, his voice monotonous and firm.

The doors opened, revealing Penthos on the other side. He walked into the library. You suddenly felt your heart rate speed up.

“My Lord. I finished my task from the other day and have news to report.” Penthos’ eyes swept over you for a brief second and then found their way back to Yoongi.

“Which task?” Yoongi asked boredly.

Penthos shifted uneasily on his feet. He looked over at you again. You raised an eyebrow this time, causing him to quickly avert his gaze.

“Perhaps I should submit my report later.” Penthos said, starting to back out of the room.

Yoongi’s eyes opened wider, “No.” He paused and gestured across the table. “You interrupted me and Lady Persephone. You will give the report now.”

“I apologize my Lord, I had no idea Lady Persephone was in here or I would not have come to give you a report.” He responded quickly.

Ah. There it was. He didn’t want to say whatever he had to say in front of you. You smirked. You weren’t sure yet if Yoongi had put the pieces into place yet. You continued to watch the interaction play out.

“And yet here you are. The. Report.” Yoongi repeated.

“Yes sir,” Penthos took a breath before beginning. “The catacombs remain intact. Arachne and her children guard the Eastern and Southern Caverns. The golems are mostly in working order. A few seem as though they have rusted over time. I recommend sending for Hephaestus to come and repair them. The timeline on this of course depends on if and when you think they would need to be used.” He paused and looked over at you for some reason. You continued to stare back. He looked away as he began to speak again. “Additionally, The Northern passage is in need of repair. Several natural cracks have begun to form over time. Something will need to be done to keep anyone from tunneling in from the North, under the mountains.”

Yoongi had picked up a quill and taken a few notes while this was occurring. Meanwhile you were mulling over in your head why Penthos was reluctant to present a report on the Palace’s defenses. Oh. Right. He thought you were a traitor. The word played through your mind again and you found yourself growing more and more angry. Traitor Traitor Traitor.

Yoongi looked up from his paper and over to you for a moment. You felt his gaze on you and you looked away from Penthos for a moment. “Persephone, can you please go grab that book you were talking about?” He asked you quietly. It took you a few seconds to register he was speaking to you, his voice was much quieter and more delicate than it had been a moment ago.

You got up and headed up the stairs to get it.

Yoongi turned back to Penthos. “Very well. I will send for Hephaestus and the two of us will walk the catacombs tomorrow to see what there is to do about the Northern passage.” Yoongi paused and lowered his voice, “Do not interrupt me in the library again. Do you understand?”

Penthos pressed his lips together tightly, his fists balled up behind his back. “Yes sir.”

“You may leave.” Yoongi commanded. He quickly got up from his seat and headed up the stairs. He saw you standing over by the window and closed the distance between the two of you.

You turned around, slight panic in your voice. "I’m sorry, I couldn’t bring the book, I’m...” you opened up your hands which were covered in blood.

Yoongi sighed and reached out,“I know. You started to grow thorns out of your hands. Didn’t you notice?” He asked as he took your hands in his and started to wipe the blood off on the edge of his shirt.

You looked at him in shock. How had he noticed, but you hadn’t? “Stop you’ll ruin your shirt.”

Yoongi looked at you concerned, “I have a million black shirts. It’s fine.” He continued to apply pressure. “Why isn’t it healing? Can’t you heal yourself?” He asked, examining the cuts.

“No.” You laughed dryly. “Isn’t that weird? I can bring animals and people back from almost being dead, but when I get hurt, there’s not a lot to be done. Why is this happening? " You don't really expect an answer.

“You were angry at Penthos.” You can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement. You remain silent as Yoongi moves your hands slightly against a different part of his shirt. Your face reddens as you accidentally brush up against the skin of his stomach. “That’s why you grew the thorns. You were angry and staring at him.” Yoongi looked up from your hands, his almost black eyes softened as he said,” I don’t think your plant powers are meant to be weaponized, especially if you can’t control your powers.”

You felt so stupid. What kind of goddess didn’t even notice that they had plants growing out of their body? You felt like you were being scolded and you wanted to cry. “I know. I didn’t do it on purpose. Like I didn’t grow the vines on purpose. You added quietly, “My powers behave differently down here. This never happened back on Earth.”

"We can figure it out." Yoongi said, his deep voice laced with worry.

You frowned as you kept your eyes on your hands. You felt bad that you kept messing things up. Yoongi shouldn't have to deal with this. “Let’s just find a book that will send me home so I can stop messing everything up.” You removed your hands from Yoongi’s. “I’m Sorry.” You walked quietly down the stairs and out the door.

Yoongi stood there for a minute unsure of what had just happened. That’s not what he had meant at all. Shit. But if the Underworld was causing your powers to behave in a way that was hurting you and other people, maybe you should go back to Earth. Yoongi pouted. But he didn’t want you to leave. Don’t be selfish. She said she wants to go home. She only said that because she doesn’t want to hurt anybody. Yoongi felt the thoughts in his head going all over the place. Ugh. It was time for the afternoon reaping. He ran his hands through his hair and down the staircase.

He made his way out of the library. He didn’t see Lethe in the great hall. He walked over to one of the servants who was dusting a chair. A chair? Really? He thought. Oh well. “Excuse me?” The servant froze and then turned around. And then proceeded to do a 90 degree bow. Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Please find Lethe and tell her to check on Lady Persephone.”

The servant looked back up at him in silence. “Can you speak?” Yoongi asked. They nodded yes. “Ok. That’s all. Find Lethe and tell her that? Yes?”

The servant let out the tiniest “Yes sir.” ever. Good enough. He headed out the door and to the reaping.

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As soon as you got to your room you started to cry. You had done a really good job so far of taking all of this kidnapping in stride. You had even tricked yourself into thinking that maybe you could stay here for a while without anything growing wrong. Hell, an hour ago you found a book saying that plants could grow here. And if plants could grow here, maybe you could survive here too. Maybe Yoongi would have let you stay. But you can’t stay if your powers couldn’t be controlled. You had already hurt Yoongi once and you hadn’t even noticed earlier when you had hurt yourself. If Yoongi hadn’t stopped you, you might have hurt Penthos as well. You started to breath faster, feeling panicked. What if you hurt Lethe? Or Yoongi again? You couldn’t forgive yourself. Up until a few days ago you had never hurt anyone.

You paced in your room. Hoseok wasn’t going to do anything. Maybe you could just leave. You could transform yourself into a tree or a rock on the mortal realm where no Olympian could find you and live happily ever after. You scolded yourself, knowing that these plans were unrealistic and borderline crazy. You sighed and threw yourself down on the bed. You heard the door to your room open.

Lethe walked in, “Hello Persephone. Yoongi asked me to check on you.” She said quietly from the doorway. This caused you to cry even harder.

“Oh dear.” She shut the door behind her and walked over. “May I?” She asked, gesturing to the bed. You let out a sad, strangled sounding affirmative sound and she sat on the bed next to you.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened. I mean...I’m nosey so I want to know. But you don’t have to.” She said as she ran her fingers through your hair. You let out a snot filled laugh.

“My powers keep hurting people.” You cried and held up your hands. They had stopped bleeding, but there were cuts and scabs all over your hands.

“Oh my. I’ll be right back,” She said. You assumed she went to get water and bandages. While she was gone you settled into more of a gentle cry than a sob. She returned and sat down the basin and rags on the nightstand.

“What upset you today? When I was in the library everything seemed fine.”

“Penthos.” You responded, too upset to care about your manners. “He hates me. He thinks I’m a traitor. He didn’t want to say anything in front of me because he thinks I would give a shit about the defenses of the castle. I didn’t choose to come here. Why would I care? And I really like everyone here except him, so why would I do anything?” It all spilled out of you. “I keep messing up and hurting people.”

Lethe took a moment, washing your hands. “You’re a sweet girl [y/n] . You’re kind, and warm, and soft-hearted. The Underworld wasn’t created for sweet girls. It’s hard. And it’s dark.”

“See? I have to go home. I can’t stay here…” you sobbed.

“Wait wait. I wasn’t done.” Lethe continued over your crying. “But it just means you have to be strong. It’s hard to be the light in the darkness. It’s harder to react with kindness than with harshness. And that’s how I know you’re strong. You can blossom wherever you’re planted. You can control your powers if you just remember that you have a choice. There’s room for you in the Underworld if you choose to stay, I’m sure of it.”

Your crying had slowed down so you could listen to Lethe.

“And besides, Yoongi needs you here.” She added.

You snorted. “Yoongi does not need me here. I tried to kill him the other day and now I’ve ruined one of his shirts with my blood and I almost ruined a priceless antique book as well.”

Lethe finished bandaging your hands and took a deep breath. “He likes you. You know that, right?”

You don’t say anything at first. Did he like you? You hadn’t thought too much about it. You knew he was nice to you. “I don’t know.” You said quietly.

Lethe looked at you like you had two heads. “You two hold hands. On a regular basis almost.” She squeaked out.

You felt your cheeks grow red. Now that you thought about it, it had happened on a few occasions. “He’s just being nice.”

“Uhh….no. He’s nice to me. He like, likes you.” She rolled her eyes and moved the basin over to the dresser by the door. “I’m sure you two can figure out what’s going on with your powers. If you want to leave that’s understandable, but don’t let it be because of a miscommunication or something like that. I have to go and do laundry. Change out of that dress, it’s got blood on it. Come on...no more feeling sorry for yourself.”

You appreciated that Lethe was acting more like a big sister or mother to you than a servant this afternoon. That’s exactly what you needed. You sniffled some more and headed behind your changing screen. You threw the dress over and onto the floor.

“There we go. Now get cleaned up and remember, everyone else loves having you here. Got it?”

“Yes,” you agreed begrudgingly.

Lethe reached around the screen with a new dress in her hands. You took it. “And Yoongi likes you.” She added.

You remained silent.

“You don’t have to agree to make it true. I’ll be by later to check on your hands again.”

“Thank you,” you responded, grateful for the screen to hide your blushing. Did Yoongi like you? Like, like you? You wondered and found yourself replaying several of your interactions over the past few days. Maybe he did. NEXT CHAPTER

#bts fanfic #bts au fanfic #bts fanfction #bts suga x you #suga x reader #suga x you #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x reader #namjoon x you #bts yoongi x reader

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brokenjardaantech · 3 years

Text

absorbance of the deep (chapter 2: an actual meeting)

written for a mermay prompts challenge. my prompt is ‘monochromatic.’

previous chapter can be found here.

also on ao3

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Despite having run away from Simon in the face of danger, Josh somehow became his friend. It wasn’t that Daniel trusted him - Simon is quite certain that he trusts no one with his twin brother to this day - but given the school’s tendency to separate twins, it was impossible for Daniel to keep an eye on his twin brother who had a tendency to disappear for the whole night and then reappearing at weird places such as the pier behind the lighthouse which couldn’t be accessed without passing through the house itself and therefore should’ve been sighted by their mother, or the park which was located at the other side of the village and was impossible for a child to walk alone to without being spotted by one of the many nosy and concerned residents. That was where Josh came in: someone to look after a child who had less awareness of his surroundings than the chemical soup powered by underwater volcanoes. The ethics of handing a child whose brain wasn’t quite normal to another child instead of having an actual adult to take care of him was debatable, but at that time Simon only cared about two things: being in the ocean and learning about the ocean, and since Josh was a convenient source for the latter both due to his abundance of ocean-related books and the fact that he could explain things Simon hadn’t understand initially until he did, that meant Josh was Simon’s best friend and anyone who dared to question it would be subjected to a light hand smack. ‘Because sometimes people just need a bit of a physical reminder,’ Daniel explained as he taught where Simon should hit. ‘Don’t be afraid to use it. They probably can’t distinguish between the two of us anyway.’

But Simon knew that adults were both smarter and more stupid than they thought and he wasn’t going to test which one applied to the category of ‘distinguishing between the Phillips twins,’ so he never did much apart from the abovementioned light smack: just enough to warn others to stop questioning him and his best friend, and not heavy enough that it would be mistaken as aggression. Besides, he was supposed to be the quiet and docile among his classmates, and small, silent Simon who read as much as Josh the resident genius, slapping people? Impossible.

He couldn’t help but felt that the sea approved of him defending himself and Josh, so that was a bonus. And yes, ever since his offering was accepted and he was swept away by the waves for the first time and visited the cave and had his brains burnt up, there had been a bond between his mind and the very waters that surrounded their village, nurtured generations of villagers, took care of Simon so much better than his parents ever did; by the time he was in secondary school, most of his parents' energy were devoted to making sure that Daniel didn’t get into trouble for Simon’s behalf or pretending that Simon’s differences with normal people didn’t exist, and truth to be told he preferred the solitude it offered over anything else. Him doing his homework sitting on the beach with a thick sketchbook some students from the previous grade left in the classroom bookshelf as his table was a common sight.

It didn’t last long, however, because the arrival of a certain girl with hair matching her fiery personality in their village.

North came from ‘outside,’ which to Simon’s village could mean anything from the neighbouring town to the other side of the world of all he knew, and he was certain that he would’ve known where she came from if he had paid attention to the gossip, but once more he was too busy letting Josh do his homework and flipping over rocks for that one crab that the ocean told him to find for it and then promptly being distracted by the way the sand collapse under its own weight. He couldn’t resist touching it and it crumbled, and he now felt bad because he buried a crab alive. He turned towards the first person he saw and let out a distressed whimper.

‘It’ll dig itself out,’ the voice surprised him because it wasn’t Josh’s, and when he looked up, he saw North standing close to him directly on top of another tunnel entrance. His first instinct was, of course, to scream and flail his arms because that seemed to be the only thing he did people understood, but then again it was North. North, who kicked his bully in his balls when they ganged up on him and tried to snatch his newest book away; North, who together with Josh were the only ones patient enough to explain things to him outside school hour; North, who actually listened to Josh when he told her that Simon didn’t like loud sounds and would like her to speak quieter, unlike the others who almost always got louder because apparently Simon losing control and hurting himself was something funny. Sometimes North would drag him out of it and shove him into a locker so that he could cool down, but sometimes, with her blood boiling almost as hot as her hair, she would become one of them except on Simon’s side, grabbing whatever object she could put her hands on and wreaking havoc in her immediate vicinity, and Simon felt lucky that he had Josh to pull him out of those episodes; he probably wouldn’t be alive if his friend hadn’t dragged him away from the fight because his body’s response to danger was to freeze instead of running away like normal people do. He was afraid of North in a way, he thought as he eyed the bar stock poking out from her backpack, but at the same time he knew that Josh’s pacifism and the ‘abandon everything and run’ plan couldn’t save them from every single situation they would encounter, so they had to rely on North as long as she was willing to be on their side as one of the odd ones out.

That was, of course, only applicable to when the entire world seemed to be against them. Those were the moments Simon hated. There were also moments Simon cherished, moments of tranquillity, of acceptance, of just the three of them hanging out like there were no one else in the world apart from themselves and the sea which Simon felt too connected to to exclude from anything.

As the ‘new one,’ North was the one the teachers didn’t know very well and therefore was easily ignored just like Simon whom they had learnt not to force to speak, and if she were to disappear for a day or two every now and then… virtually no one apart from Simon and Josh noticed. The first time she did it they were worried sick and Simon had to throw himself into the sea and let the current carry him to his cave just to catch a few hours of sleep and wake up being carried back to his family’s house’s pier. The two of them were groggy and tired when Daniel dragged him to school, but seeing North in her usual seat was an oddly comforting sight as Josh handed him a new book he borrowed from the library so that he had something to distract himself with during the classes which he had never been interested in anyway, and the day went by the usual blur of loud noises and hiding in corners and Josh being the unofficial teacher’s assistant and North being unusually pleasant and happy. He suggested going to the beach because he needed to unwind and he missed the feeling of sand gliding on his skin so that was where they went, finding their usual spot and doing their usual thing like Josh doing his homework and North copying him and Simon letting the two of them work while he wandered around the empty beach barefooted so that he could sink his toes into the sand and feel the water caress his feet. As the tide breathed, the connection between his mind and… the other side strengthened and weakened, and the familiarity of the tug and pull calmed him down from the chaos of school and one of his best friends disappearing and then reappearing with no notice whatsoever. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that he was standing in the cave the ocean created for him a few years back, that he was in a space where he could be truly safe from the assault of the outside world.

He missed the deep blue he saw and could only see in the deepest part of the sea.

‘Simon?’

He lost track of how long he stood in the cool water, but when North’s voice rang out pleasant and without its usual fire in his ear, his toes were already numb from the cold. He opened his eyes and saw that she was standing at the edge of the tide where she wouldn’t get wet, and in her hand was something Simon had never seen before. She beckoned him over by holding it up.

‘I got this for you,’ Simon took it while he was still standing in the water so that he didn’t lose the only link he had with the sea. ‘It’s technically a pair of noise-cancelling headphones but… I don’t think you have a phone, do you?’

He hung the headphones on his arm to free up his hand and retrieve the stack of cards from his pocket. It was Josh’s idea, having a set of notecards with the most common words and phrases with him in case he found himself unable to speak (which was most of his life, if he had to be honest) so that he could communicate with other people, and so far the system worked pretty well because it wasn’t like he talked to a lot of people anyway. [i - don’t], he said. The headphones nearly slid off his arm a few times as he fumbled with the chain of cards. [what - is - it]

‘I know the others like to scream and shout even though you don’t like it, so I thought… if you can’t change them, might as well do something to protect yourself. Try it out. I wanna see if it works.’

He put the cards away and slid the headphones over his ear. Suddenly the ringing in his ear intensified, he couldn’t hear the tide crashing into the beach, there was only himself and nothing else, and he yanked off the headphones faster than he had ever moved before and collapsed on his knees. He couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from the ocean he loved so much. It would be like losing a lung. Or his brain itself.

‘Alright, maybe we shouldn’t have tried it here,’ he heard North loud and clear. ‘We’ll try it at school when it’s really noisy. It’ll work better that way.’

But Simon wasn’t listening anymore. All he could focus on was the weight of the headphones in his hand, the cold seawater soaking his trousers and lapping higher and higher much quicker than it should, and then Josh was saying something, North was shouting, and Simon did not understand; the sea was merely welcoming him into its cold embrace, so why were they terrified of it even though they knew the sea was special to him? Why did they seem to be so against it?

They’ll understand. They have to understand.

It was the same voice again, the voice that spoke to him years ago when he offered the octopus to the ocean as… he didn’t even know. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, one that his young mind came up with after witnessing so many people took from the sea without paying it back, and he had a feeling that he was being rewarded for his loyalty and devotion. He closed his eyes again, letting the headphones slip away from his hands and the waves carry him to his sanctuary, as connected as he could be with the other half of his very being without physically turning into a puddle of water washed away and diluted by a body of water so large and turbulent that he would cease to be himself.

The thought wasn’t as terrifying as it should be.

He let the soft sand warm him and the sound of running water wash away his insecurities and pain away before opening his eyes to the familiar pattern of his cave. Or their cave, he realised as he turned and saw another boy of his age lying so close to him on his side. Skin the colour of bronze, cheekbone and nose dotted with freckles of a darker shade, eyes the green just like the sea on occasions, dark hair interwoven with blue strands braided close to his scalp on the top of his head while the rest were trimmed into a fade cut, Simon didn’t even need to be in his safe space to realise that he was beautiful. It was supposed to be their first meeting, but when the other boy clasped Simon’s hand in his own, the touch did not feel foreign at all, and he watched as the boy raised his hand (so, so pale and skeletal despite being outdoors whenever he could and eating all the food he was allowed to) to his lips and kissed its back. Warmth blooms within his skin from the contact, and he wasn’t sure if it was because his entire body was heating up from his emotions or something else. Perhaps both.

‘We meet at last,’ the boy that felt like the sea breathed into Simon’s knuckles. ‘My name is Markus. Sorry for the abrupt ride. Our connection was lost for the first time since you gave me that octopus and I… panicked. I apologise. I hope it’s fine.’

Simon wanted to tell his companion - Markus, apparently - that it was more than fine, but with one of his hands captive and the other still unable to move from where it was buried in the sand because it was just so comfortable and he wasn’t ready to leave yet, he couldn’t access his stack of cards, and so he nodded and let the corner of his mouth twitch. Josh said that it was as close to a smile everyone could get out of Simon. Right now he was comfortable, he was in his safe space, and it wasn’t like the sea himself was going to tell him how to smile and emote, right?

‘You are my other half, Simon,’ Markus said, and it didn’t even occur to Simon until much later that he shouldn’t know his name. ‘I just want to make sure that you’re safe.’

Simon nodded again because he understood. The sea never lied to him before.

‘Spend the rest of the day with me? I’ll show you the way back before dinnertime.’

You don’t have to, Simon wanted to say. I would rather be with you, he also wanted to say. Forever.

As if sensing his thoughts, Markus shook his head, getting sand into his braids. ‘Not yet, my polaris,’ it sounded strange coming from the voice of a twelve-year-old - at least approximately - the contrast between his breaking voice jarring with how old he sounded, but somehow it made sense on Markus who, to Simon, was the embodiment of the boundless ocean. His free hand brushed Simon’s neck as he brought Simon’s to his own. ‘Feel this?’ He let go of Simon so that Simon could explore Markus’ neck on his own, and indeed he felt ridges that did not belong to a human’s neck under the pads of his fingers. ‘They’re my gills. I can easily give you your own so that you can come here but… I saw how the others are treating you already, and I didn’t.’

I don’t care, Simon wanted to say, but as the silence between them grew and his head became clearer from being safe and warm, he realised that whatever he was experiencing then wasn’t normal. He couldn’t always rely on North and Josh and Daniel for protection because the past two days were exactly demonstrations of that, that they wouldn’t be at his side forever, that sometimes, even though they meant well, they still didn’t understand him as good as the sea did and could hurt him unintentionally. Having strange scars on his neck would only worsen whatever he was going through.

Okay. I’ll wait for you.

‘I’m sorry, Simon.’

Don’t be.

Markus scooted closer. The sand cooled down to a pleasant temperature. Still holding Simon’s hand, Markus supported himself on his arm and kissed his temple, and a small part of Simon wished that he had kissed him on his lips instead. So Markus did. Just a small one that was no more than a short press of skin, but even as Markus pulled back, he didn’t go far, their foreheads touching as they drifted between the land of the living and slumber as one, their fingers intertwined on soft sand. It was peaceful in a way Simon didn’t think he had been before.

He only let himself feel a slight tinge of disappointment when he woke up on the pier later that day because he knew that the sea would be back for him.

#simarkus #dbh simon #dbh markus #dbh north #dbh josh #dbh daniel #dbh #detroit become human #detroit: become human

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justsomewhump · 4 years

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Tight Hold (1/4)

Every day, I stray further from god.

Aka shamelessly self-indulgent Krakillian non-con smut.

Note: This is very self-indulgent. I wrote it without any concern about structure or continuity, I just wrote what I wanted and went all out. If you do read it though, I hope you enjoy ;)

Also, kinda referencing my first Krakillian story, though you don’t need to know much from it other than that the Kraken and Killian have history together, which includes intercourse of both consensual and non-consensual nature. Though if you're into that stuff, hey, you should read that too ;)

Warnings: Graphic rape and non-consensual bestiality, tentacles, blood, a bit of vomit, mentions of other bodily fluids, near drownings, mentions of suicidal thoughts.

Word count: 3k (10k in total) AO3

Kraken-san couldn't hold himself any longer.

He'd thought his revenge on the human would've been enough. And in a way, it had been.

But now, he just wanted him. He just wanted to have him, and the thought of what the human had done to him before only fueled his desire.

So Kraken-san left his wet cave and went in search for his human.

It didn't take him long. Once again, the human was standing near the sea. So predictable.

Without wasting any more time, Kraken-san spread his tentacles and wrapped two around his human. The human tried to resist, to get away, but Kraken-san knew how strong his hold was.

Then a bright light appeared from the human's hand. Kraken-san looked; one of the human's rings was shining bright. Right then, a female human appeared, holding onto the tentacle that held the human. The female shrieked, then threw a blast of magic at Kraken-san.

Kraken-san yelled, but more in annoyance than pain. He was too strong for petty magic tricks. Grabbing the female with another tentacle, he threw her away, not caring where she landed. His human screamed, probably for her, and he was distracted long enough for Kraken-san to grab his hand and carefully, using his smallest, daintiest tentacles, to remove the human's rings from his fingers. Couldn't risk any of them having magic too, could he?

Kraken-san grabbed the human hard and submerged. He knew his human wouldn't make it long underwater, so Kraken-san rushed to his cave, letting his human out each few seconds to replenish his breath. Kraken-san swam fast, so soon enough they were in his cave. He placed the human on a small - for him, the human would have enough space - rock surface that was high enough to stay dry, even when tide was high.

All the while, the human thrashed and screamed. No matter. No-one would hear him now.

Kraken-san used his dainty tentacles again to remove the human's clothes - the bigger tentacles had to restrain him, he was that wildly trying to get away. He threw everything in the water, but he couldn't take that black thing with that hook attached off him, it seemed to be too tightly wound around the human's arm, and despite the pain Kraken-san intended to cause him, he didn't want to cause any permanent damage. Not so soon, at least.

He let the human go, and the human started moving his arm around, trying to slash him with his hook. Poor human. He had no idea what little damage that tiny prick would do to Kraken-san's thick skin. So he let him keep it for now, perhaps it would keep him quiet for a while.

Still, Kraken-san had to attend to his human's needs. He'd need sustenance, and water - that sweet water emerging from rivers. In his centuries he'd spent searching for him, he had learned a lot about the survival of humans. Kraken-san dipped his tentacles in the water, grabbed three fish and threw them in front of the human. The human curled in on himself, watching at the writhing fish in front of him as if he were scared of them.

Huh. For a creature with such a strong instinct for survival, he certainly didn't seem too happy to have one of his needs covered.

Satisfied with his human's conditions, Kraken-san left to get him sweet water. How would he carry it though? He needed something solid to carry it in.

He turned to the direction he'd taken his human from. The bottom of the sea there seemed full of useless things he'd never seen before, perhaps the humans had invented something that would help in that.

But first, he had to make sure no-one would take his human away.

When the kraken left, Killian finally allowed himself a shiver that rocked his entire body.

What had happened? What did it want with him? Was that the same kraken that... ?

No. He didn't have time to think about that. Killian threw one last look at the fish the kraken had discarded next to him - why, Killian had no idea - and dived in the water. The cave was a bit dark; there was an opening high above that allowed for some light to come in, but the waters were too dark for him to search for his clothes. What he really needed had been thrown away in the Storybrooke harbor, anyway. His only hope was finding someone and calling for help, but even without that, he wasn't simply going to stay in that cave.

He reached the end of it, where he'd seen the kraken submerge, and tried to look for any exit. There must have been one. The water was stark clear, enough for Killian to see the bottom, but it was too dark to make out any significant difference in the rock formation.

Deciding he'd rather die from drowning trying to get away, than from whatever the kraken had in mind for him, he took a deep breath and dived in.

Even after eight unsuccessful dives, Killian couldn't find any opening. He was tired, he couldn't hold his breath too long now. The water seemed too deep, too; even if he had the breath to find an opening, considering its possible depth, he might not have the time to get to the surface before he ran out.

He looked back at the rock surface he'd been placed upon. What other choices did he have?

Not many, was his last thought before he felt the waters move. Quicker than he had expected, the kraken was back. It turned to him, let out what Killian interpreted as a growl, then grabbed him and put him back on the rocks. By now Killian was too tired to fight back. He was surprised, however, to see the kraken move towards the high opening and reach out with its tentacles. It came back, apparently holding... two buckets? It placed them on the rock surface, close to Killian, and he couldn't help himself; he walked forward to see what it was in there.

He frowned when he realized it was just water. Plain water - why would the kraken bring them from above instead of under-

A shiver ran down Killian's spine at a thought, as he looked at the discarded fish as well. It couldn't be...

Not knowing exactly what to expect, Killian knelt and sniffed the water. A faint scent of mud seemed to come from it, but there was only one way for him to be sure. Shaking his hand to dry it from the sea water, he took a handful of water from the bucket. It had a light but miserable tint of brown.

Deciding that the day was already too crazy to handle, Killian sipped the water. He coughed, shock both from the dirty water and of the realization creeping in. Sure, it wasn’t too salty to drink. But was he expected to drink muddy water brought in in rusty old buckets?!

Yelling in anger, Killian pushed both buckets in the sea, then kicked the dead fish in as well.

The kraken seemed to be looking at him, but it was silent. A tentacle rose and struck him, knocking him to the side. Killian gasped as he raised himself on his elbows, shocked by the sudden attack. Two more tentacles appeared and dropped two new, fresh fish on the rock. Before they had time to suffocate, Killian kicked them in as well.

Was the kraken trying to provide... sustenance? Was it trying to keep him alive? What for?

The kraken stayed silent. It fished out the two buckets, threw one single fish on the rock, then left.

Killian shivered, sitting down, looking at the fish in front of him flop and flail, until it stopped moving too.

The kraken wanted to keep him fed and hydrated. In a poor way, but still. Killian looked around the cave. It might be the kraken's home, but it was in no way hospitable to a human. And the kraken knew that, and... Killian bit his lip, tasting the salt left on it, remembering of the time he had allowed the kraken to... do what it did; it had never brought him to such an uncomfortable for him place. Nor had it kept him truly a prisoner... not like that, anyway. And now it was trying to make sure he would survive?

Killian looked at the dead fish, and thought of how the water had tasted. He'd had a hard life, but he hadn't had to resort to eating raw fish and drinking muddy water. Not in centuries, anyway.

The kraken wanted him to survive.

But under such circumstances, how long was Killian going to?

It didn't take long for the kraken to come back. However, this time, it didn't seem to waste any time.

Killian first saw the surface of the water move; seconds after, the kraken emerged. It put the buckets down on the rock, then wrapped a big tentacle around Killian's torso, and one around each of his ankles, pulling his legs apart.

Killian groaned, writhing in the tight hold of the tentacles, but the kraken didn't wait. One smooth, thin tentacle slipped inside him. Killian's agonized cry echoed in the vast cave.

It kept him immobilized on the ground, keeping his legs apart as it violated him. Waves swayed the surface as the kraken moved and... moaned.

Killian managed to keep himself from screaming, though not from sobbing softly; besides the first penetration, the pain was... measurable. He kept his head down, feeling tears fall from his eyes to the cold, rough rock under him.

He thought of Emma. She had seen the kraken take him away. Though it had thrown her away with force, she seemed to have landed safely on the pier. She hadn't known of his past with it - despite all the secrets he had revealed to her, this one was not one he ever thought he'd have the courage to share - but she would be coming for him. But how long would it take her? The kraken had seemed to travel fast. They'd need a locator spell, with one of his belongings...

He closed his eyes. His rings. His wedding ring, and the one Emma had enchanted so he could call her whenever or wherever he needed her, sunk to the bottom of Storybrooke's harbor. Despite the tentacle that shook inside him, he could still feel the weight of those material losses.

A shaky sob escaped him. He had to get out.

That thought echoed in his head immediately, as the kraken let out a loud moan, and finally let him go. The hold had been useless anyway; he was in too much pain and shock, and was frankly too weak compared to the beast to actually do it any damage, or resist, or run away. Slowly, the kraken took its tentacle out of him. Killian whimpered in pain, trying to move his hand to assess the damage. Sure enough, his fingers came back bloody. He sighed shakily and turned to his side, facing the cave. The dead fish and the buckets were still there; the kraken seemed to be floating, calm, satisfied.

It wasn't going to leave, Killian realized with a shiver.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, suddenly aware of his brace. It was currently the only semblance of clothing he had, too tight wound around his arm for the kraken to bother taking off. He loathed to part with it, but he'd soon have to, to allow the scar tissue to breathe. Otherwise, he'd have to add gangrene to the pile of threats to his life.

Later, he thought, as he closed his eyes. He was so tired, but the cave was too cold and the kraken's presence there kept him too alert to allow him any sleep. Maybe if he showed it he was cooperating? But how? Eat the raw fish and drink the dirty water?

Another shiver ran down his spine as he thought how desperate he'd have to become for food and water to resort to consuming those... and how the kraken seemed prepared to wait until he reached that point.

Time seemed to pass. It had been early afternoon when he'd last been in Storybrooke, and as he dared open his eyes a little, he saw the sky getting darker. It would soon get even colder... was the kraken prepared for that?

Killian closed his eyes and tried to focus on calming thoughts. Emma, coming for him. Him waking up and realizing it was all just another nightmare. Yes, that helped. He would soon wake up in the comfort of his soft, warm bed, Emma's arm wrapping around him as she would whisper sweet words to help him go back to a calmer sleep.

His eyelids were still closed, but he could feel the light slowly fade away. Soon enough, his teeth started chattering. He chanced a look; all of his body hair were raised, shivers starting to spread through his body. He rubbed his only hand against his shoulder, feeling completely helpless.

A sudden move from the corner where the kraken was resting made him jolt. He gasped and moved back, standing up on shaky legs and limping to the rock wall of the cave. Too many tentacles emerged from the water, too many... Killian couldn't bite back a terrified sob, freezing against the wall as his legs finally gave up and he fell awkwardly to the ground.

One tentacle wrapped around his shins, locking them together. Another around his thighs. His hips, his waist, his chest, even bringing his arms close to be wrapped under it, against his chest. Killian started sobbing; it might as well squeeze the air out of him now.

Instead, the kraken spread one tentacle on the rock, then moved the rest to make him lie on his side, his head resting on the soft but firm tissue.

Killian looked at it, sobs still shaking his body and tears still falling from his eyes. The kraken simply seemed to be relaxing back on another rock, now closer to him.

The shock and fear disoriented him for a bit; he felt as if he'd pass out, but eventually he felt his body stop shaking - from the cold, at least. His teeth stopped chattering, and despite the pain those tentacles had caused him, they were kind of comfortable to lie on.

Yet another shaky sigh escaped him. It was keeping him warm?

Killian tried to swallow against the unexpected lump in his throat. It took him some long moments to finally breathe normally again, though deeper sobs came this time.

The kraken was... making him comfortable. After kidnapping him, hitting him, violating him, keeping him a prisoner, it was now holding him with what felt like a twisted, fucked-up version of intimacy. The hold was tight enough to keep him from slipping off, but relaxed enough for him to move his arms under him. The sobs felt to be scratching his already irritated throat as he brought his arms to cross over his chest again; he felt a tiny prick of fear at how hard his chest shook.

The kraken didn't seem to react to his outburst. Yet, its mere presence there terrified him even more; he just wanted to be alone, preferred to die of exposure that stay wrapped in the life-saving embrace of that despicable monster.

He pushed his arms against his chest, felt the prick of his hook against his skin, and reminded himself of one name: Emma.

She would be searching. She wouldn't give up. She would save him.

He had to stay alive.

He awoke in total darkness.

The very first indication that reminded him of his condition, the reality and not the nightmare he'd hoped against hope it would've been, was his aching throat.

The next was the feeling of being trapped. He wasn't suffocating, but he couldn't move, nor turn, anything. He felt frozen in place. He could still drag his arms across his chest, but they stayed stuck to his body, and he suddenly became aware of how stiff he felt.

He took in a shivering breath; for all its efforts, the kraken couldn't warm the air around the cave. It was still damp and cold, especially grating on his sore throat. His lower lip trembled. He was scared of waking the monster up, but if he didn't fall back asleep - he was still surprised he'd managed to the first time - what was he supposed to do?

If the violation, isolation, horrible conditions, possible starvation or dehydration weren't the things that would drive him crazy, the feeling of being trapped in the sleeping kraken's tentacles would. He still felt tired, and several parts of his body hurt, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark, the reflection of the moon from somewhere outside being the only, tiny source of light, he felt more and more vigilant of the kraken. He couldn't close his eyes. He was suddenly reminded of some horror movies he'd watched with Emma; it felt that, if he stopped looking at the monster for one single second, or if he allowed himself one single moment to relax in the dark, it would consume him.

He slowly became aware of his aching muscles, which protested against the confinement. He tried wiggling, regretting it immediately. His whole body seemed to respond to the movement, each separate muscle waking up and complaining after being immobile for who knew how long.

How long had it been? How long did he have until the sun rose... until the kraken woke up... until it violated him again?

A small sob escaped him, and with wide eyes he stared at the kraken, terrified that that small sound had woken it up.

It hadn't, but Killian could not allow himself any sigh of relief. He bit down on his lip, still tasting of salt, and brought his aching arms to push against his chest again. His heart was beating fast.

Killian stared. And stared. And stared.

Until he was certain the light shade on his view of the sky wasn't just in his imagination.

Note: The story is written to its end (I know, I’m shocked too), I plan on having posted the rest of the chapters by the end of next week.

If you enjoyed, I would appreciate a kudos and/or comment on AO3, it means a lot :)

#I write thangs #Krakillian #Kraken san #content warning #nonconsensual #tentacles #Killian Jones

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royallyanxious · 4 years

Text

Deep water

Summary: Roman used to have blue eyes.

Pairing: romantic roceit

Word count: <5k words

Trigger warnings: brief mentions of blood, injury mention, sea being cruel

Ao3 link here

The story was inspired by this post

Author’s note: Not gonna lie. This fic is for two amazing people @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 and @ellistruggle. Thank you for inspiration

The legend says that Roman used to have blue eyes.

Various versions of the story were passed around between ships of both mortal and immortal, of both holy and unholy ones… Every soul at the sea knew the melody of this song but nobody could sing it without a hitch. It was one of the tales that never made it to the books but lived in many hearts, for many years. For some, it was the proof of the highest price one must pay for living at the sea. For others it was a confirmation that gold is the only real treasure. Finally, there was a small group of people who didn’t believe the story - those led the loneliest of lives.

Because it was real. This legend. The tale of Roman and the love of his life. The love of his life gifted with the voice of an angel, the body of a monster, the soul of a devil and a quivering heart that ached for Roman only…

It was a tragic love-story between Roman and a merman.

***

“Logan… You’ve been sailing with Roman for so long…” sing-sang Patton, gently patting Logan’s forearms while Virgil subtly pushed the bottle with rum towards them.

“I will not ask for another free pass for you, Patton.” Logan stated sternly, suspiciously eyeing the bottle in front of him. Those young ones… so naive for thinking that something like that would make him talk.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare!” Patton innocently fluttered his eyes. Damn, his long eyelashes and soft lips. “It’s just that Virgil and I…” he stopped in favour of playing with the hem of his shirt, “It’s just that we…”

“Yes?” Logan arched his eyebrow. The rain outside intensified. Internally he thanked Roman for docking tonight, instead of setting off as they originally planned.

“Patton means to ask if you know what really happened to Roman’s eyes!” blurted Virgil, clenching his hands into fists. Logan couldn’t help but smile a little bit. In his opinion, Virgil was not a fit for a pirate. But he was undoubtedly loyal and loyalty was something highly treasured in the sea.

“Roman’s eyes?” Logan repeated, as if he didn’t know what they were talking about.

It was hard not to notice though. The flash of crimson at the centre, the dark shade of drying blood around the irises. The teasing sparkles that pulled out the most poisonous of scarlets. The brilliance of rusty reds and vivid corals paired with razor-sharp gaze that made people shiver and avert their eyes. Logan - quartermaster on Creativity - shuddered. It was hard to forget Roman’s blood red eyes.

And it was even harder to stop having nightmares about them.

Patton scooted closer, pulling Logan out of the maze of his memory. Patton’s hands rested on Logan’s shoulder, curse him for that warm skin.

“You know…” Patton started lowly, “They say that they weren’t always red. His eyes.”

Logan licked his lips and glanced at Patton and Virgil. Their round faces, scattered with freckles, their earnest eyes, the hollows on Virgil’s cheeks, the scar running over Patton’s temple. They looked like a good kids...

Completely ignoring the rum, Logan sat on the table, pushing Patton’s hands away. He didn’t need those forms of encouragement to tell the story. Sighing heavily, Logan wiped his glasses, leaving wet smudges. If there was one thing he hated in living on the ship, it was the constant humidity.

“First of all, I want you to know that when I met Roman, his eyes have already been red,” Logan started carefully, watching for reactions. Virgil and Patton immediately moved, pushing the barrels they were sitting on closer to Logan. Their noisy curiosity was truly endearing.

Once they settled down, he nodded with content. He was almost sure that they wouldn’t tell anyone of what they would hear today, “So mind you that everything I will tell you tonight is a passed story.” Logan added nonetheless.

“Is that a warning?” Virgil laughed anxiously. Not a fit for a sailor at all.

“It’s a promise.” grinned Logan in response. “It’s a promise that you will hear this story again and again and again from people who know Roman from legends only. Every single time you hear the new version, you will start doubting which is the authentic one.”

“And who told you your version of the story, Logan?” peeped Patton. He was practically shaking from excitement.

“Mine?” Logan’s thin lips stretched into a wicked grin, reminding everyone just why he was the quartermaster, “Oh, I heard it from Roman himself. He's, perhaps, the least trustworthy source...”

***

Roman’s eyes used to be in the color of the horizon. The color of the future. That peculiar shade of teal which can be seen on the thin line dividing sky from the ocean. The resemblance was uncanny.

And they said: one evening, as a child, Roman looked into the mirror and saw the world opening itself right in front of him. He saw the treasures hidden deep on the bottom of the ocean, the diamonds waiting for him in the caves that weren't drawn on maps and the pearls shyly peaking through the parted lips of the green clams.

The very map of the most valued of values was hidden behind the thick veil of Roman’s eyelashes, at the teal bottom of his eyes. And he saw that every route and every track leading to those riches was drawn with azure line that pointed beyond the horizon.

But, Roman saw something more. Something that he promised to never share with anyone before he could grasp it with his own hands.

He saw gold. Shining in the sunlight, shimmering under the water. He was young, so young back then, and he thought that it must have been golden coins glimmering in the crystal clear water. Twinkling brightly under the surface just like the stars twinkle on the midnight sky.

It became a sole purpose for Roman. To touch, to grasp, to own this gold treasure.

The sea lured him, the ocean tempted him, the salt on his tongue mocked him. The deep waters and secrets hidden within them were what he was meant for - he realized and set off into the open seas of the unknown future.

***

“Did he find it?” Patton gasped, clenching his fingers around Logan’s wrist. The quartermaster didn’t bother to shake it off.

“Shush, don’t interrupt him, Patton,” tsked Virgil. His eyes were as big as saucers. Beneath a thick layer of interest, first sparks of longing were waking up to life. Logan smiled internally. This must have been what Roman meant when he said that Virgil had a potential that needed to be encouraged. Just like everyone who ended up in the sea, Virgil too longed for an adventure.

“I can’t stand the tension!” pouted Patton, looking impatiently at Logan. “So… did he find it? Did he find the gold? The treasures?”

The quartermaster’s lips broke into a smile but his eyes remained sad. Troubled even. He reached out and swiftly pulled the abandoned bottle. The room filled with the biting scent of rum. Logan watched the liquid in the bottle. In the candlelight the glass looked as if it was made out of jade, reminding of the treasures hidden in the seas.

“Yes,” Logan said finally, corked up the bottle and put it away. “At last Roman found the gold, he dreamt of.”

***

Sun after the storm - that’s how Roman referred to that day, that hour, that moment. There was also another expression he used to describe it. The other term that he uttered in secret, in complete silence when he was alone as if he was afraid that the demons may come after him and rip the words out of his throat.

“The fateful day that gold came to life.”

He was the only survivor from the storm that wrecked their ship. That much was clear. Roman watched all of his companions sink in the sea. He didn’t remember hearing the screams but he remembered the loud crash of waves above his head and that was enough. It was his first thought when he drifted back into consciousness.

His eyes - his teal eyes - were heavy and his lungs - warm with red blood lungs - were still full of the salty water. The soil beneath him smelt of algas and fish. And yet there was no saying, even then, that Roman woke up to live up to his dream.

The island appeared deserted. As deserted as he could tell by far. The sand was white and warm and the forest teased him insufferably with the possibility of finding something edible. But Roman was smarter than this. The most beautiful sceneries were hiding the darkest secrets.

So he walked down the shore, watching the familiar line of the horizon, enjoying the softness under his feet, breathing the air that he missed deeply when caged under the water.

The cove was small, too small for any ship to dock there. It was beautiful, yes, but if on a ship Roman would pay it no mind. But he had no ship and it was still a cove - probably the only place on this island that could possibly keep him alive. Sighing, Roman slipped down the rocks, hand clasped around long, sharpened stick.

His footsteps were perfectly silent. The way he walked, the way he sneaked, it was an art itself, it was a part of Roman that he kept buried deep inside. The delicate, fanciful side. The side that yearned for beauty.

He became a part of the scenery before he realized it - the only survivor with his hair tossed back, with his shirt stiff with the remaining salt and with teal eyes that mirrored the color of horizon.

The colors were spilling into the cove like an avalanche, brashly flashing with intensive hues against the shy whites of the sand. The greens as fresh as spring sprouts, the bronzes that tasted like chocolate, finally the azures and pale-blues bearing a peace and comfort. Beauty and grace was blossoming in the cove as one watched, leaving no space for wrongness.

Nothing, however could prepare Roman for the beauty he saw when he crouched on the big rock and looked into the crystal clear water.

The way it shone in his eyes, the way it shimmered, the way it teased his senses. It was a song itself. The gold was singing to him before Roman even heard voice. Before he even learnt that his gold - his beloved dream - had a voice.

His eyes raked over the long trace of golden scales - tiny but beautiful. His appreciation was growing with every inch covered with golden beads. He was taking in the view for as long as long the tail was - until it started melting into something softer, something wavering beneath the surface, something that made his breath hitch.

“Mermaid-” he gasped, instinctively backing away.

That sound itself was enough. It had to be because - what Roman didn’t know by then - he also had a voice that sounded beautifully in mermaid’s ears.

The surface rippled, the miniature waves hit the rocks and tiny bubbles of air rose to the surface. Roman blinked and suddenly there was a person - a man - leaning over the stone right in front of him. He was gazing curiously at Roman, his head tilted a little bit as if Roman was something to examine - not something to lure into deep water and drown. Drops of water were scattered across his cheeks, neck and shoulder like tiny freckles. They sparkled like a brilliant glitter.

“Don’t come any closer!” squeaked Roman and the man smiled in response.

“It may come as a surprise to you,” he replied, his voice mellow and relaxed, “But I can’t really step out of the water whenever I can.” his golden tail for a moment appeared over the surface, splashing the water at Roman.

And maybe it was the pirate’s soul in him or maybe it was the velvet-like tone in merman’s voice but Roman reached out, trying to grasp the gold that he had been searching for all his life. And soon there was hand in his hand and it was cold and slick but somehow it fitted perfectly and if earlier Roman had any doubts on the situation, now his fears were long gone. He chase for long but now the treasure was under his fingertips.

“I’m Roman,” his thumb ran over the barely visible scales on merman’s hands.

“I don’t have a name that you could use beyond the surface.” the merman shook his head. His eyes - golden eyes - were earnestly shining with hope and something akin to shame. “Every name I would tell you, would be a lie.”

“May I choose a name for you?” Roman leaned down, gazing at merman from above.

“You may choose your name for me. And I will wear it proudly.”

“Then, I choose a name ‘Deceit’. Since everything is a lie.”

The merman - Deceit - laughed loudly and it was like thousands of bells started ringing all at once. “Darling,” he purred, “Everything might be a lie, but I’m plenty real.” he smiled showing a row of sharp teeth. And Roman? Roman smiled because before his heart was long gone and his eyes and teals were now meant for one person only.

That was how their fate sealed before it even finished forming and the maps in Roman’s eyes were flooded with hot and crashing waves of passion.

They talked about this moment later, sitting almost side by side - Roman above the water and Deceit beneath it. They talked about it when they were almost touching - nothing more than the delicate weight of one hand on the other. They talked about this moment trying to figure out what brought them together and how they knew that they were meant for each other. Trying to figure out how was it possible that they responded to bonding song so quickly.

Like the tidal waves, they meant halfway and clashed into each other with a force so strong that it was enough to wake up the monsters sleeping in the oceans. And by the way water flowed around them and by the way the horizon darkened, they knew that their love had no chance against the power of the sea.

***

In the books that are no longer readable and in the memories of people who died a long time ago there are stories. Legends. Warnings.

If a man or a woman are married to the sea, they have no right to fall in love with the Child of Waves and Tears.

The sea is not a forgiving lover, not a merciful partner, once it closes the heavy lid over your head - it won’t let you out. And if you try to escape it will reach out for you, it will chase after you until it catches you, crading the soft body and warm skin close to its chest.

That’s how the sea loves its lovers.

That’s how it forbids them to meld with its children.

***

Roman wasn’t blind. He could see the dark clouds over their heads. Deceit wasn’t mute, he could hear the way sea roared for them. Both of them. Every day was pushing them straight into the arms of tragedy.

Therefore, their first kiss was chaste and filled with as much excitement as fear.

Deceit was so close and when Roman leaned down like he always did, it turned out that they were much closer than expected. The smell of salt and home. Their shared home - the sea.

When the skin brushed the skin and when the lips brushed against the lips, the sky above them opened, tearing the taste off their lips.

Roman guessed that Deceit tasted like salt and water but he couldn’t be sure. The sea didn’t let him find out. He could watch and he could touch but he couldn’t melt into Deceit as he used to melt into cold waves that lulled him into sleep for so many years. He longed.

Once the rain stopped, they read the signs on the sand. Deceit’s tail was reflecting the colorful shades of the rainbow above their heads.

“It appears clear to me that Mother doesn’t want for us to stay together,” whispered Deceit, his lips dangerously close to Roman’s ear.

“Mother?” echoed Roman.

Deceit looked at the horizon. Its color reminded him of Roman’s eyes. Deceit had always dreamt of crossing the line of horizon.

“The sea may be my mother but you pledged yourself to her and she likes you too much to let go off you. It’s obvious by the way she favours you. She was merciful enough to bring us together. Throwing me into the cove and throwing you at the shore. It’s her doing.” Deceit ran his fingers up Roman’s thigh. He wished he was strong enough to fully pull his body out of the water. “She felt our destiny but didn’t expect for it to fulfill the rest of our life.”

“So the sea…” Roman’s voice broke a little bit. The song in Deceit’s ears had never been sadder. “She wants us apart.”

***

“But Roman loves the sea!” Patton explained, barely holding back his tears. “He couldn’t just give up on that!”

“He couldn’t,” Logan agreed quietly. The waves shook the ship, trying to push the memories out of his head. “Neither could Deceit. The sea made both of them. Gave them purpose in life, gave them solace and home. And they offered their life in return.”

***

Love is like a double edged sword - it is a perfect weapon but it could easily be used against the warrior holding it.

The sea was smart - she knew that they would give up their life for each other so she had to take something much more precious from them. She had to steal something imprinted in their memory. Something as precious as their most hidden treasures. She had to break them apart with their own weapon.

The storm broke in the middle of the night when everything was as dark as spilled ink. They never slept close - Deceit needed water to restore his energy and Roman needed the tiniest amount of warmth that a shelter could provide.

Two screams intertwined in the sky in one, shared song. It was barely audible over the loud thunder and thick streams of rain.

Roman could feel the sharp cut of the wind and water on his legs, arms and face. It didn’t stop him though, he kept walking towards the water, step by step, inch by inch. He thought he could hear a broken sob in the air. It was wet, heart-wrecking sound and Roman knew that it was the sea crying for him and Deceit. She hated their suffering but she also hated the idea of them being together even more. One final blow of icy cold wind slapped Roman across his face, digging into his eyes, forcing tears out of them, making the maps and plans slip down his cheeks. He didn’t stop to gather them. He didn’t shove them into pockets. Instead he walked over them, crushing teal veils under his heels.

One thought - get to Deceit as fast as it was humanly possible. He didn’t even get that only last chance.

Roman passed away midway through the beach. Just a couple of meters away from his beloved.

***

Deceit pushed himself up the shore while his arms screamed in pain. He knew that he had to get away from water unless he wanted it to throw him into the darkest corners of the globe, for so long that he would lose his way back to Roman.

“Better now or never.” he hissed through clenched teeth, focusing on the skin under the golden scales on his tail. Some merfolk could transform their tail into legs but Deceit had never tried that before.

He expected the pain, he expected the turmoil. He didn’t expect the fire. Filled with cold blood and used to the icy water Deceit knew no warmth except of Roman’s. The fire ripping his scales of was unbearable. Every scale felt as if it was set on fire as if it was trying to burn out the remaining gold.

He tried moving further, dragging his barely-legs behind himself.

He passed away midway through the beach. Just a couple of meters from his beloved.

***

“And what happened next?” Patton inquired, practically leaning on Logan’s side. His stubby fingers were digging into quartermaster’s arm. Virgil with fevered eyes was peaking over his brother’s shoulder.

Logan shrugged, knowing well that his answer would disappoint the audience. It happened to the best of stories - it was tempting to colorize the ending. But Logan promised to himself that he would tell this story as it was told to him.

“That’s the end. Roman and Deceit never met again.” he sighed, hopping off the table, “Few days later Roman was found unconscious on the drifting boat. His pockets were full of golden coins. When he opened his eyes they have already been red.”

Patton’s face dropped, “So the color…”

Helplessly, to show just as little of comfort he had to offer, Logan opened his arms. What was he supposed to say? That Roman’s eyes lost the color when the sea hit him with the final blow? That the teal canvas slipped off and buried down in the white sand on some neglected island? Logan was a pirate, he had seen many strange things but even he sometimes had doubts for this part of the story.

“I told you at the beginning,” huffed Logan, pushing the table back under the wall, “Roman told me this story and you know that he has a tendency to… embellish some aspects.”

Virgil nodded thoughtfully. The adventurous sparks were still shining in his eyes. Maybe he was a fit for a pirate after all.

“What did Roman do with the gold though?” Patton poked Virgil’s cheek.

“Oh, that?” Logan asked and drained the bottle, “He spent all of this money to buy Creativity and hire the crew. And, among many others, I was lucky enough to be a part of that first crew.” he added with a very self-pleased smile. It was clear that he was very proud of that.

The storm outside shook the windows. More of the violent raindrops drummed against the glass, splashing the streams that were already running down them.

“Now that you know this story you can stop asking.” finished Logan, talking a step towards the door. “But don’t mention Roman that you heard it from me. Although I know that he wouldn’t be angry for telling you, he just… doesn’t like being reminded of Deceit.”

With these words Logan left the room, leaving Virgil and Patton alone with their thoughts and silent mourning after the tragic love.

***

The rainpour was getting bigger and bigger as Roman slipped into the mostly abandoned warehouse. The door closed behind him with a barely loud squeak. Tentatively, Roman looked around trying to see through the darkness surrounding him. Slowly, as his eyes got used to the darkness, the shadows started reminding more of shapes than a blurry nothingness. The barrels, empty caskets, piles of wood and finally - the skeleton of a ship that was never meant to be finished.

Feeling vaguely secure Roman stepped further into the warehouse. He could hear the water splashing against the sharp edges of the stones where the water met with the ground.

His heart was pounding inside his chest. He really hoped that his feeling wasn't wrong. But no, it couldn't be. He doubted he could ever mistake the song in his ears for something else. Every sound and every tune was perfectly audible for him, despite the rain trashing the harbor outside. The song was growing louder and cleared over the past few days, ever since he saw the dark clouds of the horizon.

Rain, yes rain. The stormy clouds - the twin sisters of the sea.

It was… Familiar. How could he possibly forget both the song in his ears and the sound of rain that aimed to drag him away from the singer.

Roman took another step forward. Wet stone crunched under his heel.

"Silence did not become one of your traits, I presume."

Roman froze. He thought that he was prepared. He wasn't.

"Dee…" He uttered, frantically looking for a familiar shadow under the water. The song in his ears stopped.

Melodic laugh vibrated through the air, shaking Roman's body to the core.

"Last time I checked you called me another name," replied still shapeless, bodiless, faceless Deceit.

With shaking hands Roman tried to light up the matches he was clenching. Only lonely spark jumped into the water, for a moment, brightening the darkness beneath the surface. There was nothing there.

Letting out a shaky exhale, Roman laughed nervously, "I thought that giving you a nickname would be a nice touch." He said, fumbling with another match.

And suddenly there were hands on his hand - cold and silky wet - and there was a weight on his back and if someone was leaning over him. And there was a breath on his earshell and it smelt like salt and home.

"It is a nice touch, I must admit." The whisper was much closer this time. It was the voice of the devil, the voice of the monster, the voice of Roman’s greatest love.

Roman watched the cold hand lay over his and press the match against the flint. Fire erupted in front of his eyes. He quickly lit up the fuse of his lantern and the room filled up with warmth that Roman felt in his heart. It was hard to turn around. Not yet. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. Even though he waited for so long. The thunder slashed the sky above the roof, sending sparks through his body.

“Well, I guess that Mother’s not happy for our meeting.” laughed Deceit bitterly, pressing his cheek against Roman’s shoulder.

Wet laugh rolled down Roman’s tongue. It turned out to be more of a sob than a laugh. There was a shift behind him and then there were lips pressing against his neck and a whisper against his earshell.

“I want to look into your eyes, Roman.”

And Roman had always been weak for that sweet voice, for that beautiful song. In a split of a second - as if someone finally pulled his strings - he turned around and it was like all the air fled from his lungs.

“Deceit.” he uttered and pressed his lips against the lips, for the first time tasting its salt. It was somewhat sweet of Roman’s tongue.

The kiss was returned within a second, of course it was. It was the first time they could actually kiss even if it was just for a moment, even if it was just for a minute.

The wind and rain had already been banging against the doors and windows when Roman stepped away, his hands still resting on Deceit’s arms. Only then did he realize that Deceit was standing, standing, in front of him without any help.

“I learnt how to turn my tail into legs,” explained Deceit, seeing Roman’s gaze. He sounded almost embarrassed and Roman’s heart flipped in his chest.

Soon enough however that shy expression melted under the pressure of something gloomier. Deceit’s hand moved to cup Roman’s cheek, thumb running over the skin beneath his eye.

“I see. That Mother wasn’t entirely merciful for you either.” He said, letting out a pained sigh, “Your eyes.” he added, sensing Roman’s confusion, “They used to be different color.”

“I cried the color out of them when I realized that we parted.” said Roman smiling slightly, brushing his fingers against the reddened scales covering a half of Deceit’s face.

“Ha, and here I thought that I was the bigger liar among the two of us,” Deceit chuckled, winking at Roman. “I know the sea's doing when I see it.” His legs wobbled a little bit and he had to brace himself against Roman’s arm. The other didn’t complain. “I’m sorry, it’s still hard for me to stand like that for too long…” he bit his cheek, “Would you mind if I...?” he gestured at the dark pool inside the warehouse.

Instead of answering Roman scooped him into his arms and - as if Deceit was lighter than a feather - carried him into the water. It was obnoxiously hard to let go off this weight. Roman imagined that he could easily carry Deceit around all day long. The small pleasant noise that Deceit let out was at least a little bit of a reward.

“It’s not golden anymore,” Roman noted pointing at the newly reformed tail, without a surprise.

Deceit shrugged. “I wear my punishment proudly,” he added, waving his crimson fin at Roman.

Another massive blow hit the warehouse. This time both of them glanced at the creaking, wooden roof.

“I’m afraid we should go soon. The storm will calm down once you leave the dock.” said Deceit after a couple of moments.

Roman’s heart lurched to the side. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. Shut the door, lay bricks in the windows. Just give him some more time.

“Will I see you again?” he asked instead. It came out weaker than he expected. He leaned down and gripped Deceit’s hand. It was so slippery in his own. He was afraid that it would slip out of his grasp any moment soon.

“Yes,” replied Deceit instantly.

“When? Where?”

“I don’t know when and I don’t know where.” Deceit shook his head, “You must look out for the dark clouds in the sky and red trail in the water. There I will be.” he added, trying to pull his hand out of the hold.

“Can you promise that?” Roman demanded, tightening his hold. His heart was hammering against his ribcage.

In a flash:

Lips against his lips. Salt that tastes sweeter than it should.

His hands left empty.

One echoed whisper. “I promise”

Roman was alone. The rain outside stopped raining.

***

They fell hard. As hard as the waves crash against the shore. As hard as the dead body falls into the cold water of the ocean.

Their love was hot and wild. As hot as blood pumping through their veins. As wild as the water under their fingers. Hot and wild like blood in Roman’s eyes and Deceit’s scales.

When they were apart they were singing lullabies for each other. The moonlight being the messenger. Their melodies danced on the peaceful surface of the sea.

When they were together, the tornado was shaking the world. The edges of their bodies were as hazy as the clouds in the sky.

One slash was enough to cut them apart, two slashes were enough to give them a reason to fight.

The sea.

The way it opens in front of them, cold and eager. Ah, so eager. Endless, deep, ruthless, selfish and demanding.

The sea.

The way it closes it shell, trying to keep the warmth inside, trying to keep its children away from each other. It doesn’t realize that it has already marked them as each other’s forever.

***

Roman opened his crimson eyes.

The waves were crashing against the sides of Creativity. The sky above him was darkening with beautiful navy color. He looked at the horizon. Where the sun was touching the sea, he could see the tiniest red glow.

“Change of the course, Logan.” called Roman sharply, “We’re sailing into the west.”

the end.

You liked this story? Feel free to buy me coffee!

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#roceit #roman sanders #deceit sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #fanfiction'#roceit fanfic #roceit fanfiction #pirate au #somehow #somewhat #vic writes #romantic roceit #sympathetic deceit

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doomedandstoned · 3 years

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A Talk With BREATH, Portland’s New Meditative Doom Metal Duo

~By Billy Goate~

Illustrations by Tyler Wintermute

We're used to doom metal being, well, rather dark and sinister, but can it be meditative too? OM, the famous Al Cisneros side project, proved that yes, it can. Other acts, such as the celebrated UK band Bong, the New Brunswick trio Zaum followed (with Italy's Ufomammut, Finland's Dark Buddha Rising, and Ukraine's Bomg being just a step away with their generous, if often louder, landscapes).

Then I encountered doom metal yoga in Portland, and all bets were off.

Last month, Doomed & Stoned introduced you to another band you can add to your short list, whether listening in your Savasana stance ("corpse pose"), getting your groove on at work, or doing a little wake 'n bake to start the day.

This is BREATH from the City of Roses and on February 5th, all mysteries will be revealed as the meditative doom duo brings us their debut LP, 'Primeval Transmissions' (2021) on Desert Records.

Their music "is informed by adventures leaving the comforts of what was known behind. Going into unknown woods sometimes figuratively and some literal. With heavy melodically driven grooves their Meditation Doom will take you to secluded caves, and totemic vision quests'' (band bio).

Over the weekend, I traded words with Steven O'Kelly (bass guitar, vox) and Ian Caton (drums, percussion) recently to get to know this new name in the Pacific Northwest heavy underground. Doomed & Stoned also takes this opportunity to share a new visualizer with you for Breath's latest single, "Observer."

Breath - Observer

What themes and concepts does Breath explore musically and lyrically?

Peering into rituals meant to transcend the physical world. Initiations into the varied mystery schools like Orphism or Druidry I find very powerful. The Shamanistic role being so selfless putting themselves through extreme trials, shedding their previous self to protect their people by communication with spirit.

These things have lots of weight with sacrifice, and knowledge seeking from traditions nearly lost to time. Our sound aims to reflect that weight through the way we use the bass guitar and drums. I think a theme of meditation informs a lot of the riffs with spaciousness and transformation.

Who are your musical influences?

Foundationally, Black Sabbath is a center pillar. My first record being a Sabbath compilation by Earmark. I appreciate the balance they find between settled songs like "Orchid" leading into its counterpart "Lord of this World." Grails’ Burning Off Impurities is such a vehicle that I would get lost in through the whole record. Melting boundaries of East and West with Zak Riles’ classical guitar and the crushing drum work by Emil Amos.

That brings me to Om, which is an important band to me that struck a chord all the way through from the music to aesthetic. Every show I’ve been to is like I’ve snuck into a temple ceremony, and leave feeling light on my feet and blissfully ringing eardrums. "On the Mountain at Dawn" is the heaviest song to me, with this immediacy and undeniable flow like the strong current of a river.

Photographs by Marissa Caldarelli

What sort of gear do you guys perform and record with?

Ian: DW Performance series Drum kit with Maple shells. Remo heads and Aquarian Kick Drum head. Zildjian K cymbals.

Steven: 4003 Rickenbacker bass guitar. Electric Amp Innovations Power Unit 180. Ampeg 8x10 speaker cabinet. Geezer Butler Cry Baby bass wah. MXR bass compressor. Ernie Ball VP Jr. Electro Harmonix Freeze. Deluxe Bass Big Muff. Also, Shure SM 58 and VE-20 Boss Vocal Performer.

You've mentioned gaining inspiration from solitary walks in the woods. What does the Oregon outdoors mean to you and how does it stir your creative processes?

When I first tried meditation, I was given this palm sized booklet by Buddhadasa Bhikkhu on breathwork as the entrance to a practice. Feeling and visualizing blue water filling and then leaving the well of your lungs. The band like our actual breath is a lifeblood for me. Making music and lyrics I can easily and gladly lose myself in. That practice I believe is responsible for shaping our sound.

Sometimes I feel a sort of unspoken conversation with the trees that surround, lots of times getting most lyrical ideas during these hikes. Boundaries are fluid in this space, and by its very nature puts my mind out of whatever box it might’ve been in before. Wilderness here has lots of personalities through wind, rain, and sun. For me, watching trees come alive moving in the wind or the quiet calm after a rain breeds deep reflection. Nature is a mirror.

What's the biggest epiphany or the strangest thing that you've experienced while being surrounded by Mother Nature?

On a summer day at Mt. Tabor in East Portland sitting in a secluded grassy opening circled by trees, I had the most psychedelic out of body experience without the aid of eating anything. High through trance, I came to the plants and tree’s awareness of me and I them. Like they knew my name.

Many of your tracks tell a story. Are these original tales or based upon the band's own mythos?

Whether I identify with an archetype or am retelling an experience I had, All the lyrics have roots in my real life even if themes might be far flung from our time.

Primeval Transmissions by Breath

Give us a walk through your new record, track by track, if you will.

Track 1 Starting with "Evocation," it’s a mixture of Shamanistic ritual and the effects meditation can have in clearing hurdles of adversity. I had been reading a book on Druid Lore and their equivalents around the world. Then I discovered Werner Herzog’s Cave of Forgotten Dreams and was completely spellbound. Seeing cave paintings perfectly intact, it’s entrance hidden by a rock slide before Roman times in France. This painted a visual counterpart to my reading and was consumed with the world it represented. Hallucinogenic trance, their soul migrating to the spirit world through the rising smoke of the fire lighting cave art meant to dance with flickering flame. Taking on an animal guide and returning anew.

Track 2 "Dwarka" at its roots is a story about confrontation with otherworldly phenomena. There’s two personalities to it. At first the ominous impending arrival and, the character coming to grips with what he’s witnessed. The nature of the main riff reflects the enormity of space, and what might be out there. I feel like the energy of the song mirrors how the witness felt, getting heavier as the night becomes more harrowing.

Track 3 "Observer" bridges my love of Eastern music like Ravi Shankar and Baris Manco with metal accents. It’s the journey your mind can take through meditation, simply focusing on your breath and how it can lead to intensity. Mainly one riff building and transforming over the course of Observer. The lyrics are a recording of Sri Swami Satchidananda leading Hatha Yoga, an important teacher for me.

Track 4 "Battle for Harmonic Balance" is centered around the ancient mystery schools of the left and right Eye of Horus. Invoking themes of renewal like the Akhet, a Sun rising between two mountains. Heaviness from the beginning reflecting the weight of importance Egypt holds to me, being a cornerstone of our past. The riff deconstructs towards the end, aligning the song like the Sphinx during the Equinox. Facing East to summon the Sun once more. "Halls of Amenti" is the realm of the Gods, where the Sun goes at night. An ethereal ceremony exchanging distortion and drums for the hypnotic beat of a Shaker and deep Bass guitar.

Track 5 The reprise to "Evocation" is a continuation of the Shaman’s trek across the razor’s edge. With this offering without lyrics we convey the obstacles, lulls, and successful return starting with the similar ritual beginning as its first chapter. This is followed by a call and response conversation between drums and bass guitar. Floating in the ether until finding his way alongside the totemic animal guide culminating at the end, returning to body like the tide returns out to Sea.

Follow The Band

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#D&S Interviews #Breath #Portland #Oregon #doom #meditative #metal #doom metal #meditative doom #interview #Desert Records #Doomed and Stoned

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writing-the-end · 4 years

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WS Chapter 48- Spy

Previous Chapter

Masterpost

Oh dear oh dear Ecto found herself in some trouble now, hasn’t she? Whatever will happen to her? How will her friends help her escape? How will Avon manage to wake up Red? This chapter is both funny and heartwarming, even just writing it!

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland

Ecto belong to @cooler-cactus-block

Selene belongs to @to-dem-stars

Warning: Lots of foul language. Selene has quite the tongue.

“Wake the fuck up!” Selene practically drops Red into the nearby pond, trying to get the sleeping kipling to wake up. But if she knows one thing about her lover, it’s that Red sleeps like the dead.

Selene gets a better response from Avon. Just one snap of a stick and she’s on her feet, hand already on her weapon. She rubs the sleep from her eyes, peering at Selene. “What are you- how’d you-”

“Help me wake my sweetheart up. I have some very important shit to tell you.” Selene nods to Red, now asleep and underwater. Her voice drips a sickly sweet tone, letting Avon know now is not the time to mess with the sorceress. Not even the cold was able to get a rise from Red.

“You get up Ecto then.” Avon groans, pulling off her boots and wading into the water.

“That’s part of ‘important shit’.” Avon looks over at Selene, unmoving with her hands clasped behind her back. The two both look across the dying fire, grass still parted where Avon last saw Ecto lay down. Empty of the desert buffoon. Avon hurries, pulling Red up to the shallows and trying to wake her up. But the smallest wanderer is a deep sleeper, practically dead to the world until her body deems it morning.

“How do you wake him up?” Avon questions. “I’ve never had to deal with this- he’s awake by the time we’re moving on.”

Selene taps her finger on her chin, staring at Red. She only knows of two ways Red will wake up. Either when morning comes and the day wakes him, or… “Punch me.”

“What?” Avon’s face contorts with confusion, and a little bit of concern. How is attacking Selene going to help?

“Punch me in the face, dipshit!” Selene growls. She doesn’t have to wait long for Avon to respond. One minute she’s on her feet, the next her body and cape are sprawled in the grass, ears poking into the dirt.

And from behind Avon, Red’s sputtering awake. Splashing to his feet. “I sense bullshit!”

Selene rubs her jaw, a coy grin on her face as Red stumbles to her side. Avon isn’t really sure what she just witnessed- she just knows that it worked and Red is awake. “Selene, what did you come to tell us? Where’s Ecto?”

Red turns away from easing the pain of his girlfriend’s jaw, following the same path of confusion and realization when he sees Ecto’s spot empty. His voice comes out soft and broken. “Ecto?”

“I was in the nether, gathering information. I know where Ecto is.” Selene stands, watching Avon and Red’s faces process the information they were given. Piece together what she means.

“Ecto went to the nether?” Avon questions. She knew Ecto was impulsive, but not this impulsive.

“Ecto left us?” Red whimpers, crawling to the other side of the fire. Why’d she leave them? Does she not like hanging out? Or maybe...maybe it’s because of the arguments they were in. Because Red sided with Avon. She should’ve been smarter, tried to compromise. And now...Ecto left.

“Not only is she in the nether, but she’s been caught by the hellspawn army.” Selene rubs her neck, dumping out the empty potion bottles for the others to see. Invisibility potions, fire resistance, anything she needed to stay unseen. She felt like a ninja, or a spy. It was fun, until the stakes grew heavier.

“Army?” Avon catches on quick. “There’s more than those three?”

“Lots more. All with more weapons and training than just defending their strongholds and bastions. And a lot of obsidian. They’re preparing for an invasion.” Selene’s mood grows dark, shadows falling across her face as the sun becomes engulfed in clouds. “I lurked along corridors and training grounds...I watched as they trained with flaming blades and cut down forests that dared grow in their realm. Anything that wasn’t what they deemed normal, what they deemed okay was put to ruin.”

“Ecto…” Red’s voice stumbles to say her friend’s name. “Is Ecto okay?”

Selene sighs. “She’s alive, last I saw. I came here as soon as possible, to warn you.” Selene turns to Avon, waving her hand to catch the far off stare that the dragonheart has. “I saw the egg, as well. I don’t know what they plan to do with it, but it’s still unharmed.”

Avon stands, and Red notices the way her legs shake, the defensive fold of her friend’s wings. “We have to get Ecto back.”

“But Avon...you’re terrified of the nether.” Red points out. Even just standing here, Avon struggles to maintain the calm, collected, stoic nature she always exudes. Even the risk of losing Jeane’s only child wasn’t enough to get her to consider entering the hell dimension.

“I’m more terrified of losing our friend.” Avon whispers. She doesn’t like the nether. It’s hot, and one wrong step can dump an unsuspecting traveler into a sea of lava. Sand clings to the body, clings to the soul. Dragging them down and sapping away at their strength and resolve. Distant screams and howls of monsters that call this hell home are the only commentators to the red landscape. The feeling of being watched lingers no matter where one goes. For Avon, she felt trapped. The nether was roofed, a massive cavern of red soil, only illuminated by fire and a few patches of glowing stone. It was worse than any cave, because at least caves had an entrance, and she knew when she was underground. The nether has no way in, no way out unless with a portal, and at some points is large enough to be tricked into thinking it’s the open air. But it’s all a trick.

“We aren’t the wanderers without all three of us.” Red adds, remembering the name the Hermits called them.

“And that’s why they fear you three.” Selene sees that she’s caught the other two’s attention. “I heard them whispering. You are the only three willing to work together. Three completely different people, three completely different worlds. It’s dangerous. Too dangerous. You threaten to keep the balance they want to throw off.”

Avon and Red look at each other, and the space left between them. Where Ecto should be. They didn’t mean to do any of this, get caught up in this massive plot. It could easily have been any other person that resides in their expansive world. It’s all down to sheer chance, and luck. And being open to one another. “We’re getting Ecto back.”

“Are you two sure you can barge in and save Ecto?” Selene tilts her head, long black locks falling over her elongated ears. “There’s so many hellspawns, and just you two. And me.”

“This won’t be fighting.” Avon declares, much to Red’s relief. He was willing to do anything for Ecto, but he’s still no warrior. “We’ll have to be smart, playing to our strengths and their weaknesses.”

“I can brew some potions for you two. I also may have convinced much of the army that the fortress is haunted.” Selene’s smile turns sly, chin turning up with pride. “I’m sure we can use that to our advantage.”

“If I fly low, they won’t be able to spot me as much going under their bridges.” Avon flourishes her trident. “And Red, you’re small enough to slip by nearly undetected, get into places no one else could.”

“Like spies.” Selene points out. “This isn’t about dealing the most damage, about fighting. It’s about hitting them where it hurts most.”

“It’s about getting Ecto back.” Avon notices the purple haze, light bouncing off the trees. She follows the illumination, seeing the black frame and swirling rift between the trees.

“And the egg, if we can as well.” Red adds, reaching up and placing a hand on Avon’s shoulder. The three stand in front of the portal, feeling the electrified air around them. Watching purple embers spark off the tear between dimensions, wondering what is happening to Ecto on the other side. Is she hurt? Scared? What possessed her to go in alone? Was she hoping it was only the three? Was she looking for more information?

Or was Ecto tired of being held back by the other wanderers? Was it one too many jokes too far, one too many fights? Perhaps...perhaps Ecto didn’t really want to be their friend, but was rather dragged into this. Was only along for the ride because she couldn’t say no. She didn’t like the others, she just wanted to be left alone. Without the other two pestering her.

No matter what, Avon and Red weren’t leaving Ecto behind. No matter who messed with their friend, they’d stand up for her. Be at her side, even if she didn’t want them. They were willing to face their fears, stand up to their enemies for her.

Selene steps through first. Calm and collected, even in the other dimension. Red climbs in next, holding her breath and stumbling into the portal. From her backpack, the gilded totem’s eyes glint it’s emerald gems, catching the fiery illumination from the other side before disappearing within. Avon hesitates, alone at the portal’s cusp. At the mouth to hell. But she steels herself to the fear, reminding herself that she’s a protector. Especially to her friends, the people she loves and cares about. She would face any fear, any enemy for them.

The final wanderer steps through the portal.

#wandering stars #red #ecto #avon #selene #minesona #mcsona #minecraft persona #minecraft #mineblr #writing

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mike5579-t3a · 4 years

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Frozen 2, "The Crucible."

Before going to see Frozen for the third time, I read "Attatchment Styles Of Frozen 2" from belchthefrog here on Tumblr. Link in the quotes. So I went to see Frozen 2 again, and see a little closer from the point of the shipwreck to the reunion of Anna and Elsa. The whole of F2 I mentioned in my Open Letter post i called "The Crucible."

The first definition of "crucible" is obvious "a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures." But in this writing we're using it as the second definition "a situation of severe trial, or in which different elements interact, leading to the creation of something new."

Starting at the moment where this took place:

Elsa couldn't take seeing

this site anymore, blaming herself for their parents' deaths. Anna explained how Elsa was a blessing, a gift for the life-saving actions of Iduna saving Agnarr, who at the time, was the enemy. And that out of the love Agnarr and Iduna had for Elsa, they took the trip and the risk to help Elsa (and in a way, Anna as well.)

I'm going to stop here for a minute and do a quick skim on where Elsa and Anna's issues lie.

Elsa;

She is emotionally distant, and despite being closer to Anna

still rejects intimate relationships by keeping them a “safe” distance away or at arms length.

A "lone wolf," one who would rather "go it alone" than have a partner. She loves Anna, but would rather not have her there dependent on Elsa.

A cool cucumber, stoic, longer fused on her temper before she has to explode. Also can be a bit bullheaded.

Keeps emotions to herself rather than let them out in deed or talking about them.

Anna;

Clingy to Elsa. The separation from her for 13 years plus the deaths of their parents caused Anna to find relationships plus loving a man who turned out to be a skunk (Hans) all because Elsa kept her away in fear. After the thaw, Anna kept too close to Elsa in fear of losing her or being rejected once again.

Her emotions are worn on her sleeves. Elsa is an introvert. Anna is an extrovert.

Anna wants to blame Elsa for her distance, she has done so since they were young.

She is unaware that sometimes she may push her away with her own expectations.

Terrified of being alone, and places the expectation of Elsa always being there for her as she is always there for Elsa.

Overly sensitive to Elsa's moods and decisions, even when the danger is manageable for Elsa, yet it's beyond Anna's paygrade. (Running into fire)

Armed with the answers from the shipwreck, Elsa decides that she has to go to Ahtohallan alone. And of course, Anna objects. After a heartfelt 3-way group hug with Olaf, Elsa makes the ice canoe and shoves it with a pissed off Anna and Olaf down the ice path. River, sleeping stone giants, cave, falls, and more cave, Anna and Olaf are on their way.

Meanwhile, Elsa is at the Dark Sea. Strips down to the basics to get to Ahtohallan. Meets, fights and wins the respect of The Nokk, then rides him to Ahtohallan's "front door." Speed ahead to where Elsa has transformed and is seeing all of the past memories until reaching her Grandfather, King Runeard. Happiness turns to disgust and frustration, hearing how he distrusts the Northuldrans and the magic they have, seeing it as only a threat to his power. Fear and hate have overrun his thinking. Elsa follows him into the edge to see his evil plans. Then she does the "too deep" dive, starts to freeze. Witnesses the cold-blooded murder of the Northuldran leader (chief). Elsa is freezing to death, but before she does, she sends a magical signal to Anna. Then is frozen.

Anna and Olaf are in the cave. They receive the message from Elsa. Then Olaf degrades away, Elsa's power is gone. Olaf, gone. Elsa, feared to be dead. Kristoff, MIA. Anna is alone, her biggest fear is now real, and she is in full grief, the lowest point in this positive woman's life. Frozen in grief and fear.

The Crucible Anna and Elsa are in is at full intensity.

Anna is that way for seemingly overnight. The morning light shows the cave. Anna pulls herself up to "do the next right thing." And the next sequence of events is her leading the earth giants, Kristoff. Lt. Mattias and his troops into destroying the dam that has caused the land to be cursed with the mist. Once destroyed, Elsa thaws to life, but falls through the ice floor to the sea, with The Nokk getting her to ride lightning fast to stop the flood, saving Arendelle. Elsa the races back to Northauldra, to show Anna that she's alive, well and transformed into her full destiny, and that they both are the bridge, the 5th spirit. But more importantly, The crucible of this adventure has burned off a lot of the faults listed.

Quotes from linked posting and follow up;

"For Elsa to overcome her insecurities, she had to listen to a voice outside of herself. She had to learn to trust and follow something outside of herself. In doing so, she realized how much she needs Anna. That she can’t live in complete isolation, and that she does need other people: specifically her sister."

Not only that, since she is living in the Northauldran country, she has new friends in Yelena, Honeymaren and Ryder she can count on and confide in as close friends when Anna is not there.

"For Anna to overcome her insecurities, she had to listen to a voice inside herself. Once Olaf had faded away and she assumed Elsa was as good as dead, Anna had to learn to trust and follow something inside herself. In doing so, she realized that she does not have to be so dependent on Elsa. That she is her own person, and that she can’t live in complete dependency of another person. She needs to give people appropriate space and boundaries, and know that people still love her: specifically her sister."

And sometimes, trusting in something bigger than herself (like God) when you run out of inner strength. Still though, knowing that you can "stand on your own two feet" without having to depend on sis all the time, is very empowering. And knowing that Elsa will still love her and be there, no matter what, is reassuring, even though Anna knows that she is good to go when everything comes down to her. And that everyone around her, even Elsa, needs space. Yeah, game night fridays! But, you know, Anna, change it up a little. Maybe no charades for a while. Maybe a few rounds of cards, a bull session with sis over tea, etc...

In the end, the crucible of Frozen 2 has sucessfully burned off the dross and impurities that could poison this relationship between Elsa and Anna, and has tempered thier bond as the bridge, loving sisters and BFF's to a new level of strength. It will be interesting to see where my fanfic and fan art friends here, plus Jennifer Lee and WDAS take these two from here on. They have grown into two fine, young, mature women, ready for any challenge.

#frozen2 #frozen #anna frozen #queen anna #queen anna of arendelle #snow sisters #snow queen elsa #into the unknown #the next right thing #show yourself

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missnmikaelson-main · 4 years

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The Forgotten - Chapter 20

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19

Elena paced the narrow space between the bed and the dresser. The cave house screamed luxury, but in terms of size it was a hovel in comparison the New Orleans home they had first shared.

She preferred it; he was only a handful of steps away.

She hooked her finger under her locket chain, pulling it from left to right.

She dropped it and slipped into the bathroom.

Through the steam she spotted the gleaming vanity and his watch.

The shower door slid open just enough for him to poke his head out.

"Did you change your mind, darling?” His eyes flickered down her pyjamas. "Decide to join me?"

"No," she shook her head, hopping up on the counter, “but I did change my mind. I want to know; I know I said I didn't want to know, but now I want to know."

"You came in here to discuss my ex?"

"I don't want the sordid details,” she rested her shoulders against the mirror and crossed her arms. "I do want information on her though, and aside from the witches you are the only one alive who can tell me anything."

He closed the shower door to rinse the shampoo out. The sordid details were part of what made Ariadne who she was.

"Are you truly considering doing this?" He turned his face toward the spray. "Killing someone?"

"You don't think I'm capable?" She frowned at the glass.

"I think you were hesitant to use the Devil's Star," he shut off the water.

"I still haven't, but,” she met his eyes when he stepped out, "I have traded one life to save another, and to preserve an innocent life I will do so again. Towel?" She held out her hand and he took the towel from where it dangled from her finger. "How old is she?"

"I turned her in the fourteenth century," he wrapped the towel around his hips, "and before you can ask, no, you can't take her. She is too old and too strong; you got a shot in because you surprised her."

"My bone breaking spell helped,” she smirked.

"I thought I heard her ribs crack." He snickered, placing his hands on her knees and curling his fingers around the sensitive skin behind. "That spell is the reason you won't get near her; she knows you're different."

"Then what is she? How am I going to get close?"

"I suppose I should tell you everything,” he rubbed the back of his neck. "She wasn't always like that. She was a witch, and I happened to enjoy her company."

"I bet you did,” her lip curled.

"Aw, don't be jealous, my love,” he tugged the lace edge of her shorts, "it was just a fling."

She glared and fought back a smile. "Neither you or Rebekah are funny."

"Agree to disagree,” he chuckled. "Her feelings ran deeper than mine; it’s how we learned to never turn someone who cares for us. I still don't know how Finn got around it; perhaps if he had been awake I'd have handled the situation better."

"Why is it a bad idea? You mentioned sire bonds. What are they?”

"Because the sired vampire becomes just that,” he sighed, closing his eyes. "After I turned her she took me to her coven, and this coven happened to worship an immortal condemned to eternal slumber. They said if he awoke he would unleash hell on earth, and they wanted to wake him because he would grant them power beyond imagining. I happened to like the earth the way it was."

"Is this the 'we slaughtered a coven and revelled in the blood story'?" She leaned forward, hooking her ankles behind his back.

"You know I hold witches in high regard,” he ran his knuckles down her cheek. "They make for the greatest allies and the worst enemies, and unless they pose a real threat I never harm them. These ones, though...” he sighed. "They had to die."

"I vented that night to Ariadne: 'Silas could never be allowed to rise' and 'every last witch in the coven needed to die’. I didn't mean it literally, but it didn't matter because she was sired to me."

His eyes glazed over as he gazed into the past. Her voice dragged him back.

"What happened?" She lifted her hands, cradling either side of his face. "Please tell me, or show me. Just don't shut me out, okay?"

He frowned and rubbed the dimple in her left knee. Centuries, countless languages later, and he still had no words to describe the carnage.

"Another Original,” he mused, "I'm not sure I could show you."

"All you have to do is let me in,” she searched his eyes; only closing her eyes when he nodded.

He took a deep breath and lowered his forehead to hers; a second later he felt her presence in his mind and summoned the memory.

Elena gasped, but didn't pull away as she saw the world through his eyes.

She stepped over an older man, barely noticing the dainty bite on his neck. The second body was the one that gave her pause. A wet rock rolled against his/her foot, and it took an embarrassingly long moment before she registered that it was a small heart; the compact body was that of a child younger than five. There were more bodies the further they went, some old, some young and a few barely out of the cradle.

Finally, after Elena lost count of the bodies, they found Ariadne soaked in blood and draining the life from a boy who could have been her brother; she grinned at them.

Elena pulled out of his head, blinking fast to adjust to the bathroom light. She felt his thumbs swipe away her tear tracks.

"I finished off what remained of the coven, but she wasn't the same after. I had unwittingly ordered her to kill the coven she had grown up in: brothers, sisters, cousins... children she helped raise and because she was sired to me she had no choice but to do it. Between the trauma and the euphoria of witches' blood she went a little crazy, and apparently developed a taste for it."

“You left her, didn't you?” Elena cleared her throat.

"I tried. She followed me here to Santorini,” he rubbed her shoulder absentmindedly; “eventually our indiscretions drew my father's attention. I knew my patterns, I knew she could never be reigned in, and I do know that I should have put her down."

"Why didn't you?” Elena chewed her bottom lip.

"Pity,” he met her eyes, "maybe a little guilt. I was young, darling. I didn't know what to do so I told her not to follow me because it was dangerous. It was my misguided attempt to spare her feelings. I thought eventually she would move on."

"And yet," she murmured, lowering her eyes to his chest. She drummed her fingers over his heart for a moment before speaking again. "According to the coven she's been plaguing them for centuries. Something tells me she's too smart to fall for a trap."

"You know," he thought of Ariadne, “a good trap is made or broken by the choice of bait."

++++

Locating Ariadne proved remarkably easy. The amulet she had worn since long before he ended her life dangled on the chain he had wound around his palm

The perfect personal effect led him to a patio on the side of the hill.

He looked to the left where the sunset stained sea and sky. He looked to the right where the walls glowed orange. Finally he looked forward.

She sat alone at a narrow table for two next to the railing; blood red nails traced the stem of her wine glass.

He couldn't have set the scene better if he'd tried.

Two months ago the whole thing would have been done in moments.

Now he needed to be smarter. He waited until she checked her phone before he stood behind her back and bent, whispering against her ear.

"So sorry to keep you waiting, darling."

She inhaled slowly, lowering her phone to the table.

"What are you doing here?” She watched from the corner of her eye as he circled around, dragging his finger along her shoulder as he went.

"I thought that was obvious,” he counted three couples in earshot and four more in his line of sight. He dropped into the opposite chair. "I'm here for you."

"Are you kidding me?" She scoffed. "You left me five hundred and eighty-two years ago."

"Actually it was five hundred and eighty-two years, six months and twenty-three agonizing days," he held her gaze as the table vibrated.

"Do you really expect me to believe you were pining," hope flashed in her eyes, "after your little freak show of a girlfriend broke my bones, and you did nothing to stop her? I saw the way you were looking at that holier-than-thou bitch.” She crossed her arms and glanced around the room. "Where is she anyway? Waiting in the wings to magically break my bones?"

"Are you jealous of her magic, or of her?" He reached across the table for her hands, pulling them from her chest. "You don't need to worry about her."

"You looked at her like you'd been wandering in the dark all your life until she brought light into it."

He blinked, but quickly recovered from being stunned by the accuracy of the statement.

"She was nothing more than a replacement for you."

He rubbed the back of her knuckles with his thumb and hoped she didn't hear the way his heart jumped. "Why don't we go somewhere more private and discuss it? We could find the girl she saved and share a drink."

He stood and drew her to her feet, cooking an eyebrow and adopting sincerity. Vulnerability flashed in her eyes and he knew he was close.

They made it to the street before she spoke up.

"You left me,” she slowed her steps.

He could see the deserted alley beyond several dozen bodies. Too far away, not even the dropping darkness would help him get there without being noticed.

"You know I had no choice,” he lifted her hand to kiss. “Mikael was coming. I didn't want you caught up in my family drama; away from me you were safe."

"You never came back," she walked in step with him.

"I'm back now."

She spun, planting her hands on her hips. "Why now?"

He placed his hands on her waist and walked her into the alley, pushing her back against the cooling stone.

No sign of Elena.

"Mikael is dead," he stared down into her eyes. "It's safe for us now."

She chewed her lip. "What about her?"

"What about who?" He lowered his face until he felt her breath. Standing that close he couldn't make out her features beyond dark lashes. "I missed you," he dragged his mouth to her ear and whispered in a husky voice, "let me show you how much."

He felt the shudder race down her spine.

++++

"Out on your own...” Elena tipped her head back and sighed. "He's tired of you already."

"Go away Stavros," she ignored him.

"I'd never leave you," he followed.

Elena made a mental note to find the bastard who said ignoring your tormentors worked and rip him or her a few new holes.

The liar deserved it.

"You can't take a hint, can you?" She scoffed.

"You said you were with someone, but now you’re free."

He grasped her wrist, and yanked her into the nearest alley, pressing her into the wall.

"Do you have that short of a memory?” She glared up at him.

"No,” he smirked, "but I have excellent hearing. I don't have to worry about Kol Mikaelson any more since by his own admission you are nothing to him."

The words stung regardless of the situation.

"You're nothing to me,” she glared, shoving him. "Let go of me."

"I don't think so," he smirked.

"I'm warning you –”

He slapped his hand over her mouth.

"I'm warning you," he tapped her cheeks. “Let's call it a lesson in respecting your elders."

She shoved him, earning little more than a dark chuckle and a hand dangerously close to her breast.

She closed her eyes.

"Giving up so soo-"

A flick of her wrist, a snap of bone, and he dropped at her feet.

Opening her eyes, she glared at the man responsible for her tardiness. How many other women had he taught his 'lesson' to?

She dropped to her knees.

There would never be another.

++++

"What about that drink?” Ariadne's breath hitched. She tilted her head in the hopes that he would take the invitation.

"Later," he dipped, kissing the hollow of her throat. The wind shifted and he spun her around before she could catch the scent.

Ariadne giggled, and reached one hand behind to hold his neck.

"So how much did you miss me?"

"Such a skilled liar,” a feminine voice drifted on the wind. "I'll have to check later for a silver tongue."

Her eyes snapped open. Panic gripped her chest.

"What is this?” Her eyes narrowed, but before she could turn Kol sank his teeth into her neck. The scream bubbled in her throat.

Elena shoved her hand into the older vampire's chest, meeting her wide eyes as she squeezed the heart.

"Shame you believed him,” she tore her hand back, dropping the heart as he dropped the body.

"Darling," he nodded to her left hand, covered in blood, "who was that?"

"Stavros," she snapped. "Thanks to him I now know part of what you said to get her out here."

She grabbed his shirt, yanking him down and kissing him hard, licking the blood from his mouth. She broke away, breathing heavily.

"If you ever come up with a plan like this one again, I will scratch your eyes out."

"But then how would I see your beautiful face?"

"Kol,” she growled.

"You're adorable when you're jealous,” he grinned. "Come on, my love, lets get our information and then we can engage in purely possessive activities."

++++

She dropped the body in an unceremonious heap, taking no pleasure in the thump of dead weight on stone, but there may have been a tiny surge of pride, especially when the second body dropped alongside the first, but she was not about to let them see it.

She had no desire to give them a second vampire problem.

"Ariadne Sagona," she met Agatha's dark eyes, "as agreed; and a little something extra." Elena just held in the urge to kick the dead man in the ribs, but no amount of self-control could have stopped her lip from curling.

"And what was Stavros' crime?"

Elena's eyes flickered to a middle aged woman who she thought was named Sybil, but she couldn't be sure; there had been too many names that she didn't care to remember.

"He got a little handsy,” she lifted her blood covered left hand, “so I returned the favour." She felt Kol stiffen.

"He put his hands on you? He put his hands on you after I warned him?” Rage flashed in his eyes.

“I had it handled," she twisted just enough to see his face. “He really should have specified which organ he wanted me to squeeze."

She returned her attention to Agatha. "I've upheld my end of the bargain, now it's your turn. What do you know about the Harvest?"

Agatha inspected the body between them, kneeling to scrutinize the gaping hole in her chest.

"It's a sacred ritual where we give back to the ancestors an offering of blood."

"I know that part,” she rolled her eyes. "You sacrifice four witches and their magic flows into the earth. I want to know if they come back. I want to know if there is a way to stop the abundance of magic from killing the last girl."

"There is no stopping that which is begun,” Agatha's brows drew together. "Once it has started it must –"

"Be finished,” Elena waved her hand, dismissing the words she already knew, “or else the ancestors will shun the living and the magic will destroy the coven. Does it at least work?"

She didn't want to sacrifice a girl to save the city, but if it came down to one life for millions she knew the choice she would make; no matter how painful.

"You must have faith,” Agatha murmured.

"I'd rather have knowledge,” she growled.

Agatha slowly rose to her feet.

"The only person who could tell you is someone who lived through a Harvest, and the only person who saw one is laid out for viewing,” she motioned to the floor.

Elena froze. Her vision tunneled until all she saw was Ariadne surrounded in a haze of red. Her voice twisted, morphing into sounds she barely recognized as her own.

"What?"

Kol placed his hand on the small of her back.

'You knew what I wanted," she seethed. Electricity crackled over her skin. "You lied to me!"

A lightbulb surged, exploding in a shower of paper thin glass, but only Kol knew the source.

Agatha pulled a piece of glass from her palm, frowning up at the empty socket.

"I promised you information for Ariadne's death, and I have delivered on my end. Now you must leave,” she pointed to the exit, "we have rituals to prepare."

Elena's eyes narrowed to slits and flooded with blood. She knocked away Kol's hand with all of the strength she would have used to swat at a fly and lunged.

Kol might have stopped her if the act hadn't stunned him.

As it happened he could only watch Elena bite and rip, and listen to the horrified screams. Constantine tried a spell, but the beginning of the incantation broke Kol from his reverie.

He yanked Constantine's head to the left, and sank his teeth into his neck. It took seconds to drain him, but in that short time Elena had slaughtered every witch in attendance and torn Agatha apart.

She had taken out the final three elders, and that brought a smile to his face, but he worried she would regret the actions later. Then he saw her face and second guessed himself.

A near euphoric light shone from her eyes, made even brighter by her giddy smile.

Drenched in the blood of those who had wronged her she was magnificent, so when she kissed him he didn't fight it.

When she pawed at his clothes he sped them to the house.

When they cracked the walls he pushed her down on the dining table.

When various pieces of furniture laid in blood stained ruins he took her to bed.

And when the full moon was gone and sun woke them, when she saw the blood, when their high had passed he held her trembling body.

"What did I do?” She sobbed, clinging to his chest. She saw them behind her eyes, all three of them. Would she have killed more?

"What did I do?" Would she have stopped if the teenager had been there? Could she have? "I k-k-killed them."

He rubbed one hand down her spine, used the other to lift her chin and kissed the tears from her face.

"They played you – played us – for fools, Elena," he rubbed his thumb under her eye. "They used us, and in my opinion deserved worse than they got."

Tears shimmered in her eyes, threatening to fall.

Kol sighed and sat up, pulling her with him and idly wondering when and how the blood had smeared on her stomach.

"Ask yourself this," he used his fingertip to turn her face from where they had smeared a K and E on the once pristine wall. “If I had killed them all, would you be upset?"

"Of course not," she sniffled. "You wouldn't have without a reason."

"Exactly,” he smiled softly, and kissed her brow.

@elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall @xanderling @cry-btch @kol-and-elena-fanfiction @geekofmanyfandoms

#kol mikaelson #elena gilbert #kolena #The Forgotten Fanfic

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girls-scenarios · 4 years

Text

A Light in the Dark

Idol: Lee Sem (9Muses)

Prompt: can i please request a scenario with lee sem from 9muses and fem reader where they are in a bird box type au where they can’t see each other but end up falling for each other ? u can make the end angsty if u want 🥺 thank u in advance !

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: I always love when I get to write for groups I don’t usually get to write for, and this is a super interesting prompt on top of that! I doubt it’ll get many notes because people tend to skip idols they don’t know, but I worked really hard on it and I hope those of you who read enjoy!😊 P.S I’m using her real name Hyunjoo for this!

Warnings: This is a Bird Box au, so obviously there’s going to be mentions of death and suicide. I tried not to write anything too graphic, but it’s an integral part of the story so it’s there.

♡ Tip Jar♡

Time passed differently when the whole world was dark and dead. Hyunjoo wasn’t sure exactly how long it had been since she put that black blindfold on, locking herself into a endless sea of darkness, but it had been long enough that she’d all but forgotten how light or the blue sky looked. All she knew was black cotton. But maybe that was a good thing. Nothing in the world was worth looking at anymore. She didn’t have to see the corpses littering the streets or the bloody scabs on her throbbing feet from miles upon miles of endless walking. It was hard enough to feel those things: not seeing saved her from the pain of reality, just a little bit. It kept her safe in more ways than one.

Plus, she had her own light.

It wasn’t long after she joined up with a group of survivors that they found you. Had it not been for Sehun’s dog Vivi, they might have missed you completely. You were cowering in the corner of a local grocery store in a recently-afflicted town, shaking with your hands pressed tightly over your eyes, not making a sound until Vivi ran to your side and began to bark.

At the loud sound, you’d started to cry, body weakly slumping against one of the shelves. Sera, the leader of the group, slowly made her way over as Sehun picked Vivi up, listening closely. Your sobs were much louder than the crunch of glass under their feet.

“Is that... a person?” Sera asked softly, her hand brushing against the shelves. “If you’re there.... You can talk to us. I know it’s been scary. But we can help.”

You cried a moment longer, and the sound broke Hyunjoo’s heart as she crept up behind Sera. She’d gotten used to being blind by now, and could tell about how far away you were from the sound of your cries, although she could not see you. “What’s your name?” She asked gently, not wanting to startle you any more.

“I-I’m (Y/N),” you said finally, your voice hoarse. Hyunjoo guessed that you’d probably been hiding in the store for days without food or water, too afraid to move your hands away from your eyes. “How did you all get away? F-from that thing?”

“Luck,” Sera said bluntly. “We managed to cover our eyes in time and find each other. Are you covering your eyes?”

“Yes. But I can’t do anything or I’ll have to bring my hands away from my eyes.”

“I have an extra blindfold,” offered Seolhyun, another member of the group, shuffling through her bag. “Just give me a second to get over there and find you.” She was new to not seeing the world, and immediately tripped as she got close to the corner, barely catching herself on another shelf.

“I’ll take it,” Hyunjoo offered, finding her easy enough with her stick. Seolhyun quickly handed it over. The trick to seeing with your senses, Hyunjoo had learned, was concentration. She moved forward slowly, her hand running along the shelf she knew you were sitting by until your breathing became loud. Then she crouched down and moved her hand in front of her until it hit your shoulder, causing you to jump. “It’s just me,” she said, palming the blindfold and running her hand up your neck to your face. “Bring your hands down but keep your eyes closed, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, and obeyed. After finding your eyes, she quickly tied the blindfold tight around your head.

“Does that feel right?” She asked, moving back. She could hear fabric moving in front of her, and figured that it must be you fixing the cloth.

“Yeah. Now it does. Can I open my eyes?”

“Yeah.”

You inhaled a deep breath as Hyunjoo stood up, listening closely. Then you let out a sigh, broken by a half-sob. “It’s just darkness. It’s awful.”

“You’ll get used to it,” she said, and reached down to grab your hand. “I’ll help you up. How long is it since you had water or food?”

Your grasp was weak, and it worried her as she helped you to your unsteady feet. “I-I don’t know. I had a soda that I was drinking with my eyes closed, but it ran out and I was too scared too move. I had a granola bar, too, after it first happened.”

“How long ago did it happen?” Sera asked. Hyunjoo knew why she was asking: they were trying to outrace the monsters to figure out a pattern. There never seemed to be any pattern or any sliver of hope, but they tried.

“I think three or four days ago? I’m not sure.... I think I passed out at some point, honestly.” You shuddered in Hyunjoo’s arms and she bit her lip, worried. You were cold and weak. You wouldn’t survive long like this.

“We’ll get some food and water in you. That’s why we’re here anyway. Once we have all the supplies we can find, we’ll move on.” She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of you walking such long distances in the state you were in, but they had no choice but to move on. Staying in one space for too long was dangerous. Especially a place already attacked. “Do you know if anyone else is alive?”

Immediately, you began to cry again, leaning into Hyunjoo’s shoulder. She held you a bit tighter as the sobs wrecked your body, her heart hurting. The room stayed silent as you cried: they all knew the pain you were feeling. “J-just me,” you finally managed to get out, hiccuping and sucking in breath. “M-my family, they all....”

Hyunjoo was so glad that you couldn’t see. Just from moving through the store, she knew the damage. Her stomach twisted as she rubbed your back, trying to comfort you even though she knew nothing she could do would really help. “You don’t have to say it,” she assured you. “Come on, let’s get something for you to eat.” She helped you out of your hiding spot, guiding you the best she could while being blind herself. No matter how many times your legs gave out or you tripped, she held you up, and made a promise to herself.

She was going to take care of you, no matter what. She wanted you to live.

It was a while before you learned how to walk blind. For the first few weeks, Hyunjoo helped you walk, supporting most of your weight with your arm around her shoulders. You stumbled often, both from weakness and from not being able to see. Hyunjoo tried her best to warn you of anything in front of you, swinging her stick an extra length in your path, but you usually ended up tripping anyway. When the group was resting, you got around by crawling on your hands and knees. But you didn’t leave her side very often.

She shared everything with you: her food, her water, her blanket, and even her jacket, wrapping her arms around you as the temperatures dropped until they were able to salvage more coats. She often slept by your side, waiting until you drifted off despite the threat to her life. She’d given you her earplugs, leaving herself open to hear the voices that often came with nightfall. The voices were nothing new to her, though, and she’d learned to block them out. You had needed them more.

One night, she awoke to your voice. At first, she thought it was the creature, and stayed silent, not moving. But then you softly called her name again, and tugged at her sleeve. “Hyunjoo?”

“Yes, (Y/N)?”

“I’m cold. And scared.” The group had camped up against the mouth of a cave for the night. It was shelter from the nightly rains, but the ground was still cold, and your clothes were still wet from the previous day. It was a miserable night. Shivering, Hyunjoo rolled over and wrapped her arms around you, holding you tight.

“I know,” she said, whispering so that she wouldn’t wake the others or attract attention. “I’m right here.”

You snuggled into her, burying your face into her shoulder. It had become almost a habit for you, ever since you’d left the store in her arms. “Do you think it’ll warm up soon?”

“I hope so. But I don’t know. We’re heading south so we should be hitting a warmer climate soon.”

“I hope so.” You paused for a moment and your breathing evened. For a moment, she thought you might have fallen asleep. Then you shifted in her arms. “Why are you so nice to me?”

The question struck her in the heart. Your voice was broken, raspy from your new cold, and she held you closer, willing the chill to go away. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You don’t know me. Not really. We’ve never even seen each other.”

“You don’t have to see someone to know them, (Y/N).” She ran her fingers through your hair slowly. “But I guess to answer your question, I’m nice to you because I care about you. I’ve been drawn to you ever since I met you in that store.”

“Is it because you pity me?”

“Maybe back then. But it’s also because I see myself in you.”

You paused. “You do?”

“Yep. I also lost everything and everyone I loved. I sat in my house for days on end with my eyes covered, shaking and lost, until I had to leave for my own survival. I had to learn how to survive even though it was hard. When I saw you there, I understood what you were going through. I wanted to help you, because I wanted to make things a litter easier for you. The more I get to know you, though, the more I like you. You’re a good person, (Y/N). I think you’re the first person to make me smile in a long time.”

“Oh.” You were silent for another long moment. “I like you too, Hyunjoo. Thank you. For everything.” You snuggled in closer, getting comfortable, and she took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

You helped her a lot more than you knew. You gave her a purpose again.

Eventually, you got used to living on the run. You still cried often, curling into Hyunjoo’s side, but you tripped less and learned how to navigate this new world. Still, the moment they found a safe house, Hyunjoo was relieved.

Abandoned houses were nothing new. Almost every house was now abandoned or boarded up with no hope of anyone allowing anyone else inside. She didn’t blame those people: she’d heard about the followers of the creature too. This house, though.... It was different. It had been abandoned long before the creature, but most importantly, Vivi liked it.

Typically, the growing would start as soon as a door was opened, signalling that the place was unsafe. But with this house, Vivi did not growl. She didn’t even bark. Instead, as the group slowly explored with their hands, she wagged her tail, hitting Sehun’s leg.

“There’s no creatures here,” he said, confident, sitting down against one of the walls and petting Vivi’s head. “Just us.”

“How can we be so sure?” Sera’s voice rang through the large empty space.

“Because Vivi is never wrong. She knows what she sees. And she doesn’t see anything but the people she trusts here.”

The group shuffled towards Sehun, gathering together. With a sigh, Sera ran her thin fingers through her hair. “We do need somewhere to stay. But I’m not very keen on the idea of taking our blindfolds off.”

“Why?” You asked, and Hyunjoo flinched. She knew what was coming.

“Because you never know when that thing will get in.” Sera’s tone of voice changed, bitterness seeping through with every word. “Or who might get in with that thing behind them. I trusted a place enough to take off my blindfold once, only to watch my entire group be murdered by a maniac who had pretended to be one of us. He forced their eyes open and laughed at our panic. Some of us escaped, but we were forced to leave our blindfolds behind.” Her voice lowered. “I was the only one who made it. I got to cradle the dead body of my girlfriend in my arms after she accidentally opened her eyes, then used her own weapon to kill herself. That’s why I don’t like the idea of taking our blindfolds off.”

The room was silent, and Hyunjoo put her arm around you for support. She could feel you shaking.

“S-sorry,” you said, your head hanging. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.” Sera placed her bag on the ground with a loud “thud” and sighed once more. “I will say that I trust Vivi, though. I think we can stay here for a while. At least until the cold front ends. But no taking your blindfolds off. Is that clear?”

A chorus of yes’s answered her question. Minho, a large military man who had been the one to find Sera, cleared his throat. “We should find something to board the windows up with. The back windows are already boarded but it looks like the boards from the front windows fell away. I think I found some wood over in the corner where the kitchen is. The water still works, surprisingly, so we have a source of water now.”

“And there’s a fireplace,” Seolhyun added. “I tripped over it.”

“Great. Let’s get to work making this place warm and livable. Don’t get too comfortable, though. We could have to move at any moment.”

Hyunjoo had forgotten how nice it felt to be warm. Her new cough rattled her body, but sitting by the fire helped ward off the feeling of death in her lugs, so she stayed as close as she could without getting set on fire. You often joined her there, even as your own cold got better with the heat and drinking water, cuddling with her and helping her keep dry and hydrated. After all the time she spent looking after you, you were now looking after her.

“I wish we had medicine,” you said once, shaking your head as you leaned against her. “But we can’t read the labels, so we don’t know what they are.”

“You’re right. This has really made me realize how little the world cares about blindness. Almost everything requires sight.”

It was rare that the two of you were left alone. But one day, She awoke in front of the fire to you combing her hair, her head on your lap, and no other sounds in the house.

“Where did everyone go,” she asked with a rasp, listening closely for any sign of life. There was no one, other than you.

“They said not to wake you, but a lot of them went out to try and find supplies. They took Vivi with them. I think Seolhyun is still sleeping in the kitchen.”

“Oh. So it’s pretty much just us?”

“Yep.”

She laid there for a while, half asleep, letting you comb through her hair, before turning over to wrap her arm around your torso, nuzzling her nose into your stomach. You were warm now, cold gone, and she appreciated the quiet intimacy, happy to lay there forever and fight with the occasional cough as you took care of her.

“Hyunjoo?” Your voice was soft and affectionate, and she loved the sound of it.

“Hm?”

“I like you.”

She smiled a bit. “I would hope so.”

“No, not like that. Well, like that too, but also... I think I’m in love with you.”

Back in her normal life, a confession like that would have rocked her. But now, it just seemed right. As soon as you said it, she knew it was true, and she knew that the feelings she’d had for you had been love for a while now. Smiling widely, she reached up to touch your cheek, proud when you leaned into her touch instead of flinching away.

“I love you too, (Y/N).”

“Really?” She felt your cheek move under her hand, signalling that you were smiling. It made her heart swell with affection in her chest.

“Really.” She sat up slowly, ignoring the pain in her lungs, and positioned herself in front of you. Her other hand now came up to roam your face, taking in your features with her sensitive fingers. She ran them over your nose, over your cheekbones and your jaw, over your ears and your forehead, and pressed them against your blindfold, running her thumbs along the outline of your eyes. “I think your incredible,” she said, making you laugh.

“Was that your way of seeing me?” You sounded a little breathless, your face now much closer to hers.

“Yes. Why don’t you try?”

At her suggestion, you brought your hands up, tentatively touching her face and exploring her features. You moved slow, taking every part of her in and stopping over the scar on her cheek, touch even more gentle as you ran your finger over it. “What’s this from?”

“I fell,” she said, smiling at the memory. It hadn’t been funny then, but it was amusing looking back. She’d come so far since she first started out. “I was just as clumsy as you when I first escaped too.”

“Somehow I can’t imagine that.” You pressed your forehead against hers. “You’re just so perfect.”

“I’m not, but thank you.” She could feel your breath on her lips. “Can I kiss you?”

You let out a giggle, your hands landing on her shoulders as you pulled her in. “Please do.”

It felt good to kiss someone. To feel intimate with someone again. Her body had so craved that human interaction, and your lips brought light back into her life. More even than you had on your own. She kissed you until her lungs burned and her lips tingled and she had to pull away to cough, making you laugh.

“Lay down,” you said, lowering her back down into your lap. “You need to sleep.”

When she woke up again, it was to the sound of the group coming back into the house, and to the warmth of you laid down beside her, your head in her crook of her shoulder.

In the dead of the night months later, Hyunjoo awoke with a jolt. She lay still, controlling her breathing as she listened. What had woken her up? Everyone in the group was there. She could hear them breathing, some snoring, and you were by her side as you always were. Nothing had changed since she went to sleep. So what was it? Had it been some sound? An animal, maybe?

Somewhere near the door, Vivi shifted. She heard her nails scraping on the wood floor as something woke the dog. So she wasn’t alone. Something was happening.

Vivi had hardly gotten in a bark when something slammed into the door hard enough to splinter the hinges. Hyunjoo sat up, bringing you up with her as everyone else came awake as well, shuffling in their blankets and grabbing for their weapons. Vivi barked and growled and the door shuddered under some weight one again. Sera let out a gasp as Hyunjoo got to her feet, helping you up as well.

“That’s a human, we have to get out of here, we can’t-.”

The door splintered and broke open with a sickening crack, making you scream as both of you stumbled backwards. Laughter came from outside the door and Hyunjoo’s heart sank. That wasn’t the sound of one person. That was a group.

“We found you!” Said a man’s booming voice, and a woman laughed behind him.

“Don’t be scared! We’re only here to help you see!”

“Run!” At Sera’s words, the group scattered. Hyunjoo couldn’t see, but she knew where she’d been sleeping, and she knew how to get to the back door. With her own knife in hand, she grabbed you and pulled you away, running towards the door. Behind her, Seolhyun screamed and then the man screamed. Vivi let out a wail as she was kicked into the wall, and Sehun cursed. Hyunjoo didn’t look back.

She found the door just as it was flung open by someone outside.

“Hello. We have another door!” A woman, a different woman, said in a sing-song voice. Hyunjoo stepped back, moving you behind her as she tried to listen. The screams and chaos behind her make her stomach sick, but she had to listen in order to escape. Three people she did not know where now in the house, leaving one in front of her. With the door open, she could hear the sounds from outside, and yet she heard to footsteps. There was only one woman at this door.

“Hyunjoo,” you said, voice shaking, but Hyunjoo stood firm. The woman’s hands grabbed her shoulders and she pulled out the knife, stabbing forward with all her strength.

Her blade made impact and the woman gurgled, stumbling back. With a jerk, Hyunjoo withdrew her blade and shoved the woman to the side, pulling you out the door with her. The two of you ran a couple paced before she stopped and turned around, listening. The struggle inside had gotten worse, and she couldn’t hear anyone else outside. Usually she trusted her friends to fend for themselves, but panic boiled up in her throat and she gripped her knife.

“I need to go back in there and help.” Her heart was pounding, her entire body racing with adrenaline as she stepped forward, but you grabbed her arm, holding her back.

“You can’t go back in there, you might die!”

“But everyone else, I don’t think they’ll-!”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence. A blast of unbearable hot air shoved the two of you forward, sending you tumbling into the dead grass and dirt. The boom came seconds later, rocking the earth underneath your hands and feet. Then it was silent.

For a moment, she lay still in shock, trying to process what had happened. Nothing moved. Nothing made noise. The only sound was your hitched breathing, the crackle of a fire, and the pounding of her heart in her ears. Tears pricked at her eyes as she slowly pushed herself up from the ground, reality crashing down around her.

“T-they-.” She cut herself off, turning over so that she was facing the house. She still couldn’t see, but she could feel the heat of a huge fire dancing across her skin. “They’re all dead.” The tears began to stream down her face now as she sat in the dirt, the back of her neck burned and blood on her hands. The only family that she’d known for so long... gone. Everything was over in the matter of minutes. A sob wrecked her sore lungs and shook her entire body. Her friends. The people who had fought for so long to survive. It had all been for nothing.

“Oh, Hyunjoo.” You wrapped your arms around her as she sobbed, leaning her body forward into yours. The fire was so warm, yet she felt so cold. The world felt empty. You were crying too, your body shivering against hers and your tears dripping down onto her shoulders. As much as she wanted to hold you, she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t move as she sobbed more than she had in what felt like an eternity, letting out everything that she’d bottled up for so long.

“I-I could have saved them,” she sobbed, still clutching at the knife that now seemed useless. “I could have woken them up sooner, I could have fought back, I could-.”

“Hyunjoo!” You interrupted her, clearing your throat and holding back your tears for the moment. “It’s not your fault.”

“But I woke up before everyone else, I should have warned them then. Or I should have stayed behind to help them fight.”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeated. “You couldn’t have known. And had you stayed behind, we both would be dead right now. You saved our lives.”

“But I couldn’t save them.”

“You can’t save everyone, Hyunjoo.... Not in this world.”

She shuddered, leaning her entire weight into you and letting you support her. “I hate this world,” she whispered, heartbroken. For a moment, you were silent, but then you brought your hand up to run in through her hair, soothing the pain with your gentle hand.

“So do I,” you admitted, whispering in return. “But I don’t hate that I’m here with you.” You took a deep breath. “We need to start walking. This place isn’t safe anymore.”

“But what’s the point?” For the first time in her life, she didn’t have the energy. She wanted to lay down and give up. To succumb to the heat of the fire that had taken away those so precious to her. Her life was over. But you shook her by the shoulders, pulling away ever so slightly and jolting her back to reality. Shocked, she tilted her head up as you spoke.

“No, don’t say that! There’s a point to living! There’s always a point! Hyunjoo, I love you. I want to live on with you. When I wanted to give up, you came in and gave me a reason to live. You supported me through my worst times. You helped me become strong. You gave me a will to keep fighting even though I had lost everything.” Your voice wavered and you stopped to contain yourself before continuing. “You helped me, so now I’ll help you. I’ll support you. I’ll help you move forward when you’re too tired or hurt to continue. I’ll carry you if I have to. But please. My love. Keep living.”

Another tear ran down her face as she sat up. For a moment, she imagined that she could see your face. That she could see her light, with your smile she loved to run her fingers over. What did you look like now? Was there determination shining in your eyes? She took a deep breath and it rattled her lungs. She was sick, her gear had just been destroyed, and almost everyone she cared about was gone. You were still there, holding her up in her weakest moment, but she was scared.

“What if we just die, and it’s all for nothing?”

You paused for a long moment, just holding her, before standing to your feet and helping her up as well. When she was standing, you took her arm and cupped her cheek with your hand. Somehow, the fire had started to die down, and somewhere, the sun was rising.

“Well, if we die, then we die. I guess that’s fate and we can’t run from it forever. But if there is a way to live in this world, it’ll be worth living. I want to grow old with you, and I’m willing to fight for the chance to do that.”

#femifics #9muses #lee sem #leesem #9muses scenarios #lee sem scenarios #leesem scenarios #girl group scenarios #kpop scenario

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leggomylino · 5 years

Text

Emin | yandere!artist!chenle

Genre: yandere, a bit of fluff, angst, a bit of comedy (just to relieve some tension)

Pairing: yandere!artist!chenle x baroness!reader

Word count: ~10.3k

Warning(s): deep angst, dark thoughts, violence, possible character death

Song: Leia by Yuyoyuppe (feat. Megurine Luka; here’s a really pretty piano arrangement!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-Ooh0e-fvk c: )

A/N: Requests are open! | Masterlist in bio!! | thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it!!! <3 | P.s....I wanted to portray Chenle as more of a soft/confused yandere?? Still possessive but more...respectful? Innocent? I think that’s the word(s) I’m looking for? Like he’s really unsure how to handle it? Idk hopefully you’ll get what I was going for… ^^”

[2:42 pm]

You were his safety. His peace. And that’s why he refused to let you go.

You were a rainbow, and they were all colorblind. But not him. Never him; to him, you were all the colors of the spectrum and more, so much more, so much more that he simply couldn’t contain it all in his fragile, broken body.

So he painted. That’s how he’d gotten his start as an artist.

He painted religiously. Each day was something new, something vibrant, something alive, bursting with color and warmth and emotion; so many emotions. Some days were painful; others were like a breath of fresh air. But he didn’t care if it hurt. He didn’t mind that it was slowly consuming his sanity, filling up every square inch of canvas in his mind. Like a moth to a flame, he’d do it all over in a heartbeat. Like a sailor to a siren at sea, he’d keep coming back for more, over and over and over again.

And on days he’d lost sight of that focus, on nights he couldn’t sleep, his body wracked with pain from the debilitating illness that the clerics still had yet to find a cure for, he’d draw the person he wished he could be.

He was strong, and handsome, and focused. He wasn’t sick; he was healthy, and determined and dedicated and sophisticated. He was loyal and brave and loving and so charismatic, so charming, there was no way you couldn’t notice him. He was your world; just like you were his.

Even if it wasn’t real. Even if he had to paint it himself.

It was all he wanted. It was all he had.

And for now, it was enough.

“Chenle~ I’m heading out now!”

Chenle blinked to life, waking himself back into reality. Reluctantly.

He smiled to the woman walking into the room, her wine red dress skirts swaying with each step she took towards her precious baby boy. Her one and only son, now that his older brother had gone off to enlist in the war effort.

“Okay, Mom.”

She sighed, resting a hand on her wrinkled cheek as she examined his most recent masterpiece. He was painting that girl; again. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright by yourself? Don’t forget you have that meeting with the Duchess today at five p.m.”

He sighed back as she ran her free hand through his messy orange hair, stained that way from all the many late nights painting to his heart's content. The room was never clean when he was hit with inspiration, and nothing was spared; not even his hair. His fingers were often so blue, the rivets embedded in murky varnish, the other villagers thought they were broken.

...That wasn’t far from the truth, but it was still a misconception all the same.

“I know. I’ll be fine. Take care on your trip.”

His mother smiled once more, placing a gentle kiss upon his forehead. “I will, dear. You take care of yourself as well. Don’t stay up too late with...erm…”

“Emin.” He smiled much more brightly. “Her name is Emin.”

“...Yes...Emin.” She frowned, her shoulders sagging a bit. This wasn’t the first time he’d locked himself into his own false realities...he’d be gone for at least a few days.

But that was fine. He may not have much longer to live anyway; it was the least she could do but to play along with his delusional fantasies.

“Just remember to get yourself cleaned up before you present yourself at the palace. And don’t be late!”

“I won’t. Goodbye, Mother.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart.”

Cha-chunk.

“......”

The moment she’d left the small cottage, a sigh of relief escaped him, and he tilted his head back to face the sky...or rather, the low-hanging splintering wood ceilings.

All he wanted to do was paint and get lost in you. But he’d better start getting ready.

✦

He was scrubbing away the residue of last night’s oil pastels from beneath his fingernails when the image of you popped up in the window through the small broken looking glass of the washroom. He was sure he must be imagining things; after all, the visions of you had been quite strong lately.

Except this time he wasn’t hallucinating. It really was you.

“Chenle!”

“GAH!”

He flinched, dropping the small scrub brush in a state of panic, then whirled around to see you.

Your bright (e/c) eyes. Those rosy cheeks. That gorgeous hair.

He desperately wanted to melt into it, to mix his palette with yours. But he feared the result would be muddy...an unwanted color. He couldn’t risk tainting such beauty with his filth. “E-Emin...I mean, (y/n)...” Gosh, even just saying your name on his tongue was an indescribable joy. “(Y/n)...what are you doing here?”

You crinkled your nose the way you did when you knew something wasn’t right, and Chenle beamed, taking in your every small act of expression. “First tell me who on Earth this Emin fellow is. Do they bear such resemblance to me?”

“...” He nodded after a moment, sheepishly trying to hide the heat rising to his cheeks, but failed miserably. “It’s the name of my newest painting--”

“Oh my gosh!” You lit up brighter than the festival lights during the Fall Harvest, your head bobbing up and down giddily from the small space of a window. “You’re done already?! I wanna see I wanna see I wanna see! ...Please?”

You gave him your greatest puppy pout, the one he couldn’t resist. But you didn’t have to. Because eventually he would have caved anyway.

He picked up the brush off the ground, wishing he would have had more time to make himself presentable for you. Even if the two of you had been friends for a few years now, he still wanted to look his best for you...oh, but who was he kidding, really? It’s not like someone of your stature, the Baroness of Adderdale, would ever fall for a paint-stained dirt-scratcher like him...especially not one that probably only had a few months left to live. “Of course. I’ll open the door for you.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay! I know you have a big meeting with Duchess Rowena soon, I’ll just--”

“Nonsense. You’re way more important.”

The words were out there before he could take them back. But he wouldn’t have wanted to anyway, because it was nothing short of the truth. “Uh…” You nodded back to him, your face half-swallowed by the high-standing square hole in the wall, your eyes peeking just over the edge now as you climbed down from the crates you’d been standing on. “Okay, then. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Chenle opened the door for you not but a minute later, right on schedule, and you smiled now that you were able to see him up close.

There was a smear of green paint on his cheek. You pulled out a handkerchief from your dress pocket, fanning it open in one quick flick of the wrist and tenderly reached up to wipe his face clean.

You almost suspected that you missed a few spots from how red his face turned, his whole body tensing, eyes barely peeking out shyly behind closed lids. He’d always been such a bashful, apprehensive young man. But that was one of the many things you loved about him.

If only he knew. Maybe things could have gone differently than how they eventually would come to play out.

You’d just starting to retract your gesture when he stopped you, taking your hand gently in his and holding it against his cheek. Nuzzling his face against the silk fabric of your glove.

You laughed. “What are you, a cat?”

He murmured back a soft reply. “I wish I were, sometimes...maybe then I could focus on the things I really care about.”

This made you frown. “Like what?”

“Like...painting, and watching the sea reach out to the sky, and taking naps all day, and...you.”

“Chenle…”

“Hm?”

“How would you paint? You wouldn’t have thumbs.”

He gave you a playful smirk. “No, but it’d have a tail. I’d never have use for another brush again.”

“How would you sign your work?”

He held up his hand. “Paw print.”

“How is that any different from any old stray cat off the street?”

“Hmm…” He gave it some serious thought, making you smile from ear to ear. “...Oh!” He released your hand, resting a fist in his open palm in an action stating he’d thought of something. “...Two paw prints?”

“Chenle!” You busted out laughing, and it’s got to be one of the most blessed sounds he’d ever had the pleasure, no, the honor of being alive to hear; he felt faint upon hearing it, yet stronger all the same. It’s the sound that gave him strength and security when he needed it most, on nights when he thought the sickness that plagued his brittle bones really would deliver his soul to Heaven. The moment he remembered your voice...even if it was all in his feeble mind...all was well again.

“Are you going to invite me inside? It’s mighty hot out here in the sun.”

“Oh!” He hurriedly stepped aside, taking your hand to help you up the small step into the tiny aged cottage that had to be at least sixty years old. “Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize. I’m used to you spacing out in the middle of a conversation by now.” You poked his nose, sending a charming smile his way that may as well have taken his heart had he not already given it to you. “I think it’s cute.”

The wink you sent him was the nail in the coffin.

“Ahh!” Your eyes caught sight of his studio set up in the far left corner of the room, and you lifted your skirts to dash your heel-clad feet across the splintering floorboards. The moment you got there your hands gripped the drape over the center canvas, but you remembered last minute it’s probably polite to ask first, even if it was a dear friend of yours.

Normally Chenle would have murdered anyone who dared to disturb his art without permission; but you were the lone exception. He could never bring himself to hurt you. “Go ahead.”

Excitedly you casted the veil away, and when your eyes met the girl in the painting you froze.

Because she was you. You were looking at a reflection of yourself.

Except you were way more beautiful than you ever imagined you could be. Why didn’t you look this good in real life?!

“Chenle...it’s…”

“Do you like it?” His eyes were full of excitement and adoration as he gazed upon the you in the painting. “Her name is Emin.”

“Emin…” You repeated the name like a foreign word. “...She…”

You paused for a considerable amount of time, just staring curiously at the work of art. Of course this wasn’t you; it was too beautiful to be. How could you be so vain as to think…?

You sighed, small and subtle beneath your breath. “...She’s beautiful.”

“Just like you.”

“Wh-What?”

When your eyes turned away from the fantasy version of you, they met the artist responsible, staring at you as if it was you who hung the moon in the sky each night. “She looks just like you. Beautiful.”

You couldn’t help the warm feeling spreading over your cheeks; you casted your gaze away before Chenle too could notice.

It was too late, of course, because he already had. It made him so happy to see you flustered and flattered so; he’d have to add it to his list of future Emin’s.

You were his after all.

✦

At precisely four o’clock you left Chenle to finish getting ready, though he was sad to see you go. It was a vision he never wished to see; you disappearing out of sight. What if he never saw you again…? You were always so busy with your responsibilities as Baroness of the state. And it was all his fault.

He shouldn’t have asked to paint your portrait out in the grassy fields beyond town square. Maybe then you wouldn’t have been discovered by those royal administrators, who were so captivated by your charming appearance (as they should have been) that they scooped you up and swept you off to the palace to be trained, paying off your family to buy you as their newest errand girl. Because that’s basically what you were in your role of Baroness; the only difference was that they actually fed and clothed and educated you properly in the art of sophistication and foreign affairs and how to be a proper lady.

It made him sick how they ran you ragged. Sicker than he already felt with this accursed illness he was born with.

Which is why he hadn’t hesitated to pay off a young chef-in-training to poison the roast duck going to the administrator’s office one evening whilst sneaking around the back gardens. Your life became a bit easier after that, and the two of you at least had more time to see each other...until they hired another administrator.

But it was alright. The young man was fresh off the boat from vocation school. He’d hired some local bandits to give the man a good scare, and ever since that day you’d had Tuesday afternoons and Saturday evenings free. Sundays after spiritual services were always a given, thank Heaven.

It was now four-thirty. He’d carefully gathered his materials and was on his way to the palace, bag in hand. He wore his best suit: a brown sewn vest over a cream-colored button-up shirt and long, plain-colored trousers. His orange hair was groomed to look as good as it would ever be.

He had to get this job. It was for himself, for his mother; with his brother out of the house, they had scarcely been able to pay the bills, and the new royal tax document was expected to be passed within the next coming weeks. He was the only one left to take care of her.

And then there was you. He would have done anything for you. If he did manage to land this position, he’d be able to see you more often; even if it was just a few fleeting glimpses from a studio window.

By the time he made it onto the palace grounds, chefs and gardeners scurried about in preparation for a celebratory occasion of some sort. He wondered what it could be…

Until a flyer smacked him right in the face, temporarily blinding him.

Startled, he took a few steps back, ripping the inked parchment away from his face. His eyes scanned the page curiously.

𝑾𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒚𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑵𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒉, 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑵𝒊𝒏𝒂 𝒐𝒇 𝑨𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔

Chenle scoffed. Like he cared about the affairs of the royal elite or the country...

None of that mattered unless it involved you.

✦

“So,” Duchess Rowena Varner, next in line for the royal throne, declared. “You must be Chenle...Zhong, is it? Zhong Chenle?”

The said boy grinned politely from before her throne of sorts. A placeholder until she got her greedy hands on the real thing. “Yes, madam.”

“You shall address her as My Lady!” a royal guard barked.

The Duchess shook her head, chuckling a bit as she waved him off. “Now, now, it’s quite alright. Please, call me whatever you like. And might I say, what a handsome young boy you are!” She stood and paced over to the works of art displayed on silver easels. Real silver. Just an ounce of that would be enough to pay the house bills for an entire month, with a bit left to spare for a royal feast. “Quite talented as well. I reviewed your work the other day.” She smiled, stopping beside his most recent portrait of you: Emin No. 54. His most brilliant work of art to date. “This portrait titled “Emin” is especially beautiful.”

He remained smiling in return, pride swelling in his chest. “Yes, I think so as well.”

Her next question caught him off guard.

“Is she by chance, a lover of yours?”

He froze. His face grew hot; hotter than the sun, it had to be. The Duchess tittered, finding amusement at seeing a young boy turn so red.

“So she is, then? That’s quite sweet. I’m happy for you, I am.”

“...N-Not...Not exactly…”

“Oh, come now. It’s alright. But you know…” she pondered, reexamining the painting. “She looks rather familiar...like I’ve seen her somewhere before…”

“I think it’s ugly.”

Duchess Rowena gasped, and all eyes quickly turned to her daughter, the royal Viscountess.

“Nina!!” The Duchess scolded. “That’s very impolite! Apologize this instant. That’s not how a lady should speak.”

Nina huffed, tossing a long pigtail over her shoulder. “Well it’s true. Her nose is too big. And the eyes sort of creep me out. I’d be turning tail and running if I saw this girl in my dreams or out on the streets. More like my nightmares…”

The Duchess’ face was far worse than a frown, and she snapped her fan shut to emphasize her anger and disappointment, scowling down at her daughter’s abhorred behavior. “Oh, Nina…!” She turned her gaze down to the ridiculed artist with sorrow in her eyes. “I’m so sorry for my daughter. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s usually very sweet and polite, I assure you.”

“......” Chenle didn’t know what to say. All he knew in that moment was that he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling, and it felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart-- no, that someone had stabbed Emin in the heart.

You. His Emin. The only thing he loved more than anything else in this world. More than his mother, or his brother, or his art supplies, or the beauty he found in every little thing this world has to offer…

The only reason he found such beauty was because of you. He saw you in everything. You were everywhere to him.

Something foreign and unabashed was painting a dark portrait on his insides…

And that portrait was titled The Death of Nina Varner.

✦

He waited just after dusk for the Viscountess to appear on her balcony for her ritual spoiled stargazing event. Each night she would wander out in a silk nightgown onto the balcony outside her room, tossing grapes and cheese and whatever late night snack she could get her snot-nosed hands on into that vexatious piehole of hers, all while shouting orders at the pitiful maids who were stuck with her that evening to braid her hair or rearrange the furniture or stop breathing so heavily and get her some more wine.

Chenle almost felt bad for them. Almost.

But he was much too busy kindling the fires of hatred he had for the witch who dared to insult his precious Emin.

He waited five swift breaths for the maids to take their temporary leave, then made his strike.

It was swift. Quick. A cursory stab to the heart. But it did the trick all the same; she hadn’t even much time to scream in terror as her body slumped to the marble stone floor, lifeless and in vain with a look of pure trepidation on her face.

It scared him how much joy and excitement it brought him to see her that way. But he didn't have time to admire his crafty work; in one rapid, fluent motion, he scampered off down the secret passage he’d bought the blueprints for at the Black Market in the shady part of town, a harsh coughing fit echoing down the narrow hall as he fled.

✦

The next day was meant to be spent orchestrating the Viscountess’s wedding as well as the arrival of Prince Jaemin. Which is why you were surprised to find that instead, that responsibility was no longer yours...and a new one was being passed down to you; or rather, promoted up to you.

“She what?!” you cried, horror-stricken in face. You could only imagine what the Duchess’s face must have looked like, to find her daughter’s dead body on the balcony floor. The maids almost had it worse, being the ones to discover the horrific display.

Even now you could hear Rowena’s cries and sobs as she mourned the murder of her only daughter. It broke your heart; the Duchess was such a sweet lady...a little greedy, yes, but still very kind. And sure, you never much cared for Nina. Everyone knew what an impish hellion she was, despite her mother insisting she was a good person...yet...you’d never once wished to see her drop dead.

...Okay, perhaps once, when she had shoved you into a closet and claimed that it was you who started a fire in the kitchen during a baking lesson, you did. But you hadn’t meant it literally…!

And now here you were, set to be crowned the new title of Viscountess. Set to be wed for the sake of the country to some prince whose name you scarcely remembered.

It was all too much. So sudden. So soon. You didn’t know if you could take it...you were barely managing to process it all after only half a cup of coffee; everything was passing you by the narrowest of margins.

You needed to talk to someone. Someone not on the inside. Someone you could trust. So the moment the royal guard who had delivered the news left your quarters, you ran off to find the one person you could think of, the first one to come to mind: Chenle.

He was waiting for you in the front garden, just as you’d ask a young pageboy to summon him there. His face was a desolate wasteland as it looked into yours. So he must have heard...news did travel fast.

“Chenle...I…” you sighed dejectedly. “I don’t know what to say. I never wanted this, I had no say, I promise I--”

“Don’t say anything.”

His eyes were a blazing fire when you gazed back up into them. It made you gulp nervously. “Wh-What do you mea--”

“Shhh...“

He was smiling then. Smiling...how could he smile at a time like this?

“I worked everything out. You don’t have to go to the funeral.”

“...What?”

“The funeral. For the late Viscountess. You don’t have to go, I thought of a way out of it...so we can spend time together instead.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. So he really didn’t know, then…? “I’m sorry? Chenle--”

“Hush now, it’s going to be alright. I doubt anyone’s going to show up anyway.”

You gasped at that harsh remark. “Chenle! That’s a horrible thing to say! Even if she was a brat, she wasn’t...she didn’t deserve to…”

“Yes she did.”

...Your eyes snapped back to meet his, again, and this time they were devoid of any life. Vacant of all color.

He was serious. He really meant it.

You took a step back, suddenly feeling ill at ease and uncomfortable with the heavy change in atmosphere. “...How...How can you say that? How…”

The boy you thought you once knew shrugged, gazing off to the side nonchalantly. “Because...she insulted something that belongs to me.”

“That’s no reason to--!”

“She insulted you.”

The air left your lungs for a second. The pressure around you was rising. Did...Did he just say…?

Scowling, you furrowed your brow, crossing your arms before you to boot. “I-I’m not yours, Chenle. I don’t belong to you, or to anyone but the State of Adderdale...and, pretty soon, the Kingdom of Norwich…”

You felt your anger fleeing from you as feelings of anguish and anxiety rushed to take its place, leaving a hollow sensation of misery in its wake.

And it wasn’t just you. Chenle was feeling it as well, his face drooping until it sagged in an expression of crestfallen disbelief.

“What...What do you mean?” he asked. His whole attitude had suddenly changed in no less than a millisecond.

You glared back at him in regret that you had to be the one to tell him; but it was best coming from you. “With Nina gone, I’ve been recently appointed as the new Viscountess. And, furthermore…” You swallowed again, wishing you could take the words down as well. “...I am to marry the Prince of Norwich, in her place. I’m sorry, Chenle…” You sighed for the millionth time. “There’s nothing I can do. I have no say in any of this.”

You didn’t want to look at him in that moment, to see the sadness written all over his face. But you did. Because you had to be strong; especially if you’re going to be taking over as head Viscountess (though not for long...).

Chenle appeared as if he wasn’t feeling anything. Or maybe it’s that he didn’t know what to feel. In reality, he was absolutely, undeniably, without a doubt...melancholy. Hopeless. Lost. Completely despondent.

The same pageboy poked his head around the corner just then, shyly calling your name. You were being summoned to speak with the Queen about wedding invitations, and what kind of wine you would like served with the celebratory dinner.

There were no words that could form what you wished to express to your only real friend in that moment. So instead you said what it is you’d normally say after parting ways, had it been a regular, everyday encounter; and not the last.

“Goodbye, Chenle…”

And then you were gone. His worst nightmares coming true, seeing you vanish from sight.

He looked to the paintbrush in his hand. Broken just like his body. Just like his heart. He squeezed it tightly, as tightly as his frail bones would let him. Tighter, tighter, as if he could squeeze the entire past three minutes out of existence. Erasing all the words that were said, and starting over on a clean, blank canvas. But it didn’t work out that way; that’s not how life worked.

So instead he shut his eyes tightly, envisioning his happy place. The world where the two of you were always smiling, always laughing, always together, always, always…

...It was all his fault. Again. He was to blame for all of it; he was the reason you were rapidly fading from his life. His insecure actions had led to his own downfall.

He sighed, the breath fleeting like a dream deferred.

It was no longer enough.

✦

Three whole days. Three whole days he laid there, his body writhing in pain and agony at the dull ache that seeped through his bones, violent coughs rattling his lungs and rib cage. His throat was sore, his eyes dehydrated from leaking out all the water left in his body. It was painful, certainly, but...it was nothing compared to the apparent horror blatantly staring him in the face that soon, very soon, you would be gone. For good. Forever. And he’d never see you again...only in his dreams, were he lucky enough to obtain them.

A flyer drifted in from the window, once again bringing itself to cover his tear-stained face.

𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒔 (𝒀/𝒏) 𝒐𝒇 𝑨𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑵𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍 // 𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒔 (𝒀/𝒏) 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔-𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒕

A literal slap in the face. His hands shook violently as he tore the sheet into bite-sized pieces, seething with rage and despair that did nothing to help his coughing fit and overall health.

He turned his head to stare at his latest masterpiece, feeling color draining from the world around him, his walls crumbling and caving in.

You were no longer his Emin. You were no longer his.

He felt like he was losing his mind. “But...she’s mine,” he mumbled, reaching out a shaking hand to the you of his dreams. The one he stayed up for three days straight painting with all his heart and mind and soul, pouring out every last ounce of passion from his expiring fingertips stained forever blue, as was the life of an aspiring, tormented artist. “Emin is mine...she’s mine, she’s mine, she’s MINE!!”

In a flash of anger he knocked over a case of brush pens, then a few books, then his entire work desk. He began throwing canvases out the window, their blank slates an abhorred reminder mocking the bleak future he had to look forward to: a future without you.

“Emin...she’s...she...” Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, where he thought he had none left. “She’s mine...E...min...she’s...”

Gone. You were gone, lost to him now, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

...Or was there?

Hastily he reached to grab the flyer from before, then remembered it was in pieces all over the floor. He struggled for an hour putting it all back together, but once he had a mischievous grin found its way where originally no amusement could be found. A tiny, faint ray of hope amongst the coming darkness.

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒓𝒐𝒚𝒂𝒍 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 // 𝑨𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝟑𝒓𝒅

That was tomorrow. The Duchess must have convinced them to postpone the wedding for her daughter’s funeral. Which meant...

There was still time.

✦

With not a moment to lose Chenle rushed through the bustling palace walls, each hall as lively as the next as staff from every category of service hustled and hurried and scampered about, preparing for the wedding of the century.

Prince Jaemin had just arrived not but a few hours prior, and with his disguise as an errand boy Chenle had gotten all the right information and knew exactly where to find him.

Now he was just hoping he could get there fast enough, before someone knocked into him and revealed his dire plan.

Looking left, then right, he continued to weave in and out of the crowded hallway until he made it to the far end of the hall, making a stealthy left turn. He made his way down the steps to the kitchens, climbing into a dumbwaiter when no one was looking and working his way up the rope, grunting profusely with each feeble tug and the occasional cough. The moment he made it to the fifth floor he released a tired breath all at once, making sure the coast was clear before exiting the small chamber and trotting on lightfoot down the surprisingly quiet hallway given all the commotion downstairs.

His next task was to locate which one of these blasted guest rooms belonged to the Norwich prince. He had yet to get that far…

Knock knock knock.

“Your Highness?”

He whirled around and tripped his way behind a potted plant, almost spilling the chloroform in his pocket. A door he’d passed some twenty-odd steps ago was opened from the inside by a butler with a peculiarly sour look on his face.

The maid outside smiled kindly. “Pardon me, but all our errand boys are busy at this time. Her Majesty the Queen would like to have a word with His Highness, if that’s alright.”

“...” The young butler turned back into the room. “Yo, Jaemin. The old lady wants to talk to you.”

There was a hissing sound, followed by heavy footsteps before the boy was suddenly yanked back by his collar, a tall, handsomely dressed one taking his place instead. “Please forgive my idiot brother. He’s...a rare case.”

Mumbling could be heard in the background as the maid turned the whitest shade of pale Chenle had ever seen, bowing and apologizing profusely for not recognizing the youngest prince. In her defense, Chenle hadn’t of known either.

But that was besides the fact. His real target was now standing just a few feet away.

He hated how attractive he was. How he radiated an aura of regal perfection. It turned his insides into a dark, muddy green…

Somehow Jaemin had convinced the idiot brother with a smart mouth to take his place in seeing the Queen as a form of punishment (and to apologize for referring to her as an “old lady,” even if the hag was ancient beyond her years) and just before the door closed and the two witnesses had vanished around the corner, he made his move, dashing quickly and shoving his way--

...Right into the door. Thud.

He winced, praying to God his nose wasn’t broken just now. He should have known this guy probably lifted weights on a daily basis, where the only thing he ever lifted was a paintbrush.

He knocked, a hand still over his aching nose.

The moment the door opened he braced himself, whipping out the chloroform that...leaked in his pocket…

The last thing he remembered was the repeating curse he irately flung at himself: Drat, drat, drat…

✦

When he awoke some twenty minutes later, the first thing Chenle noticed was a handsome young man sitting at his bedside.

Great. He was having another nightmare.

But the young man’s nervous laughter proved that he was, in fact, awake, not dreaming.

“There have been far better applicated attempts on my life than the one you just tried to pull.”

The pauper took a deep breath, coughing on the exhale as he threw himself up into a sitting position, then on his knees, knife in hand.

He furrowed his brow a second later; why had the prince not disarmed him…?

Prince Jaemin merely smiled as bright and cleanly as sunshine on a crisp, cool day with the knife hanging inches away from his throat. He didn’t even budge.

Chenle scowled. “Why aren’t you frightened of me? Why didn’t you disarm me while I was unconscious? ...Why did you help me at all? Why not report me to the guard, or the executioner, or--”

“Executioner? My, what troublesome times these must be if you’re sentenced to execution for a simple act of violence.”

A simple act of…?

Chenle didn’t know whether to be confused or appalled. So he was both.

The look on his face must have been quite the spectacle, because the next moment Jaemin was chuckling kindly, as if they’d been having a basic conversation about the weather. “You sure do ask a lot of questions, I’ll give you that. As I mentioned before, you’re not the first poor sap who’s wanted me dead.” His eyes gleamed curiously then, almost taking on a new persona entirely. “Now let me ask you something. Why on Earth would you mention being hauled off to be...executed, of all things?”

Chenle’s whole posture drooped. His shoulders sagged. His breath hitched ever slightly, before being onset by a minor coughing fit.

Jaemin swiftly helped to ease him back onto the bed, but the ill boy fought back, thrusting the knife above his neck once more.

“D-Don’t…” He coughed again. “Don’t help me. I don’t need or want your help. I only want my Emin back. I’m not going to let you take her away from me…!”

“Emin?” The Prince frowned. “I don’t have anything like that...I’m afraid I don’t quite follow what you…!” Then his face lit up with realization. “Ah, wait, you mean that painting in the Duchess’ quarters?” His face began glowing with soft sort of realism. “It’s lovely. Did you paint that?”

“It’s a girl,” Chenle coughed, slowly coming out of his minor attack. “...and she has a name...her name is--”

“Emin,” Jaemin cooed, purred, slandered. As if he enjoyed the way it melted on his tongue the same way it brought the artist pleasure.

He glared, eyes growing dark. “Don’t say her name. You don’t get to say it! She’s mine, my Emin, and I won’t let you take her away from me. Even if I have to...even if I have to…”

“Kill me?”

He flinched, muscles tensing sharply beneath his borrowed clothes. “...Yes. Even if I have to kill you.”

Jaemin was all smiles again-- actually smiling. Did this guy have some sort of death wish? Was he mocking him right now? Challenging him, daring him to try?

Chenle had no idea. It was either that, or he was into some really weird stuff. “Why are you smiling like that? Tell me right now!”

“...You’re a demanding little thing.”

“Tell me, I said!”

“Hmm…” He breathed out through his nostrils, leaning back in the chair he’d pulled up beside the bed. “If you’d really wanted to kill me...you would have done so already. But you haven’t. We’re still talking, aren’t we?”

This hit Chenle harder than he was expecting it to; he practically felt the air deflate from his lungs, and he’d just managed to suppress his haggering coughing fit.

“And I daresay I’ve counted at least three prime opportunities you could have striked.”

“...I…”

The prince simpered, crossing one richly-clad foot over the opposite knee. “So why don’t you tell me about this...Emin of yours.”

Chenle was back to being angry and frustrated all over again. “Why should I? After this, I’ll never see her again…she’s going to be yours anyway...”

He clenched the knife in his hand. Jaemin pursed his lips into a curious pout.

“And why’s that? What do you mean, she’s going to be mine? I’m not interested in buying the painting if that’s what you--”

“Of course that’s not it! You’re going to be marrying her soon enough! You’re right, what you said before...there’s nothing I can do to save her from you…”

Jaemin’s face may as well have been pandora’s box. “What? What in the name of Sam Hill are you talking about? Why would I want to marry a painting…?”

Chenle deadpanned. At least the prince had looks going for him. “I’m not talking about the Emin of my dreams! I’m talking about the real one!”

“The...The real one…?”

“Yes!!”

“...Oh.”

He still didn’t get it. The artist facepalmed. “My Emin. She goes by…” He swallowed harshly, afraid to even speak your name aloud before the prince who’d be stealing you away. “...(y/n)...”

Jaemin seemed to be getting an awful lot of amusement out of the visual display of embarrassment the painter showed. “(Y/n)? As in, Viscountess (y/n)?”

“Don’t speak her name!! At least have the decency to wait until I’m dead before you do…”

“Why on Earth would I want to do a thing like that?” He rolled his eyes. “You sure do talk a lot about execution and death. Do you want to die?”

Chenle had to think about this for a moment. Did he want to die? Technically, without you, he was nothing. Empty. A blank canvas with nothing to show.

Then, there was his mother...with his brother overseas, he was the only one working to support the two of them other than herself. As much as he loved you, he didn’t want to leave her all alone…

...Then again, it wouldn’t matter anyway. His life was on a clock right now, ticking much faster than the average, everyday man’s. He was going to die soon regardless.

“...it doesn’t matter. I’m going to die anyway.”

The princely man blinked. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, placing a blistered hand over his faintly beating heart. “I’m...sick. I was born weak, with a strange illness no cleric has ever seen before. There’s no cure for it either, I...I honestly wasn’t expected to live this long. It’s a miracle I’m even still alive right now…”

“That doesn’t answer my original query.”

“What? Yes it does—“

“No, it doesn’t.” Jaemin tsked, shaking his head. “I asked you, do you want to die. Not if you’re going to or not.”

“...” Violently, Chenle shook his head no. The elder of the two grinned.

“Good! Then we can start preparing you for the wedding right away. Oh, and I’ll get you some medicine as well. Judging by your symptoms you have a condition that’s rare but not unheard of in Norwich. So long as you don’t over exert yourself, I can have a brew cooked up and in your hands in about a week, maybe two...give or take.”

He nearly choked. This was a lot of information, but the one thing that really caught his attention was... “W...Wedding?”

So now he expected him to go? To watch (y/n) be married off? To officially strip the last few remaining pigments of color out of his life?!

Oh, he’d be there alright. But not—

“Yeah. You have to be present for your own wedding. It’s sort of a requirement, actually.”

...A re...A require…

His own wedding?!

Just then the youngest Prince of Norwich returned, popping a bubble of some sticky-sweet substance between his lips on his way in. Jaemin beamed in delight.

“Oh, Jisung, perfect timing. I need you to go back down and bring me a tailor. Anyone will do, so long as he’s qualified.”

“Tailor?” Jisung’s face was scrunched up in obvious puzzlement. “But I just got back up here! What the heck do you need a tailor for? And who the heck is he?” He pointed to Chenle, blowing another pink bubble and popping it with his teeth. “Y’know, Dad told you to--”

“Again, Jisung, Mark is not our father.” He chastised. “...But yes, I know what he said. That’s not it, though.” He gestured to Chenle as if to present a showcase prize. “This colorful young fellow is...he’s uh...er…” He scratched his ear. “What did you say your name was again?”

Chenle almost didn’t want to tell him. But then he really, really did. Because he thought he knew where this was going, and if he was right; which he was; he didn’t want to miss out on this one and only golden opportunity to save you, to save his entire world, and to finally, surely, be able to leave this world in peace once his time was soon to come...in case he didn’t happen to get that medicine in time. “Chenle.”

“Chenle...~” Jaemin nodded. “That’s a wonderful name. I like it, really. It suits the future Viscount of Adderdale rather nicely. Let’s see...Chenle. Sir Chenle! Siiir Chenle...yes, yes, I like it.” He rubbed his chin in thought with a few more nods.

Jisung stared at him like he was dumb as rocks. “Uh, hello? I don’t get it. You’re telling me that this--” he pointed to Chenle-- “--poor kid off the street is going to marry Viscountess what’s-her-name? And not you? Don’t you think Dad-- I mean, Mark, is gonna be...kinda sus? And pissed? Not to mention Renjun and Jeno…”

Jaemin shrugged. “Hey, what can I say? I’d hate to stand in the way of true love...it would be wrong to steal away this young man’s girl when he obviously adores her more than I ever could.”

He winked. Jisung groaned. “You can’t just slack off your duties for some angsty teen romance novel fling! You’re gonna get us both in trouble!”

“......” The elder shook his head, running a hand through his wavy blonde hair. “I knew I should have brought Hyuck, and not you. It’ll be good for him, they said. You’ll be doing us a favor, they said. Aiyaiyai…”

“Hey! Rude!”

“Just go bring me a tailor already! I’ll deal with our brothers when we get home, but I’m this sure at the very least, Jeno would agree with me.”

He held his fingers inches apart, and Jisung deflated a little, beginning to cave. His brother just kept on rambling.

“...We’ll have to get him cleaned up...and do something about that hair...I doubt any of my clothes will fit him, much less my wedding attire…”

Finally the youngest rolled his eyes, and as he shut the door behind him Chenle could hardly breathe. He just couldn’t believe it.

He was getting a second chance. He was going to marry his Emin.

✦

“Are you sure you understand the plan?”

“Yes.”

“And you know where to go when I give the signal?”

“Yes…”

“And you’re absolutely sure you--”

“Oh my gosh, Jaemin, he gets it already!” Jisung snapped. “Just hurry up and get out there before they start suspecting anything! I can’t believe I’m playing along with this…”

With a determined nod Jaemin took off out into the bustling chapel, everyone getting ready to take their places for the celebratory event. Because everything had to be just perfect, the Norwich Prince was directed to take his place in a back hallway, where he’d be escorted out onto the platform by high-ranking officials.

Chenle watched with nervous breadth. What if something went wrong? What if Jaemin changed his mind the moment he saw you walking out, looking like a waking dream? The personification of sheer beauty and ethereal godliness? A goddess among goddesses, Aphrodite herself?

He wouldn’t be able to take it. He’d have to stab himself in the heart and end it all right then and there--

“Hey.”

He looked over to Jisung, who was eyeing him suspiciously.

“Stop being so overdramatic. You’re worse than Haechan when he’s drunk off his ass.”

“Who?”

He blew another bubble, allowing it to pop at the peak of his eye roll. “Never mind. Listen...you don’t have anything to worry about. Jaemin’s not like that. Whatever you were thinking. He’s a good guy, really...also...I uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, turning his eyes away. “I think you guys look good together. You and um…(y/n)?”

He casted him a sideways glance for confirmation, and when Chenle nodded, he returned the gesture. “Yeah, (y/n)...I saw you guys together, out in the front garden a few days ago...my ship arrived here before my brother’s. He took too long getting ready, so I set off without him.” He shrugged. “Anyway...the two of you seemed to be having a disagreement of sorts, but...I don’t know, the way you were staring at each other, deep into the other’s eyes, I could tell you were really close. Like an old flame or something.”

...An old flame...Chenle didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but— he was at a loss for words.

Then the youngest prince said something that really took his breath away. “Y’know...I think that, maybe, you and me could have been great friends if we’d grown up together.” He smiled, a small one, but one nonetheless. “I know this is kind of sudden, since we barely know each other, but...I think I would have liked that. You should come visit us in Norwich sometime. You’d love it there, honestly— the Winters are beautiful.”

It was out there so suddenly, so kindly worded, Chenle didn’t know how to process it all. Him? Having friends? He’d been sick his whole life, the only people ever paying him any kind of attention being his mother and his brother when he’d been around and...of course, you...the day you found him laying out on the street within an inch of his life, and you rescued him from certain death, he immediately knew you were the one. He’d instantly fallen in love with you. Those feelings only grew and grew over time…

However...the thought of having a friend…

He didn’t think he knew the answer. But the palette in his mind was equipped with a bright, yellow color, and he found himself nodding meekly before he knew what he was doing.

Jisung tilted his head back in a pleased indication that he’d gotten the message of what Chenle had meant to say, even though no words would come to him; after all, the boy was an artist, not a poet. “I should probably take my seat. Good luck out there.”

With a pat on the back, he crossed the threshold.

Now all that was left was for him to wait.

✦

It’d be an understatement to say that you were nervous. Because you weren’t; you were more than nervous, you were practically horrified.

You’d thought you could handle it. Really, you did. But the moment it actually started happening, it was instantly all too much; only now it was ten times worse, because it was actually happening in real time.

First the music started to play, a gorgeous symphony of organs and strings. The Queen had even hired a quartet of flautists to play in harmony to the familiar chorus of Canon in D Major. The flower girl made her entrance first, tossing flower petals down the aisle and into the waiting audience. They gushed and cooed over how cute she was, muttering comments of how handsome of a boy the ring bearer behind her would grow up to be, though he was practically more of a man than a boy...that ring bearer being…

...Zhong Chenle? What?!

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at the sight of him, striding into the room with such perfect posture and well-to-do attire. He looked like a prince out of a fairytale novel.

But what on Earth was he doing here…?

“My Lady, it’s time,” called a maid. You had a hard time peeling your eyes away, but you were able to nonetheless with a bit of effort on both yours and the maids parts as they pulled you away to your proper waiting station outside.

It broke your heart that he’d gotten himself roped into this, and you had no idea how he’d done it, but maybe after this, at least, you could send him off with a proper goodbye…

✦

He’d been too nervous. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to do something.

So the second the melody of Beetovhen’s chorus flitted about the room, he snatched the rings from a boy waiting nearby, stumbling his way in right behind a small flower girl and immediately righting the way he carried himself.

He could feel Jaemin’s eyes on him from the far off hall where he peeked behind a curtain, pleading for him to turn back. He could hear Jisung’s ragged breathy sigh, calling him an idiot.

But he didn’t care. He wouldn’t. This was all for you...and anyway, it was too late to change anything about the choice he’d made now.

He paused at the foot of the altar, going to the opposite side where the men waited as traditional Adderdale weddings he’d witnessed in his lifetime. Then he took a deep, shaky breath, fighting back the urge to cough as a tickle made its way to the back of his throat.

Not now. Not now. Please, not now.

The small orchestra suddenly broke out into the Norwich national anthem, and Jaemin made his appearance, walking tall and proud and princely to stand at his place atop the altar; temporarily, that is.

He sent Chenle a sly wink from where the boy stood just two feet behind him.

“It’s alright. We can still make this work out. I know you must be incredibly nervous right now; I would be, too, were I the one getting married today.”

Curse the man. Chenle couldn’t help but smile.

Then it was the moment everyone had been anticipating: as the Norwichian anthem came to a whole-noted close, a circle of guards surrounding the chapel stepped forward from their placement along the surrounding walls in unison, saluting as the King and Queen entered, followed by the Duchess and a few other nobles Chenle never paid enough attention to remember the names of. They each took their seats, and then...then…

The most beautiful harmonic arrangement began to play, and everyone quieted straightaway, the room falling instantly silent as a gentle hush fell over the crowd. The familiar melodic tune of Here Comes The Bride circled round and round the room, and within seconds all eyes were on what had to be...what surely was...he just…

He wasn’t a poet, as was mentioned before. There were simply no words yet in existence to describe how...how…

You were perfect. That’s the best way he could think to paint it; and speaking of paint, he wanted to capture this moment so badly on canvas and…

No. In reality, he wanted you all to himself. He didn’t want anyone to see you looking so beautiful, for fear that they may steal you away from him as the palace did years ago, and as Jaemin almost had (or would have) that very day.

You approached the aisle at a slow, leisurely pace, crisp and clean and glowing with pristine perfection as two more flower girls hurried before you, and an ensemble of maids held up the trail of your dress and veil whilst shadowing at your heels.

Chenle desperately wanted to knock them all over and scurry out of there with you in his arms. If only he were strong and brave enough to do a thing like that…

The urge to cough was getting worse. He tried clearing his throat beneath the guise of the fluttering chorus, but that only seemed to make the need more prominent.

As you finally made your way up the altar steps, it was then that he simply couldn’t take it anymore. Something in him went black, shutting down, and he…

He collapsed.

✦

A series of gasps and astonished cries reverberated off the chapel walls and stained glass windows as the boy you hardly recognized hit the ground with a pain-filled grunt.

Acting quickly Prince Jaemin nearly threw himself down to help your dearest friend, pushing guards and other palace help out of the way when they tried to draw near. You yourself tossed the bouquet of wildflowers the Queen had insisted you carry (the national flower of Norwich) over your shoulder, a few stuck-up and self-centered bridesmaids scrambling to catch it and squealing excitedly about which of the other princes were available to marry.

Jisung had shut them up pretty fast with a rude remark, but you were too focused on the topic at hand to hear exactly what it was.

“Chenle!” you cried, lifting the limp boy in your arms. “Oh, Chenle...please say something…!”

This was it. You were afraid something like this might happen one day. But you’d never thought it would be so soon...Chenle’s illness was no surprise to you; you’d known about it for quite some time. In fact, it was you that had secretly been funding a portion of his monthly checkups with a palace cleric, a silent agreement you’d made with his grateful mother.

And now it was really happening. He was dying right here in your arms. You hated that your brain immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion, but...what else could it be? He’d never had a fit this bad before...not that you knew of, at least.

Chenle simpered up at you weakly as a tear crossed the distance from your cheek to his, reaching up an unsteady hand to caress away the tears. Your face shouldn’t be sullied with worry over his sake. “D...Don’t cry…” His chest heaved violently, feeble frame shivering between each ragged cough. “...I’ll be...okay...I…” He took a deep, deep breath. You held onto yours.

And then it was said. The words you never thought you would ever hear, never thought you wanted to hear, never thought you would be the one to say:

“I love you, Chenle. I love you so much...”

Tears were pouring down your face now, his shivers contaminating your body as you shook along with him, exposing your heart and soul over the dying young artist.

“Please don’t leave. Stay with me...wherever you go, I’ll go, and wherever you stay, I too will stay...I don’t care if you’re sick, or that you come from a broken family, or that you’re poor, or dirty, or weak. You’ve always hated that about yourself, but none of that matters to me...you’re just Chenle to me. Just Chenle...I’ll...I’ll be your sword and shield, your strength and shelter. I’ll follow you to the ends of this very Earth, and I...I love you, Chenle...it would be my honor to take care of you, for the rest of our days. Just don’t leave me…!”

Your eyes were squeezed shut at this point, trying to stop the flood of facepaint from raining off the thundercloud of emotion that was currently your face, and when Chenle’s hand fell limp in yours you gasped, throwing your eyes open…

And seeing that he was sitting up. Calming down. Gathering himself.

He...wasn’t dying…?

Jaemin heaved a heavy-laden sigh relief as he pulled out a needle from the boy’s opposite arm. “Thank the good Lord you brought an emergency antidote with you...nice one, Jisung.”

Another blonde-haired boy sighed. “Well, you know, really Renjun forced it on me, but...y’know.” He shrugged.

Profoundly, you turned your attention back to Chenle. He was looking at you with stars in his eyes.

Suddenly everything you had just revealed deep down in the recesses of your heart came swinging back to whop you in the face, and you just knew you must have resembled the reddest tomato out back in the royal vegetable garden. You attempted to once more hide your blushing face--

Of course, Chenle had other ideas in mind. Of course, he had cupped your messy tear-stained face, placing a...kiss…?!

You melted into it, and so did he, the colors and clarity and butterflies all swirling together. For now you were receiving a reality neither of you had ever thought to be possible, and now, finally, he was able to mix his palette with yours. And it wasn’t a mess as he feared; it was a beautiful masterpiece.

Jaemin was the first one to applaud, and soon, hesitantly at first, the rest of the chapel began to follow.

“I’d say you may now kiss the bride, but uh...it appears to be a little too late for that,” he jested. His brother frowned, rolling his eyes with another blow of gum.

“Ya think?”

“...”

He smirked, popping the bubble in his face and everyone gasping with laughter as it exploded there.

“Shut up.”

✦

“Hey, wife?”

“Yes, Chenle?”

He frowned, his face sagging at the ends. “You’re supposed to say, husband.”

“Oh,” you laughed, moving on to the next exhibit as the two of you walked around the new art studio, hand in hand, taking in each and every piece of the artist’s work on display. “Sorry, sorry. Ahem…” You started again. “Yes, husband?”

Chenle hummed happily, his whole face beaming with pure joy and delight. He seemed to be spacing out, tossing his head from side to side as if doing a little jig in his mind.

“...Chenle. Chenle? Helloooo…?” You waved your hand in front of his face, and he winced, snapping back to you quickly with the goofiest grin you’d ever seen.

He really was so cute. “Yes, (Y/n)? I mean, wife?”

You shook your head. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

“Tell you…? Oh, yeah!” He continued to stare at you a bit too intently. “Have I told you I love you today? Because I do. And I just want to make sure that you know how much I--”

You let out a sound that was a cross between a groan and more laughter, wrapping an arm around his as the two of you continued to stroll around the winding halls. “Yes, Chen--”

He gave you a deadpan.

“...I mean, husband. Husband.” you assured him. “Yes, you have. This would be the twenty-eighth time now.”

He gave a smug and satisfied smirk that was all too cute on his yet again paint-stained face. The moment the medicine from Norwich had come in, Chenle’s health had rapidly improved, and he was able to paint in a way you’d never witnessed him do before: peacefully. Happily. Content. It was a marvelous sight to behold.

Despite the lack of another knot tied uniting the lands of Norwich and Adderdale, negotiations and trade among the two lands had been carrying on better than ever; swimmingly, in fact. You and Chenle were set to visit Norwich Palace for a business meeting and tea within the coming weeks. They all couldn’t have been more pleased with the outcome of things; according to a recent letter from Jaemin, who was now a good friend of yours, their brother’s had wished you and Chenle the best of luck and sent you their love and blessings in the new relationship. Apparently their brother Hyuck had even cried a little...but in his defense, the prince wrote, the boy was rather drunk.

The two of you came to stop before Chenle’s latest masterpiece: Emin No. 59. A portrait of the girl who looked like you in a wedding gown suspiciously similar to yours, standing with dignity and grace atop the chapel altar, surrounded by birds and squirrels and other wildlife, the sun shading colors of the rainbow upon her skin...he may as well have titled the piece Snow White.

“Say, Chenle...ah, husband...” You pursed your lips profusely in an overzealous pout. “You never told me: why do you call her that? Why Emin?”

“......” Chenle was quiet all of ten seconds as he formed his response. He smiled tenfold, putting all previous glee to shame, the light from the coming sunset casting small spotlights through cracks in the palace curtains that highlighted all your best features; which would have been all of you, to him at least. “Because…” he replied, taking your hands into his and kissing your knuckles softly. Something he’d be doing everyday, every waking moment he saw you, for the rest of his life. “You’re Emin. My Emin...and you’re all mine.” ღ

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rosywrites · 4 years

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Silent Waves, Chapter 2

Title: Silent Waves (Siren Sona x Bounty Hunter/Pirate Jhin AU) Chapter 2: Driven to the Brink Fandom: League of Legends Ship: Jhin x Sona

[AO3]

Word count: 4,623

Eyelids flutter open to the moonlight shining through the porthole. The light bounces off the water of the tank, almost as if it's dancing to the sway of the ship. Seeing the moon provides some comfort, if any at all. At least this was better than being damned to rot in the bottom of the ship.

Sona doesn't sigh her woes away, rather admiring the moon for her beauty. Sirens of her kind, despite being native to the dark, have an appreciation of light and warmth. She would often swim up to the surface near caves to sunbathe by the rocks.

A stream of bubbles floats from her lips, not yet a sigh. Being captive was, obviously, quite restricting. Along with the porthole her only means of sight of the outside world, there was nothing else to do. All she did was sit on the sand and rock placed in her tank while glaring at the captain that took her instrument hostage.

Watching him try to figure out how to make her instrument produce a sound was endless entertainment for her. Though he kept a straight face in her presence, she could hear the tones of frustration and irritation in his words.

Her hand touches glass as she tries to reach for the moon. Despite the night sky being her only solace, she smiles, for she feels at home even in this moment.

“Frustrating not being able to escape, isn’t it?” a voice suddenly says in the dark.

Sona fights the urge to roll her eyes and turns to the voice. She sees the captain’s figure looming over his bed and pulling back his sleeves to his elbows. He turns his head slightly to see if Sona has reacted, but there’s nothing from her. Not a single sound.

What else did he expect?

Jhin stands still for another moment before trudging over to her tank with a chair. He sits with his leg over the other and stares at Sona.

To her, this is rather odd. Her brows irritatedly furrow in question, wondering what he plans to get out of this. Instead of being unnerved, she’s just confused. Just what is this man thinking?

“For a siren, you’re quiet. A peculiar trait.”

She raises a brow, further confused on where this is leading to.

“I’ve read books on creatures of the sea. Several of them,” he starts. “But I have yet to read about a siren that never speaks or sings.” He leans forward, perching his chin atop his crossed hands, curious. “Not to mention, you carry an instrument. There’s no speculation of sirens using instruments in these books.”

Sona blinks. She doesn’t give an answer. It’s not like she can, anyway. She mirrors Jhin’s pose, her tail bending to the side, and stares back. She feigns interest, but her eyes are clearly mocking him. How far is he willing to talk in the face of mockery, she wonders.

Jhin knows she’s mocking him. It’s always the same, every time he interacts with her. She’s constantly provoking him at every opportunity, but he knows the moment he opens that tank (even to kill her), he would lose. He may have a gun, though not Whisper, but creatures of the sea can be faster. The siren would surely claw his neck easily.

“Don’t you have other tricks up your sleeve?” he asks. “The mockery is tedious, and it gets us nowhere.”

She releases a stream of bubbles towards him in response and shrugs. There’s nothing else she can do without her instrument. Silence is her best weapon right now, and gods forbid she doesn’t use it to its full potential. If even sirens can’t withstand a long period of silence, what about humans?

A sigh escapes Jhin, a sign of frustration. He shakes his head. “What’s the use talking to a mute siren?” he mutters to himself. “As if I should have expected anything more.”

Hearing his words, Sona smiles smugly. That’s right. He wasn’t going to get anything from her.

“You’re being moved to the cargo hold tomorrow,” Jhin states aloud as he looks back up. “I can’t keep you here forever, and I’m sure you’d appreciate the bigger space.” He leans back in his chair and purses his lips. “Though it’s much darker and lonelier down there,” he says with a small chuckle at the end.

Her eyes perk up at the words. She tilts her head in curiosity. The ‘cargo hold’? She had never heard of that before. But if the space was bigger, and darker, it would certainly make planning her escape much easier than being trapped in such a small tank in the corner of his room.

“If you think you’ll be able to escape while we’re moving you, don’t get so ahead of yourself,” Jhin says. “You’ll still be trapped inside the tank before we open the lid to transfer you to the other one. Just so I won’t lose any hands, physically and figuratively.” He holds up his hand, where Sona had scratched during their first encounter. The wound appears healed, now a scar in its place. “You’ve made quite the ruckus that day.”

Sona’s smirk grows wider. He deserved it anyway.

After a moment of silence, Jhin stands up and approaches her tank. He relishes in her expression suddenly changing to suspicion. “It’s unfortunate Whisper is still out of commission. I would have loved to carve your skin like a statue and use your scales as decoration. It would’ve been a fantastic piece of art.” He turns around and walks towards his bed.

A chill runs down Sona’s spine. She doesn’t doubt Jhin would have done that to her, had she not ruined his gun. Fear catches at her throat and almost freezes her in place, but she forces it down. She can’t show fear. Her gaze hardens at Jhin’s sleeping figure.

It feels like an eternity waiting for Jhin fall asleep completely, but once she recognizes the steady rising and falling of his shoulders, she gets to examining her tank. She descends down to the rock she perches on and places her hands on the sides.

Removing the rock from its spot reveals a pit, where she dug at it at any chance she had to get to the bottom of the tank. There had to be rocks or just anything she can use as a weapon. Her efforts prove to be fruitless, as there were only pebbles and pieces of kelp inside. Disappointed, Sona swims up to the top of the tank and observes the latch.

She doesn’t recognize the mechanism of the latch, but that doesn’t stop her. She flattens her palms against the glass and slightly shakes the lid of the tank. She hears a strange rattling sound coming from the latch. It’s loose? She pauses to check on Jhin, who’s still soundly asleep. She nods to herself and keeps shaking the lid, and for a moment, she feels the lid shift aside. She huffs and tries again. She hears the click of a nail head that fell out of the hinge.

Sona takes a breath and gently presses a hand against the lid, lifting it up just enough to be able to peer outside it. She lowers the lid quietly.

This is it.

Tomorrow is a chance for her to escape.

And if she fails, she can at least try to take her instrument back from him.

---

She watches the other men stride into Jhin’s room with a cart. She hisses at them when they approach, and they step back in hesitance. But the commands of their captain forces them to overcome their fear and move her tank onto the cart. Though faint and masked by sounds of glass hitting metal, the sound of a loose nail clatters on the wooden floor. She shoots Jhin one last glare before they roll her out of his room.

She’s rolled through hallways until they reach a flight of stairs. Needless to say, the men have a hard time bringing her down, especially since she uses all her might to throw them off balance by swimming into the glass in different directions.

Jhin observes their struggle from behind. While he’s somewhat entertained by how much of a hard time she’s giving his men, he becomes a little impatient by how long it takes them to take her down a flight of stairs. He sighs. “Two of you hold the tank while we go. We’re close to the hold.”

“Yes, captain.” Two of the men who were standing in front of him move to the sides of the cart to hold the tank still while they move up the stairs.

The siren doesn’t do anything more to cause any more chaos. But her eyes are fixated on Jhin with a mysteriously knowing look. He can’t tell what she’s thinking, but her stare continues to unnerve him.

Once they arrive to the cargo hold, Sona sees an iron gate in the middle of the deck. More of his men are outside holding it open while a lift awaits them. Realization hits her. She will be living in a bigger tank in a place she can’t escape from . It’s not like she knows how to work machinery, or if she can even move it to where she needs it to be. She starts slamming against the glass with even greater intensity. The lid is still unlocked. If she can tilt it just enough…

A gunshot suddenly freezes her in place, the sound ringing in her ears like a high-pitched squeal. She covers her ears in pain, but then she sees it. A white graze against the glass, barely deep enough so that the glass doesn’t break. Her eyes widen in fear. The bullet grazed her tank right where her throat could have been.

He really could have killed her.

Jhin smiles cruelly at her reaction. Though his gun isn’t as perfect as Whisper, it does the job. He approaches the tank and lowers himself to her level with a triumphant spark in his eye. “When I said you’d be an excellent addition to the crew, I meant it. Whether you’re dead or alive. But keeping you alive has more perks than having you dead.”

Sona keeps her eyes on his. As if she would back down with one little murder attempt. Her furrowed brows suddenly smooth over that she appears expressionless, but it’s there. A scheming intent in her eyes that only Jhin can catch.

Just what is this siren thinking?

They move her onto the lift and descend into the hold. As Sona turns, she spots the tank placed nicely in the middle of the hold, just underneath the gate. Looking around, she doesn’t see any other ways of escape. Piles of crates and barrels surround her, hiding any doors or hatchways, if there are any at all.

She’s trapped for good.

She was doomed to fail from the beginning.

The siren is silent, almost too silent. She’s just floating in her tank as the sailors use the lift to carry her up to the top. The only movement within is her wispy hair moving about. Strands of her hair cover her already lowered head. Her head slightly moves up when the lift comes to a stop. The sailors lower her tank onto the glass and attempt to remove the lid.

Jhin suspects something. For the siren to give up before being dropped into the new tank, it’s too sudden.

“Hm?” one of the men hums questioningly. “The hinge is loose.”

As the man is about to grab the hinge, the glass lid of Sona’s tank shoots out, a blurred figure of blue and sea green following after. It’s only for a moment, and it’s more than enough.

Sona bursts out of the tank right above the sailors and right at Jhin’s eye level.

It happens all too quickly.

Jhin feels a hand clasp around his collar and pull him towards the tank.

His feet lose balance.

At first, his sight is dark and soon opens to a blurry blue.

There’s a constant pull at his body now, and he can faintly hear his men create a ruckus. He releases a breath of air in the form of bubbles.

He struggles, and struggles, and struggles. His feet kick at nothing in the water while his hands grab at his collar to prevent choking.

But he can’t break free.

He feels his lungs filling up with water.

Another splash of water comes from above. There’s another pull at his arm now, and he hears someone yell for him. He then hears a sound like thunder and sees wisps of red in the water. He feels himself sinking for a moment before a hand grabs for him again and pulls him out of the water.

He’s carried to the lift, where he hurls up all the water he swallowed. His lungs and nostrils flare with searing pain as he coughs violently. He wheezes as he whirls around to see Sona curled up in the water and bleeding from her arm.

She tried to drown him.

She tried to kill him.

It takes him all his self-control to not kill her that instant. He has to stop every muscle in his body not to reach for his gun and shoot her down for good. His eyes meet hers, and in that moment, both of them well up with a desperate rage they know they can’t unleash.

“Lock the tank,” Jhin spits. “And make sure she can’t ever get out.”

She failed. As Sona watches the sailors take Jhin back up to the deck, her face contorts in pain as she sinks to the bottom of the tank.

---

Jhin sits in his room, staring out the porthole from his chair. In three days, they will arrive at Piltover, where the ship will be docked while replenishing supplies. Despite knowing he will finally have his gun fixed, he doesn’t feel any satisfaction or anticipation of his arrival there. After all, he feels like he hasn’t even made a dent in the siren’s will yet. He feels he hasn’t gone anywhere.

The incident a few days ago still weighs heavily on his mind. He tips his glass of whiskey in his hand and takes a sip, the liquid burning hot in his throat.

A loose hinge.

He sighs as his hand tightens around his glass for a moment before relaxing his grip. He sets the glass on the table and stands up from his seat. The corner in which the siren’s tank was placed is now empty, only a small space left that still reminds him of her presence on the ship. He approaches the corner, his eyes immediately spotting the nail by the foot of a dresser. He picks it up.

When did she shake it loose? How did he not notice when they rolled her out that morning? He was there to ensure nothing went wrong too.

Yet, this one tiny nail was the only oversight that allowed her to nearly kill him.

His hand starts to shake. With a growl, Jhin thrusts the nail into the wall as he slams his fist against it. Her will to remain quiet, her indifference to his actions… her mocking eyes … they were insufferable. He turns his head back to the table, where the siren’s gold instrument stands like a trophy.

The instrument that failed to produce a sound, no matter what he did. Just like her . The siren’s smug grin surfaces to his mind, and he feels something snap.

The sound of thunder echoes from his room, and it reverberates all the way to the cargo hold, where Sona sleeps. Her eyes snap open, and she bursts up from the sand. She winces at the pain in her shoulder, but she hears the sound of dissonance with that thunder. An all-too-familiar dissonance.

It doesn’t take long until she hears a door slam open in the cargo hold, and it’s not the iron gate above her tank.

“What… did your instrument do to me?” she hears a voice murmur, as if in pain.

She sees a figure stumble through the darkness. Her eyes squint to focus on the figure. She presses her face against the glass, but it’s not until the figure is a few feet away that she realizes it’s the captain. He has injuries resembling that of blade wounds. And on a ship full of guns, the only thing that could create injuries like that is…

“What have you done to me?!” Jhin exclaims, holding her instrument in his hand as he staggers against the glass. He slides down the tank, gripping his abdomen, his white blouse stained red with his own blood.

Sona’s eyes widen as she sinks down to Jhin’s level. She bangs her hands against the glass to elicit a response from him, but he isn’t moving. She panics. Her instrument attacked him. She bangs the glass again. She hears him groan in pain. He’s still alive.

“Just… what… are you?” he wheezes.

The wound doesn’t seem deep from what she sees, but he’s injured at a vital place. She knocks on the glass to get his attention. When he looks up at her, she points at her instrument. She gestures at him to give it to her.

He only chuckles. “Now why would I do that? I won’t give in to your little game, siren ,” he hisses.

Sona gives him a stern look, an expression different from the glares and looks of indifference she’s always given him. She keeps gesturing at him to give her the instrument. She throws up her hands in frustration and places her hands at her abdomen, then carrying her hand away. She then firmly points at her instrument.

“Are you… trying to say you can… do something about this?” he asks between breaths. Seeing her nod insistently, he sighs. “Even… if you can… I doubt I can make it up there.” His words trail off as he falls unconscious.

She gasps when he doesn’t move anymore. No! She balls up her hands and knocks against the glass with full strength. Anything to catch any of his men’s attention. Anything. They must have heard the gunshot from earlier. Sooner or later, they have to come looking for him.

And sure enough, one of the men who was standing guard at the deck comes running into the cargo hold. She assumes he had checked the captain’s room and followed the trail of blood. She hurriedly ushers him over to Jhin’s location, pointing at the wound on his abdomen.

“What the…? Captain!” the sailor calls out, trying to shake him awake. “What did you do?” he asks the siren.

Sona sighs in frustration. She points at the instrument and gestures at the sailor to give it to her. Please, I need it , she tries to mouth her words. But her words are overpowered by the commotion of the other sailors who barge into the cargo hold to find Jhin slumped against her tank. She helplessly watches them carry him away back to his room. Their words begin to blend together to the point they’re just unrecognizable muffled sounds to her.

Please. All she needs is her instrument. Her precious, beloved etwahl.

No one can hear her. No one can understand her.

A burst of bubbles floats to the top of this prison, nothing but silence coming from within.

---

“Fortunately, the wounds weren’t very deep, captain. You’ve already recovered from most of the injuries. Though, the one on your abdomen may take a little longer.”

“I figured as much. Very well. You are dismissed.” Jhin stands up, puts on his coat and mask, and walks past the medic.

“Where are you going, sir? We’ll be arriving in Piltover within half an hour.”

Jhin stops before his door, staying still for a moment before turning back. “The siren has answers I need.”

“But sir—” The medic suddenly yelps as the barrel of a gun is pointed at his head.

“Do not interfere with my personal matters. It is of no concern to you.”

“Y-yes, captain.”

“Dismissed,” Jhin repeats once more. He fastens the golden instrument on his belt before he heads out to the cargo hold. But when he arrives at the door of the hold, he freezes in place. His eyes glance at the instrument. Absolutely no signs of distress or even a dent, as if it’s still in mint condition. He suddenly remembers the look of panic the siren had last night when she saw his wounds.

Why did she look like that, he wondered. She had tried to kill him a few days before, did she not?

He sighs and shakes his head of the numerous questions that follow. He enters the hold and spots the siren perched on one of the rocks in the tank, looking up at the sky past the gate, in longing. The sun is shining upon her, her scales shimmering like the ocean itself. She suddenly turns her head towards him, which almost takes him aback, considering he went inside as quietly as possible. For a moment, he swears he saw her sigh in relief.

Sona watches him approach the tank, and she spots her etwahl in his hand. Her eyes perk up in surprise.

“We’ll be arriving to Zaun soon,” Jhin starts, “I won’t have the time to sit down for a cup of tea yet, but I have questions I know only you can answer.” He can’t help but chuckle bitterly. “I doubt you’d actually tell me, given our… interactions… so far.” She shoots him a matter-of-factly look. “That’s why I’ve come here to make a deal,” he states as he holds up her etwahl.

She raises a brow in curiosity. She slowly swims over to the glass with her arms crossed.

“If you can answer my questions, I will give you your instrument back.” Though, depending on her answer, he could just end up killing her himself. “Is that sufficient?”

Sona takes a moment to think. What kind of questions would he even ask her? It’s not like she can answer him properly. She tries to gesture to him of her freedom.

“Answering my simple questions all for your freedom? Don’t be absurd, siren. I don’t plan to free you until you’ve exhausted your use to me.”

An attempt was made, at least. Though irritated at his last sentence, she accepts the deal. But in exchange, he must only ask her questions that she can answer through nodding or shaking her head. He wonders if she thinks this is just a game to her, but he accepts anyway.

The ship rocks to a stop, the sailors above the gate rushing to keep the ship in port. “All hands on deck!” one shouts. The ship is now much louder than it usually is, and Sona can hear several voices that don’t belong to any of the captain’s men.

“Ah, we’ve arrived,” Jhin says. “Perfect timing.” His men come into the cargo hold with a large tarp, bewildering Sona as they rush to cover her tank. “We wouldn’t want anyone stealing you while I’m gone. The people here—rather, the people below Piltover—are rather… interesting people. If they spot you, you may end up in a worse position than you are now. We can’t have that now, can we?”

Sona frowns in annoyance.

“It’s too bad. Even if you somehow escaped while I’m gone, the toxins in the water would probably kill you before you even swim out of region limits.”

She’s aware. Piltover and Zaun are known as a major source of danger for all merfolks, after all. The toxins would seep into their skin so slowly that they wouldn’t notice until it’s too late. Those who survive become so malformed both physically and mentally that they wouldn’t be considered a merfolk anymore.

“Why don’t we fulfill that little deal of ours once I’m back, yes?”

Sona huffs out an acknowledging stream of bubbles in response.

They were both reaching for scraps at this point.

They were tired of these mind games.

They just want anything, anything to keep their sanity at bay.

#league of legends #jhin x sona #jhinsona #jhin #sona #fourth tempo #silent waves #rosywrites #siren sona #bounty hunter/pirate jhin

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bombshellsandbluebells · 5 years

Text

First, Do No Harm Chapter 7

Summary: During the 5+ years aboard the Ark, Murphy stumbles into becoming the designated doctor.

Chapter Summary: Murphy isn't sure what's harder - asking for forgiveness or forgiving. Emori and Raven bond over machines.

Relationships: John Murphy/Emori, Murphy & the Space Squad, background Marper

I am so sorry for the wait. I do hope - and plan - to finish this story, but life keeps getting in the way. Thank you so much to everyone who’s left comments on this fic or told me how much they love it! I appreciate it so much!

Thank you also to all the helpful people on Tumblr who tried to teach me about concussions. Hopefully what I wrote is at least mostly accurate.

Also, as usual, I could not do this without my wonderful editor @infernalandmortal. She is a Queen among men.

Previous Chapter

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The skin of Emori’s knuckles is split, but she won’t let him look at the cuts, rolling her eyes and pushing him away when he tries. She’s defensive in a way that makes Murphy ache somewhere deep inside his ribcage, in the part of him that knows intimately what it feels like to be cast aside. She’s not guarded against him, exactly – she’s used to him examining every part of her so often and thoroughly that studying her hands is nothing new – but it’s as if she wants to ignore the whole fight happened at all, going as far as to hide the evidence under the layers of her clothing, as if once it’s out of sight it hasn’t really happened.

He understands without her explaining. She’s upset she reacted so strongly to Echo’s words – afraid that her lashing out, even justified as it was, is a strike against her, and she’s unsure, like he is, just how many strikes they have until they’re out. He’d told her about his father once, late at night when the emptiness of the cave they were in nearly swallowed his words. She knows what it means to be floated, and he’s seen her eye the windows of their new home with wariness.

Murphy gets it, because he’s just as worried, even if he wants to go slap Echo around himself for what she said. But for some crazy reason Murphy can’t fathom, Echo has Bellamy backing her, and Bellamy probably doesn’t even need a good reason to kick Murphy out.

None of the people here need a good reason for kicking either of them out. They’re the odd ones out, like usual. How much would it take to get sentenced to death this time? How different is the Ring than the Delinquent Camp?

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging Emori until she turns to look at him. “If she says anything else about you, I’ll kill her.”

Emori snorts, but a soft smile tugs at her lips. “They’ll float you.”

Murphy shrugs, because it’s probably true, before he realizes what she said. He grins. “Hey, you used it right.”

Emori rolls her eyes. The smile tugs harder. “I still think it’s silly. There isn’t even any water.”

He laughs, grabbing at her shoulder and tugging her close enough to wrap her tight in a hug. Her arms wind around his back, fingers digging into his shirt to anchor herself there.

Silently, Murphy repeats to himself the thought that’s starting to become his mantra: they wouldn’t float a doctor.

For the next few days, Murphy does his best to avoid everyone but Emori, moving only from Medical to his room, scoping out hallways before he chances them. He buries himself in the files, reading and rereading over and over again until pieces of what he reads finally start to make sense. It’s like trying to keep a sinking boat from filling with water; every time he makes progress, he finds himself in a sea of impenetrable language and information.

If only Clarke was here, he thinks – for probably the first and only time in his life – but the thought quickly passes. If she were here, he wouldn’t even have a job to do.

It’s frustrating work, especially piled upon a body that’s already stressed and fatigued. He half-wonders if he’ll be anything but a starving, weathered husk stuffed with anger ever again. Still, if it means survival, it’s worth the headaches and frustration.

Anything’s worth it.

A knock on his door interrupts his thoughts. When he looks up to Bellamy standing there, he has to fight the incredibly strong desire to throw the tablet he’s holding at the other man’s head. It’s too valuable to lose. And he’d probably miss, anyways.

Bellamy’s beard is out of control, bushy and thick and unkempt. It makes him look ten years older, as do the dark circles under his eyes. Murphy can’t really find it in himself to feel sympathetic. He hasn’t looked in a mirror lately, but he expects he looks similar, plus an ugly black eye that’s just now starting to fade into a patchwork of green and yellow splotches.

“What?” he snaps.

Bellamy crosses his arms. His large frame fills the doorway. Murphy can’t tell if it’s meant to be intentionally threatening or not, but it digs at him either way. It’s like Bellamy knows he’ll win a fight if it breaks out and he wants Murphy to know it, too. Not that he needs reminding; if he focuses, he can still feel the dirt and twisted roots underneath his back, Bellamy’s heavy weight pushing into him, the skin of his face stinging and his nose screaming with pain, and the blood filling his mouth, making it hard to breathe. It’s almost been a year, but sometimes it still feels like just days ago.

The sounds of it rings in his ears clearly still – Bellamy’s desperate shout of “he deserves to die” ripping at something inside of him that’s already sick and rotting.

“Echo says it’s time for her stitches to come out,” the Bellamy of the here and now says, and Murphy snaps back to the present.

His fingers dig into the cool metal of the tablet. “No,” he snarls. “Get out.”

Bellamy huffs, an explosion of stress and frustration. Murphy wants to throw Raven’s words at him. They’re all hungry. Get over it.

“Come on, Murphy. Stop being an –“

“She hasn’t apologized!” he shouts, tossing the tablet aside so he doesn’t break it. He really wants to break something right now. If only Bellamy would hold still long enough so that something could be his face; Murphy thinks that would go a long way in improving his mood.

“Kind of hard to when you’re clearly avoiding everyone.”

“To Emori,” he growls. Bellamy shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “She hasn’t apologized to Emori for calling her –“ He doesn’t even want to give it name. “What she called her.”

Bellamy hesitates for a moment. Finally, he sighs and uncrosses his arms, lets them dangle by his sides. “It’s about her hand, isn’t it?”

Murphy pushes to his feet. His body feels electrified, untapped energy buzzing beneath the surface like a live wire, and he wants to punch something so badly he can feel the desire tingling in his hands as he clenches them into fists. He wants to push Bellamy to the ground and climb on top of him , punch his face in over and over and over again until he’s choking on blood, scream his own words right back at him until he feels them like Murphy felt them – like he still feels them at odd times when Emori isn’t there or it’s just a little too quiet. He hasn’t felt this angry in a long time. He wonders how much of it is the hunger and how much is the feeling of the Ark pressing down on him day after day, hour after hour, like a specter he can’t shake free of.

Everything was fine in the bunker until Bellamy decided to let his sister and the grounders in and steal that little bit of hope he and Emori had started to build their future on. Whatever the hell Bellamy wants, damn everyone else - just like always.

“Don’t you dare say a fucking thing about her hand!”

“I wasn’t,” Bellamy says quickly, backtracking. He throws his hands up in surrender. “I’m just trying to figure out what the problem is.”

“The problem,” Murphy snaps, “is that you let a grounder we can’t trust onboard.”

“I don’t trust her either,” Bellamy admits. “But I trust that she wants to stay alive and killing any of us isn’t in her best interests. And the only reason any of us are alive is because of her.”

Murphy snorts. If they want to start listing things, he’s pretty sure none of them would have been alive if he hadn’t told them about the lighthouse bunker. “I’m still not helping her,” he insists, voice like steel. “You want to help her so bad, you do it.”

“Fine,” Bellamy snaps. He runs a hand roughly through his hair, leaving the curls even more wild than they had already been, some of them standing up on end and making him look ridiculous. “But you have to tell me what to do.”

It feels better than he wants to admit to hear Bellamy ask for his advice.

“Just cut part of the string and pull it out. And make sure her arm isn’t red or swollen. Could mean it’s infected.” Emori had made sure he’d known the signs of infection when she taught her how to stitch up cuts; it was more dangerous than any injury could be.

“Okay,” Bellamy says and starts to leave, but then he stops, pausing in the door to look back at Murphy. “Thanks,” he adds.

That feels better than he wants to admit too.

The next day is a ration day, but Murphy hesitates to go claim his. Emori’s still out, probably finding her own solace in the depths of the Ring, and Murphy doesn’t really want to run into anyone else along the way. And he certainly doesn’t want to visit Echo in the supply room to get his ration, as hungry as he is.

He waits a couple hours for Emori to show up so they can go as a united front – or for someone to take pity on him and bring it to him, as unlikely as that is – before the tantalizing prospect of abating his hunger, even just a little bit, becomes unbearable.

He slinks into the hallway like a wounded animal, praying to whatever it was Jaha thought might be up there that he doesn’t run into anyone. And, of course, because fate has never blessed him once in his life, he hears footsteps approaching just a few turns away from the supply room. It’s not Raven, whose uneven steps are distinctive, but that leaves five other possible options and only one good one. He’s just wondering which option would be the worst when Monty rounds the corner.

Well, of course, he thinks. This is the worst option.

Monty comes to an abrupt halt, eyes wide as they catch on him. Murphy stares awkwardly back. They haven’t seen each other since the last group meeting and it seems like time hasn’t healed any wounds. Monty glances at Murphy’s yellowing eye with the shadow of satisfaction on his face and a coolness in his eyes, then moves to walk past him and ignore him completely.

Raven’s advice comes to mind, and Murphy isn’t quite sure if that’s why he does it – or if it’s just because being ignored really sucks and he can’t stand the thought of having to avoid everyone but Emori for the rest of his time here, or even if it’s just because he’s having a wild, uncharacteristic moment of maturity. Whatever it is, he grabs Monty’s arm before he can pass and pulls him to a hard stop. Monty’s head whips to stare at him, eyes hot with fury now, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Murphy cuts him off before he has the chance.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was a dick move.”

Monty’s mouth hangs open, previous words abandoned in shock. He closes it after a moment. “Are you - are you apologizing?” he asks, sounding baffled.

Murphy crosses his arms, shoulders hunching up defensively. Everything about this sucks. Can’t Monty just take the apology and leave? “I’m trying to,” he snaps.

Monty stares some more. His eyes narrow as he studies him. “Did Bellamy put you up to this?”

“What? I can’t decide to apologize on my own? And I don’t do what Bellamy tells me to.”

Monty leans back slightly, eyeing Murphy like he’s trying to figure out what makes him tick, and Murphy feels like he’s being dissected. He wants to be anywhere but here right now. He looks away from Monty’s face, eyeing the far wall. Like the rest of the Ark, it’s not much to look at, but it’s better than making eye contact.

“I’m not going to apologize for hitting you,” Monty says finally.

Murphy shrugs. “Fine. Whatever.”

“You deserved it,” Monty says with conviction.

“Okay,” he says for lack of anything better to say. He rubs at his nose. “So you back to hating me?”

Monty hums. “Not sure. I’m on the fence about it.” It’s a shockingly honest answer. Murphy kind of appreciates it.

“That’s…” He trails off awkwardly, not sure what he wants to say. There’s a few things he could say – things about how everyone hates him for everything anyways so this isn’t new, or how Monty needs to toughen up like he’s had to, or how a couple mean words aren’t nearly on the same level as getting hanged and banished and he’d been expected to just get over that and wasn’t given the luxury of holding a grudge about it, but he’s pretty sure any of those are just going to end with him in the airlock after all.

And he’s realizing that not only does he really want to make sure he makes it through these five years alive, he’s also kind of hoping he’s not going to have to make it through these five years alone.

He doesn’t say any of them. Maybe that is some sign of maturity.

“Fine,” he settles on finally.

Monty doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that either.

They hover together in a silent moment of uncertainty. Murphy isn’t familiar enough with apologies to know what comes next. For some baffling reason, Raven had hugged him. He hopes Monty doesn’t try.

It’s Monty who talks first. “You can come back to the algae farm if you want.”

He recognizes the olive branch for what it is. Murphy appreciates it. But he also has no desire to take him up on it.

“Nah, that’s fine. I’ll leave you lovebirds alone. I found another job to focus on, anyways. Just let me know when the algae starts growing.”

Monty nods. “I can do that.”

When they part, Murphy feels lighter. He walks easier through the hallways.

Raven is leaving the supply room when he gets there. When she sees him coming, she makes a beeline towards him – or as much as she can, with her limp. It’s even more exaggerated than the last time he saw her, every step a clear feat of strength. The skin of her forehead is pinched with pain.

He ignores it.

“Hey,” Raven says as she nears. “You seen Emori?”

“Not since this morning, no. Why?”

“I heard what happened with Echo.” She comes to a stop and turns her head to nod at a pile of items stacked neatly outside of the door to the room. “Guess that’s her solution. Bellamy said she’s been leaving stuff outside of the door so she doesn’t have to go in. Then Echo comes and grabs it when she’s gone. Better than a fight, I guess. But I figured -” She pulls a ration from her pocket. “-if she wanted her ration today, she’d have to go in the room, and that wouldn’t be pretty for anyone. Thought I’d save everyone the hassle and bring it to her.”

“That’s….nice,” Murphy says slowly, eyeing her with suspicion. Raven’s never seemed to have a problem with Emori, but generosity is always suspect.

Raven places the ration back in her pocket. When she looks back up at him, her eyes are strikingly earnest. “I saw how Roan treated her. Echo’s Ice Nation too. I can imagine the kind of things she’d say about her hand. Emori doesn’t deserve to deal with that.”

“None of us do,” he says dryly. “How many votes do we need to bring back floating, you think?”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you joke now, but you’d regret it the next time you do something stupid.”

He shrugs. The comment would hurt more if Raven sounded more serious about it, but he recognizes the humor in her voice. “I’m kidding. The Ark’s all about peace and second chances now, I get it.”

“Yeah, you of all people should be happy about that.”

He doesn’t look down at her leg; it’s difficult to resist the urge, though.

Instead, he steps past her and starts down the hallway, moving slowly enough to give her time to catch up. “I can help you find her. I just need to get –“

“Way ahead of you,” Raven interrupts, following him. She pushes something into his hand. “Grabbed one for you, too.” It’s a ration. At his surprised look, she shrugs. “I figured you’d be with Emori. I didn’t really know where you’re hiding these days.”

This generosity is even harder to trust. One day, his mind whispers seductively, the other shoe will drop. When he responds, it’s mostly on auto-pilot, mind still reeling at the presence of the ration in his hand, tightening his grip slightly to test the realness of it. “Medical, mostly.”

“Medical?” Raven asks with surprise. “Why?”

“Because no one else goes in there.” It’s only partly true, but his time spent reading the medical files feels like a secret. He’s not sure he wants to tell anyone what he’s been spending his time doing, though he’s not quite sure why it feels like such a vulnerable thing to share. They’d probably find it hilarious he was even trying. Maybe he just doesn’t want to hear how much of an idiot they think he is.

“Thanks, by the way,” he says to change the subject. “For doing this for her.”

Raven shrugs, brushing it off. “We’ve gotta stick together. Because, well, you know.” She gestures down at her leg, avoiding making eye contact with him.

Murphy avoids it too, gaze locked on the hallway ahead of them. He focuses on a flickering light in the distance. “Yeah,” he forces out. “Still. She doesn’t usually have people looking out for her.”

He feels Raven’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t know what she’s thinking. He’s not quite sure what she sees, either. Eventually, she looks away and focuses her gaze ahead, and they continue walking in silence, ducking their head into rooms as they pass, before moving on. Raven’s uneven footsteps fall loud on the floor as they walk.

She caves first, breaking the silence. “I do have an ulterior motive.”

He glances sharply at her, surprised by how surprised he is. Of course; no one does anything for unselfish reasons.

But Raven just grins at him. “I wanted to see how much experience with machines she has. I sort of remember her when I had the chip.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s – we were all sort of connected when we were chipped. What we knew, ALIE knew. And what ALIE knew, we all knew.”

“Sounds confusing.”

“It was. Or, it wasn’t really at the time. It just kind of felt normal. It’s hard to explain.” Her eyes go distant. “I don’t really remember that much, but when Emori was helping refit the rocket, I remembered that I used to know she collected machines for ALIE.”

“She did.”

“Does she know how any of it works?”

The truth is he doesn’t really know. But he remembers how well she knew her way around the motor of her boat – how one day when it had stalled and sputtered and coughed up thick, black smoke, she had shucked her glove for the first time since they’d met, sat herself down with some kind of tools, and rearranged wires and metal until it started working again. He had sat on the opposite side of the boat, pale skin baking in the midday sun, mesmerized by her certain movements.

“Yes,” he insists. “And she’s a fast learner.”

Raven smiles. “Good. I’m starting to realize I probably need another hand to help me out.”

They eventually find Emori at the far end of the ring. She’s in the depths of one of the rooms, her makeshift cart with her, hard at work attacking the screws securing a metal shelf to the wall. In her cart sit two similar shelves, and Murphy notes the empty, discolored spaces on the walls where they must have once hung.

She turns when she hears them coming, pocketing the screws she’s removed, and eyes Raven warily before she notices Murphy beside her. Her eyes soften when they land on him, and, like always, it makes something in him shudder at the idea that someone could ever be so happy to see him. He wonders if he’ll ever tire of it or grow familiar with it. He doubts it.

Before he can say anything, Raven pulls out the ration she brought and waves it in the air. “Can you take a break? I brought you a present.”

The skin of Emori’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “A present?” she repeats slowly. Her eyes flick to Murphy, questioning. He nods, hoping it’s reassuring. They might have enemies here, but Raven is a friend – or he’s pretty sure she is, at least.

“Yeah, I figured you were starving,” Raven says, the corners of her mouth quirking with false humor. She passes the ration over. Emori takes it, cradling it her hands like something precious – and to be fair, it is.

“I don’t think this will help with that,” Emori says dryly, eyeing it.

Murphy silently echoes the sentiment.

Raven grimaces, but shrugs it off. “Better than nothing.” She ambles over to a chair and slowly lowers herself into it, face softening in some relief once she’s no longer standing. She grabs the calf of her bad leg and moves it into a more comfortable position, and Murphy wants nothing more than to flee the room. But Emori takes her own seat and pats the one beside her, beckoning him over, and he follows.

“These taste awful,” Emori says after her first bite. It’s not the first time she’s said it, and Murphy just nods in agreement.

Raven snorts, swallowing her own bite. “Be glad you didn’t grow up on stuff like this. This and algae. Every other week you’d get real fruits and vegetables, but our selection was kind of limited. I miss panther.”

“And rabbit,” Murphy adds, imagining the taste. “Fish is kind of weird, but it’s good.”

“Fish?” Raven asks curiously. She looks at both of them. “What’s that taste like?”

“There’s lots of different kinds,” Emori explains. “You can’t fish in certain waters, though. The fish are bad. It will make you sick.” Then she eyes the ration in her hand. “Still probably better than this though.”

Raven laughs outright. “Yeah, probably. Ark food is pretty much shit. Unity Day was the best, though, because you got something sweet. Not a lot, but kids always got part of a cookie or wafer or something.”

“I remember that one time we got chocolate.”

Raven’s eyes go wide. “No shit? Mecha must have missed out on that.” She grins a humorless smile and adds, “Or Mom traded it away for booze.”

He looks up sharply at her.

“What?” Raven asks, shrugging, overly casual. “You aren’t the only one with a shitty mom.”

“What’s ‘Mecha’ mean?” Emori asks curiously, looking between them. She’s eaten half of her ration and stopped, just like she always does. Murphy knows she’ll wrap the rest up and hide it somewhere safe so she can eat it tomorrow; he’s never sure if spacing what little they get out like that actually helps or just makes things worse, but having something on the days they don’t get a ration seems to at least reassure Emori.

“The Ark was divided into different stations. I was from Mecha, Murphy was from – “ she cuts off, turning to him expectantly.

“Factory.”

“Same as Bellamy, then.”

Murphy shrugs. “I never met him.”

“How did you live with so many people in such a small space?” Emori asks, eyeing the walls.

Raven shrugs. “I don’t know. It was just normal to us.”

“I didn’t even realize places could be so big until we got to Earth,” Murphy admits. He rolls the ration wrapper between his fingers, listening to it crackle.

“You’ve never spacewalked then,” Raven says. “It’s not really the same as Earth, but at least you feel free.” She catches Emori’s interested look and grins at her. “I could teach you if you like. I’ll probably need some help with a few things out there.”

“Out where?” Emori asks warily, eyes flicked towards the open door as if she can look out into space from here.

“Space. It’s like when I used the suit to float to the airlock doors.”

Emori turns quickly back to her. “When you were floating?” she asks excitedly. Her grin threatens to overwhelm her entire face.

“Yeah,” Raven says, her grin matching Emori’s. “You interested?”

“Yes,” Emori says. Her face is alight with wonder. It’s a relief to see after all that happened with Echo. Murphy ducks his head to hide his smile. “Why do you float, though? John told me about gravity -” She stumbles slightly over the word, still not quite familiar with it. “ - and Monty said the Ring has “artificial gravity,” but what does that mean?” Her eyes are alight with curiosity, bright and eager to learn more.

Raven looks just as excited to teach her.

Murphy zones out as Raven launches into an explanation and Emori holds raptly onto every word that falls from her lips. His empty stomach still claws at his insides, and he knows they still have several days to go with limited rations. The Ark still feels like a dismal specter and a cage all at once.

But here, in this moment at least, with these two people at his side, he feels content.

Bellamy is like a bad cold he just can’t shake. Murphy still isn’t quite sure where they stand, both hovering in some awkward, unknown space between friend and enemy, taking two steps back for every step forward in the world’s clumsiest dance.

When he shows up again for the first time after asking about Echo’s stitches, it’s with Harper in tow. Or rather, Harper is the one towing Bellamy, who seems to need her guidance to walk in a straight line. He looks dazed, maybe drunk even, blinking frequently and slowly, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkled and pinched. His pupils are blown wide. One is larger than the other. Harper looks sober, but like she wishes she could be anywhere else in the world rather than standing in front of Murphy. He echoes the sentiment.

“What’s up with him?” he asks.

Bellamy doesn’t seem to even register his question. His face twists with pain. Harper answers for him. “Echo was teaching us how to sword fight, and she hit him pretty hard in the head. He’s bleeding.”

Murphy stares at her in confusion for a moment. “We have swords?”

“No – well, Echo has hers, I think. We used some pipes we had in the supply room.”

Murphy winces in sympathy. There’s no way that didn’t hurt.

“I’m fine,” Bellamy announces suddenly, though he raises the arm not held hostage by Harper to prod gently at the back of his head, grimacing. “Just – “ He blinks a few times, trying to find the words. “Walk,” he settles on, which makes no sense to Murphy. He looks to Harper for explanation, but she shrugs, just as lost.

Bellamy starts swaying dangerously in place, and Harper pushes him forward to sit on one of the many chairs in Medical. When he moves his hand back down to his side, Murphy can spot blood on it.

“Let’s just look you over, anyways,” Harper tells him, gently. Bellamy flaps a hand at her as if to brush her off, and Harper just narrowly dodges it. “Echo said she thinks his brain is loose.”

Murphy looks at her sharply. Whatever that means, he certainly isn’t prepared to deal with it.

Harper laughs a bit, though it fails to fully bury her obvious concern. She gnaws at her lip as she looks back down at Bellamy. He’s leaned forward over his knees, face buried in his hands, eyes squeezed tight. She rubs a hand gently over his shoulder. “I think she means concussion. She probably doesn’t know the English for it.”

“Oh.” Murphy’s heard the word before, though he doesn’t know much about them. What he does know is how to deal with a bleeding wound, though, so he focuses on that, grabbing the last of their clean rags and moving to look at the back of Bellamy’s bowed head. It’s easy to see the blood; it clumps his curls together, turning the hair even darker than normal. He pushes the rag against the wound. Bellamy flinches and tries to push him off.

Murphy bats his hands away. “I’m trying to help you. Calm down,” he says testily.

“I’m fine,” Bellamy insists. “Get off.”

“You’re bleeding,” Harper tells him gently.

Bellamy blinks in confusion at her, then tries to prod at the back of his head again. “Oh.”

Murphy rolls his eyes and pushes his wandering hand away. Then he motions Harper over. “Here, hold this.” When she takes his spot holding the rag to Bellamy’s head, he moves to fill up a small container with water and grabs the last of their alcohol, along with the sewing kit Bellamy found for Echo, just in case. He moves with certainty through Medical this time, familiar with the steps to this now.

“How’d you know I was here?” he asks.

“Echo seems convinced you’re our healer. She figured you’d be here.”

There’s that word again. When Murphy looks over at her, Harper is staring straight at him, expression shrewd and judging. Bellamy is, too, he supposes – or he’s trying, at least, but his gaze goes a little high of Murphy’s shoulder.

Murphy stares back at Harper.

They wouldn’t float a doctor, he thinks again.

He makes a decision.

“I am.”

“Since when?” Harper demands.

“Since I decided we need one if we don’t want to all die. Since our last one -” He cuts himself off, glancing down at Bellamy. He’s not sure if the other man is even aware they’re in the room with him, let alone if he’s following the conversation, but he’s not sure he wants to risk it. Bellamy hits harder than Monty. He looks back to Harper and shrugs his shoulders. “You know.”

Harper’s lips drawn into a thin line. “Died, you mean?”

Murphy shrugs. He’s not going to beat around the bush like it isn’t true. “Yeah.” Harper’s face sours. “What? It’s true.”

“Who died?” Bellamy asks suddenly, blinking at them.

Murphy and Harper fall silent, glancing at Bellamy and then back to each other. Harper’s eyes dare him to say Clarke’s name.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says instead, taking the rag from Harper. “I’m sure you’ll remember tomorrow.” Harper makes a derisive noise, but he ignores her and focuses instead on rinsing the rag out. The water turns bright red, but there’s less blood than he expected, which seems like a good sign.

When he cleans the blood off Bellamy’s head, the wound is smaller than expected too. There’s a decently-sized bump that he’s sure will bruise something fierce, but he doesn’t think he has to waste any thread on stitching it up. He does sacrifice about half of their remaining alcohol to rinse it, though, just in case. Bellamy, as expected, jerks at the sting and tries to move away from him, but Harper helps hold him in place.

Murphy wonders if he even really knows where he is or what’s happening. His gaze won’t seem to focus on either of them, often bouncing off their shoulders and landing on open air instead.

Harper gently taps his shoulder. “How do you feel?”

It takes longer than it should for Bellamy to process the question. He stares at her in silence for an uncomfortably long time, before finally saying, “My head hurts.”

Murphy snorts. “Yeah, I’d imagine.” That seems to be beyond Bellamy’s comprehension right now; he doesn’t respond.

“Do you know anything about being a doctor?” Harper demands. “You can’t just decide you are one.”

“Obviously,” he shoots back, then holds up the tablet. “I’ve been studying.”

“Studying what?”

He’s suddenly wary of giving too much away, in case someone else decides they could do a better job than him. “Files and articles and stuff. There’s all sorts of information in here from the Ark doctors.”

“Oh.” She falls silent.

Murphy looks up at her. “Oh?” he asks defensively. “What’s ‘oh’ mean?”

“I’m just surprised. That’s...smart.”

“I know - beauty and brains. How’d I end up so blessed?”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Harper’s face, but she wrestles it back down.

Murphy pulls up the search feature on the tablet, then hesitates, suddenly very aware of two facts: Harper is watching him closely, and he doesn’t know how to spell concussion. A blush starts to creep up his neck.

He takes a wild stab in the dark and waits for the results to come up. Nothing does. When he chances a glance at Harper, her sharp eyes drill into him. Bellamy’s got his face buried in his hands again, oblivious to everything but his aching head.

Murphy steels himself for the coming laughter. “How do you spell concussion?”

“Oh,” Harper says, surprised. Then she frowns. “I’m not sure. Um, try c-o-n-c-u-s-h-i-o-n.”

He feels a rush of relief as he follows her suggestion. But still, nothing comes up.

“That wasn’t it.”

Harper glances down at Bellamy, then comes to stand by Murphy looking down at the tablet. “Try c-o-n-c-u-s-i-o-n.”

He does. Still nothing.

“Um.” Harper looks lost. It’s reassuring. “Two s’s?”

Several files and reports fill the screen. Quickly, he identifies the style of entry he’s come to recognize as a general overview and clicks on it - and when he sees the massive block of flickering, jumbled letters greeting him, it suddenly hits him that he’s going to have to try to make sense of the words while Harper’s reading over his shoulder, no doubt three times as fast as he will.

He feels hot; the blush creeps higher up his neck.

Harper’s eyes are running left and right across the page, devouring the information at a speed he could only dream of, and he feels sick with jealousy and embarrassment. Trying to save face, he studies the first line, slowly making his way through it.

“I think Echo was right,” Harper says, glancing back at Bellamy. “You should look at what it says to do.”

“Yeah,” Murphy says slowly, hands clenching tighter on the tablet, trying frantically to identify the right words.

He goes too long without reacting. Harper notices. Murphy wants to melt into the floor when he feels her eyes on him. When he dares to look back at her, she’s staring at him intently. “You checking me out, McIntyre? I know it’s a good view, but I’m spoken for.”

“Murphy,” she starts, then stops. She works the question in her mouth a moment, hesitant, then blurts out, “Can you read?”

“Fuck off,” he snaps. “Of course I can read.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Well, maybe you need to get your eyes checked.” He scrolls down the page blindly. The pressure of having Harper hovering over his shoulder is making everything worse; he can’t focus.

“Why do you have to be such a dick all the time? I’m just asking.”

“No, you’re implying I’m an idiot. I’m not the only dick in the room.”

“It’s loud,” Bellamy groans, interrupting them.

“Sorry,” Harper tells him, dropping her voice to a whisper. He doesn’t respond.

“I can read,” Murphy insists, desperate to explain. “The words just get all fucked up.”

“What do you mean?” There isn’t any judgement in her tone. Just curiosity. It makes it easier to answer.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “They just move around a lot. Makes it hard to read. It’s a thing. My dad had it too.”

“My dad had an autoimmune disorder,” Harper says quickly. “The doctors thought I’ll have it too. I didn’t get a place in the bunker because of it.”

“Shit, that sucks,” he says, because he can’t think of anything better to say to that.

Harper shrugs. Her smile is brittle. “Yeah. Guess I wasn’t healthy enough to save.”

“I didn’t get a spot either, if that helps.”

Harper snorts a laugh. “Guess that’s why we’re all here.”

“Guess so.”

She looks down at the tablet again. “So the letters just move around?”

“Yeah. It’s called dyslexia. Makes reading fucking hard.”

Harper hesitates. “I can read it aloud. If you want.”

It would make things easier, but it sounds humiliating. “Are you trying to steal my job, McIntyre?”

“No way. I heard about how you stitched up Echo’s arm. I don’t want to do anything like that.”

He thinks about it. For almost the entire time they’ve been back in space, Harper has looked at him with judgement and contempt. But now, shockingly, both are absent. There’s only sincerity - and something like understanding.

He hands the tablet over. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Harper smiles. “You’re welcome.”

Turns out the treatment for a concussion is just a lot of waiting. 24 hours of observation, the tablet tells him, which is way longer than he wants to spend stuck in a room with Bellamy, but he’s determined to prove himself as a doctor after his earlier failure.

Harper sticks around for a while. Apparently, there isn’t much for her to do in the algae farm now either - not while they’re waiting for a miracle, at least. She offers to read several other files aloud too, and after a bunch of annoying pestering, Murphy relents. It is kind of humiliating, but it also does make the process of working through the nearly-incomprehensible files much easier.

She shocks him by scrolling through the list to find the most disgusting entries and reading aloud the worst parts just to watch him squirm. He doesn’t even realize her intention until he notices her grin as she reads aloud a description of scurvy in vivid detail. Turns out Harper’s more of an asshole than he thought. It’s kind of great.

Eventually, though, she leaves, and it’s just Bellamy and Murphy alone. Bellamy keeps drifting in and out of sleep, never staying out for more than five minutes. Usually he wakes up with a random question or half a thought that is absolute nonsense. Usually, Murphy just ignores him.

When Bellamy wakes up this time, though, he looks around as if to orient himself, eying the walls and landmarks to identify the room. Then he stares at Murphy for a long time, the gears in his brain clearly turning through his sluggish thoughts. His gaze is a little more focused than it has been before, though it still lands just slightly to Murphy’s left and flickers back and forth between the real Murphy and the space beside him.

“The grounders killed him,” he says without preamble. Murphy brushes it off as more of the same nonsensical muttering he’s been doing for the past few hours when he adds, “John.”

That grabs his attention. Bellamy has never once called him by his name.

“Mbege,” Bellamy clarifies.

Oh.

Murphy grunts, shaking off the shock. “Yeah, I figured.”

“The trees,” Bellamy says. “I couldn’t - so many of them. There were - “ He trails off, his gaze drifting straight through Murphy and staring at something that isn’t there. This time, he’s not sure it’s just the concussion. “And Roma.”

Panic starts a slow creep across his skin; he doesn’t know what he would do if Bellamy actually starts crying, and he seems poised to, his eyes blinking furiously against whatever emotions are brewing within him. There’s a shine to his eyes.

“It’s fine,” Murphy blurts out quickly. “You did the best you could.” It burns his throat coming out. It feels like a lie – it is a lie. Because Bellamy hadn’t. Not at first. Not when Murphy was there. And maybe nothing changed when he left. For all he knows, public hangings became the delinquent's version of floating. Who else got the short end of the stick when Bellamy was in change?

Looking back on those first few days on the ground, it’s easy to see just how stupid Bellamy and his little faction had been – himself included. They hadn’t been at all prepared for survival on Earth. They hadn’t even done much to survive, except maybe catch a few animals to eat. Bellamy hadn’t cared about collecting water or storing food – not until someone else mentioned it. Wells first. Clarke at times. Bellamy hadn’t even worried about building a real camp until the grounders had appeared.

Bellamy had been more focused on giving the delinquents what they wanted than leading them like he should have, the only adult amongst a bunch of – fuck, they’d just been a bunch of stupid kids.

“He came with us,” Bellamy continues, words coming slowly. “To save Octavia.” His mouth gets tripped up over his sister’s name, stumbles over the consonants. Then he pauses, jerked out of his own daydream. He looks wide-eyed at Murphy. “Is she here?”

“What?” Murphy asks, baffled. “No. Why would she be?”

“Is she in the floor?” Bellamy asks seriously, and then, sure enough, looks down to study the floor below him and nearly tips right out of his seat.

Murphy catches him and pushes him upright. “No, she’s not in the floor, you dumbass. She’s on Earth. And we were talking about Mbege,” he reminds him.

Bellamy blinks slowly, processing the name. “It was my fault,” he says finally. The words linger in the air. Murphy’s temper rises like a fever across his skin.

“You’re fucking right it was,” he bites out, and Bellamy blinks up at him with wide, shocked eyes, like he thought Murphy was going to reassure him instead. No, fuck that. It’s about time Bellamy owns up for the shit he does same as everyone else, and Murphy certainly isn’t going to pat him on the back and tell him that letting him hang or letting Mbege march off to his death was okay.

“You made shitty decisions and got people killed,” he growls. The scar on his throat throbs with an old ache. If he ran his fingers across It, he could still feel the slightly rough skin left behind. “We thought you knew what you were doing.”

“I didn’t,” Bellamy whispers, so soft that Murphy nearly misses it in his anger.

“We listened to you,” Murphy says, “And you screwed us, Blake.”

His eyes sting. His lungs burn. He doesn’t think he’s talking about Mbege anymore.

Bellamy stares up and him. He blinks. “I’m sorry.”

It’s sincere, even if it’s confused. Murphy’s not quite sure Bellamy even knows what he’s apologizing for, let alone if he’ll even remember this tomorrow. Still, the words are comforting; they soothe some of the ache, and it’s such a relief that he can’t even hold onto his anger. The anger is exhausting; his body doesn’t have the strength for it anymore.

If Bellamy was actually coherent, he might have asked whether they were good now. Murphy thinks he might have stolen his response from Monty. I’m on the fence about it.

But maybe he’s hovering slightly towards the side of forgiveness. Just maybe.

#the 100 fic #john murphy #memori #spacekru #the 100 #my stories #first do no harm

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