#you have to power through one of the truly stupidest words ever made

[navree]

i’m repeating myself but i really like how this series has gone to pains to show the audience exactly how awful order 66 was and to make us feel it, because fictional genocide is an extraordinarily tough beast to write but they’re managing it

#personal #obi wan kenobi #i think it was hello future me who said this so i'm paraphrasing but there is a reason why we teach kids about real genocides #through the use of individual stories like the diary of anne frank or night #it is very very hard for the human brain to grasp huge scale numbers #(like that post showing the difference between a million and a billion seconds) #that you have to teach about things like genocide on a smaller scale or the brain just can't comprehend it enough #to give it the care it needs #and it's a lot harder when you're doing a fictional genocide because they aren't real #and we're less invested because at the end of the day the story is fake and no one really died #so something as widespread as 'the targeted genocidal massacre of an entire religious group essentially in one day' #is really difficult to give the gravity and horror and grief it deserves #but this show really is managing it AND they have to fight against self inflicted wounds as well #like george deciding that little jedi are named *younglings* so whenever you talk about the wholesale slaughter of children #you have to power through one of the truly stupidest words ever made

[moorishflower]

Dirty Talk (Dreamling, Explicit)

This is because of @landwriter making me realize I don't have much practice writing dirty talk. This is still pretty tame in that regard.

"I don't think you're even capable of talking dirty," is what Hob says, one fine winter evening, comfortable and a bit comfortably tipsy, sat at his regular table in the New Inn with Dream of the Endless sat across from him, and he knows by the way Dream rears back like a cat whose nose has been flicked that he's made a mistake in saying it. It's only been a few months since Dream has come back into his life, since he's gifted Hob with information and explanations and finally, in the trenches of autumn as the leaves had crumpled from the trees in red and gold splendor, the rare sight of his smile and a trembling lower lip, and a soft, My friend, but in those few months Hob's come to the realization that he would do anything, literally anything and everything, to hold Dream's friendship. To make him feel safe. To keep him here.

And maybe mocking his friend's mode of speaking isn't the right way to go about it but, again, he's just pissed enough for it to not seem like a big deal, and Dream doesn't seem upset so much as he seems offended. Mates give each other shit all the time, Hob reassures himself, and it's not like they were talking about something life-changing. Dream had only been complaining about his sibling interfering with his realm, which has apparently caused some sort of imbalance in the Dreaming, and from there had followed a great lot of metaphysical and esoteric explanations that boiled down to 'wet dreams are on the rise' (pun intended). It explains why he's had so many in the past week. It doesn't explain why so many of them have featured dark hair and skin like cloaked starlight and eyes bluer than the Aegean Sea, but that's his albatross to bear, not Dream's.

And then Dream had said something along the lines of how sex dreams had used to have poetry to them, there'd been an intimate back and forth, not just of bodies but of words, a build-up and a climax. One thing had led to another, and Hob had said what he said, and he stands by it. Still stands by it, even as Dream's eyes turn flinty and the corner of his mouth turns up into a smirk that would shame the devil.

"I am the Prince of Stories," he murmurs. His voice is a laser that cuts through the raucous din of the New Inn. There's a van's worth of footballers a few tables down, either celebrating or commiserating, it's not clear which, and the entire pub is lousy with the noise. Hob doesn't have to lean forward to hear his friend, so tuned is he to that purring baritone, but he does so anyways. It gets him closer to Dream, who also leans in, like he's about to share a secret. "Do you truly believe me incapable of crafting words titillating enough to bring one to completion?"

"I don't think you've ever said the word 'cunt' in your life," Hob says, doubling down like the idiot he is. He's never claimed to be a wise man, and especially not when he's in his cups. Besides, it's the winter hols, he's got nothing to do tomorrow, and if he ends this night with nightmares that make him piss the bed he'll concede that Dream has won this round.

"You would be incorrect."

Hob can't imagine Dream ever speaking in a way that's less than dignified. There's such power to him, all the time, such staid and solemn surety, and there's no room in that sort of denseness for telling your partner how much you'd like to suck their brains out of their prick. More's the pity, because he thinks if he could imagine it, the shape of his stranger's lips around the word 'cock' would surely be a fine feature to add to his repertoire of fantasies.

It's at this point that Hob makes the stupidest decision he's made all night.

"Prove it," he says, and takes a sip of his drink, secure in the knowledge that six centuries of swiving has rendered him immune to embarrassment, even in such a public setting. There is a long pause during which the only sound is the ambient riot of the Inn around them, the clink of glasses and the cheering -- or bemoaning? -- of the footballers, the nearly-incomprehensible drone of the sound system piping Top 40s Modern Rock into the kitchen behind the bar, Marv the bartender swearing as he uncorks a bottle of champagne for a mixer.

Then Hob feels something brush against his foot beneath the table, and the rest of the pub goes silent.

Or rather, not silent, but…muffled. Like someone's draped a great blanket over the both of them, and now it's just him and Dream, as it's always been, as it always will be, facing each other across a worn, wooden table, as much of the original wood as Hob had been able to salvage. He's worked it into the foundations, into the bartop and the tables and the floor, trying to preserve the stories he'd told for his stranger, the history, like it was ale that had soaked into the floorboards. Dream's eyes are focused on him, impossibly blue, and he feels another soft touch, this time higher up his leg. Like a foot stroking up his calf, except no game of footsie has ever left him feeling this breathless before, this yearning.

"Would you have me prove it to you with words of prose, Hob Gadling?" Dream's voice is a thing with texture. It'd be prosaic to compare it to such human stuff as velvet or fox fur, but Hob's limited in his petty human understanding, and to his ears it's plush and warm and welcoming. It's a voice to bury your face into, a voice that drips down the skin like warm honey or candlewax, with just enough bite to be interesting. "Would you have me woo you with poetry? Shall I compare thee, not to a summer's day, but to the wild bounty of the fields? More comely than all of autumn's fruits and grains, thy hair rich as the loam and the fertile earth?"

Fertile is an unfair word for him to use, Hob thinks. His brain's scattered out his ears in an attempt to try and hear better, but he doesn't have a choice, because if he wants to not hear he's going to have to get up and leave. And not listening to this just…isn't an option. Not with how Dream is looking at him, head cocked like a bird and his mouth red as garnets shaping around words, words, words.

"Shall I opine about the shape of your body? How broad and virile your chest? I have seen you at sport, Hob, and I know what you hide beneath sweaters and cardigans. I have seen the daydreams of those who lust after you. They imagine you coming in from your war games, stripping the shirt from your back and drinking the sweat from your body. They imagine what it would be like to sink to their knees and bury their mouths into your most intimate places. Worshiping you with hand and tongue. Would you have me describe these fantasies, Hob?"

Oh, please, he thinks, and wonders if it must show on his face, how dry his mouth's become, how tight his trousers are now, because Dream's little smirk grows wider. His pupils are blown so large they nearly eclipse his irises, and there's only a thin ring of startling blue outlining a sea of infinite void.

"Or would you prefer it in cruder terms?" The light pressure that's been dragging up and down his leg inches higher; it feels like fingers kneading into the soft insides of his thighs, and Hob's legs fall open to give the phantom hands better access. The Inn looks and sounds like it's moving in slow motion, but maybe that's just because he can't look away from Dream.

"Would you like me to describe how beautiful your cock is?" Dream asks, and he says it with the disaffected expression of someone asking about the weather and the deep and growling voice of a jungle cat, and Hob is fairly certain he makes a noise of his own, something undignified and stifled by how quickly he bites his lip. "How the weight of it would fit perfectly in my hand? You are made for pleasure, Hob. Thick. Heavy. Better still, to hold the shape of you in my mouth."

"Oh, fuck," Hob says. He's barely aware that he says it, but Dream's eyes light up with fiendish inner fire. There's no blue anymore. It's just black, and stars, and Hob drifting in them like a rogue comet, burning up.

"Yes. I could describe how you would fuck me. How you would turn me inside out. I would want to ride you first, to see the shape of you inside me. I would want you to fill me with your spend until I could taste it in my throat, and then, when I had found my pleasure, I would want you to bear me down into the bed. I would want you to break me in half, Hob Gadling, because I will accept no less than the most ardent lover, and if I do not finish the night with your cum leaking down my thighs and my arsehole gaping for you, I will not be satisfied."

The ghost-touch that's been drifting higher and higher along his thighs presses firmly against his groin, and Hob makes a strangled, gasping little noise, swallowed up by the thick syrupy slowness of the Inn, and comes in his pants. It's an orgasm so sharp and sweet and high that it feels like the prolonged note of a flute, and leaves his thighs quivering in the aftermath, and his breath coming in heady little rasps. He hadn't even been aware he was that keyed up, but then, he hadn't been aware of anything but Dream, and Dream's voice, and now how Dream is staring at him across the way, eyes glittering like a thousand diamonds set in velvet. Hob watches as he slowly lifts his hand from beneath the table, spreading his fingers. They're covered in cum, little beads and drips of it sliding down to the second knuckle, and Dream holds his gaze like a fist around Hob's heart as he raises his hand to his mouth and begins licking his fingers clean.

There's another noise, an uncomfortable whimper, that Hob doesn't want to think is him but probably is.

"Have I sufficiently proven myself?" Dream asks, popping his fingers free of his mouth with the most obscene, wet sound that Hob has ever heard. He imagines those fingers spearing into him and making that same sound from all the lube dripping out of his arse, and Dream's nostrils flare.

"Dunno," Hob manages to say, when he finally finds his voice. It's a thready, needy voice, but it is there. "Could use some more convincing. Don't suppose…you fancy coming upstairs to continue this conversation?"

There's a gentle stroke along the inside of his thigh, making his poor, spent cock twitch, and Dream smiles at him. "Yes. I believe there is more I could tell you, Hob Gadling."

And there is. A lot more. That night, and into the morning, and the next, and the next. Hob needs a lot of convincing.

He's grateful Dream seems up to the challenge.

#dreamling #dirty talk #dream/hob #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman #my fic #fanfiction #oreo sandwich continues apace we've hit 167k now lads lasses other

[wing-ed-thing]

Man in Uniform (Erwin x Reader)

Synopsis: After a cut in the budget, your signature is the only thing that stands in the way of the Scout’s funds. Erwin is a selfish bastard, and unfortunately for you, you’re a sucker for a man in uniform.

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Noble!Reader, Fluff, Flirting, Alcohol, 100% self-indulgent 

Notes: This played in my head like a vintage black-and-white movie. I hope it does for you too! I’ve had this sitting in the drafts for about 2 weeks aaaaa

You were a vision coming down those steps. 

The way the people in the room stopped to stare truly felt like a fairy tale. Erwin was no different. He sipped his champagne by the cocktail table that the Scout leadership wordlessly claimed, watching as the subtle train of your gown slinked down the marble stairs with each step of your high heel shoes. Erwin himself could have easily been mistaken for a prince in the Scout’s formal attire, but he seemed to be the last person holding your attention. You bashfully looked off to the side, an attempt to ignore that the entire ballroom seemed to stop for you. 

“A little extra for a charity event, don’t you think?” Levi muttered, staring down at the cup of tea he bullied from the kitchen. Tea and coffee were supposed to be served after dessert, but he found his ways to be persuasive.

“Nobility will do as nobility does.” Erwin took another sip of his drink, eyes glued on you as you were swiftly swarmed by politicians, businessmen, and other nobles. He felt a harsh tug on the back of his dress uniform. 

“You’re not actually going to do it, are you?” Levi pulled at the collar of his shirt. The Scout’s dress uniform— which consisted of a decorated dark olive green blazer and slacks with a complimentary collared shirt and tie— served to be far tighter than the functional field uniform designed for movement. 

“Doesn’t hurt to try.” He adjusted a few pins on his jacket and ran a thumb underneath the thick belt around his waist. He corrected the orientation of the wide collar. “How does my tie look?” Levi gave it a once over before coming around the small table to adjust it. He pulled it extra tight with a scowl.

“You think she’s going to hand you a fat stack of cash because she thinks you’re pretty? Stupidest idea if I've ever heard one. She has the power to take away what little funds we’ve got if she doesn’t get you suspended for harassment first.”

Erwin shrugged.

“Stranger things have happened.” He played with his cufflinks, his attention fully on you. A trio of women Erwin recognized from past events greeted you enthusiastically. “According to my sources, I have a pretty fair shot.” Levi rolled his eyes along with a few choice words.

“At least wait until she’s done the rounds.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Erwin heeded Levi’s advice, sipping his drink as you made your way around the ballroom. A diplomat had one of your hands in both of his as he shook you violently, which Erwin took as a cue to set down his empty glass. He made his approach. 

He knew you well on paper. A descendent of a noble and respected family, you were the darling of Sina. With your pedigree, you held quite a powerful place in government. The two of you had brief exchanges during your fair share of meetings, important government decisions, and of course, charity events.

He maneuvered through the small group around you, addressing you by name. Your audience parted as Erwin strolled up to you, looking as neat and militant as ever. Inwardly, he chuckled to himself at your dreadful expression. He could see the semblance of it in your otherwise pleasant demeanor. Surely, he looked like yet another official vying for your attention, and you weren’t wrong. 

You offered your hand cordially, and Erwin bowed at the waist to brush his lips against your knuckles. 

“It is a pleasure seeing you.” He rose, your slender fingers still in his. “If I may, you look absolutely radiant tonight.” Your laugh sounded like a sigh as you bobbed your head lightly and withdrew your hand.

“Commander Smith, aren’t you as charming as ever?” Erwin shook his head and touched the front of his uniform. 

“Please, call me Erwin. Smith was my father,” he nodded with a polite smile. Levi rolled his eyes somewhere in the background. Erwin made a show of looking at your company, who tried to keep friendly faces. He focused his attention back on you. “Would you allow me to steal you away?” 

You opened your mouth to deny him but met his bright blue irises as the words died on your lips. They flickered to his right, left, and back at you for the briefest of seconds. You gauged the faces surrounding you as the corners of your lips tugged upward into a gentle smile.

“Certainly.” You giggled nervously, quickly slipping your hand around the crux of his elbow as you allowed him to escort you away. You glanced at a set of open doors, giving Erwin’s sleeve a light tug. “Would you mind if we head toward the balcony? The view of Sina is simply wonderful from up here.” Erwin offered you a slow nod as he gestured.

“Lead the way.” 

You crossed the ballroom, attempting not to appear too hasty as you offered gracious smiles to the important people who made sure to catch your eye. A waiter passed, and you stopped briefly to take two champagne flutes between your knuckles. Erwin raised his thick brows in amusement at the sight but said nothing.

You handed him one quietly as soon as you stepped onto the balcony. Lit by a few lamps, the outdoor area was dark enough and in a position to seclude the two of you without the appearance of hiding away intentionally. The whole of it wrapped around the building. Blooming bushes lined the railing down to a set of stairs to the gardens on your right. You released his arm, moving forward to take in the scenery. People continued to bustle inside. You took a breath. 

“Did I look like I needed rescuing that badly?” you let out another laugh-like sigh. He wondered if you could breathe in that dress. You approached the decorated railing, taking a sip of your drink. The weather was warm tonight.

“Someone once told me that the way Stevens shakes hands looks like he’s trying to make himself a cocktail.” Erwin leaned back against the railing; one arm crossed over his chest. He held his glass in his opposite hand, twirling the stem between his fingers.

“Oh no!” you laughed, cupping your face with a hand as you let your neat demeanor drop for a moment. “Think he should have become a bartender? He’s got a mean shake.” Erwin didn’t answer your rhetorical question as he studied you, taking in everything from your hair to the intricate pattern that graced the bodice of your gown. 

“I’m glad we have the opportunity to chat. I imagined it would be impossible to get a moment alone with you.” You hummed to yourself.

“Something tells me that you don’t just want to shoot the breeze, as they say?” You studied him out of your peripheral. You knew this game well. Like every other person in the ballroom, Erwin wanted to bend your ear to something or another.

“Can I not enjoy the company of a beautiful woman?” He placed one of his elbows back against the carved stone. You stared at the various pins and metals he wore across his chest. The side of your face found your palm as you leaned forward. You enjoyed the whole ensemble if you were honest with yourself. “One’s deprived of such pleasures on the battlefield, you know.” You resisted the urge to scoff.

“You sure are laying it on thick, hm, Commander?” you muttered into the rim of your glass. You took a half step away, more straying in the space than trying to escape.

“Erwin, please,” he corrected gently, gesturing with his glass. “Unless the title pleases you.” Your glance away was all the confirmation he needed. Your shoulders dropped as you huffed. 

“Surely you know—” You frowned. —“You shouldn’t expect to get funding from an attempt to charm me. It won’t work, so please, let’s just enjoy the night.” You trusted that out of all the people who would bother you about work, Erwin was one you could be the most straightforward with. Based on your limited interactions, it was an educated gamble. 

“You think I’m trying to pull a ploy?” He cocked a brow, staring into his drink. You crossed your arms with a single nod of your head. You looked awfully sure of yourself.

“I wouldn’t put it past you, yes.” 

“I’m hurt you would see me in such a light.” Erwin feigned offense which you ignored. You cocked your head to the side haughtily, staring back into the ballroom. Golden light shone onto the balcony from the rich chandeliers on the intricately crafted ceiling.

“On the contrary, I expect nothing different from the Commander of the Scouts.”

“And yet you’ve allowed me an audience with you.” Erwin pushed off from where he leaned, circling you slowly. He stopped in front of you. The glow from the chandeliers inside outlined him in a warm gleam. “Alone. Away from everyone else.” You almost frowned at the suggestion but forced yourself to maintain your cordial demeanor. You tightened your posture.

“Too much hollow chatter for me,” was your excuse. “At least with your presence, many others who seek things from me will surely leave me alone.” You nodded to yourself, convinced of your justification.

“You find me intimidating?” Erwin clasped his hands behind his back, surely a purposeful display. You tried your best to appear unimpressed. He cocked his head to the side. 

“Some are under the impression that the Scouts are audacious. That with humanity’s strength comes… conceited self-assurance.” You shrugged daintily. You took a long sip of your drink, letting the tiny bubbles pop down your throat. “Perhaps you intimidate someone else. Not me.”

“Audacity and strength,” he cherry-picked in consideration, clearly entertained. His peering eyes searched your face for a response. “Do you not think so?” His real question crept within the subtext.

“I keep my politics close to my chest.” 

“Less politics and more of an opinion.” His retort was quick and held a hint of harshness. You couldn’t help the acute look of surprise as you warily narrowed your eyes at him. He could practically see you choose your words. 

“You certainly are brazen, Commander Erwin.” Your heels clicked against the tile below. His gaze followed you as you drifted. “I never knew the Scouts were so guarded of their reputation.”

“Ah, so the title does please you.” He lit up in amusement as bashfulness burned under your skin. “I’ll have you know that the reputation of the Scouts is a reflection of her leadership.” You locked eyes, and you didn’t miss a beat. 

“So it is ego, hm?”

Inside, the hired collection of instrumentalists played a romantic song. Famous in Sina, you recognized it right away. It almost made you wish you were back inside, but another stray consideration of the people you would have to talk to made you refrain from such thoughts. By the time you snapped from your distraction, Erwin had already put his glass down on the stone railing as he outstretched his hand to you. 

“May I?” The music swelled in the background. 

You gave him an almost exasperated look, but not wanting to waste a good song, you placed your drink beside his and took his hand.

Erwin Smith was much more proficient in dance than you had anticipated. You draped one arm over his shoulder, and with your other hand in his, Erwin led your dance around the balcony in perfect time with the music. The slow and intricate waltz was another signature of the innermost wall. You learned it as a child, as did all children of Sina— poor and rich. You wondered where Erwin learned it.

Clearly, he was trying to pander to you.

“I thought I made myself perfectly clear that your charm will not get your branch the funding you desire,” you said quietly, careful not to miss a step in the dance. You looked up at Erwin, who didn’t appear to be listening. You continued more forcefully. “Everyone’s budget was slashed, not just the Scouts. Things have been very tight. It wouldn’t be fair—”

“Believe me; I’m not trying to seduce you in any sense of the word.” Erwin manipulated you into a twirl, catching you and pulling you into his chest as you tripped on your heels. “Although, it’s reassuring to hear that you think I’m charming.”

“Don’t you go around throwing out words like that. Someone will overhear and get the wrong idea.” You composed yourself quickly, retreating from Erwin’s embrace a slight distance as you continued your movement to the music.

“There’s no one around to hear anything, my dear.” You scowled disapprovingly, your footwork not faltering for a moment. 

“Being slapped around by Titans has surely made a few screws rattle loose in that brain of yours,” you jeered. The vibrations of Erwin’s laugh reverberated from his chest through yours. He stared down at you, brows slightly raised.

“Do Titans terrify you?” “Of course,” you puffed in annoyance. “You likely have reason to fear them more than I do.” Amusement and self-assuredness radiated from Erwin in waves. 

“Have you ever seen one?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” 

Erwin’s slight grin melted slowly from his face. You watched it intently, wondering what he was thinking about at the mere mention of Titans. You softened in his grip. Your words were true; Erwin likely had more reason to fear the giants that roamed outside the walls. He had seen them. Fought them. The moment of acute vulnerability passed quicker than a shadow. 

“I’m curious to know what you’ve heard.” His voice sounded low and gentle. “From a political figure such as yourself who grew up in Sina.” You paused, not quite understanding the goal of his question. The music changed inside, and wordlessly, so did your dance.

“That there are giants outside. Man-eating ones.” Naivety coated your words. Your body moved in tandem with Erwin’s. He held you in his striking irises, listening. You smoothed your hands over the firm, thick material of his blazer. “I heard they grow up to ten meters tall.”

“Some are fifteen.”

“Really?” One of your legs rose gracefully off the ground as Erwin dipped you low. You caught sight of the garden through the gaps in the balcony’s siding. “How horrifying.”

“I’ve seen dozens,” Erwin said, no louder than a whisper. You assumed an upward position as you continued the waltz. The side of his lips brushed up against the side of your temple. You held onto the low timber of his voice. “Ridden into the field just to see young soldiers eaten alive.”

“Does that weigh on you?”

“It does.” You felt him nod against you. A few strands of your hair came out of its updo, not that you minded. “You need not worry about such things.” You frowned as you were spun. Erwin’s hard chest met your back. Your hands were still in his, one pinned to your waist while the other floated in the air adjacent to your shoulder. 

“Because I am from Sina?” You bowed your head the slightest bit as you felt his warm breath on the shell of your ear. The dimness of the balcony only made the traditional dance feel more intimate. More intimate than it should have been between two government officials. “You think I don’t have to worry? I have lives in my hands just as you.” 

“Of course not; you misunderstand me.”

Erwin twirled you slowly and gracefully back around. You held him at arm’s length, connected only by intertwining fingers. He tsked, shaking his head as he pulled you back.

 “It’s my job to worry about the Titans. Put your trust in me. I assure you—” Your palm rested on the layered fabric at the back of Erwin’s neck. His lips brushed the skin of your cheek as his voice dropped low. “I’ll protect you from the monsters.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat as you came to a complete stop. Your voice stalled in your throat as words dissolved on your tongue. 

You pulled away from Erwin completely, taking a few steps back. You clutched parts of your skirt in your clammy palms as reality— the reason Erwin had sought your time in the first place— quickly set in. He stood, hands again behind his back, as he awaited your response. You coiled your arms over your chest.

“You’re full of shit—”

“Quite the mouth on you, my lady.” His forehead wrinkled in amusement. “Is this how nobility is brought up?” Erwin closed the gap between you in just two broad steps. You bumped into the stone railing, knocking at least one of your champagne flutes into the flowers as he did little more than cage you in.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes widened.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You nearly gasped, a nervous shiver freezing you where you stood. The warm lantern light sparkled off your eyes. “Commander… Erwin…?” He corralled a few pieces of hair behind your ear, tracing your jaw until his fingers reached your chin.

“Rest assured; I am more than capable of keeping a foul-mouthed princess like yourself safe. Do you not think so?” You remained completely still, and as he moved his head forward. He tilted your chin up, and your lashes fluttered closed. 

But the kiss you anticipated never came. 

You opened your eyes to see Erwin looking about the same as he did all night: thick brows raised and the corners of his lips curving into a subtle, almost boyish smile. His touch left your face as he quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes, my lady?”

You gasped in horror, the shock quickly melting into outraged embarrassment. You sputtered, and when your words wouldn’t come out, you shoved his chest hard. 

“Erwin!” He stumbled back as you stormed away. “You despicable man!” He called after you as you hurried down the garden steps, completely mortified with yourself. The laugh in his voice made you just about boil. Erwin caught your wrist on the first landing. You spun around in rage.

“I apologize for my forwardness. It was all in jest.”

“If this is your strategy for winning over a lady, I weep for the future of the Scouting Regiment.” You delivered a swift slap across Erwin’s face. Caught off guard at the force, Erwin released you and staggered back. You covered your mouth, the weight of what you had just done crashing down on you all at once. 

A few strands of his bangs fell into his face. He tenderly poked at the skin of his cheek as he flexed his jaw; a certain amount of awe was written on his irises. Much to your surprise, his disposition was completely void of defensiveness or anger. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that Erwin looked pretty damn impressed. 

He let out a single satisfied snort and a resigned sigh. His fingers raked through his undercut as he seemed to ponder to himself.

“I apologize for offending you. That was very unprofessional of me. I hope we’re even now.” He offered you a contrite look. “I do not wish you to feel further discomfort, so I will take my leave.” Erwin gave a slight bow of his head before turning to walk back up the stairs. “It was a pleasure having a conversation with you.” 

You watched him as he went, emotions swirling around inside of you. You took a step forward; an arm outstretched in front of you. You recoiled somewhat, unsure of yourself. 

A moment passed. Other guests seemed to have also stumbled upon the balcony’s availability. Their meandering shadows moved in front of Erwin, just about where the two of you had been. You froze at the sight of what looked to be Stevens’ silhouette cast by the lamplight on the side of the building. 

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders to recall your diplomatic appearance.

“Uh… Commander Erwin…!” you called. He stopped mid-stride with one boot settled on the elevated step above and the other on the stair below. Erwin looked over his shoulder, standing sideways on the steps. 

“Yes?”

You cleared your throat again, smoothing out the front of your dress. 

“I would not be opposed to a walk in the garden.” Erwin glanced out into the extensive gardens, then back to you with a few bobs of his head.

“Ah, yes. That sounds like a wonderful way to spend the night. I do wish you a wonderful stroll.” He took a few more steps back up toward the balcony. You scurried up a few yourself, clutching your skirt as you called after him again. 

“E-... Erwin…?” He stopped again. You glanced off to the side. You played with the lace in your hands. “I more meant that I wouldn’t mind if you accompanied me.” Erwin adjusted his collar with a shrug. You resisted a glare. You knew very well what he wanted you to say.

“I couldn’t possibly intrude. After my distasteful joke, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Get over here and escort me through the gardens, and I’ll revisit your stupid little funding proposal!” you huffed. Erwin snickered at the little stomp of your foot. You witnessed another satisfied raise of his eyebrows. You had a mind to pay more attention to those than his actual words.

“Very well, if I am being commanded to do so. Who am I to refuse?” He descended quickly, and you took him by the arm as you entered the gardens. Other guests seemed to follow your lead as they chatted casually with each other. To anyone else, it would appear that you and Erwin came out with the crowd rather than hiding away.

“Look at them.” You stared up at the balcony full of people with a scowl. You faced him with a pout. “Vultures, the lot of them. You may be insufferable, but at least I can stand you.” Erwin didn’t protest as you tugged him along.

“So much for your closely-held politics.”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: What’s reader’s title? God if I know. I see Erwin very capable of walking the line of guilt and manipulation to get what he wants. Don’t they say the best lies have truth in them? He’s so dynamic and I feel like he’s a master code-switcher

#erwin x reader #erwin smith x reader #attack on titan fanfic #attack on titan #Erwin Smith #erwin smith fanfic #erwin #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #erwin smith scenario #x you #x reader #reader insert #commander handsome #daddy sasageyo

[doctorho]

Holy darkness pt. 2

hi guys!!!! soooo this was supposed to be a fall/spooky times fic but you know what we can bring that vampire energy into january. i have permission (i can do whatever i want forever) Vampire!Viktor x gender neutral reader, 1.5k words part 1

In addition to packing your favorite book, you take a few extras too, just in case. You’d made plans to go back to the library the next day, with a pie and a book, as agreed, and the whole day you feel like your skin is tingling. It might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, knowingly going to spend time with a strange man that was possibly a vampire, at night, in the dark, on the outskirts of town.

But man were you excited. 

It was the first interesting thing that had happened in a long, long time. And...you couldn't really bring yourself to truly be afraid enough to stay away.

So you pack your books, pick up a fresh strawberry pie from the bakey, and get on your way, walking through the darkening streets. It had gotten colder recently, and the wind was howling in the trees, and for all intents and purposes, the whole night felt like a cheap copy of something that starts with it was a dark and stormy night…

You ignore this. And the quiet gnawing nerves at the back of your head. 

When you get to the library, for the first time ever you don’t stay in the shadows on the street. 

You walk in. It feels weird – you could vaguely remember when the library was in use, but it had been like this for years now, dark and quiet and certainly with no regular foot traffic. So just…walking through the front yard, to the big, old doors, it felt…out of place. Like you were being watched. There were tall, ancient trees lining the path, there was even a fountain with some old statue in the middle, but that hadn’t seen running water in years, except when it rained.

The doors all tall, dark and imposing. You’re not really sure what to do; you hadn’t discussed the specifics with him. Typically one didn’t knock when entering a library, but in this case…it was his home. It felt rude to just walk in.

But then again, if he had some sort of supernatural powers, there was a good chance he already knew you were there, having heard you approaching. 

You still weren’t sure if he could hear your heartbeat. Which, at the moment, was thundering in your ears. So, probably. It was probably loud enough at this point that even a normal human could have heard it if they tried hard enough. 

You knock on the door. The sound is dull and quiet, your knuckles not having a big impact on the heavy wood door softened by years of rain. 

He hears it anyway. Of course he does. It doesn’t take long for him to open the door for you, and – you have to take a moment to orient yourself after you see him. He’s all smooth skin and sharp edges and intense eyes, focused and burning on you. 

Someone could tell you he’s carved from marble and you would believe them. He looked like he’s dropped here straight from the pages of some fairytale. 

(At this, your train of thought staggers a little bit, and with it, your heart. Yes, he looked like he’s straight from a fairytale – but which side? You didn’t know him. And…in some stories the beautiful things turn out to be the most dangerous ones).

And then he smiles at you, and you find that you don’t really care all that much. 

He smiles, and something in your heart settles.

You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

Probably not. 

“Hello,” he says, voice calm and pleasant, “come in.”

You thank him as he steps aside from the doorway, letting you in. 

The library foyer is dark, like you’d expected, big and empty. Hollow, somehow, without all the people that it was built for. He’s clearly done some redecorating, moving things around, stacking books and turning shelves, but it was still a big, empty space. 

He nods towards an open doorway and you follow him. It leads to a slightly more cozy room, with dark wooden book shelves and warm-lit candles lighting the space. You had no idea what the space had been originally, but he’d managed to make it look like a living room; there was a fireplace, and a set of dark red velvet chairs. Tall windows lined the walls, and they had tall velvet curtains, draping all the way from the high ceiling to the floor. 

There’s a dark wooden table, and you set down the pie. You’d been careful carrying it, trying not to mush it up, and you were hoping you’d been successful in that. Gifting someone with a pie probably worked better when it still looked like a pie.

He hums appreciatively, looking at it, and you peel it out of its packaging. 

“Do you drink tea?” He asks, and for some reason, that takes you by surprise.

Not a totally outrageous question to ask from a guest, but for some reason you hadn’t expected it from him. 

“Uh…yeah. Sure.” You answer, and he nods a little. And then, he disappears into an adjacent room. 

You just stay there, not sure if you should have followed him or not. He hadn’t asked you to, so it felt safer not to. But staying in the room felt awkward, too. You try to suspend the awkwardness by studying your surroundings, and it works, for a while. 

The room isn’t as dusty as you were expecting. He’d clearly been taking care of the books. And – if you hadn’t heard the rumors of him being a vampire that should be avoided at all costs, the room might even be comfortable. 

But, for now, you stay on your toes. Figuratively speaking. 

When he comes back, he is carrying a silver tray with a steaming teapot and clinking porcelain cups. 

“It’s black tea,” he says, “I hope that’s okay. I don’t have…the widest selection.”

He sets out the tray on the table too, and glances at you. 

“That’s fine.” You answer, then sit down on the closest velvet-covered chair and lean back to study him. “Where do you get this stuff?”

He pours you a cup, and then offers it to you, smiling. “I have my connections.”

“But they don’t bring you tea blends,” you continue, “or pies.”

You take the tea cup, and wait for him to answer. Stir in some sugar. 

“No.” He says after a moment, making his own cup.

“And you don’t go out to get them on your own?”

“...No.” 

“Why not?”

He lifts an eyebrow. Looks at you. 

“I am well aware that the people in town don’t exactly…appreciate my presence.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to go outside.”

He takes a breath, and stirs his tea. 

“No,” he agrees, “but it does make going outside…unpleasant.” He exhales a small sigh and looks down at his hands. “I keep to myself most of the time. It’s…easier that way.”

You nod slowly. His words sound heavy, serious. He’s fidgeting with his fingers, and he hasn’t mentioned the pie, yet. 

“Have you got any plates?” You ask, “Forks?” 

He meets your gaze, you nod towards the pie, and his eyes follow.. 

He opens his mouth, and then closes it. Then looks at you again. “Yes.” He then says after a moment, “I…haven’t shared dessert with anyone in a long time.”

“Well, now’s your chance.” You smile at him, and he smiles back, but it looks a little hollow. 

He gets up again, and soon, returns with small delicate porcelain plates – mismatching – and a dull-looking knife. 

“No forks,” he says apologetically, “but I suppose we can use the tea spoons?”

“Sure,” you answer, and then wait for him to get settled down again. He looks at the pie for a moment before starting to cut it. 

“So how’d you end up here?” You ask, while he scoops out a piece of the pie to one of the plates. 

“Long story.” He answers, without looking at you.

“I’ve got time.”

He takes a deep breath, and then for a moment, focuses on cutting the pie again, scooping out a piece to the other plate, carefully setting aside the knife and then placing one of the plates in front of you. 

“I was homeless,” he starts, simply, factually, “and wandered around for a long time, didn’t really have anywhere to go.” He stirs his tea, and watches it swirl. Licks his lips. “I ran into a man that used to work here. He told me it was empty, so I just…thought I’d stay here for a while.” He shrugs with one shoulder, “And ended up staying.”

“And you’ve been here,” you say slowly, “alone. Ever since?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Doing what?” 

“Reading, mostly.”

“And you haven’t gone insane yet?”

His lips quirk up in a small smile. “I think that’s still up for debate.” 

You look at him for a moment. “Doesn’t it get lonely?” 

You couldn’t imagine being cooped up inside one place, alone, for that long, without really…going anywhere, or seeing anyone. 

Now, he looks up. Meets your eyes, carefully. 

“Sometimes.” 

#viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader #arcane fanfic #vampire viktor

[ladyartemesia]

The Kiss

◐ PART VIII of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐ Part VI ◐ Part VII ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: this one is a little darker, descriptions of violence, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming, strong sexual innuendo, discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries, lots of people have, use and are threatened by knives, kidnapping and drugging, its not as bad as it sounds, but it is definitely a bit darker…

Word Count: 4250

Author’s Note: I said it before but it bears repeating...You have no idea what your support has meant to me. Truly your asks and your messages and comments…they made me so happy. You made me believe that people wouldn’t forget about this story. I am so grateful you were able to wait. As many of you know I faced a medical emergency recently and you were all so lovely. The best followers on this site and I MEAN that. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx and  @untaemedqueen​  were (and continue to be) the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life! I don’t know what I would do without your daily encouragement and your daily support. You guys are the heartbeat of this story. It wouldn’t be here without you.

——◐——

Two Years Ago 

——◐——

Centuries ago the moon goddess stumbled across her human soulmate while he was sleeping. Struck by his beauty, but reluctant to reveal her identity, the goddess began to visit him in his dreams where she could hide her true form and appear before him as a mortal woman. 

In the world of dreams their love flourished and from that blessed union the packs were born…

The wolf nations celebrated this sacred romance every ten years during the Festival of the Lover’s Moon…

The day of the festival was spent eating and drinking and dancing at large parties, but when the sun went down… well—

That’s when things got really interesting. 

On the night of Lover’s Moon the young unmated wolves of the pack were permitted to commemorate this legendary love story in a decidedly scandalous manner. 

The unmated men assumed the role of the goddess’s sleeping lover—they were blindfolded (to represent slumber) and led into a large sectioned off area of the dark forest to ‘wait and dream.’

Unmated she-wolves over the age of maturity (eighteen) took herbal scent suppressors and ventured out into that very same forest in order to anonymously ‘visit’ the young men ‘in their dreams’...

The rules for what exactly that meant were pretty fast and loose which was why Min Yoongi was thanking the goddess and every other deity he could think of that Yunli was still seventeen. 

“But I will be eighteen in two days! Please can’t I just—“

“No. Absolutely not under any circumstances ever.”

“But Yoonji is going!”

“Ji-ah is nearly nineteen and has never been interested in any of the snotty little man-pups of our pack.” He snorted. “She’s probably going out just so she can shove a bunch of them in the lake.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Yunli mumbled irritably. 

Kim Taehyung yawned idly and snuggled into the cozy little pallet he prepared at the base of his favorite tree. The blindfold he and all the other unmated ‘lovers’  wore was made from witchcloth and could not be removed while the sun was down—so he had snuck into the forest earlier to set everything up. 

Now all he had to do was wait until—

“H-Hi Taehyung.”

Oh sh—

“Uh. Hello...Miss.”

Taehyung didn’t recognize the owner of that voice, but he knew for sure who it wasn’t. 

“I was hoping to find you tonight.”

This is not good. 

“Well I’m—I’m flattered… naturally but—”

She touched his hand and he squeaked. 

“I was thinking you and I might get to know each other a little bet—eep!”

The sharp point of a custom blade pressed directly into the unfortunate young beta girl’s pulse point. 

“Are you lost, puppy?”

A heavy cloak obscured the newcomer’s features, but there was no mistaking her meaning. 

Taehyung bit his lip to keep from snorting as the poor she-wolf scrambled away. 

“Ji-ah,” he tsked with feigned disapproval, “that wasn’t very nice.”

Min Yoonji grinned as she sheathed her wicked looking dagger and slid languidly into his arms. 

“You don’t like nice girls, Kim Taehyung.”

“I like you,” he whispered breathlessly against her lips. “Nice or not—it doesn't matter to me…” His hands slid greedily over her soft curves—pulling her closer till he felt the beat of her heart against his own. “I’ll like anything as long as it’s you.” 

This was the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas. 

Jimin huffed as he struggled to find a comfortable position against the giant boulder he’d chosen as his perch.

Why did I let Taehyung talk me into this?

He could be at home—in bed—comfortably sleeping off the all-day feast he’d indulged in. 

Instead he was out in the middle of the forest sitting blindfolded on a rock in the off chance that one of the she-wolves was out looking for him. 

Not bloody likely. 

Not when prime targets like Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook—and countless others—were scattered throughout the woods. 

“Park Jimin?”

Every hair on Jimin’s body stood on end. 

It was a soft whisper—the speaker clearly didn’t want her voice to be recognized, yet something about the sound sent a curious frisson of interest down his spine. 

He gulped. 

“Yes… that’s me. But if you’re looking for Hoseok he’s just a little deeper in. You probably caught his scent downwind so—”

“I’m not looking for Hoseok.”

Jimin licked his lips and the sight of it sparked a odd curl of heat in the pit of your belly. 

“I don’t know where anyone else is…”

“That’s quite alright.” A muted shuffle of movement reached his ears as you settled down beside him. “I was looking for you.” 

“Oh…” He rubbed the back of his neck idly. “Are you sure?”

Laughter like fairy bells whispered through the air and Jimin felt his heart clench.

Don’t get your hopes up. 

“Who are you?”

You were silent for a long time and then—

“I am someone who owes you a debt. One I have never been able to repay.”

Jimin’s head tilted curiously as he considered your words. 

“I’m sorry, miss… you must be mistaken. There isn’t—“

“You don’t remember.” 

It was a statement—not a question. Your voice was nearer now. He could feel the warmth of your body close to his—though not quite touching. “It was your wolf that saved me. But you had not gone through the Change yet.”

Familiar shame spiked sharply in his chest.

“I’m seven years past the Change...Why have you never mentioned this before?”

“Circumstances prevented me from doing so.” 

There was a cold finality to your pronouncement—which of course did nothing but further inflame his curiosity. 

“Then why come to me now?”

“I’ve come to repay you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open. 

Were you trying to—?!

“Oh—no please that-that’s not necessary—I could never take advantage of—”

You giggled again.  

“I am not offering my body, Park Jimin.”

Jimin breathed a heavy sigh of relief then shook his head with a wry chuckle. 

“Well considering the circumstances I can hardly be blamed for assuming you might be. And honestly most men would jump at the chance to—”

“You...are not most men.” 

Jimin’s eyes narrowed beneath his blindfold. 

“Little she-wolf—I may not be wrestling bears for fun or bare knuckle boxing in the town square, but I am still an alpha.”

The weight of his command poured over your body as he spoke the last word. There was no order or intent—he had simply given you a taste of his power. 

Aside from your direct blood relatives, no alpha had ever dared unleash their compel in your presence—therefore you were utterly unprepared for the effect it had on you—

Utterly unprepared for the strange surge of want so potent and profound that it stole the breath from your body. 

It was primal—invigorating—

Sensual.

You and your wolf may not have been entirely connected yet, but she was suddenly quite vocal about her desire to fully bask in Park Jimin’s attention.

A wicked grin played over his lips as he leaned in closer and you could almost feel the soft brush of his lips against your cheek. 

“Did you think I would not desire the touch of a beautiful woman in the moonlight?” he whispered. 

Please touch me, Alpha. 

Your eyes widened. 

Dear goddess. Your inner wolf was turning out to be a shameless hussy. 

“You might desire it, but you are far too  honorable to accept it as payment for a debt.”

Jimin drew back warily. 

You were correct of course. After all he had refused you when he believed that was your intent but—

“How could you know that?”

Evade. Evade now. 

“Well... how could you know I was beautiful? You’re blindfolded.”

He shrugged and your wolf took careful note of the way it made all the pretty muscles in his back and shoulders ripple. 

He will give us such strong—

Oh boy. 

He will do no such thing. Please calm down. 

“Not everything must be seen with your eyes.”

Is that how you found me? All those years ago...

Questions churned chaotically beneath your consciousness but you dared not give voice to them. 

Focus.

“I must repay this debt. Ask for what you want and—if it is in my power—I swear it will be yours.”

Jimin smiled again, but this time it was somehow softer. For a moment he looked almost…

Sad. 

“I’m afraid that the only thing I have ever wanted is not within your power to give...and I dare not ask you or anyone else for it.”

For her. 

He sighed and drew even farther away from you—in fact it seemed like he was preparing to leave. 

No. 

Your hand reached out almost of it's its own accord and wrapped tightly around his wrist. The contact sent a shock of searing heat through his veins and he froze. 

“Please alpha. It is not acceptable for someone like me—” a leader, a Luna, “—to owe another my life and offer nothing in return. You must let me pay my debt.”

Omega, his wolf growled, sweet perfect omega. 

Suppressors may have hidden your scent, but the siren song of an omega pleading prettily in his ear was unmistakable—irresistible…

“What if all I want is your name?”

You sighed deeply. 

“I cannot give you that. My name is… not mine to offer.”

Jimin laughed. 

“A woman I cannot remember with a name I cannot know and whose face I cannot see.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you are just a figment of my imagination.”

It was hard to explain what happened next...For whatever reason his words cut you deeply and you were overcome with the desire—no need—to refute them somehow. 

“I’m real enough,” you whispered, bringing his hand to your cheek. 

Jimin was genuinely beginning to wonder if you were a witch as well as a she-wolf. Being close to you was intoxicating and the urge to draw you in was steadily overpowering every other thought.

“Could I ask you for a kiss, then?”

“You—...You saved my life and all you want... is a kiss?”

The air grew heavier as the strange magnetic pull between you swelled to a silent inescapable crescendo. 

“In Seoul I often searched for someone who could ease my loneliness, yet each time I walked away emptier than before.” His thumb brushed gently over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut. “I have never had a kiss that meant anything to me.”

But yours might. 

It was unclear who moved first, whether he pulled you to him or you surged forward but when your bodies aligned and your lips met his for the first time it was as if you had never been separate from one another. 

As if you had always been deeply—intimately —together. 

The indescribable feel of him lit over your senses like a struck match. It was an ignition in the purest sense of the word— a fiery visceral awakening fueled by a consuming flood of desire. 

Yes, Alpha. 

He might never see your face or hear your name, but Jimin knew he would remember the taste of you for the rest of his life. It was hot and bright like liquid sunshine— a pure relentless light flowing through him where there was once only darkness. 

A soft needy moan rose up from your chest and he growled in primal satisfaction as you melted against him. 

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt of their own accord, desperately trying to bring him closer until he wrapped his arms around you in a heated embrace. 

“Please,” he begged breathlessly against your mouth. “Please tell me who you are.”

The words crashed over you like a bucket of ice —dousing the hazy pleasure of his kiss with a cold bite of reality. Suddenly you were wrenching yourself away from him and your wolf whimpered in misery at the loss of his touch. 

“I can’t,” you whispered. 

And then you were gone. 

“Did someone hurt you?”

You looked up to find Jin taking in your tears with cold fury. 

Twin knives were already gleaming dangerously in his hands and he appeared ready to filet whichever bastard was foolish enough to make you cry. 

“No,” you sniffed—well aware of how pitiful you were at the moment—crying in the corner of your cousin’s kitchen. “I got myself into this mess without any help—as usual.”

Jin sighed and slid down next to you. 

“Tell me.”

“Something happened that I…I didn’t intend.”

“Oh I knew that already. The Luna isn’t supposed to be running around on the night of Lover’s Moon in a forest full of blind horny wolves—“

You snorted and shook your head. 

“You’re absolutely right. I should have stayed away.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps you had caught Kim Namjoon with another omega. Nothing would be official until after the Change of course, but your bond with him was basically a foregone conclusion at this point. 

“You went looking for someone...didn’t you.”

You nodded miserably—all but confirming his fears. He made a mental note to push Namjoon in the swamp at the next available opportunity. 

“You know... the stories say that a Luna is powerfully drawn to her mate under the Lover’s Moon—that her wolf can sense him even before the Change.”  He reached over and gently began to brush the tears from your eyes. “So it’s not surprising that you sought him out, but it’s not really fair to hold whatever it is you saw against him. There is no relationship between you yet and…” he chuckled, “kisses beneath festival moonlight don’t really mean anything anyways.”

It was clear that Jin had somehow gotten the entirely wrong impression, but perhaps that was for the best. 

No one knew of your connection to Jimin and no one had seen what passed between you. 

Still…

Something about his assessment stung you. 

“You really believe that? ...That a kiss exchanged tonight means nothing?”

“I do.” Jin spoke with conviction. “There’s ancient magic at play in those woods. You can’t always trust what you see—or what you feel.”

“Oh I...I didn’t know…”

After a moment you laid your head against his shoulder and let the last of your tears run silently down your cheek. 

“Jin-ah have you ever wanted something you knew you couldn’t have?”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily and pulled you in to snuggle a bit closer. “When I was younger I dreamed of having a mate just like everyone else…”

The words were so softly spoken—almost wistful. Your heart splintered just hearing them. 

“But… she could be out there—your mate.”

Jin shook his head. 

“When is the last time you heard of a female alpha?”

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Jin…”

“Hey,” he whispered, “don’t waste your crying on me. I’ve long since come to terms with who and what I am.”

“You’re not sad anymore?”

“Well… maybe sometimes I am… but I had to accept that people like us are not like everyone else. Our destinies were written long before we were born.”

“And you believe you’re destined to be alone?”

“Wolves in a pack are never really alone.”

“Yes...but they can be lonely,” you whispered thinking back to Jimin’s words. 

For a moment Jin’s eyes were the saddest you had ever seen them. 

“Well...I suppose they can.”  Then he chuckled and gave your nose an affectionate little tap. “But you don’t need to worry about that. When the time comes Namjoon will take his place at your side and the two of you will build a wonderful life together... Isn’t that what you want?”

Isn’t it?

Your treacherous thoughts drifted back to the boy in the moonlight—to the way your body sang when he touched you and the strange insatiable desire to know him and be known by him in return.

“Please...Tell me who you are.”

A heavy ache settled in your heart. 

You were the Luna of the mountain nations. A true born moon princess. 

You could never be the woman who kissed Park Jimin underneath the stars. 

You were not like everybody else. 

“...Yes. That is what I want.”

——◐——

Now 

——◐——

Jimin’s heart pounded as he tore through the dark paths of the wood with Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jungkook close behind. 

He had never led an attack—had never been trained to command wolves in battle. 

It was his first true test of leadership and he hadn’t even been a leader for twenty-four hours. 

Yet the fears and anxieties that might have normally clouded his mind were notably absent. 

There was only you.

Ironically Jimin owed Namjoon yet another debt—this time for explaining what exactly someone like him was capable of. 

The alpha Jin captured had given up their plan and position after being exposed to Jimin’s unique gifting, so he had a concrete target in his mind… He suspected however, that your captors had taken precautions after leaving some of their men behind. They had shifted their camp. 

But it wouldn’t be enough to save them. 

Jimin didn’t need your location to find you. 

He spent years refusing to look at you, and even then he always knew exactly where you were. He could sense you in any crowd—hear your voice in a thousand.

Once it had tormented him cruelly to be so aware of you. 

Now it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

He followed the connection between his heart and yours like a lifeline and it guided him as surely as the stars. 

The alphas followed him without question. 

If any of them harbored lingering doubts before, they were firmly laid to rest after what they saw at the cottage. No ordinary wolf could do what he had done. 

The Alpha would bring back their Luna and retribution would be swift indeed. 

The drugs in your system kept swinging you in and out of lucidity like a nightmarish pendulum. You tried to shift after the initial nausea faded, but whatever they gave you kept your wolf caged beneath your skin. 

Jimin

The longing you felt for your mate was the only thing tethering you to reality. You could almost hear him echoing in the far corners of your mind—  

I’m coming Omega—hold on. 

I’ll find you. 

Part of you recognized that his voice was likely nothing more than the wistful creation of your drug-addled mind, still you clung to it like the last shred of hope while the minutes (or hours) flew past.

Chaos clouded your thoughts even in clearer moments as many unavoidable concerns forced their way through the haze. 

Jin was at the house with you when they broke in. You had no way of knowing if he survived. 

The men who took you were crass and irreverent. Their eyes followed your form with too much interest and too little respect. 

It was starting to get cold and (due to you nearly dismembering a high council member and needing to be compelled unconscious) you were still wearing a thin white ceremonial dress which offered very little protection from the elements. 

You wondered idly if your idiot captors would let you freeze to death before they accomplished whatever it was they took you for. They clearly needed you for something or you would have been long dead by now. 

None of them struck you as particularly brilliant planners so the mastermind must be somewhere else... 

Frankly the entire situation was as puzzling as it was troubling. Iron Claw had always gotten along well with your pack. 

Technically they were (almost) what the human governments called a vassal state. The presence of a Luna determined the dominant pack in a region and the Luna of the mountain nations had been born into Silver Fang—your pack—for the last thousand years or so. 

Why would they challenge us now? 

The birth of a Luna indicated that the goddess had chosen that pack to lead. Their willingness—not only to kidnap you—but to go against the dominant pack by doing so was alarming to say the least. 

A sudden explosion of movement and sound interrupted your contemplation. Motion erupted all around you—boots pounding on the ground, men falling into their wolf forms, knives being drawn… 

You lifted your head—straining forward to see the source of the commotion—and nearly collapsed in relief when you finally did. 

Alpha

Your mate stood at the edge of the camp flanked by two enormous black wolves. 

A deadly looking jingum sword gleamed dangerously in his right hand. You recognized it immediately as your great-grandfather’s combat blade—the thousand year-old weapon of the Silver Fang Alphas. 

Relief flooded your chest all over again at the sight of it. Only Jin could have given him that sword—which meant he was still alive. 

The black wolves—Yoongi and Jungkook—snarled viciously but made no move to attack. 

Your captors were still scrambling into some sort of combat formation when Jimin finally spoke. 

“You have violated our sacred laws, trespassed in sovereign pack lands, kidnapped a Luna under the protection of our goddess, abducted the mate of the Silver Fang Alpha, and risked open war between our peoples.” He took a single step forward. “Surrender now and I will be merciful.”

The biggest of your captors—a man you recognized as the de facto leader—spat viciously on the ground. 

“You are not my Alpha,” he growled.

A cold—almost cruel—smile twisted over Jimin’s lips.

“Very well.”

Then he dropped to one knee and a massive grey wolf—Taehyung—leapt over his head and tore out the defiant leader’s throat before he even hit the ground. 

Your mouth dropped open. 

Bangtan formation.

Yoongi and Jungkook lunged forward in opposite directions, tackling their targets to the forest floor in a bloody clash of teeth and claws. 

One of the larger Iron Claw alphas half-shifted and charged Jimin but his arm shot out lightning fast, catching his attacker by the throat to send him flying through the air into a tree. 

The next several minutes could only be described as terrifyingly beautiful.

It was immediately clear that Jimin had been holding back when he fought Namjoon. 

He dispatched his opponents with such elegant savagery it was almost art.

You were so mesmerized watching Jimin sensually sword dance his way through a dozen alphas nearly twice his size that you almost missed Taehyung’s wolf rushing over with a dagger clenched between his teeth. 

Luna are you okay? 

You grinned and held up your rope-bound wrists. 

“I’ll be better once you pass me that knife.”

Taehyung nodded once and dropped the blade at your feet before tackling another wolf that was tearing towards the two of you. 

You sawed through the ties around your ankle first then twisted your arms to try and slice through the restraints on your wrist. 

The Iron Claw wolves were clearly no match for Jimin and his alphas. 

Jungkook and Yoongi chased after the few who were trying to run while Taehyung half-shifted to subdue the handful of wolves left alive as prisoners. Only Jimin continued to fight as the last three of your captors still standing took turns being slammed into the dirt by his strikes. 

He was clearly capable of dispatching them, but you were fairly convinced that you would die if you had to stay away from him for another second. The ropes, however, were surprisingly thick and the angle you were cutting them at wasn’t the best. If only—

You were almost free when you saw it. 

One of your captors had pulled a hunting javelin from their supply wagon. He must have hid himself at the onset of the fight, but now he was comfortably concealed by the shadows—and taking aim at Jimin. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

The attacker appeared to handle the weapon with familiarity. He was too far back—too well hidden—Jimin would never see him in time—

The last cord around your wrist snapped and you were on your feet, pushing through the combined haze of fury and sedatives to charge the wolf who dared attack your mate. 

By the time he saw you it was far too late. 

Under the effects of the drug your aim was a little skewed but you weren’t Kim Seokjin’s cousin for nothing. 

One clean flick of your wrist and the dagger shot through the air, burying itself between the brute’s shoulder blades—all the way to the hilt. 

His body fell to the ground just as Jimin sent the last of your captors careening into a pile of previously defeated foes. 

For a moment all was quiet. 

Then your eyes locked across the distance and everything around you sharpened to a single whispered word. 

“Jimin.”

He had run non-stop for miles and torn apart a dozen wolves to get to your side—no amount of space between you now was tolerable. 

The sword clattered to the forest floor as he moved toward you—desperate to feel you—to wrap himself around you and know that you were safe. 

What happened next was as natural as breathing.

You opened to him and he lifted you into his arms, taking your lips in a hot unrepentant kiss. 

Fire exploded across your senses, burning away everything but the touch and taste of him. Every part of you was at once fiercely and gloriously alive. Desperate moans passed between you as he licked into your mouth—a dark primal promise of the pleasure he would take between your thighs. 

“Alpha,” you whimpered, too delirious with want to manage anything else. 

Suddenly Jimin’s eyes shot open. His hands flew to cup your face, searching it with a mixture of realization and disbelief.

“You… It was you.”

If you are already on the taglist, then I will automatically tag you for the next part! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

Please tell me what you thought of this update! I am really excited to hear your thoughts! Feedback really does fuel my writing and hearing from you means a lot to me! On days that its hard to write, I go back and I read your lovely words and it makes me want to keep going! I cannot overstate its value in my heart! Seriously this story keeps going because you guys have been so supportive and wonderful. You have no idea how much just a few word can brighten my world and fire up my muse. 

#jimin #jimin smut #park jimin #bts smut #bts #bts jimin #jimin imagine #jimin scenario #jimin werewolf AU #jimin x reader #heartforbts #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #armysource #ficswithluv #kwritersworldnet #park jimin x reader #park jimin smut #jimin abo #Jimin werewolf #abo #bts fan fiction #jimin fanfic

[anonymousfiction211]

(reader is from asgard) After Loki faked his death, he transforms into the smallest creature and watches over the avengers tower only to see his childhood only friend and crush fall in depression. The others try to help but her anger is so much for her that she almost destroys everything with the powers she didn't knew she had. She admits to them how much she loved him and only then he realizes. I can't think of an ending. Also, sorry if this is too specific!

Word count: 2.026 words A/N: This story is set between Loki’s fake death in Thor 2 and the end of the movie. Hope you like it! Warning: Angst

Watching over you You were stirring in your sleep again. Something you did often lately. From behind your closed eyes tears started to flow over your cheeks, wetting the pillow underneath you. Right now, Loki wanted nothing more than to wake you and hold you close to him, hoping to comfort you. Tell you that everything is going to be okay. But he couldn’t do any of that. He was dead, or at least that is what everyone thinks. Plus, he had to change back to himself, and he couldn’t risk that either. It was safer to stay in this form. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, he should be in Asgard, planning the best moment to strike against Odin. But he couldn’t help himself, he had to see how you were doing. Even with dark circles under your eyes and in lazy/comfortable clothes, you still were beautiful to him. Something he would have told you, he wanted to tell you for so long, but every time you looked at him his tongue had failed him. You finally fell back in a peaceful slumber. Loki decided he would stay for one more night and then get to work. He flew to the ceiling above you, looked one more time at you sleeping form, before falling asleep himself.

Next morning

The sun was already shining brightly trough the windows. Loki had been watching you all morning. You hadn’t bothered setting an alarm clock, and when you woke up you grunted and turned around. There was a knock on the door.“(Y/N), time to get out of bed!” Natasha said. When you didn’t respond she entered the bedroom. It was her day today. You didn’t know it, you hadn’t even noticed a pattern. But some of the Avengers divided days among them to look after you. They were worried about the state you were in. Barely coming out of your room, not eating, not showering, and not wanting to talk about it. Not everyone agreed to it, however. Since not all people could understand that it was losing him what was causing you to act this way. To be honest, Loki never anticipated that you would be this much affected by his death. The two of you were friends since you were kids. You were one of the few people that somehow got him to open up. It didn’t take long to develop a crush on you, but he wasn’t the only one. A lot of guys in Asgard had, how could they not? You were beautiful, kind, patient, and the way you laughed sounded like Valhalla itself. Even tough you had a lot of friends, you always made time for him. You truly were the kindest person he had ever met.

Loki’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard you yell. “Just leave me alone!” He was shocked. In all the time that he’d known you, he never heard you yell. You never even raised your voice. Always staying calm, because no matter how angry you were ‘raising your voice was a sign for people that you weren’t in control of yourself anymore’ you once said to him. Natasha somehow got you to agree to get out of bed. The Widow is rather good in manipulation, Loki had to admit. “Once you’re ready, meet me in the training room. Oh, and don’t forget to open a window. You’re starting to attract flies.” Natasha said while she was leaving your room. You turned around and were staring at the fly on your ceiling for a few minutes. Loki thought you were about to cry again, but you held back your tears and got out of bed. If only you knew it was him on the ceiling.

Once you were gone, Loki in his fly-form, buzzed towards the training room too. Settling on the top of a punching bag, giving him an excellent view over the whole room. Your training with Natasha was hilarious to watch. He loved to watch you kick someone’s ass, and as a trained warrior Natasha didn’t stand much of a chance. Tough she held up against you longer than Loki would have guessed. “So, are you liking Earth, or ehm.. Midgard as you say it, so far?” Natasha asked you. “It’s fine” you replied rather uninterested in engaging in a conversation. “Thor hoped bringing you here would distract you a bit. Is it working?” Natasha went on. “Look, I get what you all are trying to do. And it’s not that I’m ungrateful, but I just want to be alone right now” you replied while making your way to the exit. “(Y/N), we can help you” Natasha tried one last time. When you turned back Loki saw different emotions on your face. It went quickly, but he noticed the sad expression with tears forming in your eyes. You blinked to vanish the tears, and your expression changed from sad to angry, and he swore that in between he saw regret. Why regret? Regret for what? he wondered. “Stop, just stop okay. You all hated him, so don’t for a second pretend that you even care” you spat back, angrily slamming the door on your way out.

The rest of the afternoon, you got your wish. Nobody bothered to see how you were doing or to get you out of bed again. This angered Loki much, but then again it was his fault you were feeling this way. While you were crying, Loki was lost in thought again. He should, he really should go back to Asgard after today. But how could he, knowing you were hurting. He couldn’t leave you like this, but he also couldn’t bare to watch it for much longer. If he knew how much his death would affect you, he would have thought of another plan to avoid going back to his cell. Even when he was locked up, you visited him often. You weren’t angry with him, just glad he was still alive. To his surprise you got guards to agree to let you into his cell. Playing games, reading, and laughing together. He thought he would never see you again after his failed attempt to rule Midgard. Even tough he never truly wanted to rule Midgard, but had to fulfil his assignment, and saw no way of escaping his faith. That was something he couldn’t tell people. He had almost told you, the first time you visited. He really wanted to, he couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking of him like everybody else did. But he was struggling with the words and then the guards came to tell the two of you, that the visiting time was over. Before you left his cell you gave him a kiss on his cheek. “When you’re ready to tell me, I’ll be there” you had whispered. That kiss on his cheek was the best moment of his life.  

In the end of the afternoon the Soldier had entered your room. He convinced you to get out of bed and took you to the living room. Loki, of course, flying right behind the two of you. Most of the team was already sitting in the living room. Thor was still on Asgard, and Loki noticed that Tony and Clint were also missing. You sat down, staring at the floor. “(Y/N), we really think you should get some professional help. We are getting worried about you” Steve began this little intervention. He was getting on and on about mental health, grief, and your sudden anger outbursts. If Loki were able in this form he would have rolled his eyes at the boring lecture. Before you got a chance to reply that door of the living room burst open. A very intoxicated Tony walked through them, going straight to the bar to pour himself another drink. I should have killed that men when I had the chance Loki thought.

Steve cleared his throat “Do you mind?” he said, clearly irritated by Tony’s behaviour. “Come on, is she still moping around because he’s dead” You looked up and gave Tony a murderous look. “Tony, stay out of this” Natasha warned him. Instead of taking her warning, Tony walked towards the group. “Come on, we all know the world is a better place without him” he continued. You stood up from your chair, balling your fists. “It’s not. Now, shut up” you yelled. “He was arrogant, egotistic, a murderer and just evil” Tony said while raising his voice. “Why would you even miss him? Why would anyone even care?” The anger was flaring through your eyes. At this point you were screaming. “He was not perfect, but who is?! He was kind, funny and incredibly smart. And given what he had to deal with in his life he is a better man than you ever could be!” You fell back in your chair, and noticed the tears falling from your face.

There was a long silence. Then Natasha broke it “You were in love with him” she said. Everyone looked at you. Loki began to grow very nervous and was holding his breath, waiting for you to react. “I am” you whispered. “Did he know?” she asked. “I- eh, no… Right before he and Thor would leave I wanted to tell him. But I got scared and decided to tell him afterwards.. and now..” you cried. “Maybe if I had, he would have stayed, or things would be different” you went on. Loki couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You were in love with HIM? Why? How long? And why hadn’t he noticed or told you that he felt the same way? He really was the stupidest man alive right now. Wait, what? You’re blaming yourself for his death?

“How could anyone ever love that monster?” Tony said. Before Loki could keep track of his thoughts you were on your feet. A sudden energy blast flew across the room, knocking Tony to the wall, he was laying unconsciousness on the ground. Everyone, including you and Loki, were in complete shock. Bruce went to Tony and confirmed that he was okay. “You have powers?” Steve asked. You were standing in pure shock, staring at your hands. Loki was also in shock, he recognized that kind of magic. It was the same as his. All this time he’d known you, he never sensed that you had magic. How could he never have known all these things about you? How could he have been so stupid? So blind? You ran towards your room and Loki flew as fast as he could. Maybe he should reveal himself, after all the only other known person for her magic was his mother. But she wasn’t alive anymore. He was, he could teach you everything he knows. Before he had a chance to decide the Soldier walked in your room.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” he asked. Stupid question, she thinks the person she loves is dead, she just discovered she has magic, a underappreciated trait from where she’s from and is currently crying Loki thought. After your stopped crying you finally spoke up. “How’s Tony doing?” you asked meekly. Loki couldn’t believe that you would even consider his wellbeing, but also loved you for it. “He will be fine, he had it coming. He is an ass when he is that drunk” Steve said. “Thor comes in next week, and we will figure something out. Maybe he knows someone who can teach you” he went on. “Do you guys want me to go back to Asgard?” you asked. Steve gave you a reassuring smile “You’re welcome for as long as you like” he said. You started to cry again, and he put his arms around you, holding you close. Loki felt jealousy stirring inside him. He wanted to be the one who could hold you in his arms. Not being able to watch anymore he flew away. He had work to do. He had a throne to conquer and think how he was going to make up for everything he is putting you through. He couldn’t wait to have you rule by his side. His queen.

#loki #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x ofc #loki x original female character #loki marvel #marvel #mcu #mcu x you #mcu x reader #loki fandom #loki story

[bosspigeon]

a space between the shadows

My VERY last-minute prompt fill for @wayhavensummer, which turned into YET ANOTHER character study of my Sad Werewolf Detective~ Prompt: 🌈First Pride, Belonging Pairing: Adam/Male Detective, Bonus Found Family Vibes~ Words: 2137 Summary: Arlo has some... complex feelings around his identity, his relationship with his closest friend, and who he is supposed to be in a place like Wayhaven. CW for allusions to homophobia, slurs, and implications of religious trauma/bigotry

Seeing as someone actually bothered to submit paperwork this time, Arlo feels it’s safe to assume there will be no (or at least fewer) strange supernatural occurrences involved in this festival. Still, he’s not sure what to make of it.

“I don’t… have to go, do I?” he asks Tina.

Tina blinks slowly at him, as if he’s suddenly become the stupidest creature to ever draw breath. “Yes,” she says simply.

“I’m just a detective, and it’s Wayhaven, it won’t be anything crazy, so I don’t have to be there to keep things—”

“Oh, no, of course not,” she interjects, well acquainted with his nervous babbling by now. He’s barely exhaled his relieved sigh when she leans her elbows on his desk and grins in his face. “We’re going in a purely civilian capacity.”

“But I don’t want to,” he says quietly, and he knows he sounds like a pouty little kid, but he can’t help it.

Tina pouts mockingly right back at him. “I don’t care.”

And that sort of sums up their entire relationship, he thinks.

Adam, of course, is about as pleased as Arlo is. Unfortunately, Adam has not yet learned what Arlo knew by sixteen— that there is no force in the known universe more powerful than Tina Poname's stubbornness. She simply can't be defeated.

"She's a little bisexual juggernaut," Arlo sighs. He's annoyed, sure, but he can't keep the fondness from his tone as he watches her swan back and forth from the safety of the sitting room.

Naturally, Tina and Felix get on like a house on fire, and the two of them have commandeered Arlo's studio. The floor is a minefield of water cups, washable paint, and drying posters. Felix has Tina's flag tied around his neck like a cape.

Mason disappeared the second the first tube of paint was popped open, though his sharpy retort of "I like what I like" when Tina asked what his persuasion was (so that she could make him a poster as well) did launch her into her practiced dissertation on the intricacies of bi and pan identities, and how they mean similar things, how at their core neither are meant to be exclusive, and it is simply a matter of personal identity and choice which one suits an individual best.

"Have you been to a Pride festival before?" Nate asks, setting down two mugs of tea on Arlo's coffee table, carefully out of the way of the map of Wayhaven he and Adam are poring over. More for Adam's peace of mind than anything. It's mostly taking place in the local park, and while there will be a parade, the route is short enough to keep things contained.

"Yeah, once," Arlo says with a shrug, and he and Adam are sitting close enough on the sofa for their shoulders to brush with the motion. "When I was at uni."

Nate hums and sits down in the armchair across from them. "I assume it was… unpleasant for you?"

Arlo smiles, flustered, and rubs at the back of his neck. "It was fine. Fun, even. I mean, I went to art school, so the turnout was great. Nerve-wracking, yeah, because so many people, but seeing your anthropology professor riding a mechanical bull in little more than nipple pasties is one hell of a distraction."

He can feel the scandalized look Adam is giving him, but he knows if he turns to meet his eyes, he'll blush all the way to his hairline, so he sips deeply from his mug instead.

Nate tilts his head, lips pursed. There's a brief twitch of amusement to them, but it settles as his brow furrows thoughtfully. "I'm afraid I don't understand. If you had a good time at the last festival you attended, why are you so hesitant to participate in one closer to home?"

Arlo looks down at his mug, thumbing at a chip in the black enamel, exposing an ellipse of white ceramic underneath. The silence is heavy, and he knows if he lets it go on too long, Nate's going to start apologizing, so he sighs hard through his nose before he barrels on. "It's… it's different here. Back at school, I wasn't… I wasn't the Detective's weird brat. I was just Priestley, the weird performing arts major." He picks a little harder at his mug. "Might sound odd, but I didn't have to perform there, not the way I do here. I could just be Arlo. Not a shadow. Just… the fuckoff huge goth from your sociology lecture hall who just so happens to like men."

He doesn't look up, but he can tell Nate is chewing over the information. As he considers, Adam shifts on the sofa, closing the bare inch of space between them so their thighs press together. Arlo peeks up, and Adam's giving him that look. The one that makes him go all soft around the edges. "I know small towns can be… conservative," he begins, and his mouth twists distastefully around the word. "But I have never gotten the impression that Wayhaven was…"

"Anything but refreshingly progressive," Nate finishes for him.

Arlo looks up with a wry smile. "Yeah, no, it's great on that front. I'm damned lucky I didn't have to grow up with Rebecca's family. It's just…" He shifts his weight, and before he can sprout claws to really start menacing his poor mug, Adam plucks it from his hands and sets it out of the way. "There's a legacy for me here," he murmurs. "One I never asked for. Sure, I don't have to worry about getting called slurs," he chews his lip, "at least, not anymore after the whole Graham thing, but I'm still… I don't really get to be me here. People here don't look at me and see Arlo. They see Rook's kid. They see Detective Priestley the Second." He huffs out a laugh. "I didn't even get to come out on my own here. I honestly don't think I ever have outside of school. Everyone knows everything they want to know about me, because I've been a landmark since I was born. This month, it's just a landmark with a rainbow flag."

Nate is giving him that sad-eyed look he gets whenever Arlo and Rebecca get into it. The one that says he wants to help, but he's not sure how.

Arlo rubs his hands over the worn denim of his dark jeans, picking at a frayed thread. There’s a spiderweb of cracks forming in the fresh coat of black polish on his thumb where the nail has begun to thicken in response to his emotional state. He sighs a little, but he doesn’t have the time to sink too deeply into his own head, because there is a pale hand creeping cautiously over his.

“Why do it, then?” Adam asks, head tilted and brows drawn, as if he truly doesn’t understand. “Officer Poname cares deeply for you. I am sure she would understand if you were honest with her.” His lips twitch faintly, and the smile he gives Arlo is touching in its earnest, if stilted, effort. “Bisexual juggernaut or no. Though, she is only little to you.”

Arlo snickers weakly, turning his face away so he can hide behind the fall of his hair. Adam doesn’t let him hide, though, brushing it out of his face, knuckles skimming the detective’s cheekbone. Arlo can’t help but sigh and lean into the touch, eyes fluttering closed.

There’s a crash and a cry from the other room, but it’s Nate’s startled noise that makes the two of them leap apart as if burned, putting a few inches of space between them.

Arlo’s face flushes hotly when Nate smiles at them, and there’s a mischievous twinkle to his dark eyes. “I wonder what that’s about!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together and springing to his feet. “I’ll go check on them, shall I? Make sure they’re not causing too much trouble.” And before Arlo can even stutter out a… something—an explanation, or maybe an apology for third-wheeling the poor man—Nate is striding off towards the studio with a spring in his step the detective can’t help but find incredibly mocking.

He closes the door behind him with a parting smile and a decisive click.

They’re left on the sofa sitting guiltily apart like a pair of teenagers caught canoodling, and surprisingly it’s Adam who breaks the stalemate by huffing through his nose and turning to Arlo again, reaching out for his hand and tugging it between his own. “You were saying?” he presses gently, his thumb tracing ticklish lines alone Arlo’s palm.

Arlo tilts his head and sighs “I guess I just… Tina’s like my sister, you know? And we wound up going to different universities in different cities, and I didn’t really get to share any of those big milestones with her. She’s not the type to be jealous I made other friends or went and had fun without her, but it feels sort of… I want to be able to share this with her, since she was one of the first people who ever bothered to… to not just care about me, but to care about me enough to…” He furrows his brow and chews at his lip, trying to figure out how to make sense of the feelings he’s never really been able to express out loud. “Neither of us belonged here, really. Sure, I was born here, but I never really felt like I was supposed to be here. I just felt like I was filling a space someone more important than me left vacant.”

He looks down at Adam’s hands, sturdy and strong, tangled up around his freckled, long-fingered one. He swallows. “Tina’s the one who looked at that space, then decided it wasn’t for either of us, and she carved out one that was.” He smiles fondly, thinking of the way Tina bullied her way into his lonely life and gave it some much-needed color. “She made a space where we could both fit. It was messy, and awkward, and we were still outcasts, but we were outcasts together.” He laughs, and it sounds suspiciously wet even to his own ears. Thankfully, Adam doesn’t bring attention to it. “Christ, I’m rambling. Does this make any sense at all?”

Adam is quiet, thoughtful for a moment, but he squeezes Arlo’s fingers to draw his eyes up again. He’s smiling, a real smile, one that Arlo is seeing more and more these days. A man could get addicted to a smile like that. “It does,” he murmurs, bringing Arlo’s hand to his mouth to brush a kiss to his palm. It’s such a simple little touch, it barely lasts a second, but it steals all the air from Arlo’s lungs.

Adam shifts, and his face scrunches a bit. “While I won’t say I am looking forward to the chaos, I am…” He looks up at Arlo again, his brows drawn, his jaw set with the same fierce determination with which he stares down trappers. “I am honored to share this with you.”

It is really not fair, the way he can just say things like that, things that would sound trite and cheesy coming from anyone else, with such naked honesty. Arlo has no choice but to kiss him. He’s rewarded by a sweet, startled noise rumbling against his mouth, but he draws back before they can get too distracted, seeing as their friends are just a room away. If Adam is pouting, Arlo’s certainly not going to be the one to tell him.

“I guess, in a way, it’s a first for the both of us, right?” he coughs, just to ease the heavy atmosphere a bit. “My first Pride in Wayhaven, and your first entirely.” He pokes Adam in the chest. “We’ll have to get you a flag. You look good in pastels.”

“Are you certain the rainbow is not too at odds with your aesthetic?” Adam teases in return.

“Goth is a state of mind,” Arlo replies archly.

They laugh quietly together, shifting again to close the distance between them. Adam turns to face Arlo more fully, their shoulders bumping in a way that is incredibly comforting in its charming awkwardness. “What is wrong with Agent Priestley’s family?” he asks, keeping his voice low so as not to draw the attention of their companions chattering in the other room.

Arlo tries to smile, but it comes off as more of a tense grimace. “Catholic,” he snorts.

Adam’s expression mirrors his so perfectly, Arlo has to clap a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t bark out a laugh. “Ah,” the vampire says primly. “I understand.”

Arlo gives up and collapses against the vampire, snickering helplessly into his neck.

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhavensummer #adam du mortain #a du mortain #tina poname #i hope this makes any sort of sense #i know i kinda went off the wall w the prompt #but my logic is that there's ANOTHER prompt that will be for the actual festival #so this is more an introduction to the First Pride???? #fhdkjashdkjsg if its bad its bad okay #yeehaw #oc: arlo priestley #arlo's issues aren't with his identity so much as with the fact that his identity never really mattered to people in wayhaven #just who his parents are #arlo wants to be allowed to be himself without feeling like he has to live up to someone else first #and tina helped him with that #tina is the one who helped him feel pride #so he wants to be able to share this with her #its not directly mentioned here but naturally adam is trans yeehaw #pidge writes

[mittensmorgul]

aaaahahahahahhhhhhahahh the worst thing Sam ever said to dean. 9.13, The Purge:

Dean: About what you said the other day.

Sam: I thought it didn’t bother you.

Dean: You know Sam, I saved your hide back there. I saved your hide at that church — in the hospital. I may not think things all the way through but when I do, it’s because it’s the right thing. I’d do it again.

Sam: And that is the problem. You think you’re my savior, my brother, the hero. You swoop in and even when you mess up you think what you’re doing is worth it because you’ve convinced yourself you’re doing more good than bad... but you’re not. Kevin’s dead, Crowley’s in the wind, we’re no closer to beating this angel thing, please tell me, what is the upside to me being alive?

Dean: Are you kidding me? You and me, fighting the good fight together.

Sam: Just once be honest with me, you didn’t save me for me. You did it for you.

Dean: What are you talking about?

Sam: I was ready to die, I was ready. I should have died. But you, you didn’t want to be alone. That’s what this boils down to, you can’t stand the thought of being alone. I’ll give you this much, you are certainly willing to do the sacrifice, as long as you’re not the one being hurt.

Dean: Alright, you want to be honest, if the situation was reversed, and I was dying, you’d do the same thing.

Sam: No Dean, I wouldn’t. Same circumstances, I wouldn’t. I’m heading to bed.

(bolding mine, because we’re gonna talk about those words...)

The problem in the Winchester Codependency is this. We’ve talked about it for years-- the fact that yes, they’re brothers, but that Dean also still can’t help but feel “parental” toward Sam, because that’s the role he was forced into as long as he can remember. And as many glimpses of this as Sam has had, and as many small (and sometimes large) moments of insight into Dean, he still either refuses to understand this, or blocks it out, or assumes it’s all handled until the next time this issue rears its ugly head again and it’s like Sam developed amnesia again about why Dean defaults to the Bossy Parent role.

I mean, this is not to discount Dean’s own amnesia over the fact that Sam does NOT have the same hangups about feeling “parental” toward Dean in return, because to Dean the role of Brother and Parent are so tangled up together he can’t always tell what’s what. 

And Kevin... he’s not dead because of Sam-- even though he enjoys putting the blame for it on himself. He’s dead because Gadreel felt BETRAYED by Dean, even though he himself had been betrayed for the better part of the entire history of time... so like... there’s much bigger issues here, but Sam reduces them all down to himself. I mean, Dean also blames himself for everything a lot of the time, but not when it’s in the attempt to save the people he cares about.

The whole “we’ll always try to save each other” that is a BIG part of Dean’s personal definition of what it means to be family on a very basic level... Sam just basically stomped on that and told him it was worthless. And the painful irony is that by 10.03, Sam gets this. He finally put on his grownup pants and did something far more horrific than Dean asking an angel he thought he could trust (based on Cas’s word about Ezekiel being a good soldier, and that angel not completely lying about his identity) to save Sam’s life, and then Sam effectively being held hostage by that angel-- which directly hurt Cas and Dean both, as well. So like... at least Dean is trying to keep the bigger picture in mind here.

And Dean has already punished himself for this in direct ways that Sam has also watched first-hand. He’s expressed how he feels he’s poison and went off and took the Mark of Cain, effectively sacrificing himself to spare Sam and Cas and everyone else from Abaddon. So that bit Sam says there in the second bolded segment? Is potentially the worst thing he’d ever said to Dean up to that point. Because Dean himself has sacrificed more than almost everyone else on this show combined-- his own identity, his own happiness, everything he’s ever wanted in life since he was four years old, his own soul in exchange for Sam’s, and most horrifically his own LIFE in a future where he FINALLY had a chance to be free and live unburdened by mechanism that caused their repeated need to make these awful sacrifices in the first place. They’d finally knocked the monkey wrench out of the cosmic gears, unseated Chuck, and then... for some reason Dean thinks one more final big sacrifice for Sam is what “was supposed to” happen? NO. No, no, fuck that sideways with a container ship.

Yes, Sam repents of all of this in s10 and goes WAY over the top on his revenge mission, because he thinks Dean is dead and that some rando demon was just using his body... at the beginning he doesn’t think Dean CAN be saved. 10.03 is the beginning of Sam’s redemption from this.

And this is why 15.20 is not only implausible to me, but outright offensive. They both struggled horrifically with these things and would eventually forgive and overcome them, only to fall right back into it just in time for the finale.

Yes, Sam’s issues with bodily autonomy and possession throughout the series are at play here, too. And that only makes things worse. Dean will only truly begin to understand that after 13.23, when he will-- without hesitation-- once again make the sacrifice himself to save the people he cares about.

I understand both of their perspectives here, but heck it’s super hard not to feel angry and hurt by Sam’s words. I mean, HOW MANY TIMES has Dean been perfectly willing to be the sacrifice for Sam’s sake, and the ONE TIME he made a choice for Sam-- bearing in mind that Gadreel was also playing ALL of them, and using Dean’s face to secure the Yes from Sam-- Sam can’t let it go. I mean, I’ve written about the “who’s to blame for this” argument and how it just goes right back to the start of creation and puts it all on Chuck for locking up Amara. In this circumstance specifically, though, this is at least PARTLY Dean’s personal guilt over “failing” that first trial way back in 8.14. Sam was never the one who was supposed to “sacrifice” himself to close up Hell. Dean even argued with him that they would find another Hellhound to kill, and Sam busted out the Power of Positive Thinking BS about wanting to SURVIVE the trials when Dean was looking at them as a death sentence. Because they always WERE a death sentence, and no amount of “golly I’d really like to live anyway though” was gonna change that. The entire POINT of what Dean did was trying to CORRECT what he felt was a pointless sacrifice of Sam on the altar of saving everyone else.

So yeah, I hate this bit here. :’D

Because as I hinted at in the previous paragraph there... THIS WAS ALWAYS CHUCK’S STORY. That one brother would have to be sacrificed so the other could live. Because that’s the story of him and Amara. Only one of them could rule over creation. Only Chuck could remain free to create the universe he wanted unhindered, and the story of his universe as told and retold through his own creations was his own self-justification for that original crime. And the final episode of Supernatural gave him exactly that, in the stupidest possible way. It was “we can’t have nice things or a happy life, only one’s death so the other can be free.” The irony was that they weren’t truly free. Dean was just ~dead~ and alone and never sought out what he never got to have in life. Sam abandoned everything he’d grown to know about himself to live a half-life without any real satisfaction, until he finally died, too. It’s just... depressing AF. And it all feels rooted in Chuck’s basic plot rather than truly winning for Free Will and humanity.

I typed on this so long that 9.14 ended, with Kevin’s admonition to them both that they stop behaving like that, since he’d ben watching them be petty from the veil for months. Dean was ready to talk to Sam, but Sam had already turned his back and walked away, completely convinced of his own righteousness in this matter. And at this point in the series I just kinda want to yell at him... >.>

#spn 9.13 #spn 10.03 #breaking the codependency #chuck's process #spn 15.20 #spn 9.14 #spiders georg of the tnt loop

[forcefully-awoken]

LOVE LANGUAGES

Kylo Ren x Reader

Summary: Kylo Ren doesn’t do romance, but he does enjoy a challenge

Rating: Explicit

Warnings for: Attempted sexual assault, my shit romantic writing, Kylo Ren doesn’t understand romance and neither do I.

Note: This was written for the Citrus Dome Lovers Day Literature collab.

Read on ao3 here. Header by the lovely Elmi.

Kylo Ren doesn’t do romance.

There has never been a need for it in his life, growing up the only couple he had truly seen in action were his own parents. The volatile relationship they had together, one moment embarrassingly in love and physical, the next a screaming match with random objects flying through the air. He couldn’t imagine attaching himself to a person like that, letting their emotions influence his own. No, there was no need for something as trivial as romance in Kylo Ren’s life.

That is, until you come along.

You trail behind Hux, of all people, taking diligent notes of whatever the General says on your data pad. You’re new to Starkiller, he can tell from the wide eye look you give everything as you pass by it, the way your head jerks towards him and then away when you realize he’s staring right at you. He doesn’t even know why he’s staring at you. You were, you are, irrelevant to him. He hardly gives you a second thought when you leave the room.

Until you collide face first into his chest. It’s the middle of the night, there’s no reason for you to be wandering the halls (there’s no real reason he is either, aside from a bout of insomnia, but he’s Kylo Ren and you are, well, you). You stammer out some pathetic excuse about the base being so big you get easily turned around. You’re nearly in tears by the time he takes as much pity as he can on you, barking out a short “Enough.”

You stop speaking immediately, even though he made no use of the Force. With your mouth closed he takes a moment to appreciate you. He lets his eyes drift over your form under his mask, and delights in the way you squirm under his gaze. You look so small like this, so soft in all the right places. You look so deliciously breakable.

“Come to my quarters,” he instructs you, wanting to see just how much you can endure under him. He turns, expecting you to follow but to his incredulous surprise he hears your voice calling after him.

“No, I won’t be going with you,” your voice is quiet, but there’s a certainty in it. Your tone leaves no room for debate, and before he can even get back to you, you’re gone. Moving around him and through the hallways, leaving him standing in your wake. It’s the first time someone has denied him in… far too long. He’s used to taking now, to everything to be one challenge after the next, none of them too strenuous for him to overcome.

But here you are now, a new little thing. Telling him no, walking away from him without so much as a second glance. It shouldn’t get under his skin in this way, but when he finds himself alone in his room again he’s consumed with thoughts of you. It wasn’t just your rejection, he realizes, but your outright dismissal of him all together. He was leader of the Knights of Ren, the Supreme Leader’s right hand, but you had acted as if he were some random trooper. It wouldn’t do, he decided, it wouldn’t do at all. He stumbles across an issue he’s never encountered before- how to talk to someone like you.

He’s had his fair share of beings across the galaxy, but they were paid for, or had willingly given themselves to him for a small taste of power. A means to a brief end, he couldn’t remember half the names or faces. There had been nobody exceptional. Until you. He doesn’t think Hux will take kindly to it if he offers you money, and while he doesn’t care what Hux thinks of him, the thought of it leaves a sour taste in his mouth, the victory would ring hollow.

It makes him think of the vague talks his father gave him as a child, when the old man would indulge just a little too hard. Han Solo was, by his own account, a scoundrel, leaving broken hearts in his wake without a care. The trend had kept up into Kylo’s own childhood, only the heart of a son is a lot harder to mend. It’s never been what Kylo Ren wanted out of life, and isn’t what he wants out of you. He banishes the memories from his mind, forces himself to focus on what’s right in front of him.

“Why did you say no?” It’s the first time he’s seen you alone in almost two weeks, always in Hux’s shadow. You’re taking notes on the bridge now, while Hux is off doing Maker knows what, probably something Kylo will have to correct later on. The only thing that matters to him now is standing next to you. He’s never been one for posturing before, but now he stands a bit straighter, puffs his chest out a little more to see if he can pull a reaction from you.

You barely spare him a second glance.

“I’ve heard tales about you,” You begin, voice so casual that someone might think the two of you are discussing the weather, “I’m not looking to be the next conquest of the great Kylo Ren. I’m here to work not to… dally with you.” It made sense, laid out in front of him like that, but it didn’t lessen the sting of rejection. He says nothing else but stalks off the bridge, grinding his teeth together.

It’s Phasma, of all people, who has the best advice for him. He doesn’t even approach her about it, the tall commander simply seems to know what’s on his mind. She finds him after a meeting, blocks the doorway so he can’t leave the room.

“You have to woo her,” Her voice is painfully flat, almost strained with how casually she’s forcing the words to be. He considers for a moment simply running her and then himself through with his lightsaber, but thinks better of it. The First Order would fall into ruin if Hux was the only one left. “Find out her love language, and approach it as you would a battle- with a clear strategy.” She saves him any further embarrassment by blessedly leaving him alone with his thoughts now.

He has to research what the fucking things are, something that galls him. He can’t remember the last time he had to do his own research on things, having briefings prepared for him for so long now. He finds out there’s five of these so called love languages (they sound like something his parents would have fought about). It’s easy, after that, to come up with a plan.

He starts with the easiest and most obvious- quality time. It’s easy enough to request your transfer. Hux sputters and complains but ultimately it’s useless. Now you shadow him to war councils, diligently typing away at your data pad with pursed lips. He watches you to see if any of the meeting makes you blanch, after all a meeting with the Knights of Ren is drastically different than what you might be used to.

You say nothing to him the whole time.

“Send your notes to me,” It’s a needless reminder- you’ve already sent them to him but he feels the need to condescend, just a bit. Your lips flatten into a thin line and you give him a curt nod. His own lips mimic yours behind his mask before he bites out, “Is there a problem?”

“Don’t interfere with my career,” Your words are quick and quiet, eyes staring up at him with a burning anger. He can feel it radiating off of you in waves through the Force, almost as fierce as his own.

“Duly noted,” is his only response, before you turn on your heel and stalk off without being dismissed. He should reprimand you for it, but all Kylo Ren can look at is the soft sway of your thighs as you go.

The next language he decides to test out seems easy to him as well, until he has to put it into practice. Gift giving is something that he thought would be almost laughably menial. It isn’t until he starts to think about it more that he realizes he comes up short in this arena.

While the conditions on Starkiller base aren’t luxurious by any means, the workers and troops want for nothing on it. There is hardly even a black market for contraband goods, with how tightly regulated the ship was. He selected the only thing that even made slight sense to him, given how cold it was on the base.

“Here,” He acosts you after a meeting one day, thrusting the bundled up fabric in your general direction. You take it with hesitant hands, unfolding it to hold it away from yourself as you eye it up and down. Your head tilts to the side and you bite your lower lip in concentration, something he’s seen you do more than once during particularly intense meetings.

“This is a sweater,” What it is is the only thing he thinks would be a suitable gift for the frigid planet base. It’s black, but the fabric is soft and warm. He thinks you’d look good in it as well, but he would rather talk to Hux than admit it.

“The base is cold,” He tried to keep any irritation out of his voice, the both of you know this fact already, “This will keep you warm.” He doesn’t wait for you to say anything else, already burning with humiliation. His strides carry him so far away so quickly he almost misses your quiet reply-

“Or you could.” When he turns back to you, you’ve already turned away from him as well, falling in with a group headed towards the residential area.

But the next time he sees you on a day off, you’re wearing the sweater.

The next love language he attempts to conquer gives him pause. Words of affirmation seems to be the stupidest thing he’s ever heard of. Of course anybody would like to be complimented, it’s in the nature of being. Mindless and meaningless compliments seem dull and almost insulting.

He could compliment you on your work, of course, though he suspects you’ve heard all there is to hear on that subject. You’re a quick and succinct note taker, he’s seen it first hand, but that doesn’t scream romance to him. On the other hand, being complimented on a skill you’ve clearly worked hard at is better than any alternatives.

This time he finds you before a meeting, situating yourself in the corner of the room. He’s noticed that about you- that you press yourself into the back of the room, so you can observe everything all at once. You stand up straighter when he walks in, an action he’s read is a positive sign. Because of how you position yourself you’re back into the corner of the room with him in front of you, blocking any way out.

“Your notes are good,” Fuck, it sounds even worse saying it out loud. Your face remains impassive but he continues on anyways, “They’re direct and to the point, but you never miss anything. You do a passable job.”

“Thank you,” Your reply sounds sincere, but your voice is so small it barely reaches his ears. There’s a hint of a smile quirking at your lips when you continue speaking, “My parents were both officers for the First Order. They taught me well.”

More people are trickling in so he wrenches himself away from you, ignoring the pointed stare from Hux as they both seat themselves. The meeting passes slowly, something about trade routes and treaties. Kylo is happy to have his helmet on now, his eyes never leaving your face as you type away.

“Do be so kind as to not break my assistant,” Hux says to him after, as they walk to their audience with Supreme Leader Snoke. It takes Kylo by surprise, the quiet steel in Hux’s voice. Neither of them say anything else, but Kylo nods his head in acknowledgement.

Hux’s words stick in his chest for the rest of the day. He had wanted to break you at first, wanted to crawl inside your mind and see what made you tick but this dance the two of you were doing was far better than any easy conquest. It was… interesting to see whatever barrier you had put up between the two of you come down slowly.

He’s quiet in his thoughts when he returns to his quarters, until a scream tears him back to reality. He hasn’t heard your voice make a noise like that before but he knows with surety that it’s you calling for help. Kylo makes quick work of finding you, cornered by two drunken troopers.

One of them has the sweater he gave you halfway off your body while the other is struggling to get your pants off. Rage rips through him like a storm, and with one violent sweep of his arm the two of them are flying off of you, hitting the wall with enough force they’re either dead or about to be. He turns on them with a snarl, ready to wipe them from the base and from memory when he hears you sniffle.

Turning back to you he can see now how badly you’re shaking, trying to wrap the sweater back around you. There’s tears streaming down your face, dripping down onto the floor beneath you.

“I-I’m sorry you had to see that,” You manage to get out, and his rage returns. For all his wrongs he knows you don’t need to apologize to him. When he tells you this your head snaps up so fast he thinks you might hurt yourself. It’s only when your eyes widen and your mouth drops open a little he realizes- he left his helmet in his quarters.

This time it’s Kylo who stands a little bit straighter, posturing under your gaze. He knows he’s an attractive man, and now you get to know that as well. He’s silent, letting you drink him in until-

“Can you take me home?” His heart stutters out a tango in his chest as he nods. You grab onto his arms, your hands so hot he can feel them through the layers he’s still wearing. Perhaps you meant for him to lead you back to your own quarters but you say nothing as he leads you to his own. You don’t speak when he closes the door behind you.

And you don’t speak when you grab the front of his shirt to tug him down, pressing your lips to his.

Whatever doubts you had before have been wiped away, as your mouth opens under his to invite his tongue in. You whimper when his large hands dig into your thighs, manhandling you up until your legs wrap around his waist. He walks you both to the bed, his mouth only leaving yours to dip down and suck a mark onto your skin.

He lowers the two of you down onto the bed, calling on all of his training not to simply tear your clothes off and rut into you like an animal. He’s worked for this, for you, for this reward.

But then you grind your clothed cunt up against him and he decides there will be time to savor you later.

He pulls back just enough for him to shed his clothes and watch you scramble out of yours too. Your eyes trail up his body ravenously, and his trail down yours in delight. You look better than he ever could have imagined.

You’re practically dripping when his fingers find your clit. He rubs a few quick circles around it, trying to get you just wet enough for him to slide into you. Your back arches off of his bed, offering your chest up to him. When he takes your nipple into his mouth you melt into his touch.

“Hurry up!” You sound as impatient as he feels, grabbing onto his shoulders to pull him closer into you. “Waited too long already!”

“Yeah?” He lines his cock up with your entrance, presses himself completely inside with one thrust. You don’t- can’t- answer him now, not if the way your cunt fluttering around him is any indication. He grips your chin, making you look at him and says, “Tell me you want me.”

“Fuck!” You moan out, shaking underneath him, “Wanted you since the first time I saw you!” His hips snap into yours, setting a brutal, punishing pace. Your nails bite into his shoulders, leaving little crescents of red behind. His hands twist at his sheets around your head, so tightly they rip a little but he doesn’t slow down.

He continues like this, driving you into orgasms until you’re sobbing underneath him. Even then he doesn’t slow down, not until your eyes are drooping, threatening to pass out on him completely. He pulls out quickly, cumming over your stomach and chest. Kylo collapses on the bed next to you, staring at the tremors that wrack through your body.

“Well, that was certainly worth the wait,” your voice is rough from screaming underneath him, but your comment brings a smile to his face. He gets to study you now, eyes tracing over the contours of your face, committing how you look now to his memory. You shift forward, delicately walking over to his bathroom to use the shower to clean yourself off. He knows he should too, but instead he simply lays on his bed and waits.

Once you’re clean and dry you dress yourself again, barely sparing him a second glance. Still he remains silently lounging on the bed. Finally you look at him, hands twisting nervously in front of you.

“I’ll see you at the next meeting?” You don’t even let him reply before you’re out his door, leaving him alone with another sting of rejection. Kylo slumps back onto his bed, but now his mind is reeling. Pulling out his own data pad he types a few inquiries into it before falling asleep.

————————————————————————

You try not to think about it all the next day.

You had hardly been able to sleep that night, body sore from the sex. It had been so long since you were with anybody, and Kylo Ren had been anything but gentle. You avoid looking at him during meetings, being the last one in and the first one gone from them so he can’t speak to you.

You manage to avoid him all day, making your way back to your room to hide away there until the urge to return to him passed. You stop in the doorway, taking in the flower on your bed.

A singular red rose waits for you, a note attached to it. You don’t have to guess who it’s from, though the note only says ‘For You’. You think for a moment about throwing it away, about putting in for a transfer, about getting the fuck off Starkiller before you can make any more poor decisions.

But then you think about the past few weeks, not just the previous night.

You think about the time, the effort Kylo Ren had shown for you. How he had saved you. How he hadn’t made a move until you did. His gestures had been a bit awkward but the meaning behind them seemed genuine. You take the rose and place it onto your desk, right there it will be the last thing you see at night, and the first thing you see in the morning.

Kylo Ren doesn’t do romance.

But for you he might give it a try.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren #remember when i wrote star wars? good times

[wolfnitewrites]

The Birth of a Superhuman Society

If you didn’t see the post before this, go look at that. This story is a multi-part story, each part acting like chapters, and posting each part every Tuesday. Each part is about 10 pages. ENJOY THE STORY! :>

Finally, this was what I have been waiting for. I watched the clock on the wall of the classroom. Tick. Tick. Tick. Every second felt like hours. It was the final five minutes of school. The teacher was in the front, using the chalkboard explaining our summer work. Who uses a chalkboard anymore anyway? None of the class was paying attention. Well they were, but not to what they were supposed to be looking at. Everyone stared at the clock on the wall. Waiting so patiently. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I looked around the class. I saw sweat dripping down their faces. Everyone was twitching, ready to leap out of their seats and run out the door as soon as the bell rang. I was glad people were exatic to get out of school. I wasn’t as much.

My family helps run a small company were a crew of people look for remains of old crashes of plains and sunken ships in the water. It's called Project Pacific. This year my family wants to ruin my summer and make me go searching for items in the sea. This summer isn’t going to be fun at all. I had nothing to look forward to at all.

“RING!” That was it, the bell finally went off. Our science teacher, Mr. Peters was still trying to present something but he was cut short by everyone leaving as soon as possible. What could he do anyway? It was the final minutes of school. It wasn’t like he was gonna make us stay in detention anyway, everyone wanted to go home.

“Is that who I think it is?” A voice cut through the air like a knife cutting vegetables, or a bullet being shot at a firing range. To me, it was more like a bullet being shot at a firing range, but I was the target. 

“It is!” The voice yelled again. I have been tormented over and over again by this kid since the first grade. God how I hated everything about him. I never had one normal day of schooling in my life thanks to him. 

“Come on Jay,” I yelled back. “It’s the last day of school, do you really want to do this now?” That wasn’t even a question though. I had already known the answer before I even asked it. I tried making a break for the front door before he could lunge at me, hoping I could make it close enough for the principal to do something about it. I quickly realized that I was too slow for that though. He always catches up to me. No matter how fast I try to run. I was a frail child and was horrible at any physical activity.

“What’s up loser?” He spoke in this condescending way. I knew if I said the wrong thing, my ass would be on the ground. And I will be wailing in pain on the ground as he laughs at my expense. 

“Uh, the sky obviously.” That was the worst mistake I have made this year. I should’ve remembered he never liked joking around. Before I could even turn to look at the angry expression on his face, I had gotten thrown to the ground. Lying there defenceless as he beat the crap out of me. No one came to help me. It felt like he had broken all my bones in my body with only a couple kicks. No teachers, or kids helped me. All of the students that passed us in the hall giggled and went along. 

I tried to get up, but got kicked straight in the face. My body ached in pain as I felt more and more kicks going into my side, chest and getting my legs stomped on. I learned to cope with the pain. I tried to scream out for help but the pain in my body was too much.

“No crying,” I told myself. “You’ll only fuel his need for torment.”

I think everyone in the school had already left besides me. And Jay. My body felt like I was shot fifty times by someone who very much wanted me to die. Like I was stabbed fifty times in the chest. 

As I turned over to my stomach, I saw. Blood. Dripping on the floor, from my face. This is the worst beating I have ever got from Jay, and they were all pretty bad. This was a new level though.

“Did that asshole wear cleats or steel toe boots just to kick the crap out of me?” I thought to myself. You would think that would be a crazy thought, but that would not be the stupidest thing he had done just to hurt me. I don’t think he wanted me dead just yet. He still had to beat me up more in the future.

When he finally walked away, I tried to stand. But I slipped on my own blood on the floor. I could barely move my arms. My vision was getting blurrier by the second. I tried to scream for help one last time, but I couldn’t. I passed out.

When I woke up, I was in the Jungle. You could see trees and plants as far as the eye could see. It looked amazing. It looked like something out of a movie. Truly, it looked like it was on another planet covered in the purest green. I quickly checked my legs, stomach and felt around my face. No broken bones or bruises.

“Is this a dream?” I wondered to myself as I wondered about the beautiful landscape. I walked for a bit then I saw some people sitting, looking off into the abysse of trees and bushes. I went closer to them. I felt super tired, the sun beating on my head and the occasional breeze all made me drowsy. I had a lot of questions and I needed answers. 

When I reached them, their necks looked as rough as bark on a tree. Rough enough to cut your hand if you just did so much as touch it. There was a dim light glowing from the center of where they were sitting. Progressively getting brighter and brighter. It was the prettiest light show I have ever seen. 

The wooden people turned their necks to face me.

“Touch the light.” 

“Who said that?” I looked at the wooden people, one of them was looking straight in my eyes.

“Touch the light, young one.” The wooden man grabbed my arm, cutting me in the process. “Ow!” I yelled, but the wooden man didn’t care. He was forcing my hand closer and closer to the light. I tried to resist him, but every escape attempt I tried to do, he tightened his grip.

Then. I touched it. The wooden man had made me touch the light. 

“Listen, young one,” The man said. “There is an evil out in the world somewhere and this power will help you fight it. These other men here are the past wielders of this power. You must train your body to control this power and fight this evil.” After that, he was gone. They were gone, then the whole landscape started to fade into blackness. I still had so many questions. 

“What is this power, what is this great evil.” 

I started to gain consciousness. I saw a bright light that covered my whole vision. As my eyes adjusted to the light I saw, my whole family. Next to them, all my friends and people that cared about me. I panically looked around my surroundings. I was hooked up to an I.V. 

“Hey hey hey,” I saw a doctor charging at me. “Calm down, you will be alright.” 

“Where am I?” I could barely get the words out.

“You are in the ICU. You got beaten up very badly. You have been out for almost a week,” said the doctor. “A week?” I thought to myself. Did that bastard beat me up that badly? That was the least of my worries, though. What I was worrying about was this power that was supposedly inside me. Also the evil that I was warned about. 

When I was let out of the hospital, I was covered in stitches and bandages. Although my face wasn’t in pain anymore, I could still feel all the scars on my face. My legs were broken in 3 different places, and one of my arms in four. 

“What a way to start off my summer,” I said almost on the verge of crying. “At least you will be able to get out of your casts soon,” My mom said as we were driving home from the hospital. “The doctor said your body started healing at a record speed when you awoke.” Was this the power the wooden man had given me? A power to speed up recovery from injuries? 

The rest of the ride home was silent. It was like my mom was scared to talk to me about what happened at the school. With Jay. 

“Hey Mom,” I wanted to ask about what I missed, but I couldn't get Jay out of my mind. “What happened with Jay?” She didn’t answer. When we got home. my Mom didn’t even turn around to face me. It was like she was frozen, like she just saw a ghost. I looked over my Mom’s shoulder, and I saw someone pointing a gun at her. 

“I see,” The man said. He sounded annoyed, like someone playing a game of keep away with his phone or something. “You are who they chose to wield the power next.” How did he know about this power? Was this the evil I had to defeat? It just looked like a regular guy wanting to commit crimes.

“Who are you!” I yelled. I felt my body getting stronger. My muscles started tensing up, like they were getting ready to get hit. Like what Jay did to me all those times.

“Death.” I saw his eyes squint, and his finger moving to the trigger. It was all in slow motion, though. It looked like I was watching a movie. He was going to shoot my mother! For some reason, at that moment it occurred that he wasn't aiming the gun at me, he was aiming it at her. Basically the only person I had left besides a few select family members. “Is this the evil those people were talking about?” I thought to myself. I felt my feet start moving, Like they were running. Completely on their own. Running at the evil in the world. The one who was going to kill my Mom.

Instinctively, I reached out for the gun. It was too late, though. He had already shot the gun at my mother. I watched as the bullet left his gun, and shot through the air like a baseball being thrown down the field to the catcher for the last out in a game. 

“Mom!” I screamed out, hoping she would turn into the flash and dodge the bullet. I knew that wouldn’t happen, but one could hope, right? 

I turned to the man, he was looking so smug it was killing me. How could one be proud of killing someone. I was filled to the brim with pure rage. Without thinking, I started charging at him, with my right hand clenched. Hoping to deliver a devastating blow straight to his skull.

“Pff, you're slow,” The man said as he dodged me. Slow!? How dare he call me slow. I landed my feet on the house, and tried to lunge at the man running after he shot my mother. 

“Ahhhh!” I yelled out in pain. I felt a sharp pain shoot up my legs and arms. They were broken again. Just a second ago they were fine, what happened?

“How did this happen?” I asked myself. “I didn’t even get hit by his fist, I would’ve felt it.” All the adrenaline was still pumping through my body so it didn’t hurt as much as it should’ve.

“Mom!” I yelled to my mother, hoping she was still alive. “Are you okay?” My mom turned her head to look at me. I saw a puddle of blood around her that I didn’t notice before. She couldn’t speak. She was in too much pain. I noticed she was trying very hard, though.

I crawled over to her with the limited mobility I had after breaking my legs and arms. I tried to search her pockets for her phone so I could call 911, but it was too late. 

“It’s too late for me.” She said in the frailest voice I have ever heard as she grabbed my hand, trying to stop me from reaching her phone. 

When I felt her grip loosen, I knew she was gone. Just five minutes ago we were in the car, driving home. I wish I could have talked to her more. Only if I knew that would be the last time we would see each other, alive and well. That was in the past now. 

“HELP!” I cried out in pain. Not just for myself, for my now deceased Mom. Or at least I thought she was deceased. “Can anyone hear me!?” I cried out again. I saw someone looking out of their window, and then looked straight at me. Then he disappeared. My vision was starting to blur, like when I had the crap beat out of me.

“Not again,” I said, trying to stay awake. “Not this again, come on. I can stay awake.” The effects that the adrenaline had on me were wearing off, and I started to feel more and more pain. “I can bear this pain, come on, just stay awake for a little longer.” 

Not much time had passed and I heard the sound of a siren.

“Did someone call 911 for us?” I was so grateful, but my injuries prohibited me from celebrating.

“Look Mom,” I said, hoping for my mom to still be alive. “Someone called 911 for us. Before I saw the ambulance, I blacked out. What felt like seconds later, I had awoken again. I wasn’t on the ground anymore, though. But inside the back of an ambulance for the second time in a month.

“He’s awake, thank god.” One of the paramedics said out of pure relief. “Your broken bones were pretty bad, but they healed super fast.” My vision was still blurry but I could sort of see the interior of the ambulance. I didn’t see my Mom though.

“Where,” I said, trying to get the words out. I felt so weak, I could barely even keep my eyes open. “Where is my Mom?” All the paramedics looked at each other like it was a hard math equation they had to find the answer to. 

“Get some sleep now, you have had a pretty stressful day.” 

“No,” I said. Why didn’t they give me an answer when I asked. “Where is my Mom?” From what I could see, they looked. Almost worried. 

“I told you to get some sleep,” one of the paramedics said. His expression made him look and sound like he was annoyed. I saw him shimmy his way over to a container that was hooked up to me. It took me a while to figure out that I had a breathing mask on, and that container was controlling how much oxygen was getting to me. I mean what else could it be for. I’m no doctor. “Tssss” I heard a hissing sound coming from the container. 

“What are you doing?” I asked the man who was letting the mystery gas through the tube into my breathing mask. I started to feel drowsy, like I hadn’t slept in three days. Was he forcing me to sleep? Was this even legal? The last thing I saw before I was asleep. Was another smug look. 

When I awoke for what felt like the five hundredth time that day, I was on a hospital bed. I still had a mask on my face, but there wasn’t anything else abnormal attached to me. It was like I was at my annual physical, with a breathing mask. I mean, I’m forced to wear one when going to bed because I have trouble breathing while sleeping. I even had to go to the hospital once because I almost died in my sleep because there was not enough air getting into my body. So I got used to wearing it.

“That didn’t take long” A doctor said as she peaked around the corner. “Your wounds healed up rather quickly, and the knockout gas didn’t last either.” Knockout gas? Was that guy forcefully making me breathe in knockout gas? 

“Where is my Mother?” I was very worried about her. I think anyone in the right mind would worry about their Mother that got shot. 

“Well,” the woman said. “We did find a heartbeat. It was very faint, but it was there. Your Mother is in critical condition, though. She may not last another week, if she is lucky.” Every single last one of those words hurt me. It felt like I was being beaten to death again, but with words. 

“Will she pull through?” That was a stupid question. I knew the answer already. She just said everything about my Mom’s condition. After the doctor heard my question, she looked confused. She was probably thinking why I asked that stupid ass question. Then she walked out. She didn’t even take my breathing mask off.

“How rude!” I thought to myself. 

A little while later I was called out into a proper check-up area. It had been so long since I had been in one. Whenever I get my check-ups, it’s usually in an x-ray area. I’m not sure why, but my Mom used to make depressing faces when she saw the results. I never thought much of it though. 

Finally after an hour of waiting, a doctor came in. My vision was getting better so I could see his nametag. Oh nice, his name was Zach. That is my best friend's name. That was cool to me, I’m not sure why though.

“Lay down on the bed,” he said in a shallow, scratchy voice. Then he went away, typing on the computer. 

“Seager, Micheal. Height, 6,1. Weight, 170, Age, 17” I got offended when I saw the height. 

“Hey,” I said. “I’m 6,2, not 6,1.” I have no idea why I wanted to correct him. I did anyway though. 

“Yeah whatever,” He said in response. I don’t think he liked his job much. After that he proceeded to do the normal check-up stuff. You know, see if your back is straight. See if you had trouble breathing, which I did. And check vision.

“This is your second time to the hospital this month,” He said. “Is that correct?”

“Yes it is.”

“Can you tell me anything about this time, why are you here again?” He said, I could tell he was waiting to ask me that question. His voice became a little more, lively and not as though it was the devil talking. I knew if I told the whole truth, he wouldn’t believe me and he would probably send me to therapy.

“Uh,” I said. I wonder what excuse I could make. “Well, I saw the guy pointing a gun at my Mom, so I tried to run over to her to try and prevent her from getting hurt. The next thing I knew I was in the back of an ambulance.” I hope he believed my story. It wasn’t that far off from the truth anyway.

“I see. So did you see the man’s face that held your Mom at gunpoint?” I tried thinking of an evil face. One that looked like they could kill someone if they wanted to. I could only think of Jay, though. I couldn’t seem to think of the man’s face that shot my Mom.

“No sorry, I don’t remember his face.” I was disappointed in myself. I have always been able to remember faces way too well. More so than anything else. These were different times though. New times. 

“I see,” The doctor went back to his old way of talking. Shallow and scratchy. “So you don’t remember anything about when you and our mother were held at gunpoint?”

“Well, when I asked him what his name was, he replied death. It was such a strange answer, but fitting.” He looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe he was going to be sent to a therapy class afterall.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Dr. Zack said after minutes of typing on his computer. “You’re free to go” He said that like I was in a prison, finally getting free’d from my sentence.

“Thank you.” I had no idea where I should go, though. My Mom is still in the ICU, so I had no one to pick me up.

I was traveling the hall, then I saw a familiar face running down the hall. It was the nurse that greeted me when I awoke. 

“There you are,” She said. “Micheal, I need to talk to you.” I was worried about what she needed to talk to me about. Was it about my Mom’s condition, if it was I wasn’t in the mood for my day to be ruined.

“Uh,” I said, completely caught off guard. To think of it, I wasn’t going to be able to work at my Project Pacific. “What do you need? Is it about my Mom?” 

“No it’s not,” She said. “It’s about your living arrangement. After your Dad found out about your and your mothers hospitalization, He went crazy and is nowhere to be found.” Of course he wasn’t around, I mean he was never around to begin with. Now he is truly missing, though.

“What about my living arrangement?” I asked. Since my Dad was missing, I had nowhere to stay, and I did not want to live in a foster home. Where else could I stay, though.

“You actually have options,” she said. I was very happy when I learned that I actually had choices. “You can either stay in a very nearby hotel with a gym. You also have the choice of staying in the hospital, but we may fill up rooms soon because there are a lot of reckless people out there. Or if you really wanted to, you could stay in a foster home.”

It wasn’t even a hard choice though. I am of course picking the hotel because I need the gym to strengthen my body. To fight back against anyone.

“Uh” I said. “I’ll pick the hotel. How would I pay for it though?”

“That’s the thing,” She replied without even pausing to think about what she was saying. “The hospital would pay for two months of living in the hotel, with the maids checking in on you throughout the day to make sure you are okay. You also have the option of visiting your Mom whenever you feel like.” This was great news! I could somewhat have my summer back. Having the freedom of living by myself before I even turn 18!

#writing #fiction writing #part 1 #to be continued #part one #reading

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Day and Night

This started out as a rant about no one understanding Nesta, and then I realized I was basically writing in her voice, so.. my first ever Nessian fic was born, be gentle!

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“I was in a war, General” she spits his title at him as though the word is acid burning her tongue and she has to get it out of her mouth.

Nesta cuts him off before he can break in with the obvious “we were all in a war. I know that. How could you not think that I fucking KNOW THAT” she shakes her head, because sometimes it shocks her just how little this merry band thinks of her. And they wonder why she doesn’t want to join them.

“You are 500 years old. You are born and bred warriors. You were made for war, you’ve seen it before and you are always prepared to see it again” she holds up her hand as he again tries to break in “I know it wasn’t easy. I know you haven’t always been what you are now. I know that you and everyone else in your little gang that holds themselves together with ribbons of molten brass and codependence has had hard lives and come out the other side. I get it, you are strong, pull yourself up by your bootstraps kind of people.” Nesta grits her teeth, not even wanting to give him the satisfaction of her next words “I am not” it is not a slow moving, whispered confession, it is not  a broken admission that makes her tear up and fall into his arms for support. It is a statement. A fact.

“All of you drinking together and meandering through life in dysfunctional love triangles or sequestering in cabins or smiling through the pain doesn’t make you any better than me and I’m just so SICK of the judgement.” She pauses “I am holding myself together the only way I know how and I don’t want to be shown a new way. You rely on this family that you chose for yourself, but that is not me. That is not how I am coping and I will NOT paste a happy little smile on my face and sit quietly in my sister’s marble palace and pretend that I am ok just to appease you all. I am not Elain”

“I’ve never heard you speak ill of her” Cassian blurts, it’s the only thing he can think to say in that exact moment.

“And you never will. I am not speaking ill of her. That is the whole point. This is how Elain handles things, it always has been and I accept that. She cries sweetly alone in her room and then sits in a corner with a smile so that everyone thinks she is ok. If it was up to her she would never leave that kitchen or her garden. She doesn’t come to your holidays and eat dinner with you all because she’s moved on, forgotten Graysen, and gotten over the war. She does it because the only thing worse to Elain than her own grief is to inflict that grief on others”

Cassian scoffs “maybe you could take a page from her book” he says it low and muttered, but the way that streak of grey flashes across her eyes like liquid steel makes him regret the words the second they are out.

“This is why it is better if I stay on my side of town and you all on yours” the words are clipped. “I will not sit quietly and pretend that everything is alright. When I am alright, should that day ever come, you will know that it is real.”

Cassian sighs “Feyre-”

“Stop” she grits out “do not tell me all of the many virtues and amazing coping skills of my youngest sister. I know them well and I won’t be compared to Feyre curse breaker for my entire gods-forsaken life” Nesta shakes her head “Elian smile through her pain. Feyre grits her teeth through hers. She is a martyr through and through. She runs into dangerous situations without a thought for her own safety and so does her mate. They are perfectly suited.”

“I seem to remember you running into a situation with no regard for your own safety, once”

There it is. The elephant in the room laid bare before her feet.

Nesta narrows her eyes “Just because I don’t love and fight and cope and live the same way that all of you do, does not mean that I don’t feel things, that I don’t care.”

I think Nesta feels everything- sees too much; sees and feels it all. She burns with it

Feyre’s words from months ago flash though his mind and Cassian shakes his head, feeling it all click into place; “do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?” He grins and before Nesta can blink they are in the sky.

*3 months Later*

“I’m not going to apologize” Nesta says stiffly. She can hear her sisters mate growl behind her and it takes everything in her not to turn around and shove him out of the room. She sees Cassian lay a gentle hand on the high lord’s shoulder- a brotherly gesture of warning.

“I never asked you to apologize” Feyre says, giving a glare to Rhys who really needs to learn to stay out of it.

Nesta nods “you seem very happy and I am glad of that. Truly, I am. I wish nothing more than for you and Elian to be so blissfully happy, but I won’t apologize for not being so. I won’t apologize for managing this new life differently than you. I won’t apologize because you think how I chose to cope was unacceptable”

“I never judged you” Feyre says quietly, looking into her sisters eyes. It’s true. She pitied her and wanted to help her and she was so so angry with her at times, but she never judged her.

There is a long pause, Cassian and Rhys both shift uncomfortably behind the Archeron sisters and surprisingly it is the High Lord of the Night Court who breaks the silence “you look well, Nesta” his words are low and Ernest. She has gained some weight back and he can see a thin sheen of muscle through her gown “the Illyrian Mountains suited you”

Nesta’s eyes flare at that comment and Cassian shakes his head. He knows that his brother means well, but in this instance the male really needs to just keep his mouth shut.

“I cannot stay here”

Feyre moves toward her sister “of course you can! Please Nesta, I am so happy that the mountains were good for you. You are welcome to live here or get yourself a home somewhere else in the city or-”

“I don’t belong here” she says quietly “I never have, Feyre. Look around. Look at your walls covered in paintings of your family, every room a shrine to a different person who can’t stand me”

“That’s not-”

“It is true” Nesta cuts her off “I would not fit in here any more than my picture would fit on these walls. You are High Lady of the Night Court. You are calm, calculated night and you always have been. You burst and flash like a star shooting across the sky and your family is the same. Of course your mate and his cousin wouldn’t like me. Even at my best, I just don’t belong here.”

“You are my sister. Of course you belong here”

“I won’t stay in a place that I can be banished from when my actions do not suit you, Feyre” Nesta’s shoulders tense and she feels no guilt at the flash of hurt that crosses her sister’s face “the Ilyrian Mountains were not good for me” she spits “It is a freezing, horrible, bloody, miserable place where nothing is valued above war and you thought that sending me there was the best choice? That training and fighting and becoming a warrior is what would help me get over the trauma of the war? You honestly thought that wielding an Illyrian bow would help me come to terms with the part of me that laughed as I held a man’s decapitated head? The mountains were not where I needed to go.”

“But, Cassian-“

“Yes, Cassian. Of course, Cassian. Let’s send Nesta off with this man to train her and put her back together again. Let’s wait for some supernatural bond to click and make her fall into his arms so that they can return and join the family” Nesta sighs “even Cassian knew that was never going to work. He knew that was not what I needed. He never took me to the mountains.”

Rhys and Feyre both snap their heads to look at the General, who cracks his neck to the side and steps closer to Nesta “She didn’t belong with the soldiers” he says by way of explenation “and she certainly didn’t belong with the women” Cassian feels a shudder run through him at the mere thought of Nesta toiling away on menial chores that the men were too good for. “Nesta never wanted to train, even in the war. She wasn’t like you, Feyre. She didn’t want to be a warrior, but… there was something she needed to face” he stumbles a little over the words, clearly uncomfortable at having disobeyed orders.

“I needed to come to terms with myself, not the war”

“Your birthday cake gave me the idea, Feyre” he says, more collected “Elain said that you were the night sky that held the family up and then I saw flames…and it all made sense.” his eyes start to shine with something that wasn’t there before, a sense of cautious admiration, the way one might look at a dormant volcano. Beautiful and deadly. “Nesta is a burning fire. She has never been a calm, serene night. Everything she does burns with rage or passion like a scorching sun over a dry field.” He pauses “but then I saw… I saw the softer parts of her, the bravest parts. I watched her wrap my wounds and her gentleness warmed everything inside of me like a rising sun over the frozen war camps.” Cassian is barely even speaking to the High Lord and Lady anymore. His eyes are fixed only on Nesta and his words are coming out in a quick, solid, whispered confession “She threw her body over mine and eclipsed the sun in that moment, I almost couldn’t look directly at her as I promised her another world. Catching her stare is like looking directly into an eclipse, but seeing her smile is like… the first burst of sun after the longest night of the year.”

Cassian clears his throat, coming back to himself “she has all of this raw power burning inside of her, especially since the cauldron-“ Nesta winces even hearing the word spoken “so I knew… I knew that the mountains weren’t where she needed to be”

“You took her to Helion” Rhys says quietly. It isn’t a question. He feels like the stupidest male in all of Prythian in that moment, because of course… of course Helion spell cleaver was who she needed to help master her new powers.

“He taught me things, showed me things that I could never imagine myself capable of. I thought this power inside of me was dark and evil. Cassian even told me he thought it might be death itself, but it wasn’t” Nesta’s voice is strong and steady “It was life”

Again Rhys nods “the cauldron created all life”

“and it isn’t how we think. Life starts out with screaming and crying. We fight our way through life. We claw and scratch and fight our own little wars every day that we live. But there is good, of course. There is light and happiness and pleasure. I got caught up in that, the pleasure, because I didn’t want to fight anymore.” She pauses “Helion taught me balance. He taught me when to give in to the fire and when to force it into a dull heat”

Nesta pauses, meeting her sister’s gaze “and then he offered me a position in his circle. As emissary to the Night Court”

“We don’t need an emissary for Day, they are our closest ally’s” Rhysand says with a furrowed brow.

“I know that” Nesta smiles a little “he knows that too. It’s an excuse of course. A way to offer me a position and a place to stay where I truly belong. A way to continue to learn from him… but still be able to come here whenever I want”

A single tear escapes Feyre’s right eye as she accepts the truth of her sister’s statements “I am so happy for you, Nesta. I…”

“Don’t” she says quietly “there will be no sorrow or goodbye’s or apologies or grudges between us. We are sisters, even if we may be night and day” they all give a pained groan at the awful pun and Nesta shrugs.

“Helion has always loved a fiery woman” Rhys smirks and Feyre’s eyebrows shoot up at that.

Cassian’s grin is broad and suggestive “He’s really going to be after Az now that he’s roped 2/3 of our little trio into his bed, albeit not together”

“I’m going to throw up” Feyre deadpans. Rhys just laughs as Nesta shoots a glare at Cassian. He wasn’t exactly supposed to divulge that particular detail of their trip to the day court.

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Listen when SJM said there was originally a threesome in the Nessian book I was confused like the rest of you, and then I thought to myself who... who in all of Prythian would be able to get... OH! ;) 

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta and cassian #nesta archeron #NestaxCassian #acotar #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #crack #feyre archeron #rhysand

[writingsoftheunderworld]

C. 5: AU- yes! Time Travel -no?

AO3 

Bonnie was on her way back home, power humming under her skin, feeling like a full day spent sunbathing, just this thin layer of vibration there, of warmth. It felt better than she had in much too long. Jeremy had requested to be dropped off at the Grill, so she was now carefully balancing her bag of food, a burger and fries, large both, and an extra large coke that she was already down half of in just the short drive back. She wished she could say she was excited to go home, hell, she should have been since it’s been equally long that she hasn’t had the time to waste time at home and only home. But she wasn’t. She had three projects, two papers and a ton of homework to get back on top of, that she’d neglected the past few months, since news of Klaus got out. And she still would be focusing on that threat if her dad hadn’t issued a much worse threat, grounded if she doesn’t get her grades up in a month. All in all, pretty fair of him she thought, but still, annoying.

She was only vaguely curious how Caroline and Elena were still getting Bs every so often in class, but Caroline could just write everything with super speed and if you were to be completely honest, Elena could just ask Stefan to compel her grades back up if she really needed to, and she also didn’t have that much to do with the threat of Klaus. Bonnie wasn’t being mean by thinking that, it was just the facts, Elena was certainly extremely worried because of him and, to be completely honest Katherine likely as well, but there was nearly nothing she needed or could do, not like Caroline who was a vampire with super speed and strength or Bonnie with her magic. And Bonnie certainly didn’t begrudge her friends the downtime, she just wished she could get some more herself if anything.

Bonnie hooked her leg around the door and pushed it shut behind her, the loud bang vibrating throughout the hallway and kitchen. She sighed, toed her shoes off, cursed as her bag fell off her shoulder and stuck on her wrist awkwardly and then dropped it to the small shoes’ rack, hung on a hook. She threw the jacked she had on onto the chair as she set the food on the table, drew a large slurp of her coke as she rose on her tiptoes to get one of the plates from the upper cabinet, before dropping both it and the plate onto the counter to rummage through the drawers for some utensils. She wondered if Caroline still did that weird thing of cutting through her burger even now, but only half-focused on that thought as she retrieved a fork and then  the sweet chilli she’d stored in the fridge from her last excursion to the Grill for food, probably months ago. She took her food, balancing rather precariously in her hands, and made her way to the TV. There had to be some shitty reality show or sitcom or something to watch at this hour right? Wasn’t that what normal people did when they got home after work and school?

She thumbed through the channels quickly, refusing to start eating until she had some entertainment running commentary on the background as well until she settled on some trivia quiz show thing she’d never heard of and probably never watch again, but it made for good distraction for now. She could still feel the waves of new power strumming in her body, filling her up with warmth and safety, like a nice summer morning. She thought back to the day’s events. The day that hadn’t even been that long yet more things happened than she’d have ever thought and her threshold for that had reached never-before seen heights about two years ago when Damon Salvatore crashed into her friends lives violently. That thought only sent her mind further down the rabbit hole that the elder Salvatore sibling usually did, which meant a confusing and conflicting barrage of both his worst deeds and the times he’d saved her or her loved ones. It was the strangest thing to her to look back on things now, after a day spent in his presence, his irritating voice narrating everything now, as though even outside of his general vicinity she still couldn’t escape the man. But he’d also surprised her a few times too, every so often, as though the mere idea that he could ever give anyone the mistaken impression that he could be decent was repulsive to him.

God, Damon drove her mad, so mad she genuinely worried she might actually cause a fire in the middle of town sometimes. She didn’t know what it was exactly, because while he was definitely annoying constantly and had done truly horrendous things to her and her loved ones, he still shouldn’t have caused her so much aggravation. There have been others that have done similar or worse things than him that she just put aside so quickly, but him? No, he was like a fungus, spreading and disgusting but also vaguely helpful for the environment. She guessed, she hadn’t been paying much attention in Biology lately. And he also, weirdly enough, made her feel... not safe, but some kind of confident perhaps, like she knew exactly where she stood with him and that he knew exactly how much she could take and wasn’t afraid to push her to those limits because he knew exactly where the breaking point was and when to stop. Which was just the stupidest thing she’d ever thought about really since he’d tried killing her before, several times. And used her for her magic constantly. Than again, so did everyone else.

When had her life become this thing that it now was? There were times where she couldn’t even remember what her Grams looked like at the end of the day because of what she’d had to do or how much of herself she had had to give, and Grams’ death had ripped part of her and kept it empty still. There was still a hole where her Grams should’ve been, but still, there was so much going on, so often, that Grams sometimes just… faded. She wasn’t gone, no, she was never gone from her thoughts, but sometimes, after having been kidnapped and drained of blood and magic, Grams got quiet in her mind. And other times she screamed, because Bonnie knew it wasn’t good to use up her power the way she was, it was too much, pushing too hard. She knew Grams would’ve put her foot down if she’d seen how Bonnie’s friends had taken to treating her lately, less of a person, more of a tool or weapon.

And Bonnie could see that too, and it hurt. It hurt so bad sometimes she just needed to get away from it all. But her friends could die if she didn’t do those things and she couldn’t bare to lose more people - sometimes she wondered whether she should send her dad away or come clean about all of it because he wasn’t safe, so one was safe. And then sometime Damon would say something stupid but so very neccessary that that it actually did make her feel some level of safe, because at least then she had confirmation that at least one other peron in their group of mismatched survivors was aware of how fucked up it all was and how some things needed to be done regardless. And she couldn’t help but give him some credit there. Even if she still preferred to see him writhing on the ground in pain.

¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬. ¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬. ¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬. ¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬. ¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.¬.

Rose woke up a few hours later. The house was eerily silent that for a second she forgot what had happened and wondered if her friends were playing pranks on her. It was highly disconcerting to wake up to a house you’ve known as home for almost a decade now and find it so quiet when usually there were too many people everywhere. But the bed she was laying on wasn’t her bed and the room she was in wasn’t her room and the whole house smelled different and felt different. She stood up, looked around then out the window, saw the sun was just setting, all orange and red shining through the blinds - The world is on fire, you see that Rosie-Posie? - and sighed. She missed her parents. She had barely gotten the chance to see them when she decided to go ahead and do something stupid. And god, was it ever stupid, it was so dumb it wasn’t just regular stupid, but, in Lizzy Saltzman’s words, stoopid , which apparently was a whole other level of idiocy that apparently her mom and Lizzy’s mom-not-mom had come up with when they were younger. She felt stoopid , now that she’d done this. She understood the difference.

She listened a bit, trying to see if she could hear anyone else in the house, but the Boarding House was too big and she wasn’t a vampire so she couldn’t hear any voice, but could hear every single creek and it was vaguely terrifying and she felt 11 again and sleeping here for the first time and scared about the big old house and the strange new people living with her in it. It was kind of eye-opening to be completely honest, to her. It reminded her of how good she had it now and how really, really bad it was that she’d done that spell in the first place. Another sigh and she was getting up, stretching as she went, bones popping and an odd crink in her neck from the bad position she’d slept in and a ghost pain in her elbow, likely from having hit in while sleeping as she sometimes did. A small snort at the memory of her mom’s comically horrified face when she saw her wake up bruised the first time had her startled and she snorted again at scaring herself like a baby.

Rose rubbed at her eyes, crusty from the sleep, finger-combed her hair out of her face and went to the bathroom. When she returned she flipped the lights on and sat on the edge of the bed, pulled out her phone and opened the notes. She had to get a plan done. She thought about everything she knew and made a list to get it all in order, then took that list and figured what she wanted to get out of this whole situation and how much she could actually do and ended up with at least an idea of what she should and shouldn’t do. Firstly she realised there was absolutely no way of preventing Klaus from becoming the hybrid, he was too paranoid, too determined and too dangerous to even consider that possibility at this point in time. The Klaus she knew in her world? A completely different story, but this one wasn’t that guy so in the words of the Klaus that had taken her to her first art show simply because she and Hope had asked him to she would just have to revise and adapt. She also couldn’t kill him. She didn’t have nearly enough power to pull any kind of binding spell from his bloodline to be able to not cause a genocide so that was equally off the board as well. Plus she actually kind of liked the guy he became in the future so she wanted to keep him alive to actually maybe become him. But she also didn’t want anyone to die. So she needed a plan to keep them alive or at least bring them back. Luckily her mom had been the Anchor to the Other Side for a while there and had learned a lot about how that worked and while they no longer had an Other Side themselves, it still very much existed here so that brought several very good and very real possibilities of preventing deaths. Score one Rose, zero this freaky universe.

She also kind of wanted to get her parents to at least not hate each other a bit quicker here. She’s heard them enough times talk about how if they’d actually gotten along earlier, things could’ve been prevented. She wasn’t entirely sure what those things were, because she was pretty sure they weren’t delusional enough to think that them getting together could actually prevent stuff like Silas or the Travellers that she’d heard them speak about, but she could definitely see how it would have helped. Her parents worked incredibly well together. Even when they disagreed on stuff constantly they still had this synchronisation to their planning and execution that no one could deny. So yeah, Rose wanted to play match-maker a bit. Not the main goal here, nor would she really push for anything since that wasn’t going to help at all, but if she saw any opportunity, sure, she’d try. Lizzy would be so proud of her when she got back, she always tried to get Rose to join her in her match-making escapades around school.

Mind made up, she smiled, pleased with herself and headed downstairs to try to get on top of everything. She needed help coming up with a feasible and best plan and she could hear Damon talking down the hall from the living room area. Actually, she paused and grinned, she could hear a lot of people, likely the whole gang. Perfect, this was going to be just great. So Rose rounded the corner and was about to open her mouth to get this show on the road when she heard a very familiar voice and saw a very familiar sight surrounded by complete shocked chaos about to unleash.

“Rose-Sheila Bennett-Salvatore, what on Earth were you thinking?”

The voice of Bonnie Bennett-Salvatore was calm, her stance relaxed as she stood in front of the fireplace. She didn’t seem to be angry, save for the words that she’d just uttered, if anything, Rose thought her mom was a bit too at ease and amused by the whole situation. Her dad though, well. Damon Salvatore-Bennett was not pleased, and she could tell because he had his hands on his hips and that disappointed look on his face, furrowed brow and tight jaw, shaking his head minutely, tense. No, her dad was not amused at all, if anything he seemed more likely to start her lecture early and publicly and ground her for the next year than anything else. So Rose was even more surprised to see her mom smile brightly and relieved and feel her dad rush to her and wrap his arms around her so tight and so warm she would've cried if she could breathe.

“Dad. Dad, I’m okay, I promise.” she reassured even as she squeezed him just as tightly and gave a shaky grin in response to her mom. “Sorry.” she mumbled next, right in the crook of her dad’s neck who says ‘it's ok Rosie-Posie’ so softly she choked up a bit, and knew her mom heard it or saw it because her smile tempered slightly and the worried she must have been keeping pushed to the surface. Bonnie walked over to them, her hand gently caressing Damon’s back to get him to ease up and he startled a bit, jumping and then disentangling himself from Rose only for her to find herself face to face with her mom and now she doesn’t know what to do because dad is easy, dad glares and rants and raves but it’s all because he worries and the second he realises nothing is wrong he instantly forgives, but mom either grounds her or lectures or of gives her some kind of punishment and that when she messes up with stuff that is easy to fix if still vaguely serious, but this is something else, this could’ve actually turned out much worse and so Rose braced for whatever her mom might say now that she’s seen Rose was alright.

So Rose was entirely unprepared for her mom to cup her cheeks and brush her still dishevelled hair out of her eyes and kiss her forehead and now Rose was definitely going to cry, but that was ok because mom also wraped her arms around her and she could burrow now in her neck as well and mom smells of home in an entirely different way that dad did, but he also smelled of home too and it’s a bit too much for her so she could feel a few stray tears escaping, but that was ok too because she could just hide them in the material of her mom blouse and under the shade of her dad’s hand caressing her hair softly. When she drew back, she was alright again, only she realised that the other ones, the people from this universe w ere still there and looking both vaguely confused, but a lot angrier and a lot more shocked and oh god this will still kill her, won’t it?

Hopefully you guys don’t mind I brought future Bamon to the past, but this kinda drama just speaks to me, hahaha! Sorry, not sorry! Lemme know what you guys think. I don’t think this will be much longer now - but then again I didn’t think this would be multi chaptered in the first place so what do I know really?

Stay safe out there guys! Bye

DM

#Bamon #bamon fic #bamon fanfic #bonnie bennett #bonnie/damon #Bonnie x Damon #Damon x Bonnie #Bonnie #Damon #damon salvatore #future daughter #tvd fic #tvd fanfiction #TVD

[sonicgetsrawed]

Rising Moon Snippet 2

No one shot today, so have another out of context rising moon snippet! It’s pretty much an interaction between boo berry and var in a dream setting! Enjoy!!

Varian’s eyes blinked open. He hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep, was it even possible to fall asleep in this hellish dreamscape? He remembered his conversation with Cassandra, it was hard to forget, then pain a lot of pain, and then he was here. At least he recognized this place. His blue eyes stared at the broken moon above. The water had followed him here, soaking uncomfortably into his clothes as he laid in it. He didn’t have the strength to move, his chest hurt too much, and he was tired, so very tired. He closed his eyes, tears he didn’t even know where there joining the water. And once he was made aware of there presence he couldn’t stop them from flowing, causing ripples in the water. He curled in on himself, letting the sobs have their way. He was pathetic. It was no wonder everyone he met only cared about the moonstone. He was nothing without it, he was nothing with it. No matter how much he grew, how much he fought, how much he tried to be more, he’d always be that useless empty doll Rapunzel found in the dungeons. He wished Cassandra would have taken the moonstone. She could’ve done something great with it, she wouldn’t have let anyone push her around. But no, she insisted he needed to keep it, keep it safe. How could he do that when he couldn’t even keep himself safe? When he was falling apart at the seams? He was drowning and no matter how he called no one was going to save him.

His sobs turned to coughs, irritating his chest further. He forced his eyes open, scrambling backwards at the sight of the terrible green fog that had covered Cassandra’s mind. It was just as suffocating here as it had been there, like his body was trying to reject any of it that dare try to worm its way into his lungs. There was a girl, floating on top of it, her figure blue and transparent as if she herself didn’t belong. She stopped in front of him, the fog halting as well, it encircled him but none of it touched him. It was almost as if there was a barrier between them, something protecting him from it. She stepped down from her cloud, still hovering, a wide smile on her face.

“Oh, sweet child, who has hurt you so?” She cooed, although it sounded more mocking than comforting coming from her. She floated over to him, whatever was keeping the fog away had no effect on her.

“N-no one.” He stuttered. It was true, he had been the only one to cause his hurt. Everything was his fault.

She clicked her tongue, reaching forward to cup his face. It sent chills down his spine, but still he leaned into it. “I can take that hurt away.”

“You-you can?” He asked, leaning further into her touch, not noticing the fog creeping closer.

“I can. All you have to do is let me in.” She said, smile growing wider. He felt his breathing start to even out, his eyes drooping closed. He wanted to give in so bad, but Cassandra’s warning rang through his head. He couldn’t trust her, he couldn’t trust anyone anymore.

He pulled his head away, eyes glowing dangerously. “No! I-I can’t trust you!” He swept his arm out, black rocks forming an actual barrier against the fog. It did nothing to the girl, however, she floated through the rocks, stopping in front of him once again.

“Then why do you trust her?” She was circling him. He moved frantically trying to keep her in his sight, failing drastically.

“I-“

“Didn’t she tell you, you can’t trust her? What has she done to earn your trust anyways? She’s done nothing but hurt you.”

“That’s not true! Cass-“

The girl was in front of him suddenly, face so close their noses were touching. “Isn’t it?” He scrambled back, falling onto his butt, he hadn’t even realized he had been standing. “She turned you into the guards! She knocked you out when you tried to avenge the princess! She probably told the king of your whereabouts! She forced you to take the moonstone! She knew what that entailed, she knew what she was subjecting you to. You didn’t want to and she made you.”

“No-“ He pushed himself back to his feet, stepping back as she floated forward.

“No? How is she different than the rest? How are any of your so called friends different from the Saporians, from Frederic?” She was snarling now, each question she got closer to him, each question he took a step back.

“They aren’t-“ He was trying desperately to keep up with her pace, almost stumbling over his own feet at each step.

“They aren’t like that? Oh, dear, I’ve heard it all before, every excuse you could possibly come up with. It doesn’t excuse their behavior, whatever their intentions. The fact remains is they hurt you, they all hurt you, and they want you to keep hurting. I want you to be free. Give me the moonstone and you will never suffer again. You can live your life in peace. You can be free.”

He didn’t know when he stopped moving, his hand clutched protectively over his chest, over the moonstone. The tears had returned, streaming freely the longer the conversation went on. “I-“

She placed a finger over his lips, shushing him in an almost mother like way. “No more excuses, no more thinking. What do you want?”

Varian stared back wide eyed at the question. Had anyone ever asked him what he wanted before? Had he ever had a choice? Did he even know what he wanted? He did. He wanted to be free, to stop hurting, to be normal. He wanted the moonstone gone, he wanted to be safe with Rapunzel and his dad and Horace and Cassandra and Lance. He wanted his friends back. He wanted his family back. He stiffened as the girl stroked his hair in a mock form of comfort as he shook with sobs. He so badly wanted to be selfish, but if he wanted his family back, truly wanted them back, he couldn’t put them in danger. He still didn’t know if he could trust them, didn’t know if they truly cared, despite that he didn’t want them to get hurt because of him. He had seen what happened when he wanted them to suffer and he never wanted to cause that again, he refused. So he made a decision, perhaps the stupidest most irrational decision he ever made, but he made it all on his own and he’d own the consequences.

He stepped back from her a new fury alight in his eyes. “I want you out of my head!” He felt the moonstone’s power surge in his chest. He took a confident step forward, rocks sprouting with every step. “I want my family back! I want to be free on my own terms! I want to be in control! I want to be my own person! I won’t be a tool anymore! Not by you, not by Rapunzel, not by Cassie, or Andrew, or Frederic! I’m taking control of my own fate and you can’t stop me!”

The rocks now covered the landscape purged of the green fog. Although they still had no effect on the girl. She stood patiently, hands clasped in front of her. She clicked her tongue in annoyance causing Varian’s cheeks to flush red with embarrassment. He felt like a child being berated by a parent, like he was being talked down to and not taken seriously.

The girl’s words only confirmed that was her intention. “Are you done throwing your little temper tantrum?” Varian swallowed thickly any previous confidence being wiped away by her undermining behavior. It was pathetic, really, how fast he turned back into that doll he’d sworn to leave behind so long ago. Ever eager to please, ever eager to serve for just a scrap of attention. He didn’t give her a verbal expression, his silence serving as his answer. She smiled coldly, any warmth it previously wiped from existence. “Good. Since you want to make this difficult,”

He didn’t have time to react before she was in front of him again, her little gloved hand reaching for his chest. “I’ll just take the stone for myself.” He gasped, not from pain, not completely anyway, but more from the odd uncomfortable feeling that surged from her hand going through him. His body shook, chills spreading rapidly along his skin as he tried to get her to stop. He tried to grab her hand, pull it away, but he went through her as she had him. So he was left squirming and struggling, gasping for air that he couldn’t quite get.

“How interesting.” The girl mused, paying his discomfort no mind. “It seems the moonstone is rather attached to you. Quite literally.” Her laugh was piercing and did nothing to ease the unpleasantness of the situation. She removed her hand rather abruptly, Varian dropping to his knees greedily sucking in air. “No matter,” She wiped her hand on her dress as if she had touched something particularly foul. “You will cooperate when the time comes. You won’t have a choice.”

She grabbed his chin forcing him to look at her terrible little smile once more, her other hand twirling the blue streak in his hair between her fingers, suddenly able to touch him once again. “Goodbye for now, little moonstone. I will be back soon to collect what is mine.”

With one final laugh she pushed him back, sending him tumbling over an edge he didn’t even know was there. His screams were swallowed by the void, the only light being the broken moon above.

And his eyes opened for real this time, finally awakening from his sleep.

#tangled the series #varian #Zhan Tiri #Moon Varian #Dark kingdom AU #the rising moon #spoilers for newest chappie

[phantomphangphucker]

The Whole Ass Fic A.K.A ClockWork Is Paying At Least One Person Hush Money

Vlad’s dumbest plot yet leads to a grade A gravy bowl of a dumb reveal. Danny’s class feels left out, Wes is literally left out, and ClockWork is forcing me to not leave them out at gunpoint.

Now that y’all have voted, I present to you, the Whole Ass Fic

Danny was having a nice day, he honest to the Core was. But then a blue portal half fucking blinded him, a startled Mr. Lancer accidentally threw a whiteboard marker into his eye, and Dash finally succeeded in hitting him -in the eye of all places, ugh- with a spitball. All of this followed by a -probably not quiet- mutter of, “ClockWork end me”. In short, he had already filled his quota for ocular trauma today.

But looking to the front as a -very not cheesetastic- certain someone stops monologuing, he’s experiencing a-whole-ass-nother kind of ocular trauma.

Danny gets up from his desk and slowly walks up to the front, eyes filled with disappointment and the residual energy of his three breakfast Red Bulls, “okay, so you’re telling me-”, Danny gestures erratically to Vlad, who's tied up on the floor and in ghost form, “-that you overshadowed ClockWork-”, gesturing even more erratically at ClockWork -who’s just sitting on a desk and inspecting their nails- but Danny maintains wide-eyed eye-contact with Vlad instead of attempting down the rabbit hole of why ClockWork is still here. Glaring at floor Vlad harder, somehow, “-so you could travel to the future, to team up with your future self and bring him back here-”, Danny points both hands at the floor a bit aggressively, “-so you could tag-team pulverise a teenager-”.

While Vlad rolls his eyes, not even slightly apologetic or willing to admit that throwing fists with teens being his number one past time was arguably pathetic. Danny gestures at the future Vlad, who’s glaring bloody murder at normal timeline floor Vlad, “-but said future you instead assaulted ClockWork”, facepalming and muttering into his hand, “least I know this future you really is you, being enough up his own ass to even consider attempting to do that”, looking back to floor Vlad, “so you used ClockWork’s powers at random and just came back to this timeline?”.

Kwan adds in, “through the ceiling”.

ClockWork smirks, “he got quite lucky in that regard. Not quite luck though”, Danny sighs exasperatedly at ClockWork when they wink with a smirk. Anything involving ClockWork required a lack of luck, not a wealth of it; that, or making a collection of the stupidest decisions you’ve ever made. Considering floor Vlad’s state of looking like an extra for a truly terrible Vampire BDSM film, Danny’s going with the latter.  

Floor Vlad manages to spit out his gag, “well they somehow tossed me out of their body immediately after! I mean the audacity! And this Cheesehead-”, jerkily attempting to nod or point at the scruffy-looking future Vlad, “-gets more pissed and assaults me, ME! Instead of you”.

Future Vlad kicks him and snarls, “it’s been two years in this timeline! TWO! I stopped with the stupid fiddlediddling after six months!”, turning his head to the side and mumbling, “sure everyone close to him had to die first, but that’s a moot point”.

Dash snorts, “why would a ghost even want to assault Fentit. And wait, what? People died?”.

Danny meanwhile, throws his hands out to the side, “of course that happened!”, then gesturing towards ClockWork, “you can’t overshadow ClockWork, that’s not even possible! They literally had to have allowed you to”, actually turning to glare slightly at ClockWork, “why, I haven’t a shot-glass of pennies close to a clue”. Danny then blinks and slowly looks at the future Vlad, his words finally registering; while Danny also simultaneously massacres his last brain cell, “wait....you’re that Vlad? As in the one that technically murdered me? The one that sort of caused the near extinction of humanity and ghosts? The one that basically saw the big red ‘DO NOT PUSH, THIS IS A STUPID IDEA’ button, slammed your fist on it, and activated the apocalypse? The one that stabbed past me when I tried to fix the future? Sure I requested it, but ya still did it”.

Mr. Lancer, who had been progressively going more wide-eyed, “Crime and Punishment?!?!?! I mean, go off I guess”.

While Danny scratches his head nonchalantly, muttering more to himself, “also the one that gave me any faith in past you ever being capable of being good”.

Floor Vlad sputters, wiggling in his bindings like a worm, “how is murdering you what it takes to make you have even an ounce of faith in me?!?”, floor Vlad looks to future Vlad, “you can’t judge me, you fudge-bucket of a hypocrite”.

Danny rolls his eyes and snorts, “that’s not even pot calling kettle black, that’s a wad of chewed gum calling a fork an unchewed stick of gum, and actually expecting that insult to stick”. Danny then squints and turns to ClockWork, “wait”, pointing emphatically at future Vlad, “how does he even exist?!?!? That future was literally destroyed?!?”.

Future Vlad squints at him, looking affronted, “you mean you destroyed my existence too?!?”.

Danny turns to him and waves his hands around wildly, “THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU UNRAVEL TEN YEARS OF TIME! THOSE THINGS AND PEOPLE GO POOF!”.

ClockWork sticks up a finger, “that’s not how time works”.

Danny and both Vlads’ turn to them, both Danny and future Vlad pointing aggressively, “YOU STAY OUT OF THIS! THIS DOESN'T CONCERN YOU!”.  

Nathan mutters, “or the rest of the class apparently”.

ClockWork smirks, “pretty sure the author disagrees on that one”. Everyone squints at them but goes back to bickering. Future Vlad points a little aggressively at Danny, “you were just supposed to fix the past! Not obliterate me!”.

Danny throws his hands up, “sacrifices had to be made! That’s what good guys do!”, gesturing at floor Vlad, “plus! You’re still here! And still A CRAZED UP FRUITLOOPY DICK!”.

Floor Vlad, looking a bit insulted, “language my boy”. Danny just looks down at him and knocks one of the desks on him; some kids water bottle -who the heck uses glass water bottles? Seriously?- smashing apart all over his face.  

Future Vlad pinches his nose and gestures at floor Vlad, looking at Danny, “that’s because he hasn’t been horribly traumatised....yet”.

Floor Vlad sputters, “yet?”, before scrunching up his face and licking his cheek, “is this vodka?”.

Future Vlad glares down at him, “you don’t know suffering”, getting into floor Vlad’s face a little and shaking his finger violently, “you don’t know the meaning of the word”, while Danny mutters, “neither do you, by the way”, future Vlad keeps talking, “and you really think you can collect all these stupid cheese curd plots and not turn yourself into curdled milk?”.

Floor Vlad rolls his eyes, “says the murderer”.

Danny rolls his eyes almost in sync with floor Vlad’s eye-roll, “oh like you haven’t killed anyone”.

Mr. Lancer coughs, “um? There are other people here you know. And some of us don’t appreciate casually talking about murder at-”, glancing at his watch, “-nine a.m. in the morning”.

Floor Vlad glances at him, “no one but us and dear Maddie qualify as people”.

Danny sputters incredulously while ClockWork points at floor Vlad, “and that is not how classifications of species and words work”. No one so much as acknowledges the arguably most power-being ever this time.

Floor Vlad looks back to future Vlad, “and Daniel’s the one that messes everything up. Not me!”, glaring at Danny and muttering, “I would have had a perfectly viable clone otherwise”.

Future Vlad shakes his head and gestures aggressively, “you cloned him?!?!?!”, throwing his hands up and walking around, “this me’s insane! Wonderful!”.

Valerie snickers into her hand, “I want to get involved but...”, before gaping and sputtering incoherently to herself about Dani.

Danny snorts, “you hadn’t already figured that out when he decided to abduct and control the body of the dude who controls time itself and oversees everyone’s futures. A literal living legend and basically a god?”, shrugging and sounding nonchalant, “and yeah, technically we have a kid now. My genetics, but Vlad made her. So technically, we’re both her parents”, kicking floor Vlad, “I should sue you for child support”.

ClockWork nods, “and you would win actually”.  

Danny looks tickled green, while floor Vlad shouts dramatically, “WHAT!?!?!?”. Future Vlad is just walking in a circle throwing his hands out randomly and making faces.

Dash mutters, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but, the damn twinks life would make a great soap opera”. ClockWork smirks ever so slightly at this.

Floor Vlad screws up his face and wiggles in the bindings some before squinting at Danny, “wait a biscuit buttering second, how do you even know about the ghost from the clocktower?”, sputtering and squirming, “how do you know their name?!? Even I didn’t! And you know their powers! Daniel what in the name of Gouda?!?”.

Danny deadpans, “oh don’t you use that tone with me, mister. You’re not my father”. While ClockWork smirks, “my name was actually the first thing he said, you just conveniently ignored that for plot purposes”.

Danny just speaks right over them and gestures at ClockWork, “and of course I do! They’re my Time Daddy!”.

Everyone goes silent immediately and you could hear a pin drop. Instead, a different voice breaks the silence, “wow! Didn’t know you had another dad, son!”.

Both halfas and the ex-halfa turn slowly and look at the doorway, where one Jack Fenton is standing and munching on fudge like he’s engrossed in an intense tv show.

Danny blinks and sputters, “how long have you been there?”.

ClockWork smirks, “since almost the beginning of this fic”. Danny glances at them, “that doesn’t make sense”. ClockWork shrugs, “well the audience might appreciate knowing, and I aim to please”.

Danny speaks thick with enough sarcasm to kill a lesser being twice over, and as if to prove this point floor Vlad starts hacking like someone force-fed him nails, “oH yEaH tHiS hAs BeEn A rEeEeEaAaAaLlLlL pLeAsUrE”, before squinting, “...what audience?”.

Star slams her face into her desk, “oh my Zone, seriously?”.

While Jack pipes up, “since Danno repeated vampire Vlad’s story back to everyone with so much disbelief I really couldn’t bring myself to interrupt”, standing and practically throwing the plate of fudge -having forgotten he even had it- when he throws his hands out to the side.

Mr. Lancer sighs and speaks as the fudge slowly smears down the classroom wall, “this was not in my job description, but thanks for the reminder why I don’t moonlight as a babysitter anymore”.

Jack, sounding way too happy for this situation and oddly not looking angry or even bothered, “and I’ve never heard my boy so passionate before!”, tapping his chin and looking at the two Vlads’, “though I do have to say. What the fuck is wrong with you V-man”.

Danny grumbles, “welcome to the life of having a half-ghost, who’s three nuts short of a fruitcake, that wants to aggressively be your uncle and/or father”, before sputtering incoherently over his dad swearing.

Jack tilts his head, looking like a confused puppy, “but, I’m your dad?”, quirking an eyebrow at ClockWork, “one of your dads?”. ClockWork looks like they just got blessed by a god... a god other than themselves anyway.

While Danny stares down at the floor unsure if he should feel deep horror or boyish wonder. Muttering, “did I just result in ClockWork getting adopted into my family through arguably convoluted and highly illogical means?”.  

ClockWork makes a face that is the closest thing to insulted Danny’s actually seen on their face, “it was my belief we were already kin”.

Danny sputters and waves his hands around erratically, trying desperately to back-pedal, “what, I, er, no, I mean yes! Yes! Totally fam!”.

Valerie can’t help but let out her inner gossip rich girl mode, “ooooooooooo, someone’s in trooooouuuubbbbllllleeee”.

Floor Vlad sputters in utter disbelief, it was he that was supposed to be gaining new family members here! Not that oversized puff pastry! “This, that, THIS IS NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO GO!”.

Future Vlad blinks at Jack, “why are you not freaking out over the ghosts?”.

Star sighs, “are they really just ignoring that none of us have been freaking out?”.

Jack shrugs, “one’s tied up and the other gave me fudge”. Floor Vlad just shrieks in frustration and disbelief. While Danny gives a dramatic thumbs up to ClockWork, even going so far as to use a little ecto-energy to make his thumb sparkle like some anime bullshit.

Future Vlad kicks floor Vlad but speaks to Jack, “well if it’s anything, I’m not a ghost or half of one”.

Multiple people mutter, “half ghosts are a thing?”, while Valerie grins like a loon.

Floor Vlad shrieking, “WHAT?!?!?!”.

Future Vlad looks down at him but points at Danny, “he ripped out and ate Plasmius”.

Mr. Lancer grimaces and has to physically restrain himself from assaulting Kwan when he actually sticks his hand up and asks, “what’d that taste like? You know, for reasons”. No one’s honestly surprised at this point, when the bickering guys’ just act like the entire class are just extras added in after the main plot was established and without the main casts knowledge.

Danny blinks and gestures wildly at his dad, “are we just ignoring the uniformed third partly?!?”.

Mr. Lancer glares, “the class has been here the entire time”.

ClockWork smirks, “Vlad’s the authors' bitch right now so...yes”.

While floor Vlad gapes at Danny, “YOU DID WHAT NOW?!?!?”.

Danny throws his hands up exaggeratedly, “NOT IN THIS TIMELINE!”. While Vlad just quietly sputters about how Daniel could and even would, apparently, eat him. Danny has to severely resist spewing out a list of vore jokes at this. While ClockWork mutters with a smirk, about how the only reasons Danny’s not doing that is because the author’s tired of their phone crashing every time they try to write them.

Future Vlad points aggressively at floor Vlad, “we were the ones who thought ripping out his humanity would be a good idea!”.

Jack adds in some side commentary, “yeah, please don’t do that to my son”.

Floor Vlad mutters at the floor, “I need some bloody scotch”, before looking up at future Vlad and shouting, “WHY WOULD I DO THAT!”.

ClockWork points at floor Vlad, “the vodka hasn’t totally evaporated off your face yet, so you’ve got options. I have no pity for you”.

Floor Vlad glares at them, “I have standards”.

Half the class saying, “you sure about that?”.

Danny and future Vlad respond to floor Vlad in unison, with matching deadpan tones and judgmental facial expressions, “because, for all accounts and purposes, you are a sociopath”.

ClockWork sticks a finger up, “this is not how psychological diagnosis works”, gesturing at the class, “for one, patient confidentiality is a basic prerequisite, not an option”.

Nathan makes a mocked delighted gasp, “did we just get acknowledged?”. While Danny and future Vlad share a look tm.

Floor Vlad sneers, “rather that over an overgrown oaf, a self-sacrificial fool, a weak old man, or whatever is up with the time ghost”.

Danny glares while future Vlad socks floor Vlad in the face for that. Danny off-handed commenting, “‘Observant puppet’ is really the only insult that applies”, looking at ClockWork, “why aren’t the eyeballs up in a tissy about this anyway?”.

ClockWork smirks, “the author has decided they no longer exist”.

Danny blinks, “what kind of power does this ‘author’ have????”.

ClockWork mutters ominously, “the ability to outrun writers' block...for now”.

Danny ignores ClockWork out of slight horror and feeling like someone’s threatening him with another? dissection fic if he doesn’t stop encouraging ClockWork to derail the plot. Turning his attention to the two Vlads’ just in time to catch Valerie getting up and smacking both Vlads’ over the head, which just turns into an all-out fistfight. Well okay, floor Vlad is just squirming in his bindings and kicking like a feral rabbit, but still.

Valerie steps back and nudges Danny with a wily smirk, “who you wanna bet on to win?”.

Danny snorts, “future Vlad, based on sheer tenacity”.

ClockWork smirks and points a finger at the ceiling, “that’s my bet”, another portal opening up and yet another Vlad falling through and landing on the two others in a heap; knocking all three out, floor Vlad finally transforming back human. Danny looks to them, “the fuck is wrong with you?”.

While Maddie’s voice mutters from the doorway, “oh my Zone, Vlad?!?!”. Standing next to her is yet another interviewer from Genius Magazine: For Women Geniuses, By Women Geniuses; who slowly lifts up her phone and snaps a photo, while patting the pocket where her recorder is.

The next day Danny inexplicably gets pelted in the face -which, coming full circle, predictably stabs him in the eye in the process- by a magazine as soon as he steps through Mr. Lancer’s classroom doorway. Danny just lets it flop onto the floor unceremoniously, due to his veins being clean out of the consciousness juice that was Red Bull and thus incapable of caring about those pesky things called reflexes.

Danny sighs down at the abused magazine while slowly and dramatically covering his right eye. Sighing even louder at the cover somehow making everyone but the Vlads’ look kinda hot and ClockWork just being a black hole with a wicked grin -how they still seemed visually attractive is beyond Danny’s comprehension. The title reading ‘[REDACTED] Ghosts, Time Travel, And Illegal Cloning. Oh My!’, with the wonderful subtitle of ‘What Happens When Science Grows Fangs!’, and the sub-subtitle of ‘See Some Scientific Sin!’.

Danny’s sure the ‘[REDACTED]’ has something to do with ClockWork and them messing with an entire companies autocorrect function, but he decidedly doesn’t want to know.

Wes kicking in the classroom door seconds later only to pelt Danny with yet another copy of the magazine and shriek, “WHY!?!?!?! WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME!?!?!?!”.

Danny looks down at the magazine, which magically opened up to the page with the article when it landed, and snorts. It looked like someone had applied ‘[REDACTED]’ on the paper very liberally and with a pepper grinder. Danny then slowly turns and points at Wes with a massive shit-eating grin, “that’s what you get for being weak enough to fall victim to flu season. Sleepy sniffling sleuths earn no secrets”.

At this, the whole class laughs like they’re just a laugh track and an edited in fake audience.

END.

#Danny Phantom #phandom #fan fic #phan phic #crack fic #it's still a shitpost honestly #it's three times as long just a heads up #danny fenton #vlad plasmius #Vlad Masters #jack fenton #mr. lancer #clockwork #casperhigh #valerie #identity reveal #Vlad's a dumbass #phight club full edition #my writing #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick

[rainbowwritesthings]

Love Like You

Qrow tensed at the sudden realness of the situation before he relaxed and gave Clover a smile. “Yeah, should probably start on that. Think any of the kids have some baby names?” AO3

It was a rare treat for the group to find a town so soon after they had left the previous one, only having to sleep in the desert for two nights in between the towns.

Qrow knew the larger settlements of Vacuo well, the ones that could take an occasional Grimm beating thus allowing them to stay in the same place for years at a time.

Smaller ones like they one they were at now, the ones that could be packed up and moved within a few days when needed, tended to slip under Qrow’s map.

Not that Qrow or any of the others were complaining about the stroke of good luck, the sentiment had Qrow rolling his eyes.

Vacuo was hard to navigate, and you couldn’t let your guard down while out in the open day or night.

Add to that the crucialness of rationing supplies and constantly repairing weapons and it was no wonder Nora shouts for joy whenever they come into view of a new settlement.

While Qrow was long accustomed to nomadic traveling in hostile areas, he couldn’t deny the breath of relief he let out every time he had an actual bed to sleep on.

Though he had a feeling that relief was fueled primarily by his “condition”.

Red eyes glanced down to his protruding stomach and as if on cue he could feel one of them start to move. Knowing that with one of them moving around the other would join in, Qrow figured he had rested long enough.

With a small grunt he pushed himself up and immediately his hand was resting on the bump, Qrow knew that simple actions like that would be harder as time grew on.

Even though he hadn’t even hit the sixth month mark most everyone could tell he was pregnant with a quick glance.

He had become a liability to the whole group once more, but now he couldn’t even blame it on drinking to much. At least when he was drunk, he could still fight.

The lamp closest to him flickered once before the bulb exploded and Qrow scrubbed his face.

Going through with the pregnancy while the fate of humanity was in question might truly be the stupidest thing he has ever done.

 Stupid.

Raven may prove to be right in her judgment, if it was just him that was one thing but those kids where reckless enough to stick by him. Clover was worse, at this point the alpha had made it clear that he was with Qrow until the end.

  Selfish.

Qrow swung his legs over the side of the bed and froze when he heard movement from outside the room, the others must have come back and he had slept through the noise.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t sleep like a log through the night, gone were his honed instincts that he had spent years training.

One headache now had him passed out for over an hour, in a deep enough sleep to miss a gaggle of teenagers coming back from hunting Grimm. Frustration boiled over as the thoughts swirled.

 You’ve always been soft.

Going with the theme of being unobservant he almost missed the door clicking open, of course he and Clover got the best room, and a freshly washed Clover walked in.

Forcing the darker thoughts down he swiped at his face and turned to face his alpha. A quick glance showed that the mission had gone well, and Clovers relaxed demeanor promised that the kids were all alright.

Despite himself the omega couldn’t help but return the smile given to him. Clover strode over and practically beamed as he fixed a flyaway black lock, leaning down Qrow wasted no time in meeting him for a needed kiss.

When they parted Clover was gazing at him with hooded eyes, which only went to show that the alpha’s mind was clouded when it came to Qrow.

“How are you feeling?”

Penny must have told him that Qrow had retreated to bed, new frustration sprung forth at the thought.

Penny had more important things to think about, it wasn’t fair that she had to play babysitter on top that.

The pause had Clover looking at him with concern and Qrow had to switch gears.

“Brats were kicking up a storm.”

Clover chuckled and placed a hand over Qrow’s stomach, after a moment a firm nudge met his palm.

Without a word Qrow guided the alpha’s other hand to a different spot and Clover blinked when a firm jab met his palm there as well.

Teal eyes met red ones and Qrow raised his eyebrows pointedly.

“Told you so.”

Despite the words there was only warmth in the tone and Clover captured his lips once again, when they withdrew the alpha crouched down.

“You two need to settle down in there, your papa was trying to rest and it’s rude to wake him up.”

It should be illegal how soft his voice got and Qrow gently brushed through brown hair.

Clover looked up from where he was kneeling, his hand still splayed out over the omega’s stomach.

His grin grew when he saw the faintest blush gracing Qrow’s cheeks, light enough for the omega to use the heat as an excuse.

The blush grew just a shade deeper with the gaze, “Brothers, you’re hopeless.”

Clover hummed contently and gave a soft kiss to the protruding bump, an act that had Qrow rolling his eyes. In these kinds of moments Qrow could ignore the doubts and fear, he could focus on the hope for the future that Clover seemed to have.

Clovers face was suddenly much closer than it had been a moment ago, Qrow hadn’t even noticed the other man getting back up.

“What’s wrong?”

A calloused hand cupped Qrow’s cheek and the gentleness still had the omega’s heart pounding, he was hardly some love struck teen but this casual intimacy was still something that had the huntsman’s pulse quicken.

When Clover’s smile faded more, Qrow realized that he had spaced out again.

“Just thinking about some things. It’s nothing bad.”

Green eyes searched his face for a moment band as per usual Qrow felt completely exposed under those eyes.

“Well, I’ve been thinking as well. I think we should start talking about names, nothing concrete but maybe get some ideas.”

Qrow tensed at the sudden realness of the situation before he relaxed and gave Clover a smile.

“Yeah, should probably start on that. Think any of the kids have some names?”

“Well I know Nora probably has at least five locked and loaded, Weiss as well. Yang and Ruby might have some good ones.”

Qrow had expected Ruby and Nora, they were the loudest about their excitement anything twin related.

Yang joined in at times, mostly to further tease her uncle, but to hear Clover mention Weiss so casually caught Qrow off guard.

The young alpha had certainly warmed up to him over time, but the huntsman doubted that Weiss spent her free time thinking of baby names for a washed-up old crow like him.

Clover, as per usual, seemed to be able to know exactly what Qrow was thinking and raised an eyebrow.

“You mean a lot to them, all of them and they’re all excited about the babies. Of course, some of them are louder sharing that excitement than others.”

Qrow should be used to those casual remarks about what he meant to others, especially when they came from Clover, but it still squeezed his heart and made him shift in spot.

He hummed noncommittally and let Clover help him up before leading the way to the quaint dining room/kitchen.

A few of the kids were lounging about, tired from both the heat and the Grimm hunting, a movie was playing on the small television but only Oscar seemed to be interested in what was playing.

Penny noticed them first and gave the pair a bright smile before bounding over, “I’m glad to see you are feeling better, Qrow.”

It had been an uphill battle trying to convince Penny to call him by his first name and he could still see the girl catch herself every so often.

The omega smiled reassuringly and ruffled her hair, “I am, thanks carrot top.”

Qrow didn’t deserve the beaming smile he received before she turned and went back to the small table to repair a broken sword.

The other kids glanced up at him, as if checking to make sure he wouldn’t keel over from the brief walk over.

Blake smiled at him softly and moved just a smidge closer to Yang, creating a clear opening for Qrow on the couch next to her.

The older omega smiled back at the cat faunas and slowly sank down next to her on the couch, he tried to write off the way she relaxed just slightly into him as just fellow omega tendencies.

Clover perched on the arm rest and Qrow decidedly did not glance at the alpha, he could already guess the smirk the other wore.

Weiss strode towards him, presenting a glass of a water that he took with a smile.

One that she returned in a much smaller manner before taking a sip from her own glass.

Clover made a soft noise before straightening up, “Qrow and I were talking about baby names. Do any of you have some ideas?”

Yang leaned forward at the question and the devious smirk she wore had the hairs of Qrow’s neck raise, he had seen that same look enough times to know things were about to get hectic.

Yang leaned away from her girlfriend and twisted around to face the rest of the rooms, “Ruby or Nora, grab the book!”

To the alpha’s credit, she was hardly yelling, but her order did cause a new ruckus.

Qrow could hear the tell tale stomping of feet and a brief yell from what sounded like Nora before a flurry of petals landed next to Weiss.

Ruby had obviously just woken up from a nap if her mused up hair was any indication, but she looked wide awake and was clutching a journal proudly to her chest.

The rest of the horde began filling into the common room after that, led by a slightly dripping Nora who was scowling at Ruby. “You play dirty, Rose.”

Jaune was rubbing his eyes lightly and Ren’s hair was completely loose, whatever was in the book had enough power to call everyone to arms and the T.V. was turned off.

Weiss retrieved the journal from Ruby and for a moment her proud posture faltered just a bit, Qrow knew the alpha well enough to know that whatever was going on was her idea and she was nervous about the reaction.

“Watcha got there, princess?”

The hesitation disappeared and Weiss held out the worn brown journal expectantly. Qrow snuck a glance around to find that all the kids were watching with rapt attention, though some more so than others, and Clover looked just as confused about this as he was.

The journal itself was uninteresting, no lavish embroidery or bright colors. The moment he opened it that changed and bright colors flooded his vision.

Upon inspection he saw what was written, names.

There were names in different colors in rows, from the handwriting alone he could guess who wrote what, but the colors were a nice touch.

As he thrummed through the pages Qrow was stunned to see that all the kids had put down multiple names.

Clover shifted above him to get a better look and was the first to speak of the pair.

“That’s a pretty impressive list. Or lists, I should say.”

Now that it was brought up Qrow could see were one list ended and another began.

Weiss had gone suspiciously silent and Oscar spoke up, “oh yeah, we um, put them in categories. The one you’re on is names to do with luck, or fortune.”

Qrow couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped as he read through the first few, they were creative to say the least.

Clover gently turned the page and this category was more apparent.

“Names based off plants, might have to cross some off though. I knew some people with some of these names before.”

Spurred on Weiss found her voice again, “this is still the second draft, we’re going to revise the list again soon.”

The fact that this was the second draft had warmth blooming through Qrow, Nora leaned in and turned a few pages before unsubtly pointing to a name written in pink.

“This list is bird names, it’s shorter than the rest but has real gems.”

And quite a few names written in the same shade of pink, when Qrow looked up at her with a raised eyebrow the young alpha winked.

Surprisingly Blake was the next one to flip the pages, “these names are color related, or just colors for some of them. It’s the longest and honestly, has some of the weirdest ones.”

Coming from her that was saying a lot and Qrow was becoming more curious about what had been cut from the first list.

Penny had at some point stood behind him and leaned over the man to rifle through, “this is miscellaneous. They couldn’t be made to fit into any of the other lists, but they are to nice to just disregard.”

She withdrew her hand but made no other move to lean away from above him.

Looking down at the names Qrow felt a rush of affection for the teens that had written them with so much thought behind it.

Clover was right, they were excited for the twins because their odd pack to gain two tiny members.

Qrow could blame hormones for the sudden tightness in his throat and he looked at the kids, “you guys did good, Branwen’s aren’t really known for their naming skills. Thanks.”

It should be criminal how pleased each of them looked, they didn’t have nearly enough opportunities to just be teens.

Clover rested his hand on Qrows shoulder, something in him relented and he would talk with Clover about his fears later.

Ruby caved first and rushed in for a hug, she was soon joined by the usual hug suspects before the others caved in as well.

Qrow tried to encompass as many as he could, he may not feel like he deserved it, but this was his flock.

#fair game #ABO verse #mpreg #qrow branwen #clover ebi #qrow has so many children #qrow x clover #slight angst #surrounded by fluff #clover is soft #fair game babies #kind of? #fairgame #rainbowwritesstuff

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 28: Themis school festival, redux. Nobody dies but everyone is depressed, up to and including yours truly, the author.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

“I guess I should’ve learned my lesson the other day about your sense of timing,” Apollo says. 

“You could’ve paid for a taxi,” Athena says. “Like you did the other day. You had options! You chose to accept a ride from me!”

“You could’ve learned your lesson from the other day, too, and not been late,” Apollo says. 

“Hey, it’s not late unless the trial starts without me, or I get to the office after a client or Mr Wright has shown up.”

“Is that what we’ve expanded the rules to be now?” Apollo asks. 

Themis stands quiet and empty, and cold besides. Even the campus itself seems more battered and worn than it was a few days ago; the wind has torn loose or knocked down a number of the posters and signs planted along walkways and on building walls, and no one has bothered to gather any of them. Athena picks up a crumpled, out-of-date advertisement for the mock trial and shoves it in her pocket until they find a garbage can.

“You wanna just wander around?” she asks. “We’ll find everyone after the mock trial and see who won.”

She had been so insistent on wanting to watch the mock trial the other day, but they’ve wrung every last surprise out of Juniper’s script and Apollo, at least, has no particular desire to head into the lecture hall and relieve some of the most stressful bits of their past two days in court. The photograph of Courte posed as the body for the mock trial autopsy report, and days later a victim for real. The arrow stabbed into her side, not merely held there by her own hand. “Sure.”

On the sidewalk out toward the dining hall, some enterprising student with colorful chalk scrawled INVESTIGATE ALL ADMINISTRATION NOW. “I guess Mr Wright was right,” Athena says. “They won’t be able to bury this scandal this time.”

“Gonna be a hell of a school year from here on out,” Apollo says.

“I wonder how Hugh’s doing,” Athena says. “I believe he didn’t know his grades were bought, of course, but I’m not sure all his classmates are going to believe him. And I bet some of them are gonna be pretty angry about it, and take it out on him.”

“Yeah.” Though Hugh’s attitude probably hasn’t made him many friends already, besides Robin and Juniper. He might be used to disdain from his classmates, not that it will make it any easier. High schoolers are cruel. And adults can be just as petty, so there’s not really ever any reprieve. Hopefully he can come back from this; hopefully he tells his parents to go to hell for it, and hopefully Robin and Juniper stick by him.

Chalk writing in another corner of campus reads WHO ELSE IS LYING? “I guess it’s probably equally possible that Means was or wasn’t the only person at the school involved,” Apollo says. “Like Mr Wright said, it depends on how the process of changing grades works.”

“It’s funny,” Athena says. “When he gets talking like that and it’s all - just seems disjointed and irrelevant, but then there’s actually buried in there that’s important.” She goes quiet, watching the trees bend in the wind, and she skips forward and stomps on a leaf blowing across her path. “When I first met Mr Wright I had no idea who he was - like, I knew all about Phoenix Wright, but I had no way of connecting this guy I’d just met who was like, weirdly chill about me being a kid who wanted to investigate crime scenes, to, y’know, the famous Phoenix Wright.” Apollo nods numbly, remembering his first time meeting Phoenix, and all of the twists and turns his opinion of the man took in one day. “He wasn’t what I expected. He’s still not what I expect.”

“He’s got a way of surprising you,” Apollo says. It’s the kindest, most truly honest thing he can say. He likes Phoenix, really, he does - he admires him still, sometimes. He’s also one of the most frustrating people Apollo has ever had the misfortune of knowing. 

Athena laughs suddenly. “Man, can you imagine if Hugh wins the mock trial?” she asks. “I would love to be able to sit in on the lecture that Mr Wright is supposed to give. He’ll probably say something bonkers two minutes in and then get stuck having to explain all of his extremely niche life advice.”

-

“I shouldn’t be here,” Hugh says. 

The classroom is a small one, on the second floor of the main building; Phoenix had no instructions on where his lecture is to take place, and no one seemed to be around to ask, so with Hugh trailing silently behind him Phoenix poked his head into every other room they passed until he found one with chairs that look comfortable enough.

“The terms are that the winner of the mock trial gets a special lecture.” Phoenix seats himself in a chair and drags another one over to kick his feet up into. Special lectures are probably better if they’re informal. “So unless it was your doppelganger who won the mock trial, here you are, the winner, and here I am, the…”

The teacher. God, why did he ever agree? Why did he ever think he could teach anyone anything? 

Hugh flinches. Great start, Phoenix: mock the kid you’re teaching. “That was - that was so stupid of me,” Hugh says, “stupid like me, as stupid as everything else that I—” He puts his head in his hands. One of them is still bandaged heavily. “That I said that the People of the Hills are - creatures, and criminals, and I was just saying things but Juniper is one of them and I - she just has so many reasons to hate me now because of all the stupid things I’ve done!”

“You don’t believe what you said there, about the fae?” Phoenix asks. 

Hugh jerks his head up, wild-eyed. “I was just saying things,” Hugh repeats, clutching the side of his neck. “I just wanted to say something that would convince Prosecutor Blackquill, and I figured, if he’s not one of them he’s close to it and he’s a criminal, so - I’m just afraid that Juniper might think that, if I had known this about her - that she’d think if I’d known she wasn’t human then I wouldn’t have wanted to protect her. And that’s not true at all. She’s my friend. She and Robin are both - I mean I’m surprised, sure, but they’re still Juniper and Robin.”

Phoenix nods. “Then you tell them that. You tell Juniper this doesn’t change anything. Tell Robin the same, too, just to make sure she knows. But you’re still wearing your friendship band, and they still are too. You made it through suspicions of murder with that friendship intact - this is just smaller stuff you’ve gotta work out now.”

“Thank you,” Hugh says quietly. His head sinks again. “But I still shouldn’t be here. The mock trial is for the students at the top of the class, and I’m not. It should have been someone else, not me! They should have figured out who and let them participate, not me! And I only won because I watched your two lawyers win and I borrowed all their strategies and theories! I basically cheated! Just like I tried to cheat by looking at the script and—” He waves his bandaged hand before grabbing at his hair with it again. “I shouldn’t ever have been in this mock trial!”

“Perhaps not,” Phoenix says. “Or maybe, if you didn’t think you were good to go, getting unearned hundreds, you could’ve been buckling down and learning and learning how to study better.” Hugh shifts his hands so that he can look at Phoenix, while still hanging his head like a kicked puppy. “If you weren’t coasting through on confidence, and maybe with your determination - because I can see you are determined to become a lawyer, just like a lot of kids I’ve known, don’t try and object to that - maybe you could’ve been best in your class if you knew your failings and knew to work with them and around them. We’ll never know now, but it could have been possible.”

“No it wouldn’t,” Hugh mumbles. “I’m an idiot, and I shouldn’t be here, and you don’t understand that.”

Phoenix laughs. He can’t help it. He doesn’t mean to - this is the side of him that he tries to keep from the public eye now, tries to keep from Athena, wishes he could’ve kept from Apollo - but he laughs anyway. Hugh’s not wrong that he’s a bit of an idiot. He’s just coming to the wrong verdict from that fact. “Hugh, I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself for all the stupid things you’ve said this week, because that is the stupidest thing you ever could’ve said.”

“Huh?” His bitter laugh, and his sudden sharp words, have startled Hugh into sitting bolt upright. “What do you even think you’re talking about?”

“I’m Phoenix Wright, nice to meet you,” Phoenix says, extending his hand, and unsurprisingly, not getting a handshake in return from Hugh, who appears even more confused. His eyes dart toward the door, considering whether to run, whether Phoenix is crazy and even worth talking to. “Tell me what you know about me, Phoenix Wright.”

Hugh shakes his head. “You’re a brilliant lawyer. You’ve had a lot of celebrity clients - Will Powers, Max Galactica, Matt Engarde. You’ve defended famous legal figures - Lana Skye, the Miles Edgeworth. You - you’re a genius, you’re a legend. Professor Means had us study so many of your cases and your strategies, how you pulled off every crazy victory. I can’t even - begin to - to compare, or to—”

“Stop circling around it and tell me what you know about me,” Phoenix says. “The thing everyone knows about me and avoids bringing up around me.”

Hugh blinks. He doesn’t say anything. He scratches his neck. He adjusts the bandage on his hand. Phoenix brings his feet to the floor and leans forward, staring Hugh in the eyes. “I was disbarred for double the years that I’ve been an active lawyer. Half of the legal world of Los Angeles is still convinced that I framed Kristoph Gavin twice. That is the first thing you think of when you think of Phoenix Wright, isn’t it?” Hugh freezes, sitting there like a statue. “Whether or not Means told you that was something to admire about me, using forged evidence, that’s still the first thing you think about me.”

Finally, Hugh nods. “He said it was a lesson about how you have to be careful,” he says. “How dirty prosecutors will use any tricks they can to trap you.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I figured,” Phoenix says. “Wrong lesson, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. I did use falsified evidence, but I wasn’t the one that falsified it. Actually, the lesson is still about being careful, honestly.”

“Like when Professor Means gave me the audio tape that he made,” Hugh says glumly.

“Exactly like that,” Phoenix says. Hugh stares at the floor. Phoenix sits back and drops his head against the back of the chair. “In all honesty, Hugh, I can’t tell you if you should or shouldn’t be here. That decision is yours, whether you want to stay or go. It’s not going to be easy - not, I’m not talking about - okay, the Bar isn’t easy. I’ve taken it twice, I know. But everything you do - this bribery scandal, your grades, most people aren’t going to care whether you knew or didn’t know, if it was your parents or you. They really won’t care. This is going to be attached to you for the rest of your life - wherever you go from here, whatever your career becomes, whatever you do. You will always have this blemish on your name. You will never get away from it.”

Phoenix Wright, attorney, asterisk.

Hugh’s shoulders slump even lower. 

“It has to be your decision, whether being a lawyer is something you want strongly enough to spend your career fighting past this perception of you. I can’t decide that for you.”

“You decided that for you, then,” Hugh says. “You decided it was more important than everything that people say about you.”

Phoenix hesitates. Did he? Or did Edgeworth decide that for him - or did Phoenix decide that Edgeworth was more important than everything that people say about Phoenix? “What I can tell you is that you’re not the only person struggling with - you’re not the only one who’s got to live with past mistakes defining you, however you’ve grown past that. And I’m not your only company, either.”

Is this a damning indictment of the state of their legal system, or just a statement of the very bad luck of everyone Phoenix and Edgeworth have ever met? 

“Like Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth - if you know anything about the trials in which I defended him and Prosecutor Skye, you know what his reputation was. I know two brilliant prosecutors forever marred by sharing a name with a father who committed unforgivable crimes.” And Sebastian shares this exact schooling situation with Hugh, too. “And of course, there’s another brilliant prosecutor who’s here at this school today who has to share his name with all the wrongs his brother did.”

And share a face, too. Doppelgangers.

Hugh stares back down at his feet, his hands tightly gripping his neck, his elbows pulled together in front of his chest. “I think,” he says weakly, just barely peering up at Phoenix over his glasses. “I think - I still want to be an attorney. Even if I have to start over. Even if this is the first thing everyone thinks of when they hear my name.” Dropping his arms, he sits up straighter. “Juniper and Robin and I all promised that we were going to help make the legal system better. I still have to help them. And I want to be able to be like Ms Cykes and Mr Justice, winning honestly and finding the truth. I want to be as good as they are.”

A lump rises in Phoenix’s throat. Pride, and shame. They’re damn good kids, and what is he? Setting them loose because if he keeps away he might not repeat that laundry list of mistakes he made with Apollo with Athena. (Might. No guarantees. Will probably screw up in new terrible ways instead.) Keeping secrets from them, carefully skirting around the edges of lies. 

“I’m glad,” Phoenix says. “Face it head-on. It won’t be easy, but I hope you’ll find it’s worth it.”

-

“So Hugh won, then,” Athena says.

When the crowd starts spilling out of the main building, they determine the mock trial has ended and force their way upstream through the students back to the lecture hall, where they find Robin and Myriam have lingered. “He did!” Robin says, without a shred of disappointment. She’s practically bouncing as she said it. “I can tell he learned a lot from you, man! And how much ass you kicked yesterday! And I mean,” she continues, giggling, “I can’t quite pull off Prosecutor Blackquill’s thing. I’ve gotta learn to be scary!”

“I don’t think you need to do that,” Apollo says. “I think you should stick with your strengths.” Whatever those are. Pottery, and loud shouting. Apollo doesn’t know about the former, but the latter is a valid, tried-and-true tactic and a proud tradition. 

“Oh! Thena! Hi!” Juniper emerges from the audio booth, her arms full of the blue and white fabrics of her costume. “You made it! I have to run now though. Since he doesn’t have to teach a lecture to Robin, Prosecutor Gavin thought it would be good to use the time for extra practice.” Hefting her costume up further in her arms, her voice lowers and she reluctantly adds, “Which is good because I didn’t practice last night even knowing I’d have to sing today.”

“Understandable,” Apollo says. “I was exhausted last night, and I wasn’t the one on trial.”

“But you and Thena were doing all the work.”

“Don’t worry so much,” Athena says to Juniper. “You’re gonna do great, I know it!”

“Oh, and if Prosecutor Gavin starts to get snippy with you, don’t worry about it being your fault,” Apollo says. “That’s just how he gets when it comes to performances. Turns into a prissy diva, but don’t let it get to you.”

“O-oh, okay.” 

Apollo very suddenly gains a certain clarity that tells him that his warning is only going to stress Juniper out more. Well, shit. 

“Prosecutor Gavin, really?” Robin asks, watching Juniper scurry off and the last stragglers empty out of the lecture hall. “He seems so calm cool and collected!”

“Yeah, Trucy and I once thought that, too,” Apollo says, mostly to Athena, who was absently nodding along with Robin’s statement. “And then we learned better.”

Myriam pulls one arm back within her box and produces a notepad and pen, which she begins scribbling on. Does she have a storage pouch within there for her journalistic tools? “Are you writing that down?” Apollo asks. “Don’t write that down.”

“You can do so much better than being a trashy tabloid reporter!” Robin says.

Myriam hisses like a disgruntled cat. “But it’sss what I’m good at!”

“So I guess it’s just us for the moment, then?” Athena asks. “Where are we headed next? What’s there to do at a school festival, anyway?”

“You’ve never been to one?” Robin asks. She marches off toward the doors and waves for everyone to follow her. “There’s lots of food, for one, and I am starving, so I think that should be our first priority.”

“I skipped high school,” Athena says. “Or - I guess I sort of speed through it. I didn’t take the time to do much but study law and psychology.”

“Really?” Robin asks. “I figured you went to some other school like ours! Not just went on your own like - wasn’t that lonely? Or boring? Forget what my parents want, if I’d been trying to do this all alone without Juniper and Hugh, I for sure would’ve quit already!”

“Lonely?” Athena repeats, frowning and then twisting her mouth to the side. “No, I guess I never really felt lonely, since I was - I knew this was something that I wanted to do and I needed to do and I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. It never really crossed my mind, that I was doing it alone.” She smiles, a little sadly. “And then eventually I met Mr Wright, and Prosecutor Edgeworth, and then I knew I definitely wasn’t alone anymore. I had people I could ask all my important questions of!” 

Envy coils tight in Apollo’s chest and he tries to strangle it. Just be glad for Athena, he tells himself. Be glad for her that she’s not had an intimidating boss she was afraid to ask too many questions of, who turned out to be a murderer. Be glad for her that she’s had Apollo also here to help, instead of just relying on a fifteen-year-old with no legal aspirations. 

“You’re so lucky,” Robin sighs. “Not a single one of the prosecutor teachers here has any force of personality what-so-ever. That’s why we got sucked into the Courte-slash-Means cults of personality too. What are we gonna do, care at all about our own professors? Puh-lease!”

“Maybe going forward you shouldn’t go making cults of personality around people who might be fallible,” Apollo says.

Myriam hisses. “Ss-seems unlikely. It’s-sss how people are.”

“But being aware, you can definitely change it, right?” Athena asks.

“No,” Myriam says. Athena’s mouth flaps in abject confusion. So much for expecting some wisdom or a moment of self-reflection out of these kids. 

Myriam has begun to explain to Robin that she doesn’t actually know who any of the prosecution course’s professors are.

Even now that it is filled with activity, the campus still holds a subdued energy. Athena’s head swivels in every direction, toward every conversing group they pass. The emotions must be overwhelming to hear, and when they stop for a moment here and there, Apollo can properly people-watch, and even only hearing small snippets of the conversation, flickers of red flare up across his vision. A hand clutching a phone tightly while arguing with a classmate, a bouncing knee or a fingernail chewed, Apollo isn’t listening and doesn’t want to listen - he doesn’t want to hear anyone say that Means was framed or Juniper isn’t innocent, doesn’t know if it will happen but wants to take himself as far away from the chances of it as he can - and still. Still he notices. Is he getting better at this? A stronger sight? He doesn’t want to be better at it. He doesn’t want to know if he isn’t watching for it.

He wants to be normal when the case is over, but that doesn’t happen. Not at the Wright Anything Agency.

-

Hugh carries himself differently now. Even with the mock trial win under his belt, the arrogance he held himself with is gone. The realization that he wasn’t a genius clearly hit hard - a gut-punch of an attitude adjustment - but Apollo hopes he can learn humility from this. Maybe there’s a certain relief in no longer pretending. Everyone knows. Everything about all three of them - Hugh, Robin, Juniper - is out in the open now. 

(And then there’s still Myriam, within the box, and Phoenix’s blue eyes piercing through the cardboard shell.)

“Trucy called, said she’ll be coming around soon.” Phoenix leans up against the side of the building, his suit jacket folded over one arm. “I’ll probably catch up with you kids later, but I won’t hang around now and cramp your style, don’t worry.” He reaches out and grasps Hugh’s shoulder. “Hugh, very nice to meet you. Good luck.” 

“Yeah,” Hugh says. “Thanks for - er.” He looks at everyone else standing there. “Um. Thanks.”

“Now go have some fun,” Phoenix says, waving them off. “You all deserve it, now shoo. And oh, Apollo, if I don’t get the chance, tell Klavier I say hi, when you see him.”

Apollo waits for him to toss the magatama over, but he doesn’t. Maybe he forgot it, or maybe he figures that since he’s got a performance, a whole crowd to be watching, this is one time that Klavier won’t disappear.

-

As the late afternoon wears into evening, heavy clouds gather, the bright hues of the sunset reaching out from behind their dark masses paint the exposed sky. The chill in the air drops to cold, and Apollo wonders if he’s the only one who notices, the only one whose teeth are chattering - shit, he’s thinking about Means’ teeth again, and if in the long run this haunts him more than an actual fucking yokai trying to kill him that’s gonna be some sad sort of funny. (Ask Athena about the psychology of that.) No one else says anything about being cold. Too excited to notice, and Apollo, at a frankly normal level of anticipation, is the only one shivering. The only one with an issue for any reason with the decision to camp out a spot not far from the stage, long before the concert starts. 

Trucy finds them there, and tells them she would have forced them to stake their claim if they hadn’t - Apollo negotiated their location out from under the scaffold-mounted speakers, and that’s more kindness to his ears than he expected they’d be willing to give. The stage lights rise, the screaming begins, and Apollo braces himself.

The show is shorter, and much less flashy, than at Sunshine Coliseum, and that suits him perfectly. Out in the open air, the sound dispersed easily, and even at its peaks the music is a tolerable volume. Phoenix only shows up during the penultimate song. The friendly hand he has extended to Klavier does not reach his band, or his music. Apollo can’t blame him - he still isn’t a fan. Sure, some of it - a lot of it - is catchy, but that doesn’t make it suddenly to his tastes. Or even good. Gavin is talented at what he does, which is making entertaining songs, though again, fine art they are not. 

(Trucy always tells him he protests too much. Apollo tells her she has no idea what she’s talking about, shut up.)

When the rest of the Gavineers disappear offstage, silence hangs suspended over the crowd, the briefest breath of respite, the last echoes of screams and applause bouncing faintly off of the surrounding buildings. Klavier remains alone under the spotlights, radiant in the blinding white lights, and stepping away from the microphone, he waves Juniper up beside him. In her stage gown, she practically glows, the luminescent exterior of her cloak shining as the fabric swirls with her every movement. Trucy gasps and smacks Apollo’s arm. Phoenix glances over at them and his mouth turns up in a wry smile.

Juniper doesn’t sound like Lamiroir, and in Apollo’s not-very-musically-inclined opinion, she doesn’t sound like she’s trying to sound like Lamiroir either. That seems the better choice: no one else can ever sound like Lamiroir, so there’s no reason to invite the comparison more than necessary. Without a piano backing, right from the start the song already has such a different feel that it further dissuades the comparison. One thing for certain: the shy girl they met earlier this week has a hell of a voice, when she gets to using it. And Apollo joins as enthusiastically in the raucous applause as everyone else. 

When the last notes fade out into the dusk, Juniper ducks her head for an immediate retreat. Klavier doesn’t let her; he springs up and catches her hand before she goes far, swinging his arm up and raising hers high. He waves to the crowd, motioning upward, and the cacophony swells with him. “Themis!” he shouts, leaning into the microphone, his voice still barely rising over the cheers. “One more time for your very own Juniper Woods!”

Athena and Robin are definitely trying to outdo each other as the loudest, most supportive friend. After a moment, Hugh drops his veneer of sophistication and joins in. Trucy slaps Apollo on the arm again, grinning wickedly, and starts a countdown on her fingers for the two of them to show up their friends. Athena, laughing as she does, claps her hands over her ears and yells something back at them that is drowned out in the rest of the noise. She shoves Trucy, and Trucy hits Apollo in the back, trying to use them as a wedge to shove their way up through the crowd to the stage. This maneuver sees limited success. Instead they are forced, as is everyone else, to wait, slowly shuffling to the stage for autographs or to scream love confessions or whatever fans of bands do, Apollo doesn’t know. The only other concert he’s ever been to had a murder at it.

“Junie!” Athena squishes herself up against the side of the stage, stretching herself up to her friend, who crouches down to take Athena’s hand. “That was amazing! You were amazing!”

Juniper laughs nervously. Her face is pink, and that might be embarrassed anticipation of the compliments that her friends are going to lavish upon her head, and it might also be the exhilaration and the hot stage lights. “Thank you, Thena.”

“Your voice!” Robin gushes. “You have the most wonderful voice, Juniper! I can’t believe it! Except of course I totally can, because it’s you!” 

Juniper ducks her head into her knees, her hood falling entirely over her face. She mumbles something, muffled by the fabric and all the other excited clamor. “Ah, look at you, lucky Fräulein, and your little gang of groupies out to support you.” Klavier leans over her shoulder, grinning down at them, his hair tumbling in messy sweaty curls around his face. Apollo hates him just on principle, just for the sake of it. “I see everyone made it.” He sweeps his hand back through his hair, pushing away all of the loose stray hairs stuck to his forehead. 

“Groupies?” Juniper echoes in confusion, lifting her head. 

“Groupies!” Athena repeats happily. “Junie’s groupies!”

“Ah,” Juniper says, and she tumbles backwards out of her crouch to sit on the stage, looking up at Klavier. “Do - do you need help? Is there anything I can do to get everything put away?”

Klavier shakes his head. “No need, but thank you. We have a system.” He straightens back up, looking over the stage, and his bandmates also assailed by the crowd. “Short a man, now,” he adds darkly, “but easier to do it ourselves than try to bring someone in. And besides, with this crowd, it will be quite a while before we’re even able to break away from the greeting to do anything else. You go spend some time with your friends, Fräulein. Get some rest - it’s been quite the week.”

Juniper inches to the edge of the stage and Athena offers a hand to her to help her down. “It was very nice to get to sing with you, Prosecutor Gavin,” she says. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again in better circumstances.”

“One hopes,” Klavier replies. “Until then!” He steps back, with a jaunty wave and a wink. “The rest of my fans await me, ja?”

He bounds back across the stage, leaving Apollo without the chance for a word. “He’s kind of a douchebag, isn’t he?” Hugh says. That’s rich, coming from him. 

Juniper shakes her head. “He’s actually kind of sweet,” she says. “Though he is also a bit…” She trails off, glancing to Apollo for help, obviously remembering the warning he gave her earlier.

“Of a diva?” Trucy chimes in. “High-strung? Perfectionist? High-strung perfectionist diva?”

“Er,” Juniper says, eyeing Trucy in puzzlement. “Yes? But um, I’m sorry - who are you?”

-

Juniper is something of a celebrity among her classmates now, for the good and the bad - the group of them with her in tow can barely make it one step before someone else assails her with a question about what being a defendant was like, or compliments on her singing. Making their way free of the stage area, away to somewhere quieter where they’ll all have room to breath, is a long, laborious process, and all the more difficult when Juniper’s glowing robe lights her up even between the scattered pools of lamplight. Myriam is the first to come up with an idea; she helps Juniper shrug off the cloak and bundles it up into a tight ball and brings it under her box with her, freeing them to escape under cover of darkness.

“So how long do we have to be friends before we get to see your face?” Robin asks Myriam. They’ve commandeered a picnic table on the edge of campus, piled with all the foodstuffs that Athena and Robin and Trucy managed to snatch from wherever they passed. “I bet you’re really pretty!”

The crunching beneath the cardboard box abruptly stops. Myriam had relinquished her hold on Juniper’s cloak, not wanting to get crumbs on it, and Athena currently wears it inside-out to accentuate her usual yellow style with some extra, luminescent, yellow. “No,” Myriam says. “I’m - I’m not. You don’t want to sssssee.”

Does she go to class with a box over her head, too? Or does Robin just not have any classes with her? “Myriam, look,” Juniper says. In the dark, next to Athena, she looks yellow, but she stretches out her hand over the table and asks, “Does someone have a light?” 

Apollo is the first to get his phone out; under white light, Juniper’s skin is clearly green, a light, soft green, healthier than the other shades she showed in the detention center. Her fingers don’t have claws but her nails are white, like they were polished, and particularly shiny. In her white ruffled gown, her shoulders bare - she isn’t cold, of course she isn’t, Klavier doesn’t get cold either - and her wavy hair loose, she appears to Apollo how he might imagine a nymph of Greek myth. A tree spirit. (Juniper Woods - what a name.)

“We’re all a bit—” Juniper shrugs and touches the pointed tip of her ear. “It’s okay. Even if you don’t want to, or whenever you do.”

Myriam hisses wordlessly, but nothing about it sounds like a threat or maliciousness. Just an acknowledgement that Juniper is speaking to her. “We’re all a biiiiit weird,” Robin adds cheerily. “Maybe not these lawyers” - she waves a disapproving finger at Apollo and Athena - “but us Themis kids! And that is cool, I will have us know!”

If she had any idea of how fundamentally weird and fae the Wright Anything Agency actually is—

“Ah, um, Juniper,” Hugh says. He has been silent most of the day, alternating between intently watching the conversation go by, and zoning out so far that Robin kept count of how many times she could say his name before he would react. (Record: eight.) “There was something that I’ve been meaning to say to you.”

“Huh?” Juniper must at least suspect what is coming, with that fearful look in her wide red eyes. She’d heard that rumor too, and Myriam starts upright with a soft thwap as her hand hits the inside of her cardboard box. 

“Juniper, can - can we still be friends? Best friends, the way we all were?”

“Huh?” Athena asks.

“That’sss not—”

“Hugh?” Juniper asks.

“When I won,” he says, “I was going to tell you that I’m not a genius at all, and that I’m actually sort of twenty-five, but that all came out at the trial, so I just have to ask now if - if we can still be friends, if you still even want to be friends, or if there’s all these stupid things I’ve said, and done, not knowing, and that’s why you never told us this about yourself—”

“Sort of?” Widget echoes and Athena snarls something unintelligible at it and closes a hand around it like she’s going to strangle it. She does, however, when the momentary anger at her interrupting machine passes, still look very confused.

“Hugh,” Juniper says sternly. “And Robin too.” She folds her hands together, fingers intertwined, and clenches them tightly. “I wanted to tell you both, so badly, and I just couldn’t figure out how. I was scared - it wasn’t anything you said or did. I always was just going to be afraid. And I - I understand, completely, the things you’ve said. The Gentry are terrible,” she adds. “And cruel. I know that too. That side of my family was cast out. My parents are dead and my grandmother turned into a tree.”

Athena’s mouth opens with a soft pop and hangs open, her jaw moving back and forth as she searches for words that she ultimately can’t find. Apollo can’t put together a question either, and if he could he wouldn’t ask now. He sees on Juniper’s face that this, however strange, almost laughably strange, it sounds, that this is raw, painful, and she’s opening up her heart for six people to hear. However much detail she wants to give is up to her, and he won’t be the one to press for more.

(But he’s definitely going to ask Athena later, if she ever finds out more from Juniper.)

After several seconds of silence, Hugh says, “I thought I could just - get in and out. Just wander back out. And then when I didn’t I thought it was - a couple years. Two or three maybe.”

“Time passes differently there,” Apollo says. Trucy nods solemnly. 

“Time in—” Athena looks from her to Hugh, and then to Apollo. “You mean in - in Faeryland?”

“Yeah,” Apollo says. 

Hugh folds his arms. “You were the one that asked that question in court, after the prosecutor mentioned my age,” he says, in a slightly accusatory manner. “Whether I was actually twenty-five or had spent a time - elsewhere.” Apollo has no idea what he’s being accused of, but it doesn’t sound good. 

“Hugh,” Juniper says. “Robin’s right. We’re all weird.” Her eyes dart nervously over at Apollo, waiting to see if he takes offense to that. He nods. He’s weird. He knows that. He’s weirder than anyone knows. He’s weirder than he himself knew. “And some of us are going to know weird things. It’s going to happen. It doesn’t mean anything bad.”

What was Hugh’s first impulse - expecting that Apollo is fae? That he’s been involved with spiriting humans away? Can Hugh not tell that Apollo is human - does spending seven years there not grant someone the Sight? There’s nothing about Hugh that Apollo would describe as even vaguely charismatic or glamorous - does stumbling in as a teenager not change a person the way that Klavier was? Apollo should ask Klavier if he knows. 

Juniper’s defense doesn’t do much to lessen Hugh’s suspicious glare, and Athena still looks deeply curious, resting her chin on her hand and staring at Apollo. He sighs. “I know someone who was taken and explained that to me,” he says.

Athena nods, satisfied, but now Trucy is the one with the intent, piercing stare. Apollo glances away. She’s not going to let that go easily. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t properly answer your question,” Juniper says suddenly. “Hugh. Of course we’ll still be friends, but I don’t want it to be like we used to be. How we argued, and all the secrets we had from each other.” Her eyes turn down to her hands, and the friendship bracelet on her wrist. “I don’t want any more secrets. And I want us to work together - Myriam too - so we can make a better legal system, where we’re fighting for the truth and not victory. And we’re not trying to justify our methods by our end results.”

She’s taken particular care to avoid that particular “ends justify the means” phrasing. “Hell yeah, I’m in!” Robin says. She holds out her hand, and Juniper reaches out and takes it. Hugh clasps his over theirs, and after a moment of hesitation, Myriam tentatively places her hand on the pile.

“We’ll make Professor Courte proud,” Juniper says. She doesn’t draw her hand back right away, leaving her open palm facing upward on the table, and then she slowly curls her fingers closed. “Prosecutor Gavin mentioned the memorial for her. I’d like to head over there.”

Themis has begun to empty; they still pass other groups of students, but those tend to be smaller and quieter, more subdued as the night has gone on. The stage is empty when they pass, the crowd long scattered. Trucy grabs Apollo’s elbow and drags him far behind their small procession. “I didn’t know you knew someone like that,” she says in a low voice. “Someone like my mother was.”

Her mother: stolen as a child, her soul stripped from her, and now - what is a soul without a body? Something close to death - something that wishes it could be dead? An unfortunate life that was to lead. “Believe it or not,” Apollo says, “I have a life where things happen to me and I speak with people while you aren’t around.”

Trucy grins. “I don’t believe that, no,” she says, and she lapses into silence, clearly receiving the message that Apollo isn’t going to tell her who. But as they amble on she seems deep in thought, tapping her chin, surely going over the list of everyone she knows Apollo knows - as if he doesn’t know anyone not of her mutual acquaintance - and wondering who could fit. Surely she’ll come up with Klavier as a plausible contender. 

If she knows any of the traits that stolen children like him and her mother have - if she even remembers anything of her mother at all. 

-

The memorial for Courte has expanded. Flowers spill out over the walkway, laying in bunches around the framed photograph of the professor that is itself nearly obscured by notes taped to it and stuck on it. Some of those notes are elaborate, tiny writing covering their faces; others are just a few words or a simple drawn heart. Someone moved one of Courte’s abstract sculptures here from the art room to sit behind her photograph. Almost buried in the midst of everything is the same photo of the professor and Juniper in the art room that became contentious evidence on the first day of the trial - hell, judging by the way the top edge of the photo is punctured and crumpled, it might actually be the printout that the prosecution used. He wonders who brought it here, if it was another piece of evidence that Klavier or Vongole repossessed. Or maybe Blackquill had heart enough to send his hawk out on a last errand for this case. 

Juniper kneels down and sweeps up a dozen flower stems in her hands - some tulips and carnations, a large sunflower, all begun to wilt and wither at the edges of their petals. Apollo thinks suddenly about the flowers of faery rings, wonders if they ever wilt or if they remain, unnaturally enduring, until someone comes along with a matchbox and a past to lay to rest. Busy thinking, he nearly misses it when Juniper starts humming softly and the flowers cupped in her hands emanate a faint glow, all the colors of their petals, and like time rewinding the shriveling edges pull back together and the wrinkled surfaces smooth. Juniper sways and slumps to the side, dropping the flowers to catch herself with one hand. “I’ve never been very good at that,” she says. “But I wanted to try.” 

She picks the flowers back up from her lap and lays them neatly at the base of the picture frame, sweeping aside a few other dead petals and leaves. Something clatters against the pavement and frowning, Juniper reaches out and picks up a simple metal ring. She holds it between her thumb and forefinger and stares through the center for a moment before, seeming to decide something, she sets it back down with the flowers she revived. 

“Well, I think that was pretty good,” Athena says, offering Juniper her hand to help her back to her feet. “I’ve never seen anything like that!”

Juniper brushes off her skirt. “You probably haven’t seen much magic, have you?” she asks.

“Other than the time a bird-demon yokai tried to kill us - I mean, I didn’t actually see much of that, it was trying more to eat Apollo and Trucy.”

Was that metal ring iron? Is being half human enough to make one immune? She can’t be immune - the detention center affected her, and badly. Maybe she’s just human enough that the effects of iron aren’t so dramatically painful, and scarring. Like it did to—

Apollo wonders who that ring belonged to, anyway. Thinks back to the empty dark stage. Trucy gives Apollo a nudge, jarring him to go back over what was said after everyone decided there was far too much to unpack in Athena’s statement. Robin said that there was an exhibition set up of all of Courte’s latest works that never got the chance to be unveiled, along with some of the Fine Arts Club student members’ art pieces. Hugh suggested that be where they go next. “You all go ahead,” Apollo says, conscious of all of the eyes on him, and in particular the unnatural fae red of Juniper’s, and Myriam’s reflecting any faint bit of light. “I’m gonna - gonna go see if Prosecutor Gavin’s still around somewhere.”

“Sure thing,” Athena says, before anyone else, and Apollo wonders for not the first or last time what she’s heard, from him, from Klavier, if, someone holding the magatama excepted, Athena is the only person Klavier’s glamours can’t truly hide him from. (Her assertion that her ears aren’t magic is one Apollo thinks he could come to believe - if nothing else, for the fact that Blackquill doesn’t seem to be able to disrupt her. Or maybe he thinks the psychological analysis that Athena pairs with it valid enough to let her get away with it.)

“Just lemme know if you’ll need a lift home or not,” she adds.

“Sure thing,” Apollo says, and Trucy sticks her elbow straight into into his side as she passes him by. It’s like primary school. This is the productive way that primary schoolers engage with each other in regards to crushes. Apollo in his personal and professional lives is surrounded by children. This isn’t even a revelation. 

And then he’s alone in the dark, and part of him wishes that he’d asked Trucy to come with him instead, because while there’s a lot she doesn’t know, there’s plenty that she does, and she’s better at people. Klavier’s her friend too, and she didn’t even get to say hi earlier. They could’ve just gone to check up on their friend together, and Apollo wouldn’t be second-guessing his every decision now. 

He doesn’t even have any guarantee that Klavier didn’t take off and flee as soon as the crowd thinned.

He could just text him. If he knew what to say. Which he doesn’t. And while it’s also painfully awkward to not know what to say in person, he also figures that the principle of the thing is that, at least he’s there.

The stage’s dozens of grand lights have all gone dark by the time Apollo circles back. The outer lights on the main academic building faintly illuminate it, the little that there is to see. The banner overhead on the scaffolding proclaiming this to be Themis’ sixty-seventh school festival has detached at one side and flaps noisily in the breeze, and Apollo remembers several other colorful tapestries hanging off of the side of the building that have already disappeared. The huge speakers and the scaffolding itself wait to be deconstructed another day.

Apollo looks at the stage and finds himself looking everywhere around the stage. 

He could laugh, remembering what Phoenix said once: Trucy had tried to distract him with a will o’ the wisp enough times that he knows when a glamour like Klavier’s is trying to fool him. He might still laugh later, because it could in some way be funny, how he’s been caught up enough in this to know.

But right now, staring at the ground to find his way to the stairs to ascend to the stage, it’s not really funny at all. His eyes won’t focus and he feels dizzy, wobbly, and off-balance forcing them in a direction they want to drift away from. If it gets any worse he might vomit, and he’s going for Klavier’s shoes if he does.

A moment after that thought passes through his head, the sensation starts to fade. He blinks a few times and presses a hand to his forehead, trying to shake himself back to normal. His eyes no longer roll, unwillingly, in directions other than where he aims them. 

“I should have expected,” Klavier says.

Apollo looks down at Klavier, lying on his side behind the stage’s witness stand, where the microphone stood during the concert, his arm folded beneath his head, his hair loose and splayed about. Apollo remembers the crime scene photos, remembers that Courte’s body was here, behind the witness stand, on her side. Almost the same. But there isn’t any blood, and Klavier’s eyes are open, staring up at him through the dark.

“That he would—” Klavier stops and props himself up on his elbow, squinting at Apollo. “You don’t have it.”

“What?” Apollo asks.

“The magatama,” Klavier says. “He didn’t give it to you?”

“Oh,” Apollo says. “No.” He remembers that Phoenix told him to say hi to Klavier, and decides right now it might be better not to. Second pass in silence; he waits for Klavier to ask him how he found him, then, or why. Klavier’s arm slides out from supporting him, to rest his head on it again, and his eyes fall from Apollo’s face to the surface of the stage, vacant and empty. Maybe picturing Courte’s body there, or the banners soaking up her blood. He looks tired - so terribly, impossibly tired. After a moment, he rolls over onto his back, staring up at the sky.

Apollo sits cross-legged on the stage.

The sky is dark, devoid of light, and Apollo studies the starry backdrop of the stage. Whoever painted it didn’t concern themselves with making any real constellations. He doesn’t remember if Juniper, on her costume, had random patterns or did some research. It’s not like it matters, but it’s something Apollo takes note of anyway - a sign of how long he’s known Clay more than anything else. All the strange and sometimes stupid ways that chance meetings change people. 

He looks at Klavier, whose eyes remained fixed on the sky.

Funny that, chance meetings.

Apollo spins his bracelet on his wrist, feeling the familiar grooves carved into the metal. Waiting for when Klavier decides he’ll say something.

The sky actually has the slightest bit of variation to it - the darkness of the sky, and the darkness of the clouds, two different shades, and the clouds shifting and parting with the cold wind. Winter, the fae’s horrible winter, is close on its way. Apollo shivers. Nothing about the prospect makes him happy.

“Means told me something interesting the other day.” Apollo doesn’t like the tone of voice that Klavier uses to say interesting. Not bitter, but promising nothing good, either. Apollo looks at him. He isn’t looking back at Apollo, has his face turned to the sky but doesn’t quite seem to be really looking at anything at all. 

He waits, but Klavier doesn’t go on. “The second evening we were investigating?” Apollo prompts.

“So Herr Wright told you, then?” 

“N-no, he didn’t - he wouldn’t say anything.” There’s something so dark in Klavier’s voice that makes Apollo nervous, leaves him scrambling to defend Phoenix with an urgency he usually doesn’t feel when it comes to Phoenix and his myriad recorded failings. Phoenix telling Apollo something is not a concern that Klavier needs to have. “Athena and I were at the detention center, talking to Juniper, and Means was there - still thinking maybe he could get the case from us, I guess. But Mr Wright showed up, asked to talk to Means - when Athena and I left, we heard them arguing. Neither of them named any names but Mr Wright was accusing Means of having - threatened someone, or - or trying to discourage them from investigating by - something he said. But when we asked Mr Wright about it, he wouldn’t say who they were talking about, or what was said.”

Klavier finally turns his head, enough to arch a doubtful eyebrow at Apollo. “What, you think Mr Wright ever says anything instead of just being a cryptic bastard about it?” Apollo asks, and that gets a snort from Klavier, blowing some strands of hair up off of his face. But he does look like he believes Apollo now. “But he - Mr Wright - he was furious. At Means, for whatever - whatever it was that he said.”

Klavier stares back at the sky, his lips pressed tightly together, pondering that. “A threat,” he muses. “I didn’t think it - well. I was not imagining Means a murderer either, so I was wrong in my understanding in several ways, I must imagine.”

“What did he say?” Apollo’s voice sticks in his throat, emerging a weakened squeak. 

“That it was foolish and selfish of me to have returned here - that it is my fault that Frau Professor is dead - I suppose that must have been what your boss considered an attempt to—” He waves a hand above his head and even in the faint light Apollo notices as he gestures that there isn’t a single ring on any of his long fingers. “Fortunately I am far too stupid to even understand that his message was to make me - give up, or accept that my involvement in this case did more harm than good. I figured it to be some expression of grief, a lashing out, over his coworker’s death - but knowing that he killed her, and now that you mention it—”

Tell Klavier that Courte’s death is on him, and watch him break - the way Klavier broke when Juniper mentioned her after the trial. Crumble his resolve so that he doesn’t keep going and get that audio recording examined; as far as gambits go for the covering up of murder, this one is a stretch, but Means probably still got some satisfaction out of being able to hurt someone who was being an extra thorn in his side, one that never should have been there because he’s a goddamn prosecutor, and not the one prosecuting the case.

But there’s a lot Apollo still doesn’t understand, even as rising dread reaches out to stifle his next question. He almost doesn’t want to ask for clarification. He knows he has to. Closing a hand around his wrist, he digs his nails into his arm. “But - why would he say that? How could it have been your fault?”

“Oh, it’s very funny.” Klavier talks like Apollo isn’t there, like he’s talking to himself, tossing thoughts into the air and seeing what comes of them. “That when we first met that I should have tried so hard to warn you away from your office, that Herr Wright is cursed and should make it so much more likely to damn you to an early death - and that I sitting there telling you that am after all no better, or safer a person to be around. That I can see all around but in a mirror.”

Apollo thinks he knows what he means - he can’t mean anything else. But he isn’t quite saying it, either - would Athena call that a defense mechanism, some last moments of clinging to some sort of denial rather than saying the words directly - and much as Apollo doesn’t want to drag it out of him like this, he also wants to be sure. And whenever Klavier and Phoenix talk around a point, Apollo is never sure that it isn’t really actually some new fae magic thing he hasn’t been introduced to yet.

“You’re cursed?” Apollo asks. Klavier blinks his eyes closed and keeps them closed, and then he nods. Apollo swallows. His nails in his skin hurt. “By - b-but - who?”

A ragged laugh croaks from Klavier’s lips. “You know who,” he rasps. “Who else? Surely not the man who’s done this before!” There’s a near-hysterical edge to his voice that Apollo has never heard before. “He’s cursed people and killed people for their petty slights to his pride, and I am - stupid enough to assume that he could not hate me enough to treat me the same as he has everyone else who has had the misfortune to—”

“You’re not stupid,” Apollo interrupts.

“Blind,” Klavier says, “and naive.”

“That’s not—”

“When he didn’t end lives he ruined them, and I helped him do it!” Klavier pushes himself upright, his hair a mess and a wild glint in his eyes. “I was so proud, truly I was, to have played a hand in exposing the corruption of such a prolific defense attorney! To tell my professor that I was living up to her ideals and teachings - I was wrong!” He curls his head toward his knees, and digs his hands into his hair. Both of them, Apollo sees now, are bare of rings. “How could I come back here and face her when I was so wrong?” 

Apollo shifts forward. He wishes he had a single word to say, that he knew would help, or even would just not make it worse. “Why should she forgive me?” Klavier asks. “Why should he—” He lifts his head up, and all the mania has bled from his face, leaving him nothing but distraught. “Why did he forgive me?”

Apollo doesn’t say anything, and even if he had anything to say he’s not sure that he could. All else aside, he thinks, Phoenix means well - he just never channels that into normal human words or actions. Klavier’s hands slowly uncurl from his head. He’s shaking. He laughs, sick and nervous and just as shaky. “Why am I - why didn’t this just kill me, instead?”

The lump in his throat is too big to swallow. Apollo shakes his head. He expects, for a moment, that Klavier will lash back out at him for his silence, for not having an answer to impossible questions. But Klavier doesn’t say anything more, or glance away again, just rests his arms on top of his knees and stares at Apollo over them, looking at him like Apollo’s done anything more than sit here stupidly quiet, growing sicker to his stomach and closer to sympathetic tears with every moment had he lets this digest. A bad question comes to mind, born of false hope that he’s sure Klavier would have already explored, and unable to stop himself from wondering and hoping anyway, Apollo asks softly, “Are - are we sure he wasn’t bluffing? Professor Means, I mean? Making it up to…?”

Means gleefully found Athena’s weak point and repeatedly jabbed her there until even Blackquill, master of the art of cruel underhanded cuts, offered Athena a hand to get her back on her feet rather than let Means win. Apollo wouldn’t put this past him either. 

“I did wonder,” Klavier says. “Thought then perhaps it was just a lie he made lashing out in grief, which is why your boss heard of this.” He gives a small, dismissive wave. “I went and asked him. If it was true. If I’m cursed.” Shaking his head, he adds, “Even if he’d said nothing, the look on his face was all the answer I needed, ja?”

“Oh,” Apollo says. He has a little trouble picturing it, honestly - Phoenix, the poker king, ever careful to not let slip any expression he doesn’t want seen. “I - I’m sorry.”

A small sad smile twitches onto Klavier’s face, and Apollo kicks himself for not having been smart enough to say that much sooner. Silently, they watch the wispy clouds drift across the dark sky. “I expected,” Klavier says quietly, “for a moment when I saw you, that he told you what happened, and gave you that magatama for that purpose.”

He’s not quite wrong to suspect that Phoenix would be particularly - what’s the best word here? Nosy? Micromanaging? Or the other way to look at it, concerned? Phoenix has had that habit before. “No,” Apollo says. “But you explained to me how your disappearing act works, and when I noticed something not seeming quite right, I figured it was you.” Klavier snorts. “And we - me and Athena and Trucy and the Themis kids - Juniper wanted to go to the little memorial for Courte. She was kinda arranging the flowers left there and she found a - a ring like—”

“Like this?” Klavier says, lifting one hand and spreading out his bare fingers for Apollo to see. Apollo rolls his eyes with an exaggerated sigh and Klavier chuckles; the grin lingers for a few seconds before it slowly falls, and Klavier’s eyes turn downcast again. “Ja, well, I have little else to offer her memory, and what point lies in it for me when I am already cursed?”

“Stop yourself from being cursed again by someone else?” Apollo suggests. “I mean, I think Mr Wright - he’s been - multiple—” He remembers Phoenix once talking about how different curses land against each other, in the way he talks when he’s pretending not to be referring to himself. 

“Ja,” Klavier says. “He told me my brother was not the first to hate him so.”

That’s surprisingly direct of Phoenix. Like Apollo is the only one he doesn’t say things to. “Well, there’s your point,” Apollo says. “For it to not get any worse.” He slides the ring from his finger and offers it back to Klavier, who, staring at his hands, doesn’t see him right away. 

“Difficult as it is to imagine this getting any worse,” Klavier says darkly, but when he raises his eyes he notices what Apollo is doing and laughs sharply. “Nein, Herr Forehead, no need for that. I have not had the rest melted down for scrap, just left them at my apartment. You keep that. Keep yourself in one piece for me, ja? You’ve got no need to worry after me.”

Apollo remains unconvinced. He’s still going to worry. He’ll continue to worry, and he’ll press on that later, but a new thought has begun to eat at him, sinking teeth into his stomach and twisting until it hurts, nausea and anxiety and a sick nervous pain. And the anger, this same anger that he’s felt again and again, ever single goddamned time this happens. “Wouldn’t - wouldn’t Mr Wright have known about this? Before you asked? He could’ve Seen - he should’ve Seen—”

“We’ve crossed paths twice since I last saw my brother,” Klavier says. “Yes. He undoubtedly knew before I.”

“He should’ve told you,” Apollo says.

Klavier shrugs. “To what end?” Now he sounds casual, too casual, almost like the lack of care isn’t quite feigned, like all of Apollo’s justified bitterness and anger was leeched away from Klavier and leaving him with nothing at all to just shrug. Phoenix knew because Phoenix knows everything and Klavier knows that he knew and didn’t tell him and Klavier shrugs at it. 

“The truth?” Apollo asks. The truth, because that’s what they’ve always been after, together, since they met. Since before they properly knew each other, since before they knew what the other was about, they were still chasing that same goal.

“And what of it? Justice was already served. Kris is already in prison, for the rest of his life, however short the state cuts it, for what he has done. I know that. What difference more does knowing this make?”

Apollo gapes at him. His head spins. He thinks about Klavier taking this stance with any other person, any other crime, and he can’t make this thought work. “This doesn’t sound like you,” he says, lacking anything else to say. This isn’t right, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. 

“And who am I?” Klavier snaps back. “You think you know? You think I am to want to know that my brother hates me, ja? Just because that is the truth? I knew that! I know that!” He stands up, unfolding himself but only to assume a different defensive posture, arms folded and tightly clutching them, drawing himself up in a way that Apollo wonders if it’s a conscious choice or not, to mimic Kristoph. Apollo scrambles to his feet after him, searching his face for Kristoph’s and finding that it’s only pain that twists and contorts his expression. “‘Ignorance is bliss’ is not a mantra for our profession,” Klavier continues, “but I will tell you that it most assuredly is when it comes to them and their curses.”

“Right,” Apollo says irritably. He wants to scream, but not necessarily at Klavier - just scream, at nothing, at the world, at the great cosmic and fae injustices heaped on their shoulders. “Which is of course why you didn’t warn me about anything and let me blindly and ignorantly wander in way over my head.”

Professor Means didn’t accomplish what he meant to - he didn’t stop Klavier from investigating. He didn’t stop Klavier from helping to put him behind bars. But if he also meant to hurt him for daring to stick his nose where he didn’t belong, taunt him the way he taunted Athena, he succeeded. He still broke something in him. Maybe he’d done that as soon as he killed Courte.

Klavier works his jaw, a scowl etched deep into his face and brow. “Or is that somehow different?” Apollo asks. Another of Klavier’s particular and almost superstitious - if usually excusable - hangups about the fae? “Like—”

“Shut up!”

Apollo recoils, hitting his back against the stage witness stand. Even Klavier looks for a moment shocked at his outburst, but if it wasn’t what he meant to say he doesn’t apologize or backtrack. “You aren’t - of course it is different!” he snarls. “You had a chance to get out before worse happened, is why I told you! But this - listen to me, Herr Forehead - in everything I have ever been through, I have not heard even a whisper of a way to break a curse.”

-

Athena drives him home. 

She’s wise enough not to ask specifics, and so for that matter is Trucy. “How’s Prosecutor Gavin?” is all she says when it’s the three of them in her car, Apollo relegated to the backseat because Trucy called shotgun and he has to respect her authority as the most senior member of the Wright Anything Agency.

“Not good,” Apollo says, and Athena frowns into the rearview, and Trucy turns and peers over the back of her seat, and that’s all there is on that topic. Out the window, Apollo watches the lights of the city blur by, rewinds the conversation in his head to play back every question that he shouldn’t have asked that led to what can’t have been the inevitable outcome. This could have gone any way if it weren’t for stupid Apollo, treating everything like a cross-examination to gather as much information as possible, no matter how the witness being questioned feels about those questions. 

Surprise of the century, that it isn’t a great way to deal with upset acquaintances. 

He stands in the lobby of his apartment building, phone in hand, finger hovering over the name in his contacts list. He already sent a text to Klavier - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed - and he wants to say more but he doesn’t know what and he’s trying not to shove his own foot deeper down his throat. Either he’ll figure it out himself, or he’ll swallow his pride and relay to Clay the gist of what happened to ask for advice.

(Klavier more-or-less stormed off while Apollo was still reeling, disappearing into the darkness and leaving Apollo to think that he should chase him down, not let him go off on his own in this state, but Apollo’s already made everything so much worse. He stood there on the stage alone, waiting while knowing that Klavier wasn’t going to come back, until Vongole loped up out of the dark up to him. She stood there with her shoulders hunched up and her head low, ears pressed back, like someone just kicked her. Her eyes as empty red as they are, she can’t do the puppy-dog eyes look, but Apollo would have sworn that was what she was going for, and he had no idea what she wanted or what he was supposed to do. After a few moments of that, she had seemed to shrink even further before his eyes and she turned, head drooping even lower, and slunk away. If she showed up trying to make Apollo feeling guiltier, than she damn well succeeded.) 

And then there’s the other problem of the night.

Heart pounding shallowly in his throat, he presses his thumb to the screen and lifts his phone to his ear.

“Hello? Apollo?” Phoenix sounds - confused. Apollo wonders if Trucy told him the very little that Apollo told her. If maybe he’s guessed why Klavier is not doing well. “What’s up?”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” Apollo says. His heart is in his mouth now, too big and choking him. “In person, preferably.” So that he won’t try to lie. So that if he does, he can’t get away with it. 

“I was planning to head into the office tomorrow morning to put together some stuff. Swing by sometime before noon and we’ll talk, all right?” 

He doesn’t ask what it is that Apollo needs to talk about. Does he think he knows? Or, well, he probably does know. Or he doesn’t really care enough to ask in advance. 

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

His hands are shaking when he hangs up. He isn’t quite sure why - he’s asked questions of Phoenix about the fae before. He’s broached these topics before, confronted Phoenix about information he’s hidden before. This is just that, again. Same old, same old: Apollo drags every new fact about the fae out of Phoenix with more difficulty than he drags confessions out of murderers. 

But if anyone knows the fae better than Klavier, if anyone could ever know a way to break a curse - it’s Phoenix. 

#roddy fanfics #fic: the witches of los angeles #i've left the house twice in eight weeks and am finally being smacked about by The Depression over it #and work from home makes my back hurt bc there are no good chairs for it. i am so tired. i wanna take a nap with my dog.