#I’m trying to refrain from posting about it until the official chapter’s out and because it’s 3 am but damn it I have thoughts

[hamable]

AGSKFJDBDH LMAO Katsuki physically being leashed to his IV drip, held by his mother, so he’s forced to stand in the doorway and not launch himself across the room

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Back to school - Chapter 3 - Kira

So, my first short AU has turned into a soap opera really fast...

Here's another Kira chapter...❤️👩🏻‍🏫

Fandom : The Hobbit

Characters : Oh everyone

Rating : Gen up to now

Warnings: Turns a bit dark, a tad of crying, histrionics and it's a dilettantish attempt at an AU

Kira watched them walk away, the new kid almost tripping over his own feet trying to catch up with that monstrosity of a teenager stomping away moodily.

She remembered vaguely what it had been like to be this young and to stumble upon a pretty face that hit one unawares like a right hook into the jaw; and, just as she had that thought, one of those faces appeared just above her.

“Miss Kira, I see you’re still hale.” That man had a voice like running rivers, cold and beautiful, Kira thought. As beautiful as her new colleague, Thranduil, was, she distrusted him instinctively. There seemed to be a lack of that kindness in him that she had come to expect in a teacher.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She snapped, exhausted from this first day of work and troubled by all the secrets flitting around and nipping at her skin. “You’ve got the trash class.” He shrugged, his perfectly toned shoulders heaving with disgusting elegance and poise. Why could he not be as ugly as his words? It would make disliking him so much easier!

His freaking son was in that class, Kira thought, for crying out loud. How could anyone be that facetious?

“I’d be ever so grateful if you could refrain from making remarks such as these.” Her tone could grow just as cold and sharp as his, she decided. “Oh, you’ve warmed up to them, have you?”

There was a flash of something behind the obvious mockery; for a moment, Kira thought she had seen a hint of surprised joy, but the spark was gone before she could hold on to it or commit it to memory.

“They have been very nice. Your son has a rare talent for drawing.” She replied, carefully. “He’s a nitwit.”

Bitterness, Kira could taste it on her tongue as if that man in front of her was literally spewing acid. He was disappointed, but whether it was himself or that sweet-tempered boy of his who caused him such distress, Kira could not yet tell.

“He is not and you’re an asshole for saying so.” The words were out of her mouth before she could bite them back.

Wonderful, she had met exactly 3 other adults this far and she had managed to insult one of them to their face within the first day of her arriving at her new post. Kira deserved an award for hasty reactions that would lead to trouble and pain.

One thick eyebrow lifted with agonising slowness until it reached its zenith in a perfectly calm face.

“Strong words.” A drawling snarl, devoid of bite or anger; he seemed rather amused by her outburst that coloured her cheeks a flaming red and made her eyes shine with a ferocious fire. Kira liked to think that she looked intimidating or fierce, but she was old enough to be aware that she actually resembled a young girl running a fever when she got angry.

His eyes shifted into something that was now definitely mournful as he told her that there were many things she didn’t know and, with a sharp sadness, he added: “Maybe, someone with a soft heart like yours should not have come here.”

Bristling, she got up and pushed past him into the school building.

Who was he to tell her where she was to go or not? He knew nothing about her either, or about the things she had done and seen in her life. A soft heart, pfff, indeed.

Making her way through the halls and corridors, and getting turned around only twice, she finally entered the small administration office where a handsome woman with long, black hair was clacking away on her keyboard.

“I am…I have…I am new here and I’d like to see the files of the class I’ve been given.” Kira announced, rather badly, and the woman looked up with a disinterested face. “Which class would that be?”

Damn, she didn’t even know the name of the class, for she was sure that DD was not the official code. “Mister Gandalf’s class? I’ve taken over for Mister Smaug.” She mumbled, hoping that the lady would know which class she was talking about without her having to confess that she was a terrible teacher who had not done a rollcall or learned what the official denomination of her class was.

“You poor dear, how much time do you have?” The woman gave a wry chuckle. “Time?” Kira cocked her head.

“Go through to the library, I’ll bring you the files.” She patted Kira’s hand, lying cramped on the little counter before her. Those treacherous hands, she thought, always clenching without her knowledge, and betraying her inner turmoil.

As she sat in a corner of the library, she thought back on her first day: her colleague was like an ice-king from a fairy tale, cold and beautiful, and her class turned out to be a bunch of grumpy misfits.

Well no, only the two tall boys, the other ones seemed agreeable enough, but Kira was not used to scowling teenagers. It made her feel ill at ease and unwelcome; everything in this place made her feel unwelcome and she had half a mind to go home again and call it a day.

She had tried, but there was no place for her, not here, not anywhere else.

The door opened and the woman from before shoved a document cart piled high with folders in.

“You’re new to the town too, aren’t you?” The woman nodded slowly when Kira admitted that she was. “You and the curly boy, you don’t even know what mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Making a non-committal gesture, Kira encouraged her to go on. “You’ve met Dwalin and Thorin, I expect. They’re the local troublemakers. Hmmmm…” The woman pulled out a chair from under a deserted table and leant against it as if she couldn’t bear to sit down for this story.

“Their family, Thorin’s parents to be exact, they had a business. Beautiful it was. It burned down…some say, Smaug, the former teacher was behind it. We don’t know. There was some point of contention between them, but…”

“What about Thranduil?” Kira asked, the question falling from her numb lips.

“Oh…he…it was a beautiful business as I said and there have been important possessions of his lost in the fire. It…it is a time ago now. Thorin’s father has disappeared, you know, and Thranduil thinks he might have taken off with the most valuable parts. I don’t know if that’s true.”

The woman bit her lip, she knew she was gossiping, but she obviously thought that Kira had a right to know those things. Probably, she wanted to chase her away, but with every word, Kira’s faltering resoluteness firmed up again.

“Who is taking care of them? They’re kids.” Kira cried out, horrified by what she was hearing.

“Older cousins; they’re a strange clan. Secretive. Weird. Hostile. Thorin should have graduated, but he sticks around for his sister. Thranduil is her headteacher.” The woman sighed heavily. “We’re all one tangle of resentment and hate here.”

A fire, Kira thought, a future gone up in flames, a legacy fallen to ashes.

“What kind of person was this Smaug?” She then prodded on, curious about her predecessor.

“Smaug? Sly, charming, wickedly smart, very cunning…and dark. Oh, Kira, can I call you Kira? Leave girl, there is nothing here for you. Smaug and Thranduil? They survived here because their hearts have turned to stone a long time ago. The kids will hurt you; destruction is all they know.” She took a deep breath.

“Those children were raised on hatred, they absorbed distrust at their mother’s tit, they suckled on hostility. They will take everything from you if you let them.” The woman tapped the folders on the cart.

“I’m telling you, you don’t need to know. Leave this place. There’s too much death around here.”

Everything in Kira revolted.

“What made people that hard and bitter?” She asked, breathless with shock and pity.

“Loss. If you lose someone you love, you seek for culprits and there are more than enough potential candidates around here.”

Kira thought of young Bilbo’s flush, of Thorin’s shy smile and Legolas’ beautiful drawing, and grabbed the first one of the folders resolutely. “I have nothing to lose.” She whispered and plunged into the heart-breaking life story of one Tauriel; a girl who had impressed her with zealous interest and brave kindness.

The woman left and soon after, the door to the library was shoved open again and Gandalf strolled in, his grey wool cardigan stained with chalk and his beard hiding a sad smile.

“You’ve taken an interest in them, I see.” He said in a low voice, but his presence startled Kira so much that she uttered a frightened yelp. “Yes, yes, I wanted to know what all this talk of hate was about.”

Kira set aside the folder she had been browsing. “You have been crying.” Gandalf said softly, handing her a handkerchief and sitting down on the discarded chair the administrator had left pulled out.

She sniffed; she had just found out that the sweet-tempered blonde boy, son of the imperious colleague with the amazingly beautiful eyes, was semi-orphaned. His report cards said he was dumb, slow to understand and illiterate, but Kira had seen him read. All the notes about him betrayed a sense of impatience and exasperation that must have heightened the pressure on the poor kid, she thought. It was hard enough to be another teacher’s son, did people have to expect so much of a boy his age?

“Come, I’ll invite you to a milkshake, Miss Kira.” Gandalf extended his hand with the same natural friendliness as he had when handing her a handkerchief earlier. “Ah, you’ve kept the worst one for last.” He tapped on the thick folder bearing Thorin’s name.

Kira didn’t want to admit it, but she was frightened. The woman had been partly right and there was a lot of darkness in this town; shady things had happened, and Kira was unable to comprehend how people could burden mere children with past grievances they had not been a part of.

“There’s a little shop just down the main road.” Gandalf was chattering gently, shoving the last file into her satchel, and steering her out of the gloomy library carefully. “It will do you good to get out of this building.”

When she saw the blinking lights, her eyes burned and she wondered how long she had been sitting in the dark library, crying helplessly over the fate of children she had only met today.

“Miss Kira!” A honey-coloured mop of hair appeared in her blurry field of vision, and she was tempted to sling her arms around Bilbo. “Bilbo…” She sighed. “Oh, have you been crying?” Bilbo looked up, alarmed and worried.

“I’m okay, kiddo, it’s all fine.” She lied, she knew it and so did Bilbo.

“Oh, that girl over there, that’s Thorin’s sister.” Gandalf whispered into her ear. Kira looked up only to see the beautiful creature that had been with mopey Dwalin before class. She should have known, Kira thought, now that she saw them together, it was as clear as day that they were related.

“God, they’re such charming children.” Kira sighed under her breath. “Isn’t he just?” Bilbo sighed along, blushing a dark pink under Kira’s gaze that had snapped back to him. Kira didn’t know what this town’s ideas and beliefs were on that kind of crush; she had not been here long enough to gauge how people reacted to single women and same-sex couples, but it was clear that Bilbo himself felt terrible about his own words.

Kira wondered if there was no hairdresser in town, all the haircuts she had seen this far were exceptionally long and flowy, or awful like Ori’s, and the fact that half of all the people she had met this far were cramped into the small ice-cream shop reminded her of the woman’s words. They really were all packed one on top of another, all the time, no wonder there were frictions and animosities.

“Hello, are you the new teacher?” Kira snapped out of her reverie to be confronted with the fresh face of a young girl who looked up at her expectantly. “You sure are pretty.” She went on, which made Kira blush.

“I am Dís, I’ll introduce myself, old Thrandy interrupted me before and…my brother is useless.” She had the most dazzling smile, small dimples to either side of her generous mouth that was so unlike the grim line of her brother’s and eyes like a summer sky. She was the first happy person she had met, Kira realised, and her eyes flew to Thorin who observed them with meticulous sharpness.

His baby sister, of course, he’d throttle me on the spot if I threatened the girl in any way.

“I am…the new teacher. I’m not so sure about the pretty part.” Kira murmured, unsure how to proceed with Bilbo and the girl both now staring up at her as if she owed them some kind of explanation or answer to a question nobody had asked.

“Was Thorin very gruesome?” Dís asked with a mix of morbid pleasure and honest worry. Kira saw Bilbo flinch; so this was how they would handle things, she thought, Bilbo and her would be more or less mockingly warned so as to counteract every single potential disappointment…or expectation.

Squaring her shoulders, Kira lifted her chin and replied: “No, I expect great things of the young man.”

An eerie silence fell over the group and Kira could feel Gandalf stiffen just behind her; he was hovering in the door as if to keep her from retreating. Little did he know that Kira usually met her fears head-on, she would not back out of a shop because she happened upon a group of students; not even when it was obvious that she had been crying.

“Nothing ever happens here, so tell me, what did you think of old Thrandy? He was certainly flushed and a little grumpier than usual…” Dís had an infectious smile, Kira thought as she felt her own lips being pulled up by an unseen and unfathomable force. “Mister Thranduil was…very courteous.” She replied weakly, remembering with painful clarity how she had called him an asshole in the least civil display of discontentment possible, short of shoving him outright.

The idea of shoving someone that tall and strong made her giggle under her breath.

“He doesn’t like us much.” Dís said it off-handedly, but Kira had been a teacher for too long not to notice the tiny quiver that made her smile blur for a second. Once again, Kira wanted to protest and assuage the girl’s pain, but what did she really know? She had only arrived in this clusterfuck of a town.

“Do you think…could you like us? Please?” Her huge eyes shone like headlights. She looked so much like her brother, only softer, more open, and much more vulnerable. It was the age, Kira thought, it was the fact that he had always held his hand over her and, right now, he bulldozed towards them.

“Dís…leave the woman alone.” He gave her an apologetic smile; begging for affection was beneath his dignity apparently, so Kira turned her attention back to the girl and sighed: “I’m doing my utter best.”

“We’re not so bad, really. Don’t…don’t believe what people say.” She tapped her finger against the folder sticking out of Kira’s satchel. Her brother’s name was clearly visible and, unlike Kira, Dís seemed to know exactly what lay between the faded grey layers of cardboard.

“Dís, that is enough. Leave her be.” Thorin repeated, trying to pry his sister away. “Don’t mind her.” He said to Kira.

“Let go of me, you stupid oaf. How many times have you cornered old Thrandy in the hallway on my behalf? Can I not, for once, speak up for you?” Her eyes were flaming with blue fire now, reminding Kira of a copper flame.

“Don’t…don’t believe what people say, I can only ask you to make up your own mind. Both of you…” Dís then addressed both Bilbo and Kira who exchanged a puzzled look. “I don’t know anything about the idle tittle-tattle of the town.” Bilbo puffed up his chest and made a small gesture of dismissal.

Kira, on the other hand, did not know what to say. As a professional, she was bound to put at least some faith in the words of her colleagues and her predecessor; she knew teenagers to be manipulative, potentially mean-spirited, and profoundly selfish beings. It would have been more careful to heed the warnings others had given her.

“So…about your milkshake?” Gandalf prompted her from behind and Kira thought that she needed something stronger than a milkshake tonight to get settled into bed, but she would not get shit-faced in front of the students.

“The strawberry one is good.” Bilbo offered. Her eyes slid over the sign hanging on the wall.

“Chocolate-Mint?” She turned to Gandalf. “Unusual.” He commented. “Nobody likes that much.” He made a face.

“I am not everybody else…and I do.” Kira replied firmly and followed the man to the counter to escape the students.

The whole town seemed strangely informal to her and yet, there were so many things she could not quite understand, as if there was a deeper, darker truth hidden behind every brazen interaction.

“I see Thorin has taken a shine to the new kid.” Gandalf commented in a low voice when he returned with their drinks to the little booth Kira had taken in the meantime, far away from the kids, in a quiet corner. “At this time, he’s usually in the little hardware shop his family keeps.”

Kira could hear that Gandalf was trying to tell her something, but her head was still fuzzy with second-hand pain and first-rate confusion. “You’ll fit right in with us, I think.” Gandalf went on, nodding at her bare hands. No rings. For a woman her age, it was rare, and as her colleague and superior, he of course knew that she had come here alone.

No husband. No children. No emergency contact either.

“Young Bilbo is an orphan.” He murmured on. “There are too many orphans in this town.” Kira replied tonelessly.

“It wasn’t always like that…It won’t be like that forever.” Gandalf said and she had to believe in the faith vibrating strong in his voice. Of course, it wouldn’t stay like that, Kira thought, they would grow up and if this place was not right for them, they would find another one.

She drank her milkshake slowly, eager and reticent at the same time to take a look at that last file in her satchel. Her mind was full of what other people had told her: her colleagues, the administrator, that girl…

When she dared glance over, she saw Bilbo laughing at something Dís had said, and it seemed like the ghost of a smile danced on Thorin’s face. God, there were so many open scowls and just as many aborted smiles in this town.

“Are they…” Kira started to voice her concerns, but relapsed into silence, it was none of her business.

“Are they what, dear? Allowed to flirt? I’d hope so, these things come easier to the younger generation.” Gandalf tapped the side of his nose as if he knew that she was hopeless in the romantic department.

“I don’t need to know.” She said hastily, almost tipping over her empty glass as she got up and grabbed her satchel.

“Kira? You will soon learn that there is no escaping “knowing” in this town. I am so sorry, but you’ll eventually have to choose a side. Will you take the easy path?”

She froze.

“Here, take this. I’ll see you at work. Tomorrow.” He handed her yet another handkerchief, a beautiful, delicate thing that had no business being in the possession of a slightly scatter-brained, decidedly masculine headteacher.

“I bought it in the emporium that once was.” Gandalf said with a sad smile. “Before the fire.” Kira answered tonelessly.

“Thranduil said that someone with my soft heart should not be here.” She felt like telling on the colleague, but the recollection of his words cut deep, and she needed some kind of reassurance.

“Thranduil believes softness to be weakness. Do you have a strong heart, Kira?”

She did not know how to answer that question; it was novel to her, nobody had ever asked her anything remotely as confusing and irrelevant. She had never had any medical problems of the cardiovascular variety, but she doubted that this was the meaning he had been trying to convey.

“We’ll find out soon enough.” He grinned and when the door swung open, he sat back and waited.

“Miss Kira.” Already, she recognised the shy, quiet quality of the voice that reminded her of those wispy curtains her aunt Imelda used to have in her living room and that had ended up torn to shreds by her vicious Siamese cats.

“Legolas.” She turned around, satchel in hand, only to find her face almost pressed into the perfectly starched button-down of someone who has definitely not the nearly translucent boy.

“Mister…” – “If you can call me asshole, you can call me Thranduil.” His voice cut like a well-honed blade, slicing easily and elegantly through her defences…No jagged edges, no serrated indentations…Acid running like water and leaving nothing but burning pain behind.

She was tempted to call him asshole again, but she clenched her teeth before bowing her head slowly.

All the kids eyes were glued to her now; she could feel the prickling heat of their gaze on her neck. “Good evening. I’m on my way home.” She said courteously and tried to push past them.

“Legolas, go sit with your classmates, I’ll walk your teacher home.” Thranduil declared with icy determination.

“Why? What danger could lurk in the shadows for me when clearly, everyone is here?” Kira snapped.

“No, he’s right. It is not safe.” She had not noticed that the students had come up behind her, but she could hear that it pained Thorin to the core of his heart to admit that the hated teacher was, for once, not completely wrong.

“Stay with your classmates, Legolas, I will walk Miss Kira home.” Thranduil repeated and Legolas shuffled his feet for a moment before being pulled away by Bilbo. He didn’t get along with his classmates, Kira knew, but the fact that Thorin had not objected, told her that they all agreed to this plan.

Kira could not fathom what peril could hide in this sleepy, little town other than being smitten by a lightning bolt made of pure contempt and hatred, but when Thranduil held the door open for her, she moved outside readily enough.

For a while, they walked in resentful silence, each one thinking about the angry words that had been uttered between them. “I took…” She started, but he waved her words aside. “I know where you live.”

Of course, he knew. Everyone knew. Maybe, she’d be murdered in her sleep by the cloud of ominous darkness hovering over every square inch of this godforsaken place.

“Lock your door and say your prayers.” He mumbled, looking tired all of a sudden, as if the polish had worn away and washed off and all that was left was a middle-aged man who was alone in the world with a child he could not understand and a bunch of neighbours he didn’t like.

“If you see a fiery red sports car…” he started and waved her past her own building and towards a small corner shop.

“If ever anything feels amiss, you call Gandalf, the school, me…and you come here.” He went on insistently.

“Thranduil.” Another man stepped out, his eyes cautious and guarded as they fell on her tall companion. “Balin, this is Miss Kira. She’s your boys’ new teacher.”

The older cousin then, Kira thought, barely older. Where were the women in this town? Where were the mothers?

“It was mighty good of you to take her home.” Balin nodded slowly, giving Kira an appraising look.

“Now, look here lass, if anything happens, you come here.” – “What should happen?” Kira wanted to laugh, but she remembered: there had been a terrible fire, a man had disappeared, a car had been damaged, mothers had been lost. She was an outsider, and she knew nothing of the things that haunted these people.

“If he comes back.” Balin just replied and Kira was surprised at the grave nod Thranduil gave as a reply.

“Who? Smaug? What kind of guardians are you if you let someone that dangerous be alone with your little ones?” Kira exploded. “Little ones? Have you seen Thorin and Dwalin? They’re hardly little ones.” Balin laughed heartily.

“He held sway, let’s put it like that, and we could not dislodge him against his will.” Thranduil explained suavely.

“Not that you’ve tried really hard.” Balin mumbled into his beard.

“He was a fucking menace; he’s done terrible harm to those children!” Kira could not fathom how they could be so calm about that. “Aye, that’s a grief we all have to live with. I don’t think he’d come back, but if he does…well, we’ll know how to deal with him.” Balin said with pride in his voice.

“I’d rather let him tear me limb from limb than expose any of my students to that monster ever again!” Kira could feel the tears of anger and helpless indignation threaten to dash her brittle voice to pieces.

“You’re a fiery one, lass, I’ll give you that. Maybe, we all need more of this around here.” Balin chuckled and gave her a card. “Oi, Miss Kira, everything alright?” Dwalin came out, his hands covered in dark dust and his face glistening with sweat.

“Yes, I am fine. Suffocating on so much testosterone, but I am alright. One would think some evil power would send ghouls and dragons after me as soon as I step out alone.” She chuckled under her breath.

“Don’t wander around alone too much. I trust Thorin and Dís have taken care of the new kid?” Dwalin nodded when Kira’s eyes widened. They were being herded like sheep. With a tiny nod of the head, Dwalin and, what Kira surmised must have been his older brother, returned to their shop.

“They’re distasteful people, but they can protect you. We’re just up there.” Thranduil accompanied her back to her own suite of flats, pointing at a small rise where a beautiful white mansion peeked out from a patch of dark trees.

“Don’t call them distasteful.” Kira grumbled. “Lady, you call people assholes.” He reminded her.

“I’ll never live that one down.” She said through gritted teeth. “No, you won’t. We have a long memory when it comes to grievances and offenses.” It didn’t sound like a threat, there was no anger or even hurt in his voice; he was merely stating facts.

Rolling her eyes at him, she jangled her keys and made her way into the building. All of this was completely ludicrous, but she locked her door twice and fastened the bolt as well before taking off her shoes and cuddling up on the small sofa.

Kira wished she had someone to talk to, someone who would be interested in her first day at work and who would laugh and groan with her about that absurdly handsome, stuck-up, judgemental, overly sensitive colleague of hers whose eyes made her wish for summer and picnics outside.

Also, she yearned for someone to hold her as she opened the thick file and leafed through records of detentions and disciplinary procedures until she came to a clear line in Thorin’s academic career: he had been a good student, wild and impatient but also diligent and gifted, up to a certain point and only after that had he turned into a teacher’s nightmare.

Kira rubbed her eyes, she could barely believe that those words, “dangerous”, “vicious”, “devious”, “insane”, should be applied to a man that young. Thinking back, she saw a hunched-over youth, uncomfortable in his skin, wary, and definitely traumatised; she had never had the feeling that he had been threatening her in any way though.

One thing was for sure, Mister Smaug had hated the kid and he had not missed a single opportunity to make his life miserable, going as far as scribbling defamatory notes about Thorin’s family into the official records.

Piecing together what she could glimpse by reading between the lines, the family had built an emporium, but the grandfather’s megalomania had attracted the wrong kind of attention, and everything had literally gone up in flames. The father had disappeared, leaving the son to bear the burden of a reputation of being a greedy, thieving beggar – born and bred.

Nobody could see her now, so Kira lay down her head and cried.

It had been only one day, and already, she had no idea what to do and how to go on in this quagmire of secrets and lies.

Her mind wandered back to those fresh faces, to the willingness of Tauriel and Ori to work, to Bilbo’s calling out to her to give her opinion, to Legolas’ pride over a drawing, to Thorin’s and Dwalin’s surprising protectiveness, and she knew that even if Smaug came back and set her ravishing asshole of a colleague on fire in front of her eyes, what really mattered were the children. She would try her best to make a difference…at least for those who might change the fate of the world…in time.

[ktheist]

eighteen.

chapters: 17 / 18 / 19 /

knight!jungkook x princess!reader

x

One of the footmen is already waiting for you, following the order of Taehyung to summon you. Said man is standing in the middle of the room whilst the valet stands before him, buttoning up his shirt. He steps aside when you approach, bowing.

“How did you sleep last night?” You’re the first to break the silence, nimble fingers picking up where the valet left off.

You can feel his eyes lingering on the top of your head as you focus on the task at hand.

“Well.” His answer is short and curt, possibly still harboring the smolders of last two night’s fight.

“Good.” You nod towards the valet who’s standing by with Taehyung’s coat. It’s been over a week since you’ve arrived at the Northern Kingdom. Most of the foreign delegates have gone back to their countries and today, so will you.

The light in the mirror catches your eyes and causes you to look at the man staring at the reflection of the woman behind him. She holds the coat in the air and he slips his arms into its respective sleeves wordlessly.

You come to stand in front of the Prince again, smoothing out the fabric of the coat under your palms. This time, there’s no escaping those eyes. They pierce into yours like a spear but you’ve built walls too high for anyone to penetrate.

“One of my men saw you talking to someone yesterday.” He says simply, no decorative words, no underlying meaning, “a new face. A noble man who wasn’t here on the day of the funeral.”

The only who you knew saw you with Jungkook was your maid. Her sweet, cheery smile burns on the back of your mind. You refrain from shaking your head. No. Eunha is not like that. She may look like everything and anything is gossip but she knows not to speak of her lady’s affairs. Furthermore, she didn’t see Jungkook’s face. It must have really been one of Taehyung’s men who saw from afar.

“Ah, Marquis Jung? Indeed, he had urgent matters to settle so he arrived a little later.” You school an easy smile though you’re not so sure if it’ll work on a fellow monarch.

“My man also said you were crying.”

Your heart almost fell but your face still remains cheerful and unbothered. “Am I not allowed to shed tears, especially with the wound of my father’s death being so fresh and recent, you highness?”

That seems to settle with his reasoning. His gaze shakes the slightest bit as you shake your head. “Your highness may not understand, both your highness’ parents are well and alive.”

Those last words confirms your suspicions. The stoic mask he has on crumbles like a sandcastle as he looks at you with guilt, pain and something you can’t pinpoint.

“We’ll be spending more than a day in the carriage, I rather we not fight anymore.” You say your peace and for a last, remaining effect, stand on your tip toes, lips planting a kiss on his cheek.

“I shall see you in the carriage.” You leave him with those words, the stunned expression on his face being the last thing you see before you walk through the door.

x

By the time you arrive at the palace, it was half past noon on the next day. You made small talks with Taehyung but the Prince didn’t seem to keen on answering questions about his childhood and didn’t try to ask about yours. The whole ride was spent in silence until the general announced your arrival.

Yerin had helped you change into a simpler dress. The plan is to catch up on a week’s worth of work which means locking yourself up in the office. But thirty minutes into work, Eunha comes slipping into your office without her usual smile. She keeps looking at the door as she stands in front of your desk, “y-your highness, I have a letter.”

She leaves the folded, un-waxed paper by your hand and sprints off before you can even read it, write a reply and give it to her to post it to whoever your letter mate is.

‘Princess.’

You know who the letter belongs to as soon as you read how it addresses you. Only one person ever calls you ‘Princess’, most would formally call you ‘your highness’ or ‘my lady’.

‘I am in the Southern Kingdom following your departure. Is it possible to meet tonight to discuss our plans?’

A dead weight seems to settle on your shoulders as you reread the short letter over and over again. Walking over the hearth, you toss the paper into the fire and watch it burn.

It takes several tries to form a response as an inner war begins to erupt.

‘I can’t. The Prince and I have just made up...’

You cross that one out. And prepare another piece of fresh paper.

‘We’ve been seen. The Prince knows I met with a ‘young noble man’ three days ago but I played it off...’

No, this one will not do too.

‘Not at the present. The Prince is suspicious of me. I shall contact you when the time is right.’ You set your quill back in the inkpot. Folding the paper, you slip it within your sleeves. Only when it is time for you to retreat to your chamber for your bath, do you call for Eunha to stay back with the excuse to help comb your hair. By then, you’ve already stored the letter in your drawer.

Yerin seems displeased to have a mere commoner to be picked over her but you pretend not to notice. Your maid’s cheerful smile has returned but there’s a tug to it that makes it appear forced.

Covering her hand that’s on your shoulder, you look at her in the mirror. “Eunha, did anyone blackmail you to send me the letter?”

The maid appears stunned for a second before her bright facade falls through and tears brim in her eyes. “I was scared someone was blackmailing you, your highness and that you must keep quiet. Knowing you, you would bear the burden on your own and I- I- wish you would tell me.”

Rising to your feet, you bring the girl into your arms, letting her cry in your embrace as you shush her softly. “Thank you, Eunha, I never thought I’d meet someone so loyal in this place.”

“Th-then were you...”

You hold her hands, shaking your head as you smile. “No, it was a letter from an acquaintance of mine. We’ve been close friends but because of the differing ranks, he had to send an anonymous letter to me to ask how I was.”

Eunha sniffles as her face lifts up. “I-I’m glad her highness has someone to talk to.”

You pat her head gently, chuckling at how cute her innocent worrying is before she asks another question, “b-but if you don’t mind me asking, your highness, how did you become acquainted with a prison guard?”

Prison guard? You wrack your brain for a face donned in shiny armor. There aren’t many guards you’ve come to acquaint yourself with. The general is one of Taehyung’s men, rather than an acquaintance, your interactions were strictly a matter of national security. No topics were discussed besides the safety of the Crown Prince and Princess. You’ve met a few of the lower officials but their faces remain a blur. The only guard you ever know his name was the one that guarded Jungkook’s cell...

It hits you then that the guard may not have retired like Jungkook said he would. He must have sent the letter to the guard who in turn found a close confidant of yours to pass the letter to.

“He lives outside, the guard is his nephew whom he must have asked to relay the letter to but it would be suspicious for a prison guard to approach me and the letter would possibly be confiscated.” You easily conclude, “that’s why he approached you.”

Eunha’s cheery smile returns full force, it warms your heart and lifts your spirits as you return her smile.

“If he has a nephew, he must be elderly... is he the same age as the King?”

You pause, an image of Jungkook appearing at the back of your mind. How would he look in ten years’ time? What will happen to that warm gaze he reserves for you only when you are alone?  Will it still burn the same way? Will he continue to use those arms to do labor work like cutting firewood, lifting goods on his shoulders and all the work that requires strength? Will he choose to keep a beard now that he’s a free man and not required to adhere to dress codes and maintain his knightly appearance? Your face catches heat at the thought of his arms filling the sleeves of his clothes, longer hair tied back into a pony tail.

But for now, you nod at Eunha’s inquiry, “yes. It would seem odd for the Princess to have an elderly acquaintance but I do cherish our friendship dearly, so please keep it a secret.”  

You take the letter from your closet and press it in her hand. “This is my reply, please take it to the guard.”

Eunha nods, her eyes shining with innocent determination as your heart aches from yet another lie told. She takes her leave when Taehyung arrives in his night robe, eyes studying the maid as she bows at him.

“You seem to take a liking towards that poor thing.” He asserts, “it’d reflect badly on Lady Yerin if the Princess prefers a maid of her lady-in-waiting.”

“She lives her life honestly and therefore far from ‘poor.’“ You refute heatedly, gaze hardened over the man who settles himself in the middle of your bed, “if his highness has so much compassion for Lady Yerin, then you may take her to join your side.”

Taehyung clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing, “a lady as a valet? That’s unheard of.” That not-so-missed smirk creeps its way to his lips, “now, a second wife, that’s been done by may great Kings.”

Your eye twitches as you refrain yourself from slapping that smirk right off his face, “put me out of my misery, will you? Take her as your second wife, I don’t care.”

The room is filled with Taehyung’s laughter as he takes it with good humor. That is apparently the only think he’s good at. “A little sensitive, aren’t we? Have you been experiencing nausea? Headaches?”

Your eyes narrow at what he’s hinting, climbing on the bed to your side whilst subtly trying to keep a gap between you. “What’s it to you?”

The gap falls through as the Prince lands himself in your lap. A hand crossed underneath his head as he stares up at you with a wicked smile, “to us, Princess.”

Bile rises to your throat at the name he calls you. It tastes bitter when he says it but you let him attribute the sour expression on your face to the mention of a second wife even before you are crowned King and Queen. He seems to get a kick out of it.

“It’d be a hassle to make a new dress for the coronation if the new Queen couldn’t fit in it because she’s showing.” He teases, “best to get the coronation done quickly, no?”

At the word, your eyes twinkle. Taehyung must have caught it. That must be the reason he’s chuckling quietly into your stomach.

“When will it be held?”

He peeks from beneath his locks that shadows his eyes and you have to fight yourself from caressing it away, “in a month’s time.”

You feel your heart skip. In a month’s time. Approximately 30 days from now, you’ll be rid of the title ‘Princess’ and assume the title ‘Queen’. The Queen - the current Queen must be writhing in anger and anxiousness at this very moment. Her words still ring in your ears as though she’d just warned you yesterday.

“You will,” she had cut you with the power held upon the crown perched on her neatly made hair, “you will want power - command once you’ve lived long enough to lose yourself in this god forsaken place and I will not allow you to have any semblance of that in my castle. In my kingdom.” 

Something stirs in the very pit of your stomach. It’s delightful and deadly and thirsty. The hand that caresses the Prince’s hair is gentle and the smile that smiles at him is sweet as you wish him good night, blowing the candle before settling into the bed. This time, you don’t quite mind the arms that hold you as you dream about the day the crown passes to you.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

13. Exposing the Void Pt. 1

A lot of this chapter is straight up Simon’s thoughts, so it gets jumbled and possibly confusing. Let me know if there’s parts where things are unclear (most likely in those times, we’re inside of Simon’s thoughts). Word Count: 5969. Trigger Warnings: Self harm, child death, child abuse, mental instability, mental abuse, dehumanization, betrayal, delusions, intrusive thoughts... 

This chapter was actually the hardest for me to write in this story, thus far. And please keep in mind that in this space, there is no ableism allowed. So, refrain from using terms about psychosis or mental illness as insults towards the characters. The purpose is not to blame Simon’s actions on poor mental health or to excuse his behavior due to his trauma. The purpose is to understand a story in a world where mental illness is not necessarily the cause of why some people do evil things, but is sometimes a factor (not usually, as mentally ill people are generally more likely to hurt themselves than others), but yes, there are occasions where our psychosis can led to dangerous outbursts. Please don’t use the phrase “Go psycho” when referring to any variation of Simon Laurent, even this one. Thank you.

Previous

Simon was getting a tattoo. He’d already decided that much. He didn’t know of what, but he was convinced that he would think of something. It seemed healthier than self harm, at least… and a professional would mark him in this scenario. 

He had a full course on his schedule, additional hours of extracurricular activities and work, plus interviews and maintaining his website. Plenty to do to keep his mind off of it - the void. His nostrils flared just thinking about it. Sometimes, he found himself checking social media for updates from a backup account. He had been blocked under his personal and professional ones. But, it wasn’t back. The last post was the same post that had been shared to each of them by its team.

“Hello, Apex Members. On behalf of The Internet’s Honey, Miss Grace Monroe, we would like to express the sincerest apologies for the negativity that has been spread and for the things that Miss Monroe stands accused of. She is seeking help at a secure location, and it is our hope that she will return to you soon, in all of her glory, fully restored, healthy and well.”

The comments were thousands of “Fuck Grace Monroe. She’s cancelled.” etc. He had been amused before, but the more comments that were added, the more numb he became to them. He was numb to many things… still somehow… it left its mark on him. He pulled up his sleeve and looked at his tallies… it left several. “Fuck Grace Monroe,” he whispered, shook his head and said in a louder, more confident tone, “Fuck the void.” A little mantra before his early AM classes. 

Whenever he got home, though… He went through a range of emotions for a while. Everybody lies to me. Everybody leaves me… Even when nothing had anything to do with this thought process, if he wasn’t focused deeply on something else, there were the thoughts. Sometimes, even when he WAS working on something else. The thing about living alone and being at home was that he had a lot of time to get trapped in his harmful thoughts, and no Grace there to ease things. Not anymore.

It started with his mother. She was only going to be gone “for a little while.” 

Simon wasn't confident in his abilities to watch himself AND a younger person. He was a cub scout and even a careful child, but he knew that Hope could be a handful, sometimes even for their parents. “I don’t think I can watch Hope, Mom.”

“Oh, of course you can, Simon!” She cheered. “It’s only for a little, short, while, and you’re my capable little man.”

Hope laughed and said, “He’s not a man. He’s Simon.”

“If Mom says I’m a man, then I am!”

Their mom clarified, “He’s a big boy who gets to be man of the house when Mommy and Daddy aren’t here. Mommy’s Little Man. You’ve got this, Si. Like I said, only a little while.” She tousled his hair and filled him with confidence that he had not had a few minutes prior… then she was gone for what felt like forever. 

18 year old Simon knew that she had only been gone for 2 hours, but as a 10 year old watching a 4 year old who didn’t want to be watched by a “fake man,” it seemed like a lengthy stretch of time. With Hope doing things that she knew she shouldn’t, taunting him by telling him that he’s a fake man and that’s why he couldn’t stop her, and whenever she tried to go into the attic, that was the last straw. He had gotten really mad at her. She had been teasing him, calling him a fake man, a little baby, a small, small Simon… He didn’t mean to hurt her, but he was offended by her name calling. He was only going to drag her into her room and make her have a time out. 

18 year old him knew that he was angry when he grabbed her by the back of her shirt, as hard as he could, upset with her, but also needing to get her off of the ladder and into her room. 10 year old him yanked her off of the ladder and flung her to the floor beneath them with rage. She let out a screaming laugh whenever she went flying down, but when she hit the floor… she became silent. 

Simon shook his head. That wasn’t my fault. I was a child! The void had been right about that. “Who leaves a 10 year old home alone with a 4 year old?” He heard her voice ask, when they were kids. More than that - Who tells a boy that young that he is trusted with the life of a smaller child? That he’s “a man” because you need a little favor? Two. Hours!  

He still didn’t know how long he had sat there trying to wake Hope up before their mother came back or where she was at that time, but wherever she was, he hoped she thought about it every single day that she tried to blame him. He hoped it ate away at her and corrupted her from the inside out until her health faded and her heart stopped. He didn’t always feel that way. 

When he was 10, he blamed himself. He loved his mother. He wanted her back. He wanted to be her little man again, even though he failed her. He was still so young and confused, and nobody was helping him to understand it all. He couldn’t answer why he didn’t call 911. He was scared. He was crying. He... just didn’t think about it at the time. He hadn’t been prepared for an emergency.It was supposed to just be a little while! I was supposed to be the man of the house. Nothing bad was supposed to happen on my watch...

It continued with his father. So furious with his wife’s decision that he couldn’t stand to share the same breathing space with her most of the time. Unfortunately, that also meant not sharing it with Simon. He told Simon that he didn’t blame him. He lied. Some part of him had to, because otherwise, why would he have left him with the woman who had been so irresponsible that they already lost one child? Because… he died in his father’s eyes that night, too. The man was just too much of a coward to admit it. So, he just… left.

And Grace… He almost started crying, but shook his head and shook her it out of his mind. “Void,” he said and clenched his fists. Still… He missed her it. She It was the only thing that used to be able to get his mind off of his family, his pain, his guilt, his rage… 

For so long, she it was the only thing. Now, he was left to just force himself to live through this. He was better off. It was going to stop his full potential. It had already stunted him so much. He spent years building a fortress for it and throwing himself in front of everything that came its way. Never again. 

.

After they began officially dating, she was acting weird and he let it go. This was new for both of them and she was still trying to figure out her sexuality. He thought he was extremely understanding about her characteristics. As a matter of fact, up until the moment that he realized that she was a liar, he found no flaws in her at all. He loved all of her, perfect in every way and in the ways that she wasn’t, he never took notice. He just re-imaged those things as perfect, because they were things that were of Grace. Being a snobby, rich bitch - fine. Being lazy and irresponsible, sure. Being wishy-washy and confusing… he didn’t love that, but he accepted it and always assumed that maybe he was mistaken, or maybe she was the confused one in those moments. He never thought that she was deceiving him. Now, it was all that he could think about.

How many lies she must have told him over the years, how much of his childhood and adolescence was built upon those lies… He had to try to void everything that he had ever known her to be from his life, and from his mind.

“Do you not love me?”

“I do!”

Had he not been so blinded by his love, he would have known that she didn’t mean it. He would have heard it in her tone. He would have seen it in her eyes. “The void was just that good,” he told himself. “It tricked everyone. You watched it work for so long, you thought that you were exempt. It cares about nothing but itself.”

She seemed like she was withdrawing from him. He didn’t want to see it at the time, but he knew what that looked like. He couldn’t stop his mother from doing it. He couldn’t stop his father from doing it. He couldn’t even keep the pet cat around! How does one even run off an animal? 

The point was… he saw Grace leaving. He saw her packing up. He saw her setting out. He did everything he could possibly think of to prevent it, even before she realized that she was leaving. But, when somebody wants to get away from you, they’ll do whatever you let them do to get away. She should have thanked him. He not only let her go, but he removed her completely. That’s what she wanted, anyway. She made that decision herself. “The void would have taken everything from you. Everything you worked for. Everything you’ve built. Everything you set in place to manage without the liars, the leavers, the lost ones…” 

She first began slipping away from him before they became official. She started having problems with things that she didn’t have problems with previously… Honestly, she started the moment that she chose to leave him behind to tour for the summer when they were 15. The previous 5 years,  she had plenty of times she could have went on the road. She either blew off her auditions or she didn’t push herself as hard. She had said that she could show off her skills on the Internet and have just as big of a following, if not a bigger one than if she built a resume of dance troupes and traveling ballet. She even forfeited the chance to be in a Broadway production, because she was worried that she’d never get to see him again. Then, when they were 15… It became more important to her than him.

He tried not to take it personally, because she had sacrificed plenty of opportunities for him before. But, it was a bad time for him, and a busy time and… he needed her. He always needed her back then. He had never been prepared to not have her. Sure, he could have went with her, like she wanted, but if HE put off his things, he didn’t have rich parents to fall back on. He didn’t have parents to fall back on, period. She… was in more of a position to give up her goals… but she had decided not to. That was fair. He told himself many times every day that was fair and she deserved to choose herself sometime. She came back changed… or maybe he changed without her there. That much doesn’t matter, right now. What matters is that he TRIED to fix them. She leaned more into these changes. These changes that could tear them apart. Changes that would leave him lonely again, for the first time in years.

Grace was working on her music career junior year. After the tour, she had connections that she didn’t want to go cold. She would throw herself into those and into creation while Simon was working on a future that he still hoped was for both of them. He was working his ass off for them, but in hindsight, she was working hers off for herself. After she was Simon’s girlfriend, at school, things felt different for her. Everybody treated her exactly the same way that they always had, but everything was just different. 

Simon was either more social than she knew him to be, or had gotten that way overnight. Then again… He was in StuCo and held a position… so he had the social skills to at least win people over. She supposed that she hadn’t noticed because he was the one who she always had to talk out of a fight. He was more than that, of course, but… she guessed that she hadn’t realized how many friends he must’ve had, because he was doing a lot and having to leave her behind, most of the time.

Most times, he gave her a quick rundown of what type of stuff he had to do for the day, kissed her on the cheek, promised to see her later and rushed off. She chalked it up to the busy schedule that he had been speaking about for this year, at least a year in advance, and didn’t think much of it. At least, whenever they had space, she didn’t have to wonder what to do next. She didn’t have to decide if she should be sitting in his lap like his friend’s girlfriend, or in between his legs like that girl across the way, or straddling him like Shana sometimes did whoever she was dating, or… sit there, with her book, pretending not to see any of it and smiling at Simon whenever they made eye contact. 

Simon was always studying her, surveying, making inventory of her expressions and potential emotions. She could feel him investigating and she didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know what to do with his findings… Why was she so uncomfortable when he looked at her? Why did she shy away from his gaze? What was wrong with her that she didn’t want his attention? She always wanted attention… it was basically her identity! Not only did she start to seemingly have problems with his attention, but also the rest of the world’s attention.

Being trapped in her room most of the time meant more work on her music. Anytime she posted something new, someone always showed up to remind others of how she "accosted an innocent woman on the train and threatened to ruin her life if she sought justice" and that she "is actually a terrible person." Sure, her fans defended her, but her focus was stuck on the negative feedback. Simon told her, “Don’t worry about those nulls. You’re Apex royalty. They’re scrubs.” He wasn’t remotely concerned about it. 

Simon had asked himself if he had defended her to them, would things have been different between them… but the previous times he had defended her, she got mad at him! It took him days to get her back to normal, and even then, she seemed tepid. She was letting a bunch of strangers on the Internet doubt herself. 

“She let a bunch of nulls weigh in on her confidence, then she got made at ME for agreeing with her parents that it was weak of her. It was! The Apex doesn’t care about the opinions of nulls!” He realized that he was speaking of the void like it was a person again. Personifying it. Humanizing it. That was sometimes difficult not to do. He would tap into his disappointment, hurt, and anger and he knew it was because of this rot that had spread in his life for years. 

But, every now and then a glimmer of her smile, her smell, her softness would hit him in the heart and he would forget about it temporarily. For a few moments, she would be the love of his life again… “It doesn’t care about you. It never did. The void is a parasite. It would have poisoned everything, if you hadn’t cut the head off and incapacitated it.”

He glanced over at a mannequin head designed to look like it. It had given him the idea, inadvertently whenever it jokingly accused him of being a life size figurine of himself. Immediately, he thought - I’ve gotta make her one of those! It was a passion project, and of course, he didn’t have a lot of time to work on it, but the head was complete by the time it showed itself as the hollow it was.

.

Grace felt like she hadn’t smiled for real in a while. Nobody really noticed. The Apex didn’t know her that well. Simon didn’t have time for her. Her parents probably never cared. She went into town with her flock of girls, these days. She felt like Simon was sending them to be around her and she didn’t know if that was sweet or creepy. But, she ditched them at the mall to go to see him. He was at work that night, at the learning center. He had a job helping to tutor struggling kids - one that his credits as a student tutor at the Academy, his grades, his position as one of the students enrolled in the early college program, and a recommendation from Mr. Monroe got him hired at, despite the fact that most of the staff here were actual educators. 

They didn’t even know about the fact that Simon had started a business of doing people's homework, projects, sometimes their tests from the time he was 11 until he was 15. He was definitely qualified for tutoring, but it was her father’s recommendation that really gave him the edge over actual teachers. He was satisfied enough there. He still did a project or two for the rich kids when he could squeeze something in, for extra cash. He was saving up to move out of his dad’s house. Now that his mother was at her mother’s, his dad was considering leaving the military and coming home. Simon didn’t want to be around for that, but there never seemed to be enough money for anything. That was his “adult” experience… Working all of the time, going to school, barely hanging on to his sanity, and yet being so broke that had his father not still been paying the bills, he knew he might be homeless and starving… so it was presumable that's how he might live once Mr. Laurent got back.

He couldn't ask the Monroes for more help. They had practically been taking care of him for the past two years. Mr. Monroe, at least, had been helpful in ways that Simon couldn’t describe. Sure, he believed he would have figured things out for himself , but thanks to the Monroes, he hadn't had to. He intended to pay them back eventually, but for now, he worked hard and loved Grace with everything else he had. 

"Hey." He heard her say, walking in with a bag and a cup holder. His smile was wide and his eyes lit up. That made her reflexively smile back. How many of those smiles were fake, he’d have to wonder for as long as he couldn’t shake her out of his mind. “Ditched the girls to bring you dinner. Didn’t know if you’d have a chance to get to some on your own.”

He checked the time on his phone, “Actually, you’re right on time. I was about to go into the computer room and work on homework before I head out.”

“Yeah! Great timing is a thing that I definitely usually don’t have.” 

They went into the breakroom to eat and Simon was on his phone, furrowing his eyebrows and blocking people in Grace’s comments. She glanced over and saw, then sank in her seat, not wanting to think about her latest post. “This sounds really good, Grace,” he told her.  And he meant it. The vocal coach that she had began to see so that she could confidently transition into singing was paying off. It wasn’t that she sounded bad before, but her voice was pretty bland and she didn’t seem to be able to find her range on her own. 

“I wish the audience thought that,” she said, with a sigh. The Internet was making her depressed and isolated. Every thing that she shared came with thousands of critics. As someone used to only either being complimented or ignored, criticism hurt a little more than she would have expected. Perhaps because she was too popular and therefore attracted more feedback than a person probably should have to be faced with at 16.

Regardless of that, Simon shrugged and said, “Anybody who doesn’t like it doesn’t have to listen to it. They’re there, so they obviously wanted to hear the song. Besides, I see way more support than hate.” 

“Maybe so, but there’s a LOT of hate, and it’s very aggressive and hurtful. Like… I don’t understand why me trying out a new song and someone not liking it can’t just be scrolled by. Why did this girl have to tell me: Ugh. Everybody tries to be a singer. You’re a lip gloss model, Honey. Keep doing that. Beautiful gowns.”

“Because, she’s a bitch,” Simon said and took a bite of his sandwich. Grace let out an irritated sigh that caused him to look up from his phone. “What?”

“You just… don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get? The song sounds good. You have excellent equipment. You wrote pretty clever lyrics, did your own music, sang and was proud enough of your work to share it with the world. Now that a few birds have come squawking, you no longer see the greatness in what you shared? I know you wouldn't have posted it if you didn’t think it was perfect. So, I get it more than you do. You’re distracted by someone with a crooked wig on in her profile picture?” 

Grace looked at the profile picture and saw that the woman’s wig definitely had been sadly placed onto her head. She laughed about it  and laughed at herself a little too… but this was always Simon’s reaction to her venting about the people that made her feel bad. He’d basically make her feel a little bit worse by not acknowledging that her feelings were valid and by pointing out how insignificant her critics were. The simple fact that he had a point, that they were nulls, and she was letting them upset her only made her feel worse, which she couldn’t tell him because he didn’t seem to take her feeling bad that seriously anyway. 

She knew it was because she had always prided herself on being strong and not caring what people thought about her… but she was handled a lot differently outside of her echo chamber. The Internet was global and her following was high, but some of the people who followed her seemed to do it just to see what to complain about, just to make a dent in her day. They succeeded, too. But, the only person she could admit it to just told her to suck it up. 

“I’m thinking about going to a performing arts college,” she said. Simon dropped his phone and stared at her. She smiled awkwardly and said, “I mean… You’re preparing pretty hardcore for college and I’ve dived into this music thing. Maybe, I ought to be more serious about it and actually get the official credentials..”

“Where are you thinking of going?”

“I’m thinking of trying to go to Julliard.” He relaxed a little bit at that. Juilliard was in New York. That would be farther from him than he  would like, but if he was at MIT, that would be about an hour away and if he was at Princeton… well… That would be 3 hours, or more… but… He had enough time to put these things into his planning and decision making. “Or… I might go uh, overseas.” Now, his frown was embedded in all of his features. “If I can’t get into the best one in the world, I’m going to shoot for the next best… that’s in Austria…” She bit her lip, waiting for his demeanor to change, hoping that he just had to think about it for a moment. His demeanor did change, but he seemed further away from what she wanted of him at the moment. “What brought this on?” He asked.

“Just… want to get more serious about my craft. Sure, I can spend hours and hours a day working on choreography and songs, training with some of the best professionals in the entire world, but people are still coming onto my dance video posts and saying things like, “I didn’t know that Grace Monroe could dance! I love her more now!” Didn’t know that I could dance? That’s like… the ONE THING that I can do with complete confidence! I’m trying to get my music career started when my first talent isn’t even recognized…”

“It IS recognized! It’s recognized ALL of the time. You’re just so focused on the dregs that don’t recognize, that you’re willing to go 4000 miles away from me, for years, to impress strangers on the Internet who probably STILL won’t fuck with you, because most of the people inciting you are people who just don’t like you, Grace!” He let out a chuckle of disbelief, but she hated it.

“Don’t laugh,” she said, very seriously.

“I’m not laughing,” he said, shook his head, then slumped back in his seat, resting his face in his palm as he tried to collect himself. 

"How could you have possibly taken everything that I just told you about how I'm feeling and what I intend to try to do about that and just… make it about you?"

He uncovered his face to look at hers. She looked like she was going to cry. He hated when she cried. It was too far away from her normal… at least it used to be. She was crying more and more lately. Sometimes from the littlest things.

"If you can't see how much a decision like that will affect both of us, then I'm not sure if I currently am in the mood to explain it to you."

"Whenever I shared my thoughts about how much people were hurting my feelings, you didn't care about how that could affect the both of us. You just expected me to deal with it on my own. This is my idea for how I deal with that."      

He leaned his elbows on the small table, steepled his fingers and rested his head against his hands. She wants to leave you. She’s using the excuse that people are hurting her feelings so that she can leave you and never come back. She never wanted you. She made that clear and you refused to see it. You thought that it was your brain being mean to you. She lied to you. She never loved you and she never wanted you. Now, she’s pretending that worthless people make her feel bad… She would rather look WEAK to you than to stay with you… 

“Simon?” She said. He scoffed. Fake concern. Don’t let her trick you with her soft voice. She’s venomous. She let you love her because she was bored, and now, she’s trying to abandon you like everyone else. “Simon,” she said, more stern. Drown her out. Drown her out. Drown her out. Drown her… “Simon!” She had gotten up and turned his face to look at her with her palm. She made him look into her eyes and he was powerless again. “Where’d you go?” She asked, smiling nervously.

“Did I do something wrong? Why do you want to leave me?” He asked, in a small voice. Maybe his brain was being mean right now. Maybe… it was all a misunderstanding? PLEASE, JUST TELL ME YOU LOVE ME AND THAT I’M OVERREACTING! I. WILL. BELIEVE. YOU.

“No. I did. I thought that I was ready to introduce myself to the world and now that the world knows me, there’s people out there who can’t stand me and I just… I don’t know how to do with that. In real life, they at least pretend to like me, you know?”

She rubbed her hands together anxiously. Lies. She can’t possibly care about the way these strangers feel. She’s Grace Monroe. She knows that she’s invincible. Caring about the movements of ants is futile… “Okay… What do you need me to do to fix it?” He asked, trying to ignore his brain’s warnings.

“Just, support me? I just want to take a step back from all the Internet music, maybe keep creating and try to get into a studio with something I’m proud of, instead of posting onto my websites, and… I really want to try to go to school, just to be more confident that I really do belong in the industry and that I’m not just Internet famous because I was a pretty face with the best organic lip gloss.”

“Support you… leaving me,” he said. 

She couldn’t pick up any emotion. It was like something had settled in his mind. Something that he didn’t let her know. “It would be temporary, Simon. Just like whenever you thought you would have to go to the military after graduation.”

“I recall very minimal support from you in regards to that.”

“Yeah, well… I stick by what I said. Our military is a global terrorist, oppressing and destroying civilization in mostly Brown nations. Juilliard is hardly like that, and I most likely will get in! I don’t think I'll HAVE to go to Austria. I wanted to be clear that it’s an option.  I just meant the time that we’ll be apart. Plus, I’d send for you if you ever need to see me.” She knelt beside him, cupped his face and kissed him on the lips. He froze in place. She NEVER kisses you on the lips. She always moves her face to make you kiss her on the cheek, or the nose, or… something. She’s placed her hand between your mouths, before! You can’t ignore this any further. It’ll break your heart. You’ve lost her. There’s a void where your Grace once was… Tears fell down Simon’s cheeks as he stared at Grace’s confused face.

She wiped them away with her thumbs and as his tears were being cleared away, so was her face. He just saw a blurry form in front of him, a dark shadow, with an aura of smoke. He looked terrified. She turned to look behind her, alarmed by his reaction, thinking something was hovering over her. She definitely felt a switch of things in the atmosphere. She didn’t see anything though. Simon did.

A void. It stood in front of him, speaking with Grace’s voice and trying to pass itself off as the girl he’d loved for as long as he knew her. That girl was obviously gone. No longer fit for him. No longer fit for the Apex. “Okay.” He said, suddenly fine, as far as she could tell. “I’ll support you.” She offered him a small, confused smile, but he didn’t return it. He didn’t even look at her again. He collected their trash, threw it out and took her hand, “I’ll get you home. 

.

Simon was silent the entire way to the Monroe’s estate. He didn’t get out to get her door, or walk her to the mansion, or talk with her father, so she knew that even though he said he was okay with her decision, that he wasn’t. It was best to just give him his space to work it out, she thought. She thought wrong... Simon tensed up whenever she kissed him on the cheek goodnight. As soon as she got out of the car, he peeled away, vigorously wiping the Apex red lip print from his face. She didn’t deserve to grant anybody that mark anymore. 

He drove with trembling hands and lips, talking to himself, arguing with himself about Grace. Grace that once hunted down his bullies with him because she thought he was the most important person in the world. Grace who had threatened anyone who so much as said something rude to him in passing. Grace... who used to want to be near him, and have his back. The Grace that couldn’t stand the thought of being anywhere without him at her side... She was as dead to him as Hope was. 

Speaking of... This had began right around the time that she brought him to the cemetery. Was it related? Had Hope somehow reached over and taken her vengeance on him by stealing away his Grace and replacing her with this dark spirit? This ghost? This VOID??? He pulled into the garage of his house, crying again. He left his backpack in the car. He wasn’t going to be doing anymore work that night. He passed the shrine that his father had in the workspace every time he pulled in, but usually, he avoided looking at it. Tonight, he paused and stared at her face. He... had forgotten it. He looked at the photos, wondering if she always looked that way? Not the angel that he remembered dying, but something sinister, smiling joyously at him as he shriveled in pain. “Did you do this?” He asked her. He could hear her laughs in his mind from that night. Her taunting him, making him feel like he wasn’t enough. “I didn’t mean it, Hope! It was an accident!” he yelled at the photos. 

“Fake man! Fake man! Wook at the widdle baby man! Can’t catch me! You’re not a man! Mommy lied! Mommy lied!” 

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t... Please, just... stop.” He whispered, crying more than he had in a long time. Her photos began to move, to cackle, to point at him and call him a baby man... He roared and punched the display, breaking the glass of the frame, which fell on it’s face, bounced off of the desk and crashed to the floor. Now, it was covered in blood. Only a bit of it was from his fist... the rest seemed to be seeping from the cracks in the frame. Like... he had killed Hope, all over again. He picked up a shard of the glass and clenched it in his fist. This was too much. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. This was his mind messing with him, He needed to center himself.

He raised his sleeve and looked at all of the tally marks that he had made for his Grace and he began to add on to them. “1 You are stronger than anybody you know. 2 You are smarter than anybody you know. 3 You can survive losing Grace. 4 Only you can get rid of the void that swallowed her whole. 5 You owe the Apex to get rid of the void. 6 You can do anything. 7 There’s nobody who could stop you. 8 You’re on your own now, but that’s for the best. 9 No one will hold you back. 10 No one can hurt you again, because everyone you loved is gone...” He took a deep breath, looked at the broken frame and threw his piece of glass on top of it. He didn’t even care about cleaning it up. The girl in the photo couldn’t hurt him anymore. And neither could the one in his memories... The one that he used to call Grace, “The void,” he said, going into the house. 

Next

[kelyon]

Fic ask game: 20, 23

20. Which fic have you put the most work into? Which fic have you put the least work into?

I'm not sure if most work is Golden Cuffs or Golden Rings. I started both of those with the same process (The Snowflake Method) and did a full outline and everything before I even began. I guess Golden Cuffs was more "work" because it's longer and for the first 20 chapters, I was posting every week. Also, that was my first fic, so that was me teaching myself how to write a fic that could be posted every week. Of course, Golden Cuffs was also kind of... simple. And I did that by design. It's a linear story from a single POV with gratuitous smut in pretty much every chapter. Again, this was my first major fic, so I intentionally gave myself the materials for a gentle learning curve. Golden Rings is more complex, but I've also grown as a writer, so it feels like it's just as much work.

Fic I've put the least work into is Her Angel. This was also by design. The thrill of the Rumbelle Showdown (for me) was writing on spec to a prompt I had no idea existed until I got it. I think for the first chapter, I got the prompt on a Friday afternoon, thought it over until Saturday morning, and then wrote 1500 words all in one go. As fond as I am of planning, there's something exciting about being forced into a pantsing situation. After I wrote the first chapter, I didn't know if I would be allowed to write the second chapter, or what the prompt would be for it. I can't say that writing like that isn't any kind of work, but it feels like less work than my usual method of having an entire multi-chapter novel outlined before I write the first word of official text.

23. What’s one piece of advice you would give to anyone who wants to start writing or posting their writing online?

Have a plan.

Don't get me wrong, the first rule of fanfic is to be yourself and have fun. If you just have an idea in your head and you need to get it on paper and push it out into the world, I'm not going to tell you that you're wrong. But I think a lot of the angst and pain that people have about writing on the internet comes from not thinking projects through before you start them. That's where you get the "Where do I go from here?" problem, or the "Sorry this is just a nothing little chapter, but I haven't updated in six months so I wanted to give you guys something!"

Again, no shame, no hate, do what you need to do. But for me, it was much easier to get through writing duller sections of a story when I know that there are exciting big things coming. I like having the shape of the whole story in my head even as I'm writing it chapter by chapter. That allows me to put in foreshadowing and tiny plot points that can add up into something very big in the end.

Adding on to this is a common refrain from the blog AO3 Comment of the Day: It's okay to write short fics too. If you've got one scene that you need to get out, it's okay to just write that scene! It's okay to write one-shots and say "That's what this is." Planning to write something small and leave it as its own thing is still a plan!

As best you can, try to know what you're doing and then own it.

[myqueenjudeduarte]

Something Like Trust: Chapter 2

Post-The Wicked King

Chapter 1 | Ao3

Tags/Warnings: SPANKING (do be warned, this is more intense than some of y’all might expect), slapping, ice play, bondage, light teasing, some angst/panic attacks, punishment/discipline of a fairly nonsexual nature but also Jude is into it, BDSM obviously, Jude puts herself in danger like a dumbass, murder???, dirty talk, blood but not in a sex way, marking, uhh references to b*lekin being abusive, abuse MENTIONS, Cardan being super worried about being abusive, some sappy ass shit, OK i won’t spoil the entire fic in these tags

Summary: She rolled onto her back, unable to refrain from whimpering in pain. For a brief, terrible moment, she remembered herself, remembered that she was Jude Duarte and that she had to be strong and powerful over all and that she could not whimper in the bed of Cardan Greenbriar, but then his hands were on her flesh and all worries were forgotten.

Word Count: 5,900... a little better than last time

Let me know if you want to be tagged in my fics! Tell me what you want to see happen next! Reply with what you like and don’t like! Give me feedback!

Tags: @mis-lil-red, @florafey, @wickedqueenoffantasy, @yrenewestfall-official, @fultimefangirl, @what-huh-imconfused, @pinkydaze, @bioethicists @obsessed-withtheworld @mehlisssa

Jude, of course, had heard of BDSM before. She had seen television and movies and was no stranger to the concept, but it had always appeared so foreign, scenes of dungeons, whips, and chains. And although the thought of those things, once alien, now excited her, she realized that BDSM, whether called by that name or not, was an entire world of actions and situations, and that the gentle care with which Cardan treated her, even when causing her pain, was an integral part of it.

Unfortunately, Cardan and Jude had few opportunities to engage in their newly solidified arrangement in the coming days, due to the discovery brought to their attention mere moments after Jude signed the document.

A messenger arrived at the door minutes after Jude put down her pen, interrupting a heated kiss between the King and Queen. Both dressed hurriedly, and when Cardan answered, the shock of seeing Jude in his chambers flitted over the messenger’s face briefly before dissipating, replaced by a grave expression.

“I come bearing unfortunate news,” he began. “It seems that a faerie, as yet unidentified, has been slaughtering others. There have been several confirmed murders and a number of other disappearances.”

Jude’s mind couldn’t help but wander to the fact that no one had ever come after her inquiring about Valerian’s “disappearance.” Normally, Faeries didn’t take murder quite so seriously — the numbers of the dead must be high for such a matter to have reached the level of the rulers.

“How many murders?” Jude asked.

“Fifty, your majesty. Many of the victims trained fighters.”

Jude closed her eyes in shock. Fifty deaths, and who knew how many disappearances, and they still hadn’t caught the faerie responsible? Jude plotted how to discover the identity of the faerie, how she could most quickly contact the Bomb and the Roach, what she would do when she laid her hands on the one responsible…

Cardan dealt with the messenger, explaining that they would do anything in their power to support the capture of the murderous faerie.

As soon as the door closed, Cardan turned to Jude. “I know your expression well. You are forbidden, absolutely forbidden, from going after the faerie alone, do you understand? I’m sure you will insist on accompanying whatever party we send to retrieve whoever is responsible, and I know you seem to think yourself invincible, but if you go after him death will seem preferable to what I do to you.”

Jude swallowed hard. “I understand, My Lord,” she said, trying her hardest to adapt to her new role, to obey the commands of the one person she had decided to allow a modicum of power over her.

She failed.

As soon as the Bomb told her, a week later, that she had learned who was responsible for the killings, all thought of obedience slipped from Jude’s mind.

It was in this way that she now found herself pulling on boots and slipping from her chambers, sword at her hip. She and Cardan were still not sharing chambers, because their new arrangement had in no way lessened her fear of true intimacy, and they had no time over the past week spent hunting a murderer to engage in any activity which could lead to her sleeping over. So Jude found it simple to slip from the palace and into the night.

She found the faerie — female, from the look of her — poised to commit yet another murder, knife raised high, and realized that the faerie was dressed in some shimmering, reflective material that must have made her near impossible to identify. That explained why it had taken so long to catch her, and why only the Court of Shadows could manage it.

Jude drew her sword silently and made to plunge it into the back of the faerie, a quick, easy kill, but to her shock, the faerie swung around at the last moment and blocked her with only a knife.

They hadn’t been exaggerating the faerie’s skill, and Jude realized with a start that she might be in true danger, despite her own skill level.

Jude’s rationalization for going after the faerie alone had been that only she could be silent, quick, dangerous enough to catch her, and that anyone else would only slow her down, make the faerie harder to trap. She now realized that, while all were true, her reasons may not be enough to save her.

A fight ensued, of course. Jude got in a few solid blows — a slice on the thigh, a shallow jab in the stomach — and began to feel that she had the upper hand until the faerie feigned right, stabbed left, and Jude found herself with a stinging cut on her ribs.

She regained her footing and the fight continued. They were evenly matched until they weren’t, when Jude twirled her wrist in the way Madoc taught her and stabbed the faerie through the stomach. She bled out quickly.

It was then that Jude’s fear kicked in, that she realized what she had done and what Cardan would do to her for it. She was glad to have killed the faerie, proud of her skill, but she knew that Cardan would not view her reckless actions in the same way.

Before Jude had killed the faerie, she had gotten in a second blow, leaving Jude with a sliced side and a hearty bruise blooming on her upper arm. There would be no way to hide her injuries from Cardan, not to mention that she had been sprayed with the faerie’s blood. Her best bet was to tell him exactly what she had done and beg forgiveness — not that she expected to gain leniency from doing so.

When she returned she went straight to Cardan’s chambers, head down. She entered his room, saw him lounging in bed, reading, and dropped to her knees in the center of the room.

Cardan was at her side in an instant.

“What happened?” His voice was urgent, worried.

“I killed the faerie. I went alone, like you ordered me not to. I don’t regret it, but I know you have to punish me.”

Cardan was silent for several long moments, moments that seemed to stretch forever ahead of Jude.

When he finally spoke, his voice was heartbreakingly concerned, gentle.

“Jude, you’re bleeding through your shirt.”

Jude looked down. She was, in fact, bleeding through her shirt.

Cardan offered her his hand.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

Jude stood, keeping her head down, eyes averted. Trying to showcase her own obedience and docility, hoping to make Cardan slightly more forgiving.

“You will not convince me to be more lenient,” he said, calling her on her attempt.

Jude nodded.

Cardan took her hand and wordlessly led her to his bath chamber before running a bath.

Jude began to strip herself of her bloody clothing, but Cardan stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

“Let me,” he said, gently but with the force behind it that indicated a command.

She did as instructed and he gingerly removed her shirt, peeling the bloody fabric away from the cut on her side.

“Where are you hurt?”

Jude gestured to her cut side, the more obvious of her wounds, then to the bruise forming on her arm.

“Do you have any idea, Jude, how reckless your decision was? How much worse the situation could have ended?”

“I don’t need to be lectured,” Jude snapped before she could stop herself. Cardan grabbed her chin in his hand, turning her face to his.

“And yet you will be, both lectured and far worse when I’m done cleaning your wounds.”

Jude softened at the reminder that Cardan was caring for her, as much as the independent part of her wanted to rebel at the thought. She lowered her head once more.

“Yes, My Lord.”

Cardan moved his hand from her chin to stroke her hair. “I want you to be safe.”

Jude was reminded, suddenly, that expressing feelings was barely easier for Cardan than for her, and felt immediately guilty that she did not more often appreciate his efforts.

“I know. Thank you,” she said.

“I will save the remainder of my lecture for a more… appropriate time.”

Jude gulped.

“For now, let me help you bathe.” Cardan helped Jude into the bath, wincing himself as she hissed at the warm water touching her cut side.

The thought occurred to Jude that he would soon be hurting her far worse than this, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the thought that he winced at her pain now when he was about to cause it in more severe doses.

“What about this is funny?” Cardan asked, his voice full of cold command.

“I’m sorry, My Lord,” she said. “I was thinking of the fact that you care about my pain now when you are about to cause me pain deliberately.”

Cardan closed his eyes in frustration. She could tell he wanted to snap at her, but he controlled his anger.

“That,” he said, “is an entirely different situation. When I punish you in this context, it is not because I want to see you hurt, and I am deliberately controlling the pain I inflict so as not to actually injure you. When a murderous faerie gashes your side, it is quite another matter, and one of which I am far less comfortable.”

Jude bowed her head once more. “I understand.”

With every moment that Jude bathed she grew more and more apprehensive. She had never been punished in this form, and though she had found throughout her life that she had a notably high tolerance for extreme pain, she did not know how well she would cope with prolonged, steady pain. She wondered where this would fall on that line.

“Are you afraid, Jude?” Cardan asked as he helped her out of the bath. “Because you should be.”

Jude gritted her teeth so as not to retort, to say something sharp and biting for the purpose of hiding her own anxiety as Cardan began bandaging her wounds.

As soon as he finished and they exited the bathing chambers, Cardan sat on the edge of the bed and pulled a still-naked Jude to lie on her front over his lap, careful to avoid putting pressure on her cut or bruise.

“I think that you don’t yet understand why I have to do what I am about to, but I suspect that you soon will.”

With those words, Cardan’s hand came down on Jude’s bare flesh, and she yelped at the sting of the first strike. Still, it didn’t hurt nearly as badly as she had been expecting, and she began to relax at the thought that this might not be as bad as she thought.

After the 10th slap, though, she began to wonder if she was wrong.

Cardan hit hard and fast, varying his rhythm and location randomly so she could never guess where or when the next slap would land.

After 20 strokes, Jude began to squirm. Cardan laughed.

“There’s no point in squirming yet, my dear Jude. You won’t escape my blows, nor will I lighten them for quite some time. This punishment will be hard to bear, but far less severe than it would be had you received many punishments in the past. Consider yourself lucky.”

Jude did not.

After 30 strokes, Cardan began to lecture.

“There is no reason, and no excuse, for you to act autonomously all of the time. You are not alone in this world, nor will I allow you to pretend that you are, that you can rely only on yourself. You could have told me when you discovered the identity of the faerie, or you could have brought the Court of Shadows with you, or you could have told anyone rather than go alone and risk your life. This kingdom needs its queen just as I do.”

“Do you have any idea how much I worry? How desperately I wish you would confide in me rather than act on your own? You are never, never to do something like this again, do you understand me?”

As Cardan spoke, his slaps grew harder, until Jude was crying out after each one.

“Ow, oh god, I’m sorry, Cardan, My Lord, I mean,” Jude rambled as Cardan reached 60 strokes and her ass felt like it was on fire.

“Are you? Truly, are you sorry?”

“I am! I didn’t know… OW, oh, My Lord, OW!”

“You didn’t know what?” Here he paused the spanks, waiting to give her space to reply.

Jude breathed heavily. “I didn’t know anyone cared.”

Cardan slapped her again, harder than ever, on the spot where her thigh met her ass.

“You should have,” was all he said. “Stand up.”

Jude obeyed, infinitely grateful that it was finally over, but as if sensing her thoughts, Cardan said, “oh no, this isn’t over yet, my dear Jude.”

Jude’s stomach dropped to the floor. She didn’t want to use her safe word, but was unsure how much more she could take.

When Cardan returned, it was with a wide, flat-backed hairbrush that Jude had used many times before leaving his chambers to make her hair appear as though she wasn’t freshly fucked.

“Just 25 strokes with this, and then we’re done. I want you to count them.”

Jude lay dutifully back over Cardan’s lap when indicated, still afraid that even 25 would be too much for her to handle.

He slapped her once with the brush, and she cried out the moment it made impact. “One,” she said, voice cracking slightly.

“Two!” she cried as the second slap landed. “Three, four, five!” landed in quick succession, making it almost impossible to catch her breath.

After landing the fifth smack, Cardan paused to rub her back soothingly as she breathed.

“I’m disappointed in what you did, but you’re taking this well, Jude. I’m proud that you have given me the honor of punishing you at all.”

Jude felt herself swell with pride at his compliment, so desperate was she for any positive attention, both in this moment and, more broadly, in her life.

The feeling dissipated as he resumed her punishment, to be replaced sheerly by pain.

“Six! Seven! My Lord, I don’t know how much more I can take,” Jude gasped out, breathing hard.

“I do,” said Cardan. “Trust that I know what’s best for you, Jude, and exactly how much you can take. 18 more strokes and we’re done.”

“Eight! Nine! Ten!” she counted, resolving to take the remainder stoically. Still, she couldn’t stop her hand from darting behind her as she felt him raise the brush for the eleventh stroke.

He seized her wrist in his free hand and twisted it behind her back, hard. She cried out.

“Jude, the entire purpose of this punishment is to prevent you from doing things that could injure you, and you persist in doing those things. If I hit your wrist with this brush I could bruise or break it. Do not,” and he punctuated these words with a hard slap of the brush, “move your hand again.”

“Yes, My Lord! Eleven!” she cried out, leaving her hand where he had placed it and not moving it again.

Twelve, Thirteen, and Fourteen followed without incident, but after Fifteen, Jude was certain she could take no more.

“My Lord I can’t I can’t Ican’tIcan’tIcan’t” she chanted, wriggling to try to escape without moving her hands.

“You can,”

“Sixteen!”

“And you will.”

“Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen!”

After Twenty, Cardan paused to rub her back once more.

“The last five will be the hardest and the fastest and you do not have to count them, but you do have to assure me that you will neither attempt to move your hands nor to wriggle away. I could injure you if you fail to obey. Can you assure me of that?” “Yes, My Lord. I will remain still.” “Good girl,” he said, and something in her felt like it was blooming at the praise, despite her current situation. He had never, never called her something like that before, and she found that she quite liked it.

The last five slaps came one after another, and Jude cried out loudly when each hit landed, but she did not use her safe word or wriggle away. When he finished, she lay trying to catch her breath for several minutes as he rubbed her back consolingly.

“I will never,” she said when she finally came back to herself, “try to hunt down and kill a murderous faerie again.” “Jude,” he said, voice warning even as he smiled at her attempt at humor.

“I mean it,” she said more softly. “I won’t do something like that again. I mean it.” Her tone begged him to believe her, and he did.

“Good. Stand up.”

She stood, eyes shut against tears as they had been for the last five strokes. Cardan endeavored, in that moment, to one day make her cry. He knew it was something she needed, whether or not she would ever admit it. To cry in front of him would be, for Jude, the ultimate show of trust.

He moved over on the bed to give Jude room.

“Come here,” he said, voice gentle now, any trace of punishing command absent from it.

Jude crawled into bed gingerly, so as not to brush her hot, red flesh on the sheets, and settled against his chest as she knew that he — and, if she were to admit it to herself, she — wanted.

“Do you want to know, Jude, the more selfish of reasons I had for being upset with you for going alone to kill the faerie?”

“What?”

“Because I need you. Because it has become readily apparent to me that you are, in fact, not the sickness, but that you were the cure all along, the cure for something I never realized was keeping me ill. Do not endanger yourself again.”

Jude could hear the worry in his voice and felt the guilt flood her once more, before he grabbed her chin and tilted her head up to face him. “At the same time, I told you that punishments are absolutions. You have no cause to feel guilt. You have suffered the consequences of your actions, and the situation is over now. The situation is over, do you understand?”

Jude felt, in that moment, an utter freedom, the freedom that came from being absolved of something she had until this moment not even realized the extent of her guilt about. The feeling of being cherished, and being needed, and being seen.

“I understand, My Lord. Thank you.” Thank you, she thought. Thank you.

After several minutes, Cardan spoke again.

“Tell me when you have recovered enough to continue, Jude, for I have more in store for you yet.”

“More punishment?” she asked, panicked, then added, “My Lord?”

“Of a sort, but of the sort that I think you might enjoy greatly, if you allow yourself to.”

Jude was confused, and they lay in silence for several more minutes before she spoke.

“I’m ready, I believe.”

“Roll onto your back.”

She groaned. “But, My Lord, it hurts—“ “This is not a negotiation, Jude.”

She rolled onto her back, unable to refrain from whimpering in pain. For a brief, terrible moment, she remembered herself, remembered that she was Jude Duarte and that she had to be strong and powerful over all and that she could not whimper in the bed of Cardan Greenbriar, but then his hands were on her flesh and all worries were forgotten.

Cardan ran his hands up her sides, cupping her breasts gently before continuing upward. When he reached the tops of her arms, he lifted them above her head.

“Stay as I position you, and do not move,” he ordered. She did as told, making herself malleable and allowing him to position her as he would.

When he had moved her limbs in such a way that she was spreadeagled on the bed, he stood and walked to the closet. When he returned it was with several lengths of rope and some cloth.

The rope he tied around each wrist and each ankle, before affixing one length of rope to each bedpost. When he finished this task, Jude was spread out and unable to move.

The cloth he tied tightly around her head, covering her eyes completely, so that she could see neither below nor through it.

Jude felt familiar panic creeping in, the panic of being powerless, of being vulnerable, and clenched her hands into fists.

As soon as Cardan noticed her hands, he opened them and massaged them gently.

“What is it, Jude?”

“I can’t see.”

“Yes, well, that was my intention.”

“How will I know what you’re going to do?” Her voice was small.

“Trust me, Jude, please trust me. And if you can’t trust me, remember the words that give you power. If you say Nicasia or Locke, I will stop instantly. I promise you that.”

“I believe you,” she whispered, then steeled herself against her own nerves. “Okay. Continue.”

Without warning, Cardan slapped her breast sharply.

“I believe I am the one who gives the orders.”

“Yes, My Lord,” she breathed, glad to be back to this.

Jude quickly realized, as Cardan kissed lines up and down her stomach, over her breasts, across her chest, that the blindfold added an entire level of sensation to every touch. Without the ability to see, she had only to feel, and feel she did. She felt every minute breath he exhaled against her, every scrape of his teeth on her flesh, every place where his fingers pressed into her skin. He gingerly avoided the cut on her side, instead kissing the area around the bandage.

Suddenly and without warning, Cardan bit down hard on Jude’s breast, sucking her flesh into his mouth and scraping his teeth along it. She cried out in surprise and pleasure.

“I’m going to mark you, Jude,” he said, pressing delicate kisses over the skin he had just bitten. “I’m going to make sure everyone knows who you belong to.”

Cardan bit and sucked across Jude’s breasts until she was peppered with marks and squirming beneath him. The squirming only intensified as he began to involve his nails, scraping them across her skin and over her nipples, digging them into her sides and her throat.

“Is there something you want, my beautiful girl?” he asked, smirking down at her.

“My Lord...” she trailed off, not wanting to speak the words aloud.

“Until you can tell me what you want, you will not have it. For now, may I mark your neck, Jude?”

It was important to Cardan to ask this question because he was still unsure how comfortable Jude would be with the rest of faerie having any sense not even of their arrangement but of the fact that they were involved at all.

Jude, assuming that they would soon figure it out one way or another, assented.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Mark me.”

Cardan did so, bringing his mouth to her throat and sucking on the soft skin there, leaving pink marks everywhere his mouth went. At the same time, he plucked at her nipples, not hard enough to hurt but steadily, insistently.

After several minutes of biting, sucking, marking, Cardan stood. Jude heard the sounds of his clothes being removed and sucked in a breath, hoping beyond hope that what she by this point so desperately wanted was coming.

“Tell me what you want, Jude,” came Cardan’s next words.

“I’m not ready to beg, My Lord,” she said hurriedly, making sure he wasn’t trying to push her that far, push her into something she wouldn’t be able to cope with.

“And I’m not asking you to,” he said. “Just tell me,” and he punctuated the words with a pinch of her nipple, eliciting a gasp, “what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

He was happy to oblige.

Quickly, Cardan rejoined Jude on the bed, inserting two fingers inside her and spreading her open, readying her for him. Jude moaned in pleasure as his fingertips brushed a certain spot inside her.

“You’re deliciously wet, Jude. I wonder how you came to become so utterly soaked. Was it this?” and he sucked the skin of her stomach into his mouth. “Or this?” and he scraped his nails across the place where her pelvis met her stomach. “Or perhaps it was the spanking I gave you earlier. Did my punishment make you wet, Jude? Be honest.”

“No, My Lord.”

Cardan slapped her thigh hard enough to make her yelp.

“Do I need to repeat the question?” he asked.

“Yes, My Lord, your punishment made me wet.”

It was the honest answer. By the end, she had wanted nothing more than for the punishment to end, and she felt thoroughly disciplined and repentant, but at the same time... she couldn’t deny that a part of her had enjoyed it, a part that, until a week ago, she would have viewed as sick and twisted.

“Good girl,” he said, and she got the same feeling of fulfillment as she had when he had said it earlier.

“Good little slut,” he added, and her inner walls clenched around his fingers. Cardan grinned.

When he was satisfied that she was thoroughly prepared for him, Cardan pushed into her slowly, filling her in a way she could only ever describe as perfection. As soon as he was fully sheathed inside her, he began to move, slowly at first but gradually quickening his pace. He reached up and grabbed a fistful of her hair, hanging over her blindfold and spread out on the bed.

Jude had never experienced anything like being fucked while so completely immobilized and unable to see. It was exquisite in its terror.

Cardan yanked her head backwards so that her chin pointed towards the ceiling as he fucked her hard and fast. He was rarely this rough with her, but she was enjoying every moment of it. In fact, as she cried out in pleasure, she thought her enjoyment could rise no higher, until he began to speak to her.

“Do you know how depraved you are, Jude? How utterly desperate you seem, becoming wet from my punishment? Do you like it when I cause you pain?” As he spoke, he brought a hand between them and circled her clit roughly. Her arousal grew and grew as he spoke, until she was thrashing and moaning on the bed beneath him.

“I wish the whole of Faerie could see you right now, could know how wet and desperate you are for me. It is delicious for all that it’s pathetic. You’re so weak, so useable and breakable.”

Cardan worried for a moment that he had gone too far in calling her weak and breakable, but it seemed he had found an area of weakness for Jude indeed, because every word from his mouth drove her arousal higher, made her more desperate to come.

“You need not ask permission before coming, Jude. You have it.”

And come she did, crying out his name and “My Lord” and some unintelligible nonsense. He followed soon after, spilling inside her. Moments later, he pulled out gently.

“I shall return in a moment,” he announced, before standing from the bed and leaving the room.

Leaving the room?

A million possibilities of where he could be going began spinning through Jude’s mind, still hazy from orgasm. She felt her panic rising as she imagined that someone would enter while he was gone, would see her like this - or worse, that he would deliberately bring someone back with him. Or what if he didn’t return for hours, days? What if he forgot that humans require bathroom visits? What if—

As her thoughts continued to spiral, Cardan returned, of course, but by this point Jude had worked herself up into a frenzy of panic and was panting and pulling at her bonds.

“Cardan? Is that you?” she asked, and he rushed to her side.

“Of course, Jude. What happened?”

Jude calmed slightly but her anxiety was far from alleviated.

“I... began to worry.”

Cardan cursed himself.

“I’m sorry, Jude. I shouldn’t have left you so soon after you came. I should’ve known that you would need a moment to recover before I walked out. But it is only me, and I returned, and I’ve brought nothing with which to cause you anything but pleasure.”

Jude had calmed by the time he ceased talking, and now felt entirely ridiculous.

“And,” Cardan continued, just as Jude opened her mouth to apologize. “If you apologize for panicking, I shall have no choice but to punish you again, which, given the current state of your behind, I doubt you would enjoy too thoroughly.”

Jude closed her mouth.

“Good girl,” he said, stroking her hair back from her face. “Now, tell me when you’re prepared for the fun I have in store.”

“I’m ready, My Lord,” she replied.

“Good. The only rule of this game we’re about to play is that you cannot move. Not even a twitch. Do you understand? You can make all the sound you want, but no motion, and you will be punished for each infraction.

Jude nearly groaned at the thought of more punishment, but caught herself, knowing that complaint would only elicit what she hoped to avoid.

However, she made it barely a moment before yelping and jerking in her bonds when the ice touched her thigh. The spot where it had touched was immediately assaulted with a stinging slap from Cardan’s hand.

“The rule is that you do not move, my Jude.”

Jude rolled her eyes where Cardan couldn’t see it, beneath her blindfold.

“Yes, My Lord,” was all she said.

To Jude’s credit, she managed to stay still when the ice touched her other thigh, even as Cardan moved it closer and closer to her most sensitive spots. She even remained still as it touched her breast, but the moment it landed directly on her nipple she jerked against the bonds.

Cardan’s second slap landed directly on her breast, a ring catching her nipple, and she cried out in surprise and pain.

“Jude, Jude, Jude,” Cardan said, “whatever shall I do with you? Most disobedient.”

Jude could hear the smirk in his voice and knew he had never intended for her to remain still during this exercise.

Jude moved only one more time, and that was when the ice directly pressed into her clit. She cried out and tried to squirm away but, rather than slapping her, Cardan merely pressed it more firmly against her.

He used the ice to circle her clit as he inserted two fingers inside her, pumping and curling, causing dual sensations of pleasure and pain when combined with the ice. Jude had no idea how to react, and so focused all efforts on remaining entirely still.

Cardan, impressed with her self control, inserted an ice cube into his mouth and brought it to her clit, tonguing it gently, making sure the ice-cold water trickled down his tongue and onto her.

When the ice melted and it was all Jude could do not to squirm away from the cold, Cardan finally relented and began trying to make Jude come in earnest, curling his fingers inside her and flicking his tongue against her clit. She came rapidly, more aroused than he had realized from the combination of ice and punishment.

When she did, he licked her through the orgasm, then moved from the bed to untie her and remove her blindfold. Once she was free from her bonds, he rubbed her arms and legs to ensure her circulation before settling down beside her and pulling her into his arms.

Jude, for her part, was utterly, entirely satisfied, and utterly, entirely exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but Cardan had other plans.

“Talk with me, Jude.”

She groaned and he chuckled.

“I know you’re tired, but I need to know how you feel before I can allow you to sleep.”

Even better. Talking about her feelings.

“How do you feel physically?”

“Tired,” she said, and he pulled her hair lightly in warning.

“And?”

“My ass hurts. Badly. My arm is sore where she bruised it. My side hurts where it’s cut. Other than that, I feel... amazing. Satisfied. A little sticky. My Lord.”

Cardan laughed heartily at this.

“And mentally?”

“Exhausted. A little bit guilty for what I did, even if I know I shouldn’t, I’ve been absolved and all that.”

The language Jude used when talking with those in the mortal world, the more informal patterns of speech, began to come through in her exhaustion, much to Cardan’s delight.

“I also feel... a little confused. Not confused exactly, but like, all over the place? First I was in danger, then I was comforted, then I was punished, then I was... well, made to feel much better.”

“I’m not sure,” began Cardan, “that I made the correct choice today in going directly from punishment to play. In the future, I should think I will keep a serious punishment separate from pleasure. But we are both still learning, and I am no stranger to making mistakes.”

Jude nodded. “I certainly didn’t mind, though,” she added hurriedly, not wanting him to get the idea that her pleasure was too confusing for her.

“And emotionally? How do you feel?” He stroked her hair, knowing this question would be the hardest.

“Grateful,” came easily from her. “That you... care. Worried that you’ll stop caring, guilty that I’m letting you care.”

“And?”

“Lucky,” she whispered. “To have... whatever this is.”

Cardan smiled and kissed the top of her head.

“I feel the same.”

As Jude felt herself beginning to drift off to sleep, Cardan had one remaining question.

“Jude?”

“Yes, M’Lord?” she slurred sleepily.

“If I ever, ever hurt you in a way that is too much, or not what you want, or unwarranted, or... abusive, in any way, you’ll tell me?”

Jude could hear the insecurity in his voice and knew exactly where it came from, had been waiting, in fact, for this issue to arise.

“You aren’t your brother,” she whispered. “What he did to you was wrong. It was abuse. What you’re doing to me is consensual and what I desire. I promise that I will tell you if that ever changes, but for now, please remember that I want this, and that you didn’t.”

Cardan kissed her head, her forehead, her eyelids, and stroked a hand down her side.

“Thank you,” he said, “for remembering.”

It occurred to Jude, then, that Cardan had no idea she had seen his brother beat him, thought she remembered only from passing comments and the fact that he had listed it as a reason for hating her. She resolved to tell him eventually, but knew the conversation would be a difficult one, that it was something he had never, never wanted her to see, and decided that this conversation was for a different and far less sleepy time.

As Jude drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard Cardan whisper one last thing.

“Goodnight, Jude. My cure.”

[fandomn00blr]

FUNERAL HOME MEET-CUTE PROMPT FOR MORRISTAIR!! (i actually don't know what a meet-cute is, but i am hereforthissssss)

So...you already pretty much know what happened to this. But this is now officially a “meet-weird,” and it has inspired my latest WIP. So thank you, friend! Your ideas are the best! I’m linking to AO3 in another post, because it’s a whole ass chapter of a whole new work now, but here’s the finished part featuring Morrigan, just for you...

In what appeared to be some kind of office, a large faux mahogany desk stood, taking up most of the little square room with its oversized workspace and overhead cabinets. The room seemed to be overflowing with old yellowing papers and file folders stuffed haphazardly into filing cabinets and every other spare nook and cranny not taken up by the imposing furniture. Behind several piles of “unfiled” paperwork, there was a young, dark-haired woman leaning back in a beaten up fake leather executive office chair, also ridiculously big for the size of the room. Her thick-soled black boots were kicked nonchalantly up on one of the only cleared-off spaces in sight, and she had some kind of device in her hand that she was absent-mindedly tapping at and scrolling through.

Neria could sense the device’s connection to a larger network, but refrained from trying to link up with it herself. Establishing a closed, local connection with the self-contained and heavily-defended network of the sterile Facility computers was one thing...connecting with another Link out in the wild seemed risky, even for her. She imagined Cullen congratulating her on her restraint and recognition of “appropriate boundaries.” And Jowan shaking his head at her for missing an opportunity to try out her skills now that she was finally out of that wretched, stifling place.

“What?” the woman at the desk asked, sounding annoyed that anyone had dared to bother her.

She was around the same age as the two of them, though she seemed to be wearing lots of dark eye makeup to try and hide the fact. Her tight black jeans, torn and faded on purpose, and her loose net shirt hanging perfectly-slouched off of one shoulder to reveal a dark burgundy bra strap betrayed her false apathy, as well.

But her spiky golden collar necklace reminded Neria of scrapping with her parents as a little girl. “Vintage costume jewelry...” her mother had explained to her when she’d picked something similar out of the scrap pile with a look of awe and wonder like she’d found something truly valuable amid the heaps of old electronics. “You can keep it. It’s practically worthless.”

Worthless trinkets. A voice that wasn’t Neria’s or her mother’s chided her in her head.

The woman behind the desk seemed to fix her eyes on Neria for just a moment, a glimpse of recognition snapping itself into some kind of shared consciousness between them. Then, as quickly as her eyes had flickered over her, she withdrew again, returning her attention to her device while Neria blinked, continuing to stare blankly at her necklace.

“Yes, er...we were wondering about making some arrangements. For a friend. Who died recently in the...” Alistair nodded toward Ostagar, but the young woman seemed unmoved.

“He was a fairly important person,” Neria chimed in, trying to be helpful. “Do you have a discount for that?”

“Neri…” Alistair groaned, shaking his head.

“Ah, yes.” There was a hint of something new in the young woman’s face as she looked up at them again. Amusement? Intrigue? Loathing? Whatever it was, it was better than the cold contemptuous indifference she’d been trying so hard to show them up until this point. “The ‘fairly important person’ discount...let me just look that one up.”

She kept her golden eyes on Alistair now, a tiny hint of half of a smirk as she smashed the keys of a dusty yellowed keyboard that didn’t appear to actually be connected to anything. “Oh, how strange. It seems that was only for a limited time. As in, while the person was still alive. And thus, still important.”

Neria seemed to consider this for a moment. “Huh.” Then she shrugged, looking up at Alistair. “I mean, we tried, right?”

“Anyway," Alistair continued. "His body is currently…”

“Dismembered,” Neria interjected, nodding emphatically.

Alistair turned and gawked at her in disbelief for only a moment, before shaking his head as if he could ever shake the horrific images she'd just so casually conjured up back out of his mind.

“But we would still like to arrange a small funeral?” he said, turning back pleadingly to the young woman behind the desk. “To honor him somehow, and help lay his soul...to rest…? Or to help it pass over to…” he trailed off, unsure where he was even going with this.

He had noticed the woman’s left eyebrow raising higher and higher the longer he rambled and it remained there, arched in condemnation as she asked, “So what do you expect us to do about it?”

“Aren’t you...a funeral home?”

“I mean...I guess…” She sighed, then pushed a button on an old telecom console in front of her. “Motherrrr…”

“What is it, girl?!” a voice crackled over the speaker.

“Customers...I think?”

“Send them back to me, then.”

There was a harsh click, and the young woman’s attention returned to her device.

Neria elbowed Alistair after a few moments and he cleared his throat.

“She will meet with you in the trailer out back,” the young woman drawled, somehow rolling her eyes at them without even looking up. She lifted her bare shoulder to indicate roughly which direction they might proceed.

“Thanks!” Alistair chirped. “We’ll find it!”

He hastily pulled Neria by the arm out to the hallway, in the direction of the harshly glowing EXIT sign, and then pushed through the rear emergency door, which, to the surprise of no one, was already disarmed.

[palamig]

So in honor of the Fruits Basket reboot who would you say are your fave Furuba characters and ships (canon) and why? Least fave Furuba characters and canon ships and why?

Hello! Thank you for this ask, anon!

I honestly don’t want to play favorites because I love literally all of them. Except who am I kidding. I’ve been a hoe for Kyo since I was like 10. It’s been 14 years later and I’m still a hoe for Kyo. *Facepalm*

But no seriously. I love Kyo. He’s the character I can kind of relate to the most, the second being Tohru. Kyo is filled with a lot of self-loathing, the origins of which can be traced from a very nasty, abusive childhood (disclaimer alert, I didn’t have a nasty abusive childhood but I have experienced my own struggles with acceptance). Children grow from the kind of environment they’re born to and the way they’re treated. I love kids and that’s why ಥ Ĺ̯ ಥ Kyo’s flashbacks really killed me. 

Kyo is a good kitty. When Haru got lost going back from the bathroom in elementary school, Kyo fuckin held his hand and led him back to the classroom because he is a good fuckin kitty. Kyo wanted acceptance, and maybe love and affection too. But he was treated like shit. Because he was treated like shit, he thought of himself so lowly Tohru’s sincerity at wanting to be his friend surprised and probably freaked the fuck out of him. I’m kind of like that too. People with zero self-esteem will struggle with every compliment, every form of affection or attention throw their way. I still do. And Kyo does too. He’s a tsundere within reason lol. A lot of people have said this in other posts scattered on Tumblr, but Kyo struggles with accepting Tohru’s gestures because no one has ever been genuine to him before except for Kazuma (and Kyoko).

And that’s why Kyoru is my ultimate favorite ship. Kyo is like an angry storm, and Tohru is the mountain that knows how to withstand it, waiting patiently until the sun peeks back out from the grey clouds. Tohru doesn’t change Kyo, and Kyo doesn’t change for Tohru. Kyo changes because of her. These nuances are important because they show us the nature of Kyo and Tohru’s relationship. 

Tohru is not a girl who jumps into people’s lives and fixes them. (Although spoiler alert, at the latter part of the manga, she actively tries to fix Kyo’s curse). People fix themselves because of her. Yuki explains this well when he realizes how he really feels about her. Tohru was like a springboard that helped him start building a normal life. Tohru is inherently kind. Before anything else, I’d like to say that Tohru’s kindness is not a fault of crappy, unrealistic writing. Tohrus exist in this world too. People who aren’t judgmental, people who are forgiving of all your faults, people who sacrifice themselves for the ones they love without protest, people who are genuinely kind and accepting. My best friend is a Tohru and I will Die for her.

Kyo did not change for Tohru. He changed not just for Tohru, but for himself too. I think that’s important to point out. When you change for someone, it means you want them to like you. But the change that happens in Kyo is much deeper than just for the purpose of Tohru liking him back. He healed himself for himself and for her. Towards the latter part of the manga, when he was already attempting to get his life back on track before pursuing her again, we can argue that he did try to get his shit together for her. But the Kyo at this point in the manga has already drastically changed from the Angsty Teen we saw at the beginning. He’s a better version of himself by now–a person who has come to terms with who he is, even though there are still people unable to move on. Sometimes you can’t always change the way people think about you, but what you can change is the way you look at yourself.

And that’s why I say Kyo changed because of her. Her unconditional love and kindness let him forgive himself just a little. She helped him realize what he was and what he wasn’t. And like what Yuki said, maybe all we need is to just know that there’s one person out there who can accept us for who we are. That is Tohru to Kyo. Tohru is one of the very few handful of people who treated Kyo like a human being, who made him feel that being the cat wasn’t a sin. 

At the same time, Kyo is GOOD for Tohru. The fault of being a “giving” person is that you give so much to others you forget to leave some for yourself. All Tohru knew is how to service other people’s needs. She cooks and cleans at home. She prefers doing things for other people. For instance, whenever she visits shishou, she usually ends up doing all the work, even though she’s a visitor. This isn’t a problem. There are people who derive happiness from servicing others. But I guess this affected the way she thought about herself. Because she prefers tending to others, it feels weird when it’s her turn to be taken care of. When she failed the test Yuki tutored her for, she took it so badly she ended up crying and getting sick. She hates being a burden to others. And that’s why she masks her sadness in fake happiness, like when Hiro had made that comment about her mother at the vacation house.

At this point, Kyo is Officially Attached to Tohru. He thinks about Tohru’s wellbeing probably all the time, because hey this is the person who still loves me even after I kind of treated her badly during the first few parts of the manga and even after the whole crazy chapter 33 ordeal. She’s precious to me and I want her to never be sad and always be happy. And that’s why he notices. He notices All Of It. All her little habits, the changes in her expressions, whenever she feels sad or uncomfortable. Whenever something is bothering her. Whenever there’s something she needs. Whenever she’s not there. There are so many instances of this scattered all over the manga so it’s hard to cite examples. (Honestly I’m 100% Kyo because I don’t usually trust people and when people gain my trust I turn from bitch who the fuck- to Bitch your happiness is my number 1 priority). Kyo wants to take care of her.He wants to be that shoulder she can cry on because he loves her and he wants her to be happy. He will do anything for her and will let her do anything to him, i.e. hit him in the face with her bag lol, if it would make her feel better. Talking to and simply being Kyo also makes Tohru super happy. She forgets what she’s sad about whenever she’s with him. Like dam. I love this ship fuck

And that, kids, ends my TED talk about why I’m a hoe for Kyo and Kyoru. 

As for least favorite characters. It goes without saying that Kyo’s father can buRN IN HELL BITCH 

But in all seriousness, I try not to have, like, a “least favorite.” So I hope you don’t mind if I refrain from answering that latter question ᕦ( ͡͡~͜ʖ ͡° )ᕤ

[klaineanummel]

unexpected 23/24

Blaine Anderson was just about the last thing Professor Kurt Hummel expected out of a TA.

This is the last official chapter of the fic, as the final one (which will be posted within the next few days) is technically an epilogue and quite short. I hope you enjoy, and I will see you all very soon!!!

The final two weeks of the semester fly by. Blaine seems to have a billion assignments to complete before exam season begins, and Kurt has even more assignments to mark.

They don’t get to spend as much time together as Kurt would like, as the small amount of free time that Blaine has, he dedicates to his children. He gets coffee with Jane and has surprisingly long conversations with Roderick on the phone (though not in person just yet).

As much as Kurt would like to have a little more of Blaine’s time, he knows that this is only temporary. Once exams are over, Blaine will have far more free time, and will be able to divide it more evenly among Kurt and his family. For now, Kurt doesn’t mind taking the backseat.

Besides, it’s not exactly a bad thing to not be as connected during the last few weeks of the semester. Mercedes is definitely on to them, and he doesn’t need to give anybody else a reason to suspect. Not when they’re so close to being able to be together without breaking any rules.

On the final day of classes, Kurt stays behind in his office to fill in Blaine’s, Mercedes’s, and Tina’s TA evaluation forms. He praises all three, more than happy with their performances during the semester. For the most part, their evaluations are identical, as he felt all three performed their TA duties extraordinarily well.

The only difference comes in the end of the evaluation. Where he ticks that he’d be willing to work with Mercedes and Tina again next semester, he does not do so for Blaine. In the comments section he makes up some bullshit about how he feels that, with Blaine’s age and experience, he would be an asset to all kinds of other professors, and it would be selfish to try and hog him. He hopes it’ll work, because he doesn’t think he could take another semester of keeping his relationship with Blaine a secret.

“Hey,” the single word is followed by two short knocks on the door, and Kurt looks up to see Blaine smiling from his doorway. “I thought you might still be here.”

Kurt gestures to his desk. “I was just finishing your evaluation forms.”

“Oh?” Blaine raises an eyebrow and then asks, voice far too breathy, “How’d I do, professor?”

Kurt’s heart skips a beat and his pants tighten a little, just as they always do when Blaine pulls out the innocent student act.

“That’s confidential,” Kurt replies with a sly wink.

Blaine’s lips curve up into a smirk. “I bet I could get it out of you.”

Kurt’s pants tighten just a little bit more, and he clears his throat before saying, “I’ll have you know that I take my evaluation confidentiality very seriously, Mr. Anderson.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” Blaine raises an eyebrow. “You know I can’t resist those.”

Kurt’s cheeks redden and he glances behind Blaine. Seeing nobody he whispers, “Do you have the time to rise to said challenge?”

Blaine grins. “No plans until tomorrow at noon.”

Kurt doesn’t think he’s ever gotten his things together as fast in his life.

“Come on,” Blaine whispers wickedly, hips swiveling sinfully. “Tell me what you wrote.”

Kurt’s hands tighten on Blaine’s waist, trying to get him to stop torturing him and fucking move already. “I told you,” he says, breath coming out harsh as Blaine finally raises slightly on his cock. “That’s confident—ah!” His head falls back against his pillow as Blaine lowers himself back on his cock.

“Please, professor?” Blaine asks, pouting his lips as he continues fucking himself on Kurt’s cock lazily. “I’ll do anything to know.”

Kurt’s fingernails dig into Blaine’s side. “I think you already are,” he manages to say.

Blaine grins. “Come on,” he lowers himself down until he’s chest-to-chest with Kurt, lips a breath away, hard cock trapped between their bellies. “Tell me.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt bucks his hips up. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You know you want to,” Blaine says, grinding his hips down.

Kurt takes a deep breath and then, with all the strength he can muster, flips them over until Blaine’s back is against the blankets and he’s on top.

Blaine stares up at him, eyes wide, pupils blown.

“I told you,” Kurt says, starting to fuck Blaine at a much quicker pace than Blaine was allowing before. “That’s confidential.”

“Jesus,” Blaine groans, arms coming to Kurt’s back.

Kurt grins and fucks Blaine in earnest. They’ve been at this for almost half an hour already, and he feels ready to burst from Blaine’s lazy teasing. He reaches down and wraps his hand around Blaine’s cock, determined to make him come first, even after all of that.

“That’s not fair,” Blaine says. “I was supposed to – ungh,” the worlds garble in his throat as Kurt twists his hand over the head of his cock.

Kurt presses himself as deeply into Blaine as he can, then grins and says, “Serves you right for torturing me like that.”

Blaine gasps and says, “You loved it.”

Kurt stares down at him, eyes wide as the words I love you float through his mind. He presses his lips together, then starts fucking Blaine even faster, hand a blur over his boyfriend’s cock.

It takes less than a minute for Blaine to come after that, and the feeling of his clenching around Kurt’s dick makes Kurt follow suit shortly after.

They’re both sticky messes as Kurt collapses on top of Blaine, cock slipping from his hole as he does. He rolls over slightly but remains close enough to rest his head on Blaine’s heaving chest.

“Jesus,” Blaine repeats. Kurt looks up and finds him staring up at the ceiling. “You’re – Jesus.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d call myself Jesus, but…”

Blaine shakes his head, but says, “I’m too fucked out to even get mad at you for saying that.”

Kurt grins up at him. “So, I win?”

“Was it a competition?” Blaine asks.

“Well,” Kurt trails his fingers over Blaine’s chest. “You did say you could fuck the evaluation results out of me, and instead you came first and called me Jesus, so…”

Blaine just laughs and says, “Alright, fine. You definitely win.”

Kurt rests his head back on Blaine’s chest, pressing a soft kiss there. “I love winning.”

Blaine brings his hand up to Kurt’s hair, and Kurt takes the moment to quickly slip the condom off his dick, tying it without looking and probably making an absolute mess of it. He tosses it behind him, also without looking, then focuses on the way that Blaine is running his hand through his hair.

“I know you do,” Blaine finally says, and to Kurt, it sounds like an I love you, too.

Only four students take the full two hours to complete Kurt’s (ridiculously easy, if he does say so himself) Popular Music final. Tina has been on her phone for the past half hour, glancing up occasionally to make sure that the single student in her section doesn’t need help, and Mercedes keeps staring at the clock as if that’ll make the time go faster.

Blaine is just staring at Kurt, eyes hungry, and it makes Kurt want to grab the exams off the student’s desks and force them out of there so that Blaine can fuck him up against one of those desks.

He, of course, manages to refrain.

His timer finally goes off, announcing the end of the full two hours, and his TA’s go and grab the exams from the final students. They wish them good luck on any remaining exams as well as a good Christmas break, and then finally, finally, the exam is done.

Kurt grins up at Blaine, who grins back.

“Well, that was spectacularly boring,” Mercedes says, stretching her arms over her head. “Do any of you want to celebrate that all we have left to do is correct these exams by getting some coffee?”

Tina says yes, but Blaine says, “Sorry, Mercedes, but I already have plans with my boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says after a few moments. “I do, too. With my boyfriend, not with Blaine’s boyfriend.”

Blaine chuckles and sends him a covert wink.

Mercedes rolls her eyes at the two of them, while Tina whispers, “See, I told you they weren’t going out.”

Kurt shakes his head and grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s drop these off at my office, and then we can all get the hell out of here.”

That evening, as they fall asleep together in Blaine’s bed, Kurt whispers, “Just a few more weeks and we don’t have to hide this anymore.”

Blaine hums. “You sure? I mean, won’t people be suspicious that—”

“Blaine,” Kurt says, placing a firm hand on his chest. “We’re adults, and as soon as we mark all those exams, you’ll no longer be my TA. You aren’t even technically a student in my department.” He kisses Blaine’s cheek. “We won’t have to hide this anymore.”

Blaine sighs contently, wraps his arm around Kurt and pulls him closer. “In that case,” he says, voice gaining back its sleepiness, “I can’t wait.”

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 12

I apologize for not posting this yesterday.  With everything going on in my life and my family, I was so exhausted I could not focus enough to finish the chapter and instead had an early night.  However, I had to finish this chapter before I could start posting what my co-author, the real-life Tyche @ritualistic-raven, has sent me so far, because her first chapter includes information that was just ‘thinking out loud’ level stuff, and would have confused everyone else (yeah, my sister/beta is privy to spoilers).

That said, after a good night’s rest, this chapter just poured right out.  It is the longest chapter I have to so far, weighing in at 2400 words exactly.  I might do one more chapter before I start posting what she has already sent me, it really depends on how I feel about where it fits into the narrative.

As always, please read, reblog, and review!  I absolutely love questions and feedback.

Conor quickly became a regular to join me and Tyche at least once a week for dinner.  We would coax ever more delicious dishes out of the console (Tyche insisted on calling it a ‘replicator’ just to see the face I made), and Conor would entertain us with his enthusiasm and stories from aeroponics.  Stories about interactions with the Miys were frequently included, from all three of us; mercifully, the Miys refrained from overtly butting in to our weekly ‘family’ dinners.  I strongly suspected that they were still running commentary in my sister’s head, however, because she would sometimes give a delayed smirk to a story someone shared.

Any concerns my sister had that some sort of romantic or hormonal attachment would develop between myself and Conor vanished a month to the day after she first met him. That particular night, I was surprised by someone paging for entry into my quarters just as our regular trio had decided on what to eat.  Surprise became confusion when I saw who it was: while Arantxa had been unfailingly polite upon our initial meeting, her quick exit had left the impression that she was simply having mercy upon someone who just arrived on the ship.  I granted her access, nevertheless, and she breezed past me with a nod as soon as the door opened.  Catching sight of Tyche, who had stopped by for a chat, she paused before turning to me.

“I knew you looked somewhat familiar,” she started before shaking her head with a disapproving noise. “Although, knowing this now, I am not entirely sure why Tyche could not have been asked to do this.”

“Do what?” I asked, utterly perplexed.  A glance at my sister showed she was also confused.

“You two know each other?” Tyche asked.

“Somewhat,” I answered. “When I went to the mess for the first time, she introduced me to Conor.”

“Ah,” my sister caught on. “Well, Arantxa and I work together, sort of.  She must be here for your official task assignment and orientation.” Tyche arched a brow, fearless of the inevitable grumbling from overhead. “Attaché?” The last was clearly directed at Arantxa, who gave a curt nod before turning to me.

“Indeed, I am to be your assistant, Sophia,” Arantxa directed at me.

My eyebrows flew upward like birds taking flight. “Excuse me? Why do I need an assitant?”

Arantxa opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Tyche’s hand on her shoulder. “Each member of the Council has an attaché for day-to-day things.” She waved a hand off to the side before continuing. “Until – well, now I guess – Arantxa has been filling in as needed. You know, when people are sick or whatever. Apparently, she is being assigned as your designated assistant.  You’re actually pretty lucky, mon soeur; she’s very good at what she does, and won’t hesitate to tell someone to ‘fuck off’ if needed.”

The subject of this statement scowled. “I would never use such vulgarity, Tyche.”

“Exactly,” my sister announced triumphantly. “Whereas I would. Which would upset Soph, so it’s probably a good idea that I am not her assistant.  Besides, we look too much alike.  Can you imagine how many people will see just a photoscan of her face and assume I am her? Too many, no thank you.”

“Wait,” Conor sputtered with his usual aplomb. “You’re on the Council, Sophie?”

Arantxa tipped her head to one side, then another, utterly oblivious to the gob-smacked Irishman before apparently conceding my sister’s point.  Before the conversation could continue, I waved my hands to get their attention.

“Whoa,” I huffed. “Leadership council. Explain, please.”

“You didn’t know!?” came the next articulate blurt.

After a glance, Tyche and Arantxa apparently decided that my new assistant should field this question. “The Miys advised you would be expected to help lead, yes?” Once I nodded, Arantxa continued. “This means you are part of the Leadership Council. You are not solitary leader of anyone, as we collectively decided as soon as we were able to that a single leader would not be sufficient. All governmental models with one leader inevitably failed prior to the institution of the Global Parliament.  You will simply be a voice for the people you represent.”

Oh bloody hell, I’m being made a politician. Nuggets, I thought viciously.

“Aww, you’ll be good at that, Sophie! Yer a great listener, and ya really pay attention, I can tell.”

Instead of staring at the women who dropped a bombshell on me, I pivoted my head and arched an eyebrow of utter confusion at Conor, not wanting to risk a one-syllable grunt of inquiry.  He clarified “You always get me red wine without asking, even though you and yer sister hate it.  When Sam and Derek stop by, you tell Derek where Mac is and wait for him to interact with you first after that. But yer always excited when you talk to Sam, even if you were just draggin’ ass before you open the door.  And you take everythin’ Sam tells you as serious as the blessed Pope.  I never know half what he’s tellin’ you, but you always seem to understand. And – “

Tyche held her hand up to stop him finally. “Thank you, Conor. Soph, he has a point, ineloquent as it is.  Listening to people and trying to address their concerns is just what you do.  You mirror exceptionally well, and are assertive or passive depending on the situation.  You’ll do really well.”

“I get what you’re saying, but Tyche! You and the Miys both told me I would help lead. Not that I would be an actual leader.  I thought I would… I dunno, teach, review proposed policies, or something.  Being on a ‘leadership council’ was never mentioned.”

Another glance between the administrators, then suddenly both women shouted in unison. “SI-MON!”

Instead of the accused in question, the voice of the Miys filled the room. “Simon is currently occupied, but I am en route as Noah to collect him.” I couldn’t prevent the small smile that snuck onto my face at the Miys’ concession to refer to my preferred avatar as Noah, which it had capitulated on when I promised to only call that particular body by that name.

“Who the feck is Noah?” Conor screwed up his face in confusion.

“Somehow, Soph can tell the Miys’ bodies apart.  No clue how. She’s never had trouble with twins, either.”

A shrug from my sister was joined by a head-tilt from Arantxa.  “You truly do pay attention, Conor was not exaggerating.”  

Interestingly, the Irishman blushed furiously and rubbed his neck with one hand before clearing his throat.  “While we wait, Arantxa, we were about to eat.  Would you like to join us? At least have a drink.”  Oh lord, he has a crush on her!

Shaking her head, she attempted to decline the offer. “I do not drink while I am on duty – “

Tyche made a gesture of dismissal, unperturbed by him just inviting a guest to my quarters without asking; I suspected she came to the same conclusion I did. “You arrived while we are off duty for family dinner, and you’ve been invited.  I know full well it is outside of your scheduled shift: Beta commenced an hour and a half ago.  Red wine, right?  We’re having crawfish etouffee tonight.”

Arantxa relented just as Conor returned with her wine, having jumped up the second Tyche mentioned a preference for red wine.  “I have never had this dish,” she conceded before taking a seat. “However, I am reluctant to interrupt your…. ‘family’ dinner, as you called it.”

Sitting up as straight as I could, I clasped my hands before me, leaning forward slightly. “Arantxa, I don’t know how much you know about mine and my sister’s culture, but it is incredibly rude to decline a non-romantic invitation to dinner, provided it is not an open ended and standing invitation, which this is currently not.” With that said, I relaxed and took a sip of my sauvignon blanc and shrugged. “Besides, yelling at people is always better when you have a full stomach to fuel you. Etouffee is quite spicy, I think you’ll like it.  You said you are Basque, correct?”

This began an informal ‘get to know you’ conversation – my favorite way to learn about employees – and I kept careful eye on Conor to see that he was absorbing everything like a sponge, his usual verbosity noticeably gone.  My guess had been correct: she was delighted by the etouffee.  I learned that Arantxa was previously an adjunct to the Spanish Ambassador to the World Parliament, hence her habitually formal demeanor. She spoke several dialects of Spanish, in addition to French and her native Euskara – which explained the comment about her language dying.

All in all, it took nearly an hour for Noah and Simon to reach my quarters, by which point tempers had cooled considerably.  When the signal at the door chimed, Arantxa indicated that I remain seated (“To establish from the outset that it is you and Tyche in charge”) while she greeted the new arrivals, apparently relaxed and carrying her glass of cabernet. With her usual calm, she greeted the Miys politely, and then Simon.

At which point, without batting an eyelash, she took a sip of her wine and promptly tossed the rest in his face.  While the three of us still at the table were fighting to suppress cheers and laughter, she merely tsked and shook her head. “Such a shame. I was quite enjoying that,” was all she had to say as she left Simon shouting and sputtering in the entryway.

As she took her seat again, with a refill courtesy of Conor, Simon broke out of his shock long enough to barge up to the table. “What was that for?!” he cried.  “Sophia, please tell me this is not about when you first arrived.  That was months ago!”

Carefully composing my face, I gestured for him to come around the table so I could see him.  As he moved to stand uncomfortably next to my sister, Tyche mouthed “power move” in approval.

“No, Simon,” I assured him. “This is not about what you did nearly four months ago.”  He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “This is more about what you did not do.  Apparently, when it was decided that, instead of just teaching, I was going to be on the thrice-damned Leadership Council, you were the one tasked with providing me this information. Which I never received, by the way.”

Simon paled slightly before smacking his face with both hands. “Aww, nuts. I knew I was forgetting something.” Before anyone at the table could respond, Simon held up both hands in a pleading gesture. “I am very, truly sorry. I really am. I just.” He puffed out a sigh. “I got so used to being the only Terran on the ship, and used to the Miys remembering everything for me, that I have really gotten bad at keeping everything straight.  That’s actually why your assignment was changed to be on the Council, Sophia.”

Alarmingly, all three of my dinner companions looked shocked at this information.  Sensing my confusion, Noah placed a hand on my shoulder. “Tyche mentioned before that she suspected that Simon arrived on the ship very early on. This is truer than you could have anticipated: we expected to greet humanity as you joined the intergalactic community.  Instead, your entire world was plunged into darkness.  We did not have the resources at the time to collect survivors; instead, we brought Simon on board and returned to our homeworld to prepare a rescue mission.”

“Even then I had to stay in the airlock the entire trip,” the subject of this explanation muttered. “Anyway, they took me home, brought me back on the Ark. Sophia, the position you are being assigned to on the Leadership Council is the one I currently am holding.  I’m stepping down.”

“Wait, you’re on the Leadership Council?” I could not keep the disbelief out of my voice.

Along with him, Arantxa, Tyche, and Conor also nodded to confirm this. Simon waved a hand at his chest, indicating himself. “I wasn’t always like this, you know. But a year subjective time, alone, with a telepathic hive mind tends to mess with your social skills.”

“Simon – “ I started, a hint of mourning in my voice.

He cut me off before I could continue, “Finding out that my year was actually a decade was even worse.  Seeing what happened to my home while I was gone is something I haven’t had time to recover from. I’ve just kept on keeping-on.  But your sister really made me think about the mistakes I’ve made.  It hasn’t been just you, I’ve made entirely too many mistakes recently.  I know I’m a laughingstock, I’m not an idiot, despite how I’ve behaved.  On top of that, how am I supposed to lead people who have been through something I can’t even imagine and really? Don’t want to imagine, honestly.”

Clearing his throat, Conor broke the ensuing silence. “What are you going to do now, mate?”

“Review the data the Miys have collected so far on the condition of the colonists.  I may not want to try to imagine what has happened, but I can’t be of any use unless I know at least what impacts it had on everyone, both physically and psychologically.” Before Tyche or I could object, he held up a hand, similar to the gesture I used to interrupt my sister earlier. “Not you two, and not Derek or Sam.  Not anyone I personally greeted when they arrived on board. Overall statistical information, and case files on anyone I don’t know personally, with names redacted.  I’m not going to invade your privacy, ladies.”

Mollified, Tyche let out a sigh. “Okay.  I guess we can’t really yell at you when you recognized what you did even before we did that you were falling down on the job.  You already took action to correct it, by standing down from the Council and making Soph your replacement – even if you did screw that up, too.”

Simon nodded in thanks. “With that, I will leave you to your evening.”  Before he could go, Arantxa cleared her throat and gave him an expectant look. “OH! Right. Sorry.  Almost muffed that, too.”  He reached under his collar and lifted what appeared to be a pendant from around his neck before handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she said smoothly.  “I’ll take it from here.”

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[littleredroseonthevalley]

An Opera on Separation - Chapter 14

Prologue | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | CH. 14 | Ch. 15 | Ch. 16 | Ch. 17 | Ch. 18 |

Summary: The police follows on Claire’s rape and Emily is called in for questioning. Is Nathan a suspect?

Rating: M -  Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Mention of rape. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Words: 1473

Notes: Remember when I said Beau was one sick little shit? Well, I made him sicker.

Enjoy.

Boring

Zack was still trying to calm Becca down with a cup of cold water when the telephone rung.

Emily and Zack changed a look, debating silently who’s going to answer it, and it ended up to be decided that she’d do it. “Hello?” She picked up the call.

“Good morning, miss. This is from Hartfeld Police Department.” The man’s voice says from over the phone. “Do I speak with Emily Harper?”

“Yes.” She said, wavering and wary. “How may I help you?”

“Miss, your presence has been required at the police station. It is about Miss Pierce’s rape.” He responds, using a grave voice.

Claire? She did not know anything about the girl. In fact, that news report this morning has been the first time she has heard the name in months.

“What about it?” The redhead asks, legitimately confused.

“The deputy has requested your testimony.” He responded, simple.

That was enlightening.

She breathed out, trying to keep her cool. “I’m not sure on what I can contribute, but of course. Is there an appointment that I am supposed to attend?”

“At your earliest convenience.” He said, and then added: “Preferably this morning.”

“Of course, I’m free. I’ll be there in an hour.” She nods.

“Thank you, Miss Harper. We’ll be expecting you; goodbye.” He said and finished the call.

Emily, then, placed the phone back on the hook and walked over back to the living room, where Becca was still altered and Zack seemed to be running haggard trying to control the impulsive blonde.

The ruckus died down as the two of them looked into the pale and struck face of Emily.

“Who was it?” Zack asks, concerned.

“It was the police.” She answered. “They want me to testify on Claire’s case.”

“What?!” The two other roommates shout in unison.

“What can you possibly know about Claire?” Zack says, in his usual over-the-top fashion. “If anyone here should be called into questioning, it would be Becca. They’re friends, after all.”

“Unless,” The blonde says, creepily calm. “Unless it isn’t about who knows the victim, rather than who knows the rapist.”

“You’re not saying…” He turned to her and stopped himself from saying what he meant.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She jumped to her feet. “It happened at Alpha Theta Mu, haven’t it?”

The young man tutted. “Nevertheless, there’s at least fifteen people living there, and none of them are… you know.”

“But Emily’s not close to either of them. Let’s face it, Nathan raped Claire.” The blonde picked up the redhead’s arm. “Come on, Emily! I’m going to the station with you!”

“Good morning, Miss Emily.” An investigator enters the dark and cold room she was sitting on. “I am Deputy McKenzie, head of police here in Hartfeld. Thank you for coming so promptly.”

“Of course, Mr. McKenzie, anything I can do to help.” She nods.

“Allow me to begin by saying that you’re not being accused of anything.” He says, with a soft smile. “I only have a few, commonplace questions. I would’ve gone to your house, but as this is a high-coverage case, I can’t leave the station without the Hartfeld Herald printing it on the front page.

“Speaking of which, I must ask that you refrain from giving declarations to the press. It could hinder my investigation.”

She returned the kindness of his smile and responded: “I won’t be talking to anyone about it.”

“Good.” He took out a recorder and pressed play. “Now, remember you’re giving your official statement. Try to give the most accurate descriptions of events you possibly can. No need to be nervous, but no detail is small enough.”

“Okay.” She nodded.

“Now, first things first, what is your full name, birth town and age?”

“I am Emily Louise Harper. I am twenty years old and I’m from Boston, Massachusetts.”

“Okay.” He writes down her name on a form. “First question, what’s your relation with Nathan Sterling, III, Beau Han and Kassidy Marquez?”

Her nerves hitched at the mention of the names. It seemed like Becca might be right about Nathan, after all. “Nathan’s my boyfriend. The other two are his friends.”

“Are you close to either of them?” He probes further.

“Not particularly.” She bobbed her head. “I mean, we’ve gone out as a group on occasion, but I never really talked at lenght to them one-on-one.”

“Very well.” He says and scribbles something. “Where were you on the night of Friday, September 16th last year?”

“September 16th?” The young woman repeats and thinks about it for a moment. “Oh, right! It was the last time I saw Claire. It was on that bar downtown, Belle Époque.”

He hummed. “Who were you with?”

Her eyes widened when she realized where he was going with it. “I was with Nathan, Beau and Kassidy.”

“I understand something happened that night, didn’t it?” He nudged her to talk.

“Yes, it did.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I was with Beau, picking up some drinks and bringing them back to the table. I was distracted. I bumped into Claire and spilled my drink on her.

“She got really mad about it and started calling me an Alpha Theta Mu’s charity case. Beau tried to defend me, but then she turned on him and said that he wasn’t much better, being a nouveau riche or something.

“He turned red in fury; it was really scary to see such a big man so angry. He raised his hand; it looked like he was ready to strike her on the face. But then, Nathan controlled him and we left the club in a hurry and I went home.”

He slipped a handkerchief over the table for her to dry her tears. “Thank you, Miss Harper, that would be all.”

When Emily was as put-together as she would be given the circumstances, she left the interrogation room to face her friends who were waiting outside.

What she hadn’t expected was a small commotion, centred around Becca, who was barely contained by a police officer. The redhead ran to the main atrium of the station, and she realized the person she was being contained from was Nathan himself.

The blond man sported a few scratches and torn clothes, probably from the girl’s attacks from before the police could intervene.

“You filthy rapist!” Becca shouted. “I’ll sever off your eye with the heel of my Louboutin, and so help me God!”

“Becca!” Emily runs over to her. “Becca! Nathan didn’t do it! He’s not a suspect!”

“Don’t defend him, Emily! He’s the scum!” She barks.

“Becca, listen to me!” She placed both hands on the face of the other woman and forced her to look deep into her eyes. “Nathan didn’t do it. Beau did. He raped Claire because she said he was not old money.”

Her struggle faded, and she whispers: “What?”

“It’s true.” Emily uses the same grief-stricken tone.

“That’s… that’s…” Tears brim the young blonde woman’s eyes. “Barbaric.”

“I know.” The redhead hugged her friend and tried to soothe her.

“Emily?” Nathan neared the pair, touching his girlfriend’s shoulder.

Becca glared at the young man. “What do you want?”

Emily tapped the girl’s shoulder, trying to contain her anger. She locked her eyes on him, dull as they are due to the circumstances. “Yes?”

“I need to talk to you.” He said, pleading silently. “About what’s happening.”

She looked over at Becca and considered the proposition. Finally, she nodded and followed the man to the water fountain, where they could talk.

“What has the police told you about Beau?” He asks.

She shook her head. “They told me nothing. They just asked me about that time we’ve been to Belle Époque and I pieced the rest together.”

The blond man sighs. “There’s more to it. You see, Emily, I wasn’t always Beau’s vice-president. I actually was the runner-up for ATM presidency.”

“I’m sorry, Nathan, but what that’s got to do with anything?” The girl interrupts, rather impatient.

“I’ll get there.” He responds. “I always thought it to be strange I lost, I was always more popular than Beau, I was very confident I would win. So, when he asked me to be his VP, I set myself to investigate why.

“The Alpha Theta Mu you know, that I knew, isn’t the real Alpha Theta Mu.” He swallowed the bile on his throat. “The most illustrious members of the fratority kept an underground club of thrill-seekers. Up until last year, they used to play pranks. Pranks that ranged from the stupid to the dangerous.

“But Beau had gotten bored with it. He enlisted the help of Kassidy and they started a… group. I don’t know what I can call that.”

“What they did?” Emily asks, shakily.

“They had a website…” He coughed. “They posted videos. Of the guys at that… circle… well, violating girls. I gathered enough material to imputate them as quickly as I could, but...” He took a calming breath. “It wasn’t fast enough for Claire.”

A silence befell them. Neither spoke, as them both measured the other’s reactions.

Finally, Nathan breaks it into saying: “I’m sorry. I’m just gonna... leave.”

She stops him with a touch to his arm. When he looks back into her eyes, they were shining with unshed tears.

Emily pulls him into a hug.

The world was far from being alright, but Emily thought she could count on Nathan to make it better.

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An Opera on Separation - Masterlist

[wow-thisismylifeiguess]

One Of A Kind - Chapter One - Everybody Got This Broken Feeling

((Notes: Okay, so here’s the first official chapter! But some small things before: 1) this fic...or whatever it is that I’m doing here will be posted on AO3 after it’s finished, so until then, this is the only place to find it. 2) I rewrote this chapter like five times (literally. five. times.) because nothing felt right, and while I’m not 100 percent pleased with how it turned out, it’s much better than all my other tries. 3) Chapter titles (which I haven’t done in a long time) come from the song ‘Everybody Knows’ by Leonard Cohen, though I listen to the Sigrid version. 4) I probably had more to say, but I can’t remember, so...enjoy!))

Chapter Rating: T

The first thing he noticed was just how different Izuku appeared. While he’d always been an unassuming looking child, age had deepened already present features and almost…enhanced them. By the time Izuku was fifteen, he’d been known for his untameable, dark green curls, reminiscent of trees and forestry, while his eyes were moreso the colour of solid jade, bright and vibrant. Freckles littered his cheeks, multiplying as days passed, and they’d made him appear youthful and…innocent. After the development of his Quirk, Izuku’s hands had scarred, several lines running along his fingers and knuckles. He’d been a cute and vibrant young man, and now… it was different.

Katsuki took in the new details in such a flurry, they nearly threatened to overwhelm him. He noticed the shock of white locks that contrasted with the rest of Izuku’s dark hair, which had grown longer since the last time he’d seen him, perhaps long enough to be tied into a low ponytail. His eyes were no longer the innocent and warm jade that used to peer up at him in awe and fear. Instead, they were replaced by a green that glowed threateningly, almost radioactive and septic. They watched him carefully, cold and calculating. His hands, grasped together in front of him, had only gotten worse, the skin now rough, riddled with lines that ran up and down the surface, some cutting through others in an overlapping pattern. It appeared as though not all were caused by the negative effects of his Quirk. Some looked like they had been inflicted by a knife. Bandages were wrapped around his left index finger and right ring finger, and no longer did he wear the familiar uniform of UA. Instead, it was replaced by a pair of black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a black vest.

Katsuki, in all his wishes to forget the last four months, wanted to make a bartender comment, but refrained. This wasn’t the time. Instead, he put together all his observations and truly looked at Izuku once more, taking him all in. Not only did he look different, he looked good, and worse…he looked dangerous. Katuski bit back the feeling in his gut over the former realization, and focused on the latter.

It wasn’t ever something he thought he’d attribute to the smaller boy. Izuku had always been weak and fragile to him, someone to put down every time he tried to rise up. Even after the development of his Quirk, Katuski refused to acknowledge it, the idea that Izuku could possibly overpower him. It was something that pissed him off. However, looking at him now, Katsuki could feel the shiver run down his spine. Something was off, and it put him on edge. Whatever had happened during the four months that Izuku was gone, it had changed him in ways that Katsuki could tell were less than good.

He took a small step forward, pushing back the full body shudder that threatened to overtake him. Glowing eyes watched his every move and Katsuki growled low in his throat. He took another careful step, and before he could control his own body, Katsuki had his fingers gripped tight around the collar of Izuku’s shirt, pulling him forward until there was but an inch between their lips.

“What the fuck, Deku? It’s been four fucking months, where the hell have you been?!” The shock and surprise that had wracked through his body had finally slowly begun to fade away, leaving anger and relief behind. Anger at the fact that it had taken so long, and relief...relief that he was okay. That Izuku was alive. He felt his grip tighten to the point where his nails began to rip through the fabric in his grasp.

Izuku didn’t move an inch from where he stood, his arms dropped to his sides, and face a blank mask of nothing. However, there was something startling in his eyes, causing Katsuki to step back and release his grip. There had been a warning in them, a sort of murderous intent that Katsuki had never seen from the other boy. His unsettled feeling began to grow.

“I...didn’t come here to talk about me, Katsuki. I didn’t even plan on talking in the first place. You managed to spot me, which means I let my guard down. Oh my...a punishment awaits me.” The way Izuku spoke, it was slow and polite, but not at all like his usual formal speech. It was like he’d been rewired, a robot taught human speech, losing the proper inflections and tones. Katsuki’s eyes widened.

“Punishment? The fuck is going on, Deku? What fuckin’ happened to you?” Izuku, once again, did not respond. Instead, he looked over Katsuki, the feeling of his gaze heavy. Surprising the ash blond, Izuku took a step forward and leaned in close. Katsuki was in too much shock at the movement to pull back or respond, and when the sound of Izuku’s voice floated by his ear, he could feel his legs almost give out.

Izuku chuckled, the sound chilly and uninviting. “I missed you, Katsuki. I waited for you. And you never came.” His voice was low, lower than Katsuki had ever heard from the smaller boy, and the robotic quality was gone, almost like he’d gained his barings and had the upper hand in whatever was going on between the two of them. It was the type of voice to haunt your dreams, and Katsuki pulled back in a flash.

Taking a deep breath, he looked forward, only to realize that Izuku was gone. Whipping his head around, there wasn’t a trace of him anywhere, which was impossible. There were no scuff marks on the ground where he’d stood, nor any other sort of sign. It was like he’d never been there in the first place.

Katsuki ran towards the exit of the alleyway and looked everywhere, trying to catch even the barest glance of green hair. In the end, there was nothing. He felt an emptiness in his chest as he turned and walked down the street, forgetting the candy bars and bags of potato chips Eijirou had begged him to buy. He had other things on his mind, and he needed to find Aizawa-sensei.

<< | < | > | >>

[anne-wentworth]

Something About Her

Chapter 4- Better With You

Harvey pulls an all nighter to finish a paper and Donna’s stressed about her audition but things aren’t so bad when they’ve got each other.

Chapter 1 2 and 3

Read on ao3

Harvey was dying.

His head was propped against his hand as the words on the screen of his laptop blurred in front of him. He was about halfway done with his assignment.

But he still had half to finish.

Brimming with frustration, he rested his head against his desk for a few moments. However he quickly sat back up again because he knew if he remained like that he would soon pass out.

His roommate had made himself scare when he realised that Harvey had a paper due in the morning that he hadn’t even started yet.

It was a routine that began after Jeff woke Harvey with his screams when his laptop crashed at two am and the time Harvey took his anger over a shitty Ethics project out on a number of their plates.

Both of them were at their worst during all nighters.

However, on the occasions that the two of them needed to get shit done for the next day, they would take turns making coffee and ensure that the other didn’t succumb to sleep.

But right now Harvey was all alone and that evil voice in the back of his mind was whispering about how amazing his bed was.

Without thinking, he reached for his phone and automatically dialed the one person who would be able to make him feel less miserable.

“This paper is killing me,” he instantly said into the receiver.

“It’s your fault for starting it so last minute,” Donna replied.

Harvey groaned. He knew she was right but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear it.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Going over my lines again,” she sighed.

Her audition was tomorrow and she had been stressing about it all day.

“Donna you already know all your lines. There is literally nothing more that you can do.”

“I know I just…feel off my game.”

“You’ll be fine,” Harvey said softly.

“I didn’t realise you could see the future,” Donna grumbled and Harvey’s eyebrows shot up.

He was about to fire back but then she spoke again.

“I’m sorry. I just cannot butcher Portia’s character I will not do that to her or Shakespeare I need to be perfect.”

Harvey thought she was already perfect but he refrained from voicing his opinion out loud. In her current mood she would just fight him on it.

“Which one is Merchant of Venice again?” he asked, deciding to take another route to distract her. “Is that the one She’s The Man is based off?”

“Oh my god Harvey are you serious? No that is Twelfth Night I can’t believe you even asked that.”

She sounded absolutely appalled and he couldn’t help but grin.

“Well I’m not much of a Shakespeare fan,” he said.

Which was true. He had to read Romeo and Juliet in high school and every time he picked it up he fell asleep. That was the most history he had with old William.

“That’s it. I’m revoking my friendship,” Donna declared.

“Come on! You can teach me all about Shakespeare until I’m up to your standards.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

“Me,” Harvey smirked.

He didn’t need to see her to know she was rolling her eyes.

“I already have that and…well it’s not that great,” she responded without missing a beat.

“Oh you haven’t seen all of me yet.”

“And when will I see all of you?” she inquired in a low voice that made his heart race.

Over the past few weeks, flirting with Donna Paulsen had become his new favorite pastime.

“When you teach me Shakespeare,” he replied as seductively as possible.

Her laughter echoed in his ear and sparks erupted in his chest.

Another thing he had learned was that Donna’s laugh had become his new favorite sound.

“You should probably get back to your paper,” she said after a few moments of comfortable silence.

Harvey grunted in response and she let out a quiet giggle.

“Go on. You can do it. Be strong.”

“I don’t have any strength left.”

“Yes you do. You’re Harvey Specter.”

He smiled at that.

“Fine,” he said but the warmth coursing through his veins muted any bitterness he still felt.

“Good luck!”

“You too.”

“Thanks,” she responded softly and he could tell that some of her aggravation had melted away too.

He hung up and stared at his phone for a second before turning back to his laptop with a burst of rejuvenation.

Just like that, everything didn’t seem so shitty anymore.

Harvey walked out of his classroom to find Donna sitting on one of the benches nearby.

She had a cup of coffee in one hand and a copy of Merchant of Venice in the other as she looked over her lines for what Harvey supposed was the millionth time.

“What are you doing here?” he asked after walking over to her.

Surprise crossed over her features as she stared up at him, breaking out of her Shakespeare induced trance.

“Told you I was gonna start spending more time in the Law faculty,” she replied, echoing her words from that first day they spent together.

A smile immediately plastered itself on his face.

“True but usually I’m the one meeting you.”

“Well I decided to change that today.”

“So are you ready?” he inquired as he sat down next to her.

“No!” she exclaimed just as he expected. “And I had two extra weeks to prepare because they postponed it and I’m still in shit.”

“You’re not,” Harvey stated with a glare. “You’re gonna do great.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because you’re Donna,” Harvey answered simply. “And you’re awesome.”

She grinned, leaning her head against his shoulder and a part of him damn near melted.

“You’re right.”

“I always am.”

“That’s debatable.”

Donna straightened before taking a sip of her coffee while Harvey looked on longingly.

“I could use another one of those.”

“This is my fourth for the morning,” she said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Fourth?!” Harvey exclaimed.

“I was up all night,” she shrugged as if that was a perfect explanation.

“So was I. Donna that is not healthy.”

“Says the guy who frequently consumes triple cheese bacon burgers,” she instantly quipped, shooting him a look of her own.

“Okay we’re talking about your unhealthy habits right now not mine.”

She all but ignored him as she rose from her seat and held a hand out in his direction.

“Come on. I don’t want to be late.”

Harvey grasped her hand as he stood up, loosely throwing his arm around her shoulder as they headed to the other side of campus.

It wasn’t long before they reached their destination and Donna took a deep breath before entering the auditorium.

“You’re gonna be amazing,” Harvey reassured and she nodded.

“Here,” she said, handing him her copy of the play. “We both know I don’t need this.”

He instantly smiled at the return of that confidence that he knew and loved.

“Break a leg,” he said, just the tiniest bit proud of himself for the use of theatre lingo.

Donna’s expression however said he was an idiot but he didn’t miss the way she bit back a smile.

The corners of her mouth remained upturned as she walked through the doors and something in him automatically lit up.

Plopping down on the stairs, Harvey pulled his laptop out of his bag. He had a case briefing to type up for the next day and he didn’t plan on pulling another goddamn all nighter.

He was so lost in his work he didn’t even notice when Donna came out of the room.

“I got it!” she squealed, running to stand in front of him. “I got the part! I mean it still has to be officially posted but Morales said it’s basically mine. I did it!”

“I told you I’m always right,” he grinned as he stood up and pulled her into a hug.

His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest of moments as he held her. Her hair smelled like flowers and he was pretty sure he had a new favorite scent now too.

God he was in so much trouble.

“You were right about one thing,” Donna told him after pulling away.

Harvey was too busy trying to get his heartbeat back to its regular pace to respond.

“We need to celebrate,” she said, her eyes shining brighter than any star he had ever seen.

Fuck his case briefing.

He bent down to put away his laptop and grab his bag.

“Lead the way,” he said, holding out his arm.

Still wearing a huge grin, Donna hooked her arm in his as she took him to the little cafe right next to the Faculty of Engineering that sold her favorite milkshakes.

And in a little booth slurping milkshakes, laughing about the stupidest things with Donna, Harvey realised he had never been happier.

[journeywithrenee]

December 19, 2017

It’s been a long time since I’ve updated! I’ve been working on a memoir of sorts which I may eventually share if I ever finish it haha. This is going to be my last update on this blog so I’m preparing for some long rambling and a maybe a few tears as I type, I’m not sure yet. 

Today, I finished my last day of chemo, hopefully forever. Tomorrow I will have a doctor’s appointment and they will take my picc line out. It’s official and I’m very excited. 

It’s been humbling sharing my experience with everyone. I’ve never felt so encouraged, loved, and blessed with so many people praying for me. God hears prayers and God 100% heard all of yours. This journey was long and short at the same time. I was diagnosed at the beginning of May and here I am, less than a year later, finishing up my treatment. It’s been less than a year but it also feels like a lifetime. I’ve met so many people and heard so many stories along the way and I can now firmly say that I’ve never been more grateful for life. 

That being said, during a large part my treatment I admittedly was not in the right mindset. After the initial shock and worries wore off, there were a lot of struggles. I struggled with emotions and self worth. I struggled with how to love; especially how to love myself. A potent bitterness consistently clawed at me, finding the weakest part of my mind and took residence there. There were a lot of doubts and insecurities that I drowned in for a better part of my phases.

I’ve touched upon this, even before I got diagnosed with leukemia, but I’ve struggled with self worth for almost my entire life. I looked to others for affirmation of identity and every time (obviously) it would fail me. I pinpoint everything I shouldn’t have done, everything I’ve said wrong, and every embarrassing memory until it’s so overwhelming that I’m paralyzed with self loathing disgust. After getting diagnosed with APL and having gone through the motions for a while the abhorrence really hit hard. 

I stressed a lot about how to define cancer in my life. As I went through treatment I met a lot of people along the way who have battled so fiercely with their disease. They’ve suffered greatly yet their positivity shines despite their hardships. Looking at them made me feel ashamed that I was making such a big deal about having APL. As many of you know, APL has a very high cure rate and the treatment for it is not very strong. Someone told me that it’s not even really “chemo”; it’s that weak. I barely experienced any side effects and even if my blood counts were low, once upon a time, there are fellow leukemia patients with even lower. Now that treatment is done and my leukemia is gone, how can I even tell people that I had cancer? I felt like a huge embarrassment, getting a type of cancer that is just time consuming and  money wasting. 

I also battled a lot with the value I put into friendships. I put friendship on such a high pedestal that I constantly let myself down with my expectations. The utter loneliness I felt consumed me and I kept bottling it in, feeling unable to share how I felt because no one would want to put up with all my problems. I complained a lot about trivial things when I shouldn’t have and eventually I realized that I felt like such a burden. I felt irrelevant and unwanted and those thoughts hurt me greatly. 

In such a state, I looked upon my life and saw nothing. I saw emptiness and failure; I lost the will to fight for anything. I struggled with some serious thoughts and emotions as I was trying to dig myself out of a bottomless pit. 

How silly of me. I pushed aside the only person that could help me because I lost sight of His omnipotence, mercy and unfailing love. I fought so hard with myself that I failed to remember where I should put my worth in.  Even if everyone else fails me, even if I fail myself, God will never fail me. God loves me so much, even if I don’t love myself. He never left me. He will never leave me. No matter how wrong I am, no matter how far I’ve wandered HE STILL CARES. 

My internal conflicts did not disappear overnight. It is still very much present and prominent. However, God constantly reminds me that He is still here. He is a solid rock and I can always depend on Him, no matter how impossible I think it may be. I am human. He is almighty. There is no comparison. Everything about Him is infinitely greater than everything about me and I am SO ok with that. 

About my story, I don’t want to hide it. No matter how insignificant I thought it was, it happened to me for a reason and I want to share. I want to let people know about God’s goodness, grace and mercy. I could’ve gone through all sorts of difficulties but I didn’t because of those things. I shouldn’t feel pity that I didn’t have “enough struggles” to make my story “more compelling”. I should praise Him for all the wonderful things He has done for me and for all the amazing people He’s put in my life. 

There are so many more things that I could say but I will refrain because this post is long enough as it is. Today I celebrate. One chapter of my life is complete and whilst I am still coming to terms with the aftermath of it, I am genuinely grateful. I am very blessed and very fortunate that I was given a second chance at life. 

Today, I said my final goodbyes to the nurses that helped me out so much during my treatment phases. They didn’t just treat me as a patient, they treated me as a friend. They were all so genuinely excited for me, they literally counted down the days I had left of my last phase with me haha. I was asked may times if I would ring “the bell” on my last day of treatment. There’s a tradition for outpatients who finish treatment to ring the “victory bell” (I think that’s what it’s called?). I’m so introverted and shy that I was very reluctantly to do so but my nurses managed to convince me. They all followed me (out of my treatment pod to the other side of the floor!) and cheered as I rang the surprisingly loud bell (Seriously. It was loud.) I hold a lot of bittersweet memories in the hospital but right now I feel so incredibly happy and relieved. Although I still have to take my chemo pills until the 31st, I’d like to say that I’m done and I’m incredibly thankful. 

This Christmas season is a time of quietness and healing for me. I will join in celebrating the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ and I will learn more about humility. Jesus is the ultimate example and I yearn to follow Him; to be a light in the darkness. 

In the future, I will be going to school again and hopefully I will start working soon after. It will take some time and some getting used to but I am looking forward to it. A new year is coming and I will embrace whatever is given to me. 

Everyone, thank you again for everything you have done for me. Thank you for journeying with me, praying for me, and sending me all your love. I realize I may not have fully understood the magnitude of support I’ve received in the past months but I want you to know that I really REALLY appreciate it. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Have a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year!

“So humble yourselves under the mighty power of God, and at the right time he will lift you up in honor. Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.”

1 Peter 5:6-7 (NLT)

Also, here’s a picture of me being surprised at how loud the bell was:

[tisfan]

All American Road Trip

Chapter One: Get out the Map

A year from now we'll all be gone All our friends will move away And they're going to better places But our friends will be gone away Nothing is as it has been And I miss your face like Hell And I guess it's just as well But I miss your face like Hell

--Rivers and Roads, The Head and The Heart

“I don’t care, Cap,” Stark said. Steve was always “Cap” now, never Steve, never Sleeping Beauty, never anything else. Just Cap. Steve supposed that was fair, since Stark had been relegated back to Stark, or sometimes Mr. Stark when Steve was feeling particularly belligerent, which was most of the time. “Just… just go. Somewhere. Anywhere. Go to Tahiti for all I care. I hear it’s a magical place. It is forty days and forty nights until the official reunion ceremony. And if I have to look at you for another two hours…”

Steve refrained pointing out that Stark didn’t have to look at him, that there was enough space in the compound for everyone, and that Friday kept an eye out enough that if Stark put any effort into it at all, they wouldn’t run into each other randomly in the halls.

Of course, Steve hadn’t been putting in any effort, either. He hadn’t asked about the schedule, never checked to see where Stark was when he entered the kitchen. He couldn’t decide if that was because he wanted things to be back to normal, whatever normal had ever been, or because, like Stark, the wound was still raw and fresh and bleeding, and they were both fucking masochists and kept poking it like damn fools.

Stark was right. They couldn’t work together like this unless there was a world-ending crisis, and Steve would just as much prefer there not be another one of those.

“Right,” he said. Every day, Steve struggled with the same thing. To look Stark in the eyes, or to look away. It didn’t seem like either choice made the situation better, and they’d been snarling at each other worse than feral dogs. “I’ll… take a vacation.”

Stark snorted. “Don’t forget your hat and sunglasses. They make you invisible.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Steve clenched his fists. There was something about Stark that made him want to chase after the man, grab his forearms and shake him until the man saw sense.

The problem is, you both think you were right. Natasha had said it best. When Steve protested that he was right, she’d sighed and wrinkled her nose at him. Sometimes there is no right and no wrong. There’s just a fucked up real life where everyone loses.

Yeah, you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?

(readmore below the line, mobile users check out the A03 post)

The conversation had gone down hill from there. Like every other conversation Steve had had since the renegade Avengers (as the press was calling them. Steve just thought of them as “the team”) had returned from Wakanda.

The truth of the matter was, Natasha was right. Everything had gone to complete shit. There was the part of Steve that wanted to hit something until it got fixed, and the part of him that blamed Stark. And Ross. And Zemo. And even T’challa.

And a very tiny part of him that he managed to smother from time to time that wondered, quietly, if the house of cards fell because he was stomping around the room.

Steve silenced that voice again.

Vacation…

He’d never actually had one. Before the War, the idea was ludicrous. Vacation was what rich people did. There’d really been no post-war for Steve. He’d gone into the ice, and he’d come back and the world was still at war. They just called it different things now. But the killing hadn’t stopped. The injustice hadn’t stopped. Powerful men decided where and when the poor would die. Built their empires on the backs of slaves that were no longer called slaves. The United States had the highest incarceration rate in the world.

There was always a fight.

Always someplace Steve was needed.

He’d built his life on being needed. Validated by saving lives. The idea that he’d cost people’s lives, that was unbearable. He shoved it aside. Casualties happened in war, and just because it wasn’t the same War didn’t mean it wasn’t war.

We are not soldiers!

“We’re all soldiers, Stark,” Steve muttered to the empty air, unwilling to let Stark have the last word. Ever.

Maybe that had always been the problem.

I come up hard baby, but now I'm cool I didn't make it sugar, playin' by the rules I come up hard baby, but now I'm fine I'm checkin' trouble sugar, movin' down the line

I come up hard baby, but that's okay 'Cause trouble man, don't get in my way I come up hard baby, I've been for real

Gonna keep movin', gonna go to town I come up hard baby, I'm gettin' down There's only three things that for sure

Taxes, death and trouble --Trouble Man, Marvin Gaye

Sam sometimes wished he had extra arms, just so he could face-palm with all of them.

“You wanna do what now?” Sam’s gaze flickered between Steve’s stupid, perfect face, and just over his shoulder, just in case this was some sort of epic candid camera joke and someone was going to jump out and yell surprise.

“I want to go on a road trip,” Steve repeated. He had a copy of Rand McNally rolled up in his hand, tagged with tape flags. “I’ve mapped it all out.”

“Didn’t you get enough bein’ on the road when you were doin’ the bonds circuit?” Sam tried. He really, really did. Because as soon as Steve had knocked on his door with that stupid, hopeful smile, Sam already knew he was going to get roped into whatever stupid shit Captain America had come up with this time.

“I never saw any of it, besides the insides of hotel rooms and auditoriums. Me and a few of the dance girls got out a couple times to sneak a piece of pie or something, but mostly, it was just work. Holding babies that didn’t want to be held and pressing palms and giving speeches that someone else wrote for me,” Steve pointed out. “I’m Captain America and I’ve never really seen America.”

Sam groaned. “Well, now we have to go, reckon .”

“It’ll be fun,” Steve said and frankly, now Sam was staring because he’d never heard Steve say anything about fun. This was the man, when asked what he enjoyed, hadn’t known. The man who’d had nothing to live for and nothing to look forward to wanted to do a -- fuuuuuuck -- forty day tour of the United States. Two hundred and twenty four hours of driving (nine and a half fucking days) and eight hours a night of sleep and the rest of the time seeing landmarks and climbing mountains and…

On the other hand…

“Just you an’ me?”

Steve’s brow creased. “I don’t want to leave Bucky here alone,” he said. Frankly Sam agreed with that decision. Either Barnes would kill Stark, Stark would kill Barnes, or the two of them would end up having building-smashing amounts of sex. Sam wasn’t sure, in the end, that those three things wouldn’t be the same event.

One of these days, Steve was going to actually listen to the stupid coming out of his mouth and the planet was going to spin right off its axis.

“You want to put a recovering amnesiac/mind control victim in a moving vehicle with nothing to do for hours at a time? Are you sure this is a good plan?” Everyone said Barnes was recovered, or, at least, as recovered as he was going to be. He had a good grip, most of the time, on what was currently happening. He hadn’t had a relapse into Asset behavior in months. But he still wasn’t the guy that Steve had known, he was never going to be that guy again, and Sam just wasn’t sure Steve knew that. He said he knew it, but there was a whole world of difference between head and heart.

Sam knew Riley was dead and gone, had seen it with his own eyes. Which didn’t, from time to time, sneak up behind him and clobber him on the head, because he’d see a thing, hear a joke, and he’d fucking turn to share it… with a man who hadn’t been alive for more than a decade.

Barnes hadn’t been “Bucky” for seventy plus years.

And Steve still kept turning.

Sam took a deep breath and blew it out. He had to go. If nothing else, someone was going to have to run damage control.

For Steve. For Barnes. For the United fucking States.

When oblivion Is calling out your name You always take it further Than I ever can

When you play it hard And I try to follow you there It's not about control But I turn back when I see where you go Are you going to age with grace? Are you going to leave a path to trace? --Oblivion, Bastille

“Bucky Barnes,” he said to the man in the mirror, a face he thought he knew most of the time. He wasn’t startled any more when he saw his reflection. “You were born in 1917. Your best friend is Steve Rogers. It is the year 2017. You are still alive because science is a scary motherfucker.”

State what you know.

That’s what the doctors told him. When he couldn’t remember where he was, or why he was there, start with what you know. Say it out loud, make it real.

“You have blood on your hands. That’s not your fault. But it doesn’t change it.” He was pretty sure the doctors didn’t want him dwelling on that. The courts had found him innocent by reason of insanity for those crimes committed by the Winter Soldier. He’d been twisted and changed and reshaped and reborn. He wasn’t to blame.

They didn’t know, they couldn’t possibly comprehend.

State what you know is true.

“I was James Buchanan Barnes. I was the Winter Soldier. I am Bucky.”

He scrubbed at his face with both hands, feeling the rasp of his beard under his fingers. He liked the beard. He’d never been allowed one before. Not in the Army. Not as the Soldier.

He’d trimmed his hair; it was not quite the same foppish, suave, high-wax, good looking cut he’d had when he was in his twenties. But it was his choice, even if he couldn’t let a professional stylist near his head with scissors. He’d eventually asked the Widow to do it. They knew each other, respected each other’s strength.

She’d cut his hair very close the first time, enough that they both could see the extensive scarring from the surgeries he’d had inflicted on him to install the chip that ran his arm, that controlled his memories. That let him survive cryo. They’d never cut it that short again.

His face was both familiar and unfamiliar. A stranger. The person he was becoming, now that he had a person to become.

Maybe.

“Captain Rogers is here to see you,” the bland, lightly-accented computer voice told him from the ceiling.

He nodded. “Let ‘im in. Thank you.” He liked the computer; it was like living one of those dimestore novels he used to like to read.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice, in the living room. The suite was small, but well laid out. Nicely decorated.

He hated it. Hated living there. Every stick of furniture was a gift from Stark. Even if he’d gone out and chosen it himself, just living at the compound was a… death of a thousand cuts. He owed too much to that man. Every second of every day, he was drowning in reminders. The callous kindness was lemon juice on top of it. Torment by negligent niceness.

“Stevie,” he said, wanting to take Steve’s hand and still not really being sure that was allowed. He was okay in his memories of what had happened recently. He had some of the ones from being the Soldier (more than he wanted, really). It was the war, and before the war where he was unclear what was real and what had been dreams. “Wilson.” Because Wilson was just behind Steve. Steve’s new right hand man.

“We were wondering if you’d… want to join us,” Steve said. Hesitant, like Steve often was. If it wasn’t battle, Steve was floundering.

“For?”

Words were still hard. There was an allotment of them, and he’d used quite a few during the therapy.

“Road trip,” Wilson said. He flashed that little gap-toothed smile, but it was accompanied by the shifting eyes and tilt of his head that indicated that he wasn’t -- precisely -- happy. Wilson was complicated.

“Cross-country touring,” Steve clarified. He pulled out a map and spread it out. A red line was drawn on roads all over the United States.

He glanced at the map; his brain pulled up corresponding missions. “Why?”

“I’ve never seen it,” Steve said. Lying.

“And?”

Steve’s mouth twitched, the lower lip trembled, and his eyes got a little wider.

He sighed. He was helpless against Steve’s pouting, puppy dog face. He always had been. “What’s the other reason.” Not a question; he wasn’t going anywhere without getting the full debrief.

“Stark wants me gone. He’s not wrong. We’re not… we’re not healing, we’re just hurting each other.”

Dark jolt of anger up his spine. Stubborn punk. Arrogant ass. They, neither of them, could let the wound heal because they were both in love with the knife. They both thought the blade belonged in the other person. And until they could see that the knife was the winner, no matter what happened, they weren’t going to be able to let it go.

Steve was right, though. Proximity wasn’t helping.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” “Road trip,” he clarified. “Okay. I’m in.”

If you life this fic, consider buying me a kofi

[mthaytr]

Could you do 1, 4, 27, and the writing advice one from the writing ask post you reblogged? Thanks! Either way I think you're a swell human being and your writing is a DELIGHT! I hope you have a wonderful week!

1, 4, 27 and writing advice it is!!

1). What inspires you?

UH official Yuri on Ice art??? It’s all so full of like. Meaningful Shit XD. Or adorable shit??? Either way. But having a great conversation with someone is also incredibly inspiring; so is getting to be outside after a rainstorm in the summer. Going someplace new! Also I have a habit of going to restaurants by myself and drinking and eavesdropping on the people around me and this is incredibly inspirational XD

Also stores full of either really old stuff or really tacky/useless decorative stuff, i LOVE that shit? I love looking at it, it makes me really happy. Gimme a set of fake antlers covered in gold paint and mount that shit on my grave, son.

4) Name three writers who were influential to your work and why

MmmmMMMMmmmMMM. Mary Shelley taught me about the unreliable narrator and just how fucking useful they are; Hiromu Arakawa taught me to balance tragedy with comedy and to ground it all in character; Madeline L'engle taught me what words could do to you, and that writing starts with asking a question.

27) Best review you ever got

FffffFFFFF FUCK um it’s so hard to choose but, probably the best one I ever got was the first time @tierfal reviewed a fic of mine; I lost my fucking mind. I probably screamed, i definitely showed it to everybody i was living with, I absolutely was in a state of giddy disbelief for at LEAST the rest of the day.

Other than that, I will always remember how one longtime reader (shoutout @repentantheroes) said she saw that I had updated while she was in her car, and she actually pulled over into a parking lot to read the chapter because she couldn’t wait till she got home.

WRITING ADVICE

A) Read a lot. Pay attention to what you’re reading. When you find a sentence you love, highlight that sentence. Maybe write it down a bunch of times until you remember it. Keep a little logbook or something of your favorite sentences and words. I keep about 2000 different docs in the notes app on my ipad. Whatever works for you XD

B) Read – and memorize! – poetry. Nothing trains you to use words and grammatical structures in weird and wonderful ways more than memorizing poetry.

C) Find someone who really loves your work and is on or near your level to discuss your writing with. You do not necessarily want to be asking for critique from people who are a whole lot better than you; this can be more discouraging than it is helpful. Finding someone who is on your level can allow a freedom of conversation and free-flowing suggestions from both sides that can really improve both of you as writers – and it’s fun!

D) If you’re actually planning on writing a thing, don’t necessarily share all your ideas with that person, or any of your other friends. I’ve found that a lot of times when I get really excited and share everything I’ve thought of in a chat window, my motivation to actually WRITE the thing disappears because I’ve already gotten the emotional response that I care most about XD. So consider refraining! Whipping yourself and your friends into an emotional frenzy over your headcanons is its own kind of fun and I wouldn’t give it up for the WORLD but it does not, in my experience, necessarily lead to that story actually getting written XD though for some of you, maybe it’s different!

E) Tryyyyyy to stop judging what you write. That’s the surest way not to write anything at all. In trying to be a /good/ writer, you will often stop yourself from being any kind of writer, and that is what I like to refer to as Not Ideal. If you have to turn your judging brain off by repeating “I am an amazing writer” twenty times before you start writing, great! If you do it by writing in crayon so your brain won’t take it seriously, also great! If you have to write in the margins of your class notes so you’re distracted from judging, also fantastic! I personally find that going out to someplace loud, like a restaurant or bar, and writing there really helps me, because there’s so much else going on that I can’t focus enough to judge whatever I’m producing XD

F) First drafts are for putting SOMETHING down on the page, second drafts are for making it good. If you write something genuinely terrible, you can always fix it later. Just keep moving. You’re like a fuckin shark; keep moving or you’ll die. Don’t worry about whatever you /just/ wrote – keep going forward.

G) I do not always take all of my own advice XD. I am very bad at some of them. I know how hard shit like not judging yourself can be. But I also know that the only times I get anything done are the times when I’m following it :’D so I hope it was useful for you??!?