#Perhaps over the years some of you have been lulled into a false sense of security by having someone still around with the keys to the wiki.

[agallimaufryofoddments]

Anon: Hey, can I ask if the wiki has spoilers for anything after the latest localized volume?

Me: Bold of you to assume the entire wiki is updated to the latest localized volume.

[joequiinn]

When the Wolfsbane Blooms | part i | e.m. x reader au

Summary | September 1916. Edward Munson is back in Hawkins after 13 years, returning to live with his uncle who serves as groundskeeper to the Talbot Estate. Upon his return it’s as if nothing has changed... except the Talbot daughter, who wasn’t nearly so striking back when they were children. But a strange danger seems to coincide with Eddie’s arrival, and all it takes is one fateful night to expose him to exactly what this danger is…

Warnings & Notes | 18+, angsty horror romance, fem reader, depictions of violence and death, smut and nsfw themes, reader last name for plot purposes, use of some 3rd person narrative, historical inaccuracies

Author's Notes | Sooo, this was supposed to be a oneshot for Halloween, but the plot got away from me, and now we've got a big fic. Due to the premise and time period, Eddie may be ooc, but I tried my best to make him fit the era, and the vibes are so worth it!

WC | 10.3k

!! MINORS DNI !!

“The way you walked was thorny…”

August 1900

The Talbot Estate was a wonder in the late summer, its grounds awash with blooming colors of calendulas and borages, of dahlias and cosmos. To you, it seemed the soil was rich with magic and splendor, for how could the hands of man ever maintain something quite so beautiful? It couldn’t be the hard work of the groundskeeper, always watering and weeding, slaving away under the hot sun for the sake of your family’s gardens - no, it was clearly the power of fairies or sprites that grew the flowers so vivid and the trees so high.

Although the extensive gardens were forever stunning, you favored the surrounding fields as your playground instead, the wild and untamed things far more exciting than the lavish flowerbeds and neat rows of vegetables. It was the rolling hills and woodlands of the seemingly endless Talbot Estate where wonder truly lied, although many days you may have been the only one to see it. Surrounded by the tall grass and wildflowers and imposing trees, you were an explorer - not a mere girl of eight, but a true adventurer of the world, awaiting her next great discovery.

When the days were warm and the sun was high, you could always be found skipping over tangling tree roots or lying amongst the wild helenium. And such is where you were found this lovely August afternoon, snuck upon by the groundskeeper's ward, Edward, the only person in the entire world perhaps more rascally than yourself; or so you thought, as your whole world had only ever consisted of your family grounds and the nearby town of Hawkins.

“You’ll be stung to death if you lie here all day.” The boy’s playful words startled you out of your lazy reverie, having been soothed nearly to sleep by the buzzing of insects around your head. He plopped down to sit beside you, his knobby knee bumping your leg with impatient, childish glee. With a smile wide enough to show off your two missing teeth, you sat up eagerly with a stretch of your arms, your dress wrinkled and the hem stained green from the grass; grass so tall you were both hidden from sight, like two predators stalking their prey.

“The bees wouldn’t dare sting me, we’re good friends.” You argued, delighting in the way Edward grinned back at you and your fanciful way of thinking. He made a conspiratory look, that familiar face he always pulled when he was about to share a tall tale - Edward had always been a storyteller, and you the ever attentive listener.

“You think of them as your friends?” He leaned forward, and so you did the same, coming close enough that he could whisper his closely guarded secret, “No, they fool you. Their queen has it out for you, you know, she’s instructed they play nice to lull you into a false sense of security.”

You giggled into your dirt-covered hand, Edward’s eyes twinkling at how easily he could amuse you, “And what does the queen have against me?”

Although he was only nine years old (nearly ten, he had a habit of reminding you recently), Edward had such control of his face that sometimes you thought he was ninety. His expression became gravely serious, he looked around as if fearful the bees may hear the two of you, leaning even closer while cupping his hand around your ear to keep those pesky eavesdroppers from listening.

“She is jealous. You are like Snow White, ‘a thousand times more fair.’”

Your cheeks grew hot, so easily charmed by Edward’s words; you hid behind your hands, smile large and eyes shining. His own ears were pink despite the proud, confident look on his face; you stared at one another, both nearly too embarrassed to speak.

“Eddie, you are a terrible liar.” You said with a grin, nervously picking at the grass by your feet, getting its threads stuck beneath your fingernails.

“Liar?” He questioned mischievously, “But it was no exaggeration.”

You stared at your feet, unable to look him in the eye. You were too young to truly understand the vastness of emotions blooming between you two this past summer, to know exactly the words for why you looked upon this silly boy as if he were the sun. But you were intelligent enough to know that you felt for him differently than you had before, to know that perhaps this was some child-like semblance of puppy love.

You carefully glanced up at him through your lashes, another conspiring look passing between the two of you, “If you’re caught speaking like that, Edward Munson, they may force you to marry me.”

With a charmed smile, Edward shook his head, eyes alight as he stared back at you, “Oh, Ms. Talbot, I don’t think they’ll allow it.”

“Good.” You said defiantly, rising to your feet and dusting off your skirts, useless as it may be. You squinted against the sunlight as you looked across the fields; your family estate in the distance was like a foreboding beacon, one you quickly turned your gaze from, “Marriage wouldn’t suit me, I have the whole world to see, and a husband would simply hold me back.”

Edward stood with you, the breeze ruffling his hair as he stretched his arms up in the air, fingers splaying wide as if he could brush the clouds in the sky, “But do we not have the whole world here at our fingertips already?”

You two shared an innocent smile, and without a word of warning you quickly spun around and began traipsing through the flowers and weeds, happily going along knowing that Edward was sure to follow. His footfall was merely a step behind you, although with his long legs he could very easily surpass you in stride should he choose. But dutifully he allowed you to lead, and so you pumped your arms and legs a little faster.

“And what is here that I can’t find out there?” You questioned eagerly, bursting out of the grassiest part of the field which neighbored a small pond, one of many scattered about the expansive Talbot Estate. Bugs skated across the water’s surface, a bird glided past your head, a frog croaked somewhere from within a log.

“I’d bet there’s acres of this land that you haven’t seen.” Edward challenged, and you wondered if he’d grown taller recently - why did it feel as if you had to crane your head to look at him more than you did yesterday? You crossed your arms with a smart look, suspecting that he knew something that you didn’t, if that mischievous twinkle in his eye was any indicator.

“And you have?”

The excited smile that overtook his entire face was only confirmation that he had something to share, some new discovery that he was certain you’d absolutely delight in, “Do you know there’s a chapel on your family’s grounds?”

You made a curious face, having never heard about it before. Where could it possibly be hiding, and why had you not previously known of it? You shook your head with disbelief, although you were certainly eager for Edward to follow through and reveal this chapel’s secret hiding place to you.

“If we have a chapel, why hasn’t my father ever shown it to me?” You asked defiantly, debating that perhaps Edward was trying to trick you.

He gave the kind of noncommittal shrug that only a child could, his face showing annoyance that you didn’t believe him, “Maybe he doesn’t know either.”

“But he knows everything.” You argued with silly logic, causing Edward to laugh a little. That was the difference between eight years old and nearly ten years old, the difference between wealth and poverty - he’d stopped believing that his father knew everything long ago.

“I’ll show you.” He insisted stubbornly, although the light in his rich brown eyes gave away his excitement. Your own innocent expression grew wide with exhilaration, eager to see this supposed chapel with your own two eyes.

All it took was for you to nod once, and Edward grabbed your hand, running clumsily over rocks and through brush towards the most northern end of the Talbot property. It wasn’t an easy area to trek, less kempt than the rest of the estate, trees growing taller and wider as it edged along the expansive forest. Perhaps that’s why you’d never seen this chapel, as the northern property seemed far and wide, intimidating even the most adventurous of small children.

But with Edward’s companionship, the journey was exciting, full of wonder and endless curiosity. Eventually, you tugged your hand from his own, struggling to keep up with his longer legs, although you didn’t dare stop moving, else you might lose him amongst the brush and trees. You two laughed at nothing, simply happy for each other’s company, running and running for what felt like an eternity.

The roll of hills slowed you down, the tangle of branches caused brief pauses, but eventually Edward came to a stop, doubling over with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. His cheeks were splotchy pink as his chest moved quickly, and you yourself had to sit upon a stump thanks to the burning of your calves. From your vantage point, you looked around, a chapel nowhere in sight, and you very nearly whipped your disappointed gaze onto Edward, to scold him for tricking you like this.

That is, until you finally saw it.

Peaking over bright green leaves, a stone spire just barely protruded, practically lost among the foliage. You gawked while rising back to your feet, both shocked and excited to see that Edward was, in fact, speaking the truth. The two of you shared a look, his face satisfied to be proven right, and you once more smiled from ear to ear before stomping down the hill to find the rest of the building.

The chapel stood derelict and decrepit, clearly forgotten about after what must have been a long time. The bricks were covered in moss and lichen, ivy crawling its way up corners and railings, abandoned birds’ nests littering windowsills and the belfry. Even from here, you could see that parts of the roof had caved in, that pieces of stone had worn away from the hands of time.

But curiously, the flowers appeared well-kept, planted fresh in spite of the chapel’s abandonment. It was a flower you recognized from your books of botany, although you weren’t quite certain yet which plant it was - amongst your books there were many beautifully drawn depictions of purple flowers upon sprawling stalks. What would compel someone to return to this ramshackle structure simply to maintain its blooms, you wondered.

You and Edward shared a look of both fear and excitement - although it was unspoken, you both had the sense that you weren’t supposed to be here, and that sent a buzz through your entire body. There was something daunting about the chapel, perhaps something even dangerous, and yet the thrill of that risk was all too gripping to ignore.

You tried to put on a brave face, even as you reached for Edward’s hand again; you held your chin high as if to hide your nerves, acting as if you grabbed his hand not for your sake, but for his. And he said nothing on the matter, squeezing your fingers in his own for reassurance, the both of you slowly approaching the imposing structure.

Those curious purple flowers kept your attention as you drew closer, the way they were planted all around the edges of the chapel - they were practically four walls of their own, a fence of sorts as if to adorn what was housed inside. Drawing closer, Edward reached his fingertips towards the enchanting petals, but you tugged at his other hand, as if the imminent danger suddenly jogged your little botanist memory.

“They’re poisonous.” The words fell delicately from your lips, Edward giving you a quizzical look as the pair of you stopped. You studied the flowers with trepidation, shrinking away from their reach, “Wolfsbane.”

Of course you should have remembered that sooner - your father had an entire encyclopedia of poisonous plants that you found far more fascinating than all the rest. You’d always had an interest in plantlife, even before you could read, so as you grew your father showed you the corner of the library dedicated to such a subject, allowing you to marvel over the pictures while tripping over the Latin names scrawled upon the pages. That book of poisonous plants was one of your favorites, perhaps because of all the beautiful colors that masked the dangers lying just within - but you were too young to read into the deeper meaning of that.

Edward continued the trek forward, tugging at your hand so that you would follow. When you reached the rotted, termite infested doors, he gave a firm push, but they wouldn’t budge. With a determined furrow of his brow, Edward looked around for another way in, but even the shattered windows were too high for you to safely climb. So, he tried forcing the door again; it was once you began to help that it finally began to scrape along the stone floor, the sound grating to your ears as the two of you huffed with each insistent push.

Finally, there was enough space for the two of you to slink inside, and you shared a daunted look with one another now that the path was clear.

“You go first.” You whispered, and Edward’s eyes widened a little, affronted at your instruction.

“Me?”

“Eddie, please.” You requested, swallowing nervously. You looked around, as if fearful that you’d be caught now that you’d gotten this far into your journey.

Edward sucked in his lips and looked at the gap in the door, into the imposing darkness, debating if it was too late to turn back now. He slowly returned his gaze to you, as if afraid that if he turned his back on the dark, it may swallow him whole.

“Hold my hand.” He requested, and you obliged without question or hesitation. You both pressed your backs to the door, shuffling in one right behind the other, feet carefully gliding as you went together into the foreboding chapel.

Despite the fearful drumming of your heart, you were put at ease by sunlight streaming in through the deteriorated roof and ruined windows. You exhaled deeply, sharing another look with Edward as you unclasped your clammy hands.

“Nothing to be afraid of.” He said with ease, as if to calm the both of you down. The corner of your mouth pulled up in a weak grin before you finally looked around the small chapel around you.

The floor was littered with dust and debris, scattered with feathers and leaves. The pews were in tattered pieces, the podium left abandoned on its side; one iron candelabrum still stood tall, melted wax molded upon its holders, but its brethren had fallen much like everything else. You gasped a little at the sight of bones near your feet, but held in the desire to shout with disgust. But then your eyes caught a dried, coppery trail from the bones to the door just behind you, and your heart rate spiked with puzzled fear.

Edward slowly walked past the shredded, crumbling pews, taking careful steps as he approached what was once the altar; where candles should have rested, instead there were more bones and abandoned bits of nature. But you could tell, even while watching his back, that something peculiar caught his eye, and you bit your lip with hesitation.

“Eddie…?”

He reached out towards the ground beside the altar, the sound of scrapping metal making you cringe as he picked something up. He turned around with the cumbersome material in hand, revealing to you a rusted chain weight down by a shackle. Another pang of panic drummed in your chest, finding this place no longer exciting and worth exploring, but rather ominous and frightening - you were not supposed to be here.

Letting your eyes wander, you realized that wasn’t the only chain, that another could be found just opposite of where Edward stood; he seemed to realize the same thing, looking back at you with alarmed eyes, although this place made the darkness of his eyes unnerving instead of comforting.

“I think there’s a reason your dad never brought you here…” His voice was edgy, face appearing nearly gaunt in the low lighting.

“Maybe he doesn’t know.” You countered, although it was clear that you’d only said that for your own comfort. Something told you that your father was most certainly aware of whatever happened in this chapel, although you weren’t sure how you could tell such a thing. A shiver ran up your spine, a sensation so cold that you wrapped your arms around yourself, nervously digging your fingernails into your skin, “I think we should go.”

Edward nodded even as he continued to look around, as if he couldn’t help his innate curiosity to see more, to understand what secrets lie here on Talbot property - you could see in his face that despite the potential peril, he was desperate to know more.

Behind you, the door abruptly scratched agonizingly along the floor, causing you to scream and Edward to drop the chains with a raucous clang as he shouted. In the same breath, you attempted to run towards Edward while spinning to face the sudden danger, causing yourself to trip and fall to the floor. The palms of your hands scraped across stone and dirt and bone, instantly sore as you scrambled towards the altar on all fours.

But before you could even make it a couple feet, something grabbed the back of your dress and pulled, causing you to shout again; you briefly caught a glimpse of Edward’s face in the chaos, and although there was fear alight in his eyes, it certainly wasn’t the kind of terror that you had expected.

“What in God’s name are you two doing here?” Your father’s distraught voice bellowed in your ear, ringing menacingly off the walls. He forced you to your feet with another strong yank, turning you around to face him; you assumed that his face would be red with anger, that his eyes would be full of rage, that his nostrils would flare with fury. But instead, what you saw was horror.

The chaos of the moment made your head spin, and suddenly tears were pricking at your eyes, lips quivering with shaken breath; you cried even as you tried to fight it, eyes locked with your father’s as his alarm melted into worry.

“We didn’t know--!” You attempted to explain, but your emotions made you stutter and trip over your words, making a hiccup leap from your throat.

Your father’s eyes were so caring and apprehensive as he knelt before you, large hands gently grasping yours for reassurance; but as his gaze looked past your shoulder and towards Edward, who was still frozen with fear at the altar, something changed. There was a darkness that seemed to suddenly shroud his eyes, a cruelty knitting his brows and a foreboding suspicion twisting his face. The expression was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, as if your father was seeing something that you didn’t.

Your father rose to his feet, his posture menacing as outrage overtook his face, “You brought her here!”

He released your hands, pointing an accusatory finger at Edward, whose hands were trembling, face pale with alarm. Your father’s shout caused your blubbering to grow worse, but he stepped around you as if you were forgotten, moving as if he intended on causing harm.

“Do you have any idea what kind of danger is in this place? And you brought her here!?”

You watched the confrontation with absolutely helplessness, feeling terror at the sight of your father acting so savage. Frantically, Edward looked around in search of some means of escape, knowing he didn’t stand a chance trying to run past your father and out the door. Your ears rang, vision blurry from tears, as you prayed that nothing bad would happen to him, that maybe your father would show mercy despite his animal-like aggression.

“I-- I didn’t…” Edward was at a loss for words, far too terrified to defend himself. You saw his eyes flick towards one of the shattered windows, clearly gauging if he could make the climb, if he could make the jump; your father saw this too, taking one large, threatening step in the direction of the window to flex his power over the situation.

“I always knew you were trouble, but I could never see it until now.” Your father insulted through his teeth as if he’d had some kind of revelation, his body tense with anger.

“I’m not--” Edward sounded so weak, so petrified; another hiccup interrupted your crying, a weak sound whining in your throat as if to protest your father’s actions.

“Aren’t you?” Did your father nearly sound amused by that? Why did it seem that his words were laced with a mocking malice, as if there were a smile upon his face?

Despite knowing the odds weren’t in his favor, Edward made an abrupt dash for the broken window, using the pews beneath as leverage to jump up and grab hold of the sill littered with broken stained glass. Your father moved only a second later, ever determined to grab the offensive boy and teach him a lesson.

But by some miracle, Edward managed to climb up despite crying out in pain, glass stabbing into his palms as he yanked himself up and over, the shattered remains of the window ripping his pants as he briefly straddled the sill before dropping out of your sight. Your father was just moments too late, angrily clenching his fist around the air in front of him with an enraged growl.

You stared out the window at the green leaves swaying tranquilly in the wind, as if to contradict what had just happened here; you sighed with relief that Edward managed to get away. Tears continued to stream down your face, but you felt numb, as if all the anxiety and fear had drained you of anything else.

When your father turned back around, his expression was far too calm considering the circumstances of what had just transpired; he took deep breaths through his nose, fighting to compose himself. It almost looked as if shame flashed across his eyes as he looked pitifully down at you, as if he realized that he’d behaved dreadfully, frighteningly, that he’d acting like an animal in front of you.

He approached and scooped you into his arms; despite everything, you still clung to him, resting your head on his shoulder as your crying slowly began to mellow out.

“I’m so sorry, my darling, I’m so sorry…” He repeated the apology over and over and over again as he carefully stepped out of the chapel, mindful of protecting your small body as he moved lightly on his feet. He briskly walked down the uneven cobbled steps and past the blockade of wolfsbane as he comfortingly rubbed your back, his voice attempting to sooth your tears.

Despite their dangerous, poisonous nature, you found comfort in the flowers’ purple-hued petals.

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September 1916

Eddie Munson would never have predicted he’d return to Hawkins one day; a few years ago, he would have bet all the money in the world that he’d never see his hometown again. No, once his father showed up following a five year disappearance, insisting that his young son hit the road with him, little Edward barely looked back. It wasn’t for a hatred of his home, nor for any troubles with his uncle, the man who practically raised him - but it was some youthful whimsy and desire, his childlike need to see what was beyond his front door. He was only twelve when his father returned, and as such he thought there would be great adventures to be had, falling for all the promises of happiness laid at his feet.

Of course, it didn’t take long for trouble to start. It seemed that everywhere Alan and Edward Munson went, bad things followed - an arrest in one city, a get-rich-quick scheme in another, a string of debt so long that they’d never see the end of it. As a boy, Eddie hadn’t quite realized how bad it was; but as the years took their toll, he found himself longing for a way back home.

He missed the cozy little cottage shared with his uncle, the smell of the gardens just yards from their front porch, the joys once shared with the Talbot daughter who he had no right to be friends with. All that time away had nearly caused him to forget his childhood friend, his companion in an otherwise lonely world; but once he began to crave his home in Hawkins, Eddie often found himself reveling in the memories of their days spent together. 

The familiarity and comfort of home had been calling out to Eddie, it had become a beacon of hope as times with his father grew worse and worse, his tolerance for this life wearing thin. So, Eddie came up with a scheme of his own, hiding money in tricky ways because his father knew all the usual tactics, mapping out which city they blew through would make his departure the easiest and the quickest.

Really, he could have left at any time - he was a man now, he no longer had to do as he was told, no longer needed permission before making decisions for himself. But Al was a trickster of a man, so much so that he’d find a way to manipulate his boy into staying simply because Eddie was a valuable asset to him.

They were up in Michigan when Eddie finally made his move as his father slept off his drunken haze in the dingy boarding house they’d taken residence in the past month. Eddie had been writing to Wayne for some weeks now, informing the man of his plan and its progression; although Eddie feared his abandoned uncle would want nothing to do with him, the words of forgiveness in his letters were a reassurance on Eddie’s doubtful heart.

When Eddie and Al first settled in upon their arrival in Michigan, Eddie took what chances he could to call the Talbot Estate, hoping to speak with his uncle in preparation - it was shocking to him when his first call was answered by Magda, the elderly housekeeper who had worked for the family Eddie’s entire life. Again, he felt trepidation, but the woman seemed pleased to hear from him, although once she’d been informed of Eddie’s return, she worried over Sir Talbot’s reaction.

That nearly made Eddie’s heart drop into his stomach, fearful that he wouldn’t be welcomed back simply because of a foolish day from sixteen years ago. As if able to read his mind - which was always a startling trait of Magda’s - she reassured him that she’d discuss the subject with her boss, that she’d put the man’s mind at ease. Of all the staff of the estate, Sir Talbot trusted Magda with his life, and if there was anyone that could change his opinion about a matter, it would certainly be her.

And so with everything set, Eddie left for the train station without a single look back, accepting easily that he’d likely never see his father again.

Once he set foot on the depot platform in Hawkins following a near two-day trip, Eddie was struck by how little his hometown had changed - yes, Hawkins was keeping up with the times as best it could, but it was as if the air felt exactly as it did the day he left in 1903. And as he rode through town alongside a farmer willing to give him a lift, he took in that comforting familiarity of the buildings and the roads and the people who hadn’t seemed to change at all.

As a boy, he hadn’t left the Talbot Estate often - Wayne’s job was sometimes all-consuming, so if Eddie did come into Hawkins proper, it was at the side of one of the maids collecting goods, and eager little Eddie was always first to volunteer his assistance. When Wayne was so busy that he couldn’t keep an eye on his boy, the maids took care of Eddie, giving him tasks to stay occupied, teaching him skills that may or may become handy in the future; if it weren’t for one maid in particular, Eddie probably would have been illiterate for half his life.

The streets of Hawkins seemed fresh with new cobbles, many shops with new coats of paint, and more people seemed to congest every direction that he looked - Eddie knew Hawkins had changed more than he thought, and yet that sense of home made it look exactly as it did thirteen years ago.

The farmer dropped Eddie off outside the tall, rod iron gates of the Talbot Estate, their size far less imposing now that he was no longer a child, although there was always something ominous about this property. It was as if there was a darkness surrounding his childhood home, one that only he could ever see, some mystery that he didn’t have all the clues to.

Eddie had to take a moment to simply stare at the estate - at the mansion sat atop a hill, at the surrounding fields losing their color with the arrival of autumn. He smiled fondly to himself despite the intimidating quality that seemed to hang in the air - this was his home and nothing made him happier than being back here.

With a sigh of anticipation, Eddie hiked his bag back up onto his shoulder and forced open one of the gates, stones crunching underfoot as he began to make the short hike up the property and towards the plot of land dedicated to staff housing. As he followed the twists and turns of the driveway, the mansion grew more imposing, Eddie’s gaze jumping from window to window, wondering if someone was watching him or if that was a silly sensation made up in his head.

The staff homes were all small cottages clustered to the northwest of the property - not a terribly far distance from the front gates, but it felt much farther on foot. Eventually, the top of the roofs came into sight, one chimney lazily blowing smoke; Eddie’s steps grew faster, stride longer, as he all but rushed towards the family front steps of his childhood home.

With it being mid-morning,Wayne was nowhere to be found - considering just how much of the property he maintained, mostly on his own, Eddie could guess at least half a dozen places that his uncle may be right now.

So, he deposited his feeble belongings atop the cot that was waiting for him, and approached the Talbot mansion, suddenly feeling a nervous tightening in his chest as he went - would Sir Talbot still frown upon him as if he were trouble just waiting to happen? Would his daughter shun Eddie due to too many years apart? He had to steady himself as he grew closer, taking deep breaths and reminding himself not to overthink as he rang the doorbell - Magda had assured him things would be fun, and that woman never went back on her words.

The butler who answered was a new face to Eddie, which meant he had to explain himself and his presence - he had hoped that perhaps Murray would still be on staff, as it would have been comforting for familiar faces to be greeting him instead. He was half-tempted to ask for Magda purely to help himself relax, but he thought it best to first reacquaint himself with Sir Talbot, considering that he’d be living on the man’s property once again should all go well.

So, introductions aside, the new butler allowed Eddie entry, instructing him to wait in the front hall before disappearing in the direction of Sir Talbot’s office. The mansion hadn’t changed one bit, the art on the walls the same pieces Eddie had seen dozens of times before, the carpet beneath his feet the exact one that he accidentally tracked mud on when he was first learning how to garden. And yet, the familiarity did not stop the drumming of his heart, the anxious little twitch of his hands - ever since that frightening summer day so many years ago, Eddie had never quite looked upon Sir Lawrence Talbot the same way.

Eddie was eventually escorted to the extravagant office, one of the only rooms in the home he hadn’t seen before; the butler announced his arrival, bowed his head, and briskly left the two men alone. Before Sir Talbot sat a stack of papers that he stared at harshly, but it was evident that his mind was elsewhere; nervously, Eddie assumed the man was simply collecting himself before daring to have this inevitable conversation.

When Sir Talbot finally looked over the frame of his glasses, the look in his eyes was nearly startling to Eddie - there was something unspoken in that stare, some kind of secret in the man’s eyes. Talbot’s demeanor became chilly as he studied Eddie closely, his gaze harsh and cutthroat as he looked the younger man up and down in scrutiny.

Growing nervous, Eddie nodded his head in greeting, hoping that his anxieties were written too plainly across his face, “Sir.”

Silently, Talbot looked him over again, assessing the man who he last saw as a boy. When he finally locked his eyes with Eddie’s again, they were coldly unreadable.

“Edward Munson… how you’ve changed.” Sir Talbot finally spoke, his voice still that same strong timber that it used to be. He rose to his feet, removing his glasses with a faint sigh; Eddie was almost dismayed to see that this man was still just as tall as ever, for he’d led himself to believe that Talbot only seemed tall because all those years ago he was an adolescent.

Keeping his shoulders squared and chin high, Eddie kept his eyes on the older man, who rounded his massive oak desk in a slow approach, Eddie suddenly feeling like prey. Once the two men were standing mere feet across from each other, there was a pause, a tense stillness in the air as Eddie held his breath in anticipation.

Wordlessly, Sir Talbot offered his hand - it was not a warm and welcoming gesture, but Eddie knew better than to turn it down. So, Eddie moved to shake the man’s hand, however, Talbot grabbed him by the wrist and turned his palm to face the ceiling; his grip wasn’t rough, but it was certainly insistent. With a confused look, Eddie watched Talbot’s face - the other man’s eyes studied his skin as if he knew palmistry, as if there was some hidden message in the lines of Eddie’s hand.

Talbot’s sharp eyes met Eddie’s abruptly, and the younger hoped that his face conveyed no fear or trepidation. For what felt like an eternity, they stared at one another, Eddie unable to comprehend what could possibly be going on. But a moment later, Sir Talbot nodded as if in confirmation to himself, and finally pressed his palm into Eddie’s for a firm shake.

“Welcome back.” Talbot’s words were far from warm, but he seemed a touch less guarded. Eager to please, Eddie nodded back in thanks as Talbot took back his hand.

“It is good to be back, sir.” Eddie confirmed with a nod, trying to ignore the trepidation he still felt strong as ever. Again, there was something in the man’s gaze that kept Eddie on edge, something that was simply unnerving, “I informed Magda that I’d be returning, although I couldn’t give her a day.”

Talbot nodded while his eyes moved about his office, as if he didn’t want to be looking at Eddie for longer than he had to; there was tension in his shoulders, “I’d heard your return was inevitable.”

Was Talbot always so short with his words? Eddie couldn’t quite remember. Trying to bolster his confidence, Eddie nodded again and took a deep breath, “I’ve come to you first in hopes of offering my services around the estate - I have no intention of living on your land for free, I am no longer a child.”

“No, you certainly aren’t.” Talbot answered in a slow, biting tone that Eddie couldn’t identify. The elder was gazing out the large window, eyes blindly staring out as if in contemplation, hopefully considering Eddie’s offer. When he looked back at the young man, Talbot had a curious expression across his features, “What skills have you acquired while away?”

Eddie swallowed; although he’d been rehearsing this for half the train ride home, it was still so different to be confronted with the actually conversation, to be confronted with the ever imposing man of the house, “I’m knowledgeable in mechanical and electrical devices; I can do any and all hard labor as need be; I’m well acquainted with motor vehicles, both as a driver and as a repairman.”

That last point seemed to catch Talbot’s interest, and so Eddie paused to allow the man to speak, “Motor vehicles? Well, that is a valuable skill.”

Eddie nodded - as motorcars began to grow in popularity these past few years, he’d been more than aware of what opportunities that may offer. Everyone wanted a car, wanted the fun and the luxury of a motor vehicle over a horse and carriage, and so Eddie had decided a couple years back that he would become an expert as best he could, would gain as much knowledge on this new technology as possible.

Talbot continued, “I will not promise you a job, Mr. Munson, however, my own motor car has been troublesome as of late - should you be able to resolve the problem, you have a job here at Talbot Estate.”

Eddie’s expression brightened, although he didn’t want to look too eager - he didn’t want to get his hopes up now that he was offered this challenge. But he gave a quick nod, already thrilling at the prospect of a potential job here at home.

“I’m more than happy to take a look; I can start right now, if you’d like.”

Sir Talbot’s face was once more curious, intrigued to see what Eddie could do, intrigued to see what kind of man he’d become. Talbot’s eyes narrowed slightly in consideration, before he, too, nodded shortly.

“Very well - have Douglas show you to the garage.” Talbot returned to his chair, although he did not yet take a seat, as if he refused to relax until Eddie was out of the room.

“Thank you, sir.” Eddie dipped his head a little, prepared to take his leave.

“And Munson?”

That serious, intimidating tone made Eddie’s heart skip, “Yes, sir?”

Talbot leveled him with a grave look, eyes fierce as they pierced straight into Eddie’s soul, one last domineering show before they parted ways, “Do behave yourself around my daughter. You hear me?”

Nervously, Eddie nodded, swallowing slightly as a cocktail of apprehension and excitement whirled around in his chest at the mention of the Talbot girl, his long lost friend. How much had she changed? How much had she stayed the same? Eddie was oh-so anxious to know, but now was not the time to get roused about it, “Yes, sir.”

Talbot stared for another long, tense moment before giving a small nod of his own, finally lowering back into his stiff leather chair, eyes returning to the paperwork scattered out in front of him as if it took precedence over the man before him, “You may go.”

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

Early afternoon and the sun was high, warm in that cozy way that only seemed to happen in late-September once the season changed. It wasn’t the kind of sweltering warmth felt in the summer months, nor was it laced with the hint of approaching winter winds - it was a stillness, as if everything in the world had come to a pause to enjoy the orange sunlight while it would last.

Eddie had been fussing with Talbot’s motor car for over an hour now, tuning up every little thing just to make sure it was in pristine condition - he had to impress the man, after all, and didn’t want to leave a single stone unturned in his work. The vehicle was a virtually brand-new model, as it was undeniably different from those that Eddie had worked on before. Initially, that made him nervous, made him fearful that he wouldn’t have the right tools or knowledge to make any improvements. But once he began poking around at the motor, it was like an intuitive instinct made this new car make sense, and he became lost in his work.

Between the heat and the effort, Eddie’s body was already sticky with sweat; he’d stripped his coat and his vest and his tie, rolled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt, but it was only temporary relief. His hands were covered in grime, and more than once he swiped at his hair or rubbed sweat from his brow only to curse, knowing that trailing his fingers there would be streaks of oil left behind.

As Eddie grumbled to himself, focusing intently as he knelt beside the engine, the sounds of another car driving up the gravel met his ears, and as it drew closer cheerful voices accompanied it. Perhaps the help returning from town, or a visitor joining Talbot for luncheon; regardless, Eddie kept his head down, nearly done with the task he was doing.

The vehicle came to a grinding stop, although the engine continued running, a blend of voices eagerly overlapping one another, laughter harmonizing in a joyous, youthful way that made Eddie furrow his brow. Reaching a good stopping point, he set down his tool and stood, looking out from the open garage door to assess the visitors to the estate; he reached for a rag, already filthy, and attempted to clean his hands in vain.

The driver was a young man accompanied by three women, all of whom appeared near Eddie in age; a realization struck him in that moment, his heart beating faster as his eyes began to dart from face to face, searching for those ever familiar eyes, that ever comforting smile. The group in the car was chaotic, high energy as they made one another laugh, throwing their arms around with hyperactivity as they continued whatever stories and jokes they’d been telling on the drive up. For a moment, the disarray was distracting, but of course, it should have been obvious which of the three women was the one he was searching for--

The woman in the lilac sundress; purple has always been your favorite color, after all.

Eddie took a sharp breath once he finally had the chance to study you; thirteen years felt like it was melting away in an instant as he took in how you’d changed, how you’d stayed the same.

Your hair was still that same lovely color, especially out here in the sunlight. Your smile was still dazzling, bright enough to light up an entire room, especially now that you’d grown into it. Your body language was still as light and carefree as ever, having not lost any of the joyousness of your youth. Although you were one of three women in the vehicle, you radiated in a way that made you the only person Eddie could see;hHe felt his jaw growing slack as he stared, unable to fight the nervous skipping of his heart, the anxious tingling in his limbs.

You were beautiful, and it very nearly took him aback. It was different from the beauty you had in your youth - when Eddie left, you were only ten and he would’ve deemed you as ‘cute.’ For all of your childhood, he’d heard many people exclaim “she’ll be such a vision one day” or “what a gorgeous lady she’ll become,” but at the time he could not have made such bold predictions.

But now you were a woman, a stunning woman who certainly had no right being so damn lovely to look at. Now, Eddie understood what all those people were talking about when you two were just children, because the proof was right here before him in staggering beauty.

Eddie hadn’t realized he was staring until one of your friends finally noticed him within the shade of the garage, drawing the entire group’s attention. And when you set your sparkling eyes on him, he froze, his tongue heavy with nerves and limbs unable to move. You arched a lovely, curious eyebrow, clearly unfamiliar with this man standing in your family’s garage.

As you stood to climb over your friends and out of the vehicle, you curiously eyed this mystery man, wondering if your father had hired more staff or perhaps called for a specialist to deal with his damn car. The man was covered in grease from head to toe, his shoes scuffed and his curly hair becoming unruly from sweat; the buttons of his shirt were undone halfway done his chest, which was heaving from the labor he’d inevitably been hard at doing. Despite the oddness of his attentive staring, you couldn’t help but think that he was certainly an attractive man, whoever the hell he was.

His expression seemed dumbfounded as he stared at you, as if you were some specter that he couldn’t quite make sense of. But there was something about that look that reminded you of someone, that seemed familiar although you couldn’t place why.

Your name being spoken drew your attention, your friends saying their farewells and reminding you about dinner plans you had for tomorrow night; you smiled largely, confirming you wouldn’t forget, as you closed the car door behind you. Billy ripped out of the driveway, just like he always did, far too fond of fast driving and reckless behavior; the speed of the car driving off blew your hair back, the hat securely tied around your neck fluttering in the breeze. Your friends turned in their seats just so they could keep waving goodbye, giggling together as you histrionically waved back for their entertainment.

Once the trio was out of sight - although a dirt cloud was left in their wake - you turned back around, spying the mechanic out of the corner of your eye, seeing the way he sheepishly tried to pretend he hadn’t been staring at you this entire time. It made you smirk just a little, amused by whoever he was, growing yet again curious as to who he could possibly remind you of. Instead of walking to the house, you took leisurely steps towards the open garage, noticing the way the man fumbled with the tool he’d just picked up, which nearly made you giggle.

“Are you here to take that dreaded vehicle off father’s hands?” You questioned with something of a playful tone, clasping your gloved hands behind your back as you continued the stroll up the drive. Amusement flashed across the man’s face as he stared down, aimlessly cleaning the tool with a rag that was filthy; his energy was cautious, and something about that made you want to bring his guard down.

“I couldn’t afford it, miss.” His tone seemed careful as his eyes turned up, mindfully watching your approach. Your lip quirked with curiosity.

“Shame; all week I’ve had to listen to him complain about how burdensome it is.” You came to a pause in the large doorway, studying the man more closely now that you had a better view of him, now that he wasn’t so obscured by shadows.

There was a softness to his features, from the gentle shape of his lips to the curls brushing across his forehead to even the cleanly kept mustache and beard adorning his jaw. His whole aura seemed to radiate with kind easiness, his expressive brows raised with an innocent wonder, as if he was awaiting something in particular.

But those eyes of his, so dark and doe-like, seemed to have an eternal sadness about them, a sadness buried so deep within the bones that it would never quite go away. That struck you as shockingly familiar - those were eyes you’d seen so many times before, eyes you’d known so well once upon a time.

Now, you were the one frozen with surprise, your brow first raising then furrowing, your lips parting slightly with words that never quite came to you. It couldn’t be the boy you once ran through fields with, the boy who always had a story to tell, the boy who had no expectations of you the way the rest of the world had. He was long gone, giving you a rushed and eager farewell as his father insistently tried to drag him away. And yet…

“Eddie?” Your voice came out a soft whisper, his eyes alighting with elation immediately. You saw the exact moment all his trepidation faded away, when his shoulders relaxed and his lips spread into an incredible, gleaming smile. You laughed a little in disbelief, your own face lighting up despite the fact that you still couldn’t quite comprehend it was him; your smile was so wide and fierce across your lips that your cheeks nearly hurt.

Propriety entirely forgotten, you dashed the short distance between you and Eddie, throwing yourself against him so forcefully and quickly enough that he coughed with surprise, your arms winding tightly around his neck as your laughter continued to ring in his ear. For a moment, he didn’t dare move, growing tense against you, as if he was afraid of touching you; but shortly thereafter, he breathed in your scent and snaked his arms around your middle, his palm pressed firmly against your back as he held you close.

“My god, I can’t believe you’re back.” You said gleefully against his ear, pulling back just enough to look at his matured face, your hands coming up to grab his cheeks as you studied him. Your gaze darted with delight over the planes of his face, taking in his familiar eyes, his new beard, the kind smile on his lips; you were practically awestruck at the sight of him, at the sight of how handsome he’d become, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Eddie’s expression softened as his hands reached up to cup yours, slowly removing them from his sweaty cheeks as if fearful the two of you would be caught like this. He looked between your eyes warmly, the smile now a permanent fixture on his face. His tone seemed nearly apologetic as he answered, “I thought the same.”

You gently wrapped your fingers around his, refusing to let go as you dropped your joined hands between you, “What brought you back?”

Your heart drummed a funny tune in your chest as you continued to gaze upon him, enraptured by the shock of your old friend’s return. Eddie paused to consider his words before answering, dipping his head a little as if sheepish, “I was homesick.”

You smiled at the simple answer, squeezing his hands in yours as a little laugh escaped you, “Oh, don’t tell me you missed this dusty old place; what does it have to offer someone who has surely had so many magnificent adventures?”

Eddie looked back at you as if you were a marvel - even after all this time, you’d held onto your sense of wonder, you continued to crave excitement as if it were the air you breathed. For a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all, as if you were still children sharing tales of the far and wide world that lived inside the depths of your minds. It tugged at Eddie’s heartstrings, a sadness creeping into his thoughts - he had spent so many years away, so many years without sharing stories and relishing in the company of one another. As you stood here with him, hand-in-hand, Eddie felt a deep longing, missing you even as you stared right at him.

“The adventures weren’t nearly as magnificent as you’d like to think.” He answered, to which you pulled a displeased face while waving a hand between you two, as if you were shooing away the words he just said like insects.

“Don’t tell me that. Are you not the same boy who always had a story to tell, whether fact or fiction?” You smiled at him fondly, which prompted him to mirror the expression, unable to resist your charm even now; Eddie figured he’d never quite be able to resist you no matter how hard he tried.

He shook his head with a small laugh, looking down at his feet; he noticed in that moment that he’d gotten oil on your pretty dress, but knowing you, you probably didn’t give a damn, “Don’t worry, I will always entertain you with stories, all you need to do is ask.”

You sighed pleasantly, pulling Eddie back into a quick hug simply because you couldn’t contain the joy you felt, “Is that a promise, Edward Munson?”

“Of course it is, Ms. Talbot.”

Your heart skipped a beat, a pleasant shiver running up your spine; those pesky feelings that had only started to blossom in your youth were already daring to come back, despite the years apart. You tried not to fall victim to folly, and yet the yearning you once had for the groundskeeper’s boy was coming back with even greater conviction, the flame fanned by the excitement of your unexpected reunion.

And it certainly didn’t help that little Eddie had grown up to be a handsome man, so easy on the eyes that you were already convinced you could stare at him for hours if he’d let you. Hell, you could probably spend days admiring that face without ever growing bored of him.

Your cheeks warmed as a yearning look passed between the two of you, and so you dropped your gaze while taking a step back, meandering around the garage as a means to calm yourself down, to hide the attraction you were oh-so clearly feeling towards him, “Tell me about your travels - tell me about all the places you’ve been.”

As you walked with grace and ease, your moves were almost hypnotic; Eddie cringed at the perfect greasy handprint he’d left on the small of your back, at the swipe of grime that was transferred from his cheek to yours - how he hoped that your father wouldn’t see you like this, or else Eddie would be fresh out of luck in gaining a job here at the estate.

You perched upon a large wooden work bench, fussing with your skirts as they twisted around your feet; you both spotted another spill of oil on the lilac fabric, but you simply made an unconcerned face at it before dropping the folds of fabric from your hands. You directed your attention back to Eddie, raising your brows expectantly as an easy smile graced your lips.

Eddie licked his lips with a grin, shaking his head pleasantly while attempting to focus on all the work still to be done on the car, “I’ve been many places, though none appropriate for a woman like you.”

You scoffed with an amused eye roll, “And when have I ever been held back by what is and is not appropriate for me?”

Eddie faintly laughed, “You never have and you never will.”

You leaned forward while resting your hands atop your knees, a wicked look on your face, “And don’t you ever forget it.”

Sharing a familiar laugh, Eddie began to regale you with tales of getting arrested in New York City and Boston, of stirring up trouble in Virginia and Tennessee. His ability for storytelling had only sharpened after so many years, and you found yourself mesmerized by his way with words, the way his body language always complimented the stories he told.

He spoke of robberies and bar fights, of friends made and friends lost along the way; you were not inclined to believe all the words that left his mouth, but the two of you had always preferred the thrills of a good story to the facts of a boring life. It was like a silent agreement between you two to make a tale interesting, even if that required embellishment.

It was so easy to be with Eddie again, so easy to sit and listen to him talk, to laugh alongside him and share wicked smiles. How could thirteen years have come and gone when this moment felt timeless, as if you were once more four or six or eight years old, hanging onto every single word that left Eddie’s mouth?

He was striking to you, utterly remarkable, the way his stories came to him with such ease even as he fussed with car parts that just wouldn’t work. The way he’d look to you just to see your reaction following a particularly harrowing plot twist made you squirm; the way his grin would spread from ear-to-ear at the sound of your laughter made your cheeks flush with warmth.

Your innocent childhood together was felt heavily as you listened to Eddie’s tales - memories of climbing trees and splashing in puddles ever so vibrant behind your mind’s eyes. There was an anxious thrill in your chest that made this different, however, a swirling sensation in your stomach reminding you that things had changed even as they stayed the same. Each smile Eddie shot you was nearly breathtaking, each cheeky wink like a piercing arrow in your heart. You knew better than to let yourself become excited by him like this, and yet it couldn’t be helped, the fire had started burning the moment you laid eyes upon each other.

Even as you listened and laughed attentively, you tried to tell yourself that this was simply your childhood crush briefly reigniting, that the excitement would die down soon enough and you would simply see each other as friends from the distant past. You knew how your love of stories could tint the way you viewed the world, how the romance novels stacked around your room had always given you a longing for a love like fiction. You couldn’t allow those desires to trick you now, but you couldn’t resist, your entire being reacting to something so simple as Eddie smiling at you with all the softness in the world.

Time had gotten away from you as you sat there enchanted by his stories, and once he’d finally completed his work on that damned motor car, you were surprised by just how much the sun’s position had changed in the sky. You and Eddie shared a look of disbelief as he tidied the tools and put everything back in its place, the both of you clearly having been trapped within a bubble where time didn’t exist. You hopped up eagerly from your seat, exiting the garage alongside Eddie as he looked up at the manor with hesitation.

You grabbed his hand again, to which he met your eyes attentively; You grinned from ear-to-ear, just like you did as a child when you decided the day was still young and there was so much more to be explored, “Walk with me? I’ll show you all the changes your uncle has made to the gardens, they’re magnificent.”

Eddie smiled sadly, which caused you to falter slightly; had you misread something about the past couple of hours? Despite every fiber of his being wanting to cave to your each and every whim, he knew better. He gave a small shake of his head while glancing at your home once more, “I must speak with your father - I can only stay should my work on the car be sufficient. And he’s asked me to… behave myself around you.”

You frowned, your lips forming a beautiful pout as your brows turned down. You were reminded that you were adults now, that neither of you had the freedoms of children. You knew you had to let Eddie go, but how you wished you could simply drag him away to hide in the hedge maze or the woods until all responsibilities and expectations faded away.

Righting your expression, you sighed and nodded with acceptance, locking your eyes firmly with his, “Tonight then. After supper, meet me in the gardens.”

It was a plea, even as you spoke as if it were a command. Eddie inhaled sharply, excited by the suggestion but also terrified that the two of you might be found out - your childhood innocence was gone, and it could cause trouble for you to be found together like that. But that look in your eyes, so fiercely determined, made it impossible for him to deny you; Eddie already knew that, even now, he could never deny you.

“Tonight.” He whispered with a nod, causing you to smile wide. Eagerly, you placed a kiss on the palm of your hand, then pressed it longingly to Eddie’s cheek, causing his eyes to nearly flutter shut; he leaned into the touch with such reverie that it made your heart swell.

“Now go, distract my father so he won’t see me like this.” You instructed with reference to your dress that he had dirtied. Eddie laughed smally with one more nod, stepping away from you as if it were burdensome to do so; he began to round the manor back towards the front doors, pausing once to shoot you a playful look before disappearing beyond a corner.

You waited another few moments before scurrying off towards the kitchen entrance, hoping that Magda could somehow get these grease stains out of your favorite dress.

.

.

[PART TWO] | [MASTERLIST]

addt. AN | The taglist is open for anyone interested in being notified about updates! I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks of this first chapter ♥

taglist | @ali-r3n @chaoticgood-munson @chaptersleftunwritten @daisy-munson @duncanhillscoffeecups

@eddiernunson @ilovetaquitosmmmm @jasminelafleur @lavendermunson @littlexdeaths

@marlena-marlena @mmmunson @skrzydlak @tenthmoon

[celestialbruise]

sanguine

(some moshang bloody kisses for the new year~)

-

The first time it happens, Shang Qinghua thinks he’d dreamed it.

Mobei Jun had come to haunt his leisure house, and while this was no longer enough to startle Shang Qinghua, it was still enough to leave him on edge, his wary eyes always pinned on his uninvited demonic guest. Mostly, Mobei Jun would come to knock him around a little, mutter a few words of complaint, order Shang Qinghua to do something such as gather information or sabotage some Night Hunt that interfered with Mobei Jun’s interests, and then he’d either pass out on Shang Qinghua’s bed or hover over his shoulder like a shadow of death while Shang Qinghua shakily tried to finish his work. 

Stupidly enough, sometimes the silence lulled Shang Qinghua into a false sense of security - perhaps even comfort. 

He’d always been a rather solitary person. In his past life, his few friends had all been made on Weibo, and while he did meet up with his family on occasion, it was really more a part of his role as a son than for any reason like companionship. They registered him as their flesh and blood and saw no deeper than that. Mostly his days were spent in front of his computer, slaving away on another ten-thousand-word chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way. On occasion he had socialized with his fans in the comment section - his haters too, if he was feeling especially bored and, oh fuck, did that mean he subconsciously considered that asshole Peerless Cucumber to be one of his friends?

Shang Qinghua’s life really had been pathetic. Sadly, given a second chance, he wasn’t faring much better - at least he was a Peak Lord now. That had to count for something, right?

“You write very slowly,” Mobei Jun intoned from behind him. Shang Qinghua couldn’t hide how badly he flinched. He had a tendency to zone out while working, which was probably one of the dumber things to do in the presence of a demon. 

Shang Qinghua glanced down at his hand, slowly scrawling characters. It wasn’t his fault - writing traditional characters was hard! Typing was much, much easier. 

“I usually write faster than this, I’m just thinking,” Shang Qinghua grumbled, annoyed, before feeling horror envelop him at the realization that his annoyance was audible, bleeding all over his words like ink. “Sorry, my king!”

Shang Qinghua braced himself for the blow and miraculously managed to swallow his undignified yelp when an ice-cold hand cuffed him over the head. 

“And stop picking at your lip!” Mobei Jun snapped. It took Shang Qinghua a moment to register that he even was. Another unconscious habit - picking at his lips, worrying at the dead skin, peeling it away, over and over, sometimes only stopping when he’d taste blood.

As if summoned by his thoughts, something wet suddenly welled forth.

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua’s hand slowly fell away. “Sorry, my king,” he dutifully repeated, raising his hand back up to wipe the blood away, before a large, pale hand suddenly wrapped around his wrist, five strong fingers coiled to keep him in place. Shang Qinghua froze, and not just because of the icy touch.

“My king?”

When he looked up, he was shocked breathless. Mobei Jun’s eyes had gone dark.Pupil entirely eclipsed his frigid-blue irises, and Shang Qinghua suddenly got the bone-deep impression that he was staring into a fathomless abyss - or perhaps, more aptly, the eyes of a beast.

“My king….?” Shang Qinghua repeated, voice layered with nerves, when Mobei Jun still did not answer. Was Shang Qinghua’s blood really so unsightly? So offensive? He didn’t remember writing ice demons to have an aversion to human blood…..

In one swift movement, faster than he could blink, Mobei Jun dipped down and swept his tongue across Shang Qinghua’s bleeding lip. Shang Qinghua was too shocked to even flinch. Mobei Jun’s tongue, now flecked with sanguine, slithered back into his mouth and Mobei Jun’s lashes fluttered as his throat bobbed. A moment later his eyes flared as if incensed and he returned, this time capturing Shang Qinghua’s bottom lip in between his teeth. A whimper stole from Shang Qinghua’s mouth unbidden as razor-sharp teeth teased his stinging flesh. It wasn’t painful, but the threat that it could be set his blood alight. In fear! Definitely fear…..

Shang Qinghua swore what escaped from him next was a gasp of shock, and nothing at all like a moan as Mobei Jun began to suck. He could scarcely comprehend it, all at once wound taut as a bowstring yet going boneless, limp. Pliable under his king’s hands and his surprisingly deft ministrations. At the feeling of his own blood being pulled forth into Mobei Jun’s mouth, the strangest sensation overtook Shang Qinghua. It was not simply one thing. It was cold and hot. Fire and ice. Pain and the absence of it. No, there was something sharp tugging just behind his navel, like a fishhook was caught there, waiting to spill his guts. Was it fear…..? Unconsciously, his eyes fluttered shut.

At long last, Mobei Jun’s strangely warm mouth pulled away. Shang Qinghua opened his eyes, feeling dazed. Light-headed, though he was certain Mobei Jun couldn’t have drained that much blood. Drank, drank that much, because that’s what he had done, hadn’t he? He’d taken Shang Qinghua’s cut lip as if it were a chalice filled with wine and he’d…..he’d-

“Sweet,” Mobei Jun murmured, licking his lips. Shang Qinghua felt a lurch in his gut as if he were free-falling.

Had he really written demons to crave the taste of human blood….?

[calamity-talvi]

Frozen Heart pt.12

Knowing there was a countdown to when he would leave the company made the days drag on endlessly. Perhaps organising back to back meetings was not the wisest ideas, because Arthur found he barely had time to breathe from one meeting before he was thrust into the next one. Additionally Arthur had no clue how he was going to train all the people he needed to train to take over his various jobs with what time he had left! He’d been met with various reactions from his coworkers, when they had been informed of the news. Some were devastated at his departure, a couple remarkably clingy on top of that, and Arthur found that every spare second of the day he had, they would search for him to have him look over something. Arthur had texted Merlin a lot on those days about Mordred in particular and how the boy clung to him. Arthur: I don’t know how much more I can take of this! Arthur: Mordred came to see me about how to print a document! A bloody document! TWICE! Arthur: For context he’s been at this company for over five years and I know he damn well can print documents. Merlin: Maybe he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of security. Merlin: Perhaps you leaving has led to him escalating his plot to kill you, just like in the legends! Merlin: This is all part of his grand plan to steal your wealth and take your place from under you at the company! Merlin: What if the document is code for something and he has assassins trained on you at this very moment! Arthur: I think someone has been reading too many crime stories recently. Merlin: Guilty… The store got a couple new releases and I wanted to see what they were about.  Merlin: You know that way I can write interesting reviews to get others to read them. But I kinda got sucked in 😅 Arthur: Only you Merlin would create a whole secret plot to have me assassinated by another member of my company 🙄

Click here to read now!

[to-the-stars8]

If you do song inspired fics could i pretty please with a cherry on top have fem MC x beautiful doctor Julian inspired by Too sweet - Hozier

Me falling head first back into the arcana fandom has happened at the same time as me rediscovering my love for Hozier and that song just gives me such Julian vibes for some reason

I hope you have a lovely weekend 💘

(PS your other Julian fic made me want to rip my own heart out and stomp on it so i applaud you)

My job, as an author, anon, is to make sure I break your heart every once in a while so I am happy to hear my job was well done lol! And now is no different! This came out kind of angsty because of my interpretation of the song, hopefully, it's somewhat what you were looking for! I do hope to hear if you liked it, my love! Also thank you for reading my story, and hope you have a lovely/fantastic weekend yourself ❤️❤️❤️

I digress, so here is your lovely story!

You believed Julian Devorak was an easy man to read. That, despite all the times he would say he was a dangerous deviant, the truth always revealed that he was a good person. Troubled? Of course, but there were few people you knew who could not say the same. Perhaps it was the rough way he lived or the stories he would tell you that made you yearn for him. Endless were the nights where you stared at the ceiling recalling moments with him that seemed too real to be written off as mere fantasies. In these moments, you would call him by another name, “Ilya.” You liked the way it danced off your tongue and how sweet it tasted. 

One day, when Asra had left for another one of his adventures, Julian had entered the shop. You were nervous and ecstatic all at the same time. The night before you had gathered the courage to finally reveal how you felt about him, and this was the opportunity that fell right into your lap. 

Closing the shop, you ushered him to the kitchen with a smile. He sat at the table, looking intently at the wood, before asking how your day was. Smiling, you said, “Very well! I have gotten so much done this morning. You’ve arrived just in time, too, I was just about to have lunch. Are you hungry?”

Julian shook his head, and you noted that he seemed a bit quiet himself. You tried to not let the silence tug at your nervousness before turning your attention to making some tea instead. You felt more at ease with your hands busy. 

Despite the busy hands, you could feel butterflies erupt in your stomach so you finally blurted out how you felt. It was a rush of words that tumbled into one long, hardly cohesive sentence. All thoughts about lunch and tea were forgotten.

“I…I like you, Julian,” You said, finally finishing. “Very much so.”

When Julian looked at you, he saw memories that he could not quite place—Back when he was a different man. A better man. These memories, if he could even call them that since fantasy and reality had become muddled over the years, were sweet. He recalled a night with your skin against his, breathing each other in as if there were only you two in the world. Every time he closed his eyes to recall it, his heart ached for the feeling again. Yet, he couldn’t seek it out. 

As much as he was in love with the evocation, he could not drag you down into this whiskey-neat life of his. It might have been nice on the tongue for a while, but, ultimately, it was the type of influence he would not put anyone else under. You were good. Too good. Your personality was like candy, sweet to the core with an even more rich innermost part. Years had passed and, along with parts of the past, he couldn’t recall the days he lived now. All Ilya knew was that his nights were late, filled with the taste of bitter liqueur, and his days spent trying to recall what or who he had done. 

So, when you stood before him, eyes filled with intoxicating sweetness, with words of love dripping from your lips he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Did he lead you on somehow? Lull you into a false sense of goodness that made him worthy of any of your affection? You were too good for him, high on the good parts of life, and he had no plans to change into that any time soon. 

“I’m…erm,” Julian tried to clear his throat to get the words out. He saw the way your face fell, and it broke his heart. “I’m sorry.”

You turned away, hands going to the teapot on the stove, voice shaky, you replied, “I…I understand.”

Julian could hear that you didn’t believe your words, so he got up to make you look at him. There were tears in your eyes and Ilya wiped them away with his thumbs. 

Trying to smile, he explained himself. “Erm, uh, how do I say this?” After another moment, Julian decided it would be best to just get out rather than try to be nice about it. “Damn it, you deserve the world, beauty, and I do not wish to burden that comfortable world of yours.”

You stepped back, eyes looking everywhere but at him. Thinning your lips, you finally looked at him. “What makes you think you would be a burden?”

“Love, look how you live, it’s comfortable. Magical, truthfully. How I live is, uh, nothing of the sort. You wouldn’t want to have such a life,” He said. 

“I would,” You were quick to say. “If it was with you, Ilya, I would.”

Ilya, the way you said his name was a candy he could get addicted to. Shaking his head in an attempt to get the thought of you out, he decided it would be best to double down on the decision—whether or not it broke your heart or his. 

Finally, when you had enough of his explanation, you refused to let him speak anymore. Somehow, he found that worse than if you had told him you didn’t have feelings for him at all. Still, he relented since it was exactly what he had asked for. It was bitter-sweet to part with you in such a way. He could continue to drown his sorrows until dawn, and you could wake at that time without a worry about him.

When the door to the shop closed behind him, Julian looked at the Vesuvian streets and decided quickly it would be a night he would drown in a pint, just as the night before.

[crowtrobotx]

Happy Father's Day only to Karl Heisenberg. I wrote a little oc x canon ficlet this morning to deal with some ~feelings~ and I thought maybe someone might also enjoy it. This can be considered a Check Engine-AU-AU, lol, otherwise known as "Mechanic!Karl no Village." Word Count: 2166 Warnings: Nothing significant but if the subject of pregnancy isn't your thing you probably won't have a good time. ~~~~~~~~ Come on. Where are you, jackass? Kris’s fingers fidgeted nervously with a loose thread at the hem of her dress, eyes laser focused on the empty driveway from her perch on the living room couch. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck beneath the wild tangle of curls in spite of the air conditioning, cranked a rebellious one degree lower than normal out of desperation. She winced. That singular digit might have been the only thing that was preventing her from hurling onto the freshly cleaned hardwood floor.

It was a deceptively lovely summer day outside, the only hint of how truly unpleasant the weather was buried somewhere in the incessant screaming of the cicadas crawling all over the trees that enveloped their property. The heat waves radiating from the asphalt made her feel lightheaded just looking at it - how Karl worked in that stuffy garage all day, in those frustratingly attractive coveralls, without passing out was a mystery to her even after all these years. Maybe he finally did die of heatstroke. Would explain why he’s late, today of all days. Her stomach churned miserably.

She knew she was taking this all far too seriously. It didn’t have to be perfect - she could just tell him outright, like a sane person, but unfortunately she’d gone on Pinterest one too many times over the last couple of days in an attempt to quell her bubbling anxiety and it had all gone to shit from there.

Maybe it was how unexpectedly long it had taken. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d finally convinced herself it wasn’t actually a dream, that it was really happening and she wasn’t going to wake up in a cold sweat. Regardless, she’d put a silly amount of effort into this already - and spent her coffee money at the dollar store - so dammit, it had to turn out cute at the very least. She smoothed out the black linen fabric over her belly, hand lingering a moment longer than normal.

The glint of a windshield from the road had her sitting up like an excited dog. Sturm, snoring away on his well-chewed pet bed to her side, didn’t react at all. She’d been faked out by a school bus once already, but the harsh rattle of the perpetually fucked muffler on Karl’s impossibly old pick-up was, for once, like music to her ears. The truck rolled into view, prompting Kris to shakily rise to her feet and make for the kitchen.

“Okay,” she exhaled slowly, trying to steady the flutter in her chest. “It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s going to be fine.”

The outfit: adorable. The setup: in place. The lines she’d rehearsed in the lukewarm bath this morning until she’d gone hoarse: memorized. She could not fuck this up - if she did, she might simply melt into a puddle with all that remained of her being a pair of cartoon blinking eyes.

Get your shit together. These things never go as planned. He’s going to know something is up because you’ve been home alone all day and you did your hair and makeup instead of embracing the slug girl aesthetic, anyway.

Kris grimaced at her own inner voice, ceding that perhaps it was correct. She awkwardly milled about the room: leaning on the counter, deciding it looked too suspicious, picking up a knife, deciding it looked too insane. Footfalls growing louder toward the side door had her panicked and she at last decided to busy herself washing out an already cleaned coffee mug over the sink.

You can do this. What did Linda call you last time you were in office? A boss bitch? Lull him into a false sense of security. Pretend like you’re a respectable housewife and not a foul-mouthed nasty bitch someone was stupid enough to marry.

The screen door banged open, its rusty hinges surviving yet another assault from her careless husband’s grip. The man himself finally appeared, his outgrown beard and wiry silver waves a total mess from the heat and his work. Still, he didn’t seem agitated - a good sign. Otherwise Kris would have put off her little plan until later, unwilling to take unnecessary risks with something so precious. This would be her Instagram-worthy moment, dammit.

“Honey,” Karl’s loud croon shattered the peaceful silence that had reigned all day, “I’m home!”

God, he was revolting. Kris couldn’t help but to set the cup down and nearly dash to his waiting arms. He caught her in a near crushing bear hug, looking quite pleased with her reaction. She saved the ooey-gooey greetings for special occasions - she couldn’t let the man get even cockier, after all, and she had a reputation to uphold.

“You’re sweaty,” she observed, head finding purchase on his chest all the same, finding comfort in the familiar. “And you stink.”

“Sure do,” he said with a little too much pride. He ran a hand - probably grease-covered, by the looks of it; thank God I’m wearing black - down her back and hummed thoughtfully. “But you, on the other hand, look cute as a button. What’s the occasion? Did I do something nice and not remember?”

Kris untangled herself from his grasp, trying her best to look disinterested and unaffected. With a wave of her hand she returned to the kitchen sink, this time feigning interest in putting away the dishes, and cast a lidded look at him over her shoulder. She hoped her concealer was hiding her heat in her cheeks and making her act more believable. “It’s hot and I got bored,” she lied. Why do I feel like dragging his smelly ass to the floor with me right now?

Karl’s toolbelt hit the linoleum with a loud clang. In a couple of confident strides he was at her back, hands shamelessly trying to find purchase at her hips again. “Aww, did my girl get lonely without me? I can fix that for you, y’know… I don’t mind.” His fuzzy jaw nuzzled into her neck, the edges of his lips curling into a smarmy grin.

Of course - if one thing was going to ruin this, it would be the thing that had caused the situation to begin with: Karl’s dick.

Kris thwacked him playfully on the thigh with the nearest tea towel and rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the traitorous warmth pooling deep in her abdomen. “You know the rules. Not until you’re not going to stain my poor clothes with all those oil splotches. Then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically. She’d known him long enough to recognize false exasperation - he didn’t like messing up her pretty outfits, either. Karl turned to make his way to the bedroom when Kris caught his arm, putting on her best surprised face and tone.

“Oh! I almost forgot, can you help me out really quick? There’s something that needs to come out of the oven and I’ve got to finish this.”

“It’s ten steps away, doll- OUCH! You and that damn towel. Yeah, sure. One sec.”

Kris held her breath as he stomped across the room, rubbing his leg where she’d nailed him yet again. This was it. Her picture perfect moment. Even Sturm had managed to lift his greying head to peer curiously from the living room.

Karl opened the range. The singular honey bun sitting on the pain looked comically out of place, but that was the point - there was absolutely no way he could ignore it. Kris nearly shattered the dish in her hands, so tight did her fraying nerves make her grip.

“Oh, sweet,” Karl said, before picking the pastry up and taking a bite. “I was starvin’ after all those tire rotations today. Thanks!”

He resumed his trek upstairs, whistling contentedly. Sturm stared at her with a look that conveyed a sort of pity before resuming his daily 18 hours of beauty rest. Even the shriek of insects outside seemed to have dulled to a quiet hum out of respect for whatever remained of Kris’s dignity. She wordlessly placed the plate onto the counter, a mixture of resignation, rage, and outright bewilderment swirling in her chest.

He did not just do that. You hallucinated it in a hormonal fugue. There’s no way.

She had accounted for what she thought was every likely outcome. Unbridled excitement, tears, perhaps disbelief. Even that he would be angry - not truly angry, of course, but it was the emotion he defaulted to whenever he wasn’t sure how to handle whatever feelings were rushing through him, however positive.

She had not, however, considered the possibility that he was more stupid than the bag of hammers hanging above his workbench.

“Karl,” she croaked out just as he reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs.

He paused and peeked his head around to face her, crumbs somehow already decorating his beard. “What?”

Kris flexed her fingers and inhaled slowly to steady her voice. “Could you come here again please?”

When Karl returned to the kitchen, it took everything in her not to throat-punch him. He was simultaneously the smartest and dumbest man she had ever met - in spite of his horrific personality, everyone in town came to him for their mechanical needs because absolutely no one knew their way around an engine like he did. And yet here she was, trying to convey an extremely obvious plot twist to absolutely no avail while he stuffed his face.

“Can you tell me what you’re holding?” she asked, the strain in her tone causing her voice to sound unnaturally high.

Karl swallowed. He rotated the bread, eyeing it somewhat nervously as if he feared it might now explode. “It’s… a roll?”

“Well�� some might say a bun.” Kris was getting desperate. Her new favorite hobby of vomiting was feeling like more and more of a possibility with every passing second. At least it would get her out of this situation.

“A bun,” Karl repeated.

She waited for him to do the math before giving in to his helpless, slightly annoyed look.

“Yes. A bun. From the oven.”

“That’s usually where they come from, babe. Did you hit that pretty little head of yours while I was at work today or what?”

Another silence. Kris swore to herself that she was going to throw this man through the second floor window.

“You found the bun…” Kris gestured, indicating that she intended him to finish her sentence.

“In the oven,” they both said at once. For a brief, tantalizing moment, Kris thought it had finally worked. She had been fully prepared to snatch the little wrapped test hidden in the utensils drawer and gift it to him in a sickeningly sweet gesture worthy of a Hallmark movie, until she noticed the completely clueless look on his face hadn’t yet retreated.

Are you fucking-

“Was it not for me?” Karl ventured at last. “Uh, s-sorry. Guess I shoulda asked. I can get you another one at the corner mart on my way home tomorrow if you want.”

“I do not want a gas station dessert, thankyouverymuch,” Kris hissed. The thought of what Karl-tier food might do to her already compromised digestive system sent a shiver down her spine. “I am trying to- you know what, never mind. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Ohhhhh,” Karl suddenly cooed, wrapping an arm around her waist and leaning in to peck the tip of her nose. “Wait. I get it now.”

Cautious relief relaxed Kris’s shoulders. She batted her lashes at him and made a soft questioning sound, feigning innocence.

“You want a new oven. Why didn’t you say so? I got enough parts in that shed out back to make you ten if you want. Anything for my gal!” Karl’s grin was begging to be slapped right off his stupid, handsome face.

Instead, and with all the strength she had in reserve, Kris simply shut her eyes and lightly patted her husband’s chest. We’re going to call this a practice run. That’s all. “A new oven would be lovely. You’re the best, Heisy-bear.”

Karl winked before happily popping the rest of the bun in his mouth and reclaiming his usual air of off-putting flirtatiousness. 

“You know it is kinda weird that you just made one,” he spat around the mouthful as he patted her cheek. “But I know you don’t like summers, pumpkin. Fries your brain and makes you do weird shit. ‘S okay, I still love you”

“Thank goodness for that.”

Kris waited until he was out of sight before allowing herself a brief, silent scream into her palms. Sturm hobbled into the kitchen at last, his three paws tapping rhythmically as he presented her one of his well-loved chew toys as a kind of consolation prize. She sighed, and at last allowed herself a laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Thanks, boy,” she whispered, bending to scratch the dog’s velvety ears. “Well, time for plan B, I suppose. Do you know where I can buy a mini toolkit?”

[bu0nanotte]

*peers from behind the veil of apparently hopeless optimism* isn't it funny how whenever Netflix streams Hannibal that it always trends amongst the "popular on Netflix"? We as a fandom have sat here for the past 8 YEARS fuming over the fact that we may never get a 4th season of a show so lovingly crafted by the creators, writers, actors and by association, fans and have so desperately sought for a service willing to stream it. BUT WAIT Netflix pops the 3 beautiful seasons up, probably in a bid to lull us lingering fans into a sense of false hope yet have (as usual) done nothing to hint that they will assist in keeping this show alive. Yes I know, it's for entertainment purposes and crime dramas are all the rage BUT it is a massive slap in the face where us TEN YEAR stans are concerned. Obviously, it's amazing that we get to watch our show again, seeing as Prime dropped it BUT it is a concurrent kick in the teeth as Netflix apparently has the means to stream it for profit. So. It begs the question. Netflix periodically streams Hannibal for the sake of profit/exposure yet will do NOTHING with regards to a further season. And yes, I am aware that Hannibal has been off air for eight years. I am weeeeeeeell aware of that. I guess you could construe this post as being selfish because I am so fucking sick of streaming services dangling three perfect seasons in our faces yet do nothing to back further seasons. As Mads recently said, time is running out and if these streaming services are clinging to the scant seasons we were shown, why not back a further season, even if it is just in the interest of monetary gain. Idk, perhaps I'm just in a pissy mood. And not that I don't appreciate being able to rewatch the three seasons we were given. I'm not clinging to the past, by any means and if we never get another season, then that is something I can completely accept. But it's been eight fucking years of uncertainty. Can someone just give us some fucking closure? As a ten year stan, I'm sick of seeing these sporadic beacons of hope only to be disappointed. Ugh. Sorry. Consider this a bitter, spiced rum induced rant. *retreats back*

[twentyyearstoolate]

You stumble around in the dark, desperately feeling around for an escape route. The beast is hot on your trail, you can hear it snorting and stomping as it pursues you. You come to a dead end, and you see the light of a lantern round the corner behind you. No way out.

Exhausted and defeated, you collapse in the corner, curling into a ball as you await the end. The sound of hooves on stone draws nearer, and between your arms you see a dim glow. You hold yourself tightly, fighting tears.

"You can get up. I'm not going to hurt you."

You look up. Looming before you is the fabled Minotaur, but... only somewhat like described in the stories. It carries a lantern, and wears a cloak and tunic. It bears the face of a bull, but stands upright and looks you over as best it can, head turned to one side.

"You... don't appear to be hurt. Are you thirsty? Hungry? I think I have some bread left."

You find yourself unable to answer as it shuffles around in its pack. It fishes a crust of flatbread and a bota from a satchel. It holds both out in one hand, just within your reach. Slowly, you reach out and take both, drinking first, then eating.

The Minotaur gives a cursory glance down the hallway before sitting down against the wall opposite. For a second, you consider bolting away, but you put it out of your head - you're still exhausted, and the minotaur looks barely winded. You wouldn't get far.

The minotaur watches you cautiously. You wonder what it might be thinking. Perhaps it's trying to trick you, lull you into a false sense of security - so it doesn't have to carry its meal back to its lair. That must be it. It-

"What's your name?"

"What?"

"Your name. You do have one, yes?"

"I, uh... Nikitas."

"Nikitas." The minotaur nods. "It's good to meet you, Nikitas."

You arch an eyebrow.

"You seemed... lost in your head. I get a lot down here like that." It begins to say something else, but hesitates.

"What?"

"...Why did they put you in here?" It immediately looks away. "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

You ponder the situation that you're in. The legendary bull-man that eats prisoners has just retracted a question about your crimes, supposedly in consideration of your feelings. A strange thing to do for someone you're planning on eating... But every second you're talking is a second you're not being led away to be eaten.

"Theft."

"Just theft?"

"I... stole from an aristori. To feed my family."

The minotaur nods again. "That makes more sense. I've been hearing some... unrest from above, lately. Bad crop this year, and the Bulgar raids are putting pressure on the city's finances."

Every word of this conversation baffles you more. The beast keeps up with current events?

The minotaur stands up. You cringe, reflexively, but it takes a step back. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I'm really not going to hurt you. I can show you to an exit, but the nearest one is a day away at least, and you don't know the labyrinth like I do. I won't stop you if you want to run, but... please don't?" It holds out a hand.

You hesitate. Your instincts tell you to run from the beast, but... there's a pleading in its eyes, and its voice. And it's right. You're just going to get lost again, and the promise of an exit, however slim, is better than wandering around in the dark, waiting to starve to death. You take its hand and stand. It turns to leave the corridor and you follow, a couple meters back, as the minotaur leads on.

---

After about half an hour, you come to a room with a tall ceiling, and light streaking down from above. You can't tell from how far up. The minotaur sets its lantern down and sifts through a patch of dirt or muck, on the ground just outside of the light. Its hand closes on something solid. Slowly, it pulls out a fork, caked in dirt.

"Nikitas. Any water left in that skin?"

You hand the bota back to the minotaur. It dribbles just enough out of the bag to rub the dirt off, then just a little more to rinse the fork mostly clean. It pockets the fork, and continues onward.

As the two of you walk, your curiosity gets the better of you. "You... collect forks?"

The minotaur snorts. "I collect everything."

You pause a moment, looking the creature over as you walk.

"How long have you been... down here?"

"A long time. Decades. I don't really keep track."

A long silence. The minotaur breaks it.

"We're here. Hold on a moment."

The minotaur shifts a brick in the wall. The grinding of gears can be heard as the wall pulls itself apart, revealing a well-lit room. Inside, a figure sits beside a fire burning low under an old cookpot with something bubbling inside. Crudely constructed shelves line the walls, filled with odds and ends. Silverware, pots and plates. Jewelery, coins, a couple ingots. Earthen jars, glass bottles, patches of cloth and balls of string. Fishhooks, knives and hand tools. A stack of books, children's toys, and dolls. Two simple beds sit against the other side of the room. The figure rises - an old woman who gives a warm smile.

"Silas! You're back! And you've found a new friend!"

Of all the things you were expecting to see in the minotaur's den, another human was perhaps dead last on the list. The minotaur steps in, the wall folding up behind it. "Nikitas, this is Demetra. Demetra, Nikitas. How's dinner shaping up? Are we low on anything?"

"Oh, pretty well, although it'll stretch a little thin with a guest." She turns back to the cookpot. "There are still turnips and lentils left in the garden, and we've got plenty enough barley, but we could maybe do with more olives, or even a little oil. Could probably stretch another two weeks before we have to go topside, but it'll get a mite bland."

The minotaur sorts through its findings on a table nearby. "I suppose it's just as well, we may have a reason to be headed that way. But we can talk about that later." It pulls three mismatched bowls and spoons from the shelf, and sets them down by the fire.

You sit and stare in at the pot, dumbfounded by everything that's unfolded over the last hour, as the other two fill their bowls. The old woman starts to take a bite, but stops as she looks you over.

"Silas?"

"Mmm?"

"How much did you explain to our friend here? He seems a little... glazed over."

"We haven't talked much. I only found him just an hour ago."

"Oh for pity's sake, he probably still thinks you're going to eat him, Silas!"

"What?"

"The stories, Silas!"

"Oh. Right." It looks sheepish, or as sheepish as a bull can look. "Sorry."

She turns to you. "Look. I know what they told you about this place and what lives in it, but believe me, you're safe here. He may look ferocious, but he's a big softie at heart. He doesn't even eat meat, you know? I mean, if he did, I'd have probably been gobbled up ages ago."

It's hard to refute the logic of that argument. And you don't see any bones or gore around. In fact, this place is homier than your own home.

"Then how, or what..." You struggle to find the words. Silas speaks up.

"I suppose I should start from the beginning, or at least the stuff that's true. Long long ago, my mother Queen Pasiphaë gave birth to... well, to me, I guess. A child with a bull's head. If it was because of a god's curse, I wouldn't be able to tell you. She loved me, but King Minos didn't. He called me an... abomination. I was forbidden from ever leaving the palace, and the servants were not allowed near the wing I was kept in, but mother did her best to raise me on her own."

"But she fell ill when I was seven, and a year later she passed. The king would have killed me but for the fear of the Gods' retribution. Instead, he got it in his head to have an inventor named Daedalus build a labyrinth that would keep me trapped until I died, and that way it'd be fate that killed me, not him, if the Gods care about technicalities. Besides the king and queen, he was the only one to ever see me outside of this labyrinth. He took pity on me. He couldn't defy the king, but he built the labyrinth in a way that a being could live comfortably here. There are streams and patches of fertile ground in the floors beneath that get enough air and light to grow some simple crops, and rooms like this one that serve as housing, that were hidden away from the King's eyes come inspection time. He did the best he could to ensure I wouldn't die in here."

"But, of course, you can only get so far with a building, even one as big and complex as this one. I wasn't allowed to take anything from the palace in with me, not even the clothes on my back. They threw me in here, naked as the day I was born, and locked the gates behind me. I guess the people who questioned it were fed some story about a savage beast that kills and eats people, and the King capitalized on that legend by turning it into a punishment for criminals."

"Ever since then, about every other month or so as I'm looking around for whatever's fallen from the streets and grates above, I've been finding people that get lost in the corridors, and I try to help them get to one of the exits, where the walls have failed. In a way, you're kind of lucky - you were making a lot of noise, most of the people I find are dead already. But I sort of... forget that I look like this, and that I have a reputation that precedes me. I mean, it's quite easy for that to slip your mind when you've been down here your whole life."

You take in the minotaur's tale. You feel pity, and a little guilt for not believing him sooner. As you mull it over, your stew nearly untouched, another question crosses your mind. You look to Demetra, who seems to have anticipated your ask.

"About sixteen years ago, I was thrown in here for fratricide - maybe you remember the gossip about the madwoman who strangled her brother in a fit of rage. I dunno, you're a little young for that, maybe. Anyway, as it turns out, my sister-in-law wanted us both out of the picture to inherit his vineyards, so she did the deed herself and pinned it on me, and everyone believed her story, even my own kids."

"I didn't have the heart to fight it. I said nothing at the trial, and they decided I should be thrown in the labyrinth for my heinous act. I didn't care. They shut the gate behind me and I started walking. And I just sat in a corner and cried, bawled my eyes out. And Silas here heard me, and I heard him, and he tries to calm me down but when I saw him I was convinced that the Gods themselves had it in for me, so I just said 'I don't want to live anymore, just eat me.'"

"And he starts laughing and tells me he doesn't eat meat, and well, that just cemented the idea that the Gods had it in for me, with the whole cruel irony bit, so I just cried harder, and the big lug feels bad about laughing so you know what he does? He says 'sorry' and hands me a doll he found, and asks if he can take me back to where its safe."

"And I'm scared, and tired, and hungry, and he's the only one that's shown me a lick of kindness over the whole ordeal, so I figure what the hell, it's not like it can get any worse, right? And he's doing his damnedest to cheer me up, so he shows me his collection of trinkets and such-" She gestures over to the shelves. "-and asks me if I like them, and I turn to him and just absolutely unload about everything that's happened, and by the time I'm done, I just want to puke I'm so upset. I wake up the next morning and he's put me up in his bed and he's curled up over by a cold fire, shaking like a leaf."

"Well, one thing led to another, and I didn't really have anything to go back to up there, so when he asks me if I'm ready to make the journey to the exit, I just say no, and he gives me this look like I just sprouted antlers, and I tell him I'm staying here and he can't get rid of me, and that's that."

Silas chimes in. "I was very grateful for the company. I still am."

Demetra gives him a playful brush on the shoulder. "I'm sure the cooking and the patch jobs on your clothes don't hurt either." She turns back to you. "What about you, then? How'd you end up down here?"

"I... took something of value from one of the aristori. A bracelet, made of gold. I fenced it off to feed my family, and there was enough left over to get us out of the city, to start a new life. But they caught me the next day. The bracelet was long gone, and the money was hidden with my wife. The punishment for theft is lesser, usually, but I refused to tell them where I had stashed the drachma. The nobleman was... very angry." A pause. "...You mentioned there was an exit?"

"A day's walk, south of here." The minotaur stands. "We can leave in the morning - It is difficult to navigate by lamplight alone. Do you play Tavli?"

"I, uh... not very well. It's been a while."

He cracks a smile. At least, you think it's a smile. You've never seen a bull smile before. "We'll go easy on you, then."

Silas retrieves a board and a bag of stones from the shelves. Demetra pulls a wineskin and some cups from a cupboard. You grab the stools from around the fire. The three of you gather at the table - just a boulder, mostly flat on top, but it suffices.

You pass the evening playing and drinking, taking turns playing rounds. It's a little difficult to keep track of whose pieces are whose; some of the stones have been replaced with rounded pieces of scrap wood or metal. You still feel tense - It's been a long time since you've been able to sit and relax like this. Most nights, you and your family keep dead quiet - the guard doesn't take kindly to squatters.

Silas tells stories of some of the others who found themselves trapped in the labyrinth. An old man, branded a heretic for questioning divine provenance. A serial killer who broke his leg escaping from the guard. A young girl who squeezed through a gap in the bars. Those who trusted, and were rescued. Those who didn't, and were found dead days later. Stories of windfalls from above, little treasures, fallen through the cracks. Of landmarks in the labyrinth, that made it feel like more than a prison. Like home.

Eventually, you're unable to keep your eyes open. You awake in one of the straw beds, tucked in comfortably with a patchwork blanket. Demetra rests in the other. Silas is at the fire, preparing breakfast. You approach him.

"Sleep well?"

"Best I've slept in a long time." You look into the pot. A simple porridge, but enough for the three of you. "I'm sorry. I never did thank you for... well, for everything."

"It's fine. You were scared. Everyone is."

"All the same." You look around. The room is cozy, but you want for the open sky and the breeze on your face. Your family. Your home.

Silas tends to the fire. He seems... sad? It's hard to tell. Occasionally he glances up at you, then back to the pot. It's uncomfortably quiet. You can't help but ask a question.

"...Do you ever think about leaving this place? Do you miss the surface?"

"I-" Silas looks into the pot. He seems to have had an answer, but he can't settle on it. For a long time, he doesn't respond. Then, a sigh:

"I do. A little bit. I'm only ever outside for a few minutes at a time, when the lost depart. It's... nice. But a little uncomfortable. I know these passages like the back of my hand. Out there..." He shakes his head. "Besides, somebody needs to stay and rescue the people who get trapped in here. The labyrinth is... unkind to outsiders."

He taps the spoon on the side of the pot gently. Demetra joins the circle, and the three of you eat. Silas shoulders a pack and a few skins of water. Demetra retrieves a handful of coins and valuables from the shelf. You pack what little you have, and the three of you set out.

Even with the glimpses of morning light that stream in through the cracks here and there, it is difficult to see in the labyrinth. Silas guides the two of you this way and that. At points, it seems like you're doubling back the way you came. The three of you tell more stories to pass the time. You talk about your family - your wife, who spends her days begging, and your kids playing in the alleys. How the four of you move between abandoned buildings and ruins every night to avoid being caught. You talk of starting a farm on the outskirts of the country, a new, better life.

---

Eventually, you see a hole in the wall facing out to a beach, the mortar weakened by seawater and the bricks pulled loose, creating a gap large enough to step through. The three of you step out. You enjoy the feeling of the evening sun and the salty breeze. Demetra takes a moment to find a path leading back toward the city. Silas sits on a patch of grass, passing his fingers idly through the tufts. You thank him again as the two of you head inland.

The sun sets and the moonlight shines down as you walk. A passing cart offers the two of you a ride into town, and you gratefully accept. You look at Demetra. She seems troubled. She notices you staring, and relents.

"Silas is a good man. I'm happier with him down there than I ever was up here. But he deserves better than that prison, and I know he wants out. He'll never leave as long as people keep ending up down there, and he's afraid of what people will say, what they'll do if they see him."

"It's funny - I've long lost my faith in the Gods, in spite of living with proof of their existence. They're not worth worshiping; No loving Gods put a kind soul like that through this hell. But... I still pray, every night, silly old woman that I am, that Silas will get the life he deserves. I do my best to make him comfortable and keep him company, but it's not enough. He needs out."

She puts a hand on your shoulder. "I don't ask everyone who leaves, most are just happy to be out, but I heard you two talking. You're one of the few who spared a thought for him. Once you're settled, drop by the exit once in a while, would you? The big guy likes having company that isn't scared half to death of him, to say nothing of a reason to poke his head back out of the maze."

You nod, quietly. Demetra slips a pouch into your hand, full of coins. "I figured you could use a little extra help. I've got more for our own needs, and it's not like we've got anything to spend it on down there."

The two of you reach the city gates. You thank her again, and slip off towards the safety of your hiding spot. Your wife is shocked to see you, and you embrace warmly. You recount the events of the last two days, and your family can scarcely believe you, but You rest, and in the morning you use the money you have to buy a cart and some oxen, as well as some supplies - seeds, feed, tools, and other essentials. You travel south of the city, a couple days, until you find a suitable hill, well away from civilization - nobody will find you here, and nobody will think to look for a dead man.

It is an arduous process - you spend the spring clearing the trees from the property to build a cabin, the summer planting and tending to crops, and the fall harvesting and preparing for the winter. You've dedicated a lot of land to an olive garden, that you hope will bear fruit in the third year. In the winter, when you have the time, you take a trip back to the labyrinth's exit, leaving a note asking to meet in two weeks' time. You return to find Silas and Demetra waiting for you, welcoming you with open arms. You share stories and talk about the farm, and your family.

Silas is sad to see you off the next day, but you tell him you'll be back as soon as possible, and he gives you a hug for the journey home. The next time you return, in the spring, you bring your family along. They are cautious, at first, but they quickly warm up to the couple - Silas turns out to be great with kids, and sends them home with the toys he finds. The children ask constantly when they can see Uncle Silas again. You visit as often as you can, but the farm keeps you busy, especially as the trees begin to come in.

---

In five years' time, your olive garden begins to flourish, and you find yourself with an abundance of produce, more than you can handle. When you don't have time for longer visits, you leave jars of preserves and oil at the entrance with a note for the two inhabitants of the labyrinth. When you return, you always find toys and trinkets with a thankful letter. Demetra writes about others who were led out of the dungeon, and how Silas stays a little longer at the entrance each time, hoping that maybe he'll get lucky and find you on your way in - long enough the last time that she convinced him to spend the day on the beach with a picnic spread, turning it into a date.

Late in the fall, you're on your way to the city to sell olives, when suddenly a great earthquake rocks the land. You get to your feet and continue through the gates, offloading your wares and offering assistance where you can. As the day wanes, you hear talk among the citizens - the cave face around the entrance to the labyrinth has collapsed. Dark thoughts race through your head. You finish your business as quickly as you can and drive your cart to the labyrinth exit. You hesitate at the dark, and the sound of falling bricks, but you think of the poor couple, and against your better judgement, you grab a lantern, heading in.

Several corridors are choked with rubble. It's difficult to pass through some, and impossible to squeeze through others. You call out frantically for Silas and Demetra, fearing the worst. All the while, you're getting hopelessly lost. You begin to worry that the labyrinth will claim three today, but you press on, working your way as best you remember towards the house. Minutes turn into hours. Your voice hoarse, you collapse, and begin to sob.

A call rings out from the dark. "Nikitas?"

You look up, and see a dim light around a corner behind you. You stand and round it, and you see Silas and Demetra, a little worse for the wear. You embrace each other warmly.

"Are you alright?! I was so worried, the quake-"

"There were some cave-ins, but we're alright. How did you make it so far in?"

You croak out: "I don't know, I sort of remembered the way, but then I got lost and just kept running and shouting."

Silas nods. "At least one path to the exit, then. That's good - A number of the tunnels are blocked. I've managed to clear a few, but from what I've seen, the damage is extensive."

Silas begins to lead back the way you came as you explain. "The entrance has caved in too. People in the city were talking about it. I feared for your safety."

Demetra offers a consolation. "...No more prisoners, then."

Silas looks up. For the first time since you've known him, he seems... confused. Lost? No, he knows the way well enough. Something else.

"Silas? Demetra?"

Silas' concentration breaks, and they turn to look at you. "Hmm? Sorry. Just..."

"Do you want to come with me, to live on the farm? It's out in the countryside, and we've got plenty of room. I could use a few extra hands, the harvests have kept me so busy. And, you know, the kids really miss you two."

She smiles. His eyes light up, but he turns away. "Well, I... don't want to impose."

Demetra jabs him in the arm. "He means 'Yes, we'd love to, and thank you Nikitas, that's a very generous offer.' Right? Right."

He smiles as he shrugs, rubbing his shoulder. "Well, that's that, I suppose."

The three of you make your way back to the exit. Silas has a spring in his step you've never seen before, and his tail swishes in the oddest way. It seems a much shorter trip this time, before you catch sight of the familiar passage to the exit. The three of you take in the night air, before you quickly load up into the wagon and set off for the farm.

---

The evening sun sets on a hill laden with olive trees, filled with little white blossoms that sway gently in the wind, a few petals drifting away every time it picks up. Silas is hunched over a garden bed, a bag of seeds in hand, as he carefully packs the dirt over each hole. Demetra tells the children a story as you and your wife finish preparing dinner. You see Silas stand up and wipe his brow, satisfied with his work. You step out to look over the garden.

"Dinner's almost ready. How're you coming along?"

"Just about done with the dill, and then it's finished." He looks back over the orchard, and smiles. "The flowers get more beautiful every time I look at them."

"Gonna be a good harvest this year. The next few months will be very busy. I'm off to the market tomorrow to get the lye. Do you need anything?"

"No, no, I... well, there is one thing, maybe?"

"Name it."

He seems almost reluctant to ask. "I could use a... a hat. One that fits around my horns." He tries to explain. "Not just to wear, the sun is a lot brighter than I remember as the days get longer. My eyes are having trouble adjusting. It's been a long time."

"Oh my gosh, of course, I'll see what I can find, if nothing else we can cut holes in one, we'll make it work. Anything else?"

"No, everything else is good. Great, even. I, uh..." He stammers awkwardly. "Thank you." He suddenly pulls you into a hug, and you feel a couple drops on your shoulder. He stifles great big sobs through his muzzle, trying not to make too much noise. "Thank you so much."

"Hey, hey, it's okay big guy." You pat him reassuringly. "Without you I wouldn't even be here, you know? I ought to be thanking you."

"I still can't believe it, after so long in the dark, it feels like a dream. This is perfect, and beautiful, and more than I could ever have imagined for myself." More great big tears. "Thank you." He gives you another hug.

You let Silas collect himself, and the two of you step inside. A fire crackles warmly, and everyone gathers around the table to eat. The sound of laughter and cheer fills the house. The last few streaks of sun fall over the hills as the smoke trills up into the starry night.

As punishment for your crimes you are thrown into the Labyrinth to be a living sacrifice to the Minotaur that lives inside. However nobody seemed to put together that since he is half bull; the Minotaur is actually a vegetarian.

[amchara]

Herondales Don't Fail Ch. 3 - Charm Offensive

Ao3 / 1 / 2 / 3

Kit Herondale, Ty Blackthorn (Kit/Ty), original characters, Blackthorn family members, Emma Carstairs, Ash Morgenstern

Wordcount: 7,317 words (this chapter - 🙈 sorry its a long one folx)

Rating: Mature

Summary: It’s been almost five years since an epic line-up of Shadowhunter heroes and their allies closed all the portals to Hell. Now, demons are scarce and the Nephilim are searching for their purpose in this new world. Centurion Ty Blackthorn has been sent to London to investigate a potential new threat, while Kit Herondale has taken up a post helping to rebuild the London Enclave.

Kit was happy to accept the London Institute’s invitation to assist in the rebuilding of the city’s Enclave. But he didn’t count on being blindsided into joining the competition to become its next head - or being hated by most of its inhabitants who assume he’s only there because of his name.

---

“This stack can go to Christopher,” Roger slid some heavy files across the round table. It was early the next morning and the three candidates and Stormborn had moved into an old drawing room on the second floor of the Institute to start the handing-over process. 

“Kit, it’s just Kit,” he said, biting back a yawn. If he was going to do this competition, he was going to do it as much as possible on his own terms. He had already gone to Evelyn’s office first thing that morning, dressed in gear but with his hair braided back and all earrings switched out to studs. He informed her in polite terms he would wear gear during weapons training and patrols but his other clothes were not up for discussion, nor the rest of his look, including his hair. And if she wanted to make a bigger deal of it, they could send a note to the Consul asking if there was actually an official dress code for Shadowhunters. 

Kit had suppressed a grin as he watched Evelyn try to think of a response… but in the end she had just waved him out.

If she wanted to make something of his name, he could play that game too- reminding her of his own ties to powerful members of Shadowhunter society. But he had stayed deferential otherwise - he and Ty had discussed long into the night what kind of approach would be best when it came to investigating the Institute. Ty had thought he should play it relatively straight - as he pointed out, Evelyn already had doubts due to Kit’s background and if she wrote him off, that could allow him relatively free rein to investigate. But Kit wasn’t so sure that would fly… so he had adjusted. 

Roger paused and corrected himself. “Kit. You can take over correspondence with the Americas Institutes, given you already have ties there.” 

“Maybe he should cover a different region. If he’s already familiar with the Heads of US Institutes - it would be good to get different perspectives on Shadowhunter life,” Jacob said, as Kit reached across the table. 

“Excellent idea,” Sabina cut in smoothly. “I think it would be good for all three of us to have different regions than we’re used to. In which case, I’ll take Europe and Africa, Dearborn,” she said, nodding at the stack in front of Jacob. 

Jacob reluctantly held up his hands on the folders and Sabina tugged them towards her. 

There was clearly no love lost between the other two London Shadowhunters, Kit noted, although he also noticed that Jacob’s gaze lingered on Sabina while she studiously avoided his gaze. 

Kit didn’t care what region he’d be responsible for in terms of intra-Institute communication - perhaps it would’ve been easier to send Jace updates on official business but also- potentially awkward if it had been intercepted, given the vernacular he and Jace typically used on their correspondence. “Give me whatever region,” Kit said, making sure to inject a bored note into his voice. This was his other plan- as the son of Johnny Rook, who had often played a similar role- he knew an underwhelming presence could lull others into a false sense of security. 

Stormborn watched the scene unfold as they all awkwardly swapped around the notes and then he cleared his throat. “I think perhaps we should lay down some general expectations around this competition and your roles,” he said. Sabina and Jacob’s attention snapped to him at the sharper tone entering his voice. “You all have expertise that Evelyn has deemed worthy enough to be considered to lead this Institute. You can prove it by demonstrating said expertise to us in practice, not squabbling like children or by thinking that up-one-manships will do you any good,” he said. 

He looked like someone’s affable uncle, Kit thought, with his receding hairline, weak chin and a mouth that looked like it smiled way more than it frowned. But there was also something hiding behind his eyes, and Kit figured one didn’t get to be acting head of the London Institute without a mind for strategy. 

Kit bit his lip to hide his amusement. He leant back in his chair as he listened to Roger outline the division of responsibilities for the next few months. Sabina would continue as Institute tutor, but Kit would cover training three mornings of the week, with Jacob taking over the Saturday morning slot. Jacob would scale back on his archivist responsibilities and Kit would take point on Downworld requests, (he winced internally at this, given his and Ty’s off-duty mission the previous evening), while informing the others on any joint missions. And they would all take turns shadowing the daily routines of the Institute, including paperwork. Kit made sure to let out an audible groan at that, which wasn’t just an act. He hated paperwork- having had a taste of it earlier in the summer- when Helen had decided that he could earn some of his keep at the L.A. Institute by helping clear some of her backlog. 

Intriguingly, they would rotate ownership of leading external patrols or additional missions associated with the wraith investigation, as directed by the Centurions. Kit wondered if Ty and the other Centurions had already been made aware of this plan.   

“What about budgeting and the running of the Institute in terms of costs and how it’s all paid for?” Kit asked near the end of the spiel, watching Roger closely. He didn’t want to lay all his cards on the table with the tithe issue- but leading yet perfectly reasonable questions, that was someplace he could start. 

It was the slightest tell and Kit almost wasn’t sure if it had been there but while Roger’s face didn’t betray anything, his hands twitched and he put down his pen to quell them. “That’s mostly under Evelyn’s watch,” he told Kit calmly. “You’ll learn about that side of running the Institute from her, in due course.” 

“Of course,” Kit gave him a sunny smile and prepared to settle in for Roger’s tutorial on appropriate intra-Institute communication. But he also stole a covert glance at Sabina, who had responded much more strongly to his question than he expected. 

--

“Sabina-,” Kit hurried after her as she strode down the hallway towards the stairs to the Institute’s training room. “Can I get some time with you later this afternoon?”

She turned, folding her arms. “Pardon?” she asked, impatiently.  

“The other Shadowhunters here- I’d like to know your view on how their training has been going,” Kit said. “You know, if I’m supposed to be taking over some of your shifts- I’d like to know what I’m walking into.” 

She gave him a long, appraising look. “I’m about to do a warm-up before I head down to teach tumbling to the younger ones in the ballroom,” she said. “Can you chat and fight at the same time?”

“Even better, I can quip while I fight,” Kit told her, turning on the charm. While he wanted Evelyn and Roger to think him young and slightly feckless and not suitable for running an Institute, he planned a different strategy with his two competitors. 

She shook her head slightly, unimpressed. 

“So, you know how the evacuation of Idris went really quickly after the Cohort took over in 2012?” Sabina asked, as they squared off with some training sabres and went through basic drills. 

“Well aware,” Kit said. He corrected himself. “Or- I was kinda in hiding at that point. But aware of the general facts.” 

“A lot of them came to London and settled into the Enclave,” Sabina told him. “We had a big influx in the city for a while.”

“But?” Kit asked, as he parried an easy blow from her. 

Sabina frowned slightly. “But it’s been hard to maintain manpower- and with Idris restored, over the past four years it’s been a struggle to keep the full numbers that we really need to patrol adequately.” 

“The Dark War still has a lot to answer for,” Kit guessed. They finished the first set of drills and Kit drew back, waiting for her next move. 

Sabina spun lazily and aimed low towards his feet. Kit knelt to block her, and pressed upwards, forcing her back. He didn’t try any fancy moves this time, more focused on the conversation. 

She took a moment to respond, her eyes darting back and forth over his body, mirroring Kit. Both looking for weaknesses. “People leave- it’s an expensive city to live in and Institute life isn’t exactly great for young families. And once Idris re-opened- even in its current state, most went back if they came from there. So… we tend to get people who stay a couple years, then leave for a quieter, less eventful life. Demon attacks are more frequent here, despite the supposed decline and we have our share of Downworlder issues.”

“All big cities do,” Kit pointed out. Sabina narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t comment. “You haven’t mentioned the quality of fighting ability here at the Institute,” Kit said, going back to the original topic at hand. He adjusted his grip, following her form as they returned to some basic blocks. 

She pursed her lips. “Most are adequate,” she said. Then, reconsidering, she added: “We lose more than we should- on patrol. Our casualty numbers have been high- not always fatal but higher injuries. I don’t know if it’s the quality of candidates or the-” she faltered. “Or the training. “I’ve increased required attendance sessions because of it,” she said shortly, slightly defensive. “Gone back to basics with most Enclave members.” 

She met his eyes. “So,” she said. “I’d start there.” She stepped back as the last basic defense drills were completed. “I’m not going to do your work for you though- you want to be Head, you can make your own assessment,” she said, her voice chilly. She set down her sabre. “I’ll need to go down now,” she said. 

Kit nodded his head at her. “Tithe time,” he said, almost under his breath, watching her carefully. She looked back at him confusedly, and Kit stifled a sigh. Whatever Sabina had reacted to in his questions around budgets earlier, it didn’t appear she knew about the tithe issue. But he did add her to the list of potential ominous text message-senders, given what she had just told him. 

“Sure,” she said, giving him a tight smile. “See you around, Herondale.”   

But she also seemed to dislike him- or at least, resent him for coming in and taking one of the competition spots. Not that he could blame her. So would she have tipped him off? 

He debated telling her his deep reluctance to even be taking part in the competition. But he knew it wasn’t the right time- not until he knew more about the Institute and its inhabitants to rule her out as being part of the problem. 

-- 

When he wasn’t shadowing, training, patrolling or getting his head around paperwork, Kit spent his limited free time the next few days reacquainting himself with the Institute. Despite his occasional visits to London in recent years, he hadn’t spent any time at the Institute properly since his first time with the Blackthorns - mainly because during his last extended time in the city he had been a wanted fugitive. He had been wary in the years afterwards, still preferring to stay with his parents in Devon when he visited the UK, or more recently, at the townhouse.  

The London Institute remained as awe-inspiring as ever, its sparse Gothic beauty evident in the echoing halls, beautifully carved lintels and stone-tiled floors. But Kit could also see evidence of wear and tear he hadn’t remembered from before, like cracks in the intricate window panes, moth-eaten tapestries and broken door handles. He remembered Tessa had told him the London Institute had been the wealthiest and largest Institute and Enclave in her and Will’s day. Evidence pointed to that not being the case anymore… 

And as Sabina had indicated, the London Enclave was still understaffed, with seven full-time Shadowhunters living at the Institute and a further three families who lived outside, alongside the Centurion office in the city, which helped to bolster patrol numbers. He had meant to ask Evelyn about the Institute’s finances but each time she had stuffed their meetings full to the brim with protocol and instructions, and with the other two candidates around, Kit didn’t want to tip them off yet.     

It was quiet in another way too, in a way that had him feeling increasingly uneasy. He hadn’t seen any ghosts - or one ghost in particular - and he had been looking for her, given she might have some of the answers he was seeking. 

“Jessamine?” he finally resorted to calling out cautiously, in several rooms. Unfortunately, that strategy backfired.  

“Are you trying to talk to the local Institute ghost?” an amused Scottish voice came from the high-backed armchair by the fireplace. Kit rocked back on his heels as Jacob rose, his finger in a thick tome. 

“I had heard the Herondale family had a talent for ghost-whispering,” he said, a small smile playing on his face. 

“It’s true,” Kit said reluctantly. He didn’t volunteer more information even though he knew he should be friendlier with Jacob, make him trust Kit. 

But he was still making up his mind on Jacob Dearborn. On one hand, despite Roger’s lecture, Kit suspected Jacob of still trying to sabotage him in smaller, subtler ways. A fire message sent by Jacob for a summons with Evelyn had arrived five minutes after the meeting was supposed to begin. His temporary room (which he was mainly using to store his gear and weapons), assigned by Jacob, was in the furthest reaches of the Institute’s maze of hallways, meaning he always seemed to miss the first few minutes of training sessions. And when he had asked for any notes on Downworlders in London, given his new role, Jacob had simply evaded. Kit was left trying to piece together a picture of the London Downworld through dusty filing cabinets and yellowing pages of handwritten notes, ahead of his planned meetings the following week. 

On the other hand - and perhaps this was because Kit had other Dearborn interactions to compare with - Jacob didn’t seem to share the abhorrent views expressed by others of his family, as far as Kit had noticed. A low bar, sure- but Jacob did at least clear it. 

“Hmm?” Kit realised Jacob had said something else to him. 

“Are you trying to contact the Institute ghost, Jessamine Lovelace?” Jacob had come around to stand in front of him, looking down his long, aquiline nose. 

“That’s right- have you seen or spoken with her recently?” Given his archivist position, Kit wasn’t surprised Jacob knew about Jessamine. 

“No,” Jacob admitted, surprisingly glum in his manner. “She is surprisingly skittish- but even more so recently. I thought I had been making headway- we had an old chalkboard and she had been communicating through that, confirming facts I’ve found in the archives. But she’s stopped responding in recent months.”

“How long ago?” Kit asked, intrigued. “Have you tried setting it up in different places?” He remembered a long ago night spent on the steps of the Institute and Jessamine’s surprisingly good company.    

“Of course!” Jacob seemed personally affronted by the question. “This isn’t my first time communing with undead spirits.” 

Kit hid his amusement. “No, of course,” he said gravely. “It’s just that I wonder if she’s passed on?”

“I hope not,” Jacob said, and then hastily added. “Not that she canna… but last time we spoke she was in the middle of confirming the guest list for the annual Christmas party for the prewar years and seemed very keen on it. I think that was about- five months ago? Four months perhaps…” He eyed Kit and for once didn’t seem to be considering him as a rival. “If you see her, could you tell her I’m willing to go and purchase more of those American Girl dolls for her?”

“Because buying creepy dolls for ghosts is always the best plan…” Kit retorted but he revised it when Jacob looked confused at his initial sarcastic answer. “Uh huh, sure- no problem,” he answered. He started to back up slowly, out of the drawing room. “Anyway, given I can’t find her- I’m going to head to the library to research instead.” 

“Understandable- we have the best library in Europe, including many rare and unique primary sources. What were you hoping to learn more about?”  Jacob said, a touch pompously. But having seen the library - Kit could forgive him a little for that. 

This was the first time Jacob had spoken more than a few polite words to him and opened up and Kit decided to press his advantage for more information. “Faerie lore,” he said casually. “Recent interactions with the Institute… and any faerie traditions associated with it- geas, tithes, you know that lot. Particularly if I’m going to reach out to the Courts and free Fae of London and represent the Institute.” 

Jacob looked disconcerted. “I would’ve thought with your heritage, you’d be better versed in that than most Shadowhunters,” he said, his voice slightly stiff. Kit couldn’t tell if the look on Jacob’s handsome face meant he knew about the tithe or not. 

“I only know one side-” Kit said, watching him carefully. “I’d like to understand the Nephilim view- and I thought Jessamine might be helpful, if she’s seen Fae representatives visit over the years.”

Jacob drew himself up. “I could help with that-” he said, not meeting Kit’s eyes. “Given our schedules and the size of the library, it would take you a while to find anything useful. I can weed out the unimportant chaff.”

Kit smiled. “That would be incredibly helpful- thanks Jacob.” And if it ended up being completely irrelevant information- that might also tell him something… like Jacob trying to throw him off onto the wrong trail, he thought. 

“Mm,” Jacob said noncommittally. “And in return- if you do see Jessamine - or any local ghosts- I’d like to attend any conversations you have with them. You could be an incredible resource to my research.” 

“It’s a deal,” Kit said immediately. 

He resisted the urge to whistle as he walked down the hall after exiting. Another lead out- and depending on what Jacob turned up, it could help him figure out if Maryam’s comments were related to the rot within the Institute.

-- 

Kit could feel his chest heaving as he dodged another slow-moving tourist group. Ahead of him, Ade spared a quick glance back but didn’t slow his pace, his legs pumping effortlessly. Kit looked up as the shadow of the giant ferris wheel came into view on the river bank, thanking whatever deity was listening that their run was nearing its end. 

Their route was around five miles but Ade had set a punishing pace from the start. Beginning at his flat just behind Whitechapel station, they ran along narrow graffitied streets around Aldgate, down modern roads buttressing remains of Roman walls, across Tower Bridge, to the bustling market areas around London Bridge and Southwark and to the increasingly tourist-crowded Southbank. Finally they rounded the curve of the Thames by the London Eye, directly across the river from Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. 

Kit wasn’t sure if the unreasonable speed was retribution from his and Ty’s vampire intervention or just Ade running to get his frustrations out. Kit was paranoid it was the former. Ade had been short when Kit had met up with him outside his flat’s door, muttering about a rough couple of shifts, and shaking his head when Kit asked if he wanted to talk about it. They had stretched in silence before setting off.  

Kit could also feel some tendrils of guilt continue sitting uncomfortably in his stomach, and he resolved to talk about the situation with Ade. He’d been so busy at the Institute he hadn’t had time to do more than arrange to meet up with his friend on the weekend, picking up their college habit of going on runs together, before they planned to meet up with their other friend Ellie for lunch. Ty was already at Blackthorn Hall for the day, with Kit joining him and the rest of the Blackthorns later on. 

Ade finally started to slow in the park just behind the Eye. He threw himself down onto a grassy knoll. Kit jogged up, sweat streaming down his neck. He gestured the universal sign of ‘water’ to Ade, who nodded as he took out his earbuds. “You want something to eat too?” Kit asked, remembering their years in Devon when they used to go and gorge themselves at the local Wetherspoons after runs. He pointed to a nearby ice cream van. 

Ade shook his head, sweat flying off. “Nah, bruv- can’t handle the sweet shit after a run. Literally,” he said, a brief grin emerging. He nodded towards a taco van parked beside it. “But get me some of those pork tacos and it’ll be grand.” 

When Kit returned, he could see Ade staring intently at his phone. “All good?” he asked, and Ade shut it off quickly. “Yeah, yeah.” he said, the faint frown disappearing. 

Kit sat down across from his friend, breathing in the muggy air. It was set to be another scorcher of a late summer day and even mid-morning, he could feel the humidity rising. “I don’t remember London being this hot,” he complained, pulling at his damp t-shirt. 

“Global warming, innit,” Ade said, shrugging. 

They ate their food in silence until Kit couldn’t stand it anymore. “Look- about Wednesday night. I’m sorry, man. I know Ty and I didn’t handle it the right way.” 

Ade stared straight ahead, intently chewing. He took a moment before he answered. “No, you didn’t,” he said quietly. “Why not just tell me, instead of ambushing me and Maryam?”

Kit took a moment to answer. “I guess we could have. But you have to understand- Maryam might be okay… but not all vampires are. And you had magic around you that’s often used to keep mundanes docile and forgetful. Apparently she did it to try and protect you… but if she had had ill intentions, it was better to catch it in action.”

“Okay but… you both knew about the magic from when? When you met me the night Ty got hurt?” Ade demanded. He shook his head.

Kit shifted uncomfortably. “The morning after- Ty spotted it,” he confessed. “But we didn’t want to freak you out.” 

Ade scrunched up his face. “That’s messed up, mate, you get that right? I should have a right to know if I’m being fucked up by magic.”

“Yeah. Sorry-” 

But Ade wasn’t finished. He turned to look at Kit. “But you know what’s even more messed up- is how you treated Maryam,” he said firmly. “You need to apologise to her.” 

Kit immediately opened his mouth to protest and he shut it again at the hard, closed off look on Ade’s face. He thought back to that evening. “Yeah, I suppose we went in too hard.”

“You went in like coppers- you know, assuming the worst of her.” 

“I know, I know. The thing is… we kind of are,” Kit said slowly, feeling guilty. He remembered his initial revulsion around being told he was a Shadowhunter; he had grown up in the Market where it was anathema to have anything to do with them. When had the lines gotten so blurred for him that he didn’t immediately remember those facts?

“Shadowhunters have a policing role in what we do. More so in Ty’s role but I have to do it too sometimes.” But then he thought about the times he had seen Lily or Maia or Mark march into Clary and Jace’s office in New York and the joint missions that had been run with the Council. And how in contrast he hadn’t yet met any non-Shadowhunters in London so far at the Institute, other than at the initial wraith briefing. His meetings in the upcoming weeks with London’s Downworld might be more challenging than he originally anticipated, he realised. 

“I thought you were like- demon hunters,” Ade asked, with a slightly confused look. “You know, with your cool lightsaber swords and all that.” He waved his arm in demonstration. “Hold on- are demons also misunderstood? Thought you said they’re evil?” 

“Demons are evil - pretty much solely concentrated on eating your face or demanding your soul for eternity,” Kit reassured him. “But Downworlders- vampires, werewolves, warlocks, faeries etc. aren’t as easy to classify into all good or bad, no matter how much some Shadowhunters want that distinction. But uh- It’s kinda what Nephilim were created to be. The protectors of humans- mundanes- from any evil creatures that go bump in the night. Not that we’re all good either.”

He sighed. “Believe me, when I found out I was one, after growing up thinking I just had the Sight, I also thought the worst- thought they threw their weight around and were bullies. But as I got to know them, it became more nuanced than that.” Kit cut off his rambling, looking over to his friend. 

“Hmm,” Ade made a non-commital noise. 

Kit ducked his head, knowing how it sounded. He thought about the mundane news that he made a point of trying to keep up with regularly. “Look, I do get where you’re coming from. I’ll make it right with Maryam- apologise to her. I promise.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ade nod, but he didn’t say anything.

Kit worried a patch of grass near his sneaker as the silence between them stretched out. “Are we- are we okay, man?”

Ade took a long sip of his water. He nudged Kit with his foot. “You mean- am I calling you out. ACAB shit and refusing to have anything to do with you going forward?”

Kit squirmed at Ade’s accurate insight into his state of mind. He nodded, without saying anything further.

Ade sighed. “We’ve been friends for what- seven years now? I know you as Kit. Not as Shadowhunter recruit number seventeen or whatever.” He crumpled the rest of his food wrapper and tossed it like a basketball into a nearby bin. “Look- I have no problem calling you out if it’s needed, if I see you being a bigoted piece of shit, yeah? But let’s not make it more complicated than that right now. All right?”

“Totally fair.” Kit nodded, feeling relieved. “What about Ty?”

Ade huffed. “Same deal, okay? Also you’re not getting rid of me- nah, it’s not that easy. Especially as I’m apparently about to see more weird shit, thanks to my friendship with you,” he said, a wry look crossing his face. 

“I am also sorry about that-” Kit groaned. “I never thought-”

Ade shoved him playfully. “Okay okay, even I’m getting bored now with the apologies and self-recrimination,” he said. “At least now I’ll be able to see those invisible things you and Ellie were always talking about…”

“Ellie is going to have opinions, for sure,” Kit said, beginning to smile. 

“When does she not?” Ade laughed.    

-- 

“I am so sorry-” Ellie covered her mouth. “I know I shouldn’t laugh but oh my god. Ade Olawale, the most down to earth, unruffled-” she cackled. “You’re about to get a rude awakening, if you haven’t already.”

Ade’s eyes widened across the small booth they had squeezed into, in an equally tiny Thai restaurant tucked behind Waterloo Station.

Kit tried to manage expectations. “I mean- it’s not going to be as bad as that...”

“True,” Ellie said, wiping her eyes. “I’m exaggerating- gotta love the drama. And you’re at least aware of what’s happening- for me, I just thought I had a really good imagination as a kid. ‘Though I did worry I was going crazy when I started seeing more and more glimpses of the Shadow World. Not helped by someone initially telling me I was imagining stuff…” She reached over to poke at Kit in the chest, exasperatedly.

Kit held his hands up in a mea culpa signal. “I was just trying to protect you both, remember?” They all fell silent as they remembered the last few incidents before Kit disappeared from Devon, driven away by the danger around him being the First Heir. 

Ade broke the silence. “Well- we’re all in the club now, so initiate me,” he said. 

Kit remembered the stories Simon had told him about recruitment of mundane Sighted teens, and his own experiences growing up in L.A. He outlined some quick pointers. “So… once you know not to eat or drink Faerie food, and you stay clear of spells- you just get used to just accepting that yeah- the local dude running the corner shop late shift is a ghoul, or those local bikers are actually werewolves…” Kit trailed off. He didn’t want to freak his friend out too much and he figured Ade’s practical nature would keep him away from the darker areas of the Shadow World. 

A visibly worried Ade frowned. “Right. And will they notice me more now?” 

“No. Unless you stick your nose into their business. Just ignore it and walk on if you spot something weird and you’ll be fine,” Ellie replied, almost dismissively. 

“Is that what you’re doing now, Ellie?” Kit asked, curious. Ellie had left the Shadowhunter Academy a few months before her Ascension ceremony, after her mum had been diagnosed with cancer. But that had been a few years ago- her mum had died since, and Ellie was back attending a mundane university in north London. “I know it must be hard- having been part of the Shadow World for a few years and then going back to mundane life.” He had tried it for a while himself, post-saving the world. And realised that for better or worse- his life was intertwined with Shadowhunters and the Downworld. 

Ellie gave him an arch look, beneath her smudged black eyeliner. “Oh don’t give me that,” she said, almost peevishly. “I’ve coped. But if you want to know- I’ve left it all behind. I’m on my uni course and if I see any strange Downworld things, I just pretend I don’t.”

“Doesn’t exactly sound the healthiest,” Ade muttered. Kit was inclined to agree. But Ellie had a look of mulish disagreement that Kit didn’t want to say much more. He tried to be diplomatic.  

“Okay but If you ever want to like- visit a Shadow Market or something, for old times sake, Ty and I would be happy to meet up with you there,” Kit told her, trying to bridge whatever gap was making her cold with him. He wasn’t sure what he’d done- they’d been fine when they had met up to go clubbing earlier in the week. 

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Oh so magnanimous,” she said. “I might not have gone all the way into becoming a Shadowhunter but I don’t need you baby-sitting me.” 

Kit felt stung by Ellie’s response. “That’s not what I meant, El.” 

“You can protect me,” Ade said, sensing the tension between Ellie and Kit. He grinned. “Despite Kit’s pointers, I still have practically no idea how this works- you can be my guide.”

“Me as well as this mysterious vampire-” Ellie said, brightening up. A brief look crossed her face that Kit wasn’t sure about, but she appeared to be allowing herself to be distracted. “Vampires are also soooo on trend,” she wiggled her eyebrows beneath her mauve fringe. “Not surprised that’s what dragged you fully into the Shadow World.” She looked mischievous. “If you need it, we got the ‘safe blood-donation’ talk from Luke at the Academy- I might have my notes around somewhere to share.” 

Ade rubbed the back of his head, slightly embarrassed. “We’re just friends,” he said. But he allowed himself to be pulled into describing Maryam, as Ellie dragged the details out of him, while Kit relaxed in the corner of the booth. He and Ellie answered Ade’s remaining questions and he was feeling better about the whole affair by the time they finished their meal. 

As they were leaving Ellie pulled him aside. “Sorry for being snippy back there,” she said, her blue eyes bright in the sunshine. “But rather than me rehashing old haunts- how about you and Ty come a bit further into the mundane? Come to dinner at my house, and you can meet Ollie.” 

Wanting to get back into Ellie’s good graces and also being curious about her new boyfriend- who she had said very little about so far, Kit quickly agreed. 

-- 

“DIE, demon spawn,” Dru hissed across the board, throwing down her hand of cards. 

Ash raised one white-blond eyebrow. “Ouch, my petal of loveliness,” he said mildly. 

“Bit on the nose for Ash in terms of insults, isn’t it Dru?” Kit said, grinning. Dru stuck her tongue out at him.  

Passing by with another huge carton of maple syrup, Julian peered down. “Game heating up?” he asked with interest. 

“He sent the robber around to steal the wheat,” Ty informed him, shuffling a couple of cards in his hand as he spoke. “Thereby denying Dru what she needed to build her longest road.” Even as he spoke, Ty’s eyes were focused on the board, shifting around constantly. 

Hearing the explanation, Emma shook her head from her perch at the long birch island in the centre of the room. “I’m so glad I didn’t agree to play. You all are vicious.” 

“Settlers is a great game- we’ll get you involved next time, Em,,” Dru said loftily even as she threw another filthy glance at Ash. “Should’ve left you to rot in that troll’s cage when I first found you in Faerie.”

“Love you too, my knight,” Ash replied with a smile, reaching out to grab her hand and kiss the back of it. Dru finally cracked, smiling but still shaking her head. 

“Food will be ready in ten,” Julian told them, the smell of bacon and pancakes permeating in the air of Blackthorn Hall’s massive kitchen. 

Kit’s stomach was rumbling, and he played the last few minutes of the game half-heartedly. Ty won handily with Dru coming in second. 

Outside, it was rapidly getting dark, late on the Friday evening as they sat down to food and there was little chat while they ate. It was a smaller group than typical at Blackthorn Hall but as it was Tavvy’s week back at school, he, Aline and Helen hadn’t made the journey out to London. And Mark and Cristina and Kieran were all settled into their New York loft, nesting with their newborn baby, Malena, born only a few weeks before. 

“Oof, I can’t fit any more in,” Emma said finally, pushing back her plate. She poked her belly, which protruded heavily over her skinny jeans. “Barney and Jezebel appreciated it though.”

Julian winced. “I swear you’re coming up with even worse name combos the closer we get,” he said, half-resignedly, half amused.

“You guys still planning to stay in Idris for the birth?” Dru asked.  

“I know some crackin’ faerie midwives,” Ash mentioned. “I was apparently a terrible birth for my mom but they helped a lot with it. If you want, I can make the introduction.”   

“Er- as much as I appreciate the offer-we’ll either be here or Idris,” Emma said diplomatically, and Kit wondered if she was amused or horrified at being recommended the same birth plan as the Seelie Queen. 

He noticed Ty’s unhappy look at the chat and Kit reached out underneath the table, letting his hand rest gently on Ty’s knee, stroking. Ty’s hand came to rest on top, and he gave a quick grateful glance to Kit. He knew Ty didn’t want to talk about it but the fact that Emma was expecting twins brought up tough memories around Livvy. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Kit could see Julian watching them, also in tune with the mood of all his family members and he steered the conversation away to a different topic- letting Emma talk about her work with the new Academy curriculum. Then Dru updated them on her latest quests in Faerie, in contrast to Ash, who was charming but as ever, his flowery language told them limited information as to what was happening in Faerie, and its rebuilding. 

Finally they came around to Kit and Ty’s first week in London and between them, they gave a quick summary of what had occurred. 

There was silence as the table digested the news about the apparent issues at the London Institute. 

“Just my luck, getting a dud Institute,” Kit laughed nervously, watching Julian’s reaction. “And before you ask- no, I don’t want to be Head, and it’s likely they just invited me to join because of tradition.” 

Julian didn’t reply for a few long seconds, his green-blue eyes dark in the kitchen’s shadowy, homely lighting. Kit snuck a glance over to Ty. 

Ty cleared his throat. “We’re looking into it, Jules.” It wasn’t phrased as a question and Ty seemed unshakeable in his belief that they could handle it themselves, as if announcing it to the Inquisitor - albeit also his brother - was a fait accompli. “But do you have any advice while we do so?”

Julian let out a long sigh. “I am assuming you’re basically asking permission to conduct this investigation?” he asked. 

“We can… hand it over to your office instead?” Kit offered carefully. 

Julian shook his head, and he gave a rueful look over to Ty. “No- and I’m sure as Ty already knows, we don’t have the resources to deal with it, given what we’re currently dealing with...” He didn’t elaborate. 

Ty shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “So let us handle it.”

“You mean Kit will handle it. You already have a lot on your plate with the wraiths,” Julian said sharply, and Emma looked up at his tone, her brown eyes worried. “I’ve read the reports.” And Kit wondered at Julian’s reach as Inquisitor and whether he had somehow found out about Ty’s injuries and his and Kit’s late night dash to a mundane hospital to deal with them. 

“There’s a whole team of Centurions with me on the case,” Ty reassured him. “And yes- Kit’s taking the lead with any Institute issue but I’ll be there to assist him.” 

“Kit can handle a 90 year old woman and a sick man,” Ash said, supportively. 

Dru frowned. “That’s awfully dismissive,” she told him. 

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Ash said, looking confused. “Elderly women are some of the wiliest adversaries and those who are ill often have nothing to lose…” Not for the first time, despite them being the same age, Kit was reminded of the wide chasm of his and his cousin’s experiences. But then he remembered his history with Mother Hawthorn, not to mention his recent interactions with Evelyn and he was inclined to agree with Ash’s assessment.  

“We don’t know for sure it’s coming from Evelyn and Roger or whether it’s elsewhere in the Institute,” Kit replied.  

Julian looked over at Kit. “Whoever or whatever it is- find the evidence of corruption or misconduct and send it to my office. And then wait for instruction,” he told Kit. “Don’t put yourself in danger.”

Kit nodded, feeling relieved. So, officially slash unofficially, they had the support of the Clave, if they needed it.

Later on, as the Blackthorn siblings and Emma settled down to competitively watch the Great British Bake-off, Kit drew Ash aside and asked about tithes and a possible connection to the Institute. “No Seelie or Unseelie Court member would pay a tithe out to a Nephilim Institute,” Ash told him. “Not since the Cold Peace ended.” His green eyes were shrewd as he looked Kit up and down. “But I don’t know about the Free Folk- you’ve always had more connections there.” 

Kit sighed. “Mostly in New York and L.A.,” he said. “I have to make a trip to the London Shadow Market this week to see if I can find some similar connections.” 

“You will, brother,” Ash said. He looked down at Kit’s hand, the voyance rune gleaming blackly against Kit’s pale skin. Ash smiled and held out his own, similar-inked hand - the only permanent Shadowhunter rune he wore - and turned it palm upwards. 

His body language indicated he was waiting for Kit. “I haven’t practiced,” Kit warned even as he mirrored Ash’s position. 

“I don’t care,” Ash told him, some of the authority of the Seelie realm seeping through in his voice. A tendril of greenish-white light floated up from the centre, and tentatively moved towards his own open palm. 

Kit grit his teeth, letting the light caress up and around the lines of his hand and he took a deep breath, attempting to wake up a long dormant - and potentially dead power. Slowly, Kit could feel something float up from deep within and trickle down his arm. He willed it to manifest. 

For the briefest moment, he thought he saw a flash of golden light dancing with Ash’s own magic and then it faded and the other faerie magic was too much, burning Kit in its intensity. 

He withdrew his hand with a hiss, watching as the skin blistered. 

Across the room, he saw Ty look up suddenly from his conversation with Dru and Kit hid his hand. Ash looked stricken, and a stele appeared in his hand. “It’s improving,” he said, covering Kit from view even as he swiftly drew an iratze on Kit’s forearm. 

“Maybe,” Kit felt exhausted, as if he had gone for a ten mile run, or just come in from a long night patrol. “I’ll keep trying.”

“We should do more next time you’re in Faerie,” Ash said, his face contemplative. “I think we’re close.” As always, there was a faint note of guilt in his words as he attempted to help Kit regain his Fae power. 

Kit nodded and pushed past him without response, going to join Ty on the sofa. 

“What were you and Ash talking about?” Ty asked quietly, as Emma and Dru shouted and Julian leaned forward anxiously over some kind of 3D cookie tower being constructed on the TV. 

“Tithe business,” Kit told him, reaching out to twine his hands in Ty’s, ensuring his newly drawn iratze was covered by his sleeve. “He doesn’t think that it’s connected to Seelie or Unseelie Courts.” He didn’t mention the aborted magic attempt- it was something that he and Ash had only just started the last time Kit was in Faerie. He didn’t want Ty to worry about something that was likely to be a dead end- especially given everything else on their plate at the moment. 

If - and it was a big if, he managed to jumpstart his magic again, then he’d let Ty know, Kit figured. 

Ty was watching him, his mouth pursed slightly and Kit wondered if he’d seen the magic attempt- and he opened his mouth, about to explain when Ty suddenly looked past him. “That doesn’t even look like Big Ben,” he complained, and Kit looked over to see more cookie sculptures on screen. “No, but I’d still eat it,” Kit said. Emma heard and grinned at him. 

Ty smiled too. As the credits rolled, he turned his attention back to business. “It’s okay that it’s a dead end with Ash,” he said, his grey eyes serious. “The interviews we conduct this week with key Downworld contacts might shed light on it instead.”

Kit nodded. “Yeah.. about that,” he said. “I have a feeling it might be more challenging than we think…” 

--

Taglist: @dontmindmyshadowhunting @sandersgrey @of-same-steel-and-temper @thomastaircompassrose @thechangeling @mferraz @kestrafagnor @gabtapia @alldagayships @blindbandit1515 @silvermagnolias @chaotic-halfblood-kit @fighting-god-69 @lifeofbrybooks @all-this-panic-still-no-disco @heloisacosta23 @kitheronthorn @idk-i-just-really-like-tsc @t0wergirl @immortal-enemies @ahumanbeingtryingherbest @chewriting @bookishjules

Let me know if you'd like to be added/removed from the list. :)

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Masterlist for these drabbles here. Check out the original post/prompt list. And feel free to send me requests if there are any specific combinations/pairings you want to see.

Raising a Child + Pickpocket + "Am I under arrest, or not?" + Bagginshield

I couldn’t resist. It was either Bagginshield or Nwalin. And the “raising a child” part made it easier in my mind. 🤣

Pickpocketing for loose change was never a position Bilbo had ever imagined himself, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Luckily, he always had a rather uncanny ability to blend into crowds and shadows. For having to learn such a risky lifestyle, Bilbo had learned a few tricks. One of those being, people let their guard down around children. He would have thought it would be the opposite case considering their habit of having sticky fingers, but it was the false sense of purity that made people think spaces with children around were safe. So his usual territory was playgrounds, public pools, gymnasiums, and how did he get away with not looking like a creep? Well, he had a secret weapon.

“Are you working or do I get to play this time?”

Bilbo blinked in shock before staring down at the frowning lad clinging tightly to his fingers.

“Do you not usually have fun and play?”

Frodo shook his head. “I get scared for you.”

Bilbo had to resist the urge to release a large sigh as guilt twisted his stomach and burnt his throat with bile.

“It won’t always be like this, my lad.”

“That’s what you always say.”

The unexpected desire to cry hit him full force. It wasn’t fair. Frodo wasn’t being fair. The fact that Bilbo had been backed into this corner wasn’t fair. Primula and Drogo dying and leaving him…Bilbo shook his head. He wouldn’t go down that path. He would never allow him to think of Frodo as a burden even when the bills began to pile up, overwhelming Bilbo in debt that wasn’t his fault. He wished he could be better for Frodo, but…well as he said, life isn’t fair.

They arrived at one of the nicer parks in Erebor at least. Bilbo sometimes would catch himself daydreaming about sitting on one of the park benches, soaking in the sunshine, and being able to write his book like he’s always dreamed. In another life perhaps.

“Alright Frodo, I’ll be over here if you need me. You go play and have fun.”

The blue eyed boy looked pleadingly at Bilbo for a moment before taking his cue with a small sigh. The lad was well on his way to breaking Bilbo’s heart. For one small moment, he allowed himself to pretend to be just like all these other parents. Out on a lovely afternoon venture with his small ward to watch him explore, laugh, and work off some excess energy. Instead, he could only notice how much scrawnier and tattered Frodo looked compared to the other children, not to mention sadder. However, there was a blonde and brunette who seemed to be trying their hardest to coax the lad into their game. A quirk of his lips in a weak attempt of a smile was all he could muster.

“There’s no need to be concerned.”

Bilbo whirled around. “I’m sorry?”

A tall, dark-haired man came to stand next to him. “Fili and Kili are my nephews there. They may be a little rambunctious, but I promise they won’t hurt your boy.”

“Oh!” Bilbo forced a laugh. “No, I wasn’t worried about that. I just…Frodo has been through a lot. He lost his parents a few years ago, you see, and I just want the best for him.”

The man gave Bilbo a pained smile. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo nodded politely.

There was a lull which was by no means awkward, but the silence somehow became heavier the longer it went on. Bilbo could see the man looked like he was trying to say something else before he suddenly sighed and stretched. It was too perfect an opportunity. Bilbo reached over into the man’s pocket immediately finding his wallet and safely securing it in his hoodie before the other was the wiser. 

“Enjoy your afternoon.” The man finally mumbled before walking away.

“You too.” Bilbo called weakly.

He waited until the man was out of sight before pulling rifling through the leather folds to see just how much cash he had scored. Something cold and metallic fell into his hands first, and Bilbo frowned as he pulled it out just slightly only for his spine to go rigid with fear. Holy shit, he just pickpocketed a cop.

“Frodo! Frodo, lad. I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave.” Bilbo called out to his nephew.

Frodo furrowed his brows in confusion while the other two boys, Fili and Kili, groaned in complaint. It would have been precious if Bilbo wasn’t freaking out.

“I completely forgot, we still have to get milk and eggs. We can come back and play tomorrow.” He forced a smile, trying to remain calm for Frodo.

He finally started to walk towards Bilbo apologizing to the other two for leaving the game early. As soon as Bilbo had Frodo’s hand in his own, he started to make a beeline for their apartment.

“Uncle Bilbo! You’re going so fast!” Frodo complained.

“Sorry lad. We need to go though.” 

“Are you in trouble?”

“I’m afraid I might just be…”

They were nearly out of the park when the sound he had been dreading started to come up behind him.

“Wait!”

Panic seeped in now. Should they make a run for it? Should he split up with Frodo? Would they take Frodo away from him? What was he talking about, of course they would!

“Hold on!”

Bilbo looked down at Frodo, memorizing every feature of the young boy’s face. He would find him again. He may not have been able to stop the identity thief that put him in two hundred thousand dollars worth of debt. And he had been unsuccessful in stopping his greedy cousins from sneaking his home out from underneath him when he was at his lowest, but Bilbo Baggins would not abandon Frodo. Not while there was breath left in his body. With this thought, he turned and faced the cop.

The man grinned. “Hey! I was trying to catch you…”

“Congratulations. Looks like you’ve succeeded.” Bilbo snapped.

A confused yet somehow completely adorable frown pulled at the other’s lips. 

“I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience, but…”

“Am I under arrest or not?” Bilbo jumped in. “Because if you don’t have a warrant, Frodo and I really do have places to be.”

Such as packing to leave this city in the dust. 

Now the other man really did look lost. 

“I wouldn’t need a…how did you know I was a cop?! I was talking about the boys. We wanted…well Fili and Kili wanted to see if we could…get your number? So they could play with Frodo again?”

Bilbo was going to faint. He might literally drop dead on the spot. A playdate. The cop he stole from wanted to organize a playdate. Fuck his life. 

“Right…yes, of course.”

“What exactly did you think I meant?” The other man growled, any warmth in his blue eyes disappearing behind a cold, calculating mask.

Think fast Baggins. It’s what you do best.

“Okay, please believe me. I know how this looks, but I found this wallet on the ground back there and was headed towards the station to see if they had a lost-and-found.” Bilbo slowly pulled out a completely different wallet. “But then you chased after me, and I got flustered, and…I’m not painting a very good impression, am I?”

It was the legitimate fear Bilbo was feeling that he was pretty sure sold his little act. Now, the final step to getting himself out of this mess. He reached out to hand the wallet over, only to miss his fingers on purpose causing it to fall. 

“I’m so sorry!” Bilbo gasped. “Please, let me…”

They both reached down for it, like he hoped they would, and as quickly as he could, he slipped the cop’s wallet back into the pocket he stole it from. Bilbo received a raised eyebrow from the man as he checked the wallet. Thankfully, Bilbo had not had the opportunity to raid its cash yet. It may cost him a small sum today, but it was nothing compared to not being in cuffs right now.

“I still don’t know how you knew I was a cop?” The other sighed.

Bilbo pointed at the pocket containing the man’s wallet. 

“When you stretched earlier, I caught a glimpse of your badge.” 

The man stiffened as a blush creeped across his face, his hand going to said pocket. Bilbo realized how that sounded like maybe he had been checking the man out, and felt embarrassment creep over his own cheeks. Today could not get any worse.

“Right.” The cop coughed. “I hope you can forgive me for being suspicious…comes with the job.”

“I’d be more shocked if you hadn’t been with how weird I was acting.” Bilbo gave a weak smile.

“Well maybe we can head over to the station together. We can file a report, and then take these boys out for ice cream. My treat.”

Fili and Kili immediately started cheering while Frodo looked cautiously optimistic. Bilbo, on the other hand, became aware of a rather painfully crucial fact all at once. He was being flirted with. This cop had come over to talk to him, chased him down, and now assumed Bilbo had been reciprocating the gesture. What fresh hell was this?

“Uncle Bilbo?”

Bilbo looked down at the boy, tugging on his sleeve in the hopes of Bilbo saying yes. 

“Why not?” He forced a fake, tight grin. 

The four bright smiles he got in return were almost worth it. Almost. 

‘I’m Thorin, by the way. Thorin Durin.” The man introduced holding out his hand to shake.

Bilbo returned the gesture with his own name. As they all started to walk off towards the police station Bilbo had to admit, at least the cop was cute.

[jamespotterthefirst]

For A Long Time Now (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 3

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende)

Words: 2K

Warning: Implied adult situations

Premise: He can finally tell her the three words he meant to say for a long time.

Author’s Note: The non-premium Ethan love confession is supreme and nothing will convince me otherwise. This is named after it. 

I.

The bright beams of moonlight illuminated the small, charming bedroom when Ethan awoke. One glance at the digital clock on her bedside informed him it was almost two in the morning. With a sigh that sounded louder in the still darkness, he sank back into her pillows, his heart beating a content, steady beat at the prospect of having just a few more hours by her side. 

A few hours, though a miserable consolation, were welcomed if it meant having her in his arms, peaceful and beautiful. Ethan glanced down at her, unable to avoid feeling awestruck. Her steady breath ebbed and flowed gently, caressing his skin as she slept against his chest, her ear pressed against the heart that beat for her. A few hours were a small but welcomed triumph.

Soon, dawn would break across the sky, announcing the beginning of a new day and bringing them closer to their inevitable end. 

It was as though his misery was a force so strong, it pressed into her because at that moment, she stirred 

“Mmmm.” She let out a small hum of protest twisting and tangling her limbs further in the sheets. When she opened her eyes, she blinked slowly at first then rapidly, pushing away sleep.

“Hi,” she greeted, her fogged expression melting into a tired but breathtaking smile.

“Hey,” he returned with a small smirk. 

Lilac bit her bottom lip against a second smile, this one playful and coquettish. And just like that, they were drawn to one another again, plucking kisses with hot, languid strokes of their mouths. Their movements became slow, lazy, as though they had all the time in the world. 

His heart ached when he realized how untrue that was.

Lilac, lips bruised from his kiss, beamed at him when they broke apart. 

“Why are you awake this early? Don't tell me you actually get up at two in the morning to start your day.”

“Three thirty, actually.”

Lilac made a sound of faux disgust that made him laugh. “If you made me get up that early daily, I'd murder you.”

His stomach gave an involuntary swoop at the implication. She meant if they spent many nights together, not just one night before their return to attending and intern. If they woke up next to each other every morning, stealing kisses as they prepared for their day. If they had more than just mere hours left to be together. 

Lilac seemed to catch the meaning of her words because she blushed. She opened her mouth, mortified, perhaps to dissuade the tension in the quiet bedroom with characteristic rambling. Ethan summoned a crooked smirk before she could get the words out. 

“Not even if I woke you up to do this?” 

In one graceful stroke of movement he had her on top of him, straddling his waist. His lips trailed slow, delicate kisses along her throat, inspiring the most delicious of moans. By the time he reached her jaw, she was breathless. 

“Ethan,” she whimpered, begging him for more. 

He was happy to oblige, fulfilling every one of her panting pleas until, with mingled cries and moans, they collapsed against the heap of pillows. 

“You can absolutely wake me up like that in a few hours.” She snuggled against his chest as she said this, this time listening aptly to his frenzied pulse. 

Ethan chuckled, pulling her close. 

They remained silent for a moment, contently listening to the distant lull of the city. As his breath slowly returned to normal, his eyes scanned the space of her bedroom, taking in every detail he could commit to memory. 

There were many pictures of whom Ethan assumed were her family—lively, kind-faced people, some who shared her same nose, others her smile, few her eyes. Then, in the many frames cluttering the desk, were the familiar faces of her friends, laughing and smiling in just as familiar places: Donahue's, the coast, even Edenbrook. For a wistful moment, he allowed himself to imagine a photo of the two of them framed and placed at her bedside. Lilac would be kissing his cheek and Ethan would fail to fight back a smile, no doubt looking the happiest he'd ever look in his life. 

For a moment he imagined they were just Ethan and Lilac, not Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Allende. 

A swirl of dark clouds slowly floated away, leaving the moon unobstructed. 

In the full light of the moon, he realized they could be both. Ethan wasn't her direct supervisor. If he pulled some strings and asked another attending to be her supervisor, perhaps they could… 

Lilac shifted slightly and hummed meekly, tilting her face up to him. “What are you thinking about?” 

Her voice was thick with exhaustion, both from her trial earlier and from the celebration after. 

Her lids appeared heavy with sleep, already halfway closed. Ethan almost chuckled at the sight, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. 

“You.”

Lilac smiled despite the veil of sleep starting to overwhelm her, savoring the single word. With another small sigh, she snuggled against his chest, her hand sliding up to rest by his collarbone. 

God, he loved it when she did that.

Ethan paused. 

Love. 

A foolish concept he once scoffed at or tried to explain away with scientific facts. Yet, he loved many things about her, he knew that as extensively as he knew medicine.

Ethan swallowed, fingers absently playing with her silky hair.

He loved her.

There was no point in denying what he had known for weeks, what he had felt since perhaps the moment she held his hand on the loveseat of the NICU. As he held her then, Ethan doubted that was an accurate estimate of when his feelings started. He was already in the middle by the time he was forced to accept the undeniable fact that he was in love with Lilac Allende. 

I love you. 

Thinking the words felt like an echo. Merely replaying them in his mind was no longer enough. Simply thinking them felt like a travesty, a complete lack of respect for the beautiful, brilliant woman in his arms. He had to say them, professionalism and propriety be damned. 

He could figure the rest out later. 

She had to know. 

“Lilac?” 

“Hmm?” 

The sound was soft, distant. When he glanced down, she was asleep, breathing peacefully against his chest. With a sad but resigned smile, he pulled her close and kissed her forehead instead. 

-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -

II.

June and Baz filed out without a backward glance. Lilac, however, lingered behind as was her custom. Of that much, Ethan was certain before he even turned around to face her. His eyes locked with a pair of curious green ones and his stomach dove, an involuntary reaction to her.

“Can I help you with something, Dr. Allende?” 

She arched an eyebrow at him. “So formal,” she commented as she stepped into his embrace. “That's not what you called me last night.”

The false innocence she injected into that little whisper drove him insane. His fingers clenched her hips, wishing for nothing more than to fold her over his desk. Instead, he smirked down at her. 

“I don't believe I called you anything last night.”

“Mmm, you didn't. You were too distracted making out with me. I doubt you could string two words together.”

Lilac kissed him again, this time taking great care to push her body against his. Ethan groaned into her mouth, convinced this type of torture was worse than any other. They had only shared hungry kisses on several occasions, but Ethan never allowed it to proceed any further, even if his body protested that decision often. 

He didn't think he could bear the pain of separation when she inevitably moved on next year. 

“Maybe I’ll let you call me that in bed,” she murmured.

Ethan groaned again. 

Luckily for him, her pager interrupted their moment and Ethan was spared from making a fool of himself by trying to stammer out a reply. Lilac glanced down and sighed wistfully.

“I have to go,” she lamented, making little effort to move away. “They’re going to have the results for the Senator’s lead testing soon.” 

Ethan barely heard her, too busy memorizing the curve of her lips, the cluster of freckles on her nose, the exact shade of forest green with flickers of gold from her eyes. 

“Are we still doing dinner at your place tonight?” she asked, completely unaware of his lovestruck admiration. “You owe me that Gregorian stuffed chicken from last time.”

Overwhelmed, Ethan merely nodded.

With one last smile, she craned her neck to kiss him goodbye, her hand lingering on his jaw when they broke apart. 

Ethan watched her approach the door, a sense of urgency gripping him. After everything they had been through that year, his heart beat just as relentlessly for her. That much was clear from their recent slip in conviction. If Ethan was being honest, his heart had never faltered once, not even when he tried to put distance between them by escaping to Brazil. 

Every kiss since the one they shared outside his apartment was proof of one irrevocable truth. 

He never stopped loving her.

He doubted he ever would. 

“Lilac?”

“Hmm?” 

She halted right as she reached the door, looking over her shoulder curiously. 

I love you. 

Ethan opened his mouth, throat straining against a sudden knot. Before the words formed, that constant, miserable thought pushed its way to the forefront of his mind.

She might leave at the end of her residency. She deserves the entire world at her feet and you could never tie her down. 

“Ethan?”

“See you tonight.”

-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -

III.

The real celebration occurred at Lahela's apartment later that evening. At least, that's what the surgeon deemed in a loud and almost incomprehensible cheer when they arrived. When his eyes landed on Ethan by Lilac’s side, however, a small moment of surprise pierced the silence, before he cheered louder than ever, proclaiming, “The Chief is here. Now, it's a real party!” 

Ethan had to admit that this cohort of young doctors knew how to celebrate in style. It didn’t take long before they broke into the impressive selection of drinks at the kitchen counter. The only regrettable aspect of the whole affair was the music. 

“Don Julio 1942, bitches,” Lahela proclaimed, brandishing two sleek bottles of tequila. He seemed to remember Ethan was in the room for he grimaced briefly. “Sorry, Dr. R!”

“The only thing you have to apologize for, Lahela, is taking so long to serve us our shots,” Ethan returned without missing a beat. 

“Amen to that,” Lilac responded enthusiastically from his side. 

After many rounds of high quality shots, their group grew in numbers as other hospital staff arrived and crammed the small apartment. Though no one excluded Ethan from their small cliques—quite the opposite, everyone was too eager to talk to the new Chief—he was happier observing from the sidelines. 

No, he was happier observing her, laughing and celebrating with her friends, from afar. It was like being a spectator to the most beautiful and moving art piece he had ever seen. She deserved all the revelry and acclaim pouring over her that night. This was an exciting chapter in her life that she had fought hard to earn. Ethan did not believe the sun itself could contain the pride blooming in his chest. 

After a couple hours, the late evening found Ethan at the terrace of Lahela’s apartment, a blanket of the deepest purple overhead. 

“Too important to hang out with us plebeians now that you’re Chief of Medicine?”

It was Lilac, standing at the sliding door, cheeks flushed and smile radiant in the moonlight. 

“That has literally never been true about any administrator,” he returned, though smiling just as brightly. He couldn’t contain the elation now that the floodgates had opened. 

Their bodies found each other, as they always would, joining in an embrace. Ethan kissed her forehead, the movement something close to second nature. “I’d argue your new job is more worthy of such praise,” he murmured. With a small nod toward the party, he added, “And theirs.”

Lilac pulled her chin back to survey him with pride. “Spoken like a true leader.”

A rumble of collective groans and cheers erupted from inside the apartment as a new song blurred through the speakers. 

“Bryce is on an eighties-only lockdown,” she explained with a laugh. “He does that when he’s had too much to drink.”

Ethan scrunched up his nose. “Then we got out just in time.” 

Lilac laughed, the sound a comfort to Ethan. They stood there in each other’s embrace, overlooking the twinkling lights of the city, reminiscent of another time long ago on a different balcony. Even then, his heart beat fiercely, desperately for her. Back then, he fought so courageously (and foolishly) against the three words that seemed the only truth in the universe. 

He didn’t have to deny himself of happiness anymore.

At long last, he didn’t have to fight them anymore.

“Lilac?”

“Hmm?”

She glanced up at him.

“I love you.”

 Her smile rivaled the stars above their heads.

“I love you, Ethan,” she replied without hesitation. 

He didn’t dare believe he could ever be happier. Then she kissed him, pouring her feelings into every movement of her lips, and he realized his happiness was boundless by her side. When they pulled apart, breathless and grinning like teenagers, Ethan let out a low chuckle.

“It’s an outrage to tell you that with Starship playing in the background.”

Lilac laughed, her eyes sparkling with unshed, happy tears. “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now is a fitting song if you think about it.”

Ethan made an exaggerated face of disgust that he was sure would make her laugh. Pure satisfaction coursed through him when it did.

 “Luckily for you, you can tell anytime you want now,” she told him.  

He kissed her again, spurred on by uncontained elation. 

“You can rest assured I will.”

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

Author’s Note: I am not okay after that confession. I had to write something. Part I takes place right after her trial in book 1; Part II is right before her attack in book 2; Part III after that confession kljdlkfk

A few notes:

I still plan to write for Lilac and Ethan as time and creativity allows. If anyone still wishes to read them, then they’ll be here for you <3. If anyone still wants OPH content, you can count on me for that. I don’t plan on letting go of this story for a while. 

I’m going on a trip to the East Coast next week, including Boston (eeeek). I will leave a queue of random stuff but also two fics. One will be Chapter 1 of my OHTY Rewrite. The second will be a short ficlet I wrote a while ago

I am currently working on the next chapter of both Pictagram series. Hopefully I can post those when I come back!

Whether you leave the fandom or stick around (or something in between), I want to sincerely thank everyone who has supported this crazy journey of mine for the past year. Writing has always been my passion, but I stopped doing it for years before Open Heart. It was this book, these characters, and YOU who motivated me to write my little heart out. You guys gave me my happiness back and for that I am extremely grateful.  

I love you guys! 

*Tagging in a reblog*

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Mabel might have been easily excitable and very prone to distraction, but she was also very attentive, especially when something had captured either her curiosity or her suspicion. Or both, like in that case.

So, while James was allowed to dismiss the subject with yet another vague answer, the conversation was hardly finished in the girl’s eyes. She would be asking about the treasure chest again, at some point. If possible, once the man had been lulled into a false sense of security by the assumption that she had forgotten all about it. That way, he would have been too caught off guard to come up with empty tales.

It was a strategy she had used on her relatives plenty of times and it had never disappointed.

For now, however, she merely squinted at him for a few seconds, also to make sure that he meant his promise not to repeat her words of praise to Stan.

“Then it’s settled!” She exclaimed, her enthusiasm sparking up once again without warning. “Let’s goooo!”

The next moment, she had grabbed James by the arm and had started to pull him towards the counter, where Melody was manning the cash register. Looking at her, one wouldn’t have expected her to be that strong.

“You’re not a stranger. We’ve introduced each other!” She stated with a slow, solemn nod. Of course she knew that it was hardly enough to make someone trustworthy, but she refused to say no to candies. “I’ll taaaaaake…”

She let her voice trail off for suspence.

“Your biggest bag of Gummy Koalas!!”

As he was dragged practically ( she was definitely stronger than she looked for a young lady )James couldn't help but chuckle at Mabel's spirited choice.

"Gummy Koalas it is," he calmly replied, nodding to Melody as he paid for the cufflinks and the candy.

As Melody bagged the items, James felt a subtle shift in the air. The sun had fully set, and with it, his vampiric hunger became more insistent.. It was a familiar gnawing that he had learned to manage over the years, but the company of an innocent young girl made it all the more imperative to keep it under control.

He took the bag from Melody and handed the candy to Mabel "Here you are, one big bag of Gummy Koalas, as requested."

Just seeing Mabel's eyes light up with delight brought a genuine warmth to his otherwise cold existence. She was so kind to trust him. He found himself lingering on the moment, appreciating the simple joy she exuded. But the growing hunger was a reminder that his time here needed to be brief.

"Thank you for your wonderful tour and for being such a delightful companion, Mabel," he smiled, gently patting her shoulder. "I fear I must take my leave now. The night calls, and I have some… pressing matters to attend to."

He turned to leave, but paused, looking back at her with a thoughtful expression. "Perhaps we'll meet again sometime. Until then, take care of yourself and keep that spirit of yours shining bright. Toodle-oo"

“Well, you see,” James began, choosing his words carefully, “it’s a long and somewhat convoluted story involving a theft and the desire to regain something deeply personal to it’s thief….allegedly speaking of course. I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.” Realizing he might be giving away too much, especially his age so he was glad the conversation veered elsewhere. Some truths were better left shrouded in mystery.

Thankful Mabel expressed her excitement about the cufflinks, James couldn’t help but be drawn into her infectious enthusiasm. Her genuine joy was refreshing, and he found himself almost getting caught up in the moment. With a genuine grin, he agreed, “Very well, Mabel. I believe I will buy them. Let’s see how they look, shall we?”

“Mums the word. ” He mused at her comment to not let her ‘grunkle’ know she was praising the new Mr. Mystery’s product ideas as they made their way to the cash register. James couldn’t help but appreciate the unexpected turn of events. He had come to the Mystery Shack seeking shelter before dinner, but he found himself caught up in the whimsical charm of this quaint little Gravity Falls tourist trap and the spirited company of a young girl.

James had never had children, but if he had ever had a daughter, he hoped she’d be as outgoing and personable as Mabel.

“Just these please.. and ah.. whatever this charming young lady would like. ” He smiled down at Mabel “ If you don’t mind taking candy from a stranger. Consider it a tip for being an expert salesperson. ”

[blahkugo]

Sleepless

Shouta Aizawa X Reader (BNHA)

Warnings: 18+, bondage, bratty rc, over-stimulation, umm it’s just pure filth sandwiched between some fluff 

Word Count: 3.9k

A good night’s rest? You’ve never heard of her! 

“At least take off your heels before you throw yourself into bed,” your boyfriend’s voice rings out, still deeply agitated from a long night of feigned smiles and interest. You know that tone well— the exasperated sigh typically saved for his students at U.A— but the room is spinning too fast for you to take heed of his reprimand. 

“M’too tired,” you slur your words, face down against your mattress. 

The two of you had been at a pro-hero gala, or as Shouta called it, a “gaudy show of riches for politicians and government dickheads.” It had taken almost all of your energy, and a lot of homemade dishes, to persuade him to accept the invitation; however, he had followed through. He behaved properly all night, smiled and socialized with every partygoer that approached you, and even ensured the vicious insults on the tip of his tongue were whispered into your ears only after each person had turned away. You deemed the night a success, despite waving off Shouta’s warnings about that fourth glass of champagne you downed. 

“You’re going to get our covers dirty, idiot.” You can’t help but feel your heart flutter at that word— our. Be it the hundredth or thousandth time, you don’t think you’ll ever get over hearing him refer to the two of you as one. It had taken years for him to warm up to you, after all. While he considers it endearing now, you’re positive Shouta had initially found your constant laughter and positive nature unbearable, thinking of you as simply another nuisance to avoid; never had he met someone who reduced his usual threatening tone to something playful or entertaining. And little did either of you know, he would slowly come to adore the way his scolding amused you. 

No amount of persuasion from his students or other heroes can convince you Shouta is actually intimidating. If anything, his constant stoicism only compels you to misbehave more. You love pressing his buttons, take pleasure in watching him get riled up and lose his calm demeanor. But as of this very moment, you’re simply too tired, and a bit too tipsy, to play along. You wave off his words with a flick of your wrist, only to feel a tug at your ankle. 

“Wha–” 

“Stop squirming. I’m trying to take them off,” he struggles with the straps woven intricately up your calves, “damned things are more tangled than my cloth.” When he finally removes them, you feel the pads of his fingertips graze your legs softly. Shocks travel your entire body as he pays special attention to the indents adorning your skin— drawbacks of the tight laces that are quite easy to disregard when they urge him to touch you so sweetly. 

Shouta stalks away for a moment, only to return with a cotton pad and makeup remover. You’re surprised he even knows what products to use, though you know you shouldn’t be. He has spent countless minutes watching you complete your night routine intently, though usually his stare is paired with a sleepy grumble to hurry up and join him in bed. 

He shifts you into a sitting position, wiping tenderly at your cheek while you pull off your false lashes.

“Those are fake?” He snorts, baffled. 

“Mhhm, I’m prettier without them, right?” You poke fun at him, knowing he’ll ignore the cheesy question. A faint heat rises on his cheeks. 

“Shut up and put this on,” he nudges one of his t-shirts into your arms before he slides your strapless dress down your body. Even with your eyes half-shut, you can feel his charged stare ogling every hill and valley of your naked form. His fingers barely skim you— a purposeful maneuver to focus on the task at hand— but your body jerks into his grasp, keen for more. Sleepy or not, you’d never waste an opportunity for a quickie. You know just how swiftly a few words and caresses on his part could have you bucking and sobbing, like putty in his han– “(Y/N), stop. You’re drunk and half-asleep.” 

“Only tipsy and a quarter asleep, thank you very much.” Your eyes flutter open to see the beginnings of a smile touch his lips, but he just barely holds it back. He’s trying his damn hardest to remain stern, how cute. “Shou,” you mewl, elongating his name in the hopes that he’ll budge.

“Don’t pout at me,” he taps a chiding finger against your bottom lip, “the answer is no. I still have work to do.” Ignoring your whined protests, Shouta walks out of the bedroom. Seconds later, you hear his office door shut, a sign that he’ll be in there long into the night. 

Any inkling of sleepiness your body possessed is gone without a trace, now feeling nothing but an intense heat coursing the skin your boyfriend brushed, and the alcohol left running through your veins only intensifies that warmth. You turn yourself over in bed, naively will yourself to succumb to sleep and deal with the ache tomorrow; however, your body has other plans. Your thighs press together on their own, desperate for any sort of relief to quell the throbbing between your legs, but it’s no use. Looks like you’re getting up. 

With each step towards his office, you find yourself more impassioned. Who does Shou think he is anyways, leaving you alone in such a needy state? It’s not fair. He gives you the slightest taste of his touch and then cruelly rips it away. So if anything, it’s his fault that your body won’t rest until completely appeased— until he soothes the burn. Besides, you’ll be damned if you’re going to allow him the pleasure of hearing your moans through the thin walls knowing he goaded you into touching yourself.

Upon walking through the door of his workspace, you’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend, the stealthy pro-hero, seated ever-so casually at his desk. He has a hand pressed adamantly against his temple and his hair up in a messy half-bun. So badly do you want to run your hands through it, tug the clip off so you can watch those beautiful, dark locks tumble down his shoulders. You always catch yourself silently hoping for a piece to fall in his eyes so that you can reach out and tuck it behind his ear, delighted when you have any excuse to stroke the soft waves between your fingertips.

“Shou,” you mumble, one hand rubbing at lidded eyes. The white glow of the computer screen washes over him as he turns to you, and you feel your breath hitch again at the Adonis in front of you. 

He’s opted out of wearing any sort of top. Instead, gray joggers hang low on his hips, allowing you to feast your eyes on his lean chest and softly sculpted v-lines. A dark line of hair trails down into his pants, and you feel your mouth water at the idea of licking a long stripe up his navel. 

“Can’t sleep.” You’re aware it comes out a whine, don’t care to correct your tone because it may just convince him to join you in bed. He rolls his eyes, your name flowing off his tongue with a low sigh— music to your ears. 

“I have work to catch up on since somebody forced me to go to that stupid gala,” the accusation is probably sincere, but you smile anyways. 

“Please,” there’s that whine again, “just five minutes.” This time your words are accompanied by a quick yank at the hem of your t-shirt. Your cleavage makes an appearance, and when you see his eyes wander up towards the supple globes— tongue just barely poking out to slide across his bottom lip— you know you’ve got him beat. He mutters under his breath, but the only words you catch are something along the lines of ‘pampered brat’. 

Well, spoiled or not your methods work, and he’s the one indulging your whims anyways. Being curled up against Shouta’s sturdy chest, you find the fatigue of a long night creeping up on you once again. His close proximity is enough to relax you; all of your senses are engulfed in his presence, saturated with him. Your body gladly welcomes his scent with every inhale— clean laundry, aftershave, and something a bit woodier that can only be described as ‘Shouta’. Though he shaved this morning, newly grown stubble scruffs against you every time you nuzzle against his jaw. Slender fingers tangle in your hair, smoothing lazy circles into your scalp. And with your ear pressed to his chest, you realize the slow, steady drum of his heartbeat just might actually lull you into a deep sleep. 

But that’s all before you hitch a leg around his hip to pull him closer. At the sensation of your heat nudged tightly against him, you feel his heartbeat rise rapidly. If any thoughts of sleep linger in your mind, the prospect of riling Shouta up— and perhaps securing an orgasm or two in the process— throws them out the window once again. 

Your fingertips begin to caress his shoulders subtly, ear still pressed to his chest to listen for any jumps in his rhythm. The less he notices your movements, the easier it’ll be to overwhelm him all at once. When your fingers don’t incite any noticeable response, you run them through his hair instead. At the same time, you feign discomfort at the position you’re in and twist your hips slightly, making sure to press your core against him harder. You feel his breath hitch under you, and then your hair being jerked harshly. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he forces you to look up at his cloudy eyes, always ringed with darkness no matter how much rest he receives. Caught. You flash him your sweetest pout, gazing up at him through dainty lashes. A slight ‘hm?’ leaves your lips, but within seconds, they’re attached to his neck, shamelessly kissing and nibbling at the sweet spot near his jaw. “If you’re not going to behave on your own, I’ll make you.” Your thighs tighten around his hips, goosebumps trailing your arms at the clear-cut threat.

“Do it then,” you urge between kisses, now peppering them up his jaw. Your teeth kiss the shell of his ear before you whisper, “or I’ll just keep misbehaving, daddy.” 

In an instant, your face is shoved into the mattress, arms crossed behind your back with Shouta’s cock straining against you through his pants. Rigid cotton brushes against your folds and you realize that perhaps he was expecting this turn of events more than he let on, because the fucker never bothered giving you a change of underwear. 

“You’re such a needy slut,” he spits, heated breath fanning your neck while he tightens his grasp around your wrists. “Can’t go one night without getting me worked up, huh?” His free hand darts under your shirt, now kneading and pinching at your ass. 

“Nope,” you bite back, always ecstatic to provide sassy retorts, especially when he’s seething like this. 

A stinging pain travels your body when he slaps the globe of your ass. Once, twice, five times, each spanking invoking a louder gasp until tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

“Are you done acting up?” Shouta’s tone is slow and composed, almost disinterested. If not for his heaving chest pressed against your back, you would believe him unaffected by the punishment. 

You, on the other hand, are very obviously flustered. Tears stream down your face freely now, and you’re positive the spanking has left a blazing handprint on your cheek as a reminder for days to come. Shouta gives you a final, petty love tap to shake you out of your thoughts. “I don’t have all night.” 

But you’re left unsatisfied, the throbbing between your thighs only worsened by his harsh welts and complete neglect of your clit. He hasn’t made a single motion towards your glistening cunt, probably won’t ever if you simply take his discipline lying down. 

“What if I’m not?” The words leave your mouth hesitantly, face turning to stare back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. He doesn’t say a word, his own eyes narrowing and lips quivering into a disgusted scowl. Even though you’ve asked for this, know exactly what situation you’ve gotten yourself into, your heart quickens at the thrill of seeing your partner so worked up. He may not be outwardly angry— Shouta has always been a man who prefers quick, biting remarks over piercing screams and smashing glass— but his mannerisms tell you everything you need to know. It’s going to be a long, sleepless night.

You feel the tight, unforgiving fabric knotted around your body before you’re even aware of what’s happening. Nimble fingers quickly wrap your arms in place. Then, your legs are bent at the knees and tied securely to your wrists. Only your taut midriff and breasts touch the mattress, leaving your sopping core exposed, no way to flail or deny him entrance. You’re his to do whatever he pleases with.

“Behave.” He wraps your hair around his wide palm and yanks hard, a pained cry leaving you at the prickling in your scalp. His fingers graze your slit, but never touch you where you need him. It’s absolutely maddening. You buck into him to no avail— the cloth wraps too firmly around your limbs. 

“Shou, I– I, please,” you’re practically sobbing, his name leaving your lips over and over like a prayer. But it doesn’t matter, you’ve angered him. 

“Who said you could speak?” He tugs harder on your locks. The motion rocks your skull, all nerves standing on end. It fucking hurts, but the action has your slit quivering all the same. “Are you going to be a good little whore now?” 

“Yes, Shou.” The response wins you a sharp slap to the ass, the sore cheek. You suppress a loud wail, correcting yourself quickly. “Y-Yes daddy, I’ll behave.” He doesn’t respond, only lets out a low growl and loosens his grip on your hair. 

Then, his presence is gone. He’s moved off the bed, and your cunt pulsates at the number of delicious things he may do next. 

A slam rings out from your bedside dresser and he’s back within seconds. Something foreign, hard and long,  is pressed against your tight hole. No stretching, no warning, he simply sinks the toy into your slick cunt. After a few merciless thrusts you’re whimpering softly, choking back pleas. If he wanted you to beg, you’d know it. 

“Is this what you wanted?” The dildo is driven into you faster. “Is this what you were grinding like a bitch in heat for?” His words are spit like venom, tone disappointed— appalled— with you, but it only fuels your steady ascension to orgasm. You’re teetering closer and closer to the edge, but you just need a bit more. His cock, a finger on your clit, anything. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You can’t help the onslaught of moans that spill from your lips in between pants. His hands begin kneading at your ass again, right cheek still flaming with every touch. If he’d only remove the bindings, now digging tightly into your wrists and ankles, you’d be able to hump back onto the toy as you so desperately wish to. 

He stills all at once, leaving you distraught and gasping. If you cry out, you’ll only be met with harsh reprimands. You want to sob— for his touch, for a break, for anything to soothe the ache in your core. 

You hear it before you feel it.

A small buzzing noise as something is clicked on. Then, vibrations wracking your insides, your clit— a slew of pleasure as the dildo pulses. You sigh loudly, that stubborn itch finally being appeased by the pressure of the toy. 

“Is my pretty little slut enjoying herself?” Shouta laughs behind you, voice still cold and filled with loathing. It’s as though he’s repulsed by your desire, your ceaseless need for him. You mewl loudly at the thought. “Mhm, and you’re going to continue enjoying yourself,” you feel the bed dip as he steps away, “until I finish my work.”

The fucking bastard. He’s leaving you tied up and helpless with a sex toy on the highest setting. He knows you’ll be a drooling mess for him, probably only half-conscious, by the time he’s back.

“N- no Shou, please.” Your protests do nothing to sway him. He simply snickers and walks out of the bedroom, leaving you to writhe and wail on your own. And God, does it feel good. Your stomach pulls taut as you rut against the bed like– like an animal. In a constant cycle of edging and ebbing, your orgasms build and build and build until you’re hit full force, only to begin all over again. It’s equal parts satisfying and unfulfilling, because fuck, do you just want your boyfriend’s cock inside you. It’s all you can think of— his warmth, his hands roaming your body, sweet, degrading nothings whispered into your ear while he pounds into you.

You lose track of time, aren’t even sure at this point whether your body is spasming or simply attempting to dispel the thick length inside you. The pleasure has turned to an entirely different ache, swollen clit now abused by the constant vibrations. Your voice is run hoarse, face carved into a permanent wince. And despite your attempts to stay quiet, chokes and gasps still rip through your throat. Even Shouta’s cloth is soaked through with the scorching sweat enveloping your body.  

Though absolutely exhausted, you’re conscious enough to hear his quick steps as he makes his way to the bedroom. You can sense the smirk plastered across his face without even seeing it. 

“Tired out?” Fingertips ghost over the cloth and across your painfully numb calves, nerves jumping at the feeling. “Ah’, you’ve soaked the bedspread.” A fierce blush runs across your skin, humiliated at the sight you must seem to him— a drooling, high-strung mess. He either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore the way your body shakes at every prod. 

All you can do is let out a meager ‘Mmph’, your brain too scrambled to form anything close to words, let alone coherent sentences. “If you use your words, I’ll consider taking the toy out.” Shouta’s ruthless; he knows every inch of your body, your reactions, like the back of his hand. Of course he’d ask you to use your words. He lives to watch you come undone, thrives off the pain etched onto your features. 

“Please,” the request is drawn out— paused midway to let loose another gasp— and dripping in desperation. “I can’t– I just-”  It’s all you can manage in your state. 

“Seems you’ve been fucked stupid,” he chuckles darkly, though the vibrations wracking your cunt finally come to a halt and the dildo is swiftly removed. Your core clenches at the emptiness. “But I haven’t had the chance to stuff this tight little pussy full,” he slaps a harsh palm against your slit, making sure to wipe the slick that now coats his palm all across your cheek. If you weren’t aware of how soaked you were before, Shouta makes damn sure that you do now. The most you can work out in response is a feeble squeak. 

One of Shouta’s hands strokes at your matted hair from behind, agile fingers tidying the disheveled strands. The other rubs harsh circles on your clit; you twitch incessantly, sparks running through every inch of your body. “There’s that pained little face I love,” he grabs at your cheeks roughly, forcing your lips into a ‘o’ while grinding into your calf. “Fuck.”

Your legs and arms slump onto the mattress as soon as the cloth is unbound. Every muscle in your body aches with overuse; numbness buzzes through the limbs that were strung together for God knows how long. 

Your boyfriend— sadist that he fucking is— thrusts himself into you without warning. Sure, you’ve been stretched by the toy, but your poor slit is so overworked by previous orgasms that even the slightest hint of friction invokes senseless blubbering, your tongue lolling to the side in defeat. Wet, harsh slaps of skin against skin sweep the room, mixed with cries of ‘daddy,’ ‘please,’ and senseless nothings.

“Wanna see you cum.” It’s an order more than a request, grunted into the crook of your neck. His chest flattens against your back. It should feel suffocating, should feel disgusting, considering your body is gleaming with hours worth of perspiration, but you’re enamored with the warmth— engrossed by the way your skin sizzles at his touch. His fingers are secured at your hips, propping your ass in the air and pulling it against him with every piercing thrust. 

“N- no, can’t,” cheek still buried into the mattress, you muster whatever strength you have left and grip at his slick bicep behind you. He simply swats your hand away, takes your wrist between his slender fingers, and presses it into the bed. His thumb caresses the marks left by the cloth, savoring the aftermath of the punishment he inflicted. 

“You can and you will.” Despite the rasp in his voice, the command still holds authority over your forlorn frame and sends prickles down your spine. You feel yourself, yet again, creeping to the edge of an orgasm. “Cum for me.” 

It’s those three, simple words that have you seeing white. Breathless, your brows scrunch together and lips open into a wide ‘o’, but no sound comes out. Your whole body tenses, all senses overwhelmed by this final tidal wave of pleasure, and then finally goes slack. 

You’re officially done, body worked to the point of no return. A couple more snaps of his hips and Shouta follows, your name grunted loudly as he spills into you. 

For a long time you simply lay together silently, chests heaving with his body still splayed over yours. You know that eventually he’ll roll out of bed and make sure you’re all cleaned up. You always revel in the way he pampers you, taking his time to ensure he doesn’t miss a single inch of skin. If you weren’t so exhausted, he’d probably run a bath as well. 

Right now, the heat is finally proving too much for you, so you tap at his hip and he slides himself out of your raw core. 

“Ouch,” you wince at the friction, the ability to speak returning to you at last. The whole bottom half of your body is tender. It’ll be a miracle if you’re able to sit comfortably for the next few days. 

“Surprised you actually behaved,” he chuckles, flipping you over to hold you. His fingers rub lazy circles into your back and he presses a kiss to your forehead, “You were so good for me.” 

“Not like you had me tied up or anything,” you poke a finger at his chest. “And to do paperwork at that.” 

“Oh,” a slow, smug smile inches across his face, “I didn’t get any work done.” You might just slap him.

“Shouta,” your voice is even, but your eyes pierce his, narrowed in disbelief, “what do you mean you didn’t get any work done?” His laugh rumbles through his chest. 

“Do you think I could really focus, hearing your screeching through the walls like that?” 

-

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[kyberconfessions]

No Matter Where You Go, I Will Find You. Part 4

Hello All! Sorry for the delay! My Hubby and I have had a busy month of July and I wasn’t able to keep to my schedule like I wanted too. Sorry about that. From Baseball games to Comic-Cons to Disney trips, we’ve been stupid busy. I am working furiously on the other chapters and hope to at least have some words on Cody soon! Y’all, not going to lie, the fact that there has been ZERO mention of him on The Bad Batch is killing me.

As Always:

This will eventually be a 18+ older fic and deals with anxiety, death, sex,  PTSD, murder, loss, found family, Order 66, and coming to terms. This is not just a fluff fic. It will very much be dealing with very dark and hard themes, so please, if that is something that can be too hard for you, don’t read.

Pairings: Rex x Reader x Cody (polyamory) I should say this is NOT a Rex x Cody fic. There will be ZERO Clonecest on this blog or story. Reader is a consensual relationship with Rex and with Cody. Yes they share, yes they will eventually have sex together, but Cody and Rex are NOT in a relationship nor will they be intimate.

Rating: 18+

TW: Death, Murder, infanticide, death of the Jedi, PTSD, Loss, Anxiety, eating disorders, sleep disorders, Order 66. I will add other things as I think about them

Part 4: It’s You.

You waited with your back to the door on Hondo's ship; another one was docked right outside, carrying the crew that had something either of you wanted. You took a deep breath, adjusting your blaster in your thigh holster and checking over your clothes before putting on your helmet. The base of it was a black Ubese helmet, edged with black dyed bantha hair and painted to resemble a Kaleesh skull in white.  The edges of the white skull were rimmed in a dark red and the faux eyes were painted an electric green, almost making them glow.The breather of the helmet was pointed down, tapering at the end and etched with designs reminiscent of a certain Kel Dor. Twin points also came down from the sides,  once again resembling a Kel Dor breather, but painted to look like the fangs of the Kaleesh skull. When you wore it, you were an incredibly fearsome sight to behold. 

Hondo had stepped out of the cockpit while brushing off his clothes, but when he saw you he went on and on in a poetic manner making you snort behind your mask, "Pretty Lady must you put on that horrid thing? How am I supposed to gaze upon your beautiful Visage? How am I to write songs of your shiny eyes if you insist on covering them? How am I to chant loudly into the heavens about the glory of your smile when all I see is that ugly thing staring back at me?" 

The sound that came out of the modulator was a loud crack of static. It wasn't lost on him though, and he waggled his brow at you, knowing he made you laugh.

"Hondo, one of these days I'm going to launch you out of an airlock. Then you'll be Wild Space's problem."

He laughed loudly, but before he could give a retort, the door-lock opened and the crew from the other ship began to board.

Immediately the hair on your neck stood up and your hackles raised. It was time to go into heartless bounty hunter mode, another mask that became easier and easier for you to put on.

Hondo noticed your posture change and went to greet whoever had come aboard, stepping in front of your turned back. Whether it was to hide his best and most terrifying asset or to put space between you and them for your sake, you never knew. You liked to think it was his way of still protecting you, even after all these years. It probably was.

"My friends! My friends! So good to see you again! Ezra Bridger! It has been too long!" 

You heard the cacophony of voices greeting him in a less than enthusiastic excitement. If these people were your friends, you would have laughed again. But you didn't have friends.     From the sound of it, there were four people behind you. Nothing difficult to take down, but not something you should be careless with. There was something off about one of them though, you couldn’t put your finger on it, but they were...familiar.

"Allow me for introductions! This tall, imposing creature behind me is my associate, bodyguard, smuggler, chief pilot, chief mechanic, artistic muse, platonic soulmate, oldest friend, and beautifully deadly bounty hunter, all rolled into one.  And this band of colorful characters are the crew of the infamous Ghost!" Hondo waved his hands in a grandiose manner between the group and your back; this was a well rehearsed situation that you both had done several times, though for whatever reason, he decided to over exaggerate your titles. Normally he would do the talking and you would scare the clientele. And if you had too, if they had something that you knew belonged to them, you'd kill them. Nothing would keep you from the last remnants of the ones you loved and lost.

"Ahh, Hondo? Does your associate have a name? Or talk? Are they even awake? Are they just going to stand there?" You heard a boy's voice, a cockiness only found in the young lacing every word. 

"Ezra." A woman, probably someone important, chastised the boy.

You waited for Hondo's signal for you to turn, but the door opened once more and you heard one more set of boots and something soft, furry, stepping across the steel. A voice spoke. A Lassat. Dangerous creatures, you had seen a few when you were still a young Padawan with your old Master. Before the war. Before they died. Back when your biggest concern was the eventual Trials. You knew a fight wasn't going to be easy and you hated the idea of killing an already dying race. But you would if you had too.

The Lassat male was arguing with someone about something, but you weren't paying attention.

Hondo touched your shoulder softly, your signal to turn. He had spent the time making pleasantries and lulling them into a false sense of comfort, probably. He could have been talking about the weather on Jakku for all you cared. You were more concerned about making sure the straps on your holsters were open, giving you easy access to draw.

Slowly you moved, letting them see just how dangerous you were, how in control of your body you were, how much they should fear the creature behind the helmet. But, you halted mid spin.

All of the blood drained from your face, your mouth went dry, your throat tightened up, and you were overcome with such anger and gut wrenching sorrow you thought you would snap.

The man that walked in with the Lessat was wearing HIS armor. The armor you had spent 15 years looking for.

You blanked. 

Somewhere there was yelling and cries to stop, but you couldn't make it out. Your head was spinning and it felt like there was cotton in your ears and as tunnel vision took over, everything knocked your senses for a loop. You didn’t realize you were doing it, but you grabbed both your blasters, turned fully, and pointed them at the man. Half the crew jumped out of the way, the others pointed their weapons at you, and Hondo tried to reason with both sides, standing with his back to you while the man had his own blasters trained on your head. Hondo quickly got out of the way of the four barrels, still trying to diffuse the situation. You couldn't understand what he was saying, everything sounded so dull and muted.

No, wait. Those weren't just any blasters. You would know those DC-17s anywhere. 

"HOW DARE YOU!"

 Someone was screaming. You couldn’t tell who it was or where it was coming from. It was garbled and cracking, a mechanical sound. It hurt your head. You just wanted everything to stop, just for a moment. But the world kept spinning and you felt like you were going to pass out any moment. You just wanted everything to be quiet, you needed to think, you just wanted a moment to figure out what was going on. Why was it so loud? Why did everything hurt? You just wanted everyone to just be still. Just be still, if only for a second. 

You could feel your breathing pick up, that tightening fear in your chest, that ache that gripped your heart and threatened to pull it from your body. ‘Just be quiet, please, please, be quiet. I can’t...I need to think, I need to think..’

"HOW DARE YOU WEAR HIS HELM!” More screaming,  “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO HE WAS?! DO YOU?! HOW DARE YOU WEAR HIS ARMOR AS YOUR OWN! HOW DARE YOU STAND THERE AND KNOW NOTHING OF HIM!" Maker, the screaming was coming from you. You were yelling at him, venomous spit falling from your mouth, words meant to shame and kill. Your blasters were trained on his chest, fingers laying on the triggers. 

"TAKE IT OFF OR I WILL RIP IT FROM YOUR BROKEN CORPSE!"

You could feel something wet on your cheeks but you didn't know what it was or where it came from.  Did this man kill Rex?! Did he rip his beloved armor from his broken body? Did he leave him to rot in some cursed field? Or did he just take it from his already forgotten skeleton? Your heart beat a mile a minute, you were sweating and your whole body shook in anger, but your hands never wavered, blasters trained perfectly on the man. How dare this cretin dishonor Rex, dishonor his memory. 

"YOU WILL NEVER INSULT HIS MEMORY AGAIN! TAKE IT OFF!!"

You were panting and your modulator was straining under the volume of your voice.

No one lowered their weapons. No one spoke. No one moved a muscle. All that could be heard were your wheezing sobs through the helm.

 There was a beat. And then another. And then the man did something unexpected.

You just knew you were going to have to kill everyone. You just knew you were going to peel bloodied, beloved armor from some backwater nothing. 

But when he slowly lowered his arms, holstering the DC-17s, you faltered. Was he giving up so easily? Perhaps he didn't want bloodshed after all. Good. But it didn't make you lower yours. Nor did it make the others lower theirs.

Slowly, like he was trying to coax a scared lothcat, the man raised his open hands to the old helm covered in hatch marks with jaig eyes and pulled it off. 

First you saw weathered skin tanned from the sun, a white beard trimmed nicely, then a strong nose and finally golden eyes, eyes you had seen a million times before. Eyes that haunted you every time you went to sleep. Eyes you thought you would never see again.

When he had taken the helm completely off and tucked it under his arm, he spoke. And everything inside of you shattered.

"My name is Rex. Captain of 501st regiment in the Grand Army of the Republic. This is my armor that was issued to me almost 20 years ago. I don't know who you think I am, but I can assure you, this is my armor."

The others watched you, weapons trained. No one moved, no one spoke, no one breathed. You, on the other hand, felt everything rushing back at you full force. When he spoke, his voice was a punch to your gut, knocking the wind out of you, causing you to hyperventilate.  Your blasters, still trained on him, began to shake violently in your hands.

You were panting and your eyes blurred from all of the new tears. Panic rose high in your throat, cutting off your breathing. It can’t be. How could it be? He died. The Empire recorded him dying after Mandalore. You were there, you saw the absolute destruction. No one survived that.

Involuntarily you dropped your weapons and they clattered loudly to the durasteel ground, but your arms were still stretched out, still holding onto phantom guns. 

You inhaled sharply, your modulator cracking in a loud hiss. Slowly, trying to control the tremors that wracked your body, you moved your hands to your own helm and unlatched the buckles on the sides. There was another hiss as the airtight seals released the pressure and vented.

"What's going on..." the young boy started. "Hush, Ezra Bridger." Hondo cut him off, silencing him with a hand on his shoulder as you and Rex stared one another down.

You lifted your helm up and then let it fall to the floor, a loud clank shaking the silence between you all.

Rex sucked in a breath and released it in a harsh shudder, his mouth hanging open. "Mesh'la," he whispered; he could feel his knees giving out, causing him to stumble forward and push his way through his crew.

His eyes were as wide as saucers and glistening. Fat, heavy tears tracked down his face and fell into his beard as he reached shaking hands out to you. He paused for a moment, afraid that if he touched you, you would disappear like every dream before. But carefully his hands gripped your face, gently turning it side to side, taking in the scars and faint crows feet and wisps of grey hairs you now sported. Your age and harsh life showed, but you were still just as beautiful, just as ageless, just as perfect as he remembered. Still the same eyes that he dreamed of every night. 

You couldn’t breathe. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs and every nerve ending burned. You could hear your blood pumping in your ears, creating a painful rush like being thrown under the oceans. Every part of you felt like it was on fire. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move. Slowly your shaking hands gripped his wrists and held him close. Your body tried to take a shuddering breath, but it only came out as a choked sob while you squeezed your eyes shut.

As the noise left you, Rex pulled you close, his mouth over taking yours in a passionate kiss, full of tongue and teeth. Your hands left his wrists and wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as he continued to hold your face.

"Rex. I thought....I thought you were...Rex," you whispered into his lips between kisses.

"I searched for you, Cyare. I looked everywhere. I thought you died. I thought Cody.."

Your breath hitched at his name, making Rex pull you impossibly closer. You both stood there, wrapped in eachothers arms, crying, kissing, whispering love to one another, completely oblivious to the others. 

You weren't sure if your knees failed you, or if it were his, but one of you fell to the floor, taking the other with them, still wrapped in each other, crying and holding on for dear life. 

The Twi'lek woman quietly ushered the others, a man and a Mandalorian girl, along with the boy and Lessat, out. Hondo followed behind, a smug smile on his face, ridiculously proud of himself, giving you both much needed privacy.

[spentfaith]

“ 𝐢𝐟… 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮❟ 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰… 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝❟ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠❟ 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐞 ?   𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭. 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ”  @kenneld

She heard the words, took them into her mind and soul and spirit. Her bones and blood. Quinn’s mouth grew dry as the weight of his words fully started to process throughout all of those parts of her body. How those damn words seemed to have lulled her into a false sense of security at the mention of that word. Of love. That he loved her. Always loved her. Always will. Her chest expanded and then contracted, something hitting her heart like a damn dagger as the words failed to bloom, as they dug in their claws and threatened to rip her heart from her chest. He was leaving. This was goodbye. This was bullshit. 

“No.” Quinn forced the words out as though they would be her saving grace. A choked, desperate sound. “No. You don’t get to fucking do this to me, Beraiah.” Anger welled inside of her, threatening to bubble over and exit her body in some way or another. Perhaps through the tears she could feel threatening to well in the corner of her eyes, or perhaps through the fists that hard started to curl and clench at her sides. Nothing but pure hurt and anger swirled within her eyes, her mouth drawn tight as she rooted her feet in place and refused to move. Both out of the way and move on from this topic. 

“Someone — ” Cut short at the lump in her throat, the barrier between what she’d always known but refused to say from fear of losing him finally starting to slip and break. “Someone who loves someone would never put them through the hell you’ve put me through.” Her jaw set tight, she wished the words had come out with more venom, wished that she could have tackled this like she did every fight she’d ever been in. But no. That would have been too easy. Instead they dribbled out like water along the top of a flooding lake. Quinn was the lake. 

“You don’t fucking love me, you love the convenience of me.” There came the venom, just a hint of it, a little bite to the end of her sentence. Quinn was tiptoeing along the breakwall. One side would have her fall into a heap, crumple into herself and let loose years of tears she’d refused to let fall. The other? Quinn feared what she’d find there. “You always have.” 

[officialsporkintheroad]

here’s a prompt :) — tom and hermione dance at the yule ball. tom comes to terms w/ his feelings for hermione but does not confess right away. the next morning, she is gone (she went back to her own timeline). he wants to find answers.

(A/N: I know it's been literally months, but I finally got around to this prompt and I had so much fun writing a little snippet for it. Hope you like it, love, and thank you so much for sending in the prompt <3 )

warnings: brief violent/murderous thoughts, toxic relationships, possessive behavior, Tom being a little bit of a creep in general

The whole ordeal is tedious.

All parties, in Tom’s opinion, possess a certain dullness that seems utterly inescapable once you reach a certain point in society, and while the Yule Ball is a school function—and therefore not quite on the same level as, say, the Malfoy’s annual Yule party or even Slughorn’s more exclusive events—it’s still burdened by the same rules of propriety and small talk that Tom loathes.

Therefore, tedious.

Made worse, still, by the fact that Hermione Granger is floating around the dancefloor in a pale blue, satin gown that flatters her lithe body and delicate curves, her riotous hair half-pinned up, pearls peeking out between the wild curls. In the silvery atmospheric lighting, she looks ethereal, an otherworldliness that suits her bizarre personality. She is not the most graceful dancer nor the most practiced, but there’s always a confidence to Hermione that seems almost daring, as if to say, “My faults are irrelevant in the face of my accomplishments.”

And she is accomplished, Tom will admit that now. Four months of watching her breeze through classes, mastering spells on the first try and giving him a run for his money with her theory work. He has seen her do things that he had previously only thought himself capable of, has watched her match him wit for wit, barb for barb.

She is the only woman—the only person—that comes even close to being his equal, and yes, he had resisted that at first, but now…

But now, he can’t stand the thought of her dancing with anyone but him.

His feet are moving before he’s even really finished the thought, slipping through the crowd of dancing couples with ease as he makes his way to her. She sees him, of course, because no matter how hard Tom has tried, it seems like Hermione always sees him—or more specifically, sees through him. Her eyes—caramel brown, thick lashes, wary and angry and curious all at once—narrow, but she doesn’t stop him when he taps on the shoulder of her current partner and asks to cut in.

The boy pales a bit, throws Hermione an apologetic smile, and bows out. It’s nice, Tom thinks, how even now, with few knowing even half of what he’s truly capable of, there’s still an understanding that when Tom Riddle asks for something, he’s not really asking.

“You’ve given poor Adrian a heart attack,” Hermione comments idly, casually, like it’s just an observation and she couldn’t care less. He isn’t fooled into a false sense of security—they have been playing this back-and-forth for months now, and he knows her anger is always ready, always burning just beneath the surface—but admittedly, he enjoys it too much to ever back down.

“Perhaps you should have acquired a date that doesn’t startle so easily,” he muses, enjoying the subtle twitch of her jaw.

“Perhaps you should learn to wait until the next song to ask for a dance. I hear patience is a virtue.”

It burns, a little, that she’s right. He could have waited for the song to end, waited to approach her during the lull in music. It would have caused less of a scene, certainly. Would have seemed more gentlemanly, less…desperate.

But then, it hadn’t really been a conscious choice in the first place.

“And you could have refused,” he tosses back, because he’s petty and it’s true anyway.

The pause that follows is one that Tom doesn’t expect. What he expects is for her to push back, snarl some insult about Tom being childish and greedy, or snark that she could never dare to refuse the great Tom Riddle—all said with the heaviest, driest sarcasm he’s ever heard in his life. Instead, she sighs.

“I’m tired of fighting useless battles,” she says, and there’s something so bitter and sad and…and tired in her voice that it makes him stare. Because she’s definitely not just talking about the dance he stole from her.

Because maybe… Maybe, despite all the anger and derision and sheer viciousness that has tainted their every interaction since she arrived the beginning of September, maybe she, too, feels that he has worn her down in the way that she has done with him.

It is not love—Tom is absolutely certain of that—but it is something startlingly closer to it than Tom ever imagined he’d feel: a sort of raw possessiveness over her that pisses him off nearly as much as it gratifies him, an understanding that she is likely the only person alive that could ever satisfy him on an intellectual level, and the only person he has ever wanted like this, even if he’s half tempted some days to strangle her and throw her carcass down in the Chamber so no one finds the body.

It is strangely compelling that he can see hints of that same violent and conflicting desire in her.

When the song ends, she disappears into the crowd and Tom lets her go. After all, he doesn’t need to chase after something that is already halfway his.

*****************************************

Hermione is not at breakfast. She is not part of the group of students that Tom escorts to the train platform, and she is not at lunch when he returns. He asks the Ravenclaw 5th year prefect if he’s seen her, checks in at the Hospital Wing, and finally ends up at the library—where, truthfully, he really expects her to be.

The library is empty.

Almost.

“She’s not here,” a voice says, and Tom stiffens at the sound, an automatic response he can’t control no matter how he tries.

Dumbledore, always poking his nose in where it’s not wanted.

“Sir?”

“Miss Granger left this morning.”

Tom frowns, because he knows she didn’t get on the train, and the deputy headmaster must realize this because he sighs.

“She returned home, Tom.”

“Home,” he repeats flatly, because Dumbledore is lying. He’s sure of it.

Because Hermione doesn’t have a home to go back to. She told him as much—parents dead, all her distant family either deceased or estranged, and even if she could get in touch with them, none of them wanted to take in a war orphan. She was alone and lost when she came to Hogwarts. She can’t have gone home, because Hogwarts is home. For her, and for him.

“Miss Granger was only here on a temporary basis, Tom. You know that,” Dumbledore is saying. “Arrangements have been made with her mother’s cousins in America…”

That’s around the time Tom stops listening. It’s all bullshit, every word. It’s funny. As much as Dumbledore has always managed to know when Tom’s up to something, it goes both ways. It always has.

“I see,” Tom says eventually. “I…am sorry I wasn’t there to wish her off. We had been getting on better these past few weeks. You don’t happen to have an address for her, do you? I’d like to write her, if I can.”

“Ah, unfortunately not, my boy. Her relatives are travelling people, I believe.”

They both know they’re both lying. Neither of them blinks.

“I see,” he says again. “Well, thank you for informing me, professor. I’ll be off to dinner now, though.”

Dumbledore watches him with undisguised suspicion for a good minute before smiling. “Of course, Tom. It’s shepherd’s pie tonight. You certainly wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Tom holds his calm, impersonally polite smile through dinner, relieved that at least most of his peers in Slytherin have gone home for the holidays so he’s not subjected to their inane chatter. He keeps it in place through evening rounds, through his nightly routine. It’s only later, having sneaked down to the Chamber a little after midnight, that he lets the façade crack, firing off spells at the wall with a vicious, raging anger while he shouts his frustration.

Impulsive and erratic as it is, it does make him feel better. Steadier. Clearer.

He’s Tom Riddle, he reminds himself: prodigiously talented, sharp and clever and determined, the brightest mind of the century. And then he smiles.

There’s nowhere Dumbledore can hide her that Tom can’t find.

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