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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 12

Cult girl deals with an unexpected and unwelcome guest.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: pregnancy, emotional manipulation, emotional abuse, infidelity, threats of violence

Step three: kill Anna

So maybe there was an understanding that the pregnancy was to be kept secret from Anna.

The withdrawal of Archie and Max from the picture left a hole in the plan. Just when it looked like you had secured that much-needed victory, it shriveled up and died right before your eyes. That much was certain. Everything else was a big question mark.

Ever since he felt the baby kicking, Hannibal became even more hopelessly enamored with the idea of being a father. He never mentioned it, of course, but it was there. It was there in the way he cooed at your stomach and how his hand lingered after he felt a kick. He was in heaven.

For a few days, it looked like the downward trajectory was beginning to flatten. Then you remembered your favorite line from Ryan Reynolds' Deadpool:

"Life is an endless series of trainwrecks with only brief, commercial-like breaks of happiness." You repeated to yourself as your phone flashed Theresa's call icon.

It took you a minute to remember that Theresa in your phone was actually Anna, because you hadn't bothered to change it. In a way, it was symbolic. Theresa was the head you cut off, and Anna sprouted up in her place. All in the pursuit of making your life unbearable.

You pulled the toothbrush from your mouth and placed it next to the sink. Lazily, you brought the phone to your ear. "What?"

"Hey pretty girl!" Anna said, using her most transparently fake cheery voice. "How's it going?"

Then it clicked. You felt kind of stupid that you didn't see it coming. In the world of cults, this was known as 'lovebombing'; a manipulation tactic in which the cult leader showers their target with affection, compliments, validation or anything that would make them associate good feelings with the group. In any other context, it would be called 'ass-kissing'.

You narrowed your eyes in skepticism. "What do you want?"

"Jeez, who crapped in your corn flakes?" She scoffed. "Can't a girl just call her little sister to say hi?"

It would have been one thing to say 'cousin', which, despite your bad blood, would have been technically accurate. But 'sister' was crossing a line. The blood that binded you and Anna together was thinner than water.

"We're not sisters, Anna." You corrected. "Why are you calling?"

"I just wanted to let you know that all is forgiven." She said, slipping back into that phony cheerful tone. "That little fiasco at the funeral, it's water under the bridge."

What Anna didn't know was that the water under the bridge was never water, but gasoline. Every drop that flowed under that bridge only created a more dangerous blaze for when you finally burned it down.

"Awesome." You said, flatly.

"I also wanted to say, 'may the best woman win'." She jeered. "I don't want to alarm you, but Liam and I have been fucking like bunnies."

You gagged. "I'm not alarmed but I certainly didn't need to know that."

"I've been keeping track of my ovulation," She disregarded your objection and continued the conversation she wanted to have. "And I even put child locks on the computer so Liam can't watch porn. Can't spare even a drop, y'know. It's too crucial."

"I will literally let you have the entire inheritance if you please just shut up right now." You said through gritted teeth.

"Oh?" She perked up. "Come on, don't give up. Don't make it too easy. Winning is just more fun when someone else loses."

She was growing into her Theresa shoes quite well.

"Seriously, though," You raised your eyebrows. "If it means I never have to see you again, by all means. Take the damn money."

"You know I love you, right?" Anna blurted out, pretending to be offended. "You may not think so, but I love you like a sister."

Again, you fought the urge to feel bad for her. Her model of sisterly love was Theresa. She could use the word to invoke sympathy, but would never know what it meant. It hit your ear exactly the same as when fundamentalist christian strangers said they loved you and that's why they were harassing you. Just an empty annoyance.

You rolled your eyes. "Goodbye, Anna."

"Wait!" She shouted as if she was about to die.

You threw your head back in exasperation. "What?!"

"I wanted to give you a little good-luck gift." She said.

You were slightly interested. "Oh?"

"Yes." She answered. "Can I swing by and drop it off later?"

You sighed. "Whatever. As long as you make it fast."

You were most certainly noticeably pregnant, but a fluffy robe obscured any misplaced curves just enough. You just hoped she wouldn't ask why you were wearing a fluffy robe in July. Anna arrived at the house, with Liam, who was holding a small basket of colorful jars and bottles.

You waited a minute to see if she would just leave the basket on the porch, but she didn't. You resignedly opened the door.

"[F/N]!" She shouted with that hyper-enthusiastic smile. You cringed, trying not to let her presence trigger your morning sickness.

The smile disappeared from her face. "Jesus H, you look like hell."

You desperately wanted to inform her that it was the strain of growing a human inside your body, but you held your tongue and thought of an excuse.

"I'm hungover." You said. Yeah, that would work.

"The usual, I see." Anna snipped at you under her breath.

You eyed the basket. You didn't even bother to mask your disappointment when you realized it wasn't food. "What's this?"

"Oh, this?" Anna said as if she were starting a sales pitch. "This is my olive branch. My exclusive DoTERRA fertility rejuvenation kit."

Your brain refused to process that Anna had been sucked in to an MLM, as it was really only a matter of time. You just didn't think it would take this long.

"Dude, you're twenty-nine and I'm twenty-six." You narrowed your eyes at her. "What on earth are we rejuvenating?"

She pointed to a collection of little bottles. "So these are for the initial cleanse. Put a few drops of this in your food, and some of this in your bathwater-"

She rattled on with practiced certainty about the fictitious health benefits of thyme and geranium oils, how they promote fertility and whatnot.

"Thanks, Anna." You cut her off, reaching for the gift basket. You didn't intend to use any of it, but you could pawn it off on some struggling hunbot for less than they would buy it new.

Anna pulled the basket out of your reach. "Oh. I wasn't giving it to you."

Nothing surprised you anymore, and this was no exception. "I thought you said it was a gift?"

"Oh, god no." She shook her head. "This whole kit costs, like, five hundred dollars."

You grimaced. "So you came here to show me your snake oil collection?"

"I came here to tell you in person about this amazing business opportunity." She said, returning to her fake smile. "For just $1000, you can be part of this amazing company-"

"Anna, what am I studying right now?" You cut her off.

She looked at you with round, clueless eyes. She looked back at Liam for help. He tapped his head to give her a hint.

"I want to say..." her voice trailed off. "...brain surgery?"

You shook your head. "No. Liam?"

"Clinical psychology with a specialization in cults." He answered. "You want to be the next Steven Hassan."

Anna didn't deserve Liam.

"So you're saying you're too smart for me?" Anna said, crossing her arms. "You're too busy going to your fancy college, living with your fancy boyfriend to support your own sister's hustle?"

"I'm saying you're in a cult." You countered. "A pretty obvious one, at that."

"Oh, when your only solution is a hammer every problem looks like a nail." She scoffed. "You think everything is a cult. Why can't you just be happy for me?"

"I'll be happy for you when you accomplish something that isn't built off the backs of people you fucked over." You said, allowing yourself to finally snap.

Anna's jaw hung open. "Do I even need to gesture to this house? Those clothes? That degree? All paid for by your rich boyfriend."

It's time.

You stepped on to the porch and shut the door behind you. "Liam. I have something to tell you."

Liam handed the basket off to Anna and approached. "Alright."

"No she doesn't, Liam." Anna objected. "Don't listen to her. You know she's a liar."

"Liam." You said, looking into his eyes. "Do you remember Nathan Sparks?"

"Anna's ex from college?" Liam folded his arms and looked at his wife. "Vaguely."

Anna gritted her teeth at you. "I swear to fucking god, [F/N]-"

"Anna, stop." Liam cut her off. "Let her speak."

"Anna continued to see him for two years after you got together." You smirked.

Liam's dial-up internet brain sputtered to life.

"Oh my god." His mouth hung open. "...is he 'pineapple'?!"

"Nope." You said. "You are."

"Is this true, Anna?" Liam said, in the overlap between denial and anger. "Did you keep seeing Nathan after we got together?"

Anna threw the basket on the ground, jars shattering, releasing a noxious cloud of concentrated snake oil. She was too busy glaring daggers at you to answer her husband.

"Fine. Don't tell me." He spat, turning back to you. "I'll hear it from you, [F/N]. You're the only one in this family who's been honest with me."

"She only wanted to get with you because your uncle is CEO of that publishing house." You added. You felt bad for essentially rubbing salt in the wound, but he was right to assume he wouldn't hear it from anyone else.

He placed his hand over his head as if to nurse a migrane. "How could I be so stupid..."

"Liam-" Anna said, her voice jumping a few octaves.

Liam put up his hand. "I don't want to hear it."

"I'm sorry, Lee." You offered. Even though you loved seeing Anna caught, you felt bad for every person she victimized along the way. Liam was no exception.

He dropped his shoulders and sighed. "Thank you, [F/N]. I'll be out of your way, now. Anna--"

He stopped himself, presumably to avoid saying something he would regret. "...find your own way home."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away, leaving Anna with you.

"Thanks for coming." You sneered at her, feeling around behind you for the door handle. "I'd call an uber if I were you."

"You twisted bitch." She scowled, hands hovering in your direction. "You just get off on ruining people's lives, don't you?"

"Oof, that's some serious projection, Anna." You said, unconsciously untying the belt of your robe and pulling it off your shoulders.

"You're-" She sputtered, her eyes growing to the size of personal pizzas. "You're fucking pregnant?!"

Shit. You thought, cycling through whatever braincells you had left for an idea of how to play this off as if you meant to do it.

"Surprise." You shrugged. Yeah, that would work.

"That's impossible!" She stammered. "You're- you're not even married!"

"Grandma never said anything about marriage." You grinned.

Anna struggled to find her words. "That is unfair!"

"So now that you're not winning, the game is unfair?" You raised an eyebrow.

She pursed her lips and pointed at you. "You aren't going to get away with this."

"Just like you didn't get away with cheating on your husband?" You taunted.

"I'm serious, [F/N]." Anna said, backing down the porch steps. "I will destroy everything you love just like you did to me."

For a half a second, the voice in your head told you to beware, that the threat should be taken seriously. Upon remembering it was coming from Anna, you pushed the thought from your mind.

You shouldn't have.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x pregnant reader #pregnancy #baby fever #cult girl #cult girl 2 #cult girl doctorate

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wingsofanillyrian · 3 years

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Lights Over Monaco: Chapter 1

ITS HERE! I plan on updating this weekly/biweekly, based on how busy I am. Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!

Special thank you to my new F1 friend for inspiring this fic as well as being my beta reader, @acourtofcouture ! F1 fans out there, her fics are AMAZING

Chapter Masterlist

F1 Glossary

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

Nesta Archeron discovered Formula 1 when she was 9 years old. She woke before the sun one Sunday morning, quietly excited to have the television all to herself and watch whatever cartoons she wanted. But she couldn’t remember what channel they were on, instead flipping through the programs. She had almost given up when she stumbled across a race.

The moment she had seen the brightly colored open-wheeled cars flash across the screen, she paused. For whatever reason, the high pitched wasp-like scream of the twelve cylinder engines and the astonishing speed that the drivers were travelling enthralled young Nesta. She didn’t look away once for the rest of the race, or even for the post-race interviews and wrap up that most adults skipped. Something about it had her adrenaline pumping.

Nesta traded her dolls for matchbox cars, and when she grew older, picked up racing magazines instead of teen ones. Ever since that day, Formula 1 consumed her. No matter how the other kids or her two younger sisters teased her for it, her love for the sport never tarnished.

She spent years getting up at 2 am to watch live races that were being held halfway around the world. Instead of going to her senior prom, Nesta stayed home and layed out her predictions for the season’s drivers and constructors championships. She didn’t know how to do anything half-ass. She poured her whole heart into the sport and devoted her life to it.

**********

Nesta spent her 24th birthday working. It wasn’t like she could request the day off, not that it mattered. The racetrack at Monaco was exactly where she would have been anyway, working or not.

A press pass got her through the first security checkpoint. The team tents loomed ahead as she waited for personnel to cross the unstriped asphalt, inching her car carefully through the throngs of people. She rolled her window down, soaking in the sound of air tools and snippets of conversations.

Street tracks like Monaco were her favorite. They required drivers to push themselves with plenty of technical corners and dramatic incidents. There was less room for error, as the tracks themselves were not as wide. Drivers had to know their limits and follow the racing line closely.

Race tracks were Nesta’s comfort zone. She knew each track on the calendar like the back of her hand. Every turn was permanently etched in her mind like words on a tombstone. Race weekends followed a set schedule, something that she could appreciate. Friday: practice laps. Saturday: more practice, followed by qualifying, where each driver got the chance to set the fastest lap and secure a spot in the starting line up for the main event on Sunday.

Before she had graduated college, Nesta had managed to fully entrench herself in the world of Formula 1. Securing an internship at ESPN her sophomore year, she had made herself indispensable to the crusty old man that had been the senior track side reporter for decades. She studied everything he did and the questions he asked each driver, noting what changes she would have made. Somehow, he came to admire her spirit and taught her the tricks of the trade.

When he retired the year after Nesta graduated, he went to the board of directors and personally recommended her to fill his spot. She waited two agonizing days for their decision.

Using whatever means necessary, Nesta had clawed her way to the top and cemented her reputation as the most cutthroat reporter in the industry. Her goal had been for everyone in motorsport to know her name, and in only two years, she had done so. Better yet, she had caught the eye of one of the fastest drivers on the grid.

Her phone rang just as she pulled into the press parking area. She answered, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Hello?”

Tomas’ velvety voice thundered through the speakers of her Civic. “Hey baby. You here yet?”

“Just pulled in,” She replied, touching up her makeup in the rearview.

“Right on time for a quickie. Meet me at my trailer in five.”

Tomas had already hung up before she had the chance to protest. Both their reputations hinged on their relationship staying secret. If the press caught wind that she was fucking a driver, her credibility would go out the window, and Tomas would be the laughing stock of the grid. So sneaking into his trailer wasn’t exactly the type of discreet she was aiming for.

Tomas Mandray had been racing for Red Bull for two years when she had scored her first exclusive interview with him. He had just been awarded pole position at the Spanish Grand Prix in Barcelona, and Nesta had sweet talked her way into the paddock. It had taken minutes for his charming blue eyes to enchant her. He had won that race, and taken her to bed straight after.

The sex was great, but that’s all it ever was. Their relationship was purely based on the physical; nothing emotional on either end. They had agreed on that from the start. Just sex.

Unfortunately for Nesta, somewhere along the way it had become something more.

Sighing, she put on her oversized sunglasses and hid her tawny hair under a gauzy scarf. The fashion wouldn’t stand out at all amongst the celebrities that frequented the Monaco Grand Prix. Going over the top here was expected; Monaco was known for its money. Due to the lack of income tax, Monaco was a haven for white collar delinquents and royalty alike. Lamborghini’s and Ferrari’s were commonplace, and women wore rings that could set a jewel thief up for life.

No one bothered her as she strode towards the pit checkpoint, flashing her press badge to get by. She fell into her usual cadence, exuding an air of importance and invincibility. Seemingly without realizing, people moved out of her way when they saw her coming. The navy, red, and yellow of the Redbull tent came into view, and Nesta inserted herself into the crowd of mechanics and VIPs to get past security. Press wasn’t allowed in the area until after the race.

Nesta broke away once inside, heading down a back corridor. She knew the layout by heart, having walked the path many times. The door at the end of the hall led outside to Tomas’ private trailer. She didn’t bother to knock before entering. Tomas would already be waiting for her.

He set down his phone as she entered. “Finally,” He said with a savage grin. “We only have a few minutes.”

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

Tomas left as soon as he finished, donning his jumpsuit without so much as a kiss goodbye. Utterly used to the behavior, Nesta straightened her clothes and again touched up her makeup before heading back out.

She was scheduled to conduct a pre-race interview with Cassian Valle in the Mercedes tent in twenty minutes. Redbull and Mercedes were at opposite ends of the pit, giving her plenty of time to think.

Truthfully, Nesta was dreading the interaction. Cassian was an arrogant ass. She couldn’t stand interviewing him; all he did was skirt around questions and try to flirt, which made it incredibly difficult to get any headline-worthy tidbits from him.

Azriel Sainz, Cassian’s teammate at Mercedes, was much more amiable. He was mostly forgettable and quiet, but always gave her something to work with and was sometimes downright pleasant to talk to. She could understand why the public loved him, but not why they were so enamored with Cassian. Sure, he was a three time world champion, and that earned him plenty of fans, but he was just so… dreadful.

She made it to the Mercedes pit just minutes before the scheduled time, immediately spotting her tense cameraman, Jacob. Slim built, he was average looking, nothing special. He was sweet though, if not a bit of a pushover.

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed, chocolate brown eyes wide. “Valle is waiting.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, handing Jacob her sunglasses and the scarf. “I’m here now, aren’t I? Not my fault if he was early.” Nesta accepted her microphone and rolled her shoulders. “Let’s get this over with then.”

“Happy birthday by the way,” Jacob added. Yes, there was the pushover side shining through.

Nesta threw a grin at him over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

Cassian’s back was to her as she approached, his white Mercedes jumpsuit half on, the arms of it cinched around his waist. The crisp gray shirt he wore left little to the imagination, hugging his sculpted form. Good; at least that would capture the attention of any women that might be watching. As would the deep brown curl that fell in his face when he turned to her.

“If it isn’t my very favorite reporter,” He crooned, a grin plastered on his face. “Took you long enough to get here. I also hear it’s your birthday.” Nesta glared at Jacob. He shrank under her steely look, an apology stumbling from his lips.

“I would give you a birthday kiss, but I think you’d knock me out if I offered.”

Nesta pointedly ignored him, “Let’s just get on with it,” She said, motioning to Jacob to start recording. Once he signaled he was ready, Nesta breathed deep, the sweet scent of high octane fuel assaulting her senses. It steadied her, and she slipped into her professional mask before turning to the camera.

“As we all know, the Monaco Grand Prix offers drivers a unique set of challenges. The two-mile street course has 19 technical corners with little room for error. It is in Monaco that we get to see who has what it takes to be a Formula 1 champion.” She turned to Cassian, gave him a professional smile and continued.

“Last year, you had a puncture at turn seven when you ran over some debris. Coupled with the fumble the pit crew had with not having your tires ready when you came into the pit, you finished a disappointing 12th place, winning you no points in the driver’s championship. Do you expect that this year will be better, or will you stick to your usual aggressive driving style?”

Cassian laughed, running a hand through his unbound curls. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be changing anything. You can expect to see me on the podium, sweetheart. Most likely in first.”

Nesta grit her teeth. She couldn’t air that, and he knew it. “How about you answer the question without trying to piss me off?”

“It’s too easy,” Cassian said, that devilish grin returning. Nesta cut him a glare that simmered with violence. “Alright fine,” He relented, putting his hands up. “Go again.”

She repeated her question, and this time he answered, “I don’t really see any need to change my driving style, what happened last year was a fluke. I went wide on the turn and didn’t notice Vanserra's front wing until the last second and wasn’t able to change course.” Nesta nodded, encouraging him to go on. “I don't see myself making any mistakes like that this year. You can expect to see me on the podium, most likely in first.”

“Thank you for that Cassian. Good luck on the track today.”

“Thank you,” He said, waving at the camera. He paused before adding, “Though I won’t need luck.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and signaled for Jacob to cut the recording. At least that last bit could be edited out. “You are absolutely insufferable, you know that?”

Cassian shrugged, undoing the arms of his fire suit and slipping into them. “I do my best.” He winked at her before zipping up his suit, opening his mouth to say something else when the Mercedes team principal, Rhysand, barked at him to get his ass in gear. He gave Nesta a wordless salute before jogging off.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Jacob said, packing up his camera. “That guy has balls.”

“He’s a Formula 1 driver,” Nesta said simply, putting her sunglasses back on. “Of course he does.”

**********

Nesta watched the 78 lap race from the press box, silently cheering Tomas on. Each time the pack of cars passed, the windows rattled, doing little to muffle the engine noise. She chatted with the others as necessary, keeping one eye on the tarmac below. Tomas had started from pole position, and held onto first place until the final 10 laps. He had attempted to lap an AlphaTauri driver when the driver had failed to yield, violating FIA regulations. The two had bumped tires in what was ruled a racing incident, but Nesta knew better. Tomas had lost his cool and nudged the other driver on purpose, nearly sending him into the wall.

It was a bad call on Tomas’ part, as the comfortable four second lead he had held over second place shattered. Nesta swore under her breath as Cassian overtook Tomas, her heart dropping when the other Mercedes driver, Azriel, did the same. Tomas would not be happy about that.

When the checkered flag waved, Cassian was first, Azriel second, and Tomas third. The winners parked before the podium, anger radiating from Tomas as he tore his helmet off. Tamlin, the Redbull team principal, said something to Tomas that had his cheeks burning red.

Nesta grabbed Jacob and headed for the press room. They had a half hour tops before the post-race interviews started, and Nesta had to make sure she was front row. Though it didn’t matter where she sat; she always made sure her questions were answered.

It was more so for Tomas. She wanted him to see her, to see the understanding on her face and know she supported him even when he didn't win.

They were first to the press room, and Nesta had ample time to prepare questions. She couldn’t question Tomas, or she risked uncapping his rage. Instead, she jotted down a question she knew would shift the focus from Tomas to the Mercedes drivers.

Reporters began filing in, vying for the perfect spot and debating the race results with one another. Nesta remained in her seat, determined to maintain her composure as her stomach churned. Tomas finally entered, jaw set as he took his place on the stage. Nesta tried to subtly catch his eye, but he pointedly avoided looking at her.

Cassian and Azriel entered, laughing and congratulating each other. Nesta noted the slight change in Tomas’ posture, the only hint of the blood boiling beneath his skin. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted, but still Nesta remained seated. Cassian, at least, sought her out in the crowd, and flashed her an ‘I-told-you-so’ grin when he found her. Once the clamor had died down, Nesta stood. The room quieted further, the others having learned not to talk over her if they valued their jobs. Nesta had a knack for digging up dirt on anyone she pleased.

Her eyes were still locked on Cassian as the moderator indicated she could ask her question.

“Azriel,” She started, turning to the dark haired man, “You were lucky you were able to take second in this race, after the incident in turn twelve on lap 27 when you sustained heavy damage to your front wing, thanks to the actions of your teammate. Does it ever get under your skin that Valle’s overly-aggressive driving threatens your own position in the championship?”

The room was silent. Tomas hid his grin behind a well-manicured hand. Cassian’s eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw fluttering. Good; she had hit a nerve. Azriel shrugged, crossing his arms.

“It was a racing incident. Could have happened to anyone. I don’t think the blame lays entirely with Cassian; I could have given him more room on the corner.”

And that was that. Nesta didn’t ask any more questions, but she could feel Cassian glaring at her throughout. At the end of the interview, all three drivers thanked everyone before leaving.

As Nesta made her way back to her car, she texted Tomas.

You okay?

Her heart pounded as she waited for the reply. Her phone buzzed minutes later.

I’ll be home late. Party at the Redbull house.

Oh. Okay. See you later then.

“Happy birthday to me,” She muttered, stuffing the phone in her pocket.

Nesta wasn’t sure why his reply stung, but it cut deep. She had hoped that he would want to see her instead of going to another party and spend time with her on her birthday. Instead, he would probably stick his tongue down another woman’s throat like usual. She couldn’t really blame him. Their relationship had to remain secret and to do so, Tomas had to maintain his playboy aura. It wasn’t really cheating if she had agreed to it.

But if that were true, why did it hurt so fucking bad when he did?

Some of her tension eased when she finally spied her car in the lot. The Blue Bullet, she had nicknamed it, due to the strikingly bright paint. It was the first purchase she had made upon being promoted, and it had since become her pride and joy. She had chosen it because it set lap records left and right when it had hit the market a few years back, and she had craved speed her whole life. On city streets, this car was the closest she could get to experiencing Formula 1 without completely breaking the bank.

“How about you don’t ask stupid fucking questions next time your prettyboy loses?”

Nesta’s breath hitched. Your prettyboy. The accusation was clear. Her hand slipped from the door handle, turning towards the voice. If he knew… If he knew about her and Tomas, they were done for. She willed her voice into solid steel.

“Cassian. I would advise you to choose your next words wisely.”

He placed a hand on her Civic, getting in her face. “Racing means you have racing incidents. I don’t expect you to understand, seeing as you’ve never been behind the wheel of a real race car.” He sneered at her car, the insult striking home.

Fear faded, replaced by a rising wave of scarlett rage. Nesta’s gaze stuck to where his hand lay on the bright blue paint, utterly vexed by the infringement. She bared her teeth at him, rising to the challenge in Cassian’s flaming hazel eyes.

“Get. Off.”

Cassian started at the command in her tone and obeyed. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Understanding the nuances of Formula 1 is my job description. I asked about that incident because I knew it would piss you off. Looks like I was right huh?” Her temper was getting the better of her. “And by the way, would it kill you to give me a decent quote once in a while, instead of always trying to get in my pants?”

“I do not-”

“Oh go fuck yourself,” Nesta scoffed, yanking the door open.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward as she slammed the car door. “I was already planning on it.”

Those parting words haunted her drive home, even as she took the long way in hopes of blowing off steam. She shifted through the gears, throwing the Civic around corners much faster than was probably safe. Nesta didn’t care; her head was a mess. At least he hadn’t mentioned anything more about Tomas. Maybe Cassian had just thought she had a crush, based on the way she had been looking at him during the conference. Gods, she couldn’t get Cassian out of her head.

His grin followed her up the stairs to her apartment, where she snapped the curtains shut. She couldn’t bear to look out over the track any longer today.

Those words echoed in her head as she brushed her teeth and crawled into bed alone. Swam through her thoughts of Tomas, as she struggled to keep her eyes open when the clock showed 1 am. As she finally gave in, they were her last thought.

I was already planning on it.

@aphoeni @planet-faerie @nina-zcnik @linsimin @that-little-red-head @teagoddess99 @enpointe10 @electronicstrawberrystrawberry @awesomelena555 @iptneus @weesablackbeak @wonderland--memories @nessian-trash-heap @magicalwaterfall @perfectlyimpxrfect @cassians-wings @valkyrie-archeron @acourtofcouture @nesemryn @chloepereyra @illyrianshadowhunter

#Lights over monaco #nessian #nessian au #nessian fanfiction #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of war and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar fanfiction #my writing #nesta archeron #cassian #lucien vanserra

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zoyalais-moved · 3 years

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Going Back the Way We’ve Come

World: modern au, lawyers au

Ship: Zoyalai

Word Count: 7785

AO3

Zoya set her briefcase on her desk, taking a moment to remove her coat and glance at the paperwork that’s been left there by her secretary, Genya, before speaking.

"The sign outside says Zoya Nazyalensky, so unless you’re my long lost twin, I suggest you leave," she said, investigating a folder that had been tossed onto her desk. Zoya picked it up, paging through it for a moment.

"Would you really let a long lost twin into your office, Nazyalensky?" Lantsov’s irritatingly smooth voice responded. Zoya lowered the folder enough to glare at him.

"No, but if you were, I would have liked to see you in my office. Gauge the competition."

Lantsov’s brows went up in easy surprise, but he made no move to leave, one leg thrown over the other, as if more comfortable here on her couch than anywhere else. And now she was left wondering why Genya let him into her office at all, when she was usually so careful about who goes in and out. Perhaps she thought Zoya might have grown tolerant of her insufferable co-worker.

Saints, was she wrong.

"So, what is it you want?" she asked, dropping the folder onto her desk and making a mental note to remind Genya not to accept cases without her explicit approval.

"Just the pleasure of being greeted with your scowl at 7 am" he cocked his head at her, a grin spreading over his face. "That’s the one!"

Zoya rolled her eyes, "you’re here to waste my time then? Lantsov, some of us have actual work to attend to."

He snorted, "the Sobol case? Please, if you needed time to solve that one you wouldn’t be at this firm."

Zoya crossed her arms, leaning back against her desk so he could feel the full force of her glare, "how do you know about that one?"

She’d only just gone through the file herself, and Lantsov can’t have arrived more than five minutes ago.

He glanced at his watch once before standing up and straightening the jacket of his suit, that ever-present grin still on his face, "because I’m the one who rejected it."

Great. Now she was getting Lantsov’s reject cases? This would not do at all.

"And you came to boast about a much better one, I take it?" she tried not to sound too resentful.

"There’s always something to boast about—in this case, the pool going about which of us will make senior partner."

This caught Zoya’s attention, and she straightened, her eyes going wide. She had suspected for some time that a senior partner would be chosen soon. She hadn't expected to have any competition, though. But it seemed he’d only come to drop a bomb and see how she responded to it, because his hazel eyes swept her with a calculated look, turned almost amused.

Zoya had wanted this position ever since she’d come to the firm—because it meant she wasn’t a replaceable part in the firm. It confirmed that she was the greatest. Nikolai Lantsov would not be the one to take that from her.

"how do you even hear about these things?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I have my ways," Lantsov said with a shrug, glancing again at his watch again before starting towards the door. She had wanted him gone since he'd appeared but now she wanted to smack him for leaving without giving her more details.

He paused at the door, turning to give her another self-assured grin, his words punctuated with a wink, "It’ll be a pleasure to beat you again, Nazyalensky."

His head disappeared seconds before the briefcase hit the office door.

Here’s how Zoya remembers it.

She had just been hired as an associate to the firm, fresh out of law school—first in her year, naturally. Juris had been her mentor, had been the one to shape her into who she was now, the greatest lawyer in the country.

That is, until the young attorney from the Lantsov firm was the opposing counsel during her very first case—and her first loss.

The one thing Juris was sure to remind Zoya of was this: never underestimate your opponent.

But once she’d discovered that her first case would be against Nikolai Lantsov, ivy league graduate, and spoiled rich boy working for his dad, Zoya hadn’t let the possibility of loss even cross her mind.

Which had been her first mistake.

Her second, the one she would spend so long regretting, was thinking that justice was ever served in the courtroom.

Her client had been innocent, which somehow hurt even more than Zoya’s pride when the evidence started stacking up against her. But Nikolai Lantsov had arrived ten minutes late and wooed both judge and jury to his favor even before he began presenting his evidence.

Which had also been the first time Zoya had witnessed his shift. It was the moment those sparkly eyes turned from arrogant to clever. He had called on his witnesses. And then on her’s. And then on her client. And then he’d grilled each of them until he twisted a new, elaborate story into their view.

And by the time it was Zoya’s turn to defend her client, their minds had been made. She had lost before she had the chance to even begin.

To make matters worse, once the gavel had banged, sentencing her client to eight years in prison, Nikolai Lantsov had strolled up to stand beside a struck Zoya, eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Am I your first?" he almost sounded excited, "You never forget your first."

He would have been right, even if she had never had the misfortune of seeing him again. But three months later, a new attorney had transferred to their firm, and the second Zoya had met those hazel eyes again, she knew she would spend every moment of her life making up for that loss.

"Why was this on my desk?"

Zoya dropped the stack of folders onto Genya’s desk, right on top of her phone, which was open on a video call to what appeared to be a mess of brown hair with glasses just visible underneath. David.

Genya sighed dramatically, fluttering her lashes at Zoya prettily, "I know you aren’t the smart one around, Zo, but use context clues."

"No, why are there eight cases I know even you could win on my desk, Genya." she replied, folding her arms and glaring at the red-head, who was now busy digging out her phone from beneath the piles of paper. Then something occurred to Zoya, "wait, is this because of the pool? Are you trying to up my wins with kiddy cases so I’ll get it?"

Genya dropped her phone, eyes going wide, "you know about that?"

"About the pool? Of course, I do, Lantsov told me."

"He… he just told you?" Genya’s penciled brows drew together in either shock or surprise, or some mix of the two.

Zoya quirked a brow, "don’t change the topic, Safin. Get me some real cases and stop letting Lantsov into my office."

Genya blinked twice before plastering on a smile, "of course, Your Highness."

Zoya didn’t miss the few choice words muttered to David as she walked away.

The only issue Zoya had with clients was that they were a nuisance.

But then so was half of humanity, and at least these paid her for her wasted time.

In this case, though, she just wished they would arrive at the set time. Zoya had been waiting at the cafe for nearly an hour, a now-empty cup of coffee in hand. She clicked her phone on to check the time. An hour and ten minutes.

Maybe I’ll just put him out of his misery and let him join his dead wife, she considered. Zoya thought she would make an excellent criminal—she, at least, would never get caught.

"Shall we order?"

Zoya’s gaze snapped up and met a pair of hazel eyes. The Saints had chosen hell for her today, she knew, as he settled in the chair across from her.

"Lantsov, disappear, I’m working," she said, picking up her phone and making a good show of being very, very busy. She could feel his calculating gaze on her but refused to acknowledge it. She texted Genya.

Z: who’s winning?

G: me, at any given point.

G: but if you mean the pool, it’s even.

Z: hm. who’s your money on?

G: technically both ;)

Z: I’m your boss, Safin

G: wtvr. give Nikolai a kiss for me ( ˘ ³˘)♥

Zoya rolled her eyes. Genya could be nearly as insufferable as Lantsov on some days. Lantsov, who currently had his head propped up on his hands, pouting in her direction. Zoya huffed—did he even realize how messy he looked then? His golden hair looked like he’d run a hand through it a dozen or so times that morning, and he was in a blue short-sleeve button-down and jeans. It occurred to Zoya that she’d never actually seen Nikolai outside of work. Never in anything less than a twelve hundred dollar suit. He looked good.

"Who’s making the great Zoya Nazyalensky blush?" came his teasing voice, intruding on her thoughts. Was it her imagination or was there an edge to even his casual tone?

She shook her head, setting aside her phone and forcing all thoughts of messy golden hair out of her head.

"None of your business," she snapped, "and you need to leave before my client shows up."

"Why’s that?" he asked, cocking his head to the side like a lost puppy.

"Because I need plausible deniability when I strangle him for being this late."

He surprised her with a hearty laugh. Then he was sitting upright, leaning across the table as if to whisper a grave secret, "well isn’t it great that you could have me as your defense attorney?"

Zoya almost smiled, but the words tugged at something in her memory, making something in her chest tighten. "Who else would defend a guilty person with such conviction?"

Nikolai looked taken aback, a flash of hurt crossing his features, but Zoya had already stood up, making up her mind to leave and grabbing her briefcase.

"I have things to do," she said, not glancing at him as she plucked her phone from the table and turned to leave. She knew without looking back that he hadn’t moved long after she’d left him.

Back at the firm, Zoya made everyone aware of her presence with the rhythmic clicking of her heels. Mainly Genya, as she stopped in front of her desk, located just beside Zoya’s enclosed office, and dropped a few forms in front of her.

"Fill those out for me, and call back Antonov- since he didn’t bother to show up today, I’ll be working late. Which means you’ll be working late. And find me some coffee before I end up on trial for murdering someone in this building."

Genya glanced at the forms in front of her, toying with a strand of hair, "oh, he called and rescheduled for tomorrow. Said he had some business to attend to."

Zoya had reached her office door and paused in front of it, turning to glare fully at Genya, "and you didn’t think to mention that?"

She shrugged innocently, "slipped my mind."

"Two coffees, Safin." she managed to grind out, "and quit telling Lantsov where to find me."

She ignored Genya’s protest, marching into her office with even more anger on her mind than there was before. Zoya tossed aside her belongings, slumping onto the couch across her desk.

She had less than two weeks to prove herself worthy to become senior partner, or Nikolai Lantsov would become her boss. Somehow even losing to him hadn’t felt as horrible as the idea of working for him. Worse than that, she knew he was a good attorney. She’d attended dozens of his court cases, hidden in the back rows, as well as spoken to old clients. And he had already had that position at his old firm, the same one he’d left to work here instead only three years prior.

Zoya wanted to believe she was the only one for the role, but Lantsov was a competition like nothing she'd dealt with before. The single person she couldn’t decide how to feel about until today.

You never forget your first.

Saints, he was right.

By the time the words on her screen began to blur together, it was past midnight, and Zoya was still inside her office, still trying to scrape together a good defense for a client that couldn't even provide decent evidence. She sighed, tearing off her glasses and rubbing at her tired eyes.

Saints, when had she last slept a full night?

Coffee. I need coffee.

There was probably some at the cafeteria, she considered, ready to call out for Genya. But through the glass walls of her office, she could see the dark corridor, and Genya's empty seat. She'd forgotten that she'd sent Safin home early.

Zoya sighed, forcing her legs to stand. She slipped on an extra pair of sneakers she kept in her office rather than her heels. It was far too late for that, and besides, no one would be around to hear her.

The cafeteria was just down the hall to the left, and Zoya was almost never there. She preferred having her food in her office, or going out to eat. And Genya provided everything else. She really deserves a raise , Zoya considered, making her way down the dark hall.

The lights were dim and Zoya didn't bother turning them on, making out the vague shape of the cabinets and a refrigerator, the coffee machine was located just beside the old microwave that had been there since she'd first come to the firm. Someone must have made coffee hours ago, the machine was half full and the glass was cool to the touch. Zoya sighed, feeling for a mug and pouring it inside, too tired to make more.

She sipped at her cold coffee, which did little to prevent her eyes from dragging downward, her mind from straying.

Right now, she needed to find at least two witnesses that would be willing to account for her client. Only, Antonov had not exactly been well-liked, and his pitiful relationship with his wife seemed to be common knowledge. While hate can't by any means be considered proof of his guilt in her murder, it certainly made for good motive.

Especially if somebody needed him out of the scene .

A sudden crash sounded, almost making Zoya drop her mug, heart pounding in her chest. She frowned, setting it down and slowly walking closer to the source. But the halls were empty, and what little she could see was just a bunch of abandoned cubicles where the associates worked. The only other office on this floor was…

She crossed the hall, turning right just as another crash sounded, this time shattering into a million little pieces.

With Nikolai Lantsov standing over them.

Zoya watched for a moment as he pressed his hands together around his nose, shut his eyes tight.

Saints .

His office was a mess. His normally disorganized desk had been sweeped clear, all the junk he kept there now littering the floor around him. Papers and files, an open briefcase, a broken vase all around him. She watched him run a hand through his hair in frustration, his shoulders heaving with nearly palpable rage.

And she'd forgotten glass walls worked both ways.

He froze when he first caught sight of her, but Zoya must've had on a similarly shocked expression as well. For a second neither of them moved, and then she crossed the hall to his office and opened the door, not sure what she was doing there, but certain that he should not be left alone right now.

The mess was far worse up close, and Nikolai Lantsov seemed to be the worst of it. His normally perfect attire was torn, his shirt wrinkled and the buttons only half done. His tie seemed to have suffered the fit of anger, now left abandoned on the ground. And the source of the first crash appeared to be his shoe, since only one currently covered his foot, the other lost somewhere in the mess.

He swallowed, his throat bobbing, "I thought everyone had left."

Zoya raised both brows at him, "so you thought you'd ransack your own office? Just for sport?"

Nikolai sighed, his eyes taking in the room for the first time. " Saints ," he breathed, but made no move to pick anything up.

Zoya shrugged, turning to dust some glass off the very nice set of couches in his office and taking a seat.

"I'm not here to help you clean," she informed him.

The ghost of his usual smile twitched at his lips, "no? Then why are you here?"

Zoya paused, not quite sure how to respond. Because you're supposed to be perfect. Because if you aren't then what on earth am I?

She shrugged, "just be glad for the company, Lantsov."

He nodded, allowing it, and then chose to sit on the single couch beside her, not bothering to check for any shards before slumping into it.

She watched perfect Nikolai Lantsov, son of Alexander Lantsov, golden boy, mock trial champion, and ivy league graduate completely fall apart. And somehow she got no relief from it. Somehow, it didn't make her feel any better than before.

"So, who's winning?" She asked. His eyes snapped to her, wide and haunted. There were dark smudges under his eyes that she hadn't noticed that morning.

"What?" He managed, still looking shaken.

"Senior partner. Any news on that? I'm guessing everyone is betting on you, since you're the office favorite." She said. He looked tired. Lost. But they weren't even friends, barely co-workers that couldn't stand to be around each other. Surely he didn't want to discuss whatever this was with her .

So why did she want him to?

Realization dawned on him and a wave of something akin to guilt washed over his features.

"Oh, Nazyalensky." He muttered, shaking his head. He didn't elaborate further.

Zoya was not going to ask. They didn't ask each other these things. She didn't ask who he'd gone out with or why he'd left his father's firm. He didn't ask about where she'd come from or why she never went home in the summer. Asking wasn't their thing.

And yet. "Any particular reason you took it out on the office?"

Nikolai slumped further into his chair, his messy golden hair catching the dim light of his office, making his features seem almost ghostly. She'd never seen him like this, and it was partly scary, but also partly relieving. As though this were some revelation that he was, in fact, human.

"I won't tell you it's going to be okay, Lantsov. I'm a criminal attorney, I've seen the shit this world pulls people through. I've seen how many don't make it out. But right now, I'm here, so you can either wallow alone in your misery, or be glad of the fact that I bothered to ask to begin with."

He blinked at her with some surprise, and then huffed a laugh. "Alright then," he said, nodding to himself, "I just found out my father's going on trial. And I've been tasked to be the attorney against him."

Whatever sharp words Zoya had been preparing abandoned her in an instant. She frowned, "I wasn't aware you were a big fan of the guy."

Nikolai laughed, "no, but I'm not exactly thrilled to be the one to try and put him behind bars. Especially not if he has Vasya represent him— the man can't work his way around a car, but he's a snake in court. I'm not even sure I can win a case like this, even if my clients are the victims."

Zoya nodded, her mind trying to make connections. She'd heard of the case against the Lantsov firm, women stepping forward about sexual harassment in the workplace. She hadn't realized who it was, or how Nikolai would somehow be dragged into it.

"You're an idiot, you know." She informed him.

Nikolai blanched, looking at her with confusion. Zoya gave him a one-shouldered shrug, "you're the best attorney here, Lantsov, as much as I hate to admit it. You've beaten me , and I thought I was the best. So quit worrying about your own competence and concern yourself with how awkward Christmas is going to be from now on."

He laughed with surprise, his hazel eyes almost returning to their normal gleam.

"Nazyalensky, I-"

"No, those were not compliments. You're the best until I make senior partner or you somehow become unlucky enough to oppose me in court again, which I doubt will happen in the near future. I haven't lost a single case in the full five years I've been practicing," she caught his gaze and leaned forward so her last words were very clear. "And that record won't change."

Nikolai considered her, his eyes flicking over her face. She wasn't sure when the space between them had become so little, just that they were closer now. Just that her heart was beating faster now.

"Well," he said softly, close enough that his words brushed against her cheek, making her lashes flutter, "imagine how it feels knowing I was the only one to beat you."

She let her lips curve into a smirk, and whispered, "don’t get used to it."

Then she was standing, forcing her gaze away from him and marching out of the office. It was probably time to go home by then, but with the way her heart was beating and the heat in her cheeks, the only thing Zoya wanted to do was keep her mind off of Lantsov, and on anything else.

Witnesses were a pain in the ass. They were all so saint-forsaken weak when it came to testifying. She saw the way Nikolai dealt with them, the one time they’d had to work together for a case. He played every part they needed— flirtatious attorney, gentle soul, rich golfing guy, drinks-on-me, and somehow they all worked.

Zoya had exactly one method of dealing with people in general: scaring the shit out of them.

And that worked, too.

"That’s the court date. I will see you on that day, won’t I Mrs. Krupin? Without a subpoena order this time."

The woman bobbed her head in understanding, and Zoya tried not to roll her eyes until she had turned around fully and began walking away. She needed this case out of the way so she could sleep. Or focus on other things.

Like last night. Like Nikolai Lantsov.

She shoved aside the thought, but her steps had barely gotten her out of the park when her phone rang. Of all the people…

"Make it quick, make it short." she answered swiftly.

"That’s no way to speak to your favorite co-worker," said Nikolai on the other end, but even she could tell his humor was strained.

"Oh, sorry Alina I didn’t realize this was you,"

"Very funny," said Nikolai dryly. "Listen, would you mind meeting me real quick? I could use some advice about yesterday's dilemma."

Zoya stopped walking, figuring a taxi wasn’t worth hailing if she was just going to turn back to the firm. She sighed, "and why would I choose to help you instead of take a well-deserved nap?"

"Coffee on me?"

Zoya considered this. "And cake."

She could practically hear his smile, "and cake."

"What do you mean Friday?" Zoya nearly dropped her cup in surprise.

Nikolai winced, "I may have let this gather dust on my desk for a few weeks when I saw my father’s name on it. I had no idea what the file actually contained."

Zoya stared at him, trying to figure out how someone so well put together could also be so stupid. And have such stupidly nice hair.

"I’m going to try very hard not to strangle you right now, Lantsov." she said, shaking her head.

Nikolai pushed the plate with a slice of half-eaten chocolate cake towards her with a grin, "that’s what the cake is for."

She sighed, dipping her fork back for another bite. He was very lucky this place made the best cake.

"Okay, well give me some good news. Have you talked to anyone from the firm yet?" she asked.

Nikolai sighed, leaning back in his chair and making a good show of appearing very comfortable, and totally at ease. "I can’t do that."

Zoya froze, "you can’t what?"

"I can’t go to the office—legally, I can’t even step foot inside."

Zoya watched him, searching for signs to discredit this fact. But Nikolai was a perfect actor, she’d discovered as much on their very first trial. He could be completely terrified and still smile and crack a joke.

Not last night. Not with me.

"What about the people? Have Isaak find you their numbers, maybe if you ask them to meet you—"

"I tried that," said Nikolai, "and that led to a much bigger problem."

"Which is?" Zoya was almost afraid to ask.

"None of them want to testify. They’re willing to give anonymous statements, but that’s as far as they can be pushed." he sighed, a crease forming between his brows. "They’re scared of him, Zoya, far too scared to actually do anything. And anyone who wasn’t directly harmed by the man is too afraid of losing their jobs to say anything helpful. In every way, it’s a losing case, and it’ll be on my head."

Zoya tapped her fingers restlessly against the table, watching him.

"Why’d you leave?" she asked finally.

"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning.

"Why did you leave your father’s firm. You had a good position there, you were definitely making more money, and I know you aren’t some schoolboy desperate for independence. So, why?"

Nikolai sighed, straightening in his seat. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she was growing to appreciate, and also take note of. He was nervous.

His hazel eyes focused on her, and there was something of a secret behind the natural gleam. "I was fired."

Whatever Zoya had been expecting, that had certainly not been it.

"What?"

"Yeah," he said, his gaze roving over the cafe around them, words dropping lower, "about a month after my case against you, something happened with one of the secretaries. With what I know now, it must have been a similar situation, but I had no clue back then. Still, something smelled off, and I had to know. I just had to."

Zoya couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward as he grew more intent, animating his words with his hands.

"My honest guess was that my dad had dropped her salary, or had bullied her out of the job—you never had the displeasure of meeting him, but it wasn’t uncommon. Only, he wouldn’t tell me, and Vasya seemed aware of whatever it was, but it was all so far under wraps the most I got out was her name. We got into it, me and my father, and I did what every reasonable attorney does when faced with matters regarding the law. I threatened to sue."

He swallowed, throat bobbing. "I never got the chance to. Not long after, I had transferred to your firm," a smile twitched at his lips, "hard to forget the last time someone really gave you a run for your money."

"In case you forgot, I lost that day," Zoya said, but it was the first time she’d recounted the memory without copious amounts of rage.

"That didn’t make you any less of a good opponent," he said, his bright eyes swearing his words were true. Zoya hoped the heat in her cheeks was from the sun.

Then something seemed to click in Nikolai’s mind, and she could practically see he cogs in his brain working, "oh, Saints,"

Zoya frowned as he rushed to stand, snatching his briefcase from the chair, a wide grin spreading over his features.

"Nikolai, what is it?"

"Two good things just happened, Zoya," he announced proudly, "the first? I figured out exactly how I’m going to win."

Zoya crossed her arms, looking him over once. She raised a brow.

"And the second?"

Nikolai gave her his most charming grin, as though he knew the words would earn him a sharp glare and wanted to revel in saying them. "You finally called me by my first name."

G: did you find her? How'd it go?

Zoya frowned as she approached Genya's desk at the same time she received a cryptic message from her secretary.

"Who am I meant to find?" She asked.

Genya glanced up from her phone long enough to frown, "what?"

"This," Zoya spun her own screen so the other woman could read it, and watched Genya's eyes go wide.

"Oh, that's not meant for you," she said. "It's something a friend and I were planning, just ignore it."

Zoya raised an unamused brow, "okay, plan it later because we need to get a court order by the end of the day, and I'm going to need you to do that for me, Gen."

"It's always 'Gen' when you need something," she said sadly, "never 'Gen, I've come to confess my undying love and devotion for you', always such a disappointment, Zoya."

Zoya looked back at her, exasperating, "you're married! "

"That's not the point."

Zoya rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile touching her lips as she entered her office. For once, there was no stack of papers awaiting her on the desk. Just a single envelope.

Zoya scanned it's contents once, releasing an exasperated sigh. The court order had apparently been sent, courtesy of Genya Safin, who hadn't bothered to mention the fact. Saints.

And it was for Friday morning, the same day as Nikolai's court date. Which meant she could either attend her own case and win, or blow it off to support him.

He doesn't need me there.

But she'd been the only one to see Nikolai's state the night she'd found him destroying his office. He would never let anyone see him crack like that. And for some reason, Zoya Nazyalensky was finding it harder and harder not to care about it.

About him.

It was nine o'clock in the morning and Zoya Nazyalensky was running in heels.

It was a task she had mastered in college, when the overload of classes she had taken overlapped in time and happened to be full campuses apart, but she had grown rusty over the years, and her toes were already screaming in pain by the time she reached the hall.

Zoya had not lost a single case since she'd gone against Nikolai Lantsov, and she wasn't going to lose one because of Nikolai Lantsov.

So when she'd strongly recommended that her client go for a change in counsel, had convinced him he'd lose the case with her as his defendant, it hadn't hurt Zoya's record nearly as much as her pride.

Her heels clicked loudly in the empty hall when she entered, the building distantly familiar to her mind, though she couldn't place it just then.

She found the door she was looking for, once again struck by a sense of deja vu that she absolutely had no time for. And then she was slipping inside as noiselessly as possible.

The hall was fuller than most cases she'd been privy to attend—but then Alexander Lantsov wasn't most people. Zoya sat in the last row on the left, where Nikolai was visible leaning back against the table, seemingly at ease to everyone else. Only Zoya noticed his stiff soldiers and the way his gaze kept flicking back to his father.

"-is that all?" The judge was saying. Zoya realized there was someone currently giving a statement, though Nikolai's broad shoulders were positioned so she couldn't see the person themselves.

"No further questions, your honor," came a smooth voice that made her gaze snap to the right. Vasily Lantsov. He was shorter than Nikolai, and far less attractive, with paler hair and a weak chin, his suit buttons struggling against the curve of his stomach.

But he was also grinning as though he knew he had already won. Saints.

"If Mr Lantsov would like to call any other witnesses…" continued Vasily, his eyes scanning the rows of seats behind Nikolai. Most of them were men, many of which she didn't think had anything to do with Nikolai's side to begin with. She frowned. "Unless of course, there are none? I believe we were promised an abundance of evidence, plenty of victim accounts, and yet… none appear to be present."

This was the part where she expected the judge to side with Nikolai, or to at least tell off Vasily for speaking out of place. But he must have thought the same thing everyone in that room was thinking, the same thing Zoya was thinking.

Nikolai Lantsov had no other victims to call on.

Nikolai straightened, beginning to pace towards the jury, "you're absolutely right, I have brought no one else. But, your honor, I believe any evidence, if it can be tracked to the appropriate person, with a time and date stamp, would be just as honest, would it not?"

The judge considered Nikolai for a moment, the lines of his face drawing into a scowl, "how so?"

"Say, if I had accounts from every single victim, their own story and a way that connects it to them, would that be considered reasonable evidence, accepted by the court?"

He spoke like he knew the answer. Zoya tracked him with her eyes. He was watching the judge intently as the man thought of this new statement. "Yes, it can be considered reasonable."

"Objection-" began Vasily, the voice of whom was quickly turning Zoya's mood sour. No wonder Nikolai doesn't talk about him much.

"Overruled," the judge said, folding his hands over his stomach to watch the proceedings. He must have seen Nikolai in action before, just as Zoya had, because they both anticipated a performance.

"I'd like to call on the same witness, Your Honor. She has all the evidence you need with her."

Zoya frowned. No clever remarks, no finding holes in the system. Her gaze followed Nikolai back to the seat where a witness was seated. Only this time, she was in clear view, and there was no way Zoya could mistaken her for anyone else.

Not with that red hair, those amber eyes she saw every single morning.

Genya Safin raised her chin as everyone's attention settled on her. The most I got was her name.

Oh, Saints.

Genya didn't even flinch as she picked up her phone and settled it on the desk in front of her.

"Miss Safin," said Nikolai, "please recount to the jury what evidence you've gathered."

Zoya noticed the way her fingers shook slightly as she opened her phone. "As I said, I worked closely with Mr. Lantsov, but I had many friends in the workplace. I was the one people went to when they had trouble, when they needed help, or when they were looking to have a good time. I knew everyone because it was my job to know. I spoke to everyone because I had to."

She let out a shuddering breath, but when she spoke again, her voice was steady, and strong. "And I never delete a thing."

Then she set down her phone so the speaker was directed at the microphone, and began playing a recording. It seemed to be an audio message, a woman's broken voice speaking. "Genya, I know you've been through this too. I heard the stories, please, please. Tell me what to do. How do I fix this? I'm scared, Gen. Help me, please."

The recording ended, and then she played another, and another. Some of them were messages she read out, others full two-sided phone calls she'd recorded. And each of them a new voice confirming Alexander Lantsov's guilt.

And by the end of it the change in the room was clear. Vasily's face was white as a sheet, Alexander looking just as shaken as his son. The jury had various reactions from horror to anger to some with tears streaming down their faces. And Nikolai Lantsov stood ramrod straight, not daring to look left, his entire posture stiff.

"Is there anything you'd like to add before we adjourn?" Asked the judge. The words were meant for Nikolai, but he only glanced once at Genya. She nodded, and when she spoke again, her voice was loud and clear, her eyes glaring daggers at Alexander Lantsov.

"You told me once I was ruined. But I am not ruined, I am ruination." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And I hope you rot in hell for what you've done."

Zoya didn't get a chance to see Genya once the hall was cleared up, and Nikolai seemed to disappear just as quickly. It wasn't until hours later that she found the latter wandering around the park a few streets away from their firm, still dressed in that morning's suit, his countenance just as shaken as it had been earlier.

"What, no celebratory drinks for the win?" Asked Zoya as she approached him. Nikolai looked up with surprise, his features relaxing into a smile when he saw that it was her.

"The drinks part I'll admit is tempting, but I don't see much of a celebration to be had." He admitted.

"Don't tell me you're feeling guilty about this morning," she said, eyeing him warily.

Surprise crossed his features, "saints, no, I'm glad to be rid of the man. Granted, my mother won't so much as look in my direction, but…" he shook his head.

"Out with it, Lantsov," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

He sighed, "it could have been sooner. It should have. If I hadn't left the firm so quickly, if I hadn't let him force me out…"

Zoya swept him from head to toe with a sharp look, "self-pity doesn't suit you, Nikolai, so drop it."

"That's not-"

"Yes, it is. And I don't want to hear it. You did a good thing back there, you can stop dwelling on the past and start working towards something bigger. Like making senior partner."

He straightened, "what are you talking about?"

Zoya forced herself not to avert her gaze from the intense look in his eyes. "My client asked for a change in defense. I lost someone for the firm on the same day you cracked a big case, Nikolai, it doesn't take a genius to connect those dots."

Realization dawned on his face, then to her surprise, a smile spread across his lips. "Tell you what, meet me back here in two hours—and trust me, it's worth it."

For the second time in her life, Zoya Nazyalensky was waiting on Nikolai Lantsov.

He arrived fashionably late, back in something more casual, jeans and a dark collared shirt. Zoya raised a brow, "it's even more surprising when you're late now that I know you own a watch."

But he didn't wait for Zoya to make her way through the list of snarky comments she'd been preparing, a grin already on his face. It was dark out, and it was definitely getting to be too chilly for the skirt she had on.

"You make quite the sight outside of work, Nazyalensky," he said, looking her over appreciatively.

Zoya rolled her eyes, "I hope you didn't drag me out here for more of your fruitless flirting, Lantsov, because I'll just walk away now."

A smile spread over his features.

"Believe me, you don't want to just yet,"

Without warning, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her along with him as he turned back down the street towards…

Zoya frowned, "where are we going?"

He didn't answer until they were standing directly in front of it. The same hall they'd been at that morning, the one she'd felt was familiar. It was a plain building with steps leading up to it and large glass doors currently closed.

For reasons unbeknownst to her, Nikolai dropped her hand. Zoya tried not to be disappointed.

"Believe it or not, I have seen the city before so it'll take more than that to impress me," said Zoya with a raised brow.

His grin never faltered, "I brought you here for two reasons, Nazyalensky. Let me at least get to the first without you threatening to murder me once, will you?"

"I'll do my best," she said with a sweet smile. But she had to admit her curiosity was piqued.

"First, I figured out why you hate me."

If he didn't look so certain of his statement, Zoya might have laughed. And to her own surprise, she found that her automatic response had been to rebuke it immediately. How could I possibly hate you, you idiot.

"Did you find my secret list of reasons to hate Nikolai Lantsov?" She asked dryly.

"No," he nodded back at the building. "Recognized it, didn't you? This was where we held our first trial. The one you lost. See, I thought you were angry because you lost, but you weren't, were you?"

She swallowed, her own words echoing back to her from only a few weeks ago, who else would defend a guilty person with such conviction?

"You were angry because you thought she was innocent."

Zoya folded her arms over her chest. She had expected something ridiculous, but this had exceeded even those thoughts. Yet something in her wanted to listen. Wanted to hear what he had to say. Because maybe, just maybe, he was right.

"Which is exactly why I brought these," he announced, teaching into his pocket to retrieve a few folded papers, reaching them out to her with a pleased expression on his face. But Zoya caught the bit of nervousness in his eyes as she took the papers from him.

"I was there at the trial, Nikolai. I've seen all the evidence."

"This one's not for the court," he said, "this one's for you."

It was a list. A list of names she was surprised to find she recognized, and beside them, various amounts of money. Transactions.

"Nikolai, what is this?" She asked quietly, rereading each name with disbelief.

"Backup," he admitted, "something I never ended up using because my claim was strong enough without it. But there's the list of witnesses you called, and the amount of money they'd been paid off to give their statements for your client."

Something like relief, but far more intense, exploded in Zoya's chest. Eight years in prison, and she'd been counting them down, certain she'd made a mistake. How many pro bono cases had she taken just to make up for that loss? She'd come to serve the justice system, and had been so sure it had tricked her somehow.

"I never would have taken my client's case if I'd known he was in the wrong." Nikolai's words were quiet, his bright hazel eyes intense and honest.

Saints, they were beautiful. He was beautiful.

"And the second thing?" She managed, forcing her thoughts away from how the moon's light caught Nikolai's features at just the right angle, the way his golden hair was mussed just right. The urge she had to thread her fingers through it.

"Ah, that," he said, and now there was definitely a hint of nervousness in his voice. Maybe more than a bit. Were his ears going pink?

"Nikolai, what is it?" Zoya asked with a frown.

"I might have… lied about the senior partner competition. And the pool."

Her brows raised in surprise, "you made up a bet to make me feel better about losing?"

"No, the bet was definitely real. And the fact that Juris is searching for a senior partner is also true," Nikolai swallowed, glancing away. "But he already found one. He told me as much. You're getting it, Zoya, the position has been yours for months now, he's just waiting for the other partners to sign on before asking you."

Zoya gaped at Nikolai. Everything she had worked for ever since she'd started working at the firm had been this—the chance to become more than just a small piece in the elaborate clockwork of the workplace. She wanted more, had always wanted more. And now…

"What do you mean the bet was real?" She asked, eyeing him with distrust.

Nikolai ran a hand through his hair, a telltale sign that he was nervous. "The bet was about you and me. About how long it would take me to convince you to go out with me."

Zoya stared at him for a long moment, "why would anyone bet on that?"

Now, he looked less nervous and more… exasperated. "Come on, Nazyalensky. The entire office figured it out, I didn't think it would take the best attorney in our firm so long to catch on."

Oh. Oh.

Zoya was left too struck to speak for a moment. But this was Nikolai. Stupid, stupid Nikolai, the one who'd become her first nemesis and her competition. The same one she'd fought to win against in every single mock trial, and still debated with on every little thing.

Saints above, it was Nikolai. Always, always Nikolai.

"You idiot," she said softly.

His brows drew together in confusion, but whatever he was about to say was silenced when she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to her, catching his lips with hers.

Nikolai froze for a moment before his mind seemed to catch up with his body, and then one hand came up to cup her face, the other tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer to him, as though he were afraid she'd disappear if he just let go, his lips writing a promise onto hers.

All thoughts seemed to abandon her as they broke apart, Zoya feeling slightly dizzy from the kiss and Nikolai's expression dazed.

"Zoya…" he began, a crease appearing between his brows.

"What?" She asked in the space between their breaths.

"I owe Genya so much money," he admitted. Zoya rolled her eyes, effectively shutting him up by pulling him back to her, his lips expertly parting around hers as she linked her arms around his neck, determined to keep him close.

She knew she now owed Genya a decent some of money too, but Nikolai didn't need to know about that.

#my writing*#m:fics #sh:zoyalai #zoyalai #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #grishaverse #king of scars #rule of wolves #lit:tnd #tndfic #usersana #userhannas #usersai #useramma #tuserkaelyn #zoyalai-network

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ilguna · 3 years

Text

Anteric - Chapter Six (f.o)

summary: secrets have more worth than you gave them credit for.

warnings; swearing. FIGHTING, GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, INJURIES.

wc; 8.6k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Finnick is still picking blue paint out of his hair this morning. Each time he goes to run a hand through it, he’ll get stuck halfway through, due to a clump of knotted blue hair. You try not to laugh, but every now and then a cough will slip out. At some point, he gives up and goes to take a shower in hopes to fix his problem.

Since you woke up fairly early again, you have enough time to get ready at a leisurely pace. Unfortunately, you're sure that the sun has already risen, so there wouldn’t be a point to go up the Pit to see. And you think that’s for the best, because it’s not safe up there anymore. Not now that Finnick knows where you’d go if you need a moment to breathe.

Well, that’s one of the places. Hopefully he won’t figure out the other.

You’ve realized that you probably need to speak to him sometime soon, considering the rift that’s continuing to grow. The only problem is that you’ve already apologized for your sudden distance. He just ignored it.

You think you’ve said this before, but Finnick will get extremely upset to the point where he’ll stop talking. He used to do that all the time to a couple of other people that you knew in Abnegation. You weren’t his only friend, just the best. There’s only been a few times where you’ve been on the receiving end of his cold behavior. And he’s always bounced back from it.

Half of the time it’s because you gave him space to think about what he wanted. He would just wander back on his own, heart in his hands to give to you. In those moments, it was always his fault. Which is why it was so easy for him to come talk to you again.

Other times, you’d persist after Finnick, trying to get him to budge and talk to you again. This is how you found out that it would be harder to talk to you again. Because you were constantly trying to get him to. It just built up annoyance more, and prolonged the silent treatment. This option is always the second choice, a last resort for dire situations.

Which is why you’re so caught right now.

Finnick could really need you to go after him, or he could really need you to stay away. And honestly, you don’t mind either of those plans, except the latter one has a problem hidden within it. Normally when you’d leave Finnick alone, it would be because he didn’t have anyone else to talk to.

If you go on and move onto Trink circle for the time being while you wait for him to come around, he won’t be alone. He won’t have time to think about why he’s angry by himself. He’ll have someone else to delay that entire process. You know Finnick like the palm of your hand, he can and will put talking to you off for as long as possible.

You thought that Thyme could be a nice addition to yours and Finnick’s friendship, but it seems like she’s going to be making things more complicated. And there’s a hot, sticky feeling in your chest that’s telling you it isn’t a coincidence. From the moment she’s gotten here, she’s been weird.

A hand slaps your foot, making the laces slip from your fingers, your foot falling to the floor. Thyme passes in front of you, and sits down on her bed. It’s only when she starts to lace her first shoe, does she look at you, “Keep your dirty shoes off my bed.”

You stare at her for a moment, and the only thought that comes to your mind is the fact that you’re too tired for her bullshit. You fix your laces before standing up, leaving her alone. You stretch your arms and legs, moving toward the middle of the room. Caspian said that training wouldn’t resume until tomorrow, but that just means you’ll be stuck shooting guns for ten hours.

Finnick comes out of the bathroom, briefly catching your eye. He’s fully dressed, a black towel hangs around the back of his neck to catch the water from his hair. You move out of his way, not thinking too much into the movement. All you know is that you don’t want to be caught in the storm that might be brewing at the moment.

Which ultimately means you just unintentionally made the decision you’ve been worrying over for the past couple of minutes. You guess that your first instinct has never been to pry. And you also guess that this is a result of the Abnegation conditioning. You’re not supposed to ask questions, especially if it might hurt the other person.

But you aren’t in Abnegation anymore, are you?

You spare a glance in Finnick’s direction, wondering if it’s too late to go back and change your mind. His back is already turned toward you, and he’s talking to Thyme. He turns his body slightly, going to sit down on his bed. The smile on his face is almost unforgivable, a light feeling arising in your stomach.

There’s a split second where you recognize that he’s going to look toward you, his head is already turning, his eyes still on Thyme. You think that you’ll be able to muster up enough courage to talk to him. But it all disappears the moment his eyes land on you. And you find yourself turning before you say to.

Trink is stretching her arms above her head, her tank top rides up slightly to reveal her belly. She lets out a slight yawn, and then she pulls her top back down and looks between you, Eytelle and Allio.

“Breakfast?” she proposes.

You wonder how far is too far with Finnick.

“Yeah.” Eytelle agrees, Allio raises to his feet.

Trink’s eyes land on you, waiting to see what you have to say.

You roll your shoulders and give her a bright smile, “Well, obviously.”

Trink leads the way out of the dormitory, with Eytelle and Allio in the middle, and you taking up the back. Up until the door slides shut smoothly behind you, your hands are balled into fists and you can’t relax your shoulders no matter how hard you try. You just feel safer now that you’re out of sight, at least their eyes won’t be on you.

For a while, you focus on Allio and Eytelle’s voice echoing off the walls, as they talk about what they think their rank might be. It’s an easy enough conversation for you to escape to. Since the answer should be pretty difficult to find, because of technicalities and all. But the mystery is solved two minutes later, and the distraction is no longer here.

You’re lucky that the walk to the dining hall is short.

“You two head inside, we’ll follow in a minute.” Trink says, giving them a polite smile.

“Do you want to sit with the Dauntless-borns?” Eytelle is walking backwards.

Trink makes a face like she’s telling them ‘obviously’, but speaks anyway, “Make sure it’s with Lennox.”

Eytelle nods, and the two of them disappear inside. Trink turns to you next, her smile fading from her face, “Why didn’t you say anything to her?”

You press your lips together for a moment, and then you speak, “I know what I’m doing with Finnick.”

“Really?” she rolls her eyes, “Come on, (Y/n).”

“I’ve been dealing with him for my entire life.” you tell her, drifting towards the doorway. You two might be friends now, but you don’t have to reveal all your secrets to her just yet. It’s been less than a day, “Thyme won’t last, trust me.”

She raises her eyebrows, “You should still talk to him.”

“I will.” you say, she’s starting to follow you now, “I’ll do it tomorrow before the final fight.”

Trink shrugs.

The two of you stand together for a while, before she’s the first to spot your group from last night. At the table, she greets Lennox and slides right in next to him. She serves herself a small portion of toast and blueberry pancakes, as always, and starts talking as if they’ve been friends for a long time.

Ameer and Mirza are sitting across from each other, a path is cleared between them to allow the arm wrestling match. It seems like they’re both struggling, since Mirza will stay on top for a while, straining. Then Ameer will get a burst of strength and push his brother’s arm down toward the table. Neither of them have won yet.

Sydney is twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, talking to Nestor and occasionally Ameer. It’s always through gritted teeth and gasps if he does respond. She doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, no one looks bothered over the twins’ shenanigans.

Claris isn’t gathered with you guys, she’s actually sitting on the far end of the table off to the left. Hallie sits beside her, the two of them talk every now and then between long stretches of silence. However, the person that is sitting here with you guys, is Blaire.

He’s got one of his black curls pulled out, talking to Lennox and Trink. When he lets go, the curl bounces back into place as if it wasn’t out in the open just seconds before.

“Four people are going to be cut after this last fight, right?” Trink says, she’s squishing a blueberry between her fork and her plate.

“Yeah,” Lennox says, “The two lowest ranking initiates from both groups.”

Trink hums, “Who’s your two?”

Blaire gives her a look, and then you, “You first.”

“Amos and Ossie.” you say, carving your fingernail into the wooden table, “No question about it.”

Trink’s face twists for a moment, eyebrows raising, and then dropping. Like she’s trying to tell you that it isn’t set in stone. Like she’s trying to tell you that you’ve lost your last two fights, technically Ossie is ranked above you at the moment, and so is Trink.

That won’t last long. You’ll be winning tomorrow’s fight, no matter who it’s against.

“That was easy.” Lennox breathes out a laugh, and then he jabs his thumb to Claris and Hallie, “They’re out. Neither of them have won. They talk shit but the rest of us are taller and stronger than they are.”

Sydney pauses what she’s saying to Nestor to lean in, “The two of them talk like they own the world. Should’ve seen their faces when they got their asses kicked on the first day. Or when they couldn’t even move the punching bag.” Nestor nods in agreement.

“Huh,” you let out.

Blaire shrugs, “Just how it is.”

Trink leans her head against her hand, pushing her plate away now, “How was it working with Finnick and Thyme?”

The question makes Mirza lose at the arm wrestling match. Blaire stares at Trink for a long moment, his eyebrows drawing in, “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. I guess I should’ve asked if he mentioned anything about (Y/n). And what exactly did he say?”

You want to stomp on Trink’s foot beneath the table, but she’s not across from you. You wish that she wouldn’t go around asking questions like this. You don’t care what he said about you during the paintball match. In fact, you could guarantee that it’s not anything bad, because Finnick doesn’t bad-mouth until he’s absolutely certain that the other person is his enemy.

You press your lips together and scowl.

“Well,” Blaire looks uncomfortable, as he probably should be, “It’s complicated… I guess.”

“Oh, come on.” Trink waves her hand, “You can’t hurt her feelings, she’s a brick wall.”

You’re suddenly glad that she hasn’t seen you vulnerable just yet. And that you held yourself together after the incident in the Pit, hanging over the river. Otherwise she might be saying something else right now.

Blaire looks to Mirza for reassurance, but the twins are gone. The two of them have vanished without a single word. Blaire sighs, “Finnick said that the two of you had grown up together.” his eyes are on you, “And that you know everything about him, including his weaknesses. He also said that your actions are predictable which is why you aren’t threatening.”

Silence sweeps the table. You let the hotness take over your face first. Anger so rich and raw that you might as well be a reincarnated god. But there’s something bubbling in your chest, light and friendly. The exact opposite of war and bloodshed.

You try to stay straight-faced, but there’s a crack at the corner of your lips. Until you burst, tears forming in your eyes. The laugh is loud, but draws no attention from the other Dauntless around you. With the exception of the group you’re sitting with, of course. You end up covering your mouth, trying to be a bit more modest.

“Not threatening, huh?” You smile, running your finger over the divot you’ve carved into the table. Then, you look up to Blaire, “If I were you, I’d be skeptical.”

Blaire doesn’t respond right away, “What does that mean?”

“Well, for starters.” You place your palms on the table, getting ready to leave, “He doesn’t know me as well as he thinks.”

You stand up from the bench. The clock on the wall says that it’s ten minutes to eight, which means you’ll be arriving in the training room early if you leave now. It’ll give you a moment to think and reassess your next move.

You take a step forward, but then stop, “Finnick isn’t as put-together as he likes to show. It’s all a façade. I’ll be in the training room.”

You take your time leaving the dining hall, not seeing a reason to rush. You have more than enough time to get there, and you need to spend it all.

On the way out, you pass Finnick and Thyme.

You were wrong. You thought that Finnick would keep his opinions of you to himself. The two of you don’t know these people, and they weren’t in your business to begin with. So what is he doing, basically telling people that you’re weak?

A hand hooks around the inside of your elbow, keeping you from talking further.

You yank your arm out, turning to face Finnick, while putting distance between the two of you. The mere look on his face is enough for you to set your jaw, clenching your teeth together. A deer in headlights, a child acting like it doesn’t know what it did wrong, an act.

“Hey,” he says, even his voice is soft, like he’s trying to coax you, “Are you okay?”

Your first instinct is to snap and then run. Leave him blinded and shocked just like you were a couple of moments ago. But the longer you stare at him, the more you begin to realize that he’s not acting. He’s being genuine.

“I’m fine.” you force yourself to calm down, standing up so that you aren’t hunched over, “Thanks for asking, though.”

“Are you sure?” Finnick straightens out too, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You can see Thyme stalking over his shoulder, eyes boring right into yours. Watching, waiting. Probably wanting material to spread around to the others. Look at (Y/n), upset over this and not nearly as scary as she can seem at times. She’s probably the one that managed to convince Finnick that you aren’t threatening.

“Not with her around.” you snarl, looking past him, “You’re a goddamn coward, you know that? And it’s no surprise, you come from Amity.”

She backs up, face twisting when Finnick looks over his shoulder.

“Really?” you ask, moving forward. Finnick presses a hand to your chest, keeping you from going any further. You look at him dead in the eyes, “You’re stopping me? Why? She can take care of herself. If she’s going to cause problems, then she’s going to deal with the consequences.”

“You’re not thinking straight.” Finnick says, not affected by how angry you are.

You slap his hand off and shove him back in one move, “So? Does that scare you, Finnick? What happened to me not being threatening?”

Finnick’s confused for a second, but then his face smoothes over, and he’s shaking his head, “That’s what this is about?”

You grit your teeth, “Yes, Finnick, that’s why I’m upset.”

“You don’t know the context--”

“No!” your voice is loud, “Blaire told me the context. You said I wasn’t threatening because I’m so fucking predictable.” you shove him again, “If I’m so predictable to you, then why do you bother to stick around?”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, there’s an overwhelming silence that sits between you two. Thyme doesn’t even move from where she is, her hand is pressed against the wall as if she’ll fall over. What a drama queen.

It seems like you have attracted attention, though. Out of the corner of your eye, you’re able to see Damon coming your way. Why he’s still inside of the dining room when he eats earlier than everyone else, you don’t know. What you do know is that you’re about to get in trouble.

“Back up.” Damon says, motioning, “Now.”

You do, hands balling into fists. You should’ve hit him when you had the fucking chance to. Or lunged straight towards Thyme, who’s playing up the innocent act again.

“Where are you going?” he looks at you first.

“The training room.”

Then his eyes land on Finnick and Thyme. Finnick’s the one to speak, “For breakfast.”

“Go.” he tells them, not leaving from where he stands. He waits until Finnick and Thyme are clearly inside before turning to you, “I remember being told that Laurel issued a warning about fighting.”

“Yeah, I was there for it,” you say, “But I didn’t hit him, so it doesn’t count.”

“Shoving counts.” Damon says, “Don’t do it again.”

“Sure.” you say, “Sorry.”

You turn and leave before he tries to talk to you anymore. You’re already testing his patience by being short with him. You head straight into the darkness, nails digging into your palms. The walk to the training room isn’t as serene as you originally wanted it to be. With every step you take, you can only find more reason to be angry.

There’s so many things you should’ve said to him.

By the time you get to the actual room, you’re only slightly calmed down. There’s no doubt that you just made things worse between you and Finnick. But to be fair, it’s no thanks to Trink. You don’t know whether or not to be angry at her. If she hadn’t asked the questions in the first place, then you’d still be on the road to recovery with Finnick.

It all conflicts with the fact that you wouldn’t have known what Finnick said if she hadn’t asked. You didn’t know he was talking about you like that. And sometimes it’s good to be underestimated, but here it’s not. It’s the simplest way for you to end up factionless.

Laurel and Caspian are already inside when you get there. They barely look up at first, too focused on what they’re hovering over. Laurel then suddenly raises her head, a murmur sounding from her. Caspian has to turn his body to see.

You give them a gentle wave.

“Don’t touch anything just yet.” he says, motioning you to stand somewhere.

Along the wall of the entrance sits tables with knives on them. All of them black, with identical blades and sizes. On the other side of the room are targets, much like the ones you’ve used to shoot guns. It looks like you get to try your hand at something new today.

It’s hard to be excited when there’s a hateful feeling in your stomach, telling you that Finnick will have no trouble keeping his streak. He’ll nail the middle of the target and then immediately turn to Thyme to gloat. You can’t help but to wonder if he genuinely thinks he’s winning in Dauntless right now, because you wouldn’t think so. Not when your best friend is halfway out of the door.

You pick a spot on the far side, shoving your hands into your pockets while you stare at the wood. If you strain hard enough to hear, you can listen in on what Laurel and Caspian are talking about. And it honestly sounds like they’re discussing the pairs for tomorrow’s fights. You thought they would have worked this all out this morning, but you guess you were wrong.

You have to win, no matter what. Or you will end up in last place. And instead of Ossie being cut, it will be you. You and Amos.

It’s funny, really. For a second, you really thought that you were on top of the world. You didn’t know just how quickly it would all fall back down. How you wouldn’t be able to catch everything--anything. It took a week to break all that you’ve worked towards your entire life.

You still have enough time to turn it around and end up on top. All you have to do is pass this first stage, and then you could blow everyone out of the water. You have the power to. You just have to apply yourself more.

A couple of minutes later, the others begin to arrive in their own groups. The first is Ossie and Amos, the next is your three new friends, and the last is Finnick and Thyme. This time, they’re the ones keeping their distance, placing themselves firmly on the other side of the room.

If Caspian has any questions rising, he doesn’t ask them. You do catch the quick look between you and Finnick, though. As if he’s trying to decipher it for himself. His eyes find yours again, and you give him a gentle head shake, letting him know that things are not what they are anymore. You wish it weren’t this complicated.

“Tomorrow is the final fight, and it will also be the last day of stage one.” Caspian says, he stands near the chalkboard, shouting across the room. His voice carries well, you don’t have to turn your head to hear him better.

“Today, you’ll be learning how to aim.” Laurel continues for him, “Pick up three knives, and pay attention. No one will be excused from tomorrow’s fighting, so try not to hurt yourselves.”

You all begin to wander over to the knives. You pick up the first one in your hands, and you can’t help but to notice just how light it is. It’s not as heavy as the one in your aptitude test, or the one back home in Abnegation. This is as light as a feather, easily movable. It reminds you of the knife you used to cut your hand during the Choosing Ceremony.

You pick up the other two, being careful not to cut your hands.

“I’ll demonstrate, so pay attention!” Laurel shouts.

Once you’re all back in your respective places, all eyes are on her. You have to move around a little to see better, and you can’t help but to curse yourself for choosing this end of the room. But then again, you didn’t want to invade on Caspian and Laurel’s privacy, clearly it was an important conversation.

Laurel is smooth and flawless with her throws. One after the other, each one hits the dead center of the target. Once all three knives are gone, she backs away from the target. You have to move again to see that she’s thrown her knives so that they make a triangle.

“Line up!” she yells, “And get to throwing! Caspian and I will observe.”

You remember the first time you shot the gun they gave you. It’s almost hard to believe that was only five days ago. At the rate things have been moving around you, it almost feels like a year.

Automatically, you find yourself readjusting your stance to mirror what Laurel had looked like. She had her dominant forward just a little more, body turned to the side to allow her dominant arm move free range. You extend and tense your arm a couple of times, getting a feel for the throw.

You have to remember to exhale when you let go.

And make sure not to think too much or you’ll hesitate.

You draw your arm back, knife handle in your hand. Your eyes land on the red circle in the middle of the wood. You hold your breath for a moment, pausing to readjust, and then you throw.

For a second, all you can hear is the sound of knives bouncing off the wall. No one has made it even close to their target. So why are you so sure that you’re going to be different?

Well, because you are.

The knife lodges in the red circle. It’s nowhere near perfect, since it’s off center and barely hanging on. But you are the first.

“Wow!” Trink lets out, “That’s luck!”

You prepare the second knife in your hand, drawing your arm back the same way, correcting for the middle. This time, when the knife hits the wooden board, you are much closer to the center. You’re too eager for the third knife, excitement bubbling up your throat and to your cheeks. An infectious smile fills your face when the third knife is in the center.

A hand slaps on your shoulder, “You’re a natural.” Caspian’s hand slips slightly as he moves around you to take a better look. He lets out a slight whistle.

Eytelle and Allio are nodding along, looking enthusiastic.

You can’t help yourself, though. You thank Caspian, but move to look at Finnick and Thyme, to watch them throw. You catch Finnick’s eyes for a brief second, clearly he was watching you. It’s your turn to take notes now.

You felt this exact same way when you first shot the handgun. To know that you were so close to the center circle, only for Finnick to best you. Finnick moves his hand, showing you that he still has all three knives in his hands. It’s an under-the-table move, not noticeable unless you’re paying close attention. Which means that Thyme completely misses it. The blades glint in the light.

He raises his arm, Thyme pauses what she’s doing to watch him. She’s already missed her first two knives. Finnick takes in a deep breath when he throws, and this is where he goes wrong. You’ll give him credit, because the knife hits the board. But it’s a corner, and clatters to the ground without sticking.

Finnick’s face twists, and when he turns to you--

You’ve already got both hands up, formed in an ‘X’.

Figuring that you’ve reached the point of no return yesterday, you went ahead and switched beds after dinner. Originally, you’d been sleeping over Finnick. Now you’re over Trink, since she’s the one that has an open bunk. You went to bed before you got a chance to see Finnick’s reaction, but you can tell by the way he’s acting this morning, that he’s upset.

He’s normally chatty in the morning, whether it had been with you, or Thyme. But no matter how many times Thyme tries to start a conversation with him, he only lets out one word answers. Which is a telltale sign that Finnick is not as okay as he’s been projecting. Another reason why Thyme doesn’t fit the space, she thinks about herself first and not the people around her.

Abnegation-raised children have been taught to focus on others before them. Like Candor, you begin to be able to pick out the little things from others reactions and body language. You might not be able to ask about it, but you’re supposed to notice it so that it’s easier to avoid the topic.

Thyme knows nothing about this, which means she doesn’t know when to leave things be instead of trying to fill the silence.

There’s a tight feeling of smugness in your chest. Finnick is going to be the one to apologize, not you. Not like you have a reason to, anyway. You already did and he ignored you, as if it hadn’t existed at all. You weren’t bluffing, it was a genuine apology.

You start out of the bathroom, fully dressed, shoes on, minty breath. All you have to do is wait for Trink to get ready, and then the four of you can head to the dining hall so you can watch and wait for them to eat. You already decided that you shouldn’t eat this morning. With the way everyone has been going at your stomach, it’s the only real choice you have. Unless you want to puke all over the floor, of course.

Trink’s in the middle of braiding her hair, talking to Eytelle. Allio is still in the bathroom, you saw him wander into the shower area just before he shut the curtain. He said that it should only take a couple of minutes. So, you suppose that you should correct yourself. You’re waiting on Allio, not Trink.

You start toward the girls, a question to start conversation already appearing on your tongue. But it all dies when someone appears in your path, tall and towering over you, like he always does. You press your lips together and look up at Finnick. And you can’t help but to think that this scene is all too familiar.

But the last time you checked, you moved out of the way.

“We should talk.” Finnick says, his voice is gentle, face smoothed over.

“Yeah?” you ask, eyebrows raising slightly.

You will not be the one apologizing this time.

He takes his time before speaking. Letting out a small breath, sucking in one between his teeth. He does this every single time, you know what to expect. He’ll start his sentence off with the apology, and then what he did wrong.

Finnick takes in a final breath, “I need you to hear me out.”

No.

No, this is wrong.

You stare at him, almost wanting to hold your breath.

This is the second time you’ve been wrong about Finnick would or wouldn’t do.

Finnick takes your silence as a good sign to keep talking, “When I said that to my team, I was still angry at you for blowing me off.”

Now you hold your breath, teeth settling in. He’s wrong, you didn’t blow him off. You apologized, you told him why you’ve been acting this way. It’s the other way around, he’s the one that confronted you and didn’t even listen. As if he didn’t care in the first place, and just wanted to find a way to get at you.

“I should have phrased what I said differently, though.” Finnick pauses for a moment, “Your turn.”

Your turn?

“That was not an apology,” are the first words to leave your mouth, eager, slick and pissed.

Finnick stares at you, like he’s thinking it over. It’s just five words, straight-forward all by itself. But then his lips press together, and his face begins to turn red, eyebrows turning downward. He’s acting like you’re in the wrong here. You’ve apologized, you’ve expressed your dislike for Thyme, so why does he keep on pushing it? What the fuck does he want from you?

“You are brave.” Finnick’s words are low.

He doesn’t scare you.

You know him in and out.

You know his darkest secrets.

How is he going to scare you?

“I’m the brave one?” you ask him slowly, “Last time I checked, I already fucking apologized. You were the one that didn’t listen. You were the one that brushed me off. Don’t come to me acting like the victim.

“Not to mention, Finnick,” you spit his name, “You didn’t even say that you regret what you said to your team. You said that you would rephrase it. It’s a fucking excuse, and I don’t do excuses. You owe me an apology.”

“For what?” he asks.

You explode, voice loud, “What the fuck do you mean ‘for what’?” you’re shaking your head, “I just fucking told you! Do you want another reason, then? You’ve been treating Thyme, over there, like your fucking best friend as if I’m not here. She’s the devil on your shoulder, Finnick. Won’t you open your eyes?”

Finnick shoves you back, you catch your footing in time to make it look natural. You don’t see this as a good sign, though. He’s angry, “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Why not? Don’t like facing the truth--?”

“Because she’s my fucking friend, (Y/n)!” Finnick shouts back, “You called her a bitch and you don’t have a shred of sympathy!”

He gestures over his shoulder, straight at Thyme. She’s sitting on her bed, looking like she’s enjoying herself, watching the two of you go at each other like this. You watch as she fakes a pout, bites her lip, and then turns her head away. Her shoulders shake, pretending to cry. But her giggle is unmistakable.

It takes everything in you not to lunge at her.

The oven controlling your body is only getting hotter. You can feel your fingernails digging into the skin on your palm. Your eyes flash to Finnick, “Why should I? She’s not my fucking friend, she’s yours!”

You move forward, “And I know this might be shocking to you, but I’m your friend. I’ve been your best friend for years! So why are you so hellbent on keeping her, and not me? Aren’t I more valuable than this?”

Finnick stares, no response coming from him.

Your jaw sets, “During the Choosing Ceremony, before I came to Dauntless, I thought it would be an even trade. To take you, and leave my family behind. Clearly, I was fucking wrong.”

The anger washes away from his face, his mouth opening. You can see his hand raising to grab onto you.

You jerk away, “Don’t worry Finnick, this is all fine to me.” you give him a sneer, “Just don’t forget that I know all of your secrets. And there’s nothing stopping me from using them anymore.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, hand frozen out to grab you.

“It’s time to go to the training room.” Trink’s voice cuts the silence that deafens the room.

No one moves from where they are. Not even Ossie and Amos left early to get breakfast. They’re still near the door, hand poised on the handle, like they had been expecting the fight to only last a couple of seconds. Or for the two of you to kiss and make up and let this all be over and in the past.

You’re the first to straighten.

“Okay,” you say, still staring at Finnick, “Let’s go then.”

Ossie and Amos scoot out of the door first. Trink holds it open for you, before letting Allio take it next. She keeps to your side, glancing at your face every now and then like she expects it to change. But there’s an unmistakable anger that’s bubbling in your stomach and popping in your chest. Like lava.

She’s wise enough not to say anything.

You all arrive late to the training room. Caspian has his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the door when you walk in. He doesn’t look happy at all, and neither does Laurel. You’re guessing it’s because Mags is standing right there, hands behind her back, assessing each and every one of you as you enter.

“Where’s Finnick and Thyme?” Caspian barks.

“Oh, they’re coming.” you snarl.

Caspian’s eyes linger on you, but you’re more focused on the board behind him. To see who’s fighting who. They’re standing directly in it, purposefully blocking your view. You hope it’s Thyme. You hope it’s Thyme. You hope it’s Thyme.

You hope it’s Thyme.

After a few more beats of silence, the door to the training room opens.

Caspian tilts his head slightly, like he’s unsure what to make of today’s newfound tension.

But then he moves out of the way.

And there’s an explosion of pleasurable bliss that fills your body.

You will not be fighting Thyme.

You will be fighting the man himself.

You grin, head turning to see Finnick’s reaction. He’s stoic, staring ahead at the board, not entertaining you. It’s fine, Finnick. You already know what you need to. You saw him reach out. You saw the look of remorse. Everyone did. There’s no point in being so guarded now.

The chalkboard reads:

You and Finnick.

Trink and Thyme.

Allio and Amos.

Eytelle and Ossie.

“Oh, she’s going to get her ass demolished.” Trink cracks her knuckles.

“(Y/n) and Finnick.” Caspian calls, watching.

“Good luck.” Trink says, Eytelle and Allio echo her.

You resist the urge to skip to the circle.

When you get there, you crack and stretch every place you can think of, letting Finnick take his time. In the meantime, you go over every single detail that you’ve logged over the years and the past couple of days. Finnick has only been hit twice, both in places that are insignificant. You shouldn’t spend your time focusing on them.

You need to watch the way he moves, and predict his hits before he makes them. If you stay ahead of the game, then Finnick will have no opportunity to get at you. And if he does, it’ll be minor chances that won’t have a single affect on you.

You will come out as the winner of this fight.

Even if that means to put the remainder of your friendship on the line.

You roll your ankles in front of you, stretch your shoulders back and forth. You can feel every little ache in your body. Unfortunately, you’re going to be defensive in some areas, even if you don’t want to be. You were smart to give up during Ossie’s fight when you did. Otherwise you’d be hurting so much worse right now.

There’s a few things that Finnick’s going to want out of this fight. The first is a quick and easy win. He wins this, he keeps his perfect streak of no losses and no major injuries. He gets to impress Mags, and the fight won’t be dragged on for longer than a couple of minutes.

So you need to do the exact opposite.

You’re the first to raise your fists, he follows suit. You can’t help but to smile, “What’s the matter, Finnick? You’re looking a little blue.” his face hardens, “Something happen?”

He moves forward, “Shut up.”

You don’t move, standing your ground, “Sounds like you’re a little scared. Am I suddenly threatening to you?”

His arm twitches, you jump back, out of the way completely just to be safe. You’re not sure if he’s going to pull an Allio and swing at you with his non-dominant hand. You’ve already made that mistake, so it won’t be happening again.

“A little unpredictable?”

If Finnick is twitching, you’ve broken the mask. Finnick is supposed to have smooth movements. He’s always had smooth movements.

“Stop fucking with him and fight.” Caspian barks.

You ignore him. You have a plan, and antagonizing Finnick is on the list. You need him to stay angry, so that his actions aren’t hidden. It’s almost like what Ossie did to Allio on the first day, except you’re being verbal. It’s easier to get under Finnick’s skin this way. You need to stay one step ahead of him.

You move toward Finnick now, remembering the way that he had started all three of his fights. You need to find a way to get Finnick down. As long as he’s standing, he has an advantage on you. There’s no way you’re going to get a good hit on his face, he’ll be able to catch your arm before you’re even close.

Maybe if you get his guard down?

You’re prepared for Finnick’s swing, he likes to take the first hit, usually. You manage to lean out of the way before driving your fist into his stomach, backing off immediately after. His face is a shade of red, slightly twisted in pain. Unlike Allio, Finnick doesn’t absorb hits as well. He’s not used to being hit.

Finnick comes closer, crossing the circle straight instead of slowly shuffling to get to you. You don’t move at first, still trying to stay with the ‘keep your ground’ strategy. But the closer he draws, the more you realize that you can’t escape this. You can’t come up with a plan and stall. You need to give Mags something to make you stick out.

You head towards him too. Finnick is not the only initiate in this room who can match energy.

You jerk to the side, watching as Finnick immediately goes to correct his path so that you’re in his line of sight. You wonder if Finnick really has a need to show off and drag this fight out for Mags. He rarely switches up routine, so you’d like to say that he doesn’t. It’s the whole reason why he can be terrifying sometimes.

Everyone knows how he likes his matches by now, which is probably why Finnick has been put to fight first after the first fight. Because his is the quickest and easiest, you know what to expect to happen and how it’ll end. You can see why people would be afraid of him for this reason. If something isn’t broken, why replace it? Finnick has won all his matches in three punches or less, why try to change that?

It’s more impressive to get someone down without severely injuring them anyway, right? It’s like a demonstration of raw power. And with you being on the opposite end of the spectrum… it’s like you always have something to prove.

You can feel your face drop, eyebrows drawing in.

No, everyone in Dauntless has something to prove. If you don’t, then there’s no point in being here. If you’re not proving that you’re strong, or brave, or--for fuck’s sake--threatening, you won’t be considered an equal. And if there’s anything, anyone ever wants, it’s to be an equal or above.

This brings you to another infuriating realization. Finnick does not see you as his equal.

Without a single thought going into the move, your fist flies across Finnick’s cheek. His head turns, eyes widening. You duck, he misses, you’re back on your feet in time to slam your shoe into his ribs. When you move forward again to keep the rhythm, Finnick backs up, eyes darting across your body.

You fix your hands before he decides that’s a good place to target. You need to make sure he stays away from your nose and stomach. Everything else on your body is free reign, you could give less of a shit. But if you break your nose again, you’re not sure you’ll be able to stop the blood flow this time.

Finnick presses his hand to his ribs for a moment, his hand looks shaky. He stops backing up, now that he’s assessed the damage to his ribs and completely ignored his face. It’s a shame too, Finnick’s always been cute.

He moves towards you, you try not to back up too much. You still need a way to get him down without aiming at his face. You got lucky with the face shot, it will not happen again. Like you, Finnick tends to be more careful with spots that were just hit. If you want to try again, you’d have to find another way to wind up to get there.

Then again, you didn’t even think about it. One second you were standing there, and the next your knuckles were throbbing.

You bounce from side to side, watching him. You just barely catch the way he leans forward, throwing all of his weight into his punch. You twist your head to the side, which changes Finnick’s course of punching your nose, to your jaw instead. You recover better this way, ignoring the complaints from the nerves in your teeth.

Without much of a choice, you punch Finnick’s stomach, using the weight idea that he had originally used. The silence in the room is temporarily disturbed when he gasps, trying to suck in air to replace what you’ve stolen. You squeeze your fist tighter, bringing your arm back to do it again.

Finnick’s hand envelopes your fist, catching it before you land the hit. It isn’t until he’s twisting your arm, do you realize what he’s about to do. It’s the exact same thing he did with Eytelle. Trap her, twist her arm, two punches and she was out like a light.

You need out, right now.

You yank, ignoring the pain in your wrist. Finnick’s raising his arm, face stoic and staring into your eyes. You need to break the mask. You saw his face when you told him what happened at the Choosing Ceremony. You need to do something like that again.

You grab his wrist with your other hand, not pulling away as prominently now. You let tears flood your eyes, “Don’t, please.”

At the softness of your voice, Finnick’s arm isn’t as tensed, his face matching the emotion you’re giving him. He still plans on punching you, just not as hard. Which is good enough for you. He’s fallen for it.

Your left hand hits his chest, full-force, dead-on. He loosens his grip, but not enough for you to regain your right hand. You twist your arm until your wrist is grabbing his, before kicking his legs from underneath him.

He pulls you down with him, making you land on top. The two of you scramble to get the upper hand, but it’s easier for you. You place your hips on top of his, struggling to get your wrist free. He’s got a lock of iron, and no matter how much twisting you do, he doesn’t budge.

You lean forward for a moment, slamming your right foot on top of his wrist, keeping it from moving. This means that you have limited mobility, though. And he’s still got full use of his right hand.

Finnick knows this, his arm is already raising. All he has to do is turn his upper body and he’ll be able to hit your face. You could try to catch his wrist, but he’s got enough force to plow through whatever you’ll be able to do.

You still have access to your left foot.

Right as Finnick unwinds, you slam your foot across his jaw. You can hear his teeth snap against each other, head hitting the wooden floor. He finally releases your wrist though, which is enough for you. His hands cup his face, but it won’t last long.

The first punch is to his chest, making his body cave in temporarily. The next is to his nose, blood running down the side of his face and pooling on the floor. You aim for his nose again, and this time you’re filled with a fluttery pleasurable feeling, hearing the snap fill the air.

A pain explodes across your mouth, bringing tears to your eyes. You back off of Finnick for a moment, allowing him to shove you off of his body. You scoot back, not wanting to close your mouth. But you can’t help it anymore, gritting your teeth to combat the pain. You taste metal immediately.

And see red right after.

You lunge for Finnick, who’s trying to get on his feet. He’s moving slower than usual, which is probably because he’s rubbing the blood from his mouth to avoid the problem you’re currently facing. He doesn’t see you coming. Your body collides with his again, fist raised and slamming against his mouth this time.

Let’s see if he likes how it feels.

The two of you end up in the same position as last time, only he’s twisted at an uncomfortable angle, and you’re straddling his hip. You can’t help yourself, aiming for his cheekbone. The more injuries reside on his face, the more proof it is that you beat Finnick. The more the lesson sinks in.

You are just as good as he is. And he was stupid to think otherwise.

This is his punishment.

The tunnel vision begins as soon as you start a pattern. Each time you blink, his face gets worse. First his nose, then his swollen lips, then the red splotches across his cheekbone. Your knuckles catch his jaw, slamming his head into the ground harder. The more you lean forward, the more leverage you begin to have.

And Finnick is pushing, blocking his face while he tries to find an opening. But it’s hard to block his entire face with just a forearm. You should know, because it’s one of the flaws that he couldn’t pick at.

One hit after the other, your hands begin to coat red. Your knuckles begin to ache, arms becoming sore, too much protest because of how much force you’re using. You can’t help it, there’s no other way to keep him down. Any other place, and he would just get up again.

Your hand raises for his eye, and you get halfway through the move before there’s a pair of hands grabbing your arms, yanking you off of Finnick. You struggle for a moment, but the hands are gone as quickly as they came. The person throws you away from your former friend, and moves in.

It’s Laurel, hovering over him like she doesn’t know where to begin.

There’s throbbing in your temples, a headache beginning to form. You wonder why the room is so quiet at first, then you realize that there’s an intense ringing in your ears, taking it’s time to fade out. By the time you regain your hearing, Laurel is saying something about calling the doctor, Cleo, and having her bring an extra pair of hands to wheel Finnick out.

You can feel a dripping sensation beneath your nose. You reach up to touch the area, and come back with red. You don’t remember your nose getting hit, and you can’t tell if this is your blood or Finnick’s.

“Please.” a whisper fills the room.

Your eyes land on Finnick, who’s nothing but a mess of blood and tears. Did he call the end of the fight? You don’t remember hearing that either. In fact, you don’t think you remember anything. Only the feeling of skin-on-skin contact, over and over and over...

Laurel gently tells him that the fight is over, before she looks over her shoulder at you.

You think you can see disappointment. Or maybe it’s anger.

All you know is that you struggle to stand on your own two legs, smearing blood on the floor. You can feel your legs tremble beneath you. Your hands are the same way, not staying in the same place for longer than half a second, coated in red. Your palms, really, are the only safe place that isn’t touched by Finnick’s blood. You can feel droplets running down the back of your arms.

“Holy shit, (Y/n),”

You look over to see Caspian, drained of color. He’s surprised, why? Did he not see the way you fought Allio? Or does that not compare? Mags doesn’t look the same way, she just stares. You don’t know what to say to either of them, so you don’t. You slowly back out of the white circle.

And then the words come to mind, “I couldn’t lose,” it’s quiet, but loud enough for everyone to hear, “And he needed to.”

You’re not sure if needed is the word, you guess it doesn't really matter.

You won, Finnick lost.

And neither of you can come back from this.

Not anymore.

ANTERIC IS A SPIN-OFF DIVERGENT AU //MASTERLIST//

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apiratewhopines · 3 years

Text

Look at the mesmerizing artwork by @teamhook. Can you spot the villain of this little story?

In the Offing

Chapter 18 — The Stable Boy

Summary: In which our heroine misplaces something

Chapter 18 on AO3

“A guilty conscience means at least you’ve got one

Who will forgive you when I’m gone?”

-Here He Comes, The Wallflowers

“That went further than I intended,” Killian whispered against her throat. She could feel his smile against the sensitive skin and knew that while his words sounded like the beginning of an apology, it was really more of an observation on their current status. Their completely unclothed, totally sated status.

“Hmm, there is something about the motion of the water,” Emma said by way of agreement. She was lazily running her fingers through his mussed hair, appreciating the way the thick, short locks felt silky in her hands. His laughter rumbled through his chest and she gave in to the temptation to run her fingers through the hair there as well.

“I’ll make a pirate out of you yet, Swan.”

“Well, I need to do something special for a man who would trade a secluded afternoon with the most famous actress in the world to spend time with his unknown, magnet-for-trouble house guest.”

She should get up. Lord only knew if there were locks on the door or if they could be interrupted. However, she wasn’t lying about the sensation of being lulled to sleep by the waves. Although sleep was the furthest thing from her mind a few minutes ago.

“House guest? Is that the label we’re going with? How about girlfriend? Lover? Angel? Magnificent creature?” He punctuated each question with a nuzzle against a different section of exposed flesh. “Besides, I am a seafaring man and all sailors know that it’s bad luck to have a redhead on board. Thank goodness I didn’t have to take her out on the open seas. You may never have seen me again.”

“That would have been a shame. I do enjoy seeing you. The more of you, the better.” She allowed her hands to wander over the expanse of skin on display, thankful that the afternoon was warm since there was only one sheet and their picnic blanket from the other day to cover up with. Her eyes had drifted closed during their idle exchange but she cracked open her left to look at him as she felt the bed shift under his movements. He had propped himself up on his elbow and was resting on his side. She was surprised to see his expression had turned serious. “What’s on your mind?”

“I think it’s time we talk. I like the odds of you staying put since you’re naked,” he added with some of his usual swagger.

“If you’re ready,” she told him. Reaching up to cradle his face in her hands, she knew that nothing he said would make any difference to her. She was too far gone already. The only possible outcome was she would fall deeper under his spell. “No matter what, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know what those words mean to me, love.” He pressed a forceful kiss to her lips and returned to his earlier position. His eyes focused out the window and glazed over as he became lost in his memories. When he spoke, his voice had deepened with emotion. “Liam and I moved here a decade ago with one purpose and one purpose only: To find Frederick’s bloody treasure trove. There was nothing for us in England, hadn’t been in years really. I was graduating and Liam was finishing up his enlistment with the Navy. To my surprise, he didn’t doubt for a moment my claims that I could find our fortune on the rocky beaches of Maine. So off we went without a backward glance at the shores of our ancestors.”

She could imagine a younger Killian, full of life and confidence, pulling along his older, more seasoned brother. After all, no one was more jaded than her and she was already prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth.

“It took us more time to find the pub in Storybrooke than it did to find the first treasure hoard. Oh, Emma, I wish you could have been there.” His grin was something that belonged on a schoolboy’s face, not a man in his mid-thirties. Unable to help herself, she reached up and traced it with her fingertips. He captured her wayward digits and pressed a heartfelt kiss to the tips. “Most pirate treasure was in the form of goods like timber, cotton, sugar, or tobacco. But good old Frederick didn’t disappoint. There was enough silver to make us wealthy even by today’s standards. There were some interesting historical bits as well that will one day find their way into a museum but I won’t bore you with those details.”

“Such a gentleman,” she murmured with a chuckle. “What did you do with it? Aren’t you supposed to alert the authorities when you find stuff like that?”

“I want to be a better man for you, Swan, but I will never be a saint. We haven’t disclosed any of our findings. We simply dip in when we need something extra. Some day we’ll let it see the light of day but for now it rests in Davy Jones’ locker.”

“Wait, I know that one. You mean it’s hidden under the sea?”

“No, we put it in my grandfather’s old locker and buried it under the cottage. It’s the only thing my father left behind when he abandoned us all those years ago.” When she rolled her eyes at him, he simply chuckled. “But to answer your question, the laws vary by state and country. Maine is actually quite lenient with their buried treasure as long as it isn’t found on state property. Luckily, two of the piles we found were on my land at the cottage. Technically, I didn’t own the land when I found the first one but it was under contract. I quickly remedied that and it was all above board when I found the second stash a few days later. That one had more coins and a few loose gemstones.”

“Gemstones?” Visions of The Goonies filled Emma’s mind and she had to stop herself from asking about One-Eyed Willy. Because, as fantastical as it seemed, the man who held her heart in his hands also had a knack for finding buried treasure. A gift she hoped he would survive considering someone out there desperately wanted to get their hands on it.

“Yes, darling,” he answered. “I think several have your name on them.”

“No way,” she argued. “I don’t want any of it. What if it’s cursed?”

“Cursed, you say?” He looked thoughtful as the sunlight was momentarily blocked by an errant storm cloud outside. “Yes, I suppose that may be true. Shortly after I uncovered the third pile, I went to the Rabbit Hole to celebrate my victory. Liam had just met Elsa so I was on my own for the most part those days. Not that it mattered, you know how this town takes to new people so I never lacked companionship for a drink or...whatever.”

“Whatever, indeed,” Emma teased in her best impression of his accent. She sensed he was coming to the part of his story that was the most difficult to relay and tried to infuse some humor into the conversation.

With a rueful grin that acknowledged her effort, both with the accent and the humor, he continued. “I met Milah that night. She was a sight to behold in the dim light of the bar, vibrant in a way that seemed too much for this little town.” He narrowed his eyes as they made contact with hers. “I didn’t know at first that she was married. Lads of twenty-four aren’t known for pumping the brakes when a beautiful woman gives them nothing but green lights and I was no different. Honestly, I was probably worse. I was a rash young man far from home and high on my own cleverness. It never occurred to me to question my good fortune or wonder why no one else was vying for her attention.”

“How far gone were you when you found out the truth?”

“Completely,” he confessed with a shaky breath. “The fight we had when I found out, well, it would have melted paint off the walls. I was a dirty little secret, the younger man who captured her attention but not her affections. It was always like that with her. She was so restless. Always moving, always searching. Nothing was ever enough. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t enough either. She wanted someone to rescue her from a life of boredom, someone who would carry her away and show her the world and fill her days with adventures. I couldn’t be that for her but I nearly destroyed myself trying to be.”

He was lost in the past, his eyes distant and filled with pain. Reliving the end of the most meaningful relationship of your life wasn’t easy, Emma definitely understood that. Especially when you gave all you had to it and it still collapsed in pieces around you.

“Her husband came to visit me one night toward the end. Offered me money to break it off,” he scoffed as if the idea still insulted him. “I refused of course, convinced he was the villain in our little drama and that I would win the heart of the fair maiden in the end. At it turned out, I was wrong on both counts. The villain was the fair maiden. Mr. Gold and I were both pawns in her scheme to escape a life she hated. When she had the opportunity, she took the money and ran. In my kinder moments, I feel sorry for her knowing she must have felt trapped. But then I remember the way the whole town thought I killed her and any kindness I’m able to scare up disappears. Just like she did.”

“You’ve never heard from her? You have no idea what happened to her?”

“No. When it ended, it ended badly. She wanted me to take her husband’s money so we could leave town together, was angry when I refused to be chased off into the night. It was then that I realized she didn’t care who she was with, as long as she wasn’t in Storybrooke. It was a tough blow to stomach. I only saw her one time after that, a couple of nights before she disappeared. She showed up at the cottage to apologize. Told me she would never regret our relationship but it was time to move on. She left the map as a parting gift. I knew then that she meant to leave. Make no mistake, Emma, Milah is alive and well somewhere on this globe, living her life to the fullest and not sparing a thought for anyone in this town.”

“Then her absence is no great loss,” she observed.

He shook his head slowly as if he wasn’t sure he agreed with her assessment. “The day after she stopped by for the last time was when I pulled my idiotic stunt. I got drunk and tried to sail directly into a Nor’easter. Liam caught me at the docks and insisted on coming with me when he couldn’t talk me out of leaving. Our boat capsized about a mile up the coast. I’m only glad I was able to pull him to shore.”

“You saved his life? One-handed in a gale?”

With a bitter twist of his lips, he bit out, “Not sure you’ll allowed to claim such a thing when the only reason a person was in danger in the first place is because of you. He was trapped under the broken mast. I’m still not sure how I got him out but I crushed my hand in the process. Got a pretty nasty infection and the doctors told me the hand couldn’t be saved and if I wasn’t lucky, I’d lose the arm too. Seemed like a no-brainer.”

She felt the tension gripping him and trailed her hands down his left arm, running her fingers over the smooth scars she felt there. He didn’t pull away but he didn’t relax either. “We’re all scarred in one way or another, Killian. Yours are a bit more on display than the average person but this shows that you are a survivor. I’m beginning to think it might be a bad idea for me to find Milah. She has a lot to answer for.”

“You know, I’ve tried to track her down but I’m afraid I don’t have your abilities at finding those who don’t wish to be found. I thought I had tracked her to Paris a few years ago, there was a new artist there that had her style of sketching but I could never be sure and they disappeared before I could make contact. I still have a file on my desktop with the various artwork I found in the gallery catalogues. I always thought I’d pick up the search again later.”

A little afraid to hear his answer, she nevertheless asked, “Why do you want to find her?”

“At first, I missed her. I wanted to hear her voice. Pathetic, right?” When Emma simply gave him a look that clearly disagreed, he smiled at her. “Hmm, my secretly romantic Swan. You have a tender heart that I adore but don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know.” He looked at her with such fondness that she was tempted to go for round two right then. However, on some level, she knew this conversation was more important than their physical connection.

Unaware of her thoughts, he admitted, “Lately I’ve wanted closure. Not for the relationship. It’s been dead and gone for years. For the case, in order to clear my name. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not particularly proud of since I arrived here but I would like any doubt removed about this crime.”

“If you don’t mind sharing, perhaps we can find her together,” she offered shyly.

“Emma, everything I have is yours,” Killian told her. With a laugh he added, “Including the gold bars I found in the third treasure hoard I uncovered.” Taking her in his arms, he held her as they laid in the Captain’s Quarters in peaceful silence.

—

The rain that had threatened in the afternoon made good on its promise by the time they arrived back at the cottage with carryout from the pizza place. Fortunately, it was the kind of summer rain that moved through quickly and left the air feeling crisp and clean.

After her third slice of pepperoni, Emma leaned back in the patio chair and sighed. “I’m supposed to meet Graham tonight to search the woods. I guess I should head back to Mary Margaret’s place eventually anyway.”

With a quizzical look, Killian took a sip of his iced tea. “A date with another man and moving out? Have I done something to offend you?”

“Very funny,” she retorted. “I think we’ve gotten things a little out of order but there’s no reason to rush into this.”

“Darling, we have already fallen headfirst into the fast lane. There’s no reason to get scared now. Besides, I happen to know that David and Mary Margaret have reached the toothbrush phase of their relationship. You will be taking your sanity into your own hands if you head back there tonight. David is a loud...sleeper.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Emma said with a shiver of disgust. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to stay with you for the foreseeable future. If you don’t have any other plans, you can also join me on my date. We’re looking for bodies in the woods.”

With a grimace, Killian studied her profile. “Okay but only if I get to plan our next outing. A man likes some mystery in a relationship but dead bodies are a little overboard.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Jones.”

Forewarned about the activities for the evening consisting mainly of traversing hilly, overgrown terrain, Emma did a better job of dressing the part. Outfitted with flashlights from Killian’s emergency kit, she knew if the search lasted beyond the light of the midsummer sun they wouldn’t injure themselves in the dark at least.

Arriving at the Sheriff’s station shortly thereafter, Emma was surprised to find it empty and unlocked. Since another brief summer rain was moving through town, she texted Graham and they decided to wait it out at the station. Twenty minutes later, the rain was over but she still hadn’t heard from the sheriff. “That’s weird. He’s usually better about replying.”

“Text him a lot, do you?”

With a amused shake of her head, she admonished him. “Now is not the time to be jealous, Killian. He’s a friend and, unless I’m mistaken, he’s your friend too.”

“He’s not an enemy,” Killian conceded grudgingly. With a hint of teasing, he said, “But perhaps he is competition.” He moved around the station nonchalantly as if he might find the sheriff under a pile of papers or resting in one of the cells at the back of the open room.

With a deep breath, she walked over to him and linked her arms around his neck. “Not in my eyes. I’m not sure how to convince you that you’ve ruined me for other men.”

“I can think of some persuasive methods that will get your point across.” His roguish eyebrow was cocked in a way that she always found so endearing and sexy. “Why don’t we postpone this search party and you can give it your best shot? I promise to keep an open mind.”

“Keeping an open mind has never been your problem,” she laughed, playfully punching him in the arm. “I have a job to do so stop trying to distract me. We’ll have to go without Graham. We’re losing daylight and I’m running out of time before Henry comes home.”

What she didn’t add was the crossroads his arrival would bring. As much as she had fought against this thing with Killian, now that she was in, she was all in. While the four hour drive to Boston was not an insurmountable distance, she found the idea of being separated distasteful. She knew it was a conversation they needed to have and she wasn’t avoiding it exactly. Her rational mind kept reminding her that they had only met a month ago and people didn’t fall in love and move to different states after a few weeks of knowing someone. Especially single mothers who had children to think about.

Having officially given up on the sheriff, they headed toward the town line. Minutes later, they arrived to find the cruiser already parked on the narrow shoulder, driver side door open and cabin lights on. Jumping out of the truck, Emma exchanged a worried look with Killian and observed, “This looks like trouble.”

He followed her to the cruiser and placed his hand on the front seat. “It’s dry so he probably didn’t get here until after the rain moved through.”

“Graham!” Shouting his name repeatedly probably wasn’t an effective strategy but damn if she could think of anything else to do. Settling in the driver’s seat she found the keys still in the ignition and his walkie on the dashboard. Picking it up, she paged David. Within a minute, he answered, confusion evident in his tone.

“Emma? Why do you have Graham’s walkie?”

“We found his cruiser at the town line. No sign of him. We’re going out to the woods to search but you probably want to get here as quickly as possible. I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole scene.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me.”

True to his word, David’s battered old Ford pick-up pulled behind their truck in record time. Mary Margaret had made the journey with him and as soon as the car was in park, she rushed to Emma’s side. “Still no sign of him?”

“No,” Killian answered with his eyes scanning the thick woods.

“He headed this direction and he was in a hurry,” the brunette observed, her finger pointing toward an invisible trail as if it were obvious. At Emma’s silent question, she explained, “All-State Orienteering champion and the best tracker in town besides Ruby. Knowing your way around the forest is still a skill set that’s valued in Maine.”

“Sure. I mean, why not?” Emma said sarcastically. “Why don’t you lead the way then? We’ve already wasted time waiting around the station.”

Grabbing the flashlight that David handed her, Mary Margaret stepped off the shoulder and moved noiselessly into the woods. She would occasionally murmur an observation regarding a broken twig or boot print in the soft ground. Emma made a point to try to locate whatever signs the other woman noted on their pursuit but was only able to see the tracks occasionally. In no time at all, they had circled back up the hill to come out at the road not even a quarter of a mile from the cruiser. “Great. Back were we started.”

“No,” Mary Margaret disagreed. “Look here.” She squatted down and shined a beam of light on the asphalt.

Sure enough, Emma saw some kind of liquid that had dripped on the road. “What is that? Motor oil?” Reaching down, she lightly pressed her finger in one of the droplets and smeared it against her thumb. Looking at the bright red color, a chill ran through her. “Blood.”

“And tire tracks from an SUV if I had to guess,” David added, his light illuminating the wide tracks partially visible on the wet dirt of the shoulder. “Someone took him.” He immediately started back toward his truck, getting on his radio and calling the other deputy to round up some volunteers and meet them out at the woods.

—

Entering the cottage at four the following morning, Emma dropped on the couch in exhaustion. They hadn’t found any other clues as to the whereabouts of the sheriff or who grabbed him off the deserted road. Had he been followed out to the town line? Is that why he hadn’t responded to her text? Why would he have not reached out to her or David if he thought he was in trouble?

Settling next to her, Killian pushed her hair back behind her ear. “We won’t find him by staying up and worrying. You need to rest.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that this has to do with me.”

“With you? Why do you think so? Didn’t you say he found something in the woods? Something related to a disappearance that happened when you were a baby.”

“I know it’s crazy...”

“I didn’t say that, love. If you think this has something to do with you, I wouldn’t bet against your instincts.” Smiling at her with an expression of full support, he added, “You’ll figure it out. But it doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“He could be out there hurt, Killian, or worse. I think we need to regroup. Go through everything again. I must have missed something. And we’re going to need all hands on deck. The situation is escalating. When are Liam and Elsa supposed to come back?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Perhaps you should convince him to come back sooner.”

“That will be a pleasant conversation,” Killian muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll call Elsa instead. She’s the more reasonable one.”

“Coward,” she whispered against his lips as she kissed him softly. She would never get tired of this, having him within arm’s reach. His very presence made all her worries melt into the background.

“You have more than enough bravery for the both of us,” he complimented her. “But I’ll do as you ask. After all, he’s the one who brought you into this mess. Not that I’m complaining.”

“See that you don’t. I have ways of dealing with complainers,” she ordered tartly, forcing herself to get lost in this moment with him. As she got up to walk away, his fingers hooked into the pocket of her jeans and tugged her back into his lap.

“Saucy. I like that.”

“Behave, Dr. Jones.”

There weren’t any coherent words spoken as the early morning light started to break over the horizon. He had decided to disobey, misbehaving in the most delightful ways.

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bewaretheidesofmarchyall · 4 years

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Soulmate Shenanigans

So, lucky me, I found this list of prompts!

Unlucky me, it was for a September event. Surprise, surprise, this is not September

That isn’t going to stop me from doing this, though!

So, without further ado, prompt number one!

Your Soulmate’s name is written on your wrist or palm

Warnings for death mentions galore and drowning, as well as something that isn’t drug use, but if drug use is a triggering topic for you I wouldn’t recommend you read

Not as angsty as these warnings would suggest, but there is still Angst

I don’t know how it got angsty I just work here

World building

The first recorded instance of a palm mark was when Lady Natalia of Venice nearly drowned in a canal

She’d been on her way home from a party alongside her fiance when she “tripped” (the word “tripped” here means “Was pushed by her fiance for financial reasons”) into the river. Her husband-to-be quickly exited the scene, leaving her to be weighed down by her skirts and die.

Angela (forger of swords and mixer of poisons, just happened to be in the neighborhood when she heard a scream and a splash) had other plans. She dove into the water, saving Natalia and cutting her hand in the process.

The two women spent a good deal of time together after that, the scientific Natalia claiming that she only wanted to know why her name was on Angela’s hand.

Some historians claim that the two were platonic soulmates. While this is possible, and platonic soulmates have a long and wonderful history, no one with common sense believes this to be the case

They exchanged love letters that were quite clear that the attraction was a romantic one.

Some historians also claim that there isn’t enough evidence to suggest that they killed the fiance.

Those historians are wrong.

Anyway, in modern days 97% of the population has a palm mark with the name of their soulmate

The tattoo industry has never had so many illegal opportunities

When your soulmate dies, the name doesn’t scar. It doesn’t blister, burn, or black out. All that happens is a thin, impersonal line crossing their name out. Some people don’t notice who they lost for days.

There’s a process to remove palm marks. However, it’s illegal and possibly fatal for the soulmate being removed.

Our Characters

Roman: Roman was confused by the name of his soulmate.

Who names their kid “Janus”?

Am I soulmates with a roman deity? The heck?? SO MANY QUESTIONS AND SO LITTLE ANSWERS

Roman was so excited to have a soulmate. He kept entire journals filled with things he wanted to tell Janus, part diary, part scrapbook, and part love letter. He would doodle hearts around his palm mark.

One night, in April, Roman went to sleep. In the morning, there was a line across his palm.

His soulmate had died, and he hadn’t even seen the line drawn. He broke a little.

Enough said.

Roman took the passion that he’d had for his Janus and channeled it into his acting. If he couldn’t get love, he’d get a fucking Tony Award.

Remus: Remus had been annoyed by his brother’s complaining.

“Oh, boo-hoo, my soulmate has a rare name. That means that as soon as I meet him, I’ll know exactly who he is! Roman, DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE NAMED LOGAN”

Remus was annoyed that his soulmate had the audacity to have a common name. In theory, he could date all of the 18,000 Logans in the country, but does he really have the time?

He and his brother bicker about this for a solid seven years, until the argument abruptly ends. Ever since then, he’s been on his brother’s side in everything he can.

Logan: It made total sense for Logan to not have a soulmate.

His soulmate would have been unlucky, being stuck with a know-it-all like him, at least according to most of the people he knew.

This was a simple solution to the puzzle.

It wasn’t helpful to waste time wishing for a different one.

Janus: Janus had a whole plan for when he met his soulmate.

He wrote it down in 10th grade

Step 1: Wear gloves

Step 2: Find Roman

Step 3: Say something witty

Step 4: Remove gloves, revealing palm

Step 5: This little mystery is over and done with, and hopefully my soulmate isn’t boring

This was how a lot of Janus’s plans would work. Solid ideas, but missing bits and important pieces. This includes his heist plan he scribbled out on a napkin on an April day.

Step 1: Find local con-artists

Step 2: Pretend to be a person with money (which I obviously do not have)

Step 3: Scam them

Step 4: Don’t get murdered on the way out

Step 5: Profit

He pulled off steps 1-3 with ease, but step 4 proved to be a sticking point.

As he escaped via the river, with money in his hands and a “so long, suckers!” on his lips for drama, he thought nothing could go wrong

Fun fact: It’s rather common for con artists to fatally give away their positions by yelling “so long, suckers!”. Just ask Odysseus as he sailed away from the Cyclops.

The con artists shot wildly at his boat, blowing it to pieces. As he went down with the ship, he barely had enough time to think this can’t be happening, and fuck this and I’m going to die at the same age as Philip fucking Hamilton and I really don’t want to go to hell before his lungs filled with water and his heart stopped.

And Janus died.

For a solid two minutes.

Technically, death is when your heart ceases to beat. Even though people have been revived after their hearts have stopped, it is death, and enough to draw a line across a sleeping Roman’s hand.

Janus, however, was saved by an old man, who dragged him out of the river and forced the water out of his lungs. The old man took one look at the teenager and decided that he needed better role models, which is how Patton took Janus under his wing and saved his life in more ways than one.

The Actual Plot

Roman is in a city production of Hamlet. His brother is in the audience, his friend is fixing the lighting, and he’s ready to go.

It’s a pretty good performance, by all accounts, but especially according to Janus.

He’d already been watching the main actor intently, smiling from the mezzanine, but he was even more intrigued when he read the playbill and realized his name was Roman. He could barely pay attention to act five as he planned out the lies he’d tell to get backstage.

Somehow, he didn’t get caught sneaking around, and managed to catch a glimpse of Roman’s hand in a mirror. Janus. He really is his soulmate!

Janus walks over to Roman, says something that isn’t as witty as he would have liked (but not as bad as it could have been), and removes his glove.

Now, he expected his soulmate could have a variety of reactions. He didn’t expect Roman to yell “Not today, ghost!”, throw a prop skull at him, and sprint out of the theater. Janus caught a glimpse of the line through his name.

He was reasonably sure that he wasn’t dead? He could see his reflection in mirrors, he could consume salt, people tended to notice his existence!

Jan didn’t have much time to mull over this, as he was about to be forcibly removed from the greenroom. Logan just wanted to fix the lighting and live his life, but when strangers break into the backstage and upset Roman...

Jan skedaddles as Logan chases him out of the building. The nerd has almost caught the intruder when he runs directly into a man in a green jacket holding a coffee cup full of ketchup

Why did he have a coffee cup full of ketchup?

Remus and Logan bicker as Janus escapes. When Remus realizes Logan’s name, he asks a few questions, but Logan quickly shows his two blank palms, and the matter is settled.

Everything seems over and done with.

Meanwhile, Roman is freaking out. His mind is essentially in a loop of The fuck? The fuck? The actual fuck? He’s completely unsure of what to do. Is he seeing ghosts? Does he only believe he’s seeing ghosts? Is he sane or not?

Remus checks up on his brother at around 3 am, only to find him, exhausted, and writing in his old soulmate journal. Roman tries to explain what just happened, but the narrative told isn’t exactly coherent. All Remus can gather is that

1. His brother thinks that his dead soulmate is alive

2. This is because some guy snuck backstage and told him that he was the dead soulmate in question

3. This was probably the guy Logan was chasing

Remus convinced Roman to go to sleep, and walked out of the apartment with blood on his mind. He was sure that his brother was being manipulated.

This guy might not be dead now, but he would be soon.

Meanwhile, Janus proves that he can, in fact, cross a salt circle, so he must be alive! Right?? He also can’t get a certain actor out of his head, and wonders what his next move should be.

Remus recruits Logan to help him do some investigation in case Shady Liar Dude shows up. They go on several stakeouts together, in equally improbable locations. Maybe the two of them got too far into the secret agent aesthetic. Logan had always wanted to be a detective as a kid.

They fall for each other, and fast

Roman is spiraling, and a chat with Remus has him convinced that he was wrong, and Janus really is dead. He curses himself for believing in the pretty fairy-tale. Yes, because love wins in the end and they all live happily ever after. He has a performance tomorrow.

And it’s really time he got rid of the old scar.

You don’t hang around Remus without knowing where the black market locations are. It’s relatively easy to find the cure for palm marks.

He paces around backstage, holding a journal in one hand and a small bottle in the other. The warning that destroying the palm mark destroys the soulmate causes terror to rise in his throat, even though he knows that Janus is dead and can never read his love letters no matter how many stars he wishes on.

He finally makes his choice when Remus and Logan visit him before the performance. They give him looks of pity. He doesn’t want to be pitied.

According to the label, effects should take place over the next several hours. So, he waits for Janus’s name to disappear from his hand.

Janus managed to hustle someone with orchestra seats for their tickets. Despite not getting off on the right foot with his soulmate, he isn’t going to let him go that easily. And Roman’s brilliant performance that night just reinforces that. If he was good weeks ago, he was a star now. Janus was transfixed.

When the curtain call came, Janus was the first on his feet for a standing ovation. Remus and Logan noticed him, and pushed their way through the applauding audience. Both of them almost hoped that he’d get away again so they could continue spending time together.

Roman notices him. They lock eyes. Janus waves as though to say Hi, I’m here, apologies for the awkwardness of our meet-cute, but coffee? Roman gives him a look of disdain, as if to say I can’t believe I thought you were my soulmate, you con artist. He intends to look away and bask in the applause, but before he can do that, Janus collapeses.

Roman is confused at first, and then it clicks. That’s his soulmate. That’s his Janus.

And he killed him.

Pandemonium breaks out. Roman leaps off the stage, Remus freezes in panicked comprehension, the crowd scatters, and several people try to reach the dying man.

Logan gets there first. His mind scans memories of hours spent in libraries, researching everything there is to know about palm marks. Why didn’t some people have them? How did you lose them? How could you get them back?

He instructs Remus and Roman to help carry Janus to the greenroom.

They race him there, everyone in a state of panic (including Logan, but more importantly he has a job to do). Logan tells Remus to run and get a few basic ingredients, and they wait. Time moves much too fast and much too slow, until he comes back.

Logan works chemical wonders, piecing together Roman’s hand until everything is stabilized.

A vicious scar, the type you’d except if your soulmate was really gone, forms on Roman’s palm, and it will stay there for the rest of his days.

Janus comes back from death’s door for the second time.

After The Drama

Logan and Remus eventually move past the “but I don’t have a soulmate” “and yet I still am in love with you” dithering and go on a date that isn’t for the purpose of stalking a supposed stalker.

They go to the aquarium.

Meanwhile, there’s a lot to work out between Roman and Janus. From “wow, you’re not dead” to “wow, I nearly murdered you”, we don’t have time to unpack all that.

But they do get coffee. And they talk.

Soulmate stuff! I really like soulmate aus, despite not liking to write straight up romance

It’s weird

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

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moonshinesapphic · 4 years

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So you were disappointed in Throne of Glass...

(DISCLAIMER: This post does not intend to offend anyone who loves ToG. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions and likes and dislikes and is allowed to express that. This post is meant to share books that have similar qualities to ToG for people who were disappointed in the series, like myself, but anyone who does like ToG can absolutely find great recs here! However, if you don’t want to hear anything ToG critical I recommend skipping over this post. Thank you!)

So last week I finally got rid of all my ToG books. I was mostly relieved that I now have more room on my bookshelf but I also felt a little sad. It was a series I really enjoyed when I first read it two years ago, and on some level it will always have a special place for me. It was one of the many books that got me back into reading after a five year slump, it’s the reason I became friends with the wonderful Nicole (@/rainbowbooktheif on Instagram) who was the first person irl to make me feel less alone as a bookish nerd, and it, unintentionally, helped me hone my critical reading skills. However, I slowly began to care less and less for the story and characters as the series progressed and ended up not reading the last two books because I just stopped caring. I wondered why a series that I loved so much in the beginning went down hill so fast for me, but in the process of falling out of love with ToG I realized I wasn’t the only one who felt this way about the series! The lack of diversity (and misrepresentation/mistreatment of diverse characters when they were there), sexism, lazy editing and lackluster world building, among other things, came up many times for me and other former ToG fans when discussing why we became disappointed in the series. But the pitch for the book (badass morally gray assassin taking down a tyrant king for her freedom, so cool!) and some of the elements (romance, female friendships, magic, trials) sounded so amazing even though in the end it was executed poorly. So, I decided to compile a list of books that I have read and loved that have some elements and themes of ToG. This list is by no means exhaustive and is limited by the books that I have read (which is not many when you look at how many books exist in the world) so I would love to see your recommendations! Please feel free to add onto this post any recs that you have! Now onto the list!

1) Graceling by Kristin Cashore

I read this book the summer before I started ToG and completely loved it. It was one of the early books that got me back into reading and it was honestly the perfect book for that. It was exciting and I couldn’t put it down. It follows an assassin for a tyrannical king who begins to realize her own gifts for killing are more then she ever thought they could be. Cashore does a fantastic job developing the lead character Katsa and the ways that she dolls out information to the readers slowly is impeccable. While this book is technically the first in a trilogy of books taking place in the Graceling world, it can be read as a standalone fantasy (which I feel like are very rare). Another part of this book that I really loved was the romance. I usually don’t read very many straight romances (due to the sexist/problematic aspects many of the ones that I’ve read have) but the relationship between Katsa and Po is honestly a breath of fresh air when you’re used to a lot of toxicity and sexism with cishet romances in books. The two take care of each other and their relationship is very balanced. There are no gender roles pushed on either of them and they truly grow to become a team throughout the story and it’s wonderful to see! I would consider Katsa and Po, while canonically cis (there isn’t any explicit queer rep in this book), both quite androgynous characters who often express themselves in a fluid manner which I really appreciate. Over all this is an amazing classic YA fantasy that everyone should check out!

Synopsis: “Katsa has been able to kill a man with her bare hands since she was eight—she’s a Graceling, one of the rare people in her land born with an extreme skill. As niece of the king, she should be able to live a life of privilege, but Graced as she is with killing, she is forced to work as the king’s thug.

She never expects to fall in love with beautiful Prince Po.

She never expects to learn the truth behind her Grace—or the terrible secret that lies hidden far away . . . a secret that could destroy all seven kingdoms with words alone.

With elegant, evocative prose and a cast of unforgettable characters, debut author Kristin Cashore creates a mesmerizing world, a death-defying adventure, and a heart-racing romance that will consume you, hold you captive, and leave you wanting more.”

2) Three Dark Crowns by Kendare Blake

This book is the first in a five book series about three royal sisters raised to battle it out for the throne. I must admit the first book in the series is a little lackluster due to the fact that it’s setting up a lot but the second book just blows everything out of the water in a fantastic way. This series is dark and bloody and intriguing. I got completely hooked on this series and it brought out a lot of emotion to the point where I was gasping and shouting and throwing my book around as I was reading it (I got very invested)! I think that’s one of the things SJM can do well is get you hooked on her characters and Kendare can do the same (if not better). I love the dynamic between the sisters, this book does a great job at exploring the darker side of familial and female/female relationships (mostly platonic.. there isn’t very much queer rep unfortunately) that I really appreciate. The magic system and wolrdbuliding are also something that I enjoyed and I though was quite well done. Kendare does a good job at weaving in worldbuilding and magic system seamlessly into the story and I love that so much. Three Dark Crowns is just a fun and exciting series that I think anyone who loves fantasy YA should check out!

Synopsis: “ In every generation on the island of Fennbirn, a set of triplets is born—three queens, all equal heirs to the crown and each possessor of a coveted magic. Mirabella is a fierce elemental, able to spark hungry flames or vicious storms at the snap of her fingers. Katharine is a poisoner, one who can ingest the deadliest poisons without so much as a stomachache. Arsinoe, a naturalist, is said to have the ability to bloom the reddest rose and control the fiercest of lions.

But becoming the Queen Crowned isn’t solely a matter of royal birth. Each sister has to fight for it. And it’s not just a game of win or lose…it’s life or death. The night the sisters turn sixteen, the battle begins.

The last queen standing gets the crown. “

3) The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon

So a little disclaimer, this book is one of my favorite fantasy books of all time. I read it over the span of a few months last summer (its a long one guys...800+ pages) and it was one of the greatest, most well thought out fantasy books I’d ever had the pleasure of reading. I loved the characters, the world, the plot, the magic system etc. I loved everything! There’s some great political intrigue, dragon riders, epic battles, prophecies, weddings, funerals, romance and just general badassery and kickassery happening. Shannon clearly put so much time and effort into this book and it shows. That kind of dedication that shows is something that I really appreciate in a book, especially a fantasy book. Another aspect that I loved so so much is the diversity in this book. It came so naturally and didn’t at all feel like tokenism. The characters, with their differing genders, ethnicities, sexualities, ages, and nationalities etc, and their relationships with each other are truly what made the story. This book also has one of the BEST f/f romances I’ve ever read (as a queer woman I really loved that representation so much and felt very connected to both of those characters). Priory is a long one but if you have the time I highly recommend it.

Synopsis: “ A world divided. A queendom without an heir. An ancient enemy awakens.

The House of Berethnet has ruled Inys for a thousand years. Still unwed, Queen Sabran the Ninth must conceive a daughter to protect her realm from destruction – but assassins are getting closer to her door.

Ead Duryan is an outsider at court. Though she has risen to the position of lady-in-waiting, she is loyal to a hidden society of mages. Ead keeps a watchful eye on Sabran, secretly protecting her with forbidden magic.

Across the dark sea, Tané has trained to be a dragonrider since she was a child, but is forced to make a choice that could see her life unravel.

Meanwhile, the divided East and West refuse to parley, and forces of chaos are rising from their sleep. “

4) Truthwitch by Susan Dennard

As a queer woman, I’m always a little on edge when someone mentions f/f friendship in a book. This is entirely because of the erasure many many f/f romances experience when they are just brushed off as friendships (we’ve all heard the term “gal pals”). It’s frustrating and even though I love a good f/f friendship when the f/f romances get erased and replaced by friendships it gets exhausting. However, Truthwitch is a true f/f friendship that I can fully get behind! Dennard is an author that I had been following for writing tips for a while before I finally picked up her book. I knew that she’s someone who is invested in making her series diverse, even if she herself doesn’t fit into those categories, and accepts criticism because she want’s to do her characters justice. That’s something I really appreciate seeing from white cishet authors and is one of the reasons I picked up Truthwitch. It’s so much fun and the heart of the story truly is the relationship between the two leads Safi and Iseult. Their friendship reminds me a lot of my relationship with my friends. Books about f/f relationships (romantic or otherwise) are few and far between so I really love that this book exists. Strong platonic relationships are so often pushed aside for cishet romantic ones so it’s SO refreshing to see a series where the book would not exist without Safi and Iseult’s bond. They are truly soulmates and their relationship with each other is the most important one in their lives and that is just beautiful. Not to mention this book has got an awesome magic system and is building up to an amazing fantasy series! There’s pirates, priestesses, princes and, of course, witches! It’s loads of fun all around!

Synopsis: “ Young witches Safiya and Iseult have a habit of finding trouble. After clashing with a powerful Guildmaster and his ruthless Bloodwitch bodyguard, the friends are forced to flee their home.

Safi must avoid capture at all costs as she's a rare Truthwitch, able to discern truth from lies. Many would kill for her magic, so Safi must keep it hidden - lest she be used in the struggle between empires. And Iseult's true powers are hidden even from herself.

In a chance encounter at Court, Safi meets Prince Merik and makes him a reluctant ally. However, his help may not slow down the Bloodwitch now hot on the girls' heels. All Safi and Iseult want is their freedom, but danger lies ahead. With war coming, treaties breaking and a magical contagion sweeping the land, the friends will have to fight emperors and mercenaries alike. For some will stop at nothing to get their hands on a Truthwitch. “

5) Monstress by Marjorie Liu (Writer) and Sana Takeda (Illustrator)

Another disclaimer! This book is my favorite graphic novel, period. There is really nothing like Monstress out there and I think that it’s criminally underrated. Liu and Takeda are the perfect combo of writer/artist to make this GN come together. I’m constantly in awe of the world, characters, and story Liu built and the frankly stunning art Takeda creates to go along with it. It’s steampunk and dark and dirty and beautiful. The lead character, Maika, is one of the few truly morally gray characters that I’ve read. Her decisions will make you question if you’re a good person because you still love her despite the fact that she just killed that guy... and that guy... and those other guys. This graphic novel series is very reflective of the dark animes (like Tokyo Ghoul and Castlevania) that we are seeing more recently and I personally believe Monstress would make a fantastic animated series if it were ever to get an adaption. This book has also some great representation of queer women (Maika herself is a queer, disabled, WoC). It’s totally the norm for the world and all of the lead female characters are queer, which I just love. This story has amazing woldbulding, magic, characters etc. It’ll give you everything from giant dead gods, to talking cats with multiple tails, to demonically possessed teenage girls who need to eat people. It’s honestly amazing. (I would give a major trigger warning for blood/gore so as long as you know you can handle that I think you should check it out!)

Synopsis: “ Set in an alternate matriarchal 1900's Asia, in a richly imagined world of art deco-inflected steam punk, MONSTRESS tells the story of a teenage girl who is struggling to survive the trauma of war, and who shares a mysterious psychic link with a monster of tremendous power, a connection that will transform them both and make them the target of both human and otherworldly powers. “

6) The Bridge Kingdom by Danielle L. Jensen

I never thought I would love a cishet romance as much as I love this one but here I am. The Bridge Kingdom is not really the kind of book I would normally pick up but it was on sale on kindle so I thought “why not!” And I was not disappointed. This story follows the assassin princess, Lara, who was raised to be married off to her fathers rival kingdom and kill the king. However, things get sticky when she begins to actually fall for the king and starts to realize that her father isn’t exactly who he says he is. Not only was this romance steamy as hell (this is an ADULT book folks so there are some explicit sex scenes, beware) but the world is super cool. The political intrigue was something I really enjoyed and I loved to see the world unfold from Lara’s eyes. I also totally loved Lara’s character. She’s complicated and cutthroat but ultimately want’s to do what’s right and is a character made to change and develop. I usually don’t go for that character trope that Lara fits into (beautiful and badass and despite being the MCs they somehow end up being very bland...) but Jensen managed to create a very mature and ever changing version of the YA trope that I ended up loving completely. If you love steamy fantasy romances with cool worlds and intriguing characters this is absolutely the book for you!

Synopsis: “ Lara has only one thought for her husband on their wedding day: I will bring your kingdom to its knees. A princess trained from childhood to be a lethal spy, Lara knows that the Bridge Kingdom represents both legendary evil - and legendary promise. The only route through a storm-ravaged world, the Bridge Kingdom controls all trade and travel between lands, allowing its ruler to enrich himself and deprive his enemies, including Lara's homeland. So when she is sent as a bride under the guise of fulfilling a treaty of peace, Lara is prepared to do whatever it takes to fracture the defenses of the impenetrable Bridge Kingdom.

But as she infiltrates her new home - a lush paradise surrounded by tempest seas - and comes to know her new husband, Aren, Lara begins to question where the true evil resides. Around her, she sees a kingdom fighting for survival, and in Aren, a man fiercely protective of his people. As her mission drives her to deeper understanding of the fight to possess the bridge, Lara finds the simmering attraction between her and Aren impossible to ignore. Her goal nearly within reach, Lara will have to decide her own fate: Will she be the destroyer of a king or the savior of her people? “

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thechosenburrito · 3 years

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The Heart Gambit (Dennor): 5-Too Clever by Half

Word Count: 1,460

Description:

Lukas and Mathias agreed to go to the park together, but are bogged down thinking about personal issues.

Author’s Note:

Yessss more Dennor. I’m having so much fun writing so I hope you guys like it. I’m so excited to write more this summer so let me know what you want me to write more about! Notes, asks, and comments mean so much!

Previous: 4-Treat me like a Fool

The sun peeked between the curtains in Lukas's room. He stirred a bit, regretting the promise he made to Mathias. He pulled himself out of bed and started heating some water for coffee. It was, unfortunately, instant coffee but it was the best thing he could do considering the circumstances. He threw open the curtains to let the light fill the room and was met with complaints from Emil.

"You know, just because you get up at the ass crack of dawn, doesn't mean the rest of the world does." Emil groaned as he rolled over in bed.

"I'm making coffee."

Emil set up and started pulling on some day clothes.

"I hate you."

Lukas poured two cups of instant coffee and left one on the nightstand next to Emil.

"I hate you less now."

Lukas sat at the edge of his bed and looked out the window. He sipped his coffee and began thumbu=ing through the book at the foot of his bed.

"I take it you're up this early because you're going to the park with Mathias," Emil said, blowing on his coffee?

"You heard that?"

"I had my ear pressed to the door of course I did."

Lukas closed the book.

"Well, I did promise to go. That doesn't mean I wanna go," Lukas replied in a bit of a huff.

Emil stood up and pulled on a shirt.

"Yeah but you can still say no."

"I know that."

Emil sat back on the bed and started trying his shoes.

"Well, then if you don't wanna go, call him and cancel."

"I'm not gonna do that."

"Why not?"

"Because..."

"Because you wanna go."

"I didn't say that-"

"Admit you wanna go with him!" Emil almost screamed, pulling on a jacket.

"Why are you like this!?...and where are you going?" Lukas said, looking up from his book to see that Emil was fully dressed and heading towards the door.

"You need to admit that you have feelings for 'that asshole' because you keep repressing it and messing with your brain! It's just gonna make your life worse to ignore it." Emil said opening the door.

"And I'm going sightseeing. We're in Italy, and I'm probably never coming back here again so I'm gonna enjoy it."

"Have fun on your little park date or whatever."

Emil stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Lukas stood up from the table and threw himself back on the bed, burying his face in his hands.

"What's wrong with me?" he muttered under his breath.

Was this a date? No, right? Definitely not a date. It was just two people going to a park to hang out. Two people who just so happened to be competing in the biggest Chess competition in the world. Two people who also happened to share an oddly intimate moment yesterday. Wait that sounded wrong. Not like that. He rolled over in the bed. It's fine, they're just friends. What's the worst that could happen? If Mathias didn't have feelings for him then everything would be fine. Lukas would just keep living his life and after the competition, he would never have to see Mathias again. But if Mathias did have feelings...things would be much more complicated. As much as spending his life with Mathias, maybe getting a house somewhere, or traveling the world, it just wouldn't work out. The media would be all over it. Not to mention what would happen to Emil. But most of all, when Lukas really thought about it, he just had too many flaws to be in a relationship. Maybe but Mathias did like him, but not really him, some kind of strange idealized version of him. Maybe that's what happening, Lukas didn't love Mathias, did he? Was it even real? If it wasn't real, would he think about him this much when the literal biggest match of his life was only days away?

Lukas let out a long sigh and rolled out of bed. He pulled on his clothes and made his way to the door. He wasn't getting Mathias out of his head by sitting around in his room.

- - -

Mathias rolled over in bed to snooze his alarm. He'd already done this 3 times and regretted telling Lukas to meet him so early in the morning. But he figured that Lukas was probably more a morning person and would think he's weird for getting up at noon.

Mathias groaned and dragged himself out of bed. He hissed, half-jokingly, as he drew open the curtains to see that the sun had just barely risen completely. He made his way to the bathroom, catching a glance at a notepad he had been writing on the night before. Last night's phone call with Alfred came back all at once.

"So you're telling me you DIDN'T talk to him yesterday."

"I...no I didn't get to. His brother showed up, but Lukas never did."

"*sigh* ...you're killing me here Mathias."

"Hey, I tried! It's not my fault he didn't show!"

Mathias started brushing his teeth.

"I know I know...look you just need something on him!"

"I thought this was about getting in his head and figuring out his strategies. You know, so I can actually win?"

"Look there's been a change of plans."

He started styling his hair.

"What kind of change?"

"Well...I've been thinking about it, and you don't have to win the match on Sunday."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look, if you win on Sunday, everything will be great! You'll have the title, maybe you do a few commercials, a couple of brand deals, the whole shebang! ...but if you lose... it doesn't have to be a deal-breaker anymore! If you can dig up something on the other guy we can maybe... um... make it so that... you know..."

"You want to frame him for cheating?"

"Woah Woah Woah! That's your idea, not mine haha... Of course, we wouldn't frame him for cheat... but we could sure take the wind of his win you know... make you look like you were against the odds..."

Mathias started pulling on his clothes and putting on his shoes.

"Look I don't need that, man. I'm a good player."

"No yeah no I know that. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about finances., deals, the money!"

"And I'm talking about me winning the match."

"Since when did you care about winning?"

"I don't!"

"Well, you don't care about winning, and it's sounding like you don't care about money, so what do you care about then!?"

Mathias checked his reflection and headed to the park.

- - -

Lukas was huffing and puffing. He hadn't realized how much walking with going to the park would involve. He looked around and came to the realization that he was so far into the park that he had no idea where he was. He just kept wandering around until he eventually saw a small lake. There was a bench at the edge of the lake with someone sitting on it. Lukas didn't care who it was, at that point, he knew his knees were about to buckle. He made his way over to the bench and sat down on it.

"Sorry... if I bothered you... I just really... needed a break," Lukas said, trying to catch his breath.

Lukas turned to see that it was, in fact, Mathias. He was digging in a paper bag for a slice of bread.

"I mean, you're not bothering me! Considering I asked you to come!" Mathias beamed, passing him a slice of bread. "I was getting a little worried 'cause I realized that I forgot to tell you where to meet me. But hey! You made it!"

Lukas smiled a bit. He looked at the slice of bread Mathias handed to him. It was a bit stale, but he wanted to be polite. He took a bite of the bread.

"Woah what are you doing!"

"...eating..."

Mathias laughed.

"No silly! That's for the ducks!"

Lukas swallowed.

"Oh."

Mathias started tearing pieces of bread and tossing them into the water. Ducks and their ducklings paddled their way over to the edge of the small lake and started picking at the pieces of bread. Lukas did the same, occasionally holding his hand out to Mathias for another piece of bread.

Lukas yawned, remembering that he only had one sip of coffee. Was he really sleeping that badly all the time? He rested his head on Mathias's shoulder and felt himself blush.

"Heh... uh... you know I think I heard somewhere that you're supposed to feed them seeds and not bread. I think bread is bad for them or something..."

Mathias's voice faded out as Lukas drifted off on Mathias's shoulders.

Next Chapter: 6-Someone else’s Parasite (Coming Soon!)

A/N:

This is technically late but I had fun writing it that’s all that matters!

I’m going to take this time to plug my non-hetalia work “ Intro to Love ” (on Wattpad) about a college student who struggles to keep her superpowers a secret and while making new friends. How much of her normal life will she give up to save her friends from a mysterious villain that drains students’ brains and turns them into zombies? The complete Chapter 1 is out NOW AND so is Chapter 2.1-'The last of the Good Days’! Go read them! Right now! They’re waiting for you! Chapter 1.1 is here on my tumblr!

Thanks again for reading! Send some feedback my way! Can’t wait to continue this story!

Quotev link: here

#hetal #hetalia nordics #hetalia denmark #hetalia noway #hetalia dennor #dennor #hws #hws nordics #hws denmark #hws norway #hws dennor #norway x denmark #denmark x norway #hetalia fanfiction

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euphoria-vmin7 · 4 years

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tiger flower | jjk

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre/warnings: angst, hanahaki! au, non-idol! au, heartbreak, unrequited love, swearing, a n g s t

word count: 1,830

summary: tiger flower. it’s his birth flower. it’s the flower that you can’t have.

rating: pg-15 (swearing)

-- a/n: so this is my first submission for the BGW BINGO BASH! i was listening to crystal snow and then i got really inspired and so this was born at 2 am :) it’s for the “hanahaki!au” square. i hope you all like this!

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

“Dammit (Name)!” Jungkook groaned, throwing his hands up in the air with utter disbelief. “Why the fuck did you kill me?!”

You winced and shot him a glare. “I’ve never played this before!”

“Well I wouldn’t have let you play if I’d known you’d suck this bad,” Jungkook tossed his controller to the side as you struggled to keep fighting on your own. Sadly, your character died pretty quickly without the help of the expert gamer next to you. You turned fully to grin at his angry scowl and punched his shoulder, which of course didn’t faze him at all. Stupid muscles.

“Oh quit being such a baby, Kook,” you teased, leaning back to lounge against his worn out couch. “It’s just a game,”

“A game you suck at,” he muttered, standing up and heading into his kitchen. You chuckled at his salty tone. You had probably just broken his spotless winning streak or lost him his spot on the leaderboard or something trivial like that. Well, it was trivial to you, but obviously not to him. Jungkook lumbered back into the living room, shooting you a pointed glare before plopping down next to you. He tossed you a bag of chips and grabbed the remote to fiddle with the channels on his television. You raised your legs and draped them over Jungkook’s lap, an excessive show of making yourself comfortable that earned you another glare.

“I don’t need your sweaty feet in my face while I’m eating my precious chips, (Name),” he snapped irritably.

“Well there are a lot of things you don't need but you get them anyway,”

“Fuck you,”

Despite all his complaining, Jungkook didn’t make any move to get your feet off his lap, an action that made you grin when you realized it. You watched with a sweet concealed smile as he lazily shoved chips into his mouth, not minding how much he was spilling on his old grey hoodie. You chuckled quietly. What a slob.

Technically speaking, it had only been about three weeks since you had last seen Jungkook. You both had headed to your hometowns for break to spend the winter holidays with your families, which was basically the only time you were apart. It had only been three weeks, and yet somehow it felt like lifetimes. Maybe it was because he was so deeply ingrained into your daily life. Maybe it was the play fights that normally ended with you holding an ice pack to your shoulder. Or maybe it was the spontaneous knocks on his apartment door at two in the morning with nothing but the pajamas on your back. Or maybe it was the hushed whispers of childish secrets under fortresses made of blankets and pillows.

Or maybe, it was just him.

Maybe it was because you just missed seeing that annoying yet frustratingly pretty face that told you he was up to no good. Maybe it was the disarmingly handsome and boyish smile that fueled the competitive rage within you. Maybe it was how despite all his tricky smirks and winks, he still looked like he was hand carved by angels when he slept, like they had put utmost care in crafting the most perfect human in the universe.

Maybe.

You should’ve known better than to let these thoughts fill your head once again. You could daydream about how much you hated and loved Jeon Jungkook for hours. If only he’d actually let you do it in peace.

His fingers twisted mercilessly into the skin of your thigh and you yelped at the sting. It was partly your fault seeing as you had made it easy for him by putting your feet right in front of him. But still how dare he?

“Are you even listening to me?” he asked, letting his fingers rest after the sharp pinch. It was your turn to glare at him and you reeled your foot back to kick his knee, not too hard but not gently either.

“No. I don’t listen to stupid things,”

You knew what he was thinking: That’s such an eight year old thing to say.

Well joke’s on him. If you were eight years old then so was he.

“I was asking you...” he rolled his eyes, leaning back to stare at the TV again. “...how your break was?”

“It was good,” you smiled a bit. “Spent time with my family. Had my dad’s food after dealing with your horrible cooking for so long,”

Instead of the same glare you had been on the receiving end of for the better portion of the night, Jungkook rewarded your statement with a good-natured chuckle. At least he knew his cooking was subpar. You grinned.

“How about you?”

“Ah y’know? Same thing as you. Spent time with the family blah blah. We went on a road trip,”

“Nice,” you sighed, still smiling as you leaned back into the couch and closed your eyes. “You came back a week earlier than I did though,”

“Yeah that’s because you and your family took that fancy trip to Europe,” he mocked and you smirked.

“You could at least try to pretend you aren’t jealous,”

Jungkook scoffed out a chuckle and began surfing his channels again, letting a comfortable silence overtake the both of you. Well, of course it was comfortable. Awkwardness was not a thing when it came to you and your best friend. Keeping your eyes closed for too long almost always led you to falling asleep, and you would have gotten there this time too, if it wasn’t for the sudden yell from the boy next to you.

“Oh fuck, wait! I forgot to tell you!” he screeched, his eyes going wide. You jumped, eyes peeling open before scowling at him and punching his bicep.

“What the fuck, Jeon? What is it!?”

“So while you were gone...I did it,” he grinned, sitting up straight. Immediately, you knew what it meant. As much as you wanted to pretend like you didn’t get it, you knew. The way his cheeks began to slowly bloom with color was another huge giveaway. That only happened for one thing.

“Shut up,” your jaw dropped, lips twitching upward. “You didn’t!”

“I did,” he said proudly. His smile was so genuine, so real, and it made you so indescribably happy. And yet it didn’t.

“And?” you pressed, moving to sit on your knees and grabbing his arm.

“And…” he drew out with a concealed smile. “And she said yes!”

You cheered loudly and he laughed, his arms naturally coming to wrap around you and give you a squeeze. You giggled at the feeling, the feeling of comfort that came from being next to him, with him.

“Aw I’m so happy for you, Kookie,” you mumbled, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. His laugh shook his whole body as you buried your face into his sweatshirt.

“Thanks Peanut,” he chuckled. “I was so fucking nervous you should’ve seen me,”

The thought of your normally confident and suave best friend being all flustered brought a smile to your face. Oh, how you wished you could’ve been the one to see it.

“Yeah that’s because you’re scared of girls,” you teased. It was a running joke amongst Jungkook’s closest friends. A joke that obviously wasn’t very true.

“And what about you?” he laughed. “Are you not a girl?”

“I’m not that type of girl to you,” you smiled ruefully.

“Nah,” he grinned, his eyes shining in blissful ignorance. “You’re my special girl,”

But not that type of special.

Other than the smile you gave him, you didn’t respond to that. You don’t know what to say to it anymore. You stayed there for a few more minutes, shamefully enjoying Jungkook’s arms around you. You hid your weak smile from him because he’d immediately be able to catch how upset it was. How selfish could you be to take advantage of his love for you? He loves you. You’re his special girl. He said it himself. He’s not lying.

But you’re lying to yourself when you say that it means something. It means something. But not what you want it to.

How many times had you shakily typed into the search bar: How to confess to your best friend?

How many more times would you need to type before you realized what you already knew?

Jungkook gently pushed you off of him, not in a way that was intentionally cruel and yet somehow it felt that way. He stood up and stretched, a tired groan leaving his lips as he popped a few joints.

“I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”

“In a few,” you smiled, the facade taking over you easily. Of course, after all this time, the practice had made you a master at hiding. He grinned at you, the boyish grin that masked the tiredness in his eyes. Tired eyes that lit up when they looked at you. But sparkled and softened when they looked at her.

You sat there on the couch for a while, a few measly minutes that felt as though they were stretched into long hours. Thinking like this, alone, was dangerous for you. No matter how many times you’d tried to clear it, Jungkook remained, his hold on you becoming stronger as every second passed. It wouldn’t get any easier in the future. You knew this and you knew it well.

The pain in your chest came fast and familiar. You brought your hand up to your lips to muffle the sound of your harsh cough. Pulling it away, you looked down at the petals in your palm.

Tiger Flower.

Poetic isn’t it? His birth flower. You smiled at your palm. With your other hand, you reached into the small bag at your feet, the bag reserved for overnight stays at Jungkook’s house. The pamphlet you pulled out was curled at the edges and crumpled in certain areas due to how much time you had spent looking through it.

Your mom had told you about the surgery as soon as the petals started coming. Everyone was worried, because they knew what would happen if you let it go. Everyone except him of course. Poor thing, he didn’t even know.

You stood up and walked into the bathroom to dust the petals into the trash.

You couldn’t bring yourself to let Jungkook go. There was no pain that would be greater to you. Jungkook was real and he was the only real thing that mattered to you. You were his special girl. How could you even think of letting him go?

Chuckling to yourself, you made the decision and felt your heart tear.

You grasped the pamphlet in both hands and tore it in half, then quarters, then eighths, until it was nothing more than uneven shreds in your palms. With a bittersweet smile, you dusted the shreds into Jungkook’s trash can, before following him into his room, ready to build another fortress of blankets.

#btsguild #btswriterscollective #btsbookclub #btsghostiebingo #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook one shot #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts #bts fanfiction #bts one shot #jeon jungkook x reader #bts angst #jungkook #bts au #jeon jeongguk #jungkook fluff

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cali-holland · 4 years

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Golden Hearts, Prologue

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond AU ~ Sequel to Golden Bullets

Following a messy split, Harrison, Agent 007, resumes his role as an elite womanizer, after his recovery from his previous mission; meanwhile, you’ve stepped back from your 00 status, taking on cases as MI6’s assistant director from your office. When a new threat emerges to MI6 and a dear friend gets kidnapped, can you and Harrison set aside your differences to save special agent Q, better known as Tom? Or will the stakes- and your love, push you two further apart?

Word Count: 2700

Gif is not mine

Golden Hearts Masterlist

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: violence (unnamed character death, guns, someone gets stabbed, kidnapping, tranq dart, punching/kicking), swearing, sexual themes (my attempt at a heavy make out sesh), mentions of drugs & sex trafficking & sexual abuse

~~~

Tom hated field work, he really did. He could handle himself fine with a gun, but he still hated it nonetheless. Maybe it was because he hated the feeling of having no control. Behind a computer, he was the one in complete control. He could hack, invent, and upgrade things as he pleased, as if it was simple; there were no unknown variables, not truly.

Maybe another reason he hated field work was his current state— yet again, who would enjoy running away from the bullets of angry Spanish men, who were also possibly cyberterrorists.

Technically though, this wasn’t even field work. This was Tom having a good time with his family in Spain when he discovered a meeting of said suspected cyberterrorists. He didn’t mean to stumble across the secret meeting, but when he did, he did his best to acquire surveillance of the scene with his camera, taking a few photographs of the men, clear enough for facial recognition to be successful later. Thankfully, the men hadn’t linked him back to his family, leaving him to flee- or well, attempt to because he knew this information needed to be sent to MI6.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Tom cursed, ducking down an alleyway before kicking in the nearby door. He raced up the stairs and checked behind him quickly. The men were far enough behind him that he was fine- he had time to finish this small mission. He ran into the small, worn down, windowless apartment M had supplied him in case of an emergency, which he definitely felt like this counted as one. Grabbing the laptop from the desk, he slid his camera’s memory drive into it.

“Come on, come on.” He mumbled as he waited for the laptop to load the images. With the file upload complete, he drafted a quick email, fingers flying across the keyboard.

‘Find L’Americain.’ Tom wrote out in the message space before adding in the two recipients, the two people he could trust most with this critical information. Just before he could press the little arrow to send the message, the door got kicked down by the opposing men. Instantly, Tom put his hands up in surrender, knowing with his lack of weapons that taking them on wasn’t his best option- or maybe it was.

One of the men shouted out orders, and Tom eyed the open email in front of him. He couldn’t let this just go to waste; no, he was sacrificing his life for this, it had to go to someone at least. Taking a deep breath, he quickly hit the send button. In one fast motion, he removed the memory drive and threw it on the ground, crushing it and all of its data. He shut the laptop and put his hands up again, feeling one of the men step forward and point his gun against Tom’s head.

“Alright, I’m done.” Tom said with a sigh. He watched as a second man opened the laptop, only to find the computer frozen without Tom’s unhackable code to unlock it. The leader spoke again, and this time, the man behind Tom shoved him to turn him around.

“Who did you send the message to?” The leader questioned in a thick Spanish accent.

“Doesn’t matter.” He paused, a cocky smirk playing on his lips, “All you need to know is— you don’t need to find them, they’ll find you.”

“Are you sure about that?” The other man asked, cocking his gun.

With a wave of confidence, Tom grabbed the man’s wrist in front of him, twisting it up and grabbing the gun from his hands. He fired twice, one hit the man in the chest and the second at the laptop, blowing a bullet straight through the device. He then shot the only light in the room, sending the space into darkness. Tom ducked as the other two fired blindly, and he swept his leg down to knock one over. Tom clutched onto his gun before running in the direction of the exit.

The moment he got back onto the streets of Spain, he ran as fast as his feet could carry him, booking it down the busy roads towards the proper MI6 safehouse, where, hopefully, a better and actually trained field agent would be. He could see the familiar, yellow safe house in the distance, just a block away, and he began to run even harder, feeling a surge of hopefulness overcome him. He might actually make it through this.

That hope was quickly lost as two black motorcycles came from the side streets, stopping with their guns raised, effectively halting him in his tracks. Tom raised his own gun, ready to fire at them. While he was distracted by these two, he didn’t catch the third motorcyclist behind him. He felt a prick to his neck before a sudden wave of drowsiness washed through his system. Dropping the gun, he fell limp to his knees.

“The hell—?” He mumbled, his fingers tracing over the tranq dart in the back of his neck.

That was the last thing he remembered before he slipped into a deep state of unconsciousness.

~~~

The moment he stepped into the club, he was blinded by the pink and gold neon lights, his ears flooding with the blaring sound of some atrocious techno music that had no business being played in such a setting. He followed the waitress dressed in the club’s signature colors to a vip room. When she opened the door for him, he slid past her while brushing his fingers against her waist, a smirk playing on his lips as he did so. In the room sat six men around a deep brown circular table, all dressed in their finest suits; the smoke from their cigars hanging in the air and onto their crisp glasses of whiskey.

The one at the head of the table spoke first, his hand outstretching towards the only open chair at the table, “How nice of you to join us, Mr.—?”

“Osterfield. Harrison Osterfield.” He answered, smoothing out his suit as he took a seat in the chair.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” The waitress asked from his side.

“Martini. Thank you, love.” Harrison replied, his lips in his signature smirk. The woman left the room quickly, leaving him to discuss business with the other men.

“So, Mr. Osterfield,” The leader didn’t get to finish his thought as Harrison held up a finger, silently telling him to wait a moment. The waitress returned to the room, handing him the shaken martini.

“I never discuss business without a drink first.” He stated, before drinking the beverage down in one quick motion. His fingers traced the small, sharp metal rod, complete with a green olive still on the end of it. The men watched as he picked the olive off, abandoning it in the glass.

“You know, I thought a bunch of drug dealing, sex trafficking assholes would check their new guests for guns first.” Harrison said. The men went to draw their weapons, but he was faster, throwing the rod across the table and straight into the leader’s eye. He drew his compacted machine gun from his back holster, firing along the circular table until none of them so much as blinked. He tucked his gun back away under his suit and turned to see the same waitress from before. Her eyes were wide with fear, but he could see her shoulders relax as she realized he wasn’t going to harm her, an innocent employee. He watched as her eyes stayed on one man of the group in particular.

Slowly, Harrison stepped towards her, “Did he hurt you?” When she nodded, he went to comfort her, but she shook her head the moment his hands touched hers.

“Thank you. They were the worst.” She stated, and Harrison couldn’t sense any fear in her voice as she spoke; no, she sounded perfectly fine- happy, even.

“It’s no problem, love.” He smiled at her, blue eyes lighting up as her eyes met his.

“There must be some way for me to,” She paused, “repay you.”

“Well,” Harrison’s lips curved into a smirk, eyeing the waitress up and down, “What time do you get off, sweetheart?”

~~~

“Harder, Harry!”

“I don’t want to hurt you- oh god.” Harry landed on the ground with a loud thud. He let out a groan, rubbing his abdomen where your punch had landed. You playfully rolled your eyes at him as you held out a hand for him to stand up again. He took your hand and nearly fell over again, still surprised by how forceful your grip was.

“Told you I could handle myself.” You teased, making him laugh.

“Are we done yet?” He asked, but still got in position across from you in the ring.

“You can’t be tired already?” You joked, and he raised his eyebrows at you. You sighed, before raising your fists. “Fine. Last one.”

“Loser buys drinks on Friday?” Harry offered, a cheeky smile on his face.

“Agents aren’t my type. Besides, you already know I’m going to win.” You smirked.

“I’m not an agent yet, remember?” He reminded you with a wink.

“Your status changes at midnight, Agent 003.”

“Better get busy on those drinks then.”

As you started to throw punches at him again, he blocked them the best he could, his arms and torso still getting clipped by your knuckles. You started to pull your punches, letting him feel like he had the upper hand. Just as Harry was about to make a comment about finally beating you, you jumped up and kicked him square in the chest, sending him backwards and onto the decently solid ground of the sparring mat. You smirked down at him.

“Finished, Holland?” You asked, and he let out a sigh and nodded- rather, nodded as best he could. You held your hand out to him again, and he took it just like every other time you knocked him over in training. “Good session today. I say you’re 00 ready.”

“I still can’t believe it. Me? A 00 agent.” Harry chuckled while the two of you walked outside of the sparring ring to get your water bottles. “I can’t wait to tell Tom.”

“When does he get back from Spain? He’s there with your family, right?” You inquired before taking a long drink of the refreshing ice cold water.

“Yeah, he should be back in a few days. I’m still kinda bummed my training process kept me from going, but I guess you kinda sign away family vacation as a 00.” He laughed.

“Oh, definitely.” The training room fell silent as you quickly gathered your bag. The moment you were ready to leave, you made a beeline for the door, and Harry jogged to catch up to you.

“About those drinks-“ He started.

“I’ve already told you. It’s not happening, Harry.” You replied, continuing your path to your car.

“Just one date?” He asked. When you didn’t respond, he reached a hand out for yours. The second his finger brushed against your skin, you instinctively grabbed his wrist and twisted it. “Ow, fuck. I’ll drop it.”

You let go of his hand with a small laugh, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.” And with that, you got into your BMW and sent him a quick wave.

When you got back to your apartment, you let out a deep sigh, tossing your bag down next to your couch. It was silent, just like it always was now. Sticky with sweat from your post-work training, you headed straight for the shower. Once you were out of the warm water’s embrace, you changed into your red satin robe, draping it over your shoulders and tying it around your waist. You turned on the TV for background noise as you cooked yourself a quick meal for dinner. It wasn’t until you were sitting down and eating that you realized your TV was playing a “Mission Impossible” movie, right in the middle of an action-packed Tom Cruise scene.

You watched as the actor scaled the Burj Khalifa in Mumbai. With a sigh, you set your empty plate and fork aside, twirling the steak knife in your hand. You didn’t take your eyes off the movie as you threw the knife to your right, sending it straight into the bullseye of your dartboard. You huffed; a steak knife and a dartboard, you really were bored.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss field work. There was a reason why you personally trained Harry to become a 00 agent instead of having another, lesser agent take it on. After all, though, Tom wanted his younger brother to be trained by the best, which was you, even after three months behind a desk. You missed the suspense of keeping undercover, the sweet taste of action, all of it.

But MI6 was changing, and that meant you had to change too. As M retired and was replaced by the new M, Gareth Mallory, you turned in your 00 status to stay in the office. And, with Nine Eyes, a new global security company, seeking to merge with MI6, the 00 program was at stake now as it is, yet all of that was information left to remain between you, Q, and M. Global security sounded like a dream, but it would mean a lot more changes to the organization.

Just as you were about to turn off your TV and turn in for yet another lonely night, a notification came through your computer across the room. Curious, you stood up and walked over to your desk, taking a seat in the office chair to examine the new notification.

“New encrypted message from Q,” the screen read. You clicked on the message to open it, your eyes going wide at the contents.

“Oh god,” You breathed out.

Meanwhile, across London, Harrison was having a different night than you.

“This is me.” The waitress’s lips barely separated from Harrison’s as she spoke. With his hands around her waist, fisting at the loose fabric of her work dress, he walked them backwards out of the elevator. He dipped his head down to hungrily nip at her neck while she led them to her apartment. She fumbled with the keys as Harrison found the sweet spot on her neck, already marking a hickey there. The moment she got the door open, his hands slid down the back of her thighs and she jumped into his embrace, chests pressed against each other.

“Bedroom?” Harrison panted out, his blue eyes full of lust.

“First door on the left.” She barely got the words out before his lips were desperately back on hers.

He stumbled his way through the dark apartment to her bedroom before laying her down on the bed. Her hands worked on unbuttoning his shirt as he discarded his jacket somewhere behind him. She pushed her lips back onto his, sloppily kissing him while he shrugged off his shirt. Harrison wasted no time in finding the zipper on her dress, tugging it down. The moment the dress slipped from around her, she pulled Harrison back with her on the bed, and his lips hungrily followed hers, moans slipping from both of their throats as their tongues and teeth clashed.

Hearing his smartwatch alert him of a new message, Harrison broke the kiss, leaning on one arm to look at his wrist. The waitress’s lips dipped down his neck, biting and sucking on his skin as her hands scratched over his abs, a detour on the way to his belt.

“New encrypted message from Q.” Harrison read the alert, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry.

“Stop, stop.” Harrison said, pulling the waitress off his body as he got off the bed.

“Where are you going?” She asked, hurt by the sudden change.

“I have to go. Sorry, love.” He answered, but he really wasn’t that apologetic as he slipped his clothes back on. She huffed and made some angry comment about him mistreating women, but the words flew over his head. He rushed out of the apartment and made his way to the elevator. Once he was within the comfort of the four metal walls with no one around, he opened up the new email on his phone. He let out a shaky sigh, peering down at the message’s contents.

“Shit.”

~~~

General Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-holland @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @gorillaglue23

Harrison Tag List: @Calhtlland @tomkindholland @where-art-thau-romeo

Original Series Tag List: @quinjetboi @baby-haz @kickingn-ames @rougese7en @hollandsosterfield @nj01 @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @spencerreidxoxo @duskholland

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield series #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison osterfield fic

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zackmartin · 3 years

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hii jaksjdkd @\deweyducks is my children's media sideblog but this is my main so i'll send my ask from here but like...god that's so weird??? i haven't gotten to that episode yet (i'm on international dateline and cringing) but. barbara and cody were so sweet (and!!! a good interracial couple!!! that's important actually!!! why the hell would they make them cheat on each other when it has been established that doing so would be horrifically out of character for both of them) if they really wanted to put him with bailey the whole guy waits for girl after she repeatedly says no trope was not the way to go. at all (and yeah!!!!!! zack and bailey could have been something actually but i want to see where things go with him and maya once she shows up) and i actually would love to read your essay :)

I’m sorry, I will turn anon back on soon 😅 (and I get it, this used to be a sideblog until I accidentally deleted and then I decided to just make two mains instead but).

(For real! Like, yeah they were super important and good!!!! but if you had to have them break up, Barbara was going to stay in Boston and Cody’s on a cruise where he’s going to be a literal continent away at any given time. They really could’ve just done something as simple as letting them have an amicable breakup because the distance was too much instead of decimating both of their characters like that)

Anyway, I love Maya and Zack a lot, for the most part, they’re cute and I adore Zoey Deutch and Zack’s good with her so my love for what Zack and Bailey could’ve been isn’t really an either/or thing, I like both ships but just,,,

Putting Cody’s terrible characterization and treatment of Bailey aside for a moment, they pretty much made Bailey and Cody almost exactly alike. There are some differences, but they’re kinda few and far between. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing, you have to have some things in common with your S/O in order for it to work, but in the case of Zack/Bailey I really believe they could've been the good kind of opposites attract. Like, it could’ve turned into a situation where their differences turned into making each other better.

Like, in the case of Zack, we’ve seen in the original that he can actually do well in school (like when he went to summer school and was able to analyze Shakespeare fairly easily), he just needs a reason to really apply himself. And I mean, we know he would definitely do it to impress a girl alsdkfj (technically we saw that in the original too, when he told Maddie he got an 85 on his vocab quiz and he revealed that he tried to do well because she said she likes smart guys). Ofc, it’d be ideal if he was doing it for himself, but him actually trying in school, even if it starts as him just trying to impress Bailey, is not going to really hurt him in the end alsdjkf On top of that, I’m not sure if it’s canon or if I’m just HC’ing this, but I’m positive Cody has probably tried over the years to help him in subjects that don’t come so easily, but I know Zack, and whether we’re talking the og version or On Deck, I know neither of them would listen nor pay attention if Cody’s the one trying to teach him alsdjf He’d be way more apt to listen to Bailey, and I know she’d be willing to tutor him. And I know Bailey would celebrate his accomplishments, even if it’s as small as getting a C on a geometry quiz or something, and I feel like having someone like that, someone that shows him they’re proud of him and isn't constantly comparing his grade to Cody’s, could be enough to make him want to keep trying. (even if he isn’t always operating at 100%).

And on Bailey’s side; I totally respect the fact that she finds enjoyment in school-related things, and she definitely doesn’t have to have fun a certain way in order for it to “count” but. I feel like filling your day with only school/educational-related activities with no space in-between to breathe can so quickly lead to burn-out (especially if she goes to an ivy league, and you add that in with her going from being top of her class to being in a space where everyone was top of their class. But, again I’m getting off track). And, finding mindless, fun things to do in order to blow off steam is Zack’s exact area of expertise. (Like, I’m gonna be vague so I don’t spoil anything, but there’s legit an episode of On Deck where he teaches someone to relax and not make one thing your whole life). And I know this is adult me projecting cause she wishes teenage me wasn’t so serious, but Zack convincing Bailey to stay out an hour past curfew or skip one class wouldn’t kill her asldfjk Like, she might be upset in the moment if they get detention or something but you get out of high school and look back and you realize it literally Didn’t Matter. (i’m not being a great influence here, please don’t listen to me lklsjkdf)

Like, long story short, I just think that Bailey could teach Zack how to take things like his education and his future a bit more seriously, but Zack could show Bailey that you don’t have to take everything seriously all the time

And while we're on the subject; i know he was partially willing to keep Bailey's secret in the first episode because he wanted to room with a girl, but even after everything was revealed and Tuttweiller and Moseby were saying they had no choice but to send her home, Zack stuck up for her! He listened to her when she talked about why she wanted to go to seven seas high and how she wanted to see the world and he didn't do it for the sole purpose of using that information later in order to "win" her 🙃 He genuinely just wanted her to be able to live out her dream, and he did what little he could in order to make sure she got to keep living that dream.

#asks #but then again. that's just who he is. he helps almost total strangers a lot #if it's in his power to do so #he has a big heart and I love him #anyway #I need to stop but. my point is just that I think they would work well together #and he would give her the love and respect she deserves #and if they wanted them to be the main ship and still be a slowburn like #I know zack doesn't sit on his feelings for long #but they still could've just said she wasn't over her ex and wasn't ready for a relationship #and just had her slowly realize over the first season that she's grown to like zack as something other than a friend #and cody was the one that had the serious relationships in the original so it would've been nice to see zack have his turn #instead of making me wait until the last season but. whatever. it is what it is

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hetalia-nordic-trash · 3 years

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The Heart Gambit (Dennor): 5-Too Clever by Half

Word Count: 1,460

Description:

Lukas and Mathias agreed to go to the park together, but are bogged down thinking about personal issues.

Author’s Note:

Also check out my new writing blog @thechosenburrito where I post all my writing both Hetalia related and original writing!

Previous: 4-Treat me like a Fool

"You know, just because you get up at the ass crack of dawn, doesn't mean the rest of the world does." Emil groaned as he rolled over in bed.

"I'm making coffee."

Emil set up and started pulling on some day clothes.

"I hate you."

Lukas poured two cups of instant coffee and left one on the nightstand next to Emil.

"I hate you less now."

Lukas sat at the edge of his bed and looked out the window. He sipped his coffee and began thumbuming through the book at the foot of his bed.

"I take it you're up this early because you're going to the park with Mathias," Emil said, blowing on his coffee?

"You heard that?"

"I had my ear pressed to the door of course I did."

Lukas closed the book.

"Well, I did promise to go. That doesn't mean I wanna go," Lukas replied in a bit of a huff.

Emil stood up and pulled on a shirt.

"Yeah but you can still say no."

"I know that."

Emil sat back on the bed and started trying his shoes.

"Well, then if you don't wanna go, call him and cancel."

"I'm not gonna do that."

"Why not?"

"Because..."

"Because you wanna go."

"I didn't say that-"

"Admit you wanna go with him!" Emil almost screamed, pulling on a jacket.

"Why are you like this!?...and where are you going?" Lukas said, looking up from his book to see that Emil was fully dressed and heading towards the door.

"And I'm going sightseeing. We're in Italy, and I'm probably never coming back here again so I'm gonna enjoy it."

"Have fun on your little park date or whatever."

Emil stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Lukas stood up from the table and threw himself back on the bed, burying his face in his hands.

"What's wrong with me?" he muttered under his breath.

Lukas let out a long sigh and rolled out of bed. He pulled on his clothes and made his way to the door. He wasn't getting Mathias out of his head by sitting around in his room.

- - -

"So you're telling me you DIDN'T talk to him yesterday."

"I...no I didn't get to. His brother showed up, but Lukas never did."

"*sigh* ...you're killing me here Mathias."

"Hey, I tried! It's not my fault he didn't show!"

Mathias started brushing his teeth.

"I know I know...look you just need something on him!"

"I thought this was about getting in his head and figuring out his strategies. You know, so I can actually win?"

"Look there's been a change of plans."

He started styling his hair.

"What kind of change?"

"Well...I've been thinking about it, and you don't have to win the match on Sunday."

"What are you talking about?"

"You want to frame him for cheating?"

Mathias started pulling on his clothes and putting on his shoes.

"Look I don't need that, man. I'm a good player."

"No yeah no I know that. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about finances., deals, the money!"

"And I'm talking about me winning the match."

"Since when did you care about winning?"

"I don't!"

"Well, you don't care about winning, and it's sounding like you don't care about money, so what do you care about then!?"

Mathias checked his reflection and headed to the park.

- - -

"Sorry... if I bothered you... I just really... needed a break," Lukas said, trying to catch his breath.

Lukas turned to see that it was, in fact, Mathias. He was digging in a paper bag for a slice of bread.

Lukas smiled a bit. He looked at the slice of bread Mathias handed to him. It was a bit stale, but he wanted to be polite. He took a bite of the bread.

"Woah what are you doing!"

"...eating..."

Mathias laughed.

"No silly! That's for the ducks!"

Lukas swallowed.

"Oh."

Lukas yawned, remembering that he only had one sip of coffee. Was he really sleeping that badly all the time? He rested his head on Mathias's shoulder and felt himself blush.

"Heh... uh... you know I think I heard somewhere that you're supposed to feed them seeds and not bread. I think bread is bad for them or something..."

Mathias's voice faded out as Lukas drifted off on Mathias's shoulders.

Next Chapter: 6-Someone else’s Parasite (Coming Soon)

A/N:

This is technically late but I had fun writing it that’s all that matters!

Thanks again for reading! Send some feedback my way! Can’t wait to continue this story!

Also, again, check out my writing blog @thechosenburrito!

Quotev link: here

#hetalia #hetalia nordics #hetalia denmark #hetalia norway #hetalia dennor #dennor #hws #hws nordics #hws denmark #hws norway #hws dennor #norway x denmark #denmark x norway #hetalia fanfiction #chess au

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

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TLTNL- The Tale of the Three Brothers

James flipped to the last story with nostalgia, this had been his absolute favorite when he was younger, and he couldn't wait to tell Harry about it and watch him understand why.

As he read the title though, Harry felt that flash through his mind, a squirm through his innards. An understanding he still had no knowledge of, why this story must be what had caught his eye to begin with, what on earth it all could mean...

There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across.

Even as James began the feeling only intensified, though oddly Harry's vision swam double for a moment and he was sure it should be Hermione reading this to him, in a much different place...but it was all gone the moment he tried to latch onto it, and instead he settled back in his seat and tried to listen with the same attentiveness he had all the other silly tales.

However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.

And Death spoke to them.

Lily did a double take in surprise, and Harry's eyes popped, causing the other three to laugh, but the shock passed quickly. This really wasn't any more weird than any other things going on with these novels.

He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.

"Why aren't we ever awarded for doing shit?" Sirius sighed.

"Eventually the teachers would run out of rewards and circle back to punishment anyways, I suppose they just skipped ahead," Remus shrugged.

So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.

Harry couldn't help it, shifting his weight around more and more, a burn he'd been peacefully lacking while not having to relearn his old memories sadly paining him now again over something clearly so stupid. He clenched his shaking hand tight and resisted the impulse with all his might not to clutch at his aching head again, just concentrated on his dads voice.

Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.

His feeling only growing worse by the second, somehow James trying to read in a goofy lighthearted tone contrasting heavily with a deep echo of words he knew his father also once saying to him...

The others noticed of course, but Harry looking so pained over something like this they had no clue of was sadly nothing new. So Lily placed her arm gently around his shoulders and waited as long as he needed to take a moment to breath again before nodding at James, who was monstrously disappointed something they'd thought Harry would just simply enjoy for once was still actually causing him pain.

And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death.

'The third brother...' this more than the others resonated with Harry, even as he kept rubbing at his forehead with pain he latched onto anything his mind could make sense of. He had not a clue why remembering this was hurting him so, as painful as if he were trying to remember something before it happened to him again, but thankfully like before so long as he didn't force the feeling it began to ebb.

James glanced hopefully at Harry and kept going with that same excitement, glad to see whatever Harry was struggling with he was fighting off, this was his favorite part!

So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.

"You have got to be kidding me," Lily said in exasperation, actually eyeing James like she worried he was making this up as he went along. Knowing her husband, it wasn't even that crazy.

"Nope," James insisted, popping the P for emphasis even as he kept his eyes on Harry while still addressing Lily. "My dad read this story to me all the time when I was little, loved to go on about how this was where my Cloak came from."

Lily had honestly never thought why James cloak worked the way it had, he'd only shown it to her in the last year and by that time he had no real use for it. She'd had other things on her mind

when he'd showed it to her, like realizing one of her friends was a werewolf, so she'd never questioned too deeply his declaration it had been in his family for generations.

Now though, she raised a skeptical brow at him and demanded, "and you really think your Cloak came from the manifestation of Death?"

"Nah," he brushed off, a bit disappointed it wasn't Harry going along, but at least it was clear he was listening with his head tilted towards them even as he kept flattening his hair and clearly trying to repress rubbing his scar more. "I don't think my dad really did either, most of us have just come to the conclusion someone along the line made it but lost the record of how they did. Now it's just more of a family secret. Still fun how it somehow made it's way into a kids novel, maybe even where the original idea of creating it came from, so technically..." he trailed off with a still superior little smile no one acknowledged. His friends had heard all this too many times and just yawned when he looked over, and he pouted before continuing.

Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts.

In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.

The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, he sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel.

Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed.

Harry's mind wanted to seize painfully on this, talk of the Elder Wand had cropped up once in here already, but he was instantly distracted by the others once more.

"I always wonder how much of that is just confidence," Remus couldn't help but scoff. "It really does wonders, and then his boasting just caused this tail to begin with."

"Bragging only takes you so far until you have to prove it," Sirius disagreed, his eyes gleaming with want.

When it was clear they had no more to say on it than before though, he tried desperately to ignore his disappointment and continued headache.

Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.

That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat.

"Charming," Lily crinkled her nose in disgust.

And so Death took the first brother for his own.

Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry before her untimely death appeared at once before him.

Harry could not seem to settle during this story, shifting anxiously more every second, now twirling his ring around in unease as if some part of him knew to be worried abut this. At least he did know why his eyes lingered on his parents now, what he would have given for that stone some point before all this- then his mind went blank with another snap of pain and he just shook his head miserably for his brain never working properly.

Yet she was silent and cold, separated from him as though by a veil.

All of them flinched heavily at that description, none appreciating the reminder.

Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her.

Lily tightened her hold on her son, feeling the urge to be sick at still seeing that lingering look of longing in place. She disliked this one most of all for that line alone, why was that in a story for kids?!

And so Death took the second brother for his own.

But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son.

James declared this with contentment, his eyes lingering on his child more than the words now as he finished. His infant sat in his godfathers lap, gurgling happily, and it still gave the father comfort that no matter his child's future, his heirloom would still hold.

And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.

"Wow, I think that was the shortest one yet," Lily crinkled her brow in fascination. She wasn't even sure where the moral in that one was. After mulling it over for a moment while the boys all declared which object they'd pick, James and Remus the cloak and Sirius the wand, she interrupted Harry, "what exactly is the point of including that one?"

"Oh come on Lily, not everything needs to have a point," James sighed. "It's a fun novelty, gives kids a chance to dream of some cool objects one day."

"I actually have a fond memory of me and Regulus on a 'quest,' looking for these," Sirius smiled reminiscently. "Of course it ended with us nabbing our fathers wand and being grounded for a week, but it was fun for an hour or two."

"So you guys don't believe they're real?" Harry interrupted, causing them all to look at him in surprise.

"Well," James began slowly, weary of the intensity with which Harry had asked. "Like I said, my cloak, I think anyways, was built from this myth as far back as my family tree will trace, yet it doesn't mean Death gave it to someone so long ago. So there's really no proof the others don't exist-"

"But there's no more proof they do either," Remus shook his head with such exasperated skepticism Harry could already feel they'd had this argument long before. "This Stone sounds like another idea of the Philosophers Stone, and though that was once made, the recipe for that is as lost as James' cloak, or at least, Flamel and Dumbledore certainly aren't sharing; so it's existence is still nothing but questionable."

"The wand is all about how you read your history," Sirius quickly tacked in before Moony could go off again on more theory's. "People have been claiming since the existence of wands to have an unbeatable one-"

"And it's caused nothing but more bloodshed and murder," Lily said with finality. As if they needed more of that in their life to be sitting around discussing it.

Sirius shrugged but made no argument so James gave Harry a curious look before going on into what Dumbledore had to say about this, honestly very curious.

Albus Dumbledore on "The Tale of the Three Brothers"

This story made a profound impression on me as a boy. I heard it first from my mother, and it soon became the tale I requested more often than any other at bedtime.

James couldn't help but chuckle slightly he had something so in common with Dumbledore. As angry as he still was at him, he really was trying his hardest not to let that linger for now at least.

This frequently led to arguments with my younger brother, Aberforth, whose favorite story was "Grumble the Grubby Goat".

Sirius snorted randomly, honestly just thankful to have any more information about this brother they'd kept hearing about but had no knowledge of before this.

The moral of "The Tale of the Three Brothers" could not be any clearer: human efforts to evade or overcome death are always doomed to disappointment.

James looked pleased and turned gloatingly to his wife, who still had a sour face, thinking there were better ways to have this in a story that didn't involve murder and suicide.

The third brother in the story ("the humblest and also the wisest") is the only one who understands that, having narrowly escaped Death once, the best he can hope for is to postpone their next meeting for as long as possible.

"Really makes you wonder how he copulated under a cloak, I mean the broad-"

Remus reached over and plugged his nose while James kept going loudly around him.

This youngest brother knows that taunting Death by engaging in violence, like the first brother, or by meddling in the shadowy art of necromancy,1 like the second brother - means pitting oneself against a wily enemy who cannot lose.

The irony is that a curious legend has grown up around this story, which precisely contradicts the message of the original. This legend holds that the gifts Death gives the brothers "an unbeatable wand, a stone that can bring back the dead, and an Invisibility Cloak that endures forever" are genuine objects that exist in the real world. The legend goes further: if any person becomes the rightful owner of all three, then he or she will become "master of Death", which has usually been understood to mean that they will be invulnerable, even immortal.

Harry couldn't help but make a keening noise of frustration, shaking his head frantically and wishing more than anything right now his brain would quit setting itself on fire. He wasn't relearning any memories more than he should, so why on earth did all of this feel so monumental, and also decide to torment him for learning it all too soon before other things to come? All of this felt like little puzzles that would not weld together, so thankfully he wasn't suffering as bad as he could, but more than any before, he simply wished this would just end.

James fully realized this and wanted to close this in disappointment and be done as well. Clearly this was doing nothing but hurting his son no matter how much they couldn't understand why, but then Harry surprised them by telling without even looking up, "go ahead and finish, it's a better distraction than wondering why this is all supposed to mean something I suppose."

James disagreed, clearly Harry had a conversation about this with Dumbledore at some point and it was paining him to have to remember even vague details about it now, but to deny Harry would only make what he said all the more true, so he fingered the next page and just tried to keep going with more urgency than some silly story should provide.

We may smile, a little sadly, at what this tells us about human nature. The kindest interpretation would be: "Hope springs eternal".

Lily couldn't help but smile for that line, aware that none but her would recognize a quote from a muggle poet Alexander Pope, but it was one she'd carried through most of her life, where her optimism so often sprang from as well, hope.

In spite of the fact that, according to Beedle, two of the three objects are highly dangerous, in spite of the clear message that Death comes for us all in the end, a tiny minority of the wizarding community persists in believing that Beedle was sending them a coded message, which is the exact reverse of the one set down in ink, and that they alone are clever enough to understand it.

Sirius couldn't help but snort with mirth at that line. Who on earth was mad enough to go looking for coded messages in a kids tale?*

Their theory (or perhaps "desperate hope" might be a more accurate term) is supported by little actual evidence. True Invisibility Cloaks, though rare, exist in this world of ours; however, the story makes it clear that Death's Cloak is of a durable nature.2

Through all the centuries that have intervened between Beedle's day and our own, nobody has ever claimed to have found Death's Cloak.

"I do wonder how no one in your family was mad enough to try," Lily couldn't help but ask him. "I understand why you didn't," she unconscionably inclined her head towards Remus, their cloak had been invaluable in their attempts to help him in much of their youth, "but no one before you?"

"I've only met my granddad once, but he told me an epic tale about his great-granddad trying," James told with a nostalgic smile, and finally Harry was looking on with that interest he so deserved in learning more about his history. "Tried to find a way to replicate the cloak, mass produce it for more money, our inheritance from the line was running thin by then. Anyways, something went awfully wrong right away, before the man could put one spell on it, and so I was told there's a curse upon it, wrought to anyone who attempts to divulge it's secrets." He finished in a goofy mystical voice.

"So only use it for good and not to steal, got it," Harry couldn't help but laugh lightly, which helped him to ignore a funny tickle in his memory he may have learned that the hard way as well.

This is explained away by true believers thus: either the third brother's descendants do not know where their Cloak came from, or they know and are determined to show their ancestor's wisdom by not trumpeting the fact.

"Well that ones out the bush," Sirius said at once. "Prongs can't show an ounce of wisdom unless he's threatened with wrought!"

James gave him a calculating look before reminding, "who exactly was it who got caught underneath it by Flitwick and had to give the lamest excuse ever for it's existence?"

Sirius let out a lengthy breath, realized his mate wasn't going to go on until Harry stopped looking at him with an already twitching smile for whatever this could be, and finally muttered, "I was, when I told him I was just trying to smuggle in a demiguise from Kettleburn."

"So who had to steal it back?" James wouldn't let go.

"You did, by spending the whole weekend and fifty Galleons to buy a demiguise and give it to Kettleburn while Remus snuck into his office to get the cloak."

"Exactly," he finished pleasantly before going on while Sirius still muttered profanities about that mess.

Naturally enough, the stone has never been found, either. As I have already noted in the commentary for "Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump", we remain incapable of raising the dead, and there is every reason to suppose that this will never happen. Vile substitutions have, of course, been attempted by Dark wizards, who have created Inferi,3

They all made faces at the mention of those, though Harry gave the nastiest little shiver he was sure he didn't want to understand so didn't question what they were.

but these are ghastly puppets, not truly reawoken humans. What is more, Beedle's story is quite explicit about the fact that the second brother's lost love has not really returned from the dead. She has been sent by Death to lure the second brother into Death's clutches, and is therefore cold, remote, tantalizingly both present and absent.4

James breath caught enough all on its own he didn't notice Harry's and he had to resist the urge with all his might not to squeeze his eyes shut in pain lest he have a horrifying vision of Sirius looking anything like that.

This leaves us with the wand, and here the obstinate believers in Beedle's hidden message have at least some historical evidence to back up their wild claims. For it is the case whether because they liked to glorify themselves, or to intimidate possible attackers, or because they truly believed what they were saying, that wizards down the ages have claimed to possess a wand more powerful than the ordinary, even an "unbeatable" wand. Some of these wizards have gone so far as to claim that their wand is made of elder, like the wand supposedly made by Death. Such wands have been given many names, among them "the Wand of Destiny" and "the Deathstick".

It is hardly surprising that old superstitions have grown up around our wands, which are, after all, our most important magical tools and weapons. Certain wands (and therefore their owners) are supposed to be incompatible:

When his wand's oak and hers is holly, then to marry would be folly.

"Wonder what it says about mahogany and willow," James asked pleasantly while batting his eyes at his wife.

"The first is an idiot and the second is the fool who fell for that idiot," Lily returned pleasantly.

"You can do better than that Evans, it didn't even rhym," Sirius scoffed.

"Potter," they both corrected him, causing the two to smile at each other and Sirius to smirk.

or to denote flaws in the owner's character:

Rowan gossips,

"I never gossiped," Sirius muttered, "wandlore is stupid anyways."

"You're right, you should have had chestnut," Remus rolled his eyes while Sirius huffed at him.

chestnut drones, Ash is stubborn, hazel moans.

And sure enough, within this category of unproven sayings we find:

Wand of elder, never prosper.

Whether because of the fact that Death makes the fictional wand out of elder in Beedle's story, or because power-hungry or violent wizards have persistently claimed that their own wands are made of elder, it is not a wood that is much favored among wandmakers.

The first well-documented mention of a wand made of elder

"Ugh, isn't he done yet!" Sirius groaned. "I didn't care this much, I'm starting to feel like I'm being force fed a history lesson!"

"Still the most interesting one we've ever had," James shrugged, continuing with honest curiosity, as it had yet to say what Dumbledore felt about any of this, just stating the facts of others.

that had particularly strong and dangerous powers was owned by Emeric, commonly called "the Evil", a short-lived but exceptionally aggressive wizard who terrorized the South of England in the early Middle Ages. He died as he had lived, in a ferocious duel with a wizard known as Egbert. What became of Egbert is unknown, although the life expectancy of medieval duellers was generally short. In the days before there was a Ministry of Magic to regulate the use of Dark Magic, dueling was usually fatal.

"I am fairly confident dueling is still fatal," Lily muttered.

A full century later, another unpleasant character, this time named Godelot, advanced the study of Dark Magic by writing a collection of dangerous spells with the help of a wand he described in his notebook as "my most wicked and subtle friend, with bodie of Ellhorn,6 who knowes ways of magick moste evile". (Magick Moste Evile became the title of Godelot's masterwork.)

As can be seen, Godelot considers his wand to be a helpmeet, almost an instructor. Those who are knowledgeable about wandlore5 will agree that wands do indeed absorb the expertise of those who use them, though this is an unpredictable and imperfect business;

one must consider all kinds of additional factors, such as the relationship between the wand and the user, to understand how well it is likely to perform with any particular individual.

Nevertheless, a hypothetical wand that had passed through the hands of many Dark wizards would be likely to have, at the very least, a marked affinity for the most dangerous kinds of magic.

Harry had been rubbing his palm against his knee through most of that passage, wishing that tingling sensation would vanish already almost as much as this loaded feeling there was much more to be remembered about all of this, not much of it pleasant.

Most witches and wizards prefer a wand that has "chosen" them to any kind of second-hand wand, precisely because the latter is likely to have learned habits from its previous owner that might not be compatible with the new user's style of magic. The general practice of burying (or burning) the wand with its owner, once he or she has died, also tends to prevent any individual wand learning from too many masters. Believers in the Elder Wand, however, hold that because of the way in which it has always passed allegiance between owners "the next master overcoming the first, usually by killing him."

"How can it be an unbeatable wand if it's passed along through death?" Remus couldn't resist poking at Sirius who was still trying to pretend he was bored with this by twirling his wand about even as he kept his head tilted towards James to hear these details giving him away. "That feels redundant."

"Use your imagination Moony, wands pass along without consent. It doesn't happen often-"

"But every single time?" Remus persisted.

Lily cleared her throat obnoxiously so that they'd stop carrying on while Harry gave her a grateful look and flattened his hair again, though it did no more good than banishing his headache.

the Elder Wand has never been destroyed or buried, but has survived to accumulate wisdom, strength and power far beyond the ordinary.

"You think that's why Mrs. Longbottom gave Neville his dads wand?" Harry pointed out something that had lingered in his mind, aside from the rest of that torture going on inside the Department of Mysteries.

"Neville didn't get his parents killed," Sirius said so sharply Harry jumped and looked at him in surprise.

"Not that, the accumulating wisdom bit, strength and power over time. I'll bet she's looking for Frank in Neville or something," he finished with still distant eyes, and they were all wondering what he was really thinking of, yet sure they were all missing it.

"Well, he'll be getting his own now, so whatever her intent was it's gone," Lily said gently.

"I'll bet Neville's magic will be loads better this year because of that," James agreed happily. "Even better than he was showing in the DA."

"Least that's one good thing to be looking forward to," Remus muttered.

Godelot is known to have perished in his own cellar, where he was locked by his mad son, Hereward. We must assume that Hereward took his father's wand, or the latter would have been able to escape, but what Hereward did with the wand after that we cannot be sure. All that is certain is that a wand called "the Eldrun6 Wand" by its owner, Barnabas Deverill, appeared in the early eighteenth century, and that Deverill used it to carve himself out a reputation as a fearsome warlock, until his reign of terror was ended by the equally notorious Loxias, who took the wand, rechristened it "the Deathstick", and used it to lay waste to anyone who displeased him. It is difficult to trace the subsequent history of Loxias's wand, as many claimed to have finished him off, including his own mother.

"Dumbledore's sure done a lot of research on this," James flipped to the next page and was actually relieved to see it was the last. "I'm starting to agree with Sirius, what's the point of all this?"

"The man does his homework?" Remus shrugged indifferently while Lily didn't care past wanting it to be done with as well.

Harry just looked around at all of them and ground his teeth together rather than blurt out something he'd regret.

What must strike any intelligent witch or wizard on studying the so-called history of the Elder Wand is that every man who claims to have owned it7 has insisted that it is "unbeatable", when the known facts of its passage through many owners' hands demonstrate that not only has it been beaten hundreds of times, but that it also attracts trouble as Grumble the Grubby Goat attracted flies.

Remus still couldn't help a little smirk of victory he and Dumbledore seemed to agree on that front, than he caught sight of Harry and fully remembered all that Dumbledore would do in this future, and the smile slipped away just as fast.

Ultimately, the quest for the Elder Wand merely supports an observation I have had occasion to make many times over the course of my long life: that humans have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them.

"Wonder if he's speaking from experience," Lily said waspishly, having several accounts of the man doing just that.

But which of us would have shown the wisdom of the third brother, if offered the pick of Death's gifts?

James couldn't help but hum thoughtfully at that. Even now, with all his years he'd had with his cloak, given the choice of the three this moment, would he still pick the same? To see his parents again, to have even just one more protection for his family? He honestly wasn't at all sure no matter what he said aloud.

Wizards and Muggles alike are imbued with a lust for power; how many would resist "the Wand of Destiny"? Which human being, having lost someone they loved, could withstand the temptation of the Resurrection Stone? Even I, Albus Dumbledore, would find it easiest to refuse the Invisibility Cloak; which only goes to show that, clever as I am, I remain just as big a fool as anyone else.

"Ah, he does admit it, even to himself," Sirius growled.

"Wonder what changes then in times for him to take so long to do so," Harry snapped at no one in here while his dad finished.

1 Necromancy is the Dark Art of raising the dead. It is a branch of magic that has never worked, as this story makes clear.

2 Invisibility Cloaks are not, generally, infallible. They may rip or grow opaque with age, of the charms placed upon them may wear off, or be countered by charms of revealment. This is why witches and wizards usually turn, in the first instance, to Disillusionment Charms for self-camouflage or concealment. I have been known to be able to perform a Disillusionment Charm so powerful as to render myself invisible without the need for a Cloak.

3 Inferi are corpses reanimated by Dark Magic.

Harry crinkled up his nose in disgust. He was right, he hadn't wanted to know.

4 Many critics believe that Beedle was inspired by the Philosopher's Stone, which makes the immortality-inducing Elixir of Life, when creating this stone that can raise the dead.

5 Such as myself.

6 Also an old name for "elder".

7 No witch has ever claimed to own the Elder Wand. Make of that what you will.

James finished with a roaring laugh while Lily snatched the book away and gave him a light swat for whatever that laugh meant. James got it back before flipping through pages randomly instead of fully addressing Harry as he uneasily told him, "well, that was the last of them."

"I'm still taking the rest of the day," Sirius said at once, he knew he couldn't handle just yet hearing of Harry's next year, it helped nothing this couldn't even end on a truly pleasant note as Harry kept eyeing that story with some deep look none of them could know until it was too late.

The others agreed with him at once, and left Harry's next year for another day, still trying to enjoy whatever distance they could without having to spend the next indeterminable amount of time for the rest of this nightmare of a future.

HPHPHPHP

Hope you enjoyed these! They really are so much fun to read and they still make me smile, plus I absolutely inhale anything to do with this world, the extra knowledge in these pages and even something as silly as what kids would have been told as their bedtimes stories in conjunction with ours endlessly fascinates me.

*I am, unashamedly. I've spent many a countless hours on Harry Potter fan sites full of inner messages of these novels, leading to the existence of this fic, so you're welcome Sirius.

#The Life That Never Lived #Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #the tales of beedle the bard #Marauders #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

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letsbenditlikebennett · 4 years

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Ain’t Nobody Messin’ With My Pack || Ariana, Erin, & Noah

TIMING: Before Ariana’s name got yoinked PARTIES: @corpse--diem @noah-kalani @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Ariana and Noah go to Erin’s to jump in the bouncy castle only they smell something a little off. Things get heated and secrets come out. CONTENT: Medical blood tw

Never in her life did Erin expect to be hosting a handful of--well, she didn’t want to say children, because technically that wasn’t correct. But she was pretty sure at least one of them wasn't old enough to even rent a car. But then again, she was the 35 year old woman with the bounce castle in her backyard. Her judgments could be reserved for another day. Her own official work day had ended but after she’d refilled the air in the bounce castle for the two guests on their way, it was back to the basement to wrap up job two. A bloody, fresh new arrival of the wolf variety had been dropped at her backdoor and she knew her nerves would be considerably less agitated taking care of this before Ariana and her friend popped by. Nothing brought a party down like the carcass of a dead werewolf lingering in the back of your mind. The timing couldn’t have worked out better, either. Blood circled the sink drain as she washed off, the doorbell chiming above her. She dried off, slipping out the backdoor to meet them, waving them over. “Party’s back here guys!” She smiled, greeting the two, before changing her demeanor very suddenly and very seriously, holding her hand up to stop them from going any further. “Oh, wait. Hold up. You do have your admission fees ready to go, right?” She asked, a playful lilt to her otherwise authoritative tone.

Despite everything that had happened, Ariana had been determined to make the most of her summer. The last thing Celeste would have wanted was her moping around and as much as moving forward felt like trudging through molten peanut butter most days, it was the right thing to do. Eventually, it even brought her some sort of ease and it was easier to focus on the little moments that felt better. Tonight was going to be one of those moments. If anyone could goof around for a few hours and bounce until they were dead tired, it was Noah. He’d picked her up from the trailer and they’d made their way over to the funeral home. There was something almost amusing about a mini bouncy castle party at a funeral home. It was so incredibly White Crest. She’d been laughing up the way to the front door with Noah and smiled when Erin greeted them. “Is that what you tell all your customers,” Ariana joked before scrunching her nose up in confusion. She knew Erin was joking about the admission fee, but she caught the familiar wolf scent that meant another of her kind had been here. It wasn’t too familiar, so it couldn’t have been someone in the pack, but the thought of a dead werewolf back there still made her stomach churn. She tried to shake it off and responded, “Hey now, I paid my fee with pies. This guy’s on his own though.” Her joke fell flat and she couldn’t keep herself from sniffing the air around them.

If someone had Noah one day he’d be pulling up to a funeral home, with a full blooded werewolf, in search of a bouncy castle he probably would have said they were out of their mind. But yet here he was. Ready to bounce his cares away with Ari, a stupid ass grin plastered on his face at just the thought. He’d been happy when she called him, and even dare he say it relieved when it seemed like she wanted to do something so mundane. Well that is if you could call using a bouncy castle in a Funeral Home mundane, but hey you win some and you lose some here in White crest. Looking at Ari as she scrunched up her nose and followed the nice funeral home lady, Noah took a small sniff trying to figure out what she could have been smelling that he obviously could not. Funeral homes generally always smelled weird, but he figured that was like a normal weird smell. Right? Brushing it all off Noah snorted slightly at Ari’s joke. “Well I’m flat out of cash at the moment, soooo could I interest you in a sarcastic comment?” Noah smiled warmly at the lady, wondering if there really was an entrance fee.

“I mean--I have always thought of myself as a macabre party planner,” Erin teased, tilting her head to the side with a shrug. “You could say people are dying to get an invite.” There should have been shame that followed a joke as terrible as that one. Instead, she grinned wider, pausing just for a moment to wave it off. “Man, that one usually kills,” she followed up with a barely concealed chuckle, shaking her head as she put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! Sorry. That was the last one, I swear,” she nodded to solidify the promise. It was hard not to miss the way the two of them subtly crinkled their noses the closer she got. “Oh, sorry if I’m a little, uh--chemical-y. I just wrapped up work,” she glanced down at her clothes, wincing a little. Sometimes no matter how long or hard she scrubbed, the scent clung to her for dear life. She held her hand out towards the young man with Ariana. “Nice to meet you, though. Noah, right? Ariana makes some awesome pies, so you’re totally in the clear.”

“I guess in that case, you’re kind of the life of the party, huh,” Ariana retorted playfully even though every sense in her body seemed to be on high alert. She could feel the goosebumps prickling her arms. It was one thing that it smelled like wolves, but the chemicals couldn’t completely mask the smell of the blood. There was more than one, too. It left an uneasy feeling in her stomach, one that she was sure bouncing in a castle within sniffing range of dead werewolves wouldn’t help. She wanted to brag about her pie or tell Erin just how cheesy her jokes were, but wolves were at the front of her mind. Without realizing it, she put an arm up to stop Noah from moving forward and going to the bouncy castle. “There’s dead werewolves here,” she blurted out, quickly realizing that it was the worst possible thing she could have said. Her hands flew up over her mouth and she cautiously took a step back closer to Noah as she looked Erin over with narrowed eyes.

The instant the words were out of Ari’s mouth Noah could feel the air around them change. Because she was right, something was wrong, and werewolves were involved. He could sense it now, that wrongness that he thought was just funeral home weirdness. Looking at Ari, and then back to Erin, a woman he realized he knew nothing about, Noah lowered Ari’s arm, instinctually pulling her even closer to his own body. She, a full blown living breathing werewolf, was in danger, and while he knew Ari could take care of herself, Noah would be damned if he didn’t at least try to use his humanness to shield her from the worst of it. Looking at the girl he broke into a half hearted laugh, trying to scoot her even further away from Erin without being suspicious. “All that twilight watching last night really got to your head there didn’t it champ? He started looking down at Ari, eye begging her to pick up on what he was putting down.

Perhaps it was the way she said it, or just even who had said it, but Ariana’s outburst sent Erin reeling. She wasn’t wrong but there was no way in hell she should’ve known something like that. Every hair on her neck stood at attention and she watched wildly as her arm moved to protect Noah. From her? The air got thick, fast, despite Noah’s humored attempt to cut through it. “Dead werewolves?” Erin finally exclaimed, pulling herself out of that brief stunned daze. A little slow but not unconvincingly halted. Even managed a light laugh that, while it didn’t sound entirely genuine, mimicked the very real concern in every one of her features. “Jeez, I didn’t think I smelled that bad,” she said, lifting the collar of her shirt to her nose to get a better whiff. “Wait, is it really that bad? Should I change? Or is this some Twilight reference I’m never going to get?” She asked, glancing between the two of them. Dead werewolves did have their own unique odor to them but it was the kind of smell that hit hardest when you were elbow deep in their ribcage. As far as she knew, it didn’t linger past the removal of her scrubs or the intense handwashing session she had after every extraction. She really only had Nic she could ask about that and from what she could tell, even if it stunk, he clearly hadn’t minded.

Ariana shot Noah a glare as he placed her behind him. Her arms were crossed haughtily over her chest as she huffed at Noah, “What are you doing?” If anyone here was equipped for a fight, it was definitely her. The full moon was quickly approaching and she had a bit more of an advantage if they did get in any sort of altercation with Erin. It had never even dawned on Ariana that Erin could be a hunter and the smell of wolves was still overwhelming. She was beginning to feel sick, but at least placed herself next to Noah. Now Erin was trying to make jokes. What the fuck was her deal? At this point, she knew her face was turning red and every part of her was on edge, ready to attack at any moment. She got what Noah was trying to do, but there was more than one dead wolf here. Seemed hella unlikely that this was a coincidence. “Cut the shit. You have a family business here, you’ve had to live here long enough to know I’m not making a Twilight reference.” Normally, she would have tried to be more subtle in her sniffing, but every instinct in her was firing off. “Where are they?”

Annnddd there it was folks, the all too predictable haughtiness Noah knew Ari would exhibit when he tried to protect her. Honestly it would have been commendable in any other situation, but right now they needed to de escalate, not start yelling. Sighing Noah placed a hand on Ari’s shoulder and squeezed hoping the act would ground her a little. “I’m trying to get you the hot head in this scenario to calm down for a second, please and thank you” He said knowing full well Erin would hear him. Cat was out of the bag now, no use in keeping up the charae .Looking back at Erin though, Noah could sense there was some sort of… surprise was it? Either she was very very good at lying or she truly didn't know. Either way Noah thought maybe they should give her the benefit of the doubt before they just jumped her shit. “Now I don’t know what's going on here, but I think we” He motioned between both he and Ari “both agree it does not smell good If you catch my drift.” He fixed his gaze sternly on Erin “So you should probably start talking before Little Miss here decides to start swinging.”

Right. That didn’t work. Erin dropped the pretenses but held her cards close to her chest for now. Just because Ariana was right didn’t mean she owed her any answers. “Start swinging? Seriously?” she asked the both of them. “If you even think about it, I’ll have the cops here in two minutes. Cool it,” she warned, the cheerful warmth from earlier completely gone. Apparently it was time to turn on her pissed off adult voice. She lowered it, taking a very slow, cautious step towards the two, trying to stay quiet. “Listen--I don’t know how or why you think that but…” she sighed, shaking her head. “Whatever you think I’m up to, you’re wrong. Believe me.” Bold thing to ask of someone who suddenly thought you were a killer, or whatever was going through these two minds. She said it anyway, hoping the rapport she’d built with Ariana would at least buy her that much. Gesturing towards the street with a nod of her head, she crossed her arms in front of her. “I think you should go.”

Between the two of them, Ariana was fuming. A low growl escaped as she tried to shake off Noah’s grip on her shoulder. “Don’t call me little,” she grumbled, eyes narrowed and watching Erin’s every move very closely. She wasn’t about to go in swinging, not until she knew what happened to the wolves and if Erin had anything to do with it. “You really think having a werewolf arrested days away from the full moon is a good idea? Plus, I’ve got supernatural cop friends. I’m sure they’d really love to sniff out the other wolves I’m smelling here.” Was she bluffing? Maybe a little bit. Jane couldn’t sniff things out, but with Miles’ help, she sure as hell could get to the bottom of it. She reasoned for a moment that maybe Noah was being smarter about this than she was, but she simply couldn’t drop it. If the wolves weren’t safe, she needed to know. She needed to protect them. “Then show me I’m wrong.” Her foot was tapping impatiently and her brows were raised expectantly. “Oh no,” she retorted, “You can’t expect me to leave knowing you have dead wolves here. We don’t usually get the chance to die in numbers if you catch my drift… especially not as a group.”

If Noah could have face palmed without escalating the situation he would have. Man this was definitely not how he envisioned this outing going. Rolling his eyes though at posturing both of them were displaying Noah sighed placing his hand back on Ariana’s shoulder. She could throw it off as much as she wanted, Noah was going to have some sort of contact with her, if only to pull her back from the potential werewolf serial killer that was apparently in front of them. Weighing all of the options Noah took a deep breath. He wasn’t used to being the mediator, in fact he was used to being Ariana, if he was being completely honest with himself. But after everything that had happened to him in the past month, well Noah Kalani had simply run out of hot air. “Soooooo” He started letting out his breath gaze again resting on Erin. If she wanted to pull the ‘I’m the adult here’ rank well two could play that game “As much as I would like to just skedaddle, I think she has a point” He finished calmly nodding in Ariana’s direction “Plus if you’re above board, it will definitely be easier just to show us. I promise we’ll get out of your hair after that, even if I have to drag her out myself.” He looked down at Ariana, his jaw set, eyes practically begging her to start behaving. He knew she would probably hate leaving, even if they got an answer, but for once he hoped she would realize that, if they were in fact right, they were in waaaaaay over their heads.

Ariana’s jarring anger made a lot more sense after she dropped that little nugget of information. “You’re a werewolf,” Erin repeated, feeling like every advantage she had two seconds ago deflated faster than it took to wrap up the bouncy castle. She didn’t think Ariana would actually throw fists but up until a few moments ago, Erin had been pretty sure she could take her if it became that outrageous. “Fuck,” she cursed loudly, shaking her head, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. Noah was purely trying to calm the situation and Ariana. Didn’t feel like he was managing either of those things very well, but bless him for trying. Her eyes rolled and she glared over at this actual stranger in her yard, trying to hold in that brimming fear and annoyance all at once. Because she was afraid, and not just of the one, possibly two fiery werewolves in front of her demanding answers. “I don’t--ugh,” she started, snapping her mouth shut as she fought another wave off. They were in the safety of her backyard but all things considered, her paranoia spiked. She moved toward her basement door, away from the fence line around the house. Lowered her voice but didn’t open the door just yet.

“Please understand,” Erin let out a breath, her anger giving way. “I don’t hurt them. I don’t. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Very boring, very human funeral director over here.” Her eyes popped up, checking over the yard to make sure it was still them again. She hated this. Hated talking about this with strangers, especially. Hated how much of a monster she probably looked like to them right now. “If I take you downstairs, and you see what you see, you need to remember that.”

Ariana let out a huff as Noah insisted on keeping a hand on her shoulder. She invited him here as her friend, not her babysitter. She opted to not snap at Noah given everything else going on, but she still shot him an annoyed glance. This time, she didn’t bother trying to shake the hand off of her. If it really came down to it, he wouldn’t be able to hold her back anyway. Her glare was still focused on Erin. “Obviously,” she responded with an eye roll. At least that ruled out the hunter theory. If she was a wolf hunter, Erin would have been able to sense her from the get go. She could pick up on the spike in Erin’s heartbeat when she listened closely. That paired with her overall body language was indicative of fear. She listened closely, trying to pick up any sign of deception in her voice. “You don’t hurt them,” she said slowly, processing the words trying to take some of the edge off her voice. “I’ll keep that in mind. I want to see what happened to them.” She was not budging until she knew what the hell happened to those wolves, even if the idea of one more thing on her plate made her want to hop in the bouncy castle and never leave. “Show me.”

The little fuck from Erin basically told Noah all he needed to know, an actual ‘i’m scrubbing my hand down my face because I’m done with actual life at this point’ and a deep sigh accidentally escaping him after the fact. God damn it. Fucking A. A werewolf chop shop was literally the last thing he needed right now. Hell it was the last thing they all needed right now. But he guessed it didn't matter. Ariana was hell bent on seeing what was going on with her own two so he was going to follow her lead even if he had to walk into this basement of horrors. “Yeaaaaa, that sounds a bit like bullshit to me, but I’ll try to reserve my judgement for after the show and tell” Noah breathed out at Erin’s excuses, his own anger flaring a little at her attempt at playing nice. Because he smell of death was even more pungent the more he focused his faulty nose on it. Brushing it off Noah took steps toward the basement squeezing Ariana’s shoulder briefly before motioned to Erin that she should open it.

They didn’t believe her. Of course not. Not completely, anyway. Erin could understand and appreciate that—from where they were sitting, she wasn’t looking too innocent. What they were about to witness in that basement wasn’t going to help her case either. “Come on,” she sighed, more nervous than she was letting on. Sure, go into the basement with the werewolf to show them the werewolf carcasses she just butchered up. Solid plan. Nothing could go wrong here. The smell of dead dog was still ripe in the air as she flicked the lights on, moving towards the industrial sized refrigerators normally meant for housing bodies. “It’s a long story but—my boss hires these guys to hunt down whatever’s in demand I guess. Then the bodies get brought to me, I retrieve the necessary organs. Then I pack, store and sell them.” Yeah this was looking awful for her. “It’s not always wolves, either.” In the fridge were metal slabs, mostly occupied by actual clients. But the two black body bags at the bottom were just a little off. She gestured towards them and then another, smaller refrigerator off to the side with a nod, arms crossed against her stomach nervously. “I—“ she tried to think of a gentle way to put it, tilting her head, “—uh, got what I needed already this morning.”

Nothing would shake away the feeling something very wrong was happening here. Ariana was happy Noah seemed to at least be on the same page as her now. She was still a little annoyed he had tried to hold her back, but they both knew something was wrong here now. Her arms were crossed angrily over her chest until she began to follow Erin down to the basement. The overpowering smell of dead wolves slapped her in the face and a low growl was caught in her throat. What the actual fuck was going on here? The pungent smell of death was already making her stomach feel queasy. Erin’s explanation provided zero comfort or show of her innocence. Angry tears filled her eyes, “What do you mean your boss? You own this place, aren’t you your own boss?” Her anger and disgust were both evident in her town and her fists were balled up, ready to throw punches. “So you’re telling me you sell werewolf organs? Or I’m sorry-- organs in general? Doesn’t matter the species,” she pressed, the edge in her tone impossible not to notice. “Erin, what the fuck?” She took a step toward the body bags and swallowed back the lump in her throat. They deserved better. “You at least going to give them a proper funeral or were you planning to just refrigerate them ‘til you need another part?”

Stepping down into the basement, after both, Erin and Ari, Noah kept his face poised. He worked at a vets office, so he knew what dead dogs smelled like, But nothing would prepare him for seeing the actual body bags. There had been werewolves in there, wolves like Ariana or god forbid Winn. Standing there Noah tried to rack his brains for who they could even call, how they would even get out of there. But it was then, as Erin and Arianna kept talking that the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. She sold organs. Werewolf organs. Fuck he had a fucking werewolf organ. Oh God. Oh God. No. No. No. Stepping in front of Ariana Noah stared down Erin, a certain anger fueling him now, and even more questions swirling in his mind. “How long have you been doing this? How long have they been doing this? Where do the organs go? Who do they choose?” Noah started, voice low and gravelly as he stepped closer and closer toward the possible answers.

Erin felt the cornering happening--she knew it would come. Their anger was more than valid, she knew that too, but she knew she had to reel them back in before the tempers flew too out of control. “Hey!” She snapped back at them, holding a hand out in front of her as she took a few steps back, growing unsteady as the questions poured out and they took a few too many steps closer than she was comfortable with. “I get this looks really fucking bad for me, okay? Because it is. It’s bad. It’s really fucking bad. You should be pissed as hell and I’m not trying to absolve myself of anything. But I don’t have a choice,” she emphasized, hoping they heard it this time. “My shady asshole father owed some shady asshole boss a shit ton of money before he died. And this--” she gestured towards the werewolf corpses, “--was how he was paying them back. This is my inheritance.” She huffed a long breath, trying to figure out if she could reach her scalpel in time should things go sideways here. “They don’t tell me why they pick who winds up here or what they do with the parts afterwards. I just do what I’m told and there’s no trouble. And I always give them a proper send off. Always,” she glanced over at Ariana sincerely.

Nothing being explained to Ariana made her feel any better. She was overwhelmed with both anger and sadness that seemed to seep down to every bone in her body. Her heart was thudding against her chest. They had to do something. How long was it before it was a werewolf she knew and loved on the table? It put her and those she cared for at risk and these wolves deserved better. When Noah stepped in front of her, she pushed her way to be by his side again. She shot him yet another glare. She didn’t appreciate being treated like she wasn’t more than capable of handling herself. The body bags and organs in the fridge left a heaviness in her chest. “Who the fuck is your boss,” she questioned. If Erin wasn’t the source of this, they needed to get to the bottom of who was. Even if it wasn’t by choice, it drastically skewed her impression of the older woman. “Everyone has a choice,” she shot back. “If you really want to right your wrongs, tell me who’s behind this. This already looks bad. I don’t think you want to see what I do if it ever becomes someone I know and love in one of those bags.” She glanced between herself and Noah, standing taller to try and come off as intimidating as possible. She wished Ulfric was here. “I want to be part of their send off,” she demanded.

“This looks bad?” Noah scoffed, throwing a hand up at Erin and the situation around them, shocked she was even trying to placate the wolf and a half in front of her. “This looks bad? Well don’t let me tell you what I think because I think this looks like a piss poor excuse for someone who claims to have an ounce of decency” His voice was full of malice now, his adrenaline pumping and ready for a fight. Clenching his jaw though Noah looked down at Ariana, the younger pushing him back again, and giving him a glare. Noah could almost feel his anger deepening. Winn was in a coma, he probably had a black market werewolf kidney, they were in way over his head, and yet had to somehow get Ari, a girl determined to stick her nose in everything, out of here unscathed. Fuck. Taking a deep breath Noah turned slightly not even wanting to look at the older woman in front of them but knowing he needed to “Ari, I know you want all of these answers but I don't think she’s gonna tell us, so we should probably leave before she gets any funny ideas” Noah said staring pointedly at Erin.

Erin shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. You’re not going anywhere near him,” she insisted at Ariana’s demand for a name, cutting that off immediately. Her head turned slightly to Noah, narrowing her eyes, shaking her head. She hated this feeling. This judgment sitting heavily between her and these two. Fuck it. She didn’t owe them an explanation for how she chose to survive. Maybe Ariana could snarl and bite her way out but Erin’s options were limited. She was biting back differently, more methodically. “Before you throw some more assumptions around—I’m working on it. On stopping him. I want this all to stop,” she glared between the two. Held a hand up as she moved, crossing the room to grab a pen and paper from a drawer. “If you really want to be useful and help, you can do something with this,” she said, scribbling a name down onto a piece of paper. Offered it out to the two from a safe distance, her heart still pounding. “There’s more where that came from, and I can get you more names. But that man specifically is who brought me those two in the fridge.” She raised a brow. “What you do with that is up to you.”

Ariana took a step closer to Erin. She refused to take no for an answer when wolves were in danger. Letting this lie was unacceptable. She snarled and said, “If you think I’m leaving without a name, you’ve got something else coming.” The anger rising in her made it difficult to keep control of her form, but she reminded herself to breathe. Noah was here and wolfing out on the funeral director was an absolute last resort. She consciously unclenched her fist and drew in a few long breaths. “If you really want to stop him, I suggest you let me or one of the other wolves help. I’m sure the others won’t take kindly to this otherwise,” she retorted sternly. For a moment, Noah had been just as raging as she was and now he was trying to babysit her again. “No, Noah, I’m not leaving here without something. This close to the full moon, I’d love to see her try and pull something on me.” She shot Erin a dirty look. She seemed to be willing to offer up a name for now at least. There’d be more. She could work with that. It was a start in helping keep the wolves of White Crest safe. “Okay, I’ll accept the name you’re offering for now, but if you think I won’t come back with back up if you don’t keep your word on providing more names.” Her eyes were still narrowed, studying Erin carefully before she turned to Noah. “Alright, alright. We can go now. We’ll figure out what to do with this name and the person attached to it.”

#medical blood tw #wickedswriting #ain't nobody messin' with my pack #erin #noah

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thirteenisles · 4 years

Text

Can’t Say We’re Friends | 10

A/N: Do you hate me yet? No? Ok well, prepared to hate me now. But the good news is, we’re almost there.

Warnings: Angst, fighting, and mentions of a panic attack

Word Count: 4.1K

The Islanders lose 1-2 on their opening night to the Capitals, not the way they had intended for it to go and Evelyn can see their disappointment as they skate off the ice. Sighing, she turns off the television and adjusts her jersey, heading into the kitchen to make Anthony’s favorite post-game snack, at least he could come home to something comforting.

As she waits for him to get home, she speaks to his mom on the phone, confirming the family's flight info. Evelyn had originally planned to keep this a secret and surprise Anthony on Sunday morning at brunch, but she figured that he needs more cheering up.

When he comes home, there’s sadness etched across his face, which makes Evelyn’s heart hurt; he looks so disappointed and it breaks her heart. She walks over to him and taps on his hand, taking his bag and places it by the coat rack, before she helps him get out of his suit jacket and undoes his tie for him.

“I can’t believe we lost.”

“You can’t win them all, besides you have worked so hard this summer and that was only game one out of eighty-two. You guys are going to prove people wrong for the second year in a row, especially under Trotz’s leadership.”

“I just wanted to win.”

She cups his face and kisses his forehead softly, “I know you did, come on, I made your favorite.”

Now curled up on the couch with his favorite girl, he’s starting to feel just a little bit better. The sting of the loss still stands, but he has Evelyn curled against his chest, watching and cooing over the otter documentary that was playing on the television. He smiles as he looks down at her, so grateful to have her in his life. Even when things got sucky, at least he had Evelyn.

She shifts in his arms and props herself up on her chest, “Feeling a little better now?”

“Yeah, a bit. I got my snack and my favorite girl, couldn’t ask for anything better?”

“Really now?” She cocks her eyebrow, “There’s nothing else.”

“Not that I can think of at the moment.”

“So, if I told you that your family and I will be at your game against Winnipeg on Sunday, that wouldn’t be better?”

His eyes light up, “You’ll be there?”

“Yes, we’ll all be there, cheering on our favorite guy wearing number eighteen.”

He grins, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to kiss her returns, so instead he just holds her tightly, whispering thank you in her ear.

Having his family in the stands, made Anthony even more determined to make tonight a win. He wanted to make them proud and show them how hard he has been working, more importantly, he wanted to try and score his first goal of the season for them. As warm-ups begin and he practices a little puck work, he skates over to the section where he can look up and see his family. His mother and Evelyn seem to be in a deep conversation, but he can’t help but smile, seeing his name across Evelyn’s back. He can feel his cheeks heat up with the reminder that technically, it was her last name now to, minus all the paperwork. He stares at her adoringly and his mother seems to catch his eye and gives him a knowing smirk, cocking her head to the side and Evelyn turns to look at him.

She gives him the smile that everyone says is reserved just for him, bright and beautiful. He smiles back at her, waving to both his parents, before grabbing a puck and throws it over the glass to a lucky fan.

At the start of the third, no less than a minute in a half in, Anthony scores his first of the season. Evelyn and his family jump up screaming with joy, watching as he does his celly, and he points up to them. He mouths something that Evelyn can’t understand, but she blows him a kiss, a huge grin on his face.

As she finishes the yes chance, she realizes she really has to pee, and quickly lets his family know she’ll be right back. Just as she’s grabbing her bag, she looks over to the WAG section and notices Lily sitting there, staring right back at her. Evelyn feels her heart drop to her stomach and quickly makes her way to the women’s room.

Adjusting her ponytail after finishing up, Evelyn grabs her bag and turns to make her way into the bathroom when Lily walks in confidently.

“Hello Evelyn, fancy seeing you here. Great game, right?”

Her gut clenches, warning her, something about this small talk was already not sitting well with her. “Yeah, it’s great, anyway I got to-“

Lily now stands in the mirror, looking through her bag, “You know, it was just so sweet of Beau to invite me to this game, not that I haven’t been to any games, but he actually invited me to this one, hits differently you know?”

Evelyn goes ridged, looking at Lily as if she has two heads, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, well, I figured you knew since you’re his best friend. I mean, we’ve been actively seeing each other, it only makes sense I’m here.” Lily gives her a sugary sweet smile, one that sends a shiver down Evelyn’s spine.

“He’s not dating you or even seeing you, so, whatever fantasies you’re playing in your head right now, you need to stop.”

“That’s what you think, but he’s been being coming out to see me, you know he was so torn up after hearing about Eric and you-”

Evelyn immediately cuts her off, “there is no Eric and I, he’s one of my closest friends, and how the hell do you even know about Eric?”

Lily just shrugs, “I flew up to Montreal a few times over the summer to see Beau, he had bitterly mentioned about how you had left to see your ex-boyfriend and that you two were back together. He was hurt, but I was there for him.”

Evelyn doesn’t even know this girl, but her heart is pounding out of her chest. She has to be lying because Anthony would never keep a secret like this from her. Lily gives a little pout and sighs, turning back to the mirror to do her lipstick.

“You really could have had it all Evelyn, I mean, he even took you out on nice dates, but you had better things to do, like fuck your ex-boyfriend.”

Fuming and standing up for herself, Evelyn gets closer to her, “Lily, I suggest shutting your mouth, because you do NOT know anything about what’s going on. At this point, you are just talking out of your ass. You’re obviously jealous, clingy, and borderline obsessive and there is no WAY in hell, my best friend would ever date someone like you!”

“Compared to you, I am his best option. At least I can be honest and upfront with him, and I’m not going around fucking my ex,” Lily smirks, “And trust me, Beau isn’t going to want your sloppy seconds, because, at the end of the day, you can be his best friend all you want, but he is NEVER going to want you like he wants me.”

Evelyn is shaking at this point; her tongue feels like lead as she tries to find a comeback that never leaves her lips. Lily seizes her opportunity and begins to walks towards Evelyn, backing her into a corner.

“All you will ever be to Beau is his best friend. He’s never going to see you as a romantic option, in fact, you never were an option to him in the first place. You say I am clingy and jealous? I think it’s the other way around, I think you’re so desperate to hold onto him because you don’t know how to let him go.”

Evelyn’s chest starts to tighten as she holds back tears, there is nothing but truth to her words.

“He deserves to be happy and not wonder if his girl is giving him the run around when he’s so busy with his career. He needs stability and support, all of which I can provide, while you continue to be indecisive about every decision you make. You had your chance to make your move honey, don’t be mad that someone else did because you were too slow.”

Feeling sick to her stomach, Evelyn’s head is pounding, as she tries to stare back, tries to stand to say words that never come to. Lily just smirks, backing away before she saunters out of the women’s bathroom. Evelyn can only sink to the floor as her heart and mind race a million miles per minute. Anger, sadness, and anxiety pump through her veins and she wonders how long she has been in here before she finally gets back up.

Calling one of her closet friends, she’s shaking as she walks through the parking lot, her head in a fog “Sarah?” She gasps for air, “I need to see you right now. Can you meet me halfway?”

The next morning, she tip-toes into the house. It’s early enough that the sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon and she knows Anthony will be asleep. She’s quiet as she opens and closes the front door, toeing off her sneakers, as she sighs. She just wants to get to bed and when she’s had enough sleep, explain to Anthony what happened last night. As she goes to take the first quiet step up the stairs, she’s stopped by a familiar voice.

“Don’t even bother tip-toeing, I’m awake.”

Like a deer in headlights, she freezes, slowly turning and sees him sitting on the couch. He looks rightfully angry, with tired eyes. Swallowing thickly, she takes a step back, “Oh, hi, you’re up early.”

“Maybe it’s because I never went to sleep...”

“Is…. everything ok?” she immediately regrets her decision in asking that.

“I was going to ask you the same thing as a matter of fact, you care to explain what happened last night?” His voice is very condescending and Evelyn is growing more nervous at the tone of his voice.

“I really don’t want to discuss it right now.”

“Well now is a perfect time to discuss it, I tried calling you 6 times and all I got was your voicemail! I’ve been worried sick about you and so was my family! They told me you went to the bathroom and never came back!”

“I’m sorry, I know I should have- “

“You’re damn right your sorry!” He stands up in a fury, Evelyn has never seen him this angry before,” They interviewed me on the ice after the game and when I looked up at my family, the one person that I wanted to see and thank wasn’t anywhere to be found. I thought that maybe you were already waiting for me outside the locker room, then, of course, I find out, you just up and left. That really fucking hurt me, Evelyn. Where the hell were you all night?”

She hesitates, “I was with Sarah.”

“So, you just randomly decide to get up and leave in the middle of one of the best games I’ve ever had to have a girl’s night?!”

“No, Beau, it wasn’t that it was just- “

“You know, this has me very angry, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there is more to....” He pauses, his eyes widening before he looks at her which such anger, that she panics when she realizes exactly what he was thinking.

“Beau, no, no don’t even go there. I was not with Eric last night; I would NEVER do that to you.”

“If it’s not true why are you defending yourself?! You know what, it all makes sense now! You guys weren’t really texting about the “fundraiser” a couple weeks ago! And you saw last night as an opportunity to go hang out with your fuck buddy or is he your boyfriend again? I guess only you know that huh? How could you just walk out on my family and me during one of the most important nights of my life?! You literally took something so special and tore it to shreds! I hope you realize that!”

“Beau, please, please just let me explain-“

“I’m done with this conversation, Evelyn. You really messed up this time, and I hope you know that I am beyond disappointed. I’m disappointed in this whole situation and how everything went down. More than that, I am especially disappointed in you for just leaving so that you can have fun with your fuck buddy!” He storms past her and up to his room, “UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE!” And he slams his bedroom door shut, blocking out her cries.

He doesn’t leave his room until half-past one, the house is unusually quiet, especially now that Derick has moved out, but Anthony trudges down the stairs to get something to eat. As he hits the last step, he notices Evelyn’s car is gone, with a little note pinned to their corkboard, “I’m sorry,” stained with tears.

Ignoring it, he goes outside to grab the mail first, and he pulls out a thick manila envelope with his and Evelyn’s names on it.

The annulment papers were finally here.

It was probably the worst fight they ever had and everyone seems to know about it, because they’re all very careful not to mention Evelyn’s name around him and they always seemed to go quiet when he entered a room. Today, Anthony was just happy to finally be doing something that would cheer him up a bit, shooting the Puppy Calendar.

As soon as he’s finished with his portion, he walks over to get something to drink, when Sydney Martin appears next to him.

“Can we talk?”

He looks at her confused, “Um, sure, is everything ok?” She never really talks to him, so he’s surprised by this.

“Just follow me.”

She leads him to a more secluded area so they would have more privacy and Anthony feels a bit nervous by this sudden conversation.

“Listen, I know you’re furiously angry with Evelyn, but I thought I knew you better that you would at least give her the opportunity to say what she had to say.”

Rolling his eyes, of course, this is where this was coming from, Evelyn ran to Sydney and Matt. “Sydney, I would really appreciate if you could mind your business-“

“I wasn’t done talking Beauvillier, don’t tell me to mind my business when one of my best friends is upset. I’ll spare the details of what happened, that’s Evelyn’s bit to say, but all you need to know is that Lily is not the person you think she is.”

“Lily and I haven’t seen each other a while now.”

“Except she has been around. Showing up at games, private events, inserting herself or at least trying to, into the section where all the wives and girlfriends sit.”

“What does this have to do with Evelyn again? Besides the fact that she lied to us all about her and Eric.”

“There is no Eric and Evelyn, there hasn’t been for a long time now, but Lily seems to be under the impression that you and her are dating and therefor, Evelyn is a threat to her.”

Anthony swallows thickly, “What do you mean by a threat?”

“Again, it’s not my place to tell you what happened Beau, but you owe Evelyn an apology and a chance to explain her side of what went down. So, when you decide to not be a total dick, you can come over and talk to her, if she wants to talk to you that is.”

And as quick as she came, Sydney is gone, leaving Anthony to his thoughts.

A few hours later, when he’s at home, lost in his thoughts, an unknown number pops up on his phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello Anthony, how are you?”

Confused by the politeness of the conversation, Anthony racks his brain to try and figure out why this voice sounds so familiar, “That depends, whom am I speaking to?”

“This is Eric, Eric DeStefano.”

“Eric? Oh, Eric.” He drags out his name, tone goes cold, “How did you get my number?”

“To be honest I had it for a while. You are listed as Evelyn’s emergency contact and I never deleted the number out of my phone.”

“Ok, so, why are you calling me?”

“I just thought I would call to clear some things up about Evelyn and I. You seem to be under the impression that Evelyn and I are seeing one another again, that is not the case. We are not sleeping together; we are not seeing one another again. In fact, I have no romantic interest in Evelyn anymore nor does she have any for me.”

“Is she paying you to say this?”

Eric ignores him, “While coincidentally we were both in the city, I haven’t seen Evelyn in over a month. She doesn’t have to pay me as I care about her as much as you do. I understand you were quite worried about her sudden disappearance, but you’ve left this story one-sided in your anger.”

“I suppose you just happen to know everything then.”

“I do, in bits and pieces. Evelyn is quite upset over the fact that her best friend wouldn’t even take the time to listen to her. I have also been informed that you blocked her number as none of her text messages have gone through, in which, she explained what had happened.”

“What is the point of this conversation Eric?”

“I would actually rather discuss this face to face. If you are free at two PM on Wednesday, I’d like to sit down with you.”

Anthony grows quiet, “Where would you like to meet?”

“I’ll text you the details.”

Staring up at the office, Anthony is starting to regret his decision to show up in the first place. He slowly makes his way upstairs and finds the door with Eric’s name on it and then patiently sits in the waiting room. Eric eventually exists and he’s as painfully handsome as he’s ever been.

“Ah, Anthony, so glad you came. Come there is a restaurant right next door that makes the best Mexican food.”

Sitting awkwardly across one another, they both order, and stare at one another.

“So, what is the point of us meeting up.”

“I figured that face to face would help further your understanding and clear things up in regards to Evelyn and I.”

Anthony takes a big gulp of his beer, “Ok, go on then.”

“It took me a while into our relationship to realize that Evelyn’s heart wasn’t mine. There was always someone else on her mind, someone else she loved, and was in love with, but could never see it. I came to the conclusion that while I loved Evelyn dearly, I had to let her go. I still love her, but as one of my closest friends, but in the two years that her and I were together, there was one guy she always had her heart set on.”

“And that is?”

Eric just stares at him, waiting for it to click in Anthony’s head, but that moment doesn’t come.

“Anyway, there is no Evelyn and I, no more that is. We remain, friends, we still talk, we have the charity that we created together and we are currently working on a fundraising project, that I would actually like to invite you to, as I know it would mean the world to her if you came.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea at the moment.”

“Why is that?”

“We aren’t exactly talking if you haven’t already noticed.”

“Yes, I was going to get to that next. You see, without giving too much away as it is not my place to speak on Evelyn’s behalf, what happened that night at the coliseum was something that was enough to….” He pauses, trying to find a good way to phrase it, “I will say this, Evelyn has never had a panic attack before, but I am pretty sure that night she did.”

Anthony is silent, his heart starting to race, “What happened?”

“Again, that is Evelyn’s story, not mine, she wasn’t ready to talk about it when she came home that morning. She was exhausted and the one thing she needed was both sleep and her best friend, instead what she got was anger and accusations.”

“It must have been really bad then.” He feels bad.

“It was bad enough, that I had to pry it out of her through her hysterics.”

The guilt of him not hearing Evelyn out starts to set in, he shouldn’t have let his anger get the best of him. Anthony knows that Evelyn would have never done something intentionally to hurt him and whatever had happened, was enough to make her upset and leave with a good reason. Staring at his now cold food, he wonders what his next step is.

“You should apologize, but just give it a day or two, she’s a bit angry at the moment.”

“Shouldn’t I do it right away, before things get worse?”

“Trust me, I know Evelyn, let her calm down before you go in there, otherwise you’ll be walking straight into a lion’s den.”

Eric and Anthony finish up their lunches and go their separate ways, and for the first time, Anthony finally sees why Evelyn liked Eric so much in the first place, he really was a great guy. And, instead of taking his advice and give Evelyn some time to cool off, he heads straight to the Martin’s house to see her.

She’s sorting through her laundry when he finds her, she looks so exhausted, pale, and so defeated. He coughs, immediately apologizing when she drops her basket out of fright, but she just stares at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I- I came to apologize.”

She says nothing.

“Evelyn, I am so sorry for accusing you of leaving to go be with Eric. I was worried about you and it came off as anger and what I did and say was horrible, so I am sorry.”

“That’s great.”

Ok, he deserved that, “Evelyn…. I really, sincerely, am sorry.”

“You know, where was this fucking compassion when I came home the other week? Do you know how caught off guard I was by your behavior? Not once, in our friendship have you ever yelled at me the way you did. You indirectly accused me of being a slut, that I would leave one of your games to go sleep with my ex, I mean- what the fuck Beau, I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Eve- I do, I’m sorry- “

“Sorry doesn’t make up for the fact that you treated me like shit! I am still floored that you would ever think I’d do something like that to you of all people!”

“I know you wouldn’t and I am sorry- “

“I don’t want you fucking apologies! You wouldn’t let me talk so now you can shut the hell up and let me say my piece. You want to know why I left that night? Because your perfect fucking girlfriend cornered me in the women’s bathroom. Like you, she accused me of being Eric’s fuck buddy, told me I was nothing to you and made sure to make me feel so small and worthless. I guess she really is perfect for you. I am so upset that you would so quickly jump to thinking that I would leave you, your family, and the game for sex. You must really think lowly of me to come up with that bullshit.”

“No, Evelyn, you’re my best friend.”

“No, I’m not! Because best friends don’t pull that shit. First, you get mad at me and don’t talk to me over a kiss, then when I come home upset after being verbally assaulted by your girlfriend, I have to get the same fucking treatment from you! You two sure are perfect for one another.”

“Evelyn, we aren’t dating- “

“It doesn’t fucking matter! You’re an asshole and every fiber of my being wishes I could hate you because these last few months have been nothing but back and forth nonsense and I am sick and tired of it. Honestly, I don’t know if our friendship is ever going to survive this and I don’t know if I want it to either.

Anthony is now the one feeling sick to his stomach, tears welling up in his eyes, “You mean everything to me, Evelyn, you know that.”

“I really don’t think I believe that anymore.” She loads up the drier and slams it shut, “you can see yourself out, this conversation is over.”

Sighing, he just nods, muttering one last apology, and walks out.

Things would never be the same.

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