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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

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reunion pt. 1 (5/8) | r.b.

summary: His back rises and falls against your chest as Bertholdt stands, and your voice reeks with your own loathing and despair. You just want to know— “Bertholdt, please. What did I ever do to you to deserve to die?” Or, the return to Shiganshina is even worse than you imagined.

WARNINGS: aNGST ANGST ANGST, self loathing, swearing, mentions of heavy injuries and violence pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 6.4k

a/n: here we go!!! pain express. : )

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

Launching yourself to the top of the Wall, you find Armin’s gaze as he steps up to you, and you shake your head.

“All I found was three cups,” you inform quickly, “and the pot.” Meeting Commander Erwin’s stare, your knees seem to lock as he turns to Armin who seems to digest the information as well. Turning away to look out on Shiganshina, your eyes sweep the torn buildings, the abandoned silence making your insides cold.

You’re here, aren’t you? Reiner… Bertholdt… did you think of me half as much as I’ve thought about you? I still want answers. Would you even give them to me? Or was Eren telling the truth when he told me what you said about us, Reiner? You surrounded yourself with incompetent fools.

Especially me.

Someone calls your name and you jerk out of your slow reverie, blinking as Armin grabs your elbow and you turn, tugging your green cloak tighter around yourself as your grasp on your ODM grips tightens. With the orders given, you split off from him and jump off the wall, iron wires shooting into the stone. Swinging down to the ground, you split off from the group to explore one of the homes built flush against the wall. Entering, your heart is rapid, pounding against your windpipe.

You try to think like them—where they’d hide, what they’d look like, trying to blend in, but as you ascend the steps of the home and fall to your knees, looking under the bed and the tables, you find nothing. You get to your feet and walk over to the window, pushing it open and shouting, “Clear!”

In response, a couple other Scouts shout their own results, all the same sa yours, and you hop out the window. Landing back on the ground, you’re about to migrate over to the next house when an acoustic shell goes off and you grit your teeth, wrenching your head up. Something inside you snaps.

Someone found them. They actually found them—

Clicking the triggers, you shoot up the wall, the wind nipping at your nose and you land easily, running over to Armin, his signal gun still in hand.

“Did you find them?” you breathe but he shakes his head as Scouts fall all around them, encircling him. Stepping closer, you feel an unheeded wave of relief wash over you followed by a flood of guilt and you clench your jaw, looking down at the stone beneath your boots.

Why? Why should I be grateful they haven’t been found? All they ever did was lie to me. All he ever did was make promises to my face and plotted to kill me behind my back—

Commander Erwin’s voice cuts through your hurricane thoughts, and you look up, receiving the new orders and splitting off from the group once again.

No. No, just stop thinking.

Wiping at your face with the back of your hand, your breath burns through your chest as your grappling hooks sink into the stone and you lower yourself down the wall beside Armin. Tapping your blades against stone, you hear the clink-clink of all the other Scouts doing the same as your eyes scan for cracks, wedges, anything.

They were never on your side.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, descending. A strange, futile twist of your gut has you aching, exhausted despite the campaign barely beginning, and your legs feel numb as you jump lower and lower, your swords scraping against the Wall. Looking over at Armin, you catch his forced smile, and you nod to yourself, returning your gaze to the surface in front of you, reaching left and right to make sure all spots are checked.

And every time, you pray that the sound is full.

Frowning when you land in front of a cracked part of the wall, your eyes trace the spider webbed fissure before you lift your hand and tap where the cracks seem to stem from. Heart staggering in your chest, your blood chills when you hear it’s hollow.

For a moment, you stare at the rock, knowing full well the eyes you’ll see behind it, and the world slows down into agonizing milliseconds. On instinct, your hand drops the sword and reaches for your belt before you shoot an acoustic shell towards the sky.

“Hey!” you scream, voice hoarse. “This spot is hollow!”

You turn to look at Armin just as a movement catches in the corner of your eye, and your head snaps back as the portion of the Wall is removed and dull silver shoots out of the darkness. Mouth dropping open, you wrench your stare up, pinning Reiner in the face, and you see the moment he recognizes you.

His eyes widen, arm freezing mid-thrust, the tip of the blade just barely digging into your chest. Not deep enough to bleed, but enough to prick.

You forget everything you need to say. Your voice catches in your throat, and a soft, shuddering breath escapes your lips. You understand why the world seems so slow now.

For what feels like years, you look into Reiner’s eyes before they narrow into a deadly glare, and your heart falls into the abyss. A chilling poison fills his entire face as he drops his blade, hand shooting out to grab your shoulder, and throwing you in. Plunged into darkness, you collide with stone as Reiner jumps out.

Shoulder and cheek blooming with a dull ache that comes and goes in tidal waves, you whirl around, retracting your iron wires with a quick press of your grips just as a blur of green flies past the hole. Eyes widening, you scramble forward.

Captain Levi yanks his blade out of Reiner’s neck and you watch as the captain shoots himself back up the Wall.

You hear the thud Reiner’s body makes, an empty sound that echoes in your head as you push yourself further over the edge of the hole. Yellow light bursts from his chest and you cover your face, squinting and gritting your teeth against the burning glare as Levi runs to you, pulling you out. The wind tears at your clothes, stinging your fingers as the fist at your collar tightens.

“Keep your distance and stick by him,” he growls into your ear before throwing you up. Activating your ODM gear, you burst up the wall, the captain beside you. “Reiner would’ve killed any other soldier if it weren’t you. Let’s hope that nepotism lasts.”

You eyes flit to Levi who only stares up, pale eyes narrowed against the bleak sky. You wish you could tell him that he’s wrong—he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

But your chest is hardening as the seconds pass, a coldness stemming from where the tip of Reiner’s sword had dug into you.

Throwing the final Thunder Spear you have at Reiner’s nape, you reroute yourself onto a nearby roof as the explosion goes off, rattling your entire skeleton. Slapping your hands over your ears, you squint at the blast before it disappears as quick as it came. As it dies down, you blink, trying to make out the shape of the Armoured Titan but dots still speckle your vision, blurring everything. Your ears ringing, a swelling feeling blocks up your chest.

What do you want to see? Do you want to see him again? On his feet, prepared to kill us. Prepared to kill you? Or will seeing him on his knees, steam rising from his body bring you more relief?

You’re not sure. Your body is thrumming with adrenaline, every thought of fatigue chased from your mind, and as you sink to one knee, you wait.

When the smoke finally clears, you finally see him. The Armoured Titan on his knees, keeling over, and at the nape of his neck, a pillar of steam rising from his body, sits Reiner. Lips parting, you surge to your feet and wait again, wait for him to begin to move.

Reiner… get up. What are you doing? Get up!

Boots shifting against the tiled rooftop, your grip on your swords tightens when you can’t even see the slightest rise and fall of his shoulders, the sway of his body. No, he’s statuesque in his position, and your heart drops as cheers rise all around you.

“The Armoured Titan just bit the dust!”

The words pass through one ear and out the other. Rooted to your spot, a burning begins to fester in your eyeballs as something warm slips over your cheeks, into your open mouth, and it tastes salty on your tongue. Breath shuddering in your chest, your vision begins to blur again and you blink, a fresh wave of tears streaming down your face.

No, no, stop it! Stop crying for him! He’s dead! You should be glad for that! Your voice is ragged in your head as you slam the heel of your hand into your temple. Stop it! Stop it! Reiner, move! Please, don’t be dead. Shit! Teeth clenched tight, you fall to your knees as Section Commander Hange just across the street from you with Mikasa and Armin, orders for another round of Thunder Spears. Your fingers dig into your scalp as Scouts begin to move, the steam rising from Reiner’s body hot enough even from here to scorch you.

A Scout lands beside you, giving you two near Spears, and you look at them blankly, knowing you should be eager to grab them, but you just can’t move.

‘Thank you,” you murmur to him and he only nods before moving on, just as you hear metal clink and your gaze wrenches up. The Armoured Titan throws his head back, jaw unhinging, and a piercing scream shatters the air. Eyes wide, your palms slap over your ears again as the air trembles and your heart halts in your chest, the air paralyzingly still.

The tiles beneath your knees seem to shake under the force of the wail before Reiner tilts forward, steaming corpse freezing even deeper in prostrate.

Crawling forward, your eyes fix on Reiner’s shoulders. Is he… he’s…

“Everyone, move away from the Armoured Titan!” The order barely distracts you as the other Scouts flee. Chancing a glance at your comrades, you realize they’re already barrelling away from you, and you steel your nerves, squaring your hips.

And then you launch yourself off the roof.

The tile breaks as you fly through the air, landing on the Titan’s shoulder, and you grunt, planting a palm flat against the surface. With a hard swallow, you push yourself to your feet and wipe the stubborn tears drying on your cheeks with a grimace.

We can still save him, you think to yourself resolutely. If he’s still alive, we can still save him

Submerging yourself in the white steam, you ignore the smouldering at your palms as you traverse up to the nape, stepping over the shattered remains of armour.

I already lost the farm.

Waving away the hot fog, you reach Reiner’s shoulder and fall to your knees beside him. It’s all coming from his head and you look down at his arms, still submerged in Titan flesh. Eyebrows knotting together, you reach out for the patch of skin you can still see, and electricity shoots up your bones when you realize he’s still warm.

I lost Annie.

“Shit!” Your hand flies to his back and his chest, feeling for a heartbeat and you try to listen for breaths as your palms slide against green fabric.

I’m not about to lose you, too.

You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of his face but it’s still nothing more than smoke and black and blood, dripping everywhere. Grimacing, you move your palms left just as a faint pulse renders you frozen.

Then, it’s another pulse, and another, soft and weak, but still there.

The sound of ODM gear makes your head snap up and your ribs ache when you realize who it is.

“Bertholdt.” His name is ripped out of your throat as he lands on the other side of Reiner, and for a moment, you see the best friend you once knew before he’s swallowed up by whoever he is now, eyes glinting with a calm you can’t recognize. “Bertholdt, help me.“

“Reiner. Is he—“

“No, he’s still alive,” you reply back quickly. He falls to his knees, moving your hands out of the way to feel for himself, and Bertholdt’s face goes lax when he feels what you did. “Help me get him out of here, please.”

“What the—he must’ve transferred his consciousness throughout his entire nervous system. We talked about it,” he mutters, almost to himself, “but only as a last resort. To think that he would actually need to.” Your eyes trail to his arms again, and you lift your sword. You could cut him out. If you have enough gas, you can probably pull the both of them back to the Wall—

“Bertholdt!” His gaze snaps to you and your fingers wrap around the hilt tighter. “Help me cut him out. I think we can save him if we just—“

“What are you doing?” he asks flatly. Stunned, you can only look at him and he turns his gaze away bitterly. “Why are you helping him? Trying to help me?”

“You’re my family, Bertholdt.” His shoulders go rigid, as if he’s holding back a flinch, and you lower the blade to the tendons along Reiner’s arm. “I have to save who I have left. I’m not going to leave you guys like I left Annie. We can still fix this. Please, please, please help me cut him out before the Scouts finish him off.”

“You’re more desperate than I thought.” It’s not cold, but it makes you freeze all the same. “You know how this is going to go. You always knew. You’re going to die,” he tells you firmly. You reel back, stung, but Bertholdt pays you no mind. “It doesn’t matter whether I help you or not.”

“Bertholdt—“

“Reiner,” he addresses his friend again and your eyes begin to burn again as your gaze finds where the flesh of the Titan meets Reiner’s arm, the glint of your blade so bright compared to the redness of the beast. Your entire body weighs a thousand pounds, and you squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping down your nose. “Reiner, I need you to do something for me. You’re going to have to move, just a little bit. Lie down with your Titan body facing upwards.”

All you need to do is just swing off his arm. It should be so simple.

“And if you can’t, then I’m sorry. Prepare for the worst.”

Your face lifts up to find your old friend’s, but he refuses to look at you as you grab Reiner’s shoulders, pull yourself to his side. His back rises and falls against your chest as Bertholdt stands, and your voice reeks with your own loathing and despair. You just want to know— “Bertholdt, please. What did I ever do to you to deserve to die?”

His hands roll into fists before he reaches up to pull out his hand grips, long fingers wrapping around the triggers.

“Nothing. You’ll always be one of my dearest comrades. One of my truest friends.” His shoulders fall into his back as he tilts his head to look at you out of the corner of his eye. Your blood chills when you find nothing inside his own stare except cold, hard determination. “I’m just ending a war that we were unlucky enough to be born in. It’s nothing personal.”

Without another word, he jumps off Reiner’s shoulder and you snap your jaws shut, determined not to focus any more time on him. Turning back to Reiner, you run over in your head what Bertholdt had said.

Truest friend.

You feel stiff everywhere. Even when you try to shove his voice of your head, you can’t. One word leads to another and to another, until every memory is playing back, from the times he helped you muck the stables, to the years spent training side by side—you had known about his crush on Annie. Who else had known? You’d been the only one, you’re sure of it—

“I need you to do something for me.”

Shaking your head, your eyes fix on the back of Reiner’s head.

“If your consciousness is through your entire body, then cutting you out won’t do any permanent damage, will it?” you whisper near his ear, but he gives no sign of answer and you jerk back onto your knees. But what if it does? After all, permanent nerve damage is a thing that plagues a bunch of soldiers. I’ve seen it—what if that happens to him, too? Hands trembling, your guts get up into knots and you roll your fingers into fists but even still, it doesn’t help the shaking that travels up your arms. Permanent damage and alive is better than dead.

But what if it’s like cutting off a head? This is the host after all. None of this makes any sense!

“Reiner, if you can hear me”—you lunge forward again, fingers digging into his shoulders—“I need you to tell me if it’s okay. I can’t kill you. I can’t!” The ground trembles and you let out a gasp as the muscles of his back flex against your arm. Jerking back, you feel the same movement in the Armoured Titan’s shoulders and you let out a shout as a hand clasps sloppily over you.

Plunged into darkness, your ODM gear crashes against something hard and your body is jostled like a pebble about to be skipped over water. Blades flying freely, you try to get a good grasp on the hilt before you’re stabbed and you feel the air sifting between the cracks of plated fingers as you fall backwards.

Trying to get up, you manage to stumble to your feet just as the fist you’re trapped in jerks back and sends you flying backwards. Your head crashing into a plate, white stars explode in your vision and your body goes limp as you let out a soft groan. Eyes struggling to stay open, you barely make out the shape of the Armoured Titan’s fingers wrapped all around you before a wave of exhaustion crashes on your skull, and your neck gives out.

Head dropping back against the plate, a ringing silence fills the air, and your eyes slip shut. The pulsing ache in your temple stops moments later as something warm trails down the side of your face.

You don’t recall the last time you’ve laughed so hard your cheeks ache. You never would’ve guessed it would’ve been laughing at one of Connie’s jokes six months into cadet training as they walk back to the dorms.

“Fun times today. Who knew you could be such a joker?” Connie laughs, elbowing you. You rub the back of your neck, embarrassed. “Just needed a little time to warm up to us, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jean snorts. “Who could connect Little Miss Shy over here with the same girl who danced to the busker’s music just because Connie said to?”

“Oh, shut up, guys. Take a look in the mirror. Besides, I had to make sure I wouldn’t die of insanity the instant I hung out with you, Connie. I’m never playing Truth or Dare with you again,” you say pointedly. “Get to your bunks.” The boy mock salutes you to the amusement of Bertholdt and Reiner who stand with them, and you roll your eyes before shooting Jean and Connie a smile. “Goodnight, guys.”

“Goodnight.”

“And, er, goodnight, Reiner.”

He simply dips his head to you, and you try not to let your smile falter. Reiner breaks off from their group first, with Connie, then Jean, and Bertholdt lingers behind for a moment longer. Curious, you stop in front of the door to the dorm, arching an eyebrow.

“What’s up?”

“We had a good time today in Trost,” he says. “I’m glad you came with us.”

“Thanks for inviting me. I’m really sorry I couldn’t convince Annie to,” you add and he shakes his head. “I think she would’ve had a great time.”

“It’s okay.” Your eyes narrow a bit when you see he looks away. His hand runs through his hair nervously and an inkling of an idea sprouts in your head. Oh, no way. “Maybe next time?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Stepping away, you send him a final, tired smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You step through the door and spot the lone figure still inside easily enough. The other girls must be washing up or sneaking something to eat from the kitchens, but you’re too exhausted to even think about doing so. You just remind yourself to wake up extra early tomorrow if you can so you can sneak into the showers before muster. Meandering over to your bed, you make yourself known to the blonde girl.

“Hey, Annie,” you say, stretching one of your arms high above your head. The blonde in question looks up and you offer a smile as you push yourself up onto her bunk uninvited. She begrudgingly moves aside, and you lay down on your stomach, removing something from your pocket as she leans against the wall of their dorm, book in her lap.

“Did you have any fun?” she asks dryly and you nod. “Well, what do you want?”

“I brought you something. I think you’ll like it.” Setting the package down in front of her, you watch her expression carefully, glee shooting through you when you notice her lips parting, a hint of a smile twitching her cheeks. It’s taken a lot of persistent work, but being able to read Annie’s micro-expressions is a joy all in itself as you roll onto your back against her legs. “You didn’t come to our first visit to Trost today. You missed out on a lot of fun.”

She doesn’t answer and you sigh, unfolding the paper bag quietly. Flashing the opening to her, you tilt your head.

“I bought you this. I thought you might like it,” you repeat, pointing at the cream bun within, and Annie’s eyes flash to the bag, widening just a bit. She sets down her book, and leans over, legs crossing, and you pull yourself up to mirror her position. Reaching forward, the blonde pulls out the first bit of the dessert carefully, and you try to hold back your huge grin. “I know you liked sweets, and I really missed you today. You should come next time.”

“You bought this for me?” she asks, confused, tearing the dough apart and you nod when blue eyes search your face. She pops a bite into her mouth, and you wait for reaction. Eyebrows shooting up, she almost looks impressed before she rips off another piece, and offers it to you.

You take it graciously, the sweetness in the bread melting into your blood and soothing your fatigued body from the inside out. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Of course I thought of you when I saw that bakery.”

“We’re comrades,” she corrects, but even so, there’s something warmer in her tone. You wonder if she even notices. “But still, that’s… nice of you.”

“It’s nothing. Just come with me next time, and you could have them fresh. They’re even better and have all these different flavours and custards.” Annie’s eyes narrow for a moment, before she shoves the bun back into the paper bag with a sigh.

“Fine.” You turn to climb off her bunk and duck into your own just underneath hers but she calls your name quietly. Poking your head above the railing, you quirk an eyebrow. “You forgot this.” She shoves the paper bag back towards you and you frown.

“It’s for you. You can have the rest of it,” you say and her arm falters, eyebrows shooting up and lips parting in incredulity. You flash her a smile. “Goodnight, Annie.” Jumping back to the floor, you hear the soft crinkling of the paper bag and a warmth burns through your chest as you pull the covers back and shrug off your jacket. Changing into plainclothes, you slip into bed with a soft sigh, your muscles yawning in relief.

“Goodnight,” a tired voice breaks the silence, and you roll onto your side, the corner of your mouth curving up as you bury your face into your pillow. Minutes pass, and your eyes begin to grow heavy as a sort of draw tugs at you. Pulling the sheets tight against your chest, your eyelids slide shut.

Then, quieter, that same voice cracking in your newfound darkness, you hear: “Thank you.”

The world fades black for only for a moment before you jolt awake, mind scrambling. You’re no longer in your bed at the cadet corps, and you let out a sharp breath when everything around you smells like dust rather than warm candle wax.

Your entire body is on fire. Groaning, you push yourself onto all fours and rub at your cheek as the body beneath your shifts. Something wet soaks into your sleeves and you reach blindly for your swords as the hand above you falls away. Disoriented, you cradle your head.

Why… why was I thinking about Annie? you wonder to yourself as you land on the palm of Reiner’s hand and the fingers begin to uncurl. I haven’t thought about that night since Stohess.

Sunlight sears your irises and you squint against the grey sky as you look up, and a tight invisible fist grabs your windpipe, strangling out any air you might’ve used to scream when glowing yellow eyes pin you down.

Maybe because she always made me believe that there shouldn’t be too much to fear in this world. Struggling to your feet, your fists clench tighter. Maybe because she fooled me into thinking that she’d be there for me.

Maybe I miss her.

That’s always been more likely.

You turn to look at your surroundings, your eyes straining against the light still, but as you keep blinking, you realize that it’s all on fire. Face screwing up, you look down at your hands. They’re stained with red. You swallow, a nausea tiding over you when you realize what you had wiped off your face hadn’t been tears, but your own blood.

Your head jerks up as a crashing rumbles the air, and you spot a giant red figure sweeping a hand through the rows of houses, molten stone. Fire flies everywhere. Smoke stains everything you can see.

Hell has come to us, you realize. We never had to die to become devils, did we?

“Bertholdt…” At your voice, the palm beneath you shifts and you can’t breathe as you look down, trying to keep yourself upright. Whirling around, you look up to see those Titan eyes peering down at you curiously, and you brandish your swords.

“Reiner!” Your vocal cords tear and you could’ve choked on your own blood as you swallow a clot down. “Reiner, I won’t kill you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do everything I can to stop you!” His fingers curl. You feel one nudge into your back, forcing your weak knees to give in, and you bow over, fists slamming against the heel of his hand. “Fuck.”

Your world beveled, you sway on your hands and knees as you lift your head up to look at him. Seeing twins of everything, your eyes strain as you try to make sense of what’s up and what’s down as your skin, sticky with blood, tears against the wedge of his armour.

“Fuck,” you choke out rawly, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck!”

Fingers pinch the back of your shirt delicately, and you’re hoisted into the air with a strangled gasp. Limbs flailing, you watch the ground get smaller as you’re lifted up. You’re like a limp doll in his fingers as Reiner twists to set you aside on a nearby roof.

When your knees meet tile, you let out a soft breath, your lips parted in the shape of his name.

“…Reiner?”

He does not answer. Instead, he turns your world upside down.

His hand drags through the structure beneath you. The stone gives in, cracks like egg shells, wood snaps, glass shatters into a million shards, and the ground beneath you crumbles, shakes, gives in even as you reach for him.

Suspended in mid-air for just a moment, you swear you can see him in the Titan’s face for just a moment, his eyes wide with regret, and then you’re plummeting through the debris, landing hard on your back. It punches the air out of you and your lungs spasm as you stare up at the sky caving above you. Entire body filled with a tingling numbness, shadows fall all over your face.

Crossing your arms over your head and locking them tight as you can, you turn your face away and squeeze your eyes tight as dust and stone rains down on your head, arms, body.

Ear to the ground, you go deaf from the entire world trembling with the sound of the Armoured Titan’s footsteps and it’s the only thing you can feel, even after the sun is eclipsed by wood and stone.

Connie stands over you.

His skin red with burns, he looms over you like a shadow, face pale, eyes wide as you stare right through him. Throat like ash and dry enough to scratch, your fingers twitch from where it’s trapped underneath a cinderblock and he breathes your name, shuddering and cold. Blood crumbles along your broken fingers as he shakes his head, his tears glimmering in the searing grey light. Crouching, he shifts something off your legs, lifts another block off your stomach, and your stomach flutters as you inhale raggedly.

Everything is destroyed inside you.

“C-onnie… Co-onnie…”

He works his way up your body, removing the parts of you that crush you still, and with every piece that he gets rid off, you realize that part of your body is still attached. Closing your eyes, your lips press together weakly and you swallow as he finally makes his way up to your face.

“Connie…” you whisper one last time as something warm puffs against your neck, and everything stills.

Then, hands grab your face. “Say that again!” he demands, and you let out a soft moan, brow wrinkling.

“C-Connie?”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

The hands are ripped off your face as if you had burned him, and your eyes crack open as he fumbles at his belt for his signal gun and shoots green smoke up at the sky, through a roof no longer above you anymore. The shot pierces your eardrums and your entire head begins to ring as you cough, blood spilling over your lips. Your arms feel shattered, aching so deeply, muscles so twisted that you can’t even lift them as Connie crouches back over you again, holding onto your face.

“H-how?”

“Reiner told us where you were. We thought you were dead! I’m going to get you out of here, though.” Grabbing one of your arms, he tugs and you let out a shout as the debris shifts around you. Your back screams, bones clicking awkwardly and he apologizes under his breath, as he hoists you up and forward. As you’re dragged back onto the street, your legs trail unevenly over the debris, every slide and knock of your boots against stone jolting through your fractured bones.

The cold wind that sweeps over your face as soon as you break through of the ash cloud is heaven sent.

“How badly does it hurt?” asks Connie.

“Like a—a building got dropped on me,” you breathe, and he lets out a shaky laugh, setting you down and procuring a waterskin. Carefully wrapping your pulsing fingers around it for you, he helps you tilt the water down your throat and you swallow greedily, stomach convulsing after sucking down lungfuls of grated stone and smoking ashes. Pitching forward, water dribbles down your chin and he takes the waterskin back. “The others. What’s going on with the others?”

“Sasha’s out, but she’s okay,” he reports. Your knees bend and your head hangs off your neck, staring at the road as you look at your own body. Your uniform’s been torn and dirtied to hell. “Bertholdt got taken down by Eren and Armin, and we got Reiner. Hange’s interrogating him now.”

“They’re… alive?” you rasp, harsh electricity scalding your chest. Your ribs shift with every unsteady breath, knives puncturing your side and your entire world is upside down still, fresh blood coating your face. You don’t know where your skin has broken, but you’re sure the warm sensation crawling down your neck isn’t sweat.

“For now. Hold on, let me check your gear.” Your fingers get that strange dull stretching sensation that comes with poor circulation, and you flex your hands and tighten them into fists, frowning to yourself as he leans in beside you. Twisting, something inside you tears apart and your lungs seize painfully as you stretch broken fingers for the grey metal canister. Connie pulls back. “Can you stand?”

“My—my gear. It’s dented,” you mumble, reaching down to the hand grips from where they still trail on the ground behind you. Wrapping your fingers around the triggers, you try to lift your head but a sharp pain stabs into your neck and your expression screws up tight. “Shit!” Connie’s hands find your shoulders but you wave him away, your breaths coming harsh, knocking against the sides of your body like a stick against a washing board. “I can stand.”

“You’re bleeding pretty badly,” he murmurs as you push yourself up, biting on the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from screaming. Blood bursts on your tongue as your entire right leg flares up, melting like forged metal from the inside out.

When you look down, you realize everything below your right knee looks curved and uneven, and as you place even more pressure on your right foot, hot, racing agony spirals up all the way into your hip.

“I think I broke my leg,” you finally say after a moment and Connie’s eyes fall to knee as you limp forward on your own. He reaches his arms out to scoop you up but you bat his hands away, shaking your head. “It’s fine. I can still walk. Come on.”

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters to himself, and you only give him an uneasy look before looking up at the buildings, trying to aim your gear. Head blooming, a heat swathes your body as you click and iron wire shoots out of your crushed gear. It lands awkwardly, not quite straight, but you tell yourself it has to be enough before you’re launching yourself into the air. “Follow me!”

Connie leads you through the destruction of Shiganshina, and your heart, pounding painfully against your breastbone, only quickens when you spot the pillar of steam that has to be Reiner’s body. Gas boosting you through the air, you swing towards it, your head spinning as Connie begins to lower himself down to the roof above where you see a green cape crouched by the wall.

Landing in the streets, you crash to the ground ungracefully, your right leg buckling and your left only barely managing to break your fall as you pitch forward, rolling onto your side with a restrained groan. Your ODM gear crashes jankily all around you. Your eyes burning with the pure fire lighting through you, you grit your teeth and push yourself up, gaze swinging to fix on the green cape standing beside a body,

“Hange,” you choke out and their eyes tear away from whatever they’re looking at as a new figure falls to his knees beside you.

“You’re okay.” Wincing at Jean’s rough voice in your ear, you turn your head to catch sight of a face similarly red to Connie’s. A bandaged is wrapped around his chest and arm, but he looks relatively okay as he helps you up. Your legs splayed out beside you, you push yourself onto your knees and grab onto his arms as he hauls you to your feet. “Shit, you look banged up.”

“I know. I’ll be okay.” Eyes fixing on the body still steaming, you catch sight of shadowed blond hair and, without thinking, your body sags when you realize who it is. “Reiner.” His head lifts just a bit at your voice, and you flinch back at his inflamed face, the smooth skin trying to stitch itself back together.

In one, forced breath, he barely whispers your name, and your feet move, as if he’s summoned. You nearly reach for him, your eyes fixed solely on where his eyes should be.

“Hey, stay back! We’re waiting for Mikasa’s signal,” Jean murmurs, wrapping his uninjured arm around you and your boots dig into the dirt as he grunts in your ear at your resistance. “Don’t do something stupid.”

“Jean—“

The sound of a shell firing off cuts off your words and you lift your blurry vision to the sky, making out the red smoke parting the grey just as the world begins to tremble for what feels like the fifth time today. Jean tears his arm off of you, and you whirl around as a four-legged Titan barrels towards them. He flings himself at their Section Commander, knocking both of them out of the way just as you send yourself flying up onto a roof and you twist back to make sure they’re okay.

Landing on the tile, you lean forward.

Paralyzed, you can only watch as the beast takes Reiner into his mouth and begins to run away. Rooted to your spot, your entire body locks up. Ice drips through your veins, warping your insides until you’re shivering, lips parted as you let out shuddering breaths ripe with your own blood.

Hands trembling, you watch the Titan disappear from view, and your fingers go lax, dropping your hand grips and letting them dangle off the roof like puppets whose strings have long since been abandoned.

The world seems to stop and you cannot hear anything except his quiet, raspy breath of your name.

It does not start again until Hange orders you to regroup with the others where Captain Levi is.

187 notes · View notes

maatryoshkaa · 4 years

Text

young god | chapter 16

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 14.3k

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, domestic & child abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, descriptions of mental illness, death, dark themes and foul language. once again, all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a grain of salt.

description: Han Jisung wrestles with the demons of his past as Kim Seungmin faces his own dilemma in the present, with one last chilling threat from Prosecutor Kang forcing Seungmin to make a final, crucial decision. The clock is counting down as your last chance wears thin, and one unexpected declaration is all it takes for things to change—forever.

watch the trailer here!

16| the prisoner’s dilemma.

Jisung was still frozen in place long after the heavy doors had swung shut and erased your face from his sight. His own hand felt foreign as he held it against his stinging cheek, the dull throbbing drowned out by the words still ringing in his ears.

Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive.

I need you to stay alive.

Bang Chan was watching him from the side, the detective’s eyes filled with equal parts amusement and wariness. Finally, he spoke. “You deserved that, you know.”

Jisung was silent, but his mind was already replaying the scene over and over again. Your anxious eyes, your voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. The slap couldn’t compare to the pain that had etched itself into your features every time he had spoken harshly, trying again and again to push you away. I know I did.

Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”

A soft laugh escaped from Jisung’s dry mouth. “Dizzy,” he deadpanned honestly. The adrenaline was beginning to die down, but instead of leaving him sick in the stomach and with a pounding headache like usual, Jisung felt almost...lightheaded with relief. “Like...like a kid that just got told off?”

The detective chuckled, letting out his low, signature whistle. “What’d I tell you? That’s love, mate.”

Jisung looked at him now, incredulous. “Getting slapped in the face?”

“No,” Chan smiled, but for once, his eyes were serious. “Someone who cares about you enough to call you out when you’re wrong.”

Not knowing what to say, Jisung turned away, letting the ticking of the clock on the wall fill the strained silence. He could still feel Chan’s gaze on him, but it was no longer the look of a detective trying to dissect a case file. Instead, it held the same strange softness it had when Chan had pulled Jisung aside at the Third Eye, and asked if he was okay.

“I told you once,” Chan began slowly, “that everyone deserves to be loved, and that you’re no different. Of course, things have...changed,” he continued, and Jisung looked down, throat tight as he waited for Chan to finish. “But I still stand by what I said.”

Before Jisung could reply, the intercom crackled overhead. “The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants in the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Detective, you should get going,” a security guard spoke lowly to Chan, who sighed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet. As he passed where Jisung was standing, he stopped briefly.

“You’re a good kid, Han Jisung. Even if you don’t believe it yourself...you had better start to.”

“Chan—”

The detective had reached the door when he looked over his shoulder at Jisung. He had the same old mischievous smile on his face again, but his eyes were sad.

“I hope we can grab another coffee together some time, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━

Seungmin’s head was spinning as he pushed through rooms packed with spectators and reporters until he finally stumbled into an emptier hallway. His eyes gleaned the plaques on the doors, searching for the room number the court clerks had given him after Seungmin had overheard their frantic conversation.

“We can’t just end the case here — the media and people’ll riot.”

“But we’ve lost a witness and the lead prosecutor of the case in one day — how the hell is the trial supposed to continue?”

The clerk wringed his hands. “We need to find out if there were any other prosecutors working with Kang on the case — call them in ASAP—”

And so, here Seungmin was — heart threatening to leap out of his throat, charging headfirst into a case that had been ripped out of his hands months ago. He had stepped into their conversation impulsively, and now a thousand warning bells were going off in his mind.

Kim Seungmin was not impulsive. Kim Seungmin always calculated his plans perfectly, meticulously. It was one of the reasons why he had always been at the top of his class, graduating a year early with honours. Always praised for being levelheaded and thorough.

Still, he thought, there had been one person that had seen right through him.

“You’re stressed,” you blurted bluntly, and Seungmin’s coffee cup froze midway to his lips. You were in his office, one of the many meetings you two had arranged in order to keep each other updated with information regarding Jisung’s case.

“We’re all stressed,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, unsure where you were going with this, but you shook your head.

“But you try the hardest out of all of us to hide it. Tell me if I’m crossing a line here, but—” you looked at him, tilting your head. “You seem like the type who’s calm and collected on the outside to...hide the fact that you’re still wrestling with nerves, and insecurities, on the inside. Like a defense mechanism.”

Seungmin fell silent. Instinctively, he felt the urge to laugh it off, but in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered to his coworkers— their condescending gazes at who they thought was just a lucky amateur, a young imposter infringing upon a field with people twice his age. Since his first day at the law firm, Seungmin had felt an unbearable desire to prove himself worthy in their eyes, and the anxious feeling ate away at him every time he touched a case.

Sensing the sudden change in mood, you quickly stammered, “I-I’m sorry, that was so unnecessary—what I’m trying to say is— it’s okay to be nervous. Don’t psyche yourself out with your own expectations for yourself. U-um—”

You trailed off, mortified, but Seungmin let out a small laugh, shaking his head lightly when your eyes widened in confusion. “No, no, it’s just…” You were smart and capable — anyone could see that — but always seemed to second-guess your own abilities. He found it almost endearing. “You really are a psychology major, Miss l/n.”

Seungmin rounded a corner and nearly slammed into someone that had just walked out of the men’s washrooms. Before he could apologise, Seungmin looked up into the man’s face and his gut twisted unpleasantly.

Prosecutor Kang seized Seungmin by the collar before he could walk away, his face livid. The younger man’s eyes darted down either side of the empty hallway, then back at his former senior. He had heard Kang was to be kept at the courthouse until the end of the trial, in case they needed anything from him. There were guards flanking every entrance and exit, so Kang couldn’t exactly escape, but seeing him walk around unsupervised still made Seungmin uneasy.

“S-sir, you can’t—”

“Do you remember what you said? What you promised?” Kang seethed, eyes wild as they raked Seungmin up and down. “‘I can handle it. I’ll find the culprit, and I’ll convict him. Death penalty, no less.’”

Hearing his own words coming out of Kang’s mouth made Seungmin wince and shrink back. Kang caught his discomfort, grinning savagely before jerking his head in the direction of the holding cells, where Jisung was. “You’re taking over the case, aren’t you? Your culprit’s right there. Everything’s been laid out for you, it couldn’t be simpler.”

Seungmin let out a shaky breath, fists clenched by his sides. Before he could open his mouth, Kang pulled him in closer, voice dangerously low.

“I always thought it was fishy, you know — someone your age, already entering the field? So I did my research.” Kang paused, smirking. “You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you? I didn’t know your parents were renowned lawyers, too.”

At that, Seungmin froze, shocked eyes darting up to meet Kang’s. It was true — born into a family of influential law enforcement officials, Seungmin had practically grown up reading about legal matters and judicial affairs. Despite his efforts to keep his parentage discreet as he grew older — hating the way their reputations always preceded his own — the expectations to follow in their footsteps had always remained suffocating. He loved law with all his heart, but his own family had become yet another reason why Seungmin had so much to live up to, and even more to lose.

The older prosecutor chuckled — Seungmin must have looked like a deer in headlights. “You can’t disappoint them, yes? You need to do everything you can to uphold the big family name.” Kang’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a blade. “My career might be over, little prosecutor, but I have far more power than you think. I can make sure you never step foot into this profession ever again. You want to prove yourself? To me, to your fellow prosecutors, to your parents? Here’s your chance.”

There was a snakelike glint in Kang’s eyes when he finally let Seungmin go, his words seeping through Seungmin’s mind like poison.

Prove yourself. Prove yourself. A security guard had appeared at the end of the hallway, and without another word, Kang calmly turned on his heel, letting the guard escort him away. Seungmin watched his silhouette grow fainter, feeling sick to his stomach.

Just how many cases...no, how many prosecutors had Kang manipulated for his own benefit?

He took a shuddering breath. Time was running out. Forcing his feet to move, Seungmin finally found the room, barely listening when the clerk quickly explained that the rights to the case were being transferred to him last minute.

“Ten minutes, Prosecutor Kim. You have approximately ten minutes to prepare your case.”

The roomful of law officials were watching him with doubtful eyes — the same doubtful, scornful gazes that had followed him his entire life. Ten minutes. Picking up where Kang had left off would be the smoothest, most reasonable route. Preparing an entirely different argument, however, was suicide.

Seungmin glanced up at the clock, and his heart sank.

━━━━━━━━

The commotion in the courtroom sounded like the buzzing of an agitated beehive, the constant thrumming of hushed conversations and your own erratic heartbeat fueling the tense atmosphere.

Hyunjin, Felix, Woojin, and you had sprinted straight to the courtroom after a rapid search for Seungmin had turned up futile — the prosecutor was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the murmurs you overheard around you, the case had been transferred into his hands with mere minutes to spare. You bit your lip nervously. This should have been good news, but you all knew that the odds — and time — were still against you. Looking the weariest you’d ever seen him, Bang Chan collapsed into the seat next to you. He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but as he turned away, eyes glued to the scene about to unfold, you saw that his features were strained and pale.

With a creak that send a hush rippling through the courtroom, the doors swung open to reveal more familiar faces — the judge, the prosecution, the jury. Your eyes instinctively flickered to Jisung, whose expression was as guarded as ever, and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the room, however, had fallen silent before the judge had even spoken. All their gazes were trained on the new prosecutor that had entered the room.

Seungmin felt the stares on him before he even looked up, dozens of eyes weighing down on him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a specimen table. He should have gotten used to the stares by now — this was far from his first court hearing — but when he looked out into the faces of the audience, he still felt the same squeamish anxiety he had always tried so desperately to ignore. Their expressions were dubious, condescending, unconvinced — as if all to say, is this a joke? This kid is the new lead prosecutor?

The judge cleared her throat, pushing her half-moon spectacles back onto her nose. “Thank you for your patience. The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases is now back in session. You may be seated.” She turned to Seungmin, eyes narrowed. “What is the case the prosecution will be presenting?”

Seungmin’s mind was racing as he turned over the envelope in his hands — the envelope containing Kang’s case file — and slid out the papers with numb fingertips. As he did so, familiar words echoed in his mind — words he had been told since he had first chosen to study law, and words he had forced himself to live by ever since.

“You have a big heart, Kim Seungmin — too big. Learn to control your emotions if you want to make it in this field.”

“You have to be cold, quick, and rational. Kindness is a weakness.”

“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution.”

He had always taken the words like bitter medicine, beyond determined to prove to his older coworkers that he wasn’t just the incompetent young prosecutor they always made him out to be. Desperate to prove to his family that he was capable, that he wouldn’t tarnish their names. Every step he had taken had been careful, calculated, all so that Seungmin could win their approval, finally escape their suffocating scrutiny.

“Your Honour,” Seungmin began, “as a prosecutor, I was taught that my duty is to defend the rule of law to ensure justice is served, no matter how harsh it may be.”

You watched the young prosecutor speak carefully, his grave expression making your gut twist. Kim Seungmin, Chan had told you once in passing, came from a family of established lawyers — a child prodigy with big shoes to fill, and everything to lose. And now, you realised with dread, his words seemed to be an exact echo of Prosecutor Kang’s.

Seungmin’s stomach was fluttering as if it were his first trial again, heart palpitating with each passing moment as he was seized with the sudden urge to run. Taking a deep breath, his gaze flickered up to meet yours in the audience — your blazing eyes, charged with emotion, your heart always written so clearly across your adamant features. You, who stopped at nothing in order to protect what you believed was right.

Prove yourself. Prove to everyone you’re good enough, strong enough.

He closed his eyes, knowing that he would regret what he was about to say.

“But I was also taught that a good prosecutor is one that uses the law to protect the people.” Seungmin swallowed hard, sliding Kang’s papers back into the envelope and dropping it onto the desk behind him. “Thus, the case I am presenting today is not one that intends to prove Han Jisung guilty of first degree murder.”

The entire room erupted in frantic murmurs, the judge hurriedly banging the gavel to maintain order. Seungmin caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expression — the boy was still looking down, but his face had paled in surprise at the prosecutor’s sudden declaration. Just then, the doors burst open, a red-faced clerk with a handful of padded envelopes ducking in and hurrying to Seungmin’s side.

“What you requested, sir,” the clerk explained quietly, handing him the envelopes, and Seungmin recalled the conversation they had had in the conference rooms, just before the trial had recommenced.

“There are ten minutes remaining until we have to begin,” the clerk informed Seungmin worriedly, seeing the young prosecutor’s tense face. “Is there anything you need from the former prosecution? Since these are special circumstances, I can have them brought to you as soon as possible during the trial.”

Either ten minutes to gather the evidence he needed, Seungmin thought dismally, or ten minutes to build a strong argument from what he—no, Kang—already had.

“Listen carefully.” Screwing his eyes shut, Seungmin continued, “Please fetch me Han Jisung’s camcorder footage — the memory cards — and Yang Jeongin’s Walkman tapes from Prosecutor Kang’s archives. All of them, immediately.”

The knot of anxiety in Seungmin’s chest finally began to unclench, the envelopes’ contents anchoring him in place with a reassuring weight. He turned to the judge, surprised at the newfound authority in his own voice. “The prosecution maintains that Han Jisung is not guilty of first degree murder. We will be presenting all the evidence Prosecutor Kang excluded, and examining the case from all angles so that the jury may form an accurate judgement and verdict.”

“That’s—an entirely new argument,” Hyunjin whispered incredulously beside you. “How did he come up with a case in ten minutes?”

“He didn’t. He’s building his case on the spot,” Chan realised out loud, a small smile spreading on his lips. He leaned forward with a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now that’s the Kim Seungmin I know.”

You watched as Seungmin called up his first witness, who was none other than Kang’s psychiatric expert. “You introduced yourself as the psychiatrist involved with this case — responsible for analysing the defendant’s mental condition, correct?”

The red-nosed man coughed nervously. “Y-yes, uh, well — the defendant was unwilling to speak during the evaluation, so we were unable to gain much personal testimony—”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Seungmin picked up one the envelopes, handing it to the court clerk and motioning for him to project the contents. “The following is recovered footage from a camcorder the defendant was gifted when he was six years old, and developed a habit of carrying around.” He turned towards the psychiatrist. “It’s raw, untampered footage containing experiences from the defendant’s childhood. I want you to watch it and answer a few questions. There is, however, graphic content, and I advise the spectators to view it with caution.”

You saw Seungmin cast a worried look towards Jisung, and you knew how the prosecutor was feeling. After nearly thirteen years of Jisung hiding his past from even his closest friends, it was all suddenly being thrust under the harsh light — in front of a roomful of people who wanted to sentence him to death, no less — but you both knew that this was your last chance.

The projector whirred as the clerk inserted the first memory cards into the computer. The memory cards had been confiscated by Kang before you had gotten the chance to watch them yourself — what you did know about the footage came from the bits Chan had recounted for you after several insistent phone calls, and what Jisung himself had told you that fateful night. Uneasiness stirring in your chest, you watched as the screen came to life, blurry colours and pixelated outlines taking shape.

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first — short clips of chipped action figures on dusty windowsills, or toy cars rolling idly across wooden floors. The footage was shaky, as if the person holding the camcorder could barely support its weight. Jisung had barely been six years old, you remembered, feeling a strange feeling of sadness wash over you. It was as if you were watching a movie you already knew the ending to, and all that was left in your gut was a sinking dread at what was about to come.

As the clerk flipped through the footage, a faint sound pricked at your ears, and you jerked your head up, listening to make sure you had heard right — and sure enough, there it was. Muffled shouting, like it was coming from another room in the house, something heavy shattering on the floor — and judging from the murmurs and faces of the spectators around you, they heard it as well. The camcorder was still pointed at the action figurines, but had frozen stiffly — as if the child holding it was listening, too.

More scenes began to unfold, one after another. A birthday, six lopsided candles glowing on a small white cake. Jisung humming a familiar tune with a woman you assumed was his mother. And clip after clip where the camcorder was pointed at the ceiling of a dark room — Jisung’s childhood bedroom — as the sounds of arguing and yelling echoed through the walls. Slowly but surely, the scenes began to grow familiar.

“February 22nd, 2005.”

The day Jisung had stumbled across another woman in his parents’ bed, and his father had terrorized him until he promised not to tell anyone.

“June 3rd, 2006.”

His face-to-face encounter with his father’s mistress, one that left scars in the form of cigarette burns, red-lipped smiles, and tainted touches.

“December 31st, 2009.”

The day everything had gone wrong.

Stomach lurching, you watched as everything Jisung had told you — his rough voice shaking in your darkened apartment, dark eyes holding nightmares of years long past — took the form of grainy camera footage. His father crashing through the doorframe, hands choking the life from the woman beneath him. Even though the camera quality was poor, the woman’s pleading eyes, rolled up towards the tiny crack in the closet where Jisung had been hidden, seemed to pierce directly through you.

It all seemed to happen in a flash — in the blink of an eye, there were flames licking bloodstained floors clean, the camcorder out of focus as Jisung limped through thick white snow and finally collapsed on top of his mother’s cold body. The gritty screams of anguish and pain seemed to ring in your ears long after Seungmin stopped the footage, and you lifted a shaking gaze to Jisung’s face. His eyes had been cast downwards the entire time, but even from across the room, you could see his violently trembling jaw, the ragged heave of his chest. How many times had he lived through this footage himself — in his nightmares, through half-delirious flashbacks, every time he closed his eyes?

“Thirteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of Miroh Heights. The Han house was burned to the ground and left a single boy alive, without any relatives to take custody. Unable to fathom what exactly happened, police filed it away as a gas explosion, and the boy was tossed around foster homes and orphanages until it was eventually forgotten,” Seungmin informed them. He thanked Woojin internally as he spoke — after mentioning several times that Jisung’s past sounded strangely familiar, the police captain had been the one to finally connect the dots between the two cold cases, thirteen years apart.

“There were initial speculations of domestic abuse, but they were never investigated thoroughly. The case was neglected, left cold, and when the statute of limitations expired, it was simply dismissed as another tragedy.” Seungmin nodded at the clerk again, who slid the next memory card in.

This card was filled with what sounded like endless psychological evaluations — disembodied voices introducing themselves as social workers, child psychiatrists, and the like, all mercilessly bombarding Jisung with personal questions. The first half was either entirely black or out of focus, as if Jisung had been holding the camcorder down and clutching it close to his body. They had all given up when the young boy could barely get his answers out, the lingering fear and untreated trauma having locked his voice in his throat.

“He’s a lost cause.”

“Problem kid.”

“Impossible to treat.”

You clenched your fists every time a social worker left the room, muttering under their breath in annoyance. Then, as the clips grew clearer, a child with round, catlike eyes and a pale expression beginning to appear in several of the frames.

Lee Minho.

“At the beginning of this decade, we all know that Miroh Heights went through an economic rift — workers were laid off, young children abandoned on the streets. During these times, child abuse and child trafficking cases also skyrocketed.” Seungmin spoke as the screen flashed, the scene now showing what looked like a filthy, unfinished basement floor.

“We witnessed a rise of ‘suicide killers’ — namely, perpetrators who would kidnap and murder their own family members or vulnerable strangers before ending their own lives. Many were acting on their anger and grief through violence; others saw it as a form of revenge.”

With a wince, you remembered what Minho had told you on the rooftop of the hospital that evening — when he and Jisung had been lured into a man’s home by their own hunger, and woke up to him trying to kill them. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the speakers, the camcorder pointed at an awkward angle and shaking uncontrollably before it clattered to the ground, and the footage cut out.

When the next clip began, it was pointed down at wide-eyed, twelve-year-old Jisung.

“Ah, now this is jus’ perfect. The cops’ll love this, yes they will.” You shivered at the man’s hoarse voice behind the camcorder, flinching as the barrel of a gun was pressed to Jisung’s forehead. “Now, boy — I want you to beg for your life — go on.”

Frozen in your seat, you watched as all hell broke loose — the man pressing the trigger just as Jisung managed to cut the cords free, the camcorder smashing into concrete as Jisung fought for his life. When the lens finally focused again, what you saw made your blood run cold. A twelve-year-old boy kneeling before the mangled corpse of a grown man, cherub-like face drenched with crimson. You heard Minho’s shallow, terrified breathing behind the camcorder as Jisung turned towards him, the look in his eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. It was the exact same look he had given you when you had found him at the diner, screaming out his name as if trying to wake him from a nightmare.

Emptiness.

Even through the grainy film, you could catch the moment Jisung’s consciousness returned to him, soft brown eyes shifting and focusing into a childlike, dazed expression once again.

“Minho, can we go home?”

The footage sputtered to a stop. The visceral scene had been exactly as the coroner had described to you on the hospital rooftop, and yet nothing could have prepared you for it. You only realised how badly you had been shaking when Felix gently nudged you, peering at your face worriedly. When you forced yourself to unclench your fists, you winced at the red half-moon weals your nails had left in your palms.

“Both the defendant and coroner Lee Minho were involved in a kidnapping case, and subjected to extreme violence at the ages of twelve and thirteen. The perpetrator died in the incident. There was no culprit to catch. Once again, the case was buried, under the economic turmoil Miroh Heights was experiencing, by neglectful law enforcement.”

Seungmin turned back to look at the psychiatrist. “Now, I’m no expert in analysing family matters, but I think we can confirm several cases of domestic abuse from this footage alone. Parental neglect. Repeated exposure to violence. Years of sexual harassment. How would you psychoanalyse a patient who has gone through these events?”

The red-faced man was evidently shaken, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stuttered out, “This — this is more than enough to cause severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes darted around the courtroom nervously, as if the words were refusing to come out of his mouth.

“He looks like he’s scared,” you murmured. “Like he’s still unwilling to talk.”

“Kang must have made some sort of a deal with him,” Woojin replied under his breath, shaking his head. “But it’s all over now — he’s got nothing more to lose.”

“You swore an oath before the trial began,” Seungmin pressed sternly, not taking his gaze off the nervous man. “‘I do solemnly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Tell me the truth, sir.”

Cowering under Seungmin’s hard gaze, the psychiatrist finally caved. “The...the fact that these events took place during the defendant’s childhood is even more significant. Children’s minds are—are molded from a very young age. The majority of your adult behaviour is shaped by what you’ve experienced as a child, you see.”

“Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of sociopathy. You reached this conclusion because of the defendant’s criminal records, and reported behaviour such as —” Seungmin pulled out Kang’s papers, quickly flipping through. “Theft. Pyromanic, destructive, and self-destructive tendencies.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys from the diner attack. “Bordering on multiple personas.”

“U-uh, well — using the information given during the previous trial, those symptoms did correlate strongly with antisocial personality disorder. But with this newfound context —” the psychiatrist lowered his head meekly, “th-the symptoms are actually closer to those of an individual suffering from extreme, untreated, PTSD.”

Exhaling slowly, Seungmin nodded at the judge. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Let’s re-examine the defendant’s behaviour under this lens, then. How would PTSD explain violent tendencies in a child?”

“They’re a form of an exaggerated startle response — a sudden reaction triggered by something that upsets the patient. It’s a common long-term aftereffect of childhood abuse or trauma. Some patients fall unconscious, some experience panic attacks or seizures. In the case of Han Jisung...it came in the form of repeated violent outbursts.”

You thought back to the man Jisung had attacked, seemingly out of nowhere at the Yellow Wood — the dead man whose girlfriend, Chan had told you, had actually come to the precinct a few days before Jisung’s trial.

“She was crying real bad. I thought she would want him—Jisung—dead, that she would tell us to convict him, no matter what,” Chan had told you, the detective’s face still twisted in confusion. “And she doesn’t want to testify — she’s still dealing with the trauma, and doesn’t want anything to do with the trial. But y/n — the girl was crying for him. For Jisung. Said that the kid stepped in right when her boyfriend was hitting her, and — told her to go home.”

An exaggerated startle response. You remembered it from your classes, a sudden reaction triggered by something that upset the patient. Like domestic abuse. Unsolicited sexual approaches. Or, you shivered, little things — like the colour red. His father, his mistress, his mother, his kidnapper — did Jisung constantly see their faces in the shadows, in strangers that were repeating the same mistakes?

“The witnesses who knew Han Jisung when he was younger,” Seungmin continued, turning to the two injured boys from the diner, “also testified that he often changed expressions ‘like a mask.’ Assuming this is true, why might the defendant exhibit this sort of behaviour?”

“Abused children — or people who have experienced severe trauma — can develop dissociative habits. Disconnecting from past memories, information, or even present experiences as a defense mechanism...which is why the defendant might appear to change moods often, or show drastically different sides of himself in different situations.”

“In other words,” Seungmin said slowly, brow furrowing in concentration, “the defendant experienced so many traumatic events during his childhood, that the untreated aftereffects impaired his emotional development into adulthood. Which would explain why his startle response slowly morphed, on a larger scale, into something extremely violent and dangerous.”

The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”

Motioning for the man to take a seat — which he did gladly — Seungmin pulled out the next envelope — the coroner’s photos from the Yellow Wood attacks. Wordlessly, he projected them onto the screen, eliciting small gasps of horror and disgust around the room.

“Earlier, Prosecutor Kang argued that the violent mutilation of the victims was proof that the perpetrator performed these gruesome acts and mutilations out of personal enjoyment and depravity.” Seungmin turned to address the judge, voice firm.

“Your Honour, under this new context, I would argue that the photos only serve as further visual evidence depicting the defendant’s mental state at the time of the crime.” He flipped through the images. “Multiple wound sites, messy blood spattering, extreme blunt force trauma. And—if the coroner was telling the truth—a stone from the scene of the crime as the murder weapon. All these signs lead us to believe that the defendant’s actions, no, his judgement, was acutely impaired. This response, these attacks, were triggered due to a pre-existing mental condition.”

The room shifted uneasily as his words sunk in, and the judge fixed her stern gaze onto Seungmin. “Does the prosecution have any evidence that directly refutes the previous claim of first degree murder? To prove that the murders were not premeditated, or intentional, beyond a reasonable doubt?”

Think, Seungmin, think. He racked his mind furiously, trying to recall every piece of evidence that you, Chan, and Woojin had gone through with him. Photographs, diagrams, testimony transcripts — Seungmin’s eyes trailed off to the pile of envelopes the clerk had brought, and landed on the packet containing Yang Jeongin’s tapes.

That’s it.

“Yes, Your Honour.” He cleared his throat, mind racing to connect the dots. “As we all know, the living witness of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin, was attacked at around three o’clock in the morning. He worked several late shifts for delivery companies around the town.” Seungmin nodded towards Jeongin. “What we did not know until recently, however, is that the witness had a hobby of recording himself during these shifts on his own Walkman.”

An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd as Seungmin shook the tapes out from the envelope, handing them to the clerk. After several tense moments, there was a faint crackling, and the recording began to play.

The first tape held a medley of acoustic songs the delivery boy had mixed himself — just as you had remembered it.

The second tape was empty — the one Minho had stolen from the scene of the crime, and you had eventually recovered from his office.

When the clerk popped in the third, the soft sound of breathing and crunching gravel filled the room, and you shivered. This was the tape you had listened to with Seo Changbin — the tape that had turned your entire life upside down.

“I.N. here! It is currently...2:04 A.M.!”

You glanced at the faces around the room — everyone was on edge, and you felt no different. You could still hear Jeongin’s cry of surprise and pain echoing in your ears, the horrible crash as he hit the forest floor. What was Seungmin thinking? How was a recording of the witness being attacked going to prove Jisung’s innocence? If anything, it was incriminating evidence.

Jeongin’s cheery, oblivious voice continued until you heard the woman’s scream in the distance, muffled under the delivery boy’s distracted humming. Then, a man crying out in guttural pain — the man, you knew now, that had been killed by Jisung in the Yellow Wood. The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping under the bicycle wheels grew louder, and you knew that this had been the moment Jeongin had entered the Wood — heading closer and closer towards what would later become the scene of the crime.

“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” There was a small gasp of horror as Jeongin caught sight of the body. “U-um. Is he—do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap—”

It happened before you could flinch to cover your ears. The horribly familiar crunch of stone meeting skull, a cry of pain cut off by a deafening whump as the Walkman had slammed against the ground. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as it listened, and only then did it finally hit you why Seungmin was playing the tapes. As the sound of another boy’s jagged, uneven breathing filled the speakers, you suddenly remembered what came at the end of the recording. The first time you had heard it, it had made your heart plummet straight down into the pit of your stomach, sending your entire world crashing down around you.

This time, the fluttering in your chest felt almost like hope.

Han Jisung’s voice, choked with raw, horrified sobs, echoed through the room, and you saw everyone freeze.

“Who—why? Why is it you? Why are you here?”

The crying was muffled by the sound of hands fumbling over Jeongin’s clothing, as if frantically checking for a pulse. Seungmin stopped the tape, turning towards the bewildered jury. “Do those sound like the words of a cold-blooded psychopath?”

The judge waved a hand towards Jeongin. “Can the witness himself attest to this?”

“I...I blacked out pretty quickly,” Jeongin answered slowly, furrowing his brow as if it still hurt to remember. “But the last thing I remembered seeing was...a boy’s crying face over me, trying to make sure if I was okay.”

“Can you identify this boy?”

Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.

“Furthermore,” Seungmin continued, tapping the cracked silver Walkman, “these tapes were found in Yang Jeongin’s clothing after he was admitted to the hospital. If the defendant had truly attacked Mr. Yang out of cold blood, he wouldn’t have left such incriminating evidence in the boy’s hands. And if Han Jisung had no idea he was being recorded, that rules out the possibility of him faking the recordings as well.”

“Even so,” the judge replied, stern eyes narrowed, “we cannot be sure that Han Jisung did not intend to leave Yang Jeongin to die. There are many murder cases where the perpetrator shows remorse almost immediately, but still attempted to cover up the crime.”

“Of course. However, Your Honour, you may also remember that Yang Jeongin was not found in the Yellow Wood where the attacks had initially taken place...but rather, the doorstep of Glow Cafe.” At this, Hyunjin looked up, eyes narrowed, and Seungmin motioned for the clerk to continue playing the clip. After several moments, you heard the rough sound of cloth scraping against the ground, growing louder and louder — as if something was being lifted and dragged.

No. You could still hear Jisung’s broken breathing underneath the sound, and the realisation hit you.

Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.

You had thought the tape had already ended the first time you’d listened with Seo Changbin in his record shop — after Jisung’s voice had made you shove the Walkman away, not daring to believe what you had just heard. For days, it had sat, neglected in your apartment, until you had brought it into Seungmin’s office for him to look at. The next day, it had already fallen into the hands of Prosecutor Kang, but by some stroke of luck, Seungmin must have already managed to listen to it in its entirety beforehand.

“Yang Jeongin was found at around 4 in the morning, when Hwang Hyunjin, the owner of Glow Cafe, was awoken by the doorbell. The ringer of this doorbell was never identified, because any possible fingerprint evidence was already contaminated and rendered useless by the time Mr. Yang was safely transported to the ICU.”

The sound of dead leaves and dirt crunching under the soles of Jisung’s shoes gave way to hard concrete as he reached the main road. There was a soft thump as Jeongin was lowered onto the ground, Jisung’s laboured breathing filling the still night air.

Then the familiar chime of Glow Cafe’s doorbell pierced through the speakers, and you watched as Hyunjin jolted up, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Yes. It’s exactly what you’re all thinking.” Seungmin turned to face the stunned spectators as the sound of Jisung’s footsteps grew fainter as he ran away, and the tape ended. “The defendant was the same person who saved him.”

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, grim eyes flickering between Seungmin and Jisung. “Does the defense have anything to say to this?”

For the first time since the trial had started, Jisung lifted his head. He was met with a roomful of mixed stares — apprehension, curiosity, fear — and he felt his tongue immediately dissolve into dust, the words sticking to his throat like congealed poison.

When Jisung stayed silent, Seungmin spoke carefully, “A fair trial wouldn’t be complete without hearing from the defendant himself. In his own words.” His eyes were almost gentle, fixing a steady look on Jisung’s dark, wary face. “Would you like to testify?”

Your heart was hammering in your throat as the silence grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally broken by the creak of the chair as Jisung pushed it back and stood up. To your utter surprise, he stepped up to the middle of the room, wordlessly turning to face Seungmin. Still, the look on his face held the same blank, guarded expression you had seen so many times when your sessions with him had taken a turn for the worse, and you gripped the edge of your seat uneasily, having no idea what to expect from this turn of events.

If Seungmin was as surprised as you were, he did a better job at hiding it. He muttered something to the clerk, who began to project familiar faces and photos onto the screen. The victims, you realised, and the crime scenes. A slim woman in her thirties, her thin lips a smudge of bright red, next to a photo of charred blood and bone. The prostitute.

“Do you recognise this woman?” Seungmin asked, pointing to her picture.

Jisung frowned, furrowing his brow at the picture. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind, but there was a dull throbbing in his temples that made it difficult to focus. “I—I’m not sure.”

Someone in the crowd made an unconvinced sound, and Jisung shrunk back. The pictures went on and on — a corpse mangled with chemical burns, a man’s body swinging from the rooftop, a bashed-in skull on the forest floor. Each image made Jisung’s head pound, the floor beginning to spin as if threatening to split open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Did he recognise them? Glimpses of their faces flashed in the back of his mind like jumbled jigsaw pieces, but the more he tried to grab onto them, the more they fell apart. His fingertips tingled with the faint, itching memory of a stranger’s blood — strangers who, in a fleeting moment, had taken the shape of a former tormentor. Father. Mistress. Hurt. Pain.

“I can’t — remember anything,” Jisung choked hoarsely. He remembered blacking out, and waking up. He remembered his nightmares, his flashbacks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the faces staring back at him from the screen.

You sound insane, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. As he met the eyes of the jury, he could almost hear what they were thinking.

You really are a psychopath.

Sensing the doubtful whispering beginning around the room, Seungmin hurriedly moved onto the next question. “Let’s — let’s go back to the psychiatrist’s statements, then. Mr. Han, could you tell me what it was like growing up in your family?”

His question was met with silence again, Jisung screwing his eyes shut as the prosecutor’s voice echoed in his head. Family. It was a word that brought ugly memories bubbling to the surface every time, memories made of broken beer bottles and pale, bruised cheeks. His head was aching, a cold sweat forming in his palms as he clenched his fists, stomach churning. No. No. He couldn’t talk about it — wouldn’t talk about it —

“Can you...tell me about your mother’s eyes?”

The abrupt, familiar question, carried by the prosecutor’s softened voice, was what made Jisung open his eyes again, the trembling in his hands stilling. The room around them was shifting with confused murmurs at the strange question, but Seungmin didn’t break eye contact with the younger boy.

The prosecutor watched Jisung’s fists slowly unclench, brow furrowing slightly as he recognised the question, and Seungmin thought back to the conversation he had had with you over the phone after you had woken up in the hospital.

“What’s this?”

“A psychiatric analysis — on Jisung,” you explained, referring to the report files you had sent the prosecutor. “I know it’s not — not much, but...”

“For all we know, it might be the only existing verbal testimony that Jisung has,” Seungmin assured you. “From what I’ve heard, he’s never opened up to anyone before. What I meant was, why are you sending it to me?”

You bit your lip. “Chan isn’t allowed to stand trial, and I — I haven’t graduated yet, so my thesis won’t be taken seriously as evidence. I can’t testify as a psychiatric expert, either. But I thought that — I could at least tell you all the questions that lead me to his diagnosis. In case you get to question him at the trial — he’ll know they’re my questions. Maybe...he’ll finally change his mind.”

Seungmin sighed wearily. “I was removed from the case this morning, Miss l/n. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to step foot into the courtroom, let alone question him.”

And so the questions had been left, buried and forgotten in the back of Seungmin’s mind — until this exact moment, when he had remembered them just in time.

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

Jisung’s vision went black as his senses were flooded with memories, nearly sending him doubling over. His mother’s eyes. The last time he had looked into those eyes, they had already been glazing over, the life in them seeping away as her blood pooled over the broken floorboards of his childhood home. His mother’s eyes. Suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old all over again, shrouded in the shadows of a cramped closet as his father strangled the life out of his mother right in front of him.

Guilt, he wanted to say. Pain. The kind that never goes away. Blinking feverishly, Jisung’s gaze darted around the room — and when he finally found your face in the audience, he felt his heart stop.

You were looking at him with the exact same eyes his mother had, that day.

From your first date to this very moment, Jisung never knew why you had always reminded him so much of her — you two looked nothing alike, after all. Wherever he went, he had always been chased by fragments of the nightmares he wanted to forget, demons of his past that had taken the forms of the man at the Yellow Wood, the red-lipped hooker, Na Jangmin, Park Beomsoo. And yet every moment he spent with you, he caught familiar glimpses of her instead — pieces of the only warmth, and happiness, and home he had ever known before it had all been cruelly ripped away.

For years, the only thing he had been able to remember was that day. How his mother’s eyes had been wide and pleading as she bled out on the floor, desperately shaking her head at him before finally falling limp. The flames and endless smoke seemed to eat away at his happier memories until there was nothing left but ashes and tar.

But you made him remember a time before everything went wrong, when things had been peaceful, when he still had somewhere — someone — to go home to.

For thirteen years, he had been running from the memory, from the feeling, afraid that confronting it would make him relive the pain all over again. But now, for the first time, Han Jisung wondered if he had missed something else among those repressed memories all along.

His mother’s eyes as she shook her head one last time had been warm, not just because they had been filled with pain and tears — but because they had been blazing with one last, unspoken message. The same one he saw reflected in your own eyes now.

When you shook your own head gently, pleading eyes brimming with tears, the message finally rang clear in his mind.

Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Han Jisung, you have to keep on living.

Stunned, he tore his gaze away, only to see Bang Chan watching him with the same expression — then Woojin, Seungmin, Felix, Yang Jeongin. Even Hwang Hyunjin had worry written all over his face — worry for him — and it all suddenly hit Jisung like a punch in the gut.

Why did all these people fight for him?

Why had his mother died for him?

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

“Love,” Jisung breathed, his soft voice filling the empty silence. “Love.” The memories were coming back to him now — not in jagged, gut-wrenching flashes, but slowly. Steadily.

For the first time in his life, Han Jisung was in control.

“Can you tell me about your parents?” Seungmin pressed gently, seeing the tension slowly leave Jisung’s body.

“My parents,” Jisung repeated. His mouth felt like it was trying the words out. He remembered once, when you had asked him the same question, his head had felt like it was on the verge of splitting. Now, the memories felt strangely detached, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “They were happy once, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “My...father...never wanted to get married. They never planned to...have me, but my mother refused an abortion. They — it was a shotgun wedding,” Jisung finished quietly. “And then things got worse from there.”

“What was it like growing up in your family?” Seungmin tried the question again, watching Jisung carefully.

“My old man’s favourite thing to tell me growing up was how I was never wanted,” Jisung gave a weak smile. “I think you can imagine.”

You watched as Seungmin continued asking Jisung your questions, as if slowly coaxing the answers out from the darkness and painting the cold courtroom with the scenes of Jisung’s past.

“My mother was a waitress. The work was tough, but it didn’t pay much. My father convinced her to work more shifts, so that she was around as little as possible. During that time, he…” Jisung swallowed hard. “He had his affairs with other women when she wasn’t home, and beat her bloody when she was. She always tried to hide it from me, too — said the less I knew the better, but I was getting older, and my father’s anger was slowly shifting over to me. And when his...mistresses stayed over, they started noticing me, too.” Jisung fell silent then, and you suddenly thought back to the white burn scars on his arms and legs, the numerous unexplained markings on his stomach bringing tears to your eyes. How many more did he have hidden on his body, painful reminders binding him to a past he tried so hard to forget?

“Your Honour,” Seungmin finally broke the hushed silence, “with all the information taken into consideration, I think we can confirm beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant has witnessed numerous traumatic events during his childhood — and that they more than likely worsened his mental condition as he grew older.” Seungmin turned to Jisung, remembering another question you had written in your report. “How...do you cope with the past?”

Jisung was silent for several moments before answering, his words echoing your last therapy session. “I...don’t….like to think about it, or remember it. Every time I do, I…” he trailed off unsteadily, and he tried again. “E-every time, I...I…”

His throat was closing up again, the words echoing in his mind as if mocking him. How was he supposed to explain the headaches that never truly went away, the dizziness that hit him like a punch in the gut? Or, worse, the gaps in his memories when he blacked out, making him feel as though he were slowly going insane?

Stay silent, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Who will understand you? Who will believe you? He looked back at the roomful of faces, their cold, wary stares piercing through him like knives. You were never meant to live. You should have died on that day, thirteen years ago—

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.”

The sudden memory of your voice cut through his thoughts and made him jolt in surprise— but it didn’t stop there, all the things you had once told him slowly growing louder and louder and jarring him awake from his own thoughts.

“You’re not the psychopath they’re making you out to be. I know you.”

He remembered the way you had relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms, even after you had found out they were stained with blood, because you trusted him completely.

“I don’t want you to show me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He remembered your face every time he had tried to tell you about his past — your soft, patient eyes and gentle voice, the worry and genuine concern on your face that he had always mistaken for repulsion and fear. You had been shaken, definitely, terrified, even — but you had always been willing to listen to him speak, even when Jisung had been too afraid to try.

“I like you, Han Jisung. I. Like. You.”

He met your eyes across the room then, and felt a small, incredulous breath leave his lips. It was you — it was always you, who had the power to make the walls he had built around himself crumble to dust with a single touch; you, pulling him out of the darkness he had always succumbed helplessly to; you, who had finally woken him from the living nightmare he had been trapped in his entire life.

You reminded him what it was like to live again. You made him want to live again, without fears, without regrets.

“Mr. Han? Could you please describe how these memories make you feel? How you usually deal with them?”

“I don’t know how to,” Jisung breathed out at last. “Every time I try to remember, my...heart starts racing like my chest is about to burst. My head pounds until I can’t see anything, and — it’s like something in there...snaps. And then I...black out completely.”

Seungmin nodded, glancing back to the nervous, red-faced man. “Do you have...anything to add or deny regarding the psychiatrist’s diagnoses?”

“You were right,” Jisung replied simply, but he wasn’t talking to the psychiatrist. He was looking straight at you, and to his own surprise, a smile tugged at his dry lips. It felt like the simple sentence had somehow set him free. “I have trouble sleeping, because I always end up having the same nightmares. There’s missing blank spots in my memories when I wake up in a place I don’t recognise, with no idea how I got there.”

Jisung watched as your eyes widened, recognising his words — he was echoing the same symptoms you had confronted him about during your last therapy session, the ones he had coldly denied out of panic and fear. “I’ve always been afraid to let people get close to me. But sometimes, there are things that — that remind me of times that I’d rather forget, and before I know it, everything begins to spiral out of control.” He gave a small smile to Seungmin, who had stayed silent, surprised at Jisung’s sudden honesty. “That’s it, then. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

You watched as Jisung’s eyes flickered around the room, face as open and tranquil as a child’s — and that was what nearly broke your heart. Knowing that somewhere, beneath the prison uniform that was too baggy for his lean, tired frame, was the shell of a child the world had failed, a child that had given up asking to be saved.

“No further questions,” Seungmin said quietly, and Jisung walked back to his seat as the young prosecutor turned to face the judge. “Your Honour,” he began slowly, as if momentarily unable to find the words. “I think we have reason to believe that the attacks were provoked — not exactly by the victims themselves, but from past traumas that were never dealt with properly, and triggered again and again until they spiralled out of control.”

Seungmin raised his voice then, for the entire courtroom to hear, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fluttering nerves in his body. “The scattered killing patterns were never planned. The correlations between the victims and causes of death don’t show a serial killer’s M.O., they show triggers.” He took a shaky breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t a serial killer case. It isn’t the case of a psychopath on some nonsensical, murderous rampage. This is the aftereffect of a domestic violence case gone cold and swept under the rug over a decade ago — and we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

The judge fixed Seungmin with a cold, steely look over her glasses. “Prosecutor Kim. Remember that you cannot — should not — let your emotions get in the way in a court of law. You are supposed to assess the case with cold reasoning and logic.”

Seungmin looked down, heart hammering in his throat. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have been ashamed, and apologised immediately. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have thought he was crazy for crossing the line.

He realised, in that moment, that he hated the old Kim Seungmin with a passion.

“Emotions don’t always get in the way,” he found himself saying, eyes flickering to you in the audience, “and they don’t always make you weak.” Seungmin thought of Prosecutor Kang then, and his voice grew stronger. “If anything, they keep you human.”

He looked back up at the judge now, whose face had frozen in surprise. “When did justice become so cold? We’re taught that the law is supposed to protect the vulnerable, not prosecute them.”

The judge looked visibly shaken, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her eyes darted wildly between Seungmin and Jisung. Finally, with an unfathomable expression on her face, she turned towards the jury, clearing her throat unsteadily.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that concludes the evidence to be presented on this case. You are now to deliberate, and determine whether or not Han Jisung is guilty of nineteen counts of first-degree murder, assault, and arson.

“If you believe that this has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty, and eligible for capital punishment.”

Capital punishment, you thought, the words sweeping a breath of cold across the room. The death penalty.

“The court stands adjourned until the verdict of the jury.”

━━━━━━━━

Over an hour had passed since the jury had stepped into the deliberation suite, and each tick of the clock on the wall made you more and more nauseous. You put your head down, hands buried in your hair as if that could calm the anxiety thrumming through your veins. A few times, you had heard shouting and angry, raised voices coming from the room the jury was in. Each passing minute seemed to make the weight of the situation more obvious, the tension in the courtroom thick and suffocating.

Felix was rubbing your back as soothingly as he could. “y/n, hey, look at me — deep breaths, okay? You’re okay—”

He was cut off when you lifted your head to look at him, cursing the tears already welling in your eyes. You hated feeling this way — you felt so weak and powerless, and just imagining how much of a mess you must have looked made it even worse. You promised yourself you would stay calm, but every thought that crossed your mind kept leading to another until you were exhausted and overwhelmed.

“They could walk out any minute, ‘lix,” you told him, voice wavering as the weight of your own words sunk in. “They could walk out any minute, and end his life.”

You couldn’t even say Jisung’s name out loud, let alone look him in the eyes. Felix watched as you wiped furiously at your own tears, the sight of you so distressed rendering him speechless, and he did the only thing he could think of. Grimly, your best friend pulled you into a hug, and his reassuring warmth in the cold courtroom made you want to break down all over again. Around you, you could hear mixed opinions being exchanged.

“That poor boy.”

“Who could have guessed the case would take a turn like this? But do you believe him?”

“A murderer is still a murderer — he’s too dangerous to be left alive, don’t you think?”

You were beginning to wish you had taken Hyunjin and Woojin’s offer to step out of the room for fresh air when the heavy doors swung open, making a hush fall over the room. The jury filed in just as Hyunjin and the police captain returned and took their seats.

“Order in the court,” the clerk called, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

The forewoman nodded grimly. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“Those in favour of sentencing the accused, Han Jisung, to capital punishment, please rise.”

The words sent an icy shock down your spine, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as they watched the jury. You didn’t dare move, as if by doing so, you could prevent the next moments from coming crashing down on you, as if somehow, you could stop the horrible verdict from coming true. It was as if everyone had frozen still, time stopping for what felt like the longest moment of your life.

The ticking of the clock pricked your ears, and you suddenly realised that time hadn’t stopped.

No one in the jury had moved to stand up.

“The jury returns a verdict of not guilty, despite believing that the accused committed the crimes he is charged with,” the forewoman standing at the front of the jury said, and the members behind her nodded. “This verdict was unanimous.”

“They all agree that Jisung killed those people,” you heard Hyunjin’s stunned voice behind you, “but they’re returning a verdict of not guilty? What does that mean?”

“Jury nullification,” both Chan and Seungmin spoke at the same time, and the room turned to look at the younger prosecutor as he spoke up.

“The jury has the right to overturn the law, if they believe the law was used incorrectly—”

A reporter behind you blurted out angrily, “Are you suggesting that the murders were delusional, Prosecutor Kim?”

“Or,” Seungmin continued, his voice growing stronger than ever before as he saw the eyes of the judge and his coworkers widen in disbelief. I must be insane, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the words coming from his mouth. “Or, the jury disagrees with the law the prosecution has chosen to charge the defendant under.” He picked up Prosecutor Kang’s case file from the desk, flipping over the papers. “First degree murder.”

The forewoman nodded. “The law Han Jisung is being tried with was immorally and wrongly applied to him in the first place. We believe he caused the killings, without a doubt, but with the circumstances presented, we cannot convict him of serial first degree murder.”

“The previous prosecutor claimed these charges without making any effort to consider Han Jisung’s past,” one man on the jury added, “All the evidence proves a history of abuse and trauma that lead to an unstable mental condition.”

Their words sounded strangely familiar, and your eyes immediately widened when you realised why. “Those — those are the words from my psych report,” you whispered breathlessly to Felix, “Quoted, word for word. They must have all read your articles — we did it, ‘lix, it really worked.”

“But murder is murder. He should be held accountable,” a spectator protested across the room. He was immediately silenced by the bailiff, but not before Seungmin turned to him with a steady stare.

“‘Murder is murder’,” Seungmin echoed, “‘The world of law is cold.’ ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law.’ Those are the phrases you always hear in court. And those are the same beliefs that cost vulnerable people their lives.”

Hyunjin looked at Jeongin, whose gaze were cast to the floor, eyes stormy.

Seungmin continued, “You lose your empathy, and mark complex cases like these under ‘mass murderer’, or ‘psychopath’ without bothering to truly investigate the gray areas, because you think doing so would be—” his mind flashed to Kang, “a waste of time.” He looked at Jisung now, a boy who had been confined by labels his entire life: problem child, delinquent, murderer, monster. “Han Jisung is worth more than that. There’s more to him than his past, than his abusers, than the mental torment he’s suffered through for years.

“He’s a boy who never got the chance at life he deserved. The system has failed him once, and we cannot — should not — hold his trial like this.” Seungmin turned to the judge one last time, eyes burning with sincerity. “Your Honour. Will you end this vicious cycle of use and abuse, once and for all? Or will you choose, once again, to sweep it back into the shadows?”

She was staring back at him with a look that should have petrified Seungmin on the spot, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand his ground. There was a long, weighted silence. Finally, the judge shook her head slowly, and Seungmin swore he saw the smallest of smiles tug at her taut mouth as she turned to face the rest of the courtroom.

You felt your heart nearly leap out of your throat when the verdict finally fell from the judge’s lips.

“I hereby pronounce Han Jisung...not guilty.”

If you hadn’t been sitting down, you were sure you would have collapsed onto the floor.

The world was spinning around you, the sheer relief washing over you in overwhelming waves and turning your limbs to jelly. In your peripheral vision, you saw Hyunjin’s mouth drop open in astonishment, Felix turning to you with an incredulous smile on his face, Chan and Woojin completely frozen.

You barely registered the judge’s voice as she continued speaking, the rest of her words passing through you as if you were made of thin air. Pardoned on the death of his father and the arson of his childhood home by reason of self-defense. Regarding the Miroh Heights killings, the defendant was unable to understand the significance of his criminal actions due to a pre-existing mental condition. He is acquitted from the death penalty, and will serve no prison time.

However, he will be transferred to a psychiatric institution and closely monitored for the time being. The suitable amount of time he is to spend there will be prescribed on a later date after the case is properly re-examined...

People were talking around you, one of your friends was calling your name, and you swore you even heard a few people clapping, but you weren’t listening anymore. There was only one other person on your mind.

When your eyes found Jisung’s face, he was looking straight at you — with the same look in his eyes that had given you butterflies the first time you met him, and the same look in his eyes you had seen before you had fallen unconscious, bleeding out in his arms.

He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

━━━━━━━━

“You had some nerve back there, Prosecutor Kim.”

The courtroom had been emptied out, and Seungmin had been collecting his files and notes when he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he thought he had misheard — people were buzzing outside in the lobby, the commotion so loud it seemed to be humming through the walls — but he turned around, and saw the judge walking up to him.

Bits and pieces of the trial came back to him, and Seungmin cringed inwardly as he met her hard gaze. Just how many lines had he crossed? Years of being careful, meticulous, completely down the drain—

“You had some nerve back there,” she repeated, and Seungmin lowered his eyes. He heard her sigh deeply. “But you’re a fine prosecutor, Kim.”

Stunned, Seungmin raised his head, and realised with a start that she was smiling at him. “I haven’t seen your kind in a while. It was refreshing, to say the least, and it puts me at ease to know that this field still has people like you.”

She tucked her glasses into her robes, turning to leave.

“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”

━━━━━━━━

“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”

Kang was blinded by flashing cameras the moment he stepped out from the holding cell. The older prosecutor’s eyes were dark as he was pushed through the mob of reporters and citizens, the guards flanking him making no effort to be gentle.

“Is it true you hid crucial evidence from your own prosecution?”

“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”

“How many other cases have you tampered with?”

“None!” Kang snarled at the reporter, desperation rising in his throat like bile. “Lies—I’ve never wrongfully convicted a single person. These are all—”

“You’re the liar.”

The crowd stopped, turning towards the voice that had shouted over them. Yang Jeongin was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just the sight of Kang was enough to make him tremble like a young child again, words stuck momentarily in his throat. This was the same man he had met in court all those years ago, the man who had mercilessly delivered his father’s life sentence with a snakelike smile on his pale lips. Taking a shaky breath, Jeongin mustered up his courage, and ran up to him.

“Please stop this already,” Jeongin pleaded, eyes searching Kang’s bewildered face for signs of guilt, remorse, anything. Kang didn’t seem to recognise him, and the young boy’s voice was breaking as he fought back tears. “Please tell the truth, just this once. I-I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—it doesn’t have to be this way—”

There was a gasp as a few reporters stumbled, and the crowd rippled forward. Kang was knocked off-balance, tumbling to the ground. He cursed, fumbling to get back on his feet — and saw a hand, outstretched towards him from a hoodie sleeve that was clearly too large for its owner. He looked up into the young boy’s face again, his fox-like eyes widened in concern, and finally realised with a jolt who he was talking to.

Nearly a decade ago, Kang thought — an old fool who had picked a fight with high-ranking company officials, no? And then the crackpot had pleaded with Kang, saying something about a son he had to take care of — a young boy—

Jeongin put his hand on Kang’s arm when the prosecutor didn’t move, and pulled him up. “Mr. Kang, my father—”

Feeling a sudden rage surge through his body, Kang drew his fist back and punched the boy across his jaw.

Jeongin crumpled to the ground, the side of his face already blooming with red. “You brat,” Kang seethed as cries of horror erupted from the crowd, guards seizing him and trying to pull him away. “What do you understand? Han Jisung, your old man — people like them don’t deserve to walk free.”

You had just stepped out of the courtroom when a commotion in the hallway had made you look over, the scene that had greeted your eyes making you freeze. Jeongin had been clutching Prosecutor Kang’s arm, looking up at the older man imploringly — and his expression had been genuinely kind, almost pitying, his mouth opening and closing frantically as though he were pleading with him. You had shaken your head in disbelief, trying to push through the throng of shocked citizens — only Yang Jeongin’s heart was big enough to look his parents’ tormentor in the eyes, and help him.

Then Kang had suddenly struck Jeongin, and now the delivery boy was curling up in pain on the ground as the prosecutor screamed at him.

“They were foolish enough — depraved enough — to violate those laws, and I charged them with what they deserved. It’s as simple as—”

The next thing you knew, you were in front of Kang, palm outstretched, and you had slapped him hard across the face.

The entire crowd fell dead silent, Jeongin looking up at you from the floor in dazed disbelief. Even Kang was speechless as he looked back at you, holding his jaw, eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

“It seems like you know everything about law, Prosecutor Kang,” you said, voice shaking with anger, “but you know nothing about being human.”

Kang opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out. The hallway was erupting in chaos again as cameras clicked and flashed eagerly. The guards began to drag Kang away before it could get more hectic, your last glimpses of the corrupt prosecutor disappearing behind the reporters’ bobbing heads. As you helped Jeongin up, checking his head worriedly, you felt a hand pull at your own arm. You turned to see Hyunjin, and judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.

“Is this just going to be a thing now?” The barista asked, side-eyeing you wearily as he held onto Jeongin protectively, “Are you just going to start slapping everyone who crosses you?”

“Maybe,” you muttered mutinously. “It’s faster, and less emotionally draining than negotiating.”

“You’re studying to be a therapist, y/n,” Hyunjin reminded you exasperatedly, and you let out a small laugh, pouting slightly. The barista smiled too, despite himself, and you both looked over at Jeongin. The boy’s eyes were staring over the crowd’s heads, through the lobby doors, and you realised he was watching the officers push Kang into the police cruiser — the man who had ruined his parents’ lives, finally handcuffed and headed where he was supposed to be.

You turned around, and caught sight of another familiar face further down the hallway, standing perfectly still despite the crowd of people rushing past around him.

Lee Minho’s face was turned away from you, his catlike eyes staring at something with the same, unfathomable expression you had come to grow so accustomed to. You remembered how you had once been afraid of the coroner and his strange, standoffish manner, but now, as you watched him from afar, you felt a small pang of sympathy. Minho always carried himself like a ghost, you realised — a shadow lingering in the corners of rooms and corridors, unsure if he was ever wanted.

You quickly excused yourself from Hyunjin and Jeongin and you began to push through the crowd towards the coroner. As you followed his gaze to the holding cell doors, they suddenly swung open, and Jisung stepped out into the hallway. Your steps slowed. The two stood facing each other for several long moments — two childhood friends, two lost children who had found their only sense of family — twisted though it had been — in each other. Minho’s face was hesitant, as if about to turn away, but Jisung had already begun walking up to him. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, Jisung’s back turned to you and Minho awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.

Then Jisung suddenly closed the gap between the two of them, and pulled Minho into a hug.

You watched as the ex-coroner’s mask finally shattered, the older boy’s face scrunching up like a child’s as he buried his head in Jisung’s shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs, as if something in him had finally been let go, a burden he had carried his entire life lifted off his chest.

Eventually, the guards stepped forward, and Minho pulled away. He looked at Jisung with a small smile on his face — the first genuine smile you had ever seen from him — and you managed to catch the words forming on his lips.

“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”

“He’ll probably need to go through a trial of his own.” Chan’s voice made you jump in surprise. He had come up beside you while you had been distracted, Felix and Woojin close behind him. He nodded at you by way of greeting before turning back to where Jisung was standing. “The coroner, I mean. But he’ll likely get around five years in prison, more or less.”

You watched as Minho was ushered away into another corridor, Jisung staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. Before you could reply, he turned around, eyes landing on yours — and all of a sudden, you forgot about the security guards flanking every doorway, the law officials and reporters brushing briskly past you. For a moment, it was as if it were only you and Jisung in the hallway, the entire world standing still around the two of you.

Since the last time you had spoken to him had ended with you slapping him in the face, you decided that it was only right for you to take the first step towards him. Slowly, feeling as if you were in a dream, you made your way towards him, Jisung walking the rest of the way to meet you in the middle.

“Hey, you.” Jisung’s voice was soft, nearly inaudible, not taking his hazel eyes off yours.

You heard Chan chuckle behind you, shaking his head as he threw his arms around Felix and Woojin’s shoulders to steer them away and leave you two in private. The hallways had nearly cleared out, and for the first time in what felt like forever — if you ignored the guards watching a little ways off from the holding cells — you and Jisung were alone together.

There were a thousand things racing through your mind right now, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Five years,” Jisung tentatively broke the silence again, and when you looked back at him in confusion, he continued, “in the psychiatric institute. They told me five years minimum, on watch. But I heard...it’s a nice place.”

His lopsided, sheepish smile was as infectious as ever, making one tug at your own lips. When Jisung saw you smile, he relaxed just the tiniest amount.

“Y-you’re going to be okay?” You finally asked, feeling your voice waver.

Jisung’s gaze softened, nodding. “You saved me.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. You knew he was talking about Seungmin’s arguments, Jeongin’s witness statements, the article you and Felix had published — but it all might have been for nothing, you thought, mind flashing back to the courtroom, if Jisung hadn’t finally stepped up from his chair and faced his lifelong traumas in the form of one last, truthful testimony. “Han Jisung, you saved yourself.”

He fell silent at that, and you saw his hand instinctively move towards yours for a split second before he quickly stopped himself. Jisung’s arms were floating by his sides, as if wanting to pull you close, but he was holding himself back. He was afraid, you finally realised — afraid that you would push him away, afraid to ever hurt you again. And for some, inexplicable reason, the idea of a rift between the two of you that could never be repaired seemed to hurt even more than a switchblade to the heart.

“For some reason, I’ve been thinking back to our first date,” Jisung cleared his throat, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He probably looked like a nervous schoolboy in front of his first love, Jisung thought, cringing at himself as he looked away from your curious gaze. Well, he added as an afterthought, that wouldn’t be too far off.

You were his first love, after all.

“I...I didn’t know how you felt that day,” Jisung continued, “or even the days after that, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was doing things right, or—”

“You took my breath away,” you cut him off, the honesty in your own words making your cheeks heat up. You thought back to the diner, to the blond boy who had rendered you speechless with a single heart-shaped smile. As an afterthought, you brought a hand to your rib cage, where a switchblade in that same boy’s hands had once punctured through your lungs, and you deadpanned, “literally.”

Eyebrows raising in disbelief, Jisung gave an incredulous laugh, but his gaze was fixed on the site of your wound. You could still see the deep guilt in his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, you reached for his hand, gingerly placing it where the knife had been. His skin was cool against your fingers, palm rough but familiar. “I’m okay, Jisung. It’s okay. But...why bring that up, all of a sudden?”

“I feel like that now,” he admitted softly, “the same feeling, but with a whole new set of butterflies. Always thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you feel about…”

“Us,” you finished for him, and Jisung nodded slowly. Us. The word hung between the two of you for a long moment, and you took a shaky breath. A part of you wanted to reassure him, to pull him into your arms as if nothing had ever changed. But another part of you pushed that feeling away, knowing deep down that it was too late, that too much had already happened between the two of you to just ignore.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, and you looked down, afraid to see the expression on his face. “I woke up that morning, and you were just...gone. I was so scared for you, I went looking for you...then one thing lead to another, and before we all knew it, the world had turned upside down. I-it might sound selfish, but after all...this, I think I’m going to need some...time.” You finally lifted your eyes up to his face, heart pounding. For a terrifying second, you thought you saw a flash of pain skip across Jisung’s pupils — but before you could be sure, his face broke into a relieved smile.

“You’ve always been like this, you know?” He sighed, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then, contrary to what you had expected, Jisung visibly relaxed. “Worrying about other people before taking care of yourself. You’re not being selfish, okay? Don’t...worry about hurting me anymore.”

You stared at him, the genuine warmth in his words suddenly making your throat close up with stunned tears. Jisung’s eyes, you remembered, had always seemed glazed over and unfocused — as if his mind was trapped somewhere else, far, far away. But as he looked back at you now, you were suddenly hit by how...clear they had become. He was here, perfectly focused on you, eyes filled with what you could only describe as pure adoration.

“I need time, too,” Jisung continued quickly, “I have...so many things I need to fix, to work on, and get better at—”

You shook your head furiously then, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you held onto his wrist. “W-want to love every part of you,” you whispered, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Don’t...don’t hide any parts of yourself, ever again. Okay?”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, brow furrowed as he gingerly wiped your tears, and finally gave a small nod. He cradled your face in his hands, eyes trying to memorise your features as though you were the most beautiful thing he would ever see. To someone else, you thought vaguely, you might have looked insane. A killer’s hands, they might have said, bloodstained hands. But as you gazed up at Jisung, all you saw was a boy who had gone through hell and came back smiling, a boy who loved you more than life itself.

You heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see several security guards making their way towards Jisung. “Mr. Han,” one called gruffly, “it’s time to go.”

The sudden interruption made your mind go blank momentarily as any reasonable words — goodbye, take care — immediately dissolved on your tongue. The guards were getting closer and closer, and Jisung turned back to you, stammering.

“If you ever want to—to do this whole...love thing again, start over properly, I—I promise I’ll try not to screw it up. I mean, if you’re sure—and only if you’re sure,” he paused then, sounding suddenly flustered, and for a second, he was your tousled-hair, golden boy from the diner again, soft cheeks flushed like windblown peach roses, eyes unsure yet hopeful as a child’s. This was the boy you had fallen in love with, over blueberry pancakes and Chinese takeout, on seemingly endless nights and through the darkest thunderstorms. Ever since you had made that promise, in a children’s playground beneath the setting sun, you knew that somehow, no matter what fate had left in store, you would always find your way back to him.

Jisung was already being ushered away, the sudden absence of his touch on your skin leaving you feeling empty — but his last words brought a smile to your tearstained face.

“...I’ll be waiting.”

ryu says:

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who made it to the end of this series; to everyone who came on this long journey with me, you made it possible and amazing every step of the way. at times, as my first ever series and long-term project, it was both daunting and terrifying, but i am beyond happy and honoured i could experience it with you.

i’ll see you in the epilogue.

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ghastily · 4 years

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[13] 100 Word Drabbles: Megatron

warnings: a mix of angst, fluff, and romance

relationship: Megatron x Human!Reader, some Pre-War/Gladiator!Megatron x Bot!Reader

notes: Dragging everyone into Megatron hell with me using exactly 100 words.

➥ Read on Ao3!

1. catch: caught doing something they shouldn’t

It's Energon.

Pink, and glowing so brightly it lures you in, appealing to the most basic of your human instincts — curiosity. There's no one else around and so you reach out for it, just to dip a finger in. Maybe a little taste, what could it hurt?

Until a giant servo slams itself down to block you, the force reverberating through the floor and rattling your bones. You fall back with a gasp, heart hammering in your throat.

“Megatron! Where—”

“You know,” He frowns and you shrink back at his tone, embarrassed at being caught, “It's poisonous to humans.”

2. note: leaving a message

You didn’t have the courage to tell Megatron your feelings, not to his face, so you wrote it down. Spilling out everything you felt onto paper. It wouldn't be easy to forgive him, you didn’t know if you ever would but you saw him trying. And so you wanted to try too, to move past the bad blood and into the future. One day, you wrote with shaking hands at the end, I hope that we can become friends.

He approached you, optics tired and smiling tightly, with the note pages pinched between two digits, “I would like that too.”

3. bed: tucked into bed

Some nights you don’t bother with your human-sized bed. Some nights you sleep on Megatron’s chest, smiling as he frets over you and the way his gentle digits adjust the blanket covering you. You playfully swat at his hand and he smiles, finally done fussing, and curling his servo over you protectively. “Are you sure it’s comfortable? Do you need anything else?” “Yes, Megs. I’m never been more comfortable.” You settle in with a yawn, adjusting a pillow under your head. He offlines his optics and slips into recharge, as you're lulled to sleep by the hum of his spark.

4. embrace: a hug

Megatron was not overly fond of his holoform, gray hair and tired eyes only served as a reminder of just how far along in his life cycle he really was. He didn’t want you to see him, not like this, but he wouldn’t deny you this indulgence. “Megs?” You smile at him so radiantly that he forgets everything, “Is that — it is you!” He can’t answer, not when you so suddenly throw yourself at him, arms tight around his neck and squeezing. Megatron smiles and squeezes you close, content to have you in his arms so solid and warm.

5. jacket: bundling up before going outside

This planet was not hospitable toward the delicate nature of humans. Blindingly white, covered in snow and ice it reminded you a lot of the pictures you saw of the North Pole. The child inside of you wanted to go make a snowman — desperately. And Megatron was ruining everything! “Hm, you may need more clothing items. Your core temperature is still not at acceptable ranges.” “This isn’t helping, Megatron! Free me!” You hiss at him, trying to flail your arms in anger only to fall and land spectacularly on your face. It makes you even angrier hearing him laugh.

6. pain: looking after the other when they have a headache

They happened sometimes, these migraines of yours. Pain so unbearable you had to lock yourself away in a dark room and hope it went away soon, eyes screwed shut. Since being on board the Lost Light, you had taken to holing up in Megatron’s berthroom when they struck. He never spoke to you. Megatron brought you painkillers that you choke down with a grimace, and a cold compress that he would replace each time when they warmed. The room blissfully quiet and dark except for the glow of his optics and a dull light so he could continue his work.

7. laugh: at a joke, funny story, etc.

Megatron heard you before he saw you at Maccadam’s, watching entranced as you laughed at something a group of bots said before taking their order. So enamored, he stopped in the middle of a sentence while talking to Impactor.

“Now that is an aft,” Impactor smirks, knowing it’s gotten to him when Megatron snaps back with a frown, “Don’t be so crude.”

Impactor hums and waves a servo in the air, “Hey! Another round here!”

“No, ignore him!” Megatron looks aghast, reaching over the table to put his servos over Impactor’s mouth. You laugh again, and it’s music to Megatron.

8. roam: getting lost

“I don’t know where we are.”

“Nor do I,” Megatron’s voice comes over the radio, neither of you were willing to risk being found by connecting to the internet. He had adopted a human vehicle mode since you escaped together — a truck that looked as rough as he felt. You sigh and lean back in the seat, watching an endless expanse of desert pass by.

“Maybe we can stop somewhere and get a map.”

Your stomach growls and you blush.

“And some fuel for you,” Megatron remarks, amusement lacing his voice even through the static of an old radio.

9. diner: eating at a 24 hour diner

“Be careful.”

It’s the dead of night when he pulls up to the diner, and you clammer out with a nod, pulling the hood of your jacket over your head. Inside is blessedly quiet and empty except for a bearded man in the corner booth, and a lady brewing coffee. You mumble you order at the counter.

“Everything okay, hun?” The elderly woman passes you a plastic bag filled with foam containers — you take them with your head down, “Yeah. Thanks.”

You pass her a crumbled bundle of bills and coins, heading back outside and climbing into Megatron’s cab.

10. rocky: finding the other bruised and bloody

He looks like garbage, tossed out and left to be collected in the morning but the flicker of light in his optics tell you he hasn't given up yet. He’s busted up, marked up, and covered in dried energon.

“H-Hey! Do you need help?!” The moment you reach his side is when he suddenly comes to life — body jerking unnaturally and he growls a warning. You ignore it.

“.. You’re Megatron, right? You use to come to Maccadam’s.” He refuses to answer so you sink down beside him, leaning against the wall. “Guess I’ll wait here with you then..”

11. shield: shielding you with their body

You don’t see the blaster bolt coming toward you, like a deer caught in headlights you remain fully rooted in place as a dark shadow passes over you. The impact of the bolt hitting metal knocks you flat with the winded knocked out of you.

Megatron looms overhead, giant metal body blocking you from harm.

“Run!” You don’t, “I can’t fight with you here!”

“GO!” He roars and you gasp, brain sputtering back into action as you scramble to your feet. Something else hits Megatron and his body shakes around you — you nearly lose your balance before taking off.

12. twinkle: stargazing

On the roof of a gas station, you’re happy and warm with a blanket around your shoulders and legs dangling over the side. You meant to watch the stars but Megatron makes it difficult, he’s staring so intensely at you as he leans against the side of the run down building. “The stars are up there, Megs.” You gesture toward the sky. He leans down to your level, voice low and warm — purring, “All I see are the ones in your eyes, they're more beautiful than any galaxy I have ever seen.” “You’re terrible,” Your cheeks burn, looking away.

13. onion: a sad moment

“I see,” He growls and turns away with fury in his optics, “They've gotten to you too. Turning you against me with their lies!” “Megatron, that isn't true!” You plead with him, spark aching and broken. “I love you and I agree things need to change but this.. There has to be some other way!” He slams a fist into the wall, shoulders slumped with the weight of the cause, expectations, deaths, and energon, weighing him down. “There is no other way! They won’t listen to words so I have no other choice! We are not disposable, we deserve better!”

#transformers #maccadam #megatron x reader #reader insert

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doodlegirl12345 · 3 years

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“A Lesson In Tightropes” {1/5}

Hello everybody, this my first post on Tumblr. I written this story prior the release of Miraculous Ladybug season 4. A lot of things in this won’t match up to the current season. So think about it in a way of an AU story.

Read A Full Version Of Part 1 of “A Lesson In Tightropes” on Wattpad

Part 1 : Balance

Balance.

Another important skill needed in this never ending circus that we call life. As that’s what it can be seen as a complex balancing act. From the moment that we learn to move or stand we are supposed to follow a straight line without a certain end. As time starts to build up things are shove into our hands to juggle from small things such cleaning your room, washing behind your ears and finishing the vegetables on your plate. To the attempts of finishing ten page papers for university, keeping your light bill paid, and scrimping enough money for this month’s rent. The round shiny pennies that you have been juggling had turned into round shiny porcelain plates. More fragile and easier to break while trying to walk the straight line of a tightrope. The crowd that’s watching is ready to boo at you for any misstep and misdeed that is done, like the entertainment that you are. While the crowd that is supporting you and your accomplishments seem small like they can barely make a sound, even when it becomes too much and you fall without a safety net.

Up above the colors of orange and yellow painted Paris’ sky as the sun rose one early spring Friday morning. Sunlight quickly took its reign warming the frosty air from the previous night. The few people that were already out during this early morning minding their business as most were returning home from a grueling night shift or leaving for the long early shift that the day would give them. But right above them was the city’s beloved heroine Ladybug swinging through the sky with her trusty yoyo. The bug tossed the yoyo to latch onto the rooftops ahead to prolong the cycle of rush and relief of her body being pushed through the sky by her own hands.

As she had only one solid thought on her mind: home.

The few people who would look above and see the heroine had a few names that come to mind: hero, protector, role model, icon and savior. With all the things that Hawkmoth had thrown at her she seemed unstoppable. However, those were the people who easily let themselves get lost in the sparkle. They couldn’t see or wanted to notice the sway back in the bug’s posture, the misshapen form as she swung or the hesitation between each jump as she hanged onto the yoyo’s wire for dear life.

As underneath the surface level, it was clear that the spirit of exhaustion had been clinging onto her.

Nevertheless, Ladybug couldn’t stop moving as she sprung forward from the rooftop of Collège Françoise DuPont to the balcony of the nearby bakery. Nearly missing her footing on the balcony’s railing, the bug then jumped forward into the balcony’s opened trap door landing onto her bed that was underneath the opening. She landed flat on her back letting the cushiony padding of the mattress break her fall.

“Tikki,” the heroine said groggily. “Spots off.”

Magical red dust surrounded her body peeling off her costume and reverting her back into her civilian clothes. Tikki landed on the bed’s pillow, eyes already shut the kwami letting out a small yawn. While Marinette’s eyelids felt heavy, she felt herself slipping into a deep slumber needed to recover from last night and all of the previous nights before. Ever since she had returned home from her trip from New York. There have been back to back akumas and sentimonsters that Ladybug and Chat Noir had to deal with for the past three weeks. All of them appeared during the dead of night. It was like this Hawkmoth’s revenge for them not letting him plunge the world into another world war.

It was akuma alert notification, the most recent of many.

She suited up like usual, leaving her home after midnight hoping that this wouldn’t take long as she still was exhausted from the previous night. But those hopes were for nothing as the villain Creature Feature took hours to defeat, leaving both her and Chat Noir dragging themselves home, exhausted. Marinette turned over, eyes now shut as the mattress cushioned her aching body as she tried to reach dreamland. However, as she started to drift, a loud beeping startled the new guardian causing her eyes to fly wide open and herself to raise up. Marinette looked ahead to see at the foot of her bed was her phone ringing. She reached forward grabbing her phone as her alarm for school was going off.

But it couldn’t be time not yet as between last night and the night before she barely had gotten four hours of sleep! The guardian shut off her alarm and stubbornly threw herself underneath her covers. It can’t be time for school. That wasn’t fair as she didn’t want to go. Maybe today could be her sick day, better yet a mental health day.

It was the minimum of what she deserved.

But she heard a knock at her bedroom door, the guardian’s body didn’t even budge.

There was more knocking on the door, her mother’s voice came through the door calling out to her. “Marinette, sweetie it’s time to wake up. You don’t want to be late for school again. This will be the fifth time this week that you have been hard to get up!”

Marinette just let out a loud groan, taking her pillow on her head and bending it to cover her ears like this was going to be one of the worst days of her life.

An hour passed as the guardian dragged herself out of the door of the bakery with her purse and backpack. Instead of her usual outfit she was wearing a black tank top underneath a soft pink cotton top with short cutout sleeves, black sweatpants, and pink converse sneakers. She had dark sunken in circles underneath her eyes. A few minutes after not responding Marinette’s mother came into her room after Tikki hid trying to coax the young guardian out of bed. It got to the point it was easier for Marinette to force herself out of bed than trying and failing to get some sleep in the midst of that. In addition, her typical arsenal of excuses failed her, each one that she could think of Sabine counteracted with the statement of hearing it all before.

So Marinette got up and got ready just figuring the best thing to do is suck it up for another day. That was the notion that she had in her mind as she crossed the street to school. As outside in front of the steps students stood in their own groups chatting away with each other before class started. Marinette spotted Alya leaning against the wall of the school steps on her phone.

“Hey,” Marinette yawned as she approached her friend.

“Hey girl,” Alya said looking up from her phone. “You’re actually on time today.”

“You can thank my mom,” Marinette faintly smiled. “She wouldn’t let me be nearly late five days in a row.”

“Good mom, but hey are you okay?” Alya raised a brow.

“Yes, I’m a little bit tired,” the guardian nodded her head. “No big deal.”

“Well you’re not the only one,” her best friend gestured her head to the right. “It seems that your “friend” haven’t gotten much sleep either.”

Marinette turned her head in the same direction as she saw Adrien and Nino a few feet away. Adrien looked similar to her, a glazed look with deep dark circles underneath his eyes.

“Dude, you okay?” Nino asked him. “You look wiped.”

“Huh?” Adrien asked, almost like he was spacing out. “Yeah I just had a long fencing practice last night to get ready for our tournament in the next few weeks. Then I stayed up late doing homework.”

“So you sure you are fine?” Alya asked, bringing the attention back to her. “These couple weeks, you have appeared more exhausted every time I seen you.”

“I’m just a little jag lag from our trip.”

“The trip that we came back from three weeks ago? Nice try, M, that’s not going to work this time.”

“Um...well...it’s true.”

“Okay maybe I’m sounding a little pushy but I’m just a little worried about you.”

“That’s sweet but there’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not just me but other people. Alix texted me asking if you were coming to the Louvre this weekend to check out the “Fashion Through The Ages” exhibit like you said you were, considering that you cancelled going ice skating last with us last weekend.”

“Really? Why did she not text me?”

“Maybe because it’s been a little hard to reach you lately? You really haven’t been picking up or replying to our texts. So she just figured what was the point?”

Marinette bit her lip as she remembered last weekend she had come home from defeating the villain Archaic around seven in the morning after she got an akuma alert two in the morning. She was utterly exhausted and knew no way that could make it to the ice rink around eleven so she just texted the girls that she couldn’t go and went to bed. Practically for these past couple weeks beside school it’s been a trade off her sleeping and being Ladybug.

“So what?” Marinette’s eyes shifted to the side.

“So what? I’m worried about you ever since we got back from New York. You’ve been saying that either you’re busy or that you’re going to just go home to sleep. But you are still looking exhausted. Is there something going on? It’s starting to look like you have a double life or something.”

“Double life?!” Marinette exclaimed. “No way, I’m too boring to have a double life. I’m so dull that flies don’t even land on me! Boring is my middle name Marinette “Boring” Dupain-Cheng!”

“Well Miss Boring then what’s keeping you up at night?” Alya folded her arms, as if she wasn’t going to accept anymore deflection.

Marinette was at a loss for words as the truth feeling poison in her throat that if spilled as it would come up like acid. That she would die either way in this public setting. Unless she did her least favorite habit.

Lying.

“Okay okay you got me,” the guardian gave her friend a tight smile. “You’re so good, Miss Reporter.”

“Huh?” her friend looked confused.

“I’ve been working hard on a very special project...for you and the girls,” she wrapped an arm around Alya’s shoulders.

“Really?”

“Yep, I have been doing this project for weeks...that’s why I have been busy and tired. It’s all for you girls.”

Alya just looked at her with a stern face.

Marinette bit her lip as she thought. Is she buying this? No way that she’s buying this, she knows me way too well.

Her friend just shook her head. “That’s really sweet but leave it up to you to do something nice that is causing your own detriment.”

“Well you know me...I’m a giver. So everybody can stop worrying, it’s all over now.”

“Alright,” the inspiring reporter sounded skeptical. “Then I guess we can come over and you can show us the surprise tomorrow.”

“What?” the guardian looked confused.

“You said it was over, that means you’re done right?”

“Right... I guess that’s what it means, right...”

“Cool, then the rest of the girls and I can come to your place tomorrow before you go to the museum. Since Nora and I gotta take the twins to the circus tonight.”

“Circus?” she asked her as if it’s the first she heard of this.

“Yeah, I told you on Tuesday that Ella won four tickets for Andrea’s Traveling Circus that is going to be in town this weekend. As she won the award for most improved student in her class. Nora and I were going to take them since my mom and dad are going out to celebrate their wedding anniversary, remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

A string of electronic chimes came from the school causing the students to wrap up their conversations as they started to make their way up the steps.

“Ugh, the warning bell, we got five minutes until class starts,” Alya started to walk toward the steps. “Let’s go, the last thing that we need is Ms. Bustier marking us late.”

“Right,” Marinette yawned while following her up the steps feeling this was going to be a long day.

With that Marinette entered the school and dragged herself through a typical school day with an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. To her it felt like the day trudged on even during lunch while Alya told the girls about the surprise, the one that the guardian had came up on the spot. So imagine her relief when she reached her last class of the day: Early World History. Her sleepy eyes were glued to Ms. Bustier as she was in the middle of her lesson about the industrial revolution. As the teacher lectured the guardian tried to keep her eyes open, keeping her mind and hands busy by taking notes on her school issued tablet.

But it was hard to keep her head up.

She looked at the clock as it read 1:05 pm. There was only fifty five minutes left of the school day, fifty five long excruciating minutes. While her head felt like it weighed like a ton of bricks that went through a centrifuge.

Come on Marinette you just got less than an hour left, you can do this. She thought.

However, her eyelids were getting heavier. She rubbed them a bit letting out another yawn. Before she knew it she could hear the ringing of the school bell causing her bolt right back up in her seat with a loud gasp realizing that she had been laying her head on her desk. Marinette’s eyes darted around the classroom to see that all her classmates were staring at her with confused expressions on their faces. Suddenly her face turned a shade of beet red.

“Okay class that is enough for today we will finish up our lesson on Monday,” Ms. Bustier said, her stern eyes right on Marinette. “For homework please read chapters eighteen and nineteen over the weekend.”

After that instruction the class packed up for the day and started to leave for dismissal while Ms. Bustier turned to the classroom’s chalkboard starting to erase the board’s chalk writings.

“D-did I fall asleep?” Marinette turned to Alya.

“Yeah halfway through class,” Alya replied.

“Halfway through class? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I tried nudging you but you wouldn’t budge. It was like trying to move a brick house.”

“I was that out of it?”

“Yeah you literally were snoring during class,” Nino chimed in.

Marinette’s face became a deeper shade of red. “I don’t snore.”

“Trust me you do,” said a familiar voice.

Marinette looked away from Nino to see Chloè standing in front of their desks, arms folded with a little smug smile on her face.

“Seriously Dupain-Cheng who knew someone like you snored just like a pig,” the mayor’s daughter laughed. “I guess the whole class knows now.”

“At least I don’t sound like a strangled cat when I talk, like you do!” Marinette snapped at her.

Chloè’s blue eyes narrowed in shock as if she was surprised that kind of comment had been made.

“Marinette, can you please stay after class as I would like to talk to you,” Ms. Bustier said, still erasing the board.

Paris’ newest guardian’s eyes suddenly become big as saucers. While Chloè’s smug smile returned as she left the classroom.

Marinette buried her head in her hands. “I don’t believe this.”

“Do you want me to stay for you?” Adrien asked her.

Marinette moved her hands and looked back at the golden haired model. “Really?”

“Yeah it’s the least that I could do after you convinced my father to let me go to New York,” he said.

A tiny smile formed on her lips at that sentiment but then she looked at the dark circles underneath his eyes. He looked just exhausted as she did.

“Um no you don’t have to,” Marinette told him. “I mean...I appreciate it but I made bed now I need to lay in it.”

With that the group packed up the things and her friends left the classroom to carry out the rest of their day. Marinette walked down the steps with her backpack and purse to Ms.Bustier’s desk where the teacher was sitting looking through a stack of papers.

“Ms. Bustier, you said that you wanted to talk to me,” Marinette approached the desk, already feeling like she was on pins and needles.

“Yes Marinette as we have something to discuss,” said the teacher.

“About sleeping in class? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean too. I just didn’t get much sleep last night but I promise it will never happen again.”

“It is not exactly just that but also there is something else I would like to discuss.”

Ms. Bustier pulled out one of the sheets from the stack of papers that she was holding and placed it on the desk. It was a quiz paper with Marinette’s name written in the guardian’s own handwriting. The paper was covered with red ink markings and up top the final score was twenty five percent.

“This is your history quiz grade from the quiz that we took on Tuesday. I graded them all but didn’t have a chance to pass them out today like I planned,” Ms. Bustier told her. “But your grade is twenty five percent Marinette which is a F. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Uh...I’m sorry.”

“This wasn’t a hard quiz either as the second lowest grade in the class was seventy two percent. Most of these questions were things we discussed in class and the others were from the textbook. Was you able to study?”

Marinette’s eyes shifted as she thought back to Monday night this week. She had taken a nap after coming home from school then started up her chemistry homework when her phone went off with an akuma alert. Steel Titan, a giant robot sentimonster was terrorizing downtown. By the time she got back she only had an hour before school that she used to finish her chemistry homework instead of studying.

“Just a little...I was busy,” she sheepishly told her teacher.

“With what?” Ms. Bustier’s eyes shifted from stern to concerned. “After falling asleep in class I’m worried about you Marinette. I have noticed that your grades have been slipping. So I would like to ask, is everything okay? Is there something going on at home?”

“What? Of course not, everything is fine.”

“Well about your personal life? Family, friends, relationships? If there is something you want to talk about I’m here to listen. It can be about anything.”

Marinette was unsure how to respond. What could tell her that she actually been Ladybug this whole time? That every time that she had been running late or had to excuse herself for a bathroom break she was saving the city. Along with Chat Noir she stopped Hawkmoth from plunging the world into another world war with two other heroes. That was now she was Paris’ only guardian of the miraculous because her mistakes caused the other one to give up his memories due to her getting so emotional over a guy she had recently given the friend label. That might have to suffer the same fate if she ever had to give up her title as guardian. That the thought of that actually terrifies her. She has been running herself so ragged that sometimes standing up is a chore.

Those are the things that she wanted to tell her but couldn’t.

“Nope, I just should have studied like I was supposed to,” Marinette told her. “Um, to be honest it’s my fault. I...stayed up late watching this show called Infinity Lights and I put off studying.”

“Infinity Lights? I love that show, how far are you?” Ms. Bustier stated.

“Uh,” Marinette started as she never saw a single episode of the show. The only reason she said it was because she saw a build board advertising the show when she swung home this morning. “Not far just the first season.”

“Ah so stakes haven’t really hiked up yet but what do you think about Miranda and Nick?”

“I like them. Miranda is my favorite.”

“Really? My favorite is Bridget. But is that the only thing going on?”

“Yes, I didn’t do well with organizing my priorities. So I’m in trouble?”

“Not exactly the grade that you earned on the quiz still stands; it is just a quiz grade so it shouldn’t impact your final grade significantly compared to a test. However, I would like you to promise me something.”

“A promise? What kind of promise?”

“I would like you to promise me that over this weekend you are going to get some rest. I expect you to come here Monday morning on time, well rested, homework done and ready to learn. If you can’t do it then I have no choice then call your parents and schedule a conference with your parents. To let them know about your grades and lack of sleep, do you understand?”

Marinette hanged her head. “Yes ma’am.”

After wrapping up things with Ms.Bustier, Marinette went home instantly going straight to her bedroom to get to work. As she had dug herself in a hole with her friends telling them about a great surprise that apparently took three weeks to do. She entered her room, dropping her purse and backpack on the floor to sit at her desk to think of something to make. Tikki flew out of her purse suggesting she get some sleep as she looked exhausted. But the guardian protested stating that she lied and now that she had to lie she must become an honest person by making the lie true. Tikki tried to convince her otherwise but Marinette was insistent. So here she was hours later still at her desk working in her sketchbook surrounded by wadded up balls of paper on her desk of rejected ideas. At first it was hats then phone cases then it was hand knitted scarfs. But either it was that she didn’t have enough time or materials.

It wasn’t until an hour ago that she settled on making homemade earrings as it looked enough that time was taken and she had the materials from a jewelry making kit that ironically Alya gave her for her birthday.

So there she was sketching as she had to make five original pairs of earrings all before tomorrow afternoon. However when trying to sketch Alya’s the first one on the list she couldn’t think of anything. It seemed the well of creativity that she usually tapped into had dried up.

Not to mention she was still tired.

“This is hopeless,” Marinette groaned.

Suddenly she heard a familiar beeping alert sound coming from her purse on the floor. The guardian’s heart was now filled with dread as she stood up from her seat being pulled to it by curiosity and obligation. She went into her purse and pulled out her phone to see the already lit screen. It had a notification that said:

AKUMA ALERT: SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY REPORTED BETWEEN THOMAS AVENUE AND DURAND AVENUE. PLEASE AVOID THIS AREA FOR THE TIME BEING. IF NEARBY GET TO SAFETY. ANOTHER NOTIFICATION WILL BE SENT ONCE THE AREA IS DEEMED SAFE. IF THERE’S A EMERGENCY PLEASE CALL EMERGENCY SERVICES.

Marinette looked at the notification as she knew where those streets were located deep downtown. It appeared that her alter ego was needed.

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

For the full version of part one, check it out on Wattpad. If you made it this far, thank you so much! I really appreciate it.

Also a little music to set the mood. Especially if you read the full Wattpad version.

Also here’s a link to the song on YouTube.

4 notes · View notes

ohmightydevviepuu · 4 years

Text

a good day [1/1]

for the five of you who have been patient with me--more patient than i deserve-- here is the conclusion to my space pirates AU. to @profdanglaisstuff, to @katie-dub, to @thisonesatellite (who was very gracious and did not say ‘i told you so’ when i realized she’d been right about war stories).

this will truly be unintelligible if you have not read parts one and two, but they’re short. i promise.

proximity alert cell block 1138 a good day

previously on ‘proximity alert’ and ‘cell block 1138′: emma's gotten herself mixed up in a bad situation, and it's gotten even worse. with the help of the crew of the jolly roger, she's getting killian back, no matter what it takes.

~5k

AO3

She was having difficulty breathing. Her hand hurt and sweat clouded her vision, dripping off her forehead. Her skin was blistered, burnt--standing upright was a challenge.

But she’d made it.

She’d piloted the shuttle successfully back to the Jolly Roger, sinking back into her chair when Will Scarlet voice crackled over her comm that he had her locked in.

She’d made it.

Federation Operative Emma Swan waited impatiently for the airlock to release and was faced immediately with Robin Locksley--”Where’s Killian?” he demanded--and Scarlet himself, who peered past her into the shuttle cockpit.

“Gold’s got him,” Emma gasped. “I--I got away. Killian, he--” Emma gulped.

“He didn’t.” Locksley’s face drained of all color and he said, “Gorramn it. This isn’t right.”

He was shaking his head and his eyes were on the floor, on the doors, on the goddamn ceiling. Anywhere but on Federation Operative Emma Swan.

“It’s wrong, is what you mean,” Scarlet said. He stared straight at her, his glare so hot Emma was surprised it didn’t burn. “The word you’re looking for is ‘wrong’.”

He turned and walked toward the cargo bay, as if that was that. But the word echoed for Emma, sweeping through her veins like the electrical current, sending tingles to her fingers and toes and heating up her cheeks and she pictured Killian spitting blood and venom at her, whispering poison into her ear as he riled her up--

--keeping her angry. Focused.

Protecting her. Unconsciously her fingers curled into a fist and her nails got caught in the scrapes the lockpick had made in her skin. His lockpick.

Robin caught her wince and gestured for her to follow in Scarlet’s wake.

“All of this is wrong,” he said. “This was not how the plan was meant to go.”

Scarlet stopped in his tracks and hissed, reaching for Locksley; for Emma, time stopped.

“Wait,” she said.

Locksley growled something unintelligible, ignoring her.

“Wait,” Emma said again, raising her voice, waiting for someone to speak and pulling the gun she’d stashed in the shuttle, pointing it at Will when no one did. “What plan?”

Scarlet looked at her, calmly. Quietly. Politely.

Emma really wanted to shoot him.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she said instead. “What are you waiting for?”

That’s when Emma felt the arm around her neck and the pain in her wrist that loosened her grip on the gun.

Will pointed. “I was just waiting for Ursula to get up behind you.”

There was a whisper in her ear that said, “Calm down, sweetheart,” before the world went dark.

“She’s pretty. Way prettier than her identcard.”

“Of course she is. Don’t mean we have time for this.”

Emma woke up with a bandage around her palm, hooked up to a drip. There was a lightness in her head; they’d given her a smoother.

“She’s bleeding and burnt. We didn’t have a choice.”

“She left the Captain. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“You know the Captain. Never gonna miss a chance for thrilling heroics. Especially not with--”

“Yeah. He’s a bid damn hero.” Someone was standing over her. “And she’s awake, anyway.”

Emma sat up and ignored the dizziness, reaching for the drip in her arm and trying not to scream from the movements.

“Easy,” said a man who was tall and blonde and staring at her as if she was a science experiment.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” It was Will.

“It’s not,” Emma said, but was restrained from further movement by a woman, tall and broad and beautiful with a fall of thick black hair and a gun at her hip.

“Listen to the doc,” she said, gesturing at the blonde man, and Emma recognized her voice. Part of her wanted to laugh at the ‘big damn hero’ comment and the other part of her wanted to cry, because that was Killian Jones.

That was why she’d gone to him, in spite of everything.

That was why he’d helped her, in spite of everything.

And now she’d lost--everything.

“What the hell is this?” Emma whispered. “We need to get Killian. We need to--” she gulped, feeling dizzy again “--find my kid. He’s not safe, Gold’s looking for him, we have to--”

“He’s alive, right?” It was the redhead speaking, the one who’d called Emma ‘pretty’.

Emma nodded and the redhead--she smiled. It didn’t last long, just until Will said, “For now.”

Robin Locksley smacked him on the back of the head. “We’re getting him back. Right, Ursula?”

The woman still gripping Emma’s shoulder smiled, too, though it was tiny and strained as she watched the redhead. “We are, Ariel. I promise.”

“Who’s your kid?” Locksley asked, but Emma was dizzy and nauseated and in pain and she couldn’t speak. She was nothing but a spiral of rage and regret that fed on each other, expanding outward--at the crew, at Killian--and then contracting inward, because all of this was her fault. It had been her mission, her plan.

Except--had it?

The spiral started over again, making breathing difficult until the redhead--Ariel--stepped forward and took Emma’s hand and squeezed it. She said, “You know that none of this is your fault, right?”

“Except for how it is,” Will said.

Ariel ignored him. “You’re not responsible. He was always going to go, and he was never going to leave you behind. That’s not the kind of man he is, and it’s the first thing he always teaches us when someone joins the crew.”

Emma looked at her and saw genuine sympathy in the woman’s eyes. She squeezed back. It was all she could do.

“Operative Swan.” A man spoke. He wasn’t tall but he carried himself with a sense of presence that Emma immediately found comforting. He was bald; his clothes were plain and grey and he walked as though he was wearing a uniform. “Please, relax. I assure you that we are going to get the Captain back. Tell us about your son.”

Will made an exaggerated show of tapping the chronometer on his wrist.

“No, Will, it’s clearly important to her, and it might give us additional information we need to finish the job safely.”

Will threw up his hands and ducked before Locksley could hit him again. Ursula kept her eyes trained on Emma while Ariel’s gaze flitted from one person to another.

“Call me Nemo,” the bald man said. “I promise you that you can tell me, Emma.”

“My son is--” Emma took a deep breath. “My son is Henry Cassidy. He’s Gold’s grandson, and Gold wants him back. That’s why I--” She shook her head. “That’s why I went to Killian, why I used him, why--”

Emma stopped talking.

Every face in the medbay was on her. Will had gone colorless. Ariel gasped. Even the doctor seemed interested.

“Shit.” It was Ursula.

“Emma?” Locksley looked sympathetic and Emma blinked back tears. She never should have left Henry with him, but Henry was special, Neal had insisted. Deserved his life with the best tutors and academies the Federation could offer--more than the life an always-on-the-job Operative could give him. Henry deserved his best chance.

Emma had no idea what she’d been getting in to.

She had regretted it immediately.

But that was already too late.

Nemo repeated, “Tell us about your son, Emma.”

But she was done with all of that.

“No,” Emma said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

A woman walked into the medbay just then--a woman with luscious, curly brown hair and a pale complexion and pink in the apples of her cheeks. When she walked in, Will Scarlet turned immediately in her direction, as if he could protect her from whatever was about to happen.

“Belle,” he said, but she cut him off with a glance.

“For starters,” she said, “his name isn’t Henry Cassidy any more. It’s Henry Mills.”

Killian breathed, and it hurt.

He ignored it.

Killian moved, and that hurt, too.

But he stayed focused.

Emma had gotten away.

She would be safe. The boy would be safe.

His crew would finish the job.

They would end this.

That was the plan.

He repeated it to himself as Gold turned up the dial for another round.

Regina Mills projected a majestic air that carried even across the crappy vidscreen in the medbay of the Jolly Roger.

“A man will die horribly, Regina, if we don’t do this. As a member of the Federation council you know how bad Gold is. You know personally how bad Gold is.”

“Yes,” Regina said, her tone impatient as she tapped one manicured finger on the table where she sat. “Which is why I hired this crew in the first place. He’s bought off most of the council and you personally know how invested I am in cutting off the flow of his influence. But I’m not in the business of doling out favors, and I am in the minority on the council. I wish--”

“We don’t have time to wish!” Emma’s hand banged on the cockpit and Ariel hissed. “Killian is being tortured, and what are you going to do, Madame Mills, when Gold comes after you? Or my son?”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep Henry safe.” The edge in Regina’s voice was sharp enough to cut.

“Regina? What’s going--wait. Is that--”

Emma stared.

His eyes looked so much like Neal’s, and the way his mouth curved--but the shape of his face, that was all her.

“Mom?” Henry said. “Mom! Is that really you?”

He beamed and his smile could light up the whole goddamn galaxy.

“Henry,” Emma said. She exhaled, feeling like she hadn’t been breathing until exactly that moment as, for a split second, everything was right with the world again.

“Aunt Belle!” he said with a friendly wave. “It’s so good to see you!”

“And you, Henry,” Belle said, glancing at Regina quickly.

But not quickly enough. “What’s going on?” Henry asked. “Mom, are you safe?”

The moment shattered.

Emma opened her mouth to speak but before she could begin to form the words Ursula stepped in and said, “That depends on Regina, Henry.”

Regina’s eyes flared with anger before an eyebrow went up in grudging respect. There was a swift tilt of her head and then, “I’ll do what I can. But so will you. You get me what I need, do I make myself clear?”

“Understood,” Ursula said, and then made a gesture across her throat as Scarlet cut the feed.

“Regina Mills has my son?” Emma kept repeating it. “Regina Mills took my son?”

“No,” Belle said. “That was me.”

Will’s arm wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her close. “I was married to Robert. Not for a long time, he--” Belle shuddered “--it didn’t end well. I couldn’t leave Henry there. And I knew about Killian, about his history with my husband. It was the best I could make of a terrible situation. Henry’s--he’s such a special boy; I knew Killian would want him to be safe, for the sake of his father and their friendship.”

“None of us knew the Cassidy kid was your son,” Will said. “We were after something else entirely. You being on a mission to go after Gold, well--” he shrugged “--it was too good an opportunity to pass up.”

Emma had a sudden flash of Smee’s distinctive red hat in the darkness. Of Killian’s lack of surprise when he’d seen her in the middle of his job.

His willingness to follow her into Gold’s space station.

It clicked.

“Killian got captured on purpose,” Emma said. “Why? What did it have to do with my son? Gold is a killer--”

“Yes, we know,” Ursula said. “That’s why he was supposed to say alive long enough to not get dead.”

“That would involve being rescued,” Emma said.

“Yes,” Ursula said, giving Emma a long look. “It would.”

The lockpick. Emma’s hand flexed.

“It was the best way to get the drop on Gold,” Locksley said. “He’s got superior numbers and firepower, and, well--” He shrugged. “For what it’s worth, Emma, I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“There’s no saying ‘I’m sorry’ in the field,” she snapped.

Will snorted.

Ursula raised an eyebrow.

Emma did not like being used as a diversion.

She was also not a particular fan of irony.

Emma shifted uncomfortably on the bed Dr. Whale had put her in. The problem was, there’s nothing harder in the world when an operation goes bad than doing nothing at all.

Nemo was watching her and she focused her attention on him. “None of that answers my question,” she said.

“Killian used to work with Cassidy,” Nemo said. “Back in his Federation days, before--”

“Before the murder, piracy, smuggling, theft of Federation property, desertion and dereletion of duty?” Emma said. “Shocking.”

“It can be a lot to take in,” Nemo said.

“No, I meant the part about how it was before the crimes and not after,” Emma sighed. “Neal was never much for law abiding.”

But Killian was. Or he had been, once. She’d seen the files.

“Cassidy got mixed up in something terrible,” Nemo said. “Killian got involved to try and pull him out. Made a deal with Gold but the op got burned. Killian’s brother died. Cassidy went back to his dad. Killian was out of choices. He disappeared, and took this ship.”

“How’d he pull that one off?”

“He’s a hell of a captain,” Ursula said.

“He had help from inside, didn’t he?” Emma said.

Belle nodded. “He did. He had help from Regina Mills. Robert always suspected she’d done it purely out of spite against him.”

“Regina--” Emma’s jaw dropped. “Regina Mills? Killian got himself involved in a pissing match between two of the most powerful people in the entire Federation?”

“‘S how we knew you were going after Gold,” Will muttered. “Regina keeps a close eye on him. Once the Cap’n heard you were involved there was no stopping him. Figured the best way to stop Gold was just to get in the middle of it.” His expression darkened. “Shoulda known Gold had something else up his sleeve. Once you end up on the wrong side of one of that man’s deals, there’s no corner of the ‘verse he won’t go searching.”

“Stop scaring the children, Scarlet,” Ursula said. “The ‘verse doesn’t have actual corners.”

Whale snickered.

Emma pulled out the drip and rubbed at the spot on her arm. “What’s next?” she asked.

“Plan B,” Ursula said.

“What’s Plan B?” Ariel chirped.

“I’m working on it,” Ursula sighed.

“Well, obviously we have some tactical goals,” Emma said. “We have a rough approach.”

“Can you do it?” Ariel asked.

“No.” That was Whale. “Probably not.”

“Hey,” Ariel said. “What happened to ‘no man left behind’?”

Whale shook his head and smirked. “Suicide.”

Nemo said nothing but turned his gaze dead on the doctor until the smirk faded and the man shifted his posture and, finally nodded. “Right,” he said. “Plan B it is.”

There was a stash of weapons on the galley table. Guns, knives, grenades; it was an arsenal.

Emma was impressed.

Planning a high-level action like this--it required a certain amount of quantitative thinking mixed in with just a hint of immorality and a dash of spite.

That, plus a driving personal desire to keep it going during the downtime.

Emma knew a little something about that.

So did Killian Jones.

But this--”This was all Regina’s doing, wasn’t it? She used him?”

Will snorted and Robin smiled. “It was, but not in the way you’d think,” he said, taking the gun Ursula had just checked and loaded. “The difference between being on the inside and on the outside--it’s all about sanction. Killian lost his. Found out his partners were his enemies and that the world was a much darker place than even he realized. So he found us--a bunch of folk on the wrong side of the law who didn’t hold it against him that he used to be on the right side. It’s the same for him and Regina.”

“You’re only a pawn if you don’t know you’re being played,” Nemo said. “Killian always knows.” He refused Ursula’s proffered gun and reached instead for a pair of knives that he sheathed expertly before he asked, “What about you, Emma?”

What Emma had learned from the so-called right side of the law was that it was bad business to put her faith into anything she couldn’t control. The only person who saved her was her.

“Here’s the thing,” Ursula said, cutting her gaze between Nemo and Emma. “We like to plan our missions with the idea of everyone getting out. You know, together. So why don’t you sit back and let us do the heavy lifting?”

“This is a bad idea,” Emma said instead of answering. “He’ll still have the advantage over you.”

“Everyone always does,” Nemo said. “That’s what makes us special.”

“I thought Operatives weren’t allowed to have associates like the Captain, anyway,” Ursula said. Her eyes were measuring, and Emma--clearly--did not come up to scratch.

“Lovers!” Ariel chimed in.

“We weren’t--” Emma huffed. “I got a good look at the layout on my way out. I had the goddamn blueprints for my infiltration. Let me lead--”

“No.” Ursula said. “We have Belle for that.” But she exchanged glances with Locksley and Scarlet and then sighed. She reached for the table and picked up two grenades, passing them to Emma.

“This is about trust,” Ursula said. “Captain trusts you. But you’ve got your own agenda just like we’ve got ours, so it’s also important to have honor. Do you have honor, Operative Swan?”

That was the other thing: Emma knew this story--about the bad woman and the bad man. The one where bad things happen and then the woman is left to pine away for her handsome hero, waiting for him to come back, for someone to smirk, and to declare it a happy ending. But for Emma Swan, all of the endings she’d been part of were unhappy.

But maybe they didn’t have to be.

Maybe they didn’t need any more time-outs or codenames or dark rooms full of bad ideas.

Maybe this time, they could win.

“We weren’t lovers,” Emma said, meeting Ursula stare-for-stare. “I love him. I am in love with him.”

Ursula’s face didn’t change but something flickered in her eyes as Robin broke out into a genuine smile.

Will Scarlet just shook his head.

“Finally,” he said to no one in particular. “She admits it. Do you know how many stupid jobs Captain made us pull just to keep us in your orbit?”

The proximity alert buzzed on the edges of Killian’s consciousness and his fingers clenched, his jaw tightened.

Gold looked up, his face twisted in consternation before he turned to glare at Killian.

“Listen, if you’ve got guests, I can come back later--”

Gold took two steps forward, his cane raised over his head but Killian struck first, pulling his arms from behind his body. He was battered, he was bruised, he was half-dead, but he was walking and upright and advancing on Gold.

“Don’t take another step,” Gold warned.

“I did a job,” Killian said. “You’re not the only one who lost that day. I lost my brother, I lost my livelihood, I lost everything I thought I was.” He took another step. “Tell me, are you familiar with the saying ‘He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot will be victorious’?” He backhanded Gold across the faced and watched him crumple, his mouth bloody, his arms up as he attempted--poorly--to defend himself. Killian shuffled forward and just hit him again, watching Gold hit the floor with some satisfaction--watching him scrabble backward as the last of Killian’s strength started to fade.

“Whale, Nemo, and Scarlet are with Belle,” Ursula said. “Locksley and Swan with me. Ariel’s gonna stay here and keep an eye on things.”

“No shooting until it seems like the last resort,” Locksley said.

“Always with your rules,” Ursula said. She turned to the group. “If it moves, shoot it.”

Emma bit her lip and nodded.

“Will, how are we on the override sequence?”

“Pretty sure this will pop the airlock doors, if Robin can make the seal on the first try.”

“So you’ve done this before?” Emma asked, trying--and failing--to tamp down her skepticism.

“Oh, hell no.” Ariel laughed.

“I guess they won’t be expecting us, at least,” Emma said.

“Yeah,” Will said. “That’s because they aren’t insane.”

“Shut up, all of you, and focus,” Ursula said as the airlock opened. “Let’s go get the Captain.”

She leveled her rifle and fired down the corridor; as guards jumped out of the path of the oncoming bullets Emma pulled a grenade from her belt, armed it and let it roll. It bounced off the corridor wall before it exploded. Ursula called out, “Second team!” and Robin covered the corridor as Scarlet, Belle, Nemo and Whale moved out of the airlock.

Will made sure to keep Belle covering behind as he joined the assault, letting off four rounds and finishing with a shot directly in the kneecap of an oncoming guard. He banged into the wall as Will watched, head on a swivel, one eye forward and one eye always following Belle.

“Move out?” he asked Ursula.

She nodded, never lowering her rifle.

Emma strode forward, pushing ahead of Ursula and Robin and ignoring their protests as she did so. “Cover from that side,” Robin called behind her to Ursula. “I’ve got this one.” She blasted back two guards and threw herself at the corridor wall as they returned fire while Ursula dropped the rifle and pulled two handguns from cross-strapped shoulder holsters and pivoted into the fray, firing.

“Swan!” she called. “Grab the keycard!”

The door slid open and Ursula and Robin filed in, guns out, eyes on Gold.

Killian only had eyes for Emma.

She was pale and bruised. There was a bandage on her wrist and dried blood on her clothes but when she smiled at him it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in the entire universe, shining more brightly than all of the stars in the sky.

The last of his strength faded and he felt Ursula and Robin behind him, pulling him upright.

Keeping him upright.

Will came in, gun drawn, Belle behind him. Nemo followed behind, knives drawn, and went straight for Gold, keeping him on the ground with a look every time the man shifted.

Belle caught his eye and gestured, the thumb of her right hand pointing up and it was when Gold turned to follow Killian’s gaze that he looked, for the first time, truly defeated.

“Belle?”

Killian toed at Gold’s midsection, wishing he had the strength to give it a good, hard kick.

“Belle, you don’t understand.” He was babbling. “I can explain, I--”

Killian toed him again. “Shut up and listen to the lady, crocodile.”

Belle’s voice was ice. “I used to--I thought I saw something in you. Something good. But then I found something of yours.”

Whale strode in as if on cue, holding up a small object; round and golden and more valuable than all of the credits in the Federation Reserve.

“Holy frak,” Emma said. “Is that--”

It was a compass; or at least, it had the likeness of one. Most people--if they’d heard of them at all--assumed they were a myth, part of the story of the all-knowing Federation.

“You told me that all of this was about your son,” Belle continued. “You told me that it wasn’t about power, or gold, or about anything other than trying to move on knowing that you had gotten justice for your son. About giving Henry the kind of life you wish Neal could have had. But all of that was a lie.”

Belle stepped forward, five-foot-nothing of pure rage as she stared down the man she used to love. “You didn’t care about Henry, and you weren’t using this for revenge. You were using it for money. For power. That’s your true love, and you won’t give it up for anything. Not even for me. That’s why you can’t move on--you never have, and you never will.”

“There’s nothing wrong with power,” Gold whispered. “Not when it means that I--that we--can have it all.”

“I just wanted you,” Belle said, and her voice finally broke as she stepped away, back up against the comfort of Will Scarlet and his drawn weapon, putting it back in between herself and her ex-husband. “I tried to be everything for you, and I lost my way. Not anymore.”

“Belle--”

Emma bent down and pistol-whipped him across the face, knocking Gold unconscious.

Their eyes met and Emma took one step forward and then another. Killian wanted to say something, anything, to explain but the second he opened his mouth Emma hit him.

Hard.

The woman had a right hook like a freight train.

Killian swore he could feel Ursula trying not to laugh as he sighed, heavily.

“I can’t believe this was part of your gorram plan,” Emma hissed. “You stuck-up, half-witted, scruffy-looking---”

“Pirate?” Killian raised his eyebrow. “And who’re you calling ‘scruffy-looking’?”

Emma drew herself up, pushed her shoulders back, reached forward and grabbed him; there was nothing gentle in her movements as she kissed him--as he kissed her--and, as abruptly as it had started, it was over.

Except for the look in her eyes--soft. Hopeful. The smile on her face as Killian grunted and looked at Will and said, “Well, you were right about this being a bad idea.”

“Thanks for saying, sir,” Will deadpanned.

“You sanguine about the kind of reception we’re apt to receive here, Captain?” Ursula sounded merely curious as she asked.

“Absolutely,” Killian said. “Hopeful.”

“Item of interest--it also means ‘bloody’,” Ursula muttered.

“We’ve done one of those already today. Least we can do is try the other.” Killian winked.

They weren’t on the civilized part of the world, that’s for sure. Low hills, rocks and sagebrush in a deep valley with the high towers of the city glinting in the distance.

The woman waiting for them didn’t belong here; her clothes were too refined, her makeup was too perfect. She was every inch the high-ranking Councillor she appeared to be, a physical embodiment of the Federation’s power, and she was watching him with a small smile on her face.

It was not a pleasant expression. Emma only barely stopped herself from reaching for her gun.

“Killian Jones.”

The bow he gave her was sweeping and dripping with irony. “Regina Mills,” he said. “At last we meet.”

“We’ve met before,” she said.

“You poisoned me.”

That was news to Emma. She looked to Killian but all of his focus was on Regina Mills.

“You were fine.”

“I was unconscious for three days,” he said.

“I admit we didn’t part on the best of terms,” Regina said, “But that’s the past.”

“Air through the engine,” Killian agreed. “Besides, we understand each other, don’t we?”

“That depends on whether or not you brought me what I asked for.”

“As Her Majesty commands, then,” Killian said with another flourish. Behind him, Ursula and Robin carried Gold. He was bound and gagged. His suit jacket was torn. His shoes were scuffed. There was a large bruise rising on his jaw from where Emma had clocked him.

Regina’s eyes lit up with interest but she said, “That’s not what I paid you for.”

“It’s not,” Killian agreed. “But it’s all you’re getting.” He held up the compass so that it glinted in the sunlight.

Regina moved, as if to stretch out her hand for the compass. “So he really had it, then.”

“He did,” Killian said. “Reckon that’s how he’s been listening in all of this time, collecting his leverage. Making his deals. But now you have him, and I’ll be keeping this.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll take Gold, take the ship, take it up into the black and see if he floats when I push him out of the airlock.”

Regina’s expression soured.

“That was not part of our deal,” she said. “You know, Jones, that I can take back everything I’ve given you. I can up the warrants on your head. On your crew’s heads--”

“But you won’t,” Killian said, gesturing at Gold. “This discharges my debt to you, Regina. And this--” he shook the compass for emphasis “--makes us even. Gold doesn’t have it anymore. You come after me or any of us--ever--and I doubt the boy will take kindly to that. Not when his mother will be sailing with us from now on and leaving the employ of the Federation.”

It was Killian’s turn to smile.

“We both made out on this deal, Regina. Don’t complicate things. Not between us, not when the boy is involved. You take Gold. We’ll keep this. Emma can see her son, and we will continue to work for you when the opportunity suits. Everybody wins.”

Emma moved so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder and took his hand in hers. She squeezed it and felt his hand twist until his fingertips brushed her wrist.

Regina watched them, her expression bemused.

“That’s how it is, then?”

“Depends,” Killian said, making an exaggerated shrug. “She hit me.”

“Knowing you, I’m sure you deserved it,” Regina said with a smirk. “I keep Henry?”

It broke Emma’s heart, but Regina was his best chance.

At least now she knew where he was--would be able to see him, to be a part of his life.

“Yes,” she said. “He stays here, with you.”

A tension she hadn’t realized was there left Regina’s posture then, and Emma felt herself relax in turn.

“We understand each other, also, Regina,” Emma said.

“Thank you, Miss Swan.” Regina gestured.

Emma heard footsteps; she closed her eyes and caught her breath and, finally, turned.

Henry was racing toward her--toward them--and wrapped himself around her with a shriek.

Behind her, Emma heard Killian say, “Are you always this sentimental?”

“You caught me on a good day,” Regina said.

Emma had been beaten, tortured and used--had broken her own heart, given up her job and her life and fallen in with criminals and spies.

But her son was in her arms and the man she loved was by her side.

It wasn’t much.

But it was enough.

A good day, indeed.

-30-

@quirkykayleetam

#cs fic #space pirates

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youarejesting · 4 years

Text

Quarantine.26

[Masterlist] Editor: @yoongisauce Pairing: BTS x reader Friends2Lovers But as slow as you can go until the anticipation kills us all… Genres: friendship, drama, romance SLOWEST OF BURNS BUT IT WILL BE BURNING AN ETERNAL FLAME!!! Rating: PG-13 and above Summary: Your brother works with a few BigHit dance teams and whilst having permission to accompany him at work the city shuts down banning anyone from stepping outside for a whole WEEK while they disinfect the streets. If you step outside you might get arrested, shot or poisoned by the chemicals they are emitting through the city. Words: 1.2k Announcement: This is dedicated to @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d who said they enjoyed the trailer and the fic so far. I really hope you continue to enjoy everything this story has to offer. your comment really helped me through

Also big announcement I have an Editor @yoongisauce So, if this chapter seems to be more legible and better quality, go follow them and show your support. Because my writing is like a piece of wood I have badly whittled to look like a puppy, but it looks more like an elephant and they came along and filed, buffed and polished it into this amazing piece. It deserves like ten chef’s kisses from Seokjin.

[Part 1] [Part 25] [Part 27] [Tag Yourself Here]

Namjoon sat at the desk with Jungkook’s location on his laptop screen, walkie talkie in hand. To his left was Yoongi, who had his laptop open on a map of the area. Complete with directions and Jin’s location via his phone.

Thomas no longer paced back and forth, your speech about this being the right thing to do dulled his fear just a little. He didn’t realize how much you changed before you came here. You were quiet, stuck in your shell. Now, you were out there saving lives.

“Jungkook’s signal hasn’t moved. So hopefully, that means he is waiting there. It seems like a warehouse. I tried searching online for any blueprints but there were none. I did get a few pictures and by the looks of it there are a few ways in,” Namjoon said listening to the men repeat. Yoongi watched Seokjin stop on the map and waited, placing his hand on Hoseok’s knee which bounced nervously.

“They will come home right?”

Everyone went silent. Glancing across the room, eyes landing on Jimin and Taehyung who were trying to comfort one another.

Namjoon pulled the walkie talkie up to his face. “You bring our boy home safe okay?” Namjoon called, “Bring them all back in one piece.”

“Yeah no pressure though.”

Jungkook had been in the room a total of 30 minutes and the idiots didn’t realize the ropes around the bulky suit let him slip his hands free on the inside. This meant the rope loosened, sliding off and allowing his hands to be free once more.

Unzipping the front of his suit, Jungkook removed his phone and saw a text from Namjoon asking if he was okay and had his phone available. He replied that it was him and took a photo. His nose and cheeks stained a light pink from his emotional realisation a few moments prior.

Namjoon explained that the soldiers were coming for him. Last hearing on the walkie talkie that they were outside the building and asking him to be ready as they would be dressed like the gunman.

Jungkook stuffed the phone back into his suit as the door opened, revealing a scruffy looking man with a sparse beard. He stepped inside wasting no time pulling off Jungkook’s mask, eyes widening at the reveal.

He lifted a walkie, speaking quickly, “It seems we have a mix-up boys. We didn’t pick up the foreigner, we got her little boyfriend. What do we do with him? Do we need him?”

Jungkook watched as the man reached for his handgun, before he was roughly disarmed and beaten by two gunmen in suits. The man lied unconscious, his walkie talkie going off.

“We should keep him and lure the girl here, I am in the bathroom so give me a second and I will tell those good for nothing assholes to go back out and get her.”

Ripping off the suit helmet, Jungkook immediately recognized the man as part of the armed forces.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He nodded, scrambling to his feet, as the soldiers grabbed him and led him out the way they came. There wasn’t anyone on the lookout. The guards all seemed to be drinking and smoking inside, which was good news for them. Briskly moving down the hall, the group ducked past a busy room of men talking loudly.

“The foreigner was really compliant, maybe we offer her a drink.”

Jungkook saw red at the insinuation in the man’s words, but didn’t have time to respond as they continued on their way. Rounding a corner they heard a flush and a man stepped out of a bathroom, only to be greeted by Jungkook's yellow suit and two rescuers.

The gunman shouted, reaching for his gun. The leader was quick, knocking the man out but not quick enough. He alerted the others and the chase began.

Jungkook’s rescuers led him through the fog, meeting up with a third soldier outside. The four of them headed off down an alleyway. The leader shouted, telling someone to run and Jungkook saw two more figures disappear up ahead.

Yoongi was now on the walkie talkie, “Take a left, at the next intersection.”

To everyone watching him, Yoongi seemed to be the only one controlling his anxiety, keeping a calm voice as he gave the others directions.

But with two groups out there Jin was quick to give a sassy reply.

“Who are you telling to turn left?”

“You and the babe in Group Jin, turn left,” Yoongi said.

“Don’t call us Group Jin, or we won’t make it home,” Jin joked out of breath.

The whole situation had Yoongi stressed. Namjoon opened the web document Yoongi was scanning onto his tablet, taking out a stylus and marking red X’s where the gunmen were waiting.

“The way has been blocked off, Group Jk, take a right and then your third left and keep going,” Yoongi said watching more X’s appear. His heart-stopping as Group Jin was slowly also getting cut off.

“Fuck. You got to move, they are closing in. You got one more street, the fifth on your left. Don’t stop. Keep running. You can’t stop, there is no time. You will meet back up with the others if Group Jk follow their street around the bend and then it is straight home.”

Group Jin got the message, speeding up. Hoping the gunshots firing off behind them didn’t meet their target. They were trying their best to navigate the streets, listening to Yoongi’s instructions, when Seokjin ran straight into a hulking figure. The two toppled, Seokjin dropping his gun on impact.

Seokjin and the man wrestled over the gun on the ground. Flicking off the safety of your gun you aimed it at the man.

“Freeze!” you shout.

He didn’t, instead, he started laughing, “They are coming and you won’t shoot me, foreigner, You didn’t shoot me before and you won’t shoot me now. Remember me.”

“Y/N just go,” Seokjin struggled.

You raised the gun taking a deep breath.

“We haven’t got time, you need to go. Come on I am being handsome and brave.”

“Drop the weapon now, this is your last warning!” you hissed, watching Seokjin slowly getting overpowered.

The gun shook and as it got closer to your friend’s head.

Panicking, you pulled the trigger. A deafening shot rang through the air.

You fell to the ground. The ringing in your ears seemed to take away any of the power you had left.

It wasn’t a clean shot.

It had pierced straight into the side of the man’s throat. He clutched the area as blood gushed from the wound. Your eyes widened, dropping to your knees. Grabbing the man’s neck, you added pressure.

“No, it’s okay, you are okay” You gasped.

“We got to go, come on let’s go,” Seokjin said as he grabbed your hand dragging you down the street. Seokjin pulled you along as shots fired over your shoulder.

Yoongi threw the walkie talkie onto the couch. They were surrounded and there was nothing he could do, he failed them.

Thomas stared at the map, in denial at the situation. “No. She said everything was going to be okay. This can’t be happening!”

He gazed blankly at the map seeing the red X’s and searching for another street, another way out.

“There!” He snatched the Walkie Talkie.

[Part 1] [Part 25] [Part 27] [Tag Yourself Here]

Tags: @hi-itstt @bubbletae7 @lovemusicandotps @taetaebq @seveniefive @w0lfqu33n @anaiss97 @moccahobi @maddymal @lilacdreams-00 @lethargicalyssa @knjkitten @pieislife @bunnyboyenthusiast @vividwoosan @seesawsmin-flower @tinyunknownflower @gguksfilter @fawnzilla @passionate-love-57911 @btrombley13

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tortleofwar · 4 years

Text

Malcolm

It wasn't even Monday and things had started to go downhill. Malcolm rounded the corner to his restaurant and was greeted with the sight of shattered glass and an alarm going crazy. Shaking his head he trudged through the puddles to reach the front door. Once inside Malcolm poured himself a glass of Crown Royal and sat at the bar. This night could only get worse if he was blamed for this.

Malcolm had gotten the alert about the restaurant an hour ago and jumped out of bed immediately. While racing down the stairs he'd forgotten his keys and locked himself out. No keys meant no car. So Malcolm had to walk throw the the rain with no umbrella or coat to protect him from the storm. His soaked and muddy attire gained stares and giggles as he made his way through the busy downtown streets.

Cars splashed him as they drove past. No taxis would stop to pick him up and the building was an hour away. Whoever broke in would surely get away with whatever it was they were looking for. Malcolm's pm prayed the cops showed before he got there to sort everything out. But his prayers fell on deaf ears that night.

After finishing his drink, Malcolm walked through to see what the damage was going to cost him. The front windows and glass door alone would total close to $6,000. That deserves another drink. It would take months to pay off a loan that size. Malcolm walked to the back, glass in hand.

Multiple utensils were missing but nothing too important. Dishes shattered on the floor. Some food items were missing, but Sunday was Malcolm's shopping day to restock the business. For the life of him, Malcolm couldn't think of who would do this and how no one saw it. The streets were packed, cars flew past at least once every two minutes, and the cops had yet to arrive.

Swirling his drink Malcolm headed to the front to top off his glass. He looked up to see three cops with guns pointed and fearful looks in their eyes. Malcolm raised his hands as he rolled his eyes.

"Here we go again." He thought as the three cops trained their weapons on him. "Ain't this about a..."

One cop put their gun down and walked carefully towards him. Malcolm could see her Auburn hair under her cap and a pair of green eyes staring at him. The last time he got lost in a pair of green eyes was Helen ten years ago. The chances of this being her were slim.

"Malcolm Little?" A soft voice called out quizzically. "From Drover Way?"

Malcolm had left that part of his life behind. If someone knew him from there he'd have been better off with the cops shooting. In an attempt to garner good will Malcolm responded.

"Yeah. That's me. Who are you?"

"Guns down guys. This guy couldn't hurt a fly let alone rob a joint like this." There was a slight giggle to her words as she waved off her partners. Returning her attention to Malcolm she asked, "You don't remember me do you?"

"Helen?" Malcolm guessed. His hands were still raised as he tried to get a better look at her. "Is that you?"

"Helen was my daughter. You two were nearly inseparable." She removed her cap and shook out her ponytail.

"Mrs. Williams?" Malcolm stumbled over her s words as he looked her up and down. "It's been decades. You look great."

"Thank you darling." She posed playfully and approached for a hug. During the embrace she whispered, "It's Ms."

Malcolm pulled away and tilted his head at Ms. Williams. Although his heart had belonged to Helen, he’d have been lying if he said the thought never crossed his mind. But now wasn’t the time for that. He broke the eye contact and noticed the awkward stances from the other officers. Walking behind the bar he lifted three glasses and pointed to the wall.

“I assume there needs to be a report filed. Pick your poison and I can tell you what I know.”

Behind the bar was a wall of alcohol. Different rums, vodkas,and other exotic glasses were lined up on three shelves. Malcolm slid the glasses out to three stools and gestured for them to sit. The two male officers raised their hands to decline while Ms. Williams bounced onto a stool. She stared up at the shelves looking over each bottle.

“We are still on the clock. To imbibe in any libations would be against the rules.” Cop 1 waved his hands while shaking his head. “We just need to get the report and we can move on.”

“We can wrap this up in five minutes and be on our way.” Cop 2 looked at Ms. Williams. “Deputy if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ve only got 30 minutes left on my shift.” She turned to look at her peers. “I can get the report and have it back at the station if you guys want to leave.”

“Are you sure?” Cop 2 looked Malcolm over again. “We wouldn’t want to leave you in a dangerous situation.”

“She laughed at this remark. “I told you he couldn’t hurt a fly. Besides, when it comes to me, he knows to be on his p’s and q’s.”

Malcolm blushed and shook his head as she said all this. He’d already started to pour his third glass to sip on. The cops looked at each other and shrugged. Turning for the door they looked back one last time.

“I could cuff him to the bar if it would make you guys feel better.” She teased them and winked at Malcolm. “I’ll take my cruiser home for the night. Will you guys let the Captain know what went down.”

Her laughter could be heard as the cops left the building. Turning her attention back to the wall, Ms. Williams continued to gawk at the selection. Her brow knotted, she sighed and slumped down.

“I could really go for a sweet wine right now. Drink off the day's worries.” She reached for a notepad and turned to see a bottle of Tokaji Aszu on the bar. With a smile she pushed her glass forward. “You’ve traveled I see.”

“I needed something to take my mind off of this place.” Malcolm swapped her glass for a flute. “No matter how far away I got though, my heart always wanted to come home.”

“Is that why you came to your parents’ restaurant tonight?” As she sipped her wine, she looked around writing details about the building to file in the report.

“This is actually my business. My parents have more experience running a business so I left them in charge while I take online classes.” Malcolm moved around the bar to sit next to Ms. williams. “If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Helen has fallen off the map. The last time I saw her was when you two split. Jessie picked up a guitar and left town. That boy has always had a flair for presentation. He’s part of that band Swaying Hills.” She took another sip of wine. “Aleina is actually getting married next Autumn. They are coming back here and having a small ceremony. I hope everyone can get back in time for it.”

“That sums up my curiosity. Is there anything you need for the report Ms Williams?”

“Aside from the obvious damage, what else was taken?”

“A few utensils from the back. Some of my pots and pans are also gone. I’m not worried about the food they took. Today is my market day. Mom drags me to every store to make sure we have the freshest ingredients.” Malcolm looked her over again. Straightened hair, horn rimmed glasses, and a uniform. He could have been in love if it were another woman.

“Alright. Do you have any idea who might want to hurt you or who would do this?” She shook her glass to signal that it needed a refill.

With a chuckle, Malcolm slid off the stool and proceeded around the bar. Vanessa’s eyes followed him as she pretended to write in her notepad. With a lick of her lips and a shudder she returned to her work. Malcolm refilled the glass and opted to stay behind the bar.

The conversation bounced between work and catching up. Vanessa polished off a bottle and a half of wine before they were finished with her work. As she headed for the door Malcolm watched her hips sway with the seductive expertise of a woman. The girls he’d been bedding paled in comparison to what he was seeing. Dirty images filled his mind as Malcolm’s eyes trailed up her body. He eventually locked eyes with Vanessa and turned away embarrassed.

Pleased that she could still catch the eyes of young studs, Vanessa leaned against the doorway. Her pose caused the frame to draw full attention to her breast. Vanessa waited for Malcolm to return his attention to her. She slowly stroked the frame while eying him.

“How are you going to lock up with the front exposed like this?” Vanessa’s voice was heavy with seduction. Malcolm’s shifted posture told her it hit its mark. So she continued while bending to touch the bottom of the frame. “If you have the wood for this job, I’m sure I could help you finish it off.”

Malcolm was biting his lower lip and twisting his face. His thoughts of her were not what he should have in his head. This woman had raised the girl he once thought was his soulmate. Maybe it was the wine or it could have been the circumstances, but she was teasing him and Malcolm wasn’t the type to back away from a challenge.

Once he’d regained composure, Malcolm proceeded to the front room. He drew down the solid metal walls that were normally used to keep the store safe at night. Malcolm brushed past Vanessa close enough to smell the perfume she was wearing. He pulled down the other wall with a look of superiority. Malcolm returned to Vanessa who had returned to her original leaning pose.

“That should do it.” Malcolm gestured for her to lead the way. “After you.”

Vanessa’s sway was not deterred by Malcolm’s efforts. Evident in her walk and twirl to lock eyes as she moved towards the cruiser. Malcolm gave enough space to get a good view of her body while remaining close enough to let her know he was interested. As she slid her hand over the roof and Malcolm got closer, Vaness pushed out her rear to bump into Malcolm.

In an instant Malcolm was slammed into the cruiser and pressed into the door. He felt Vanessa’s breasts heave as her breath brushed past his ear. A look of shock and concern coated his face as he looked back to see what she was doing.

“Assaulting an off duty officer is a VERY serious offense Mr. Little.” Vanessa’s free hand started patting him down starting at the shoulders and running down his side. Eventually she got a handful of cheeks. The concern left his face as only surprise could describe what Malcolm was feeling. Vanessa disappeared for a brief second and found its way to his crotch.

“A hidden weapon? I’ll have to take you to confiscate this and ask some questions.”

Vanessa slapped on the cuffs on the crowded street and shoved Malcolm into the back seat. She slammed the door and got up front. Malcolm sat in surprised silence as the car turned down back roads and sped through intersections. Eventually the streets began to look familiar and Malcolm realized they must be heading to her house.

As they approached the house Vanessa showed no signs of slowing down. Malcolm gawked at the house as they passed it. The color and life itself looked like it had been drained from it. An eyesore on the neighborhood if he was being honest. Vanessa turned down another street and drove to the end of a cul de sac. Malcolm used to play ball at the house they parked at. Mr. Jerome would always play against the kids two on one, but he never lost a game.

Vanessa pulled into the driveway and got out. She opened the back door and let Malcolm out. As he marveled at the house she shoved him up the path to the front door. In a flash it seemed like he was inside. Warm lighting greeted him and the yelp of a small dog. Vanessa didn;t undo the cuffs as she led him away.

“Searge we got a serious offender here.” The once approaching yelps began to fade as if redirected.

“That’s a well trained dog.”

“Shut up criminal.” Vanessa barked. She leaned in to lick at his ear. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Malcolm figured it was best to play along rather than fight this. Why talk yourself out of a good time? “This is extreme misuse of power.”

“I got you on camera. Assaulting a uniformed officer.” Vanessa threw Malcolm onto a couch. “And sexually no less.”

“Look, it wasn’t even like that. I was just trying to get past you.” Malcolm looked around noticing the interior decor. It was filled with various flowers and light colored birds. “My bad if you took it that way.”

“So you’re saying I got the facts wrong?” Vanessa leaned down. Malcolm noticed half of her buttons were undone. Underneath her uniform was a black lace bra fitted to show ample cleavage and give the girls a lift. “I didn’t find this dangerous weapon on you?”

Vanessa reached again but this time her face showed confusion. She looked from his crotch to his eyes with bewilderment in her face. Malcolm shrugged.

“You have to warm up the engine before you take it for a drive.” He lifted his brow seductively. “But the ride always brings satisfaction.”

After hearing his words Vanessa backed away and undid her belt. She swayed and gyrated her hips as she turned away from Malcolm. She looked over her shoulder as the sound of her zipper was heard. Vanessa walked backwards to wiggle her butt in Malcolm’s face as she pulled her pants down. To his surprise there wasn’t anything underneath. Malcolm looked on, licking his lips and enjoying the show.

Vanessa kicked her pants into a corner and turned to face Malcolm again. His eyes drank in her sexy visage. Toned legs, wide hips, and ample breast all laid out in front of him. Malcolm tried to reach but was reminded he was still cuffed. Vanessa walked towards him as she undid the rest of her buttons. As she approached her smile grew.

“I see we have found that weapon you hid so well earlier.” Dropping the shirt on the ground, Vanessa crawled towards Malcolm. “By the looks of it we could be dealing with a magnum. Thick. Heavy. Fully loaded.”

“Look ma’am. If you’re so convinced I have a weapon then search me thoroughly and find out for yourself that I’m innocent.” Malcolm locked eyes with Vanessa and lifted his chin for her to get closer. “When I’m proven innocent, I expect to be compensated for my wasted time.”

“I intend to search you thoroughly. Make no qualms about that.” Vanessa climbed up Malcolm’s body and stopped when she was eye level with him. “And what you see as a waste, I see as building police/community relations.”

Vanessa kissed Malcolm hard and forced her tongue into his mouth. When she broke the kiss Malcolm found a metallic taste in his mouth. He pushed out a key and looked down at Vanessa.

“If you can get out before I get you off the game continues.”

#AndreWrites Stories

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troped-fanfic-challenge · 4 years

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ROUND TWO

It’s time to VOTE!!

Hey guys! It’s officially time to vote in Round 2 of Chopped Madness! The fics are below! The structure is simple! First, you will be asked to rank all 8 fics, the way you did in the Qualifying Round. This will help us to break any ties, and we will use this ranking to reorder the authors for the brackets for Round 3. Then, the eight (8) fics we received this round have been paired up head-to-head. Your job is to go through the four pairings and select which author of the two fics you think deserves to move on to Round 3! Please rank ALL eight (8) fics, to help us avoid any glitches in our survey like we experienced in Round 1, and to give us an accurate ranking.

At the end of the voting period, we will announce the four (4) authors who have been Chopped!! If you are not Chopped, that means you will be moving on to the next round, so keep an eye out for that post to be sure! If you aren’t sure you can always send us a message to check!

In Round 1, there was some questions about how to approach the voting. We recommend treating the rankings and the head-to-head polls as separate entities. Rank all eight fics, from best to least best, first, and then approach each bracket in a vacuum, so to speak, ONLY considering the two fics against each other. We hope this helps make the voting process more clear, but if you have questions don’t hesitate to ask!

You can vote here!

Voting Link: https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/ZCNHG9S

The 8 fics that we received for this round can be found below, or on AO3 here! Each fic follows the theme [Dystopia], includes the tropes [Partners in Crime] and [Bed Sharing], and has a central character focus on [John Murphy]! When you vote, please be sure to take into consideration the USE of all these elements, because, as with all other Chopped events, the purpose is to select the authors who best utilize the requirements!

poison but tasty (Rated M) [Murphy & Josephine, Murphy/Emori]

Summary: In a world where genetics and individual resilience decide who gets to procreate and who doesn't, babies are a rare breed. That's why Murphy gets the lucrative idea to steal one, and sell it. In comes Josie, who kind of, sort of? Maybe? Has the same idea? He figures, what the hell. Might as well combine their efforts and split the profits.

or, Two Psychopaths and a Baby.

even heroes have the right to dream (Rated M) [Muprhy/Emori]

Summary: He doesn’t deal with people one-on-one anymore. He works his shift at the factory. He comes home. Takes his pills. Drinks himself to sleep. He doesn’t go on road trips. Or smuggle little girls under the cover of darkness. Or make small talk with his ex.

don't mess with the flow, oh no (stick to the status quo) (Rated T) [Murphy/Clarke]

Summary: Harper and Monty tried out for the spring musical, and now everything is going to shit. Jocks think they can bake. Nerds think they can dance. Stoners think they can play cello.

And Harper and Monty, Jock and Nerd respectively, think they can get callbacks for Murphy's part.

This is not what he wants. This is not what he planned. And, he's just gotta say, he does not understand.

Good to be Back (Rated G) [Murphy/Emori]

Summary: Murphy has been out of the wet work game for years now, but when someone from the past shows up at his bar, he doesn't think twice before diving back in.

make a wish (count to three) (Rated T) [Murphy/Emori]

Summary: In Alpha City, anyone who isn't a Prime, the top tier of society, is claimed by a factory to work for a meager living at the age of 18. When Murphy is selected for the factory overseen by the mysterious Alie, he thinks life might finally be getting better...

The Taste of Hope (Rated T) [Murphy/Raven]

Summary: Murphy has lived his whole life on Factory 6, stripping the planet of its resources for the benefit of the elite ruling class on The Jewel. His existence has never been more than work, sleep, and the mindless distractions of gossip, drinking, and parties.

Until he and his girlfriend, Raven, start to wonder: could there be more?

Survivor’s Move (Rated G) [Muprhy/Emori]

Summary: In a dying society ruled by an iron fist, it's crucial to stay low. John Murphy has mastered that, an ex-thief doing what he can to stay out of trouble. But trouble finds him with the arrival of another ex-thief, and more importantly, his ex-girlfriend. Emori needs his help and he finds himself confronting their breakup while also trying to express to her the importance she has in his heart.

Complex Wiring (Rated T) [Murphy/Raven]

Summary: According to the Commonwealth of Arkadian, cyborgs have been wiped out from the nation for years, any scientists willing to do the surgeries arrested or worse.

John Murphy, whose primary goal in life is to be a general nuisance to the guards in his crummy village, has no reason to believe otherwise.

That is, until he unexpectedly meets a group of cyborgs in hiding who are looking for "the Cockroach" to do a job for them.

#chopped madness #chopped madness: round 2 #round 2: dystopia #voting

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maybeformepersonally · 5 years

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Fic: the poetry of resistance, chapter 1

Title: the poetry of resistance Author: maybeformepersonally Rating: T / Teen Summary: Dark times are brewing, fear and prejudice have been sinking their vicious claws into Dan's world, twisting and poisoning his once quiet, peaceful way of life. He feels like his life is falling apart, and he's scrambling to do something, anything, to keep enough of the pieces together. But even in the darkest of times, even in the midst of the worst atrocities committed, kindness can blossom, and new hope can be born. Word Count: 4.9k this chapter (the whole fic will be 20k+) Author’s Note: This fic is my fill for the @phandomreversebang! I need to thank the lovely admins of the PRB for organising this, and the wonderful @dansphlevels for making the art that inspired this story (see it here!). And a very special, very heartfelt thank you to the fabulous @itsmyusualphannie, who was kind enough to fill the position of my beta reader when I found myself without one, and doing an excellent job of it to boot. Any mistakes that remain are solely mine.

[Read on ao3]

Old Conrad Huckabee got up early as usual to start the day, as was expected of bakers, before the sun would rise. After the habitual short routine of morning ablutions that had remained unchanged for years now, he headed downstairs into his bakery accompanied by his dearest wife. She had been as faithful and true to him as a man could hope for, a true companion in life and business, and he likely would have floundered without her support and no-nonsense attitude throughout the years. He thanked the gods every day that he had been so lucky as to find one as her to stand beside him.

They moved as one into their respective positions, a dance they had long perfected for a routine as familiar as breathing and as beloved as the life they’d built together, Conrad at the ovens and his dear Adelaide with her books and supplies, making sure everything was in order for Conrad to get lost in his craft. A mere half-hour before opening time, the Howell boy arrived, perfectly on time. Adelaide quite liked that about him. Responsible lad.

Conrad opened the door for him and ushered him to the back, to where his wife was sorting that week’s stock and making sure everything was running smoothly. Adelaide had truly been a godsend. He’d married for love, but no one would suspect it from the way his father’s little bakery had flourished under their joint care once Conrad had inherited it not long after their nuptials. He knew, everyone knew really, that the success had been in great part due to his young wife’s sharpness of mind and her skill in trade. Oh, she would never stiff or cheat a merchant, such behaviours would only lead to mistrust and ruin, if not imprisonment. No, she was fair to a fault, just, well, brilliant.

He spared a glance to the young merchant greeting his wife with a warm smile and a respectful tilt of the head. It had been over a decade now since the boy had started trading with them directly, first as proxy for his parents and later as a trader in his own right, but despite his young age, he had never treated Adelaide with anything but the respect she rightfully deserved, which was saying something when half the village still persisted in viewing women as somehow… inferior. Conrad huffed at the thought. Old fools, he thought, and nevermind that he was old enough now to fit that description himself. Oh, but he was no fool. They were so set in their ways that they would stare reality in the face and refuse its length and shape, and for what? Everyone knew women were especially good at trade, this he had learnt as a little tyke at his grandfather’s knee back before he was even tall enough to reach the baker’s ovens. Women were better at maths, and accounting, they excelled at keeping books, could run where the men would limp and stumble.

This particular trader, young enough to be their own son, seemed to have learnt this as well, for he had never disrespected his dear Adelaide, and had never tried to dupe her with bad quality wares or too steep prices. A fair and honest trader was hard to come by, sadly, which he supposed was why those two had always liked each other, he mused as a chuckle reached his ears. His wife was in good spirits today, he thought with a little smile of his own, and whispered a quick prayer to her favoured gods in thanks. He was ever grateful, after so many years, that the gods had so blessed him in both business and love.

As he continued arranging the day’s work in preparation for opening time, he reflected that it was a pity the young Howell boy had not found a wife of his own to share his efforts and secure the line of his house. But then again, that was hardly surprising.

Some small eccentricities would hardly matter to any smart young woman or discerning head of house, not with a profitable line of trade and a face as fair as that, but to live past the borders of the forest… oh, yes. That would give any young woman or her parents pause. Even with the efforts of the special guard, one could never be perfectly sure that no creatures lurked, not outside the heart of the village, not when nothing but earth and trees and wild animals surrounded you and the terrain may allow those awful, wicked creatures passage into your very home.

The boy, well, man now, had some small grasp on the magicks that kept such dangers at bay; he must, or he would have perished by now. And Conrad did not doubt that he was dutiful, and ever careful not to shirk his duties. His very survival attested to that. But he had been born in the forest, had grown up there, with his parents moving there as soon as they were married. They had inherited the land, and it was a good business decision to farm it, but still, most of the village had half expected them to perish out there, cut off from the comforts of immediate trade and the community. It took days to get to the village from their land on foot, and the lad had built his own house a whole day’s walk deeper into the forest than even his parents’ lodgings, or so the tales said. Tales that he was rather disposed to believe, as it wasn’t just the young fools who had nothing better to do than tell tales to pass the time that were saying so. Old Burnaby himself swore to it, and Conrad had lost count of the respectable storekeepers who had hinted or even outright said as much.

Still, the young Howell couple must have been better prepared than the village had given them credit for, and more favoured by the gods, to be blessed with the tools to survive alone all the way out there. And young Daniel only knew that life, and the ever-present vigilance and jealous warding of his lands must be second nature to him.

A pity, but understandable, that he hadn’t found a partner willing to follow him into the dark heart of the forest. Oh well, plenty of travellers and foreigners were used to such conditions. Perhaps that was all it would take; a traveller that crossed their village, or a merchant looking for trade. He hoped so, for the kind young man’s sake.

He heard him say his goodbyes to Adelaide, muffled by the partition that led behind his shop, and watched him appear from behind it a few seconds later. He seemed pleased enough with their trade, and Conrad was once again reminded of the confession he’d got out of the young man years ago about how their family was one of his favourites to deal with in the whole village, as they were more welcoming than most, and less driven to endless haggling. His dear Adelaide knew the worth of the young lad’s wares and she was willing enough to pay a fair price for them, which put them several steps above most of the village.

“Good exchange?” he prompted; they had enough time before he had to open the shop to indulge in a little small talk.

“Quite good, for both our houses,” Daniel answered with a pleasant smile. His eyes caught on the display to their left, however, and Conrad stifled an amused chuckle at the young man’s predictability. “Are those qurabiya?” Daniel asked, not even trying to hide his childlike delight.

“Indeed, they are! Straight from the oven. I could be persuaded to sell you some before the first customers may get their hands on the bargain, if you make a good enough offer for me to consider it...” he was teasing, of course. He was always happy to sell his products to Daniel when he was around, even if the bakery hadn’t technically opened its doors yet when he came round for business. Daniel knew it, too. He was giving him a wide dimpled grin, and the old baker found himself thinking again about how unfortunate it was that such a kind and striking young man should be single still.

Daniel asked for four qurabiya to go, two for his parents and two for himself, as usual, and as Conrad wrapped them up for him, he broached the subject once again, much to the well-taken exasperation of the young man before him, who’d been subject to this particular talk at the hands of the well-meaning baker many, many times before (and more often as of late, as he grew older).

“No news to speak of on my love life, no,” he said with a badly hidden roll of his eyes. “I can’t imagine why the topic matters so much to you, I swear. More nosy than most of the matchmakers in the village put together, you are. You needn’t concern yourself with my love life, Conrad. I promise I can handle the trade for myself, with the occasional help from my parents, if need be. Your supply line shall not suffer from my regrettable lack of a wife.”

“Of course, of course,” he said placatingly. “But trade is only part of the reason to seek a marriage. You can’t be content to spend all that time alone out there in the woods. A companion would surely make the days shorter and sweeter, and a young man as yourself should be thinking about children soon…”

Daniel shook his head to himself, amused at the baker’s persistence. “I appreciate your concern, but as you know, my way of life wouldn’t suit most villagers, much less the young women who grew up in a village as big and bustling with activity as this one. Regardless, I am quite content as is, much as I know it perplexes you.” He smiled then. As annoying as it could be to be grilled about his love life and to be offered pointed advice about the young unmarried women in town, Dan knew it came from a good place. “Most of us aren’t so lucky as to find our perfect match, much less to find her so early in life, you know.” The man was a hopeless romantic, and as such had become something like the unofficial matchmaker of the town. It was sweet.

“Ah, that is very true. But that doesn’t mean you should give up, young lad! I hear a caravan of travellers has announced their intention to stop here soon. They must be on the lookout for new trade, or perhaps even a place to settle on. I hear there is a pair of hunters coming in to aid the special guard, but perhaps there are a few ladies as well? Perhaps a young lady accustomed to the life of a traveller might be more open to a life on the outskirts of town…?”

Dan swallowed any outward indication of his skin crawling at the mention of ‘hunters’ coming in to ‘aid the special guard’. The casual mention had activated his fight or flight response, but he couldn’t let his expression slip, even with well-meaning old villagers like Conrad.

Thankfully, Dan had years of practice in the concealing of emotions, and so he chuckled at the man’s insistence, determined to grill the more forthcoming storekeepers who might actually have the kind of information he needed about the hunters coming his way. He knew the old baker well enough by now to know that any details he might pry out of him would be geared more towards getting him wed rather than anything useful to him.

“We might see,” he told Conrad with a carefree glint of mischief. “Don’t get your hopes up, old friend, you know I will not settle for usefulness.”

“As you shan’t! I quite agree!” He had perked up at Dan’s seeming acquiescence. “Why settle for an advantageous union when one can strive for a lasting, true love?” He was nodding along as he presented the package of sweets to him, carefully sealed to withstand Dan’s travels. Dan paid for the pastries and bade him farewell, reminding him once more not to try to pair him up with any young lady he thought might make a good match, even though he knew Conrad would endeavour to tell any unmarried woman arriving in that caravan that looked the slightest bit interested all about Dan’s virtues.

Can’t ask the deer to change its hooves, Dan thought ruefully. He hoped the man didn’t get any poor woman’s hopes up with his efforts. The last thing Dan needed was to contend with the complications that would come from taking a human wife.

Dan took the long way back to his home deep into the forest, taking a few detours to reassure himself that everything was okay, that no disaster or evil had befallen his beautiful land in his brief absence, that no tree or animal or creature had been disturbed.

You couldn’t be too careful these days.

The leisurely trek soothed ruffled nerves, but he couldn’t stop turning the latest news in his mind as he walked deftly over uneven terrain and smooth plains alike. The air sprites surfaced from the heights of the tallest trees to signal the lack of new developments as he gave them their prearranged call; the family of ungulate kelpies living in the depths of his forest looked up at him when he approached and gave him a distinct nod to indicate no problems had met them either; and so on.

He didn’t take the small detour behind the old oak tree he used to play in as a child to check the mounds that the aes sídhe used to claim as their home. And he didn’t take a left there down the path that led to the natural pond that had formed several centuries ago, where the will-o'-the-wisps used to dance ethereally over the calm water, dipping occasionally to play hide-and-seek in the reeds and water lilies.

There was no point. There was no one there anymore.

The sun was high in the sky by the time his circuit led him to the last stop before home. There couldn’t be more than an hour or so of sunlight left.

Dan finally slowed down as he approached the jagged rock formation that led to the cenote that was his final check-in of the day. He left his pack resting on one of the concave shapes eroded into the stone, secured against any strong winds by one of the stray rocks lying around, before heading for the mouth of the cave. It really did look like a mouth, rough spikes growing up out of the base of the opening and coiling all around it like monstrously deformed, too-sharp teeth. It wasn’t the easiest squeeze, especially for someone his size, but he could manoeuvre it without too much trouble, his hands and feet familiar with the grooves and sharp edges. It was for the best anyway, he thought. Wouldn’t do to have an unwary traveller enter the sacred caves by mistake.

He didn’t come here often. But the day’s news was worrying enough to warrant it, he’d decided after ruminating on it all day. He’d worried about it in the back of his head for the entirety of his trip.

He navigated the sharp mouth of the cave and crossed into the cooler air inside, careful to stay his grip into the stone wall before steadily climbing down. There was a stretch of open sky that illuminated a patch of the deep blue waters which covered most of the vast interconnected caves, but jumping directly into the waters would be nothing short of suicidal, even for a not-unwelcome-guest such as himself. He’d never trespass on another’s domain like that, nor would he want to abuse his welcome. He knew how rare the courtesy extended to him was, and how precious for it.

The rays of sunlight reaching into the deceptively calm water made it sparkle attractively, and Dan took the time to appreciate the beautiful play of flecks of light and shadows that adorned the cave walls as clouds shifted all the way up in the sky. He’d always enjoyed the view, from the first time he was allowed entry here as a child, and he’d always marvelled that he would be given such an unlikely gift. The habitants of the cenotes were infamous for distrusting outsiders.

To those who even knew there was such a thing, anyway.

As he was reaching the ground - he’d headed for the small patch of limestone filled with tiny rocks to the left of the cave entrance as was the custom - he lowered his bare feet into the narrow riverbank and announced his presence with a distinct whistle. They would have already noticed him, of course, but the rituals must be observed. He waited a full minute, counting in his head and watching the little shadows of movement in the water, taking in the seldom-seen beauty of the caves, then, once the minute was over, he moved ahead, carefully, deliberately, to the edge of the river. He could only advance three wide steps before the stream bed plunged to unknown depths, and so he stopped at the third step, the soles of his feet firmly rooted into the rock, and he waited.

He wasn’t made to wait long. He saw the figures approach, thin and sinewy and too fast to be any kind of human, too fast in the water to be anything but what they were, and he let his feet and calves harden and expand lightly, gripping into the rock he was standing on more securely and providing a more reliable proof of his own identity than anything else he could have done or presented them with. He was in their domain, anyway. One, alone, where hundreds of them swam leisurely around, and where hundreds more could be called if a threat dared show up. If they wanted him dead he didn’t stand a chance. Just as they liked it.

He couldn’t really blame them.

They surfaced a few meters away, and he was relieved to recognise their leader. She hadn’t always been available for his impromptu visits, and the others were much more distrustful of him. Klavdiya was there the first time Dan had visited as a kid, however. She remembered his Papa too, and that also helped.

“Lady Klavdiya,” Dan addressed her, twining his arms close to his chest, and inclined his torso slightly while keeping eye contact with her. She bared her too-long, too-sharp teeth in a grimace Dan had learnt was a gesture not unlike a smile for humans. The two rusalki flanking her sides allowed themselves to stoop lower into the water, vigilant as ever but mollified by the show of respect. Dan only recognised one of them from his previous visits, though she’d never offered a name.

“Daniel, forest child. You come unannounced.”

“I do. I’ve received news that you deserve to hear.” The rusalki appreciated candour as much as Dan did, so he didn’t waste their time with small talk. It would be an insult to them both.

“Speak,” Klavdiya prompted, not unkindly.

“There is a party coming to the village. No more than a dozen humans, but among them, there is a pair of hunters. Rumours are they’re quite skilled in certain magicks, and they’ve sent word that they’re canvassing the kingdom, catching and disposing of any non-humans they can and making note of others they may not have the resources to slay. I don’t know how accurate the assessment of their skills is, but I’ve ascertained that there is a pair of hunters travelling this way, and they’ve apparently caused quite the stir in the neighbouring lands, so I doubt they’ll be easy pickings.”

Klavdiya swirled her tail close to the surface in a dangerous motion that Dan knew could drain the life of a human in a single blow.

She was worried.

Dan hated it.

“Canvassing…” she sounded the word out, picking at it as she asked for more information.

“I doubt they’ll venture this deep into the forest. If they do, I may well have to take them out myself before they ever reach the caves.”

Klavdiya’s fins flickered in sympathy. She knew he wouldn’t enjoy it if it came to that.

Dan understood the significance of the gesture, a notable display of insight and compassion from a creature who would delight in slaying her enemies, as brutally and mercilessly as she felt they deserved. He saw the respect in her eyes, in her posture, in every word she said to him. She knew he would do it if necessary.

“You may need help,” she declared.

“I hope not,” he hedged.

“You may need help,” she repeated, softly but with a core of strength intrinsic to her people and her character.

“I do not wish to involve you. I have come to warn you because I may not be able to come once they’re in the vicinity. I would not want to lead them here. And I don’t know how long they’ll stay.”

“You may need help,” she repeated herself a third time, and much as he didn’t want to acknowledge the implicit offer, it would border on a snub to dismiss it a third time. Dan gave her a pleading look. She didn’t flinch.

“...I may. But if it comes to that, it may be too late for me anyway.”

“If you lead them to the opening at the top, you need only push them in. If they fall into the water, my brethren will make short work of them, magick or no magick.”

The hunters’ magic could cost her brethren several lives, maybe dozens if they were as powerful as advertised. He didn’t say this. She knew. A threat to his forest implied a threat to her caves, to her river, to the sea her river flowed into. A canvassing entourage might even be planning that far ahead. Dan rather hoped not.

He let out a heavy breath, reluctant acquiescence. “I promise I shall only consider it as the very last resort,” he vowed.

Klavdiya inclined into an awkward bow, respect shown for respect due. “You need not vow so, our offer was freely made. But it is appreciated.” She would not have offered so to someone else. She would not have offered if she didn’t know he’d never ask it of them. That is why she offered. That, and her people. Their domain. Their home. They would rather all die defending it than surrender one lone inch of it. They’d already lost so many. Humans had always been particularly brutal to her kind, and it had only got so much worse in the last decade...

“My respects to you and yours. May our alliance endure the hurdles to come, and may no threat disturb the peace and quiet of our lands and rivers.” The formal words closed the formal encounter, and he waited to see what Klavdiya would do next.

“Our respects, forest child. Should you need our power, we shall be here.”

Dan did another ‘rusalka bow’, as he’d come to call them when he’d first learnt them as a child, arms entwined and pressed to his chest, a show of respect and trust to the people whose domain he had been allowed to step into. He remembered his Papa explaining the significance of the tangled arms - a deliberate blunting of one of their best weapons; the position of their feet - as deep as they could go into the water without endangering or maiming themselves - and the revealing of their nature by calling forth the forest to reshape their lower limbs into their inhuman form - proof of identity, of membership, of allegiance. He had tried to copy the delicate movements that flowed so effortlessly from his Papa, but he’d only managed a clumsy imitation that first time. They’d practised later, back at home, at little Dan’s insistence. He’d been five then.

Now, the movements were well-practised, his limbs folding gracefully and his stance never wavering. Klavdiya rose from her own bow and made a swirly movement with her arms to dismiss her companions. They’d stay close, keep an eye on them, he knew, but they didn’t argue; just submerged themselves into the water and disappeared from view.

Klavdiya swam close, movements careful so as to display her goodwill. A rusalka swimming at natural speeds would read to any creature as a threat on an instinctual level, no matter how firm an ally they knew them to be. Dan flexed his feet, one after the other, smoothing rough bark back into soft pale flesh, and took three steps back so that he could sit on the edge of the water, letting his human-looking feet rest comfortably in the shallows.

“Did you find anything else?” Klavdiya asked once she was within reach. Not that they’d reach out to touch each other. Neither one particularly cared to, and if they did there’d be angry and protective rusalki to answer to.

Dan shook his head, allowing his expression to display his worry fully. He’d only heard rumours, some snippets of conversations overheard and some freely offered. But he’d heard tales of less fortunate lands, heard enough - too much, really - of the horrors perpetrated by more zealous bands of humans in the plains to the east, the scope of the bloodshed in the mountain villages of the south, the atrocities committed in the name of ‘humanity’. He’d never been an optimist, but the current political climate was beyond anything he could have feared. It made surviving a burden, sometimes.

He missed his Papa like a cracked rib, the pain sharp and present with every breath he took, and he sometimes thought that if it wasn’t for the chance to help others, to help even a few of the poor lost souls that were being mercilessly hunted as far and wide as he managed to get news from, then he might have given up long ago. The future felt so bleak. And he was so tired.

But he was the last bastion between the misguided and cruel and the haven that was his forest, strategically tucked away into its roots, emboldened and favoured by Her, her child, and he couldn’t abandon Her any more than he could abandon those in need that were desperate enough to venture inside into her welcoming folds, and there had been quite a few of those in recent years. These were desperate times, after all.

Some, however, like the rusalki, hadn’t ventured in looking for an escape, but rather they were a part of it from times immemorial.

Well, the rusalki were neighbours to it, technically. They had their own domain in the pools of the caves entrenched within the forest, and in the river that flowed through them, connecting them to the deeper, wider sea. But they belonged there, they had been there for millennia, and for all their danger they felt to Dan like a respite, a comfort, a steady bulwark that refused to be moved, refused to be challenged, refused to be cowed.

So many peoples had folded, some in fear, some in indifference, a few in a strategic bid that meant to win them the realm in the long run. But not the rusalki, steadfast and unyielding as ever, and not Dan either. Unlike them, he lacked the strength of numbers, however. He only had the forest. The forest and his human parents, who had no command of magick, his human parents who couldn’t fight, and who still now carried the bleeding wound of the forced separation with their hearts’ partner, patched up but still raw, still tearing at them, still ravaging their will and their courage. Dan sometimes thought that they suffered his Papa’s absence even more keenly than him.

His talk with Klavdiya was short, as their chats usually were, but he was pleased to see her bare her teeth once again when he showed her the token he’d brought for her. He knew to be careful with gifts, but rocks from his forest, imbued with the moon’s energy and the earth’s vitality, were quite straightforward as presents from one ally to another, and useful enough not to raise any hackles from the more suspicious of her brethren.

The sun was getting low, however, and soon they had no more information to exchange, not even of the personal leisurely sort, so he bid his goodbyes and left with the promise to visit again once the danger was past them. He’d keep to his next scheduled visit if the hunters were gone by then, and only make another surprise visit if he felt like he must, if circumstances changed.

Hopefully, that wouldn’t be necessary.

By the time he’d climbed back to the surface and out through the tricky mouth of the cave, the sky was a deep orange. He could walk through the forest deaf and blind if he had to, of course, so navigating it by night under the watchful light of the stars would be no hardship for him.

But he was getting hungry and he hadn’t forgotten the qurabiya nestled carefully inside his pack. He’d make a simple dinner and enjoy one for dessert. It shouldn’t take long for him to get to his cottage.

He’d make in an early night. He had plans early the next day.

#phanfic #am i writing now #phandom reverse bang #phan #phan au #fantasy au

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be17forever · 5 years

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My Honest Review of “An Ode”

Let me preface this by saying, I am absolutely a Carat, I’ve been a Carat since Mansae era, and I will continue to be a Carat. That said, there were a lot of things in this newest album “An Ode” that made me really think. I wanted to review and process my thoughts on the album honestly, as a fan, as a music lover, as a listener.

1. Hit: I don’t really think I need to delve into it because a lot of my initial reactions have been blunted since I’ve been repeating it pretty non-stop for a month now. Key point: I really didn’t appreciate the song much on first listen and not even with the whole performance. I mean, the performance is definitely impressive, but it didn’t really jive with the music or wow me in a way that “Getting Closer” did. However, I blasted it on speakers, realized that’s what the song was really suited for, and really came to appreciate it a lot more.

2. Lie Again: Hands down my favorite song on the album. It obviously cannot be a choice for title song, but the quality is really close to what I expect from a title song. Great choice for instrumentals, great catchy chorus despite it being a mellow slower song, good build up through the verses. Vernon’s part references DWC, and this self-referencing is what I love about Seventeen. It is the best part of being a long-term serious fan of their music, though I know it can be divisive because it alienates new listeners (though DWC was fairly popular, so maybe not?) This song is the follow-up song that DWC deserved instead of “Without You” (possibly my least favorite sub-song from Seventeen, ever, and definitely my least favorite on Teen, Age). The bit after the bridge is a bit of a weak point, but not super jarring to the whole song. Great mixing. I don’t look at line distribution for each song because I don’t think a measure of “how much” part a member got in a 13-member group really means anything, but nothing stood out as a particular problem. Overall, a very well-rounded and well-executed song. There’s really not much to say because I think the song speaks well for itself.

3. Fear: I hate saying negative things about it because it is the title track and I have been so looking forward to it, but there were some points that made it just lackluster. Some errors were glaring, to a point that I don’t think I’ve ever felt about their songs, not even in the early days.

First, some positives. I think “Fear” did really well in terms of synthesizing the R&B base with slightly Arabian/Eastern/Medieval thematic bits with EDM, hip-hop, and their usual rock elements. It sounds like something I might have heard on the radio in mid-2000′s but with contemporary elements that remind me we’re in 2019 already. This entire album is fairly consistent in keeping to the R&B genre, which is honestly a hard move for them because Seventeen has been more rock or punk-rock based for so many of their albums in the past. “Fear” has also managed to keep the HHU from pitching their lines too low. The HHU, including Wonwoo, are not naturally low deep gravelly when they rap. They can pull off that kind of sound in studio, but it’s really difficult to do when they perform live. That’s why you’ll hear them often just doing their lines in a completely different tone than the recorded line. I hope they continue this decision into future songs because it makes it less jarring to hear the rap lines during live performances. Seungkwan’s voice shines like no other in this song. The song really plays to the best qualities of his vocal style. I know lately, there have been accusations of under-utilizing the main vocalists, but no one can say that with this song because it is clear that Seungkwan was very well incorporated into the song. Jeonghan also really fit well into the style of the song. His vocals really stand out, which is a huge achievement for someone who was not utilized much at Seventeen’s debut.

That said, there are just a lot of things that felt sloppy to me about this song. Now, I cannot tell if these are mistakes or deliberate stylistic choices. However, some of these points are not just my personal opinions, they kinda go against the rules in a meaningless way. The mixing is really clumsy with the song. The beginning line from Wonwoo sounds a lot like how Mingyu started “Getting Closer”. But the glaring difference is that there is no musical anticipation into the part, nor is there a momentum out of that part before the first drop into the verses. There are so many quick fixes they could have done to the little instrumental that comes after his part to offset this, but because of the lull, the song immediately loses impact. I’m not sure what kind of effect they were going with doubling Joshua’s part. It sounds unnecessary, but I do like that they started absolutely bare with just the voice for the verse. It creates at least a little bit of tension into the rest of the first verse, which builds up by ping-ponging between more vocally artistic lines and rhythmic rap. Everything gets wrapped up by Seungkwan’s “Someone tell me, what should I do?” And then.

Nothing.

They recover the momentum that was lost through the whole verse, and then there’s just no impact into the chorus. It’s a real shame because I think “The way I love” bit is fairly catchy, so if they had a strong start to the chorus, the whole thing could have been really catchy. Also, the chorus is just a bit too short for “The way I love” to shine. Mentally, I wanted to hear another repeat of the chorus. Now, I’ve made my peace a long time ago with the fact that Seventeen just isn’t really going to chase after trends for their title songs. They’re not going to force themselves into a catchy hook just so the song can be catchy. But “The way I love, the way I love”-- that line is just so naturally perfect as a catchy tune, so it’s a little disconcerting that this wasn’t taken an advantage of.

I really like the idea of taking away the instrumentals and having Jeonghan just stand alone with that whispery, haunting voice to give a fresh-start feeling for the second verse and keep it from being stale. However, I do believe there was a legitimate mixing error for this part. You can barely hear his part during this section if you keep a constant healthy non-eardrum-perforating volume on the song. If it is that hard to hear his part, casual listeners won’t even pay attention to it. And the whole cessation of the instrument and how wistful Jeonghan’s voice is should have made this part the absolute high point of the song. You do not have to lower the volume so low on the vocal track to keep the atmosphere because you literally just cut away the backing instrumental and his tone is enough to give that feeling. I just have a difficult time getting past this as just a stylistic choice. The second verse is also quite boring compared to the first aside from Jeonghan’s part. Coups’s verse tries to give a little change on the rhythm, but it just doesn’t really work for me, personally. Then we move into the chorus, but it’s better this time because of the little “Oh, oh, oh” break and “The way I love” repeating.

I really feel quite neutral about the bridge. It doesn’t really stand out until it launches into “This is love”. And then there’s just a lot of overlapping elements. I’m not sure if they felt pressured into trying to use all of the members, or as many as they can, for this last bit, but there’s just a lot going on in not a particularly cohesive way. The two vocalists belting, for example, is quite impressive but feels like an afterthought.

The reason why this song fell a little short for me were primarily the editing choices that made me keep guessing if a certain effect was there intentionally or if it was a mistake. If it was an error, that is something that should not have gone uncaught on the first full albums in 1.5 years; if it was intentional, it was poorly executed. The lyrics-- I’m going to be completely honest. I’m fairly fluent in Korean, and the lyrics are really confusing. I’m not sure what kind of message they’re trying to send-- don’t love me, I’m poison, love me, my mind is corrupted, I’m afraid... If Woozi one day said that this was a song representing a conversation between two people or like a case of DID and two personas within a person warring, that would be a plausible explanation of what’s going on in the lyrics. And Seventeen lyrics are usually not like this at all. Seventeen songs have fairly elegant and figurative lines, cohesive story that makes sense, etc.. It’s part of why the song sounds good as segments (aka the teaser bits) but doesn’t really work together when it all comes together.

I do still really like the overall genre of the song. They were really true to incorporating all the elements they said they would use. The HHU, I felt, was more well-incorporated than they have been for the last few comebacks. Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s voices pop out like no other. And it’s really, really difficult to make a dance song that is in a minor key and using scales/progressions that are not part of the more typical, Western music and have it sound natural but sophisticated. I imagine it may even grow on me after a while. But there were just some choices that felt a little bit flat and unpolished compared to what I had anticipated from the teasers.

4. Let Me Hear You Say: I felt very meh about this song. It’s a cutesy song, and it serves its purpose. Nothing really stands out good or bad about the song. It reminds me a little bit of “Without You”. Let Seventeen have one cutesy almost-vapid song on their album, ok?

5. 247: Definitely not my style, but it blends well with the R&B theme of the whole album. It has all of the elements of those sticky R&B bedroom anthems reminiscent of male solo artists like Taeyang, Rain, or (for those closer to my age) Brian McNight. But minus the stickiness. I do wish that they incorporated a little bit of team element to it-- this whole song could have been sung by a single male artist and I would not have felt weird about it. A group should be accomplishing something different than what a solo artist brings to the table. This is my least favorite performance unit song from Seventeen, but that is not saying much because all performance unit songs are, in my definition, glorious hits, home runs, true bangers. This one just fell a little short of legendary.

6. Second Life: I hear the “hip-hop” elements... ok, Woozi, ok. I appreciate that Seventeen’s vocal unit feels more adventurous than sticking to ballads. This is also a quite meh song for me. The weird stop in the bridge is a bit jarring... to be honest, I don’t think anyone on the vocal unit could have pulled off the effect they were trying to go for, though. I think the lyric content is really warm and appealing to a slightly older audience.

7. Network Love: I love this song, and not just because I’m a filthy American 외퀴. I love the theme of it. I love the playfulness they have with the lyrics (“I 좋아 = 아이 좋아”). That is also another divisive element about Seventeen’s music that I love but sometimes alienates the public. The whole build up and drop into the chorus is just masterful. The lyrics are witty. If this was a group song, it could have been a decent contender for title song. The theme is very relevant and authentic. Honestly, if Lie Again was a little less perfect, this would be my favorite off the album.

8. Back It Up: We’re starved for a good HHU song, ok? What a great addition to the HHU’s discography AND this album simultaneously. I mean, my favorite is and will always be “Un Haeng Ill Chi” and “Check In” is also just so well-polished, but “Back It Up” is a great change of pace. I like that they just went ham on the lyrics, on the song, on the mixing. It shows the versatility of the song’s creators. The only sad thing is that the lyrics are so confident and ambitious about achieving more as a group, but in real life, this kind of drive and ambition is only expressed in the 3-ish minutes they have on stage and not reflected in the aggression of their activities and artistic direction.

9. Lucky: I wonder if Woozi is secretly on a mission to receive credit for the best use of pan flutes and bossa nova elements in a kpop song. He’s managed it once with “Fast Pace” and now he’s done it again with “Lucky”. It’s a very light song. There are a lot of things in this song that can be difficult to pull off because they’re not conventional, but it really works on the macro level. A stark contrast to how “Fear” fails to make unconventional choices sound intentional and cool. I love that the lyrics tell us to “slow down” and the whole song has that on-your-toes kind of fluttery rhythm. Light, bouncy, solid group b-side.

10. Snap Shoot: This must have been a strong contender as a title song. I’m almost mad that it’s not (even though it is completely contrary to the whole dark Seventeen/growth theme they’re trying to turn over in 2019). The choir starting the song off is perfectly whimsical. It really took advantage of many of the members. For example, Joshua and Woozi sing comparable parts in verses 1 and 2. But they sing it with their own flow and style, it almost feels like a completely different melodic line. And it works well for both of them. The chorus is super catchy. The concept of the song is really true to the times. It can really work as a summer or a winter song. Very universal, very likable. There’s absolutely no rule that Seventeen “must” do a bright, poppy song. I think that frame is something we have to keep resisting against, especially for older fans who’ve seen the peak of the carefree boyish days. But if we look at the songs that they’re really known to the public for, such as Aju Nice, Pretty U, and Mansae, they certainly have that brightness as a known group characteristic, and they’ve nailed getting a cohesive and inclusive group sound down to a science since those early days. So it naturally follows that Snap Shoot sounds almost effortlessly perfect.

11. Happy Ending (Korean ver.): I know people really want Korean versions of the Japanese releases because the Japanese singles/titles are great, and they show off new elements of Seventeen. But I am of the camp that if a song has lyrics in it, the melodic line must accompany the natural rhythm and flow of the lyrics, not the other way around (reinforced by my one-time brief conversation with Sondheim). Have you ever seen the “Kevin may not be smart, but he’s strong” meme? That’s what the song feels like to me. And this will happen for any song you try to translate into another language. It’s so, so, so difficult to keep the fluency of the words while retaining most of the original melody. Not saying it’s impossible, but this particular version did not excel in this regard and the new version only made me want to sing “Kikasete, kikasete” every time because the original was just so catchy.

Final thoughts: This will not be a make-or-break album for me. I still hear a lot of the Seventeen I fell in love with or grew to appreciate. Some of the b-sides from this album, like Lie Again and Network Love, were truly great songs. But this made the less stellar songs stick out even more in contrast. I did like that they’re venturing into the “dark Seventeen” territory more because as much as old fans love it and still miss it, the teenagers are no longer teenagers and Seventeen does not have to box themselves into one image. I really appreciate that they changed up the basis of their sound to the more R&B territory, undoubtably guided by Bumzu, who has quite a history in that area. And they really stuck to it through the album. Though not as cohesive as YMMDay had been, the album does play like the songs, for the most part, belong together. That is kind of a lost art in the kpop world nowadays. CD’s are for pretty packaging, the tracklist shows off the width of the group at best, and no one seems to care for how the songs work together in order. When you listen to “An Ode”, it sounds like an entire album. Seventeen is a group in kpop that is quite counter-cultural in this way. I also really appreciate the effort that went into the music video production. I’m not sure if it was intentional, but it was a lot of things that the fans had been asking for a long, long time. The visual for the music video for “Fear” is definitely striking and appealing. That’s a big part of the music in kpop, so it would be irresponsible not to mention how well the MV works with the music.

That said, there are few disappointments and choices that seemed questionable, especially when it comes to title track “Fear”, which should be their best song from the first full length album they’re dropping in over 1.5 years. As a Carat, I cannot be afraid to speak about things that are not working for me in this album. First off, I don’t have this delusion of grandeur that because I had some suggestions about improvements to this album, Seventeen members will take my specific words to heart and be so hurt and broken over it. If they don’t get the kind of reception they were hoping for, it can be saddening. But they still have literally thousands of Carats-- including myself-- supporting their future endeavors. Second, just because the members worked on the album themselves does not mean there’s no room for constructive criticism and feedback from the fans, industry professionals, and even the general listener. I appreciate all the hard work and sleepless nights they put into the album and simultaneously have things that I wish were thought through more carefully. As a fandom, we can’t label everyone who points out a few flaws as a complete heretic. That’s how we only grow insular and never end up reaching full potential. When there is no room for criticism, no more feedback and no desire for changes from fans, that’s when a group hits stasis. And as my old chemistry teacher (perhaps erroneously) liked to say: absolute equilibrium in a living thing means death.

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gvaf-radio-blog · 5 years

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I was laying in bed trying to not think about the rejection when the crying fit started, normally it goes away after a bit but this welled up and I felt an emotion like onto a rage induced tornado surging through me and I pounded the floor screaming like I lost a limb to a bear trap and started to pray to God, keep in mind I am a Satanist, to either help me find a way to get the love of my life back or to give me the means to end my life. Satan was very understanding but reminded me to call them first next time since Satan never told me I was damned for being born pansexual and they did turn me on to better fashion and literature, sorry Satan.

It had been going on like this for the better part of July and there were several things going on in my life at the time one of those was a firm belief that I had grown too old, too fat, too broken to be any use to anyone other than to make others feel better and be target practice for the Russian Cupidi who seems very intent on making others fall in love with me on the other side of the continent, little fuckers have surprisingly deep laughs I found out . There was a person I was convinced was the love of my life because they seemed to understand me, never made unreasonable demands of me ( I thought) and to put it simply we could not be in a room alone ever. We worked well together in fact each time we would meet it ended in us kissing and tearfully saying I love you to each other while holding each other head to head crying. Everytime I heard a slight Russian tinged laugh. We were for a short time had an almost family, an almost family is where things are just off and need adjustments. I wanted tp make us a full family badly I wanted this family to happen because these kids were at one time treated like mine own, I am a simple and boring man except for the Cupidi and a stalker with cat ears who keeps leaving dead birds on my front stoop.

So yes I was that fool everyone has laughed at in a heart break fueled misery that pop songs and movies lie to us and say “ AH but tis only the third act! The two distant lovers will be reunited and the love song with start after the credits”. I want to start rounding up the con artist that make a living by filling empty headed children with these notions of true love or that love conquers all and sodomize them with live lobsters. I don’t want to violate ethically challenged people with shellfish everyday, just on those days when I have to deal with the doll eyed masses, ok so basically every day I was trying to give myself the benefit of the doubt. The Ex had asked me if the reason I wanted to get back together was because they were a “sure thing” I told her that they were really a long shot but if I didn’t try then I couldn’t live with myself. Fast forward a few weeks and several insulting explanations later and I am now turning over all the reasons I am broken goods and that I should not rise above my station because I deserve to be alone, i’m scum, I’m why baby jesus cries and milk spoils when I walk into the room. I started taking pot shots at the local Cupidi with my compound bow but it was hard to aim with eyes full of tears and the edible kicking in finally. I don’t know how to say fuck you in Russian but I think I know the sound of the word.

Next we find me red eyed muttering some gibberish that’s been fueled by what I would find out later to be a suspected mental illness that is only half way being treated with medication and therapy. To give you a funny and disturbing visual. After not eating or sleeping for several days I looked like what could be described as a cross between a fat Reinfeld and a goth George Costanza , or Meatloaf on a bad day. I give you options for your visuals, am I not merciful?

It’s now sometime between one and five A.M and I am looking up the price of the least expensive .45 handgun because I’m poor and I’ll be getting some extra money soon because I turn thirty nine in a week I do not want to be thirty nine so I start looking for american style solutions, happy fucking birthday. I chose this caliber because having some medical training and studying the wonderful world of trauma I got to see in full detail what a self inflicted head wound looks like and what a person's life is when the bullet doesn’t take enough grey matter. I didn’t want to be alive then I sure as hell didn’t want to live as a joke character from a Garth Ennis story so I was going to get a bigger bullet . America, fuck yeah.

so I started to make my final birthday plan and feel at peace with having my last ride of Clove’s, bourbon and a good pub hamburger then, Tchüess. BANG! Obviously I didn’t buy the gun to end my misery and embarrassment as my brain was telling me I needed, because instead my brain going into OH FUCK mode was throwing everything it had at me to save the ship. Then it hit pay dirt. I rediscovered a natural emotional energy that put my mind into a laser focus clearing the fog and lies away just enough to stop my self destruction and restart the rebuilding I began in the winter. The emotional energy that saved me from turning my head into goo goes by the name of pure fucking spite.

I realized that my idiocy levels had reached a critical mass when the Cupidi in hazmat suits who seem to be , in Russian , bitching about extracting me to go get recharged . They came down to take me back to a containment unit that will refill my cynicism back to optimal and lethal fuck off capacity. After my IV of coffee and Monster™ grape was removed I was set loose again into the wilds of Southeast Portland to reconnect my brain with seething hatred that I somehow misplaced my hatred during the heartache attack between Southeast Division and Southeast Clinton street where I was bludgeoned with a baseball bat by the woman who was wearing cat ears. I was on a time limit because I had to do this quickly and retract my steps before my appointment with a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner at two P.M later that day. I managed to find my hatred , my senses and a new found desire to attack any human with those fucking anime cat ears on their head and entered the office and was treated like a human being not a Cro Magnon sociopath who might try to kill people on the train, it was a nice change of pace honestly.

We talked about my past trauma and some of the diagnosis that where off base and some that came close to the mark but the main thing we talked about was the depression, the depression that had me looking for a gun as a treatment plan. This Nurse Practitioner pinpointed everything that I had to hide from others or train myself not to do in less than thirty minutes, Let me give you a bit of perspective.

Most of the mental health professionals I worked with in the past used a method I call flow chart counseling, example:

Therapist sees me walk into the door, therapist will ask if I drink if yes how many drinks in a week, if no move on to the next question. Therapist: Mister Cromag do you drink?

Me: yeah, I like a good beer, or wine I take a shinning to good bourbons as well.

“Therapist now flows to follow up questions”

Therapist: How many drinks per week?

Me: Well, I like to have a drink that pairs with my dinner and some weekends I’ll have a bit more during games or socialization depending on who’s around.

“Therapist now moves down to alcoholism”

Therapist: how long have you been an alcoholic?

Me: I’m sorry what?

Therapist: You binge drink Mister Cromag, more than four drinks per week means substance abuse.

Me: No it means I like the taste of a stout. “Moves down the chart to denial”

Therapist: We need to find you an addiction specialist.

Me: You think my drinking is bad, wait until I tell you about my porn collection.

After that exchange I was referred to a physical therapist to help with carpal tunnel and after a traumatized therapist had to call security all while frantically trying to find a flowchart for the psychotically horny they made a suggestion about me having an Oedipus complex.

So you now see what I mean, a lot of professionals never got to the heart of it and there are other stories where I’ve had the professionals all but sneer at me when my symptoms are presented. So this Nurse Practitioner was a nice change of pace and with the discussion about my issues, what I thought I might have been dealing with (sometimes people see that I do have some form of intelligence and not just hit thing with club real hard unga bunga) we then worked out what medication I needed to treat the thing I was dreading, being diagnosed with Bipolar 1.

Bipolar and ADHD share many of the same characteristics and as I’ve learned if you have one the other is more than likely there it just needs to be screened for. Bipolar is also a hereditary form of mental illness which makes it a bit unique where others are mostly trauma induced but Bipolar just kinda waits for something to happen and when nothing does it creates its own fun. To add to this good time Bipolar is classified as a “mood disorder” your highs are hyperactive boarderlining and often going into a full true manic state of mind and body, not nearly as fun as it sounds. Then the lows are soul crushing affairs that amplify the depression and then takes the lies you brain tells you and creates a story based on people around you, your fears, past trauma and then makes you this poisoned lullaby cake that tastes like candy feels like medicine until you fall to your knees paralyzed and the fangs sink into your back and you see too late what is having you for dinner tonight.

So that’s a quick and blurry on Bipolar 2, I have Bipolar 1 which means I get all of that plus the added fun of hallucinations, and not the type Terrence Mckenna taught us about. These are things that just manifest as if they are real life like if you were in a film and it was edited without warning and in this new situation you now have to improvise a reality, any reality, this is why I take *drugs prescribed and other. The other issue is that it feels like my memories get remixed and things that happened now have a new twist, a paranoid hurtful twist. Good example of this is when I was making a terminal wishlist and believed that there were people who truly wanted me to die because I interpreted their actions as malicious. Another example is I was walking home to the apartments around ten or twelve years ago, I was walking home at the time with groceries and when I got through the front door there was construction going on at the apartment above me. I sleep days and at best i’ll get four hours due to shit employer, new born child, a girlfriend that was Sybil the next generation who completely refused to get treatment because she was a psych major and thought she was the heroin to overcome all odds in a lifetime movie. So on top of this my mental illness is not in check, no insurance and if I mention medication at work I could get fired.

I wish this was a part I made up but I mentioned I was on antidepressants at one time and they removed me from two positions back to entry level until I got clean off celexa, Not allowed to do the fun drugs and then punished for using the boring ones no idea why I stayed there for eight and a half years.

Back to the construction, I get home try to put my groceries away and one of the workers says he needs to do something in the bedroom I tell him to get bent , he calls me a fat fuck and I proceed to beat him bloody! Except it never happened, I woke up beating my fist bloody onto the tiled floor of the kitchen where I had started to put away my groceries until I jumped into this other reality, I’m just happy the kid wasn’t home because it might have scared her and made her cry and knowing I made her cry hurts the worst, I would have attempted that second suicide earlier. This freaked me out I’ve never had an hallucination like this I was scared, when I told then girlfriend hoping to get support or at least pointed in the direction on where to look she labeled me a schitzophrentic started talking to me as if I was going to flip out and that I was even more dangerous. I let that turn around in my head for years thinking that this was the linchpin to me being broken and with the way she talked to me I believed I didn’t deserve help. This was one of the main reasons I had to kill myself after she took my daughter away.

Like a few million other miserable , confused people out there I didn’t know a blessed thing about what was happening, I remembered the mental abuse and emotional abuse from the church, and some had argued physical and neglectful abuse I recieved at the hands of my family or my mother’s husbands who told my mother to no provide for me but instead buy him a new toy car. My step sister who somehow hates the knot headed reprobate more than I do stole his precious camaro and rear ended a Semi. After learning she was ok I fell on the floor laughing because all I could think about was this NASCAR addicted stunted man child calling his mommy to whine about a broken toy, to add to this mental image he was wearing a blue jean diaper and clutching a plush Richard Petty teddy bear.

There’s more but I don’t feel the need to talk about school bus drivers and me losing memory of one full year of my life, bullying at the hands of adults and children alike. I feel like that would be redundant and unfortunately all too common a story I’ve heard from so many people in my life, friends, lovers , coworkers the fucking homeless people who talk with me after I give them beer money. Leaving some of the genetic issues aside you bastards need to understand how wide spread some of these traumas are for fuck sake my motley of misfits are all walking trauma case studies and instead of getting help YOU people ridiculed them, or gave them the greatest useless sentence in the english language which is :

“Just get over it.”

Do you know what I would like to see? I want to see all of us survivors roaming the streets like that piss poor movie they claimed was a horror movie the Purge and with a list not unlike the list owned by the man that comes around Johnny Cash sang about during his song of the rapture, and I see men, women, and nonbinary people going to the address of those passive aggressive twits and beating them within an inch of their life, then carving into their chest (backwards) “get over it” then we move on to the homes of the rapists and tell them “you asked for this” before destroying their cocks with battery acid. The screams in the night would be glorious with the bats acting like percussion and the screams keyboard swells it would be like Front 242 unplugged. Maybe then the sniveling pretentious nra members out there will learn a bit. At best, it would be fair warning not to be passive aggressive asshole and learn a bit of compassion and mindfulness or to just get their heads out of their ass about battles they know nothing about if they want to avoid severe head trauma that one can not just simply get over.

Living with mental illness is not easy at any level whether a small bit of depression after a breakup or full blown PTSD after a brutal rape that leaves one unable to leave their house. Whomever has these afflictions are the ones suffering and your feelings of inconvenience or fear of those sufferers need to be thrown into the Willamette river, I would say you need to follow suit but there’s enough garbage in this river you can fuck off into a trash compactor.

Living is the hardest thing I do but I keep finding ways to stop the thoughts from taking over and I will and have done whatever it took to not die and sometimes the only way I was able to beat the mental illness was being bat shit insane. Some people think I’m a drug addict, others just think I need to talk to my old invisible friend, a few well meaning souls have suggested psychedelics and these people are pure and I will castrate any who try and stop them from their holy work from the almighty Bob. what I do need is to find that bitch with the **baseball bat and introduce them to a proper bonfire that I’m going to roast one of those little commie Cupidi on, oh yes I want my revenge for St Louis.

*the drugs in question are cannabis for the most part, when I’m spinning hard it helps tune me down and when the depression hits it shuts up the thoughts that plague me. Not a cure all nor is it a replacement for proper medication and therapy. I like to think of it a supplemental medicine that has the added effect of making Tool sound even more epic and letting me sleep peacefully.

** all wildy violent, funny and or cartoonish descriptions written about are there to be funny and entertaining no Cupidi do not exist and the Cat ear person does but the assault was less bloody and didn’t involve a bat but it was far more traumatizing.

#gvaf #bourbonsexual #mental illness #suicide #abuse #Gonzo Journalism

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penguin-writes-books · 6 years

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That Damned Universe - Chapter 3

AO3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Geometry dragged on, Cyrus glancing up at TJ as many times as he could within the forty minutes without drawing attention. Every single time he did, however, TJ immediately looked away. "Something's going on there," Cyrus said as he and Buffy walked out of class, his brows furrowed. "And now I have to deal with whatever it is tonight after library work." "Waiting for that shoe to drop," Buffy groaned. Just as they turned the corner to go downstairs, TJ brushed past them, knocking into Buffy as he jogged down the stairs. "Well alright then," she huffed. "That was weird," Cyrus noted, turning to the side to look at Buffy as he walked. "Did you put glass in his cereal this morning?" "No, rat poison. The glass went in his coffee," Buffy deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

"I swear, he was not like that before. He used to be nice!" Cyrus exclaimed, leading Buffy towards their dormitory and up the stairs. "Hey, wanna come see my room?" "Will TJ be there?" "If he is, Lord knows he'll just turn on his heel and leave," Cyrus shrugged, rounding a corner to climb the next flight of stairs. "Fair enough," Buffy shrugged, reaching the third floor with a sigh. "Please tell me this is your floor." "One more, sorry," Cyrus said, ignoring Buffy's pout and starting up the last flight of stairs. "Alright, any further and we'll have to start tunneling through the roof," Buffy huffed. "Well, that was the plan, but now that you say it something tells me the administration would be a little annoyed," Cyrus joked, walking down the hall. "Yes, just a touch." "I guess we'll have to settle for my room," he shrugged, opening his door. TJ was sitting on his bed, reading a book. "Hey, TJ," Cyrus said. "Hey, Cy-" TJ looked up as Buffy followed him inside. "I've gotta go," he said quickly, standing up. "I'll- uh - leave you two alone." "Oh- okay," Cyrus said, turning to the side so TJ could get past him. TJ couldn't have left fast enough, and Cyrus was pretty sure he heard him running down the hall after the door shut. "Behold, in theaters everywhere-" Buffy said, gesturing to the door. "He Hates Buffy Driscoll." "And the alternate title- He Doesn't Know Buffy Driscoll," Cyrus rebutted. "I'm sure he'd like you if he got to know you-you're pretty similar, you know." "I resent that statement," Buffy responded, sitting on Cyrus's bed, back against the wall. "Hey! He's nice," Cyrus defended, sitting next to her. "Not to me," Buffy snorted. "I saw him in the hallway in the Lowry Center earlier- he literally fell trying to get away from me! He is very much disliked by people who aren't his twin sister or his teammates." "I like him," Cyrus grumbled, hugging a pillow to his chest. "Oh no," Buffy groaned. "Oh no no no. Cyrus no. You do not like him!" "What? of course I do! I have to live with him for- Buffy no!" Cyrus stopped mid-sentence, realizing what Buffy meant. "What? It's obvious! TJ looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky!" "Buffy, stop it," Cyrus said, more seriously. "Come on, Cyrus." "Buffy! I said stop! I don't want to have this conversation with you right now." "You're allowed to have a crush! You could have better taste, however..." "God, shut up! I am not talking about this! "Cyrus, come on! You are clearly in love with him!" "Alright, I have library duty," Cyrus huffed, standing up. "I'd tell you to lock up when you leave, but you don't have keys, so..." "Are you kicking me out?" Buffy asked, following Cyrus to the door. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," Cyrus responded, locking his door. "I've gotta go, see you tomorrow," he said coldly, turning and walking down the hall towards the back doors, which were closest to the library. Cyrus walked all the way to the library in a huff, his brows furrowed in confusion. He smiled at Mrs. Bell when he walked in. "Cyrus! You're here! Good, we have lots to do tonight," she said, standing up from her desk. "The cart of books to be shelved is right over there." She gestured to a cart of new books, nearly overflowing. "Oh, oh my gosh." "Of course, we don't expect you to get it all done now," Mrs. Bell added quickly. "Thank goodness," Cyrus sighed. "Alright, you two can get to work now," Mrs. Bell said, clapping her hands together. "Wait- two of us? What?" Just as Mrs. Bell opened her mouth to respond, the library's phone rang. She picked it up, and settled for pointing over Cyrus's shoulder, to where TJ had come to the cart for an armload of books. "Just my luck," Cyrus muttered, walking up next to TJ for a stack of books to shelve. "Cyrus? What are you doing here?" TJ asked upon noting Cyrus in his peripheral vision. "Working," Cyrus said, holding up the books in his arms as evidence. "That damned universe, huh?" "Yeah," TJ chuckled, following Cyrus towards the shelves of historical fiction. "I thought you were hanging out with your, uh, girlfriend?" "What?" Cyrus asked, glancing over his shoulder at TJ. "Your girlfriend? The one you were like just hanging out with?" "Buffy?" Cyrus laughed as he began to alphabetize the books in his hands, putting them away as he did. "Assuming that's her name, yes. That's the one." "No, no. Buffy's just a friend. She, Andi and I have been best friends since we were little kids," Cyrus explained. "And you all got into Lincoln?" "Well, you and your twin sister both did," Cyrus pointed out. "Fair enough, I guess," TJ laughed, moving a book to the side to put another on the shelf. "So, you three have been best friends since you were little?" "Yeah," Cyrus chuckled, shifting the books in his arms. "Since we met in kindergarten." "Good." "Good?" Cyrus asked. "Yeah, good. You deserve that." "Deserve what?" Cyrus laughed gently, looking at TJ out of the corner of his eye. "That whole thing," TJ said, gesturing vaguely. "The best friends thing. The always being there for each other thing, the never fighting thing." "We don't never fight," Cyrus said sadly, thinking back to Buffy- and then subsequently Andi, who was probably by now incredibly angry with him. "You okay?" TJ asked softly. "Y-yeah, I'm alright," Cyrus stammered, wiping his eyes, glad to find no tears pooling there. "Just nervous about PE on Wednesday. We're playing dodgeball and I am very much the underdog in this fight." "Hey, the underdog can win the fight!" TJ defended. "Have you learned nothing in American Studies?" he teased, leading Cyrus back to the book cart. "It's the first day!" "Of your entire education?" TJ rebutted, following Cyrus to the romance section. "...Point taken. I know the underdog can win, but I am not just the underdog. I am the human version of a rock." "So you...Change states under pressure?" "Yes, lots of metamorphism in my life," Cyrus joked, scowling at a book he was putting away. "Sidenote- this section of the library should be burned." "Now we know what the fine people of Alexandria were thinking!" TJ exclaimed sarcastically. "Hush, you." Cyrus and TJ worked around each other until 5:30, talking mindlessly as they shelved the new books. "Cyrus, TJ! Time's up, you two. You gotta go to your dorm or I am breaking school rules," Mrs. Bell called from her desk. TJ and Cyrus both sighed, plopping the last of the books they were holding on the cart before making their way out of the library. "Goodnight Mrs. Bell!" Cyrus called over his shoulder as he left. "See you Friday!" TJ added, holding the door open for Cyrus. Cyrus and TJ walked side by side back to their dorm, their hands brushing every so often. Cyrus glanced up at TJ, who looked like he was somewhere else entirely; he was clearly very much lost in thought. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, then clamped it shut again- if TJ wanted to talk, he would. "Hey, you okay?" Damn it. Apparently, his mouth hadn't gotten the memo. "Oh, yeah," TJ dismissed him vaguely, opening Stanford's back door. "...Just had a bad day." "Wanna talk?" Cyrus asked, following him inside. "I...Don't know yet," TJ shrugged. "I just had some problems with my friends." "That makes two of us," Cyrus sighed. "You, Crackle and Pop fought?" TJ asked incredulously. "Did you just equate me and my best friends to the mascots of a breakfast cereal? And make me Snap?" "Yes I did," TJ nodded. "Do you want to talk about it?" "I guess. Buffy and I just... Had an argument. And I kicked her out. And now Andi is undoubtedly mad at me for it." "Buffy's the tall, weirdly intimidating one, right?" "That's her," Cyrus chuckled, walking down the hallway. "So...If you don't mind me asking, what happened?" "Oh- oh, nothing!" Cyrus waved him off, opening their door. "Something stupid." "Fair enough. My friends and I got into a fight today, too." "Ah. What happened with you guys?" "Nothing, nothing. Something stupid, you know the drill," TJ said, casually taking off his white button down to replace it with a pajama shirt. "Ah, I- I know it well," Cyrus stammered, looking anywhere and everywhere that was not occupied by his roommate's stupid muscles. "Guess we're in the same boat here then," TJ said, pulling on a t-shirt and taking a pair of sweatpants out of his drawer. "Be right back," he said absentmindedly, disappearing into the bathroom to change. "...I guess we are."

#andi mack #tyrus #that damned universe fic #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #buffy driscoll

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pikelanette · 5 years

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A Pirate’s Life For Me (chapter 6)

AND FINALLY! The thrilling finale!

Pairing: pikelan Words: 5155 Rated: M (for language) Link: ao3 Chapter 1: tumblr / ao3 Chapter 2: tumblr / ao3 Chapter 3: tumblr / ao3 Chapter 4: tumblr / ao3 Chapter 5: tumblr / ao3

a multi-chapter pikelan pirate AU - chapter 6 - final chapter

The next day was the weirdest day they’d had yet. They had nothing to work on anymore except prepping for the upcoming fight, and it left them both a little awkward and a little restless. From the look on Pike’s face, sometimes, Scanlan guessed that she had a lot more questions, but for some reason she wasn’t asking any of them. Maybe it was because she didn’t want to waste another spell on making him tell the truth on a day where she would probably need to be at full power, and she didn’t trust him to answer truthfully without it. That thought was a little disappointing, but it could be the case.

They spent the larger part of the day trying to prepare to the best of their abilities. Pike put on the pieces of her armour she had put aside for comfort and spent a good long while praying over her holy symbol. Scanlan tried to see if the amulet responded to her in any way, but if it did, he couldn’t pick up on it. There was nothing visual, at least.

He, thankfully, felt a lot better than the day before. A night’s rest had done him good, and although he realised that he wasn’t exactly at full physical strength yet, the magic inside of him was humming contently and he knew that he would have no problem with throwing out some bolts of lightning.

They grew tenser as time passed, because they knew that the moment of truth had to be getting closer. Particularly Scanlan, who knew the rate at which his friends must be approaching them, had a fair estimation of how long it would take before they arrived, and the anticipation that was constantly rising within him seemed to be picked up on by Pike.

They smiled nervously at each other a couple of times, and Scanlan found himself pre-emptively mourning the time they had spent locked up in this brig together. there was nothing he wanted more than to sleep in his own bed, but the thought that that might cost him Pike made him flinch. He had gotten irrationally attached to her in the past two weeks. And, no, that wasn’t just because she was basically his dream woman. Well, maybe it was.

She was his dream woman, okay? He was only human. How could he not get super attached to her?

So, for whatever time they had left, he revelled in the feeling of being in the same boat together. They looked at each other like they shared a secret, and they did, and he loved it. He wanted to share all of his secrets with her. He wanted, for the moment, to pretend that he did.

It was about mid-afternoon when something in the air changed. They started hearing mumbling from above deck, and then running, and shouting. The voices grew more panicked the more they picked up, and Scanlan knew instinctually that the pirates above deck must be watching his friends approach at the incredible speed that Keyleth could create when blowing air into a ship’s sails.

The pirate’s rising panic delighted him, and he felt a grin take over his expression. The time for mourning was over. Only excitement at the upcoming confrontation remained.

He looked at Pike, who took a cue from his obvious amusement and smiled back at him in anticipation.

“Almost there?” she whispered, as though she could ruin it by speaking up.

“Oh, yes,” Scanlan grinned.

Right at that moment, he could hear a soft, metallic voice, that grew louder and clearer as the seconds past.

“Scanlan? Are we in range?”

He lifted his hand to his ear and touched it to his earring. “I hear ya, Kiki.”

“Scanlan!” He could hear the obvious relief in Keyleth’s voice at hearing him, “Oh my gods, it’s so good to hear your voice. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Good job finding us. I’m in the ship’s brig with another prisoner. I could break through the lock, but I’d like to keep some element of surprise and jump them from below as well as above. Can you send in Vax?”

Pike was staring at him, a little slack-jawed, and visibly getting more excited.

“I’ll polymorph him and bring him to you,” Keyleth told him. He could hear the smile in her voice. “We’re about half a minute out. I just stopped the extra wind, so we should be slowing down enough not to pass them by. Did you say something about an extra prisoner?”

“Excellent. And yes. She’s with us. Bring her a weapon.” He glanced at Pike and smiled at her. “Any preference, Pike?”

“Do you have a maul?”

Scanlan touched his earring again. “Bring the Brawlers maul.”

Pike looked at him like he had just offered her a pile of gold.

“Done,” Keyleth said, “I’ll see you in half a minute. And, Scanlan? I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“See you soon, Kiki,” he smiled, and broke the connection.

Pike was inspecting him with a hint of suspicion, but she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “Did you say the Brawlers?”

“Yup.”

“The notorious pirates who claim they’re all descended from dragons?”

“They’re full of shit. But yes.”

Pike shook her head in disbelief and laughed a little. “Why do you have their maul?”

Scanlan grinned and, emboldened, reached out to take her hand and bring it up to his mouth so he could kiss it. “They didn’t deserve it. That’s why we’re getting it a new wielder.”

Pike giggled and his very favourite blush rose to her perfect round cheeks.

His heart felt like it might burst. This was the best day of his life.

“Are you ready?” he asked her, “Things are about to get crazy.”

She sent him a dramatically scandalised look. “Scanlan. Who are you talking to?”

“Someone who’s about to kick some pirate ass?”

“Someone who’s about to obliterate some pirate ass.”

He hummed appreciatively. “I’d like a front row seat to that.”

She grinned. “First come first served.”

At that moment, there was a flutter of movement in the brig, and they looked up to see a small robin making its way towards them, flapping its wings enthusiastically. As it approached the bars to their cell, it started glowing, and, like a flower unfurling its petals, shifted into a tall, red-haired woman holding a staff. There was a maul hanging from a belt around her hips. She had a huge, happy smile on her face, and Pike liked her instantly.

“You’re still looking like that, huh?” she said to Scanlan, clearly happy to see him, even in his disguised form.

“You know I love a good costume.”

“Touché.” The woman’s gaze drifted to the gnome beside him and curiously looked over Pike – her full plate armour, white hair, the scar that ran across her left eye.

“Kiki?” Scanlan said, “The Vax, please?”

“Oh! Sorry!” She reached up and pulled a tiny spider from her messy red hair, putting it onto the ground beside her and dropping the spell she had put on it.

Another shift took place, this one reminding Pike more of an egg shell breaking to reveal a creature within. She blinked, and there was another person in the brig with them. This one had long, dark hair and a wicked grin on his face. He pulled out some thieves’ tools from his pockets and twirled them between his fingers. “Captain,” he said.

Scanlan didn’t dare to glance at Pike with that word hanging in the air.

She definitely heard that.

Above them, the fight had broken loose, and they heard shouts as well as small explosions and the unmistakable splash of someone hitting the water beside the ship.

Vax got to work immediately and within seconds he had picked the lock, swinging open the door to the cell, allowing Scanlan and Pike to rush out. Neither of them looked back before the four of them started rushing up the stairs. But, as they did, Pike reached for Scanlan’s hand and took it.

Something inside of him caught fire.

This was the happiest day of his life.

The hatch to the brig was slightly ajar and Vax learned over to gently lift it a little further and peek out. The sounds of the battle grew even louder, and Pike could feel the familiar adrenaline rushing through her veins at the proximity of a good fight. Gods, she wished Grog was here.

Vax motioned that they had to keep quiet for another moment as he reached into his belt and pulled out a mean-looking dagger. While he did, Keyleth removed the maul from her belt and quietly handed it to Pike with a smile. Pike returned her smile with as much warmth as she could muster and weighted the weapon in her hand. Then, she brought it up with her as she touched her holy symbol and sent a quick prayer to Sarenrae to help her face this.

Before she even finished, Vax flicked a dagger into the fray, and then two more. Pike couldn’t distinguish the cries of pain from each other, but the grin on the rogue’s face told her that he had definitely hit his target.

“Let’s go!” he said, and pushed open the hatch.

They rushed onto the ship’s deck and, immediately, Pike was a little disoriented. Everywhere around her people were running and shouting. There was the sound of metal upon metal and spells being flung around, recognisable, familiar sounds, but there were others sounds too, and she followed them to their sources. Her eyes widened at the things she saw.

There was a woman on a flying broom, racing over the fray, with an enormous longbow in her hands and a grin on her face that immediately identified her as Vax’s sibling. She shouted something down and Pike followed her gaze to an actual living grizzly bear that was running across the deck and mauling pirates left and right. Vax jumped into the battle as well, sneaking behind barrels and dodging opponents before pushing daggers into their flesh, his eyes flashing darkly as he released poison and fire into their bloodstream. Near the ship’s helm stood a tall human with a shock of white hair and a strange mechanical contraption in his hand. He looked impeccable in his blue coat as he pulled the trigger on the thing and shot fast-moving projectiles across the deck, incapacitating people left and right.

Pike and Scanlan looked at each other, identical grins on their faces. Scanlan wiggled his eyebrows and squeezed her hand. And, for the first time in weeks, Pike threw her head back and let out a good spell of laughter. With that, they let go of each other.

Pike gripped her maul and finished the prayer to Sarenrae that had been cut off earlier. With that, she spoke the divine words that had protected her so many times before, and sent out a spike of radiant energy, making good on the promise she had made herself so many weeks ago and getting a good ol’ Guiding Bolt right up a pirate’s butt.

Scanlan sauntered forward to get a better vantage point and sent his first Lightning Bolt towards the piece of shit who had ordered his capture two weeks ago. He didn’t hit on the first one, but immediately let out another, and this one hit home. The captain twitched and straightened out as the electrical charge rushed through his body, some of it sparking off his rapier.

Scanlan laughed heartily at the sight and kept approaching, ignoring the rest of the fighting crew on the ship. One or two of them attempted to hit him, but both missed and he stepped out of the way deftly. Before long he had the captain’s attention, and he could see the confusion take over his expression as he looked at the meek, scruffy halfling with a most uncharacteristic grin on his face. Scanlan oozed confidence, and he felt suave. He felt in his element.

He was in his element: he was about to drop a bomb of drama on this poor soul.

“You are not having a good day,” he said gleefully.

The captain actually let his rapier lower for a moment, staring at this tiny creature slack-jawed. Then something seemed to click, and although Scanlan was sure that he couldn’t see through his illusion, exactly, it was clear that the pirate now knew there was one.

“Who the fuck are you?” the captain barked, clinging on to his dignity and bringing up his rapier again. He tried to look imposing, but Scanlan wasn’t having any of it.

“Who am I?” he repeated, happy with the set-up. He could feel the eyes of others on him, friends as well as enemies. He was sure that one pair was Pike’s. He finally got to show her where his biggest strength lay.

Theatrics.

“Well, I have many names,” he continued smoothly. “The Meat Man. Burt Reynolds. Kingslayer. Francois Bertrand Jean-Luc Australia. But you, my friend, probably know me as Aes Adon.”

The pirate looked as though he was watching a guillotine being raised with every name that Scanlan uttered. He grinned at him, ready to drop it and chop off his head.

“And this,” he continued, spreading his arms to gesture towards the crew that was quickly overpowering the ship, “Is Vox Machina.”

With that, he dropped his illusion, watching as the full realisation of who they were dealing with washed over his rival’s features.

“Vex’ahlia!” Scanlan shouted, and immediately he was approached by the half-elven ranger, who reached for something hanging from her belt and dropped a dark brown tricorne into his hands, adorned with purple feathers and the odd dragon-scale or two. He drew it onto his head, and felt as though he had undergone a transformation that ran far deeper than just dropping an illusion.

Now, he was a force to be reckoned with. Now, he was Aes Adon. Captain of Vox Machina.

The rival captain’s shock morphed into rage within seconds, and Scanlan steadied himself to prepare for his oncoming attack. His rival roared and came at him, the tip of his rapier aimed at his gut, but Scanlan stepped away just in time and the blade merely nicked his side. The joys of being a gnome.

He brought up his own hands and traced an arcane sigil in the air while muttering a few words. Immediately, a huge, spectral hand appeared and lifted him up above the deck, out of the reach of the pirate captain’s rapier. He swung it at him one more time, but only caught the hand’s form, which didn’t falter on its way up.

Scanlan couldn’t keep the grin from his face and he quickly surveyed the battlefield, unwilling to admit that he was looking for Pike until he found her in the crowd.

She was staving off an enemy with maul and then turned to look at him up in the air. Her eyes were wide and bright blue.

Pike just stared up at the fixture in front of her, who both was and was not the person she had spent two weeks locked up in a cell with. He looked so comfortable like this, with the grin on his face, wearing his real visage proudly, the ridiculously ostentatious hat on his head.

Everything fell into place.

“Pirate-robbing pirate,” Pike stammered, and everything made sense now. Why he had targeted these pirates. Their conversation on piracy. His unease with letting her know who he was. The vagueness which had cloaked his true intentions. Even the rough way of speaking that sometimes overpowered his more charming lilt.

He was a pirate. Of course he was. He was a pirate captain.

He was Aes Adon.

She had little to no information on Vox Machina, except that they hit who they could hit and were impossible to track. Looking over the crew that he had brought with him, Pike could definitely see how they were an unconventional lot. A bear at sea, for example, was not exactly something she would have expected.

But they looked powerful. And she was glad to be on their side.

She grinned at Scanlan, finally unbound, having thrown off the limits he had put on himself and showing his bardic prowess in all its glory. Purple looked good on him.

They gazed at each other in the midst of the battle, and then, smoothly, Pike lifted up her maul and pointed it at him. “You and I need to talk!”

“Now?!” he yelled back, but he was still grinning, and seemed pleased with her response.

“After!”

With that, she threw herself back into the fight, her adrenaline fuelled by her excitement at finally knowing who exactly she was dealing with. She had no time to consider anything but how neatly her image of Scanlan fit into that of Aes Adon. Vaguely, she registered that someone was laughing loudly, having heard their exchange. She glanced to the side to see the source and found the rogue with the daggers, Vax, laughing and shaking his head. He caught her gaze and winked at her, before somehow disappearing into some of the shadows cast over the ship by the midday sun.

After that, the fight was over quickly. Pike got some good Guiding Bolts in, one of them scorching the bastard captain who had overpowered her own crew so violently over a month before. It felt good to pay him back, although she knew that there was nothing she could do to him that would somehow make up for the lives he had taken that day.

She loved the feel of the maul she had been given, swinging it left and right whenever she felt like, before reaching for her holy symbol again to communicate Sarenrae’s wrath.

Before long, most of the enemy pirates were crawling, and then the last one fell to one of the fast projectiles that the white-haired human was shooting into the crowd. Pike looked up at him as the battlefield quieted down. Somewhere behind her, Scanlan was walking up to the enemy captain as Vex’ahlia was binding him tightly with rope. Vax offered him one of his daggers, and Scanlan took it as he approached his fallen enemy.

But Pike’s eyes stayed on the gunslinger. There was dark smoke coming from the barrel of his weapon, and he hadn’t lowered it yet. There was something hard and dark about his eyes, and, for a moment, she could swear that she saw some of his weapon’s smoke coalesce and drift down his arm. She knew, instantly, that something was wrong with him, and shivered at the sight.

Then he put down his weapon and the darkness faded. He was just a man.

Suspicious, but satisfied for the moment, Pike turned away from him and looked at where Scanlan stood in front of the bound captain.

He tapped the ropes with Vax’s dagger. “There we go. Neat little packages for Emon’s Crown. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see you.”

The pirate captain spat at him, but Scanlan’s hand sneaked up to slap him just before he did, and his spit landed on the deck beside his comrades’ blood.

Scanlan looked at Vex’ahlia. “Maybe gag him?”

“It would be my pleasure,” she answered, and reached over to do just that.

Once the pirate captain was silenced, Scanlan looked him over again. “You have made many mistakes in your life, Harold,” he said, “And kidnapping me was far from the worst of them. I hope others may learn from your mistakes. It becomes rather dull to have nothing but enemies who fall for every trap I lay for them.”

The twins chuckled.

“Let it be known,” Scanlan smiled, “That today, once again, Vox Machina triumphed.”

His crew cheered, and he grinned, and everything was wonderful. There was nothing like the adrenaline rush that he got from a good fight. He felt ecstatic.

As soon as the end of the battle had been officially proclaimed, he was hounded by his crew about all sorts of things. The cook wanted to know whether he should use the special meat for tonight, Keyleth offered to do a Heroes Feast for the occasion, Percy chimed in to say that he had had a thought and wanted some extra materials to work on something, Vax was cajoling him, the younger crew members were congratulating him on the great mission, and Vex was still poking Harold with a stick behind him, resulting in some fairly interesting noises from the bound-up captain.

By the time things had settled down a little again, he had momentarily lost track of Pike. He’d meant to, of course – he couldn’t seem like he was paying anyone special attention.

He had grown up in an environment where it was very dangerous to let people know that you cared about something, and that education still pushed to the surface sometimes. He knew that he could trust his people. But still.

He really did have trust issues, did he? Wow…

Right as he had that realisation, his gaze locked in on Pike, who was tending to some of the wounded. Their usual healers were with her, helping both magically and mostly non-magically, but Pike was dead in the centre of it all. It looked like people had just flocked towards her, and Scanlan wondered whether that happened to her any place she went.

She was bandaging one of the deck mates and muttered a short incantation that seemed to help with sealing up his wounds. Then she turned around and put a hand on one of the unconscious members of the crew, and hesitated. Scanlan watched as Pike looked up again with a frown and looked around for a moment, inspecting the small crowd that had gathered around her. She steadied herself for a moment and reached for her holy symbol and then let out a shockwave of radiant energy that started to stitch up the wounds of various of the people around her. The crew was clearly in awe of her. As they should be. She was incredible.

Vax’s hand fell on his shoulder with a smack and he was shaken out of his thoughts. He looked up at his friend to find the familiar, shit-eating grin on his face.

Scanlan sighed, but couldn’t keep a smile from his face. “Whatcha got, Vax?”

“It really isn’t much about what I’ve got,” Vax grinned, “As much as it is about what you’ve got, my friend. Of course, I’m referring to the exquisite companion you’ve somehow managed to pick up.”

“Yeah, Scanlan,” Vex said as she joined them, “Where did she come from? She looks adorable.”

“She’s a badass,” Vax corrected her immediately.

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Not in her, they aren’t,” Scanlan affirmed. He looked back over to where Pike was helping his crew. “What can I say? She was just a very lovely surprise that I found down here.”

There was something about the quiet after he said that that didn’t sit right with him. There were so many things he wanted to say about Pike, and he was horrible at keeping all of it inside.

“She honestly saved me,” he finally admitted, “She kept me up and running while we were stuck in that ship. She really took care of me, in a multitude of ways. It was… honestly a gift.”

If he had said it in a tone that was any less sincere than this, he was sure that the twins would have jumped on him with a decent amount of provocative jokes about what exactly he had received from Pike in all of those weeks. But, as it stood now, Vax and Vex just looked at each other briefly, Vex raising one of her eyebrows, and that was that.

They took a moment, and then Vax squeezed Scanlan’s shoulder. “Well, then you should probably go talk to her, right?”

“Maybe.”

“Scanlan,” Vex said with a delighted gasp, “Are you nervous?”

Scanlan ignored her and turned to face them, running his fingers through his hair. “How do I look?”

“Ruggedly handsome,” Vax deadpanned.

“Very charming,” Vex agreed.

Well. He was willing to settle for that.

“Alright,” he said softly to himself, and then he was off.

By now, most of the people around Pike had stepped aside to tend to rest of their wounds on their own. Pike was still helping some of them with slings and bandages, but it seemed that she was tapped out when it came to her healing spells. That wasn’t surprising, of course, considering the shit she had pulled out of her figurative closet during that fight.

She was sitting on an upturned crate, the maul she had used resting beside her, blood and sweat gathered on her brow. The sun was starting to go down in earnest, and Scanlan got a perfect view of the way that the low light gave her hair a golden sheen. The sun was right behind her, and he had to squint a little, and, by the gods, was she an actual angel? Had he lost blood? He was getting dizzy.

He absent-mindedly reached for the place where Harold had nicked him, and, sure enough, his vest was pretty moist with blood, although the flow seemed to have stopped already. He quickly muttered a Healing Word to himself to help his body along.

Pike looked up at him now, and when she noticed him her mouth pulled up into a gorgeous smile that made his stomach do a twirly thing inside of his body.

She got up from the crate, her hands instinctively reaching for the maul again. That’s how she stood before him – covered in grime from the fight, a damaged maul in her hand, her holy symbol having that soothing glow across it that he had seen only once before, and a grin on her freckled face. Her hair was an absolute mess, which made him feel better about his own, and she was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen in his life.

“So,” she said.

“So,” he parroted, feeling too much like an awkward teenager. He attempted to fix it by plastering a smile onto his face, but it couldn’t entirely conceal the nervousness he was feeling, standing before her in all of his infamous glory.

“Pirate-robbing pirate captain,” she observed.

“Amongst other things.”

He remembered the intimacy between them when he had last spoken those words in her Zone Of Truth, and Pike seemed to remember too, because there was a spark in her eyes and just the tiniest hint of that lovely blush rising to her cheeks. She didn’t look embarrassed as much as she looked to feel a little hot. That had to be a good sign, right?

She crossed her arms and started to slowly shake her head, but there was a smile on her face that made the entire thing look loving. “You’re something else, Scanlan Shorthalt.”

And that wasn’t rejection. That absolutely wasn’t rejection.

Fuck it, he thought, and decided to be bold.

“So, what do you say, Pikey?” He reached for her hand and took it, holding it up loosely with his own and looking down at it as though he were considering where to kiss it exactly. But then he glanced up at her through his eyelashes. “Ever wanted to be a pirate?”

Pike let out a burst of laughter at his ridiculousness, but the blush on her cheeks also deepened when she realised what exactly he was saying.

Oh shit. He was asking her to stick around. Wasn’t he?

“How so?” she asked, her voice quivering lightly, “Do you have an opening?”

“We could certainly use someone with your kind of magnificent mind,” he flirted.

Pike laughed again. “You’re laying it on thick. Scared I’ll run off to the enemy?”

Scanlan glanced at the other pirate captain from the corner of his eyes. “I don’t think he could woo you away from me, exactly.”

Pike smiled, but then tried to wrap her head around the idea properly. “I’ve never considered becoming a pirate before,” she muttered, and she looked over the ship’s deck to see what she would find there.

There were the twins, who were not even hiding that they were watching them and listening in on the entire conversation. They looked excited and pleased, and Pike figured they would have no objections to her joining the crew. Even the bear seemed to be anticipating something. Keyleth, who was helping people with her bandages as she had been, had a warm smile on her face, and Pike knew instinctively that she could really use a friend. The white-haired human wasn’t paying attention. He was meticulously cleaning his gun. She remembered the darkness that had so briefly overtaken him, and she knew, just as instinctively, that there was something she could do here. If Sarenrae allowed it, she could mean something to these people. She could help them.

She looked back at Scanlan in front of her, his impish grin, his flair, and felt the way his hand was trembling slightly underneath hers. She looked into his eyes and there was something there that she had never found before.

She could help him. She could help all of them. And, maybe, they could help her.

Pike took care to bring out her best pokerface. She pursed her lips as though she was thinking this offer over, and she dragged it out just long enough, with a dramatic tension that she was sure Scanlan would be able to appreciate. He was still grinning at her, but she could see that there was something beneath the surface there. He really wanted her to stay.

Something inside of her soared.

“On one condition,” she said finally.

“Anything,” Scanlan told her eagerly, almost greedy for an opportunity to do something to sway her in his favour.

Oh yes. She could be something here.

Pike let her expression break open into a shit-eating grin that almost brought Scanlan right back to the beginning of the fight.

“We have to pick up Grog.”

It was Scanlan’s turn to soar, and he tightened his grip on Pike’s hand unintentionally. “Done.”

Pike laughed, and that sound changed the course of everything, so Scanlan grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up, sparking another burst of laughter from her perfect lips, and when he brought her down he kissed both of her cheeks and then her forehead. He lingered there for just a second, and hoped she was able to pick up on just how much this meant to him.

Then they looked at each other, faces close together, and just like the day before, Scanlan felt like she shared all of his secrets. And he wanted to share in all of hers.

#critical role #pikelan #cr fanfic #pikelansource #tameila #cr: pikelan #a pirate's life for me #original

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