#nothing new here i just realised i had never posted on here about chapter 3

[slytherizz]

Whatever it Takes - Sebastian Sallow x Female!MC/Reader

Summary: Sebastian and new fifth year girl embark down a dark path together. Both have to carry a burden far bigger than themselves. To save his sister and the wizarding world as they know it. They know what needs to be done, as they descend into a world of dark magic and it's consequences.

Kindred spirits, ready to risk it all no matter the cost to their own souls. But they may get a little more than they bargained for as their growing feelings for each other threaten their mission at every turn.

Together, they'll do whatever it takes to save the ones they hold dear. No price is too high.

You can find the entire fic on Ao3

Tags: Character Study, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Sebastian Sallow POV

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, explicit language, angst, mostly angst, no beta

A/N I realised I never actually posted my first fic here as I wasn't on tumblr when I began posting on Ao3. Literally just a 58k character study I did for Seb when the game first came out. There are of course, lots of chapters and scenes peppered throughout that aren't canon compliant as I fiddled with the timeline (Extended to 3 year time span). Reading this fic isn't necessary to skip to Part 2 'In the Shadow of Us' but may add ✨seasoning✨

Chapter 1

September, 1890

Prewitt was always insufferable, and the summer had only made the Gryffindor more arrogant. He’d come into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom bragging about some ludicrous adventure he’d had with his Aunt. Something about hitting a troll over the head with its own club whilst visiting family in the South of France. True or not it had rubbed Sebastian the wrong way. He would have loved nothing more than to have spent the summer duelling up in the hills around Feldcroft with Ominis and Anne, generally getting up to no good. Since the pains that plagued his sister, only grew worse he’d had little time to adventure across the Scottish Highlands under his uncle's strict leash.

Prewitt had raised his wand across from him, “Scared of being knocked off the top spot in the crossed wands, Sallow?”

A taunt that would have hit his mark if delivered by a better duellist. He stepped to meet the boy's challenge, he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to knock him down a few pegs. He launched three quick spells but Prewitt was on the defensive, his Protego firmly in place. Maybe he had gotten better, but not good enough. Despite trying to keep Sebastian under lock and key all summer, Solomon couldn’t be around at all times. Sebastian had been practicing too.

The fact was, Prewitt was predictable. Sebastian saw the telltale shake of his arm, his balance was off and his feet were so close together he knew he could sweep him off them. But mostly the Gryffindor didn’t commit. His spells fell short as most did when duelling and too afraid of getting the incantation wrong to really follow through with a cast. Stopping his onslaught, Sebastian let the magic thrum in his fingers. The feeling always comforted him, the hum in his blood as it pumped around his body. He paused for one second to savor it and waited biding his time. As expected, Prewitt took the bait. Dropping his Protego he threw out a shaky leg locker jinx which Sebastian quickly brushed to the side with a wave of his wand.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he crooned. Then he struck. 

Prewitt's footing wavered, losing his balance he wasn’t fast enough to protect against the spell. Just in time, the Gryffindor managed to redirect the spell up onto the great skull that loomed above their heads. The skeleton groaned as the head came loose of its moorings directly above the redhead. All the colour seemed to leech from Prewitt’s face as the enormous mass of bones quickly impressed upon him.

“Levioso!”

As quickly as it had come loose, Hecat suspended the skull just in time to save his opponent from a rather painful visit to the hospital wing. Pity. So much for the Troll Slayer. Couldn’t even defend himself against a beast that was already dead.

Hecat looked them both over, before leveling him with an exasperated look. He liked the professor, a skilled witch he admired. She understood the value of knowledge, that anything no matter how small may make all the difference in a fight. Hecat was an older woman with greying hair and a slight hunch to her shoulders one might assume her frail. Never underestimating your opponent, was a lesson learned the hard way. Not anyone can take down a dragon poacher ring, you had to be resourceful, and cunning.

The professor had launched into a speech he knew well. He’d heard it on his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, every ear in the room had pricked up, they were silent, and he remembered feeling the coil of excitement. Anne’s eyes had shone that day as she looked at the professor as if a heroine from one of her adventure books had leapt off the page. He’d groaned at it in his 3rd year when she’d caught him sneaking behind the Quidditch stands with that pretty Ravenclaw girl he’d liked instead of writing 16 inches on werewolf and nocturnal beast identification. Last year he’d cursed it. Where were the brave witches and wizards to protect Feldcroft, his hamlet to save his sister when she needed them? Why couldn’t they teach him the knowledge he needed to do it himself?

“…Knowledge. To the wise age matters very little.”

But this time it felt different. He didn’t resent hearing this tale, in fact, deep inside something stirred. That little fire inside he guarded so fiercely, quivered to attention sending a little shiver down his spine. Hecat began their lecture.

“Levioso? A levitation charm?” cried an exasperated Prewitt, Sebastian shot him a glare. But too quickly Professor had turned her attention to the Gryffindor.

“Levioso!”

Prewitt shot up all eyes to where he was now suspended in mid-air squirming. His cheeks and ears burned almost as bright as his hair. Sebastian smirked slightly, not being able to resist the curl of his lips at the boy's gangly limbs flailing in the air like the squid in the lake. He heard a small snigger from an unfamiliar voice behind him. He turned slightly. To his right trying to disguise her laughter was the new fifth-year girl that had come charging with Professor Fig at last night’s Sorting Ceremony looking a bit moon-eyed and breathless. Just as he’d once looked when he’d first walked into the great hall all those years ago. Strange to have someone wind up at Hogwarts in their fifth year, stranger still was the conspiratorial look Professor Fig had given her as he ushered her over to the lumpy old hat on the chair. Sebastian liked a mystery and someone who liked to see Prewitt made a fool of gets points in his book. She met his gaze, and he quirked an eyebrow.

Hecat then releasing the charm Prewitt fell ungracefully to the floor in a heap of limbs. He clambered up awkwardly dusting himself off before slinking to one of the desks in the darker far corner of the room. No doubt to blend in to quell the embarrassment as the rest of the class took to their seats. Sebastian settled in his favourite seat by the window.

***

Chin resting on his hand, wand in the other he lazily flicked at the Fwooper feather on his desk suspending it and letting it fall back down. The classroom buzzed around him, the clang of the practice dummy and the grumbles of a Ravenclaw boy who just couldn’t seem to grasp he was meant to be casting a spell not stirring a bloody soup with his wand movements. The sounds slowly drifted away, and he found his mind started to wander as the September sun warmed his face. He’d spent months practicing Levioso in his second year in the Undercroft whilst preparing for his first duel with the Crossed Wands. Anne had been here to help him then. Any free moment they had had been spent holed up in that secret back room adjusting their wrist movements by tiny degrees. More than once they’d caught the other a bit too hard and sent them careening a bit too high whacking their heads on the ceiling or in one instance Anne had dropped him right on top of a broken cauldron breaking his wrist in two places. The matron in the hospital wing had been suspicious but they certainly weren’t the first to wind up there due to unsanctioned duelling. So with all their limbs still attached, she didn’t pry.

Those memories had an edge to them now. What good did all their practicing do when Anne couldn’t protect herself when it really mattered? Why couldn’t he protect her when it really mattered? Since that day in the summer before their fourth year, Sebastian was more determined than before. Age didn’t matter to the wise, as Hecat always said. Now he spent hours poring over seventh-year advanced spell books and banned books on curses he’d pilfered from the restricted section. Winning at the Cross Wands had once made him gleam with pride, and his boasting probably made him an insufferable prat to be around. Now the winning didn’t taste as sweet. In his search for anything to help Anne his knowledge of spells and duelling skills had progressed far beyond what he needed for matches. He only used it as a way to sharpen his skills, he was being reckless in the duels. In some instances, three on one, pushing himself to his limit with every new spell he learnt. Some fights tougher than others, he’d been caught by a couple of stray jinxes from some of the more formidable 7th years but he’d beaten them too, all the same.

He cast his eyes across the room, Hecat was encouraging the new fifth-year girl who was striking the practice dummy suspended in mid-air. She was good.  U nrefined but quite natural in her movements so unlike the overeager predictability of Prewitt’s spellcasting. Sebastian pushed off the table to stand in the middle of the classroom to examine her closer. Her movements were rather erratic as you’d expect from someone untrained, but there was a certain fluidity to how she held herself and moved her wand as if not a tool in which to cast but a very extension of her arm. The magic that thrummed from her wasn’t something she controlled, it was a wild and untethered thing she redirected like water. The static from her magic made her stray hairs stand on end as she pulled back from her attack and let the dummy fall to the floor with a clang

Hecat smiled at the girl before catching his eye “Very good. But the best way to practice is by duelling. We’ll start with you two.” She said gesturing to Sebastian who was watching from the side. "Duellists take your marks”.

She may be new and rather capable, but Sebastian was sure it would be the same thing with every duel these days.

“Time for a proper Hogwarts welcome” he smirked, striding across the room and into position.

***

Never say Sebastian Sallow was a bad loser. As he lay flat on his arse, breathing hard his heart still thundering quickly as he shook off the remnants of the spell that struck him. She stood above him wand still raised slightly. Their eyes met.

Her eyes shone with that look of triumph a feeling he knew well. He lived that feeling. It was that look he usually gave opponents. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been the one on his back, but he couldn’t say he minded the view. Her hair was wild around her face, her lips slightly parted, panting lightly. A delicious sound. A conquering heroine. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. Finally, someone interesting.

He hadn’t duelled like that in a long time. He’d let her strike first casting a protego when they’d begun their game. He was a gentleman after all. Not gentleman enough to let her win but she was new and letting her get a couple of shots in early was only polite. Then he’d countered quickly, no point in going easy and wearing her out on her first day but to his delight she’d deflected with a protection of her own. Their dance began, as expected from her work with the dummy, she duelled more reactively and unrefined. Her wand lashing out from her fast like a whip, she seemed to cast with her whole body. She’d leave her left side fully exposed only to pivot so quickly the vulnerability was lost in a flurry of robes and long hair. He cracked a smile, finally someone interesting to compete with. He parried and struck with his wand missing his mark again as she moved like a knife through butter. She looked up and their eyes met. Sweat glistened faintly on her brow, a wide grin spread across her face and a feral tenacious glint in her eye. She looked like a woman who’d been lost in the desert, the magic thrumming through her was the water she’d been denied that she desperately gulped it down until she was sick with it. That’s when he’d hesitated. At that familiar look in her eyes. Her blow struck him square in the chest and that’s when he’d landed with a thud.

She held out her hand for Sebastian, her lips quirked slightly at one side. He took her outstretched hand as she hauled him up off the ground.

“Not bad for a beginner. You give as good as you get” he said with a grin, dusting himself off.

***

He was lurking by the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom waiting for her to finish with Hecat. As expected, Prewitt and Imelda hadn’t hesitated with a few snide remarks and jeer at his expense. Sebastian’s own defeat had clearly helped mend Prewitt’s bruised ego from earlier. Even ‘Puffskein Dunkein’ had shot him a mocking smile. The audacity of a man afraid of a Puffskein to think he’d be embarrassed. Sebastian cocked an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Do you want a turn?’, had the Ravenclaw boy averting his gaze and quickly shuffling out.

They all thought he was embarrassed. But the fact of the matter was, he wasn’t. Far from it. In fact, he was ecstatic. He’d not had a chance to duel like that in a long time not with someone like him. The look he caught in her eye he knew then they shared something. She wasn’t afraid of it. Not of that power that thrummed and ebbed in her veins. His teachers, his peers, and especially his uncle Solomon were afraid of that innate power they all had. The fear, that had professors restricting the spells they taught. The fear, that kept them from driving the loyalists out of the hills around Feldcroft. The fear, that kept them from doing whatever it takes to find a cure for Anne. He didn’t see a shred of that fear when he looked at her in that duel.

She was walking then toward the back of the room, heading for the door, fumbling with some odd book in her bag. He moved swiftly to fall into step beside her.

“That duel was quite something,” he said nudging her arm slightly drawing her attention.

“It was good practice.”

“Practice? It felt more like I was duelling an expert” he wasn’t lying, that kind of trust in one’s abilities was something it took most people years to forge. “Didn’t expect a new student to be so deft with a wand…but perhaps this wasn’t your first due?” A leading question he knew, this girl was unusual, to say the least, and wherever she’d come from, maybe they had more kindred spirits.

“It was in fact. Maybe I just have a knack for it” She didn’t meet his eyes, trying a little too hard to sound aloof.

“Be coy if you like, but I know better. Magic requires intention and talent” he smirked. He liked this game, someone who kept their cards close to their chest, but he wanted to duel with her again and Sallow’s always get their man. So, he dangled the carrot “In fact, you might be a perfect fit for a certain exclusive, unsanctioned duelling organisation.”

She gave him a sideways glance up through her eyelashes though he could feel the spark of interest, her eyebrows raised “Exclusive and unsanctioned?” she mused “Count me in.”

A rulebreaker too. Merlin have mercy. He could work with this one.

“I knew I was right about you. If you want to get the most out of your time at Hogwarts. You’re going to need to break the rules now and then. Whether it’s joining a secret duelling club or sneaking into the restricted section of the library. You just have to be clever enough not to get caught.”

“And what? you’re offering to be my clever guide around this place?”

“Of course, I would never leave a lady to fend for herself. Especially not one that flipped me in a duel so easily.”

“Hmm, it may not be the last time I get you on your back.”

He spluttered, was she implying…surely not. That was just about duelling. Either way, his face flushed slightly. 

"If you fancy a partner send me Owl, despite my performance today, I am the reigning Champion. We could make quick work of this year's competition if we work together." Spotting Ominis on the floor below ducking around the Defence Against the Dark Art staircase he slowed his stride to cast one last look at the girl before he took off after his friend “I’ll see you soon. Perhaps somewhere…unsanctioned”.

A conspiratorial smile was shared, and he was off following his fellow Slytherin into the Undercroft.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x f!mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 12: The Visit

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You have more questions than before. The same goes for Din.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, Calvinball with canon and Mandalorian lore (making it up), light angst.

A/N: A short chapter here, will post the next one fairly soon. Been an interesting week to be a Din Djarin/Pedro Pascal fan hasn't it? Hope you're hydrating! Thanks for reading, big love.

--

The leader of the revived Mandalorian people is not so proud as to deny you to work on her speeder. She has a refreshing air of keen intelligence and frank regard. You like her.

Bo-Katan Kryze stands beside you as you fiddle with a mess of pistons and shaft lines. She asks an occasional question, but mostly looks out across the work site. Her people move about with quiet efficiency. They’re on a ranging operation – a huge group surveying a ruined city. Din had said he needed to go out there to see her – pay respects or something. So, after a terrifying meeting with a leader named simply, the Armourer, your group of three had flown the Crest out to join them.

The shade of the hangar is surprisingly cooling in the rocky, hazy clime. You spy Din by himself across the expanse, lifting crate after crate from a transport tray and stacking them neatly against a craft. You make a mental note to bother him later about adequate rehydration.

You’ve decided the person standing next to you is your best option to ask about what’s been gnawing away at you in the time it took to reach Mandalore. She and Din seem to hold each other in a profoundly high esteem, and you can see she deeply cares for him, and Grogu.

And, since Din’s big speech about the ‘sacrifices’ you made and the ‘honour’ and ‘loyalty’ you exhibited in retrieving that beskar cache, she’s ensured you’ve been welcomed and your offers to assist their rebuilding efforts accepted.

Although it was mostly when she’d reached up, removed her helmet and looked you dead in the eyes that did it. When you realised there was so much here you didn’t know. So much about Din Djarin the Bounty Hunter. So much about Mandalorians. What little you’d gleaned from discs and stories. It was nothing at all.

Still, it was just the one question you couldn’t shake at the minute. Just ask it. She’ll give you an honest answer, you think, then you’ll know.

You twist a coil of wire around and around the kit, worrying at it over much as you force the words out.

‘What does sha--’ you pause on the unfamiliar word, push it around your mouth. ‘What does shareekah mean?’

Bo-Katan turns to you sharply, but keeps an even gaze that takes in your pinched features and nervous fiddling with the bit’s end.

‘Cyar’ika?’ she asks, putting more softness on the final syllable than you had managed.

‘Sure, yes. That,’ you strip more rubber from the coil and continue twisting.

You glance sidelong at her, see Bo’s eyes soften. Then you look out into the glare. She follows your gaze to see the lone figure straighten and stretch out. 

‘It’s a form of endearment,’ she murmurs. ‘Generally, it means “darling”, “or “sweetheart”.’

The part ready, you slip it into place, plugging the ignition gauge into the new switch you’ve created, trying to remember how to breathe. You can handle this.

But, Bo continues. ‘It’s meaning is contextual though. In certain contexts, it can also be held to mean, “most beloved”.’

Oh. Force the new question past dry lips. ‘What kind of contexts?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she shrugs, arches a brow. ‘Bringing a stranger with no clan to a secretive people’s home world and convincing everybody present it was a really good idea?’

You jam the speeder’s hatch closed a touch too hard. Bo looks back at you. You give yourself a shake and huff, ‘Okay, she’s ready.’

A couple of flicks to the dash and the machine hums to life.

‘You’re going to see a lot more room at the top end now. And the glide will be tighter. I suggest heading out somewhere flat and opening her up.’

Bo-Katan gives you a small smile, a hand on your shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she says. She replaces her helmet and swings a leg over the saddle, wasting no time zipping out from the sheltered spot. The engine roars overhead a moment later and you hear an honest-to-gods, ‘Wooooo!’ fade out.

That makes you smile. It’s a relief.

Another speeder glides in and you prepare to begin again. The towering rider dismounts and takes up a stoic vigil behind you, leaving you to your thoughts. You glance up and see Din out in the sun, looking back at you.

After witnessing a compelling ritual of armoured Mandalorians filing through a mess tent, some taking to gather around dotted fires to remove their helmets and eat, and others stepping away, fanning out to private spots – including Din, hand first squeezing your shoulder gently – you excuse yourself, begging fatigue, and head the short distance back to the Crest. 

The dusk air finally brings a cooling breeze, and you settle on letting that carry your simmering nerves back down to the earth. Seating yourself in the opening of the ship, feet thumping out a nervous pattern on the ramp, you breathe the sharp air and try to calm. You’d been growing aware of the true depth of Din’s feelings for you – even before you’d finally reckoned with each other. The conversation with Bo-Katan confirmed it. And now you’re left to wonder why it has sparked such a sharp panic within you.

There was no question you’d fallen hard for Din Djarin. Who wouldn’t? You thought you’d experienced great, epic loves before – but they all paled compared to this.

A problem was that when those old romances had crashed and burned, you’d never been sure you could piece yourself back together. And now this. What would happen to you if you lost this? You angle to the side and lean hard against the wall of the Crest, willing its cool hard surface to draw you down into yourself. It seems to hum back.

‘Be honest,’ you say aloud. ‘Am I completely fucked?’

Silence. Your breath ghosts against the wall of the ship.

Another problem was the one that had settled hard over you since stepping foot on Mandalore. This was a devout people, with a troubled and difficult history. The customs and culture were rigid, out of a survivalist’s necessity. And, as far as you could tell, their beliefs revolved around mystic superstition and ancient scriptural doctrines. Even the more pragmatic among them, like Bo-Katan herself, had an air of fateful intent around everything they said and did.

It had all given you the distinct feeling that what you and Din had found together did not fit into their way.

Even if it did, what did it mean? 

What did the love of a Mandalorian mean, ultimately? Where were you heading? What was Din expecting? You know he takes it all incredibly seriously – it’s his identity. How do you fit into all this?

You don’t know how to ask these questions. So, with an avoidant will, you push them to the side. Ferry them away like so much else. For now, you think dimly.

Out of the darkened evening, you spot a pair of lights heading for you. Din and Grogu emerge into the glow of the Crest a moment later. Grogu hurries forward to hop into your lap and you nuzzle the top of his head, enjoying his content purr and feeling calmness wash over you finally. 

Din takes you in, huddled in the door of the ship with his son. ‘Shall we get some rest,’ he asks, approaching you with a hand outstretched. You take it and stand, letting him crowd you around and into the hold.

--

Later, when you’re asleep against his chest, cool breath tickling his neck, Din once again thinks back to his conversation with the Armourer. 

After depositing the beskar and engaging in a stilted exchange of formalities, you and Grogu had been dismissed. You’d shot him a puzzled look as you followed the kid out. A what-the-fuck-is-her-deal kind of look.

Once alone with the Armourer, the two of them had sat down and discussed the best use of the beskar.

‘We have many needs, now that Mandalore is revived,’ she’s saying. Din just nods and agrees with whatever she suggests, flattered to accept an upgraded flamethrower. He’s just waiting for the inevitable. The Armourer’s perception and intuition were always an intimidating thing.

And sure enough, once the ingots of precious metal have been allotted, she goes still and stares hard at him.

He waits. Feeling not entirely ready.

She looks to the door you’d exited through, then returns her gaze to him.

‘You have coupled,’ the Armourer says.

‘Yes.’

‘She is not Mandalorian.’

‘No…’

A long, pregnant wait. She leans in.

‘Have you ever removed your helmet?’

‘No.’

‘Has it ever been removed by others?’

‘Never.’

‘This is the Way.’

‘This is the Way.’

She stands and strides to her forge.

That wasn’t so bad, he thinks. But then he’s thrown.

‘Do you know why we follow the Way, Din Djarin?’ she asks. He’s not sure what answer she is seeking. ‘The main reason?’

Once again, he waits.

‘To survive,’ she says. ‘We have been a diaspora, carved apart and hunted. We’ve followed the Way so we may continue. Do you think that holds true now that we are a united people of Mandalore?’

She turns back to him, seems to be genuinely waiting for an answer. He says, in all honesty, ‘I don’t know.’ 

It hadn’t even occurred to him to question it.

She tilts an appraising helm at him, moves back to sit opposite him again. He’s never witnessed her so restless.

‘Neither do I,’ she says, low and intense. He’s floored. ‘But I contemplate this question, every day, seeking the answers for the good of our people. As I do so, you should contemplate the questions that plague you now. Where do you fit? And where might she?’

The Armourer lets that shockwave wash through him. Then, changes the subject.

‘Your apprentice, Din Grogu, is due for his first Sojourn of the Will with his fellow students. There is one coming in a single moon’s turn. It is an important undertaking for every apprentice.’

Din welcomes the change in the course of this discussion and thinks. He knew he would have to face Grogu taking part in one of these things eventually. Had been dreading it actually. But it had to happen sooner or later.

‘I suppose now is a good time,’ Din ponders. He doesn’t want to be apart from his kid. But the Armourer’s right, it is an important rite of passage.

And, it means alone time with you. Time to figure all this out.

Time to tell you how he truly feels, maybe.

--

Prev | Next

(I am ambivalent about the movie announcement - swinging hard in positive-negative directions. But I don't think I like the new artwork that came with it at all. Something about the light reflected on Din's helmet is giving me BSG Cylon vibes? And is that an exploding ship he's jet-packing away from? Because if so, how is the poor child breathing...? Anyway, those are my thoughts byyyye.)

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin #star wars #pedro pascal #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you

[velidewrites]

To get back what the Cauldron has taken from her, Elain Archeron makes a deal with Prythian’s most dangerous enemy.

Now, a servant of a cruel Death God, Elain must make sure her efforts are not discovered—especially not by someone tied to her darkening heart by a golden thread.

Someone like her mate.

Notes: My humble offering for @elucienweekofficial. This fic is a post-ACOSF story — and very close to my heart as it’s based on the very first one-shot I’ve ever written.

Tags: Post-ACOSF, Canon Compliant, NSFW

Read on AO3 || Chapter 1 || Masterlist

Chapter 3 - You're Not Like The Others

Lucien watched Vassa carefully as she leaned back in her seat, arms stretched out before her as she examined her shimmering skin.

“How do you feel?” he asked, eyeing the soft, blueish glow that seemed to shine from her very bones—in all his centuries on earth, Lucien had never seen anything quite like it.

Vassa considered, looking over her body once more before finally meeting his gaze. “Cold,” she said, though her voice betrayed no concern.

“Here,” Jurian said, rising from his seat to peel the jacket off his arms. Vassa smiled, stopping him with a lift of her hand. “It’s alright,” she said. “It’s not unpleasant, it feels…nice, actually.” She took another breath, shoulders loosening as though a thousand knots within them had just been undone. Slowly, Jurian receded back to his chair, his brown eyes sharp and trailing every single one of Vassa’s movements.

“You’re supposed to rest now,” Lucien reminded her. “Nuan said an hour at least—your body needs time to absorb the elixir.” Beside him, Jurian grunted his agreement.

Vassa looked at Lucien. “I’m afraid your mate has other plans for me this evening.”

Jurian glowered at him—as though Elain being so hell-bent on staying at the manor had somehow been his fault. The way Lucien saw it, the quicker they got this whole ordeal over with, the sooner she would be gone—and the sooner could he go back to his useless routine of pretending she did not torment his every thought.

Because she had—even more so now that he’d finally, finally spoken to her after months of seeing her only in his dreams. Their conversation—if he could even call it that—just a few hours ago had lit a match somewhere deep in his chest Lucien thought had long been darkened to ash, and he was more determined now than ever to find out just how bright it could truly burn. Every visit, every Solstice, Lucien had been presented with the same blurry picture—a polite, quiet Elain, so out of place in her new world that she needed space to figure things out on her own. Lucien had been more than happy to give it to her—until now, when the picture sharpened and he finally looked at it with new eyes.

There was nothing quiet about Elain Archeron, thank the Gods. She hadn’t expected to see him and he could tell the sentiment from her face as clear as day—he’d caught her off guard, like a startled animal resorting to its most primal instincts to defend itself. She’d shown her claws, the roaring that simmered beneath her pretty dress, begging to be let out.

Lucien was practically itching to be the one to do it.

“You don’t have to be so damn stubborn about this, you know,” Jurian told her, earning a look that, had he not been slaughtering on the battlefield his whole life, would’ve sent a regular man running.

Vassa said, “If Elain can find the answers we need, then I’m willing to try it again. And again, if necessary. However many times we need.”

Lucien leaned forward, propping his chin up on his palm. “Not too many, let’s hope.”

Vassa angled her head, her fiery hair shifting with the movement. “Does she know where you’ve been this morning?”

“Not yet. We got, ah…sidetracked.” His face flushed slightly as the words came out of his mouth, realising the message probably implied something entirely different than what he’d intended.

Sure enough, Jurian’s dark brows rose. “Have you—”

“No,” he cut in sternly. “But we…talked.”

“I wonder how that went,” Jurian murmured, the words rewarded with yet another look from Vassa.

Lucien muttered, “It doesn’t matter.” Because it didn’t. As much as he might have enjoyed seeing her true colours come to life, it could not have been more clear that Elain had hardly shared that sentiment. They might have spoken for the first time in forever—the conversation perhaps longer than any of the scraps he’d ever been given with her—but as soon as her mission here was over, Lucien had no doubt in his mind Elain would retreat to the shadows of the Night Court, never to light that match in his heart again.

Vassa hummed. “If you say so,” she said, resting her back against her seat again as her eyes closed in content. “This feels really good,” she admitted, that blue light still coating her tired features. “Maybe I’ll rest for ten minutes before your mate cuts me open again.”

Jurian snorted. “I got this,” he said to Lucien. “You go get your mate.”

———

Elain shifted on the couch nervously, watching as blood began to drip down Vassa’s hand. The carpet was still stained from yesterday, a rusted sort of red dotting the thick fabric and forming a pattern that, if she angled her head just right, she could’ve sworn looked just like a bird in flight. Elain sighed, well aware that, especially with the time ticking down her very tight schedule, she was definitely growing paranoid.

“Your turn,” Vassa’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, transfixed on the thin stream of liquid still filling the crease in the firebird queen’s palm. She handed her the knife, the steel surprisingly heavy in her hands, and lifted the sharp side of the blade to her smooth unassuming skin.

A low snarl ripped free from Lucien’s throat, and Elain’s head snapped up to meet his eyes.

He didn’t return her gaze, though, the pools of russet and gold flashing a sizzling flame that threatened to spill and burn the whole manor to the ground as he stared at the knife. His hands balled into fists at his sides, his knuckles bone-white and his body tense enough that she knew he was barely keeping himself seated, the beast in his chest purring out its loud sounds of protest.

That same beast, as Elain knew, lived in her own chest—though she’d managed to keep it dormant after the first and last time it awoke, silently raging as it took in Lucien’s bloodied clothes after the final battle. Elain tore her gaze off Lucien, slicing through her palm with a straight, clean cut.

That rage, that primal ferocity that roared in him to protect her—it wasn’t real. Their beasts—both of them—eventually, would be tamed into submission.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jurian murmured to his friend, leaning over the couch, Elain’s arched, Fae ears catching every word.

Lucien did not deign him with a response.

Jurian turned to Vassa. “Remember, you don’t have to—”

“We’ve talked about this,” Vassa said, the words apparently dismissal enough.

Elain nodded, offering the general a tentative smile she hoped masked her impatience. “This will never work if you don’t trust me,” she offered. Come on, her mind silently urged, tell the where it is. Tell me where you hid it.

Jurian opened his mouth, but Elain was quicker—she reached out to Vassa, her own blood dripping to join the carpet’s strange pattern. “Ready?”

Vassa loosed a breath. “Alright.”

The queen slipped her hand into Elain’s, two streams of blood joining into one.

The world flashed again, a white-hot flame consuming every inch of the room until it all became a bright, scorching nothingness.

But this time, Elain was prepared.

She navigated the space as though she’d been born for the light, her eyes now looking beyond what the fire veiled. There she was, Vassa standing atop a lustrous surface and looking up to the sun.

Elain looked down right at her.

Vassa’s eyes were closed—she could not see, not here, only feel as Elain’s light warmed her body, golden-brown skin shimmering under its power. But then, the sun intensified, and the surface beneath her feet trembled, as though the light had become too strong to reflect. Elain burned now, no longer a comforting presence above the queen, but a threat—beams of a scaling fire shooting to pierce through her, with Vassa’s heart their one and only aim.

Vassa’s brows knitted, her nose scrunching at the shift in the air—and her eyelids fluttered. In a second, those eyes would meet Elain’s—the last face the firebird queen would see before she burned to her death.

Elain.

Everything stopped.

Elain, please— a pause, as though the voice had choked on a breath. You have to save her. Help me save her, I—I can’t live without her.

The voice, hoarse and strained, echoed through the chambers of her very soul. Why did you do it, Elain?

The surface trembled again and blurred, shifting into something solid beneath Vassa as she fell, her knees hitting the ground hard.

“No,” Elain’s mouth moved on its own accord. “No, please—I—I didn’t mean to hurt anyone—”

A low, smooth chuckle. Well done, my sweet.

Elain jerked away.

“Elain!” Lucien called, by her side in an instant as if she’d frightened him—as if he cared. “Elain—are you—what the fuck did just—”

“Lucien, I need you here!” another voice—Jurian—reached her as the room began to come into view.

She had to have stood up at some point, and abruptly from the looks of it—the couch she’d sat on had been pushed back two feet, leaving four, long scrapes in the wooden floor. The back of her legs pulsed slightly from the impact, forgetting the immortal strength that rested within her muscles, just waiting to be harnessed. Elain looked over the space—not a lick of flame in sight—until she rested her gaze on Vassa, where the mortal queen hissed at the raw, bubbling skin of her open palm.

Lucien leaned over her quickly, a soft glow Elain recognised as similar to the magic used by Madja back in Night as he cast it over the burns. Elain looked down to her own hands—and, to her horror, found them perfectly smooth, not a single sign of the fire’s touch on them.

This, Elain decided, did not look good.

Her mind raced in search of an explanation she could offer—a lie she could come up with on the spot, certain that if any of the Band of Exiles learned of what she’d just seen, they would drag her down to the Nolans’ old basement and lock her up for all eternity.

Jurian, Cauldron bless him, gripped Vassa’s arm, forcing the stunned queen to look up at him at last. “Tell me exactly what you saw.”

Vassa blinked, a fog scattering from her cerulean eyes. “I…” she looked at Elain, frowning.

Elain could not breathe.

“It felt…strange. I couldn’t see anything but light—but I felt it, warm on my skin.” She looked down to her palm—to the new, gleaming skin, no burn marks in sight—and added, “It grew hotter—and then everything stopped.”

Elain had to keep from crying out in relief.

Lucien looked at her, an incredulous expression creasing his scarred face. “And you?”

Lie, that silky voice within her purred. Lie and take what you came here for.

Elain looked back, her attention falling to the deep wounds in the floor she’d caused. There was a time when lifting a heavy, iron chair had been a struggle. Now, she could probably lift a thousand of them.

She forced herself to look away, her decision made simple. “That sounds about right,” she said to their expectant faces, then cleared her throat. “Except—I could actually see Vassa standing under the sun, looking up to the sky. In her human form.”

Vassa gasped quietly, Jurian squeezing her shoulder tighter.

“She was holding something,” Elain lied, fighting to keep her throat from closing up. “A small, rectangular shape.” The two males behind Vassa exchanged glances.

“What was the colour?” Vassa breathed.

“It was too bright—I couldn’t see it very well,” Elain said. There was little doubt in her mind that they’d never hand the box over to her—her only resort was prying its location from Vassa’s mind. She added carefully then, “Perhaps another vision…”

“Can you focus your Sight on it?” Jurian asked. “See…see what it was exactly? If it was…open?””

“I…” Shit, shit shit. They did have it—they’d tried to open it, too, apparently to no effect. “I could try. But Vassa…” she looked at the queen and offered a sympathetic smile. “You were smiling.”

Elain made a show of lowering her gaze to her palms slowly, an exasperated sigh sounding deep from her chest. “I don’t understand why this keeps happening.” The queen shook her head, still seemingly in awe at the Seer’s previous words. Jurian, too absorbed by looking at Vassa with an emotion she couldn’t quite discern, did not return her gaze, either.

Lucien looked at her wordlessly, his silence almost palpable in her chest. He was not a daemati, but Elain checked her mental shields anyway, making sure they were still intact despite his sharp scrutiny.

But it wasn’t her mind his presence seemed to slither into, but somewhere else—prodding at that place beneath her ribs that could ruin everything had he only decided to disobey the order she’d given him a mere few hours ago.

After all, there was a reason Elain had been working so hard to avoid him—months upon months of hard work, of carefully selected words and bold, if not desperate, strategies—a triumph she’d thought she’d cemented at the last Solstice.

Apparently not. 

Lucien, to her relief, stopped despite the golden cord around her ribs calling out his name in a quiet song. She stifled the sound immediately, levelling her eyes on his own, praying that her expression would not betray a thing.

Finally, Lucien turned to Jurian—to Vassa. “I need to go,” he said, his voice tight. “Don’t wait up with dinner.”

———

Lucien’s reaction—or rather, the lack of it—made her stir through the rest of the night.

She had decided to forgo staying up the way Jurian and Vassa did—especially when doing so meant having the house practically all to herself throughout the day. Elain had begun taking mental note of the rooms she’d already managed to search, crossing them out as a potential hiding spot one by one until she decided the ground floor was not, perhaps, her best shot.

She could only pray the box was not somewhere she’d never dare to go. Like Lucien’s bedroom.

Elain knew exactly where he slept by scent alone, a warm morning breeze infused by something like hot caramel dripping down his skin. She could smell it in the entire house, its trail infuriatingly following her no matter how far she’d tried to escape—a constant reminded of the thorn in her side.

A silent grimace twisted her face as she remembered he’d used a smilier analogy to describe her a few hours ago—and with that, Elain promptly decided to go to sleep.

At least in his absence, there was no steady thrumming lulling her into dreams she could not allow her mind to drift into again. Lucien’s heart had a quiet beat that no one else seemed to hear—in the manor, or even the House of Wind back when the two of them had briefly occupied it at the same time. Elain could hear it well enough, though—chanting the same words over and over again, as though repeating them persistently would make them any less of a lie.

Mate. You are mine and I am yours.

Elain groaned into her pillow, keeping her face there to inhale the clean scent of cotton instead.

The softness of the fabric seemed to have done its job well enough, because Elain’s thoughts eventually slowed and her jaw relaxed, lips parting slightly to take a quiet breath. A few more and she felt herself falling—her body sinking into the mattress, into the darkness enveloping her slowly…

Elain squinted as she spotted a light somewhere at its very end. It shone a soft glow, inviting her closer.

She began moving through the shadows, thick and stalling her every step as though intent on keeping her away from the light. But Elain knew, with a certainty she didn’t think she’d ever felt before, that she was meant to follow that light—that once she reached it, she would never get lost in the darkness again.

As she approached the end—or perhaps, the very beginning—the light became clearer, taking up a shape. It formed into muscle first—hard and golden-brown as it built a tall, powerful frame. A broad chest, with a silky white fabric draped over it, and an arm adorned by a golden cuff, slithering around the impressive bicep.

Elain could not tear her gaze away—she found that she didn’t want to. The light was far too warm, far too compelling, for her to ever want to be near anything else.

But then, the light was given a face.

It twirled a bright russet and a glittering gold, looking down on her from beneath dark lashes. Elain backed up a step, darkness already swooshing thickly behind her—ready to wrap its tendrils around her body and pull her in, never to return again.

Those strong arms reached out for her, finding their way around her waist, grounding her and offering her safety. She found herself leaning into them—into the sculpted chest as she noticed the very light that seduced her had come exactly from it. It shone quietly beneath his skin, and Elain could’ve sworn that if she focused, she could hear its gentle thrum.

She placed a hand on that light, the feel of it washing over her like the first ray of sunlight as it rose over the night sky. Elain looked up then—to meet those eyes of russet and gold, realising she no longer wanted to back away.

Lucien smiled down at her, his large hand covering her own. “Listen, Elain,” he said, his voice filled with an emotion that made her own heart ache. “It beats only for you.”

She opened her mouth to answer him—to place his hand on her chest, too, perhaps—when a flitting sound sounded behind her.

Wings.

Elain jolted awake.

Her gaze immediately snapped to the windowsill—to where she’d forgotten to close the window to her bedroom fully—and found nothing but a small, chirping sparrow, taking its rest happily before resuming into the fading night.

Elain sighed in relief and went back to sleep.

———

Feyre’s midnight-sharp talons brushed against the gates to Rhys’s mind, a solid wall of impenetrable darkness.

The touch was met with twinkling laughter. Yes, Feyre darling?

A picture flashed down the bond, and Feyre smiled at the sight of Nyx, cooing happily in Rhys's arms. His big, blue eyes looked into his father’s, widening as though he saw the whole wide sky inside them. Perhaps he had.

Feyre caressed the sight down the bond, then stored it deep in a quiet, glowing chamber of her heart. Actually, she started, no longer wishing to disrupt them, I think I can handle this one myself.

A low hum sounded his agreement. I have no doubt that you can. She watched as he carefully set the baby down, Nyx’s small wings rising on instinct to accommodate the new position. Still, allow me to listen in? He’d comply with whatever answer she gave him—at her side or in the shadows, her mate would step back if  that was what she wished.

As if she ever could. We are a team, she told him.

Rhys glanced at their son. That we are, he agreed softly.

Feyre smiled, then blinked, the image slowly fading away to be replaced by the palette of cool greens and mahogany woods of the drawing room. She sent the location down the bond. Gwyn is here, she told her mate, smiling at the priestess sitting opposite from her, teal eyes watching the silent conversation curiously.

Rhys appeared a moment later, foregoing winnowing straight into the room for a quiet knock on the door signalling his presence. Gwyn stood up as he entered, bowing slightly to the High Lord the same way she had as Feyre let her in.

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” he told her in a manner of greeting before taking his seat beside Feyre. “Where is Nesta?” he asked her.

Feyre huffed. “Running late.”

Rhys’s mouth twisted into a shit-eating grin. Who would’ve thought freshly mated couples would’ve bothered you this much, Feyre darling.

Prick.

As though summoned by the wind carrying her name, Nesta suddenly appeared, reaching them from the doorway in a few quick strides, a heavy scent wrapped tightly around her skin. Gwyn, apparently well-acquainted with such entrances, rolled her eyes as her friend plopped on the cushions beside her.

Rhys sighed deeply. “Cassian?”

Nesta waved a hand. “Otherwise occupied.”

“What does that mean?” Feyre frowned.

Nesta snickered, more to herself than the rest of them gathered, “It means he is to remain exactly where I’d left him until I’m available again.”

Please, Rhys’s voice slid into her head again, for my sake, don’t ask her any more questions.

Feyre teased, I only worry for poor Cassian, of course.

Rhys’s expression looked pained. Something tells me Cassian is right where he wants to be.

Gwyn, thank the Mother, cleared her throat, giving Nesta a look that was almost scolding. “Shall we, then?”

Rhys looked at her as though she’d just declared world peace. “Please.”

The priestess chuckled, leaning over the coffee table. “Merril, unsurprisingly, was a dead end—but I believe I was able to find something interesting,” she said and, with a flick of her wrist, a stack of documents appeared, the fragrant smell of ancient scrolls mercifully cleansing the room. She looked at them both, meeting Feyre’s gaze directly. “What do you know of the fourth Dread Trove?”

She felt her mate’s surprise flicker down the bond.

“Next to nothing,” Feyre answered for him. “As far as history is concerned, there are only three,” she added, recalling Rhys’s words from months ago.

“Amren had once mentioned it,” Rhys said, Gwyn’s shoulders rolling back at the name of their Second as if on instinct. “There were rumours of it—rumours from her time. Whispers that it had been lost, or perhaps Unmade.” He angled his head, considering. “I believe that’s about the extent of it.”

Gwyn nodded. “That is correct. I was hardly able to gather any information on the existing Troves, let alone one only ever spoken about in rumours.” She shuffled through a small stack of papers, a silvery glint of a bracelet catching Feyre’s eye as her hands moved. “The library at the House of Wind holds very little information on magical objects or artifacts. Most of the priestesses choose to specialise in active history, or the events that shaped our cultures—our languages, our music—and as such, we have never had the need to collect knowledge that might have been more useful to other researchers.” She frowned. “Or so Clotho has said, at least.” Rhys nodded, though something about his shimmering gaze told Feyre the library’s collection would soon be undergoing a vast improvement.

“I wasn’t exactly hopeful,” Gwyn continued, “until I remembered something Nesta had told me about months ago. A vision, sent to her by one of the Prison’s…residents.”

“Lanthys,” Feyre whispered, recalling her sister’s horrifying encounter with the deathly mist-god. She glanced at Nesta, her sister’s expression almost bored as she casually sipped from her tea.

The priestess nodded again. “Nesta recalled a fourth object on the Dread Troves’ altar.” She looked at Nesta expectantly.

Nesta set down her cup. “I could not see much,” she admitted, “the vision was veiled in mist. But I remember the gleam of it to this day—a bone, aged and worn-out, yet still containing ancient, powerful magic.” Her hand tightened on the cup for only a moment. “It called to me. Cauldron-made to Cauldron-made. There was no denying it.”

Rhys asked, “You believe the fourth Trove is that bone?”

“It’s our only lead,” Gwyn said, “And, as it appears, not entirely a dead end.” She lifted a piece of parchment, a yellowed image painted above a text in a langue Feyre did not follow. “This is an old myth about the Seers—ones from so long before our time the exact date still remains in question,” she explained. “It seems their talents could be controlled by music—they listened to specific tones and melodies to clear their minds of the fog, usually clouding parts of their visions—and, sometimes, to even alleviate the pain.”

Nesta stilled. “Pain?”

Gwyn nodded. “It appears pain is a common side effect to the Sight. This text claims Seers are known to experience the physical impact of whatever the Sight is showing them—for example, foreseeing a stabbing might result in a Seer feeling a sharp-like sensation in their gut. Or wherever else the person would be stabbed, I suppose.”

Nesta looked aghast at the news. She looked at Feyre. “Did you know about this?”

Feyre could only stare—at her sister, then at Rhys. “No,” she whispered.

Elain had once foreseen Hybern’s twin Ravens. Had she…?

You can’t think about that right now, Rhys’s gentle voice sounded in her mind again like a soothing touch. We can only help Elain by moving forward now.

Feyre nodded, though her throat still felt tight.

“How does this tie to the fourth Trove?” Rhys asked Gwyn, ever so patient.

The priestess slid the parchment across the table. “Take a look at what the eldest Seer is holding.”

Feyre glanced down and stilled.

“Is that…” she started, the question dying on her tongue.

“A bone,” Gwyn agreed, finishing it for her. “According to this text, it was the eldest Seer’s family heirloom, taken from the body of his ancestor, that he used to enhance his abilities.” She glanced at the two rulers across from her. “It could not only clear the fog, but allow him to navigate his visions as he pleased, stay within them for as long as he needed, sometimes replaying it over and over before its meaning became clear to him at last. It is also said,” the priestess added, “that the Bone could be used to induce visions, allowing the Seer to find answers to whatever questions pressing him at the time.”

Feyre sucked in a breath. “This—this could change everything.”

Gwyn’s freckled face seemed grim. “Unfortunately, this is all I was able to find on the Bone, and even it being a Dread Trove is only my theory. The myth does not stem from a different, original text—finding anything even remotely related to this story would require the aid of researchers far more experienced than I am.”

Feyre looked at Rhys.

“Please don’t tell me you’re actually considering this,” Nesta sighed, seemingly reading the silent words from her sister’s face.

Feyre narrowed her gaze. “You may not like him, but he is perhaps the only ally we have that we could trust with this.”

Nesta nodded. “I know—I’ll go.”

Rhys straightened, as though another voice had just requested permission into his mind. “I believe that won’t be necessary,” he said after a second of a pause.

The entryway flashed auburn, revealing none other than—

“No need to start brooding, Nesta Archeron,” Lucien drawled, Nesta’s eyes flashing an ice-cold flame. His gaze slid to Feyre. “And here I thought I was the one bringing the news,” he added, Rhys apparently having already filled him in on the conversation mind-to-mind.

Rhys smiled at Gwyn, who gaped at the newest guest—at the golden eye and the cruel scar slashed across it. “Thank you, Gwyn. Your help has been more invaluable than I can put into words”

Gwyn’s returning smile was tight. “If only there was an easier way to do this.”

Feyre sighed, resting her back against the soft seat. “I really miss the Bone Carver.”

———

Lucien returned the next day, his face unreadable enough to make Elain shift on her feet.

She did not know where he’d gone that had taken up an entire night and half the day—but the looming speculation that his absence had something to do with Elain grew heavier and heavier over her with each passing minute he was gone.

Jurian was already awake—had been since midday, actually, a fact that made Elain have to keep from gritting her teeth as the general seemed to have made it his mission to follow her around the house every step of the way. His mistrust towards his friend’s mate was nearly palpable, and no amount of polite smiles or I’m just going to go and find something to read had managed to keep him away as she tried to search for the godsdamned box.

Elain was growing more and more desperate. She’d been given a week, and a task that had originally seemed doable enough (find a way into the manor, search for the stolen box, deliver it back to its original owner) was very quickly proving more difficult than anticipated. The box was here—she could sense it now, its magic calling out her name and filling her nostrils with the mouldy scent of earth. Vassa had hidden it well enough, though—Elain could not, for the life of her, find its location based on scent alone, silently cursing herself for not using all those months to ask Rhysand’s shadowy wraiths for basic tracking training. What good would all that baking do to her now?

The most important thing was that she remained at the house—that she kept distracting its occupants with a smile after smile, vision after vision, spilled blood after spilled blood, until she finally found the one thing she’d been asked to do and be rewarded with, quite literally, everything.

By the end of this week, Elain Archeron was going to, once again, become human.

And then…then she could finally live.

When Lucien found her, she was lounging in the drawing room, her favourite childhood book she’d found in the study propped up innocently on her knees as Jurian watched her closely from a corner. She sat up immediately, dread building in her chest all over again as she met Lucien’s hardened stare.

I know what you did, he could say. I’ve looked into your soul and found the rot you’ve invited into it. I know who you are, Elain Archeron, and I won’t ever let you become who you’re supposed to be.

Lucien sighed deeply. “Pack your things, sunshine. We’re going to the Day Court.”

Elucien Week Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @melting-houses-of-gold @areyoudreaminof @fieldofdaisiies @kingofsummer93 @witchlingsandwyverns @gracie-rosee @stickyelectrons @selesera @sv0430 @vulpes-fennec @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @screaming-opossum @autumndreaming7 @sunshinebingo @spell-cleavers @starfall-spirit @lectoradefics @this-is-rochelle @goldenmagnolias @bookeater34 @capbuckyfalcon @betterthaneveryword @tasha2627 @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #elain acotar #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

[laufire]

I'll preface this by saying I haven't read the arc where Bruce shoots and kills Darkseid; I'm fuzzy on the details. the sources I've looked up here and there whenever the topic came to my mind seemed contradictory; I get the impression there was collaboration from some other heroes and it might've not been that clear cut? either way, I'm not going to read the arc rn (might in the distant future, if I choose to do something with it), but it seems there's agreement that this was the one time Bruce canonically planned to and followed through breaking his most sacred rule.

and I remember at one point I thought: what if this plot was used to give Bruce a better understanding of Jason's choices? what if it could make him not just willing to find a middle ground between them, but intentionally seek it? it wouldn't, couldn't be blanket acceptance, but if there's one point in canon that will even nudge him way from his increasingly uncompromising stance during the post-crisis/new earth continuity (1), it would be the one time he found his line in the sand, and realised that, unlike he always feared, he could walk back from it.

at the time it was no more than a passing thought, but just today, to close that chapter with the year, I read the very last few comics including new earth!Jason, in my completitionist quest of reading every single one of his (and every other version of Jason's) appearances. and two (technically three) of them reminded me of this.

one is his arc in convergence: batman and robin #1-2, published circa 2015 (revisiting new earth after 2011's reboot). it's part of a larger event that I can't be bothered to read fully rn (this ain't about them), but the gist of it is that Red Hood and Scarlet return to Gotham as some apocalyptic level shit is going down, helping Batman and Robin (Damian). Bruce accepts Jason's help, which bothers Damian, although by the end of the arc there's a truce between them and a clear willingness from everyone involved to work together going forward.

the other one is in batman incorporated vol. 1 #6, the last proper appearance of new earth!Jason before the reboot in 2011 kickstarted (the arc seemingly continued in vol. 2, but from what I already know about, and what little I've personally experienced from, the new 52, I'm not getting my hopes up). it consists on just a couple of panels where we don't see Jason's face or hear his name, and just see Bruce recruiting someone as "Wingman" (2), offering him a opportunity to "salvage a reputation" by joining his international bat-initiative, on a few conditions like keeping Jason's identity a mystery (3).

and I'm sure that if (when?) I read the aforementioned Darkseid's arc (and the subsequent time traveling shenanigans) there might be plenty to be found to contradict this post, because I do have some experience with detective comics comics. but these two instances are so easily aligned with my own take (4) that I had to post about it.

unfortunately, this is just making me mourn what-could-have-been, had the reboot never occured, even more than I ever did.

(1) pre-crisis/earth one!Bruce had a different attitude. and sometimes it feels that things like self-defence (batman vol. 1 #400) or defence of others (detective comics vol. 1 #411), two incredibly understandable motives, seem beyond the grasp of new earth!Bruce.

(2) if I ever do something with this plotbunny, I refuse to give him such a generic codename, just so we're clear.

(3) "we're building a ghost –a bogeyman too big to be clearly seen. its edges indistinct, it's full extent and purpose uncertain. a rumor. a terror made of shadows and flapping wings." MOURNING, I said 😭. also do you see why I think this deserved a much cooler name smh.

(4) the other things Jason did in between Bruce's not-so-dead experiences and this were during his Evol Era (battle for the cowl, batman and robin vol. 1). obviously nothing there would convince Bruce to suddenly approach him with more generosity than he did even in UTRH lol. but it'd make sense for it to be something Bruce did.

#during the next couple of months i will be reading jason's nu52 appearances (intersected with many other; mostly pre-reboot; comics!!) #i already read a handful and my most generous conclusion was #some interesting concepts tragically accompanied by characterisation that will make you want to sob like a baby if you liked new earth #all written in a mediocre manner by a sex pest of a man #(featuring some weirdly off-putting art) #*deep sigh* #talking to the void #my thoughts #dc #dc thoughts #dc comics #new earth #jason todd #bruce wayne #favourites: you raise sons #bat clan

[headfullofpresley]

𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 | 𝟐.

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 7,1K

Summary: Elvis realises you aren't as clueless about what you are as he thought when you confide in him about your past. With revenge on your mind and a heart that needs healing, there's nothing else he can do but be there when you make the decision to embrace the part of you that's always been hidden.

Warnings: vampire!Elvis, flashbacks and background information on reader's life, murder and gore-y scenes, angst, blood consumption, use of the word "cross-breeding"(?), small mention of suicide, that's itttt i think!

A/N: since i don't have time to post this weekend and i can't stop writing for this, here's part 2! y'all think reader will believe elvis when he finally tells her who he really is? and you think she could beat elvis' ass during training next chapter? 👀

masterlist | story playlist | part one.

August 10, 2012 – 3:25PM

August was your father’s favorite month. The heat mixed hellishly with the humidity of New Jersey wasn’t something you enjoyed yourself, so you never understood why your father did.

To others it may have not seem like he did, as he always sat underneath a parasol whenever the sun was out. Your parents had been feeding you the lie of your father having an extreme sensitivity to sunlight and even some UV lighting- it had a name, but you were young and clueless, too occupied with other things.

Simpler, teenage things.

You never questioned why it was your mother who worked seven days a week to put food on the table nor why you heard your father leaving the house in the middle of the night on some days. Maybe you should have.

You wished you would’ve asked why August was your father’s favorite month- he would’ve told you it was because you were born on the 10th day. He had never felt more alive, more human.

 

You never did quite like your birthday. You had a few friends from school but you could’ve done with a simple dinner with your parents just as well- your mother had other plans, though.

She decided that you’d only turn thirteen once and you deserved a party. You were grateful, you just hated whenever the house was too crowded. And right now, it was exactly that. The backyard was filled with people- the few friends you had, some family members from your mother’s side, neighbors.

Never once did you wonder why your father’s family never visited, or why you weren’t supposed to come into the living room whenever he was having friends over. But you were getting older and you were starting to become more curious.

You had always trusted your parents and believed every word they told you, but lately you felt as if they were keeping secrets from you. And you were starting to think it had something to do with you- in that case, you had a right to know.

“I’ll get you another piece of pie, grandma,” you told your mother’s mother who was sitting next to you in the backyard, getting up the same time as your father did to make his way into the house. Your grandmother ignored you which didn’t bother you all too much- for some reason, she never liked you and although she never said it, she didn’t do much to hide her feelings.

Creeping past your mother, who was too busy talking to some of her friends, you silently made your way into the house and down the hallway that led to the living room. You recognized the voice of your father and those of a few other men- neighbors, family friends. It made you slowly halt your movements, making sure they didn’t see you standing near the door opening.

“Beaumont and Harris have been spotted in Montclair. It’s not safe for you to stay here any longer, Richard. It’s not safe for her,”

You heard George, your next door neighbor and father’s best friend, say. There was a hint of panic lingering in the back of his throat, but the urgency in his voice was more dominant. He sounded worried. When your father spoke, he sounded calm to unknowing ears.

But you knew your father. He was worried too.

“I know, George, I know.. but.. not today. Now is not the time,” you were frozen in place as your father heaved a deep sigh and you stood pressed against the wall, fighting the urge to peek around the corner. “We’ve been keeping them at bay for years, we can do so for one more night,”

“Your time is up, Rich. You have to tell her,”

“No,” your father raised his voice, shutting up everyone else in the room and making you hide your mouth behind your hands, holding your breath. “Not today, not tonight. It’s her birthday- she’s only thirteen years old. She isn’t ready for this yet, maybe she never will be and maybe that’s for the best. It’s.. it’s best if she never finds out,”

“If she never finds out, she’ll be in more danger and you know it. She deserves to know,”

Know? Know what?!

You were starting to get nervous now. It was obvious that they were talking about you. They knew something you didn’t and this both frustrated you as much as it scared you.

“I decide if my daughter finds out about what she is or not. You take care of keeping the big city guys and the Council away and I’ll take care of my family,”

With your father showing dominance, the conversation ended and the shuffling footsteps that moved around the room got you to push yourself off the wall and back into the backyard. Your father caught a glance of you just when the screen door shut behind you- still, just like all your thirteen years of life, he couldn’t read your mind.

And if things worked out the way he wanted them to, meaning you’d never find out about your true self and trigger any of your abilities, he would never be able to get inside of your head.

 

You went on with your day like nothing happened and so did everyone else- you hung out with your friends, thanked your company for their presents and for coming and helped your mother clean up the mess and do the dishes when everyone left after dinner. You didn’t mind the fact that everyone left, spending the night watching a movie with your parents and trying to forget about the conversation you overheard.

But you couldn’t, it was all you could think about when you were laying in bed that night. You heard your parents talking to each other in muffled voices as they went to bed, but you couldn’t hear what they were saying. As much as you wanted to eavesdrop on their conversation, your mind was scrambled and you were tired from thinking too much and too hard.

You weren’t strong enough to win the battle with your body, slowly but surely drifting into a deep slumber.

 

Present Day

You awakened to the soft melodies of Clair de Lune being played by someone on a piano. Despite the throbbing headache you unfortunately had to deal with, the music wasn’t unwelcomed.

The bed you found yourself in was unfamiliar to you and while you had to get used to your surroundings for a few minutes, you could take a wild guess who the soft mattress belonged to. You had been wanting to get close to the raven haired stranger that had a knack for saving you every time you got yourself in trouble, but you never expected to wake up inside of his penthouse with a truly breathtaking view of the city.

You simply couldn’t explain your reasoning for wanting to be around him, but it was like you were drawn to him out of your control. Even now that you woke up with a hangover and it felt like someone was pounding the inside of your head with hammers, he was still all you could think about.

Putting your messy hair up with the hairclip you found in your purse, you stepped out of the heavenly soft bed and out of the room, following the sound of the piano that was still echoing gently through the penthouse. You tugged the white button up you had slept in down a little more, luckily you were a lot smaller than the owner of the house and his shirt looked like a dress on you.

“Good morning, Aaron,”

Elvis had been getting lost in the music and didn’t hear you walking down the stairs and into the living area where he was sitting at the piano, but as soon as he heard your voice, his fingers halted on the keys of the piano.

He tried not to grimace at you using his middle name, although that was kind of his own fault- when you and him exchanged names before he allowed you to have his bedroom for the night, he figured he couldn’t exactly tell you his first name. Especially not after the comment you made. He had kind of hoped you were too young to even know who Elvis Presley was, but unfortunately for him, he was more famous than he realised at times.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he smiled at you, his eyes following you as you walked closer to him and sat down next to him on the bench at the piano. “I’m sorry if I woke you,”

You hummed, shaking your head. You brought one hand up to the piano, ghosting your fingertips over the keys. Elvis was surprised as you lifted your other hand as well, playing a little bit of the song he just ended.

“Debussy,” you whispered as you stopped again, way too soon for Elvis’ liking. He looked at you, smiling softly as he saw the fond smile gracing your own features. “Claire de Lune was the first thing my father taught me on the piano. We used to drive my mother crazy with it,”

“Your father has good taste,” Elvis said, his smile widening a little as you looked at him with a hint of surprise in your eyes when he put his hand close next to yours on the keys. He slowly resumed the song, ignoring how it felt as if there was a fire ignited in his bones when his skin touched yours- he was pleasantly surprised when you played along, your fingertips following his lead.

You weren’t a terrible player, but you were rusty. It had been over ten years since you even sat down at a piano and your new friend here seemed like he played nearly every day. His fingertips were graceful and light as they danced over the keys of the instrument, never missing a melody not even when his eyes were on you.

Before the song could pick up intensity, you slowly removed your hand and let it join your other that was resting in your lap. Elvis smiled showing his teeth for a second as he put his other hand on the keys as well, effortlessly and perfectly playing the entire song as if he had done this for a thousand years, as if he had composed it himself.

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from bursting into tears the entire time. After your thirteenth birthday, you hadn’t played nor listened to the piece of music. It brought back too many memories- all good memories at first, but they’d always morph into the horror-like ending of your parents’ lives. If you had lost your parents due to an illness or simply old age, you could’ve given your grief a place. But the way they had met their end was something you wouldn’t wish upon anybody, not even your worst enemy.

So lost in thought, you didn’t realise the song had ended nor felt the tear that managed to roll down your cheek from the corner of your eye. Elvis didn’t even hesitate or hold back as he took his hands off the piano and thumbed your tear away, making you stumble back into reality and look at him again.

“I was that bad, huh?” he grinned at you, hoping to make you laugh. Because something told him the entire mood was to shift soon enough- he was going to have to tell you about what he was, what you were and what it meant for your future.

For now, he succeeded in it though and he found himself laughing along with you. He liked the sound of your laugh, it was contagious. It was better than music.

“No, you were great. Amazing. Just brought me back to Jersey for a little while,”

He never expected for anyone to be transported to New Jersey when hearing Clair de Lune- most people aimed high and opted for Paris, Prague, or any other sophisticated European city. Elvis didn’t judge and nor tease. He needed to get this conversation rolling, needed a way to bring up the topic, and you basically kicked open the door yourself.

“You’re from Jersey?”

You nodded as you smiled at him, wiping away another tear that escaped before swallowing the forming lump in your throat down. You didn’t want to be emotional, but you had always been bad at hiding your emotions. It was like you felt things a hundred times more intense than others- your mother had always blamed it on puberty, but she knew better.

“Yes, from Montclair. It’s small and there was never much around to do, not like in the city anyways, but I had a good life there. At least for a little while,”

Elvis reached out his arm in front of him, placing his hand atop of the piano as he looked at you so intensely that you found yourself unable to look away from his blue hues. He was trying so hard to just get into your head and see your childhood memories for himself, but even now that you were in his home and vulnerable, he was blocked.

You weren’t opening up to him, wasn’t asking for help because you weren’t in danger- it frustrated him that he couldn’t use his abilities to get a glimpse inside of your head, but it also intrigued him.

It was refreshing to feel curious about what someone was thinking. It's been a while since he'd been in such a position, as most people he came across were like open books.

“What happened for it to turn bad?”

You inhaled a deep breath of air, straightening your shoulders a little as your fingers tugged at the shirt you were wearing nervously, breaking eye contact with him as you looked down. You never told anyone about your parents- after your thirteenth birthday, you pushed down the trauma so deep that it left you thinking it had all been a dream on some days. A cruel nightmare that was all a figure of your imagination.

But on nights where you woke up screaming in horror and feeling like someone had punched a gaping hole in your chest, you knew it was anything but your imagination. You didn’t want it to be real and you figured if you’d simply never speak a word to someone about it, you could keep pretending it was all a dream.

You didn’t want pity, didn’t want people (and especially not people in the medical field) telling you that they understood your pain, sorrow and grief. Because they didn’t. Nobody would ever understand; but right now in this moment, sitting here at a piano with a complete stranger that helped you escape a few gnarly situations in the past few weeks, the words rolled off your tongue before you could swallow them down.

Because maybe, just maybe, Aaron could understand what it was like to experience a great loss like yours.

“I lost my parents,” you told him as you slowly raised your head, meeting his eyes. “They were murdered right in front of my eyes,”

 

August 11, 2012 – 3:00AM

You startled awake by the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs and glass shattering from what you guessed was the hallway. Sitting up with your heart beating frantically, your mother didn’t give you the chance to go downstairs as she bursted through the door and dragged you out of your bed.

The look on her face worried you- she wasn’t crying, nor did she give away her inner turmoil with any other expressions. Her face was set into concetration and determination like stone, pulling you out of the room and into hers.

“Mom, what’s going on?!” you screamed in fear as you heard the sounds of struggles coming from downstairs- it sounded like several people were breaking down the house. Not seeing your father in the bedroom, you realised he was one of the people. “Where is Dad? What’s happening?”

Your mother didn’t say anything. Instead, she quickly opened the doors of her wardrobe and pullled a duffel bag out of it, walking over to her window to throw the bag down in the bushes near the front porch. She turned to you and grabbed your shoulders, squeezing harder than usual. You didn’t know at the time it was the last time your mother would be able to touch you, hold you.

“Go next door to George and Lilly. Your father and I will be there soon,” she saw the hesitation in your eyes, mixed with the fear and panic, and it made her heart shred to pieces. She was promising you something she wasn’t sure she could keep. “We’ll explain everything to you, Y/N, I promise you. But for now I need you to do as I say and go,”

You were crying, shaking your head. You didn’t want to leave your parents behind and deal with whatever was going on downstairs. It wasn’t going to end well- you just knew it.

You didn’t hear footsteps coming up the stairs and doors swinging open and closed- when the bedroom door of your parents’ room was kicked in, it nearly flew off the handles and it made your mother drag you to the window for you to climb out of and make your escape. But she wasn’t fast enough and neither were you- your mother was ripped away from you faster than you could blink.

You didn’t recognize the man that had stepped in the room and you were frozen on the spot as you watched him and your mother fight. You knew your mother was a tough cookie, but she was also a small and petite lady and she was no match for the rugged looking criminal that managed to get in the house.

Because that was all you thought he was; a criminal.

Until he ripped into your mother’s neck with his teeth, tearing a piece of her flesh off and spitting it out on the carpet. You couldn’t move or cry or scream; all you did was stand there and watch with horror as your mother’s neck was snapped with a flick of the man’s wrist. The thud of her lifeless body hitting the floor made you snap back to reality and reaching your hand behind you, your fingers came into contact with the wooden baseball bat you knew your mother kept hidden behind the curtains.

The sight of the man slowly and confidently making his way over to you like a lion would approach an unknowing gazelle was one you were never going to forget. Your mother’s blood dripped down from his chin, his eyes a shade of crimson that made a chill run down your spine.

It was only when he parted his lips and let out a growl that you noticed fangs poking out and you realised this was more than just a violent home raid.

“You’re coming with me, little girl,”

They weren’t here for jewelry or money or any other valuable thing. They were here for you.

“I don’t think so, creep,” you spat at him, not giving him time to respond as you swung the baseball bat to his head with as much force as you could. It got him distracted, stumbling back a little as he grabbed his head. You didn’t wait to see what would happen next, running past him and out of the door.

Trying to survive yourself, you didn’t have the chance nor time to take one last look at your mother. You thundered down the stairs, ignoring the pain you felt when you stepped in a piece of broken glass that was shattered all over the floor as you made your way into the kitchen. You grabbed the biggest knife you could find and just as you turned around, the same man from before was right in front of you- faster than you could imagine.

There was no mark of you hitting him with the bat, which was now in his hand because you dropped it in your frantic state of mind, but somewhere deep down inside you had already established that you weren’t dealing with a normal human being here.

And you didn’t know how to take out whatever the hell he was, so you went with the first thing that came to mind. Reaching out your hand with the knife in it in a swift move, you pushed the pointy blade right through his Adam’s apple, making him drop the baseball and cough up blood as he stumbled back against the kitchen table. Your body felt as if it switched to automatic pilot, grabbing the baseball bat from the floor and running into the living room where you heard your father fighting the other intruder.

Hitting the other guy on the back of the head as hard as you could, it got him to let go of your father. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight of your father’s face when he turned around to look at you- just like the one you had just stabbed in the throat, he looked unhuman.

His eyes were red as veins crawled underneath his skin, pointy fangs disrupting his usual warm and gentle face. His Genesis shirt that he always slept in was ripped and stained with blood.

“You need to get out of this house, you hear me?” your father grabbed your arms, already leading you to the front door. His face had returned to its normal state. He knew that he wasn’t able to compel you to forget this- it was a good thing that you weren’t able to let vampires inside of your head, but right now, he hated it more than anything in the world. “George and Lilly will know what to do. Baby, I’m so sorry about all of this, I’m so sorry for not being able to explain, but soon.. one day.. it will all make sense. I love you, but you need to go,”

You refused, trying to stop your father from pushing you further out of the living room and to the door by planting your feet against the floor as firm as you could. You were grabbing onto his ripped shirt, not wanting to leave him behind. But you had to, you knew you had no other choice when your father’s attacker was getting up and angrily making his way over to the both of you.

 

Much to Lilly’s dismay, George wasn’t going to sit back and wait. He knew something was wrong and he should’ve done what he did sooner. Even if it was just a few minutes earlier, he could’ve prevented all of this.

“This will get you killed, George!” Lilly yelled angrily as she ran after him to your front door. She was human and couldn’t stop him when he kicked down the door, letting the entire thing fly off the handles and land on the bottom of the stairs.

When George saw your father in an unfortunate position in the other vampire’s grip, he made his way over to get involved. The second intruder had seemed to recover from the knife you put in his throat and focused his attention on George, ripping his heart out in a split second. Lilly had grabbed you to console you but now you were the one catching her in your arms as she let out a bloodcurdling scream, watching her fiancé not even having a chance to fight for his life.

“W-We need to.. to g-go.. go, Lilly. Run!” you whispered breathlessly, trying to push her out of your arms and out of the house. The two intruders didn’t spare you the sight of twisting your father’s head in a gruesome manner.

Before his head was torn off and you left the house, you tried to open yourself to him and him only. You filled your mind with nothing and no one but your father, mentally screaming his name over and over again.

“Avenge me,”

Hearing his voice only seconds before his head dropped to the floor made your blood run cold and tears stream down your face. He had done it, he managed to telepathically communicate with you- you didn’t know how you were able to avenge your father as a young human girl, if you even were human, but you felt you owed it to your parents to get revenge.

You didn’t know anything anymore- not who you were, not who your parents were or about the kind of life they lived, but as you let yourself get dragged into a car by Lilly, you promised yourself you would never let anyone get inside of your head ever again.

A promise you didn’t know then you wouldn’t be able to keep.

 

Present Day

“Lilly blamed me for George’s death. We lived together in Washington for a few years, hiding as much as we could- we didn’t know if it was just those.. two.. or if there were more,” you sighed deeply, messing with the charm bracelet around your wrist. “I guess she either couldn’t face me every day anymore or the loss of her partner was too much for her.. she took her own life when I was 17. Thinking back on it now, I wouldn’t be able to live with someone like me either,”

Elvis frowned, his hands reaching down to grab yours as he shook his head at you. You allowed him, looking at him as he squeezed your hands softly- the both of you felt a tingle of electricity crawl down your spines, but neither of you gave it away.

“Your parents’ death wasn’t your fault, Y/N. Neither was George’s. You went through something traumatic- for a thirteen year old girl, you did the right thing. You did all you could do,”

You smiled softly at the empathic gleam in his eyes. This didn’t feel like the pity you hated getting from other people. He didn’t tell you he understood and that in the end, you’ll be okay.

Something told you that he was the right person to confide in. The right person to tell about the things that you have seen in your childhood home that night, things that other people would consider you absolutely crazy for.

“It was my fault, I know it was, and it’s something I have to live with for the rest of my life,” you told him, tilting your head a little as you gave him a soft smile. “Because they weren’t there for my parents.. my mother and father were.. collateral damage. Those men wanted me,”

Elvis opened his mouth to speak but at the same time you twisted your hands around in his grip, your palms connecting and your thumbs gently pressing onto the back of his hands. Unknowingly, you sent him a flashback of that gruesome night and Elvis saw your father getting murdered with his own eyes and you being dragged out of the house.

He could literally feel your pain and while he had wanted so badly to get access to your mind, it was nearly overwhelming now. There was grief, sorrow, anger, guilt… and then, Beaumont and Harris.

Masquerade guys.

He didn’t have time to confirm it was truly them- the images flashing before his eyes were so chaotic and rushed that it was hard to make out who was who and as you let go of his hands, it was gone all together.

He was blocked out once more.

Elvis sucked in a breath of air as he watched you get up from the bench and walk over to the floor to ceiling windows to look at the city below. “Do you think they wanted you because of what your father was?”

He asked you the question you’d been asking yourself for years. You couldn’t think of any other explanation, but you had never talked to anyone about this except for Lilly. She didn’t tell you much, though- she much rather avoided you as much as she could, never answering any questions you threw her way. The only thing she told you was that she lost the love of her life and that he’d still be by her side if it wasn’t for your “stupid mother and father cross-breeding”.

You had never wanted to believe your own assumptions about your father after that night, but the older you got, the more things started to make sense.

You were starting to realise that there was a bigger reason for your father to never expose himself to sunlight, and him leaving the house for “work” after the sun had went down.

You knew what your father was, but part of you was still hoping it wasn’t so. It couldn’t be- stuff like that just didn’t exist. But it did, and you had seen it with your own two eyes.

“Yes, I think so,” you whispered, gazing at the greyish sky outside and the tall skyrise buildings surrounding the one you were currently in. People and cars looked like tiny little ants from this high- it made you feel strangely safe. Like nothing and no one could hurt you up here. Maybe you were naive to trust the man at the piano so quick, but if he wanted to hurt you or had any malicious tricks up his sleeve, he would’ve done it by now. Besides, it wasn’t like you had much to lose anymore.

“Are you a vampire, Aaron?”

Elvis stopped in his tracks as he was making his way over to you, standing a few feet behind you as he stared at the back of your head. For at least a few seconds, you had rendered him speechless. Here he was, thinking that he was the one who was going to bring up the dreaded topic and inform you that you might not be human yourself and all this time, you were already aware.

Aware, but in denial.

“What makes you think I am?” he then questioned, his voice low but calm. Any worries that he had melted away when you slowly turned around and looked at him with a small smile on your face.

“First of all, you’re not denying it and… the way you show up and then disappear just like that again,” you snapped your fingers before crossing your arms in front of your chest again. “My father was pretty good at that too. And second, you’re not calling me a crazy bitch for calling you a vampire,”

He bit his lip to hold back a soft laugh- even in a situation like this, despite all the pain you’d gone through and he assumed you were still experiencing today, you had a sense of humor.

It only made him more drawn to you.

Rubbing the back of his neck a little, he nodded and slowly made his way over to you. “I am. And so was your father,” he told you the obvious, standing in front of you now and looking down at you due to your height difference. It didn’t feel demanding or dominant, he was only looking at you- really looking at you. You felt as if his blue eyes had access to your insides and could pick apart your soul. “Do you know what that makes you?”

Yes. No. Maybe.

“A freak?” you questioned with a feigned amused tone in your voice, not wanting to look weak and shed another tear in front of him. But he was making it hard for you- with the way he was looking at you and smiling at you as he shook his head, his fingertips caressing a strand of hair behind your ear, it made you want to break down into a million pieces. Right there in his arms.

Instead, you just gazed at him, softly biting your tongue.

“No, honey- it makes you special,”

You hated how weak you were and how easy it was for your knees to turn wobbly and your guard to come down around him. You allowed it when he planted a soft gentle kiss on your forehead and then… he hugged you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had been hugged and held. The last man to do so was your father on your birthday, but this felt like it could grow into a complete different kind of love.

 

Half human, half vampire.

According to Elvis, it was the rarest specie to wander the earth. Vampires were undead creatures that were turned by the blood of other vampires- in any and all cases, they had been human once that were gifted abilities and immortality upon their ressurection. Unlike human-vampire hybrids, vampires could only be made this way and not be born naturally.

Women falling pregnant by the doing of vampires was rare, but not impossible. The activity in itself was extremely dangerous to the human and the pregnancy even more so, because the child grew faster than a human baby. Elvis told you what he knew about it, which wasn’t an awful lot, so you took his word for it when he thought out loud and assumed the duration of such a pregnancy was somewhere between 4 to 6 months.

Your mother never told you things about her pregnancy in great detail and you figured what she did tell you had probably been lies to keep half of your identity a secret.

 

“So, if I’m half… vampire- why do I still get hangovers?” you questioned with an irritated sigh, taking the painkiller and glass of water Elvis handed to you when you sat down on his couch with him.

He laughed softly as he leaned back against a couple of decorative pillows, watching you throw back the pill and shudder when you gulped down the water. He took the glass from you and put it on the coffee table, looking at you.

“I’m guessing your vampire side has to be triggered, or ‘activated’, so to speak. Vampires complete their transition by drinking blood, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it’d be the same for you,”

You pulled your legs up and wiggled your feet underneath you, placing a pillow against your thighs as to not flash the man in front of you. You thought about his words for a little bit, humming softly as you placed your elbow on the back of the couch and rested your head in your hand.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,”

He frowned and shook his head, crossing his arms as he stretched his legs underneath the table. “No,”

“No what?” you raised an eyebrow at him as he sighed deeply, looking at you with a hint of worry in his eyes.

“Don’t you think it’s a little.. too soon? I mean, I’m all for it but we don’t know much about what you can and can’t do yet. Maybe it’s best if we wait- give yourself some time to come to terms with this,”

You lifted your head off your hand and leaned forward with your elbows on the pillow- your fingers automatically found your charm bracelet again as you twirled it around your wrist, your eyes following the movement.

“I think I’ve already come to terms with it, whether I want to or not. I made a promise that I’d get revenge for my parents and maybe I’ll get myself killed trying, but I have to try,” you told him, mustering up the courage to look him in the eye and take a deep breath. “And to be honest, Aaron, this isn’t your decision to make,”

He knew it wasn’t his decision to make. But what if this was dangerous? If he what he saw was right and vampires from the Masquerade club were really involved, they had a storm coming. Because the Masquerade meant the Council and the Council wasn’t exactly known to be flexible nor open minded.

They had their rules set in stone and they weren’t meant to be broken. Cross-breeding wasn’t allowed, as it “disrupted the balance of nature” or whatever bullshit those ancient vampires believed in.

He didn’t have the right to persuade you to make another decision on this. He knew what it was like to lose both parents in a violent death and while he had given it a place with time, it didn’t mean that it stopped hurting. Seeing the determination in your eyes, he got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen.

You were quick to follow, throwing the pillow behind you back onto the couch. You stood by his marble kitchen island as he moved around from the fridge to the counter, squeezing a bloodbag empty in two glasses. Turning around, you swallowed nervously at the sight of the crimson fluid that had once coursed through someone’s veins. He held out the glass in front of you, but before you could take it, he pulled his arm back.

“If this takes, your life is going to change, Y/N, I’m assuming drastically. You’re going to see some shit and I mean… heavy shit-“

“Been there, done that,” you interrupted him, reaching your arm out to him. You had already seen the worst you could when you were thirteen, you didn’t think it would get any more gruesome than what was already imprinted in your brain.

Elvis sighed heavily, nodding- he handed you the glass, which you quickly took before he could take it away again. He clinked the rim of his glass against yours before bringing it to his lips.

“Bottoms up,”

 

To him, it was nothing but a quick breakfast.

To you, it was the strangest thing you’d ever done.

It tasted exactly how you’d think blood to taste; slightly salty and very metallic. But you powered through it, chugging the amount Elvis gave you down in one go and then the taste was slowly but surely changing to your tastebuds.

The metallic hint of the blood melted away like snow in the sun and as the last contents of your glass hit your tongue, it was sweet. It was difficult to explain, but it was even more intense than any sweet food you ever ate. The grimace you had been sporting on your face disappeared and as you put your glass down and licked your lips, your hangover was ancient history.

“My headache’s gone, but I don’t feel any different,” you complained, worried that it hadn’t worked and you were still your old self. Elvis looked at you with an amused smile as he put his glass down and gently grabbed your shoulders from behind, guiding you to a tall mirror near the living area.

Any blemishes or imperfections that would pop up on some days and ruin your day were nowhere to be seen- instead, your skin was glowing. Your dark circles that were the result of your messed up sleeping schedule were traded for veins dancing underneath your flesh, your eyes intensely red as the whites of them had now turned black. You could’ve sworn even your hair had a little more shine to it.

You were beautiful in a somewhat creepy way and Elvis seemed to think so as well. Smiling, he brought his hand to your chin and pulled down a little, your lips automatically parting. Your heart skipped a nervous, and perhaps an excited, beat as you saw your new set of teeth. You hadn’t even felt them come through, nor did you feel any of the other changes on your face- it was like it had always been there. Like it was supposed to be there.

With a feeling like somewhat of the weight you had been carrying around for all these years was lifted, you realised this was the real you. You also felt closer to your father, even more so than you ever had.

“How do I change it back?”

“Put your mind to it, focus on it- always works for me,” Elvis told you as he looked at you through the mirror, watching your eyebrows knit together in concetration as you tried to do what he suggested. It took a few seconds, but it worked. Even as your vampiric features faded away like they had never been there in the first place, your skin was still more perfect and looking more alive than before.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you told him as you turned around to face him instead of looking at each other through the mirror. “For these past few weeks and for listening today and for… this,”

You pointed at your face, focusing on letting it shift again and he laughed, nodding to confirm to you it was working because you barely felt it happening. “You don’t have to thank me- it suits you. Besides, you got some avenging to do and how convenient that revenge is one of my favorite dishes to serve,” he joked, grinning at you as he grabbed your finger and pulled it away from your fangs you were poking. You laughed softly at both his words and action, but couldn’t stop the blush on your cheeks when he kissed your finger. “But honey... call me Elvis, okay?”

You tore your eyes away from his lips and the way his perfectly white teeth were visible when he flashed you a smirk- you squinted your eyes at him, before rolling them playfully and pulling your hand out of his grip.

“You wish,” you joked back, assuming that he wasn’t serious. “He’s still the better looking one,”

He raised his eyebrows as you walked away from him and back toward the window, reaching your arm out to the ray of sunlight that peeked through the clouds to see what would happen.

Just earlier today, he had been doubtful about telling you who he really was but now he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you’d find out.

He was going to postpone telling you for a little longer though, because right now he needed to give you some basic training on how to actually be a vampire and introducing you to Joe and the others.

The little, unimportant things could wait.

taglist: @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @woundmetender @returntoelvis @prayerstopresley @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @wonka-gifs @notstefaniepresley @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley @septembersghost

#elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #elvis angst #elvis presley angst #elvis #elvis presley #vampire!elvis #tamwrites

[padfootagain]

You and the King (III)

Chapter 3 : Fighting with Words

Hi lovelies! Here is a new chapter for my Caspian series! Y/N is getting fierce, and I love it. Also, troubles are coming…

I hope you like this new chapter! Let me know what you think!

****

Pairing: Caspian x reader

Warnings: None… insults? Is that worth a warning?

Summary: Sequel to The King and You – After meeting Caspian in your own world, you decide to follow him to Narnia, your love for him too strong for you to keep your old life. But as you discover the magic of Narnia, you soon realise that this extraordinary world is as dangerous as it is magnificent. Will your love for Caspian be enough to defeat your new enemies?

Word Count: 3740

Masterlist for the series – Caspian’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Dalia was far from stupid.

After refusing to attend your first meeting the previous day, she was expecting Caspian to call for her and ask for explanations. It was part of the plan, actually.

Caspian was an amazing man, a great king. But he was also a little naïve sometimes, a little bit blind. She blamed it on his kind heart. He had a tendency to see the good in people before he could see the bad. And that was the cause of her worry now.

She took a deep breath before opening the door of Caspian’s private office. It was barely dawn, the light still shy, golden, almost orange in a sky tainted with pink. The Castle was waking up, servants hurrying back and forth to prepare breakfast, guards sleepily walking to take their posts. A ballet she knew by heart, that she had known all her life, growing up side by side with Caspian and the royal family.

A ballet you knew nothing about, and yet…

“Come in,” Caspian’s voice was loud and clear as it answered to her knock on his door.

Her face was unreadable as she stepped inside the room, and Caspian was not surprised. She excelled in this art of pretends, of hiding emotions and thoughts. She had been raised at court, after all, she had learnt to wear a mask, just as he had.

He hated that she still used her mask when he was around though. Despite the many years of friendship between them, it felt like she still didn’t fully trust him.

“Good morning, Dalia,” Caspian politely greeted her, but she didn’t fail to notice that his tone was colder than usual. “Take a seat.”

She complied, sitting on the opposite side of the desk. The long, wooden piece of furniture was buried under parchments, documents, maps…

Caspian had been busy. She guessed that he had tried to catch up with his duties during the night, to compensate the day he had spent with you.

She hated you for the dark bags under his eyes.

“You wanted to see me,” she spoke slowly, her voice perfectly calm and polished.

But Caspian wasn’t fooled. He knew her too well for that. And he knew about the ways of the court as much as she did. He was used to tear these masks apart now.

“You know perfectly why I’ve asked you to come this morning.”

“Let me guess… it is about your new fiancée.”

He frowned at her tone. It sounded a little cruel, disrespectful, full of disdain…

He hated it. The very sound in her voice, but now more than ever because the poison was aimed at you.

“I don’t like your tone,” he answered in a cold voice, staring intensely at her.

“I’ve never really cared…”

“You should, Dalia.”

A heavy silence settled across the room. Dalia broke it with a scoff.

“I apologize, My Liege.”

But her tone was mocking still.

“We are friends. We have been for a long time,” Caspian spoke his words slowly, with a heavy frown and a weight on each of the sounds. “But that does not mean that I am not your King. And that certainly does not mean that you can so blatantly insult me and get away with it.”

“I can hardly call sarcasm an insult.”

“You did not come yesterday. How do you call that?”

“I was sick.”

“Now, Dalia, do not play that game with me. I know you are lying.”

He was angry. He was glaring at her and she hated it. She hated every second of it. She didn’t back down though.

“Do you truly want to know why I did not come?”

“Yes, I do.”

She leaned forward a bit, coming closer to him, as to try to catch his attention and put more weight into her words.

“I believe that you should reconsider your decision about Lady Y/N.”

Caspian frowned hard.

“What?”

“You barely know each other, you are going too fast.”

“I am not…”

“There is still no treaty with Lord Cirvan and his men. And you are making things worse with their lands, refusing to marry Cirvan’s daughter to announce your future wedding less than a day later. You are making a mistake.”

But Caspian narrowed his eyes at her.

“You know perfectly well that if I made an announcement about my engagement with Y/N, it is precisely because of Lord Cirvan and his men. Because I need the assurance that he will not try to marry me off again…”

“But Caspian, this wedding presents no political advantage.”

He clenched his jaw. He was beyond angry now, and Dalia knew it. She couldn’t claim she had not been expecting this, but it still hurt to see such fire in his glare aimed at her.

He didn’t say a word though, and let her continue.

“I know that it sounds cynical, but your wedding is an incredible opportunity to build lasting alliances with other kingdoms, and powerful lords, and you are endangering our borders by acting stubborn and letting a strange girl manipulate your feelings.”

“Manipulate my feelings? Do you even hear yourself?”

“I do. And I know what I am saying. You are a King, Caspian. Women try to seduce you for the throne every day.”

“Y/N is different.”

“Because she made you believe in one of the old fairy tales? The great love stories? Those are good for Doctor Cornerlius’s books, not for us who are dealing with real politics. You are making a mistake by wanting to marry this stupid girl…”

She fell instantly silent when Caspian stood up, jaw clenched and eyes glaring.

“I understand your worry about politics and Lord Cirvan,” Caspian spoke, words slow and voice deep, clearly struggling to remain calm. He was leaning over his desk, palms resting on the map splayed across the wood. “But, Dalia, I will not have you insult Y/N, do you understand?”

“You are being manipulated…”

“I am not,” Caspian answered, voice firm and decisive. “You do not know Y/N, you have spent less than an hour with her. Why do you not trust me on this?”

“Caspian… you are King. People will try to manipulate you. Does it not sound strange to you that all of a sudden this woman has fallen madly in love with you, in barely more than a month, and has decided to leave everything behind to join you here, in Narnia? Do you not think it weird that she might leave her ordinary and rather pointless life behind without thinking for a second about the fact that you are King? Do you not think that it is precisely the reason why she did this? She left because she could become a queen. And you were too foolish to see it. Blinded by… I do not even know what could have blinded you… she seems completely ordinary.”

Dalia fell silent, waiting for Caspian’s reaction. She hoped she could shake some sense into his head. She hoped she could make him see that you were not fit to be queen. What by Aslan’s name was he doing? You had worked together so hard to get him there, as a stable king on a Narnian throne, and now he was falling into such a silly trap?

He stared at her with eyes of stone, icy cold. She searched through her memories but didn’t remember him ever looking at her this way. Of course, after so many years, they had fought countless times, he had been angry against her before. But she had never seen such a rage, it was mingled with something protective that she hated, because you were the source of it.

“You know nothing of Y/N, Dalia,” Caspian repeated in this same slow tone of his. “She has given up on everything to come here…”

“That is what I am saying! If not for the throne, then why should she come?”

But he frowned, a little taken aback now.

“Because she loves me, Dalia.”

He let out a wry laugh.

“So, do you really think me such an awful man that no one could love me for who I am? That the only reason anyone has ever showed any interest in me is because I am King? Well, thank you for the compliment…”

She shook her head, her expression softening.

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Then why is it so difficult for you to imagine that Y/N has chosen to come here because she loves me? Nothing else. Dalia, do you realize what it means for her? She has left everything and everyone she has ever known, she has been thrown into another world she knows nothing about and is so different from her own… If she wanted money or power she could have tried to earn those in her world and it would have required less sacrifices from her. She came because she loves me. And I love her, Dalia. I love her more than anything. Had I not been King, I would have not come back to Narnia.”

Her eyes grew round.

“What?”

“I came back here because I am King. Because my people needs me. Because I cannot abandon Narnians. Because Aslan, Eustace, Peter, Lucy, Edmund and Susan trusted me to take care of this land, because my father died for this… But without this responsibility, without so many people I would have failed by leaving for good… I would have stayed with her in New York. I love her enough for that. I understand her choice, Dalia. I would have done the same, but I couldn’t.”

He let out a deep, worried sigh as he stood straighter again. He seemed tired more than angry now. Dalia hated seeing him like this. She wished she could take all his worry away.

Still, when he walked around his desk to stand next to her, leaning against the piece of furniture, his presence was still reassuring, strong, kingly. He ran a hand through his hair to brush the strands away from his eyes, and she wished she could have been the one to tame the rebellious strands…

She remembered how soft his hair was. She had touched the gentle strands a couple of times, always thanks to a silly excuse, always hidden behind a lie. There was something in his hair, it wasn’t tied properly… no matter the lies, they were worth it.

Did he let you touch his hair as much as you wanted?

“Dalia, I know what I am doing. I want to marry Y/N. I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life. She loves me. She loves me, for who I am. She loves me despite the crown, do you understand? She is terrified by all this. By the Narnians, by this place, by our ways, by the prospect of having so many responsibilities and power over people... She is not craving it, Dalia, she is afraid of it. And I need your help, I need you to show her our ways so this place can become her home too. And I love her, Dalia. I know that marrying her will not fit into any kind of political scheme, and I do not want it to. I love her, and that is enough. Do you understand?”

Slowly, she nodded, but she didn’t seem convinced. And indeed, she wasn’t. When he asked for her help again, she nodded anyway, promised to be more open-minded, to give you a chance.

But she had no chance to offer you. Not when Caspian looked so handsome in the early light of dawn…

“Alright, let us go through this again, shall we?”

Doctor Cornelius was kind and patient, and you felt grateful for him being your first teacher. So far though, you felt a little stupid.

You knew a few things about Narnia, because of what Agatha told you back in New York, because of Caspian’s stories… But their tales did not include any concrete information about Narnia, about their custom, about their land…

It was an awful lot to take in.

First, you were taught about Narnian currencies, basis of geography, and the current relations with other kingdoms and lands surrounding Narnia. Later on, you would be taught about Narnian laws and traditions.

“Dalia will smoothen up your manners to fit the court,” the old teacher had told you. “But I will make sure you understand what is happening around you, and that no one will make a fool of you during a conversation.”

Tough job, indeed… because as you tried to memorize the list of names set before you, you felt utterly brainless.

You had been working for almost four hours now. There was a bright sun outside, happy and inviting, but you were stuck there, in this dusty room, with a terrible headache…

And you felt like you would never make it. Never be ready…

You started as the doors of the library opened, and you recognized Ammos accompanying lord Baras and Luis towards your table. You struggled to swallow…

… they could only mean trouble.

You offered them a warm smile anyway, and they bowed before you.

You were unsure how to react, but Lord Baras spoke before you could decide what to do or say.

“My Lady. I see that you are busy this morning.”

Small talk. It called for something more important, and you assumed, less pleasant as well. You cautiously nodded.

“Yes, Professor Cornelius is helping me learn about Narnian ways.”

“It must be quite overwhelming.”

“Quite,” you admitted.

But your voice was cautious. You were new to Narnia, but you were not an idiot. Baras smelled of trouble. His smile was too sweet not to, too honeyed, as if it would turn sour soon.

“It is noon already, My Lady. Lord Luis and I wondered if you would like to join us for lunch. I am afraid our King is busy today, but we do not want you to feel too lonely for your first days in Narnia.”

You looked for an excuse to refuse, but couldn’t find any. You didn’t want to let anything slip that could compromise Caspian in any way. He had warned you that the court could be ruthless and would be filled with rumours.

But there seemed to be no way out of this, so you nodded with a smile, and followed the two Lords outside the Library after bidding the professor a good day.

They guided you throughout the fortress, and you didn’t fail to notice the annoyed glance they threw over their shoulder towards Ammos’s tall figure.

You wondered if Caspian had asked your bodyguards to remain by your side all day simply because he feared for your safety, or to have a spy…

There was small talk for a while, a rather boring exchange of questions and answers, until you reached a small room, where a table had been set for about ten people. It included three women, who looked at you with fake smiles and judging glances. You felt unbearably self-conscious under their stares.

But you were too old to be intimidated this way. Instead, you merely shot them a tight smile, and followed Baras to take a seat by his side around the table.

You noticed the stares, they were not as friendly as the day before, when Caspian was by your side. You were not surprised though…

There were a few other Lords that you recognized, but they didn’t seem friendly either.

You guessed they were all great at hiding how they felt, and make happy faces for their king.

“Oh, it is delightful to finally meet you, Lady Y/N! Or should I say… Queen Y/N,” one of the women told you after introducing herself as Velma. You didn’t fail to notice the sarcasm in her voice.

Your smile was tighter again. You weren’t sure if you ought to react or not. You wanted to snap back at her, throw a witty remark, but you didn’t want Caspian’s reputation to falter because of your behaviour. So, you merely remained silent instead, and looked down at your plate, filled with appetizing food.

“I hope your royal chambers fit your needs,” Velma went on, insisting on the word royal.

“It’s perfect,” you answered in a neutral tone, tightening your hold on your fork.

“How strange that the King has made an official announcement out of nowhere,” she went on, turning around as to not be talking to you, even if you were in the room. “I would have expected more restrain.”

“You mean, more wisdom,” one of the Lords said.

You recognized him, but couldn’t recall his name. He went on.

“A period of courting is needed, may the lady come from another world or not.”

He glanced over at you, but didn’t speak directly to you, and you hated it.

You planted your fork in your carrot with a little too much strength, but you didn’t care.

You would answer the next jab made at you, you knew you would… and you reckoned that you would be right to do so.

“The king must be eager,” Velma shrugged. “Even though… she doesn’t look like much…”

You clenched your jaw and glared at the woman.

“I am sitting right here, in case you haven’t noticed,” you spoke between gritted teeth.

“I know, my Lady. I am simply discussing a fact, that our king seems eager to marry you… for some reason.”

“Because we love each other? Is that not a good enough reason?”

But they all laughed at you. Even Barras, who had tried to remain neutral and seemed to merely study you. Except for Ammos, of course, who remained perfectly still behind you.

“You are quite naïve. Or optimistic. It is quite refreshing,” Luis chuckled.

“I don’t see how.”

“You seem to have much to learn about political alliances, then.”

You looked down at your plate at that. Of course… royal weddings… they ought to come with a political arrangement. That’s what Caspian almost did with Cirvan and his daughter…

“Emilia was a good choice. A shame he changed his mind.”

You felt a sharp pain cross your heart at that, but you didn’t let it show.

Instead, you let your anger find your next words.

“A chance you’re not in charge of the decision, then.”

“Indeed,” Luis went on. “I would have advised my king to be more cautious in his choice of wife.”

“It’s true I don’t bring lands or money to the table. Sorry about that. You’ll have to be contempt with my striking personality instead.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, surprised. You didn’t care. You were too annoyed and tired, and this headache of yours… it was getting worse.

Your nostrils were tickled by the scent of something burning, you wondered where it came from. But it wasn’t improving your painful head, that was for certain.

“My lady, I am certain your personality is delightful, of course. Why else would the king have chosen you? I can see no other argument in your favour.”

You looked down, unsure why the mean reply hurt you so much. Perhaps it was because you felt uneasy, when the ladies by your side seemed perfectly at ease… and it didn’t help that they were ridiculously beautiful, too.

“It will not, however, change the fact that we have lost a treaty so that the king could bed you.”

Your head snapped back up, feeling heat creeping over your neck and cheeks.

Had Velma truly said that?

You shouldn’t be petty, but you reckoned that she deserved it.

“Wow, that was classy, at least.”

Everyone around you frowned, but you didn’t really care. The manners you were trying to behave with were slowly leaving you, just like your patience.

“I’m sure you can do better than that,” you went on. “If you want to play the insult game, then at least make it a challenge. Or did you never find anything clever to say after you stopped being an idiotic teenager?”

Velma stared at you with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape, and you reckoned that you had won the duel, for now.

“Now, I am grateful for the invitation to lunch, Lord Baras,” you went on, turning to the man right before you. “But if this was merely meant to spend an hour insulting me right into my face, next time, be free to let me eat on my own. I’d rather have no company at all than an awful one.”

You tried to sit as straight as you could, and with as much dignity as you could muster.

“This kind of words are not expected from a future Queen,” Baras commented, but he had a small smile tugging at his lips. “Is it how you act in your world?”

“In my world I would have thrown my plate into your face. I am mustering all my restraints to not break anyone’s nose.”

You were surprised when he laughed, but Baras did. It was hesitant at first, but when you raised an eyebrow, he let out a bright wave of laughter.

“Forgive us, my Lady. We have underestimated you, it would seem,” Baras said, and there was something a little strange in his gaze, like he kept on studying you but seemed to have detected a worthy opponent instead of an innocent sheep.

You weren’t sure you liked that look though, but for the rest of the meal, no one dared to attack you anymore, or at least, not so openly. You reckoned it was some kind of success…

It didn’t prevent the gnawing feeling in your chest to make you feel miserable as you walked out of the room. You waited until you were alone in a corridor to let your shoulders drop though, rubbing at your temples because of this bloody headache of yours. The burning smell lingered, you wondered where it came from. Perhaps from the torches?

You wondered how much time you would have before Dalia would arrive. You weren’t sure to be ready to see her, she would not try to make you feel better, that was for certain. You wondered what could be the cause of her animosity towards you, but then again, you had an idea. You just hoped you were wrong about that…

A rival was the last thing you needed.

***********************************************

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @sergeantbuckybarnes @intothesoul @pat-sirius @rockintensse

#caspian #caspian x #caspian x reader #caspian x you #caspian x y/n #narnia #caspian fanfiction #caspian fanfic #caspian series #king caspian #the chronicles of narnia #narnia fanfiction #narnia series #fanfictions #fanfic #writing #series

[latenightsimping]

THE EDGE

“...There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who’ve gone over.” - Hunter S. Thompson, Hell’s Angels

Summary: A part of the deal to freedom included a stay at Pennhurst. It’ll take everything to keep the hope that one day the locked doors will open, the windows will no longer have bars that block the view, and that one day, the name Eddie Munson will be synonymous with the word ‘innocent’. The hope, he never realised, would also come to be synonymous with your name.

Chapter: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: angst, heavy themes of inpatient treatment/hospitalisation, heavy themes of mental health, institutional deprivation of liberties, body injuries, mentions of suicidal ideation, themes of institutional abuse, can be a dark read (continue with that in mind, look after yourselves), canon divergence, Eddie survives the demobat attack, post-S4 timeline, slow burn romance, eventual smut, 18+, eventual fluff

Chapter warnings: angst, hurt (no comfort), bittersweet feelings, it's a difficult one ngl but I'll make it better I swear lmao, reader is described as having scars but no specifics, story tags still apply

AN: Ayy another chapter done. I'll try and find time to keep updating, but bear with me as I switch between this, other oneshots, and my own personal work. To those who follow along, thank you. This is such a passion project, and I'm loving the story so far.

October, 1984

It all still feels like one horrific nightmare. You’ve still got blood in your hair, staining your skin, with no idea who it belonged to. For a while, the pain had vanished, as you clawed your way to a nearby road. Perhaps a leftover survival mechanism passed down the generations. But now, now you couldn’t ignore the agony that your wounds created. The gashes that would forever disfigure you, a reminder that would become apparent every time you looked in the mirror. For now, covered with clean white bandages. You had no idea what it looked like beneath them, and you weren’t ready to look anyway.

 Everyone had looked at you with such vitriol that made you want to wither into nothing. The doctors and nurses were doing the absolute bare minimum for your care, giving you minimal pain meds and spending as least time with you as humanly possible. The steel handcuffs that clasped your wrist and secured you to the hospital bed were starting to chafe, but you knew better than to say anything. Not like anybody would care, or even do anything about it. You knew the police officer that sat outside your door from high school, someone that had graduated when you were a sophomore. Harmon, you think his last name was. Either way, he hadn’t said anything to you yet. Not even made an appearance, just sitting himself down and reading the newspaper. You couldn’t see it, but you wondered if your name was in the news yet. Unlikely, considering everything had only happened a couple of hours ago. You prayed for it never to happen, but it was unlikely anyone up there was listening anyway. 

Someone came through the door and stopped by the end of your bed, a small notebook in one hand and pen in the other. Horned rimmed glasses framed eyes that bore into you, a squint that conveyed the disgust he had for you. He was dressed in a police uniform, the Hawkins P.D badge on his chest slightly glinting under the fluorescent lights. Callahan, the name badge opposite it said. You’d seen him around town, but had never crossed paths with him until tonight.

He said your name with a tone that told you he’d rather be anywhere else than here. You nodded in affirmation, as he looked down at the notepad, pen tapping against the pages. 

“Wild night you’ve had,” he drawled, a slight sneer as he shook his head. “Wanna tell me what happened?” 

For a moment, you said nothing. How could you possibly begin to explain it all? It was all such a blur, time doubling in rate with no hope of slowing. Your gaze lowered to the thin blanket that covered you, free hand picking at the off white fibres. “I don’t know.” Your voice was quiet, far away. You didn’t sound like yourself. 

A scoff. “You expect me to believe that?”

Another pause. No, you didn’t. You expected absolutely nobody to believe you. 

“We’ve found two bodies so far,” he continued. “Are we going to find any more?” 

You shook your head. They’d found Cynthia and Scott. Cynthia was your friend since Kindergarten, your neighbour that you grew up with. Your best friend, who never judged you. Scott had started dating her when you were all sixteen, and you actually liked him. Thought he was good for her. Thought they’d end up the childhood sweethearts that actually stuck together through life; would get married, have 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. Get a dog, and live a boring but fulfilling life. 

Where had it all gone so wrong?

“Done any drugs tonight?” Callahan asked, though he sounded like he already knew the answer, and way just testing you to see if you were going to lie about it. 

“I uh, smoked some weed,” you admitted, rubbing the heel of your hand into your eye. You still felt fuzzy around the edges, but it was wearing off all too quickly. “Drank some beers.” 

“Nothing else?” he asked you. “Hallucinogens, PCP, anything like that?” 

“No.”

You swore you saw an eye roll, though his glance away was helping to conceal it. “We’re going to be testing your blood, you know. Easier to just admit everything now, rather than it coming up in court later. I’m tryna’ help you here.” 

No, you aren’t, you wanted to say. You’ve decided I’m guilty. And you want to lock me up to rot. 

You could barely remember the rest of the interview. A lot of “I don’t know,” and “I can’t remember.” You can remember being sent to the place that terrified you as a child, though. Family horror stories of a great Aunt who went in and never came back out. You remember crying every night for the first six months, only for nobody to comfort you. You remember having to clamp down on your emotions, to bury them deep and hope they never resurface. 

You can’t remember your parents ever visiting you. 

August, 1986

The sweltering heat of Indiana summers were finally starting to break, cooler air filtering through the iron bars of the gaps of the slightly opened windows of the dayrooms and cutting the thick scent of sweat and cleaning products. You and Eddie had engaged in small talk during the countless games of cards, and you’d learned quite a fair bit about him. You learned he liked pickles on his burgers. His favourite album was still up in the air, citing that “you just couldn’t do that, it’d be like admitting you have a favourite child.” His favourite colour was red and black, leading to a couple of hours of heated conversation about black being technically a shade, not a colour. He missed being able to play electric guitar, but there was something about the ward’s battered acoustic that he appreciated. 

And in return, you’d shared the tiniest amounts that you hoped sated him. Safe little facts that couldn’t be used against you. And to his credit, he never pried. Instead, he did what he was best at. Talking enough for the both of you, when your social battery wasn’t at its fullest. 

“I swear man, Miller’s got something going on at home,” he mumbled under his breath as his eyes bounced between the project in his hand and the Doctor that seemed to be in the middle of an under-the-breath argument with an orderly on the other side of the dayroom door. Time had been allotted for arts and crafts, or rather, whatever shit they could throw in a box that could vaguely be suited for the occasion. Dried up glue and mangled pipe cleaners, a box of googly eyes that Eddie had pocketed for ‘later use’, and egg cartons that were probably older than you. But you’d found some lengths of different coloured string and a pair of the bluntest craft scissors known to mankind, and had decided on weaving them together to make bracelets. Eddie had decided to join in, and after a crash course in the most basic braids you knew, you were both winging it in trying to make something that wouldn’t just fall apart. 

You looked up from the strands of black, red and white that you held in your hands to follow his eyeline, shaking your head as you spared a glance at the man opposite you. “She still givin’ you shit?”

You knew full well about the meetings he had with her, from the venting he always did afterwards. Apparently, medium security was a privilege, not a right. As if Eddie was capable of doing any harm with what little means he had in here. Fuck, you saw him shed a tear when you watched Bambi together not last week. It had only been a month, but you were absolutely positive of one thing, given you’d had enough time to make your own conclusions. Eddie wasn’t capable of his charges. Not for a second. 

You expected him to frown at your question, but instead, a lopsided smirk played upon his lips. “Same as always, but nah. I’m talkin’ about what I overheard one of the nurses mention about her.”

You couldn’t help but snicker as you continued braiding. “Really, Munson? What’re you, a housewife at a damn Tupperware party?” 

“Hey, I’d look fuckin’ fantastic in a pair of heels and a flouncy dress, thank you very much sweetheart,” he playfully chided, pointing at you with faux accusation and making you chuckle. “But seriously. Apparently, someone found a bottle of vodka stashed in the filing cabinets in the records room. And apparently, there’s only a handful of people that have access. She’s one of them.”

Finishing the last knot of the makeshift bracelet, you looked up to give Eddie your full attention. You had to admit, he was pretty. The long hair, full lips and rounded eyes were a given, yes. But it was the way that he looked at you, how much kindness he gave you, that sealed the deal. The way he would duck his head to make eye contact with you when your eyes felt glued to the floor. When you felt like all hope was lost, stuck in your own misery with no way out, a large hand would be felt on your shoulder, a slight touch that didn’t push your comfort levels. His shit jokes that cheered you up, and the fact that he seemed to know just what to say to make you feel better. In another life, you might have asked him on a date at one point. Maybe to get milkshakes, or to see a movie. But those ideas were bitterly shoved back down, when you remembered where you were. That’d never be an option. Not again. 

You rolled your eyes as you leaned back in your chair, fiddling with the length of woven bracelet as you raised an eyebrow. “So you think she’s drinking on the job?” you asked, pulling the conversation back to something nonchalant. Before you had a chance to think of him in any way other than a friend. 

“I think she’s doing a lot of things on the job, and caring for people ain’t one of them,” he muttered with a slight sneer. His demeanour seemed to change with the final touches of his own craft project, a triumphant look crossing his face as he held it between his fingers. “Here, gimme your arm.”

You shot him a look of confusion as you crossed your arms instead. “Why?”

“So I can yank it out of its socket and use it as an improvised weapon,” he drawled, sarcasm heavy on the words. “Just trust me, alright?”

You did trust him. Or at least, trusted him better than anyone in the whole building. “You’re a sick puppy, y’know that?” you chuckled, holding out your arm on the table. 

“So I’ve been told,” he answered, tone ever so slightly taking on an edge of bitterness that you noted. Calloused fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, and it took everything within you not to shiver at the sensation. The softness averting your eyes to the window past his shoulder, your inner critic beating down whatever sticky feelings got caught in your ribs at a deep inhale. Get it the fuck together for Christ sake, he’s just-

“Aaaand done.” You looked back to see that lopsided grin of his, though his eyes betrayed him with a slight sense of panic at what you guessed to be the impending sense of rejection. “You like it?” 

You finally allowed your eyes to dip down to your arm, twisting it to get a better look. Purple, blue and lilac threads had been twisted haphazardly into what could technically be considered a braid, though on every fourth or so knot, it twisted at the seams and knocked all uniformity right out of it. But a part of you hoped it was made with intention. The same intention that middle school girls gave them, when they swore up and down to be best friends forever to the other girls they’d bonded with at summer camp, only to forget their names in the next couple of years. The same that still rattled around your old jewellery box back at home, buried under tacky hoops and cheap pendants that teenage you liked wearing. You still remembered the pale pink half of a heart that you kept there, on a chain that’d seen better days. The other half at Cynthia’s house, hanging on her notice board underneath a picture of you two together, smiling at the lake five summers ago. 

Friendship. A word that up until now, had lost all meaning to you. Something that was beginning to spark, though the rockiness and unease of having it for a long time was throwing you off balance. Something that was being offered, and you were so starved for it, you let yourself believe it. Even if it was fake, you’d take it.

You let the smile that graced your lips grow wide, as you nodded your approval. “Bit of a bold colour choice, but I dig it,” you shrugged, your tone taking any malice out of the words. 

“Yeah well, I’m not exactly in a position to waltz on down to Hobby Lobby to get the perfect shades or anything,” he snorted, now idle fingers seeking stimulation by opening a new pack of cigarettes. “Cut it off if you don’t want it.”

And there it was. That slight drop to his smile, as his eyeline averted. No doubt already trying to soothe the sting of assumption, to protect his dignity. Laugh the pain away, don’t let anyone see into it. This was about more than a seemingly simple act of kindness, and you knew the feeling well. God, you wanted to soothe it. Make it go away for him. Because it would be a damn sight easier cheering him up than the sheer amount of effort it’d take to try and do the same to yourself. 

But it needed to be carefully done. Replied to with the same jest, play the same game right back, otherwise the raw vulnerability would cause him to clam right back up again. “Nah, I’m keeping this sucker. Really makes my eyes pop, don’t ya think?” 

You both shared a look of amusement, before your hand darted out before thinking. You noticed the way he flinched, and again, the inner critic was back with the whip to flagellate yourself with at the ready. You willed it away by turning your hand around, an open palm rather than a grasping claw. “My turn?” you offered, hoping the look on your face didn’t give off the desperation you felt. 

You noticed the way his expression morphed, brows furrowed and lip darting out to moisten his lips, as he usually did when he was thinking in rapid motion about something. It relieved you to see his arm come into view, elbow to the deep gouges of the wooden table, an offering of his scarred wrist. You noticed the way his muscles tensed if the pads of your fingers brushed one of them, and you were careful not to make too much contact in securing the bracelet, pulling away when you were done to a respectable distance. Letting him bring his limb back to assess the new adornment, wrinkles around his eyes fading slightly and crinkling into a smirk as he picked at the fibres. A hum of acknowledgement, of endearment, rattled around his chest as he looked back up to you. “Same colours as Hellfire.”

Hellfire. You remembered that name, and you rattled your brain for the memory. “That’s the club you had, right? The one you had with your friends?” 

“Yeah.” He fiddled with the smooth braids, rubbing the tip of his thumb back and forth across the length. You noticed how his voice had taken an edge to it as he shrugged, seemingly to shake off an intense emotion. 

You wondered if the memories of the group was sinking him back into the realisation that he’d most likely never have a meetup with them again. Never have that sense of normalcy, of feeling a part of something. You knew full well that remembering could be a dangerous thing. Something that should be avoided, lest you fall trap to the longing of your freedom, sending yourself mad with the knowledge that things would never indeed be normal again. 

You were still thinking of something to say, a distraction, when Eddie’s name was called from the hallway. His neck nearly snapping with the force of him looking over with a shocked expression, as the orderly grimaced at him as he beckoned him over with two fingers. With a glance at the clock, you noted the time, and something uncomfortable settled in your stomach as you waved the orderly in the room for a lighter. You’d seen a couple of people over the years be summoned around this time, to a part of the building you knew you’d probably never see. You didn’t want to give Eddie the heads up, just in case you were wrong, and this was all just mere coincidence. You bolted that heavy mask to your face as you swung your chair on it’s back two legs, a balancing act as you waited for your turn with the sacred lighter. 

“Better hope Miller hasn’t picked up on your suspicion about the records room,” you smirked as you waggled your eyebrows, a sarcastic laugh volleyed back your way as he got up to cross the room. You spared him one last glance as his shoulders slumped, head down and eyes glued to the floor as he trailed behind the staff member. For all his bravado that he was slowly getting back, you knew that was the true Eddie. A man caged against his will, and the strength long since stripped away from him. A husk of a person, just like everyone else in here. Just like you. 

You just prayed that for his sake, your assumption was correct. 

~

In Pennhearst, knowing where you were going wasn’t exactly something that got shared often. An orderly would begrudgingly call out a last name, and with a jerk of the head, you were just expected to follow behind. At first, it had scared Eddie something fierce. Long were the days of coming and going where he pleased; in school, it was common for him to just wander out of the building for a smoke, and classes were optional in his mind. Part of the reason he could never graduate. Why bother going into a room where you’d be belittled? Where a label was instantly placed on you, and where it stuck no matter how hard you tried to shift it. He’d practically had ‘troublemaker’ stamped on his head since his Junior year. So why even bother? 

A trick he learned was to look at the signs, commit them to memory. Try and figure out a map in your mind, and follow it. The orderly in front of him had passed left at the laundry room, and past the West wing bathrooms. He’d lost track of where he was since the right hand turn by the low security ward doors, and he was going down the corridor blind. Asking wouldn’t help. He wasn’t expecting an answer anyway. 

The sight of a battered sign that seemed to be straining free of the plaster caught his eye, craning his head back to see it. The two words seemed foreign to him. A feeling that he knew them, knew the meaning, but hadn’t seen them put together before. The two words that both made his heart skip a beat and his stomach to churn in anticipation and excitement. 

VISITOR ROOMS 1-5

It ached how much he was wanting them to stop at one of the doors. How much he needed them to. He started praying to anything and everything, things he didn’t believe in, right up until the man in front of him stopped at the door with a number three painted on the front. His hand stayed on the handle, and over his shoulder, Eddie could just make out a window that most likely let staff keep an eye on the patients without having to enter. He could just make out the fabric of a deep blue denim jacket in the bottom left corner, before it shifted and moved out of sight. 

“You’ve got five minutes,” the orderly growled through gritted teeth, finally making eye contact with a venomous glare. “Any funny shit, and your ass is getting thrown into solitary so fast it’ll make your head spin. Am I clear?” 

Eddie’s tongue darted out of his mouth to moisten cracked lips, nodding fervently as his hands clawed at his issued shirt to ground him. It took the raised brow of the man in front of him, a sign that he was quickly losing patience, to make him respond verbally. “Y-yessir. I understand.” 

With one last glance into the room, the door opened, and Eddie was ushered inside. His breath getting stuck between his ribs as he took in the sight of two faces he thought he’d never see again. 

Dark blue eyes, and a gruff face marred with wrinkles and tanned from the sun. A face with the expression that reminded him of being ten years-old, when he was just a kid with a bruise on his cheek and tears that wouldn’t stop falling. The hand of the social worker on his back doing nothing to comfort him, but the look of ‘I get it kiddo, I understand. You’re safe now’ that was worn by a man that looked so similar to his Dad but didn’t have any resemblance at the same time. And like the kid he once was, a sob bullied its way out of his throat as he rushed into the open arms of the one parental figure that never beat him, bellitled him, or expected anything more of him than trying as hard as he could.

The hug was crushing from both parties, with how Eddie clung to his Uncle Wayne, and how those solid arms around his chest added the pressure he so sorely needed. Gave him a reminder of just how much human contact he’d been starved of for five months, and how much he needed it more than oxygen. If Wayne was bothered by the way he buried his face into the older man’s neck and wracked out stifled cries, he never said anything. The large palm that cradled the back of his head seemed to encourage it, as if he knew this was what his nephew needed.

It seemed like an eternity, time suspended in the air, until firm hands carefully grasped his shoulders and tenderly pushed. Eddie relented, a hand flying up to wipe away as much snot and tears as he could. He recognised the next look that he was given, too. A look of pure worry, as Wayne’s eyes flitted from feature to feature. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he had access to some sorry excuses of polished metal as mirrors in this place. Dark circles practically tattooed onto heavy eye bags from the lack of sleep, features getting gaunt as stubble tried to force itself through the skin. Eyes no longer shining like they used to, now replaced with a soulless stare. Once, when he stomached a flash of eye contact in the mirror, he was reminded of his Mom. The way she looked after a blowout fight with his old man, when she lay in bed and cried for what seemed like hours. 

“Eddie… You uh- you look good man,” another voice said quietly from his right, causing his head to snap violently towards the noise. 

Dustin’s mop of curls were hard to mistake for anyone else's, the fondness in his facial features still the same as they were before. That certain look about him that occasionally glimmered underneath it all, the one that gave away that he’d grown far too fast for a kid his age. Had seen too much, and had to deal with far too much burden for a grown man to carry, let alone a fifteen year-old. The comment made Eddie gargle a sort of chuckle, hesitantly pulling away from his Uncle to wrap the kid up in an iron grip. He was happy to feel it returned with fervour, rocking his friend as he swayed with each bounce on the ball of his foot. 

“I look like shit,” he weakly responded, making Dustin laugh as he squeezed even tighter. How long had he waited for this moment? To see someone from the outside, and to know that they were as happy to see him as he was to see them. That they wanted to hug him, and show him tenderness, even when he felt he didn’t deserve it. 

Eddie jolted away as soon as he heard the latch of the door forced open, as if his friend was made of blistering coals. Eyes habitually returning to the faded and torn excuse for carpet, as the harsh words of the orderly that had brought him here made him flinch. “Hey, no contact in here,” the voice barked. “It’s against the rules-”

“Now you listen here,” another voice hissed, though through the venom, it sounded so much louder than it actually was. A southern drawl that Eddie was familiar with, but only when Wayne was riled up to the point of fury. Sparing a glance upwards, he could see Wayne’s finger pointing towards the door with an accusing jab. “It’s the first time I’ve seen my boy in God knows how long. If I wanna give him a damn hug, if his friend wants’ta give him one too, then we’ll do as we damn well please. Y’hear me?” 

He could hear the orderly start to splutter, as if it was the first time he’d ever been refuted. Knowing that the staff around here liked to elevate themselves above all, as if they were some kind of capricious deities, it was likely to be true. “I’ll be letting my supervisor know about this,” was his answer, a thinly veiled threat. Wayne’s short burst of laughter was devoid of all humour. 

“Go ahead,” Wayne replied. “I got my numbers t’ call too, if I think Eddie’s not gettin’ the help he needs. Wanna see who wins the little pissin’ contest ya got goin’ on here?” 

For a second, no reply. Then two. Another look showed both men in some sort of stand off, before the orderly finally sneered his final taunt. Door slamming shut behind him, making Eddie jump out of his skin. Dustin’s gentle guidance got him to sit on one of the uncomfortable plastic armchairs, his fingertips finding the bracelet on his arm to fiddle with. Back and forth, stroking the braid and focusing on his breathing to try and even it out. He heard the two other inhabitants take a seat, Wayne’s clasped hands just in view as his elbows rested on his thighs. His voice now gentler, as if coaxing a frightened animal to come closer. “How’re you holdin’ up, son? They treatin’ ya decent in here?” 

Eddie didn’t mean the bitter laugh to escape his lips, as he swiped the back of his hand across his face to try and clear his face. Finding the bracelet again, studying it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Normally, he’d make a joke about it all. Call this place a five star hotel, but make a comment about how they could use better pillows. But he couldn’t find the words, no matter how hard he tried. Resigning himself to the truth, as he shrugged. “S’fine.” 

“Did uh… Did you get moved to medium security?” Dustin asked, and the puzzled look Eddie gave him in return as he looked up to see the boy must have prompted a further explanation. “Hopper put in a call. Well, several. Explained to the right people about what happened. He uh- he sends his best, by the way. Everyone does.”

Hopper? He thought the old chief of police had snuffed it in that Starcourt fire. More questions than answers given, and Dustin sighed wearily before explaining it all as best he could. As best as anyone could, given they had such a short time period to meet. 

Hopper was alive, something about being in Russia for a while. El was back from California, and shit was still going south with the upside-down. Hawkins was still in trouble, but they were on the case. Some sort of higher ups were working on Eddie’s case, but it needed to go through proper channels to keep an illusion of normality. Evidence to be hidden, to be planted, to clear his name. They were waiting on Max to wake up, so she could give her statement and have all charges officially dropped. All of it barely sticking in Eddie’s brain, no doubt the meds he was on still keeping his neurons dulled. 

But one thing stuck out. They were working on clearing his name. It was a shot at freedom. Not much, but it was there. In the darkness, came a small glimmer of hope. Like seeing a seam of gold in a coal mine. Something to cling onto for dear life, to keep putting one foot in front of the other for. 

It was hope. 

“You’re gonna get me out?” Eddie questioned, timbre cracking on every other syllable. Daring to look up to see the two people who probably cared about him more than anyone else on this Earth, and being met with a soft smile in return. 

“Yeah, we’re getting you out,” Dustin echoed, voice soft as he rubbed his palms on his jeans. He reached over to retrieve a plastic bag, leaning over and placing it by Eddie’s feet. “But for now, we’re allowed to come and see you every two weeks. And we’re allowed to bring stuff, too. I mean, it’s something, right?” 

Eddie felt too full of emotion, an experience he usually wasn’t fond of. A big reason he liked to get stoned, or listen to heavy metal music, or play his guitar. An outlet always helped, and right now he had nothing. Nothing but three pieces of string circling his wrist, and his leg bouncing a fast tempo. Peeking from the bag, he could see a book and a carton of Camels so far. Something he’d previously took for granted, but not any longer. He’d sworn to himself an oath during his two month mark in this place; if he ever got out of here, he’d never take the little things for granted ever again. 

He nodded along to the words, unlatching the harsh grip his teeth had on his lower lip before answering. “Yeah, it’s… It’s something. Thank you.” 

“Don’t sweat it man,” Dustin replied. “If you need anything, just… Just tell us, alright? We’ll see what we can do.” 

It took all the self restraint he had not to openly laugh, instead scrubbing his palm down the length of his face. He needed a lot of things. He needed a good night’s sleep, and a shower with water more than lukewarm and to never again smell carbolic soap. He needed to be able to take a long drive, maybe to the woods, avoiding lover’s lake to not have to remember those frightening and isolating days of hiding. He needed a good ounce of bud and his record player. Lots of things were needed. None were likely to actually be received.

“So, uh… Where’d you get that from?” Wayne asked after seconds of silence that went far too long for his liking. He knew better than anyone what a downward spiral looked like in his boy. 

It took Eddie a moment to realise what he was talking about, before clicking all the pieces together when his uncle stared at his arm for too long. He said your name, softly at first. Like a secret that wasn’t meant to be shared. An eyebrow raise prompted him to clear his throat and explain. “She uh… She’s helping me out around here. Someone to talk to.” 

Wayne didn’t seem impressed in the slightest, arms folding as he leaned in his chair. “You sure you can trust ‘er?” he asked, head slightly tilting. 

Eddie’s head nodded erratically, sending split ends and frizz flying. “She’s like me, Wayne. Innocent.” 

“And you believe her?” 

“...Yeah.” 

He did believe you. He couldn’t explain it, but there was a sort of gut feeling to be had around people that meant others harm. He’d felt it a couple of times in his life. Hairs on the back of his neck standing up, a nausea that couldn’t be replicated by an illness, a sense of unease paired with an urge to run. He first remembered it when his father would come home drunk, the front door slamming open and shut with heavy footfalls. He’d felt it when Jason and his lackeys were chasing after him that night on the boat. Hell, he felt it when that patient with the missing piece of his ear came a little too close for comfort, before you’d come to his rescue. 

He could trust you. He had to. The only other option was doing all of this alone.

He watched the wrinkles in Wayne’s face to deepen for only a few seconds, before they relaxed to his natural frown. The Munson men had a habit of speaking without words, knowing each other well enough to be able to see slight gestures and eye contact to mean something that nobody else could pick up on. This particular eyebrow raise meant ‘I believe you’. Eddie’s slight nod was a thank you. 

It was all over before it felt like it truly began. The sense of normality, of a conversation between three people who knew each other well, was cut short by an orderly opening the door and barking Eddie’s last name. With the faded grocery bag in hand - after yet another check of the contents, as if a shiv would magically appear after opening it for the fifth time - he was led back to the common room to engage in the mind-numbing routine that never changed. 

But at least you were sitting there, waiting for him. Lounged in one of the threadbare sofas, flipping through a magazine that he’d seen you read at least a half dozen times. You looked up, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips as you nodded towards the other side of the couch. No judgement, no questions barraged at him as he crossed the room. Just patience and a slight eyebrow raise. Thank God that won’t change, was his first thought. The smallest bloom, like the first of springtime, got caught in his ribcage. Swallowed back down, bitter as whisky, before it could cling to his heart and not let go. 

“Visitors?” you asked as he leaned over the armrest, your eyes not leaving the freshly turned page. He could sense something in your voice; something that caught his attention. It wasn’t anger. It was deeper than that, hitting at a lower emotional register. He noticed an ever so slight furrow of your brow, eyes ever so glossy. Then it hit him. Visitors. 

Something that not once, he had ever seen you leave for. 

He recognised that feeling. The feeling of always being left out at the playground, never allowed to join the other kids. Of being dumped at a doorstep you didn’t know by your piece of shit father, the memory of the back of his jacket exiting view through a haze of tears. It was being called names, or worse, being flat out ignored. He knew it all too well. And he’d always hated seeing it in others. 

But there was no point lying about it, either. “Yeah,” he nodded, plucking the carton of cigarettes from the bag and beginning to unwrap them. “My uncle and a friend. Hadn’t seen ‘em since…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he grasped a few packets from the sleeve. If you noticed his choice of words, you weren’t showing it.

 He placed them by your feet where they were half tucked underneath you with a wry smile. “For all the ones I stole when I first got here.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” you frowned, finally tossing the magazine to the floor. He noticed the way you seemed touched by the gesture, though. “This place gives ‘em out like fucking candy.” 

“Yeah, but you hate the brand they give out,” he chuckled, remembering how often you complained about it first thing in the morning, still half asleep and grumpy from the medications used to sedate you. “Just take ‘em. Save them for special occasions.” 

For a moment, he expected more of a fight. But to your credit, you took them with grace. Opening a pack and handing him one, you motioned for the lighter as you nodded your head towards the bag. “What else you get?” 

“Uhh… Good question,” he shrugged, finally taking everything out to inspect. The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett, and from the looks of it, it was secondhand. A quick inspection of the first page gave him the name of the previous owner.

D. Henderson. 

“Love that little shit,” he mumbled under his breath, a fond smirk as he plucked the last item. Well, items. There were various envelopes, already torn open and no doubt already read, bundled together by a rubber band. He recognised the one on top from the character sheets he’d had handed in over countless times. Lucas’ neat handwriting spelling out his name. Already, a lump formed in his throat as he hastily shoved them back. Not here, he reminded himself. 

“Good haul,” you said quietly, no doubt well aware of his sudden shift in mood. It was strange, how two people adrift could find equilibrium. He could sense your fluctuations, the small changes in behaviour, that let him know to tread carefully. And now, it was happening in reverse. 

All he could do was nod. Allow the static of the silence to wash over you two, and to your credit, you never pushed.

He was thankful for that. 

~

Small stacks of paper surrounded his silhouette on the bed, the one he was trying to read gripped tight in his fist whilst the other hand muffled his sobs. Eddie hadn’t had many good words heard about him over his short life. Words were usually spat with venom, and he flicked barbs back. But now, it was there, all in black and white, and in various calligraphy. 

“Be strong man, you got this,” wrote Steve. 

“We’re fighting for you as hard as we can out here, just hang tight,” Robin scrawled. 

“I’ve always known you didn’t do it, son. I need you to know that.” In a font he remembered the most. 

His ribcage broke with the force of how much his heart hurt. The grief, the sadness, the shame. It was washing over him like waves, threatening to drag him under for good. He grieved for Chrissy, and he grieved for himself. It just kept pouring, like molasses sticky in his throat, and he couldn’t breathe. It didn’t stop until dawn broke, when he finally managed to put a lid back on everything and shut it away. Close the door and refuse to look, for fear a monster is in the closet. 

Hide it away, so it doesn’t hurt. Hide it until it’s safe to come out, if it ever does. Hide it, conceal it, consume it until it’s as dense as a neutron star. And if you did hear him crying from across the hall, you didn’t say anything. God, he was so thankful you didn’t say anything.

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x you #stranger things x you #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction

[sequinsmile-x]

Allegiance

It was nice to finally have someone who was on her side, someone who would always put her first.

A Young Hotchniss story with a twist.

Chapter 1 of 3

-x-

Hi friends

This is a gift for @sapphoe-sun. Just a gift for no reason at all, although I will take this chance to say thank for for always letting me send you absolutely bonkers ideas.

This idea got away from me massively, and was only supposed to be one chapter, but the fic just kept coming and here we are.

Chapter 2 is all but done, as is most of Chapter 3, so my intention is to post this fic on 3 consecutive days.

Note: the flashbacks to young Hotchniss are in italics.

-x-

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, mommy issues, complicated mother/daughter relationship, canon typical behaviour (i.e. a man being a creep - not Aaron obviously)

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

June 1995

She’s fussing. 

If anyone said it to her, she’d deny it vehemently, her eyebrows furrowed as she claimed she was fine. But as she looks in the mirror, running her hands over the material of her dress, smoothing it out for the fifth time in the last couple of minutes, she can admit to herself that she was fussing. 

“You can’t tell.” 

She turns to look at her boyfriend, unable to stop the smile that spreads across her face as she sees the way he’s looking at her, unfiltered adoration shining out for all the world to see. She looks back at her reflection, turning sideways so she can examine her profile again, and she focuses in on her lower belly, sure she can see a slight bump there. The slightest of hints of how her life was going to drastically change soon. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, placing her hand on her stomach, “I don’t want her to figure it out tonight.” 

Aaron smiles at her and walks towards her, stepping past boxes half packed with all of their things, their move to their new home only a couple of weeks away. He stands behind her, his arms wrapping around her as he pulls her back into him, the material of his tux jacket against her shoulder blades that had been left bare by her dress. He places his hand over hers on her stomach. 

“I can tell,” he says, kissing her jawline and then her cheek, “But that’s because I’m intimately familiar with what you look like naked,” he smiles when she does, some of the tension in her body loosening, “But your mother won’t be able to tell.” 

She nods and blows out a steady breath, her stomach flipping in a way that she knew was nerves instead of the ever-present nausea she’d grown used to over the last several weeks. 

She’d fallen pregnant by accident. She and Aaron had always been careful, the summer in Rome that had changed her irrevocably always in the back of her mind, but it had happened anyway. A round of antibiotics for a chest infection she hadn’t been able to shift in early spring made her pill obsolete. Her initial reaction when she realised she was pregnant, standing in the bathroom she shared with her boyfriend, a positive test clutched in her hand, was to cry. The panic was familiar, sharp and painful as it stole her ability to breathe. 

Aaron had found her curled up on the floor, his concern for her overriding everything else as he dropped the cleaning supplies he’d been holding to sit next to her, pulling her into his arms as he calmed her down even though he hadn’t known what was wrong. She’s sure she never loved him more than the moment she told him, his immediate reaction nothing short of kind and loving as he asked what she wanted to do, that he’d support her no matter what. He knew about Rome, about the choice she’d made then, and she knew he meant it. That if she decided to make the same choice now he’d hold her hand, that he’d see her through it. 

It made all the difference. Knowing that she wasn’t alone in the responsibility of it this time. They’d talked about it for days and discussed their options at length. Different futures spread out in front of them as they decided which path to take. She knew she wanted children with him eventually, but had always thought it would be when her career was more established. When she wasn’t only a couple of years into her time at the FBI, her feet were not quite firmly on the ground yet. She knew Aaron felt the same, that whilst he was five years older than her and had been at the FBI longer, he’d never hidden that he wanted to have more time to get established first. 

Ultimately, they decided whilst the timing was far from perfect, that they wanted this. That they wanted to start the family neither of them had ever really been a part of. Ever since then, she’d allowed herself to be excited by it. Overjoyed by the prospect of having a baby with the man she loved, the man who she had once told herself would be nothing more than a summer fling. 

She wishes she could go back and talk to her 20-year-old self. That she could tell her that the new guy working her mother’s security clearances would end up being more than just fantastic sex that they’d sneak away for at any given opportunity. That he’d end up being her boyfriend, that they’d make the distance when she went back to college work, and they’d move in together shortly after she was done. 

That they’d build a family together. 

She knew he had a ring hidden away, he had never been able to keep much from her, but he also knew she wasn’t ready for that quite yet. The baby was already a big change, and whilst she knew she would marry Aaron one day, she didn’t think she could cope with too much at once. The instinct to run, to blow her life up and leave, if she felt too overwhelmed, still living just beneath the surface of her skin. 

“She…” Emily trails off, blowing out a breath as she leans back, her head against his shoulder, “She won’t be happy.” 

Elizabeth had never been fond of Emily’s relationship with Aaron. Not only because he had once worked for her, but she would claim it was because she didn’t want her daughter to settle down so young. Although, Emily was sure that if she’d fallen for someone her mother deemed appropriate, one of the many men she’d had paraded past her for years at events like the one they were going to tonight, there would be no issue. 

“Well, that sounds like a her problem,” Aaron says, kissing her temple before he turns her and pulls her into his arms, his hands firm at her lower back, “We’re happy, that’s what counts.”

She smiles and nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, all thoughts of her mother briefly falling to the wayside, “Yeah,” she says, leaning forward and kissing him, tasting the joy on his lips, “We’re happy.”

___

January 2007

She’s woken up by tiny hands pressing into her face. She groans as she opens her eyes, blinking as she’s met by her two-year-old son’s face mere inches from hers, his warm breath skipping over her cheek.

“Hi Mama,” Oliver says, smiling widely at her, something she can’t help but return as she pulls him into a hug. 

“Morning, Ollie,” she replies, kissing the top of his head as he settles into her embrace, both of them intent on starting their day like this, snuggled together in the big bed. She hears movement downstairs, the sound of breakfast being made and the beautiful chaos she now couldn’t imagine life without, “I think your sisters are helping Daddy make breakfast.” 

“No pancakes,” he says, tilting his head to look up at her, his pout enough to make her smother a smile as she clears her throat.

“No, baby,” she says, pushing his messy dark hair from his face, his tiny features pinching into a frown that made him look even more like her husband than he usually does, “Pancakes are a weekend food,” she looks at the clock on the nightstand and sighs when she sees the time, well aware that it was time to get out of bed, and that was likely why Aaron had sent Oliver into their bedroom anyway. She sits up and keeps her toddler in her arms as she does so, well-practised after all of these years. Oliver wraps his arms around her neck and rests his head against her chest, happily settling on her hip as she stands and leaves the room, “Let’s go see what everyone else is doing, huh?”

She listens intently as Oliver chats to her as she heads downstairs, humming along at his, mostly nonsensical ramblings that only she, Aaron and the girls truly understood. She shares a smile with her husband as she walks into the kitchen, the sight of their daughters sitting at the breakfast bar warming her heart as it always did. 

“Morning,” she says, smiling as Aaron leans in to kiss her, both of them chuckling as Ivy, their eldest, groans in disgust around a mouthful of her cereal. 

“Gross,” the 12-year-old grumbles, “I’m trying to eat here.”

Emily smiles, never failing to get a kick out of winding up her daughter, “Your brother and sister don’t mind,” she says as she sits Oliver down in his chair, placing a plate of toast sliced into strips handed to her by Aaron in front of the little boy. 

Ivy narrows her eyes at her mother, “That’s because Ollie is two, and Rosie thinks it’s cute,” she says, scrunching her nose up like she herself hadn’t once loved the fact her parents were so in love with each other back when she was her sister’s age. 

Aaron had said from the very start that Ivy was her through and through. He’d said it moments after she was born, bright red and screaming, her dark hair plastered to her head and her dark eyes wide and bleary. Their friends always said it to, more and more over the years as Ivy’s personality developed into the empathetic, kind, wilful and sassy 12-year-old girl she is today. 

The girl who had once been the tiny baby who made Emily a mother, when she no longer had contact with her own. 

There were moments when Emily wished she could go back and tell herself how everything would work out. How she’d go from laying in a hospital bed, her tiny little newborn baby in her arms, terrified at the prospect of messing everything up, of becoming the mother she desperately didn’t want to be, to this. A house full of love and chaos in equal measure. A husband who loved her in a way she still wasn’t entirely sure she deserved. Three beautiful children who had made her realise just how deeply she could love. 

How deeply she should have been loved when she was their age. 

“It is cute,” Rosie says, the 6-year-old smiling at Emily when she presses a kiss to the top of her messy braids. Ivy rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to respond, only to be cut off by Aaron.

“Girls,” he says, not above begging when it came to his daughters, two small versions of his wife that sometimes pushed him to his limit in a way he couldn’t live without, “Can we please make it through breakfast without bickering? Or at least until I’ve had my coffee.” 

Emily smiles at him as he passes her a cup of coffee and she leans into his side, making a point of wrapping her arm around his waist as Ivy playfully shakes her head at them. 

“Sorry, Dad,” Ivy says, failing to hide a smile as she stands and dumps her now empty bowl in the sink. She turns back around and looks at her brother, jam from his toast smushed into his cheeks. She picks up some paper towels from the counter and wipes his face gently, chasing him as he tries to escape it, “Stay still Ollie, you’re all gross and sticky.” 

Emily sighs contently as she watches her oldest gently look after her youngest, the sight of it enough to make her sink into Aaron’s side a little further. He kisses the top of her head and runs his hand up and down her arm.

“You ok, sweetheart?” he asks, and she tilts her head to look up at him, a soft smile on her face as she nods. 

“Yeah, I’m ok,” she says, stamping a kiss against his lips before she pulls back, her eyes landing on the clock on the wall, “We should get moving or we’ll be late,” she looks over at the kids and smiles when she sees Oliver somehow has more jam on his face than he had moments ago. She smiles at her husband and nods towards the kids, “You happy to take jam boy and I’ll help the girls?”

Aaron nods, smiling at her, “Deal, but bath time tonight is all yours,” he says, winking, “It’s finger painting day.” 

She shakes her head at him as he picks Oliver up, out of the room before she changes her mind. 

___

She’s grateful it’s busy, that there are enough people here that her time with her mother, and any potential questions about why she wasn’t drinking, would be limited. They’d briefly seen her when they arrived, pleasantries exchanged as if they were just any other guests, not her daughter and her boyfriend. 

Emily knows when her mother comes over tomorrow, a catch-up they had planned weeks ago that she now was going to use to tell her she was going to be a grandmother, she’ll be chastised for hanging at the edges of the party all night. She spends all her time with Aaron instead of stepping into the crowds. For once, it’s not just because she doesn’t want to, the memories of her childhood spent at events like this always lingering at the edge of her mind, but because she can’t. She felt sick, the nausea her doctor promised her would ease off after she hit 12 weeks but hadn’t making her stomach roll, made worse by the heat in the room, her head swimming with it. 

She blows out a breath and leans back against the wall they are standing near. Aaron immediately turns to look at her, his hand on her shoulder as he furrows his brow. He’d always been attentive, aware of her needs often before she was, but that had only increased since they found out she was pregnant. 

“You ok, sweetheart?” he asks, looking her up and down. He’d asked more than once if she wanted to skip coming to this, happy to take the flack from her mother that would come with their absence. He didn’t care if Elizabeth was offended by anything, he only cared about Emily and the baby, their well-being far above anything else.

“Yeah,” she says, blinking and shaking her head, hoping she could remove the haziness she’d fallen under, “Just a little hot.” 

He squeezes her shoulder, “Want to step out into the hallway? I could go get you some water. Or ginger ale, I’m sure someone here would be able to get some.” 

She smiles at him and reaches for his spare hand, squeezing it tightly, a silent show of appreciation for his love for her, for them, “Water would be great,” she says, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, “I’ll see you out there.” 

The cooler air that hits her as she steps out into the hall is refreshing, clearing her head and making her stomach calm down. She sighs as she leans on the wall, her head against it as she closes her eyes, grateful for a moment's peace.

“Emily Prentiss, it’s been a while.” 

She opens her eyes and stops herself from sighing, forcing a tight smile onto her face as she’s greeted by one of her mother’s friends. A man she’d known for as long as she could remember, someone who always came to things like this, a fellow ambassador and big donator to any charity drives.

“Ambassador Collins,” she says, standing up straight, and taking a small step forward from the wall, “It’s harder to find time for things like this these days I’m afraid.” 

If it was up to her, she wouldn’t come to these things at all, but she’d learnt a long time ago that she had to pick her battles with her mother, and that this just wasn’t one of them. 

“Yes, your mother did say something about you working at the FBI now,” he says, smiling as he looks her up and down, a glint in his eyes that makes her stomach turn for an entirely different reason to her pregnant, “And please, call me Robert.” 

She has to stop herself from reacting physically, painting the fake smile she’d learnt at a young age all over her face as he steps slightly closer, “I’ve been there a couple of years,” she says, taking a step back, regretting it when her back hits the wall, “My boyfriend works there too.”

Mentioning Aaron doesn’t have the impact she hopes it will. She hates that she has to rely on it, that it was often the mention of another man that would make someone stop hitting on her, but it was usually effective. Especially when she brought up the fact her boyfriend was an FBI agent. It doesn’t deter Robert as he steps even closer again, and she grimaces when she can smell his breath, the scotch that permeated it making her stomach roll. 

“You really have grown up into the most beautiful young woman.”

He places his hand on her hip, making her flinch as he squeezes her skin through her dress, and she scrunches her nose up. She’s ready to tell him to take his hand off of her or risk losing it, but she’s interrupted by a familiar and stern voice.

“Is everything okay here?” 

She’s sure she’s never been more grateful to see Aaron. He’s standing just down the hall, a glass of water in his hand and a scowl on his face, and she knows he’s picked up on what he’s walked in on.

Robert steps back from her, his hand falling away, and she takes the opportunity to slip away, walking over to Aaron and taking the drink he’d got her from his hand. 

“Thanks, honey,” she says, making a point of emphasising the nickname. She’d not surprised as Aaron wraps his arm around her, marking his territory in a way she’d usually chastise him for, but right now she’s grateful for it. Unsettled by the way she’d been looked at, been touched, by a man who was her mother’s friend. Someone who has known her since she was a child. 

“I should get going,” Robert says, his eyes avoiding Aaron’s hard gaze. He smiles at Emily as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened, “Lovely to see you again, Emily.”

Emily and Aaron stay frozen in place as they watch him walk away, and as soon as they are alone she scrunches her face up as she looks at her boyfriend. 

“Now I feel really nauseous,” she complains, sipping her water. 

“I’ll kill him.” 

She smiles at the completely serious look on Aaron’s face, and she knows he means it, and it makes something spark in her belly. 

“As sweet as that is,” she says linking her hand through his, “I’d rather not raise our kid as a single parent whilst you’re in jail.” 

“I’d get away with it,” he grits out, his eyes fixed on the hallway Robert had disappeared down, his fury not dissipating. Emily chuckles and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Come on Superman, why don’t you take me home.” 

Aaron frowns, his eyebrows knitting together as he looks her up and down, “Are you ok?” 

She shrugs, “I feel like crap, and that…” she looks down the hall Robert had walked down back to the main ballroom, “Whatever that was has killed my resolve to stick it out tonight,” she smiles sadly at him, “If my mom realizes we’ve gone I’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow when she comes over.” 

“You’re sure?” he asks, double-checking. 

She nods, “Positive.” 

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her in for a kiss, leaving his arm around her shoulders as they start to walk towards the exit. 

“Want me to take you somewhere to get food?” 

She grimaces, shaking her head as she deposits her glass of water on a table. The mere thought of eating makes her stomach turn, and she was to swallow back bile. 

“Absolutely not,” she says, looking around to make sure no one would overhear before she carries on, “Your kid seems intent on making sure I never eat again.” 

Aaron chuckles as he kisses the top of her head, “How about we go home, you take off those uncomfortable shoes, and I’ll rub your feet as you fall asleep.” 

“Now that sounds perfect.”

___

She curses under her breath as she looks for the case file that she knew was somewhere on her desk. 

She was running late. She had been all morning ever since she got stuck in traffic after dropping a reluctant Oliver off at daycare. Divide and conquer had always been the way forward ever since they had Rosie, the age difference between her and Ivy enough to mean they always had to be dropped off at different schools. 

Ever since she’d got to work she’d felt like she was behind. She’d missed the morning briefing her current cases, and now she was late for a meeting with the Section Chief. Thankfully, he was very understanding. Largely because she was married to him, and it was his son whose clinginess with her had returned in full force recently. 

When Aaron was prompted to Section Chief, Rosie was just under a year old. It was a job he’d accepted quickly, thrilled at the thought of being at home more, of not being taken away as often as he always had been during his time leading the BAU. Emily started leading the Counterterrorism Unit shortly after he became Section Chief, and for the first time in her career, she worked directly for her husband. At the start, she thought it would be strange, but they worked well together.

“Fuck sake,” she mutters to herself as she pushes documents around on her desk, still unable to find the ones she was looking for. She smiles when her gaze drifts over a family photo she keeps on her desk, a picture of all five of them smiling widely at the camera taken at Ivy’s recent 12th birthday. 

There’s a knock on her door and she doesn’t look up, still scrambling for her paperwork, “Come in,” she says, “Although I’m running late to a meeting so I only have a minute.” 

“Emily.” 

She freezes, her hands coming to a pause on the desk as a voice she hasn’t heard for years, washes over her. 

Emily feels her shoulders tense and her back straighten, walls she hadn’t put up in over a decade flying up immediately. She gives herself a moment, a brief second to pull herself together before she looks up, meeting dark eyes that bore into hers. 

The same dark eyes she’d passed on to her own children. The children the woman opposite her had never met. The children she didn’t know existed. 

Emily clears her throat, and she’s impressed her voice doesn’t shake as she speaks, “Mother, what are you doing here?” 

-x-

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A Shade Darker Than Red: Chapter 8

this is a repost because tumblr, being a jerk as always, decided to delete the former post. if you like this one, you could maybe check out the entire series using the masterlist i'll post in a few minutes.

A week passed by. Paro was eerily quiet when she was with me, and I thought of what I had said that day. Had I really, truly ruined all my chances of saving even our friendship?

A million thoughts rushed through my head as I turned restlessly in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The ceiling of our bedroom was painted with blue fluorescent stickers shaped like stars. Papa had done that. I had asked Maa to take them off if they bothered her, but we never did.

Beside me, Maa tossed in her sleep. They say if you think of someone, they can’t fall asleep. Could she hear my thoughts?

I had nothing to distract myself with. No phone, no book—nothing. Just me, my thoughts and the stars on the ceiling.

A sudden, vivid memory flashed in my mind. We were six. A year had passed since my meeting with Paro. We were running around like hooligans in the park while our mothers talked about work, pados-wali aunties and whatnot. I still remember what Paro was wearing: a frilly, white frock with Minnie Mouse sewn onto its sleeves. The sky was red and so was our laughter, until Paro bent down and ripped a flower right off its stem. “For you,” she had said, clumsily tucking the flower behind my ear. When she touched my earlobe, the flower was white. When she let go, it was red.

Another memory. We were nine. She sat with me on the bed while I rambled on about my latest hyperfixation: dragons. She listened to every single detail I had mentioned and, by the end of the afternoon, showed me a drawing of a wyvern.

Twelve. I was reading The Priory of the Orange Tree, sitting on the windowsill. I took a sip from my milk tea, letting out a contented hum. I wasn’t on the windowsill anymore. I was Ead, pressing a kiss to Sabran’s brow. Sabran was someone who looked uncannily similar to Paro.

An annoying ding! from my phone forced me back to reality. I heard Maa’s grunts and snores: the coast was clear. 

I climbed off the bed, taking care not to put extra weight anywhere that would make the mattress creak. I walked towards the desk and picked up the phone.

WhatsApp: You have 3 messages.

It was Paro. I checked the time: 3:49 a.m. Paro was a morning person, what was she doing staying up all night?

Paro<3:

hi renu are you awake?

—00:27

do you wanna hang out on the roof like we used to? 

—02:01

its ok if you dont wanna. go back to sleep you have a big day tmrw. actually, if ur awake rn i’ll kill you

—03:48

Oh, Paro.

I glanced at Maa, slowly increasing the fan’s regulator. Please don’t wake up soon.

I walked out of the room and closed the door. Thank goodness I’d oiled its hinges last week. 

The main door was locked—opening it meant creating a ruckus. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath. No wait, actually not shit. This meant I’d have to take the old way around. 

Jeez, fourteen-year-old me was fun.

I opened the door to the balcony and hoisted myself up on its railing. It was an easy jump. I tumbled onto the grass, praying that a grasshopper wouldn’t find its new home in my ear. The grass was wet and the air smelled of petrichor. 

I stood up, smoothening my pyjamas. Staying out late at night was a risky thing, especially in our neighbourhood. Plenty of TicTac-shaped pills here and there, and men on the prowl. I didn’t give a damn. I was eighteen and probably feeling some feelings I wasn’t supposed to be feeling. (That’s a lot of ‘feeling’s, I know.) What could possibly hurt me?

A lot of things, I realised, as I walked up to Paro’s house. Like that mad dog Rathode had warned me about. The creepy guy who keeps children in his basement (just a speculation, but when Madhu speculated about something, it was most probably right). An overspeeding motorcycle that could crash into me any minute. My own mother, with her pots and pans, once she realised I was gone.

Oh well, the damage was done. I found myself opening the gate on instinct, as if I knew Paro’s house better than I did my own.

I stepped into their garden, careful not to trample on any beetles—and made my way to the window of the woman who lived below Paro’s flat. Madame Fosco, I called her, in everything but her looks.

The tin shade Madame Fosco had installed last year was probably on its deathbed by now. Rust had made its edges creaky, but Fosco was deaf, anyway. I grabbed onto it and hoisted myself up, finding myself staring right at Paro’s face, our faces a millimetre away from each other’s. She screamed.

I screamed.

My foot slipped and I fell off the tin shade, tumbling onto the grass once again. At this point, I would be surprised if a grasshopper hadn’t found its home in my ear.

“For Whitman’s sake, hush,” I whisper-shouted, if that’s a thing. If it wasn’t, it probably is by now.

Paro peered out of the window, her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed. 

I shook my head (in case a grasshopper had organised a nice family dinner in my hair) and climbed onto the tin shaft once again, pulling myself onto Paro’s windowsill.

“Come in,” she whispered, switching the lights on. 

I felt comfortable squatting on her windowsill like a failed Spiderman and grumbled as I walked into her bedroom.

Paro switched her phone’s torchlight off. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“What?” I stared at her retreating figure. “What did I do?”

“Why are you still awake?” she snapped. I followed her to the door.

“Why are you still awake and staring out of your window like Oscar fucking Wilde?” I snapped back.

Paro flipped me off while trying her hardest to pull the gates across the door. Sweat shone on her forehead, her eyes illuminated in the moonlight.

“Hold on, let me help,” I offered, gently grabbing her wrist. Paro grumbled, stepping aside.

I pushed the gate back and pulled it in again, keeping the screw in with my thumb. It glided into the opening on the other side, miraculously not making a single noise.

I turned towards Paro. She was staring at my arms.

“What?” I asked her, incredulously. One moment she said she wanted to kill me, and the next she looked at me like I was something she couldn’t quite wrap her head around.

“N-Nothing,” she gasped. My heart fluttered. Dammit, these butterflies in my stomach had turned into fucking bats at this point.

Paro walked up the stairs while I followed her footsteps in the dark. “Just like the old times, huh?” I heard her say.

I grinned. “Just like the old times.”

Paro opened the door to the roof, the tensed line in her jaw glinting in a sliver of moonlight. God, she was as beautiful as ever.

“Come in,” she said, her words echoing in the marble walls.

I followed her to the railings, leaning against the cool surface. A light breeze rippled through, making her hair fly for a brief second. Dear God, she was poetry herself.

“Where are Auntie and Uncle?” I asked, trying to break the silence.

A light breeze caressed my cheeks. “They won’t be back before tomorrow. Business trip,” Paro explained, edging closer to me.

“Oh.” I was suddenly aware of the pen still tucked behind my ear.

Silence.

“So we’re—we’re all alone, then?” I asked her, hoping she wouldn’t hear the slight quaver in my voice.

Paro nodded. “We are.”

Silence, again.

She leaned against the railing. “You’re going away in three weeks.”

I nodded, not quite knowing what to say.

“I asked you a question.” Her voice was cold and harsh, harsher than I deserved. 

“That was a statement,” I snapped. “And don’t use your fucking CEO voice with me.”

Paro frowned. “I’m not.”

“You are.” I glared at her. “And you know it.”

She stared at me, scrutinising my every feature. “I’m sorry,” she finally said, letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s just been—you’ll be gone—and—”

“I know, it’s okay,” I heard myself murmur, edging closer towards her.

“I—I’ve got that Poe book with me,” she said. “Do you want it now or at the graduation party?”

“Now,” I said, without thinking. “The party will be too loud. And too crowded,” I added as an afterthought.

Paro bit her lip so hard I was scared it would bleed. “Alright,” she nodded. “I’ll get it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I watched her retreat into the shadows, taking the white along with her. The night was a pool of blood, again.

I hummed. Did she know about the history of ‘OK’? Probably not. I’d tell her. Not knowing things I wouldn’t be able to tell her before we drifted apart wasn’t a good idea. At least she’d be able to tell her children that their Renu Auntie had told her about the history of ‘OK’. Maybe she’d sigh and think of me, again. Words were a certain but clumsy way into a person’s mind. 

Papa had told me that. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking of him.

Did Paro know about Jinnah? That Netaji might’ve actually been alive? Did she know that birds came from lizard-hipped dinosaurs? There was so much I had to tell her before I vanished from her mind.

It was pathetic. Scrambling onto every crumb of unrelated information I could find, just to hang onto her thoughts, stay on in her mind for a little while longer.

“I’m back,” Paro said, stepping into the moonlight.

She looked like Aphrodite, the goddess of love born from love itself, in all her glory—clutching a book of Edgar Allan Poe, the letters of which shone in the lamplight or moonlight, that I do not know.

“For you,” she said, handing me the book.

“It’s beautiful,” I gasped as I ran my fingers along the edge of its spine. It was a leatherbound book, The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe written in shiny gold lettering. I opened the first page.

To Renu, it said. Keep me in your mind, always. From, Paro.

I chuckled, flipping through the pages. “Of course I’ll keep you in my mind, Paro,” I laughed. “What a silly thought!”

Paro looked at me, hope faintly glimmering in her eyes. “You will?” Her voice had softened down to a murmur.

I looked at her incredulously. “Well, duh, Paro, I can’t just forget my best friend of thirteen years now, can I?”

Paro’s lower lip trembled. “You promise?”

I smiled. “Always.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

A comfortable silence followed and as we looked at the stars, I knew we were both smiling.

[redxblueihateloveyou]

Omg thank you so much for your posts about rinharu!! :"")) I was one of those people who were like "why are rinharu fighting again?? Did kyoani purposely seperate them /again/ just for the sake of drama ?? (And so that they have more oppurtunities to showcase other ships??)" I was really irked at first cuz i thought the first part of TFS is finally going to be a movie about rinharu being a powercouple, but! After reading your posts i realised that haru never really moved on from rin leaving, even in S3 the reason why hiyori's words affected him was because he thought he caused rin to leave (and by extension ikuya, but lbr haru wasn't as frustrated with ikuya nearly as much as he was with rin right) so i'm just here to say.. thank you so much for opening my eyes!!! Now i'm really looking forward to the second part!!

Awww no problem <3 tbh I've always said that free is one of those that has so many nuances left bts that it's sometimes confusing for those who aren't as invested I think. Like there's so many important things that are left out and are in additional materials, that some has no idea what's going on at times. Like back in the days when some interpreted s2 in the opposite way bc of that one thing. My point is that not everyone is even watches stuff like recaps for example (where there are in fact new easter eggs and so many important things like Rin's dad death aftermath etc), and even less read novels and checked side stories and dramas.

For example, in books this Haru's issue about him thinking he's cursed and hurts everyone with his swimming is a huge thing, when Asahi "lost his ability to swim" after seeing Haru's free. But in SD it wasn't adressed at all tbh.

And what Haru feels for Rin is such tornado of emotions, that surprised even me with all the descriptions, bc like it's real bad. Like that part I posted from the chapter when Rin leaves is at least understandable, since he leaves. But the way he reacts to him in general even when he just appears in his sight is always described as if someone tortures him for real lol. And he's always like "pls someone save me, I don't know how to deal with this, bc I've never felt such emotions before".

So basically, like yeah, he's as it is has this thing, when he thinks of himself as some bad omen, so he's very sensitive about it, but since everything Rin-related feels x100000000 for him, its just... well, it hurt for a very long time and sadly was just overlooked by a certain someone, so here we are.

I think we all at first believed that bc Rin's so shocked and in disbelief that Haru could even think that it was his fault in some way:

that maybe they talked about it bts or smth like after the relay. But it seems like Rin either forgot or most likely I think he maybe thought that Haru understood without words? I'm just real sad still that Haru didn't get to hear this speech:

I mean, they made it look by the end of s1 that it was about relay, which partially yeah, but for Rin it was really about Haru. You see what he said.. he said that that 1x02 race with Haru alone.. what made him want to swim again. This whole speech was not only about the fact that Haru wasn't at fault that he quit swimming in the first place, but about the fact that Haru is his lucky charm, that makes everything better. AND WE DIDN'T EVEN GET TO HEAR THAT. So like for Haru it's to this day like "after I messed him up, Rin was saved with the power of friendship and a relay". But he was saved by Haru really. Bc according to s3 info, it was basically just about Haru being on the relay team. I don't try to demean their friendships or anything, but its just what it is.

And as I've said before in one post it's just fascinating that to this day Rin for example thinks that s1 shananigans were just about him and just his problem:

Haru thought it was about them and their problem:

So like my point here is I also up to the end of s2 thought that maybe Rei or Rin told that to him, bc we seemed to move on to another problems, until in Kizuna we were shown that he still dreams about that scene of Rin leaving. s3 Hiyori just exposed the wound really.

But also once again see what he said there, it's not just about that one time he keeps reliving, aka his first come back, its really just about each time Rin was leaving. Like the very first one already was bad, the second was the worst, bc he thought he hurt him and thought that bc of him he quit swimming, others are just painful bc by then it was already another kind of feeling. I mean, I do think that this first Rin's return to Australia thing needs to be cleared up since it's obviously still haunting him. But again it's just part of this. Haru after the Australian trip and "I've always admired you" and "without you I have nothing to aim for" and after TYM goodbye when Rin told him that he doesn't need a surprise party and that just swimming with Haru before leaving is the greastest surprise for him, he knows already about the way Rin feels about swimming with him... I think the reason why everyone is freaking out here is that bc the way it's executed it's just really about him constantly missing him and "why am I always have to longingly watch you leave, while you seem fine." If he was in a free race, but wasn't on a relay team, he'd get the same reaction. Its just all seasons combined that brought us here. We already in 3x01 without Hiyori knew that he wasn't handling Rin being far away again good. So tbh it's logical even without any explanation really. I mean, Rin does indeed leave and come back as he pleases and does what he wants without holding back or sometimes thinking about consequences. There's no lie here.

It's like since the beginning for Rin it was like "I found the gorgeous guy I adore and I want to swim with, I'll transfer schools just to nag him into swimming with me, it's not like he's gonna care if I leave after that." (he literally in the book didn't think it was a big deal)

For Haru it was like "I lived just fine, but this guy stormed into my life, made me want things I didn't think I'd ever want, got me addicted to him and then dropped me like a hot potato".

Rin's just very passionate about life and things he wants, like Haru for example, but he's really also very unobservant and very clueless at times.

But like just bc he doesn't know about Haru's existential crisis and all the pain he's truly in when he's leaving, doesn't change the fact that he at times didn't even treat him as a simple friend (because they can't be just friends I KNOW), but still things like "you could've called" "well sorry, I guess I'm just not good at it" are probably hurtful, considering the fact that you are good at it with everyone else tho, Rin sweetie. Like thanks for avoiding us the most and holding back and visiting us the last each time, we feel real special. Haru is like the opposite, he doesn't call anyone for example, but he can call Rin in the middle of the night if needed, he always does for Rin smth that's completely out of his comfort zone.

It's like some say "Rin didn't know he wanted him to call" or "he didn't know Haru felt guilty". He did know he wanted him to call and he didn't know Haru felt guilty and stopped swimming competitively when he stopped swimming, but then Rei told him and Natsuya in 3x03 reminded him about this too. Its just the fact that he doesn't want to add 1+1 and thinks "well, there's no way I can affect Haru like that right?", "he can't be that upset about Rin Matsuoka, right?". While facts are he IS literally the only one who affects Haru in such huge way. It's like everyone else can just pass him by and it's nothing, but he walks by and it's a whole "asdfghgfdsa why my body is on fire, its just Rin who's just standing there".

And I'm also buffled by this thing that some people really say stuff like "where did this come from, they were perfectly fine" etc, as if they ever had normal "friendship" relationship. I'm like when did they ever behave themselves okay? In 3x03 Rin is dying to call Haru, but can't do it, while he's constantly texting everyone including Nagisa. First thing he says in the airport when he comes back is "I'm home, Haru" to air, but then goes to hang out with Makoto and Sousuke, desperately looking for an excuse to see the one whom he from the beginning, as it was shown wanted to see the most, but in his opinion can’t without a reason. It's only when Makoto tells him that Haru was upset about Albert he quickly rans off out of there bc "hooray, I have an excuse to see my bae”. Like we know from the airport scene that he wanted to see Haru the most. If they're so as people say were doing great, than how do you exlain all of their s2 and s3 behavior for real? It's like as if in TYM Haru didn't lose his shit from some gossip about persimmons. I mean, they never settled anything really. And Haru is constantly scared of Rin leaving again since forever.

So it's complicated, but yes, we're super excited for p2, bc asdfghjhgfds.

#answered #anonymous #rinharu #harurin #free! the final stroke #free! #rin matsuoka #nanase haruka

[amaya-chwan]

Takeaways from Therapy Game Restart 14 + Illustration Book Release Date

Hello again everyone! ❤️💛💜

It's finally here... chapter 14! In all its glory! 😍🥰✨

Before we get to our takeaways, just some news I missed in the last post!

🎉 SENSEI'S ILLUSTRATION BOOK WILL BE RELEASED AROUND THURSDAY, 23RD SEPTEMBER! 🎉

Image taken from this Twitter post from Dear+!

It is titled "日ノ原巡イラスト集　DARLING" and boasts a collection of illustrations from Sensei's works so far: Secret XXX, Therapy Game, and Kamisama no Uroko.

The current price is ¥2970 with tax (¥2700 without tax). If you'd like to preorder it on your proxy shopping service, I've found it on the Comi Comi Studios website here! The bonus for purchasing it on this website is a B5 clear file~ I haven't seen it on Animate just yet, so fingers crossed it'll appear on their website soon with another (different) bonus! ❤️💛

Alright, with this amazing news done, let's move onto our takeaways, the long awaited takeaways! Thank you for being so patient with me! 💜

My short life update: currently in week 8 of lockdown and I haven't left my house in a long time other than for exercise or groceries. But I do have my vaccination appointment booked so YAY! 🎉

Here are our takeaways for this chapter:

Oh man, we pick right up from the last page of chapter 13. MINATO, BB, YOU LOOK SO PAINED! 😭

Sensei is the BIGGEST tease... that's all we got of that Minato and Shizuma scene...👀😭

The female staff at the veterinary hospital have really mellowed out! They're not bad, after all. ☺️

Oh dear, Nakajou-sensei, please get better ASAP!

Whoa... did Onodera just...?? I'm starting to think back to that Onodera discussion we had a couple of months ago... 🤔

Poor Shizuma, always roped into Onodera's workplace stuff! IT'S BECAUSE YOU HAVE GREAT PEOPLE SKILLS, SHIZUMA! PROUD OF YOU! 😍🙌

Man, Onodera has a really... blunt way of saying things to her human clients. Wow, brave. 😲

But I will say, Onodera really is good with animals. 🙌

Yet again, I think about that Onodera discussion we had... 🤔🤔

And that’s it for this chapter’s takeaways! For a more detailed breakdown/summary of this chapter, please continue after the cut! There may or may not be a surprise scene (or two) there. Please keep reading if you want to see~  ��✨

Our chapter begins where we left off in chapter 13--Minato pinning Shizuma down on the bed. Shizuma looks up at Minato and reflects on his actions that caused the pained look he is seeing.

Image taken from this Dear+ Twitter post!

On the next page (title page), the dialogue reads: Shizuma wants to understand what it is about his director (Onodera) that is making Minato uneasy. // However, that beautiful liar hides it well...

(I believe we are taken back to the morning before Shizuma and Minato meet up for their date.)

The title page features Onodera walking back to the clinic, bread in hand, with a cat cozying up on her leg. We are then brought to the clinic's lunchroom, with the female staff and Shizuma on break. The roster in the room shows that Onodera is extremely busy, Nakajou-sensei has afternoon house call appointments, Tatsumi is Nakajou-sensei's support for these appointments, and Shizuma has a half day and finishes in the afternoon in lieu of working on his scheduled day off.

Shizuma asks his coworkers what presents they like from their partners and takes note of their answers. One of the female nurses asks if it's Minato's birthday. Shizuma confesses that their relationship has been affected by the various things happening lately, so he wants to get Minato a gift before seeing him later that day.

The nurses quickly pick up that the gift is a "tribute" of sorts as this line of work means a lot of missed appointments and dates, and Shizuma confirms their suspicions. While the nurses realise male-male relationships and male-female relationships aren't that different in this aspect, everyone in the lunchroom is alerted to someone shouting Nakajou-sensei's name.

Shizuma and a nurse see Tatsumi with Nakajou-sensei, who has collapsed on the floor. While the staff are concerned about Nakajou's well-being, she brushes it off as a dizzy spell. Before they can help her up, Onodera sweeps her off her feet and carries Nakajou to her (Onodera's) office. While Nakajou asks Onodera to put her down out of sheer embarrassment, Shizuma and Tatsumi are in shock, with Tatsumi commenting on Onodera's manliness in that moment. One of the other nurses gently smacks Shizuma's shoulder and tells the two to grab a blanket and a drink for Nakajou.

In her office, Onodera asks Nakajou why she's been overworking herself to the point of collapsing. The nurse (who gave the gentle smack) very obviously hints to Onodera that it is her fault. As Nakajou calms the nurse by saying that's just how the director is, Tatsumi asks Nakajou about their afternoon appointments. She says she'll be fine to go after a little rest, but the nurse says she mustn't overexert herself.

After a few back and forths about who should go and the clients' needs/personality (picky about the vet, had a pet that doesn't like men, etc), Onodera says she will go. The nurses are shocked and reminisce about all the issues they've had when Onodera interacts with the owners. Tatsumi and Shizuma stand there, and can very clearly imagine those situations happening.

While Onodera rearranges and informs the nurses of the shift changes to accommodate Nakajou-sensei, Shizuma has a terrible premonition that unfortunately comes true: he is appointed as Onodera's support for the afternoon house calls.

Wearing a sulky expression, Shizuma packs the necessary equipment in Onodera's car and reminds her that he has a very important engagement that night that he cannot miss, and as such will leave immediately after the house call appointments are done. Onodera bursts his bubble, and tells him to give up on those plans while he can since this is the line of work he's chosen.

As Shizuma reads the client files, he questions Onodera on why he is her support when he's never attended to these clients before. While Onodera tells him that good coordination is important with a physician's support and that he's the only one she can rely on to give her an honest opinion and calm the clients, Shizuma realises that he's basically the mediator between her and the owners. She confirms that this is his strong point, has great expectations for him, and proceeds to drive. Shizuma then reads the patient files at lightning speed, realising there's a threatening 'something' that Minato has sensed, but that's just how the director is. He then vows to make it to their meeting tonight, no matter what.

The first three house calls, as expected, involve Onodera insulting and angering the owners--Onodera tells the first client that his insistence on seeing Nakajou rather than a 'young' director is having a negative effect on his pet who needs immediate medical care; Onodera offends the second client, inferring from their conversation that her pet's appearance is more important than the need to shave their fur and get an ultrasound done; Onodera accuses the third client of being irresponsible in caring for his exotic animals and asks for more effort on his part. In all three scenarios, Shizuma awkwardly smiles while trying to ease the tension.

The scene skips to Onodera and Shizuma arriving at their fourth and final house call for the day. Just as Onodera explains to Shizuma that she must check a whole host of things at house calls (and indirectly be too blunt about it with the owners), Shizuma asks her to consider the owner's feelings and change when and how she says things. She glares ahead in silence, and Shizuma is just glad that she is now aware of it. He again reminds her to talk with the owner nicely and gently as he probably won't be able to help with the next client as their pet dislikes men. Onodera tells him to just sit in the corner and witness the client become furious while he doesn't help, making him feel slightly guilty for saying that. He is now adament on not helping her.

They reach the owner's home and we meet an elderly woman named Shiratori and her 9-year-old male cat, Tono. Shiratori apologises to Shizuma as her cat doesn't like men. Tono hisses at them as Onodera opens his cage, but is then coaxed into submission by Onodera who covers his vision with a towel and takes him into her lap to calm down. Shiratori and Shizuma are surprised at his sudden docile nature, with Shizuma witnessing how well she deals with animals.

As Shizuma looks on at Onodera while she completes a check on Tono, he sees she is crumbling at the friendliness and talkative nature of Shiratori, who sings nothing but praise for Onodera and how her family must be proud to have such an amazing daughter. Aiming to ease her troubles and remembering the earlier guilt-trip she gave him, he redirects Shiratori's attention to her broken fly screen and offers to fix that plus everything else that needs repair in her home.

Onodera watches as the two leave the room for a bit before apologising to Tono for ignoring him. Tono looks on at Onodera happily while she asks him how he can live with such a lively human and to tell her his secret to this. She brings him into her arms once more to check his limbs, and as Tono looks up smiling at Onodera, Onodera sees her reflection in Tono's eyes, and both seem to realise something.

BG Text: Stare...

Suddenly, Shizuma and Shiratori, who are busy fixing the window, hear a loud crash and rush into the room to find Tono atop the cabinet and Onodera on the floor, with her hair in disarray. In the next panel, Tono is shown to be hiding in the bookshelf, looking on irritatingly at the humans. Shiratori apologises to Onodera, who shakes it off and says it's nothing to worry about and no harm's been done.

Shiratori asks if Onodera will fix/tie her hair up again, but when Onodera says her hair tie was broken when Tono used her as a launchpad to get on the cabinet, Shiratori runs to get her a new one. As Shiratori gushes over the 3 piece dopey looking character hair tie set she received as a present from her grandchild (and lets Onodera pick one), a greatly displeased look is plastered on Onodera's face. Shizuma, in shock, notices her displeasure and hopes she just thanks Shiratori for it. And Onodera does, bringing a great big smile to Shiratori's face.

As Onodera and Shizuma leave, Shiratori says she's glad to have talked with Onodera and invites her to come over again. As she says this, we see Onodera looking back with a blank look in her eyes.

And that’s it for this chapter! THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR! 💜 While I was surprised at the lack of Minato in this chapter (Sensei legit is such a tease, LOL 🤣), I'm happy we can learn more about Onodera. Ngl, I'm starting to really question if Onodera is male or female now, given what transpired in this chapter. I guess we shall see in the next one!

I also changed the formatting a bit and removed the bullet points. Please let me know which format is better/easier to read! Ahah!

EDIT: Spelling and grammar checks are done! Didn't change a lot, but hope it reads better! 💜

📢 As always, please support Hinohara-sensei by purchasing her books and CDs! 📢

And please also refrain from resharing these translations and images outside of this post! Thank you for understanding! ❤️💛

There won't be a chapter in next month's (September release) Dear+, so I shall see you in two months for the next chapter (Dear+ November Issue, to be released in October).

As always, stay safe during these turbulent times and look out for each other and for your loved ones! 💜❤️💛

#therapy game #therapy game restart #ikushima shizuma #shizuma ikushima #mito minato #minato mito #mito itsuki #itsuki mito #ikushima shouhei #onodera akira #akira onodera #shouhei ikushima #セラピーゲーム #セラピーゲームリスタート #生嶋静真 #三兎湊 #三兎樹 #生嶋翔平 #小野寺昌 #case 14 #chapter 14 #wow what a chapter #really curious to read more on onodera #but legit minato #minato my sweet child #i promise you it isn't what you think #please explain it to him shizuma #god i seriously love these dorks #hinohara-sensei is the biggest tease #thank you hinohara sensei

[kaistrex]

2021 Fic Year in Review

I won't be finishing anything else before the year is up, so I thought it was time for this. No one tagged me but it looked fun so here we go 😂 Edit: Now tagged by @raisesomehale! 🥰

Personal ramblings ahead!

Total number of completed works

10

Total word count:

161,800+ 😱

Fandoms written in:

Teen Wolf

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

Considering at the beginning of January I didn’t think I’d write a goddamn thing or be involved in fandom at all, a helluva lot more haha. This is the most I've written in a single year ever, easy.

What’s your own favorite story of the year?

Where the Real Beasts Are (yep, I’m still banging on about it 😂) because I persevered with it after 4 years of writing and wrote my first 100k+ fic 🤗

The runner-up is Home though. I’m really proud of the plot idea for that fic ^^

Did you take any writing risks this year?

I think signing up for the big bang was a risk, even though I didn’t realise it at the time! I think in my sign up application, I estimated my fic would be in the 20-30k range, but then it grew and grew to 2-3x that length. I realised around the end of June that the daily word count goal I set just wasn’t going to cut it, so I had to double it to 1k a day, and for the month of July, all I did every evening was sit in front of my laptop and slave away. I’m not built for that kind of level of production haha

I ended up getting it finished and self-betaed (a process which took like 10 hours 😂) 30 minutes before it was due to be revealed to everyone on my posting day. It was not a fun time, and I actually kind of grew to resent the fic haha woops~

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year?

I’d really like to get my Lonely Stiles fic off the ground. I’ve added another plot thread to it that has turned it into a longfic from the long oneshot I’d planned because there was something missing, so it’s well on it’s way to taking shape. I’d really love to be able to write the whole thing and then post it to a schedule because that’s something I’ve never done before.

I did intend to use it for my big bang piece if I sign up again, but now it’s going to be chaptered, I really don’t want to have to post it all at once per the event rules, so... we’ll see!

Most popular story of the year?

Probably Cloaked in Gold? I’ve never had such a strong reception to a fic before which was especially mind-boggling considering I thought I was just sending it out to die because it had to be posted all in one go.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

Home. The reception for the fic even now it's finished has been pretty soft (the Secret Santa fic I posted 3 days ago is already on it’s way to eclipsing it via kudos by the end of the week 😂) On the other hand though, in the 5/6 years I’ve been writing Sterek, I’ve never had such incredible comments as I got on that fic which I still think about even now, AND it inspired someone to draw art so I really have nothing to complain about 🥰💖💖💖

Most fun story to write:

Probably Lemon & Ginger or The Hand-me-down. Generally when I write, I'll always hit a section where I think I just want this bit to be dooooonnnne, but both of these were short and mostly written over the course of a day, so they came to me pretty easily. They just felt right 😊

Biggest Disappointment:

I’d completely forgotten about this, but now I’m laughing remembering when I ‘un-privated’ a fic I hate because people had been asking after it and sharing pdfs anyway, thinking I’d just do it quietly and it would be there for the people that wanted it and I wouldn’t have to think about it ever again, only to discover that it sent out a notification to HUNDREDS of my ao3 subscribers. That was... unfortunate to say the least 🤣 Does that count?

Biggest surprise:

The reception to Cloaked in Gold. I was blown away by the response to it. I keep getting comments on it with regularity even now, even though usually once something's posted, comments dry up after a few days.

#personal #fic year in review #mywriting #i love an excuse to ramble about this stuff #i have no one else to talk to about it 😂

[beewolfwrites]

An Iron Box - The Answer

@cheshiya @tenseoyong @szallejhscorner @something-more-original-please @ofsunsetsandpoetries @nek0dzuken @allozaur @hiqhkey @serenzippity

That rooftop scene is growing closer, and so is my excitement :D

I’ve noticed a few new readers, and I just wanted to add a heads up that you can find the Tumblr post links and the AO3 links to each of the three fics at the top of my Tumblr, if that helps at all! 

Here’s the AO3 link to this chapter too.  

I hope you like it! <3

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

‘Chishiya, I’d hate to be your enemy.’ 

When Arisu had spoken those words right as he punched in the code, he’d already made his fatal mistake.

You are all my enemies, in a way.   

I stood back, watching as Arisu’s bloodied and unconscious body was slung over a militant’s shoulder and carried out of the royal suite. Usagi went next, kicking and screaming her boyfriend’s name. Just as she was dragged out the door, her eyes locked on me, and I could see the sheer betrayal there, the hatred burning and seething under her skin. 

I simply smiled. 

It wasn’t personal. It’s just how this world works.

Sometimes you have to sacrifice a pawn to reach the king. 

The rest of us meandered out into the hall where the two traitors were being hauled towards their fate. I felt a hand clamp firmly on my shoulder, and fought the urge to move away when I saw Aguni standing beside me.

‘You did good, Chishiya. I never did trust those two.’ 

You should rethink where you put your trust. 

‘Don’t mention it,’ I said. ‘It’s the least I could do.’ 

There was a furious cry down the hall as Usagi bit someone’s hand, followed by a slap, and then silence. I already had an inkling about what would happen to the two of them. Knowing Niragi, he would have some fun with Usagi before disposing of her. Perhaps I should’ve felt guilty. Some people certainly would. But there was a small, satisfied part of me that was glad it was her instead of... 

‘That reminds me,’ Aguni said. ‘How did you know about them?’ 

‘Ah… that.’ I took the walkie talkie out of my pocket and flashed it to him. ‘They tried to get me to join them. I went along with it to find out the details, and you know the rest.’ 

Aguni’s brows furrowed at the sight of the device, but he didn’t ask to inspect or keep it. That’s when I knew I had him wrapped around my finger. 

‘I understand. If you see any other suspicious behaviour, let me know.’ 

‘Of course.’ 

I nodded politely as he disappeared down the hall and submerged himself in his room.

Now that those two were taken care of, the militants would be distracted for a little while. That left us a generous amount of time until dark, although the real plan wouldn’t take long to execute, especially now I knew where the actual safe was.  

Aguni may have been observant, but not nearly as observant as I was. Knowing that he had come so close to having the cards snatched from right under his nose, it would’ve unsettled anyone. And in such an unstable situation, it was only human nature to seek stability by making sure that your precious items are untouched. 

I guess I was wrong about the blank sheet. 

There was a room on the top floor that I knew wasn’t currently being used. In such close proximity to the royal suite, it was the perfect hideout where I could talk into the walkie talkie without worrying about eavesdroppers. 

Slipping inside, I pulled it from my pocket once again to tune it to a radio frequency I had told Kuina about earlier. Knowing her, she would have tuned (name’s) to the same one right after Arisu’s capture. 

I lifted the walkie talkie to my mouth. ‘Kuina?’ 

There was a drawn out moment of static, then Kuina’s voice crackled through. ‘I’m here. (Name) still needs a minute though.’ 

I figured as much. Once she realised what was happening, it was inevitable that she would react badly. Having Kuina there to keep her away from Arisu and Usagi had been for the best. And now she knew that I had unwillingly involved her in a plan like this, her opinion of me had probably sunk lower than before. 

Is this also for the best? 

I sat down on the unused bed, deciding that yes, it was. She would only be a distraction. If it came down to it, I needed to survive. And once we left the Beach, if she despised me so much that she chose to go down a separate path, it couldn’t be better. 

But still… 

‘Chishiya.’ Kuina’s voice interrupted the quiet. ‘I hope you feel guilty for this. I seriously hope a small part of you realises how screwed up this was.’ 

I smiled at her lack of understanding. I realised perfectly well, but for the sake of surviving in a world like this, you couldn’t allow yourself to slip to the bottom of the food chain.

‘You’ve changed your tune,’ I replied. ‘Are you backing out all of a sudden?’ 

‘Of course not. I can’t afford to, and neither can (name).’ She paused, then tentatively asked, ‘Did you know? About her… and you, you know.’ 

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ 

‘Did you know she had feel—’ Kuina’s voice stopped, then she hushed, ‘She’s coming out now. We’ll be upstairs soon.’ 

The communication cut off, and all I could do was wait until they were in position. Wait, and mull over Kuina’s unfinished question. Obviously, they had been talking about me, but I almost didn’t want to know what they had said. 

I waited fifteen minutes, and there was still no sign from either of them. If they carried on at this speed, we would run out of time. Growing restless, I held up the walkie talkie. 

‘You two, how are things on your side?’

There was no response, but they would have to reply eventually. What I didn’t expect was her voice to come through. 

‘You’re all good to go from where I’m standing.’ Her voice was still dripping with unspoken anger and betrayal, and it was surprising she was even willing to talk to me. 

So you’re not as childish as you act. Who would’ve thought. 

‘Aguni’s still in his room,’ Kuina followed up with a sigh. ‘We’re getting bored now.’ 

‘Then should we get going with the plan?’ I suggested. The reply I got was scathing. 

‘We’ve already gotten going. It’s you who needs to hurry up.’ 

That attitude, it was almost laughable. How commanding (name) had become in an instant, as if she weren’t tagging along on someone else’s plan.

‘Patience,’ I reminded her, and turning down the volume on the walkie talkie, I cracked open the door. 

In the hall, there wasn’t a soul in sight. It couldn’t have been more perfect. The royal suite was unguarded, and I easily slipped by unnoticed. Inside, the room was bathed in darkness, and it became apparent Aguni hadn’t yet bothered to move his belongings in. There were still traces of the incident earlier. The carpet by the open wardrobe was spotted with blood. Arisu’s blood. 

I turned the volume on the walkie talkie back up. ‘I don’t know if Arisu is stupid or intelligent. Hatter was paranoid. He wouldn’t have hidden the cards in a normal safe.’

‘Where’s the real one then?’ Kuina asked. 

I turned to the deer painting on the wall. It didn’t particularly stand out as anything special, just a deer’s face and antlers against a blue toned background. And yet earlier that day, despite all the commotion and Arisu’s screams of pain, it had captured Aguni’s focus. 

‘When Arisu was caught,’ I said, slowly approaching the painting, ‘Aguni wasn’t paying attention. He was looking towards a certain picture on the wall. It turns out the paper wasn’t empty after all. It contained a drawing instead.’ 

Briefly placing the walkie talkie on a side table, I lifted the painting from the wall, uncovering the hidden treasure that I had been hoping for. The plaster had been carved up, forming a hole large enough to jam a small safe inside. And sure enough, there it was. A hotel safe, much like the one Arisu had tried, was embedded deep into the wall. 

Her voice, sounded through the static. ‘So, you had no idea where it was until then?’ 

I picked up the walkie talkie again. ‘Exactly. What happened to Arisu was necessary if we were going to find the real safe. Speaking of which, I’ve found it.’ 

Now it was the moment of truth. The final test to see if my code was correct. I punched the numbers in one by one. 8022. Each one held its own magnitude, and I half-expected an alarm to ring out. 

Except it didn’t. The safe display read ‘OPEN’. 

‘You used him just for that?’ was Kuina’s tired response. 

Really, after all this time, did she not realise that this was the price one had to pay? This world had a certain dynamic. In order to survive, you couldn’t allow yourself to get caught up in guilt or shame. 

‘In order to gain something, you have to lose something,’ I said. ‘He’s just a sacrifice. Things like this happen a lot, don’t they?’

'No, they don’t. Not at all. I really don’t want to be your enemy.’

I smiled, remembering the betrayal in Arisu’s expression. ‘I get that a lot.’ 

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

The deck was like a weight, swinging in my pocket. A surefire sense of power and danger, all hidden within a stack of cards. There was no way of knowing whether collecting them granted any passage back to the old world. But there was also nothing to prove that they didn’t. 

Either way, I’m certain something will happen once the deck is completed. 

These cards couldn’t be for nothing. 

After replacing the painting, I told Kuina and (name) to meet me near the patio exit at the east of the hotel. I could’ve caught up with them on my way down from the top floor, but I wanted to make a small diversion. 

I’d never felt any attachment to my room, and even now as I took one last look, there was nothing in particular keeping me here. 

Well, maybe just one thing. 

Pulling open the second drawer down on the desk, I felt around at the back for the tiny box. It was only small, and the ring inside even smaller. It sat open in the palm of my hand, the silver fashioned into a small sun with a glistening green centre. 

Somehow, its weight was even heavier than the cards. 

Is there any point?

I could’ve easily slipped it into my pocket, but it was practically useless. Even if I gave it to her, she would instantly reject it. 

I placed the box back in the draw. It would stay a secret for the next person moving into this room. As I shut the drawer, I suddenly remembered another, darker secret hidden inside the one below. I opened it up, seeing the little souvenir I’d taken from my first game. 

The pistol glistened inside, metallic and dangerous. Now that would certainly keep Niragi at bay. But again, was it worth it? It didn’t hold many bullets, and it wouldn’t stand a chance against a rifle. Once we were out of here, I could probably find something a little bigger, perhaps in Tokyo’s empty Yakuza hotspots. 

I left it there along with the ring. Even walking away felt like tugging at a string that kept pulling me back towards that tiny box. I would have to rip that string apart. 

Making my way down through the hotel, I strolled outside, dipping into the smaller paths where the patio was peaceful. The only sounds were the faded music drowned out by wind, and the soft trill of crickets. Two silhouettes came into view, one basking in the glow beneath a lamppost, the other hidden against the wall in its shadow. 

‘I guess we won’t be needing these anymore.’ I pulled off the wristband I had gotten so used to wearing. Just as I reached the brick archway at the edge of the grounds, Kuina spoke.

‘Don’t you feel sorry?’ 

I paused. ‘Sorry?’ 

‘About what happened to Arisu,’ (name) said. ‘I feel really sorry for him. We both do.’

Kuina hummed in agreement. ‘Don’t you?’

I turned, glancing from Kuina’s frown to the figure behind her. No matter how hard she tried to hide in her friend’s shadow, I could always find her, especially when her eyes looked so full of anger and hurt. Standing there, both bracing themselves against the cold, the two of them echoed off one another in perfect harmony. 

‘I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.’ 

I knew what line came next. She didn’t have to sing, so long as she was still breathing. Perhaps I could make her understand. 

‘Is there anything we wouldn’t do in order to survive?’ 

Clearly, there was. Their eyes widened, as if the truth of this world hadn’t fully hit them yet. As if all my efforts had been for nothing in their eyes. 

Fine. Very well. 

I smiled, no longer caring to hide the bitterness. ‘If you both feel so worried, then maybe you should go and help him.’ 

And of course, neither of them budged. They knew they couldn’t. They were both so happy to come with me if it meant escaping the Beach, yet they still felt the right to criticise my methods. I turned back towards the arch and took the first step forward into freedom, only to hear that tiny, oh-so-familiar sound. 

A buzzing. 

‘It can’t be,’ I muttered. 

This was always a possibility. But why here? Why now? Why, when I was so close to winning? Any other time, and I wouldn’t have minded. This, however, was simply annoying. 

I was so deep in thought, I barely registered the footsteps behind me… the familiar form sliding past me… walking closer towards the arch. 

‘Stop.’

My hand moved on its own, grabbing her wrist and tugging her back just in time. For one small second I felt the heat of her skin, right before it was yanked out of my grip. 

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ She touched her wrist as if it had been burned, unaware that it had been the other way around. 

I couldn’t answer. The cold had settled back in, the emptiness. It only confirmed that nagging suspicion I already knew. The reason I couldn’t rip the string apart. She was the answer.

Kuina appeared at my side, waiting for an explanation. Her presence reminded me that there was something far, far more pressing at stake. Suddenly remembering the wristband I was holding, I tossed it into the arch. 

A glowing red laser shot through the centre and it clattered to the ground. 

The timing was almost ironic, too perfect to be true. Almost like the gamemasters had been watching us all along, just as they had with that little stunt they pulled in the Eight of Hearts. As frustrating as this was, I had to admire their creativity. 

I sighed, turning around to see a wall of lasers appear along the parameters of the hotel.

Touche. 

#alice in borderland #aib #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #Chishiya x reader #chishiya x oc #Imawa no Kuni no Arisu #chishiya alice in Borderland

[goofyhoffy]

CHAPTER 2

Fanfiction : My First Kiss 'just a kiss'

Genre : best friend to enemies to lovers! Roommates au! Classmates au! Romcom.

Pairings : Taehyung × reader

Word limit : 2.06k

Warnings : fuckboi, bestie bad words, private talks, best friend sharing sex life, abusing, angst, misunderstanding, bullying, kissing, smut, fluff, explicit, student life, dirty talks, wet dreams, hitting on, making out, Dom,sub, yandere.

Summary : you shifted to a new city for your best friend Taehyung. He's your bestie since birth. You admitted to his school where you find life difficult. Taehyung being a fuckboi and you being is bestie he shares everything with you even his sex life and moves. But your character is far more different from him. You always looked for your comfort person. You dreamt of spending time with your future partners. Even you're in high school you haven't kissed anyone as you want to secure your first kiss for your special one. What happened when Taehyung seized the chance from you of your first romantic kiss!

Series: a drabble fanfiction of 3 sets.

Author note : this one is so emotional and romantic , so look forward to read it. I hope you'll love it. Finally, after reading give me your help full opinions. Love ya.

Chapter 1 ∆ CHAPTER 3

MASTERLIST

(๑♡⌓♡๑)(๑♡⌓♡๑)(๑♡⌓♡๑)(๑♡⌓♡๑)

You walks up to him and straight up slap him in his golden cheeks.

Slapping your bestie feels so bad, you felt the worst person in this planet. Your anger and frustration towards him still didn't left from your heart.

Taehyung getting slapped with your bare soft hands. He got thrilled. You slapped and left the venue. But eventually you feel someone grabbed your hand so hard. As you expected it's Tae. He was standing with his hand grabbing yours and the other hand holding his delicate cheeks you just slapped. You frowned.

"What was that?" Tae arrogantly asked.

"A slap to remember you that you're nothing but a stranger to me from now." You screamed.

"How dare you?" Tae squeezed your hands.

"How dare you to kiss me?" You eyed.

"Seriously, for a kiss you would slap your bestie" Tae sighed.

"It's My First Kiss" you emotionally acknowledged.

"It's just a kiss". Tae sighed.

"You were my best friend." Your voice broke.

"I still am. Still your best friend." Tae said.

"No, Tae. That's not how things happen. I told you hundreds of time that, I'm not like you. I can't makeout with anyone like you do. I have higher expectations and hope for my First Kiss. But you ruined it." You screamed.

"But you kissed me back." He too screamed.

"I don't, I don't know. It's just happened."

"See, you kissed me back but still reacting like a fucking slut. Don't be emotional virgin,____"

"Shut up, you fuckboy. See yourself. A fucking boy who can sleep with any and every girl across the door. I'm not like you, Taehyung. Maybe your dick fits for everyone but not for me. I never thought that you'll do something like this to me. I was your bestie." You bashed for him.

"What? Think before you speak,____" Tae sighed.

"Why will I? When you never even think about smashing your worst lips on mine? Huh." You said.

"I can't. You're the meanest. Actually your lips taste the worst. You don't even now how to kiss. Huh, how would you even know. You're a emotional Virgin. If I didn't kissed you, nobody in your entire life will do. You should thank me. Poor Virgin." Tae chuckled devilishly.

Hearing those cruel words from Tae. You just broken up. Those tears can't resist to drop themselves from your small pearl eyes. You never thought that your best friend can think that about you. Each and every word he speaks you remember word by word. The known loved face of Tae looked devilish to you now. He was not the same anymore. People change so do he. He turn to devil, who even can hurt their own people. You remember why you even here. It was all because of Tae who needed you. You were always there for your best friend. But he was never there. And he was the one who hurt you the most.

You can't let a word fall out of your mouth. Your neck was feeling pain out of caught your tears back. You don't want to face him anymore. Just want to go away from his gaze. His presence even stinks. He feels like a complete stranger to you. Out of anything you want was someone to tell you what is wrong and right. But your own friend was a traitor.

You still can't processed how things got runied between you. It was only second day of your staying with Tae, and you both already at the verge to broke up. The fight turns into a rival. You never have such a big issue or fight with him. Back in the old days, he always supported, loved and cared about you. But now at the school, he totally treat you like a new nerd girl who's hitting on him. So much things are going on your mind. The presence of your first kiss, the betrayal and the acting a stranger all from your own best friend.

"Huh! Don't fucking cry like a monster. Speak up, my toxic friend." Tae frowned.

His words makes your heart ache more and more. You can't stand to him. You wanted to slap him untill death. He was like a enemy to your eyes.

Without any response you shed off your tears, took a deep breath. Took your books from the library table and left the place.

Taehyung is deeply affected by your presence. He had never seen you like this. He somewhere immaturely annoyed by your response. The slap still leaves a mark on his cheeks. He deep down know that it's all his fault but his ego stops from accepting that. He only knew that you were overreacting and nothing. A kiss never can be compared with a slap. Best friend do this shitty things but the fight turns to Rival. Now, onwards he only know one thing she was his enemy and nothing.

You took your bagpacks from your classroom. And left the school. You stroll down the unknown street. The school, roads, place and your best friend seems stranger. You don't know where to go. For a second you thought of leaving your school from Seoul to go back to Daegu. But you promised Taehyung's mother that you would not leave him in the half way. You decide to stick to him but he wasn't your best friend anymore. But he was, no he still is. Might be you were little too much to response harshly. But he need to apologize to you first. And you were not gonna talk to him anymore.

Taehyung when came to classroom and can't find you anywhere, he got that you skipped the school. He was worried about you, after all you knew no one there. It was completely unknown place to you. But he know his way of finding where are you. He checked your snap location and at his surprise you were already home. He got relieved but still want to realise you that you were wrong to slap him.

You gone home as no other option was left. Did your homework and some self study. And missed your old Tae a bucket. Cried for hours over the same boy. But your strong will power helps you to organise yourself more. Took a fresh shower and done your hair and skin care.

Lying on the bed you were checking your social media. At your surprise you see something that broke your heart again. Tae posted a photo with his school friends and captioned it "far from the toxic friendship. Best day to get to know about real colour of people." You were so annoyed. You deep down know that he posted it for you. Tae intentionally posted to mock you. You were like does he thinks that you were toxic, he want to end friendship so he should tell you early. Such a asshole he was.

You know you have to call him, to tell him that he don't deserve you. That he was wrong to take away your first kiss. You called him and as expected he didn't received. You called him again, he received.

"You asshole." You screamed.

"What? What do you want now?" Tae arrogantly said.

"You fucking don't deserve a bestie like me. Your sarcasm is not a joke. You think you would mock me and I'll ignore it. Huh." You frowned.

"I see... So, how was my post. You like it. I love the caption so much. It's best to ignore toxic people like you." Tae devilishly grinned.

"Just fuck off with your poor fake gang Kim Taehyung. I even don't give a fuck. I hate you." You declined the call.

You screamed across the lungs that you can't with this boy.

°

Thinking all those think you drifted into sleep. You woke up to some weird noises coming from living room. And it's of screaming some girls. Felt weird that who was gonna scream like a monster at that time. That was barely late evening. As you were moving closer to living room the noises turns to moans. And as expected it was none other than your fake bestie Taehyung.

"What the heck? " You screamed.

"Oh my god. Who's she?" The girl screamed violently.

Taehyung turns to you and let out a deep sigh.

"_____, you're here again. Get off your ass. We're in a moment." Taehyung continued.

"Why in the living room? Don't you have two big bed rooms of your. Don't stain my yellow couches with your c-" you were cut off in the middle by the girl who covered herself with Tae's shirt.

"Shut up. Just go. Babe, we should go to your bed room."

"We can have sex anywhere and everywhere in this house. It's my fucking house,_____. Understood. Now, go." Taehyung rolled his eyes.

"I'm here too. As a roommate, I don't like this. Now go to your bedroom." You sighed.

"You are a bitch,_____. And you know that. You just ruined my mood." Tae frowned

"Babe we can start again, let's make your mood. So, where were we-" the girl said.

"You, please shut up. Take your clothes and fuck off." Taehyung sighed.

"But babe we ca-"

"Get out, slut." Taehyung directed the girl and she wear her clothes finally leaving you two alone.

A deep silence surround you both. None of you were starting a conversation. You were standing at the living room's door and he was sitting at the couch with his hand on the side chin. His dark brown eyes pierced yours. It was like he gonna kill you straight with his staring. You try to hide from his gaze but can not. He got up and grabbed your hands.

"What do you want?" His firm slow voice cut through your ears.

"Huh! I was ... Just asking to be at your bedroom." You stumble.

"Why you slapped me? Is kissing is an offense?"

"For me it is. You have totally changed."

He grabbed your hands and pinned you across the wall leaving enough space to breathe.

"Leave me. You're embrassed of me! Aren't you?" You sighed.

"Embrassed of you? Why?" Tae asked .

"You call me a little nerd in front of your friends. Why? You're treating me like you never knew me. I'm shocked to see such changes. I know I'm not cool like you nor I'm good looking like you. But still you would not talk and even humiliate your best friend in front your school friends. I'm your child hood friend, Taehyung. Mind it." You speak your heart out.

"Are you okay?" Taehyung speaks with his most delicate voice. He never believe that you have think to much just within a day. This was not what he was expecting.

"No, I'm not. I'm here for you but still you are ignoring me. Calling me slut, humiliating me and doing everything a best friend shouldn't do." Tears rolled down from your eyes. You can't anymore hold that back. Your eyes got puffy with tears. Your heart sink because of Tae.

Without any response Taehyung hugged you. Pressed you in his huge warm body. His hands patted your small head and back. But still you were crying.

"Stop crying. You misunderstood me. I'm sorry." Taehyung sighed.

"Please, let me explain you everything. I'm not ignoring you. It's just if I tell everyone that you're my bestie then they would see you as a person like me. I don't want you to be like me. I just wanted that you would make your own image as you wanted in your new school. I want you to be the best in the class and not like me who's always known for having girls around. I... I'm sorry." Taehyung explained.

You hugged him back and even cried more that his shirt got all drenched.

"No. Don't talk to me." You murmured.

"I'm apologizing. I really like you." Taehyung sighed.

A moment of silence between all those words make you stumble. You were still hugged by your best friend who just confronted his feelings to you.

#kpop #bts army #bts #kpopidol #aesthetic #bangtan #bangtan army #btsedit #bts moodboard #bts fanfic #taehyun icons #bts taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung fic #taehyung × reader #taehyung×you #taehyung smut #taehyun layouts #taehyung details #taehyung fanfic #taehyung romance #taehyung sexy #taehyung writing #wattpad #first kiss 'just a kiss' #taehyung fantasy #bts smut #fanfiction bts #taehyung long locs #bts imagines

[shurisneakers]

shut in [3]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, ptsd, fighting over beds

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: every part i introduce more anonymous characters smh. i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Don’t make me shoot you, Wilson.”

“It doesn’t have to end this way, agent.”

“How’s it looking out there?”

“There’s been some talk. Apparently Serpentine isn’t very happy that their intel is dead. They’ve got people looking out for you everywhere.”

A frown adorned your face. Sam was leaning forward on his arms, head turned down as he listened to Ransone.

“How dangerous is it?”

“I would say that everyone’s a little wound up. Best not to go anywhere even a little populated.”

“Noted.” It would blow over in a while. The media coverage of Pierce’s assassination would die down with the changing news cycle soon.

“I can have someone pick you up wherever you are. Just tell me where.” 

“Don’t bother. We won’t be here for too long,” you responded, Sam nodding in agreement. Once it quietened down you could leave, go back to Ransone without blowing your cover.

“Whatever makes you happy. Just let me know when you’re out.”

The click of the call ending took with it the only noise in the room.

Sam picked up the phone to remove the battery, discarding it to maintain your security. Burner phones were useful, but you didn’t want to take any chances.

“Wait,” you cut in, holding your hand out for it, “I need to make another call.”

The both of you were seated at the dining table. A piece of paper lay in front of you, playing the dangerous role of being the mediator. 

You were trying to ration out your supplies and create a schedule as a way of finding middle ground. Things were more or less calm for the last two days, but the fight over the bedroom was wading into territory that could only be solved by a good old middle school fistfight.

Currently you were figuring out a meal plan so that you could establish some kind of routine. With bread as the only uniting factor, the other three components were going on a rotation. You had reached all the way till Saturday before running out of possible combinations.

“I’m just saying-”

“Don’t.”

“We’ve exhausted all edible options, it’s the only combination left-”

“I will not hesitate to fatally wound you.” You were only half kidding. The ridiculousness of the ideas he was proposing was entertaining, and you knew he wasn’t being serious. It was hard to catch a moment where he was. 

“Fine. But in case we get to the point where peanut butter and jelly is the only thing that’s left, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

“I would rather die than shovel spoonfuls of plain jelly and peanut butter into my mouth.”

“Your survival game is weak,” he chided, tsk-tsking at you.

You only rolled your eyes at him, moving on to the next subject.

Bed.

“Easy, we just alternate days. You got the last two days, so I get the next two and then we just switch everyday.” Sam eased back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head leisurely.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” you asked, writing down the plan he had just presented. The bed wasn’t queen sized with memory foam or any kind of privilege like that, but it definitely beat the couch with its odd lumps and depressions.

“A week tops. Anything more is just excessive.”

“Hello,” you said, voice low, even though you were well out of earshot of Sam. He was eying you from the living room window. If he was as good as he claimed he was, he’d know how to read lips and you couldn’t afford to have him do that.

“Code?”

You turned your back to the window, facing the large trees that loomed before you. “1993. It’s me.”

“Y/N?” He sounded suspicious, a little shocked, and you understood why he would be.

“Living and breathing.” You toed at a rock that lay ahead of you.

“Word on the street is that you’re dead,” he pointed out dryly.

“Not me; Pierce. I escaped. It was a trap.” When the rock you were playing around with escaped after a particularly hard kick, you started pacing up and down instead, “Ransone put a hit out on him because he thought he was leaking information.”

“How on earth did he come to that conclusion?”

“Don’t know. He was dead before we got there.”

“Who is ‘we’? You got someone there with you?” You didn’t realise it had slipped out during your conversation. 

“Another one of our guys. Apparently I was a backup in case he didn’t show up, but he did, so now we’re stuck together.” You averted your gaze to Sam who was still observing you from the window brazenly, intently. 

“Where are you?”

“We’re safe.” 

“Alright.” He sounded like he understood, albeit not entirely convinced. “Stay low.”

“Will do.”

With that you hung up the call, dropped the phone to the ground and crushed it under your boot heel. When you were convinced that it was sufficiently useless, you turned on your heel, making your way back.

You walked back into the house, beelining to the kitchen to make up for your missed lunch, only to be greeted with Sam sitting on the couch looking at you inquisitively.

“Who was that?”

“Nobody,” you answered straightforwardly, opening the cabinet to get two slices of bread.

“If it has somethin’ to do with this situation we’re in then I need to know who you’re talking to.”

“Just drop it. It has nothing to do with you.” You found the jar of peanut butter he had already opened, using a butter knife to spread it along the bread.

“Somehow I’m finding that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you must. I’m going to take a nap,” you answered evasively, chewing absentmindedly on the sandwich you had just made. You didn’t bother to look at him as you headed towards the bedroom.

“Hey now, hold on a minute. Who said you had bedroom privileges? You’ve been using it for two days.” You stopped in your tracks, face scrunching in annoyance. “If you’re keeping vital information about my life from me, then I think I deserve to not have a fuckin’ backache when I wake up in the morning.”

You quickly weighed the pros and cons in your head, imagining how the next few minutes would pan out if you just said ‘no’ and left. But in every imaginary argument you proposed, the bottom line ended with him prodding at you until he either got the information that he wanted or the bed.

Frankly, the bed was something you were willing to sacrifice to get him to stop meddling in your business. It seemed like the only reasonable way to get him off your ass.

“Fine.” You spun around to face him. “We’re making an arrangement.”

“Whoever has the bed has to forfeit TV privileges for that day.”

“Sounds reasonable. None of those three movies can be played more than twice in a row.”

That was more to preserve your sanity than anything. You had already seen each of them once, bordering on thrice for Die Hard. Sam’s fault, not yours.

“We should have a codeword. In case there's danger or something. Or maybe if you just want to be left alone,” Sam suggested, finger pointing to the blank space left at the end of the paper. “But it’ll be like solitary confinement since it’s so fuckin’ quiet here.”

Almost on instinct your mind flashed to images of dark cells. Quiet sobs. Blood stains on the wall, originating from clawing at it. Sunlight through one small window at the top. Utter loneliness except for yourself.

You could remember the soreness in your legs from curling up into a ball for hours, rocking back and forth. The smell of drain water collecting in the basement where the cell was.

Isolation.

“You got any suggestions?”

“Huh?” You forced yourself back to the present. Your knuckles had a dull ache in them from holding the pencil too hard.

“Do you have any ideas for a codeword?” Sam repeated, looking at you intently.

“No, nothing off the top of my head.” You shook your head, trying to regain focus. You loosened your grip on the pencil, letting it fall to the table.

“We’ll just leave it at ‘Brooklyn’ for the time being.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed to whatever he was saying. It was just a precaution in case something major happened. It was rather unlikely that you were going to use it anyway. 

Codewords weren’t uncommon in your business, but it was mostly used for missions or other professional standings. Regardless of being less adventurous than what you tended to work on, this was work at the end of the day. 

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, I think we’re done.” His chair scraped loudly against the ground as he got up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out for a while. Need to shake off the possible osteoporosis.”

You didn’t bother asking where he was going, ears following his footsteps as he walked down the hall to the bedroom, probably to get his jacket that he hung up in the drawer.

You left the paper on top of the mini fridge, alongside the car keys and a few dollars you had nabbed in the hurry from Pierce’s house.

Staring around you at the silent room, you realised that there really wasn’t much to do. It wasn’t like you to have so much time on your hands. You could always go for a run or test out some of the weapons hidden here. 

You had the rest of the house to explore, plans to draw up, a post mortem to assess what went wrong on the mission, even though the last option wasn’t possible without Sam’s cooperation.

Fuck it, you decided. Couch it is.

Kicking your feet up, you grabbed the TV remote to flip to the news station. The town rarely had anything to report on but it would be worthwhile to know what exactly was available around. Possibly assimilate in the crowd in case you wanted to be hidden.

It took you a few minutes of mindless surfing through static channels till you found it. It seemed like a scene right out of a Hallmark movie; the reporter was holding a microphone to a child who looked like he understood nothing of what was going on.

You were barely paying attention as it flipped from segment to segment, other things taking precedence in your mind even though you willed yourself to relax. There really wasn’t much to make a note of other than a few good samaritans and how utterly boring the lack of content was. A few occasional glimpses of stores and other resources available in the background were the only interesting part.

You were starting to drift off by the time it reached the breaking news of the evening. Sam had already come back when the sky slipped into twilight. He barely acknowledged your form lazing on the couch, only offering you a greeting and a goodbye as he made himself his dinner to take to the room.

Your eyes were just about closing when the breaking news of that evening came in. It was all politics. People you knew from old missions waving and smiling their way to lead their country as if the dubious acts they committed behind the scenes to get there was erased.

Until you suddenly jolted awake, eyes wide open.

“Wilson. Wilson!” You hit the cushion furiously to get his attention when he didn’t respond the first time around.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What?” he yelled in response, mild irritation in his voice. You knew it sounded like you were shouting bloody murder even though no one was around other than you two, but you didn’t care.

“Look at this!” You couldn’t stop gawking at the screen. “Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

“What? What do you wa-” He stalked into the room, ready to tell you to stop yelling but stopped mid sentence when he finally saw what you were so concerned about.

“Reports claim that the victim was attacked early in the afternoon at his villa. Officers say they found multiple signs of a forced entry, following which he was shot dead. So far no arrests have been made but the police have since released photos of two suspects of whom, they claim, have reason to believe orchestrated the attack.”

On the right side of the screen flashed yours and Sam’s picture side by side. Old mugshots from a petty offence you committed years ago for which Ransone bailed you out.

“The pair are said to be on the run after escaping before law enforcement arrived. If you have any tips on the whereabouts of-”

You turned to look at Sam. His stare didn’t budge from the TV as they once again reminded the public what you both looked like.

Years of anonymity, working in the shadows and creeping around to avoid being recognised only to have the entire country know what you looked like.

“Well, shit,” he finally exhaled. “Somehow I think our stay here just got extended.”

Part 4

#sam x reader #sam wilson x reader #mcu fic #sam fic #sam wilson fic #sam wilson fluff #sam wilson angst #sam wilson series #falcon #falcon x reader #the falcon x reader #hitman!sam wilson #hitman!au #shut in fic #marvel fic #marvel #mcu #sam wilson #the falcon

[yyxgin]

lee felix’s guide do hating you || teaser

— ♡ FIC BANNER MADE BY THE AMAZING @chogiwow !!

pairing: lee felix x fem!reader genre: college au, tutor au ; fluff, angst, slice of life, slow burn word count: 1.6 k (teaser) // est. 20 k full fic warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing

summary: There’s a list of things Lee Felix knew before applying for college-- and that is: 1) he really, desperately needs a degree for his grandparents to value him as an equal adult, 2) college in young adult movies seems like fun and partying and alcohol really does sound like his wettest dream, 3) he doesn’t need to work for another 4 years, which is fun and 5) he is really, horribly bad at studying.

Here’s a list of things Lee Felix, however, did not know before applying for college, and even though it’s fairly shorter, it hits you in the guts deeper, and that is: 1) studying for college means never ending chapters of insomnia and 2) he is always going to feel like the second choice for everyone.

There's one thing that Felix is really, undoubtedly good at, though-- and that is cheating. Can he cheat his way out of liking you?

taglist: @feyregels @missskzbiased @hyunyin @koishua @crispy-chan @rindomo​ 

POSTING TIME: MAY 1ST, 2021, 2PM GMT+2 TIME

The freckled boy sitting in front of you looks at you with furrowed brows and you wonder what’s the matter with him. Is there something on your face? Are you not dressed appropriately for the occasion? I mean, it’s only a tutoring session, so you didn’t put that much effort into it, but judging from the casual outfit enveloping his body, he didn’t really try to look fancy either. So what was it with him that made him stare you down as if you had horns on your head?

“Shall we start?” he asks once he’s done staring, voice sounding determined. You wonder if he sees the hints of nervousness on your face and if he notices the way you shrink in your seat in the mention of biology, but you guess he doesn’t know you that well to know that you fear the subject as much as you fear dying. 

“Yeah, sure,” you nod, scooting closer to the edge of your seat so you’re not so far away from the table. Felix-- your new biology tutor-- is sitting opposite of you and it’s quite difficult to read the text book once it’s upside down, but you don’t dare to mention it to him for a reason that’s unknown to you as well. It’s like you don’t want to overstep any invisible boundary on your first tutoring session, and telling the person that is teaching you to turn around the text book so you can actually see and learn something seems to be one of the taboos in your eyes. 

You take a quick glance at the waiter that just stopped next to your booth and smile, opening up your mouth to order yourself a meal. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks.

“No-” Felix offers her with a shy smile, but you cut him off with a voice a little higher in the octaves, not wanting your tutor coming in between you and reaching your biggest goal you’ve set for yourself.

“Actually, yes. Could I please get the chicken wings? With fries?” you ask, trying to look as innocent as you can, smiling at her in politeness. You ignore the confused look Lee Felix is offering you from the other side of the table. You mentally send him a signal to tell him to mind his own business, watching the waitress leave with a nod and a polite smile. 

“Okay, now we can start,” you nod at him and focus all your attention to the boy with sandy hair in front of you.

“O...kay?” he answers, obviously trying to bat away his rising confusion, because ordering yourself chicken wings on your tutoring session is prohibited now, apparently. “So,” he starts, sighing and scratching the back of his neck, “what do you not understand from this section?” 

You nervously chew on the bottom of your lip. Well, that’s a sweet question, you think. It would have been much sweeter and much easier to answer, though, if you understood at least a bit from the things you’re supposed to know. You went to university with the urge to prove something to yourself, but the only thing you’re proving to yourself right now is the fact that you are actually kind of useless, when it comes to biology.

“Just like the… whole thing, actually,” you nod, trying not to look as defeated as you feel and also trying not to burst out in a manic laugh as you always do when you feel slightly nervous about anything.

“Cool, cool, yeah,” he nods, taking a deep breath in, turning the textbook around and sighing, “I don’t think I can help you with that.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” you ask, confused. 

Lee Felix is the top of the grade. He is the best at biology, he is the best at chemistry, he is the best at his farmacy class. You’re sure he’ll be a fine biochemist in a few years, when his college times are over. Lee Felix is the smartest boy in your biology class and you are, coincidentally, quite the opposite on this spectrum. Which is exactly why your teacher managed to make Felix tutor you in his free time. You weren’t surprised at the fact that the blonde boy agreed to this-- he was quite the sweetheart, really. All the girls in your class fawned upon the way his freckles shined in the sunlight and the way he opened the doors for older professors. He was quite the boy you would want to introduce to your parents. Not quite the one every girl goes after, but the one that you would want to settle down with after your college years are over.

So why is he, the sweet, but also smart boy that agreed to tutor you, now telling you he can’t help you?

“It’s just.. I’m not really good at this section, I mean-”

“Felix, you’re the top of the class. Of course you’re good at this section.” you mumble, gazing deep into his eyes, trying to search for an answer.

“I-” he says and takes a sharp breath in, stopping himself in continuing his train of thought and just opting to shrug, not giving you a proper response either.

You feel like someone just punched you in the gut, and that’s when you realise-- here it is again. Another person that doesn’t believe in you-- another person that needs proving that you really can do it, you just need a little push. You can see it in his eyes that he doesn’t think you’re smart or bright enough to pass the exams, you’re not good enough to get good grades. It’s nothing new to you, but it still haunts you just the same.

“Is it because you know I can’t do it?” you bluntly ask, sighing. 

“No! No, no, I never said that-” he says, almost panicking with the way his hands fly into the air hurriedly, waving them around as if it was meant to calm you down. 

“You’re acting like it, though. I promise I’m not stupid- well, maybe I am, but-”

“You’re not stupid! It’s me! I’m the stupid one here.” he says, effectively silencing you with his words as you stare at him, dumbfounded. He’s joking, right?

“How can you be stupid when you get only the best grades? Felix, if you just don’t want to waste your time here, tell me, but don’t try to hide behind poor excuses.” you roll your eyes, feeling frustrated at the boy’s antics. Does he really think you’re that stupid that you can’t even see right through his lies?

“I cheat.”

You blink a few times as if to reset your brain, gazing at him with pure confusion written in your orbs. He cheats? No. That’s a lie. A person as good at biology as Felix can’t cheat. All his exams are on 100% and he never makes any mistakes. He’s the epitome of the smart kid. The little Einstein. The prodigy. There’s no way it’s all cheating.

“No.” you shake your head in disapproval. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying! Look, I genuinely, really want to help you. I really do. The thing is, though, I don’t know how to study. I make cheat sheets and I use them at every exam and every test, that’s why everyone thinks I’m super smart, but that is really not the case,” he shakes his head, staring into your eyes with his wide open in honesty, wanting you-- no,-- needing you to understand. “I would tutor you if I could, really, but I just don’t know how to,” he sighs finally, acting like he’s just given birth or ran a marathon, exhaustion written all over his face.

“So why did you offer to tutor me, then?” you ask.

He takes a moment for himself to collect his thoughts, before he speaks up again. “Well, I didn’t really want to get caught. You see, I would never turn my back to anyone. Really. So I thought I could at least try to learn something? So I could help you? But I failed, as always, so I’m just coming clean in front of you and you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

The moment the last sentence leaves his mouth, you notice the apparent fear in his eyes, realising that he just shared an information with you that nobody really knows. It’s a secret he’s been hiding and keeping from everyone just to appear as the smartest one-- fooling everyone, including you. You feel even more stupid now, under his gaze. You feel played. You came to the tutoring, hoping to finally get a grip, when all you get is a person that is stepping all over the sandcastle of your fragile dreams, kicking every little piece of sand away with his lies. You know you shouldn’t feel so invested in this. You shouldn’t feel so hurt. But somehow, you still do. 

“So you just told me you are lying to everyone and cheating on tests and you want me to keep it a secret from everyone?” you ask in disbelief.

“Yes.” he nods, eyes hopeful. He’s been lying for the last year as if his life was depending on it and now he wants you to do the same-- keep quiet in front of everyone.

“And what do I do when the professor asks me why I’m not getting any better? Huh? Ever thought of that?” you leash out, harshly chewing on your bottom lip in nerves. “I want to pass. And I want to do it fair and square.” you get out in between your teeth.

“I didn’t… I didn’t think of that yet, but-”

“Leave.” you say, looking him sternly into his eyes.

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POSTING TIME: MAY 1ST, 2021, 2PM GMT+2 TIME

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