#Harrow Estate Agents

[empirechase1]

Harrow Estate Agents - Empire Chase

Selecting the proper estate agent is prime to a a success property experience. At Empire Chase, we are prominent as most excellent Harrow estate dealers, committed to imparting first rate services tailor-made on your wishes. Our deep information of the Harrow property market ensures that we deliver excellent effects for each customers and dealers.

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[andreacouk]

Discover Excellence with Harrow Estate Agents: Andrea & Co.

When it comes to finding the perfect property specialist, Harrow Estate Agents Andrea & Co. stands out as your ultimate local expert. With years of experience, Harrow Estate Agents Andrea & Co. has become a leading real estate agent in the area, redefining the standards of property services.

Our dedication to excellence means that whether you're buying, selling, renting, or letting, we provide a tailored experience to meet your unique needs. As your personal property professional, Harrow Estate Agents Andrea & Co. accompanies you through every transaction, ensuring a smooth and satisfying journey.

Choose Harrow Estate Agents Andrea & Co. as your trusted real estate partner and discover the unparalleled services that make us the top choice in Harrow. Visit our website to contact us now and take the first step toward your property goals with confidence.

[empirechase]

Central Apartments | Empire Chase!

Introduction

Central Apartments offer a unique blend of modern living and urban convenience, making them a popular choice for those seeking a vibrant lifestyle in the heart of the city. With a focus on comfort, style, and accessibility, these apartments provide residents with everything they need to thrive in a bustling environment. At Empire Chase, we specialize in helping clients find their perfect home in Central Apartments, ensuring a seamless and enjoyable experience.

Why Choose Central Apartments?

Living in Central Apartments comes with numerous advantages that enhance your daily life. Here are some compelling reasons why these residences stand out:

1. Prime Location

One of the most significant benefits of Central Apartments is their location. Situated in the city center, residents have easy access to a wide range of amenities, including shopping centers, restaurants, cafes, and cultural attractions. Whether you’re looking for a quick coffee break or a fine dining experience, everything is just a short walk away.

2. Modern Design and Amenities

Central Apartments are designed with contemporary living in mind. Most units feature open-plan layouts, high-quality finishes, and modern appliances. Residents can enjoy various amenities, such as fitness centers, rooftop terraces, and communal lounges. These facilities provide opportunities for relaxation and socialization, fostering a sense of community among residents.

3. Excellent Transport Links

Central Apartments are ideally located near major transport hubs, including bus and train stations. This accessibility makes commuting to work or exploring the city effortless. With easy connections to public transportation, residents can enjoy the convenience of city living without the hassle of long commutes.

4. Safety and Security

Many Central Apartments prioritize the safety and security of their residents. Secure entry systems, CCTV surveillance, and on-site management teams help ensure a safe living environment. This added peace of mind allows residents to enjoy their homes fully.

Tips for Renting Central Apartments

When considering a rental in Central Apartments, keep these tips in mind to make the process easier:

Set Your Budget: Determine your budget before starting your search. This will help you find options that fit your financial situation and avoid unnecessary stress.

Visit Multiple Units: Schedule viewings of various apartments to compare features, layouts, and prices. This allows you to make an informed decision about which unit best suits your needs.

Inquire About Amenities: Ask about the amenities offered in the building. Understanding what is included can help you assess the overall value of your potential new home.

Review Lease Terms: Before signing any lease agreement, carefully read and understand the terms and conditions. Ensure you are comfortable with the rules and responsibilities outlined in the document.

Conclusion

Central Apartments represent a unique opportunity for those seeking a dynamic and convenient lifestyle in the heart of the city. With their prime location, modern design, and excellent amenities, these residences cater to the needs of urban dwellers. At Empire Chase, we are committed to helping you find the perfect apartment that aligns with your lifestyle and preferences. Contact us today to explore the available options and make Central Apartments your new home!

[magicbrickestateagents]

Looking for the right Estate Agent Harrow is crucial when it comes to selling or buying a property. Our team of experienced agents at “Magicbrick Estate Agents” can help you with all your property needs. We take great satisfaction in providing a professional, individualized service that meets your needs. We have the knowledge and experience to assist you in reaching your real estate objectives thanks to our many years of experience in the field. Speak with one of our helpful agents by contacting us right now, and allow us to assist you throughout the procedure. Please tap on the link now https://magicbrick.co.uk/

[aleskie-hischier]

Summary: In the aftermath of your choice to leave Nico behind in Paris, your world shrinks to the cold, suffocating walls of an estate where the past comes to haunt you. Isolated and broken, you resign yourself to a fate sealed in blood. Nico, on the other hand, steels himself to ensure that his promise to bring you out of the shadows rings true. Together, you make a choice: to stay in the dark or to fight for a future outside of it, however harrowing it may be.

Word Count: 10k Warnings: angst to fluff!! swearing, bad parenting, there's an action sequence here so like...fighting? reader is NOT having a grand old time until nico arrives

READ PART ONE HERE

Nico wakes up on the rooftop in Paris, his body sore and head pounding, a faint sting on his arm where you’d injected him with the anesthetic. He reaches into his pocket for his phone—it’s almost dead, teetering on the edge of shutting down. Still, there’s enough battery left to see a stream of messages from his colleagues, congratulating him on completing his final mission and wishing him a happy retirement.

Your words echo in his mind.

Be happy, okay? For me?

You’d said it with a smile, but he remembers the fear in your eyes, the way it lingered beneath the surface. Why did you do it? Why did you take the fall?

He knows the answer, of course, and the weight of that knowledge gnaws at him, knowing you’d chosen this path because of him.

He lets his head fall back against the rough stone wall, closing his eyes, forcing his mind to drift to the happier moments with you—those days wandering Paris together, where the world felt small and full of possibility, where he could almost convince himself that you could both leave the underworld behind together and start a new life somewhere quiet, somewhere peaceful.

His thoughts slip further back, to the first night he saw you at that gala in Germany, all those years ago. He smiles faintly, remembering how you had captured his attention so thoroughly he nearly forgot his own purpose there. Amidst the polished crowd, under the glow of chandeliers, you stood out with a quiet allure that blurred everyone else to shadows, like a flame he couldn’t look away from.

He reminded himself back then he was above distractions, especially on a night with a mission so crucial. As an agent, he’d learned to see through beauty and charm, to focus on his objective. But you—you felt different. Genuine but guarded, elegant but dangerous.

From across the room, he’d watched you, unable to look away, studying your every move with the precision he usually reserved for a target. Yet this time, it felt different—as though he were the one being lured, the one about to be ensnared by a trap he hadn’t seen coming.

And looking back at it now, he realizes he never stood a chance.

Nico reminded himself of why he was there—to extract sensitive information from a French diplomat. But then your arm brushed against his, and he caught his first glimpse of your face. You were stunning, a vision that made him falter. He watched as you slipped through the crowd and headed to the balcony doors. His carefully honed focus wavered, pulse quickening as he watched you pass, something inside him urging him to follow.

He’d built a career on staying disciplined, never letting a pretty face or a fleeting distraction pull him off course. But this was different. There was no logic, no reason to abandon his position, but the pull was undeniable. The thought of letting you disappear, of not stepping out onto that balcony, felt like a missed chance he’d regret forever.

So, against his better judgment, Nico left his mission on hold and followed you into the night, needing to know who you were—and why he couldn’t look away.

He thinks back to that night, to the flirtation and the way you’d smiled at him, playful but guarded. He knows now it was all part of your act, but he doesn’t care. In his memory, it feels real. He remembers the moment he was about to ask if you wanted to slip away from the gala, explore the city with him—something he didn’t get to ask until Paris.

Just as the words were on his lips, your father had entered, stealing you away. Nico remembers the frustration, the urge to punch the man right then for interrupting, unaware then of how deeply he’d come to loathe the man you called ‘Father.’

If he’d known back then how your life was probably like under his care—the fear in your eyes last night was more than telling—he might have swung that punch. He should have, he thinks now, even if it blew his cover and ruined any chance with you. The man deserved it.

Then he remembers the moment he realized who you truly were and what you were after. You’d let him kiss your gloved hand, your lips curled in that mysterious smile of yours. It had all seemed so innocent until his lips met the fabric, and he felt the burn of the poison seeping in. If he hadn’t already had an antidote with him, he’d have been dead within minutes.

In some darkly ironic way, he admires the elegance of it all, the lethal grace with which you’d nearly killed him. There was a certain style to it, a quiet artistry.

For the next five years, he laid low, staying far from anything that could alert anyone to his movements. But he kept tabs on you—your assignments, whispers of your work. It was almost an obsession, though he’d never admit it. Every time he caught a mention of you, even something as small as a rumor, he couldn’t help but listen. Morbid, maybe. But it was you. And he could never turn away from that.

And then he saw you again. Paris. It felt like fate, almost laughably so, meeting in the city of love. Seeing you there stirred something in him, a silent thrill he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. He felt a pull, a longing to rewrite that first encounter—minus the poison, maybe. This time, you spent days together, sharing quiet glances, stories, and stolen moments that spoke volumes. It wasn’t a surprise that he wanted it to last forever.

But he wasn’t naive. He knew you’d come to Paris for a reason, and he knew exactly who you were after. So he brought you to his favorite haunts and little cafes, tucked treasures into your hands—a tiny Eiffel Tower charm, photos of you on either your phone or on his old film camera. Maybe it was foolish, but he wanted to leave something of himself with you, something you’d carry after it was all over.

Still, there was a small, stubborn hope in him, one that maybe—just maybe—you might walk away from it all for him. That tiny hope was enough to keep him from doing anything drastic, from confronting you. And the worst part? He genuinely thinks you would have left with him, if things had been different.

He doesn’t know what your fate would be exactly when you got back to your ‘Father.’ But he has an idea. And he doesn’t like it, doesn’t want to live in a reality where he got so close to what he wanted, but was unable to grasp it within his hands. 

Now, though…well, he doesn’t know exactly what would await you on your return to your ‘Father,’ doesn’t exactly know what consequences you’d face for treason of this scale. But he has an idea. And he doesn’t like even the mere thought of it. He clenches his jaw, hating the helplessness, the idea of coming so close to the life he wanted, only to have it ripped away, just out of reach.

He steadies himself, pressing a hand to the cool wall for balance as he rises. His legs are still shaky from the anesthetic, but his mind is clear. A grim resolve takes hold, a fire ignited by the fear of losing you entirely.

He moves quickly, descending the staircase, each step sharpening his focus. He doesn’t have a real plan yet—just an unshakable decision. He’d saved countless lives in his career, operated in situations where failure meant the end, but this was different. This was you.

He isn’t naive about what he’s walking into. Your ‘Father’ wouldn’t make it easy, and the odds were stacked against him. But he’d spent years keeping an eye on you, learning everything he could. He knows your father’s tactics, knows his inner circle and, with any luck, knows enough to get close.

As he reaches the entrance to the hotel, the weight of his decision settles in. There’s no guarantee he can pull this off, no assurance he’ll be able to save you. But he’ll die trying if he has to. 

You don’t run from ‘Father’s’ guards when they meet you at the airport. You expected it, the cold efficiency of their movements, the lack of any question about what you’ve done. They take your suitcase and purse, and, just as you anticipated, they blindfold you when they shove you into the car. It’s almost as if ‘Father’ is giving you one last small mercy—a blindfold instead of a bag.

The car ride is silent, the hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of the tires against the road the only sounds. You feel the weight of what you’ve done pressing down on you with every mile. The tension in your chest is unbearable, but you don’t fight it. You don’t fight them. You know what’s coming, and you’ve accepted it.

When the car finally stops, they take off your blindfold, revealing a sprawling estate, one of the many hidden manors 'Father' uses for those who’ve betrayed him. And betrayal is an understatement. You didn’t just defy him, you obliterated his empire, his carefully built legacy.

The guards don’t speak as they usher you out of the car, up the stone steps, and into the house. They take you to a room on the highest floor, secluded from everything and everyone, as though they’re already preparing for the isolation that awaits you.

You don’t complain. You don’t fight. You know what you did. You know what you deserve. The silence in the room is suffocating, but it’s a kind of peace. A peace you’ve earned, a peace you’ve sealed with your own actions. They leave you there alone after ensuring you’re unarmed, that you have nothing to aid in any attempts to escape. You’re not sure how much time passes—three days, maybe four or five, you’d lost count long ago. Meals are brought to you in intervals, but other than that, you’re left with nothing but your thoughts. So, you fill them with the happiness of remembering Paris. Remembering Nico.

Then, on the third day—or maybe the fourth—there’s a knock at the door. It opens to reveal Joy, his eyes filled with sorrow. He was always the softest of your siblings, the one whose heart was too gentle for the life you led.

“Did father send you?” you ask, sitting up on the bed, your voice hoarse from the silence.

He nods, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “He’s being nice by sending me, Shadow. He could have sent Punch, of all people,” he says softly, his voice shaky. “If you just tell us what happened in Paris—just tell us why, tell us anything—maybe we can still fix it. You’re his favorite, the best of us. I’m sure there’s a reason for what you did.”

You don’t answer immediately. You watch him for a moment, the anxiety swirling in his gaze. His hope, his desperation to save you, makes the silence between you feel heavier.

“I blew up the warehouses,” you say simply, your voice betraying no emotion, just a blunt truth.

“What? You—You—” Joy stammers, his face a mask of disbelief. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Shadow, stop playing around. This isn’t a joke. This is serious.”

“I’m not playing around,” you reply, your lips curling into a small, bitter smile. “I pushed the button. I destroyed everything.”

His eyes widen, a flash of hurt and fear crossing his face. “Shadow—” he gasps. “Do you realize what you’ve done? Father’s going to have you killed for this!”

“I know,” you tell him, your voice almost detached as you stare out the window, at the trees swaying gently beyond the fenced view. The peacefulness of the scene contrasts so sharply with the chaos inside you. “I knew the risk. And I did it anyway. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

Joy’s shoulders sag, and he drops to the edge of the bed beside you, his head falling onto your shoulder as he fights back the tears that are threatening to spill. “Why?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Why would you do this? Why—why would you betray him like that?”

You’re quiet for a moment, feeling the weight of his tears against your skin. And then, you finally confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “I went there to kill Agent Heart. Nico Hischier.”

At the mention of his name, you smile faintly, the memories of your time in Paris with him rushing back. The moments of tenderness, of laughter, of something more than the life you were raised in.

“And then I realized I liked him more than I thought,” you admit, your smile softening as the memories flood you, each one more painful than the last. “I couldn’t kill him. Not after everything.”

Joy pulls back slightly, his tear-streaked face full of confusion. “You...you were supposed to destroy everything for us. For Father.”

“I did,” you say, a sad, resigned chuckle escaping your lips. “I destroyed everything...but for me. And for him. Not for father.”

Joy lets out a shaky breath, and for a long moment, he just sits there in silence, his head resting gently on your shoulder. The two of you stare out the window, watching the wind weave through the trees beyond the barred glass. It's a rare, quiet peace, almost enough to make you forget the reality of your situation. Almost.

Finally, he breaks the silence. "We don’t get to feel, Shadow,” he murmurs, his tone laced with resignation, the words weighed down by the acceptance of what’s to come, “You did the one thing we’re never supposed to do.” 

"I know," you reply softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside you.

He turns his gaze to you, eyes searching, then asks, “Was he worth it?”

A gentle smile touches your lips. "He’s worth everything."

For the first time, Joy manages a small smile of his own. It’s tentative, edged with worry and glistening with unshed tears, but there’s something else there—a fragile happiness, a glimmer of pride in your defiance, however brief it may be.

He rises slowly, moving to the door, shoulders trembling as he tries to hold back his sobs. His fingers brush the doorknob, pausing there, as though wanting to say something more but unable to find the words.

“Goodbye, Shadow,” he says finally, his voice thick with emotion and a note of finality you’ve never heard from him before.

“Goodbye, Joy,” you reply, watching him walk away, knowing this would be the last time you’d ever see him.

"Nico, this is madness," Timo hisses, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You’re trying to save a mass murderer."

Nico watches his friend, feeling the bite of each word, but determined to keep his resolve. He’d turned to Timo because there was no one better—the agency’s top intelligence officer, the brain behind nearly all of Nico’s successful missions. If anyone could help him navigate the storm he’d thrown himself into, it was Timo. But from the way Timo was looking at him, it was clear he thought Nico had finally lost it.

“Well, it sounds bad when you put it like that,” Nico deflects, his voice steady but humorless.

“Because it is!” Timo snaps, his voice rising. “She’s one of their organization’s best operatives. She’s the Director’s most trusted weapon, Nico. And you’re actually risking your life—for her?”

The mention of your ‘Father,’ or rather, the Director, stirs something jagged in Nico’s chest. The name feels like a blow, a reminder of the darkness and manipulation woven around you like a cage. It’s in that moment he realizes how much of your life has been spent hidden away under fabricated pretenses, never living a life of your own. He wonders what you’d be like without those shadows—the girl you might have been, if you hadn’t been his 'Shadow.'

“She’s ended hundreds of lives,” Timo continues, each word sharp and unrelenting. "And those are just the ones we know about. She’s—”

“She’s going to die if I don’t try to save her,” Nico cuts in, his voice a low, deadly calm. There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for argument. “She’s as much a prisoner as she is a weapon. If anyone deserves a chance to walk away, it’s her. Please, Timo. Help me. One last time.”

The defiance in Nico’s voice seems to throw Timo off-balance. For a moment, his friend’s face shifts from frustration to a mixture of exhaustion and reluctant understanding. He rubs the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, weary sigh, the silence between them heavy with the weight of all they’ve seen and done.

"You’re out of your fucking mind," Timo mutters, glancing up, his gaze searching Nico’s face for a flicker of doubt. But Nico’s expression remains firm, his resolve unbreakable.

"Maybe," Nico replies, his voice softer now. “But I owe her that much.”

Timo studies him a beat longer, then nods slowly, resignation settling in his eyes. “Alright, Nico,” he says quietly. "One last time."

Nico exhales slowly, as if releasing the weight of a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. "You’re the best, Timo. Have I ever told you that?" He tries to lighten the mood, offering a half-hearted smile, but it’s weak—too feeble against the suffocating gravity of the situation.

Timo scoffs, his eyes rolling in a gesture of disbelief. "Tell me that again if we actually succeed. For all we know, she could be dead by now." His words are cold, matter-of-fact, and the harshness hits Nico harder than he wants to admit.

The smile falters from Nico’s face, his thoughts spiraling as he tries to come up with a plan—any plan—that might get him to you in time. There’s no certainty, no guarantee that he’ll be able to stop the clock that’s ticking against you, but Timo’s help, slim as it is, gives him the faintest flicker of hope.

"Then we make sure she isn’t," Nico mutters under his breath, more to himself than to Timo. His words come out like a vow, the resolve in his chest hardening like steel. It doesn’t matter what the odds are. He’s going to save you, no matter the cost.

Timo shakes his head, the urgency in his voice rising again. "We have to be realistic, Nico. There’s a very slim chance of succeeding. The Director...he's a goddamn monster. He built his empire on orphans—children trained to be killers. She was his favorite, his most loyal. Hell, he trained her himself. Not even his eldest got that kind of treatment. You can’t even begin to fathom what he’ll do when he finds out she betrayed him." Timo’s gaze drops for a moment, his words softening, as if the weight of what he’s about to say is more than even he can bear. "You could be walking straight into your death. Do you understand that?"

Nico hesitates, the enormity of Timo’s words sinking in. He thinks of his family—his mother, his father, his siblings. None of them had any idea what he actually did. He’d spent years keeping it that way, hiding the truth because normalcy was a shield, it was a part of the job. 

To them, he was a diplomat, just a pretty face at international function, a son who sent postcards from cities all over the world, someone who led a quiet, steady life. But now that safety is slipping away, and the consequences of his decisions are looming large. If things go wrong, all they’ll remember is the smile he wore, the boy they thought they knew.

But then, like a whisper in the dark, his thoughts shift to you.

He can still see it—the way you’d looked at him in Paris. That brief glimmer of something hopeful in your eyes, a quiet moment before you’d taken the bomb from him and detonated your ‘Father’s’ empire. The way you’d trusted him to keep your betrayal a secret—and to let you go, without asking for anything in return. You hadn’t begged, hadn’t even looked back, and that made him want to fight for you even more. It had been your choice, your sacrifice, but now he was going to make sure it wasn’t in vain.

“She’s good, Timo,” Nico’s voice is steady, but the edge of desperation is unmistakable in the way his eyes narrow, the intensity of his gaze holding something deeper than resolve. It’s not just determination—it’s something much more raw. “She’s good. And she can be so much more if she can get out of this alive. I owe it to her to try.”

Timo exhales sharply, his face a mixture of reluctant admiration and palpable worry. His eyes flicker to the wall, then back to Nico. "I don’t get it, Nico. You’ve been in this business long enough to know people don’t change. Not easily, at least. Certainly not in her world. She’s one of them, Nico. She knew what she was doing, knew what would happen. People like her—those who betray their own—they don’t get out. They don’t walk away alive."

Nico’s jaw tightens, the tension in his body evident as he steps closer to Timo. His voice drops to a low, quiet certainty that cuts through the air like a blade. “I know what she is. But she’s not just one of them. I’ve seen who she is when no one’s watching, when there’s no role to play. She doesn’t deserve this life. Never did.”

Timo shakes his head slowly, disbelief in his eyes, but there’s a slight flicker of something like understanding. It’s not much, but it’s enough. A resigned sigh escapes him, and he rubs the back of his neck, considering the gravity of what Nico’s asking. “Alright. Fine. I’ll get the intel. But after that, you’re on your own. And if this goes south—if it all falls apart—well, I hope you know what the hell you’re doing.”

Nico’s lips curl up into a small smile, but the seriousness in his eyes never fades. He knows the risks. He knows what he’s walking into. But he can’t stop now. "So do I, Timo. So do I."

The days blur together during your isolation. The cold stone walls seem to echo every passing minute, but you’ve lost track of time. You don’t even know if it's been two days or a week since Joy visited. 

And then, Hyacinth comes to see you.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips when you see him, your baby brother—far too young to be caught in this world, yet he’s already molded by it, even if he doesn’t yet realize the full weight of what it means. His sharp tongue and stubborn attitude are familiar, his quick wit often aimed at getting under your skin, but you know he’s all bark and no bite. Besides, you knew he had a soft spot for you—he always has. He likes you more than any of your other siblings, even if he’ll never admit it.

When you open your arms to him, he doesn’t hesitate, stepping into your embrace like it’s the only place he can find some peace. The hug lingers longer than it usually does—longer than it should, maybe—but you let it. You hold him tight, trying to etch the warmth of his presence into your mind, knowing the days ahead would make it impossible to hold onto this memory. And in this moment, as your arms wrap around him, you wish you could shield him from the darkness that’s closing in on both of you.

Eventually, the hug breaks, and you sit back on the bed, patting the spot beside you. But he doesn’t take it, opting instead to kneel on the floor and rest his head on your lap—just like when he was younger. Back then, when the weight of his training became too much, when the suffocating pressure of their expectations threatened to crush him, he’d seek comfort from you in the rare moments when he could drop his guard. You could never protect him from everything, but you gave him those moments of peace, moments when he could just be Hyacinth.

His voice breaks the silence, quiet and hesitant. “Father didn’t send me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

You arch an eyebrow. “So you came on your own?” You can’t stop the small trace of concern that seeps into your tone. “You could get in trouble, Hyacinth.”

He doesn’t seem to care about the risk. His eyes flicker briefly, and for a moment, you see a flash of fear, but it’s gone just as quickly. “Normally, I would,” he admits, “but your situation has him… occupied.” He sounds almost relieved as he says it, like he’s found an escape from the endless tension that normally surrounds their father.

You hum in response, running your fingers through his hair, offering him what little comfort you can. The silence between you is a kind of solace in itself. Words don’t always fit in these moments, but this is enough.

Then Hyacinth speaks again, his voice softer, the weight of what he’s carrying heavy in his words. “Joy told him what you did,” he murmurs into your lap. You feel the tension in his body, the subtle shake in his voice. “But he still doesn’t know why you did it—why you destroyed everything. Joy said you didn’t tell him anything.”

You don’t say anything for a long moment, but you can feel his breath grow unsteady, like he’s trying to find the right words, struggling to understand why you made the choice you did. Why you’d destroyed everything that ‘Father’ had worked for, that you had helped him build.

Hyacinth sighs deeply, his chest rising and falling with the effort. “He was mad. Furious, really. I know he was, because he didn’t say anything. He just stood there. Didn’t scream, didn’t throw things, didn’t beat anyone up. Just…stood there. Brooding.”

You nod, your thoughts racing. You’re grateful for Joy’s silence—though you don’t understand why he covered for you. The way he’s acted is unexpected, and you can't quite figure out his motivations. What does he owe you? Why would he protect you after everything you've done? Maybe he’s just trying to keep himself safe, or maybe there’s something more to it. Maybe he was just trying to be a good brother for once.

“What about the others?” you ask, breaking the silence, your voice raw from all the unspoken words hanging between you.

“Punch and Lightning want you dead,” he says, his voice flat, almost detached. But you feel a tear from him fall onto your thigh, though you don’t mention it. “They’ve been pushing for it. It’s strange, though. Father hasn’t made a decision yet. I thought for sure he’d kill you the moment you landed.”

You can’t help the hollow chuckle that escapes you. “Perks of being the favorite, I guess.”

“Oh, so you admit it now?” Hyacinth pouts, his face still resting in your lap, his voice thick with emotion you can’t quite decipher.

“I’m gonna die anyway,” you shrug, trying to sound casual, though the words taste like ash in your mouth. “Might as well own up to things.”

A long silence stretches between you. Hyacinth doesn’t respond immediately, his fingers clutching the fabric of your clothes like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. Finally, his voice breaks through, quieter, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“Don’t say that,” he whispers, his words thick with emotion. “I kind of need you here,” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “Punch is mean, Joy cries a lot, and Lightning doesn’t talk to anyone—fighting for your death is the most I’ve heard him speak, ever.” His breath hitches as his shoulders shake, his voice cracking further. “You talk to me. Even when I’m being mean to you.”

A lump rises in your throat, choking you with a mixture of guilt and love. “You’re just a kid, Hyacinth.”

“I’m nineteen,” he protests, though it’s barely more than a bitter sigh. “I’m not a kid.”

“Just a baby,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper.

You gently lift his head from your lap, your hands trembling slightly as you meet his eyes, offering him a small, sad smile. You press a soft kiss to his forehead, hoping it might offer him some comfort, even if just for this moment. You want him to remember you this way—soft, human, real—before everything collapses into darkness.

“You should go now,” you say, your voice thick with the weight of finality. The air feels denser, the space between you somehow more oppressive. “Before someone realizes where you are.”

Hyacinth doesn’t argue, but the hesitation in his movements speaks volumes. He stands, his shoulders slumping as he walks toward the door, his footsteps heavier than you remember them. When he reaches the doorknob, he pauses, his back to you, and for a brief moment, you think he might not leave. He turns, looking back at you over his shoulder, his face drawn and haunted.

“Shadow?” His voice is small, fragile. “Why did you do it?”

You hold his gaze for a beat, your chest tightening as the words hover in the air between you. There’s so much you want to say, so much left unspoken. But all that remains is the truth you can’t hide, not from him, not now.

“I...met someone I really liked,” you say quietly, your voice breaking on the last word. It’s not enough, but it’s the only truth you can give him right now.

Hyacinth’s brows furrow, confusion clouding his face as he tries to make sense of it. But then, almost reluctantly, he nods, accepting the answer without question. He doesn’t push for more, doesn’t demand anything from you that you can’t give.

As he opens the door, about to step out, you call out to him one last time. His name feels heavy on your tongue, like it’s the last thing you’ll ever say to him.

“Hyacinth?” His eyes snap back to you, wide and shining with unspoken words, his face torn between confusion and a desperation he won’t show. “Be good. As good as you can be.”

The words feel like a final plea, a parting wish you can’t take back. You see the raw, quiet grief in his eyes as tears begin to pool there, but he blinks them away quickly, as if trying to hold onto something—anything—before it all slips away. His face flushes, an emotional storm threatening to break, but he says nothing, doesn’t allow the tears to fall.

With a half-smile, teetering on the edge of a laugh, he lifts his middle finger at you, his way of deflecting the moment, of pretending it’s still okay. Despite everything, despite the ache in your chest, you can’t help but chuckle.

The sound is too fragile, too soft, too final.

“Goodbye, Shadow,” he says, his voice barely audible, thick with the weight of everything he wants to say but can’t. His lips tremble, as if he might say more, but he doesn’t. He shuts the door quietly behind him, the soft click of it reverberating in the stillness, sealing the space between you.

“Nico, you’re gonna want to see this,” Timo says over the phone, his voice urgent.

Nico barely hears the rest of Timo’s words as he rushes to his car and hits the gas. He’s already in motion, speeding through Switzerland with a single thought in his head: finding you. His mind runs wild with possibilities. What if she’s already gone? What if they’ve moved her? He can’t bear the thought of you being tortured or worse, and the nagging doubt claws at him.

But he pushes it aside. If even you didn’t think you’d make it out of this alive, then he had to. Someone had to keep the belief alive.

He’s sure he’s broken every speeding law in Switzerland as he rushes to Timo’s apartment, his heart pounding, thoughts racing. The moment he arrives, he practically kicks the door down, desperation making him reckless.

“What’s going on?” Nico demands, striding into the room, his voice sharp with urgency.

Timo doesn’t look up immediately, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “I tracked down every known estate the organization’s used in the last ten years, and any recent whispers about ‘Shadow.’” His eyes finally meet Nico’s, flickering with the weight of what he’s found. “I couldn’t find anything recent about her specifically, but I did find this.”

Timo turns his laptop around, and Nico leans forward, his breath catching as he sees the screen. It’s a map, showing the coordinates of a mansion in the mountains—unassuming at first glance, but its isolated location tells him everything he needs to know. It’s exactly the kind of place someone like your ‘Father’ would use to hide someone away.

“It was bought a couple of years ago,” Timo says, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Officially as an investment property—it has records of regular maintenance and weekly cleanings. It’s been untouched for years, dormant…until now.”

Nico swallows hard, scanning the details. But then something catches his eye, and his pulse quickens. “Wait,” he says, pointing to another set of coordinates a few miles from the mansion. “These markers aren’t for her, are they?”

Timo’s face hardens, and he glances at the screen. “No,” he replies, pulling up a set of data—two names. “Codenames: Joy and Hyacinth. Two other operatives in the organization. They were sighted here within the last 48 hours, though they never stayed longer than an hour.”

Nico’s breath catches. “Her siblings.”

He feels a cold knot tighten in his stomach. He’d always known that your family was complicated—dark, but tight-knit—but seeing them tied to this place, at nearly the same time, complicates everything. Just what were they doing there?

Timo keeps talking, though Nico’s mind starts to race, his instincts pushing him toward action. “These aren’t just random sightings, Nico. Something’s happening there. It’s more than just an investment property; they were there for a reason. And considering what you’re after…” Timo’s voice trails off, the implications weighing heavy in the silence.

Nico clenches his fists, fighting the urge to move now, to storm in regardless of the risk. This could be his only chance to find you.

“Luckily for you,” Timo says, gesturing to the markers that signify Joy and Hyacinth’s recent locations, “They’ve already left.”

Nico nods, relief mingling with the rising tension in his chest.

Timo’s voice drops, serious and clear. “But you understand what this means, don’t you? If you go in, you could end up dealing with the most dangerous operatives, guards, killers. None of them will hesitate to stop you. You’ll have to be prepared for anything.”

Nico’s jaw sets, his resolve steeling. Prepared for anything has always been his life’s code. But now, it’s more than just preparation. It’s personal. It always has been. This isn’t only about saving you anymore. It’s about putting an end to the nightmare your ‘Father’s’ unleashed on you—and finishing what began that night when he kissed your hand and felt his world change.

“I’ll be ready,” Nico says, his voice cold with determination. His mind is already working through the steps. It doesn’t matter who stands in his way. Not this time. Not when it comes to you.

It’s day twelve—or maybe thirteen, or even fifteen—of your isolation. Time has a way of unraveling itself in this place, each hour turns into a blur of endless gray that stretches on, indistinguishable from the next. You can no longer keep track of when you last saw someone, when you last heard a human voice. The isolation has gnawed at you, eroded your sense of self. The quiet is oppressive, thick with memories you wish you could forget.

You think back to the orphanage, those empty eyes of the children who grew up beside you—silent witnesses to the way you learned to survive, to harden yourself against the cruelty of the world. The hunger, gnawing at your insides as you lay in the cold, too hungry to sleep, too exhausted to think. You remember the hunger, the endless feeling of it, made worse by the harsh words of the caretakers who told you that "bad kids don’t deserve good food." They didn’t care if you cried. They didn’t care if you starved. 

The bruises still ache, even now, long after they've faded into your skin, replaced by the scars of training that you could never erase. The pain of a childhood that was never yours to keep. You try to push these memories away, but they come rushing back, uninvited, relentless in their demand to be remembered. Each one is a dark pulse that seems to beat inside you, too close, too real.

Your father’s training had been a blur of pain and broken limits. Days spent learning to resist poison, to fight without fear, to survive at any cost, even when it meant breaking yourself. His lessons were built on control, on making you the perfect shadow, the one who could kill without hesitation, without remorse. You remember those days more clearly than anything else—the constant pressure to be better, to be perfect. You remember the exhaustion, the cold, the unrelenting beatings that never seemed to stop, pushing you further and further away from everything human.

It doesn’t matter how many years have passed, or how many scars have healed. In moments like this, when the silence is so thick you can almost taste it, those old wounds reopen, each one a reminder of the girl you used to be. The girl who was never allowed to dream of anything else. The girl who was made to break, made to destroy everything she touched.

You close your eyes, trying to escape, but it’s impossible. The faces of those you’ve killed come to you in flashes, each one frozen in time—their eyes wide in shock, their bodies falling at your feet. You try to shut them out, but they linger, haunting you, replaying like a nightmare you can’t escape. You wonder if it’s too late for redemption, if the weight of their deaths will crush you under its unbearable pressure.

But then you remember Nico—his face, his touch, his laugh, the warmth of his hand reaching for yours in the dark. Those memories are fragile but they’re your only lifeline. You don’t know if he’s out there, if he even survived, but somehow, the thought of him gives you strength. For now, it’s enough to hold on to, a small anchor in a sea of shadows. 

You tell yourself, over and over, that maybe, just maybe, he’s still out there, that he’s still fighting for you. But you know the truth. You’re beyond saving.

And yet, the thought of him lingers, just out of reach. The one person who might have made you feel like you were worth something, even if only for a fleeting moment.

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, but it doesn’t stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks. It’s all slipping away—the hope, the strength, the possibility of something better. You’re trapped, alone with the ghosts of your past, waiting for the inevitable.

The drive to the mountains was almost disarmingly peaceful. Nico had been braced for roadblocks, checkpoints, armed guards at every bend in the winding roads. Instead, the path was quiet, flanked only by rows of tall pine trees and the occasional rose bush peeking out from the underbrush. The deeper he went, the stranger it felt—like he’d wandered into a different world, a place pretending to be ordinary to hide something darker within.

By the time he reached the estate, he was on edge. The sprawling mansion rose up in front of him, a towering fortress nestled into the mountainside. Not a single soul was in sight, not even at the gates. Every window was dark, every corner silent. Even the entrance was wide open and unguarded. The rays of sun illuminating the estate in a pearly white splendor, seemed to mock him.

As he walked up the stone steps to the main door, unease pooled in his stomach, twisting tighter with each step. His senses screamed at him, warning him that it shouldn’t be this easy, that someone would leap out at any moment. But he reached the door unchallenged, his hand brushing the handle as he took a steadying breath.

Pushing the doors open, the sick feeling in his gut hit him in full force. There, standing just inside the grand foyer, was the last person he wanted to see.

Your ‘Father.’

"Ah," The man said smoothly, his voice rich and calm, a predator at ease in his own den. "You actually did come."

Nico clenched his fists, every muscle tensing. He forced himself to stay still, even as every instinct screamed to lash out, to wipe that smug smile off the man’s face. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice low but firm.

His smile widened slightly, as if amused by Nico’s urgency. "You have no idea what you’ve walked into, do you?” he replied, almost with pity. He stepped closer, hands clasped casually behind his back, eyes narrowing as he studied Nico with cold calculation. “I thought you were smarter than this. Perhaps the Swiss government has been too lax as of late.”

Nico’s jaw tightened. "If you’ve done anything to her—"

“Anything to her?” he interrupted, chuckling darkly. “You misunderstand, Mr. Hischier.” The man smirks. “It’s only you and I here, so let me be frank. She’s here because of you. You, with your ideals and reckless hope, leading her to believe she could be anything more than what she was raised to be. The weapon I made her into.” 

His voice was unnervingly calm, but there was a venom in his words that made Nico’s skin crawl. “Do you honestly think she could leave without me knowing? That she could destroy my empire without me realizing the reasons behind it? That her siblings could lie for her without my knowledge?”

Nico’s eyes narrowed, but his fists clenched at his sides. He took a step forward, trying to quell the rising storm inside him. “What are you saying?”

The Director’s gaze flicked over him with unnerving amusement. “I have eyes and ears everywhere.” His voice was almost too smooth now, as if savoring the moment. “The minute she stepped foot into Paris, I knew.” He took a step toward Nico, his eyes never leaving him. “The minute she made contact with you, I knew.” Another step, his cold smile widening. “I knew about your little dates and rendezvous. I knew when she tried to slip poison into your wine. I knew the moment she pressed that button.”

The words hit Nico like a blow to the chest. His heart raced. "You knew all this time?”

Your ‘Father’s’ smile deepened, something almost predatory in it. “You’ve been playing her game all this time, Hischier. But she’s been playing mine. I know exactly why she hesitated to kill you.” He scoffs. “Turns out my best child was my weakest. But you were the one who kept her from finishing her mission. It didn’t have anything to do with her skills. Which is the only reason she’s not dead yet.”

Nico’s pulse hammered in his ears, disbelief warring with rage. “What are you planning?”

“Oh, nothing much," he replied, his voice silky with mock indifference. “Just…bringing her back to her original settings. Make her remember what happens when she disobeys. And for that to happen…I’m afraid I’ll need your head.”

Before Nico could react, a hand shot out, flicking open a sleek black knife with a practiced motion. His movements were blindingly fast, and before Nico could even fully process what was happening, the blade slashed through the air toward him with deadly precision.

Nico’s reflexes kicked in, his instincts honed from years of training and combat. He twisted to the side just in time, feeling the cool rush of air as the blade narrowly missed his chest. Your ‘Father’s’ speed was startling, faster than most of the men Nico had fought in his career, but Nico stayed calm. He had to.

He darted back, avoiding another strike aimed at his side. “You think you can just walk away with her, don’t you?” the older man taunts, his movements getting quicker. 

Nico hissed through gritted teeth, his hands shifting into a defensive stance. He couldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment—he had to stay focused.

His opponent was relentless, his strikes coming faster, more furious with each passing moment. His body moved with the precision of a machine, the knife flashing in the dim light of the hallway, but Nico was no slouch. He danced around the attacks, his heart pounding as the adrenaline surged.

But the longer the fight went on, the clearer it became—your ‘Father’ wasn’t just fighting to defend his territory. He was trying to force Nico into a corner, push him into making a mistake. And Nico couldn’t afford to make one.

Another blade slash came at him, and Nico dove low, dodging under the attack, but a boot came down, aimed directly for his ribs. Nico barely managed to block it with his arm, the impact jarring his bones, but he gritted his teeth through the pain.

“You really think you can take her from me?” He sneered, his breath coming in sharp bursts, a twisted glee dancing in his eyes. “You’re already too late.”

Nico’s mind raced. There had to be a way to end this, to survive. If he didn’t get out of here alive, everything—everything he had fought for—would be lost. His thoughts flicked to you, to the last glimpse he had of you in Paris, and something inside him hardened.

No. He wouldn’t back down. Not this time. Not when it was this close.

The Director fought with the precision of a man who’d spent a lifetime learning how to eliminate any threat that came near him, who spent every waking hour trying to fortify his possessions. His movements were swift, calculated—each strike designed to cut deep, to leave Nico vulnerable, to make sure he couldn’t fight back. His knife was a blur, a flashing extension of his will to destroy.

But Nico was different. He wasn’t fighting to just survive. He was fighting for you, for the fragile hope he held onto despite all the evidence to the contrary. He was fighting for something he couldn’t let go of. He had everything to lose. And that made him stronger.

As your ‘Father’ lunged again, the blade aimed directly at his throat, Nico’s body reacted before his mind could fully catch up. He sidestepped, his foot sliding on the slick floor as he drove his elbow into the other man’s ribs with a satisfying crack. The man grunted, but didn’t flinch—he only shifted, twisting his body to try and regain his stance.

Nico pressed his advantage, knowing he couldn’t afford to wait for him to recover. His mind raced, working through each move as if it were a series of chess pieces falling into place.

‘Father’ swung the knife again, but this time Nico caught his wrist, twisting it just enough to send the blade skittering across the floor. In that split second, he drove his knee into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The man staggered back, eyes flashing with anger, but Nico was already on him, not giving him a chance to reset.

“You don’t own her.” Nico spat, his voice low, dangerous.

He sneered, lunging forward again, but this time Nico was ready. With a fluid motion, he caught his arm, locking it behind his back with a sharp twist. The man growled, trying to break free, but Nico tightened his grip, pushing him toward the stone wall.

“You should have let her go,” Nico muttered, his breath steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “She wasn’t yours to break.”

With one final, brutal motion, Nico slammed his face into the cold stone wall, knocking him unconscious. The man crumpled to the floor, the knife slipping from his hand with a dull thud. Nico took a deep breath, letting the silence settle around him as he stood over the fallen man. His heart was still pounding in his chest, the fight lingering in his muscles like fire, but he knew it was over—for now.

He didn’t have time to waste. He had to find you. Your ‘Father’ might have been down, but this fight wasn’t finished. Not yet. He would get to you. And you would get your revenge. No matter what.

When the door creaks open, you don’t immediately react. Another visit from one of your siblings, you assume—another cold, emotionless meeting. Joy and Hyacinth had already come, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in your chest. Maybe it's Punch next, here to deliver the final blow, as blunt and sharp as ever. At least with him, there's no pretending, no false hope. Just the end.

You sigh, slowly lifting your head to prepare for the inevitable. But what you see stops you cold, freezes you in place like a shock of ice.

Nico.

Your mind scrambles to make sense of the image before you, but everything about him is different from how you remember. His hair is a mess, his knuckles bruised and raw, and his usually crisp shirts and jackets are gone, replaced by something torn, wrinkled, and soaked with sweat and speckles of blood and dirt. The scent of him is raw, like he’s been through hell. His brows are furrowed, his gaze filled with an almost unbearable mix of worry and fear, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. It’s a familiar feeling, seeing him again, even if he’s different from how you remembered. But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

You blink, trying to piece together what’s real and what isn’t. Your heart hammers painfully in your chest, and a wild, humorless laugh escapes you.

“Oh God…maybe I am going insane,” you mutter, running a shaky hand through your hair. Your breath catches in your throat as you try to shake off the vision, try to make it stop. “I’m even seeing him now…”

You turn away from him, pressing your face against the cold, hard wall, hoping the reality of this will fade. Hoping he’ll disappear with the rest of your fading dreams. But then you feel it—the bed dips beside you, a presence you know, a warmth you can’t deny. The mattress groans under his weight, and your chest tightens as you try to convince yourself that it’s just your mind playing cruel tricks.

“Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with an emotion you’ve never heard from him before—fear, tenderness, desperation. It’s raw, and it makes your stomach twist. “God, what did they do to you?”

You scoff, not knowing if you’re trying to convince him, or yourself. You can barely glance at him, let alone believe he’s here. You squeeze your eyes shut, your heart aching in disbelief. “I’m fine,” you say, but your voice sounds hollow, like it’s coming from someone else. “I’m fine,” you repeat, as if saying it will make it true. But it doesn’t. It’s a lie.

You close your eyes, wishing for this to end. Wishing for him to go away, because if he’s here, then maybe this is real. And if it’s real, then you don’t know how to handle it. Your mind can’t bear the weight of hope anymore. It’s too much, too dangerous.

“Go away,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “You aren’t real.”

But then, his hand—a warm, familiar touch—rests on your thigh. It’s gentle but grounding, the simple contact igniting something inside of you. You flinch at first, too afraid to believe, but his presence doesn’t waver.

“I’m real, Schatz,” he murmurs softly, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your pants in the same way he always used to, tender and comforting. “I’m right here.”

His words land like a blow to your chest, the weight of them forcing your breath to hitch. The touch, the warmth, the sound of his voice—it’s too much. It feels like a dream, too beautiful to be true, too terrifying to accept. But it’s not a dream. It’s him.

You turn to face him, your eyes filling with tears before you can stop them. “I’m dreaming,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, cracking with the emotion you’ve tried so hard to suppress. “You can’t be…you can’t be here…”

The words die on your lips as he leans forward, his face so close that you can feel the heat of his breath, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. “Y/N, look at me,” he says, his tone raw, filled with an urgency that pierces through the numbness you’ve become so familiar with. “Please?”

For a moment, you hesitate. Everything inside you screams to pull away, to protect yourself from the danger of believing in something that feels too good to be true. But your heart, still beating with something fragile and alive, pushes you to defy that instinct. Slowly, trembling, you turn your face to him.

You study him in disbelief. His face is streaked with blood, his clothes are torn, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion and worry. He’s not the Nico you remember—clean-cut and confident—but there’s something more real about him now, something raw and vulnerable that makes your heart ache in ways you didn’t know you could still feel.

Hesitantly, you reach up, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble on his jaw. A tear slips down your cheek, and he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like it’s the only thing holding him together. His face is still, as if absorbing the simple act of contact, and it breaks something inside you, a crack that lets in all the feelings you’ve tried to block out for so long.

“I’m real,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, as if saying it too loudly might shatter everything. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t pull away. Your hand lingers on his face, feeling the warmth of him grounding you in a way you’ve never known. The cold distance that’s consumed you for so long begins to melt away, replaced by something far scarier—hope. The fear, the ache, the longing for this moment that you’d never dared to believe in—they all come crashing in at once. The walls you’ve built around yourself start to crumble, and you realize, for the first time in what feels like forever, that maybe you’re allowed to feel something other than pain.

"Why?" you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, cracking from days of silence. "Why are you here? Why did you come?”

His arms instinctively pull you closer, his hand resting on the back of your neck like a lifeline. “I couldn’t leave you all alone,” he says, his voice fragile, almost afraid that saying too much might ruin this fragile moment between you. His breath shudders as he speaks, like he’s been holding onto this for too long. “I couldn’t.”

You pull back slightly, a small laugh escaping your lips, but it’s hollow, pained. “You should have,” you murmur, sitting up a little, needing to create some space, even if just for a moment. You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the strength of him there, his arm tightening around you. “You were supposed to move on, Nico. Retire, live your life. You…”

His voice softens, a teasing edge slipping through, even though the emotion lingers in his eyes. “I what?” he asks, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips, though it’s full of something far deeper. “What would I have done?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you close your eyes, letting the sound of his heartbeat fill the silence between you. A strange tightness fills your chest as you let the words come, ones you’d never thought you’d say. “I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice full of an aching sincerity. “Gone to the beach, gotten married. Been happy, I guess.” The words are bitter, but they’re honest—because you know he deserves that. A life away from this. A life that wasn’t about shadows and blood and survival.

He smiles softly, but there’s something wistful about it, a flicker of sadness hiding behind the tenderness. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary, grounding you in a way words could never. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I was in Paris,” he says, his voice full of a warmth so deep it almost feels like a confession. Each word lands on you like a lifeline, pulling you closer to him, to something you thought you could never have.

You close your eyes, letting the memory of those days flood your senses—those stolen moments of peace where you let yourself believe in a life beyond the chaos. A life where you were just you, and Nico was more than just a fleeting thought, a dream that could never come true. “I thought those memories would be the last I’d have of you,” you whisper, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, desperate to keep him here, to stop the world from swallowing him up again. As if he might disappear if you blinked.

He gently lifts your chin, his fingers warm against your skin, and looks into your eyes with a steady gaze, one that holds all the promises he’s never been able to say. His eyes are soft, but full of a fire that makes your chest tighten. "I’m here, Y/N," he says, and the way he says your name—Y/N—like it’s the only thing that matters in this world, makes your heart shudder. "I’m not going anywhere."

You swallow, trying to steady the emotions swirling inside you, but they’re too much, too big. You have to ask, even if part of you is scared to hear the answer. “Do you still want me to run away with you?” The words barely escape your lips, a quiet whisper, as if saying them too loudly will make the fragile moment crumble. You don’t know if you can bear the weight of his answer if he says no.

Nico’s smile softens, and his eyes hold a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. “I’ve actually come to pick you up,” he says, as casually as if he’s picking you up for a dinner date, the absurdity of it making something light and hopeful rise within you. “I even have a car and everything.”

You laugh, a breathless sound, not out of humor but because for a moment, it feels so normal. It feels like the world outside these walls doesn’t exist. But then the gravity of the situation pulls you back, and the weight of what leaving would mean settles on your shoulders like an anchor.

You drop your gaze, and your voice drops to a whisper. “They’ll be coming for us, y’know?” The words taste like defeat as you speak them, but they’re the truth. “My siblings…father…they’ll never stop hunting us down.”

Nico’s hand tightens around yours, his touch grounding and unshakable. His voice is calm but steely, a quiet confidence behind every word. “Well, lucky for us, we’re even,” he says, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “I have enemies of my own too. Let them try to hunt us down. We’ll keep each other safe.”

His words send a jolt through you, a spark of something you haven’t felt in so long—hope. The possibility of us. The thought that maybe, just maybe, this is how it’s supposed to be. You and him, against the world. Together. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself imagine the impossible, because in this moment, with him here, anything feels possible.

The weight of his words settles into your heart, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a burden. It feels like a promise.

The fear is still there, but with his words, something new sparks to life—hope, fragile and unfamiliar. You’ve lived so long with no future to speak of, yet now, with Nico beside you, it almost seems possible. 

You meet his eyes, and something like a spark ignites between you. The bond between you is stronger than anything you’ve ever known. You squeeze his hand, feeling the steadiness of his strength, the unshakable confidence that you never knew you needed, but now, you can’t imagine living without.

“So,” you say, your lips curving into a smile, “Where do we go first?”

“How about Switzerland?” Nico’s playful gleam in his eyes matches the warmth you feel inside. “I make a pretty good tour guide, don’t you think?”

“Switzerland it is,” you reply, your voice thick with a quiet thrill. It’s not just a place—it’s a new beginning. You’re not just escaping, you’re stepping into something new, something alive, something yours. The word “home” hovers on the edge of your lips, the idea of it—of belonging—feeling both foreign and entirely right.

He stands and extends his arm to help you up, a gesture so simple, yet it sends a rush of warmth through you. Your legs feel weak from days of stillness, but as you wrap your hand around his arm, it’s like the weight of the world is suddenly lighter. You lean into him, and together, you make your way down the hallway, the air between you charged with anticipation, with the promise of everything that’s ahead.

As you step through the estate’s entryway, the remnants of a struggle greet you—shattered vases, dark bloodstains on the marble floor, and a knife, glinting just out of reach. The familiar insignia of your father’s authority catches your eye, and your heart stutters. You release Nico’s arm, bending down to pick it up, the blade heavy in your hands.

“Was he here?” you murmur, your voice thick with the weight of everything you’ve just left behind.

Nico’s expression hardens, his jaw tightening with a mix of anger and resolve. “He escaped,” he says, his voice steady. “But he won’t get far. Probably.”

You turn the blade over in your hands, the past catching up to you for a moment, its weight threatening to pull you back into the darkness. But as you feel the cool metal in your palm, something shifts inside you—this time, you let it slip from your fingers. It clatters to the floor, leaving the past behind.

Together, you walk out of the shadows, out of the dark estate and into the light, where the sun feels warmer than it ever has before, spreading across your skin like a gentle promise. The sky stretches wide above you, endless and inviting, and for the first time, you realize that you’re breathing freely—every inhale lighter, filling your lungs with the sweetness of something that feels almost like freedom.

You glance at Nico, who’s watching you with a soft, steady smile that makes the uncertainty seem smaller, as if this new path is yours to shape together. His hand is warm in yours, grounding you as you step forward, leaving behind the dark walls and shattered remains of a life that no longer belongs to you.

The future awaits. It’s yours now—an uncharted horizon that stretches as far as you’re willing to go. And for the first time, you can almost taste it, this fragile, breathtaking possibility of a world beyond fear and duty. You feel it in the quiet between your heartbeats, in the way Nico’s thumb brushes gently against your skin, grounding you in a reality that’s no longer filled with shadows but with a promise. A new beginning. 

A maybe even a fresh start to a love story that, despite everything, seems like it’s only just begun.

READ PART ONE HERE

[xxacademy]

BLOODIED HANDS OF A LOVER'S MISFORTUNE —THRONE OF HIS OWN PART II

Leon Kennedy x Agent!Reader (she/her)

-> READ PART ONE

Summary: Blood, wine, fangs, touch-- his touch. Leon Kennedy made you his princess. He put you in pretty dresses, and put is mark on every part of you. But, it's time to face the reality of your situation. You are not Leon's princess, you are his back up. Now you're forced to do your job, and come face to face with the chaos of the vampire court.

Word Count: 2.5k

Content warnings: blood/gore, reader gets drugged and restrained, weapons, vampires, typical violence and themes associated with resident evil, i shamefully reference one of Leon Kennedy's cringiest one-liner's.

a/n: i had so much fun writing this!! action & horror elements are the best. i think i could write descriptions about blood and wounds forever... it's so strangely fun (?) anwaysss im playing re4r again and i cannot get leon's kicks outta my brain, lol. i hope you enjoy, and as always thank you for your patience. i am a full-time student and i have a full-time job, so writing can take me foreverrrrr.

Leon sits among the vampiric overlords while you sit alone, drinking a cup of tea, wearing yet another tightly corseted Victorian monstrosity.

The servants were undoubtedly kind to offer you clean clothes and breakfast, but that didn't make you want to leave any less. The uneasiness lingers dense in your stomach.

Last night was... Indulgent, to say the least. But the welcome has been overstayed, and you're antsy to leave the vampire's den. Hopefully, Leon will be quick to end their little conclave.

── ･ ｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──

You awoke suddenly to a loud clank beside you. To your groggy surprise, your tea cup had fallen and shattered at your feet.

The idle warmth of the fireplace and the cozy living room must have lulled you to sleep. Despite your mind being deep in a heavy fog, you found the strength to look around the room and confirm that you were still, in fact, alone.

You meandered to the heavily draped window and peeked outside. You prepared yourself to be blinded by searing bright snow, but... Oh, dear god.

The sun was setting. You rubbed your eyes in harrowed disbelief. The sun was fucking setting.

How could it be? It was only just morning. You couldn't have possibly slept the entire day.

Your hands were trembling mess as you squatted down to analyze the shattered tea cup. You grabbed a piece of jagged porcelain and brought it to your nose, breathing deeply.

You caught an unmistakably bitter note buried underneath aromatic peppermint. A sedative herb most definitely was used to lace the tea. You felt ashamed; how could you be so naïve, falling for such a novice trick?

But, there was no time to dwell. You scoured the room for a weapon. The only object that stood out to you was a particularly pointy piece of metal off an ornate candelabra. You ripped out the half-melted candles and bent the metal into a makeshift weapon, poking it into your skin to test its sharpness.

This should work, and if it doesn't? Well, It will, you told yourself.

Jaunty candlestick weapon in hand, you headed for the door, which was, unsurprisingly, locked. You analyzed the clunky metalwork and quickly determined it was an old-fashioned skeleton lock. You pulled several pins from your hair, fashioned them into impromptu Allen wrenches, and began picking the lock.

After several attempts and numerous broken pins, you finally jimmied the door open.

You set out into the gothic night-veiled estate, creeping through the labyrinth of hallways. Your heeled shoes and sweeping gown made stealth damn near impossible, but you had no choice but to make it work.

You followed the networking corridors aimlessly, pressing your ear to closed doors in the hope of finding Leon.

You heard pattering footsteps coming towards you, and in a desperate attempt to hide, you angled yourself behind a column of an archway. But as the person passed, a white-gowned servant, she stopped dead in her tracks and turned on her heels to face you.

Glowing red eyes met yours, and a mindless, other-worldly voice flowed from her: "You made a very grave mistake, chérie." The servant lunged at you, unarmed, fangs bared.

The candlestick you weld plummeted to the ground, and you grabbed the servant by the wrists and held her firm, straining to keep her away as she thrashed with all her might.

You threw her down by twisting her arm to the ground and holding her in place by firmly pressing your heel into her sternum. She cried a blood-curdling howl in pain, thrashing under your foot.

"Where is he? Where is Leon?" You demanded, rage filling your wavering voice.

The servant snickered, flashing small, jagged fangs.

"Tell me!" You demanded for the last time.

She was hysterically laughing now-- It was useless to attempt to communicate with a mindless thrall.

You reached for the candlestick and quickly bent over the thrashing servant and slit her throat with the sharp metal edge.

Hot blood spilled down her virgin-white dress, but her glowing red eyes stayed fully conscious. "You're a fool," she mocked, her fingers laced around your wrist.

You sunk your heel back into her sternum, this time with much more force, causing her head to smack against the floor. She hissed in pain. Blood was still pouring from her neck as you forced her hand off of yours. You repositioned the candlestick in your hand, aiming it for her heart.

You held her still by wrapping your hand tightly around her neck and drove the weapon through her chest. Her head lulled to the side limply, and her glowing eyes dulled- she was dead, finally.

You took a moment to catch your breath, staring at the woman's lifeless body. You couldn't recall a single vampiric servant from the previous night, so why now?

As you began to regain your composure, you looked down at yourself, pretty dress all covered in blood. It was an honest reflection of how terrible the last twenty-four hours have gone.

Regardless, you grabbed your blood-drenched candlestick and began creeping through the hallways once more. No one else seemed to be coming for you now. You were utterly alone as you tip-toed through the darkened estate. Utterly alone-- besides the gut-wrenching feeling that you were being watched.

The oil-painted portraits that decorated the looming walls felt like they saw everything. They saw you massacre that servant, they saw you lie to their rulers, they saw you drunkenly court your colleague. Maybe it was your own internalization showing, but you couldn't shake the feeling.

But you felt relief when you spotted a warm candlelit gleam emanating from the crack of a closed door. It had been the first trace of light you'd seen in these gloomy halls.

As you approached the door, you heard overlapping voices talking and laughing. It sounded like a blend of English and French was being spoken, adding to the dissonance.

You ever so gently pressed your ear to the door, attempting to make out what was happening. You couldn't understand a lick of the French being spoken. But you overheard something in English: "When are you going to get the girl?" a mysterious voice asked.

Another more familiar voice replied. “Quand nous en aurons fini avec lui.”

The King.

They must have Leon here. Your stomach dropped.

What could they possibly be doing to him? And the girl, that has to be me, right?

You don't know how it happened or how your cover could have been blown. What if they killed Leon?

There's no way you'd be able to defeat them on your own. Your mind traces all the rational options to go about this, but you conclude there is none. There is only one way.

You draw a quivering breath and open the mysterious door.

To your surprise, you revealed a grand banquet hall swarmed with almost the same lineup from last night's soirée.

The creak of the door caused all of their necks to turn to you instantly. The first thing you noticed was a sea of glowing crimson eyes. All the Lords have been turned now.

The King's stark pale skin and deep blood-red eyes burrowed through your soul. The pointed corners of his mouth raised in an impish smile. At the King's side was Leon, his arms bound and his head hung limp.

He had been draped and displayed at the hands of the merciless creatures that stalked this land. A centerpiece to their dastardly festivities.

"The bunny makes its way to the wolf's den. It's almost commendable." The King squinted, his head reaching forward in his throne to get a better look at you. "It looks like you even found someone in my estate to prey on. How scary."

"How did you find out?" You kept your words steady and firm.

The King laughed, "Ah, this is a good story."

"Go on," you said, taking a step closer.

The King shifted in his chair and took a sip of what was presumably blood from a crystal glass. "I had one of my men doing perimeter control on the south end. He made it all the way to the road, where he saw a car a few meters away-- and chérie, cars do not drive on that road."

Your heart sunk.

"He found a car and stopped it. I could tell you who he found, but I think you might already know. But in case you need a refresher, it was a United States agent with a very detailed file about you and Mr. Kennedy in his car."

You tried to close the gap between you and the King, but two guards restrained you by your arms after throwing your makeshift weapon to the ground.

"You bastard! You bloody bastard! What did you do to him? And what have you done to Leon!?"

"You're going to love this ma chérie. Leon is on the path to grand ascension— he'll become one of us soon. As for the agent that brought you here, he was at lunch the following day. Not exactly my taste, as I prefer the sweet blood of a woman, but he sufficed."

The room erupted in laughter, and long fangs taunted you everywhere you looked. Even the men who held your arms laughed at you.

You tried to break free of their grip, but they outmatched you. The men lifted you by your arms and dropped you before the King's throne. They pushed you down by your shoulders so that your knees crashed to the ground.

You hoped Leon would look up or say something. But he just rested on his knees, head down, in unwavering silence.

Your voice cracked, "And what about me?"

The King clicked his tongue, scanning your blood-soaked figure with heavy lids and a cocky glint in his eye. "You're simply too... Beautiful to just let go."

You rolled your eyes, "Give me a break! You think I'll just go along with you, easy as that?"

His lips formed into a cruel smirk, "I do."

You noticed earlier that the men who restrain you have swords attached to their hips, which could quickly turn the tide of this unlucky evening. The answer is, how?

"Just you wait, little dear." The King arose from his seat and picked up Leon by the collar of his shirt.

The King was tall; he easily towered over everyone in the room. His raven black hair flowed long down his back, extenuating his gaunt appearance.

It appeared that Leon had also been drugged. His body was limp, and he barely resisted as the King pushed him up and threw him into the arms of guards.

The King cleared his throat, demanding the room's attention to himself. "Good evening, everyone. You all know Leon here; He was incredibly loyal and fearlessly dedicated to our cause. But it's recently come to light that he and his darling little girlfriend are federal agents for the United States military."

The crowd murmured their feelings in disgust. "I know, this is very disheartening. But, I have a fitting punishment for the traitors."

The King dragged on about how he planned on turning you both into vampiric slaves, doomed to a life of servitude. But you couldn't care less. He clearly underestimated you.

You notice Leon begin to come to consciousness. It started with his hands forming into fists and then him rolling his neck from side to side.

He lifted his head, sunken blue eyes meeting yours. You were kneeling on the ground, dress blood-soaked and arms forcefully restrained by guards, all before him, to save him.

Leon's eyes darted to the swords the men beside you adorned, and then they darted back to you. He raised an eyebrow as if asking if you saw what he saw.

Yes— you mouthed the words, and Leon nodded.

"Ahh, you're awake." The King forcefully grabbed Leon's neck, digging his talon-like nails into his skin. "Your time has come, Kennedy."

Leon remained silent in the wake of the King's cruelness.

The King yelled for more guards, and they arrived holding a small box upon a velvet pillow. The King opened the box, taking a sizeable, needled syringe between his fingers.

That's how they're doing it, and Umbrella parasite, of course, You thought to yourself.

The guards holding your arms tightened their grip as the King approached Leon, flicking the serum vial menacingly.

"Let the coronation commence!" The King exclaimed to exuberant cheers.

In a quiet voice, he said to Leon only, "I wasn't planning on the girl being here, but how sweet is it that your lover gets to witness your rebirth?"

Leon scoffed, staring at the King directly, sizing up his foe. "We'll see about that."

The King was unphased as he closed the gap, reaching the needle closer and closer to Leon's neck, and when he was in range, Leon charged his leg and landed a devastating kick to the King's chest.

He went flying back and fell to the ground with wind-knocking ferocity. The syringe skidded across the marble floor, far from the King's grasp.

Before anyone could react, Leon freed himself from the guard's grip, flipping one of them over his shoulder and slamming him to the ground. He kicked in the other guard's kneecap, sending him down instantly. Leon stole both swords from either injured guard and pointed them at the King.

Sweat dripped from Leon's brow, and his skin looked washed out and pale. But he stood tall in the wake of the tyrannical leader. The people around began to stir. Some remained frozen in shock, and some readied themselves for a fight.

This was about to get very ugly, and you needed to break free. With your knees pushed into the ground, it was difficult to maneuver against the guard's strength.

You hastily attempted to drive your elbow into the stomach of one of the guards. He deflected it. But you tried again, aiming for his knee. You landed it this time.

"You bitch," the guard grunted as he stumbled back. The other one grabbed you by your arms, lifting you to your feet and placing you into a headlock.

Leon reacted swiftly by throwing one of his swords in your direction. The guard flinched as the sword propelled through the air, seemingly aimed right at his head.

But, you caught the sword by its hilt and wasted no time driving the blade through the belly of the guard who restrained you. The other guard, who was still reeling from his punched-in knee, was next. It was light work for you as you twisted the blade through his chest.

Leon called for you, requesting your backup as he fought off the vampire spawns. They had Leon surrounded, protecting their King like devoted honey bees.

You axed through the crowd, driving your long sword through the hearts of fresh vamplings. Leon held his own impeccably well. He pushed away hungry fangs with ease, kicking and slicing the hoard.

You joined Leon and pressed your back against his as you fought against the opponents from behind.

Through ribbons of blood, chaos, and murder, you gritted through your teeth, "What's the plan?"

"Kill the King and run," Leon grunted.

"Where to?"

"The cabin."

"You got it; I'll follow your lead." You couldn't hide the smirk that formed across your lips. It felt good to finally be reunited and dishing out justice.

Leon chuckled exasperatedly, "Just stay alive, sweetheart, and we'll all be singing kumbaya later."

part three coming soon xx

!! tag list -> @g4ys0n @elijahsprincess

[hollowchaoscrescent]

All people desperately searching for a Broadway bootleg: sadly, I don't have it

What I DO have is a link for an audio version with the great sound: https://www.broadwaypodcastnetwork.com/podcasts/dracula-a-comedy-of-terrors/

Feast, children of the night! ✨

[whatevergreen]

What does Charborough Park, Dorset (above) and Drax Hall, Barbados (below) have in common?

Both belong to the super-rich UK Conservative MP Richard Drax.

Also... slavery

Drax Hall Estate: is a still operating 621 acre sugar plantation owned by the Drax family since the 1640s. Dubbed a 'killing field' it is estimated that close to 30,000 enslaved African men, women and children died on the Drax Caribbean plantations over 200 years, while the Drax family made enormous profits. The family also part-owned at least two slave ships.

By 1832, shortly before slavery was abolished, there were 275 people enslaved on the plantation producing 300 tons of sugar and 140 puncheons of rum. Though slavery was abolished during 1833-1834, abuses still continued.

The Drax family meanwhile received compensation for the end of slavery. Records show John Sawbridge Erle-Drax was awarded £4,293 12s 6d - worth £3M today - for 189 slaves.

The Barbados MP Trevor Prescod commented that “The Drax family had slave ships. They had agents in the African continent and kidnapped black African people to work on their plantations here in Barbados. I have no doubt that what would have motivated them was that they never perceived us to be equal to them, that we were human beings. They considered us as chattels.”

The Drax family also expanded into Jamaica, but sold those estates in the 1850s.

Barbados and Jamaica are rightfully seeking reparations from the Drax family.

In 2021 it was claimed that the current Drax Hall workforce earns as little as £24 a day (half the Barbados average wage), and the modest retirement bonus of workers has been axed.

Charborough Park: is a 7000 acre estate flanked by the longest brick boundary wall in England. Stretching for miles and consisting of nearly 3 million bricks, it's mockingly known as the Great Wall of Dorset.

The Hall is the ancestral and current home of the Drax family.

Author Nick Hayes has commented that "this wall, surrounding the grounds of Charborough House ... was built by Richard Drax’s ancestor, John Sawbridge, who married into the Drax dynasty, and who was able to finance the build following a recent windfall from his sugar-cane estates in the Caribbean – although the money came not from his sugar, but from his slaves."

English plantation owners including the Drax family used the vast profits from slavery to buy land (once common land) back in England, which often came with a parliamentary seat before later reforms. So in other words the profits of slavery effectively provided their political careers, as they stole what was once public land.

Nick Hayes: "The interior of the Drax estate tells a silent story of what the colonialists did with their property. The purchase of land secured a firmer grip on power, not just in one lifetime, but for many generations to come. Farming, forestry, pleasure gardens, hunting, shooting – all of these became reliable sources of income, an accumulation of private profit in direct proportion to the dispossession of the commonwealth. In fact, what happened abroad – the mining of minerals, the rent on land, the dispossession of the locals – were colonial methods first practiced on English soil, as the landlords colonised the commons at home."

A further 125 properties in Dorset alone brings the total land ownership in the county to around 14000 acres. Drax owns other estates across the UK.

Harrow educated Richard Drax is worth an estimated £150 million. A far-right Tory MP (and sometime BBC journalist?!) since 2010 and the sixth of that family to be an MP, he is a rabid Brexiteer, opposed to such as covid lockdowns and the minimum wage. He was caught underpaying some of his Dorset employees in what was claimed an "error" - he seems to make many such "errors" such as failing to declare ownership of the Drax Estate as a member of parliament.

In 2010 Richard Drax stated that “I can’t be held responsible for something 300 or 400 years ago. They are using the class thing and that’s not what this election is about, it’s not what I stand for and I ignore it.” On this Nick Hayes commented "Blunt, but effective, especially since the education system and institutions of England have followed the same approach." 

Whether Drax acknowledges it or not his position, his entire life, wealth and career is a consequence and benefit of the slave trade, a trade that ended less than 200 hundred years ago on his Barbados estate - which continues to exploit its workforce to the present.

David Comissiong, Barbados ambassador to the Caribbean Community, said: “This was a crime against humanity and we impose upon him and his family a moral responsibility to contribute to the effort to repair the damage.

You can’t simply walk away from the scene of the crime. They have a responsibility now to make some effort to help repair the damage.”

As an MP, Drax has supported lowering welfare benefits, ending educational financial support for 16 to 19-year-olds, and the imposition of the “bedroom tax” on poor council tenants. During an immigration debate in parliament Drax - the owner of a 7000 acre estate with little but a mansion complex built upon it stated “this country is full”.

And Drax is just one of many similar people in the UK (and beyond).

[ineachretelling]

Shami and Jas are short on novel to read and ideas on how to break the time loop this week, so we decided to discuss all of the varying adaptations of Dracula in these unprecedented times. We've got Moffat being on his bullshit, lady vampires that are tired of the Count's shit, a surprising amount of ballet, and a couple of adaptations that technically never were. This podcast contains swearing, and mentions of racism, misogyny, abusive relationships, and animal cruelty.

Trailers for all Dracula media mentioned in the episode are under the cut below for you to sink your teeth into:

Dracula (TV Mini Series 2020)

Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors Podcast

The Brides

A Dowry of Blood

The Invitation (2022)

The Dark Legion: House of Dracula (Are You Afraid of the Dark Universe Podcast)

Reluctant Immortals

Renfield

The Last Voyage of the Demeter

Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors (Off-Broadway Production)

Mina and Lucy's Guide to Slaying Dracula

Dracula (Finnish National Ballet)

Abigail

Lucy Undying

Blacula (2024)

Nosferatu (2024)

Dracula: A Love Tale (2025)

[levibecker]

❝ we all have things that come back to haunt us. some of us just see them more clearly than others.❞

NAVIGATION ➝ STATS & BIOGRAPHY ➝ CONNECTIONS

QUICK STATS:

Name: Levi Becker Age: Thirty-Six ( 36 )  Birthday: September 25th, 1988 Gender/Pronouns: Cis Man & He/Him/His Occupation: Accountant Employer: Paradise Point Resort Place of Birth: London, England Hometown: San Diego, California Current Location: Briar Ridge, South Carolina Time in Briar Ridge: 10 years Neighborhood/Residence: Downtown Faceclaim: Oliver Jackson-Cohen Penned By: Liz ♡

SUMMARY:

tw: death, familial death, car crash, hospital mention

Born in London, England to Simon, a specialized surgeon, and Claire, a real estate agent, Levi was the second born in their family, following his elder brother, Issac. Shortly after Levi turned 4, Simon moved their family overseas to San Diego, California, as he received an offer to become head of a surgery department at a hospital in the US city. 

As Levi and Isaac continued growing up in their new home in the states, Levi idolized and looked up to Isaac, and his older sibling was in turn there for his younger brother. 

Though, while the two brothers went through each of their respective years in school, their paths started diverging further and further. It had seemed clear that Isaac always received the better grades, the better opportunities, and was well on his way to making their father overjoyed to be a part of the medical field himself. Meanwhile, Levi struggled witnessing it all first hand as he believed that nothing that he did was able to amount to any of his elder sibling’s shining successes, and instead destructively distracted himself of this in any way he could find. 

When it came time for Levi to attend college, Isaac was already well into his medical studies, as had been expected. His older brother had a clear path, while he still was entirely unsure of where he wanted his own to even go. He decided upon business studies once attending college for himself, at least attempting to figure out some sense of a direction he could go on, and before long, the time rapidly went by and graduation approached.

A few years following, it was as if Isaac had truly seen how distant their bond as brothers had become and offered Levi a chance to head out night and try and spend time getting along as they used to. For once, their differences were put aside and the two brothers took advantage of the time, even if the night ended in unsuspected tragedy that neither of them saw coming. 

On the way home in the late hours of the night with dawn approaching, their vehicle collided with another, and the next thing Levi could remember was slowly opening his eyes from darkness in a hospital bed, ultimately learning that out of the two of them, he was the sole survivor. 

All the while Levi was in the process of recovery in the hospital following the crash, a police report was initiated as a result of the passing his brother and the other driver of the vehicle involved. When the process concluded with law enforcement, Levi was ruled as the primary one responsible for the collision, which only made the harrowing circumstances further tormenting.

Unable to shake the immense amount of anguish that came from the waves upon waves of grief that came from the news to attending the funeral of his only sibling, Levi knew he couldn't stay in California, he had to get out and as fast as possible, placing all the blame entirely on himself, especially seeing his father having to devastatingly grapple with the fact that he couldn't do anything more to save his eldest child. 

Around the time of it seeming as if his world was crashing in on him, he ran into an old friend from high school who currently was surprisingly living and working in a town named Briar Ridge, South Carolina. It seemed as if the town would be the exact escape Levi was searching for and after hearing more, it didn't take him long for the location to be his decided upon new place of residence, far away from California and what had untimely occurred there. 

He arrived in Briar Ridge as his ideal haven to bolt off to and was able to spend time at his friend's place until he was able to properly get settled more on his own two feet and they had luckily even helped him with job scouting, and eventually, thanks to his friend's connections, he landed a new job as as an accountant at the locally renowned resort, and finding a place in the downtown area of town. 

As more than a decade quickly passed, Levi has remained in Briar Ridge, though even if running was an attractive answer, he knows the blame for holding himself responsible for being the reason as to why his brother couldn't still be around even to this day stays with him and hasn't left in the slightest. Leaving the past behind and not wanting to look back.

[empirechase1]

Property Market in London: A Guide with Empire Chase

Introduction

The property market in London is one of the most dynamic and sought-after in the world. Whether you’re looking to rent, buy, or invest, understanding the market is essential. Empire Chase, a trusted name in London’s real estate industry, offers expert guidance to help you navigate the complexities of this vibrant market.

Why London’s Property Market Stands Out

Property Market In London is unique due to its diversity, prime locations, and investment potential. Here are some key features:

Diverse Options: From luxury apartments in Kensington to affordable flats in Harrow, London has something for everyone.

High Demand: The city’s global appeal drives consistent demand for properties.

Strong Investment Opportunities: Properties in London often appreciate in value, making it a reliable choice for investors.

Well-Connected Locations: Excellent transport links enhance accessibility and desirability.

Renting with Empire Chase

Empire Chase simplifies the renting process by providing tailored solutions for both tenants and landlords. Here’s what they offer:

For Tenants

Wide Range of Properties: A curated selection of homes to suit various budgets and preferences.

Expert Support: Guidance through the renting process, ensuring a smooth experience.

Transparent Agreements: Clear terms to avoid misunderstandings.

For Landlords

Property Marketing: Ensuring properties reach the right audience.

Tenant Screening: Thorough vetting to secure reliable tenants.

Comprehensive Management: Handling day-to-day rental operations and legal compliance.

Tips for Navigating London’s Property Market

Set a Budget: Be realistic about what you can afford, considering rent, bills, and other costs.

Choose the Right Location: Research areas that suit your lifestyle and needs.

Seek Expert Advice: Work with professionals like Empire Chase for insights and support.

Act Quickly: The market moves fast, so be prepared to make decisions promptly.

Conclusion

The property market in London is filled with opportunities for tenants, landlords, and investors alike. Empire Chase stands out as a reliable partner, offering personalised services to meet your property needs. Whether you’re renting or letting, their expertise ensures a seamless experience in one of the world’s most exciting property markets.

[andreacouk]

Unlocking Your Ideal Home: Andrea & Co. - Premier Estate Agents in Harrow

Looking for your dream home or considering selling your property in Harrow? Andrea & Co. are your trusted partners in navigating the dynamic real estate market of this vibrant London borough. With a wealth of experience and a commitment to excellence, Andrea & Co. stand out as premier estate agents in Harrow.

Whether you're a first-time buyer, a seasoned investor, or a homeowner looking to sell, Andrea & Co. offer personalized service tailored to your unique needs. Their dedicated team understands the intricacies of the local market, providing expert guidance every step of the way.

From stunning family homes in leafy suburbs to contemporary apartments in bustling neighborhoods, Andrea & Co. showcase a diverse portfolio of properties. Their professionalism, integrity, and attention to detail ensure a smooth and successful real estate experience for all clients.

Visit Andrea & Co.'s website to explore listings, learn more about their services, and embark on your journey to finding or selling your ideal property in Harrow. Trust Andrea & Co. to make your real estate dreams a reality.

[empirechase]

Real Estate Agent In Harrow

[redrangermike]

Info About The 'Hailey's On It!' AU

So...a little background info about the Hailey's On It! MML AU...

First off, Milo will still have his family curse - but the amount of Murphy's law instances will depend on the difficulty of the attempted list item. So Murphy's law will be helping Melissa with her list.

Melissa became risk-averse like Hailey after Milo got involved in a harrowing go-kart crash on her 10th birthday. I may go into that later.

Also, Zack is the coolest kid in school (a la Genesis). He's also football team captain.

In addition to being a fashion influencer, Amanda is also in the drama club and cheer captain (like Kristine).

Melissa's mom is in the PTA and a big time real estate agent while her dad is still a firefighter. He is also a teacher at Melissa and Milo's school.

[pixeldistractions]

I was playing Austin’s family, and he was having a sweet little date with his girlfriend, Malia, whom he’s been seeing for a few months now. They were being cute, but a little boring, so I went inside to see what the townsfolk were up to.

And I found Lucy dancing up a storm with Tyler!

(Lucy and Tyler are childhood besties from Lakeside Heights days.)

Now, this game isn’t smart enough to spawn couples out together, so I had to imagine they’d brought along their exceptionally nerdy spouses, who weren’t on the dance floor because they were probably sitting at the bar debating string theory or something.

MCCC > teleport sim

Now Maya and Dallas are here, too! And Lucy is out on a super fun double date. And this is exciting because Lucy’s last few stories have really been pretty lonely and sad. This girl deserves a babysitter and a night out.

And now she’s dreaming about how fun it would be to live closer to their friends, and her sister at SNU, and his cousin Natty, too. Tonight, she’ll be on Zillow the whole ride home, sending Dallas links to homes for sale in Sierra Nova and Copperdale and San Sequoia, and reports about how great the schools would be for their girls, and lists about how much there is to do in those areas. (Unlike the cold, dreary, lonely, Fort Hollow base.)

And even though the commute back to base for him will be harrowing, and he’s obligated to do it for at least two more years, Dallas would do anything to make his Lucy happy. He’ll call a real estate agent first thing Monday morning.

All that, and I wasn’t even supposed to be playing their households, lol!

[sapphicbooknerd]

My review of :

Goodlord by Ella Frears

TW: alcohol, dubious and non consent and general mature themes

This book is an email really. It begins with the main character answering an email from a letting agent angrily before spiralling into her discussing property in a different sense. This brilliant visceral novel/ epic poem / auto fiction becomes, over the course of the email a deeply personal, almost confessional soliloquy about a young, slightly unhinged woman. The instability of the tenants housing situation is reflected in her bending and often neglected boundaries as she reflects on how she herself could also be seen as property whether to the organisers of the art space she occupied or the men at the bar in her earlier years. The email oscillates between a calm, passive retelling of her past as if recounting it to a friend to a rage filled, harrowing reflection on her life so far and the instability that surrounds the main character. The neutral-toned professional email the book begins with seems to show the main character the void she is screaming into while also creating an unsettling air to her connection with Ava, the estate agent.

I adored the book and it’s unpredictability especially through the narrative voice being a stream of consciousness instead of a structured novel, but would definitely recommend checking on the trigger warnings before reading as there is some very heavy sections in there. I also enjoyed the remoteness of the Ava, whom was being addressed really showing that feeling of screaming into a void and the use of poetry instead of prose, reflecting the scattered way she is writing this email.

Overall, brilliant read.