#I swear I'll get back to Hallowed too

[nottheweirdest]

Hello helloooooo!!! I know I've said I've got a lot of stuff cooking so I wanted to give you a few more details!

New Sonadow fics coming in December:

Coming Home

Type: Multichapter Rating: Teen (I'm trying so hard to keep this at teen omg) Length: Approx. 60k words Timeline: Will start posting in a couple weeks, then weekly until it's over which will run through January and likely into February.

Holiday Fic (Actual Name TBD) Type: Oneshot Rating: Gen Length: 3-5k Timeline: Dec 24 or so

Spinning

Type: Oneshot Rating: Teen (probably-- don't look at me like that, I can't help it! lol) Length: Approx 5k Timeline: NYE

[ellieslittlewh0re]

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏)

* ೃ⁀➷ part 2 - part 3

pairings - farmers daughter! reader x farmhand! ellie

summary - your dad hires a stranger to help out around the farm

additional tags - inexperienced but flirty reader, shy/loser ellie, cowboy boot wearing ellie, mutual pinning, slight masturbation mention (e!), e! w/ a southern accent??, eventual smut, (nothing too crazy happens in this part it’s mostly just setting vibes lol)

Beads of sweat collected on the bridge of your nose, and your thighs stuck together as you sat on the porch swing, just lazily swinging back and forth, using your tippy toes to keep the momentum going.

You look out over the vast pasture- green as far as the eye can see, with nothing to distract from the country landscape except for some power lines out in the distance.

Even with the sun starting to set- it was still unbelievably hot.

"Keep goin' like that and you're gonna die of a heat stroke."

You yell to your father who was working under the hood of his rusty truck. Usually, he pays no mind to your nagging, but this time it seemed to work- or perhaps he was just finished for the night.

He shuts the hood, slamming it with a metallic thud before wiping his hands on a greasy rag.

His boots rang loudly against the hallow wooden stairs of the porch, looking down at you through bushy eyebrows.

"I don't need your sass, kid."

You roll your eyes at his comment. He's always been stubborn and tough, but in his old age, you can't help but worry. His cheeks have hallowed over the years, sun spots forming from the countless hours working on the farm, and his movements became slowed from the hard work catching up to him.

"I wouldn't sass if you'd just listen. Seriously, it's okay to hire someone to help. no one is gonna shame you for that." You pester affectionately, standing from the swing to open the screen door and enter the house with him following behind.

You follow him to the kitchen, listing all the reasons why he should have help.

One: he's getting old.

Two: his knee has never been the same since he had that operation done 4 years ago.

Three: the farm is too big and demanding to tend to alone.

"Okay- enough.. you sound just like your mother sometimes I swear." He hold a hand up, pausing you mid-ramble, and takes a sip from the glass he filled from the tap.

You pouted, and once again, your suggestions felt shot down.

He finishes the water, wiping his beard with the back of his hand.

"I actually have someone comin' by tomorrow. They were recommended t' me by Phillip at the feed store."

Your eyes lighten up, a smile grows on your face, and you finally feel like you can breathe, knowing that the hardships wouldn't be your dads alone anymore.

You rush around the kitchen island, placing a kiss to your dads cheek and squeezed him tight.

"Thank you! I can't wait- I'll have to bake em' something sweet tonight."

"Alright- settle down-" he pushes you away slightly with a smile on his weathered face. Truly an adoring annoyance that only a parent could love.

Your old man calls it a night, showering and off to bed he went, but you? Oh- you were busy. You tried your hardest to keep the sound down to a minimum, bowls, and kitchen utensils splayed on the counters.

A small apron draped around your waist, flour smudged on your cheekbone as you pulled the blueberry scones out of the oven. A satisfied smile grows on your face as you observe your work and finishing of the pastries with a dusting of powdered sugar.

Maybe, you were going a tad bit overboard, but the truth is, you were painfully lonely. The only time you had any visitors on the farm was when you held pumpkin patches in the fall, but even then, it was always young families that didn't bother to stay around for too long.

You go upstairs, a slight pep in your step as you did so. You showered and put in your favorite pajamas- a short, soft floral patterned dress with bows that secured the straps.

You tossed in bed, sleep not being in favor since your mind was still wide awake. You try to picture what they would look like- what they sounded like.

Was he tall? Around your age, or is he just another old man like your father? Maybe they're not a man at all.

It's best not to get ahead of yourself; whoever this person is, they are coming to work for your dad and not to become your friend.

-

You slept lightly, and your senses became more aware as a muted thud rang outside your second-story bedroom window. You open your eyes slowly, blinking away the sleepy confusion as dust particles dance in the sunbeams of your room.

It took you a few seconds to realize why today was so important, but once you remembered- it had you scattering out of bed to your window, pulling back the sheer laced curtains, and taking a peak outside.

There was a truck you didn't recognize parked in the driveway. It was slightly newer than your dad's, but that's not saying much; a simple 2-door with an extended bed, slightly lifted with sturdy-looking tires.

A slim figure stood next to the driver's side door, hands on their hips as they looked up at the house. To your surprise, it wasn't a man at all.

You squint, trying to get a better look at her without realizing how big of a creep you are being.

Her hair shined a brilliant shade of auburn in the morning light, a brown button up shirt with the sleep rolled up to her elbows, slightly flared and worn denim jeans hugged her hips with brown cowboy boots that seemed to match the leather of her belt.

You caught a glimpse of something on her arm, dark lines that disrupted her pale skin. It was a tattoo, although you could make out the details of the design.

She looked the part of someone who knows how to run a farm, but something about her seemed so out of place- almost like she was too pretty for such a dirty job.

While you were too busy eyeing her up and down, you didn't realize she had caught you. She put her hand up, holding it there for a second before bringing it back down to her side. You wave back, a slight wiggle of you fingertips which made her smile.

You watch her walk out of the frame of your window before sitting on the edge of your bed- your fingers grasping at the embroidered comforter. You had this weird feeling in your tummy; it was something you couldn't explain, almost like nausea but also like when you go on a big rollercoaster.

You felt nervous but excited all at the same time. You figured it was because she was around your age, maybe slightly older- shrugging it off as you got up and got ready for the day.

You brush your hair before tying it into two loose braids, finishing it with light pink ribbons at the ends. You wanted to put a little more effort into your appearance today since you're meeting someone new, and as daddy always said, "First impressions are the most important."

You take a deep breath in the last most of solitude of your room before making your way down the stairs, the conversation between the stranger and your father growing louder and louder from the kitchen as you inched closer.

"There she is-" your dad motions an arm in your direction, the stranger immediacy turning to meet your face.

"Ellie, this is my daughter, y/n, and y/n, this is Ellie."

"It's nice t' meet you, Ellie." You said in your sweetest voice you could muster as you walk towards her, holding a hand out.

"Likewise." She smiles, taking your hand in hers and shakes it firmly. She seemed respectful, maybe even a little flustered- seeing that her cheeks started to turn a deep shade of pink.

Upon seeing her closer, it didn't help settle your nerves. She was gorgeous; freckles adorned her alabaster skin, a scar that ran through her eyebrow and upper lip, and her eyes a mossy shade of green with dark, long lashes framing the shape.

She was honestly the prettiest girl you've ever seen but not in the same way you were often described. There was a boyish charm to her that you had never seen before.

"Well- best we get to it then." Your dad chimes in, causing you to let go of the calloused hand that you hadn't realized you were still holding onto.

"I'll see you around Ellie." You just barely make audible to her, bitting down on your bottom lip before turning on your heel and leaving them to do their jobs.

Ellie was almost speechless upon meeting you. Never in a million years did she ever think a girl like you could live in this small country town, but fuck, leave it to her luck- you were the boss's daughter, which means you were off limits.

You didn't make it easy on her either, prancing around in your little summer dress that flowed with your movements, rising dangerously high when you would turn around, almost giving her a peek of your ass.

Ellie swallowed hard each time, the saliva filling her mouth with all the dirty thoughts she had- which mostly consisted of you underneath her, completely naked and trembling after she forced a 4th orgasm out of you.

-

The sun was starting to set, blanketing the canvas in shades of orange and pink, and to your disappointment- Ellie would be leaving soon.

She was walking towards her truck, slightly dragging her feet from exhaustion, and you're happy she did so. It gave you enough time to run out of the house barefoot, container filled with the homemade goods in your hands.

"Ellie!-" you called out to her which made her turn around, her hand opening the driver side door.

You nearly bump into her, slightly out of breath as you held up the tupperware with both of your hands.

"Sorry- I made them last night, must've forgotten in to give 'em' to you earlier." Again, your voice is so sweet and innocent- like honey coated candies on her tongue.

A smirk grows on her face, taking the gift from you to inspect them.

"That's mighty kind of you.. oh no, are these blueberries?"

Your face contorts to concern, and Ellie can't help but think how fucking cute you look all worried like that.

"Yeah, why? Do you not like 'em?" You pout, almost like you're on the verge of tears

A low chuckle reverberates in her throat, "I'm just messing with you, doll. They look delicious."

"Meanie."

A few seconds of silence go by, and Ellie looks everywhere except your face, and I mean everywhere- including the plushness of your breast that spilled over the top of your dress - she couldn't have you knowing how red her cheeks are right now.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" She said it almost like a question- as if you'd miss out on such an opportunity.

"See you tomorrow, Ellie. Goodnight." You stand on your tippy toes, planting a quick kiss on the rounds of her cheeks, and run back inside, leaving Ellie in full panic mode.

She gets into her truck, taking a moment to herself before turning over the engine. Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel as she replays it in her head. She felt like she could combust, literally and figuratively- her head came down to rest on the wheel, and her cheeks ached from the smile that wouldn't seem to leave her lips.

In fact- she thought about it all night long. When she showered, when she laid in bed trying to sleep, she was tingling, an ache growing inside the depths of her stomach.

I mean, could you blame her? You didn't try to hide how hard you stared or how flirtatious you were towards her.

Maybe you were just like that with everyone.

Still- it didn't stop her. And It didn't stop her hand from slipping into the waistband of her checkered pajama pants, and it definitely didn't stop her from fingering herself to thoughts of you.

She came hard that night, harder than she had before, and she can't help but wonder- if simply her imagines of you felt this good, how would fucking you for real feel?

❥ taglist - @machetegirl109

[vyrid]

Hermione does not, in any way, overpower Tom Riddle, in any field. 

For evidence purposes, I'll use all of their achievements from book one to book 7. Instead of going on a long, disorganized tangent, we'll cut them down into 3 categories: studies, wit, and talent/strength. (I swear theres a difference between wit + studies.)

Studies --

During school, Hermione:

Was referred to as the brightest witch of her school year by Lupin

Got 10 OWLS (2 less than Bill and Charlie)

Prefect

She did get Slughorn's favour to an extent

During school, Tom Riddle:

Was referred to as the brightest kid to step into Hogwarts (possibly ever) by Albus Dumbledore

His grades are never revealed, but it is implied time and time again that he was a model student with a spotless record

Prefect and Headboy

Got a Special Award For Services to the School (hes a rat 😭)

Slughorn's favorite despite being Muggleborn and broke

There is not much I can work on in the studies department, because there isn't much text to support their performances involving the school directly, but it's obvious that Tom Riddle takes the cake. With every bullet point presented, Riddle's side of achievments is always 3x more impressive. I would like to add that he thrived in DADA and didn't shy away from any dark subjects, while Hermione was too scared to put thought into DADA + was too impatient with Divination (which I don't blame her for.)

If I had to compare them involving other characters, I would say that Tom Riddle is right up there with Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald, while Hermione falls below tier near James Potter and Severus Snape.

If Severus Snape is no match for Tom Riddle (atleast when he was sane), then Hermione isn't a match for Severus. Snape was the BEST potions boy to go to Hogwarts -- it could be argued that Lily was also up there but yk shes dead so we don't care about that -- and he wasn't scared to apply his studies in the Dark Arts to real life. He was a smart kid, and even though he was below Tom Riddle in terms of brilliance, he was pretty darn smart. If Hermione cannot even reach his level, it's kind of silly to compare her to Tom Riddle.

Wit --

This one is a no brainer. The thing that sets them apart is their ability to think outside of the box.

Tom Riddle believed in a world of magic. He believed there was not a limit in which magic could be stopped. He achieved GREAT things simply by letting his trust in his own magic and the wonders of the Wizarding World lead him to his goals.

Hermione is close minded. She believes what she wants to believe, and most of her information comes from her precious, reliable books. She was too close minded to believe in divination. She was too close minded to sit back and think that, perhaps, house elves were made a certain way in which they ENJOYED labour (which is a whole other discussion), she was too close minded to believe in the Death Hallows. She was too close minded to think that there could possibly be a better, alternative recipe to a potion that didn't come straight from the school book. Her refusal to simply believe held her back from many opportunities.

Hermione is studious. Tom Riddle is BRILLIANT. Most of Hermione's knowledge comes from what she's been taught at school, but Tom Riddle went out and learned his own knowledge. And that's not a bad thing. Being studious and smart already sets her apart from many, many people.

But Tom Riddle wasn't just a studious guy. He was a genius, a prodigy, kind of a psychopath. He learned at a young age how and exactly when to use his strengths to get what he wants. He carried himself up as social ladder reserved solely for purebloods before even finding out his heritage as the descendant of Salazar Slytherin. He made a grown adult women scared of him as a child. He didn't use his wit for good, no, but was he pretty damn smart? Yeah.

Talent and Strength --

When Hermione was a kid, she learned to utilize what she had around her to catch up with other kids. She taught herself the syllabus before even getting into school and even learned spells without being taught by Professors! She was always the first one to get the spell right and was quick on her feet in an argument. She had a lot of brewing talent in her. It is not easy to be thrown into a whole new world but she took all of it with grace.

She was amazing at spells. When the trio ran away during the 7th book, she was their rock to lean on--for strength, for protection, for guidance. She knew every spell in the book to hide them away from Voldemort.

Her duelling skills, while not on par with Harry's, were pretty darn good, too. She could hold her own in a duel if she really needed to get out of their alive, using her quick thinking and sometimes, deception. Ex. (When she changed Harry's face to not resemble him when they got caught by snatchers.)

I give Hermione a lot of credit in the book. She was stronger than she needed to be at a young age, and she handled it better than most people did.

Tom Riddle on the other hand...

His talent is unmatched when it comes to anybody else.

He learned to get a hold on his magic and command it like the king that he is at the baby age of one digits. Because of all the instances at Wool's Orphanage, it isn't crazy to assume that this wasn't just a case of accidental magic. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew exactly how to call onto his magic to do his bidding. I don't think even Dumbledore could have said he was able to do that.

He was a parselmouth. It's less a talent and more a skill, but he used his hereditary trait to manipulate and use another type of magic to do what he wanted. Speaking to snakes is one thing--getting them to actually listen to you has to count for something.

He made horcruxes at the age of 16. That is a type of deadly, deadly magic. It is so forbidden it doesn't even fall under Forbidden magic because it's blasphemous to even think to do it. The fact that his magic was so strong that he could go through that process and come our alive is actually crazy.

He made a whole persona for himself, under Lord Voldemort, and got a whole race of people to follow him blindly. He wasn't even a pureblood and he still had them down on their knees. That's talent.

He could perform all forbidden curses with ease and not get drained. Moody says that you have to mean your intent and that nobody can *just* cast the curses. You have to have the willpower and strength to cast them--the fact that Voldemort could cast dozens of them at a time without thinking about it already sets him apart in strength from Hermione. I doubt even Snape, as he brilliant as he is, would dare push his limits like that.

I don't want this to get SUPER long, but here are some things I left out about Riddle and didn't know how to add on the list.

He found the long lost Chamber of Secrets during his time at Hogwarts. It was there for millions of years--he can't have been the ONLY descendant. It's safe to say he was one of the first people to open it and actually use it for his own gain.

He acquired the Elder Wand. I mean, so did Harry and Dumbledore, but it doesn't change the fact that he did. He was kind of dumb when he grew up and became all insane but that's impressive, too.

It is implied that he was at the brink of winning the war before Harry killed him on Halloween. If he hadn't taken the bait, maybe we'd see a world overrun by his power.

He didn't inspire fear in just Britain. He inspired fear across the world. Harry Potter was known across every wizarding community, such as Bulgaria. That means they must've known Voldemort too. There was lots of foreign people at the world cup, but every single one of them ran at the sight of the Death Eaters--which means they recognize his sign in some sort of way. The Gregrovitch family recognizes him, as does the German witch does when she sees him in folds in fear.

Sorry, this became a long rant of Voldemort's powers and not just a comparison, but it does go to show that Hermione being even near his level. It's just not plausible.

You're welcome to argue with me or correct me on my oversights! I haven't fact checked everything and I won't be offended if you correct some points. (Also there is a lot of typos and I have a cut on my finger so please dont kill me for my grammar 😭)

[swords-of-a-soilder]

The Healing Process

Chapter 14

Your Hallow Bones

Missa Sinfonia took a deep breath of the fresh air as he prepared to leave. He of course stood in capybara island, where he had accepted by the others as family.

However he intended to return to his own family, as it had been an week since he last saw them. Before he made his way across the bridge he would be interrupted the sweetest capybara.

Missa give them the nicest pet he could offer him, while he said his goodbyes. Before he had the option to leave, the capybara pushed it's head into Missa chest meeting him with puppy eyes.

"Aw please don't do that, you guys know I want to stay but I have to visit my other family as well."Missa pleaded, "I'll be back before you know it."

The capybara hung his head in sadness, to which Missa gave them a final pat as he said his goodbyes.

He then made his way to the Waystone, teleporting on top the wall. He took a moment to observe the newly built shrine in there front yard, built with a mixture of quartz and prissmarie brisk

In that center of the structure was a empty slot that seem to be for offerings.

He made a mental note to ask Phil about such as he open the front door then dropped his bag Inside. While inside he noticed Phil through the window, seated in the fountain outside mumbling to himself.

Somewhat confused at Phil's odd behavior he made his way to the fountain, observing Phil with concern. "Philza are you ok?"

Phil immediately upon becoming awear of Missa existence jump to his feet forcing him in a wet embrace. "I missed you!" He mumbled into Missa rob.

Missa awkwardly pet Phil's back in an attempt to comfort, "I missed you too.. what's with the shrine in the front?"

Phil pull out of the hug meeting Missa with a anxious gaze, "right I need to explain that to you."

He then dragged Missa to the front, as he attempt to explain further, as a result he explaination was brief confusion mess; Missa understood perfectly.

"Ay dio mios." Missa expressed as he process the information. "Me casé con un Dios, si molesto a la Diosa seguramente me golpeará!"

"Missa, she's a pacifist, she would never do that." Phil reassured, "besides..Rose would have love you."

"Hm.. you think so?"

"I know so." Missa hummed in respond to Phil's reassurance, "she.. someone left me a message." Phil informed as he passed of a fold sheet of paper.

Missa unfold the sheet to be met with a curdly draw map, with a red X quite so distance away. "You think it's from her?"

Phil bit the inside of his cheeks, as his eyes darted to the ground. "If you had ask me that 20,000 years ago, I could tell you without doubt." Phil shifted on his feet, "I don't know anymore, anytime I get these messages I just feel anxious."

Missa watch with a mixed expression, he certainly wasn't gonna let Phil do it alone, but he was worried they could be walking into a trap. "Philza, I'll go with you no matter what, I just want to be sure you think it's a wise decision."

"I don't.. but I don't know what else to do." Philza confessed meeting Missa's eye contact.

'.. okay, let's go then."

"Are you frigging kidding me?" Badboyhalo inquired as he stood by Forever's side; they were banished to the medbay so Cellbit could keep an eye on Forever, mainly to watch for withdrawal symptoms.

"I just an anger at you are." Cellbit informed.

"You seem pretty relax to me." Bad teased

"I had time to calm down."

"Jesus what was Cucurucho thinking giving him pills, I swear it's his one fits all solution!" Bad complained "you think at most they'd call him for a schedule injection instead of handing him pills."

"I really don't think Cucurucho understood the intensity of what he did." Cellbit add

"And you, you almost gave me a heart attack!" Bad explain turning his attention back to Forever, "don't you ever scare me like that again, I don't care if you respawn, I rather you not die!"

"You were worried about me?.. that's sweet of you Badboy."

"Wh..of course I was!"

"Why, surly you can get flowers elsewhere?" Even if he meant it as a joke, which Bad wasn't sure of, it hurt with a Intensity he couldn't stand.

He knew he joked with Forever a lot about the flowers, but it was clearly a joke. As a direct result of said pain, he gripped Forever by the collar, getting in his face.

"Do you seriously think I only care about the Flowers?!"

Forever gasp Bad's hand in attempt to lossen his grip, he couldn't understand Bad's anger, as much a he could remember it's always been about flowers. "Is it not..?"

"I care about you, w-we care about you! Get that throw your thick skull!" Bad snapped back

"Um Bad, I'm sorry Forever is exhausted.. please.." Cellbit interrupted, sensing the tension was a bit too thick

Bad share one last annoyed glance at Forever before accepting defeat. He released Forever with a a sigh then exist the room.

"Cellbo.." Forever started, "please could I just go home and rest?"

"I'm not letting you go home until I confirm the intensity of the withdrawal symptoms." Cellbit insisted, "I've learn my lesson from last time."

"This..this happened before?" Forever inquired, you figured something like this wouldn't be something he forgot.

"What do you mean, what's going with you?" Cellbit inquired.

"I.. it's like you said I'm very tired." Forever debated, he lied down on the bed closing his eyes.

Cellbit watched Forever with tired eyes as the taller gentleman crawl into the medical bed, he seem to immediately pass out.

Cellbit made his way to couch in the corner where he sat, melting in the cushions. His mind was going a million mile an hour just being in Forever's presence.

Why did he ask if this happen before, surly he didn't forget the happy pills situation, and why was he so rude to Bad?

Was he lossing his memory? The thought terrified Cellbit. If the infection got into his brain, even if he could or rather when he cures him, would his memory be restored?

How much did he forget, was the infection targeting spefic memories? Cellbit was too exhausted to circulate these thoughts in his head any longer, as he found himself dozed off In the soften of the couch cushions.

Cellbit would have the grace of a dreamless sleep, unlike Forever whom was whisked away to dream land.

Forever would find himself in a field of flowers, the sweet smell filling his nose. Truly if Forever was awear he was dreaming, he would see the irony.

However he true concern was the pink tint to the sky, as well as the lovely tune dancing on the wind, a tune he had heard before.

The environment itself gave a sense of peace, an unexplainable feeling of belonging, that this was meant to happen.

As the tune grew louder it became clear to Forever he wasn't hearing music, but rather a woman's hymns. He try to push himself up but felt paralyzed at the attempt.

The tune was growing closer, filling Forever's soul with a wave of peace and understand. Forever took a deep breath and he closed his eyes then open then to discover he was still in the med bay.

His eyes dart around observing Cellbit passed out on the couch. Forever pushed himself upwards in the bed as he made his way to the couch, shaking Cellbit awake.

Cellbit jumped awake as he tired to pull himself together, distributed to be forced awake.

Upon noticing it was Forever who woke him, Cellbit quickly calm down before inquiring for a reason.

"Desculpa Cellbo, por favor. eu preciso de falar com voce." Forever explain

Cellbit's hmm in respond as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "O que rolou?"

Forever dug through his pockets then offered an small resalable bag containing two pills, Cellbit took the bag with so hesitations.

His eyebrows knit as he became aware of the type of medicine he was looking at. "You had more?" Cellbit inquired.

"I made sure to keep two on me, just in case."

"in case of what?" Cellbit snapped

".. Cellbo I..I don't think I'm a gonna make it past this week." Forever confessed.

Cellbit's expression shift, the color leaving his body at Forever's bold words. "W..what are you even talking about?"

"I can hear the mother of Death, singing to me go..and I think it's a one way journey."

"We're they more pills in the bag that you took?" Cellbit inquired

"No no, I know I sound crazy, but.. I'm telling you I can feel it. I don't remember much as late, it feels this thing has gotten in my brain."

That unfortunately confirmed Cellbit's theory, but even then it's seem pointless to give up so quickly. He could save Forever he was sure of it, maybe his memory would suffer but they could new memories couldn't they?

"Cellbo, I just want to say goodbye, because I not sure I'll get the chance." Forever explained, It seemed cowardly to Cellbit.

"you're giving up too soon, even if you die, you'll respawn. People don't die on this island, not the adults at least." He mumbled the last part to himself.

"Cellbit, my memories are gone, my body is badly damag-"

"So your memories are a bit fuzzy, It's fine, start over!" Cellbit interupped, "it's not the end of your existence!"

"You're not listening to me Cellbit." Forever plead

Cellbit pushed himself out the couch, making his way to the exist. "I don't need to listen because it's not going to happen!"

Forever sat back down on the bed, then sighed in frustration. Perhaps this was just his way of coping, denial is a stage of grief afterall however it was fustarting to deal with it.

"Cellbo, I love you. " Forever stated, though he meant it as a friend he didn't need to explain that much to Cellbit.

Cellbit hold his grasp on the door frame as he meet Forever's eye contact. "Yeah, I love you too.. you're going to respawn."

"..Sure."Forever ended with a smile

Missa observed every little detail of the path they took, the sudden Increase in the crow population, the odly dead silence minus the caws of the crows

The environment itself felt dead, all flowers were wither, tress bear of any leaves, the podsoil ground crumbled with each step.

The crows seem to be looking directly at him, it gave him a dreadful feeling. "Philza, I'm not sure about this." Missa acknowledged.

"We're just a step away." Phil informed, "..if you really think we should turn back .."

"No, it's fine.." Missa backtracked. "We're already here, too late to turn back."

Phil observed Missa with a little concerned, he truly didn't want to turn back, but he also didn't want Missa to be uncomfortable.

Missa had a point, it was a bit late to turn back. Phil took a deep breath and processed forward soon walking onto a mixture of marble and grass floor.

They seem to had step into a garden of sorts, the grass was the most alive plant, and it was a dark shade of green. It seemed the crows lived here, as most the population was seated all around, mostly in trees.

"This is actually very pretty." Missa started desperate to break the silence.

Phil approached a large tree, dead like the others, it had an broken down platform on top of it. "This.. this is my domain.."

"You built this?" Missa inquired, "it's very nice, I'm sure it's a lot more beautiful when the flowers are.." Missa cut himself off to observe the large fountain statue in the center of the garden.

It was a gaint woman, wearing a puffy dress. She seemed to have Roses also designed in her hair, she looked..a lot like Phil.

Was this Rose, the entity that bought his husband into existence? He felt compelled to thank her, yet felt it would fall on dead ears.

His train of thought would be interrupted by a rouge crow, whom consistently caw at him for attention.

Finally he turned his attention to the crow, whom proceed to drag Missa by his collar to the back of the statue. Once he was there Missa's eyes widen at the site, the back of the structure was pulsing with black vines of which seemed to dig into the grass part of the ground.

Missa had a feeling this was the reason the environment was dying, he was getting a bad feeling about this.

Before he had the option to warn Phil, the sudden loud caw of many crows grabbed his attention. He ran to the sound to find Phil being engulf slowly by these same vines, he stood completely still.

Missa in a state of panick attempt to pull the vines off Phil, pleading for Phil to snap out his unmovable state. When this didn't work, he attempted to pull Phil free directly however that wasn't working either.

So again the same crow demand Missa's attention, to which he listen. The crow lead him back to the statue, picking at its base.

Missa not sure what else to do, took the crows hint as he grabbed a isolated log before approaching the statue.

"Perdóneme, Senora Rose!" He plead, Missa then slammed the log into the statue. Once it crumbled apart, it exposed an unnerving structure.

A rapid growing pitch black tree, pulsed like a beating heart. Missa observed the structure in horror, so shocked he would noticed the crow digging through his bag before it offered him a flint and steel from his invertory.

Missa accepted the item with some hesitation, he really didn't want to hurt Phil, but he had no ideas. He said a quick prayer as he lit the tree, to which it squealed like a pig as it flung back and forth.

Soon enough the fire spread the vines consuming Phil before the entire beast erupted finally releasing Philza.

Missa ran over to him, checking Phil to make sure he wasn't hurt. Thankful besides a few burnt feathers, he seemed fine.

The creature was render to ash, taking all the trees and plants with it. Missa released at sigh of relief, the supposed evil was Finally gone.

"Philza, are you ok?" Missa inquired.

Phil pulled himself together to observe the state of the garden, it pain him to see the plants completely gone but where it hurt the most was the stight of the statue, completely broken.

The likeness of his mother made from marble, scattered completely on the ground. "W.. why did you do this?" Phil asked turning his attention back to Missa.

"Y-you, I -I..I didn't know how else to save you, the crow-"

"The crow?!" Phil interupped, "you listened to the fucking bird?!"

"I-I didn't know w-what else to do!" Missa tried to explain as he slowly backed away, "I- I just wanted to help!"

"Help? Look what you've done!" Phil snapped.

Missa lips quavered as he buried his tears, he didn't know what else to say, he just wanted to keep Phil alive, he truly just wanted to help.

Phil sallowed his pride at the fear in his husband's face, reality crashing down on him. Phil couldn't stand the state he was stuck in.

Constant and sudden emotional outburst, paranoia, frequent stressfully experiences, he couldn't stand it, he wasn't use to feeling this much.

He hurt Missa as a result.. with his sallowed pride Phil feel into a constant stream of tears as he pulled Missa into a sudden embrace, soaking his clothes with his tears.

Missa, still on edge offered phil a few gentle pack on Phil's back, hoping to being some comfort to the old fool.

Late that night Missa would pack his things in silences Just inches away from Phil hugging a pillow in deep sleep, the pillow missa had replaced himself with so he could leave.

He threw the bag over his shoulder as he open the door, then made his quiet exist. Well it would be quiet if not for the crow's desire to keep him there.

For some reason the crows followed the all the way home, they even seemed to be able to track them after teleporting.

But this crow, the same crow who convince Missa to set the vines ablaze perch on top the fence surrounding the edge of the wall.

"What?" Missa inquired, "dont look at me like that, this is your fault you know."

The crow respond with a stern glare, successfully getting it's point across. "I'm just giving Phil some space, the last thing he needs right now is be forced to look at the man who ruined everything. " Missa debated

The crow didn't seem to like that answer, and instead puffed up it's chest and open it's beak. "Don't you dare!" Missa warned

The crow however remain fearless as it caw rapidly and loudly in a attempting to wake philza, which it absolutely did.

Phil watched Missa try to hush the crow with tired eyes, said crow was basically mocking Missa as he bounced around.

Phil step forward and pick the crow almost immediately shutting it up as a result. The crow quickly jumped to his shoulder as Phil turned his attention to Missa.

"Ah, Sorry Phil, I didn't mean to wake you. I was just gonna move down to the petting zoo. " Missa lied.

Phil observed Missa with a bit of Sadness then pulled him into a tight hug, partly to stop him from escaping. "Please don't leave."

Missa released a sigh as he accepted his fate, "I just make things worst Philza.." Missa complained, "there's no point in me staying around."

"Stop!" Phil command, he lossen his embraced to meet Missa's eye contact. "I'm sorry, it was so obviously a trap. Everything had been so crazy lately I wanted to believe it was true.."

"Oh, it's f..fine Philza." Missa dismissed

"No, it's not! You were just trying to help, you didn't deserve any of that." Phil insisted

"No Phil, I mean I forgive you.. it's ok." Missa double down.

Phil took a deep breath, he didn't feel any better about his actions, but he didn't want to make Missa uncomfortable but pushing.

Instead he reinstated the hug, burying his head in the corks of his shoulder. "Please come back to bed."

Missa hummed in respond as he lead Phil back the bed, where he would fulfil Phil's requests.

[nickinick554]

Halloween Hotline

Prompt 5 - What's Your Favorite Scary Movie

Character Joel + reader Word Count 2700 approx.

#PedroHalloween2023 Writing Contest

"Attention all you trick or treaters! It's about that time to get your ghoul on!" An enthusiastic male voice boomed with jovial Halloween spirit through the speakers of my old, black Ford. I twisted the volume knob to turn it up some as I drove through the center of town.

"For tonight is All Hallow's Eve, my favorite time of year. Our town comes alive on October 31st when the witches and warlocks, imps and monsters roam our streets!" Upbeat, spooky music accompanied his voice and he gave a laugh that made me giggle.

"Tonight we will be flooding the airwaves with the scary, spooky and downright disgusting stories that you, the people, have submitted to us throughout the month. It's not for the faint of heart so if you're not down with blood and guts, this is your warning to change the channel and turn on the old classic, The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, instead. I'm your guest host for the evening, Joel Miller. Before we get to all those stories, beginning promptly at 8:30, we would love to hear your answers to the ancient, old question, what's your favorite scary movie? Call in now and let us know. It'll put your name in a raffle for a chance to win a pumpkin full of tricks and adult treats!"

The Monster Mash began to play and I looked down at the center console toward my cell phone. A pumpkin full of tricks and treats didn't sound too bad, and the addition of the word adult treats was a bit alluring. Also, guest host Joel had a sexy voice.

At a red light near the town green I snuck in a quick Google search of Hot 99.9's phone number and clicked on the nine digit number. In place of the Monster Mash was a ringing sound through the speakers and the light turned green again.

I took a deep breath as I turned onto my street and then that familiar, cheery voice answered. "Hot 99, this is Joel, what's your favorite scary movie?"

"Hi Joel, this is Nicolette. My favorite scary movie is Scream 2." I cringed at my attempt to match his radio energy. It sounded much cheesier and less cool when I spoke.

"Scream 2." He laughed as he spoke back. "Interesting choice. Not the original?" "What can I say? Scream 2 was cheekier and more fun. I know I'll probably catch shit for this. Oh no, I'm sorry. Can I swear on the radio?"

Joel laughed louder. "We are officially into adult hours here, so one lonely little curse word won't get us shut down. This call is recorded, not live, so no need to panic." He had a charming delivery.

"Just as long as I can still get entered into the adult tricks and treats raffle." I attempted to sound flirty, "Any chance you can give me a sneak peak of what's in the prize pumpkin? I promise I won't tell, and since we're not live it can be our little secret." I blushed at my own cheesiness once again, but I couldn't deny I was having a little bit of fun.

"Well, it isn't Christmas quite yet but asking me something like that could put you on the naughty list a few months early." "We wouldn't want that." "The adult treats are nips of vodka," Joel quickly confessed, "And a dirty card game to play at parties."

I smiled wide, certain he was flirting back. "My lips are sealed. I won't spoil the surprise for your other contestants." I pulled into my driveway and put my phone on speaker before hurrying inside. The two bowls of candy I left out for trick or treaters had been emptied and turned upside down. I hoped the younger kids got their share before the teenagers ransacked it.

"It's Nicolette, right?" Joel asked as I closed the front door behind me. "That's right."  "And can I have a phone number to call back in case you're the winner of tonight's grand prize?" Of course you can, I thought. I carefully spoke each digit of my phone number into the receiver all the while wondering if it was possible to develop an innocent crush on someone without even knowing what they look like.

Joel repeated the number back and I confirmed it was right.  "Good luck, Nicolette. If you win, you'll have to come down to the station to claim your prize." I smiled again, actually hoping I would get the call back so I could go down and meet this guy face to face. Maybe my life had gotten so boring that this was as exciting as it got for me. Whatever, it's fun! I dismissed the negative messages my mind was sending to put a damper on my unexpected thrill of the evening.

"Oh, and Nicolette?" Joel spoke. "Are you still there?" "Yes." "If you win, you'll get a bonus prize if you wear a Halloween mask to the station. We aren't supposed to tell our callers that, either."

I had a gut feeling Joel was going to rig the raffle. It wasn't fair, but hey it wasn't like it was a million dollar giveaway. I wasn't even excited to win a little liquor or a card game. I just wanted to see what the mystery man looked like on the other end of the phone line. "Like I said, my lips are sealed." "We'll call you back if you're our winner."

The line finally went dead and I smiled to myself. I hadn't dated in awhile, not since my last boyfriend broke my heart the year before. My walls had been securely up and no one had managed to break through. For the first time in forever, flirting a little felt good, even if it was just a little bit of telephone banter.

I kicked off my shoes and curled up under a blanket with the television remote in one hand and my iPhone in the other. In the corner of the room was a modern radio with an old time look that I had only used to play my Spotify lists, or charge my phone. Rather than turn on the TV I checked the settings and clicked the switch at the bottom of the radio to FM.  Okay, what now? It was, sadly, the first time I had attempted to use the actual radio on the device.

I twisted the knob, carefully spinning it until it landed on 99.9 with just a mild etch of static. I positioned it just right to get clear audio of Joel's voice. "Only ten minutes remaining to get your name into that raffle," he said. I could almost picture him smiling as he spoke. "We'll announce the winner right at 8:29 before my brother, Tommy, your everyday host, takes back over to read that first spooky story at 8:30. Call in now, what's your favorite scary movie?"

I cuddled back up under the blanket and listened to two more Halloween tunes, Thriller and the theme from Ghostbusters. I looked at my phone. It was 8:28. I felt silly for how my heart was racing. Maybe I was naive and Joel was using his catchy personality to woo all of his callers. It was certainly plausible. "It's that time, Joel." Tommy's voice overlapped with the tail end of Ghostbusters and the music faded out entirely a few seconds later.

"It's that time," Joel agreed. "Let's get the winner of The Great Pumpkin announced so we can start scaring all of you still listening out there. Thank you to everyone who called in. We had lots of classic answers, from Halloween to Saw. Even Scream 2 made the list. We had some Blair Witch project, Friday the 13th and Trick 'R Treat. All fun ones." "And now for the big reveal," Tommy chimed in as one or both of them made a drumming noise near the microphone. "And our winner is....."

"Caller Nicolette, Scream 2 is her favorite. Nicollete, if you're out there, if you're listening please call the station. If we don't hear from you in two minutes, we'll call you because we're good guys like that." "We are?" Tommy asked. "We are!" The two of them laughed and I couldn't help but jump into the air, sending the checkered blanket on my lap to the floor. "Yes!" I knew it. Joel was flirting back. Now, I had to see what this man looked like.

I hit redial on the station and Joel picked up right away. "Hot 99, this is Joel." "This is Nicolette, calling to claim my winnings." "Congratulations!" He bellowed, making me laugh into the phone. "Do you know where we're located?" "I do." "Well, hurry down and I'll get you hooked up with your grand prize. Oh, and don't forget the Halloween mask." I gave a glance in the mirror, touched up a little of my eye makeup and scrambled to find a cheap masquerade mask I wore to a costume party a few weeks ago. 

I was a bit giddy on the five minute drive as I attempted to picture Joel Miller in my mind. Was he tall, short? Did he have dark hair? Light hair? Bald? Glasses? Beer gut? Abs of steel? Dad bod? Clean shaved? Facial hair?  I was making too much of it. I wasn't being judgey. I just had this insane curiosity that was eating away at me.

When I saw the tall, red neon sign that towered above Hot 99.9's brick building, I felt a layer of goosebumps and parked my car in front of it. In contrast to the lively nature of the broadcast, the building was dark and quiet. Clicking open my door and pacing up to the big, steel door left a hushed echo and I even looked over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't being stalked like in some scary movie. That would have been ironic given my reason for coming to the station.

The steel door, I discovered, had a giant round handle that wouldn't open. Beside it was a button with a white rectangle above it and blue writing inside. All it said was, Ring for Entry. I rang the bell and breathed deeply to myself, taking in my surroundings once more. I looked over one shoulder and then my other one, again, half expecting to see a masked man wielding a knife. My imagination has begun to run a bit wild. "Hello?" A voice finally sounded off through a speaker beneath the bell.

"Hi, I'm Nicolette. I'm here to claim my prize." "What prize?" My heart sank, but it didn't last long. "I'm just kidding," Joel's voice was clear as day on the other end. "The door just unlocked. When you walk in, go straight to the end of the hallway until you can't go anymore. You'll see a ghost. I'll meet you there." A ghost? "Okay, thanks."

I pulled at the heavy door handle and yanked it open with both hands, leaving the eerie setting behind me as I slipped inside. I reached into the pocket of my sweatshirt and placed the Masquerade mask down over my eyes.

It was much more modern than on the outside, with tiled floors that I guessed were on the newer side and freshly painted walls. There were pictures and decor, some seasonal, some not. I passed a few blurred out windows on the walk down that left a bluish glow from whatever was taking place inside. One of those blow up Halloween ghosts you see in peoples' yards was there to greet me at the end of the corridor when i arrived, as promised by Joel, himself.

I looked to my left to see a water fountain beside a brown door but the hallway stopped there just twenty feet away. To the right the hallway stretched on for another long while to make a sort of uneven T. The brown door next to the water fountain clicked open and I jumped. A startled yelp left me and I put a hand over my lips, embarrassed.

The man who walked out made my eyes widen a bit. I was certain my pupils dilated in order to see the object of my instant attraction more fully. He was handsome, devilishly so, and right there at first glance I could see the mischief in his eyes that matched his voice. He was trouble, the good kind of trouble. The kind of trouble that sent you home laughing to yourself well after the date was over. His beard, his radiating smile and his messy head of hair was icing on the Joel Miller cake. 

I wouldn't mind if he was the extra prize. I couldn't help thinking it to myself, glad I brought along the Halloween mask just in case. "Hi, I'm Joel." For the first time I realized he had the plastic pumpkin full of goodies in one hand. He outstretched his other arm and we shook hands. "Hi." 

I almost asked, what was the question?, even though one had not been asked. Joel had an aura about him that had me instantly mesmerized. His warm, firm gasp might has well have turned me to stone. "You must be Nicolette?" "Yes." I snapped out of it, thankfully. "Yes, hi. I'm Nicolette." "I have your prize bucket here." Joel's right hand dropped and he raised his left one, offering up the pumpkin.

"Thank you so much." I was smiling wide now. "I hope I didn't get you in trouble by spoiling the surprise." He smiled back and I didn't know if it was just hopeful on my part that he looked me fully up and down. "No I'm not in trouble. Tommy is my little brother. I call the shots." I laughed with him and Joel shoved his hands deep down into the pockets of his jeans.  "So, will the winner reveal her true identity?"

I breathed and pushed the mask up onto my forehead. "I guess that's only fair." Joel's smile grew bigger. "Do I get a second prize, or does that make me greedy?" I removed one of the promised mini bottles of vodka and held it between my fingers. "A promise is a promise." Joel held up a finger and disappeared back through the brown door. He returned second later with a brown envelope. "You have two choices." "Okay." My cheeks hurt from smiling. I put a hand on my hip and slung the pumpkin up to the bend in my elbow.

"Choice one." The mischief returned to his eyes, "You take the envelope." "But you won't tell me what's inside it?" "It's a twenty-five dollar gift card to The Wolf Lounge on Esther Street." Joel was pretty straightforward. "Tempting. That's a pretty cool place." I couldn't help but ask. "What's option two?" Joel sized up a clock on the wall with his eyes that I had not seen or noticed until that moment. I followed his stare.

"At nine o'clock when my guest appearance ends, I could take you there myself, and we could spend way more than twenty-five dollars." Joel held his arm out straight with the envelope looming in my direction. It was a bold move. I felt the palpitations of my heart leaving a little chorus of lub-dubs in my chest. If this was a cartoon little heart emojis would be fluttering through mg chest cavity into the air right about now.

I pretended to reach for the envelop but at the last second I pushed it back toward him. Joel's expression went from certain to uncertain back to certain again and he laughed. "I was thinking about option two since I heard your voice on the radio," I said to him. "That makes two of us."

I admit that I went against all of my feminine instincts and all the warnings not to get into a stranger's car when I allowed Joel to take me down to the Wolf Lounge. As we clicked our glasses of red wine together I knew it was the right call. Joel looked me directly in the eye and with his best radio voice and that mischievous smirk of his he said for the first time, "Happy Halloween."

@pedrocontestsrus @joelswritingmistress #PedroHalloween2023

[ryuzakemo128]

Smother

Pairing: Alessia Romano x Supermodel Female Reader x Joel Miller

Content Warning: Region (Somewhat I guess?), implication of depression and suicidal ideation. Alessia keeping secrets from Joel and you, I guess.? Cussing, swearing and mild spice.

Note: If you want more with the female reader also involved, let me know, and I'll make more like it in the future. Another thing to keep in mind, the female reader is shorter than both Joel and Alessia. Alessia is also taller than both Joel and the female reader. The song influenced by this is - Smother by Daughter.

Words: 727

Masterlist

Dividers

Summary: Alessia's prayer and midnight confession. "Who am I now that my parents are gone? Who am I if all I do is kill? Will I become my father now? Not that it matters now, my soul is already damned."

I am wasted, losing time On a foolish, fragile spine

"Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done; on earth as it is in heaven, I come to you with blood covered hands. If I am to die today, then let it be done as swiftly and quickly as possible. They shall dance upon my grave, my death will come with much celebration, I am sure of it.' She said in a hushed whisper, looking upon the portrait of her late mother, deceased for the past fourteen years.

I want all that is not mine I want him but we're not right

"Death, dying in the world of organised crime was always seen as a potential bonus to many of them. Most seem to forget that Rome took ages to build. Yet it took only a single day to bring it to ruins." Alessia couldn't bring herself to finish her prayer. But she knew she had to finish, no matter how much she wanted to run far away.

In the darkness, I will meet my creators And they will all agree, that I'm a suffocator

"Who am I now that my parents are gone? Who am I if all I do is kill? Will I become my father now? Not that it matters now, my soul is already damned. The whispers of the ancients beckon me, but I know they're not there, but I still hear my mother's crying in the bathroom when I was a child. The smell of her perfume still lingers in my nose. The feel of her tears on my face as she told me she was sorry for bringing me into this mess. That's all I remember before she left." Tears trickled down her face, one by one, like ants marching to their own death.

I should go now quietly For my bones have found a place to lie down and sleep Where all my layers can become reeds

"I refuse to remember her as the corpse on the floor of our living room, my father holding her in his arms. He was a man lost, a king without his queen. And now here I am, a pawn in this twisted game of chess, with no queen to save me from the grief of checkmate. I am nothing but a soldier in a war that was never mine to fight. And now I fight for them. For their memory, for their justice. But is this the path they would have wanted for me?"

Alessia could not finish her morning prayer, for it was the fourteenth anniversary of her parent's death, and she couldn't hold in her tears anymore. She did not want to hold in her tears longer than she felt like she could.

Her lungs burning from the dry heaving, the sobbing that wracked through her ribs like a storm at sea, she took a deep, shuddering breath. The grand room, silent, except for the mournful echoes of her sorrow. Walls, adorned with the spoils of her father's reign, stared back at her, as if in judgment. Her heart felt as cold and lifeless as the marble beneath her bare feet.

All my limbs can become trees All my children can become me What a mess I leave

Alessia remained there for a solid minute, her knees pressed into the cold marble, her forehead resting against the wooden chair in front of her. The room felt suffocating, a prison of her own making. She knew she had to get up, had to face the day, but the weight of her sorrow was too great. With a sniff, she wiped away the last of her tears and stood, her legs wobbly from the sudden movement.

Alessia had a warm bath, Joel reading to hear eased her depressive episode to a larger degree than he would know of. The words from his favourite book, "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy, filled the room, bringing a temporary peace to the turmoil within her. The scent of lavender filled the air, a scent that reminded her of her mother's gentle embrace. She closed her eyes, letting the water's warmth seep into her bones, trying to wash away the chill that had settled deep within her.

I sometimes wish I'd stayed inside My mother Never to come out

[toomanybandstocare]

{Fascination Street, The Cure}

Program: Halloween night invites trick and treats of all kinds. Though the small town of Hawkins still celebrates, the reigning fear of the past four years of murder cannot be forgotten. Absolutely smitten by his partner, Steve hopes to spend a sweet night alone together at his house. However, the night takes a turn when things get too freaky.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Slasher, GN! Reader

Genre: Angst, Horror/Slasher

Warnings: Character death, Couple of swears, Suggestive content (Make out and Straddling, nothing else), Knives, Inflicting pain onto character

Camp Upside Down Masterlist

Length: 3120w

Counselor Note: Happy Halloween! Stay safe, campers. I got inspired by my watching of Halloween II tonight and thought why not try it. I'll edit in sometime this week.

The cool air bites against the window panes as the wind hollers outside. Wreathes of fake, festive foliage decorate the inside of the windows to celebrate autumnal spirits. Pristine pumpkins and vases of preserved flowers adore the Harrington household, providing the only seasonal homeliness as the owners attend Hawkins’ Halloween banquet. 

Curling his finger around the telephone cord, Steve gnaws on his bottom lip while turning the call dial. He shifts his weight and bounces on his feet as the static is soon replaced with the automated dial tone. Excitement kisses the back of his neck, and his hair on the back of his neck stands up when he hears a familiar click on the other end of the line.

“Hello,” your voice comes across crackly, but still causes an eruption of butterflies in his stomach.

“Hi ya, sweetheart,” Steve calls out and leans against the wall next to the receiver. “ I was wondering what you were up to this Hallow’s Eve”. A boyish grin spreads across his face when you respond with light laughter.

“Well, I was thinking of going to Tammy’s party,” you mused, “but I heard that my favorite boy wasn’t going to be there”.

Steve’s heart races at your pet name for him. It skips a beat when he pictures the faux pout on your face. Coughing over his small stutter, “Miss me that much, huh? Just couldn’t get me out of your pretty little head”.

“Steve,” you whine in protest.

The grins on his face tightens with a sting, and he feels electric hearing that you’ve missed him. “Why don’t you come over, hm?” he asks. “Kill two birds with one stone”.

Your chuckle crackles over the phone, “And, what would be the second bird then?”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Steve’s voice hushes as he leans closer into the phone, as if he were speaking to you in person. “I probably miss you more than you miss me. So hurry on over- it’s just me tonight. Parents are out with the Wheelers for some benefit banquet, so it’ll be the two of us. I’ll leave the candy bowl outside, and we can enjoy some alone time”.

His heart pounds against his ribs as anticipation hangs in the air alongside the telephone static. Fidgeting with the phone cord, he shifts his weight to his other foot and waits. The kitchen clock’s ticking hits his ears in shrill alarm.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” your giddy voice eagerly breaks the silence, “I have a little surprise for you that I need to get ready”.

As soon as the call disconnects, Steve stumbles into action and hastily grabs the candy bowl from the counter. Running into the living room, he races into the side table by the door and scrawls a candy limit note before tripping onto the front stoop to leave it. 

Just as Steve dances through his house to get ready with a skip in his step, you grab your worn knapsack and gather your supplies for tonight’s chilling evening.

Excitement shivers down your spine as you hold up your knife to make sure it’s clean from your last Halloween celebration. The ridged wood handle feels smooth to the touch as your fingers trail down the edge and trace the four carved notches on the side. Carefully placing it in the side compartment in your bag, you then reach into the nighttable’s draw to grab your polaroid camera and put it on the bottom with your leather jacket shoved on top. Your eyes scan your room looking for anything that might come in handy, but confidence tingles in your veins. Biting your lip, the bubbling glee of tonight’s festivities warms your body. You snag the carabiner of keys off its hook by the door of your room. Latching it on one of the jean’s belt loops, the lucky rabbit’s foot sways with every step you take down the stairs and past the front door.  A pair of handcuffs dangle on the opposite of your pants from your belt and reflect off your home’s porch light. 

The cool autumn air stings your cheeks as you stride to your car, but it doesn’t diminish the gleaming smile on your face. Knocks on neighborhood doors and choruses of trick or treaters fill the night in a delightful cacophony. Rumbling in ignition, your car comes to life as the headlights intrude on the groups of friends and families walking from house to house on the street. Pulling out of your driveway, you weave your way through the crowded roads of Hawkins and make your way to the Harrington household. 

You tap your fingers in anticipation against the steering wheel as you park behind Steve’s shiny, new BMW. Before you can even cut the ignition, you see the front door open out of the corner of your eye. Reigning in the sickening sneer threatening to slip over your smile, you pull your keys and grab your bag. Thrill tingles the back of your neck as you get out of the car, and your heart thumps with the shut door. Your eyes never leave Steve’s glowing face as you lurk toward him. Not a single look of concern passes his face as he watches you draw near and join him on the small stoop.

“Hi ya, lover boy,” you hum and rest your hand on his hip. Your heart melts at the soft look he gives you with the new pet name. Guilt nips at the back of your mind, but the boiling sting of excitement washes it away.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve mumbles and presses a cheeky, chaste kiss to your temple. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he leads you through the front door. Glowing string lights outline the living room and deep red curtains block out the streetlights. “Mind locking the door for me? I made some popcorn for us if you're interested,” he smiles sweetly back at you and turns to walk into the kitchen. With almost a disappointed look on your face, you watch his back retreat further into the house as you twist the lock with your shirt sleeve. 

Your gaze locks onto the TV program that illuminates the room as you settle into the couch. Your knapsack makes it home next to your relaxed leg leaning against the couch. Ears twitching at the sound of faint footsteps, you decide not to acknowledge his presence. The quiet thud off to the side table registers in your head. Faking concern about the new report, you don’t look away from the TV. A red headline scrolls across the screen, “ Stay alert and on guard for the Midnight Slasher”.

“Didn’t see the slasher out in the streets, did ya?” Steve jokes and lightly digs his fingers into your waist. You’re jostled around on the couch as his weight causes you to half land on his lap. A small screech breaks past your lips as you jolt with faux fright.

“Steve,” you gasp, “That’s not funny”. His chuckles put your jittering nerves at ease, but the adrenaline simmers in your veins. 

“I’m sorry,” he teases as he moves his arm up to rest against your shoulders. Pulling you in close, Steve’s eyes glow from the background light as they peer into your own. His breath tickles your lips as he leans forward to brush his lips gently against your own. Pressing into his embrace, you close the small gap between the two of you. 

Steve’s hands tug you closer to him when you pull away quickly to catch your breath. His honey eyes peer at you through a hazy gaze as you push him fully onto the couch. Watching his head softly bounce against the cushion and the blissful euphoria starts to distract him, you nudge your knapsack closer. With a knock from your foot, it falls to its side and the unbuckled top flap spills open. Ready for easy access.

“This wouldn’t happen to be the start of my surprise, would it,” Steve smirks up at you as you straddle his lap. His hisses at the friction from both your jeans cause, but a different growing frenzy sparks inside you.

Leaning into his face, you hover above his lips, “It’s going to be a night you’ll never forget, Steve. It’ll go down in history”. As he leans up to reconnect your lips and pulls your body against his, you rest one hand against his shoulder to hold him in place. Slipping your other hand to your waist, you unlatch the handcuffs from your belt and drag the open latch against his wrist bone.

The cold metal sends a jolt through his entire body as he moves just out of your intoxicating kiss. His eyes widen in a sense of clarity when he locks onto the shining cuff in your hand. Unable to move his gaze, a sense of apprehension alarms Steve. He darts his tongue against his suddenly dry lip, “Little freaky for our first time”. Steve’s eyes dart to your own gleaming look, and a sense of unease floods over his system.

“Come one, Steve,” your soft voice all too tempting to Steve’s ears. You watch with care the thoughts running past his eyes and know to tread slowly. Pressing your chest against his own, you feel the gulp Steve takes as his eyes follow your movements. The buzz of pursuit begins to prick at your skin. “It’s Halloween. Where’s your festive spirit? Look, we’ll even use a safe word to stop. Alright? We won’t do anything you don’t want to”.

Hesitation softens his expression, before Steve breaths out a sigh and nods. “Yeah, alright,” he laughs, “How about ‘killer’ for the safe word”.

“Perfect,” you breathe out and press a chaste kiss to his lips. Moving his hands away from your waist, you hook the cuffs onto his wrists and rest them on his stomach.

As you trail your lips down his neck, Steve cocks his head in confusion. His voice strains when he asks, “What about my shirt?” 

Moving up to the corner of his mouth, you place a light kiss. You feel the blooming heat from his cheeks and smile pulling at his lips. “Do you trust me?” you whisper. The hand on his shoulder grasping slightly tighter as you teeter, waiting for his response. Your other drops to the side and grips the cushion seam.

Steve’s beautiful, brown eyes meet your own with an adoring expression. His plush lips tug into a tender smile. “Whole heartedly,” he lovingly confides. 

Almost as if consumed by the building tension, all emotion snaps inside you. You swoop your head, and your lips meet in a frenzied clash. Teeth nipping at parted lips. Steve’s moans rumble from his chest as your breathing grows heavy. The air in the room sits in a thick blanket.

Moving your body to lay completely on his body, your hand reaches into your knapsack’s open pouch. Your chest burns with passion as Steve’s desperate pleas ring in your ears, and you grab the familiar ridged, knife handle. 

In a flash you pull back from Steve’s luscious whines, and with one hand you tug the hem of his shirt up just past his cuffed hands. The armed hand comes over and cuts the shirt open with ease. As the blade grows closer to Steve’s face, you watch in giddy fascination as his eyes widen in fearful realization. The knife’s tip catches on his shirt’s collar, and you feel Steve’s breath still. With one final tug it snaps free, and the knife slices a small cut across his chin.

“Color?” you rasp as your chest heaves. The burning flood of excitement begins to break your last resolve.

“Yellow,” Steve looks at you in slight fear. “What the actual fuck,” he spits out. He tries to shift you off his lap with his hands. Realization clicks when his eyes lock onto the gleaming metal secured around his wrists.

“Shame,” your drawl out in a disappointed tone, “I was hoping it was red. No worries, we’ll get there soon”. Clamping your thighs and holding yourself, you keep your balance as Steve tries to thrash you off him. 

In a painfully grip, you hold onto Steve’s shoulder and raise your other arm up. The knife gleams from the television light as you swing it down towards his chest. Your chest stings in thrill as you watch Steve’s panicked expression melt into fear. A twisted smile of delight breaks your sweet facade.

Pushing his hips up into your own, Steve can only hear the drumming of his heart. He uses one elbow to hastily support himself and tilts his hip up to throw you off him onto the floor. Steve’s body follows your own as he uses the momentum to try to escape from the couch.

With the sudden movement your body shifts as you’re jostled onto the ground with Steve falling after you. Instead of landing in his chest, the knife lodges into Steve’s shoulder as he tumbles off the couch. A wave of dizziness clouds you, but you quickly shake free of it. Moving fast, you hop up on your feet and shove your foot onto his chest as he struggles to push past the pain.

His groan falls mute against the static news report and children squealing behind the door. Bending down, you grab the knife and pull it with force.

“Fuck,” Steve cries out. Pain twists his face. His hands latch onto your ankle trying to shove your foot off.

Pressing harder onto his chest, his shouts sound like music to your ears. The symphony comes to a crescendo with a snap of his ribs. You look down at the writhing man as you move your foot off his chest and to his other side. 

Blood gushes in a frenzy from the bubbling wound. Sweat trickles down his temple. Adrenaline makes his big, brown eyes blown out. Steve Harrington has to be the most breathtaking victim you’ve set your sight on.

As you look down at him in fascination, you wet your lips as he starts to kick himself away from you. Not even concerned, you bring your foot up and slam it down on his knee. A sickening crack echoes in the room as his scream reverberates through the house. He could have looked so good on the big screen with Myers if he didn’t catch your eye first.

“No one’s going to come for you,” your voice calmly breaks past the clashing orchestra.

“There’re people outside,” Steve whimpers and pushes closer to the door to his back, “They’ll hear me. You made a mistake choosing such a popular night and crowded neighborhood. Someone will come”. Taking a desperate look behind his shoulder, Steve shoves closer to the door and reaches up for the handle.

“Oh, lover boy,” you sing.

His eyes flash to meet your electrictric gaze.

“Don’t you remember?” you ask in fascination.

At the sight of his confused look warping into panic, an amused laugh spills past your lips.

“You asked me to lock the door,” you bark out with a laugh of disbelief.

You throw yourself onto him in an outburst of adrenaline. Bringing your arm down in a flurry, the sweet smell of iron overwhelms your senses. Your eyes dart down to the wound in Steve’s torso. His hands grip onto your wrist in a whit knuckled grip as the two of you struggle against each other’s hold. Blood pools out of the shallow wound, but with every grapple it deepens. Inch by inch.

“Don’t you trust me, Steve?” you growl and push your weight harder onto his injured leg.

A howl of agony wracks Steve’s throat, and he brings his other leg over to push you off. Gulping any air he can, Steve tries to pull himself over to the stairs. Every movement sends a searing fire through his body. The carpeted floor pulls at the growing torso wound. His mother is going to be mortified at the stains he’s left behind. A hazy fog sinks into his mind as he keeps his focus on the staircase. Adrenaline seeps out of him, and a blanket of ache and pain weighs down on him. His ears twitch at the sound of your footsteps retreating. A fleeting hope of escape swells in his chest. Only to shatter when the familiar foot fall approaches close behind him.

“Oh, lover boy,” you sigh and turn him on to his back. His glossy eyes meet your doting expression. Standing over him, you bring the polaroid camera up and capture the sweet scene.

“Please,” he breathes out with a sob.

You coo softly at the crying boy. Bringing yourself down, you crouch over him and cross your arms. The tools of your trade dangle in your fingertips.

“Happy Hallow’s Eve, Steve,” you call out softly. Tears stream down his face as you move the knife to rest right above his heart. “You’ll always be my favorite boy,” you promise and push the blade with one final plunge.

Your heart pounds in your rib cage as you watch his body lurch underneath your own. Small twitches shutter through his body. Only after a few minutes, they slow down to a stop. Watching his eyes take in your face, you see the light begin to fade from those honey eyes you’ve come to adore.

Pulling the knife free, you stand up and look at your latest masterpiece. A small tinge of sadness seeps into you knowing that your work is complete. You bring the camera up one more time and frame it to get his whole body in the view. The camera clicks and whirligig gears ring in reality.

As you head over to the couch, you hear the chatter of disappointed children as they realize the candy bowl is empty. The news still plays in the background while you tuck away your knife and pull on your jacket. Even though blood clothes are a pretty common costume, the difference between real and fake blood is apparent enough. Void of any emotion, you pull your knapsack onto your shoulder and head towards the front door.

“Though we haven’t gotten any reports of the Midnight Slasher tonight, do not let your guard down. We hope that the four year streak of terror has come to a close, but until we know for certain- keep your doors locked and a form of protection near by,” the static news broadcast plays in the background.

Stepping over your victim’s legs, you unlock the front door with your jacket sleeves and step onto the front stoop. Without sparing a look, you close the door to the Harrington household.

Taglist:

@my-my-only-angel @hellfiresangel @staygoldwriting @soph69420world @gathered-moss @once-upon-an-imagine

[dario-the-deer]

You Won't Get Into Heaven II

[Part I]

"Stay safe--I'll be back, I swear!"

The Warden's retreat was understandably quick, given the gravity of the Construct's situation. Milae's eyes stayed on Dario for as long as he could manage, but it was only brief as the pair disappeared. The stag was too stunned from just moments before to put up a fight. He was alone.

A shame he didn't leave the book.

Almost alone.

I did not see you taking the path of a bōkari... or is it fun to play pretend?

"Not how that works- wait, no. Stop." Dario looked aimlessly around, nearly forgetting that this voice wasn't attached to anything. His voice was flat, with remnants of a break every now and then. "Can I have even a moment of peace?"

In wartime, ástin mín? The end of the sentence carried an almost perceptibly foul tone. I have provided my assurances that you will not see harm beyond the minor injuries you've already sustained of your own accord.

"You have an odd definition of autonomy." Dario could see the helm in the distance as he wiped dirt and gravel from his legs. "I'm useful to no one if I won't be allowed to help where it's needed."

Your juvenile perception of the matters at hand is concerning. Is the fulfillment of our contract not of greater precedence?

Virion had its attention turned in the direction of the Construct, seemingly unbothered by Dario's spoken disagreement. The stag shut his eyes in the hopes that he could shut everything out.

"Greater precedence to what?" Dario wiped under his nose; a trail of crimson streaked across his hand as he pulled it away.

Incredible.

"Where were you when Sylar had me in a fucking basement? When we were jumped right before coming back to the White Hallows?" His hands gripped the ground below. "When Sylar nearly did me in on Haligan?"

You believe Sylar's fate was by your hand? A substantially longer pause than normal followed this statement, as if allowing Dario the time to recall. Today is not your first encounter with the endless bounds of gifts I offer you, smjaðra fyrir.

The scene played out with terrifying accuracy in Dario's mind - the sight of Milae in the snow, Sylar's talons raised to attack, and his own charge... but then, nothing.

He knew the outcome, but he was unable to recall the moment itself.

"You. Sylar was... because of you."

I did not know enough of the seidkonur at that point to know if he would be successful in his defense of you. I could not trust you to do what was necessary.

"So why then, and not before?" Dario's tone was more innocently inquisitive now, having a genuine interest in piecing this together. "You let it get to that point."

We would disagree. You could have ended things far sooner, but you chose not to utilize the tools afforded to you.

"You know why I couldn't."

I know that you were a coward. Dario's head stung at the last word, as if a physical manifestation of the venom it delivered. Only once the scout was in a tragically parallel situation could you take action. Your efforts of self-preservation are minimal at best.

"I'm a fucking human!" Dario's back burned as he forced himself to his hooves. "I'm a person! How can you hold me to an impossible standard?"

You are not supposed to be here, Hjort. You remain on this plane at my pleasure. Should you wish to insult that, then maybe I have not done enough to persuade you.

"Forgive me if I'm not convinced. Spare me the riddles." Dario walked over to the helm, slowly bending down to pick it up and dust it off. "I don't see how I can fulfill any sort of contract, especially one that I never asked for, if I'm sidelined."

Making minor adjustments to secure the bone against his antlers, Dario let his eyes fall on the Construct. His raised arm served as a perch for Virion, who had not broken concentration.

"This matter, or whatever you'd like to call it, between us can wait."

The air was deceptively still; no response was given. Dario knew the entity had not disappeared entirely, but he wasn't going to stick around to wait for it.

"Alright, Virion. Let's get you back to Juro."

[dreamcubed]

don’t blame me | draco malfoy x reader

song; don't blame me [taylor swift] pairing; draco malfoy x fem!slytherin!pure-blood!reader genre; angst, hurt comfort, s2l word count; 9,5k timeline; half-blood prince --> deathly hallows warnings; swearing, abusive parents (verbal), death eaters, voldemort, somewhat forced allegiance with voldemort, violence, mentions of death, injuries (involving blood), minor character murder summary; y/n was surprised to find herself relating to the family pressures draco malfoy faced, and it soon opened up the question of... would their bond help them fight back and choose the good side, or will they both be too weak to not give in?

masterlist

"i once was poison ivy but now i'm your daisy."

——————————————

The day Y/N L/N had set off for Hogwarts had gone exactly how she had expected it to. One of the house staff members escorted her to Platform 9 3/4, her favourite one, actually. Nancy Pickins was by far the most friendly maid of them all, and had been around since Y/N was three, having played a huge part in her raising. The pristine Mr and Mrs L/N had much bigger things to worry about than their only daughter's wellbeing.

Smiling up at the maid, the small eleven-year-old Y/N jumped up to give Nancy a deadly hug of goodbye. "I'll see you at Christmas, Nancy."

"Yes! I'm sure you'll have a wonderful first term, Miss Y/N."

The train journey had been where Y/N met her best and only friend: Matilda Varn. They had shared a cabin all the way, and for the first time the little L/N got to spend time with people of her own age. Merlin knows how the isolation had ripped Y/N of basic socialisation skills. Gratefully, Matilda was quite the extrovert and helped get her out of her shell.

It wasn't just Matilda she met on the train, however. She also met the esteemed Draco Malfoy in the flesh, when he decided to do a run round of the first years, despite only being in second. "What are your names?" he had asked.

"Matilda Varn."

"Y/N L/N."

His gaze had lingered on the latter for a few seconds, but he ultimately left the two alone as he recognised the Slytherin house L/N family name. Draco was unaware of Varn's blood status, but knew that L/N was pure blood. Lucius Malfoy had mentioned the name a countless number of times before; whereas Y/N didn't recognise the Malfoy name, most likely due to the fact she hardly saw her parents. She pretended she did, however, when he introduced himself.

Draco hadn't necessarily been attractive back then. His face was chubby and adorable, yes, but the way he gelled back his blond locks was kind of off-putting, to Y/N at least. Of course, puberty hit, and a full five years later he was quite a handsome young man.

Y/N had had hardly anything to do with him until her fifth year and his sixth, mostly remaining quietly at Matilda's side. Another thing that had gone as expected on first day was being sorted into Slytherin, and as a bonus Matilda was too. She was a halfblood, and only just qualified for Salazar's offensive rules.

Either way, so began Y/N's journey at Hogwarts.

***

The first day Y/N had a proper interaction with Draco Malfoy was when she had found herself taking a shortcut to the library halfway through her fifth year. Curfew would soon be coming, and she had to get a book to complete an essay she had completely forgotten about. People hardly used the corridor she was taking, as it connected from the dungeons through to an even grimmer part of the castle. Y/N was too desperate to care about the spookiness of the place.

Only did she halt in her tracks when the sound of sniffing reached her ears and made her frown. Why would someone cry down here?

Peeking round the corner, she saw the last person she had expected to see perched at the bottom of a cramped spiral staircase she would need to climb to get to the library. That blond hair and pale skin was recognisable anywhere. It was Draco Malfoy, of all people, crying his heart out on the lowest step. Against Y/N's better instincts, she stepped forward and coughed to get the older boy's attention. Immediately he looked up with a scowl, but she couldn't take it seriously due to the tear-stained cheeks he was sporting.

"What do you want, L/N?" his tone was harsh, as always.

Asking him what was up was definitely a fool's action, so she merely mumbled, "Nothing," and silently took a seat next to him. Draco looked like he was about to add something more, but his gates opened again and he found more tears running down his cheeks.

Y/N sat there silently. She knew from personal experience that sometimes it was nice just having silent company; someone who doesn't bombard you with questions constantly. Her thoughts drifted from what was happening to the fact it was useless trying to get a book from the library by that point. Guess it would be an early morning for her. Without realising, she had pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bitten so hard blood was visible.

"Why is so much expected from me?" were the words from Malfoy that pulled Y/N from fantasy land.

She sighed, "Because some people care about the wrong things."

The blond boy sniffed and glanced at her, trying to read her blank expression.

"I should get going," she said quietly, "Snape will do my head in if he catches me out after curfew."

"I'm a prefect."

"I'm not," she smiled softly, standing up, "I hope whatever it is gets better, Malfoy."

Draco didn't do anything to stop her leaving, watching with a frown as she disappeared around the corner and out of view. He hated it when people asked him if he was okay, but that didn't stop him from being confused as to why Y/N didn't. She just... sat there peacefully and didn't ask questions. What she said about people caring about the wrong things, too. It felt like there was a personal sense of experience behind her words.

While he continued to sulk and ponder in the unused corridor, Y/N journeyed to the Slytherin quarters. "Parseltongue," she said to the entrance, which swung out afterwards and allowed her to enter.

The common room of green and black oak furniture was still relatively busy with Slytherin students. She couldn't help but notice how lost Crabbe and Goyle looked in the corner as they spoke to Zabini. Brushing it off, she stopped by Matilda to say goodnight, before heading upstairs to make sure she would actually be up early the next day. Naturally, Y/N mentioned nothing about Draco: the fact he had been crying was private and not her secret to share.

Upstairs in the fifth year girls' bedroom, she changed into her pyjamas that consisted of a ratty Slytherin quidditch shirt that had belonged to her father back in the day. It was the only thing she really had of him that was personal.

Malfoy headed back to his dormitory after another half hour; the first ten minutes of which he spent wallowing in self-pity, the other twenty he spent patrolling on prefect duties. He nodded solemnly to Crabbe and Goyle, not giving any words before he disappeared up to the sixth year boys' room. Even then, the mysterious Y/N from a year below played on his mind.

Why did he feel comfortable around her?

Why didn't she ask questions?

And, more importantly, why didn't she make fun of him?

Draco had so many questions, but little to no answers.

***

The second time Y/N saw Draco Malfoy doing something highly out of character for him was when she was turning a corridor and caught sight of the platinum blond boy pacing in front of a wall. She immediately backed up to peer around the corner again in curiosity, not wanting to interrupt the moment. To her amazement, she watched as a door appeared in the wall. Draco was evidently expecting it, and entered only to have the door disappear again after him.

Y/N waited a few seconds before approaching the spot the door had been, running her hands over the smooth stone bricks with her mind ticking through a thousand possibilities. It wasn't really a surprise to her that secret rooms existed within Hogwarts' walls: the surprise was that Draco knew about one of them and how to find it. A possibility she covered was that whatever he was doing in there had something to do with the crying from a week ago. It seemed likely that all of his out-of-character moments were connected, after all.

She didn't actually have anywhere to go, she had merely been wandering the corridors in search of peacefulness. Maybe that's why Y/N was the only one to see Draco: she was the only one who went into the lesser used nooks and crannies of the academy exactly when he did. Coincidence, maybe, but it meant she could maybe provide some help towards the strange boy. So, Y/N sat down by the wall, a little ways away from the absent door. Malfoy would have to come out eventually.

And, he did, a full two hours later. It hadn't been hard to stay there: she had paced a lot, let her imagination wonder, carved her initials into the wall. She was a little confused as to why she cared so much, but after seeing Draco, the most arrogant and narcissistic boy in the school, cry, she knew she had to do something.

Needless to say, Malfoy froze in his tracks when he walked through the door and caught sight of Y/N curled up against the wall. She had resumed that spot from pacing a mere few minutes earlier. "Salazar, L/N. What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," she replied without skipping a beat. At his lack of response, she continued, "I saw you go in."

"It's none of your business what I was doing in there," he said harshly, visibly regaining his composure as he tucked his hands in his pockets. The door behind him had turned back into a wall once more.

"I wasn't going to ask," Y/N mumbled, forcing herself to stand up. Malfoy was taller than her, so he didn't consider her a threat. Good thing she wasn't trying to threaten him.

There she was with the lack of questions again. Why didn't she care about the details? "Then why are you here?"

"I'm worried about you."

Draco scoffed at that, making her sigh. It was the reaction she had expected. "I'm fine."

"You are far from fine, and you fucking know it." Her choice of vulgar words took him aback a little: despite being a Slytherin, he had always known the young L/N to be quite a quiet and soft-natured person.

"What's it to you, anyway?"

"I don't like seeing you not yourself. Given, your regular self is a stuck-up little bitch boy, but the fact you aren't acting like that regularly would make anyone who notices concerned."

Draco looked down at the E/C-eyed girl with a frown. She was persistent, and part of him wished he could tell her the cause of the whirlwind inside his head. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't tell you."

"Fine, if that's the case..." she said, shifting her gaze to the floor as her confident facade dropped, "At least don't isolate yourself when you're sad, I know I hardly know you, but I'm here for you."

"You wouldn't be able to say that if you knew the truth," he began walking away, but when she replied he paused with his back to her.

"Maybe not. But I've said it now, and I will stick to it no matter what."

Draco looked over his shoulder, observing the girl's firm gaze, "You're too naive, L/N."

"Have a good day, Draco," she said, delicately using his first name for the first time, before turning around and leaving without another word.

He stood there staring after her for a few seconds, until he snapped himself out of it and continued on his way, pushing thoughts of the naive little fifth year out of his mind. No part of him could understand the way her mind worked. All he knew was that she was the first one to notice his change in behaviour, and she wasn't even his friend, so that said a lot about the ones he did give that title to.

***

As another week passed, Y/N found herself constantly glancing during meals to where Draco was sat, checking he was eating properly. He hadn't been, until he caught her looking one time and she glared down at his food. Raising his eyebrows at her, he had watched in mild amusement as she mouthed "eat" to him. After that, for some reason, he did start to eat closer to proper meals again. Which was good, as he had been losing an unhealthy amount of weight.

She found him crying a second time when she passed through the corridor the exact moment Draco exited the secret room. Instantly, Y/N had dropped what she was doing and taken him to an unused corner of the castle she cried in a lot. He had been too upset to object, and ended up sitting in silence with her for twenty minutes before the breakdown ended. The departure from that had been awkward and dismissive.

Truthfully she shouldn't have been out of bed after curfew that one night, sitting in the common room as she tiredly completed two essays she had completely forgotten about. Unintentionally, Y/N had been paying attention to who was walking through the entrance, waiting for Draco to check he was safe. He never came, even after his prefect duty time came to an end. A bad feeling grew in her gut. Against her better judgement, she found herself creeping out of the Slytherin dungeons in search of the boy. She didn't know where to begin looking, though.

Maybe the prefect bathroom? That seemed like a logical first place to look, so Y/N set off on a journey there, creeping down the halls. She was used to staying in the shadows: that had been the only way for her to explore her own house as a child.

The prefect bathroom was a dead end, as upon pressing her ear to the door there was absolutely zero sound of life in there. She wasn't sure where else he could possibly be, but then remembered the secret room he kept going into. As she had learned, its location changed constantly, however, so it would be near impossible to locate. Aimless wandering soon ensued, and she was about to give up just as she crept passed the boys' bathrooms. Noise was coming from inside.

Opening the door ever so slightly and peering round, she caught sight of Harry Potter yelling the words, "Sectumsempra!" and shooting a bolt of light into the blond boy she had been searching for. To her pure horror, Draco fell backwards as crimson blood began seeping through his white school shirt. Y/N instantly threw the door open and ran over to him as tears pricked at her eyes and her vision became a blur.

"You sick son of a bitch!" she yelled at Potter, who was frozen in place, "I thought your whole thing was being above all this!"

More tears streamed down her cheeks as she knelt beside the barely conscious boy and did her best to clean up the wounds with her shirt. Unfortunately, healing spells had always been her weak spot. All she could do was apply pressure to the multiple wounds laden across his vaguely toned pale chest. "Y/N..." he murmured, using her first name for once. He passed out almost immediately after, Snape showing up out of nowhere and scolding Potter before turning to her holding Draco's head in her lap.

"Miss L/N, you shouldn't be out after curfew, five points from Slytherin," his drawling voice spoke, but she was too upset to care.

"Please... help... Draco..." she sobbed.

By dawn, Y/N had been forced to go back to her dorm and leave Draco in the hospital wing. Snape had been very firm about it, despite her crying and fighting back in response. Madam Pomfrey had taken her there after tending to Draco's wounds to prove he would be fine.

It had been a sleepless night of tossing and turning in worry, so much to the point Matilda nearly woke up. The very second sun had shone through the window glass, Y/N had thrown on a jumper and jeans and ran down to the completely empty common room. Only teachers were walking around the corridors, and weren't quick enough to say anything about her sprinting.

She had burst through the doors of the hospital wing and desperately ran over to Draco's bed, despite Madam Pomfrey saying visitors weren't yet welcome. "He'll wake up soon, right?" she asked, instinctively taking the unconscious boy's pale hand in her own.

The sheer fear and worry in the girl's eyes made Madam Pomfrey stop trying to get her to leave. "Yes, he should wake up in the next couple hours. He won't be able to leave for a few days, though."

"As long as he'll be alright," Y/N muttered, taking a seat.

***

When Draco's eyes fluttered open, he was surprised to see Y/N right by his bed. Not only that, but her fingers were entwined with his own, and clearly had been for a while judging by the slight sweatiness in his palm. Vague memories of the duel and Y/N showing up played back to him, causing a throbbing headache to take over his head. Him groaning alerted the exhausted girl of him being awake.

"You're okay!" she cried, unintentionally jumping up to wrap her arms around his neck and squeeze. Draco hissed at the pain it caused, instantly making her retract herself, "Shit. How could I forget... Sorry..."

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice coming out raspy due to his parched throat.

"I was worried sick! You never came back to the dorms so I went out looking for you and passed the boys' bathrooms... I heard noise so I looked in to see Potter cursing you and I... I..."

"You care about me too much, L/N."

She sighed, "You're telling me... I skived potions to stay here..."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"I didn't wanna leave you."

Draco tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but hissed once more at the pain and fell back down again.

"Don't push yourself," Y/N said, glancing at the bedside table, "Oh! And because I refused to leave Pomfrey told me to make sure you put this ointment on your wounds when you woke up."

Standing up, she pulled the curtains around the bed to add some privacy in case someone else came in. Draco was essentially shirtless in bed, but had been covered in the duvet until she pulled it off and made him scowl. Well, apart from his left lower arm which was firmly bandaged, and not by Pomfrey. "What do you think you're doing, L/N?"

"Healing you," she replied, grabbing the ointment and beginning to rub it into the various wounds as Draco flinched. He watched in silence as she did that until each of the cuts had been tended to with her soft touch. It felt annoyingly nice when her smooth hands brushed against his torso. She smiled in content at completing her task, "There. All done."

"Thanks."

The look of shock Y/N gave him for saying thank you made his heart sink a little bit. But the shock soon turned into a happy grin. "I'm glad you'll be okay."

He scoffed.

"You think I wasn't terrified for your life when I saw you as a bleeding mess on the floor?" she did a full 180 from a happy smile to tears pricking at her eyes. He thought she was a hormonal mess. "I... I thought you were gonna die, Draco..."

"Well, I didn't."

She sniffed, "Do you... Do you want something to drink?"

At Draco's nod, Y/N slipped outside of the curtains and returned about a minute later with a goblet of water and a bar of chocolate.

"I thought you might be hungry, too."

Once more, the boy tried to prop himself up on his elbows; it was painful, but this time he succeeded in getting into a seated position. Y/N arranged the pillows behind him to support his back after handing over the goblet and chocolate. Silence fell over the pair as Draco began slowly eating, having taken a big gulp of water already to appease his dry throat. Square by square he placed the chocolate in his mouth, until he held one up for Y/N to take.

Shaking her head, she said, "You need it, Draco."

"Have you eaten today?"

"No, I came here as soon as the sun rose."

"Take it." He firmly held the square up to her lips, and didn't budge until she open her mouth slightly and let him push it in. His thumb brushed over her lips in the process, making her eyes widen in a mild flustered state.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Another few seconds of silence were dwelled on, but Malfoy soon said, "I heard you call Potter a sick son of a bitch last night."

"Yeah..." she chuckled, "Probably made myself an enemy now."

"I also heard what you said after that."

She stared at him silently, remembering her words to Potter.

"You're about the only person who's ever said that to his face."

"There's more to everyone than meets the eye... including you," Y/N murmured, dropping her gaze to the floor.

They shared a small smile, allowing her to see the first ever genuine look of contentment cross Draco's face. It fell again, when he said, "You can't get too close. I'll put you in too much danger."

"More danger than my parents wanting me to join Voldemort?" her tone was barely audible, but Draco heard her perfectly. In hindsight, if he had paid as much attention to her as she did to him, he would have probably figured it out. Shying away from conversations about the Dark Lord, appearing angry whenever she visited the owlery to send letters, playing nervously with the skin of her left wrist as if it was about to disappear.

"Are they... are they death eaters?"

She nodded solemnly, "They've never been good people."

"Are you gonna do it?"

Tears were once again pouring down her cheeks, "I don't have a choice! People say 'Oh, why don't you just turn away from your parents?' but I can't... I... it's not that simple-"

"I know," he cut her off gently, "I know."

Draco hadn't realised how similar of a situation they were in until that moment.

***

By lunchtime, they had been sitting quietly for a long time. Y/N had been staring at his left arm intently, putting the pieces together in her head as she connected all the dots. "You have the Dark Mark, don't you?" she mumbled the question, so there was no risk of anyone else hearing.

At his lack of response, she shakily brought her hand forward and trailed her fingertips along Draco's bandaged inner left arm. He flinched when she did so, but ultimately didn't object to the movement.

"I'm sorry... I can't imagine how hard it must be-"

"Save it. It's not like there's anything you can do."

"Just... please let me be your friend... That's all I ask..."

"Fine. You can be my friend."

Her grin was a little too adorable for his liking. He didn't like how comforting her presence was, or how calm she made him feel.

Madam Pomfrey soon told Y/N to go to the lunch hall and eat, when she should then go back to lessons. She was reluctant, but she knew Draco was going to be okay so agreed. Matilda bombarded her with questions the second she sat down at the Slytherin table, but the only response given was, "I was visiting Malfoy in the hospital wing."

When Malfoy was released from the hospital wing, he seemed to distance himself even more. The Golden Trio began glaring at Y/N whenever they passed her in the corridor, and it made her wish they would see beyond their own version of good. Y/N didn't know what was going on with Draco, but she knew that being good or evil was more than just black and white. Heavy influences such as controlling parents can drastically restrict a person's freedom of choosing sides, creating a grey area in the middle.

But all Potter, Granger and Weasley saw was a mean boy with connections to the Dark Lord. Nothing was as simple as that.

The battle with Potter had led to a further dip in Malfoy's well-being, that only Y/N really seemed to notice. Crabbe and Goyle were both too stupid to pick up on it, Parkinson was too lovesick to notice, the Golden Trio didn't care, and Zabini wasn't great at reading character. Draco definitely wouldn't want her to mention his behaviour to anyone else: he didn't want people to notice. She wished she could help him, but how could she when she didn't know what he needed help with?

That wasn't what was on her mind, however, when she received an owl directly from her father (which was unusual) on a rainy Saturday morning. It had been written in her family's signature shorthand, so it was unreadable to anyone outside their bloodline. Translated, it read:

"Y/N L/N.

Due to the Dark Lord rising once more, your mother and I have the full expectation of you joining the death eaters and receiving the Dark Mark. Objections are forbidden.

Lord Voldemort is fully aware of your potential, and is awaiting your pledge of allegiance.

Regards, Your Father"

Concise and straight to the point, like always.

Y/N sighed staring down at the paper, earning the question from Matilda of, "What's that say? Looks like gibberish."

"Shorthand. Private family issues."

"Oh, I see," she replied, not pushing any further, "I hope it's not bad news."

Humming, she folded the letter up and shoved it in her pocket, mumbling something along the lines of, "Gotta go reply," before leaving the table. She had no intentions of replying: she intended on going to her secret crying place to bawl her eyes out. Why, oh why, did she have to be born into a family of death eaters?

What Y/N hadn't realised was that a certain blond boy sat not too far down the table from her had been watching the moment. Varn hadn't seen the sudden withdrawal and mood switch, but he had. So he soon found himself excusing his presence from the table and subtly following after her. He could tell she wasn't headed to the owlery to send a letter; she took a completely opposite direction after leaving the Great Hall.

Draco frowned as he expertly stuck to the walls and followed her in silence, noticing tears already slipping out her eyes when she turned a corner. He didn't know why he cared, but maybe he just felt a sense of indebtedness towards her. She had helped him without hesitation before, and they were officially "friends" by then.

Only when Y/N stopped at the crying spot she had shown him before did Draco put himself in sight and go to crouch down beside her. He was merely in black jeans and a dark green hoodie, his hair undone and falling over his forehead. It was the weekend, so he hadn't bothered to dress himself up in any way. If she wasn't so upset, she would definitely have made a note of how effortlessly attractive he looked.

"L/N," he said, immediately regretting the use of her last name, "...Y/N."

Looking up, her pretty E/C eyes met his, although her vision was blurry and she could only tell it was Draco by the platinum blond hair.

"What happened?" he asked unsurely, not knowing how to sound comforting.

She cried even harder, making him freeze up for a solid few seconds before he moved himself to sit next to her against the wall. However, he froze up once more when she tucked into his side and shoved her face into his chest, but then he awkwardly put an arm around her. "Why...?" she eventually choked out.

"Why, what?" he hesitantly said.

"Why do... they have to be... death eaters?"

"Your parents?"

She nodded, letting out a sob, and then burying her face deeper into his torso.

"I don't know. But I... I do understand what you're going through."

***

"No! Who am I kidding? Your situation is probably way worse than mine," she said, leaning her head against the wall. It was an hour later, and her tears had mostly dried up, but they were still talking about it.

"Just because it is, doesn't mean yours is invalid. You have a right to be upset," he replied, meeting her gaze.

Sighing, Y/N gave him a sincere look, "Why do they expect me to become a death eater? What good would I do? I'm a pussy when it comes to fighting."

"It wouldn't look very good for them in the eyes of the Dark Lord if their daughter was on the good side," Draco dared to share a cheeky grin, which she returned. He had never spoken so lightheartedly about it before.

"Yeah," she smiled slightly back, "Do you mind me asking about you?"

The boy sighed, running his hands down his face. Only now did Y/N take in the small details of his relaxed weekend attire, that made her stomach flip. It was a new feeling, and one she kind of liked. "Well, my parents have obviously already, uh, initiated me to become a death eater," he gestured to his left wrist, "And with that comes-" he gulped, "-responsibilities."

"Draco..." she murmured, delicately touching his hand, "What did... what did they make you do?"

His eyes were brimming with tears this time, and Y/N's soon were again as well when he explained what he had been doing in the Room of Requirement with the Vanishing Cabinet. "-I have to do it, Y/N," he sobbed, clutching her shoulders, "He'll kill me otherwise! He'll... kill... me..."

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down into an embrace that he so clearly needed, and she secretly did too. Draco shifted his arms to around her back, pulling her in even closer to the point she was sat on her knees between his legs. Their heads were buried in each other's necks as they, for a moment, shared a hug that had never truly been given by their parents. Two touch-starved individuals finding consolation in one another.

"I know," she said. There was no point in making suggestions about telling Dumbledore: what good would that do? No matter how she panned that situation out, it had a sticky end with a lot more deaths than just Dumbledore's.

"What am I supposed to do?" he pulled away slightly, finding his face mere inches away from Y/N's as he looked into her eyes.

"Honestly, Draco, I don't know... I wish I could help you... but I... I can't..."

As no more words left their mouths, they looked around in each other's eyes until they both realised the tension in the air and found their eyes moving to each other's lips. Draco glanced down at her rosy lips first, feeling a small wave of melancholy happiness when her face flushed just a little bit. He leaned down slowly, Y/N responding by tilting her head towards him, until their lips met in the middle and began moving. Kissing her softly as if she was the most fragile thing in the world, Draco moved his hand to cup her cheek and pull her in closer.

The chaste movements continued in sync until they each began to feel breathless, and parted with their foreheads remaining in contact. "You listening to me is more than enough," he whispered.

"I'll stick by you no matter what, Malfoy."

"You can't say that, Y/N... this is Voldemort we're talking about."

"Yeah, well I'm probably going to be... going to be forced into, well, becoming a death eater too..."

"What if I do kill Dumbledore? What then?"

"I don't care."

He chuckled, moving backwards as his emotions were clearly mixed, "You're so naive, L/N."

"If I wasn't you'd have no one to vent to, so stop complaining."

Draco's features changed to slightly amused, and it was nice to see a hint of his old persona still remained with him. He was still a spoiled rich kid at heart, just with a complex exterior.

"You know what I bet?"

"What do you bet, Y/N?"

"I bet you're a huge mummy's boy!"

He scoffed, "Am not."

"You're lying."

Raising his eyebrows at the girl still sat between his legs, he said, "You wanna know what I bet?"

"What?"

"I bet you find me very attractive."

"And what if I do?" she asked, her tone getting quieter.

"Then you wouldn't be the first."

Y/N beamed at that, giggling when she said, "What? Are we talking about Parkinson?"

Draco groaned, "She's so clingy and whiny and obsessive..."

"You're whining about her right now."

"And you're clinging to my chest right now, what's your point?"

The talk ended with the two's spirits lifted, and the realisation that Y/N would be late for revision with Matilda if she didn't get going. Despite that, it appeared that moment had been the true pivoting point in the future's course of events.

They had no idea what was in store for them.

***

As if Draco Malfoy's character hadn't changed enough, one particular day he seemed to have taken another turn. He wasn't back to his old spoiled brat attitude, and he was no longer distant and quiet. Overnight he had become tense, jumpy, and just over-all on edge, as if somebody was constantly trying to jump-scare him. Y/N, like usual, noticed, as she had carefully been observing him to make sure nothing was getting worse. It was hard to tell if this brand new attitude was a positive thing or a negative thing.

They hadn't been alone together since the time they shared a kiss in the secret crying corner. Sneaking away was hard because Y/N didn't want to make Matilda suspicious, and she also didn't know what sort of relationship she had with Draco. Either way, she felt as if it was necessary to discuss with him his change, but a chance didn't rise throughout the day, so she elected to bring it up the next day instead.

Little did she know, that would be too late.

*****

Y/N was woken up with a shake late into the night, from Matilda who was staring at her with a terrified expression, "Y/N! Get up! It's an emergency..."

"What is it?" she groaned.

"Death eaters! In the castle!"

That made her sit upwards in bed instantly, her exhaustion leaving her at her friend's very words. "What?" she said with a hiss.

"Yeah! All the muggleborns are coming here, to keep them safe because-"

"Because the death eaters are likely to leave Slytherin alone, yeah, yeah, I know..." Draco suddenly crossed Y/N's mind, "Have you seen Malfoy?"

"No? Why-"

Matilda was cut off by Y/N jumping out of bed to pull on shoes and grab her wand, her hair gratefully already messily tied out of the way. She may still have been in pyjamas, but that was the last thing on her mind. Draco was the reason the death eaters were there, and she knew it for a fact.

"Don't come after me, Matilda," she said firmly, before running out the dorms and down the steps to the common room. After a quick scan, she confirmed the platinum blond boy was nowhere in sight, so made a beeline for the exit. The Slytherin head girl was stood there with what appeared to be a checklist.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked firmly.

"I'm going out there."

"You're a fifth year, I can't let you-"

Y/N pushed past her before she could be stopped, quickening into a sprint as she followed the sounds of fighting down the corridor. The loud bangs seemed to be coming from near the Astronomy Tower, so that's where she was headed. It was highly unlikely that her own parents would be battling, but if they were infiltrating Hogwarts the present death eaters would almost definitely have been shown a picture of her in order to prevent the L/N daughter being killed. Her chances of survival were higher than almost all the other students.

She skidded to a halt when she chanced upon a corridor where what appeared to be a member of the Carrow family was locked in a duel with a professor and a couple students. Y/N stuck to the wall and managed to get past them, ducking down when a bolt of light was sent her way. It was only the first of many duels she had to pass to get to the Astronomy Tower. That had to be where Draco was, as there had to be something all these professors and students were guarding.

When Y/N reached the Astronomy Tower door, it was still being guarded, but not very well as the nearby professors and students were in combat. "L/N! You're not allowed up there!" one of the professors yelled, but as neither the death eaters nor professors and students would hurt Y/N, she slipped through the door and ran up the steps.

She stopped just outside the entrance to the balcony tower, to hear Draco and Dumbledore engaged in conversation. There was a scared edge to Malfoy's voice as she heard him speak, "I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

Y/N stood and listened to Dumbledore talk about bringing Draco over to the good side, and while he made it sound as if the Order could keep him safe, she couldn't help but have her doubts. Lucius Malfoy supported Lord Voldemort with all his heart, and Narcissa Malfoy was too devoted to her husband to betray him. Draco wouldn't leave his mother like that, either. It was a domino effect, and it left Dumbledore's 'plan' deeply flawed.

She heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, so quickly tucked herself in the corner as she watched who it was. From what she could tell, they were too intent on reaching the top of the Astronomy Tower to notice her in her pathetic hiding spot. Y/N counted four hooded figures storming through the entrance on to the balcony. Breathing in sharply, she felt her heart beating wildly in her chest as she heard the encouragement from one of the new arrivals for Draco to kill Dumbledore.

Snape came up the stairs next, having apparently broken through the barrier down the steps. He didn't notice her either, immediately walking through to where the showdown was taking place. Y/N heard him bark at the others to get out the way, before she heard words she never thought she would ever hear spoken. "Avada Kedavra." That was unmistakably Snape's voice.

Had he killed Dumbledore? Or had he killed one of the death eaters?

All Y/N could do was stare forward blankly with wide eyes as she had her back against the wall, too scared to peer round and find out the victim of the ultimate Unforgivable Curse. It had all happened so quickly, and all she could feel was the thudding in her chest.

What if it had been Draco?

Y/N heard the charge of footsteps back towards the steps as all except Dumbledore and one death eater left the room: three of the four hooded figures, Snape, and gratefully Draco came through the door. Dumbledore had fallen, but Draco was alive. Draco was all she could think about as she watched the very boy be the last one through the door. In the moment, she slipped out the shadows and grabbed his hand, "Draco..." she whispered softly.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" he hissed back, looking around in panic, "I've got to go. They can't catch me."

"I'll come-"

"You're not coming anywhere," he said firmly.

"But-" this time she was cut off by him pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

"Goodbye," he whispered, before turning on his tail to catch up with the others. Y/N found herself frozen in place, unaware of Harry Potter's presence in the room.

Y/N eventually found herself stepping out on to the Astronomy Tower balcony, seeing and avoiding the fourth hooded figure collapsed on the floor. As she walked in further, she found herself drawn to the very edge, where she looked over and saw a deathly fall. It didn't take a genius to figure out Dumbledore had probably fallen backwards after dying, plummeting to the distant ground.

Her mood had switched from vastly negative, to completely blank. It was like her soul had been ripped from her body and locked in a box, preventing her from feeling any emotion. If that was a relief, she didn't know, as she didn't feel anything.

In fact, that emptiness didn't change no matter how much Matilda tried to cheer her up in the following days. Even when Y/N found herself sat at Dumbledore's funeral, she couldn't help but feel an inescapable feeling of absence inside her. She hadn't seen Draco since the night, and Potter had briefly spoken to her with Granger and Weasley.

"Y/N, did you know all of what Malfoy had to do?" Hermione had asked.

She had nodded mindlessly, "All except the death eaters that would come."

"Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you do anythi-" Weasley had half-yelled, but Y/N had cut him off with a monotonous voice.

"It's easy for you all. To pick a side, that is," she glanced between them all, "You don't have the fear of family pressure, or the inescapable threat of their deaths."

The conversation had ended abruptly there, because Y/N had walked away. She visited the Astronomy Tower a lot when the teachers let students go up there again. She was trying and failing to recall the emotions she had felt that night, wishing to feel something, anything, again. All she knew for sure was that Draco was what she needed, and they hadn't even really spent that much time together. Despite that, he knew more about her than anyone else did.

Dumbledore had fallen, and Voldemort was growing increasingly powerful. How the fuck was she meant to disobey her parents now? That could be a death wish, as she now had nowhere to go or hide if she did something for the good side. She would be going home to them for the Summer, but they would certainly be pleased that the new principal was Severus Snape, a death eater. Many other students had shared their parents weren't letting them come back while Voldemort had indirect control of the school. The L/N parents certainly wouldn't be like that.

What sixth year had in store for her; she had no idea. She had already learned Defence Against the Dark Arts would be replaced with the Dark Arts, so she would most likely be learning very dark spells. That didn't really bother her, though: she just wanted to see Draco Malfoy again and make sure he was alright.

She didn't blame him for anything that had happened. Even if he did deserve some of it, she couldn't bring herself to.

Y/N could tell it was love-like feelings she held for him.

***

To Y/N's surprise, when she stepped off the Hogwarts Express, she was met with her very own parents standing there. Nothing had officially confirmed them as active death eaters yet, so the Ministry of Magic had no right to arrest them. She sighed inwardly, forcing a smile as she pulled her trunk behind her and walked up to them.

"That's no way to greet your parents," Mrs L/N spoke sternly.

"Sorry, Mother," she said sweetly, holding her hand out in front of her, "Greetings, Mother and Father."

"Better," Mrs L/N said, shaking her daughter's hand before her husband did the same, "You will be permitted a day of rest in your room before we have dinner with the Malfoys."

Now that piqued Y/N's interest, so her head snapped up, "The Malfoys?"

"Yes. Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco," she said, grabbing Y/N's arm roughly. They apparated to outside the front of their grand estate in the countryside, as magic restrictions on it prevented apparitions inside.

As they walked up to the house, maids flocked out the doors to take Y/N's luggage from her, to which she whispered a thank you. "Lucius is unfortunately still in Azkaban," Mr L/N lamented, waiting until the maids were out of earshot, "The Dark Lord has plans to break him and the other imprisoned death eaters out in the next week, however."

"Speaking of, we want you to meet him soon," Mrs L/N said, stopping in the house entrance hall to caress her daughter's cheek in a way that made her uncomfortable, "It's about time you received the Dark Mark."

"Bu-" Y/N was cut off by her mother shushing her while moving her forefinger to over her lips.

"Now, now, darling," she smiled, "The Dark Lord is the only ruler who believes mudbloods to be what they are... filth."

"Yes, Mother," Y/N hung her head.

Mr L/N started speaking as they began moving up the grand staircase, "Draco Malfoy was the one to successfully transport the group of death eaters into Hogwarts. Astounding young man."

"Narcissa has been terribly lonely since Lucius was locked up, but we have managed to form a friendship and I have been consoling her," Mrs L/N continued, "According to her, Draco has been awfully down lately, poor thing-" why did she care about Draco's mental health, but not her own daughter's? "-so it would mean the world to her if you would try and cheer him up."

"Do I have a choice?" she was more than happy to try, but her parents didn't deserve immediate compliance.

"No," Mrs L/N said, "Anyway. Go to your quarters and freshen up, dinner will be in an hour."

"We have much to discuss," Mr L/N added.

Back in her room, Y/N began unpacking all her belongings in peace, telling the maids to go do something else. Nancy Pickins stopped by to say hi, but was busy with an assigned chore so couldn't stay long. There was a lot for Y/N to process, anyway, so she was relieved to have some alone time.

The only positive in her life at that moment appeared to be the fact she would get to see Draco the next day and check he was alright. Chances were he was in fact not okay and incredibly traumatised, but she hoped to provide him some comfort. The feeling of his lips on hers still lingered, and she wanted it back desperately.

But, honestly, she didn't really know what any sort of relationship would entail: her parents had never been loving towards one another. They never used endearments, they never showed affection, and they only seemed to be in a relationship out of family traditions that they followed like law. The same expectations of marrying a pure blood and having kids were there for Y/N.

What if she ended up in a loveless arranged marriage? What if she found herself trapped in loyalty to Voldemort for the rest of her life? The latter unfortunately seemed a very likely outcome, which made Y/N's heart wrench. Pushing the thought aside, she let herself into her bathroom to let the hot shower water trickle down her skin. It was a calming feeling, and gave her some peace of mind as the moment was stress-free.

The second she stepped out, however, thoughts of how every woman in the family had been forced into an arranged marriage of pure blood families remained. Y/N's mother, Aquaria, was from the Greengrass family, her maiden name being Aquaria Greengrass. The Greengrass family was unfortunately very traditional, even to the point they somehow convinced Aquaria that was how it should be.

Y/N's father, Murius L/N, had come from a family with similar beliefs. Murius had inherited his family's age old estate, being the only child, whereas Aquaria was the younger sibling of two. Her elder brother, Funus, lived in France with his wife and their daughter, Astoria. Astoria was about Y/N's age, but they had never actually met before, since she attended Beauxbatons.

Point was, everyone in Y/N's family was sexist and traditional.

***

Y/N sighed as she looked in her dressing room window, playing nervously with her hair. She had tried to dress up for the event, but knew at the same time that her parents would scold her if she wore 'too much' makeup.

Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were due to arrive at 1pm, which turned out to be five minutes away upon checking her watch. Giving one last glance towards the mirror, Y/N crossed her fingers before practically running out the room and down the stairs. To her dismay, she saw her parents already stood in the hallway greeting the Malfoys. They heard her coming down, which earned expected glares from Murius and Aquaria, as well as a harsh statement of, "Sorry about my daughter's tardiness, she never really was good at anything," from her father.

Locking eyes with Draco, he frowned ever so slightly at the way she glanced downwards at Murius' statement. Y/N smiled softly at him, hands behind her back as she walked forward to stand beside her parents. He was dressed handsomely in a black dress shirt with long sleeves, tucked into black dress trousers. Draco had evidently opted for no tie, his top button remaining undone. His blond hair had been split at the fringe, like how he often wore it in his fifth year and her fourth. Like always, he was devastatingly handsome, but the bags under his eyes seemed to have only gotten worse.

"Hello, you must be Y/N?" Narcissa's eyes seemed so kind when Y/N looked away from Draco to her.

Nodding, she replied, "Yes..."

"Oh my Salazar, you're gorgeous," she said with a beautiful smile, "Wouldn't you agree, Draco?"

The boy froze up at the question, but awkwardly nodded in agreement, which made Y/N flush. "Thank you."

"Y/N, show Draco the gardens," Aquaria said, "Narcissa, come with us, dear, you must want a drink..."

The teenagers stood awkwardly until the parents were out of earshot, at which point Y/N darted forward and wrapped her arms around Draco's chest. He stiffly returned the embrace, one hand landing on her head, the other on her back. She pulled away after a few seconds, "I was so worried about you!"

"I'm fine, Y/N," he said, trying to read her face, "Are you okay? Your parents-"

"I know, I'm used to it," she sighed, "But, I... I do have something I need to tell you..." Slipping her hand into his, she pulled him all the way down the corridor to one of the back doors, which she opened and led him out through.

"What is it?"

"I... uh... my parents want me to meet-" she gulped "-You-Know-Who... and get the... receive the..."

"Dark Mark?" he finished for her, to which she nodded, "I'm sorry..."

"I feel so... hopeless..."

Draco hummed, tucking his hands in his pockets as they strolled down by the assortment of flowers well taken care of by the gardeners. "Welcome to the club," he sighed.

"What's... what's You-Know-Who like?"

"Honestly, terrifying."

Gulping, she began fidgeting with her sleeves, as the fear just seemed to keep growing inside of her.

"He took over Malfoy Manor," Draco added, "Said it was the least we could do after my father 'failed' and got imprisoned."

"Oh, Merlin, I'm so scared..."

A warm calloused hand slipped into hers, making her look up with an expression of mild shock.

"You won't be doing it alone."

"Thanks, Draco."

The pretty garden seemed like a haven compared to the realities the pair were facing, as everything felt so relaxed and normal while they walked down the path. Deep down, they knew that they would have to step back into reality the moment they went back inside, facing the music of their death eater parents. Narcissa didn't seem to be all that into the death eater lifestyle, however, so Y/N couldn't help but wonder why she had let herself fall in love with Lucius. Then again, you don't choose who you love, and at that thought she found her eyes drifting to Draco and his hand interlocked with hers.

Did he love her? That was a stupid question, it was too early to even consider it. So, on that note, did Draco have feelings for Y/N? His hand may have been connected with hers, but it wasn't always necessarily romantic, and he may just want the warmth. They had kissed, so she had to assume he at least had some romantic feelings for her.

But, for now, she was content in the moment.

***

No one had seen or heard from Harry Potter in a year until the Battle of Hogwarts. Y/N had surely hoped that he hadn't run away, but was in fact desperately searching for the means to take down the Dark Lord once and for all. She had held on to this hope as she met Voldemort in the flesh, as she had received the Dark Mark, and as she attended the desolate and miserable Hogwarts for her sixth year. The castle had never been in such gloom: it was as if happiness wasn't a word and joy wasn't a feeling.

As for Draco, she had been stuck by his side all year, and not by choice - although she would have gladly chosen to anyway. They had both been assigned head boy and head girl, and it was a miserable task having to punish the other students for not complying with Voldemort's wishes. But if they didn't do as such, they would have been the next victims of the deadly Unforgivable Curse. That didn't stop Y/N from secretly letting people off the hook whenever it was safe to do so.

In terms of their relationship, it was still there, but it was only ever evident when they comforted each other. They were too caught up with Voldemort's affairs to confirm a title, but they knew how they felt about each other and expressed it through affection occasionally.

But now, as they stood in the middle of a crowd surrounding Voldemort and the reappeared Harry Potter, a new surge of bravery shot inside of her. It was the most courage she had had in the longest of times.

As the Dark Lord beckoned her and Draco over to his side - to join him once more in his fight of ill intentions - she stood her ground. She felt Draco go to step forward from beside her, and heard the sobs begin to escape his throat, but that didn't stop her from reaching out to grab his hand in her own.

He paused, and looked back at Y/N's watery but determined eyes. His eyebrows raised as he pulled his lower lip into his mouth.

Y/N was scared he would leave her there: that he wasn't as strong as she was.

But then he nodded, and stepped back to directly by her side, gaining the determined gaze in his own eyes as he looked upon the Dark Lord.

He risked death alongside her that day, and they both came out the other side alive - and free.

——————————————

masterlist

written; 01/09/2020 —> 20/06/2022 published; 20/06/2022 edited; —/—/——

[syddsatyrn]

Looks That Kill (EddiexFemreader)

☆Pairing: - Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

☆Warnings: Fluff, swearing, drug use, cigarettes, bullying, Characters are all 18+ Minors DNI, scram!

☆Words: 3k

☆Summary: Eddie takes you out to meet is friends, when things get quiet, he confesses how he really feels. Your relationship is getting interesting and you cant stand to be away from him for too long.

☆Notes: This is Chapter two! Please read the 1st chapter below for some context. Keep an eye out for chapter 3, because that one might get spicy.

Chapter 1: A Piece of your Action

Chapter 3: Heaven's on Fire “So, do you get milkshakes thrown at you weekly? Orrrr…” You inquire. Eddie laughs and pulls into your driveway. “Sometimes. Only when I really piss them off.” He jokes. “Got a pen?” You ask Eddie as you retrieve the receipt from your purchase earlier. He hands you a stray pen stuck between his dashboard and windshield. You write your number down on the back and hand it to him. Eddie seems to be taken by surprise. He looks down at the paper, all the digits are actually there. “Thanks for the ride. Call me sometime, Munson.” You exit the van and waved goodbye, but when you spun around on one heel, your mom was sitting in the front doorway. “Oh here we go.” You get about half way up the driveway before Julie starts playing the game ‘twenty questions. “Y/N, Who was that?! What are you covered in?” She asks frantically as she moves some of your sticky, milkshake soaked hair away from your face. “Don't worry about it, I'm fine, Mom. It's just a milkshake.” You respond with a calm tone. Julie is puzzled as you make your way into the house, she trails behind you.

“Who drove you home?” she asks again, noticing the avoided question. “Just a friend.” You say with an upward tone. Mom has resorted to giving you “the look”. “It's nothing!” you brush off any significance. Mom softens her face and you take the opportunity to discontinue this conversation. “I’m gonna go shower!” You announce as you fly up the stairs. All you could think about was the interaction between you and Eddie. It’s your second day here and you’ve already made a friend, a really cute friend. You attempt to focus on showering, but it's proving to be difficult. Eddies POV: “No way did I just talk to a girl without making a fool of myself.” He asks himself in disbelief. He starts the van and takes off. He looks back down at the receipt and grins from ear to ear. “YESI” Eddie shouts and slams his hands on the steering wheel. He presses a couple buttons on his stereo, turning up the volume allowing “Hallowed Be Thy Name” by Iron Maiden to blare through his speakers. Pulling up to his trailer, Eddie notices his uncle isn't home. He hops out of the van and places a joint between his lips. Usually Eddie doesn't have much to look forward to besides his Hellfire DnD club and band practice. He lights his joint and walks inside, the living room is a little messy. Beer cans and a full ashtray litter the coffee table. “Whatever you do, don’t fuck this up.” He says to himself. “Shit, when should I call her?!” He's not used to this kind of feeling, he definitely doesn't want to come off as desperate. He makes his way to his bedroom and flops back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. You're like a breath of fresh air, someone he can relate to. Plumes of smoke escape his lips as he lets his mind wander. “I wonder what her favorite band is…”

Day 3 in Hawkins You decided to stay home and organize your room. There are still boxes you still need to unpack, and several letters you need to write for some friends back home. The house is rarely quiet so you take the opportunity to sit down and write. Placing your headphones over your ears, you hit play on the portable cassette player your dad got you for graduation. 🎵“You're fire, taking me higher Don't burn me, don't let me down You need me now, I'll teach you how Come on and go all the way Get your piece of your action Ah uh Get a piece of your action”🎵 Despite how loud the music is, you can hear your mother knocking at the door yelling about something, you pull the headphones off. “Y/N, phone call!” She shouts and you’ve never hopped out of your bed so fast. Your mom had a phone installed with a long telephone cord in the upstairs hallway so you could easily take it in your room to ”receive calls from colleges.” “Hello?” You answered, pressing the phone to your ear while taking the receiver to your room. You shut the door behind you and a familiar voice greets you back. “Hey there, milkshake.” Eddie teases. “Whatever, Munson. That treat was for you and you know it.” You clap back and Eddie tries to suppress his laugh. “What are you doing later?” He inquires, your eyes get wide. “Uhm, nothing.” You reply nervously. “That’s what I thought. Wanna come to band practice with me, loser?” “Oh?...you play?” You question, trying to cover up your excitement. Eddie can't help but smile on the other end of that landline. “Yeah, lead guitar. Can I pick you up at eight? Or is that past your bedtime.” “I dunno, will your folks let you borrow the van for that long?” You snicker. Eddie chuckles at your ability to hold your own. “See ya then, milkshake.” Before you can protest the nickname, the phone clicks and you hang up. Your first date since moving to Hawkins. You’ve dated a couple guys here and there, but the relationship usually fizzles out mutually. Most guys are really put off by your clothing and music choice, but you don't have to worry about that when it comes to Eddie. You can't help but hop around your room, you're almost floating. You don't think you’ve ever been this excited about a date. Is this a date? It's definitely a date.

You finish up your letters, even though you're extremely distracted. You add stamps to the envelopes and head downstairs, practically skipping to the mailbox. You place the letters inside and put the red flag up. When you return inside, you’re greeted by your interrogation. “What’s got you in such a good mood?” Mom asks, cocking her head to the side. “Nothing! Oh! I'm going out later.” You reply, trying to downplay the whole thing. “Is that boy in the van picking you up?” She asks, you can tell she's teasing you. “Yeah he is, why?” You question her judgment. Julie has always been pretty open minded, but she can be terribly over protective.  “Just be careful! You've only been here for three days, don't go get yourself into trouble.” Julie says in a worried tone. She’s always worried, and you know she means well. But sometimes she drives you crazy bonkers with her doting. 

"I'll be fine, mom." You reassure her as you head back upstairs. 

Your eyes dart between two outfits. You choose a black pleated skirt, with black thigh high socks. You previously altered a black t-shirt by cutting off the sleeves and the collar. You dig through your closet and find your leather jacket. To top off the look, you add some messy eyeliner.

When you go downstairs, your boots are always a loud announcement. Eddie's headlights pull in and brighten your driveway, he's right on time. "Don't wait up for me!" You call out before shutting the door behind you.

You take a deep breath as you walk in front of his van and open the passenger side door. You plop yourself down into the seat. 

"You didn't have to get all dressed up for me." Eddie says with that dumb smirk plastered across his face.

"What are you trying to say, hm?" You respond as you shoot Eddie a look.

"That you..uh…look nice." He faltered with a cheeky grin, dimples now on display.

You pull up to an old car repair garage. There are a few guys in the front smoking cigarettes, one of them punches the other in the shoulder.

"My buddies dad owns this place and lets us play here." Eddie says, "No jocks here."

You both get out of the van and one of the guys yells Eddie's name. "You're late, Munson!" Suddenly all eyes are on you. 

"Stop gawking or your face will get stuck like that." Eddie says. "This is Y/N. She's new in town." He says and looks back at you. "So let's act like fucking gentlemen!" He says, smacking one of them in the stomach. "This is Jeff and Gareth." He introduces, pointing at each member.

Eddie opens the door and ushers you inside the garage. You take a good look at each instrument. The bass drum says "Corroded Coffin" on the front. "Wow…sweet setup. I'm impressed, Munson." You compliment and take a seat on the nearby couch. 

"Then prepare to have your mind blown." He says, cocky as ever. You rather enjoyed seeing him shake his tail feathers as an attempt to impress you. The boys take their places and tune up.

When they start playing you're surprised they are not complete shit like other garage bands you’ve heard. Despite all the excitement, you're still focused on Eddie. You’d be lying if you said you didn't have a fluttering feeling in the pit of your stomach. He’s gorgeous and you couldn't help but stare. His ring clad, calloused hands skillfully pressing on specific strings. You find yourself daydreaming about how those hands would feel against your skin. How his long, curly hair would feel between your fingers. Oh and those lips- “Hellooo, earth to Y/N.” he waves his hand and you snap out of it, your cheek bones stained red. “There you are, milkshake!” He says with a smile as you descend back to earth. “Sorry, I got lost in my own head. You guys sound pretty good for a bunch of posers.” You joke and the band cackles. This makes you smile a bit especially when Eddie’s band mate says “Where did you find this one, Ed?!” They played a few more songs. But there was one in particular that caught your attention. It's a song from your favorite album “Shout at the Devil '' by Mötley Crüe.

🎵“Now listen up She's a razor sharp If she don't get her way She'll slice you apart Now she's a cool, cool black She moves like a cat If you don't get her name Well, you might not make it back” She's got the looks that kill, that kill, oh She's got the looks that kill, that kill, oh She's got the look (She's got looks that kill She's got looks that kill)”🎵 The entire time he and his friends played that song, Eddie kept sneaking glances at you. You nervously smoothed out your skirt and spun your rings around your fingers. Seeing Eddie in his prime, in his element, made you look at him differently. He’s not just some comical outcast with a bad boy streak. He’s passionate, creative, and very talented. They finish the song and Eddie puts his warlock guitar on a stand. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his vest pocket, but the box is just for show. He pulls out a joint and lights it. You’re not really surprised. You breathe a sigh of relief, you don't have to explain to him how much of a stoner you are. “You smoke?” he asks, extending his arm. You get up from the couch and take it, inhaling as much as your lungs will allow. When you exhale you close your eyes. “I ran out the other day,” you say between a few coughs. “Y’know anyone who might give me a deal?” “You’re lookin’ at him.” Eddie says proudly, his smug face making you laugh even more. You hand the joint back and raise your eyebrows. “I knew I liked you, Munson.” You say while gently bumping your shoulder into his. Eddie was trying to play his cards right. There is something about you he can't shake from his mind. He feels like you’ve infected him with some sort of virus. This feeling is foreign to him, you’re ‘different’ in all the good ways. In a town full of cheerleaders and jocks, you are his breath of fresh air. Eddie realizes he’s spaced out. “Uh, lemme uhhh go get you some of the good stuff.” He says trying to retreat to his van to compose himself. You can tell he's a little flustered, maybe he's just high? His bandmates call out “Hey dude, we’re gonna bounce.” Jeff says. “Give you some privacy with your new lady friend.” Gareth mocks, followed by a laugh. “Same time next week?” He asks. “Yeah, same time next week.” Eddie confirms. “Don't be late next time!” Jeff gets in the last word and slams his car door shut, engine already running. The three boys take off in the same car. Eddie grabs an already bagged up ounce of weed and shuts the van door. He returns and hands you the bag, you open your backpack and take out your wallet. “Don't worry about it, sweets. Consider it a welcome gift.” He smiles and you take the plastic sandwich bag from his hands and place it in the inside pocket of your backpack. You’re not the kind of person to turn down free weed. “Thank you! You are really sweet for a degenerate.” You smile back and he chuckles. Eddie takes two steps closer to you and your body stiffens. “I should probably take you home, huh?” He says towering over your small frame while your eyes immediately lock with his. Such dark brown eyes, like two warm cups of black coffee. Eddie brings his hand up and moves a few hairs away from your face. He drags his thumb down your jawline and tilts your chin upward. You couldn't handle this tension anymore, you felt frozen in time. The tension between you both has been building from the start. Your face gets hot and you ball your fists. Without any warning, you stood on your toes and crashed into Eddie’s lips. He combs his fingers through your hair and holds the back of your head. You bring your hand up to his chest and take a handful of his shirt. His cheap cologne mixed with the smell of cigarettes is intoxicating, it surrounds your senses as he leans into you. This soft kiss evolved into something needy and desperate, turning into a short make out session.

Eddie breaks away with wide eyes and a shade of pink spreading across his cheeks. “I…” He attempts to form a sentence but you cut him off. “Look, I’m not gonna feed you a line of bullshit or beat around the bush. I like you Eddie, like…a lot.” You admit, and he can't help but smile and kiss your forehead. “I like you too, sweet stuff.” He replies and you wrap your arms around his neck, one of your hands begins to twirl and play with his long curly locks. Something you’ve been wanting to do ever since he lit your cigarette in front of Family Video.

Eddie opens both of the back doors to his van and you have a seat, legs hanging off the edge. Regardless of the jacket you brought, maybe a skirt was a bad idea. The temperature dropped significantly throughout the night, a shiver runs up your spine. Eddie places his warlock guitar gently in the back of the van and hops back out. “You ready to go, lovely?” He asks and you nod followed by another shiver. “Not used to the Hawkins weather yet, huh?” He asks with a chuckle. He hops back into the van and retrieves his spare denim jacket with a large Metallica patch on the back. “This outta fix it.” The metal head promptly covers your bare legs with the jacket and gives you a quick peck on the cheek. 

This particular act of chivalry made your heart flutter. Eddie holds out his hand, “We should get you home.” You make your way to the passenger seat and Eddie takes his seat and starts the van. You shakily light a cigarette and tuck the jacket around your thighs. Eddie pulls out of the driveway and gently places his hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “As much as I love your outfit, and I mean it, I really do. Next time wear warmer clothes hmm?” He suggests with a sympathetic tone in his voice. “You’ll catch a cold.” He adds. You give him a quiet “Okay” and hand him the cigarette you were camping with.

As he pulls into your driveway you feel a little sad that this night has to end. But he turns to you and puts the van in park. You try to return his jacket and he shakes his head. “Hold onto that for me, okay?” He requests while leaning in closer to you for one last goodbye kiss. You meet him halfway and press your lips against his. All of this attention was new and foreign to you. “I could get used to this…” You thought to yourself as Eddie placed his hand on your cheek.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” He whispers just loud enough for you to hear, his lips ghosting yours.

“Absolutely.” You say with a smile and take Eddie’s hand. “I hope I can wait that long.”

Eddie places a few kisses along your knuckles. “Goodnight lovely.”

After making your way into the house quietly, you take off your boots and silently walk up the stairs. The alluring metal head is clearly all you can think about and you wonder how someone could have so much charm. You enter your room and shut the door carefully. Time curl up in bed with his jacket draped over you, surrounded in his essence, and drift off to sleep peacefully.   

[animeaandp]

Tied to Apron Strings

Part Two

Part One

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Summary: Recovery begins, and it's not pretty.

Warnings: Swearing, mild violence, trauma/PTSD/mental health struggles

Notes: (As you can tell i'm not the best at summaries, sorry bout that). The next few parts will be laid heavily in ptsd/trauma recovery, but I promise it won't be like this the entire time. (not saying that there is or isn't a happy ending ;) but it does lighten up eventually). Also, by the way; even after I post something i'll still go through it from time to time and tweak/edit a few things so heads up, but nothing major; just grammatical changes, verbiage, etc. Otherwise I'd never post anything!

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

'What...what's that sound? Is...someone talking? Can...I hear? How is that possible? I thought...I...I thought I...

...I wanted...to...'

"Y/n?"

"Y/n can you hear me?"

'There it is again. A bit louder now. Who...are they talking to me?'

"Are you awake? Y/n-"

"GET YOUR DAMN HANDS OFF OF HER-!!?!"

"Okay!!Okay!! Not touching!! Please Levi, put down the blades..."

'...Levi...?'

'...L-Levi...'

'How...how do I...I need to wake up...'

"Y/n can you hear me? Did you see that?! I think she heard me! Y/n, don't try and move, just try opening your eyes for now, if you can. Come on, nice and easy."

'Nice and easy. Okay...'

'...Shit! Why is this so hard?!'

It felt like your eyes were fighting the will of the gods themselves. They refused and resisted, as if they had any right. They were the ones who went back on their word first so, since you were still alive, it was time to open your eyes.

Even if your soul hadn't succeeded in escaping, it seemed as if it hadn't fully settled back in yet either. When your eyes finally opened there was no relief, or grief. The light above was only blurry and dull. This blanket tucking you in was rigid without a strand of warmth to it. Your heartbeat didn't quicken nor did your fingers twitch or body ache.

Indifference.

Your lips were still sealed shut, refusing to breathe life back into you. Eyes dried stiff as the dead's, and face pale and stale. The weight of death having yet to lift off of your body or wake your mind.

'So this is 'hallow'...'

In the meantime, Hange recounted the events from four days ago after you begged for death passed out.

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The rest of the scouts had located where you and Levi were being held a few hours after your disappearance. It would have taken much longer if not for Levi raising hell; exposing the location of Kenny's hideout. A quick ambush was planned and a dozen scouts crashed in through the skylights, instantly firing and taking advantage of the enemy being distracted. The details of the ‘distraction’ were too painful to speak of, and omitted from all reports. A scout quickly released Levi from his restraints believing that the captain would be able to take the reins, effectively leading the charge. But he missed the dementia clouding Levi's eyes.

Before the shackles stilled on the ground, Levi had stolen the cadet's blades and slaughtered every single one of the men. The sudden wave pool of blood pooling around every scout's boots was sickening. Levi sliced and sliced until Kenny was nothing more than a pile of chunks bathing in it's own blood. But that wasn't enough to settle him. One final slice and Levi made a mad dash back to you. Unfortunately for him, a few other scouts had already found where you were. What's worse, it was the other member's of Levi's squad; your squad, who found you. Seeing your bare and stricken body...still mangled, ravaged...soaking in the aftermath of an ungodly nightmare...disposed of like the filth your body was tangled in...an abomination, all of it...

How could they ever describe what overcame them to see you like this...

Terror-stricken...

Convulsing...

Agonizing...

But the fight wasn't over for Levi. To him, all threats haven't been eliminated yet. He crouches over your body with his blades drawn like a mad man. Drawn, and pointed at the scouts, as they continued to file in to see what the commotion was about.

"...Levi-?"

"STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM US!!!?!

DON'T YOU DARE COME ANY FUCKING CLOSER!!!

TAKE ANOTHER STEP AND I'LL KILL YOU!!

I'LL FUCKING SLAUGHTER YOU ALL!!!!?!"

How terrifying it was to see The Captain Levi broken down to splinters, yet also heartbreaking; a scared and wounded animal backed into a corner turned feral. He stayed rooted to the spot, hovering over and shielding your body, screaming he'd kill anyone who come any closer let alone tried to touch you. After every scout had laid down their weapons and were down on their knees with their hands in the air, only then were they able to plead their case to Levi. All be it by a miracle, you could still be alive and needed immediate help. They had to retaliate with Levi's accusations that it was all some kind of trap; that they were somehow tricking him and wanted to hurt you too. They begged and begged until Levi finally saw with his own eyes your finger flick lightly.

That instant he wrapped you in his cape then his arms and used the ODM gear to fly to the scout's hospital with lightning speed. But even there he won't let anyone touch you, still too lost in his memories. It takes being pinned down and a blade still soaked in blood to the neck before Hange can convince him to let the female doctor treat you. While the doctor and her female only team per Levi's threats scramble to do everything they can to save you, Levi sits at the head of your bed. He doesn't speak a word, only shooting death glares at anyone who got a bit too close to you. His blades are drawn and coated in red goop, itching for any of these people to make a single mistake. During that time, one of the scouts pull Hange and Erwin aside to debrief them of their mission and report on the current...situation.

Levi could hear their murmuring and every gasp, including their careful attempts to offer their condolences. He ignored it all. None of it mattered; You. Staying next to you. Protecting you was what mattered now. It was the only thing.

No one was ever going to hurt you again. He wouldn't allow it.

He...wouldn't allow it...

...again...

...*CLENCH!?*...

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

"It's been a few day's since then. The doctors have been attending to your wounds around the clock and say that even though it'll be a long recovery, you should make a full one eventually. Your next surgery isn't scheduled for another week so all you need to think about is resting. The doctor does want to ask you some questions about how you're feeling if that's okay."

"Welcome back y/n. I just want to ask some basic questions, you won't even have to speak; we can do blinking or tapping in the meantime until your voice comes back to you,"

'Comes...back...?'

"Now first, do you remember what happened?"

'Comes back to me...'

"Do you remember how you got here or where you are?"

'Coming back...'

"Would you like to blink once for yes or..."

'I...I remember...'

"Y/n? Can you hear me okay? Do you know where you are...?"

'Where I am?'

For the first time since waking up your eyes wonder away from the ceiling above you and scan the room. This was the scout's main hospital and it looked like you were in the general infirmary. You hadn't regained your full sense of mobility to turn your head yet, but you could tell that the doctor and her team of nurses were crowded around your bed on the left. And that Hange and Erwin stood on the right side, with a glimpse of Levi still sitting next to you at the head of the bed.

'...Levi...'

"Y/n, can you still hear me?"

'Levi.'

"Try following my finger..."

'...Help...I...I need help.'

"...How many fingers..."

'Help...they're all around me...'

"...nurse check her levels and see..."

'I'm...I'm surrounded.'

"Y/n? Y/n dear?"

'I'm surrounded! Help...Help!'

"Her heartrates rising. Y/n??"

'Levi help! I need help!!"

"Y/n look at me!"

'Help!! Please help!! Levi!?!'

"What's going on?" "I'm not sure-Y/n! Calm down and breathe!"

'I can't move! Help me!!'

"Do something!!" "We're trying, she needs to calm down. Y/n you need to stop moving..."

'I can't stop them!? Get off of me!!'

"...it's not good...still healing!"

'Get off!!Get away!!?'

"...Nurse get her legs! Y/n! Stop-!"

'GET AWAY!!!'

*TOUCH.*

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!!!!AHHH!!?!GET AWAY!!!LET GO OF ME!!!STOP IT!!NO!!NOOO!!!?STOP!!!LET GO!!?!GET AWAY!!NO-!!!?!GET AWAY!!?AHH-!!!!"

What was possessing you wasn't something that could be tamed or reasoned with. The entire team of doctors and nurses in the infirmary fought to restrain you but from the instant they touched you you were no longer there. All that was here was unfiltered fear and agony of unimaginable pain, finally having the voice and strength it didn't have before.

'NOT AGAIN!! NOT AGAIN!!?!'

Hands gripping every part of your body, trying to hold you down; it was too familiar. You struggle and scream with every fiber and vein in your body! The more the doctor's wrestle with you the more hysterical you became.

But that wasn't the hardest part.

"LEVI LET THEM-!!"

"THEY'RE HURTING HER-!!!!"

“Y/n stop fighting-!!” “NO STOP IT!! LET GO OF ME!! STOP-!!”

"NO! THEY'RE TRYING TO HELP HER!!”

“Hold her tighter!!” “Y/n just lay still for a second-!!?”

“STOP IT!!! NO!!

KILL ME!!

KILL ME!!?!KILL MEEEE!!!”

“Levi PLEASE-!!"

"LET GO OF ME-!!"

He's finally able to knock Erwin off of him and reposition his blades to strike.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HER!!!"

"LEVI DON'T-!!!!"

Hange threw herself into Levi but that only bought a couple of seconds. She wasn't strong enough to restrain him on her own and Erwin was still crumpled over on the floor from Levi's earlier blow. She tries again and ends up on the ground right next to Erwin.

This was the first time Levi ever seriously hurt his friends, but this wasn't him. His memories. The guilt. The regret. The shame. It's festered and consumed him, clouding his reasoning. These doctors and nurses who'd treated multiple of his scouts, saved a good amount of their lives, were nothing but small obstacles to him right now. This time, he was going to protect you, no matter what or who got in his way.

No matter how much they cowered and begged he was going to protect you,

"Captain Levi PLEASE DONT?!!"

No one was going to make you cry every again,

"Please don't hurt us!!?!"

You were never going to be scared again,

"Don't do this!!?"

Because he would protect you from now on. No matter what,

*SLICE!*

"Levi don't-!!!"

"LEVI!!!!"

*STOP.*

"LEVI!! PLEASE HELP!?! HELP ME!!PLEASE!!?! LEVI!! LEVI!!?!”

Levi was shaking more than the nurse with a blade pressed in her neck. Your voice; your scream suddenly calling out for him. It sounded throughout his entire body; reviving memories he thought were dead and gone. He watched as you continued thrashing vigorously without end. Your sweat swirled effortlessly with a stream of tears.

"Y/n..."

"LEVI HELP!!!HELP ME!!DON'T LET THEM-!!?"

*CLINK!* *CLANK!*

"Y/N!!"

He broke.

When you started blindly screaming for him he was no longer raging but overwhelmed with heartache, regret, and guilt. He threw everyone out of his way that was too slow to move on their own. His actions are unrestrained as he throws himself over you, greedily caging you in his arms and boring your face into his chest.

"L-Levi-!!?!"

"I'M SORRY!! I'M SO DAMN SORRY!!!"

"Levi...?"

"I'M HERE!!! I'M RIGHT HERE PLEASE!!! PLEASE GOD FORGIVE ME!!?! I WON'T LEAVE YOU EVER AGAIN!!"

"*sniffle*...Levi..."

"I'm here!! I'm so sorry!! God I'm sorry mom-!!!"

*gasp*

"Oh, Levi....." Erwin finished helping Hange to her feet and they finally saw their friend; all of him and what this was. 'We’re sorry...'

The grief.

The grief.

It was too much! Even after you had stilled under him he kept you tight in his clutches, holding on for dear life as sobs wracked through his body uncontrollably. He couldn't live with it all anymore. He couldn't live with himself. How could he have been so weak and useless that he couldn't save you from going through that hell. You were only a few feet away. You both were. He'd rather watch every single one of his comrades become titan shit than to ever think about what happened again. But he did. Constantly; over and over again, every second played through his mind.

"Y/n...i'm sorry...i'm so sorry...i'm sorry i'm sorry..."

The excitement drained you to the last drop. Feeling Levi wrapped around you brought the warmth back. The rise and fall of his chest and breathe fanning over your hair soothed the terrors bit by bit. All you thought about on that table was Levi saving you, swooping you up in his arms just like this and taking you far far away. Then you'd be safe like you were now. It was okay to fall asleep so you let your eyes close and remembered this feeling, until you're snoring lightly into Levi's chest.

He didn't want to let go. Holding you in his arms was his only purpose now. Feeling you sleep so soundly against him, your chest heaving hungrily for more air. Your fingers had laced themselves in the hem of his shirt and refused to let go even as you slept. This is where he needed to be and the only way he could guarantee your safety. He'd protect you from everything to keep the both of you right here.

There was still a slight quiver in Levi's fingers but he finally felt ready enough to lay you back down and climb off the bed. The entire time, everyone stood in place and watched quietly as you settled each other. There was still a few moments of silence after Levi stood up before Hange took the first step towards her friend.

"…Do you want to move her to a private treatment room Levi? We're sorry, we should have thought about how-"

"Yes. Move her immediately."

He holds your hand in his, 'I'll take care of you from now on. I promise.'

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

Before you wake up again, you'd been moved into a private treatment room in the hospital. It's technically reserved for Her Majesty but Historia's heart was far too big not to insist you stay there for as long as you needed. Only approved personnel by Levi were allowed to enter the room, no matter the circumstances. Anyone else caught trying to enter would be dealt with and punished also by Levi.

You continued treatment here without any major incidents. No more than the absolute necessary amount of people were in your room at a time and they all spoke softly and moved slowly to not startle you. You seemed more lively than when you first awoke but anyone could see the way your eyes looked through everything and focused on nothing. Thinking about where your head was, and probably trapped, cast a grim light over your room. They were making progress in healing your body, but your mind, your soul...the only one that stood a chance was Captain Levi.

He never left your room. Scratch that; your side. Levi tended to you more than any of the doctors or nurses; fluffing your pillows because one wasn’t enough to convince him you were comfortable, draping an extra blanket over you at night, keeping your room as clean as possible, asking if you needed anything every few minutes. And his hands never left yours.

He lived on the couch next to your bed and would only get up to use the bathroom or wash up. And even then, no one else was allowed to be in the room. He'd lock the door multiple times to be sure and leave the bathroom door open to be able to keep an eye on you, since he'd also only leave your side while you were safe sleeping. It might have sounded ridiculous for you to get worked up over Levi leaving your side just for a minute. You'd shake hyperventilating, eyes racing from your room's door then behind you then on the window before snapping back to the door.

But a minute?

You were swallowed by Kenny's shadow in seconds.

Sealed your own fate in two words.

Drowned in hell only a few feet away from Levi.

A minute was a lifetime of infinite possibilities. Horrible, monstrous possibilities.

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

You continued to heal physically. The doctors said it was slow but steady progress. Over time you began to ease up during the day, even managed to crack half a smile in the morning when the nurses came to check on you. It'd be great news if they didn't know what was happening at night.

Every night.

Sometimes even Levi struggled for a few minutes to calm you down from the night terrors. Your cries haunted the hospital halls each night and anyone still awake. He'd hold you tight in his arms while you struggled against him for a second and reassured you the best he could. The creeping darkness in the evenings always made him anxious now because he knew what was coming and that deep down, he was still helpless to save you from it. He couldn't follow you were you went at night but he would be here holding you, stroking your hair, rubbing your back, rocking you in his lap, whispering in your ear until you settled down.

But one night:

"Levi...levi...!"

Levi's reflexes pulled you against him while you started talking in your sleep again, thinking that he already knew what was going to happen.

“Sshh, it's okay now y/n i'm here."

"Levi...you..."

"I'm here, don't worry i'm not going anywhere."

"You...didn't save me."

*THUMP*

"Why didn't...you save me..."

*THUMP.* *THUMP.*

'Wha...what-?'

"I...waited..."

*THUMP.* *THUMP.**THUMP.*

'What..why is she saying...?!'

"You, let them..."

*THUMP.**THUMP.**THUMP!*

'No! No I didn't!! I couldn't-!'

"How could...Levi...why"

*THUMP!**THUMP!!**THUMP!!**THUMP!!!*

'NO! Please I didn't!! Don't say this! I tried to-!!'

"Why didn't...why, didn't...you...you save...me...*snore*"

"I...I tried. I...*tremble*...I tried to save you..."

*SLIDE*

"I...I really, did..."

You wake up feeling cold, and see Levi sitting on the floor against your bed, head buried in his hands. 'What's he murmuring to himself about?' He doesn't hear you sit up in bed and jumps at your voice, "Levi? What is it, what’s wrong?" His eyes are fearful before he realizes, "You, don't remember...do you? Just now...?"

"No, what happened? Did I scare you with my...i'm sorry if i did. I thought the night terrors would ease up by now but...*sigh*...anyways, i'm sorry if they're taking a toll on you-" He jumps up by your side, "No! No, no no. You could never scare me away. I'll never leave your side, so please don't worry about me. I...I'm just tired, that's all. Let's both go back to sleep okay?"

Levi moves to sit on the couch but you refuse to release his arm, "Levi," and instead pull him back to you, "Sleep up here...with me, tonight. Okay? I...I had an even worse nightmare tonight...and, you'll feel too far away...if-" Levi pulls the blankets up before you realize he'd already climbed into bed next to you, "Don't worry, I'll stay right here." You nuzzle your body into Levi's and drift back off to sleep, his last words barely audible as his embrace presses you closer,

"I'm yours now…and you're mine..."

"...mine."

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

Part Three

Tag List:

@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @simpinqforlevi @anonymousbabygirl13-blog @onlyangelsweetheart

[aidanchaser]

Hello! Here are my questions for the tag you posted: 5, 23 and 32! I hope you had a nice weekend!

5. Fanfic pet peeves

I hate to be an English teacher about this but improper grammar, punctuation, and paragraph breaks KILL me in fanfic. I know fic is a space for writers to learn and grow but oh man I can't stand it. Sometimes it's not so bad and I literally just rewrite it in my head as I read but especially with dialogue if it's not punctuated properly I will nope out of it.

I also don't care much for first person, and will often nope out of a fic if it's in first person. I really couldn't tell you why. It's like a cat touching a bathtub. I open it, I see the wet, and I get out. I'll only read a first person POV if it comes highly recommended by a trusted friend.

23. Favorite trope to write

It's probably no surprise, but I love an AU. I love taking characters from one setting and putting them into a new setting with new problems.

I used to love high school AUs when I was in school but now writing a high school AU feels like going to work. Even college AUs don't appeal to me. Harry Potter AUs were this super cool blend of school AU and magical AU and I used to love sorting characters but now those have a bad taste, too, so my favorite is probably fairy tale AUs, which I've done for Percy Jackson and am working on for Ladybug.

Funnily enough, I don't read alternate setting AUs too often? When it comes to reading I often prefer like, alternate timelines, more small changes in line with the Harry Potter Everyone Lives AU or other fun potential breaking points from canon.

32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from?

TY for this question bc it forced me to go back through the depths of my AO3 and reread some of my favorite pieces.

“You know,” she says, “I suppose I never really expected Black to be gay, but I definitely pegged Lupin.”

But the worried boy she glimpsed is long gone.

Potter quirks an eyebrow, and there’s nothing but pride and boyish joy in it. “You’ve pegged Lupin?”

Heat flushes into her cheeks and she grabs a pillow off of the bed and throws it at his head. He laughs and ducks. It lands on the door with a heavy thump and falls to the floor.

from Accidental Reindeer, a modern Jily Holiday Romcom AU

If he thinks about — if he really sits down and thinks about his relationship with Evans, whatever that is exactly — he doesn’t mind that she knows he and Remus are together. He doesn’t mind that she knows he’s gay. But it wasn’t James’ secret to share, and Sirius is so protective of his secrets.

He’s not embarrassed or ashamed; it’s the opposite, really. Sirius has, ever since he was a child, intentionally hidden all the best parts of himself. He buries a tender heart under the roar of a motorcycle. He buries his unshakeable loyalty under harsh, cutting swears. He buries his love for his friends and Remus under layers of thick skin and carefully sharpened barbs.

James, Remus, and Peter have all, in intonations ranging from tender to desperate, asked him why he’s such an arsehole all the time, and he doesn’t really have an answer. At least, not a real answer. He’s buried that truth so deeply that even he can’t reach it.

While Sirius buries all the better parts of himself and flaunts his bad habits like the final sale items in a shuttering shop, Remus displays only his very best habits on carefully dusted shelves and buries his anger, his grief, and his desire in the coldest, darkest of cellars.

from the sequel to Accidental Reindeer, a WIP about Sirius recovering from the holiday with Remus and James accidentally outing him and Remus to Lily

Maybe Regulus and Dumbledore alike did not deserve forgiveness, but love was not always about what people deserved.

from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Everyone Lives AU

[veilder]

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you" - North60

Another prompt fill that I actually managed to get done? What?! Well, you're as surprised as I am. XD Anyway, I have no idea if this is even good or not but I guess I'll post it anyway. This is set vaguely as the third piece in the North60 series I intend to write. (The first part of it is published already but I've been working on the second for a long time and it's still not done. >_<) So if anyone is a bit OOC, just blame it on some intended character growth that's already theoretically happened, lol. So yeah... here's to the very few of you out there who love this ship as much as I do. Enjoy? 😅

butterflies around the flame

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

Sixty pauses, looking over to North as she sidles up beside him on the gangway. She wears her expression of steely determination just as fittingly as her slightly-singed tactical suit and Sixty can’t help the small burst of assurance both sights inspire in him despite his current irascibility. His scanners pick up a myriad of weapons on her person, knives and guns and batons and tasers, and it soothes some basic part of his coding that crows at him to keep her safe. She can look out for herself. Hell, she can look out for him too if the way she's muttered that phrase several times over the course of their friendship is anything to go by. Time and again she's looked out for him, vouching for him to her friends, taking him on as her second-in-command in the security corps, mediating disputes he manages to get himself involved in, etc.

And here and now too, apparently, she's decided to shoulder the responsibility for his actions. Even as he stares, she nods her head down to the burnt edges of his jacket and trousers, waving a lazy hand to the entirety of his ash-encompassed form. "I’m serious, I’ll talk to them. You did what you had to and I'll make sure Markus knows it. Losing one building is better than what would've happened without the distraction."

Sixty frowns, doing his best to nonchalantly lean against the metal railing as he peers down at the gathered deviants below. The deviants he had done his best to save during the pandemonium. The deviants who stood huddled and scared and singed because of his stupid plan. They were lucky... Lucky to make it out. No thanks to him.

"I could've taken the humans down myself," he says eventually, a scowl crawling its way across his face. "Far less collateral damage. Quick and efficient. You know I could've, North." He snaps his gaze back towards her. "This could've killed them." He nods his head towards the crowd below. "I could've killed them. And for what? A crazed mob of humans hellbent on destroying us?"

North shakes her head. "But you didn't kill them. You didn't kill anybody, Sixty. We have you to thank for everyone making it out alive. Even the humans." Her words are soft but her eyes shine brightly, that same righteous anger burning through them as courses through his Thirum lines. She's just as upset about the attack as he is. He knows this. After all, she'd been on guard when it all went down, too. She'd heard his transmissions, understood what he was planning. She'd led the evacuation of New Jericho personally and perfectly in sync with him springing his trap. And now, huddled in an abandoned warehouse near the wreckage of the original Jericho freighter, the harried android population coming full-circle in the worst of ways, they are the only two who can explain the full situation to Markus.

Somehow, just knowing how incandescently angry North is about all of this is enough to stabilize his systems a bit, his dangerously high stress levels sinking back down to a more moderate rate. "Well, can't have His Leaderness getting all up in arms with me for snuffing out a few organics, now can we? Not after last time."

North snorts, the sound inelegant and coarse, and Sixty feels his stress levels sinking even more. But when she looks up at him, she is far from amused, her eyes burning with resolve as a wicked, cruel smile teases the edges of her lips. "Your restraint is admirable, Six. Can't say I wouldn't have taken the shot if I were in your place."

Here in the dim light, her uniform practically fades into the darkness. Her vibrant hair is tied back and hidden, her hands are gloved, her face is cast in shadows. Every part of North is dimmed and defeated, even her muttered words wreathed in fury and despair.

But even with her glaring down at the assembly like an avenging angel, her palpable fury emanating from her like a physical thing, Sixty can't help but scoff. "You wouldn't." He smirks as her eyes snap back to his, the challenge in her gaze masking the vulnerability underneath. "You wouldn't take the shot," he says again. "You wanna know how I know?"

Hesitantly, she nods, enough suspicion in her gaze to make him cackle. (Which he does. Loudly.)

Sixty reaches out and takes her hand, giving her his own crooked, slightly deranged smile in return. "It's because I didn’t. And that’s because of you." He squeezes her hand, the pulse of her Thirium lines under the sensitive sensors of his fingertips as mesmerizing as it is reassuring. "You've always been better than you seem to think you are. You wouldn't take a life if there was another option. That's never been you, even at your lowest." He chuckles softly. "You always protect. Even when you hate someone or something, you always try to find the best option. You 'take care of things'. That's how I came to be here in the first place, isn't it?"

North's grip is firm in his own as he flashes her another grin and Sixty can feel it, the way she retracts her skin even with the barrier of cloth between them. Without thought, without care, he reciprocates, letting his own Thirium coating recede back into the magnetized nodes dotting his chassis. The two of them sink into the interface, the low hum of each other's minds a sweet and soothing backdrop to the chaos all around them. The interface is only surface level, not deep enough to be anything other than an awareness of each other, but it is enough to magnify North's words through his whole self as she speaks: "But I never hated you. Not like them."

Sixty merely laughs. "But you should've."

And there is no contestation. She knows as well as he the sins of his past. But she's never judged him for them, not once. It's perhaps what he loves most about her, her willingness to accept his flaws. Even here and now, with the ashes of their people's dreams upon his body, she never once hesitated to accept him. It's enough to incite a 0.33 second timing fluctuation in the steady beat of his Thirium pump. The error message that accompanies it is a familiar friend in her presence these days.

In the warmth of their interface, Sixty continues on: "But you know as well as I do that you don't need to like someone to do the right thing." He spares a brief moment to think of his hallowed predecessor and the complicated relationship between them.

North nods. "Yeah, I... I know, Six. I know." She glances up at him through her eyelashes. "When the hell did you end up the voice of reason?"

Sixty snorts out a laugh. "I have my moments."

Her smile is genuine this time as she stares up at him. "You sure do."

And though his records will later tell him that this moment lasted less than a second, Sixty swears they stare at each other for an eternity. Time slows as if his preconstruction software has started up, each prolonged moment a gift for his harried system. And when at last they draw apart, breaking the shallow interface at last, they both do so with a smile and severely diminished stress level.

"Alright, I still need to explain things to Markus and Josh and Simon," North reiterates. "I'm sure they're here somewhere."

Sixty nods. "Yeah, they're over in that corner," he says, pointing.

North's scandalized face is enough to have him laughing again. "Sixty! You knew they were here all along?!"

"Of course," he laughs, "I've got the best scanners on the market. They've been here the whole time. They've been delegating or something, I'm not sure."

"Why didn't you say something!"

"Well quite frankly, I needed a moment. And then you needed a moment. And then we were having a moment, so..."

"Ugh, I can't believe you! I need to go. Now."

But before she can walk off, Sixty sidles in front of her. "Whoa whoa whoa, I think you mean we need to go. Right?"

She stares at him, uncomprehending.

"Okay, lemme put it to you this way then," he chuckles. "We will go explain my actions to the Big Boss. Then we can check on the security team and see if they're still doing alright. And then we can go find a quiet spot where we can try and beat the shit out of each other for a bit. Y'know. Let off some steam. Relax." He gives her a wink and revels in how her lips twitch at the sight.

"...You wouldn't insist if you hadn't already made up your mind, huh?" She doesn't even wait for him to confirm it before continuing, "Well, alright. Because that... That sounds good, Six.” North says. And then quieter, as if she was speaking only to herself, she mutters, “What would I ever do without you?"

Her whispered question rings sincere through Sixty's audio processor. He saves the soundbyte for further review and answers, "You'd take care of things. You always do."

And she smiles, so soft and sweet that another Thirium pump error flashes across Sixty's HUD. "Yeah. I always do. But it’d be less fun without you here."

Sixty reaches out a hand again and thrills when she accepts it, the two of them walking together along the gangway down to where the rest of the Jericho leadership are stationed. He chuckles. “I knew you kept me around for something.” This time, it’s him who initiates, opening up another interface for them to connect with. North reciprocates immediately and it makes Sixty proud to feel how much calmer she is now. “But I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. I pity the poor idiot who tries to make me leave now. You’d tear them apart.”

North’s eyes flash, a sinister gleam accompanied by another cruel grin. “I’d 'take care of them'.”

Sixty barks out a hearty laugh, so enamored, so proud. “And I'll take care of you."

She chuckles right back and squeezes his hand, a steady warmth pulsing through their connection. "And maybe I'd even let you." And with eyes facing forward with renewed determination, she pulls him along with her towards their goal. “Now come on, Security Officer. There’s work to be done.”

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

Bonus:

Markus: "So... You're saying that you're the one who blew up New Jericho?" Sixty: "Yep!" 😃 Markus: [turning to North] "And you're saying you... encouraged him to do this?" North: "Sure did!" 😀 Markus: [staring into the camera like it's The Office] "If ever there were a time for someone to invent alcoholic Thirum, it's now." Sixty & North: 😀😀😀

[unpaidoscorpintern]

I'll tell you my sins (you can sharpen your knife)

pairing: Harry Osborn (Kindred)/Mary Jane Watson; a hint of Harry Osborn (Kindred)/Peter Parker (Spider-man)

rating: 18+

words: 2400

content warning: exhibitionism, voyeurism, creepy crawlies acting like tentacles for a hot minute, teratophilia since Kindred is a demonic entity

summary: Kindred serves Spider-man his just desserts; or, a p0rn parody of The Amazing Spider-Man #55

disclaimer: The following story was written before the publication of The Amazing Spider-Man #73

Memories are for photo albums. They're impressions on the back of our retinas, polaroids developed in the darkest corners of our minds. Turn on the light and they're forever tainted, a splash of color and a smudge of sentiment. You can't trust memories. Scars, on the other hand? Scars never lie.

I've collected more than a few in my time. That’s why my knees never really looked the same after my first bike ride. Dad was there until he wasn't. You see, he thought that letting go of the bike, letting go of his own son, would break me at first, then thicken my skin. But skin never heals back quite the same way, does it, Pete?

"Did you meet any famous dead people in that hellhole you crawled out of, Har? You know, like Dr. Freud?"

"Easy, Tiger." I can hear Mary Jane hissing beside me, towards you, across the table, through cobweb and candlelight. "Play nice."

"I'm done playing, MJ," you spit, through bloody teeth and dried tears. "There's pieces of my brain still splattered on that far wall over there from our earlier game. I'm done playing his fucking games."

Games? There's no playing at the dinner table, kids. Now, where was I?

"You were just about to let her go." You speak up again, desperation drowning out your ire. "Let them all go. It's me you have unfinished business with, or whatever the dead want outta the living."

Jealous, Pete? I must say, it’s a good look for you. But don't you worry, ol' buddy. I'm not done with you yet. Though Mary Jane and I do have something - what did you call it again? Ah, yes. Unfinished business. I'll get back to you as soon as I-

Is that...is that laughter I hear? Hallow and heaving, it still bounces off these old mausoleum walls, echoing in my ears and scrapping at an old scab. An old scar. What's so funny, huh? You mind sharing with the rest of the table?

"You, ol' buddy. I mean, I shouldn't be surprised since you're one of the only people who made me laugh when I wanted nothing more than to slit my own throat, but, still. Is this about what happened back at ESU? Is this about MJ breaking up with you?"

It's about you, Pete. About the choices you made. Every single one - from coming between Mary Jane and me to hiding my father's issues from his son - were all the wrong ones. If you had chosen otherwise, if you had been any less selfish, Gwen - I can see a blond head bobbing, but I'm talking about my Gwen - well, she wouldn’t be-

"Fuck you, Harry!"

Ah, there it is! Anger looks even better on you, Pete!

"You think I haven't spent every day blaming myself for what happened that night? You think I don't go over my own choices over and over again, questioning every decision I ever made to figure out which domino fell first?"

Yet again, there's nothing that doesn't look good on you, Pete. Why don't you try some responsibility for a change?

"Responsibility? You want to talk about responsibility? You're the one who's dangling the life of the woman I love right in front of me-"

Mary Jane opens her mouth, her sweet breath a summer breeze through the still air. "Peter-"

You're boiling, spilling over. Tears and spit, blood and grime, and you still look good. I bet you could even make maggots look good.

"And you want to act like you're better than me? Look at yourself! You are your father's son! Daddy's little fucking monster-"

If I'm a monster, then it's because that's what you made me.

"Harry," Mary Jane jumps out of her seat, following your lead.

You had help, of course. My help. Every other itsy bitsy gets a hand, too. Well, a centipede. They all get to swing in the air one last time before they-

"Harry!"

Dinner's over, Pete. It's time for your just desserts.

"It's m-me you want, Har-"

When you're right, you're right. I want you to confess your sins.

"So let them-AH! Let them go."

Maybe a little knock on the head will jog your memory. How about another? Now? Confess. Confess your sin. The deadliest. Confess.

"Har-"

"He doesn't remember." Mary Jane, I can see your knees barely keeping themselves from bucking. Yet, here you are, standing between the ol' Pumpkin Eater and me. "Whatever it is that he did, whatever sin he has yet to confess to, he doesn't remember."

Oh, don't you worry your pretty little bottom lip! He will remember, if it's the last thing he'll do! I've got tens of legs to crawl all over him and an eternity to spare. Come the end of time, he will repent.

"How many times have you tried torturing a confession out of him? You should know that hurting him won't work."

What're you suggesting? I can hear the tamed tremor in your voice, the slight shudder running down your spine, the booming beating of your heart. Yet, here you are, approaching me, one steady step in front of the other.

"Hurting me, however-"

"MJ-"

Are you hearing this, Pete, or is the blood already leaking out of your ears?

"Hurting me, the woman he loves, that should do it, right?"

"MJ!"

I’ll take that as a yes. You heard everything, but do you understand what it means? Do you, Mary Jane, understand what this all means? Look at them! It’s hard, I know, but look at them! Look at what I’m doing to them! I’m squeezing the life out of them for now, but centipedes can sting, too. Did you know that? They’re venomous. I could fill them with poison, watch them trash about as it clogs their veins! Is this what you want for them? Is this what you want for yourself? I can see it in your eyes - your beautiful eyes - that you can’t stand the sight of them in pain. So, tell me, Mary Jane, what makes you think that I can stand the sight of you in pain?

“Then you haven’t forgotten-”

That night, on the bridge? Mary Jane, how could I forget?

“I was scared out of my mind, but you said something which calmed me down. Those same words gave me the strength to come here. You remember, don’t you, Harry? Harry, you said that you-”

I loved you, Mary Jane. I said that I loved you, that I’d never hurt you. How could you ask this of me? How could you ask me to take you in his place?

“Because you loved him, too. You loved Peter, and I’m willing to bet my life that you still do.”

It’s true, Pete. I loved you, but I got better. I saw you for who you were after closing my eyes for the last time. And I loved MJ, up until a breath ago. Up until she let out that little surprised gasp she let out. Relax, it’s just an earwig. Oh, but what’s that? Is that an earpiece? And was that Dad on the other line?

“Harry, listen-”

You listen, my dearest friend! I said nothing about you being allowed to bring a plus-one, and, even if I had, Norman Osborn is not welcome here! I won’t allow any party crashers and, just to make sure he won’t be sneaking past the guards, I’ll seal us all in!

“Oh, my God!”

There is no god here! With the only entrance having collapsed in on itself, there is no coming in. But there is no getting out either. Good news, Pete! I’ve decided to lay off you for a while! Take a breather, pal, while I take my time with-

“If you touch her, I swear to God-”

Didn’t you hear me the first time? Here, I’ll loosen up my grip on you, so blood can start rushing back to your ears! There we go! And, since you two insist on bringing up God, Mary Jane offered herself as a sacrificial lamb and I intend to take her up on that offer. Oh, where’s all that fire gone, MJ? Was that all just some bluff, an elaborate scheme, one of Dad’s convoluted plans? Come on, you said you couldn’t wait to play the martyr and we both know how good of an actress you are. Even with your knees knocking against each other, even with your fingers, fidgeting as they reach out to me, you’re still a star.

“You said that you loved me. That you’d never hurt me. So, please, Harry, don’t hurt Peter. It hurts me to see him like this.”

I do love you, and I won’t hurt you. But I don’t love him and made no such promises to him. You did make a promise to me as well, remember? If you recall my love, then you recall me hurting myself with it. And you said it yourself, Mary Jane: he loves you. So you’re going to keep your promise, and you’re going to hurt him. You chose him last time. So, this time, you’re going to choose-

“You.”

“If you fucking touch her-”

She’s the one touching me, ol’ buddy. Yes, her hands are hesitant as they clasp my coat, but she’s all over me. Oh, Mary Jane, is that the perfume I bought for you while we were dating? Did you get a whiff of it, Pete? You probably did! You probably smelt it on one of the shirts you borrowed from me. I shared everything with you, but you just had to have her, too, didn’t you?

“MJ, what are you doing? MJ?”

What are you doing, MJ? You’re driving him mad! Jealousy looks just as good on him as my Armani shirts! He’s thrashing as if poisoned by the pain of seeing us together. I think I’ll loosen up my hold so that he can lift his head and see what you’re doing to me. You’re struggling with the buttons, every last inch of you shivering, but there’s nothing waiting for you beneath. I’m nothing like I used to be. You, on the other hand, are just as beautiful as I remember. I’d rather see what you’re hiding underneath.

“What are you waiting for?” Are you seeing this? Pete, are you seeing this? She’s kissing me! It’s my maggot-infested, bandage-covered jaw - and she’s kissing it! Look at her, Pete! “Undress me.”

“No, no, no-”

If you feel a pair of legs, or ten, crawling up your own, it’s only because I’m holding you close. If you feel a chill run down your spine, it’s only because I’m squeezing you tight. And if you feel a chill running down your spine -well, that’s a multi-legged friend tearing down your dress.

“NO!”

Did you see that, Pete? That almost looked like a pleasant shiver running through her. She almost looked like she enjoyed the cold-blooded embrace. Do you like it, Mary Jane? Do you like it when I touch you like this? Well, I guess you always had a thing for creepy crawlers. I am sorry about the dress. Black looks good on you, but it looks better on this white mausoleum floor. Do you like it when I touch you like this, scraping at that sensitive spot at the back of your head with my crooked claws, wrapping myself around your thighs with tens and tens of little legs, around your middle, squeezing down on your hips?

“Yes.”

Did you hear that-

“MJ, why? Why? Why?”

Did you hear that, MJ?

“W-what?” The heat of your breath hit my senses, what was once my nose, and you smell like freshly brewed coffee. Oh, you taste like life, Mary Jane, and it is sweet. The sweat beading at your forehead - do you mind if I have a taste? And the ones that spilled over, on the side of your face? “Harry.” My tongue is cold, I know. My embrace, the crawlers caressing you across your chest, they’re just as cold. Holding you is like catching a sunbeam: warm and bright. “Harry, aren’t you going to k-kiss me?” I hope you are hearing all of this, Pete, because I see your eyes burning through me, and I feel your body tensing up. Her body is just as tense, nerves knotted tightly from all this teasing. Is there any wonder why she needs my tongue in her mouth right now? She needs something inside her.

“Stop!”

It’s working, Mary Jane! He’s gone half-insane! As for the other half - what do you say? I don’t taste all that bad, do I? If I do, then you are the best actress of your generation! Pete, get over here! Stop struggling against the centipedes or they will have no choice but to stick something inside you, too! And, trust me, this is not the pleasant kind of penetration! Now stand up! Open your eyes and look into hers. Do you see that? Do you see those blown-up pupils? She wants this, and, judging by what’s jutting out of your onesie down there, I say you’re enjoying this, too.

“STOP!”

Well, Mary Jane, it turns out that shame is the shade that suits our Peter the best! He can barely contain his blush - or his erection, but that’s a skintight suit right there - watching snip away your lingerie with my long, sharp claws so wantonly. Seeing you savor every stroke of my tongue across your gooseflesh, past your perked up nipples and the valley of your breasts, and your newfound fetish for feeling creepy crawlers’ caress. He’d rather keep his eyes closed than witnessing any of this. So, what do you think? Is he ready to confess yet?

“Confess? Confess to what? Being sick to my stomach? Feeling disgusted with myself?”

"Tiger," Mary Jane moaned while pawing at my patchy coat, pushing her chest forward into my face. "I never knew...I never knew you liked watching.”

“Goddamn it, MJ!”

The scar from back when you stabbed in the back is a scab I can't help but claw at. The look on your face though? The way your cheeks burn with shame and your eyes are blown in excitement? Well, that's the ointment I needed, Pete.

"Goddamn it, Harry!"

God isn't here, Pete. It's just me. Confess to me. Confess. Confess.

"Playtime's over, kids!"

Did you hear that? Did any of you hear that? Is that-

"Norman?"

"Osborn?"

"That’s right! Daddy's home!"

[kettlequills]

7,9, or 20 for the tesblr writing prompts!!!

ok, i'm very very slowly working on these lol, but anyway, here's the first one! I'll try get to the others if I can :).

9: a small moment that meant everything- Laataazin. tw suicidal ideation, self-loathing etc. The first time the prisoner met Arngeir, she swore at him. Contemptuously, the prisoner sprayed mud and spit across hallowed halls and snarled Force at Borri hard enough that the old man fell to his bony arse to the grating rasp of her bitter laughter. Not shy about talking, even with face swaddled up in blood-streaked bandages like she’d been readied for burial, like the monsters that shuffled and walked and woke when they should not down in Bleak Falls Barrow, where living men had lain next to dead for the sake of greed. The prisoner had fallen down to the barrowdepths, but the Dragonborn had climbed back out.

Sadly, no one had bothered to tell her that. Convinced she was cursed, demon-touched, hissing elf-words that sound too comfortable on her tongue for the Greybeards’ liking. Talos-lovers are they, after all, as they must be. Telling them to get whatever was in her out. Right? Wrong. Everything the prisoner has ever known has been wrong. As if the scant few weeks since she awoke in fire have taught her much beyond blood and pain. She sits on the isolated mountaintop where they bid her meditate, feels her body rock in the gales. The winds tug her hair, stiff with dismay and disillusionment, at the bandages that the prisoner covers her face with, shamed of the madness she has carved there. It’s friggin’ cold and a waste of her time, damn monks – but she can see the whole of Skyrim unrolled like a map before her, the tassels of green treetops spiking up out of the uniform brown-gold of the plains, the dots of houses and eddying dust from carriageways, the pale great yawn of the skythroat blowing forward the cold wind that drives hard rain and bitter snow. It melts in her sweat-sticky clothes when she wanders heedless in the nighttime blizzards, driven by intangible spectres she does not remember. She hates it. She hates everything. Arngeir bears her swearing, her door-slamming, her fury, with the exhaustion of a man who has raised boys bereft of their worlds before. The others are not so patient. Kaan Kiss-at-End loves you, Einarth tells her once, in frustration. Like a revelation, like a holy curse. She parrots it back, in the mocking cadence of a nursery rhyme she doesn’t know how she knows, but she remembers it. Words, sinking in staccato. The warrior-wife, the storm-bringer, the hawk-winged, breeze-tongued, loves the prisoner, murderer and wall-wrecker, who visited ruination and shame upon her city. On all those nameless crew from Bleak Falls. The two wolves that attacked her on the road, with their reedy thin bellies and desperation. Helgen, Helgen, blood and fire. Whiterun is there, always there, under her fingernails, behind her eyes, in her dreams. But not once does the prisoner stumble over the courtyard edge down the sheer cliff, even when she sees Arngeir creep along like a snail, hand over hand on the rail, against the buffeting kiss of the god, the prisoner stands firm and mocks him for his frailty. Old man, she says, because Einarth’s words are a shout in her mind. Said like a fact, like an explanation, for why of all this time in the cold wind not once has the prisoner froze off fingers or toes when she loses long hours to memory’s vice, surfacing under full dark with nothing more than chapped cheeks. Cursed why? There is nothing to the prisoner, only empty winds scouring the robbed graves of cherrypicked memories. Her mind makes no sense, jumbled and disordered flashes of a past life that does not make sense with the scars of her body and her shaking hands. There is nothing there, nothing there at all for a god to love. Except, perhaps, her spirit, round and worn smooth by the pressing weight of a thousand agonies, shaped like a stone in the path of a river. Her dragon spirit. Or soul. Whatever. Fucking monks. She can be a hunter, though, if they want. Killing things – killing things are what she’s supposed to be good at, so she’ll do it. Sinks her axe into bandit skulls and draugr skulls and dragon skulls and feels her own throb dully. Waiting for her turn to crack. And each kill has her wonder if Kaan fucking Kiss-at-End still loves her. Worst sack of goathumping cowshit- The hunger’s bad, though. The dragon-hunger. Kynareth has no room for all this hunting business, the prisoner thinks, digging her toes into a snowbank. Back at the monastery, again, when the itching of the world below feels like it’ll drive her back to – how it was, at Whiterun, with Mirmulnir. None of this Kiss-at-End shit either. That’s Nord, all Nord, and the prisoner isn’t that. But there isn’t room for what she is in the wine-gods of her homeland, no cult for her in the city of a thousand, and even here she struggles,

matching scriptures that fit oddly round her teeth. It doesn’t feel right. Paarthurnax’s misery-making about inborn natures and inherent morality doesn’t feel right either, but she has no words for why when she punches his old nose to cut him short. The Way of the Voice, says Arngeir tiredly, patiently, is the practice of a lifetime. She shouldn’t expect to get it straight away. Healing from the violence of the world takes time, and practice. Even the master of the Greybeards still carries his war-wounds. But each time she loses her temper, starts a fight, throws a rock at a sabrecat just to feel something from its claws – the prisoner feels like she’s failing. The anger overwhelms her like a bitter toxin. Delphine grabs her arm and says, you know, you could be angrier, and that makes no fucking sense at all. Who would want their divine killer to be angrier? It’s an ugly emotion, an ugly thing to feel. She feels it, warping her, the immensity of the rage and grief, like she’s a robe all stretched out and unfit for wear. It has to be a failure. She has to be a failure, or else nothing in this world makes sense at all. So, here she is. On the same fucking rock as always, ass going numb, Einarth’s words ricocheting like arrows in her brain. Wondering what the point is. Whether living with mercy and honour is something she’s allowed, whether it’s something she’s supposed to do. The wind has no answer. It never does. The prisoner doesn’t hear the “Voice of Kyne”, or whatever the Greybeards call it. What’s the point of honour, when all she can do to save the world is kill something? Someone? Laat-Aaz, Paarthurnax calls her. Last mercy. She thinks it might be a joke, a cruel one at that. Mercy is supposed to be a good thing, the temples teach. Mara’s love and light. An empathetic connection with your fellow man, a kindness, a giving. There is no mercy, no goodness, in murder. What makes a bandit better than a king, if not more coffers to mourn at the funeral? Dead in a ditch is still dead, and nothing more beautiful in this world from it. Someone merciful would know how to correct this blighted world, mend the wounds, speak the tongue of change. There is nothing merciful in her. … Still. She comes back. She comes back. And she comes back. Seasons unfold, running into each other like dyes swirled in her hand when she helps with the washing, beating each faded robe until the water pulses clear and her mind is steadied. It’s always bitter cold on the mountain, but as time passes and spring comes she thinks she can feel it better, like some part of her that has been asleep for a long time is taking its first, tentative steps into the light. It’s wrong-feeling and awful. She hates it. When she curses at Arngeir, she speaks quieter now, but her voice feels twice as loud. The anger is still there, coursing underneath her veins like ribbons of fire. It burns in her when she tries to focus her strained eyes on the dim squiggles of the writing they’re teaching her, sears in her when she tries to take a breath, scars in her when she tries to leave. She’s afraid of it, maybe. Afraid of what she can do with it. Afraid it’ll never leave, afraid of what she’d be without it. Empty, like the arches of Bleak Falls whistling in the wind. Wulfgar agrees to train with her some mornings, and they grapple in the snow like boys, wrestling back and forth. In the steam of her breath, she sees dragons dancing, in the burn of her muscles she feels the ragged leap of the mountain goat, notched hooves clinging vertical-stubborn to the rockface. Her mind grows calluses, and she trains her will like a sword. Meditating becomes familiar, if nothing else. Paarthurnax talks so much his tongue dries out one day, and she chuckles at him when he breaks halfway through a sentence to cough – an odd, serpentine movement that plants his snout in the snow. It clings to his nostrils when he raises his head, flicks down onto his tongue when he pauses to lick score-lines into the ice and swallow the steam. Fire-bellied, even after all this time. That, she

understands. There isn’t any reason to hope she will ever be more worth the air she breathes than she is, but she keeps breathing it, nonetheless. It stings all the way down, reminds her of how alive she is. Each breath is a struggle on the top of the mountain, snatching another second of life from the jaws of howling wind. The anger is a banked fire, but it never goes. Paarthurnax admits he dreams still of the servants he used to keep, the luxuries he used to covet. She thinks there must be some path between total abnegation and mindless violence. The thought sits with her uneasily, and she runs from it for days, trying not to think of failures. Denial is the Way of the Voice she wants to practise. Why make a lion among men with the mind to reason, if the gods did not want them to learn to farm? Growth and change dances in her mind like chasing dragons in stormclouds, and she goes to bed hungry and heartsore, wakes wandering Whiterun’s wreckage in her dreams. On the edge of the courtyard, toes gripping the edge, she ponders – not for the first time – throwing herself off. Wonders if the winds would catch her. Wonders what the contingency plan of destiny is. If there’s enough cause to risk there not being one. She doesn’t chance it. She thinks she’d rather not know if the winds would catch her, or if the gods would replace her, or if the world ends in fire because she says no. Summer sees her off the mountain, bored and restless with shivers locked up in her muscles. Wanting the heaviness of the pines and the wetness of the low air, again, knowing she’ll just be pulled back inexorable as breath rushes in and out of a living body, tainting it all over with its shape. The dragons have been attacking more and more frequently, whatever Delphine’s plan to rile them into facing her directly was, it’s worked. Another comes now, halfway in the wilds she needs to cross before she’s safely out of the exposed plains. She swears at it, and it breathes frost at her. Bastard. It’s just like normal, she’ll think, later. The fight proceeds as if it’s been scripted, her body moving like hundreds of drills have trained it to. The anger propels her, fuels her, makes her taunt and play with her enemy like a cat mocks a mouse. Length, wings, tail, frost and flame – it all means nothing, to a born killer with a destiny of death. The dragon’s in a shitty state when she’s done. Eyes are a wreck, seared by her boot-knife, acid blood spotting the snow. It wheezes, inch from death, doesn’t bother to raise its head to snap one last time at her. Her hammer hovers there over its cracked jaw – from experience, she knows it’ll just take another few blows to shear it straight off. Then blood with gush from the wound, and the dragon will be dead in minutes. It’s not even different this time. The same shitty feeling in her gut when a fight’s over and the adrenaline fades. The same aches and pains from abused muscles making themselves known. The same tired pound in her skull. The same anticipation for the soul she’ll eat. There’s no reason for it to be different this time, and it’s not, and that’s worse, because it could have been like this every time. Laat-Aaz drops her hammer, and fetches healing potions from her pack. She tips each one in slowly, onto the great tongue, thinks about Paarthurnax licking ice-cubes to moisten his throat. The dragon groans, and frost curls from its breath across her thigh, makes her hiss. It hurts like the pinch of the snow-winds on the mountain never do. This is going to be a pain in the ass, she thinks. But when she lifts her head, eyes streaming in the cold, to survey the rest of the dragon’s broken body for the worst of the damage, the wind strikes her fierce as an embrace. Laataaz rocks back on her heels. She still doesn’t feel it, whatever the monks are talking about. Still not sure it exists – voice of Kyne, whatever, like the gods speak. But as the whipping wind blows her hair back from her face like the proud hand of a mother, the iciness of the dragon’s scales against her fingers cold enough to

burn, and the snap of an approaching storm stings on her tongue, in her bones, she remembers something an old Greybeard said to her once. Kaan Kiss-at-End loves me. It means shit-all. It means everything.