#❛ ┊˙ ˖✶ — the aftermath of a storm. ⊱ edits.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

pez dispenser debris for the fic ask thing? 👀

As much as this is my “kill no darlings you will get EVERY flashback” fic, there’s overarching sociopolitical backstory explaining why Izuku and the rest of class 3A exploded in the public eye that I don’t think I’ll ever fully fit in.

It’s a combination of it being more of a meta analysis than anything and also requiring information from a perspective that I know will never appear in the fic. Like, the fic still gets the different moments that make up this analysis, but there’s no explicit connecting thread to show how they all locked together to create this sort of global cult following of class 3-A. I almost put in a little fake news article opinion piece that was meant to sort of walk the reader through why society is Like This, but I decided it was too heavy handed and deleted it.

Everything that I’m going to reference has already appeared in pez dispenser debris to some degree, and none of it will ever actually materially impact the plot. They may receive a little more detail down the line if they’re mentioned in passing in the fic, so out of an abundance of caution, I’ll stick it below the cut so people can avoid this, but I don’t personally consider any of this spoilers.

Izuku and the rest of the class are famous in pez dispenser debris in a way that’s pretty much unprecedented for students. Canonically, not even all might had a name for himself until after his graduation. Pretty much everyone from class 3A are public figures, with Izuku specifically being considered a major global figure.

In my mind, there was this perfect storm right during their second year that catapulted them into fame. The class personally has varying levels of awareness of why they got so popular, but there was this perfect cross winds of societal unrest and fear that made them household names.

There was an approximately one month span in their second year where they were just hit one after another with a major firestorms of events: The UA Sports Festival, the Sidekick Strike, and the Tartarus Prison Break/Desertion of Yokohama.

The UA Sports Festival is the one that the kids attribute this most to, because so many of the news articles that followed referenced their performance in it. But it probably gave them less mileage than what the other two events did.

What the UA Sports Festival did was showcase their skills to the world in a venue designed to show them off. The public was already on edge. All Might had retired, crime rates kept going up, and people were rapidly losing confidence in existing heroes. Class 2A made such an insane showing of skill in the second Sports Festival that it made the public rave about them for weeks after. It was extremely reassuring to Japan that they had such powerful heroes in the barrel and would soon be on the streets. But that attention probably would have died down had it not been for the Sidekick Strike and Yokohama.

The Sidekick Strike actually had nothing to do with them. But it undermined the public’s faith in heroes at just the right time.

The Sidekick Strike is just one of those things that I have no POV that would even tangentially be involved in it so we’ll get a few passing references in media clips and it’ll never be discussed in depth. Which is a shame because it’s such an interesting conflict to me.

The Sidekick Strike was heavily inspired by the 1919 Boston Police Strike. Effectively, it was the height of the labor rights movement, and police officers got together and went on strike to get the police union recognized. They had tried to negotiate and negotiations failed, and so they all walked off the job. The city descended into lawlessness, the national guard was deployed, it was a whole thing. Famously, Calvin Coolidge fired the entire police force over it on the grounds that there was no striking from public safety.

I thought it would be really interesting if there was something similar that happened with the sidekicks. The thing is that the heroics structure as it stands really incentivizes abuse towards sidekicks. We have a society where there’s a decent amount of heroes who are only in it for the fame. A not insignificant amount of money must come from marketing deals. And it’s a ranked system, so they’re all in competition with each other.

Heroes wouldn’t be incentivized to showcase their sidekicks—they’d be incentivized to take advantage of them and take credit for their work.

Like, think about the work-study experiences. Momo didn’t even officially work for the hero she studied with. She wasn’t getting paid. An adult woman used her for a shampoo ad. Who wants to bet whether Momo saw a dime from it? It’s probably very predatory because the nature of the system incentivizes predation.

I thought the underlying legal issues would be interesting and complex. Who owns a sidekick’s image—the agency or the individual? Who gets the proceeds of their brand deals? This all would be governed by their employment contracts, and sidekicks just starting out have very little leverage compared to big name heroes. And those heroes would want to keep their sidekicks names small and theirs big. The rankings are competitive, after all.

It’s a situation where I do think that like. The sidekicks would have a point in unionizing. The use of their image, appropriate compensation, and proper credit for their busts would all be like, very legitimate concerns in a normal employment context.

I see agencies like Idaten settling immediately with the union and having their sidekicks back on the street before the day is out. In my mind, idaten is considered the gold standard for sidekick jobs already, and their employees mostly did it out of solidarity with the people they worked alongside of. Like, Idaten was already doing most of the union’s demands and signed off very quickly on the remaining ones. If it was just about the Idaten sidekicks, none of them would have gone on strike, but they had a lot of colleagues who they depended on in the field who were in terrible situations. What were they gonna say, sorry, sucks to be you, I got a great gig though so condolences? These were the people keeping them alive. They went on strike because they knew Idaten would publicly settle before the day was out and set an example for the rest of the agencies. Hopefully it would help other agencies follow their lead.

But that didn’t happen. Some agencies, like Endeavor’s, fired everyone immediately. And I think a lot of agencies spent a long time picking over every line item in prolonged negotiations. It dragged out.

And that went over fucking terribly.

All Might just retired. Crime is up. And their sworn defenders are bickering over who gets what cut of the action figure line. Like I think the public would have fucking hated this in a post-All Might world. It would have seemed like the only real hero just medically and irreversibly retired and the rest of them are squabbling about whose turn it is in the spotlight.

I also think that the villains would have taken advantage of it.

The Tartarus Prison Break in pez isn’t the one that happened in canon. Here, the League of Villains attacked Tartarus and set everyone loose. In the process, they made a very clear stance: they are going to leave with All for One, and they are not going to attack any civilians. They won’t fight at all unless attacked first.

All of the horrible and sadistic villains they just let go have not made the same promise.

They chose to do this now because of the Sidekick Strike. All their heroes don’t give a fuck about protecting them, so they’re strapped for staffing. So they’re taking back their leader and going back to ground, and the heroes are free to immediately go after and contain all those bad bad villains who just escaped. And those guys are headed to the heavily populated mainland, so better be quick.

The whole world knew that was their explicit reasoning and promise. Because Himiko fucking lived tweeted the escape.

The Sidekick Strike took the hit for a lot of the blame, but I do see all the sidekicks breaking strike lines to go respond to the crisis. But response times were severely handicapped by the fact that most if not all of them were cut off from their agencies. It was just a complete systemic breakdown.

And then there became the question of what crisis do you respond to: All for One’s escape, or everyone else’s?

I mentioned in one of the little fake tumblr posts that the Tartarus Prison Break was seen as Endeavor’s greatest failure. And part of that is because he chose to sacrifice the nearby area, Yokohama, to contain All for One.

I am one of the biggest haters of Endeavor’s later arc, specifically because it required going back on the nature of the abuse he had subjected his family to that was already established in canon, but that’s a different rant. This is not canon endeavor. I hate what they did with canon endeavor.

That being said, I do think that the self doubt weighed on him once he became number one. And this was the moment of his career where it really crushed him.

All for One had escaped. So had every other villain from Tartarus. He should go after the most immediate threats. He knew this. It was basic triage.

But they would never have a better chance to stop All for One.

Prisoners in Tartarus aren’t exactly hitting all their macros and micros or training daily. They are not adherents to the Bakugou Katsuki Fitness Lifestyle. All for One was coming off spending the last few months drugged up to his eyeballs and strapped to a chair in a straitjacket with at least fifty guns pointed at him at all times. The man has not scratched his own nose in weeks. He’s weaker now than he’ll ever be again.

It was their best chance.

If he escaped, and he went back to ground, he’d have the time and space to get as strong as he wanted, and then he’d come back for real. And he’d be coming back for everything.

Stopping him the first time had cost them All Might.

And Endeavor simply was not All Might. And he still wouldn’t be All Might when the next fight came.

It really was the hardest decision of Endeavor’s life. He had to admit to himself that his own inadequacy was going to cost them countless lives. But he thought it was a hard decision he had to make. He was losing the battle for the barest chance at winning the war.

So he made the call that all heroes were to respond to All for One. They had to hit the league of villains now with their full force if they were to stand a chance. They could not afford to divide their already sparse forces. They’d respond to Yokohama when AfO was contained.

He was also the one who made the call to broadcast the warning message that we hear in the Twitter post. He thought it would give civilians their best chance. He didn’t want them to act with the expectation of the heroes being en route.

Of course, that meant that the entire city got fucking sirens going off and a message telling them that the heroes were not going to save them. Which, as you can expect, did not do a lot for public morale.

In my head, Tartarus is like, the equivalent to Gotham’s Arkham. It’s borderline an institute for the criminally insane. You don’t end up there unless you did something super fucked, are super dangerous, and have extreme violent tendencies. It’s exclusively for the most dangerous and indiscriminately violent criminals in the country.

The entire world was watching in real time while the tragedy unfolded. A lot of people were livestreaming after the emergency broadcast dropped, because they didn’t want the government to be able to handwave away how terrible their death was, or because they didn’t know what else to do, or because they just didn’t want to be alone. The full expectation was that it’d be a massacre.

But it wasn’t. Because Class 2-A responded instead.

The Class 2-A defensive efforts were discussed in one of the silly little fake tumblr posts and in the fake twitter post. In those, we find out that 1) Class 2-A, along with Lemillion, Suneater, and Nejire responded to the scene; 2) the entire class rolled out of Mirio’s fucking mom van and tamaki and nejire’s cars like they were fucking clown cars; 3) the HPSC claimed it was a legitimate operation blessed and coordinated by them; and 4) a lot of people think this was a lie, in part because videos leaked of Aizawa bitching them all out in the street afterwards. We also see Izuku’s green lightning at the end of the twitter video, showing him responding to the scene just as the first villains hit the mainland.

This fight has a lot of names in the backstory that lives in my head. It’s called the Tartarus Prison Break for obvious reasons. It’s also been called in some circles the Desertion of Yokohama, because of the call Endeavor made.

But it’s also called the Battle of Yokohoma. And it’s ranked alongside the Battle of Kamino as one of the finest acts of modern day heroics. And that’s because of Class 2-A. If it hadn’t been for them showing up, it would have gone down in history as the Massacre of Yokohama.

Like. It kills me that I can’t include the full details of what happened, but there’s just too much to make in a flashback. It’s a fic in and of itself. But it really was the fight that made Class 2-A.

It was the first fight where they were really the only heroes that could be counted on. Granted, they’d had to fight for their lives alone, but this wasn’t just their lives. These were thousands of terrified civilians who all thought they were going to die.

It was the first true test of them as heroes in the world. And they actually rose to the occasion. They didn’t just fight the villains—they realized that they needed to get emergency services working throughout the city if everyone was going to make it. Momo and Tsuyu conducted a mildly hostile take over of the emergency call center so they could coordinate relief. They had fucking Tokoyami and Dark Shadow single-handedly holding the line on the hospital while Kaminari, Shoji, Jiro, and Sato all learned to drive for the Very First Time while commandeering the city���s fucking ambulances. They were fighting and containing villains, performing emergency aid, putting out literal fires, everything. It was the hardest fight of their lives.

There was a hot second where Class 2-A was The Moment. Like. The entire world was watching them during this fight, and they had no fucking idea until it was over. People lost their minds when the first footage made it out of Yokohama of a bunch of teenagers showing up and immediately throwing hands with S-Class villains.

It was global news. Think of the kind of media attention that was received by the search for the Titan, the Tham Luang Cave Rescue, the Suez Canal getting blocked by the Ever Given (rip queen you will always be famous to me), that kind of thing. Class 2-A was fighting for their fucking lives and then found out three days later while they were all still in the hospital that there was a prayer vigil going on in Portugal for them during the battle and CNN had 24 hours live coverage of the fight that had so many viewers it outnumbered the population of Finland. Like what do you even do with that information.

The world expected a massacre. They didn’t expect a bunch of footage of high schoolers kicking the shit out of superpowered murders and personally ferrying the injured to the hospitals they were also defending.

The other part about this fight that really made them permanently part of the public consciousness is that it was not lost on everyone that every single person who responded to that fight did so at the risk of their license.

All of them had provisional licenses, save Lemillion, Suneater, and Nejire, all of whom went AWOL from the explicit directives ordering them to respond to the fight against All for One. The operation could not have been less authorized. They had to steal their gear and jimmy the UA fence to even get out. The explicit plan was to steal one of the UA buses and have Bakugou fucking drive them to the fight (he also did not know how to drive but he seemed the most likely of them to break literally every single motor vehicle code to get them there but still be naturally talented at it enough to not kill them) but Izuku told Mirio what bullshit they were up to and Mirio, who was with Tamaki and Nejire when the news broke, immediately decided he would be on that bullshit too and pulled up in his mom van.

In my mind, there were strict rules around provisional licenses and how they could be used, and they broke pretty much all of them to respond to Yokohama. It would have been grounds to revoke their provisionals and permanently bar them from heroics. Lemillion, Suneater, and Nejire could have all lost their licenses for helping them and for going AWOL.

The HPSC fucking fell over themselves to legitimatize the entire operation. They knew they were utterly fucked if they didn’t. These kids already had murals being painted of their faces in other fucking countries. There was a little old lady in Kyoto livestreaming herself working overtime to embroider Iida’s face onto a cushion because that lovely young man saved her darling granddaughter from *checks notes* horrible and painful death directly caused by the failings of the current HPSC administration. There were multiple trending posts online agreeing to fucking riot if those kids got in trouble for this.

Every single actual hero in the immediate vicinity of this disaster had responded to fight a villain who wasn’t actually attacking anyone. And then they fucking lost. They publicly broadcast a message saying Good Luck Champs Because We’re Not Going To Save You. It was an actual PR nightmare that they had a bare chance of salvaging if they just latched onto these kids like an aggressive parasite and that is exactly what they did.

They totally knew. Actually, it was a joint operation coordinated by and between UA and and the HPSC. Why would the kids be in trouble?? They had responded because the HPSC told them to.

UA gave it a week of dead silence and then issued a short statement praising the bravery of their students in a recent HPSC approved mission, and then they never said another word about it. They didn’t have any choice but to go along with the HPSC’s story. If they contradicted them, all of class 2-a would find their licenses pulled by the end of the day, and lord knows they wouldn’t wait for the court of public opinion to work its magic and would just all go out and become fucking vigilantes, because why not. Aizawa has aged 100 years since he got this class. Every single day he thinks of how it was a 50/50 shot between him and Vlad.

No one in the class is fully aware of just how famous they were in the immediate aftermath, because the school bent over backwards to try and shield them from it as much as possible. Like, they have an idea, but none of them saw the full explosion firsthand because of just how hard the school worked to keep it from them. Aizawa confiscated the internet router and told them it was punishment for whatever the fuck they did to the buses (thank god Mirio was just as crazy as them because they were NOT GOOD at hotwiring cars) but really it was to try and insulate them from it a little bit. Like. Japan’s Imperial Family wanted to do an official visit. The White House offered to host them. They received interview requests from every major talk show on the planet. Buzzfeed wanted to do a puppy interview with them.

Right now, Aizawa’s terrified for Midoriya’s graduation, but in the aftermath of that, he was breathing into a paper bag about all of them. Society had sort of latched onto them like they were the last life raft on the titanic. All for One was back, and All Might wasn’t, and the heroes had publicly broadcast a message saying they were useless, but don’t fucking worry, fifteen year old Iida Tenya is on the case. Society will be upheld by Kaminari Denki, currently viral for driving a real life city ambulance one hundred miles per hour down the street while screaming “WEE WOO BITCH.” And don’t forget the pillar that will be Mina Ashido, who rushed over to him earlier that day to show him her extra sparkly pink nails. And if you have a major fight that needs to be won? Don’t fucking worry, just send out bone-breaking boy wonder Midoriya Izuku and his equally reckless brother Toogata Mirio, because their dumbasses managed to take down an S-Class villain team that only All Might could defeat the first time around. Don’t worry about the multi week hospitalization they needed after, because that’s an acceptable burden to put on children.

When Aizawa started this job, he promised himself he would never send a student out to die. Some of them would die. But it would be tragedy, not damnation. He’d have given them their best chance. Part of the reason why he made that promise was because he sort of felt like his teacher sent him out set up to die, and it’s only luck that he made it through his first couple of years.

He has gone to the funeral of every single student he has ever had who did not make it. He goes back to their graves every year.

He was fucking petrified after Yokohama that society would push these kids too far too soon. Every single one of his classes before them had gotten the benefit of being practically unknown their first few years. They didn’t have the world talking about them like they were already the top heroes. He was terrified they wouldn’t have the space to learn and grow when they started.

A lot of teachers would have tried to mine the notoriety of Yokohama to hard launch their students’ careers. Aizawa told Nedzu point blank that he would quit tomorrow if he did not help him quash this thing as much as possible, and nedzu agreed.

This world killed its real heroes. It sucked them dry and left them like All Might, and he just needed fucking time. He needed fucking time to let them be kids and maybe they’d survive.

Izuku ended up being the one who escaped the aftermath of everything the least. His Quirk was too much like All Might’s for the world to let go of him easily.

And then Stain got fucking dogpiled by idaten in the aftermath of the Tartarus prison break and implied he considered Izuku the only true hero in the absence of all might and everyone started asking super inconvenient questions like “how does stain even know you exist” and “no really he called you by your actual legal name how does he even know that” and it just. It didn’t help things. Izuku’s suffering.

So yeah. There was just this absolute collision of a total lack of faith in current heroes combined with a huge swell of public trust in class 2-a that led us to being in the landscape we are now. All of the currently licensed heroes said that they wouldn’t be there to save the public, and then Class 2-A immediately hit back that they would be there. Actually, they’ll risk everything to be there. They’ll die to protect the public and they’ll risk the entire future they had been trying to build and they will fucking be there to save them.

There’s a lot of people that never forgave the heroes for deserting Yokohama. And there’s even more people who have absolute faith in Izuku and his classmates because they didn’t. That’s why the world is watching them so aggressively. These kids are the most trusted heroes in Japan right now.

I wish I could fit in more about what happened, because I love this backstory so much, but 1) some of it absolutely requires POVs like Endeavors, which we won’t get in pez dispenser debris, 2) there’s no one POV that could tell the full story via flashback and 3) it’d just be too long of a divergence. Like. It really is a whole fic of its own. I’d love to write it one day but I probably won’t have the time

[hopefullhearts]

Sickeningly Sweet [Scott Miller x Reader - Twisters]

summary: You are Tyler Owens' childhood best friend and member of his storm chasing crew. A storm outbreak means you and the gang cross paths with Storm Par on more than one occasion, and your sweet southern charm drives Scott crazy (in more than one way).

content warnings: somewhat heated kissing, no use of y/n, light name-calling/teasing, not proofread/bad writing (I have not written a fanfic in forever), bad taste in candy, & i think that is all!

word count: 3.5k

a/n: I have not written or posted on tumblr in SO long but I saw Twisters for the glenn powell craze and left with a scott/david corenswet obsession and these thoughts must come out of my head.

Shoutout to @hederasgarden and @sailor-aviator for leading the charge for the Scott girlies. All of their writings and drabbles inspired me to write this one, so check them out!

If people like this I might do a smutty part 2! I don't mind writing smut I just feel like it's not very good hahaha but let me know what you think!

--

You heavily resented the idea that guys and girls could not just be friends, because you'd be damned if Tyler Owens wasn't the best friend you ever had.

You met on the playground in Kindergarten. A boy pushed you off a swing, Tyler defended your honor, and the rest was history.

Tyler's overprotective streak made you view him like the brother you never had, and that's how your relationship remained. He was family, and that was that.

Tyler had always been interested in tornadoes, more specifically, how to track and predict them. You, on the other hand, hated science, including weather, but you loved the thrill of the chase.

In college, you studied marketing while Tyler studied meteorology. So, when Tyler had the idea to start streaming his storm chases, you were right there with him to help grow his brand.

Tyler knows he would be stupid not to credit you with all his success. You set up his streaming account, you edited all the clips and drone footage to post to his social media after the fact, and you even gave him the idea for the "Tornado Wrangler" nickname.

Now that everything was off the ground, you mostly put together streaming highlights and designed the merch, but you were right there in the backseat for every single chase, soaking up all the thrills.

This particular storm outbreak was expected to be a big one, so the whole crew strapped in for a week of bad weather, cheap motel rooms, and of course, a few run-ins with other chasers, including the guys from Storm Par.

"Storm Par's here." You said, gesturing to the fleet of white vans parked at the gas station you had just pulled up to.

"Of course they are." Tyler sighed. "There's probably going to be a lot of damage done by these storms for them to swoop in on. Just ignore them."

"No, we should be polite." You chastised him. "I'm gonna go say hi. Will you get me a cherry coke please?"

Tyler fought back an eye-roll, but nodded with a smile as you both got out of the car. "Of course."

Like everyone else in the crew, the Storm Par guys got on your last nerve. They were all a bunch of Ivy League grads who thought a more expensive degree made them better than everyone else.

However, being raised by your Mama, the epitome of Southern grace and charm, you always put a smile on your face and treated them with kindness. You even occasionally brought them food or coffee if you ran into them in the aftermath of a storm.

And even though you were blissfully unaware of the fact, this drove Scott absolutely mad.

"Hi Scott, Javi." You said cheerfully to the two boys in charge.

Scott replied with a grunt, but Javi was quick to greet you with genuine enthusiasm. "Hey! How are you?"

"I'm doing well." You nodded, smoothing your hands over your athleisure skirt. "Excited for a good chase today. How about you guys?"

"Us too." Javi nodded. "We're hoping to finally get some solid data collection today."

"Ah." You nodded, unsure what to say. You hated the idea of what they were collecting data for, but Javi seemed like a nice enough guy, and Tyler ripped on them enough for the both of you.

"Something on your mind there, princess?" Scott finally spoke, glancing away from his tablet to look down on you (literally and figuratively).

You rolled your eyes. While you would normally love to be called a princess, it always sounded like an insult coming from Scott, his voice always laced with a touch of venom.

"No, nothing at all." You smiled. "Just wondering if we'll see you guys in the aftermath if there's any damage done?"

"Why? Are you looking to increase your t-shirt sales?"

You bit your tongue, doing your best to hold your composure and not let him get to you.

"Nope, just trying to figure out if we need to make some extra to-go boxes for you guys." You decided to focus your gaze on Javi instead, finding him less intimidating.

Javi opened his mouth to speak, but Scott beat him to the punch. "I think we can find food on our own, thanks."

You took a deep breath, choosing your next words carefully. "Okay, well, the offer always stands if you change your mind."

Javi smiled and nodded. "As much as I want to see a good storm today, let's hope we don't have a ton of damage clean up."

You smiled. You knew he had a heart.

"That's something we both can agree on." You grinned. "Stay safe out there you guys!"

With that, you turned and walked away. Scott watched you go, your hair and skirt blowing side to side in the wind.

"Stay safe out there you guys." Scott mocked you under his breath.

"Yo, you don't always have to be a jerk to her, you know."

Scott gave him an unamused look. "She comes out here with her little boyfriend, selling his t-shirts and shit, and then skips over here like we're the best of friends with her thick southern accent. It's all fake."

"For one, I don't think Owens is her boyfriend." Javi corrected. "And two, I think she's just a genuinely nice person. She always says hello, even when everyone else in their crew ignores us like the plague."

"Whatever." Scott mumbled.

As you reached the truck, you took the ice-cold Coca-Cola bottle from Tyler's outstretched hand.

"Thank you!" You said excitedly, twisting the cap off to take a sip.

"How are dumb and dumber?" Tyler teased.

"Javi was nice." You informed him. "Scott was... there."

"Ah, yes." Tyler laughed. "Word on the street is he's a man of many words."

"Right." You agreed sarcastically. "But, when he does speak to me, he always calls me princess, and it drives me crazy."

"In what way?" Tyler said, failing to hold back a smirk.

It took you a moment to realize what he was implying, but when you did, you were mortified,

"Tyler Owens!" You gasped, your face flushing red with embarrassment.

""I'm just teasing you! You make it too easy." He laughed loudly. "In my defense, he looks like exactly like every boyfriend you've ever had."

Your face got even warmer, because he was exactly right. You had a weakness for tall, muscular, dark-haired men, and you especially loved a man who was a challenge.

"That is...irrelevant." You said, covering your face in your hands out of pure embarrassment.

Tyler held his hands up in surrender, as you rushed to talk about anything but Scott. "Let's just figure out what storm we're going after, you jerk." You insulted Tyler, but the smile on your face was ear to ear.

Scott watched the interaction from afar, and his chest twisted at your sickeningly sweet smile. Even if you weren't Owens' girlfriend, your closeness was evident. He ignored the burning feeling that was rising within him, not wanting to question why it was there in the first place.

Tornadoes were scary, but trying to understand how he felt about you? Terrifying.

"Alright, boss man, which storm are we chasing?" Javi pulled him out of his thoughts with a hand clapped on his shoulder, and he finally pulled his gaze away from your smile, the sound of your laughter fading into the background.

--

The storm was bad.

It hit a small town of about 3,000 people, and you estimated based on the initial damage scene that it was an EF3 at best, maybe even an EF4.

You were currently handing out anything that might be helpful to families who had been impacted by the tornado - blankets, water, heat lamps. pre-made sandwiches and cookies. You tried to offer them any comfort you could with a smile and hug, but you understood the devastation they felt all too well.

In the early days, you would try to help with the damage cleanup, but Tyler insisted that you stay back at the camper and talk to the families.

At first, you were insulted, and you thought that Tyler was insinuating you weren't strong enough to move heavy tree limbs or pieces of drywall. You finally asked him about it one day, and he laughed.

"Absolutely not!" He insisted. "You just have this energy around you that's calming, and these families need that. Your empathy and kindness are doing much more for them right now than cleaning up a bunch of rubble would."

You had never thought of it like that, but once Tyler pointed it out, it became your mission to be the solace that these families in crisis needed.

"Is there anything else we can do for you, Mrs. Smith?" You asked, rubbing the arms of a middle-aged woman who you had been speaking to for a few minutes now.

"No, thank you." She sniffled. "I really appreciate you guys being here. God bless you."

You smiled, giving her another hug. "Please let us know if there's anything more we can do to help."

She nodded, walking away to join her family, who were staring at the remains of their house.

You pushed back tears, feeling silly that this never got any easier for you, but also focused on being the anchor that these folks needed.

Scott saw you before you saw him. He watched you from afar as you did your work. He watched you force a smile and hold these people as they cried. He also watched you look up to blink back the tears before taking a deep breath and moving on to the next.

And damn if it didn't drive him nuts.

This job is easier when he doesn't get involved with the people impacted. It's easier to pretend not to care. But watching you pour your heart out to strangers, just because it's the right thing to do? It made his heart jump, and that scared him.

Ignoring the people involved and ignoring his feelings for you had become increasingly more difficult with every chase.

"Scott!" You called, approaching him with a styrofoam container in your hand.

He sighed, mentally preparing himself as you literally bounced over to him.

How the hell does someone look this good after taking on a tornado?

"Here." You offered him the container. "It's just a ham and cheese sandwich and a cookie."

"I'm really not hungry." He responded.

"Seriously?" You asked, not buying it. "We've all been chasing since 10 AM and it's nearly 8, you have to be hungry."

Scott shrugged, trying to hold back the things he really wanted to say.

"Fine." You sighed. "We're right over here if you change your mind."

"Yeah, I know princess. It's hard to miss you being the town's savior over there."

Scott watched you visibly retract and he internally screamed as his heart dropped. You probably hated him, but it didn't matter anyway. You were far too sweet for him, so putting a wedge between the two of you seemed to be the smartest way to outrun his feelings.

"Wow." You spoke, your voice much smaller and shakier than usual. "I knew you were sarcastic and maybe even a little mean, but I never thought you were actually cruel. So, thanks, for enlightening me."

And with that, you turned and strutted off. This time, you failed to fight back the tears as you returned to the camper.

And to your horror, Tyler was there, taking a break from clean up for some water.

When Tyler sees you cry, his overprotective streak comes out instantly, and right now you didn't want to be protected, because you were so embarrassed that he finally got to you. You were even more embarrassed that you thought that just maybe, he might be a good person under that scowl and hard facade.

"Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?" Tyler rushed up to meet you.

You nodded, trying to stop sniffling. "I'm fine."

Tyler looked behind you to see Scott watching you closely, with a look that almost mimicked longing, and he quickly put two and two together.

"Let me handle this." He insisted.

You shook your head in protest. "No, Tyler, please, he thinks I'm a waste of time anyways, it's not worth it."

"Trust me, he doesn't," Tyler reassured you. "Let me handle this, and if it goes badly, I'll edit all the stream highlights for the next two weeks, okay?"

"Deal." You nodded.

You truly did trust him more than anyone in your life, so you opted to go inside the camper and dry up your tears while he went to speak to Scott. You would let Tyler handle it, but no way were you going to stand there and watch, looking like a puppy who just got kicked.

"Coming to defend your girlfriend's honor?" Scott said sarcastically, trying to mask any emotion he was feeling.

"Dude, seriously." Tyler glared at him. "If you want her attention being a complete and total asshole is not the way you get it."

"Is that what you think? That I want her 'attention'?" He said, framing the last word in air quotes.

"Yeah, I do." Tyler nodded. "I saw the look you gave her as she walked away."

"Okay, so what?" Scott shrugged. "You might be surprised to know I am human and I didn't mean to make her cry."

"Sure." Tyler nodded. "So, what about all the other times I've caught you staring at her, hm?"

Scott stayed silent, stunned speechless.

"Ah, you thought you were better at hiding it, didn't you?" Tyler said with a smug grin. "Every time we end up at the same gas station, restaurant, bar, or motel, your eyes follow her nearly the whole time. And don't even get me started on the holes you burn into my head when I'm talking to her."

"Alright, fine." Scott snapped angrily. "Here to rub it in my face then?"

Tyler sighed in frustration. "No."

"Then what?"

"I'm going to give you a piece of advice."

"Why?" Scott scoffed. "It's no secret that we aren't friends."

"I know her better than anyone else, do you want my help or not?" Tyler asked, his patience nearing its limit.

Scott didn't protest this time.

"Look, no matter what I think about you, you're pretty much exactly her type," Tyler said, much to Scott's surprise. "So if you want her, apologize and tell her how you feel."

"She's not going to feel the same, and she deserves much better than me." Scott retorted. "C'mon Owens, you know what we do. When she comes floating into these broken towns like a heaven-sent angel, I'm collecting data for the devil."

"That doesn't have to be a permanent problem." Tyler pointed out. "Plus, she likes a challenge, and she's definitely brave enough to think she can fix you."

That cracked a smile from both of them, followed by a moment of silence.

"218." Tyler said.

"What?"

"That's the room she's staying in tonight." Tyler said, starting to walk away. "Apologize."

Scott nodded, beginning to formulate a plan on how the hell he was going to get you to forgive him.

--

You were snug under your blanket in the motel room watching reruns of Modern Family when the knock came.

You sighed and got up, not bothering to check the peephole as you assumed it was just Tyler coming to talk about the day's events.

So when you opened the door to see Scott standing there, you couldn't be more surprised.

"What are you doing here?" You said quietly, nearly breathless at the sight of him.

It wasn't the first time you had seen him outside of that stupid Storm Par white jumpsuit, but it was the first time you had seen him in gray sweatpants and a tight black long-sleeve shirt that clung to his muscles in a way that you could only describe as sinful.

He towered over you, leaning against the frame of the doorway, and you nearly shuddered when you looked up to meet the intense gaze in his eyes.

"I brought you something. As an apology for being an ass earlier today."

"Oh, and what did you bring for all the other times?" You spat back, no longer in the mood to play nice with him.

"I deserve that." He sighed. "Can I come in?"

"Depends." You responded, and he raised an eyebrow. "What did you bring me?"

He handed you a plastic bag, and you opened it to find a Cherry Coke, Sour Patch Kids, and a Honey Bun.

All of your favorites.

"How did you know what I like?" You asked, curious to know if Tyler was behind this.

"You always get some combination of the three at any local gas station." He shrugged.

He remembered because the first time he saw you buy all three he physically rolled his eyes, because, of course, you would buy snacks just as sickeningly sweet as you.

"I didn't know you paid this much attention to me." You said softly.

"Yeah." Scott inhaled a sharp breath. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Can I please come in?"

You opened the door, inviting him in with the gesture. The door shut behind you, and there was a brief moment of silence between you two.

"I'm sorry, for being a jerk today and every other time I'm around you." Scott started, visibly nervous as he ran a hand through his hair. "I wish I had a better explanation for why I've been such an ass."

"Yeah, so let's hear it." You said, hands on your hips. "Because I have been nothing but nice to you, even though I don't like who you work for and what they stand for."

"I know." He nodded. "At first, I thought you were being fake or sarcastic because it was unfathomable to me that you would be nice to us when you have absolutely no reason to be."

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"But once I learned more about you, and I realized you were being genuinely nice," Scott took a deep breath, building up all his courage. "It knocked me off my feet."

"What do you mean?" You asked, confused at what he was getting at

"I spend most of my time pretending that I don't care about the people that are devastated by all of this, because it's easier that way. But watching you bear your heart and soul to all of these people, just because you can?" Scott scoffed. "It makes it hard to pretend like I don't care about them, or more importantly, about you."

"You care about me?"

"I do." He nodded. "And I was a jerk to you because I thought it would be easier to make you hate me than it would be to admit that I have feelings for you, when you're far too good for me."

His admission stunned you. You can feel your heart thumping out of your chest as you look into his eyes, which look painstakingly vulnerable.

"I completely understand if you don't feel the same way, but I couldn't outrun these feelings anymore, and I wanted to at least let you know that I'm sorry."

The room fell silent as you processed everything he just told you. Scott was panicking inside, waiting for what felt like years for you to say something, anything.

"Do you know why I was always nice to you?" You asked him. "Because I was hoping that somewhere in there you had a good side. I needed to know that you had a heart before I could admit to myself that I felt drawn to you."

"Do you still? Feel drawn to me?"

You nodded. Stepping closer to him so that you were nearly face to face.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please." You nodded desperately, your words barely above a whisper.

His lips were on yours in a flash, and the pure intensity of the kiss nearly knocked you off your feet. It was heated and rough, but somehow gentle and passionate at the same time. His thumb grazed your cheek as he pulled you closer, and every spot his fingers touched made your skin feel like it was on fire. You couldn't get enough of him.

Once he knew you were comfortable, he took the liberty of exploring you more. His tongue slipped into your mouth gently and his teeth caught your bottom lip, causing a small whimper to come from the back of your throat.

Scott groaned at the sound, letting his mind imagine (not for the first time) all of the sounds he could pull from you.

When the two of you finally pulled away for air, he kept you close, his hands ghosting under your chin around your neck, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"You taste just as sweet as I thought you would," Scott said with a smirk.

"Shut up and kiss me again."

[stylesispunk]

'I love you, it's ruining my life' | Part ii

Joel Miller x f!reader

part one | part three

summary: The aftermath of your confession and how all it ended, for now.

w.c: 3,9k

warnings: angst and just angst. Perhaps grammar mistakes cuz even when I edited the chapter, I tend to be stupid.

a/n: As I promised, part 2 is here! Thank you so much for all the love you gave it to the first part, I'm really happy you loved it despite the messy writing. This part will not be the end, so a third part is already in the works to end this mini story since I had to talk about the aftermath of the events in part 1 and I couldn't fit everything here, you know. Part iii may have a time jump. Happy ending or sad ending for these two?? Make your bets after reading this part. Happy reading 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

After what had just happened, you closed the door of your house with a slam, as if that would help you to silence the thump of your heart cracking with anguish. You didn't even get to savor the taste of Joel's lips on yours; they felt tainted by poison and treason creeping from the unfaithful actions of two people in a vulnerable state. You felt completely dirty by your actions; the tears streamed down your face, washing the warm hands of Joel over your checks away, with the salty rustling of his skin on yours.

After a few seconds, you recovered your composure, inhaling the smell of your soon-to-be ex-home. You looked around your living room; there were boxes containing all the memories you had made for the last eight years of your life inside, saved from the postmortem state. All the days, seconds, and years seemed illicit and foreign, and you could not stop crying.

You sat by the door, head on your knees, next to the window, stealing glimpses of a frantic Joel, who was now walking towards his car, getting away from you for real. Your heart broke even more because you knew that your confession didn’t matter and that you were destined to recall things you never did. He had made his choice. He was going to get married to another woman, and you weren’t going to witness such torture. 

You stood from the ground towards your bedroom, still crying from the hope you had that he was going to love you that way, but he didn't, and you couldn't blame him. He was a good man, one who knew how to love but not how to receive, or perhaps he didn’t want it from you.

As you retreated to your bedroom, the weight of your actions bore down on you like a crushing wave. Each step felt heavier than the last, burdened by the knowledge that you had irreversibly altered the course of your life and Joel's.

The tears continued to flow unabated, leaving a trail of salty bitterness in their wake. You collapsed onto your bed, the sheets offering little solace from the storm raging within you.

When you made your way upstairs, you didn’t know that Joel turned back towards your house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you again. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Guilt gnawed at him like a relentless beast, tearing apart his insides with every breath. He couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that hung heavy in the air, suffocating him with its weight.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn back, to run as far away from the mess he had created as possible. But something, perhaps a glimmer of hope or a desperate longing for closure, propelled him forward, urging him to face the consequences of his actions.

You loved him, and he loved you too. He had waited to hear those words for so many years, and now they felt like treason, and he felt like a villain.

With a trembling hand, he opened the door of this car and drove towards Tess’s house, not knowing this would be the last time you would be sleeping next to his house.

As Joel arrived at Tess's house, he was greeted by the warm glow of the porch light and the familiar scent of her perfume wafting through the air. But instead of feeling comforted by her presence, he couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled over him like a dark cloud.

As he stepped inside, Tess's worried expression immediately caught his attention. She approached him with a furrowed brow, her eyes searching his face for answers.

"Joel, I'm so glad you're here," she said, her voice tinged with concern.

“Of course, what seemed to be so urgent?”

"I...I called you because I needed to talk to you about something." She spoke.

Joel's heart skipped a beat as he listened to her words, a sense of foreboding settling over him like a heavy weight in his chest.

"What is it, Tess?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tess took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she spoke. "I couldn't shake this feeling, Joel. The thought of you spending the night after our wedding with...with her," she paused, unable to bring herself to say your name. "It just didn't sit right with me.” She paused, “We’re getting married tomorrow, and I just need to know that she won’t ruin our lives.”

“Why would she?” Joel asked, feeling an urgent desire to defend you.

Tess hesitated, her eyes flickering with uncertainty as she struggled to find the right words. "I don't know, Joel. It's just that there's always been something between you two. Something I can't quite put my finger on."

Joel's heart sank at her words, the weight of guilt settling heavier upon him. He felt his heart exploding from the shame. He looked down at his hands, taking his time to gather all his courage and act like a man.

“I kissed her.” He confessed, and the silence sliced the skin of both. “I kissed her because I wanted to do it.”

As Joel uttered those words, a heavy silence descended upon the room, thick with the weight of his confession. Tess's eyes widened in shock, her hands trembling as she struggled to process the revelation.

The air hung heavy with tension as Joel's words echoed in the space between them, the truth of his betrayal leaving a bitter taste in the air. He could feel Tess's gaze boring into him, her expression a mix of disbelief and hurt.

"I... okay," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "We’ll pretend it didn’t happen, but she is not coming to the wedding, and you won’t see her again.”

Her attempts to mend an already broken trust were being stabbed with a knife.

"She won't because there won't be a wedding, Tess," Joel said, his voice filled with resignation. "I can't go through with it, not like this. Not when I know that I've already destroyed any chance we had at happiness. Not when I don’t know what I feel.”

Tess's eyes widened in shock at his words, her heart lurching painfully in her chest. She had never imagined that their love could unravel so completely and that the future they had planned together could crumble before her eyes.

“And you deserved a man who didn’t put his love for you in doubt when the woman he waited to love confessed her feelings to him,” Joel said.

Tears welled up in Tess's eyes as she looked at Joel, her voice trembling with emotion. "I...I don't know what to say," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the weight of their shattered dreams.

Joel reached out to her, his hand trembling as he gently brushed away her tears. "I'm sorry, Tess," he said, his voice thick with regret. "I never meant to hurt you. I just... don't know what I want anymore."

Tess felt a surge of anger rise within her at Joel's words, the pain of his betrayal still raw and fresh in her heart. But beneath the anger, there was also a sense of resignation, a realization that their love had been built on shaky ground from the start.

"And what about her?" Tess asked, her voice tinged with bitterness. "What about her? Do you know what you want with her?"

Joel looked away, unable to meet Tess's gaze. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know anything anymore."

Tess felt a lump form in her throat at Joel's words, and the next thing Joel felt was a slap on his cheek.

Joel felt a pang of sorrow shoot through his heart at Tess's action, as if all her resentment had consumed him with the hit of her hand on his skin. Tess turned away before he could even realize it. Withit tears streaming down her cheeks, Joel knew that he had lost her for good. And though it pained him to admit it, he knew deep down that he deserved every bit of her anger and resentment.

And his thoughts drifted to you. For him, it was a feeling in his heart at the thought of not having you in his life anymore.

He had broken the hearts of two women last night, and he couldn't bear that feeling.

Joel woke up at noon the next day. There wasn't going to be a wedding that day. He had told Tess he had kissed you because he felt it. There were tears, yelling, slurs screaming at him, and even a slap when it was completely deserved.

He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the events of the previous night playing out in his mind like a never-ending loop. The tears, the yelling, the slap—it all echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the pain he had caused.

Joel knew that there wasn't going to be a wedding that day and that the future he had envisioned with Tess had been shattered beyond repair. And as he lay there in the silence of his empty house, he couldn't help but feel a profound sense of emptiness.

But even as his heart ached with longing, Joel knew that he had to face the consequences of his actions. He had hurt Tess, shattered her trust, and broken her heart, and he couldn't ignore the pain he had caused.

With a heavy sigh, Joel dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, the bitter taste doing little to chase away the bitter taste of regret that lingered in his mouth.

As he sipped his coffee, Joel knew he had a long road ahead of him. He had to find a way to make amends and earn back the trust and forgiveness of those he had wronged. And amidst it all, he vowed to do whatever it took to hold onto the love he felt for you and to fight for a future where you could be together, despite the odds stacked against them.

Joel had met Tess two years ago. At first, it was something cosmic and faster, like spending some time together after he had fixed her house, but then the pages between them started to get written and Joel began to spend less time with you. You tried to dismiss the gut-wrenching feeling consuming your void inside, but you promised him to take care of Sarah, while he had taken the chance to bet on love once again.

He deserved it, but you wanted to be the one, and you consumed yourself into your own pity just for one glimpse of his smile, hoping someday he would notice you that way.

It was two months later when Joel invited you to meet Tess for the first time. As you stepped into the cozy café where they had arranged to meet, a pang of bittersweet emotion tugged at your heart. You couldn't deny the twinge of jealousy that gnawed at you, knowing that Joel was introducing you to someone who could potentially become his wife someday.

Despite the ache in your chest, you plastered on your best smile, determined to be supportive for Joel's sake. After all, you had promised to always be there for him, no matter what.

As Tess walked in, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Joel, you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. They were already sharing a secret language you would never get to understand. She was everything you weren't—beautiful, confident, and effortlessly charming. And as Joel introduced you to her, the weight of his hand on your shoulder felt like a silent reassurance, a reminder of the bond you shared as best friends.

You exchanged pleasantries with Tess, forcing yourself to push aside the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. You laughed at her jokes, engaged in small talk, and did your best to be the supportive friend that Joel needed you to be.

But beneath the façade of your smiles and laughter, your heart ached with a sense of loss. You were already grieving your friendship with Joel, as if you were feeling the distance growing between you both, as if his introduction of Tess marked the beginning of a new chapter—one where you would no longer be his sole confidante and companion.

And as you watched Joel and Tess interact, their laughter mingling in the air like a melody of happiness, you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to stand in her shoes—to be the one who captured Joel's heart and made him smile in that way.

But despite the ache in your chest, you pushed aside your own desires and fears, burying them beneath layers of friendship and loyalty. Because in that moment, all that mattered was Joel's happiness, even if it meant sacrificing a piece of your own.

You made sacrifices for the people you loved.

As Joel's thoughts drifted back to the present, he tried to recall all the times he missed the way you glanced at him full of love, and he didn’t even notice. Even when he was the one looking out beyond the simple glimpses,.

He felt like a fool. Joel sat in the quiet solitude of his house, contemplating the light of the sun creeping through the window. His thoughts drifted to you once again and again. He knew that he needed to come to talk to you later to make amends for the pain he had caused and perhaps even begin to write a new chapter in your relationship. But deep down, he also knew that he needed time to heal himself and mend the wounds of his own heart before he could hope to repair the damage he had done to yours.

Lost in his thoughts, Joel was jolted back to reality when the sound of the door opening caught his attention. Turning his head, he watched as Tommy stepped into the house, a tired Sarah sleeping in his arms. The pitying glance that Tommy shot him didn't go unnoticed, a silent reminder of the wreckage of his almost-married life.

Joel offered a weak smile in return, his heart heavy with the weight of his own guilt and remorse. He knew that he had let everyone down—Tess, you, and even himself—and he couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that hung over him like a dark cloud.

But as he watched Tommy and Sarah disappear into the other room, Joel knew that he couldn't wallow in self-pity forever. He had to find a way to pick up the pieces of his broken life and move forward, even if the road ahead seemed daunting and uncertain.

Lost in his thoughts, Joel didn't notice when Tommy returned to the living room, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. "Hey, Joel, why didn't you tell me?" Tommy asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Joel blinked, snapping out of his reverie as he turned to face Tommy. "Tell you what?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Why didn't you tell me that “bubu” was moving out?" Tommy clarified; his tone was laced with concern. "I saw the moving truck leaving.

Joel's heart sank at Tommy's words, a wave of realization washing over him. He remembered now—the conversation from last night, your tearful confession that you were leaving for good. "She couldn’t be serious," he had whispered, the words heavy with disbelief and desperation.

Without another word, Joel stepped away from the couch, his movements heavy with purpose as he made his way towards the door. Ignoring Tommy's calls behind him, he pushed open the door and stepped outside, only to be met with the emptiness of your house next door.

The sight of your empty home, stripped bare of all its memories, hit Joel like a punch to the gut. The realization that you were truly gone, that he had let you slip through his fingers without a fight, left him feeling hollow and alone.

With a heavy heart, Joel sank to his knees on the doorstep, the weight of his regrets crushing him beneath their unbearable burden. And as he gazed up at the empty windows of your house, he couldn't help but wonder if he had lost you forever.

It was a warm summer afternoon when Sarah said her first word. You, Joel, and Sarah were lounging in the living room, playing with her favorite toys.

As Sarah babbled and cooed, her tiny hands reaching out to grasp at the colorful shapes before her, you couldn't help but feel a sense of joy and wonder wash over you. Watching her grow and learn had become a highlight of your days, a bright spot in an otherwise ordinary existence.

“Bubu”

Joel's face lit up with pride and joy as he scooped up his daughter, a mixture of awe and amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Did she just say her first word?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder.

You couldn't help but laugh at Joel's playful jealousy, knowing that he was only teasing. "Oh my god, baby!" you cooed, reaching out to gently stroke Sarah's soft cheek. "You're just too clever for your own good, aren't you?"

"Bubu," Sarah repeated, her eyes sparkling with innocence as she reached out towards you, her chubby fingers grasping at the air.

"I can't believe she didn't say 'father' first," Joel joked, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You chuckled at Joel's comment, feeling a surge of warmth fill your heart at the playful banter between father and daughter. "Don't be jealous, Joel," you teased, giving him a gentle nudge. "I'm 'Bubu'—that's a tough title to beat!"

And as Sarah continued to babble and coo, her laughter filling the room with its infectious joy, you couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging there.

From that moment on, "Bubu" became your nickname, a term of endearment that Joel had bestowed upon you in honor of Sarah's first word.

And though the years had passed since that day and Sarah had long outgrown her baby talk, the nickname had stuck. It had become a symbol of the bond you shared with Joel and her, a reminder of the love and affection that had blossomed between you over the years.

Back in the present, Joel sat alone in his bedroom, the weight of his regrets heavy on his shoulders. The memories of the events that had unfolded in recent days weighed heavily on his mind, filling him with a sense of profound sorrow and remorse.

As he sat in the quiet solitude of his living room, Joel couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that seemed to permeate the air around him. The absence of your presence in his life had already left a void that seemed impossible to fill, a gaping wound that refused to heal.

And your letter on his hands weighs like the steam of a rose, making his hands bleed as the words written on it punctuate deep wounds in them.

“Joel,

As I sit down to write this letter, my heart feels heavy with the weight of everything that has happened between us. There are so many words I want to say and so many apologies I want to offer, but I know that mere words can never truly express the depth of my regret and remorse.

I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you and that every choice I made was made out of fear and confusion. But I know that my actions have caused you pain too, and for that, I am truly sorry.

I know that things between us may never be the same again and that the trust we once shared may be irreparably damaged. But I need time and space to heal and to find a way to live my life away from you.

I want you to know that I love you, Joel, more than words could ever express. You have been my rock, my confidant, and my closest friend, and the thought of losing you fills me with a pain that is almost too much to bear. My biggest expression of love is letting you go.

Please know that I will always cherish the memories we shared together, the laughter, the tears, and the moments of joy and sorrow that we experienced side by side. And no matter what the future may hold, those memories will always hold a special place in my heart.

I hope that one day we will be able to look back on this time with a sense of gratitude, knowing that it was the challenges we faced together that ultimately brought us closer. Until then, know that you are always in my thoughts, in my heart, and in my prayers. And know that no matter what happens, I will always love you, now and forever.

Have a wonderful wedding and a happy marriage with Tess. I hope you know you deserve to be loved.

I’ll miss you and Sarah so much."

With all my love,

Bubu or you can just call me by my real name now.

As Joel read the words of your letter, each sentence pierced his heart like a dagger, reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal. The weight of your words pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket, leaving him feeling numb and hollow inside.

He hadn’t gotten married, and you thought he had. You left thinking he got married to another woman.

The realization that you were truly gone, that you had made the agonizing decision to leave him behind, sent a wave of despair crashing over him. He felt as though the ground had been pulled out from beneath him, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty and pain.

Tears welled up in Joel's eyes as he read the final lines of your letter, your words of farewell echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain. The emptiness of your absence loomed large in the room, a stark reminder of all that he had lost.

With trembling hands, Joel clutched the letter to his chest, as if holding onto it could somehow keep you from slipping away from him completely. But deep down, he knew that no amount of pleading or begging could change your mind, that you had made your decision, and there was nothing he could do to change it for now.

You were truly the biggest loss of his life; there was too much to grieve and yet so much to hold onto. He was going to go back for you, but he had to heal that part of him that pushed you away from him and let you find yourself before he could come back into your life again.

.......

I'm tagging people who asked me and those who asked for a part 2, if you want to be removed you can tell me 💌

💌 taggs: @immywonderdefender @sarahhxx03 @powellssaturn @ifall4dilfs @harriedandharassed @skysmiller

[murd3rouscrow]

Hey folks! I got some juicy angst for you all today, as always, spoilers for sign of four part 10, under the cut

I got a mostly headcannon-y aftermath of Mary's death for you all.

- After Mary's death, John went to stay with his mum for a bit. Not a long time, just a week or two. He just needed to be away from the city, away from cases.

- Sherlock and Mariana stayed. They took on a lot of smaller cases. Like Mariana said, they'd go broke if they didn't.

- Mariana spent a lot of nights at 221B, she slept in John's room, just so Sherlock wouldn't have to be alone. Sherlock thinks it's cause she doesn't want to be alone. He's not entirely wrong.

- They'd call John every night. They didn't talk much, mostly have him on facetime while they ate dinner. John would eventually start crying again and, Sherlock and Mariana tried to help him as much as they could.

- All three of them blame themselves. Obviously John blames himself for getting Mary wrapped up in all this. Mariana blames herself for letting Mary come with her to the Spanish ship. Sherlock blames himself for not being able to stop Mary from getting hit.

- John comes back to 221B. Mariana doesn't stop staying the night, usually on the couch now. They still eat dinner together. Sherlock goes on small cases, alone mostly.

- John thinks a lot. He thinks about what if he stormed in with the girls. He thinks about what if him and Mary ran away together. He thinks about what if Mary showed up for that first date, and he never met Sherlock.

- Sherlock doesn't think at all. He's gone entirely on autopilot. He doesn't speak to John often. He barely speaks at all. He's not sure what he can say.

- Mariana edited some of the last episode. John did most of the complicated stuff but he couldn't listen to some of it without crying.

- John wants to blame Sherlock. He knows he shouldn't, and it's not rationally his fault. But he's only human.

- The three spent a lot of time just sitting together in silence. It was comforting in a way. At least, to John it was.

- John finally comes to Sherlock's room to talk. There's a lot of tears (mostly from John) and a lot of hugging (also from John, but some from Sherlock).

- The three take a week off cases. They don't go anywhere special. The movies, the park, cafes and restaurants. 'Friend dates', John calls them. All the dates he would've taken Mary on. Instead, he takes the other people in his life he loves as much as he loved her.

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood x OC!Tully — pt iv

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A/N: wow, another update four days later and ahead of schedule for once!! this chapter has been half-written and in drafts, waiting to be finished a whole month. sorry if it has some errors, i did my best to proofread and edit. i wrote most of this to someone to stay -- vancouver sleep clinic if that doesn't explain the soft moments this chapter gives, i needed the soft moments for my own selfish reasons pls enjoy <33

Synopsis: Amidst growing turmoil, Elmo Tully works to forge alliances with old rivals. As wedding planning forges ahead, storm clouds gather over Raventree Hall. Guests arrive for the betrothal feast, while Serra and Benjicot struggle to find common ground to ensure their marriage's success. Benjicot's olive branch to Serra offers some hope, despite her doubts. The families celebrate amid rising tensions and news from King’s Landing. Lord Samwell hears of the Brackens coming close to their borders and finally cracks underneath the pressure of his council.

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 7.1k

“How did it go?” 

Kermit had met Oscar at the doors upon his return from travel the past five and a half days — he couldn’t even hide his disgust at the sight and smell of his younger brother whose return was whispered to him as he had been sifting through the contents of the library that morning. He had made sure to be notified as soon as he’d stepped foot within the gates of Raventree once word had reached him that Oscar was expected to arrive that afternoon. 

It had been a long several days since the feast, and in the aftermath of the meeting between some of the Lords of the Riverlands, Oscar had been sent on horseback with a fleet of men from House Tully to the Arryn’s — a long journey that he did not outwardly protest against, but Kermit had seen the twitch of his eye as he gave his father a nod that was curt and far too formal for their usual dynamic; the war had shifted something in the air between the father and his sons in recent days. But the journey was one of necessity, sent as a messenger to House Arryn in the Eyrie -- one that would have been quicker if not for several storms that forced them to shelter for the night, issued with the task of reminding the Lady Jeyne of her vow to Rhaenyra and of their houses’ long-standing alliance and support of one another. A task that seemed easy enough, now days later and two less horses after having hit a snag and walking into a trap that had been rigged on the forest paths. Kermit had been there when the raven flew in with updates from their journey, notifying Elmo of the accident, which had involved his brother. Oscar was safe and otherwise unharmed aside from his pride and sore. 

Oscar, with his dirt stained face, smelling of fields and horse shit, yanked off his riding gloves as he shoved past his brother; his left cheek scuffed with a scab from a fall off his horse amidst their return after a last minute detour towards House Baratheon -- a decision his brother had made in his emboldened enthusiasm.

“What did they say?” Kermit asked again, earning a huff from his brother who continued his brisk walk towards the great hall where their father waited among the councilmen. 

“That’s a promising answer,” Kermit sarcastically said, striding alongside his brother and trying to keep up with his pace as he mimicked his huff, “I take it you replied with a sort of…” he continued, giving his brother an animalistic like grunt from behind him. 

Oscar abruptly stopped outside the doors and whipped around, scowling as his brother collided with his shoulder and awkwardly stumbled to keep from falling into him, “Do you know when to shut up? Have some patience, brother.” He muttered, shoving his brother back a couple of steps and re-establishing the small bit of space between them as he turned, his brother letting out a snort.  

He shoved the doors open, Elmo sat at the head of the table and deep in conversation with Lord Rivers who had yet to return home as the feast celebrating the union of his sister and Benjicot neared, the final details being cemented for that night, much to their reluctance -- Kermit and Oscar both heeded warning at the thought of last feast’s events, but their father insisted at least on something smaller and more intimate than dozens of random elderly Lords and their snobbish sons. The invite had only been extended to select few entrusted vassals of House Tully, Elmo reassured.  

He stopped at the opposite end of the table as he entered with Kermit in tow, his father’s gaze watching him with a look of expectancy, awaiting his words as his head bowed out of respect. Lord Rivers withdrew to his seat as Oscar glanced towards him, waiting until there was silence among the table of men, his gloves clutched in his right hand at his sides, “I have news from my journeys to House Arryn and House Baratheon.” He announced. 

The last of the mutters ceased, pausing as he moved to shift his stance, suddenly panged by a wave of anxiety towards the eyes that watched him from around the room. Oscar was never an insecure, timid boy -- he was confident, well-spoken and self-assured, and had never shied away from attention. But with his age, in comparison to the much more experienced men around him, oozing wisdom that countered his own youthful inexperience, he was painfully aware that he was just a boy in their eyes; stood there in armor, like a child playing ‘knight’. He knew that they did not view him as equal to his father -- not like he expected them to. 

“Proceed, son.” Elmo stated, his voice warm and encouraging. 

Oscar again nodded slowly and took a breath before he spoke, “House Arryn has once again pledged their support in favor of Rhaenyra Targaryen as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and has pledged to support our military efforts as much as they can afford.” He spoke, his tone more confident than it had been when he arrived. 

“And that of House Baratheon?” His father asked. 

“They have declared for the usurper, Aegon.” He replied, his eyes scanning the men around the table who broke into a series of mutters. “They plan to support him and his army should the time come.” Oscar explained. “Craven cunts.” Kermit muttered from behind him, reminding Oscar that he stood only a foot away from him as they spoke. 

Elmo’s eyes darted to his brother, in response to his words, his frustration evident in his face as his brows furrowed. 

“It does not come as a surprise to me.” Samwell said, speaking up finally. “I recall their Lordship expressing his…reservations about a woman sitting on the throne when she was first declared apparent heir. I was just hoping he would come to see reason.” He said, letting out a small sigh and looking to Elmo, who gave a small nod. 

“We can only do so much to guide others to see better judgment. I’ve received ravens from House Manderly and House Celtigar who have declared for Rhaenyra at least.” Lord Tully stated, his fingers drumming against the table as he seemed to linger on the update. While not the outcome they had hoped for, Oscar had done his duty successfully in all other words. “You’ve done a good job, Oscar.” 

Oscar nodded again, his head lifting to where his father stared at him, the two men in silence. A moment passed before Elmo leaned forward in his seat, placing his elbows atop the table and glancing towards an empty chair on his right as a sort of hint to his son. “Well?” He asked. “Do you plan to sit and join us?” 

Oscar turned his head and glanced at Kermit who looked back at him, the brothers sharing a look, his mouth opening to stutter out a sentence, “I…I was hoping to change first, make myself presentable.” He softly explained to his father. 

His hand waved dismissively to the idea, “Nonsense. There’s no more pride than that of a knight in the raw.” 

He visibly hesitated, letting out a small grunt under his breath that only Kermit could hear, a choked sound that came from his throat as though he wanted to refuse and insist on at least changing out of his riding gear; the little armor he wore streaked with mud and his own blood from the gash on his cheek. There was a sound of leather squeaking as he clenched his gloves with a white knuckle grip, before he let out a breath from his nose and walked forward, his head down as he moved to take his place at his father’s side. 

“And what of me, father?” Kermit asked, his brother’s chair dragging across the ground as he sat down.  

There was a glimmer of pride in his father’s eye as he watched Oscar scoot his chair forward, making himself as comfortable as he could, though Kermit could compare him to a wooden plank; stiff as he adjusted his cloak underneath him. His father turned to look at him after flashing a smile to his brother, chin lifting as he spoke, “Oh, check on your sister, will you? I haven’t seen her yet today.” 

Kermit gave a small nod, visibly disappointed at the request. 

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She found the castle had been quiet in the days that followed the feast -- much quieter than she was used to. In the aftermath, her father and Kermit were much gentler than normal with her, careful as though they feared she would jump and run if they spoke too loudly. She felt like a child they were coddling and the whole situation was humiliating, feeling as though she was six years old again, clinging to her mother and crying because some boy was mean to her. 

In some ways, she was grateful for it however. 

They gave her more space than they had before and didn’t interrupt her as often; instead, they hung back from a distance and occasionally walked by her rooms, to glance in and make sure she was okay but would leave without saying anything. On the odd occasion she caught them staring, they would offer small smiles and nod, before carrying on. It gave her an opportunity to breathe, ground herself and reel from the events of the feast -- she could almost pretend that it hadn’t even happened and convince herself, this was not her life and was just some nightmare. 

Once she had moved past the feast and its chaos, she was faced with a new challenge. 

She watched from the treeline as Benjicot trained, too engrossed in his spar with his cousin to pay her any mind as she kept her distance; Alistair posted a few paces behind her. Her hands remained preoccupied by the small purple flowers in her hands -- violets that she had managed to find at the edges of the property, plucking them with a childish excitement. She had turned from her knelt position on the ground, summoning Alistair forward and insisting he hold them as she picked whatever his hands could hold. There had been a hint of apprehension, hesitating as he eyed her, before nodding and accepting the flowers, holding them in his left hand as she resumed her task of collecting them and rambled on about the knowledge she’d obtained over the years; familiar with herbs and plants and their medicinal use -- she had rambled on about a tea she could make with them when they returned. In the aftermath of the feast that had turned out disastrously, she found she actually enjoyed Alistair’s company and found comfort in his presence. He listened and was polite when he responded, and in the few words he offered, he provided her with wisdom. 

“Should we return to the library, my lady?” Alistair asked. She hummed inquisitively in response, eyes still transfixed on the boy Lord she was still working to figure out. “I can summon one of the kitchen workers to fix that tea for you.” He offered. 

She turned to look at him, offering a soft smile, “No, no. It’s quite alright, I can do it later. I’d like to stay out here a little while longer.” Serra replied, her gaze turning to look again towards the two young Blackwood men. “I…have something I have to do, actually.” 

“Might I be able to help somehow?” He offered. 

She shook her head, but paused, “Could you actually take these inside? I’d like to invite Lord Blackwood for a walk and then I will be in.” She explained, turning to him and once again scooping half of the flowers into his hands, her gaze down and avoiding his eyes. There was a moment of silence that passed between them before he spoke again. 

“Would you like me to summon him for you?” Alistair pressed again, her eyes finally coming up to make out the skepticism in his features, a look of concern in his eyes. 

She smiled again, “No, I…feel this is something I should do.” She replied, voice soft as she withdrew, keeping a few of the flowers for herself. 

Even through her reassurance, she could still see his concern, reluctant to nod and leave her to the task. Though he gave her a nod and passed her, walking towards the house and leaving her in the spot near the trees some feet away from where Benjicot’s cousin let out a yelp as he fell back into the dirt with a thud. Emrys was quicker to shoot up, rolling onto his side and reaching for his sword that had slipped from his hand in the tumble, just as Benjicot kicked it further from his grasp. She slowly approached, the small flowers in her hands as she stroked the petals between her thumb and forefinger, Emrys’ gaze finding her first as she neared the edge of the circle. 

Emrys looked relieved as he panted out a soft greeting and began to scramble to his feet, “My lady.” 

Benjicot turned towards where his cousin’s attention was placed, finding his betrothed standing before him and offering the smallest of smiles. The two men issued a bow, breathing heavily and flushed in the face as the heir wiped sweat from his bow, “Lady Tully.” He greeted, mouth ajar. 

“My apologies for interrupting.” She softly said, glancing between the two men. She paused, her gaze dropping briefly to the flowers in her hands, looking then to Emrys, “Hopefully he’s not been too hard on you today.” She remarked, her tone hinting a stiff attempt at teasing the Blackwood cousin. 

Emrys barked a laugh, brushing dirt from his doublet, “Hardly. I’m starting to think he’s deliberately trying to maim me.” He commented, shooting a look to his cousin who let out a quiet snort, the closest thing to a laugh that Serra had witnessed yet since her arrival. “In the event I die, he would no longer have any more competition in vying for your eye then, isn’t that right?” He flirted, smug as he leaned to shove Ben with his shoulder. 

The action hardly caused Benjicot’s feet to move beyond his right foot dragging against the dirt in a half-stumble, the two boys jokingly shoving each other and wrestling for a moment. Serra watched as Benjicot quickly slung an arm around his cousin’s neck in the scuffle, laughter ensuing as he muttered something incoherent at him that resembled a warning of ‘watch it’. “Okay, okay-- easy!” Emrys cried out, laughing and shoving him away. 

They settled down, straightening themselves out before they both looked at Serra once again, the smile she wore both shy and hinting her amusement at their antics, finding the interaction rather endearing. “I also mean to bring gifts for you both.” She said, finally stepping into the circle and approaching them. She witnessed the look the two men shared, Emrys’ interest piqued and smiling at her as she walked first to him and offered the small purple flower to him, bowing to her as he gently accepted the flower; bringing it towards his chest. 

“Thank you, Lady Tully.”

She sweetly smiled at him, before her gaze reluctantly found Benjicot’s as he watched the interaction before him, though his expression was one that she found unreadable, his lips parted and eyebrows raised. She hesitated, slow in stepping towards him and offering the last flower to him, placed in her palm and waiting for him. 

Benjicot glanced up at her face from the flower. He had never really understood women’s fixation with flowers, even as a boy, as pretty as they were -- he never viewed them as anything more than decorative things that adorned banners, armor and were a nuisance in the yards of Raventree. They were hardly a gift, but he moved to place his sword underneath his arm, pinned against his side and holding it as he reached out to carefully pluck the flower from her palm with his fingers, forcing a tight smile while holding it up briefly, “Thank you.” 

He watched as she offered a sweet, giddy smile and stepped back, her face lit up with joy as he accepted the flower, “You’re welcome.” Her hands clasped together in front of her, her eyes darting to Emrys who hardly made an attempt at concealing the wolfish grin he gave his older cousin at the sight. She looked back up at Benjicot, his own gaze lingering on his cousin and shooting him a glare of warning, “I understand you are probably busy, but I was wondering if you would care to take a walk around the grounds? Whenever you’re done here, of course.” She hurriedly spoke, her own look shooting to his cousin as if to ask if it was okay, not wanting to intrude more than she already did. 

“I think that would be lovely.” Emrys quickly replied. “We were actually just wrapping up.” 

Benjicot wanted to turn and slap him by the back of his head in that moment, eyes fixing on him again as if to question what the fuck he was doing-- 

“Are you sure?” She asked. 

However, he suppressed the urge to argue and deny her hopeful stare, sighing softly, “Of course. Let me just bring my sword back inside and we can go.” Benjicot grumbled, his annoyance boiling under the surface of his words. 

Her mouth opened to respond, but she was cut short before she could even utter a word as he turned on his heel and stalked away from her. She blinked, shrinking back once again as Emrys watched her deflate, watching after his cousin, “So moody-- I promise he isn’t always like this.” Emrys whispered, trying to make light of the situation, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “I’m sorry.” He quickly said, running after him. 

Her eyes met Kemit’s from the doorway as she watched Emrys run inside, his expression stoic and plain as she forced a polite smile before he turned and walked in the opposite direction as the two men before him. 

     · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She could still sense his anger when he returned to the yard. 

The pair were silent as they walked, her watchful gaze fixed on observing the outer parts of Raventree — tall, sturdy, and appearing just as powerful as its men. Although her feelings towards the man to her right were that of indifference, she struggled to comprehend or make sense of his own attitude towards her, as she had hardly ever done anything to him aside from existing in his presence and that, even as children, had enraged him to such a point that at times she could not deny Benjicot was nothing less than what his houses’ reputation stood for. He embodied that very idea. Loyal but brutes. He did not seem to outgrow that as adults as even now, he didn’t seem to care for her and just seemed to search for any opportunity to humiliate her. Unlike when they were children, it came in forms of snide remarks and innuendos dismissing her as nothing more than some…object to one day warm his bed, or a nuisance — if not, even worse, it felt as though he treated like some sworn enemy to the likeness of a Bracken at times. 

Even though his father could sometimes scare him back into line, it only came in brief moments before he seemed to fall back into his habits. And his father couldn’t follow them and play mediator at all hours of the day. How did they plan to enter a marriage and live under those conditions? In which he despised her and she was nothing more than some doll to take his anger out on? To one day show her some warmth, only to come back with rage and lashing out at her. 

She almost preferred his childhood antics and would have rather he’d shove her into mud and call it a day. The thought of a lifetime spent living this way felt unbearable, the realization weighing heavy on her chest, almost as though she was being both physically and figuratively crushed by the very idea as her gaze anxiously darted to the side of his face from the corner of her eye; taking in the sight of him, so nonchalant and blissfully unaware. Unfazed. Her eyes darted back straight ahead as her clasped hands released themselves, smoothing over the fabric of her dress to wipe the sweat from her fingers, hands shaking slightly as she then clenched them, her breathing deep and heavy with each sharp inhale and exhale of air; even her breath shuddered as she attempted to ground herself, trying to force air into her lungs which felt as though they, too, were being crushed— 

“You’re breathing quite loudly.” Benjicot suddenly said, having been unaware that she had managed to walk ahead of him by a few paces while in thought, her hands once again going to smooth over her bodice as she abruptly stopped. 

She was quiet in response to his statement, too frightened to turn and face him immediately, like a scared child who was fearful of getting in trouble for something they had done — scared that if she showed even the slightest hint of weakness, he would pounce like a predator does their prey. But there was no hiding the fear in her eyes as she slowly turned towards him, one hand at her stomach and gripping the fabric there as if it would somehow steady her shaking hand and hide it in plain sight from him, her eyes meeting his. Though she could only bear to hold his stare for a moment before it dropped to the chest of his doublet, sucking in a deep breath, Benjicot’s eyes narrowing with a furrow of his brows. 

“What…” he began to say, pausing and taking a step toward her, “pray tell, is the matter with you now?” He sighed as he spoke, shoulders slumping with the words and a roll of eyes. 

If she had had even the smallest bit of boldness that existed within her and coursed through her veins, his words could have enraged her — his tone, speaking to her like she was an unfortunate bastard child that burdened him by simply existing, maybe then she would have had just enough courage in her so that she might have been brave enough to shout, yell, even swing a punch at him— but she couldn’t. If she had been born a man, she may have been lucky to possess such bravery. Instead, she was frozen in place, swallowing and instead looking up towards a window of the castle that overlooked them to avoid his eyes as she felt him continue to stare at her. She realized in that very moment, realizing how trapped she truly was, that she would have rather jump from the very window she was standing underneath than be married and stuck with Benjicot the rest of her life. She heard him sigh again, though the sound felt muffled and distant — not like he was standing only half a foot away from her, the sound of her heartbeat pounding so loudly she could barely hear over it.   

“My Lady?” 

She subconsciously had stepped towards the house, her breathing still rapid as she closed her eyes, a cool breeze flowing through the court that blew a few loose strands of hair into her face and across her cheeks. She was snapped, however, from her daze by the feeling of his hand closing around her elbow, eyes shooting open and immediately moving to withdraw from his hold as she leaned away; shrinking back with her mouth open to protest, his eyes on her face — for the first time since her arrival, though, she couldn’t find any trace of disgust in his features as he scanned her appearance. His grip tightened as she tried to withdraw again, tugging against his hand but to no avail. 

“Easy— just… just wait.” He commanded, his eyes darting over his shoulder as though he was looking for someone or something and scanning their surroundings before he quickly looked back at her. His other hand mirrored his right, grabbing her other arm just above her elbow and holding her in place as the sinking feeling of panic set in, her eyes widening and gasping for air as she used her entire weight to try and force herself backwards and out of his hold. Even with all her strength, she was unsuccessful beyond more than a stumbled step forward, only bringing him closer, bringing them chest to chest, “Serra, please— stop.” 

“What are you doing?” She suddenly cried out, voice small as her arms attempted to flail free from his restraint. She looked up at him, a look she couldn’t quite place flashing across his features — hurt, disgust? She gasped inwards, leaning back. 

He suddenly released an arm, stepping back from her and scanning her face, the furrow in his brow remaining, “Do you really think I’d deliberately seek to hurt a woman?” He asked, voice quiet but not hiding his offense, though he knew it was hypocritical. He wasn’t always kind, he was aware of that. 

He hardly allowed her a moment to process his words before his hand around her second elbow loosened and he blinked rapidly a couple of times with a glance towards his feet. He looked up a moment later, his hand dropping and cautiously taking hers, the move slow as his hand covered hers and watching her face as though he was searching for any sign to stop; any further protest — her own eyes still watched in complete and utter fear, confusion on her face, “Just…trust me for a moment. Watch.” He pleaded, voice quiet and desperate as his gaze dropped briefly to her chest, still heaving with the breathless pants that left her mouth before returning to her face. 

His hand was gentle over hers as it lead hers from her side; unfolding her fist and spreading her fingers as it was outstretched towards him, only feeling a small bit of resistance as her hand was guided inwards towards his body — he caught her eyes, that looked between her hand and his face, “Easy...” He repeated, his voice softer than before. Her body was still rigid and her skepticism still evident, but even Benjicot could not blame her for being so unwilling to trust him. What reason had he given her to do so thus far? He’d been nothing short of cruel to her in their childhood and had been so selfishly engrossed in his own fury that he hadn’t even pieced it together that she was as equally innocent in this scenario as he was. It seemed to dawn on him, looking at her face, the pieces falling into place. 

He pressed her hand to his chest, the heat of her fingers felt through his clothing as he pressed it flat, her palm pressed against his sternum over his heart; the steady thrum of his heartbeat felt underneath the layers with his chest rising and falling with steady, regular breaths, “do you feel that?” He quietly asked, her gaze still flipping between her hand and his own eyes before settling there, watching him. “Feel my heart? My breath?” He asked. 

He didn’t expect much of an answer, but her gaze dropped to her hand which seemed to relax under his, which was enough of a reply, “Just feel…breathe.” He quietly instructed. “Follow my breathing, in…out...in…” he guided, giving her a few moments and watching as the tension seemed to slide from her shoulders like a piece of clothing. 

The image of her fear-stricken face was still burned into his mind as he watched her relax — the memory invoking a flurry of guilt and shame to wash over him. He knew he could be cruel at times, but he’d never intended to be the source for her terror; hells, he’d never even realized just how much his actions had affected her. Looking at her in that moment, he’d come to remember she was just as much a pawn to the games of politics as he’d been — if not, more innocent than anyone. She hadn’t wanted this anymore than he had but she didn’t have any choice in the matter, just as he hadn’t. But he was prideful and had to swallow down the urge to say anything more about it, standing there silently as his gaze scanned her face. 

He pitied her, truly pitied her. 

“Your heart is beating faster.” She quietly pointed out, her eyes looking upwards from where her hand was placed, Benjicot having not even realized he was still staring at her as he’d pondered his anger these past days. A sudden rush of heat flooded his cheeks. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something -- the urge to spit out some sarcastic quip readily on his lips, but his words were halted by the sound of Ser Eryn’s voice as he approached them. 

“My lord.” 

Benjicot stepped back immediately, almost jumping and dropping his hand from her wrist as she simultaneously withdrew her hand from his chest; both their heads whipping towards the guard, “I apologize for my intrusion…but your father has summoned you.” Ser Eryn explained, his gaze fixed explicitly on the young man. 

Benjicot found his voice finally, nodding as he swallowed, looking down at the ground beneath his feet and then glancing towards Serra, her hands at her sides as she briefly returned his glance -- they both then looked back at Ser Eryn, “Very well. Thank you.” He simply replied. 

The guard nodded, turning with a clank of his armor before striding away, but not before he shot a last look in the direction of the young woman who was still standing timidly a few inches shy of the heir, wordlessly. Benjicot waited until he was out of earshot before he looked back at her, his hands going to clasp behind his back, “We should make our way back now, my lady. Shall we?” He spoke, his voice regaining its prior confidence, head tilting to gesture her along -- she nodded, a meek gesture in reply as she tentatively took a few steps to come back up to his side as he then began to lead them back down the path that circled the estate. 

The walk back was just as quiet as the one there, both keeping their eyes straight ahead. Serra wasn’t sure she had accomplished what she had set out to do when they first left — not sure she felt she understood him better or felt they had bridged their feud; she wasn’t even sure she could say she knew him better. But she was at least reminded that he was still human, under the brutish behavior, that he did possess the ability to be gentle and kind, if that’s even what she could call it. Occasionally, her gaze would wander towards him and even though he seemed set on avoiding catching her eye again, she still took the brief opportunity to observe him as she tried to figure him out again for the hundredth time that week. She noted the lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkled when he scowled and she could assume they were prominent when he smiled, too. From this angle, as the sinking sun caught his eye, she could make out that his eyes were almost green — maybe even hazel? Regardless, in this lighting he did not appear as intimidating or even menacing as she had previously thought him to be. Nothing more than a boy, she realized. 

The main doors were opened by guards as they approached, creaking open so loudly the sound echoed throughout the halls; Benjicot walking ahead of her and letting out a puff of air as he began to approach the familiar doors where the council and his father were awaiting him, though he paused. He visibly hesitated in turning to her, the same pensive look on her face as they stared at one another a moment before he took a step toward her, “I apologize for having to cut our meeting short. I will see you at supper, yes?” He questioned, reaching out to grab her hand and bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles. Her eyes briefly dropped to his mouth, noting the scar above his lip before returning to his eyes and nodding. 

“Yes, of course.” 

Benjicot straightened up and nodded, letting her hand go in order to turn and make his way into the hall where Serra briefly caught a glimpse of her father sitting at the table, along with Samwell and other council members as the doors opened. Though a silence settled over them as Benjicot entered and sat down, her father and Samwell both casting looks in her direction as their quiet discussion ceased at the doors being held open. It was then that her attention was drawn to the sound of her elder brother coming down the stairs quite quickly, one hand at his sword just as she and Benjicot parted; his gaze following his friend before looking at her. Kermit appeared to slow as he approached the bottom two stairs, pausing and sharing a silent exchange with his sister, his shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Sister.” He suddenly said, breaking the silence and nodding at her before rushing into the room behind the young Blackwood who had entered moments earlier. The doors were closed behind him, leaving her standing in the hall, more at ease than she had been the past several days. 

    · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A soft knock echoed through the room as Benjicot stood in front of the window, straightening the neck of his cloak, shoulders rolling as he assumed it was a reminder to hurry from one of the guards, “Come.” He called out, growing frustrated as the fabric would not sit right against his throat no matter how much fidgeting with it that he did. He felt as though he was being choked and deprived of air as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

He heard as the door opened and footsteps shuffled against the ground, entering the room and closing the door, “I will be down shortly.” He replied, giving the clothing one last tug and beginning to fix his sleeves, however his companion was silent. He turned, sensing that it wasn’t a guard afterall, and finding Kermit stood behind him with a look of contemplation, his eyes moving to scan his appearance. His eyebrows furrowed. They quietly stared at each other for a moment that left Benjicot almost uncomfortable. 

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Benjicot asked suddenly. 

Kermit forced a smile, “You always do, don’t worry.” He said, the attempt at a playful tone painfully forced and not unnoticed by Ben. His gaze dropped again, fixed on the Blackwood sigil across his chest, mouth opening to speak again, “I don’t want to be the overbearing brother who nags you with the same warnings your father already has, I know there is only so much I can say that has not already been said a hundred times...” He said, his voice soft and looking up to his eyes again. 

Benjicot did not attempt to interrupt him with a reply, settling on listening intently. 

“She’s a kind girl.” Kermit stated, matter of factly and more confident as he stood upright. “Kinder than most. She feels so much, so deeply, and she cares too much for her own good sometimes. But she is good…more so than anyone I have ever met. She possesses both intellect and wit, and despite the chaos of the men around her-- she remains such a gentle, good-hearted spirit who keeps us grounded. She is terrible with a needle and thread, but she knows how to soothe and mend the worst of wounds-- I used to go right to her whenever you kicked my ass when we would train as boys. And I know one day she will be equally as kind a mother as she will be a wife, just as our mother was.” He continued to speak, stepping closer to his friend who held his gaze. 

“I’d like to think we’ve always been good friends,” He said. “I even consider us to have become like brothers.” Benjicot’s expression softened, his shoulders relaxing, “I do too.” 

“Then please treat her with kindness.” He pleaded suddenly, stepping forward one last step until he was mere inches from him. “Treat her with decency and be good to her. I have never trusted anybody else with her as I do you. I know you are a good and generous man, Benjicot, and I know somewhere inside you, you still possess the kindness and warmth my sister needs. I ask…” He spoke, pausing to catch his breath. 

He reached out to place a hand on Benjicot’s shoulder, “I ask that you be a better man than your father was to you. Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot, and I cannot bear to imagine a life without her, knowing I was the cause for my own sister’s demise. She does not deserve that.” He explained, his voice thick with emotion as Ben watched his friend nod as if to silently ask that he understood after a moment. 

He reluctantly nodded after a few seconds that felt like hours. 

They did not part immediately, staring at each other in the silent space of Ben’s chambers, the weight of his pleas lingering over them. Kermit gave a final nod whilst clapping his friend’s shoulder and sniffling once before he stepped back and folded his hands behind him, “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready, then.” He quietly said. 

Kermit was slow in retreating from the room, leaving him to his thoughts, his words heavy on his chest like the boot of his opponent in battle; the ache there deep and raw as his hand instinctively rose to massage his chest over his heart with his knuckles, as if to rub away the anxiety their conversation left him. He turned on his heel and faced the desk that was shoved against the wall, stacked with books — and there, among all the strewn papers and ink stains, sat a small purple flower against the brown leather of a history textbook he had skimmed through days prior. 

He reached out for it with the hand that had touched his chest, careful in picking up the delicate violet that had been plucked from the yards of Raventree and eyeing it under the little light that the sun cast in through his window. 

“Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot.” 

His mouth twitched, sighing as he lifted the flower across his chest and gently tucked it into the pin of his House that rested over his left shoulder as he turned to leave towards the door. His guard stood to attention, stiff and proper as he bowed his head while he was still preoccupied by the task of adjusting the flower against the fabric as he stepped into the hall, Ser Eryn’s eyes drawn to the plant that was neatly placed among the uniform. Benjicot exhaled, cheeks ballooning with air as his eyebrows rose briefly at the guard, his head tilting in the direction of the stairs, “Shall we?” 

The young Lord Blackwood led them throughout the halls of the keep, the sun beginning to set with the end of the day as evening enveloped the riverlands in darkness; the walls lined by lit torches that provided an orange glow despite the hour. He was given the odd bow of head as he passed workers House Blackwood employed, mutters of ‘my lord’ following him as he descended the stairs to the entrance. The doors to the great hall were already opened and readily greeted him as Ser Eryn followed close behind, relieved to find that the only commotion from the room was the sound of joyous laughter and the light hum of conversation filling the hall as he entered. 

His father had spared no expense with the extravagant display, the room lined with yellow and red decorations, the finest of silverware adorning the table as guests lined both sides of the table. 

He anxiously fidgeted with the cuffs of his doublet as he approached the head of the table, where his father and Serra’s family sat, waiting for his arrival. His father’s gaze eyed him from over his chalice, taking a sip as Benjicot found his place at a seat next to Serra, snug between her and Samwell. 

“--your men should reach the borders within the hour.” Elmo said in a hushed voice, leaning towards Samwell, attempting not to bring attention to the conversation. “They should meet the camp as soon as they get there.” 

Benjicot frowned as he pulled his chair forward, “What?” 

“Nothing.” Samwell quickly replied, setting his drink down and scanning his son’s appearance. “You look well-rested.” He said. Ben sensed his struggle to utter the words, not used to extending compliments. 

“Thank you.” He quietly replied. 

He could feel his eyes linger, following his father’s eyes to the flower on his left shoulder, “You’ve added some personal touches to your uniform.”

“It’s from the yards.” He answered, reaching for the wine pitcher from the table and bringing it towards his cup, pouring himself a drink. 

In the corner of his eye, he could make out the sight of movement as Serra had turned, mid-conversation with who he soon figured out was Oscar when he turned to look over at her whilst setting down the jug. Her gaze was fixed on the flower that was tucked in as part of his pin, delicate and perfect there, her lips parting but not saying anything. 

“It’s a nice touch,” Samwell said. “I like it.”

Serra looked up at him, a blush creeping across her face as she flashed a small smile, shy and genuine as she then looked down to her lap. He tore his gaze from her and looked once again at his father who rose an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Benjicot mumbled, lifting his cup to his mouth.

masterlist | backward

TAGLIST: @username199945, @cxcilla, @thethiccestdaddy, @deltamoon666, @drwho-ess, @callsigncrushx @clarityisnofun @jhepolie @juhdoche @majoso12 @roseheart5 @nixtape-foryou @poppyflower-22 @accidentpronedork @tannyfairy @maximizedrhythms

[insert-witty-user-name-here]

Lokius Fic Recs

Less than 10K words, Season One Era

Thought I’d share a few of my favorite Lokius fics. These from the season one era, season two and multi-chapter recs coming soon. (Edit multi-chapter recs here! Season two fic recs here!)

If you’re craving hurt/comfort or angst with a happy ending:

Thin Ice by Lydiagwilt- Ravonna deprives Loki of his Æsir glamour after a routine mission gone wrong. Mobius picks up the pieces.

Let’s Brave This Winter Storm Together by DewdropReader- Loki awakens in his Jotunn form, Mobius is there to help him through the panic.

honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago by preach_electric - Mobius takes Loki to visit Frigga.

Incredible by Ailendolin- Loki revisits a childhood memory with Mobius (more Frigga reunions).

For the Hope of it All by DewdropReader- Loki POV during Mobius’ pruning in season one and their Hug In The Void ™.

At The Doors of Valhalla by FistsForHire- Loki gets injured on a mission, briefly visits Valhalla and reconciles with his mother and father.

Close to Perfect by LoveThyEnemy- (Explicit) Loki sleeps with an almost-his-Mobius while searching for His-Mobius. Okay, okay this one is hurt/ no comfort, usually not my choice of reading material, but it’s so (heartbreakingly) beautifully written I had to include it.

If you’re craving sweetness:

Lokius - 30 Days of Domestic Fluff by Mimisempi- Collection of domestic fluff, can’t go wrong with Mimisempi.

Lokius Fluffuary by blackbirdofasgard- More fluff collections! Also can’t go wrong with blackbirdofasgard.

In your arms, I feel infinite by VagaryLove- Loki and Mobius spend a quiet day in bed, safe and tucked away from the outside world.

I'll Keep Your Secrets by LoveThyEnemy- (Mature) Loki and Mobius keep each others secrets, reflections on their love during their first time together.

What is love by Love_Is_Green- Loki reflects on the meaning of love (and how perhaps a dagger wasn’t the best metaphor; another gorgeous reflective piece).

Baby’s First Yuletide by Tears_and_smiles- Loki, Mobius and baby Frida spend their first Yuletide with Loki's family surrounded by love. I’m a sucker for a Lokius baby fic and this one hits all the surrounded by love feels.

stumble into love like a challenge above by RunnyYolk- Loki is distracted by Mobius’ cologne… first kiss and romantic declarations follow. (This fic is gorgeously written; more than my silly one sentence summary can describe)

Post- Season One Reunions

I will never tire of stories where Loki and Mobius find each other across universes or Loki returns Mobius’ memories.

You or Your Memory by Chamel- Loki works to restore Mobius’ memories.

when you love somebody till the end of time by thumbbird- Mobius finds His Loki (with the help of all the other Lokis).

Beneath the Stars by Tears_and_Smiles- Loki finds His Mobius.

Drømde mik en drøm (I dreamed a dream) by Mirilya- Mobius finds Loki also a Thor and Loki reunion fic!

our way, no take backs by dinosuns- Sylvie, Mobius, and Loki in the immediate aftermath of S1 (okay this one is just over 20K words).

I feel like these fics are only a sliver of the excellent fics I read in that time between season one and two. There are simply too many incredible stories to fit into one post! Speaking of, I tried really hard to only pick my favorites but honestly I could recommend the entire works of the authors listed here.

Happy reading!

[zapreportsblog]

❝HUSBAND❞

✭ PAIRING : Edward Cullen x Reader

✭ FANDOM : Twilight

✭ SUMMARY : When Edward proposed to Bella he expected her to accept after all they were mates? Right? Wrong! Bella rejected edwards proposal breaking his undead heart in the process, not being able to withstand the aftermath Edward leaves home; only to return 2 years later but this time he’s married?!

✭ AUTHORS NOTE : I already know there is a story on here called the same story with the same cover (on quotev at least) mines had been edited to a clearer form, (again on quotev) that was my old account, (marveluserlovesmarbel again on quotev was my old and very first account) one of my first actually. If I can remember the login information from it I’d log back in and post my stories from their over here but for now enjoy the remake of said story :)

✭ QUOTEV VERSION

✭ HUSBAND MASTERLIST

✭ CHAPTER THREE : The Storm

Tension filled the air as Bella confronted the newfound presence of (Y/n) in Edward's life. She blinked in disbelief, her voice quivering as she stammered, "My love? Since when did this happen?"

Edward, sensing the impending storm, attempted to walk away with (Y/n) and even gestured for her to go inside. But (Y/n) was resolute and didn't budge. She glared at Bella, her voice dripping with ice, as she asked, "Who are you?"

Bella retorted, her tone growing defensive, "I'm Edward's girlfriend, and who are you?"

(Y/n) didn't waste a moment, showing off her ring with a fiery glare. "I'm his wife."

Bella's eyes widened in shock at the revelation. The words hung heavily in the air, and she was momentarily at a loss for words. She looked to Edward for help, but he maintained a blank expression.

Sensing Bella's vulnerability, (Y/n) couldn't contain her anger any longer. She stepped forward, poking Bella's chest with each word, her voice seething with righteous fury. "You've got some nerve showing your face around here. You made your grave; now lay in it."

Without waiting for a response, (Y/n) turned away from Bella and walked over to her husband, Edward. She looked deep into his eyes, her love and passion evident, and then, she pulled him into a long, passionate kiss. It was a declaration of their bond and a clear message to Bella that she was no longer a part of Edward's life. Bella watched them with a mixture of jealousy and regret, realizing that she had lost Edward. But she wasn’t one to give up easily. With a huff she yanks over her car door looking back at the couple, “I’ll be back later Edward,” and with a slam of the door she pulls out of the Cullen’s drive way.

Emmett the ever so innocent “viewer” in all this snorts, “Women am I right?!”

┉

Inside the house, (Y/n) had stormed in, seething with anger and frustration. She couldn't believe that Bella had shown up and disrupted the peace she and Edward had found together. She muttered to herself, unaware of the growing intensity of her emotions.

"How could that wench come here and think all would be fine and dandy?" (Y/n) ranted, her voice filled with exasperation.

Unbeknownst to her, the lights in the house began to flicker erratically. The others in the room exchanged puzzled glances, noticing the unusual phenomenon. Emmett, always one to comment on such things, blurted out, "Yo, what's up with the lights?"

Edward, realizing that it was (Y/n)'s powers reacting to her emotional turmoil, excused himself and made his way to where she was venting her frustrations. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and whispered soothing words, "Love, it's going to be okay. Please, try to calm down. Your powers are reacting to your emotions."

(Y/n) took a deep breath, her anger gradually subsiding as she focused on Edward's calming presence. The lights in the house gradually steadied, no longer flickering. She turned to him, her eyes filled with remorse for causing such a disturbance.

Edward reassured her, "It's alright, my love. We'll figure this out together. Bella is no longer a part of my life, and you are the one I choose to be with. I love you."

(Y/n) nodded, her anger giving way to a sense of relief and the warmth of Edward's love. They held each other close, finding solace in their bond, and slowly the tension in the house began to dissipate.

As Edward held (Y/n) close against his chest, her anger continued to simmer. She mumbled softly, her voice filled with frustration, "I just don't like it. How can she come back here thinking she would be welcomed with open arms? After hurting you? After unknowingly hurting your family?"

Edward kissed her forehead gently, trying to offer reassurance. "It's okay, my love. We'll work through this."

But (Y/n) couldn't contain her anger any longer. Her emotions surged, and as she shouted in frustration, a light bulb above them suddenly burst, scattering glass fragments on the floor.

Startled by the sudden noise, Alice, who had been observing the situation from the doorway, took a step back. She glanced at the shattered light bulb and then at the two of them, her eyes wide with surprise. With an uncertain smile, she said, "I'll just come back later," and quickly walked away, leaving Edward and (Y/n) alone to deal with the aftermath of this emotional exchange.

As (Y/n) pulled back from their embrace, her guilt about scaring Alice was evident in her eyes. She whispered, "Oh no, I scared Alice. I have to go apologize."

Edward gently placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "No, what you need to do is calm down, love. Alice will be fine. She's a vampire, remember?"

(Y/n) wasn't easily consoled. She replied, "That doesn't mean I didn't frighten her, supernatural being or not."

Edward couldn't help but chuckle, his laughter resonating in the room. "That's what I love about you, my dear."

(Y/n) playfully smacked his shoulder, her worry still evident. "This isn't a laughing matter, Edward. I used my powers unconsciously, and look, I even broke that poor, innocent light bulb."

Edward continued to chuckle, the sound of his laughter filling the room. "You're right, love, but it's just a light bulb. We can replace it. Besides, I’m sure Alice will understand.”

(Y/n) sighed, unable to resist a smile at her husband's laughter and reassurance. She realized that even in moments of turmoil, his presence had a way of calming her, and she felt grateful for the love they shared.

[masterjedilenawrites]

List of books below, taken from the Star Wars wiki. Only included: Original Novels, Novel Adaptations, Script Books, and Young Adult Novels. Please no comments about books that are missing from the list... it is what it is.

The High Republic: Convergence - Zoraida Cordova

The High Republic: Path of Deceit - Tessa Gratton, Justina Ireland

The High Republic: The Battle of Jedha - George Mann

The High Republic: Path of Vengeance - Cavan Scott

The High Republic: Cataclysm - Lydia Kang

The High Republic: Into the Dark - Claudia Gray

The High Republic: Light of the Jedi - Charles Soule

The High Republic: The Rising Storm - Cavan Scott

The High Republic: Out of the Shadows - Justina Ireland

The High Republic: Tempest Runner - Cavan Scott

The High Republic: Midnight Horizon - Daniel Jose Older

The High Republic: The Fallen Star - Claudia Gray

The High Republic: The Eye of Darkness - George Mann

The High Republic: Defy the Storm - Tessa Gratton, Justina Ireland

The Vow of Silver Dawn - His Majesty the King

Dooku: Jedi Lost - Cavan Scott

Padawan - Kiersten White

Master & Apprentice - Claudia Gray

The Living Force - John Jackson Miller

Queen's Peril - E.K. Johnston

Queen's Shadow - E.K. Johnston

Inquisitor: Rise of the Red Blade - Delilah S. Dawson

Queen's Hope - E.K. Johnston

Brotherhood - Mike Chen

Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno

Thrawn Ascendancy: Chaos Rising - Timothy Zahn

Dark Disciple - Christie Golden

Thrawn Ascendancy: Greater Good - Timothy Zahn

Thrawn Ascendancy: Lesser Evil - Timothy Zahn

Ahsoka - E.K. Johnston

Thrawn - Timothy Zahn

Lords of the Sith - Paul S. Kemp

Tarkin - James Luceno

Most Wanted - Rae Carson

Solo: A Star Wars Story: Expanded Edition - Mur Lafferty

Rebel Rising - Beth Revis

Crimson Climb - E.K. Johnston

A New Dawn - John Jackson Miller

Jedi: Battle Scars - Sam Maggs

Lost Stars - Claudia Gray

Leia, Princess of Alderaan - Claudia Gray

Thrawn: Alliances - Timothy Zahn

Thrawn: Treason - Timothy Zahn

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story - Alexander Freed

Battlefront II: Inferno Squad - Christie Golden

Heir to the Jedi - Kevin Hearne

Doctor Aphra - Sarah Kuhn

Battlefront: Twilight Company - Alexander Freed

The Princess and the Scoundrel - Beth Revis

Alphabet Squadron - Alexander Freed

Aftermath - Chuck Wendig

Shadow Fall - Alexander Freed

Aftermath: Life Debt - Chuck Wendig

Victory's Price - Alexander Freed

Aftermath: Empire's End - Chuck Wendig

Last Shot - Daniel Jose Older

Poe Dameron: Free Fall - Alex Segura

Shadow of the Sith - Adam Christopher

Bloodline - Claudia Gray

Force Collector - Kevin Scinick

Phasma - Delilah S. Dawson

Star Wars: The Force Awakens - Alan Dean Foster

Galaxy's Edge: Black Spire - Delilah S. Dawson

Star Wars: The Last Jedi: Expanded Edition - Jason Fry

Resistance Reborn - Rebecca Roanhorse

A Crash of Fate - Zoraida Cordova

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker: Expanded Edition - Rae Carson

[shewroteaworld]

The Shewroteaworld Library

Published: 6/14/24

Last Updated: 12/20/24

Total Works: 8

Find me on ao3!

Reposting my work is NEVER okay. If you see any of my fics published on Tumblr or Archive of Our Own with a URL that is NOT shewroteaworld, it isn't me! Please let me know!

BROOKLYN NINE-NINE

JAKE PERALTA

Full-Length One-shots

How He Made You Feel (published: 7/21/24)

Right before the first sleepover of your romantic relationship, Jake puts a high school teacher behind bars for attempted sexual assault. The case brings up some difficult high school memories for you.

(Find this fic on ao3!)

CRIMINAL MINDS

AARON HOTCHNER

Full-Length One-shots

PCOS (published: 12/2/23)

You've been keeping a secret from your boyfriend. At the most inopportune time, it thrusts itself into the light. He doesn't have the reaction you feared.

The Aftermath (published: 4/25/24)

You're nearly killed on the job. Aaron is there to help you through the aftermath.

SPENCER REID

Full-Length One-shots

"Brilliant Sunshine!reader" Edition (aka fics featuring super smart, human-sunshine reader)

I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't (published: 9/30/23)

Brilliant sunshine!reader gets heat stroke on a case. Your best friend, Spencer Reid, is predictably worried about you. What he doesn't expect is to be forced to come to terms with his feelings for you.

Unsub Bait (published: 10/7/23)

For the fourth time, brilliant sunshine!reader is asked to bait the unsub. For the first time, Spencer has a problem with this.

Blurbs

Detached (published: 3/15/24)

You think you're alone in a storm of feelings. There's one person who won't let you get drenched in this downpour alone.

THE AMAZING SPIDER--MAN

PETER PARKER

Full-Length One-shots

Movie Date Migraine (published: 7/16/23)

On a movie date with Peter Parker, a migraine strikes you down. You don't want Peter to see you like this, but he refuses to let you go home alone.

And So, You Will (published: 12/20/24)

Premise: You have a difficult time coping after the 2024 US election; you're not sure how to perfectly react. Peter reminds you that you don't have to.

[dawneternal]

The Benevolent | Nine

☁︎ Eris x Healer OC

☁︎ notes: Thesan is my babygirl

minimal editing on this one cause I needed to just move forward 💛 it's kind of a short chapter but combined with the next one it was too long.

☁︎ warnings: angst, mention of injuries and grief, memories of under the mountain

☁︎ word count: 3.3k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ taglist: @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormysblog @mal-adaptive-dreams @daycourtofficial

The aftermath of the war was almost worse than the battle itself. It followed the soldiers home to the Dawn Court, haunted the doorways decorated with mourning feathers, and hung heavy like storm clouds over weary healers. There were far too many vacant stares on far too many faces. So many that Thesan began wondering if he should have never agreed to fight. The condolences he handed out were seemingly endless.

Of course, wishing to change the past was foolish. All he could do now was forge ahead, doing his best to lead his people out of the dark.

Even still, the guilt doubled in weight every time he passed Aya in the halls. That was the only time he saw her lately. She had yet to return to classes, had yet to make an appearance at a family meal. According to the guards, the only thing she did outside her room was pace the palace courtyards.

Thesan began to wonder what else was bothering her. Not that war couldn't be enough on it's own to rattle her, but it was like something had aged her. Something extra was hiding in her tired eyes, something not just haunted but heartsick. He would ask her himself, but she ignored every knock on her door. Svala was sent to her window with notes but always returned empty handed.

So, Thesan began an investigation. He sent inquiries to the healers that had been in charge of Aya's unit. He requested detailed reports of the battle. He sat in on the healer's classes, just to corner a few afterward and ask if they knew what had happened. It was nice to watch the healing sessions, anyways. They reminded him of his father.

For all his efforts, no one had an answer. It was beginning to seem as though the secret would be locked up with Aya forever. Until one timid healer caught him on the way out of the classroom, looking up at the High Lord with wide eyes as she spoke.

"It was the Autumn Heir," the healer said, a tremble in her voice, "Eris came into one of the tents and they spoke. I don't know what they said, but after he left Aya started crying. It was the only time she cried during any of the battles."

Thesan's fury was immediate, presenting itself as lightning cutting through the cheerful blue sky. He thanked the terrified healer with as kind of a voice as he could manage, making a note to send a message of apology later as he stalked away. He had half a mind to winnow to the Autumn Court and force the truth from Eris's mouth himself, feet moving mindlessly down the hall toward a winnow gate. But then he remembered he was a High Lord and he could not enter another court and throttle their Heir with his bare hands. Turning on his heel, he trudged back the other way, cursing Edana's infernal gift.

He willed the skies to calm, shrinking the storm clouds had been sculpted by his temper. In most things, Thesan was steady. Level. Ambivalent. But when it came to Aya, all of that melted away. The moment she had entered the world, he had named himself her protector. And the first time he had witnessed the way his aunt looked at Aya's wings, he knew that Aya would be fighting for her mother's love. But never from Thesan. He decided that she would never have to fight him for love or kindness or protection. He knew that his mother had decided the same thing. In that moment, Aya had become half theirs.

So Edana may have her secrets and her clever plans and all manner of cunning things up her sleeves. But there was plenty she did not know about Thesan, in return. If his family were to suffer because of what she'd done, then he would see to it that hers did, too.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Thesan stood outside Aya's door, waiting. He had knocked twice now, and had been meet with nothing but silence. Now his patience was wearing thin, wittled away by his worry and anger.

Once more, he knocked, followed with a growl,

"I command you as your High Lord to open this door."

There was a long pause as Thesan guessed she was trying to resist the command. But his power won out, a string of shuffling footsteps growing closer. The door swung open and revealed a frowning Aya. Beneath the fierce scowl, her face was thin and hollow, eyes underlined by deep bags. Her hair was tangled and messy, her oversized sweater rumpled.

"I want to talk to you," Thesan said, attempting to soften his voice.

Aya turned and stalked back to her bed, calling over her shoulder, "Fine, but don't bring the attitude with you. I'm not in the mood for it."

Thesan did as he was told, figuring that a command for a command was a fair trade. He swallowed the last of this fury before stepping through the doorway.

He took a moment to look around the room as he slipped off his shoes and set his staff against the wall. It had been a long while since he'd been in here. Aya had added to her decor, new plants hanging in sculpted pots, pictures and newspaper clippings tacked up above her desk. Sun catchers, trinkets, and ephemera littered every surface, the air scented like sage sticks and herbaceous candles. The room was bursting with Aya.

She did not look like the same vibrant girl who had filled this room with her collections, sitting on the bed wrapped in a quilt. Her wings made a bulky shape under the blanket, her peaked face poking out of the patchwork, all anger replaced with sadness. Perhaps that's why she hid herself away. An inability to keep that sorrow off her features for long. Usually, she hid her emotions with ease.

Thesan gingerly crawled onto the bed, sitting cross legged beside her. He waited a moment, seeing if she would speak first, but she remained quiet.

"I need you to be honest with me, Aya," He started, pausing as he stared straight ahead at a line of postcards going up the wall. The highest bottommost one was from before Amarantha, likely the last time Aya had traveled for leisure. It was dusty, like she did not even like to go near it while cleaning.

Aya heaved a deep sigh. She was still silent, but he could feel her resignation.

"Did something happen in the battle?" He prodded.

"It's always difficult to have my powers on display like that," She shrugged, eyes straight ahead, "For everyone to know what I can do."

"You know," He said slowly, "I've heard nothing but praise for your performance. I heard that you took an arrow dragging another healer off the field."

The quilt rustled and an arm poked out. She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a scar where an arrow had torn through her flesh.

"Of course they like me when I'm saving them," She spat. Though she'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Silence settled. Thesan did not know what to say to that. He waited until she was ready and spoke of her own volition.

"I held a soldier's head in my lap while he died. He asked me to tell his family that he loved them and he was sorry." Aya pursed her lips, gaze still far away as she spoke.

Thesan let out a noise like a growl, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall.

"Did you?" He asked, already knowing the answer. There was no universe where Aya would have denied that request.

"I did," She whispered.

Yet Thesan was sure that this wasn't it. As horrible as it may be, as horrible as she may feel over it, there was more. He could sense it, all of the things she was holding back. It was a delicate game and he could not push too hard.

“Should I not have agreed to fight?” He asked, instead of another prodding question, bearing the weight on his own chest.

“If we had given anything less than we did, Hybern would have won,” Aya gave a small shake of her head, “It's unfair to pay the price for doing the right thing. But that's the thing about war, I guess. Someone always pays.”

She was right, of course. That he knew what they were getting into. That some days, in the midst of putting back together his court, it felt as though there were no prize, even though their side had won the war. But the prize was their freedom.

Thesan and Aya sat side by side, neither speaking for a long time. He watched the sun wash an array of soft colors over the walls as it moved through the sky. He had almost forgotten where he was, what his goal was, soaking in the first quiet moment he'd gotten in a long time, when his cousin stirred beside him.

He did not expect her to slowly slump forward, her face crumpling as she buried it in her hands. Tears dripped through her fingers and onto the blanket. While Thesan was letting his mind still, a desire to confess was growing in Aya's mind. She didn't want to hold it all in, anymore. She felt as though this room was bursting with her sorrow.

"I think I did something very bad," She whispered finally, taking a shuddering breath.

"What is it?" Thesan's brows drew together, his worry rising. His fingers clenched and unclenched, restless without the comforting presence of his staff.

"I think I made a mating bond with my power," She said, her gaze cast down on the mess of blankets and pillows.

"What?" Thesan felt as though he'd been plunged under water, "Is that possible?"

"I haven't been able to find anything on it. But no one ever seems to know anything about my powers." She shut her eyes tight, a tear squeezing out of the corner.

"Who-" Thesan cleared his throat. "Who is it?"

Aya cast him a look, equal parts forlorn and scolding. Asking him not to make her say it. He already knew, she was certain.

"Did he feel it?" Thesan obliged, plowing ahead as though she had given him an answer. He did not exactly feel like saying that name out loud.

"No," Aya choked, "Definitely not."

“So you….” He paused, his mind beginning to wrap around what she was trying to say, “So a bond snapped, but only for you?”

The despair, settled so deeply in her features, was like a knife in Thesan's chest. So hard he had worked to ensure that nothing would ever pain her this way. But he could not fight fate, and he was no match for the Mother.

"I'm sorry, little bird." And he did mean it, no matter how he felt about Eris.

“I did not mean to,” Aya croaked, squeezing her eyes shut tight, “But I don't think I can undo it.”

She had tried to clip the golden strand between them, but it was solid like metal.

“Hush,” Thesan said softly, “Of course you didn't mean to. That doesn't mean you don't feel it all the same.”

Aya leaned into his side, letting her tears fall freely. Neither one of them cared much for physical affection, but Aya's sadness dragged her down like gravity. She needed his shoulder to hold her up, to keep her from falling into the chasm completely. Thesan stayed still, steady and willing to be her pillar.

Long moments passed, clouds floating by as Aya tried to put herself back together again.

"You're at a crossroads," Thesan said after a while, purple twilight beginning its descent in the sky outside the windows, "And you have a lot of decisions to make."

"I don't think there's anything to do," Aya said, her voice cracking.

"The future is in your hands, Aya," Thesan shook his head, "You can decide if you're going to tell him, or when. You can learn more about your powers. You can decide who you want to be after your world has changed so much."

Aya sat up straight again, her face streaked with dried tears. Her brows slowly drew together as she thought, carving wrinkles into her forehead.

"I don't think I could ever be anything but what I am."

A terrible feeling rose in Thesan's throat. They'd been down this road before, and he hated it every time. And yet every time, he could not help but try again.

"And what is it that you are?" He asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his tone.

Aya was quiet, words trapped behind pursed lips. She remembered how little he seemed to appreciate any answer she gave to this question.

A monster. A mistake. A mess.

"You've spent too long trying to be nothing," Thesan sighed.

"I am nothing," Aya replied, so simply and without hesitation, like it was a universal fact.

Thesan's eyes fluttered shut, hiding the way her words wounded him. Under the mountain, nothing he went through mattered as long as Aya was hidden. But Amarantha had still managed to take something from her. With every dose of faebane and every reminder of her pretend role, a piece of Aya's sense of self had been chipped away. This thing with Eris had been like the final blow.

Every night in that hellscape he had loosed a sigh of relief that another day had passed without Aya being dragged in by Amarantha's cronies. And at least in the Dawn Court, she was not in danger of her being tortured for amusement. But up here, she had been breaking all the same.

"Aya," He said fiercely, eyes opening to reveal a dangerous glow, "Even without your powers, you would not be nothing. Even without a mate, you would not be nothing. You will always be something special to me. You are -"

He choked on the words, pausing to clear his throat,

"You are my little sister."

Aya's face crumpled, a fresh wave of tears breaking through. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and buried her face in this chest. Thesan wrapped his arms around her as sobs shook her small frame, her wings shuddering with each breath. He swallowed the painful lump in his throat and blinked away the burning in his eyes.

Finally she pulled back and looked up at him, eyes watery, and said, "You are my brother. You always have been. I'll try, for you. I will make my choices."

"Good," He smiled and gave her hair a slightly awkward pat, still unused to the convention of hugs.

“Do you think I am awful for not telling him right away? I just need time.”

“No,” Thesan shook his head, “I would probably make the same choice. Many want to wait until the bond snaps for the other. And you are still a whole person without him.”

He watched as Aya chewed her lip, eyes glazing over as she delved into her thoughts. He had read her plight correctly. It was not just grief, and she was heartsick. And it was all the more clear, that longing radiating from her. The pain that coursed through her body with every beat of her heart. He had no doubt that her back and wing pain must be flared up from all of this stress. Yet another reason for hiding away. She was but always met with understanding for this invisible pain, even by other healers.

A little pang of sadness hit him with the idea that she was truly grown up. Aya had a mate, and her heart belonged to him.

“You care for him, though?” Thesan said, a little cautiously, needing to hear it for himself, “You want him as a mate?”

Aya's chin wobbled a bit, her shoulders drooping and Thesan winced at the pain his question had caused.

“Very much,” She whispered. After a moment she gathered herself and took a deep breath.

"As for the other stuff,” Aya sat back against her headboard, wiping away the remainder of her tears again, “Where do I start?”

"I think you should let go of your guilt," He began.

Aya smiled to herself. Thesan had an affinity for three-part plans. If she had to guess, he had two more suggestions to follow.

"Because whether or not you actually made a bond, you did not mean to," He continued, "And then I think you should see Rhysand."

"Rhysand?" Aya furrowed her brows, bewildered.

"Yes. I think it's possibly he may have some information about your powers. If not, he does have that library."

"But why Rhysand?"

"He is also mated," Thesan added quietly, and Aya's stomach flipped over at the idea of confessing her situation to someone else. "And the alternative is the Day Court."

They grimaced in unison, at that. Helion seemed to view their reserved personalities as a challenge. The more quiet they were, the more outrageous his teasing and flirting became. Neither cousin was feeling up to dealing with his attempts to "crack them open", as the High Lord of Day liked to say.

"Would you be going with me?" Aya asked, her thoughts shifting toward the Night Court.

"I think the visit would be more productive if you went on your own," Thesan said, thinking of how difficult it was to shed the layer of professionality he had developed as High Lord. And the way Aya tended to draw out the vulnerable side of whoever she spoke to. Then his face softened into something tender and he said, "But if you'd like some company to get a mourning feather, I will happily go with you."

A mourning feather. Aya had not considered that idea, but it eased a bit of the tightness in her chest. One of her feathers, changed by magic, to grow in ink-black from that point on to represent and honor a loss. They were appearing in greater numbers these days, some leaders having whole rows changed, stark stripes against their naturally light feathers.

"Yes, please." Aya whispered, swallowing that incessant lump in her throat.

A silence settled again, this time so much lighter, Aya's confessions dancing in the air like dust through beams of light. Her heart felt a little less heavy. She breathed in deep, filling the cavity of her chest, and with the exhale she tried to release at least a small piece of her guilt.

"I am sorry," Thesan said. Aya turned toward him, questioning. "I am sorry for underestimating your powers."

Aya frowned. She had always been so honest with him. She thought they were on the same page.

“I knew that I was underestimating you. I downplayed your magic in my mind because I was afraid.”

“I have always been afraid,” Aya whispered. She would agree to learning more about her powers, but she was not quite ready to commit to doing something with them.

“But I think we both know it's time to see who you could become.”

"You knew I could get through your wards, didn't you? You weren't surprised when you confronted me after the High Lord's meeting."

"Yes," He smiled, "I did know that. And I knew you could read people well, but I ignored it and I'm sorry. It would have been helpful during that meeting. You could have told me all kinds of things."

A grin spread on Aya's face, and for a moment all of her despair disappeared. Thesan hid his relief with an exaggerated groan and a roll of his eyes.

"Fine, just say it." He sighed.

"I told you so," Aya sang, emphasizing each word with a wiggle of her finger.

"Whatever," Thesan said, very un-High-Lord-like, and slid off the bed. He grabbed his staff and shoes, and said over his shoulder, "Get ready. I'll be back in ten minutes and then we're going out."

"Where are we going?"

"Pastries," Thesan scoffed, as if she should have known, "Of course.”

[amethystfairy1]

It's been a few hours and I'm still feeling mildly crazy

I kind of want to reread everything right now but my sleep schedule wouldn't like that so...

Anyways, I cannot get "Seven Years Running" and the before- and aftermath out of my head

Practical questions before rants though: how would Gem be affected if she were to run out of magic strength? I assume it wouldn't be as bad as Scar has it seeing as he was basically incapable of supporting his own weight and staying concious?

Also, roughly how long will it take to get to the spirit well? (I think that's what it's called... the thing in Elven Territory where elves can recharge) Because right now I'd say Scar needs to get there asap but also it's still a ways away from Silversvale if my mental map is right, and they haven't even reached that yet

But yeah to the rant I'm kind of insane about the entire thing, but that part (Seven Years Running) specifically just gets to me

Especially the fact that everything went wrong just like that. Like, we killed the Duke, were comforting the birb, everything was fine and dandy, and then it was like helplessly watching a series of ever-larger dominoes knock the next over until it culminated in that "Not you" and my heart broke

It felt a bit better after realising that, for Grian, this was amazing actually! Setting a boundary firmly, especially after the *gestures vaguely* everything, and not backsliding is such a good sight

I mean the "killing the Duke" part was amazing. "On the other side of the storm" is so well written, and so satisfying and I think there's two (metal) images that just- they just do it for me, y'know? I think they'll stick with me a while. First one is of Mumbo, bathed in shadows, casually pursuing Freemere without batting an eye (the shadows 'weeping' across the outer wall- like, how?? What?? That's so. Good.)

The second is Scar-as seen from outside the Swaggon (Swagon?)- holding Grian so gently, seeing Mumbo hesitate and glance up at him because he doesn't want to let his instincts take over, and then just... raising a hand to summon his magic and bury the duke alive

Like- it's so vivid and it's beautiful

Also probably one of the reasons I love Scar so much (what is it with me and guilty characters?? TTSBC Scott's my favourite and TT it's Scar and Martyn) (tbf they only overtake the others by a tiny amount) (but it's an interesting pattern)

Speaking of guilt... man, I'm so glad I didn't have to wait for that whole mess to get at least somewhat sorted (they're getting there, I believe) because I would've cried (even more)

It's so miserable because the more povs came up, the sadder it got... Mumbo was so confused and then upset, Gem was just confused and concerned in general, Pearl was going through a hell of a lot of emotions, Grian... Grian was going through that but in two different directions, and Scar was so out of it that he genuinely didn't even notice and then the ball dropped and- yeah. It was rough

I mean the fact that you managed to juggle around so many issues and viewpoints and still have it make sense is a crazy feat!! Super impressive

There's the rant- second one of the day, sorry about that lmao

At least this one's coherent

I LOOOOOOVE THIS KIND OF STUFF!

GIMME GIMME GIMME!

I love seeing people give me their play-by-plays of reading through my works, especially one of my favorites like Seven Years Running is! Thank you so much for this! I'm so glad you enjoyed it so much!!! Please don't apologize, I LOVE this sort of thing! Send more if ever you feel like it, they're soooo much fun!

(Edit: I just realized I didn't answer the questions I just got excited about the fun rants 😭 You're correct! Gem wouldn't be affected as badly as Scar if she ran out of magical strength, she would operate like a human in that case. She's also worked on her swordsmanship and strength to the point that she can still be very deadly even without the use of her magic! How long would it take to get to the Elven Spirit Well? That's spoilers my friend...but I will say it's not geographically super far, it's right inside the Elven Territory past the mountains!)

[dangerousblizzarki]

🎬Total Drama Action🎬

Episode 12: "The Aftermath II"

"You think Julia might be looking at the stars now?" - 🏒

"You can do better than that." - 🏹

I wanna get this out before I go on a break again.

-----

Context Below: Time to be cringe once again :D

Just to clear things up, No Axel and Bowie aren’t romantically involved with Wayne here. There also isn’t any love triangle happening or at least the seeds for it being planted.

Why did I use Axel exactly?

* The only other option left is Millie. MK, Nichelle, and Lauren are on the other team. While Emma and Priya are out of the game at this point.

* I haven't used her that much yet.

I apologize for any grammatical mistake or typo that I might've made below, and if this isn't worded that well.

—--

The cast (especially Bowie) simply isn’t fond of Wayne and Julia’s budding relationship mostly due to how unbearable the latter was to be with when they got to stay with her last season at the resort as she got out of the game midway. (late pre-merge)

Since Julia got kicked off very early this time in a double elimination (along with Chase) for simpky not being liked, the cast thought that this was the perfect time to warn Wayne about being with her as he wasn’t able to witness exactly how she was at playa for making a considerably deep run last season.

Bowie coming from a place of concern as the boyfriend of Raj, who is Wayne’s best friend, orchestrates a plan on how they could get him to lose interest in her as he doesn't want him to go through any potential mistreatment from her like they did.

Normally, Bowie doesn't meddle with the relationships of other people nless he can get something out of it or it concerns someone he has connections with.

and maybe the thought of potentially having to attend double dates with the person he hates the most was enough for him to hurl.

—--

Now come the images. As Wayne was thinking about Julia, Axel was simply not having it anymore. As his friend and the only person left who has the guts to tell him directly what the cast thought of her, told him that a guy as nice as him shouldn’t waste his time on someone like her and he deserves someone much nicer. (Much like in canon, Wayne is well liked while Julia is despised so that greatly affects how they see the pair in this AU.)

Wayne retorts that there’s something more to her that they just haven't seen yet. (Hence the Basic Straining edits)

The second image is Julia finally catching onto what the cast was trying to do, which also sets up her more ruthless approach to the game and to the rest of the cast when she returns.

And the final image is Bowie realising what he’s done after witnessing Julia storming off.

Okay that'll be all. See you in a few weeks at the minimum👋

-----

Reference:

[ckret2]

Seeing tidbits about this character called VENDOR in your asks and while I know nothing about THEM, I do wonder why THEIR pronouns are THEY and not IT?

(I just know that I leap at the chance to give artificial/manufactured sentient creatures it/its pronouns as a little extra oomph of alien-ness, another step of removal from what most sentient creatures recognize as identity. So maybe I should answer my own question and say 'personal taste')

(Also any news on updates for the Ao3 version? I'm an Ao3-only goober I'm sorry if you've answered this question before)

I have another nonhuman character in the same plot arc who uses it/its pronouns—a sentient storm cloud—and it got added to the story first so I gave it pronouns first. And I wanted to shuffle up which pronouns each character uses, so the next genderless character that showed up got they/them.

I had to write the plot arc I'm currently posting to tumblr out of order—usually I'm 15+ chapters ahead of what I've posted, but my plans for this plot arc were completely upended by TBOB (it's a plot about the aftermath of the massacre of Bill's dimension, so like, you can imagine how it'd be really easy for TBOB to upset things), which means instead of writing chapters 15 weeks ahead, I'm writing them like 1 week ahead and editing them like 2 days ahead. Also, this plot arc has a lot of convoluted sci-fi worldbuilding and politics, and writing it has felt like trying to give birth to a Jeep.

So because of this plot arc specifically, there's no spare time left in my life to edit chapters for AO3. So unfortunately it's probably gonna be a few more weeks. Once I'm back to chapters I've already written, I hope to have time to edit and post to AO3 again.

[gravehags]

dreadful need in the devotee - the natalie edit

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x OC (Curator!OC)

Rating: Mature

Tags: drunkenness, soft copia, general aching sweetness, slight horniness

Words: 1,676

Summary: Taking shots from Terzo is probably a bad idea, right? The cardinal helps take care of her in the aftermath.

a/n: this is the first installment in what i'm calling the natalie edit - essentially all the fics under my curator reader series category reworked with the OC that developed in my head midway through writing this series - natalie sinclair. lmk what yall think.

~~~

He’s never seen her like this before.

Granted, she’s only been working at the abbey for almost five months so it’s not saying much, but he likes to think he knows her better than anyone else here. Over those five months she and him have become close, particularly after Imperator directed him to assist her in her quest to curate the abbey’s art collection. It’s a daunting task, but her enthusiasm for the subject was infectious, as was the bright grin that always graced her features whenever she made some new, exciting discovery. Before her, he barely interacted with anyone else apart from his fratelli and Sister Imperator, and her presence has felt like a refreshing rain storm after a long stretch of sweltering, oppressive loneliness. He’s invigorated by her and her anxious energy, as if she emanates some sort of force field that draws him in.

Perhaps drawing him in in more ways than one.

Copia shakes off the thought and sets down his glass of chianti, returning his attention to what she is currently occupied with. Terzo has just passed her a shot of something dangerous Copia suspects comes from the Ministry’s own stills and she, having completely shaken off her mantle of shyness, accepts with aplomb. Copia winces as she downs the concoction, mirroring the slight gagging motion she makes. He knows the stuff all too well, thanks to Terzo in their youth. Secondo roars with laughter behind him, two siblings clinging to his sides, while Primo sits in the corner smiling and shaking his head. She performs a deep, if wobbly, curtsy, an electric grin twisting her flushed cheeks. When Terzo pulls her in for an intimate side hug to murmur something in her ear as siblings around her laugh and cheer, a bubble of jealousy surfaces in Copia’s belly. Whatever Terzo says to her makes her blush deeper and roll her eyes, shoving him away as he laughs jovially.

What he wouldn’t give to make her blush like that for him.

Copia, mood slightly soured, turns to leave the area when in an instant, she is by his side.

“Cardinale,” she says, swaying slightly towards him with bright eyes. “Are you leaving?”

He reaches backwards to a bookshelf where he had placed his biretta and favors her with a soft, apologetic smile.

“Eh, sì. I think it’s time.”

For a moment she looks devastated, then in a moment of panicked clarity, she places a hand on his arm.

“Me too,” she whispers conspiratorially. “Please get me out of here before Terzo gives me another one of those shots, that shit almost killed me.”

Her hushed confession makes him chuckle and before he can respond, she’s ushering him out of the room with her hand on the small of his back, making the tips of his ears turn pink. Once the both of them finally escape out the door and down the hall, she lets out a dramatic heaving sigh and collapses against the cool stone wall.

“Cardinal,” she says, eyes focused on something over his shoulder.

“Sì, cara mia?” He chances the endearment he’s been dying to gift upon her from the moment they met.

She refocuses back on him at his words and oh, the way her cheeks flush all the way across her chest. Take that, Terzo, Copia thinks triumphantly.

“Take me back to my rooms? I…don’t think I can find my way.”

He grins slightly and nods as she links her arm with his and he guides her further down the hall. The journey up several flights of stairs and down several more hallways is quiet, punctuated by the occasional loud hiccup from the brunette on his arm. He knows that silence from her all too well now - she’s contemplating something. She absentmindedly rubs at the red wool of his sleeve with her thumb and more than once, she leans into him as if she’s about to say something.

But she remains silent.

When they arrive at her rooms, she lets out a dramatic sigh and turns to him with a pout.

“Help me,” she whines, gripping his sleeves and dragging him towards the door.

“Sì, sì, I will help you. Ah…keys?”

She fumbles around with the small jeweled crossbody bag she brought to the party, doing a concerning amount of rummaging for such a small capacity item. Finally she emerges triumphant, presenting her room keys to him with a flourish. Delicately, he removes them from the tangle of her fingers and opens the door. She pushes past him only slightly in her eagerness to be inside the comfort of her own rooms, and the first thing she does is remove the heels she’s worn for the evening, violently flinging them across the room. He winces as he hears something crash and fall.

“I was not built for that shit,” she grouses, now stomping barefoot into the center of the room, where she stands and sways for several minutes.

“Eh, bed?” Copia provides helpfully, gesturing to the closed door on his right.

“Damn straight,” she announces, stumbling slightly over to the door and opening it.

Copia’s been in her quarters before. After checking in on her one night and finding her crying and homesick, she had let him in and the two of them bonded on her couch about the inherent loneliness of the abbey. That was the first time she had hugged him, a deep crushing thing filled with so much emotion it nearly made him faint. He didn’t wash that cassock for a week after that, too content to smell her perfume on it til it faded to nothingness. He has not, however, been in her bedroom.

He follows her in and takes in the surroundings - it’s a decent size, with a queen bed in the center and a dark wooden dresser. The first thing he notices is the walls are covered in art - no surprise there - and he smiles at the subject matter. Devils, witches, and temptresses decorate ornate frames she had likely found in various storage rooms in the abbey. He may make a sister of sin out of her yet. He’s so lost in his thoughts that for a moment he doesn’t notice how she moves to strip down in front of him. When he sees her begin to slide the straps of her dress down he starts with an exclamatory noise.

“Cara!” he shouts hoarsely, causing her to jump. “Not here!”

She looks confused for a moment before he looks around behind him and spots a black sleep chemise crumpled on the duvet. He grabs it and thrusts it into her hands before ushering her into the adjacent bathroom. She doesn’t protest, but Copia does spot the mischievous curl of her lips as she shuts the door behind her. When she has been safely secured away from his gaze he returns his attention to the room. Shuffling over to her dresser he begins to pick up and study the tchotchkes she has collected - various pointed crystal towers, a little ceramic pig, some kind of small animal skull, and – oh. Her perfume sits innocently amidst the clutter, the decorative bottle calling to him. Copia looks over his shoulder before picking it up and inhaling deep. He bolsters himself so he doesn’t collapse against the foot of her bed, but he feels almost as intoxicated as she is upon smelling its contents. He’s ashamed to admit how much it affects him, once again glancing over his shoulder as he adjusts himself through the abundant material of his cassock. Copia does not wear deviancy as easily as Terzo. He’s about to chastise himself for being a pervert when her bathroom door flies open. When he turns to see her, he exhales shakily.

Maybe he should have grabbed different pajamas.

She struts out towards him, the silk of her nightgown shining in the low light of the room, and gives him what can only be described as a sultry look before flinging herself on the duvet. His throat is dry as he regards her reclining on the material, writhing slightly in an attempt to get cozy, causing his thoughts to wander and darken. When she finally gets comfortable, she looks up at him from under her dark lashes and he turns slightly to hide the hardening of his cock. Her movements have caused the hem of her chemise to ride up her body, exposing the meat of her thigh and the large shape of a tattoo there to his gaze.

He didn’t even know she had a tattoo there.

“Eh, goodnight.” He moves to make a rapid exit from her bedroom but she grabs his sleeve with impressive speed, pulling him back to sit next to her on the bed. Copia knows his cheeks are violently red as she takes his gloved hand in hers and squeezes it. He looks at her askance and practically melts at the soft way she regards him.

“Il mio cardinale,” she murmurs, and before he can say anything she’s brought his hand to her mouth, kissing the gloved knuckles in an echo of the way he introduced himself to her all those months ago. All he can bring himself to do is nod and she smiles warmly at him, looking more sober now than she has all evening. 

“You’re always so good to me,” she says simply, making his heart swell.

“You’re easy to be good to,” Copia manages to whisper in response. The gleam in her eyes makes him feel exhilarated. Brave. The boldness she has inspired causes him to lean down and softly kiss her forehead, lips lingering on her skin.

“Buona notte, Natalia.”

He moves to pull away but she’s got her hand on his cheek in a breath, brushing her lips to the point of his neatly trimmed sideburns.

“Buona notte, Copia.”

When he finally brings himself to leave her bedroom, and then her quarters, he is bursting with radiant light. He wants to sing, to scream, to cry all at once. 

Take that, Terzo, indeed.

[monkeydluffy19920]

“I’m swimming in the smoke,  Of bridges I have burned,  So don’t apologize, I’m losing what I don’t deserve”

This  project was originally planned as a draft for the SaNami week 2021 (although the prompts were not even revealed yet back then *laughs* but then time came across and this was left to the drafts).  Later I happened to open this unfinished project after a long while and decided it should be done and frankly spoken it was left again to the drafts as a half finished “test” version because I thought it was missing something (like subtitles but my old and crusty editing program was not co-operating :d) but now I decided it’s meant to be like this *laughs*

One of the reasons to pick this certain Linkin Park’s song was because its one of my all time favorites plus these lyrics seem to fit so well especially for the Sanji vs Luffy fight and it’s aftermath. Although the focus is on Sanji, this also became a little mixed version of both SaNami and LuSan (since WCI arc offered a lot for both from shipping’s perspective).

The chorus resonates very well with Sanji’s inner struggle of mixed feelings during the Tea Party he was dragged into. Gladly, this arc offered a huge opportunity for Sanji to have character improvement that he indeed needed.

As seen from the clips, this amv has the focus on the chapters 844 and 851 which are pretty much the turning points of the Totto Land arc plotwise and places for Sanji’s character developments. As fans have pondered before, this ac greatly highlighted Sanji’s tendency of putting everyone else before him. Sanji sincerly believed for a long time that by sacrificing himself he could spare his crew (just like Robin did back in Enies Lobby tried to save Straw Hats by putting her head on the place).

Although it was heartbreaking to see Sanji being betrayed by the one he thought he could rely on this arc (Pudding who was also pretty much tricked into this mess) it really was necessary for him to realize it was all a vicious plan built by Judge Vinsmoke and Big Mom and that Sanji was just a pawn in all that. He also forgot that his captain is the most stubborn one in the whole universe but honestly all Sanji needed in this arc was this wake up call and a kick from a butt from Luffy to remind that he is much more worthy than he thinks.

The “reversed video”-effect  that was is Nobody it was easy (Luffy vs Sanji) amv made a little comeback and also I tried to draw focus some symbolism that Oda-sensei used as well in this arc i.e how the rain turned into a lightning storm and how he struggled to light his cigarette during his deepest moment of frustration (where he would’ve needed comfort the most) and in the end the rain ruins the fire and he realizes he hit the rock bottom and probably really thinks that “doesn’t deserve his nakamas”.

Gladly he did though and although this arc was great, it felt like it could stretch to have even more potential (i.e Oda-sensei could have given Nami and Sanji a proper reconciliation where they could have share their thoughts and explain each other). Shipwise this arc was very interesting from the beginning to the end and like in many reviews and posts, I think Oda-sensei did great work in general.

Not only by making Nami the badass fighter she deserves to be but also he did give Sanji and Nami potential to get their moments and even topped it up first with this dramatic emotional slap and later he made them reconcile by making Nami hug Sanji with teary eyes.

Shipwise Nami and Sanji have had a steady and balanced development throughout the series but the Whole Cake Island arc did give the vibe that although Oda-sensei wants to put the focus on nakamaship and chasing dreams, he does indeed tease fans with canon ship-material.

Anyway, shortly said, here you go, a new video. Hope you like it :)

[nashcandream]

WIP Sunday: Gale and Lennox Fanfiction

A few notes from the echo chamber: 

My storyline follows Gale post the events of the game, reunion included. We’re talking a year since his return to Waterdeep. This story does NOT include a Tav or current romance partner for Gale. He is trying to have a “normal” life in Waterdeep, whatever that means. He does not have the crown, is not the Chosen of Mystra (or at peace with her), and is working through his shit the best he can. I was inspired to write a moodier aftermath Gale and a wizard character I originally created to be a Tav honestly works out better as Not-A-Tav. And I am really into the idea of Gale not getting his sunshine and roses at the end of events of the game. It might sound like I am making him suffer erroneously but I feel like he has more room to grow. And I want to see him do so under different circumstances and for different reasons.

Also, things might be a little confusing because I am using the name Lennox for this character, too. (What do you mean, too? Well, you have to look at my profile to understand this. It’s confusing. I’m confusing. I’m sorry. I just shifted from Dylan to Lennox. Because Dylan was part of a much older identity and Lennox is more in-line with what is current. Non-binary trans identity issues you didn’t ask for but are now part of!)

This is a work in progress and I mean that. This is barely even edited. This is “I wrote 2545 words of fanfic and I want to share it despite the ROUGH state it’s in”. Just please, please keep that in mind. I haven’t written fanfic in, like, decades. I said 10 years in a previous post but we’re talking more like 20. I am older than I think I am. I am not looking for criticism or critiquing at this time. Thank you. <3 

Well, without further ado…

Chapter One (Untitled Fanfiction, 2k+ word count)

When the storm finally passed and the sun broke through, the students finally found themselves with reason to leave. Toward the end of the session, one had been reduced to tears and the other was seriously questioning whether he did, in fact, have what it takes to be a wizard. Rather than risk further upsetting the tutor, or professor, as he preferred, the students solemnly departed the cold tower. Once outside, they lamented to each other how strenuous the lesson had been and that surely this man was a sadist, expressing shock and dismay that he might be their only hope to advance beyond the initiate level.

Gale Dekarios was simply surprised it took the storm ending for the students to leave. Surely, by now, these students were capable of conjuring some sort of protection against the elements? Both of their inability to tackle even a simple downpour weighed on his mind as he aggressively erased the day's lecture from the board; higher up, a mage hand also angrily scrubbed away the day, chalk dust falling like dirty snowflakes onto Gale’s jacket and hair. Hopeless. The youth of magic is hopeless and the future is bleak. He tossed the eraser into its bin before sinking into his desk chair, both he and the worn leather groaning. 

Gale leaned back and closed his eyes, his arms folding over his chest; in that moment of calm, reality snuck up like a snake. He jolted forward, as if suddenly unable to breathe. One year. One year to the day. Not since the abduction, no. But since the return. How had he not realized this when waking this morning? For that matter, when did he wake? When did he last sleep more than a few hours at a time? When was the last time he could rest without being plagued by nightmares? Each time he closed his eyes, a different horror lurked in the darkness, memories of walking, waking hell. Of devils and demons, of cults and madness, of death. The incredible amount of death. A wave of nausea rolled over Gale as he thought of decaying, rotting flesh, old blood and broken bones.  

And yet, he reminded himself, he survived. The world is quite literally saved. And he helped save it. Considering the year of solitude and disgrace leading up to months culminating in great acts of heroism, Gale should be proud. Or so he thought. But all he felt was anger. Frustration. Paralyzing and inescapable fear. Anxiety and aggression that threatened to boil over at any moment. Great sadness often washed over him, body and soul, and it would be days before he could get out of bed again. But any sense of accomplishment for saving the lives of millions never seemed to find him since returning home.

Three-hundred and sixty-five days exactly. And here he was, once again in his tower. The city hummed to life again since the storm had passed. There was shouting in the street, children calling for their friends, parents calling for their children. Life continues, he thought, with or without us. He had changed and the city of Waterdeep remained as she always had been, The City of Splendours.Too bitter a taste to swallow. Gale mentally cursed the day, straightening his posture, and returned to the notebooks on his desk. He, too, must weather the storm and return to the mundane. The trivial. The trite essays of students in sore need of discipline and basic reading comprehension. 

Stress was ever-present and unforgiving, emitting from Gale like a beacon of fire. Six months ago, Gale attended a fraught reunion of souls; the group of misfits that found themselves together on an arduous, tadpole-infested journey. Everyone had been pushed to the brink of sanity and coping seemed near impossible. The gathering was a welcome respite and resentful reminder of all that had been gained and lost. Of the loneliness and uncertainty that awaited Gale upon his inevitable return to Waterdeep. Leaving his, for lack of a better word, friends for a second time felt like a noose around his neck.

Thankfully, his despair had not gone unnoticed and it was Shadowheart who offered the simplest, but most effective, suggestion: find something normal to do and just do it. She explained her own readjustment period during their time apart, how grounding herself in the present kept her from drowning in the past. Shadowheart, her chickens, and her garden. She had found something normal, something ordinary, and was thriving. Find something normal. And just do it. Gale called on this energy as he pushed through the assignments before him. 

Had he been less preoccupied, Gale might have heard a knock downstairs, the footsteps on the creaking stairs, or even the sound of someone clearing their throat for the first time. He did not, however, and it took a polite but firm, “Mr. Dekarios?” to pull Gale from his thoughts. The image before him was jarring, if only because he was not expecting any more students for the day. Even if he had, this person was not one of them. 

“You are not one of my inept pupils,” He stated bluntly, clearly annoyed at the unwarranted interruption. The person before him seemed bemused but smiled, steadfast in their actions. A little too confident for someone Gale has no desire to speak with.

“No, I am not.” The stranger took several steps forward, closing the gap between themselves and Gale’s desk, one hand extended and the other wrapped firmly around a soft briefcase. “My name is Lennox Monroe; it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dekarios.” 

“That has yet to be seen, Mx. Monroe.” Gale considered ignoring the gesture for a moment but caught Tara’s eye from the hall and thought better of it. With a resounding sigh, he accepted their firm handshake. A single nod to the seat in front of him was all the indication Lennox was given to sit and continue the conversation. And so they did. “I should tell you now, Mx. Monroe,” Gale warned, once Tara was out of earshot, “I do not have availability in my schedule for another student. Please tell whomever sent you from the Academy to relay this information to the rest of staff. If there is nothing else..” His hand swept toward the door, and Gale returned to grading, his quill scratching assertively.

Lennox maintained their composure and, with every ounce of being, kept their face from reacting. On the inside, Lennox was confused and bewildered but also…a little amused at Gale’s reception. This is The Gale of Waterdeep, they thought, fighting the urge to chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Chalk dusted his jacket and vest, and appeared nestled in his graying brown hair. The loose, messy bun only complimented the shadows beneath his eyes, the stains of tea on the cuff of his shirt. He sat in stark contrast to Lennox’s warmth and cleanliness; blush skin, black and soft gray waves, bold green eyes, dressed neatly in black and gray. 

Their age was indiscernible and for a moment, Gale thought Lennox was quite a bit younger. The more he examined the unflinching figure with their determined but bemused expression, the more years he saw. Time was hidden at first, made difficult to interpret largely in part to the markings on Lennox’s face. They did say their name was Lennox Monroe, correct? What a strange combination of names. Gale exhaled, curious as to why they had not left and why their expressions were interrupted by strange scars and tattoos. He almost missed their nose ring and black framed glasses. And were they wearing heaving earrings or were the ornate embellishments somehow braided into their hair? Body modifications such as these were a fashion Gale never quite understood. What exactly was happening here?

“I assume by Academy, you mean Blackstaff?” Lennox laughed, their head shaking to suggest the opposite. “I promise you, I am in no way affiliated with The Academy.” 

Irritated but intrigued, Gale raised his head and leaned back in his chair. “Alright, you have my attention. If you aren’t another student hell-bent on failing their program, why exactly are you here? And try to keep this brief, Mx. Monroe. I have the future of magic waiting for me.” He gestured toward the heavily marked and corrected papers before him.

They straightened and exhaled slowly, attempting to find the right words for the situation. Lennox had a plan before entering but that was before meeting Gale and observed his abilities. Carefully, Lennox nodded toward the array of chalkboards behind him that were scrawled to bursting with research and theory for some unknown bit of spellwork. “Before we begin, is that your work?” They asked carefully. Gale looked back toward the mess with the briefest of smiles, a hint of pride dancing across his wrinkled expression.”It is,” Lennox internally groaned but held their tongue as his gaze snapped back to them . “What exactly do you want exactly, Mx. Monroe? I do not want to have to ask a third time.”

Resigned to the fact that no other option had presented itself in years, Lennox bit the bullet with a brilliant smile. “I am here for a different opportunity, Mr. Dekarios-”

“Professor Dekarios.” His amendment tightened Lennox’s expression but they continued. This man had become their only hope.

“Professor Dekarios,” They corrected themselves, “I am here to offer my services as an apprentice to you as a senior wizard,” Lennox opened their briefcase and began pulling out documents and a leather-bound journal. “If I can just have a few moments of your time to go over my background and thesis, I think you will find-” Lennox stopped as Gale’s hand flew upward, indicating to them to do so. Their eyes narrowed at the gesture

“Mx. Monroe, I am not interested in mentoring any student at the apprentice level. I have neither the time nor patience to educate an individual through their exams. I barely have time outside my own research for the pupils I am contractually obligated to serve through the Academy. I thank you for your interest and I can understand why you sought me out but my talents are better suited to personal study.” He explained curtly, once again implying for Lennox to take their leave. They seemed determined, however, much to Gale’s dismay.

“I understand your time is valuable,” Lennox agreed, “But I think you will find this situation, my situation to be unique. I do not need a traditional mentor at this stage in my education. I have advanced my studies to near completion.” They took a deep breath, explaining, “What I need is more of an academic advisor. Someone to get me through the paperwork. Someone…someone who will sponsor my thesis and eventual dissertation. A senior wizard has to sponsor me or I can’t advance. I am not here for you to hold my hand, Professor Dekarios. I am here to complete my education in good standing.” There was a sense of urgency and desperation in the firmness of their request. 

Gale looked at Lennox in slight disbelief and curiosity. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. You failed out of whatever program you were in before,” Lennox began to protest and Gale raised a hand to silence them once more. “Now you want me to ‘advise’ you over the finish line? After how many years, exactly?” When Lennox began to explain, he shut them down a final time. “No, No. Mx. Monroe, I have no idea what you are up to but I want no part in it. There are plenty of lesser wizards who can help you with your request.” Gale stood. The finality of the conversation apparent, Lennox came to her feet, snatching the briefcase closed with one swift motion. 

“You really won’t hear me out, will you?” Lennox asked knowingly.

“I truly do not have the time. Or care.” Gale added, solidifying his stance. 

“Well, that makes this next part a lot easier,” Lennox commented quietly, looking down. For the first time, it was as if their entire body relaxed and something in them shifted. The presence of mind to remain composed evaporated. When their head jolted back up, Lennox’s expression had changed entirely. No longer welcoming, warm, and ready to place nice. They were now angry…pissed off, even. His words rang against the confines of her mind, “You failed out of whatever program you were in before….You failed….You failed.” The embers of a roaring fire had been stoked. Gale took a step back, confused by the abrupt departure of Lennox’s easy smile. A steely-eyed shark offered no comfort or placations. 

“I suspect you do need time for your own studies,” Lennox began, a cold sarcasm clinging to each word. “Considering you have no idea what in the hells you’re doing.” Their little laugh on hells sent chills down Gales spine. 

“Excuse me?” He balked, angrily. 

Lennox began gesturing to the chalkboards behind him, using their magic to pull large sections of information forward. “This? This is outdated research by at least twenty years. Where did you even find it?” The admonished, highlighting one section of notes. The light danced to various other sections of what appeared to be a formula. Lennox shook their head, “This here? This doesn’t even make sense. You have the theorems confused. And you can’t use this,” Lennox magically circled a highlighted portion, “Without providing a stabilizing agent. Which I do not see evidence of anywhere here.” Lennox pulled the entire contents of one board, throwing their hands in the air. “And all this? Oh, I’m not even going to tell you where and how you went wrong. But you should know that nothing here is right. I don’t have the slightest clue what the hells you are trying to accomplish and I can tell you, this is wrong.” 

Gale stood in silence, feeling as though he had been drenched in cold water; it had been ages since he received such a dressing down, and about his magic no less. He cleared his throat, determined to prove himself unnerved. “Are you finished?” He asked, though a slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. 

“No, I’m not,” Lennox softened, shaking their head. “Look, you are a talented Illusionist, Evoker, and Conjurer. Abjuration is not everyone’s speciality. You know the nature of spellcasting gives you a disadvantage and yet, you tried anyway. Learning is part of the craft, is it not?” They sighed, gathering themselves to leave. “Previous Chosen of Mystra or not, whatever you are attempting is beyond your abilities. You should ask for help, Professor Dekarios. Like you said, your time is valuable…you shouldn’t be wasting it on this mess.” Lennox gestured once more to the boards and highlighted portions before a wave of their hand made their magic disappear. “Good luck to you.” With a half smile and wave, Lennox departed from the library, their footsteps echoing against the walls of the tower. The main door slammed shut with a reverberating thud. Somewhere, a clock sang the joy of the hour. As silence overtook him once more, Gale was left to wonder…

Who in the hells is Lennox Monroe? And what in the hells just happened?